note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the burglar's fate and the detectives. by allan pinkerton, author of "expressman and detective," "melnotte and detectives," "professional thieves and detectives," "railroad forger and detectives," "mollie maguires and detectives," "spiritualists and detectives," etc., etc., etc. new york: g. w. carleton & co., publishers. london: s. low, son & co. mdccclxxxiv. copyright, by allan pinkerton. stereotyped by samuel stodder, dey street, n.y. trow's printing and book-binding co., n.y. preface. in the pages which follow i have narrated a story of actual occurrence. no touch of fiction obscures the truthful recital. the crime which is here detailed was actually committed, and under the circumstances which i have related. the four young men, whose real names are clothed with the charitable mantle of fiction, deliberately perpetrated the deed for which they suffered and to-day are inmates of a prison. no tint or coloring of the imagination has given a deeper touch to the action of the story, and the process of detection is detailed with all the frankness and truthfulness of an active participant. as a revelation of the certain consequences which follow the perpetration of crime, i send this volume forth, in the fervent hope that those who may read its pages, will glean from this history the lessons of virtue, of honor, and of the strictest integrity. if in the punishment of eugene pearson, dr. johnson, newton edwards and thomas duncan, the young men of to-day, tempted by folly or extravagance, will learn that their condemnation was but the natural and inevitable result of thoughtless crime, and if their experience shall be the means of deterring one young man from the commission of a deed, which the repentance of years will not obliterate, i shall feel that i have not labored in vain. as a true story of detective experience, the actors in which are still living, i give this volume to the world, trusting that its perusal may not fail in its object of interesting and instructing the few or many who may read its pages. allan pinkerton. contents. preface v chapter i. geneva--the robbery--search for the burglars--my agency notified chapter ii. the investigation begun--john manning's visit to geneva--eugene pearson's story--the detective's incredulity--a miraculous deliverance with a ten-cent coin chapter iii. an interview with miss patton--important revelations--doubts strengthened--mr. bartman's story--william resolves to seek newton edwards chapter iv. the work progresses--eugene pearson's early life--on the trail of newton edwards chapter v. new developments--tidings of newton edwards--suspicions strengthening against eugene pearson--mr. silby's confidence chapter vi. the detective at woodford--an interview with the discarded wife of newton edwards chapter vii. a fire and a talkative fireman--mrs. edwards receives a letter chapter viii. a plan to intercept correspondence--edwards fully identified a pretty servant girl and a visit to church chapter ix. waiting and watching--two letters--newton edwards' hiding-place discovered chapter x. the burglar tracked to his lair--the old stage driver--a fishing party--a long wait--a sorrowful surprise--the arrest of newton edwards chapter xi. newton edwards brought back to chicago--attempt to induce a confession--a visit to his relatives--the burglar broken down chapter xii. the confession of newton edwards--the foul plot fully explained eugene pearson's guilt clearly proven--a story of temptation and crime chapter xiii. edwards taken to geneva--the arrest of eugene pearson his confession--more money recovered--dr. johnson arrested chapter xiv. proceedings at geneva--speculations as to the missing five thousand dollars--john manning starts in search of thomas duncan chapter xv. on the track of the fleeing burglar--duncan's home--some reflections chapter xvi. bob king meets with a surprise--his story of duncan's flight the detective starts westward chapter xvii. manning strikes the trail--an accommodating tailor--temporary disappointment and final success--the detective reaches minneapolis chapter xviii. the detective at bismarck--further traces of the fugitive a protracted orgie--a jewish friend of the burglar in trouble chapter xix. from bismarck to bozeman--the trail growing warmer--duncan buys a pony--a long stage ride chapter xx. the stage driver's story chapter xxi. false information which nearly proves fatal--a night ride to helena--dangers by the wayside chapter xxii. in helena--a fruitless quest--jerry taylor's bagnio--reliable tidings--a midnight ride--arrival at butte city chapter xxiii. the long trail ended--duncan traced to his lair--caught at last the escaping burglar a prisoner chapter xxiv. the burglar returns to chicago--revelations by the way the missing five thousand dollars chapter xxv. the mystery of the missing five thousand dollars solved at last the money recovered--duncan at geneva chapter xxvi. conclusion--retribution the burglar's fate and the detectives. chapter i. geneva--the robbery--search for the burglars--my agency notified. geneva is one of the prettiest and most thriving little towns in the west. situated, as it is, in the midst of one of the finest agricultural districts in the country, its growth has been rapid beyond expectation, while its social progress has been almost phenomenal. stretching for miles in all directions, over a country beautifully interspersed with gentle elevations and depressions, lie the well-cultivated farms of the honest tillers of the soil. the farm-houses, which nestle down beneath the tall trees, present an appearance of comfort and beauty rarely witnessed, while the commodious and substantial out-buildings evince the thorough neatness of systematic husbandry. standing upon a high knoll, and gazing over the scene upon a bright sunny morning, the eye lights upon a panorama of rustic splendor that delights the vision and entrances the senses. the vast fields, with their varied crops, give indications of a sure financial return which the gathered harvests unfailingly justify, and the rural population of geneva are, in the main, a community of honest, independent people, who have cheerfully toiled for the honest competence they so fully enjoy. nor is the town dependent alone upon the farmer and the herdsman for its success in a financial sense. nature has been bounteous in her gifts to this locality, and in addition to the fertile and fruitful soil, there is found imbedded under the surface, great mines of coal, of excellent quality, and seemingly inexhaustible in quantity. this enterprise alone affords employment to hundreds of men and boys, who, with their begrimed faces and brawny arms, toil day and night in the bowels of the earth for the "black diamonds," which impart warmth and light to countless happy homes, and materially add to the wealth of the miners. numerous manufacturing industries also find a home here. large buildings, out of whose huge chimneys the black smoke is pouring forth in dense volumes, and whose busy wheels and roaring furnace fires, mingled with the sound of scores of ringing hammers, make merry music throughout the day. on certain days in the week geneva presents a cheerful and animated appearance. on every hand are heard the sounds of honest toil and the hum of busy trade. farmers from the surrounding country come in numbers into the village to purchase their necessary supplies and to listen to the news and gossip of the day, and the numerous stores transact a thriving business and reap a handsome profit on their wares. the old mill, weather-beaten and white with the accumulating flour dust of ages, and with the cobwebs hanging thick and heavy from its dingy rafters, stands near by, and this too is an object of interest to the sturdy farmers of the surrounding country. from morn till night its wheels go round, transmuting the grain into the various articles of consumption for man and beast, and bringing a goodly share of "honest toll" into the coffers of the unimpeachable old miller. the mill is a great place of meeting for the farmers, and the yard in its front is daily filled with teams from the country, whose owners congregate in groups and converse upon topics of general interest, or disperse themselves, while waiting for their "grist," about the town to transact the various matters of business which had brought them hither. in common with all progressive american towns, geneva boasts of its school-house, a large brick building, where rosy-cheeked children daily gather to receive the knowledge which is to fit them more thoroughly for the great battle of life, when the years shall have passed and they become men and women. here, too, are banking institutions and warehouses, and every element that contributes to the thrift and advancement of a happy, honest, hard-working and prosperous people. of its history, but few words are necessary for its relation. not many years ago it was the home of the red man, whose council fires gleamed through the darkness of the night, and who roamed, free as the air, over the trackless prairie, with no thought of the intruding footsteps of the pale-face, and with no premonition of the mighty changes which the future was to bring forth. then came the hardy pioneers--those brave, self-reliant men and women who sought the broad acres of the west, and builded their homes upon the "edge of civilization." from that time began the work of progress and cultivation. towns, villages and cities sprang up as if under the wand of the magician. fifty years ago, a small trading post, with its general store, its hand grist-mill, rude blacksmith-shop and the fort. to-day, a busy active town, with more than five thousand inhabitants, a hundred business enterprises, great railroad facilities, and every element that conduces to prosperity, honesty and happiness. such is geneva to-day, a substantial, bustling, thriving and progressive village of the west. it is a hot, sultry day in august, --, and the shrill whistles from the factories have just announced the arrival of six o'clock. work is suspended for the day, and the army of workmen are preparing for their homes after the labors of the day. at the little bank in geneva the day has been an active one. numerous herders have brought their stock into market, and after disposing of them have deposited their moneys with the steady little institution, in which they have implicit confidence, and through which the financial affairs of the merchants and farmers round about are transacted. the last depositor has departed, and the door has just been closed. the assistant cashier and a lady clerk are engaged within in settling up the business of the day. at the geneva bank the hours for business vary with the requirements of the occasion, and very frequently the hour of six arrives ere their customers have all received attention and their wants have been supplied. this had been the case upon this day in august, and breathing a sigh of relief as the last customer took his leave, the front door was locked and the work of balancing up the accounts was begun. suddenly, a knock is heard at the outer door, and mr. pearson, the assistant cashier, being busily engaged, requested the young lady with him to answer the summons. as she did so, two men, roughly dressed, and with unshaved faces, burst into the room. closing the door quickly behind them, one of the men seized the young lady from behind and placed his hand upon her mouth. uttering a piercing scream, the young lady attempted to escape from the grasp upon her, and with her teeth she inflicted several severe wounds upon the ruffianly hand that attempted to smother her cries. in a moment she was knocked down, a gag was placed in her mouth, and she was tied helplessly hand and foot. while this had been transpiring, the other intruder had advanced to the assistant cashier, and in a few moments he too was overpowered, bound and gagged. in less time than is required to tell the story, both of them were lying helpless before their assailants, while the open doors of the bank vault revealed the treasures which had excited the passions of these depraved men, and led to the assault which had just been successfully committed. no time was to be lost, the alarm might be sounded in a moment, and the thieves, picking up a valise which stood near by, entered the vault, and securing all the available gold, silver and bank-notes, placed them in the satchel and prepared to leave the place. before doing so, however, they dragged the helpless bodies of the young man and woman into the despoiled vault, and laying them upon the floor, they deliberately closed the doors and locked them in. not a word had been spoken during this entire proceeding, and now, in silence, the two men picked up the satchel, and with an appearance of unconcern upon their faces, passed out of the bank and stood upon the sidewalk. the streets were filled with men and women hurrying from their work. the sun was shining brightly in the heavens, and into this throng of human beings, all intent upon their own affairs, these bold burglars recklessly plunged, and made their way safely out of the village. how long the two persons remained in the bank it is impossible to tell; miss patton in a death-like swoon, and mr. pearson, in the vain endeavor to extricate himself from the bonds which held him. at length, however, the young man succeeded in freeing himself, and as he did so, the young lady also recovered her consciousness. calling loudly for help, and beating upon the iron door of their prison, they indulged in the futile hope that some one would hear their cries and come to their rescue. at last, however, mr. pearson succeeded in unscrewing the bolts from the lock upon the inside of the doors of the vault, and in a few minutes thereafter, he leaped out, and dashing through a window, gave the alarm upon the street. the news spread far and wide, and within an hour after the robbery had taken place, the town was alive with an excited populace, and numerous parties were scouring the country in all directions in eager search of the fugitives. all to no avail, however, the desperate burglars were not discovered, and the crest-fallen bank officers contemplated their ruin with sorrowful faces, and with throbbing hearts. meanwhile, miss patton had been carefully removed to her home, her injuries had been attended to, and surrounded by sympathetic friends, who ministered to her wants, she was slowly recovering from the effects of the severe trial of the afternoon. an examination of the vault revealed the fact that the robbers had succeeded in obtaining about twenty thousand dollars in gold, silver and currency--all the available funds of the bank, and the loss of which would seriously impair their standing, and which would be keenly felt by every one interested in its management. though sorely crippled by their loss, the bank officials were undismayed, and resolved to take immediate steps for the capture of the criminals, and the recovery of the stolen property. to this end they decided to employ the services of my agency at once, in the full hope that our efforts would be crowned with success. whether the trust of the directors was well founded, and the result so much desired was achieved, the sequel will show. chapter ii. the investigation begun--john manning's visit to geneva--eugene pearson's story--the detective's incredulity--a miraculous deliverance with a ten-cent coin. on the evening of the same day on which this daring robbery occurred, and as i was preparing to leave my agency for the day, a telegram was handed to me by the superintendent of my chicago office, mr. frank warner. the message read as follows: "geneva, august --, --. "bank robbed to-day. twenty thousand dollars taken. please send or come at once. "(signed,) henry silby, president." this was all. there was no detail of particulars, no statement of the means employed, only a simple, concise and urgent appeal for my services. as for myself, realizing the importance of promptness and despatch in affairs of this nature, and fully appreciating the anxiety of the bank officials, i resolved to answer their call as speedily as possible. but few words of consultation were required for the subject, and in a short time i had selected the man for the preliminary investigation, and requested his presence in my office. john manning was the operative chosen for this task, an intelligent, shrewd and trusty young man of about thirty years of age, who had been in my employ for a long time. well educated, of good address, and with a quiet, gentlemanly air about him that induced a favorable opinion at a glance. frequently, prior to this, occasions had presented themselves for testing his abilities, and i had always found him equal to any emergency. sagacious and skillful as i knew him to be, i felt that i could implicitly rely upon him to glean all the information that was required in order to enable me to devise an intelligent plan of detection, and which would, as i hoped, lead to eventual success. giving john manning full instructions as to his mode of proceeding, and cautioning him to be particular and thorough in all his inquiries, i directed him to proceed as soon as possible to the scene of the robbery, and enter at once upon the performance of his duties. in a very short time manning had made his preparations, and at eight o'clock that evening he was at the depot awaiting the departure of the train that was to bear him to his new field of operation. after a journey of several hours, in which the detective endeavored to snatch as much comfort as possible, the train drew up at the neat little station at geneva, and manning was upon the ground. it was two o'clock in the morning when he arrived, consequently there were but few people stirring, and the station was almost entirely deserted. two or three passengers who were awaiting the train, the persons connected with the railroad, and the runners of the two hotels (geneva boasted of two of these very necessary establishments), were the only persons who greeted him upon his arrival. having never been to geneva before, and being entirely ignorant of the accommodations afforded by either of these houses of entertainment, manning, at a hazard, selected the "geneva hotel" as his place of abode. consigning his valise to the care of the waiting porter, he was soon on his way to that hostelrie, and serenely journeyed along through the darkness, all unconscious of the reception that awaited him. on arriving at their destination, he perceived through the glimmering light that hung over the doorway, that the "geneva hotel" was an old, rambling frame structure, which stood in the midst of an overgrowth of bushes and shrubbery. so dense was the foliage that the detective imagined the air of the place was damp and unwholesome in consequence. certain it was, as he discovered afterward, the air and sunshine had a desperate struggle almost daily to obtain an entrance into the building, and after a few hours engaged in the vain attempt, old sol would vent his baffled rage upon the worm-eaten old roof, to the decided discomfort of the lodgers in the attic story. ceremony was an unheard-of quality at the "geneva house," and the railway porter performed the multifarious duties of night clerk, porter, hall boy and hostler. as they entered the hotel, the porter lighted a small lamp with the aid of a stable lantern, and without further parley led the detective up two flights of stairs which cracked and groaned under their feet, as if complaining of their weight, and threatening to precipitate them to the regions below. opening the door of a little box of a room, out of which the hot air came rushing like a blast from a furnace fire, the porter placed the lamp upon a dilapidated wash-stand and the valise upon the floor, and without uttering a word, took himself off. with all its progressiveness, it was evident that geneva was far behind the age in regard to her hotel accommodations; at least so thought manning as he gazed disconsolately around upon his surroundings. the room was small, close and hot, while the furniture exceeded his powers of description. the unpainted wash-stand seemed to poise itself uneasily upon its three remaining legs--the mirror had evidently been the resort of an army of self-admiring flies, who had left their marks upon its leaden surface until reflection was impossible--two hard and uncomfortable-looking chairs--and a bed, every feature of which was a sonorous protest against being slept upon--completed the provisions which had been made for his entertainment and comfort. casting a dismal look upon his uninviting quarters, but being thoroughly tired, the detective threw himself upon the couch, which rattled and creaked under him like old bones, and in a few moments was sound asleep. how long he might have remained in this somnolent condition if left to himself, it is impossible to state, for a vigorous alarm upon his door cut short his slumbers, and startled him from his dreams. imagining that the hotel had taken fire, or that the porter had eloped with the silver ware, he jumped hastily out of bed and opened the door. "it's late and breakfast is waitin'," was the laconic message delivered to him by the porter of the night before, as he started away. with a muttered malediction upon this ruthless destroyer of his rest, the detective donned his clothing, and, feeling as tired and unrefreshed as though he had not slept at all, descended to the dining-room. if his experiences of the previous evening had been distressing, the breakfast which was set before him was positively heart-rending. a muddy-looking liquid which they called coffee--strong, soggy biscuits, a beefsteak that would rival in toughness a piece of baked gutta percha, and evidently swimming in lard, and potatoes which gave decided tokens of having been served on more than one previous occasion. with a smothered groan he attacked the unsavory viands, and by dint of great effort managed to appease his hunger, to the serious derangement of his digestive organs. after he had finished his repast he lighted a cigar, and as the hour was still too early for a conference with the bank officials, he resolved to stroll about the town and ascertain the locality of the geneva bank, before entering upon the duties of the investigation. his stroll, however, was not a very extended one, for as he started from the hotel he noticed upon the opposite side of the street the sign of the bank. the building in which it was located was a large, square brick structure, occupied in part by the bank, and in part as a store for the sale of hardware and agricultural implements. the upper floor was used as an amusement hall, and was called the "geneva opera house." here the various entertainments of a musical and dramatic nature were given, to the intense delight of the people of the village. there was no notice of the bank having suspended operations on account of the loss they had sustained, and the operative inferred from this, that business was being transacted as usual. when the doors were at length opened the operative entered the banking room, and requesting to see mr. silby, was ushered into the private office of the president. as he passed through the room he took a passing inventory of the young assistant cashier, mr. pearson, who was busily engaged upon his books. he appeared to be a young man of about twenty-four years of age; of a delicate and refined cast of countenance and about medium height. his hair and a small curly mustache were of a light brown shade, and his complexion was as fair as a woman's. the young lady who had been the other victim of the assault was not present, and the detective concluded that she was as yet unable to attend to her duties. these thoughts and impressions passed through his mind as he walked through the banking room into the office of the president. as he entered this apartment, he found several gentlemen evidently awaiting his appearance, all of whom wore a thoughtful, troubled look, as though they keenly felt the losses they had sustained and were resolved to bear up manfully under their misfortune. mr. silby, the president, a tall, fine-looking gentleman in the prime of life, arose as the detective entered. mr. silby was one of those persons who instinctively impress the beholder, with a confidence closely approaching to veneration. of a commanding presence, a broad noble face surmounted with a wealth of hair in which the silvery touch of time has left many traces, while his deep blue eyes were as bright as those of a youth of twenty. there was such an air of rugged and uncompromising honesty, of kindly feeling and warm-heartedness about the man, that even before he had spoken the detective experienced a strong impulse of regard for him, and a corresponding determination to perform his full duty in this investigation and to devote all the energy of his being to the task before him. presenting his letter of introduction, mr. silby hastily ran his eyes over the contents, and then extending his hand he gave the detective a most cordial greeting, and introduced him to the other gentlemen present, all of whom received him warmly. "take a seat, mr. manning," said mr. silby, drawing up a chair. "you find us anxiously awaiting your arrival, and prepared to give you any information you desire." "thanks," responded the operative, taking the proffered chair. "as i have come here for the purpose of making an examination into this case, i shall require all the information that is possible to obtain." "very well," said mr. silby. "now, what do you desire first?" "a full statement as to how the robbery was committed," answered the detective, promptly. "mr. welton," said mr. silby, turning to a gentleman at his right, who had been introduced to the detective as the cashier of the bank, "perhaps you can relate the particulars better than i can." "excuse me," interrupted the detective, "but were you present at the time the robbery occurred?" "no, sir, i was not present," replied mr. welton. "mr. pearson, our assistant cashier, and miss patton, were the only persons in the bank at that time." "then," said the detective, "suppose we have mr. pearson in at once, and hear the story from him. we always prefer," he added, with a smile, "to receive the particulars of these affairs from eye-witnesses." the other gentlemen nodded a cordial assent to this proposition, and mr. welton arose, and going to the door, requested mr. pearson to enter the consulting room. the young man entered the office, and upon being introduced, greeted the detective with an air of frank earnestness, and signified his readiness to relate all that he knew about the robbery. he remained standing, and from his statement the facts were elicited which i have given in the preceding chapter. as he finished, he pointed to a scar upon his forehead, which he stated was the result of the blow he received at the time from the robber who attacked him. the wound did not appear to be a very serious one, although the skin had been broken and blood had evidently flowed freely. "mr. pearson," inquired the detective, after the young man had concluded, "do you remember having seen either of those men before?" the assistant cashier darted a quick glance at the detective, and then answered: "yes, sir; about three o'clock yesterday afternoon, a well-dressed gentleman came into the bank, carrying a small valise in his hand, which he requested permission to leave here until the next morning. i asked him if it was of any value, and he replied no. informing him that i would then place it in the office, the man thanked me, and went away. when the two men entered the bank at six o'clock in the evening, i instantly recognized one of them as the man who had called in the afternoon. he was, however, dressed very roughly on the occasion of this last visit, and had evidently changed his clothes for the purpose of escaping detection or recognition." "which one of the men attacked you?" now asked the detective. "the one who left the valise in the afternoon. while the tallest of the two was struggling with miss patton, who was screaming loudly, the other one came behind the counter and struck me upon the head with the butt end of his revolver. i became insensible after this, and knew nothing until i found myself in the vault." "how did you extricate yourself from this dilemma?" inquired manning. "well, sir," began pearson; and the detective imagined that he noticed a hesitancy in his manner, which was not apparent before, "when i recovered consciousness, i found myself locked up in the vault, with miss patton lying beside me. when she recovered, we both shouted loudly for help, and beat with our hands upon the iron doors, in the hope of attracting attention. this failed, and we were nearly desperate. just then, however, my foot came in contact with some loose silver upon the floor, and on stooping to pick them up, i found that they were ten-cent pieces. instantly, the idea occurred to me, to attempt to remove the screws which fastened the lock to the inside of the door, and of using one of these coins for the purpose. to my intense joy the screws yielded to my efforts, and in a short time the heavy door swung open, and we were free. i have told you already what followed." as john manning jotted these recitals down in his note-book, he could not repress nor account for, a feeling of doubtfulness which crept over him at this point. he looked up into the young man's face, but there he saw only the evidence of serious truthfulness, and honest frankness; but still that lingering doubt was upon him and he could not shake it off. at his request, young pearson then furnished him with a description of the two men, as nearly as his memory would serve him, and these the detective noted down for future use. at length, finding that he had obtained all the information which could be afforded him here, he thanked the gentlemen for their assistance, and promised to call again in the course of the day. "remember, mr. manning," said mr. silby, "we rely entirely upon the resources of mr. pinkerton's agency, and that we are confident that you will succeed." "i cannot promise that," returned manning, "but you may be assured that if success is possible, we will accomplish it." so saying, he shook hands with the gentlemen, and left the bank. he betook himself at once to the hotel to prepare himself for further action in this investigation. chapter iii. an interview with miss patton--important revelations--doubts strengthened--mr. bartman's story--william resolves to seek newton edwards. as the morning was not yet very far advanced, john manning concluded to pay a visit to miss patton, the other eye-witness to, and active participant in the robbery. ascertaining the locality of her residence, he walked along the pleasant shaded street, revolving in his mind the various points upon which he had been enlightened during the interview just concluded. arriving at his destination, he found a neat, cosy little cottage, set in the midst of a bright garden of blooming flowers, the perfume of which filled the morning air. there was an appearance of neatness and beauty and comfort about the place, which at once gave evidence of the refinement of those who dwelt within, and as the detective walked along the graveled path that led to the front door, he found himself involuntarily arranging his shirt-collar, and calling up his best manner for the occasion. his knock was responded to by a kindly-faced, matronly looking lady, whom he instinctively felt was the mother of the young lady. making his business known, and requesting an interview with miss patton, he was ushered into a cool, well-furnished parlor, to await the conveyance of his message and to learn the disposition of the invalid. in a few minutes the lady reappeared, and stated that although her daughter was still very weak and nervous from the shock she had sustained, she would see him, and requested him to step into her room. entering a neatly furnished little chamber, he beheld the young lady reclining upon a couch, looking very pale, but with a pleasant smile of welcome upon her face that at once gave him the courage to proceed with the unpleasant business he had in hand. bidding her a polite good morning, he took the seat, which had been placed for him near the bed, and as delicately as possible, stated his business and the reason for his calling upon her. at this point mrs. patton excused herself, and retired, with the evident intention of leaving them alone. manning quietly and delicately made his inquiries, and the girl answered them in a plain, straightforward manner. her story corroborated all that had previously been related by young pearson, and left no doubt in the mind of the detective that the occurrences of the eventful afternoon had been correctly detailed. he could not, however, control the doubtfulness that was impressing him with regard to eugene pearson. "i cannot forbear the thought," said he, when miss patton had concluded her story, "that if mr. pearson had displayed a reasonable amount of manly bravery, this robbery could not have taken place." "there is something very strange to me," said the girl, musingly, "about the manner in which eugene acted; and--there are some things that i cannot understand." "would you object to telling me what they are?" said the detective. "perhaps i can enlighten you." "well," responded the girl reluctantly, "i fear that eugene has not told the entire truth in this matter." "in what respect?" inquired the detective. "i would not do anything to injure mr. pearson for the world, mr. manning, and he may have forgotten the circumstance altogether, but i am sure that i saw one of those robbers on two occasions before this occurred, in the bank and talking to mr. pearson." "why should he seek to conceal this?" asked the operative. "that is just what i cannot understand," answered the lady. "tell me just what you know, and perhaps i can help you in coming to a correct conclusion." "i don't like to say anything about this, but still i think it is my duty to do so, and i will tell you all that i know. more than two weeks ago, i returned from my dinner to the bank one day, and i saw this man in the private office with mr. pearson; i noticed then that their manner toward each other showed them to be old acquaintances rather than mere strangers. this man left the bank in a few minutes after i came in. he had the manner and appearance of a gentleman, and i did not think anything of it at the time." "did mr. pearson tell you who he was, or explain his presence there at that time?" "no, i did not ask anything about him, and he did not mention the matter to me." "when did you see them together again?" "that same evening about dusk. i had been making a call upon a friend, and was returning home when i met them walking and conversing together." "did mr. pearson recognize you on that occasion?" inquired the detective. "no, sir, he did not seem to notice me at all, and i passed them without speaking." "you are quite sure about this?" "oh, yes, quite sure. i recognized him immediately when he came yesterday afternoon to leave the valise in the bank, and also when he came with the other man when the robbery was committed." "do you feel confident that you would be able to identify him, if you were to see him again?" "i am quite sure that i would," returned the girl confidently, "his features are too indelibly fixed in my mind for me to make any mistake about it." "have you said anything to mr. pearson about this?" "yes; as soon as we were out of the vault, i said to him--'one of those men was the man who left the valise and the same one i saw in the office the other day.'" "what reply did he make." "he appeared to be doubtful, and simply said, 'is that so?'" "very well, miss patton," said the detective at length, "we will look fully into this matter; but in the meantime, i particularly desire that you will say nothing to any one about what you have told me to-day. it is very necessary that a strict silence should be preserved upon this point." the young lady cheerfully promised compliance with this request, and in a few moments the detective, after thanking her for her kindness in seeing him, arose and took his departure. as he strolled back to the hotel, he revolved the information he had received carefully in his mind. he had also obtained from miss patton a description of the two men, and found that they agreed very nearly with what he had learned from mr. pearson. he went to his room immediately, and prepared a report of all that had transpired during the morning, carefully detailing all that he had heard relating to mr. pearson's alleged intimacy with one of the robbers, and of the successful attempt he made to extricate himself from the vault, by means of the ten-cent piece. after concluding his relations, he requested the assistance of another operative, in order that they might scour the country round about, in the hope of finding some clues of the escaping robbers. on the next morning, operative howard jackson, a young, active and extremely intelligent member of my force, arrived at geneva, and placed himself in communication with john manning, for the continuance of this investigation. when manning's reports were duly received by my son, william a. pinkerton, the superintendent of my chicago agency, he gave the matter his most careful and earnest attention, and as he finished their perusal, he formed the opinion that young pearson was not entirely guiltless of some collusion in this robbery. the more he weighed the various circumstances connected with this case, the more firm did this conclusion become, until at last he experienced a firm conviction that this young man knew more about the matter than he had yet related. it seemed strange to him that a young, strong and active man like pearson should not have manifested even ordinary courage in a crisis like this. he was behind the desk when the attack was made upon miss patton at the door, and saw what was transpiring before the second assailant had time to reach him. even if powerless to defend her, it seemed reasonable that he could have raised an alarm, which would have attracted the attention of the passers by; or, failing in that, he could, at least, have hastily closed the vault doors, and thus have saved the money of the bank. he knew that these doors were open, and that within the vault were nearly thirty thousand dollars, for which he was indirectly responsible. but a moment's time would have sufficed to close these doors and adjust the combination, and yet he made no effort to prevent a robbery which he knew was intended. the ordinary promptings of manhood would, it was thought, have induced him to make some show of resistance, or to have gone to the rescue of a young and delicate girl; but none of these things did he do, and, if the story related was true, the young man had acted like a base coward at the best, and submitted without a murmur to the outrages that were perpetrated in his presence. instead of acting like a man, he stood tamely by and allowed a woman to be cruelly beaten, the bank robbed, and the robbers to walk off unmolested and unharmed. there was another matter which seemed impossible of accomplishment. pearson had stated that while in the vault he had removed the screws from the lock upon the door with the aid of a ten-cent piece. this idea seemed to be utterly incredible, and prompted by his doubts, william attempted the same feat upon the lock on his office door. after several efforts, in which he exerted his strength to the utmost, he was obliged to desist. the screws utterly defied the efforts to move them, while the coin was bent and twisted out of all shape, by the pressure that it was subjected to. while he was thus engaged with his thoughts upon this perplexing problem, he was informed that two gentlemen from geneva desired to speak with him. signifying his readiness to receive them, two well-dressed gentlemen entered and announced their business. one of these men was a mr. perry, a director of the geneva bank, and his companion was a mr. bartman, a merchant in newtonsville, a little town situated but a few miles distant from geneva. "mr. bartman," said mr. perry, addressing my son, "has some information to communicate, which i think is important enough to deserve serious consideration, and i have brought him to you." mr. bartman's information proved to be of very decided importance. he stated that he was a merchant, doing business in newtonsville, and that he was in the habit of purchasing his goods from various traveling salesmen who represented chicago houses. among this number was a young man named newton edwards, who was in the employ of a large commission house, located on south water street, in the city of chicago. he had known edwards for some years, and had frequently dealt with him during that period. during the forenoon of the day on which the robbery occurred, he saw newton edwards in newtonsville, but that instead of attempting to sell his goods, that gentleman was apparently seeking to avoid observation. he met him upon the street and familiarly accosted him, but edwards received his salutations coldly, and did not engage in any conversation. mr. bartman thought nothing of this at the time, but in the afternoon, having business in geneva, he drove over to that place, and, to his surprise, he found edwards, in company with a strange young man, lingering around the public house in geneva, apparently having nothing whatever to do. he noticed also, that edwards was somewhat under the influence of liquor, and that he had effected a complete change in his apparel. a few hours after this he heard of the robbery, and instantly his mind reverted to the strange appearance and actions of newton edwards. he endeavored to find him, but, as if in confirmation of his suspicions, both edwards and his companion had disappeared. mr. bartman gave a full description of edwards as he appeared that day; and in substantiation of his suspicions, it was found to agree perfectly with that given by both eugene pearson and miss grace patton. mr. perry stated that within two hours after the robbery had been discovered, men had been sent out in all directions, in search of the fleeing robbers, but without success. they had only been enabled to learn that two men, carrying a valise between them, had been seen walking along the railroad track in a north-westerly direction from geneva, but that was all. in the darkness of the night, they had succeeded in eluding their pursuers, and on the following day all traces of them were obscured. two things were now to be done at once; to ascertain the antecedents of eugene pearson, and to seek the whereabouts of newton edwards. to these tasks william applied himself immediately, and with what result will be shown hereafter. chapter iv. the work progresses--eugene pearson's early life--on the trail of newton edwards. in the meantime operatives manning and jackson had been untiring in their efforts to obtain some traces of the robbers. they had found a number of people who recollected seeing two men, answering the description of the suspected thieves, who carried a valise between them, but beyond a certain point all traces of them stopped. it seemed that the ground had opened and swallowed them up, so effectual had been their disappearance. while thus engaged, operative manning received instructions to keep a watchful eye upon young pearson, and also to make quiet and judicious inquiries as to his habits and associates in geneva. the result of these inquiries was most favorable to the young man, and under ordinary circumstances would have disarmed suspicion at once. during the progress of this search after truth, operative manning had preserved the utmost good feeling and cordiality in his dealings with eugene pearson, and had succeeded in establishing a friendly intimacy with him, that would have allayed any fears which the young man might have had, as to the opinions entertained by the detectives with regard to himself. mr. pearson was very positive that one of the robbers was the same man who had left the valise at the bank during the afternoon, and, after learning that manning had paid a visit to miss patton, he stated his belief that this same person had called at the bank a few weeks before. he could not remember the name he had given at that time, but thought he had inquired as to the financial standing of several of the business men of geneva. during all these interviews mr. pearson displayed the utmost willingness to assist the detectives in their investigation, and with a frankness that was refreshing, answered every question that was put to him as if with the earnest desire of facilitating their labors and contributing to the accomplishment of their success. eugene pearson was a young man, it was learned, who had first seen the light in the little town of geneva, then a straggling little village with none of the pretensions it now presented. his parents were most exemplary people, and his father at one time had been a wealthy grain merchant, but during one of the financial panics that swept over the country, he was unfortunate enough to suffer embarrassments which stripped him of his fortune and left him penniless in his old age to begin again the battle of life. at the present time, he was a benevolent-looking, intelligent old gentleman, who occupied the honorable and not very lucrative position of postmaster of geneva, from the receipts of which, and a few other interests he was enabled to maintain his family in comparative comfort. young pearson had grown to manhood surrounded by the refining influences of his family, and, save for a few months spent at a business college in a neighboring city, had always dwelt in his native town. among the residents of geneva he was universally respected and admired. possessed, as he was, of more than ordinary intelligence, and evincing good business qualifications, he had occupied his present position in the bank for several years, and at the time of the robbery, arrangements were being made for his promotion to the position of cashier, owing to the contemplated retirement of mr. welton, the present incumbent. his personal habits were unexceptionable, so far as known, and every one with whom john manning conversed upon the subject, were loud in his praises. in the social circles of the town, he was an acknowledged favorite; he was a fair musician, was a member of the choir in the leading church of geneva, and a teacher in the sunday-school. his handsome face and pleasing manners gained for him a host of friends, and his companionship was eagerly sought by the young people with whom he associated. the young ladies were particularly partial to his society, and it was stated that he was engaged to be married to a beautiful young lady of the town, whose father was one of the wealthiest men in the country round about. at the bank, he was held in high esteem by both the officers and directors, and mr. silby's affection for him amounted almost to the love of a father for a favorite child. from infancy to manhood his name had never been associated with aught that was injurious or degrading, and among all the young men of geneva, eugene pearson stood highest in public esteem and general favor. the result of these inquiries were not calculated to strengthen the doubts which had been formed of young pearson's participation in this robbery, and yet the suspicion remained unchanged, and we determined to await developments before yielding our opinions to what seemed to be a pressure of circumstances. in the meantime, william had not been idle in the city. ascertaining the name of the firm for which newton edwards was traveling, and determined to satisfy his mind upon this point, he dispatched an operative to the business house to which he had been referred. the result of this inquiry was that mowbray, morton & co., the firm with which edwards had at one time been engaged, stated that he had severed his connection with them a short time before, and since then had done nothing for them, but had been traveling for another house on the same street, and they believed he was the junior partner of the firm. inquiry at this house elicited the information that edwards had retired from this firm, and had connected himself with a large eastern house, which dealt extensively in fruits and a general line of groceries. at this place, however, several items of information were gleaned which were of importance. the gentlemen connected with this establishment were very well acquainted with newton edwards, of whom they spoke in the highest terms. he had been in chicago during all of the week previous to the robbery, but had left the city on saturday, stating that he intended to travel through wisconsin and minnesota in the interest of the new firm which he represented. he had not been seen since, nor had they heard from him. finding that the gentleman who furnished this information was an intimate acquaintance of edwards, the operative next inquired as to his family connections and his place of residence. on these points he was fully informed, and he cheerfully imparted the desired information. edwards, it appeared, had been married recently to a lovely and accomplished young lady from one of the outlying towns, and since his marriage had been residing with the husband of his sister, a gentleman named samuel andrews, who resided at logan place, in chicago. edwards also had a brother who was married, and who lived in the city, and the location of this gentleman's residence was also cheerfully furnished by the merchant. upon returning with this information, the operative at once reported to my son william, who decided upon an immediate course of action. directing the operative to inquire for tidings of edwards at both of the places named, he indited a telegraphic message to the chief of police at milwaukee and minneapolis, for the purpose of ascertaining if edwards had been at either place since leaving the city. he described the man fully, stated the name of the house which he represented, gave the fullest particulars as to his identity, and then requested to be informed if he had made his appearance in either of these cities. to all these messages the answer was received that edwards had not, as yet, arrived, although the chief at milwaukee stated that he had met a friend of edwards, who informed him that he had received a letter from the young man dated four days prior to the robbery, stating that he would be in milwaukee in a few days, and that he would be accompanied by his wife. as yet, however, he had not arrived, and nothing further had been heard of him. this was a corroboration of the first suspicion regarding newton edwards, and was convincing of the fact that he had not done as he had informed his friends that he would do. william was convinced, therefore, that he was upon the right track, and impatiently awaited the return of the operative who had been sent to the residences of edwards' relatives. the detective delegated for that purpose proceeded to the locality to which he had been directed, where he found a comfortable-looking, well-kept brick dwelling-house, and upon a metal plate upon the door, he noticed the name he was in search of. ascending the steps, he rang the bell, and shortly afterward was ushered into a handsomely furnished parlor, where he was greeted by a pleasant-faced lady, who announced herself as the sister of mr. newton edwards. "is mr. edwards residing with you?" inquired the detective. "not now," answered the lady, "he was here until saturday last, when he left, saying that he was going to milwaukee upon business. i have heard however, that he was in town on sunday last, but that i am not sure of." "did his wife go with him?" now asked the operative, hoping to obtain an interview with her, if possible. "no, sir," replied mrs. andrews, with an air of sudden coldness and reserve, which was not lost upon the watchful man before her. "mrs. edwards left on the same day, in company with her brother, who has taken her to his home; i do not wish to allude to this matter, but i am afraid my brother and his wife do not live happily together." "have they separated?" asked the detective, in a tone of solicitude. after a momentary hesitation, the woman replied: "i am inclined to think they have. newton has not been himself lately, and has, i am sorry to say, been drinking a great deal. this naturally led to harsh treatment of his wife, and i presume she wrote to her brother, and on last saturday he came and took her away." finding the lady indisposed to furnish further information, the detective took his leave. at the second place he received much the same information, and concluding that he had exhausted this matter, he started to return to the agency. at this latter place, however, he had casually inquired for the name and residence of mrs. edwards' brother, and on learning that, had concluded his visit. everything thus far had favored a belief that edwards was concerned in this robbery. his leaving home a day or two before the act was committed, his quarrel with his wife, his statement made to friends that he was going upon a business trip, which it was evident he had not done, his strange appearance at newtonsville and geneva on the day the robbery took place, the fact that his personal appearance agreed perfectly with that given of the robber, by eye-witnesses to that event, and his mysterious disappearance since, all went to prove beyond question that newton edwards was the thief, and that decided steps should be taken to discover his whereabouts. leaving william to devise a plan to accomplish this much-desired result, we will return to geneva, and watch the movements of john manning and howard jackson. chapter v. new developments--tidings of newton edwards--suspicions strengthening against eugene pearson--mr. silby's confidence. in extending their investigations in and around geneva, operatives manning and jackson had discovered numerous items of intelligence corroborative of their previous suspicions. a salesman, connected with a large mercantile house from one of the large cities, furnished the information that on monday, the day on which the robbery occurred, he had traveled with edwards as far as newtonsville, and as he did not see him after leaving that place, he concluded that he must have stopped there. he also stated that edwards appeared to be unusually cold and reserved, and that he was accompanied by a companion whom he did not introduce to his friends. at newtonsville it was learned that a man, fully answering the description of edwards' companion, had visited both of the livery stables in that town, and had attempted to hire a team of horses and a carriage. he had been refused in both instances, for the reasons that he was a stranger, and appeared to be under the influence of liquor. several people both in geneva and newtonsville were found who remembered seeing edwards, whom they knew--and a companion who was a stranger to them--about these towns on the day of the robbery, and they described their actions as being very peculiar. they had disappeared immediately after that and had not been seen since. if further proofs of the complicity of edwards were required they could have been procured by the score, and as all traces of their route from geneva had been lost, william resolved to commence a thorough and systematic process of espionage, which he believed would eventually lead to the discovery of his hiding-place. he thoroughly canvassed the situation and his conclusions were soon found. newton edwards had a father and mother--he had brothers and sisters; and in addition to these he had a lovely young wife, from whom he had parted in anger. it was not possible that he could shake himself loose from all these ties of kindred and affection at one blow, and it was reasonably sure that sooner or later he would attempt to correspond with them in some manner. again, it might be the case that some of his relatives were already aware of his crime, and of the fact that he was hiding from the officers of the law, and it could not be expected that they would voluntarily give information that would lead to his discovery. however grieved and disappointed they might be, however angry they must naturally feel, they could not be expected at such a time as this to turn his accusers, and aid in his capture. i have known cases in the course of my professional practice, however, when fathers, actuated by what they considered the highest motives, have delivered up their sons to the law, and, though the ordeal was an exceedingly trying and distressing one, they never faltered for a moment in what they considered the performance of their duty. i need not say that such evidences of self-sacrifice were painful to me, and that my feelings were always deeply touched by the mental sufferings of the poor criminals, who in the hour of their sorest need, found themselves deserted by the only friends upon whom they believed they could rely in an emergency which threatened disgrace and servitude. while this is true, it is equally certain that i have yet to record a single case in which a female relative ever assisted, in any manner, toward the apprehension of a criminal. no power seemed able to force from her a word that would tend to work him injury, and though her heart was breaking, and her love for the lost one had passed away, yet, with a persistence worthy of all admiration, she refused to do aught that would add to the misery of the fallen one; and, if occasion offered, invariably rendered her assistance to secure his escape. taking these ideas into consideration, therefore, it would not do to rely at all upon any assistance from the relatives of edwards, and to advise them of our suspicions and search, would naturally only tend to place both him and them upon their guard. a slower and more laborious operation was therefore necessary. fully in earnest in his determination to capture these men, and firmly supported by the officials of the bank, who were as resolute as he in their resolve to apprehend the robbers, william at once put this plan into execution. operatives were posted to watch the residences of the relatives of edwards in the city, and instructed to carefully note their actions, particularly in the matter of receiving or posting of any letters. another operative was despatched to woodford to note the movements of mrs. edwards, the wife of the suspected thief, and to endeavor to obtain some information that would assist us in the chase. it might be possible that this reported quarrel was a mere ruse, to blind the detectives, and to throw them off the scent; and it was important that the truthfulness of this story should be substantiated. at the same time, william decided on no account to lose sight of young pearson, and directed the operatives at geneva to maintain a strict watch over his movements, and by no means to permit him to leave town unaccompanied by some one who could note his every action. the young bank clerk, however, gave no cause for any new suspicion. he performed his duties at the bank with unflagging industry and evinced the greatest desire that the thieves might soon be captured. his solicitude for miss patton was apparently sincere and unceasing, and he frequently reproached himself for not having acted in a more manly manner at the time the assault was made. so humiliated did he appear at the loss the bank had sustained, and so earnest was he in everything that approached a vigorous and determined chase after the robbers, that he soon became an object of profound sympathy and higher regard to the bank officers and his numerous friends in geneva. after fully considering this matter of young pearson, william deemed it his duty to acquaint mr. silby with his suspicions. it was due to that gentleman, he argued, that he should be thus informed, and then if results should justify the suspicion he would be prepared for what would follow, while if the contrary should prove true he would have all the more reason for his high estimation of his young assistant cashier. he did not have long to wait before making this revelation, for in a few days after he had put his plans into operation and posted his men, william received a call from mr. silby, who desired to be informed of the progress that was being made. after fully detailing to the honest old banker all that we had thus far learned, and the steps which had been taken to ascertain the whereabouts of newton edwards, all of which met with his hearty approval, william delicately broached the unpleasant subject. "mr. silby," said he, "there is another matter which i desire to speak of, and one which i fear may occasion you some pain, or may meet with your opposition." "let me know what it is, by all means," responded mr. silby, with a smile. "i am satisfied that what you have to say is for the best interests of the bank, and it would be absurd in me to offer opposition to that." "well," said william, "there have been certain developments made in this case which, i regret to say, lead me to believe that eugene pearson is not entirely blameless in this robbery." "what do you mean?" exclaimed mr. silby, starting to his feet, and with a tremor in his voice, which told of inward agitation; "you do not mean that you suspect eugene?" "i must confess that i do," said william solemnly, "and i regret it sincerely, both on your account and his own." "but this will not do," suddenly interrupted the old gentleman, "this cannot be. why, i have known that boy ever since his childhood, and i have loved him as my own son. no, no, mr. pinkerton, you must be mistaken about this." "mr. silby," said my son, "let us look at this matter calmly and dispassionately. you have employed us to ferret out the thieves, and to recover, if possible, the money of which you have been robbed. we have therefore but one duty to perform, and that is to find the men. i have looked into this case carefully; i have noted every point thus far attained; i have weighed every item philosophically, and i tell you now, that i am convinced that eugene pearson knows more about this robbery than has yet been revealed." [illustration: "i tell you, mr. silby, i am convinced that eugene pearson knows more about this robbery than has yet been revealed."] william then slowly and concisely detailed the various points upon which he founded his suspicions. the fact that eugene pearson had been seen in intimate conversation with the suspected man, his presence at the bank on the afternoon of the robbery, his actions, cowardly at best, when the assault was made upon the helpless girl, his peculiar statements since, and then the manner of his release by the aid of the ten-cent silver piece. taking a coin from his pocket, he requested mr. silby to attempt the feat upon the slight lock upon the office door, which he tried, and though he labored strenuously, he was unable to move it. he also informed him that manning had attempted the same thing upon the lock of the vault door, and that he could not budge a screw. all these facts he pointed out to the old gentleman as strong proofs of the young man's guilt. mr. silby sat during this recital with a dazed and stricken look upon his face, and when william had finished, he sat for a time in speechless amazement. recovering himself at length, he said: "mr. pinkerton, this may all prove to be true; but at present, you must excuse me, i cannot believe it--it is too terrible." true and trustful old man! he could not be brought to believe that one so dearly loved and highly trusted could prove so base and undeserving. "now, mr. silby," said william, "i have only this to ask--i may be wrong, or i may be right; but until definite results are achieved, i must request you to keep this matter a profound secret, and to keep a close watch upon young pearson without exciting his suspicion; will you do this?" "i will do what you request," responded mr. silby; "but believe me, you will find that you are mistaken." "another thing," continued william. "if at any time i should telegraph to you these words--'_look out for that package_!' please remember that 'that package' means pearson, and he must not be allowed to go away." "all this i will do, because i know you are doing what you think best; but i am confident all will be made right for the boy in good time." "for your sake, mr. silby, i hope so, too, but i am not so sanguine of that: and we cannot afford to take any risks." mr. silby arose to his feet, and grasping my son's hand, withdrew without a word. as he passed out, william looked after him with a feeling of compassion he rarely experienced. "it is a great pity," he murmured to himself, "that so much strong, manly faith should be so sadly misplaced, and i fear very much that before we are through with this case, mr. silby's trust in human nature will be badly shattered. but we must do our duty, and the right must triumph at last--we must await the result." chapter vi. the detective at woodford.--an interview with the discarded wife of newton edwards. it was on a hot sultry morning in august, about ten days after the robbery at geneva, that william everman arrived at the picturesque little city of woodford. woodford was the home of the brother of mrs. newton edwards, with whom that lady was supposed to have taken refuge after her quarrel with her husband. everman proceeded directly to the hotel upon his arrival, and quickly announced himself as a traveling salesman from a neighboring city. in a casual conversation with the clerk, he ascertained that edwards and his wife were quite well known in the place, and that the clerk was an intimate acquaintance of the lady's husband. "is edwards stopping here now?" inquired the detective, in a careless manner. "no!" answered the clerk, as he fondly curled the ends of a very delicate and scarcely perceptible mustache. "he hasn't stopped here since his marriage; he usually goes to the home of his wife's family now." "do you know whether he is in town now?" "i think not, unless he arrived last night," answered the young man. "there are several letters here for him, and he would have called for them before this. he has his mail always directed here." "i am sorry for that," said everman. "i have some instructions for him from the house he travels for, and he ought to get them as soon as possible." "perhaps mr. black could tell you where he is. i believe edwards' wife is staying with him, and she certainly could tell you where you could address him, or whether he is expected here very soon." after thanking the clerk for his information and ascertaining the business place of mr. black, the detective left the hotel, and sauntered about the city. walking leisurely down the main street, he soon came in sight of the place to which he had been directed. it was a small frame building, somewhat old and dilapidated, and was sadly in need of the painter's brush and a new covering of paint. over the doorway swung a dingy, time-worn and weather-beaten sign, upon which he could barely decipher the words: "henry black, locksmith," and over which were suspended a pair of massive crossed keys which at one time had been bright golden, but which now were old and rusty looking. in the low window in front there was a rare and curious collection of articles that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquarian. locks there were, that were relics of a by-gone age, and seemed as if they might have done service on dungeon doors in some ancient keep in feudal times--strange and grotesque locks that had evidently pleased the fancy of some old connoisseur, whose treasures were guarded by these strange looking protectors, which had now outgrown their usefulness, and were exhibited as curiosities in the practical age of to-day. locks of latest finish and design, and locks red and rusty and worn out, were mingled together with a confusion and carelessness that bespoke a thriving business, which left no time for order or arrangement. entering the shop without hesitation and with a careless air of assurance, everman found himself in the presence of the locksmith, who was busily employed at his work. mr. black was a stout, good-looking, middle-aged man, who wore bushy whiskers and a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles. on the entrance of the detective he came forward with a pleasant smile on his face, as though expecting a profitable customer, and greeted the operative. "well, sir, what can i do for you to-day?" "nothing in the way of business," replied the detective; "i am seeking some information which perhaps you can give me." "take a seat," said the locksmith, pushing a stool toward the detective, and at the same time seating himself upon the counter. "i don't know a great deal, but if i can tell you what you want to know i shall be happy to do so." "thank you," replied everman, as he produced a couple of fragrant cigars, and handed one to mr. black. "my name is everman; i am a salesman for a city house, and am a neighbor of your brother-in-law, newton edwards. i have a message for him from his employer, and want to find out where to address him. i understood he had come to woodford, and was informed at the hotel that i would be apt to learn from you whether he was in town." while he was speaking, he watched the countenance of the locksmith carefully, and as he mentioned the name of edwards he noticed that the cheerful smile disappeared from his face and was replaced with a heavy frown; this remained but a moment, and when everman finished speaking, he promptly and pleasantly replied: "i cannot tell you, i am sorry to say, where mr. edwards is at present, for i do not know myself. i only know that he was in chicago on saturday, a week ago, and at that time he stated that he was going to milwaukee and st. paul; whether he did so or not i cannot tell you." "i understood from his employer that he and mrs. edwards contemplated stopping in woodford for a few days before he started upon his business trip." in response to this, mr. black stated to the detective, after much hesitation, but believing he was speaking to a friend, that on the saturday mentioned, he had received a telegram from his sister, who was the wife of newton edwards, requesting him to come to her at once. he immediately responded to this summons, and on going to the house where she was stopping, he found her in great distress, and weeping violently. from her he then learned that edwards had come to the house that morning in a state of intoxication, and had shamefully abused her. that he had ordered her to return to her family, and declared that he would never live with her again. mr. black had therefore brought his sister home with him, and threatened to inflict personal chastisement upon edwards if he ever crossed his path again. finding that the story of the separation was a truthful one, at least so far as the relatives of mrs. edwards were concerned, everman decided to obtain an interview, if possible, with the forsaken wife. inviting mr. black to accompany him to the hotel, which was but a short distance from the shop, the locksmith took off his leather apron and paper cap, and the two strolled away together. over their cigars and a cooling draught of very good beer, the brother-in-law of the suspected criminal became quite friendly and communicative, relating many trifling particulars of edwards' earlier life, which need not be repeated here. preferring his request, at length, mr. black cordially invited him to his residence, and giving him explicit directions, suggested that he should call that afternoon. to this proposition everman readily assented, and after a short time spent in friendly conversation, mr. black returned to his shop, and the detective wended his way to the locksmith's house. arriving at the place designated, he found a pretty little cottage, overgrown with climbing vines, while a garden of bright blooming flowers rendered the front of the house an attractive spot. ascending the stoop, he rang the bell, and in a few moments a pleasant-faced lady appeared at the door. inquiring if mrs. edwards was within, and being informed in the affirmative, he was invited to enter the cool and cosy parlor and await her appearance. after a short delay mrs. edwards entered the room, and the heart of the detective was at once touched at the sad and sorrowful expression which she wore. she was young, scarcely more than twenty, and a handsome brunette. her dark hair was brushed in wavy ringlets back from a broad, intellectual brow, and the dark eyes were dewy, as if with recent tears. her cheeks were pale, and there were heavy shadows under the eyes, which told of sorrow and a heart ill at ease. another thing the detective noticed, with a feeling of compassion, for he was himself a man of family, the lady was about to become a mother. how strange and unreasonable it seemed, that a young man of edwards' position in society, with a lovely and loving wife, with business prospects of the most excellent character, could sacrifice all upon the altar of a base and ignoble ambition to be suddenly rich. that he could at one fell blow cast away the ties of kindred, the love of a devoted wife, the blissful anticipation of becoming a happy and proud father, and in an evil hour yield to a temptation which eventually would place the brand of the felon upon his brow, would cause him to be shunned and despised by his former friends and associates, clothe him in the garb of the convict, and, if justice were meted out to him, would make him an inmate of a prison. these thoughts flitted through the mind of the detective as he gazed upon the pale sad features of the suffering wife, and for a moment he regretted the profession which he had adopted. it is a common error, i fear, to imagine that a detective is devoid of those finer feelings which animate humanity, and to credit him with only the hard, stern and uncompromising ideas of duty which only appear upon the surface. this is a grave mistake, and does gross injustice to many noble men and women, who, in my own experience, have developed some of the most delicate and noble traits of which human nature is capable. it is true, their duty is hard and unyielding, its imperative requirements must be rigidly observed; but many a criminal to-day has urgent reasons to be thankful to the man who was instrumental in bringing him to account for the crimes he had committed. many a convict's wife and children are the recipients of kindly actions from the very men whose duty it was to deprive them, by a legal process, of a husband and father. this may seem strange and incredible, but from my own experience i can testify to its absolute truthfulness. with the capture of the criminal the detective's duty ceases, and all the sympathetic promptings of his nature have full play. he has performed his duty to the state, to the law and to society, and that done, his knowledge of the sufferings which crime have caused leads him to acts of kindness and of practical assistance. to-day, i have some of the warmest and most grateful friends among the families of the men whom i was compelled to bring to justice, and in many cases the criminals themselves have acknowledged my actions, and have been better men in consequence. but this is a digression, and we will return to our narrative. rising to his feet, the detective politely acknowledged the salutation of mrs. edwards, and in as few words as possible he stated his errand. with painful embarrassment of manner, mrs. edwards informed him that she could not tell him anything about her husband's movements, as, contrary to his usual custom, he had not informed her of the route he intended to take when he left home. not a word or a hint was given of the trouble that was preying upon her heart, of the harsh, unfeeling treatment to which she had been subjected, or of the brutal order, expulsion and separation. the dignity of the noble little woman sustained her grandly, and no confession of her wrongs escaped her lips. she then informed the detective that she expected to hear from him every day, and that she believed he was now traveling through wisconsin. that she was entirely unaware, at present at least, of her husband's whereabouts, the operative was firmly convinced; and she appeared to be equally uninformed of the suspicions that were entertained regarding him. after a few moments spent in friendly converse, the detective arose to take his leave; and after being invited to renew his visit, he departed from the house. "by george!" murmured everman to himself, as he made his way back to the hotel; "that little woman is a wife to be proud of. that she knows nothing at present i am fully convinced, but i am also certain that if she learns of the crime her husband has committed, she would sacrifice her life rather than aid us in his discovery. what a strange, unequal world this is!--bad men linked with angelic wives; and vicious and unprincipled women yoked with men who are the very soul of honor. well, well, i cannot set things right. i have only my duty to perform, and moralizing is very unprofitable." so pondering he returned to the hotel and resolving to call upon the chief of police in the afternoon, he went into the spacious dining-room and ordered his dinner. chapter vii. a fire and a talkative fireman--mrs. edwards receives a letter. after dinner operative everman called upon the chief of police, and acquainting him fully with the nature of his business in the city, he enlisted his services in our behalf. men were detailed to watch the arriving and departing trains, in order to discover if edwards either paid a visit to woodford or attempted to leave the place. this step was taken as a mere precaution, for the detective as yet felt confident that mrs. edwards was entirely ignorant of the movements of her husband or of the crime which he was suspected of committing. this was continued without result for three days, but on the afternoon of the fourth, the chief sought everman at the hotel and informed him that he had important news to communicate. "what is it?" inquired everman, when they were alone. "well," said the chief, "it is just this. last night, one of my men informs me, mrs. edwards received a letter from her husband, and to-day she appears to be in great trouble and distress of mind. there can be no doubt that she has been informed of his crime, and also that she now knows his present whereabouts." "she will never tell any one where that is, unless i am very much mistaken in her," interrupted everman, "and we must look elsewhere for the information we desire." "just my opinion exactly," replied the chief; "and i have thought of a way in which we might get what we want." "let me hear what it is," said everman. "it is just this--mrs. black has an intimate friend and confidante, to whom she tells everything she knows, and there is no doubt that she will soon, if she has not already done so, inform this lady of the letter received yesterday. well, so far, so good. now, this lady has a husband to whom she tells all she hears, and so he is apt to be as well informed in a short time. this man is tom nelson by name, a carpenter by trade, and a jovial, easy, good-natured fellow by nature. this man you must work up, and if you touch him correctly, you will find out all he knows." "very good," replied everman confidently; "now point out tom nelson to me and leave me to work the rest." at this moment an alarm of fire was sounded, and in a few minutes the street in front of the hotel was alive with people hurrying to the scene of the conflagration. men and boys were running at the top of their speed, and shouting at the top of their voices; women were gazing from doors and windows, and the merry jingle of the bells of the fire-engines were soon heard, as the brave fire laddies were rushing to the rescue of the burning building. "the very thing!" ejaculated the chief. "i must go to the fire, and do you come along with me. tom nelson is one of the most active firemen of the city, and i will point him out to you. after that you must work your own way, for if i was to approach him upon the subject, he would become suspicious at once." so saying the chief hurried out of the hotel, closely followed by the detective. turning a corner they saw, not a great distance off, the flames leaping from the windows and roof of a large frame structure, which was blazing and crackling like a huge pile of kindling prepared for the torch. already the department was upon the ground, and when the chief and the detective reached the scene, several streams of water, shimmering like ropes of silver, were pouring into the burning building. with a noble self-sacrifice and a disregard for their own safety which was truly admirable, the brave fire laddies battled with the flames, and exerted themselves to the utmost to prevent the fire from reaching the adjoining buildings. at last, yielding to the almost superhuman efforts of the firemen, the fire was extinguished, leaving only the bare and blackened walls standing as monuments of the destruction that had been wrought. foremost among the brave fellows who were performing their self-appointed and herculean duty was a man about thirty-five years of age, stout and muscular in form, and with a good-humored, honest face, that would attract your friendly regard at a glance. he was the most active and energetic man upon the ground, and it could be seen at once, that his whole heart was in the work in which he was then so earnestly engaged. "that's your man," said the chief, pointing toward him, "and now you can commence upon him as soon as you please." "all right," answered everman; "i will see what i can do." the firemen had by this time, gathered up their hose and were preparing to return to their various houses, and thomas nelson, after assisting in this labor until it was completed, left his companions, and proceeded along the sidewalk in the direction of the hotel. everman walked on slowly behind him, and seeing him enter the building, he followed closely after him. nelson proceeded to the bar-room and had just tossed off a cooling glass of beer, when the operative made his appearance. "you seem to be thirsty after your hard work this morning," said the detective, in a laughing tone. "it was pretty hot work, and no mistake," replied nelson; "and we were mighty lucky in saving the adjoining houses. i was afraid once they would certainly go." "fill up your glass again," said everman; and nelson graciously acquiesced. "yes," continued the operative, "you boys did excellent work, and you deserve great credit for it. i suppose your fire department here is composed entirely of volunteers?" "yes, sir," answered nelson, quite pleased with the encomiums which his pet hobby received; "and a better organized fire department is not to be found anywhere." "well," said the detective, as he raised his glass, "here's to the health of your fire laddies; may you never miss a run, and always have as good luck as you did to-day." "good," said the delighted fireman; "i don't know your name, but you're a good fellow, and i am glad to hear you speak so favorably of us." "my name is everman," answered the detective frankly. "i only arrived in woodford yesterday, and expected to meet a friend whose family resides here; but i regret to say i have been disappointed." "may i ask who you were waiting to meet?" this was the very question the detective most desired to be asked, and he answered at once. "yes. i expected to meet newton edwards here, and i have some letters for him from his employer, which he ought to receive." at the mention of the name, nelson started in astonishment, and then gave vent to a long, low whistle. "i am afraid you won't find him here," he said at last. "afraid, mr. nelson! why, what's the matter?" quickly inquired the detective. "well, sir, i am afraid your friend has turned rascal, and has run away." "what do you mean?" sharply asked everman. "surely, you have no reference to my friend, newton edwards?" "yes, i mean him exactly. he is a damned thief, that's what he is; and he has broken his wife's heart!" this was enough for everman; and in a short time he had learned all that the honest carpenter could tell him. on the evening before, it appeared, mrs. edwards had received a letter from her husband, the contents of which had made her frantic with grief, and to-day she was unable to leave her bed. in this letter he had informed her that he had been connected with the robbery of the bank at geneva, and that he had succeeded in eluding all pursuit, and was now hiding in some obscure place in the state of new york. "this is all i know about it," added nelson, "and i suppose i ought not to tell this; but when a man turns out a damned rogue like that, honest people cannot afford to shield or uphold him in his rascality." "that's my opinion, exactly," rejoined the detective, "and i am sorry, indeed, for edwards' wife, although i am free to confess that i have no further sympathy for him." "i ought not to have told you this," said nelson, with some compunctions of conscience at his garrulity. "and if my wife was to hear that i had done so, she would take my head off." "well, she won't hear of it from me, i can assure you, and i am too much disappointed in my friend to speak of it unnecessarily to any one." their conversation was continued a few minutes longer, and then nelson, promising to see my operative again, took his leave. here was a revelation, which amounted to a direct confirmation of our suspicion regarding edwards, and was convincing testimony of the fact that he was hiding from the officers of the law. the information about his location, while indefinite, was a surety of the fact that he had not gone west, according to his previous arrangement, and that he must be looked for in the state of new york. one thing, however, was necessary to be done at once, and that was to keep a sharp lookout for any letter which might be mailed by mrs. edwards or any member of her family. there was no doubt that this lady would sooner or later attempt to write to her husband, and that too within a few days. it was therefore of the utmost importance that a close watch should be kept upon all the movements of the members of mr. black's household, and then to endeavor to get at the address of any letters which they might attempt to mail. everman immediately sent his report of what he had learned to me, and then sought the chief of police in order to enlist his further aid in such efforts as were now necessary to be taken. when the chief had listened somewhat incredulously to what everman had been enabled to learn in the few minutes' conversation which he enjoyed with tom nelson, he was overwhelmed with surprise at the rapid success he had met with, and he readily proffered all the assistance in his power. everman resolved to see nelson again, and endeavor to induce him to ascertain the exact locality in which edwards was hiding. the carpenter could not recollect it at the first interview, and was not sure that he had heard it, but everman concluded to try to jog his memory upon that point still further. he did not have to seek an opportunity for meeting his man, for that evening he received another call from nelson, who had evidently taken a great fancy to my affable operative. during the conversation that followed, everman was informed by his new-found friend, that as well as he could recollect the name of the place from which edwards' letter was posted began with a "_mac_," and that was all that could be elicited from him. everman gave as his reasons for desiring to learn this fact, that he wanted to write to him himself, and convey the letters which had been intrusted to him. after spending some time in the vain endeavor to refresh the carpenter's memory, they at length parted for the night. "remember, mr. everman," said nelson, as he left the hotel, "if i can find out for you what you want, i will surely do so; but for heaven's sake don't let my wife know it, or i will be scalped alive." the detective laughingly promised to beware of the sanguinary mrs. nelson, and the carpenter went his way. chapter viii. a plan to intercept correspondence--edwards fully identified--a pretty servant girl and a visit to church. while these events were transpiring at woodford, william had not been idle in the city. a constant watch had been maintained upon the several premises occupied by the relatives of newton edwards, in the hope of detecting some attempt upon their part to communicate with the suspected thief. this at all times is rather a difficult object to achieve, but we have frequently been obliged to resort to this mode of acquiring information from lack of definite knowledge on which to base intelligent action. in order that one of the many of these expedients may be fully understood, a few words in detail may not be out of place. as is well known, the mail of an individual is so sacredly guarded by the laws of the country which govern the postal service, that an attempt to interfere with the letters of another is regarded as a felony and punished with severity. of course, therefore, no efforts of ours would be directed to the obtaining or opening of any letters which might be mailed to the suspected individual. our object was simply to obtain the addresses upon the envelopes, if possible, and then to search out the parties to whom they had been consigned. in this instance our manner of proceeding was quite simple, but it required that it should be managed with great care and without exciting the suspicion of any one. for this purpose each of the operatives, detailed for this duty, was provided with a number of envelopes of a peculiar size and color, and all addressed to fictitious persons. our plan was, that if any one of edward's relatives deposited a letter in any of the street boxes, the operative should be on hand and be prepared to drop his letter into the box immediately on the top of it. another operative was then to await the visit of the postman on his round for collection, when he would step up to him and making a pretense of a mistake in the address of a letter which he had mailed, would from its position be enabled to obtain a glimpse of the suspected letters below, and their addresses. this watch was maintained unceasingly for several days without result, and it appeared either that the family were unaware of edwards' hiding-place, or else that they were fearful of being watched, and avoided communicating with him on that account. in the meantime, william received another visit from mr. silby, the president of the despoiled bank, who stated very reluctantly, that he and mr. welton, the cashier, during the absence of eugene pearson from the bank, had attempted the feat of loosening the screws upon the lock of the vault, and had been unable to do so. they had exerted their strength to the utmost, and the screws had sturdily resisted their efforts. he was therefore compelled to admit that thus far the suspicions against young pearson appeared to be well founded, and that the screws had evidently been loosened before the prisoners were confined in the vault, in order to allow them to escape, should the atmosphere prove too oppressive for their safety. mr. silby also stated, that he had obtained an interview with a mr. crampton, the president of the bank at independence, where it was learned that the parents of newton edwards resided, and that without divulging any of our plans regarding that young man, he had acquired considerable information concerning him. it was learned that edwards had for some time been regarded as a very fast young man, and several episodes were related of him, in which he had figured in no very enviable light. his parents were elderly people of eminent respectability, and were much distressed at the actions of their son, from whom they had expected so much. he had begun life with bright prospects, had entered into business with his own capital, but had failed after a short career, owing to his extravagant habits and his inattention to business. after this he had traveled for several firms, and while it was believed he received a large salary, there were many who shook their heads at the stories of his dissipation which reached their ears from time to time. this was information which was of some value, and opened up the way to accomplish an object which william had long desired. he therefore requested mr. silby to introduce john manning to mr. crampton, and directed manning to accompany that gentleman to independence, and by their joint efforts endeavor to obtain a photograph of edwards. this was attended to at once, and in a few days, through the assistance of the sheriff at independence, we were enabled to secure an admirable likeness of the absconding burglar, although the same had been taken nearly two years prior to this. a number of copies of this photograph were at once printed, and they were furnished to the various operatives who were at work upon the case. hitherto we had been compelled to rely upon the rather unsatisfactory method of identifying him by description only, and in many cases, except where persons are trained to the work of accurately describing individuals whom they meet, there is danger of not being able to identify any one who has no very prominent distinguishing marks about him. the first use to which this photograph was put was to exhibit it to miss patton, the young lady who had been assaulted in the bank, and she instantly recognized it as the picture of one of the men who had committed the robbery, and the one who had attacked eugene pearson, while the other intruder was engaged in the attempt to gag and bind her. this was very important, and no further efforts were now needed to establish the identity of newton edwards, or to connect him with the robbery as an active participant. after several days of unproductive watchfulness at the city residences of edwards' relatives, it became apparent that something more decisive would have to be attempted. from the reports of the operatives who had been detailed upon this part of the investigation, it seemed evident that the inmates had become suspicious of the fact that their movements were being made the subject of espionage, and it was resolved to adapt another system of operation, and endeavor to have one of my men enter the family, and by some means establish a friendly footing with its members. by this means he would be enabled, while unsuspected, to learn of the movements of the people whom he was watching. i did not have far to seek for a man who would fully answer the purpose i had in view, and one who would succeed if success were possible. i had tried him in several operations where this kind of work was necessary, and he had invariably accomplished what had been delegated to him to perform. i therefore called harry vinton into my office, and stated to him the nature of the mission upon which he was to be sent. he was a handsome, jolly, quick-witted and intelligent young fellow, who had been with me for a long time. entering my employment as an office boy, and evincing a decided task and talent for the profession of a detective, he had continued in my service, until at this time he was quite an adept in his particular line, and many a successful operation had been largely due to his intelligent efforts, while far removed from the directing eye of myself or my superintending assistants. his manners were frank and easy, and among the ladies he was a general favorite, therefore, i concluded to intrust him with the task of obtaining admission into the residence of the sister of edwards, on logan place. our operatives had reported that at this house there was employed, in the capacity of domestic, a young and handsome girl, whose conduct as far as could be judged was exemplary in the highest degree, and informing vinton of this fact, william inquired if he thought he could manage it successfully. a merry twinkle shone in vinton's eyes for a moment and then he answered: "i think i can, sir; and i am willing to make the attempt." "very well," replied william, laughing. "only look out for yourself. i hear she is a very charming young girl, and you may find yourself in earnest before you are aware of it." "perhaps i may," said vinton, "and perhaps i might not do better than that if i tried." "all right," said william; "i will not burden you with instructions at present, and you will proceed according to your own judgment, only remember what we want to discover, and succeed if you can." with these words vinton took his departure. a few days passed uneventfully by and no report came from vinton. he was evidently looking over the ground, and as undue haste would avail nothing in a matter of this kind william forbore to push him. vinton, however, had not been idle, and his inquiries had developed the fact that the young servant of mrs. andrews was a regular attendant at church on sunday afternoon, when she was allowed her liberty from her domestic duties. the following sunday, therefore, found him wending his way toward the church. the day was bright and balmy, and the streets were thronged with pedestrians all bedecked in their sunday attire, and apparently enjoying to the full their day of rest. vinton reached the church, a magnificent structure, with its many spires glistening in the rays of the sun, and its chime of bells which were ringing out their harmonious cadences upon the air. he had been fortunate to find among his acquaintances a young man who also attended this church, and in his company he repaired to the sacred edifice, and joined in the services of the hour. when the last hymn had been sung and the congregation had been dismissed, vinton and his companion hurried out to the sidewalk, where they could observe all who came out. soon the doors were filled with little groups of men and women, all exchanging friendly greetings, and indulging in pleasant gossip before seeking their homes, and to the intense delight of vinton, he noticed among a company of young ladies, the face and form of mary crilly, the pretty servant of the sister of newton edwards. finding his gaze riveted upon this group, his companion lightly pulled him by the arm, exclaiming: "what's the matter, vinton. has mary crilly captivated your senses?" "i don't know who you allude to, but there is one of the prettiest girls i have seen for a long time." "i know who _you_ mean, though," said his companion laughingly, "and she is one of the nicest girls i know. although she is simply a servant, she is both pretty, intelligent and industrious." "do you know her?" asked vinton, both delighted and surprised. "certainly i do," answered his companion; "her name is mary crilly, and she is living with a family on logan place." "can't you introduce me?" inquired vinton anxiously. "yes, if you want me to; that's my sister she is talking to now, they are fast friends, and mary will probably spend the evening at our house. come along, and perhaps you will lose your heart." the apples had certainly fallen right into his lap, and fortune had favored him this time, if never before. stepping up with his friend, vinton was soon made acquainted with the pretty young domestic, and in a short time afterward was walking by her side in the direction of his friend's house, where mary was to spend the afternoon and evening. strange as it may appear, young vinton, when not on duty, associated freely with his companions, not one of whom suspected the business in which he was engaged. they only knew that he was employed in an office "down town," and that frequently he was required to be absent from the city for weeks. in a large city, however, there is not the same inclination to inquire about the private affairs of one's neighbors, and hence he had been able, for prudential reasons, to avoid announcing his real occupation, and was not compelled to make a social hermit of himself because of his profession. being pressed to remain at the house of his friend, vinton cordially accepted the situation, and devoted himself to the fair miss crilly so assiduously that he soon was in high favor with that young lady. after an enjoyable afternoon, he had the pleasure of escorting miss crilly to her home, and when he left her at her door, he was gratified to receive an invitation to call again, which he joyfully accepted, and resolved to take advantage of at an early date. thus far we had been successful; we had obtained a photograph of edwards, which had been promptly recognized. we had learned from his wife that he was hiding in the state of new york; and we had reliable men carefully posted in such a manner that in a very short time definite information must assuredly be obtained. chapter ix. waiting and watching--two letters--newton edwards' hiding-place discovered. harry vinton continued his attentions to the fair young domestic, and in a few days he invited her to accompany him to the theater. edwards' sister, mrs. andrews, was present when this invitation was extended, and having formed a very favorable opinion of my good-looking operative, she at once consented, and mary blushingly signified her inclination to accept his escort. his deportment toward mrs. andrews was most deferential and polite, and in a very short time he had quite won her kindly regard. this, of course, was precisely what he was most desirous of accomplishing, and he improved every opportunity that offered to ingratiate himself into the good opinion of mary's mistress. so agreeably and gentlemanly did he conduct himself that ere a week had elapsed he was quite graciously received, not only by the pretty young servant girl, but by the members of the family as well. mrs. andrews, who appeared to be a kind-hearted lady, although seemingly oppressed with some trouble, which was not made apparent, was deeply interested in mary's welfare, and had taken especial pains to cultivate vinton's acquaintance. this was done evidently with the view of satisfying herself as to the sincerity of his intentions toward the girl, and to advise with her in the event of her discovering that he was an unworthy suitor for her hand. vinton lost no opportunity to advance his friendly footing in the family, and frequently offered his services to mrs. andrews in the way of performing trifling commissions for her, which he could execute while on his way to and from his daily labor. from mary, vinton learned that the family were in much distress regarding a brother of mrs. andrews, but what it was she could not tell. he also learned that this brother (who was none other than newton edwards), and his wife had resided with the family for some time, but that mrs. andrews was very unfriendly to the young woman, and scarcely treated her with the respect which was due to her brother's wife. the young lady was very unhappy, mary said, and several times she had seen her weeping bitterly in her room. thus matters continued until on one saturday morning, but a short time previous to this, the brother came home intoxicated, and abused his wife in a dreadful manner, and after ordering her to return to her family, had left the house, and had not been seen since. "what has become of the young lady?" inquired vinton, after he had expressed his sympathy for her unfortunate condition. "oh, her brother came for her that very afternoon, and after expressing his mind pretty freely to mrs. andrews, he took her to his home, somewhere away from the city." "did her husband go away, too?" asked vinton. "yes, he went about the same time, and has not been here since." "do the people in the house know where he is?" inquired vinton. "i don't think they do," answered the girl, "and they are very much worried about him. there was a letter came from some one the other day, and ever since that time mrs. andrews has been in great trouble. she does not tell me anything about it, but i think it is about her brother." "that's very strange, isn't it?" "yes, and what is more so," answered the girl, "for several days past there have been several men about the neighborhood who are strangers, and mrs. andrews is very much frightened about it. she is afraid to go out of the house, and seems almost afraid to move." "does she think they have anything to do with her?" asked vinton, surprisedly. "oh, i don't know about that; but it is a very unusual thing to have strange men loitering about our neighborhood, and she feels very nervous about it." vinton expressed his profound sympathy for the unfortunate family, and without hinting any suspicion that anything of a criminal nature had occurred, he parted from the young lady and returned to his home. a few evenings after this, vinton again called upon mary crilly, and while he was conversing with her, mrs. andrews came into the room. "mr. vinton," said she, "before you go, i want to give you a couple of letters to post for me, if it is not too much trouble." "certainly not," he replied, "anything i can do for you, mrs. andrews, will be cheerfully done by me, i assure you." "thanks," said the lady, "i will have them ready before you leave, and would like to have them posted this evening." "i will attend to it, madam," said vinton respectfully. after passing a pleasant hour with mary, mrs. andrews returned, and handed vinton two letters which he placed in his pocket without looking at the addresses, a proceeding which he noticed gave mrs. andrews some degree of pleasure. after a few moments' further talk he took his leave, and hastened to the agency. here he was fortunate enough to find my son william, and he immediately produced the two letters and laid them upon the desk. "i don't know whether there is anything in these or not," said he, "but i thought i had better let you see them." william took up the two envelopes, and looked at their addresses. with a start of surprise, he read the superscriptions. one of them was addressed to "william amos, mcdonald, new york," and the other to "newton edwards, denver, colorado, care windsor hotel." here was a dilemma! could it be possible that newton edwards, knowing that the detectives were upon his track, would continue to use his own proper name, and have letters addressed to him in that open manner? this was certainly a most foolhardy thing for a sensible man to do, who was seeking to evade the officers of justice. was it not more reasonable to think that mrs. andrews, taking alarm at the possibility of the actions of herself and family being watched, and being fully aware of the crime her brother had committed, would be advised to direct her letter to him under an assumed name? a glance at the inside of these neat little envelopes would have satisfied all doubts upon the question, but with a delicate regard for the privacy of individual correspondence, william would not have opened them for any consideration. "this is very clever," said he; "but i am afraid mrs. andrews is not quite sharp enough for us this time. however, we will sleep upon the matter, and see what will turn up by to-morrow." the next morning all doubts were set at rest. mr. warner, my son william and myself, were seated in my office discussing this question. we were unanimous in our opinion that the letter addressed to newton edwards was a decoy; and with everman's information before us, that edwards was hiding somewhere in new york state, which began with a "mac," all of us were convinced that the second letter alone was deserving of serious attention. while we were thus debating the question, the mail brought us a report from william everman at woodford, that settled all doubts. mrs. edwards, he stated, had been seen to mail a letter that evening, and after a serious effort, everman had obtained a glance at the address. it was as follows: william amos, mcdonald, new york. "that settles it!" said i; "send at once to mcdonald, and my word for it, edwards will be found." whether i prophesied true or not, will soon be seen. chapter x. the burglar tracked to his lair--the old stage driver--a fishing party--a long wait--a sorrowful surprise--the arrest of newton edwards. our plans were soon completed for a visit to the place indicated by the address upon the two letters. in the meantime, however, i had telegraphed to the police officials at denver, and learned from them that no such person as newton edwards had been about that place, or was known there at all. they also promised that if any one called for a letter addressed to that name they would arrest him at once and inform us immediately. mcdonald, i soon learned, was a little village in the central part of new york, remotely situated, and with no railroad or telegraph facilities of any kind. an excellent hiding-place for a fugitive certainly, particularly, as i suspected, if he had relatives residing there. far away from the swift and powerful messengers of steam and electricity, he might safely repose in quiet seclusion until the excitement had died away and pursuit was abandoned. such places as these afford a secure harbor for the stranded wrecks of humanity, and many a fleeing criminal has passed years of his life in quiet localities, where he was removed from the toil and bustle, and the prying eyes of the officers of the law in the more populous cities and towns. two men were selected for this journey, and their preparations were soon made. that evening they were flying over the ground in the direction of the little hamlet, where they were hopeful of finding the man they were seeking. as an additional precaution, and fearing that edwards might not remain in mcdonald for any length of time, i telegraphed to my son, robert a. pinkerton, at new york city, to also repair, as soon as possible, to that place, and if edwards was there to arrest him at once, and await the arrival of my operatives from chicago. immediately upon the receipt of this message, robert left new york city by the earliest train, and without event, arrived at the station nearest to the village of mcdonald, which he learned was about twelve miles distant. here he was obliged to take a stage coach, and after a long, hot and fatiguing journey of several hours, he arrived about nightfall at the sleepy little village, which was his point of destination. by making inquiries of the stage-driver in a careless manner, and without exciting any suspicion, he learned that there was a constable at that place, and on arriving, he immediately sought out this important official. from him robert learned that there was a strange young man stopping with an old farmer about two miles out of the village, who had been there several days, and who was represented as a nephew to the old gentleman. upon showing him the photograph of edwards, he recognized it at once, and signified his readiness to render any service in the matter which might be required of him. after disclosing as much as he deemed advisable to the constable, whose name was daniel bascom, robert gladly accepted his hospitality for the night, and feeling very tired and weary after his hard journey, he retired to rest, and slept the sleep of the just, until he was awakened in the morning by his hospitable entertainer. springing from his bed, and looking out at his window, he saw that the sun was just peeping over the hills in the east, and throwing its first faint rays over the beautiful landscape that was spread before him, lighting up hill and dale with the roseate but subdued splendor of its morning beams. after partaking of a hearty breakfast, robert and the village constable matured their plans of operation. as a well-dressed city young gentleman might occasion some curiosity in the village, and as young edwards might take alarm at the unexpected appearance of a stranger in that retired locality, it was decided to make some change in robert's apparel. the constable therefore very kindly offered him a suit of his clothing, which as the two men were nearly of the same size, and the articles slightly worn, answered the purpose admirably, and in a few moments robert was transformed into a good-looking countryman, who was enjoying a short holiday after the labors of harvesting, which were now over. in company with mr. bascom, the constable, robert sauntered into the village. it was a beautiful morning; the air was delightfully fresh and cool, and the rays of the sun danced and glistened upon the dew-drops which sparkled upon every tree and flower. the feathered songsters filled the air with their sweet melodies, and nature with all its gladsome beauty was spread before him. such a feeling of rest and thorough enjoyment came over him, that it was with an effort, he was able to shake off the pleasures of the hour, and bring himself to the disagreeable business in hand. after a short walk they approached the general store of the little village, which was the lounging-place of all the farmers for miles around. when they arrived they found a motley gathering assembled to witness the great event of the day in this town, the departure of the stage-coach, and robert was speedily introduced as a relative of mr. bascom, who had came to mcdonald to spend a few days. the mail coach was an important institution in mcdonald, and was regarded as the great medium of communication between that place and the great world outside. every morning at precisely the same hour the coach departed, and every evening with the same regard for punctuality the old time-worn vehicle rolled up before the platform in front of the store, to the intense delight and admiration of the assembled crowd. for nearly forty years had this identical old coach performed this journey, and the same old driver had drawn the reins and cracked his whip over the flanks--i was about to say, of the same old horses. this, however, could not have been so, although the sleepy-looking, antiquated animals that were now attached to the lumbering old yellow coach, looked as if they might have done duty for fully that length of time. two young men were already seated in the stage, and their luggage was securely stowed away in the boot. the postmaster--the village storekeeper filled that responsible position--was busily engaged in making up the mail, and old jerry, the fat good-natured old driver, was laughing and joking with the by-standers, as he awaited the hour for departure. as robert stepped upon the platform he bestowed a hasty, though searching glance at the two men in the coach, and to his relief found that neither of them was the man he wanted, and he quietly stepped back and watched the proceedings that were going on around him. the postmaster appeared at last, mail-sack in hand, which he consigned to jerry's care, and that burly individual clambered up to his place as gracefully as his big body and exceedingly short legs would permit. seating himself upon his box, he gathered up his reins and shouted a good-natured farewell to the crowd. a quick and vigorous application of the whip awakened the dozing horses so suddenly that they started up with a spasmodic jerk which nearly threw the old fellow from his perch. by a desperate effort, however, he maintained his seat, but his broad-brimmed hat went flying from his bald head and rolled to the ground, scattering in its fall his snuff-box, spectacles and a monstrous red bandanna handkerchief. this little episode called forth a peal of laughter from the by-standers, in which the old man heartily joined. "stick to 'em, jerry!" cried one, "too much oats makes them animals frisky," while another hastened to pick up the several articles and restore them to their owner. jerry wiped the great drops of perspiration from his bald, shining pate, as he replied: "them hosses are a leetle too high fed, i'll admit, but i'll take some of the vinegar out of 'em afore night, or my name ain't jerry hobson." everything being now in readiness, he again spoke to his steeds, and this time without mishap, the lumbering old vehicle rattled away on its journey. the little crowd gradually dispersed and soon left robert and the constable alone with the store-keeper. "i didn't see old ben ratcliffe around this morning," said mr. bascom to john todd, the store-keeper. "no," answered that individual; "he was here last evening, and said if the weather was fine he was going with his nephew over to the lake, fishing." "that accounts for it, then," said the constable; "i don't think he has ever missed a day for ten years before." "no, i don't think he has; but that young mr. amos, who is stopping here with him, is very fond of fishing, and the old man promised to take him over to pine lake this morning, so 'uncle ben' missed the mail for once." after a short conversation with the store-keeper upon general matters, the two men took their leave. it seemed very evident that as yet there was no suspicion on the part of edwards, as to the discovery of his hiding-place, and here in fancied safety, surrounded by nature in all its beauty, with affectionate relatives, the young burglar was enjoying himself as heartily as though no cares were oppressing him, and no thought of detection ever troubled his mind. the uncle of young edwards, it was learned, was a general favorite about the country. a good-natured, honest old farmer, who had lived there from boyhood, and was known to all the farmers and their families for miles around. even in his old age, for he was long past sixty now, he cherished his old love for gunning and fishing, and held his own right manfully among those who were many years his junior. it was decided, as a matter of precaution, that they should call at the house of uncle ben, in order to ascertain whether he and his nephew had really gone fishing, and to that end the constable harnessed up his horses, and in a few minutes they were on their way to the old farm-house, which stood at the end of a long shady lane leading off from the main road. [illustration: the robbery of the geneva bank.] driving up to the gate, the constable alighted and approached the house, while robert remained seated in the buggy. in a few moments he returned, and stated that mrs. ratcliffe, the good farmer's wife, had informed him that her husband and nephew had gone off before daylight to a lake about five miles distant, and they would not return until late in the evening. it was deemed advisable not to attempt to follow them, as their appearance at the lake might give the young man alarm, and as they were not sure of any particular place to find them, they concluded to quietly await their return. they accordingly drove back to the village, and robert returned to the constable's house to dinner. in the afternoon the two operatives whom i had sent from chicago arrived, having been driven over by private conveyance. without publicly acknowledging them, robert gave them to understand that he would meet them at the house of the constable, and upon repairing thither they were duly informed of what had taken place, and instructed as to the plans proposed for that evening. nothing of any note transpired during the afternoon, and after sundown the party started out upon their errand. night soon came on, throwing its sable mantle over the earth, the sounds of the busy day were hushed, and all the world seemed wrapped in the tranquil stillness of a summer night. the stars, in countless numbers, were twinkling and sparkling in the blue heavens above, while the new moon, like a silver crescent, shed its soft light upon a scene of rare beauty and quiet loveliness. arriving within a short distance of the old farmer's house, the horses and buggy were secreted in a little grove of trees that skirted the main road, and the men stationed themselves in convenient hiding-places along the lane, to await the return of the farmer and his nephew. from the appearance of the farm-house, it was evident that the fishing-party had not yet returned, and they settled themselves down to a patient, silent waiting, which, as the hours wore on, grew painfully tedious and tiresome. at last, long past midnight, and after they had begun to despair of accomplishing the object of their visit, they heard a faint noise, as though footsteps were approaching. "hist!" cried robert, "some one is coming." they listened intently, and gradually the noises grew louder and more distinct. as they came nearer the constable distinctly recognized the voice of the old farmer, who was evidently relating some humorous story to his companion, who was laughing heartily. the merry tones of this young man's laugh were as clear and ringing as though he had not a care in the world, and had not committed a crime against the laws of the state. no one, to have heard that hearty, melodious burst of merriment, would have supposed for an instant that it came from the lips of a fugitive from justice. they were now nearly opposite to the crouching figures by the roadside. the old farmer had evidently reached the climax of his story, for both of them broke out again into a fresh burst of violent laughter that awoke the echoes round about them. the laugh suddenly died away, the merriment ceased abruptly, as a dark form emerged from the roadside, and the muzzle of a revolver was placed close to the cheek of the young man, while robert called out menacingly: "newton edwards, i want you!" with an exclamation of pain, the young man dropped his fishing-pole and the bucket of fish he was carrying, while a chill ran through his frame, and he shivered like an aspen in the grasp of the determined detective. the others had now come forward, and as soon as he could recover from his astonishment, the old farmer cried out: "what does this mean?" "it means," said robert coolly, "that we have arrested your nephew for burglary, and that he must go with us." [illustration: "newton edwards, i want you!"] the moon just then came peeping from behind a cloud, and fell upon the haggard face and wild eyes of the hapless prisoner, who until then had not uttered a word. "it is all a mistake, uncle ben," faltered he; "but there is no use of making a denial here; if the blow has fallen, i must meet it like a man." the old man, with tears in his honest old eyes, gazed for a moment at his miserable relative, and then, putting his sturdy old arms around him, he turned to the officers: "gentlemen, i suppose it is your duty. i have no fault to find. if the boy has done wrong, he must suffer; but bring him to the house now, and in the morning you can go your way." his offer was accepted, and directing the constable to return to his own home with his carriage, the others walked slowly up the lane toward the house. but few words were spoken during the night. the old farmer and his wife retired to their room, and during the few hours that remained, their voices could be heard as they sorrowfully discussed the painful situation. securing edwards' effects, which consisted of a small portmanteau, they learned from the honest old farmer, whose word was as true as gold, that nothing else belonging to the young man was in the house. all attempts to induce the young man to speak were unavailing, and they finally let him alone, and during the long hours he maintained a dogged silence. the detectives patiently awaited the dawning of the morn. at last the eastern sky was tinged with red, and the faint beams of a new day came streaming in through the windows of the old-farm house; and then edwards, after bidding a tearful adieu to his aged and stricken relatives, and accompanied by the officers, left the house and proceeded on his way to mcdonald, to commence his journey to chicago. chapter xi. newton edwards brought back to chicago--attempt to induce a confession--a visit to his relatives--the burglar broken down. it was in the gray dawn of the morning when the party arrived at the house of the constable, daniel bascom. here breakfast was prepared, and after full justice had been done to a bountiful repast, an examination of the effects of newton edwards was commenced. ever since his arrest the young man had maintained a rigid silence, not deigning to notice the detectives in any manner whatever. he partook of his breakfast in a dazed, dreamy fashion, scarcely eating anything, and pushing back his plate as though unable to force himself to partake of food. in his satchel was discovered a roll of bank-bills, which on being counted was found to contain a trifle over three thousand five hundred dollars. edwards gazed at this money with a greedy, frightened look, like a wild beast at bay, but did not utter a word, as robert placed it in a large envelope and secured it about his person. "will you be kind enough to inform me," said robert, when this was completed, "how you come to have so much money about you?" after a moment's hesitation, edwards replied, doggedly: "yes, sir, i will. it is the proceeds of the sale of some property that i owned in the west." "very well," replied robert, finding it useless, at present, to attempt to induce him to tell the truth. "you will have ample opportunity to satisfy a court and jury upon that point in a very short time." nothing farther was said to him until the time arrived for departing, and then the party, with their prisoner, walked into the village in order to take the stage for the railroad station at birmingham. before leaving mr. bascom's, however, robert handsomely remunerated the energetic constable for his valuable assistance, and after thanking him warmly for his active and cordial aid in our behalf, requested his company to the village. as they approached the store, where the stage-coach was in waiting, they found an unusual crowd awaiting their appearance. the news of the robbery and arrest had by some means become known, and the eager faces of nearly three score of curiosity-seekers greeted them upon their arrival. old jerry himself seemed to be impressed with an idea of additional importance, as though he was about to be called upon to perform a noble service of great responsibility to his country, in assisting to convey such a distinguished company in his old coach. the farmers gathered in little groups about the platform, and conversed in low tones, as they furtively regarded with sentiments almost approaching a respectful awe, the unwonted presence of the detectives and their charge. there was an utter absence of the boisterous hilarity which had been manifested on the preceding morning, and one might have thought that they had assembled for the purpose of officiating at a funeral, so thoroughly subdued and solemn did they all appear. the journey to the railway station was made in due time, and without accident, and the party were speeding on their way to chicago. robert forbore to press the young man any further, and let him severely alone during the entire day. during the night they all retired to their sleeping berths, edwards being securely handcuffed to one of my men, and occupying the same berth with him. in the morning, robert noticed a slight change in the demeanor of edwards, and thought he detected a disposition to converse. he did not encourage him, however, preferring by all means that the advances should be made by the young man himself. nor did he have long to wait. they procured their breakfast in the dining car, and after the meal was concluded, robert, without uttering a word, handed edwards a cigar, which he very gratefully accepted. after sitting quietly smoking for a few moments, he turned to robert and asked: "mr. pinkerton, how did you discover that i was in mcdonald?" "in the same manner in which we have discovered many other things in connection with this robbery," replied robert. "i may say, however, that the man we came for was william r. amos; do you know anything about such a person?" as robert spoke he gazed scrutinizingly at the face before him, and edwards winced perceptibly under his glance. "i can explain that all right," he at length replied, with considerable embarrassment. "i got into some trouble at home with a young lady, and thought it best to leave town for a short time." "edwards," said robert sternly, "falsehood and impudence will not help you in this case, and i wish to hear no more. i have only to say that we have evidence enough against you to insure a conviction, and your only hope lies in making your sentence as light as possible." "how so?" he asked. "by telling all you know about this matter. one of your accomplices, we have got dead to rights, and if you won't tell perhaps he will." "who have you got?" inquired edwards, anxiously. "that i cannot tell you now; our business is with you for the present. i want you to consider this matter carefully. you are a young man yet, and though you have thrown away golden opportunities in the past, you have yet an opportunity to reform your ways, and by assisting the officers of justice in recovering the money which you and your companions have stolen, and in arresting the rest of your associates, you may receive the clemency of the court, and perhaps benefit yourself materially." edwards was silent for a long time after this, and it was evident that he was seriously considering the matter. the words of the detective had made an impression upon him, but with the craftiness of an old offender, he was debating a plan by which he might turn his admissions into account for himself. at length he turned to robert and asked: "will i be able to escape if i tell what i know?" "i cannot promise that. but you are aware that the giving of information which leads to the capture of your associates and the recovery of the balance of this money, will work to your advantage very decidedly in the mind of the judge." "very well," said edwards, with a dogged sullenness, "your advice is very good, but i have no confession to make." "take your own course," said robert, carelessly. "my advice was for your own good, and as you don't seem willing to accept it, i have nothing more to say." although he had not accomplished very much as yet, robert was still hopeful of inducing edwards to unburden himself; but he resolved to attempt nothing further with him until they arrived in chicago, where he could be managed more successfully by those who were more fully conversant with the facts in the case. he well knew that we already possessed testimony amply sufficient to convict edwards of participating in the robbery, but what we most desired was to obtain information concerning his partners in the deed. however, he decided to allow him ample time for reflection and said no more to him upon the subject until they reached chicago, when he was at once conducted to the agency. a consultation was immediately held in order to devise the best means to be pursued to induce edwards to reveal who his partners really were. william at once resolved upon a plan which he was hopeful would lead to good and immediate results. calling a carriage, he directed the driver to take him to the residence of edwards' sister, mrs. andrews, on logan place. on arriving at the house, he found that lady and her daughter at home, and he was immediately ushered into the parlor by the pretty servant, mary crilly. without unnecessary preliminary, william informed the lady that we had succeeded in arresting edwards for the robbery of the geneva bank, and that he was now in custody. he also stated that from information which he had obtained, he was led to believe that his family were perfectly aware of his actions in this matter, if indeed they had not aided him in accomplishing it. at this point both mother and daughter burst into tears and sobbingly denied any knowledge of edwards' crime until after he had committed it, and then they could not act as his accusers. mrs. andrews finally urged him to visit edwards' brother, who resided on freeman street, and hinted that he could tell something about the matter, although she asserted he took no part in it, and knew nothing about it until it had been completed. taking it for granted that they had told him all they knew about the robbery, william next hurried to the place of business of edwards' brother, whom he was fortunate enough to find in his office, and disengaged. he at once stated who he was, and what he wanted to know. mr. edwards was at first disposed to deny all knowledge of the matter, but on william's informing him of his brother's arrest, and hinting that he had made a partial confession, he changed his mind and became quite communicative. the brother then stated that for years he had been troubled with newton's bad habits and extravagances, although he had never known him to commit a crime until the robbery of the bank at geneva. he remembered hearing his brother boast once when he was intoxicated, that he could get plenty of money without work; but as newton gambled a great deal, he imagined that he had alluded to that means of obtaining his money. "well," said william abruptly, "i want to know what you know about this robbery." "i will tell you all i know," answered mr. edwards. "some three or four weeks before i heard of this robbery, newton was at my house, and was intoxicated. he boasted in his maudlin way that he had an opportunity to rob a bank, and that the cashier was a party to the affair; but i attributed all this to the wild utterances of a drunken man, and paid no further attention to it. on the saturday night before the robbery took place, however, he came to my house during my absence, and had a companion with him, for whom he made a bed upon my parlor floor. in the morning they went away, and i have not seen him since. my wife informed me afterward that newton, who was drunk at the time, had told her that the man with him was the one that was to help him to rob the bank, and that she had then ordered both of them out of the house. i did not at any time know where the bank was located, nor did i ever seriously entertain the idea of his attempting anything of the kind; but when i heard of the robbery of the geneva bank, i at once suspected my brother, and although humiliated deeply at the thought, i could not take any step that would tend to bring disgrace and ruin upon my own family." without entering into the question of family honor, william inquired: "do you know the man who was with him at your house, and who was to assist in this robbery?" "no," answered mr. edwards. "i never heard his name, and all that i ever knew of him was that he came from denver, colorado." "can you describe him?" asked william. "yes, i think i can," said mr. edwards, and he then gave a description of the man, which agreed perfectly with that of edwards' companion on the day of the robbery. having now obtained all the information that was possible to be gained from this source, william returned to the agency, and entered the room where edwards was confined. he found the young man sitting with his face buried in his hands and evidently in sore distress. "mr. edwards," said william in his quick, imperious manner, "i have just had an interview with your brother and sister, who have told me all they know about this matter. you will readily see what little hope there is left for you if you persist in keeping from us the information which we desire. whether you confess or not will make but little difference to us now, as sooner or later your associates will be caught, and your refusal to help us will only make it the harder for you. if you don't confess, eugene pearson will." as william uttered this last sentence edwards started to his feet, and exclaimed: "my god, you know more than i thought! i will tell what i know." at last we had succeeded in breaking him down, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in william's eyes as he requested the presence of mr. warner and my son robert, while the story was being told. chapter xii. the confession of newton edwards--the foul plot fully explained--eugene pearson's guilt clearly proven--a story of temptation and crime. the confession of newton edwards revealed a history of undiscovered crime that had been carried on for years. beginning at first in wild and extravagant conduct, which consumed the liberal salary which he received, and then led to the incurring of debts which became pressing and impossible of payment by legitimate means; then followed a thirst for gambling, in which large returns were promised for small investments, and failing in this, came the temptation to crime and his consequent ruin. how certain it is, that once the downward step is taken, the rest follows swiftly and inevitably, and ruin and disgrace tread swiftly and surely upon the heels of folly and crime. newton edwards began life under the brightest aspects. of respectable parentage, he had enjoyed the benefits of a liberal education, and his first essay in business had been both fortunate and profitable. beloved by his family, and admired by a numerous circle of friends, he deliberately gave himself up to a life of excess and dissipation, and the end was soon to be a dark and gloomy prison. i will, however, leave him to tell his own story, and the moral of it is so plain that he who runs may read. we were all seated around the fallen young man awaiting his recital, and after a few moments of hesitation and embarrassment he began: "i will tell you all there is to relate, and in order that you may fully understand my present situation, i will commence with the first temptations, which finally led to the commission of this crime." "yes," said william, encouragingly, "tell us all." "the robbery of the geneva bank was planned more than six months ago," continued edwards, "but its real origin dates back more than a year. at that time i was traveling for a large house in the city, and was receiving a liberal salary. i had a large trade, and my employers were very generous with me. i cannot tell you how i drifted into habits of dissipation, but it was not very long before i found it a very easy matter to dispose of my salary almost as soon as received, and was forced to borrow money of my friends to enable me to maintain myself at all. from that i was tempted to gamble, and being fortunate at the outset, i soon found, as i imagined, an easy way to make money without serious labor; but i speedily discovered that my first success was doomed to be of short life, and i began to lose more money than i had ever won. it was after one of my losing experiences at the gaming-table, and when i was hard pressed for money to meet my immediate wants, that i visited geneva, for the purpose of selling goods to some of my customers in that place. at that time i made the acquaintance of a young man by the name of horace johnson, who was a practicing dentist of that town. like myself, he was a wild and reckless fellow, given to dissipation and drink, and who, like myself, had been able to conceal the fact from his family and their friends. johnson's prevailing vice was an uncontrollable passion for gambling, and he had been addicted to this practice for a long time. i afterward understood that he had acquired this habit while attending a dental college in st. louis, where he had become quite an expert in the handling of cards, and was well posted in the tricks so frequently resorted to by gamblers to fleece their unsuspecting victims. when he returned from college and established his business in his native town, he became the leader of a set of fast young men, and his office was the nightly resort of his associates, where they played and gambled frequently, until the morning hours drove them to their homes. "as i have said, i met johnson at this time, and on my succeeding visit i was introduced by him to eugene pearson, the assistant cashier of the bank. that evening we spent together at johnson's office in drinking and card-playing. johnson stated that there was an excellent opportunity to make money offered, if we were disposed to accept it. i asked him what it was, and he stated that there were quite a number of well-to-do merchants in the town who were in the habit of meeting in a room which they had furnished for the purpose, and where they played cards for small amounts and for amusement. "johnson stated that we could readily make their acquaintance, and once introduced into their games, it would be an easy matter to induce them to play heavily, and then, from his knowledge of gamblers' tricks, we could win their money in spite of them. we all agreed to this, although pearson declined to become an active player, because of his position in the bank. "on the next visit i made to geneva, i remained over sunday, and being taken to the club, we managed to win several hundred dollars before morning. this continued for some time, and always with the same success, and as a consequence i became more reckless in my expenditure of money than ever before, because i knew of a sure plan to replenish my pockets, when they were empty. shortly after this, i received a letter from johnson requesting me to come to geneva as soon as possible, as he and pearson had devised another scheme to raise money and wanted my assistance. being hard pressed at that time, i responded as soon as i could, and in a few days found myself in geneva, where i was heartily welcomed by both johnson and pearson. after supper we met in johnson's office as usual, and then the plan was made known to me. at first i was startled by the daring proposition, which was nothing more or less than to rob pearson's bank by means of forged checks. the checks, which had been already prepared by pearson, were exhibited to me, and i was surprised at the cleverness of the forgery. it looked easy and safe, and i consented. the person selected as the victim was a rich farmer by the name of henery sharpless, whose accounts were only settled about twice a year, and consequently detection was not likely to follow very soon. after carefully comparing the forged checks with an old one that was genuine, i no longer hesitated and signified my readiness to try the experiment. "on the following day, therefore, i went to johnson's office, and there put on a hickory shirt, a pair of coarse boots and pantaloons, and in a few minutes i was transformed into a veritable countryman. johnson colored my face and hands with some preparation which made me appear like a tanned and sunburnt farmer, and thus equipped, i started for the bank. i was provided with two checks for three hundred dollars each, one of which was to be presented to the geneva bank, when, if i experienced no trouble, i was to present the other at the union national bank, where also mr. sharpless kept an account. i had no difficulty whatever in obtaining the money, and after dividing it among the other two, i left town on the first train. i received two hundred dollars for my share, and the forgeries were not discovered until a long time had elapsed, and when it was almost impossible to obtain any information concerning them. to this day i don't believe that any of the officers of the two banks have the slightest idea as to how the thing was done. soon after this forgery, johnson left geneva and located at st. louis, where he still resides. emboldened by the success of this first venture, eugene pearson, who was really the master-spirit in these later efforts, boldly proposed to rob the bank in which he was engaged, but this was something too audacious to be considered for a moment. at length, by dint of repeated suggestions, johnson and myself began to give some consideration to the matter, and upon pearson's assuring us of the perfect ease with which the robbery might be accomplished, we at last began to discuss various plans by which the bank might be robbed. several ideas and propositions were discussed, but either through fear or some other consideration, they all fell through. "at last we decided upon the plan which was finally carried out. johnson and myself were to come to geneva disguised as much as possible, and after the business of the day was over, and the other officers had gone home, pearson was to give us the signal that the coast was clear. we were then to enter the bank, the doors of which would be left open, and after securing the young lady and pearson, we were to rob the vault and place them within it. in order that they might not suffer from their confinement, pearson was to start the screws in the lock, so that there would be no difficulty in opening the vault, after giving us time to make good our escape. it was understood that there was about twenty thousand dollars in the vault, in gold, silver and notes, and pearson was to take his share out in advance and hide it, so that no danger should be incurred in the attempt to divide it afterward. as the time approached for carrying this plan into effect, johnson began to show signs of weakening, and finally declined to have anything to do with it, although he promised to make no disclosures regarding our movements, and to keep our secret inviolate. after johnson's backing out we did not know what to do, and were just about abandoning the whole thing, when i came across an old traveling friend of mine in chicago, who had been on a protracted spree, and who was without money and friends, in a strange city, and who came to me to borrow enough to get him home to denver. the idea at once occurred to me to induce him to join us and in this i was successful, for he was in a desperate state, and anything that promised to furnish him with money would have been greedily accepted at that time. even after this, however, i don't believe that either of us would have had the courage to carry out the scheme, if we had not continued our drinking, and i don't believe i was sober a single moment until after we had accomplished our object and the robbery was committed. how it was done, you all know, and it is not necessary for me to detail the particulars of an event which will overcast my whole life." as he ceased speaking, edwards buried his face in his hands, and wept aloud. "who was this man whom you procured to help you?" inquired william. edwards hesitated for some time, as though he was loth to divulge the name of his companion, but finally he said: "his name is thomas duncan, and he was in the clothing business, in denver, colorado." "now tell us how much money you took from the bank, and how it was divided?" asked mr. warner. "there is something about that that i cannot understand," replied edwards. "from what pearson told me, there must have been more than twenty thousand dollars in the vault, twelve thousand of which was in gold. the agreement was that duncan, pearson and myself were to have six thousand dollars apiece, and the balance was to be paid to johnson for his silence. pearson took his share out on the saturday before the robbery, and when duncan and i came to divide the money, we found that we were five thousand dollars short. there is only one solution i have to give for this, and that is that pearson did not act fair with us, and took five thousand dollars in gold more than he was to have done." "where did you and duncan separate after the robbery?" asked william. "at clinton, iowa," was the reply. "duncan went on toward des moines, while i made my way east, where i remained until you found me." upon being questioned further, edwards stated that when he met duncan, he had a room in the lower part of the city, with a very respectable lady, who rented furnished apartments, and that when he left the city, having no money, he left his trunk and baggage in his room until he could settle for his rent. this was all that could be gained from edwards at this time, and it must be confessed was most important. pearson's guilt was fully proven, and we had a strong clew as to the identity of the third man in the robbery. it is true that he had more than a month the start of us, but we did not despair of finding him at last. in the meantime, much was to be speedily done. edwards must be conveyed to geneva at once, johnson must be arrested at st. louis, and we must pay our respects to eugene pearson as soon as possible. we must also start immediately upon the track of thomas duncan, and endeavor to trace him to his hiding-place. everything was therefore made ready for the departure of edwards, who was consigned to the care of two trusty operatives until evening, when they would take him to geneva; and william forwarded a telegraphic message to mr. silby, at geneva, to this effect: "watch that package." chapter xiii. edwards taken to geneva--the arrest of eugene pearson--his confession--more money recovered--dr. johnson arrested. as may be imagined, our detective labors were now but fairly commenced. we had, it is true, succeeded in capturing one of the active participants in the robbery, and in securing nearly four thousand dollars of the money that had been taken. we had also obtained information which would enable us to arrest two more of the parties who were connected with the affair, and perhaps secure an additional sum of money. the information which edwards had given, however, was of vast importance to us, and enabled us to pursue our further search with a more intelligent knowledge of the parties interested, and with a more reasonable hope of eventual success. our suspicions regarding eugene pearson had been fully sustained, and while it was a source of regret to us that we would thus prove beyond question the deep guilt of a trusted and respected employé of the bank, and would be compelled to shatter the false foundations of an honorable name, our duty in the premises was clear. indeed, i have no hesitation in asserting that of all the parties connected with this burglary i had far less regard or sympathy with this deceitful and base-minded young scamp than for any of the others. if edwards' story was reliable, eugene pearson was the arch conspirator of the entire affair, and no possible excuse could be offered for his dastardly conduct. his position in the bank was a lucrative one, and his standing in society of the highest. his family connections were of the most honorable character, while the affection of his employers for him, would certainly have appealed to his sense of honor, if he possessed any, so strongly that guilt ought to have been impossible. for eugene pearson there was no consideration of regard in my mind. he had deliberately, and without the slightest cause, violated the most sacred pledges of affection and duty, and had proven recreant to trusts, the very nature of which should have prevented a thought of wrong-doing. he was not dissipated. he did not drink to excess, and his part in the gambling operations of his friends had always resulted profitably to himself. he was a regular attendant at church, conducted himself in the face of all men as one incapable of wrong, and against whom no taint of suspicion could possibly attach. a veritable "wolf in sheep's clothing" was this dishonest man, and as such i felt that he richly deserved the fate that was so soon to overtake him. the day of his hypocrisy and dishonesty was soon to set, to be followed by a long night of ignominy and disgrace which is the inevitable result of such a course of crime as he had been guilty of. i cannot find words to express the detestation in which i regarded this smooth-faced liar and thief, who had outraged all the finer attributes of manhood, and, like the ungrateful dog, had bitten the hand that fed him. before taking edwards to geneva, it was necessary to make some investigations with regard to thomas duncan, who as yet had completely eluded our search, and whose correct identity had until this time, been entirely unknown to us. william resolved, therefore, to improve the time remaining until evening, in making an investigation of the premises previously occupied by duncan while he was in the city. having obtained the exact location of this house, william and robert repaired thither at once. they found it, as represented, a quiet, respectable house, and located in a neighborhood of unexceptionable reputation. upon being admitted, they requested to see the lady of the house, who was a quiet, modest-looking widow lady of about fifty years of age. william introduced his brother as a mr. staunton, lately of boston, who was desirous of obtaining a pleasant room in that locality, and who could furnish undoubted references as to respectability and promptness. they were shown several unoccupied rooms, and finally entered the one which had probably been occupied by edwards' companion in the robbery, for here were two trunks packed and strapped, and apparently ready to be taken away. "this room," said the lady, as the two gentlemen noticed the trunks, "has been occupied by a gentleman who has left the city. these are his trunks, and he has ordered them to be sent to him." william had already approached near enough to notice that the lettering upon the trunks was "t. j. duncan, des moines, iowa," and he was convinced that thus far edwards' revelations had been correct. "i once knew a man by that name," remarked william, carelessly. "he traveled in the west for a clothing firm in philadelphia." "oh!" said the lady, "this gentleman, i think, was in the same business, and perhaps he may be the one you knew?" "i would not be at all surprised," replied william. "where is mr. duncan now, do you know?" "no," answered the lady, "nothing further than that he has ordered his baggage sent to des moines, iowa." finding that thus far edwards had spoken truthfully, and that no further information could be elicited from this source, robert promised to call again, and the two men withdrew. at the next corner they found two operatives, who had been directed to await their appearance, and william, after describing duncan's trunks to them, ordered them to keep a sharp lookout for their removal, and to endeavor to follow them to their destination. this done, they returned to the agency and completed their arrangements for taking edwards to geneva that evening. operative everman, who had returned from woodford, was directed to proceed at once to st. louis, and effect the arrest of dr. johnson, the dentist, on a charge of forgery, and to convey him to geneva as soon as possible. it may be stated in passing, that until the confession of edwards was made, i had no knowledge whatever of the forged checks which he mentioned, and the bank had made no efforts to discover the perpetrators of that fraud, which had now so unexpectedly been brought to light. we had been very careful to keep the fact of edwards' arrest a profound secret, and as yet, the officers of the bank and the peaceful community at geneva were in entire ignorance of what had taken place. william had telegraphed to mr. silby, stating that he would be in geneva that night, and requesting him to meet him at the train. about midnight, therefore, when they arrived with their charge, there was no excitement or bustle about the place, and even the wakeful and observant railroad men were unsuspicious of the arrival of one of the robbers. a carriage was procured and the party were rapidly driven to the city hall, where, to the surprise of the officials, edwards was placed in confinement, charged with being a participant in the robbery of the geneva bank. fearing that the information would leak out before morning, and that eugene pearson would take fright and endeavor to dispose of his share of the proceeds, it was deemed advisable to go at once to his residence and arrest him. this was done as speedily and quietly as possible, and before the young man was aware of the danger he was in, he was our prisoner. i will not attempt to depict the grief and anger of the family of this unfortunate young man when the object of our visit was made known; but their resentment of our action was just what might have been expected from people who believed implicitly in the innocence of their child, and regarded any attempt to deprive him of his liberty as an unpardonable outrage. as respectfully, but as firmly as possible william stated his determination to arrest the young man, and informed them that every opportunity would be afforded him to defend himself, and to remove the stain upon his character when the proper time arrived. eugene pearson, the culprit, was the least disturbed of the party. his coolness was imperturbable. he flatly denied all knowledge of the robbery, and in the strongest terms, assured his weeping and grief-stricken relatives of his innocence. the arrest, however, was quietly accomplished, and pearson was soon confined beneath the same roof which sheltered his associate in crime, newton edwards. early the next morning the town was alive with people and the greatest excitement prevailed. the news of eugene pearson's arrest had spread far and wide, and a universal sentiment of indignation pervaded the whole community. angry men gathered at the corners of the street, and threats of vengeance against the officers of my agency were loudly uttered. a lawless outrage had been committed by us, and the righteous indignation of an injured community refused to be appeased. the hotel where my men were stopping was besieged by the angry citizens, and our actions were denounced in the most belligerent manner. eugene pearson, in their opinion, was above suspicion; he was their ideal of a moral young man, his father was respected everywhere, and the base and unwarranted invasion of their home by my officers was an indignity which they were resolved they would not allow to pass unpunished. as the morning advanced the excitement increased, and several of the boldest of the angry citizens approached william, and in no complimentary terms expressed their contempt, not only for him individually, but for the methods which had been used to ferret out and apprehend men who were innocent of any wrong. under ordinary circumstances william would have resented these insults, and that too in a manner that would have convinced them that he was fully able to defend himself; but realizing the importance of coolness and discretion at this critical juncture, he preserved his good humor, and securing their attention for a few moments, he requested them not to be too hasty in their actions. if eugene pearson was innocent, he stated, no serious harm had been done the young man; and if he was guilty, as he could prove in a short time, they would deeply regret the course they were now threatening to pursue. [illustration: william requested them not to be too hasty in their actions.] in the meantime he had not been idle in his attempts upon the stoical firmness of eugene pearson himself, and at length the young burglar was broken completely down; he confessed his guilt, and promised to conduct the officers to the spot where he had hidden his share of the booty. in company therefore with two of the officers, he repaired to the barn in the rear of his father's house, and buried in the ground in the yard, they found a sack of coin amounting to the sum of six thousand dollars. [illustration: here they found a sack of coin amounting to the sum of six thousand dollars.] so far, so good. we had now captured two of the robbers, and had secured nearly one-half of the stolen money of the bank. it is needless to say that immediately following the confession of eugene pearson and the finding of the money he had stolen, the opinions of the previously enraged citizens underwent a decided change. if william had desired any evidence of the overwhelming triumph which he had achieved, the deportment of these disappointed men toward him would have fully satisfied him. no longer regarded as a ruthless invader of the privacy of honest homes, and guilty of outraging the finer feelings of humanity, he was everywhere received with the utmost respect and deference, and many apologies were offered for their inconsiderate conduct of a few hours before. and yet it must be recorded, that with this indisputable evidence of eugene pearson's guilty participation in the robbery, there yet remained many, who, unable to refute the damning proofs against him, were filled with a sympathetic sentiment of regard for their fallen idol, and their prevailing feelings were those of sorrow and regret. the majority of them, however, came up by scores, frankly acknowledged their mistake, and freely apologized for their actions, which under the circumstances, were shown to be so hasty and ill-timed. in a day or two after this, dr. johnson made his appearance, under the escort of william everman; and the delectable trio were placed in separate cells to prevent any collusion between them prior to their examination. johnson's arrest had been very easy of accomplishment. he was entirely unaware of what had transpired with the other two, and having had no active participation in the robbery, had imagined himself perfectly secure and had taken no means of escape. everman, on his arrival at st. louis, had, in accordance with my instructions, obtained the assistance of the chief of police of that city, who very cheerfully and cordially volunteered all the aid in his power. two men were therefore detailed to accompany everman in searching for dr. johnson, and it was nearly midnight before they succeeded in ascertaining definitely where he lived. shortly after that hour, however, the detectives ascended the stoop of the doctor's residence and requested to see him. he appeared in a few minutes, and as he stood in the doorway, everman quickly placed his hand upon his shoulder, and informed him that he was wanted at police headquarters. the doctor turned pale at this announcement, and requested an explanation of such an unusual proceeding; but everman informed him that all explanations would be made in due time, and at the proper place. trembling in every joint, the discomfited doctor obeyed, and in a few minutes was conveyed to the office of the chief, where he was closely examined, but refused to divulge anything in connection with the robbery of the geneva bank, and asserted boldly his entire innocence of the charge. despite his pleadings for delay he was brought to geneva upon the next train, and in a short time three of the guilty parties were safely in custody. [illustration: everman quietly placed his hand upon the young man's shoulder, and informed him that he was wanted at police headquarters.] our work had thus far been prompt and successful. we had captured the leaders of this gang, and had recovered nearly half of the stolen money. much more, however, remained to be accomplished, and we determined that our efforts should not be relinquished until duncan, the remaining member of this burglarious band, had been secured, and some clew to the remainder of the money had been obtained. chapter xiv. proceedings at geneva--speculations as to the missing five thousand dollars--john manning starts in search of thomas duncan. the days which followed the arrest of the three young bank robbers were eventful ones in the history of geneva. the three youthful offenders, now downcast and humiliated, were afforded a speedy hearing, and when the facts already adduced by us had been received, they were remanded to jail for trial at the next term of court. it is needless to say that the good citizens of the little town were shocked beyond expression at the unexpected results of our investigation. both pearson and johnson had grown to manhood in their midst, and until this time no taint of suspicion had ever been urged against them. no thought of wrong-doing had ever attached to them, and no shadow had dimmed the luster of their fair fame. now all was changed, and the irreproachable reputations of days gone by were shattered. debased and self-convicted, they stood before the bar of justice, to answer for their crimes. instead of being the objects of admiration, they were now receiving the well-merited scorn of those who had been their friends and neighbors. scarcely past their majorities, and just stepping over the threshold of life, the future bright with promises and fruitful of golden experiences, they had recklessly thrown all to the winds, and now stood before their former friends with the brand of the felon upon their brows. no sadder spectacle could have been presented, and certainly none more full of warning to the careless youths who thronged the court-room, than the presence of the aged parents of these young men on the day of the hearing. their cup of bitterness and sorrow was indeed full, and as they raised their tear-stained eyes to their children, there was not one present whose heart did not throb in sympathy for their misfortunes. more especially was this the case with the mother of eugene pearson. he was her idol; and until the very moment of his arrest, she had never known him to be guilty of aught that would bring the blush of shame to his cheek. now, however, the awful revelation came, and the boy on whom she had lavished all the wealth of her true heart's affection was proven, before all the world, to be the blackest of ingrates, and a designing hypocrite and thief. mr. silby, too, was much affected by the discovery of pearson's guilt. his affection and regard were so sincere and trustful, that, had he been his own son, he could not have been more painfully disappointed at discovering his cupidity. another interview had been obtained with edwards at geneva, and he gave us some further particulars about the course which he and duncan had taken after having robbed the bank. shortly after leaving the city of geneva, they made their way to the railroad, along the track of which they journeyed for some distance. the day was exceedingly warm, and the valise in which they were carrying the stolen money became very heavy and burdensome. finding it impossible to proceed any further with such a heavy load, they decided to take out all of the money but a few sacks of silver, amounting altogether to about three hundred dollars. this they did, concealing the money about their persons, and then hiding the valise in a corn field which skirted the railroad track. being furnished with a description of the locality, william proceeded, in company with the officers of the bank, to the place designated, and after a short search, succeeded in finding the satchel which they had discarded. upon opening it, they found, as edwards had said, three small canvas sacks containing about three hundred dollars in silver coin. no trace, however, was discovered of the sack supposed to contain the five thousand dollars whose disappearance was still a mystery. pearson indignantly denied having taken more than six thousand dollars as his share, and this had been found in the yard of his father's house. edwards was equally positive that he had not seen this sack, and yet the fact remained that there were five thousand dollars in gold coin which could not, as yet, be accounted for. numerous theories were now advanced to account for this mysterious disappearance. one was that some outside party had found the valise, and finding the gold, had left the silver in order to make it appear that the satchel had not been disturbed. this was discarded at once, as the position and condition of the valise when found was such that it could not have been tampered with, or even opened. this was a surprising thing to contemplate, for the ground for miles around had been thoroughly searched by hundreds of people, and it was evident that no one had discovered the hiding-place of this valise. another theory was that it was improbable that the two robbers would overlook a sack containing that large amount of money. its very weight would have betrayed its presence, and added nearly nineteen pounds to the burden which they carried, and therefore there were still some grounds for entertaining a belief that pearson had taken more than his share of the booty. to this belief i was not inclined to give much weight, as i felt convinced that pearson had made a full confession of what had taken place, and had made honest restitution of the money he had taken. under all the circumstances, therefore, i was inclined to think that edwards and his companion had taken the gold, and that the capture of the remaining robber would unravel the seeming mystery. i was further convinced of this by another incident which transpired in this connection. after the valise had been found and returned to the bank, edwards was taken into the building. the silver coin which had been recovered was placed within the satchel, and handed to him. after taking it in his hand, he immediately exclaimed: "why, that isn't nearly as heavy as it was when we left the bank!" mr. silby then brought out a sack containing five thousand dollars in gold, and placed it in the satchel. again edwards lifted it, and this time he at once said: "that is more like it!" this experience strengthened me in the belief of eugene pearson's innocence, and that edwards and his companion had either lost the gold in some manner, or had disposed of it in some other way. acting upon this theory, the ground in the vicinity of the spot where the valise was found was thoroughly searched by both the bank officials and my operatives. all in vain, however; no trace was obtained of the missing sack of gold, and the matter of its loss was as much a mystery as ever. after the preliminary hearing had been held, the prisoners were removed to the county town, some miles distant, where they were placed in confinement, awaiting the day of trial, which would not take place for some time to come. while these events were transpiring, we had by no means been idle. our primary success in arresting the three men thus far secured, had been most gratifying to the officers of the bank as well as to ourselves. of course i was anxious to continue the search for the missing robber, but no one possessed a better knowledge than myself of the expense and delay that would be contingent upon such an undertaking. i therefore, as was my duty, fully informed the officers of the bank of the difficulty to be encountered if our investigation was continued. more than thirty days had elapsed since the robbery had been committed, the news of the burglary had been spread far and wide, and the information of the capture of the three robbers would be equally disseminated. this would probably place the fugitive upon his guard, and we could not pretend to fix a limit to the time that would be necessary to effect his capture. all these facts were fully explained to the bank officials, and with the assurance that we would achieve success if it were possible to do so, the matter was left to their decision. they were not long, however, in coming to a determination, and without hesitation, i was directed to prosecute the search according to my own judgment, in which, they assured me, they placed the utmost reliance. thus supported, we made immediate arrangements for a protracted and unceasing search for the fleeing burglar, and before the hearing had taken place in geneva, operative john manning had been despatched to clinton, iowa, at which point it was designed to commence operations. the two operatives who had been detailed to look after the trunks of thomas duncan, in chicago, had also reported the result of their espionage. after waiting for more than two hours, they noticed that an express wagon was driven up before the door, after which the trunks were brought out, placed in the wagon, and rapidly driven away. the operatives followed as rapidly as they were able to do, and ascertained that they were taken to the railroad station for shipment to des moines. as has already been detailed, edwards and duncan parted company at clinton, iowa, duncan proceeding west, while edwards had come direct to chicago, from which point he had made his way eastward to the little village in new york, where he remained in fancied security until he was so unexpectedly taken into custody. clinton, iowa, was therefore the place from which to trace the flight of the bank robber, and john manning was dispatched to that place, with full authority to exercise his own judgment about his future course of action. chapter xv. on the track of the fleeing burglar--duncan's home--some reflections. within a few hours after receiving his orders, john manning, satchel in hand, stepped from the train at clinton, and proceeded to a hotel. it was nearly nightfall when he arrived, and after hastily partaking of his evening meal, he started out to make some inquiries about the man he was in search of. having by some means gained a knowledge of thomas duncan's associates in clinton, he had no difficulty in finding them, and dropping into a saloon which they frequented, he quietly introduced his name in a casual conversation with the proprietor. "do you know tod?" asked that gentleman, with some surprise. "oh yes, very well," replied manning. "i spent several days with him in chicago, about a month ago, and had quite a pleasant time." "oh, i remember; he stopped here after that, on his way to his home in des moines. you must have had quite a time, for tod looked very much broken up." "well, he was on quite a spree, i believe--and so he went to des moines, did he?" "yes, he started for that point; but i believe he intended stopping some time in ames, where he has a good many friends." "did he say what he intended doing there, or whether he was going on out to denver?" asked manning. "no, i think he said he was going with a fishing-party from there and would be gone several weeks." after stating that he was about to travel in that direction himself, and learning the names of several of duncan's friends in ames, manning left the saloon, and returned to his hotel. ascertaining that he could leave on a train that night, he hastened to the depot and was soon speeding on his way. he arrived at ames in due season, and here he was fortunate enough to find a friend of duncan's, who informed him that instead of remaining in that city he had only lingered there one day, when he left on a freight train for des moines, stating that he was to meet a friend in the latter city and could not wait for the regular passenger train. manning without delay then started for des moines, and upon arriving there, telegraphed the result of his investigation thus far. in reply he was informed that duncan's baggage had been sent to des moines, and directed to inquire at the office of the american express whether it had been received or delivered. immediately on the receipt of these instructions manning repaired to the express office, and there to his intense delight, he discovered duncan's trunks among the unclaimed baggage. making himself known to the express superintendent, who was friendly to our interests, he remained around the office until late in the evening, when as the office was about to be closed, and feeling confident that the trunks would not be called for that night, he repaired to his hotel and sought his much-needed repose. the following morning he was up betimes, and deferring his visit to duncan's friends until he had seen the trunks removed, he made his way again to the express office and took up his position as a watcher. shortly before noon, a wagon was driven up before the door, and a man presented himself and demanded the trunks in which the detective was so much interested. the wagon bore the name of a grocer, john miller, and was evidently used in delivering the wares dispensed by the merchant whose name was painted upon its sides. after the trunks had been transferred to the wagon, the driver mounted to the seat and slowly drove away. manning followed on behind them, and after a short journey, the driver drew up before a handsome residence, surrounded by a beautiful lawn, adorned with numerous beds of bright blooming flowers. the building was a two-story one, with a wide porch extending around three sides, and was evidently the abode of a gentleman in fortunate circumstances. the trunks were removed from the wagon, and carried into the hall, after which the driver returned and drove away. after waiting for some time in view of the house, he saw the trunks taken in, and placed in a front room in the second story. having now traced thomas duncan's trunks to their destination, and feeling the need of additional assistance, manning repaired to the office of the chief of police and requested an interview with that functionary. upon being conducted into the private office of the chief, manning at once introduced himself, and stated the cause of his appearance in the city. he met with a most cordial reception, and the chief, without hesitation, promised him all the assistance in his power. he had heard of the robbery at the time of its occurrence, and had also read of the capture of the three men, who were suspected of being implicated in that affair. upon being informed that thomas duncan was connected with the burglary, the chief evinced considerable surprise, for he was well acquainted with the young man, and had been for several years, in fact, almost since his boyhood. from the chief, manning learned that duncan's parents had lived in the city for a long time, and that "tod" was rather a wild, careless fellow, who was frequently found in bad company. for a long time the young man and his father had been estranged, owing to the son's persistent course of folly and dissipation. long and patiently had the old gentleman borne with his son, and had repeatedly opened his purse to liquidate debts which tod had contracted; but finally, finding it useless to attempt to induce him to change his mode of life, he had forbidden him the house, and had not received him since. it was barely possible that duncan might be found in the city, but the chief was inclined to a different belief. in any event, however, it would be useless to seek for him beneath his father's roof. manning described the house at which the trunks were left, and was informed that it was occupied by a man named john miller, a grocer, and an intimate friend of duncan's. duncan always made mr. miller's house his home during his visits to des moines, and if any one was acquainted with his movements, this john miller ought to be the man. instead, however, of calling upon mr. miller at once, manning proposed to shadow the house during the day, in order to see if any one answering duncan's description should enter or leave the place. this was deemed particularly advisable, as if mr. miller was approached at once, his suspicions might be excited, and if duncan was in the city the alarm could be given, and he could readily make his escape before we could reach him. no one at all resembling thomas duncan, however, made his appearance during that day, and in the evening manning repaired to the chief's office, as that gentleman had promised to accompany him on his visit to the friendly grocer. john miller and mr. wallace, the chief of police, were warm friends, and he felt confident that miller would not tell him an untruth; but it was deemed best to introduce manning as a friend of duncan's, from chicago, who wanted to see him upon a matter of business. of course, it had not yet reached the public ear that thomas duncan was suspected of complicity in the robbery, as we had kept that fact entirely secret, fearing that a divulgence of edwards' confession would seriously interfere with our search for the missing burglar, and perhaps prevent us from ever apprehending him. the two men therefore repaired to the store of the grocer, and were fortunate enough to find him at home. he greeted the chief warmly, and acknowledged the introduction of manning with good-natured heartiness and sincerity. inviting them into his private office, mr. miller requested to know the nature of their call, and mr. wallace at once explained to him what had already been agreed upon. manning further explained that when he left duncan, that gentleman informed him that he intended coming to des moines, and would probably stop with mr. miller. "has he been here recently?" asked mr. wallace. "well, i'll tell you," replied mr. miller. "more than three weeks ago he was here. it was about midnight, and i had retired to bed. suddenly i was awakened by a loud ringing at my door-bell. hastily dressing myself, i went down, and there, to my surprise, stood tod duncan. he was so disguised, however, that i did not recognize him until he addressed me and told me who he was. he was attired in a suit of coarse brown ducking, heavy boots, and a slouch hat; around his neck he wore a large red handkerchief, and he looked more like a german tramp than like my old friend. i felt at once that something was wrong, or that he was in some trouble; so i asked him in, and we went to my room. my family were away at the time, and there was no one in the house but myself, and as he looked tired and hungry, i produced what eatables i had in the house, and he made a hearty meal. after he had finished, he turned to me, and laughingly said: "'the devil himself wouldn't know me in this rig, would he?' "i told him i thought not, and then asked him what was the cause of his strange disguise and his unexpected appearance in des moines. he told me that he had got into some trouble about a game of poker in leadville, and that he had shot and perhaps killed a notorious gambler in that city. he wished me to help him, as he was hiding from the officers who were after him, until the affair blew over. he seemed particularly anxious that i should help him to get away. upon asking him how the affair happened he related the following incident to me. it happened that he was playing a game of poker in leadville, with a notorious and unscrupulous gambler, and that at one time when there was a large amount of money on the table, this gambler deliberately displayed four aces, when duncan held an ace which had been dealt to him in the first hand. upon accusing the gambler of attempting to cheat him, that worthy drew a pistol and attempted to intimidate him. he was too quick for his opponent, however, and quick as a flash, he had fired upon him, and the man fell. hastily gathering up the money that was upon the table, duncan succeeded in making good his escape from the house, amid a scene of confusion and uproar impossible to describe. he showed me," continued mr. miller, "a considerable sum of money, in proof of his assertion, and of course i have no reason to doubt his word. he further informed me that his trunks were in chicago and that he was desirous of obtaining them. i provided him with pen and paper, and he wrote a letter which purported to be written in st. louis and addressed to myself, stating that he was in that city, without a dollar, and requesting me to send for his trunks at chicago, promising to repay me at an early day. i did not understand this proceeding, particularly as after writing this letter, he gave me twenty dollars, to pay for having his trunks sent to des moines, and requested me to allow them to remain in my house until he should send for them. that this letter was intended to mislead some one, i have no doubt; but i was at a loss to understand how it could succeed in its purpose if i retained possession of it. at his request then i inclosed his letter to me to the landlady at chicago, and i know nothing further about it except that duncan's trunks arrived to-day and are now in my house, awaiting his disposition." "how long did duncan remain in town at that time?" asked manning. "i think he left the next day," replied mr. miller. "he left my house on the following morning at any rate, and i learned afterward that he went away with an old friend of his, who is a brakeman on one of the roads here, on the same day that he left my house." "do you know who the man was that he went away with?" now asked mr. wallace. "yes; his name is bob king, and if i am not mistaken, king obtained a leave of absence from the railroad company for a few days in order to go with duncan. they hired a horse and carriage and started off in the direction of grand junction. king was absent several days, and then returned with the team, stating that duncan had gone west. i thought this very strange, as, if he had ran away from leadville, it would certainly be very unwise for him to return. however, i heard no more about him, but i have seen bob king frequently. he comes in several times a week, and you can most likely find him about some of the boarding-houses around the union depot." this was all that could be gained from mr. miller, and after receiving that gentleman's promise to inform mr. wallace, in case he should hear anything of duncan, the two men took their leave of the accommodating and loquacious grocer. leaving the chief at his office, manning resolved to pay a visit to the residence of duncan's parents. not, however, to make himself known or to institute any inquiries; but to quietly watch from the outside whatever was transpiring within. he found the house to be a large frame dwelling, with extensive grounds surrounding it; everything evinced the utmost refinement and good taste, and it was evidently the abode of respectability and wealth. the lights were gleaming through the windows of a room upon the lower floor, and manning quietly opened the gate, and screened himself behind some tall bushes that were growing upon the lawn. here he was effectually hidden, both from the inmates of the house, and the passers-by upon the street. the scene that greeted his vision was so peaceful and homelike, that manning was convinced that duncan's family were entirely ignorant of his movements or his crime. the father, a hale old gentleman with a smiling face, was reading aloud to the assembled members of his family, his wife and two daughters, who were busily engaged in some species of fancy work, so popular with ladies at the present time, and their evident enjoyment of the narrative was unmixed with any thought of wrong-doing or danger to one of their family. "how strange are the workings of circumstances," thought the detective. "here is a happy home, a family surrounded by wealth, refinement and luxury, peaceful and contented, while a beloved member of it is now an outcast from the world, a fugitive from justice, hiding from the officers of the law, and vainly seeking to elude the grasp that sooner or later will be laid upon his shoulder." silently maintaining his watch until the family retired, the detective slowly made his way to his hotel, and as he tossed upon his pillow, his dreams were peopled alternately with happy home-scenes of domestic comfort and content, and a weary, travel-stained criminal, hungry and foot-sore, who was lurking in the darkness, endeavoring to escape from the consequences of his crime. chapter xvi. bob king meets with a surprise--his story of duncan's flight--the detective starts westward. the most important object now to be accomplished was to secure an interview with bob king, the brakeman, who had accompanied duncan when he left des moines. manning was convinced that king was fully aware by this time of the crime which duncan had committed, and perhaps for a share of the proceeds, had assisted him in his flight from justice. early on the following morning, therefore, he left the hotel, and started off in the direction of the depot, resolved to make a tour of the numerous boarding-houses before calling upon the chief of police. he had already obtained an accurate description of the man he was in search of, and had no doubt of recognizing him, should he be fortunate enough to meet him. passing quietly along, he came to the large switch-yards, and here he was almost deafened by the rumble and noise of the trains, and the screeching and puffing of the engines. here manning paused awhile in the hope of seeing his man among the number of brakemen engaged about the yard; but finding no one that answered his description, he approached a party of men standing near, and inquired: "can you tell me where i will find bob king?" "bob is not working to-day, and you will probably find him at the union house, yonder," was the reply, as the man stretched his dirty finger in the direction indicated. thanking the man, he passed through the yard to the street upon the opposite side. here he found a long row of houses of various descriptions, but all of them apparently occupied as eating-saloons, boarding-houses and hotels. on the corner of the street, and directly opposite from where the detective stood, was a low, dingy-looking frame building, with the name of union house painted across the front. "here we are," said manning to himself, "and we will soon ascertain if mr. king is about." so saying he crossed the street and entered the office or waiting-room of the hostelry. an old settee, a half-dozen or more well-whittled wooden arm-chairs, a rusty stove set in a square box filled with saw-dust, were about all the movable furniture which the room contained. in the corner, however, was a short counter behind which, arranged on long rows of hooks, were suspended a number of hats, caps and coats of a decidedly miscellaneous character. an ancient-looking register, filled with blots and hieroglyphics, lay upon the counter, and as the room was empty, manning walked toward the open volume and examined the names inscribed thereon. under the date of the preceding evening, he found the name he was looking for, and a cabalistic sign on the margin designated that he had lodged there the night before and indicated that he might still be in the house. while he was thus standing, a frowsy-headed young man, whose face was still shining from the severe friction of a coarse roller-towel, which hung behind the door, entered the room, and saluting the detective familiarly, proceeded to comb his hair before a cracked mirror that hung behind the desk. after he had hastily finished this operation, he turned again to manning, who had been smilingly observing his movements. "have you had breakfast, sir? last table just ready." "thank you," replied manning, "i have already had my breakfast. i am looking for a man who is stopping here, by the name of king." "what's his first name--bob?" "yes, that's his name. he is a brakeman on the road." "oh, yes, bob's here. he's eating his breakfast now. just sit down, he'll be here directly." after waiting a few minutes, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, of rather good-natured and intelligent appearance, entered the room, and taking a cap from one of the hooks upon the wall, placed it upon his head. it did not require the rather officious indication of the young clerk to induce the detective to recognize the new-comer as the man whom he was most desirous of seeing; his appearance tallied precisely with the description of him which he had previously obtained. stepping quietly up to the young man, the detective said, carelessly: "your name is bob king, i believe?" somewhat confused by the abrupt salutation, the young fellow replied, rather awkwardly: "yes, that's my name; but you've got the brakes on me, for i don't remember that i ever saw you before." "perhaps not," answered manning, "but i want to have a little private conversation with you for a few minutes. can we go somewhere where we will not be interrupted?" "why, yes," responded the other, still evidently ill at ease, "come in here." and turning about, he led the way through a door across the hall, and entered a small and plainly furnished sitting-room. "wait," said manning, as if suddenly conceiving an idea. "the morning is pleasant, and i have a good cigar here; suppose we take a short walk together. we can talk as we stroll along." "all right," said king, as he took the proffered cigar, and lighting it, they went out of the hotel into the street. mr. robert king eyed the detective furtively ever and anon, and seemed to be impatient for him to begin the conversation, and inform him what it was all about. there was, however, such a perfect air of ease and unconcern about manning, that the young brakeman felt impelled to accompany him whether he would or not. manning led the way in the direction of the office of the chief of police, and after they had fairly started, he turned to his companion, and good-naturedly said: "mr. king, i suppose you are quite anxious to know who i am, and what is the nature of my business with you?" "well, yes," answered king, smilingly, for the _sang froid_ of manning had quite won his heart. "i would like to know both of those things." "well," said the detective, "my name is john manning, and i am a native of chicago. i am an intimate friend of 'tod' duncan's, and want to know where to find him." "you will have to ask somebody that can tell you, then," answered king, who had now fully recovered his composure, "for i don't know anything about him." "why," ejaculated manning, as though quite surprised at the information, "i thought that you and tod went off on a hunting or fishing party a few weeks ago, and that you came home, leaving tod to continue his journey alone." "that's a mistake," said king, "and whoever informed you to that effect was as much mistaken as you are." mr. king was evidently trying the good-natured game of bluff, and manning noticed with some satisfaction that they were now approaching very near to the office of mr. wallace. "see here," said he, suddenly turning on his companion. "mr. king, this won't do. duncan is wanted for the geneva bank robbery. he was here three weeks ago, and you were with him. you got him out of town, and if you are not disposed to be communicative, i have simply got to place you under arrest." the change in king's manner was very complete. he was utterly surprised and nonplused, and before he could answer a word manning placed his hand on his shoulder and said, peremptorily: "come in here, mr. king; perhaps mr. wallace can loosen your tongue." [illustration: "come in here, mr. king; perhaps mr. wallace can loosen your tongue."] they were now directly in front of the office of the chief, and king knew that any attempt at resistance would be futile, and decidedly unwise, so he deemed it best to submit at once. "don't be too hard on a fellow," said he at last. "i have a good position and i can't afford to lose it. if you will give me a chance, i will tell you all i know." "very well, come right in here," said manning, "and if you tell me the truth, i promise you no harm will come to you." in a few minutes they were closeted with the chief, who knew king very well, and who added his assurances to those of manning, that if he would unburden himself fully, no danger need be apprehended. "i want to say first," said king, at last convinced that it would be better to make a clean breast of the whole matter, "that what i did, was done in good faith, and i only thought i was helping a friend who had got into trouble through acting in self-defense." "very well," said manning, "we will admit all that, but tell us what you know." "well," answered king, after a pause in which to collect himself, "it was about three weeks ago, that duncan came to the city, and knowing where i stopped, he came to see me. i happened to be in from my run when he called, and he wanted to know if i could get a leave of absence for a week, as he wanted to go on a fishing trip and would pay all the expenses. i went to the master of transportation and found no difficulty in obtaining my leave, and then i saw tod and told him i was at his service. we then procured a team, guns, fishing-tackle and provisions, not forgetting a good supply of smoking and drinking articles, and the next day started off in the direction of grand junction. before we started, duncan told me about getting into a scrape over a game of cards at leadville, and that he had shot two gamblers and was keeping out of the way until the excitement over the affair had died out." "duncan has raised one man, i see," laughed manning. "when i heard this story first, he had only killed one gambler in his fight over the cards." "well, i am telling you what duncan told me," answered king. "that's all right," said manning quietly, "but suppose you go ahead and tell us what he told you about robbing the geneva bank." the cool assurance of the detective, and the easy assumption with which he stated his conclusions, so disconcerted king, that he was speechless for a few moments. recovering himself quickly, however, he answered doggedly: "well, i intended to tell you the whole story, and i was simply telling it in my own way." "go on, mr. king," said manning, "all i want is the truth, but the card story won't do." "i guess it won't do me any good to tell you anything else but the truth," rejoined king. "well, tod told me about this shooting business before we started, and of course i believed it. i noticed, though, before we were away from the city very long, that there was something else on his mind, that made him very uneasy, and gave him a great deal of trouble. he was moody and silent for hours, and it was only when he drank a great deal that he was at all lively, or seemed like his old natural self. finally, on the morning of the third day, i put the question fairly to him, and he then told me what he had done. he said he and two others had robbed a bank, and that he was making his way westward. he was resolved not to be captured, and said that no two men should take him alive. he then told me that he wanted me to take the team back to des moines, and that he would take the train at grand junction, and try to make his way to manitoba. we parted company at the junction, where tod took the train for sioux city. he paid all the expenses of the trip and offered to give me some of the money, but i refused to accept any, and told him what i had done was done simply for friendship." "how much money did duncan have at that time?" asked manning. "he had nearly four thousand dollars, i should judge," answered king. "did he say who assisted him in this robbery?" "yes; he told me that a man by the name of edwards was one, and that the assistant cashier of the bank was the prime mover in the whole affair. he also said that the cashier had not played fair, but had taken out twelve thousand dollars in gold instead of six thousand. he was very bitter against this man, and said he believed that he would give them all away to save his own neck, if it came to the pinch." after some further conversation, which convinced manning that king was telling the truth and that he was entirely ignorant of duncan's hiding-place, the young brakeman was allowed to go his way, with the understanding that they were to meet again in the evening. manning now hastened to the telegraph office, and a cipher message, containing in brief all he had thus far learned, was soon upon its way to me. my reply was to the effect that he should again see king, and inquire if duncan had mentioned anything about the valise which they had carried away from geneva. then to endeavor to obtain a photograph of duncan, and finally thereafter to lose no time in starting out for sioux city. i was considerably exercised about this missing package of gold. i could not believe that pearson had taken it, although both edwards and duncan appeared to be positive of it. the young cashier now seemed to be too utterly crushed down and humiliated to permit me to believe that he had lied still further, and that he was still keeping back a portion of the plunder he had secured. still, however much i was desirous of discarding such a belief, i was resolved to leave no stone unturned in order to explain the mystery. i felt positive that some explanation would yet be made that would account for this package, and in a manner that would not connect eugene pearson with its disappearance. up to this time, however, we were as far from the truth in this connection as when we commenced, and i could do no more than await the arrest of duncan, before the matter could be definitely settled. i came to this conclusion on the assumption that all the parties thus far had told the truth, and it seemed to me that one or the other of them must certainly be mistaken in their original impressions. this theory, however, yet remained. edwards and duncan might have obtained the money, and being still under the influence of the liquor they had drank, and excited over what had transpired, had thrown away the valise, and at that time it might still have contained the gold. in accordance with my instructions, manning remained in des moines two days succeeding this, but was unable to learn from king that duncan had mentioned the valise in any manner whatever. in his attempt to obtain a photograph of duncan, however, he was more successful, and with the assistance of capt. wallace, he was fortunate enough to be placed in possession of a very excellent picture of young duncan, which had but recently been taken. this accession to his stock of knowledge was destined to play an important part in his continued search after the fugitive burglar. finding that nothing more could be learned in des moines, and receiving assurances from the friendly chief that any information would be forwarded to him at once, manning departed from the home of the youthful law-breaker and started for sioux city. chapter xvii. manning strikes the trail--an accommodating tailor--temporary disappointment and final success--the detective reaches minneapolis. august, with its hot, sweltering days, when the very skies seemed to be a canopy of lurid, quivering heat; and when every breeze seemed freighted with a depressing warmth that almost rendered labor impossible, had passed away, and we were now in the enjoyment of the clear, cool days of september. the skies were bluer, the air was purer, and the beautiful, golden autumn was welcomed with a grateful sense of pleasure and relief. nearly a month had now elapsed since the robbery of the geneva bank, and, although we had accomplished much, our work was not yet completed. thomas duncan was still at liberty, and our task was yet unfinished. i have already, as briefly as i could, related the various events which had transpired since the robbery, and detailed the efforts which we had thus far made toward accomplishing the capture of the perpetrators of this crime. of thomas duncan, however, i had learned comparatively little, and of his movements still less; and yet, at times, i found myself indulging in feelings of sympathy for the young man, who had so recklessly and inconsiderately thrown away the best chances of his life. of a careless disposition and inclined to folly, i was convinced that until this time he had never stooped to commit a crime. this was his first flagrant violation of the law, and when i thought of him a hunted fugitive, seeking to hide himself from the vigilant eyes of the officers of the law, and of the quiet, peaceful and happy home of his parents, i could not repress a feeling of regret and sorrow for the wayward youth in this, the hour of his humiliation and trial. far different from eugene pearson, who had no cares and no temptations to commit crimes, and who had practiced a scheme of vile deception and ingratitude for years, thomas duncan had been found in a moment of weakness and desperation, and under the influence of wily tempters, had yielded himself up to their blandishments, and had done that which had made him a felon. as to eugene pearson, the trusted, honored and respected official of the bank, who had deliberately planned and assisted in this robbery of his best friends, i had no words of palliation for his offenses; but for "tod" duncan, the weak and tempted victim of designing men and adverse circumstances, i experienced a sense of sympathy which i could not easily shake off. where was he now? perhaps hiding in the forests of the far west, amid the barbaric scenes of savage life; perhaps giving himself up to a reckless life of dissipation, seeking in the delirium of intoxication a forgetfulness of the deed he had committed, and of the consequences which must befall him. how many long, weary nights since he fled from geneva, with his ill-gotten booty, had he, even in the midst of a bacchanalian revel, started suddenly, as if in fear of the officer he so much dreaded, and then with a boastful laugh drank deeper to drown the agonies that oppressed him? perhaps, on the other hand, the first step taken, the rest had come easy and without effort, and he had already become hardened and reckless. whatever might be the case, we were as yet uninformed, and operative john manning arrived in sioux city with no definite clew to the missing man. seeking, as before, the assistance of the police authorities, manning proposed to make a tour of the so-called houses of pleasure, which infest all cities, deeming it most likely that he would obtain some traces of duncan by that means. this proved successful in a comparative degree, for in one of these places manning found a gay young cyprian, who recognized duncan's picture immediately. a bottle of very inferior wine at an exorbitant price was ordered, and under its influence the girl informed the detective that duncan had come there alone one evening about two weeks prior to this time, and that she had accompanied him upon a drive. they had become quite familiar during their short acquaintance, and duncan drank a great deal. on the following morning he had left the house, and stated that he was going to leave the city that day. further than this, the girl could not say, and manning must needs be content with even that trifling amount of encouragement for the present. manning had also been provided with a facsimile of duncan's handwriting and signature, and he carefully examined the registers of the several hotels, in order to discover whether he had stopped at any of them under his own or any fictitious name which resembled in any manner the one he bore, but without any success whatever. on returning to the hotel, he occupied himself debating as to the best movement to make next. he was surprised on arriving there to find a telegram from capt. wallace awaiting him. on removing the inclosure he found a message informing him that duncan had an acquaintance in sioux city whose name was griswold, and who was engaged in the tailoring business at that place. aided by this important piece of intelligence, the detective was not long in finding the establishment presided over by mr. griswold. that gentleman was located in the business section of the city, and his neatly arranged store was well stocked with goods of excellent quality and apparently of recent style. on entering the shop, mr. griswold was found perched on a table in the rear, his legs crossed, and with nimble fingers was engaged in the manufacture of some of the articles of his trade. he was a small, sharp-featured man, about forty, with a shrewd though not unpleasant face, and as he came briskly forward to greet a prospective customer, his countenance was wreathed in a smile that was almost irresistible. "can i do anything for you this morning?" was the polite salutation of the little tailor. "yes," replied the detective. "i want to look at some goods that will make a good suit of clothes." "certainly," replied the knight of the shears. "i have some excellent styles here, and i am sure i can give you your full satisfaction." "i have no doubt of that," said manning pleasantly. "i have been recommended here by my friend tod duncan, and he speaks very highly of you." the face of the little tailor was again wreathed in smiles, as he delightedly inquired: "do you mean duncan, the traveling man from des moines?" "yes," replied manning, "that's the man; i am a traveling man myself, but in a different line, and i expected to meet him in this city, but i was disappointed. i guess he must have got ahead of me." "let me see," said mr. griswold, with his needle-pricked finger pressed against his nose. "he was here about two weeks ago, i guess." "do you know which way he was going?" "i think he said he was going to st. paul. i made a suit of clothes for him in a great hurry, as he was very anxious to get away." "what kind of a suit did he get?" asked manning, now anxious to learn the clothing of the man, in order that he might the more accurately describe him. "it was from this piece," said mr. griswold, throwing on the table a roll of dark green cassimere. "that is one of the latest importations, and as fine a piece of goods as i have in the house." "i like that myself," said the detective. "would you object to giving me a small piece of it as a sample? i want to show it to a friend of mine at the hotel, who has pretty good taste in such matters." "of course not," replied mr. griswold, as he clipped off a piece of the cloth, little dreaming of the use to which the detective would put it. declining to make a selection until he had sought the advice of an imaginary friend, and stating that he would probably call again in the evening, manning took his leave of the little tailor. the detective then repaired to the railroad ticket office, where he had a friend of long standing, from whom he hoped to derive some material information. at the railroad station he found his friend on duty, and after the usual friendly salutations, he requested a few moments' private conversation. being admitted to an inner office, manning at once displayed the photograph of duncan, and asked: "harry, have you seen that face about here, say within about two weeks?" taking the picture, and regarding it intently for a moment, he said: "why, yes--that's duncan from des moines. i know him very well. he has been here often." "well, has he been here within two weeks?" "yes, he was here about two weeks ago on a spree, and he bought a ticket for st. paul." "are you quite sure about that?" "perfectly sure," answered the ticket agent. "i remember it distinctly, and what impressed it the more forcibly upon my mind is the fact that he wanted to know if i could give him a ticket on the northern pacific road from here, and i told him he would have to go to st. paul for that." "did he mention any particular point on the railroad that he wanted a ticket for?" asked manning. "no, i think not. he simply said he was making for dakota." ascertaining that a train would leave for st. paul in an hour, the detective purchased a ticket for that city, and thanking the agent for his information, he returned to the hotel to make arrangements for continuing his journey. before leaving, however, he telegraphed me his destination, and what he had been able to learn. from this information it was evident that duncan was endeavoring to reach the far west, and there seek a refuge among some of the numerous mining camps which abound in that section of the country, hoping by that means to successfully elude pursuit, should any be made for him. it was plainly evident to me that he was entirely unaware of being followed, and, in fact, of anything that had taken place since the robbery, and that he was simply following his own blind inclinations to hide himself as effectually as he could. the first task performed by manning after reaching st. paul, was to examine all the hotel registers, in the hope of discovering some traces of an entry resembling the peculiar handwriting of duncan. he also took the precaution to quietly display the photograph of the young man to all the clerks of the various hostelries, trusting that some one would recognize him as one who had been their guest on some previous occasion. in this, too, he was disappointed. among the many to whom he displayed duncan's picture, not one of them had any recollection of such an individual. feeling somewhat disheartened at this non-success, manning next sought the chief of police, and enlisted his services in our behalf. that evening, in company with an officer, he made a tour among the houses of ill repute, and here, too, disappointment awaited him. not one among the number whom he approached had any knowledge of the man, and therefore could give him no information. tired and puzzled and vexed, he at length was compelled to return to the hotel, and seek his much-needed repose. his experience in st. paul had thus far been far from satisfactory, and yet the thought of abandoning his investigations in that city never occurred to him. he had too frequently been compelled to battle with unpromising circumstances in the past, to allow a temporary discomfiture to dishearten him now. he felt that he was upon the right track, that duncan had certainly come from sioux city to st. paul, but whether he had remained here any length of time, or had pushed on without stopping, was the question that bothered him immensely. resolving, therefore, to renew his efforts in the morning, he soon fell asleep. on the morrow, when he descended to the office of the hotel, preparatory to partaking of his morning repast, he noticed with some little surprise that a new face was behind the counter. surmising that this might be the night clerk, yet unrelieved from his duties, and that duncan might have arrived during the time he officiated, manning approached him, and propounded the usual question. when he brought forth the photograph, to his intense delight, the clerk recognized it at once. turning to the register and hastily running over the leaves, he pointed to a name inscribed thereon. "that's the man," said he confidently. manning looked at the name indicated, and found scrawled in a very uncertain hand: "_john tracy, denver, col._" "he came in on a night train," continued the clerk. "he only remained to breakfast and went away shortly afterward." "have you any idea which way he went?" inquired manning. "no, i cannot tell you that. he left the hotel shortly after breakfast in a hack. he did not return after that, but sent the hackman here to pay his bill and to obtain his valise. he acted very strange while he was here, and i felt somewhat suspicious of him." "can you tell me the name of this hackman?" now asked manning. "i think his name is davids," answered the clerk, "but i will ask the baggage-man about him; he can, no doubt, tell me who he is." the baggage-man was summoned and he distinctly remembered the occurrence, and that the driver's name was billy davids, who was well-known throughout the city, particularly among the sporting fraternity. thanking both of these men for the information which they had given him, the detective, forgetting all about his breakfast, hastened to the office of the chief of police, and acquainting him with what he had heard, expressed his desire to see this hackman at once. the chief, who knew the man, at once volunteered to accompany him, and they left the office together in search of the important cab-driver. it being yet quite early in the morning, they went directly to the stable, and here they found billy davids in the act of harnessing his horses and preparing for his day's work. "good morning, billy," said the chief, good-naturedly. "you are making an early start, i see; are you busy?" "no, sir," answered mr. davids; "i can take you gentlemen wherever you want to go." "not to-day, billy; but i have a friend here who wants to talk to you, and you may find it to your interest to tell him what he wishes to know." manning stepped forward and stated, in as few words as possible, what he desired, and at length displayed the inevitable photograph. davids recognized it at once, as a "party" who had engaged him to take himself and a woman from the hotel, to a resort some distance from the city, known as the "half-way house." he performed this duty, and later in the day, after waiting several hours, the man had given him ten dollars and sent him back to the hotel to pay his bill and to obtain his valise. after performing this service, he returned to the half-way house, and waited there until dark, when duncan came out alone, and was driven to the northern pacific depot. arriving here, he paid the hackman quite liberally and dismissed him, saying that he was going to leave town on the next train westward. "have you any idea where he was going?" asked manning. "i think he went to minneapolis, for he asked me if that road would take him there, and i saw him get aboard the train for that city;" answered the driver. this was all that davids could tell; and after remunerating him for his trouble, manning left him to finish his preparations for the day. here was the very information he wanted, and he had struck the trail again. anxious to pursue his journey, manning invited the chief to breakfast with him; after which, finding he could leave in a very short time, he bade the courteous and valuable officer good-by, and was soon on his way to minneapolis, there to commence again the trail of the fleeing burglar. chapter xviii. the detective at bismarck--further traces of the fugitive--a protracted orgie--a jewish friend of the burglar in trouble. on arriving in minneapolis, manning was able to discover without serious difficulty that duncan, after remaining in that city two days, had purchased a ticket over the northern pacific railroad for bismarck, a thriving town in dakota. this information he had been able to gain by a resort to his old method of visiting the houses of ill-fame, and then carelessly exposing duncan's photograph to the various inmates, in such a manner as to excite no suspicion of his real errand. his experience thus far had been that duncan, either to evade pursuit, to gratify bestial passion, or to endeavor by such excitements to drive away the haunting fear that oppressed him, had invariably sought the companionship of the harlot and the profligate. being possessed of plenty of money, it may be imagined that he experienced no difficulty in finding associates willing to minister to his appetites, and to assist him in forgetting the dangers that threatened him, by dissipation and debauchery. all along his path were strewn these evidences of reckless abandonment, which, while they temporarily enabled him to drown the remembrances of his crime, yet, at the same time, they served most powerfully to point out to his pursuer the road he was traveling. it appeared, therefore, that my first theories were correct, and that thomas duncan was making his way to the far western country, where, beyond the easy and expeditious mode of communication by railroad and telegraph, he would be safe from pursuit. he was evidently seeking to reach the mining district, where, among men as reckless as himself, he hoped to evade the officers of law. manning lost no time in following up the clew he had obtained in minneapolis, and so, purchasing a ticket for bismarck, he was soon thundering on his way to the missouri river. at brainerd, at fargo in minnesota, and at jamestown in dakota, during the time when the train had stopped for some necessary purpose, he had made inquiries, and at each place was rewarded by gleaning some information, however fragmentary, of the fugitive. he was therefore assured that he was upon the trail, and that unless something unforeseen occurred, he would sooner or later overtake the object of his pursuit. on the following day manning arrived at bismarck, a thrifty and growing little town on the banks of the muddy missouri. as the train left the more thickly populated country and emerged into the region of this as yet comparatively undeveloped west, the detective was surprised to witness the rapid advancements that had been made within a few years. the spirit of american energy and enterprise was reaching out into this vast region, and already the influences of modern civilization and thrift were manifesting themselves. no longer a trackless waste, abandoned to the roaming bands of indians and the wild beasts of the forest, and plain, the western continent was fast yielding to the plowshare of the husbandman, and to the powerful agencies of education and improvement. bismarck itself was a wonderfully active town, and during the season of navigation a large commercial business was transacted with the various towns upon the river, both above and below it. before the advent of the northern pacific railroad, bismarck had an existence, but simply as a sleepy river station, with its periodical bursts of life and animation during the months when the river was navigable and when trade along its waters was possible. when winter came, however, with its chilling blasts, and the river was frozen, trade almost ceased entirely, and bismarck remained in sluggish inactivity until spring with its refreshing showers and balmy breezes awakened it to new life and being. now, however, all was changed. the railroad with its facilities, had opened the way to emigration; the pioneers had penetrated the solitudes, and bismarck had grown with that wonderful rapidity so characteristic of the western town. the advent of the iron horse had opened up new and hitherto undreamed of possibilities. real estate, which had previously no fixed value whatever, was now in demand at almost fabulous prices. stores and dwellings sprang into being, hotels and churches were built, school houses and even banking institutions flourished with a vigor that seemed almost miraculous. sauntering about the town on the morning after his arrival, manning was surprised at the activity and bustle, the thrift and energy which greeted him on every hand. his past experiences had taught him many things which he found of use to him in making his inquiries in bismarck, and it was not long before he succeeded in learning definite particulars of duncan's stay in this place. from reliable sources he ascertained that the young man had arrived in the town about two weeks prior to this, and had remained several days, enjoying himself in much the same manner that had marked his residence in the other cities along his route, except that in bismarck he had exposed himself to a greater extent than at any other place. it seemed that as he got further west, his fears of pursuit and detection grew less, and he became more bold and open in his actions. here he had not attempted concealment at all, except as to his name, which he gave as tom moore, of chicago; his carousals were publicly known, and the lavish expenditure of his stolen money was commented upon by many. in a conversation with the proprietor of the hotel at which duncan had stopped, the detective learned that his stay in the city had been marked by the most reckless dissipation and extravagance. so careless did he appear in the display of his money, of which he appeared to have a large amount, that the proprietor had taken it upon himself to warn him against the danger to which such a course would expose him. the town was infested with a gang of roughs and thieves, and he feared that if once they became aware of duncan's wealth, his life would be of comparatively little value. several of these characters had been seen about the hotel, and the landlord had remonstrated seriously with duncan about his folly. to this duncan had impudently replied that he could take care of himself, and needed no advice. finding it of no use, therefore, to advise him, the landlord desisted in his efforts, and left him to follow his own inclinations. manning also learned from his host that duncan had associated quite intimately while in the city, with a jew clothing merchant, who was a resident here, and who seemed to be an old acquaintance. the name of this man was jacob gross, and ascertaining where his place of business was located, manning determined to give him a call. when he entered the store of mr. gross, that gentleman was engaged in waiting upon a customer. he was a perfect type of the israelite--sharp-featured, with prominent nose, keen, glittering eyes and curly black hair. if any doubt of his race remained, the manner in which he conducted his bargain with his unsuspecting customer would have convinced any one of the presence of the veritable jew. manning watched, with amused interest, the tact with which the hebrew clothier endeavored to convince his customer that a coat, much too large for him, was "yust a fit and no mistake," and that the price which he asked was not half as much as the garment was worth. after the customer had departed, the clothier advanced, bowing and smiling, toward the detective, as if anticipating another sale as profitable as the last one. manning informed him in a few words that he was looking for duncan, and was a friend of his, who was desirous of gaining some information of his present whereabouts, as unless he saw him, duncan might be getting into more trouble. it appeared that duncan had told the same gambling story to mr. gross, who seemed to be dreadfully shocked at the affair. "py gracious," said he excitedly, "i hafe knowed dot boy ven i sold cloding in des moines, more as fife years ago, and so help me moses i did nefer belief he vud do such a ting loike dot." after further conversation, he learned that duncan had spent a great deal of his time at this store, and when he left, had stated that he intended to go on to miles city, and perhaps to butte city, montana. it appeared that duncan had an uncle who was engaged in the clothing business at butte city, and that it was possible he might eventually get there. "if you find him," said mr. gross, after he had given the above information, "you musn't told him where you heard this, because he told me, i should say nothing about him to anybody." "all right," replied manning, "if i find him, it won't make much difference to him who told me about him." as he uttered these words a peculiar look came into the shrewd face of the jew, a look which was partly of quick suspicion and of fear, and he eyed the imperturbable detective for a few moments as though seriously in doubt about the whole affair. manning, however, had nothing further to say, and bidding the clothier a pleasant farewell he left the store. on returning to the hotel, he found that he had several hours to wait, as no train would leave bismarck until evening, and he therefore employed his time in writing up his reports and mailing them to me. after partaking of an early tea, he returned to the railroad station, where he discovered that he had yet some time to wait before the arrival of the train, which was belated. as he was standing on the rude platform, musing over the events which had taken place in his journey thus far, and speculating as to the probable result of his chase after an individual who had seemed, phantom-like, to have eluded his grasp at every point. he knew full well the desperation of the man he was following, and the threat that "no two men should take him alive," was, he realized, no idle one. he had no doubt that unless he could circumvent him in some way, his capture might be no easy task, and that in this undeveloped country he was taking his life in his hands in the journey he was now making. he never faltered for an instant, however; he was determined to capture this criminal, if possible, and he quietly murmured to himself: "well, let the worst come, a quick eye and a steady hand are good things to have in a meeting like this may be, and i'll take care that thomas duncan does not catch me napping." his meditations were suddenly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of the little jewish tailor, who, breathless and panting, now came scrambling up on the platform and exclaimed: "py gracious, mr. manning! i vas afraid you vas gone, and i hafe somedings on my mindt dot bodders me like de dickens!" [illustration: "py cracious, mr. manning, i hafe somedings on my mindt dot bodders me loike de dickens!"] "what is it that troubles you, mr. gross?" inquired the detective, laughing in spite of himself at the little fellow's distress. "vell, i'll told you," he answered, mopping the perspiration which was streaming from his face. "i was tinkin' dot may be if you git dot fellow, you vould be vantin' me for a vitness, and s'help me moses i vould not do dot--not for dwo hundred tollar." "oh, you need not give yourself any uneasiness on that score, mr. gross," said manning; "you will not be wanted in any case whatever." "my gootness, i vas glad of dot. if i vas to leaf my bisness i vould be ruined. dot's all right, dough. let's go und take a glass of peer." at this juncture, the shrill whistle of the approaching train was heard, and this fact enabled the detective to decline the proffered beverage. after a hearty hand-shake from the nervous little clothier, manning sprang upon the train and in a few moments later he was on his way to miles city. chapter xix. from bismarck to bozeman--the trail growing warmer--duncan buys a pony--a long stage ride. the distance from bismarck to miles city is about three hundred miles, and as manning left the former place early in the evening, he secured a couch in the comfortable sleeping car, and shortly afterward retired to rest. it seemed almost incredible the giant strides which had been made in a few years in the process of civilization in our western country. but yesterday the ground which our operative was now traveling in comfort, was overrun by the indian and the wild beasts of the forest, and to-day along his entire route were rising up substantial towns and villages, bringing in their wake the enlightening influences of education and morality. the railroad, that mighty agent of civilization, is rapidly forging a chain of communication between the two great oceans, and travel in the western wilds, formerly fraught with hardships and dangers unspeakable, is now performed with rapidity, comfort and safety. in the morning the train stopped at little missouri, where the passengers were refreshed with breakfast, then on again past sentinel butte, they left the boundaries of dakota and entered the great territory of montana. on again like the rush of the wind, until about five o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived at miles city, where the train was to remain nearly two hours, before continuing their journey. miles city was another striking illustration of the wonderful growth of american towns. less than a year ago, a barren waste marked the spot where now was growing a thriving city. the railroad, as in other localities, had played an important part in awakening this uninhabited region to life and activity. the trackless, boundless prairie had been reclaimed, and was now a flourishing city, full of bustle and vigor. making his way to a neat and comfortable hotel, which bore the rather euphonious title of st. cloud, manning partook of a substantial meal and then set about his investigations. he soon found news of the object of his inquiries. from the proprietor of the st. cloud, he learned that duncan had remained here two days, and upon the register he saw the now well-known signature of tom moore of chicago. he had informed the inn-keeper of his intention of going to bozeman, a town lying to the north of the crow reservation. manning resolved, therefore, to press right on, and he returned to the railroad station, where the train was still waiting. purchasing a ticket for billings, he started again on his way, and at nearly midnight he arrived at his destination, where he secured quarters for the night. billings was, at this time, the terminal point of the northern pacific railroad, and as the detective sought the open air on the following morning, he was amazed at the scenes that were presented to his view. the place was literally swarming with people. prospectors, land-buyers, traders, merchants, and a miscellaneous army of railroad men were everywhere. no time had been afforded in which to build suitable structures for housing the ever-increasing population, and the town presented the appearance of a huge encampment; nearly one-half of the city being composed of canvas tents. in the hotels, on the corners of the streets, and in the places of business, the universal topic of conversation was the phenomenal growth of the city, and the grand prospects which the future had in store for this embryotic western metropolis. along the railroad, a perfect army of workmen were assembled, awaiting their orders for the day. graders, tie-men, track-layers and construction corps, were already on the spot, and they too seemed imbued with the same spirit of enthusiasm which filled their more wealthy and ambitious neighbors in the city. as may readily be imagined, crime and immorality followed hand in hand with the march of improvement. the gambler and the harlot plied their vocations in the full light of day, and as yet unrebuked by the ruling powers of a community, too newly located to assume the dignity of enacting laws. the detective made his way through the streets, mentally noting these things, while his efforts were directed to finding some trace of thomas duncan. he made a systematic tour of the hotels, or more properly speaking, the boarding-houses with which the town was filled, and after numerous disappointments, was at last successful in learning something definite of the movements of his man. at a hotel called the "windsor," he found the unmistakable signature he was looking for, and was convinced that tom moore of chicago had preceded him but a few days. exhibiting his talismanic photograph to the proprietor, he was informed that duncan had been there some ten days before, and after remaining a day or two, had gone over to the military cantonments, some four or five miles distant, where a detachment of united states soldiers were quartered. procuring a horse, manning started for the cantonment, where he was kindly received by major bell, the officer in charge, who informed him that duncan had been there some days before, and that he had remained about the camp for several days, playing cards with the soldiers and enjoying himself generally. during his stay he had purchased a pony from a crow indian, and while he was at the cantonment he rode into billings and bought a sharp's repeating rifle, after which he had mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of fort custer. he had remained away several days when he again returned to the cantonment, and after remaining there one night, he had started on horseback for bozeman and helena. this was authentic and gratifying intelligence. manning had received not only reliable information as to the movements of duncan, but the distance between them had been materially lessened by the fugitive's long detention at the cantonment. the burglar was now but a few days ahead of him, and if nothing transpired to delay him, he would soon overtake the man, who, from all indications, was entirely unsuspicious of the fact that a detective was upon his track who had followed his trail as closely and as unerringly as the indian follows the track of the beast through forest and stream. as an additional means of identification, manning secured a full description of the horse purchased by duncan, and with this increased fund of information, manning returned to billings. on the following morning, seated beside the driver on the top of the stage-coach, and behind four dashing bay horses, manning rattled out of the pushing little town of billings on his way to bozeman. he now indulged in high hopes of soon overhauling duncan, and all along their way, whenever the stage stopped to change horses, he was gratified to receive the information that the man and the pony which he described had passed over the same route a few days in advance of him. the road from billings to bozeman led them part of the distance along the yellowstone river, and through a country wild and picturesque in the extreme. sometimes winding around the sides of a huge mountain, from which they obtained a magnificent view of the rugged and beautiful scenery below, and again descending to the valleys, they swept along between the mountains which towered aloft on either hand, their rugged sides forming a marked contrast with the emerald-hued verdure skirting their base. occasional ranches presented the evidences of cultivation and profitable stock-raising. broad fields and luxuriant pastures were spread before the view, and hundreds of sleek cattle were scattered over the country, either sleeping quietly in the sun or browsing upon the rich, tender herbage which abounds. at these ranches the horses were frequently changed, and the mail was delivered, much to the gratification of these hardy pioneers, who were otherwise shut out from the busy actions of the world beyond them. the country through which they passed was exceedingly rich in an agricultural point of view, the resources of which cannot be overestimated, and the atmosphere was dry and pure. inhaling the invigorating air as they rode along, manning suffered none of the discomforts which are naturally consequent upon a journey by stage of more than one hundred and fifty miles. at noon, they stopped at a ranch station, and here they were regaled with a repast which would have tickled the palate of an epicure. broiled trout from a mountain stream near by, roast fowl and a variety of dishes, made up a feast well worthy of the lusty appetites of the travelers. here, too, manning received tidings of the fleeing burglar. his horse, which was a fine one, and peculiarly marked, had been noticed particularly by the ranchmen, so there was no doubt that he was upon the right road to overtake him. after the dinner, and a good resting spell, they resumed their journey. now their road ran along the fertile valley, and again passing through a sharp defile in the mountains, and finally winding its way along a narrow ledge of rock, where the slightest turn to left or right, a single misstep of the sure-footed animals, or an awkward move of their driver, would have hurled them into an abyss hundreds of feet below, where instant and horrible death awaited them. no accident befell them, however, and just as the sun was going down in a blaze of glory, behind the towering mountains into the west, they arrived at a ranch for supper and rest. in the evening the moon came out, illuminating the landscape with a soft enchanting beauty, as its beams fell upon the tall mountain and the level plain, lighting up tree and flower, and flashing upon the river like a myriad of polished gems. as they rode along, song and story enlivened the journey, and a draught or two from a wicker-covered flask which the detective carried, soon produced an era of good feeling between the outside passengers and the burly, good-natured driver. "have you ever been bothered with robbers or highwaymen along this route?" asked manning of their driver during a lull in the conversation. "well, we used to be," answered the fat fellow, with a quiet chuckle, as he cracked his whip unpleasantly near to the flank of the off leader, who was lagging a little; "but of late we haven't seen anything of the kind." "ever had any adventure with them yourself?" asked manning in a coaxing tone, as he fancied he could see that the old fellow had a story which he could be induced to relate. "yes," he answered, puffing quietly away at a cigar which manning had given him. "about a year ago i had a little experience up near thompson's place, which we will reach about ten o'clock, if we have no bad luck." "let us hear it, won't you?" asked one of the other passengers, now becoming interested. "well," answered the driver, evidently pleased at finding himself an object of interest, "wait until we round this spur here, and then we'll have a tolerable straight road ahead. i don't suppose, though, that you'll find it very interesting." in a few moments they passed around the spur of the mountain, and the whole landscape was lighted up with a blaze of moonlight that flooded the scene with a radiance beautiful to behold. no living habitation was within sight, and the rumble of the coach was the only sound that broke the stillness that brooded over the scene. the driver settled himself back in his seat, and after a few preparatory coughs, and a swallow of brandy, to clear his throat, began his narration. chapter xx. the stage driver's story. "well," said the driver, as he set his long-lashed whip into its socket, and gathered up his reins in his left hand, in order to afford him an opportunity to declaim more freely with his right, "you must know that i've been drivin' on this line more than two years, and consequently i know every inch of the route like a book. i must own, though, that i didn't know quite as much at the time i speak of. the driver whose place i took when i came on to the road, had been pretty badly used up in a scrimmage with the bandits about a week before, and i didn't like the prospects, you may be sure; but as i was out of a job, i took this, and i made up my mind when i i commenced, never to put my head in the way of a robber's bullet, if i could help it." "that's the case with most of you, isn't it?" said manning, good-naturedly. "what makes you think so?" inquired the driver, quizzically. "why, the ease and success with which stage coaches have usually been robbed," was the reply. "well, i'll tell you," he answered, good-humoredly, and not the least disturbed by manning's quiet reflection on the bravery of stage drivers in general. "when a fellow has to manage four tolerably skittish horses with both hands full of leather, he haint much time to fool around huntin' shootin' irons, 'specially when he's got to look down into the muzzle of a repeater which is likely to go off and hurt somebody." "do you think these stage robbers, as a rule, are disposed to kill anybody?" asked manning. "why, sir," answered the driver, "they would just as soon kill a stage driver as eat their breakfast, and they know how to handle a rifle, too, let me tell you." "there's something in that reasoning," replied manning, laughingly. "but go on with your story." "well," continued the driver, "i had made several trips and had met with no trouble or accident, so i began to think the gang had gone away from these parts, and that there was no danger to be feared. however, i still carried a brace of good revolvers in a handy place, just to make sure i was safe; though, lord bless you, i knew i couldn't get at them in time to do any good, if the robbers did attack us. "well, one morning--it was a cold, raw day in april--i left billings with my coach full of people, most of whom were goin' through to helena, although i only drove as far as bozeman, just as i do now. i had nine passengers, all told, and among the number was an old ranchman named kyle barton, and his handsome daughter. i tell you, she was a stunner; her hair was as black as a crow, and her bright black eyes sparkled like diamonds. i knew 'em both pretty well, for the old man owned a ranch out near bozeman, and was as fine a man as ever stood six feet in his boots. the young woman was a fiery little beauty, and as hard to manage as a three-year-old colt. the old man and his daughter had been on a trip to the east, and were now returning home again, after bein' away several months. well, the young woman, as i have said, for all she was as pretty as a picture, had a devilish wicked look in her flashing black eyes, that made a fellow kind 'o wilt when she looked him square in the face. "the young woman took her seat on the inside, while the old man, who was hardy and tough as a pine knot, took his place on the outside, right where you are sittin' now. it was pretty cold, and we had to bundle up pretty well, but the old man didn't mind it a bit. he smoked his pipe and passed his bottle--thankee', yes, sir, i don't care if i do--and we were enjoying of ourselves amazin'. "we journeyed along all day," continued the driver, as he handed the bottle back, and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his coat, "and nothin' happened to hinder or delay us in the least. instead of gittin' warmer as the day wore on, it kept gittin' a dern sight colder, until along about four o'clock in the afternoon, when it began to snow, and by early dark, it was hard at it, a regular december snow-storm, with a drivin' wind that cut our faces tremendous. this bothered us a good deal, for the snow being wet and sticky, would ball up on the horses' feet so that they could hardly stand, and we just poked along our way at a gait not a bit faster than a slow walk. we couldn't get along any faster, and it was no use a-beatin' the poor critters, for they was a-doin' all in their power, and a-strainin' every nerve to keep a-movin'. "the old ranchman was a good-hearted, sociable old fellow, and he didn't seem to mind the storm a bit. as we plodded along he talked about his cattle ranch, the price of cattle, and what profit he had made that year. it was along after dinner, and we had both been strikin' the bottle pretty regular, although the cold was so great we could hardly feel it, when he fell to talkin' about himself and his daughter. we were the only two outside, and he became quite confidential like, and i pitied the old man, for he'd had a deal of trouble with the young spitfire inside. "among other things, he told me that she had almost broken his old heart lately by fallin' in love, or imaginin' she had, with one of his herdsmen, a handsome, dashing, devil-may-care sort of a fellow he had picked up at bozeman and taken out to his ranch about a year before. when the old man found out that the gal was gone on the fellow, and that he was a-meetin' her after dark, he ups and discharges him instanter, and gives him a piece of his mind about his takin' a mean advantage of the confidence which had been placed in him. "his daughter, stella, as he called her, fought against his dischargin' of the young man, and had been sullen and ill-tempered ever since her lover left. he had caught them correspondin' with each other after that, and on one occasion he was certain they had a clandestine meetin'. on findin' out that his daughter was determined not to give up this worthless young cuss, the old man made up his mind to take her away, and he had accordin'ly packed up and gone on a long journey to the east, where he had stayed several months, and they were now just gettin' back to their home again. the old man had hoped that absence from her lover and meetin' with other people in different scenes, would induce her to forget her old passion, and to realize the folly she had committed in seekin' to marry such a worthless fellow against her father's wishes." "i don't see what this has got to do with the bandits, though," now said the detective, who was getting a little anxious to find out what all this was leading to. "i was afraid it wouldn't interest you much," replied the driver; "but you'll soon see the point to my story and what this young girl had to do with it." "i beg your pardon," said manning, "i am interested in it, only i was anxious to hear where the bandits came in. let's take a little drop of brandy, and i promise you i won't interrupt you again until you have finished." here he handed the flask over to the old man, who took it with the remark that it "looked for all the world like the one carried by the old ranchman," and after a hearty pull at it, passed it back again, and resumed his story. "as the darkness increased, the old ranchman, who it seemed had heard of the recent robberies, began to grow a little nervous, although he didn't appear to be a dern bit scared. he looked carefully to the condition of his pistols, and also advised me to have mine handy in case of need; nothin' would satisfy him but i had to get mine out of the box, and after he had looked them all over, they were laid on the seat between us. not content with this, he warned the inside passengers that there was danger to be apprehended, and that there were bandits on the road. he urged them to have their weapons in readiness, so that in case the robbers did come, we could give them a red-hot reception. the people inside caught the old man's spirit, and they all resolved that if an attack did come they would meet it like men. to tell the truth, i didn't fear any danger, and i thought the old man was excitin' everybody without cause; but i didn't say anything, cause it wouldn't do any harm anyhow, even if we were not molested. "however, i had reckoned without my host, for just as we reached this place, and were a-turnin' around this bend in the road, two men sprang out from the bushes and grabbed the lead horses by the bits. two more jumped out on one side of the coach, and two more on the other, while one man stepped up to me and demanded me to come down. of course the coach was stopped, and just as the robber spoke to me, the old man reached over in front of me and fired. the robber fell at once without a sound. barton then fired at the man at the horse's head nearest him, and brought him down. these shots were both fired as quick as a flash, but his aim had been unerring. 'duck down, davy, duck down,' he cried to me as he swung himself from the coach, and a volley of bullets passed over our heads. [illustration: "the old man reached over in front of me and fired."] "i followed his example, and in a hurry, too, and escaped unhurt. just then we heard two reports from the passengers inside, and in less time that it has taken me to tell it the scrimmage was over and the robbers who were unhurt had fled, leaving three of their number on the ground, two of them seriously wounded, and the other one as dead as a post, with a bullet hole plum through his forehead. "as soon as they could the passengers clambered out of the coach, and by the aid of our lanterns, we found the robbers as i have just told you. we all congratulated ourselves on our fortunate escape, and the old man was warmly commended for his forethought and for the gallant service he had rendered. "i saw the old man did not seem disposed to say much, but i also noticed a look of grim satisfaction on his face as he looked down at the dead bandit. he then looked anxiously toward the coach, and seemed relieved to find that his daughter still remained inside. "we bound up as well as we could the wounds of the other two, and lifted them to the top of the coach. when it came to the dead one, some of the passengers were in favor of lettin' him lie where he was, but others objected and wanted to take him along with us, as we did not have far to go." "while we were discussin' the question, the young woman, who had got out of the coach while we were talkin', and without her father observin' her, caught sight of the bandit's face, as he lay on his back in the snow, and with a wild scream of anguish, she pushed the men aside and flung herself upon the lifeless body. her sobs were terrible to hear, and many a strong man turned away to hide the tears that came to their eyes in spite of them. her father approached her and tried to draw her away, but all to no use, until at length her strength gave out, and she fainted dead away. "you see," continued the driver, "that dead man was her lover. he had been engaged in the business of robbin' stage coaches for a long time, and only hired with the old man as a cover to hide his real business, and to try and win the girl, whom he had frequently seen before. "the old man was all broke up about the girl, but he was glad that things had happened as they did, and he felt sure that after her grief was over, she would not fail to see the danger she had escaped, and to thank her father for savin' her from a life of shame and disgrace. "we lifted the girl into the coach, and put the dead man along with the others on the top. he had been the terror of the neighborhood, although no one knew, until this time, who had been the leader of this murderous gang. we buried him at bozeman, and since that time we have had no trouble with anything like bandits or robbers along the route." "what became of the other two?" asked the detective. "they were put under arrest, but somehow they managed to escape before they were brought to trial, and that was the last we ever heard of them." "and the girl," asked manning, "what became of her?" "oh, she is all right now; as pert as a cricket, and prettier than ever," answered the driver. "she was married some time ago to a young fellow who is the sheriff of the county here, and is as happy as the day is long. you wouldn't know that she ever had an experience like this, and i don't believe she ever thinks of her bandit lover, while she hangs around her old father with all the affection of a child, and the old ranchman is as happy and contented a man as you will find in the whole county." as the driver concluded his narrative, the stage rolled into bozeman, and at sharp midnight they drew up before the door of the inn. the moon was still shining, and lights were flashing from the windows when they arrived. tired and hungry, the passengers alighted, and after a light lunch, manning procured a bed and retired to rest. chapter xxi. false information which nearly proves fatal--a night ride to helena--dangers by the wayside. traveling by coach is far from being as comfortable and pleasant as a journey by rail. the time occupied in going comparatively short distances is very great, besides the rough jolting over uneven roads which is a natural concomitant of stage coach travel. it is true that by the easy locomotion of a journey of this kind, a much better view of the surrounding country is afforded, and the traveler finds ample opportunities to admire the beauty of nature everywhere spread before him; but even that palls upon the eye when the journey is protracted from early morn until midnight, and the traveler is cramped up in an uncomfortable position upon the driver's box. under such circumstances, after a time, there is but little compensation for the trials and fatigues of a journey such as manning had just completed when he arrived at bozeman on the night before. the road through which they had come led them through a country so varied in its grand and imposing beauty, towering rocks and fertile valleys, winding streams and gentle elevations, that for a time fatigue was forgotten in the enjoyment of the scenes about him, and it was not until the journey had been completed that he realized how utterly wearied and tired out he was. his limbs were sore and stiffened from his cramped position, and being unable to sleep at all on the journey, he was completely exhausted when he sought his couch at the hotel at bozeman. being of a strong and healthy physique, however, and upheld by an ambition to succeed in the mission he had undertaken, manning arose in the morning, and after a refreshing bath and an excellent breakfast, was quite rested and fully prepared to continue his efforts. bozeman, unlike the other towns which he had passed through upon his journey, was remotely situated as yet from railroad communication, and yet in spite of that fact was a busy and well-populated little town. it is the county seat of gallatin county, and contained at this time several pretentious stores, a hotel, a national bank, and a goodly number of substantial dwellings. as may naturally be inferred, there was the usual complement of saloons, in which drinking and gambling were indulged in without license, and with no fear of restraint from the prohibitory influences of the law. failing to find any trace of thomas duncan, or "tom moore," at the hotel, manning began his usual systematic tour of these houses of public entertainment. house after house was visited, and the day waned without his making the slightest discovery that would avail him at all in his pursuit. at length, however, as night was falling, he encountered a saloon-keeper, who in answer to his inquiries gruffly informed him, that a person answering duncan's description and mounted upon a pony resembling his, had stopped in his saloon a few days before, and had gone away in the direction of the yellowstone park. this was rather disappointing intelligence, for it required him to retrace his steps, and go back over ground which he had already traveled. however, if the information was reliable, no time was to be lost, and he started from the saloon to commence his preparations at once. while at the bar, he had noticed a sturdy, honest-looking miner, who was taking a drink, and who had stopped and looked intently at him while the proprietor had given him the information above mentioned. as manning left the saloon, the man followed him a short distance, and when out of sight of the saloon called after him; manning stopped and the man came toward him. "mister," said he, as he approached the detective, "ef ye go to the park, you won't find the man yer arter, that's a dead sure thing." "what do you mean?" asked manning with some surprise. "i means as how the boss of the saloon yonder has lied to ye, that's all." "what makes you think so?" "bekase i passed the man ye wor askin' about three days ago, on the road to helena." "are you sure about this?" "well, i reckon i am. i couldn't make much of a mistake about that white-faced pony he wor a-ridin'." requesting the miner to accompany him to the hotel, manning interrogated him closely about the appearance of the man, and found that he was giving him the correct information, as his description of duncan tallied precisely with what he himself had already learned. after carefully weighing the matter, manning decided to act upon this latter information, and to start for helena that evening. the saloon-keeper evidently mistrusted some danger to duncan, from the detective's inquiries, and manning was inclined to believe that the fugitive had stopped there during his stay in bozeman, and that the proprietor of the saloon had attempted to deceive him and turn him off from the tracks of the unfortunate burglar. thus far, from all that could be learned of duncan's movements, the young man was traveling entirely alone. from point to point across the western continent manning had traced him, and no tidings of a companion had been as yet received. alone and friendless, cut off from all the old associations of his past life, this unfortunate man was flying from a fate which he felt must be impending. through the long summer days and under the starry skies during the weary nights, this fleeing outcast was working his way to fancied freedom and security. i wonder if, during the long watches of the night, when he sought the needed slumber which his weary brain and body demanded, whether the accuser's voice was not sounding in his ears, whether he did not start with affright at fancied dangers, and find his lonely life a burden, heavy and sorrowful! it was now nearly eight o'clock, and the stage would not leave for helena until midnight, and manning, having nothing else to do, sought a few hours' sleep in order to be better prepared for the long journey before him. the distance from bozeman to helena was about ninety-five miles, and from what he had heard the roads were in a terrible condition. heavy rains had fallen recently, and the mud in some places along his journey was said to be nearly axle deep. undaunted by the gloomy prospect before him, however, manning rested quietly, and, when the time for starting arrived, he was fully refreshed and eager for the long ride before him. profiting by his past experience, he now secured an inside seat, as he would be better protected from the chilling night winds so prevalent in this mountainous country, and would perhaps, be able to sleep at intervals during the hours which would ensue before daylight. the other passengers in the coach were three men who were interested in mining in the neighborhood of helena, and who, like himself, were bound for that place. they were all, however, rather wearied with their journey from billings, and very much disposed to sleep. manning, therefore, stowed himself away in one corner of the coach, as comfortably as he was able to do, and nodded and dozed fitfully until they arrived at the breakfast station at gallatin, a little town on the river. after an hour's rest and a change of horses, they pushed on again. from this point onward they found the reports about the condition of the roads fully verified. the stage lumbered along through the deep, muddy roads, and ever and anon the passengers would be required to alight, and assist in lifting the wheels from a particularly soft spot, where they were threatened with being inextricably mired. as may be imagined, a journey under such circumstances was far from being a pleasant one, but they all submitted with good nature to a state of affairs which was beyond their power to remedy. as it was, they fared much better than a party of travelers whom they met upon the road. they were returning from helena, and when crossing a narrow bridge over one of the mountain streams, had the misfortune to have their coach overturned, and themselves precipitated violently to the ground, thereby sustaining serious injury. upon meeting this forlorn party of travelers, manning and his companions all turned out again, and by herculean efforts succeeded in righting the overturned coach, and in repairing, as far as in their power, the damage that had been done. with such laborious experiences as these, the party traveled on, and by the time they had arrived at the supper station they were almost exhausted. after this, however, the roads gradually improved, and as darkness came on, they again essayed to sleep. on they went, and the night was passed in uncomfortable slumber, broken and disturbed by the lurching and uneasy jolting of the coach over the rough mountain roads, and the curses of the driver, administered without stint to the struggling and jaded horses. the night, however, brought neither danger nor mishap, and at four o'clock in the morning they arrived at helena, very much demoralized and worn out, but with whole bodies and ravenous appetites. manning went to bed immediately on his arrival, and did not awake until the sun was high in the heavens, when he arose, feeling considerably refreshed and strengthened by his repose. helena, the capital of montana, he found to be a pushing and energetic city of about ten thousand inhabitants. here were mills and factories, a handsome court-house, graded schools, several newspapers, charitable institutions and public hospitals, in fact, all the progressive elements of a thriving and well-settled city of modern times. all this had been accomplished in less than twenty years, and without the assistance of the railroad or the energizing influence of river navigation. the railroad had not yet penetrated into this mountainous region, and the missouri river was fourteen miles distant. to the adventurous spirit of gold-hunting americans had helena owed its origin and growth, and its resources were unknown until , when a party of prospecting miners discovered unmistakable evidences of rich yielding gold and silver mines in the immediate vicinity of what is now the thriving city of helena. following this discovery, thousands of gold-hunters sought this new "eldorado," and in a few months a populous community had taken possession of the ground. within a year after this the territory of montana was formed, and from its central location and large population, helena was chosen as the capital. from this time the success of the city was assured, emigration continued, the mines showed no signs of diminution, and the town soon aspired to the dignity of a city, despite its remoteness from the river, the railroad and the telegraph. exceeding even california in the richness of its gold mines, montana shows a wonderful yield of silver, which is obtained with an ease which makes mining a pleasurable and sure source of incalculable profit. in addition to the precious metals, copper is also found in abundance, and forms an important feature of the mineral wealth of this territory. montana is easily reached during the season of navigation by steamboats on the missouri river from st. louis, from which point, without obstruction or transshipment, the river is navigable to fort benton, situated almost in the center of the territory, a distance of more than twenty-five hundred miles. here, too, there is a large and constant supply of water, a matter of great difficulty and scarcity in other mining districts. as the range of the rocky mountains in this vicinity does not present that broken and rugged character which marks the other ranges, the land is especially adapted for agricultural purposes, and timber of all kinds abounds in sufficient quantities for all the purposes of home consumption. possessing these manifold and important advantages, it is not strange that the country is not materially dependent upon the railroads for its growth and present development. these facts manning gleaned in a conversation with the proprietor of the hotel, while he was making his preparations to commence his search for the man whose crime had led him such a long chase, and whose detection now seemed hopefully imminent. chapter xxii. in helena--a fruitless quest--jerry taylor's bagnio--reliable tidings--a midnight ride--arrival at butte city. after obtaining much valuable information with reference to the various localities of the city, from the landlord of the hotel, manning sallied forth upon his quest. with untiring energy he prosecuted his inquiries, only to meet with repeated disappointments and rebuffs; all day long he labored assiduously, visiting a hundred brothels, saloons and hotels, and yet without discovering a trace of duncan or his white-faced quadruped. could it be possible that the honest-faced miner had played him false, and designedly thrown him off the scent? might not the saloon-keeper at bozeman have given him the proper direction of duncan's flight toward the yellowstone park? and was he not now miles away from all pursuit, and perhaps by this time fully aware that he was being followed? these thoughts flew through the brain of the detective as after all his efforts he found himself baffled at all points. at length, in despair, he sought the aid of the authorities, and was received with a cordiality that was unmistakable, and with a proffer of assistance that promised to be valuable in the extreme. an officer, well tried and trusted, a man of considerable experience, and who was the very ideal of a discreet and intelligent official, was delegated to accompany him during the evening. for a long time these two men devoted their combined energies to the task before them; but as had been the case with manning during the day, no success attended their efforts. at length the officer turned to manning and said: "there is only one more place where we can possibly hope to hear from your friend, and i have left that until the last, because i scarcely hope to learn anything even there." "let us go at once," said the detective; "drowning men, they say, catch at straws. i am determined that no possible point shall be lost and we may only be disappointed again; but let us try." "come along, then," replied the officer; "but keep your revolver where you can find it, for you may have occasion to use it." "where are we going?" asked manning. "to jerry taylor's ranche," answered the officer, "as hard a dive as you ever saw." "very well," said manning, "we will go. i have no fear for myself, and perhaps this is the turning-point in our search." so saying they started off, and after half an hour's walk found themselves in the extreme northern part of the city, and in a locality which presented anything but an inviting appearance. although but a short distance from one of the main thoroughfares, the houses were of the most wretched character, and the people who were congregated about the doorways were villainous looking men and low-browed, brazen-faced women. lights shone from many windows, and from within came the sound of loud laughter and ribald song. they were evidently in a quarter of the city where vice reigned supreme and where poverty, crime and immorality held full sway. passing through this neighborhood without molestation, for manning's companion seemed to be well known and universally feared, they reached a long, rambling frame building, which was gayly painted and brightly illuminated. men and women of all ages were entering and leaving the place, and crowds of people were gathered about the entrance. above the noise of the clinking of glasses and the loud orders of the waiters, could be heard the sounds of music, and a general confusion of voices that bespoke a large assembly. the detective had frequently heard of the character of a dance-house in the far west, and here was an opportunity to view one in full blast. elbowing their way through the crowd, manning and his companion soon found themselves in a large, brilliantly lighted room, almost entirely bereft of furniture. at one end was a raised platform, on which were seated the orchestra, consisting of a piano, sadly out of tune, a cracked violin, and a cornet which effectually drowned out the music of the other two instruments. around the sides of the room were ranged rows of tables and wooden chairs, which were occupied by men and women, all busily occupied in disposing of the villainous liquids which were dispensed to them by so-called pretty waiter girls, who had evidently long since become strangers to modesty and morality. the band was playing a waltz, and the floor was filled with a motley gathering of both sexes, who were whirling about the room, with the greatest abandonment, dancing madly to the harsh and discordant music. the scene was a perfect pandemonium, while boisterous laughter and loud curses mingled with and intensified the general excitement and confusion. both the men and women were drinking freely, and some of them were in a wild state of intoxication, while others had long since passed the stage of excitement and were now dozing stupidly in the corners of the room. manning and his companion stood for some time gazing at the scenes around them. the detective's mind was busy with somber meditations upon the human degradation that was here presented. here were women, many of them still youthful and with marks of beauty still remaining, in spite of their life of dissipation. their eyes were flashing under the influence of intoxication, and from their pretty lips were issuing blasphemies which made him shudder. old women, with a long record of shame and immorality behind them, and with their bold faces covered with cosmetics to hide the ravages of time. rough men, with their flannel shirts and their trousers tucked into their high, mud-covered boots. young men of the city, dressed well and apparently respectable, yet all yielding to their passion for strong drink and the charms of lewdness and indecency. a strange, wild gathering of all grades and conditions, mingling in a disgraceful orgie which the pen refuses to depict. how many stories of happy homes wrecked and broken could be related by these painted lizards who now were swimming in this whirlpool of licentious gratification! how many men, whose past careers of honor and reputation had been thrown away, were here gathered in this brothel, participating in so-called amusements, which a few years ago would have appalled them! ah, humanity is a strange study, and debased humanity the strangest and saddest of them all. [illustration: manning and his companion stood for some time gazing at the scenes around them.] the detective was aroused from his reflections by the voice of his companion. "what do you think of this?" "i scarcely know," answered manning, sadly. "i have seen much of the under-current of social life, but this exceeds anything i have ever before experienced." "oh, this is comparatively nothing," said the other. "pleasure is the ruling spirit now. you should be here some time when there is a fight, and then you would think that hell was a reality, and these people devils incarnate." while they were thus conversing, the proprietor of the establishment, jerry taylor, approached them, and respectfully saluting the officer, whom he knew, said smilingly: "seein' the sights of the city, are you, lieutenant?" "well, yes, jerry; that's part of our business. but we are looking for a young man who was here a few days ago, and perhaps you can help us?" "well, if i can do anything for you i will," answered jerry, who was a tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired man, with flashing black eyes and a somber mustache, which trailed below his chin. "come over into the wine-room, where we can talk. we can't do it here for the noise." accepting the suggestion, the three men walked across the room, and entering a narrow doorway in one corner, were ushered into an apartment which was designated as the "wine-room." this room was occupied by the better dressed portion of the habitues of the place, and their deportment was much more circumspect than those in the larger room outside. leading the way to a table in a retired corner of the room, the proprietor requested them to be seated, while manning called for the services of one of the waiter girls in providing for their liquid nourishment. the officer, who had obtained possession of duncan's photograph, now produced it, and handing it over to mr. taylor, said: "jerry, that is the fellow we are looking for. do you know anything about him?" taylor looked at the picture a moment, and then answered: "certainly, i know something about him. he was here two or three days ago, and was as flush with his money as a nobby aristocrat." manning's heart leaped with joy as he heard these words. he was no longer doubtful of results, and was satisfied that he was upon the right track. "how long did he stay here?" asked the officer. "let me see," said taylor, meditatingly. "he had a white-faced pony with him, and i took care of the animal in my stable. he was here, i guess, a day and two nights." "do you know which way he went?" now inquired manning. "wait a moment, gentlemen," said taylor, rising to his feet, "i think i can find some one who can tell you all about it." walking to the door, he disappeared, and after an absence of a few minutes he returned, accompanied by a rather handsome young woman of about twenty years of age, and who appeared to be far superior to the balance of the females whom manning had noticed since his entrance into the bagnio. the young woman came smilingly forward, and seating herself at the table, deliberately poured out a glass of wine, and tossed it off with an air of good humor that proved her to be no novice in the art. jerry taylor introduced the gay cyprian to the officers, and the nature of their business was soon made known to her. without hesitation or the faintest evidence of a blush, she informed the officers that duncan had been her companion during his stay in helena, and that they had enjoyed each other's company immensely. he had lots of money, the girl said, and she had assisted him in spending some of it. in reply to their questions, the girl stated that duncan had left helena two days ago, and that he intended going to butte city, where he had relatives in business. further than this she could not say, and they were compelled to be satisfied with what information she had been able to give them. this was reliable and satisfactory news to manning, and after lingering in the place a few minutes longer, and compensating the girl for her revelations, the two men took their departure and returned to the hotel, well pleased with the result of the evening's experience. upon making inquiries, manning learned, to his intense disappointment, that he would be obliged to wait until noon on the following day before he could secure a passage in the stage for butte city. as no time was to be lost, now that he was approaching so near to what he hoped would be the termination of his journey, manning determined not to delay his departure until the starting of the coach. the nights were moonlight now, and requesting the further services of the officer in assisting him to procure a good saddle horse and a guide, manning resolved to start at once for butte city. a horse was soon secured, and a trusty man was found who was well acquainted with the road, and who was willing to accompany him. bidding farewell to the officer, whom he amply remunerated for his trouble, manning, at ten o'clock that night, leaped into his saddle and set out on his journey. he rode hard all that night, and at sunrise reached boulder, having traveled considerably more than half the distance. here they stopped for breakfast, to feed their horses and take some rest. his guide left him at boulder city and returned to helena, and about nine o'clock, manning set off alone for butte. he pushed on without delay or accident, and about four o'clock in the afternoon arrived at his destination. his first care was to provide quarters for his horse, and to make arrangements for his return to helena by the stage next day, after which he sought the hotel for rest, and refreshment for himself. how near he was to the object of his long search he did not know, but tired and hungry from his long ride, he mentally breathed a prayer that success would speedily crown his efforts, and that the weary chase would soon be ended. chapter xxiii. the long trail ended--duncan traced to his lair--caught at last--the escaping burglar a prisoner. butte city is a rich mining village in deer lodge county in the territory of montana, and is surrounded by high hills, which contain rich deposits of gold and silver which are taken from the quartz rock, and in the city are situated the furnaces and other appliances for extracting the precious metals from the rocks in which they are found. the population, although largely of a transient and adventurous character, is composed of a respectable, well-ordered community, many of whom have located permanently, and have labored for the advancement and success of the village. there are several stores, numerous hotels, many very handsome private dwellings, and a newspaper. though not so large as helena, by any means, it bids fair in time to rival her more successful neighbor, and the elements of success are found within her domain. the local government consists of a mayor and a city marshal, while the deputies of the latter official constitute the police force who maintain order in the city and protect the persons and property of the citizens. a substantial jail looks frowningly down upon one of the main thoroughfares, and altogether butte city is as well-conducted and carefully managed a town as is to be found west of the mississippi river. within a few months a railroad, a branch of the union pacific road, had been completed, which placed the city in communication, both by rail and telegraph, with the larger towns and cities located in the south and east. after a hearty dinner and a refreshing bath, manning left the hotel and sought the office of the city marshal. here, as elsewhere, he was received with the utmost courtesy and kindness, and with a warm proffer of assistance, which the detective most gladly accepted. he detailed the circumstances of the robbery and his long pursuit of the escaping burglar, and also his strong belief that duncan was now hiding in the city. the marshal fully coincided with his views, and promised to aid him to the utmost of his ability. he then furnished manning with the address of duncan's relative, and the detective started out to find the locality to which he had been directed. he soon discovered the place he was looking for, located on the second floor of one of the larger buildings in the city, and over the entrance was suspended the sign: george duncan, clothier. mounting the stairs without hesitation, the detective entered the store, where he found to his intense satisfaction the merchant at home. he was assured of this fact from the striking resemblance which the man bore to his fugitive relation. on the pretense of ordering a suit of clothing, the detective engaged him in conversation for some time, and after satisfying himself that duncan was not about the premises he took his leave, promising to call again and effect his purchase. arriving on the outside, manning took up a position where he could watch the entrance unobserved, and where anyone entering or leaving the place could be readily seen by him. maintaining his watch for several hours, he was gratified, about nine o'clock, to see the clothier making preparations to close his store, and a few moments afterwards he appeared upon the street. as the merchant walked along the streets, the detective followed him closely, never losing sight of him for a moment. for a time the man strolled about, apparently with no definite object in view, and manning began to fear that his hopes of finding duncan were futile, and that this relative was entirely unaware of his relative's movements. the night was dark and it was with difficulty that he could keep his man in sight, without approaching so close as to excite suspicion. at last, however, the merchant came out of a saloon which he had entered a short time before, and this time he was accompanied by another man whom manning could not obtain a fair view of. taking a circuitous route, they at length gained the main street in the vicinity of the merchant's store. here they entered a doorway leading from the street and ascending a stairway were soon lost to sight. the detective at once surmised that the clothier occupied sleeping apartments in the building, and that the two men had probably retired for the night. his first impulse was to follow them up stairs and demand admittance, and should duncan prove to be one of the parties, to make the arrest then and there. a little reflection, however, convinced him that such a proceeding would be not only unwise but hazardous in the extreme. he was not sure that the companion of the merchant was duncan, as he had been unable to get close enough to recognize him, and a precipitate entry now would, in case he was not the man, only serve to put them all upon their guard against future surprises. manning therefore rapidly made his way to the marshal's office, and finding him within, at once acquainted him with what he had discovered, and requested his advice and assistance. the marshal selected one of his most trusty assistants and the three men repaired to the place where manning had seen the merchant and his companion enter. the marshal, who was intimately acquainted with the clothing merchant, informed manning that the gentleman occupied apartments in the building, and suggested that he would be the best man to go up, as in case their man was not there, he could invent some pretext for his visit which would not excite undue suspicion. this proposition was agreed to, and the marshal ascended the stairs. he found the room unoccupied by the merchant and knocked at the door. all was dark and silent within, and no response came to his summons. after again knocking and making a careful examination of the place, the marshal was convinced that the room was empty and that the men, whoever they were, had departed. returning to the sidewalk, a hurried consultation was held, and it was determined to leave the deputy to watch the room, while manning and the marshal went to the various livery stables in the town, in order to ascertain if duncan had arrived and had quartered his horse at any of them. this arrangement was immediately carried into execution, and stationing the deputy in a position where he could safely watch the premises, the other two started upon their errand. to manning's delight their inquiries were rewarded with success, and at one of the livery stables they found the identical white-faced pony which had carried duncan on his long journey, and which was now quietly resting in comfortable quarters. this was indeed glad tidings to the indefatigable detective, and he could have caressed the graceful little animal from pure joy. there was now no longer any doubt that duncan was in the city, and that with proper precautions he could be secured. from mr. livermore, it was learned that duncan had arrived in butte city on the morning of the day previous, and that he was believed to be making preparations for a trip into mexico, in company with his cousin, the merchant. believing that the best means now to be adopted to secure the young man, was to remain in the stable until duncan called for his horse, manning requested permission to do so, which was cheerfully granted by the obliging liveryman. manning therefore took up his position as a watcher, while the marshal went to look after the man whom they had left on the lookout at the sleeping apartments of the clothing merchant. after watching for a long time, manning made himself as comfortable as possible, and prepared to spend the night in his new quarters. he dozed and slept at fitful intervals in his uncomfortable position, and the long night wore away without the appearance of the much-desired visitor. the stable in which manning had established himself, was arranged with a row of stalls on either side, with a wide passage-way extending between them. he therefore ensconced himself in the vacant stall immediately opposite to the burglar's horse, and where he could see him at all times. by peering through the crevices in the woodwork he also commanded a full view of the entrance, and was thus enabled to see all who entered the barn. slowly the morning waned away and as yet no sign of the man for whom he was waiting. how many times he had fancied he heard the longed-for footstep, and peered anxiously out, only to be disappointed, it would be impossible to tell. at length, however, just as he was about to despair of success, he heard footsteps at the door, and peeping through the opening in the stall, he saw the figure of the man for whose appearance he had watched so long, and whose face had haunted him day and night since he had started in pursuit of him. there he stood, not a dozen feet away from him, and as the detective gazed at the unsuspecting thief, a thrill of pleasurable excitement filled his being. in a moment, however, he had controlled himself; and perfectly calm and collected, he watched the man before him. there was no doubt that duncan was contemplating a renewal of his journey. he was dressed in a hunting suit of heavy brown ducking, with high top boots and a wide brimmed sombrero, while across his shoulders was slung a leather bag, which was filled probably with clothing and provisions. in his hand he carried a splendid repeating rifle, and a brace of pistols were in his belt. all this the detective was able to note in the brief moment that duncan paused at the door, as if looking for some one to whom he could give orders for the saddling of his horse. seeing no one about the place, however, he set his rifle down in a corner by the door, and walked slowly down the passage until he reached the stall where his pony was standing. he was now directly in front of the spot where the detective was concealed, but with his back toward the operative. as he turned to go into the stall, manning stopped quickly forward, with his revolver in his hand, and grasping duncan firmly by the shoulder, he said: "thomas duncan, i have caught you at last." duncan started as though he had been shot, as these words rang in his ears, and he felt the grasp of the detective's strong arm. in an instant he recovered himself, and his hand quickly sought one of the revolvers in his belt. the detective, however, was too quick for him, and placing the muzzle of his pistol against the burglar's cheek, he said, determinedly: "if you attempt to draw your pistol, i'll blow your brains out!" [illustration: "if you attempt to draw your pistol, i'll blow out your brains!"] duncan felt that it was useless to attempt to trifle with the resolute man before him, and his arms dropped to his side. "it's no use, tod," said manning, with a quiet smile. "i've got the drop on you, and you might as well cave. throw your pistols on the ground." mechanically duncan did as he was directed, and then turning to manning, he inquired in a low, suppressed tone: "what do you want me for?" "for the geneva bank robbery," answered manning. "you have led me a pretty long chase, but you see i have caught you at last." "if you had been one hour later," said the other, doggedly, "you never would have taken me. once on my horse, i would have defied you, and i would have killed you like a dog." "well, well," answered manning, "we won't talk about what you might have done. i've got you, and that's enough for me." at this juncture the marshal made his appearance, and offering his assistance, the crestfallen young burglar was quietly led away to the jail, where he was searched, and fifteen hundred dollars in money was found upon his person, besides an excellent and valuable gold watch. without waiting for any further results, manning rushed to the telegraph office, in order to apprise me of his success. he could not repress a pardonable feeling of pride in the victory he had accomplished. his search was ended, his man was a prisoner, and shortly afterward there came clicking over the wires to chicago, the following message: "i have him, fifteen hundred dollars in money, a gold watch, horse and rifle. will sell horse for what i can get, and leave here, with prisoner, for chicago, in the morning." chapter xxiv. the burglar returns to chicago--revelations by the way--the missing five thousand dollars. as i had received no tidings of john manning since his departure from minneapolis, it may be imagined that i was considerably relieved when his brief but comprehensive telegram from butte city was received. so long a time had elapsed since he had been able to transmit me any definite information about his movements, that i had begun to grow alarmed, not only for the successful termination of his pursuit, but for his personal safety. now, however, all my fears were set at rest; the daring and ambitious detective was safe and well, and in addition to this he had succeeded in capturing the fugitive, who was now in his custody. the chase had been a long and fatiguing one, but victory had crowned our efforts, and the entire quartette of criminals were now in the hands of the officers of the law, and would be held to answer for their crimes. the pursuit of duncan had been most admirably carried out by my trusted operative, and manning was deserving of unstinted credit for the sagacious mind and untiring spirit he displayed. so thoroughly determined had he been to secure his prisoner, that no consideration of personal comfort, or even necessary rest, had been allowed to interfere with his movements. with more than a month elapsing between the commission of the crime and the commencement of the chase, and traveling over a country thinly settled and semi-barbarous, i regarded the victory which he had achieved as one deserving of the highest encomiums, and reflecting great credit upon his skill, determination and pertinacity. mr. silby and the bank officials were immediately notified of duncan's capture, and their satisfaction was unbounded; their congratulations were unsparingly uttered, and their words of commendation were of the heartiest and warmest character. they were now fully satisfied that the vexing problem of the missing five thousand dollars in coin would be solved, and earnestly hoped that the solution would inure to their advantage. however, nothing could be done in the matter until the arrival of duncan, and we impatiently awaited his appearance. the next morning after his arrest duncan was placed on the train, and in company with john manning started for chicago. the detective had experienced no difficulty in disposing of the horse owned by the young prisoner, and mr. livermore, the stable-man, became his purchaser for a fair price. having experienced quite as much of the discomforts and fatigues of traveling by stage coach and on horseback as he desired, manning resolved to return to chicago by rail, and he accordingly took passage on the idaho division of the union pacific railroad, which would be both a more expeditious and comfortable mode of traveling, besides being a safe method of conducting a prisoner. ever since his arrest duncan had been sullen and uncommunicative. he was evidently crushed by the sudden and surprising turn which affairs had taken. in the moment of his triumph he had fallen, and when he fancied himself the most secure, defeat and detection had overtaken him. it was not long, however, after they had started upon their return journey, ere manning succeeded in breaking through his reserve, and in inducing him to talk freely. to the young man's credit be it said, that the first inquiry he made was in regard to the recovery of miss patton, the young lady whom he had assaulted in the bank, and when he learned of her speedy and complete recovery, he seemed quite relieved. he expressed the most intense regret at having been compelled, as he put it, to treat her so roughly, and he added, "i tell you she was a plucky little woman, and had eugene pearson been an honest man and fought as well as she did, we never could have got that money." "she is certainly a brave girl," replied manning. "why, look here," exclaimed duncan, extending his left hand toward him, upon two fingers of which the detective noticed several dark-looking and freshly-healed scars. "i was compelled to strike her. she fastened her teeth into my hand, and bit me to the bone. i never could have got loose without that; as it was, my hand bled terribly, and was a long time in healing, besides being excessively painful." by degrees the detective led him to speak of his connection with the robbery, and after a momentary hesitation he revealed the whole story, which in every particular coincided with that already told by newton edwards. he stated that being in chicago without money, and without a friend except edwards, he had requested a loan from him, which was readily granted. then followed another drinking spree in company with his friend, and during its continuance edwards proposed the robbery, and explained how easily and safely it might be accomplished. lured by the glittering prospect and intoxicated as he was, he gave a ready consent to enter into the scheme, and almost before he was aware of it, and certainly before he became thoroughly sober, the burglary had been committed, and with his ill-gotten gains he was on the road, seeking to escape from the consequences of his crime. he professed sincere repentance for what he had done, and stated that this was his first offense, which would now have to be atoned for by a long term of imprisonment. as they progressed upon their way, and when about fifty miles out, duncan informed the detective that he had met a noted rough in butte city who was known as texas jack, and that this man had told his cousin that, if he desired it, a party could be raised, who would waylay the train and effect his rescue. "what would you have done if they had made the attempt?" asked duncan, jocularly. "well," answered manning coolly, and with determination, "they might have taken you, but it would have been after i had put a bullet through your brain." the quiet and resolute tone in which this was said, caused the robber's cheek to turn pale, as he saw the determined spirit of the man with whom he had to deal. it is needless to say that no attempt was made to effect a rescue, nor had manning any fears that such an effort would be made, but he deemed it wise to give his prisoner a quiet but firm hint as to what the consequences would be if a rescue was attempted. during the remainder of the journey duncan was as cheerful and pleasant in his manner as though no thought of a prison entered his mind, and the detective experienced no trouble or annoyance with him whatever. two days later they arrived at council bluffs, where they changed cars, and, taking the rock island route, they were not long in reaching chicago. manning brought his prisoner to my agency, where he was taken care of until arrangements could be made for his transportation to geneva. i cannot express the satisfaction i experienced when i realized at last that our chase was over, and that a full and satisfying victory had attended our efforts in this matter. all of the prisoners were now taken, and, except for the solution of the question of the missing five thousand dollars, our work had been successfully accomplished. another matter duncan had related to manning while upon their journey, which, while unfortunate for us, at the same time did not detract from the victory we had gained. it appeared that, while traveling from bozeman to helena, duncan had occasion to use his pocket-handkerchief, and, in pulling it out of his pocket, he also drew out a small package of notes which he carried loosely in his pocket, and which contained nearly five hundred dollars. this was exceedingly unfortunate, and accounted in some measure for the small amount of money which was found upon duncan's person at the time of his capture. however, this was of comparatively trifling importance, when the important features of his arrest are considered, and when even the amount of fifteen hundred dollars had been actually recovered. on the whole, i was very well contented with affairs as they were, and as far as the bank was concerned, there was every indication of thankfulness and rejoicing. chapter xxv. the mystery of the missing five thousand dollars solved at last--the money recovered--duncan at geneva. on the day following the arrival of duncan in chicago, he was conveyed to geneva, in company with my son william and a trusty operative. as may be imagined, the appearance of the fourth and hitherto unknown burglar threw the inhabitants of the quiet little town into another state of wild excitement, this time, however, without any indication of hostility to my officers or their actions. a charge of sentiment had taken place in the public mind, and now, instead of threatened resistance to our movements, my men were received with every evidence of approbation and indorsement. thomas duncan was taken at once to the bank and here he made a full statement of his connection with the robbery, the amount of money which he and newton edwards obtained, and detailed at length his travels from the time he left geneva until he was arrested at butte city by john manning. he fully corroborated the statement of newton edwards about their disappointment in not obtaining, within five thousand dollars, as much money as they expected, and he expressed the belief that eugene pearson had taken this additional sum, and had thus deceived both his companions and the bank. he fully explained the disposition they made of the valise, which contained the silver, by hiding it in the corn-field by the road-side; after which they continued their journey unincumbered by the weight of the coin, which they did not consider valuable enough to burden themselves with. after he had finished, william inquired: "was there no other sack or sacks than those you have mentioned as being in the valise when you threw it away? did you not dispose of some before you parted with the satchel? think carefully now; there is a mystery about that sack of gold which we want to solve, if possible." "eugene pearson declares," added mr. silby, the bank president, "that he has given up everything, and is positive that you took away from the bank nearly fifteen thousand dollars in currency and coin." again, as in the case of edwards, the valise was brought out, and the amount of money which was supposed to have been taken at the time of the robbery, less five thousand dollars in gold, was handed to duncan to lift. duncan raised it in his hand, and at once pronounced it lighter than when they carried it away from the bank. a sack containing five thousand dollars in gold was then added, and when he again took it in his hands, he exclaimed: "that's more like it; when we left the bank the valise was fully that heavy." "now, mr. duncan," said mr. silby, "this test satisfies me that eugene pearson is innocent of having taken more money than he has restored to us, and that when you left the bank, you carried away the amount he states." while mr. silby was speaking, duncan had been recalling all the events which had transpired during their flight, and endeavoring to trace, step by step, all that they had done. "i remember now," he said slowly, after a few moments, "that before we concluded to throw away the valise, we sat down by the railroad track to rest. we then opened the valise, to see what it contained. among the contents, i noticed a small, dingy sack, which was marked 'silver--$ ,' and that being pretty heavy, and only a small amount, i took it and hid it in the weeds that were growing around us. i suppose it is there yet, provided no one has found and removed it." at this juncture, mr. welton, the cashier, who had been listening quietly, jumped to his feet and excitedly exclaimed: "that solves the mystery! i remember distinctly having placed that gold in a sack marked silver, as it was the only one we could find at the time." then turning to duncan, he added: "you, therefore, instead of throwing away one hundred dollars in silver, as you supposed, actually disposed of five thousand dollars in as good gold as ever came from the mint." this explanation appeared to be as plain as the sun at noonday, and it was evident that, mistaking the contents of the sack to be silver, and of a small amount, duncan had thrown it away, not deeming it worth the trouble of taking. "can you tell the spot where you disposed of this sack?" asked william, who still indulged in the hope of recovering the missing money. "i think i could find it," answered duncan. "and if you gentlemen will accompany me, i think i can point it out to you." without delay, a carriage was procured, and mr. silby, mr. welton, duncan and my son william, started off. they proceeded in the direction which duncan said they had traveled after leaving the bank, and without difficulty he found the spot where he said they had stopped to rest. alighting from the carriage, duncan pointed out the place where they had seated themselves, and he sat down in what he claimed was the exact spot. it was at the foot of a little bank, which rose abruptly from the roadside, and was covered thickly with heavy grass and weeds, now dry and withered, and closely packed together. the three men who accompanied duncan grew exceedingly anxious at this point, for a few moments would decide the question of the recovery of a large amount of money, or its unquestionable loss. silently they waited, as duncan thrust his hand under this growth of dry grass and weeds, where he said he had put the gold, and with surprise and joy they saw him draw forth the identical dingy-looking canvas bag. exultantly he held it aloft, and then placed it in the hands of mr. welton, who, on opening it, found the shining gold pieces, and the mystery of the missing money was solved at last. [illustration: with surprise and joy they saw him draw forth the identical dingy-looking canvas bag.] during all the weeks that had elapsed since the robbery, that gold had lain there undisturbed. hundreds and thousands of people had tramped over the ground in the hope of finding some traces of the burglars, and no one had discovered the snug little sum which lay so temptingly near them, and which might have been theirs for the simple trouble of taking it. as for the bank officials and ourselves, our gratification at this profitable discovery was only exceeded by our astonishment at the singular manner in which it had been at last accomplished. then, too, it set at rest all doubts as to the truthfulness of young pearson's story, and proved conclusively that he was honestly regretful and penitent for the crime he had committed, and had given up all he had taken. at the same time it relieved his companions from any suspicion of having made away with or concealed it for future use. as for duncan, to his credit it must be added, that he seemed as much pleased and relieved at this restoration of the stolen money as did any of the others, and this action impressed the officers of the bank with a feeling of profound sympathy for the unfortunate young man, and convinced them that although he had been guilty of a serious crime, he was not really bad at heart, and that this was his first offense, into which he had been led by his thoughtless folly and reckless dissipation. at his request, he was allowed to see miss patton, and to her he frankly and feelingly expressed his regrets for having so roughly treated her, and her forgiving words were received as gratefully as could have been desired. our work was nearly finished. out of twenty thousand dollars which had been taken, we had succeeded in recovering nearly eighteen thousand dollars; the balance, having been squandered by edwards and duncan, was, of course, irretrievably gone. but this was good enough as it was, and the officers of the bank were satisfied and delighted at this most satisfactory conclusion of an operation which, at its commencement, promised so little, and out of which such great results had flowed. the party returned to geneva, and the next day duncan was formally arraigned. he waived an examination, and in default of bail was removed to the county prison, where his confederates were already confined, anxiously awaiting their trial. chapter xxvi. conclusion--retribution. a few days later, and the last act in this sad drama of crime was performed. the four youthful criminals were arraigned for trial before a conscientious judge, and by a jury composed of gentlemen, many of whom were intimately acquainted with two of the accused, eugene pearson and dr. johnson, both of whom, it will be remembered, were born and reared in the little town of geneva. as may be imagined, the trial attracted universal attention in that section of the country, and on the day that the court was convened, the town was filled with people from all the surrounding districts, who came to witness the important proceedings. long before the hour fixed for the commencement of the trial, the court-room was crowded to suffocation by the eager multitude, who had come from far and near, for the purpose of being present at this unusual judicial investigation. many were actuated only by the promptings of idle curiosity, and regarded the trial somewhat in the light of a diverting exhibition, for which no admission fee was charged; others, from a stern sense of justice, came to view a trial in which crime was to be punished, and the law in all its majesty was to be invoked for the protection of the honor of society, and the property of the individual. there was yet another class, who came from the impulses of love and sympathy and friendship--some who were linked to the unfortunate criminals by the ties of family and blood, and some who had known and esteemed them ere their hearts had been hardened, and before the wiles of the tempter had lured them from the paths of honor and virtue. there were present also the gray-haired father and mother of eugene pearson, broken and bowed with the grief and shame which had been brought upon them by the crimes of their beloved son; the aged parents of dr. johnson, who had come to witness, with saddened hearts, the doom of their darling boy; the young wife of newton edwards, who in the moment of her husband's ruin had, with true womanly devotion, forgotten his past acts of cruelty and harshness, and now, with aching heart and tear-stained eyes, was waiting, with fear and trembling, to hear the dreaded judgment pronounced upon the man whom she had sworn to "love and cherish" through "good and evil report." since his incarceration she had been a constant visitor to his cell, and by her love and sympathy had sought to uphold the fallen man in the dark hours of his shame and disgrace. here also was the aged father of thomas duncan, the only friend whom the young man had in all that vast assembly. though his face was stern and immovable, yet the quivering of the lips and the nervous trembling of the wrinkled hands told too plainly that he too was suffering beyond expression in the sorrow that had been wrought by the boy who in his early years had been his pride and joy. when the judge had taken his seat, and the door opened to admit the four youthful prisoners, all eyes were turned upon them. slowly and with downcast eyes they entered the chamber of justice, and amid an awe-like stillness that pervaded the room, took their seats in the prisoners' dock. in spite of all that had transpired, and with the full conviction that these youthful offenders richly merited whatever judgment they were to receive, there was not one in that entire audience, whose heart did not throb with sympathy for the aged parents and relatives of the accused, and even for the culprits themselves in this, the dreadful hour of their humiliation and grief. the trial was not a protracted one. a jury was speedily empaneled, the low, stern tones of the judge were heard in timely admonition, and the prosecution was commenced. upon the prisoners being asked to plead to the indictments which had been prepared against them, mr. kirkman, a prominent attorney of geneva, who had been retained to defend the unfortunate young men, arose, and in impressive tones entered a plea of guilty. with the keen perceptions of a true lawyer, he felt that the proofs were too strong to be overcome, and that to attempt to set up any technical defense would only result in greater hardships to his clients. he, however, made an eloquent and touching appeal for the exercise of judicial clemency. he referred in feeling terms to the youth of the prisoners, to the groups of weeping and stricken relatives, whose prayerful hearts were echoing his appeals. he urged that the evidences of sincere repentance had been manifested by all of the prisoners, and that, as this had been their first offense, the exercise of gentle mercy would be both grand and productive of good results. his words were not lost even upon the prosecuting attorney, and when mr. kirkman had concluded, that gentleman arose, and in a few words echoed the sentiments of the attorney for the defense. he also expressed the conviction that, while justice called loudly for sentence, yet there were elements in this case in which the wisest judgment would be that which partook of the qualities of mercy. at the conclusion of this request, the judge, with a delicate regard for the tender feelings of the assembled relatives, ordered an adjournment of the court, in order that he might take the merits of the case under advisement, and to enable him to administer such sentence, as, in his best judgment, was demanded under the circumstances. slowly the immense audience dispersed, and for a few moments the prisoners were allowed to converse with their weeping friends, after which they were again conducted to their cells to await the action of the court. a few days later they were brought quietly before the judge and their sentences were pronounced. dr. johnson, owing to the existence of a doubt as to his complicity in the robbery, was condemned to four years' imprisonment on the charge of forgery, while newton edwards, eugene pearson, and thomas duncan were each sentenced to an imprisonment of six years on the indictment for burglary. thus ended this important case, and the action of the court received the almost universal approbation of the community, while the relatives and nearest friends of the prisoners were compelled to acknowledge its fairness and justice. but little remains to be told. the prisoners were soon conducted to the state prison, and a short time afterward, having occasion to visit that institution, i saw them again. they all bore evidences of the most acute remorse and contrition, and their life in prison had produced serious effects upon their robust persons. far different was their lot now, to the free and happy existence which had once been theirs. eugene pearson, the dapper young gentleman, was put at hard labor in the stone-cutting department; johnson, the dentist, was assigned to the machine shop, while edwards and duncan were working in the shoe-making department. day after day the weary labor was performed, and night after night the gloom of the prison cell enshrouds them. weeks will roll into months and the months will stretch into weary years, ere they will breathe the sweet air of liberty again. within the frowning walls of the prison, they are paying the heavy penalty for their crime, and here we must leave them, in the earnest and sincere hope that true repentance may come to them, and that when their term of servitude is ended, they may come forth, filled with resolves to live down the stain upon their characters, and by upright and honorable lives to redeem and obliterate the dark and painful past. that "judgment overcometh crime," has been fully proven in the lives of these men, and trusting in the future to redeem the past, we leave them to the burdens and the solitude to which they have brought themselves. the end. . . 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[illustration: "raise him up!" skip shouted, and in another instant fred was suspended over the old shaft.] down the slope by james otis _author of "telegraph tom's venture," "messenger no. ," "toby tyler," "the boy captain," "silent peter," etc., etc._ _illustrated_ [illustration] m. a. donohue & company - dearborn street chicago copyright by the werner company m. a. donohue & company printers and binders - dearborn street chicago contents pages chapter i--the breaker boy - chapter ii--the warning - chapter iii--in the shaft - chapter iv--the barrier - chapter v--the mob - chapter vi--on duty - chapter vii--the struggle - chapter viii--the pursuit - chapter ix--joe brace - chapter x--the rescue - chapter xi--billings and skip - chapter xii--a singular accident - chapter xiii--buried alive - chapter xiv--precautions - chapter xv--a discovery - chapter xvi--good samaritans - chapter xvii--down the slope - chapter xviii--shut down - chapter xix--the consultation - chapter xx--the accused - chapter xxi--amateur detectives - chapter xxii--unexpected news - chapter xxiii--a misadventure - chapter xxiv--bill's mishap - chapter xxv--joe's interview - chapter xxvi--turning the tables - chapter xxvii--an unlooked-for denial - chapter xxviii--opinions - chapter xxix--a question of title - chapter xxx--a suit at law - chapter xxxi--skip - chapter xxxii--acquitted - chapter xxxiii--victorious - chapter xxxiv--the new mine - list of illustrations "raise him up!" skip shouted, and in another instant fred was suspended over the old shaft _frontispiece_ fred set off at full speed, and almost immediately a shout went up from the rioters: "the sneaks are sending for help! stop that boy!" "you four are to act as sentinels," said the superintendent. "study this map and you will hit upon a scheme" "please don't drag me off," skip said, piteously. "i'll never hurt you or anybody else again" down the slope chapter i the breaker boy "jest moved here, eh?" "came last friday." "and you are going into the breaker?" "yes." "for thirty-five cents a day?" "that is all the company pays, and a green hand can't expect to get more." "were you ever in a mine before?" "i never even saw one." "a trip down the slope will be enough to make you wish such a place in which to earn a living never existed. why don't you try something else before it is too late?" "what do you mean by 'too late'?" "when a fellow is in debt to the company's store he can't afford to be independent, and it is about the same as selling yourself outright for enough to eat and drink." "i won't get into debt." "wait a week, and see if you can say the same thing then." "i mustn't get trusted. i'm the only one to whom mother can look for support. we hadn't any money with which to go to the city, and so came here. it isn't likely i shall be obliged to stay in the breaker forever, and after a while it will be possible to get a better job. where are you working?" "i'm bill thomas' butty." "what's that?" "his helper. he's a miner, and i'll have the same kind of a lay after being with him a while." "were you ever in the breaker?" "i sorted slate from coal most three years, an' got more dust than money; but i'm tough, you see, an' didn't wear out my lungs." "what's your name?" "sam thorpe; but if you ever want anybody to help you out of a scrape, an' i reckon that'll happen before many days, ask for bill's butty." "i am fred byram, and mother has hired the new house near the store." "i'm sorry for you; but as it can't be helped now, keep your eyes peeled, for the boys are a tough lot. when you want a friend come to me. i like your looks, and wish you'd struck most any other place than farley's, 'cause it's the worst to be found in the middle field." with this not very encouraging remark sam went toward the mouth of the slope, and the new breaker boy was left to his own devices. it was six o'clock in the morning. the underground workers were coming singly or in groups to begin the day's work for which each would be paid in accordance with the amount of coal taken out, and no one could afford to remain idle many moments. fred knew he must report to the breaker boss before seven o'clock, and approached the grimy old building wondering if it would be necessary for him to work three years, as sam thorpe had done, before earning more than thirty-five cents per day. entering the breaker, which was thickly coated both inside and out with coal-dust, he reported to donovan, the boss, by saying: "i have come to work. here is my ticket." "green?" "yes, sir." "here, chunky, take this new hand alongside of you, and see that there is no skylarking." the boy referred to as chunky made no reply; but looked up from beside the long chute at which he was sitting, as if the task of breaking in a new hand was very welcome. a fat, good-natured fellow he apparently was, and fred fancied he would be an agreeable task-master. he, like the others, was curious to know if his companion had been in a mine before, and on receiving the information, remarked sagely: "you'll be mighty sick of the whole thing before night, but it's safer than down in the galleries." "what must i do?" "at seven o'clock the coal will be dumped in at the other end of the chute, an' while it's runnin' past you must pick out the slate." "is that all?" "by the time your hands are cut into mince-meat you'll think it's enough," was the grim reply, and before fred could speak again the day's labor had begun. the black fragments came through the chute with a roar which was deafening, and the "green hand" was at a loss to distinguish coal from slate. "take out the dull, grayish stuff," chunky shouted, as he seized from the moving mass sufficient fragments to serve as specimens, and in a short time fred began to have a general idea of his duties. before the forty minutes "nooning" had come around his hands were cut and bleeding; but the thought of his mother, who looked to him for support, was enough to keep him busily at work, and when the whistle sounded he had most assuredly earned half of the thirty-five cents. a short rest, a lunch eaten amid the sooty vapor, which caused one to fancy he was gazing through a veil whenever he glanced across the building, and then the fatiguing labor was recommenced, to be ended only at the stroke of six, when miners, buttys, mule drivers and bosses hastened to the surface of the earth once more after having been deprived of sunlight for nearly twelve hours. without paying any especial attention to the fact, fred noticed that although he was among the last to leave the breaker, the majority of the boys followed close behind as he started toward home. in order to reach the company's store it was necessary to traverse a mirey road on which were no habitations for nearly fifty yards, and when fred was half this distance from the breaker, a voice from behind shouted: "hi! hold on a bit, you new feller!" fred turned to see a dozen of those who had been at work near him, advancing threateningly. "what do you want?" he asked, regretting now that he had not hurried on ahead as chunky suggested shortly before the whistle sounded. "we've got a word to say, an' you're wanted very pertic'lar." "i can't stop now." "that's too bad, for there's a little business to be settled right away," and the largest of the party stepped so near in front of fred that it would have been impossible for him to have advanced, except at the risk of an encounter. "won't it do just as well in the morning?" "i'm afraid not." "but i promised to come straight home." "you can't go till our 'count has been fixed." "i don't owe you anything." "don't eh?" "no. i never even saw one of your crowd until i came to work this morning." "what of that?" "it shows there can be no account between us." "you're makin' a big mistake, young feller. ain't this your first day in the breaker?" "of course it is." "then what about payin' your footing?" "my footing?" "every feller who comes here has got to make things square with us by standin' treat." "well i'm one who can't do it." "oh, yes you can," and here the bully looked at his companions, who echoed his words, crowding yet closer around fred, until it was literally impossible for him to make the slightest movement. "i haven't got a penny, and what i earn is for mother." "you can get an advance at the store." "do you suppose i'll run in debt for the purpose of treating you?" "that's about the size of it." "then you're making a big mistake, for i won't do anything of the kind," and fred made one desperate attempt to force his way through the crowd. "look out for him!" the leader shouted, as he struck fred a blow on the cheek which would have sent him headlong but for the others who acted as a sort of brace. the new breaker boy was not disposed to submit tamely, and struck out blindly but vigorously drawing blood from more than one nose before borne to the earth by press of numbers. while he was thus helpless every fellow who could get near enough dealt him one or more blows, and not until they were tired of the sport did the young ruffians cease. "now let up," the leader cried, in a tone of authority. "he's had a dose that shows what we can do, an' will git it ten times as bad to-morrer, if he don't come down with the treat." the disciplining party ran swiftly toward the settlement when these words had been spoken, probably because a dozen or more miners were approaching, and fred was left to make his way home as best he could. he had just staggered to his feet when the men arrived upon the scene; but no one paid any particular attention to him, save as one miner remarked with a laugh: "i reckon here's a lad who didn't know the rules; but it won't take him long to find them out." fred was too sore both in mind and body to make any retort, and he limped down the road believing this first attempt to earn a living was already a dismal failure. he would have kept the story of the attack a secret from his mother, but for the marks of the conflict which could not be hidden, and when questioned represented the affair as of no especial importance. mrs. byram had a fairly good idea of the case, however, when he said despondently: "i believe it would be better to try some other kind of work. why can't we go to the city?" "because our capital is so limited. to come here it was only necessary to move our furniture three miles, and the promise of needle-work from the superintendent's family assured us sufficient income to meet the absolute cost of living. but you need not go to the breaker again; it may be possible to find employment elsewhere." "there's little chance of that in this town, mother," fred replied with a brave attempt at cheerfulness. "i should be worse than a loafer to remain idle while you were working, and by keeping my eyes open that crowd can't do very much mischief." "wouldn't it be better to pay your 'footing' as they call it? once that has been done there can be no excuse for troubling you." "i won't give them the value of a penny, and i'll stick to my job. perhaps, by flogging the bully i can teach them to let me alone." "but you musn't fight, fred," mrs. byram said, in alarm. "it's better to have one regular battle than to get such a drubbing as this every night. if they make any more fuss i shall take care of myself." now that the first sense of injury had passed away, fred felt as if he had been at fault to allow himself to be so easily overcome, and, distasteful as was the work in the breaker, he had fully resolved to remain and assert his rights in a manly way. chapter ii the warning on the second morning fred did not present himself at the dingy old building until nearly time for the whistle to sound, and those whom he had good cause to look upon as enemies were already at their places by the chute. "i heard some of the fellers served you out last night," chunky said, much as if such proceedings were a matter of course. "they'd better not try it on again," fred replied, in a tone of determination. "are you goin' to fight?" "i'll protect myself, if nothing more." "it won't do any good to try." "why not?" "because there are too many of 'em, an' skip miller can down any feller in this breaker." "who is skip miller?" "the boss of the crowd who laid for you." "then i'll settle matters with him, and when he gets the best of me it will be time to pay my footing; but not before." "he'll chew you all up." "i ain't so sure of that. did you know what they were going to do?" "i had a mighty strong s'picion." "why didn't you tell me?" "then i'd got a thumping. i wanted you to hurry out with me?" by this time the work had begun, and the noise was so great that conversation could be indulged in only at the expense of considerable shouting. fred's hands, sore from the previous day's labor, were cut anew in many places, and more than one piece of slate was marked with his blood as he threw it among the refuse. the "gang," as fred termed his enemies, gave no sign of carrying the threat previously made into execution. the watchful eyes of the breaker boss prevented them from idling, and nothing occurred to arouse the new boy's suspicions until just before the noon-day whistle sounded, when a piece of board, thrown while donovan was not looking, fell at fred's feet. at first he believed the intention was to hit him with the missile; but when the stream of coal ceased to flow through the chute, chunky said as he picked up the board: "the warnin' has come." "what do you mean by that?" for reply chunky handed his mate the piece of lumber on which was printed in scrawling characters with red chalk: "pay or skip. we mean bisness. no sneaks lowed hear. tonite is the last chance. the breaker regulaters." "so they call themselves regulators, eh?" fred said, half to himself, as he deciphered the message after considerable difficulty. "that's some of skip's doings. he's started a reg'lar s'ciety, an' fellers what don't join have to step round mighty lively sometimes." "do you belong?" chunkey hesitated an instant as if ashamed of the fact, and then replied: "it don't pay to keep out, 'cause they run things to suit therselves, an' a feller can't hold his job very long when they're down on him." "according to that i shan't be here a great while unless this command is obeyed?" "that's what i'm afraid of. why not come up with a little treat, an' settle the whole thing that way? you can't do anything by fightin', for there are so many." fred hesitated an instant as if considering the matter, and then replied angrily: "i won't be forced into anything of the kind! if you belong to the gang tell them that i shall protect myself the best i know how, and somebody will get hurt when there's another row." chunky had an opportunity to repeat the message at once, for fred had but just ceased speaking when skip beckoned for him to come to the other side of the building, and a command from the chief of the regulators was not to be disobeyed with impunity. fred was watching the movements of his enemies narrowly when donovan approached on his way to the water casks. "have the boys been tryin' to make you pay your footing?" the breaker boss asked. "yes, sir, and it looks as if they didn't intend to let me stay very long," fred replied, as he held up the notification to quit. "what are you going to do about it?" and the man looked curiously at the boy. "stay where i am until they get the upper hand. i can't treat, for i haven't the money, and i may be able to show that the regulators are not the bosses here." "i like your pluck, my lad, and can, perhaps, give you a lift. skip shall have a flea in his ear before the whistle sounds again; but, of course, it's none of my business what happens after working hours." "i don't expect any assistance, sir, and if they down me it can't be helped." "you've taken a pretty big contract; but between us both i reckon it can be carried out." then donovan continued on, and, looking up, fred saw that all his enemies had been watching the interview closely. "they may conclude it isn't best to tackle me, if he is going to take a hand," he thought, and at this moment chunky returned. "now you have got yourself in a scrape!" "how so?" "skip and all the fellers saw you talkin' to donovan, an' they know you showed him the message from the regulators." "what of that?" "they don't 'low anything of the kind, an' you've got to take a thumpin', even if you do treat." "so i'm to get a double dose, eh?" "that's about the size of it. skip says you'll be laid up for a week when the s'ciety gets through with you." "i'm much obliged for the promise; but don't believe quite all he says." chunky shook his head as if to intimate that the case was a desperate one, and then the nooning had come to an end. the clouds of coal dust which had but just settled rose again as the machinery was put in motion, and all was activity once more. although fred had spoken so bravely he felt seriously disturbed, and during the remainder of the day his mind was fully occupied with thoughts of how he might successfully resist his enemies. when night came he had arrived at no satisfactory conclusion, and at the signal to cease work chunky ran swiftly away thus showing that while he would not join with the society as against his mate, he did not intend to take sides with him. donovan's promise of assistance was not a vain one. when fred emerged from the breaker a few paces behind chunky he saw the boss waiting for him, and the latter said in a friendly tone: "it don't do you much good to be seen talkin' to me, for both men an' boys hate what are called bosses' pets; but we'll stave off this row till you get used to the ropes, when it's a case of taking care of yourself." under the protection of donovan, fred walked to his home, feeling a bit ashamed of thus avoiding the meeting with the regulators, and more than one jeering cry did he hear before reaching the house. "be careful of yourself now," donovan said, as they arrived at the cottage. "this won't make the lads any better disposed toward you, an' it isn't safe to move 'round very much in the dark." "i'll come home alone to-morrow an' have it out." "don't be rash. wait for a chance, an' if skip gets hurt pretty bad nobody here'll feel sorry." then fred entered the house, and after a bath, a hot supper, during which his mother spoke many encouraging words, and a long consultation to his best course, he felt little fear of the regulators. mrs. byram had good news for her son. the wife of the superintendent had introduced her to several other ladies who promised to give her employment, and the prospect of earning money seemed better than was anticipated when the question of moving to the settlement had been under discussion. "we shall get along famously," she said, "and, perhaps, it won't be many months before it will be possible to get enough ahead so we can venture to the city. i am going to open an account at the store in your name, for what little cash we had is very nearly exhausted." "when are you going?" "now. i shall be busy to-morrow, and you must have a hearty supper." "i'll go; the store isn't the nicest place possible during the evening." "but the boys who are watching for you?" "they won't dare to do anything when the men are around," fred replied, carelessly, and taking the memorandum which his mother had prepared, he left the house. the one street of the settlement was almost deserted, for it was yet too early to see the toilers who would spend the short time of rest in the open air near the store, and fred's business was soon transacted. the desired credit was readily granted, and with his arms filled with packages he started toward home once more. for the first time in the past twenty-four hours he had forgotten the existence of the regulators, and the fact that skip miller with half a dozen companions was waiting for him never came into his mind until a hand was suddenly pressed over his mouth, as a hoarse voice whispered: "catch hold his legs an' arms, fellers! never mind the stuff now." in a twinkling fred was lifted from the ground by a boy at each limb, while the one who had spoken kept a firm hold upon his mouth, and in this fashion he was carried swiftly along in the direction of the breaker, as he thought. "we'll have to fetch them bundles so's to make it look as if he fell in," some one said, and a voice, which he recognized as skip's, replied: "that's so. you fellers what ain't doing anything pick 'em up." "who's got the rope?" "i have." "why not throw him in an' run the chances? it's too bad to lose what cost half a dollar." "there's time enough to fix that after we've got him to the shaft." "hold your tongues, or somebody will hear us!" skip whispered, angrily, as his companions thus discussed the preliminaries. then came a long time of silence broken by the footsteps of the party, or the loud breathing of those who were carrying the burden. several times fred tried to give an alarm; but his mouth was held so firmly that not a sound could escape his lips, and after a while he contented himself with simply trying to form some idea of the direction in which he was being taken. when the party had carried him for ten or fifteen minutes a halt was made, and then his captors took the precaution of enveloping his head in a coat, which shut out every sound, save the loudly uttered remarks of the regulators. he heard skip berating one of the party, because some reference was made to their destination, and then ensued a noisy discussion as to what should be done with him. "if he don't turn up to-morrer mornin' old donovan will swear we took him off, an' there'll be a heap of trouble for all hands," one of the boys suggested. "what of that? nobody can say we did it, an' after he's had one night of it, i reckon he'll be willin' to do as we say." "but how'll he get out?" "that's for him to say. we'll show him what it is to go agin our crowd, an' the rest is his business." then fred was borne forward again until it seemed as if fully half a mile had been traversed, when the regulators halted for the second time. the wrappings were removed from his head, and as nearly as the prisoner could tell he was some distance from the breaker; at the mouth of what appeared to be an abandoned shaft. "now, look here," skip miller said, as he stood before his prisoner. "you've taken it into your head that us reg'lators don't 'mount to nothin'; but by to-morrer mornin' you'll think different. what we say we mean an' don't you forget it. if you'd been man enough to do like every other feller it would 'a been all right; but instead of that you go babyin' to old donovan, an' we don't 'low sich funny business." "what are you going to do now?" "show what the reg'lators 'mount to. when you come out of this i reckon you'll be willin' to pay up like a man, an' join us." "it will have to be a pretty stiff dose to make me do anything of the kind," fred said, angrily. "that's jest what this is goin' to be. we're lettin' you off of a poundin' so's to show what can be done, an' if you say so much as a word to old donovan we'll pretty near kill you." "i shall talk to whoever i please." "not after you come out of this. don't think we'll allers let you off so cheap, an' at the first show of tellin' what's been done to-night we'll give you another lesson." fred realized that it was useless to bandy words with those who held him so completely in their power, and understanding also that he could do nothing to better his condition, held his peace. skip showed himself to be an adept in the business of subduing refractory breaker boys, by giving his orders promptly, and in such a manner as would soonest accomplish the work. under his energetic directions fred's hands were soon tied behind his back, a gag was fastened in his mouth, and the rope placed under his arms. "now raise him up, an' you needn't be careful about lettin' him drop. the sooner he gets to the bottom the quicker we can go back to the store. put the bundles near the mouth of the shaft, an' in a couple of days somebody will find him." "it'll go rough with us if he tells who left him here," one of the party suggested. "there's no danger of that. before he gets out he'll know what it means to fool with us." fred remained passive. he could not believe these boys would dare to do anything very serious. and to attempt resistance would accomplish no possible good. "raise him up!" skip shouted, and in another instant fred was hanging over what appeared to be a deep hole, to be dropped with a suddenness and force which, for the time being, deprived him of consciousness. while he lay at the bottom of the shaft the regulators placed the parcels taken from the store, in such a manner as to make it appear that he had fallen in by accident, and when this had been done they went swiftly toward the settlement, regardless of whether their victim lived or died. chapter iii in the shaft mrs. byram had no suspicion that her son might be exposed to any danger until after he had been absent an hour, and then the remembrance of the threats made by skip miller and his friends caused her the deepest anxiety. fred would not have staid at the store longer than was absolutely necessary, and the fear of foul play had hardly gained possession of her mind before she was on her way to search for him. the company's clerk had but just finished explaining that the new breaker boy left there with his purchases some time previous, when donovan entered in time to hear the widow say: "i do not understand why he should remain away so long, for he must know i would be troubled concerning him." "didn't your boy stay in the house after i left him at the gate, mrs. byram?" the breaker boss asked. mrs. byram explained why fred ventured out, and the man appeared to be disturbed in mind. "this is just the time when he oughter kept his nose inside. them young ruffians are likely to do any mischief." "then you believe something serious has happened." "i didn't say quite that; but it won't do much harm to have a look for him. you go home, an' i'll call there in an hour." then turning to some of the loungers, he asked, "has anybody seen skip miller lately?" "you're allers tryin' to make out that he's at the bottom of everything that goes wrong," skip's father, who entered at this moment, said in a surly tone. "if he ain't, it's not for lack of willingness. do you know where he is?" "home, where he's been for an hour or more." donovan looked hard at the speaker, and miller retorted: "if you don't believe me, it won't take long to find out for yourself." "that's exactly what i'm going to do. mrs. byram, i will see you again in less than an hour." with these words the breaker boss left the store, and fred's mother walked slowly home, the anxiety in her heart growing more intense each moment. two hours passed before donovan returned and announced his inability to find the missing boy. "i did think skip might have had a hand in it," he said; "but i reckon he's innocent this time. i found him near his own home with a crowd of cronies, and according to all accounts he's been there since supper." "but what has become of fred?" mrs. byram asked, preserving a semblance of calmness only after the greatest difficulty. "i hope nothing serious has happened. the superintendent has been notified, and promises to send men out in search of him at once. it is just possible he went down the slope to see the night shift at work." there was nothing in these words to afford the distressed mother any relief, and the sorrow which would not be controlled took complete possession of her, as donovan hurried away to join those who were examining every place where an accident might have occurred. meanwhile the subject of all this commotion remained where the regulators had left him. it was a long time before he recovered consciousness, and then several moments were spent in trying to decide where he was and what had happened. the fragments of conversation heard while the boys were carrying him told that he was in an abandoned shaft, and, unacquainted though he was with mines in general, it did not require much thought to convince him how nearly impossible it would be to escape unaided. the bonds which fastened his limbs, as well as the gag, had not been tied firmly, and in a short time he was free to begin such an examination of the place as was possible in the profound darkness. here and there he could feel the timbers left when the shaft was deserted, and, after groping about some moments, discovered a tunnel-like opening ten or twelve feet across. the roof or top of this place was beyond his reach, and he knew it must be a drift from which all the coal had been taken. "it may lead for miles under the hill, and i would be no better off by following it," he thought. "unless there is a slope which communicates with it, i'd be in a worse fix than now, because the chances of being lost or suffocated must be about even." then in his despair he shouted at the full strength of his lungs, until it was impossible to speak louder than a whisper. nothing less than the booming of a cannon could have been heard from the shaft by any one in the settlement, and with the night shift in the working mine there would hardly be any one in the vicinity. after giving full sway to his grief for half an hour or more, anger replaced sorrow, and he rushed into the tunnel with no other thought than to escape from that particular place. stumbling on over decaying timbers, rocks, and mounds of earth which had fallen from the roof, he pushed straight ahead until the decided inclination told that this drift tended upward. there was now reason to believe it might communicate with another which, in turn, was reached by a slope, and hope grew strong once more. how long he had traveled when the sound of voices caused him to halt it was impossible to form any idea; but it seemed as if several hours elapsed, and the first thought was to shout for help. "i won't do it," he said, checking himself. "this tunnel may have led me back to the other mine, and if the people ahead are some of the night shift they'll be likely to have considerable sport at my expense." walking cautiously in the direction of the voices he was suddenly brought to a standstill by an apparently solid wall of earth. he groped around until there was no question but that he had reached the end of the drift, and when this discovery had been made he found a small aperture which opened into a gallery or chamber where were a dozen men, the lamps in their hats illumining the place sufficiently for fred to distinguish the party. he had reached the limit of the abandoned drift, and was looking in upon a portion of the new mine. even now he made no appeal for help. the conversation of the men caused him to listen with no thought of his own condition. "unless we do the job to-morrow night there's little chance of gettin' through with it all right," one of the party was saying, and another replied with an oath: "there's no reason why we should wait. to-night would suit me." "i don't believe in it," a third man said. "what's to be gained by floodin' the mine, an' turnin' ourselves out of a chance to earn a living?" "you allers was chicken-hearted, joe brace. haven't we put up with enough from the mine owners an' bosses? we work for starvation wages, while they can barrel money." "would you say that if you hadn't been thrown out of a job?" "that's my business. here's a crowd of us who have sworn to stick together, no matter what happens, an' five have been warned out. are we goin' peaceable, not liftin' a finger agin them as have got rich while we starved?" "but how are we helpin' ourselves by floodin' the mine?" "three or four of sich bosses as donovan may be in the drift when with one stroke of a pick i let the water into the lower level, and that'll show the others we're men, even if they do treat us like brutes." "you will drown some of your own mates." "them as are on the level must take their chances." "it's murder, that's what it is, an' i'll have none of it!" brace cried, as he leaped to his feet, and in another instant the whole party were facing him who dared dispute their right to do wrong. for some moments our hero could not distinguish a word, so great was the confusion; but when the tumult subsided in a measure two men were holding brace, while he who appeared to be leader stood before him in a threatening attitude. "you've sworn to go with the crowd, and know the penalty for traitors." "i know that i'll blow the whole business if i get the chance. i've got a brother in the lower level; do you think i'll stand by while he is bein' murdered?" "better do that than turn agin us. we'll give you one chance; swear to hold your tongue, an' we'll do no more than make sure you can't betray us." "an' if i don't choose to swear?" "then we'll leave you here lashed hand an' foot. when the mine is flooded this drift will be cut off, an' it don't need a lawyer to say what'll happen then." "so to spite them as have done you a bad turn you're willin' to murder me?" "that's about the size of it." "listen to me, cale billings. i promised to stand by you fellers when the agreement was to help each other agin the bosses; but now it's murder you mean. i'd rather be on the lower level when the deed is done than have part or parcel with them as are willin' to make widows an' orphans." "then we know what to do," billings cried angrily, as he rushed toward brace, and for several moments fred had only a confused idea of what was taking place. brace was fighting against the entire party, and, under such circumstances, the struggle could not be prolonged. when the watcher could next distinguish the occupants of the chamber brace laid on his back bound hand and foot, while the others were on the point of departure. billings remained behind his companions to say: "we gave you all the chance we could, an' now it's only yourself you've got to thank for what'll happen before forty-eight hours go by." "i'd die twice over rather than put the stain of blood on my hands." "well, you've got the chance to try it once, an' i reckon you'll wish things was different before long. we'll take good care nobody comes this way too soon." then the party filed out of the room, one or two glancing back with undisguised pity, and as they passed along the drift the place was wrapped in profound darkness, with nothing to break the silence save the doomed man's heavy breathing. fred waited until believing the would-be murderers were beyond the sound of his voice, and then he called softly: "brace! brace!" "who's there?" "a breaker boy who came into the mine yesterday." "where are you?" fred explained to the best of his ability, and added: "do you know of any way i can get out of here?" "no; that part of the mine has been closed a good many years, an' it would take a week to work up through the old slope. before then the water on the lower level is bound to flood this end of the workings." "and we shall be drowned." "i don't see any help for it." "but we can't stay here and be killed!" fred cried in an agony of fear. "it's tough, but there's no way out of it unless----" "what? speak quickly, for time mustn't be lost if we're to do anything toward helping ourselves." "how large a cut is there through the wall where you are standing?" "it's only a small one--perhaps four or five inches across." "couldn't you make it large enough to crawl through?" "it wouldn't take long if i had a shovel; but without one it will be hard." "set about it, lad; work is better than idleness when a fellow is in this kind of a scrape." fred obeyed instantly, tearing away the earth regardless of the injury done his hands; but making very slow progress. the wall was composed of slate and gravel, and a pick would have been necessary to effect a speedy entrance. meanwhile brace strove to cheer the boy by talking of the possibility that they might yet escape, and hour after hour fred continued at the task until the moment arrived when it was possible, by dint of much squeezing, to make his way through the aperture. "do you think it is near the time when the men are to flood the mine?" he asked, groping around until his outstretched hands touched brace's prostrate body, when he began feverishly to untie the ropes. "no, lad, we must have half a dozen hours before us." "then we are all right!" fred cried joyfully. "you know the way out, and billings' plot can be made known in time to prevent the mischief." "don't fool yourself with the idea that matters have been straightened because i'm free," brace replied, as he rose to his feet when fred's task had been finished. "but what is to prevent our leaving here?" "did you catch what billings said when he left?" "yes." "then there's no need of sayin' anything more. some of the murderin' crowd will be on guard at the entrance to the drift, and, knowing what we do of their plans, every means will be used to prevent our ever seeing daylight again." "don't you intend to do anything toward trying to escape?" "of course. i'm not quite a fool." "shall you go back with me, or try to find the shaft?" "that would be useless. we will go straight through this drift." "but if billings' crowd are watching for you?" "it's simply a case of fighting for life. there ain't much hope of overpowerin' them; the job will be child's play compared with tryin' to hold our own agin the flood that's sure to come soon." brace groped around for something which would serve as a weapon, but finding nothing, he said grimly: "we'll have to go as we are, lad, an' remember that if we don't get through the drift you'll never see the breaker again." chapter iv the barrier brace did not so much as ask if fred was willing to join him in the struggle which must surely ensue, if they met those who intended to work such great injury to the mine. he walked straight on without speaking until five minutes had elapsed, and then said in a whisper: "it wouldn't be safe for any of that crowd to be found loafin' near the entrance to the drift, so we may expect to run across them before long. if they get the best of me, an' you can slip past while they are doin' it, don't wait, but make the most of your time." "i wouldn't leave you to fight alone." "why not? my life don't count for anything when there are so many to be saved. run if you can, and tell what billings intends to do. the superintendent is the one who should hear it first, but if the time is short speak to any of the bosses." up to this moment fred had thought only that he and brace might insure their own safety; but now personal welfare seemed insignificant as compared with what might be done for others. following closely behind brace, that there might be no possibility of an involuntary separation, he walked on in silence until the leader suddenly halted with a cry of dismay. "what's the matter?" fred whispered. "the villains have taken good care we sha'n't escape. the drift has been filled up this side of the doors." "can't we dig our way through? they haven't had time to bring much stuff in here." "more than likely two or three loads of coal have been dumped, and then the doors were fastened. the drift has been worked out, and none of the bosses would come here in time to suspect mischief." "what can we do?" "wait a bit till i make sure what's before us." brace clambered upon the barrier, assured himself there was too much to be removed in the limited time at their disposal, and then came back to where fred was waiting in painful suspense. "it must be the old shaft or nothing. walk fast now for the minutes are going mighty quick." alone, fred would have had difficulty in retracing his steps, but brace pushed forward as if it was possible to see every foot of the way, and when the chamber was reached immediately began forcing his body through the aperture which had seemed hardly large enough for fred. neither gave any heed to possible injuries, and the man's clothes were in tatters when they emerged on the opposite side of the wall to make their way with all speed along the tunnel. for a while the inclination of the path told fred the proper direction was being pursued, and then it seemed as if they traveled an unusually long time over a road which appeared to be perfectly level. "are you sure we are right?" he asked at length, seizing brace by the arm to force him to halt. "i don't know anything about it. this part of the mine was closed before i ever heard of such a place as farley's." "we should have continued going down hill until the shaft was gained." "then we are off the track sure; but it can't be helped now, and there is little chance of finding our way back. the air isn't bad, and we'll keep on; it may be there is another slope beside the one about which i have heard." "we must be on the lower level." "i reckon we are." "and it can't be long before billings will do as he threatened." "you're right." "then we are certain to be drowned unless we can find a higher drift." "yes, an' it'll be a clear case of luck if we strike one. don't stop to talk now. we must go at full speed while the air is good." seizing fred by the hand, brace started once more, and for the time being both forgot fatigue in this struggle for life. on with feverish energy they pressed, yet no glimmer of light broke the profound darkness. more than once each fell over the litter of timbers, but only to rise and struggle on again, until finally brace halted. "it's no use," he said with a moan. "each step now is carrying us lower. i remember hearing some of the old hands say the abandoned drifts were a hundred feet or so farther down the hill. we must be considerably below the deepest shaft." "have you given up all hope?" fred asked in a whisper, for while surrounded by the dense blackness the full tones of his voice sounded fearsome. "ay, lad, all hope." "try once more. there surely is a way out if we could only strike it!" "we may as well meet the water here. i've been in the mines long enough to know that this runnin' at random is worse than standin' quiet. when a man's time has come there's no use to fight." fred could not urge him farther. the numbness of fear was upon him, brought by this sudden surrender of the man whom he had believed would be able to extricate them from the precarious position, and now he thought only of his mother. how long the two remained there silent and motionless neither ever knew. to fred it seemed as if hours passed before brace seized him by the arm as he cried at the full strength of his lungs: "hello! mate! this way!" then he ran forward at full speed, dragging fred with him, and shouting like an insane man all the while until finally the boy could see a tiny spark of light far in the distance. "it's some one looking for us," fred cried. "whether he's come for us, or is on business of his own, matters little since his light is burning." then, as brace ceased speaking, fred heard a familiar voice shouting, and an instant later sam thorpe had grasped him by the hand. "why, it's bill's butty! what are you doing here?" "i came to look for the new breaker boy; i thought skip's crowd had done him some mischief." "so they did, an' another set of scoundrels would have drowned us all out but for your coming." "what do you mean?" "there's no time for talkin' now. how did you get here?" "by an old slope that i stumbled across the other day. i found fred's bundles near the shaft, and believed he had been let down there." "go on the best you know how; i'll give you a bit of an idea about ourselves while we're walking." the gleam of the lamp sam wore in his cap was sufficient to show the way, and by the time the entrance to the slope had been reached the butty boy knew the whole story. "billings' gang won't be able to do anything till after the day shift go on, an' i think it would be a good idea to let the superintendent know what has happened. why not stay here till i tell him part of the story?" "go ahead," brace replied. "we'll wait for you." "will you tell my mother that i am all right?" fred asked. "she shall hear of it first," sam said, as he stole out into the open air, as if fearful of being seen. "why didn't we go with him?" fred asked when he was alone with brace. "because nobody knows how far the plan to flood the mine may have gone, and by showing ourselves the villains may begin the job too soon to be prevented." it was yet dark. instead of having been imprisoned in the tunnels twenty-four hours, as fred had believed, less than eight were passed there. that mr. wright believed the news sam brought to be of vital importance was shown by his coming with the boy with the utmost speed, and on entering the shaft he said to brace: "tell me all you know about the plan to flood the mine." the story was given in detail, and at its conclusion mr. wright asked: "how do you happen to know so much about this thing?" "because i belonged to the party till i found they meant murder." "are you acquainted with all the members?" "no, sir; wasn't allowed. billings allers let us understand there was a big crowd, but wouldn't let any besides the officers know about it; he said the men might give themselves away by talkin' if they found who was members." "why do they wish to throw all hands out of employment by flooding the mine?" "some of the bosses are too hard on 'em, sir, an' a good many think it's like sellin' theirselves to deal at the company store." "they should have come to me with their grievances; but it is too late to talk of that now, and immediate steps must be taken to prevent the mischief. it won't be policy for you to show yourself until my plans have been perfected, otherwise they would take alarm. the boy can go home, and i want him to be in the breaker this morning as if nothing had happened. where can you remain in hiding for a few days?" "i don't know, sir, unless i leave town." "that will not do, for i may wish to talk with you again." "he can come with me," fred said quickly. "we do not know any one here, and there's no danger of his being discovered." "it's a good idea. go with the boy, brace, and i can let you know when it will be safe to venture out." "very well, sir; but don't deal harshly with billings' crowd. they've tried to do me the most harm one man can work another; but yet, for the sake of their wives an' children, i'd not feel easy in mind if they was turned away without warning." "i promise to be as lenient as is consistent with the safety of others," mr. wright replied, as fred and the miner left the slope, walking rapidly lest they should be observed, and a few moments later mrs. byram was clasping to her bosom the son whom she had feared was lost to her forever on this earth. it was not long that fred could remain at home. he had promised to go to the breaker, and after he and brace partook of a hearty meal, at the conclusion of which the latter was shown to a room where there was no chance of his being seen, he started out, with the promise to his mother that he would be very careful. by some channel of information the news had been spread that the missing boy returned home during the night, and no one paid any particular attention to him as he walked down the street, but on entering the breaker skip miller and his friends were decidedly disturbed. the leader of the regulators glanced from fred to donovan, as if expecting he would be called upon to give an account of his misdeeds; but chunky, who had evidently not been let into the secret, greeted his mate as if the latter's return was something he had expected. "where was you last night?" he asked. "i went out near the old shaft," fred replied, and skip, who overheard the words, appeared to be very much relieved. "i thought you'd run away." "why should i do anything like that?" "i dunno, 'cept that you wanted to get clear of the thumpin' that the regulators promised." "i'm not such a fool as that," fred replied carelessly, and then the outpouring of coal put an end to further conversation. chapter v the mob fred could not prevent himself from glancing now and then in the direction of skip miller and his friends during the forenoon, and on each occasion he found one or more of the party gazing at him as if in wonderment. they failed to understand how he succeeded in leaving the shaft, and this surprise was less than that called forth by the fact of his remaining silent regarding their ill-treatment. one, two, three hours passed much as usual, and then something happened which caused the oldest worker in the mines unbounded astonishment. the machinery suddenly stopped, and from all the bosses came the orders that every laborer should return home without delay. no explanations were given, and when the vast army were on the outside they stood in groups around the works discussing the cause of this very strange state of affairs. "i never knew anything like this to happen at farley's before," an old miner said. "and they don't even tell us why we are cheated out of a day's work." "the engineer says there is nothing the matter with the machinery." "yes, an' he, like us, has been ordered to go home." these and a dozen other remarks fred heard as he left the breaker, and while loitering for an instant to learn if any one suspected the true state of affairs he became conscious that skip and his friends were regarding him with mingled anger and consternation written on their faces. "you'd better get out of here, or there may be trouble," chunky whispered. "why?" "'cause skip has got plenty of time now to serve you out, an' he looks like somethin' was goin' to be done." "he'd better not try any more games. i can take care of myself in the daylight." "what do you mean? did he do somethin' last night?" before fred could reply the captain of the regulators came up, and chunky lost no time in moving away from this very important personage. "say," skip began, as he stepped threateningly in front of fred, "what's the meanin' of all this?" "do you mean the shutting down of the machinery?" "of course i do." "why should i know anything about it?" "don't try to play off innocent to me. you've been blowin' about what the regulators did, an' that's why all hands can suck their thumbs to-day." "don't you think that is a foolish idea?" fred asked, with a feeble effort at a smile. "do you fancy you, the regulators, or i, are so important that the whole force is laid off because of anything which may have happened between us?" skip was staggered by this reply, and after thinking the matter over for a moment, he said in a surly tone: "all i've got to say is that things will be too hot for you in this town, if a word is told about what was done last night." "you said pretty near the same before throwing me down the shaft." "well, i'm sayin' it again, for it stands you in hand to remember it." "i won't forget." skip turned quickly as if the tone offended him, and after glaring fiercely at the breaker boy, walked slowly toward his friends. "what's in the wind now? is he making any more threats?" looking around quickly fred saw sam thorpe, who had just come up the slope with bill thomas. "skip is afraid the shutting down has some connection with the doings of the regulators. isn't it queer to stop the machinery so soon when mr. wright was anxious to keep everything a secret?" "i heard him say that the pumps were out of order. one set got choked this morning, and it wouldn't be safe for the miners to stay in the lower level till they were repaired." sam winked meaningly as if he thought the matter had been arranged very skillfully; but fred was yet at a loss to understand how anything could be gained by this move. "why were all hands thrown out?" "there are some general repairs to be made, and it was better to do the whole at the same time." "then there's no reason why brace should hide any longer." "he mustn't so much as show his nose. come over by the slope and watch billings and his crowd. they are in a peck of trouble, expecting that brace will be found, and since no one is allowed to enter the mine matters begin to look tough for them." fred followed his friend and saw those who had intended to cause a terrible disaster clustered around the mouth of the slope in a feverish state of excitement. "this is a nice way to treat honest men," billings was saying as the two approached. "we work for starvation wages, an' then get laid off whenever the bosses like, without so much as a notice. it's time we did something to show we're men." "i'm told the pumps are choked," an old miner said, "an' if that's the case mr. wright oughter shut down. farley's never has had a very good name; but one or two stoppages like this'll show it's worked on the square." "what a fool you are!" billings cried angrily. "haven't you got sense enough to see that this thing has been done so's we'll run deeper in debt at the store, an' have to submit to a cut down when wright gets ready to put the screws on?" several of the bystanders loudly expressed their belief in the correctness of billings' theory, and instantly the greatest excitement prevailed. the group increased in numbers each moment, and billings took upon himself the office of spokesman. one proposed they march in a body to the superintendent's house and demand that the machinery be started again. another insisted on forcing their way into the mine to ascertain the true cause of the stoppage, and in this last speaker fred recognized one of the men who had helped make joe brace a prisoner. "they want to find him before mr. wright orders an examination," he whispered to sam, and the latter replied: "in less than an hour they'll have force enough to do as they please. it's time we were out of this; you go home to tell joe, and i'll see mr. wright if possible." fred was all the more willing to follow this advice because skip and his party were in the immediate vicinity, and the lawlessness of the men might render them bold enough to administer the promised flogging then and there. the streets of the little town were crowded with knots of miners, some of whom seemed to think the superintendent had acted for their good, while others were indulging in the most extravagant threats. mrs. byram was standing in the doorway when her son arrived, and it could readily be seen by her face how relieved she was to have him with her once more. "you mustn't leave the house again to-day," she said in a tremulous voice. "go up stairs and tell mr. brace what has happened." the miner was impatient to learn the cause of the excitement, for he could hear the hum of voices on the street; but did not care to look out of the window for fear of being seen. fred's story was not a long one, and he had to repeat it several times before brace was satisfied. "i s'pose wright knows his own business best; but it looks mighty dangerous to shut down so sudden." "perhaps it was the only course to pursue," fred suggested. "billings' crowd may have been so near carrying their plot into operation that there was no time for anything different." "that might be; but take my word for it, there's going to be trouble at farley's before this fuss is settled." "do you think billings would dare to force his way into the mine?" "he'd dare do anything with men enough at his back." "suppose they got in and didn't find you?" "i ain't thinkin' of myself, for it would be easy to get out of town." "if they have an idea you've escaped from the drift all hands will be on the watch, knowing you could expose their plot." "everything is correct so long as they don't find out where i am, an' when it's time to move i'll agree to give 'em the slip. go down stairs so you can see if the trouble is about to begin." before fred could obey, sam thorpe burst into the room. "there's a regular mob on the way to mr. wright's house. they threaten to burn it if the works are not opened in an hour." "where is the superintendent?" brace asked. "in the mine i think; he's not at home, for i just came from there." "is billings leadin' them?" "yes." "how many of the company's men are on guard at the slope?" "about a dozen." "who are they?" sam repeated the names, and brace said musingly: "there are one or two that i'm doubtful of. they've been too thick lately with billings." "it can't be helped now, for mr. wright wouldn't dare show himself long enough to make any change." at this moment a loud cry from the street caused the boys to run quickly down the stairs, and brace ventured to look out from between the folds of the curtain. the mob, in a spirit of bravado and to gain recruits, were parading the streets before making their demands, and had halted in front of the company's store that billings might harangue those near by. he was dilating upon the wrongs inflicted on honest workingmen, and calling for everyone to join in the struggle for their rights, when, to the astonishment of all, mr. wright appeared, coming from the direction of the slope. the superintendent would have passed the mob and entered the store, but that the men barred his way, forcing him to halt directly in front of mrs. byram's home. "we was lookin' for you," billings said insolently, as he stepped close to mr. wright. "well, now that you have found me speak quickly, for there is very much that i must do before night." "open the works!" a voice shouted. "give us a chance at the bosses!" "tell us what's the matter. why are we thrown out of a job?" "hold on!" billings cried, "i'll do the talking." it was several moments before the tumult ceased sufficiently for the leader to make himself understood, and meanwhile the superintendent stepped on the threshold as mrs. byram opened the door. "in the first place," billings began, "we want to know why the works have been shut down?" "because the pumps in the lower level are choked, and there is every danger that portion will be flooded." "but why are us miners barred out?" "it is evident someone has been trying to work mischief, and i do not care to run the risk of allowing the same party free access to the place until all the damage is repaired." "do you mean to accuse us of tryin to drown each other?" one of the throng asked. "i shall make no accusations until everything can be proven; but meanwhile all must remain out of the works that the guilty parties may not be able to do worse mischief." "that is only a trick to keep us idle so the store bills put us more completely in your power," billings cried insolently. "you know the company must lose a great deal of money by taking the men out." it was impossible for mr. wright to make himself heard further. the miners began to speak, each one for himself, and little could be distinguished save the threats to burn the houses belonging to the officers of the works, if the machinery was not started immediately. after this threat had been made the men grew more bold, and before those in the cottage had time to screen themselves a shower of stones were flung at the superintendent, who barely succeeded in protecting himself by jumping behind the door. fred and sam, the latter of whom had an ugly cut on the cheek, closed the door quickly, bolting and barricading it with the furniture nearest at hand, and the riot had begun. the angry men pelted the house with such missiles as could be most easily procured, and during two or three minutes it seemed as if the building must be wrecked. mr. wright would have run into the street as the only way by which the widow's property could be saved; but fred and sam prevented him by force, and brace, who came down stairs at the first alarm, said decidedly: "you mustn't think of such a thing. your life would be taken." "it is cowardly to remain here." "it is foolhardy to face, single handed, two or three hundred brutes like those who are yelling." "but the widow's property?" "the building belongs to the company, and you can easily pay her for what may be destroyed." during this brief conversation the front windows had been shattered, and the mob appeared to be on the point of carrying the place by storm when a voice cried: "i ain't here to fight agin women who are in the same box with ourselves. what's to prevent our smashin' the windows of his own house?" "that's the way to talk," another replied. "come on; we'll attend to his case later." as if by magic the mob vanished; but the hoots and yells told of the direction in which they had gone. "something must be done at once, or there is no knowing where this thing will end. fred, you and sam get some boards up at these windows, and i'll learn how many of the men can be trusted to stand by us. keep out of sight a while longer brace." mr. wright left the building by the rear entrance, the boys watching until he disappeared within the company's store, and then sam proceeded to obey the orders. nearly every pane of glass in the front of the house had been broken, and there was not lumber enough to close more than one. "we shall have to go to the yard for boards; do you dare to try it, fred?" "why not? skip's crowd are most likely with the men." mrs. byram was afraid to have her son leave the house at such a time; but joe brace made light of her fears, and she gave a reluctant consent. "we sha'nt be away more than half an hour, and the mob will pay no attention to us while they have so much mischief on hand," fred said as he followed sam. chapter vi on duty in order to reach the yard where the lumber was to be found it was necessary that the boys should pass near the store, and at a point where mr. wright's house could be seen plainly. the mob which now surrounded it was in full view, and the angry shouts, mingled with breaking glass, came to their ears with great distinctness. "it doesn't seem right for us to stay here when we might be of some service there," fred said as he pointed in the direction of the building. "i don't know what we could do if we were on the spot. it isn't likely those men would stop because we asked them to do so, and, so far as i can judge, it is very much better to stay at a respectful distance." "and let them destroy the buildings?" "what can you do to prevent it?" "nothing that i know of, and yet it is wicked to let this thing be done without some protest." "mr. wright would attend to that matter if a protest would amount to anything. our duty is to protect your mother, and that must be attended to before anything else." "i realize that fact fully; but----" at this moment mr. wright called from the rear of the store: "boys, come here!" obeying the summons they were led to a rear room where were assembled the principal officers of the mine, all looking more or less frightened, and the superintendent said as they entered: "is there anything to prevent your doing as i wish during the next few hours." "not that i know of, sir," fred replied. "we were about to fasten up the broken windows at home; but that is of little consequence in case you require our services." "the force of men on guard at the slope is too small if the rioters try to effect an entrance. it is in the highest degree important that billings' crowd be prevented from getting in, until all our arrangements have been made. will you go on duty there until troops can be summoned?" "we are willing to do everything in our power." "then arm yourselves with these guns." mr. wright pointed to a number of muskets as he spoke, and sam did not delay in selecting a weapon. "i must tell mother where i have gone or she will be worried," fred said, as he started toward the door. "i will call upon her at once, and you need not delay." "how long are we likely to remain on duty?" "only until troops arrive. we have telegraphed to the governor, and a company should be here within the next twenty-four hours." "it isn't probable the sentinels will take our word for it that you have sent us." "here is a line to donovan, and you had better start at once, for there's no saying how soon the rioters may get tired of destroying dwellings. tell donovan that we hope to send him a larger force soon." the boys felt very much like soldiers as they marched toward the slope, each armed with a gun and half a dozen cartridges, and the tumult which could be heard distinctly, heightened the illusion. "they have set fire to some building," sam said, as he pointed to a column of smoke which rose from the direction of the superintendent's home. "if that kind of work has begun there's little chance of its being ended while billings' crowd hold the town." "i ought to have staid with mother. there's no reason why i should help fight the company's quarrels while she may be in danger." "you could be of no assistance, and it is better to be out of the way, for skip and his gang will not remain quiet while it is possible to do mischief." "at the same time i should be with her," fred replied; but making no motion to return. upon arriving at the entrance to the slope they were stopped by a sentinel who cried as he leveled his gun: "halt! what do you want?" "we have been sent by mr. wright with a note to donovan," sam replied. "stay where you are, and i will call him." "this looks like fighting," sam said, as the sentinel shouted for the breaker boss. "if they are afraid to let the boys come nearer than hailing distance, what'll be done when the mob get here?" "if the soldiers arrive things will be worse than they are now," fred said with a sigh, and then donovan interrupted the mournful conversation by calling as he came up the slope: "oh, it's you, eh? well, get in here quick. i thought mr. wright had sent some one to help us." "so he has," and sam handed the breaker boss the superintendent's letter. "we're to go on duty here till help arrives in the shape of soldiers." "i s'pose you two will count for one man; but we need a good many more by the looks of things. go into the first level an' stay there till you're wanted." obeying these instructions the boys found a dozen men lounging about the chamber, some lying on the empty trucks, and others moving to and fro restlessly; but all well armed. each one was most eager to know what was being done in the village, and the story had but just been told when the first alarm came. "get up to the mouth of the slope," donovan shouted from above. "there's a small crowd comin' this way, an' it's best to be prepared for 'em." the command was promptly obeyed, and all watched the score of men who were approaching. instead of nearing the sentinels they turned off to the left before arriving within hailing distance, and one of the party said in a tone of satisfaction: "that's all right; they're only lookin' around to see if our eyes are open." "they are going in the direction of the shaft into which skip's crowd threw me," fred whispered to sam. "yes." "and in that way it would be possible to get into this portion of the mine." "i s'pose so; but they ain't likely to make such a long trip as that." "why not, if by so doing the lower level could be flooded without any risk to themselves?" "now don't get frightened, fred, there isn't one chance in a hundred that any of the crowd know about the old gallery." "but if they do all of us might easily be driven out by the water." "since it troubles you so much, speak to donovan. he's the boss, and will know if anything should be done." "you tell him." "not much; i'm not going to be laughed at." fred hesitated only a moment; he believed that it was of the utmost importance this possible means of entering the mine should be guarded, and calling donovan aside told him of his escape from the shaft; but refrained from mentioning joe brace's name. "i reckon you're more frightened than hurt, lad; but at the same time i don't want to run any risks. since sam thorpe knows the way through, take him an' start. one of you could keep a hundred from comin' in at such a small hole as you tell about." "are we to stay there?" "half an hour'll be long enough; if they don't show theirselves by then we'll know there's nothin' to be feared from that quarter." fred repeated to sam what donovan had said, and the orders were not received in a cheerful spirit. "that's all you get for bein' scared. it ain't any joke to travel through the lower level, an' we can count on stayin' there till midnight." "it's better than being flooded out." "i'm not so sure of that." "then you won't go?" "of course i will. do you think i'm such a fool as to act dead against orders. come on, an' let's get through with it as soon as possible." by using an empty car, allowing it to run down the grade by its own weight, they were soon at the heavy doors which marked the termination of the first level. here a halt was made, because even the boys whose duties it was to open the barriers were absent, and from this point the remainder of the journey was made on foot. at the lower level five miners were found repairing the pumps, and the boys were forced once more to tell what had occurred in the village. "men what want to work don't go round kickin' up sich a row as this," one of the party said, as fred and sam passed on. "give some of that billings' crowd a chance an' the slope never'd be opened agin." "there's a miner who won't join the mob," fred said. "yes; but for every man like that a dozen can be found to fight against their own interests." now the boys no longer walked side by side. sam led the way, watching narrowly the lamp in his companion's cap to discover the first signs of fire-damp, and guarding well the flame which served to show him the proper course. "be careful of your matches," he said warningly. "they may be worth a good deal before we get back from this wild goose chase." "how much farther must we go?" "half an hour of fast traveling should bring us to where you found the tunnel choked with coal, an' i don't reckon you count on tryin' to get any farther." "we couldn't do it, no matter how much we might want to." "oh, yes; when the doors are opened that pile will come down mighty quick; but while it stays as it is the passage is blocked better than if a dozen men were on guard." another time of silence, during which the boys walked rapidly, and then sam uttered an exclamation of surprise. "some one has been working here. half the coal is pulled away, an' it won't be much of a job to get into the chamber." "who could have done it?" "perhaps billings' gang worked a spell after the order to quit was given?" "what could they have gained by reaching joe again?" "taken him through the old drift to the shaft. but let's work our way over this pile, an' then start back before our oil gives out." ten minutes of sharp labor and the boys were in the chamber where brace had been left to die, sam throwing himself on the hard floor, as he said: "we'll take a breathin' spell before leaving. you see now there was no use in comin'." "so it seems; but i couldn't help thinking some of that crowd which passed the slope knew how to get here." "it ain't possible--hark! what was that?" a low hum as of conversation could be heard from the other side of the wall, and sam sprang to the aperture made by fred and joe brace. "i'll never yip again about you're being scared," he whispered after one glance. "here come the whole crowd, an' we're in a fix." "they won't dare to crawl through, if we threaten to shoot." "let's first find out exactly what they are here for. it may be they are only looking for joe." standing either side the aperture the boys watched the approach of the men whose movements were revealed by the miner's lamp each carried. it was impossible to distinguish the conversation until the party was very near the break in the wall, and then one shouted: "hello joe! how are you?" "we've come to pull you out of this scrape," another said, after waiting a few seconds for a reply. then a lamp was pushed through, fred and sam crouching close against the wall to avoid observation, and its owner cried in a tone of astonishment: "he isn't here! the place is empty!" a deep silence reigned for a moment, and then some one said in an angry tone. "it ain't hard to understand the whole thing now. he slipped the ropes, an' come out this way. wright has heard the story, an' that's why the works were shut down so suddenly." "but what's become of him? he ain't in the town." "of course he is, an' hidin' somewhere. jim, you run back an' tell billings so's he can hunt the sneak out." "are you goin' on alone?" "why not? them fools are guardin' the slope, an' we can flood the place before they so much as think any one has got in behind them. tell the boys we'll be back by sunset." sam touched fred, to warn him that the time for action had arrived, and, slight as was the movement, it caught the attention of the man on the opposite side. "hold on," he cried. "there's somebody in here, an' we must know who it is." before he could thrust his lamp through, sam shouted: "stand back, or there'll be trouble. two of us are here, both armed, and we shall fire at the first one who so much as shows the tip of his nose." chapter vii the struggle recognizing at once that the voice they had just heard did not belong to the man for whom they were looking the rioters remained silent with surprise, and during this short interval sam brought the butt of his gun to the floor with unnecessary force in order that there might be no question about his being armed. "who is inside?" one of the party finally asked, and sam replied: "it does not make any difference so long as you don't attempt to come through." "we shall do it just the same, an' it'll be so much the worse for you if a finger is raised to stop us." "there's no need of very much talk. we're here to keep you out. at the first movement both will shoot, and we've got ammunition to hold the place 'till the others come." this bold assertion caused the rioters no little uneasiness, as could be told from the fact that the entire party retreated down the drift, where they apparently began a consultation as to the best course to be pursued under the circumstances. "come on this side," sam whispered. "if we stand opposite each other and are obliged to shoot we shall get the worst of it." "do you really mean to kill them?" fred asked as he changed his position. "i intend to hit whoever comes through if i can, an' they'll have to run the risk of the killin' part." "if we could only send word to donovan." "well, we can't, an' it looks as if we might have to stay here a long while, unless they get the best of us. nobody will think of coming to look for us for a good many hours, an' that's why i said we were in a fix." neither of the boys cared to prolong the conversation. their situation was desperate, and to state it in words seemed like making it worse, but, as fred afterward said, "they kept up a terrible thinking," until the rioters began operations by approaching the aperture once more, keeping close to the wall on either side to prevent giving the defenders an opportunity of using their weapons. "see here," the spokesman began, "we've come to give you a chance of actin' square. you know who we are, an' that what we do will help all hands who work here. let us through peaceably, an' we'll allers be your friends, but if we're obliged to fight for it there'll be nothin' left of you." "we'll take our chances rather than have such as you call us friends; but it strikes me that a fight, with all the weapons on our side, is too big a contract for you to tackle." "put out your lamps, boys, an' we'll show these fools what can be done." in an instant the tunnel was plunged in profound darkness, and the lights worn by the boys served to reveal their whereabouts clearly. both realized how great would be the disadvantages under such circumstances, and in the least possible time the tiny flames were extinguished. even while this was being done the rioters attempted to effect an entrance; but, without exposing himself to a blow, sam discharged his weapon, paying little regard to accuracy of aim. the noise of the report echoed and reëchoed through the passages, and the chamber was filled with smoke, during which time fred fancied he saw a form leaning half through the aperture, and he also fired. "that makes two cartridges, an' now we've only got ten left," sam said in a half whisper. "at this rate we can't keep the battle goin' a great while, an' when the thing is ended we shall have to take whatever they choose to give." "donovan may send some one before the ammunition is exhausted." "he won't think of such a thing for a good many hours yet. could you find your way back to where the men are at work on the pumps?" "and leave you alone?" "one of us must go, or else these fellows will soon be where a great amount of mischief can be done." "i am willing to do whatever you think best." "then go, and tell whoever you meet, of the pickle i am in. i'll stay because i'll most likely make a better fist at fighting than you." "do you want the cartridges?" "yes, and the gun." fred placed the weapon against the wall near his companion, and turned to go. "don't light your lamp until you are so far away that the flame can't be seen, for it won't do to let them know we have divided forces." a silent handshake and sam was alone. "it's goin' to be a tough job, an' most likely i'll get the worst of it," he said to himself, as he leaned toward the aperture in a listening attitude. five minutes passed, and then came a shower of missiles, causing a choking dust to arise; but doing no further injury. immediately afterward the boy fancied another attempt was being made to crawl through, and he discharged both weapons in rapid succession. "now we've got him!" a voice shouted, and before sam could reload the guns two or three men were in the chamber. he crouched in the further corner hoping to slip the cartridges in the barrel, while they should be hunting for him; but one of the party ignited a match, and an instant later he was held as if by bands of iron. "light your lamps, an' be lively about it, for there's another one here!" sam made one violent effort to release himself; but in vain. when the chamber was illuminated he saw a crowd of men peering in every direction for fred. "it's bill thomas' butty," one of the party said in surprise. "i didn't know he was a bosses' pet." "neither will he be very long. where's the other fellow?" and sam's captor tried to choke the answer from him. "if he don't speak quick strangle him. we can't spend much time on a kid," some one suggested, and the question was repeated. sam knew that the men were in no humor to be trifled with, and there was little doubt but the strangling would follow unless he obeyed. it was possible to delay the explanations for a few seconds, and thus give fred so much more time to reach the lower level. with this view he coughed and struggled after the vice-like pressure upon his throat was removed, to make it appear as if it was only with the greatest difficulty he could breathe, and fully a moment was thus gained when his captor kicked him two or three times as he said: "none of that shamming. speak quick, or i'll give you something to cough for." "the fellow who was with me went back to the slope." "how long ago?" "when we first knew you were here." "that's a lie, for we heard you talking." "what makes you ask any questions if you know better than i?" "when did he leave?" "i told you before. of course he waited long enough to find out how many there were of you." at least five minutes had passed from the time sam was first questioned, and this must have given fred a safe start. "go after him, zack, and take jake with you," the spokesman said, sharply. "travel the best you know how, for everything depends on overtakin' him." the two men started at full speed, and the leader asked sam: "where is joe brace?" "brace?" sam repeated, as if in bewilderment, "why he didn't come with us." "wasn't he in this place when you got here?" "of course not. i'm most certain i saw him in the village just after the works were shut down." there was a ring of truth in the boy's tones which could not be mistaken, and the rioters appeared satisfied. "abe, go an' tell billings that brace got out of here in time to warn wright, an' let him know what we've struck. don't waste any time now." when the messenger had departed the leader beckoned to another member of the party, and said as he pointed to sam: "take care of him. the whole thing would soon be up if he should get away." "what'll i do with the cub?" the man asked in a surly tone. "anything so that you keep him safe. a thump on the head will help straighten matters, if he tries to kick up a row." "where are you going?" "we'll foller up zack an' jake, an' if they catch the boy there'll be nothin' to prevent our finishin' the business we came for." after a brief consultation, which was carried on in such low tones that sam could not distinguish a word, the men started down the drift, leaving the prisoner and his captor alone. sam knew the man was named bart skinner, and that he was an intimate friend of billings'. he had the reputation of being quarrelsome and intemperate, and was exactly the sort of person one would expect to see among such a party as were now committing lawless deeds. "i don't count on wastin' much time with you," bart said when the footsteps of his companions had died away in the distance. "i'll leave you in a safe place pervidin' you behave; but let me hear one yip, an' i'll try the weight of my fist. come along." no attempt had been made to fetter sam. the rioters understood that it was impossible for him to escape, and probably looked upon it as a clear waste of labor. when bart spoke he seized the boy by each arm, forcing him through the aperture, and then retaining his hold as he followed. once in the tunnel the two pressed on at a rapid gait toward the shaft, sam being obliged to walk a few paces in advance, until they arrived at a point where a tunnel had been run at right angles with the drift; but which was shut off by stout wooden doors. "we'll stop here a bit," bart said, as he tried to unfasten the rusty bolts which had not been used for many years. believing that he might as well accept his capture with a good grace instead of sulking over it, sam did what he could to assist in opening the doors. when the task was finally accomplished bart motioned for the boy to enter first, and after assuring himself by the flame of his lamp that the air was pure, he obeyed. "go on a bit, an' see if it is a drift, or only a stable." "they've exhausted the vein after following it about thirty feet," sam replied, as he walked the full length, and when on the point of turning to retrace his steps the doors were closed with a clang, while from the outside could be heard the mocking voice of bart as he shoved the bolts into their sockets: "it's deep enough for what i want to use it. you'll do no mischief while here, an' i reckon the bosses will hunt a long time before findin' you." then sam heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps, and thought to himself as he vainly shook the timbers: "if those fellows overtook fred i'm likely to stay here till the mine is flooded." chapter viii the pursuit when fred left sam to defend the breach in the wall he fully realized the necessity of giving the alarm quickly, and did not stop to light his lamp until after scrambling over the barrier of coal. once this had been done he ran at his best pace, guided by the wooden tracks on which the cars were hauled, until he was obliged to halt from sheer lack of breath. a dull sound in the rear caused him to push on again very quickly, for he believed sam had found it necessary to discharge his weapons. on making the second halt a few moments later, he detected a certain scurrying noise which at first he fancied might have been caused by the rats; but immediately came the voice of a man, and he knew the rioters were pursuing him. "i'll get a pretty heavy dose if they catch me," he muttered, hurrying once more, and when the journey was half finished it became apparent that the pursuers were gaining upon him. the lives of others beside his own might be sacrificed, if he did not win the race, and he bent all his energies to the undertaking. once he stumbled, almost fell; but luckily recovered his balance, and darted on, forced to run upon the ties because the space either side was so narrow. nearer and nearer came the men until he could hear their heavy breathing, and one of them shouted: "halt, or we'll shoot!" knowing that they might have gotten possession of his gun he had reason to believe the threat would be carried into execution; but he said to himself: "it's better to be killed by a bullet than take what they choose to give," and the command only served to quicken his pace. minute after minute passed; no shot was fired, his breath came in quick gasps, and it seemed impossible to continue the flight many seconds longer. the pursuers were now within a few yards, and nothing could be seen ahead. whether the lower level was close at hand or a mile away he could not decide; but in his despair he shouted for help. "pick up some chunks of slate an' see if you can't hit him. at this rate we shall soon have to turn back." one of the men stopped long enough to gather an armful of fragments, and as he continued the pursuit threw them with murderous intent at the fugitive. two passed very near the almost exhausted boy's head; but none inflicted any injury, and he shouted again and again for those who were working at the pumps. at the very moment when fred lost all hope a tiny ray of light appeared from out the gloom, and he cried for help once more; then fell headlong to the ground. when he next realized anything he was surrounded by miners, who had evidently been running, and one asked, impatiently: "can you tell us what happened, lad, an' how them sneaks managed to get in here?" "have they gone back?" "indeed they have; we chased them the matter of half a mile, an' then concluded it was time we got the story from you, for it might not have been safe to pass the first drift." in a few words fred told his story, adding as it was ended: "there is a big crowd of them, and all hands are bent on flooding the mine." "we don't care to have them drown us out like rats, so i reckon there'll have to be some fightin' done before that little game is played." "but what about sam?" "they've got hold of him for sure; but he'll have to take his chances with the crowd, for we can't help him now." "they'll kill him!" "i don't reckon there's much chance of that, lad; but if there was we couldn't do a thing. i'd go farther than most anybody, for he was my butty, an' a right good boy; but he's in the hole to stay 'till the company get the upper hand of them as would kill their best friends to injure the bosses." fred knew it was bill thomas who spoke in such a tone of utter helplessness, and there could be no doubt as to the correctness of his statements. "i'd go back alone if i had the gun." "then it's lucky you left it behind. best go up the slope an' tell donovan what has happened here, so's he can send men to the old shaft. say to him that we'll be through in a couple of hours more, an' want him to start the pumps, for we're workin' in four feet of water." after stationing one of their number as guard the miners resumed their labor, and fred started toward the slope, bent on inducing donovan to take some steps for the relief of sam. wearied by the previous exertions he made but slow progress, and when he reached the breaker at least half an hour had elapsed. those who had been left to guard the mine were on duty in positions where their bodies would be sheltered in case of an attack with fire-arms, and in a group outside were forty or fifty of the rioters. "bill thomas wants to know if you will start the pumps? they are working in four feet of water," fred said, as he approached donovan. "it can't be done now if the whole level is flooded. these fellows have made two rushes, and are gettin' ready for another." "don't you suppose this is to prevent you from discovering that a portion of the rioters are getting in through the old shaft?" and fred told of what had occurred in the drift. "that's jest the size of it; but what can be done? we can't spare a man from here." "there are surely more at the store who would help us." "very likely; but they won't come while this crowd is here." "if mr. wright knew what was going on he could send a party to the shaft." "yes, if he knew it." "why not send him word?" "how?" this was a question. fred did not answer, and donovan continued: "there's no chance by which any one could get from here to the store, while that gang of murderers keep watch over all our movements." "it is nearly night. in an hour it will be too dark for them to see what is going on." "who will take the risk of trying to slip past them?" "i will." "you'll be in a worse box than sam is, if they catch you." "something must be done, and since you can't spare anybody to go to the poor fellow's assistance i'm ready to take my chances while trying to help him." donovan did not reply until after looking carefully around as if calculating the probabilities of success, and then he said: "i've a mind to let you attempt it. if the soldiers don't arrive before morning, and billings' crowd are coming through the old shaft as you say, we must have help soon, or give up the fight. there is a chance you will get past all right, and i'm certain we can expect no one to come unless we say it is impossible to hold out longer." "i am ready to go." "very well; wait until it is dark, an' then you may make a try for it." it would have pleased fred better, if he could have been actively employed at once, for the knowledge that sam was in the power of the rioters troubled him more than personal danger would have done; but nothing remained save to wait as donovan said, and he tried to be patient. from the men on guard he learned that mr. wright's house had been attacked; but the mob contented themselves with destroying the windows and setting fire to the stable. the building itself yet remained intact, and there was reason to believe no more outrages, except such as might be committed near the mine, would be committed. "them as are standin' in with billings don't really know what they want, except as he tells them," fred's informant said, "an' that's what makes things of this kind dangerous. if the men understood exactly the cause of such rows, there'd be little trouble." "but since they don't, what will be the result of this one?" fred asked. "that's more'n i can tell. the mob may quiet down, an' then again they may grow worse, so there's no sayin' what'll happen. anyhow, you don't want to take many chances on your way to the store." "i've got to help sam." "right you are; but at the same time you ain't called on to take too big risks. don't start unless things look favorable for gettin' through all right, 'cause cale billings ain't a nice sort of a man to meet when he's on the top of the heap." "sam is in his power." "how do you know?" "it is only reasonable to suppose so." "then all the more cause for you to keep away from him. i'd like to have some one to see the boss; but i haven't got the nerve to send a boy instead of goin' myself." since this was a direct reflection upon donovan, fred refrained from making any reply, and the conversation ceased. twice before dark the rioters made a demonstration in front of the slope, as if bent on effecting an entrance, and each time fred fancied more men were sent in the direction of the old shaft. it was not for him to make any suggestions, however, and with a heavy heart he watched the maneuvers, believing that each moment saw sam in more peril. a messenger was sent to the miners in the lower level telling them that the pumps could not be started, and urging all hands to hold the drift against the rioters; but that was everything which could be done under the circumstances, and the most vulnerable point was virtually left unguarded. when night came the lawless party built several fires between the slope and the shaft, very much as if they wished to show that they were on guard, and donovan motioned to fred as he walked a few paces down the drift. "i didn't want the others to hear what i said, for it's just as well they shouldn't know what a scrape we're in. if you can get to the store, tell mr. wright that he mustn't wait for the soldiers; there's no question but bill thomas' party have got their hands full keepin' back them as come in by the shaft, and it can't be long before we'll be snowed under. it's about twenty to one now, an' in case of a rush the matter would be settled mighty quick." "if i can leave the mouth of the slope without being seen there'll be no trouble." "half a dozen of us will go out a short bit, an' you shall follow on behind. there ought to be a chance of slippin' off, an' if there isn't we'll have to give it up, for i'm not willin' you should take too big risks." fred threw off his coat and vest that he might be in good condition for running, and then as the men marched out of the slope he crouched in the rear. the rioters made no demonstration; but stood ready to repel an attack, watching closely all the maneuvers, and donovan whispered to the boy: "it won't do to try it, lad. they are scattered around in such a way that you couldn't get a dozen yards before bein' seen." "i'm going to try it." "don't, lad, don't," several said quickly, and, fearing he might be forcibly detained, fred started. he went straight back from the slope, bending low in the vain hope of escaping observation, and having gained a distance of an hundred feet set off at full speed, forced to run in a half circle to reach the road. to those who were watching it seemed as if hardly a second elapsed before a great shout went up from the rioters. "the sneaks are sendin' for help!" "stop that boy!" "don't let him get away!" these and a dozen other orders were given at the same time, and those rioters who were nearest fred began the pursuit. "he'll never reach the store," donovan said sadly, as he led the way back to the slope when fred was swallowed up by the darkness. "even if these fellows don't overtake him there are plenty between here and there who'll hear the alarm." chapter ix joe brace during the first five minutes after he was locked in the short drift, sam thorpe gave himself up to unreasoning anger. he threw himself again and again upon the timbers as if believing it would be possible to force them apart, and shouted at the full strength of his lungs until he was literally unable to speak louder than a whisper. then recognizing the uselessness of such proceedings, he sat down to think over the matter calmly. "if fred succeeded in giving the alarm, i'm not in very much danger of being drowned out," he said to himself; "but if he was caught i can count on dying in about two hours." with this mental speech came the assurance that he had yet a hundred and twenty minutes in which to fight for life, and he resolved not to waste a single second. the lamp in his cap gave sufficient light for a thorough examination of his prison, and it was soon made. a solid wall of earth and slate surrounded him, the only outlet was through the doors, which were of planks and thickly studded with nails that they might be strong enough to resist a heavy pressure of water. his only weapon was a stout pocket knife; but even with a saw he could not have cut his way through. the hinges were next examined. they were fastened to large joists which in turn had been set firmly into the strata of slate. the only weak point he could find was where the two doors came together, and the flat bolt was exposed. its entire width and about an inch of its length could be seen thickly covered with rust, and here sam decided to direct his efforts. "there isn't much chance i can cut it through in two hours," he said; "but it's better to work than lay still thinking of what may happen." breaking the stoutest blade of his knife he began with the jagged surface to scratch at the iron. while cutting through the rust his progress was reasonable rapid; but on firm metal was very much like filing a boiler plate with a pin. then the blade of his knife was worn smooth, and he broke off another piece, repeating the operation until the steel had been used to the hilt. the bolt was cut nearly half through; but as he judged, two hours must have passed. "if they succeed in flooding the mine i shall still be a prisoner when the water comes," he muttered, and at that moment he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. two or more had come from the direction of the shaft, and halted near the door. "it's no use to try and fight our way into the drift through the hole," he heard one of the new-comers say, and recognized the voice as that of cale billings. "are you goin' to give up beat!" "not much. inside of an hour we'll have fifty men here, and while the fools think we are trying to get in by the slope a tunnel can be made from one of the smaller cuttings." "what good will that do?" "if i ain't mistaken we shall come out on the second level where it'll be no more than child's play to get the best of both crowds." "but suppose wright has sent for soldiers? i heard he telegraphed to the governor." "we'll be in possession of the mine, an' i reckon they'll be willin' to make terms with us, for a regiment couldn' drive us out." "well, what are you stoppin' here for?" "i want to see where that boy is. we mustn't lose him yet awhile." "he's in here." "an' i reckon he'll stay till we want him," billings replied with a laugh, after apparently examining the bolt. then the two men passed on, and sam began his slow task again. hope was strong in his breast, for he knew from the conversation that fred had succeeded in warning the miners. he used the small blade, and it wore away so quickly that there could be no chance it would last to complete the work. "if i could get a purchase on the door it might be broken open now the bolt is cut so much," he said, looking around once more. near the uprights was an extra piece of joist standing on end as if forming a portion of the side. the floor of the cutting was full of irregularities where the slate had been broken or taken out, and this gave him the opportunity to get the required purchase. with one end of the joist pressed firmly against a slight elevation, and the other on the doors just over the bolt, he clambered up until near the top, when all his weight and strength were brought into play. once, twice, he swayed up and down, and then inch by inch the metal yielded until the heavy timbers swung outward, and he was free so far as liberty of movement in the drift was concerned. at the moment when he emerged there was no one in the passage, and he hurriedly re-closed the doors that his escape might not be discovered by those who should pass. after some difficulty he succeeded in pushing the broken piece of iron into the sockets in such a manner that a casual observer would hardly notice anything wrong, and then, extinguishing the light in his cap, he went swiftly toward the shaft, arriving there just as half a dozen men were on the point of descending. crouching against the wall at one corner the new-comers failed to notice him; but it was impossible to ascend the rope ladder which had been let down, without attracting attention, because of the numbers who continued to arrive at irregular intervals. during an hour he waited, shrouded from view by the gloom, and then came the desired opportunity. two men returned from the further end of the drift, and ascended the ladder. "i'll follow them and run the risk of being recognized," he said to himself, and suiting the action to the words he climbed the network of rope immediately behind the second rioter. it was twilight when he arrived at the surface, and billings' forces were building a row of fires directly in front of the slope. to start toward the village immediately would be to take too many chances of detection, and sam loitered on the outskirts of the crowd watching for the desired opportunity, which came when fred left the slope to carry donovan's message to mr. wright. instantly the alarm was given sam started in pursuit, accompanied by a dozen others, and only by outstripping the rioters could he hope to make his escape. fred ran as he had never done before, with the howling mob at his heels, and foremost among them was sam. two men were in advance of the escaping prisoner; but by an apparent misstep while he ran alongside the second, the rioter was overturned, and but one remained; the others being so far in the rear as not to count in the chase. fred glanced over his shoulder now and then; but the darkness prevented him from recognizing his friend until the latter deliberately threw himself in front of the pursuer, and a tumble was the result. "keep on it's me--sam!" the butty boy shouted, as he scrambled to his feet before the man had fully recovered his senses, and with a cry of glad surprise, fred asked: "how did you get away?" "it's too long a story to tell now when we need all our breath. are you trying to reach home?" "no; the store." "then you know what billings' crowd are intendin' to do." "yes, and help is needed at once." sam made no reply. both the men he had over-thrown were on their feet again, and, with a dozen others, were close in the rear, making every effort to overtake the fugitives. the race was virtually won, however, unless other rioters were met on the road. the boys yet had thirty or forty yards the advantage, and before this could be overcome they were within sight of the store, from which, attracted by the shouts, came mr. wright and a number of employees. all of these latter were armed, and the pursuers halted at a respectful distance, while the boys dashed into the building breathless and nearly exhausted. it was several moments before fred could repeat the message donovan had sent, and this was hardly done when a message from the governor arrived, stating that no troops could be sent until the following day. "i'm afraid those at the mine will have to take care of themselves," mr. wright said, when he learned of the condition of affairs there. "if we should leave here, or even divide our force, the store as well as the offices might be sacked." "but the mine will be flooded if billings succeeds with the tunnel." "it can't be helped now. we should need, at least, fifty men to effect an entrance, and eighteen is the full number who can be trusted." "those who are there may be drowned." "there is no danger of that since all hands are on the alert for the first signs of trouble." "then sam and i may as well go home." "it would be a good idea to tell brace that he must try to get here unobserved. the men already believe he is in town, and i am afraid they may discover his hiding place, when there's bound to be mischief done." disheartened, because after incurring all the danger no real good had been done, fred motioned to sam, and left the store. the streets of the village presented an unusual appearance. nearly every house was open and lighted as if for a general illumination, while the sidewalks were crowded with throngs of excited women and children. "this would be a good time for skip to pay you off," sam said, as they walked swiftly along. "while so much is goin' on they could do pretty near as they pleased without fear of being stopped." "what he might do seems to be of little consequence compared with the danger which threatens the poor fellows at the mine. if the lower level should be flooded while they were guarding the drift there's every chance all would be drowned." "it don't do to think of such things when there's nothing which can be done to help them. it might be worse, an' there's some comfort in that." "i fail to see anything very cheering in such an idea," fred replied, and then the two were at mrs. byram's home. the door was locked; but the lightest of taps sufficed to attract the widow's attention, and the visitor received no less warm a reception than did the son. brace was so impatient to learn what had been done by the rioters that he descended the stairs immediately upon hearing the boys' voices, and while mrs. byram prepared supper, fred and sam gave an account of their own adventures, as well as all which was known concerning the mob. "so i'm to sneak over to the store, eh?" the miner asked, as the recital was concluded. "that was what mr. wright said." "i'll do nothin' of the kind." "why not?" "because i've had enough of hidin' like a fellow who had done somethin' wrong." "but it isn't safe to show yourself." "i'll take the chances, an' see what billings' gang can do." "don't think of such a thing," mrs. byram cried in alarm. "you might be killed." "a fellow who has worked a matter of half a dozen years at farley's can't be knocked out so easy." "are you going into the street?" "yes, an' to the mine if i take the notion." "what could you do alone against two or three hundred men?" "show that there is one fellow who ain't afraid of the whole murderin' gang." "that would be the height of foolishness." "i can't help it," was the dogged reply, and brace rose to his feet as if to leave the house. both sam and fred sprang up to detain him; but before a word could be spoken by either, angry shouts and cries were heard in the distance. "they are up to fresh mischief," sam exclaimed, as he cautiously pulled back the curtains to look out. "there are a dozen of the rioters on the sidewalk," he cried, "and they are evidently watching us." brace ran to sam's side, and the instant he showed himself some of the men shouted: "here's the traitor! we've got him caged!" "string him up!" "yank him out so's the bosses can see how we treat spies!" these cries were echoed by the body of men who were approaching on a run, and mrs. byram said, as she drew brace from the window: "they have learned you are here, and in their mad excitement murder may be committed." then came from the street as if to give emphasis to her words: "hang him! hang him! he's worse than the bosses!" "you must go to the store now," sam cried. "what's the good? they will get in there as easily as here." "mr. wright and his men are well armed and can protect you." "there has been no shootin' done yet, an' i'll not be the cause of the first bullet. it is better to give myself up at once." "you shall not," and sam clasped the miner around the waist. "try the back door; it will be possible to give them the slip if you hurry." brace hesitated a moment as if unwilling to display anything which might be mistaken for cowardice, and then fred and sam literally forced him toward the door. "while you run i will attract the attention of the men," mrs. byram said, as she showed herself at the window, and the miner sprang out at the very instant when half a dozen of the rioters entered the gate. "tryin' to give us the slip, eh?" one of the party cried, as all rushed forward. it was too late for brace to return; in a twinkling the men had surrounded him. fred and sam saw a short but sharp struggle, and before they could so much as make a move toward going to his assistance he was overpowered. attracted by the cries of their companions, those at the front of the house came around swiftly, and brace was half carried, half forced into the street. mrs. byram tried to plead with the mob; but they pushed her aside without ceremony as they shouted: "we'll show them at the store how we deal with spies and traitors." "we've got the rope and the sneak, now we only need two or three of the bosses to fix the thing up brown." "do you suppose they really mean to hang him?" fred asked in a tone of awe, and sam replied sadly: "i'm afraid they will. billings always was down on him, and the men are so excited as to hardly know what they are about, so anything is possible." chapter x the rescue the capture of brace seemed to inflame the passions of the mob, and not even while the buildings were being sacked was the town in such a state of excitement. by the time the prisoner had reached the vacant lot in front of the store it appeared as if every man, woman, and child in the village were on the street. sam and fred felt impelled to follow the howling, shrieking mob, although it was not probable they could aid the unfortunate man, and both pressed as near as possible. "billings' gang haven't got possession of the mine yet," sam whispered. "how do you know?" "because if that had happened we would see bill thomas or donovan around here somewhere." "perhaps they have been made prisoners." "it isn't likely. even if they couldn't hold their own it would be possible to retreat in good order, armed as they were." "don't you suppose mr. wright will try to do something if these fellows really mean to hang brace?" "they are bound to help him; but i don't see what can be done against so many." owing to the crowd around him it was impossible for the boys to see the prisoner. the men swayed to and fro as if fighting among themselves, and after a time the reason of these movements was made plain. two long pieces of timber had been lashed together at one end, and set up like the letter v inverted. these were held in place by some of the mob, and drove through the fastenings at the top was a long rope. billings was on hand acting as master of ceremonies, and when this portion of the work had been finished, he shouted: "half a dozen of you take hold of the rope, an' when i count three, string him up." in an agony of apprehension fred looked toward the store. no one appeared at the door; it seemed as if the bosses had abandoned joe brace. "stand ready, boys!" billings shouted. "we'll soon show 'em how we serve out spies." there was a moment of painful silence, during which more than one of the mob acted as if frightened because of the terrible crime about to be committed, and then an old miner cried: "hold on! this thing has gone far enough!" "what do you mean?" billings asked angrily. "just this: i joined your crowd to stand up for my rights not to commit murder. there's been mischief done already, an' the most of us will be sorry when we've had time to think the matter over." "hold your tongue and go home like the rest of the old women." "i'll stay where i am, an' you'll be the one to go home if the boys take my advice." then continuing, the old man reminded the throng that he had worked at farley's longer than the majority could remember. he spoke of the fact, that until this day, there had been no mob rule; intimated that they were blindly following one in whom very few ever reposed confidence, and asked if they were willing to hang a friend simply because billings commanded it. the speech was a long one, and before twenty words were spoken as many determined-looking men gathered around brace to prevent any harm from being done. "don't listen to the old fool," billings cried, in a voice hoarse with rage; but now very few paid any attention to him, and, when the prisoner's friend finished his appeal there was no danger a human life would be taken. some of those who had been most eager to drag brace away unloosened his bonds, and at least a hundred stood ready to defend him. at this juncture mr. wright came from the store, and the mob were in the proper frame of mind to listen. he explained the true condition of affairs, told exactly why the works had been shut down, and finished by promising to let the matter be forgotten, regardless of the amount of property destroyed, in case the mob should disperse. "and if we go home, what then?" billings asked, sneeringly. "we'll starve to please you, eh?" "those who attempted to flood the mine will not starve at farley's, for all in the plot must leave. not one of that party can work here; but the others shall be treated as before." "so we're to be driven out?" "certainly. it isn't probable any honest miner would care to work with those who may succeed in drowning their fellows simply to gratify a spite against the officers of the company." "it will take more than you to drive us away." "i can at least prevent you from entering the mine, and that i shall do even if it is necessary to station guards entirely around the property. are you willing to go home now, men, with the assurance that work shall be resumed in the morning." "ay, that we are, an' glad of the chance. it was out of the fryin'-pan into the fire when we left one set of bosses to take up with cale billings an' his cronies," a miner shouted and immediately the mob dispersed, leaving the leaders standing in the lot, evidently consulting as to how their lost power might be regained. when brace was at liberty he joined sam and fred, and the three walked to the latter's home, neither speaking until they were inside. "do you think the strike is really over?" mrs. byram asked, after fred told her of what had occurred. "it is so far as the majority of the miners are concerned," brace replied; "but there's no telling what billings may contrive to do between now and morning." "i suppose those men are still in the mine trying to overpower donovan's party." "most likely; but now that wright has got the upper hand there's little chance they'll be allowed to stay very long." despite the excitement on every hand the occupants of mrs. byram's cottage were glad to retire at the first opportunity, and before the tumult in the street had died away they sought the needed repose. it had been decided that brace should remain for a while, since it might be dangerous to meet billings and his friends while they were smarting under the sting of defeat. at the usual hour next morning the whistle sounded, summoning the miners to work, and every one responded save those who had been warned to leave the town. mr. wright was at the entrance to the slope, and had a pleasant greeting for each man and boy, causing more than one to look ashamed because of the part taken in the wanton destruction of his property. joe brace and sam went into the drift, leaving fred with chunky, and that young fellow said, as he seated himself at the chute: "things have been pretty lively 'round here, eh?" "i should say so. were you out with the regulators?" "i saw 'em once or twice." "if you'll take my advice you'll leave that crowd. skip miller's as bad as billings." "don't speak so loud; he's lookin' over this way, an' may make things hot for you if much is said." "if he didn't do anything yesterday i guess he ain't dangerous." "he couldn't find you." "then he was lookin' for me?" "that's what i heard some of the fellers say." "i should think he'd seen enough of such business; but if he hasn't i'll have to take care of myself." "be careful," chunky whispered. "he an' some of the other fellers think you are more of a spy than joe brace was." "and they mean to flog me for it?" "skip says you told mr. wright about their droppin' you in the shaft." "hadn't i the right to? do you suppose i'll let them try to kill me, and never open my mouth about it?" "well, it ain't safe, for he's got a big crowd." "then he hasn't had enough of the riot?" "it ain't that; but he says the regulators have got to stand up for their rights, an' you haven't paid your footin' yet." "and i don't intend to. if any of them try to make me it'll go hard with them." at this point the machinery was started, the stream of coal and slate began to flow through the chute, and the breaker boys were forced to attend to their work. several times during the morning donovan spoke to fred as he passed, and at twelve o'clock, when all hands were indulging in the forty minutes "nooning," and chunky had crossed over to speak with skip, the breaker boss ate his lunch by the new boy's side. "you didn't come back again last night," he said. "no, sir. after brace got away from the mob he and sam went home with me. we didn't think you'd need us when the trouble was nearly settled." "neither did we. as soon as the men found their senses mr. wright brought a lot of them up here, an' we soon got rid of billings' friends." "had they begun to dig a tunnel?" "bless you, yes, an' were within a dozen feet of bill thomas' party when we found them. if the row had lasted two hours longer we couldn't be workin' here to-day, an' some of the boys would be under water." "do you think the whole matter is finished?" "yes, so far as the majority of the men are concerned; but billings swears he won't be driven out of town, an' he may manage to do more mischief." "why don't mr. wright have him arrested?" "because he gave his word that nothin' should be done to them as went home peaceably, an' he couldn't jump on billings without bringing all hands into the scrape. 'cordin' to my way of thinkin' we've got off cheap." "was mr. wright's house damaged very much?" "it'll take a good many hundred dollars to put it in the same condition it was before; but money doesn't count when there's been no blood spilled." "do you think there is any chance the men will try to hurt brace now?" "that's hard to say. you're in as much danger as he is, for they know that you and sam stood in with us, an' it's just possible some dirty trick will be played. you an' bill thomas' butty are to stop at the office to-night; mr. wright wants to see you." "what for?" "he'll have to explain that. it's time to go to work again; be careful of yourself." donovan walked away as the whistle sounded, and chunky came back looking very stern. "you'll get into more trouble by standin' in with the bosses," he said, in what sounded like a threatening tone. "does skip miller think he can say who i shall talk with?" "whether he does or not none of the fellers like bosses' pets." "even if i was a 'pet,' as you call it, i can't see how it concerns any one but myself; almost anything is better than being a regulator." "i've told you what the fellers think, an' that ends it; look out for yourself after this." "i can't accuse you of ever looking out for me, not even when a hint might have saved me from a pounding." chunky made no reply, and fred understood that, although the riot was ended, his position in the community had not been bettered. one sample of mob rule evidently pleased the regulators, and they were prepared to assert their alleged rights more strongly than ever. when the day's work was finished joe brace and sam came for fred, and he walked out of the breaker in their company, while skip and his adherents stood near the building ready to take advantage of the first opportunity for mischief. "don't think we shan't get a whack at you," the leader cried. "them fellers won't allers be 'round, an' when our time does come things'll be worse than they was in the shaft." "if i ever hear of your touchin' fred i'll take a hand in the row myself," brace said threateningly. "oh, yes, you will," skip replied with a leer, and then led his followers down the road, each one making some insulting remark as he passed. "i'll straighten that fellow out," joe said angrily. "he's got the will to do most anything, an' we must take him down a peg before it'll be safe for you to move around." "don't say anything to them, for it will only make matters worse. i'll see to it that they don't get another chance at me. sam, mr. wright wants to see us at the store. will you wait for us, joe?" "indeed, i will. till things get settled i want to keep my eye on both you boys." the superintendent was in his office, at one end of the building, when the party entered, and he beckoned them to join him. "don't hang back, brace, for i wish to see you as well. i want to take your butty away, and give you fred instead. how would you like that?" "first class, sir." "i wish to have a few whom i can trust, on the lower level. i don't ask for any spying: but expect to be informed if there is any serious mischief brewing. there may yet be some who will aid billings to gain his revenge. sam is to remain with thomas; but will work near you." "very well, sir," and brace rose to go, thinking the interview was at an end; but mr. wright detained him. "the most important matter is concerning the old shaft and drifts, from which points very much mischief might be done. sit down while we talk of it." at this moment skip miller entered unobserved by those in the office, and, seeing the occupants of the little room, made his way behind a pile of goods where he could hear very much of what the superintendent said. chapter xi billings and skip joe brace did not appear to think there was much to fear from the late rioters, so far as the possibility of their making an entrance through the old shaft was concerned. "this end of the gallery is pretty well filled up already," he said, "an' with a few loads of slate it can be shut off entirely, more especially after the doors are barred." "it is not from that portion of the mine that i apprehend any trouble. look here," and mr. wright spread on the desk before him a plan of the workings. "at this point you can see that an old drift runs parallel with, and not more than three yards from our lower cut. the veins probably come together farther on." "it wouldn't take a man very long to work his way through," joe said, reflectively. "and not knowing where an attempt may be made, it will be very difficult to prevent mischief." "unless the old shaft should be guarded." "to do that we should be obliged to station men entirely around our works, for here is the abandoned slope, and farther down the hill two or three places where an entrance could be effected." "but billings an' his crowd don't know all this." "possibly not; yet there are many of the older men who could tell the story." joe shook his head in perplexity. [illustration: "you four are to act as sentinels," said the superintendent. "study this map and you will hit upon a scheme."] "i am not warranted in hiring a large force of men as guards," mr. wright continued, "and we must do that from the inside. you and thomas, with these boys as helpers, shall work on the lower level, and i will take care that none but true men are near by." "how will that mend matters?" "you four are to act as sentinels. it makes little difference how many loads you take out, for the company will pay day wages." "even then i don't see how we can do anything." "you and thomas must form some plan. study this map, and i am confident you will hit upon a scheme." "is there any chance that the drift's choked with gas?" "very little." joe was thoroughly puzzled, and after several moments of silence mr. wright said: "get your supper now, and then talk the matter over with thomas." at this intimation that the interview was at an end, the miner left the office followed by the two boys, and when they were out of the store skip miller came from his hiding place without having been seen by the superintendent or his clerks. the leader of the regulators lounged carelessly toward the door until satisfied no one was paying any particular attention to him, when he stepped briskly out, and walked rapidly to a groggery situated at the farther end of the town. here, as he had anticipated, was cale billings and a select party of friends, all of whom were discussing their late defeat. skip did not care to state the reason for his coming in the presence of the entire party, and waited patiently in one corner of the room until it should be possible to beckon the leader out of doors. "wright may think we're whipped," billings was saying; "but that's where he makes a big mistake. he can't drive us out of this town, no matter how much he may blow, an' it won't be many days before we'll show what's what." "there's little chance for us the way things look now," one of the party said, with a laugh. "how do you know? the folks 'round here have seen what i can do, an' they'll soon find out that there's a good deal of fight left." as he said this billings looked first at one and then another to note the effect of his bold words, and in doing so chanced to see skip, who immediately made a series of what he intended should be mysterious gestures. "what's the matter with you?" the man asked, angrily; but instead of replying, skip placed his finger on his lips and quickly left the room. it was several moments before the leader understood he was wanted, and when this fact dawned upon him he followed, meeting the boy a few yards from the entrance. "was you cuttin' up them monkey shines for me?" he asked in a surly tone. "of course." "well, what's wanted?" "you jest said as how you'd like to get square with the company." "s'posen i did? does that concern you?" "p'raps i heard somethin' 'round to the store you'd want to know." "say, if you've got anything to tell, out with it, for i can't fool away my time with you." "first i've got a trade to make." "talk quick." "do you know the new breaker boy? the one what's so thick with wright an' joe brace?" "yes." "i want to get square with him, an' if you'll help me do it i'll tell what i heard a lot of 'em saying." "was it anything i'd like to know?" "it'll show jest how you can get the best of the whole crowd." "then i'll do what i can, an' be glad of the chance, 'cause i've got a little score to settle with him myself." skip no longer hesitated; but repeated in detail all he had heard while hiding in the store, billings listening with closest attention. "that's the best piece of news i've heard for a year, my boy," the latter said, "an' you sha'n't be the loser by tellin' me. if you've got the nerve to do a little work after everything is ready, both the breaker boss an' this new feller shall be where they can't help themselves." the leader of the regulators felt exceedingly proud that the rioter should ask him to participate in the plot, and promised, without the least show of hesitation, to do anything which might be required of him. "how long before you'll be ready?" he asked. "it may be a week; but you drop in here for a minute every evenin' so's i can talk about the thing if the plans don't work. there's no use to be in a hurry over sich a job as this." "i'll show up reg'lar," skip cried gleefully, and then, as billings re-entered the groggery, he hurried away to tell the good news to some of his chums. during this plotting joe brace and bill thomas were at fred's home discussing the best means of following mr. wright's instructions. the plan of the works was studied carefully; but in it was found no solution to the problem, and when they retired that evening nothing definite had been decided upon. the night shift went to work as usual, and but for the evidences of wanton destruction a stranger would hardly have mistrusted that farley's had lately been a scene of rioting. on the following morning fred passed through the breaker to speak to donovan before entering the slope, and skip miller displayed the greatest excitement on seeing him. "i don't know how it could have happened," the breaker boss said, "for i haven't told even my own wife that you was to be joe's butty; but these young villains know all about it. i've heard skip tellin' his cronies, an' i'm sure they're up to some mischief. be careful, an' don't go outside alone, leastways, not till the business of the riot has blown over." "i'll look to it that they haven't a chance to do much harm," fred replied, laughingly, as he passed on to learn the first duties of a miner. joe, bill, and sam accompanied fred to his new working place, and the former said as they were being let down the incline: "i hear billings swears he won't leave town." "i passed him on my way home last night," bill added, "and he warned me agin keepin' sam as my butty." "why?" "he says he is a spy, hand in glove with you, an' that all who work with them as give information to the bosses will catch it rough." bill thomas laughed as he said this; but joe looked serious. "i don't like this way of working. the lower level is bad enough without thinkin' all the time that somebody is tryin' to do a fellow up." "nonsense. barkin' dogs don't often bite, an' so long as we know he means mischief there ain't much chance of trouble. the thing to be figgered out is, how're we goin' to fix this job?" again the two men discussed the situation, walking along the drift with the plans before them, while the boys were forced to be content with listening to the conversation. it was finally decided that they should work here and there along the entire cut, trusting that it would be possible to hear if any one began to dig on the opposite side. "it's a case of keepin' quiet an' listenin' for suspicious sounds," bill said. "we won't try to get out coal to-day, an', perhaps, by night mr. wright will have a better plan." "by watchin' billings we could get some kind of an idea as to when he was likely to begin operations." "donovan promised to see to that part of it." "then we'll kinder lay 'round till we get the hang of the place. you boys go on to the end of the drift an' come back. don't make any noise." the forenoon was spent in what was little more than patrol duty, and when mr. wright came below he approved of their plans. nothing better was suggested, and until night-fall all four paced to and fro, the other miners having been withdrawn from the drift. when evening came skip did not wait to see if fred came out; but hurried off to the groggery where he was made happy by billings' extreme friendliness. "the leader of the mob arose immediately upon seeing him, and led the way outside, saying when they were some distance from the building: "i've been thinkin' over what you told me, an' am certain we can work this thing all right." "when?" "in a day or two. if you could manage to get hold of that paper the job might be done in a jiffy." "but joe an' bill have got it." "s'posen they have. a smart lad like you oughter find some way to get at it, an' it would be worth your while to try." "it couldn't be done." "p'raps not by you; but i know of some, no older than you, who'd have it before morning. of course, i don't blame a boy for not tryin' when he hasn't the nerve----" "see here," skip cried, impatiently, "haven't i showed grit enough to do most anything?" "if you have, prove it by gettin' hold of that paper." "i can't see what you want it for?" "because it shows us all the levels. with it we can tell jest where to begin work." "i'll make a try for it anyhow; but i can't figger any way to get at it." "watch for a chance. they won't keep it in their hands all the time, and, by knockin' off work now an' then, loafin' 'round near where they are, you'll soon have your hands on it." "you won't go back on me if i get into trouble?" "don't worry about that; i never shake a friend." with this assurance skip walked away feeling very happy because of the manner in which billings spoke; but sadly perplexed as to the best course to accomplish the desired end. chapter xii a singular accident two trustworthy men had been selected from the night shift to keep guard on the lower level during the time between sunset and sunrise, and about an hour before the relieving whistle sounded, not having heard any suspicious noises, they lounged down toward the slope where the miners were at work. here, paying but little attention to what was going on around them, they conversed with the laborers, or smoked pipes as black as their faces, in order to while away the moments which must elapse before the labor was ended. men were passing and re-passing on every hand, and in the darkness no one saw a small figure, in whose cap the lamp was not lighted, run swiftly from the foot of the slope up the drift where the sentinels should have been. on either side of the passage shallow cuttings had been made that the miners might step aside to avoid the cars as they were drawn to and fro. into one of these the figure with the unlighted cap glided, and, crouching in the farthest corner was screened from view unless a careful search should be made. when the day shift came on duty chunky reported to the breaker boss that skip miller could not come to work on this day. "why not?" donovan asked sharply. "'cause he's got to do somethin' at home. he told me to tell you." "when did you see him?" "last night." "where?" "over by taylor's." "what were you doin' at that grogshop?" "nothin'. i was jest walkin' around, an' met him." "look here, chunky, it will be best for you to keep away from that place. no decent man or boy would go there, an' i'd be sorry to know you trained with the regulators. i've got my eye on them fellers, an' when trade is dull they'll be the first to get their walkin' papers." "if father don't care what i do, it ain't any business of yours, so long as i work from whistle to whistle." "that's very true; but i shall make it my business to see what your father has to say about it." this threat had the effect of checking the almost insolent air chunky had begun to display, and he went to his place at the chute very meekly. while this brief conversation was being held joe and bill, with their helpers, entered the lower level where the careless sentinels reported matters as being quiet. "we haven't heard more'n a rat since you left," one of them said. "i don't believe billings has got the nerve to try any funny business, an' in this case mr. wright is more frightened than hurt." "that's a good fault, matey," bill replied gravely. "it's better to have half a dozen of us nosin' around for a week or two, than run the risk of what cale an' his friends may do." "oh, i ain't kickin'; but it don't seem reasonable they could get into the old drift, for it must be choked with gas." "by findin' that out we might save a good deal of work," joe replied, quickly. "it wouldn't take long to cut through where the wall is thinnest." "you're right mate, an' we'll get at it now. boys, go over to the blacksmith's for four shovels," bill added as he pulled the plans from his pocket. sam and fred obeyed, and while they were absent the two men studied the drawing for at least the hundredth time. save for those who were seated on a block of coal poring over the paper, the drift was deserted, and the one who had secreted himself in the cutting crept silently forward until it was possible to see what the miners were doing. as a matter of course this party was skip miller, and he said to himself, with a chuckle of satisfaction: "with all day before me it'll be queer if i can't get what billings wants." when sam and fred returned bill had decided at which point the excavation should be made, and he said, designating a spot hardly more than a dozen yards from where skip was hidden: "if the plan is co'rect this oughter be our place. we'll try it anyhow. you boys tell one of the drivers to bring up a car, for we don't want to choke the drift with dirt." then bill stuck his pick in the wall, which was made up of earth and slate. skip, who sat directly opposite, had a full view of all that was done. when the car had been brought into position bill told sam and fred to shovel into it what he and joe threw from the cutting, and soon all four were working industriously. before the time for "nooning" arrived it became necessary to shore up the top of the tunnel lest the mass of earth should fall and bury the laborers, and when this was done both the men entered the excavation, which was now twelve feet in length. in this confined space the air was oppressively warm, and the miners threw off their blouses, leaving them in the drift near the entrance. skip knew that in the pocket of the one worn by bill was the paper he had been instructed to steal, and he watched eagerly for an opportunity to creep up unobserved. while sam and fred were at work it was impossible to do this; but the car had been nearly filled, and in a short time it would be necessary to get another. the men could no longer throw the dirt from where they were working to the entrance, and fred had been ordered to stand midway the cutting that he might pass it on to sam. "i'll run this car down, an' get another if you'll give me a lift at starting it," sam finally shouted, and fred came out. the incline was sufficient to carry the rude vehicle to the switches at the foot of the slope after it was once set in motion, and, using a crowbar as a lever, this was soon accomplished. sam ran behind it a few paces, and then clambered up to the brake where he could control the movements of the heavy load. fred watched him until the tiny flame in his cap was lost to view in the distance, and then he returned to the tunnel, unconscious that skip had glided from his hiding-place to follow closely behind. it was necessary the leader of the regulators should work with the utmost celerity, for if fred turned he would distinguish the dark form even in the gloom. skip had already formed a plan. he crept close behind the boy whom he hated, until the latter entered the tunnel. then stooping he picked up the crowbar, and raised it for a blow. in this position he waited until fred was in the middle of the tunnel clambering over the pile of dirt to get at his shovel. the time had come. swinging the heavy bar once around he struck the bottom of the joist which supported the shoring over head, and the heavy timbers, put up insecurely because they were to be used but temporarily, fell with a crash. the jar disturbed the earth at the top, and large masses fell, completely filling the entrance, burying alive those who were on the inside. "that settles them, i reckon," skip cried, gleefully, as, unmindful of the blinding dust, he sprang toward bill's blouse. to find the plan of the mine was but the work of a moment, and then, with the precious document thrust in the bosom of his shirt, he started at full speed toward the entrance to the slope. the crash of the timbers and earth was by no means an unusual sound in the mine, where heavy masses of coal were constantly being detached by blasts, and the leader of the regulators had good reason to believe it would be unnoticed. his only care was to avoid sam, in case he should return sooner than might be expected, and to this end he darted from one cutting to another, until having reached a point from which, at the proper moment, he could gain the slope. here he remained partially screened from view until the empty car, which sam was to send to the new cutting, had passed on its way up the drift. now he listened intently, and in a few moments came the cry: "a break! a break, and three men buried! help on the lower level!" those who were near enough to hear this appeal sent the alarm from drift to drift up the slope, until the entire mine seemed to be ringing with the words: "help is needed on the lower level!" in view of all that happened, together with the knowledge that if any attack was made by the billings' gang it would be on the lower level, every workman ran with all speed to the bottom of the slope, and among the foremost was mr. wright. "what has happened?" he asked of a blacksmith, who was darting toward the chamber in which the tools were stored. "bill thomas, joe brace, and a butty are buried in a cutting the fools were makin' up there a piece." "go back," mr. wright cried to the swarm of men which came down the slope like a living stream. "not more than twelve can work to advantage, and we have that number here." "but we want to do our share," an old miner replied. "you shall have a chance if we do not find them soon. it is not safe to have so many here at once." all hands understood the reason for this caution, and as the crowd turned to ascend skip miller slipped from his hiding place and joined them. he did not fear detection while every one was in such a state of excitement, and even if he should be recognized it would be only natural for him to have followed the men at the first alarm. it was necessary, however, that he should avoid donovan, and with the utmost caution he emerged from the slope, running as fast as his legs would carry him on reaching the open air. not until taylor's groggery was near at hand did he slacken speed, and then, assuming as best he could an air of composure, he opened the door cautiously to peep in. cale billings was the only customer, and on seeing skip, he cried: "come in, lad. i reckon you're here to see me." struggling hard to prevent his heavy breathing from being observed by the proprietor, the leader of the regulators entered, and whispered: "there's been an accident on the lower level, an' two or three shut in." "explosion?" "the top of the cuttin' fell in, an' it won't be a easy job to dig em out." "was you there?" sam nodded his head in a triumphant manner. "you're a lad after my own heart," billings said, approvingly, as he extended a huge, grimy hand for the boy to shake. "if half the men here had your spunk wright wouldn't have got the best of us so easy. did you fix that thing i told you about?" skip nodded his head, and again billings shook his hand. "that's what i call business. let's have it." the leader of the regulators was about to draw the dearly-earned document from his pocket when the proprietor of the place interfered. "none of that," he said sharply. "there's somethin' goin' on what ain't straight, an' i won't have it in my shop." "do you mean to go back on a friend?" billings asked in an injured tone. "not a bit of it; but the company are lookin' after you mighty sharp, cale, an' i don't want to get in trouble. there's plenty room out of doors." "all right, the shop belongs to you; but it may be the losin' of a good customer," and billings walked out with skip close at his heels. "now give me the paper." when the document was delivered the man glanced at it to make sure it was the one wanted, and then said in a fatherly tone: "i reckon you've fixed things to suit yourself if the new breaker boy was in the cuttin' when the roof fell." "they're diggin' for him now; but i'm goin' to get the worst of this job." "how so?" "taylor will blow the whole thing, an' then wright will know it was me." "ain't i here to protect yer?" "yes; but----" "don't worry, my son. go into the breaker as if nothin' had happened." "i can't 'cause i sent word i wouldn't come to-day." "then keep out of sight till night, and meet me on the railroad track after dark. we'll have this job mighty nigh done before morning." billings was walking toward the slope, and not daring to follow him any farther, skip ran swiftly in the opposite direction, wondering where he could hide until sunset. for the first time he began to fear the consequences of his cruel deed, and the thought that the officers of the law might soon be in search of him was by no means reassuring. he sought the shelter of the thicket farther up the hill where a view of the slope could be had, and there he waited, expecting each moment to see lifeless bodies brought from the mine. chapter xiii buried alive at the moment when skip miller knocked away the joist which supported the timbers at the top of the tunnel, fred had stooped to pick up his shovel, and this position saved him from being instantly killed. one end of the shoring plank was yet held by the upright placed in the center of the cutting, and it remained at an angle, although pinning him down, while the earth covered him completely. for a moment he was at a loss to know what had happened, and then he heard, as if from afar off, joe calling him by name. "here i am under the timber," he replied. "are you hurt much?" "i think not; but i shall stifle to death if the dirt isn't taken away soon." "it ain't a sure thing that you won't stifle even then," he heard bill say sharply. "take hold, mate, an' let's get him from beneath while we have a chance to breathe." then the grating of the shovels was distinguished, and pound by pound the weight was removed until nothing save the timber held him down. "can you get out now?" joe asked, and his voice sounded strangely indistinct. "not till the joist is pulled away." "when that is done it's safe to say tons of the roof will follow," bill muttered, and joe asked: "does it hurt you much, lad?" "the edges are cutting into my back terribly." "grin an' bear it as long as you can. our only chance for life is to break through the wall into the old tunnel; but if that timber is taken away it's good-bye for all hands." "then don't bother about me. it's better one died than three." there was no reply to this. the men were digging at the barrier of earth with feverish energy, and each instant respiration became more difficult. the slight amount of air which filtered through the bank of slate and sand was no more than sufficient for one pair of lungs. the darkness was profound. the lamps had been extinguished by the shock, and five minutes later it was impossible to re-light them. the oxygen had become so nearly exhausted that a match would not burn. fred bit his lips to prevent an outcry. the huge timber was crushing him slowly but surely, and the pain was intense. each instant the blows of the men grew fainter. strength and even the power of movement was rapidly succumbing to the noxious vapor. joe was the first to give up, and as the pick fell from his nerveless hands he said faintly: "it's all over, lads. we might as well pull the timber from fred, and die at the same moment." "don't weaken, mate," bill said, imploringly. "who knows but we're within a few inches of the other drift." "even if that's true, the chances are we'll be stifled by the gas." "the alarm may be given in time to save us from the entrance." "sam can't have come back yet, an' before any one knows what has happened we shall be dead." joe had lost all courage and the apathy of despair was upon him. his words robbed fred of the last hope, and as it fled consciousness deserted him. bill delivered a few more feeble blows with the pick, and then he in turn sank to the ground. the hand of death was very nearly upon them, and the agonies of dissolution already passed. within a few feet of where the unconscious men lay, willing hands were working at the obstruction. no more than three could labor at once, but these were relieved every two minutes, in order that their energy might not be impaired by weariness, and meanwhile others shoveled the slate and earth into cars, that the drift might be kept clear. mr. wright personally assisted in the labor, and it was he who began the cheering which ensued when an aperture was made in the barrier. "at it with a will, boys," he shouted, "but be careful about removing the timber, for some of the poor fellows may be beneath it." the foul air rushing out nearly overcame the laborers, but the eager rescuers heeded not their own peril, and the moment finally came when the unconscious ones were fully exposed to view. "pass out the men, and then dig beneath the boy; he must be released in that manner, otherwise we may all share their fate," and mr. wright shoveled the earth carefully away from fred, while the others carried joe and bill into the drift. from his place of concealment on the hillside skip miller saw a party of men come out of the slope bearing an ominous looking burden. "one of them is dead," he whispered to himself, as his face paled. then came another party, and a few seconds later the third, each carrying a similar load, marched down the road leading to the village. the sight nearly overpowered skip; he shook as if in an ague fit, and after staring at the sad spectacle until the men had passed from view, he turned and ran through the grove, believing the officers were close upon him. the news that two miners and a boy had probably been killed spread through the village rapidly, and cale billings was in taylor's groggery when one of the late rioters brought the intelligence. "it's a wonder they don't accuse us of havin' somethin' to do with the accident," the newcomer added, and the proprietor said sternly: "i don't want to drive customers away, but if any who come here have had a hand in murder, they'd better not show their heads 'round this place again." billings looked disturbed, but made no reply. although having had no direct share in the crime, he knew he was really an accomplice, and the knowledge that taylor might inform against him was by no means pleasant. it was eight o'clock in the evening when skip ventured to come down from the hillside, and he looked like a boy who had been very ill. even at this late hour he did not dare to walk through the village, but skulked around the outskirts until he saw chunky, whom he hailed in a whisper. "where have you been?" fred's chute mate asked in surprise. "i had some work on the other side of the hill." "have you been there all day?" "yes. jest got back. are those fellows dead!" ordinarily chunky was not quick to arrive at conclusions, but now he asked in a suspicious tone: "how did you know anything about it if you've jest got back?" "oh, i heard from some of the fellows." "who?" "never mind," and skip spoke sharply. "did they all get killed?" "none of 'em; but the doctor says fred won't be over it for three or four days. joe an' bill are both in bed, though they'll be out in the morning." "does wright know who did it?" "did what?" "why, knock--whatever was done." "i thought the roof of a cuttin' fell in 'cause it wasn't shored up enough." "i s'pose that was the reason," skip replied in a nervous way. "it seems to me you know more about this thing than anybody else." "you'd better not say that again," and skip stepped forward a few paces with clenched fists. "you can get the best of me, so i'll have to hold my tongue; but i reckon i've had all i want of the regulators. tryin' to kill a feller who never did much of anything to you is a mean trick." "shut up or i'll knock your head off. you can't back out of our s'ciety, an' if you ever say i tried to kill anybody i'll pound you till there won't be an inch of skin left." chunky did not wait to hear more. he started at full speed toward his own home, and skip was more alarmed than before. "now i'm in a worse scrape than ever, for he's jest fool enough to tell what he knows, an' then there will be trouble. i'd better go to meet billings, an' perhaps he can help me out." he could reach the rendezvous without going through the village, and greatly to his relief the leader of the rioters was waiting to receive him. "now this is somethin' like business," and billings patted the boy on the head. skip stepped back; the touch of the man's hand now, when through him he had gotten into so much trouble, was disagreeable. "what am i to do?" he asked fiercely. "help me finish what you've begun." "i won't do it. they'll have me arrested, an' you must get me through the scrape." "so i will after i've served the company out. we'll go off somewhere together." "and i'm to leave home?" "there's nothin' for it if wright gets the idea that you knocked the timber away." "if he doesn't know it already there are them who will tell him. chunky thinks i did somethin' to help the thing along." "he does, eh?" and now billings began to look disturbed. "is he likely to go to any of the bosses?" "he might tell some one else who would do it." "that's true. what with him an' taylor, things begin to seem kinder scarey for me." "i'm in worse trouble." "you're right, an' that shows we two must keep together." "but i don't want to leave home." "you can't help yourself. once in the scrape, it's bad to back out." skip had good evidence that the way of the transgressor is hard. he felt a decided repugnance to becoming billings' constant companion, but he dared not go home, and it seemed as if there was no other course left open. "it won't do to stay here very long, for folks might see us, and it wouldn't be hard to guess we were up to mischief. will you go with me, or take the chances of bein' arrested?" "i'll have to do what you say," skip replied with a groan, and billings started straight across the hill toward the abandoned shaft. "where are you going?" "we'll hide for a while. it ain't safe to loaf 'round here much longer. here's a dollar. go to taylor's an' get somethin' to eat. tell him i want cooked food, 'cause i'm bound on a tramp." "i don't dare show up there." "move on, or i'll break every bone in your body! you've got to toe the mark now if you don't want to go to jail." billings used the tone of a master, and skip understood that his crime had brought him to slavery of the most degrading kind. the groggery was filled with men when he arrived, and in the number he found safety. all were excitedly discussing the accident, some intimating that billings had a hand in it, and no one paid any particular attention to the frightened boy who crept cautiously in, as if to avoid being seen. "wants grub, eh?" taylor asked, when skip made known his errand. "what's he up to? afraid they'll nab him for what was done to-day?" "i don't know." "now, look here, skip miller, i ain't got any too much love for you, but it don't seem right to let a boy go on as you've begun. go home now, an' leave billings to take care of his own business." "if i don't carry back the stuff he'll say i stole his money." "well, take the grub, an' then get back as soon as you know how." "all right," skip replied meekly. "if you're not home in half an hour i'll see your father to-night." "i wish i dared to go," skip said to himself as he hurried away with the bundle. "workin' in the breaker ain't a marker to what it'll be runnin' around with cale billings." chapter xiv precautions not until two days had elapsed were the victims of the "accident" able to leave their rooms, and then they met sam and mr. wright at mrs. byram's home. "we'll be ready for work in the morning," bill said in reply to the superintendent's inquiries. "what troubles me is that i've lost the plan of the old mine. it was in my blouse when the timber fell, an'----" "how that joist could have got away without some one to help it is what worries me," joe interrupted. "i set it, an' know the weight from above could not have any effect." "there is no chance of foul play. the level has been guarded night and day, therefore, unless our trusted men are at fault, it was purely an accident." "i'm not sayin' it wasn't; but yet the whole business looks queer," and with this remark joe dismissed the subject from his mind. mr. wright had come to learn when the guardians of the level would be ready to return to duty, and bill's answer sufficed. "the men who have been there during the past twenty-four hours shall be given other work in the morning, and once more i can rely on you. thus far nothing suspicious has been seen or heard," he said, "and i begin to believe billings has given up his thoughts of revenge. the only strange thing is that miller's boy has disappeared, and his father can think of no reason why he should run away." "farley's won't be the loser if he never comes back," joe replied. "that boy is a bad one, an' it wouldn't take much to make me believe he an' billings are firm friends." "there is no necessity of talking about him; we are not afraid of boys. the question is whether we are warranted in guarding the lower level much longer." "that's for you to say, sir. we had rather be at our regular work." "well, we'll try it a day or two more. perhaps you'd better break through into the old drift, and then we shall know whether it is possible for evil-disposed persons to find a hiding place there." this closed the interview so far as mr. wright was concerned, and on his leaving the house the others discussed the work to be done the following day; but skip miller's disappearance had little place in the conversation. bill mourned the loss of the plan, which was supposed to be the only guide to the old mine, but joe did not think it was of such very great importance. "all we care to know is whether the air's foul, an', of course, the best way is to finish the tunnel which came so near finishin' us. that work can be done without any guide." "but we may want to follow up the drift, which will be a long job if we have to go on blindly." "there's no use fussin' over what can't be helped. the paper got trampled into the dirt, most likely, otherwise them as have been lookin' would 'a found it before this." "i don't feel like givin' over the search so easy; s'pose we four have a reg'lar hunt in the morning?" "sam and i will go now," fred said. "we shall feel better for a little exercise after being cooped up in the house so long." "very well. take a turn at it this afternoon, an' if you don't succeed joe an' i'll try to-night." the boys set off without delay, but they were a long while reaching the slope, for every person on the street thought it necessary to congratulate them upon having escaped a terrible death, and at the breaker donovan delayed the search by making minute inquiries as to the condition of affairs in the drift just prior to the accident. "any one would think from all these questions that you believed somebody was responsible for the trouble," sam said with a laugh. "p'rhaps i do. billings an' skip miller disappeared on the same day, an' that looks suspicious to me, though mr. wright won't listen to anything of the kind." "it's a big satisfaction to know they have left," fred added, "and we have gotten rid of them cheaply. do you know where they went?" "out of the village somewhere; harvey saw them walking up the track." "then we can reckon that there'll be no more mischief done for a while. come on, fred, let's get down the slope." the boys left the breaker without noticing that chunky was trying to attract their attention, and were soon in the lower level making a systematic search. shoveling over the loose dirt along the track, they continued on until the cutting which had so nearly been a grave for fred was passed, and then sam said as he halted: "it's no use to hunt here. it couldn't have got up this way." "the draught may have carried it quite a distance." "there isn't air enough stirrin' to move it a foot; but it won't do much harm to look." they were nearly at the chamber where sam was taken prisoner before fred abandoned the hunt, and as he turned to retrace his steps both came to a sudden halt. as if from beneath their feet arose a muffled cry of distress. the boys looked at each other in alarm, and as they stood motionless the mysterious sound was repeated. "what can it mean?" fred asked in a whisper. "that's more'n i can tell. there's no drift below this." "that was surely a human being, and in trouble of some kind." "perhaps the cry comes from the end of the drift which has been closed." "it sounds under the ground right here," and fred stamped with his foot just as the noise was heard for the third time. "there's no question about it's being a man. come on; let's bring some of the miners to help find him." the boys ran down the drift at full speed, and half an hour later returned with two of the miners. "it was right here that we heard it," sam said, as he pointed to the shovels they had left behind, in order to mark the spot. the party listened intently, but no sound save their own breathing could be distinguished. "i thought you'd been frightened about nothing," one of the miners said with a laugh. "you might as well tell us the mine was haunted as to give out such a yarn. i'll guarantee that nothin' larger'n a mouse could hide here." "but we surely heard a cry," fred insisted. "and it seemed to come from beneath our feet." "nonsense. it's foolish to make such talk when we know the thing's impossible," and the men turned away as if angry at having been brought so far on a useless errand. "we know whether----" sam ceased speaking very suddenly, for at that moment the sound of distress came with great distinctness. the men looked around, each trying to hide his fear, and then a regular search was begun. the noise could not have come from the old drift, and the level was examined thoroughly, but without success. "it beats me," one of the miners said at length. "i'm sure there's nothing beneath here but the solid earth." "let the boys tell wright," the other suggested, and his companion assented. "we'll hang around here till he comes or you get back; but don't stay very long, for i don't like the looks of things." "why not?" "it may be a warnin' for some of us. i've heard tell of such." fred laughed heartily, and the man replied impatiently: "when you've been in a mine as long as i have, you won't think there's any fun to be made of warnin's. before the explosion of fire damp in the old workings, i've been told the miners heard all kinds of queer noises." "go on," the second man said fretfully, "an' don't waste time chinnin' here when p'rhaps we oughter be gettin' out to save our lives." the boys started, feeling a trifle disturbed because of the unexplainable cries, and arrived at the store as the whistle sounded for the night shift to begin work. the superintendent was surprised by the information brought, and insisted, as had the miners, that the sounds could not have been made by a human being. "i will go down the slope at once, however," he said, and the boys accompanied him on what proved to be a useless errand. every portion of the lower level was searched. a party descended the old shaft, traversing the abandoned passages to the chamber connecting with the new portion of the workings, but nowhere could be seen any signs of life. joe and bill, alarmed because the boys had not returned, came to look for them in time to join the exploring parties, and the latter was decidedly uneasy when mr. wright ordered the useless labor to be stopped. he, in common with several others, believed the mysterious noises to be warnings, and there was every evidence of a panic until mr. wright spoke at considerable length on the subject, intimating that the cries were due to natural causes. then those who were off duty went home, and among them were joe, bill, and their helpers. these last discussed the subject without arriving at any definite conclusion when the time to separate arrived. on the following morning work was resumed in the cutting. the loose earth having been cleared away, a reasonably solid roof was put up, and once more the tunneling operations were pushed forward vigorously. all hands were on the alert for a repetition of the mysterious cries, but nothing was heard save the noise of the picks and shovels, with now and then a muffled crash as fragments of the vein were detached by blasts. during the "nooning" lunch was eaten in the cutting, and while they were sitting quiet a singular vibration of the earth could be felt. "it seems as if some one was digging directly beneath us," fred said, when the little party ceased eating to gaze at each other in surprise. "most likely there's a line of slate just under our feet, an' brings the sound from the other drift," joe replied promptly. "that's about the size of it," bill added; but the boys noticed that both the men listened from time to time as if in great perplexity. the peculiar tapping continued without interruption, and before the time of rest had more than half expired joe said, as he arose to his feet: "come on, lads. we're close to the old drift, an' after that's been opened we'll have another look around, for i want to find out what these queer noises mean." each one worked with the utmost rapidity, and when another hour had been spent bill's pick broke through the barrier of earth. "that ends the job, an' now to see how the air is." the miner had hardly ceased speaking when a huge volume of gas burst through the aperture, nearly suffocating the party and extinguishing the lamps instantly. "jump to it lively, boys!" joe cried hoarsely, as he began shoveling back the earth. "when you can't work any longer get a breath of fresh air in the drift." there was every danger that the lower level might be so filled with the noxious vapor as to cause an explosion, and both men and boys labored manfully. all were working blindly, but the general direction of the aperture was known, and the greater portion of the earth could be thrown with a fair degree of accuracy. ten minutes passed and the flow of foul air was partially checked. twice had each person been forced to retreat to the main drift, and fred was about to go for the third time when it seemed as if the flooring of dirt gave way beneath his feet. half suffocated by the gas, and overwhelmed by the falling fragments, he hardly realized what had occurred until finding himself in what was unmistakably another and yet lower tunnel or drift. chapter xv a discovery after the first alarm passed away, fred understood that he had fallen but a few yards, and the earth which covered him represented only a very small portion of the upper tunnel's floor. scrambling to his feet he fancied for a moment that the sound of scurrying footsteps could be heard, and while listening, joe said: "hello! are you hurt?" "not a bit." "where are you?" "it seems like a regular cutting, and the air is pure." "light your lamp an' look around." obeying this command, fred found his suspicions correct, and so reported. "can you get back?" "not unless you pull me up." "we'll attend to that in a minute." the rush of air from below had so far checked the gas, now partially shut off, that the men could also light the lamps in their caps, and the remainder of the task was quickly accomplished. with a couple of timbers as braces the aperture to the old mine was closed securely, and then the attention of the men was turned to the boy. "look out down there!" bill shouted. "i'm goin' to drop a couple of joists so's we can come back." "let them go." "now drag 'em out of the way, an' we'll follow." when this had been done the men and sam descended, all completely mystified by this new discovery. "here's somethin' that i reckon mr. wright didn't know about," bill said, as he surveyed the scene, and then he added with great emphasis as a sudden thought occurred to him. "now we can come pretty nigh guessing what them noises meant. some one has been tryin' to get into the other level, an' when a big hole was made fred put an end to the work by fallin' through." this could be told by the mound of earth a short distance away, as well as by the marks of a pick around the edges of the aperture; but further proof was found in the shape of a shovel which sam stumbled over. "this belongs to the company," he cried, pointing to the brand. "yes, an' a blind man can figger who's been here. cale billings didn't leave town as he tried to make folks believe." "then let's have him. this cuttin' can't be so long but that we'll get all over it before sunset," joe cried, as he wrenched the shovel handle from the iron work to serve as a weapon. "i thought i heard somebody running in that direction when i first fell," fred said, pointing toward the quarter in which it was reasonable to suppose the old shaft might be found. joe led the way, the others following close behind until, when half a mile had been traversed, they arrived at two slopes or inclined tunnels, running at right angles from the level. "it won't do to pass these," bill cried. "we'll take one, while the boys search out the other." he darted into the right-hand opening as he spoke; but returned before joe could join him, saying: "that was a false cutting. it only runs a dozen yards, an' there's nothin' in it. sam, you an' fred look into the other one while we keep on." the idea of coming upon cale billings while they were unarmed was not a pleasant idea for the boys; but they would have braved considerably greater danger rather than show signs of fear, and both obeyed promptly. this slope ran at an inclination of nearly forty-five degrees for about fifty yards when it turned sharply to the right, terminating in a small chamber where the vein had probably came to an end. as sam and fred entered the place a figure darted from one corner and attempted to rush past them; but the flight was checked very suddenly. "why it's skip miller!" sam cried, as he lowered his lamp that the rays might fall upon the prisoner's face. "yes, it's me," skip said, piteously. "please don't drag me off." [illustration: "please don't drag me off," skip said, piteously. "i'll never hurt you or anybody else again."] "how did you come here?" "with billings; he made me do jest what he said, an' i didn't dare to show up in town." "why not?" "'cause i knew mr. wright would have me 'rested on account of pretty nigh killin' you." "what?" fred cried, in surprise. "then it wasn't an accident?" skip literally groveled on the ground in his fear. he understood now that his share in that business had not been known until he himself betrayed the fact. "don't lug me off," he screamed. "i'd have to go to jail." "you wouldn't so long as we kept the thing a secret," fred replied, with a feeling of mingled pity and contempt because of the abject terror displayed. "we must take you with us; but needn't tell about your villainy." "then father would just about beat me to death for runnin' away. why not let me stay here? i'll never hurt you or anybody else again." although skip had tried to kill them, the boys felt a certain sense of aversion to dragging him away while he pleaded so piteously, and in order to gain time in which to think the matter over, sam said: "tell us how you got into the lower level." in a faltering voice skip gave a truthful account of all his movements on that particular day. "have you been here ever since?" "yes." "and billings, too?" "he went out twice for whisky an' some water." "what have you been doing?" "billings made me dig an' shovel all day, an' most of the night." "trying to get into the lower level, eh?" "yes, an' when i got played out he pretty near pounded my head off." "i reckon we heard you yelling. where is billings now?" "he ran ahead of me when the earth began to cave in, an' that's the last i've seen of him. say, it won't hurt you a bit to let me stay here, an' i'll do the square thing if i ever get out of the scrape." "you'd starve to death." "i'd rather take the chances of that than go to jail, or let father get hold of me." "but what good will it be to stay here?" fred asked. "hiding won't mend matters, and you'll have to come out some time." "that may be; but i don't want to go now," and once more skip fell on his knees in front of those whom he had wronged. "what do you think about it, fred?" sam asked, in a whisper. "i don't like to yank him out, no matter what he tried to do to me." "nor i." "then why not let him stay? he'll get punishment enough by hiding here alone in the darkness with nothing to eat." "but we shall have to give him a little grub. we can't think he's hungry when we're got plenty." "i'll agree to whatever you say." sam was silent for a moment, and then turning to the kneeling boy, he asked: "could you find your way out of here?" "i might if i had a lamp; but the oil has all been burned in mine." "how long do you count on staying?" "jest as many days as i can." "well, see here, we're going off, an' leave you to take the dose in your own way; but it's on the agreement that you try to be a decent fellow after gettin' out." "i'll promise anything, an' won't so much as say the name regulators agin." "if it's possible, fred an' i'll bring you some grub; but you mustn't count on it." "don't take any risks," skip replied, humbly. "i can live on wind a couple of days if that villain of a billings don't come back." "you needn't worry about that. if he went up the drift bill an' joe will most likely nab him. come, fred, we mustn't stay any longer, or they'll think something is wrong." as the boys turned to go skip tried to thank them for the mercy shown; but did not make a great success at it. he had been literally trembling with fear, and now his gratitude rendered him almost incapable of speech. "that's all right, skip. we'll see whether you mean it or not after you get out." "i'll be square as a brick if i ever get through with this scrape," he replied, and then as the boys turned the angle of the slope he was hidden from view in the darkness. "i don't know as we're actin' very sensible," sam said, slowly, when they were in the drift once more; "but it's better than draggin' the poor beggar off to be arrested." "a good idea, sam, and i'm sure skip will be a decent fellow after this. we must try to get back here to-night with food and oil." "unless joe and bill keep us at work we'll have plenty of time, for--hello! here they come now!" the two miners could be seen in the distance, or, rather, the light of their lamps was visible, and when they were within speaking distance, fred asked: "did you find him?" "no; we've followed up the drift as far as we dared, an' are now goin' back to see if any of the day crew know these old works. where did that slope lead to?" "it ends about fifty yards from here." "didn't see anything of the villains, eh?" "billings isn't there, that's certain," fred replied after a brief hesitation. the men did not appear to notice the equivocal answer, and bill suggested that they return to the workings without further delay. "we'll have a guard set at the shaft, so he can't give us the slip in that way, an' if any of the boys know these drifts it won't be a long job to smoke him out." "he may get off before we can reach the top of the slope," fred suggested, hoping by this means to prevent the conversation from reverting to their long delay. "then so much the better, lad," bill replied, in a tone of satisfaction. "all we want is to be rid of such trash, an' if he leaves town that's enough." if at this moment either of the party had turned it would not have been difficult to distinguish even in the gloom the form of cale billings, as he followed ready to work further mischief, or escape as might be most convenient. unsuspicious of the nearness of their enemy, the little party continued on to the hole through which fred had fallen, and as they clambered up the joists the leader of the rioters muttered: "don't think you can smoke me out so easy. i'll leave my mark on this mine before bein' run down, or know the reason why." neither sam nor fred gave so much as a passing thought to the man who was responsible for all the damage which had been done; they were so engrossed with the desire to aid skip without being discovered by those who might call him to an account for his crime that all else seemed as trifles. "i'll tell mother, and she will cook for us what may be needed," fred whispered, after they were in the lower level walking rapidly toward the slope. "that part of it don't trouble me so much as how we're to come back to the mine without bein' seen by some of the men," sam replied, and, turning sharply bill asked: "what are you fellers chinnin' about?" "there's no harm in talkin', eh?" and sam assumed an air of impudence such as the men had never seen before. "i don't reckon there is, lad; but seein' as how we've hung together so long, it wasn't strange to ask." "i didn't mean to be too fresh, bill," sam replied, understanding that he had spoken in a disagreeable manner. "fred and i were only figuring about coming back to make sure billings didn't get into the level while you were outside." "that part of it can be fixed easy. joe shall go to the store while i see if anybody here knows about the old drift, and with three on guard i don't reckon he can do much mischief." "then you can stay with him while i run home for some provisions," fred whispered, and during this conversation cale billings was clambering up the joist which led to the last level. chapter xvi good samaritans knowing that joe and bill were in mr. wright's confidence donovan had no hesitation about placing guards as desired, and immediately after they ascended from the slope every exit was closely watched. "now you boys can see we've fixed things in proper shape," bill said, in a tone of triumph. "do whatever you choose until to-morrow, an' joe an' me'll attend to mr. billings' case." "but he might get into the lower level by the same way we did," sam ventured to suggest. "there are plenty below to take care of that." "then there's no reason why we should come back?" "not unless you want to see the game played out." "we'll run down to fred's house, and then have a look at the place where he went through." "suit yourselves about that," was the careless reply, as bill started toward the store to confer with the superintendent. "now is our chance," sam whispered. "it won't take us more than ten minutes to run over to your house, and we can get back before bill comes." fred started at a rapid pace, and by the time the miners had finished telling their story to mr. wright, mrs. byram knew of the interview with skip. "of course i will give you some food," she said, readily. "it may prove to be the best possible thing for him that he should be so thoroughly frightened. can you carry oil enough in a bottle?" "as much as will be needed until to-morrow. it won't do any harm if he scrapes along on short rations for a while," sam replied, with a laugh. "the only thing is to get him something before joe an' bill go back." a generous package of food, a small quantity of oil, the whole in a paper parcel, and the good samaritans started for the slope once more, noting with satisfaction as they passed that the miners had not yet left the store. no particular attention was paid to them as they entered the slope, and screening the package as much as possible from view, the boys went with all speed to the repentant regulator's hiding place. so far as could be seen, the cutting through which fred had fallen remained as when they ascended, and after letting themselves down this the task was well nigh accomplished. skip was most extravagant in his demonstrations of gratitude when they entered the chamber and displayed the supplies. "it'll take me a mighty long while to straighten this thing up; but i'll do it somehow," he said, and sam replied, roughly: "we'll talk about that later. jest now there's a chance others will find out where you are, for joe and bill have gone after men to help search for billings." "then they didn't find him?" "no." "i reckon he has gone to taylor's." "that won't do him much good unless he walks out of town, for now it is known he's near by, all hands are bound to hunt him down." "then they'll be sure to find me." "we'll hold on in the old drift till they get back, an' try to prevent them from coming up here by saying we've searched this slope," fred said, after a moment's thought. "that's the only way i know of to keep the secret." "it won't do any harm to make the attempt," sam added. "don't light your lamp, and keep perfectly quiet." skip retreated once more to the farther corner of the chamber, and the boys walked slowly down to the drift, halting a short distance from the mouth of the slope as sam picked up a shovel. "here's another tool belonging to the company. it must have been thrown away by billings or skip when you dropped on their heads." "keep it to show we've been hunting; it can't be long now before the men come, and we'll need some good excuse for loafing here." "let's sit down till we hear them. i'm tired enough to want a rest." seated on the decaying timbers of the car track the boys discussed in whispers the possibility of aiding skip to escape from his unenviable position, with never a thought of the deed with which billings was to crown his villainous career. the leader of the mob had immediately begun to look about for a chance to wreak his vengeance on the company, when joe and bill with their helpers left the level, and he was yet at the farther end of the passage when the boys returned with supplies for skip. their desire to avoid attracting the attention of the workmen caused them to move noiselessly, consequently he was ignorant of the fact that they were in the mine. it was hardly five minutes after they descended to the old drift when he came back to the cutting, and the odor of gas brought him to a stop. "them fools broke through after all," he said, examining the earth piled up at one end, "an' i reckon they found out it wasn't safe to work much farther on that course." one of the shovels was standing against the side of the excavation, and with this he dug a portion of the dirt from the hole made by bill's pick. the foul air rushed through with such force as to nearly suffocate him; but instead of being disappointed he appeared overjoyed. "i couldn't a' fixed things better in a week's solid work, an' i'll take the chances of gettin' out." enlarging the aperture by pushing the earth through between the braces while he covered his mouth and nose with his blouse, he crept back to the drift, unfastened his cap-lamp, removed the safety screen, and placed the light in the passage after raising the wick a trifle. just as these preparations had been completed the faint sound of the whistle could be heard from above. "it's astonishin' what luck i'm having," he muttered. "i can get out while the day shift are leavin', an' ten minutes will be enough to fill this level so full of gas that no power can prevent an explosion." the air was heavy with the noxious vapor as he went rapidly toward the slope up which crowds of miners were passing, and as some of the men loitered behind the others it became necessary he should hide in the drift to escape detection. "why don't the fools move faster," he said, in a hoarse whisper. "it can't be many seconds before the thing comes, an' there'll be no chance for me. there'd be a lynchin' sure if i should show up jest ahead of an explosion." big drops of perspiration stood on his brow as he realized that the trap he had set for others might close upon himself, and for an instant he resolved to run back and extinguish the lamp. "it won't do," he said, half turning and then moving nearer the slope. "there's gas enough in the drift to choke me before i'd get ten yards. why don't the idiots move faster!" only the absolute conviction that he would be lynched if caught at such a time prevented billings from rushing out. each second the vapor became denser, and he wondered why the miners did not perceive it. the catastrophe must be very near at hand, and he was exposed to the greatest danger. when it seemed as if an hour had passed, the last man went up the slope, and he started at full speed to gain a higher level. the incline was almost reached; half a dozen steps more and he would be partially sheltered by the jutting point of slate. "luck is still with me," he cried, so loud that those above must have heard him, and at that instant the earth seemed to rock to and fro; there was a flash of blinding light, and the air was filled with flying fragments. where had been the lower level was now an apparently solid mass of earth, coal, and slate, covering the body of him who had wreaked his vengeance upon the company. joe and bill were returning from the store when the noise of the explosion was heard, and they, as well as everyone in the vicinity, knew from sad experience what had occurred. "we're responsible for this!" bill cried, his face paling. "the gas has burst through from the old drift." "thank god it came when most of the poor fellows were quittin' work," and joe started on a run, followed by every person in the village. at the mouth of the slope a vast crowd had gathered. women were calling their husbands and children by name, and as each learned her loved ones were safe, shouts of joy mingled with the wailings of those whose cries remained unanswered. even after mr. wright arrived the utmost confusion prevailed. all knew it would be certain death to make a descent, while the deadly vapor was so dense, and a second explosion might be expected at any moment. bill and joe stood near the mouth of the slope ready to respond to the first call for volunteers, when mrs. byram came up. "where is fred?" she asked, with a brave attempt controlling her fears. "he went to your house with sam, so there's no need to worry about them." "they were not there more than ten minutes." "then both are in the crowd somewhere, for they wouldn't go down the slope till we got back." the almost distracted mother had no thought of keeping skip's secret at such a time, and when the two miners heard her story all hope for the safety of the boys fled. "they must have been in the old drift underneath the explodin' gas," joe exclaimed, involuntarily. "it isn't sure the trouble began where we think," bill said, quickly, with a warning glance at his companion. "i've known of men who were shut in a drift for a week, an' then brought out none the worse for wear, so don't despair, mrs. byram." "but why isn't something done to aid them?" "we shall set to work the very minute it is safe to venture into the next level. go home, an' joe or i will bring you the first news." "do you think i could remain there knowing my boy is dying, or--or--dead?" the women near by endeavored to console the sorrowing mother with words of encouragement they themselves believed to be false, and bill whispered to his mate: "there's a mighty slim show for the poor lads, an' it's through helpin' him as tried to murder 'em that they've been caught." mr. wright was doing his utmost to ascertain how many were yet in the mine, and after a long while succeeded in learning that at least a dozen men had been overpowered while some distance up the slope. those who reached the surface told of a number whom they had seen fall, and some were certain one or two did not have time to gain the slope. "who will go with me?" the superintendent asked, as a car was made ready. "i don't want the married men to volunteer, for they are needed at home, and none of us may come back alive." "then why not stay here yourself?" a woman cried. "your wife an' children need you as much as ours need their fathers." "because it is my duty," was the calm reply. "now who will come? i only want two." "then the car is full," bill said, as he and joe took their places in the box-like vehicle. "we're willin' to go alone, if you'll stay behind." "no man shall encounter dangers from which i shrink. lower away slowly, boys," he added to those who were fastening a rope to the car, "and keep a sharp look-out for our signals." "an' it was his house my jim helped try to burn!" the woman who had spoken before said in a whisper. "make haste," mr. wright cried, impatiently. "remember that every second is precious." the miners crowded around the car to shake its brave occupants by the hand as if they were never to return, and it was absolutely necessary to push them away in order that the terrible journey might be begun. with their safety lamps held so that the condition of the air might be ascertained at each stage of the descent, the men slowly disappeared from view, and at the mouth of the slope the crowd surged to and fro in painful suspense; but not a sound could be heard, save as some wife or mother gave vent to a sob of distress. chapter xvii down the slope during the time that billings was making his preparations for the last act of his life, sam and fred remained seated a short distance from the cut which led to skip's hiding place. both were listening intently for the first sound which should betoken the coming of the miners, and the falling earth which was displaced by billings' feet as he worked in the cutting attracted their attention. "there's some one in the tunnel we made," sam whispered. "let's creep up and find out who it is." "that won't do, for there's no chance billings would come back if he once got out, and we should arouse suspicions." despite this warning sam advanced a short distance, and on becoming convinced that the tunnel really had an occupant rejoined fred, as he whispered: "we'd better sneak further along. i reckon somebody is on guard up there, and we musn't be seen so far down." he had held the shovel during this excursion, and still retained it as they walked noiselessly along the drift until arriving at the mouth of the short slope. here the two halted at the moment when the confined gas, ignited by the open lamp, burst its bonds, and the shock sent them headlong up the incline. huge masses of earth were detached on every hand, except directly in the narrow way leading to skip's hiding place, and on scrambling to their feet a solid wall shut them out from the drift. "what was that?" fred cried in alarm, as he assured himself his lamp was uninjured. "an explosion, an' we're penned in here to starve to death," sam replied, in a trembling voice. "can't we dig through this bank and reach the hole in the roof?" "there is no longer any lower level, as we knew it, and unless we could make a new drift there'd be no use working." "but this part of the mine seems to be all right." "yes, unless there's another explosion i reckon we can stay here 'til--" "'till what?" "we shall starve to death after a while." this mournful conversation was interrupted by skip, who came running down the slope with the most abject fear written on every feature of his face. familiar as he was with the mine he had no need to ask for the cause of the noise, and understood as well as sam the little hope there was for life. "are you shut in, too?" he cried. "we're here," sam replied, grimly. "an' you'd been outside if i hadn't wanted to stay rather than take a flogging." "you're right, skip, but this ain't the time to find fault. all three are in the same box, an' we might as well be friendly." "won't they try to get us out?" fred asked, faintly. "nobody knows where we are," skip replied, bitterly. "we told mother about you, and she'll be sure to repeat it to joe and bill now we're in such danger." skip's face brightened for an instant, and then he said, in a despairing tone: "they don't know where this place is. billings is certain the oldest miners never heard of the drift; he thinks it was made years before the workings were opened at farley's." "joe and bill have been down here." "even they wouldn't know where to start in. how long will the air hold out, sam?" "i don't know, but there's no need of usin' it any faster than's necessary. we'll put out two of the lamps; one is enough, an' we may be mighty glad to drink the oil." fred was very nearly incapable of action. the knowledge that his companions had lost hope literally dazed him, and he could not even follow sam's suggestion. two of the lamps were extinguished, and since fred was the only one retaining the means of dispelling the darkness, sam and skip forced him on ahead as they went still further into the tunnel where the air would be more pure. "this is the only point from which we may expect aid," sam said, "an' seein' that we can do nothin' it's better to stay here." "won't joe and bill try to help us?" fred asked. "they'll try, but whether it'll be possible to do anything is another matter." "can't we begin to dig? we've got one shovel." "neither of us knows in which direction to start, an' when workin' more food would be needed, therefore, to keep alive as long as possible we'd better stay quiet." skip threw himself on the floor close to the end of the cutting, as if reconciled to whatever might happen, and sam sat down beside him. "do you think there is any chance that we can get out of here?" fred asked after a long silence, and sam replied, gravely: "we may as well look the matter straight in the face. it's possible they can strike us without much trouble, but that ain't likely." during half an hour the boys remained silent and motionless, as if each was trying to reconcile himself to the terrible doom which threatened, and then fred said, with a feeble attempt at cheerfulness: "it must be near supper time. suppose we have one square meal?" "because a man knows he's slowly drowning there's no reason why he should try to keep his head under water more than is necessary," sam replied, sternly. "what do you mean?" "we are not suffering with hunger now, but soon will be, so it's wise to wait till grub is absolutely needed to keep us alive." "then let's do something; this sitting still thinking of what is to come seems worse than the reality can ever be." "very well, we've got a shovel; we'll decide in which direction it's best to dig, an' begin operations." "there surely is a chance of striking another drift." "yes, there's a chance," sam replied, as if the conversation wearied him. "each one shall say which course he thinks most likely to bring us out." skip wished to continue up the slope, arguing that each inch gained would carry them so much nearer the surface, while fred believed it best to work through the mass of earth that had fallen, because there a pick would not be necessary. "we'd better try skip's plan," sam finally said. "by making our way along the old drift a chamber of gas might be struck, when all hands would be suffocated. come on, and i'll start it." he wielded the shovel until tired, the others carrying the earth back to the foot of the slope in their hats, and then fred tried his hand at the labor. in this manner each did a certain amount of the work, but at the expense of no slight suffering. in the confined space it was very warm, and this exercise brought with it an intense thirst, which, of course, could not be quenched. skip drank a little oil now and then, but fred could not force himself to taste the ill-smelling stuff. there was no way by which the passage of time could be measured. when all were sleepy they laid down to rest, and on awakening a small quantity of food was dealt out. after the scanty meal had been eaten they continued what every one now believed was useless labor, ceasing only when the desire for slumber became overpowering again. reckoning these periods of work and rest as days and nights, seventy-two hours had elapsed when the supply of food was exhausted, and they realized that the final struggle was at hand. the air remained reasonably pure, probably because a vent had been left somewhere in the choked drift, but there were moments when the odor of gas was perceptible, thus causing sam to believe efforts were still being made to reach them by those on the outside. but little work was done when the food had been consumed. now and then one or the other would use the shovel in a listless way for a few moments at a time, but each had become so weak that any prolonged exertion was out of the question. they slept as much as possible, and refrained from discussing the terrible situation. fred no longer listened for the sounds which would tell that help was near at hand, and the odor of the oil did not prevent him now from taking his share when the scanty allowance was doled out. finally the hour came when the last drop had been drank. the tiny flame of the lamp seemed to have been the only link which connected them with the outer world, and then without any means of dispelling the profound darkness the bitterness of death came upon them. fred was the first to sink into a stupor from which he awakened only at rare intervals. then skip yielded to despair, and sam was virtually alone. all three were half sitting, half lying in the excavation they had made, and the moments passed unheeded. to fred it seemed as if he had been unconscious for many days when he became aware that sam was shouting wildly. in a dazed way he raised his head, and after a while understood that his companion was saying in an incoherent tone: "they're coming! they're coming!" "who? who?" skip asked, feebly, trying in vain to rise to his feet. "the miners! can't you hear the sound of their picks?" when they could bring themselves to understand the meaning of sam's words both the sufferers were revived by the excitement sufficiently to stagger to an upright position, but as only at intervals was the cheering sound heard, fatigue soon overpowered them again, and once more sam alone remained conscious. he made every effort to preserve all his faculties, and after another long, painful time of suspense he was rewarded by hearing a faint hail. "hello! lads, are you near?" "yes! yes! in the end of a short slope." "how many are there?" "three." "all well?" "two are pretty near gone. hurry as fast as possible." "don't fret, lad, we're workin' the best we know how, an' have been these four days, though not allers on the right track." then from time to time the laborers shouted in order that they might not deviate from the right course, and sam answered each call at the full strength of his lungs, which at the best was faint. nearer and nearer came the sound of shovels and picks until the trembling of the wall told that life, liberty, and food were near at hand. sam remained leaning close against the barrier that he might hear every hail, until he saw the face of a man appear from amid a shower of falling earth, and then, knowing the rescue was accomplished he lost consciousness. around the mouth of the shaft stood a great crowd when the inanimate boys were brought out. during the nights as well as days this throng remained waiting to see those known to be in the half-ruined mine. these anxious watchers, sympathizing with the three grief-stricken mothers, had left their posts only so long as was absolutely necessary, and had seen each lifeless body as it was sent to the surface, the last coming from the slope being the mangled remains of cale billings. each morning the newspapers had printed long articles regarding the disaster at farley's, and in the list of those known to be dead were four names, the number of victims sacrificed that billings might avenge a fancied wrong. with the rescue of the boys the work was finished, and in the rear of the bearers all the watchers and laborers followed to the village, remaining in the streets until word was sent that no injuries had been sustained. then, perhaps for the first time, came the question of what was to be done now that farley's was in such a condition as to preclude any possibility that the works could be opened for several months. "it's a hard look-out for all of us," one old miner said to a mate, "but thank god that villain of a billings has no more than four lives to answer for." chapter xviii shut down food and rest were all that was needed to restore the boys who had been rescued to their normal condition once more, and since the works were necessarily shut down they had ample opportunity for the latter remedy. fred learned from his mother that bill and joe had remained foremost among the laborers nearly every moment of the time they were imprisoned in the drift; but the full story of the rescue was not told until on the second day, when joe called. "it looked pretty blue one spell," the latter said in reply to fred's questions. "the first attempt to get down the slope was a failure. when we reached the upper level all three were so nearly overcome by the foul air that mr. wright could hardly make the signal for the car to be pulled back. late at night we tried it agin, an' brought out the four poor fellows who were caught on the slope. next mornin' billings' body was found, an' then it wasn't hard to tell what caused the trouble." "did you spend any time there looking for us?" "no, for bill and me calculated that if you hadn't got to skip before the explosion come it would be a month's work to find the bodies. we went down the old shaft, an' began from there, workin' at guess till both of us began to believe we'd gone wrong. if sam hadn't yelled jest as he did the gang would have started in from the old drift that runs to the chamber." "in that case we wouldn't have been found in time." "you're right; but seein' as we did find you all secure, there's no use speculatin' about the other side of the matter." "have you seen skip?" "he was down to the store this mornin' tellin' what he knew of billings' movements, for the coroner is investigatin' the affair." "and sam?" "he's lively as a cricket, an' counts on comin' here this afternoon." "how long will it be before the works can be opened again?" "two or three months for the whole gang, but some can begin in half that time, i reckon. it's goin' to be rough on them as haven't anything laid by for a rainy day." "and mother and i can be counted among those," fred said, with a sigh. "don't worry about that my son," mrs. byram replied cheerily. "it is sufficient for me that your life has been spared, and i am certain we shall be able to provide for the future, but you are not to go into the mine again. the four terrible days spent at the slope, fearing each instant that the rescuing party would reach the drift too late, caused me to resolve that you should not be exposed to any more such dangers." "but it don't stand to reason he'll have another experience like the last," joe said, promptly. "he's already gone through more'n the majority of us fellers, an' lightning don't often strike twice in the same place." mrs. byram shook her head to signify that the decision was final, but before she could add words to the gesture mr. wright knocked at the door. "i have come to make some arrangements with fred about working in the store," he said, as his summons was answered, and entering, continued, after a nod to the invalid and joe, "we shall need more help there for a while, and will pay three dollars per week." there could be no hesitation about accepting the proposition, and before the superintendent left it was decided fred should begin next morning, provided he felt sufficiently strong. "sam thorpe is to work with you," mr. wright said as he turned to leave the house, "and i expect good service from my new clerks." "i'll go bail that you get it," joe said, with a laugh, "an' now, if it ain't askin' too much, i'd like to know what chance there is for the rest of us." "we can use about a hundred men, among whom will be you and bill. the pumps have been choked so long that it will be some time before even the upper level can be put into working shape, but employment shall be given to all at the earliest possible moment." then mr. wright returned to the office, and during the remainder of the day fred had quite as many callers as could be entertained in the little house. among these were sam and skip, and the latter renewed the promises made in the mine. "i've backed out from the regulators, an' while the shut down lasts am goin' to see what i can do in the way of workin' the garden. father's let me off from a floggin' if i go straight after this." on the following morning fred was at his new place of business at a very early hour, and both he and sam found plenty with which to occupy their time until sunset, when they were at liberty to do as they chose. during the next week nothing of particular interest to the young clerks transpired. at the mine the largest force, which could be worked to advantage, was employed, and those who were forced to remain idle were given credit for food and rent. when the labor had become systematized to such a degree as to allow the superintendent a little leisure, and while fred was copying some letters in the private office, mr. wright watching him several moments in silence, asked: "do you never expect to do anything but work in a mine, fred?" "oh, yes, sir; if mother and i can get some money laid by i want to go to the city." "what will you do there?" "i don't know, sir, but there should be plenty of chances for a fellow who is willing to work." "there are, but since it may be some time before you are in a condition to leave here, why not make yourself familiar with this branch of mining?" "how could that be done, sir?" "by hard study. you may use any of my books, and after getting a smattering of the business you might decide to take up civil engineering, a profession which would suit you admirably." "if i only could." "there is nothing to prevent. here is a work which you can understand, and after mastering its contents i'll guarantee you're ready to hold your own against any engineer's assistant in the middle field." on that very day fred began his studies, and sam joined him with the understanding that not less than two hours of each evening should be devoted to the work. both the boys were astonished at discovering how little they really knew about mining, even though well acquainted with many of the details, and rapid progress was made during the fortnight that followed. "if you keep on at this rate we'll be lookin' for new buttys," bill said one evening when the students had explained to him the principles of hydraulics. "you won't need any for some time, and then, perhaps, we shall have learned how ignorant we are, and give up in despair." "there'll be a good many called for to-morrow. the upper level is in workin' order, an' a hundred men are to be put on in the morning." this was, indeed, good news. the inhabitants of farley's had been anxiously awaiting the day when it would be possible to earn something toward the household expenses, and this first evidence that the works were really to be opened caused a great amount of pleasurable excitement. nearly every one in the village was at the mouth of the slope to see the workmen go in, and there sam and fred met skip. "mr. donovan has promised to take me into the breaker as soon as there is any coal to come out," he said, gleefully, "an' my garden is lookin' fine." "i don't reckon you've sold many vegetables yet," sam replied, laughingly. "the plants are only just up, an' the stuff will be late; but the first that is ripe i'm going to send you fellers, an' bill and joe." the miners entered, while the spectators cheered loudly, and then the idle ones dispersed, well content to know their time would soon come. skip returned to his garden, while sam and fred resumed their duties at the store, but were interrupted an hour later by mr. wright, who said: "it is important that a message be delivered in blacktown before noon, and there will be no train until late this afternoon. do you boys feel in trim for a ten mile tramp across the mountain?" "yes, sir, an' double the distance if necessary," sam replied, promptly. "very well; wrap up some crackers and cheese while i write a letter." ten minutes later the two were on their way with no slight task before them, for it would be necessary to travel over a rough country the entire distance, since the journey by the road around the mountain could not be performed in a day. it was an agreeable change after having been confined to the store so long, and they trudged on merrily, resolved to return in a more leisurely fashion because mr. wright had said no more work would be required of them until morning. in three hours the message had been delivered, and they were on their way home. little time was spent in the valley, but on ascending the mountain once more a halt was made for lunch. they were midway between blacktown and farley's. not a dwelling could be seen in either direction, and the boys speculated as to what the country looked like before coal was found in the vicinity. "i wonder what caused the first man to come here lookin' for it?" sam said, musingly. "most likely some one well up in geology was hunting for specimens, and found an out-cropping vein." "it must have been a mighty pleasant surprise." "and one that i would like to experience. just fancy poking around in this way till you struck what could be easily turned into gold." as he spoke fred dug up the earth here and there with a stick, playing the part, as he supposed, of the first discoverer, and at the same time slowly ascending the mountain. "hold on; don't leave so soon. i'm just getting ready to rest in proper style." fred turned around to return when he struck his toe against what appeared to be a projecting rock, and fell headlong. "that's what you get for tryin' your hand at prospecting," sam said, with a laugh, and fred arose to his feet with a rueful look on his face, which caused his companion yet more mirth. "it may be sport for you, but i don't see anything so funny about knocking all the skin off----hello! what a queer looking rock i tumbled over!" he had turned, and was gazing at the projecting point, a fragment of which was broken, when sam came up to learn the cause of his companion's astonishment. "why, it looks like coal!" he exclaimed, taking a piece from the ground to examine it more closely, and an instant later fred was startled by hearing him shout, "it is coal! the vein at farley's must run straight through the hill!" "then this belongs to the company." "not a bit of it. the one who owns the land can work here, and if we could raise money enough to buy ten or fifteen acres on this side of the hill, byram and thorpe would be mighty rich fellows." chapter xix the consultation it is not to be wondered at that the boys were in a perfect fever of excitement because of their startling discovery. they uncovered the spurs of pure coal sufficiently to learn that it was a true vein, and, judging from the indications, there could be no question but it extended over a large area just below the surface. "is it as good as that taken out at farley's?" fred asked, when they ceased digging for a moment. "i can't see any difference. why, you and i alone could mine enough to make us pretty near rich, for there's neither shaft nor slope to be made." "do you suppose this land is valuable?" "for farming purposes it isn't worth a cent, and unless the owner knows what is here it could be bought for a song." "what is the price of a song according to that estimate?" "well, say a thousand dollars for a hundred acres." "but you wouldn't need as much in order to get at this vein." "buildings would be necessary after a while, an' you'd want a track to get the coal into market." "don't you suppose we could manage to get a thousand dollars?" "if you count on doin' it by workin' at farley's, it would take about a thousand years. all the money i can earn has to be used by the family now that father isn't working." "but can we do nothin'?" "it does seem kinder tough to find a fortune, and not be able to take advantage of it, but i can't figure out how we can turn it to account." "let's fill our pockets with these pieces, and tell mr. wright what we've struck." "yes, an' before to-morrow night he'd own this whole tract. it would be wiser to see what bill an' joe think about the chances of raisin' money." "very well, we'll talk with them. it won't do to leave this uncovered, an' i'm in a hurry to get back." the earth was scraped, and above this the boys strewed branches and leaves until one might have searched a long while without discovering the secret. then, walking at their best pace, the successful prospectors continued on toward farley's, trying in vain to suppress their excitement. those whom they wished to consult were at the mine, and without even stopping to tell mrs. byram of their discovery they went directly to the slope. bill and joe were in the second level, at some distance from the other workmen when the boys arrived. "what do you think of that?" fred asked, excitedly, as he held out one of his specimens. bill, supposing he was to see a rare sight, brought his cap-lamp close to the object for a second, and then said angrily: "haven't you boys got anything better to do than bring coal in here for us to look at? we see enough of that stuff without luggin' it around in our pockets." "but this didn't come from farley's." "well, s'posin it didn't, what of that?" and bill threw the coal far down the drift. "not much, except that sam and i found a vein three miles from any settlement." "what?" both the miners cried in the same breath, and bill ran to pick up what he had thrown away so contemptuously. fred began and sam ended the story of the "find," and while they were talking bill turned the specimen over and over, saying when they concluded: "if as good coal as that shows at the surface it must be a big vein." "it is, but how can we take advantage of the discovery? sam thinks the land could be bought for a thousand dollars." "then you must buy it." "how could we raise so much money?" "people don't allers pay cash for what they buy. you might get it for two or three hundred dollars down, with a mortgage for the balance." "even then i don't see how it can be done." "nor i jest now, but we'll figure the thing out to-night at your house. joe an' me will be there after supper. don't tell anyone except your mother, 'nd when you boys are rich i speak for the job of breaker boss." then bill and joe, hardly less excited than their younger companions, resumed the interrupted labor, and the amateur prospectors went to tell the wonderful news to mrs. byram. fred's mother was not as elated as the boys thought the occasion demanded, but when the miners arrived, and appeared to be so sanguine that the discovery would be of great pecuniary benefit to those who made it she became greatly interested. the main question was how to raise the necessary money with which to purchase the land, and this had not been answered when the party broke up at a late hour. "we'll figger it out somehow," bill said as the visitors arose to depart. "it's been sprung so sudden like that we haven't had time. joe an' me will learn who owns the land first, an' then some of us'll get a bright idee." with these cheering words the meeting was adjourned, and sam and fred went to bed to dream of becoming millionaires through the accident which befell the latter as he fell over the spur of coal. next morning, however, they awoke to the fact that the day's provisions depended upon their labors in the store, and as this was also the first step toward earning sufficient money with which to buy the land, both were on hand at an unusually early hour. "i want you to go over to blacktown bank," mr. wright said to sam when he entered the building. "the train leaves in half an hour, and since you can return by the same conveyance there is no reason why i should give two boys a holiday, as i did yesterday." "i will be ready in time, sir," sam replied, and fred whispered: "why not walk home, and see if anybody has been fooling around the spur we found." "that's jest what i'll do, providin' it is possible to get back before the train is due. there can't be any kickin' if i'm here an hour or two ahead of time." a package of papers and a bank book was given to sam by the cashier, who said, warningly: "here are two thousand dollars in checks, and you are to bring back eight hundred dollars in change. be careful what you do, and come home on the first train after the business has been done." "i don't reckon any one would kick if i walked instead of waitin' until afternoon for the cars," sam said as he took the documents. "it isn't very safe to come across the mountains with so much cash; but i don't suppose there is any danger," the man replied, and sam glanced meaningly at fred as he left the building. "i wish i hadn't said anything to him about looking at the vein," fred muttered to himself as his companion disappeared from view. "it would be better if he came directly back without thinking of what will never bring us in a cent of money." it was too late now, however, to regret the words which had been spoken, and fred found plenty with which to busy himself during the remainder of the day. at noon a telegram came for mr. wright, and in response to what was probably an imperative summons, he started for the city on the next train; the one on which sam would have returned had he not determined to walk across the mountain. an hour passed, and yet the messenger was absent. "that boy has had time to travel twice the distance from blacktown here," the cashier said impatiently to fred, and the latter could make no reply, but he in turn was growing very anxious. "how would it do for me to go and meet him?" he asked finally. "that is foolish talk," was the petulant reply. "if he doesn't come soon it will be best to send a sheriff's officer." this remark was well calculated to make fred yet more nervous. not for a moment did he believe sam would do anything dishonest, and yet he should have been back, even in case he had walked home, several hours before. it was after sunset when the messenger finally made his appearance, and fred was about to greet him with words of jest, but the expression on sam's face caused him decided alarm. "what is the matter?" he asked, anxiously. "i have been robbed," was the reply, in a hoarse whisper. "how?" "i don't know. coming across the mountain i laid down on the land we wanted to buy, an' i fell asleep. when i awakened the money was gone, an' that is all i know about it." "money gone, eh?" the bookkeeper cried. "what did you want to buy land for?" "that has nothing to do with the loss of the cash," sam replied as he looked the man full in the face. "i lost the package which was given me at the bank, and have been hunting for it since noon." "it will make considerable difference, as you'll find out before this thing is cleared up," and the cashier moved toward the door as if to prevent the boy from leaving the building. "why not tell the truth, and say you stole the money?" "because i didn't do anything of the kind." "tell that to the marines, for you can't make me believe it. thieves don't loaf around the mountain." "they must have done so in this case, for i walked nearly back to blacktown, and should have found the package if it had fallen from my pocket." "then where is it?" "i don't know." "fred, go for a constable." the cashier yet remained by the door, and now he held it open a few inches that his order might be obeyed. "please don't do a thing like that," fred cried, while sam stood near the desk pale as death, but every action breathing defiance. "do you think i'll let a boy steal eight hundred dollars, and do nothing toward recovering it?" "wait until mr. wright comes back and see what he thinks." "and in the meantime he or his accomplice will have had plenty of time in which to carry the cash beyond our reach." "but i am sure that what he tells is the truth." "i don't believe a word of it. such a thing never happened before, and the thief sha'nt go free now if i can prevent it." fred was about to plead yet further for his friend, but the cashier checked him by saying: "another word in his behalf and i shall believe you know something of this very mysterious robbery. will you go for the constable?" "no, i won't move a step from this place until mr. wright comes back." this show of friendship was not sufficient to save sam from the ignominy of an arrest. the cashier had hardly ceased speaking when one of the miners made an attempt to enter the store, and the angry official sent him for the guardian of the peace. "you'll have a chance to go back to blacktown, and it may be that you will find the money on the way," he said, in a tone of irony. sam made no reply. silent and motionless he awaited the coming of the officer. chapter xx the accused not for a moment did fred believe it possible sam had done anything dishonest in regard to the money, and yet it seemed very singular that he could have been robbed without knowing when the deed was committed. he had no opportunity to speak privately to the accused boy, because of the strict watch maintained by the cashier, but he remained very near him, as if eager to show confidence in his innocence. from the time the miner had been sent in search of an officer not a word was spoken. now and then sam glanced at his friend as if to ask that his story be credited, and the accuser kept a strict watch over every movement. there was no parley when the officer arrived, his duty was to take the prisoner away, and he did so in a matter-of-fact manner which aroused all of fred's anger. "it wouldn't do him any harm to say he knows you ain't a thief," he whispered, "but never mind, old fellow, bill an' joe shall come to see you." "believe i've told the truth, an' that is enough for me," sam replied, with a choking sob. "tell the folks at home about it, but try to make 'em know i never stole a dollar." fred promised to do this, and would have accompanied his friend to the depot but for the cashier, who said, sternly: "i insist on your remaining here. a large amount of money is missing; you boys have got a secret between you, and it may have some connection with the robbery. i will not allow you to talk with the prisoner." "do as he says, an' don't have any row," sam added. "i'll stay here," was the reply, "and when mr. wright gets back we'll see what he's got to say about it." "it's time for the train," the constable interrupted. "go on quickly, sam, before a crowd gathers." fred gazed after the accused until he was lost to view in the distance, and then turned away with a heavy heart. the cashier had nothing more to say about the robbery, but he found plenty of work for the boy to do, much as if wishing to keep him in sight until mr. wright came home. it was half-past eight when the last train arrived and the superintendent was not on it. fred should have been home two hours before, and his mother, always in fear of an accident since the explosion, came in search of him. to her the story of sam's misfortune was told, and she at once demanded a private interview with the cashier. "don't tell him why we wanted to buy land," fred whispered, and his mother promised to keep the secret for a short time at least. ten minutes' conversation with the angry official sufficed, and then the two went to sam's home, where the sad news was told. not until ten o'clock did fred and his mother reach the little cottage where bill and joe were impatiently awaiting their arrival. "we've heard something about the trouble," the former said, "and want to know all the perticlars." fred repeated what has already been told, and added: "what he said concerning the land we talked of buying has made the cashier more suspicious than he would have been. it's too bad to give the secret away, but it must be done unless the money can be found." "there's no reason why we can't wait a while," joe said after some thought. "i'll go to blacktown to-morrow, an' see him." "you surely can't think he took it?" "of course not, an' yet i don't understand how it could 'a been stole." "he must have lost the money." "it wouldn't be a bad plan for us to walk to blacktown over the same path he took," bill said. "fred can show us the way." "i don't believe they'll let me leave. the cashier seems to think i'm concerned in the robbery." "it won't take me long to tell him he don't run this place. i'll go to mr. wright's house, find out when he's likely to be back, an' then tend to the other matter. joe, wait here." the miner was not absent more than an hour, and when he returned the others had come to the conclusion that sam had lost the money before reaching the coal vein. "mr. wright has jest telegraphed that he's on his way to new york, so we may not see him for two or three days. i've told the folks at the store what's to be done, an' though there's some kickin' about fred's leavin', they don't dare to say very much." then the sad visaged party separated to get as much rest as possible, and at early dawn the miners were at mrs. byram's again. believing sam had traveled over nearly the same course as that taken by he and fred, the latter did his best to guide the searchers correctly. "there's no use to hunt round very much till we strike the vein, for there's where he missed the money, so we'd better travel at our best gait to that place," joe said, as he led the way with fred by his side. the sun had been above the horizon but a few moments when they reached the scene of the discovery, and despite sam's dangerous position bill insisted on viewing the out-cropping of coal. "it's a true vein, there's no question of that," he said, after a careful examination, "an' we must hustle to get the cash what's needed to buy the property." "i'd be willin' to give up my share if sam was out of his scrape." "you won't do any such foolish thing. we'll help the lad an' ourselves at the same time, for there's a chance to get rich here which mustn't be lost," and bill covered the spur once more. now the search was begun. fred led the way slowly, the others following a short distance behind, and all three scrutinized the ground carefully. not a word was spoken by either until they were on the highway near blacktown, and then bill said sadly: "if it was lost somebody has found it, an' in case thieves run him down it ain't likely they're going to be so foolish as to give us a chance to get on their track." "where are we to go now?" fred asked. "we'll see a lawyer if there's one in the place, an' then have a talk with sam." there was no trouble about getting legal advice, and in the company of a kindly-faced gentleman the party were ushered into the jail where sam, in the lowest depths of despair, was found. "oh, i'm so glad you've come!" he cried, seizing fred by both hands. "it has been terrible here." "don't be downhearted, lad," bill said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "we'll stick by you no matter what happens." "i want you to tell me the whole story," the lawyer interrupted. "describe every little particular of the journey." "there isn't much to tell. i got the money, an' walked as fast as i could to a place on the mountain, where i laid down to rest, an' fell asleep. when i woke up the package was gone." "did you see anyone who might be following you?" "no sir." "whom did you meet after leaving the town?" "not a single person." "are you certain the money was in your pocket when you laid down?" "i felt of it a little while before that." the lawyer continued to question sam for a long while, but without gaining any new information, and even the boy's friends were forced to admit that the story was a strange one. "i'd say it was thin if i didn't know sam so well," bill mused as the party left the jail after promising the prisoner they would return at the earliest opportunity. "the boy couldn't 'a took the money, that's certain; but how he contrived to get rid of it beats me." "it is possible we may learn something to our advantage before the trial can be held," the lawyer suggested in a tone which to fred sounded the reverse of cheerful; "but i think it very important you should see mr. wright without delay." "joe shall go to new york." "how could i find him there?" "fred and me'll get right back to farley's, ask for his address, an' send it to you by telegraph." "that is a very good idea. a train leaves in less than an hour," the lawyer said approvingly. "decide where the message shall be sent, and it will be there before he arrives." joe was unwilling to take so much responsibility upon himself, and urged that he did not look fit to visit the city; but bill overruled all his objections. "you're the one to go, so that settles it," the miner said as he pulled out his wallet. "here's what money i've got, an' if more's needed let me know." "what am i to say to the superintendent if i see him?" "urge that no further steps be taken against the boy. after what you say he did during the riot the officers of the company should be lenient." "but that kind of talk sounds as if you believed he'd stole the money," bill exclaimed in surprise. "the case looks very bad for him, and if it should be called up before we found some evidence in his favor he would most certainly be convicted." sam's friends gazed at each other in astonishment. that the lawyer employed to defend him should thus intimate he was guilty almost shook their faith in the boy's innocence. "you must go all the same," bill said, after a long pause, "an' me an' fred will toddle back home." the adieus consisted only of the words "good-bye," and then the miner and the boy turned their faces toward farley's once more. "it seems as if finding the coal was bad luck for us," fred said when they were on the mountain. "if it hadn't been for that, poor sam never would have thought of walking home." "i don't go very much on what folks call luck, lad. the thing was bound to come whether you saw the vein or not, so we must buck agin it." "the lawyer thinks sam stole the money." "an' more'n he'll believe the same if somethin' don't turn up." "i can't fancy what could happen to help him unless the thief himself came forward to tell the whole story." "it does look kinder black, but we mustn't lose heart." "of course this settles our chances of buying the land." "nothin' of the kind. my day is broke up now, an' i'll spend the rest of it lookin around a bit." "sam will need all the money we've got to spend." "i've a little laid by for a rainy day, an' with what joe can raise we oughter pull through on both jobs." on arriving at the spur another search was made with the same result as before, and then the two hurried on, sending a telegram to joe immediately after reaching the town. chapter xxi amateur detectives fred was forced to attend to his duties at the store immediately after the return from black town, and while so engaged could not fail to hear the many comments upon the case. the news of the alleged robbery had spread with wonderful rapidity, and the majority of the miners believed sam to be guilty. twice during the afternoon the cashier questioned fred closely as to what the prisoner meant when he spoke of their desire to buy land, but despite the coaxing and even threats he refused to divulge the secret. "if it can't be helped i'll tell mr. wright, but nobody else," the boy repeated, and further than this he positively refused to speak. "then it's time you went home," the official finally said, in an angry tone. "you know so much about this thing that i don't believe it's safe to have you where there are many valuable things which might be stolen." "if you think i'm a thief, why not send me to jail with sam?" "i shall suggest to mr. wright that you be arrested, and i fancy he'll follow my advice." fred walked out of the store knowing that several of the clerks had overheard the latter portion of the conversation, and believing those whom he met on the street already looked upon him as a thief. "it can't be helped, my boy," his mother said. "you have the satisfaction of knowing the accusation is false, and that must suffice until the time when the whole affair is brought to light." "i'm afraid that never will be. everybody thinks sam is lying, and if we should tell of the coal we discovered the folks would say for sure he stole the money." during the remainder of the day fred staid in the house, not so much as showing his face at the window, and shortly after sunset bill called. "i've found out who owns the land," he cried triumphantly. "i wish we'd never walked across the mountain." "now don't be foolish, lad." "how can i help it when people call me a thief." "i heard the cashier had kinder turned you out: but that don't 'mount to anything. wait till the superintendent comes back." "he'll believe as the others do." "then wait till i catch the real thief." "you?" "i'm going to try it." "but you can't leave the mine." "that's jest what i have done." "what? have you thrown up the job?" "me an' the cashier had a little tiff a few minutes ago, an' i've closed accounts with farley's." "i hope you didn't take up what he said to me." "well, i kinder had a row on my own account, but that ain't neither here nor there. we're both loafin' now, an' i want you to take a trip with me." "where?" "i ain't jest sure, but we'll strike blacktown first, an' then go wherever things look most promisin'." "have you heard anything?" mrs. byram asked, as she gazed at the man sharply. "i can't say i have, an' i can't say i haven't. skip give me a idee that's worth workin' up even if it comes to nothin', so we'll have a vacation." "tell me what you've heard?" fred cried, excitedly. "it ain't so very much, only jest enough to set me thinkin'. one of skip's regulators was over here this noon, an' flashed up considerable money for a boy like him." "and you think he stole the package from sam?" "i don't say anything of the kind, but skip heard 'bout the trouble sam was in, an' thought it wouldn't do a bit of harm if we found out where this feller got so much cash." "when are you going?" "in the mornin', but don't get your hopes up, for it may all end in smoke." regardless of this warning fred did grow excited, and before bill took his departure he felt quite confident that the thief would soon be discovered. his spirits fell considerably next morning when joe returned from new york, having come home on the night train. "it's no use," he said sadly, as he entered mrs. byram's home just as fred and bill were making ready to set out for blacktown. "won't mr. wright do anything to help sam?" "no; he says if the boy is innocent it will be much better to have the matter settled in court, when everybody will know he was wrongfully accused." "does he believe him guilty?" "i'm afraid so, though he didn't say very much." "when is he coming home?" "day after to-morrow. he got a long letter from the cashier yesterday, an' i reckon that made the case look pretty tough agin sam." "well," bill said, speaking for the first time since the arrival of his mate, "we've spent the money for nothin', but it can't be helped now. we thought it would be best to see him, an' since it's turned out wrong all we can do is to push the other plan for what it's worth." "what's the other plan?" joe asked. bill explained, and concluded by saying: "it will be a good idee to have you here to post us on what happens while we're away. keep your eyes peeled, an' if anything pertic'lar turns up come over." then, without waiting to hear whether joe was pleased with the idea, bill started, calling sharply to fred as he left the house: "it won't do to loaf, lad, if we've got to get sam out of the scrape with all the officers of the company agin us." a hurried good-bye to joe, a kiss from his mother, and fred followed, bent on proving his friend's innocence in order that the suspicion of crime might also be removed from him. during the walk to blacktown hardly a word was spoken, but bill said when they were within sight of the village: "we'd best separate here an' to-night i'll meet you over by the hotel." "ain't we going to see sam?" "not to-day." "but what am i to do?" "walk 'round 'till you run across skip, an' then make friends with the feller what's with him." "is skip here?" fred asked in surprise. "of course, else how could we find the boy? i gave him money last night, an' reckon he come over on the first train." "did he say where he'd be?" "no, but you'll sure run across him. then hang 'round till it's time to meet me. it don't stand to reason well find out anything to-day, but we'll get our pipes laid." bill turned away as if fearing to prolong the interview lest he be seen by the boy whom he fancied knew something about the case, and fred walked aimlessly to and fro for nearly an hour, when he was accosted by skip. "when did you come?" the latter asked, as if in surprise as he glanced meaningly toward a rather disreputable looking boy at his side. fred told the exact truth, and added that he was "laying off" from work for a day or two because of an invitation of bill thomas' to see the sights in blacktown. skip's friend at once proposed that fred spend the day with them, and the two strangers in the village were soon pretending to enjoy the lavish hospitality of the fellow who was known by the name of gus dobson. only once, before it was time to meet bill did skip have a chance to speak privately with fred. their host had left them while he talked in whispers for several moments with a friend of about the same age and general appearance, and skip said: "i'd like mighty well to help sam out of his scrape, 'cause it would kinder square off what i did to hurt you an' him." "do you think this fellow knows anything about the money?" "he ain't givin' himself away; but jest see how much cash he's got. as many as three dollars were spent yesterday at farley's, and he's still slingin' it out." "perhaps this is some he's been saving." "gus dobson hasn't worked any to speak of since the regulators was started, an' i know he hadn't a cent at the time of the fuss over to farley's." "has he said anything about sam?" "yesterday he asked a good many questions." "i don't see how we're going to find out where the money comes from unless he wants to tell us," fred said, with a sigh, and then gus, looking considerably disturbed, joined them. "when are you fellers goin' home?" he asked, abruptly. "i'll start pretty soon," skip replied, "but fred don't have to leave till bill thomas gives the word. what's up?" "nothin' much 'cept i won't see you agin." "why not?" "i promised to take a trip with the feller what was jest here, an' it's time we was off." "what's that for?" "i don't know as it's any business of yours," and gus looked at his guests suspiciously. "of course not," skip replied quickly, "but we've had such a good time that a feller can't help feelin' sorry you've got to go." this explanation did not appear to be entirely satisfactory. the boy alternately gazed at one and then the other for several moments in silence, and finally said in a threatening tone: "a good many fellers have tried to get the best of me, but i allers made 'em sick before the job was finished." "now what are you drivin' at?" skip asked, in well simulated surprise. "if you don't know i won't waste time talking," was the reply, as gus walked hurriedly away, and the boys saw him join his friend a short distance off. "he's tumbled to our game," skip said sadly, "an' i'd like to knock the head off the feller what put him up to it." "that shows he knows something about the money." "he may think we're on another racket; but there's no use loafin' 'round here. i'll go to the depot an' you find bill." fred had no difficulty in following this last suggestion. the miner was already at the rendezvous, and when the details of the apparent failure had been given, he exclaimed angrily: "it's all my fault, an' instead of helpin' sam i've done him a power of harm." "what do you mean?" "i was in too much of a hurry, and thought myself mighty smart, so told the lawyer what we suspicioned. he ain't much less of a fool than i am, for he sent out to find a friend of gus', and asked him all kinds of questions. now we've driven 'em away, an' may as well go ourselves." "are we to give up working?" "there's no use in stayin' here any longer, an' we'll strike across the mountain. come on, so's it'll be possible to get home before dark." chapter xxii unexpected news fred was opposed to leaving blacktown without seeing sam; but bill, smarting under the sense of having brought about his own defeat, insisted upon an immediate departure. "it ain't likely we could get into the jail now the day is so far spent, an' if we did, what would be the use? there's nothing that could be said to cheer the boy." "i promised." "you can keep it the next time we come," and bill put an end to the discussion by starting toward the mountain. fred followed with a heavy heart, and the two trudged on in silence until they were within a short distance of the newly-discovered coal vein, when bill exclaimed in surprise: "i'm blest if there isn't joe! what's up now, i wonder?" this question was soon answered. the approaching miner cried while yet some distance away: "what are you comin' back so soon for?" "there was no reason why we should stay longer," and without sparing himself in the slightest, bill explained what a blunder had been committed. "well, you'd better go to blacktown agin, or else take the train for new york." "why?" "the cashier has been swearin' out a warrant for fred's arrest, an' it'll be served the minute he gets back." "a warrant for me?" fred cried in alarm. "what have i done?" "the fool thinks you know where the money is, an' that you made the arrangements with sam, before he left, to get away with it." "mr. wright won't allow such a thing." "the letter he wrote seems to have made the cashier's neck stiffer than it was yesterday, an' i don't reckon it would do much good to depend on any officer of the company." "i'll give that feller a piece of my mind," bill cried angrily, and joe replied: "don't do it yet a while. he told donovan this noon that you'd gone with fred to put the cash in a safe place, so it may be that the constable would like to see you by this time." "why, where does he think it was?" "buried on the mountain somewhere, an' if he sends men out to see if any diggin' has been done lately, the vein will surely be found." "i'll go back any way!" bill cried after a short pause. "such as him shan't call me a thief." "now, look here, matey, what will be the good of gettin' yourself in jail? i've told fred's mother jest how the matter stands, an' she believes as i do, that it'll be better to hang off a while in the hope something will turn up." "an' have the constables chasin' us all over the country." "it ain't certain they'll do that." "but it may never be known positively who took the money," fred added. "if you're both so anxious to go to jail, wait till it is proved sam is a thief, an' then show up to the constable. things can't be worse for holdin' on a few days." "'cordin' to your own figgerin' there's a chance the coal will be found." "i'll take care of that business while you an' fred keep out of sight. with what i had, an' what could be borrowed, i've got two hundred an' twenty dollars. you shall take the odd money, an' the balance i'll plank down as a first payment on the land." "do you know who owns it?" "a farmer who lived five or six miles the other side of blacktown." "that's correct, an' the sooner you see him the better." "will you agree to keep away from farley's?" "yes," bill said slowly, as if angry with himself for making the promise. "fred an' me'll sneak 'round 'till the trade's made for this side the mountain, an' then figger up what it's best to do." "where can i see you to-morrow?" "right here. we'll stay in the woods a night or two." "have you got anything to eat?" "no; but it's an easy matter to buy all we want." "take this money in case it is necessary to leave on the jump, an' i'll go on." handing his mate the twenty dollars, joe went at a sharp gait toward blacktown, and bill said, with a shrug of the shoulders: "so we're both thieves 'cordin' to the cashier's ideas; but wait 'till we get the land secured, an' i'll give that young man a lesson such as won't be very pleasant." "do you really mean to sleep in the woods?" "why not? it's warm weather, an' we'll be pretty nigh as well off there as at home." "then we'd better be looking for a good place. if mother hadn't sent word that i was to stay away, i'd go to farley's this minute an' let them arrest me, for it seems as if we act guilty by running off." "that's jest my idee, lad; but we'll obey orders a day or two." a short distance to the right was a thickly-wooded grove, and here the two soon found what would serve very well as a camp. a small cleared space, almost entirely screened from view by bushes, afforded all the protection which might be needed, and bill threw himself on the ground. "i reckon we can go without supper," he said, with forced cheerfulness, "an' there'll be no bother about lockin' the doors." "it won't be long before i'm asleep. walking around so much has tired me more than a full day's work in the breaker." "don't keep awake on my account. the sooner your eyes are closed the sooner you'll forget that there's a chance of bein' sent to jail." with his head pillowed on some dry leaves fred had no difficulty in summoning slumber; but bill tossed to and fro on the hard bed without the slightest desire for sleep. the boy was dreaming of the frightful hours spent in the short slope after the explosion, when he was awakened by the pressure of a hand on his mouth. it was dark, save for the twinkling stars, and silent, except when the leaves were swayed by the gentle wind. "don't speak," bill whispered as he removed his hand. "i can see the light of a fire over there to the right, an' it's well for us to know who are campin' so near." "what do you want me to do?" "follow me. we'll creep up far enough to see what's goin' on, an' then come back, unless there's reason for changin' our lodgings." "i'll keep close behind you," and fred rose to his feet, bill parting the bushes with both hands to avoid the slightest noise. the glow of flames could be seen a long distance away, evidently on the opposite edge of the grove, and the two approached it as rapidly as was consistent with silence. soon the hum of voices was heard, and after a short time bill stopped suddenly, gripped fred by the hand, and pointed ahead. around a camp-fire, over which pieces of meat were being cooked, sat gus dobson and the friend who had caused him to distrust fred and skip. "there may be a chance for us to find out a good deal of what we want to know," bill whispered, and once more he advanced, moving with the utmost caution. it was possible for the spies to creep within five yards of the encampment, thanks to the bushes, and when this had been accomplished the boys were eating supper. "i don't believe in stayin' here too long," gus was saying when fred and bill were near enough to distinguish the conversation. "nobody 'd think of huntin' for us in this place," his companion replied, "an' it ain't safe to take the cars yet a while, for them boys from farley's have got men to back 'em." "s'pposen they have? how can anybody find us if we walk up the track to the next station?" "it's easy enough to send word all around, an' then we'd be nabbed the minute we showed our noses in a town." "it will be jest as bad if they come here huntin' for us." "you're a reg'lar fool, gus dobson. so long as we can keep the stuff where it is, what'll be gained by arrestin' us? we've got to take it with us when we leave, an' then whoever catches us will have the thing down fine." "but we can't stay here forever." "a couple of weeks won't hurt us, an' by that time folks will give up lookin' so sharp. they'll think we got away." "we're too near farley's." "then make a move. we can keep on a dozen miles or so through the woods, an' bury the stuff agin." "i wanter get to new york." "there's plenty of time for that, an' it'll be nothing more'n fun to camp out two or three weeks." gus made no reply, and after supper had been eaten his companion lay down beside the fire, saying as he did so: "i'm goin' to sleep; you can figger the thing out between now and mornin', and say what you're willin' to do." "it'll have to be as you say, i s'pose," gus replied, sulkily; "but we must leave here." "all right, we'll start to-morrow, an' when a good place is found, put up a reg'lar camp." as he said this the boy rolled over as if to end the conversation, and gus laid down beside him. bill waited until the heavy breathing of both told that they were asleep, and then, with a motion to fred, he began to retreat. not until he was an hundred yards from the camp-fire did the miner halt, and said in a low whisper: "it was a mighty good thing for us that warrant had been sworn out for you. if the cashier had waited a day or so we'd gone home without an idee of where them young scoundrels were." "it seems certain they've got the money." "not a doubt of it." "why don't we jump right in on them? perhaps they'd tell where it was buried." "if they didn't we'd be worse off than before, for either one is smart enough to know nothin' can be done to 'em while the cash is hid. the only way for us is to keep an eye on the little villains, 'till they get ready for a move. then we'll do our work." "it'll be pretty hard to watch in the daytime without being seen ourselves." "we must manage to do it somehow, for this is, perhaps, our last chance to help sam." chapter xxiii a misadventure neither fred nor bill had any desire to sleep, now that the solution of the mystery seemed so near. they remained in the same place where the halt was made until the blackness of night gave way before the pale threads of light. "it's gettin' pretty nigh time to begin our work," bill said, "an' this heat we mustn't make any mistake." "i'm afraid we can't get near enough to see whether they take the money or not. perhaps it isn't anywhere around here." "then we'll follow 'em, if it takes a week, to find out what we're after. my idee is that we'd better separate, so's to make sure of knowin' what's goin' on. you stay here, an' i'll creep over to the other side, then we shall be doublin' our chances." "but what is to be done in case we don't see them dig up the money?" "foller, no matter how long a chase they lead us. we shall come together somewhere on the road; but it won't be a bad plan for you to take a little of this money. if we had only bought some grub last night things would be in better shape." "i can get along without food for a week if there is any hope of helping sam." "the whole thing will be cleared up providin' we don't loose sight of them. here's the money, an' now i'll be off. you'd best crawl nearer before the sun rises." with a pressure of the hand bill started, making a wide detour around the encampment, and fred was alone, trying hard to repress a tremor of excitement which was causing him to tremble as if in an ague fit. after waiting half an hour, and assuring himself that bill was well off, fred began an advance, working his way from bush to bush until convinced he could approach no nearer with safety. by this time the sun had risen, and his rays falling upon the faces of the sleepers, awakened them. both sprang to their feet, and gus began building the fire while his companion was busily engaged at something among the bushes--preparing food for cooking, as fred thought. "then you still think we oughter leave here?" gus said, interrogatively. "yes, an' the sooner the better. there's no knowin' when that feller's friends may come sneakin' around agin. we'll hurry up with the breakfast, an' start when it's over." the boys had quite an outfit, as fred could now see. a frying-pan, coffee-pot, tin cups, plates, and a bag well filled with provisions. gus acted the part of cook, and soon the odor of hot coffee was wafted in the direction of the watcher, causing him to feel the need of something to eat. but little conversation was indulged in during the preparations for the meal. gus' companion did not show himself until everything was ready, and then he ate hurriedly as if time was too precious to admit of talking. "now let's divide the load," the boy said, as he leaped to his feet and began tying the cooking utensils together. "if you'll see to the grub, i'll take care of these." fred gazed intently, expecting to see the money exposed to view; but no mention was made of it. gus shouldered the bag; his companion swung the remainder of the baggage over his shoulder, and the two started, walking rapidly around the mountain on a course which would carry them to the eastward at right angles with the railroad track. fred followed, remaining as far in the rear as was possible to keep them within view, and at such a distance that he could no longer overhear the conversation. beyond a doubt bill was also in pursuit; but he did not show himself, and fred fancied he was well over to the left travelling on a parallel line with the boys. during an hour these relative positions were maintained, and then gus threw down the bag as if to make a halt. "now they're going to dig up the money," fred said to himself, and he pressed forward that he might see all which occurred. in this he was mistaken, however. the two had simply stopped to rest, and such of the conversation as could be overheard only had reference to the location for a permanent camp, gus insisting they were far enough away from the villages, while his companion urged that twice this distance should be covered. "it's plain they have no idea of digging," fred muttered. "it begins to look as if we had made a big mistake; but if that is so, what was the meaning of the talk they made last night?" it was an enigma which he could not solve. although believing they were on the wrong track, he did not feel at liberty to abandon the search until after consulting with bill, and as yet no signs had been seen of that gentleman. the halt was continued for half an hour, and then the two boys pushed on again, walking at a leisurely pace until the forenoon was well nigh spent, when they came to a full stop at the bank of a small brook. they were now, as nearly as fred could judge, eight or nine miles from the starting point, and that this was the end of the journey could be told by the preparations made. from the bag a new hatchet was produced, and both set about hewing small trees and bushes with which to build a camp. not until this shelter was put up did fred dare to move near enough to hear what was said, and then he found a hiding-place in the thicket twenty paces in the rear of the rude dwelling. even though two hours had been spent in this work, bill did not show himself. it was possible, however, that he believed it dangerous to move about in the daytime, but would join his companion after dark. such conversation as the boys indulged in had no especial interest to the listener, since it referred almost entirely to the length of time they would remain in the camp. when the day came to an end fred had not heard anything of importance, and he resolved to advise an immediate return to farley's when bill should join him. during the evening gus and his companion appeared to be very jolly; they told stories, sang, and laughed as if there was nothing in connection with this "camping out" to be concealed, and the watcher in the bushes wondered why the miner did not come. half a dozen men might have walked around the encampment without being observed by the boys, and bill's delay seemed very singular. fred did not dare to leave his place of concealment, and even if it had been perfectly safe to do so, he knew not in which direction to look for his friend, therefore nothing could be done save exercise patience. the hours passed without any change in the condition of affairs. the camp-fire burned itself out. the supposed culprits retired to rest, and fred, who had slept but a short time during the previous night, found it absolutely impossible to prevent his eyes from closing. lower and lower his head drooped upon his breast until slumber came, and he remained unconscious for many hours. the glare of the sunlight aroused him after the occupants of the camp were astir, and he sprang to his feet in alarm. the noise made by this sudden movement startled those whom he had been detailed to watch, and before fred could collect his scattered senses both the boys were upon him. for a single instant the three stood surveying each other, and then gus and his companion seized the bewildered spy by the arms, rendering useless his frantic struggles to defend himself. "can you hold him, tim, while i get something to tie his hands?" gus cried, and tim replied: "i can take care of three or four jest like him. get the rope outer the bag; that'll be strong enough." with a quick movement the boy clasped fred around the waist and held him firmly until gus returned. when the prisoner's hands had been lashed to his side he was led to the camp, where his legs were also bound, and the captors seated themselves in front of him. "now tell us where that man is?" tim said, sternly. "what man?" "you know who i mean; the feller what come over to blacktown with you an' skip." "i wish i knew," fred replied with a sigh. "don't lie to us," and gus shook his fist in the helpless boy's face. "that miner went to a lawyer an' told him i had a hand in stealin' the money what sam thorpe lost. then you an' skip tried to pump me. now give us the whole yarn, or things will be mighty hot." fred remained silent. "he's been follerin' us ever since we left the town," tim said after a moment's thought, "an' it stands us in hand to get outer this lively, or the rest of his gang will be on us." "have we got to do more trampin' jest on account of a sneak like this?" gus asked fretfully. "do you want to stay an' run the chance of bein' carried back to blacktown?" "of course not; but travelin' all the time when we mighter got on the cars in the first place is more'n i bargained for." "if you'd had your way we'd been pulled in before this. get the stuff in shape, an' i reckon we'll fix things right now. let him carry the load, an' we'll take the tramp kinder easy." gus obeyed with a very ill grace, and while he was getting the cooking utensils together tim walked along the bank of the brook to where a flat stone lay half submerged in the water. fred watched his every movement as he overturned this, and dug with a pointed stick until a small, square package had been exposed to view. there was no question in the prisoner's mind but that the wrappings of cloth covered the money sam was accused of stealing, and now the secret had really been discovered, all else seemed trifling in comparison. "i wonder how it happened that i didn't see that when they left the last camp?" he thought, as tim put the bundle carefully in the inside pocket of his coat. "so you've found out what you come for, eh?" the boy cried, angrily. "well, it won't do any good, for when we get through with sneaks they can't do much harm. pick up that load, an' if you don't walk lively i'll find a way to make you." "how can i pick up anything while my legs are tied?" tim unfastened the ropes from fred's ankles; loosened one of his arms, and threw the cooking utensils over his shoulder. "come on gus," he said, impatiently. "we'll take turns carryin' the grub 'till we've given the slip to whoever may be follerin', and then he can tote the whole load." fred was faint from lack of food; but he mentally braced himself to perform the task, and gus cried as he struck him a blow full in the face: "step out now, an' when we make camp to-night you'll get a taste of how we serve spies. it'll be a worse dose than the regulators ever gave you, an' don't forget it." "there's no time for foolishness," tim said, impatiently. "his gang may be close behind, an' we can't afford to pay him off yet a while." with this sage remark he took up the provision bag, and led the way across the base of the hill, at right angles with the course pursued on the previous day, while gus remained in the rear to urge the prisoner on in case he faltered. chapter xxiv bill's mishap joe brace returned to farley's on the morning after he warned bill and fred of what the cashier intended to do, and went directly to mrs. byram's. "i've bought the land!" he cried, exultantly. "the farmer was mighty glad of a chance to sell for five hundred dollars, an' if i'd had more time the price could have been whittled down to four. there's a mortgage of three hundred to be paid in a year, an' that'll be jest the same as nothin' after we show up what's there." "did you see fred?" the widow asked, anxiously, paying but little attention to the good news. "met him an' bill last night; told 'em what was up, and they'll keep shady 'till things can be fixed." "then nothing was accomplished by their going to blacktown?" joe explained why that excursion had been a failure, and added: "they're on the right track, so we can count on everything comin' out right before long." "are you intending to stay here?" "no; i only came to tell you what had been done, an' shall go back on the train to make sure my deed is recorded. i bought in the name of byram, thorpe, thomas & brace. how does that strike you for a firm?" "although you and mr. thomas are so sure the discovery will be a source of great wealth, i can't feel much interest in it while fred is in danger. i wish they would go to some city, rather than remain so near home." "i shall see 'em this afternoon an' now that the business of the land is settled, will advise them to take a little pleasure trip." "please see to it that they do not suffer for food." "i'll tend to everything in great shape. have you heard whether mr. wright has got back?" "he sent word that he would be home to-night." "then, perhaps, i'd better wait an' have another talk with him." "no, no; i will see him myself. it is more important you care for those who are hiding in the woods." joe had no further time for conversation. the train by which he intended to return to blacktown was already due and he hurried away after repeating confidently: "i'll see'em to-night, ma'am, an' you can rest easy. they shall live on the fat of the land now we own a coal mine." there was barely time for the miner to leap on board the cars, and as they were whirled away by the puffing engine, the constable who had arrested sam accosted him. "where you bound, joe?" "to blacktown," was the gruff reply. "what are you up to? servin' warrants for that fool of a cashier?" "yes, i reckon that's about the size of it." "got one for me?" "of course not; what makes you talk such nonsense?" "i heard that bill was goin' to be 'rested, 'cause he'd tried to help sam, an' seem's he's a mate of mine i didn't know but you'd planned to pull in the whole family." "but now be honest, an' admit that the case looks pretty black for the two boys." "that's all nonsense. sam lost the money, an' it was the fault of the company, not his." "how do you make that out?" "easy enough. they'd no business to send him with so much stuff. it was the cashier's duty, an' that's what makes him so sore, 'cause mr. wright's bound to blame such slip-shod ways of shirkin' work." "allowin' you're right, it don't help sam thorpe's case any." "we'll see about it before the world's many days older. i ain't quite a fool, an' when i get through your precious cashier will feel sick." after this threat joe refused to indulge in further conversation, and the constable left him to seek more agreeable company. the words of the officer had aroused a new train of thought in the miner's mind, he fancied the lawyer whom bill had consulted should be informed of what had happened. with this idea he visited the legal gentleman, immediately after the train arrived in blacktown, and not only told him all which had happened relative to the robbery; but divulged the secret of the vein. the knowledge that his clients were in a fair way to be rich, and, consequently, influential, caused a very decided change in the lawyer's manner, and he displayed more zeal than joe had expected. "we can easily get bail for your friends in case they are arrested," he said, "and in the meanwhile i will attend to the deeds. it is necessary the titles should be searched before the discovery is known by the public, and if you need any money i shall be glad to advance it." "if the farmer can't back out of his trade, we've got all that'll be wanted yet awhile," joe replied "but the most important thing jest now is to get bill an' the boys out of their scrape." "can you find mr. thomas?" "i reckon so." "then tell him to come here at once. perhaps it will be well for the boy to remain in hiding a day or two longer, and i shall make it my business to ascertain what evidence there is against him." "i'll go for bill now," and joe left the office, after having been again assured by the lawyer that the transfer of the property would be attended to without delay. the miner prepared for his walk by buying a small stock of provisions, and then he set off in the direction of the mountain, believing it would be possible to find his mate with but little difficulty. an hour's tramp brought him to the famous vein on which he had already built many air-castles; but neither bill nor fred could be seen. satisfying himself that there were no strangers in the vicinity he called them loudly by name; but without receiving any reply. then he trudged on around the mountain, shouting alternately for one and the other, until afar off in the distance it seemed as if an answering hail could be heard. now he ran with all speed in that direction, and soon he heard bill's voice crying: "joe! is it you, joe?" "indeed it is, my hearty. where are you?" "here in the bushes with what come mighty nigh bein' a broken leg." joe was soon by the side of his mate, whom he found lying on the ground apparently in the last stages of exhaustion. "what's the matter, old man? are you hurt?" bill told of what he and fred had seen, and about the proposed chase, concluding by saying: "when the little villains started around the mountain i follered, as the boy an' me had agreed on; but after a two-hour's tramp i fell into a hole, an' reckon my leg is broke." "i don't see any hole," joe said, as he looked about him. "it happened a long bit back. i didn't want to break up the game by lettin' fred know what was wrong, an' so tried to crawl toward the vein, thinkin' if folks were sent out to look for the money they'd find me; but this is as far as i could get. it would 'a been a case of starvin' if you hadn't come along." "if you're hungry i can fix that part of it all right," and joe produced the package of provisions. "have a good time with this while i take a look at the leg." only the most superficial examination was necessary. the broken bones could be plainly felt, and the limb was so swollen that it seemed essential, that the boot and trousers should be cut from it. "i don't see my way clear in this job," joe exclaimed, as he removed the garments. "it ain't safe to leave you here alone, an' yet help must be had to carry you to farley's." "now that i've got a mouthful i can lay here a few hours longer. go on, i'll keep till you get back." "if there was some water near by i could tie you up more comfortable like." "never mind that, but leave at once, so to be the sooner here." joe hesitated no longer, but set off across the mountain at a speed which brought him to farley's in less than half an hour. here it was only necessary to state what had happened in order to find plenty of volunteers for the task of bringing bill home, and as the party set out mrs. byram followed a short distance by joe's side, in order to say: "i've seen mr. wright, and he evidently believes both sam and fred are guilty." "won't he let up till we can run down them fellers what bill was follerin'?" "he says to me, as he did to you, that the law must take its course, and will not even do anything to prevent bill's arrest." "we're goin' to bring the poor feller home, an' this company what think they own farley's an' every soul in it had better let him alone." "take him to my house, where he can have more care than at a boarding-place." "all right, an' thank ye, ma'am." "but what about fred? where is he?" "there's no call to worry because of him. as soon as bill is off my hands i'll hunt the boy up, an' p'rhaps the two of us will bring home the real thieves." the widow could go no farther, and joe took his place at the head of the party, walking at his best pace. bill was suffering a great deal of pain when his friends arrived, but not a word of complaint escaped his lips, and some pleasant word was exchanged for every greeting. "it'll be a hard pull to get me over the mountain, but i'll not see farley's for many a long day if you can't hold out." "we'll have you there, old man, an' not spend any too much breath over the job," joe said cheerily, as he began to build a litter. several of the party were curious to learn why bill had come into that out-of-the-way place, but he refused to make any explanations, and joe pretended not to hear the many questions. it was nearly dark before the injured man arrived at mrs. byram's home, and then nature had so far asserted her rights that he lay unconscious until after the physician arrived. "i reckon i've done all that's possible," joe said to the widow, "an' now i'll start back." "you won't think of searching through the woods in the night." "no; but i'll trudge over to where i found bill, so's the hunt can be begun bright an' early. it ain't likely i'll bring fred home till after i've seen the lawyer agin." "if he isn't in trouble it will be better to remain away a few days longer." "i'll answer for it that he's all right, ma'am, an it sha'n't be many hours now 'till he can hold his head up with the best of 'em." with these cheering words joe left the house, intending to go home for supper before continuing his task; but on arriving opposite the store mr. wright stopped him by saying sternly: "i would like to have a few words with you, mr. brace." "my time has come," joe muttered to himself; "but i'll show these smart fellows that they can't haul up everybody in town jest because it pleases 'em." chapter xxv joe's interview joe brace had a very good idea of why the superintendent wished to see him, and he entered the office prepared to speak his mind plainly. "i understand that you have not been working for the past day or two," mr. wright began. "that's correct." "have you left our employ?" "it amounts to pretty much that." "has thomas quit also?" "when a man knows that he's to be arrested, he ain't likely to hang 'round so's the warrant can be served without much trouble to the constable. but jest now bill isn't in a condition to work for anybody." "what's the matter?" "he broke his leg, an' a lot of the boys have brought him to the widder byram's house." "i hadn't heard of that." "it'll come kinder rough on the constable." "i understand to what you refer, brace, and am not pleased to hear you speak in such a manner." "it can't be helped, sir. when a feller sees them as risked everything to do the company a good turn while billings had full sway, run down an' chucked into jail for nothin', it makes him feel sore." "there was good reason for the arrest of sam thorpe." "even admittin' that's so, which i don't, why should fred byram an' bill be pulled into the fuss? there's nothin' to connect them with it." "they have acted very suspiciously ever since the money was said to have been lost." "that's where you are makin' a big mistake, mr. wright. i've had a hand in all their maneuvers, an' so has the widder, consequently if one is guilty the whole crowd are." "what do you mean?" "i can't explain yet awhile; but it'll come out before long, when you'll see everything was square an' above board." "look here, brace," mr. wright said, in a friendly tone: "i called you in here to have a confidential chat upon the subject, and it is not right to keep from me anything which may have a bearing on the matter." "what i know can't be told for a while; but i'll give you the particulars of what we've already found out," and without further questioning joe related the events of the past three days, save so far as they were connected with the discovery of the vein. "it surely looks suspicious," the superintendent said, musingly; "but i fail to understand how those boys could have gotten the money from sam's pocket, unless he remained in town skylarking with them." "that's somethin' i can't explain; but when i find fred we'll know a good deal more about the matter." "do you think anything could be accomplished by my visiting sam?" "i'm certain of it, for one talk with him is bound to convince you he isn't a thief." the superintendent remained silent several moments, and it seemed very much as if this second conversation with joe had caused a change of opinion. "very well," he said finally, "i will think the matter over. shall you be here in the morning?" "i'm goin' to leave farley's as soon as i get a bite to eat, an' it ain't likely i'll be back 'till fred can come with me." mr. wright arose to intimate that the interview was at an end, and joe left the store with a gesture of defiance and anger toward the cashier. while all this was taking place fred occupied anything rather than an enviable position. when the march was begun he found it extremely difficult to make his way through the woods, loaded down as he was and with one arm tied to his side; but gus had no mercy. at every opportunity he spurred the prisoner on, using a stout stick for the purpose, and more than once was fred on the point of open rebellion. he felt confident the boys would not dare do more than give him a cruel flogging, after which they must leave him behind; but this would be to lose sight of the thieves, and almost anything was preferable to being thus defeated in his purpose. "i'll stick it out," he said to himself, "and wait for the time when i can tell the story to some one who will help make them prisoners." during an hour the boys traveled straight ahead, and then gus insisted upon a halt. tim agreed, because his breakfast had not been perfectly satisfactory, and he wanted a second meal now they were, as he believed, free from pursuit. the provisions were brought out from the bag, and as the two boys began to eat fred's hunger returned with such a force that he could not resist the impulse to ask for food. "say, if you'll give me some of that bread i'll carry all the load when we start again. i haven't had a mouthful since i left blacktown." "an' you'll go without two or three days longer," gus replied with malicious pleasure. "you'll have the whole load, an' no trade about it either, so hold your tongue or i'll use the stick again." tim laughed as if he thought it great sport to hear the prisoner begging for food, and fred threw himself upon the ground, resolving not to give them another opportunity for mirth. "if there's a chance to get hold of the bag to-night i'll help myself," he thought. "it can't be stealing, for i'm surely entitled to a share when they force me to stay with them." gus amused himself for a while by thrusting food close to the prisoner's face and then withdrawing it, but he tired of this when fred made no effort to take what he knew was not intended for him. the halt continued about an hour, and then, as gus had threatened, both packages were placed on fred's shoulders. "now step out livelier than you did before, for we don't want to make another halt until we are ready to build a camp," tim said, as he began the advance. "treat me decent an' i'll travel as fast as you can." "you ain't gettin' it half as bad as you deserve, an' it'd be a good idea to keep your mouth shut." as during the first portion of the journey, gus amused himself by prodding the prisoner with a stick, but as the day lengthened and tim refused to halt, the boy grew too weary to indulge in such pleasantries. in order that fred might carry all the burden, it was necessary to unloosen both his hands, and, without being observed by his companions, he contrived to transfer several crackers from the bag to his pocket. the second stage of the journey lasted nearly two hours, and then tim decided the camp should be erected on the bank of a small stream. they were now, according to fred's belief, not more than twenty miles from blacktown, and a trifle less than that distance from farley's. as far away as the eye could reach was a town, but no one knew its name. "we might have stayed nearer home if the camp is to be made so close to a settlement," gus said fretfully. "while we keep out of sight nobody'll know we're here, an' in case we want to leave suddenly on the cars, it won't be far to walk. i'd like to get hold of a boat, an' then we could run down the stream without much trouble." "why not buy one?" "after a day or two we'll find out if there is any near. just now we must get the camp built, an' then take things comfortable for awhile." fred watched tim's every movement in order to learn where the money would be hidden; but failed to see any attempt at burying it. the protuberance just over his breast served to show the treasure was yet in his possession, and gus seemed well content it should remain there. the prisoner was ordered to hew the materials for the camp while the others put them together, and during this work he contrived to eat the stolen crackers. the shelter was a rude affair, hardly more than sufficient to protect them from the rays of the sun, and when completed all hands lay down to rest, fred being bound hand and foot again to prevent any attempt at escape. not until night was the prisoner given food, and then gus doled out two crackers, an amount which would have been little more than an aggravation if he had not previously ministered to his own wants. during the hours of darkness no watch was kept; but fred remained awake nearly all the time, straining his ears in the vain hope that he might hear something of bill. the second and third days were but repetitions of the first, and then it became necessary to visit the village in order to procure food. "i'll walk up the stream 'till a place to cross is found," tim said, "an' if i don't see a boat before then, will strike out for the town. keep your eye on the sneak, an' don't give him a chance to get away." "help me fix the ropes around his legs a little tighter, an' i'll answer for it that he won't go far." tim complied with this request, and when fred was trussed up like a chicken, he took from his pocket the stolen money. "it won't do to carry all this, so you'd better take care of it a while. ten dollars will be enough for me, even if i should happen to come across the boat." subtracting this amount from the total, he gave the remainder to gus, who put it carelessly in his pocket as if accustomed to handling large sums of money. then he started along the bank of the stream, his companion accompanying him a short distance, and fred realized that the time had come when he must make one desperate attempt to take his jailer prisoner. "gus has got nearly all the money," he said to himself, "and if i could manage to slip the ropes it would only be a question of a fight, in which i'm almost certain to get the upper hand." he had been left seated with his back against the trunk of a tree, and the first move necessary was to release his arms. to do this he struggled desperately, regardless of the pain; but the bonds remained firm until gus returned, when, as a matter of course, he did not dare to make any further movement. "now tim is so far away that he can't interfere, i'm going to pay you off for playin' the sneak," gus said, as he took up his station directly in front of the prisoner. "if i had my way you shouldn't have a bite to eat from now out, an' by the time we get ready to leave you couldn't do much mischief." "if you're afraid, why not kill me? that's the safest plan." "i'd like to," was the savage reply, "an' would if i was sure of not bein' pulled up for murder. i can give you a lively time for the next two or three hours, though." gus began to fulfill his promise by tickling fred's nose with a twig, and the prisoner was by no means averse to the cruel sport, since it gave him a good excuse to struggle. he writhed and twisted as if to move beyond reach of his tormentor; but all the while his sole aim was to release his hands, and gus was so deeply engrossed with the efforts to cause pain that he failed to understand what his victim might succeed in doing. chapter xxvi turning the tables the constant straining caused fred to perspire freely, and after many vain efforts he succeeded in catching the rope which was around his wrists, under the point of a projecting limb of the tree. now he had a purchase, and by a mighty effort at the moment when gus made a more than usually vicious lunge, slipped one of his hands from the bonds, thanks to the perspiration which moistened the strands. he did not take immediate advantage of his freedom. it was essential to await a favorable opportunity, and this came when gus knelt before him for the purpose of pricking the apparently helpless boy with the blade of his knife. fred could not arise; but he flung both arms around his tormentor's neck, hugging him so close as to prevent the latter from using his hands. for an instant his surprise was so great that he remained motionless; but before fred could take any advantage of his inactivity gus recovered from the shock to exert all his strength, and began to free himself. under ordinary circumstances fred would have been no match for his captor; but now the knowledge of what was to be gained lent him great energy, and he clung to him with desperation. "let go, or i'll stab you with this knife," gus shouted; but fred was too careful of his wind to make any reply. over and over they rolled, one trying to use his weapon, while the other did his best to prevent it, and but for an accident the battle might have been continued until the smaller boy was exhausted. it was not possible to control the direction of their bodies, and suddenly both were precipitated into the stream. fred was a good swimmer, while his adversary knew but little of the art, and he succeeded in holding gus' head under water until he was nearly strangled. the tables were now turned. it only remained for fred to drag the half-unconscious boy to the shore, and there transfer the rope from one pair of legs to the other. when gus again had a clear idea of matters he was securely tied, and fred had put into his own pocket the package of money which sam was accused of stealing. to pack in small compass the remaining store of provisions, cut a stout stick, and place the hatchet in a belt improvised from a piece of the rope, occupied but a few moments, and then fred said, sternly: "i'm going to slacken up on your legs a bit, so's you can walk, and now it's your turn to step out lively." "when tim comes back you shall pay for this." "i intend to be a long distance from here before that time arrives." "he can catch you." "to do it he'll have to be smarter than i think he is." "wait an' see." "that's just what i don't propose doin'. i understand your purpose now; you're trying to keep me here as long as possible. get up." "i won't an' you can't make me." fred struck the prisoner several severe blows; but he did not so much as cry out. "i'll beat you black and blue, if you don't stand up and walk." "pound away, i can bear a good deal of that rather than go to jail." again fred used the stick; but in vain. gus shut his teeth firmly, and took the punishment with a stoicism worthy a better cause. it was important that no time should be lost. tim might find a boat and return to the camp before going to the town. fred stood still in perplexity for an instant, and then throwing aside the stick raised gus in his arms. it was a heavy burden; but he staggered on with all possible speed. as soon as gus began to understand that he might be carried away despite his refusal to walk, he set up a series of the most terrific yells, and fred was forced to come to a halt. "i'll soon put an end to that kind of fun," he said, angrily, while whittling a piece of soft wood. "with this in your mouth there won't be much screaming." now gus began to fancy he might be finally beaten, and then tried new tactics. "see here, all you want is the money, an' now you've got it i'll agree that neither tim nor me'll chase or try in any way to catch you, if i'm left here. there's no need even to take off the ropes; but let me stay where he'll see me." fred shook his head. "i need you quite as much as i do the money, and i am bound to take you along." "what good will it do to have me put in jail?" "it'll be the means of freeing a better fellow than you ever dared to be." "i'll kill you some day." "possibly, but that don't let you out of this scrape." by this time fred had the gag ready, and a stout pressure on the prisoner's cheeks caused him to open his mouth. the wood was thrust between gus' teeth, and fred tied his handkerchief over it to prevent it from slipping. "now when you're willing to walk i'll take that out," he said. "once in every few minutes, when we have to stop to rest i'll look at your eyes. if you wink, it means you're ready to do as i say." gus glared at him savagely; but was careful to keep his eyes wide open. again fred shouldered his burden, realizing, meanwhile that he could never reach farley's if his prisoner remained obstinate. when an hundred yards had been traversed he was forced to rest. gus' eyes stared at him. a second and a third time was this repeated. at each interval the distance was shorter, and fred knew he could not travel much farther. "if he don't give in pretty soon i shall," he muttered to himself as he threw his burden to the ground for the third time. to his great relief gus winked violently when fred pulled the handkerchief down to gain a view of his eyes and the gag was removed without loss of time. "will you agree to walk now?" he asked. "yes, yes; it wouldn't take a feller long to stifle with that thing in his mouth." "i don't care what happens so long as i get you to farley's." once more gus tried to beg off; but fred would not listen. "walk fast," he said, "and if you don't do your best, in goes the gag again." there was no necessity of emphasizing the demand. the prisoner moved with alacrity; but his captor was by no means certain as to which was the proper course. tim had made so many turns in his flight that fred's ideas regarding the points of the compass were very hazy. both the boys were suffering from lack of water, and no halt was made until two or three hours past noon, when they were at the edge of a swamp. quenching their thirst with the ill-tasting liquid, they lay down on the ground to rest, and did not continue their journey for some time. "why not stay here all night?" gus asked. "because we haven't traveled far enough yet." "but i can't hold out much longer, no matter how hard i try." "you'll have to go as far as i do." "wait till mornin', an' then i'll walk twice as fast to make up for the time spent now." "we must get in another hour's tramp before sunset," fred replied, determinedly, and although gus pleaded very hard the decision was not changed. but little was accomplished during the last portion of the traveling. both were thoroughly tired, and when the shadows of night shrouded the recesses of the forest in gloom the welcome word was given. "here's a little stream, and we'd better stop here, there's a chance for a drink." "it's about time," gus added, sulkily as he threw himself on the ground. fred divided half of the food into two portions; but did not dare to loosen the prisoner's arms sufficiently to admit of his eating unaided. "i'll feed you first, and then take my share," he said, and gus devoured the food ravenously, after which he quenched his thirst, when fred bound him securely to a tree. the prisoner slept soundly; but to his captor the night was the longest he had ever known. he did not dare give himself wholly up to slumber lest tim should be on their track, and attempt to effect a rescue, while the fear that the money might be lost, this time beyond recovery, rendered him very nervous. "it's going to be tough lines before we get to farley's," he said to himself; "but i ought to hold out if for no other reason than to clear sam beyond a doubt." when the morning finally came fred fed gus again; both took large drinks of water, and their journey was resumed. now gus neither begged nor made comments. he marched just ahead of his captor in a sullen manner, as if having decided upon a certain course of action, and fred remained continually on the alert, fearing lest he meditated an attack. at noon the two halted, and while eating the last of the provisions, knowing that after this they must go hungry until arriving at a settlement, fred fancied he heard a noise as of someone approaching. his first thought was that tim had succeeded in following their trail, and he hurriedly made ready a gag to prevent an alarm from being given. gus heard the same noise, and before fred could prevent him he began to shout loudly for help. it was several seconds before the outcries could be checked, and then the mischief had been done. the noise of a heavy body forcing its way through the underbrush sounded more clearly, and fred sprang to his feet, hatchet in hand, ready to defend himself to the utmost. gus looked triumphant, and again shouted loudly; but the expression of his eye was changed to despair as the stranger burst through the foliage. "why joe! joe!" fred cried, as he leaped forward and caught brace by the hands. "how did you happen to get here just when you were most needed?" "i reckon i'd gone right past without knowin' you was anywhere near, if it hadn't been for your wild yells." "it was gus who did that," fred replied, glancing with a smile toward the discomfited prisoner. "he thought as i did, that it was tim." "do you mean his partner?" "yes." "have you got the best of both?" in the fewest words possible fred explained how the capture had been made, and joe actually leaped for joy when the stolen money was displayed. chapter xxvii an unlooked-for denial "you've done a big thing, my boy," brace said, approvingly, when fred's story was concluded, "an' it won't be long before we can bring sam back to farley's with not so much as a suspicion against him. besides that, we own the land that'll make all hands rich." "how did you do it?" joe gave him all the details, and concluding with the interview between himself and mr. wright, said: "i didn't leave that night as i decided on; but went back to see poor bill, an' your mother insisted i stay till mornin'. the sun wasn't up when i started out, an' a mighty blind hunt it proved to be till the first camp was struck. that kinder livened me a bit; but i couldn't get onto the trail, an' from then till gus yelled i hadn't any idea which way to go." "how far do you suppose we are from farley's?" "i reckon it'll take smart walkin' for the rest of this day, an' the best part of to-morrow before we see the works." "and the provisions i took from tim and gus are all gone." "i've got enough for supper, if we don't eat too hearty, and the balance of the time we can suck our thumbs." "then we'd better make another start. it must be three o'clock." "do you know the straight cut?" "i'm not even certain we're heading right." "by keeping on the high land we are bound to come out somewhere near farley's or blacktown." when the journey was continued gus took good care to give his captors no trouble, for he understood that joe would show but little mercy, if there was any attempt to cause delay. at a reasonably rapid pace the three marched until darkness forced a halt, and then the small amount of provisions brace had brought was consumed without satisfying the hunger of either member of the party. gus was tied between his captors, where he could stretch himself at full length, and the night passed quietly. there was no longer any fear tim could effect a rescue, even though he might be near at hand, and fred enjoyed a most refreshing rest. what all hoped would prove to be the last day's journey was begun without breakfast, and the advance was by no means rapid. at ten o'clock fred declared he could go no farther without a rest, and the party sought shelter from the sun under a wide spreading tree, where a view could be had of a depression in the land for some distance ahead. joe and fred were facing this open stretch, and had but just begun to discuss the subject which was ever uppermost in their minds--the coal vein--when a figure carrying a heavy burden emerged from the thicket on the lower side, evidently bent on ascending the mountain. "now, what can that fellow be doing?" joe asked, as he arose to his feet. "it's a boy, an' we'd be in big luck if it should turn out to be that precious tim." "but it isn't; he wears a cap, and this one has a hat. it looks something like----why it is! it's skip!" "skip?" joe repeated in amazement. "what's he doin' out here, an' with such a load?" "in order to answer that question i shall have to ask him," and fred shouted the boy's name. skip started as if alarmed at being summoned, and then, waving his hat in triumph, he came toward the party at his best pace. "i knew i'd find you if i hunted long enough," he exclaimed as he came within speaking distance, and added when he finally reached the tree and threw down the burden. "it's mighty heavy, an' i thought one spell yesterday i'd have to give up the job. reckon you're glad to get it, eh?" "what have you there?" "grub, of course. when joe didn't turn up, an' there was no sign of fred, i figured that you'd both want somethin' to eat, so took out my wages in what was handiest to eat. mrs. byram said i'd never find you, but it wouldn't do any harm to try, so here we are." "did you spend your money to buy us food?" fred asked. "why not? it'll take a good deal more'n that to straighten things between us, an' i'd like to get the 'count squared some time." "you've done it already, skip. it was you who first put us on the track of the thieves, and now you've helped the cause along wonderfully, for it has been a good while since i had all i could eat." "well, fill yourself up right now. there's no need to hurry, for you can't get to farley's to-night, an'----hello, gus! got through with your trip so soon?" "you'll wish i hadn't before this thing is ended," was the surly reply, and then the prisoner turned his back on the ex-chief of the regulators. quite naturally skip was eager to hear the result of the chase, and while joe and fred were eating they gave him the full particulars. "do you know the way home?" brace asked when the story was told. "of course. i've been out here half a dozen times. was you calculatin' to keep straight ahead?" "yes." "then you'd gone six miles the other side of farley's." "if that is the case, it's lucky you found us. let's make another start; now i've filled up it seems possible to travel without stopping again until we are at mother's door." with a guide and provisions in plenty, the long tramp yet to be endured seemed but a trifling affair, and the party, with the single exception of gus, were in the best of spirits. the night was spent near a small water course in the valley, and at three o'clock all hands entered the company's store at farley's. both mr. wright and the cashier were in the building, and they listened in undisguised astonishment as joe told the story of the capture. "here is the money, except what they have spent," fred said when joe concluded the recital, and he handed the package to the superintendent. an examination showed that but fifty-three dollars were missing, and then mr. wright turned to gus, who was wearing a look of mingled indignation and innocence. "how did you get this money from thorpe?" "who is he, sir?" "the boy who was bringing it from the bank." "i never saw him." "then how did you get these notes?" "i never had 'em sir." "why, i took them out of his pocket," fred cried, in surprise. "explain yourself," mr. wright said to the prisoner. "me an' tim sanger was goin' to camp out on the mountains while work was slack," gus began with an air of truthfulness. "we had a shanty built, an' tim went off fishin' when this feller," here he pointed to the astonished fred, "jumped in on me. i'd seen him in blacktown, so didn't think anything was out of the way till he knocked me down." "why did he strike you?" "that's jest what i don't know. he tied me all up like this, an' i had to do as he said till we met joe brace. then i heard one of 'em say to the other: 'this will get sam out of the scrape, for we can say gus dobson had the money what was stole, in his pocket.' that's all i know about it, an' i never saw them bills till this very minute." "it was a good scheme for sam to give up the money in this way when he found the case was so dead against him," the cashier said in a low tone, as if speaking to himself; but he took care that mr. wright should hear distinctly. "what do you mean?" joe cried fiercely. "nothing, nothing, i must have been thinking aloud." "you intended we should hear every word," the miner added, excitedly. "be quiet, brace, while we get the facts of this strange story," mr. wright said, sharply. "you have got the facts already sir. i told you before i left town that this fellow was one of the thieves." "that doesn't prove anything," the cashier replied, with a malicious smile. "i'll prove more than that to you, if you dare show your nose out doors." "either leave the office, brace, or hold your tongue," and now the superintendent spoke in an angry tone. "fred, what have you got to say in answer to this boy's story?" "not a word, sir. what joe has told you is true, and if it ain't believed you can serve the warrant which was issued for me, as soon as you please." "he can't say anything," gus added, triumphantly. "if tim was here he could tell you jest why we left blacktown; but, of course, he don't know about the job this feller is try in' to put up on me." "where is tim?" "i dunno. he'll likely come home when he can't find me." "are you willing to stay here until he returns?" "sure; there ain't any reason why i'd want to run off, if you tell my folks where i am." joe could contain himself no longer. "do you mean to put his word agin ours?" he cried fiercely. "why not?" the cashier asked, softly. "it looks to me very much as if his having been brought here was an outrage." "if you speak to me agin i'll spoil the whole of your face, you cur! after arestin' a boy for meetin' with an accident in doin' what you oughter done, an' gettin' out warrants for others what couldn't have had a hand in the matter, it's easy to see why you want to believe this little villain's story. when the truth is known you understand blessed well that the town will be too hot to hold you." "that will do," mr. wright cried, sternly. "i shall have no such language used here. leave this moment, brace, and when you are more calm we'll discuss the matter." joe looked in silence first at the cashier, and then at the superintendent, after which he said to fred and skip: "come, lads, this is no place for us. we've saved the company's money, an' now are likely to be treated as we were for standin' by 'em at the time of the riot." with this reminder he walked out of the building followed by both the boys. chapter xxviii opinions the three who had entered the store in such high spirits left it in a maze of bewilderment and anger. that gus could concoct so plausible a story was none the less astonishing than that mr. wright should give it credence, so far as to refrain from ordering the boy's immediate arrest. joe was so enraged that during the walk to fred's home he did nothing but inveigh in the strongest terms against the company, and more especially these two of its servants who had insulted both himself and fred by refusing to believe their united statements. "i'll pound that cashier 'till he can't say beans," he cried, shaking his fist in impotent rage. "what good will that do? people won't believe our story any quicker because of it." "i'll be satisfied, an' that's enough." "don't make such threats," fred said, imploringly. "if he hears of them it will only give him a chance to make trouble for you." "i'll not only make 'em; but carry out every one. it won't take much more talk to coax me into servin' wright the same way." several of the miner's acquaintances hailed him as he passed; but his heart was so full of anger that he paid not the slightest attention, and fred felt a sense of most profound relief when they were inside the house, where the wild threats could not be heard by those who might report them at the store. after the greetings with mrs. byram the travelers went to the chamber where bill lay helpless, his fractured limb bound in splints and bandages. here the different stories were told again, and the invalid's astonishment was not less than that of his companions. "it don't hardly seem reasonable," he muttered, after a long pause. "i reckon the best thing would be for you an' fred to see the lawyer right away. there's no knowin' what kind of a scrape may grow out of this." "it'll do jest as well if we go in the mornin' on the first train," joe replied. "after the tramp we've had it comes kinder natural to hanker for a bed." "i s'pose it would be tough; but don't waste any time to-morrow." "wright can't do much between now an' then, so rest easy, mate. they won't be able to take the land from us, an' in another year we'll be among the big-bugs ourselves." "are you sure the trade can't be backed out of?" "i've left everything with the lawyer, and he'll fix matters about right." bill closed his eyes as if in thought; fred went down stairs to talk with his mother, and skip took his departure, joe saying as he accompanied him to the door: "we won't forget what you've done, lad, an' before long us four--that's countin' sam--will be in condition to pay off our scores." "i'll have all i want when the fellers i buried in the mine promise to forget what's been done." "then you can rest easy, for the matter was settled yesterday when you brought the grub." after skip left joe went out to see his friends, and an hour later he returned in a perfect rage. "that villain of a cashier has taken good care to tell his side of the story," he exclaimed, bursting into the invalid's room, "an' more'n half the men i've seen believe we got the money from sam to stick the robbery on that thievin' gus. mr. wright has taken the boy up to his house, an' is pettin' him like a prince, i s'pose, to square off for what we did to him. why, even donovan says old man dobson oughter prosecute us for the outrage, as he calls it." "i can't believe it!" bill cried, trying in vain to rise to a sitting posture. "i'm tellin' the truth, all the same. there's a big excitement in town, an' i wouldn't be surprised if fred was arrested in the mornin', spite of what he's done." "don't the folks know what kind of a boy that dobson feller is?" "i reckon they do; but the cashier keeps talkin' about destroyin' one feller's character to help another, an' the blind fools here swallow all he says." "what makes him so down on our crowd?" "'cause he had no business to make the arrests, an' if it was proved gus an' tim stole it, he'd be in a bad mess with all hands." "look here, joe"--and bill spoke very earnestly--"it don't make any difference how tired you an' fred are, you must go to blacktown this very night. that lawyer will tell us jest what oughter be done, an' we've got to fight this thing tooth an' nail, now all hands are agin us." joe realized that this was good advice, and went at once to confer with mrs. byram and fred. the result of this last interview was that an hour after midnight the miner and the boy left the house quietly, and walked at a rapid pace directly across the mountain. "this is pretty tough, lad," joe said, when they were some distance from the town. "it seems as if i'd done nothin' but tramp for the last month." "i won't grumble if this matter is straightened out finally, but just now it looks as though all hands would have been better off to let things go as they might." "don't get downhearted. when our mine is open you can afford to laugh at this little fracas." although joe spoke so cheerily he was far from feeling comfortable in mind, as was apparent when they visited the lawyer's house at a very early hour next morning. the mental anxiety could be plainly read on his face as he waited to receive the legal opinion after telling his story. "i don't think you need fear any serious trouble, although matters may be very disagreeable for a while," that gentleman said. "it will be well for us to make complaint against the dobson boy, and by causing his arrest be certain of having him here when he is wanted. i will attend to it at once." "how much money do you want?" "we won't speak of that now. when i do business for a firm as rich as yours, i am not afraid of losing my fees." "it would be hard to find any poorer concern." "there's where you make a mistake, mr. brace. your title is clear; an expert, whom i sent, reports that there can be no question as to the presence of coal in large quantities, and i shall be only too glad to purchase stock when the company is formed." "do you mean the whole of that?" joe asked, his eyes glistening with delight. "to prove it i will advance on your joint note any reasonable amount of money which may be needed. in fact, i think it would be a good idea to give mr. wright a hint of your discovery, when i'm quite sure he'd view this whole affair in a different light." "we'll keep the secret a while longer. i'd rather get out of the scrape before folks know what we've found, an' then settle old scores. now, fred, s'pose we go to see sam?" "i'll walk to the jail with you, and you can wait until i have despatched an officer to farley's for the dobson boy." the fact that lawyer hunter had come with the visitors insured them every facility for seeing their friend, and the three met in the turnkey's room with the knowledge that they might be together the entire day. poor sam looked forlorn, indeed, when he entered the apartment. it had been so long since his friend's last visit that he fancied they were deserting him. his appearance changed decidedly when they explained the reason for their absence, and two hours were spent in giving a detailed account of all that had happened since his departure from farley's. then, forgetting the present troubles, the three talked of the day when they would be mine owners instead of laborers, and built so many air castles that neither heeded the passage of time until mr. hunter returned with the information that an officer had visited farley's only to find the superintendent looking anxiously for gus. "it seems that mr. wright took the boy home last night, and, believing in his protestations of innocence despite your testimony, left him unguarded. as might have been expected, he took advantage of this credulity to make his escape, and now i fancy it will be many days before he re-visits this part of the country." "then all we have done goes for nothing," fred said, mournfully. "in that you are very greatly mistaken. thorpe will be acquitted beyond a doubt, and it is not likely mr. wright dare press any charge against you at present. i shall go with you to farley's, after sam is released on bail, and guarantee matters will be set right." "am i to go out?" sam asked in surprise. "as soon as it can be arranged. your friends are to accompany me, and the matter can be accomplished very quickly." fred was amazed at the ease with which all this was done. he and joe went before a magistrate, and repeated under oath the story they had told so often; two friends of mr. hunter's signed a paper to which the other's names had already been affixed, and, ten minutes later, sam was with them, looking radiantly happy at being in the open air once more. it was too late to return home, unless joe and fred were willing to take another tramp across the mountain, and all three went to the hotel, where they formed a very jolly party. on the first train next morning the partners, accompanied by mr. hunter, arrived at farley's, and found public sentiment greatly changed. the flight of gus had caused very many to believe he really was the guilty party, although no one could guess how he gained possession of the money, and the walk to mrs. byram's was something like an ovation. chapter xxix a question of title it was as if each person who had doubted sam's honesty felt it necessary to call at mrs. byram's and congratulate him upon what now appeared to be good proof of his innocence. fred and the miners also came in for their share of attention, and even bill, whose limb was paining him severely, joined his partners in celebrating their victory, which now seemed certain. before returning home mr. hunter called to consult with his clients relative to making a stock company of the new mine, and, when he left, it was with full authority to do whatever he believed their interests demanded. among the visitors in the evening was donovan, and he had no hesitation in calling himself very severe names for having been so stupid as to think it possible his old friends could have been engaged in any questionable transaction. "the cashier is about as sore a man as can be found in town," he said, "an' if i ain't way off in my reckonin' he'll be lookin' for another job mighty soon." "does he say anything against us?" bill asked. "he's glum as a fish. every feller who goes in wants to know where gus is, an' he keeps out of sight all that's possible." "have you seen mr. wright to-day?" "no; but i heard he an' that lawyer of yours had a long chin about the business. say, bill, by the time you get out of this scrape you'll owe a pretty penny for law, i reckon. why don't you try to make the company pay it?" "we can stand the racket, an' won't ask a soul to help us." "somebody must have died an' left you a pile, for men that work at farley's don't often have enough to pay big lawyers for runnin' around." "it'll be all right, donovan, so don't worry about that." but the mine boss did worry. he failed to understand how bill and joe could incur such expense with any prospect of paying it, and when he left the house it was to discuss the matter in all it's bearings with a select few of his particular friends. the superintendent did not consider it worth his while to call; but on the following morning joe received a note to the effect that if he intended to return to the mine, it would be to his advantage to resume his work at once. "tell mr. wright that i've got through with his company, an' he can put a man in my place whenever it suits him," the miner said to the messenger, and the latter had hardly reached the store before a workman from blacktown arrived with the startling intelligence that the four who had been accused of the robbery had purchased a large tract of land on the mountain, and were about to open a mine. this news was so wonderful that one of the loungers volunteered to walk to the town for the sole and only purpose of learning if it was really true. an hour later it was rumored that fred received the following telegram from blacktown: "have opened books for subscriptions, and already received pledges to the full amount necessary for beginning the work. arthur hunter." the lounger returned in hot haste with information that the people there were in the highest state of excitement regarding the new company which was being formed by some of the most influential men in the county, and related with many embellishments of his own, the story of how the vein had been discovered by sam and fred. this was sufficient to cause another stream of callers to mrs. byram's house, and, learning that the secret had been made known, the four owners had no hesitation in giving all the particulars. now the cashier was more unpopular than ever. even those who refrained from censuring him on the day previous, had nothing but hard words for the man who could make such an error as to charge with theft those who were wealthy in the possession of such a rich vein as the new one was reported to be. fully one-third of all those in the company's works took a half holiday to see the new mine, and some of the most sanguine started out to prospect for other evidences of coal. in six hours land in the immediate vicinity of the mountain increased in price, until it would hardly have paid to buy it, unless gold could be found in large quantities, and the entire county was in a ferment of excitement. it is needless to say that the four partners were very happy; but even in the midst of the great joy they found time to wonder why skip had not called to congratulate them. nearly every other one of their friends and acquaintances visited the house at some time during the day and evening; but the ex-chief of the regulators was conspicuous by his absence. "i wonder what the matter is with him?" fred asked, when, at a late hour, the partners were alone. "do you suppose he thinks we don't want to see him just because we have been fortunate?" "if he does it's the biggest mistake of his life. i like the little rascal, although he did play us a bad trick, an' if he don't show up before noon to-morrow, i'll hunt him out," joe said, laughingly. but skip did not put in an appearance before the time set, and, true to his word, joe went in search of him. the information he brought back to his partners was mystifying. skip had not been at home since the day on which sam was liberated, and his father fancied he was absent on some work for the firm. this singular disappearance troubled fred greatly, and during the remainder of the day he spoke more often of the boy than regarding the mine. "he'll turn up before long," joe said, after all had tried in vain to conjecture where he might be; but fred fancied that the miner did not speak very confidently. nothing was heard personally from mr. wright; but it was common gossip about town that he had visited the newly-discovered vein several times, and spent one entire day at blacktown. another twenty-four hours passed, and skip had not returned home. his parents were now beginning to feel alarmed; but the majority of the townspeople, not trusting in the sincerity of his repentance, intimated that he had joined gus, preferring to run away rather than lead an industrious life. "i won't believe anything of the kind," fred replied, hotly, when donovan reported the general feeling regarding the disappearance. "he never would have done so much to help us, unless meaning exactly what he said." "i reckon hard work didn't agree with him," the breaker boss answered, with a laugh. "when bill gets a little better joe and i will go after him." "where?" "i don't know; but it won't do any harm to look around, and i am----" fred was interrupted by a knock at the door, and on answering it was handed a telegram. "somebody is beggin' to be let in to the new company, i reckon," donovan said, laughingly; but his smile vanished very quickly as he saw the look which came over the boy's face. "what's the matter, lad?" joe cried, and instead of replying fred handed him the telegram, which read as follows: "mr. fred byram:--superintendent wright has served an injunction restraining our company from taking further steps, on the plea that the land purchased belongs to him. his case, so far as i can learn, is very strong. it is advisable that you and brace come here at once." "arthur hunter." "wha--wha--what does it mean?" joe stammered. "i should say things were gettin' serious," donovan replied, as he read the message over joe's shoulder, "mr. wright is a hard man to fight, an' the chances are he'll get the best of you." then he left the house as if in great haste to spread this additional news, and the partners looked at each other in dismay. "that is why we've heard nothin' from the superintendent since our secret leaked out," bill said, grimly. "you two had better tramp across to save time. you can get there three hours ahead of the next train." "come on," fred cried, as he aroused from the daze caused by the startling intelligence. "let's learn the worst quickly." "it's pretty tough to lose the thing after swellin' as we have for the last couple of days," joe added, gloomily, but without rising from his seat. "don't whine 'till we're sure it's gone," and bill tried very hard to speak cheerily. at this point mrs. byram entered the invalid's room to say: "mr. wright has sent over to ask fred and mr. brace to call at his office." "matters are beginning to look brighter already," bill cried, and joe asked gruffly: "how do you make that out?" "if he was so sure of provin' we had no claim to the land, he wouldn't have a word to say. now he's tryin' to make a trade." "he can't with me. unless you, fred an' sam insist, it'll be the whole or nothing." "now that's the way to talk," bill replied. "if we can raise the money to fight there won't be any bargain made." "don't you intend to call upon the superintendent?" mrs. byram asked. "not a bit of it, ma'am. tell whoever he sends that fred an' joe are too busy just now, but if he wants to make a 'pointment some time next week, they'll try to see him." "but it can't do any harm to talk with mr. wright." "it won't do any good, an' they'd better see the lawyer first." mrs. byram left the room to deliver the message, and bill delayed his partners that they might know exactly how he felt regarding the matter before starting on the journey. chapter xxx a suit at law "don't give in an inch," bill said, in conclusion to his remarks concerning the validity of the title. "get over there as quick as you can, and don't let the lawyer weaken." "it'll take big money to carry on a fight in law." "we'll try to raise it somehow." after promising to send him word as to the progress of affairs before night, in case they were detained more than one day, joe and fred went down stairs, and at that moment mrs. byram opened the door to admit mr. wright. he was particularly pleasant in his greetings, and asked, as he observed that they were on the point of going out: "did you finally conclude to come to the office?" "we were on our way to blacktown," joe replied gruffly. "but we have plenty of time for a chat, since the train does not leave for two hours of more." "we are going to walk," fred explained. "then you can surely spare me half an hour." "what for?" joe asked sharply. "i wish to see if we can't arrive at some amicable settlement of the suit which i have been forced to bring." "wouldn't it been better to have talked first, an' then begun the law business?" "in regard to that i had no alternative. the company ordered me to proceed exactly as i did." "i'd like to hear what's goin' on down there," bill shouted from above, and fred said: "it's no more than fair that we should go upstairs. he's got the right to know what mr. wright proposes." "yes, i prefer to speak with all the partners, though perhaps there is no necessity of sending for thorpe." "we haven't got the time to do that," joe replied. "come on, an' let's get through with the business as soon as we can, for we're due in blacktown mighty soon." the miner led the way to the invalid's chamber, and bill greeted his former superintendent with the curtest of nods. "i have come in the hope that we can arrange matters without having recourse to the law," mr. wright began. "if, immediately after discovering the vein, you had advised me, i could have told you that our company owns the entire mountain, by purchase from the heirs of the original owner." "but mr. hunter told us the title was perfect," fred interrupted. "lawyers cannot always be depended upon. there is no question as to the truth of what i say, and here is a true copy of our deed." he handed bill a legal looking document; but the miner motioned it away. "i don't want to see it," he said. "neither of us could understand it in a week's study. the only thing for us to do is listen to what you propose." "in view of the services you all have rendered in the past, i should be sorry to see you lose the money already paid on this property, and more so to have you involved in an expensive lawsuit. now i am empowered to make this offer: the company will return the money paid, settle with your attorney, and allow you a reasonable compensation for the labour performed. in addition, it may be that we can give you a few shares in case it is decided to open new works." as mr. wright paused bill raised his head, and looking fixedly at the visitor, asked: "if the property is yours beyond a question, what makes you offer to give us anything?" "because you have acted in such a friendly manner toward us. i am not one who forgets a friend." "you came mighty near doin' so when sam was arrested, an' warrants sworn out for fred an' me." "that was a matter in which it was to your interest that the law should take its course. a large majority of the people believed you knew something about the robbery, and the only way to settle it absolutely was to have the case decided in court." "then we ought to thank you, i s'pose," and bill leaned forward, despite the pain caused by the movement. "if we conclude to take the offer we'll let you know to-morrow." "i am sorry to say that we can agree to no delay. if the terms are accepted at once, well and good; but they will not be held open for a lawyer to interfere." "then i'll speak for myself, an' say no," bill cried, angrily. "the others can act as they please; but if all this is to be done jest on account of your friendship, then where's the harm of waitin' till next week, if we want to?" "i have only repeated the stipulations made by the company." "well, we don't want anything to do with 'em," joe added. "what bill says goes with me, an' i reckon fred'll stick by us." "i believe as they do, mr. wright." "then you refuse the generous proposition?" "we do, but have our own idea as to how generous it is," bill replied, grimly. "do you think it will be possible to fight successfully a company as rich as ours?" "we'll try it for a while, anyhow, an' won't give in till we're whipped." "i don't like to make any threats; but feel it my duty to warn you of the consequences, if we press the charge of theft. the evidence is strongly against you, and more particularly so since you returned the money." "i reckon that about winds up this 'ere interview," and joe arose to his feet with a menacing air. "go ahead with the suit; but there's such a thing as collectin' damages, an', rich as your company is, i don't believe they can get out of payin' 'em." "that is child's talk. if you refuse what is little less than a present, i will go." "an' it's pretty nigh time." joe added, as he opened the door. "don't try to make us any more such presents, or we may not keep our temper." it could be plainly told that the superintendent had already lost his temper, for he went down stairs rapidly, slamming the street door behind him with a force which literally caused the cottage to tremble. "he ain't so sure of his case, as he would have us believe," bill said, when they were alone. "it's jest possible he may try to make things hotter for us by servin' the warrant on fred, so you'd better not come back from blacktown, till the widder sends word. get over as quick as you can, an' don't forget to tell the lawyer about the generous proposition." the two started without further delay, and the reception met with by those whom they passed on the street told how rapidly the bad news had travelled. on the day previous every person was very cordial, as if trying to establish his or her position as friend; but now they were greeted even less pleasantly than before the riot, and joe said, savagely: "they're a set of curs. i did believe some of the things we heard yesterday; but now soft words won't go down with me, no matter how the property turns out." "it can't make any difference what is done or said, all i ask is that we get sam out of his troubles." "you an' me are about as deep in the mire as he is if the case goes agin us. we'll try not to borrer trouble till there's better reason. where do you s'pose skip is keepin' himself all this time?" "i wish i knew. nobody can make me believe he went off with gus." "he's got a different game than that, an' i'm thinkin' we'll hear from him mighty soon." "why?" "no partic'lar reason, i only jest think so." having changed the topic of conversation, which was the sole cause of his mentioning skip's name, joe relapsed into a silence which was not broken until the two arrived at the newly-discovered vein. here a party of surveyors were running imaginary lines and measuring distances, as they referred from time to time to several formidable looking documents, and joe said, bitterly: "wright is gettin' ready for the fight. if we had plenty of money i wouldn't feel so bad; but unless the lawyer can borrow some for us, we're likely to come out the little end of the horn." "we shall soon know all about it," and fred continued the journey at a swift pace. mr. hunter was in his office when the partners arrived, and the expression on his face was not such as to inspire courage. "i didn't expected you so soon," he said, motioning them to be seated. "we walked over rather than wait for the cars," fred replied. "i was sorry to summon you on such sorry business but superintendent wright has begun a fight for the possession of the land, and some of our prospective stockholders are alarmed by the attack." "has he really got any hold on the property?" "he claims that the company's deeds give them title to the entire mountain." "then how did it happen that the farmer could sell?" "it all hinges upon the question of survey. if the lines run twenty years ago are incorrect, as he claims, then the land you bought is located in the valley, and in that event not worth half you paid for it." "what does the farmer say?" joe asked. "i fancy mr. wright has bribed him to forget where his property was. two days ago he had a very clear idea of the location, but this morning he thinks mr. wright is correct. in fact, he is almost ready to swear he owned land only in the valley." "he told me exactly where it was situated, an' we bought with the positive understandin' that he was sellin' a tract on the mountain," joe said. "that is one of the questions i wanted to decide. if he made those representations, we may force him to tell the truth rather than stand a suit for obtaining money under false representations." fred thought it was time to tell of mr. wright's proposition, and when he had finished the story the lawyer said with a look of positive relief: "i'm glad to hear that. we will force them to show their hands by asking an immediate trial for thorpe." "but suppose he should be convicted?" fred cried. "skip is not at home, and we need his evidence." "we must take that risk, rather than allow them time to work up a worse plot." chapter xxxi skip it seemed to fred as if they were about to sacrifice sam in order to aid in confirming the title of the land, and it required no slight amount of mr. hunter's eloquence to persuade him differently. "by pressing for trial we have a better chance of proving his innocence. under ordinary circumstances i would be certain of the result; but where so much property is a stake i do not like to trust the superintendent too implicitly." "but what effect can his innocence or guilt have on the other question?" "it might prejudice our case if he went before a jury. every point must be guarded against, and this is the first to be settled." "can we raise money enough to carry the thing through?" joe asked. "i think so; but will tell you better to-morrow after i have had time to see some of the subscribers with whom i have not yet spoken." "do you think we've got any chance of winning?" "i wish it were possible to say yes; but under the circumstances it seems to me that the odds are in the favor of the company represented by mr. wright." "yet you don't advise us to accept his proposition," fred said. "certainly not. even if i was in favor of making a compromise, the amount offered would be no temptation. i should advise you to refuse ten thousand dollars, for it will cost the company much more than that if we can raise sufficient to carry on the suit." "is there anything for us to do?" fred asked. "very much. it is necessary to remain here, and send for thorpe. i will first attend to pressing for trial, and then have an interview with the farmer for the purpose of frightening him into telling nothing but the truth. i fancy we can restore his memory by threatening him with a criminal suit." "i'll run over for sam," joe said, as if a walk of five miles across the mountain was nothing more than a pleasure trip. "it won't do for you to come," he added, as fred was about to speak, "because i'm afraid wright might use that warrant." "yes, it is much better you should remain here," mr. hunter said quickly. "isn't it possible to find the boy who first suggested dobson was the thief?" "i'm afraid not; it looks very much as if he'd run away." "it won't do any harm to walk around town while i'm gone," joe suggested. "you may come across some feller who has seen him." "i shall expect to meet all three this afternoon," the lawyer said, as his clients rose to go. "do not talk with any one regarding either case, and, above all, make no promises without first consulting me." joe and fred left the office, the former saying when they were out of doors: "keep a stiff upper lip, lad, an' if the company gets the best of us, remember that farley's isn't the only colliery in the middle field. when bill is on his pins again we can pull up stakes an' look for another job." "i am worrying about sam rather than ourselves. it would be terrible if he was convicted of a crime he never committed." "better that than to be guilty; but we won't look at it in such a bad light yet awhile. i'm off now; when it's time for me to be back, hang around the hotel." then joe started at a brisk pace, and with a heavy heart fred walked aimlessly through the town. the idea that by so doing he might learn something regarding skip seem preposterous, and he hardly gave it a thought after joe made the suggestion, therefore he was startled by hearing a familiar voice crying: "hi! fred! hold on a minute!" turning quickly he saw skip coming toward him at full speed, and looking as if he had been on a long, rough journey. "where have you been?" he asked, in surprise. "trying' to find that feller tim." "tim? what did you want of him?" "nothing'; but i thought you might. when things turned out at farley's as they did it seemed to me that by gettin' hold of him the truth would come out." "have you been at that work all this time?" "yes." "of course you couldn't find him." "of course i could, an' if you want him i'll go straight to where he's hiding." fred looked at his friend in astonishment for an instant, and he cried: "come to the lawyer's with me this minute. you're the very fellow he's been wanting to see." five minutes later the two were closeted with mr. hunter, who appeared very well pleased with the news brought by skip. "how did you chance to find the boy?" he asked. "it was a good deal like luck. fred told about he an' gus campin' by the river, an' i snooped up that way. a lot of us fellers stayed a week in the same place, so it was handy to get around. it was two days before i saw any signs of him, an' then i come mighty nigh tumblin' over his camp." "how long since you left him?" "yesterday noon." "have you been traveling all this time?" "pretty much; but it don't make any difference if you want to send after him." "that is exactly what i want to do, and as soon as possible." "i'm ready now," and skip started toward the door. "i didn't mean quite as soon as this. go for something to eat, while i make the necessary arrangements. come back here when you've had dinner." "it'll be two or three dinners in one," skip muttered, as he followed fred down stairs. "didn't you take any provisions?" "some; but not enough to last a great while. it don't make any difference, though, so long as i found tim." skip was not so excited but that he could eat a hearty meal, and when it was finished the two boys returned to mr. hunter's office just as that gentleman entered, accompanied by a constable. the official questioned skip very minutely as to tim's whereabouts, and when the boy had explained the situation to the best of his ability, the former said: "i reckon we won't have to walk all the way. by riding up the valley road eight or ten miles it is possible to cut off a good bit of the distance." "very well, adopt any method which will insure your return to-morrow noon, for the trial is to come off at twelve o'clock. go with him, skip, and see to it that there is no loitering by the way." "are you intending to hire a team?" fred asked the constable. "yes." "then i'll go with you to the stables." the constable walked rapidly ahead leaving the boys to follow more leisurely, and fred had time for a brief conversation. "you've been a good friend, skip, and none of us will ever forget what you've done." "i don't want you to remember what happened while i was boss of the regulators." "we never think of it. now do you believe it is possible to go to the camp and back by noon?" "it'll be a tight squeeze, even allowin' that we ride a good part of the way; but we'll pull through somehow." "then if tim has run off, all your work will have been for nothing." "it can't be helped if things turn that way; but i think he's too much frightened by the disappearance of gus to leave a good hiding-place." at this moment the officer emerged from the stable in an open wagon drawn by a powerful-looking horse, and skip shouted, as he clambered in: "we'll be back by noon." then the two were whirled rapidly away, and fred walked slowly to mr. hunter's office depressed by a sense of impending evil. the lawyer was absent, and, not caring to stroll around the town where he might meet acquaintances from farley's, the boy remained alone until late in the afternoon, when joe and sam arrived. "the trial is to come off to-morrow," he cried, mentioning first that subject which was nearest his heart. "and you couldn't find skip," joe added, mournfully; but his face lighted up wonderfully on being told of what had occurred during his absence. "we'll come out of the scrape all right, if one of the young scoundrels can be produced, so you an' sam may as well look cheerful." "is there anything new at farley's?" fred asked. "wright is goin' around like a bear with a sore head; but i didn't hear anything about his servin' the warrant on you. i reckon neither him nor that blessed cashier fancy havin' the trial come off so soon." "how is bill?" "chipper as a chicken. your mother has sent some clean clothes, an' we'd better mosey over to the hotel to make ourselves comfortable like." before any objection could be offered to this plan mr. hunter entered; but he did not delay the partners very long. after asking a few questions and jotting down the answers, he dismissed them with the caution to be at the office by eleven o'clock next morning. during the evening joe tried very hard to appear jolly and perfectly at ease; but the boys could not simulate cheerfulness, and the hours passed wearily despite their companion's efforts. at an early hour fred and sam were on the road down which skip had driven, waiting for his return; but when the appointed time for them to go to mr. hunter's office arrived, they had watched in vain. now the suspense was positively painful. the lawyer exhibited the utmost impatience, because the constable did not come, while his clients were on the verge of despair. at half-past eleven when the train from farley's arrived, the boys saw mr. wright and the cashier pass on their way to the court-room, and a few moments later mr. hunter said: "we can't wait any longer. very likely tim had left his hiding-place when the officer got there, and the latter is so foolish as to try to find him. i should have warned them that skip must return at all hazards, for by sending him away we lose a most important witness." the boys arose to their feet in silence, and joe was positively despondent in the face of what seemed very like defeat. on arriving at the court the partners were given seats within the enclosure reserved for attorneys, and very near the superintendent; but he paid no attention to them. the cashier glared fiercely at sam for an instant, and then turned to look steadily in another direction. the court was occupied with another case, and in answer to sam's question mr. hunter said that his trial would not begin until it was finished. "if it'll hold on 'till to-morrow so's to give skip a fair chance of gettin' here, i'll be willin' to sit in this chair all night," joe whispered to fred. "it can't be delayed very long, or mr. hunter would tell us," was the mournful reply. "s'pose i slip out an' watch for him? he won't know where to come if there's nobody in the office." this fred thought was a very good idea, and he suggested it to the lawyer, who said: "the constable knows that he is needed here, therefore they will put in an appearance immediately after arriving." five minutes later sam was called upon to plead, and he answered firmly: "not guilty." then the cashier was summoned to the stand, and told his story correctly, except as to the latter portion, when he said that fred appeared very nervous during the time his friend was absent. he also declared that the two boys made mysterious signs to each other, and in a variety of ways appeared guilty. the teller of the bank, mr. wright, the constable who made the arrest, and one or two others gave evidence, and when the prosecution closed matters looked very black for the prisoner. then sam himself was called to the stand, and for half an hour underwent a most searching examination. he described very minutely the journey to blacktown; related every particular connected with his receiving the money, and explained why he chose to walk home, when, by waiting a short time, it would have been possible to ride on the cars. that he had the money two or three moments before reaching the newly-discovered vein he was very positive. he had not intended to go to sleep when he laid down to rest. on awakening it was several moments before the loss was discovered, and then he searched in every direction. over and over again he told what is already known, and when the testimony was finished, it could be seen from the faces of those around, that the story was not generally believed. then fred was called upon to tell of the chase and capture, after which joe took the stand. had skip been there the prisoner's case would have been strengthened just so much; but he yet remained absent, and even mr. hunter looked disheartened. the miner was kept on the stand as long as possible, in the hope the missing one might come, and then the defense had been exhausted. unless skip appeared within a few seconds sam would be deprived of his liberty. chapter xxxii acquitted if skip had been an actor in a pantomime, and rehearsed the scene every day for a week, he could not have arrived more precisely, than when he made his appearance at the very moment mr. hunter was about to declare the defense closed. sam and fred sprang to their feet as he entered the door, and joe actually shouted, so great was his joy and relief; but he was speedily made to understand by the officers that another breach of decorum as flagrant would result in his expulsion from the court-room. following skip came the constable leading tim, who looked frightened and pale. mr. hunter at once called the prisoner to the witness stand. not knowing that gus had denied having seen the money, tim soon said enough to convict himself, and in a few moments was ready to confess his share in the matter. "i didn't take it," he said, whiningly. "gus showed me the money here in town an' told as how he'd sneaked it out of the pocket of a feller what he found asleep on the mountain. he agreed that i could have half if i'd go off somewhere with him." "where is he now?" mr. hunter asked. "i don't know. when i went for some grub he was watchin' fred byram what we caught followin' us." "what had been done with the money?" "he had all that was left but ten dollars, an' i was goin' to spend that." "what had fred byram done to you?" "tried to get the stuff, so's his chum wouldn't be sent to jail." "how did he know you had the bills?" "that's what puzzles me, 'less gus give himself away to skip miller." "have you seen your friend since you left him to go in search of provisions?" "if i had he'd been used up pretty bad for runnin' off with the cash after coaxin' me to leave town with him." very little more in the way of evidence was needed, and in a short time sam was told by the judge that there was nothing to show he was at fault in the matter, except so far as being careless in lying down to sleep, while having such an amount of money in his pocket. with this slight reprimand he was discharged from custody, and tim sent to jail. when the partners were in the street once more joe found it almost impossible to keep his joy within bounds. he acted in the most extravagant manner until fred reminded him that the people might think he was intoxicated. "we'll telegraph to bill, anyhow," he cried, and straightway the following message was sent: "william thomas, farley's, pa.: "skip miller has fixed everything. sam is free. hurrah for skip. joe." "there," he said, after writing the telegram, a task of no mean magnitude for him, "that puts the credit jest where it belongs. i ain't sayin' the lawyer didn't do his share; but he'd been snowed under if tim hadn't been brought in the nick of time." skip was radiant with delight, as he had every reason to be, since now he felt certain his past misdeeds were atoned for, and the partners repeated over and over again that they owed him a debt which could never be repaid. mr. hunter insisted that the owners of the mine should remain in blacktown until he learned whether sufficient money could be raised with which to defend the suit brought against them; but joe was bent on going to the depot for the purpose of witnessing mr. wright's departure. "i want to see how he an' and his precious cashier look after failin' in convictin' an innocent boy of stealin' what never oughter been put in his charge." fred did not care to indulge in such questionable triumph; but the miner was so persistent that he could not well refuse, and the three stood on the platform when their accusers boarded the cars. neither of the men glanced toward the little group; but a bystander who had been present at the trial, said loud enough to be heard by both: "it looks like pretty poor business for a big corporation to try to send a boy to jail in order that he may be robbed of his property." "you're a sensible man," joe cried, approvingly, as he insisted on shaking hands with the stranger, "an' if the time ever comes when me or my mate can do you a good turn we'll be glad." after this the four walked to the hotel, for skip was sadly in need of food, and joe said, in a tone of satisfaction: "i'm willin' to bet considerable that when we get back to farley's we'll find as how wright has gone somewhere on business, an' the cashier is takin' a vacation. bill will show my telegram to everybody what comes in, and the whole town will be agin 'em." "if the company wins the suit, mr. wright won't care very much about what is said, for with two mines he will be the boss of this section," sam replied. "i don't bother with anything at farley's jest now; the company can run matters to please themselves, if they fail to cheat us out of our property." now that one cause for anxiety was removed the partners devoted more time to discussing the question of title, and before night-fall had succeeded in making themselves feel decidedly uncomfortable. during the evening mr. hunter called with cheering news. "among the subscribers i have found four gentlemen of means, who will advance the funds necessary for defending the suit, provided they are allowed a certain additional amount of stock in case of success. the four owners of the property must sign an agreement to that effect, and the business is settled." "how will that affect our interest?" fred asked. "i think an equitable arrangement would be to give you jointly one-half the amount of stock issued, and with the remainder there will be no difficulty in raising sufficient to open and operate the mine." "is that a fair division? we know very little about such things." "if there had been no trouble your share would be larger; but, under the circumstances, i think the proposition a generous one." "then we are satisfied," joe replied. "bring on your documents so we can sign 'em, for i want to get back to-morrow." "i will write the agreement, and go to farley's with you on the first train. money for your personal expenses is to be advanced, and here is an installment. when it is gone come to me for more." "a hundred dollars!" joe exclaimed, as he counted the bills. "we can't complain but that your subscribers are doing the thing in good style." "so they should since a large amount of money is to be made, if we are successful with the suit." then mr. hunter left the partners, and skip, who was already looked upon as a member of the new company, and they found ample material for conversation until it was time to retire. next morning the party started for farley's in company with the lawyer and one of the gentlemen who proposed to advance the capital. there were only a few people at the depot; but from them sam received a most cordial welcome. men whom he had never spoken to before congratulated him upon the happy result of the trial, and many were the harsh words spoken against the superintendent and cashier. after he ran home to see his mother for a moment the four partners assembled in bill's chamber, and there the necessary documents were drawn up. "i have already applied for a charter," mr. hunter said, when all had signed, "and it only remains to win the case before opening the mine." "you'll keep us posted about what is goin' on?" bill asked, and the lawyer replied in the affirmative, when he and the prospective stockholder took their departure, leaving the boys and joe to gratify the invalid's curiosity concerning the happenings at blacktown. on this day fred saw chunky for the first time since the discovery of the vein, and the breaker boy expressed his satisfaction at the result of the trial. "i knowed sam wouldn't steal money," he said, emphatically; "but it looked one spell as if they'd prove it on him." "if it hadn't been for skip matters never would have been made so plain, and even if he was acquitted, some folks might have thought him guilty." "yes, skip did a good job there," chunky said, reflectively. "it's funny he made such great friends with you fellers after bein' so wild to serve you out. he's left the regulators, too, an' now i can be captain, if i want to." "why, i thought that foolish business had all been done away with." "not much it ain't. we can get along without skip, an' not half try." "don't have anything to do with such fellows, chunky. you'll only get into trouble, and the time is sure to come when, like skip, you'll be sorry for ever having had any connection with them." "he didn't run the concern same's i'm goin' to do, if i get to be captain," chunky replied, with a mysterious gesture, and then he hurried away in the direction of the breaker. during the week which followed sam's acquittal nothing of especial interest occurred. bill was getting along as well as could have been expected; but both he and his partners were decidedly dejected as to the result of mr. wright's claim. as the days passed they grew more despondent, until mrs. byram insisted that nothing more be said about the suit in the presence of the invalid, because his extreme nervousness tended to excite fever. then came the day on which a telegram was received from mr. hunter, requesting one or more of the partners to call at his office, and joe and fred made ready to answer the summons. "don't keep me waiting for the news," bill said sharply. "i can't help thinkin' wright will spring some kind of a game on us, if he thinks there's any chance this scheme might fail." "if we're wanted on that business you shall hear the minute we know about it," joe replied, and then he and fred started, preferring to walk rather than wait for the train. contrary to brace's belief, both mr. wright and the cashier had remained at farley's after the trial. it is possible they heard a few unwelcome truths; but, as a rule, those who were forced to work under them did not dare to speak too plainly. neither joe nor fred had seen the gentlemen since they stepped on board the cars at blacktown, but now they were met face to face when the travelers arrived at the out-cropping vein. the superintendent nodded carelessly, much as he would have done toward a stranger, while his companion deliberately turned his back upon the new-comers. joe whistled as he passed on, to show how little concern he felt at meeting the two whom he considered enemies, but he whispered to fred when they were farther down the mountain: "i want to know what them fellers are doin' out here. it looks as if some crooked work was goin' on." "they can't run away with the vein," fred replied laughingly, "and i don't see how their being in this vicinity can hurt us." "nor i; but it won't do any harm to watch 'em. they're none too honest to play any kind of a mean trick." "it's too late to turn now, for they'd surely know what we were up to." "we can keep on a little farther, an' then double back under cover of the trees." "all right. i don't suppose it will make much difference if we loaf a bit." joe walked straight ahead until they were within shelter of a line of foliage, and then turning sharply to the left, circled around the side of the mountain to a point just above the vein, where the two men could be plainly seen, while the watchers were hidden among the bushes. mr. wright and the cashier at first sight appeared to be walking aimlessly to and fro, as if calculating the width of the coal mine, and now and then the former stooped to pull up a stake, which he placed in another position. "it looks as if they was figgerin' how wide the slope would have to be," joe whispered. "i reckon we've wasted our time sneakin' over here." "they are moving the stakes driven by the surveyors!" fred exclaimed, after a brief pause. "but what good will that do 'em?" "i don't know; of course, the lines can be run again by any one; but there must be a scheme in it, for mr. wright wouldn't be out here unless something could be gained by it." "they've got no right on our land, an' i'll warn them off," joe said, as he arose excitedly to his feet. "don't so much as show yourself. we'll hurry on to see mr. hunter; he'll know what is up." "come on, then, an' be quick about it, for there's no tellin' when these tricks are dangerous." the miner and the boy literally ran down the hill, slackening not the pace until forced to do so, and both were nearly breathless when they neared the lawyer's office. before mr. hunter could speak joe told what had been seen, and that gentleman grew quite as excited as were the others. "i learned yesterday that wright had bought a strip of land near yours, regardless of the fact that he claims to own this side of the mountain, and has ordered a force of workmen there immediately. we now know he is changing the surveyor's stakes in order to erect buildings on our tract, and thus force us to become plaintiffs instead of defendants. "how would that benefit him?" "in several ways which i have not time to explain. wait here until i return." then mr. hunter left the office in great haste, and fred and joe looked at each other in dismay. chapter xxxiii victorious the lawyer did not return for several hours, and then he said: "i have sent for surveyors, and we will run our own lines early to-morrow morning, after which an officer shall be stationed there to warn him from encroaching. you must be on the spot as early as possible to attend to matters." "he'll find us when the sun comes up. was this why you sent the telegram?" "i wanted to discover what he meant by the hiring of carpenters and the ordering of lumber; but that you have already done." "when will the case be tried?" "next week i think; but that is of minor importance just now. the supposed location of the purchase is to be pointed out to the surveyors, therefore one of you must remain here until they arrive. "when do you expect them?" "on the first train to-morrow." "fred can wait for 'em, an' i'll leave in time to get there by daylight." "very well; make your preparations to stay until i send word that it is no longer necessary." joe and fred left the office to purchase such provisions as might be needed while holding possession of the disputed property, and when this had been done the question arose as to how word could be sent to bill. "the story is too long for a telegram," fred said, "so suppose we say by wire that there is nothing particularly new, and write a letter?" "go ahead. i ain't much of a fist with a pen, so while you're tellin' the yarn i'll send the message." joe retired early in order to be in readiness for the journey, and fred was not awake when, shortly after midnight, he slipped out of the house. it was not an easy matter to find his way in the darkness; but he finally succeeded after straying from the right course several times, and was thoroughly astonished at finding half a dozen men already in possession. a small amount of lumber was scattered here and there, as if placed in readiness to be used, and a temporary camp had been erected close beside the coal vein. the men had but just awakened when he arrived, and in reply to his angry question of why they were there, one of them asked impudently: "what business is it of yours?" "i happen to own a quarter of this land, an' it'll be hot for all hands if there's any attempt at puttin' up a building." "it'll take us about two minutes to clean you out, an' we'll do it, if you so much as yip again." joe was literally trembling with rage. he fancied a portion of his title to the tract would be lost, if he did not drive the intruders away, and before the spokesman had time to defend himself against an attack, the miner knocked him headlong with one well-directed blow. then, picking up an axe which lay near by, he made such a furious onslaught upon the remainder of the party that they scattered in every direction. instead of following, he chopped and tore at the camp until it was demolished, and then destroyed all the provisions it had contained, in addition to pounding into shapeless masses the tin cooking utensils. by this time the carpenters got their scattered forces together and were marching in a body against the man who had put them to flight. in the immediate vicinity of the camp were stored nearly all the tools, and, standing over these, joe shouted: "as true as my name's brace i'll kill the first man who comes here," and he brandished the axe above his head. "don't be a fool!" some one cried. "what can you do against the crowd?" "split open the head of the first who comes within strikin' distance. after that has been done you may manage to get the best of me; but one is sure to go down--which shall it be?" none of the party cared to prove the truth of joe's threat, and they fell back a short distance, giving him an opportunity to intrench himself behind the fragments of the camp. the miner took care to gather the tools around him so they could not be seized in case a sudden rush was made, and then, as he afterward said, "read the riot act" to the trespassers. matters were in this condition when fred and the surveyors arrived. the carpenters were seated on the ground a short distance away, while joe remained perched on the ruins of the hut calmly smoking his pipe; but prepared for any attack, however sudden. "go back to blacktown and tell the lawyer to send some officers," the miner cried, "these beauties are countin' on buildin' a house right here, i'll hold 'em off till they can be arrested." "oh, yes you will," one of the party shouted. "wait till the crowd get here from farley's, an' then we'll see who runs this place." joe brandished his axe, as an intimation of what he was prepared to do, and cried to fred who stood in silent astonishment a few paces away: "hurry on, lad, there's no time to be lost!" this roused fred to a sense of the necessity for immediate action, and he started off at full speed. the surveyors thinking quite naturally that they were not included in the hostilities, made ready to perform the work for which they had been engaged; but no sooner were the instruments set up than the carpenters made a dash at them, crying: "if we have to lay still you shall do the same. stand back an' wait till mr. wright comes." "stick to your job, an' if one will help me, i'll get rid of the whole boiling," joe cried as he advanced. "look here, my friend," the elder of the surveying party said in a low tone, "i understand something about this fight, and don't propose to get mixed up in what isn't really any of my business. we'll run the lines, if nobody molests us; but won't put ourselves out to do it." "then i can't count on you?" "not at all; this is too serious business for us to be involved in. if you want to buy a good revolver, though, i'll sell one cheap, and take my pay when we meet in blacktown. "you're a brick," joe cried, enthusiastically. "give me the shooter, an' i'll guarantee to pay any price for it." the weapon was delivered, and the miner left his fortification, marching directly toward the enemy. "i give you a fair warnin' to clear out," he said, leveling the revolver. "this is my land, an' i order every one to leave. these surveyors are here to run the lines for my partners an' me. the first who interferes with em' will get a ball. i ain't talkin' foolish, for you know the law will uphold me in defendin' my own. now begin the job," he added, to the surveying party, "an' we'll see who wants to have trouble." this argument was understood by mr. wright's adherents, and they kept at a respectful distance, while the others did their work. new stakes were set up without any regard to those already in position, and the labor had but just been completed when the superintendent and two members of his company arrived. "why are you not at work?" he asked one of the carpenters. for reply the man pointed toward joe, who was pacing to and fro on what he believed to be the boundary line of his property. "get those timbers up," mr. wright cried angrily. "you may drag them off; but the first one who dares so much as raise a joist for any other purpose, shall suffer!" joe shouted. "knock that fellow down! what business has he here?" and the superintendent's voice trembled with suppressed fury. "i'm where i belong, an' seein's how your men don't dare do the knockin' down, s'pose you take a hand at it." mr. wright advanced as if to act upon the suggestion; but before he reached the imaginary line the miner shouted: "if you put a foot on this land i'll shoot. send your crowd home, and then if you want to tackle me i'll throw the revolver down, an' meet you half way." the superintendent paid no attention to this remark, save to halt on the safe side of the danger line, where he whispered a few words to one of his men, and the latter started at full speed for farley's. "i reckon my jig is about up," joe muttered to himself. "he's sent for help, an' they're bound to bring what'll be of more service than this revolver." the surveyors, evidently believing there was no especial reason why they should stay, now matters were nearing a crisis, took their departure, and the miner was once more left alone to defend his rights. ten minutes later fred appeared from among the trees, followed by five determined looking men, and joe's cheers were not ended when mr. hunter came in view. the lawyer shook hands with the miner as he said: "you've saved us what might have been a bad mess. now we have a reasonably large force, and can hold out until an injunction is procured." "are you likely to get one soon?" "a clerk will bring it in a short time. the application has been granted, and the only delay is while the papers can be made out." "i'm glad of that, for wright has sent after more help, an' when it comes things are likely to be hot." mr. hunter now advanced and held a long conversation with the superintendent and his friends, at the conclusion of which he ordered joe to have the lumber dragged from the tract staked out by the surveyors. in this work fred assisted, while the miner stood guard with his revolver to prevent any interference, and when the task was finished the former whispered to his partner: "did they scare you, joe?" "well, i don't mind ownin' to you that they did; but not one in the gang knew it. i was bound to stick as long as i could, an' a big lot of bluff helped me through." "mr. hunter says that if the injunction can be served on mr. wright before the men begin work, it will be all right." "is that the only thing he knows of to stop matters?" "it will be enough." "i'd rather trust to my fist than any paper that was ever written." after a time fred succeeded in making the miner understand what kind of a document it was they depended upon to prevent the superintendent from trespassing, and the explanation had but just been made as mr. hunter's clerk arrived with the important document. when this had been served on mr. wright the matter was settled temporarily, and the lawyer said to fred and joe: "you can return home, and the next summons will be for the trial. this move of wright's has been a foolish one, and will, i think, prejudice his case." chapter xxxiv the new mine it is unnecessary to give the details of the long trial to establish the title of that certain tract of land known as "louder's slope." suffice it to say that all the claimants were there with the exception of bill thomas, and the case was finally settled in favor of the defendants. the farmer who sold the property to joe was literally frightened into telling the truth, and although the company showed a deed for the land, no record could be found for the same. the general opinion of those who understood the case was that mr. wright had attempted to play a desperate game, and failed because it was impossible to corrupt certain parties in the recorder of deeds' office. in fact, a very ugly rumor gained circulation immediately after the trial, to the effect that a large sum of money had been offered a clerk, if he would change a number of figures on the books to correspond with the deed which was exhibited in court. when joe, fred, and sam returned home absolute owners of the valuable tract, the walk from the depot to mrs. byram's house was a regular ovation. those who rejoiced when it seemed certain the boys would not benefit by the discovery, were apparently as well pleased as the partners' warmest friends, and during the evening following the announcement of the verdict, farley's was in a high state of excitement. among the last who called to offer congratulations was skip, and he said emphatically as he and fred stood by the side of bill's bed: "i'm as glad as if some of the luck was mine. you say i've squared accounts, an' that's enough to make me feel mighty good. of course, you'll have to hire breaker boys, an' i'd like a job at the new mine, 'cause it ain't likely things here'll be very pleasant for me." "fred an' me have figgered out a place for you, lad," the old miner replied, as he took skip's hand in his. "our mine won't be open for two or three months, an' durin' that time the firm are goin' to send you to school. when the store is opened--for, of course, we'll need one--you're to go into it, an' the day skip miller can take hold of the accounts he's goin' to have full charge." the ex-captain of the regulators looked from one to the other in silence several seconds, and then he asked, in a hesitating way: "you ain't makin' fun of a feller, eh?" "not a bit of it, lad, an' if you run over to blacktown to-morrow an' ask mr. hunter he'll show that the money has been paid for your schooling." skip did not trust himself to reply, but after shaking each of his friends by the hand he hurriedly left the house, and chunky, who entered a few moments later, said to fred: "i reckon skip wishes he was you. i met him jest now, an' he was cryin' reg'lar tears, an' wouldn't stop to listen when i told him the fellers had chose me for captain." nothing was seen of either mr. wright or his cashier until nearly two weeks after the case had been ended, and then the former called at mrs. byram's cottage to offer his "congratulations." "it is not well that there should be any hard feelings between us since we are to be neighbors," he said. "what i did was in the interests of the company which i represent, and any other course would have been impossible." to this remark fred made no reply; but he was willing to be on apparently friendly terms with the superintendent, which was more than can be said of the elder partners. bill bluntly told mr. wright what he thought of his conduct, and expressed the hope in very plain words, that it would not be necessary for the new firm to have any business relations with the old company. four months later the byram-thorpe works were formally opened, with bill as mine boss, fred and sam as superintendents, and joe in charge of the shipments. it must not be understood that the two boys were fully qualified for their responsible positions; bill and joe acted as advisers, and if one year's work is any criterion the quartette have administered the affairs most wisely, for in all the middle field there are no better or more contented miners than can be found at the byram-thorpe works. in one year skip was pronounced competent to take full charge of the store, and to-day it would be difficult to select a fellow better liked than he. on the blacktown side of the mountain every one speaks of him in the most flattering terms, and at farley's he is held up to breaker boys as an example of how one may live down a bad reputation. chunky still works under donovan; he could not make up his mind to resign from the regulators, and to-day his record is by no means as good as it should be. neither fred nor sam cared to take him with them, for both knew by bitter experience the aim of his association, and did not wish to introduce anything of the kind at the new mine. gus dobson was arrested about a month after sam had been pronounced innocent. on running away from mr. wright's house he hid in the woods near where tim was found; but four weeks of this kind of a life was sufficient. he presented a most deplorable appearance when he returned home one morning. his clothes were in tatters, the shoes literally hanging from his feet, and the pangs of hunger printed on his face. imprisonment was a far less severe punishment than starvation, and as he said, "the judge couldn't give him any sentence worse than sneaking around the mountains without food or shelter." the new mine has only been in operation about a year; but that is time enough to show that the vein is much richer than the one at farley's. instead of being forced to spend money making a shaft or slope, coal of good quality has been taken out from the first, and already do the original owners consider themselves wealthy. it is true the united amount in bank would not be thought large by many; but their income is considerably in excess of all necessary expenses and, what is better yet, perfect content dwells with them. * * * * * [illustration] the young hunters series by captain ralph bonehill gun and sled young hunters of porto rico price c, postpaid [illustration] _the young sportsman series_ _by captain ralph bonehill_ young oarsman of lake view leo, the circus boy rival cyclists _price c post paid_ [illustration] works of james otis down the slope messenger teddy telegraph tom's venture price cents, postpaid. 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they are printed from new plates, on a superior quality of paper and bound in the best binders cloth; title stamped on back and side in three colors ink from appropriate designs made especially for this series. . adventures among the indians w. h. g. kingston . afloat in the forest reid . all aboard oliver optic . among the malays henty . boat club oliver optic . bonnie prince charlie henty . bound to rise alger, jr. . boy knight, the henty . brave and bold alger, jr. . bravest of the brave henty . by england's aid henty . by pike and dyke henty . by sheer pluck henty . capt. bayley's heir henty . cash boy, the alger, jr. . cast up by the sea baker . cornet of horse henty . desert home mayne reid . for name and fame henty . for the temple henty . friends tho' divided henty . golden canon henty . hero of pine ridge butler . in freedom's cause henty . in the reign of terror henty . in times of peril henty . jack archer henty . jack harkaway's school days hemyng . julius the street boy alger, jr. . lion of st. mark henty . lion of the north henty . lone ranch mayne reid . now or never oliver optic . one of the th henty . out on the pampas henty . pathfinder fenimore cooper . paul the peddler alger, jr. . pilot, the fenimore cooper . poor and proud oliver optic . rifle rangers mayne reid . risen from the ranks alger . robinson crusoe d. defoe . scalp hunters mayne reid . slow and sure alger, jr. . star of india e. s. ellis . store boy, the alger, jr. . strive and succeed alger, jr. . strong and steady alger, jr. . sturdy and strong henty . through the fray henty . try again oliver optic . uncle tom's cabin stowe . with clive in india henty . young buglers henty . young carthaginians henty . young colonists henty . young midshipman henty . young outlaw, the alger, jr. for sale by all book and newsdealers, or will be sent to any address in the u.s., canada or mexico, post paid, on receipt of price, c each, in currency, money order or stamps. donohue's padded leather _poets_ * * * * * _ mo illustrated_ [illustration] an assortment of titles of the works of the world's greatest poets. printed from entirely new plates, on a superior grade of book paper. bound in genuine leather, stamped from unique embossing dies on both the front and back covers; title stamped on the front and back in gold; full gilt edges, with red under the gold edge; round corners; fancy paper linings; silk headbands; illuminated title page in two colors from original design; each book wrapped and packed in a neat box. price. $ . browning, robert. browning, elizabeth b. bryant. byron. burns. campbell. chaucer. childe harold's pilgrimage. coleridge. cowper. dante. evangeline. familiar quotations. favorite poems. goethe. goldsmith. hood. hemans, mrs. homer's odyssey. homer's iliad. hiawatha. holmes. idylls of the king. in memoriam. kipling. keble's christian year. longfellow. lady of the lake. lalla rookh. light of asia. lowell. lucile. marmion. miles standish, courtship of milton. moore. poe. paradise lost. proctor. poetical selections, princess, the; maud, etc. rubaiyat of omar khayyam. sacred gems. scott. schiller. shelley. shakespeare. tennyson. thackeray. whittier. wordsworth. 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[illustration] this is a branch of correspondence which fully demands a volume alone to provide for the various phases incident to love, courtship and marriage. few persons, however otherwise fluent with the pen, are able to express in words the promptings of the first dawn of love, and even the ice once broken how to follow up a correspondence with the dearest one in the whole world and how to smooth the way with those who need to be consulted in the matter. the numerous letters and answers in this book go far to overcome the difficulties and embarrassment inseparable from letters on this all-absorbing topic in all stages from beginning to end of a successful courtship, aided in many instances by the author's sensible comments on the specimen letters, and his valuable hints under adverse contingencies. it also contains the art of secret writing, the language of love portrayed and rules in grammar. paper covers, cents. cloth, cents. the complete letter writer. being the only comprehensive and practical guide and assistant to letter writing published. edited by charles walter brown, a. m. [illustration] there are few books that contain such a fund of valuable information on the everyday affairs of life. in addition to every conceivable form of business and social correspondence, there are letters of condolence, introduction, congratulation, felicitation, advice and favor; letters accompanying presents; notes on love, courtship and marriage; forms of wedding anniversaries, socials, parties, notes, wills, deeds, mortgages; tables, abbreviations, classical terms, common errors, selections for autograph albums; information concerning rates on foreign and domestic postage, together with a dictionary of nearly , synonyms and other valuable information which space will not admit of mention. the book is printed from new plates, on a superior quality of paper and bound in substantial and durable manner. mo. paper covers, c. cloth, c. cloth, pages, price $ . for sale by all book and newsdealers, or sent to any address in the u. s., canada or mexico, postage prepaid on receipt of price in currency, money order or stamps. m. a. donohue & co. - dearborn st. chicago [illustration: "and whom may i say the message is from?"] whispering smith by frank h. spearman illustrated by n. c. wyeth and with scenes from the photo-play produced by the signal film corporation new york grosset & dunlap publishers published by arrangement with charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published, september, to my son thomas clark spearman in memory of a piedmont winter contents chapter page i. the wrecking boss ii. at smoky creek iii. dicksie iv. george mccloud v. the crawling stone vi. the final appeal vii. in marion's shop viii. smoky creek bridge ix. the misunderstanding x. sweeping orders xi. at the three horses xii. parley xiii. the turn in the storm xiv. the quarrel xv. the shot in the pass xvi. at the wickiup xvii. a test xviii. new plans xix. the crawling stone rise xx. at the dike xxi. supper in camp xxii. a talk with whispering smith xxiii. at the river xxiv. between girlhood and womanhood xxv. the man on the frenchman xxvi. tower w xxvii. pursuit xxviii. the sunday murder xxix. williams cache xxx. the fight in the cache xxxi. the death of du sang xxxii. mcloud and dicksie xxxiii. the laugh of a woman xxxiv. a midnight visit xxxv. the call xxxvi. duty xxxvii. wickwire xxxviii. into the north xxxix. among the coyotes xl. a sympathetic ear xli. dicksie's ride xlii. at the door xliii. closing in xliv. crawling stone wash xlv. back to the mountains whispering smith chapter i the wrecking boss news of the wreck at smoky creek reached medicine bend from point of rocks at five o'clock. sinclair, in person, was overseeing the making up of his wrecking train, and the yard, usually quiet at that hour of the morning, was alive with the hurry of men and engines. in the trainmaster's room of the weather-beaten headquarters building, nicknamed by railroad men "the wickiup," early comers--sleepy-faced, keen-eyed trainmen--lounged on the tables and in chairs discussing the reports from point of rocks, and among them crew-callers and messengers moved in and out. from the door of the big operators' room, pushed at intervals abruptly open, burst a blaze of light and the current crash of many keys; within, behind glass screens, alert, smooth-faced boys in shirt sleeves rained calls over the wires or bent with flying pens above clips, taking incoming messages. at one end of the room, heedless of the strain on the division, press despatches and cablegrams clicked in monotonous relay over commercial wires; while at the other, operators were taking from the despatchers' room the train orders and the hurried dispositions made for the wreck emergency by anderson, the assistant superintendent. at a table in the alcove the chief operator was trying to reach the division superintendent, mccloud, at sleepy cat; at his elbow, his best man was ringing the insistent calls of the despatcher and clearing the line for sinclair and the wrecking gang. two minutes after the wrecking train reported ready they had their orders and were pulling out of the upper yard, with right of way over everything to point of rocks. the wreck had occurred just west of the creek. a fast east-bound freight train, double-headed, had left the track on the long curve around the hill, and when the wrecking train backed through ten shed cut the sun streamed over the heaps of jammed and twisted cars strung all the way from the point of the curve to the foot of smoky hill. the crew of the train that lay in the ditch walked slowly up the track to where the wreckers had pulled up, and the freight conductor asked for sinclair. men rigging the derrick pointed to the hind car. the conductor, swinging up the caboose steps, made his way inside among the men that were passing out tools. the air within was bluish-thick with tobacco smoke, but through the haze the freightman saw facing him, in the far corner of the den-like interior, a man seated behind an old dining-car table, finishing his breakfast; one glimpse was enough to identify the dark beard of sinclair, foreman of the bridges and boss of the wrecking gang. beside him stood a steaming coffee-tank, and in his right hand he held an enormous tin cup that he was about to raise to his mouth when he saw the freight conductor. with a laugh, sinclair threw up his left hand and beckoned him over. then he shook his hair just a little, tossed back his head, opened an unusual mouth, drained the cup at a gulp, and cursing the freightman fraternally, exclaimed, "how many cars have you ditched this time?" the trainman, a sober-faced fellow, answered dryly, "all i had." "running too fast, eh?" glared sinclair. with the box cars piled forty feet high on the track, the conductor was too old a hand to begin a controversy. "our time's fast," was all he said. sinclair rose and exclaimed, "come on!" and the two, leaving the car, started up the track. the wrecking boss paid no attention to his companion as they forged ahead, but where the train had hit the curve he scanned the track as he would a blue print. "they'll have your scalp for this," he declared abruptly. "i reckon they will." "what's your name?" "stevens." "looks like all day for you, doesn't it? no matter; i guess i can help you out." where the merchandise cars lay, below the switch, the train crew knew that a tramp had been caught. at intervals they heard groans under the wreckage, which was piled high there. sinclair stopped at the derrick, and the freight conductor went on to where his brakeman had enlisted two of sinclair's giants to help get out the tramp. a brake beam had crushed the man's legs, and the pallor of his face showed that he was hurt internally, but he was conscious and moaned softly. the men had started to carry him to the way car when sinclair came up, asked what they were doing, and ordered them back to the wreck. they hastily laid the tramp down. "but he wants water," protested a brakeman who was walking behind, carrying his arm in a sling. "water!" bawled sinclair. "have my men got nothing to do but carry a tramp to water? get ahead there and help unload those refrigerators. he'll find water fast enough. let the damned hobo crawl down to the creek after it." the tramp was too far gone for resentment; he had fainted when they laid him down, and his half-glazed eyes, staring at the sky, gave no evidence that he heard anything. the sun rose hot, for in the red desert sky there is rarely a cloud. sinclair took the little hill nearest the switch to bellow his orders from, running down among the men whenever necessary to help carry them out. within thirty minutes, though apparently no impression had been made on the great heaps of wrenched and splintered equipment, sinclair had the job in hand. work such as this was the man's genius. in handling a wreck sinclair was a marvel among mountain men. he was tall but not stout, with flashing brown eyes and a strength always equal to that of the best man in his crew. but his inspiration lay in destruction, and the more complete the better. there were no futile moves under sinclair's quick eyes, no useless pulling and hauling, no false grappling; but like a raven at a feast, every time his derrick-beak plucked at the wreck he brought something worth while away. whether he was righting a tender, rerailing an engine, tearing out a car-body, or swinging a set of trucks into the clear, sinclair, men said, had luck, and no confusion in day or night was great enough to drown his heavy tones or blur his rapid thinking. just below where the wrecking boss stood lay the tramp. the sun scorched his drawn face, but he made no effort to turn from it. sometimes he opened his eyes, but sinclair was not a promising source of help, and no one that might have helped dared venture within speaking distance of the injured man. when the heat and the pain at last extorted a groan and an appeal, sinclair turned. "damn you, ain't you dead yet? what? water?" he pointed to a butt standing in the shade of a car that had been thrown out near the switch. "there's water; go get it!" the cracking of a box car as the derrick wrenched it from the wreck was engaging the attention of the boss, and as he saw the grapple slip he yelled to his men and pointed to the chains. the tramp lay still a long time. at last he began to drag himself toward the butt. in the glare of the sun timbers strained and snapped, and men with bars and axes chopped and wrenched at the massive frames and twisted iron on the track. the wrecking gang moved like ants in and out of the shapeless débris, and at intervals, as the sun rose higher, the tramp dragged himself nearer the butt. he lay on the burning sand like a crippled insect, crawling, and waiting for strength to crawl. to him there was no railroad and no wreck, but only the blinding sun, the hot sand, the torture of thirst, and somewhere water, if he could reach it. the freight conductor, stevens, afraid of no man, had come up to speak to sinclair, and sinclair, with a smile, laid a cordial hand on his shoulder. "stevens, it's all right. i'll get you out of this. come here." he led the conductor down the track where they had walked in the morning. he pointed to flange-marks on the ties. "see there--there's where the first wheels left the track, and they left on the inside of the curve; a thin flange under the first refrigerator broke. i've got the wheel itself back there for evidence. they can't talk fast running against that. damn a private car-line, anyway! give me a cigar--haven't got any? great guns, man, there's a case of key wests open up ahead; go fill your pockets and your grip. don't be bashful; you've got friends on the division if you are irish, eh?" "sure, only i don't smoke," said stevens, with diplomacy. "well, you drink, don't you? there's a barrel of brandy open at the switch." the brandy-cask stood up-ended near the water-butt, and the men dipped out of both with cups. they were working now half naked at the wreck. the sun hung in a cloudless sky, the air was still, and along the right of way huge wrecking fires added to the scorching heat. ten feet from the water-butt lay a flattened mass of rags. crusted in smoke and blood and dirt, crushed by a vise of beams and wheels out of human semblance, and left now an aimless, twitching thing, the tramp clutched at stevens's foot as he passed. "water!" "hello, old boy, how the devil did you get here?" exclaimed stevens, retreating in alarm. "water!" stevens stepped to the butt and filled a cup. the tramp's eyes were closed. stevens poured the water over his face; then he lifted the man's head and put a cupful to his lips. "is that hobo alive yet?" asked sinclair, coming back smoking a cigar. "what does he want now? water? don't waste any time on him." "it's bad luck refusing water," muttered stevens, holding the cup. "he'll be dead in a minute," growled sinclair. the sound of his voice roused the failing man to a fury. he opened his bloodshot eyes, and with the dregs of an ebbing vitality cursed sinclair with a frenzy that made stevens draw back. if sinclair was startled he gave no sign. "go to hell!" he exclaimed harshly. with a ghastly effort the man made his retort. he held up his blood-soaked fingers. "i'm going all right--i know that," he gasped, with a curse, "but i'll come back for you!" sinclair, unshaken, stood his ground. he repeated his imprecation more violently; but stevens, swallowing, stole out of hearing. as he disappeared, a train whistled in the west. chapter ii at smoky creek karg, sinclair's crew foreman, came running over to him from a pile of merchandise that had been set off the right of way on the wagon-road for loot. "that's the superintendent's car coming, ain't it, murray?" he cried, looking across the creek at the approaching train. "what of it?" returned sinclair. "why, we're just loading the team." the incoming train, an engine with a way car, two flats, and the bear dance derrick, slowed up at one end of the wreck while sinclair and his foreman talked. three men could be seen getting out of the way car--mccloud and reed young, the scotch roadmaster, and bill dancing. a gang of trackmen filed slowly out after them. the leaders of the party made their way down the curve, and sinclair, with karg, met them at the point. mccloud asked questions about the wreck and the chances of getting the track clear, and while they talked sinclair sent karg to get the new derrick into action. sinclair then asked mccloud to walk with him up the track to see where the cars had left the rail. the two men showed in contrast as they stepped along the ties. mccloud was not alone younger and below sinclair's height: his broad stetson hat flattened him somewhat. his movement was deliberate beside sinclair's litheness, and his face, though burned by sun and wind, was boyish, while sinclair's was strongly lined. "just a moment," suggested mccloud mildly, as sinclair hastened past the goods piled in the wagon-road. "whose team is that, sinclair?" the road followed the right of way where they stood, and a four-horse team of heavy mules was pulling a loaded ranch-wagon up the grade when mccloud spoke. sinclair answered cordially. "that's my team from over on the frenchman. i picked them up at denver. nice mules, mccloud, ain't they? give me mules every time for heavy work. if i had just a hundred more of 'em the company could have my job--what?" "yes. what's that stuff they are hauling?" "that's a little stuff mashed up in the merchandise car; there's some tobacco there and a little wine, i guess. the cases are all smashed." "let's look at it." "oh, there's nothing there that's any good, mccloud." "let's look at it." as bill dancing and young walked behind the two men toward the wagon, dancing made extraordinary efforts to wink at the roadmaster. "that's a good story about the mules coming from denver, ain't it?" he muttered. young, unwilling to commit himself, stopped to light his pipe. when he and dancing joined sinclair and mccloud the talk between the superintendent and the wrecking boss had become animated. "i always do something for my men out of a wreck when i can; that's the way i get the work out of them," sinclair was saying. "a little stuff like this," he added, nodding toward the wagon, "comes handy for presents, and the company wouldn't get any salvage out of it, anyway. i get the value a dozen times over in quick work. look there!" sinclair pointed to where the naked men heaved and wrenched in the sun. "where could you get white men to work like that if you didn't jolly them along once in a while? what? you haven't been here long, mccloud," smiled sinclair, laying a hand with heavy affection on the young man's shoulder. "ask any man on the division who gets the work out of his men--who gets the wrecks cleaned up and the track cleared. ain't that what you want?" "certainly, sinclair; no man that ever saw you handle a wreck would undertake to do it better." "then what's all this fuss about?" "we've been over all this matter before, as you know. the claim department won't stand for this looting; that's the whole story. here are ten or twelve cases of champagne on your wagon--soiled a little, but worth a lot of money." "that was a mistake loading that up; i admit it; it was karg's carelessness." "here is one whole case of cigars and part of another," continued mccloud, climbing from one wheel to another of the wagon. "there is a thousand dollars in this load! i know you've got good men, sinclair. if they are not getting paid as they should be, give them time and a half or double time, but put it in the pay checks. the freight loss and damage account increased two hundred per cent. last year. no railroad company can keep that rate up and last, sinclair." "hang the company! the claim agents are a pack of thieves," cried sinclair. "look here, mccloud, what's a pay check to a man that's sick, compared with a bottle of good wine?" "when one of your men is sick and needs wine, let me know," returned mccloud; "i'll see that he gets it. your men don't wear silk dresses, do they?" he asked, pointing to another case of goods under the driver's seat. "have that stuff all hauled back and loaded into a box car on track." "not by a damned sight!" exclaimed sinclair. he turned to his ranch driver, barney rebstock. "you haul that stuff where you were told to haul it, barney." then, "you and i may as well have an understanding right here," he said, as mccloud walked to the head of the mules. "by all means, and i'll begin by countermanding that order right now. take your load straight back to that car," directed mccloud, pointing up the track. barney, a ranch hand with a cigarette face looked surlily at mccloud. sinclair raised a finger at the boy. "you drive straight ahead where i told you to drive. i don't propose to have my affairs interfered with by you or anybody else, mr. mccloud. you and i can settle this thing ourselves," he added, walking straight toward the superintendent. "get away from those mules!" yelled barney at the same moment, cracking his whip. mccloud's dull eyes hardly lightened as he looked at the driver. "don't swing your whip this way, my boy," he said, laying hold quietly of the near bridle. "drop that bridle!" roared sinclair. "i'll drop your mules in their tracks if they move one foot forward. dancing, unhook those traces," said mccloud peremptorily. "dump the wine out of that wagon-box, young." then he turned to sinclair and pointed to the wreck. "get back to your work." the sun marked the five men rooted for an instant on the hillside. dancing jumped at the traces, reed young clambered over the wheel, and sinclair, livid, faced mccloud. with a bitter denunciation of interlopers, claim agents, and "fresh" railroad men generally, sinclair swore he would not go back to work, and a case of wine crashing to the ground infuriated him. he turned on his heel and started for the wreck. "call off the men!" he yelled to karg at the derrick. the foreman passed the word. the derrickmen, dropping their hooks and chains in some surprise, moved out of the wreckage. the axemen and laborers gathered around the foreman and followed him toward sinclair. "boys," cried sinclair, "we've got a new superintendent, a college guy. you know what they are; the company has tried 'em before. they draw the salaries and we do the work. this one down here now is making his little kick about the few pickings we get out of our jobs. you can go back to your work or you can stand right here with me till we get our rights. what?" half a dozen men began talking at once. the derrickman from below, a hatchet-faced wiper, with the visor of a greasy cap cocked over his ear, stuck his head between the uprights and called out shrilly, "what's er matter, murray?" and a few men laughed. barney had deserted the mules. dancing and young, with small regard for loss or damage, were emptying the wagon like deckhands, for in a fight such as now appeared imminent, possession of the goods even on the ground seemed vital to prestige. mccloud waited only long enough to assure the emptying of the wagon, and then followed sinclair to where he had assembled his men. "sinclair, put your men back to work." "not till we know just how we stand," sinclair answered insolently. he continued to speak, but mccloud turned to the men. "boys, go back to your work. your boss and i can settle our own differences. i'll see that you lose nothing by working hard." "and you'll see we make nothing, won't you?" suggested karg. "i'll see that every man in the crew gets twice what is coming to him--all except you, karg. i discharge you now. sinclair, will you go back to work?" "no!" "then take your time. any men that want to go back to work may step over to the switch," added mccloud. not a man moved. sinclair and karg smiled at each other, and with no apparent embarrassment mccloud himself smiled. "i like to see men loyal to their bosses," he said good-naturedly. "i wouldn't give much for a man that wouldn't stick to his boss if he thought him right. but a question has come up here, boys, that must be settled once for all. this wreck-looting on the mountain division is going to stop--right here--at this particular wreck. on that point there is no room for discussion. now, any man that agrees with me on that matter may step over here and i'll discuss with him any other grievance. if what i say about looting is a grievance, it can't be discussed. is there any man that wants to come over?" no man stirred. "sinclair, you've got good men," continued mccloud, unmoved. "you are leading them into pretty deep water. there's a chance yet for you to get them out of serious trouble if you think as much of them as they do of you. will you advise them to go back to work--all except karg?" sinclair glared in high humor. "oh, i couldn't do that! i'm discharged!" he protested, bowing low. "i don't want to be over-hasty," returned mccloud. "this is a serious business, as you know better than they do, and there will never be as good a time to fix it up as now. there is a chance for you, i say, sinclair, to take hold if you want to now." "why, i'll take hold if you'll take your nose out of my business and agree to keep it out." "is there _any_ man here that wants to go back to work for the company?" continued mccloud evenly. it was one man against thirty; mccloud saw there was not the shadow of a chance to win the strikers over. "this lets all of you out, you understand, boys," he added; "and you can never work again for the company on this division if you don't take hold now." "boys," exclaimed sinclair, better-humored every moment, "i'll guarantee you work on this division when all the fresh superintendents are run out of the country, and i'll lay this matter before bucks himself, and don't you forget it!" "you will have a chilly job of it," interposed mccloud. "so will you, my hearty, before you get trains running past here," retorted the wrecking boss. "come on, boys." the disaffected men drew off. the emptied wagon, its load scattered on the ground, stood deserted on the hillside, and the mules drooped in the heat. bill dancing, a giant and a dangerous one, stood lone guard over the loot, and young had been called over by mccloud. "how many men have you got with you, reed?" "eleven." "how long will it take them to clean up this mess with what help we can run in this afternoon?" young studied the prospect before replying. "they're green at this sort of thing, of course; they might be fussing here till to-morrow noon, i'm afraid; perhaps till to-morrow night, mr. mccloud." "that won't do!" the two men stood for a moment in a study. "the merchandise is all unloaded, isn't it?" said mccloud reflectively. "get your men here and bring a water-bucket with you." mccloud walked down to the engine of the wrecking train and gave orders to the train and engine crews. the best of the refrigerator cars had been rerailed, and they were pulled to a safe distance from the wreck. young brought the bucket, and mccloud pointed to the caskful of brandy. "throw that brandy over the wreckage, reed." the roadmaster started. "burn the whole thing up, eh?" "everything on the track." "bully! it's a shame to waste the liquor, but it's sinclair's fault. here, boys, scatter this stuff where it will catch good, and touch her off. everything goes--the whole pile. burn up everything; that's orders. if you can get a few rails here, now, i'll give you a track by sundown, mr. mccloud, in spite of sinclair and the devil." the remains of many cars lay in heaps along the curve, and the trackmen like firebugs ran in and out of them. a tongue of flame leaped from the middle of a pile of stock cars. in five minutes the wreck was burning; in ten minutes the flames were crackling fiercely; then in another instant the wreck burst into a conflagration that rose hissing and seething a hundred feet straight up in the air. from where they stood, sinclair's men looked on. they were nonplussed, but their boss had not lost his nerve. he walked back to mccloud. "you're going to send us back to medicine bend with the car, i suppose?" mccloud spoke amiably. "not on your life. take your personal stuff out of the car and tell your men to take theirs; then get off the train and off the right of way." "going to turn us loose on red desert, are you?" asked sinclair steadily. "you've turned yourselves loose." "wouldn't give a man a tie-pass, would you?" "come to my office in medicine bend and i'll talk to you about it," returned mccloud impassively. "well, boys," roared sinclair, going back to his followers, "we can't ride on this road now! but i want to tell you there's something to eat for every one of you over at my place on the crawling stone, and a place to sleep--and something to drink," he added, cursing mccloud once more. the superintendent eyed him, but made no response. sinclair led his men to the wagon, and they piled into it till the box was filled. barney rebstock had the reins again, and the mules groaned as the whip cracked. those that could not climb into the wagon as it moved off straggled along behind, and the air was filled with cheers and curses. the wreck burned furiously, and the column of black smoke shot straight up. sinclair, as his cavalcade moved over the hill, followed on foot, grimly. he was the last to cross the divide that shut the scene on the track away from the striking wreckers, and as he reached the crest he paused and looked back, standing for a moment like a statue outlined in the vivid sunshine. for all his bravado, something told him he should never handle another wreck on the mountain division--that he stood a king dethroned. uninviting enough to many men, this had been his kingdom, and he loved the power it gave him. he had run it like many a reckless potentate, but no one could say he had not been royal in his work as well as in his looting. it was impossible not to admire the man, his tremendous capacity, his extraordinary power as a leader; and no one liked his better traits more than mccloud himself. but sinclair never loved mccloud. long afterward he told whispering smith that he made his first mistake in a long and desperate game in not killing mccloud when he laid his hand that morning on the bridle of the mules; it would have been easy then. sinclair might have been thinking of it even as he stood looking back. but he stood only for a moment, then turned and passed over the hill. chapter iii dicksie the wreckers, drifting in the blaze of the sun across the broad alkali valley, saw the smoke of the wreck-fire behind them. no breath of wind stirred it. with the stillness of a signal column it rose, thin and black, and high in the air spread motionless, like a huge umbrella, above smoky creek. reed young had gone with an engine to wire reënforcements, and mccloud, active among the trackmen until the conflagration spent itself, had retired to the shade of the hill. reclining against a rock with his legs crossed, he had clasped his hands behind his head and sat looking at the iron writhing in the dying heat of the fire. the sound of hoofs aroused him, and looking below he saw a horsewoman reining up near his men at the wreck. she rode an american horse, thin and rangy, and the experienced way in which she checked him drew him back almost to his haunches. but mccloud's eyes were fixed on the slender figure of the rider. he was wholly at a loss to account, at such a time and in such a place, for a visitor in gauntleted gloves and a banded panama hat. he studied her with growing amazement. her hair coiled low on her neck supported the very free roll of the hat-brim. her black riding-skirt clung to her waist to form its own girdle, and her white stock, rolled high on her neck, rose above a heavy shirtwaist of white linen, and gave her an air of confident erectness. the trackmen stopped work to look, but her attitude in their gaze was one of impatience rather than of embarrassment. her boot flashed in the stirrup while she spoke to the nearest man, and her horse stretched his neck and nosed the brown alkali-grass that spread thinly along the road. to mccloud she was something like an apparition. he sat spellbound until the trackman indiscreetly pointed him out, and the eyes of the visitor, turning his way, caught him with his hands on the rock in an attitude openly curious. she turned immediately away, but mccloud rose and started down the hill. the horse's head was pulled up, and there were signs of departure. he quickened his steps. once he saw, or thought he saw, the rider's head so turned that her eyes might have commanded one approaching from his quarter; yet he could catch no further glimpse of her face. a second surprise awaited him. just as she seemed about to ride away, she dropped lightly from the horse to the ground, and he saw how confident in figure she was. as she began to try her saddle-girths, mccloud attempted a greeting. she could not ignore his hat, held rather high above his head as he approached, but she gave him the slightest nod in return--one that made no attempt to explain why she was there or where she had come from. "pardon me," ventured mccloud, "have you lost your way?" he was immediately conscious that he had said the wrong thing. the expression of her eyes implied that it was foolish to suppose she was lost but she only answered, "i saw the smoke and feared the bridge was on fire." something in her voice made him almost sorry he had intervened; if she stood in need of help of any sort it was not apparent, and her gaze was confusing. he became conscious that he was at the worst for an inspection; his face felt streaky with smoke, his hat and shirt had suffered severely in directing the fire, and his hands were black. he said to himself in revenge that she was not pretty, despite the fact that she seemed completely to take away his consequence. he felt, while she inspected him, like a brakeman. "i presume mr. sinclair is here?" she said presently. "i am sorry to say he is not." "he usually has charge of the wrecks, i think. what a dreadful fire!" she murmured, looking down the track. she stood beside the horse with one hand resting on her girdle. around the hand that held the bridle her quirt lay coiled in the folds of her glove, and, though seemingly undecided as to what to do, her composure did not lessen. as she looked at the wreckage, a breath of wind lifted the hair that curled around her ear. the mountain wind playing on her neck had left it brown, and above, the pulse of her ride rose red in her cheek. "was it a passenger wreck?" she turned abruptly on mccloud to ask the question. her eyes were brown, too, he saw, and a doubt assailed him. was she pretty? "only a freight wreck," he answered. "i thought if there were passengers hurt i could send help from the ranch. were you the conductor?" "fortunately not." "and no one was hurt?" "only a tramp. we are burning the wreck to clear the track." "from the divide it looked like a mountain on fire. i'm sorry mr. sinclair is not here." "why, indeed, yes, so am i." "because i know him. you are one of his men, i presume." "not exactly; but is there anything i can do----" "oh, thank you, nothing, except that you might tell him the pretty bay colt he sent over to us has sprung his shoulder." "he will be sorry to hear it, i'm sure." "but we are doing everything possible for him. he is going to make a perfectly lovely horse." "and whom may i say the message is from?" though disconcerted, mccloud was regaining his wits. he felt perfectly certain there was no danger, if she knew sinclair and lived in the mountains, but that she would sometime find out he was not a conductor. when he asked his question she appeared slightly surprised and answered easily, "mr. sinclair will know it is from dicksie dunning." mccloud knew her then. every one knew dicksie dunning in the high country. this was dicksie dunning of the great crawling stone ranch, most widely known of all the mountain ranches. while his stupidity in not guessing her identity before overwhelmed him, he resolved to exhaust the last effort to win her interest. "i don't know just when i shall see mr. sinclair," he answered gravely, "but he shall certainly have your message." a doubt seemed to steal over dicksie at the change in mccloud's manner. "oh, pardon me--i thought you were working for the company." "you are quite right, i am; but mr. sinclair is not." her eyebrows rose a little. "i think you are mistaken, aren't you?" "it is possible i am; but if he is working for the company, it is pretty certain that i am not," he continued, heaping mystification on her. "however, that will not prevent my delivering the message. by the way, may i ask which shoulder?" "shoulder!" "which shoulder is sprung." "oh, of course! the right shoulder, and it is sprung pretty badly, too, cousin lance says. how very stupid of me to ride over here for a freight wreck!" mccloud felt humiliated at having nothing better worth while to offer. "it was a very bad one," he ventured. "but not of the kind i can be of any help at, i fear." mccloud smiled. "we are certainly short of help." dicksie brought her horse's head around. she felt again of the girth as she replied, "not such as i can supply, i'm afraid." and with the words she stepped away, as if preparing to mount. mccloud intervened. "i hope you won't go away without resting your horse. the sun is so hot. mayn't i offer you some sort of refreshment?" dicksie dunning thought not. "the sun is very warm," persisted mccloud. dicksie smoothed her gauntlet in the assured manner natural to her. "i am pretty well used to it." but mccloud held on. "several cars of fruit were destroyed in the wreck. i can offer you any quantity of grapes--crates of them are spoiling over there--and pears." "thank you, i am just from luncheon." "and i have cooled water in the car. i hope you won't refuse that, so far out in the desert." dicksie laughed a little. "do you call this far? i don't; and i don't call this desert by any means. thank you ever so much for the water, but i'm not in the least thirsty." "it was kind of you even to think of extending help. i wish you would let me send some fruit over to your ranch. it is only spoiling here." dicksie stroked the neck of her horse. "it is about eighteen miles to the ranch house." "i don't call that far." "oh, it isn't," she returned hastily, professing not to notice the look that went with the words, "except for perishable things!" then, as if acknowledging her disadvantage, she added, swinging her bridle-rein around, "i am under obligations for the offer, just the same." "at least, won't you let your horse drink?" mccloud threw the force of an appeal into his words, and dicksie stopped her preparations and appeared to waver. "jim is pretty thirsty, i suppose. have you plenty of water?" "a tender full. had i better lead him down while you wait up on the hill in the shade?" "can't i ride him down?" "it would be pretty rough riding." "oh, jim goes anywhere," she said, with her attractive indifference to situations. "if you don't mind helping me mount." "with pleasure." she stood waiting for his hand, and mccloud stood, not knowing just what to do. she glanced at him expectantly. the sun grew intensely hot. "you will have to show me how," he stammered at last. "don't you know?" he mentally cursed the technical education that left him helpless at such a moment, but it was useless to pretend. "frankly, i don't!" "just give me your hand. oh, not in that way! but never mind, i'll walk," she suggested, catching up her skirt. "the rocks will cut your boots all to pieces. suppose you tell me what to do this once," he said, assuming some confidence. "i'll never forget." "why, if you will just give me your hand for my foot, i can manage, you know." he did not know, but she lifted her skirt graciously, and her crushed boot rested easily for a moment in his hand. she rose in the air above him before he could well comprehend. he felt the quick spring from his supporting hand, and it was an instant of exhilaration. then she balanced herself with a flushed laugh in the saddle, and he guided her ahead among the loose rocks, the horse nosing at his elbow as they picked their way. crossing the track, they gained better ground. as they reached the switch and passed a box car, jim shied, and dicksie spoke sharply to him. mccloud turned. in the shade of the car lay the tramp. "that man lying there frightened him," explained dicksie. "oh," she exclaimed suddenly, "he has been hurt!" she turned away her head. "is that the man who was in the wreck?" "yes." "do something for him. he must be suffering terribly." "the men gave him some water awhile ago, and when we moved him into the shade we thought he was dead." "he isn't dead yet!" dicksie's face, still averted, had grown white. "i saw him move. can't you do something for him?" she reined up at a little distance. mccloud bent over the man a moment and spoke to him. when he rose he called to the men on the track. "you are right," he said, rejoining dicksie; "he is very much alive. his name is wickwire; he is a cowboy." "a cowboy!" "a tramp cowboy." "what can you do with him?" "i'll have the men put him in the caboose and send him to barnhardt's hospital at medicine bend when the engine comes back. he may live yet. if he does, he can thank you for it." [illustration: j. p. mcgowan in the title role of the photo-play production of "whispering smith." © _american mutual studio_.] chapter iv george mccloud mccloud was an exception to every tradition that goes to make up a mountain railroad man. he was from new england, with a mild voice and a hand that roughened very slowly. mccloud was a classmate of morris blood's at the boston "tech," and the acquaintance begun there continued after the two left school, with a scattering fire of letters between the mountains and new england, as few and as far between as men's letters usually scatter after an ardent school acquaintance. there were just two boys in the mccloud family--john and george. one had always been intended for the church, the other for science. somehow the boys got mixed in their cradles, or, what is the same matter, in their assignments, and john got into the church. for george, who ought to have been a clergyman, nothing was left but a long engineering course for which, after he got it, he appeared to have no use. however, it seemed a little late to shift the life alignments. john had the pulpit and appeared disposed to keep it, and george was left, like a new england farm, to wonder what had become of himself. it is, nevertheless, odd how matters come about. john mccloud, a prosperous young clergyman, stopped on a california trip at medicine bend to see brother george's classmate and something of a real western town. he saw nothing sensational--it was there, but he did not see it--but he found both hospitality and gentlemen, and, if surprised, was too well-bred to admit it. his one-day stop ran on to several days. he was a guest at the medicine bend club, where he found men who had not forgotten the harvard greek plays. he rode in private cars and ate antelope steak grilled by glover's own darky boy, who had roasted buffalo hump for the grand duke alexis as far back as , and still hashed his browned potatoes in ragtime; and with the sun breaking clear over the frosty table-lands, a ravenous appetite, and a day's shooting in prospect, the rhythm had a particularly cheerful sound. john was asked to occupy a medicine bend pulpit, and before sunday the fame of his laugh and his marksmanship had spread so far that henry markover, the yale cowboy, rode in thirty-two miles to hear him preach. in leaving, john mccloud, in a seventh heaven of enthusiasm over the high country, asked morris blood why he could not find something for george out there; and blood, not even knowing the boy wanted to come, wrote for him, and asked bucks to give him a job. possibly, being over-solicitous, george was nervous when he talked to bucks; possibly the impression left by his big, strong, bluff brother john made against the boy; at all events, bucks, after he talked with george, shook his head. "i could make a first-class railroad man out of the preacher, morris, but not out of the brother. yes, i've talked with him. he can't do anything but figure elevations, and, by heaven, we can't feed our own engineers here now." so george found himself stranded in the mountains. morris blood was cut up over it, but george mccloud took it quietly. "i'm no worse off here than i was back there, morris." blood, at that, plucked up courage to ask george to take a job in the cold springs mines, and george jumped at it. it was impossible to get a white man to live at cold springs after he could save money enough to get away, so george was welcomed as assistant superintendent at the number eight mine, with no salary to speak of and all the work. in one year everybody had forgotten him. western men, on the average, show a higher heart temperature than eastern men, but they are tolerably busy people and have their own troubles. "be patient," morris blood had said to him. "sometime there will be more railroad work in these mountains; then, perhaps, your darned engineering may come into play. i wish you knew how to sell cigars." meantime, mccloud stuck to the mine, and insensibly replaced his eastern tissue with western. in new england he had been carefully moulded by several generations of gentlemen, but never baked hard. the mountains put the crust on him. for one thing, the sun and wind, best of all hemlocks, tanned his white skin into a tough all-american leather, seasoned his muscles into rawhide sinews, and, without burdening him with an extra ounce of flesh, sprinkled the red through his blood till, though thin, he looked apoplectic. insensibly, too, something else came about. george mccloud developed the rarest of all gifts of temperament, even among men of action--the ability to handle men. in cold springs, indeed, it was a case either of handling or of being handled. mccloud got along with his men and, with the tough element among them, usually through persuasion; but he proved, too, that he could inspire confidence even with a club. one day, coming down "special" from bear dance, gordon smith, who bore the nickname whispering smith, rode with president bucks in the privacy of his car. the day had been long, and the alkali lay light on the desert. the business in hand had been canvassed, and the troubles put aside for chicken, coffee, and cigars, when smith, who did not smoke, told the story of something he had seen the day before at cold springs that pleased him. the men in the number eight mine had determined to get rid of some italians, and after a good deal of rowing had started in to catch one of them and hang him. they had chosen a time when mccloud, the assistant superintendent of the mine, was down with mountain fever. it was he who had put the italians into the mine. he had already defended them from injury, and would be likely, it was known, to do so again if he were able. on this day a mob had been chasing the dagos, and had at length captured one. they were running him down street to a telegraph pole when the assistant superintendent appeared in scant attire and stopped them. taking advantage of the momentary confusion, he hustled their victim into the only place of refuge at hand, a billiard hall. the mob rushed the hall. in the farthest corner the unlucky italian, bleeding like a bullock and insane with fright, knelt, clinging to mccloud's shaky knees. in trying to make the back door the two had been cut off, and the sick boss had got into a corner behind a pool-table to make his stand. in his pocket he had a pistol, knowing that to use it meant death to him as well as to the wretch he was trying to save. fifty men were yelling in the room. they had rope, hatchets, a sprinkling of guns, and whiskey enough to burn the town, and in the corner behind a pool-table stood the mining boss with mountain fever, the dago, and a broken billiard-cue. bucks took the cigar from his mouth, leaned forward in his chair, and stretched his heavy chin out of his neck as if the situation now promised a story. the leader, smith continued, was the mine blacksmith, a strapping welshman, from whom mccloud had taken the italian in the street. the blacksmith had a revolver, and was crazy with liquor. mccloud singled him out in the crowd, pointed a finger at him, got the attention of the men, and lashed him across the table with his tongue until the blacksmith opened fire on him with his revolver, mccloud all the while shaking his finger at him and abusing him like a pickpocket. "the crowd couldn't believe its eyes," gordon smith concluded, "and mccloud was pushing for the blacksmith with his cue when kennedy and i squirmed through to the front and relieved the tension. mccloud wasn't hit." "what is that mining man's name?" asked bucks, reaching for a message clip. "mccloud." "first name?" continued bucks mechanically. "george." bucks looked at his companion in surprise. then he spoke, and a feeling of self-abasement was reflected in his words. "george mccloud," he echoed. "did you say george? why, i must know that man. i turned him down once for a job. he looked so peaceable i thought he was too soft for us." the president laid down his cigar with a gesture of disgust. "and yet there really are people along this line that think i'm clever. i haven't judgment enough to operate a trolley car. it's a shame to take the money they give me for running this system, gordon. hanged if i didn't think that fellow was too soft." he called the flagman over. "tell whitmyer we will stay at cold springs to-night." "i thought you were going through to medicine bend," suggested smith as the trainman disappeared. "mccloud," repeated bucks, taking up his cigar and throwing back his head in a cloud of smoke. "yes," assented his companion; "but i am going through to medicine bend, mr. bucks." "do." "how am i to do it?" "take the car and send it back to-morrow on number three." "thank you, if you won't need it to-night." "i sha'n't. i am going to stay at cold springs to-night and hunt up mccloud." "but that man is in bed in a very bad way; you can't see him. he is going to die." "no, he isn't. i am going to hunt him up and have him taken care of." that night bucks, in the twilight, was sitting by mccloud's bed, smoking and looking him over. "don't mind me," he said when he entered the room, lifted the ill-smelling lamp from the table, and, without taking time to blow it out, pitched it through the open window. "i heard you were sick, and just looked in to see how they were taking care of you. wilcox," he added, turning to the nurse he had brought in--a barber who wanted to be a railroad man, and had agreed to step into the breach and nurse mccloud--"have a box of miner's candles sent up from the roundhouse. we have some down there; if not, buy a box and send me the bill." mccloud, who after the rioting had crawled back to bed with a temperature of degrees, knew the barber, but felt sure that a lunatic had wandered in with him, and immediately bent his feeble mental energies on plans for getting rid of a dangerous man. when bucks sat down by him and continued talking at the nurse, mccloud caught nothing of what was said until bucks turned quietly toward him. "they tell me, mccloud, you have the fever." the sick man, staring with sunken eyes, rose half on his elbow in astonishment to look again at his visitor, but bucks eased him back with an admonition to guard his strength. mccloud's temperature had already risen with the excitement of seeing a man throw his lamp out of the window. bucks, meantime, working carefully to seem unconcerned and incensing mccloud with great clouds of smoke, tried to discuss his case with him as he had already done with the mine surgeon. mccloud, thinking it best to humor a crazy man, responded quietly. "the doctor said yesterday," he explained, "it was mountain fever, and he wants to put me into an ice-pack." bucks objected vigorously to the ice-pack. "the doctor tells me that it is the latest treatment for that class of fevers in the prussian army," answered mccloud feebly, but getting interested in spite of himself. "that's a good thing, no doubt, for the prussian army," replied bucks, "but, mccloud, in the first place, you are not a dutchman; in the second, you have not got mountain fever--not in my judgment." mccloud, confident now that he had an insane man on his hands, held his peace. "not a symptom of mountain fever," continued bucks calmly; "you have what looks to me like gastritis, but the homeopaths," he added, "have a better name for it. is it stomatitis, mccloud? i forget." the sick man, confounded by such learning, determined to try one question, and, if he was at fault, to drag his gun from under his pillow and sell his life as dearly as possible. summoning his waning strength, he looked hard at bucks. "just let me ask you one question. i never saw you before. are you a doctor?" "no, i'm a railroad man; my name is bucks." mccloud rose half up in bed with amazement. "they'll kill you if you lie here a week," continued bucks. "in just a week. now i'll tell you my plan. i'll take you down in the morning in my car to medicine bend; this barber will go with us. there in the hospital you can get everything you need, and i can make you comfortable. what do you say?" mccloud looked at his benefactor solemnly, but if hope flickered for an instant in his eyes it soon died. bucks said afterward that he looked like a cold-storage squab, just pinfeathers and legs. "shave him clean," said he, "and you could have counted his teeth through his cheeks." the sick man turned his face to the wall. "it's kind enough," he muttered, "but i guess it's too late." bucks did not speak for some time. twilight had faded above the hills, and only the candle lighted the room. then the master of mountain men, grizzled and brown, turned his eyes again to the bed. mccloud was staring at the ceiling. "we have a town of your name down on the plains, mccloud," said bucks, blowing away the cigar smoke after the long silence. "it is one of our division points, and a good one." "i know the town," responded mccloud. "it was named after one of our family." "i guess not." "it was, though," said mccloud wearily. "i think," returned bucks, "you must be mistaken. the man that town was named after belonged to the fighting mcclouds." "that is my family." "then where is your fight? when i propose to put you into my car and pull you out of this, why do you say it is too late? it is never too late." mccloud made no answer, and bucks ran on: "for a man that worked out as well as you did yesterday in a trial heat with a billiard-cue, i should say you could turn a handspring or two yet if you had to. for that matter, if you don't want to be moved, i can run a spur in here to your door in three hours in the morning. by taking out the side-wall we can back the car right up to the bed. why not? or we can stick a few hydraulic jacks under the sills, raise the house, and push your bed right on the observation platform." he got mccloud to laughing, and lighted a fresh cigar. a framed photograph hung on one of the bare walls of the room, and it caught the eye of the railroad man. he walked close to it, disinfected it with smoke, brushed the dust from the glass, and examined the print. "that looks like old van dyne college campus, hanged if it doesn't!" mccloud was watching him. "it is a photograph of the campus." "mccloud, are you a van dyne man?" "i did my college work there before i went to boston." bucks stood motionless. "poor little old van dyne! why, my brother sam taught at van dyne. no, you would not have known him; he's dead. never before west of the missouri river have i seen a van dyne man. you are the first." he shook his head as he sat down again. "it is crowded out now: no money, no prestige, half-starved professors with their elbows out, the president working like a dog all the week and preaching somewhere every sunday to earn five dollars. but, by heaven, they turned out men! did you know bug robinson?" he asked suddenly. "he gave me my degree." "old bug! he was sam's closest friend, mccloud. it's good to see him getting the recognition he deserves, isn't it? do you know, i send him an annual every year? yes, sir! and one year i had the whole blooming faculty out here on a fossil expedition; but, by heaven, mccloud, some of them looked more like megatheriums than what they dug up did." "i heard about that expedition." "i never got to college. i had to hustle. i'll get out of here before i tire you. wilcox will be here all night, and my china boy is making some broth for you now. you'll feel better in the morning." ten weeks later mccloud was sent from medicine bend up on the short line as trainmaster, and on the short line he learned railroading. "that's how i came here," said george mccloud to farrell kennedy a long time afterward, at medicine bend. "i had shrivelled and starved three years out there in the desert. i lived with those cattle underground till i had forgotten my own people, my own name, my own face--and bucks came along one day with whispering smith and dragged me out of my coffin. they had it ordered, and it being a small size and 'onhandy,' as the undertaker said, i paid for it and told him to store it for me. well, do you think i ever could forget either of those men, farrell?" mccloud's fortunes thus threw him first into the operating department of the mountain lines, but his heart was in the grades and the curves. to him the interest in the trainwork was the work of the locomotives toiling with the heavy loads up the canyons and across the uneven plateaus and through the deep gorges of the inner range, where the panting exhaust, choked between sheer granite walls, roared in a mighty protest against the burden put by the steep grades on the patient machines. in all the group of young men then on the mountain division, obscure and unknown at the time, but destined within so few years to be scattered far and wide as constructionists with records made in the rebuilding operations through the rocky mountains, none was less likely to attract attention than mccloud. bucks, who, indeed, could hardly be reckoned so much of the company as its head, was a man of commanding proportions physically. like glover, bucks was a giant in stature, and the two men, when together, could nowhere escape notice; they looked, in a word, their part, fitted to cope with the tremendous undertakings that had fallen to their lot. callahan, the chess-player on the overland lines, the man who could hold large combinations of traffic movement constantly in his head and by intuition reach the result of a given problem before other men could work it out, was, like morris blood, the master of tonnage, of middle age. but mccloud, when he went to the mountain division, in youthfulness of features was boyish, and when he left he was still a boy, bronzed, but young of face in spite of a lifetime's pressure and worry crowded into three years. he himself counted this physical make-up as a disadvantage. "it has embroiled me in no end of trouble, because i couldn't convince men i was in earnest until i made good in some hard way," he complained once to whispering smith. "i never could acquire even a successful habit of swearing, so i had to learn to fight." when, one day in boney street in medicine bend, he threw open the door of marion sinclair's shop, flung his hat sailing along the showcase with his war-cry, and called to her in the back rooms, she thought he had merely run in to say he was in town. "how do you do? what do you think? you're going to have an old boarder back," he cried. "i'm coming to medicine bend, superintendent of the division!" "mr. mccloud!" marion sinclair clasped her hands and dropped into a chair. "have they made you superintendent already?" "well, i like that! do you want them to wait till i'm gray-headed?" marion threw her hands to her own head. "oh, don't say anything about gray hairs. my head won't bear inspection. but i can't get over this promotion coming so soon--this whole big division! well, i congratulate you very sincerely----" "oh, but that isn't it! i suppose anybody will congratulate me. but where am i to board? have you a cook? you know how i went from bad to worse after you left cold springs. may i have my meals here with you as i used to there?" "why, i suppose you can, yes, if you can stand the cooking. i have an apprentice, mr. dancing's daughter, who does pretty well. she lives here with me, and is learning the business. but i sha'n't take as much as you used to pay me, for i'm doing so much better down here." "let me run that end of it, will you? i shall be doing better down here myself." they laughed as they bantered. marion sinclair wore gold spectacles, but they did not hide the delightful good-nature in her eyes. on the third finger of her slender left hand she wore, too, a gold band that explained the gray in her hair at twenty-six. this was the wife of murray sinclair, whom he had brought to the mountains from her far-away wisconsin home. within a year he had broken her heart so far as it lay in him to do it, but he could not break her charm nor her spirit. she was too proud to go back, when forced to leave him, and had set about earning her own living in the country to which she had come as a bride. she put on spectacles, she mutilated her heavy brown hair and to escape notice and secure the obscurity that she craved, her name, marion, became, over the door of her millinery shop and in her business, only "m. sinclair." cold springs, where sinclair had first brought her when he had headquarters there as foreman of bridges, had proved a hopeless place for the millinery business--at least, in the way that marion ran it. the women that had husbands had no money to buy hats with, and the women without husbands wore gaudy headgear, and were of the kind that made marion's heart creep when they opened the shop door. what was worse, they were inclined to joke with her, as if there must be a community of interest between a deserted woman and women who had deserted womanhood. to this business marion would not cater, and in consequence her millinery affairs sometimes approached collapse. she could, however, cook extraordinarily well, and, with the aid of a servant-maid, could always provide for a boarder or two--perhaps a railroad man or a mine superintendent to whom she could serve meals, and who, like all mountain men, were more than generous in their accounting with women. among these standbys of hers was mccloud. mccloud had always been her friend, and when she left cold springs and moved to medicine bend to set up her little shop in boney street near fort, she had lost him. yet somehow, to compensate marion for other cruel things in the mountains, providence seemed to raise up a new friend for her wherever she went. in medicine bend she did not know a soul, but almost the first customer that walked into her shop--and she was a customer worth while--was dicksie dunning of the crawling stone. chapter v the crawling stone where the mountain chains of north america have been flung up into a continental divide, the country in many of its aspects is still terrible. in extent alone this mountain empire is grandiose. the swiftest transcontinental trains approaching its boundaries at night find night falling again before they have fairly penetrated it. geologically severe, this region in geological store is the richest of the continent; physically forbidding beyond all other stretches of north america, the barren land alone excepted, in this region lie its gentlest valleys. here the desert is most grotesque, and here are pastoral retreats the most secluded. it is the home of the archean granite, and its basins are of a fathomless dust. under its sagebrush wastes the skeletons of earth's hugest mammals lie beside behemoth and the monsters of the deep. the eternal snow, the granite peak, the sandstone butte, the lava-bed, the gray desert, the far horizon are familiar here. with the sunniest and bluest of skies, this is the range of the deadliest storms, and its delightful summers contrast with the dreadest cold. here the desert of death simulates a field of cooling snow, green hills lie black in the dazzling light of day, limpid waters run green over arsenic stone, and sunset betricks the fantastic rock with column and capital and dome. clouds burst here above arid wastes, and where dew is precious the skies are most prodigal in their downpour. if the torrent bed is dry, distrust it. this vast mountain shed parts rivers whose waters find two oceans, and their valleys are the natural highways up which railroads wind to the crest of the continent. to the mountain engineer the waterway is the sphinx that holds in its silence the riddle of his success; with him lies the problem of providing a railway across ranges which often defy the hoofs of a horse. the construction engineer studies the course of the mountain water. the water is both his ally and his enemy--ally because it alone has made possible his undertakings; enemy because it fights to destroy his puny work, just as it fights to level the barriers that oppose him. like acid spread on copperplate, water etches the canyons in the mountain slopes and spreads wide the valleys through the plains. among these scarcely known ranges of the rocky mountain chain the western rivers have their beginnings. when white men crowded the indian from the plains he retreated to the mountains, and in their valleys made his final stand against the aggressor. the scroll of this invasion of the mountain west by the white man has been unrolled, read, and put away within a hundred years, and of the agencies that made possible the swiftness of the story transportation overshadows all others. the first railroad put across those mountains cost twenty-five thousand miles of reconnaissances and fifteen thousand miles of instrument surveys. since the day of that undertaking a generation of men has passed, and in the interval the wilderness that those men penetrated has been transformed. the indian no longer extorts terms from his foe: he is not. where the tepee stood the rodman drives his stakes, and the country of the great indian rivers, save one, has been opened for years to the railroad. that one is the crawling stone. the valley of crawling stone river marked for more than a decade the dead line between the overland route of the white man and the last country of the sioux. it was long after the building of the first line before even an engineer's reconnaissance was made in the crawling stone country. then, within ten years, three surveys were made, two on the north side of the river and one on the south side, by interests seeking a coast outlet. three reports made in this way gave varying estimates of the expense of putting a line up the valley, but the three coincided in this, that the cost would be prohibitive. engineers of reputation had in this respect agreed, but glover, who looked after such work for bucks, remained unconvinced, and before mccloud was put into the operating department on the short line he was asked by glover to run a preliminary up crawling stone valley. before the date of his report the conclusions reached by other engineers had stood unchallenged. the valley was not unknown to mccloud. his first year in the mountains, in which, fitted as thoroughly as he could fit himself for his profession, he had come west and found himself unable to get work, had been spent hunting, fishing, and wandering, often cold and often hungry, in the upper crawling stone country. the valley in itself offers to a constructionist no insuperable obstacles; the difficulty is presented in the canyon where the river bursts through the elbow mountains. south of this canyon, mccloud, one day on a hunting trip, found himself with two indians pocketed in the rough country, and was planning how to escape passing a night away from camp when his companions led him past a vertical wall of rock a thousand feet high, split into a narrow defile down which they rode, as it broadened out, for miles. they emerged upon an open country that led without a break into the valley of the crawling stone below the canyon. afterward, when he had become a railroad man, mccloud, sitting at a camp-fire with glover and morris blood, heard them discussing the coveted and impossible line up the valley. he had been taken into the circle of constructionists and was told of the earlier reports against the line. he thought he knew something about the elbow mountains, and disputed the findings, offering in two days' ride to take the men before him to the pass called by the indians the box, and to take them through it. glover called it a find, and a big one, and though more immediate matters in the strategy of territorial control then came before him, the preliminary was ordered and mccloud's findings were approved. mccloud himself was soon afterward engrossed in the problems of operating the mountain division; but the dream of his life was to build the crawling stone line with a maximum grade of eight tenths through the box. the prettiest stretch of crawling stone valley lies within twenty miles of medicine bend. there it lies widest, and has the pick of water and grass between medicine bend and the mission mountains. cattlemen went into the crawling stone country before the indians had wholly left it. the first house in the valley was the stone ranch, built by richard dunning, and it still stands overlooking the town of dunning at the junction of the frenchman creek with the crawling stone. the frenchman is fed by unfailing springs, and when by summer sun and wind every smaller stream in the middle basin has been licked dry, the frenchman runs cold and swift between its russet hills. richard dunning, being on the border of the indian country, built for his ranch-house a rambling stone fortress. he had chosen, it afterward proved, the choice spot in the valley, and he stocked it with cattle when yearlings could be picked up in medicine bend at ten dollars a head. he got together a great body of valley land when it could be had for the asking, and became the rich man of the long range. the dunnings were kentuckians. richard was a bridge engineer and builder, and under brodie built some of the first bridges on the mountain division, notably the great wooden bridge at smoky creek. richard brought out his nephew, lance dunning. he taught lance bridge-building, and murray sinclair, who began as a cowboy on the stone ranch, learned bridge-building from richard dunning. the dunnings both came west, though at different times, as young men and unmarried, and, as far as western women were concerned, might always have remained so. but a kentucky cousin, betty, one of the fairfield dunnings, related to richard within the sixth or eighth degree, came to the mountains for her health. betty's mother had brought richard up as a boy, and betty, when he left fairfield, was a baby. but dick--as they knew him at home--and the mother wrote back and forth, and he persuaded her to send betty out for a trip, promising he would send her back in a year a well woman. betty came with only her colored maid, old puss dunning, who had taken her from the nurse's arms when she was born and taken care of her ever since. the two--the tall kentucky girl and the bent mammy--arrived at the stone ranch one day in june, and richard, done then with bridges and looking after his ranch interests, had already fallen violently in love with betty. she was delicate, but, if those in medicine bend who remembered her said true, a lovely creature. remaining in the mountains was the last thing betty had ever thought of, but no one, man or woman, could withstand dick dunning. she fell quite in love with him the first time she set eyes on him in medicine bend, for he was very handsome in the saddle, and betty was fairly wild about horses. so dick dunning wooed a fond mistress and married her and buried her, and all within hardly more than a year. but in that year they were very happy, never two happier, and when she slept away her suffering she left him, as a legacy, a tiny baby girl. puss brought the mite of a creature in its swaddling-clothes to the sick mother,--very, very sick then,--and poor betty turned her dark eyes on it, kissed it, looked at her husband and whispered "dicksie," and died. dicksie had been betty's pet name for her mountain lover, so the father said the child's name should be dicksie and nothing else; and his heart broke and soon he died. nothing else, storm or flood, death or disaster, had ever moved dick dunning; then a single blow killed him. he rode once in a while over the ranch, a great tract by that time of twenty thousand acres, all in one body, all under fence, up and down both sides of the big river, in part irrigated, swarming with cattle--none of it stirred dick! and with little dicksie in his arms he slept away his suffering. so dicksie was left, as her mother had been, to puss, while lance looked after the ranch, swore at the price of cattle, and played cards at medicine bend. at ten, dicksie, as thoroughly spoiled as a pet baby could be by a fool mammy, a fond cousin, and a galaxy of devoted cowboys, was sent, in spite of crying and flinging, to a far-away convent--her father had planned everything--where in many tears she learned that there were other things in the world besides cattle and mountains and sunshine and tall, broad-hatted horsemen to swing from their stirrups and pick her hat from the ground--just to see little dicksie laugh--when they swooped past the house to the corrals. when she came back from kentucky, her grandmother dead and her schooldays finished, all the land she could see in the valley was hers, and all the living creatures in the fields. it seemed perfectly natural, because since childhood even the distant mountains and their snows had been dicksie's. chapter vi the final appeal sinclair's discharge was a matter of comment for the whole country, from the ranch-houses to the ranges. for a time sinclair himself refused utterly to believe that mccloud could keep him off the division. his determination to get back led him to carry his appeal to the highest quarters, to glover and to bucks himself. but sinclair, able as he was, had passed the limit of endurance and had long been marked for an accounting. he had been a railroad man to whom the west spelled license, and, while a valuable man, had long been a source of demoralization to the forces of the division. in the railroad life clearly defined plans are often too deeply laid to fathom, and it was impossible for even so acute a man as sinclair to realize that he was not the victim of an accident, but that he must look to his own record for the real explanation of his undoing. he was not the only man to suffer in the shake-out that took place under the new superintendent; but he seemed the only one unable to realize that bucks, patient and long-suffering, had put mccloud into the mountain saddle expressly to deal with cases such as his. in the west sympathy is quick but not always discerning. medicine bend took sinclair's grievance as its own. no other man in the service had sinclair's following, and within a week petitions were being circulated through the town not asking merely but calling for his reinstatement. the sporting element of the community to a man were behind sinclair because he was a sport; the range men were with him because his growing ranch on the frenchman made him one of them; his own men were with him because he was a far-seeing pirate and divided liberally. among the railroad men, too, he had much sympathy. sinclair had always been lavish with presents; brides were remembered by sinclair, and babies were not forgotten. he could sit up all night with a railroad man that had been hurt, and he could play poker all night with one that was not afraid of getting hurt. in his way, he was a division autocrat, whose vices were varnished by virtues such as these. his hold on the people was so strong that they could not believe the company would not reinstate him. in spite of the appointment of his successor, phil hailey, a mountain boy and the son of an old-time bridge foreman, rumor assigned again and again definite dates for sinclair's return to work; but the dates never materialized. the bridge machinery of the big division moved on in even rhythm. a final and determined appeal from the deposed autocrat for a hearing at last brought glover and morris blood, the general manager, to medicine bend for a final conference. callahan too was there with his pipe, and they talked quietly with sinclair--reminded him of how often he had been warned, showed him how complete a record they had of his plundering, and glover gave to him bucks's final word that he could never again work on the mountain division. a pride grown monstrous with prestige long undisputed broke under the final blow. the big fellow put his face in his hands and burst into tears, and the men before him sat confused and uncomfortable at his outburst of feeling. it was only for a moment. sinclair raised his hand, shook his long hair, and swore an oath against the company and the men that curled the very smoke in callahan's pipe, callahan, outraged at the insolence, sprang to his feet, resenting sinclair's fury. choking with anger he warned him not to go too far. the two were ready to spring at each other's throat when farrell kennedy stepped between them. sinclair, drunk with rage, called for mccloud; but he submitted quietly to kennedy's reproof, and with a semblance of self-control begged that mccloud be sent for. kennedy, without complying, gradually pushed sinclair out of the room and, without seeming officious, walked with him down the hall and quite out of the building. chapter vii in marion's shop in boney street, medicine bend, stands an early-day row of one-story buildings; they once made up a prosperous block, which has long since fallen into the decay of paintless days. there is in boney street a livery stable, a second-hand store, a laundry, a bakery, a moribund grocery, and a bicycle shop, and at the time of this story there was also marion sinclair's millinery shop; but the better class of medicine bend business, such as the gambling houses, saloons, pawnshops, restaurants, barber shops, and those sensitive, clean-shaven, and alert establishments known as "gents' stores," had deserted boney street for many years. bats fly in the dark of boney street while front street at the same hour is a blaze of electricity and frontier hilarity. the millinery store stood next to the corner of fort street. the lot lay in an "l," and at the rear of the store the first owner had built a small connecting cottage to live in. this faced on fort street, so that marion had her shop and living-rooms communicating, and yet apart. the store building is still pointed out as the former shop of marion sinclair, where george mccloud boarded when the crawling stone line was built, where whispering smith might often have been seen, where sinclair himself was last seen alive in medicine bend, where dicksie dunning's horse dragged her senseless one wild mountain night, and where, indeed, for a time the affairs of the whole mountain division seemed to tangle in very hard knots. as to the millinery business, it was never, after marion bought the shop, more than moderately successful. the demand that existed in medicine bend for red hats of the picture sort marion declined to recognize. for customers who sought these she turned out hats of sombre coloring calculated to inspire gloom rather than revelry, and she naturally failed to hold what might be termed the miscellaneous business. but after dicksie dunning of the stone ranch, fresh from the convent, rode into the shop, or if not into it nearly so, and, gliding through the door, ordered a hat out of hand, marion always had some business. all medicine bend knew dicksie dunning, who dressed stunningly, rode famously, and was so winningly democratic that half the town never called her anything, at a distance, but dicksie. the first hat was a small affair but haughty. the materials were unheard of in marion's stock and had to be sent for. marion's arrangements with the jobbing houses always had a c. o. d. complexion; the jobbers maintained that this saved book-keeping, and marion, who of course never knew any better, paid the double express charges like a lamb. she acted, too, as banker for the other impecunious tradespeople in the block, and as this included nearly all of them she was often pressed for funds herself. mccloud undertook sometimes to intervene and straighten out her millinery affairs. one evening he went so far as to attempt an inventory of her stock and some schedule of her accounts; but marion, with the front-shop curtains closely drawn and mccloud perspiring on a step-ladder, inspecting boxes of feathers and asking stern questions, would look so pathetically sweet and helpless when she tried to recall what things cost that mccloud could not be angry with her; indeed, the pretty eyes behind the patient spectacles would disarm any one. in the end he took inventory on the basis of the retail prices, dividing it afterward by five, as marion estimated the average profit in the business at five hundred per cent.--this being what the woman she bought out had told her. how then, mccloud asked himself, could marion be normally hard pressed for money? he talked to her learnedly about fixed charges, but even these seemed difficult to arrive at. there was no rent, because the building belonged to the railroad company, and when the real-estate and tax man came around and talked to mccloud about rent for the boney street property, mccloud told him to chase himself. there was no insurance, because no one would dream of insuring marion's stock boxes; there were no bills payable, because no travelling man would advise a line of credit to an inexperienced and, what was worse, an unpractical milliner. marion did her own trimming, so there were no salaries except to katie dancing. it puzzled mccloud to find the leak. how could he know that marion was keeping nearly all the block supplied with funds? so mccloud continued to raise the price of his table-board, and, though marion insisted he was paying her too much, held that he must be eating her out of house and home. in her dining-room, which connected through a curtained door with the shop, mccloud sat one day alone eating his dinner. marion was in front serving a customer. mccloud heard voices in the shop, but gave no heed till a man walked through the curtained doorway and he saw murray sinclair standing before him. the stormy interview with callahan and blood at the wickiup had taken place just a week before, and mccloud, after what sinclair had then threatened, though not prepared, felt as he saw him that anything might occur. mccloud being in possession of the little room, however, the initiative fell on sinclair, who, looking his best, snatched his hat from his head and bowed ironically. "my mistake," he said blandly. "come right in," returned mccloud, not knowing whether marion had a possible hand in her husband's unexpected appearance. "do you want to see me?" "i don't," smiled sinclair; "and to be perfectly frank," he added with studied consideration, "i wish to god i never had seen you. well--you've thrown me, mccloud." "you've thrown yourself, haven't you, murray?" "from your point of view, of course. but, mccloud, this is a small country for two points of view. do you want to get out of it, or do you want me to?" "the country suits me, sinclair." "no man that has ever played me dirt can stay here while i stay." sinclair, with a hand on the portière, was moving from the doorway into the room. mccloud in a leisurely way rose, though with a slightly flushed face, and at that juncture marion ran into the room and spoke abruptly. "here is the silk, mr. sinclair," she exclaimed, handing to him a package she had not finished wrapping. "i meant you to wait in the other room." "it was an accidental intrusion," returned sinclair, maintaining his irony. "i have apologized, and mr. mccloud and i understand one another better than ever." "please say to miss dunning," continued marion, nervous and insistent, "that the band for her riding-hat hasn't come yet, but it should be here to-morrow." as she spoke mccloud leaned across the table, resolved to take advantage of the opening, if it cost him his life. "and by the way, mr. sinclair, miss dunning wished me to say to you that the lovely bay colt you sent her had sprung his shoulder badly, the hind shoulder, i think, but they are doing everything possible for it and they think it will make a great horse." sinclair's snort at the information was a marvel of indecision. was he being made fun of? should he draw and end it? but marion faced him resolutely as he stood, and talking in the most business-like way she backed him out of the room and to the shop door. balked of his opportunity, he retreated stubbornly but with the utmost politeness, and left with a grin, lashing his tail, so to speak. coming back, marion tried to hide her uneasiness under even tones to mccloud. "i'm sorry he disturbed you. i was attending to a customer and had to ask him to wait a moment." "don't apologize for having a customer." "he lives over beyond the stone ranch, you know, and is taking some things out for the dunnings to-day. he likes an excuse to come in here because it annoys me. finish your dinner, mr. mccloud." "thank you, i'm done." "but you haven't eaten anything. isn't your steak right?" "it's fine, but that man--well, you know how i like him and how he likes me. i'll content myself with digesting my temper." chapter viii smoky creek bridge it was not alone that a defiance makes a bad dinner sauce: there was more than this for mccloud to feed on. he was forced to confess to himself as he walked back to the wickiup that the most annoying feature of the incident was the least important, namely, that his only enemy in the country should be intrusted with commissions from the stone ranch and be carrying packages for dicksie dunning. it was sinclair's trick to do things for people, and to make himself so useful that they must like first his obligingness and afterward himself. sinclair, mccloud knew, was close in many ways to lance dunning. it was said to have been his influence that won dunning's consent to sell a right of way across the ranch for the new crawling stone line. but mccloud felt it useless to disguise the fact to himself that he now had a second keen interest in the crawling stone country--not alone a dream of a line, but a dream of a girl. sitting moodily in his office, with his feet on the desk, a few nights after his encounter with sinclair, he recalled her nod as she said good-by. it had seemed the least bit encouraging, and he meditated anew on the only twenty minutes of real pleasurable excitement he had ever felt in his life, the twenty minutes with dicksie dunning at smoky creek. her intimates, he had heard, called her dicksie, and he was vaguely envying her intimates when the night despatcher, rooney lee, opened the door and disturbed his reflections. "how is number one, rooney?" called mccloud, as if nothing but the thought of a train movement ever entered his head. rooney lee paused. in his hand he held a message. rooney's cheeks were hollow and his sunken eyes were large. his face, which was singularly a night face, would shock a stranger, but any man on the division would have given his life for rooney. the simple fellow had but two living interests--his train-sheets and his chewing tobacco. sometimes i think that every railroad man earns his salary--even the president. but rooney was a past worthy master in that unnumbered lodge of railroad slaves who do killing work and have left, when they die, only a little tobacco to show for it. it was on rooney's account that mccloud's order banishing cuspidors from his office had been rescinded. a few evenings of agony on the despatcher's part when in consultation with his chief, the mournful wandering of his uncomplaining eyes, his struggle to raise an obstinate window before he could answer a question, would have moved a heart harder than mccloud's. the cuspidor had been restored to one corner of the large room, and to this corner rooney, like a man with a jaw full of birdshot, always walked first. when he turned back to face his chief his face had lost its haunted expression, and he answered with solemn cheer, "on time," or "fourteen minutes late," as the case might be. this night his face showed something out of the ordinary, and he faced mccloud with evident uneasiness. "holy smoke, mr. mccloud, here's a ripper! we've lost smoky creek bridge." "lost smoky creek bridge?" echoed mccloud, rising in amazement. "burned to-night. seventy-seven was flagged by the man at the pump station." "that's a tie-up for your life!" exclaimed mccloud, reaching for the message. "how could it catch fire? is it burned up?" "i can't get anything on that yet; this came from canby. i'll have a good wire in a few minutes and get it all for you." "have phil hailey and hyde notified, rooney, and reed and brill young, and get up a train. smoky creek bridge! by heavens, we are ripped up the back now! what can we do there, rooney?" he was talking to himself. "there isn't a thing for it on god's earth but switchbacks and five-per-cent. grades down to the bottom of the creek and cribbing across it till the new line is ready. wire callahan and morris blood, and get everything you can for me before we start." ten hours later and many hundreds of miles from the mountain division, president bucks and a companion were riding in the peace of a june morning down the beautiful mohawk valley with an earlier and illustrious railroad man, william c. brown. the three men were at breakfast in brown's car. a message was brought in for bucks. he read it and passed it to his companion, whispering smith, who sat at brown's left hand. the message was from callahan with the news of the burning of smoky creek bridge. details were few, because no one on the west end could suggest a plausible cause for the fire. "what do you think of it, gordon?" demanded bucks bluntly. whispering smith seemed at all times bordering on good-natured surprise, and in that normal condition he read callahan's message. everything surprised whispering smith, even his salary; but an important consequence was that nothing excited him. he seemed to accommodate himself to the unexpected through habitual surprise. it showed markedly in his eyes, which were bright and quite wide open, and, save for his eyes, no feature about him would fix itself in the memory. his round, pleasant face, his heavy brown mustache, the medium build that concealed under its commonplace symmetry an unusual strength, his slightly rounding shoulders bespeaking a not too serious estimate of himself--every characteristic, even to his unobtrusive suit and black hat, made him distinctly an ordinary man--one to be met in the street to-day and passed, and forgotten to-morrow. he was laughing under bucks's scrutiny when he handed the message back. "why, i don't know a thing about it, not a thing; but taking a long shot and speaking by and far, i should say it looks something like first blood for sinclair," he suggested, and to change the subject lifted his cup of coffee. "then it looks like you for the mountains to-night instead of for weber and fields's," retorted bucks, reaching for a cigar. "brown, why have you never learned to smoke?" chapter ix the misunderstanding no attempt was made to minimize the truth that the blow to the division was a staggering one. the loss of smoky creek bridge put almost a thousand miles of the mountain division out of business. perishable freight and time freight were diverted to other lines. passengers were transferred; lunches were served to them in the deep valley, and they were supplied by an ingenuous advertising department with pictures of the historic bridge as it had long stood, and their addresses were taken with the promise of a picture of the ruins. smoky creek bridge had long been famous in mountain song and story. for one generation of western railroad men it had stood as a monument to the earliest effort to conquer the rockies with a railroad. built long before the days of steel, this high and slender link in the first transcontinental line had for thirty years served faithfully at its danger-post, only to fall in the end at the hands of a bridge assassin; nor has the mystery of its fate ever completely been solved, though it is believed to lie with murray sinclair in the frenchman hills. the engineering department and the operating department united in a tremendous effort to bring about a resumption of traffic. glover's men, pulled off construction, were sent forward in trainloads. dancing's linemen strung arc-lights along the creek until the canyon twinkled at night like a mountain village, and men in three shifts worked elbow to elbow unceasingly to run the switchbacks down to the creek-bed. there, by cribbing across the bottom, they got in a temporary line. train movement was thrown into a spectacle of confusion. upon the incessant and well-ordered activities of the road the burning of the bridge fell like the heel of a heavy boot on an ant-hill; but the railroad men like ants rose to the emergency, and, where the possible failed, achieved the impossible. mccloud spent his days at the creek and his nights at medicine bend with his assistant and his chief despatcher, advising, counselling, studying out trouble reports, and steadying wherever he could the weakened lines of his operating forces. he was getting his first taste of the trials of the hardest-worked and poorest-paid man in the operating department of a railroad--the division superintendent. to these were added personal annoyances. a trainload of duck bar steers, shipped by lance dunning from the crawling stone ranch, had been caught west of the bridge the very night of the fire. they had been loaded at tipton and shipped to catch a good market, and under extravagant promises from the live-stock agent of a quick run to chicago. when lance dunning learned that his cattle had been caught west of the break and would have to be unloaded, he swore up a horse in hot haste and started for medicine bend. mccloud, who had not closed his eyes for sixty hours, had just got into medicine bend from smoky creek and was sitting at his desk buried in a mass of papers, but he ordered the cattleman admitted. he was, in fact, eager to meet the manager of the big ranch and the cousin of dicksie. lance dunning stood above six feet in height, and was a handsome man, in spite of the hard lines around his eyes, as he walked in; but neither his manner nor his expression was amiable. "are you mr. mccloud? i've been here three times this afternoon to see you," said he, ignoring mccloud's answer and a proffered chair. "this is your office, isn't it?" mccloud, a little surprised, answered again and civilly: "it certainly is; but i have been at smoky creek for two or three days." "what have you done with my cattle?" "the duck bar train was run back to point of rocks and the cattle were unloaded at the yard." lance dunning spoke with increasing harshness: "by whose order was that done? why wasn't i notified? have they had feed or water?" "all the stock caught west of the bridge was sent back for feed and water by my orders. it has all been taken care of. you should have been notified, certainly; it is the business of the stock agent to see to that. let me inquire about it while you are here, mr. dunning," suggested mccloud, ringing for his clerk. dunning lost no time in expressing himself. "i don't want my cattle held at point of rocks!" he said angrily. "your point of rocks yards are infected. my cattle shouldn't have been sent there." "oh, no! the old yards where they had a touch of fever were burned off the face of the earth a year ago. the new yards are perfectly sanitary. the loss of the bridge has crippled us, you know. your cattle are being well cared for, mr. dunning, and if you doubt it you may go up and give our men any orders you like in the matter at our expense." "you're taking altogether too much on yourself when you run my stock over the country in this way," exclaimed dunning, refusing to be placated. "how am i to get to point of rocks--walk there?" "not at all," returned mccloud, ringing up his clerk and asking for a pass, which was brought back in a moment and handed to dunning. "the cattle," continued mccloud, "can be run down, unloaded, and driven around the break to-morrow--with the loss of only two days." "and in the meantime i lose my market." "it is too bad, certainly, but i suppose it will be several days before we can get a line across smoky creek." "why weren't the cattle sent through that way yesterday? what have they been held at point of rocks for? i call the thing badly managed." "we couldn't get the empty cars up from piedmont for the transfer until to-day; empties are very scarce everywhere now." "there always have been empties here when they were wanted until lately. there's been no head or tail to anything on this division for six months." "i'm sorry that you have that impression." "that impression is very general," declared the stockman, with an oath, "and if you keep on discharging the only men on this division that are competent to handle a break like this, it is likely to continue!" "just a moment!" mccloud's finger rose pointedly. "my failure to please you in caring for your stock in an emergency may be properly a matter for comment; your opinion as to the way i am running this division is, of course, your own: but don't attempt to criticise the retention or discharge of any man on my payroll!" dunning strode toward him. "i'm a shipper on this line; when it suits me to criticise you or your methods, or anybody else's, i expect to do so," he retorted in high tones. "but you cannot tell me how to run my business!" thundered mccloud, leaning over the table in front of him. as the two men glared at each other rooney lee opened the door. his surprise at the situation amounted to consternation. he shuffled to the corner of the room, and while mccloud and dunning engaged hotly again, rooney, from the corner, threw a shot of his own into the quarrel. "on time!" he roared. the angry men turned. "what's on time?" asked mccloud curtly. "number one; she's in and changing engines. i told them you were going west," declared rooney in so deep tones that his fiction would never have been suspected. if his cue had been, "my lord, the conductor waits," it could not have been rung in more opportunely. dunning, to emphasize, without a further word, his disgust for the situation and his contempt for the management, tore into scraps the pass that had been given him, threw the scraps on the floor, took a cigar from his pocket and lighted it; insolence could do no more. mccloud looked over at the despatcher. "no, i am not going west, rooney. but if you will be good enough to stay here and find out from this man just how this railroad ought to be run, i will go to bed. he can tell you; the microbe seems to be working in his mind right now," said mccloud, slamming down the roll-top of his desk. and with lance dunning glaring at him, somewhat speechless, he put on his hat and walked out of the room. it was but one of many disagreeable incidents due to the loss of the bridge. complications arising from the tie-up followed him at every turn. it seemed as if he could not get away from trouble following trouble. after forty hours further of toil, relieved by four hours of sleep, mccloud found himself, rather dead than alive, back at medicine bend and in the little dining-room at marion's. coming in at the cottage door on fort street, he dropped into a chair. the cottage rooms were empty. he heard marion's voice in the front shop; she was engaged with a customer. putting his head on the table to wait a moment, nature asserted itself and mccloud fell asleep. he woke hearing a voice that he had heard in dreams. perhaps no other voice could have wakened him, for he slept for a few minutes a death-like sleep. at all events, dicksie dunning was in the front room and mccloud heard her. she was talking with marion about the burning of smoky creek bridge. "every one is talking about it yet," dicksie was saying. "if i had lost my best friend i couldn't have felt worse; you know, my father built it. i rode over there the day of the fire, and down into the creek, so i could look up where it stood. i never realized before how high and how long it was; and when i remembered how proud father always was of his work there--cousin lance has often told me--i sat down right on the ground and cried. really, the ruins were the most pathetic thing you ever saw, marion, with great clouds of smoke rolling up from the canyon that day; the place looked so lonely when i rode away that every time i turned to look back my eyes filled with tears. poor daddy! i am almost glad he didn't live to see it. how times have changed in railroading, haven't they? mr. sinclair was over just the other night, and he said if they kept using this new coal in the engines they would burn up everything on the division. do you know, i have been waiting in town three or four hours now for cousin lance? i feel almost like a tramp. he is coming from the west with the stock train. it was due here hours ago, but they never seem to know when anything is to get here the way things are run on the railroad now. i want to give cousin lance some mail before he goes through." "the passenger trains crossed the creek over the switchbacks hours ago, and they say the emergency grades are first-rate," said marion sinclair, on the defensive. "the stock trains must have followed right along. your cousin is sure to be here pretty soon. probably mr. mccloud will know which train he is on, and mr. lee telephoned that mr. mccloud would be over here at three o'clock for his dinner. he ought to be here now." "oh, dear, then i must go!" "but he can probably tell you just when your cousin will be in." "i wouldn't meet him for worlds!" "you wouldn't? why, mr. mccloud is delightful." "oh, not for worlds, marion! you know he is discharging all the best of the older men, the men that have made the road everything it is, and of course we can't help sympathizing with them over our way. for my part, i think it is terrible, after a man has given all of his life to building up a railroad, that he should be thrown out to starve in that way by new managers, marion." mccloud felt himself shrinking within his weary clothes. resentment seemed to have died. he felt too exhausted to undertake controversy, even if it were to be thought of, and it was not. nothing further was needed to complete his humiliation. he picked up his hat and with the thought of getting out as quietly as he had come in. in rising he swept a tumbler at his elbow from the table. the glass broke on the floor, and marion exclaimed, "what is that?" and started for the dining-room. it was too late to get away. mccloud stepped to the portières of the trimming-room door and pushed them aside. marion stood with a hat in her hand, and dicksie, sitting at the table, was looking directly at the intruder as he appeared in the doorway. she saw in him her pleasant acquaintance of the wreck at smoky creek, whose name she had not learned. in her surprise she rose to her feet, and marion spoke quickly: "oh, mr. mccloud, is it you? i did not hear you come in." dicksie's face, which had lighted, became a spectacle of confusion after she heard the name. mccloud, conscious of the awkwardness of his position and the disorder of his garb, said the worst thing at once: "i fear i am inadvertently overhearing your conversation." he looked at dicksie as he spoke, chiefly because he could not help it, and this made matters hopeless. she flushed more deeply. "i cannot conceive why our conversation should invite a listener." her words did not, of course, help to steady him. "i tried to get away," he stammered, "when i realized i was a part of it." "in any event," she exclaimed hastily, "if you are mr. mccloud i think it unpardonable to do anything like that!" "i am mr. mccloud, though i should rather be anybody else; and i am sorry that i was unable to help hearing what was said; i----" "marion, will you be kind enough to give me my gloves?" said dicksie, holding out her hand. marion, having tried once or twice to intervene, stood between the firing-lines in helpless amazement. her exclamations were lost; the two before her gave no heed to ordinary intervention. mccloud flushed at being cut off, but he bowed. "of course," he said, "if you will listen to no explanation i can only withdraw." [illustration: helen holmes as marion sinclair in the photo-play production of "whispering smith." © _american mutual studio_.] he went back, dinnerless, to work all night; but the switchbacks were doing capitally, and all night long, trains were rolling through medicine bend from the west in an endless string. in the morning the yard was nearly cleared of westbound tonnage. moreover, the mail in the morning brought compensation. a letter came from glover telling him not to worry himself to death over the tie-up, and one came from bucks telling him to make ready for the building of the crawling stone line. mccloud told rooney lee that if anybody asked for him to report him dead, and going to bed slept twenty-four hours. chapter x sweeping orders the burning of smoky creek bridge was hardly off the minds of the mountain men when a disaster of a different sort befell the division. in the rat valley east of sleepy cat the main line springs between two ranges of hills with a dip and a long supported grade in each direction. at the point of the dip there is a switch from which a spur runs to a granite quarry. the track for two miles is straight and the switch-target and lights are seen easily from either direction save at one particular moment of the day--a moment which is in the valley neither quite day nor quite night. even this disadvantage occurs to trains east-bound only, because due to unusual circumstances. when the sun in a burst of dawning glory shows itself above the crest of the eastern range an engineman, east-bound, may be so blinded by the rays streaming from the rising sun that he cannot see the switch at the foot of the grade. for these few moments he is helpless should anything be wrong with the quarry switch. down this grade, a few weeks after the smoky creek fire, came a double-headed stock train from the short line with forty cars of steers. the switch stood open; this much was afterward abundantly proved. the train came down the grade very fast to gain speed for the hill ahead of it. the head engineman, too late, saw the open target. he applied the emergency air, threw his engine over, and whistled the alarm. the mightiest efforts of a dozen engines would have been powerless to check the heavy train. on the quarry track stood three flat cars loaded with granite blocks for the abutment of the new smoky creek bridge. on a sanded track, rolling at thirty miles an hour and screaming in the clutches of the burning brakes, the heavy engines struck the switch like an avalanche, reared upon the granite-laden flats, and with forty loads of cattle plunged into the canyon below; not a car remained on the rails. the head brakeman, riding in the second cab, was instantly killed, and the engine crews, who jumped, were badly hurt. the whole operating department of the road was stirred. what made the affair more dreadful was that it had occurred on the time of number six, the east-bound passenger train, held that morning at sleepy cat by an engine failure. glover came to look into the matter. the testimony of all tended to one conclusion--that the quarry switch had been thrown at some time between four-thirty and five o'clock that morning. inferences were many: tramps during the early summer had been unusually troublesome and many of them had been rigorously handled by trainmen; robbery might have been a motive, as the express cars on train number six carried heavy specie shipments from the coast. yet a means so horrible as well as so awkward and ineffective seemed unlike mountain outlaws. strange men from headquarters were on the ground as soon as they could reach the wreck, men from the special-service department, and a stock inspector who greatly resembled whispering smith was on the ground looking into the brands of the wrecked cattle. glover was much in consultation with him, and there were two or three of the division men, such as anderson, young, mccloud, and lee, who knew him but could answer no inquiries concerning his long stay at the wreck. a third and more exciting event soon put the quarry wreck into the background. ten days afterward an east-bound passenger train was flagged in the night at sugar buttes, twelve miles west of sleepy cat. when the heavy train slowed up, two men boarded the engine and with pistols compelled the engineman to cut off the express cars and pull them to the water-tank a mile east of the station. three men there in waiting forced the express car, blew open the safe, and the gang rode away half an hour later loaded with gold coin and currency. had a stick of dynamite been exploded under the wickiup there could not have been more excitement at medicine bend. within three hours after the news reached the town a posse under sheriff van horn, with a carload of horseflesh and fourteen guns, was started for sugar buttes. the trail led north and the pursuers rode until nearly nightfall. they crossed dutch flat and rode single file into a wooded canyon, where they came upon traces of a camp-fire. van horn, leading, jumped from his horse and thrust his hand into the ashes; they were still warm, and he shouted to his men to ride up. as he called out, a rifle cracked from the box-elder trees ahead of him. the sheriff fell, shot through the head, and a deputy springing from his saddle to pick him up was shot in precisely the same way, through the head. the riderless horses bolted; the posse, thrown into a panic, did not fire a shot, and for an hour dared not ride back for the bodies. after dark they got the two dead men and at midnight rode with them into sleepy cat. when the news reached mccloud he was talking with bucks over the wires. bucks had got into headquarters at the river late that night, and was getting details from mccloud of the sugar buttes robbery when the superintendent sent him the news of the killing of van horn and the deputy. in the answer that bucks sent came a name new to the wires of the mountain division and rarely seen even in special correspondence, but hughie morrison, who took the message, never forgot that name; indeed, it was soon to be thrown sharply into the spotlight of the mountain railroad stage. hughie repeated the message to get it letter-perfect; to handle stuff at the wickiup signed "j. s. b." was like handling diamonds on a jeweller's tongs or arteries on a surgeon's hook; and, in truth, bucks's words were the arteries and pulse-beat of the mountain division. hughie handed the message to mccloud and stood by while the superintendent read: whispering smith is due in cheyenne to-morrow. meet him at the wickiup sunday morning; he has full authority. i have told him to get these fellows, if it takes all the money in the treasury, and not to stop till he cleans them out of the rocky mountains. j. s. b. chapter xi at the three horses "clean them out of the rocky mountains; that is a pretty good contract," mused the man in mccloud's office on sunday morning. he sat opposite mccloud in bucks's old easy chair and held in his hand bucks's telegram. as he spoke he raised his eyebrows and settled back, but the unusual depth of the chair and the shortness of his legs left his chin helpless in his black tie, so that he was really no better off except that he had changed one position of discomfort for another. "i wonder, now," he mused, sitting forward again as mccloud watched him, "i wonder--you know, george, the andes are, strictly speaking, a part of the great north american chain--whether bucks meant to include the south american ranges in that message?" and a look of mildly good-natured anticipation overspread his face. "suppose you wire him and find out," suggested mccloud. "no, george, no! bucks never was accurate in geographical expressions. besides, he is shifty and would probably cover his tracks by telling me to report progress when i got to panama." a clerk opened the outer office door. "mr. dancing asks if he can see you, mr. mccloud." "tell him i am busy." bill dancing, close on the clerk's heels, spoke for himself. "i know it, mr. mccloud, i know it!" he interposed urgently, "but let me speak to you just a moment." hat in hand, bill, because no one would knock him down to keep him out, pushed into the room. "i've got a plan," he urged, "in regards to getting these hold-ups." "how are you, bill?" exclaimed the man in the easy chair, jumping hastily to his feet and shaking dancing's hand. then quite as hastily he sat down, crossed his knees violently, stared at the giant lineman, and exclaimed, "let's have it!" dancing looked at him in silence and with some contempt. the trainmaster had broken in on the superintendent for a moment and the two were conferring in an undertone. "what might your name be, mister?" growled dancing, addressing with some condescension the man in the easy chair. the man waved his hand as if it were immaterial and answered with a single word: "forgotten!" "how's that?" "forgotten!" "that's a blamed queer name----" "on the contrary, it's a very common name and that is just the trouble: it's forgotten." "what do you want, bill?" demanded mccloud, turning to the lineman. "is this man all right?" asked dancing, jerking his thumb toward the easy chair. "i can't say; you'll have to ask him." "i'll save you that trouble, bill, by saying that if it's for the good of the division i am all right. death to its enemies, damme, say i. now go on, william, and give us your plan in regards to getting these hold-ups--yes." dancing looked from one man to the other, but mccloud appeared preoccupied and his visitor seemed wholly serious. "i don't want to take too much on myself--" bill began, speaking to mccloud. "you look as if you could carry a fair-sized load, william, provided it bore the right label," suggested the visitor, entirely amiable. "--but nobody has felt worse over this thing and recent things----" "recent things," echoed the easy chair. "--happening to the division that i have. now i know there's been trouble on the division----" "i think you are putting it too strong there, bill, but let it pass." "--there's been differences; misunderstandings and differences. so i says to myself maybe something might be done to get everybody together and bury the differences, like this: murray sinclair is in town; he feels bad over this thing, like any railroad man would. he's a mountain man, quick as the quickest with a gun, a good trailer, rides like a fiend, and can catch a streak of sunshine travelling on a pass. why not put him at the head of a party to run 'em down?" "run 'em down," nodded the stranger. "differences such as be or may be----" "may be----" "being discussed when he brings 'em in dead or alive, and not before. that's what i said to murray sinclair, and murray sinclair is ready for to take hold this minute and do what he can if he's asked. i told him plain i could promise no promises; that, i says, lays with george mccloud. was i right, was i wrong? if i was wrong, right me; if i was right, say so. all i want is harmony." the new man nodded approval. "bully, bill!" he exclaimed heartily. "mister," protested the lineman, with simple dignity, "i'd just a little rather you wouldn't bully me nor bill me." "all in good part, bill, as you shall see; all in good part. now before mr. mccloud gives you his decision i want to be allowed a word. your idea looks good to me. at first i may say it didn't. i am candid; i say it didn't. it looked like setting a dog to catch his own tail. mind you, i don't say it can't be done. a dog _can_ catch his own tail; _they do do it_," proclaimed the stranger in a low and emphatic undertone. "but," he added, moderating his utterance, "when they succeed--who gets anything out of it but the dog?" bill dancing, somewhat clouded and not deeming it well to be drawn into any damaging admissions, looked around for a cigar, and not seeing one, looked solemnly at the new solomon and stroked his beard. "that is how it looked to me at first," concluded the orator; "_but_, i say now it looks good to me, and as a stranger i may say i favor it." dancing tried to look unconcerned and seemed disposed to be friendly. "what might be your line of business?" "real estate. i am from chicago. i sold everything that was for sale in chicago and came out here to stake out the spanish sinks and the great salt lake--yes. it's drying up and there's an immense opportunity for claims along the shore. i've been looking into it." "into the claims or into the lake?" asked mccloud. "into both; and, mr. mccloud, i want to say i favor mr. dancing's idea, that's all. right wrongs no man. let bill see sinclair and see what they can figure out." and having spoken, the stranger sank back and tried to look comfortable. "i'll talk with you later about it, bill," said mccloud briefly. "meantime, bill, see sinclair and report," suggested the stranger. "it's as good as done," announced dancing, taking up his hat, "and, mr. mccloud, might i have a little advance for cigars and things?" "cigars and ammunition--of course. see sykes, william, see sykes; if the office is closed go to his house--and see what will happen to you--" added the visitor in an aside, "and tell him to telephone up to mr. mccloud for instruction," he concluded unceremoniously. "now why do you want to start bill on a fool business like that?" asked mccloud, as bill dancing took long steps from the room toward the office of sykes, the cashier. "he didn't know me to-day, but he will to-morrow," said the stranger reflectively. "gods, what i've seen that man go through in the days of the giants! why, george, this will keep the boys talking, and they have to do something. spend the money; the company is making it too fast anyway; they moved twenty-two thousand cars one day last week. personally i'm glad to have a little fun out of it; it will be hell pure and undefiled long before we get through. this will be an easy way of letting sinclair know i am here. bill will report me confidentially to him as a suspicious personage." to the astonishment of sykes, the superintendent confirmed over the telephone dancing's statement that he was to draw some expense money. bill asked for twenty-five dollars. sykes offered him two, and bill with some indignation accepted five. he spent all of this in trying to find sinclair, and on the strength of his story to the boys borrowed five dollars more to prosecute the search. at ten o'clock that night he ran into sinclair playing cards in the big room above the three horses. the three horses still rears its hospitable two-story front in fort street, the only one of the medicine bend gambling houses that goes back to the days of ' ; and it is the boast of its owners that since the key was thrown away, thirty-nine years ago, its doors have never been closed, night or day, except once for two hours during the funeral of dave hawk. bill dancing drew sinclair from his game and told him of the talk with mccloud, touching it up with natural enthusiasm. the bridgeman took the news in high good humor and slapped dancing on the back. "did you see him alone, bill?" asked sinclair, with interest. "come over here, come along. i want you to meet a good friend. here, harvey, shake hands with bill dancing. bill, this is old harvey du sang, meanest man in the mountains to his enemies and the whitest to his friends--eh, harvey?" harvey seemed uncommunicative. studying his hand, he asked in a sour way whether it was a jackpot, and upon being told that it was not, pushed forward some chips and looked stupidly up--though harvey was by no means stupid. "proud to know you, sir," said bill, bending frankly as he put out his hand. "proud to know any friend of murray sinclair's. what might be your business?" again du sang appeared abstracted. he looked up at the giant lineman, who, in spite of his own size and strength, could have crushed him between his fingers, and hitched his chair a little, but got no further toward an answer and paid no attention whatever to bill's extended hand. "cow business, bill," interposed sinclair. "where? why, up near the park, bill, up near the park. bill is an old friend of mine, harvey. shake hands with george seagrue, bill, and you know henry karg--and old stormy gorman--well, i guess you know him too," exclaimed sinclair, introducing the other players. "look here a minute, harvey." harvey, much against his inclination, was drawn from the table and retired with sinclair and dancing to an empty corner, where dancing told his story again. at the conclusion of it harvey rather snorted. sinclair asked questions. "was anybody else there when you saw mccloud, bill?" "one man," answered bill impressively. "who?" "a stranger to me." "a stranger? what did he look like?" "slender man and kind of odd talking, with a sandy mustache." "hear his name?" "he told me his name, but it's skipped me, i declare. he's kind of dark-complected like." "stranger, eh?" mused du sang; his eyes were wandering over the room. "slender man," repeated bill, "but i didn't take much notice of him. said he was in the real-estate business." "in the real-estate business? and did he sit there while you talked this over with the college guy?" muttered du sang. "he is all right, boys, and he said you'd know his name if i could speak it," declared bill. "look anything like that man standing with his hands in his pockets over there by the wheel?" asked du sang, turning his back carefully on a new-comer as he made the suggestion. "where--there? no! yes, hold on, that's the man there now! hold on, now!" urged bill, struggling with the excitement of ten hours and ten dollars all in one day. "his name sounded like fogarty." as dancing spoke, sinclair's eyes riveted on the new face at the other side of the gambling-room. "fogarty, hell!" he exclaimed, starting. "stand right still, du sang; don't look around. that man is whispering smith." chapter xii parley it was recalled one evening not long ago at the wickiup that the affair with sinclair had all taken place within a period of two years, and that practically all of the actors in the event had been together and in friendly relation on a thanksgiving day at the dunning ranch not so very long before the trouble began. dicksie dunning was away at school at the time, and lance dunning was celebrating with a riding and shooting fest and a barbecue. the whole country had been invited. bucks was in the mountains on an inspection trip, and bill dancing drove him with a party of railroad men over from medicine bend. the mountain men for a hundred and fifty miles around were out. gene and bob johnson, from oroville and the peace river, had come with their friends. from williams cache there was not only a big delegation--more of one than was really desirable--but it was led by old john rebstock himself. when the invitation is general, lines cannot be too closely drawn. not only was lance dunning something of a sport himself, but on the long range it is part of a stockman's creed to be on good terms with his neighbors. at a thanksgiving day barbecue not even a mountain sheriff would ask questions, and ed banks, though present, respected the holiday truce. cowboys rode that day in the roping contest who were from mission creek and from two feather river. among the railroad people were george mccloud, anderson, the assistant superintendent, farrell kennedy, chief of the special service, and his right-hand man, bob scott. in especial, sinclair's presence at the barbecue was recalled. he had some cronies with him from among his up-country following, and was introducing his new bridge foreman, karg, afterward known as flat nose, and george seagrue, the montana cowboy. sinclair fraternized that day with the williams cache men, and it was remarked even then that though a railroad man he appeared somewhat outside the railroad circle. when the shooting matches were announced a brown-eyed railroad man was asked to enter. he had been out of the mountains for some time and was a comparative stranger in the gathering, but the williams cache men had not forgotten him; rebstock, especially, wanted to see him shoot. while much of the time out of the mountains on railroad business, he was known to be closely in bucks's counsels, and as to the mountains themselves, he was reputed to know them better than bucks or glover himself knew them. this was whispering smith; but, beyond a low-voiced greeting or an expression of surprise at meeting an old acquaintance, he avoided talk. when urged to shoot he resisted all persuasion and backed up his refusal by showing a bruise on his trigger finger. he declined even to act as judge in the contest, suggesting the sheriff, ed banks, for that office. the rifle matches were held in the hills above the ranch-house, and in the contest between the ranches, for which a sweepstakes had been arranged, sinclair entered seagrue, who was then working for him. seagrue shot all the morning and steadily held up the credit of the frenchman valley ranch against the field. neither continued shooting nor severe tests availed to upset sinclair's entry, and riding back after the matches with the prize purse in his pocket, seagrue, who was tall, light-haired, and perfectly built, made a new honor for himself on a dare from stormy gorman, the foreman of the dunning ranch. gorman, who had ridden a race back with sinclair, was at the foot of the long hill, down which the crowd was riding, when he stopped, yelled back at seagrue, and, swinging his hat from his head, laid it on a sloping rock beside the trail. "you'd better not do that, stormy," said sinclair. "seagrue will put a hole through it." gorman laughed jealously. "if he can hit it, let him hit it." at the top of the hill seagrue had dismounted and was making ready to shoot. whispering smith, at his side, had halted with the party, and the cowboy knelt to adjust his sights. on his knee he turned to whispering smith, whom he seemed to know, with an abrupt question: "how far do you call it?" the answer was made without hesitation: "give it seven hundred and fifty yards, seagrue." the cowboy made ready, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. the slug passed through the crown of the hat, and a shower of splinters flying back from the rock blew the felt into a sieve. gorman's curiosity, as well as that of everybody else, seemed satisfied, and, gaining the level ground, the party broke into a helter-skelter race for the revolver-shooting. in this sinclair himself had entered, and after the early matches found only one troublesome contestant--du sang from the cache, who was present under rebstock's wing. after sinclair and du sang had tied in test after test at shooting out of the saddle, whispering smith, who lost sight of nothing in the gun-play, called for a pack of cards, stripped the aces from the deck, and had a little conference with the judge. the two contestants, sinclair and du sang, were ordered back thirty-five paces on their horses, and the railroad man, walking over to the targets, held out between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand the ace of clubs. the man that should first spot the pip out of the card was to take the prize, a cheyenne saddle. sinclair shot, and his horse, perfectly trained, stood like a statue. the card flew from smith's hand, but the bullet had struck the ace almost an inch above the pip, and a second ace was held out for du sang. as he raised his gun his horse moved. he spurred angrily, circled quickly about, halted, and instantly fired. it was not alone that his bullet cut the shoulder of the club pip on the card: the whole movement, beginning with the circling dash of the horse under the spur, the sudden halt, and the instantly accurate aim, raised a quick, approving yell for the new-comer. the signal was given for sinclair, and a third ace went up. in the silence sinclair, with deliberate care, brought his gun down on the card, fired, and cut the pip cleanly from the white field. du sang was urged to shoot again, but his horse annoyed him and he would not. with a little speech the prize was given by ed banks to sinclair. "here's hoping your gun will never be trained on me, murray," smiled the modest sheriff. sinclair responded in high humor. he had every reason to feel good. his horses had won the running races, and his crowd had the honors with the guns. he turned on du sang, who sat close by in the circle of horsemen, and, holding the big prize out toward him on his knee, asked him to accept it. "it's yours by rights anyway, du sang," declared sinclair. "you're a whole lot better shot than i am, every turn of the road. you've shot all day from a nervous horse." not only would sinclair not allow a refusal of his gift, but, to make his generosity worth while, he dispatched flat nose to the corral, and the foreman rode back leading the pony that had won the half-mile dash. sinclair cinched the prize saddle on the colt with his own hands, led the beast to du sang, placed the bridle in his hand, and bowed. "from a jay to a marksman," he said, saluting. du sang, greatly embarrassed by the affair--he had curious pink eyes--blinked and got away to the stables. when rebstock joined him the williams cache party were saddling to go home. du sang made no reference to his gift horse and saddle, but spoke of the man that had held the target aces. "he must be a sucker!" declared du sang, with an oath. "i wouldn't do that for any man on top of ground. who is he?" "that man?" wheezed rebstock. "never have no dealings with him. he plays 'most any kind of a game. he's always ready to play, and holds aces most of the time. don't you remember my telling about the man that got chuck williams and hauled him out of the cache on a buckboard? that's the man. here, he give me this for you; it's your card." rebstock handed du sang the target ace of clubs. "why didn't you thank murray sinclair, you mule?" du sang, whose eyelashes were white, blinked at the hole through the card, and looked around as he rode back across the field for the man that had held it; but whispering smith had disappeared. he was at that moment walking past the barbecue pit with george mccloud. "rebstock talks a great deal about your shooting, gordon," said mccloud to his companion. "he and i once had a little private match of our own. it was on the peace river, over a bunch of steers. since then we have got along very well, though he has an exaggerated opinion of my ability. rebstock's worst failing is his eyesight. it bothers him in seeing brands. he's liable to brand a critter half a dozen times. that albino, du sang, is a queer duck. sinclair gave him a fine horse. there they go." the cache riders were running their horses and whooping across the creek. "what a hand a state's prison warden at fort city could draw out of that crowd, george!" continued mccloud's companion. "if the right man should get busy with that bunch of horses sinclair has got together, and organize those up-country fellows for mischief, wouldn't it make things hum on the mountain division for a while?" mccloud did not meet the host, lance dunning, that day, nor since the day of the barbecue had du sang or sinclair seen whispering smith until the night du sang spotted him near the wheel in the three horses. du sang at once drew out of his game and left the room. sinclair in the meantime had undertaken a quarrelsome interview with whispering smith. "i supposed you knew i was here," said smith to him amiably. "of course i don't travel in a private car or carry a bill-board on my back, but i haven't been hiding." "the last time we talked," returned sinclair, measuring words carefully, "you were going to stay out of the mountains." "i should have been glad to, murray. affairs are in such shape on the division now that somebody had to come, so they sent for me." the two men were sitting at a table. whispering smith was cutting and leisurely mixing a pack of cards. "well, so far as i'm concerned, i'm out of it," sinclair went on after a pause, "but, however that may be, if you're back here looking for trouble there's no reason, i guess, why you can't find it." "that's not it. i'm not here looking for trouble; i'm here to fix this thing up. what do you want?" "not a thing." "i'm willing to do anything fair and right," declared whispering smith, raising his voice a little above the hum of the rooms. "fair and right is an old song." "and a good one to sing in this country just now. i'll do anything i can to adjust any grievance, murray. what do you want?" sinclair for a moment was silent, and his answer made plain his unwillingness to speak at all. "there never would have been a grievance if i'd been treated like a white man." his eyes burned sullenly. "i've been treated like a dog." "that is not it." "that is it," declared sinclair savagely, "and they'll find it's it." "murray, i want to say only this--only this to make things clear. bucks feels that he's been treated worse than a dog." "then let him put me back where i belong." "it's a little late for that, murray; a _little_ late," said smith gently. "shouldn't you rather take good money and get off the division? mind you, i say good money, murray--and peace." sinclair answered without the slightest hesitation: "not while that man mccloud is here." whispering smith smiled. "i've got no authority to kill mccloud." "there are plenty of men in the mountains that don't need any." "but let's start fair," urged whispering smith softly. he leaned forward with one finger extended in confidence. "don't let us have any misunderstanding on the start. let mccloud alone. if he is killed--now i'm speaking fair and open and making no threats, but i know how it will come out--there will be nothing but killing here for six months. we will make just that memorandum on mccloud. now about the main question. every sensible man in the world wants something." "i know men that have been going a long time without what they wanted." smith flushed and nodded. "you needn't have said that, but no matter. every sensible man wants something murray. this is a big country. there's a world's fair running somewhere all the time in it. why not travel a little? what do you want?" "i want my job, or i want a new superintendent here." "just exactly the two things, and, by heavens! the only two, i can't manage. come once more and i'll meet you." "no!" sinclair rose to his feet. "no--damn your money! this is my home. the high country is my country; it's where my friends are." "it's filled with your friends; i know that. but don't put your trust in your friends. they will stay by you, i know; but once in a long while there will be a false friend, murray, one that will sell you--remember that." "i stay." whispering smith looked up in admiration. "i know you're game. it isn't necessary for me to say that to you. but think of the fight you are going into against this company. you can worry them; you've done it. but a bronco might as well try to buck a locomotive as for one man or six or six hundred to win out in the way you are playing." "i will look out for my friends; others--" sinclair hitched his belt and paused, but whispering smith, cutting and running the cards, gave no heed. his eyes were fixed on the green cloth under his fingers. "others--" repeated sinclair. "others?" echoed whispering smith good-naturedly. "may look out for themselves." "of course, of course! well, if this is the end of it, i'm sorry." "you will be sorry if you mix in a quarrel that is none of yours." "why, murray, i never had a quarrel with a man in my life." "you are pretty smooth, but you can't drive me out of this country. i know how well you'd like to do it; and, take notice, there's one trail you can't cross even if you stay here. i suppose you understand that." smith felt his heart leap. he sat in his chair turning the pack slowly, but with only one hand now; the other hand was free. sinclair eyed him sidewise. smith moistened his lips and when he replied spoke slowly: "there is no need of dragging any allusion to her into it. for that matter, i told bucks he should have sent any man but me. if i'm in the way, sinclair, if my presence here is all that stands in the way, i'll go back and stay back as before, and send any one else you like or bucks likes. are you willing to say that i stand in the way of a settlement?" sinclair sat down and put his hands on the table. "no; your matter and mine is another affair. all i want between you and me is fair and right." whispering smith's eyes were on the cards. "you've always had it." "then keep away from _her_." "don't tell me what to do." "then don't tell me." "i'm not telling you. you will do as you please; so will i. i left here because marion asked me to. i am here now because i have been sent here. it is in the course of my business. i have my living to earn and my friends to protect. don't dictate to me, because it would be of no use." "well, you know now how to get into trouble." "every one knows that; few know how to keep out." "you can't lay your finger on me at any turn of the road." "not if you behave yourself." "and you can't bully me." "surely not. no hard feelings, murray. i came for a friendly talk, and if it's all the same to you i'll watch this wheel awhile and then go over to the wickiup. i leave first--that's understood, i hope--and if your pink-eyed friend is waiting outside tell him there is nothing doing, will you, murray? who is the albino, by the way? you don't know him? i think i do. fort city, if i remember. well, good-night, murray." it was after twelve o'clock and the room had filled up. roulette-balls were dropping, and above the faro-table the extra lights were on. the dealers, fresh from supper, were putting things in order for the long trick. at the wickiup whispering smith found mccloud in the office signing letters. "i can do nothing with him," said smith, drawing down a window-shade before he seated himself to detail his talk with sinclair. "he wants a fight." mccloud put down his pen. "if i am the disturber it would be better for me to get out." "that would be hauling down the flag across the whole division. it is too late for that. if he didn't centre the fight on you he would centre it somewhere else. the whole question is, who is going to run this division, sinclair and his gang or the company? and it is as easy to meet them on one point as another. i know of no way of making this kind of an affair pleasant. i am going to do some riding, as i told you. kennedy is working up through the deep creek country, and has three men with him. i shall ride toward the cache and meet him somewhere near south mission pass." "gordon, would it do any good to ask a few questions?" "ask as many as you like, my dear boy, but don't be disappointed if i can't answer them. i can look wise, but i don't know anything. you know what we are up against. this fellow has grown a tiger among the wolves, and he has turned the pack loose on us. one thing i ask you to do. don't expose yourself at night. your life isn't worth a coupling-pin if you do." mccloud raised his hand. "take care of _your_self. if you are murdered in this fight i shall know i got you in and that i am to blame." "and suppose you were?" smith had risen from his chair. he had few mannerisms, and recalling the man the few times i have seen him, the only impression he has left on me is that of quiet and gentleness. "suppose you were?" he was resting one arm on top of mccloud's desk. "what of it? you have done for me up here what i couldn't do, george. you have been kind to marion when she hadn't a friend near. you have stood between him and her when i couldn't be here to do it, and when she didn't want me to--helped her when i hadn't the privilege of doing it." mccloud put up his hand in protest, but it was unheeded. "how many times it has been in my heart to kill that man. she knows it; she prays it may never happen. that is why she stays here and has kept me out of the mountains. she says they would talk about her if i lived in the same town, and i have stayed away." he threw himself back into the chair. "it's going beyond both of us now. i've kept the promise i made to her to-day to do all in my power to settle this thing without bloodshed. it will not be settled in that way, george." "was he at sugar buttes?" "if not, his gang was there. the quick get-away, the short turn on van horn, killing two men to rattle the _posse_--it all bears sinclair's ear-marks. he has gone too far. he has piled up plunder till he is reckless. he is crazy with greed and insane with revenge. he thinks he can gallop over this division and scare bucks till he gets down on his knees to him. bucks will never do it. i know him, and i tell you bucks will never do it. he is like that man in washington: he will fight it to the death. he would fight sinclair if he had to come up here and meet him single-handed, but, he will never have to do it. he put you here, george, to round that man up. this is the price for your advancement, and you must pay it." "it is all right for me to pay it, but i don't want you to pay it. will you have a care for yourself, gordon?" "will you?" "yes." "you need never ask me to be careful," smith went on. "that is my business. i asked you to watch your window-shades at night, and when i came in just now i found one up. it is you who are likely to forget, and in this kind of a game a man never forgets but once. i'll lie down on the lincoln lounge, george." "get into the bed." "no; i like the lounge, and i'm off early." in the private room of the superintendent, provided as a sleeping apartment in the old headquarters building many years before hotel facilities reached medicine bend, stood the only curio the wickiup possessed--the lincoln lounge. when the car that carried the remains of abraham lincoln from washington to springfield was dismantled, the wickiup fell heir to one piece of its elaborate furnishings, the lounge, and the lounge still remains as an early-day relic. whispering smith walked into the bedroom and disposed himself in an incredibly short time. "i've borrowed one of your pillows, george," he called out presently. "take both." "one's enough. i hope," he went on, rolling himself like a hen into the double blanket, "the horse kennedy has left me will be all right; he got three from bill dancing. bill dancing," he snorted, driving his nose into the pillow as if in final memorandum for the night, "he will get himself killed if he fools around sinclair too much now." mccloud, under a light shaded above his desk, opened a roll of blue-prints. he was going to follow a construction gang up the crawling stone in the morning and wanted to look over the surveys. whispering smith, breathing regularly, lay not far away. it was late when mccloud put away his maps, entered the inner room, and looked at his friend. he lay like a boy asleep. on the chair beside his head he had placed his old-fashioned hunting-case watch, as big as an alarm-clock, the kind a railroad man would wind up with a spike-maul. beside the watch he had laid his huge revolver in its worn leather scabbard. breathing peacefully, he lay quite at his companion's mercy, and mccloud, looking down on this man who never made a mistake, never forgot a danger, and never took an unnecessary chance, thought of what between men confidence may sometimes mean. he sat a moment with folded arms on the side of his bed, studying the tired face, defenceless in the slumber of fatigue. when he turned out the light and lay down, he wondered whether, somewhere in the valley of the great river to which he was to take his men in the morning, he should encounter the slight and reckless horsewoman who had blazed so in anger when he stood before her at marion's. he had struggled against her charm too long. she had become, how or when he could not tell, not alone a pretty woman but a fascinating one--the creature of his constant thought. already she meant more to him than all else in the world. he well knew that if called on to choose between dicksie and all else he could only choose her. but as he drew together the curtains of thought and sleep stole in upon him, he was resolved first to have dicksie; to have all else if he could, but, in any case, dicksie dunning. when he awoke day was breaking in the mountains. the huge silver watch, the low-voiced man, and the formidable six-shooter had disappeared. it was time to get up, and marion sinclair had promised an early breakfast. chapter xiii the turn in the storm the beginning of the crawling stone line marked the first determined effort under president bucks, while undertaking the reconstruction of the system for through traffic, to develop the rich local territory tributary to the mountain division. new policies in construction dated from the same period. glover, with an enormous capital staked for the new undertakings, gave orders to push the building every month in the year, and for the first time in mountain railroad-building winter was to be ignored. the older mountain men met the innovation as they met any departure from their traditions, with curiosity and distrust. on the other hand, the new and younger blood took hold with confidence, and when glover called, "yo, heave ho!" at headquarters, they bent themselves clear across the system for a hard pull together. mccloud, resting the operating on the shoulders of his assistant anderson, devoted himself wholly to forwarding the construction plans, and his first clash over winter road-building in the rockies came with his own right-hand man, mears. mccloud put in a switch below piedmont, opened a material-yard, and began track-laying toward the lower crawling stone valley, when mears said it was time to stop work till spring. when mccloud told him he wanted track across the divide and into the lower valley by spring, mears threw up his hands. but there was metal in the old man, and he was for orders all the time. he kept up a running fire of protests and forebodings about the danger of exposing men during the winter season, but stuck to his post. glover sent along the men, and although two out of every three deserted the day after they arrived, mears kept a force in hand, and crowded the track up the new grade as fast as the ties and steel came in, working day in and day out with one eye on the clouds and one on the tie-line and hoping every day for orders to stop. december slipped away to christmas with the steel still going down and the disaffected element among the railroad men at medicine bend waiting for disaster. the spectacle of mccloud handling a flying column on the crawling stone work in the face of the most treacherous weather in the mountain year was one that brought out constant criticism of him among sinclair's sympathizers and friends, and while mccloud laughed and pushed ahead on the work, they waited only for his discomfiture. christmas day found mccloud at the front, with men still very scarce, but mears's gang at work and laying steel. the work train was in charge of stevens, the freight conductor, who had been set back after the smoky creek wreck and was slowly climbing back to position. they were working in the usual way, with the flat cars ahead pushed by the engine, the caboose coupled to the tender being on the extreme hind end of the train. at two o'clock on christmas afternoon, when there was not a cloud in the sky, the horizon thickened in the east. within thirty minutes the mountains from end to end of the sky-line were lost in the sweep of a coming wind, and at three o'clock snow struck the valley like a pall. mears, greatly disturbed, ordered the men off the grade and into the caboose. mccloud had been inspecting culverts ahead, and had started for the train when the snow drove across the valley. it blotted the landscape from sight so fast that he was glad after an anxious five minutes to regain the ties and find himself safely with his men. but when mccloud came in the men were bordering on a panic. mears, with his two foremen, had gone ahead to hunt mccloud up, and had passed him in the storm; it was already impossible to see, or to hear an ordinary sound ten yards away. mccloud ordered the flat cars cut off the train and the engine whistle sounded at short intervals, and, taking stevens, buttoned his reefer and started up the grade after the three trackmen. they fired their revolvers as they went on, but the storm tossed their signals on the ears of mears and his companions from every quarter of the compass. mccloud was standing on the last tie and planning with his companion how best to keep the grade as the two advanced, when the engine signals suddenly changed. "now that sounds like one of bill dancing's games," said mccloud to his companion. "what the deuce is it, stevens?" stevens, who knew a little of everything, recognized the signals in an instant and threw up his hands. "it's morse code, mr. mccloud, and they are in--mears and the foremen--and us for the train as quick as the lord will let us; that's what they're whistling." "so much for an education, stevens. bully for you! come on!" they regained the flat cars and made their way back to the caboose and engine, which stood uncoupled. mccloud got into the cab with dancing and stevens. mears, from the caboose ahead, signalled all in, and, with a whistling scream, the engine started to back the caboose to piedmont. they had hardly more than got under full headway when a difficulty became apparent to the little group around the superintendent. they were riding an unballasted track and using such speed as they dared to escape from a situation that had become perilous. but the light caboose, packed like a sardine-box with men, was dancing a hornpipe on the rail-joints. mccloud felt the peril, and the lurching of the car could be seen in the jerk of the engine tender to which it was coupled. apprehensive, he crawled back on the coal to watch the caboose himself, and stayed long enough to see that the rapidly drifting snow threatened to derail the outfit any minute. he got back to the cab and ordered a stop. "this won't do!" said he to stevens and the engineman. "we can't back that caboose loaded with men through this storm. we shall be off the track in five minutes." "try it slow," suggested stevens. "if we had the time," returned mccloud; "but the snow is drifting on us. we've got to make a run for it if we ever get back, and we must have the engine in front of that way car with her pilot headed for the drifts. let's look at things." dancing and stevens, followed by mccloud, dropped out of the gangway. mears opened the caboose door and the four men went forward to inspect the track and the trucks. in the lee of the caboose a council was held. the roar of the wind was like the surge of many waters, and the snow had whitened into storm. they were ten miles from a habitation, and, but for the single track they were travelling, might as well have been a hundred miles so far as reaching a place of safety was concerned. they were without food, with a caboose packed with men on their hands, and they realized that their supply of fuel for either engine or caboose was perilously slender. "get your men ready with their tools, pat," said mccloud to mears. "what are you going to do?" "i'm going to turn the train around and put the nose of the engine into it." "turn the train around--why, yes, that would make it easy. i'd be glad to see it turned around. but where's your turntable, mr. mccloud?" asked mears. "how are you going to turn your train around on a single track?" asked stevens darkly. "i'm going to turn the track around. i know about where we are, i think. there's a little stretch just beyond this curve where the grade is flush with the ground. ask your engineman to run back very slowly and watch for the bell-rope. i'll ride on the front platform of the caboose till we get to where we want to go to work. lose no time, pat; tell your men it's now or never. if we are caught here we may stay till they carry us home, and the success of this little game depends on having everything ready and working quick." stevens, who stayed close to mccloud, pulled the cord within five minutes, and before the caboose had stopped the men were tumbling out of it. mccloud led mears and his foreman up the track. they tramped a hundred yards back and forth, and, with steel tapes for safety lines, swung a hundred feet out on each side of the track to make sure of the ground. "this will do," announced mccloud; "you waited here half a day for steel a week ago; i know the ground. break that joint, pat." he pointed to the rail under his foot. "pass ahead with the engine and car about a thousand feet," he said to the conductor, "and when i give you a signal back up slow and look out for a thirty-degree curve--without any elevation, either. get out all your men with lining-bars." the engine and caboose faded in the blur of the blizzard as the break was made in the track. "take those bars and divide your men into batches of ten with foremen that can make signs, if they can't talk english," directed mccloud. "work lively now, and throw this track to the south!" pretty much everybody--japs, italians, and greeks--understood the game they were playing. mccloud said afterward he would match his piedmont hundred in making a movable y against any two hundred experts glover could pick; they had had the experience, he added, when the move meant their last counter in the game of mountain life or death. the piedmont "hundred," to mccloud's mind, were after that day past masters in the art of track-shifting. working in a driving cloud of grit and snow, the ignorant, the dull, and the slow rose to the occasion. bill dancing, pat mears and his foreman, and stevens moved about in the driving snow like giants. the howling storm rang with the shouting of the foremen, the guttural cries of the japs, and the clank of the lining-bars as rail-length after rail-length of the heavy track was slued bodily from the grade alignment and swung around in a short curve to a right angle out on the open ground. mccloud at last gave the awaited signal, and, with keen-eyed, anxious men watching every revolution of the cautious driving-wheels, the engine, hissing and pausing as the air-brakes went off and on, pushed the light caboose slowly out on the rough spur to its extreme end and stopped with the pilot facing the main track at right angles; but before it had reached its halting-place spike-mauls were ringing at the fish-plates where a moment before it had left the line on the curve. the track at that point was cut again, and under a long line of bars and a renewed shouting it was thrown gradually quite across the long gap in the main line, and the new joints in a very rough curve were made fast just as the engine, running now with its pilot ahead, steamed slowly around the new curve and without accident regained the regular grade. it was greeted by a screeching yell as the men climbed into the caboose, for the engine stood safely headed into the teeth of the storm for piedmont. the ten miles to cover were now a matter of less than thirty minutes, and the construction train drew into the piedmont yards just as the telegraph wires were heating from headquarters with orders annulling freights, ordering ploughs on outgoing engines, and battening the division hatches for a grapple with a christmas blizzard. no man came back better pleased than stevens. "that man is all right," said he to mears, nodding his head toward mccloud, as they walked up from the caboose. "that's all i want to say. some of these fellows have been a little shy about going out with him; they've hounded me for months about stepping over his way when sinclair and his mugs struck. i reckon i played my hand about right." chapter xiv the quarrel spring found the construction of the valley line well advanced, and the grades nearing the lands of the dunning ranch. right-of-way men had been working for months with lance dunning, over the line, and mccloud had been called frequently into consultation to adjust the surveys to objections raised by dicksie's cousin to the crossing of the ranch lands. even when the proceedings had been closed, a strong current of discontent set from the managing head of the stone ranch. rumors of lance dunning's dissatisfaction often reached the railroad people. vague talk of an extensive irrigation scheme planned by sinclair for the crawling stone valley crept into the newspapers, and it was generally understood that lance dunning had expressed himself favorably to the enterprise. dicksie gave slight heed to matters as weighty as these. she spent much of her time on horseback, with jim under the saddle; and in medicine bend, where she rode with frequency, marion's shop became her favorite abiding-place. dicksie ordered hats until marion's conscience rose and she practically refused to supply any more. but the spirited controversy on this point, as on many others--dicksie's haughtiness and marion's restraint, quite unmoved by any show of displeasure--ended always in drawing the two closer to each other. at home dicksie's fancies at that time ran to chickens, and crate after crate of thoroughbreds and clutch after clutch of eggs were brought over the pass from far-away countries. but the coyotes stole the chickens and kept the hens in such a state of excitement that they could not be got to sit effectively. nest after nest dicksie had the mortification of seeing deserted at critical moments and left to furred prowlers of the foothills and canyons. once she had managed to shoot a particularly bold coyote, only to be overcome with remorse at seeing its death-struggle. she gained reputation with her cousin and the men, but was ever afterward assailed with the reflection that the poor fellow might have been providing for a hungry family. housekeeping cares rested lightly on dicksie. puss had charge of the house, and her mistress concerned herself more with the setting of jim's shoes than with the dust on the elk heads over the fireplace in the dining-room. her medicine bend horseshoer stood in much greater awe of her than puss did, because if he ever left a mistake on jim's heels dicksie could, and would, point it coldly out. one march afternoon, coming home from medicine bend, she saw at some distance before her a party of men on horseback. she was riding a trail leading from the pass road that followed the hills, and the party was coming up the bridge road from the lower ranch. dicksie had good eyes, and something unusual in the riding of the men was soon apparent to her. losing and regaining sight of them at different turns in the trail, she made out, as she rode among the trees, that they were cowboys of her own ranch, and riding, under evident excitement, about a strange horseman. she recognized in the escort stormy gorman, the ferocious foreman of the ranch, and denison and jim baugh, two of the most reckless of the men. these three carried rifles slung across their pommels, and in front of them rode the stranger. fragments of the breakfast-table talk of the morning came back to dicksie's mind. the railroad graders were in the valley below the ranch, and she had heard her cousin say a good deal on a point she cared little about, as to where the railroad should cross the stone ranch. approaching the fork of the two roads toward which she and the cowboys were riding, she checked her horse in the shade of a cottonwood tree, and as the party rode up the draw she saw the horseman under surveillance. it was george mccloud. unluckily, as she caught a glimpse of him she was conscious that he was looking at her. she bent forward to hide a momentary confusion, spoke briskly to her horse, and rode out of sight. at marion's she had carefully avoided him. her precipitancy at their last meeting had seemed, on reflection, unfortunate. she felt that she must have appeared to him shockingly rude, and there was in her recalling of the scene an unconfessed impression that she had been to blame. often when marion spoke of him, which she did without the slightest reserve and with no reference as to whether dicksie liked it or not, it had been in dicksie's mind to bring up the subject of the disagreeable scene, hoping that marion would suggest a way for making some kind of unembarrassing amends. but such opportunities had slipped away unimproved, and here was the new railroad superintendent, whom their bluff neighbor sinclair never referred to other than as the college guy, being brought apparently as a prisoner to the stone ranch. busied with her thoughts, dicksie rode slowly along the upper trails until a long _détour_ brought her around the corrals and in at the back of the house. throwing her lines to the ground, she alighted and through the back porch door made her way unobserved to her room. from the office across the big hall she heard men's voices in dispute, and she slipped into the dining-room, where she could hear and might see without being seen. the office was filled with cowboys. lance dunning, standing with a cigar in his hand and one leg thrown over a corner of the table, was facing mccloud, who stood before him with his hand on a chair. lance was speaking as dicksie looked into the room, and in curt tones: "my men were acting under my orders." "you have no right to give such orders," mccloud said distinctly, "nor to detain me, nor to obstruct our free passage along the right of way you have agreed to convey to us under our survey." "damn your survey! i never had a plat of any such survey. i don't recognize any such survey. and if your right-of-way men had ever said a word about crossing the creek above the flume i never would have given you a right of way at all." "there were never but two lines run below the creek; after you raised objection i ran them both, and both were above the flume." "well, you can't put a grade there. i and some of my neighbors are going to dam up that basin, and the irrigation laws will protect our rights." "i certainly can't put a grade in below the flume, and you refuse to talk about our crossing above it." "i certainly do." "why not let us cross where we are, and run a new level for your ditch that will put the flume higher up?" "you will have to cross below the flume where it stands, or you won't cross the ranch at all." mccloud was silent for a moment. "i am using a supported grade there for eight miles to get over the hill within a three-tenths limit. i can't drop back there. we might as well not build at all if we can't hold our grade, whereas it would be very simple to run a new line for your ditch, and my engineers will do it for you without a dollar of expense to you, mr. dunning." lance dunning waved his hand as an ultimatum. "cross where i tell you to cross, or keep off the stone ranch. is that english?" "it certainly is. but in matter of fact we must cross on the survey agreed on in the contract for a right-of-way deed." "i don't recognize any contract obtained under false representations." "do you accuse me of false representations?" lance dunning flipped the ash from his cigar. "who are you?" "i am just a plain, every-day civil engineer, but you must not talk false representations in any contract drawn under my hand." "i am talking facts. whispering smith may have rigged the joker--i don't know. whoever rigged it, it has been rigged all right." "any charge against whispering smith is a charge against me. he is not here to defend himself, but he needs no defence. you have charged me already with misleading surveys. i was telephoned for this morning to come over to see why you had held up our work, and your men cover me with rifles while i am riding on a public road." "you have been warned, or your men have, to keep off this ranch. your man stevens cut our wires this morning----" "as he had a perfect right to do on our right of way." "if you think so, stranger, go ahead again!" "oh, no! we won't have civil war--not right away, at least. and if you and your men have threatened and browbeaten me enough for to-day, i will go." "don't set foot on the stone ranch again, and don't send any men here to trespass, mark you!" "i mark you perfectly. i did not set foot willingly on your ranch to-day. i was dragged on it. where the men are grading now, they will finish their work." "no, they won't." "what, would you drive us off land you have already deeded?" "the first man that cuts our wires or orders them cut where they were strung yesterday will get into trouble." "then don't string any wires on land that belongs to us, for they will certainly come down if you do." lance dunning turned in a passion. "i'll put a bullet through you if you touch a barb of stone ranch wire!" stormy gorman jumped forward with his hand covering the grip of his six-shooter. "yes, damn you, and i'll put another!" "cousin lance!" dicksie dunning advanced swiftly into the room. "you are under our own roof, and you are wrong to talk in that way." her cousin stared at her. "dicksie, this is no place for you!" "it is when my cousin is in danger of forgetting he is a gentleman." "you are interfering with what you know nothing about!" exclaimed lance angrily. "i know what is due to every one under this roof." "will you be good enough to leave this room?" "not if there is to be any shooting or threats of shooting that involve my cousin." "dicksie, leave the room!" there was a hush. the cowboys dropped back. dicksie stood motionless. she gave no sign in her manner that she heard the words, but she looked very steadily at her cousin. "you forget yourself!" was all she said. "i am master here!" "also my cousin," murmured dicksie evenly. "you don't understand this matter at all!" declared lance dunning vehemently. "nothing could justify your language." "do you think i am going to allow this railroad company to ruin this ranch while i am responsible here? you have no business interfering, i say!" "i think i have." "these matters are not of your affair!" "not of my affair?" the listeners stood riveted. mccloud felt himself swallowing, and took a step backward with an effort as dicksie advanced. her hair, loosened by her ride, spread low upon her head. she stood in her saddle habit, with her quirt still in hand. "any affair that may lead my cousin into shooting is my affair. i make it mine. this is my father's roof. i neither know nor care anything about what led to this quarrel, but the quarrel is mine now. i will not allow my cousin to plunge into anything that may cost him his life or ruin it." she turned suddenly, and her eyes fell on mccloud. "i am not willing to leave either myself or my cousin in a false position. i regret especially that mr. mccloud should be brought into so unpleasant a scene, because he has already suffered rudeness at my own hands----" mccloud flushed. he raised his hand slightly. "and i am very sorry for it," added dicksie, before he could speak. then, turning, she withdrew from the room. "i am sure," said mccloud slowly, as he spoke again to her cousin, "there need be no serious controversy over the right-of-way matter, mr. dunning. i certainly shall not precipitate any. suppose you give me a chance to ride over the ground with you again and let us see whether we can't arrive at some conclusion?" but lance was angry, and nursed his wrath a long time. chapter xv the shot in the pass dicksie walked hurriedly through the dining-room and out upon the rear porch. her horse was standing where she had left him. her heart beat furiously as she caught up the reins, but she sprang into the saddle and rode rapidly away. the flood of her temper had brought a disregard of consequence: it was in the glow of her eyes, the lines of her lips, and the tremor of her nostrils as she breathed long and deeply on her flying horse. when she checked jim she had ridden miles, but not without a course nor without a purpose. where the roads ahead of her parted to lead down the river and over the elbow pass to medicine bend, she halted within a clump of trees almost where she had first seen mccloud. beyond the mission mountains the sun was setting in a fire like that which glowed under her eyes. she could have counted her heart-beats as the crimson ball sank below the verge of the horizon and the shadows threw up the silver thread of the big river and deepened across the heavy green of the alfalfa fields. where dicksie sat, struggling with her bounding pulse and holding jim tightly in, no one from the ranch or, indeed, from the up-country could pass her unseen. she was waiting for a horseman, and the sun had set but a few minutes when she heard a sharp gallop coming down the upper road from the hills. all her brave plans, terror-stricken at the sound of the hoof-beats, fled from her utterly. she was stunned by the suddenness of the crisis. she had meant to stop mccloud and speak to him, but before she could summon her courage a tall, slender man on horseback dashed past within a few feet of her. she could almost have touched him as he flew by, and a horse less steady than jim would have shied under her. dicksie caught her breath. she did not know this man--she had seen only his eyes, oddly bright in the twilight as he passed--but he was not of the ranch. he must have come from the hill road, she concluded, down which she herself had just ridden. he was somewhere from the north, for he sat his horse like a statue and rode like the wind. but the encounter nerved her to her resolve. some leaden moments passed, and mccloud, galloping at a far milder pace toward the fork of the roads, checked his speed as he approached. he saw a woman on horseback waiting in his path. "mr. mccloud!" "miss dunning!" "i could not forgive myself if i waited too long to warn you that threats have been made against your life. not of the kind you heard to-day. my cousin is not a murderer, and never could be, i am sure, in spite of his talk; but i was frightened at the thought that if anything dreadful should happen his name would be brought into it. there are enemies of yours in this country to be feared, and it is against these that i warn you. good-night!" "surely you won't ride away without giving me a chance to thank you!" exclaimed mccloud. dicksie checked her horse. "i owe you a double debt of gratitude," he added, "and i am anxious to assure you that we desire nothing that will injure your interests in any way in crossing your lands." "i know nothing about those matters, because my cousin manages everything. it is growing late and you have a good way to go, so good-night." "but you will allow me to ride back to the house with you?" "oh, no, indeed, thank you!" "it will soon be dark and you are alone." "no, no! i am quite safe and i have only a short ride. it is you who have far to go," and she spoke again to jim, who started briskly. "miss dunning, won't you listen just a moment? please don't run away!" mccloud was trying to come up with her. "won't you hear me a moment? i have suffered some little humiliation to-day; i should really rather be shot up than have more put on me. i am a man and you are a woman, and it is already dark. isn't it for me to see you safely to the house? won't you at least pretend i can act as an escort and let me go with you? i should make a poor figure trying to catch you on horseback----" dicksie nodded naïvely. "with that horse." "with any horse--i know that," said mccloud, keeping at her side. "but i _can't_ let you ride back with me," declared dicksie, urging jim and looking directly at mccloud for the first time. "how could i explain?" "let me explain. i am famous for explaining," urged mccloud, spurring too. "and will you tell me what _i_ should be doing while you were explaining?" she asked. "perhaps getting ready a first aid for the injured." "i feel as if i ought to run away," declared dicksie, since she had clearly decided not to. "it will have to be a compromise, i suppose. you must not ride farther than the first gate, and let us take this trail instead of the road. now make your horse go as fast as you can and i'll keep up." but mccloud's horse, though not a wonder, went too fast to suit his rider, who divided his efforts between checking him and keeping up the conversation. when mccloud dismounted to open dicksie's gate, and stood in the twilight with his hat in his hand and his bridle over his arm, he was telling a story about marion sinclair, and dicksie in the saddle, tapping her knee with her bridle-rein, was looking down and past him as if the light upon his face were too bright. before she would start away she made him remount, and he said good-by only after half a promise from her that she would show him sometime a trail to the top of bridger's peak, with a view of the peace river on the east and the whole mission range and the park country on the north. then she rode away at an amazing run, nodding back as he sat still holding his hat above his head. mccloud galloped toward the pass with one determination--that he would have a horse, and a good one, one that could travel with jim, if it cost him his salary. he exulted as he rode, for the day had brought him everything he wished, and humiliation had been swallowed up in triumph. it was nearly dark when he reached the crest between the hills. at this point the southern grade of the pass winds sharply, whence its name, the elbow; but from the head of the pass the grade may be commanded at intervals for half a mile. trotting down this road with his head in a whirl of excitement, mccloud heard the crack of a rifle; at the same instant he felt a sharp slap at his hat. instinct works on all brave men very much alike. mccloud dropped forward in his saddle, and, seeking no explanation, laid his head low and spurred bill dancing's horse for life or death. the horse, quite amazed, bolted and swerved down the grade like a snipe, with his rider crouching close for a second shot. but no second shot came, and after another mile mccloud ventured to take off his hat and put his finger through the holes in it, though he did not stop his horse to make the examination. when they reached the open country the horse had settled into a fast, long stride that not only redeemed his reputation but relieved his rider's nerves. when mccloud entered his office it was half-past nine o'clock, and the first thing he did before turning on the lights was to draw the window-shades. he examined the hat again, with sensations that were new to him--fear, resentment, and a hearty hatred of his enemies. but all the while the picture of dicksie remained. he thought of her nodding to him as they parted in the saddle, and her picture blotted out all that had followed. chapter xvi at the wickiup two nights later whispering smith rode into medicine bend. "i've been up around williams cache," he said, answering mccloud's greeting as he entered the upstairs office. "how goes it?" he was in his riding rig, just as he had come from a late supper. when he asked for news mccloud told him the story of the trouble with lance dunning over the survey, and added that he had referred the matter to glover. he told then of his unpleasant surprise when riding home afterward. "yes," assented smith, looking with feverish interest at mccloud's head; "i heard about it." "that's odd, for i haven't said a word about the matter to anybody but marion sinclair, and you haven't seen her." "i heard up the country. it is great luck that he missed you." "who missed me?" "the man that was after you." "the bullet went through my hat." "let me see the hat." mccloud produced it. it was a heavy, broad-brimmed stetson, with a bullet-hole cut cleanly through the front and the back of the crown. smith made mccloud put the hat on and describe his position when the shot was fired. mccloud stood up, and whispering smith eyed him and put questions. "what do you think of it?" asked mccloud when he had done. smith leaned forward on the table and pushed mccloud's hat toward him as if the incident were closed. "there is no question in my mind, and there never has been, but that stetson puts up the best hat worn on the range." mccloud raised his eyebrows. "why, thank you! your conclusion clears things so. after you speak a man has nothing to do but guess." "but, by heaven, george," exclaimed smith, speaking with unaccustomed fervor, "miss dicksie dunning is a hummer, _isn't_ she? that child will have the whole range going in another year. to think of her standing up and lashing her cousin in that way when he was browbeating a railroad man!" "where did you hear about that?" "the whole crawling stone country is talking about it. you never told me you had a misunderstanding with dicksie dunning at marion's. loosen up!" "i will loosen up in the way you do. what scared me most, gordon, was waiting for the second shot. why didn't he fire again?" "doubtless he thought he had you the first time. any man big enough to start after you is not used to shooting twice at two hundred and fifty yards. he probably thought you were falling out of the saddle; and it was dark. i can account for everything but your reaching the pass so late. how did you spend all your time between the ranch and the foothills?" mccloud saw there was no escape from telling of his meeting with dicksie dunning, of her warning, and of his ride to the gate with her. every point brought a suppressed exclamation from whispering smith. "so she gave you your life," he mused. "good for her! if you had got into the pass on time you could not have got away--the cards were stacked for you. he overestimated you a little, george; just a little. good men make mistakes. the sport of circumstances that we are! the sport of circumstances!" "now tell me how _you_ heard so much about it, gordon, and where?" "through a friend, but forget it." "do you know who shot at me?" "yes." "i think i do, too. i think it was the fellow that shot so well with the rifle at the barbecue--what was his name? he was working for sinclair, and perhaps is yet." "you mean seagrue, the montana cowboy? no, you are wrong. seagrue is a man-killer, but a square one." "how do you know?" "i will tell you sometime--but this was not seagrue." "one of dunning's men, was it? stormy gorman?" "no, no, a very different sort! stormy is a wind-bag. the man that is after you is in town at this minute, and he has come to stay until he finishes his job." "the devil! that's what makes your eyes so bright, is it? do you know him?" "i have seen him. you may see him yourself if you want to." "i'd like nothing better. when?" "to-night--in thirty minutes." mccloud closed his desk. there was a rap at the door. "that must be kennedy," said smith. "i haven't seen him, but i sent word for him to meet me here." the door opened and kennedy entered the room. "sit down, farrell," said whispering smith easily. "_ve gates?_" "how's that?" "_wie geht es?_ don't pretend you can't make out my german. he is trying to let on he is not a dutchman," observed whispering smith to mccloud. "you wouldn't believe it, but i can remember when farrell wore wooden shoes and lighted his pipe with a candle. he sleeps under a feather-bed yet. du sang is in town, farrell." "du sang!" echoed the tall man with mild interest as he picked up a ruler and, throwing his leg on the edge of the table, looked cheerful. "how long has du sang been in town? visiting friends or doing business?" "he is after your superintendent. he has been here since four o'clock, i reckon, and i've ridden a hard road to-day to get in in time to talk it over with him. want to go?" kennedy slapped his leg with the ruler. "i always want to go, don't i?" "farrell, if you hadn't been a railroad man you would have made a great undertaker, do you know that?" kennedy, slapping his leg, showed his ivory teeth. "you have such an instinct for funerals," added whispering smith. "now, mr. smith! well, who are we waiting for? i'm ready," said kennedy, taking out his revolver and examining it. mccloud put on his new hat and asked if he should take a gun. "you are really accompanying me as my guest, george," explained whispering smith reproachfully. "won't it be fun to shove this man right under du sang's nose and make him bat his eyes?" he added to kennedy. "well, put one in your pocket if you like, george, provided you have one that will go off when sufficiently urged." mccloud opened the drawer of the table and took from it a revolver. whispering smith reached out his hand for the gun, examined it, and handed it back. "you don't like it." smith smiled a sickly approbation. "a forty-five gun with a thirty-eight bore, george? a little light for shock; a _little_ light. a bullet is intended to knock a man down; not necessarily to kill him, but, if possible, to keep him from killing you. never mind, we all have our fads. come on!" at the foot of the stairs whispering smith stopped. "now i don't know where we shall find this man, but we'll try the three horses." as they started down the street mccloud took the inside of the sidewalk, but smith dropped behind and brought mccloud into the middle. they failed to find du sang at the three horses, and leaving started to round up the street. they visited many places, but each was entered in the same way. kennedy sauntered in first and moved slowly ahead. he was to step aside only in case he saw du sang. mccloud in every instance followed him, with whispering smith just behind, amiably surprised. they spent an hour in and out of the front street resorts, but their search was fruitless. "you are sure he is in town?" asked kennedy. the three men stood deliberating in the shadow of a side street. "sure!" answered whispering smith. "of course, if he turns the trick he wants to get away quietly. he is lying low. who is that, farrell?" a man passing out of the shadow of a shade tree was crossing fort street a hundred feet away. "it looks like our party," whispered kennedy. "no, stop a bit!" they drew back into the shadow. "that is du sang," said kennedy; "i know his hobble." chapter xvii a test du sang had the sidewise gait of a wolf, and crossed the street with the choppy walk of the man out of a long saddle. being both uncertain and quick, he was a man to slip a trail easily. he travelled around the block and disappeared among the many open doors that blazed along hill street. less alert trailers than the two behind him would have been at fault; but when he entered the place he was looking for, kennedy was so close that du sang could have spoken to him had he turned around. kennedy passed directly ahead. a moment later whispering smith put his head inside the door of the joint du sang had entered, withdrew it, and, rejoining his companions, spoke in an undertone: "a negro dive; he's lying low. now we will keep our regular order. it's a half-basement, with a bar on the left; crap games at the table behind the screen on the right. kennedy, will you take the rear end of the bar? it covers the whole room and the back door. george, pass in ahead of me and step just to the left of the slot machine; you've got the front door there and everything behind the screen, and i can get close to du sang. look for a thinnish, yellow-faced man with a brown hat and a brown shirt--and pink eyes--shooting craps under this window. i'll shoot craps with him. is your heart pumping, george? never mind, this is easy! farrell, you're first!" the dive, badly lighted and ventilated, was counted tough among tough places. white men and colored mixed before the bar and about the tables. when smith stepped around the screen and into the flare of the hanging lamps, du sang stood in the small corner below the screened street window. mccloud, though vitally interested in looking at the man that had come to town to kill him, felt his attention continually wandering back to whispering smith. the clatter of the rolling dice, the guttural jargon of the negro gamblers, the drift of men to and from the bar, and the clouds of tobacco smoke made a hazy background for the stoop-shouldered man with his gray hat and shabby coat, dust-covered and travel-stained. industriously licking the broken wrapper of a cheap cigar and rolling it fondly under his forefinger, he was making his way unostentatiously toward du sang. thirty-odd men were in the saloon, but only two knew what the storm centre moving slowly across the room might develop. kennedy, seeing everything and talking pleasantly with one of the barkeepers, his close-set teeth gleaming twenty feet away, stood at the end of the bar sliding an empty glass between his hands. whispering smith pushed past the on-lookers to get to the end of the table where du sang was shooting. he made no effort to attract du sang's attention, and when the latter looked up he could have pulled the gray hat from the head of the man whose brown eyes were mildly fixed on du sang's dice; they were lying just in front of smith. looking indifferently at the intruder, du sang reached for the dice: just ahead of his right hand, whispering smith's right hand, the finger-tips extended on the table, rested in front of them; it might have been through accident or it might have been through design. in his left hand smith held the broken cigar, and without looking at du sang he passed the wrapper again over the tip of his tongue and slowly across his lips. du sang now looked sharply at him, and smith looked at his cigar. others were playing around the semicircular table--it might mean nothing. du sang waited. smith lifted his right hand from the table and felt in his waistcoat for a match. du sang, however, made no effort to take up the dice. he watched whispering smith scratch a match on the table, and, either because it failed to light or through design, it was scratched the second time on the table, marking a cross between the two dice. the meanest negro in the joint would not have stood that, yet du sang hesitated. whispering smith, mildly surprised, looked up. "hello, pearline! you shooting here?" he pushed the dice back toward the outlaw. "shoot again!" du sang, scowling, snapped the dice and threw badly. "up jump the devil, is it? shoot again!" and, pushing back the dice, smith moved closer to du sang. the two men touched arms. du sang, threatened in a way wholly new to him, waited like a snake braved by a mysterious enemy. his eyes blinked like a badger's. he caught up the dice and threw. "is that the best you can do?" asked smith. "see here!" he took up the dice. "shoot with me!" smith threw the dice up the table toward du sang. once he threw craps, but, reaching directly in front of du sang, he picked the dice up and threw eleven. "shoot with me, du sang." "what's your game?" snapped du sang, with an oath. "what do you care, if i've got the coin? i'll throw you for twenty-dollar gold pieces." du sang's eyes glittered. unable to understand the reason for the affront, he stood like a cat waiting to spring. "this is my game!" he snarled. "then play it." "look here, what do you want?" he demanded angrily. smith stepped closer. "any game you've got. i'll throw you left-handed, du sang." with his right hand he snapped the dice under du sang's nose and looked squarely into his eyes. "got any sugar buttes money?" du sang for an instant looked keenly back; his eyes contracted in that time to a mere narrow slit; then, sudden as thought, he sprang back into the corner. he knew now. this was the man who held the aces at the barbecue, the railroad man--whispering smith. kennedy, directly across the table, watched the lightning-like move. for the first time the crap-dealer looked impatiently up. it was a showdown. no one watching the two men under the window breathed for a moment. whispering smith, motionless, only watched the half-closed eyes. "you can't shoot craps," he said coldly. "what can you shoot, pearline? you can't stop a man on horseback." du sang knew he must try for a quick kill or make a retreat. he took in the field at a glance. kennedy's teeth gleamed only ten feet away, and with his right hand half under his coat lapel he toyed with his watch-chain. mccloud had moved in from the slot machine and stood at the point of the table, looking at du sang and laughing at him. whispering smith threw off all pretence. "take your hand away from your gun, you albino! i'll blow your head off left-handed if you pull! will you get out of this town to-night? if you can't drop a man in the saddle at two hundred and fifty yards, what do you think you'd look like after a break with me? go back to the whelp that hired you, and tell him when he wants a friend of mine to send a man that can shoot. if you are within twenty miles of medicine bend at daylight i'll rope you like a fat cow and drag you down front street!" du sang, with burning eyes, shrank narrower and smaller into his corner, ready to shoot if he had to, but not liking the chances. no man in williams cache could pull or shoot with du sang, but no man in the mountains had ever drawn successfully against the man that faced him. whispering smith saw that he would not draw. he taunted him again in low tones, and, backing away, spoke laughingly to mccloud. while kennedy covered the corner, smith backed to the door and waited for the two to join him. they halted a moment at the door, then they backed slowly up the steps and out into the street. there was no talk till they reached the wickiup office. "now, will some of you tell me who du sang is?" asked mccloud, after kennedy and whispering smith with banter and laughing had gone over the scene. kennedy picked up the ruler. "the wickedest, cruelest man in the bunch--and the best shot." "where is your hat, george--the one he put the bullet through?" asked whispering smith, limp in the big chair. "burn it up; he thinks he missed you. burn it up now. never let him find out what a close call you had. du sang! yes, he is cold-blooded as a wild-cat and cruel as a soft bullet. du sang would shoot a dying man, george, just to keep him squirming in the dirt. did you ever see such eyes in a human being, set like that and blinking so in the light? it's bad enough to watch a man when you can see his eyes. here's hoping we're done with him!" chapter xviii new plans callahan crushed the tobacco under his thumb in the palm of his right hand. "so i am sorry to add," he concluded, speaking to mccloud, "that you are now out of a job." the two men were facing each other across the table in mccloud's office. "personally, i am not sorry to say it, either," added callahan, slowly filling the bowl of his pipe. mccloud said nothing to the point, as there seemed to be nothing to say until he had heard more. "i never knew before that you were left-handed," he returned evasively. "it's a lucky thing, because it won't do for a freight-traffic man, nowadays, to let his right hand know what his left hand does," observed callahan, feeling for a match. "i am the only left-handed man in the traffic department, but the man that handles the rebates, jimmie black, is cross-eyed. bucks offered to send him to chicago to have bryson straighten his eyes, but jimmie thinks it is better to have them as they are for the present, so he can look at a thing in two different ways--one for the interstate commerce commission and one for himself. you haven't heard, then?" continued callahan, returning to his riddle about mccloud's job. "why, lance dunning has gone into the united states court and got an injunction against us on the crawling stone line--tied us up tighter than zero. no more construction there for a year at least. dunning comes in for himself and for a cousin who is his ward, and three or four little ranchers have filed bills--so it's up to the lawyers for eighty per cent. of the gate receipts and peace. personally, i'm glad of it. it gives you a chance to look after this operating for a year yourself. we are going to be swamped with freight traffic this year, and i want it moved through the mountains like checkers for the next six months. you know what i mean, george." to mccloud the news came, in spite of himself, as a blow. the results he had attained in building through the lower valley had given him a name among the engineers of the whole line. the splendid showing of the winter construction, on which he had depended to enable him to finish the whole work within the year, was by this news brought to naught. those of the railroad men who said he could not deliver a completed line within the year could never be answered now. and there was some slight bitterness in the reflection that the very stumbling-block to hold him back, to rob him of his chance for a reputation with men like glover and bucks, should be the lands of dicksie dunning. he made no complaint. on the division he took hold with new energy and bent his faculties on the operating problems. at marion's he saw dicksie at intervals, and only to fall more hopelessly under her spell each time. she could be serious and she could be volatile and she could be something between which he could never quite make out. she could be serious with him when he was serious, and totally irresponsible the next minute with marion. on the other hand, when mccloud attempted to be flippant, dicksie could be confusingly grave. once when he was bantering with her at marion's she tried to say something about her regret that complications over the right of way should have arisen; but mccloud made light of it, and waved the matter aside as if he were a cavalier. dicksie did not like it, but it was only that he was afraid she would realize he was a mere railroad superintendent with hopes of a record for promotion quite blasted. and as if this obstacle to a greater reputation were not enough, a wilier enemy threatened in the spring to leave only shreds and patches of what he had already earned. the crawling stone river is said to embody, historically, all of the deceits known to mountain streams. below the box canyon it ploughs through a great bed of yielding silt, its own deposit between the two imposing lines of bluffs that resist its wanderings from side to side of the wide valley. this fertile soil makes up the rich lands that are the envy of less fortunate regions in the great basin; but the crawling stone is not a river to give quiet title to one acre of its own making. the toil of its centuries spreads beautifully green under the june skies, and the unsuspecting settler, lulled into security by many years of the river's repose, settles on its level bench lands and lays out his long lines of possession; but the sioux will tell you in their own talk that this man is but a tenant at will; that in another time and at another place the stranger will inherit his fields; and that the crawling stone always comes back for its own. this was the peril that glover and mccloud essayed when they ran a three-tenths grade and laid an eighty-pound rail up two hundred and fifty miles of the valley. it was in local and exclusive territory a rich prize, and they brought to their undertaking not, perhaps, greater abilities than other men, but incomparably greater material resources than earlier american engineers had possessed. success such as theirs is cumulative: when the work is done one man stands for it, but it represents the work of a thousand men in every walk of american industry. where the credit must lie with the engineer who achieves is in the application of these enormous reserves of industrial triumphs to the particular conditions he faces in the problem before him; in the application lies the genius called success, and this is always new. moreover, men like glover and mccloud were fitted for a fight with a mountain river because trained in the western school, where poverty or resource had sharpened the wits. the building of the crawling stone line came with the dawn of a new day in american capital, when figures that had slept in fairies' dreams woke into every-day use, and when enlarged calculation among men controlling hitherto unheard-of sums of money demanded the best and most permanent methods of construction to insure enduring economies in operating. thus the constructing of the crawling stone line opened in itself new chapters in rocky mountain railroad-building. an equipment of machinery, much of which had never before been applied to such building, had been assembled by the engineers. steam-shovels had been sent in battalions, grading-machines and dump-wagons had gone forward in trainloads, and an army of men were operating in the valley. a huge steel bridge three thousand feet long was now being thrown across the river below the dunning ranch. the winter had been an unusual one even in a land of winters. the season's fall of snow had not been above an average, but it had fallen in the spring and had been followed by excessively low temperatures throughout the mountains. june came again, but a strange june. the first rise of the crawling stone had not moved out the winter frost, and the stream lay bound from bank to bank, and for hundreds of miles, under three feet of ice. when june opened, backward and cold, there had been no spring. heavy frosts lasting until the middle of the month gave sudden way to summer heat, and the indians on the upper-valley reservation began moving back into the hills. then came the rise. creek after creek in the higher mountains, ice-bound for six months, burst without warning into flood. soft winds struck with the sun and stripped the mountain walls of their snow. rains set in on the desert, and far in the high northwest the crawling stone lifting its four-foot cap of ice like a bed of feathers began rolling it end over end down the valley. in the box, forty feet of water struck the canyon walls and ice-floes were hurled like torpedoes against the granite spurs: the crawling stone was starting after its own. when the river rose, the earlier talk of dunning's men had been that the crawling stone would put an end to the railroad pretensions by washing the two hundred and fifty miles of track back to the peace river, where it had started. this much in the beginning was easy to predict; but the railroad men had turned out in force to fight for their holdings, and while the ranchers were laughing, the river was flowing over the bench lands in the upper valley. at the dunning ranch the confidence of the men in their own security gave way to confusion as the river, spreading behind the ice-jams into broad lakes and bursting in torrents through its barriers, continued to rise. treacherous in its broad and yellow quiet, lifting its muddy head in the stillness of the night, moving unheard over broad sandy bottoms, backing noiselessly into forgotten channels, stealing through heavy alfalfa pastures, eating a channel down a slender furrow--then, with the soil melting from the root, the plant has toppled at the head, the rivulet has grown a stream; night falls, and in the morning where yesterday smiling miles of green fields looked up to the sun rolls a mad flood of waters: this is the crawling stone. chapter xix the crawling stone rise so sudden was the onset of the river that the trained riders of the big ranch were taken completely aback, and hundreds of head of dunning cattle were swept away before they could be removed to points of safety. fresh alarms came with every hour of the day and night, and the telephones up and down the valley rang incessantly with appeals from neighbor to neighbor. lance dunning, calling out the reserves of his vocabulary, swore tremendously and directed the operations against the river. these seemed, indeed, to consist mainly of hard riding and hard language on the part of everybody. murray sinclair, although he had sold his ranch on the crawling stone and was concentrating his holdings on the frenchman, was everywhere in evidence. he was the first at a point of danger and the last to ride away from the slipping acres where the muddy flood undercut; but no defiance seemed to disturb the crawling stone, which kept alarmingly at work. above the alfalfa lands on the long bench north of the house the river, in changing its course many years earlier, had left a depression known as mud lake. it had become separated from the main channel of the crawling stone by a high, narrow barrier in the form of a bench deposited by the receding waters of some earlier flood, and added to by sand-storms sweeping among the willows that overspread it. without an effective head or definite system of work the efforts of the men at the stone ranch were of no more consequence than if they had spent their time in waving blankets at the river. twenty men riding in together to tell lance dunning that the river was washing out the tree claims above mud lake made no perceptible difference in the event. dicksie, though an inexperienced girl, saw with helpless clearness the futility of it all. the alarms and the continual failures of the army of able-bodied men directed by sinclair and her cousin wore on her spirit. the river rose until each succeeding inch became a menace to the life and property of the ranch, and in the midst of it came the word that the river was cutting into the willows and heading for mud lake. all knew what that meant. if the crawling stone should take its old channel, not alone were the two square miles of alfalfa doomed: it would sweep away every vestige of the long stacks below the corrals, take the barns, and lap the slope in front of the ranch-house itself. terror seized dicksie. she telephoned in her distress for marion, begging her to come up before they should all be swept away; and marion, turning the shop over to katie dancing, got into the ranch-wagon that dicksie had sent and started for the crawling stone. the confusion along the river road as the wagon approached the ranch showed marion the seriousness of the situation. settlers driven from their homes in the upper valley formed almost a procession of misery-stricken people, making their way on horseback, on foot, and in wagons toward medicine bend. with them they were bringing all they had saved from the flood--the little bunch of cows, the wagonload of hogs, the household effects, the ponies--as if war or pestilence had struck the valley. at noon marion arrived. the ranch-house was deserted, and the men were all at the river. puss stuck her head out of the kitchen window, and dicksie ran out and threw herself into marion's arms. late news from the front had been the worst: the cutting above mud lake had weakened the last barrier that held off the river, and every available man was fighting the current at that point. marion heard it all while eating a luncheon. dicksie, beset with anxiety, could not stay in the house. the man that had driven marion over, saddled horses in the afternoon and the two women rode up above mud lake, now become through rainfall and seepage from the river a long, shallow lagoon. for an hour they watched the shovelling and carrying of sandbags, and rode toward the river to the very edge of the disappearing willows, where the bank was melting away before the undercut of the resistless current. they rode away with a common feeling--a conviction that the fight was a losing one, and that another day would see the ruin complete. "dicksie," exclaimed marion--they were riding to the house as she spoke--"i'll tell you what we _can_ do!" she hesitated a moment. "i will tell you what we _can_ do! are you plucky?" dicksie looked at marion pathetically. "if you are plucky enough to do it, we can keep the river off yet. i have an idea. i will go, but you must come along." "marion, what do you mean? don't you think i would go anywhere to save the ranch? i should like to know where you dare go in this country that i dare not!" "then ride with me over to the railroad camp by the new bridge. we will ask mr. mccloud to bring some of his men over. he can stop the river; he knows how." dicksie caught her breath. "oh, marion! that would do no good, even if i could do it. why, the railroad has been all swept away in the lower valley." "how do you know?" "so every one says." "who is every one?" "cousin lance, mr. sinclair--all the men. i heard that a week ago." "dicksie, don't believe it. you don't know these railroad men. they understand this kind of thing; cattlemen, you know, don't. if you will go with me we can get help. i feel just as sure that those men can control the river as i do that i am looking at you--that is, if anybody can. the question is, do you want to make the effort?" they talked until they left the horses and entered the house. when they sat down, dicksie put her hands to her face. "oh, i wish you had said nothing about it! how _can_ i go to him and ask for help now--after cousin lance has gone into court about the line and everything? and of course my name is in it all." "dicksie, don't raise spectres that have nothing to do with the case. if we go to him and ask him for help he will give it to us if he can; if he can't, what harm is done? he has been up and down the river for three weeks, and he has an army of men camped over by the bridge. i know that, because mr. smith rode in from there a few days ago." "what, whispering smith? oh, if he is there i would not go for worlds!" "pray, why not?" "why, he is such an awful man!" "that is absurd, dicksie." dicksie looked grave. "marion, no man in this part of the country has a good word to say for whispering smith." "perhaps you have forgotten, dicksie, that you live in a very rough part of the country," returned marion coolly. "no man that he has ever hunted down would have anything pleasant to say about him; nor would the friends of such a man be likely to say a good word of him. there are many on the range, dicksie, that have no respect for life or law or anything else, and they naturally hate a man like whispering smith----" "but, marion, he killed----" "i know. he killed a man named williams a few years ago, while you were at school--one of the worst men that ever infested this country. williams cache is named after that man; he made the most beautiful spot in all these mountains a nest of thieves and murderers. but did you know that williams shot down gordon smith's only brother, a trainmaster, in cold blood in front of the wickiup at medicine bend? no, you never heard that in this part of the country, did you? they had a cow-thief for sheriff then, and no officer in medicine bend would go after the murderer. he rode in and out of town as if he owned it, and no one dared say a word, and, mind you, gordon smith's brother had never seen the man in his life until he walked up and shot him dead. oh, this was a peaceful country a few years ago! gordon smith was right-of-way man in the mountains then. he buried his brother, and asked the officers what they were going to do about getting the murderer. they laughed at him. he made no protest, except to ask for a deputy united states marshal's commission. when he got it he started for williams cache after williams in a buckboard--think of it, dicksie--and didn't they laugh at him! he did not even know the trails, and imagine riding two hundred miles in a buckboard to arrest a man in the mountains! he was gone six weeks, and came back with williams's body strapped to the buckboard behind him. he never told the story; all he said when he handed in his commission and went back to his work was that the man was killed in a fair fight. hate him! no wonder they hate him--the williams cache gang and all their friends on the range! your cousin thinks it policy to placate that element, hoping that they won't steal your cattle if you are friendly with them. i know nothing about that, but i do know something about whispering smith. it will be a bad day for williams cache when they start him up again. but what has that to do with your trouble? he will not eat you up if you go to the camp, dicksie. you are just raising bogies." they had moved to the front porch and marion was sitting in the rocking-chair. dicksie stood with her back against one of the pillars and looked at her. as marion finished dicksie turned and, with her hand on her forehead, looked in wretchedness of mind out on the valley. as far, in many directions, as the eye could reach the waters spread yellow in the flood of sunshine across the lowlands. there was a moment of silence. dicksie turned her back on the alarming sight. "marion, i can't do it!" "oh, yes, you can if you want to, dicksie!" dicksie looked at her with tearless eyes. "it is only a question of being plucky enough," insisted marion. "pluck has nothing to do with it!" exclaimed dicksie in fiery tones. "i should like to know why you are always talking about my not having courage! this isn't a question of courage. how can i go to a man that i talked to as i talked to him in your house and ask for help? how can i go to him after my cousin has threatened to kill him, and gone into court to prevent his coming on our land? shouldn't i look beautiful asking help from him?" marion rocked with perfect composure. "no, dear, you would not look beautiful asking help, but you would look sensible. it is so easy to be beautiful and so hard to be sensible." "you are just as horrid as you can be, marion sinclair!" "i know that, too, dear. all i wanted to say is that you would look very sensible just now in asking help from mr. mccloud." "i don't care--i won't do it. i will never do it, not if every foot of the ranch tumbles into the river. i hope it will! nobody cares anything about me. i have no friends but thieves and outlaws." "dicksie!" marion rose. "that is what you said." "i did not. i am your friend. how dare you call me names?" demanded marion, taking the petulant girl in her arms. "don't you think i care anything about you? there are people in this country that you have never seen who know you and love you almost as much as i do. don't let any silly pride prevent your being sensible, dear." dicksie burst into tears. marion drew her over to the settee, and she had her cry out. when it was over they changed the subject. dicksie went to her room. it was a long time before she came down again, but marion rocked in patience: she was resolved to let dicksie fight it out herself. when dicksie came down, marion stood at the foot of the stairs. the young mistress of crawling stone ranch descended step by step very slowly. "marion," she said simply, "i will go with you." chapter xx at the dike marion caught her closely to her heart. "i knew you would go if i got you angry, dear. but you are so slow to anger. mr. mccloud is just the same way. mr. smith says when he does get angry he can do anything. he is very like you in so many ways." dicksie was wiping her eyes. "is he, marion? well, what shall i wear?" "just your riding-clothes, dear, and a smile. he won't know what you have on. it is you he will want to see. but i've been thinking of something else. what will your cousin lance say? suppose he should object?" "object! i should like to see _him_ object after losing the fight himself." marion laughed. "well, do you think you can find the way down there for us?" "i can find any way anywhere within a hundred miles of here." on the th of june mccloud did have something of an army of men in the crawling stone valley. of these, two hundred and fifty were in the vicinity of the bridge, the abutments and piers of which were being put in just below the dunning ranch. near at hand bill dancing, with a big gang, had been for some time watching the ice and dynamiting the jams. mccloud brought in more men as the river continued to rise. the danger line on the gauges was at length submerged, and for three days the main-line construction camps had been robbed of men to guard the soft grades above and below the bridge. the new track up and down the valley had become a highway of escape from the flood, and the track patrols were met at every curve by cattle, horses, deer, wolves, and coyotes fleeing from the waste of waters that spread over the bottoms. through the dunning ranch the crawling stone river makes a far bend across the valley to the north and east. the extraordinary volume of water now pouring through the box canyon exposed ten thousand acres of the ranch to the caprice of the river, and if at the point of its tremendous sweep to the north it should cut back into its old channel the change would wipe the entire body of ranch alfalfa lands off the face of the valley. with the heat of the lengthening june days a vast steam rose from the chill waters of the river, marking in ominous windings the channel of the main stream through a yellow sea which, ignoring the usual landmarks of trees and dunes, flanked the current broadly on either side. late in the afternoon of the day that dicksie with marion sought mccloud, a storm drifted down the topah topah hills, and heavy showers broke across the valley. at nightfall the rain had passed and the mist lifted from the river. above the bluffs rolling patches of cloud obscured the face of the moon, but the distant thunder had ceased, and at midnight the valley near the bridge lay in a stillness broken only by the hoarse calls of the patrols and far-off megaphones. from the bridge camp, which lay on high ground near the grade, the distant lamps of the track-walkers could be seen moving dimly. before the camp-fire in front of mccloud's tent a group of men, smoking and talking, sat or lay sprawled on tarpaulins, drying themselves after the long day. among them were the weather-beaten remnants of the old guard of the mountain-river workers, men who had ridden in the caboose the night that hailey went to his death, and had fought the spider water with glover. bill dancing, huge, lumbering, awkward as a bear and as shifty, was talking, because with no apparent effort he could talk all night, and was a valuable man at keeping the camp awake. bill dancing talked and, after sinclair's name had been dropped from the roll, ate and drank more than any two men on the division. a little apart, mccloud lay on a leather caboose cushion trying to get a nap. "it was the day george mccloud came," continued dancing, spinning a continuous story. "nobody was drinking--murray sinclair started that yarn. i was getting fixed up a little for to meet george mccloud, so i asked the barber for some tonic, and he understood me for to say dye for my whiskers, and he gets out the dye and begins to dye my whiskers. my cigar went out whilst he was shampooing me, and my whiskers was wet up with the dye. he turned around to put down th' bottle, and i started for to light my cigar with a parlor-match, and, by gum! away went my whiskers on fire--burnt jus' like a tumbleweed. there was the barbers all running around at once trying for to choke me with towels, and running for water, and me sitting there blazing like a tar-barrel. that's all there was to that story. i went over to doc torpy's and got bandaged up, and he wanted me for to go to the hospit'l--but i was going for to meet george mccloud." bill raised his voice a little and threw his tones carelessly over toward the caboose cushion: "and i was the on'y man on the platform when his train pulled in. his car was on the hind end. i walked back and waited for some one to come out. it was about seven o'clock in the evening and they was eating dinner inside, so i set up on the fence for a minute, and who do you think got out of the car? that boy laying right over there. 'where's your dad?' says i; that's exactly what i said. 'dead,' says he. 'dead!' says i, surprised-like. 'dead,' says he, 'for many years.' 'where's the new superintendent?' says i. 'i'm the new superintendent,' says he. well, sir, you could have blowed me over with a air-hose. 'go 'way,' i says. 'what's the matter with your face, bill?' he says, while i was looking at him; now that's straight. that was george mccloud, right over there, the first time i ever set eyes on him or him on me. the assertion was met with silence such as might be termed marked. [illustration: scene from the photo-play production of "whispering smith." © _american mutual studio_.] "bucks told him," continued bill dancing, in corroborative detail, "that when he got to medicine bend one man would be waiting for to meet him. 'he met me,' says bucks; 'he's met every superintendent since my time; he'll meet you. go right up and speak to him,' bucks says; 'it'll be all right.'" "oh, hell, bill!" protested an indignant chorus. "well, what's er matter with you fellows? didn't you ask me to tell the story?" demanded dancing angrily. "if you know it better than i do, tell it! give me some tobacco, chris," said bill, honoring with the request the only man in the circle who had shown no scepticism, because he spoke english with difficulty. "and say, chris, go down and read the bridge gauge, will you? it's close on twelve o'clock, and he's to be called when it reaches twenty-eight feet. i said the boy could never run the division without help from every man on it, and that's what i'm giving him, and i don't care who knows it," said bill dancing, raising his voice not too much. "bucks says that any man that c'n run this division c'n run any railroad on earth. shoo! now who's this coming here on horseback? clouding up again, too, by gum!" the man sent to the bridge had turned back, and behind his lantern dancing heard the tread of horses. he stood at one side of the camp-fire while two visitors rode up; they were women. dancing stood dumb as they advanced into the firelight. the one ahead spoke: "mr. dancing, don't you know me?" as she stopped her horse the light of the fire struck her face. "why, mis' sinclair!" "yes, and miss dunning is with me," returned marion. bill staggered. "this is an awful place to get to; we have been nearly drowned, and we want to see mr. mccloud." mccloud, roused by marion's voice, came forward. "you were asleep," said she as he greeted her. "i am so sorry we have disturbed you!" she looked careworn and a little forlorn, yet but a little considering the struggle she and dicksie had made to reach the camp. light blazed from the camp-fire, where dicksie stood talking with dancing about horses. "they are in desperate straits up at the ranch," marion went on, when mccloud had assured her of her welcome. "i don't see how they can save it. the river is starting to flow into the old channel and there's a big pond right in the alfalfa fields." "it will play the deuce with things if it gets through there," mused mccloud. "i wonder how the river is? i've been asleep. o bill!" he called to dancing, "what water have you got?" "twenty-eight six just now, sir. she's a-raising very, very slow, mr. mccloud." "so i am responsible for this invasion," continued marion calmly. "i've been up with dicksie at the ranch; she sent for me. just think of it--no woman but old puss within ten miles of the poor child! and they have been trying everywhere to get bags, and you have all the bags, and the men have been buzzing around over there for a week like bumblebees and doing just about as much good. she and i talked it all over this afternoon, and i told her i was coming over here to see you, and we started out together--and merciful goodness, such a time as we have had!" "but you started out together; where did you leave her?" "there she stands the other side of the fire. o dicksie!" "why did you not tell me she was here!" exclaimed mccloud. dicksie came into the light as he hastened over. if she was uncertain in manner, he was not. he met her, laughing just enough to relieve the tension of which both for an instant were conscious. she gave him her hand when he put his out, though he felt that it trembled a little. "such a ride as you have had! why did you not send me word? i would have come to you!" he exclaimed, throwing reproach into the words. dicksie raised her eyes. "i wanted to ask you whether you would sell us some grain-sacks, mr. mccloud, to use at the river, if you could spare them?" "sacks? why, of course, all you want! but how did you _ever_ get here? in all this water, and two lone women! you have been in danger to-night. indeed you have--don't tell me! and you are both wet; i know it. your feet must be wet. come to the fire. o bill!" he called to dancing, "what's the matter with your wood? let us have a fire, won't you?--one worth while; and build another in front of my tent. i can't believe you have ridden here all the way from the ranch, two of you alone!" exclaimed mccloud, hastening boxes up to the fire for seats. marion laughed. "dicksie can go anywhere! i couldn't have ridden from the house to the barns alone." "then tell me how _you_ could do it?" demanded mccloud, devouring dicksie with his eyes. dicksie looked at the fire. "i know all the roads pretty well. we did get lost once," she confessed in a low voice, "but we got out again." "the roads are all underwater, though." "what time is it, please?" mccloud looked at his watch. "two minutes past twelve." dicksie started. "past twelve? oh, this is dreadful! we must start right back, marion. i had no idea we had been five hours coming five miles." mccloud looked at her, as if still unable to comprehend what she had accomplished in crossing the flooded bottoms. her eyes fell back to the fire. "what a blaze!" she murmured as the driftwood snapped and roared. "it's fine for to-night, isn't it?" "i know you both must have been in the water," he insisted, leaning forward in front of dicksie to feel marion's skirt. "i'm not wet!" declared marion, drawing back. "nonsense, you are wet as a rat! tell me," he asked, looking at dicksie, "about your trouble up at the bend. i know something about it. are the men there to-night? given up, have they? too bad! do open your jackets and try to dry yourselves, both of you, and i'll take a look at the river." "suppose--i only say suppose--you first take a look at me." the voice came from behind the group at the fire, and the three turned together. "by heaven, gordon smith!" exclaimed mccloud. "where did you come from?" whispering smith stood in the gloom in patience. "where do i look as if i had come from? why don't you ask me whether i'm wet? and won't you introduce me--but this is miss dicksie dunning, i am sure." marion with laughter hastened the introduction. "and you are wet, of course," said mccloud, feeling smith's shoulder. "no, only soaked. i have fallen into the river two or three times, and the last time a big rhinoceros of yours down the grade, a section foreman named klein, was obliging enough to pull me out. oh, no! i was not looking for you," he ran on, answering mccloud's question; "not when he pulled me out. i was just looking for a farm or a ladder or something. klein, for a man named small, is the biggest dutchman i ever saw. 'tell me, klein,' i asked, after he had quit dragging me out--he's a hanoverian--'where did you get your pull? and how about your height? did your grandfather serve as a grenadier under old frederick william and was he kidnapped?' bill, don't feed my horse for a while. and klein tried to light a cigar i had just taken from my pocket and given him--fancy! the germans are a remarkable people--and sat down to tell me his history, when some friend down the line began bawling through a megaphone, and all that poor klein had time to say was that he had had no supper, nor dinner, nor yet breakfast, and would be obliged for some by the boat he forwarded me in." and, in closing, whispering smith looked cheerfully around at marion, at mccloud, and last and longest of all at dicksie dunning. "did you come from across the river?" asked dicksie, adjusting her wet skirt meekly over her knees. "you are soaking wet," observed whispering smith. "across the river?" he echoed. "well, hardly, my dear miss dunning! every bridge is out down the valley except the railroad bridge and there are a few things i don't tackle; one is the crawling stone on a tear. no, this was across a little break in this man mccloud's track. i came, to be frank, from the dunning ranch to look up two women who rode away from there at seven o'clock to-night, and i want to say that they gave me the ride of my life," and whispering smith looked all around the circle and back again and smiled. dicksie spoke in amazement. "how did you know we rode away? you were not at the ranch when we left." "oh, don't ask him!" cried marion. "he knows everything," explained mccloud. whispering smith turned to dicksie. "i was interested in knowing that they got safely to their destination--whatever it might be, which was none of my business. i happened to see a man that had seen them start, that was all. you don't understand? well, if you want it in plain english, i made it my business to see a man who made it _his_ business to see them. it's all very simple, but these people like to make a mystery of it. good women are scarcer than riches, and more to be prized than fine gold--in my judgment--so i rode after them." marion put her hand for a moment on his coat sleeve; he looked at dicksie with another laugh and spoke to her because he dared not look toward marion. "going back to-night, do you say? you never are." dicksie answered quite in earnest: "oh, but we are. we must!" "why did you come, then? it's taken half the night to get here, and will take a night and a half at least to get back." "we came to ask mr. mccloud for some grain-sacks--you know, they have nothing to work with at the ranch," said marion; "and he said we might have some and we are to send for them in the morning." "i see. but we may as well talk plainly." smith looked at dicksie. "you are as brave and as game as a girl can be, i know, or you couldn't have done this. sacks full of sand, with the boys at the ranch to handle them, would do no more good to-morrow at the bend than bladders. the river is flowing into squaw lake above there now. a hundred men that know the game might check things yet if they're there by daylight. nobody else, and nothing else on god's earth, can." there was silence before the fire. mccloud broke it: "i can put the hundred men there at daylight, gordon, if miss dunning and her cousin want them," said mccloud. marion sprang to her feet. "oh, will you do that, mr. mccloud?" mccloud looked at dicksie. "if they are wanted." dicksie tried to look at the fire. "we have hardly deserved help from mr. mccloud at the ranch," she said at last. he put out his hand. "i must object. the first wreck i ever had on this division miss dunning rode twenty miles to offer help. isn't that true? why, i would walk a hundred miles to return the offer to her. perhaps your cousin would object," he suggested, turning to dicksie; "but no, i think we can manage that. now what are we going to do? you two can't go back to-night, that is certain." "we must." "then you will have to go in boats," said whispering smith. "but the hill road?" "there is five feet of water across it in half a dozen places. i swam my horse through, so i ought to know." "it is all back-water, of course, miss dunning," explained mccloud. "not dangerous." "but moist," suggested whispering smith, "especially in the dark." mccloud looked at marion. "then let's be sensible," he said. "you and miss dunning can have my tent as soon as we have supper." "supper!" "supper is served to all on duty at twelve o'clock, and we're on duty, aren't we? they're about ready to serve now; we eat in the tent," he added, holding out his hand as he heard the patter of raindrops. "rain again! no matter, we shall be dry under canvas." dicksie had never seen an engineers' field headquarters. lanterns lighted the interior, and the folding-table in the middle was strewn with papers which mccloud swept off into a camp-chest. two double cots with an aisle between them stood at the head of the tent, and, spread with bright hudson bay blankets, looked fresh and undisturbed. a box-table near the head-pole held an alarm-clock, a telegraph key, and a telephone, and the wires ran up the pole behind it. leather jackets and sweaters lay on boxes under the tent-walls, and heavy boots stood in disorderly array along the foot of the cots. these mccloud, with apologies, kicked into the corners. "is this where you stay?" asked dicksie. "four of us sleep in the cots, when we can, and an indefinite number lie on the ground when it rains." marion looked around her. "what do you do when it thunders?" the two men were pulling boxes out for seats; mccloud did not stop to look up. "i crawl under the bed--the others don't seem to mind it." "which is your bed?" "whichever i can crawl under quickest. i usually sleep there." he pointed to the one on the right. "i thought so. it has the blanket folded back so neatly, just as if there were sheets under it. i'll bet there aren't any." "do you think this is a summer resort? knisely, my assistant, sleeps there, but of course we are never both in bed at the same time; he's down the river to-night. it's a sort of continuous performance, you know." mccloud looked at dicksie. "take off your coat, won't you, please?" whispering smith was trying to drag a chest from the foot of the cot, and marion stood watching. "what are you trying to do?" "get this over to the table for a seat." "silly man! why don't you move the table?" dicksie was taking off her coat. "how inviting it all is!" she smiled. "and this is where you stay?" "when it rains," answered mccloud. "let me have your hat, too." "my hair is a sight, i know. we rode over rocks and up gullies into the brush----" "and through lakes--oh, i know! i can't conceive how you ever got here at all. your hair is all right. this is camp, anyway. but if you want a glass you can have one. knisely is a great swell; he's just from school, and has no end of things. i'll rob his bag." "don't disturb mr. knisely's bag for the world!" "but you are not taking off your hat. you seem to have something on your mind." "help me to get it off my mind, will you, please?" "if you will let me." "tell me how to thank you for your generosity. i came all the way over here to-night to ask you for just the help you have offered, and i could not--it stuck in my throat. but that wasn't what was on my mind. tell me what you thought when i acted so dreadfully at marion's." "i didn't deserve anything better after placing myself in such a fool position. why don't you ask me what i thought the day you acted so beautifully at crawling stone ranch? i thought that the finest thing i ever saw." "you were not to blame at marion's." "i seemed to be, which is just as bad. i am going to start the 'phones going. it's up to me to make good, you know, in about four hours with a lot of men and material. aren't you going to take off your hat?--and your gloves are soaking wet." mccloud took down the receiver, and dicksie put her hands slowly to her head to unpin her hat. it was a broad hat of scarlet felt rolled high above her forehead, and an eagle's quill caught in the black rosette swept across the front. as she stood in her clinging riding-skirt and her severely plain scarlet waist with only a black ascot falling over it, whispering smith looked at her. his eyes did not rest on the picture too long, but his glance was searching. he spoke in an aside to marion. marion laughed as she turned her head from where dicksie was talking again with mccloud. "the best of it is," murmured marion, "she hasn't a suspicion of how lovely she really is." chapter xxi supper in camp "will you never be done with your telephoning?" asked marion. mccloud was still planning the assembling of the men and teams for the morning. breakfast and transportation were to be arranged for, and the men and teams and material were to be selected from where they could best be spared. dicksie, with the fingers of one hand moving softly over the telegraph key, sat on a box listening to mccloud's conferences and orders. "cherry says everything is served. isn't it, cherry?" marion called to the japanese boy. cherry laughed with a guttural joy. "we are ready for it," announced mccloud, rising. "how are we to sit?" "you are to sit at the head of your own table," said marion. "i serve the coffee, so i sit at the foot; and mr. smith may pass the beans over there, and dicksie, you are to pour the condensed milk into the cups." "or into the river, just as you like," suggested whispering smith. mccloud looked at marion sinclair. "really," he exclaimed, "wherever you are it's fair weather! when i see you, no matter how tangled up things are, i feel right away they are coming out. and this man is another." "another what?" demanded whispering smith. "another care-killer." mccloud, speaking to dicksie, nodded toward his companion. "troubles slip from your shoulders when he swaggers in, though he's not of the slightest use in the world. i have only one thing against him. it is a physical peculiarity, but an indefensible one. you may not have noticed it, but he is bowlegged." "from riding your scrub railroad horses. i feel like a sailor ashore when i get off one. are you going to eat all the bacon, mr. mccloud, or do we draw a portion of it? i didn't start out with supper to-night." "take it all. i suppose it would be useless to ask where you have been to-day?" "not in the least, but it would be useless to tell. i am violating no confidence, though, in saying i'm hungry. i certainly shouldn't eat this stuff if i weren't, should you, miss dunning? and i don't believe you are eating, by the way. where is your appetite? your ride ought to have sharpened it. i'm afraid you are downcast. oh, don't deny it; it is very plain: but your worry is unnecessary." "if the rain would only stop," said marion, "everybody would cheer up. they haven't seen the sun at the ranch for ten days." "this rain doesn't count so far as the high water is concerned," said mccloud. "it is the weather two hundred and fifty miles above here that is of more consequence to us, and there it is clear to-night. as long as the tent doesn't leak i rather like it. sing your song about fair weather, gordon." "but can the men work in such a downpour?" ventured dicksie. the two men looked serious and marion laughed. "in the morning you will see a hundred of them marching forward with umbrellas, mr. mccloud leading. the japs carry fans, of course." "i wish i could forget we are in trouble at home," said dicksie, taking the badinage gracefully. "worrying people are such a nuisance. don't protest, for every one knows they are." "but we are all in trouble," insisted whispering smith. "trouble! why, bless you, it really is a blessing; pretty successfully disguised, i admit, sometimes, but still a blessing. i'm in trouble all the time, right now, up to my neck in trouble, and the water rising this minute. look at this man," he nodded toward mccloud. "he is in trouble, and the five hundred under him, they are in all kinds of trouble. i shouldn't know how to sleep without trouble," continued whispering smith, warming to the contention. "without trouble i lose my appetite. mccloud, don't be tight; pass the bread." "never heard him do so well," declared mccloud, looking at marion. "seriously, now," whispering smith went on, "don't you know people who, if they were thoroughly prosperous, would be intolerable--simply intolerable? i know several such. all thoroughly prosperous people are a nuisance. that is a general proposition, and i stand by it. go over your list of acquaintances and you will admit it is true. here's to trouble! may it always chasten and never overwhelm us: our greatest bugbear and our best friend! it sifts our friends and unmasks our enemies. like a lovely woman, it woos us----" "oh, never!" exclaimed marion. "a lovely woman doesn't woo, she is wooed!" "what are you looking for, perfection in rhetorical figure? this is extemporaneous." "but it won't do!" "and asks to be conquered," suggested whispering smith. "asks! oh, scandalous, mr. smith!" "it is easy to see why _he_ never could get any one to marry him," declared mccloud over the bacon. "hold on, then! like lovely woman, it does not seek us, we seek it," persisted the orator, "_that_ at least is so, isn't it?" "it is better," assented marion. "and it waits to be conquered. how is that?" marion turned to dicksie. "you are not helping a bit. what do you think?" "i don't think woman and trouble ought to be associated even in figure; and i think 'waits' is horrid," and dicksie looked gravely at whispering smith. mccloud, too, looked at him. "you're in trouble now yourself." "and i brought it on myself. so we do seek it, don't we? and trouble, i must hold, _is_ like woman. 'waits' i strike out as unpleasantly suggestive; let it go. so, then, trouble is like a lovely woman, loveliest _when_ conquered. now, miss dunning, if you have a spark of human kindness you won't turn me down on that proposition. by the way, i have something put down about trouble." he was laughing. dicksie asked herself if this could be the man about whom floated so many accusations of coldness and cruelty and death. he drew a note-book from a waistcoat pocket. "oh, it's in the note-book! there comes the black note-book," exclaimed mccloud. "don't make fun of my note-book!" "i shouldn't dare." mccloud pointed to it as he spoke to dicksie. "you should see what is in that note-book: the record, i suppose, of every man in the mountains and of a great many outside." "and countless other things," added marion. "such as what?" asked dicksie. "such as you, for example," said marion. "am i a thing?" "a sweet thing, of course," said marion ironically. "yes, you; with color of eyes, hair, length of index finger of the right hand, curvature of thumb, disposition--whether peaceable or otherwise, and prison record, if any." "and number of your watch," added mccloud. "how dreadful!" whispering smith eyed dicksie benignly. "they are talking this nonsense to distract us, of course, but i am bound to read you what i have here, if you will graciously submit." "submit? i _wait_ to hear it," laughed dicksie. "my training in prosody is the slightest, as will appear," he continued, "and _synecdoche_ and _schenectady_ were always on the verge of getting mixed when i went to school. my sentiment may be termed obvious, but i want to offer a slight apology on behalf of trouble; it is abused too much. i submit this "song to trouble "here's to the measure of every man's worth, though when men are wanting it grieves us. hearts that are hollow we're better without, hearts that are loyal it leaves us. "trouble's the dowry of every man's birth, a nettle adversity flings us; it yields to the grip of the masterful hand, when we play coward it stings us. "chorus." "don't say chorus; that's common." "i have to say chorus. my verses don't speak for themselves, and no one would know it was a chorus if i didn't explain. besides, i'm short a line in the chorus, and that is what i'm waiting for to finish the song. "chorus: "then here's to the bumper that proves every friend! and though in the drinking it wrings us, here's to the cup that we drain to the end, and here's to-- there i stick. i can't work out the last line." "and here's to the hearts that it brings us!" exclaimed dicksie. "fine!" cried mccloud. "'here's to the hearts that it brings us!'" dicksie threw back her head and laughed with the others. then whispering smith looked grave. "there is a difficulty," said he, knitting his brows. "you have spoiled my song." "oh, mr. smith, i hope not! have i?" "your line is so much better than what i have that it makes my stuff sound cheap." "oh, no, gordon!" interposed mccloud. "you don't see that one reason why miss dunning's line sounds better than yours is owing to the differences in your voices. if she will repeat the chorus, finishing with her line, you will see the difference." "miss dunning, take the note-book," begged whispering smith. "and rise, of course," suggested mccloud. "oh, the note-book! i shall be afraid to hold it. where are the verses, mr. smith? is this fine handwriting yours? then here's to the bumper that proves every friend! isn't that true? and though when we drink it it wrings us, --and it does sometimes! here's to the cup that we drain to the end, even women have to be plucky, don't they, marion? and here's to the hearts that it brings us!" whispering smith rose before the applause subsided. "i ask you to drink this, standing, in condensed milk." "have we enough to stand in?" interposed dicksie. "if we stand together in trouble, that ought to be enough," observed mccloud. "we're doing that without rising, aren't we?" asked marion. "if we hadn't been in trouble we shouldn't have ventured to this camp to-night." "and if you had not put me to the trouble of following you--and it was a lot of trouble!--_i_ shouldn't have been in camp to-night," said whispering smith. "and if _i_ had not been in trouble this camp wouldn't have been here to-night," declared mccloud. "what have we to thank for it all but trouble?" a voice called the superintendent's name through the tent door. "mr. mccloud?" "and there is more trouble," added mccloud. "what is it, bill?" "twenty-eight and nine tenths on the gauge, sir." mccloud looked at his companions. "i told you so. up three-tenths. thank you, bill; i'll be with you in a minute. tell cherry to come and take away the supper things, will you? that is about all the water we shall get to-night, i think. it's all we want," added mccloud, glancing at his watch. "i'm going to take a look at the river. we shall be quiet now around here until half-past three, and if you, marion, and miss dunning will take the tent, you can have two hours' rest before we start. bill dancing will guard you against intrusion, and if you want ice-water ring twice." chapter xxii a talk with whispering smith when whispering smith had followed mccloud from the tent, dicksie turned to marion and caught her hand. "is this the terrible man i have heard about?" she murmured. "and i thought him ferocious! but is he as pitiless as they say, marion?" marion laughed--a troubled little laugh of surprise and sadness. "dear, he isn't pitiless at all. he has unpleasant things to do, and does them. he is the man on whom the railroad relies to repress the lawlessness that breaks out in the mountains at times and interferes with the operating of the road. it frightens people away, and prevents others from coming in to settle. railroads want law and order. robbery and murders don't make business for railroads. they depend on settlers for developing a country, don't you know; otherwise they would have no traffic, not to speak of wanting their trains and men let alone. when mr. bucks undertook to open up this country to settlers, he needed a man of patience and endurance and with courage and skill in dealing with lawless men, and no man has ever succeeded so well as this terrible man you have heard about. he is terrible, my dear, to lawless men, not to any one else. he is terrible in resource and in daring, but not in anything else i know of, and i knew him when he was a boy and wore a big pink worsted scarf when he went skating." "i should like to have seen that scarf," said dicksie reflectively. she rose and looked around the tent. in a few minutes she made marion lie down on one of the cots. then she walked to the front of the tent, opened the flap, and looked out. whispering smith was sitting before the fire. rain was falling, but dicksie put on her close-fitting black coat, raised the door-flap, and walked noiselessly from the tent and up behind him. "alone in the rain?" she asked. she had expected to see him start at her voice, but he did not, though he rose and turned around. "not now," he answered as he offered her his box with a smile. "are you taking your hat off for me in the rain? put it on again!" she insisted with a little tone of command, and she was conscious of gratification when he obeyed amiably. "i won't take your box unless you can find another!" she said. "oh, you have another! i came out to tell you what a dreadful man i thought you were, and to apologize." "never mind apologizing. lots of people think worse than that of me and don't apologize. i'm sorry i have no shelter to offer you, except to sit on this side and take the rain." "why should you take the rain for me?" "you are a woman." "but a stranger to you." "only in a way." dicksie gazed for a moment at the fire. "you won't think me abrupt, will you?" she said, turning to him, "but, as truly as i live, i cannot account for you, mr. smith. i guess at the ranch we don't know what goes on in the world. everything i see of you contradicts everything i have heard of you." "you haven't seen much of me yet, you know, and you may have heard much better accounts of me than i deserve. still, it isn't surprising you can't account for me; in fact, it would be surprising if you could. nobody pretends to do that. you must not be shocked if i can't even account for myself. do you know what a derelict is? a ship that has been abandoned but never wholly sinks." "please don't make fun of me! how did you happen to come into the mountains? i do want to understand things better." "why, you are in real earnest, aren't you? but i am not making fun of you. do you know president bucks? no? too bad! he's a very handsome old bachelor. and he is one of those men who get all sorts of men to do all sorts of things for them. you know, building and operating railroads in this part of the country is no joke. the mountains are filled with men that don't care for god, man, or the devil. sometimes they furnish their own ammunition to fight with and don't bother the railroad for years; at such times the railroad leaves them alone. for my part, i never quarrel with a man that doesn't quarrel with the road. then comes a time when they get after us, shooting our men or robbing our agents or stopping our trains. of course we have to get busy then. a few years ago they worried bucks till they nearly turned his hair gray. at that unfortunate time i happened into his office with a letter of introduction from his closest chicago friend, willis howard, prince of good men, the man that made the palmer house famous--yes. now i had come out here, miss dunning--i almost said miss dicksie, because i hear it so much----" "i should be greatly set up to hear you call me dicksie. and i have wondered a thousand times about your name. dare i ask--_why_ do they call you whispering smith? you don't whisper." he laughed with abundance of good-humor. "that is a ridiculous accident, and it all came about when i lived in chicago. do you know anything about the infernal climate there? well, in chicago i used to lose my voice whenever i caught a cold--sometimes for weeks together. so they began calling me whispering smith, and i've never been able to shake the name. odd, isn't it? but i came out to go into the real-estate business. i was looking for some gold-bearing farm lands where i could raise quartz, don't you know, and such things--yes. i don't mind telling you this, though i wouldn't tell it to everybody----" "certainly not," assented dicksie, drawing her skirt around to sit in closer confidence. "i wanted to get rich quick," murmured whispering smith, confidentially. "almost criminal, wasn't it?" "i wanted to have evening clothes." "yes." "and for once in my life two pairs of suspenders--a modest ambition, but a gnawing one. would you believe it? before i left bucks's office he had hired me for a railroad man. when he asked me what i could do, and i admitted a little experience in handling real estate, he brought his fist down on the table and swore i should be his right-of-way man." "how about the mining?" whispering smith waved his hand in something of the proud manner in which bucks could wave his presidential hand. "my business, bucks said, need not interfere with that, not in the least; he said that i could do all the mining i wanted to, and i _have_ done all the mining i wanted to. but here is the singular thing that happened: i opened up my office and had nothing to do; they didn't seem to want any right of way just then. i kept getting my check every month, and wasn't doing a hand's turn but riding over the country and shooting jack-rabbits. but, lord, i love this country! did you know i used to be a cowboy in the mountains years ago? indeed i did. i know it almost as well as you do. i mined more or less in the meantime. occasionally i would go to bucks--you say you don't know him?--too bad!--and tell him candidly i wasn't doing a thing to earn my salary. at such times he would only ask me how i liked the job," and whispering smith's heavy eyebrows rose in mild surprise at the recollection. "one day when i was talking with him he handed me a telegram from the desert saying that a night operator at a lonely station had been shot and a switch misplaced and a train nearly wrecked. he asked me what i thought of it. i discovered that the poor fellow had shot himself, and in the end we had to put him in the insane asylum to save him from the penitentiary--but that was where my trouble began. "it ended in my having to organize the special service on the whole road to look after a thousand and one things that nobody else had--well, let us say time or inclination to look after: fraud and theft and violence and all that sort of disagreeable thing. then one day the cat crawled out of the bag. what do you think? that man who is now president of this road had somewhere seen a highly colored story about me in a magazine, a ten-cent magazine, you know. he had spotted me the first time i walked into his office, and told me a long time afterward it was just like seeing a man walk out of a book, and that he had hard work to keep from falling on my neck. he knew what he wanted me for; it was just this thing. i left chicago to get away from it, and this is the result. it is not all that kind of thing, oh, no! when they want to cross a reservation i have a winter in washington with our attorneys and dine with old friends in the white house, and the next winter i may be on snowshoes chasing a band of rustlers. i swore long ago i would do no more of it--that i couldn't and wouldn't. but it is bucks. i can't go back on him. he is amiable and i am soft. he says he is going to have a crown and harp for me some day, but i fancy--that is, i have an intimation--that there will be a red-hot protest at the bar of heaven," he lowered his tone, "from a certain unmentionable quarter when i undertake to put the vestments on. by the way, i hear you are interested in chickens. oh, yes, i've heard a lot about you! bob johnson, over at oroville, has some pretty bantams i want to tell you about." whether he talked railroad or chickens, it was all one: dicksie sat spellbound; and when he announced it was half-past three o'clock and time to rouse marion, she was amazed. [illustration: scene from the photo-play production of "whispering smith." © _american mutual studio_.] dawn showed in the east. the men eating breakfast in tents were to be sent on a work-train up a piece of y-track that led as near as they could be taken to where they were needed. the train had pulled out when dicksie, marion, mccloud, and whispering smith took horses to get across to the hills and through to the ranch-house. they had ridden slowly for some distance when mccloud was called back. the party returned and rode together into the mists that hung below the bridge. they came out upon a little party of men standing with lanterns on a piece of track where the river had taken the entire grade and raced furiously through the gap. fog shrouded the light of the lanterns and lent gloom to the silence, but the women could see the group that mccloud had joined. standing above his companions on a pile of ties, a tall young man holding a megaphone waited. out of the darkness there came presently a loud calling. the tall young man at intervals bawled vigorously into the fog in answer. far away could be heard, in the intervals of silence, the faint clang of the work-train engine-bell. again the voice came out of the fog. mccloud took the megaphone and called repeatedly. two men rowed a boat out of the back-water behind the grade, and when mccloud stepped into it, it was released on a line while the oarsmen guided it across the flood until it disappeared. the two megaphone voices could still be heard. after a time the boat was pulled back again, and mccloud stepped out of it. he spoke a moment with the men, rejoined his party, and climbed into the saddle. "now we are off," said he. "what was it all about?" asked whispering smith. "your friend klein is over there. nobody could understand what he said except that he wanted me. when i got here i couldn't make out what he was talking about, so they let us out in the boat on a line. half-way across the break i made out what was troubling him. he said he was going to lose three hundred feet of track, and wanted to know what to do." "and you told him, of course?" "yes." "what did you tell him?" "i told him to lose it." "i could have done that myself." "why didn't you?" chapter xxiii at the river they found the ranch-house as marion and dicksie had left it, deserted. puss told them every one was at the river. mccloud did not approve dicksie's plan of going down to see her cousin first. "why not let me ride down and manage it without bringing you into it at all?" he suggested. "it can be done." and after further discussion it was so arranged. mccloud and smith had been joined by dancing on horseback, and they made their way around squaw lake and across the fields. the fog was rolling up from the willows at the bend. men were chopping in the brush, and mccloud and his companion soon met lance dunning riding up the narrow strip of sand that held the river off the ranch. mccloud greeted dunning, regardless of his amazement, as if he had parted from him the day before. "how are you making it over here?" he asked. "we are in pretty good shape at the moment down below, and i thought i would ride over to see if we could do anything for you. this is what you call pretty fair water for this part of the valley, isn't it?" lance swallowed his astonishment. "this isn't water, mccloud; this is hell." he took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "well, i call this white, anyway, and no mistake--i do indeed, sir! this is whispering smith, isn't it? glad to see you at crawling stone, sir." which served not only to surprise but to please whispering smith. "some of my men were free," continued mccloud; "i switched some mattresses and sacks around the y, thinking they might come in play here for you at the bend. they are at your service if you think you need them." "need them!" lance swore fiercely and from the bottom of his heart. he was glad to get help from any quarter and made no bones about it. moreover, mccloud lessened the embarrassment by explaining that he had a personal interest in holding the channel where it ran, lest a change above might threaten the approaches already built to the bridge; and whispering smith, who would have been on terms with the catfish if he had been flung into the middle of the crawling stone, contributed at once, like a reënforced spring, to the ease of the situation. lance again took off his hat and wiped the sweat of anxiety from his dripping forehead. "whatever differences of opinion i may have with your damned company, i have no lack of esteem personally, mccloud, for you, sir, by heaven! how many men did you bring?" "and whatever wheels you crawling stone ranchers may have in your heads on the subject of irrigation," returned mccloud evenly, "i have no lack of esteem personally, mr. dunning, for you. i brought a hundred." "do you want to take charge here? i'm frank, sir; you understand this game and i don't." "suppose we look the situation over; meantime, all our supplies have to be brought across from the y. what should you think, mr. dunning, of putting all the teams you can at that end of the work?" "every man that can be spared from the river shall go at it. come over here and look at our work and judge for yourself." they rode to where the forces assembled by lance were throwing up embankments and riprapping. there was hurried running to and fro, a violent dragging about of willows, and a good deal of shouting. dunning, with some excitement, watched mccloud's face to note the effect of the activity on him, but mccloud's expression, naturally reserved, reflected nothing of his views on the subject. dunning waved his hand at the lively scene. "they've been at it all night. how many would you take away, sir?" "you might take them all away, as far as the river is concerned," said mccloud after a moment. "what? hell! all?" "they are not doing anything, are they, but running around in a circle? and those fellows over there might as well be making mud pies as riprapping at that point. what we need there is a mattress and sandbags--and plenty of them. bill," directed mccloud in an even tone of business as he turned to dancing, "see how quick you can get your gangs over here with what sacks they can carry and walk fast. if you will put your men on horses, mr. dunning, they can help like everything. that bank won't last a great while the way the river is getting under it now." dancing wheeled like an elephant on his bronco and clattered away through the mud. lance dunning, recovering from his surprise, started his men back for the wagons, and mccloud, dismounting, walked with him to the water's edge to plan the fight for what was left of the strip in front of the alfalfa fields. when whispering smith got back to the house he was in good-humor. he joined dicksie and marion in the dining-room, where they were drinking coffee. afterward dicksie ordered horses saddled and the three rode to the river. up and down the bank as far as they could see in the misty rain, men were moving slowly about--more men, it seemed to dicksie, than she had ever seen together in her life. the confusion and the noise had disappeared. no one appeared to hurry, but every one had something to do, and, from the gangs who with sledges were sinking "dead-men" among the trees to hold the cables of the mattress that was about to be sunk, and the japs who were diligently preparing to float and load it, to the men that were filling and wheeling the sandbags, no one appeared excited. mccloud joined the visitors for a few moments and then went back to where dancing and his men on life-lines were guiding the mattress to its resting-place. in spite of the gloom of the rain, which whispering smith said was breaking, dicksie rode back to the house in much better spirits with her two guests; and when they came from luncheon the sun, as smith had predicted, was shining. "oh, come out!" cried dicksie, at the door. marion had a letter to write and went upstairs, but whispering smith followed dicksie. "does everything you say come true?" she demanded as she stood in the sunshine. she was demure with light-heartedness and he looked at her approvingly. "i hope nothing i may say ever will come true unless it makes you happy," he answered lightly. "it would be a shame if it did anything else." she pointed two accusing fingers at him. "do you know what you promised last night? you have forgotten already! you said you would tell me why my leghorns are eating their feathers off." "let me talk with them." "just what i should like. come on!" said dicksie, leading the way to the chicken-yard. "i want you to see my bantams too. i have three of the dearest little things. one is setting. they are over the way. come see them first. and, oh, you must see my new game chickens. truly, you never saw anything as handsome as cæsar--he's the rooster; and i have six pullets. cæsar is perfectly superb." when the two reached the chicken-houses dicksie examined the nest where she was setting the bantam hen. "this miserable hen will not set," she exclaimed in despair. "see here, mr. smith, she has left her nest again and is scratching around on the ground. isn't it a shame? i've tied a cord around her leg so she couldn't run away, and she is hobbling around like a scrub pony." "perhaps the eggs are too warm," suggested her companion. "i have had great success in cases like this with powdered ice--not using too much, of course; just shave the ice gently and rub it over the eggs one at a time; it will often result in refreshing the attention of the hen." dicksie looked grave. "aren't you ashamed to make fun of me?" whispering smith seemed taken aback. "is it really serious business?" "of course." "very good. let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her. you go on to your other chickens. i'll stay here and think." dicksie went down through the yards. when she came back, whispering smith was sitting on a cracker-box watching the bantam. the chicken was making desperate efforts to get off dicksie's cord and join its companions in the runway. smith was eying the bantam critically when dicksie rejoined him. "do you usually," he asked, looking suddenly up, "have success in setting roosters?" "now you are having fun with me again." "no, by heaven! i am not." "have you diagnosed the case?" "i have, and i have diagnosed it as a case of mistaken identity." "identity?" "and misapplied energy. miss dicksie, you have tied up the wrong bird. this is not a bantam hen at all; this is a bantam rooster. now that is _my_ judgment. compare him with the others. notice how much darker his plumage is--it's the rooster," declared whispering smith, wiping the perplexity from his brow. "don't feel bad, not at all. cut him loose, miss dicksie--don't hesitate; do it on my responsibility. now let's look at the cannibal leghorns--and great cæsar." chapter xxiv between girlhood and womanhood about nine o'clock that night puss ushered mccloud in from the river. dicksie came running downstairs to meet him. "your cousin insisted i should come up to the house for some supper," said mccloud dryly. "i could have taken camp fare with the men. gordon stayed there with him." dicksie held his hat in her hand, and her eyes were bright in the firelight. puss must have thought the two made a handsome couple, for she lingered, as she started for the kitchen, to look back. "puss," exclaimed her mistress, "fry a chicken right away! a big one, puss! mr. mccloud is very hungry, i know. and be quick, do! oh, how is the river, mr. mccloud?" "behaving like a lamb. it hasn't fallen much, but the pressure seems to be off the bank, if you know what that means?" "you must be a magician! things changed the minute you came!" "the last doctor usually gets credit for the cure, you know." "oh, i know all about that. don't you want to freshen up? should you mind coming right to my room? marion is in hers," explained dicksie, "and i am never sure of cousin lance's,--he has so many boots." when she had disposed of mccloud she flew to the kitchen. puss was starting after a chicken. "take a lantern, puss!" whispered dicksie vehemently. "no, indeed; dis nigger don' need no lantern fo' chickens, miss dicksie." "but get a good one, puss, and make haste, do! mr. mccloud must be starved! where is the baking powder? i'll get the biscuits started." puss turned fiercely. "now look-a heah, yo' can't make biscuits! yo' jes' go se' down wif dat young gen'm'n! jes' lemme lone, ef yo' please! dis ain't de firs' time i killed chickens, miss dicksie, an' made biscuits. jes' clair out an' se' down! place f'r young ladies is in de parlor! ol' puss can cook supper f'r one man yet--ef she _has_ to!" "oh, yes, puss, certainly, i know, of course; only, get a nice chicken!" and with the parting admonition dicksie, smoothing her hair wildly, hastened back to the living-room. but the harm was done. puss, more excited than her mistress, lost her head when she got to the chicken-yard, and with sufficiently bad results. when dicksie ran out a few moments afterward for a glass of water for mccloud, puss was calmly wiping her hands, and in the sink lay the quivering form of young cæsar. dicksie caught her favorite up by the legs and suppressed a cry. there could be no mistake. she cast a burning look on puss. it would do no good to storm now. dicksie only wrung her hands and returned to mccloud. he rose in the happiest mood. he could not see what a torment dicksie was in, and took the water without asking himself why it trembled in her hand. her restrained manner did not worry him, for he felt that his fight at the river was won, and the prospect of fried chicken composed him. even the long hour before puss, calm and inviting in a white cap and apron, appeared to announce supper, passed like a dream. when dicksie rose to lead the way to the dining-room, mccloud walked on air; the high color about her eyes intoxicated him. not till half the fried chicken, with many compliments from mccloud, had disappeared, and the plate had gone out for the second dozen biscuits, did he notice dicksie's abstraction. "i'm sure you need worry no longer about the water," he observed reassuringly. "i think the worst of the danger is past." dicksie looked at the table-cloth with wide-open eyes. "i feel sure that it is. i am no longer worrying about that." "it's nothing i can do or leave undone, is it?" asked mccloud, laughing a little as he implied in his tone that she must be worrying about something. dicksie made a gesture of alarm. "oh, no, no; nothing!" "it's a pretty good plan not to worry about anything." "do you think so?" "why, we all thought so last night. heavens!" mccloud drew back in his chair. "i never offered you a piece of chicken! what have i been thinking of?" "oh, i wouldn't eat it anyway!" cried dicksie. "you wouldn't? it is delicious. do have a plate and a wing at least." "really, i could not bear to think of it," she said pathetically. he spoke lower. "something is troubling you. i have no right to a confidence, i know," he added, taking a biscuit. her eyes fell to the floor. "it is nothing. pray, don't mind me. may i fill your cup?" she asked, looking up. "i am afraid i worry too much over what has happened and can't be helped. do you never do that?" mccloud, laughing wretchedly, tore cæsar's last leg from his body. "no indeed. i never worry over what can't be helped." they left the dining-room. marion came down. but they had hardly seated themselves before the living-room fire when a messenger arrived with word that mccloud was wanted at the river. his chagrin at being dragged away was so apparent that marion and dicksie sympathized with him and laughed at him. "'i never worry about what can't be helped,'" dicksie murmured. he looked at marion. "that's a shot at me. you don't want to go down, do you?" he asked ironically, looking from one to the other. "why, of course i'll go down," responded dicksie promptly. "marion caught cold last night, i guess, so you will excuse her, i know. i will be back in an hour, marion, and you can toast your cold while i'm gone." "but you mustn't go alone!" protested mccloud. dicksie lifted her chin the least bit. "i shall be going with you, shall i not? and if the messenger has gone back i shall have to guide you. you never could find your way alone." "but i can go," interposed marion, rising. "not at all; you can _not_ go!" announced dicksie. "i can protect both mr. mccloud and myself. if he should arrive down there under the wing of two women he would never hear the last of it. i am mistress here still, i think; and i sha'n't be leaving home, you know, to make the trip!" mccloud looked at marion. "i never worry over what can't be helped--though it is dollars to cents that those fellows don't need me down there any more than a cat needs two tails. and how will you get back?" he asked, turning to dicksie. "i will ride back!" returned dicksie loftily. "but you may, if you like, help me get my horse up." "are you sure you can find your way back?" persisted mccloud. dicksie looked at him in surprise. "find my way back?" she echoed softly. "i could not lose it. i can ride over any part of this country at noon or at midnight, asleep or awake, with a saddle or without, with a bridle or without, with a trail or without. i've ridden every horse that has ever come on the crawling stone ranch. i could ride when i was three years old. find my way back?" the messenger had gone when the two rode from the house. the sky was heavily overcast, and the wind blew such a gale from the south and west that one could hardly hear what the other said. mccloud could not have ridden from the house to the barn in the utter darkness, but his horse followed dicksie's. she halted frequently on the trail for him to come up with her, and after they had crossed the alfalfa fields mccloud did not care whether they ever found the path again or not. "it's great, isn't it?" he exclaimed, coming up to her after opening a gate in the dark. "where are you?" "this way," laughed dicksie. "look out for the trail here. give me your hand and let your horse have his head. if he slips, drop off quick on this side." mccloud caught her hand. they rode for a moment in silence, the horses stepping cautiously. "all right now," said dicksie; "you may let go." but mccloud kept his horse up close and clung to the warm hand. "the camp is just around the hill," murmured dicksie, trying to pull away. "but of course if you would like to ride in holding my hand you may!" "no," said mccloud, "of course not--not for worlds! but, miss dicksie, couldn't we ride back to the house and ride around the other way into camp? i think the other way into the camp--say, around by the railroad bridge--would be prettier, don't you?" for answer she touched jim lightly with her lines and his spring released her hand very effectively. as she did so the trail turned, and the camp-fire, whipped in the high wind, blazed before them. whispering smith and lance dunning were sitting together as the two galloped up. smith helped dicksie to alight. she was conscious of her color and that her eyes were now unduly bright. moreover, whispering smith's glance rested so calmly on both mccloud's face and her own that dicksie felt as if he saw quite through her and knew everything that had happened since they left the house. lance was talking to mccloud. "don't abuse the wind," mccloud was saying. "it's our best friend to-night, mr. dunning. it is blowing the water off-shore. where is the trouble?" for answer dunning led mccloud off toward the bend, and dicksie was left alone with whispering smith. he made a seat for her on the windward side of the big fire. when she had seated herself she looked up in great contentment to ask if he was not going to sit down beside her. the brown coat, the high black hat, and the big eyes of whispering smith had already become a part of her mental store. she saw that he seemed preoccupied, and sought to draw him out of his abstraction. "i am so glad you and mr. mccloud are getting acquainted with cousin lance," she said. "and do you mind my giving you a confidence, mr. smith? lance has been so unreasonable about this matter of the railroad's coming up the valley and powwowing so much with lawyers and ranchers that he has been forgetting about everything at home. he is so much older than i am that he ought to be the sensible one of the family, don't you think so? it frightens me to have him losing at cards and drinking. i am afraid he will get into some shooting affair. i don't understand what has come over him, and i worry about it. i believe you could influence him if you knew him." "what makes you think that?" asked whispering smith, but his eyes were on the fire. "because these men he spends his time with in town--the men who fight and shoot so much--are afraid of you. don't laugh at me. i know it is quite true in spite of their talk. i was afraid of you myself until----" "until we made verse together." "until you made verse and i spoiled it. but i think it is because i don't understand things that i am so afraid. i am not naturally a coward. i'm sure i could not be afraid of you if i understood things better. and there is marion. she puzzles me. she will never speak of her husband--i don't know why. and i don't know why mr. mccloud is so hard on mr. sinclair--mr. sinclair seems so kind and good-natured." whispering smith looked from the fire into dicksie's eyes. "what should you say if i gave you a confidence?" she opened her heart to his searching gaze. "would you trust me with a confidence?" he answered without hesitation. "you shall see. now, i have many things i can't talk about, you understand. but if i had to give you a secret this instant that carried my life, i shouldn't fear to do it--so much for trusting you. only this, too, as to what i say: don't ever quote me or let it appear that you any more than know me. can you manage that? really? very good; you will understand why in a minute. the man that is stirring up all this trouble with your cousin lance and in this whole country is your kind and good-natured neighbor, mr. sinclair. i am prejudiced against him; let us admit that on the start, and remember it in estimating what i say. but sinclair is the man who has turned your cousin's head, as well as made things in other ways unpleasant for several of us. sinclair--i tell you so you will understand everything, more than your cousin, mr. mccloud, or marion sinclair understand--sinclair is a train-wrecker and a murderer. that makes you breathe hard, doesn't it? but it is so. sinclair is fairly educated and highly intelligent, capable in every way, daring to the limit, and, in a way, fascinating; it is no wonder he has a following. but his following is divided into two classes: the men that know all the secrets, and the men that don't--men like rebstock and du sang, and men like your cousin and a hundred or so sports in medicine bend, who see only the glamour of sinclair's pace. your cousin sympathizes with sinclair when he doesn't actually side with him. all this has helped to turn sinclair's head, and this is exactly the situation you and mccloud and i and a lot of others are up against. they don't know all this, but i know it, and now you know it. let me tell you something that comes close to home. you have a cowboy on the ranch named karg--he is called flat nose. karg was a railroad man. he is a cattle-thief, a train-robber, a murderer, and a spy. i should not tell you this if you were not game to the last drop of your blood. but i think i know you better than you know yourself, though you never saw me until last night. karg is sinclair's spy at your ranch, and you must never feel it or know it; but he is there to keep your cousin's sympathy with sinclair, and to lure your cousin his way. and karg will try to kill george mccloud every time he sets foot on this ranch, remember that." "then mr. mccloud ought not to be here. i don't want him to stay if he is in danger!" exclaimed dicksie. "but i do want him to come here as if it mattered nothing, and i shall try to take care of him. i have a man among your own men, a cowboy named wickwire, who will be watching karg, and who is just as quick, and karg, not knowing he was watched, would be taken unawares. if wickwire goes elsewhere to work some one else will take his place here. karg is not on the ranch now; he is up north, hunting up some of your steers that were run off last month by his own cronies. now do you think i am giving you confidence?" she looked at him steadily. "if i can only deserve it all." in the distance she heard the calling of the men at the river borne on the wind. the shock of what had been told her, the strangeness of the night and of the scene, left her calm. fear had given way to responsibility and dicksie seemed to know herself. "you have nothing whatever to do to deserve it but keep your own counsel. but listen a moment longer--for this is what i have been leading up to," he said. "marion will get a message to-morrow, a message from sinclair, asking her to come to see him at his ranch-house before she goes back. i don't know what he wants--but she is his wife. he has treated her infamously; that is why she will not live with him and does not speak of him. but you know how strange a woman is--or perhaps you don't: she doesn't always cease to care for a man when she ceases to trust him. i am not in marion's confidence, miss dicksie. she is another man's wife. i cannot tell how she feels toward him; i know she has often tried to reclaim him from his deviltry. she may try again, that is, she may, for one reason or another, go to him as he asks. i could not interfere, if i would. i have no right to if i could, and i will not. now this is what i'm trying to get up the courage to ask you. should you dare to go with her to sinclair's ranch if she decides to go to him?" "certainly i should dare." "after all you know?" "after all i know--why not?" "then in case she does go and you go with her, you will know nothing whatever about anything, of course, unless you get the story from her. what i fear is that which possibly may come of their interview. he may try to kill her--don't be frightened. he will not succeed if you can only make sure he doesn't lead her away on horseback from the ranch-house or get her alone in a room. she has few friends. i respect and honor her because she and i grew up as children together in the same little town in wisconsin. i know her folks, all of them, and i've promised them--you know--to have a kind of care of her." "i think i know." he looked self-conscious even at her tone of understanding. "i need not try to deceive you; your instinct would be poor if it did not tell you more than i ought to. he came along and turned her head. you need fear nothing for yourself in going with her, and nothing for her if you can cover just those two points--can you remember? not to let her go away with him on horseback, and not to leave her where she will be alone with him in the house?" "i can and will. i think as much of marion as you do. i am proud to be able to do something for you. how little i have known you! i thought you were everything i didn't want to know." "it's nothing," he returned easily, "except that sinclair has stirred up your cousin and the ranchers as well as the williams cache gang, and that makes talk about me. i have to do what i can to make this a peaceable country to live in. the railroad wants decent people here and doesn't want the other kind, and it falls on me, unfortunately, to keep the other kind moving. i don't like it, but we can none of us do quite what we please in making a living. let me tell you this"--he turned to fix his eyes seriously on hers: "believe anything you hear of me except that i have ever taken human life willingly or save in discharge of my duty. but this kind of work makes my own life an uncertainty, as you can see. i do almost literally carry my life in my hand, for if my hand is not quicker every time than a man's eye, i am done for then and there." "it is dreadful to think of." "not exactly that, but it is something i can't afford to forget." "what would become of the lives of the friends you protect if you were killed?" "you say you care for marion sinclair. i should like to think if anything should happen to me you wouldn't forget her?" "i never will." he smiled. "then i put her in charge of the man closest to me, george mccloud, and the woman she thinks the most of in the world--except her mother. what is this, are they back? yonder they come." "we found nothing serious," mccloud said, answering their questions as he approached with lance dunning. "the current is really swinging away, but the bank is caving in where it was undermined last night." he stopped before dicksie. "i am trying to get your cousin to go to the house and go to bed. i am going to stay all night, but there is no necessity for his staying." "damn it, mccloud, it's not right," protested lance, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead. "you need the sleep more than i do. i say he is the one to go to bed to-night," continued lance, putting it up to whispering smith. "and i insist, by the almighty, that you two take him back to the house with you now!" whispering smith raised his hand. "if this is merely a family quarrel about who shall go to bed, let us compromise. you two stay up all night and let me go to bed." lance, however, was obdurate. "it seems to be a family characteristic of the dunnings to have their own way," ventured mccloud, after some further dispute. "if you will have it so, mr. dunning, you may stand watch to-night and i will go to the house." riding back with mccloud, dicksie and whispering smith discussed the flood. mccloud disclaimed credit for the improvement in the situation. "if the current had held against us as it did yesterday, nothing i could have done would have turned it," he said. "honesty is the best policy, of course," observed whispering smith. "i like to see a modest man--and you want to remind him of all this when he sends in his bill," he suggested, speaking to dicksie in the dark. "but," he added, turning to mccloud, "admitting that you are right, don't take the trouble to advertise your view of it around here. it would be only decent strategy for us in the valley just now to take a little of the credit due to the wind." chapter xxv the man on the frenchman sinclair's place on the frenchman backed up on a sharp rise against the foothills of the bridger range, and the ranch buildings were strung along the creek. the ranch-house stood on ground high enough to command the country for miles up and down the valley. only two roads lead from medicine bend and the south into the frenchman country: one a wagon-road following smoky creek and running through dale canyon; the other a pack-road, known as the gridley trail, crossing the topah topah hills and making a short cut from the dunning ranch on the crawling stone to the frenchman. the entire valley is, in fact, so difficult of access, save by the long and roundabout wagon-road, that the sight of a complete outfit of buildings such as that put up by sinclair always came as a surprise to the traveller who, reaching the crest of the hills, looked suddenly down a thousand feet on his well-ordered sheds and barns and corrals. the rider who reaches the topah topah crest on the gridley trail now sees in the valley below only traces of what was so laboriously planned and perfectly maintained a few years ago. but even the ruins left on the frenchman show the herculean labor undertaken by the man in setting up a comfortable and even an elaborate establishment in so inaccessible a spot. his defiance of all ordinary means of doing things was shown in his preference for bringing much of his building-material over the trail instead of around by the smoky creek road. a good part of the lumber that went into his house was packed over the gridley trail. his piano was brought through the canyon on a wagon, but the mechanical player for the piano and his wagons themselves were packed over the trail on the backs of mules. a heavy steel range for the kitchen had been brought over the same way. for sinclair no work was hard enough, none went fast enough, and revelry never rose high enough. during the time of his activity in the frenchman valley sinclair had the best-appointed place between williams cache and the crawling stone, and in the crawling stone only the dunning ranch would bear comparison with his own. on the frenchman sinclair kept an establishment the fame of which is still foremost in mountain story. here his cows ranged the canyons and the hills for miles, and his horses were known from medicine bend to fort tracy. here he rallied his men, laid snares for his enemies, dispensed a reckless hospitality, ruled his men with an oath and a blow, and carried a six-shooter to explain orders and answer questions with. over the gridley trail from the crawling stone marion and dicksie dunning rode early in the morning the day after mccloud and his men left the stone ranch with their work done. the trail is a good three hours long, and they reached sinclair's place at about ten o'clock. he was waiting for marion--she had sent word she should come--and he came out of the front door into the sunshine with a smile of welcome when he saw dicksie with her. dicksie, long an admirer of sinclair's, as women usually were, had recast somewhat violently her opinions of him. she faced him now with a criminal consciousness that she knew too much. the weight of the dreadful secret weighed on her, and her responsibility in the issue of the day ahead did not help to make her greeting an easy one. one thing only was fixed in her mind and reflected in the tension of her lips and her eyes: the resolve to keep at every cost the promise she had given. for dicksie had fallen under the spell of a man even more compelling than sinclair, and felt strangely bounden to what she had said. sinclair, however, had spirit enough to smooth quite away every embarrassment. "bachelor's quarters," he explained roughly and pleasantly, as he led the two women toward the house. "cowmen make poor housekeepers, but you must feel at home." and when dicksie, looking at his indian rugs on the floors, the walls, and the couches, said she thought he had little to apologize for, sinclair looked gratified and took off his hat again. "just a moment," he said, standing at the side of the door. "i've never been able to get marion over here before, so it happens that a woman's foot has never entered the new house. i want to watch one of you cross the threshold for the first time." dicksie, moving ahead, retreated with a laugh. "you first, then, marion." "no, dicksie, you." "never! you first." so marion, quite red and wretchedly ill at ease, walked into the ranch-house first. sinclair shone nowhere better than as a host. when he had placed his guests comfortably in the living-room he told them the story of the building of the house. then he made a cicerone of himself, and explained, with running comments, each feature of his plan as he showed how it had been carried out through the various rooms. surprised at the attractiveness of things, dicksie found herself making mental notes for her own use, and began asking questions. sinclair was superb in answering, but the danger of admiring things became at once apparent, for when dicksie exclaimed over a handsome bearskin, a rich dark brown grizzly-skin of unusual size, sinclair told the story of the killing, bared his tremendous forearm to show where the polished claws had ripped him, and, disregarding dicksie's protests, insisted on sending the skin over to crawling stone ranch as a souvenir of her visit. "i live a great deal alone over here," he said, waving dicksie's continued refusal magnificently aside as he moved into the next room. "i've got a few good dogs, and i hunt just enough to keep my hand in with a rifle." dicksie quailed a little at the smile that went with the words. "the men, at least the kind i mix with, don't care for grizzly-skins, and to enjoy anything you've got to have sympathetic company--don't you know that?" he asked, looking admiringly at dicksie. "i've got another skin for you--a silver-tip," he added in deep, gentle tones, addressing marion. "it has a fine head, as fine as i ever saw in the smithsonian. it is down at medicine bend now, being dressed and mounted. by the way, i've forgotten to ask you, miss dicksie, about the high water. how did you get through at the ranch?" dicksie, sitting on the piano-bench, looked up with resolution. "bravely!" she exclaimed. "mr. mccloud came to our rescue with bags and mattresses and a hundred men, and he has put in a revetement a thousand feet long. oh, we are regular river experts at our house now! had you any trouble here, mr. sinclair?" "no, the frenchman behaves pretty well in the rock. we had forty feet of water here one day, though; forty feet, that's right. mccloud, yes; able fellow, i guess, too, though he and i don't hit it off." sinclair sat back in his chair, and as he spoke he spoke magnanimously. "he doesn't like me, but that is no fault of his; railroad men, and good ones, too, sometimes get started wrong with one another. well, i'm glad he took care of you. try that piano, miss dicksie, will you? i don't know much about pianos, but that ought to be a good one. i would wheel the player over for you, but any one that plays as beautifully as you do ought not to be allowed to use a player. marion, i want to talk a few minutes with you, may i? do you mind going out under the cottonwood?" dicksie's heart jumped. "don't be gone long, marion," she exclaimed impulsively, "for you know, mr. sinclair, we _must_ get back by two o'clock." and dicksie, pale with apprehension, looked at them both. marion, quite composed, nodded reassuringly and followed sinclair out of doors into the sunshine. for a few minutes dicksie fingered wildly on the piano at some half-forgotten air, and in a fever of excitement walked out on the porch to see where they were. to her relief, she saw marion sitting near sinclair under the big tree in front of the house, where the horses stood. dicksie, with her hands on her girdle, walked forlornly back and forth, hummed a tune, sat down in a rocking-chair, fanned herself, rose, walked back and forth again, and reflected that she was perfectly helpless, and that sinclair might kill marion a hundred times before she could reach her. and the thought that marion was perhaps wholly unconscious of danger increased her anxiety. she sat down in despair. how could whispering smith have allowed any one he had a care for to be exposed in this dreadful way? trying to think what to do, dicksie hurried back into the living-room, walked to the piano, took the pile of sheet-music from the top, and sat down to thumb it over. she threw song after song on the chair beside her. they were sheets of gaudy coon songs and ragtime with flaring covers, and they seemed to give off odors of cheap perfume. dicksie hardly saw the titles as she passed them over, but of a sudden she stopped. between two sheets of the music lay a small handkerchief. it was mussed, and in the corner of it "nellie" was written conspicuously in a laundry mark. the odor of musk became in an instant sickening. dicksie threw the music disdainfully aside, and sprang up with a flushed face to leave the room. sinclair's remark about the first woman to cross his threshold came back to her. from that moment dicksie hated him. but no sooner had she seated herself on the porch than she remembered she had left her hat in the house, and rose to go in after it. she was resolved not to leave it under the roof another moment, and she had resolved to go over and wait where her horse was tied. as she reëntered the doorway she stopped. in the room she had just left a cowboy sat at the table, taking apart a revolver to clean it. the revolver was spread in its parts before him, but across the table lay a rifle. the man had not been in the room when she left it a moment before. dicksie passed behind him. he paid no attention to her; he had not looked up when she entered the room. passing behind him once more to go out, dicksie looked through the open window before which he sat. sinclair and marion sitting under the cottonwood tree were in plain sight, and the muzzle of the rifle where it lay covered them. dicksie thrilled, but the man was busy with his work. breathing deeply, she walked out on the porch again. sinclair, she thought, was looking straight at her, and in her anxiety to appear unconscious she turned, walked to the end of the house, and at the corner almost ran into a man sitting out of doors in the shade mending a saddle. he had removed his belt to work, and his revolver lay in the holster on the bench, its grip just within reach of his hand. dicksie walked in front of him, but he did not look up. she turned as if changing her mind, and with a little flirt of her riding-skirt sat down in the porch chair, feeling a faint moisture upon her forehead. * * * * * "i am going to leave this country, marion," sinclair was saying. "there's nothing here for me; i can see that. what's the use of my eating my heart out over the way i've been treated? i've given the best years of my life to this railroad, and now they turn me down with a kick and a curse. it's the old story of the indian and his dog, only i don't propose to let them make soup of me. i'm going to the coast, marion. i'm going to california, where i wanted to go when we were married, and i wish to god we had gone there then. all our troubles might never have been if i had got in with a different crowd from these cow-boozers on the start. and, marion, i want to know whether you'll give me another chance and go with me." sinclair, on the bench and leaning against the tree, sat with folded arms looking at his wife. marion in a hickory chair faced him. "no one would like to see you be all you ought to be more than i, murray; but you are the only one in the world that can ever give yourself another chance to be that." "the fellows in the saddle here now have denied me every chance to make a man of myself again on the railroad--you know that, marion. in fact, they never did give me the show i was entitled to. i ought to have had hailey's place. bucks never treated me right in that; he never pushed me in the way he pushed other men that were just as bad as i ever was. it discouraged me; that's the reason i went to pieces." "it could be no reason for treating me as you treated me: for bringing drunken men and drunken women into our house, and driving me out of it unless i would be what you were and what they were." "i know i haven't treated you right; i've treated you shamefully. i will do anything on earth you say to square it. i will! recollect, i had lived among men and in the same country with women like that for years before i knew you. i didn't know how to treat you; i admit it. give me another chance, marion." "i gave you all that i had when i married you, murray. i haven't anything more to give to any man. you would be disappointed in me if i could ever live with you again, and i could not do that without living a lie every day." he bent forward, looking at the ground. he talked of their first meeting in wisconsin; of the happiness of their little courtship; he brought up california again, and the northwest coast, where, he told her, a great railroad was to be built and he should find the chance he needed to make a record for himself--it had been promised him--a chance to be the man his abilities entitled him to be in railroading. "and i've got a customer for the ranch and the cows, marion. i don't care for this business--damn the cows! let somebody else chase after 'em through the sleet. i've done well; i've made money--a lot of money--the last two years in my cattle deals, and i've got it put away, marion; you need never lift your hand to work in our house again. we can live in california, and live well, under our own orange trees, whether i work or not. all i want to know is, will you go with me?" "no! i will not go with you, murray." he moved in his seat and threw his head up appealingly. "why not?" "i will never be dishonest with you; i never have been and i never will be. i have nothing in my heart to give you, and i will not live upon your money. i am earning my own living. i am as content as i ever can be, and i shall stay where i am and do what i am doing till i die, probably. and this is why i came when you asked me to; to tell you the exact truth. i am not a girl any longer--i never can be again. i am a woman. what i was before i married you i never can be again, and you have no right to ask me to be a hypocrite and say i can love you--for that is what it all comes to--when i have no such thing in my heart or life for you. it is dead and gone, and i cannot help it." "that sounds pretty hard, marion." "it is only the truth. it sounded fearfully hard to me when you told me that woman was your friend--that you knew her before you knew me and would know her after i was dead; that she was as good as i, and that if i didn't entertain her you would. but it was the truth; you told me the truth, and it was better that you told it--as it is better now that i tell it to you." "i was drunk. i didn't tell you the truth. a man is a pretty tough animal sometimes, but you are a woman and a pure one, and i care more for you than for all the other women in the world, and it is not your nature to be unforgiving." "it is to be honest." he looked suddenly up at her and spoke sharply: "marion, i know why you won't go." "i have honestly told you." "no; you have not honestly told me. the real reason is gordon smith." "if he were i should not hesitate to tell you, murray, but he is not," she said coldly. sinclair spoke harshly: "do you think you can fool me? don't you suppose i know he spends his time loafing around your shop?" marion flushed indignantly. "it is not true!" "don't you suppose i know he writes letters back to wisconsin to your folks?" "what have i to do with that? why shouldn't he write to my mother? who has a better right?" "don't drive me too far. by god! if i go away alone i'll never leave you here to run off with whispering smith--remember that!" she sat in silence. his rage left her perfectly quiet, and her unmoved expression shamed and in part silenced him. "don't drive me too far," he muttered sullenly. "if you do you will be responsible, marion." she did not move her eyes from the blue hills on the horizon. "i expect you to kill me sometime; i feel sure you will. and that you may do." then she bent her look on him. "you may do it now if you want to." his face turned heavy with rage. "marion," he cried, with an oath, "do you know how close you are to death at this moment?" "you may do it now." he clinched the bench-rail and rose slowly to his feet. marion sat motionless in the hickory chair; the sun was shining in her face and her hands were folded in her lap. dicksie rocked on the porch. in the shadow of the house the man was mending the saddle. chapter xxvi tower w at the end of a long and neglected hall on the second floor of the old bank block in hill street, whispering smith had a room in which he made headquarters at medicine bend; it was in effect whispering smith's home. a man's room is usually a forlorn affair in spite of any effort to make it home-like. if he neglects his room it looks barren, and if he ornaments it it looks fussy. boys can do something with a den because they are not yet men, and some tincture of woman's nature still clings to a boy. girls are born to the deftness that is to become all theirs in the touch of a woman's hand; but men, if they walk alone, pay the penalty of loneliness. whispering smith, being logical, made no effort to decorate his domestic poverty. all his belongings were of a simple sort and his room was as bare as a jesuit's. moreover, his affairs, being at times highly particular, did not admit of the presence of a janitor in his quarters, and he was of necessity his own janitor. his iron bed was spread with a pair of pullman blankets, his toilet arrangements included nothing more elaborate than a shaving outfit, and the mirror above his washstand was only large enough to make a hurried shave, with much neck-stretching, possible. the table was littered with letters, but it filled up one corner of the room, and a rocking-chair and a trunk filled up another. the floor was spread with a navajo blanket, and near the head of the bed stood an old-fashioned wardrobe. this served not to ward whispering smith's robes, which hung for the most part on his back, but to accommodate his rifles, of which it contained an array that only a practised man could understand. the wardrobe was more, however, than an armory. beside the guns that stood racked in precision along the inner wall, mccloud had once, to his surprise, seen a violin. it appeared out of keeping in such an atmosphere and rather the antithesis of force and violence than a complement for it. and again, though the rifles were disquietingly bright and effective-looking, the violin was old and shabby, hanging obscurely in its corner, as if, whatever it might have in common with its master, it had nothing in common with its surroundings. the door of the room in the course of many years had been mutilated with keyholes and reënforced with locks until it appeared difficult to choose an opening that would really afford entrance; but two men besides whispering smith carried keys to the room--kennedy and george mccloud. they had right of way into it at all hours, and knew how to get in. mccloud had left the bridge camp on the river for medicine bend on the saturday that marion sinclair--whose husband had finally told her he would give her one more chance to think it over--returned with dicksie safely from their trip to the frenchman ranch. whispering smith, who had been with bucks and morris blood, got back to town the same day. the president and general manager were at the wickiup during the afternoon, and left for the east at nine o'clock in the evening, when their car was attached to an east-bound passenger train. mccloud took supper afterward with whispering smith at a front street chop-house, and the two men separated at eleven o'clock. it was three hours later when mccloud tapped on the door of smith's room, and in a moment opened it. "awake, gordon?" "sure: come in. what is it?" "the second section of the passenger train--number three, with the express cars--was stopped at tower w to-night. oliver sollers was pulling; he is badly shot up, and one of the messengers was shot all to pieces. they cracked the through safe, emptied it, and made a clean get-away." "tower w--two hundred and seventy-six miles. have you ordered up an engine?" "yes." "where's kennedy?" a second voice answered: "right here." "strike a light, farrell. what about the horses?" "they're being loaded." "is the line clear?" "rooney lee is clearing it." "spike it, george, and leave every westbound train in siding, with the engine cut loose and plenty of steam, till we get by. it's now or never this time. two hundred and seventy-six miles; they're giving us our money's worth. who's going with us, farrell?" "bob scott, reed young, and brill, if reed can get him at sleepy cat. dancing is loading the horses." "i want ed banks to lead a _posse_ straight from here for williams cache; dancing can go with him. and telephone gene and bob johnson to sit down in canadian pass till they grow to the rocks, but not to let anybody through if they want to live after i see them. they've got all the instructions; all they need is the word. it's a long chance, but i think these are our friends. you can head banks off by telephone somewhere if we change our minds when we get a trail. start brill young and a good man from sleepy cat ahead of us, george, if you can, in a baggage car with any horses that they can get there. they can be at tower w by daybreak and perhaps pick up a trail before we reach there, and we shall have fresh horses for them. i'm ready, i guess; let's go. slam the door, george!" in the hall whispering smith threw a pocket-light on his watch. "i want you to put us there by seven o'clock." "charlie sollers is going to pull you," answered mccloud. "have you got everything? then we're off." the three men tiptoed down the dark hall, down the stairs, and across the street on a noiseless run for the railroad yard. the air was chill and the sky clear, with a moon more than half to the full. "lord, what a night to ride!" exclaimed whispering smith, looking mournfully at the stars. "well planned, well planned, i must admit." the men hastened toward the yard, where lanterns were moving about the car of the train-guards near the blue front stables. the loading board had been lowered, and the horses were being carefully led into the car. from a switch engine behind the car a shrill cloud of steam billowed into the air. across the yard a great passenger engine, its huge white side-rod rising and falling slowly in the still light of the moon--one of the mountain racers, thick-necked like an athlete and deep-chested--was backing down for the run with the single car almost across the west end of the division. trainmen were running to and from the wickiup platform. by the time the horses were loaded the conductor had orders. until the last minute, whispering smith was in consultation with mccloud, and giving dancing precise instructions for the _posse_ into the cache country. they were still talking at the side door of the car, mccloud and dancing on the ground and whispering smith squatting on his haunches inside the moving car, when the engine signalled and the special drew away from the chute, pounded up the long run of the ladder switch, and moved with gathering speed into the canyon. in the cab charlie sollers, crushing in his hand the tissue that had brought the news of his brother's death, sat at the throttle. he had no speed orders. they had only told him he had a clear track. chapter xxvii pursuit brill young picked up a trail sunday morning at tower w before the special from medicine bend reached there. the wrecked express car, which had been set out, had no story to tell. "the only story," said whispering smith, as the men climbed into their saddles, "is in the one from the hoofs, and the sooner we get after it the better." the country around tower w, which is itself an operating point on the western end of the division, a mere speck on the desert, lies high and rolling. to the south, sixty miles away, rise the grosse terre mountains, and to the north and west lie the solitudes of the heart range, while in the northeast are seen the three white saddle peaks of the missions. the cool, bright sunshine of a far and lonely horizon greets the traveller here, and ten miles away from the railroad, in any direction, a man on horseback and unacquainted with the country would wish himself--mountain men will tell you--in hell, because it would be easier to ride out of. to the railroad men the country offered no unusual difficulties. the youngs were as much at home on a horse as on a hand car. kennedy, though a large and powerful man, was inured to hard riding, and bob scott and whispering smith in the saddle were merely a part--though an important part--of their horses; without killing their mounts, they could get out of them every mile in their legs. the five men covered twenty miles on a trail that read like print. one after another of the railroad party commented on the carelessness with which it had been left. but twenty miles south of the railroad, in an open and comparatively easy country, it was swallowed completely up in the tracks of a hundred horses. the railroad men circled far and wide, only to find the herd tracks everywhere ahead of them. "this is a beautiful job," murmured whispering smith as the party rode together along the edge of a creek-bottom. "now who is their friend down in this country? what man would get out a bunch of horses like this and work them this hard so early in the morning? let's hunt that man up. i like to meet a man that is a friend in need." bob scott spoke: "i saw a man with some horses in a canyon across the creek a few minutes ago, and i saw a ranch-house behind those buttes when i rode around them." "stop! here's a man riding right into our jaws," muttered kennedy. "divide up among the rocks." a horseman from the south came galloping up the creek, and kennedy rode out with an ivory smile to meet him. the two men parleyed for a moment, disputed each other sharply, and rode together back to the railroad party. "haven't seen any men looking for horses this morning, have you?" asked whispering smith, eying the stranger, a squat, square-jawed fellow with a cataract eye. "i'm looking for horses myself. i ain't seen anybody else. what are you looking for?" "is this your bunch of horses that got loose here?" asked smith. "no." "i thought," said kennedy, smiling, "you said a minute ago they were." the stranger fixed his cataract on him like a flash-light. "i changed my mind." whispering smith's brows rose protestingly, but he spoke with perfect amiability as he raised his finger to bring the good eye his way. "you ought to change your hat when you change your mind. i saw you driving a bunch of horses up that canyon a few minutes ago. now, rockstro, do you still drag your left leg?" the rancher looked steadily at his new inquisitor, but blinked like a gopher at the sudden onslaught. "which of you fellows is whispering smith?" he demanded. "the man with the dough is whispering smith every time," was the answer from smith himself. "you have about seven years to serve, rockstro, haven't you? seven, i think. now what have i ever done to you that you should turn a trick like this on me? i knew you were here, and you knew i knew you were here, and i call this a pretty country; a little smooth right around here, like the people, but pretty. have i ever bothered you? now tell me one thing--what did you get for covering this trail? i stand to give you two dollars for every one you got last night for the job, if you'll put us right on the game. which way did they go?" "what are you talking about?" "get off your horse a minute," suggested whispering smith, dismounting, "and step over here toward the creek." the man, afraid to refuse and unwilling to go, walked haltingly after smith. "what is it, rockstro?" asked his tormentor. "don't you like this country? what do you want to go back to the penitentiary for? aren't you happy here? now tell me one thing--will you give up the trail?" "i don't know the trail." "i believe you; we shouldn't follow it anyway. were you paid last night or this morning?" "i ain't seen a man hereabouts for a week." "then you can't tell me whether there were five men or six?" "you've got one eye as good as mine, and one a whole lot better." "so it was fixed up for cash a week ago?" "everything is cash in this country." "well, rockstro, i'm sorry, but we'll have to take you back with us." the rancher whipped out a revolver. whispering smith caught his wrist. the struggle lasted only an instant. rockstro writhed, and the pistol fell to the ground. "now, shall i break your arm?" asked smith, as the man cursed and resisted. "or will you behave? we are going right back and you'll have to come with us. we'll send some one down to round up your horses and sell them, and you can serve out your time--with allowances, of course, for good conduct, which will cut it down. if i had ever done you a mean turn i would not say a word. if you could name a friend of yours i had ever done a mean turn to i would not say a word. can you name one? i guess not. i have left you as free as the wind here, making only the rule i make for everybody--to let the railroad alone. this is my thanks. now, i'll ask you just one question. i haven't killed you, as i had a perfect right to when you pulled; i haven't broken your arm, as i would have done if there had been a doctor within twenty-five miles; and i haven't started you for the pen--not yet. now i ask you one fair question only: did you need the money?" "yes, i did need it." whispering smith dropped the man's wrist. "then i don't say a word. if you needed the money, i'm not going to send you back--not for mine." "how can a man make a living in this country," asked the rancher, with a bitter oath, "unless he picks up everything that's going?" "pick up your gun, man! i'm not saying anything, am i?" "but i'm damned if i can give a double-cross to any man," added rockstro, stooping for his revolver. "i should think less of you, rockstro, if you did. you don't need money anyway now, but sometime you may need a friend. i'm going to leave you here. you'll hear no more of this, and i'm going to ask you a question: why did you go against this when you knew you'd have to square yourself with me?" "they told me you'd be taken care of before it was pulled off." "they lied to you, didn't they? no matter, you've got their stuff. now i am going to ask you one question that i don't know the answer to; it's a fair question, too. was du sang in the penitentiary with you at fort city? answer fair." "yes." "thank you. behave yourself and keep your mouth shut. i say nothing this time. hereafter leave railroad matters alone, and if the woman should fall sick or you have to have a little money, come and see me." smith led the way back to the horses. "look here!" muttered rockstro, following, with his good eye glued on his companion. "i pulled on you too quick, i guess--quicker'n i'd ought to." "don't mention it. you didn't pull quick enough; it is humiliating to have a man that's as slow as you are pull on me. people that pull on me usually pull and shoot at the same time. two distinct movements, rockstro, should be avoided; they are fatal to success. come down to the bend sometime, and i'll get you a decent gun and give you a few lessons." whispering smith drew his handkerchief as the one-eyed man rode away and he rejoined his companions. he was resigned, after a sickly fashion. "i like to play blind-man's-buff," he said, wiping his forehead, "but not so far from good water. they have pulled us half-way to the grosse terre mountains on a beautiful trail, too beautiful to be true, farrell--too beautiful to be true. they have been having fun with us, and they've doubled back, through the topah topahs toward the mission mountains and williams cache--that is my judgment. and aren't we five able-bodied jays, gentlemen? five strong-arm suckers? it is an inelegant word; it is an inelegant feeling. no matter, we know a few things. there are five good men and a led horse; we can get out of here by goose river, find out when we cross the railroad how much they got, and pick them up somewhere around the saddle peaks, _if_ they've gone north. that's only a guess, and every man's guess is good now. what do you think, all of you?" "if it's the crowd we think it is, would they go straight home? that doesn't look reasonable, does it?" asked brill young. "if they could put one day between them and pursuit, wouldn't they be safer at home than anywhere else? and haven't they laid out one day's work for us, good and plenty? farrell, remember one thing: there is sometimes a disadvantage in knowing too much about the men you are after. we'll try goose river." it was noon when they struck the railroad. they halted long enough to stop a freight train, send some telegrams, and ask for news. they got orders from rooney lee, had an empty box car set behind the engine for a special, and, loading their horses at the chute, made a helter-skelter run for sleepy cat. at three o'clock they struck north for the mission mountains. chapter xxviii the sunday murder banks's _posse_, leaving medicine bend before daybreak, headed northwest. their instructions were explicit: to scatter after crossing the frenchman, watch the trails from the goose river country and through the mission mountains, and intercept everybody riding north until the _posse_ from sleepy cat or whispering smith should communicate with them from the southwest. nine men rode in the party that crossed the crawling stone sunday morning at sunrise with ed banks. after leaving the river the three white-capped saddles of the mission range afford a landmark for more than a hundred miles, and toward these the party pressed steadily all day. the southern pass of the missions opens on the north slope of the range into a pretty valley known as mission springs valley, and the springs are the head-waters of deep creek. the _posse_ did not quite obey the instructions, and following a natural instinct of safety five of them, after banks and his three deputies had scattered, bunched again, and at dark crossed deep creek at some distance below the springs. it was afterward known that these five men had been seen entering the valley from the east at sundown just as four of the men they wanted rode down south mission pass toward the springs. that they knew they would soon be cut off, or must cut their way through the line which ed banks, ahead of them, was posting at every gateway to williams cache, was probably clear to them. four men rode that evening from tower w through the south pass; the fifth man had already left the party. the four men were headed for williams cache and had reason to believe, until they sighted banks's men, that their path was open. they halted to take counsel on the suspicious-looking _posse_ far below them, and while their cruelly exhausted horses rested, du sang, always in sinclair's absence the brains of the gang, planned the escape over deep creek at baggs's crossing. at dusk they divided: two men lurking in the brush along the creek rode as close as they could, unobserved, toward the crossing, while du sang and the cowboy karg, known as flat nose, rode down to baggs's ranch at the foot of the pass. at that point dan baggs, an old locomotive engineer, had taken a homestead, got together a little bunch of cattle, and was living alone with his son, a boy of ten years. it was a hard country and too close to williams cache for comfort, but dan got on with everybody because the toughest man in the cache country could get a meal, a feed for his horse, and a place to sleep at baggs's, without charge, when he needed it. ed banks, by hard riding, got to the crossing at five o'clock, and told baggs of the hold-up and the shooting of oliver sollers. the news stirred the old engineman, and his excitement threw him off his guard. banks rode straight on for the middle pass, leaving word that two of his men would be along within half an hour to watch the pass and the ranch crossing, and asking baggs to put up some kind of a fight for the crossing until more of the _posse_ came up--at the least, to make sure that nobody got any fresh horses. the boy was cooking supper in the kitchen, and baggs had done his milking and gone back to the corral, when two men rode around the corner of the barn and asked if they could get something to eat. poor baggs sold his life in six words: "why, yes; be you banks's men?" du sang answered: "no; we're from sheriff coon's office at oroville, looking up a bunch of duck bar steers that's been run somewhere up deep creek. can we stay here all night?" they dismounted and disarmed baggs's suspicions, though the condition of their horses might have warned him had he had his senses. the unfortunate man had probably fixed it in his mind that a ride from tower w to deep creek in sixteen hours was a physical impossibility. "stay here? sure! i want you to stay," said baggs bluffly. "looks to me like i seen you down at crawling stone, ain't i?" he asked of karg. karg was lighting a cigarette. "i used to mark at the dunning ranch," he answered, throwing away his match. "that's hit. good! the boy's cooking supper. step up to the kitchen and tell him to cut ham for four more." "four?" "two of ed banks's men will be here by six o'clock. heard about the hold-up? they stopped number three at tower w last night and shot ollie sollers, as white a boy as ever pulled a throttle. boys, a man that'll kill a locomotive engineer is worse'n an indian; i'd help skin him." "the hell you would!" cried du sang. "well, don't you want to start in on me? i killed sollers. look at me; ain't i handsome? what you going to do about it?" before baggs could think du sang was shooting him down. it was wanton. du sang stood in no need of the butchery; the escape could have been made without it. his victim had pulled an engine throttle too long to show the white feather, but he was dying by the time he had dragged a revolver from his pocket. du sang did the killing alone. at least, flat nose, who alone saw all of the murder, afterward maintained that he did not draw because he had no occasion to, and that baggs was dead before he, karg, had finished his cigarette. with his right arm broken and two bullets through his chest, baggs fell on his face. that, however, did not check his murderer. rising to his knees, baggs begged for his life. "for god's sake! i'm helpless, gentlemen! i'm helpless. don't kill me like a dog!" but du sang, emptying his pistol, threw his rifle to his shoulder and sent bullet after bullet crashing through the shapeless form writhing and twitching before him until he had beaten it in the dust soft and flat and still. banks's men came up within an hour to find the ranch-house deserted. they saw a lantern in the yard below, and near the corral gate they found the little boy in the darkness, screaming beside his father's body. the sheriff's men carried the old engineman to the house; others of the _posse_ crossed the creek during the evening, and at eleven o'clock whispering smith rode down from the south pass to find that four of the men they were after had taken fresh horses, after killing baggs, and passed safely through the cordon banks had drawn around the pass and along deep creek. bill dancing, who had ridden with banks's men, was at the house when whispering smith arrived. he found some supper in the kitchen, and the tired man and the giant ate together. whispering smith was too experienced a campaigner to complain. his party had struck a trail fifty miles north of sleepy cat and followed it to the missions. he knew now who he was after, and knew that they were bottled up in the cache for the night. the sheriff's men were sleeping on the floor of the living-room when smith came in from the kitchen. he sat down before the fire. at intervals sobs came from the bedroom where the body lay, and after listening a moment, whispering smith got stiffly up, and, tiptoeing to still the jingle of his spurs, took the candle from the table, pushed aside the curtain, and entered the bedroom. the little boy was lying on his face, with his arm around his father's neck, talking to him. whispering smith bent a moment over the bed, and, setting the candle on the table, put his hand on the boy's shoulder. he disengaged the hand from the cold neck, and sitting down took it in his own. talking low to the little fellow, he got his attention after much patient effort and got him to speak. he made him, though struggling with terror, to understand that he had come to be his friend, and after the child had sobbed his grief into a strange heart he ceased to tremble, and told his name and his story, and described the two horsemen and the horses they had left. smith listened quietly. "have you had any supper, dannie? no? you must have something to eat. can't you eat anything? but there is a nice pan of fresh milk in the kitchen." a burst of tears interrupted him. "daddie just brought in the milk, and i was frying the ham, and i heard them shooting." "see how he took care of you till the last minute, and left something for you after he was gone. suppose he could speak now, don't you think he would want you to do as i say? i am your next friend now, for you are going to be a railroad man and have a big engine." dannie looked up. "dad wasn't afraid of those men." "wasn't he, dannie?" "he said we would be all right and not to be afraid." "did he?" "he said whispering smith was coming." "my poor boy." "he is coming, don't be afraid. do you know whispering smith? he is coming. the men to-night all said he was coming." the little fellow for a long time could not be coaxed away from his father, but his companion at length got him to the kitchen. when they came back to the bedroom the strange man was talking to him once more about his father. "we must try to think how he would like things done now, mustn't we? all of us felt so bad when we rode in and had so much to do we couldn't attend to taking care of your father. did you know there are two men out at the crossing now, guarding it with rifles? but if you and i keep real quiet we can do something for him while the men are asleep; they have to ride all day to-morrow. we must wash his face and hands, don't you think so? and brush his hair and his beard. if you could just find the basin and some water and a towel--you couldn't find a brush, could you? could you, honestly? well! i call that a good boy--we shall have to have you on the railroad, sure. we must try to find some fresh clothes--these are cut and stained; then i will change his clothes, and we shall all feel better. don't disturb the men; they are tired." they worked together by the candle-light. when they had done, the boy had a violent crying spell, but whispering smith got him to lie down beside him on a blanket spread on the floor, where smith got his back against the sod wall and took the boy's head in his arm. he waited patiently for the boy to go to sleep, but dan was afraid the murderers would come back. once he lifted his head in a confidence. "did you know my daddy used to run an engine?" "no, i did not; but in the morning you must tell me all about it." whenever there was a noise in the next room the child roused. after some time a new voice was heard; kennedy had come and was asking questions. "wake up here, somebody! where is whispering smith?" dancing answered: "he's right there in the bedroom, farrell, staying with the boy." there was some stirring. kennedy talked a little and at length stretched himself on the floor. when all was still again, dannie's hand crept slowly from the breast of his companion up to his chin, and the little hand, feeling softly every feature, stole over the strange face. "what is it, dannie?" "are you whispering smith?" "yes, dannie. shut your eyes." at three o'clock, when kennedy lighted a candle and looked in, smith was sitting with his back against the wall. the boy lay on his arm. both were fast asleep. on the bed the dead man lay with a handkerchief over his face. chapter xxix williams cache ed banks had been recalled before daybreak from the middle pass. two of the men wanted were now known to have crossed the creek, which meant they must work out of the country through williams cache. "if you will take your best two men, ed," said whispering smith, sitting down with banks at breakfast, "and strike straight for canadian pass to help gene and bob johnson, i'll undertake to ride in and talk to rebstock while kennedy and bob scott watch deep creek. the boy gives a good description, and the two men that did the job here are du sang and flat nose. did i tell you how we picked up the trail yesterday? magpies. they shot a scrub horse that gave out on them and skinned the brand. it hastened the banquet, but we got there before the birds were all seated. great luck, wasn't it? and it gave us a beautiful trail. one of the party crossed the goose river at american fork, and brill young and reed followed him. four came through the mission mountains; that is a cinch and they are in the cache--and if they get out it is our fault personally, ed, and not the lord's." williams cache lies in the form of a great horn, with a narrow entrance at the lower end known as the door, and a rock fissure at the upper end leading into canadian pass; but this fissure is so narrow that a man with a rifle could withstand a regiment. for a hundred miles east and west rise the granite walls of the mission range, broken nowhere save by the formation known as the cache. even this does not penetrate the range; it is a pocket, and runs not over half-way into it and out again. but no man really knows the cache; the most that may be said is that the main valley is known, and it is known as the roughest mountain fissure between the spanish sinks and the mantrap country. williams cache lies between walls two thousand feet high, and within it is a small labyrinth of canyons. a generation ago, when medicine bend for one winter was the terminus of the overland railroad, vigilantes mercilessly cleaned out the town, and the few outlaws that escaped the shotgun and the noose at medicine bend found refuge in a far-away and unknown mountain gorge once named by french trappers the cache. years after these outcasts had come to infest it came one desperado more ferocious than all that had gone before. he made a frontier retreat of the cache, and left to it the legacy of his evil name, williams. since his day it has served, as it served before, for the haunt of outlawed men. no honest man lives in williams cache, and few men of any sort live there long, since their lives are lives of violence; neither the law nor a woman crosses deep creek. but from the day of williams to this day the cache has had its ruler, and when whispering smith rode with a little party through the door into the cache the morning after the murder in mission valley he sent an envoy to rebstock, whose success as a cattle-thief had brought its inevitable penalty. it had made rebstock a man of consequence and of property and a man subject to the anxieties and annoyances of such responsibility. sitting once in the three horses at medicine bend, rebstock had talked with whispering smith. "i used to have a good time," he growled. "when i was rustling a little bunch of steers, just a small bunch all by myself, and hadn't a cent in the world, no place to sleep and nothing to eat, i had a good time. now i have to keep my money in the bank; that ain't pleasant--you know that. every man that brings a bunch of cattle across deep creek has stole 'em, and expects me to buy 'em or lend him money. i'm busy with inspecters all the time, deviling with brands, standing off the stock association and all kinds of trouble. i've got too many cows, too much money. i'm afraid somebody will shoot me if i go to sleep, or poison me if i take a drink. whispering smith, i'd like to give you a half-interest in my business. that's on the square. you're a young man, and handy; it wouldn't cost you a cent, and you can have half of the whole shooting-match if you'll cross deep creek and help me run the gang." such was rebstock free from anxiety and in a confidential moment. under pressure he was, like all men, different. whispering smith had acquaintance even in the cache, and after a little careful reconnoitring he found a crippled-up thief, driving a milch cow down the cache, who was willing to take a message to the boss. whispering smith gave his instructions explicitly, facing the messenger, as the two sat in their saddles, with an importunate eye. "say to rebstock exactly these words," he insisted. "this is from whispering smith: i want du sang. he killed a friend of mine last night at mission springs. i happened to be near there and know he rode in last night. he can't get out; the canadian is plugged. i won't stand for the killing, and it is du sang or a clean-up in the cache all around, and then i'll get du sang anyway. regards." riding circumspectly in and about the entrance to the cache, the party waited an hour for an answer. when the answer came, it was unsatisfactory. rebstock declined to appear upon so trivial a matter, and whispering smith refused to specify a further grievance. more parley and stronger messages were necessary to stir the deep creek monarch, but at last he sent word asking whispering smith to come to his cabin accompanied only by kennedy. the two railroad men rode up the canyon together. "and now i will show you a lean and hungry thief grown monstrous and miserly, farrell," said whispering smith. at the head of a short pocket between two sheer granite walls they saw rebstock's weather-beaten cabin, and he stood in front of it smoking. he looked moodily at his visitors out of eyes buried between rolls of fat. whispering smith was a little harsh as the two shook hands, but he dismounted and followed rebstock into the house. "what are you so high and mighty about?" he demanded, throwing his hat on the table near which rebstock had seated himself. "why don't you come out when i send a man to you, or send word what you will do? what have you got to kick about? haven't you been treated right?" being in no position to complain, but shrewdly aware that much unpleasantness was in the wind, rebstock beat about the bush. he had had rheumatism; he couldn't ride; he had been in bed three weeks and hadn't seen du sang for three months. "you ain't chasing up here after du sang because he killed a man at mission springs. i know better than that. that ain't the first man he's killed, and it ain't a' goin' to be the last." whispering smith lifted his finger and for the first time smiled. "now there you err, rebstock--it is 'a goin' to be' the last. so you think i'm after you, do you? well, if i were, what are you going to do about it? rebstock, do you think, if i wanted _you_, i would send a message for you to come out and meet me? not on your life! when i want you i'll come to your shack and drag you out by the hair of the head. sit down!" roared whispering smith. rebstock, who weighed at least two hundred and seventy-five pounds, had lifted himself up to glare and swear freely. now he dropped angrily back into his chair. "well, who do you want?" he bellowed in kind. a smile softened the asperity of the railroad man's face. "that's a fair question and i give you a straight answer. i'm not bluffing: i want du sang." rebstock squirmed. he swore with shortened breath that he knew nothing about du sang; that du sang had stolen his cattle; that hanging was too good for him; that he would join any _posse_ in searching for him; and that he had not seen him for three months. "likely enough," assented whispering smith, "but this is wasting time. he rode in here last night after killing old dan baggs. your estimable nephew barney is with him, and karg is with him, and i want them; but, in especial and particular, i want du sang." rebstock denied, protested, wheezed, and stormed, but whispering smith was immovable. he would not stir from the cache upon any promises. rebstock offered to surrender any one else in the cache--hinted strongly at two different men for whom handsome rewards were out; but every compromise suggested was met with the same good-natured words: "i want du sang." at last the smile changed on whispering smith's face. it lighted his eyes still, but with a different expression. "see here, rebstock, you and i have always got along, haven't we? i've no desire to crowd any man to the wall that is a man. now i am going to tell you the simple truth. du sang has got you scared to death. that man is a faker, rebstock. because he kills men right and left without any provocation, you think he is dangerous. he isn't; there are a dozen men in the cache just as good with a gun as du sang is. don't shake your head. i know what i'm talking about. he is a jay with a gun, and you may tell him i said so; do you hear? tell him to come out if he wants me to demonstrate it. he has got everybody, including you, scared to death. now, i say, don't be silly. i want du sang." rebstock rose to his feet solemnly and pointed his finger at whispering smith. "whispering smith, you know me--" "i know you for a fat rascal." "that's all right. you know me, and, just as you say, we always get along because we both got sense." "you're hiding yours to-day, rebstock." "no matter; i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll give you all the horseflesh you can kill and all the men you can hire to go after him, and i'll bury your dead myself. you think he can't shoot? i give you a tip on the square." whispering smith snorted. "he'll shoot the four buttons off your coat in four shots." smith kicked rebstock's dog contemptuously. "and do it while you are falling down. i've seen him do it," persisted rebstock, moist with perspiration. "i'm not looking for a chance to go against a sure thing; i wash my hands of the job." whispering smith rose. "it was no trick to see he had you scared to death. you are losing your wits, old man. the albino is a faker, and i tell you i am going to run him out of the country." whispering smith reached for his hat. "our treaty ends right here. you promised to harbor no man in your sink that ever went against our road. you know as well as i do that this man, with four others, held up our train night before last at tower w, shot our engineman to death for mere delight, killed a messenger, took sixty-five thousand dollars out of the through safe, and made his good get-away. now, don't lie; you know every word of it, and you thought you could pull it out of me by a bluff. i track him to your door. he is inside the cache this minute. you know every curve and canyon and pocket and washout in it, and every cut-throat and jail-bird in it, and they pay you blood-money and hush-money every month; and when i ask you not to give up a dozen men the company is entitled to, but merely to send this pink-eyed lobster out with his guns to talk with me, you wash your hands of the job, do you? now listen. if you don't send du sang into the open before noon to-morrow, i'll run every living steer and every living man out of williams cache before i cross the crawling stone again, so help me god! and i'll send for cowboys within thirty minutes to begin the job. i'll scrape your deep creek canyons till the rattlesnakes squeal. i'll make williams cache so wild that a timber-wolf can't follow his own trail through it. you'll break with me, will you, rebstock? then wind up your bank account; before i finish with you i'll put you in stripes and feed buzzards off your table." rebstock's face was apoplectic. he choked with a torrent of oaths. whispering smith, paying no attention, walked out to where kennedy was waiting. he swung into the saddle, ignoring rebstock's abjurations, and with kennedy rode away. "it is hard to do anything with a man that is scared to death," said smith to his companion. "then, too, rebstock's nephew is probably in this. in any case, when du sang has got rebstock scared, he is a dangerous man to be abroad. we have got to smoke him out, farrell. lance dunning insisted the other day he wanted to do me a favor. i'll see if he'll lend me stormy gorman and some of his cowpunchers for a round-up. we've got to smoke du sang out. a round-up is the thing. but, by heaven, if that round-up is actually pulled off it will be a classic when you and i are gone." thirty minutes afterward, messengers had taken the frenchman trail for lance dunning's cowboys. chapter xxx the fight in the cache a clear night and a good moon made a long ride possible, and the crawling stone contingent, headed by stormy gorman, began coming into the railroad camp by three o'clock the next morning. with them rode the two youngs, who had lost the trail they followed across goose river and joined the cowboys on the road to the north. the party divided under kennedy and smith, who rode through the door into the cache just before daybreak. "i don't know what i am steering you against this morning, farrell," said whispering smith. "certainly i should hate to run you into du sang, but we can't tell where we shall strike him. if we have laid out the work right i ought to see him as soon as anybody does. accidents do happen, but remember he will never be any more dangerous than he is at the first moment. get him to talk. he gets nervous if he can't shoot right away. when you pull, get a bullet into his stomach at the start, if you possibly can, to spoil his aim. we mustn't make the mistake of underestimating him. rebstock is right: he is a fright with a revolver, and sinclair and seagrue are the only men in the mountains that can handle a rifle with him. now we split here; and good luck!" "don't you want to take brill young with you?" "you take both the youngs, farrell. we shall be among rocks, and if he tries to rush us there is cover." stormy gorman with four crawling stone cowboys followed whispering smith. every rider on the range had a grievance against williams cache, and any of them would have been glad to undertake reprisals against the rustlers under the wing of whispering smith. just how in the mountains--without telegraph, newspapers, and all ordinary means of publicity--news travels so fast may not certainly be said. the scattered lines of telephone wires help, but news outstrips the wires. moreover, there are no telephones in the mission mountains. but on the morning that the round-up party rode into the cache it was known in the streets of medicine bend that the tower w men had been tracked into the north country; that some, if not all, of them were in williams cache; that an ultimatum had been given, and that whispering smith and kennedy had already ridden in with their men to make it good. whispering smith, with the cowboys, took the rough country to the left, and kennedy and his party took the south prong of the cache creek. the instructions were to make a clean sweep as the line advanced. behind the centre rode three men to take stock driven in from the wings. word that was brief but reasonable had been sent everywhere ahead. every man, it was promised, that could prove property should have a chance to do so at the door that day and the next; but any brands that showed stolen cattle, or that had been skinned or tampered with in any way, were to be turned over to the stock association for the benefit of owners. the very first pocket raided started a row and uncovered eighty head of five-year-old steers bearing a mutilated duck bar brand. it was like poking at rattlesnakes to undertake to clean out the grassy retreats of the cache, but the work was pushed on in spite of protests, threats, and resistance. every man that rode out openly to make a protest was referred calmly to rebstock, and before very long rebstock's cabin had more men around it than had been seen together in the cache for years. the impression that the whole jig was up, and that the refugees had been sold out by their own boss, was one that no railroad man undertook to discourage. the cowboys insisted on the cattle, with the assurance that rebstock could explain everything. by noon the cache was in an uproar. the cowboys were riding carefully, and their guards, rifles in hand, were watching the corners. ahead of the slowly moving line with the growing bunch of cattle behind it, flourished as it were rather conspicuously, fugitive riders dashed back and forth with curses and yells across the narrow valley. if it had been whispering smith's intention to raise a large-sized row it was apparent that he had been successful. rebstock, driven to desperation, held council after council to determine what to do. sorties were discussed, ambushes considered, and a pitched battle was planned. but, while ideas were plentiful, no one aspired to lead an attack on whispering smith. moreover, williams cache, it was conceded, would in the end be worsted if the company and the cowmen together seriously undertook with men and unlimited money to clean it out. whispering smith's party had no explanation to offer for the round-up, but when rebstock made it known that the fight was over sending out du sang, the rage of the rustlers turned on du sang. again, however, no man wanted to take up personally with du sang the question of the reasonableness of whispering smith's demand. instead of doing so, they fell on rebstock and demanded that if he were boss he make good and send du sang out. of all this commotion the railroad men saw only the outward indications. as the excitement grew on both sides there was perhaps a little more of display in the way the cattle were run in, especially when some long-lost bunch was brought to light and welcomed with yells from the centre. a steer was killed at noon, everybody fed, and the line moved forward. the wind, which had slept in the sunshine of the morning, rose in the afternoon, and the dust whirled in little clouds where men or animals moved. from the centre two men had gone back with the cattle gathered up to that time, and bill dancing, with smith, stormy gorman, and two of the cowboys, were heading a draw to cross to the north side of the cache, when three men rode out into the road five hundred yards ahead, and halted. whispering smith spoke: "there come our men; stop here. this ground in front of us looks good to me; they may have chosen something over there that suits them better. feel your guns and we'll start forward slowly; don't take your eyes off the bunch, whatever you do. bill, you go back and help the men with the cattle; there will be four of us against three then." "not for mine!" said bill dancing bluntly. "you may need help from an old fool yet. i'll see you through this and look after the cattle afterward." "then, stormy, one or two of you go back," urged whispering smith, speaking to the cowboy foreman without turning his eyes. "there's no need of five of us in this." but stormy swore violently. "you go back yourself," exclaimed stormy, when he could control his feelings. "we'll bring them fellows in for you in ten minutes with their hands in the air." "i know you would; i know it. but i'm paid for this sort of thing and you are not, and i advise no man to take unnecessary chances. if you all want to stay, why, stay; but don't ride ahead of the line, and let me do all the talking. see that your guns are loose--you'll never have but one chance to pull, and don't pull till you're ready. the albino is riding in the middle now, isn't he? and a little back, playing for a quick drop. watch him. who is that on the right? can it be george seagrue? well, this is a bunch. and i guess karg is with them." holding their horses to a slow walk, the two parties gingerly approached each other. when the cache riders halted the railroad riders halted; and when the three rode the five rode: but the three rode with absolute alignment and acted as one, while whispering smith had trouble in holding his men back until the two lines were fifty feet apart. by this time the youngest of the cowboys had steadied and was thinking hard. whispering smith halted. in perfect order and sitting their horses as if they were riding parade, the horses ambling at a snail's pace, the cache riders advanced in the sunshine like one man. when du sang and his companions reined up, less than twelve feet separated the two lines. in his tan shirt, du sang, with his yellow hair, his white eyelashes, and his narrow face, was the least impressive of the three men. the norwegian, seagrue, rode on the right, his florid blood showing under the tan on his neck and arms. he spoke to the cowboys from the ranch, and on the left the young fellow karg, with the broken nose, black-eyed and alert, looked the men over in front of him and nodded to dancing. du sang and his companions wore short-armed shirts; rifles were slung at their pommels, and revolvers stuck in their hip-scabbards. whispering smith, in his dusty suit of khaki, was the only man in either line who showed no revolver, but a hammerless or muley savage rifle hung beside his pommel. du sang, blinking, spoke first: "which of you fellows is heading this round-up?" "i am heading the round-up," said whispering smith. "why? have we got some of your cattle?" the two men spoke as quietly as school-teachers. whispering smith's expression in no way changed, except that as he spoke he lifted his eyebrows a little more than usual. du sang looked at him closely as he went on: "what kind of a way is this to treat anybody? to ride into a valley like this and drive a man's cows away from his door without notice or papers? is your name smith?" "my name is smith; yours is du sang. yes, i'll tell you, du sang. i carry an inspector's card from the mountain stock association--do you want to see it? when we get these cattle to the door, any man in the cache may come forward and prove his property. i shall leave instructions to that effect when we go, for i want you to go to medicine bend with me, du sang, as soon as convenient, and the men that are with me will finish the round-up." "what do you want me for? there's no papers out against me, is there?" "no, but i'm an officer, du sang. i'll see to the papers; i want you for murder." "so they tell me. well, you're after the wrong man. but i'll go with you; i don't care about that." "neither do i, du sang; and as you have some friends along, i won't break up the party. they may come, too." "what for?" "for stopping a train at tower w saturday night." the three men looked at one another and laughed. du sang with an oath spoke again: "the men you want are in canada by this time. i can't speak for my friends; i don't know whether they want to go or not. as far as i am concerned, i haven't killed anybody that i know of. i suppose you'll pay my expenses back?" "why, yes, du sang, if you were coming back i would pay your expenses; but you are not coming back. you are riding down williams cache for the last time; you've ridden down it too many times already. this round-up is especially for you. don't deceive yourself; when you ride with me this time out of the cache, you won't come back." du sang laughed, but his blinking eyes were as steady as a cat's. it did not escape whispering smith's notice that the mettlesome horses ridden by the outlaws were continually working around to the right of his party. he spoke amiably to karg: "if you can't manage that horse, karg, i can. play fair. it looks to me as if you and du sang were getting ready to run for it, and leave george seagrue to shoot his way through alone." du sang, with some annoyance, intervened: "that's all right; i'll go with you. i'd rather see your papers, but if you're whispering smith it's all right. i'm due to shoot out a little game sometime with you at medicine bend, anyway." "any time, du sang; only don't let your hand wabble next time. it's too close to your gun now to pull right." "well, i told you i was going to come, didn't i? and i'm coming--now!" with the last word he whipped out his gun. there was a crash of bullets. questioned once by mccloud and reproached for taking chances, whispering smith answered simply. "i have to take chances," he said. "all i ask is an even break." but kennedy had said there was no such thing as an even break with whispering smith. a few men in a generation amuse, baffle, and mystify other men with an art based on the principle that the action of the hand is quicker than the action of the eye. with whispering smith the drawing of a revolver and the art of throwing his shots instantly from wherever his hand rested was pure sleight-of-hand. to a dexterity so fatal he added a judgment that had not failed when confronted with deceit. from the moment that du sang first spoke, smith, convinced that he meant to shoot his way through the line, waited only for the moment to come. when du sang's hand moved like a flash of light, whispering smith, who was holding his coat lapels in his hands, struck his pistol from the scabbard over his heart and threw a bullet at him before he could fire, as a conjurer throws a vanishing coin into the air. spurring his horse fearfully as he did so, he dashed at du sang and karg, leaped his horse through their line and, wheeling at arm's length, shot again. bill dancing jumped in his saddle, swayed, and toppled to the ground. stormy gorman gave a single whoop at the spectacle and, with his two cowboys at his heels, fled for life. [illustration: wheeling at arm's length, shot again.] more serious than all, smith found himself among three fast revolvers, working from an unmanageable horse. the beast tried to follow the fleeing cowboys, and when faced sharply about showed temper. the trained horses of the outlaws stood like statues, but smith had to fight with his horse bucking at every shot. he threw his bullets as best he could first over one shoulder and then over the other, and used the last cartridge in his revolver with du sang, seagrue, and karg shooting at him every time they could fire without hitting one another. it was not the first time the williams cache gang had sworn to get him and had worked together to do it, but for the first time it looked as if they might do it. a single chance was left to whispering smith for his life, and with his coat slashed with bullets, he took it. for an instant his life hung on the success of a trick so appallingly awkward that a cleverer man might have failed in turning it. if his rifle should play free in the scabbard as he reached for it, he could fall to the ground, releasing it as he plunged from the saddle, and make a fight on his feet. if the rifle failed to release he was a dead man. to so narrow an issue are the cleverest combinations sometimes brought by chance. he dropped his empty revolver, ducked like a mud-hen on his horse's neck, threw back his leg, and, with all the precision he could summon, caught the grip of his muley in both hands. he made his fall heavily to the ground, landing on his shoulder. but as he keeled from the saddle the last thing that rolled over the saddle, like the flash of a porpoise fin, was the barrel of the rifle, secure in his hands. karg, on horseback, was already bending over him, revolver in hand, but the shot was never fired. a thirty-thirty bullet from the ground knocked the gun into the air and tore every knuckle from karg's hand. du sang spurred in from the right. a rifle-slug like an axe at the root caught him through the middle. his fingers stiffened. his six-shooter fell to the ground and he clutched his side. seagrue, ducking low, put spurs to his horse, and whispering smith, covered with dust, rose on the battle-field alone. hats, revolvers, and coats lay about him. face downward, the huge bulk of bill dancing was stretched motionless in the road. karg, crouching beside his fallen horse, held up the bloody stump of his gun hand, and du sang, fifty yards away, reeling like a drunken man in his saddle, spurred his horse in an aimless circle. whispering smith, running softly to the side of his own trembling animal, threw himself into the saddle, and, adjusting his rifle sights as the beast plunged down the draw, gave chase to seagrue. chapter xxxi the death of du sang whispering smith, with his horse in a lather, rode slowly back twenty minutes later with seagrue disarmed ahead of him. the deserted battle-ground was alive with men. stormy gorman, hot for blood, had come back, captured karg, and begun swearing all over again, and smith listened with amiable surprise while he explained that seeing dancing killed, and not being able to tell from whispering smith's peculiar tactics which side he was shooting at, gorman and his companions had gone for help. while they angrily surrounded karg and seagrue, smith slipped from his horse where bill dancing lay, lifted the huge head from the dust, and tried to turn the giant over. a groan greeted the attempt. "bill, open your eyes! why would you not do as i wanted you to?" he murmured bitterly to himself. a second groan answered him. smith called for water, and from a canteen drenched the pallid forehead, talking softly meanwhile; but his efforts to restore consciousness were unavailing. he turned to where two of the cowboys had dragged karg to the ground and three others had their old companion seagrue in hand. while two held huge revolvers within six inches of his head, the third was adjusting a rope-knot under his ear. whispering smith became interested. "hold on!" said he mildly, "what is loose? what are you going to do?" "we're going to hang these fellows," answered stormy, with a volley of hair-raising imprecations. "oh, no! just put them on horses under guard." "that's what we're going to do," exclaimed the foreman. "only we're going to run 'em over to those cottonwoods and drive the horses out from under 'em. stand still, you tow-headed cow-thief!" he cried, slipping the noose up tight on george seagrue's neck. "see here," returned whispering smith, showing some annoyance, "you may be joking, but i am not. either do as i tell you or release those men." "well, i guess we are not joking very much. you heard me, didn't you?" demanded stormy angrily. "we are going to string these damned critters up right here in the draw on the first tree." whispering smith drew a pocket-knife and walked to flat nose, slit the rope around his neck, pushed him out of the circle, and stood in front of him. "you can't play horse with my prisoners," he said curtly. "get over here, karg. come, now, who is going to walk in first? you act like a school-boy, gorman." hard words and a wrangle followed, but smith did not change expression, and there was a backdown. "have you fellows let du sang get away while you were playing fool here?" he asked. "du sang's over the hill there on his horse, and full of fight yet," exclaimed one. "then we will look him up," suggested smith. "come, seagrue." "don't go over there. he'll get you if you do," cried gorman. "let us see about that. seagrue, you and karg walk ahead. don't duck or run, either of you. go on." just over the brow of the hill near which the fight had taken place, a man lay below a ledge of granite. the horse from which he had fallen was grazing close by, but the man had dragged himself out of the blinding sun to the shade of the sagebrush above the rock--the trail of it all lay very plain on the hard ground. watching him narrowly, smith, with his prisoners ahead and the cowboys riding in a circle behind, approached. "du sang?" the man in the sagebrush turned his head. smith walked to him and bent down. "are you suffering much, du sang?" the wounded man, sinking with shock and internal hemorrhage, uttered a string of oaths. smith listened quietly till he had done; then he knelt beside him and put his hand on du sang's hand. "tell me where you are hit, du sang. put your hand to it. is it the stomach? let me turn you on your side. easy. does your belt hurt? just a minute, now; i can loosen that." "i know you," muttered du sang thickly. then his eyes--terrible, rolling, pink eyes--brightened and he swore violently. "du sang, you are not bleeding much, but i'm afraid you are badly hit," said whispering smith. "is there anything i can do for you?" "get me some water." a creek flowed at no great distance below the hill, but the cowboys refused to go for water. whispering smith would have gone with seagrue and karg, but du sang begged him not to leave him alone lest gorman should kill him. smith canvassed the situation a moment. "i'll put you on my horse," said he at length, "and take you down to the creek." he turned to the cowboys and asked them to help, but they refused to touch du sang. whispering smith kept his patience. "karg, take that horse's head," said he. "come here, seagrue; help me lift du sang on the horse. the boys seem to be afraid of getting blood on their hands." with whispering smith and seagrue supporting du sang in the saddle and karg leading the horse, the cavalcade moved slowly down to the creek, where a tiny stream purled among the rocks. the water revived the injured man for a moment; he had even strength enough, with some help, to ride again; and, moving in the same halting order, they took him to rebstock's cabin. rebstock, at the door, refused to let the sinking man be brought into the house. he cursed du sang as the cause of all the trouble. but du sang cursed him with usury, and, while whispering smith listened, told rebstock with bitter oaths that if he had given the boy barney anything but a scrub horse they never would have been trailed. more than this concerning the affair du sang would not say, and never said. the procession turned from the door. seagrue led the way to rebstock's stable, and they laid du sang on some hay. afterward they got a cot under him. with surprising vitality he talked a long time to whispering smith, but at last fell into a stupor. at nine o'clock that night he sat up. ed banks and kennedy were standing beside the cot. du sang became delirious, and in his delirium called the name of whispering smith; but smith was at baggs's cabin with bill dancing. in a spasm of pain, du sang, opening his eyes, suddenly threw himself back. the cot broke, and the dying man rolled under the feet of the frightened horses. in the light of the lanterns they lifted him back, but he was bleeding slowly at the mouth, quite dead. the surgeon, afterward, found two fatal wounds upon him. the first shot, passing through the stomach, explained du sang's failure to kill at a distance in which, uninjured, he could have placed five shots within the compass of a silver dollar. firing for whispering smith's heart, he had, despite the fearful shock, put four bullets through his coat before the rifle-ball from the ground, tearing at right angles across the path of the first bullet, had cut down his life to a question of hours. bill dancing, who had been hit in the head and stunned, had been moved back to the cabin at mission spring, and lay in the little bedroom. a doctor at oroville had been sent for, but had not come. at midnight of the second day, smith, who was beside his bed, saw him rouse up, and noted the brightness of his eyes as he looked around. "bill," he declared hopefully, as he sat beside the bed, "you are better, hang it! i know you are. how do you feel?" "ain't that blamed doctor here yet? then give me my boots. i'm going back to medicine bend to doc torpy." in the morning whispering smith, who had cleansed and dressed the wound and felt sure the bullet had not penetrated the skull, offered no objection to the proposal beyond cautioning him to ride slowly. "you can go down part way with the prisoners, bill," suggested whispering smith. "brill young is going to take them to oroville, and you can act as chairman of the guard." before the party started, smith called seagrue to him. "george, you saved my life once. do you remember--in the pan handle? well, i gave you yours twice in the cache day before yesterday. i don't know how badly you are into this thing. if you kept clear of the killing at tower w i will do what i can for you. don't talk to anybody." chapter xxxii mcloud and dicksie news of the fight in williams cache reached medicine bend in the night. horsemen, filling in the gaps between telephones leading to the north country, made the circuit complete, but the accounts, confused and colored in the repeating, came in a cloud of conflicting rumors. in the streets, little groups of men discussed the fragmentary reports as they came from the railroad offices. toward morning, sleepy cat, nearer the scene of the fight, began sending in telegraphic reports in which truth and rumor were strangely mixed. mccloud waited at the wires all night, hoping for trustworthy advices as to the result, but received none. even during the morning nothing came, and the silence seemed more ominous than the bad news of the early night. routine business was almost suspended and mccloud and rooney lee kept the wires warm with inquiries, but neither the telephone nor the telegraph would yield any definite word as to what had actually happened in the williams cache fight. it was easy to fear the worst. at the noon hour mccloud was signing letters when dicksie dunning walked hurriedly up the hall and hesitated in the passageway before the open door of his office. he gave an exclamation as he pushed back his chair. she was in her riding-suit just as she had slipped from her saddle. "oh, mr. mccloud, have you heard the awful news? whispering smith was killed yesterday in williams cache by du sang." mccloud stiffened a little. "i hope that can't be true. we have had nothing here but rumors; perhaps it is these that you have heard." "no, no! blake, one of our men, was in the fight and got back at the ranch at nine o'clock this morning. i heard the story myself, and i rode right in to--to see marion, and my courage failed me--i came here first. does she know, do you think? blake saw him fall from the saddle after he was shot, and everybody ran away, and du sang and two other men were firing at him as he lay on the ground. he could not possibly have escaped with his life, blake said; he must have been riddled with bullets. isn't it terrible?" she sobbed suddenly, and mccloud, stunned at her words, led her to his chair and bent over her. "if his death means this to you, think of what it means to me!" a flood of sympathy bore them together. the moment was hardly one for interruption, but the despatcher's door opened and rooney lee halted, thunderstruck, on the threshold. dicksie's hand disappeared in her handkerchief. mccloud had been in wrecks before, and gathered himself together unmoved. "what is it, rooney?" the very calmness of the two at the table disconcerted the despatcher. he held the message in his hand and shuffled his feet. "give me your despatch," said mccloud impatiently. quite unable to take his hollow eyes off dicksie, poor rooney advanced, handed the telegram to mccloud, and beat an awkward retreat. mccloud devoured the words of the message at a glance. "ah!" he cried, "this is from gordon himself, sent from sleepy cat. he must be safe and unhurt! listen: "three of the tower w men trailed into williams cache. in resisting arrest this morning, du sang was wounded and is dying to-night. two prisoners, karg and seagrue. g. s. "those are gordon's initials; it is the signature over which he telegraphs me. you see, this was sent last night long after blake left. he is safe; i will stake my life on it." dicksie sank back while mccloud re-read the message. "oh, isn't that a relief?" she exclaimed. "but how can it be? i can't understand it at all; but he _is_ safe, isn't he? i was heartbroken when i heard he was killed. marion ought to know of this," she said, rising. "i am going to tell her." "and may i come over after i tell rooney lee to repeat this to headquarters?" "why, of course, if you want to." when mccloud reached the cottage dicksie met him. "katie dancing's mother is sick, and she has gone home. poor marion is all alone this morning, and half dead with a sick headache," said dicksie. "but i told her, and she said she shouldn't mind the headache now at all." "but what are you going to do?" "i am going to get dinner; do you want to help?" "i'm going to help." "oh, you are? that would be very funny." "funny or not, i'm going to help." "you would only be in the way." "you don't know whether i should or not." "i know _i_ should do much better if you would go back and run the railroad a few minutes." "the railroad be hanged. i am for dinner." "but i will get dinner for you." "you need not. i can get it for myself." "you are perfectly absurd, and if we stand here disputing, marion won't have anything to eat." they went into the kitchen disputing about what should be cooked. at the end of an hour they had two fires going--one in the stove and one in dicksie's cheeks. by that time it had been decided to have a luncheon instead of a dinner. dicksie attempted some soup, and mccloud found a strip of bacon, and after he had cooked it, dicksie, with her riding-skirt pinned up and her sleeves delightfully rolled back, began frying eggs. when marion, unable longer to withstand the excitement, appeared, the engineer, flushed with endeavor, was making toast. the three sat down at table together. they found they had forgotten the coffee, but marion was not allowed to move from her chair. when the coffee was made ready the bacon had been eaten and more had to be fried. mccloud proved able for any part of the programme, and when they rose it was four o'clock and too late, mccloud declared, to go back to the office that afternoon. marion and dicksie, after a time, attempted jointly to get rid of him, but they found they could not, so the three talked about whispering smith. when the women tried to discourage mccloud by talking hats he played the wheezy piano, and when dicksie spoke about going home he declared he would ride home with her. but dicksie had no mind that he should, and when he asked to know why, without realizing what a flush lingered in his face, she said only, no; if she had reasons she would give none. mccloud persisted, because under the flush about his eyes was the resolve that he would take one long ride that evening, in any event. he had made up his mind for that ride--a longer one than he had ever taken before or expected ever to take again--and would not be balked. dicksie, insisting upon going home, went so far as to have her horse brought from the stable. to her surprise, a horse for mccloud came over with it. quiet to the verge of solemnity, but with mccloud following, dicksie walked with admirable firmness out of the shop to the curb. mccloud gave her rein to her, and with a smile stood waiting to help her mount. she was drawing on her second glove. "you are not going with me." "you'll let me ride the same road, won't you--even if i can't keep up?" dicksie looked at his mount. "it would be difficult to keep up, with that horse." "would you ride away from me just because you have a better horse?" "no, not _just_ because i have a better horse." he looked steadily at her without speaking. "why must you ride home with me when i don't want you to?" she asked reproachfully. fear had come upon her and she did not know what she was saying. she saw only the expression of his eyes and looked away, but she knew that his eyes followed her. the sun had set. the deserted street lay in the white half-light of a mountain evening, and the day's radiance was dying in the sky. in lower tones he spoke again, and she turned deadly white. "i've wanted so long to say this, dicksie, that i might as well be dead as to try to keep it back any longer. that's why i want to ride home with you if you are going to let me." he turned to stroke her horse's head. dicksie stood seemingly helpless. mccloud slipped his finger into his waistcoat pocket and held something out in his hand. "this shell pin fell from your hair that night you were at camp by the bridge--do you remember? i couldn't bear to give it back." dicksie's eyes opened wide. "let me see it. i don't think that is mine." "great heaven! have i been carrying marion sinclair's pin for a month?" exclaimed mccloud. "well, i won't lose any time in returning it to her, at any rate." "where are you going?" dicksie's voice was faint. "i'm going to give marion her pin." "do nothing of the sort! come here! give it to me." "dicksie, dare you tell me, after a shock like that, it really _is_ your pin?" "oh, i don't know whose pin it is!" "why, what is the matter?" "give me the pin!" she put her hands unsteadily up under her hat. "here, for heaven's sake, if you must have something, take this comb!" she slipped from her head the shell that held her knotted hair. he caught her hand and kissed it, and she could not get it away. "you are dear," murmured dicksie, "if you are silly. the reason i wouldn't let you ride home with me is because i was afraid you might get shot. how do you suppose i should feel if you were killed? or don't you think i have any feeling?" "but, dicksie, is it all right?" "how do i know? what do you mean? i will not let you ride home with me, and you _will_ not let me ride home alone. tie jim again. i am going to stay with marion all night." chapter xxxiii the laugh of a woman within an hour, marion, working over a hat in the trimming-room, was startled to hear the cottage door open, and to see dicksie quite unconcernedly walk in. to marion's exclamation of surprise she returned only a laugh. "i have changed my mind, dear. i am going to stay all night." marion kissed her approvingly. "really, you are getting so sensible i shan't know you, dicksie. in fact, i believe this is the most sensible thing you were ever guilty of." "glad you think so," returned dicksie dryly, unpinning her hat. "i certainly hope it is. mr. mccloud persuaded me it wasn't right for me to ride home alone, and i knew better than he what danger there was for him in riding home with me--so here i am. he is coming over for supper, too, in a few minutes." when mccloud arrived he brought with him a porterhouse steak, and marion was again driven from the kitchen. at the end of an hour, dicksie, engrossed over the broiler, was putting the finishing touches to the steak, and mccloud, more engrossed, was watching her, when a diffident and surprised-looking person appeared in the kitchen doorway and put his hand undecidedly on the casing. while he stood, dicksie turned abruptly to mccloud. "oh, by the way, i have forgotten something! will you do me a favor?" "certainly! do you want money or a pass?" "no, not money," said dicksie, lifting the steak on her forks, "though you might give me a pass." "but i should hate to have you go away anywhere----" "i don't want to go anywhere, but i never had a pass, and i think it would be kind of nice to have one just to keep. don't you?" "why, yes; you might put it in the bank and have it drawing interest." "this steak is. do they give interest on passes?" "well, a good deal of interest is felt in them--on this division at least. what is the favor?" "yes, what is it? how can i think? oh, i know! if they don't put jim in a box stall to-night he will kill some of the horses over there. will you telephone the stables?" "won't you give me the number and let me telephone?" asked a voice behind them. they turned in astonishment and saw whispering smith. "i am surprised," he added calmly, "to see a man of your intelligence, george, trying to broil a steak with the lower door of your stove wide open. close the lower door and cut out the draft through the fire. don't stare, george; put back the broiler. and haven't you made a radical mistake to start with?" he asked, stepping between the confused couple. "are you not trying to broil a roast of beef?" "where did you come from?" demanded mccloud, as marion came in from the dining-room. "don't search me the very first thing," protested whispering smith. "but we've been frightened to death here for twenty-four hours. are you really alive and unhurt? this young lady rode in twenty miles this morning and came to the office in tears to get news of you." smith looked mildly at dicksie. "did you shed a tear for me? i should like to have seen just one! where did i come from? i reported in wild over the telephone ten minutes ago. didn't marion tell you? she is so forgetful. that is what causes wrecks, marion. i have been in the saddle since three o'clock this morning, thank you, and have had nothing for five days but raw steer garnished with sunshine." the four sat down to supper, and whispering smith began to talk. he told the story of the chase to the cache, the defiance from rebstock, and the tardy appearance of the men he wanted. "du sang meant to shoot his way through us and make a dash for it. there really was nothing else for him to do. banks and kennedy were up above, even if he could have ridden out through the upper canyon, which is very doubtful with all the water now. after a little talk back and forth, du sang drew, and of course then it was every man for himself. he was hit twice and he died sunday night, but the other two were not seriously hurt. what can you do? it is either kill or get killed with those fellows, and, of course, i talked plainly to du sang. he had butchered a man at mission springs just the night before, and deserved hanging a dozen times over. he meant from the start, he told me afterward, to get me. oh, miss dunning, may i have some more coffee? haven't i an agreeable part of the railroad business, don't you think? i shouldn't have pushed in here to-night, but i saw the lights when i rode by awhile ago; they looked so good i couldn't resist." mccloud leaned forward. "you call it pushing in, do you, gordon? do you know what this young lady did this morning? one of her cowboys came down from the cache early with the word that you had been killed in the fight by du sang. he said he saw you drop from your saddle to the ground with du sang shooting at you. she ordered up her horse, without a word, and rode twenty miles in an hour and a half to find out here what we had heard. she 'pushed in' at the wickiup, where she never had been before in her life, and wandered through it alone looking for my office, to find out from me whether i hadn't something to contradict the bad news. while we talked, in came your despatch from sleepy cat. never was one better timed! and when she knew you were safe her eyes filled again." whispering smith looked at dicksie quizzically. her confusion was delightful. he rose, lifted her hand in his own, and, bending, kissed it. they talked till late, and when dicksie walked out on the porch mccloud followed to smoke. whispering smith still sat at the table talking to marion, and the two heard the sound of the low voices outside. at intervals dicksie's laugh came in through the open door. whispering smith, listening, said nothing for some time, but once she laughed peculiarly. he pricked up his ears. "what has been happening since i left town?" "what do you mean?" asked marion sinclair. he nodded toward the porch. "mccloud and dicksie out there. they have been fixing things up." "nonsense! what do you mean?" "i mean they are engaged." "never in the world!" "i may be slow in reading a trail," said smith modestly, "but when a woman laughs like that i think there's something doing. don't you believe it? call them in and ask them. you won't? well, i will. take them in separate rooms. you ask her and i'll ask him." in spite of marion's protests the two were brought in. "i am required by mr. smith to ask you a very silly question, dicksie," said marion, taking her into the living-room. "answer yes or no. are you engaged to anybody?" "what a question! why, no!" "marion sinclair wants to know just one thing, george," said whispering smith to mccloud after he had taken him into the dark shop. "she feels she ought to know because she is in a way dicksie's chaperone, you know, and she feels that you are willing she should know. i don't want to be too serious, but answer yes or no. are you engaged to dicksie?" "why, yes. i----" "that's all; go back to the porch," directed whispering smith. mccloud obeyed orders. marion, alone in the living-room, was waiting for the inquisitor, and her face wore a look of triumph. "you are not such a mind-reader after all, are you? i told you they weren't." "i told you they were," contended whispering smith. "she says they are _not_," insisted marion. "he says they are," returned whispering smith, "and, what's more, i'll bet my saddle against the shop they are. i could be mistaken in anything but that laugh." chapter xxxiv a midnight visit the lights, but one, were out. mccloud and whispering smith had gone, and marion was locking up the house for the night, when she was halted by a knock at the shop door. it was a summons that she thought she knew, but the last in the world that she wanted to hear or to answer. dicksie had gone to the bedroom, and standing between the portières that curtained the work-room from the shop, marion in the half-light listened, hesitating whether to ignore or to answer the midnight intruder. but experience, and bitter experience, had taught her there was only one way to meet that particular summons, and that was to act, whether at noon or at midnight, without fear. she waited until the knocking had been twice repeated, turned up the light, and going to the door drew the bolt; sinclair stood before her, and she drew back for him to enter. "dicksie dunning is with me to-night," said marion, with her hand on the latch, "and we shall have to talk here." sinclair took off his hat. "i knew you had company," he returned in the low, gentle tone that marion knew very well, "so i came late. and i heard to-night, for the first time, that this railroad crowd is after me--god knows why; but they have to earn their salary somehow. i want to keep out of trouble if i can. i won't kill anybody if they don't force me to it. they've scared nearly all my men away from the ranch already; one crippled-up cowboy is all i have got to help me look after the cattle. but i won't quarrel with them, marion, if i can get away from here peaceably, so i've come to talk it over once more with you. i'm going away and i want you to go with me; i've got enough to keep us as well as the best of them and as long as we live. you've given me a good lesson. i needed it, girlie----" "don't call me that!" he laughed kindly. "why, that's what it used to be; that's what i want it to be again. i don't blame you. you're worth all the women i ever knew, marion. i've learned to appreciate some few things in the lonely months i've spent up on the frenchman; but i've felt while i was there as if i were working for both of us. i've got a buyer in sight now for the cattle and the land. i'm ready to clean up and say good-by to trouble--all i want is for you to give me the one chance i've asked for and go along." they stood facing each other under the dim light. she listened intently to every word, though in her terror she might not have heard or understood all of them. one thing she did very clearly understand, and that was why he had come and what he wanted. to that she held her mind tenaciously, and for that she shaped her answer. "i cannot go with you--now or ever." he waited a moment. "we always got along, marion, when i behaved myself." "i hope you always will behave yourself; but i could no more go with you than i could make myself again what i was years ago, murray. i wish you nothing but good; but our ways parted long ago." "stop and think a minute, marion. i offer you more and offer it more honestly than i ever offered it before, because i know myself better. i am alone in the world--strong, and better able to care for you than i was when i undertook to----" "i have never complained." "that's what makes me more anxious to show you now that i can and will do what's right." "oh, you multiply words! it is too late for you to be here. you are in danger, you say; for the love of heaven, leave me and go away!" "you know me, marion, when my mind is made up. i won't leave without you." he leaned with one hand against the ribbon showcase. "if you don't want to go i will stay right here and pay off the scores i owe. two men here have stirred this country up too long, anyway. i don't care much how soon anybody gets me after i round them up. but to-night i felt like this: you and i started out in life together, and we ought to live it out or die together, whether it's to-night, marion, or twenty years from to-night." "if you want to kill me to-night, i have no resistance to make." sinclair sat down on a low counter-stool, and, bending forward, held his head between his hands. "it oughtn't all to end here. i know you, and i know you want to do what's right. i couldn't kill you without killing myself; you know that." he straightened up slowly. "here!" he slipped his revolver from his hip-holster and held the grip of the gun toward her. "use it on me if you want to. it is your chance to end everything; it may save several lives if you do. i won't leave mccloud here to crow over me, and, by god, i won't leave you here for whispering smith! i'll settle with him anyhow. take the pistol! what are you afraid of? take it! use it! i don't want to live without you. if you make me do it, you're to blame for the consequences." she stood with wide-open eyes, but uttered no word. "you won't touch it--then you care a little for me yet," he murmured. "no! do not say so. but i will not do murder." "think about the other, then. go with me and everything will be all right. i will come back some evening soon for my answer. and until then, if those two men have any use for life, let them keep in the clear. i heard to-night that du sang is killed. do you know whether it is true?" "it is true." an oath half escaping showed how the confirmation cut him. "and whispering smith got away! it is du sang's own fault; i told him to keep out of that trap. i stay in the open; and i'm not du sang. i'll choose my own ground for the finish when they want it with me, and when i go i'll take company--i'll promise you that. good-night, marion. will you shake hands?" "no." "damn it, i like your grit, girl! well, good-night, anyway." she closed the door. she had even strength enough to bolt it before his footsteps died away. she put out the light and felt her way blindly back to the work-room. she staggered through it, clutching at the curtains, and fell in the darkness into dicksie's arms. "marion dear, don't speak," dicksie whispered. "i heard everything. oh, marion!" she cried, suddenly conscious of the inertness of the burden in her arms. "oh, what shall i do?" moved by fright to her utmost strength, dicksie drew the unconscious woman back to her room and managed to lay her on the bed. marion opened her eyes a few minutes later to see the lights burning, to hear the telephone bell ringing, and to find dicksie on the edge of the bed beside her. "oh, marion, thank heaven, you are reviving! i have been frightened to death. don't mind the telephone; it is mr. mccloud. i didn't know what to do, so i telephoned him." "but you had better answer him," said marion faintly. the telephone bell was ringing wildly. "oh, no! he can wait. how are you, dear? i don't wonder you were frightened to death. marion, he means to kill us--every one!" "no, dicksie. he will kill me and kill himself; that is where it will end. dicksie, do answer the telephone. what are you thinking of? mr. mccloud will be at the door in five minutes. do you want him in the street to-night?" dicksie fled to the telephone, and an excited conference over the wire closed in seeming reassurance at both ends. by that time marion had regained her steadiness, but she could not talk of what had passed. at times, as the two lay together in the darkness, marion spoke, but it was not to be answered. "i do not know," she murmured once wearily. "perhaps i am doing wrong; perhaps i ought to go with him. i wish, oh, i wish i knew what i ought to do!" chapter xxxv the call beyond receiving reports from kennedy and banks, who in the interval rode into town and rode out again on their separate and silent ways, whispering smith for two days seemed to do nothing. yet instinct keener than silence kept the people of medicine bend on edge during those two days, and when president bucks's car came in on the evening of the second day, the town knew from current rumors that banks had gone to the frenchman ranch with a warrant on a serious charge for sinclair. in the president's car bucks and mccloud, after a late dinner, were joined by whispering smith, and the president heard the first connected story of the events of the fortnight that had passed. bucks made no comment until he had heard everything. "and they rode sinclair's horses," he said in conclusion. "sinclair's horses," returned whispering smith, "and they are all accounted for. one horse supplied by rebstock was shot where they crossed stampede creek. it had given out and they had a fresh horse in the willows, for they shot the scrub half a mile up one of the canyons near the crossing. the magpies attracted my attention to it. a piece of skin a foot square had been cut out of the flank." "you got there before the birds." "it was about an even thing," said smith. "anyway, we were there in time to see the horse." "and sinclair was away from the ranch from saturday noon till sunday night?" "a rancher living over on stampede creek saw the five men when they crossed saturday afternoon. the fellow was scared and lied to me about it, but he told wickwire who they were." "now, who is wickwire?" asked bucks. "you ought to remember wickwire, george," remarked whispering smith, turning to mccloud. "you haven't forgotten the smoky creek wreck? do you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all morning? you put him in your car and sent him down here to the railroad hospital and barnhardt took care of him. that was wickwire. not a bad fellow, either; he can talk pretty straight and shoot pretty straight. how do i know? because he has told me the story and i've seen him shoot. there, you see, is one friend that you never reckoned on. he used to be a cowboy, and i got him a job working for sinclair on the frenchman; he has worked at dunning's and other places on the crawling stone. he hates sinclair with a deadly hatred for some reason. just lately wickwire set up for himself on little crawling stone." "i have noticed that fellow's ranch," remarked mccloud. "i couldn't leave him at sinclair's," continued whispering smith frankly. "the fellow was on my mind all the time. i felt certain he would kill sinclair or get killed if he stayed there. and then, when i took him away they sprang tower w on me! that is the price, not of having a conscience, for i haven't any, but of listening to the voice that echoes where my conscience used to be," said the railroad man, moving uneasily in his chair. bucks broke the ash from his cigar into the tray on the table. "you are restless to-night, gordon--and it isn't like you, either." "it is in the air. there has been a dead calm for two days. something is due to happen to-night. i wish i could hear from banks; he started with the papers for sinclair's yesterday while i went to oroville to sweat karg. blood-poisoning has set in and it is rather important to us to get a confession. there's a horse!" he stepped to the window. "coming fast, too. now, i wonder--no, he's gone by." five minutes later a messenger came to the car from the wickiup with word that kennedy was looking for whispering smith. bucks, mccloud, and smith left the car together and walked up to mccloud's office. kennedy, sitting on the edge of the table, was tapping his leg nervously with a ruler. "bad news, gordon." "not from ed banks?" "sinclair got him this morning." whispering smith sat down. "go on." "banks and i picked up wickwire on the crawling stone early, and we rode over to the frenchman. wickwire said sinclair had been up at williams cache the day before, and he didn't think he was home. of course i knew the cache was watched and he wouldn't be there long, so ed asked me to stay in the cottonwoods and watch the creek for him. he and wickwire couldn't find anybody home when they got to the ranch-house and they rode down the corral together to look over the horses." whispering smith's hand fell helplessly on the table. "rode down together! for god's sake, why didn't _one_ of them stay at the house?" "sinclair rode out from behind the barn and hit wickwire in the arm before they saw him. banks turned and opened on him, and wickwire ducked for the creek. sinclair put a soft bullet through banks's shoulder--tore it pretty bad, gordon--and made his get-away before wickwire and i could reach the barn again. i got ed on his horse and back to wickwire's, and we sent one of the boys to oroville for a doctor. after banks fell out of the saddle and was helpless sinclair talked to him before i came up. 'you ought to have kept out of this, ed,' he said. 'this is a railroad fight. why didn't they send the head of their own gang after me?'--naming you." kennedy nodded toward whispering smith. "naming me." "banks says, 'i'm sheriff of this county, and will be a long time yet!' i took the papers from his breast pocket," continued kennedy. "you can see where he was hit." kennedy laid the sheriff's packet on the table. bucks drew his chair forward and, with his cigar between his fingers, picked the packet up and opened it. kennedy went on: "ed told sinclair if he couldn't land him himself that he knew a man who could and would before he was a week older. he meant you, gordon, and the last thing ed told me was that he wanted you to serve the papers on sinclair." a silence fell on the company. one of the documents passing under bucks's hand caught his eye and he opened it. it was the warrant for sinclair. he read it without comment, folded it, and, looking at whispering smith, pushed it toward him. "then this, i guess, gordon, belongs to you." starting from a revery, whispering smith reached for the warrant. he looked for a moment at the blood-stained caption. "yes," he said, "this, i guess, belongs to me." chapter xxxvi duty the stir of the town over the shooting of banks seemed to marion, in her distress, to point an accusing finger at her. the disgrace of what she had felt herself powerless to prevent now weighed on her mind, and she asked herself whether, after all, the responsibility of this murder was not upon her. even putting aside this painful doubt, she bore the name of the man who had savagely defied accountability and now, it seemed to her, was dragging her with him through the slough of blood and dishonor into which he had plunged. the wretched thought would return that had she listened to him, had she consented to go away, this outbreak might have been prevented. and what horror might not another day bring--what lives still closer to her life be taken? for herself she cared less; but she knew that sinclair, now that he had begun, would not stop. in whichever way her thoughts turned, wretchedness was upon them, and the day went in one of those despairing and indecisive battles that each one within his own heart must fight at times with heaviness and doubt. mccloud called her over the telephone in the afternoon to say that he was going west on the evening train and would not be over for supper. she wished he could have come, for her loneliness began to be insupportable. toward sunset she put on her hat and started for the post-office. in the meantime, dicksie, at home, had called mccloud up and told him she was coming down for the night. he immediately cancelled his plans for going west, and when marion returned at dusk she found him with dicksie at the cottage. the three had supper. afterward dicksie and mccloud went out for a walk, and marion was alone in the house when the shop door opened and whispering smith walked in. it was dusk. "don't light the lamps, marion," he said, sitting down on a counter-stool as he took off his hat. "i want to talk to you just a minute, if you don't mind. you know what has happened. i am called on now to go after sinclair. i have tried to avoid it, but my hand has been forced. to-day i've been placing horses. i am going to ride to-night with the warrant. i have given him a start of twenty-four hours, hoping he may get out of the country. to stay here means only death to him in the end, and, what is worse, the killing of more and innocent men. but he won't leave the country; do you think he will?" "oh, i do not know! i am afraid he will not." "i do not think i have ever hesitated before at any call of this kind; nor at what such a call will probably sometime mean; but this man i have known since we were boys." "if i had never seen him!" "that brings up another point that has been worrying me all day. i could not help knowing what you have had to go through in this country. it is a tough country for any woman. your people and mine were always close together and i have felt bound to do what i could to----" "don't be afraid to say it--make my path easier." "something like that, though there's been little real doing. what this situation in which sinclair is now placed may still mean to you i do not know, but i would not add a straw to the weight of your troubles. i came to-night to ask a plain question. if he doesn't leave the country i have got to meet him. you know what, in all human probability, that will mean. from such a meeting only one of us can come back. which shall it be?" "i'm afraid i don't understand you--do you ask me this question? how can i know which it shall be? what is it you mean?" "i mean i will not take his life in a fight--if it comes to that--if you would rather he should come back." a sob almost refused an answer to him. "how can you ask me so terrible a question?" "it is a question that means a good deal to me, of course, and i don't know just what it means to you: that is the point i am up against. i may have no choice in the matter, but i must decide what to try to do if i have one. am i to remember first that he is your husband?" there was a silence. "what shall i say--what can i say? god help me, how am i to answer a question like that?" "how am i to answer it?" her voice was low and pitiful when her answer came: "you must do your duty." "what is my duty then? to serve the paper that has been given to me, i know--but not necessarily to defend my life at the price of his. the play of a chance lies in deciding that; i can keep the chance or give it away; that is for you to say. or take the question of duty again. you are alone and your friends are few. haven't i any duty toward you, perhaps? i don't know a woman's heart. i used to think i did, but i don't. my duty to this company that i work for is only the duty of a servant. if i go, another takes my place; it means nothing except taking one name off the payroll and putting another on. whatever he may have done, this man is your husband; if his death would cause you a pang, it shall not be laid at my door. we ought to understand each other on that point fairly before i start to-night." "can you ask me whether you ought not to take every means to defend your own life? or whether any consideration ought to come before that? i think not. i should be a wicked woman if i were to wish evil to him, wretched as he has made me. i am a wretched woman, whichever way i turn. but i should be less than human if i could say that to me your death would not be a cruel, cruel blow." there was a moment of silence. "dicksie understood you to say that you were in doubt as to whether you ought to go away with him when he asked you to go. that is why i was unsettled in my mind." "the only reason why i doubted was that i thought by going i might save better lives than mine. i could willingly give up my life to do that. but to stain it by going back to such a man--god help me!" "i think i understand. if the unfortunate should happen before i come back i hope only this: that you will not hate me because i am the man on whom the responsibility has fallen. i haven't sought it. and if i should not come back at all, it is only--good-by." he saw her clasp her hands convulsively. "i will not say it! i will pray on my knees that you do come back." "good-night, marion. some one is at the cottage door." "it is probably mr. mccloud and dicksie. i will let them in." chapter xxxvii wickwire mccloud and dicksie met them at the porch door. marion, unnerved, went directly to her room. whispering smith stopped to speak to dicksie and mccloud interposed. "bob scott telephoned the office just now he had a man from oroville who wanted to see you right away, gordon," said he. "i told him to send him over here. it is wickwire." "wickwire," repeated whispering smith. "wickwire has no business here that i know of; no doubt it is something i ought to know of. and, by the way, you ought to see this man," he said, turning again to dicksie. "if mccloud tells the story right, wickwire is a sort of protégé of yours, miss dicksie, though neither of you seems to have known it. he is the tramp cowboy who was smashed up in the wreck at smoky creek. he is not a bad man, but whiskey, you know, beats some decent men." a footstep fell on the porch. "there he comes now, i reckon. shall i let him in a minute?" "oh, i should like to see him! he has been at the ranch at different times, you know." smith opened the door and stepping out on the porch, talked with the new-comer. in a moment he brought him in. dicksie had seated herself on the sofa, mccloud stood in the doorway of the dining-room, and whispering smith laid one arm on the table as he sat down beside it with his face above the dark shade of the lamp. before him stood wickwire. the half-light threw him up tall and dark, but it showed the heavy shock of black hair falling over his forehead, and the broad, thin face of a mountain man. "he has just been telling me that seagrue is loose," whispering smith explained pleasantly. "who turned the trick, wickwire?" "sheriff coon and a deputy jailer started with seagrue for medicine bend this morning. coming through horse eye canyon, murray sinclair and barney rebstock got a clean drop on them, took seagrue, and they all rode off together. they didn't make any bones about it, either. their gang has got lots of friends over there, you know. they rode into atlantic city and stayed over an hour. coon tracked them there and got up a _posse_ of six men. the three were standing in front of the bank when the sheriff rode into town. sinclair and seagrue got on their horses and started off. rebstock went back to get another drink. when he came out of the saloon he gave the _posse_ a gun-fight all by himself, and wounded two men and made his get-away." whispering smith shook his head, and his hand fell on the table with a tired laugh. "barney rebstock," he murmured, "of all men! coward, skate, filler-in! barney rebstock--stale-beer man, sneak, barn-yard thief! hit two men!" he turned to mccloud. "what kind of a wizard is murray sinclair? what sort of red-blood toxin does he throw into his gang to draw out a spirit like that? murray sinclair belongs to the race of empire-builders. by heaven, it is pitiful a man like that should be out of a job! england, mccloud, needs him. and here he is holding up trains on the mountain division!" "they are all up at oroville with the williams cache gang, celebrating," continued wickwire. whispering smith looked at the cowboy. "wickwire, you made a good ride and i thank you. you are all right. this is the young lady and this is the man who had you sent to the hospital from smoky creek," he added, rising. "you can thank them for picking you up. when you leave here tell bob scott to meet me at the wickiup with the horses at eleven o'clock, will you?" he turned to dicksie in a gentle aside. "i am riding north to-night--i wish you were going part way." dicksie looked at him intently. "you are worried over something," she murmured; "i can see it in your face." "nothing more than usual. i thrive, you know, on trouble--and i'm sorry to say good-night so early, but i have a long ride ahead." he stepped quietly past mccloud and out of the door. wickwire was thanking dicksie when unwillingly she let whispering smith's hand slip out of her own. "i shore wouldn't have been here to-night if you two hadn't picked me up," laughed wickwire, speaking softly to dicksie when she turned to him. "i've knowed my friends a long time, but i reckon they all didn't know me." "i've known you longer than you think," returned dicksie with a smile. "i've seen you at the ranch-house. but now that we really do know each other, please remember you are always sure of a home at the ranch--whenever you want one, mr. wickwire, and just as long as you want one. we never forget our friends on the crawling stone." "if i may make so bold, i thank you kindly. and if you all will let me run away now, i want to catch mr. whispering smith for just one minute." wickwire overtook smith in fort street. "talk quick, wickwire," he said; "i'm in a hurry. what do you want?" "partner, i've always played fair with you." "so far as i know, wickwire, yes. why?" "i've got a favor to ask." "what is it--money?" "no, partner, not money this time. you've always been more than liberal with me. but so far i've had to keep under cover; you asked me to. i want to ask the privilege now of coming out into the open. the jig is up so far as watching anybody goes." "yes." "there's nobody to watch any more--they're all to chase, i reckon, now. the open is my kind of a fight, anyway. i want to ride out this manhunt with you." "how is your arm?" "my arm is all right, and there ought to be a place for me in the chase now that ed banks is out of it. i want to cut loose up on the range, anyhow; if i'm a man i want to know it, and if i ain't i want to know it. i want to ride with you after seagrue and sinclair and barney rebstock." whispering smith spoke coldly: "you mean, wickwire, you want to get killed." "why, partner, if it's coming to me, i don't mind--yes." "what's the use, wickwire?" "if i'm a man i want to know it; if i ain't, it's time my friends knowed it. anyhow, i'm man enough to work out with some of that gang. most of them have put it over me one time or another; sinclair pasted me like a blackbird only the other day. they all say i'm nothing but a damned tramp. you say i have done you service--give me a show." whispering smith stopped a minute in the shadow of a tree and looked keenly at him. "i'm too busy to-night to say much, wickwire," he said after a moment. "you go over to the barn and report to bob scott. if you want to take the chances, it is up to you; and if bob scott is agreeable, i'll use you where i can--that's all i can promise. you will probably have more than one chance to get killed." chapter xxxviii into the north the moon had not yet risen, and in the darkness of boney street smith walked slowly toward his room. the answer to his question had come. the rescue of seagrue made it clear that sinclair would not leave the country. he well knew that sinclair cared no more for seagrue than for a prairie-dog. it was only that he felt strong enough, with his friends and sympathizers, to defy the railroad force and whispering smith, and planned now, probably, to kill off his pursuers or wear them out. there was a second incentive for remaining: nearly all the tower w money had been hidden at rebstock's cabin by du sang. that kennedy had already got hold of it sinclair could not know, but it was certain that he would not leave the country without an effort to recover the booty from rebstock. whispering smith turned the key in the door of his room as he revolved the situation in his mind. within, the dark was cheerless, but he made no effort to light a lamp. groping his way to the side of the low bed, he sat down and put his head between his hands to think. there was no help for it that he could see: he must meet sinclair. the situation he had dreaded most, from the moment bucks asked him to come back to the mountains, had come. he thought of every phase of the outcome. if sinclair should kill him the difficulties were less. it would be unpleasant, certainly, but something that might happen any time and at any man's hands. he had cut into the game too long ago and with his eyes too wide open to complain at this time of the possibility of an accident. they might kill each other; but if, escaping himself, he should kill sinclair---- he came back in the silence always to that if. it rose dark between him and the woman he loved--whom he had loved since she was a child with school-girl eyes and braided hair. after he had lost her, only to find years afterward that she was hardly less wretched in her life than he in his, he had dreamed of the day when she might again be free and he free to win a love long hoped for. but to slay this man--her husband--in his inmost heart he felt it would mean the raising of a bar as impalpable as fate, and as undying, to all his dreams. deserved or not, whatever she should say or not say, what would she feel? how could her husband's death in that encounter, if it ever came, be other than a stain that must shock and wound her, no matter how much she should try not to see. could either of them ever quite forget it? * * * * * kennedy and his men were guarding the cache. could they be sent against sinclair? that would be only a baser sort of murder--the murder of his friends. he himself was leader, and so looked upon; the post of danger was his. he raised his head. through the window came a faint light. the moon was rising, and against the inner wall of the room the straight, hard lines of the old wardrobe rose dimly. the rifles were within. he must choose. he walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside. it was dark everywhere across the upper town, but in the distance one light burned. it was in marion's cottage. he had chosen this room because from the window he could see her home. he stood for a few moments with his hands in his pockets, looking. when he turned away he drew the shade closely, lighted a lamp, and unlocked the wardrobe door. * * * * * scott left the barn at half-past ten with a led horse for whispering smith. he rode past smith's room in fort street, but the room was dark, and he jogged down to the wickiup square, where he had been told to meet him. after waiting and riding about for an hour, he tied the horses and went up to mccloud's office. mccloud was at his desk, but knew nothing of whispering smith except that he was to come in before he started. "he's a punctual man," murmured bob scott, who had the low voice of the indian. "usually he is ahead of time." "is he in his room, do you think?" asked mccloud. "i rode around that way about fifteen minutes ago; there was no light." "he must be there," declared mccloud. "have you the horses below? we will ride over and try the room again." fort street back of front is so quiet after eleven o'clock at night that a footfall echoes in it. mccloud dismounted in front of the bank building and, throwing the reins to bob scott, walked upstairs and back toward smith's room. in the hallway he paused. he heard faint strains of music. they came from within the room--fragments of old airs played on a violin, and subdued by a mute, in the darkness. instinct stayed mccloud's hand at the door. he stood until the music ceased and footsteps moved about in the room; then he knocked, and a light appeared within. whispering smith opened the door. he stood in his trousers and shirt, with his cartridge-belt in his hand. "come in, george. i'm just getting hooked up." "which way are you going to-night, gordon?" asked mccloud, sitting down on the chair. "i am going to oroville. the crowd is celebrating there. it is a défi, you know." "who are you going to take with you?" "nobody." mccloud moved uneasily. "i don't like that." "there will be nothing doing. sinclair may be gone by the time i arrive, but i want to see bob and gene johnson, and scare the williams cache coyotes, just to keep their tails between their legs." "i'd like to kill off half a dozen of that gang." whispering smith said nothing for a moment. "did you ever have to kill a man, george?" he asked buckling his cartridge-belt. "no. why?" there was no reply. smith had taken a rifle from the rack and was examining the firing mechanism. he worked the lever for a moment with lightning-like speed, laid the gun on the bed, and sat down beside it. "you would hardly believe, george, how i hate to go after murray sinclair. i've known him all my life. his folks and mine lived across the street from one another for twenty years. which is the older? murray is five years older than i am; he was always a big, strong, good-looking fellow." whispering smith put his hands on the side of the bed. "it is curious how you remember things that happened when you were a boy, isn't it? i thought of something to-night i hadn't thought of for twenty years. a little circus came to town. while they were setting up the tent the lines for the gasolene tank got fouled in the block at the top of the centre pole. the head canvasman offered a quarter to any boy that would climb the pole and free the block. one boy after another tried it, but they couldn't climb half-way up. then murray sailed in. i was seven years old and murray was twelve, and he wore a vest. he gave me the vest to hold while he went up. i felt like a king. there was a lead-pencil in one pocket, beautifully sharpened, and i showed it to the other boys. did he make good? he always made good," said whispering smith gloomily. "the canvasman gave him the quarter and two tickets, and he gave one of the tickets to me. i got to thinking about that to-night. as boys, murray and i never had a quarrel." he stopped. mccloud said nothing, and, after an interval, smith spoke again: "he was an oracle for all the small boys in town, and could advise us on any subject on earth--whether he knew anything about it or nothing about it made no difference. i told him once i wanted to be a california stage-robber, and he replied without an instant's hesitation that i ought to begin to practise running. i was so upset at his grasp of the subject that i hadn't the nerve to ask him why i needed to practise running to be a stage-robber. i was ashamed of appearing green and to this day i've never understood what he meant. whether it was to run after the stage or to run away from it i couldn't figure out. perhaps my being too proud to ask the question changed my career. he went away for a long time, and we heard he was in the black hills. when he came back, my god! what a hero he was." bob scott knocked at the door and whispering smith opened it. "tired of waiting, bob? well, i guess i'm ready. is the moon up? this is the rifle i'm going to take, bob. did wickwire have a talk with you? he's all right. suppose you send him to the mouth of little crawling stone to watch things a day or two. they may try to work north that way or hide in the wash." walking down to the street, whispering smith continued his suggestions. "and by the way, bob, i want you to pass this word for me up and down front street. sinclair has his friends in town and it's all right--i know them and expect them to stay by him. i expect murray's friends to do what they can for him. i've got my friends and expect them to stay by me. but there is one thing that i will not stand for on any man's part, and that is hiding sinclair anywhere in medicine bend. you keep him out of medicine bend, bob; will you do it? and remember, i will never let up on the man who hides him in town while this fight is on. there are good reasons for drawing the line on that point, and there i draw it hard and fast. now bob and gene johnson were at oroville when you left, were they, bob?" he was fastening his rifle in the scabbard. "which is deputy sheriff this year, bob or gene? gene--very good." he swung into the saddle. "have you got everything?" murmured scott. "i think so. stop! i'm riding away without my salt-bag. that would be a pretty piece of business, wouldn't it? take the key, bob. it's hanging between the rifles and the clock. here's the wardrobe key, too." there was some further talk when scott came back with the salt, chiefly about horses and directions as to telephoning. whispering smith took up a notch again in his belt, pulled down his hat, and bent over the neck of his horse to lay his hand a moment in mccloud's. it was one o'clock. across the foothills the moon was rising, and whispering smith straightening up in the saddle wheeled his horse and trotted swiftly up the street into the silent north. chapter xxxix among the coyotes oroville once marked farthest north for the peace river gold camps, but with mining long ago abandoned it now marks farthest south for a rustler's camp, being a favorite resort for the people of the williams cache country. oroville boasts that it has never surrendered and that it has never been cleaned out. it has moved, and been moved, up stream and down, and from bank to bank; it has been burned out and blown away and lived on wheels: but it has never suffered the loss of its identity. oroville is said to have given to its river the name of peace river--either wholly in irony or because in oroville there was for many years no peace save in the river. however, that day, too, is past, and peace county has its sheriff and a few people who are not habitually "wanted." whispering smith, well dusted with alkali, rode up to the johnson ranch, eight miles southwest of oroville, in the afternoon of the day after he left medicine bend. the ranch lies in a valley watered by the rainbow, and makes a pretty little oasis of green in a limitless waste of sagebrush. gene and bob johnson were cutting alfalfa when whispering smith rode into the field, and, stopping the mowers, the three men talked while the seven horses nibbled the clover. "i may need a little help, gene, to get him out of town," remarked smith, after he had told his story; "that is, if there are too many cache men there for me." bob johnson was stripping a stalk of alfalfa in his fingers. "them fellows are pretty sore." "that comes of half doing a job, bob. i was in too much of a hurry with the round-up. they haven't had dose enough yet," returned whispering smith. "if you and gene will join me sometime when i have a week to spare, we will go in there, clean up the gang and burn the hair off the roots of the chapparal--what? i've hinted to rebstock he could get ready for something like that." "tell us about that fight, gordon." "i will if you will give me something to eat and have this horse taken care of. then, bob, i want you to ride into oroville and reconnoitre. this is mail day and i understand some of the boys are buying postage stamps to put on my coffin." they went to the house, where whispering smith talked as he ate. bob took a horse and rode away, and gene, with his guest, went back to the alfalfa, where smith took bob's place on the mower. when they saw bob riding up the valley, whispering smith, bringing in the machine, mounted his horse. "your man is there all right," said bob, as he approached. "he and john rebstock were in the blackbird saloon. seagrue isn't there, but barney rebstock and a lot of others are. i talked a few minutes with john and murray. sinclair didn't say much; only that the railroad gang was trying to run him out of the country, and he wanted to meet a few of them before he went. i just imagined he held up a little before me; maybe not. there's a dozen williams cache men in town." "but those fellows are not really dangerous, bob, though they may be troublesome," observed smith reflectively. "well, what's your plan?" blurted gene johnson. "i haven't any, gene," returned smith, with perfect simplicity. "my only plan is to ride into town and serve my papers, if i can. i've got a deputyship--and that i'm going to do right away. if you, bob, or both of you, will happen in about thirty minutes later you'll get the news and perhaps see the fun. much obliged for your feed, gene; come down to medicine bend any time and i'll fill you up. i want you both for the elk hunt next fall, remember that. bucks is coming, and is going to bring brown and henson and perhaps atterbury and gibbs and some new yorkers; and mccloud's brother, the preacher, is coming out and they are all right--all of them." the only street in oroville faces the river, and the buildings string for two or three blocks along modest bluffs. not a soul was anywhere in sight when whispering smith rode into town, save that across the street from where he dismounted and tied his horse three men stood in front of the blackbird. they watched the new arrival with languid interest. smith walked stiffly over toward the saloon to size up the men before he should enter it. the middle man of the group, with a thin red face and very blue eyes, was chewing tobacco in an unpromising way. before smith was half-way across the street he saw the hands of the three men falling to their hips. taking care, however, only to keep the men between him and the saloon door, smith walked directly toward them. "boys, have you happened to see gene or bob johnson to-day, any of you?" he threw back the brim of his stetson as he spoke. "hold your hand right there--right where it is," said the blue-eyed man sharply. whispering smith smiled, but held his hand rather awkwardly upon his hat-brim. "no," continued the spokesman, "we ain't none of us happened to see bob or gene johnson to-day; but we happen to seen whispering smith, and we'll blow your face off if you move it an inch." smith laughed. "i never quarrel with a man that's got the drop on me, boys. now, this is sudden but unexpected. do i know any of you?" he looked from one face to another before him, with a wide reach in his field of vision for the three hands that were fast on three pistol-butts. "hold on! i've met you somewhere," he said with easy confidence to the blue-eyed man with the weather-split lip. "williams cache, wasn't it? all right, we're placed. now what have you got in for me?" "i've got forty head of steers in for you," answered the man in the middle, with a splitting oath. "you stole forty head of my steers in that round-up, and i'm going to fill you so full of lead you'll never run off no more stock for nobody. don't look over there to your horse or your rifle. hold your hands right where they are." "certainly, certainly!" "when i pull, i shoot!" "i don't always do it, but it is business, i acknowledge. when a man pulls he ought to shoot--very often it's the only chance he ever gets to shoot. well, it isn't every man gets the drop on me that easy, but you boys have got it," continued whispering smith in frank admiration. "only i want to say you're after the wrong man. that round-up was all rebstock's fault, and rebstock is bound to make good all loss and damage." "you'll make good my share of it right now and here," said the man with the wash-blue eyes. "why, of course," assented whispering smith, "if i must, i must. i suppose i may light a cigarette, boys, before you turn loose the fireworks?" "light it quick!" laughing at the humor of the situation, whispering smith, his eyes beaming with good-nature, put the finger and thumb of his right hand into his waistcoat pocket, drew out a package of cigarette paper, and, bantering his captors innocently the while, tore out a sheet and put the packet back. folding the paper in his two hands, he declared he believed his tobacco was in his saddle-pocket, and asked leave to step across the street to get it. the trick was too transparent, and leave was refused with scorn and some hard words. whispering smith begged the men in front of him in turn for tobacco. they cursed him and shook their heads. for an instant he looked troubled. still appealing to them with his eyes, he tapped lightly the lower outside pockets of his coat with his fingers, shifting the cigarette paper from hand to hand as he hunted. the outside pockets seemed empty. but as he tapped the inside breast pocket on the left side of the coat--the three men, lynx-eyed, watching--his face brightened. "stop!" said he, his voice sinking to a relieved whisper as his hand rested lightly on the treasure. "there's the tobacco. i suppose one of you will give me a match?" all that the three before him could ever afterward recollect--and for several years afterward they cudgelled their brains pretty thoroughly about that moment--was that whispering smith took hold of the left lapel of his coat to take the tobacco out of the breast pocket. an excuse to take that lapel in his left hand was, in fact, all that whispering smith needed to put not alone the three men before him but all oroville at his mercy. the play of his right hand in crossing the corduroy waistcoat to pull his revolver from its scabbard and throw it into their faces was all too quick for better eyes than theirs. they saw only the muzzle of the heavy colt's playing like a snake's tongue under their surprised noses, with the good-natured smile still behind it. "or will one of you roll a cigarette?" asked whispering smith, without a break between the two questions. "i don't smoke. now don't make faces; go right ahead. do anything you want to with your hands. i wouldn't ask a man to keep his hands or feet still on a hot day like this," he insisted, the revolver playing all the time. "you won't draw? you won't fight? pshaw! then disengage your hands gently from your guns. you fellows really ought not to attempt to pull a gun in oroville, and i will tell you why--there's a reason for it." he looked confidential as he put his head forward to whisper among the crestfallen faces. "at this altitude it is too fast work. i know you now," he went on as they continued to wilt. "you are fatty filber," he said to the thin chap. "don't work your mouth like that at me; don't do it. you seem surprised. really, have you the asthma? get over it, because you are wanted in pound county for horse-stealing. why, hang it, fatty, you're good for ten years, and of course, since you have reminded me of it, i'll see that you get it. and you, baxter," said he to the man on the right, "i know i spoke to you once when i was inspector about altering brands; that's five years, you know. you," he added, scrutinizing the third man to scare him to death--"i think you were at tower w. no? no matter; you two boys may go, anyway. fatty, you stay; we'll put some state cow on your ribs. by the way, are you a detective, fatty? aren't you? see here! i can get you into an association. for ten dollars, they give you a german-silver star, and teach the japanese method of pulling, by correspondence. or you might get an electric battery to handle your gun with. you can get pocket dynamos from the mail-order houses. sure! read the big book!" when gene and bob johnson rode into town, whispering smith was sitting in a chair outside the blackbird, still chatting with filber, who stood with his arms around a hitching-post, holding fast a mail-order house catalogue. a modest crowd of hangers-on had gathered. "here we are, gene," exclaimed smith to the deputy sheriff. "i was looking for steers, but some calves got into the drive. take him away." while the johnsons were laughing, smith walked into the blackbird. he had lost thirty minutes, and in losing them had lost his quarry. sinclair had disappeared, and whispering smith made a virtue of necessity by taking the upsetting of his plans with an unruffled face. there was but one thing more, indeed, to do, and that was to eat his supper and ride away. the street encounter had made so much talk in oroville that smith declined gene johnson's invitation to go back to the house. it seemed a convenient time to let any other ambitious rustlers make good if they were disposed to try, and whispering smith went for his supper to the hotel where the williams cache men made their headquarters. there was a rise in the atmospheric pressure the moment he entered the hotel office door, and when he walked into the dining-room, some minutes later, the silence was oppressive. smith looked for a seat. the only vacant place chanced to be at a table where nine men from the cache sat busy with ham and eggs. it was a trifle awkward, but the only thing to do was to take the vacant chair. the nine men were actively engaged with knives and forks and spoons when whispering smith drew out the empty chair at the head of the table; but nine pairs of hands dropped modestly under the table when he sat down. coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment and to keep his right hand in touch with his necktie, whispering smith looked around the table with the restrained air of a man who has bowed his head and resolved to ask the blessing, but wants to make reasonably sure that the family is listening. a movement at the other tables, among the regular boarders of the hostelry, was apparent almost at once. appetites began to fail all over the dining-room. whispering smith gave his order genially to the confused waitress: "bring me two eggs--one fried on one side and one on the other--and coffee." there was a general scraping of chairs on the floor as they were pushed back and guests not at the moment interested in the bill of fare started, modestly but firmly, to leave the dining-room. at whispering smith's table there were no second calls for coffee. to stimulate the eating he turned the conversation into channels as reassuring as possible. unfortunately for his endeavor, the man at the far end of the table reached for a toothpick. it seemed a pleasant way out of the difficulty, and when the run on toothpicks had once begun, all whispering smith's cordiality could not check it. every man appeared to want a toothpick, and one after another of whispering smith's company deserted him. he was finally left alone with a physician known as "doc," a forger and a bigamist from denver. smith tried to engage doc in medical topics. the doctor was not alone frightened but tipsy, and when smith went so far as to ask him, as a medical man, whether in his opinion the high water in the mountains had any direct connection with the prevalence of falling of the spine among old "residenters" in williams cache, the doctor felt of his head as if his brain were turning turtle. when whispering smith raised his knife ostentatiously to bring out a feature of his theory, the doctor raised his knife higher to admit the force of it; and when whispering smith leaned his head forward impressively to drive home a point in his assertion, the doctor stretched his neck till his face grew apoplectic. releasing him at length from the strain, whispering smith begged of the staring maid-servant the recipe for the biscuit. when she came back with it he sat all alone, pouring catsup over his griddle-cakes in an abstracted manner, and it so flurried her that she had to go out again to ask whether the gasolene went into the dough or under it. he played out the play to the end, but when he rode away in the dusk his face was careworn. john rebstock had told him why sinclair dodged: there were others whom sinclair wanted to meet first; and whispering smith was again heading on a long, hard ride, and after a man on a better horse, back to the crawling stone and medicine bend. "there's others he wants to see first or you'd have no trouble in talking business to-day. you nor no other man will ever get him alive." but whispering smith knew that. "see that he doesn't get you alive, rebstock," was his parting retort. "if he finds out kennedy has got the tower w money, the first thing he does will be to put the doxology all over you." chapter xl a sympathetic ear when whispering smith rode after sinclair, crawling stone ranch, in common with the whole countryside, had but one interest in life, and that was to hear of the meeting. riders across the mountain valleys met with but one question; mail-carriers brought nothing in their pouches of interest equal to the last word concerning sinclair or his pursuer. it was commonly agreed through the mountains that it would be a difficult matter to overhaul any good man riding sinclair's steel-dust horses, but with sinclair himself in the saddle, unless it pleased him to pull up, the chase was sure to be a stern one. against this to feed speculation stood one man's record--that of the man who had ridden alone across deep creek and brought chuck williams out on a buckboard. business in medicine bend, meantime, was practically suspended. as the centre of all telephone lines the big railroad town was likewise the centre of all rumors. officers and soldiers to and from the fort, stage-drivers and cowmen, homesteaders and rustlers, discussed the apprehension of sinclair. moreover, behind this effort to arrest one man who had savagely defied the law were ranged all of the prejudices, sympathies, and hatreds of the high country, and practically the whole population tributary to medicine bend and the crawling stone valley were friends either to sinclair or to his pursuer. behind sinclair were nearly all the cattlemen, not alone because he was on good terms with the rustlers and protected his friends, but because he warred openly on the sheepmen. the big range interests, as a rule, were openly or covertly friendly to sinclair, while against him were the homesteaders, the railroad men, the common people, and the men who everywhere hate cruelty and outrage and the making of a lie. lance dunning had never concealed his friendliness for sinclair, even after hard stories about him were known to be true, and it was this confidence of fellowship that made sinclair, twenty-four hours after he had left oroville, ride down the hill trail to crawling stone ranch-house. the morning had been cold, with a heavy wind and a dull sky. in the afternoon the clouds lowered over the valley and a misting rain set in. dicksie had gone into medicine bend on the stage in the morning, and, after a stolen half-hour with mccloud at marion's, had ridden home to escape the storm. not less, but much more, than those about her she was alive to the situation in which sinclair stood and its danger to those closest to her. in the morning her one prayer to mccloud had been to have a care of himself, and to marion to have a care of herself; but even when dicksie left them it seemed as if neither quite felt the peril as she felt it. in the afternoon the rain, falling steadily, kept her in the house, and she sat in her room sewing until the light failed. she went downstairs. puss had lighted the grate in the living-room, and dicksie threw herself into a chair. the sound of hoofs aroused her and she went to a window. to her horror, she saw sinclair walking with her cousin up to the front door. she ran into the dining-room, and the two men entered the hall and walked into the office. choking with excitement, dicksie ran through the kitchen and upstairs to master her agitation. in the office sinclair was sitting down before the hot stove with a tumbler of whiskey. "lance"--he shook his head as he spoke hoarsely--"i want to say my friends have stood by me to a man, but there's none of them treated me squarer through thick and thin than you have. well, i've had some bad luck. it can't be helped. regards!" he drank, and shook his wet hair again. four days of hard riding had left no trace on his iron features. wet to the bone, his eyes flashed with fire. he held the glassful of whiskey in a hand as steady as a spirit-level and tossed it down a throat as cool as dew. "i want to say another thing, lance: i had no more intention than a child of hurting ed banks. i warned ed months ago to keep out of this fight; and i never knew he was in it till it was too late. but i'm hoping he will pull through yet, if they don't kill him in the hospital to spite me. i never recognized the men at all till it was too late. why, one of them used to work for me! a man with the whole railroad gang in these mountains after him has got to look out for himself or his life ain't worth a glass of beer. thank you, lance, not any more. i saw two men, with their rifles in their hands, looking for me. i hollered at them; but, lance, i'm rough and ready, as all my friends know, and i will let no man put a drop on me--that i will never do. ed, before i ever recognized him, raised his rifle; that's the only reason i fired. not so full, lance, not so full, if you please. well," he shook his black hair as he threw back his head, "here's to better luck in worse countries!" he paused as he swallowed, and set the tumbler down. "lance, i'm saying good-by to the mountains." "you're not going away for good, murray?" "i'm going away for good. what's the use? for two years these railroad cutthroats have been trying to put something on me; you know that. they've been trying to mix me up with that bridge-burning at smoky creek; sugar buttes, they had me there; tower w--nothing would do but i was there, and they've got one of the men in jail down there now, lance, trying to sweat enough perjury out of him to send me up. what show has a poor man got against all the money there is in the country? i wouldn't be afraid of a jury of my own neighbors--the men that know me, lance--any time. what show would i have with a packed jury in medicine bend? i could explain anything i've done to the satisfaction of any reasonable man. i'm human, lance; that's all i say. i've been mistreated and i don't forget it. they've even turned my wife against me--as fine a woman as ever lived." lance swore sympathetically. "there's good stuff in you yet, murray." "i'm going to say good-by to the mountains," sinclair went on grimly, "but i'm going to medicine bend to-night and tell the man that has hounded me what i think of him before i leave. i'm going to give my wife a chance to do what is right and go with me. she's been poisoned against me--i know that; but if she does what's fair and square there'll be no trouble--no trouble at all. all i want, lance, is a square deal. what?" dicksie with her pulses throbbing at fever-heat heard the words. she stood half-way down the stairs, trembling as she listened. anger, hatred, the spirit of vengeance, choked in her throat at the sinister words. she longed to stride into the room and confront the murderer and call down retribution on his head. it was no fear of him that restrained her, for the crawling stone girl never knew fear. she would have confronted him and denounced him, but prudence checked her angry impulse. she knew what he meant to do--to ride into medicine bend under cover of the storm, murder the two he hated, and escape in the night; and she resolved he should never succeed. if she could only get to the telephone! but the telephone was in the room where he sat. he was saying good-by. her cousin was trying to dissuade him from riding out into the storm, but he was going. the door opened; the men went out on the porch, and it closed. dicksie, lightly as a shadow, ran into the office and began ringing medicine bend on the telephone. chapter xli dicksie's ride when lance dunning entered the room ten minutes later, dicksie stood at the telephone; but the ten minutes of that interval had made quite another creature of his cousin. the wires were down and no one from any quarter gave a response to her frantic ringing. through the receiver she could hear only the sweep of the rain and the harsh crackle of the wind. sometimes praying, sometimes fainting, and sometimes despairing, she stood clinging to the instrument, ringing and pounding upon it like one frenzied. lance looked at her in amazement. "why, god a'mighty, dicksie, what's the matter?" he called twice to her before she turned, and her words almost stunned him: "why did you not detain sinclair here to-night? why did you not arrest him?" lance's sombrero raked heavily to one side of his face, and one end of his mustache running up much higher on the other did not begin to express his astonishment. "arrest him? arrest sinclair? dicksie, are you crazy? why the devil should i arrest sinclair? do you suppose i am going to mix up in a fight like this? do you think _i_ want to get killed? the level-headed man in this country, just at present, is the man who can keep out of trouble, and the man who succeeds, let me tell you, has got more than plenty to do." lance, getting no answer but a fierce, searching gaze from dicksie's wild eyes, laid his hand on a chair, lighted a cigar, and sat down before the fire. dicksie dropped the telephone receiver, put her hand to her girdle, and looked at him. when she spoke her tone was stinging. "you know that man is going to medicine bend to kill his wife!" lance took the cigar from his mouth and returned her look. "i know no such thing," he growled curtly. "and to kill george mccloud, if he can." he stared without reply. "you heard him say so," persisted dicksie vehemently. lance crossed his legs and threw back the brim of his hat. "mccloud is nobody's fool. he will look out for himself." "these fiendish wires to medicine bend are down. why hasn't this line been repaired?" she cried, wringing her hands. "there is no way to give warning to any one that he is coming, and you have let him go!" lance whirled in his chair. "damnation! could i keep him from going?" "you did not want to; you are keeping out of trouble. what do you care whom he kills to-night!" "you've gone crazy, dicksie. your imagination has upset your reason. whether he kills anybody to-night or not, it's too late now to make a row about it," exclaimed lance, throwing his cigar angrily away. "he won't kill us." "and you expect me to sit by and fold my hands while that wretch sheds more blood, do you?" "it can't be helped." "i say it can be helped! i can help it--i will help it--as you could have done if you had wanted to. i will ride to medicine bend to-night and help it." lance jumped to his feet, with a string of oaths. "well this is the limit!" he pointed his finger at her. "dicksie dunning, you won't stir out of this house to-night." her face hardened. "how dare you speak in that way to me? who are you, that you order me what to do, where to stay? am i your cowboy, to be defiled with your curses?" he looked at her in amazement. she was only eighteen; he would still face her down. "i'll tell you who i am. i am master here, and you will do as i tell you. you will ride to medicine bend to-night, will you?" he struck the table with his clinched fist. "do you hear me? i say, by god, not a horse shall leave this ranch in this storm to-night to go anywhere for anybody or with anybody!" "then i say to you this ranch is my ranch, and these horses are my horses! from this hour forth i will order them to go and come when and where i please!" she stepped toward him. "henceforward i am mistress here. do you hear me? henceforward _i_ give orders in crawling stone house, and every one under this roof takes orders from me!" "dicksie, what do you mean? for god's sake, you're not going to try to ride----" she swept from the room. what happened afterward she could never recall. who got jim for her or whether she got the horse up herself, what was said to her in low, kindly words of warning by the man at jim's neck when she sprang into the saddle, who the man was, she could not have told. all she felt at last was that she was free and out under the black sky, with the rain beating her burning face and her horse leaping fearfully into the wind. no man could have kept the trail to the pass that night. the horse took it as if the path flashed in sunshine, and swung into the familiar stride that had carried her so many times over the twenty miles ahead of them. the storm driving into dicksie's face cooled her. every moment she recollected herself better, and before her mind all the aspects of her venture ranged themselves. she had set herself to a race, and against her rode the hardest rider in the mountains. she had set herself to what few men on the range would have dared and what no other woman on the range could do. "why have i learned to ride," went the question through her mind, "if not for this--for those i love and for those who love me?" sinclair had a start, she well knew, but not so much for a night like this night. he would ride to kill those he hated; she would ride to save those she loved. her horse already was on the elbow grade; she knew it from his shorter spring--a lithe, creeping spring that had carried her out of deep canyons and up long draws where other horses walked. the wind lessened and the rain drove less angrily in her face. she patted jim's neck with her wet glove, and checked him as tenderly as a lover, to give him courage and breath. she wanted to be part of him as he strove, for the horror of the night began to steal on the edge of her thoughts. a gust drove into her face. they were already at the head of the pass, and the horse, with level ground underfoot, was falling into the long reach; but the wind was colder. dicksie lowered her head and gave jim the rein. she realized how wet she was; her feet and her knees were wet. she had no protection but her skirt, though the meanest rider on all her countless acres would not have braved a mile on such a night without leather and fur. the great lapels of her riding-jacket, reversed, were buttoned tight across her shoulders, and the double fold of fur lay warm and dry against her heart and lungs; but her hands were cold, and her skirt dragged leaden and cold from her waist, and water soaked in upon her chilled feet. she knew she ought to have thought of these things. she planned, as thought swept in a moving picture across her brain, how she would prepare again for such a ride--with her cowboy costume that she had once masqueraded in for marion, with leggings of buckskin and "chaps" of long white silken wool. it was no masquerade now--she was riding in deadly earnest; and her lips closed to shut away a creepy feeling that started from her heart and left her shivering. she became conscious of how fast she was going. instinct, made keen by thousands of saddle miles, told dicksie of her terrific pace. she was riding faster than she would have dared go at noonday and without thought or fear of accident. in spite of the sliding and the plunging down the long hill, the storm and the darkness brought no thought of fear for herself; her only fear was for those ahead. in supreme moments a horse, like a man when human efforts become superhuman, puts the lesser dangers out of reckoning, and the faculties, set on a single purpose, though strained to the breaking-point, never break. low in her saddle, dicksie tried to reckon how far they had come and how much lay ahead. she could feel her skirt stiffening about her knees, and the rain beating at her face was sharper; she knew the sleet as it stung her cheeks, and knew what next was coming--the snow. there was no need to urge jim. he had the rein and dicksie bent down to speak to him, as she often spoke when they were alone on the road, when jim, bolting, almost threw her. recovering instantly, she knew they were no longer alone. she rose alert in her seat. her straining eyes could see nothing. was there a sound in the wind? she held her breath to listen, but before she could apprehend jim leaped violently ahead. dicksie screamed in an agony of terror. she knew then that she had passed another rider, and so close she might have touched him. fear froze her to the saddle; it lent wings to her horse. the speed became wild. dicksie knit herself to her dumb companion and a prayer choked in her throat. she crouched lest a bullet tear her from her horse; but through the darkness no bullet came, only the sleet, stinging her face, stiffening her gloves, freezing her hair, chilling her limbs, and weighting her like lead on her struggling horse. she knew not even sinclair could overtake her now--that no living man could lay a hand on her bridle-rein--and she pulled jim in down the winding hills to save him for the long flat. when they struck it they had but four miles to go. across the flat the wind drove in fury. reflection, thought, and reason were beginning to leave her. she was crying to herself quietly as she used to cry when she lost herself, a mere child, riding among the hills. she was praying meaningless words. snow purred softly on her cheeks. the cold was soothing her senses. unable at last to keep her seat on the horse, she stopped him, slipped stiffly to the ground, and, struggling through the wind as she held fast to the bridle and the horn, half walked and half ran to start the blood through her benumbed veins. she struggled until she could drag her mired feet no farther, and tried to draw herself back into the saddle. it was almost beyond her. she sobbed and screamed at her helplessness. at last she managed to climb flounderingly back into her seat, and, bending her stiffened arms to jim's neck, she moaned and cried to him. when again she could hold her seat no longer, she fell to the horse's side, dragged herself along in the frozen slush, and, screaming with the pain of her freezing hands, drew herself up into the saddle. she knew that she dare not venture this again--that if she did so she could never remount. she felt now that she should never live to reach medicine bend. she rode on and on and on--would it never end? she begged god to send a painless death to those she rode to save, and when the prayer passed her failing senses a new terror awakened her, for she found herself falling out of the saddle. with excruciating torment she recovered her poise. reeling from side to side, she fought the torpor away. her mind grew clearer and her tears had ceased. she prayed for a light. the word caught between her stiffened lips and she mumbled it till she could open them wide and scream it out. then came a sound like the beating of great drums in her ears. it was the crash of jim's hoofs on the river bridge, and she was in medicine bend. a horse, galloping low and heavily, slued through the snow from fort street into boney, and, where it had so often stopped before, dashed up on the sidewalk in front of the little shop. the shock was too much for its unconscious rider, and, shot headlong from her saddle, dicksie was flung bruised and senseless against marion's door. chapter xlii at the door she woke in a dream of hoofs beating at her brain. distracted words fell from her lips, and when she opened her swollen eyes and saw those about her she could only scream. marion had called up the stable, but the stablemen could only tell her that dicksie's horse, in terrible condition, had come in riderless. while barnhardt, the railway surgeon, at the bedside administered restoratives, marion talked with him of dicksie's sudden and mysterious coming. dicksie, lying in pain and quite conscious, heard all, but, unable to explain, moaned in her helplessness. she heard marion at length tell the doctor that mccloud was out of town, and the news seemed to bring back her senses. then, rising in the bed, while the surgeon and marion coaxed her to lie down, she clutched at their arms and, looking from one to the other, told her story. when it was done she swooned, but she woke to hear voices at the door of the shop. she heard as if she dreamed, but at the door the words were dread reality. sinclair had made good his word, and had come out of the storm with a summons upon marion and it was the surgeon who threw open the door and saw sinclair standing in the snow. no man in medicine bend knew sinclair more thoroughly or feared him less than barnhardt. no man could better meet him or speak to him with less of hesitation. sinclair, as he faced barnhardt, was not easy in spite of his dogged self-control; and he was standing, much to his annoyance, in the glare of an arc-light that swung across the street in front of the shop. he was well aware that no such light had ever swung within a block of the shop before and in it he saw the hand of whispering smith. the light was unexpected, barnhardt was a surprise, and even the falling snow, which protected him from being seen twenty feet away, angered him. he asked curtly who was ill, and without awaiting an answer asked for his wife. the surgeon eyed him coldly. "sinclair, what are you doing in medicine bend? have you come to surrender yourself?" "surrender myself? yes, i'm ready any time to surrender myself. take me along yourself, barnhardt, if you think i've done worse than any man would that has been hounded as i've been hounded. i want to see my wife." "sinclair, you can't see your wife." "what's the matter--is she sick?" "no, but you can't see her." "who says i can't see her?" "i say so." sinclair swept the ice furiously from his beard and his right hand fell to his hip as he stepped back. "you've turned against me too, have you, you gray-haired wolf? can't see her! get out of that door." the surgeon pointed his finger at the murderer. "no, i won't get out of this door. shoot, you coward! shoot an unarmed man. you will not live to get a hundred feet away. this place is watched for you; you could not have got within a hundred yards of it to-night except for this snow." barnhardt pointed through the storm. "sinclair, you will hang in the court-house square, and i will take the last beat of your pulse with these fingers, and when i pronounce you dead they will cut you down. you want to see your wife. you want to kill her. don't lie; you want to kill her. you were heard to say as much to-night at the dunning ranch. you were watched and tracked, and you are expected and looked for here. your best friends have gone back on you. ay, curse again and over again, but that will not put ed banks on his feet." sinclair stamped with frenzied oaths. "you're too hard on me," he cried, clenching his hands. "i say you're too hard. you've heard one side of it. is that the way you put judgment on a man that's got no friends left because they start a new lie on him every day? who is it that's watching me? let them stand out like men in the open. if they want me, let them come like men and take me!" "sinclair, this storm gives you a chance to get away; take it. bad as you are, there are men in medicine bend who knew you when you were a man. don't stay here for some of them to sit on the jury that hangs you. if you can get away, get away. if i were your friend--and god knows whom you can call friend in medicine bend to-night--i couldn't say more. get away before it is too late." he was never again seen alive in medicine bend. they tracked him next day over every foot of ground he had covered. they found where he had left his spent horse and where afterward he had got the fresh one. they learned how he had eluded all the picketing planned for precisely such a contingency, got into the wickiup, got upstairs and burst open the very door of mccloud's room. but dicksie had on her side that night one greater than her invincible will or her faithful horse. mccloud was two hundred miles away. barnhardt lost no time in telephoning the wickiup that sinclair was in town, but within an hour, while the two women were still under the surgeon's protection, a knock at the cottage door gave them a second fright. barnhardt answered the summons. he opened the door and, as the man outside paused to shake the snow off his hat, the surgeon caught him by the shoulder and dragged into the house whispering smith. picking the icicles from his hair, smith listened to all that barnhardt said, his eyes roving meantime over everything within the room and mentally over many things outside it. he congratulated barnhardt, and when marion came into the room he apologized for the snow he had brought in. dicksie heard his voice and cried out from the bedroom. they could not keep her away, and she ran out to catch his hands and plead with him not to go away. he tried to assure her that the danger was over; that guards were now outside everywhere, and would be until morning. but dicksie clung to him and would take no refusal. whispering smith looked at her in amazement and in admiration. "you are captain to-night, miss dicksie, by heaven. if you say the word i'll lie here on a rug till morning. but that man will not be back to-night. you are a queen. if i had a mountain girl that would do as much as that for me i would----" "what would you do?" asked marion. "say good-by to this accursed country forever." chapter xliii closing in in the morning the sun rose with a mountain smile. the storm had swept the air till the ranges shone blue and the plain sparkled under a cloudless sky. bob scott and wickwire, riding at daybreak, picked up a trail on the fence river road. a consultation was held at the bridge, and within half an hour whispering smith, with unshaken patience, was in the saddle and following it. with him were kennedy and bob scott. sinclair had ridden into the lines, and whispering smith, with his best two men, meant to put it up to him to ride out. they meant now to get him, with a trail or without, and were putting horseflesh against horseflesh and craft against craft. at the forks of the fence they picked up wickwire, kennedy taking him on the up road, while scott with whispering smith crossed to the crawling stone. when smith and scott reached the frenchman they parted to cover in turn each of the trails by which it is possible to get out of the river country toward the park and williams cache. by four o'clock in the afternoon they had all covered the ground so well that the four were able to make their rendezvous on the big fence divide, south of crawling stone valley. they then found, to their disappointment, that, widely separated as they had been, both parties were following trails they believed to be good. they shot a steer, tagged it, ate dinner and supper in one, and separated under whispering smith's counsel that both the trails be followed into the next morning--in the belief that one of them would run out or that the two would run together. at noon the next day scott rode through the hills from the fence, and kennedy with wickwire came through two feather pass from the frenchman with the report that the game had left their valleys. without rest they pushed on. at the foot of the mission mountains they picked up the tracks of a party of three horsemen. twice within ten miles afterward the men they were following crossed the river. each time their trail, with some little difficulty, was found again. at a little ranch in the mission foothills, kennedy and scott, leaving wickwire with whispering smith, took fresh horses and pushed ahead as far as they could ride before dark, but they brought back news. the trail had split again, with one man riding alone to the left, while two had taken the hills to the right, heading for mission pass and the cache. with gene johnson and bob at the mouth of the cache there was little fear for that outlet. the turn to the left was the unexpected. over the little fire in the ranch kitchen where they ate supper, the four men were in conference twenty minutes. it was decided that scott and kennedy should head for the mission pass, while whispering smith, with wickwire to trail with him, should undertake to cut off, somewhere between fence river and the railroad, the man who had gone south, the man believed to be sinclair. it was a late moon, and when scott and kennedy saddled their horses whispering smith and wickwire were asleep. with the cowboy, whispering smith started at daybreak. no one saw them again for two days. during those two days and nights they were in the saddle almost continuously. for every mile the man ahead of them rode they were forced to ride two miles and often three. late in the second night they crossed the railroad, and the first word from them came in long despatches sent by whispering smith to medicine bend and instructions to kennedy and scott in the north, which were carried by hard riders straight to deep creek. on the morning of the third day dicksie dunning, who had gone home from medicine bend and who had been telephoning marion and george mccloud two days for news, was trying to get medicine bend again on the telephone when puss came in to say that a man at the kitchen door wanted to see her. "who is it, puss?" "i d'no, miss dicksie; 'deed, i never seen him b'fore." dicksie walked around on the porch to the kitchen. a dust-covered man sitting on a limp horse threw back the brim of his hat as he touched it, lifted himself stiffly out of the saddle, and dropped to the ground. he laughed at dicksie's startled expression. "don't you know me?" he asked, putting out his hand. it was whispering smith. he was a fearful sight. stained from head to foot with alkali, saddle-cramped and bent, his face scratched and stained, he stood with a smiling appeal in his bloodshot eyes. dicksie gave a little uncertain cry, clasped her hands, and, with a scream, threw her arms impulsively around his neck. "oh, i did not know you! what has happened? i am so glad to see you! tell me what has happened. are you hurt?" he stammered like a school-boy. "nothing has happened. what's this? don't cry; nothing at all has happened. i didn't realize what a tramp i look or i shouldn't have come. but i was only a mile away and i had heard nothing for four days from medicine bend. and how are you? did your ride make you ill? no? by heaven, you are a game girl. that was a ride! how are they all? where's your cousin? in town, is he? i thought i might get some news if i rode up, and oh, miss dicksie--jiminy! some coffee. but i've got only two minutes for it all, only two minutes; do you think puss has any on the stove?" dicksie with coaxing and pulling got him into the kitchen, and puss tumbled over herself to set out coffee and rolls. he showed himself ravenously hungry, and ate with a simple directness that speedily accounted for everything in sight. "you have saved my life. now i am going, and thank you a thousand times. there, by heaven, i've forgotten wickwire! he is with me--waiting down in the cottonwoods at the fork. could puss put up a lunch i could take to him? he hasn't had a scrap for twenty-four hours. but, dicksie, your tramp is a hummer! i've tried to ride him down and wear him out and lose him, and, by heaven, he turns up every time and has been of more use to me than two men." she put her hand on whispering smith's arm. "i told him if he would stop drinking he could be foreman here next season." puss was putting up the lunch. "why need you hurry away?" persisted dicksie. "i've a thousand things to say." he looked at her amiably. "this is really a case of must." "then, tell me, what favor may i do for you?" she looked appealingly into his tired eyes. "i want to do something for you. i must! don't deny me. only, what shall it be?" "something for me? what can i say? you'll be kind to marion--i shouldn't have to ask that. what can i ask? stop! there is one thing. i've got a poor little devil of an orphan up in the deep creek country. du sang murdered his father. you are rich and generous, dicksie; do something for him, will you? kennedy or bob scott will know all about him. bring him down here, will you, and see he doesn't go to the dogs? you're a good girl. what's this, crying? now you are frightened. things are not so bad as that. you want to know everything--i see it in your eyes. very well, let's trade. you tell me everything and i'll tell you everything. now then: are you engaged?" they were standing under the low porch with the sunshine breaking through the trees. she turned away her face and threw all of her happiness into a laugh. "i won't tell." "oh, that's enough. you have told!" declared whispering smith. "i knew--why, of course i knew--but i wanted to make you own up. well, here's the way things are. sinclair has run us all over god's creation for two days to give his pals a chance to break into williams cache to get the tower w money they left with rebstock. for a fact, we have ridden completely around sleepy cat and been down in the spanish sinks since i saw you. he doesn't want to leave without the money, and doesn't know it is in kennedy's hands, and can't get into the cache to find out. now the three--whoever the other two are--and sinclair--are trying to join forces somewhere up this valley, and kennedy, scott, wickwire, and i are after them; and every outlet is watched, and it must all be over, my dear, before sunset to-night. isn't that fine? i mean to have the thing wound up somehow. don't look worried." "do not--do not let him kill you," she cried with a sob. "he will not kill me; don't be afraid." "i _am_ afraid. remember what your life is to all of us!" "then, of course, i've got to think of what it is to myself--being the only one i've got. sometimes i don't think much of it; but when i get a welcome like this it sets me up. if i can once get out of this accursed man-slaughtering business, dicksie--how old are you? nineteen? well, you've got the finest chap in all these mountains, and george mccloud has the finest----" with a bubbling laugh she shook her finger at him. "_now_ you are caught. say the finest woman in these mountains if you dare! say the finest woman!" "the finest woman of nineteen in all creation!" he swung with a laugh into the saddle and waved his hat. she watched him ride down the road and around the hill. when he reappeared she was still looking and he was galloping along the lower road. a man rode out at the fork to meet him and trotted with him over the bridge. riding leisurely across the creek, their broad hats bobbing unevenly in the sunshine, they spurred swiftly past the grove of quaking asps, and in a moment were lost beyond the trees. chapter xliv crawling stone wash where the little crawling stone river tears out of the mission mountains it has left a grayish-white gap that may be seen for many miles. this is the head of the north crawling stone valley. twenty miles to the right the big river itself bursts through the mission hills in the canyon known as the box. between the confluence of big and little crawling stone, and on the east side of little crawling stone, lies a vast waste. standing in the midst of this frightful eruption from the heart of the mountains, one sees, as far as the eye can reach, a landscape utterly forbidding. north for sixty miles lie the high chains of the mission range, and a cuplike configuration of the mountains close to the valley affords a resting-place for the deepest snows of winter and a precipitous escape for the torrents of june. here, when the sun reaches its summer height or a sweet-grass wind blows soft or a cloudburst above the peaks strikes the southerly face of the range, winter unfrocks in a single night. a glacier of snow melts within twenty-four hours into a torrent of lava and bursts with incredible fury from a thousand gorges. when this happens nothing withstands. whatever lies in the path of the flood is swept from the face of the earth. the mountains, assailed in a moment with the ferocity of a hundred storms, are ripped and torn like hills of clay. the frosted scale of the granite, the desperate root of the cedar, the poised nest of the eagle, the clutch of the crannied vine, the split and start of the mountainside, are all as one before the june thaw. at its height little crawling stone, with a head of forty feet, is a choking flood of rock. mountains, torn and bleeding, vomit bowlders of thirty, sixty, a hundred tons like pebbles upon the valley. even there they find no permanent resting-place. each succeeding year sees them torn groaning from their beds in the wash. new masses of rock are hurled upon them, new waters lift them in fresh caprice, and the crash and the grinding echo in the hills like a roar of mountain thunder. where the wash covers the valley nothing lives; the fertile earth has long been buried under the mountain _débris_. it supports no plant life beyond the scantiest deposit of weed-plant seed, and the rocky scurf, spreading like a leprosy over many miles, scars the face of the green earth. this is the crawling stone wash. exhausted by the fury of its few yearly weeks of activity, little crawling stone runs for the greater part of the year a winding, shallow stream through a bed of whitened bowlders where lizards sun themselves and trout lurk in shaded pools. when whispering smith and his companions were fairly started on the last day of their ride, it was toward this rift in the mission range that the trail led them. sinclair, with consummate cleverness, had rejoined his companions; but the attempt to get into the cache, and his reckless ride into medicine bend, had reduced their chances of escape to a single outlet, and that they must find up crawling stone valley. the necessity of it was spelled in every move the pursued men had made for twenty-four hours. they were riding the pick of mountain horseflesh and covering their tracks by every device known to the high country. behind them, made prudent by unusual danger, rode the best men the mountain division could muster for the final effort to bring them to account. the fast riding of the early week had given way to the pace of caution. no trail sign was overlooked, no point of concealment directly approached, no hiding-place left unsearched. the tension of a long day of this work was drawing to a close when the sun set and left the big wash in the shadow of the mountains. on the higher ground to the right, kennedy and scott were riding where they could command the gullies of the precipitous left bank of the river. high on the left bank itself, worming his way like a snake from point to point of concealment through the scanty brush of the mountainside, crawled wickwire, commanding the pockets in the right bank. closer to the river on the right and following the trail itself over shale and rock and between scattered bowlders, whispering smith, low on his horse's neck, rode slowly. it was almost too dark to catch the slight discolorations where pebbles had been disturbed on a flat surface or the calk of a horseshoe had slipped on the uneven face of a ledge, and he had halted under an uplift to wait for wickwire on the distant left to advance, when, half a mile below him, a horseman crossing the river rode slowly past a gap in the rocks and disappeared below the next bend. he was followed in a moment by a second rider and a third. whispering smith knew he had not been seen. he had flushed the game, and, wheeling his horse, rode straight up the river-bank to high ground, where he could circle around widely below them. they had slipped between his line and wickwire's, and were doubling back, following the dry bed of the stream. it was impossible to recall kennedy and scott without giving an alarm, but by a quick _détour_ he could at least hold the quarry back for twenty minutes with his rifle, and in that time kennedy and scott could come up. less than half an hour of daylight remained. if the outlaws could slip down the wash and out into the crawling stone valley they had every chance of getting away in the night; and if the third man should be barney rebstock, whispering smith knew that sinclair thought only of escape. smith alone, of their pursuers, could now intercept them, but a second hope remained: on the left, wickwire was high enough to command every turn in the bed of the river. he might see them and could force them to cover with his rifle even at long range. casting up the chances, whispering smith, riding faster over the uneven ground than anything but sheer recklessness would have prompted, hastened across the waste. his rifle lay in his hand, and he had pushed his horse to a run. a single fearful instinct crowded now upon the long strain of the week. a savage fascination burned like a fever in his veins, and he meant that they should not get away. taking chances that would have shamed him in cooler moments, he forced his horse at the end of the long ride to within a hundred paces of the river, threw his lines, slipped like a lizard from the saddle, and, darting with incredible swiftness from rock to rock, gained the water's edge. from up the long shadows of the wash there came the wail of an owl. from it he knew that wickwire had seen them and was warning him, but he had anticipated the warning and stood below where the hunted men must ride. he strained his eyes over the waste of rock above. for one half-hour of daylight he would have sold, in that moment, ten years of his life. what could he do if they should be able to secrete themselves until dark between him and wickwire? gliding under cover of huge rocks up the dry watercourse, he reached a spot where the floods had scooped a long, hollow curve out of a soft ledge in the bank, leaving a stretch of smooth sand on the bed of the stream. at the upper point great bowlders pushed out in the river. he could not inspect the curve from the spot he had gained without reckless exposure, but he must force the little daylight left to him. climbing completely over the lower point, he advanced cautiously, and from behind a sheltering spur stepped out upon an overhanging table of rock and looked across the river-bottom. three men had halted on the sand within the curve. two lay on their rifles under the upper point, a hundred and twenty paces from whispering smith. the third man, seagrue, less than fifty yards away, had got off his horse and was laying down his rifle, when the hoot-owl screeched again and he looked uneasily back. they had chosen for their halt a spot easily defended, and needed only darkness to make them safe, when smith, stepping out into plain sight, threw forward his hand. they heard his sharp call to pitch up, and the men under the point jumped. seagrue had not yet taken his hand from his rifle. he threw it to his shoulder. as closely together as two fingers of the right hand can be struck twice in the palm of the left, two rifle-shots cracked across the wash. two bullets passed so close in flight they might have struck. one cut the dusty hair from smith's temple and slit the brim of his hat above his ear; the other struck seagrue under the left eye, ploughed through the roof of his mouth, and, coming out below his ear, splintered the rock at his back. the shock alone would have staggered a bullock, but seagrue, laughing, came forward pumping his gun. sinclair, at a hundred and twenty yards, cut instantly into the fight, and the ball from his rifle creased the alkali that crusted whispering smith's unshaven cheek. as he fired he sprang to cover. for seagrue and smith there was no cover: for one or both it was death in the open and seagrue, with his rifle at his cheek, walked straight into it. taking for a moment the fire of the three guns, whispering smith stood, a perfect target, outlined against the sky. they whipped the dust from his coat, tore the sleeve from his wrist, and ripped the blouse collar from his neck; but he felt no bullet shock. he saw before him only the buckle of seagrue's belt forty paces away, and sent bullet after bullet at the gleam of brass between the sights. both men were using high-pressure guns, and the deadly shock of the slugs made seagrue twitch and stagger. the man was dying as he walked. smith's hand was racing with the lever, and had a cartridge jammed, the steel would have snapped like a match. it was beyond human endurance to support the leaden death. the little square of brass between the sights wavered. seagrue stumbled, doubled on his knees, and staggering plunged loosely forward on the sand. whispering smith threw his fire toward the bowlder behind which sinclair and barney rebstock had disappeared. suddenly he realized that the bullets from the point were not coming his way. he was aware of a second rifle-duel above the bend. wickwire, worming his way down the stream, had uncovered sinclair and young rebstock from behind. a yell between the shots rang across the wash, and the cringing figure of a man ran out toward whispering smith with his hands high in the air, and pitched headlong on the ground. it was the skulker, barney rebstock, driven out by wickwire's fire. the, shooting ceased. silence fell upon the gloom of the dusk. then came a calling between smith and wickwire, and a signalling of pistol-shots for their companions. kennedy and bob scott dashed down toward the river-bed on their horses. seagrue lay on his face. young rebstock sat with his hands around his knees on the sand. above him at some distance, wickwire and smith stood before a man who leaned against the sharp cheek of the bowlder at the point. in his hands his rifle was held across his lap just as he had dropped on his knee to fire. he had never moved after he was struck. his head, drooping a little, rested against the rock, and his hat lay on the sand; his heavy beard had sunk into his chest and he kneeled in the shadow, asleep. scott and kennedy knew him. in the mountains there was no double for murray sinclair. when he jumped behind the point to pick whispering smith off the ledge he had laid himself directly under wickwire's fire across the wash. the first shot of the cowboy at two hundred yards had passed, as he knelt, through both temples. they laid him at seagrue's side. the camp was made beside the dead men in the wash. "you had better not take him to medicine bend," said whispering smith, sitting late with kennedy before the dying fire. "it would only mean that much more unpleasant talk and notoriety for her. the inquest can be held on the frenchman. take him to his own ranch and telegraph the folks in wisconsin--god knows whether they will want to hear. but his mother is there yet. but if half what barney has told to-night is true it would be better if no one ever heard." chapter xlv back to the mountains in the cottage in boney street, one year later, two women were waiting. it was ten o'clock at night. "isn't it a shame to be disappointed like this?" complained dicksie, pushing her hair impatiently back. "really, poor george is worked to death. he was to be in at six o'clock, mr. lee said, and here it is ten, and all your beautiful dinner spoiled. marion, are you keeping something from me? look me in the eye. have you heard from gordon smith?" "no, dicksie." "not since he left the mountains a year ago?" "not since he left the mountains a year ago." dicksie, sitting forward in her chair, bent her eyes upon the fire. "it is so strange. i wonder where he is to-night. how he loves you, marion! he told me everything when he said good-by. he made me promise not to tell then; but i didn't promise to keep it forever." marion smiled. "a year isn't forever, dicksie." "well, it's pretty near forever when you are in love," declared dicksie energetically. "i know just how he felt," she went on in a quieter tone. "he felt that all the disagreeable excitement and talk we had here then bore heaviest on you. he said if he stayed in medicine bend the newspapers never would cease talking and people never would stop annoying you--and you know george did say they were asking to have passenger trains held here just so people could see whispering smith. and, marion, think of it, he actually doesn't know yet that george and i are married! how could we notify him without knowing where he was? and he doesn't know that trains are running up the crawling stone valley. mercy! a year goes like an hour when you're in love, doesn't it? george said he _knew_ we should hear from him within six months--and george has never yet been mistaken excepting when he said i should grow to like the railroad business--and now it is a year and no news from him." dicksie sprang from her chair. "i am going to call up mr. rooney lee and just demand my husband! i think mr. lee handles trains shockingly every time george tries to get home like this on saturday nights--now don't you? and passenger trains ought to get out of the way, anyway, when a division superintendent is trying to get home. what difference does it make to a passenger, i'd like to know, whether he is a few hours less or longer in getting to california or japan or manila or hongkong or buzzard's gulch, provided he is safe--and you know there has not been an accident on the division for a year, marion. there's a step now. i'll bet that's george!" the door opened and it was george. "oh, honey!" cried dicksie softly, waving her arms as she stood an instant before she ran to him. "but haven't i been a-waitin' for you!" "too bad! and, marion," he exclaimed, turning without releasing his wife from his arms, "how can i ever make good for all this delay? oh, yes, i've had dinner. never, for heaven's sake, wait dinner for me! but wait, both of you, till you hear the news!" dicksie kept her hands on his shoulders. "you have heard from whispering smith!" "i have." "i knew it!" "wait till i get it straight. mr. bucks is here--i came in with him in his car. he has news of whispering smith. one of our freight-traffic men in the puget sound country, who has been in a hospital in victoria, learned by the merest accident that gordon smith was lying in the same hospital with typhoid fever." marion rose swiftly. "then the time has come, thank god, when i can do something for him; and i am going to him to-night!" "fine!" cried mccloud. "so am i, and that is why i'm late." "then i am going, too," exclaimed dicksie solemnly. "do you mean it?" asked her husband. "shall we let her, marion? mr. bucks says i am to take his car and take barnhardt, and keep the car there till i can bring gordon back. mr. bucks and his secretary will ride to-night as far as bear dance with us, and in the morning they join mr. glover there." mccloud looked at his watch. "if you are both going, can you be ready by twelve o'clock for the china mail?" "we can be ready in an hour," declared dicksie, throwing her arm half around marion's neck, "can't we, marion?" "i can be ready in thirty minutes." "then, by heaven--" mccloud studied his watch. "what is it, george?" "we won't wait for the midnight train. we will take an engine, run special to green river, overhaul the coast limited, and save a whole day." "george, pack your suit-case--quick, dear; and you, too, marion; suit-cases are all we can take," cried dicksie, pushing her husband toward the bedroom. "i'll telephone rooney lee for an engine myself right away. dear me, it is kind of nice, to be able to order up a train when you want one in a hurry, isn't it, marion? perhaps i _shall_ come to like it if they ever make george a vice-president." in half an hour they had joined bucks in his car, and bill dancing was piling the baggage into the vestibule. bucks was sitting down to coffee. chairs had been provided at the table, and after the greetings, bucks, seating marion sinclair at his right and barnhardt and mccloud at his left, asked dicksie to sit opposite and pour the coffee. "you are a railroad man's wife now and you must learn to assume responsibility." mccloud looked apprehensive. "i am afraid she will be assuming the whole division if you encourage her too much, mr. bucks." "marrying a railroad man," continued bucks, pursuing his own thought, "is as bad as marrying into the army; if you have your husband half the time you are lucky. then, too, in the railroad business your husband may have to be set back when the traffic falls off. it's a little light at this moment, too. how should you take it if we had to put him on a freight train for a while, mrs. mccloud?" "oh, mr. bucks!" "or suppose he should be promoted and should have to go to headquarters--some of us are getting old, you know." "really," dicksie looked most demure as she filled the president's cup, "really, i often say to mr. mccloud that i can not believe mr. bucks is president of this great road. he always looks to me to be the youngest man on the whole executive staff. two lumps of sugar, mr. bucks?" the bachelor president rolled his eyes as he reached for his cup. "thank you, mrs. mccloud, only one after that." he looked toward marion. "all i can say is that if mrs. mccloud's husband had married her two years earlier he might have been general manager by this time. nothing could hold a man back, even a man of his modesty, whose wife can say as nice things as that. by the way, mrs. sinclair, does this man keep you supplied with transportation?" "oh, i have my annual, mr. bucks!" marion opened her bag to find it. bucks held out his hand. "let me see it a moment." he adjusted his eye-glasses, looked at the pass, and called for a pen; bucks had never lost his gracious way of doing very little things. he laid the card on the table and wrote across the back of it over his name: "good on all passenger trains." when he handed the card back to marion he turned to dicksie. "i understand you are laying out two or three towns on the ranch, mrs. mccloud?" "two or three! oh, no, only one as yet, mr. bucks! they are laying out, oh, such a pretty town! cousin lance is superintending the street work--and whom do you think i am going to name it after? you! i think 'bucks' makes a dandy name for a town, don't you? and i am going to have one town named dunning; there will be two stations on the ranch, you know, and i think, really, there _ought_ to be three." "as many as that?" "i don't believe you can operate a line that long, mr. bucks, with stations fourteen miles apart." bucks opened his eyes in benevolent surprise. dicksie, unabashed, kept right on: "well, do you know how traffic is increasing over there, with the trains running only two months now? why, the settlers are fairly pouring into the country." "will you give me a corner lot if we put another station on the ranch?" "i will give you two if you will give us excursions and run some of the overland passenger trains through the valley." bucks threw back his head and laughed in his tremendous way. "i don't know about that; i daren't promise offhand, mrs. mccloud. but if you can get whispering smith to come back you might lay the matter before him. he is to take charge of all the colonist business when he returns; he promised to do that before he went away for his vacation. whispering smith is really the man you will have to stand in with." * * * * * whispering smith, lying on his iron bed in the hospital, professed not to be able quite to understand why they had made such a fuss about it. he underwent the excitement of the appearance of barnhardt and the first talk with mccloud and dicksie with hardly a rise in his temperature, and, lying in the sunshine of the afternoon, he was waiting for marion. when she opened the door his face was turned wistfully toward it. he held out his hands with the old smile. she ran half blinded across the room and dropped on her knee beside him. "my dear marion, why did they drag you away out here?" "they did not drag me away out here. did you expect me to sit with folded hands when i heard you were ill anywhere in the wide world?" he looked hungrily at her. "i didn't suppose any one in the wide world would take it very seriously." "mr. mccloud is crushed this afternoon to think you have said you would not go back with him. you would not believe how he misses you." "it has been pretty lonesome for the last year. i didn't think it _could_ be so lonesome anywhere." "nor did i." "have you noticed it? i shouldn't think you could in the mountains. was there much water last spring? heavens, i'd like to see the crawling stone again!" "why don't you come back?" he folded her hands in his own. "marion, it is you. i've been afraid i couldn't stand it to be near you and not tell you----" "what need you be afraid to tell me?" "that i have loved you so long." her head sunk close to his. "don't you know you have said it to me many times without words? i've only been waiting for a chance to tell you how happy it makes me to think it is true." zane grey's novels may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list the light of western stars a new york society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. a surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close. the rainbow trail the story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western uplands--until at last love and faith awake. desert gold the story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine. riders of the purple sage a picturesque romance of utah of some forty years ago when mormon authority ruled. the prosecution of jane withersteen is the theme of the story. the last of the plainsmen this is the record of a trip which the author took with buffalo jones, known as the preserver of the american bison, across the arizona desert and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines." the heritage of the desert a lovely girl, who has been reared among mormons, learns to love a young new englander. the mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second wife of one of the mormons--well, that's the problem of this great story. the short stop the young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as a professional ball player. his hard knocks at the start are followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win. betty zane this story tells of the bravery and heroism of betty, the beautiful young sister of old colonel zane, one of the bravest pioneers. the lone star ranger after killing a man in self defense, buck duane becomes an outlaw along the texas border. in a camp on the mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. the border legion joan randle, in a spirit of anger, sent jim cleve out to a lawless western mining camp, to prove his mettle. then realizing that she loved him--she followed him out. on her way, she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots kells, the leader--and nurses him to health again. here enters another romance--when joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes jim, in the throes of dissipation. a gold strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling and gun-play carry you along breathlessly. the last of the great scouts, by helen cody wetmore and zane grey the life story of colonel william f. cody, "buffalo bill," as told by his sister and zane grey. it begins with his boyhood in iowa and his first encounter with an indian. we see "bill" as a pony express rider, then near fort sumter as chief of the scouts, and later engaged in the most dangerous indian campaigns. there is also a very interesting account of the travels of "the wild west" show. no character in public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of america than "buffalo bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the novels of george barr mccutcheon may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset and dunlap's list. graustark. illustrated with scenes from the play. with the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new type of story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. it is the story of love behind a throne in a new and strange country. beverly of graustark. illustrations by harrison fisher. this is a sequel to "graustark." a bewitching american girl visits the little principality and there has a romantic love affair. prince of graustark. illustrations by a. i. keller. the prince of graustark is none other than the son of the heroine of "graustark." beverly's daughter, and an american multimillionaire with a brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story. brewster's millions. illustrated with scenes from the photo-play. a young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, in order to inherit seven, accomplishes the task in this lively story. cowardice court. illus. by harrison fisher and decorations by theodore hapgood. a romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a social feud in the adirondacks in which an english girl is tempted into being a traitor by a romantic young american. the hollow of her hand. illustrated by a. i. keller. a story of modern new york, built around an ancient enmity, born of the scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth. what's-his-name. illustrations by harrison fisher. "what's-his-name" is the husband of a beautiful and popular actress who is billboarded on broadway under an assumed name. the very opposite manner in which these two live their lives brings a dramatic climax to the story. ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the novels of mary roberts rinehart may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. "k." illustrated. k. lemoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, and goes to live in a little town where beautiful sidney page lives. she is in training to become a nurse. the joys and troubles of their young love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has made the author famous. the man in lower ten. illustrated by howard chandler christy. an absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the "man in lower ten." the strongest elements of mrs. rinehart's success are found in this book. when a man marries. illustrated by harrison fisher and mayo bunker. a young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. the aunt, who contributes to the family income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. how the young man met the situation is humorously and most entertainingly told. the circular staircase. illus. by lester ralph. the summer occupants of "sunnyside" find the dead body of arnold armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. following the murder a bank failure is announced. around these two events is woven a plot of absorbing interest. the street of seven stars. illustrated (photo play edition.) harmony wells, studying in vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. she meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with world-worn dr. anna and jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york myrtle reed's novels may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset and dunlap's list. lavender and old lace. a charming story of a quaint corner of new england, where bygone romance finds a modern parallel. the story centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old-fashioned love stories. master of the vineyard. a pathetic love story of a young girl, rosemary. the teacher of the country school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to know her through her desire for books. she is happy in his love till another woman comes into his life. but happiness and emancipation from her many trials come to rosemary at last. the book has a touch of humor and pathos that will appeal to every reader. old rose and silver. a love story,--sentimental and humorous,--with the plot subordinate to the character delineation of its quaint people and to the exquisite descriptions of picturesque spots and of lovely, old, rare treasures. a weaver of dreams. this story tells of the love-affairs of three young people, with an old-fashioned romance in the background. a tiny dog plays an important role in serving as a foil for the heroine's talking ingeniousness. there is poetry, as well as tenderness and charm, in this tale of a weaver of dreams. a spinner in the sun. an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. there is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance. the master's violin. a love story in a musical atmosphere. a picturesque, old german virtuoso consents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. the youth cannot express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life as can the master. but a girl comes into his life, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york stories of rare charm by gene stratton-porter may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. michael o'halloran, illustrated by frances rogers. michael is a quick-witted little irish newsboy, living in northern indiana. he adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. he also assumes the responsibility of leading the entire rural community upward and onward. laddie. illustrated by herman pfeifer. this is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in indiana. the story is told by little sister, the youngest member of a large family, but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love affairs of older members of the family. chief among them is that of laddie and the princess, an english girl who has come to live in the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a mystery. the harvester. illustrated by w. l. jacobs. "the harvester," is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be notable. but when the girl comes to his "medicine woods," there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality. freckles. illustrated. freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great limberlost swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "the angel" are full of real sentiment. a girl of the limberlost. illustrated. the story of a girl of the michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type of the self-reliant american. her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. and by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. at the foot of the rainbow. illustrations in colors. the scene of this charming love story is laid in central indiana. the story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. the novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. the song of the cardinal. profusely illustrated. a love ideal of the cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy and humor. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york b. m. bower's novels thrilling western romances large mos. handsomely bound in cloth. illustrated chip, of the flying u a breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of chip and della whitman are charmingly and humorously told. chip's jealousy of dr. cecil grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very amusing. a clever, realistic story of the american cow-puncher. the happy family a lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted montana cowboys. foremost amongst them, we find ananias green, known as andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively and exciting adventures. her prairie knight a realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of easterners who exchange a cottage at newport for the rough homeliness of a montana ranch-house. the merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating beatrice, and the effusive sir redmond, become living, breathing personalities. the range dwellers here are every-day, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a romeo and juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull page. the lure of dim trails a vivid portrayal of the experience of an eastern author, among the cowboys of the west, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "bud" thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love. the lonesome trail "weary" davidson leaves the ranch for portland, where conventional city life palls on him. a little branch of sage brush, pungent with the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown eyes soon compel his return. a wholesome love story. the long shadow a vigorous western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a mountain ranch. its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of life fearlessly and like men. it is a fine love story from start to finish. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york the novels of steward edward white may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. the blazed trail. illustrated by thomas fogarty. a wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the michigan pines. the call of the north. ills. with scenes from the play. the story centers about a hudson bay trading post, known as "the conjuror's house" (the original title of the book.) the riverman. ills. by n. c. wyeth and c. f. underwood. the story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the other. rules of the game. illustrated by lejaren a. hiller. the romance of the son of "the riverman." the young college hero goes into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft," and comes into the romance of his life. gold. illustrated by thomas fogarty. the gold fever of ' is pictured with vividness. a part of the story is laid in panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers. the forest. illustrated by thomas fogarty. the book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion into the great woods. much information about camping and outdoor life. a splendid treatise on woodcraft. the mountains. illustrated by fernand lungren. an account of the adventures of a five months' camping trip in the sierras of california. the author has followed a true sequence of events. the cabin. illustrated with photographs by the author. a chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled meadow of the sierras. full of nature and woodcraft, and the shrewd philosophy of "california john." the gray dawn. illustrated by thomas fogarty. this book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for gold in california. a young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the gay life of san francisco, find their ways parted through his downward course, but succeeding events bring the "gray dawn of better things" for both of them. ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york novels of frontier life by william macleod raine handsomely bound in cloth. illustrated. may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset and dunlap's list mavericks. a tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredations are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. one of the sweetest love stories ever told. a texas ranger. how a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. wyoming. in this vivid story of the outdoor west the author has captured the breezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. ridgway of montana. the scene is laid in the mining centers of montana, where politics and mining industries are the religion of the country. the political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story great strength and charm. bucky o'connor. every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash and absorbing fascination of style and plot. crooked trails and straight. a story of arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter feud between cattlemen and sheep-herders. the heroine is a most unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination that is fittingly characteristic of the great free west. brand blotters. a story of the cattle range. this story brings out the turbid life of the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charming love interest running through its pages. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york jack london's novels may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. john barleycorn. illustrated by h. t. dunn. this remarkable book is a record of the author's own amazing experiences. this big, brawny world rover, who has been acquainted with alcohol from boyhood, comes out boldly against john barleycorn. it is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an unforgettable idea and makes a typical jack london book. the valley of the moon. frontispiece by george harper. the story opens in the city slums where billy roberts, teamster and ex-prize fighter, and saxon brown, laundry worker, meet and love and marry. they tramp from one end of california to the other, and in the valley of the moon find the farm paradise that is to be their salvation. burning daylight. four illustrations. the story of an adventurer who went to alaska and laid the foundations of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. bringing his fortunes to the states he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money kings, and recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. he then starts out as a merciless exploiter on his own account. finally he takes to drinking and becomes a picture of degeneration. about this time he falls in love with his stenographer and wins her heart but not her hand and then--but read the story! a son of the sun. illustrated by a. o. fischer and c. w. ashley. david grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came from england to the south seas in search of adventure. tanned like a native and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. the life appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy. the call of the wild. illustrations by philip r. goodwin and charles livingston bull. decorations by charles e. hooper. a book of dog adventures as exciting as any man's exploits could be. here is excitement to stir the blood and here is picturesque color to transport the reader to primitive scenes. the sea wolf. illustrated by w. j. aylward. told by a man whom fate suddenly swings from his fastidious life into the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. a novel of adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every reader will hail with delight. white fang. illustrated by charles livingston bull. "white fang" is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the frozen north; he gradually comes under the spell of man's companionship, and surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. thereafter he is man's loving slave. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the novels of clara louise burnham may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. jewel: a chapter in her life. illustrated by maude and genevieve cowles. a story breathing the doctrine of love and patience as exemplified in the life of a child. jewel will never grow old because of the immortality of her love. jewel's story book. illustrated by albert schmitt. a sequel to "jewel," in which the same characteristics of love and cheerfulness touch and uplift the reader. the inner flame. frontispiece in color. a young mining engineer, whose chief ambition is to become an artist, but who has no friends with whom to realize his hopes, has a way opened to him to try his powers, and, of course, he is successful. the right princess. at a fashionable long island resort, a stately english woman employs a forcible new england housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. many humorous situations result. a delightful love affair runs through it all. the opened shutters. illustrated with scenes from the photo play. a beautiful woman, at discord with life, is brought to realize, by her new friends, that she may open the shutters of her soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by casting aside self love. the right track. frontispiece in color by greene blumenschien. a story of a young girl who marries for money so that she can enjoy things intellectual. neglect of her husband and of her two step children makes an unhappy home till a friend brings a new philosophy of happiness into the household. clever betsy. illustrated by rose o' neill. the "clever betsy" was a boat--named for the unyielding spinster whom the captain hoped to marry. through the two betsy's a delightful group of people are introduced. ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york charming books for girls may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list when patty went to college, by jean webster. illustrated by c. d. williams. one of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written. it is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable and thoroughly human. just patty, by jean webster. illustrated by c. m. relyea. patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. the poor little rich girl, by eleanor gates. with four full page illustrations. this story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. a charming play as dramatized by the author. rebecca of sunnybrook farm, by kate douglas wiggin. one of the most beautiful studies of childhood--rebecca's artistic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of austere new englanders. the stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic record. new chronicles of rebecca, by kate douglas wiggin. illustrated by f. c. yohn. additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that carry rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. rebecca mary, by annis hamilton donnell. illustrated by elizabeth shippen green. this author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. emmy lou: her book and heart, by george madden martin. illustrated by charles louis hinton. emmy lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. she is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. the book is wonderfully human. ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york sewell ford's stories may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. shorty mccabe. illustrated by francis vaux wilson. a very humorous story. the hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. side-stepping with shorty. illustrated by francis vaux wilson. twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. sympathy with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for "side-stepping with shorty." shorty mccabe on the job. illustrated by francis vaux wilson. shorty mccabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to the minute. he aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," and gives joy to all concerned. shorty mccabe's odd numbers, illustrated by francis vaux wilson. these further chronicles of shorty mccabe tell of his studio for physical culture, and of his experiences both on the east side and at swell yachting parties. torchy. illus, by geo. biehm and jas. montgomery flagg. a red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of new york, tells the story of his experiences. trying out torchy. illustrated by f. foster lincoln. torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the previous book. on with torchy. illustrated by f. foster lincoln. torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. torchy, private sec. illustrated by f. foster lincoln. torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for the corrugated iron company. the story is full of humor and infectious american slang. wilt thou torchy. illus. by f. snapp and a. w. brown. torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the florida west coast, in company with a group of friends of the corrugated trust and with his friend's aunt, on which trip torchy wins the aunt's permission to place an engagement ring on vee's finger. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york kathleen norris' stories may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. mother. illustrated by f. c. yohn. this book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy reality of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother's experiences. saturday's child. frontispiece by f. graham cootes. out on the pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a quest for happiness. she passes through three stages--poverty, wealth and service--and works out a creditable salvation. the rich mrs. burgoyne. illustrated by lucius h. hitchcock. the story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be swamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of varied interests, and has her own romance. the story of julia page. frontispiece by allan gilbert. how julia page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life. the heart of rachael. frontispiece by charles e. chambers. rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of fiction's most appealing characters. ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york john fox, jr's. stories of the kentucky mountains may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset and dunlap's list. the trail of the lonesome pine. illustrated by f. c. yohn. the "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. the fame of the pine lured a young engineer through kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the foot-prints of a girl. and the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." the little shepherd of kingdom come illustrated by f. c. yohn. this is a story of kentucky, in a settlement known as "kingdom come." it is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization. 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pinkerton's great detective books. .--mollie maguires and detectives. .--strikers, communists, and detectives. .--criminal reminiscences and detectives. .--the model town and detectives. .--spiritualists and detectives. .--expressman and detective. .--the somnambulist and detectives. .--claude melnotte as a detective. .--mississippi outlaws and detectives. .--gypsies and detectives. .--bucholz and detectives. .--the rail road forger and detectives. these wonderful detective stories by allan pinkerton are having an unprecedented success. their sale is fast approaching one hundred thousand copies. "the interest which the reader feels from the outset is intense and resistless; he is swept along by the narrative, held by it, whether he will or no." all beautifully illustrated, and published uniform with this volume. price $ . each. sold by all booksellers, and sent _free_ by mail, on receipt of price, by g. w. carleton & co., publishers, new york. [illustration: _the arrival at south norwalk._] bucholz and the detectives. by allan pinkerton, author of "the expressman and the detective," "the model town and the detectives," "the spiritualists and the detectives," "the mollie maguires and the detectives," "strikers, communists, tramps and detectives," "the gypsies and the detectives," etc., etc., etc. new york: _g. w. carleton & co., publishers_, madison square. mdccclxxxii. copyright by allan pinkerton. . stereotyped by samuel stodder, electrotyper & stereotyper, ann street, n.y. trow printing and book-binding co. n.y. contents. the crime. chapter i. page the arrival in south norwalk.--the purchase of the farm.--a miser's peculiarities, and the villagers' curiosity chapter ii. william bucholz.--life at roton hill.--a visit to new york city chapter iii. an alarm at the farm house.--the dreadful announcement of william bucholz.--the finding of the murdered man chapter iv. the excitement in the village.--the coroner's investigation.--the secret ambuscade chapter v. the hearing before the coroner.--romantic rumors and vague suspicions.--an unexpected telegram.--bucholz suspected chapter vi. the miser's wealth.--over fifty thousand dollars stolen from the murdered man.--a strange financial transaction.--a verdict, and the arrest of bucholz chapter vii. bucholz in prison.--extravagant habits, and suspicious expenditures.--the german consul interests himself.--bucholz committed chapter viii. my agency is employed.--the work of detection begun the history. chapter ix. dortmund.--railroad enterprise and prospective fortune.--henry schulte's love.--an insult and its resentment.--an oath of revenge chapter x. a curse, and plans of vengeance chapter xi. a moonlight walk.--an unexpected meeting.--the murder of emerence bauer.--the oath fulfilled chapter xii. the search for the missing girl.--the lover's judgment.--henry schulte's grief.--the genial farmer becomes the grasping miser chapter xiii. henry schulte becomes the owner of "alten-hagen."--surprising increase in wealth.--an imagined attack upon his life.--the miser determines to sail for america chapter xiv. the arrival in new york.--frank bruner determines to leave the service of his master.--the meeting of frank bruner and william bucholz chapter xv. a history of william bucholz.--an abused aunt who disappoints his hopes.--a change of fortune.--the soldier becomes a farmer.--the voyage to new york chapter xvi. frank leaves the service of his master.--a bowery concert saloon.--the departure of henry schulte.--william bucholz enters the employ of the old gentleman the detection. chapter xvii. the detective.--his experience, and his practice.--a plan of detection perfected.--the work is begun. chapter xviii. a detective reminiscence.--an operation in bridgeport in .--the adams express robbery.--a half million of dollars stolen.--capture of the thieves.--one of the principals turns state's evidence.--conviction and punishment chapter xix. the jail at bridgeport.--an important arrest.--bucholz finds a friend.--a suspicious character who watches and listens.--bucholz relates his story chapter xx. bucholz passes a sleepless night.--an important discovery.--the finding of the watch of the murdered man.--edward sommers consoles the distressed prisoner chapter xxi. a romantic theory dissipated.--the fair clara becomes communicative.--an interview with the bar keeper of the "crescent hotel" chapter xxii. sommers suggests a doubt of bucholz's innocence.--he employs bucholz's counsel to effect his release.--a visit from the state's attorney.--a difficulty, and an estrangement chapter xxiii. the reconciliation.--bucholz makes an important revelation.--sommers obtains his liberty and leaves the jail chapter xxiv. sommers returns to bridgeport.--an interview with mr. bollman.--sommers allays the suspicions of bucholz's attorney, and engages him as his own counsel chapter xxv. sommers' visit to south norwalk.--he makes the acquaintance of sadie waring.--a successful ruse.--bucholz confides to his friend the hiding place of the murdered man's money chapter xxvi. edward sommers as "the detective."--a visit to the barn, and part of the money recovered.--the detective makes advances to the counsel for the prisoner.--a further confidence of an important nature chapter xxvii. a midnight visit to the barn.--the detective wields a shovel to some advantage.--fifty thousand dollars found in the earth.--a good night's work chapter xxviii. the detective manufactures evidence for the defense.--an anonymous letter.--an important interview.--the detective triumphs over the attorney chapter xxix. bucholz grows skeptical and doubtful.--a fruitless search.--the murderer involuntarily reveals himself the judgment. chapter xxx. the trial.--an unexpected witness.--a convincing story.--an able but fruitless defense.--a verdict of guilty.--the triumph of justice chapter xxxi. another chance for life.--the third trial granted.--a final verdict, and a just punishment preface. the following pages narrate a story of detective experience, which, in many respects, is alike peculiar and interesting, and one which evinces in a marked degree the correctness of one of the cardinal principles of my detective system, viz.: "that crime can and must be detected by the pure and honest heart obtaining a controlling power over that of the criminal." the history of the old man who, although in the possession of unlimited wealth, leaves the shores of his native land to escape the imagined dangers of assassination, and arrives in america, only to meet his death--violent and mysterious--at the hands of a trusted servant, is in all essential points a recital of actual events. while it is true that in describing the early career of this man, the mind may have roamed through the field of romance, yet the important events which are related of him are based entirely upon information authentically derived. the strange operation of circumstances which brought these two men together, although they had journeyed across the seas--each with no knowledge of the existence of the other--to meet and to participate in the sad drama of crime, is one of those realistic evidences of the inscrutable operations of fate, which are of frequent occurrence in daily life. the system of detection which was adopted in this case, and which was pursued to a successful termination, is not a new one in the annals of criminal detection. from the inception of my career as a detective, i have believed that crime is an element as foreign to the human mind as a poisonous substance is to the body, and that by the commission of a crime, the man or the woman so offending, weakens, in a material degree, the mental and moral strength of their characters and dispositions. upon this weakness the intelligent detective must bring to bear the force and influence of a superior, moral and intellectual power, and then successful detection is assured. the criminal, yielding to a natural impulse of human nature, must seek for sympathy. his crime haunts him continually, and the burden of concealment becomes at last too heavy to bear alone. it must find a voice; and whether it be to the empty air in fitful dreamings, or into the ears of a sympathetic friend--he must relieve himself of the terrible secret which is bearing him down. then it is that the watchful detective may seize the criminal in his moment of weakness and by his sympathy, and from the confidence he has engendered, he will force from him the story of his crime. that such a course was necessary to be pursued in this case will be apparent to all. the suspected man had been precipitately arrested, and no opportunity was afforded to watch his movements or to become associated with him while he was at liberty. he was an inmate of a prison when i assumed the task of his detection, and the course pursued was the only one which afforded the slightest promise of success; hence its adoption. severe moralists may question whether this course is a legitimate or defensible one; but as long as crime exists, the necessity for detection is apparent. that a murderous criminal should go unwhipt of justice because the process of his detection is distasteful to the high moral sensibilities of those to whom crime is, perhaps, a stranger, is an argument at once puerile and absurd. the office of the detective is to serve the ends of justice; to purge society of the degrading influences of crime; and to protect the lives, the property and the honor of the community at large; and in this righteous work the end will unquestionably justify the means adopted to secure the desired result. that the means used in this case were justifiable the result has proven. by no other course could the murderer of henry schulte have been successfully punished or the money which he had stolen recovered. the detective, a gentleman of education and refinement, in the interests of justice assumes the garb of the criminal; endures the privations and restraints of imprisonment, and for weeks and months associates with those who have defied the law, and have stained their hands with blood; but in the end he emerges from the trying and fiery ordeal through which he has passed triumphant. the law is vindicated, and the criminal is punished. despite the warnings of his indefatigable counsel, and the fears which they had implanted in his mind, the detective had gained a control over the mind of the guilty man, which impelled him to confess his crime and reveal the hiding place of the money which had led to its commission. that conviction has followed this man should be a subject of congratulation to all law-abiding men and women; and if the fate of this unhappy man, now condemned to long weary years of imprisonment, shall result in deterring others from the commission of crime, surely the operations of the detective have been more powerfully beneficial to society than all the eloquence and nicely-balanced theories--incapable of practical application--of the theoretical moralist, who doubts the efficiency or the propriety of the manner in which this great result has been accomplished. allan pinkerton. bucholz and the detectives. the crime. chapter i. _the arrival in south norwalk._--_the purchase of the farm._--_a miser's peculiarities, and the villagers' curiosity._ about a mile and a half from the city of south norwalk, in the state of connecticut, rises an eminence known as roton hill. the situation is beautiful and romantic in the extreme. far away in the distance, glistening in the bright sunshine of an august morning, roll the green waters of long island sound, bearing upon its broad bosom the numerous vessels that ply between the city of new york and the various towns and cities along the coast. the massive and luxurious steamers and the little white-winged yachts, the tall "three-masters" and the trim and gracefully-sailing schooners, are in full view. at the base of the hill runs the new york and new haven railroad, with its iron horse and long trains of cars, carrying their wealth of freights and armies of passengers to all points in the east, while to the left lies the town of south norwalk--the spires of its churches rising up into the blue sky, like monuments pointing heaven-ward--and whose beautiful and capacious school-houses are filled with the bright eyes and rosy faces of the youths who receive from competent teachers the lessons that will prove so valuable in the time to come. various manufactories add to the wealth of the inhabitants, whose luxurious homes and bright gardens are undoubted indications of prosperity and domestic comfort. the placid river runs through the town, which, with the heavy barges lying at the wharves, the draw-bridges which span its shores, and the smaller crafts, which afford amusement to the youthful fraternity, contribute to the general picturesqueness of the scene. the citizens, descended from good old revolutionary sires, possess the sturdy ambitions, the indomitable will and the undoubted honor of their ancestors, and, as is the case with all progressive american towns, south norwalk boasts of its daily journal, which furnishes the latest intelligence of current events, proffers its opinions upon the important questions of the day, and, like the _sentinel_ of old, stands immovable and unimpeachable between the people and any attempted encroachment upon their rights. on a beautiful, sunny day in august, , there descended from the train that came puffing up to the commodious station at south norwalk, an old man, apparently a german, accompanied by a much younger one, evidently of the same nationality. the old gentleman was not prepossessing in appearance, and seemed to be avoided by his well-dressed fellow-passengers. he was a tall, smooth-faced man about sixty years of age, but his broad shoulders and erect carriage gave evidence of an amount of physical power and strength scarcely in accord with his years. nor was his appearance calculated to impress the observer with favor. he wore a wretched-looking coat, and upon his head a dingy, faded hat of foreign manufacture. his shoes showed frequent patches, and looked very much as though their owner had performed the duties of an amateur cobbler. it was not a matter of wonder, therefore, that the round-faced squire shrugged his burly shoulders as the new-comer entered his office, or that he was about to bestow upon the forlorn-looking old man some trifling token of charity. the old gentleman, however, was not an applicant for alms. he did not deliver any stereotyped plea for assistance, nor did he recite a tale of sorrow and suffering calculated to melt the obdurate heart of the average listener to sympathy, and so with a wave of his hand he declined the proffered coin, and stated the nature of his business. the squire soon discovered his error, for instead of asking for charity, his visitor desired to make a purchase, and in place of being a victim of necessity, he intended to become a land-owner in that vicinity. the young man who accompanied him, and who was dressed in clothing of good quality and style, was discovered to be his servant, and the old gentlemen, in a few words, completed a bargain in which thousands of dollars were involved. the blue eyes of the worthy squire opened in amazement as the supposed beggar, drawing forth a well-filled but much-worn leather wallet, and taking from one of its dingy compartments the amount of the purchase-money agreed upon, afforded the astonished magistrate a glimpse of additional wealth of which the amount paid seemed but a small fraction. the land in question which thus so suddenly and strangely changed hands was a farm of nearly thirty acres, situate upon roton hill, and which had been offered for sale for some time previous, without attracting the attention of an available purchaser. when, therefore, the new-comer completed his arrangements in comparatively such few words, and by the payment of the purchase-money in full, he so completely surprised the people to whom the facts were speedily related by the voluble squire, that the miserably apparelled owner of the "hill," became at once an object of curiosity and interest. a few days after this event, the old gentleman, whose name was ascertained to be john henry schulte, formally entered into possession of his land, and with his servants took up his abode at roton hill. the dwelling-house upon the estate was an unpretentious frame building, with gable roof, whose white walls, with their proverbial green painted window shutters overlooking the road, showed too plainly the absence of that care and attention which is necessary for comfort and essential to preservation. it was occupied at this time by a family who had been tenants under the previous owner, and arrangements were soon satisfactorily made by henry schulte by which they were to continue their residence in the white farm-house upon the "hill." this family consisted of a middle-aged man, whose name was joseph waring, his wife and children--a son and two blooming daughters, and as the family of henry schulte consisted only of himself and his servant, the domestic arrangements were soon completed, and he became domiciled at once upon the estate which he had purchased. the young man who occupied the position as servant, or valet, to the eccentric old gentleman, was a tall, broad-shouldered, fine-looking young fellow, whose clear-cut features and prominent cheek-bones at once pronounced him to be a german. his eyes were large, light blue in color, and seemed capable of flashing with anger or melting with affection; his complexion was clear and bright, but his mouth was large and with an expression of sternness which detracted from the pleasing expression of his face; while his teeth, which were somewhat decayed, added to the unpleasing effect thus produced. he was, however, rather a good-looking fellow, with the erect carriage and jaunty air of the soldier, and it was a matter of surprise to many, that a young man of his appearance should occupy so subservient a position, and under such a singular master. such was william bucholz, the servant of henry schulte. between master and man there appeared to exist a peculiar relation, partaking, at times, more of the nature of a protector than the servant, and in their frequent walks william bucholz would invariably be found striding on in advance, while his aged, but seemingly robust, employer would follow silently and thoughtfully at a distance of a few yards. at home, however, his position was more clearly defined, and william became the humble valet and the nimble waiter. the reserved disposition and retired habits of the master were regarded as very eccentric by his neighbors, and furnished frequent food for comment and speculation among the gossips which usually abound in country villages--and not in this case without cause. his manner of living was miserly and penurious in the extreme, and all ideas of comfort seemed to be utterly disregarded. the furniture of the room which he occupied was of the commonest description, consisting of an iron bedstead, old and broken, which, with its hard bed, scanty covering and inverted camp-stool for a pillow, was painfully suggestive of discomfort and unrest. a large chest, which was used as a receptacle for food; a small deal table, and two or three unpainted chairs, completed the inventory of the contents of the chamber in which the greater portion of his time was passed when at home. the adjoining chamber, which was occupied by bucholz, was scarcely more luxurious, except that some articles for toilet use were added to the scanty and uninviting stock. the supplies for his table were provided by himself, and prepared for his consumption by mrs. waring. in this regard, also, the utmost parsimony was evinced, and the daily fare consisted of the commonest articles of diet that he was able to purchase. salt meats and fish, brown bread and cheese, seemed to be the staple articles of food. at the expiration of every week, accompanied by william, he would journey to south norwalk, to purchase the necessary stores for the following seven days, and he soon became well-known to the shopkeepers for the niggardly manner of his dealings. upon his return his purchases would be carefully locked up in the strong box which he kept in his room, and would be doled out regularly to the servant for cooking in the apartments below, with a stinting exactness painfully amusing to witness. the only luxury which he allowed himself was a certain quantity of rhenish wine, of poor quality and unpleasant flavor, which was partaken of by himself alone, and apparently very much enjoyed. at his meals bucholz was required to perform the duties of waiter; arranging the cloth, carrying the food and dancing in constant attendance--after which he would be permitted to partake of his own repast, either with the family, who frequently invited him, and thus saved expense, or in the chamber of his master. gossip in a country village travels fast and loses nothing in its passage. over many a friendly cup of tea did the matrons and maids discuss the peculiarities of the wealthy and eccentric old man who had so suddenly appeared among them, while the male portion of the community speculated illimitably as to his history and his possessions. he was frequently met walking along the highway with his hands folded behind his back, his head bent down, apparently in deep thought, william in advance, and the master plodding slowly after him, and many efforts were made to cultivate his acquaintance, but always without success. this evidence of an avoidance of conversation and refusal to make acquaintances, instead of repressing a tendency to gossip, only seemed to supply an opportunity for exaggeration, and speculation largely supplied the want of fact in regard to his wealth and his antecedents. entirely undisturbed by the many reports in circulation about him, henry schulte pursued the isolated life he seemed to prefer, paying no heed to the curious eyes that were bent upon him, and entirely oblivious to the vast amount of interest which others evinced in his welfare. he was in the habit of making frequent journeys to the city of new york alone, and on these occasions william would meet him upon his return and the two would then pursue their lonely walk home. one day upon reaching south norwalk, after a visit to the metropolis, he brought with him a large iron box which he immediately consigned to the safe keeping of the bank located in the town, and this fact furnished another and more important subject for conversation. he had hitherto seemed to have no confidence in banking institutions and trust companies, and preferred to be his own banker, carrying large sums of money about his person which he was at no pains to conceal, and so, as he continued this practice, and as his possessions were seemingly increased by the portentous-looking iron chest, the speculations as to his wealth became unbounded. many of the old gossips had no hesitancy in declaring that he was none other than a foreign count or some other scion of nobility, who had, no doubt, left his native land on account of some political persecution, or that he had been expatriated by his government for some offense which had gained for the old man that dreadful punishment--royal disfavor. oblivious of all this, however, the innocent occasion of their wonderment and speculation pursued his lonely way unheeding and undisturbed. chapter ii. _william bucholz._--_life at roton hill._--_a visit to new york city._ william bucholz, the servant of the old gentleman, did not possess the morose disposition nor the desire for isolation evinced by his master, for, instead of shunning the society of those with whom he came in contact, he made many acquaintances during his leisure hours among the people of the town and village, and with whom he soon became on terms of perfect intimacy. to him, therefore, perhaps as much as to any other agency, was due in a great measure the fabulous stories of the old man's wealth. being of a communicative disposition, and gifted with a seemingly frank and open manner, he found no difficulty in extending his circle of acquaintances, particularly among those of a curious turn of mind. in response to their eager questioning, he would relate such wonderful stories in reference to his master, of the large amount of money which he daily carried about his person, and of reputed wealth in germany, that it was believed by some that a modern croesus had settled in their midst, and while, in common with the rest of humanity, they paid homage to his gold, they could not repress a feeling of contempt for the miserly actions and parsimonious dealings of its possessor. with the young ladies also william seemed to be a favorite, and his manner of expressing himself in such english words as he had acquired, afforded them much interest and no little amusement. above all the rest, however, the two daughters of mrs. waring possessed the greatest attractions for him, and the major part of his time, when not engaged in attending upon his employer, was spent in their company. of the eldest daughter he appeared to be a devoted admirer, and this fact was far from being disagreeable to the young lady herself, who smiled her sweetest smiles upon the sturdy young german who sued for her favors. sadie waring was a wild, frolicsome young lady of about twenty years of age, with an impulsive disposition, and an inclination for mischief which was irrepressible. several experiences were related of her, which, while not being of a nature to deserve the censure of her associates, frequently brought upon her the reproof of her parents, who looked with disfavor upon the exuberance of a disposition that acknowledged no control. bucholz and sadie became warm friends, and during the pleasant days of the early autumn, they indulged in frequent and extended rambles; he became her constant chaperone to the various traveling shows which visited the town, and to the merry-makings in the vicinity. through her influence also, he engaged the services of a tutor, and commenced the study of the english language, in which, with her assistance, he soon began to make rapid progress. in this quiet, uneventful way, the time passed on, and nothing occurred to disturb the usual serenity of their existence. no attempt was made by henry schulte to cultivate the land which he had purchased, and, except a small patch of ground which was devoted to the raising of a few late vegetables, the grass and weeds vied with each other for supremacy in the broad acres which surrounded the house. daily during the pleasant weather the old gentleman would wend his way to the river, and indulge in the luxury of a bath, which seemed to be the only recreation that he permitted himself to take; and in the evening, during which he invariably remained in the house, he would spend the few hours before retiring in playing upon the violin, an instrument of which he was very fond, and upon which he played with no ordinary skill. the autumn passed away, and winter, cold, bleak, and cheerless, settled over the land. the bright and many-colored leaves that had flashed their myriad beauties in the full glare of the sunlight, had fallen from the trees, leaving their trunks, gnarled and bare, to the mercy of the sweeping winds. the streams were frozen, and the merry-makers skimmed lightly and gracefully over the glassy surface of pond and lake. christmas, that season of festivity, when the hearts of the children are gladdened by the visit of that fabulous gift-maker, and when music and joy rule the hour in the homes of the rich--but when also, pinched faces and hungry eyes are seen in the houses of the poor--had come and gone. to the farm-house on the "hill," there had come no change during this festive season, and the day was passed in the ordinary dull and uneventful manner. william bucholz and sadie waring had perhaps derived more enjoyment from the day than any of the others, and in the afternoon had joined a party of skaters on the lake in the vicinity, but beyond this, no incident occurred to recall very forcibly the joyous time that was passing. on the second day after christmas, henry schulte informed william of his intention to go to new york upon a matter of business, and after a scanty breakfast, accompanied by his valet, he wended his way to the station. they had become accustomed to ignore the main road in their journeys to the town, and taking a path that ran from the rear of the house, they would walk over the fields, now hard and frozen, and passing through a little strip of woods they would reach the track of the railroad, and following this they would reach the station, thereby materially lessening the distance that intervened, and shortening the time that would be necessary to reach their destination. placing the old gentleman safely upon the train, and with instructions to meet him upon his arrival home in the evening, bucholz retraced his steps and prepared to enjoy the leisure accorded to him by the absence of the master. in the afternoon his tutor came, and he spent an hour engaged in the study of the english language, and in writing. shortly after the departure of the teacher mrs. waring requested him to accompany her to a town a few miles distant, whither she was going to transact some business, and he cheerfully consenting, they went off together. returning in the gathering twilight bucholz was in excellent spirits and in great good humor, and as they neared their dwelling they discovered sadie slightly in advance of them, with her skates under her arm, returning from the lake, where she had been spending the afternoon in skating. william, with a view of having a laugh at the expense of the young lady, when within a short distance of her, drew a revolver which he carried, and discharged it in the direction in which she was walking. the girl uttered a frightened scream, but william's mocking laughter reassured her, and after a mutual laugh at her sudden fright the three proceeded merrily to the house. it was now time for william to go to the station for his master, who was to return that evening, and he started off to walk to the train, reaching there in good time, and in advance of its arrival. soon the bright light of the locomotive was seen coming around a curve in the road, the shrill whistle resounded through the wintry air, and in a few minutes the train came rumbling up to the station, when instantly all was bustle and confusion. train hands were running hither and thither, porters were loudly calling the names of the hotels to which they were attached, the inevitable jehu was there with his nasal ejaculation of "kerige!" while trunks were unloaded and passengers were disembarking. bright eyes were among the eager crowd as the friendly salutations were exchanged, and merry voices were heard in greeting to returning friends. rich and poor jostled each other in the hurry of the moment, and the waiting servant soon discovered among the passengers the form of the man he was waiting for. the old gentleman was burdened with some purchases of provisions which he had made, and in an old satchel which he carried the necks of several bottles of wine were protruding. assisting him to alight, bucholz took the satchel, and they waited until the train started from the depot and left the trackway clear. the old man looked fatigued and worn, and directed bucholz to accompany him to a saloon opposite, which they entered, and walking up to the bar, he requested a couple of bottles of beer for himself and servant. this evidence of unwonted generosity created considerable wonderment among those who were seated around, but the old gentleman paid no attention to their whispered comments, and, after liquidating his indebtedness, the two took up their packages and proceeded up the track upon their journey home. what transpired upon that homeward journey was destined to remain for a long time an inscrutable mystery, but after leaving that little inn no man among the curious villagers ever looked upon that old man's face in life again. the two forms faded away in the distance, and the weary wind sighed through the leafless trees; the bright glare of the lights of the station gleamed behind them, but the shadows of the melancholy hills seemed to envelop them in their dark embrace--and to one of them, at least, it was the embrace of death. chapter iii. _an alarm at the farm-house._--_the dreadful announcement of william bucholz._--_the finding of the murdered man._ the evening shadows gathered over roton hill, and darkness settled over the scene. the wind rustled mournfully through the leafless branches of the trees, as though with a soft, sad sigh, while overhead the stars glittered coldly in their far-off setting of blue. within the farm-house the fire glowed brightly and cheerily; the lamps were lighted; the cloth had been laid for the frugal evening meal, and the kettle hummed musically upon the hob. the family of the warings, with the exception of the father, whose business was in a distant city, were gathered together. samuel waring, the son, had returned from his labor, and with the two girls were seated around the hearth awaiting the return of the old gentleman and william, while mrs. waring busied herself in the preparations for tea. "now, if mr. schulte would come," said mrs. waring, "we would ask him to take tea with us this evening; the poor man will be cold and hungry." "no use in asking him, mother," replied samuel, "he wouldn't accept." "it is pretty nearly time they were here," said sadie, with a longing look toward the inviting table. "well, if they do not come soon we will not wait for them," said mrs. waring. as she spoke a shrill, startled cry rose upon the air; the voice of a man, and evidently in distress. breathless they stopped to listen--the two girls clinging to each other with blanched faces and staring eyes. "sammy! sammy!" again sounded that frightened call. samuel waring started to his feet and moved rapidly toward the door. "it sounds like william!" he cried, "something must have happened." he had reached the door and his hand was upon the latch, when it was violently thrown open and bucholz rushed in and fell fainting upon the floor. [illustration: "_bucholz rushed in and fell fainting to the floor._"] he was instantly surrounded by the astonished family, and upon examination it was discovered that his face was bleeding, while the flesh was lacerated as though he had been struck with some sharp instrument. he had carried in his hand the old satchel which contained the wine purchased by mr. schulte, and which had been consigned to his care on leaving the depot, and as he fell unconscious the satchel dropped from his nerveless grasp upon the floor. recovering quickly, he stared wildly around. "what has happened, william, what is the matter?" inquired samuel. "oh, mr. schulte, he is killed, he is killed!" "where is he now?" "down in the woods by the railroad," cried bucholz. "we must go and find him." meanwhile the female members of the family had stood wonder-stricken at the sudden appearance of bucholz, and the fearful information which he conveyed. "how did it happen?" inquired samuel waring. "oh, sammy," exclaimed bucholz, "i don't know. when we left the station, mr. schulte gave me the satchel to carry, and we walked along the track. i was walking ahead. then we came through the woods, and just as i was about to climb over the stone wall by the field, i heard mr. schulte call out, 'bucholz!' 'bucholz!' it was dark, i could not see anything, and just as i turned around to go to mr. schulte, a man sprang at me and hit me in the face. i jumped away from him and then i saw another one on the other side of me. then i ran home, and now i know that mr. schulte is killed. oh sammy! sammy! we must go and find him." bucholz told his story brokenly and seemed to be in great distress. "if i had my pistol i would not run," he continued, as if in reply to a look upon samuel waring's face, "but i left it at home." sadie went up to him, and, laying her hand upon his arm, inquired anxiously if he was much hurt. "no, my dear, i think not, but i was struck pretty hard," he replied. "but come," he continued, "while we are talking, mr. schulte is lying out there in the woods. we must go after him." bucholz went to the place where he usually kept his revolver, and placing it in his pocket, he announced his readiness to go in search of his master. "wait till i get my gun," said samuel waring, going up-stairs, and soon returning with the desired article. just as he returned, another attack of faintness overcame william, and again he fell to the floor, dropping the revolver from his pocket as he did so. sammy assisted him to arise, and after he had sufficiently recovered, the two men, accompanied by the mother and two daughters, started toward the house of the next neighbor, where, arousing old farmer allen, and leaving the ladies in his care, they proceeded in the direction where the attack was said to have been made. on their way they aroused two other neighbors, who, lighting lanterns, joined the party in their search for the body of mr. schulte. following the beaten path through the fields, and climbing over the stone wall where bucholz was reported to have been attacked, they struck the narrow path that led through the woods. a short distance beyond this the flickering rays of the lantern, as they penetrated into the darkness beyond them, fell upon the prostrate form of a man. the body lay upon its back; the clothing had been forcibly torn open, and the coat and vest were thrown back as though they had been hastily searched and hurriedly abandoned. the man was dead. those glassy eyes, with their look of horror, which were reflected in the rays of the glimmering light; that pallid, rigid face, with blood drops upon the sunken cheeks, told them too plainly that the life of that old man had departed, and that they stood in the awful presence of death. murdered! a terrible word, even when used in the recital of an event that happened long ago. an awful word to be uttered by the cheerful fireside as we read of the ordinary circumstances of every-day life. but what horrible intensity is given to the enunciation of its syllables when it is forced from the trembling lips of stalwart men, as they stand like weird spirits in the darkness of the night, and with staring eyes, behold the bleeding victim of a man's foul deed. it seemed to thrill the ears and freeze the blood of the listeners, as old farmer allen, kneeling down by that lifeless form, pronounced the direful word. it seemed to penetrate the air confusedly--not as a word, but as a sound of fear and dread. the wind seemed to take up the burden of the sad refrain, and whispered it shudderingly to the tall trees that shook their trembling branches beneath its blast. i wonder did it penetrate into the crime-stained heart of him who had laid this harmless old man low? was it even now ringing in his ears? ah, strive as he may--earth and sky and air will repeat in chorus that dreadful sound, which is but the echo of his own accusing conscience, and he will never cease to hear it until, worn and weary, the plotting brain shall cease its functions, and the murderous heart shall be cold and pulseless in a dishonored grave. chapter iv. _the excitement in the village._--_the coroner's investigation._--_the secret ambuscade._ samuel waring knelt down beside the form of the old man, and laid his trembling hand upon the heart that had ceased to throb forever. "he is dead!" he uttered, in a low, subdued voice, as though he too was impressed with the solemnity of the scene. bucholz uttered a half articulate moan, and grasped more firmly in his nerveless hand the pistol which he carried. one of the neighbors who had accompanied the party was about to search the pockets of the murdered man, when farmer allen, raising his hand, cried: "stop! this is work for the law. a man has been murdered, and the officers of the law must be informed of it. who will go?" samuel waring and bucholz at once volunteered their services and started towards the village to notify the coroner, and those whose duty it was to take charge of such cases. farmer allen gazed at the rigid form of the old man lying there before him, whose life had been such an enigma to his neighbors, then at the retreating forms of the two men who were slowly wending their way to the village, and a strange, uncertain light came into his eyes as he thus looked. he said nothing, however, of the thoughts that occupied his mind, and after bidding the others watch beside the body, he returned to his own home and informed the frightened females of what had been discovered. the news spread with wonderful rapidity, and soon the dreadful tidings were the theme of universal conversation. a man rushed into the saloon in which the old man and bucholz had drank their beer, and cried out: "the old man that was in here to-night has been murdered!" instantly everybody were upon their feet. the old gentleman was generally known, and although no one was intimately acquainted with him, all seemed to evince an interest in the cause of his death. many rumors were at once put in circulation, and many wild and extravagant stories were soon floating through the crowds that gathered at the corners of the streets. samuel waring and bucholz had gone directly to the office of the coroner, and informing him of the sad affair, had proceeded to the drug-store in the village, with the view of having the wounds upon his face dressed. they were found to be of a very slight character, and a few pieces of court-plaster dexterously applied were all that seemed to be required. by this time the coroner had succeeded in impanneling a jury to accompany him to the scene of the murder, and they proceeded in a body toward the place. the lights from the lanterns, held by those who watched beside the body, directed them to the spot, and they soon arrived at the scene of the tragedy. the coroner immediately took charge of the body, and the physician who accompanied him made an examination into the cause of his death. upon turning the body over, two ugly gashes were found in the back of his head, one of them cutting completely through the hat which covered it and cutting off a piece of the skull, and the other penetrating several inches into the brain, forcing the fractured bones of the skull inward. it seemed evident that the first blow had been struck some distance from the place where the body had fallen, and that the stunned man had staggered nearly thirty feet before he fell. the second blow, which was immediately behind the left ear, had been dealt with the blunt end of an axe, and while he was prostrate upon the ground. death must have instantly followed this second crushing blow, and he had died without a struggle. silently and stealthily the assassins must have come upon him, and perhaps in the midst of some pleasant dream of a boyhood home; some sweet whisper of a love of the long ago, his life had been beaten out by the murderous hand of one who had been lying in wait for his unsuspecting victim. from the nature of the wounds the physician at once declared that they were produced by an axe. the cut in the back of the head, and from which the blood had profusely flowed, was of the exact shape of the blade of an instrument of that nature--and the other must have been produced by the back of the same weapon. the last blow must have been a crushing one, for the wound produced was several inches deep. an examination of the body revealed the fact that the clothing had been forcibly torn open, as several buttons had been pulled from the vest which he wore, in the frantic effort to secure the wealth which he was supposed to have carried upon his person. in the inner pocket of his coat, which had evidently been overlooked by the murderers, was discovered a worn, yellow envelope, which, on being opened, was found to contain twenty thousand dollars in german mark bills, and about nine hundred and forty dollars in united states government notes. his watch had been wrenched from the guard around his neck, and had been carried off, while by his side lay an empty money purse, and some old letters and newspapers. tenderly and reverently they lifted the corpse from the ground after this examination had been made, william bucholz assisting, and the mournful procession bore the body to the home which he had left in the morning in health and spirits, and with no premonitory warning of the fearful fate that was to overtake him upon his return. the lights flashed through the darkness, and the dark forms, outlined in their glimmering beams, seemed like beings of an unreal world; the bearers of the body, with their unconscious burden, appeared like a mournful procession of medieval times, when in the solemn hours of the night the bodies of the dead were borne away to their final resting-place. they entered the house and laid their burden down. the lids were now closed over those wild, staring eyes, and the clothing had been decently arranged about the rigid form. the harsh lines that had marked his face in life, seemed to have been smoothed away by some unseen hand, and a smile of peace, such as he might have worn when a child, rested upon those closed and pallid lips, clothing the features with an expression of sweetness that none who saw him then ever remembered to have seen before. after depositing the body in the house, several of the parties proceeded to search the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the murder. near where the body had fallen a package was found, containing some meat which the frugal old man had evidently purchased while in the city. another parcel, which contained a pair of what are commonly known as overalls, apparently new and unworn, was also discovered. an old pistol of the "pepper-box" pattern, and a rusty revolver, the handle of which was smeared with blood, was found near where the body was lying. no instrument by which the murder could have been committed was discovered, and no clue that would lead to the identification of the murderers was unearthed. they were about to abandon their labor for the night, when an important discovery was made, which tended to show conclusively that the murder had been premeditated, and that the crime had been in preparation before the hour of its execution. by the side of the narrow path which led through the woods, stood a small cedar tree upon the summit of a slight rise in the ground. its spare, straggling branches were found to have been interwoven with branches of another tree, so as to form a complete screen from the approach from the railroad, in the direction which henry schulte must inevitably come on his way from the depot. here, undoubtedly, the murderer had been concealed, and as the old man passed by, unconscious of the danger that threatened him, he had glided stealthily after him and struck the murderous blow. these, and these only, were the facts discovered, and the question as to whose hand had committed the foul deed remained a seemingly fathomless mystery. midnight tolled its solemn hour, and as the tones of the bell that rang out its numbers died away upon the air, the weary party wended their way homeward, leaving the dead and the living in the little farm-house upon the "hill," memorable ever after for the dark deed of this dreary night. chapter v. _the hearing before the coroner._--_romantic rumors and vague suspicions._--_an unexpected telegram._--_bucholz suspected._ the next day the sun shone gloriously over a beautiful winter's day, and as its bright rays lighted up the ice-laden trees in the little wood, causing their branches to shimmer with the brilliant hues of a rainbow's magnificence, no one would have imagined that in the gloom of the night before, a human cry for help had gone up through the quiet air or that a human life had been beaten out under their glittering branches. the night had been drearily spent in the home which henry schulte had occupied, and the body of the murdered man had been guarded by officers of the law, designated by the coroner who designed holding the customary inquest upon the morrow. to the inmates of the house the hours had stretched their weary lengths along, and sleep came tardily to bring relief to their overwrought minds. bucholz, nervous and uneasy, had, without undressing, thrown himself upon the bed with sammy waring, and during his broken slumbers had frequently started nervously and uttered moaning exclamations of pain or fear, and in the morning arose feverish and unrefreshed. the two girls, who had wept profusely during the night, and before whose minds there flitted unpleasant anticipations of a public examination, in which they would no doubt play prominent parts, and from which they involuntarily shrank, made their appearance at the table heavy-eyed and sorrowful. as the morning advanced, hundreds of the villagers, prompted by idle curiosity and that inherent love of excitement which characterizes all communities, visited the scene of the murder, and as they gazed vacantly around, or pointed out the place where the body had been found, many and varied opinions were expressed as to the manner in which the deed was committed, and of the individuals who were concerned in the perpetration of the crime. a rumor, vague at first, but assuming systematic proportions as the various points of information were elucidated, passed through the crowd, and was eagerly accepted as the solution of the seeming mystery. it appeared that several loungers around the depot at stamford, a town about eight miles distant, on the night previous had observed two conspicuous-looking foreigners, who had reached the depot at about ten o'clock. they seemed to be exhausted and out of breath, as though they had been running a long distance, and in broken english, scarcely intelligible, had inquired (in an apparently excited manner), when the next train was to leave for new york. there were several cabmen and hangers-on who usually make a railroad depot their headquarters about, and by them the two men were informed that there were no more trains running to new york that night. this information seemed to occasion them considerable annoyance and disappointment; they walked up and down the platform talking and gesticulating excitedly, and separating ever and anon, when they imagined themselves noticed by those who happened to be at the station. soon after this an eastern-bound train reached the depot, and these same individuals, instead of going to new york, took passage on this train. they did not go into the car together, and after entering took seats quite apart from each other. the conductor, who had mentioned these circumstances, and who distinctly remembered the parties, as they had especially attracted his attention by their strange behavior, recollected that they did not present any tickets, but paid their fares in money. he also remembered that they were odd-looking and acted in an awkward manner. they both left the train at new haven, and from thence all trace of them was lost for the present. upon this slight foundation, a wonderful edifice of speculation was built by the credulous and imaginative people of south norwalk. the romance of their dispositions was stirred to its very depths, and their enthusiastic minds drew a vivid picture, in which the manner and cause of henry schulte's death was successfully explained and duly accounted for. these men were without a doubt the emissaries of some person or persons in germany, who were interested in the old gentleman and would be benefited by his death. as this story coincided so fully with the mysterious appearance of the old man at south norwalk; his recluse habits and avoidance of society, it soon gained many believers, who were thoroughly convinced of the correctness of the theory thus advanced. meanwhile the coroner had made the necessary arrangements for the holding of the inquest as required by the law, and his office was soon crowded to overflowing by the eager citizens of the village, who pushed and jostled each other in their attempts to effect an entrance into the room. the first and most important witness was william bucholz, the servant of the old gentleman, and who had accompanied him on that fatal walk home. he told his story in a plain, straightforward manner, and without any show of hesitation or embarrassment. he described his meeting mr. schulte at the depot; their entering the saloon, and their journey homeward. "after we left the saloon," said bucholz, who was allowed to tell his story without interruption and without questioning, "mr. schulte said to me, 'now, william, we will go home;' we walked up the railroad track and when we reached the stone wall that is built along by the road, mr. schulte told me to take the satchel, and as the path was narrow, he directed me to walk in advance of him. he was silent, and, i thought, looked very tired. i had not walked very far into the woods, when i heard him call from behind me, as though he was hurt or frightened, 'bucholz! bucholz!' i heard no blow struck, nor any sound of footsteps. i was startled with the suddenness of the cry, and as i was about to lay down the satchel and go to him, i saw a man on my right hand about six paces from me; at the same time i heard a noise on my left, and as i turned in that direction i received a blow upon my face. this frightened me so that i turned, and leaping over the wall, i ran as fast as i could towards the house. one of the men, who was tall and stoutly built, chased me till i got within a short distance of the barn. he then stopped, and calling out, 'greenhorn, i catch you another time,' he went back in the direction of the woods. he spoke in english, but from his accent i should think he was a frenchman. i did not stop running until i reached the house, and calling for help to sammy waring, i opened the door and fell down. i was exhausted, and the blow i received had hurt me very much." he then proceeded to detail the incidents which followed, all of which the reader has already been made aware of. he told his story in german, and, through one of the citizens present, who acted as interpreter, it was translated into english. while he was speaking, a boy hurriedly entered the room, and pushing his way toward the coroner, who was conducting the examination, he handed to him a sealed envelope. upon reading the meager, but startling, contents of the telegram, for such it proved to be, mr. craw gazed at bucholz with an expression of pained surprise, in which sympathy and doubtfulness seemed to contend for mastery. the telegram was from the state's attorney, mr. olmstead, who, while on the train, going from stamford to bridgeport, had perused the account of the murder of the night before, in the daily journal. being a man of clear understanding, of quick impulse, and indomitable will, for him to think was to act. learning that the investigation was to be held that morning, immediately upon his arrival at bridgeport he entered the telegraph office, and sent the following dispatch: "_arrest the servant._" it was this message which was received by the coroner, while bucholz, all unconscious of the danger which threatened him, was relating the circumstances that had occurred the night before. mr. craw communicated to no one the contents of the message he had received, and the investigation was continued as though nothing had occurred to disturb the regularity of the proceedings thus begun. mr. olmstead, however, determined to allow nothing to interfere with the proper carrying out of the theory which his mind had formed, and taking the next train, he returned to south norwalk, arriving there before bucholz had finished his statement. when he entered the room he found that bucholz had not been arrested as yet, and so, instead of having this done, he resolved to place an officer in charge of him, thus preventing any attempt to escape, should such be made, and depriving him practically of the services of legal counsel. mr. olmstead conducted the proceedings before the coroner, and his questioning of the various witnesses soon developed the theory he had formed, and those who were present listened with surprise as the assumption of bucholz's guilty participation in the murder of his master was gradually unfolded. yet under the searching examination that followed, bucholz never flinched; he seemed oblivious of the fact that he was suspected, and told his story in an emotionless manner, and with an innocent expression of countenance that was convincing to most of those who listened to his recital. no person ever appeared more innocent under such trying circumstances than did this man, and but for a slight flush that now and then appeared upon his face, one would have been at a loss to discover any evidence of feeling upon his part, which would show that he was alive to the position which he then occupied. his bearing at the investigation made him many friends who were very outspoken in their defense of bucholz, and their belief in his entire innocence. mr. olmstead, however, was resolute, and bucholz returned to the house upon the conclusion of the testimony for that day, in charge of an officer of the law, who was instructed to treat him kindly, but under no circumstances to allow him out of his sight, and the further investigation was deferred until the following week. chapter vi. _the miser's wealth._--_over fifty thousand dollars stolen from the murdered man._--_a strange financial transaction._--_a verdict, and the arrest of bucholz._ meantime there existed a necessity for some action in regard to the effects of which henry schulte was possessed at the time of his death, and two reputable gentlemen of south norwalk were duly authorized to act as administrators of his estate, and to perform such necessary duties as were required in the matter. from an examination of his papers it was discovered that his only living relatives consisted of a brother and his family, who resided near dortmund, westphalia, in prussia, and that they too were apparently wealthy and extensive land-owners in the vicinity of that place. to this brother the information was immediately telegraphed of the old gentleman's death, and the inquiry was made as to the disposition of the body. to this inquiry the following reply was received: "to the mayor of south norwalk: "i beg of you to see that the body of my brother is properly forwarded to barop, near dortmund, so as to insure its safe arrival. i further request that you inform me at once whether his effects have been secured, and how much has been found of the large amount of specie which he took with him from here? have they found the murderer of my brother? signed, "fredrick w. schulte." had those who knew the previous history of henry schulte expected to have received any expression of sorrow for the death of the old gentleman, they were doomed to be disappointed, and the telegram itself fully dissipated any such idea. the man was dead, and the heirs were claiming their inheritance--that was all. shortly after this a representative of the german consul at new york arrived, and, presenting his authority, at once proceeded to take charge of the remains, and to make the arrangements necessary towards having them sent to europe. the iron box which had proved such an object of interest to the residents of south norwalk, was opened at the bank, and to the surprise of many, was found to contain valuable securities and investments which represented nearly a quarter of a million of dollars. it was at first supposed that the murderers had been foiled in their attempt to rob as well as to murder, or that they had been frightened off before they had accomplished their purpose of plunder. the finding of twenty thousand dollars upon his person seemed to be convincing proof that no robbery had been committed, and the friends of bucholz, who were numerous, pointed to this fact as significantly establishing his innocence. indeed, many people wondered at the action of the state's attorney, and doubtfully shook their heads as they thought of the meager evidence that existed to connect bucholz with the crime. a further examination of the accounts of the murdered man, however, disclosed the startling fact that a sum of money aggregating to over fifty thousand dollars had disappeared, and, as he was supposed to have carried this amount upon his person, it must have been taken from him on the night of the murder. here, then, was food for speculation. the man had been killed, and robbery had undoubtedly been the incentive. who could have committed the deed and so successfully have escaped suspicion and detection? could it have been william bucholz? of a certainty the opportunity had been afforded him, and he could have struck the old man down with no one near to tell the story. but if, in the silence of that lonely evening, his hand had dealt the fatal blow, where was the instrument with which the deed was committed? if he had rifled the dead man's pockets and had taken from him his greedily hoarded wealth, where was it now secured, or what disposition had he made of it? from the time that he had fallen fainting upon the floor of the farm-house kitchen, until the present, he was not known to have been alone. tearful in his grief for the death of his master, his voice had been the first that suggested the necessity for going in search of him. he was seen to go to the place where he usually kept his pistol, and prepare himself for defense in accompanying samuel waring. he had stood sorrowfully beside that prostrate form as the hand of the neighbor had been laid upon the stilled and silent heart, and life had been pronounced extinct. he had journeyed with sammy waring to the village to give the alarm and to notify the coroner, and on his return his arms had assisted in carrying the unconscious burden to the house. could a murderer, fresh from his bloody work, have done this? from that evening officers had been in charge of the premises. bucholz, nervous, and physically worn out, had retired with sammy waring, and had not left the house during the evening. if he had committed this deed he must have the money, but the house was thoroughly searched, and no trace of this money was discovered. his bearing upon the inquest had been such that scarcely any one present was disposed to believe in his guilty participation in the foul crime, or that he had any knowledge of the circumstances, save such as he had previously related. where then was this large sum of money which had so mysteriously disappeared? a stack of straw that stood beside the barn--the barn had been thoroughly searched before--was purchased by an enterprising and ambitious officer in charge of bucholz, and although he did not own a horse, he had the stack removed, the ground surrounding it diligently searched, in the vague hope that something would be discovered hidden beneath it. but thus far, speculation, search and inquiry had availed nothing, and as the crowd gathered at the station, and the sealed casket that contained the body of the murdered man was placed upon the train to begin its journey to the far distant home which he had left but a short time before, many thought that with its departure there had also disappeared all possibility of discovering his assassin, and penetrating into the deep mystery which surrounded his death. an important discovery was, however, made at this time, which changed the current of affairs, and seemed for a time to react against the innocence of the man against whom suspicion attached. in the village there resided an individual named paul herscher, who was the proprietor of the saloon in which the deceased and his servant had taken their drink of beer, after leaving the train upon the night of the murder. during the residence of mr. schulte at roton hill, bucholz and paul herscher had become intimate acquaintances, and bucholz had stated upon his examination that during the month of the previous october he had loaned to paul the sum of two hundred dollars. that the servant of so parsimonious a man should have been possessed of such a sum of money seemed very doubtful, and inquiries were started with the view of ascertaining the facts of the case. the investigation was still going on, and paul was called as a witness. his story went far towards disturbing the implicit confidence in bucholz's innocence, and caused a reaction of feeling in the minds of many, which, while it did not confirm them in a belief in his guilt, at least made them doubtful of his entire ignorance of the crime. paul herscher stated that on the morning after the murder bucholz had entered his saloon, and calling him into an adjoining room, had placed in his hands a roll of bills, saying at the same time, in german: "here is two hundred dollars of my money. i want you to keep it until i make my report to the coroner. _if anybody asks you about it, tell them i gave it to you some time ago._" here was an attempt to deceive somebody, and, although paul had retained this money for several days, without mentioning the fact of its existence, his revelation had its effect. upon comparing the notes, all of which were marked with a peculiar arrangement of numbers, and by the hand of the deceased, they were found to correspond with a list found among the papers of henry schulte, and then in the custody of his administrators. to this charge, however, bucholz gave a free, full and, so far as outward demeanor was concerned, truthful explanation, which, while it failed to fully satisfy the minds of those who heard it, served to make them less confident of his duplicity or his guilt. he acknowledged the statements made by paul herscher to be true, but stated in explanation that he received the money from mr. schulte on their way home on the evening of the murder, in payment of a debt due him, and that, fearing he might be suspected, he had gone to paul, and handing him the money, had requested him, if inquiries were instituted, to confirm the statement which he had then made. that this statement seemed of a doubtful character was recognized by every one, and that a full examination into the truthfulness of his assertions was required was admitted by all; and, after other testimony, not, however, of a character implicating him in the murder, was heard, the state's attorney pressed for such a verdict as would result in holding bucholz over for a trial. after a long deliberation, in which every portion of the evidence was considered by the jury, which had listened intently to its relation, they returned the following verdict: "that john henry schulte came to his death from wounds inflicted with some unknown instrument, in the hands of some person or persons known to william bucholz, and we do find that said william bucholz has a guilty knowledge of said crime." this announcement occasioned great surprise among the people assembled; but to none, perhaps, was the result more unexpected than to william bucholz himself. he stood in a dazed, uncertain manner for a few moments, and then, uttering a smothered groan, sank heavily in his seat. the officers of the law advanced and laid their hands upon his shoulder; and, scarcely knowing what he did, and without uttering a word, he arose and followed them from the building. he was placed upon the train to bridgeport, and before nightfall the iron doors of a prison closed upon him, and he found himself a prisoner to be placed on trial for his life." [illustration: "_the officers of the law advanced and laid their hands upon his shoulders_"--] chapter vii. _bucholz in prison._--_extravagant habits and suspicious expenditures._--_the german consul interests himself._--_bucholz committed._ sorrowful looks followed the young man as he was conducted away, and frequent words of sympathy and hope were expressed as he passed through the throng on his way to the depot, but he heeded them not. a dull, heavy pain was gnawing at his heart, and a stupor seemed to have settled over his senses. the figures around him appeared like the moving specters in a horrible dream, while a black cloud of despair seemed to envelop him. he followed the officers meekly, and obeyed their orders in a mechanical manner, that showed too plainly that his mind was wandering from the scenes about him. he looked helplessly around, and did not appear to realize the situation in which he was so suddenly and unexpectedly placed. he experienced the pangs of hunger, and felt as though food was necessary to stop the dreadful pain which had taken possession of him, but he made no sign, and from the jury-room to the prison he uttered not a word. it was only when he found himself in the presence of the officials of the prison, whose gloomy walls now surrounded him, that he recovered his equanimity, and when he was ordered to surrender the contents of his clothing, or submit to a search, his eyes flashed with indignation, and the tears that welled up into them dropped upon his pallid cheek. with a herculean effort, however, he recovered his strong calmness, and drawing up his erect figure he submitted in silence to the necessary preparations for his being conducted to a cell. but as the door of the cell clanged to, shutting him in, and the noise reverberated through the dimly-lighted corridors, he clutched wildly at the bars, and with a paroxysm of frenzy seemed as though he would rend them from their fastenings; then, realizing how fruitless were his efforts, he sank upon the narrow bed in a state of stupefying despair. the pangs of hunger were forgotten now, he could not have partaken of the choicest viands that could have been placed before him, and alone and friendless he fed upon the bitterness of his own thoughts. in vain did he attempt to close his eyes to the dreadful surroundings, and to clear his confused mind of the horrible visions that appalled him. the dark cloud gathered about him, and he could discover no avenue of escape. the night was long and terrible, and the throbbing of his brain seemed to measure the minutes as they slowly dragged on, relieved only at intervals by the steady tramp of the keepers, as they went their customary rounds. the lamp from the corridor glowed with an unearthly light upon his haggard face and burning eyes, while his mind restlessly flitted from thought to thought, in the vain attempt of seeking some faint relief from the shadows that surrounded him. all through the weary watches of the night he walked his narrow cell, miserable and sleepless. hour after hour went by, but there came no drooping of the heavy lids, betokening the long-looked-for approach of sleep. at length, when the darkness of the night began to flee away and the gray dawn was breaking without, but ere any ray had penetrated the gloom of his comfortless apartment, he threw himself upon the bed, weary, worn and heart-sick--there stole over his senses forgetfulness of his surroundings, and he slept. the body, worn and insensible, lay upon the narrow couch, but the mind, that wonderful and mysterious agency, was still busy--he dreamed and muttered in his dreaming thoughts. oh, for the power to look within, and to know through what scenes he is passing now! leaving the young man in the distressing position of a suspected criminal, and deprived of his liberty, let us retrace our steps, and gather up some links in the chain of the testimony against him, which were procured during the days that intervened between the night of the murder and the day of his commitment. it will be remembered that he had been placed in charge of two officers of south norwalk, who, without restraining him of his liberty, accompanied him wherever he went, and watched his every movement. bucholz soon developed a talent for spending money, which had never been noticed in him before. he became exceedingly extravagant in his habits, purchased clothing for which he had apparently no use, and seemed to have an abundance of funds with which to gratify his tastes. at each place he went and offered a large note in payment of the purchases which he had made, the note was secured by the officers, and was invariably found to contain the peculiar marks which designated that it had once belonged to the murdered man. he displayed a disposition for dissipation, and would drink to excess, smoking inordinately, and indulging in carriage-rides, always in company with the officers, whose watchful eyes never left him and whose vigilance was unrelaxed. the state's attorney was indefatigable in his efforts to force upon bucholz the responsibility of the murder, and no means were left untried to accomplish that purpose. as yet the only evidence was his possession of a moderate amount of money, which bore the marks made upon it by the man who had been slain, and which might or might not have come to him in a legitimate manner and for legitimate services. the important fact still remained that more than fifty thousand dollars had been taken from the body of the old man, and that the murderer, whoever he might be, had possessed himself of that amount. it was considered, therefore, a matter of paramount importance that this money should be recovered, as well as that the identity of the murderer should be established. the case was a mysterious one, and thus far had defied the efforts of the ablest men who had given their knowledge and their energies to this perplexing matter. mr. olmstead, who remained firm in belief in bucholz's guilt, and who refused to listen to any theory adverse to this state of affairs, determined in his heart that something should be done that would prove beyond peradventure the correctness of his opinions. about this time two discoveries were made, which, while affording no additional light upon the mysterious affair, proved conclusively that whoever the guilty parties were they were still industrious in their attempts to avert suspicion and destroy any evidence that might be used against them. one of these discoveries was the finding of a piece of linen cloth, folded up and partly stained with blood, as though it had been used in wiping some instrument which had been covered with the crimson fluid. this was found a short distance from the scene of the murder, but partially hid by a stone wall, where bucholz and samuel waring were alleged to have stood upon the night of its occurrence. the other event was the mysterious cutting down of the cedar tree, whose branches had been intertwined with others, and which had evidently been used as an ambuscade by the assassins who had lain in wait for their unsuspecting victim. meantime, the german consul-general had been clothed with full authority to act in the matter, and had become an interested party in the recovery of the large sum of money which had so mysteriously disappeared. with him, however, the position of affairs presented two difficulties which were to be successfully overcome, and two interests which it was his duty to maintain. as the representative of a foreign government, high in authority and with plenary powers of an official nature, he was required to use his utmost efforts to recover the property of a citizen of the country he represented, and at the same time guard, as far as possible, the rights of the accused man, who was also a constituent of his, whose liberty had been restrained and whose life was now in jeopardy. the course of justice could not be retarded, however, and an investigation duly followed by the grand jury of the county of fairfield, at which the evidence thus far obtained was presented and william bucholz was eventually indicted for the murder of john henry schulte, and committed to await his trial. chapter viii. _my agency is employed_--_the work of detection begun._ the events attendant upon the investigation and the consequent imprisonment of bucholz had consumed much time. the new year had dawned; january had passed away and the second month of the year had nearly run its course before the circumstances heretofore narrated had reached the position in which they now stood. the ingenuity and resources of the officers at south norwalk had been fully exerted, and no result further than that already mentioned had been achieved. the evidence against bucholz, although circumstantially telling against him, was not of sufficient weight or directness to warrant a conviction upon the charge preferred against him. he had employed eminent legal counsel, and their hopeful views of the case had communicated themselves to the mercurial temperament of the prisoner, and visions of a full and entire acquittal from the grave charge under which he was laboring, thronged his brain. the violence of his grief had abated; his despair had been dissipated by the sunshine of a fondly-cherished hopefulness, and his manner became cheerful and contented. it was at this time that the services of my agency were called into requisition, and the process of the detection of the real criminal was begun. upon arriving at my agency in new york city one morning in the latter part of february, mr. george h. bangs, my general superintendent, was waited upon by a representative of the german consul-general, who was the bearer of a letter from the consulate, containing a short account of the murder of henry schulte, and placing the matter fully in my hands for the discovery of the following facts: i. who is the murderer? ii. where is the money which is supposed to have been upon the person of henry schulte at the time of his death? up to this time no information of the particulars of this case had reached my agency, and, except for casual newspaper reports, nothing was known of the affair, nor of the connection which the german consul had with the matter. at the interview which followed, however, such information as was known to that officer, who courteously communicated it, was obtained, and my identification with the case began. it became necessary at the outset that the support of the state's attorney should be secured, as without that nothing could be successfully accomplished, and an interview was had with mr. olmstead, which resulted in his entire and cordial indorsement of our employment. the difficulties in the way of successful operation beset us at the commencement, and were apparent to the minds of all. the murder had taken place two months prior to our receiving any information concerning it, and many of the traces of the crime that might have existed at the time of its occurrence, and would have been of incalculable assistance to us, were at this late day no doubt obliterated. undismayed, however, by the adverse circumstances with which it would be necessary to contend, and with a determination to persevere until success had crowned their efforts, the office was assumed and the work commenced. mr. bangs and my son, robert a. pinkerton, who is in charge of my new york agency, procured another interview with mr. olmstead, and received from him all the information which he then possessed. mr. olmstead continued firm in his belief that the crime had been committed by bucholz, and being a man of stern inflexibility of mind, and of a determined disposition, he was resolved that justice should be done and the guilty parties brought to punishment. declining to offer any opinion upon the subject until the matter had been fully investigated in the thorough manner which always characterizes my operations, it was decided to send a trusted and experienced operative to the scene of the murder, to obtain from all persons who possessed any knowledge of the affair every item of information that it was possible at that late day to secure. accordingly, john woodford, an intelligent and active man upon my force, was detailed to the scene of operations with full authority to glean from the already well-harvested field whatever material was possible, and from his reports the particulars as detailed in the preceding chapters were obtained. the inquiries were made in the most thorough manner, and at the end of his labors every item of information connected with the matter was in our possession and the foundation was laid for a system of detection that promised success. the particulars of the case were communicated to me at my headquarters in chicago, and i was resolved also to learn the antecedents of john henry schulte and his servant, in order to unravel the mystery which attended his appearance at south norwalk, and to discover the relations which existed between the master and the man who now stood charged with a foul crime. that this eccentric man, possessed of such large means, should thus have taken up his abode in a land of strangers, and should have lived the secluded life he did, was an added mystery in the case, which i resolved to become acquainted with. i considered this necessary, also, in order to discover some motive for the crime, if any existed except that of robbery, and to guide me in my dealings with any suspected persons who might thereafter be found. his brother was communicated with, and another operative was detailed to gather up the history of the man from the time of his landing in america. john cornwell, a young operative in the service of my new york agency, was delegated for this service, and he performed the duty assigned him in a manner which furnished me with all the information i desired to possess, and as the story contains much that is of interest, i will give it here. the history. chapter ix. _dortmund._--_railroad enterprise and prospective fortune._--_henry schulte's love._--_an insult and its resentment._--_an oath of revenge._ how true it is, that in the life of every one, there exists a vein of romance which justifies the adage that "truth is stranger than fiction." no page of history may bear their names. no chronicle of important events may tell to the world the story of their trials and sufferings. no volume of poetry or song may portray the sunshine and the storms through which they journeyed from the cradle to the grave. but in their quiet, humble lives, they may have exemplified the vices or virtues of humanity, and may have been prominent actors in unpublished dramas, that would excite the wonderment or the admiration, the sympathy or the condemnation of communities. the life of henry schulte evinces this fact, in a remarkable degree. the town of dortmund in prussia, in . a quiet, sleepy, german town, in the province of westphalia, whose inclosing walls seemed eminently fitted to shut out the spirit of energy and activity with which the world around them was imbued, and whose five gates gave ample ingress and egress to the limited trade of the manufacturers within its limits. once a free imperial city, it had acquired some importance, and was a member of that commercial alliance of early times known as the "hanseatic league," but its prosperity, from some cause, afterwards declined, and passing into the hands of prussia in , dortmund had slumbered on in adolescent quiet, undisturbed by the march of improvement, and unaffected by the changes that were everywhere apparent in the great world without her boundaries. this sober, easy-going method of existence seemed to be in perfect accord with the habits and dispositions of the people. the honest old burghers pursued the even tenor of their way, paying but little heed to the whirl and excitement of the large cities, and plodding on with machine-like regularity in their daily pleasures, and their slow but sure acquirement of fortune. children were born, much in the usual manner of such events--grew into man and womanhood--were married, and they--in their turn, raised families. altogether, life in this old town partook very much of the monotonous and uneventful existence of a van winkle. such was dortmund in . about this time, however, the wave of the advancing spirit of business activity had traveled sufficiently westward to reach this dreamy village, and a railroad was projected between dortmund and the city of dusseldorf. dusseldorf, even at that time, was the great focus of railroad and steamboat communication, and situated as it was, at the confluence of the dussel and rhine rivers, much of the transit trade of the rhine was carried on by its merchants. here, then, was an opportunity afforded for such an added impetus to trade, such a natural increase in fortune, that it would readily be imagined that the entire community would have hailed with delight an enterprize which promised such important results, and that new life and energy would have been infused into the sluggish communities of dortmund. such was the case, to a very great extent, and a large majority of the people hailed with delight a project which would place their town in direct communication with the great cities of their own country and with all the ports of foreign lands. but of this we shall speak hereafter. on the road which led from dortmund to hagen, about fifteen miles distant, dwelt henry schulte, a quiet, reserved man, who had tilled the soil for many years. of a reserved and morose disposition, he mingled but rarely with the people who surrounded him, and among his neighbors he was regarded as peculiar and eccentric. his broad acres evinced a degree of cultivation which proved that their owner was well versed in the science of agriculture; the large crops that were annually gathered added materially to the wealth of their proprietor, and the general appearance of thrift about the farm denoted that henry schulte was possessed of a considerable amount of the world's goods. but while every care was taken of the fruitful fields, and every attention paid to the proper management of his lands, the cottage in which he lived, stood in marked contrast to its surroundings. a low, one-story structure, with thatched roof, and with its broken windows filled here and there with articles of old clothing, proclaimed the fact that its occupant was not possessed of that liberal nature which the general appearance of the farm indicated. there was an air of squalor and poverty about the cottage, which told unmistakably of the absence of feminine care, and of the lack of woman's ministrations--and this was true. for many years henry schulte had lived alone, with only his hired man for company; and together they would perform the necessary domestic duties, and provide for their own wants in the most economical manner possible. many stories were told among the villagers about henry schulte, for, like most all other localities, gossip and scandal were prevailing topics of conversation. it is a great mistake to suppose that in the country, people may live alone and undisturbed, and that anyone can hope to escape the prying eyes or the listening ears of the village gossip, male or female. such things are only possible in large cities, where men take no interest in each other's affairs, and where one man may meet another daily for years without ever thinking of inquiring who he is or what he does, and where you pass a human being without a greeting or even a look. in the country, however, where everybody knows everybody, each one is compelled to account to all the others for what he does, and no one can ever be satisfied with his own judgment. notwithstanding the charm which exists in this communion of work and rest in word and deed, the custom has very serious drawbacks, and any person having good or bad reasons of his own for disposing of his time in a manner different from what is customary, has to contend against the gossip, the jibes and the mockery of all. hence, almost all localities have their peculiar characters, whose idiosyncrasies are well known, and who are frequently the subject of raillery, and often of persecution. to the gay and simple villagers of hagen, henry schulte was an object of great interest, and to most of them the story of his past was well known. many of the old men who sat around the broad fire-place in the village inn, could remember when he was as gay a lad as any in the village, and had joined in their sports with all the zest and enthusiasm of a wild and unrestrained disposition; and when he marched away to join his regiment, no step was firmer, and no form more erect than his. when he had waved adieu to the friends who had accompanied him to the limits of the town, and had bidden farewell to the tearful emerence, his betrothed, who had come with the others; many were the prayers and good wishes that followed him upon his journey. he was a great favorite with both the young and old people of hagen, and no merry-making was considered complete without the company of young henry schulte and his violin. it was at one of the may-day festivals that henry had met the beautiful emerence, the daughter of old herr bauer, the brewer, and as their regard proved to be mutual, and the father of the young lady being propitious, nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of the young people, and the course of their true love flowed on as smoothly as the gentle river until henry was required to do service for his king and to enter the ranks as a soldier. it is needless to follow the young man through the various episodes of his soldier life, in which he distinguished himself for his uniform good nature, cheerful obedience of orders and strict attention to duty; it is enough to know that at the expiration of his term of service he returned home, and was welcomed by the many friends who had known and loved him from his youthful days. it was at this time that the catastrophe occurred which changed the whole tenor of his life, and made him the reserved, hard man that we find him at the commencement of our story. in the village there lived a wild, reckless young man by the name of nat toner, who had just returned to his native place after an absence of several years, and who since his return had spent his time at the village tavern amid scenes of dissipation and rioting, in which he was joined by the idle fellows of the village, who hailed with delight the advent of the gay fellow whose money furnished their wine, and whose stories of romantic adventure contributed to their entertainment. nat was a bold, handsome fellow, whose curling black hair and flashing black eyes and wild, careless manner played sad havoc with the hearts of the young girls of hagen, and many a comely maiden would have been made supremely happy by a careless nod of greeting from this reckless young vagabond. not so with emerence bauer. her timid, gentle nature shrank involuntarily from the rough, uncouth manners of the handsome nat, and the stories of his extravagances only filled her mind with loathing for the life he was leading and the follies he was committing. as she compared her own cheerful, manly henry to this dissipated adonis, whose roistering conduct had made him the talk of the village, she felt that her love was well placed and her heart well bestowed. to nat toner the aversion manifested by emerence only served to create in him a passionate love for her, and he was seized with an uncontrollable longing to possess her for his own. up to this time he had not been informed of the betrothal existing between emerence and henry schulte, and his rage and disappointment on discovering this fact was fearful to behold. he cursed the young man, and swore that, come what would, and at whatever cost, he would permit no one to come between him and the object of his unholy affections. his enmity to henry schulte, which soon became very evident, was manifested upon every possible occasion, until at length henry's universal good nature gave way under the repeated taunts of his unsuccessful rival, and he resolved that further submission would be both useless and cowardly. nothing further occurred, however, for some time, but fresh fuel was added to the fire of nat toner's anger by an incident that he was an unobserved witness of. one evening he was returning home from the tavern, where he had been drinking with his companions till a late hour. his way led him past the residence of emerence bauer, and as he passed by upon the other side of the lighted street he witnessed the affectionate parting of henry schulte and the lady of his love. setting his teeth firmly, his eyes flashing with the malignity of hate, he strode on, vowing vengeance upon the innocent cause of his anger, who, with his mind filled with many pleasant dreams of the future, pursued his way towards the little farm-house where he then dwelt with his father and mother. the next evening as henry was passing the village tavern on his return from dortmund, where he had been to dispose of some of the produce of the farm, he found nat and his companions in the midst of a wild and noisy revel. henry would have rode on unmindful of their presence, but nat, spying his rival, and heated with wine, induced his companions to insist upon his stopping and drinking a glass of wine with them, which invitation henry, after vainly attempting to be excused from, reluctantly accepted, and, dismounting from his horse, he joined their company. after indulging in the proffered beverage, henry seated himself with his companions and joined with them in singing one of those quaint german songs which are so full of sweetness and harmony, and which seem to fill the air with their volume of rude but inspiring music. after the song was finished, nat filled his glass, and rising to his feet said, in a taunting voice: "here is a health to the pretty emerence, and here is to her loutish lover." saying which he deliberately threw the contents of his glass full in the face of the astonished henry. with a smothered expression of rage, henry schulte sprang to his feet and with one blow from his right hand, planted firmly in the face of his insulter, he laid him prostrate upon the floor. quickly recovering himself, the infuriated nat rushed at his brawny antagonist, only to receive the same treatment, and again he went down beneath the crushing force of that mighty fist. an ox could not have stood up before the force of the blows of the sturdy farmer, much less the half-intoxicated ruffian who now succumbed to its weight. [illustration: "_and again he went down beneath the crushing force of that mighty fist._"] foaming with rage and bleeding from the wounds he had received, nat toner struggled to his feet the second time, and drawing a long, murderous-looking knife from his bosom, he made a frantic plunge at his assailant. quick as a flash, however, the iron grip of henry schulte's right hand was upon the wrist of the cowardly nat, and with a wrench of his left hand the knife was wrested from him and thrown out of the window. then henry, unable to further restrain his angry feelings, shook his aggressor until his teeth fairly chattered, and, finally flinging him from him with an expression of loathing, said: "lie there, you contemptible little beast, and when next you try to be insulting, count upon your man in advance." saying which, and with a quiet good evening to the astonished company, he walked out of the house, and mounting his horse, rode slowly homeward. the discomfited nat slowly arose, and gaining his feet, glared around at his wonder-stricken friends, in whose faces, however, he failed to discover the faintest evidence of sympathy or support. these honest, good-natured germans were far too sensible and fair-minded to justify such an unwarrantable and unexpected insult as that which had been put upon one of their favorite friends, and consequently not one of the company lifted their voice or expressed any regrets for the punishment which nat had so justly received. henry had, in their opinion, acted in a manner which accorded entirely with their own views upon such matters, and much the same as they themselves would have done under similar circumstances. raising his clenched hand, and with face deadly pale, nat toner faced the silent group, and cried out, in the intensity of his passion: "henry schulte shall pay dearly for this. as truly as we both live, i will have a full revenge, and in a way he little dreams of." uttering these words, he strode fiercely from the room, and disappeared in the darkness of the night. his companions, realizing that their pleasure for that evening was ended, silently took their leave, and wended their way to their several homes. how well nat toner kept his oath will hereafter be seen, but many of the old men of hagen yet recall with a shudder his dreadful words, and their fulfillment. chapter x. _a curse._--_plans of revenge._ as nat strode onward to his home, after leaving his companions, his mind was in a chaotic state of excitement and rage. he was still smarting from the blows he had received, and the blood was flowing from his nostrils and lips. he paid no heed to this, however, for there was murder in his heart, and already his plans of revenge were being formed--plans which fiends incarnate might well shrink from, and from the execution of which even demoniac natures would have recoiled in horror. as he walked on, the dark, lowering clouds that had been gathering overhead, broke into a terrific storm of rain; the wind whistled and howled through the valleys, and from the mountain gorges the lightning flashed with a vividness almost appalling; but, undismayed by the storm and the tempest, which seemed at that time to accord with the emotions of his own wicked heart, nat continued on his way, which lay past the unpretending, but comfortable farm-house, where, in the peace and contentment of a happy home, henry schulte dwelt with his parents. as he reached a point in the road opposite the dwelling of his hated rival, and from the windows of which the lights were gleaming cheerily, nat stopped, and, unmindful of the drenching rain, he shook his uplifted hand at the inoffensive abode, and, in a voice choking with rage, cried: "curse you, henry schulte! be on your guard, for if i live, you will know what it is to suffer for what you have done this night. enjoy yourself and your victory while you can, but there will come a time when you would rather be dead than the miserable thing i will make you. curse you! curse you!" having relieved the exuberance of his passion in this manner, he silently resumed his journey, and reaching his home retired at once to his room, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up to the devilish meditations which filled his mind. ah, nat toner, far better for you, for that happy village of hagen, and for the future happiness of two loving hearts, if to-night the lightning's flash had sent its deadly stroke through your murderous heart and laid you lifeless upon the road. as may be imagined, the news of the encounter between henry schulte and nat toner was noised about the village, and during the next day the matter became the universal theme of conversation. it was astonishing, however, to remark the unanimity of opinion which prevailed with regard to it. the entire community with one accord united in condemning the insult and applauding its resentment; and when nat toner made his appearance the following day, bearing upon his face the marks of the punishment he had received, he was greeted with cold salutations and marked evidence of avoidance by those who heretofore had been disposed to be friendly, and even gracious. this only intensified his anger at the cause of his humiliation, but he concealed his emotions and shortly afterwards returned to his home. the anxiety of emerence for the safety of her lover was most profound, and trembling with fear of the threatened revenge of nat toner, for his oath had also been repeated, she besought henry to be watchful and cautious of his unscrupulous adversary, all of which he laughingly and assuringly promised to do. not so much for his own security, of which he had no fear, as for the sake of the dear girl who was so solicitous for his welfare, and to whom his safety was a matter of so much importance. the next few days passed uneventfully away, nat remaining at home, nursing his wrath and the wounds upon his face, and henry schulte attending to his various duties upon the farm. the quarrel finally ceased to be a matter of remark, and the simple-minded villagers, believing that nat's threats were only the utterances of a man crazed with drink, and smarting under the punishment he had received, quieted their fears and resumed their ordinary peaceful and contented mode of living. to nat toner the days passed all too slowly, but with the slowly-moving hours, in the seclusion of his own home, and his own evil thoughts, his revenge became the one object of his life. his reckless, vagabond existence of the past few years, during which it was hinted by several of the villagers, with many shrugs of their shoulders and wise noddings of their venerable heads, he had been engaged in the service of a bold and successful french smuggler, had not tended to elevate his mind, or to humanize his disposition. his depraved nature and vicious habits were roused into full action by this encounter with henry schulte, and the anger of his heart was in no wise lessened, as he reflected that he had brought his injuries upon himself. all the brutal instincts of his degraded disposition were aflame, and he resolved that his revenge for the indignities that had been put upon him, should be full and complete. with a fiendish malignity he determined to strike at the heart of his antagonist through the person of the object of his love, and by that means to be revenged upon both. chapter xi. _a moonlight walk._--_an unexpected meeting._--_the murder of emerence bauer._--_the oath fulfilled._ on a beautiful moonlight evening, about a week after the hostile meeting of henry schulte and nat toner, emerence, all impatient to meet her lover, whom she had not seen for some days, and whom she fondly expected this evening, left the residence of her parents and walked towards a little stream that ran along the outskirts of the village, where she had been in the habit of meeting henry upon the occasions of his visits. the evening was a delightful one, and the scene one of surpassingly romantic beauty. the bright rays of the moon sparkled and danced upon the rippling water; the border of grand old trees that fringed the bank of the stream was reflected with exaggerated beauty far down among the waters; the glittering stars stole in and out among their branches, and shone in the clear crystal mirror. now a fleecy speck of cloud floated over the face of the queen of night, from behind which she would soon emerge, with increased brilliancy, to dart her long arrowy beams away down to the pebbly bottom of the flowing river, kissing the fairies that the old german legends tell us dwelt there in the days of old. silently, but with happy heart and beaming eyes, the young girl gazed upon the scene that lay before her; then, walking to the center of the rustic bridge that spanned the stream from shore to shore, she leaned over the low railing and watched, with her mind teeming with pleasant visions of the future, her figure reflected as in a burnished mirror, upon the water beneath her. her sweet reverie was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and a blush illumined her face as she thought she would soon greet her coming lover, and feel his strong arms about her. turning her head a little, she saw another shadow there so distinctly traced that she had no difficulty in recognizing it, and she started in affright as she discovered that instead of henry schulte, the new-comer was none other than his enemy and hers, nat toner. she would have yielded to an intuitive sense of danger, and fled from the spot, but nat stepped quickly in the way and barred her passage, lifting his hat in mock reverence as he addressed her. "good evening, pretty emerence, you look like a beautiful water sprite in the rays of this bright-beaming moon." did she imagine it, or was there a cold, hard ring in the voice that uttered these words, which filled her heart with an aching fear, and made her lips tremble as she acknowledged his salutation? "you are waiting for henry schulte, i suppose!" he continued, in the same hard, mocking tone. mustering up all the latent courage which she possessed, she looked up unflinchingly, as she replied: "i do not know that anyone has a right to question me upon my movements, or to assign a reason for my actions." "indeed, my pretty little spit-fire! you speak truly, but nat toner intends to assume a right which no one else possesses," answered nat tauntingly, while his black eyes glistened in the moonlight with a baleful light. "i cannot stop to listen further to such language, and must bid you good evening," said emerence, drawing herself up haughtily, and turning to leave the bridge. "stop where you are and listen to me," cried nat sharply, and with his right hand he grasped the wrist of the shrinking girl. "nat toner!" at last said emerence boldly, "remove your hand from my wrist, or i will call for help, and then perhaps your conduct will meet with its just punishment." "utter one word, at your peril. i have something to say to you, and you must listen to me," said nat, releasing his hold, and glaring fiercely at the brave girl who stood before him. "i will listen to nothing further from you to-night. stand aside and let me pass," said emerence firmly, and again turning to leave the bridge. "emerence bauer, listen to me i say. i have something to tell you that concerns that lover of yours, henry schulte, and you shall hear what i have to say." at the mention of henry's name emerence stopped, and thinking that perhaps she might serve her lover by remaining, she said: "i will hear you, nat toner, but be as brief as possible." "aha! for the sake of your dear henry, you will listen to me. i thought so. do you know that he is my enemy till death; that the insults which he has heaped upon me can only be washed away by blood; and that you, my haughty beauty, alone can satisfy the hate i bear to henry schulte and the revenge i have sworn against him?" "nat toner, what do you mean?" tremblingly inquired the affrighted girl, unable to stir. ah, well might she tremble now! there was murder in the flashing of those wicked black eyes that glared upon her, and the distorted, pallid face before her showed too plainly the passions of his heart, as he answered: "what do i mean? i will tell you! i loved you, emerence bauer, and i hate henry schulte for the insult he has put upon me. you scorn my love, and henry schulte must pay the penalty. he shall never possess you, for--i mean to kill you!" with a wild shriek, that rang through the air as the cry of a frightened bird, emerence turned to flee from the fiend before her. but, alas, too late! the murderous weapon came down with a dull, heavy crushing sound upon that fair, girlish head, and she fell lifeless at the feet of the madman who had slain her. [illustration: "_she fell lifeless at the feet of the madman who had slain her._"] without uttering a word nat toner lifted up the body of the unfortunate girl and threw it over the low railing of the bridge into the rippling water beneath. a splash followed that sent the water in brightly burnished crystals high in the air--and then the river flowed on, as though unconscious and uncaring for the burden that had been committed to its keeping. raising himself to his full height and shaking his blood-red hand in the direction of the village, nat toner cried out with demoniac exultation: "now, henry schulte, i am revenged!" saying which, he plunged into a strip of woods that grew near by, and disappeared from view. oh, shimmering moon, did no pitying glance fall from thy cold, bright face as this fair, young life was cruelly beaten out by the hand of her brutal assassin? oh, glittering stars, did no dark clouds intervene between thy merry twinklings and the dreadful scene below? and ye, oh, rippling river, did no murmur escape thee as the crimson tide of this fair dead girl mingled with thy transparent waves and floated away into the darkness of the night? chapter xii. _the search for the missing girl._--_the lover's judgment._--_henry schulte's grief._--_the genial farmer becomes the grasping miser._ half an hour later, henry schulte, who had been delayed beyond his wont in the village, came walking briskly along the road that led to the abode of emerence. his heart was gay, and a blithe, merry song rose to his lips as he journeyed along. all unconscious of the dark deed that had been committed, he stood upon the rustic bridge, where he had expected to meet his betrothed, and gazed at the beauty of the landscape that was spread before him. no sound came from that gurgling stream, to tell the impatient lover of the fate of her he loved, and little did he dream, as he stood there in quiet contemplation of the glorious night, that directly beneath his feet, with her calm, dead face upturned towards him, could be seen, through the transparent waters, the lifeless body of the fair maiden, whose head had nestled on his bosom and whose loving lips had made him happy with their kisses of love. ah, nevermore for thee will the bright moon shine in its translucent splendor, and never again will you know the happiness and the peace of this beautiful evening, as you waited on that bridge for her who nevermore would come to your call again. after waiting a short time, and not hearing the footsteps of his affianced, henry resumed his journey and soon arrived at the residence of the wealthy brewer, whose hospitable doors flew open at his knock, and the mother of emerence stood in the low, broad passage-way. "where is emerence?" quickly inquired the mother of the girl, in surprise, at seeing him alone. "emerence! is she not at home?" exclaimed henry, equally surprised. "no," replied the mother. "she went out about an hour ago, to meet you on the way." henry immediately became alarmed. he had not seen her, and it seemed incredible that she could have gone to visit any friends on the evening when she expected him, and certainly not without informing her parents of the fact. "i will go at once in search of her," he said, as he turned away from the house, and hurriedly retraced his steps towards the village, with a terrible fear for her safety pressing upon his heart. he inquired at every house where her friends resided, but everywhere was met with a wondering negative. no one appeared to have seen her, or to know anything of her whereabouts, and at length, wearied with his fruitless inquiries, and rendered almost desperate at his want of success, he went to the village tavern, and requested the aid of his comrades in searching for the missing girl, for whose safety and happiness he would willingly have laid down his life. in a moment all was bustle and excitement; torches were procured and the party started upon their mission, resolved to discover some clue of the missing lady before the dawning of another day. henry was in advance, and under his direction every part of the road which led from the residence of the brewer to the village, and the adjacent woods, were carefully examined, but all with no success. no trace could be discovered, and the superstitious villagers began to regard the disappearance as a supernatural mystery. utterly fatigued with their bootless investigation, and saddened by the thought that some harm must have come to the innocent maiden, they reluctantly left the house of the brewer and turned their footsteps towards the village, determined to continue their search in the morning. to henry the suspense was agonizing. he seemed almost crazed at the uncertainty which shrouded the fate of the girl he loved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to discover some solution of the awful mystery. as the silent party were crossing the bridge, they stopped for a temporary rest before proceeding further on their way, and indulged in subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defied their efforts to solve. suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of their number, who, on looking casually over the railing into the stream beneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon, the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. with an agonizing cry henry sprang into the river, and in a few moments clasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to the shore. it was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met their frightened gaze were none other than those of the village beauty--emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the assembly as they looked upon her. at first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, but upon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the head being discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burst almost simultaneously from the lips of all: "_nat toner!_" after the first cry which escaped him, henry schulte never spoke again during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothed the wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staring eyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, and hope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair form and bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and with faltering steps. it had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the author of this crime. before they had spoken, his own mind had discovered the murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, and when, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, and the body of the fair young emerence had been placed in the ground, henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the mission he had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his right to go. at the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that he was scarcely recognized. the happy light was gone forever from his eyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story of long suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled. no one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave no explanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in the forests on the mountains, near werne, discovered the lifeless body of nat toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through the low, white forehead, the villagers felt that henry's search had not been in vain, or his revenge incomplete. to this day no one can tell, whether, suffering the pangs of remorse, the miserable man had put an end to his own life, or whether the wound in the low, white forehead was planted there by the man whom he had so dreadfully wronged. no inquiries were made, however, and as time passed on, the history of nat toner passed out of the conversations of the simple village-folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by some romantic and unfortunate event abroad, was never mentioned. to henry schulte the record of that sad night was always present, and was never effaced from his memory. the change that was wrought in him was apparent to all. he no longer mingled with the villagers in their merry-makings, but isolated himself entirely from their meetings and their pleasures. a few years afterwards his parents died, and his elder brother assuming the control of the farm and estates of his father, henry removed to the farm where we now find him, and to the lowly cottage which he had occupied to the time of which we write. he became a settled misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to be the acquirement of wealth, and whose once genial and generous nature had now become warped into the selfishness and avarice of the miser. so he had lived, a social hermit, until in he had become a prematurely old man, with whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose love for gold had become the passion of his life, and whose only companions were a hired man and the old violin with which, in his younger days, he was wont to make merry music at the festivals in the village, but which now was tuned to mournful harmonies "cadenced by his grief." chapter xiii. _henry schulte becomes the owner of "alten hagen."_-_surprising increase in wealth._--_an imagined attack upon his life._--_the miser determines to sail for america._ it was at this time that the projected railroad between dortmund and dusseldorf began to assume definite proportions, and as the line of the contemplated road lay through the village of hagen, much excitement was engendered in consequence. the people of dortmund were building extravagant castles in the air, and wild and vague were the dreams which filled their sanguine minds as they contemplated the advantages that were to accrue to them upon the completion of this enterprise. the contagion spread rapidly to hagen, and the simple-minded villagers, who saw in this movement the rapid growth of their little town; the possible increase in the value of their property and the consequent augmenting of their now limited fortunes, hailed with delight the information that energetic operations would soon be begun, with the view of successfully accomplishing the desired object. not so, however, thought the baron von lindenthal, whose vast estate lay in close proximity to the village, immediately adjoining the farm owned and occupied by henry schulte, and through whose domain the road must necessarily pass. to him the idea of encroaching upon the ancestral acres of a von lindenthal, was an act of sacrilege not to be complacently submitted to. the quiet and peaceful seclusion in which he and those who had preceded him had lived, and the repose of his declining years was to be disturbed by the whistling of the locomotive and the rattle of the train. the din, and bustle and activity of trade was to be brought to his very threshold, and the ease and comfort of his aristocratic retirement would soon become a thing of the past. this must not and could not be permitted, and the blood of the patrician boiled within his noble veins as he contemplated the outrage that thus threatened him, and which was to result in laying profane hands upon his possessions. improvements were all very well in their way, but then they must not be of such a character as to interfere with the pleasure or the luxurious ease of the baron von lindenthal. his comfort and happiness were things to be considered far above the material growth of a commercial town, and were not to be subordinated to the welfare of its ambitious inhabitants. but then, as now, the march of public improvement was not to be retarded, and so, finding it impossible to successfully oppose or to prevent the building of the objectionable railroad, the incensed baron very reluctantly determined to dispose of his baronial estates and to remove to a more congenial locality, where the encroachments of trade were not to be feared, and where, in undisturbed seclusion and retirement, he might pass the remainder of his days. with the irascible and impetuous baron, the formation of an opinion led to immediate action, and no sooner had he resolved to the satisfaction of his own mind to dispose of his broad acres, than he began to look about him for a purchaser. when henry schulte heard of this intention of the baron, he determined, if possible, to become the owner of this extensive demesne. his mind was sufficiently alive to the importance of this railroad movement to convince him that the real estate in proximity to the line of the road must necessarily increase in value, and he also realized the necessity of seeing the baron without delay, in order to precede any of the railroad contractors, who would no doubt present themselves ere long. he consequently waited upon the irate baron on the morning following, and upon being ushered into the presence of the last of the von lindenthals, at once broached the subject of his desire to purchase the land. the gouty old land-owner looked with astonishment as his shabbily-dressed visitor proffered his request. he had never imagined that his unobtrusive neighbor was possessed of any money besides his farm, and the proposition to become the purchaser of "alten-hagen" was a complete surprise to him. the baron did not know of the hours of patient toil, nor of the habits of miserly economy which had enabled henry schulte to accumulate so large a sum of money as to warrant him in entertaining the desire to increase his estate; nor did he know that his economical neighbor could see further into the future, and better appreciate the advantages which would accrue to him from the possession of this additional property, than could their present aristocratic owner. however, the baron lost no time in idle speculations as to the means by which his visitor had grown wealthy. his land was for sale, a purchaser stood before him, and in a short time the wealthy miser became the owner of the baron's land for a price entirely inadequate to the value which he received. when, a few weeks later, the question of appropriating the land and allowing the damage therefor came to be considered, the railroad company were required to treat with the miser of hagen instead of the baron von lindenthal. the wisdom and foresight displayed by henry schulte in becoming the purchaser of this estate was very soon clearly demonstrated, for in a very short time afterwards he received from the railroad company, as damages and for the right of way through his grounds, more than the sum he had originally paid to the impulsive baron for the fee of the entire estate. a few years after this several coal mines were opened in the vicinity, iron works were erected, and as hagen became a thriving, flourishing city it naturally extended its industries. henry schulte's newly acquired property then became available for the erection of iron works and coal breakers, and his wealth was considerably increased by these means. a division of a part of his land into building lots, on the main road from herdecke to hagen, also swelled the volume of his increasing revenue. it seemed that he had suddenly fallen upon the wave of advancing fortune, for soon after this some parts of the soil being found to be of excellent quality for brick-making, he entered into arrangements with some extensive manufacturers and received a large sum for the use and occupation of his grounds for that purpose. thus, in a very few years, the patient, plodding, avaricious farmer found himself one of the wealthiest men in the locality. this fact, however, produced no change in his habits or his dress, nor did his mode of living undergo any improvement consequent upon the changed condition of his circumstances. this vast accumulation of money only seemed to intensify his avarice, to increase his meanness, and the desire for gain became the ruling passion of his heart and mind. he removed to the large and imposing mansion lately occupied by the baron, but this was done simply because he could find no other occupant for it; while he could readily procure a tenant for the little cottage where he had previously resided. the effect of his presence there was soon made manifest, and only a short time elapsed before this beautiful residence presented an appearance of negligence sadly at variance with the thrifty neatness that was everywhere apparent during the time of its occupancy by the baron and his family. the general air of neglect and squalor surrounding it proclaimed that the habits of the miser had been too firmly grounded to be easily disturbed, and that the man remained the same, whether in the castle or the hovel. indeed, it seemed that his reserve and isolation became more marked, and he dressed so shabbily that he scarcely ever appeared in other than soiled and ragged garments. his heart became harder and more grasping, and the few people who had known him in his younger days, and were disposed to be friendly, soon dropped away from him, finding it impossible to endure his harshness of manner and his penurious ways. his household now consisted of a housekeeper and a valet, the former an elderly woman, who had long been an object of charity to the people of hagen, and whose services were procured by him at a mere nominal price, and the latter was a young, simple-minded fellow, who performed the multifarious duties of a man-of-all-work, for a stipulated sum that barely sufficed for his needs, exclusive of the daily fare which he received from the hands of his economical employer. his administration of domestic affairs was in entire accord with his narrow-minded and contracted heart, and the servants found but little comfort while in his employ. he took sole charge of his domestic arrangements himself, and to the patient and uncomplaining mrs. scheller would daily furnish the meager complement of beans and potatoes which were required for the day's consumption. the balance of the store would then be religiously kept under lock and key to prevent any tendency towards extravagance on the part of those who served him. in addition to the various other investments possessed by him, he cultivated a large portion of the land acquired from the baron, and, being a practical farmer, thoroughly understanding the advantage of drainage, he succeeded in redeeming a great amount of land heretofore deemed worthless, and brought it to a high state of cultivation. his farming land consisted of several hundred acres, which required the employment of many men, and the large forests, with their apparently inexhaustible timber, furnished occupation for a number of woodmen, all of whom were under the supervision of the master. here, too, his parsimony extended, and, while no efforts were spared to improve the quality of the land, and to increase the crops that were gathered, in every other respect his miserly nature exerted itself. the horses and cattle were lean and poorly fed, the buildings were out of repair, and a general system of rigorous and pinching economy was observed, all of which tended to the dissatisfaction of those employed by him, but which in no wise affected the firmly-grounded avarice of their employer, who every day appeared to grow more harsh and unfeeling. he became grinding and pitiless in his dealings with those who were indebted to him, exacting full and prompt payment of all moneys due to him, without regard to the straitened circumstances of his debtors, or the destitution which frequently followed his summary means of enforcing his collections. the various cares and anxieties attendant upon the management of his affairs were often vexatious and annoying, and as time wore on he became exceedingly captious and irritable. his ebullitions of temper, which now became quite frequent, were vented upon the innocent heads of those who labored in his service, and much dissatisfaction was engendered in consequence. he became suspicious of all who surrounded him, and imagined that every one with whom he was connected were seeking to rob him, and finally an idea took possession of his mind, which completely destroyed his peace and made his existence perfectly miserable. he imagined that his life was in danger, and that there was a conspiracy formed to murder him for his money. so firmly did this conviction cling to him that he became intensely nervous and restless, and was scarcely able to sleep in his bed at nights. he would bolt and bar himself in his chamber so securely that it was a matter of perfect impossibility to effect an entrance, and then, still doubtful, he would be wakeful and uneasy during the long, weary hours of the night, until from sheer exhaustion he would fall into a troubled sleep, which lasted late into the morning. nothing occurred of a character to justify his suspicions or to increase his fears, until one morning he was awakened at a very early hour by the breaking with a loud crash of one of the windows that opened into his room. instantly he was awake, and, springing from his bed, he rushed frantically to the window, discharged his pistol several times in succession, at the same time calling loudly for help. his cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a room communicating with that of his master, and who hastened at once to his assistance. it was too dark to discover anything of the cause of the breaking of the glass, and as no further demonstration occurred, he succeeded in quieting the fears of his master, and restoring him to tranquillity. as soon as it was daylight, he made an investigation into the cause of this seeming attack, and an examination of the outside of the premises disclosed the fact that the alarm had been occasioned by the falling of the branch of an old tree that stood near to the house, and on which some of the limbs were withered and dead. this discovery, however, by no means allayed his fears or dissipated his suspicions, but, on the contrary, he became so fixed in the insane idea that he would be assassinated, that his life in the old home became a burden to him, and he longed for a change of scene that would ensure ease for his mind, and safety for his body. henry schulte was at this time an old man--the sixty years of his life had passed away slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitened hair and wrinkled face betokened that age had left its indelible mark upon the once stalwart form of the henry schulte of days gone by. his head was generally bowed as though in deep thought, whether at home or abroad, and the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to the weight of trouble which had come upon him in those early days. he was never seen to smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth never relaxed, however mirthful was the scene before him, or however pleasurable the association in which he might accidentally find himself placed. his violin was his only companion during the long evening hours, and almost every night the harmonious strains of the music which he evoked from that instrument could be heard by those who journeyed upon the lonely road which passed in front of his house. in the early fall of , an incident occurred, which, in the disordered state of his mind, rendered it impossible for him to remain any longer in fancied peace and security. one morning about daybreak a party of gunners, who were in search of game, were passing the premises occupied by henry schulte, when one of their number, a nephew of the old man, being the son of his elder brother, knowing his weakness in regard to being assassinated, and from a spirit of mischief which prompted him, took careful aim and fired directly through the window of the sleeping apartment of his uncle, and then quickly and laughingly passed on. the old gentleman, suddenly aroused from his slumbers, jumped up in affright, calling loudly in the excess of his terror: [illustration: "_the old man jumped from his bed in affright, calling loudly for help._"] "help! help! the villains have attempted to murder me again!" frank bruner, his servant, being thus awakened, ran to the window and saw the party rapidly disappearing around a bend in the road. he recognized bartolf schulte as being one of the party, and informed his master of the fact. "mein gott! mein gott!" exclaimed the old man. "my own brother's son try to take my life--this is horrible. he wants my money and he tries to kill me." it was a long time before his violence subsided, but when at length frank succeeded in calming his excitement and restoring him to reason, one idea seemed to have taken possession of him, and that was that he must leave his home for his own safety, and that the sooner this was accomplished the better it would be for him and for his peace of mind. no inducement that could be offered was sufficient to disturb his resolution upon this point. no argument that could be suggested, but what was urged against this seemingly insane notion, but all to no avail. his mind was fully made up, and nothing could overcome the settled determination which he had arrived at, to get away at once from the place which threatened so much danger to his person, and in which he was in constant dread and fear. he therefore immediately began his preparations for departure, and placing his property in the hands of a careful attorney at hagen, he lost no time in converting his available securities into money and decided to take passage for america--a land of which he had heard so much, and which promised a rest for his over-wrought mind. he journeyed to hamburg, and from thence in a few days, accompanied by his servant, he took passage in a steamer, arriving in new york city, "a stranger in a strange land," in the month of august in the same year. chapter xiv. _the arrival in new york._--_frank bruner determines to leave the service of his master._--_the meeting of frank bruner and william bucholz._ the vagaries of the human mind under all circumstances are frequently inscrutable, but under no other influence, perhaps, is the mind so susceptible of impressions of a governing character from unimportant causes as it is when controlled by the fear of personal safety. it would readily be imagined that henry schulte, whose mind was filled with vague but distressing apprehensions for his life, could have found refuge, safe and unassailable, within the broad domain of his own native land, and that he might have considered himself free from impending danger if he could have placed even a short distance between himself and those whom he believed to be his mortal enemies. this, however, he found it impossible to do and rest contented; so, resisting all the arguments that were urged by his faithful but overtaxed servant and companion, and believing that his only safety lay in his getting away from his native land, he persisted in coming to america, where he felt assured he would be free from persecution, and where, in the quiet and repose of rural retirement, his peace of mind would be undisturbed. that these fears must have been deeply-grounded there can be no doubt, for this old man, in leaving the home of his childhood and the many scenes which were endeared to him by the close association of early friendship and experience, turned his back upon the spot where he had first seen the light of day, and where he had grown from youth to manhood. here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had come to him, and in the little churchyard of the village, beneath the waving trees, reposed all that was mortal of the one great love of his life. stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as outward evidence gave any demonstration, of the many tender associations surrounding him, he left his native village and set off upon the long journey that was to end in his death. speeding away from the imagined assassin, he journeyed directly to the presence and companionship of the man who was to slay him. taking passage upon a steamer bound for america, they were soon riding upon the broad bosom of the atlantic, and after an uneventful voyage landed safely in new york. not one of the many passengers of the vessel, or among the crowd that stood upon the pier and watched their disembarking, would for a moment have supposed that this old man, whose face gave evidence of the years through which he had passed, whose clothing showed too plainly the marks of long and hard usage, and whose general appearance resembled that of a beggar, was the possessor of wealth enough to render any of them independent of the world. nor would they have thought that the worn and frequently-patched coat he wore concealed a sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thousand dollars. yet such was the fact; for upon his person he carried fully this amount of money, most of which was in german mark bills, easily convertible into american money; and which, should the fact become known, would have been sufficient to excite the cupidity of many of them, who would not hesitate to attempt the operation of relieving him of his hoarded wealth, and who might, perhaps, scarcely consider an old man's life of sufficient importance to successfully interfere with their possessing themselves of his money. he had jealously guarded his secret and his treasure, and although his sleep was frequently disturbed by startling visions of robbery and murder, not one of the many who surrounded him suspected for an instant the wealth that he possessed. to his servant he was generally reticent, but not so excessively secretive, for frank bruner was well-informed of the extent of his master's treasures, although he was not fully aware of the amount he had brought with him. poor frank led a miserable existence on that passage to new york, and many times after he had settled himself in his berth for a comfortable night's sleep he would be rudely awakened by his nervous and suspicious master, who was continually imagining that somebody was forcing an entrance into his state-room. he would start up with affright, and nothing would allay his fears but a rigid examination of the premises, which invariably resulted in finding nothing of a suspicious or fear-inspiring nature. many times, upon remonstrating with his master about the groundlessness of his fears, he would be made to feel the heaviness of his hand, and chastisements were the reward of his devotion so frequently that his usually submissive spirit began to rebel, and frank resolved to leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless a master upon the first favorable opportunity that presented itself. the journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and henry schulte, with his wealth intact, arrived in new york, and, seeking a quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to "the crescent," where he soon wended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have his trunks conveyed without delay. the hotel which he had selected was a german boarding-house, of modest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance. over its doorway swung the faded sign of the crescent, and over its destinies presided the portly, good-natured landlord, who dispensed the creature comforts to the limited number of guests who lodged beneath his roof. henry schulte entered the little room of the hotel which was used as a bar-room, and, paying no attention to the other occupants, he seated himself at one of the tables, ordered a bottle of wine, which he proceeded to drink slowly until nearly finished, after which he pushed the bottle and glass towards his thirsty and longing servant and bade him consume the balance. seated around the room in various attitudes, but all engaged in the occupation of smoking and drinking, were a number of men, all inmates of the hotel, and all germans, to whom the old man's appearance naturally gave occasion for considerable curiosity. several attempts were made to cultivate his acquaintance and to interrogate him upon the incidents of his passage over, but all of no avail. he maintained a reserve that was impossible to overcome; his answers were given in monosyllables, and, as but little encouragement was given to friendly converse, he was finally left alone to enjoy his musings. at an early hour of the evening he signified his intention of retiring, and, accompanied by his servant, he left the room and shortly afterwards went to bed. after attending to the requirements of the old gentleman, frank bruner returned to the bar-room and joined the group sitting around the table. his mind was fixed upon leaving a service that was distasteful to him, and in which he was made to feel the hand of the master too frequently and too heavily to be borne longer with submission or silence. he was anxious, therefore, to make some inquiries in regard to a change of position from those whom he supposed would be acquainted with the facts he was desirous of learning. while they were thus conversing, a young man entered, and after saluting those present in a careless, off-hand manner, he seated himself among them. he was a tall, broad-shouldered young german, with blonde hair and smoothly-shaven face; his eyes were large and of a light blue color. his cheek-bones were rather prominent, and when he laughed he displayed his teeth, which, being somewhat decayed, gave a rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, otherwise he was what might have ordinarily been considered a good-looking fellow. upon seating himself, he was jocularly questioned by one of the number, in reference to some young lady, who was evidently known to them all. "ah, william, how did you find the lovely clara this evening?" inquired his friend, in german. william bucholz, for that was the name of the new-comer, shrugged his shoulders, and with an amused expression upon his face, answered: "oh, as well as usual, and quite as charming." and then, perceiving the presence of frank, he looked inquiringly at his friends, and added: "whom have we here?" "a young man who has just arrived from germany," was the reply. bucholz immediately arose, cordially shook hands with the stranger, and engaged him in conversation. chapter xv. _the history of william bucholz._--_an abused aunt who disappoints his hopes._--_a change of fortune._--_the soldier becomes a farmer._--_the voyage to new york._ william bucholz had been an inmate of the hotel for several weeks prior to this time, having arrived from germany in the latter part of july. he was somewhat of a favorite with the people with whom he associated, and being of a free and jovial disposition had made many friends during his limited residence in the city. as he is to bear an interesting part in the sequence of this narrative a few words may not be out of place in regard to his antecedents. the father of bucholz, who was a veterinary surgeon of some prominence in schweigert, had reared his children in comparative comfort, and had provided them with a liberal education. the early years of young bucholz had been spent with an uncle, who was very fond of him, and delighted to have him near his person. this uncle was a brother of his father, and very late in life had married a lady of large fortune, but whose appearance was not at all prepossessing. as william grew into manhood he entered the army and became connected with the "brunswick hussars." here he distinguished himself principally by leading a life of dissipation and extravagance, which made him an object of remark in his regiment. there were many wild spirits among his comrades, but none who displayed such an irrepressible and reckless disposition as william bucholz. his uncle, loving him as a son, and whose union had been blessed with no children, forgave his follies and liquidated his debts without a murmur, but shook his head frequently in a doubtful manner, as rumors reached him of some new exploit in which william had been a leading spirit, or some fresh scandal in which he was a prominent participant. the family of bucholz, with that weakness which sometimes characterizes the relative of the wealthy, soon began to display a coolness and dislike toward the wife of the uncle, and as no children were born to them, they looked forward with certainty to inheriting the vast wealth of their childless relative, without seeming to regard the rights or interests of the wife, who, in germany as well as in america, frequently exercises a potent influence in the disposition of her husband's affairs. that this conduct was displeasing to the woman who had brought so much wealth into the family may readily be imagined, and being possessed of sufficient spirit to resent the affronts put upon her, she did not tamely submit to be thus ignored by the supercilious relatives of her husband, but determined to be revenged upon them in a manner which she knew would be complete and satisfactory to herself. among her numerous friends was the widow of a captain of hussars, who had been in the same regiment with bucholz, but who had died a short time before, leaving his sorrow-stricken wife without sufficient income for her support, and with the care of an only son who had been born to them in their brief married life. to this lady william's aunt immediately offered her house as a home, and promised to take care of her child's education and provide for its future. this offer was gratefully accepted by the bereaved and impecunious widow, who, with her child, soon became domiciled beneath the roof of the uncle and the socially abused aunt. as the boy grew into years he displayed so many traits of a noble, manly character and of a fond and loving disposition, that the hearts of the aged couple instinctively warmed towards him with an abiding affection, and the mother dying soon after, he was formally adopted by them. the uncle continued, however, to supply the wants of his prodigal and degenerate nephew, but they increased so enormously that he was forced to remonstrate with the young man upon the recklessness of his conduct. his remonstrances were met with a spirit of impertinence and defiance that angered the old gentleman to such an extent that he declined at once to pay any further debts of his nephew's contracting, and limited his allowance to a sum which, while sufficiently large to provide for his actual needs, afforded no opportunities for lavish outlays or indiscreet dissipations. this action excited the ire of william and his family, who did not hesitate to ascribe it to the promptings of the wife, whom they had so consistently ignored, and whose feelings they had so frequently outraged. the relations between the brothers ceased to be friendly, and an estrangement took place which was increased by the family of bucholz, who spoke every where in the most disrespectful terms of the wife of the brother. while matters were in this position the uncle was suddenly attacked with a malady which resulted in his death. after the funeral the will was opened, and it was found, to the mortification and disappointment of his relatives, that instead of leaving to them the bulk of his large fortune, he had bequeathed the major portion to his adopted son, and had only left the sum of twenty thousand dollars to be divided equally among the six children of his brother. if the widow had desired to be revenged, she had succeeded admirably in her wishes, and the solemn countenances of the disappointed bucholzes, as they wended their way homeward after the reading of the will, from which they had hoped so much, would have been full satisfaction for the years of insult she had been compelled to endure from them during the life of her husband. this disposition of the estate of the uncle was a severe blow to those who had so confidently expected to have been enriched by his death, and produced a marked change in their manner of living. the bright, airy castles which they had builded, faded away--their hopes of prospective wealth were rudely dissipated, and the necessity for facing the actual position of affairs stared them in the face. william could no longer be permitted to lead the idle life of a soldier, and one and all would be compelled to labor for themselves. it was a bitter awakening from a bright dream, but the man of their hopes was dead, and their regrets were unavailing. bucholz, therefore, obtained an extended leave of absence, and in a short time entered into an engagement with an extensive farmer to learn the science of agriculture, and became domiciled beneath the roof of his employer and instructor. the dull routine of a farmer's life was, however, illy suited to his impulsive disposition, and although he had no manual labor to perform, he soon grew tired of the monotony of his existence and longed for a change. he had read of the wonderful success which attended the efforts of some of his countrymen who had emigrated to australia, that arcadia of the agriculturist, and burning with a desire to seek his fortune in the new land of promise, he began to make inquiries of the place, its products, and of the possibilities of successful operations while there. all the information which he gleaned was of such a character as to fill his mind with ambitious projects, and a desire to make his fortune in that far-off country, and he resolved to undertake the journey. his preparations were soon made, and ere many days he was afloat upon the heaving ocean, bound for new york, where he was informed he could procure a sailing vessel direct to australia, at a cost much less than he could by any other process of travel. arriving without accident in new york, he had taken up his quarters at "the crescent hotel," and proceeded to make inquiries concerning the continuance of his journey. to his disappointment, however, he discovered that no vessels were likely to sail from new york directly to australia, and the limited means he had brought with him were insufficient for the expense necessary to travel overland to a point of embarkation. he was therefore compelled to delay his journey until he could receive sufficient funds to enable him to continue farther. he immediately wrote to his family for the money he required, and it was while awaiting their reply that he met frank bruner, the servant of henry schulte, whose acquaintance was destined to produce such a marked and dramatic effect upon his future life. chapter xvi. _frank leaves the service of his master._--_a bowery concert saloon._--_the departure of henry schulte._--_william bucholz enters the employ of the old gentleman._ we left william bucholz and frank bruner in conversation at "the crescent hotel." the young hussar who had been reared in luxury, whose life until this time had been a round of pleasure and gayety, and who had come to america to seek his fortune--and the servant of the strange and silent old man who had crossed the sea to escape the imagined dangers which threatened him and to find peace and comfort in his declining years. "you have just come over from germany, i understand," said bucholz, addressing his companion in german. "just arrived to-day," replied bruner. "did you come alone?" "oh, no; i came with the old gentleman who has just gone to bed." "have you been long with him?" "long enough to want to get away from him," was the reply. "what is the reason?" inquired bucholz, with some indication of surprise and curiosity. "well, he does not use me properly, and i have grown tired of his abuse," answered frank, sullenly. after further questioning him, bucholz learned the story of the old man's eccentricities, the fact of his large possessions, and the probability of his extending his travels as far west as california. "i would not leave him," said bucholz, after frank had finished his narrative; "he may not live very long, and he will no doubt do something handsome for you." "i don't care for that," replied frank bruner; "i would not continue many days longer in his service even if i knew that he would leave me all his money." at that moment the sound of a cane struck angrily upon the floor above them admonished frank that his master desired his services, and also that he was in no pleasant humor. "there he goes!" cried frank, "and i must go to him or i shall feel the weight of his stick. good-night." "good-night!" said bucholz, extending his hand, "i will see you again in the morning." the young man turned and left the room, and bucholz seated himself apart from the rest of the company, apparently lost in profound meditation. shortly after, he roused himself, as with an effort, and bidding his comrades good-night he went up stairs to his room. he did not immediately retire, however, but sat up until a late hour, revolving in his mind the information which he had just received and debating with himself as to his future course of action. the result of this mental consultation appeared satisfactory to him, and he undressed himself and went to bed. he would encourage frank to leave his distasteful employment, and he would offer himself as an applicant for the vacant position. he had no fears of the result, and felt no anxiety about the probabilities of his being made the subject of the old man's castigations. if the old gentleman designed going to california he would be so much nearer to the coveted place of his ambitious dreams, and he could very easily submit to temporary discomforts in order to secure the practical benefits which he so much desired. with this comforting reflection he closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep. in the morning he again met frank bruner, and the conversation of the night before was continued. bucholz, without seeming to be anxious upon the subject, adroitly led the unsuspecting servant on in his dislike for his occupation, and he succeeded so well that before the day was passed, frank had firmly resolved to inform henry schulte of his plans and of his intention to leave his service. in the evening, immediately after supper, he communicated his intention to his master, who received it with violent manifestations of disappointment and anger, and almost instantly retired to his room, locked his door, thereby denying admission to frank, who was prepared to serve his irate master until he could provide himself with another servant. finding himself left to his own resources, frank cordially accepted an invitation to take a stroll with his newly-found associate, and putting on his hat he linked his arm in that of bucholz, and they left the hotel together. walking slowly on they soon came to the brilliantly-lighted thoroughfare in the bowery, known as chatham street, and here their ears were saluted with the sounds of music, which emanated from the illuminated saloons, which lined the sidewalks at frequent intervals. frank gazed with curious eyes at this phase of new york life, so new and startling to one whose early years had been passed in the rural simplicity of a german peasant, and as bucholz stopped before one of these places and asked him if he would like to go inside, he made not the slightest objection. quietly following his guide they found themselves within the walls of one of those gilded palaces of sin, that have so often proved the avenues through which many unsuspecting young men have entered upon a life of shame and dishonor. to frank, however, the scene was novel and exciting, the music was exhilarating, and the "pretty waiter girls" were objects of curiosity and unfeigned admiration. pushing their way through the crowded assembly, where men and women were engaged in drinking and indulging in loud and boisterous laughter, they reached a position in front of a stage that had been erected in the rear end of the hall, and before which hung a gaudily-painted curtain, which hid from the spectators the mysteries and perhaps the miseries that lay beyond. bucholz appeared to be perfectly at home among this mixed assemblage, and nodded familiarly to right and left in recognition of numerous friends and acquaintances. presently a buxom-looking german girl, whose rosy cheeks and rotund figure gave evidence that her life in this place had been of short duration, advanced towards them, and, seating herself beside bucholz, bade him good evening, in a tone of familiarity which betokened a long, or, at least, a well-understood acquaintance. [illustration: _"a buxom looking german girl sat down beside bucholz, and bade him good evening."_] to the young man who accompanied bucholz there seemed to be a fascination in the glitter of his present surroundings, and he instinctively began to feel envious of his more fortunate companion, who appeared so much at his ease, and whose intimacy with the teutonic siren was so much to be admired. during the progress of the mixed entertainment that followed, in which dancing and singing, banjo playing, and a liberal display of the anatomy of the female "artists" formed the principal features, they sipped their beer and applauded loudly the efforts of those who ministered to their enjoyment. upon the conclusion of the performance, they returned to their hotel, and frank bruner's mind was more firmly settled in his determination to leave the service of henry schulte, and to find employment in the city, where such pleasures would be open to him at all times. on their walk homeward to the hotel frank again mentioned his resolve to bucholz. "i think you are very foolish," was the reply. "the old man has lots of money, and if i was in your place i would do very different." frank was immovable, however, and the words of his companion produced no effect upon his mind. the next morning mr. schulte endeavored in vain to induce frank to change his determination, and at last, finding it impossible to do so, he paid him the amount that was due to him and dispensed, rather reluctantly, with his further services. a few days after this, having completed the business which detained him in new york, the old gentleman announced his intention of departing, and, having his baggage transferred to the coach, he started for the depot, leaving frank behind him, who now half regretted having so suddenly sundered his relations with his eccentric employer. bucholz's opportunity had now arrived, and jumping into the coach, he took his seat beside the old gentleman, whose acquaintance he had cultivated during his brief sojourn at the hotel. "you are going away, mr. schulte?" said bucholz. the old man nodded his head affirmatively, but made no audible reply. "which way are you going?" asked bucholz, unabashed by the manner of the other. "i am going down to south norwalk, in connecticut, to buy a farm which was advertised for sale there," answered mr. schulte. "where is frank?" asked bucholz, as though in ignorance of their separation. "is he not going with you?" "frank is no longer in my employ. i have discharged him, and he must now look out for himself." "don't you want somebody to take his place?" said bucholz, eagerly. "yes, but i will get some one down there, i guess," replied the old man, as though he did not desire to talk any further about his affairs. "don't you think i would suit you, mr. schulte? i have nothing to do, and would be very glad to take the place," urged bucholz. the old gentleman looked up in surprise at this question, and said: "you would not come for such wages as i would pay." he named a sum ridiculously small, but bucholz announced his perfect willingness to accept the position at the remuneration offered. the old gentleman revolved the question in his mind for a few moments, gazing somewhat suspiciously at the young man the while, and at length said to bucholz, who was anxiously awaiting his decision: "well, you may come along and see how you will like it. if it does not suit you, you can return, and we can make our arrangements afterward." the matter was thus disposed of, and william bucholz journeyed to south norwalk with his employer. the gay soldier had become the humble servant, the prospective farmer had been transformed into the obsequious valet. these two men had journeyed across the seas, for a far-off land, and thus had strangely met. the web of fate had woven itself around their two lives, and the compact this day made was only to be severed by the death, sudden and mysterious, of the eldest party to the agreement. who could have told that before many months had rolled away, that old man would have been brutally beaten to death, and that the bright-faced young man who sued for his favor would be sitting in a lonely cell under the dreadful charge of committing the foul deed! perhaps could either have glanced with prophetic vision into the future, their paths, by mutual consent, would have widely diverged, and their intimacy have ceased forever on that august afternoon. the detection. chapter xvii. _the detective._--_his experience and his practice._--_a plan of detection perfected._--_the work is begun._ the detective occupies a peculiar position in society, and is a prominent actor in many scenes of which the general public can have no knowledge. in his breast may be locked the secrets of many men who stand in proud pre-eminence before the public, and who are admired and respected for the possession of virtues that are but the cloak with which they hide the baser elements of their dispositions. the canting hypocrite, whose voice may be loudest in chapel or meeting-house, and whose sanctimonious air and solemn visage will cover the sins of his heart to the general observer, is well known to the detective, who has seen that same face pale with apprehension, and has heard that same voice trembling with the fear of exposure. that dapper young gentleman, who twirls his moustache and swings his cane so jauntily upon the promenade, is an object of admiration to many; but to the man who knows the secrets of his inner life another scene is opened, and he remembers when this same exquisite walked the cell of a prison--a convict guilty of a crime. through all the various grades of society the detective has wended his way, and he has looked into men's hearts when infamy stared them in the face and dishonor impended over them. his experience has rendered him almost incapable of surprise, or mobility of feeling. he is ever watchful for the deceptiveness of appearances, ever prepared to admit everything, to explain everything, and to believe nothing--but what he sees. the judicial officer, with the nicety and legal acumen of a thorough jurist, applies the technicalities of the law to the testimony submitted to him, but the detective observes with caution, and watches with suspicion all the odious combinations and circumstances which the law with all the power at its command cannot successfully reach. he is made the unwilling, but necessary recipient of disgraceful details; of domestic crimes, and even of tolerated vices with which the law cannot deal. if, when he entered upon his office, his mind teemed with illusions in regard to humanity, the experience of a year has dissipated them to the winds. if he does not eventually become skeptical of the whole human race, it is because his experience has shown him that honor and vice may walk side by side without contamination; that virtue and crime may be closely connected, and yet no stain be left upon the white robe of purity, and that while upon the one hand he sees abominations indulged in with impunity, upon the other, he witnesses a sublime generosity which cannot be weakened or crushed. the modest violet may exhale its fragrance through an overgrowth of noxious weeds--and humanity bears out the simile. he sees with contempt the proud bearing of the impudent scoundrels who are unjustly receiving public respect, but he sees also with pleasure many heroes in the modest and obscure walks of life, who deserve the rich rewards which they never receive. he has so often pierced beneath the shining mask of virtue and discovered the distorted visage of vice, that he has almost reached a state of general doubtfulness until results shall demonstrate the correctness of his theories. he believes in nothing until it is proven--not in absolute evil more than in absolute good, and the results of his teachings have brought him to the conclusion that not men but events alone are worthy of consideration. a knowledge of human nature is as necessary to him as that he shall have eyes and ears, and this knowledge experience alone can give. in my eventful career as a detective, extending over a period of thirty years of active practice, my experience has been of such a character as to lead me to pay no attention to the outward appearance of men or things. the burglar does not commit his depredations in the open light of day, nor in the full view of the spectator. nor does the murderer usually select the brilliantly-lighted highway to strike the fatal blow. quietly and secretly, and with every imagined precaution against detection, the criminal acts, and it is only by equally secretive ways that he can be reached. weeks and months may elapse before he is finally brought to bay, but i have never known it to fail, at least in my experience, that detection will follow crime as surely as the shadow will follow a moving body in the glare of sunlight. from the facts collected by my operatives, and from every other available source, i was now put into possession of every point in the case of the murder of henry schulte, that could be arrived at, and we were prepared to define a plan of operation, which, if strictly adhered to, bore the impress of promised success. an old man had been foully murdered, and his body had been robbed of a large sum of money. money, therefore, was the cause of the murder, and the recovery and identification of this would undoubtedly lead to the discovery of the criminal. the matter, with all its attendant facts, was placed in the hands of mr. bangs, my general superintendent, and of my son, robert a. pinkerton, who resolved to succeed in the undertaking if success were possible. the details of our proposed line of action were submitted to the german consul-general and to the state's attorney, mr. olmstead. the former, while expressing doubts of the expediency of the plan proposed, determined finally to allow us to pursue such course as in our judgment was advisable, while the latter gentleman signified his hearty approval, as it accorded in many respects with a plan which he had previously thought feasible in this very matter. our relations with these gentlemen were of a nature somewhat peculiar. the german consul was acting in a double capacity, and had two interests to serve. he represented the heirs of the murdered man, and in that relation he was desirous of recovering the money that had been stolen, as well as discovering who the murderer was and bringing him to justice. at the same time, he was expected to render whatever assistance that was in his power to the unfortunate man who stood accused of the crime, and who was also a native of germany, requiring his protection. the german consul also entertained a well-grounded faith in the innocence of bucholz, and desired that every fact that would substantiate this opinion should be discovered and used for his benefit. the state's attorney, on the contrary, was firmly established in his belief that the murder had been committed by bucholz, and none other, and his desire was that this theory should be proved beyond the possibility of doubt, in order that he, as the prosecuting officer of the state, should be enabled to uphold the dignity of outraged law, and to bring the guilty man to the justice which he believed was so richly merited. it was determined, therefore, after a conference with these gentlemen, that my agents should pursue the investigation in such a manner as seemed best, and which gave greatest promise of eventual success. armed with this double authority, our arrangements were soon made, and active operations were instituted. whether our efforts resulted in victory or defeat, the sequel will prove. chapter xviii. _a detective reminiscence._--_an operation in bridgeport in ._--_the adams express robbery._--_a half million of dollars stolen._--_capture of the thieves._--_one of the principals turns state's evidence._--_conviction and punishment._ when a great crime has been committed the public mind experiences a sensation of horror. imaginative persons are busy in the formation of all sorts of fancies with regard to the perpetrators. his probable appearance, gigantic proportions and horrible aspect are duly commented upon, and exaggeration invariably takes the place of fact in such estimations. in the majority of cases that have come under my notice the personal appearance of the criminal belied the possibility of his guilt. the verdant spectator is frequently amazed to find the apparent gentleman, attired with the precision of the tailor's art, with immaculate linen, and of delicate, and sometimes refined appearance arraigned for the crime of robbery or murder. many times i have seen the eager spectator in a court-room, looking vainly among the group of lawyers before the bar, for the monster they have conjured up in their imaginations, and finally settling upon some sharp-featured, but unimpeachable attorney as the malefactor, indulge in wise reflections as to the impossibility of mistaking a rogue from his appearance. i have seen their start of surprise as the real criminal, genteel, cool and gentlemanly, would rise from his seat and plead to the indictment that would be read to him, and their solemn shake of the head as their wise reflections were scattered to the winds. my first experience with the town of bridgeport was particularly suggestive of these reflections. i was engaged in a detective operation in which the adams express company were the sufferers, having been robbed of a large amount of money, and, as the robbery took place in the vicinity of that city, the thieves, whom i succeeded in capturing, were confined in the jail there. the affair occurred during the first week of january, , and the facts were as follows: on the night of the sixth of january, in the year just mentioned, the public mind was startled by the announcement that the adams express company had been robbed of over a half million of dollars, by the thieves breaking into the car in which their valuables were placed, prying open the safes, and abstracting over six hundred thousand dollars, in notes, bonds and other valuable securities. the train to which the car was attached had left new york for boston at eight o' clock in the evening, and it was not until arriving at new haven that the depredation was discovered. the dismay of the company's officials may be imagined when, on entering the car at the latter place, the fractured safes met their astonished gaze. a marlin spike, three dark lanterns and a sledge hammer which lay beside them, told too plainly how the work had been accomplished, but it furnished no clue as to how, or when, or by whom. the car was of the ordinary size of a box freight car, built with an iron frame, sheathed over with thick sheet iron plates, rivetted strongly together, and so closely made that a light placed inside could not be seen when the doors were closed. a messenger always accompanied this car, but he usually sat in the baggage car of the train, and as the train did not make any stoppages between new york and new haven, it was only at this time that the theft was discovered by the entrance of the messenger. it further appeared that the company's safes were taken from the depot in new york and placed in the iron car, which was waiting upon a side-track, and which was immediately afterwards attached to the train. the safes having been placed in the car, the door was securely locked, and, as the train was then ready to start, the agent of the company gave the word "all right!" the train started and sped upon its journey, and nothing further was known until its arrival at new haven and the discovery of the theft. i was immediately notified of the matter, and after a careful observation of the safes and an investigation into the facts of the case, i thought i detected the handiwork of a party of young thieves whom i had accidentally encountered in another operation in which i had been engaged some months previously. operatives were immediately despatched in various directions, and the movements of the suspected parties were carefully but unobservedly watched. very soon after, i succeeded in running down two of the parties, named john tristram and thomas clark, and upon arresting them each one had in his possession a gold watch, both of which were identified as stolen property. they were accordingly conveyed to bridgeport and held to await their trial. mr. wells, the genial and efficient keeper of the prison, whose acquaintance i had previously made, received the prisoners and securely fastened them up. a few days following this, an old resident of norwalk, who was also an uncle of one of the men arrested, was observed by one of my men, carrying a package of unusual weight from his residence to the house of a sister of tristram in new york city, and an examination of the house resulted in finding nearly eighty seven thousand dollars of the stolen treasure. the old man was arrested, but developments proved too plainly that he was only acting as a mere blind messenger for the other parties, and he was accordingly discharged. the trial of the two men, which subsequently took place at bridgeport, was attended by a large array of new york burglars, shoplifters and pick-pockets--all friends of the criminals. they were closely watched, as it was feared that they intended making some attempt to rescue the prisoners. this precaution proved not to have been in vain, for during the sitting of the court an attempt was made to purloin an iron box in which most of the testimony intended for use in the case, was kept. this was fortunately discovered in time, and many of the individuals concerned in it left town immediately. on the trial tristram pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a term of imprisonment of three years and six months. from the evidence upon the part of the company, it appeared that the money in the safes was in four separate pouches, and consisted mainly of currency belonging to banking institutions, and all of which lacked the signatures of the bank officers to give it full character as money. the amounts taken were as follows: from the washington pouch, $ , . from the baltimore pouch, , . from the philadelphia pouch, , . from the new york pouch, , . ---------- $ , . the two watches that were found upon the prisoners and identified as stolen from the safes, were designed as gifts, and were being carried by the company for delivery to the friends of the givers in boston. clark stood trial alone and was found guilty of only one count of the information against him, and his counsel obtained a stay of proceedings. i was now determined to capture the other members of the gang, and my arrangements were made accordingly. i suspected an individual named james wells as being a participant in the robbery, and therefore made him the principal object of attack. wells was living at home with his mother at that time, and i succeeded in introducing one of my operatives into the house as a boarder. this operative cultivated the acquaintance of james, and proved a very agreeable companion indeed, while by the female members of the family he was regarded as one of the most pleasant boarders imaginable. the work was admirably accomplished, and he obtained all the information that was necessary to enable me to act intelligently and actively in the matter. prompt arrests followed, and martin allen, james wells, gilly mcgloyn, eddy watson and john grady were pounced upon and conveyed to prison. thus far the evidence obtained had been of a character sufficient to warrant an arrest, but hardly of convincing force to justify a conviction upon a trial by jury. most of the stolen property had been recovered, and i finally decided to make an onslaught upon the weak points of clark, the man previously arrested, and now awaiting the new trial which had been granted in his case. accordingly i visited the jail and had an interview with this individual, who did not, at first, appear at all delighted with the visit. in a short time, however, i had gained entire control of the man, and he became like wax in my hands. he made a full confession of the robbery, and declared his readiness to become a witness for the prosecution. having accomplished my purpose, i announced to the officers of the state my readiness to proceed to trial, and my sanguine hopes of a full conviction of the parties implicated. the trial took place shortly afterwards in danbury, and i do not remember ever to have seen a more gentlemanly-looking array of prisoners before a bar of justice. they were all dressed in the most exquisite style, and deported themselves in a manner far from what would ordinarily be expected from men engaged in professional criminal pursuits. during the trial the court house was thronged by the fair sex of danbury, whose sympathetic hearts were profoundly touched at the sight of these gentlemanly-appearing rascals. the attendance was further augmented by the appearance of many of their friends, both male and female, who came from new york to witness the proceedings and offer their loving consolations to the unfortunates. the alarm of these sympathetic friends reached a culminating point when the prosecuting attorney arose in his place and announced that he would place upon the stand one of the principals in the robbery, who would unfold the plot and its successful execution. each prisoner looked at the other, and angry, suspicious glances flashed from the eyes of them all. threats were whispered audibly among their friends, but no demonstration took place, and the silence in the court-room became painfully oppressive as the state's attorney, after finishing his address to the jury, called the name of thomas clark. the prisoner took the stand, and, unabashed by the angry glances that were directed towards him, he told the story of the robbery in a plain, straightforward manner, that carried conviction to the minds of both judge and jury. the testimony which he gave was as follows: "my connection with this robbery commenced on or about the th of december last ( ), at which time i met martin allen at a saloon in new york city. it was on that occasion that he told me that his brother-in-law, james wells, who resided in brooklyn, had an acquaintance named gilly mcgloyn, and that gilly had a brother-in-law named grady, who was a brakeman on the express train of the new york and new haven railroad, which left new york at o'clock in the evening. he also said that grady wanted mcgloyn to get somebody to help throw the safes out of that train. mcgloyn went to wells on purpose to inform him, and wells told him of it, and allen told me. "the next day allen, wells, mcgloyn and grady met me at lafayette hall, on broadway, about the st of december. at that time grady exhibited a piece of soap which contained an impression of a key-hole in the lock of the adams express car. in the course of the conversation which ensued at that time, grady said that there were two messengers who looked after the adams express cars alternately, one on each alternate night. he said that the most careless of the two messengers was named moore, and that his evenings from new york were tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays. grady said he thought any one of those evenings would be the best to select for the purpose of committing the robbery. "some time afterward, on a night when moore had charge of the express car, i got on the train at forty-second street, and went into the smoking car. there was a man there busy making a fire in the stove, and in a few moments grady came into the car, and in order to signalize to me who moore was, slapped the man on the back, saying, 'billy moore, you don't know how to make a fire.' "the place which i selected as the proper point for throwing off the safes was between coscob bridge and stamford. i hit upon that spot for the purpose, because at that point the distance between stoppages was short, being only three miles from coscob bridge to stamford. i left the train at bridgeport, where i stopped at the atlantic hotel, near the depot, all night. i returned to new york by the o'clock train next morning. i think it was the same day that the parties i have named had another meeting at lafayette hall. "it was at that time we arranged a plan for getting the safes out at forty-second street, where we got the size of the lock of the express car. next day allen and myself visited nearly every hardware store in new york for the purpose of purchasing a lock similar to that on the car. the nearest to it in appearance was found in a store on howard street, between crosby street and broadway. we wanted this lock to put on the door of the car after breaking the other off. that same day allen and wells went to the same store and bought a sledge hammer. on the evening of the same day allen went to crowe's livery stable and hired a horse and a heavy express wagon. "some time before this allen and i went to a blacksmith shop and had a piece of steel made into shape for the purpose of prying the lock off the car. no less than five efforts were made to take the safes off the car at forty-second street, on nights when moore was messenger. next day after our last attempt allen, mcgloyn, grady and myself met at lafayette hall and arranged to abandon the forty-second street plan. tristram, hudson and mcguire were never present at our conferences at lafayette hall. i used to meet mcguire and tell him what had transpired, and he used to convey the intelligence to tristram and hudson. "the new plan was that three of us were to secrete ourselves in the express car during its brief stay at forty-second street, and the other five were to go in the passenger cars. we three were to throw off the safes after the train got over the harlem bridge. the five were to get out at the bridge. after the three had thrown off the safes they were to ring the bell, stop the train, get off and walk back till they met the others. they were then to take the safes to some convenient place, break them open, and pack the money and valuables in two valises which they had with them, and leave the safes there. "on the night of the th of january last, the eight of us, allen, tristram, mcguire, hudson, wells, mcgloyn, grady and myself met by previous agreement, about seven o'clock, near the depot and forty-second street. mcguire brought with him two carpet-bags, a marlin spike and a common mortising chisel. the others of us had a piece of steel, a lock, a sledge hammer and a dark lantern. hudson, grady, mcguire and myself got in between the express car and the freight train, and managed to break the lock with the marlin spike. we then drew back the door and three of us, grady, mcguire and myself, got in. hudson then placed the lock in the staple outside, but not in the hasp, and then closed the door. this was to save appearances. "we sat quietly until the train got in the tunnel, between new york and harlem. we found three safes in the car. we got one of them over and tried to break in the bottom with the sledge hammer, but we found this would not work. we then took the marlin spike, drove it into the door of the safe and pried it open. mcguire held the spike and grady and i knocked it in. having packed the contents of this in a carpet-bag, we broke open another safe, the contents of which we also packed away. the reason we did not get out after passing harlem bridge was because we discovered, after getting into the car, that the rope was in an iron tube, and that prevented our stopping the car. [illustration: "_we pried the safe open._"] "at coscob station we got out and hid one of the bags in a pile of lumber. we then walked up the track a mile toward stamford, where we hid in a stone wall the large carpet-bag. the three of us then, unincumbered, walked to stamford. here grady lived, and he wished us to go to a barn, and said he would bring us something to eat; but mcguire and i thought it best to go back to new york as soon as possible; so we got aboard a freight train for norwalk and took the owl, a midnight train, from there. going to new york we sat in different parts of the car and did not speak. the train stopped for some reason or other at one hundred and twentieth street, and there mcguire and i got out. "we were then on our way to tristram's house, and there we met allen, hudson and tristram. they told us they had got on the car as agreed upon, and had got off at harlem bridge, and walked up the track about six miles, but, failing to find us, had become disgusted and returned home. that evening tristram, mcguire and i started for norwalk in the five o'clock train. we all got off at stamford, and i went to a livery stable, for the purpose of hiring a horse and wagon in order to remove the stolen property. i told the stable keeper i was going to norwalk, but it was so cold he would not hire his horses. we could not get a horse at stamford, so we arranged to take the next train to norwalk. we reached norwalk the next day, and stopped at the house of old josiah tristram till tuesday evening. on monday evening we were joined by hudson. he came to the house with tristram in a rockaway carriage. we then went to coscob bridge, got the hidden bags, and returned to tristram's house. we here unpacked and repacked the bags, tying a couple of skate straps about them, so as to be handy for josiah tristram to carry them to new york next day, january . we remained here tuesday evening, when tristram and i were arrested." the effect of clark's evidence was thrilling in the extreme. the story was too potent for cross-examination. the enemy was badly shattered and demoralized. ex-judge stuart, counsel for the prisoners, maintained the currency was not money because it was incomplete without the bank officers' signatures, but he was overruled by the court. a host of witnesses were then produced to prove that allen, wells and some of the other prisoners were elsewhere on the night of the robbery. the characters of the witnesses for the defense broke down under cross-examination; but no matter, the jury disagreed--a result which had been anticipated owing to certain associations of one of the jurors with friends of some of the prisoners. a second trial was ordered, and took place in danbury during the latter part of the year. during the interval that elapsed before the second trial, mcguire, who was out on bail, took part in the bold robbery of the bowdoinham bank, in maine, for which he is now serving out a fifteen years' sentence in state prison. hudson managed to escape before the first arrest of the prisoners, and with ten thousand dollars of the stolen money went to europe, where he has been ever since. one of allen's friends, who was visiting danbury with his family during the first trial, and who was on visiting terms with one of the jurors, represented to an old friend who met him in the hotel that he "had found jesus" and was "leading a new life." he was congratulated, but carefully watched. one of the female witnesses for the _alibi_, a handsome brunette, said, on cross examination, that she was a dressmaker, but seldom made dresses, as she was the recipient of two hundred dollars every week from a new york merchant, who admired her for her beauty. at the second trial the four remaining prisoners, mcguire having gone into business in maine, fared not so well. they were convicted and sent to wethersfield, from whence some of them may have emerged wiser and better members of society. some of them could not reform. the stolen money was nearly all recovered, and the adams express company had, long previous to the end of the trial, indemnified all their customers for any loss sustained by the robbery. chapter xix. _the jail at bridgeport._--_an important arrest._--_bucholz finds a friend._--_a suspicious character who watches and listens._--_bucholz relates his story._ a few days had elapsed after my taking charge of the case of william bucholz, when two arrests were made by the officials of bridgeport, one of which promised to have an important bearing upon the investigation in hand. one was that of a shrewdly-educated young irishman, whose sharp, piercing black eyes, and closely-cut black hair, gave him a look of acuteness that was apparent to the most casual observer. he had been charged with false pretense in assuming to be the agent of a publisher of chromos, and his practice was to take orders for the pictures which he exhibited, from his unsuspecting customers, the same to be delivered at some future time. he would then receive a part of the purchase money in advance, and take his departure, while the innocent subscriber would look in vain for the fulfillment of his contract. the other arrest was that of a handsome and gentlemanly-looking man of about thirty-five years of age. his hair, which was prematurely gray, curled gracefully about his brow and temples, but his moustache, which was of a brownish color and carefully trimmed, lessened the indication of greater age on account of the color of his hair. he evinced a quiet reserve of manner, and a general air of respectability scarcely in accord with his appearing to answer for the commission of a crime, and many sympathetic remarks were made by the bystanders on the occasion of his hearing. he was charged with forgery, and had been arrested in the act of presenting a forged order for a money package, at the office of the adams express company at bridgeport. the evidence of the forgery was unmistakable, and the agent of the company detecting it, at once had the man arrested. these two arrests were almost coincident; their hearing at the preliminary examination took place at the same session of the court, and as each of them waived a hearing and were unable to procure bail, they were both consigned to the jail to await their trial at the next sitting of the general court. as a general thing there seems to be a sort of community of interest or fraternity of feeling existing between prisoners during their confinement. at certain hours in the day, in many places of imprisonment, the authorities permit the prisoners to leave their cells and to take exercise in the corridors. at such times they mingle together indiscriminately and indulge in general conversation, and many interesting episodes could be gathered from their recitals of the various scenes through which they have passed during their vicarious life, and the experiences thus related would tend to prove, beyond question, that the imagination of the romancer falls far short of the actual realities of life. many wild and seemingly extravagant stories are related, which fill the listener with incredulity, but which, upon inquiry, are usually found to be but truthful relations of actual occurrences. but in this jail at bridgeport there was one person, who, upon finding himself a prisoner, held himself aloof from the rest, declining to make any acquaintances or to engender any friendships, and this person was the quiet-looking man who had been arrested by the express company, and whose name was ascertained to be edward sommers. he studiously avoided his fellow-prisoners and maintained a degree of reserve which repelled their advances and at once induced their respect. thomas brown, the black-haired, false pretender, however, immediately placed himself on friendly terms with every one within reach, and his merry stories were fully appreciated by the residents of the correctional institution in which they found themselves thrown together. but how fared william bucholz during the days that had intervened since his incarceration? his mind, it is true, had grown calmer since the first paroxysm of his grief had spent itself, and he had composed himself sufficiently to look the future hopefully in the face. as day after day was passed in the seclusion of his cell, he had grown reconciled to a certain extent to the existing state of affairs, but he still looked forward anxiously to the day which was to deliver him from the enclosing walls that restrained him of his liberty. he was moody and silent, and his mind was much disturbed. his waking thoughts were ever busy with the weighty and depressing consideration of his position and of the fate that hung over him like a pall. hour after hour he would pace the corridors, seeking no companionship and taking no pleasure in the mirth-provoking actions of those who surrounded him, or in any of the events that transpired within the jail. mechanically he would walk backward and forward, apparently in deep and dejected thoughtfulness, and when the time came for the keepers to lock him up again he would yield a ready but listless obedience, and spend the remainder of the time in reading and profound meditation. he appeared to have no visitors except his counsel and a few friends from south norwalk. but his attorneys would invariably exercise a cheering influence upon him, and their visits were always looked forward to with pleasure. under their ministrations bucholz seemed to have buoyed himself up with a certain well-grounded hope of ultimate acquittal, and the thought of the possibility of conviction, while it would frequently occur to him, never found a firm place in his mind. during the infrequent and invariably short conversations that took place between himself and any of his fellow prisoners, he always spoke hopefully of his approaching trial, and ever asserted, with an air of conviction, that upon its completion he would walk out of the court-room a free man. his counsel had solemnly warned him against making a confidant of any one with whom he conversed, and he was always very careful in his utterances when speaking about his connection with the murder of henry schulte. thus the days sped on until edward sommers entered the jail, and then it seemed as though his disposition for reserve entirely left him. there appeared to be some feeling of personal attraction between bucholz and the newcomer almost unaccountable, for as they both had avoided the companionship of the other inmates, they, strange to say, soon quietly, almost imperceptibly, drifted into a friendship for each other seemingly as profound as it was demonstrative. both being natives of germany, they conversed in the language of the fatherland, and as they were familiar with many localities of joint interest, they became quite intimate, and many hours were whiled away in the relation of their earlier experiences and in fond recollections of bygone days. during the entire time in which they were allowed to mingle with each other, these two would sit together, and their friendship soon became the topic of general conversation. thomas brown, however, seemed to be exceedingly uneasy under its manifestations, and he would oftentimes steal upon them unawares and endeavor to catch some fleeting words of their apparently interesting conversations. under the inspiration of a mutual interchange of thoughts the two friends became warmly attached to each other, particularly so far as bucholz was concerned. they shared together their stores and the delicacies which would be furnished them by visiting ladies or by the counsel of bucholz, who frequently visited his client and supplied him with needed articles of diet, which were not furnished by the authorities of the prison. thus matters went on, the friendship of sommers and william bucholz seeming to increase with every recurring day, and the watchful brown still jealously watching their movements and attempting to listen to their confidences. they were sitting together one day shortly after this, when bucholz, in a jocular manner, addressing his companion, said: "ah, my dear sommers, i am surprised to find you here in jail and upon such a charge as they have brought against you." "yes, but my dear bucholz, consider my surprise to find you here, and upon the charge of murder, too. you must remember you are not clear yet," answered sommers, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice, but whether it was his tone or the language used that brought the color to the face of the accused man, sommers did not then know. "ah, you should not joke upon such a serious matter," he answered, with a degree of confusion that could not have escaped the attention of his friend. "never mind, my friend," replied sommers. "it will all come out right in the end, only you must not talk to your fellow-prisoners about their troubles, nor allow them to talk to you about yours." "oh, no!" said bucholz; "my lawyers always tell me to say nothing to anybody." "that is right. you cannot tell who would be your friend or who your enemy, in a place of this kind." the next day, as they were sitting together, two german newspapers were handed to sommers by the hall-man, and upon receiving them he handed them at once to his companion. bucholz opened the paper carelessly, but as his eyes glanced over its contents, he stopped, started to his feet, and then throwing the paper suddenly down upon the floor, he buried his face in his hands. "what is the matter now?" asked sommers, astonished at this strange behavior, and picking up the discarded paper. "look there!" exclaimed bucholz, pointing to a passage in the paper. "read that. that is the first time that paper ever said i was guilty." the article to which he alluded was in regard to a statement which bucholz had made at the time of his arrest. in explaining the fact of his having several large sums of money in his possession, he had declared that his sister had sent them to him from germany. this statement had just been discovered to be untrue, and the denial of the sister of the fact of her having sent any money at all, was the basis of the article in question. "this looks rather bad for you, william," said sommers, sorrowfully. "it does look bad," he replied, "but i never did say that i received any money from my sister. i never did say anything of that kind." the black eyes of the ubiquitous brown were upon the two men as they stood talking, but he was too far away to hear what was transpiring between them. "what can they have against you any how?" inquired sommers. "surely there must be some ground of suspicion upon which to base their charge." "ah, you do not know. after the old man was murdered; i was arrested; i was closely questioned, and i did say some things that i should not have said. i had no lawyer, and a white-haired fox whose name was illing did every thing he could against me. i did not have an opportunity to explain myself at all." "that was too bad, indeed," added sommers; "but it can all be shown right upon the trial, and then you will come out safely." "oh, yes, it will come out all right on the trial, i know, for then i will have my lawyers to defend me." "but, tell me, william, how did this murder occur?" thus questioned, bucholz, without hesitation, at once commenced and related to his friend the circumstances of the affair, adhering strictly to the same story which he had told at the inquest, and which he had religiously repeated ever since. while they were thus conversing, the jailer came to lock them in their cells for the night. brown slipped quietly away, and the two men, thus so strangely thrown together, shook hands and retired to their separate apartments, where they spent the night in slumber. but ah, how pleasant or how fatiguing was that slumber! chapter xx. _bucholz passes a sleepless night._--_an important discovery._--_the finding of the watch of the murdered man._--_edward sommers consoles the distressed prisoner._ our narrative must necessarily deal somewhat largely with the interior arrangements and experiences of a prison. not a very gratifying spectacle certainly, nor one ordinarily calculated to give occasion for many incidents of a pleasurable character, or for those glossed with the tints of romance or gallantry. how many untouched pillows there are as the sable folds of night gather around the dreary walls of the prison. how many aching hearts and weary brains are waiting and watching for the dawning of the day--the coming of the bright rays of the morning, which shall dispel the gloom and despair of their narrow chamber, and gild with golden beauty the darkened corners where, in the solemn hours of the night, lurk the grim specters that were born of their remorse or their fears. bucholz passed a sleepless night after the conversation just had with his companion, edward sommers; the buoyancy of his hopes was shaken, and between the fitful, restless slumbers, dark dreaming and frowning visitants came to him in all the forbidding presence of accusing spirits. in the morning he arose unrested and unrefreshed, and as he greeted his friend, the latter detected traces of tears in his eyes, which were shrouded with the dark lines that gave token of a lack of sleep and of intense mental distress. after the usual morning salutations were exchanged, they partook of their breakfast in silence. upon the arrival of the hour for the admission of visitors, paul herscher, who had testified in regard to the money which bucholz had given him, was announced as desiring to see the prisoner, and together they went into his cell. the information which he brought proved to be very important, though not in the least consoling, and appeared to have an effect upon bucholz far from assuring. it appeared that a severe storm of snow had fallen on the sunday afternoon following the murder, and which had remained upon the ground in the fields and woods until this time, when the march rains and warm sunshine had caused all traces of it to disappear, leaving the ground uncovered to the bright sunlight of a spring morning. on the morning previous to this visit, a farmer engaged in the fields adjoining the farm formerly occupied by henry schulte, had discovered a watch lying upon the ground, which had evidently been hidden from view by the snow. this watch had been immediately identified as belonging to the murdered man. it will be remembered that at the inquest it had been discovered that the watch usually worn by henry schulte, had been torn forcibly from the guard around his neck, and from that time all traces of it had disappeared, until this unexpected resurrection from under its covering of snow. what made this discovery of more importance was the fact that the watch was found, not far from a fence bordering a road along which bucholz was known to have traveled on the night of the murder while on his way to the village to give the alarm. it verily seemed as though another link had been forged in the chain of evidence that was being drawn around him, and bucholz realizing this felt his heart sink within him, as he listened to the loquacious visitor who seemed to be very well pleased in having something to tell. maintaining his composure, however, he listened to the recital without any evidence of emotion, and not one would have imagined that it had the slightest effect upon him other than that of curiosity, but after paul herscher had departed he threw himself upon his bed and sobbed bitterly. in this condition he was found by edward sommers a few minutes afterwards, and almost immediately thereafter he was followed by the stealthy-moving brown, who, passing the door of the cell occupied by bucholz, and looking in, had discovered the strange proceedings that were taking place. posting himself upon the outside of the cell door brown endeavored to listen to what ensued between the two men inside, but to his intense chagrin and disappointment he discovered that they were talking in german and he could not understand a word. sommers seated himself upon the bed beside his companion, and placing his hand upon his shoulder endeavored to solace him in his apparent distress. "my dear fellow," said he, after bucholz had told him the cause of his tears, "do not be so discouraged." "ah, how can i help it," replied bucholz, "when everything seems to be turning against me?" "never mind, bucholz; you have good lawyers, and they will tell you what to do," said his companion, soothingly. "now, tell me, my friend, how many people ever saw this watch of mr. schulte? if he made no friends, he could not have shown his watch to many people." "that is so," replied bucholz, eagerly catching at the suggestion, and his face brightened at once. "there is only one person who can identify it--the old man's former servant, frank bruner, and he must be got out of the way." sommers gazed at his companion in astonishment. the change in him was wonderful--the depression of spirits had disappeared entirely, and this effect had been produced by a proposition to _dispose_ of one who might prove a damaging witness against him. rather a strange suggestion to come from one who was entirely guiltless of crime! "you are a great fellow, sommers," continued bucholz, with glee, "and after we get out of this we will have a good time together." "what will we do to have a good time?" asked sommers, rather doubtfully. "we will go to australia," replied the other, in great good humor, "and we will enjoy ourselves there, i can tell you." "yes, but that will take a great deal of money, and where is that to come from?" "never you mind about the money; i will fix that all right. i do not intend to work, and you need not do so either." sommers looked up at his friend, who smiled in a peculiar manner, and was about to question him further upon the subject, but at that moment the conversation for that day was interrupted by the announcement of a visit from mr. bollman, one of the counsel bucholz had employed to conduct his case, and who was the only one of the attorneys who made frequent visits to their client. sommers bade his friend good morning, and, as he left the cell, he ran forcibly against the listening brown, who had ensconced himself near the door. the two men glared at each other for a moment, and then, without speaking, each went their separate ways. sommers determined to keep his eye on this fellow, and dispose of him in a very decisive way should he prove further troublesome. thus day by day did the intimacy between bucholz and sommers increase, while the watchfulness of brown had not diminished in the least. he seemed to keep his searching eyes upon the pair, and scarcely any movement was made that escaped his notice. chapter xxi. _a romantic theory dissipated._--_the fair clara becomes communicative._--_an interview with the barkeeper of "the crescent hotel."_ while these events were transpiring within the jail, i was actively engaged in the attempt to follow the clue in relation to the two suspicious individuals who had made their mysterious appearance at stamford on the night of the murder of henry schulte. it will be remembered that their actions attracted universal attention, and that, after inquiring for a train to new york, they had taken one going in a directly opposite direction. judicious inquiries soon brought my officers in personal contact with several parties who distinctly recollected the two strange persons above mentioned, and from their descriptions we were enabled to trace them to their places of residence. it was ascertained that they were two respectable and peaceably-disposed germans who resided at new haven, and who had come to stamford on that evening to attend a frolic at the house of a german farmer who lived near to that place. they had spent the evening in a jovial manner, and had left the house under the impression that by hastening their steps they would be in time to catch the train for their homes. they had consequently run the greater part of the distance to the station, which being nearly a mile away, accounted for their breathless condition upon reaching there. they had then inquired for a train _from_ new york, and not _to_ that city, and upon being informed that no further trains from that direction (as they understood it) would arrive that night, they had indulged in an extended personal altercation, each accusing the other of being the cause of their detention. when the train did arrive, contrary to their expectations, their ill feelings had not sufficiently subsided, and they sat sullen and apart upon their journey to their places of abode. these facts, of course, dissipated the romantic theory that foreign emissaries had been employed by the relatives of the deceased to put him out of the way in order to secure his wealth; and so that glittering edifice of speculation fell to the ground. i did not have much faith in this story from the outset, but it is a rule with me to follow every point in an investigation to a definite and satisfactory conclusion, and this line of inquiry was diligently pursued to the results mentioned. i therefore dismissed the matter from further consideration. operatives were also detailed to visit the crescent saloon, where the fair and voluptuous clara presided and ministered to the bibulous appetites of her numerous friends and admirers. they succeeded in making the acquaintance of the young lady, and by a liberal purchase of drinks, were successful in getting the fair but frail damsel in a communicative mood. she related her previous experience with bucholz and confessed to entertaining at one time a decided regard for him, which regard was, however, not unmixed with fear. she also related several incidents, in which bucholz, after having gone to south norwalk, had visited the saloon and had been very lavish in spending his money. "he was here," said the girl, "only a few days before the murder, and he drank a great deal. he appeared to have plenty of money, and spent more than fifty dollars here at one time. he seemed wild and excited, and talked about the old man in a manner that frightened me. when i heard about the murder from the young servant that used to work for mr. schulte, i could not help thinking that bucholz had something to do with it. his eyes had a wild, wicked look when he spoke about the old man's money, and i felt sure that he was robbing him during his lifetime. when i heard that he was dead and had been murdered, i could not help it, but i thought at once that bucholz had done it. i do not know why i thought so, but i could not get rid of that impression." these statements, although furnishing no proofs of bucholz's guilt, were of a character to convince me of the possibility of his having committed the murder. he had evidently been stealing from the old man before his death, and whether the murder had been committed to hide his previous robberies or to obtain possession of the great wealth which he carried about him, was the question i was resolved to determine. a visit was also paid to the hotel where bucholz had boarded and where he had met mr. schulte and engaged in his service. the cheery-faced landlord was very reticent upon the subject, and but little was learned from him. his barkeeper, however, was more disposed to talk, and it was ascertained that when bucholz had left the hotel to enter the employ of mr. schulte he had left unpaid a bill for board which had been accumulating for some weeks, and that his trunk had been detained in consequence. after the murder he had visited the hotel in company with the officers who had him then in charge, and had paid his bill and taken his trunk away. the barkeeper shrugged his shoulders and declined to have anything to say when asked about any suspicious actions on the part of bucholz during his residence in the house or since his engagement with mr. schulte. from this person it was also discovered that a mail package, evidently containing some money, had been received at the hotel, addressed to william bucholz. it purported to come from germany, but an examination of the seals disclosed the fact that the package had been manufactured in the city, and that it had been designed to give color to the story of bucholz's, of his having received money from his relatives who resided in germany. there were, however, too many circumstances surrounding this package of a suspicious character to successfully deceive any one about its having come through the regular channels, or, in fact, having come from germany at all. this package was the subject of discussion in the german paper, whose comments had produced such a marked effect upon the prisoner when he read it. this information i was compelled to receive for what it was worth. the package had been delivered, and i could only depend upon the recollections of those who had seen it at the time. their statements or opinions would certainly not be received as evidence, nor could they be used in any legal manner. they only served to strengthen my belief in william bucholz's guilty participation in the murder, and determined me to pursue my present system of investigation vigorously and unremittingly to a successful conclusion. chapter xxii. _sommers suggests a doubt of bucholz's innocence._--_he employs bucholz's counsel to effect his release._--_a visit from the state's attorney._--_a difficulty and an estrangement._ we will now return to the prison at bridgeport and to the unfortunate man confined within its walls for the murder of his master. the intimacy and friendship existing between sommers and bucholz continued to increase as the days passed slowly on. by degrees and in fragmentary conversations sommers had learned the story of the murder from his companion. he had advised him repeatedly about his deportment in the prison, and as to his manner of conducting himself upon his approaching trial. he had evinced a deep sympathy for his unfortunate position, and, by timely suggestions and judicious warnings, had led the accused man to rely upon him, in a material degree, for advice and comfort. during all this long intimacy bucholz never wavered in his protestations of innocence, or in his consistent statement of the knowledge which he professed to have of the murder of henry schulte. one day they were sitting together in the cell of sommers. bucholz was in a very pleasant humor, owing to some event that had occurred--a visit from some ladies of the village--and turning to sommers, he laughingly said: "ah, sommers, it seems very strange that you and i should be in prison, while others are free and enjoying the brightness and pleasures of liberty." "yes," replied his companion, "but if we had both behaved ourselves better, we would not be here." bucholz's manner changed instantly. he became livid in the face, his lips trembled, and casting a searching look at his companion, he said: "but i did not do this thing that i am accused of." quietly and calmly his companion returned his glance, and then he laughingly said: "oh, i know all about that. you can't fool me." bucholz did not reply. in a few moments he turned away and left the cell, and the subject was not mentioned between them for several days. a short time after this, sommers complained of the length of his confinement, and wished that he might have his bail reduced, in order to effect his deliverance. he also suggested that if he could once get out of the jail he could work for his friend--in whose welfare he was warmly interested--in a manner that would greatly benefit him. bucholz, apparently ignoring this proposition, seemed anxious to revert to their previous conversation, and began by referring to his friendly relations with henry schulte during his lifetime, and complained of the absurdity of placing him in jail upon the charge of murdering him. "why," said he, "he promised to take me with him to germany and make me inspector of his estates there, and i should probably have been heir to many thousands of dollars at his death. would i not be a fool to kill him?" sommers listened patiently to the long recital, which he knew did not contain a particle of truth, and upon its conclusion he remarked, in a light, careless way: "now, william, between you and i, i actually believe that you had something to do with this murder." again that deathly pallor overspread his face; he became confused and scarcely able to speak--but at length, recovering himself with an effort, he declared his innocence, and said that he could not sit upon the bed enjoying health if he had done this deed, or knew the parties who had. "why," continued he, "i would not have gone to norwalk that night and reported the murder if i had done it. ah, my dear sommers, you will learn when you go to norwalk yourself from everybody there that all my actions have been those of an innocent man." sommers looked doubtfully at his friend, and when he had finished speaking, he said: "well, bucholz, it is none of my business. i hate to see you in this difficulty, and no matter whether you had anything to do with it or not, i will do all that i can to get you out of it. i feel almost as badly about it as you do." "ah, sommers, i tremble at the thought of a verdict of guilty! i think i should die upon the spot if i should hear that word." sommers comforted him as well as he was able to do; promised him whatever assistance that was in his power to render him, and by repeated assurances, he succeeded in quieting his fears and restoring his tranquillity. it was finally agreed between them that sommers should make a decided effort to be admitted to bail, and then securing his liberty, he should devote himself to the interests of his friend bucholz, but during all their after conferences he never asserted his innocence to edward sommers again. the ubiquitous brown had not been idle; he still watched these men with ceaseless and jealous vigilance, and whenever they were together he would endeavor to approach them as closely as possible. he saw many things that excited his curiosity, but their conversations he could not understand. these two men were the only prisoners who spoke german, and on that account they were as secure from interruption as though no prying eyes were watching them or no suspicions were entertained in regard to their intimacy. one day an incident occurred, however, which threatened to mar the serenity of the intercourse of these two men, who had been so strangely thrown together, but which eventually resulted in cementing their union more closely. sommers had retained mr. bollman, the attorney for bucholz, for the purpose of having his bail reduced in order to effect his release from imprisonment. this course was deemed necessary for two reasons--his health had been considerably impaired by his long confinement, and, besides that, it was decided that he could work more successfully in the interests of bucholz, could he be freed from the restraint of the prison. mr. bollman had met mr. olmstead upon the train and had broached the matter to him. mr. olmstead had demurred to the reduction, for reasons which seemed sufficient for his action, and had informed mr. bollman that he would visit the jail, have an interview with sommers, and ascertain the full particulars of his case. in accordance with that suggestion, he had called at the jail, and sommers had been notified of the desire of the state's attorney to see him. he was conversing with bucholz in their usual friendly manner when the notice was conveyed to him, and as bucholz heard the name of the visitor and the nature of the communication, he became confused and apparently much frightened. he looked beseechingly at sommers as he turned to obey the summons, and tears came into his eyes as his friend left the cell. a hundred thoughts came crowding through his brain as sommers departed. what object could the state's attorney have in sending for his friend? could it be that their intimacy had been noticed and reported, and that mr. olmstead would attempt to force him to divulge their secrets? would he offer such inducements to sommers as would outweigh his proffered friendship and induce him to betray the confidence that had been reposed in him? he could not tell, and with bitter, anxious and doubtful thoughts pressing upon his mind, he left his cell and walked in the direction of the little room where he knew the conference was being held. no sound of the conversation reached his ears, and with aching heart, his mind filled with perplexing and agonizing doubts, he returned to his cell, and throwing himself upon the bed, he gave himself up to the dreadful thoughts that possessed him. at length he heard the opening and closing of the door, and soon the returning footsteps of sommers sounded along the passage. bucholz hastened out, and at once communicated his fears to his friend--that he had betrayed him. sommers received this outburst with dignified calmness of demeanor, and finally turning upon his companion with a show of anger, he said: "i did not think that you had such a small opinion of me. i have been a friend to you all along, and it is not probable that i should change my position towards you now, but if you think so, i cannot help it." saying which, and with an injured air, sommers left his friend, and going at once to his own cell he shut the door forcibly behind him. [illustration: _the quarrel between william bucholz and edward sommers._] this was the commencement of an estrangement which lasted several days. these two men, formerly so intimate and friendly, avoided each other so pointedly that it was observed by all the inmates of the prison, and to none did it afford more gratification than to the curious and suspicious brown, whose black eyes now glittered with a wicked satisfaction as he noticed the coolness that existed between the two men whose previous friendliness had occasioned him so much concern. he immediately began to make advances toward bucholz, with, however, but little success. william repelled his attempts at friendliness, and seemed to be sorrowful and despondent. he missed the companionship of sommers. he felt convinced that he had accused him unjustly, and the only man he cared for among the many by whom he was surrounded held himself aloof from him, and he had no disposition to make new friends. three days elapsed, during which no communication took place between them, and this continued silence proved too much for william bucholz. he missed the companionship that had whiled away so many weary hours, and unable to endure any longer the anger of his friend, he sat down and indited a letter to sommers, apologizing for his actions and proffering a renewal of his friendship. this message was duly received by sommers, who, in addition to their estrangement, appeared to be distressed about his own affairs, but who, nevertheless, welcomed the repentant bucholz with all the cordiality of his disposition, and the coldness of the past few days was forgotten in this renewal of their friendship. chapter xxiii. _the reconciliation._--_bucholz makes an important revelation._--_sommers obtains his liberty and leaves the jail._ it is a truism almost as old as time itself, that true love is never fully known until after the lovers have once quarreled and made their peace. the kiss of reconciliation after a temporary estrangement is frequently more potent than the first declaration of affection. nor was the rule disproved in the present case, and as the two men clasped hands upon the renewal of their seeming friendship, the crisis of their intercourse was reached. the separation of the past few days had shown bucholz the necessity of a friendly voice and a friendly hand. the guilty secret which he had been keeping so long in his heart must find utterance--it had become heavy to bear. from this day forth all the concealment which he had practiced upon sommers were to be swept away before the tide of this reconciling influence. hereafter they were to stand face to face, acknowledged criminals, whose joint interest was to secure their liberty; whose only object was to effect their escape from the meshes of the law they had outraged, and which now seemed to envelop them so completely. no protestations of innocence or acknowledgments of guilt were necessary--the bedrock of an implicit and instinctive understanding had been reached, and each looked upon the other as fellow prisoners who were to suffer for their misdeeds, unless some potent agency intervened for their preservation. from the nature of their intercourse preceding this event, sommers did not entertain a single doubt of the guilt of william bucholz. his avoidance of the matter while in conversation; the confusion which marked his demeanor as sommers conveyed to him indirectly or otherwise his belief that he knew more of the murder than he had as yet admitted, and his weak denials--all went very far to confirm him in the belief that william bucholz, and him alone, was connected intimately and actively with the tragedy. at the interview which followed their reconciliation, sommers appeared to be very much depressed, and gave his companion to understand that all his hopes of being admitted to bail had been disappointed on account of the failure of his attorney--who was also acting for bucholz--to have the amount reduced, and of the inability of the friends upon whom he relied to furnish the large sum required. he also complained that the jailer had opened one of his letters and had discovered the fact that his relations were respectable people, who moved in good society, and who were as yet ignorant of his perilous and degrading situation. he was fearful that they would learn of his true condition unless he was enabled soon to effect his release. he regretted this fact particularly, because it prevented him from assisting his friend, who needed so much the services of some one to act in his behalf, which service, despite the previous doubts that had been entertained of him, he was still willing but unable to render. the disappointment of bucholz was no less acute than that of his companion. he had counted so securely upon the release of sommers, in order to enlist his services for his own safety, that the effect of this unpleasant information was painful to witness. at length, unable further to control himself, he threw his arms around sommers, crying out: "oh, i wish i could only get out one night, one single night, then i could give you five hundred dollars, and all would be right!" "that is easily said," replied sommers, despondingly, "but if you did get out, where could you get the money?" "i am speaking the truth," said bucholz. "if you wanted five thousand, i could give it to you, if i was only out one night. i could tell you a secret that would open your eyes, but as long as you are here i can do you no good, and you cannot help me." sommers, who was reclining upon the bed, raised himself upon his hand, and looking bucholz in the face with a knowing smile, said: "i suppose you would lift old schulte's treasure!" bucholz started slightly, but he had gone too far to retreat, and he admitted at once that if he could get out, he knew where the money of the murdered man was hid, and that no one beside himself possessed the knowledge. there was an instantaneous gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of sommers as this information was conveyed to him, and he determined to secure his release at all hazards. new life seemed to be infused into him, and there was a glow of excitement in his ordinarily pallid face that told of the agitation of his mind. he jumped from the bed, and facing his companion, said: "i will get out of this if it is in the power of human effort to accomplish it. i will write to my friend at once, and no time shall be lost in the attempt." this change in his manner soon communicated itself to bucholz, and in a short time, under the influence of this new-born hope, their conversation assumed a more cheerful strain, and bright pictures of the future were indulged in. active measures were at once begun, the friends of sommers were written to; another interview was had with the state's attorney, and sufficient reasons were offered for a reduction in the amount of the bail under which he was held. mr. olmstead, after listening to the statements made to him, agreed to the reduction asked for, and in a few days the necessary forms were gone through with. the requisite amount of money was deposited with the court, and everything was in readiness for the release of edward sommers from his place of confinement. the information was conveyed to bucholz and sommers, while they were walking up and down the corridor during the hours in which they were released from their cells, and the effect was observable upon the faces of both. bucholz, while rejoicing in the accomplishment of a result that would prove of incalculable benefit to himself, was none the less reluctant as the time approached, to part with the friend who had brightened many gloomy hours, and whose intercourse had produced such a beneficial change upon his spirits and disposition. he seemed loth, now that they were about to be separated, to utter the parting word, but as he thought of the advantage which this release would be to him, he assumed a cheerful demeanor, and appeared rejoiced at his speedy deliverance. their leave-taking was of the most friendly character, and after bestowing upon bucholz the various articles which his cell contained, and many delicacies which had been received during his imprisonment, sommers prepared to leave the prison. clasping the hand of bucholz, he whispered: "courage, william. i will see you often, and between us we will succeed in our undertaking yet." saying which, and after a cordial parting salutation from the genial and pleasant jailer, mr. wells, the doors of the prison were unlocked, and edward sommers walked out into the bright sunshine and inhaled the sweet fragrance of a beautiful spring morning--a free man. chapter xxiv. _sommers returns to bridgeport._--_an interview with mr. bollman._--_sommers allays the suspicions of bucholz's attorney, and engages him as his own counsel._ the cold, bleak winds of march had yielded to the warm and invigorating showers of april, and these had brought forth the bright flowers and fragrant grasses that grew and blossomed on this beautiful may morning, when edward sommers left the confining walls of the prison at bridgeport. more than two months had elapsed since he entered its frowning portals to commence the isolated life of a prisoner, and a sigh of grateful relief escaped him as he gazed around upon the brightness and beauty of the scene that was spread before him. there was but little time given him for indulgence in these soothing and agreeable reveries. there was work for him to do, and he must summon up all his energies for the task before him. his release had been accomplished, and the promised revelation of bucholz would be made to him in a few days, but he must visit those who had an interest in his welfare, and to whom he was responsible for his actions. he would also be enabled during the few days of rest to strengthen his shattered nerves and prepare himself for the important duties which would soon devolve upon him. he therefore took the train for new york and arrived there in due time. to william bucholz the absence of his friend and confidant was a severe blow, but as he realized the service he promised to perform for him, and the prospect of safety that was opening before his despairing mind, he became reconciled to his lonely fate, and waited patiently for the return of the man who was expected to devote himself to his interests. the suspicious actions of brown, the prisoner who had watched their movements so zealously, had not escaped the notice of both sommers and bucholz, and, on leaving, the former had cautioned his companion particularly and repeatedly against saying anything to him or to any one else about matters connected with his case. at the end of three days edward sommers returned to bridgeport, and, selecting a private boarding-house, he took up his abode there and prepared to carry out the plans that were to be arranged between himself and william bucholz. he considered it of paramount importance at the outset to disabuse the minds of the attorneys for bucholz of any suspicion in regard to the relations existing between them, and with that end in view he paid a visit to the city of new haven, and finding mr. bollman, the counsel who had acted for both of them, at his office, he engaged him for the conduct of his own case when it should come to trial. in the course of the conversation which ensued, mr. bollman turned suddenly to sommers, and said: "do you know, mr. sommers, that i have earnestly and repeatedly warned my client against you? i had reason to believe that the prosecuting attorney had placed some one in the jail to cultivate the friendship of william bucholz, in the attempt to obtain a confession from him, and i thought you were the man. william would not listen to this, however, and i myself believe now that such is not the case as regards yourself, but i told him that he must not trust any one with whom he was associated, nor make a confidant of any one in the prison. a man in his position, you know cannot be too careful." sommers listened attentively and good-humoredly to these remarks, and finally informed mr. bollman that he knew bucholz had been warned against him, for he had told him so. "but, mr. bollman," continued he, "you need not be afraid of me, for i have given him the same advice myself." "do you know of any suspicious persons in the jail?" asked mr. bollman. "i cannot tell with any certainty," replied the other; "but i do not like the looks of one of the hall men, nor of that treacherous-looking brown, who is always spying upon the actions of the inmates of the prison. i have warned bucholz against these men myself, and i do not think he has given them any information whatever." after a protracted conversation, during which sommers labored diligently and successfully to erase any latent suspicions from the mind of the attorney, mr. bollman at length said: "well, mr. sommers, to be candid with you, my suspicions were the most decidedly aroused when i had my interview with mr. olmstead, the state's attorney, about your bail. he evinced an unwillingness to reduce the amount, and expressed a belief that you had known bucholz before you came to the jail. his manner of speaking led me to think that he knew more about you than was good for my client, and i felt sure that he had been the means of placing you in the jail to watch him." "i quite agree with you, mr. bollman; it did look suspicious," said sommers; "but mr. olmstead asked me the same questions when i spoke to him. i suppose he thought from our intimacy that i must have been acquainted with him before he was arrested." with this explanation, and the ingenuous manner in which it was given, the mind of mr. bollman seemed to be at rest upon this subject, and their further conversation related to the case in which sommers himself would appear as defendant, and in which mr. bollman was to act as his counsel. sommers informed him that he had seen the gentleman whose name had been forged, and that, in consideration of the family connections of the accused, he had agreed not to appear against him, and that there would be very little danger of his conviction of the crime of which he was charged. this appeared to be very gratifying information for mr. bollman, who therefore anticipated very little trouble in clearing his client and earning his fee. it was further arranged between them that a letter should be sent to the relations of bucholz in germany, who had not as yet displayed any sympathy for the unfortunate man or made any offer of assistance to him, during the hour of his trial. one noticeable feature of their conversation was the evident avoidance by both of them of a discussion of the probable guilt or innocence of the accused man, nor did either declare his belief in his innocence. mr. bollman expressed himself very carefully: "i have followed up the theory of his guilt, and it does not agree with his own statements or those of other people. then, again, i have taken up the theory of his innocence, and this does not agree with his story either. it is a most extraordinary case, and sometimes it seems to me that it cannot be otherwise but that william bucholz is the guilty party; and then, again, there are some of his actions that tend positively to show that he did not do it. i am at a loss what to say about it myself." sommers gave mr. bollman to understand that he believed in the guilt of the accused man, but that, in despite of that fact, he was willing to help him to the extent of his power. and so they parted, and edward sommers returned to bridgeport to be near his fellow-prisoner, and to carry out the plan which was to be entrusted to him. as he stepped from the train upon the platform, he was surprised to see the figure of thomas brown standing in the doorway of the station, evidently waiting for the train to bear him away for the time. upon making inquiries he ascertained that he had been released on bail, and that he had found friends to assist him. he never saw him again. whether this individual was an embryo detective, who was desirous of discovering the mystery of the schulte murder, or whether he was simply a victim of intense curiosity, was never learned. he disappeared, and, so far as his relation to this narrative is concerned, was never heard of again. chapter xxv. _sommers' visit to south norwalk._--_he makes the acquaintance of sadie waring._--_a successful ruse._--_bucholz confides to his friend the hiding place of the murdered man's money._ upon the return of edward sommers to the jail at bridgeport he was warmly welcomed by his friend, to whom the intervening days had passed slowly and wearily. his greeting was cordial and friendly, and as sommers related his experiences during his absence, the eyes of william would light up with pleasure. no one to have looked at him now would have imagined for a moment that the face now wreathed with smiles had once been distorted by a murderous passion, or grown ashen pale with the fear of the consequences of his action. their conversation was long and seemingly interesting, and as sommers unfolded his plans for the relief of the imprisoned man, all doubt of their success was dissipated from his mind, and visions of prospective safety came thick and fast. he still appeared doubtful of communicating the promised secret of the hiding-place of the old man's money to his companion. he avoided the subject by eager questions upon other topics, and when the time arrived for the departure of sommers, the confidence was still withheld, and the position of the stolen money was known only to the man who had placed it there. sommers had informed him of his visit to mr. bollman and of the conversation which had taken place between them relating to the suspicions entertained by him of sommers, to all of which bucholz listened with wrapt attention, and when he was again solemnly cautioned about informing his counsel of the relations existing between them, or of their possession of any of the wealth of the murdered man, with a peculiar twinkle in his eye he promised a strict obedience. finding it impossible to extract anything from him upon this visit, sommers took his leave, promising to return upon the next day that visitors were admitted, and also agreeing to furnish him with some delicacies for which he had expressed a desire. sommers began to grow impatient under this continued procrastination and evasion, and he resolved to take such measures as would accomplish the object desired. he had found, during his connection with bucholz, that he had not the slightest regard for the truth. he would make the most astounding assertions, unblushingly insisting upon their truthfulness, and even when brought face to face with facts which contradicted his statements, he would stubbornly decline to be convinced or to admit his error or falsehood. all through their intercourse he had evinced this tendency to exaggeration and untruthfulness, and sommers had grown to be very skeptical with regard to any statement which he would make. he had promised william to visit the farmhouse where henry schulte had resided, and to call upon the family of the warings, who still continued to reside there, and to carry a message to sadie. accordingly, one morning he started for south norwalk, and, arriving there in safety, he walked up the main road, and, entering through the gate in front of the house, he knocked at the door. the family were all absent except sadie, who greeted the new-comer in a friendly manner. he announced himself as a friend of william's, and conveyed to her the affectionate messages which he had been entrusted with. sadie appeared to be rejoiced at the information which he brought, and soon became quite communicative to the young man. she related to him the incidents of the murder, and expressed her belief in the innocence of bucholz, and her hopes of his acquittal. sommers, by the exercise of a little good nature and that tact which is generally acquired by a man of the world, succeeded in ingratiating himself into the favor of the young lady, and when, after spending some time in her company, he arose to take his leave, she volunteered to accompany him a short distance upon his journey, and to point out to him the spot where the murder had taken place. her offer was cheerfully accepted by sommers, and they were soon chatting pleasantly on their way through the fields. arriving at the strip of woods, they walked along the narrow path and sadie designated to him the place where the body had been found. very different now was the scene presented. the trees, whose branches were then bare, were now covered with their bright and heavy verdure; the ground, that then was hard and frozen, was now carpeted with the luxurious grass; the birds sang merrily overhead, and the warm sunshine lighted up the wood with a beauty far different than was apparent upon that bleak winter night when henry schulte met his death upon the spot where they now were standing. they then walked together up the railroad, and meeting the mother and sister returning home, sommers bade them a pleasant good-bye and promised to pay them another visit as soon as practicable. he determined to make this visit the groundwork of a definite attack upon the reticence of william bucholz. the next morning, upon going to the jail, he informed william of his visit to south norwalk, and of his meeting with sadie waring. after relating the various incidents that had occurred during his visit, and which were listened to with lively interest, he turned suddenly to bucholz, and lightly said: "by the way, bucholz, the warings are going to move." bucholz started suddenly, as though the information conveyed an unpleasant surprise. "you must not let them move, sommers," he exclaimed quickly, and with an evidence of fear in his voice. "that will never do." "i can not prevent their moving," replied sommers. "they will do as they please about that, i guess. besides, what has their moving got to do with us?" "oh, everything, everything," exclaimed bucholz. "well, they are going at all events." "then the money must be got. oh, sommers, do not betray me, but one of the pocket-books is in the barn." "whereabouts in the barn?" inquired sommers, almost unable to conceal his satisfaction at the success of his ruse. "i will show you how to get it. i will draw a sketch of the barn, and show you just where it is to be found," exclaimed william, hurriedly. "oh, my dear sommers, you do not know how worried i have been. i first threw the money under the straw in the barn, and on the sunday morning after old schulte was killed i went out in the barn to get it, and put it in a safe place, when i found that the straw had been taken away. i stood there as if i was petrified, but i looked further, and there, under the loose straw upon the ground, i saw the pocket-book lying all safe. the man who had taken the straw away had not been smart enough to see it. i felt as though a bright gleam of sunshine had come over me, and i picked it up and hid it away in a safe place. my god! my god! what a fool i was." "i should think so," replied sommers. bucholz then drew a sketch of the barn, and designated the hiding-place of the money as being under the flooring of the first stall that you met on entering. it was with great difficulty that summers retained his composure as he received this information, but he succeeded in controlling his emotions, and took the paper from the hands of his companion with a calmness which displayed the wonderful control which he exercised over himself. "there are some marks upon these bills," said bucholz with a laugh, "and if mr. olmstead was to see them he would know what they mean." "ah, yes," replied sommers. "they are the numbers which mr. schulte put upon them, but," he added, confidently, "i will soon fix that, a little acid will take that all out and nobody will know anything about it." the prisoner laughed, gleefully, and slapping his companion upon the back, exclaimed: "ah, sommers, you are a devil of a fellow! and i can trust your skill in anything." he then informed sommers that he did not know how much money was in the pocketbook; that he had taken some fifty and one-hundred-dollar bills out of it, but that fearing to have so much money about him he had replaced a large portion of what he had previously taken. the time was now approaching for visitors to leave the prison, and sommers arose to go. bucholz arose also, as if some new idea had occurred to him, or he had formed some new resolve; he said: "while you are there you may as well get--" then he stopped abruptly, and changing his mind, he added: "but never mind, that is too--high up." sommers felt confident that his companion was withholding something from him, and he was resolved that before he had finished, he would arrive at the whole of the mystery, but he had gained enough for one day and he was compelled to be satisfied. before leaving bucholz for that day he informed him that he would take the money to new york and endeavor to get the marks out of the bills; that he would then throw the empty pocket-book in some place, where it would be found, and that would be a good thing for him upon the trial. bucholz caught greedily at this suggestion, and laughed loudly at the prospect of blinding the eyes of justice by the operation of this clever trick. leaving him in this excellent good humor, sommers took his departure from the jail, and, in a jubilant frame of mind, returned to the town. chapter xxvi. _edward sommers as the detective._--_a visit to the barn, and part of the money discovered._--_the detective makes advances to the counsel of the prisoner._--_a further confidence of an important nature._ the reader is no doubt by this time fully aware of the character of edward sommers. he was a detective, and in my employ. day by day, as his intimacy with william bucholz had increased, i had been duly informed of the fact. step by step, as he had neared the point desired, i had received the information and advised the course of action. every night before retiring the detective would furnish me with a detailed statement of the proceedings of the day which had passed, and i was perfectly cognizant of the progress he made, and was fully competent, by reason of that knowledge, to advise and direct his future movements. the manner of his arrest had been planned by me, and successfully carried out; the money package had been made up in my office, and the forged order was the handiwork of one of my clerks, and the ingenious manner of carrying out this matter had completely deluded his accusers, by whom the charge was made in perfect good faith. during his occupancy of the prison he had so thoroughly won the confidence of william bucholz that he had become almost a necessity to him. this guilty man, hugging to himself the knowledge of his crime and his ill-gotten gains, had found the burden too heavy to bear. many times during their intercourse had he been tempted to pour into the ears of his suddenly-discovered friend the history of his life, and only the stern and frequently-repeated commands of his watchful counsel had prevented the revelation. but the time had come when, either through the fear of losing what he had risked so much to gain, or from the impelling force of that unseen agency which seeks a companion or a confidant, he had confided to his fellow-prisoner the hiding-place of the old man's wealth--the money stained with the life-blood of his master. how much he may have been guided to this course by the question of self-interest is a matter of speculation. he had been cruel enough to strike this old man down and to rob him of his money. he had been wary enough to wound himself, and to have feigned a terror which had deluded many into a belief in his innocence. he had been sufficiently sagacious to keep from his attorneys all knowledge of this money, and he had repeatedly denied to sommers, and to every one else, any participation in the dark deed of that winter's night. when, however, it appeared to be possible that his fellow-prisoner might be of assistance to him in his approaching trial, and that this assistance could only be rendered by the release of sommers from jail, he had caught at the suggestion and the result had followed. i became convinced as matters progressed that whatever knowledge bucholz had of the crime would never be communicated while sommers remained a prisoner, and hence, after he had been confined long enough to accomplish the preliminary object in view, i arranged that his bail should be reduced and that he should be released. it is not necessary to relate in detail the daily intercourse of these two men during their days of joint imprisonment. how sommers, by dexterous questioning, had fathomed the mind of the suspected murderer, and become so closely identified with his interests, that he was regarded as the only man upon whom he could rely for assistance. the detective had played his part admirably. although the constant object of suspicion, he had succeeded in overcoming all doubts that were entertained of his true position; and, although bucholz had been repeatedly warned by his counsel against this man in particular, he had successfully outwitted them, and knew more of their client than they had been able to learn. after obtaining the information as to the place where william had secreted the money which had been taken from the murdered man, sommers at once telegraphed, in cipher, the fact to my new york agency and requested instructions how to proceed. a trusted operative was at once sent to act with him, and to accompany him upon his visit to the barn in search of the treasure, and operative john curtin was the man selected for that duty. he left new york on the following morning, and, arriving at bridgeport, had an interview with edward sommers, and together they devised the plan by which they were to get possession of the dead man's money. they accordingly boarded the train for south norwalk, and upon their arrival they separated and proceeded up the railroad track until they were out of sight of any curious eyes about the depot, when they rejoined each other and continued on their way. the barn where the money was alleged to be hidden stood between the house and the strip of woods through which they had come, and the large double doors were upon the side facing them. it was necessary that every precaution should be taken against being observed, and consequently it was decided that sommers should enter the barn, while curtin, reclining under one of the trees, would be enabled to keep watch and to warn his companion, should any one approach the barn and threaten detection. this plan being arranged, somers walked directly towards the barn, the doors of which were closed and fastened upon the inside by a swinging bar. inserting his hand through an opening in the wood-work, he pushed the bar from its place, and the doors flew open. hastily entering the building, he found the interior to correspond exactly with the description given him by bucholz, and a hurried glance showed him at once the place where the pocket-book was alleged to have been hidden. he soon reached the designated spot, and, reaching under the loose flooring near the head of the stairs, his eyes lighted up with satisfaction as his hand came in contact with the leather book which he had half hoped and half doubted to find there. quickly removing it from its place of concealment, he deposited it in the inner pocket of his coat and ran from the barn in the direction of the spot where his companion was lying. john curtin was provided with a stout adhesive envelope, and producing this, the earth-stained wallet was at once enclosed within it, and in the presence of the other the packet was sealed up securely. the two men then walked to the next station, and taking the train for new york, came directly to the agency. the german consul was notified, and in a short time he made his appearance, when the package was placed in his hands, and he was requested to open it. he did so, and the contents of the book were counted in his presence and in that of mr. bangs and my son robert. it was found to contain the sum of four thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven dollars, in united states money, each note bearing the numbers which had been placed upon them by henry schulte and which had also been discovered upon the money which bucholz had been so lavish in expending after the murder and prior to his arrest. the gratification of all at the success thus far achieved was apparent upon their faces. whatever belief had existed in their minds prior to this of the innocence of the man accused was swept away before this substantial and convincing proof of his guilt. all felt that we were upon the right track, and that the course pursued had been the only practical one under the circumstances. the money, after being carefully counted, was enclosed in a wrapper of heavy brown paper, to which the german consul affixed his seal, and the package was placed in the fire-proof at the agency for safe keeping, until a final disposition should be made of it. it was evident that the money thus discovered was but a small portion of that which had been taken from the person of henry schulte, and edward sommers was directed to return to bridgeport and continue his visits to bucholz and his attempts to obtain further information regarding the balance. bucholz had previously suggested to sommers that someone should be sent to germany to endeavor to procure some of the money which he had inherited from his uncle, in order to enable him to bear the expenses of his trial, and he had requested the detective to undertake the voyage. sommers had demurred to this, and had recommended to his companion that mr. bollman, who was also a german, be commissioned for that purpose. this would induce the absence of the attorney and his cautions, and enable him to work with more freedom upon the prisoner. he therefore had offered to loan to bucholz the amount of money that would be required to defray the expenses of such visit, and to take the note of his friend for the amount. mr. bollman cheerfully assented to this proposition, and only awaited the furnishing of the loan by sommers to embark upon his journey to the home of bucholz, and to attempt the collection of the money which he had inherited. sommers was therefore provided with the sum of three hundred and fifty dollars in money which did not bear any of the marks that had been placed upon the notes belonging to henry schulte, and that evening he returned to bridgeport. he visited william the next day and informed him of the success of his visit and of the finding of the money. he also told him that he had placed the package in a safe place, but that he had not yet been successful in removing the marks, owing to the peculiar nature of the ink with which the numbers had been made. bucholz seemed to be both pleased and relieved with the results obtained, but seemed anxious that the money should be furnished for mr. bollman's departure as early as possible. sommers then told him that he had succeeded in borrowing some money from a friend of his, which he would advance for that purpose, but that, in order to fully deceive mr. bollman, william should give him his note, in the presence of the attorney, for the amount. upon this being done, the money would be forthcoming, and mr. bollman could depart at once. the next day mr. bollman visited the accused man by appointment, and the matter was explained to him by sommers and bucholz. he announced his approval of the loan about to be made. the note was duly drawn, the money counted out, and bucholz handed the amount to his counsel. as mr. bollman received the money, he looked up quickly and inquired, in a quiet manner: "this money is not on the list, is it?" [illustration: "_this money is not upon the list, is it?_"] it was a very adroit question, had the detective not been upon his guard, but without flinching, he looked doubtfully but steadily into his face, as he inquired: "what list? i don't know what you mean." "oh!" replied mr. bollman, with a light laugh, "i thought this might possibly be some of schulte's money." at this they all laughed, and the mind of the attorney seemed to be set at rest upon the point of sommers' knowledge of anything in connection with the wealth of henry schulte. after mr. bollman's departure from the jail, sommers, turning to bucholz, said, in a quiet, unconcerned manner: "i heard that the schulte estate has been sold, and that the new-comer intends to tear down the buildings at once. he bought it on speculation, and expects to find schulte's money." bucholz was visibly affected by this information. his face became pale, and his lips trembled as with suppressed emotion. "they won't find anything there, though," laughingly continued sommers, apparently ignoring the excitement of his companion. "we have got ahead of them." "my god!" exclaimed bucholz, not heeding the last remark. "this must not be done. i will trust you, sommers, and we must get the _other pocket-book_. you must go there and get it." the excitement and distress of the young man were unmistakable, as he proceeded slowly and tremblingly to inform sommers where the other book was to be found. "my dear sommers, you must get this other money--it is in the barn also. in one corner there is a bench, and under this bench there is a large stone--you must dig under this stone and there you will find it." sommers listened intently to the directions given, and promised to perform the duty that was imposed upon him, and, hiding the satisfaction that he felt, he soon after took his leave from his companion, who now seemed greatly relieved at the prospect of saving this treasure for which he had sacrificed so much, and which now seemed in such imminent danger. with mingled emotions of pride and satisfaction, sommers left the jail and proceeded on his way to his lodgings. after a long struggle he had been successful. "the falcon, after many airy circlings, had made its swoop at last," and its polished talons had done their work not unsuccessfully. the stricken quarry might flutter for a while, but the end would be soon and sure. chapter xxvii. _a midnight visit to the barn._--_the detective wields a shovel to some advantage._--_fifty thousand dollars found in the earth._--_a good night's work._ the day following the revelations made in the preceding chapter, edward sommers returned to the agency and communicated the information which he had received the day before, and awaited instructions before proceeding further in the matter. my son robert a. pinkerton determined to accompany him upon this visit to the barn, and he also requested the german consul to delegate some one from his office to be one of the party. to this proposition the german consul at once assented, and paul schmoeck, an attache of the consulate, was selected to accompany them upon their visit to the schulte estate. procuring a dark lantern and a garden spade, the party left new york about nine o'clock in the evening, and, without accident or delay, arrived at south norwalk. on leaving the train, they separated, and sommers, being acquainted with the road, walked on in advance. in order to avoid attracting attention, they walked up the main street of the town a short distance, and then, changing their course, they reached the railroad, along which they traveled until they arrived at the strip of woods in which henry schulte had met his death. they traveled along the narrow pathway and reached the stone wall, from which the house and barn stood in full view. the evening was beautiful indeed--a bright moon illuminated the landscape almost with the luminous light of day. the air was still, and not a breath rustled among the leaves of the trees overhead. a silence profound and impressive reigned over all. from afar the rumbling of the train which they had left was borne upon the air. involuntarily the three men who had come to this place upon a far different errand stood in silent admiration of the natural beauty that was spread before them. fearing that henry waring might have remained away from home later than was his wont, they waited until they felt reasonably sure of a freedom from interruption in their labor, and then, having finally concluded that all was safe, they proceeded quietly to the barn, whose doors were wide open, and offered no bar to their entrance. lighting their lantern, they thoroughly searched the interior, in order to discover if any tramps had taken refuge under its roof. all was quiet as the grave. the moonbeams shone through the open door, lighting up the barn with its rays, and almost revealing the figures of the men who were within. they were afraid to close the doors, which they had found open, lest some one looking from the windows of the farm-house should suspect its being occupied and be tempted to make an examination. the spot designated by bucholz was easily discovered, but, to the dismay of the visitors, they found that a large quantity of bark had been piled upon that particular corner of the barn, and that upon the top of this were thrown several sheets of tin, which had evidently been taken from the roof of some building. there was no help for it, however; the bark and tin must be removed, and edward sommers, throwing off his coat and vest, went to work with a will. robert held the lantern, while paul schmoeck stood by, with his hands in his pockets, eagerly awaiting developments. the rattling of the tin, as it was being removed, was so loud that it was feared the sleepers in the farm-house would be awakened by the noise. they stopped and listened. evidently their slumbers were profound, for not a sound came from its enclosing walls. the bark was soon disposed of, and then edward sommers grasped the spade and struck it into the ground. the clock in the distant town struck midnight as he commenced the task. eagerly he worked and eagerly watched the two men beside him. their eyes seemed to pierce through the damp mold, and every spadeful of dirt, as it was thrown up, seemed to increase their anxiety. steadily worked the detective, and the new earth lay piled around him, but as yet no indication of the treasure they sought. the perspiration rolled from the face of the anxious sommers, and a doubt began to creep slowly into his mind. robert, too, partook of the anxiety of his companion, while paul schmoeck, who scarcely understood the object of their visit, looked doubtfully upon the proceedings and indulged in frequent mutterings of disappointment. could it be possible that they had been deceived--that they were seeking for something which had no existence? could bucholz have imposed upon the credulity of sommers and sent him upon this fool's errand? or could the detective have made a mistake in the location designated? one or the other seemed to be the case. but hark! the spade strikes a hard substance; it must be the stone mentioned by bucholz. with redoubled energy the detective wields his implement, and, at last, as he withdraws it from the ground, something glitters in the ray of the lantern. a closer examination disclosed several bright gold pieces, mingled with the dark lumps of dirt which had been lifted by the spade. [illustration: "_with a joyful cry he exultingly held up a large wallet before his excited companions._"] an audible sigh of relief escaped them all as they looked. robert took out his pocket-handkerchief, and the coins, dirt and all, were deposited within it. surely success was certain now--and soon, by carefully digging away the surrounding earth, the detective was enabled to place his hands beneath the stone. then, with a joyful cry, he withdrew a large wallet, and held it up exultingly before his excited companions. ah, yes, victory was assured now, and, after carefully searching around the stone to discover if anything else had been hidden there, the wallet was placed in the handkerchief along with the coins, and they prepared to leave the place. the earth was replaced, the bark and tin were piled upon the top of it, and after they had finished, nothing in the appearance of things would indicate that midnight workers had been there, or that the murdered man's treasure had been discovered and removed. the overwrought nerves of the worker and watchers were strengthened by a long draught of prime "eau de vie," which had been brought along by the considerate paul, and after making sure that everything was as they had found it, they left the barn and proceeded toward the railroad. it was necessary now to get rid of the lantern and the spade. to retain them would be hazardous--they might be stopped upon the road, and the possession of a dark lantern and a wallet of money would be strong evidences of something else than a detective operation, and besides this, secrecy was all-important at the present time. passing a ravine some distance from the scene of their operations, robert threw the lantern away, and it dropped to the bottom with a noise that was echoed upon the quiet air; further on, the spade was disposed of, and then, disencumbered, the trio walked to stamford, about eight miles distant, where they boarded a train and returned to new york, well pleased with the result of their night's work. it was six o'clock when they arrived. they proceeded at once to the windsor hotel, where the german consul resided, and, awakening that gentleman, robert sent up his card, when they were admitted to his parlor and the package was exhibited to his astonished gaze. to count the contents of this enclosure was now the next duty to be performed, and in the presence of all the parties the labor was at once commenced. the gold pieces were found to amount to one hundred marks--consisting of three twenty-mark and four ten-mark pieces--and it was noticed that one of them had a hole drilled through it. the wallet next received attention. it was discovered to be a pocket-book enclosed in a canvas wrapper, securely sewed together and fastened with sealing-wax. the german consul removed this outer covering and the black leather book was disclosed to view, which gave evidence of containing no small amount of money. the contents were removed, and upon counting it, were found to amount to two hundred and four thousand marks, in one-thousand-mark bills--or nearly fifty thousand dollars. verily a good night's work, and one to be proud of. the murdered man's money had been found, and the man who had stained his hands with blood would never reap the benefit of his crime. the notes, from their long continuance in the damp ground, were quite moist and adhered closely together, and the german consul was therefore required to lift them carefully with his knife, and great care was necessary in handling them. each of these notes was found to be numbered in the same manner as those recovered upon the first visit, and a complete list was made by which they could afterwards be identified. besides the money, the package contained some cards, and a foreign passport in the name of john henry schulte, dated in april, . after counting the money, it was, together with the articles found, wrapped in stout brown paper and duly labeled. all present then affixed their signatures to the wrapper, after which the german consul wrote out a receipt for them, which was taken charge of by robert. they then partook of some refreshments, after which they departed, and feeling completely exhausted after their laborious experience of the night before, robert and edward sommers sought their couches, and were soon wrapt in slumber. the german consul was elated at the success which had crowned our efforts, and he no longer entertained a single doubt of the guilt of the miserable man, in whose behalf he had originally interested himself. the information of our success was conveyed to mr. olmstead, the state's attorney, who received it with evident surprise and satisfaction. we had succeeded beyond his expectations, and the correctness of his original theory had been fully demonstrated. he experienced the proud consciousness of being able to successfully prosecute a criminal who had violated the law, and to convict a wretch who had taken a human life in order to possess himself of the blood-stained fruits of his crime. while all this was transpiring the guilty man passing the weary hours indulging in alternate hopes of escape, and oppressed with harrowing fears of punishment. chapter xxviii. _the detective manufactures evidence for the defense._--_an anonymous letter._--_an important interview._--_the detective triumphs over the attorney._ these events occurred during the latter part of may, and the trial would not take place until early in september. it was necessary therefore that the utmost secrecy should be observed in reference to what had transpired, and especially so far as william bucholz was concerned. the visits of edward sommers to the jail must be continued, and every effort must be made to pierce through the dead wall of bucholz's silence and reserve in relation to the murder. hitherto when in their conversations the subject of the murder had been mentioned, and sommers would quietly hint at his complicity, the other, with a shrug of his shoulders and a peculiar smile, would abruptly change the conversation. his strong will and the constant admonitions of his counsel had prevented him from revealing in any manner the secret of his crime, and except for certain actions, small in themselves, but speaking a "confirmation strong as holy writ," he had given no sign that he was acquainted with the dreadful circumstances, or had any knowledge of the affair other than had been already related by him. after arriving in bridgeport, sommers hastened to the jail and found bucholz impatiently awaiting his arrival. he was nervous and excited, and his mind was troubled about the success of the enterprise upon which sommers had gone. the news which the detective brought reassured him, however, and he laughed gayly as he thought that his money was now safe from the reach of any one but himself and his friend. there was something so cold and brutal about this laugh of bucholz that caused the detective involuntarily to shudder as he gazed upon him. here between the narrow walls of a prison cell he stood face to face with a man who had taken a human life, and who stood almost in the awful presence of retributive justice, yet his laugh was as clear and ringing, and his face as genial as though no trial awaited him and no judgment was in store. the sensitive nature of the detective recoiled from such close contact with this crime-stained man, but his duty required it and he performed it manfully and well. he related to bucholz his visit to the barn (omitting, of course, to state who his companions were) and the finding of the money. as he mentioned the discovery of the gold pieces, bucholz exclaimed: "gold pieces! i cannot tell for the world how they got there. i don't know anything about them." it was evident that he had not examined this package prior to burying it in the ground, and sommers suggested the possibility of their having been wrapped in the paper which enclosed the canvas-covered book. "you were very careless to put the money in such a place," continued sommers; "the notes were so rotten, i was almost afraid to handle them." "you mean," said bucholz, with a laugh, "that schulte was careless, not me;" then starting up he walked backward and forward, exclaiming: "my god, how careless i was!" "yes," replied sommers, "after risking so much, you should have taken better care of it." bucholz stopped in his walk, and facing his companion asked in a manner that gave every evidence of insincerity, "do you think that i killed him?" "i think you know something about it," replied sommers, gazing steadily into the eyes of his questioner. "do you think if tramps had killed him, they would have left twenty thousand dollars upon his person?" "well," said bucholz, laughing in a bewildered manner, and then, as if taking comfort from the reflection and anxious to change the conversation, "the money is all right, anyhow." yes, the money was, indeed, all right, but not in the sense he deluded himself by believing. they then discussed the various measures that were to be adopted in order to deceive the officers of the state. it was arranged that the two pocket-books should be thrown behind a large rock that stood by the railroad track, directly opposite the path which led through the woods and along which the old man and himself were in the habit of traveling. bucholz seemed over joyed at this proposition, and with many flattering expressions complimented his companion upon the wisdom of his suggestions. they would have continued further, but the time had arrived for closing the jail, and sommers was compelled to take his departure. upon the occasion of his next visit he found a marked change in william bucholz. he appeared to be silent and depressed in spirits. horrible dreams had visited his fitful slumbers, and the accusing voice of the murdered man had rung in his ears during the solemn watches of the night. the pallid, blood-stained face of henry schulte had appeared to him, and his conscience had been an active producer of unrest and terror. try as he would, that awful presence followed him, and he found sleep to be an impossibility. hollow-eyed and sad, he greeted the detective, and as he cordially shook him by the hand, he noticed that a spasm of pain crossed the face of the prisoner. "what is the matter, william?" he anxiously inquired. "have you seen a ghost?" "oh, no," replied the other, with a shiver--"it is nothing, only a little cold, i guess." the quick eye of the detective could not be deceived--something had occurred of more than usual import, and he was determined to ascertain what it was. pressing him closely, bucholz admitted, with a forced smile, that on the day before, he had been reading schiller's play of "the robbers," and that becoming excited by the heroic action of "carl von moor," he had thoughtlessly plunged his penknife, which he had in his hand at the time, into his own side. the blade had touched a rib, however, and that prevented the wound from being very serious. the blood had flowed copiously from the incision thus made, and the wound was even now very painful. sommers, at a glance, saw through this flimsy pretext, and realized at once what had happened. the miserable man, nervous and excited, had, in the excess of fear, attempted to take his own life. the grim specters of the night were too horrible to endure, and he had sought to escape their torments by the act which he had attempted. his shirt had been saturated with blood, and he had been compelled to destroy it to prevent detection. sommers lectured him roundly upon this exhibition of weakness, and, after a time spent in friendly advice, he succeeded in reassuring him. bucholz related to him at this interview a dream which he said he had the evening before. he had seen the court assembled--the room was filled with people and his trial was going on. then, stopping suddenly in his narration, he gazed wildly at his companion, and exclaimed: "if you are a detective, you have made a nice catch this time. but, you see i have a steady hand yet, and if you were to take the stand against me, i would rise in my place and denounce you to the court. then i would plunge a knife into my heart." the detective looked unflinchingly and scornfully into the glaring eyes of the man before him, and laughed lightly at his ravings. he resolved, however, in order to prevent accidents, that every precaution should be taken against the occurrence of such a scene. he had no fear that bucholz would do what he threatened. at heart he knew the man to be a coward. no one who could stealthily creep behind his unsuspecting victim and deal the deadly blow of an assassin could, in his opinion, possess the moral courage to face a death by his own hands, and particularly after the failure of this first attempt. he did not communicate this opinion to the prisoner, but he treated the subject in a jesting manner, and told him that if he heard any more of such nonsense he would inform the prison authorities and his liberty would be curtailed. he then proceeded to unfold a plan which he had concocted for the relief of his friend, and to manufacture evidence that would bear an important part in the coming trial. he would procure an old shirt and a pair of pantaloons, which he would first stain with blood, and would then bury them in the ground near to the scene of the murder, and would then write an anonymous letter to the state's attorney and to the counsel for bucholz, informing them of the place where they could be found. the prisoner eagerly accepted this suggestion. he seemed to forget his pain, his fears and his suspicions as he listened, and when sommers had concluded he laughed heartily, then he added, hurriedly: "you must get an axe also, and bury that with the clothes; that was----" he stopped abruptly, as though afraid of saying too much, and sommers looked inquiringly into his face. "how would it do to get the axe from the barn?" he asked; "the one that had blood on it when it was found." "that was chickens' blood," quickly replied bucholz, "and it will not do. no, you must get an old axe from some other place and bury it with the clothes." sommers promised to comply with all these things, and on leaving the prisoner for that day his frame of mind had considerably improved, and thoughts of a suspicious character were entirely dissipated. the anonymous letters were soon prepared, and it was arranged that they should be sent to san francisco, cal., and be remailed from there to mr. olmstead and to the counsel for william bucholz. i experienced no difficulty in arranging this, as i have correspondents in almost every town and city in the united states; and the letters were upon the way to that distant western city in a few days. the letter was as follows: "frisco, aug., ' . "i am now out of reach of justice, and will not suffer that a innocent man is helt for the murter of schulte, and vill now stade were the clothes and bocket books were trown. u may find more by seargen the ground, about two hundred yards from where schulte was killed there is a stone fence running n. and s. and one running w., were these fences join there is a tree cut down, and u find between the stones, and in the ground something that will surprise u. i hope this will save the life of a innocent man. "nameless." it was printed in capitals and purposely misspelled, in order to convey the impression that the writer was a foreigner, and perhaps a tramp--many of which had infested that neighborhood. this letter pleased bucholz immensely. it was, in his opinion, a wonderful production, and must certainly result in deceiving the state's attorney. mr. bollman had now returned from germany, and his errand had been entirely successful. he had seen the relatives of bucholz, and they had promised to aid him financially in his trouble. further than this, they seemed to take no great interest in his welfare. shortly after his arrival a draft was received, which, upon being cashed, placed in the hands of the prisoner sufficient moneys to enable him to secure the services of the additional counsel who had been loath to act energetically in the matter, until the question of remuneration had been definitely and satisfactorily settled. in order to recover the amount loaned to bucholz for mr. bollman's expenses, sommers suggested that in order to avoid any suspicion, he would demand of him the return of the same, and which he would inform mr. bollman his friend was greatly in need of. mr. bollman thereupon repaid two hundred and fifty dollars of the amount loaned, and bucholz executed another due-bill for the sum of one hundred dollars, payable to edward sommers. shortly after this occurrence bucholz informed sommers on the occasion of one of his visits that on the day previous he had been visited by two of his attorneys. they had labored assiduously to induce him to confess as to the relations existing between himself and sommers. they told him that if he had made any revelations to him it might not yet be too late to counteract it, but if he refused to tell them the truth in regard to the matter they could not and would not be answerable for the consequences. general smith graphically portrayed to him the effects which would follow a failure to confide entirely in his counsel, and bucholz's frame shook perceptibly as he pictured the doom which would certainly follow if his attorneys had been deceived. but all their arguments were of no avail. he remained firm, and protested to the last that sommers knew nothing about his case. the iron will upheld him during this ordeal, and the influence which the detective had gained over him had been of such a character as to outweigh the solicitations of those to whom he ought to look for relief on the trial that was now fast approaching. how far again the question of self-interest may have induced this action cannot be ascertained. bucholz had been led to believe that if he communicated the existence of the money which he had secured, to his lawyers, and if they should succeed in obtaining control of it, his portion would be very small indeed, after they had paid themselves therefrom. this idea may have been of sufficient weight to compel his silence, but the result--whatever the cause--proved that the detective had achieved a victory over the attorneys, and that he wielded an influence over their guilty client which they could never hope to possess. chapter xxix. _bucholz grows skeptical and doubtful._--_a fruitless search._--_the murderer involuntarily reveals himself._ the days sped on, and the trial of william bucholz, for the murder of henry schulte, his employer, was fast approaching. regularly edward sommers had visited the imprisoned man, and upon the occasion of each visit had endeavored to assure him of the possibility of escaping from the charge against him. the mind of bucholz was in a chaotic state of worriment and unrest. between his confidences to edward sommers and the repeated warnings of his counsel he scarcely knew what to do or what to say. at times he would bitterly regret having informed sommers of anything about himself, and at others he would hug him to his breast as the only human being upon whom he could rely. to sommers this experience had been a trying one indeed. he had been compelled to endure the various moods of bucholz with patience and equanimity and to endeavor to disabuse his mind of frequent-recurring doubts. many times during his visits he would be vexed beyond endurance at the doubtful questionings of his companion, which he frequently found very difficult to parry or explain. then, too, he became extravagant in his demands, and required the choicest delicacies that could be procured. he wanted new clothing, and even expressed a desire that sommers should procure for him a uniform dress of the regiment of hussars of which he was formerly a member--in fact, became so importunate in his demands and so ridiculous in his fancied wants, that sommers, fearful of affording grounds for suspicion in the minds both of the inmates of the prison and of the counsel for bucholz, was compelled to emphatically refuse to gratify his wishes. these denials of course were productive of differences of opinion and angry altercations. fresh doubts would be engendered, which would require the exercise of all the ingenuity of the detective to allay. bucholz seemed to have no idea that a liberal expenditure of money at this time would be very injurious to his case, and that as mr. bollman had sole charge of the money received from germany, he would naturally become suspicious of his client should he discover that sommers was supplying his wants from a source which his counsel was ignorant of. he thirsted also for a glance at the money which had been found, especially the gold-piece with a hole in it, and besought sommers to bring it with him, so that he might feast his eyes upon the wealth that was soon to be his. so frequent and imperious became these demands that sommers had the greatest difficulty in convincing him of the danger to both of them which would be attendant upon any such proceeding. he had informed bucholz that the money had been securely placed in the vaults of a safe deposit company in new york city, but he did not tell him that the german consul carried the key. upon the occasion of almost every visit he would be compelled to wrestle with this doubtfulness of his companion before he could induce him to converse upon the matters that would naturally be considered of the utmost importance to him, but after long and arduous labor, he usually left him more cheerful and hopeful than he found him. the time drew near for the anonymous letters to arrive from san francisco, and sommers went to south norwalk, and, locating the spot mentioned in the letter, he dug up the solid earth in such a manner as to convince whoever came to look for the hidden articles mentioned in the communication, that some one else had anticipated them, and that the articles had been removed. the letters were duly received, and mr. olmstead, who, of course, had been informed of their manufacture, upon receiving his paid no attention to the important information it was supposed to convey. the attorneys for bucholz, however, visited the spot, and to their dismay and disappointment they found the earth broken, and every indication that the articles, if any existed, had been removed in advance of their arrival. when bucholz heard of the disappointment of his counsel, he was much chagrined, and accused sommers of having arranged it so that mr. olmstead received his before the other was delivered. this, however, was proven to the contrary, and the fact was that even had there been anything hidden under the ground, bucholz's defenders were too dilatory in going in search of them. it was at the visit after the information had reached them of this fruitless search for important testimony, that bucholz related to sommers another dream, in which his former prison companion was said to have appeared to him as a detective, and as he finished the recital, he turned to his companion, and said: "if you are a detective, and if you do take the stand against me, it is all over. i will tell my lawyers to stop the trial--that will be the end of it--and me." sommers laughed at this and turned the drift of the conversation to the question of the approaching trial and the evidence that would soon be produced against him. he asked him in a quiet manner, if he had thrown the two old pistols where they had been found on the night of the murder, and bucholz, with a smile, answered him: "oh, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; the murderers threw them there." sommers looked incredulously at him for a moment, and then replied: "i did not ask you whether you killed the old man or not; but you must not think me such a fool as not to know it." bucholz laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and the glitter of the serpent's came into the wicked blue eyes, but he made no denial. "i never thought when i first became acquainted with you," continued sommers, "that you knew anything about this murder, but rather thought you an innocent, harmless-looking fellow. indeed i never imagined that you had nerve enough to do anything like that." again that diabolical laugh, and bucholz, holding out his right arm without a tremor of the muscles, replied, ironically: "oh, no; i have got no nerve at all." the next day they referred again to the finding of the articles hidden in the ground, and sommers informed his companion that mr. olmstead had secured the axe that was in the barn, and regretted very much that he had not taken it when he was there. bucholz looked troubled at this information, but, rousing himself, he inquired: "what kind of an axe did you get?" "why, i got one as nearly like that in the barn as i could--about as thick as the iron bars on the door of the cell there." "yes, that is right," said bucholz, eagerly, while a glow of satisfaction dashed across his face. "i don't know about that," replied sommers. "how large were the wounds upon the head of mr. schulte?" "one was about three inches long." "was that the wound that was made by the sharp edge of the axe?" "yes! yes!" replied bucholz, eagerly. "well, how large was the other wound?" "well," said bucholz, musingly, and making a circle of his thumb and forefinger, he held it up before the detective; "i should think it was a hole about this large." no tremor of the voice, no shaking of the hand, as he held it up, but, with a cold, unfeeling look, he made this explanation. "i am afraid that the axe i bought was too large, because the back of it was as broad as the bar upon this door--about two inches." "that is right enough," quickly replied bucholz, "because if you would take the axe and strike the blow upwards behind the ear, where that wound was, you would strike the head with the edge of the back, and that would crush in the bones of the skull and produce just such a hole as that was in schulte's head." he illustrated this by starting to his feet and raising his hands as if he was about to strike the blow himself. the murderous glitter came again into those flashing eyes. his words came thick and fast--the demon smile was upon his lips. he was acting again the scene of that dreadful night, and, oblivious of his listener, or the impressions he was creating, he lived again that frightful moment when he had inflicted the blows that laid the old man dead at his feet. there was a realism about his manner that was awfully impressive, and the detective involuntarily shuddered as he looked into those gleaming eyes, in which murder was clearly reflected. all doubts were removed from his mind--the murderer of henry schulte stood before him--and if the judges and the jury that were to hear his case in a few days could have witnessed this scene, conviction would have been carried to the minds of the most skeptical. no confession seemed necessary now. if ever murder was depicted upon a human face it was expressed in every lineament of the face of the man who stood before the detective in that prison cell. the wicked gleam had not died out from his eyes, as, unconscious of the effect his manner had produced, he resumed his position, and added, in a tone of entire satisfaction: "yes, yes, that axe is all right!" edward sommers shuddered as he gazed at the man before him--the man who had become as putty in his hands, and yet who possessed a heart so black as to be capable of the damning deed for which he was so soon to be tried for committing. he thought of the tears this man had shed in the darkness of the lonely nights; of the accusing voices that had rung in his ears during his uneasy slumbers; of the conscience that would not down at the command of the resolute will--and then of the incidents of this afternoon, when the murderer stood revealed before him in all the hideous deformity of his brutal passion and his self confessed crime. of a truth events and not men are alone worthy of consideration in the life of a detective. the judgment. chapter xxx. _the trial._--_an unexpected witness._--_a convincing story._--_an able, but fruitless defense._--_a verdict of guilty._--_the triumph of justice._ the trial of william bucholz for the murder of henry schulte began in the old court house at bridgeport on the ninth day of september, and a ripple of excitement pervaded the city. the interest attaching to this case had extended beyond the locality in which it had occurred, and the reporter's table was crowded with representatives of the various metropolitan journals who designed giving publicity to the proceedings of the trial. the judges, solemn and dignified, were upon the bench. the lawyers, bustling among their books and papers, were actively engaged in preparing for the scenes that were to follow, while the state's attorney, quiet and calm, but with a confident look of determination upon his face, awaited the production of the prisoner and the formal opening of the case. bucholz had engaged the services of three lawyers--general smith, who had acquired considerable fame as an attorney; mr. bollman, who had been connected with the case from its inception, and mr. alfred e. austin, a young member of the bar, who resided at norwalk. the sheriff entered with his prisoner, and placed him in the dock, to plead to the indictment that was to be read to him, and upon which he was to be placed upon trial for his life. he entered with the same careless, jaunty air which had marked his first appearance at south norwalk, and except for a certain nervousness in his manner and a restless wandering of the eager glance which he cast around him, no one would have imagined that he stood upon the eve of a trying ordeal that was to result either in sending him to the gallows or in striking from his wrists the shackles that encircled them, and sending him out into the world a free man. he was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and had evidently taken great care in preparing himself for the trial. he wore a new suit of clothes, of neat pattern and of modern style, and his linen was of spotless whiteness and carefully arranged. as he entered and took his seat a suppressed murmur of surprise, not unmixed with sympathy, pervaded the court-room. the hall was crowded, and a large number of ladies, attracted, perhaps, by that element of curiosity which is inherent in the sex, and perhaps by that quality of sympathy for which they are remarkable, were present, and bucholz at once became the focus of all eyes and the subject of universal comment and conversation. from the nature of the charge against him many had expected to see some ferocious-looking ruffian, whose countenance would portray the evidence of his crime, and whose appearance would indicate the certainty of his guilt. their surprise was therefore unbounded, when, instead of the monster their imaginations had conjured up, they beheld the young, well-dressed and good-looking german who appeared before them, and a strong feeling of sympathy for the unfortunate man was manifested by a majority of those present. considerable difficulty was experienced in securing a jury, but at length the requisite number were obtained, and bucholz was directed to stand up and listen to the charge that had been preferred against him. a profound silence pervaded the court-room as the indictment was being read. the prisoner paid the strictest attention as the words were pronounced:-- "how say you, prisoner at the bar; are you guilty or not guilty?" and he answered in a firm voice: "not guilty!" the attorneys eagerly scanned the faces of the "twelve good men and true," into whose hands was soon to be confided the fate of the man who stood before them; but their impassive countenances gave no indication of the thoughts which occupied their minds. they had been chosen for the performance of a solemn duty, and were evidently prepared to perform it without fear or favor. who can fathom the mind of the prisoner or conceive the myriad of vexing thoughts with which his brain is teeming? he exhibits no fear--he displays no excitement--but calmly and quietly and with watchful eyes he gazes around upon the scene before him--a scene in which he is an important actor, and in which his fate is being determined. without the formality of an opening address, the state's attorney calls the first witness--mrs. waring. this lady details the occurrences of the afternoon and evening of the murder--the facts of which are already known to the reader. she also testified to the friendly relations existing between the murdered man and the prisoner, except upon one occasion, when, shortly before the death of mr. schulte, she had heard angry words in their apartments. no importance was attached to this, as the disagreement was of short duration, and their pleasant intercourse was speedily resumed. the evidence of the two daughters and the son of mrs. waring was taken, but they simply confirmed the story as related by the mother. the various persons who were present at the finding of the body--the physicians who had made the post mortem examination, were examined as to their knowledge of the murder, and the circumstances incident thereto. the officers who had charge of bucholz testified to his extravagances during the time that intervened between the murder and the formal arrest of the prisoner, and to the fact of the money which he had expended bearing the peculiar marks which had been noticed upon it. frank bruner had been found by my operatives, and he identified the watch that had been found as belonging to henry schulte. he also testified to the conversations which took place between himself and bucholz before he had left the service of mr. schulte, and also that the old gentleman had called upon him on the morning of that fatal day, and had informed him of his intention to dispense with the services of bucholz on the th day of the succeeding month, and requested frank to again enter his service; which he had promised to consider before deciding finally upon. the examination of these various witnesses had occupied two days, and nothing very serious or convincing, except of a circumstantial nature, had been proven. bucholz appeared jubilant and hopeful--his counsel were sanguine of acquittal, and even the jurors looked less sternly as their eyes fell upon the prisoner. the countenance of the state's attorney was an enigma to the lawyers for the defense. confident and self-reliant, he had marshaled his array of witnesses, and their testimony was a consistent recital of the events relating to the murder and the various circumstances relating thereto. nothing definite or convincing had as yet been proven, and the attorneys wondered at the undismayed demeanor of the prosecuting officer. on the afternoon of the third day, after the examination of two unimportant witnesses, mr. olmstead arose, and, addressing the sheriff, said: "call ernest stark." there was nothing unusual in the name, and but little attention was paid to the order thus given. the prisoner and the attorneys had never heard the name before, and no uneasiness was manifested upon their faces, but when, in answer to that call, edward sommers entered from the ante-room, and stepping upon the witness stand, confronted the court, a change came over the faces of the accused and his counsel, wonderful to behold. bucholz staggered to his feet with a smothered expression of physical agony and stood for an instant pressing his hand convulsively upon his brow, his eyes, full of savage but impotent fury, were fixed upon the detective; but this emotion soon passed away and yielded to a vague, bewildered expression, as he sank back into his seat, overcome by the feelings which oppressed him. [illustration: "_his eyes full of savage but impotent fury were fixed upon the detective._"] the attorneys, stolid and immovable, gazed at this unexpected apparition, but long practice in their profession had enabled them to conceal their emotions, however powerful the influence, and, except the first start of surprise, no outward indication was given of their astonishment at the appearance of the detective or their chagrin at the duplicity of their client. the detective, calm and imperturbable, and apparently unconscious of the important part he was playing in this sad drama, stood there immovable, the perfect immobility of his face undisturbed by the consternation of counsel or the confusion of the prisoner. under the examination of the state's attorney, he told his story in a firm, deliberate manner, that carried conviction to the minds of all. he detailed the various experiences of his prison life and of his intercourse with the prisoner. he related the admissions which bucholz had made to him, and testified to the influence which he had gradually acquired over the mind of the accused man. he graphically described their several interviews, and finally he detailed at length the finding of the money of the murdered man, hidden in the places to which bucholz had directed him. the silence in the court-room was most impressive. the crowded audience who had at first been amazed at the appearance of the detective, now leaned eagerly forward in their intense desire to hear each word that was spoken. the judges listened intently as the well-chosen sentences, fraught with so much importance to the cause of justice, fell from his lips. the eager, exulting ring of the voice of the state's attorney as he conducted the examination, and the low, modulated tones of the witness as he gave the damaging answers, seemed to affect all present, and, with their eyes riveted alternately upon the witness and the prisoner, they listened breathlessly as he related his convincing story. william bucholz, after the first exhibition of his emotions, sat silent and apparently stunned during the whole of the rendering of this testimony. his eyes were fastened upon the detective witness, but no movement of the muscles of his face betrayed the despairing thoughts within. silently he sat there--his arms folded across his chest, with cheeks blanched and eyes staring straight forward toward the witness-stand. already he sees the hand of impending fate, and as this unexpected web of circumstantial and positive evidence is being slowly and systematically woven about him, the shadow of the gallows falls upon him, and yet he makes no sign. the resolute will and inflexible nature sustain him firmly under this trying ordeal. as ernest stark related the finding of the hidden wealth of the murdered man which he had secured, an involuntary exclamation of surprise burst from the assembled listeners, and when he had finished his story a sigh of apparent relief escaped them. the testimony of the detective had occupied a day and a half in its rendition, and upon the opening of the court upon the succeeding day, the haggard look of the prisoner told unmistakably of the sleepless vigil of the night before. his lips remained sealed, however, and no one knew of the agony of his mind. upon the conclusion of the detective's testimony, the money which had been found in the old barn was exhibited in evidence, and, as the earth-soiled pocket-books and the great roll of notes were displayed, eager eyes watched their production. it was the price of a human life, and another life hung trembling in the balance because of it. robert a. pinkerton was called, and confirmed the statement of ernest stark with regard to the midnight visit to the barn and the finding of the money. paul schmoeck and another attache of the german consulate identified the notes produced, and also testified as to its safe-keeping since it had been so miraculously unearthed. two important witnesses were now introduced, who proved beyond a doubt that this money was upon the person of henry schulte upon the night of the murder. this evidence was necessary, because the sagacious attorneys for the prisoner had already invented a plan of defense, at once ingenious and able. there had existed hitherto no proof that this money which had been found in the barn was in the possession of the murdered man at the time of the tragedy, and bucholz might only be the thief who had robbed his master during his absence, and not the criminal who had imbrued his hands in his blood. henry bischoff and his son, prominent german bankers, and dealers in foreign exchange, distinctly remembered the visit of henry schulte to their banking house upon the day on which the murder was committed. the father identified some of the notes which had been found in the first package as those which had been given him in exchange for mark bills, and the son identified the gold pieces which had been unearthed with the second package as those which he had given to mr. schulte upon that day. both pocket-books must therefore have been upon the person of henry schulte as he walked home upon that winter's night accompanied by his trusted servant who had robbed and murdered him. the clothing of the accused man, which he had worn upon that night, and which had been secured immediately after the occurrence of the tragedy and legally retained, were also introduced and identified. the shirt contained spots of blood, and the pantaloons also displayed evidences of the same crimson fluid. the prosecution then closed their case, and the defense began. undismayed by the convincing character of the testimony which had been given, the attorneys for bucholz labored diligently and ably to explain away the damaging proofs which had been adduced. their cross-examination of the witness who had been known to them as edward sommers had been very light; they had not attempted to impeach his veracity or to question the truthfulness of his relations, and while this was a matter of surprise to many at the time, the wisdom of such a course soon became evident. the principal witness for the state was to be used as a reliable instrument in the hands of the defense, and the testimony of edward sommers was to be relied upon to substantiate the theory by which the attorneys for bucholz hoped to delude the jury and to save their client. the finding of the money was admitted as the result of revelations made by bucholz to the detective, but they endeavored to prove that though he might have robbed the old man, it was impossible for him to have killed him. it was contended upon the part of bucholz, that the money was taken from the pockets of the murdered man while bucholz was assisting in carrying the body to the house, and that he was enabled to do this the more easily, because he alone knew where the old gentleman placed the money which he carried about his person. this theory was ingeniously suggested and ably argued, and several minor points of evidence were adduced in support of it. the blood-stains upon the clothing were also sought to be explained. those upon the shirt were alleged to have been produced from the bleeding of the face of the prisoner who was wounded upon the same evening, and the pantaloons, it was claimed, had received the stains upon them from the blood which had dropped while bucholz was assisting the bearers to carry the corpse to the house after the preliminary investigation by the coroner. with rare skill were these theories presented, and with desperate energy these able attorneys led the forlorn hope against the strong fortress of conviction which seemed to enclose their unfortunate client. the audience, the judges and the jury were profoundly impressed, but they were not convinced. the judge charged the jury, and before the force of his sound, legal utterances, the airy castles which had been so ingeniously builded fell to the ground, and the hopes of the prisoner and his friends were buried in their ruins. the case was handed to the twelve men, and many scrutinizing glances were directed toward them as they slowly retired to deliberate upon their verdict. faint hopes were entertained of a disagreement, but all felt that conviction would be but a natural result. slowly the crowd of spectators dispersed, as it became apparent that no report would be received that evening, and many ladies, moved by that latent sympathy which is usually manifested for great criminals, approached the prisoner, and, together with their condolences, bestowed upon him their offerings of flowers and fruits. at twelve o'clock the next day--during a recess of the court--a loud knock was heard upon the door which led to the jury-room. instantly every voice was hushed and every eye was strained to watch the countenances of these arbiters of fate who slowly entered and took their seats. bucholz was laughing gayly with some acquaintances, but he became instantly serious--the smile died away from his lips, and he anxiously awaited the announcement that was to convey to him the blessing of life or the doom of death. slowly the jurors arose and faced the court. "gentlemen of the jury, have you determined upon your verdict?" breathlessly they all listened. "we have." these words fell like a thunderbolt upon the assembly. the prisoner's face grew pale; he grasped the railing in front of him and gazed wistfully at the jurors who stood beside him. "prisoner at the bar, stand up," said the clerk; and bucholz arose immediately, turning his pallid face toward the jury-box. the gray-haired foreman, whose elbow almost touched the prisoner, looked at him with a glance in which was depicted a sympathy, which, while it was heartfelt and sincere, was not of sufficient force to outweigh a conscientious discharge of duty. "gentlemen of the jury, how say you? is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?" with trembling voice the venerable foreman said, slowly: "guilty of murder in the first degree!" the guilty man fell back in his seat, as though he had been struck a heavy blow, and bowing his head upon the railing, he sobbed wildly. the trial was over. justice had triumphed, and this crime-stained man, who was now the object of so much attention, was decreed to pay the penalty of his misdeeds. the mystery of the murder of henry schulte had been judiciously solved, and the detective had triumphed over the assassin. chapter xxxi. _another chance for life._--_a third trial._--_a final verdict._--_and a just punishment._ immediately upon the rendering of the verdict, the attorneys for bucholz moved for an arrest of judgment and filed their reasons for a new trial. after a delay of some weeks, an argument was had thereon. it was contended among other things that one of the jurymen, during the trial, and while they had not been confined, had spoken of the case upon which he was engaged, and had expressed an opinion in regard to the matter which he had been selected to determine. upon this fact being shown to the satisfaction of the judges, a new trial was ordered, and the month of the succeeding february was fixed as the time for the hearing of the same. the second trial was had, and although the evidence adduced was the same as upon the preceding occasion, or if anything stronger and more convincing, the jury disagreed and were finally discharged. a remarkable feature of this disagreement was the fact that upon the final polling of the jury that was taken, the vote given was: for murder in the first degree, nine; for murder in the second degree, two; and for _absolute acquittal_, one. grave doubts were entertained of the influence which induced that single vote, but in the absence of any proof to the contrary it must be regarded as an honest opinion conscientiously given. another respite was thus afforded the unhappy prisoner, and the third trial--now just completed--was fixed for the thirteenth day of april in the present year. again the court has been convened, and the formality of a trial has been gone through with. the jury have been sworn, the witnesses have been examined and arguments have been made. still, despite the vigorous and persistent attacks that have been attempted, truth prevails in the courts of law, and justice is triumphant. after a laborious trial, lasting over three weeks, the jury have rendered a verdict of "guilty of murder in the second degree," and the prisoner, standing tremblingly before the bar of justice, has been condemned to "_imprisonment for life_." after exhausting all the technicalities that could be devised, the murderer of henry schulte will suffer the penalties of the law. * * * * * again we will visit the prison and look within the narrow cell where william bucholz is confined. after a long struggle, fate has overtaken him. the dark shadows of night have gathered over the gloomy walls of the structure, and william bucholz is now alone--the pale, thin face and the sunken eyes tell the agonizing story of unending anxiety and those sleepless vigils attendant upon the terrible state of uncertainty through which he has passed, and the doom which he is now to suffer. his hair is disordered and he wildly pushes it away from his temples, as though its trifling weight added to the burden already resting upon his brain. the veins stand out upon his temples--now almost bursting with the intensity of the thoughts that have been crowding upon him--and still they come, vivid and terrible. vainly he tries to seek that rest that will bring nepenthe to his dreams, but the specter of that murdered old man will arise before his vision, and rest is impossible. ah, how many long, weary days and nights, fraught with terror and remorse, will come to this unfortunate man ere he finds a final release and a bed of earth! the miser of hagen is avenged--and the murderer will suffer for his crime. the end. * * * * * . . g. w. carleton & co. new books and new editions, recently issued by g. w. carleton & co., publishers, madison square, new york. the publishers, on receipt of price, send any book on this catalogue by mail, _postage free_. all handsomely bound in cloth, with gilt backs suitable for libraries. mary j. holmes' works. tempest and sunshine $ english orphans homestead on the hillside 'lena rivers meadow brook dora deane cousin maude marian grey edith lyle daisy thornton chateau d'or (new) darkness and daylight hugh worthington cameron pride rose mather ethelyn's mistake millbank edna browning west lawn mildred forrest house madeline (new) marion harland's works. alone $ hidden path moss side nemesis miriam at last helen gardner true as steel (new) sunnybank husbands and homes ruby's husband phemie's temptation the empty heart jessamine from my youth up my little love charles dickens-- vols.--"carleton's edition." pickwick, and catalogue $ dombey and son bleak house martin chuzzlewit barnaby rudge--edwin drood child's england--miscellaneous christmas books--two cities david copperfield nicholas nickleby little dorrit our mutual friend curiosity shop--miscellaneous sketches by boz--hard times great expectations--italy oliver twist--uncommercial sets of dickens' complete works, in vols.--[elegant half calf bindings] augusta j. evans' novels. beulah $ macaria inez st. elmo vashti infelice (new) may agnes fleming's novels. guy earlscourt's wife $ a terrible secret norine's revenge silent and true heir of charlton lost for a woman--new a wonderful woman a mad marriage one night's mystery kate danton carried by storm a wife's tragedy (new) the game of whist. pole on whist--the english standard work. with the "portland rules." miriam coles harris. rutledge $ frank warrington louie's last term, st. mary's a perfect adonis missy--new the sutherlands st. philips round hearts for children richard vandermarck happy-go-lucky (new) mrs. hill's cook book. mrs. a. p. hill's new southern cookery book, and domestic receipts $ julie p. smith's novels. widow goldsmith's daughter $ chris and otho ten old maids his young wife lucy--new the widower the married belle courting and farming kiss and be friends victor hugo. les miserables--translated from the french. the only complete edition $ captain mayne reid. the scalp hunters $ the rifle rangers the war trail the wood rangers the wild huntress the white chief the tiger hunter the hunter's feast wild life osceola, the seminole a. s. roe's select stories. true to the last $ the star and the cloud how could he help it? a long look ahead i've been thinking to love and to be loved charles dickens. child's history of england--carleton's new "_school edition_" illustrated $ hand-books of society. the habits of good society--the nice points of taste and good manners $ the art of conversation--for those who wish to be agreeable talkers the arts of writing, reading and speaking--for self-improvement new diamond edition--elegantly bound, volumes in a box carleton's popular quotations. carleton's new hand-book--familiar quotations, with their authorship $ famous books--carleton's edition. arabian nights--illustrations $ robinson crusoe--griset. do don quixote--dore illustrations swiss family robinson. do josh billings. his complete writings--with biography, steel portrait, and illustrations $ old probability--ten comic alminax, to . bound in one volume allan pinkerton. model town and detectives $ strikers, communists, etc criminal reminiscences, etc gypsies and detectives a new book spiritualists and detectives mollie maguires and detectives mississippi outlaws, etc bucholz and detectives r. r. forger and detectives celia e. gardner's novels. stolen waters. 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wendler conquered--by a new author janet--an english novel saint leger--richard b. kimball was he successful? do. undercurrents of wall st. do. romance of student life. do. to-day. do. life in san domingo. do. henry powers, banker. do. baroness of n. y.--joaquin miller one fair woman. do. another man's wife--mrs. hartt purple and fine linen--fawcett pauline's trial--l. d. courtney the forgiving kiss--m. loth flirtation--a west point novel loyal into death that awful boy that bridget of ours bitterwood--by m. a. green phemie frost--ann s. stephens charette--an american novel fairfax--john esten cooke hilt to hilt. do. out of the foam. do. hammer and rapier. do. warwick--by m. t. walworth lulu. do. hotspur. do. stormcliff. do. delaplaine. do. beverly. do. kenneth--sallie a. brock heart hungry--westmoreland clifford troupe. do. silcott mill--maria d. deslonde john maribel. do. love's vengeance mrs. mary j. holmes' works. tempest and sunshine. english orphans. homestead on hillside. 'lena rivers. meadow brook. dora deane. cousin maude. marian grey. edith lyle. daisy thornton. (_new_). darkness and daylight. hugh worthington. cameron pride. rose mather. ethelyn's mistake. millbank. edna browning. west lawn. mildred. forrest house. (_new_). opinions of the press. "mrs. holmes' stories are universally read. her admirers are numberless. she is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. her characters are always life-like, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject to the same emotions, swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same motives which are common among men and women of every day existence. mrs. holmes is very happy in portraying domestic life. old and young peruse her stories with great delight, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend."--_new york weekly._ the north american review, vol. , page , says of mrs. mary j. holmes' novel, "english orphans":--"with this novel of mrs. holmes' we have been charmed, and so have a pretty numerous circle of discriminating readers to whom we have lent it. the characterization is exquisite, especially so far as concerns rural and village life, of which there are some pictures that deserve to be hung up in perpetual memory of types of humanity fast becoming extinct. the dialogues are generally brief, pointed, and appropriate. the plot seems simple, so easily and naturally is it developed and consummated. moreover, the story thus gracefully constructed and written, inculcates without obtruding, not only pure christian morality in general, but, with especial point and power, the dependence of true success on character, and of true respectability on merit." "mrs. holmes' stories are all of a domestic character, and their interest, therefore, is not so intense as if they were more highly seasoned with sensationalism, but it is of a healthy and abiding character. almost any new book which her publisher might choose to announce from her pen would get an immediate and general reading. the interest in her tales begins at once, and is maintained to the close. her sentiments are so sound, her sympathies so warm and ready, and her knowledge of manners, character, and the varied incidents of ordinary life is so thorough, that she would find it difficult to write any other than an excellent tale if she were to try it."--_boston banner._ the volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everywhere, and sent by mail, _postage free_, on receipt of price [$ . each], by g. w. carleton & co., publishers, _madison square, new york._ charles dickens' works. a new edition. among the many editions of the works of this greatest of english novelists, there has not been until _now_ one that entirely satisfies the public demand.--without exception, they each have some strong distinctive objection,--either the form and dimensions of the volumes are unhandy--or, the type is small and indistinct--or, the illustrations are unsatisfactory--or, the binding is poor--or, the price is too high. an entirely new edition is _now_, however, published by g. w. carleton & co., of new york, which, in every respect, completely satisfies the popular demand.--it is known as "carleton's new illustrated edition." complete in volumes. the size and form is most convenient for holding,--the type is entirely new, and of a clear and open character that has received the approval of the reading community in other works. the illustrations are by the original artists chosen by charles dickens himself--and the paper, printing, and binding are of an attractive and substantial character. this beautiful new edition is complete in volumes--at the extremely reasonable price of $ . per volume, as follows:-- .--pickwick papers and catalogue. .--oliver twist.--uncommercial traveller. .--david copperfield. .--great expectations.--italy and america. .--dombey and son. .--barnaby rudge and edwin drood. .--nicholas nickleby. .--curiosity shop and miscellaneous. .--bleak house. .--little dorrit. .--martin chuzzlewit. .--our mutual friend. .--christmas books.--tale of two cities. .--sketches by boz and hard times. .--child's england and miscellaneous. the first volume--pickwick papers--contains an alphabetical catalogue of all of charles dickens' writings, with their exact positions in the volumes. this edition is sold by booksellers, everywhere--and single specimen copies will be forwarded by mail, _postage free_, on receipt of price, $ . , by g. w. carleton & co., publishers, madison square, new york. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) allan pinkerton's detective stories. [illustration: the robber.] the expressman and the detective. by allan pinkerton. fifteenth thousand. chicago: w. b. keen, cooke & co., and state street. . copyright, w. b. keen, cooke & co., a. d. . the lakeside press. preface. during the greater portion of a very busy life, i have been actively engaged in the profession of a detective, and hence have been brought in contact with many men, and have been an interested participant in many exciting occurrences. the narration of some of the most interesting of these events, happening in connection with my professional labors, is the realization of a pleasure i have long anticipated, and is the fulfillment of promises repeatedly made to numerous friends in by gone days. "the expressman and the detective," and the other works announced by my publishers, are all _true stories_, transcribed from the records in my offices. if there be any incidental embellishment, it is so slight that the actors in these scenes from the drama of life would never themselves detect it; and if the incidents seem to the reader at all marvelous or improbable, i can but remind him, in the words of the old adage, that "truth is stranger than fiction." allan pinkerton. chicago, october, . publishers' notice. the present volume is the first of a series of mr. allan pinkerton's thrilling and beautifully written detective stories, all true to life--founded upon incidents in the experience of the great chief of all detectives. at intervals the following will appear: "claude melnotte as a detective." "the two sisters and the avenger." "the frenchman and the bills of exchange." "the murderer and the fortune teller." "the model town and its detective." that these volumes will meet with a cordial reception we have no doubt. w. b. keen, cooke & co. illustrations. i. frontispiece--the robber. ii. at this inopportune moment simon gave way to his oars, and left the poor deputy hanging in the air. pp. iii. "yah! yah! yah!" roared both the darkies; "you don't know mother binks! why, she keeps the finest gals on all the riber." page iv. as he gaily entered the gallery, twirling his handsome cane, he was welcomed by a pleasant smile from a young lady, an octoroon. page v. cox and his friends joined in having a good time at the tinker's expense, and pronounced him "the prince of good fellows." page vi. franklin gave his orders, and the delicious bivalves were soon smoking before them. * * * he kept the alderman in such roars of laughter that he could scarcely swallow his oysters. page vii. "you are my prisoner!" said he. "nathan maroney, i demand that you immediately deliver to me fifty thousand dollars, the property of the adams' express co." page viii. on and on he plunged through the darkness, following the sound of the hoofs and wheels. at times he felt that he must give up and drop by the way; but he forced the feeling back and plunged on with the determination of winning. page ix. "wal, stranger, whar yar bound?" was his first salutation. roch looked at him in a bewildered way and then said, "nichts verstehe!" page x. mrs. maroney looked him full in the face with flashing eyes, clenched her little hand, and in a voice hoarse from passion, exclaimed: "what do you want here, you scoundrel?" page xi. in a second, mrs. maroney grasped a pitcher and smashed it over josh.'s skull. page xii. raising the dead animal by its caudal appendage, he angrily exclaimed, "that's my dog!" page xiii. as he stood outside of the counter, i was enabled to call off all the packages on the way-bill, but dropped the four containing the forty thousand dollars under the counter. page xiv. the peddler lifted his satchel into the buggy; the madam hurriedly emptied it of its contents, and holding it open jammed the bundle of money into it, and handed it back to the peddler. page the expressman and the detective. _chapter i._ montgomery, alabama, is beautifully situated on the alabama river, near the centre of the state. its situation at the head of navigation, on the alabama river, its connection by rail with important points, and the rich agricultural country with which it is surrounded, make it a great commercial centre, and the second city in the state as regards wealth and population. it is the capital, and consequently learned men and great politicians flock to it, giving it a society of the highest rank, and making it the social centre of the state. from to , the time of which i treat in the present work, the south was in a most prosperous condition. "cotton was king," and millions of dollars were poured into the country for its purchase, and a fair share of this money found its way to montgomery. when the alabama planters had gathered their crops of cotton, tobacco, rice, etc., they sent them to montgomery to be sold, and placed the proceeds on deposit in its banks. during their busy season, while overseeing the labor of their slaves, they were almost entirely debarred from the society of any but their own families; but when the crops were gathered they went with their families to montgomery, where they gave themselves up to enjoyment, spending their money in a most lavish manner. there were several good hotels in the city and they were always filled to overflowing with the wealth and beauty of the south. the adams express company had a monopoly of the express business of the south, and had established its agencies at all points with which there was communication by rail, steam or stage. they handled all the money sent to the south for the purchase of produce, or remitted to the north in payment of merchandise. moreover, as they did all the express business for the banks, besides moving an immense amount of freight, it is evident that their business was enormous. at all points of importance, where there were diverging routes of communication, the company had established principal agencies, at which all through freight and the money pouches were delivered by the messengers. the agents at these points were selected with the greatest care, and were always considered men above reproach. montgomery being a great centre of trade was made the western terminus of one of the express routes, atlanta being the eastern. the messengers who had charge of the express matter between these two points were each provided with a safe and with a pouch. the latter was to contain only such packages as were to go over the whole route, consisting of money or other valuables. the messenger was not furnished with a key to the pouch, but it was handed to him locked by the agent at one end of the route to be delivered in the same condition to the agent at the other end. the safe was intended for way packages, and of it the messenger of course had a key. the pouch was carried in the safe, each being protected by a lock of peculiar construction. the montgomery office in , and for some years previous, had been in charge of nathan maroney, and he had made himself one of the most popular agents in the company's employ. he was married, and with his wife and one daughter, had pleasant quarters at the exchange hotel, one of the best houses in the city. he possessed all the qualifications which make a popular man. he had a genial, hearty manner, which endeared him to the open, hospitable inhabitants of montgomery, so that he was "hail fellow, well met," with most of its populace. he possessed great executive ability and hence managed the affairs of his office in a very satisfactory manner. the promptness with which he discharged his duties had won for him the well-merited esteem of the officers of the company, and he was in a fair way of attaining a still higher position. his greatest weakness--if it may be so called--was a love for fast horses, which often threw him into the company of betting men. on the morning of the twenty-sixth of april, , the messenger from atlanta arrived in montgomery, placed his safe in the office as usual, and when maroney came in, turned over to him the through pouch. maroney unlocked the pouch and compared it with the way-bill, when he discovered a package of four thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars for a party in montgomery which was not down on the way-bill. about a week after this occurrence, advice was received that a package containing ten thousand dollars in bills of the planters' and mechanics' bank of charleston, s. c., had been sent to columbus, ga., via the adams express, but the person to whom it was directed had not received it. inquiries were at once instituted, when it was discovered that it had been missent, and forwarded to atlanta, instead of macon. at atlanta it was recollected that this package, together with one for montgomery, for four thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars, had been received on sunday, the twenty-fifth of april, and had been sent on to montgomery, whence the columbus package could be forwarded the next day. here all trace of the missing package was lost. maroney stated positively that he had not received it, and the messenger was equally positive that the pouch had been delivered to maroney in the same order in which he received it from the atlanta agent. the officers of the company were completely at a loss. it was discovered beyond a doubt that the package had been sent from atlanta. the messenger who received it bore an excellent character, and the company could not believe him guilty of the theft. the lock of the pouch was examined and found in perfect order, so that it evidently had not been tampered with. the messenger was positive that he had not left the safe open when he went out of the car, and there was no sign of the lock's having been forced. the more the case was investigated, the more directly did suspicion point to maroney, but as his integrity had always been unquestioned, no one now was willing to admit the possibility of his guilt. however, as no decided action in the matter could be taken, it was determined to say nothing, but to have the movements of maroney and other suspected parties closely watched. for this purpose various detectives were employed; one a local detective of montgomery, named mcgibony; others from new orleans, philadelphia, mobile, and new york. after a long investigation these parties had to give up the case as hopeless, all concluding that maroney was an innocent man. among the detectives, however was one from new york, robert boyer, by name, an old and favorite officer of mr. matsell when he was chief of the new york police. he had made a long and tedious examination and finding nothing definite as to what had become of the money, had turned his attention to discovering the antecedents of maroney, but found nothing positively suspicious in his life previous to his entering the employ of the company. he discovered that maroney was the son of a physician, and that he was born in the town of rome, ga. here i would remark that the number of titled men one meets in the south is astonishing. every man, if he is not a doctor, a lawyer, or a clergyman, has some military title--nothing lower than captain being admissible. of these self-imposed titles they are very jealous, and woe be to the man who neglects to address them in the proper form. captain is the general title, and is applied indiscriminately to the captain of a steamer, or to the deck hand on his vessel. maroney remained in rome until he became a young man, when he emigrated to texas. on the breaking out of the mexican war he joined a company of texan rangers, and distinguished himself in a number of battles. at the close of the war he settled in montgomery, in the year , or , and was employed by hampton & co., owners of a line of stages, to act as their agent. on leaving this position, he was made treasurer of johnson & may's circus, remaining with the company until it was disbanded in consequence of the pecuniary difficulties of the proprietors--caused, it was alleged, through maroney's embezzlement of the funds, though this allegation proved false, and he remained for many years on terms of intimacy with one of the partners, a resident of montgomery. when the company disbanded he obtained a situation as conductor on a railroad in tennessee, and was afterwards made assistant superintendent, which position he resigned to take the agency of the adams express company, in montgomery. his whole life seemed spotless up to the time of the mysterious disappearance of the ten thousand dollars. in the fall of the year, maroney obtained leave of absence, and made a trip to the north, visiting the principal cities of the east, and also of the northwest. he was followed on this trip, but nothing was discovered, with the single exception that his associates were not always such as were desirable in an employé, to whose keeping very heavy interests were from time to time necessarily committed. he was lost sight of at richmond, va., for a few days, and was supposed by the man who was following him, to have passed the time in charleston. the company now gave up all hope of recovering the money; but as maroney's habits were expensive, and they had lost, somewhat, their confidence in him, they determined to remove him and place some less objectionable person in his place. maroney's passion for fine horses has already been alluded to. it was stated about this time that he owned several fast horses; among others, "yankee mary," a horse for which he was said to have paid two thousand five hundred dollars; but as he had brought seven thousand five hundred dollars with him when he entered the employ of the company, this could not be considered a suspicious circumstance. it having been determined to remove maroney, the vice-president of the company wrote to the superintendent of the southern division of the steps he wished taken. the superintendent of the southern division visited montgomery on the twentieth of january, , but was anticipated in the matter of carrying out his instructions, by maroney's tendering his resignation. the resignation was accepted, but the superintendent requested him to continue in charge of the office until his successor should arrive. this he consented to do. _chapter ii._ previous to maroney's trip to the north, mr. boyer held a consultation with the vice-president and general superintendent of the company. he freely admitted his inability to fathom the mystery surrounding the loss of the money, and thought the officers of the company did maroney a great injustice in supposing him guilty of the theft. he said he knew of only one man who could bring out the robbery, and he was living in chicago. pinkerton was the name of the man he referred to. he had established an agency in chicago, and was doing a large business. he (boyer) had every confidence in his integrity and ability, which was more than he could say of the majority of detectives, and recommended the vice-president to have him come down and look into the case. this ended the case for most of the detectives. one by one they had gone away, and nothing had been developed by them. the vice-president, still anxious to see if anything could be done, wrote a long and full statement of the robbery and sent it to me, with the request that i would give my opinion on it. i was much surprised when i received the letter, as i had not the slightest idea who the vice-president was, and knew very little about the adams express, as, at that time, they had no office in the west. i, however, sat down and read it over very carefully, and, on finishing it, determined to make a point in the case if i possibly could. i reviewed the whole of the vice-president's letter, debating every circumstance connected with the robbery, and finally ended my consideration of the subject with the firm conviction that the robbery had been committed either by the agent, maroney, or by the messenger, and i was rather inclined to give the blame to maroney. the letter was a very long one, but one of which i have always been proud. having formed my opinion, i wrote to the vice-president, explained to him the ground on which i based my conclusions, and recommended that they keep maroney in their employ, and have a strict watch maintained over his actions. after sending my letter, i could do nothing until the vice-president replied, which i expected he would do in a few days; but i heard nothing more of the affair for a long time, and had almost entirely forgotten it, when i received a telegraphic dispatch from him, sent from montgomery, and worded about as follows: "allan pinkerton: can you send me a man--half horse and half alligator? i have got 'bit' once more! when can you send him?" the dispatch came late saturday night, and i retired to my private office to think the matter over. the dispatch gave me no information from which i could draw any conclusions. no mention was made of how the robbery was committed, or of the amount stolen. i had not received any further information of the ten thousand dollar robbery. how had they settled that? it was hard to decide what kind of a man to send! i wanted to send the very best, and would gladly go myself, but did not know whether the robbery was important enough to demand my personal attention. i did not know what kind of men the officers of the company were, or whether they would be willing to reward a person properly for his exertions in their behalf. at that time i had no office in new york, and knew nothing of the ramifications of the company. besides, i did not know how i would be received in the south. i had held my anti-slavery principles too long to give them up. they had been bred in my bones, and it was impossible to eradicate them. i was always stubborn, and in any circumstances would never abandon principles i had once adopted. slavery was in full blossom, and an anti-slavery man could do nothing in the south. as i had always been a man somewhat after the john brown stamp, aiding slaves to escape, or keeping them employed, and running them into canada when in danger, i did not think it would do for me to make a trip to montgomery. i did not know what steps had already been taken in the case, or whether the loss was a heavy one. from the vice-president's saying he wanted a man "half horse, half alligator," i supposed he wanted a man who could at least affiliate readily with the inhabitants of the south. but what class was he to mix with? did he want a man to mix with the rough element, or to pass among gentlemen? i could select from my force any class of man he could wish. but what _did he wish_? i was unaware of who had recommended me to the vice-president, as at that time i had not been informed that my old friend boyer had spoken so well of me. what answer should i make to the dispatch? it must be answered immediately! these thoughts followed each other in rapid succession as i held the dispatch before me. i finally settled on porter as the proper man to send, and immediately telegraphed the vice-president, informing him that porter would start for montgomery by the first train. i then sent for porter and gave him what few instructions i could. i told him the little i knew of the case, and that i should have to rely greatly on his tact and discretion. up to that time i had never done any business for the adams express, and as their business was well worth having, i was determined to win. he was to go to montgomery and get thoroughly acquainted with the town and its surroundings; and as my suspicions had become aroused as to the integrity of the agent, maroney, he was to form his acquaintance, and frequent the saloons and livery stables of the town, the vice-president's letter having made me aware of maroney's inclination for fast horses. he was to keep his own counsel, and, above all things, not let it become known that he was from the north, but to hail from richmond, va., thus securing for himself a good footing with the inhabitants. he was also to dress in the southern style; to supply me with full reports describing the town and its surroundings, the manners and customs of its people, all he saw or heard about maroney, the messengers and other employés of the company; whether maroney was married, and, if so, any suspicious circumstances in regard to his wife as well as himself--in fact, to keep me fully informed of all that occurred. i should have to rely on his discretion until his reports were received; but then i could direct him how to act. i also instructed him to obey all orders from the vice-president, and to be as obliging as possible. having given him his instructions, i started him off on the first train, giving him a letter of introduction to the vice-president. on porter's arriving in montgomery he sent me particulars of the case, from which i learned that while maroney was temporarily filling the position of agent, among other packages sent to the montgomery office, on the twenty-seventh of january, , were four containing, in the aggregate, forty thousand dollars, of which one, of two thousand five hundred dollars, was to be sent to charleston, s. c., and the other three, of thirty thousand, five thousand, and two thousand five hundred respectively, were intended for augusta. these were receipted for by maroney, and placed in the vault to be sent off the next day. on the twenty-eighth the pouch was given to the messenger, mr. chase, and by him taken to atlanta. when the pouch was opened, it was found that none of these packages were in it, although they were entered on the way-bill which accompanied the pouch, and were duly checked off. the poor messenger was thunder-struck, and for a time acted like an idiot, plunging his hand into the vacant pouch over and over again, and staring vacantly at the way-bill. the assistant superintendent of the southern division was in the atlanta office when the loss was discovered, and at once telegraphed to maroney for an explanation. receiving no reply before the train started for montgomery, he got aboard and went directly there. on his arrival he went to the office and saw maroney, who said he knew nothing at all of the matter. he had delivered the packages to the messenger, had his receipt for them, and of course could not be expected to keep track of them when out of his possession. before mr. hall, the route agent, left atlanta he had examined the pouch carefully, but could find no marks of its having been tampered with. he had immediately telegraphed to another officer of the company, who was at augusta, and advised him of what had happened. the evening after the discovery of the loss the pouch was brought back by the messenger from atlanta, who delivered it to maroney. maroney took out the packages, compared them with the way-bill, and, finding them all right, he threw down the pouch and placed the packages in the vault. in a few moments he came out, and going over to where mr. hall was standing, near where he had laid down the pouch, he picked it up and proceeded to examine it. he suddenly exclaimed, "why, it's cut!" and handed it over to mr. hall. mr. hall, on examination, found two cuts at right angles to each other, made in the side of the pouch and under the pocket which is fastened on the outside, to contain the way-bill. on sunday the general superintendent arrived in montgomery, when a strict investigation was made, but nothing definite was discovered, and the affair seemed surrounded by an impenetrable veil of mystery. it was, however, discovered that on the day the missing packages were claimed to have been sent away, there were several rather unusual incidents in the conduct of maroney. after consultation with mr. hall and others, the general superintendent determined that the affair should not be allowed to rest, as was the ten thousand dollar robbery, and had maroney arrested, charged with stealing the forty thousand dollars. the robbery of so large an amount caused great excitement in montgomery. the legislature was in session, and the city was crowded with senators, representatives and visitors. everywhere, on the streets, in the saloons, in private families, and at the hotels, the great robbery of the express company was the universal topic of conversation. maroney had become such a favorite that nearly all the citizens sympathized with him, and in unmeasured terms censured the company for having him arrested. they claimed that it was another instance of the persecution of a poor man by a powerful corporation, to cover the carelessness of those high in authority, and thus turn the blame on some innocent person. maroney was taken before justice holtzclaw, and gave the bail which was required--forty thousand dollars--for his appearance for examination a few days later; prominent citizens of the town actually vieing with one another for an opportunity to sign his bail-bond. at the examination the company presented such a weak case that the bail was reduced to four thousand dollars, and maroney was bound over in that amount to appear for trial at the next session of the circuit court, to be held in june. the evidence was such that there was little prospect of his conviction on the charge unless the company could procure additional evidence by the time the trial was to come off. it was the desire of the company to make such inquiries, and generally pursue such a course as would demonstrate the guilt or the possible innocence of the accused. it was absolutely necessary for their own preservation to show that depredations upon them could not be committed with impunity. they offered a reward of ten thousand dollars for the recovery of the money, promptly made good the loss of the parties who had entrusted the several amounts to their charge, and looked around to select such persons to assist them as would be most likely to secure success. the amount was large enough to warrant the expenditure of a considerable sum in its recovery, and the beneficial influence following the conviction of the guilty party would be ample return for any outlay securing that object. the general superintendent therefore telegraphed to me, as before related, requesting me to send a man to work up the case. _chapter iii._ mr. porter had a very rough journey to montgomery, and was delayed some days on the road. it was in the depth of winter, and in the north the roads were blockaded with snow, while in the south there was constant rain. the rivers were flooded, carrying away the bridges and washing out the embankments of the railroads, very much impeding travel. on his arrival in montgomery he saw the general superintendent and presented his letter. he received from him the particulars of the forty thousand dollar robbery, and immediately reported them to me. the general superintendent directed him to watch--"shadow" as we call it--the movements of maroney, find out who were his companions, and what saloons he frequented. porter executed his duties faithfully, and reported to me that montgomery was decidedly a fast town; that the exchange hotel, where maroney boarded, was kept by mr. floyd, former proprietor of the briggs house, chicago, and, although not the leading house of the town, was very much liked, as it was well conducted. from the meagre reports i had received i found i had to cope with no ordinary man, but one who was very popular, while i was a poor nameless individual, with a profession which most people were inclined to look down upon with contempt. i however did not flinch from the undertaking, but wrote to porter to do all he could, and at the same time wrote to the general superintendent, suggesting the propriety of sending another man, who should keep in the background and "spot" maroney and his wife, or their friends, so that if any one of them should leave town he could follow him, leaving porter in montgomery, to keep track of the parties there. there were, of course, a number of suspicious characters in a town of the size of montgomery, and it was necessary to keep watch of many of them. maroney frequented a saloon kept by a man whom i will call patterson. patterson's saloon was the fashionable drinking resort of montgomery, and was frequented by all the fast men in town. although outwardly a very quiet, respectable place, inwardly, as porter found, it was far from reputable. up stairs were private rooms, in which gentlemen met to have a quiet game of poker; while down stairs could be found the greenhorn, just "roped in," and being swindled, at _three card monte_. there were, also, rooms where the "young bloods" of the town--as well as the old--could meet ladies of easy virtue. it was frequented by fast men from new orleans, mobile, and other places, who were continually arriving and departing. i advised the general superintendent that it would be best to have porter get in with the "bloods" of the town, make himself acquainted with any ladies maroney or his wife might be familiar with, and adopt generally the character of a fast man. as soon as the general superintendent received my letter he telegraphed to me to send the second man, and also requested me to meet him, at a certain date, in new york. i now glanced over my force to see who was the best person to select for a "shadow". porter had been promoted by me to be a sort of "roper". most people may suppose that nearly any one can perform the duties of a "shadow", and that it is the easiest thing in the world to follow up a man; but such is not the case. a "shadow" has a most difficult position to maintain. it will not do to follow a person on the opposite side of the street, or close behind him, and when he stops to speak to a friend stop also; or if a person goes into a saloon, or store, pop in after him, stand staring till he goes out, and then follow him again. of course such a "shadow" would be detected in fifteen minutes. such are not the actions of the real "shadow", or, at least, of the "shadow" furnished by my establishment. i had just the man for the place, in mr. roch, who could follow a person for any length of time, and never be discovered. having settled on roch as the proper man for the position, i summoned him to my private office. roch was a german. he was about forty-five years old, of spare appearance and rather sallow or tanned complexion. his nose was long, thin and peaked, eyes clear but heavy looking, and hair dark. he was slightly bald, and though he stooped a little, was five feet ten inches in height. he had been in my employ for many years, and i knew him thoroughly, and could trust him. i informed him of the duties he was to perform, and gave him minute instructions how he was to act. he was to keep out of sight as much as possible in montgomery. porter would manage to see him on his arrival, unknown to any one there, and would point out to him maroney and his wife, and the messenger, chase, who boarded at the exchange; also patterson, the saloon keeper, and all suspected parties. he was not to make himself known to floyd, of the exchange, or to mcgibony, the local detective. i had also given porter similar instructions. i suggested to him the propriety of lodging at some low boarding house where liquor was sold. he was to keep me fully posted by letter of the movements of all suspected parties, and if any of them left town to follow them and immediately inform me by telegraph who they were and where they were going, so that i could fill his place in montgomery. having given him his instructions, i selected for his disguise a german dress. this i readily procured from my extensive wardrobe, which i keep well supplied by frequent attendance at sales of old articles. when he had rigged himself up in his long german coat, his german cap with the peak behind, and a most approved pair of emigrant boots, he presented himself to me with his long german pipe in his mouth, and i must say i was much pleased with his disguise, in which his own mother would not have recognized him. he was as fine a specimen of a dutchman as could be found. having thoroughly impressed on his mind the importance of the case and my determination to win the esteem of the company by ferreting out the thief, if possible, i started him for montgomery, where he arrived in due time. at the date agreed upon i went to new york to meet the general superintendent. i had never met the gentlemen of the company and i was a little puzzled how to act with them. i met the vice-president at the express office, in such a manner that none of the employés were the wiser as to my profession or business, and he made an appointment to meet me at the astor house in the afternoon. at the astor house he introduced me to the president, the general superintendent of the company, and we immediately proceeded to business. they gave me all the particulars of the case they could, though they were not much fuller than those i had already received from porter's reports. they reviewed the life of maroney, as already related, up to the time he became their agent, stating that he was married, although his marriage seemed somewhat "mixed". as far as they could find out, mrs. maroney was a widow, with one daughter, flora irvin, who was about seven or eight years old. mrs. maroney was from a very respectable family, now living in philadelphia or its environs. she was reported to have run away from home with a roué, whose acquaintance she had formed, but who soon deserted her. afterwards she led the life of a fast woman at charleston, new orleans, augusta, ga., and mobile, at which latter place she met maroney, and was supposed to have been married to him. after maroney was appointed agent in montgomery he brought her with him, took a suite of rooms at the exchange, and introduced her as his wife. on account of these circumstances the general superintendent did not wish to meet her, and, when in montgomery, always took rooms at another hotel. the vice-president said he had nearly come to the conclusion that maroney was not guilty of the ten thousand dollar robbery; but when my letter reached him, with my comments on the robbery, he became convinced that _he was_ the guilty party. he was strengthened in this opinion by the actions of maroney while on his northern tour, and by the fact that immediately on his return the fast mare "yankee mary" made her appearance in montgomery and that maroney backed her heavily. it was not known that he was her owner, it being generally reported that patterson and other fast men were her proprietors. this was all the vice-president and general superintendent had been able to discover while south, and they were aware that i had very little ground on which to work. i listened to all they had to say on the subject and took full memoranda of the facts. i then stated that although maroney had evidently planned and carried out the robbery with such consummate ability that he had not left the slightest clue by which he could be detected, still, if they would only give me plenty of time, i would bring the robbery home to him. i maintained, as a cardinal principle, that it is impossible for the human mind to retain a secret. all history proves that no one can hug a secret to his breast and live. everyone must have a vent for his feelings. it is impossible to keep them always penned up. this is especially noticeable in persons who have committed criminal acts. they always find it necessary to select some one in whom they can confide and to whom they can unburden themselves. we often find that persons who have committed grave offenses will fly to the moors, or to the prairies, or to the vast solitudes of almost impenetrable forests, and there give vent to their feelings. i instanced the case of eugene aram, who took up his abode on the bleak and solitary moor, and, removed from the society of his fellow-men, tried to maintain his secret by devoting himself to astronomical observations and musings with nature, but who, nevertheless, felt compelled to relieve his overburdened mind by muttering to himself details of the murder while taking his long and dreary walks on the moor. if maroney had committed the robbery and no one knew it but himself, i would demonstrate the truth of my theory by proving that he would eventually seek some one in whom he thought he could confide and to whom he would entrust the secret. my plan was to supply him with a confidant. it would take time to execute such a plan, but if they would have patience all would be well. i would go to montgomery and become familiar with the town. i was unknown there and should remain so, only taking a letter to their legal advisers, watts, judd & jackson, whom i supposed would cheerfully give me all the information in their power. i also informed them that it would be necessary to detail more detectives to work up the case. i found the officers of the company genial, pleasant men, possessed of great executive ability and untiring energy, and felt that my duties would be doubly agreeable by being in the interests of such men. they ended the interview by authorizing me to employ what men i thought proper; stating that they had full confidence in me, and that they thought i would be enabled to unearth the guilty parties ere long. they further authorized me to use my own judgment in all things; but expected me to keep them fully informed of what was going on. i started for montgomery the same day, but was as unfortunate in meeting with delay as were my detectives. the rivers were filled with floating ice and i was ice-bound in the potomac for over thirty hours. i was obliged to go back to alexandria, where i took the train and proceeded, via west point and atlanta, to montgomery. on the journey i amused myself reading martin chuzzlewit, which i took good care to throw away on the road, as its cuts at slavery made it unpopular in the south. at the various stations planters got aboard, sometimes conveying their slaves from point to point, sometimes travelling with their families to neighboring cities. i did not converse with them, as i was not sure of my ability to refrain from divulging my abolition sentiments. on my arrival in montgomery i took up my quarters at the exchange and impressed upon mr. floyd the necessity of keeping my presence a secret. he had no idea that i was after maroney, but supposed i was merely on a visit to the south. i took no notice of maroney, but managed to see porter and roch privately. they informed me that they had discovered little or nothing. maroney kept everything to himself. he and his wife went out occasionally. he frequented patterson's, sometimes going into the card rooms, drove out with a fast horse, and passed many hours in his counsel's office. this was all porter knew. roch was to do nothing but "spot" the suspected parties and follow any one of them who might leave town. he was to be a dutchman, and he acted the character to perfection. he could be seen sitting outside of his boarding-house with his pipe in his mouth, and he apparently did nothing but puff, puff, puff all day long. there was a saloon in town where lager was sold and he could, occasionally, be found here sipping his lager; but although apparently a stupid, phlegmatic man, taking no notice of what was going on around him, he drank in, with his lager, every word that was said. i found that mrs. maroney was a very smart woman, indeed, and that it would be necessary to keep a strict watch over her. i therefore informed the vice-president that i would send down another detective especially to shadow her, as she might leave at any moment for the north and take the forty thousand dollars with her. i had no objections to her taking the money to the north. on the contrary, i preferred she should do so, as i would much rather carry on the fight on northern soil than in the south. i found messrs. watts, judd & jackson, the company's lawyers, were excellent men, clear-headed and accommodating. they gladly furnished me with what little information they possessed. _chapter iv._ before i left montgomery on my return to the north, i became acquainted with the local detective, mcgibony, without letting him know who i was. in accordance with a plan which i always carry out, of watching the actions of those around me, i kept my eye on him, and found that he was quite "thick" with maroney. he boarded at the exchange, drank with maroney in saloons, and even passed with him into the card-room at patterson's. at this time mcgibony had in his charge a distinguished prisoner, being no less a personage than the old planter whom johnson h. hooper so graphically described as "simon suggs;" by which name i will continue to call him. suggs had been arrested for the commission of a series of misdemeanors, but, as he was a great favorite, he was allowed the freedom of the city, and was joyfully welcomed at the hotels and saloons. simon was about fifty-six years old, the dryest kind of a wit, and extremely fond of his bitters. he lived about forty miles out from montgomery, on the coosa river, but about a week prior to the time i saw him, had come to montgomery to see his friends. simon's morality was not of the highest order, and the first place he visited was patterson's saloon. here he met a few congenial spirits, took several drinks with them, and then, being "flush,"--a very unusual thing for him--he proceeded to "buck the tiger." like too many others, he bucked too long, and soon found himself penniless. not to be outdone, however, he rushed out and borrowed one hundred dollars from a friend, promising to return it the first thing in the morning. with this money he returned to the unequal contest, but before long was again strapped. in the morning, as he was walking along the street, in a very penitential mood, he was accosted by his friend, who demanded of him the one hundred dollars he had borrowed. simon put on a very important air, and in a tone of confidence which he was far from feeling, assured him he should have the money before he left town. as simon strolled along, puzzling his brain as to how he could raise the necessary funds to pay off his friend, he saw the tall, ungainly form of a backwoods planter shuffling down the street towards him. the planter was dressed in a suit of butternut, which had become very much shrunken, from exposure to all kinds of weather. his coat sleeves did not reach far below his elbows, and there was a considerable space between the bottom of his breeches and the top of his shoes. he was as "thin as a rail," and if he stood upright would have been very tall, but he was bent nearly double. he had a slouched hat on, which partly concealed his long, lantern-jawed visage, while his shaggy, uncombed hair fell to his shoulders, and gave one a feeling that it contained many an inhabitant, like that which caused burns to write those famous lines containing the passage: "oh, wad some power the giftie gie us, to see _oursels_ as _ithers_ see us!" as he came down the street he stopped occasionally and gawked around. simon was always ready for fun, and determined to see what the planter was up to. accordingly, as they met, simon said, "good mornin'!" "good mornin'!" replied the gawky. "have yer lost summat?" asked simon. "wal, no, stranger, but i wants to git some money changed, and i'll be durned if i can diskiver a bank in this yar village." "bin sellin' niggers, eh?" "you're out thar," replied the planter. "i've bin sellin' cotton." "i'm jist the man to help yer! i'm gwine to my bank. gin me yer money, and come along with me and i'll change it for yer!" the gawky was much pleased at simon's kind attention, and remarking that "he reckoned he was the squarest man he had met," he turned over his money--some four hundred dollars--to simon, and they started off together to get it changed. on the road simon stepped into a saloon with the planter, called up all the inmates to take a drink, and telling the planter he would be back with the money in a few minutes, started off. fifteen minutes passed away. the planter took several drinks, and began to think his friend was a long time in getting the money changed, but supposed he must be detained at the bank. at the end of half an hour he began to grow decidedly uneasy, but still simon did not come. at the expiration of an hour he was furious, and if simon had fallen into his hands at that time, he would have doubtless been made mince meat of unceremoniously. simon, on leaving the saloon, had gone to his friend and, out of the poor planter's funds, had paid him the hundred dollars he owed him, and, with the three hundred dollars in his pocket, started for patterson's. he proceeded to "buck the tiger," and soon lost nearly all of it. to see if his luck would not change, he gave up the game, and started at "roulette." here he steadily won, and soon had over seven hundred dollars in his possession. he was now all excitement, and jumped with many a "whoop-la" around the table, to the great amusement of the spectators. he was about to give up play, but they urged him on, saying he had a run of luck, and should not give up till he broke the bank. thus encouraged, he played for heavy stakes, and was soon completely "cleaned out," and left patterson's without a cent. he went to a friend and borrowed twenty-five dollars to help him out of town. he was considered good for a small short loan; and going to his hotel, he paid his bill, and mounting his dilapidated steed, started for his home, forty miles distant, at as great a speed as he could get out of his poor "rosinante." in the south, men, women and children, always make short journeys on horseback. simon travelled for two hours, when he reached the coosa river, about fifteen miles from montgomery. at this point lived a wealthy widow, with whom he was well acquainted, and here he determined to pass the night. he was joyfully welcomed by the widow, who ordered one of her negroes to put up his horse and conducted him into the house. she had a good supper prepared, simon ate a hearty meal, spent a few delightful hours in the widow's company, and was then shown to his room. he was soon in the arms of morpheus, and arose in the morning as gay as a lark. throwing open the casement, he let in the fresh morning breeze and took in at a glance the rich southern landscape. immediately below him, and sloping in well kept terraces to the banks of the coosa, was a trim garden, filled with flowers, among which, in fine bloom, were numerous varieties of the rose. the sluggish waters of the coosa flowed without a ripple between its well wooded banks, the trees on opposite sides often interlocking their branches. beyond the river was a wilderness of forest; the slaves were going to their labor in the cotton fields, singing and chatting gaily like a party of children. it was indeed a beautiful scene, and who could more thoroughly appreciate the beautiful than simon? hurriedly dressing himself, he went to the breakfast room, where he found waiting for him the buxom widow, dressed in a loose morning robe, admirably adapted to display the charms of her figure. after a delicious repast of coffee and fruit the widow proposed that as it was such a lovely morning they take a boat-ride on the river. simon willingly acquiesced, and the widow, after ordering a well filled lunch-basket to be placed in the boat, not forgetting a "little brown jug" for simon, took his arm, and tripping gaily down to the river, embarked. simon pulled strongly at the oars until a bend of the river hid them from view of the plantation, when, taking in the oars, he seated himself by the widow, and placing an oar at the stern to steer with, they glided down the river. simon was married, but was a firm believer in the theory advanced by moore, that --"when far from the lips we love, we've but to make love to the lips we are near." the persimmons hung in tempting bunches within easy reach overhead, and simon would pull them down and shower them into the widow's lap. occasionally he would steal his arm around her waist, when she, with a coy laugh, would pronounce him an "impudent fellow." occasionally he would raise the little brown jug and take a hearty pull; finally he stole a few kisses, the widow dropped her head resignedly on his shoulder, and so they floated down the current, loving "not wisely, but too well." on and on they floated, entirely oblivious of time, when they were suddenly startled by a wild halloo. the widow started up with a scream, and simon grasped the oars as soon as possible. just in front of them, seated on his horse, and with his revolver ready cocked in his hand, sat the deputy sheriff of montgomery. "simon suggs," said he, "jist you git out of that thar boat and come along with me; i've got a warrant for your arrest!" "oh! hav yer?" said simon, "that's all right; i'll jist take this yar lady hum, git my critter, and come in to montgomery." "no," said the inexorable deputy, "that won't do, jist you git out of that thar boat and come with me." the widow now interposed, and in plaintive tone said, "but, sir, what am i to do? it will never do for me to return without mr. suggs; what will my niggers think of it? you, mr. deputy, can get into the boat with us and go to my house; while you are eating dinner i will send one of my niggers to fetch your horse." the deputy was finally persuaded to take this course, and securing his horse, he got into the boat. it will now be necessary to relate how the deputy happened to appear at such an inopportune moment for simon. the planter, after awaiting the return of simon for over two hours, was informed by the saloon keeper to whom he appealed, that he had entrusted his money to simon suggs, and that his chances of ever seeing it again were poor indeed. on discovering this he swore out a warrant against simon and placed it in the hands of the sheriff to execute. the sheriff found that simon had left town, and immediately his deputy, mounted on a fast horse, started in pursuit. the deputy passed simon at the widow's, and went directly to his house. he found mrs. suggs at home, and demanded of her the whereabouts of simon. mrs. suggs said she did not pretend to keep track of him; that he was a lazy, shiftless fellow, who never supported his family; that about a week previously he had left home, and she had not set her eyes on him since. the deputy informed her that simon had committed a grave offense, and that he had a warrant for his arrest. mrs. suggs ended the interview by saying she always thought simon would come to a bad end, and slammed the door in the deputy's face. the deputy sheriff passed the night at a friend's, and the next morning retraced his steps, making inquiries along the road at the different plantations, endeavoring to get some trace of simon. when he reached the widow's he was told by a slave that "massa simon" and the "missus" had shortly before gone down the river for a boat ride, and taking a short cut through the fields he headed them off. the return journey was against the current, and simon was pulling away at the oars, the perspiration starting in large drops from his forehead and running down into his eyes, or streaking his cheeks, while the deputy was gaily entertaining the widow, who was about equally divided in her attentions. as they proceeded simon would say, "a very deep place here;" "bar here;" "push her off a little from that snag," etc., and the deputy would occasionally supply the widow with persimmons. while in the deepest part of the stream the widow discovered a splendid bunch of persimmons hanging from a bough which reached to the centre of the river. she declared she _must_ have them. simon rested on his oars, while the gallant deputy got on the seat, and by raising himself on his tip toes, just managed to reach the bough, a good strong one, and, grasping it with both hands, he proceeded to bend it down so as to reach the fruit. at this inopportune moment simon gave way to his oars, and left the poor deputy hanging in the air. [illustration: _at this inopportune moment simon gave way to his oars, and left the poor deputy hanging in the air._--page .] "hold on! hold on!" yelled the deputy; "don't you know you are interfering with an officer of the law?" "my advice ter you is to hold on yourself," was all the consolation he got from simon, while the widow was convulsed with laughter. leaving the deputy to extricate himself from his awkward position as best he could, simon rowed rapidly to the house, sent a negro to bring the deputy's horse, and after eating an enormous lunch, mounted and started for home. the deputy hung to the limb and yelled for assistance, but no one came, and he found he could hold on no longer. he could not swim, and he felt that in dropping from the limb he would certainly meet a watery grave. all his life he had had a horror of water, and now to be drowned in the hated liquid was too hard. he made desperate efforts to climb up, on the limb, but could not do it. his arms were so strained that he thought they would be pulled from their sockets. he had strung many a negro up by the thumbs to thrash him, but he little thought he should have been strung up himself. his strength rapidly failed him, and he found he could maintain his hold no longer. closing his eyes, he strove to pray, but could not. finding the effort useless, he let go his hold, while a cold shudder ran through his body--what a moment of supreme agony!--and dropped into the river. over such harrowing scenes it were better to throw a veil of silence, but i must go on. he dropped into the river, and as the water was only knee deep, he waded to the bank. his combined emotions overcame him, and on reaching the bank he threw himself down under the shade of some trees and, completely exhausted, sunk into a deep sleep. how long he slept he could not tell, but on awaking he sprang up and hurried to the place where he had left his horse. finding it gone, he walked into montgomery and reported to the sheriff, not daring to face the widow after the ridiculous tableau in which he had been the principal performer. the sheriff procured the services of mcgibony, and the next day went with him to simon's home, and arrested him without difficulty. in the north, simon would have been kept a close prisoner; but the fun-loving inhabitants of montgomery looked on the whole transaction as a very good joke, and simon was decidedly "in clover," having liberty to go where he wished, and being maintained at the county's expense. i judged from the circumstances that mcgibony was not to be trusted, and concluded that authorities who could execute the law so leniently, would be poor custodians for a prisoner of maroney's stamp. on my return trip to chicago i stopped over at rome, ga., where maroney's father lived. i discovered that the doctor lived well, although he was a man of small means. i took a general survey of the town, and then went directly to chicago. _chapter v._ on arriving in chicago i selected mr. green to "shadow" mrs. maroney. giving him the same full instructions i had given the other operatives, i despatched him for montgomery. he arrived there none too soon. mrs. maroney had grown rather commanding in her manners, and was very arrogant with the servants in the house. she also found great fault with the proprietor, mr. floyd, for not having some necessary repairs in her room attended to. one of the lady boarders, the wife of a senator, treated her with marked coolness; and these various circumstances so worked on her high-strung temperament that she was thrown into an uncontrollable fit of passion, during which she broke the windows in her room. the landlord insisted on her paying for them, but she indignantly refused to do so. on his pressing the matter, she determined to leave the house and make a trip to the north. porter had become quite intimate with the slave-servants in the exchange, and easily managed to get from them considerable information, without attracting any special attention. one of the servants, named tom, was the bootblack of the hotel. he had a young negro under him as a sort of an apprentice. the duties of the apprentice, though apparently slight, were in reality arduous, as he had to supply all the spittle required to moisten the blacking; and for this purpose placed himself under a course of diet that rendered him as juicy as possible. early in the morning tom and his assistant would pass from door to door. stopping wherever they saw a pair of boots, they would at once proceed to business. the helper would seize a boot and give a tremendous "hawk," which would cause the sleeping inmate of the room to start up in his bed and rub his eyes. he would then apply the blacking and hand the boot to tom, who stood ready to artistically apply the polishing brush. during the whole of this latter operation the little negro would dance a breakdown, while tom, seated on the chair brought for his accommodation, would whistle or sing an accompaniment. by this time the inmate of the room would have sprung from his bed, and rushed to the door, with the intention of breaking their heads--not shins--but, on opening the door, the scene presented would be so ludicrous that his anger would be smothered in laughter, and tom generally received a quarter, as he started for the next door. sleep was completely vanquished by the time they had made their rounds, and the greatest sluggard who ever reiterated "god bless the man who first invented sleep," would find himself drawn from his downy pillow at break of day, with never a murmur. tom was naturally of an enquiring turn of mind, and as he passed from door to door saw and heard a good deal. porter, by giving him an occasional fee, had made tom his fast friend, and he would often regale him with bits of scandal about different boarders in the house. on the evening of the same day that mrs. maroney had given way to her temper, as porter was passing through the hall of the hotel, he heard peals of laughter emanating from the room used by tom as his blacking headquarters. going in, he found tom, perfectly convulsed with laughter, rolling around amongst the blacking brushes and old shoes, while the little negro, with his mouth wide open and eyes starting almost out of his head, looked at him in utter astonishment. "why! what's the matter, tom?" inquired porter. it was some time before tom could answer, but he finally burst out with: "oh! golly, massa porter, you ought to see de fun. missus 'roney done gone and smashed all de glass in de winder. i tell you she made tings hot. massa floyd say she must pay for de glass, and she tole him she's not gwine to stop in dis yer house a moment longer. yah! yah! yah! den massa 'roney come, and he fly right off de handle, and tole massa floyd he had _consulted_ his wife. massa floyd tole dem dey could go somewhere else fur all he care. massa 'roney tole de missus to pack up and go to de north, de fust ting in de morning. so missus 'roney is gwine to go north. wonder what she'll do thar, wid no niggers to confusticate? yah! yah! yah!" porter drew from the darkey full particulars of the affair, and also that he had seen maroney pass a large sum of money over to his wife. giving tom a quarter, porter hurried off after green, and got him ready to start the first thing in the morning. bright and early on the twelfth of march, porter arose, and, _quite accidentally_, ran across tom, who had just come down with mrs. maroney's shoes. "she is gwine, sure," said tom! "she tole me to hurry up wid dese shoes. her and massa 'roney am habin a big confab, but dey talk so low, dis nigger can't hear a word dey say." porter hurried green to the train, and came back in time to see maroney get into a carriage, with his wife and her daughter flora, and drive off toward the station. maroney secured for them a comfortable seat in the ladies' car, and, bidding them good-bye, returned to the hotel. of course green was on the same train, but, as i had instructed him, not in the same car. he took a seat in the rear end of the car immediately in front of the ladies' car, whence he could keep a sharp lookout on all that went on. mrs. maroney went directly to west point, and from there to charleston, where she put up at the best hotel, registering "mrs. maroney and daughter." the next day, leaving flora in the hotel, she made a few calls, and at two p. m. embarked on the steamer for new york, green doing the same. they arrived at new york on the eighteenth and were met at the wharf by a gentleman named moore, who conducted mrs. maroney and flora to his residence. green discovered afterwards that the gentleman was a partner in one of the heaviest wholesale clothing-houses in the city. he knew nothing further about mr. or mrs. maroney than that maroney had treated him with a good deal of consideration at one time when he was in montgomery selling goods, and he had then requested maroney and his wife to stop at his house if they ever came to new york. accordingly maroney telegraphed to him when his wife left montgomery, informing him how and when she would reach new york, and he was at the wharf to meet her. mrs. maroney and flora were cordially welcomed by mr. moore and remained at his house for some weeks. they were very hospitably entertained and seemed to devote their whole time to social pleasures. green shadowed them closely and found that nothing of any importance was going on. porter remained in montgomery, keeping in the good graces of maroney and his friends, not that maroney easily took any one into his confidence; on the contrary, although he was social with every one, he kept his affairs closely to himself. porter never forced himself on maroney's company, but merely dropped in, apparently by accident, at patterson's and other saloons frequented by maroney, and by holding himself rather aloof, managed to draw maroney towards him. maroney used to walk out of town towards the plantations, and porter, by making himself acquainted with the planters and overseers of the surrounding country, discovered that maroney's walks were caused by a young lady, the daughter of a wealthy planter; but no new developments were made in regard to the robbery. i instructed porter to "get in" with any slaves who might be employed as waiters at patterson's, and worm from them all the information possible in regard to the habitués of the place. there were several men with whom maroney used to have private meetings at the saloon, and porter learned from one of the negroes what took place at them. maroney would take an occasional hand at euchre, but never played for large stakes. there was little doubt but that he had a share in the gambling bank. he frequented the stable where "yankee mary" was kept, and often himself drove her out. from the way the parties at patterson's talked, the negro was positive that she belonged to maroney. he received several letters from his wife, which green saw her post, and porter found he received in due time. so far all my plans had worked well. the regular reports i received from my detectives showed that they were doing their duty and watching carefully all that occurred. porter, about this time, learned that maroney intended to make a business trip through tennessee, and that he would, in all probability, go to augusta, ga., and new orleans. everything tended to show that he was about to leave montgomery, and i put roch, my dutchman, on the alert. i wrote out full instructions and sent them to roch; ordered him to keep a strict watch on maroney, as he might be going away to change the money, and told him to telegraph me immediately if anything happened. it was my intention to buy any money he might get changed, as the bankers in montgomery stated that they would be able to identify some of the stolen bills. i warned roch against coming in contact with maroney on his journey, as i surmised that he was going away to see if he would be followed. this was certainly his intention. for some time i had feared that maroney had some idea of porter's reasons for stopping in montgomery, and felt that if he had, he would be completely disabused of it by discovering that porter did not follow him. he was an uncommonly shrewd man and had formed a pretty good opinion of detectives and of his ability to outwit them. he had seen the best detectives from new york, new orleans and other places completely baffled. he expected to be followed by a gentlemanly appearing man, who would drink and smoke occasionally, wear a heavy gold watch chain, and have plenty of money to spend; but the idea of being followed by a poor old dutchman never entered his head. i charged roch not to pay any attention to maroney or to appear to do so until he started to leave montgomery, and concluded by saying that i felt i could trust him to do all in his power for the agency and for my honor. maroney made his preparations for departure, all his movements being closely watched by porter. _chapter vi._ on the fifth of april maroney, having completed his preparations, started by the first train for atlanta, _via_ west point. the day was a very warm one, but maroney was accompanied to the station by a great number of friends. with many a hearty shake of the hand they bade him farewell, some of them accompanying him to the first, and some even to the second station beyond montgomery. no one could have started on a journey under more favorable auspices. before the train started a german might have been seen slowly wending his way to the depot. he had no slaves to follow, or wait upon him. no one knew him, and the poor fellow had not a friend to bid him good-bye. he went to the ticket office, and in broken english said: "i vants a teeket for vest point;" and stood puffing at his pipe until the clerk gave him his ticket, for which he paid, and took his seat in a car called, in the south, the "nigger car." he had a rather large satchel, and it must be confessed he was decidedly dirty, as he had been toiling along a dusty road, under the hot southern sun. in about ten minutes after, maroney arrived, with his numerous friends, stepped on board, and the train slowly drew out of the station. the german had taken a reversed seat in the rear of his car, and, apparently indifferent to the lively conversation of the negroes around him, slowly smoked his pipe. maroney took a seat in the ladies' car, talked with his friends, among whom were several ladies, and then had a merry romp with a child. in about three-quarters of an hour he rose, and, walking to the front of the car, scrutinized the faces of all the passengers carefully. our dutchman gazed carelessly at him through the window of the car in which he sat. maroney passed through the "nigger car," not thinking it worth while to take notice of its inmates, and looking on the poor immigrant as no better than a negro. then he went into the express car, shook hands with the messenger, chatted with him a moment, and passed on to the baggage car. at the first station he stepped off, met several friends, and was well received by all. the conductor collected no fare from him, as he had been a conductor at one time, and that chalked his hat "o. k." he left the train at every station, looked keenly around with an eye that showed plainly that he was fighting for liberty itself, and then returning, passed through it, carefully examining the faces of the passengers. by the time they reached west point he had regained his old firmness--at least the german thought so. if any one had watched, they might have seen the german go to the ticket office in west point and, in broken language, inquire for a ticket to atlanta. having procured his ticket, he went immediately to the second-class car and continued his journey with maroney. at west point maroney met several friends, who all sympathized with him. after drinking with them he went to the train and into the express car, although it is strict rule of the company that no one but the messenger shall be allowed in it. the rule is often broken, especially in the south, where the polite messengers dislike to ask a gentleman to leave their car. the german took in all that was going on, but who cared for him? poor, stupid dolt! maroney remained in the express car a short time, and then again passed through the train, but discovered nothing to cause him the slightest uneasiness. on arriving at atlanta he proceeded to the atlanta house, and was given a room. the german arrived at the hotel soon after him, and throwing down his satchel, asked, in his broken english, for a room. the clerk scarcely deigning to notice him, sent him to the poorest room the house afforded. roch, finding that no train left until morning, amused himself with another smoke, at the same time noticing that maroney was well received by the clerk, whom he knew, and by all the conductors and gentlemen who frequented the hotel. his journey had been almost an entire ovation, and he had become almost completely self-possessed. at eleven he retired for the night. roch, after waiting for some time, walked noiselessly down the hall to maroney's room, and listened at the door. finding all quiet, he walked down to the office, got the key to his room, and went to bed. he got up early in the morning and, with maroney, took an early breakfast. he kept a close watch on him, and learned from the conversation of some of maroney's friends, to whom he had divulged his plans, where he was going, and by what route he intended to pursue his journey. he said that he should be gone some five weeks, but would return to montgomery in time to prepare for his trial. some of his friends alluded to his arrest for the robbery. he smiled, and said they would soon find that he was not the guilty party; and moreover, that the express company would find that it would cost them a good deal before they got through with him, as, after his acquittal, he would certainly sue them for heavy damages. he knew the wealth of the company, and that they would "leave no stone unturned" to ruin him, but he had no fears as to the result, when the facts were laid before a jury of his countrymen. he had many acquaintances at atlanta, and gave himself up to enjoyment. roch wrote to me that if he had started out with the expectation of being followed, he had no such fears now. in the evening maroney complained to the clerk about his room, and roch became uneasy when he found he had moved to another part of the house. he feared that maroney might leave town by some private conveyance, and so kept a close watch on his movements. he staid up until a late hour, but finding that maroney was safe in bed, finally retired. at a very early hour in the morning he was stirring and patiently waited for maroney to get up. maroney soon came down, apparently in the best of spirits, and ordered his trunk, a very large one, to be taken to the depot. roch was seized with a desire to go through this trunk, and determined to do so if he possibly could. he had not seen it at montgomery as it came down with the other baggage, and one of maroney's friends had had it checked and handed the check to him when on the train. his desire was useless, as he was not destined to see the inside of the trunk, at least not for the present. he wrote to me of maroney's having the trunk, and said i might rely on his examining it if he possibly could. maroney took the train for chattanooga, still paying no fare. roch bought a second class ticket and they were soon under way. when about one hour out from atlanta maroney passed through the train eyeing all the well-dressed men on board, of whom there were a great many, but paying no attention to the inmates of the "nigger car." he saw no cause for uneasiness, and soon became the happiest man on board. he passed through the cars several times before the train reached chattanooga, and his spirits seemed to rise after each inspection. when they arrived at chattanooga. maroney put up at the crutchfield house, and being very tired did not go out that evening. he seemed well acquainted with the clerk and some of the guests, drank several times with his friends, and went to his room quite early. roch wrote to me from the crutchfield house, where he had also put up, giving me a detailed account of all that had happened, and in a postscript said "maroney has not the slightest idea that he is being followed, and all is serene." in the morning maroney sauntered around the city, apparently with no particular object in view, but dropping into some of the stores to visit his friends. finally he went into a lawyer's office where he remained some time. roch took up a position where he could watch the office without being observed. at last maroney came out of the office with a gentleman, went into a saloon with him, where they drank together, and then returned to the hotel to dinner. after dinner he smoked until about two o'clock, and then walked out and started up the main street of the town, towards the suburbs. the day was intensely warm, and there were few people stirring in the streets. when maroney reached the suburbs he stopped and looked suspiciously around. he took no notice of the german, who was walking along wrapped up in his pipe, his only consolation. being satisfied that no one was following him, he turned around the corner and suddenly disappeared. when roch got to the corner he could not see maroney in any direction. there were blocks of fine houses on both sides of the street, and he was certain maroney was in one of them. but which one? that he could not tell. he did not like to leave the neighborhood, but it would not do to stay. there were few persons on the street, and if he lingered around the corner he would surely be noticed and suspected. he walked very slowly around the square, but discovering nothing, and fearing that he might alarm the quiet neighborhood, he went back to the hotel. he was now at the end of his rope. he was certain maroney was in one of the houses, and feared that he was getting the money changed. he might have brought it with him, concealed it on his person, and taken it with him to the house he was now in. terribly disappointed, he sat down and wrote to me for instructions, thinking that my letter in reply would most likely reach him in chattanooga. at dusk he went out to the suburbs, but did not find a trace of maroney. returning to the hotel, he found that no train left till morning, and weary and worn he went to his room, and in a most despondent mood, soon retired. early in the morning he came down but there was no sign of maroney. he determined to peep into his room, and fortunately managed to do so without being discovered, finding his trunk and a bundle of soiled linen still there. somewhat reassured, he took his breakfast and went down to see the train off. the train started, but maroney not putting in an appearance, roch began to feel that he must have been outwitted. as he retraced his steps to the hotel he was astonished to see maroney on his way to the same place. roch having once more got his eye on him, determined, if possible, to find out where he had passed the previous night. he thought the matter over, and concluded that for many reasons it would be best to change his boarding place. the people at the hotel did not think much of a poor german, and might conclude he could not pay his bill, and as he did not wish to guarantee payment, he went to his room, brought down his satchel, and going to the office, paid his bill. he had seen a german boarding-house down the street, so taking his satchel in his hand, he went in and enquired if they had a room to spare. he found they had, and on glancing around discovered that the change in many respects was for the better, as from the boarding-house he had a clear view of all that occurred in front of the hotel. he did not see maroney again until evening, when he came out, looking fresh and bright, having evidently refreshed himself by a bath and a shave. maroney went into a saloon, talked to several parties, strolled leisurely around, returned to the hotel, passed the evening till ten o'clock with a party of gentlemen, and then retired. roch rose early, and found that the landlord, who, like most of his countrymen, possessed the good habit of being an early riser, had breakfast ready. after breakfast he took a seat on the verandah, and watched maroney as he loitered around. at two in the afternoon maroney sauntered out, and started in the direction of the suburbs. roch concluded he was going to the place where he had lost him the day before, and now he had the coveted opportunity of finding his hiding place. walking slowly after him, smoking his pipe and gaping around, until he reached a cross-street, a block from where maroney had disappeared before, he turned down this street, walked rapidly until he reached the next street running parallel to the one maroney was on, and turning up it he ran to the corner above, where he got behind the fence, as if urged by a pressing necessity. from his position he could see down the street without being seen. in a moment maroney reached the corner, a block from him. looking around, as before, he pulled his hat over his eyes, and, walking rapidly part way down the block, he entered a comfortable looking frame-building. it was painted a creamy white, and its windows were protected by the greenest of green blinds. _chapter vii._ roch walked around for some time, and then returned to his boarding-house. finding no one but the landlord and the bar-keeper in the saloon, he bought a bottle of wine, and asked them to join him in drinking it. they gladly consented, and he entered into a conversation with them, in which he pretended to give them a history of his life, and his plans for the future. he complimented the city very highly, saying that he was so much pleased with it that he had determined to buy some property there. he then informed them that he had been looking at some houses, and wished to get the landlord's opinion of them. he--the landlord--had been in the city for many years, and must be well acquainted with the value of property. roch now called for another bottle of wine, and proceeded to describe some of the houses at which he had been looking. he described several, but one in particular, he said, had taken his fancy; and he then described the house maroney had entered, saying further that he thought there were several ladies there. the landlord looked at his bar-keeper and winked, and then giving roch a poke in the ribs, said, with a hearty laugh: "oh! you have found them out, have you?" then, with another poke: "you're a sly fellow, you are," and burst into a roar of laughter, in which he was heartily joined by the bar-keeper. roch pretended not to comprehend what they meant, and turned the conversation to other subjects. he felt very happy when he discovered the character--or rather want of character--of the house, as he now knew the business maroney was engaged in. maroney did not make his appearance up to the time the train left, so roch retired. early in the morning he arose, ate his breakfast, and was surprised to see maroney, who must have returned in the night, just coming out of the hotel. seeing maroney's trunk just being placed on the baggage wagon, he hastily paid his bill at the boarding-house, and managed to reach the station some time in advance of maroney. in about half an hour maroney came up and bought a first-class ticket for nashville. roch bought a second-class ticket to the same place, and took up his old position in the "nigger car." nothing of importance happened between chattanooga and nashville. at nashville maroney put up at the city hotel, while roch obtained lodgings at a german saloon just around the corner. maroney met plenty of friends, who received him warmly. he amused himself by going to the livery stables, looking at the horses, and driving around the city. he met a gentleman and passed a good deal of time with him, but had no business transactions with him; merely using him as a companion to help kill time. the weather was all that could be desired, and maroney was "gay as a lark." the second day after his arrival in nashville, he went into a jeweler's, and remained over three-quarters of an hour: came out, and at the end of three hours again went in, this time stopping over an hour. when he came out roch discovered that he had a parcel in his hand, and concluded that he had made a purchase. he at once reported the incident to me. the third day, at train time, the trunk was again brought down. roch went to the depot, wondering what could be the meaning of this move, as the train about to start would take them back to chattanooga. his suspense was soon put at rest, by maroney's coming down and buying a ticket to chattanooga. roch followed suit, and they were soon on their backward track. maroney passed through the cars, scrutinizing the passengers, neglecting those in the "nigger car," as heretofore, which was the only incident of the trip to chattanooga. here he again put up at the crutchfield house, while roch went back to his german boarding-house. he made some excuses to account for his sudden return, but they were unnecessary, for, so long as he paid his bill regularly, the landlord was perfectly satisfied. the next morning maroney visited a livery stable owned by a man named cook, who was a great favorite. he was said to have a horse which could out-trot anything in the city. cook and maroney drove out several times with this horse, and maroney examined him critically. he was a good judge of horseflesh, and when he was excited would fairly carry a person away with his vivid description of the delights of "tooling" along behind a fast horse. roch could not certainly tell whether maroney had bought the horse or not, but judged he had, as he heard cook tell maroney that he should expect to see him on his return to chattanooga. after leaving cook, maroney sauntered out to see his fair, but frail friends. roch left him there and returned to have a good time with his countrymen. he had ordered up a bottle of wine, and the landlord and he were just about to have a game of euchre when he accidentally glanced up at the hotel. it was fortunate he did so, as whom should he see going in at the main entrance but maroney. he hastily excused himself from the game and walked out. he had gone hardly a block from his boarding-house before maroney came down and got into a carriage. he had gone at once to his room, ordered his trunk down, paid his bill and was now being hurried to the depot. roch followed as fast as he could. maroney had allowed himself barely enough time to check his trunk and step upon the train as it moved off, so that roch had to start without his satchel and without buying a ticket. he did not think much of the loss of his baggage, that little loss being more than compensated by the joy he felt at not having lost his man. he had not the slightest idea where maroney was going, but took up his old position in the "nigger car" and watched closely. when the conductor came around to maroney, roch noticed two things: first, that maroney bought a through ticket to memphis; and second, that the conductor did not know him. wherever he had gone before, he had met friends, but now he had left them all behind. roch followed maroney's lead and bought a second class ticket to memphis. maroney, though utterly unconscious of the fact, was as much in the power of roch as was sindbad the sailor in the power of the little old man who clung to his neck with a grasp that could not be loosened. although, literally, roch did not touch him, figuratively he held him with a grasp of iron, and all maroney's efforts to shake him off would have proved waste of time and strength. a storm was impending when they left chattanooga and it had now burst upon them in a perfect fury. night had set in, but flash after flash of lightning lit up the sky. one moment, objects were rendered distinctly visible as they dashed by, the next they were lost in gloom. the sparks from the locomotive were quenched in the falling torrent and the roar of the train was silenced by the loud peals of thunder. it was a wild night, but roch got on the platform to make sure of maroney. there were no sleeping-cars at the time and he had no trouble in getting a good view of him. maroney was stretched out on his seat fast asleep. he watched him for some time, and then concluding that there was little danger of his attempting to leave the car on such a night, he went back to his seat in the "nigger car." ever since he had left montgomery, maroney had been executing a series of strategic movements, and now that he had undoubtedly thrown his pursuers, if there were any, off his track, why should he not ease his overwrought mind by sleep, that sweetest of all consolers? the next morning they arrived in memphis. the storm had passed away, but had left mementoes in the fresh and balmy air and in the muddy streets. maroney stopped at the gayosa house. roch found it an easy matter to move his baggage, and walked off with his hands in his pockets, wondering where he could get a clean shirt. he put up at a saloon where he could keep an eye on maroney, and having bought some new shirts and a second-hand satchel, he felt once more that he was a respectable man. from memphis roch wrote to me, informing me "that all was well; that maroney seemed perfectly at ease and confident that if any one had followed him, he had, by his retrograde movement, thrown him entirely off the scent." he had not the slightest idea what would be maroney's next move, but was certain he could keep track of him. maroney appeared familiar with memphis, but had no friends there, and amused himself loitering around, occasionally going into a saloon. the second day of his stay roch observed him write and post a letter. then he visited the livery stables, admired some of the fine horses and afterwards strolled down to the wharf, where the steamer "john walsh" was being loaded with cotton and tobacco. he went on board and looked over the walsh, saw the clerk and entered into conversation with him. roch heard the clerk say that the steamer would leave in about two hours, and concluded that maroney was going down the river on her. maroney returned to the gayosa house and paid his bill, which caused roch to hurry to his boarding-house, pay his bill, and with his newly acquired treasure, the old satchel, hasten to the river and take a steerage passage to new orleans on the john walsh. he was a little afraid that maroney might begin to notice him and found it necessary to use the utmost caution. before embarking on the walsh he laid in a stock of "bolognas," a few pounds of the rankest "sweitzer kase" and an abundance of "pretzels." coming down to the boat some time before maroney, he filled his pipe and took a seat where he could watch all that went on. after some time maroney drove up in a carriage, had his trunk carried up to his state-room, and, lighting his cigar, took a seat and watched the movements of the crew who were employed in taking on the cargo. it was a busy scene: the negroes toiled along under the burning sun, lightening their labors with a merry boatman's song. their burdens were heavy, but their hearts were light. maroney, instead of looking down on them with the contempt he did, should have longed for their content and happiness. the meanest of them possessed what he never could possess--"a contented mind." in less than half an hour the steamer's bell was rung, friends hurriedly bade each other good-bye, the gang-planks were hauled in, and the john walsh was soon snorting down the river. the decks and cabins of the walsh were crowded with passengers; ladies handsomely dressed, planters going to new orleans on business or pleasure; tourists making a trip down the mississippi for the first time, and being charmed with the variety of the scenes around them: all was life, gaiety and animation. although maroney would have generally mingled with the passengers, "the gayest of the gay," he now kept entirely aloof from them. he was oppressed by the "weight of his secret," and sought "by solitary musings" to ease his mind. he read a little, glanced at the scenery along the river, landed and walked around at the different places where the steamer stopped, but kept entirely to himself. _chapter viii._ nothing occurred worthy of note until they arrived at natchez, but here roch was much amazed to see maroney's trunk being put on the wharf-boat. he knew it was the custom of the managers of the wharf-boats to allow baggage to be left on the wharf, and to collect a small sum for storage; so he took his satchel and placed it near maroney's trunk. he left the boat just in time to see maroney take the only carriage that happened to be at the river when the steamer arrived, and drive rapidly up the hill. he knew that he could get plenty of carriages in a few minutes, but by that time where would maroney be? his only sure method was to follow him at once, and trust to finding a conveyance on the hill. he followed as fast as he could, and just as he got to the top of the hill was fortunate enough to meet a negro driving an express wagon. he immediately struck a bargain with him to drive him around town for a dollar an hour. roch, in his excitement had dropped his german accent, and spoke uncommonly good english for an immigrant; but the negro, being a very good talker himself, did not remark it. by roch's direction the driver followed on straight up the street in the same direction maroney had taken. maroney got out of the carriage and went into a store. it would not do for roch to wait on the express wagon for maroney's reappearance. he, therefore, instructed his driver to await his return, and stepped into a store, from which, while he was examining some goods, he could also keep an eye on maroney's carriage. what maroney was doing in the store, was a problem which roch would have liked to solve. in about fifteen minutes maroney came out, and appearing familiar with the town, directed his driver where to take him. he was driven to a comfortable looking house; the negro driver saying something to him, and motioning toward it. maroney answered, and the hackman drove away, while maroney went into the house. roch was now at a loss what steps to take. the hack driver had not been paid, and in all probability would return for maroney. if he watched the house, he might be discovered from behind the blinds; so he determined to keep his eye on the hack driver. the hackman drove leisurely down to a saloon, fastened his horses, and went in. roch opened conversation with his driver, and found that he was a slave, but that he had got permission from his master to hire himself out, for which privilege he paid one hundred dollars a month. after working for some time he had been enabled to purchase the horse and wagon he drove, and as he was making money, hoped in a few years to have enough to purchase his own freedom. roch concluded he could gain from him some information as to maroney's driver, so he carelessly asked him if the hack driver was also hired out. "yes, sah, him ib my cousin," said sambo. roch supposed the negro must have had his _quasi_ freedom, from seeing him go into a saloon, as the planters never allow their slaves to go into drinking-places; not because they think it immoral, but because the slaves would most likely become unfit for work. roch asked the negro if he knew where they kept good brandy. "golly, ib you want good licker, dis yer sloon is de place to find it!" "drive up, and we will sample some of it," ordered roch. sambo willingly obeyed, and they went into the saloon. roch again assumed his german accent. the two negroes at once recognized each other, and roch, in his broken way, said: "vel, poys, vat vill you haf?" the niggers grinned from ear to ear, and replied: "de same ab you, boss." "barkeeper, you haf any lager got? nein? och, mine got, dis ish von h--l of a blace! notting put prandy und vhisky! i pelieves i vill go by yarmany the steamer next. vell, give us dree prandys! trink hearty, poys. mine frient," continued he, turning to the hackman, "your peesness ish goot? no?" "yes, sah! i always dribes the gemmen what comes on de steamer. ya, ha! dey nearly all goes to de same place. dis mornin' a gemmen come on de steamer, an' say, 'here, you nigga, dribe me as fas' as you can to mudder bink's.' i'se yer man, says i; an' golly, didn't i make dose hosses trabel! i was gwine like de debil when he stop me, an' went to de store. den i took him to madam's, and he say, 'here, sambo, you jus' go down town, an' come fur me in two hours;' an' i's gwine back, an' if dis yer nigga don't get a fiver for his trouble, den dis court don't know itself!" "mudder beenk's?" exclaimed roch. "who vas das?" "yah, yah, yah," roared both the darkies. "you don' know mudder binks! why, she keeps de finest gals on all de ribber." [illustration: _"yah, yah, yah," roared both the darkies, "you don't know mudder binks! why she keeps the finest gals on all de ribber."_--page .] roch was happy when he heard this, as he was now positive that maroney was not taking any action to cover up the robbery; so he settled with the expressman, and returned to the wharf-boat to look after maroney's trunk. he saw that the trunk was still where it had been left, and on going on board of the steamer, found that most of the passengers had taken advantage of their long stay, and were visiting in the town. roch took a seat on the wharf-boat, near the office. he puffed away at his pipe for some time, staring vacantly around, when he heard a carriage rattling down the hill. in a moment it stopped, and looking up roch saw maroney almost leaning over him and conversing with a gentleman in the office. "are you the agent of jones's express?" he asked. "yes," replied the gentleman. "i thought your office was up the hill. have you received a package for --------?" (roch did not catch the name.) the gentleman looked over his book, and said: "no, nothing; but it may have been detained in the new orleans office." this was the substance of the conversation. maroney went into the office and remained some five minutes, then came out, and seemed debating some subject in his mind. the first bell of the walsh was rung. he hurriedly ordered his trunk on board, and embarked, closely followed by roch, "mit his satchel." they proceeded quietly on their journey until they reached new orleans, where maroney secured a hack and was driven to the city hotel. he passed the day walking around, lost in thought, and studying some subject deeply. during the day roch concluded that maroney was going to make a decided move. but what would it be? he had no one to advise him; none from whom he could seek counsel, and he was at a loss what to do. in this strait he telegraphed to me, in chicago, detailing his predicament, and asking instructions. he was much surprised at receiving an answer from philadelphia, where i then was. i telegraphed him in cipher, congratulating him on his success so far, and told him not to mind the loss of his baggage; but to change his disguise, and rig himself up as a dashing southerner. accordingly, the first thing in the morning, he took a bath, had had his face clean shaven, and, going to the clothing and other furnishing stores, soon procured a fashionable outfit. when he was dressed in his new clothes, what a metamorphosis had he made, from the clod-hopping dutchman to the gay, genteel and courteous citizen! i telegraphed to him that i thought success was almost in his grasp, and to keep a constant lookout. he took a room in the city hotel, and was very much pleased, on coming into the breakfast room, to find maroney there. he had to look twice before he was certain of his man, as maroney had also changed his appearance. he had donned a suit of city clothes, had changed the cut of his whiskers, had had his hair cut short, and had altered his entire appearance. now commenced the chase in earnest. maroney walked around the hotel, with his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing out of the window. finally he went out on the street and walked rapidly around. he would walk hurriedly up one street, cut across, and come down another, and then pass to the point from which he started, always retracing his steps, and doubling on his track. the thought at once flashed through roch's mind that he was endeavoring to discover if he was followed; and, seeing through his movements, roch took up his position at the base of operations, and, as maroney started up one street, he waited quietly on the corner, and always found that maroney would come around past him in a short time. maroney spent the whole morning at these manoeuvres, trying to discover if he was followed, roch having much the advantage of him, in being able to keep watch of him by walking only a fourth of the distance. i kept the telegraph working, and roch would take advantage of maroney's doublings on his track, to rush to the telegraph office, send a despatch to me, and, in a short time, rush back for the answer. i informed him that i did not believe that maroney had any suspicions of him, but was keeping a sharp lookout for any of the employés of the adams express company who might know him, and who were numerous in new orleans. he knew the new orleans detectives who had been employed on the ten thousand dollar robbery, and had everything to fear from them. he might run across the general superintendent of the southern division at any moment, and wished to avoid him if possible. i impressed on roch the necessity of the strictest watch. i must confess that i felt feverish and excited at having roch all by himself watching the movements of maroney, in a place of the size of new orleans, and if it had been possible i should have placed more men around him; but that was now out of the question, and all i could do was to rely on roch. i communicated all the facts, as i received them, to the vice-president, who was with me. in the afternoon maroney strolled down the street and turned into the adams express office. roch knew no one in the office, and, as this last move of maroney's greatly puzzled him, he telegraphed to me for instructions. i consulted with the vice-president, and replied: "trust no one. rely on yourself alone." roch got the answer in about an hour, during which time maroney remained in the express office. on leaving the express office, he went to a daguerrean gallery, remained some time, and then went to the hotel. on saturday maroney again went to the daguerrean gallery and received a package, which roch supposed contained his pictures. he telegraphed me to this effect, and, on a moment's consideration of the incident, i ordered him to procure a copy of the picture from the gallery if he possibly could. from the gallery maroney proceeded to the amphitheatre of spaulding & rogers, on st. charles street, and roch, feeling certain that he would remain at least an hour, went to the telegraph office, sent the above despatch, and as soon as he received the answer, went directly to the daguerrean gallery. he was now the dashing southerner, and as he gaily entered the gallery, twirling his handsome cane, he was welcomed by a pleasant smile from a young lady, an octoroon, who was the only occupant of the room. although of negro extraction, it was scarcely discernable, and moreover she was possessed of most engaging manners. roch entered into conversation with her, in the course of which he asked if his friend who called up the day before, and whom he described, did not have his picture taken. she said he did, and that she had one left, which was not a very good one. roch asked leave to look at it, and she hunted it up and handed it to him. he immediately recognized it, and giving her a five dollar bill, became its owner. so much for brass. thanking the lady, and also thanking his stars that the proprietor of the gallery was out when he called, he returned to the amphitheatre. maroney came out and went to the hotel, where they both took dinner. after dinner maroney walked up and down the reception room, pondering deeply over some subject, and then took some paper and a pencil from his pocket. roch watched him closely as he seated himself to write, and concluded that he was trying to disguise his hand-writing. maroney finished and folded the note, and taking his hat, walked out on the street. as soon as he reached the sidewalk, he began to limp badly, as though it was almost impossible for him to get along. "strange," thought roch, "he cannot have met with an accident!" in a short time a colored boy came along. maroney stopped him, talked to him a moment, then gave him the note and the boy ran off, while he remained in the same place. [illustration: "_as he gaily entered the gallery twirling his handsome cane, he was welcomed by a pleasant smile from a young lady, an octoroon._"--page .] what would roch now not have given to have been able to cut himself in two, leaving one part of himself to watch maroney while the other followed the boy? this, however, being one of the few things that he could _not_ do, he was obliged to let the boy go while he watched maroney. the affair seemed to have come to the sticking point. maroney's face showed deep anxiety, and his limping was all a sham. the boy had taken a note to some place, but where, was the question. in about twenty minutes the boy returned and said something to maroney, but what it was roch could not find out. maroney handed the boy some money and he immediately ran off, while the former dropped his limp, walked to the hotel, and went at once to his room. _chapter ix._ roch walked carelessly past the door of maroney's room and saw him busily engrossed in packing up. he lost no time. where maroney was going he did not know. he rushed to the office, paid his bill, went to his room, changed his clothes, and in less than ten minutes issued from the hotel, again the plodding dutchman. aladdin with his wonderful lamp, could not have brought about a much more rapid transformation. as he reached the sidewalk, maroney had just stepped into a hack, and he heard him order the driver to get to the steamboat landing as soon as possible. roch, with his long pipe and old satchel, followed on behind, and the citizens he met gazed in wonder to see a sleepy dutchman travel at such a rate. the "mary morrison," one of the fast boats of the river, was just casting off from the wharf as they arrived, and they had barely time to get on board. roch had taken up his old quarters in the steerage, and thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful view as they steamed up past the famous crescent city. he had now time to wipe the sweat from his brow, and wonder what place maroney was going to. he concluded that he was going back to montgomery by way of memphis. true, it was rather an out of the way route, but such seemed to be the sort that maroney preferred. he could not tell to what point maroney would pay his fare, but as memphis seemed to be the objective point, he took a through second class ticket to that place. the first one hundred and fifty miles of the journey up the river is though the richest and most beautiful part of louisiana. this part of the river is known as the coast, and is lined on both sides by waving fields of cane, interspersed with orange groves. alligators lie basking in the sun, and the whole scene speaks of the tropics. beautiful as was the country, it had no charms for maroney. his mind was occupied with other thoughts, and he paced up and down the deck as if anxious to get to the end of his journey. all went quietly until they reached natchez, "under the hill," when roch was again astonished to see maroney's trunk being placed on the wharf boat. he could not understand this move, but had nothing to do but to follow. maroney loitered around the wharf-boat, seeming to have no business to attend to, but when the morrison steamed up the river, he advanced to the agent of jones' express, had a brief conversation with him, paid him some money, and an old trunk was delivered to him. maroney did not seem to place any value on the trunk, and had it put carelessly along with his other baggage. strange indeed, thought roch, what can he want with that old trunk? it was an old box, painted black, and thickly studded with nails. it was a shaky looking affair, and did not look as if it would stand much of a chance with a modern "baggage smasher." it had some old tags pasted on it, which showed where it had been. one which was partly scraped off, read montgomery, another galveston, and still another new orleans. there was nothing to show that it was of any consequence, and roch looked carelessly at it, as maroney had left it carelessly on the wharf-boat, along with his other trunk, and sauntered up the hill. maroney put up at the hotel, still leaving his baggage in charge of the agent of jones's express,--who was also proprietor of the wharf-boat. roch followed maroney up town, but, as he did not know when the boats arrived going up or down the river, and as it began to grow dark, he concluded he had better stay on the wharf-boat and keep track of the luggage. maroney might leave at any hour of the night, as, on the mississippi it is not an uncommon occurrence for an unexpected boat to land or take off passengers with little or no delay, even at the dead of night. so he got some lunch, and lay around the wharf-boat, as many poor people do while travelling. maroney did not come down during the night, but roch felt perfectly easy, so long as he kept the trunks in view. in the morning a steamer came along, bound down the river. maroney made his appearance, but paid no attention to the poor immigrant, whom he considered beneath his notice. he had his trunks placed on board, and took passage for new orleans. roch was all amazement, and could not understand why such a chase should have been made after an old trunk. he was inclined to think that maroney must have had some business with the store-keeper in natchez, but what sort of business he could not determine. he was sure something had been done in new orleans or at natchez. it might have been with the _ladies_ on the hill, or with the negro and the lame foot. whatever it was, it was completely covered up. he managed to telegraph these particulars to me, at one of the places where the steamer stopped, and i instructed him to keep right on, and that i would answer more fully in time. on arriving in new orleans, maroney again put up at the city hotel, while roch went to a neighboring restaurant, to get some refreshments, intending afterwards to change his clothes, and make his appearance as the dashing southerner. he had just finished his meal, when, on looking over to the city hotel, he saw maroney getting into a carriage, on which his two trunks were already placed. he rushed out as maroney drove off in the direction of the depot where passengers take the cars for pontchartrain, and then go by steamer to mobile. he had to make quick time again, and was fortunate enough to secure the services of a negro drayman who had a fast horse. with this assistance he got to the station "on time," and, securing a second-class ticket to mobile, was soon away on another route. after reaching pontchartrain, and embarking on the steamer, maroney seemed happier than he had yet been, and walked around the deck, singing and whistling, apparently overflowing with good spirits. as his spirits rose, roch's fell in a corresponding degree. he was unable to understand the cause of this change; everything seemed confused to him, and he did not know what to do. he finally concluded that maroney had left montgomery, going to atlanta, chattanooga, nashville, memphis, etc., merely to see if he would be followed, and now, finding he had not been, he was returning home in a perfectly easy frame of mind. so much at least had been done. roch knew that all his actions had met with my approval. i was the responsible party, and if i was satisfied, he was. in the meantime, i was unable to form a definite opinion as to the reason for the change which had evidently taken place in maroney. there was no denying but that something had happened to give him more courage, and it flashed through my mind: has he got the money? i thought nothing about the old trunk, as, if he had had anything valuable in it, he would not have left it so carelessly exposed, at the stations, on the wharf-boat, etc. all i could do was to carry out my old plan: "watch and wait." roch, on the journey to mobile, took a seat on this identical trunk; he saw nothing suspicious about the old thing, which was not even locked, but tied up with ropes. had it entered his mind that the trunk contained the money he was after, the battle would have been a short one. but he knew nothing, positively nothing, which would lead him to suppose that this was the case; so he had nothing to do but to wait, and wait he did. on saturday, the thirtieth day of april, the steamer arrived at mobile, and the passengers speedily disembarked. at three in the afternoon a steamer started up the alabama river, for montgomery, and on this boat maroney took passage. among the passengers going to montgomery were a number of his friends. there were many ladies among them, and he was well received by all of them. he took no notice of his baggage, and his trunks lay carelessly amidst a pile of luggage. on board all was life and hilarity. fun and frolic were the order of the day. there were several horse fanciers on board, with whom he was acquainted, and he got into a conversation with them, his spirits rising higher and higher still. when the boat touched at montgomery he sprang ashore, where he was welcomed by a crowd of his friends, and gave orders to porter to have his trunks taken up to the hotel. porter, during his absence, had been appointed clerk of the exchange. he was on the wharf when maroney arrived, and shook hands with him. he told him he was now at the exchange; that it was the best house in town, and that mr. floyd would be glad to welcome him as a guest. maroney was pleased to hear this, and told porter that when his trunks came up to the house he would give him some splendid cigars to try--some that he had bought on his trip. porter saw roch, but dared not speak to him. roch seeing maroney placed under the espionage of porter, proceeded to his dutch boarding-house and gave himself a thorough cleansing. porter had a carriage at the wharf, which maroney and he entered, and drove up to patterson's. they took a few drinks and then went over to the exchange, where they arrived just as maroney's trunks came up. he directed porter to send the large trunk to his room, but to place the old one in the baggage room, and to mark it plainly with his name, so that no one would take it by mistake. in the evening maroney and porter stepped over to patterson's and there met charlie may, a wealthy harness-maker and a very prominent man. he was one of maroney's best friends and was so convinced of his innocence of the crime he was charged with committing that he had gone on his bail-bond. they went into a private room and had a social chat, interspersed with an occasional drink. several of maroney's friends came in and joined the party. maroney spoke of the splendid cigars he had bought on his journey, and told the assembled company that when he opened his trunk he would give them a chance to prove their quality. all went pleasantly with him, and porter was unable to notice any change, with the exception that he was perhaps a little livelier than before. he recounted the incidents of his journey, the routes he had taken, the places where he had stopped, etc., and porter found it varied little from the truth. he alluded to the girls he had visited in chattanooga, said the stock was splendid, described the situation of the house and advised them to pay it a visit if they ever went to the town. he spoke of the fine horses he had seen at cook's livery stable and of cook's being a fine fellow. he also spoke of inspecting the live stock in the stables at nashville and at the pleasant dwelling at natchez, on the hill, and wound up by declaring he had had a splendid time, and ordering in champagne for all the party. in the morning, after breakfast, he told porter to have the old trunk sent up to his room and he would get the cigars he had spoken about. porter ordered the colored boy to bring the trunk up, and at maroney's request went to the room with him to assist in the opening. when the trunk was brought up the negro and porter took off the ropes and maroney carelessly opened it. there were four boxes of cigars in it. maroney opened one of them, took a handful of cigars from it, gave a number of them to porter to try, and when porter had lit one, said: "what do you think of that? don't you call that a splendid cigar?" porter admitted it was an unusually fine-flavored weed. maroney then put some, from each of the boxes, into his pockets, and said he was going to drive out with "yankee mary." porter having no good excuse for remaining longer, returned to the office, whence he was soon recalled by maroney, who requested him to have the trunk roped up and placed in the garret, where unclaimed baggage was usually stored. while this was being done, porter observed the four cigar boxes lying carelessly on the bureau. shortly after he saw maroney and charlie may pass rapidly up the street behind "yankee mary." _chapter x._ we will now return to the north, where we left mrs. maroney enjoying herself as the guest of mr. moore. green shadowed her closely, and she did not make a move that was not reported to me. i thought it best to see mrs. maroney myself while she was north, and proceeded to philadelphia for that purpose, bringing george h. bangs, my general superintendent, with me. i had concluded to give mr. bangs full charge of all the operatives employed in the case. he was to keep fully informed of all the movements of maroney and his wife, receive daily reports from all the operatives, then daily report to me, and i would direct him how to proceed, and he would transmit the orders to the operatives. i had many other cases under way, and could not devote all my time to this one. bangs was to remain in philadelphia, where all the operatives would send their reports. he was a young man of great abilities; he had been promoted from the ranks, and i had full confidence in his capacity. he was cautious--sometimes a little too much so, or more so than i would be, but still with firmness enough to carry him through all emergencies. the reader knows that i was determined to win. the adams express company had furnished me with all the backing i wanted, and under such favorable auspices, i said, "win, i must! win, i shall!" i did not doubt that maroney was the thief. the question now was how can i find the money? philadelphia, at that time, was where the main offices of the adams express were located, and the vice-president was in charge. i held a consultation with him, and he advised us to remain in philadelphia and see mrs. maroney; and while the interview was progressing, a dispatch came to me, from green, stating that mrs. maroney had left new york for that place. we were all anxious to see her, but i concluded to send bangs alone to the station, as different persons had seen us with the vice-president, and it might excite comment if we all went. the train arrived in camden, opposite to philadelphia, at eight o'clock in the evening, and bangs, who was waiting, had green point mrs. maroney out to him. he got a good look at her as flora and she stepped into a carriage. she was a medium sized, rather slender brunette, with black flashing eyes, black hair, thin lips, and a rather voluptuously formed bust. bangs and green followed her to the washington house, on chestnut street, above eighth, where she and flora went into the reception room. she sent for the landlord, who assigned them a suite of rooms, and they retired. it will be remembered that maroney was observed to post a letter while in memphis. roch managed to see the address as it lay on the rack in the hotel, and found it directed to mrs. m. cox, jenkintown, montgomery county, penn. when i arrived in philadelphia, i concluded it would be a good plan to find out who mrs. m. cox was, and accordingly detailed mr. fox to procure the information. "his orders were: go slow; be careful; be sure not to excite any suspicion." mr. fox had been a watch and clock maker, and was a thorough hand at his trade. i provided him with a carpet-sack and the necessary tools, and also a few silver watches, of no great value, which i purchased at a pawn broker's. thus equipped as an itinerant clock repairer, and having a few watches to "dicker" with, he started on foot for jenkintown, a small place twelve miles from philadelphia. he sauntered slowly along with his satchel over his shoulder, going into a farmhouse occasionally, and finally reached jenkintown. here he passed from house to house, enquiring if they had any clocks that needed repairing. as he was a good hand, and his charges most reasonable, only twenty-five or fifty cents for each clock, he soon had doctored several. he was of a talkative nature, and drew from the old gossips whom he encountered on his rounds, full descriptions of the members of different families who lived in or around jenkintown; and there is no doubt but that he was much better posted as to their business and weaknesses than they were themselves. toward evening, having done a good day's work, he went to the tavern, kept by a man named stemples, and made arrangements to stop with him while in town. he found that a man named cox lived in jenkintown, and that he was a carpenter by trade. during the evening he was much surprised to meet cox at the tavern. fox was a genial fellow, and, after a paying day's work always made himself agreeable to those whom he met at the tavern where he put up. he had the knack of getting easily acquainted, and soon was on the best of terms with cox and his friends. he did not force the acquaintance, but during the evening paid much more attention to cox's friends than to cox. fox went through about the same routine the next day, and toward evening, finding that he had made a dollar and a half, he packed up his tools and went up to the tavern. here he found cox and his friends again. he told them how successful he had been, and received their hearty congratulations--they feeling that there was no doubt but that they would be gainers by his good fortune. cox and his friends joined in having a good time at the tinker's expense, and pronounced him the "prince of good fellows;" though i much fear, had fox suddenly importuned them for a small loan, they would have changed their tune; but as he did not, "all went merry as a marriage bell." [illustration: _cox and his friends joined in having a good time at the tinker's expense, and pronounced him "the prince of good fellows."_--page .] cox had two bosom friends--horton and barclay. they were held together by ties stronger than those which bind kindred--they were fellow-topers, and could drink about equally deep. they generally concluded an evening's entertainment in somewhat the following manner: cox would say, "hic, barclay, you'r drunk; better go home, hic." barclay would insist that he was never more sober in his life, but that horton and cox were "pos-(hic)-tively-(hic)-beasley." all three would then start off, bent on seeing one another safely home, and, like the blind leading the blind, generally fall into the ditch. three irate women would then make their appearance on the scene, and they would each be led home, declaring they were never more sober in their lives. fox found that cox was known by his friends as josh. cox, and he was what might be called a lazy loafer, as were also his friends, horton and barclay. fox did not try to get any information from cox, but got all he possibly could from his friends, horton and barclay, who proved easy talkers and kept nothing back. he now concluded it was a good time to find out about cox. he discovered in the course of the evening that josh. had a clock that needed repairs but did not care to go to the expense of getting it fixed. so he said: "josh., you are a pretty good sort of a man, and i'll tell you what i will do for you; i am not going to work in the morning, and so i will come down to your house in the course of the forenoon and fix up your clock for you and not charge you a cent for the job." cox was so much pleased at this liberal offer that he took another drink at fox's expense and went home highly delighted. in the morning cox called for fox, and again drinking at his expense, conducted him to his house and gave him the clock to repair. fox now saw mrs. cox for the first time. she seemed a very civil woman and a great talker. she was of middle stature, with black hair and eyes, and dark complexion. when i received this description, i immediately said she must be a relative of mrs. maroney's, and so she eventually proved. in the course of the conversation fox gleaned that mrs. cox had some relatives living in philadelphia, which was nothing astonishing, and he got very little information from her. cox was out of employment, but expected work soon; his house was commodious and very neatly kept, and mrs. cox seemed a good housekeeper. having finished the repairs to the clock, fox returned to the tavern, where he found barclay and horton, and soon had the glasses circulating. the pleasant liquor caused all the parties to grow familiar, and fox was regaled with many a rare bit of scandal. he finally spoke of the coxes from whom he had just returned, and was at once given their history so far as it was known in jenkintown. the family had been in the town about four years, and had moved there from morrisville, n. j. josh. was not inclined to work, and just managed to scrape enough money together to live on. they had three children, and mrs. cox was a native of philadelphia. fox concluded, from all he saw and heard, that the people of morrisville would be able to give him full information of the antecedents of the coxes, and came into philadelphia on the following day to get instructions. i was perfectly satisfied with what he had done so far, and on the next day sent him to morrisville. fox plied his trade in morrisville with great success, and soon got acquainted with many of its inhabitants. his disguise was a splendid one to travel with, as at that time the clock-maker was welcomed everywhere, and while engaged at his work would amuse his patrons with thrilling stories of his adventures, or with the details of city life. in this way fox got acquainted with many people who knew the coxes when they were living at morrisville, and they unanimously gave josh. the character of a "ne'er do weel," although there was nothing against him but his laziness. josh. had lived for three years in morrisville, and but very little was known of his previous life. his wife was known as a hard-working woman, and that was all that could be learned about her. fox discovered, incidentally, that josh. had a brother living at centreville, near camden, in the state of new jersey. after a while he got around there, travelling all the way by the wagon road, and occasionally repairing a clock on the way. it would not do while assuming his present character to travel by rail. on getting to centreville he at once proceeded with his "dickering," being ready to either mend a clock or trade a watch. he found there was a jim cox in town who had a clock to fix, so he went to his house and got the job. he entered into conversation with jim while engaged in repairing the clock, but found him a surly, uncommunicative, unsocial man, but fox was a thoroughly good fellow and did not mind an occasional rebuff. so he took up the conversation, explained what was the matter with the clock, gave an interesting description on the works of clocks in general, and finally partially thawed jim out. "by the by," said fox, "i repaired a clock for a man of your name in jenkintown; it was in a very bad condition, but i fixed it up as good as new; so i will this one. do you know this cox? they call him josh. cox. "oh, yes!" laughed jim, "he is a brother of mine!" "i am glad to hear it!" remarked fox, "he is a mighty fine fellow! his wife is a very superior woman. let me see, who was it her sister married down south? she has a sister there, hasn't she?" "yes," said jim. "where?" enquired fox, as he put a pin in the clock. "i don't remember the name of the place; used to know it. her husband is agent for the adams express at--at--yes--montgomery! that's it, montgomery! don't remember her husband's name." "you are like me in having a bad memory for names," said fox, and then, having got the information he wanted, he turned the conversation to other subjects, all the time keeping busily engaged at his work. he made a first class job of the clock, so that no enquiries should be afterwards instituted, and collecting his bill, slowly wended his way to camden. from camden he crossed the river to philadelphia and reported to me at the merchants' hotel. bangs and i were seated in a private room when fox came in. after hearing his report i turned to bangs and said: "the plot thickens! every day we are nearing success! we have the woman treed at last, and in the north, among our friends! depend upon it we shall have the money ere long!" _chapter xi._ on saturday i removed to the washington house, as mrs. maroney was still there. i found she did not go out much, seeming to prefer to remain in her room with flora. sunday morning i went to the breakfast room with the determination of seeing her, but although i waited and waited, she did not come, and i afterwards found that she had taken her breakfast in her room. i loitered about the house till after twelve, noon, at which time i was standing near the main entrance when i noticed a carriage drive up and stop. a gentleman alighted and walked into the hotel. in about twenty minutes mrs. maroney appeared escorted by the gentleman--a tall, handsome man, about forty-five years old--entered the carriage with him and was driven rapidly off, unaccompanied by flora. i was completely nonplussed, as she was gone almost before i knew she was there. as it was mid-day and in the heart of the city, it would not do for me to run after them, as i would soon fall into the hands of the police by having the cry of stop thief raised after me. i felt very much like following and standing my chances, as at that time i was young and supple, but before i could come to a conclusion the carriage was whirled around the corner of tenth street and lost to view. i loitered around for some time and then started towards my room. as i reached the head of the stairs, i saw a little girl playing in the hall, and, from the description i had received, concluded that she must be flora. as she came past me i patted her gently on the head and calling her a sweet little girl, had a few seconds conversation with her. glancing down the stair-way, i saw a lady looking out from the door of the reception room: "oh, my dear!" said i, "there is your ma; she seems to be looking for you!" "that ain't my ma!" she answered. "my ma has gone for a drive with mr. hastenbrook!" "oh, indeed! where is she going?" "she's gone to manayunk! you can't catch me!" and flora, who was full of fun, darted down the hall. i had gained a point and i hurried to the merchants' hotel, saw bangs, posted him, and started him off in a carriage for manayunk to note the actions of mrs. maroney and her escort. bangs soon had them under his eye and was enabled to get a good, full look at her escort, mr. hastenbrook. he found, afterwards, that mr. hastenbrook was the head of one of the largest shirt manufactories in the city. he carried on an extensive business with the south, and, outside of his business, was known as a great ladies' man. he was very gallant to mrs. maroney, and bangs concluded, from their actions, that they also "loved not wisely." at five o'clock they returned and hastenbrook took supper at the washington house. at supper i had a good full view of them, but neither of them noticed me, as i was dressed in coarse, rough clothes--a common occurrence with me. she little thought how closely i held her fate in my hands. mr. hastenbrook remained in her room till after midnight, flora having gone to bed long before he left. on monday morning i left her in charge of green and went to talk over matters with the general superintendent. suddenly green burst in upon us and said that mrs. maroney and flora had gone to the north pennsylvania station. i was much annoyed at his having left her to report and ordered him to go as quickly as possible to the station. if she had gone he must follow her on the next train and get off at jenkintown. i described cox and his residence and told him to watch and see if he could not find her somewhere in the neighborhood. i told the vice-president that i did not doubt but that mrs. maroney knew the particulars of the robbery, and i had some idea that she had the money with her. jenkintown was a small place, where she felt she could hide securely, and remain covered up for an indefinite time. there, almost directly under our noses, the money might be concealed. i mentioned the necessity of having a "shadow" sent down to jenkintown, to watch all her movements, and if she moved to follow her, as we must know all she did. i mentioned that it would be necessary to get into the good graces of the postmaster at jenkintown, so that we could tell where all the letters she received were post marked, and to whom her letters were directed. in regard to mr. hastenbrook, i thought his attentions were those of a "free lover," but that if he was seen with her again i would have him watched. i drew the vice-president's attention to the benefits which would result from putting a female detective on, to become acquainted with mrs. maroney at jenkintown, as she would undoubtedly be the best one to draw her out. at that time i had in my employ, and at the head of my establishment, one of the greatest female detectives who ever carried a case to a successful conclusion. she had been in my employ for two years, and had worked up the cases given her in an astonishingly able manner, proving herself a woman of strong, clear discernment. as she takes a prominent part in bringing to light the facts which follow, and in clearing away the mystery that overhung the disappearance of the forty thousand dollars, a short description of her may not prove uninteresting. two years prior to the time of which i am now writing, i was seated one afternoon in my private office, pondering deeply over some matters, and arranging various plans, when a lady was shown in. she was above the medium height, slender, graceful in her movements, and perfectly self-possessed in her manner. i invited her to take a seat, and then observed that her features, although not what would be called handsome, were of a decidedly intellectual cast. her eyes were very attractive, being dark blue, and filled with fire. she had a broad, honest face, which would cause one in distress instinctively to select her as a confidante, in whom to confide in time of sorrow, or from whom to seek consolation. she seemed possessed of the masculine attributes of firmness and decision, but to have brought all her faculties under complete control. in a very pleasant tone she introduced herself as mrs. kate warne, stating that she was a widow, and that she had come to inquire whether i would not employ her as a detective. at this time female detectives were unheard of. i told her it was not the custom to employ women as detectives, but asked her what she thought she could do. she replied that she could go and worm out secrets in many places to which it was impossible for male detectives to gain access. she had evidently given the matter much study, and gave many excellent reasons why she could be of service. i finally became convinced that it would be a good idea to employ her. true, it was the first experiment of the sort that had ever been tried; but we live in a progressive age, and in a progressive country. i therefore determined at least to try it, feeling that mrs. warne was a splendid subject with whom to begin. i told her to call the next day, and i would consider the matter, and inform her of my decision. the more i thought of it, the more convinced i became that the idea was a good one, and i determined to employ her. at the time appointed she called. i entered into an agreement with her, and soon after gave a case into her charge. she succeeded far beyond my utmost expectations, and i soon found her an invaluable acquisition to my force. the vice-president placed such full reliance in me that i had no hesitation in giving him the above sketch of kate warne, and advising that she be sent to jenkintown, accompanied by a young lady who should have no direct connection with the case, but simply act as kate's companion and friend. i knew this would greatly increase the expenses, but, as he well knew, we were now dealing with an uncommonly smart man and woman, and in order to succeed, we must be sharp indeed! as i had previously said, when a person has a secret, he must find some one in whom to confide, and talk the subject over with him. in this case maroney had evidently confided the secret of the robbery to his wife, and now, while they were apart, was the time to draw it out. what was wanted was a person who could ingratiate herself into the confidence of mrs. maroney, become her bosom friend, and so, eventually, be sure of learning the secret of her overwrought mind, by becoming her special confidante. i also suggested the propriety of placing a handsome, gentlemanly man at jenkintown, who should be provided with a span of horses and a handsome carriage, and deport himself generally as a gentleman of leisure. his duties would be to get up a flirtation with mrs. maroney, prevail on her to drive out with him, and, if possible, entice her to quiet, little fish-suppers, where he could ply her with champagne, and, under its exhilarating influence, draw from her portions of her secret. a woman of mrs. maroney's stamp, while separated from her husband, would most likely desire gentlemen's company, and as she, like most of her class, would put up with none but the handsomest, it was necessary to select as fine a looking man to be her wooer as could be found. she seemed to have already provided herself with a lover, in the person of hastenbrook, and it was necessary to get some one able to "cut him out." the company had a gentleman in their employ, named de forest, whom i thought admirably adapted for this purpose, and if the vice-president would allow me, i would assign to him the task of becoming mrs. maroney's lover. the instructions i would give him would be few and simple, and he need know nothing of the case, further than that he was to go to jenkintown with a carriage and span of horses, make himself acquainted with mrs. maroney, and report daily all that took place. i had already given mr. bangs entire charge of the detectives employed in the case, so that he would remain in philadelphia, while i would keep up a constant communication with him by telegraph and mail. the vice-president coincided with me in all my plans, and said the adams express were going to let me have my own way, and that they had unbounded confidence in me. i felt that their placing such entire confidence in a young man like me was indeed flattering, and i was determined to prove to them that their confidence was not misplaced. having made all necessary arrangements in philadelphia, i left for chicago to prepare mrs. warne and her friend for the case. de forest was given the necessary instructions, and drove out to jenkintown with his team. he was a man about thirty-five years old, five feet eleven inches in height, remarkably good looking, with long black hair, and full beard and mustache, and in philadelphia he was known as a perfect "lady-killer." on getting into jenkintown he put up at the tavern, and made arrangements to spend the summer. he then drove back to philadelphia, reported to the vice-president and bangs, got his trunk, and drove back to jenkintown. _chapter xii._ de forest loitered around jenkintown, and found that a gentleman who owned beautifully laid out grounds allowed the public to frequent them at certain times, so long as they did no damage to the walks or the flowers. the garden was a charming place, and mrs. maroney and flora would often pass the morning in strolling through it. de forest discovered this, and made the grounds a place of constant resort. the first day or two, as he passed mrs. maroney and her daughter, he would politely raise his hat to them. then he would meet flora as she ran around the grounds, and by paying her little attentions, soon caused the mother's heart to warm toward him, and made the daughter the medium of forming the mother's acquaintance. at the end of three or four days mrs. maroney remarked to mrs. cox: "what a fine man mr. de forest is!" all worked well. when she went to philadelphia, green, who was shadowing her, entirely unknown to de forest, found that she frequented a famous restaurant on eighth street, where she met mr. hastenbrook. in the evening, on her return to jenkintown, she always met de forest and strolled around with him. what with the gallant hastenbrook, with his splendid mustache, on the one hand, and the sentimental de forest, with his long hair and full beard, on the other, she had her hands full, and felt that her lot was cast in pleasant places. we will leave her to enjoy herself, and turn our attention to chicago. on my arrival, i selected mr. rivers as the best man to go to jenkintown, and lie quietly in wait, keeping a sharp lookout on the movements of mrs. maroney. he was born and brought up in philadelphia, and was well acquainted with it and the surrounding country. i gave him full, clear instructions as to the part he was to perform in this drama of real life, and he started the same day for philadelphia, where he was to report to mr. bangs. i also saw kate warne, told her i wanted her to make a trip, and to get ready as soon as possible. she was also to get a miss johnson to be her companion. in the morning she came to me for instructions. i gave her a full history of the case, and of all the steps that had been taken up to the time; described mr. and mrs. maroney, stated that i thought they were not married, and, so far as pomp and splash made fine society, they frequented it. i then said: "you remember jules imbert, of bills of exchange notoriety?" she answered, with a smile, that she remembered him well. "then," said i, "you had better assume to be his wife. mrs. maroney will most likely wish to remain in retirement for some time. she will probably remain in jenkintown all summer and spend the winter in philadelphia. you know all about jules imbert's operations, so you will arrange for a permanent stay in jenkintown, get acquainted with mrs. maroney, and when you get thoroughly familiar with her, make her your confidante, and to show her how implicitly you rely on her friendship, disclose to her that you are the wife of a noted forger, who is serving a term in the penitentiary. as confidence begets confidence, mrs. maroney will, most certainly, in time unbosom herself to you." i described the different persons engaged on the case: de forest, the lover; green, the "shadow," etc., and instructed her that not even de forest was to know who she was or what her errand. in a few days handsome toilets were ready for kate warne--whom we will hereafter know as madam imbert--and miss johnson. as soon as possible i started for philadelphia accompanied by the two ladies, and on arriving in the city took rooms in the merchants' hotel. kate warne felt sure she was going to win. she always felt so, and i never knew her to be beaten. mr. bangs reported that he had sent rivers on to jenkintown, where he obtained board in a private family. he pretended that he had a very sore arm, which prevented him from working and obliged him to go up to philadelphia to get it dressed. as he was doing nothing he concluded he would live in jenkintown, where board was much cheaper than in the city. green had been ordered to philadelphia to take charge of mrs. maroney when she came up to the city, or to follow her if she started on another trip. madam imbert and miss johnson drove out to jenkintown and passed a couple of days at the tavern. they found that the rooms, though plain, were very neatly kept, and that the table was abundantly supplied with good, substantial food. madam imbert expressed herself well satisfied with the town, the purity of the air, and its beautiful drives and walks; and as her system had become rather debilitated by a long residence in the south, she thought she would spend the summer there and recuperate her failing health. she made an arrangement with the landlord to spend the summer at his house, drove into philadelphia and reported to me. she had her baggage sent out, and the following day returned with miss johnson and they took up their abode in the tavern. the reader will observe that jenkintown is having a large increase made to its population, principally of male and female detectives. stemples, the landlord of the tavern, had seldom had so many distinguished guests, and visions of jenkintown becoming a fashionable summer resort floated before him, and he felt that the day was not distant when his humble tavern would, in all likelihood, be turned into a huge caravansary, filled to overflowing with the élite of society. all went smoothly with de forest and mrs. maroney in their love-making. every day they met and strolled through the shaded walks of the garden. he lavished a great deal of tenderness on flora, which he would gladly have bestowed on the mother, and flora was no more charmed with him than was mrs. maroney. one day, as they strolled through the most secluded part of the grounds, de forest, with a beating heart, presented a beautiful bouquet to her. mrs. maroney accepted it with a pleasant smile, held down her head a little and blushed most charmingly. de forest was more than elated, he was fascinated. he met me in philadelphia a day or two after and said with much feeling: "why, pinkerton, why _do_ you keep watch of such a woman? she is the most beautiful, most charming lady i ever encountered! by heavens! i am in love with her myself!" i advised him to be careful, as the woman might be very beautiful, but still be a serpent! i found he made a truly devoted lover, and so i had nothing to complain of in that respect. when madam imbert and miss johnson arrived at stemples's, the inhabitants of jenkintown were agog to know who they were and whence they came. they evidently belonged to a high class of society, and all sorts of stories were circulated about them. the taller of the two ladies was quiet, not given to conversing much, and was very kind and considerate with the servants at the hotel. de forest had managed to scrape up a slight acquaintance with them at the breakfast table, and when mrs. maroney, who, like everyone else, had heard of their arrival, casually remarked that she wondered who they were, he was enabled to inform her that the tall lady was from the south and that her name was madam imbert. this was enough for mrs. maroney, she loved the south. maroney was a southerner, and her heart warmed toward any one from there, so she determined to avail herself of the first opportunity of getting an introduction to madam imbert. she entered into a dissertation on maroney and his virtues; did not exactly say that he owned any negroes, but hinted that he would soon do so. she spoke of maroney as a man who had plenty of money. de forest turned the conversation from maroney as soon as possible, for, to tell the truth, he was as much in love with her as was the gallant hastenbrook, and "my husband" was a term that grated harshly on his ear. de forest learned that she was going into philadelphia on the following day, and determined to ask her to let him have the pleasure of driving her in. he had the proposition several times at his tongue's end, but held back from uttering it, for fear she should decline. at length he summoned up courage enough to disclose his wish. mrs. maroney had a habit of blushing. she blushed very sweetly, and accepted his kind offer with many thanks. de forest was now all animation. he went to the tavern, had his buggy and set of harness cleaned and scoured till they were bright as new, and gave orders to the groom to bring up his horses in the morning without a hair out of place. when a lady and gentleman go out for a drive they like to be by themselves, and generally find a child somewhat _de trop_. de forest sincerely hoped that flora would not be brought along, but, oh! deceitful man, he expressed a wish to mrs. maroney that the darling child accompany them. mrs. maroney very much relieved him by deciding that flora had better remain at home and amuse her auntie, who would be _so_ lonely without her! bright and early in the morning de forest was up, and in the stable, seeing that everything was just as it should be about his turn-out. he then dressed himself carefully, ate a hurried breakfast, put on a stylish driving coat, and, jumping into his buggy, drove down to cox's. mrs. maroney looked perfectly bewitching as she appeared, dressed in a bright spring costume, and de forest tingled in every vein, as he helped her into the carriage and took a seat beside her. he grasped the reins, and the handsome bays were off with a bound. what would have been maroney's feelings if he could have seen his wife and her gay cavalier? it was a beautiful april morning; the breeze was fresh and exhilarating; the fields were clothed with verdure, and the trees loaded with buds. from every side the birds poured forth their song. it was the season of love, and who could be more completely "in season" than was de forest? the roads were in splendid condition, and they bowled along rapidly, carrying on an animated conversation. when they arrived in philadelphia, de forest drove to mitchell's restaurant, opposite independence hall, where mrs. maroney alighted, and he drove off to stable his horses, intending to return at once and order a hearty dinner. _chapter xiii._ de forest, after stabling his horses, proceeded to the adams express office and reported his success to the vice-president and mr. bangs. he was highly elated, and they laughed heartily to see how well the play worked. "by-the-by!" said de forest, "i promised to go right back and meet her. oh! i almost forgot! two ladies have lately arrived in jenkintown; i think they are rich, at least the taller one is so reported. her name is madam imbert, and she is from the south. they don't go out much; go to the gardens occasionally, and mrs. maroney is anxious to form their acquaintance; i think i will get thoroughly acquainted with them by-and-by." the vice-president and bangs paid no attention to this, knowing that madam imbert could take care of herself. they instructed de forest to attend to his own business, let other people alone, and with this admonition sent him off. what was de forest's astonishment on returning to the restaurant to find the _lady_ gone! he did not like it, but concluded the only thing he could do was to wait. there are plenty of loafers around "independence hall" at any time, day or night, so drinking a mint julep and lighting a cigar, he joined the throng. he fumed and fretted for over an hour and a half, when he saw mrs. maroney coming down the street, looking very warm. he met her and she excused herself by saying that she had called on a lady friend who lived on spruce street, just above twentieth, and finding her sick had been unable to get away; that she had walked back very fast and felt completely exhausted. de forest felt very sorry, and tenderly said she must not over-exert herself. he then ordered dinner, which was served up regardless of cost, and which they washed down with a few bottles of champagne of the very best brand. they were soon the happiest of friends, and all thoughts of separation had vanished from de forest's mind. it is strange what a difference there will sometimes be in reports. about two hours after de forest made his report, green came in and reported that according to orders he had "shadowed" de forest and mrs. maroney when they drove into the city. de forest had left mrs. maroney at mitchell's and driven off while he remained and kept his eye upon her. she left mitchell's, walked over to the washington house and went into a room where she remained for over an hour and a half. she left the hotel with mr. hastenbrook, who politely bade her good-bye at the corner of eighth street, while she went down to mitchell's and met de forest, poor de forest! but, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." after dinner de forest ordered up his horses, and the happy pair, rendered extremely sentimental by the mellowing influence of the wine, started on their homeward journey. they stopped at a wayside inn a few miles out of the city, had a mint julep, and then proceeded on their way home, both very happy, and de forest decidedly _spooney_. rivers had an easy time of it at jenkintown. he got well in with josh. cox and his friends horton and barclay. in fact any one with a little money to spend on drinks could easily form their acquaintance. he became so thick with josh. that josh. would gladly have taken him into his house as a boarder had it not been for the fact that mrs. maroney and her daughter were boarding with him and had taken up all the spare room. rivers did not become acquainted with mrs. maroney, as she was proud and arrogant, and would disdain to form the acquaintance of any low "white trash" like him. whenever mrs. maroney went to philadelphia he followed her and excused his frequent absences to josh. by stating that he went up to get his arm dressed. that arm was indeed a very sore one, and his physician must have made a small fortune out of him alone. when rivers found that mrs. maroney was going into town with her escort, he would go in on the train and get to the outskirts of the city in time to meet them as they drove in. she was generally accompanied by de forest, who had become her constant attendant. after they reached the city they had to drive slowly, and so he could follow them with ease. de forest had been ordered to always drive to mitchell's when he came in with mrs. maroney, and green was there ready to take charge of her when they arrived, relieving rivers, who would return by the evening train to jenkintown. mrs. maroney had a great desire to become acquainted with madam imbert and miss johnson. madam imbert appeared very sad, and it was currently reported that she had brought the lively miss johnson with her to console her and keep her in good spirits. the desired introduction was brought about by an accident. mrs. maroney was taking her accustomed stroll through the pleasure grounds, accompanied by de forest and flora. flora, as usual, full of fun, was running far ahead of her, when she saw two ladies coming down a cross-path. as she turned her head to look at them, still running at full speed, she caught her foot in the grass borders of the walk and was thrown violently to the gravel pavement. the ladies, who proved to be madam imbert and miss johnson, rushed to her, and the madam picked her up. flora had scratched her hands badly, and madam imbert had partially bound them up before her mother and de forest arrived. this led to an introduction, and mrs. maroney was not slow in following it up. the next day madam imbert received a call from mrs. maroney, who wished to more fully return her thanks for her kindness to her daughter. the acquaintance progressed slowly, mrs. maroney making all the advances. there was something about madam imbert that seemed to draw one toward her. mrs. maroney felt that the madam was a better woman than she, and that it did her good to pass an hour in her company. as she became more familiar with her, she discovered that madam imbert received many letters through the post, and often found her crying over them. the madam would put them hurriedly to one side, and greet her with a forced smile which showed the efforts she made to hide her grief. mrs. maroney deeply sympathized with her, as she compared her own gay and happy life, free from care, to madam imbert's, from which every ray of sunshine seemed to have been blotted out. on one of the trips which mrs. maroney made to philadelphia with de forest, rivers, who had headed them off, as usual, at the outskirts of the town, and was following them in, was observed by de forest. de forest had seen the man with the sore arm just before they left jenkintown, and he now noticed him following them from block to block. he had no idea that the man could be following mrs. maroney, and supposed he must be following him. the idea flashed into his mind that it must be some inquisitive boor, who was following him merely out of prurient curiosity to see how he conducted himself with mrs. maroney. he did not mention the matter to her, but as he saw the man still following him his anger overflowed, and he determined that when he left mrs. maroney at mitchell's, he would find out what the fellow wanted with him. when he arrived at mitchell's mrs. maroney went in, and he drove to the stables with the horses. rivers met green here, and turning mrs. maroney over to him, came to the office of the adams express and reported to bangs. bangs gave him his instructions and he went out of the office by the rear entrance. he saw de forest in the alley, but as he had nothing to do with him, let him go. he went down chestnut street, turned into third, where the cars start from, and, as he had a few hours to spare, determined to see some of his old friends. he had been loafing around about an hour when one of the detectives of the city force stepped up to him, and, tapping him on the shoulder, said: "you are my prisoner." "what have i done to deserve arrest?" demanded rivers, completely dumbfounded. "never you mind that! you're my prisoner, and if you don't come along quietly, you'll pay for it!" was all the consolation he got from the detective. "but i haven't done anything," pleaded rivers. "there, just shut up, now! i don't want any of your talk. i know my business, and you're my prisoner; so just you come along." rivers, finding resistance useless, went with him. at the same time he saw de forest looking on, and seeming to rather enjoy his predicament. as the detective was taking him up chestnut street toward his headquarters, they passed the adams express office. bangs happened to step out at this moment, and was much amazed to see rivers under arrest. they said nothing, but rivers looked steadily at bangs, and bangs at him. without a moment's reflection, bangs rushed off to report the arrest of rivers to me. i was holding a consultation with madam imbert and miss johnson, at the merchants' hotel. everything was working well, and i felt particularly happy, when bangs rushed in and dispelled my happiness by stating that rivers had been arrested. at the news, my heart fairly jumped into my mouth. i had felt success almost within my grasp, and now my plans had fallen through entirely. the thought at once flashed through my mind that hastenbrook was at the bottom of the trouble. he must be a friend of maroney's in disguise. i left madam imbert and the rest of the party at the merchants' and proceeded to the adams express office, where i met the vice-president. i informed him of rivers's arrest, and my fears that maroney had checkmated me. the vice-president said that he thought he could entirely remove my fears; that de forest had come in from jenkintown with mrs. maroney, and had reported to him. he stated that he had fixed a fellow nicely. a fellow had been loafing around jenkintown for three or four weeks. de forest had observed him just before starting for the city, and when he reached the suburbs discovered him dogging his movements wherever he went. he drove to mitchell's, and came over to report, and the impudent fellow still kept on his track. he thereupon went to the city detective's headquarters. the employés of the adams express were well known, so that he had no difficulty in getting a detective, and, walking out with him, he pointed out the man, and said he would like to have him arrested, as he had been following him all the morning. the detective kept watch of the man for over an hour, and then, finding that he continued to loaf around, arrested him on the charge of vagrancy and took him to the office, where he had him locked up until he could prefer charges against him. as may be easily imagined, i felt greatly relieved when i heard this. the ridiculousness of the whole transaction crossed my mind, and as the vice-president equally appreciated the joke with me, it was some time before we could control our risibles sufficiently to make arrangements for the release of rivers. i asked the vice-president if he knew some lawyer whom he could get to volunteer his services in behalf of rivers. he suggested one, and soon afterward a lawyer called at the detective's office and demanded the charge on which rivers was held. he found that it was only a nominal one, and effected his release without any one's being the wiser as to his business. when de forest returned to jenkintown that evening, he was greatly surprised to find rivers there, as large as life, and drinking with his friend cox as if nothing had happened. de forest could not tell how he got out, but supposed he must have been let off on paying a fine; all he knew was that the dirty loafer had completely spoiled his pleasure. we will now leave jenkintown for a time, and return to montgomery. _chapter xiv._ maroney passed the time very pleasantly. mr. floyd, of the exchange, was on friendly terms with him, notwithstanding the little difficulty they had had in regard to mrs. maroney. he had no business to attend to and passed a good deal of time in the office of the hotel, talking with porter and furnishing him with an abundant supply of good cigars. porter was a thoroughly good fellow, and had an inexhaustible fund of stories and anecdotes, some of them rather "smutty," but they were just the sort that suited maroney, so that they had become the thickest of friends. sometimes maroney would take a hand in a social game of euchre at patterson's, at other times he would take porter or may out for a drive behind "yankee mary," and as they drove along expatiate on her many good qualities. he seldom went into the express office, as, although he knew the employés well, he felt that when he called they kept a sharp lookout on his movements, and he did not appreciate such courtesy. he would occasionally go into the express car to see the messenger, and it was noticed that he always looked at the money pouch, though at the time nothing special was thought of it. he seemed never to tire of relating the incidents of his journey, and would raise a hearty laugh by the manner in which he would describe his adventures at natchez, on the hill, or of his visit to the amphitheatre of his friends, spaulding & rogers, in new orleans. he was, to all appearances, the happiest man in town. he often talked over with porter, his plans for the future, saying that, after his trial, he intended to go into the livery stable business, and wanted porter to become his clerk. there was very little talk about the robbery in montgomery, and when any one would mention it to maroney, he would say, "you will see how it will end by-and-by," and always intimated that he would sue the company for heavy damages after his vindication by trial. very little was said about mrs. maroney. she had few friends, indeed, yet these few seemed to have warm feelings towards her; most of the ladies seemed pleased that she had gone, leaving maroney still with them. maroney passed a good deal of time in his lawyer's office and seemed to be making elaborate preparations for his trial. he would often walk out on the plank road towards the plantations, and porter, by great exertions, found that he was attracted by a lovely girl who lived some three miles from the city. he never came into town with her; it would have been considered improper for her to receive the attentions of a married man, and a scandal would have been the inevitable result. there appeared to be nothing wrong between them, and porter became convinced that it was a genuine love affair. the girl must have known she was doing wrong in permitting attentions from a married man; but maroney was most enticing when he wished to be, and in this case loved the girl with what he thought a pure love, and easily overcame any scruple she might have in this regard. he was very friendly with gus mcgibony, the montgomery detective, and was always willing to do him a favor. mcgibony being the only _known_ detective at montgomery, was considered a big man in his way. maroney always treated him as such, played cards with him and called him up to take a drink when he treated. gus always spoke in the highest terms of maroney, and had evidently taken sides in the case, for, when he was asked his opinion in regard to the robbery, he would say that maroney was bound to win. in this opinion he was supported by the whole community. porter would sometimes talk over the case with watts, judd & jackson, the legal advisers of the company. they were firmly of the opinion that maroney had committed the robbery, yet still they must say that there was no proof by which he could be convicted when the case was brought for trial. roch was having an easy time of it, for as long as maroney remained in montgomery he had nothing to do but smoke his pipe and drink lager. he was taking a good rest after his arduous labors "shadowing" maroney on his lengthy tour. at least the duties would have been arduous to any one but roch, who, however, rather enjoyed them, and longed to prepare for another chase. i knew that something decisive must soon be done, as the time set for maroney's trial was rapidly approaching. we--the adams express and i--must move something. maroney was evidently preparing for his defense, and all was resting quietly. as the reader well knows i had a sharp watch set on the operations at jenkintown and on all that occurred in montgomery. on the first of may, maroney announced his intention of going north on a visit. he was with porter at patterson's at the time and seemed to have suddenly formed the resolution. he said he had consulted with his counsel and they had informed him that he might as well go if he wished, as there was nothing to detain him. he desired to see his wife and a few friends, and so had determined to make a short visit to the north. his old trunk, up in the garret of the hotel, amongst the unclaimed baggage, was never looked at. every one knew it was maroney's, and even the colored porter, who sometimes went up into the garret with porter, to look up some article that had been sent for, would say: "dat's massa 'roney's trunk." the day before maroney started for the north he packed up everything he needed for his journey in his large trunk, and then said to porter, who was assisting him: "let's go up to my old trunk, i still have some cigars in it, and i think it would be well to get some of them to smoke on my journey." porter sent for tom, and they all three went into the garret. tom unbound the trunk; maroney took out some cigars and articles of wearing apparel, and, having it tied up again, returned to his room. no further notice was taken of the trunk by any one. to place me on my guard, porter immediately telegraphed me, in cipher, of this intended move. the dispatch reached me in chicago, and was indeed news to me. what he intended to do in the north i could not tell. i thought myself nearly blind in trying to solve the reasons of his movement, and in arranging plans for his reception in the north. what could we do? i was not a lawyer, but understood a good deal of the law, and felt that now was the time to work something in our favor. i soon made up my mind what course to pursue, and started the next day for philadelphia, to lay my plans before the vice-president personally; telegraphing porter to get roch ready to shadow maroney. he was to retain his dutch disguise, as it had done good service before, and had not been "spotted." i arrived safely in philadelphia, and found that i had not much preceded maroney. on the second of may, maroney, having everything in readiness for his departure, went to the depot, accompanied by a great many friends, and took the train for the north. roch had reached the depot before him, and had bought a through second-class ticket to philadelphia, _via_ baltimore. nothing of any consequence took place until they reached baltimore. maroney came through the cars only twice, seeming to be confident that he was not followed. he took an occasional walk to stretch his legs, but kept quietly to himself the whole of the journey. at baltimore roch was met by bangs and green, who relieved him from duty when they got the "spot" on maroney. they found roch pretty well exhausted, as he had not slept on the journey, and had been obliged to sit in a very cramped position. on getting into philadelphia, maroney went to the washington house, while roch went to the merchants' hotel, where he immediately retired, and had a good long sleep. at jenkintown all went quietly. mrs. maroney was well loved by de forest, well "shadowed" by rivers and green, and greatly benefited by the pure society of madam imbert. she said to madam imbert, a few days before the arrival of maroney: "i am happy to state that my husband will be with me in a few days. i am _so_ delighted at the prospect of meeting him once more, as he has been separated from me a great deal. we shall have a splendid time in philadelphia and new york; perhaps spend the summer in jenkintown, and then go south, _via_ cincinnati and louisville; passing through kentucky and tennessee, into alabama, and stopping at all the cities on the way." on the fifth of may she packed up her trunks, and flora and she were driven to the jenkintown station. de forest offered to take them into the city in his buggy, but the offer was declined, with thanks, and they left for philadelphia without escort. at philadelphia she called a carriage, and, with flora, was driven to the washington house. in a short time maroney arrived, entered his name on the register, and was shown to his wife's room, and the two after an eventful separation, were thus once more united. having no need of rivers's services at jenkintown, he was called to philadelphia, to "shadow" the parties there. madam imbert and miss johnson of course remained. on the sixth of may, maroney mailed a letter, which the "shadow" discovered was directed to "william m. carter, locksmith, william st., n. y." a note was taken of this, and as soon as possible bangs left for new york, to interview mr. carter. he found that carter was one of the best locksmiths in the city, and inclined to be a good fellow. bangs, representing the new york office of the adams express, gave him some jobs, making keys, etc.; and finally brought him a key to the lock of the pouch used by the company, and asked him to make two just like it. carter said he could make them, and after examining the key for some time, said: "but stop a little; a friend of mine, now in philadelphia, sent me a draft of a key he wanted made, and it is almost exactly like this!" producing the draft, he exclaimed, "it is exactly the same!" he handed it to bangs, who found it a finely executed drawing of the pouch key, made by maroney. bangs paid no attention to this circumstance, but carter said he would not make the key, as he did not know to what use it might be put. he would return the draft to his friend and say he could not make it. bangs managed to get a copy of the draft before it was returned. on discovering this, i saw through maroney's plan at once; he wished to have a key made similar to the pouch key, and introduce it as evidence in his trial that others than the agents might have keys to the company's pouches. two days before maroney met his wife in philadelphia, i held a consultation with the vice-president and bangs in the office of the express co. i maintained that it was the company's duty to arrest maroney. they had a right to bring suit against an agent of theirs wherever found. i urged him to lay the matter before the company's counsel in philadelphia. if we could get him in prison here all would be well, and the expense and trouble of following him from place to place would be entirely avoided. it was our duty to keep him in jail, where i could introduce a detective, disguised as a fellow-prisoner, whose duty would be to get into his confidence and finally draw from him his secret and learn his plans for the future. i presented my ideas so clearly that the vice president was convinced that the plan was a good one, and he at once saw st. george tucker campbell, the eminent lawyer, laid the whole case before him and asked his opinion. they looked the whole case over, and he admitted that my plan was a good one. he said we might be able to hold maroney for a short time, but he really did not think we could long do so. he might be able to fight it out for three or four weeks, but by that time maroney would be sure to effect his release. he would be so excited over his daily expectation of effecting his release that it would be impossible for me to make a proper effort to mould his mind to my purpose. he produced sufficient evidence to prove to me that it would be bad policy to try my plan in philadelphia. this was a crushing blow, and i felt as if a load had been placed upon my breast. mr. campbell left me one ray of hope by stating that he was not fully posted in the laws of the state of new york, and that i might be enabled to carry out my purpose there. leaving bangs in charge at philadelphia, the vice-president and i started for new york. we had a meeting with the president and other officers of the company, and determined to lay the matter before clarence a. seward, the company's counsellor in new york. he had just been engaged by the company, as i had been, and so far had attended only to some small matters for them. the vice-president notified him to meet us at the astor house, where the case was laid before him. after looking up the points of law involved, he decided that we could hold maroney in new york. we then instructed him to get the papers in readiness, so that the moment maroney stepped into new york he should be arrested. how happy did i now feel! all care was gone, the weight of sorrow had been lifted from my breast as if by the hand of magic: hope had taken the place of despair, and i returned to philadelphia with renewed energy and firmness, bound to win beyond a peradventure. i now assigned to green the duty of shadowing mrs. maroney, and to rivers the duty of shadowing maroney. i gave them strict orders to keep separate, and to make a move only when the persons they were shadowing moved. after maroney had washed himself and removed his travel-soiled garments, he had a long confidential talk with his wife, played with and caressed flora, and then walked out with them on chestnut street. they proceeded as far as eighth, apparently amusing themselves by looking into the shop windows, and then returned and did not leave the hotel during the evening, passing the time in their rooms. at eleven they retired, thus allowing their "shadows," green and rivers to retire also. _chapter xv._ saturday, the seventh of may, was a busy one for my operatives. maroney left the hotel, followed by rivers, walked around, visited different stores, and finally stopped at the corner of vine and third streets. in five or ten minutes, who should come along and meet him but mrs. maroney, shadowed by green? it seemed strange to rivers that they should have taken this roundabout way of meeting, and he could not understand the reason for it. when mrs. maroney came up, maroney took her arm, and together they walked to the office of alderman g. w. williams. they remained in the office some fifteen minutes, and on coming out went directly to the washington house. in a few minutes they again appeared, accompanied by flora, and getting into a carriage were driven to the ferry, crossed over to camden, and took the train for new york. rivers, who was the fastest runner, started on a keen run for the adams express office and reported to me that the maroney family were under way for new york. bangs was in new york, so i telegraphed to him, informing him of their departure for that city. he immediately found mr. seward and had everything in readiness to give them a warm reception. but what had they been doing at alderman williams's? it was better to find out at once. i supposed he had been executing some deed. i consulted with the vice-president about the person most likely to procure the desired information from alderman williams. after due consideration, we decided that mr. franklin, head of the city detectives, was the best man for the purpose. franklin had always been square and honest in all his dealings, but i determined not to put too much confidence in him. i am always suspicious of men until i know them thoroughly, or have them employed in my establishment; i therefore instructed rivers to watch alderman williams, and learn all that he could. the vice-president sent for franklin, and employed him to find out what had transpired at the alderman's. franklin was a genial man, a good talker, and devoted to his duty. he proved himself to be the best man we could have procured for our purpose. he was well acquainted with alderman williams, and strolled along past his office. the alderman was seated with his feet cocked up on the window-sill, smoking a cigar, and, not having much to do, hailed franklin as he went by, asking him to come in. franklin accepted the invitation, and lighting a cigar which the alderman handed him, took a seat. the alderman had witnessed an amusing scene, and, knowing franklin's fondness for a good story, related it to him. franklin thought the story a good one, laughed heartily at it, and then told one or two of his own. he finally turned to the alderman, and said; "i say, williams, this is rather dry work. what do you say to going down to the restaurant with me, and having some oysters and a bottle of champagne to wash them down?" williams, like most aldermen, was fond of the good things of this earth, and accepted the proposition without waiting for a second asking. he locked up his office, and they went down to the restaurant. franklin gave his orders, and the delicious bivalves were soon smoking before them. he called for champagne, and under its exhilarating influence grew wittier and wittier, and kept the alderman in such roars of laughter that he could scarcely swallow his oysters. at length franklin told a story of a man by the name of maroney, who had come to the city, and getting into rather questionable company, had been fleeced of quite a large amount of money. he had sought franklin's aid in ferreting out the thieves, but finding it would be necessary to disclose his name and the circumstances in which he was robbed, and that the facts would find their way into the daily papers, he concluded to bear the loss and say no more about it. [illustration: "franklin gave his orders and the delicious bivalves were soon smoking before them. he called for champagne, and under its exhilarating influence grew wittier and wittier, and kept the alderman in such roars of laughter that he could scarcely swallow his oysters."--page .] as he finished this little story the alderman laughed heartily, and remarked: "i'll bet five dollars it is the same man." "why, what do you mean?" inquired franklin. "well, a man named nathan maroney came to my office yesterday with a wealthy widow, mrs. irvin, and i married them. i got a good big fee, too, and i'll bet five dollars he is the same man that called on you. of course he would not want it known that he frequented such places just as he was going to be married, and so did not prosecute. don't you see?" they both laughed heartily, and franklin, having learned all he wanted to, soon took his departure. he reported to the vice-president that maroney had been married the day before, and the vice-president immediately communicated the news to me. i hurriedly thought the matter over. i had all the points on mrs. maroney that i wanted. i could see that there was some cogent reason for maroney's marrying mrs. irvin. he wanted to place her where she would tell no stories. there were only two ways to do this. maroney, the thief, had either to murder his mistress, or to make her his wife. i could see plainly through the whole transaction. maroney, after committing the robbery, had, in exact accordance with my theory, found that he needed some one in whom he could confide, and with whom he could ease his overburdened mind by disclosing the facts of the robbery. who could be a safer person than his mistress? her interests were identical with his; he had gained her the entrée to good society; had taken her from a house of infamy, where she was shunned and scorned, and by allowing her the use of his name, had placed her in a position to _demand_ respect. in all things she seemed devoted to his interests, and so far as he knew, her conduct while with him had been beyond reproach. what could be more natural than his selecting her and pouring into her ear the details of his crime? how well it must have made him feel to find in her not a stern moralist who would turn from him with scorn and point to the heinousness of his crime, but a sweet enthusiast, with ideas moulded to suit his, who would encourage and renew his feelings of ultimate success and almost rob crime of its horrors! what a happy moment it must have been to her to hear maroney give vent to his pent-up feelings! how she must have looked forward with delight to the coming time when maroney, rich with his ill-gotten spoils, should place her in a position _far_ above what she had ever anticipated reaching! how her eyes must have flashed as she thought how she could then return with redoubled force the scorn that had been shown to her! she had only one more step to take and then her life of shame would be completely covered up: maroney _must_ marry her!! she now had him in her power; she would be true to him if he would be to her; but if he _refused_ her request to make her an honest woman in the eyes of the world, woe be to him!! "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." she did not at once force the matter on maroney, but waited until she reached the north, and then gradually unfolded to him the necessity of his marrying her. it was a bitter pill for him to swallow, but unless he chose to add murder to his other crimes, was his only means of safety. the necessity was rendered all the more distasteful by the fact that he was now really in love with a girl who possessed all the qualifications which render the sex so dear to man. he had formed a plan to get rid of his mistress, mrs. irvin, as soon as possible after his trial, and then to marry the girl he loved, but he was doomed to disappointment. as he had not the courage to kill mrs. irvin, he had been forced north to marry her. he therefore was determined to kill two birds with one stone, and while north have some keys made to fit the company's pouch. i sat for some hours in the office of the general superintendent, cogitating over the matter, and finally concluded to have the notice of the marriage published. i wrote out the notice in the usual form and sent it to the _philadelphia press_. it read: "married. "maroney--irvin--at philadelphia, on may th, , by alderman g. w. williams, nathan maroney, of montgomery, ala., to mrs. irvin, of jenkintown, penn. "montgomery papers please copy." i sent copies of the _press_ containing this notice to all the montgomery papers, enclosing the usual one dollar note to pay for its insertion in their columns, and in a few days the news was blazoned forth in montgomery. but i had not finished with it yet. i got the names of all the ladies with whom maroney was acquainted in montgomery and the surrounding country, also of all his male friends, and, buying a large number of the _press_ containing this notice, i had copies directed to these persons; and also to his friends in atlanta, chattanooga, nashville, memphis, natchez, new orleans and mobile, not forgetting the _highly respectable_ ladies at the pleasant house at chattanooga, or at natchez, on the hill. these papers i sent to porter by express, directing him to mail them. wherever i could learn of any of maroney's friends, i furnished them with copies of the _press_. they must have thought some one very kind to take so much interest in him, or more likely thought he had sent them himself. i knew i was making capital for the company by having the notice so fully circulated in montgomery. the inhabitants were amazed when they saw it, and terribly indignant at maroney's conduct. while it was true that maroney and his wife had never mingled much in society in montgomery, still he had brought a woman there and openly lived with her as his wife, who had not only led a life of infamy prior to her meeting with maroney, but who, even then, was but his mistress. it was an outrage upon decency, and as such was felt and resented. from maroney's personal popularity and agreeable manners, there were many who believed in his innocence, still more who did not desire his conviction. his marriage thinned the ranks of the latter and entirely wiped out almost every trace of the former. the man who would live with and introduce a prostitute as his wife, was regarded as never too good to be guilty of robbery or any other crime. the sympathy which had been felt and expressed for maroney by those who regarded him as fighting single-handed against a wealthy and powerful corporation, was now regarded as having been worse than thrown away. it was at once and permanently withdrawn. my move had proved a perfect success and i now felt much easier about the result of the final trial to be held in montgomery. we left maroney, his wife and flora on the cars, bound for new york, to enjoy their honey-moon. they were shadowed by green, and he noticed that mrs. maroney appeared supremely happy. she had accomplished her purpose; she was now a legally married woman. maroney was in good spirits, but must have had a hard battle to keep them up. he was now enjoying some of the sweets of crime, being forced to leave the girl he loved and marry a common prostitute. he had sold his freedom for gold, and although outwardly he appeared calm and happy, inwardly he was racked with contending emotions. what would he now not have given to be back in his old position, free from the taint of crime, free to do as he wished? but the fatal step had been taken; he could not retrace it, he must go on, and when he won, as he now felt sure he would, could he not find some quiet way to get rid of his wife? they were rapidly nearing jersey city, and when they reached there mrs. maroney grasped maroney's arm, and taking flora by the hand, walked aboard the ferry-boat. no newly-married bride ever felt more exultant than she. she glanced with scorn at the hurrying crowd, and as they roughly jostled her, felt contaminated by the touch. they little dreamed of the reception that awaited them in new york. the news of their marriage had been flashed over the wires to bangs, and he had made all preparations to give them a warm reception. bangs had called for mr. seward, and he having all the papers ready, drove to the marshal's office. seward was a great favorite with every one, and had no trouble in getting united states marshal keefe and a deputy to accompany him. they were all engaged when he called, but readily postponed their other business to attend to him. they, with bangs, proceeded to the ferry and crossed over to jersey city, to meet the train coming from philadelphia. when maroney and his wife stepped on the ferry boat they did not notice the consultation of green, bangs and marshal keefe. when the boat touched the wharf in new york, all was hurry and bustle. maroney, with his wife and flora, stood one side for a few moments, waiting for the crush to be over, and then stepped proudly out for the wharf. he had taken scarcely three steps on the soil of new york before he was confronted by marshal keefe. "you are my prisoner!" said he. "nathan maroney, i demand that you immediately deliver to me fifty thousand dollars, the property of the adams express, which you feloniously have in your possession." [illustration: "_you are my prisoner!" said he. "nathan maroney, i demand that you immediately deliver to me fifty thousand dollars, the property of the adams express company._"--page .] if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet he could not have been more astonished. the demand of the marshal, delivered in a loud, harsh tone, and coming so unexpectedly, completely unnerved him, and for a moment he shook like a leaf. his head swam around, and he felt as though he would drop to the ground. by a desperate effort he gained control of himself. his wife hung speechless on his arm, while little flora grasped her mother's dress, and gazed with a startled, frightened look at the marshal and the rapidly gathering crowd. "i have no money belonging to the express company!" said maroney, and supposing that that was all that was wanted with him, he attempted to force himself past the marshal. "not so fast!" exclaimed the marshal, taking hold of one of maroney's arms, while his deputy stepped forward to assist him, if maroney made any resistance. "not so fast, you must come with me!" maroney could scarcely realize his situation; it was to him a horrid dream. in a few moments he would awake and laugh at it. but the jeering crowd, the stern officers of the law, his weeping wife and her frightened child, formed a scene which was indelibly stamped on his memory never to be obliterated. his wife insisted that her husband should be allowed to accompany her to the astor house, and the marshal finally consented. at the astor house he saw his wife and flora in their room, in the presence of marshal keefe, his deputy, and bangs. no words passed between them. his new-made bride of only six hours was bathed in tears--what a honey-moon! maroney was almost in tears himself, but he choked them back. he kissed his wife and flora, and motioning to the officers that he was ready, followed them to eldridge street jail. how terribly must he have felt when the heavy door of his cell was bolted upon him, and he was left in solitude to brood over his position. how he must have cursed the moment when he married mrs. irvin. he did so merely to save himself, and now he was in prison! what would he not have given to undo what only six hours before he had been so anxious to consummate! what a blow it would have been to him if he could have known the efforts i was then making to disseminate through the south the news of his marriage; but this i did not intend he should know. mrs. maroney thought that maroney would soon be out of jail, but wondered why he had been arrested in new york. she concluded that the company had determined on the plan of suddenly confronting him and charging him with the crime, hoping that if guilty he would break down and make a confession. he had passed through the trying ordeal unscathed and most likely would be liberated in the morning. she little thought they had been separated never more to be united. _chapter xvi._ mr. seward had done his work well. i had little fear that maroney would get out, as his bail was fixed at one hundred thousand dollars--double the amount of the robbery. the question now arose: what shall we do with maroney? i held a consultation with the vice-president, seward, and bangs, and suggested the propriety of placing one of my detectives, named white, in jail with him. white was in chicago, but i could send for him and have him in readiness for the work in a few days. white was a shrewd, smart man to act under orders, and nothing more was required. i proposed that he be introduced to to the jail in the following way: he was to assume the character of a st. louis pork-packer. it was to be charged against him that he had been dealing largely in hogs in the west, had come to new york with a quantity of packed pork of his own to sell; and also had had a lot consigned to him to sell on commission; he had disposed of all the pork, pocketed all the proceeds, and then disappeared, intending to leave for europe, but had been discovered and arrested. the amount involved in the case should be about thirty-seven thousand dollars. it was part of my plan to introduce a young man, who should pretend to be a nephew of white's, and who should call on him and do his outside business. i had a good man for this work, in the person of mr. shanks. his duties would be to call at the jail daily, see his uncle white, carry his letters, go to his lawyers, run all his errands, etc. white was not to force his acquaintance on maroney, or any of the prisoners, but to hold himself aloof from them all. he was to pass a good deal of time in writing letters, hold hurried consultations with his nephew and send him off with them. shanks was to be obliging, and if any of the prisoners requested him to do them favors, he was to willingly consent. very few people outside of a prison know how necessary it is to have a friend who will call on prisoners and do little outside favors for them. no matter how popular a man may be, or how many true friends he thinks he has, he will find if he is thrust into prison, that all of them will very likely desert him, and he will then keenly feel the necessity of having some one even to run his errands. if he has no friend to act for him, he will have to pay dearly for every move he makes. a man like shanks would soon be popular with the prisoners, and have his hands full of commissions. there were a good many objections made to my plan, but with mr. seward's assistance, all its weak points were cleared away, and it was made invulnerable. i telegraphed, ordering white and shanks to come on to new york, and, leaving bangs in charge there, i started in a few days for philadelphia. green was still employed in "shadowing" mrs. maroney, and kept a close watch on her movements. on the morning after maroney's arrest she visited him in the eldridge street jail, leaving flora in the astor house. they had a long, private interview, after which she enquired of the marshal the amount of bail necessary to effect her husband's release. he informed her that the bail had been fixed at one hundred thousand dollars. she seemed surprised at the large amount, returned and conversed with maroney, then left the jail, and getting into a carriage, was driven to thirty-first street. green hailed a passing cab and followed at his ease. when she stopped, he had his hackman drive on a few blocks and turn down a cross street, where he stopped him. he told the driver to await his return, and getting out of the hack, walked slowly down the street, keeping a sharp lookout on the house she went into. mrs. maroney remained in the house about half an hour, and then came out and was driven to pearl street. here she went into a large building occupied by an extensive wholesale clothing establishment, remained some time, and then came out with a gentleman who accompanied her to the eldridge street jail. green remained in his carriage. mrs. maroney and the gentleman soon came out; he bade her good-bye, and she drove to several business-houses in the city. maroney received several calls during the day; he was very irritable, and seemed much depressed in spirits. mrs. maroney returned to the astor house at dark, weary, depressed, and despondent. green reported to bangs that it was easy to read what she had accomplished. maroney had a number of friends in new york, and she had been to see if they would not go on his bail-bond. they had all refused, some giving one excuse, some another, and the desired bail _could not be procured_. for the purpose of finding his prospects, i had some of his friends interviewed, and managed to learn that the friend on whom maroney principally relied to furnish bail, was one whom he had met in the south when he was a drummer, but who had now become a partner in the house. mrs. maroney called on him; he expressed great sympathy for maroney and her, but could not go on his bond, as the articles of association of the firm forbade any of the partners signing bonds, etc. in two days it was discovered that maroney had no prospects of getting the required bail. some of his friends, whom he importuned to assist him, called at the express office to find the reasons for his incarceration. they were generally met by the president or by the general superintendent and informed that maroney had robbed the company of ten thousand dollars at one time and forty thousand dollars at another, and it was for this that he was now in prison. the gentlemen saw at once the risk they would run in going his bail and concluded not to venture. i was convinced that if the public knew he had stolen fifty thousand dollars and that the company were bound to prosecute him, he could not procure bail, and so it turned out. mrs. maroney called at the jail several times and did everything in her power to procure bail, but finally gave up in despair. she had a long interview with maroney, then drove to the astor house, paid her bill, and, getting into a carriage with flora, went to jersey city and took the train for philadelphia. i had sent roch to new york to "shadow" her and had brought rivers to philadelphia with me, as no shadow was needed for maroney. when mrs. maroney left new york, green turned her over to roch and he accompanied her to philadelphia. i had been informed of her departure and had rivers ready to meet her in camden on her arrival. she arrived safely. rivers relieved roch and he reported to me. i supposed she would remain for the night in philadelphia, but was disappointed, as she went directly to the north pennsylvania station and took the cars for jenkintown. i was not quite prepared for this move, but by four in the morning i was in a buggy on my road to jenkintown. when i arrived i put up at stemples's, had an early breakfast, and seized upon a favorable opportunity to have a short conversation with madam imbert. i hurriedly instructed her to try and meet mrs. maroney, and if possible draw from her an account of what had happened and learn her plans for the future. i then got into my buggy and drove back to the city. it was a beautiful, bright morning, and the drive was very delightful. madam imbert, accompanied by miss johnson, went for her accustomed stroll in the garden. they walked around for some time and were about returning when they met mrs. maroney and flora. miss johnson took charge of flora, who was her special favorite, and drew her to one side to have a romp while mrs. maroney and the madam strolled along together. mrs. maroney asked very anxiously about the madam's health and seemed to be much pained when she learned that she was very poorly. "mrs. maroney," said madam imbert, "i fear you find me poor company, indeed. your life must be happy beyond expression. you have a kind husband, a sweet child, everything that makes life enjoyable! while i am separated from my dear husband, far away, with no one to love me! no one to care for me! i have bitter trouble, rendered all the harder to bear by the fact that i have to brood over it alone. i have not one friend in this wide world to whom i can fly for consolation. no! not one! my life is unspeakably lonely. you will forgive me for not being more gay; i cannot help it! i strive to be, but it is impossible. i often fear that my melancholy has a chilling effect on those around me, and that they think me cold and heartless!" "madam imbert, my dear madam, don't say that you are thought to be cold and heartless! every one feels that you are suffering some great sorrow, and all are drawn towards you. as for me i have always tried to secure the sympathy of my lady friends, but i have only half succeeded. you are the first one in whom i have ever felt that i could confide, the first whom i wished to be my friend. if you are in trouble and feel the need of a friend, why not rely on me? make me your confidante." "mrs. maroney, you do not know what you ask! my story is a sad one, indeed. i already value your friendship too highly to risk losing it. if you were to know my history, i fear you would turn from me in disgust." madam imbert's tears flowed freely; she leaned on mrs. maroney for support. mrs. maroney turned into one of the side paths and they took a seat on a bench. after much persuasion, madam imbert was prevailed on to disclose her secret. she described to mrs. maroney the many virtues of her husband; told how wealthy he was, and then, with many sobs, and much apparent reluctance, stated that he was enticed into committing forgeries; that he was arrested, tried, convicted and sent to the state prison for ten years, and that now she was debarred from seeing him. she was greatly relieved when she found that mrs. maroney did not turn from her in horror on discovering that she was the wife of a convict. on the contrary, mrs. maroney said: "it was _too_ bad, indeed!" she had suffered also, worse even than madam imbert, as her husband was innocent. things looked bad for him at present, but all would be bright by-and-by. they had plenty of friends, but when they wanted them, they were not to be found. she said that she was going south soon, but did not intend to stay long. she did not say that her husband was in jail, but merely that he was in some trouble. madam imbert replied that it was very hard; that there seemed nothing but trouble in this world, and they were both shedding tears copiously, when who should come in sight but de forest? de forest was truly in love with mrs. maroney. he had heard that morning that she had returned, and, finding that she was in the garden, had started in pursuit of her, and arrived at a most inopportune moment. as he came in view, mrs. maroney exclaimed: "here comes that awkward fool! he is such a hateful creature! i'd like to poison him!" de forest came gaily along, expecting to be received with open arms, but instead found both the ladies in tears. "o ladies, what's the matter? crying!" the ladies said nothing, but mrs. maroney gave him a scornful look which made him tremble. he had, however, broken up the interview, and the party separated, madam imbert saying that she would call in the afternoon. de forest walked off with mrs. maroney, but he found that she had changed wonderfully, and he got nothing from her but cold looks and sharp answers. he could not understand her conduct, and the next day came into the express office, and mournfully reported that mrs. maroney had acted in a manner he could not understand, and that he feared some one had cut him out. rivers kept a close watch on mrs. maroney, and in the afternoon called at the house to see josh. he found the house in confusion, and an improvised washing of mrs. maroney's and flora's clothing going on. josh. was carrying water, and doing all he could to help the washing along. "d----d busy to-day," said he; "the old woman got an idea into her head to wash, and although i protested against it, i had to give in and haul the water." "oh!" said mrs. cox to josh., "you are always in my way." rivers took this as a rather broad hint to him that he was in the way, and so asked josh. to come up town with him. josh. willingly acquiesced, and they started out. on the way they met barclay and horton, and adjourned to stemples's. rivers treated, and then endeavored to find out from cox the reasons of his wife's hurry and bustle. cox told him that his wife had taken a sudden notion to wash, and although he had strongly objected, she had impressed him into the service, and set him at work doing the chores and hauling the water. rivers tried to get more explicit information, but could not. cox, with all his shiftlessness, knew when to hold his tongue; and so, after plying him with several drinks, rivers was obliged to let him go, without finding out what he wanted. rivers felt that something important was under way. he had followed mrs. maroney on her hurried journey to jenkintown; had seen her hold a long confidential interview with madam imbert, which was broken up by the unwelcome appearance of de forest, and knew of the preparations going on at cox's. so he was on the alert. _chapter xvii._ in the afternoon madam imbert called on mrs. maroney, leaving miss johnson at home. mrs. maroney met her kindly, and poured into her ear a tale of sorrow. she told madam imbert that she was going south for a short visit, but that she would soon return, and then they could comfort each other. she did not mention where she was going, or allude in any way to montgomery. madam imbert did not deem it good policy to ask questions too closely, and, although she very much wished to get information, she remembered my strict orders against running any risk, and did not ask. in the evening rivers went up to stemples's and took a seat in the bar-room, as it was the best place to gain information of what was going on. he had not been long there before josh. cox came in and asked for stemples. "he is in the stable," said rivers; "i will go and get him for you." "no," said cox, "don't disturb yourself," and started for the stable himself. rivers very politely accompanied him, but was unable to overhear what was said, as cox drew stemples to one side and spoke to him in a low tone. stemples said, "all right!" and cox started off. rivers stopped him, and asked him to take a drink. "i don't mind if i do," answered josh.; and after drinking he said: "i am in a d----d hurry," and was gone. "there is one drink gone to no purpose," muttered rivers, as he made his way to the barn. he found stemples hurriedly harnessing up his team, and turned in to help him. "strange fellow, that cox!" remarked stemples. "he wanted to get my team and not let me know where he was going. i told him he could not have it if he did not say where he was going, and he then said he was going to chestnut hill, a few miles this side of philadelphia, but i'll bet he is going into the city. he said he would have the team back before morning, so i finally consented to let him have it." this was startling news to rivers. there were no horses in the town that he could hire, and he had no time to harness them if there had been. he managed to see madam imbert, and reported to her his predicament. "they are going into the city," said she, "and you must follow them at all hazards, even if you have to run every step of the way." rivers had no time to lose. stemples's team was at the door, and in a few minutes josh. came for it and drove down to his house. mrs. maroney and flora were waiting for him, and, as he drove up, got into the wagon, while josh. hoisted up their trunks. rivers had no conveyance, but he was determined not to be outdone; he was young and athletic, and as they drove off he started after them on a keen run. he knew he had a twelve-mile race before him, but felt equal to the task. the night was very dark, and he had to follow by sound. this was an advantage to him, as it compelled cox to drive somewhat slower than he otherwise would have done, and rendered it impossible for them to see him from the wagon. on and on he plunged through the darkness, following the sound of the hoofs and the wheels. the moments seemed to have turned to hours; when would they ever reach the city? at times he felt that he must give up and drop by the way; but he forced the feeling back, and plunged on with the determination of winning. when they reached the outskirts of the city josh. reduced his speed, so that rivers easily followed without attracting attention. josh. drove to the corner of prime and broad streets, to the depot of the philadelphia, wilmington and baltimore railroad, and assisted mrs. maroney and flora to alight. as usual, there was a great crowd at the depot, and rivers, mixing with it, followed mrs. maroney and flora to the ticket-office without being observed by them, and went close enough to them to hear her ask for tickets to montgomery. rivers knew no time was to be lost; it was a quarter past ten, and the train left at ten minutes past eleven. he rushed out of the depot, where he saw josh. getting the baggage checked, and hailing a hack, said to the driver: "here is a five-dollar bill for you if you will drive me to the merchants' hotel and back in time to catch the train." [illustration: "_on and on he plunged through the darkness, following the sound of the hoofs and the wheels; at times he felt that he must give up and drop by the way, but he forced the feeling back and plunged on with the determination of winning._"--page .] "all right," said the driver, and springing to his seat he put his horses to a full gallop, and whirled off toward the hotel. bangs had run down from new york the same evening to consult me on some matters, and he and i were sitting in a room at the merchants', smoking our cigars, preparatory to retiring after a hard day's work, when rivers rushed in, and gasped out: "get roch up. mrs. maroney and daughter are on the train bound for montgomery." we threw our cigars out of the window, and had roch up, dressed as a dutchman, his trunk packed, and he into the carriage with us on the way to the p., w. & b. r. r. before he was fully awake. i turned out all the money i had with me--not a great deal, as it was so late--and rapidly gave him his instructions as we drove along. we arrived at the station just in time. roch rushed to the ticket office, said "second-class, montgomery," received and paid for his ticket, and sprang upon the last car of the train as it slowly drew out of the station. there were no sleeping-cars at the time, which was fortunate for him, as, if there had been, he might not have been allowed to get on the train. in a moment the train disappeared in the gloom, and mrs. maroney and flora were kindly provided with an escort, in the person of roch. leaving them to pursue their journey, we will now return to maroney, in the eldridge street jail. white and shanks soon came on from chicago, and bangs gave them full instructions as to their duties. white was ordered to follow his instructions implicitly, and not to attempt to move too fast. bangs arranged a cipher for him, to be used in his correspondence, and he learned it thoroughly, so as not to need a key. having thoroughly posted them, bangs turned his attention to procuring the arrest of white. he secured the services of a common, one-horse lawyer, and placed the case in his hands. the lawyer felt highly honored at being employed in a case of such magnitude, involving thirty-seven thousand dollars, and remarked that he would soon have mr. john white secure in prison. he procured the necessary papers and placed them in the hands of the marshal to execute. bangs knew just where white was to be found, but gave the marshal a big job before coming across him. he searched the hotels, saloons, lawyers' offices, etc., going up to the different places, peeping in, and then going off on not finding him. he was doing an immense business hunting for white. toward evening white was discovered talking to shanks. the marshal took him into custody and conducted him to the eldridge street jail. shanks, being a stranger in new york, accompanied him, so that he might know the place afterwards. white was booked at once, and while going along with the jailer was asked whether he wished to go to the first or second-class, the jailer judging that he would not take the third-class. the first-class was composed of those fortunate mortals who had money enough to send out to the neighboring restaurants and order in their meals. of course maroney was in the first-class, so white followed suit. he gave the jailer the usual _douceur_ for introducing him to the prison, and then had his cell pointed out. white sent shanks, who had accompanied him so far, to fetch his carpet-bag and some clothes. he then retired to his cell to meditate over his painful situation. he glanced around amongst the prisoners, and soon picked out his man. maroney did not seem to be doing any thing particular, but sat musing by himself. in this manner, brooding over their misfortunes, white and maroney spent the evening until the hour of retirement. the next day white kept by himself, pondering over what he should do. in the course of the day his nephew, shanks, who was a young man of about twenty, came with the satchel, and made himself very useful to white by carrying several messages for him. some of the prisoners noticed this and asked white if he would not let his nephew do little outside favors for them. white said "certainly, i shall be only too happy to assist you in any way i can." shanks was soon such a favorite with the prisoners that he greatly reduced the perquisites of the jailor. maroney gradually became quite familiar with white. he would bid him good morning when they were released from their cells, and take an occasional turn in the hall with him. they were shut in together, and it became necessary to get acquainted. white wrote frequent letters to his lawyer, who was bangs, under another name, and received regular replies, shanks being the medium of communication. this was a great convenience, as lawyers are not always able to visit their clients when they wish them to. maroney appeared to have few friends. mrs. maroney had gone, and he had no one to pay him regular attention. a few friends would call occasionally, but their visits seemed prompted rather by curiosity than by a desire to assist him, they gradually grew fewer and farther between, and finally ceased altogether. he received letters from the south, from mrs. maroney, who was on her journey, and from charlie may, patterson, and porter, at montgomery. these friends kept him well posted. the letters sent by porter were copies of those i sent him, and were on the general topics of the day. porter said he was sorry to have to address him in eldridge street jail, and wished he could be of some assistance to him. he alluded with anger to the report which had been circulated of his, (maroney's) marriage. of course all his friends at patterson's knew he had been married for years, and that the report was a dodge of the express company to make him unpopular. outside of his friends at patterson's, every one in montgomery seemed to believe the slander, and many said they always thought there was something wrong about mrs. maroney, and they expected nothing better from her. many, also, said they had a poor opinion of him and believed he had committed the robbery. porter concluded by stating that mcgibony, the detective, seemed completely nonplussed, and had but little to say about the matter. he, (porter) had conversed with him, and mcgibony seemed of the opinion that it was a move of the adams express to place him in an odious position with the inhabitants of montgomery. after the receipt of this letter, maroney appeared to be exceedingly down hearted. white noticed it, and so reported to bangs. as mrs. maroney had not yet arrived in montgomery, she was of course entirely unaware that the news of their marriage had been spread broadcast, and her letters were quite cheerful. white was occasionally drawn into a game of cards. euchre was the game generally played; he was well able to hold his hand, and seldom lost. the stakes were generally for the cigars, or something in a liquid shape, and the supplies were brought in by shanks. maroney would sometimes take a hand, but it was a careless habit with him, and he did not care how he played. as time passed away the prisoners became well acquainted, and would talk over the various reasons for their imprisonment. at certain times of the day they would be visited by their lawyers. maroney had no lawyer engaged, but keenly watched those that came, in order to see which was the smartest, so that he might know whom to employ should he require one's services. maroney was a smart man, and he gradually came to the conclusion that a lawyer named joachimson would be the right man for him. white observed that he began to nod to him, and that they always exchanged the compliments of the day. this was as far as he went at present, it being evidently his intention not to employ counsel until mrs. maroney returned from the south. at least these were his thoughts so far as white could fathom them. leaving maroney for the present, we will glance at jenkintown. here everything was quiet; in other words, quotations were low and no sales. madam imbert had little to do. she walked in the pleasure grounds with miss johnson, or called at mrs. cox's, with whom the madam was now on the best of terms. mrs. cox had a number of children and the madam often bought them little presents and exerted a kindly influence over them. whenever miss johnson and she met josh. on the street they would notice him, and the attention would make him feel quite proud. de forest acted the same as before, and was becoming rather sweet on miss johnson. madam imbert was sad and melancholy, and repelled all his advances with quiet dignity. we will leave them to enjoy their easy times, having to make only two reports a week, while we follow mrs. maroney and roch. _chapter xviii._ nothing worthy of record occurred on the journey and they arrived at montgomery in due time. roch telegraphed to porter from augusta, ga., that they were coming, and he, having been previously informed of the fact, was, of course, at the station to meet them. he was now maroney's bosom friend, and as such paid much attention to mrs. maroney. he met her at the depot with a carriage when she arrived, and conducted flora and her to the exchange hotel and gave them a room. the difficulty with mr. floyd had been smoothed over and she soon felt at home. but something strange seemed to have taken place in montgomery. porter, of course, paid her great attention and gave her one of the best rooms the house afforded; but all the ladies she met during the day passed her very coolly. the gentlemen were all friendly, but not so cordial as usual. she could not understand it. she did not go out much the first day, but called up the porter, and, going to the garret with him, pointed out the old trunk and had him take it down to her room. the following day she called at charlie may's. something unusual must have happened, as she left there in bitter anguish. the house was near the hotel and porter had seen her go in and come out. she wore no veil and the traces of her grief were plainly visible. she returned to the hotel and went to her room. porter, in a short time, stepped up, knocked at her door and enquired of flora how her ma was. flora said her ma was not well, that she had a bad headache. he was bound to get in, so he pushed past the child and saw mrs. maroney lying on the bed crying. being the clerk of the hotel, his coming in would not be considered unusual. he enquired if there was nothing he could do for her, and she said no. he surmised what had happened and concluded he could find out all about it at patterson's. he went over to patterson's and met charlie may. charlie said that mrs. maroney had called on his wife, but had been roughly handled--tongued would be the proper word. mrs. may informed her of what she had read and otherwise heard about her getting married at this late date. mrs. maroney denied the report and declared that they had been married in savannah long before; that they had afterwards lived in new orleans, augusta, ga., and finally had settled in montgomery. mrs. may replied that it was useless for her to try and live the report down; that the ladies of montgomery had determined not to recognize her, and that she had been tabooed from society. mrs. may grew wrathful and warned mrs. maroney to beware how she conducted herself toward mr. may. mrs. maroney rose proudly from her chair, and giving mrs. may a look that made her tremble, said: "mr. maroney is as thoroughly a gentleman as mr. may or any one in montgomery, and he is capable of protecting himself and me." she then flounced out of the house and returned to the hotel. she remained in her room all day, but on the following morning went to the office of her husband's counsel, where she remained some time, and then returned to the hotel. porter was summoned to her room, and on going up she asked him if mcgibony was around. porter said he presumed he was at the court house. mrs. maroney then said: "i would like to see him! my poor husband is in trouble and i need the assistance of all his friends, not but that he will eventually prove himself innocent and make the company pay him heavy damages for their outrageous persecution! but he is, at present, in the hands of the enemy. if he were only in the south, it would be very different. here he would have many kind friends to assist him; there he has not one who will turn a finger to help him. mr. maroney and i are aware of the scandal that has been spread about us, but we will soon put our timid friends to the blush. they think it will be hard for maroney to fight a wealthy corporation like the adams express, and, instead of helping him, seem inclined to join the stronger party. with them 'might makes right,' and when maroney gains the day, how they will come crawling back to congratulate him and say, 'we always felt that you were innocent.' o mr. porter, it is a shame. why is maroney held a prisoner in the north, when he should be tried before a jury of his fellow southerners? what will not money do in this country? but i will show the adams express that they are not dealing with a weak, timid woman. i have just been to see my husband's counsel and have made arrangements to get a requisition from the governor of alabama on the governor of new york to have my husband brought here. i want mcgibony to go north and bring him down. of course he would not attempt to escape, but it will be necessary to keep up the form of having him in the charge of an officer, and i think mcgibony the proper man to send. if mcgibony will not go i shall have to ask you, mr. porter, to execute the commission." porter, not having any orders how to act, said: "i will think the matter over, and have no doubt but that mcgibony will be well pleased to go. there is only one difficulty, and that is, he may not have the necessary cash." "that need not deter him," she replied, eagerly. "i have plenty of money, and will gladly pay him all he asks." "i will find him and bring him to your room," said porter, as he walked away. he went down stairs and immediately telegraphed to bangs, in cipher, informing him of all he had learned, and asking for instructions in regard to acting as mrs. maroney's agent in bringing maroney to montgomery. bangs held a consultation with the general superintendent. the reasons for mrs. maroney's trip south were now plain, and it was necessary for the company's counsel at montgomery to give the matter immediate attention. the general superintendent telegraphed to watts, judd & jackson of mrs. maroney's intended coup d'état, and ordered them to take the necessary steps to checkmate her, while bangs ordered porter to avoid acting as mrs. maroney's agent. in the meantime porter found mcgibony, and conducted him to mrs. maroney's room. he learned that charlie may and patterson had come up during his absence. mrs. maroney made her desire known to mcgibony, and he at once accepted the commission. she thanked him, and remarked that she hoped to have all in readiness in a few days. charlie may was very attentive to her, and she seemed to thoroughly appreciate him, although his wife had treated her so _cavalierly_ the day before. after dismissing the rest of the party she had a long, private conversation with patterson. in an hour patterson came down and went to a livery stable where "yankee mary" was known to be kept, and soon after mrs. maroney had an interview with the proprietor of the livery-stable. porter had become one of the clique, and found that maroney had a large interest in the stable. "yankee mary" was maroney's own property, and his business with the livery-stables in chattanooga and nashville was to examine and buy horses for his stables in montgomery. in a couple of days maroney's interest in the stable was disposed of to patterson, and the money paid over to mrs. maroney. "yankee mary" was not sold, and still remained the property of maroney. all these transactions porter duly reported to bangs, and bangs to the vice-president. they decided to secure "yankee mary" for the company, and watts, judd & jackson were instructed to attach her. this they did, and she changed hands, being afterwards cared for in the stables of the express company. flora was much neglected, as mrs. maroney devoted all her time to business. she was continually out in the company of charlie may, patterson, the livery-stable keeper, porter, or mcgibony. at last it was announced by her counsel that the "die was cast," and the requisition refused; so mcgibony was spared the trouble of going north. the governor of alabama came to the conclusion that he could not ask the governor of new york to deliver up a man who was a prisoner of the united states government, charged with feloniously holding money, until judgment was rendered against him. mrs. maroney found she could do nothing in montgomery, so she packed up and, with flora, started for atlanta. porter had roch at the depot, and as soon as she started, she was again under the care of the dutchman. at atlanta she put up at the atlanta house, while roch took quarters in a low boarding-house. he watched closely, but was careful not to be seen, or to excite suspicion. mrs. maroney and flora remained in the hotel, not coming down, for twenty-four hours. she was, no doubt arranging something, but what, was a mystery. what she did will be eventually disclosed. the first notice roch had of her movements, was when she came out of the hotel with flora, and was driven to the depot. he had just time to get to his boarding-house, pay his bill, seize his satchel, and get upon the train as it moved off. mrs. maroney acted much as her husband did when he left chattanooga so suddenly. "they are as alike as two peas," thought roch; "both are secret in all their movements, and make no confidants." but _the eye of the detective never sleeps_, and maroney and his wife were always outwitted. while they greatly exulted over their shrewdness, the detective, whom they thought they had bewildered, was quietly gazing at them from the rear window of the "nigger car." roch found that mrs. maroney had bought a ticket to augusta, ga.; but before reaching that city, she suddenly left the train at union point. there was a train in waiting, which she immediately took, and went to athens. roch knew nothing about the country they were passing through, and was following blindly wherever she led. they had not gone far on their new route when athens was announced. roch saw mrs. maroney getting flora and herself in readiness to leave the train. when the cars stopped at the station flora and she got out, stepped into an omnibus, and were taken to the lanier house. roch followed, and when they entered the hotel, went to a restaurant and got some refreshments. athens was a thriving inland town. after roch had finished his meal he strolled around, and finally arrived in front of the lanier house. puffing away at his pipe, he took a seat on the verandah. here he mused for some time, apparently half asleep, when he was aroused by the clattering of hoofs and the rumbling of wheels, and looking up the street he saw a stage approaching. it drew up in front of the hotel, and a knot of people gathered around it. while the horses were being changed, the driver rushed into the bar-room to take a drink. roch listlessly looked at the hurry and bustle, but suddenly sprang to his feet, and almost dropped his inseparable companion--his pipe--from his mouth, for whom should he see escorted from the hotel, and assisted into the stage, by the landlord, with many a bow and flourish, but mrs. maroney and flora? her baggage was not brought down, so that he was certain she would return. he had no time to think over the best plan to pursue, but determined to accompany her at all hazards. the driver came out, mounted his seat and roch got up beside him. it must be admitted that he was badly off for an excuse to account for his movements, as he knew nothing of the country, and did not know where the stage was going. the driver was a long, lank southerner, burned as brown as a berry by the sun. he always had a huge "chaw" of tobacco stowed away in the side of his left cheek, and, as he drove along, would deposit its juice with unerring aim on any object that attracted his attention. he was very talkative, and at once entered into conversation with roch. "wal stranger, whar yar bound?" was his first salutation. roch looked at him in a bewildered way, and then said, "nichts verstehe!" [illustration: "_wal stranger, whar yar bound," was his first salutation. roch looked at him in a bewildered way, and then said, "nichts verstehe!_"--page .] "whar are yar gwine? are yar a through passenger, or whar are yar gwine?" "vel, i vish to see de country. i vil go mit you till i see von ceety vot i likes, und den i vil get out mit it!" "oh!" said the driver, in a patronizing tone, "yar parspectin', are yar?" and so they kept up a conversation, from which roch gleaned that the stage was bound for anderson's court house, s. c. whenever the driver would ask a question he did not like to answer, he would say, "nichts verstehe," and so tided over all his difficulties. the passengers, one lady and three gentlemen besides mrs. maroney and flora, amused themselves in various ways as they drove along. the gentlemen smoked and conversed, and the other lady seemed very agreeable; but mrs. maroney did not say a word to any one but flora. roch as he occasionally glanced over his shoulder at her, observed that she seemed to be suffering from much care and anxiety. eight miles out from athens the driver stopped to change his horses, and roch took advantage of this circumstance to get a little familiar with him. he found this an easy matter. a few drinks and some cigars to smoke on the road--which he treated him to--put him in such a good humor that he declared, as they drove off, that it was a pity his german friend was not a white man. roch wondered if all the negroes spoke german, but said nothing. they drove along through a rich agricultural country until they arrived at danielsville, about sixteen miles from athens. here mrs. maroney touched the driver and asked him if he knew where mrs. maroney lived. oh! thought roch, now i see her object in coming here. the driver knew the place well, and drove up to a handsome mansion, evidently the dwelling of a wealthy planter. mrs. maroney and flora left the coach and walked up through a beautifully laid out garden to the house, a two story frame, with wide verandahs all around it, and buried in a mass of foliage. she was met at the door by a lady, who kissed both her and flora, and, relieving her of the satchel, conducted them into the house. roch in his broken way told the driver that he liked the appearance of the town so much that he thought he would stop over. they drove up to the tavern and roch asked the driver in to have a drink with him. as they went into the bar-room they met the clerk, and roch politely asked him to join them. he informed the driver that he might go back with him in a day or two. the driver did not pay much attention to what he said, as all he really cared for was the drink. after the stage left, roch entered into conversation with the clerk, and, under pretense of settling in the town, made enquiries about the owners of several places he passed on the road. finally he asked who the handsome residence on the hill belonged to. "that is mr. maroney's place. he is one of the 'solid' men of the town; worth a great deal of money; has some niggers, and is held in high esteem by the community, as he is a perfect gentleman." in the evening he dropped into a saloon, where he formed the acquaintance of several old saloon-loafers, who were perfectly familiar with everybody's business but their own, and from them gathered much useful information of the surrounding country, and had the clerk's opinion of mr. maroney fully endorsed. roch was up early in the morning and strolling around. he met an old negro who informed him that the stage for athens would be along in three hours. he sauntered carelessly to mr. maroney's, and watched the house from a safe position, but, as the blinds were closed, could see no signs of preparation within. he therefore returned to the tavern, with the determination of keeping a watch on the stage. he had waited about an hour, when a gentleman walked up the steps to the stage office, which was in the tavern. he heard the clerk say, "good morning, mr. maroney," which immediately put him on the alert. "good morning," responded mr. maroney. "i want to secure three seats in the stage for athens; want them this morning." securing his tickets, he went home, leaving roch once more at his ease, as he now knew exactly what move to make. when the stage drove up, he called in the driver, stood treat, and again took a seat beside him. the clerk told the driver to call at mr. maroney's for some passengers, and they started off. mr. maroney, mrs. maroney and flora were at the gate when they drove up, and all three entered the stage and went to athens. at athens they stopped a short time at the lanier house; sent their baggage down to the depot, and took the train on the washington branch railroad, which connects with the main line at union point. mr. maroney bid them good-bye, and returned to the lanier house. the train consisted of only one car, and roch had to take a seat in the same car with mrs. maroney, but he went in behind her, and took a seat in the rear of the car, so that he remained unnoticed. mrs. maroney was very restless, and after they took the through train at union point, would carefully scan the features of all the well-dressed men who entered the car. she seemed to suspect every one around her, and acted in a most peculiar manner. in a short time they reached augusta, ga., where mrs. maroney and flora left the train and put up at the principal hotel. it was late when they arrived, so that they immediately took supper and retired. roch found a room in a restaurant, and after his supper strolled through the hotel, but discovered nothing, as mrs. maroney and flora remained quiet in their room. the following afternoon mrs. maroney and flora left the hotel, accompanied by a gentleman, and once more started for the north. the gentleman accompanied them to wilmington, n. c. during the whole of the journey, mrs. maroney acted, metaphorically, as if sitting on thorns. she did not seem at all pleased at the attention paid her by the gentleman. when he would ask her a question she would glance at him with a startled frightened look, and answer him very abruptly. she seemed much relieved when he bade them good-bye. roch was sitting in the rear of the second-class car and could keep a strict watch on her movements. not a person got on or off the train whom she did not carefully observe. two or three times during the night she fell into a restless sleep, but always started up with a wild look of agony in her face. day or night she seemed to have no peace, and by the time they reached philadelphia she had become so haggard and worn as to appear fully ten years older than when she started. roch telegraphed to bangs from baltimore, informing him of the time he would arrive in philadelphia, and green and rivers were at the station to relieve him--green to "shadow" mrs. maroney and rivers to see what disposition would be made of her baggage, and if he found it transferred to jenkintown to follow it and be on hand there when mrs. maroney arrived. roch went to the office and reported to bangs. he said that he had never seen so strange a woman; she had acted on the whole journey as if troubled with a guilty conscience. he felt confident she had something concealed, but could take no steps in the matter until he was absolutely certain, beyond a doubt, that his suspicions were correct. my orders were clear on this point--never make a decisive move unless you are positive you are right. if you are watching a person, and _know_ he has something concealed, arrest him and search his person; otherwise, no matter how strong your suspicions, do not act upon them, as a single misstep of this sort may lose the case, and is certain to put the parties on their guard, and in a few minutes to overthrow the labor of months. _chapter xix._ when mrs. maroney left the cars at the corner of prime and broad streets, she accidentally ran across de forest, who was in the city on some business of his own. "oh! i am so glad to meet you," exclaimed mrs. maroney. "and i am delighted to hear you say so," replied de forest. the poor fellow had missed her sadly. she had parted from him in anger, and he felt cut to the quick by her cold treatment. he had at first determined to blot her memory from his heart, and for this purpose turned his attention to miss johnson, and tried to get up the same tender feeling for her with which mrs. maroney had inspired him, but he found it impossible. he missed mrs. maroney's black flashing eye, one moment filled with tenderness, the next sparkling with laughter. then mrs. maroney had a freedom of manners that placed him at once at his ease, while miss johnson was rather prudish, quite sarcastic, and somehow he felt that he always made a fool of himself in her presence. besides, miss johnson was marriageable, and much as de forest loved the sex, he loved his freedom more. his morals were on a par with those of sheridan's son, who wittily asked his father, just after he had been lecturing him, and advising him to take a wife, "but, father, whose wife shall i take?" day after day passed wearily to him; jenkintown without mrs. maroney was a dreary waste. he felt that "absence makes the heart grow fonder," so when mrs. maroney greeted him so heartily he was overjoyed. "have you been far south?" he asked. "yes, indeed? flora and i have not had our clothes off for five days, and we are completely exhausted; what a fright i must look!" "you look perfectly charming! at least to me you do," fervently answered de forest. "let me have your baggage transferred to the north pennsylvania railroad. in that way you can send it to jenkintown without any trouble. you and flora honor me with your company to mitchell's, where we will have some refreshments, and then i will drive you home in my buggy." after a little persuasion mrs. maroney consented to the arrangement, and de forest, once more himself, got their baggage checked to jenkintown, and calling a hackman, as he had left his own team in the stable, they were driven to mitchell's. green followed them up and watched them from the steps of independence hall, while rivers mounted the baggage-wagon and was driven to the north pennsylvania station, and in less than an hour was in jenkintown. de forest ordered a substantial meal at mitchell's, and when they had finished it, ordered his team and drove gaily out of the city, closely wedged in between mrs. maroney and flora. when he went to get his team he hurriedly reported to the vice-president that he had mrs. maroney at mitchell's, and that her former coolness had vanished. as they drove up to cox's, mrs. maroney was much pleased to meet madam imbert and miss johnson. the ladies bowed, and mrs. maroney requested the madam to stop a moment, as she had something to tell her. madam imbert told miss johnson to walk on home, while she went to cox's, and was warmly embraced by mrs. maroney. how de forest envied her! de forest drove up to the tavern with his team, and the rest of the party went into the house, where they were cordially welcomed by mrs. cox. mrs. maroney said she was tired almost to death, but wanted a few moments' conversation with the madam before she changed her clothing. "madam imbert," she said, "you don't know how happy i am to meet you. i have just come from the south, where all my husband's friends are. he is now in deep trouble, and is held a prisoner in new york, at the instigation of the adams express company, who charge him with having robbed them of some fifty thousand dollars. they charge him with committing this robbery in montgomery, but hold him in new york. i went south for the purpose of getting a requisition for his immediate return to montgomery. when i got there i was much surprised to find that nearly all his influential friends had taken the part of the company, and i now return almost crazed, without being able to get the necessary papers, and my poor husband must languish in jail, i don't know how long." "mrs. maroney, i can sympathize with you thoroughly. when my husband was prosperous we had hosts of friends--friends whom i thought would always be true to us; but the moment he got into trouble they were gone, and the only friend i now have is the abundance of money he left me." "in this respect i cannot complain," replied mrs. maroney, "as my husband gave me money enough to support me a lifetime; but it is so hard to be separated from him! i am fortunate in having found a friend like you, madam imbert, and i trust we may spend many hours together. i must write a letter to my husband to let him know i am again in the north." "i will take it down to the postoffice for you," said madam imbert. "oh, no, i thank you, i will not put you to the trouble; josh. is going down to stemples's, and he will post it for me." madam imbert could not well stay longer as mrs. maroney seemed very tired. so she bade her good-bye, mrs. maroney promising to call on her the next day. she was not satisfied with what she had accomplished, and feared that mrs. maroney had some secret arrangement under way. as she walked musingly along, she met rivers in a place where no one appeared in sight. "rivers, i wish you would keep a sharp lookout on cox's to-night. i think they are up to something, but what, i can't find out. will you?" "certainly," replied rivers; "i am pretty well tired out, but i can stand it for a week, if necessary." "there is another thing which ought to be attended to," said madam imbert. "mrs. maroney is writing a letter to her husband; i think it is an important one. don't you think you could manage to get possession of it? she is going to send it to stemples's by josh., so you might get him drunk and then gain possession of it." "leave that to me. i think i can work it all right," said rivers, as they separated, no one being aware of their interview. rivers went to stemples's, and calling up every one in the bar-room, asked them to have a drink. barclay and horton were there, and as they swallowed their liquor, looked at each other and winked. horton whispered: "rivers is a little 'sprung' to-day." "d----d tight, in my opinion," replied barclay. in a few moments josh. came in, and in a very important tone asked for stemples. "stemple sout! hellow, josh., that you?" said rivers, slapping him on the shoulder. "i've taken a leetle too much bitters to-day, but i'm bound to have another horn before i go home. come and have something?" "where is stemples?" reiterated cox. "oh, he's up stairs. come and have a drink?" josh. willingly assented, and with barclay and horton they went up to the bar. rivers seized the whisky-bottle as the barkeeper handed it down, and filled his glass to the brim. josh., horton, and barclay took moderate quantities of the liquor. "drink hearty, boys," said rivers, "i am going to have a good horn to go to bed on." josh. looked closely at him, and then turned and winked knowingly to barclay and horton. the moment he turned, rivers changed glasses with him, emptied out nearly all the liquor that cox had put into his glass, and filled it with water. "here, boys, drink hearty! ain't you going to drink up?" thus admonished, all four raised their glasses and drained them at a draft. josh. swallowed down the brimming glass of pure whisky without a wink, and it must be admitted that, to his credit as a toper, he never noticed the difference. they had two or three drinks on about the same basis before stemples came down. josh. was standing with the letter in his hand ready to give it to him when he came in. when stemples came in rivers snatched the letter from josh.'s hand and said: "here, stemples, is a letter for you!" and handed it to him. cox was in a condition not to mind trifles, and scarcely knew whether he did or did not give the letter to stemples. so long as he had it, that was all he wanted. rivers, quick as a flash, had read the direction on the letter: "nathan maroney, eldridge street jail, new york." stemples took the letter and placed it carelessly in a pigeon-hole, behind a small, railed-off place just at the end of the bar. josh. started home with barclay and horton. rivers accompanied them a short distance and then returned to stemples's. he looked through the windows and saw that the bar-room was completely deserted. he peered around and found that both stemples and the barkeeper were in the stable harnessing up the horses, bent on going to a ball at a neighboring town. he glanced around in all directions until he was sure there was no fear of detection, and then stealthily entered the bar-room. he noiselessly crossed the floor, went behind the railing, pulled the much desired letter from the pigeon-hole and, with his treasure, returned safely to the street without detection. he returned to his boarding-house, procured a lamp and went directly to his room. he then dexterously opened the letter in such a manner that no trace was left to show that it had been tampered with, and tremblingly proceeded to read it, filled with the hope that the mystery would be solved by its contents. he read as follows: "my dear husband:--i know it will pain you to learn that a notice of our marriage has been published in montgomery. it has caused a great many of our old friends to turn away from us, among others mrs. may, who was the first one to inform me, and who grossly insulted me and fairly ordered me out of her house. who could have spread the news? i think the only true friend you now have in montgomery is mr. porter. patterson swindled me in the bargain for the livery stable, and charlie may is, you know, as variable as the weather in the north; but mr. porter did me many kind turns without seeking to make anything out of me. flora and i arrived in jenkintown this afternoon thoroughly tired out. i could not get the requisition. i will write fully to-morrow or the next day. "i have all safe in the trunk. left ------ at hotel in athens. i afterward found it convenient to alter my bustle and put paper into it and strips of old rags. it set well, but i was tired when i got home with it. "your loving wife." rivers scribbled off a copy of the letter and then sealed it up again. he walked back to stemples's and found a party in the wagon waiting for the barkeeper to close up and go to the ball with them. rivers, still pretending to be drunk, staggered up to the door of the bar-room, which was just about to be closed, and walked in. there was no one present but the barkeeper; the people in the wagon were yelling to him to hurry up. "give me a drink," said rivers. "you have had enough for one night, it seems to me," remarked the barkeeper. "no," said rivers, "just give me one drink and i'll go!" as the barkeeper turned to take down the bottle, rivers flipped the letter, which he had in his hand, over towards the pigeon-hole; it just missed its mark and fell on the floor. "what's that?" exclaimed the barkeeper, turning hastily around, "a rat?" "no, a mouse, i guess!" said rivers. "i declare, if that mouse didn't knock a letter out of the pigeon-hole!" remarked the barkeeper as he picked it up and put it in its place. "hurry up, rivers, i want to go!" rivers swallowed his drink and went off well pleased with his success. his work was not done yet, as madam imbert had requested him to keep a watch on cox's house. he walked along in the direction of cox's, and felt almost oppressed by the perfect stillness of the night. it was not broken even by the barking of watch-dogs. the whole place seemed wrapped in slumber. when he reached the house, he walked carefully around for about an hour, when a light in the second story--the only one he had seen--was extinguished. he then crawled up close to the house, where he could hear every movement within; but all he heard was the shrill voice of mrs. cox, occasionally relieved by snorts from cox, and he concluded that all that was transpiring at cox's was a severe curtain lecture, brought about through his instrumentality. at two a. m. he returned to his boarding-house, wrote out his report for bangs, enclosing the copy of mrs. maroney's letter, and retired after an exciting day's work. _chapter xx._ on the following day mrs. maroney called on madam imbert, and together they strolled through the pleasure grounds. each narrated her sorrows, and each wanted the support and friendship of the other. madam imbert's story we will let pass. mrs. maroney dwelt on her husband's hardships, and her conversation was largely a repetition of what she had said the day before. she spoke of her husband as a persecuted man, and said: "wait till his trial is over and he is vindicated! then the adams express will pay for this. the vice-president has made the affair almost a personal one, but when nat. is liberated the vice-president will get his deserts. when he falls, mortally wounded with a ball from my husband's pistol, he will discover that nathan maroney is not to be trifled with. in the south we have a few friends left, and mr. mcgibony, a detective, is one of them. i think i can trust him. he was to have come north to escort my husband to montgomery, if the governor had granted the requisition; but he would not, and maroney will hear of my failure to-day, as i wrote to him last evening. de forest is a useful friend, and i think him also a very handsome man. i left montgomery, feeling very unhappy, and was obliged to go to athens and danielsville. i was so exhausted that i had to stop a day at augusta to rest. i had some valuables concealed on my person, and they were so heavy as to greatly tire me. at augusta i was forced to alter my arrangements for carrying them, and arrived in philadelphia completely worn out. i can assure you it was with feelings of the greatest pleasure that i met de forest. he very kindly took charge of my baggage, and brought flora and me out in his buggy. i am so glad to be here once more." as both ladies were tired, they walked over to some benches placed in a summer house, and took seats. miss johnson and flora had been with them, but strolled off. mrs. maroney kept up the conversation, on unimportant topics, for some time, and then suddenly turned to madam imbert and said: "you must have had to conceal property at times! where did you hide it?" madam imbert felt that now the trying moment for her had arrived. she knew that mrs. maroney had the stolen money in her possession, and that if she could only prevail on her to again conceal the money on her person, she could seize and search her; but mrs. maroney had said she could not carry it around, and so was obliged to change its hiding place. if she endeavored to prevail on her to secrete it on her person, she might suspect her motives, and hide it where it would be hard to find, so she answered in an indifferent tone; "oh, yes, i have often hidden valuables! sometimes i have placed them in the cellar, and at other times, waiting until all was quiet, i have stolen out into the garden, at a late hour of the night, and secreted them." mrs. maroney looked her square in the eyes, but she did not alter a muscle under the scrutiny. "your advice is good," she said, in a musing tone. madam imbert would gladly have offered to assist her, but did not, at the time, feel safe in offering her services. she determined to act as quickly as possible, and to try and discover where she would secrete the money, as, from her actions, it was evident it was not yet hidden. as they sat talking madam imbert pretended to be taken with a sudden pain in the neighborhood of her heart. she was so sick that mrs. maroney had to assist her to stemples's. she explained to mrs. maroney that she was subject to heart disease, and was frequently taken in a like manner. when they got to the tavern she requested mrs. maroney to send miss johnson to her, which she did, and then walked slowly homeward. in about three-quarters of an hour miss johnson called at cox's, and reported that the madam was much better, and was sleeping soundly. she had become lonely, and had started out to get flora and take a walk. as soon as she entered the sitting room at cox's, on her return, she found no one there but the children. in a moment mrs. cox came up stairs and joined her. she looked quite flurried, and seemed not to be particularly pleased at miss johnson's presence. miss johnson had just made known her desire for flora's company, when rivers (whom madam imbert had seen and instructed to find out what josh. was doing,) came in, in his usual rollicking way, and asked mrs. cox where josh. was. "he is out in the garden at work," said mrs. cox. at almost the same moment josh. yelled up from the cellar: "that you, rivers? i'll join you at stemples's, by-and-by." it was immediately plain to miss johnson and rivers that something was going on in the cellar which they did not want outsiders to know about. miss johnson remained with the children about half an hour, when josh. and mrs. maroney came up from the cellar, perspiring freely, and looking as though they had been hard at work. josh. started out to keep his appointment, evidently longing for a drink, and miss johnson, after a short conversation with mrs. maroney, went out with flora. she did not remain long away, soon bringing flora home, and then proceeding to the hotel to report to madam imbert. rivers had already reported, and madam imbert was confident they were secreting the money in the cellar, so she determined to report to bangs at once. in the afternoon she had so far recovered as to be able to go to philadelphia to consult her physician. at least she so informed mrs. maroney. before going she walked over to see if mrs. maroney would not accompany her, but found her tired and weary, and in no humor for a ride. she therefore returned to stemples's, hired his team and drove into the city alone. she reported to bangs, and got back in time for supper. in the evening she called on mrs. maroney and had with her a long conversation. what, with rivers and de forest, and madam imbert and miss johnson, very little happened at cox's that was not seen and reported to bangs. mrs. maroney called the property she wished to conceal her own, but we concluded that it was the stolen money. for four days all went quietly in jenkintown; mrs. maroney made no allusions to her property, and passed the greater portion of the day either with madam imbert or with de forest. on the fifth day she received a letter from her husband requesting her to come to new york, and to bring a good philadelphia lawyer with her. she made known to madam imbert, and de forest, the contents of the letter. de forest found that he wanted to go to the city in the morning, and made arrangements to accompany her with his buggy. at her earnest request madam imbert accompanied them. they drove to mitchell's, had some refreshments, and then separated. green, of course, was at mitchell's when they arrived, prepared to follow mrs. maroney. madam imbert went to the merchants's hotel and reported to bangs, while de forest reported to the vice-president. here were two persons acting in the same cause, and yet de forest was profoundly ignorant of madam imbert's true character. mrs. maroney proceeded to a lawyer's office in walnut street. green saw the name on the door, and knew that it was the office of a prominent advocate. i will not mention his name, as it is immaterial. she remained in the office for over an hour, and then returned to mitchell's, where the party had agreed to rendezvous. after dinner they drove back to jenkintown. the following morning the rain poured in torrents, but mrs. maroney took the early train and went to the city, "shadowed" by rivers. at philadelphia he turned her over to the watchful care of green. in camden she was joined by her lawyer, and on arriving in new york went directly with him to the eldridge street jail. all had gone well with white and maroney. they had grown a little more friendly, though white was very unsocial, and seemed to prefer to keep by himself. maroney had got shanks to do several favors for him, and was very thankful for his kindness. shanks was busily employed in carrying letters to white's lawyers, and bringing answers. the reader has already been informed with regard to the character of those communications. white and maroney were engaged in a social game of euchre when mrs. maroney and her lawyer arrived. maroney did not have a very great regard for his wife, but any one, at such a time, would be welcome. he greeted her warmly, shook hands with the lawyer, and requested him to be seated while he held a private conversation with his wife. he drew her to one side, and they had a long, quiet conversation. in about an hour he called his lawyer over, and they consulted together for over two hours. white was miserably situated. he could see all that went on, even to the movement of their lips as they conversed, but could not hear a word. as soon as the interview was over mrs. maroney left the jail--the lawyer remaining behind--went to jersey city, and took the train to philadelphia. green telegraphed bangs that she was returning, and he had rivers at camden to meet the train and relieve green. she arrived in philadelphia too late for the jenkintown train, but hired a buggy at a livery stable, and had a boy drive her out and bring the horse back. rivers was looking around for a conveyance, when a gardener whom he knew, and who lived a few miles beyond jenkintown, drove along. "going out to jenkintown?" he asked. "yes," replied the gardener. "give me a ride?" "of course; jump in." and he was soon being rattled over the pavement in the springless lumber-wagon. he tried to keep up a conversation, but the words were all jostled out of his mouth. the weather had cleared up, and he had a delightful drive out to jenkintown. he stopped the gardener twice on the road and treated him to whisky and cigars, and they arrived shortly after mrs. maroney. "there must be something up," thought he, "or she would not be in such a hurry to get home; what can it be?" in eldridge street jail, one day was nearly a repetition of another. white acted always the same, and said very little to any one except to shanks, whom he always drew to one side when he wished to converse with him. maroney conversed with white a good deal, and was disappointed on finding that he could not play chess. white would occasionally join in a game of cards, but kept separate from the rest of the prisoners as much as possible. he had paid his footing, five dollars, the fee required to gain admission to "_the order_" as the prisoners call it. he found the "order" to be narrowed down to drinkables and smokables for all the prisoners initiated. maroney had joined before, and said to white, "i don't think much of it. these people care for nothing but drinking and eating, while i have something else to think about." by degrees maroney conversed more and more with white; sometimes he would forget and talk loudly. white would look up and say, "hush! walls have ears sometimes, don't talk so loud." at other times he would say, "maroney, i am not a talking man; i keep my own counsel, and have discovered that the worst thing a man can do is to be noisy." maroney would try and mollify him by saying, "oh, pshaw! i didn't say any thing in particular." "you can't tell who the spies are here," white would reply, "do you see those prisoners? well, how do you know but that some of them are spies? i would not trust one of them. i have a big fight under way myself; i know the men who are opposing me will take every advantage, and i propose to keep quiet and wait." maroney would remark, "but no one heard?" "hush," white would whisper, "how many times must i tell you that walls may have ears?" in time he had maroney afraid almost of his own shadow. when white wanted to tell shanks any thing, he would take him by the arm and draw him to one side; his lips would be seen to move, but not a word could be heard. one morning maroney said, "white, i would like to have a boy like yours to attend to my business; he is a good boy, never talks loud, and i could make him useful in many ways." "yes," replied white, dryly, "shanks is a good boy, and minds what i say. suppose they should bring him on the stand to prove i said a certain thing, shanks would be a bad witness, because he never hears any thing i don't want him to." "i see he is shrewd, and i like him for that," said maroney. the days passed slowly away, white always attending to his own business, which seemed very important. one day maroney said to white, "i'm tired, let's take a turn in the hall?" they made several trips, conversing on general topics, when maroney lowered his voice and said: "white, couldn't you and i get out of this jail?" "i have not thought of it, have you?" "yes," answered maroney, eagerly; "all we need is two keys. if we were to get an impression of the lock shanks could have them made, couldn't he?" "yes," replied white, "you can get almost any thing made in new york if you have the money with which to pay for it. but if we made the attempt and failed, what would be the consequences? we should be put down and not allowed out of our cells, and i should be debarred from seeing shanks; so suppose we think it over, and watch the habits of the jailors." every day maroney broached the subject, but white always had some objections to offer, and maroney finally abandoned the project in disgust. there is no doubt but that eldridge street jail at the time could have been easily opened. little by little maroney sought to place more confidence in white, but found his advances always repelled. white would say, "maroney, let every man keep his own secrets, i have all i can do to attend to my own affairs. my lawyer has been to see me and my prospects, as he presents them, are not very flattering. shanks says they are likely to get the better of me if i am not careful. i feel so irritable that i can scarcely bear with any one." maroney was more than ever desirous of talking with him, but white said: "i don't want to talk; let every man paddle his own canoe. if i were out of trouble, it would be a different thing, but my lawyer at present gives me a black lookout." shanks came in and white drew him to one side. they had a long talk and then white paced restlessly up and down the hall. "what's the matter, white? have you bad news?" enquired maroney. "yes, i am deeply in the mire, but let me alone and i'll wriggle myself out." _chapter xxi._ i now determined to strike a blow at maroney. some idea of its power may be gained by imagining how a prisoner would feel upon receiving the news that, while he is languishing in prison, his faithless wife is receiving the unlawful attentions of a young gallant, and that everything indicates that they are about to leave for parts unknown, intending to take all his money and leave him in the lurch. this was exactly the rod i had in pickle for maroney. i applied it through the following letter: "nathan maroney, eldridge street jail, new york: "ha! ha! ha! * * * * your wife and the fellow with the long mustache and whiskers are having a glorious time, driving around in his buggy. "you have heard of sanford? he loves you well. he is the one who moves the automaton with the whiskers and long mustache, and gives _your wife_ a _lover_ in jenkintown. "you should _feel happy_, and so do i. the garden at night; honeyed words; the parting kiss! she loves him well! i _know you are happy_! "good-bye! * * * * revenge!" having written the document, i had it mailed from jenkintown, through the assistance of friend rivers. at jenkintown all was going smoothly. de forest was more loving than ever, and madam imbert found it almost impossible to have a private conversation with mrs. maroney, as she seemed always with him. when de forest came to philadelphia i had it suggested to him that it would be advisable to get mrs. maroney to walk or drive out with him in the evening. he immediately acted on the suggestion, and before long could be found almost every evening with her. mrs. maroney did not again allude to her valuables, and evidently felt perfectly easy in regard to them, considering that she had them safely secreted. one day, while mrs. maroney was in the cellar, madam imbert called. mrs. cox met her and said: "sister is in the cellar; i will call her up." "never mind," remarked the madam, "i'll just run down to her," and stepped towards the cellar door. mrs. cox quickly interposed and said: "oh! no; i will call her!" this little incident showed madam imbert that something was going on which they did not want her to know. mrs. maroney soon came up, said she was delighted to see her, and did not look at all confused. rivers, cox, horton and barclay had formed themselves into a quartette club and were nearly always together. rivers's arm had not healed as yet, and he still wore it in a sling. cox and he were on the best of terms, and the jenkintowners regarded him, as well as the other detectives, as permanent residents. de forest was happy beyond expression, and mrs. maroney seemed equally so. she wrote letters daily to her husband and often spoke of madam imbert and how deeply she felt for her, bowed down with care and alone in the world. she very seldom alluded to de forest and never spoke of his being her constant companion. while all was passing so pleasantly in jenkintown, a terrible scene was being enacted in eldridge street jail. i had not posted white as to my intention of sending the anonymous letter to maroney, as i wished to find what effect maroney's conduct would have on him. the day after rivers had posted the letter, shanks brought it to maroney when he came with the morning's mail. besides my letter there was also one from mrs. maroney. maroney looked at the letters and opened the one from his wife first. he read it, a pleased smile passing over his face, and then laid it down and picked up my letter. he scanned the envelope carefully and then broke the seal. white was watching him and wondered why he examined the letter so closely. as he read, white was astonished to see a look of deep anguish settle on his face. he seemed to be sinking from some terrible blow. he recovered himself, read the letter over and over again, then crushed it in his hand and threw it on the floor. he sprang to his feet and walked rapidly up and down the hall; but returned and picked up the letter before the wily white could manage to secure it. white wondered what it was that troubled maroney. he whispered to shanks: "what the d----l is the matter with maroney? he has received bad news. i should like, in some way, to find out what it is. the old man will be wondering what is in that note, and when i report, will blame me for not finding out." maroney appeared almost crazed. he forced the letter into his pocket and went into his cell without a word; but his face was a terrible index of what was passing in his mind. after a little, white and shanks walked by his cell and saw him lying on the bed, with his face hidden in the clothes. he did not come out for over an hour; but when he did, he _seemed_ perfectly calm. he was very pale, and it was astonishing to see the change wrought in him in so short a time. white met him as he came out, but did not appear to notice any difference in him. "here, maroney, have a cigar; they are a new brand. shanks is a superior judge of cigars. i think these are the best i have yet had, and i believe i will get a box; i can get them for eleven dollars, and they are as good as those they retail at twenty cents a piece." maroney held out his hand mechanically and took one. he put it into his mouth, and without lighting it, commenced to chew it. white, in one of his reports to me, says: "a man often shows his desperation by his desire to get more nicotine than usual." maroney did not converse with white, and only said he wanted to write. he sat down and wrote a note, but immediately tore it up. he wrote and tore up several in this way, but finally wrote one to suit him. white quietly told shanks that when maroney gave him the letter he was writing, he must be sure and see its contents. of course shanks always obeyed orders, and never neglected anything his uncle told him to do, even if it was to forget something that had happened. in this way he was extremely useful. it was getting late, and the jailer had told him two or three times that he must go, but he did not take his departure until maroney had sealed the letter and handed it to him. maroney was in a terrible condition, and white found that it would be impossible to get anything out of him that night, as the whole affair was too fresh in his mind; so he got some brandy he had in his cell, and asked him to take a drink. maroney eagerly swallowed a brimming glassfull, and took four or five drinks in rapid succession. he seemed to suffer terrible anguish, and his whole frame trembled like a leaf. in a few minutes he retired to his cell, evidently determined to seek oblivion in sleep. we will now follow shanks to his hotel, where he is engaged in opening maroney's letter. although the letter was very securely sealed, he accomplished the task without much difficulty, and read as follows: "madam: i have received a strange letter. what does it mean? are you playing false to me? who is this man you have with you? where does he come from? are you such a fool as not to know he is a tool of the adams, and that you are acting with him? i cannot be with you. if i had my liberty i would hurry to your side, snatch you from this villain, and plunge my knife so deep into him that he would never know he had received a blow!!! why are you so foolish? do you love me? you have often said you did. you know i have done all in my power to make you happy, and have placed entire confidence in you. why have you never told me about this man? listen to me, and love me as before, and all will go well. tell me all, 'and tell me it is not so bad as it is told to me!' spurn this scoundrel, and have confidence in me forever!!!" nat. shanks hurriedly copied this letter, and mailed it after making another copy, which he forwarded to me at the same time. in the morning he gave white a copy of the letter, which revealed to him the cause of maroney's anguish. maroney came to white in the morning, and found him moody, and not inclined to talk. still he clung to him as his only hope. it was a strange fascination which white had acquired over maroney. maroney appeared to feel better, although he was still very pale, and seemed to be comforted by white's presence, although he did not say a word about his trouble. we will now make a trip which maroney would like to make, and return to jenkintown. maroney's letter arrived by the five p. m. mail, at jenkintown, the day following the one on which shanks mailed it. in the morning mrs. maroney had spent some time with madam imbert, and then had gone for a drive with de forest. they went to manayunk, had a fish dinner washed down with a bottle of champagne, and drove back as happy and free from care as two children. mrs. maroney left the buggy at cox's at half-past four, and found madam imbert waiting for her. the madam noticed that she was a little exhilarated. after they had conversed for some time she asked mrs. maroney out for a walk, and they strolled leisurely down to the station. the train from philadelphia had just passed through, and mrs. maroney said: "let us walk up to stemples's and see if any letters have come for us." when they reached stemples's, mrs. maroney went in and received a letter. madam imbert was not so fortunate. "oh!" laughed mrs. maroney, "i have seen the time, when i was single, that i would receive half a dozen letters a day; but this is more valuable than them all, as it is from my husband. heigh ho! i wonder what my darling nat. has to say." at the same time she broke the seal, and then proceeded to read the letter. madam imbert walked a little way behind her, as was her habit. she was a very tall, commanding woman, and made this her habit so that she could glance at anything that mrs. maroney might read as they walked along. it was a part of her business, and so she was not to be blamed for it. mrs. maroney flushed at the first word she read, but as she went on her color heightened, until she was red as a coal of fire. "why," she muttered, "nat., you're a d----d fool!" when angered she always used language she had acquired in her former life. madam imbert heard her, and was anxious to see the contents of the letter, but could only catch a word here and there as she looked over mrs. maroney's shoulder. mrs. maroney glanced over the letter hurriedly, and then read it again. she muttered to herself, and the madam hoped she was going to tell her what it was that caused her hard words; but she did not, and soon folded the letter up and put it away. as they neared cox's she said: "please excuse me; i feel unwell, and fear i have been too much in the sun to-day." at this moment de forest walked out of josh.'s. "mrs. maroney," said he, "will you come to the garden this evening?" madam imbert turned to leave. mrs. maroney looked him full in the face with flashing eyes, clenched her little hand, and in a voice hoarse from passion, exclaimed: "what do you want here, you scoundrel?" [illustration: "_mrs. maroney looked him full in the face with flashing eyes, clenched her little hand, and in a voice hoarse from passion, exclaimed: 'what do you want here, you scoundrel?'_"--page .] if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet, de forest could not have been more astonished; he was struck speechless; his powers of articulation were gone. she said not one word more, but stalked into the house and closed the door with a bang that made him jump. madam imbert wended her way to the tavern, but de forest stood for fully two minutes, seemingly deprived of the power of motion. he then darted eagerly toward the door, determined to have an explanation, but was met by josh., who said: "you have done something that has raised the d----l in mrs. maroney, and she will play the deuce with you if you don't clear out. if you try to speak to her, she will pistol you, sure!" "but what have i done?" asked de forest. "it is only an hour since i left her, and we were then on the best of terms. i have _always_ treated her well!" "come, come!" said josh., "don't stand talking here. people will see we are having a fuss." and he took de forest by the arm and led him toward stemples's. madam imbert had met rivers on her way, and sent him to find out how affairs were progressing. he arrived at this moment. "hello," said he to josh., "i was just coming to see you." "yes! you have come at the wrong time. mrs. maroney is as mad as blazes, and would have shot de forest if it had not been for me. i can't tell what for, but, by the eternal, she would have done it!" de forest was all in a maze. he could not imagine what he had done to cause the woman he loved to become so excited as to desire to kill him. they all three went to the hotel, and de forest, although generally not a drinking man, called them all up and treated. the fun of the whole thing was that de forest had not the slightest idea what it was that had caused the trouble. only an hour before she was by his side in the buggy, and they were so happy and so loving! she had been cooing like a turtle dove, and now, "oh, wondrous change," she wished to shoot him. he could not remember having uttered a single word that would wound the most sensitive nature. after tea, madam imbert walked down to cox's, first seeing rivers and directing him to keep a close guard on the house that night, and especially to watch the cellar-window, so as to know if anything took place in the cellar. on arriving at cox's she was shown into mrs. maroney's room. mrs. maroney was in bed, but did not have her clothes off. she had not been crying, but fairly quivered with suppressed excitement. she rose and closed the door, and then burst out with, "why, madam imbert, have you ever heard of so foolish a man as my husband? who knows where de forest comes from? do you?" "no," answered the madam; "he was here when i came. don't you know?" "no. all i know is that i became acquainted with him here, when i first came, and i found him so serviceable that i kept up the acquaintance; but," she broke out in a wild, excited manner, "d--n him! i'll put a ball through him if he dares to injure me." "keep cool, keep cool! what does it matter? you are excited; it is a bad time to talk," urged madam imbert. "but i must talk: i shall suffocate if i don't. madam imbert, i must tell you all." "no! you must not talk now. calm yourself! you must keep cool! think of your poor husband languishing in prison, and remember that any false move of yours may prove to his disadvantage." "but what makes him charge me with receiving improper attentions from de forest? i know i have sometimes been foolish with him, but he is soft and i have moulded him to my purpose. he has been my errand-boy, nothing more; and now my husband thinks me untrue to him, when i would gladly die for him, if it would help him. it is too hard to bear, too hard!!" madam imbert had had the forethought to bring a bottle of brandy with her, so she advised: "don't make things worse than they are; you had better say no more until morning. here, have a little brandy; i saw you were nervous, and so brought a bottle with me; take some, and then go to bed. after a good sound sleep you will be able to see your way much clearer than now." "oh, thank you," said mrs. maroney, as she eagerly seized the glass and gulped down a large quantity. madam imbert started to leave. "please don't go yet; i must tell you all," pleaded mrs. maroney. "wait till to-morrow," said madam imbert, "it is a bad time to talk." "madam imbert, you are now my only friend, and i would like to have your opinion as to who it is that is writing these letters about me to my husband. if i knew the dirty dog, i would put a ball through him. i am not fairly treated. i am maroney's wife, and he should not believe such slanders against me. as long as i live i will do all i can for him." "mrs. maroney," said madam imbert, getting up, "i must not listen to you; i will go." "please don't! who can it be that is writing these reports from jenkintown?" again enquired mrs. maroney. "that is a point upon which it is hard for me to enlighten you," replied the madam; "it might be barclay or some of josh.'s friends. josh. is a good clever fellow, for a brother-in-law, but i would not trust him too much; he is a little inclined to talk, and barclay may have drawn something from him and written to your husband; i know de forest don't like him." "i will see josh. at once, and find out about this barclay," said mrs. maroney. "you had better wait till morning," said madam imbert, as she rose to leave the room; "i must go to bed, and you had better follow my example." mrs. maroney began to show the effects of the brandy she had been drinking, but she took madam imbert's arm and went to the door with her. it was now ten o'clock, but she requested the madam to take a turn in the garden with her. they had hardly taken two steps before mrs. maroney stumbled over a man concealed at the side of the house. it was rivers, but he was up and off before the frightened ladies had a chance to see him. madam imbert screamed lustily, although she well knew who it was. "d----n him," said mrs. maroney, "that's that de forest; i will kill him, sure! what was he doing here?" madam imbert remarked that it was either he or barclay. "i know what he is looking after," said mrs. maroney; "i see through the whole thing! de forest is a tool of the vice-president; he thinks he has got my secrets, but i'll be after him yet." her voice was hoarse and dry, and plainly showed the effects of the brandy. madam imbert walked out of the garden and went to the tavern, while mrs. maroney went into the house. rivers, when he was disturbed in his watching of the cellar window, rushed straight to stemples's, where he found barclay, horton and cox. "how do you do, boys?" said he, "come and have a drink; i have just come in from seeing my girl; she is a good one, and i think will make me happy; had a long walk, though; over two miles, and i think i deserve a glass." josh. was telling about mrs. maroney's quarrel. rivers heard him patiently through, and they had two or three drinks, when mrs. cox stalked into the room. all the women in jenkintown seemed on the rampage, at least all those we are dealing with. "josh., you lazy, good for nothing fellow, i have been looking all over the village for you!" "why, you ought to know you could find me here," said josh. "come home at once; sister wants you to watch the house to-night! some one has been lurking around there, and she wants you to find out who it is." "well," said josh., carelessly, "i'll come." rivers now spoke up: "i am not very busy just now, and i will watch with you." "will you?" said mrs. cox, in a pleased tone; "would be much obliged to you if you would; josh. has been drinking so much that i can't place much reliance on him." "certainly," said rivers, and the trio started for the scene of action. mrs. maroney was in bed when they arrived, but she hastily rose and came to the door in her night dress. "now, josh.," she commanded, "i want you to keep a close watch, and if de forest, or any one else comes by the cellar-window, just you think they are coming to rob your house, and fire! here is my revolver." "i will take care of that," said rivers, "i am going to stay up and watch with josh." "oh, thank you! josh., you had better let mr. rivers have the revolver." she went in, and josh. turned the revolver over to rivers. they then secreted themselves where they could see any one coming into the yard. in less than an hour josh. was snoring. at three in the morning rivers roused him up, got him into the house, and then, thoroughly tired out, started for home. _chapter xxii._ in the morning jenkintown enjoyed the calm that always follows the storm. madam imbert called on mrs. maroney, and found her suffering from a severe headache. she said she feared she had taken too much champagne the day before, and believed that de forest had attempted to get her drunk. she could not imagine why he watched the house. she was bound to have nothing more to do with him, as she was certain he was a tool of the express company. "and yet," she said, "i thought he was a man above that sort of business! i thought he would disdain to sell himself for such a purpose." madam imbert advised her to be patient, and to be careful not to do de forest an injustice by judging him wrongfully. "you don't know," she remarked, "but that he really loves you, and was only trying to see if you were receiving other company." they conversed for some time on the subject, and madam imbert finally found that mrs. maroney was very much inclined to take her view of the subject. she said she really thought de forest loved her, and perhaps she had been too hasty with him. it was madam imbert's best plan to take this course, as it would show what a disinterested friend she was. she wanted to keep watch on cox's house, but in such a manner as not to excite suspicion. mrs. maroney said she would write to nat. and explain the matter, but said she would like to find out who had written to her husband. madam imbert and she cogitated over the subject for some time, but could not decide upon any particular person. finally mrs. maroney concluded she would take a nap, as she thought she would feel much brighter afterwards. she said she would write to her husband the first thing after dinner, and asked the madam to call a little later and take a walk with her. de forest remained in the hotel all the morning. he did not call on mrs. maroney, and vainly puzzled his brain to determine the cause of her excitement. he came into the bar-room, where he found rivers, as serene as ever, and willing to console any one. in a few minutes josh., horton and barclay arrived. the _posse_ talked over the trouble of the preceding night, and de forest hoped that, as josh. had come from the scene of action, he would be able to enlighten him as to the cause of mrs. maroney's strange conduct. but cox was as much at a loss to account for her passion as he. said he: "all i know is that she is a regular tartar, and no mistake! whew! didn't she rave though?" the vice-president and i received the reports in philadelphia, and had a quiet laugh over them. all was working to suit us. in the afternoon madam imbert walked out with mrs. maroney, who had just finished her letter to her husband. as they walked along she said, "i told my husband that i knew nothing about the man with the long mustache further than that he was living in jenkintown before i left the south; that when i first arrived here he did several kind things for me, and had driven me into philadelphia a few times when i could not get the train, but that you, madam imbert, had always accompanied me. i spoke of you as a perfect lady, and as being a true friend of mine, and that you often cautioned me against talking too much. i said that if it was de forest he alluded to, i was perfectly safe in his company. i asked him if he thought it likely that i, whose interests were identical with his, would be likely to prove untrue to him, and told him he might rest perfectly assured that i would do nothing without his knowledge and consent." they walked to stemples's and posted the letter. on the way they met de forest, but mrs. maroney took no notice of him. after mailing the letter, they strolled through the pleasure grounds for some time. at last they separated, each taking their respective way home. at the tavern madam imbert was met by de forest, who requested a private interview. she readily consented, and, after tea, met him in the sitting-room. de forest related his sorrowful story, and asked her if she knew what had caused mrs. maroney to treat him so harshly. she said, "these things will happen once in a while; it is part of a woman's nature to take sudden and unaccountable freaks; but all will be right by-and-by." she quoted scott's beautiful lines: "o woman! in our hours of ease uncertain, coy and hard to please, and variable as the shade by the light quivering aspen made: when pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering angel thou--" de forest fervently hoped that, as she had brought "pain and anguish" to his brow, she would now become his "ministering angel," and went off somewhat comforted. madam imbert saw mrs. maroney in the evening and told her of the interview with de forest. this made her feel quite happy, and she even remarked: "i think i have been too hard on the poor fellow." white and maroney were together when mrs. maroney's letter arrived. maroney read it carefully through and then went to his cell. in the afternoon, white observed him writing and directed shanks to open the letter when he received it. shanks did so and found it was to his wife. he wrote that he was happy to hear that she was still true to him, and to find that he had been deceived. he felt assured that the blow must have been aimed by some of his enemies. if he were at liberty he would find the man, but as he was not he would have to wait. he directed her to endeavor to find out who had sent the letter. as she assured him she would do nothing without his approval, he was contented. when i received a copy of his letter, i was convinced that he was trying to make the best of a bad bargain. he could not be spared from eldridge street jail just at that time and had to trust his wife whether he would or not. white and he lived quietly together. he told white that he was confined at the instigation of the adams express, who accused him of stealing fifty thousand dollars from them. "but, of course," said he, "i am innocent!" still, as i have before mentioned, he was anxious to break jail--an unusual inclination for an innocent man. about this time he happened to read in the papers an account of a robbery in tennessee, in which a description of the stolen money and bills was given. as he and white were walking in the hall, he said to white: "white, i wonder if it would not be a good move to try some game in my case? of course, i am innocent! i think the messenger, chase, the guilty party, and i want to arrange some plan to throw suspicion on him or some one else; but (in an amusing tone) there is no one else. chase received the money from me and put it into the pouch! still, i can't prove this, as there were no witnesses. it will be my oath against his, and as the company have taken his part, he will have the best of it. it is a strange affair. chase was at the counter checking off the packages as i put them in the pouch. he now says that he did not see all the packages, as they went in so quickly that he had all he could do to check them off. strange, indeed! if i were checking off packages of such large amounts i think i should be likely to look at them, don't you? i wish in some way to prove chase dishonest. at present it is even between us, but the company support him and leave me in the lurch." "yes," said white, "it is just about as you say, an even thing between you; but the company have undoubtedly sided with chase because you have the most money, and they think they can recover the amount from you or from your friends! but i don't see how you can clear yourself. if chase only swears he did not receive the money, it will go hard with you." white thought that now maroney would propose to him to get shanks to have some duplicate keys of the company's pouch made; but apparently he did not yet feel fully certain that he could trust white. he broached the subject several times, but finally dropped it altogether. a few days after, maroney had another talk with white and treated him with much more confidence than before. white said little, and was a good man to talk to. maroney made no admissions, but all his expressions and manners showed guilt. white at least did not accept them as showing his innocence. he always pointed to chase as the guilty party. maroney frequently brought up his troubles as a topic of conversation with white; but white was professedly so employed with his own business that he said but little. all that maroney said to him seemed to go in at one ear and out at the other. when he made a remark it was a casual one and had no bearing on the subject. this caused maroney to talk still more, devising plans for throwing suspicion on chase. white casually said: "what sort of a man is chase? a smart, shrewd fellow who would pick up a money package if he saw it lying handy, and dispose of it?" "no," replied maroney, slowly weighing every word. "i don't think he would. he is a pretty fair man; but the company have no right to make him a witness against me!" "who are his friends?" enquired white. "his father lives in georgia; he is a whole-souled old planter; has a good many slaves; but his property is much encumbered. chase is a good fellow after all!" "by-the-by," asked white, "does he ever go to see the fancy girls?" "yes, he does, occasionally," answered maroney. "would it not be a good plan to take four or five thousand dollars and get the girls to stuff it into his pants pocket; then get him drunk, and as he started away have some detective arrest him?" "yes," answered maroney, "it might be done, and gus mcgibony is the man to do it. he is a good friend of mine. if i were only out, i might do something. white, your idea is a good one, you are a splendid contriver; but i must find some one to carry out the plan. i have friends in montgomery, and i think charlie may would help me. no, he is too much under the influence of his wife! patterson would help me some; but i think porter is the best man for me!" "porter? who is he?" "he is the clerk of the exchange hotel," said maroney. "he would be a good man for you if you can trust him." "i know i can do that! he would do anything in the world for me." "he is just the man to be familiar with the girls. clerks at hotels always are. girls must often stop at the hotel, and he might arrange to get chase into a room with one of them, and then the rest could be easily accomplished. does chase board at the exchange?" "yes," answered maroney. "white, you're a genius! i have a good mind to write to porter at once and lay your plan before him." white looked at him in astonishment. "are you crazy?" said he; "would you trust such matters on paper? i _never_ do." "you are right again," exclaimed maroney. they talked the affair over for several days, the trouble being to get a proper person to act as a go-between to arrange matters with porter. maroney asked white why he could not trust shanks. "you could; but the trouble is he has never been in the south." "that would make but little difference." "no, now i think of it, i don't know as it would. he would only have to carry the messages, and shanks always obeys orders." "well, i will think it over," remarked maroney; and the matter dropped, he evidently fearing that shanks would get the money and clear out. one day he said: "white, i wonder if the express company would not settle the matter with me? i am not guilty of the theft, but things look blue for me. i have some money, and i think i will make a proposition to them." "you could not do a more foolish thing; they would at once conclude that you were certainly guilty, and make you suffer for it," argued white. white kept me informed of all that went on, and i had instructed him that we would make no compromise. the company did not care so much for the money, as of making an example of the guilty party. that would show the other employés what would be their fate if they were caught in similar peculations. about this time maroney's brother came to new york, from danielsville. he was a man of good standing, well-meaning, and honest in his intentions. maroney had looked anxiously for his coming, as he supposed his brother would be able to effect his release on bail. he knew that his brother alone could not make the bail-bond good, as one hundred thousand dollars is a large sum to be raised, but supposed that by his influence he might get others to sign with him. i placed "shadows" on his brother's track, and they, with white on the inside, and shanks on the outside, kept me fully informed of what he was intending to do. he appeared to feel very bad at finding his brother in jail, and evinced a desire to do all he could for him. he had a long interview with maroney and his lawyer, but everything appeared against him. maroney's brother had no property in new york, and the only way he could raise the necessary bail was by giving a mortgage on his property as security to some man in new york, and have him go on the bond. the matter was well canvassed between them, but finally, like all the other plans devised to effect his release, was abandoned as impracticable. the brother did not like to procure bail in this way, for if he did, and maroney should run away, the adams express would prosecute the bondsmen, who in turn would foreclose the mortgage, and in all likelihood become the owners of his property. he would do a great deal for his brother, but felt that this was asking too much. his duty to his family would not permit him to run so great a risk, and he therefore returned home without accomplishing the object of his visit. so far, all my schemes had proved successful. white had weakened maroney's confidence in his friends. i wanted him to see and feel that all those whom he considered his friends before the jail door closed upon him, were so no longer. one by one he saw them abandon him to his fate, till he had no one left on whom to rely, but white. his brother had come and gone without accomplishing anything. he feared that even his wife was untrue to him, and that she, instead of proving a safe guardian for his property, might at any moment leave with de forest and the money. his wife had often spoken of a madam imbert, but he had never seen her, and knew not whether she was to be trusted. from his wife's correspondence, he was disposed to think favorably of her, and several times was on the point of sending word to his wife to pay him a visit and bring madam imbert with her. but what good would it do? after all, it was better to trust white. one day white turned to maroney, after writing several letters and holding a long interview with shanks, and said: "maroney, i think i can procure bail. my lawyers have been working hard in my behalf, and one of them went to st. louis to see my prosecutors. he found they would do nothing unless they got all their money back. of course i could not give them that," said he with a wink, "as i haven't it; and so my lawyer was unable to do anything for me. shanks, however, has just been in, and he has not been idle during the five days he has been absent. he has made arrangements with a party to go my bail, provided i will advance a considerable sum as security. nothing is needed now but security, and i think i can manage it. i can give them some money, and they will then manage to get me out on straw bail. i can then loaf around town, enjoying myself, and if i cannot compromise the matter, or if i think that the trial will go against me, i can run away. in this way i shall lose my security, and my bondsmen will have to fight the bond; but still," said he, with a chuckle, the keen yankee showing out, "but still i shall not do so badly, after all, as i shall have about twenty thousand dollars left to begin business with in a new place." maroney was more than ever impressed with his ability, and began to think that white was now his only true friend, and the best man to help him out of his difficulty. he had now been in jail several months, and it was time to get matters fixed up. why could he not trust white to help him? he was a good contriver, and apparently could be trusted. still it would not do to be too certain, so he would quietly feel his way along. he gradually broached the subject to white by saying, "white, i feel very bad at the idea of your leaving me; after you go, all my friends will be away from me. i might rely on porter's help, or perhaps on patterson's. mcgibony is a good fellow, and would willingly help me, but i can't trust him too far, as he could be easily pumped. moreover, the great trouble is, that they are all down south. i can not take my wife from jenkintown, and yet i feel as though the adams express were watching her. what must i do? you are a keen fellow; can't you help me when you get out? i have some money of my own, and i would gladly pay you for your trouble." "well," said white, "i shall have all i can do to attend to my own business for the first four or five days i am out, but after that i might help you. i don't know as i shall be able to do you any good, but if i make an effort, we must have a clear understanding that my connection with the matter must never be known. if i wish to communicate with you i will send shanks, who will be at once admitted to see you as an old friend. if i were you, i would not talk to any of your new york friends about it. they don't seem to care much for you, and very seldom come to see you. your lawyer is not doing much for you, and it would be just as well not to let him into the secret either. above all, you must not let your wife or madam imbert know any thing about it. i have had much trouble once or twice through women, and have determined never again to trust them. it is utterly impossible for a woman to keep a secret. she may love you to distraction, but confide a secret to her and she is never satisfied till she divulges it." maroney eagerly listened to all white had to say, and then replied: "white, depend upon it, you are the right man for me! if you will only figure for me as well as you have done for yourself, you will have me out of jail in a very short time." "what do you want me to undertake?" "the first thing is to carry out the plan you proposed the other day--of placing the money on chase's person. i will make the blow more telling by getting you to have a key made similar to the pouch-key, and putting it into his pocket at the same time. i have a fine drawing of the key and you can easily have it made. i know chase is the guilty party, and this move will exonerate me and bring the proper person to justice. i am sorry for chase, but he can't expect me to suffer for his crime. i will furnish you the necessary money to put into his pocket, and give you a letter to gus. mcgibony, who will arrest chase at the proper moment." "that's easily arranged," said white, "and mcgibony need not know any thing about the dodge. i shall need him only to make the arrest at the moment when the girl gives me the wink. the worst of the thing is, we shall be compelled to have a woman in the case any way; but i am acquainted with a splendid looking girl here, who may, perhaps, keep her mouth shut. i will send her to montgomery, get her into the exchange hotel, and she will soon manage to draw chase into her room. when he goes in i will get mcgibony and have him arrested and searched as soon as he gets to his own room." "capital! capital!!" said maroney, jumping up and walking across the hall, rubbing his hands with glee. "white, if you succeed in this i will pay you well for it." "what kind of money was it the company lost?" asked white. "oh! of course i don't know; i never saw it!" quickly answered maroney, at the same time looking into white's face with an expression in his eye which showed that he wished to read his inmost thoughts. white took no notice of this look, but went on with apparent unconcern. "well, one of the first things we must do is to find out what kind of money was stolen from the express company, procure bills of the same kind, and when they are found on chase, he is gone, and his conviction is certain." "yes! yes!" muttered maroney, as the thought flashed through his mind, "can he really suspect me of having stolen the money?" "yes, it would be a good plan. you might find out what banks the company received the money from and get some of their bills! it is a good thing to look after, any way." maroney was not fully prepared to trust white, although he would eventually have to do it. if he had been scanned by a close observer, there would have been discovered in his mind a doubt of white's fealty, caused by the home-thrust he gave when he asked about the money. _chapter xxiii._ at jenkintown all was well. mrs. maroney had made up with de forest and his present happiness was so great that he had entirely forgotten his past sorrow. he was very fond of flora and enjoyed walking with her, especially when her mother was along. madam imbert sometimes drove into philadelphia with mrs. maroney to do shopping, and de forest was always their coachman. mrs. maroney was loyal to a promise she had made her husband, and never went out driving with de forest unaccompanied by madam imbert. de forest had only one seat to his buggy, and it was rather irksome to be conveying two ladies around all the time. he had but little room, seated between them, and as the weather was warm, he was often very uncomfortable. he was tall, and his knees were jammed closely against the dash-board; but he bore all the inconvenience manfully. it was always their custom to drive to mitchell's when they went to the city. the ladies would alight here, while de forest would stable his horses. at dinner time they would meet again and drive home. one day, while in the city, madam imbert said to mrs. maroney: "wait here a few minutes for me, i want to get some money changed." she left mrs. maroney at mitchell's and walked to third street. here she went into a bank and drew five hundred dollars i had left there for her and came out. she then walked up third street and went into the office of miller bros., brokers, where she had the money changed into eastern funds. mrs. maroney was smart. she had followed closely after madam imbert and acted the part of a "shadow." as the latter came out of the brokers' office and approached the corner of chestnut street, mrs. maroney met her. "i am glad to meet you," said she; "i am on my way to second street to get some goods. did you get your money changed?" madam imbert was prepared. "yes," said she, "but i did not have much. i have the most of my money in a safe place. at the third street bank, they told me they did not have any eastern funds and looked very queerly at me, so i went to the brokers' office and they finally changed it. a person has to be cautious, as it is sometimes very difficult to succeed. people ask questions at times that it is impossible for one to answer. you have never had to do so much in this way as i have! have you?" "no!" replied mrs. maroney, coloring deeply; "but i suppose i shall have to learn! i will tell you a secret of mine some time. you may be of great use to me, will you help me if you can?" "yes," said madam imbert, recalling her poor husband languishing in confinement. "your husband is like mine, both are in prison. i feel strongly drawn toward you and will do all i can for you. oh! why can't i succeed in getting my darling free!" they had reached the dry-goods store and went in to make their purchases. i was desirous of impressing upon mrs. maroney the difficulties in the way of changing money, and my plan was successful beyond my expectations. she saw the trouble madam imbert had at the bank and at the brokers, and learned that bankers and brokers were liable to ask very pointed questions when changing money. if she had any idea of changing her stolen money she might be frightened out of it, and prefer to rely for assistance on madam imbert, who seemed an experienced hand. after they had made their purchases the ladies returned to mitchell's and were driven home by de forest. madam imbert spent the evening with mrs. maroney, but nothing of interest transpired. a day or two after, as they were seated in the garden, mrs. maroney took madam imbert partially into her confidence and gave her a sketch of her life, which, it must be confessed, as narrated by her, made her appear very pure and spotless. she said that maroney met her a heart-broken widow, and that she married him only to prevent him from committing suicide, so desperately smitten was he; that they came to montgomery, where maroney was appointed agent of the adams express--a very lucrative position--and then continued: "maroney had a good deal of money of his own, but did not talk much about it, in fact kept it a secret from every one but me. no one is obliged to state what he is worth. he was a very kind-hearted man and fairly idolized my little flora. he was making arrangements to buy a plantation and a lot of slaves; had made money buying and selling horses, and owned a large interest in a livery stable in montgomery. on a trip he made to the north he purchased a fast horse named "yankee mary," and used to take me out for a drive every day. nat. is one of the best men that ever lived, but he is a little inclined to be careless. we were as happy and contented as could be, when--oh! unfortunate day for us!--the adams express was robbed and my husband was accused of the theft. he was arrested in montgomery, but liberated on small bail. soon afterward i came north on a visit, and when he came to bring me home he was arrested in new york and thrown into prison. i immediately went south, sold all his property and secreted the money about me, so that the adams express would not get hold of it. i have now the money secreted here; but there have been a great many small burglaries committed around here, and i am in constant dread of its being stolen. i don't dare leave jenkintown for a night, and fervently wish my husband were out of jail to take care of it. what do you do with your money, madam imbert?" "i take care of it in various ways. sometimes i carry large amounts concealed on my person; but the last time i was away i placed the most of it in a safe place." "i wish i knew of a safe place. if my husband were only out, he would soon find one," remarked mrs. maroney. "what are his prospects for getting out?" asked the madam. "well, i don't know, indeed; he is sometimes hopeful, sometimes in despair; he has been writing me lately of a friend of his named white, who was imprisoned a day or two after him. white has managed to make arrangements to effect his own release on bail, and when he gets out, has promised to assist nat." "if white managed to get himself out, i should think him just the man to assist your husband," said madam imbert. "nat. thinks so too; but he probably will not decide on any plan until white gets out, when they together may do something." a day or two after this long conversation, mrs. maroney again alluded to the robberies taking place in jenkintown, and expressed much anxiety for the safety of her treasure. madam imbert informed her that she expected a friend of hers to come in a day or two to exchange some money for her. she had to have some to send to her husband's lawyer, who was making every effort to effect his release. "if your money is bulky, from being in bills of small denominations, he might exchange it for you and give you large bills, which you could easily carry with you. i have transacted a good deal of business with him, and have always found him careful and honest. if you wish, i will introduce you to him." mrs. maroney was always very suspicious, and her fears were somewhat aroused by the proposition. "what sort of a man is he?" she inquired. "i know nothing further of him than what i have told you; he has always acted honestly with me." "could you not manage to have the money exchanged for me without my being known in the transaction?" asked mrs. maroney. "yes, i could, but it would be better for you to see him." "oh, no; there is no necessity of his knowing me. you can introduce me as a friend, if you like, but get the money changed as if it were your own, and pay him well for it." "just as you please," answered the madam. mrs. maroney wished in this way to compromise madam imbert, and get her into the same boat with maroney and her. i was doing everything possible to bring out the money, and was able to protect my detectives. i had placed tempting bait for both maroney and his wife, and they were nibbling strongly. my anglers were experts, and would soon hook their fish, and after playing them carefully would land them securely. mrs. maroney's confidence in madam imbert increased daily, until finally she said to her: "madam imbert, you would do me a great favor if you would take charge of some money packages i have. you could put them in a safe place, and let me have small amounts now and then, as i needed them. when my husband gets out we can use the money; but now we do not need it. the adams express might find out i have money, and they might try to get possession of it. it is not theirs, but they would make trouble for me if they could." "no," replied the madam, "that i could not do. i don't want to be bothered with other people's money. i have enough trouble with my own. if i should take yours, i should never have any rest, fearing it might be stolen; and if it should be, i could never forgive myself. no, it is better for you to take care of it. i will advise you all i can, but cannot take the responsibility of protecting your property." mrs. maroney wrote to her husband and asked his advice. she informed him that she had followed madam imbert and had discovered her exchanging money, thus proving that she was telling the truth; and now she knew she could trust her. she spoke of the madam's refusal to take charge of the money, but said she had agreed to get it exchanged, and asked him what she had better do. maroney talked the affair over with white, and asked his opinion as to the best course to pursue. "she may do very well," said he, "but i don't know as i would trust her. you never saw her. she may be a first-rate woman, or she may be the opposite. if i were in your place i should wish to see her before i trusted her. it would be well to have your wife bring her to the jail to see you. some women are smart, and she may be. as a general thing women are very good as playthings, but trusting them is an entirely different matter." maroney carefully considered the matter, and finally wrote to his wife, directing her to induce madam imbert to accompany her to eldridge street jail, as he wanted to see her and judge of her character before trusting her too far. on receipt of this letter, mrs. maroney called on madam imbert, said she was going to new york to see her husband, and asked the madam to accompany her. she said they would have a pleasant trip, and return home the same evening. de forest came up at this moment, and interrupted the conversation. "good morning, ladies," said he gaily, "i have come to ask you to take a fish-dinner with me at manayunk." madam imbert declined the invitation, but mrs. maroney concluded to go, and started off with the happy de forest. madam imbert returned to stemples's, hired his team, and drove into the city. she reported to me, and asked for instructions about going to new york with mrs. maroney. i told her to go; gave her full instructions, and then had an interview with the vice-president. i told him that all was working well, and received his congratulations. everything seemed auspicious, and pointed to speedy success. it was true that a good deal of money was being spent, but there was no other way to carry the matter to a successful termination. madam imbert returned to jenkintown in time for supper, and, after a hearty meal, called at cox's. she found no one at home but mrs. cox and the children. mrs. cox said her sister had not returned from her ride, and she feared that she must have met with some accident. madam imbert conversed with her until between eight and nine, when josh. and rivers came in. mrs. cox said, "josh., mrs. maroney has not reached home yet. i fear she has met with some accident." "hasn't she? well, i'll go and hunt her up. come along, rivers." "josh., you good for nothing fellow. you must wait here; don't you know you should not leave the house unguarded at this time?" "oh!" thought madam imbert, "danger in leaving the house, eh! so there are two more in the secret,--josh. and his wife!" josh. said he would only step down the road, and would soon return. nine o'clock came, but no mrs. maroney or de forest. madam imbert did not know what to make of it, and began to think something unusual was under way. she arose to leave, but mrs. cox said: "please don't leave me alone. josh. will soon be back. won't you stay down and watch the house, while i put the children to bed? flora is asleep, and i am lonesome. i do wish that shiftless fellow would come home." "i am very tired," remarked madam imbert, preparing to leave, "and am afraid the tavern will be closed, as it is getting late; but i will see if i can find josh., and send him home." "if you don't find him, please come back," pleaded mrs. cox. "well, i'll do that," said she, going out. she walked to stemples's, and without going into the bar-room, where she knew she would find josh., went to her room and instructed miss johnson to find rivers and tell him to keep josh. for an hour. she then returned to cox's. miss johnson found that rivers was with josh., barclay and horton, in the bar-room. she walked by the door, and, unobserved by the others, gave rivers a signal to come out. he slipped out, and as he passed her she said: "rivers, keep cox for an hour," and in a second he was back calling for more drinks, and getting off jokes which brought down roars of laughter. _chapter xxiv._ mrs. cox was very much pleased when madam imbert returned, and started up stairs to put the children to bed. there was not a moment to lose. as soon as they left the room madam imbert rushed to the outer door and listened. she was satisfied. no one was coming, and so, grasping a lamp, she went down into the cellar. her quick eye took in every thing at a glance, but she could discover nothing out of the way. the floor was a common earthen one, but no signs of recent digging were to be seen. she pitched in, and for a few moments worked like a trojan; she removed and replaced all the barrels, crocks, dishes, everything under which articles might possibly be concealed, but found nothing. she again searched carefully over the floor, and in the centre of the cellar saw slight signs of where the ground might have been lately dug up, and the soil carefully replaced. she knelt down to examine it more carefully, when she heard the rumbling of wheels. she sprang to her feet and rushed up stairs. she was none too soon, as she was hardly seated before mrs. maroney came in. she was greatly surprised to see madam imbert, and exclaimed: "what! you here? it is rather late for you to be out, is it not?" madam imbert saw at once that she was slightly intoxicated. she replied: "yes indeed it is! i found your sister all alone, and she begged me to stay until she got the children in bed." mrs. cox came in at this moment, looking very angry. "where have you been all this time? you ought to know better than to leave me all alone. josh. has gone out with rivers, and i believe they must be drinking. i am angry with rivers. josh. is getting to drink more than ever since he came here. it is too bad in you to stay away so long! i had to beg madam imbert to stay with me, and flora has just gone to bed crying for her ma!" "madam imbert, i am very sorry i have been the cause of your late stay," said mrs. maroney. then, pointing to some dirt on the madam's dress--which had come from the cellar--she exclaimed: "what's that on your dress?" madam imbert looked carelessly at it, and said: "why, i thought i had brushed that all off! when i was out looking for josh. i stumbled and gave my knee a terrible wrench." then glancing at the clock, she said: "why, how late it is! miss johnson will think that i am lost. good night!" "no, don't go yet; have a little brandy? it will do you good, as the air is quite chilling. do you know that de forest is a very fine fellow? i have a much higher opinion of him than ever before." she got the brandy and partially filled a tumbler with it. madam imbert just touched the liquor with her lips, and then passed it back to mrs. maroney, who drained the glass at a single draught. "you are doing wrong," remarked the madam; "you should remember your promise to your husband." "well, i shall not be going to-morrow. i shall suffer for this by having a severe head-ache. was any one with you, down here, while sister was putting the children to bed?" asked mrs. maroney, looking full into madam imbert's face, but she saw nothing suspicious there. "no," answered madam imbert, as innocently as a lamb. the two ladies walked out of the house together, and mrs. maroney accompanied the madam a short distance up the street, when they met josh. and rivers. mrs. maroney went home with josh., and madam imbert told rivers to keep watch on cox's house, as something was in the wind. rivers informed her she would have to hurry back to the town, as stemples would soon close up for the night. rivers passed slowly around the house. he knew that josh. had taken enough to make him sleep well, and that mrs. maroney was in about the same condition, so that mrs. cox was the only one he had to fear. after a while he crawled close up to the cellar window. he heard an animated conversation going on inside, but could not distinguish the words. some one closed a door with a bang, and all sound ceased. he looked up and noticed a light pouring through a narrow window, which he knew lighted a closet opening off from the sitting-room. he climbed up to it and saw, what was to him at least, an amusing scene. josh., his wife, and mrs. maroney, were seated in the room. mrs. maroney looked as though in a violent passion, and plainly showed that she had been drinking. josh. was making desperate efforts to look and act perfectly sober, but in spite of his efforts he would occasionally give a loud hiccough, while mrs. cox sat bolt upright in her chair, looking in sober disgust on both of them. rivers, in his new position, could see and hear all that was going on. mrs. maroney was talking in an excited manner. "what brought that madam imbert here to-night? i am suspicious of that woman. she is very smart, and i saw dirt on her dress. it seems plain to me that she has been in the cellar, and down on her knees. what made you go up stairs and leave her here all alone?" "you have confidence in her, but you have been drinking, and that makes you suspicious," replied mrs. cox. "how dare you talk to me in this way?" yelled mrs. maroney. "i know my business! you know why i am living here, and supporting you and your worthless, good for nothing vagabond of a husband. he could never earn a living for himself, to say nothing of taking care of a family. all i want you to do is to obey me and keep your mouths shut, and i will pay you well for it; josh. is always drunk and blabbing about." josh. attempted to say something. "hold your tongue, you fool! you are so drunk now you don't know what you are doing!" "why," said cox, "i did take a drop too much, but i don't believe i have taken half so much as you!" in a second mrs. maroney grasped a pitcher and smashed it over josh.'s skull! mrs. cox sprang to assist her husband. for a moment there was a lively time, and the prospects were good for a regular scene, but quiet was soon restored, and josh., muttering, went off to bed. [illustration: _in a second, mrs. maroney grasped a pitcher and smashed it over josh.'s skull._--page .] "i must go into the cellar the first thing in the morning," said mrs. maroney. "don't look at me in that way; my faculties are all clear. no one must go into it until i come down, as i want it to remain just as it is. i am suspicious of that madam imbert. there was no necessity of her being here so late, or of your leaving her alone, you fool! be sure, now, not to let any one go down!" mrs. maroney then took a lamp and started for her room. rivers listened for some time, and finding all quiet, went up to stemples's. he saw a light in madam imbert's room, and after listening around, and finding no one stirring, he went quietly under her window and threw some dirt against the panes. the light in the room was instantly turned down. soon afterward, the window was noiselessly raised, and madam imbert poked her head out. "who's there?" she asked, in a low tone. "rivers," he replied; "like to see you; important." "wait," said she; "i will be with you at the front door directly." she was acquainted with all the modes of egress, and threading her way through the darkness, soon stood with rivers in front of the house. he reported all that had taken place. madam imbert said: "i think it is all right, but still i may be mistaken, and we must be sure. can't you find some way to get into the cellar? there is a small window, about two feet by thirteen inches, which you might remove, and gain access in that way. it will be light at four o'clock; it is now twelve, and every one at cox's will be sound asleep at that time. you can then slip in, and if i have disarranged anything, put it to rights. be sure not to get caught!" "i will certainly do it," said rivers, as he started to return to cox's. during his absence some one had set loose a dog that cox owned. it was a miserable cur, but was long-winded, like its master, and possessed of good barking qualities. rivers got well concealed, but the dog was after him--bark, bark, bark; he tried all he could to quiet him, but could not. soon a neighboring dog commenced to howl; then another, and another, until all the dogs in the village had joined in a grand chorus. he did not know what to do. he was concealed by the side of a fence, but did not dare strike the dog, which kept a few paces from him, barking incessantly. mrs. maroney heard the noise, and opening her window, said; "sic, sic; good fellow, sic." rivers jumped up and got the dog to follow him until he reached a field some distance from the house, when, with a well-directed throw he stunned him with a large stone, and soon stamped all life out of him. he then took the "melancholy remains," placed them at barclay's door, and returned to cox's, where he found all quiet. he returned to his old position and remained until day began to dawn. at dawn he crawled to the window, easily removed it, and slipped into the cellar. he examined everything carefully, found some marks on the floor where barrels had been removed, and in less than half an hour had obliterated all traces of madam imbert's operations. he then crawled out, replaced the window, and quietly returned to his boarding-house. he had made arrangements by which he could always let himself in or out at any hour of the night. the family he boarded with thought he was somewhat of a "rake," but as he always paid his bills promptly, liked him for a boarder. in the morning madam imbert was on the lookout, and between nine and ten rivers came along. he reported that he had replaced everything in the cellar, and described how he had killed josh.'s dog and left his remains at barclay's. madam imbert strolled down to cox's, and met mrs. maroney at the door. she was more polite than usual, having made an examination of the cellar and found her suspicions baseless. soon josh. and rivers made their appearance. rivers remarked that he had heard a strange dog barking the night before, and got up to find out what was going on, but could discover nothing. "yes," said mrs. maroney, "that was josh.'s dog. a man was lurking around here before i went to bed, so i let the dog out. in a short time i heard it after some one, and opened my window and set it on. you see, josh., how necessary it is for you to keep sober. if you had been up you might have shot that scoundrel. this morning i saw his footprints distinctly impressed in the walks." "well," said josh., "if my dog got hold of him, he made a hole in his leg, i'll bet. i know he is a good dog." "yes, i think he is," said rivers, as he and josh. strolled over toward barclay's. barclay met them on the way. "josh.," says he, "that dog of mine is a splendid animal, by george! you ought to have heard him bark last night. a strange dog came around my place; my dog tackled him, and 'oh, moses,' how they _fit_! it ended by my dog's killing his antagonist. come and see how he _chawed_ him up!" he led the way to where the dead carcass lay. as soon as they came in sight of it josh. dashed forward, and raising the dead animal by its caudal appendage, angrily exclaimed: "that's my dog! you must be the man who was lurking around my house last night! you had better go down and explain to mrs. maroney what you were doing around there." [illustration: _raising the dead animal by its caudal appendage, he angrily exclaimed, "that's my dog!"_--page .] "what do you suppose i could be doing at your house?" asked barclay, much perplexed. "why, i was not out of my house once last night." "i tell you," said josh., "mrs. maroney will walk into you when she finds this out. you ought to have seen her last night. she smashed a pitcher over my head, and i believe she would have killed me, if my wife had not pitched into her. of course i could not strike back, as she is a woman." rivers invited them up to stemples's, and in less than an hour cox and he had impressed upon barclay the necessity of his seeing mrs. maroney and explaining to her that he had not been lurking around the night before. they started off together, and arrived at josh.'s residence just as madam imbert and mrs. maroney were coming out. barclay immediately went up to her and assured her that he had not been loafing around the night before. "who said you had?" said mrs. maroney, now fully convinced that it _was_ he. "who said you had?" and she opened upon him with a perfect tirade of abuse. madam imbert took her by the arm and drew her to one side. "mrs. maroney, don't take any notice of that man. he is a fool, and your best plan is to let him severely alone. some people may be wiser than others, and will begin to suspect that something is wrong if you go on so. you know the old saying: 'walls have ears?'" "you are right, you seem to be always right," said mrs. maroney, and she let the matter drop. _chapter xxv._ the two women left barclay perfectly dumbfounded and walked over to the garden. mrs. maroney said she was going to new york in the morning to see her husband, and begged the madam to accompany her. madam imbert agreed to go, saying that she had some purchases to make. they concluded to hire stemples's team in the morning and drive into philadelphia, put it up at some livery stable, go to new york, visit maroney, return to philadelphia, and drive home in the evening. nothing of importance took place the day they visited new york. green knew of their intended trip and "shadowed" them to new york and back. all he had to report was that nothing had transpired worthy of mention. it is quite as important to find that nothing takes place as to note what actually occurs, for thus the case is cleared of all uncertainty. the "shadow" reports truthfully of all things just as he finds them. the women, on their arrival in new york, went directly to eldridge street jail and mrs. maroney introduced madam imbert to her husband. she then had a long private conversation with him and afterwards re-joined madam imbert. the three had a pleasant chat, maroney acting in all respects the part of a perfect gentleman. his face showed deep anxiety, but he talked very cheerfully and told madam imbert that he hoped soon to have the pleasure of meeting her at jenkintown. he assured her that he would soon be free and would then take vengeance on his enemies. he said he intended to go to texas and buy a ranche. the rio grande country just suited him, and he expatiated at length on the beauty of the country and the salubrity of its climate. after a few hours passed in social converse they parted. mrs. maroney went to visit a friend on thirty-first street and madam imbert to do her shopping. they agreed to meet at the jersey city ferry at four o'clock. green followed mrs. maroney. she visited her friend, stopped some time and then met madam imbert at the appointed place and time. on the road to philadelphia mrs. maroney spoke of her husband and said he was very much pleased with the madam, and thought her a very fine-looking, intelligent woman, in fact just the person to help them; but he was about to carry out a plan which he knew would be successful. white was soon going to be released on bail and would then arrange everything for him. in the meantime, she was to wait quietly and do nothing, as he would shortly be with her. on getting into philadelphia they ordered their team and drove out to jenkintown. the same day white came to maroney and said: "congratulate me, old fellow. shanks has just brought me some letters from my attorneys and i find that all has gone well. my affairs are in a much better condition, and now, after a long and irksome confinement, i am about to be liberated on bail. in two or three days, or by the end of this week, at farthest, i shall be at liberty." "i am delighted to hear of your good fortune," answered maroney in a hearty tone. "you must not forget me when you are out, but as soon as you can arrange your own affairs, turn your attention to mine. i am anxious to see the plan to entrap chase at once set in operation. won't it be a good joke when mcgibony nabs him and finds the money on his person? ha! ha! ha! what will the adams express say then? they will feel rather sore over their pet, i reckon." he laughed over the idea for some time, while a fiendish expression of joy settled on his face. "i'll attend to it as soon as possible," said white; "but you see i have no money of my own that i can use at the present time. i would gladly advance you the necessary amount if i could, but all my available cash will have to go as security to my bondsmen. i believe you a thorough good fellow, and will cheerfully do all in my power for you." "i don't wish you to advance the money for me. i know you would if you could; but you and i are about in the same fix. we have plenty of funds, but can't use them at present. i believe i shall be able to raise the money in some way before long. if the job works well with chase i shall be completely vindicated. another thing, the suit against me will soon come up, and my counsel says that i am sure to win it. i shall be the only witness on the part of the defendant and shall have to swear that i never took any of the money. this will be the truth, as a cent of money never came wrongfully into my possession. it is a good thing they did not know i had an interest in the livery stable, or they would surely have seized that." "i have a good lawyer," said white, "he has carried me through successfully, and as soon as possible after i get out i will help you." the next day bangs disguised himself and called at the jail as white's counsel. he had a long talk with him in his cell and then walked briskly out in the manner of a lawyer with a large practice, whose moments are precious; but lawyers have one object, while he had another. bangs wished to avoid the scrutiny of the prisoners, as there might be some of them who knew him. white came smilingly up to maroney after bangs left and said: "my case is surely arranged, and i am off to-morrow." "are you, indeed?" exclaimed maroney. "i am delighted to hear it;" but his voice sank. it seemed as if he wanted white out, so that he could help him, but was afraid to trust him. he turned and walked away, came back, and again congratulated white. white assured him that he was going in the morning. "so soon?" remarked maroney; "well, i am happy to find you are. i don't want to see any man kept in jail. my own case will soon come up, and after i am cleared here, the trial in montgomery will be a perfect farce. i shall write to my wife and tell her how well you have succeeded. isn't it strange, white, that i have taken such a liking to you? you are the right man for me. there is not a soul in this jail but you whom i would trust." he walked into his cell and wrote a letter to his wife. several times he came out and conversed with white. he seemed to have something on his mind which he wished to disclose, but lacked the courage to do so. he finally backed down entirely, and concluded to wait. he played several games of cards with white and the other prisoners, and then conversed with shanks, who came to remove some of white's baggage. he found that white had taken a room on bleeker street, and the moving of his effects showed how near at hand was the moment of his departure. the next day was an eventful one, and clearly proved the soundness of my theory. after breakfast maroney took white's arm, and walked around the hall several times with him, his manner plainly showing that he was very much embarrassed. he finally drew him into a quiet corner opposite to where the prisoners were congregated playing cards and amusing themselves in various ways. "white," said maroney, "i am going to entrust to you my secret. i feel that i can trust you; i know i can. i have watched you closely, and find that you are true as steel. now listen: i have invited you to take hold of my matters, and in order to give you a clear understanding of my case, it becomes necessary for me to divulge to you what at present is known only to my wife and myself. it is useless for me to ask, but still i wish you to give me your solemn promise to keep my secret inviolate." "oh, yes, i'll do that," said white, "but i have got a good deal of business of my own to attend to, and if you think you can't trust me, you had better keep it to yourself." "no, no, nothing of the kind! i know i can trust you!" said maroney, "and you have given the promise. now, white, who do you think stole the fifty thousand dollars?" "i am sure i don't know," replied white. "well, i did! i stole it from the company, and have been able to keep it so far. if you will assist me, i shall continue to do so. would you have stolen it if you had been in my place?" "certainly," exclaimed white; "do you think i am a fool? i shall make a big pile in my operation." "then," said maroney, "if we only join our forces, we shall make some one howl." neither spoke for some minutes. white acted as if the matter was a common, every-day occurrence; but he thought: "he has broken the ice; i shall soon hear it all." maroney was the first to break the silence. he said: "i first stole ten thousand dollars, which was brought to my office on sunday, by the messenger from atlanta. this package was intended for a party in columbus, ga. it had been missent, and forwarded by mistake to atlanta, instead of to macon, and from atlanta to me in montgomery. my duty was, on receipt of the package, to immediately telegraph to atlanta of its arrival, and to send it off by the train that left that evening for columbus. i had no right to the package, and should have immediately re-billed it and sent it off. i was certain that no one knew that it had been missent. it had evidently found its way into the pouch through a mistake, as it was not marked on the way-bill, or its presence known to the messenger. i never thought i should be guilty of theft till the time; but the moment i saw the package it flashed into my mind that if i took it i would never be detected. the temptation was too strong to be withstood. i yielded to it, and without any one's seeing me, dropped the package under the counter. the messenger did not see it, and as his way-bill checked up all right, soon left the office. i watched my chance and put the packet of money into my coat-pocket and went home. "you see, white, that was my first offense, and i felt rather frightened. i felt sorry that i had yielded to the temptation, but could not part with the money, it seemed so completely to have infatuated me. i took it home and hid it, but did not tell my wife a word about it. in a short time despatches were sent all around to the different agents to find, if possible, where the package was. i received several of them, but reported that i had not seen or heard anything of it. i was so assured of the impossibility of my detection that i had lost all the fears that at first assailed me, and was as cool as a cucumber. "the general superintendent came around with several detectives, but they could not find the money. i was tried in many ways, but i never flinched, and they finally had to give the matter up. "in a short time i asked for leave of absence to make a visit to the north. it was granted me, and i started off, with the ten thousand dollars in my possession. i soon found that i was followed by a detective, and i led him a wild-goose chase until i reached richmond, va., where i gave him the slip, and he never knew where i went. i did the same in the forty-thousand-dollar case. i gave them all the slip at chattanooga." "no matter about that," said white; "if you are going to give me a statement, give me a clear one, and not jumble everything together." "well, i gave the detective the slip at richmond, and went to winnsboro, s. c. there i passed myself off as a cotton buyer, but had great difficulty in making a purchase, as robert agnew, a prominent cotton-broker, held all the cotton in the neighborhood, and did not care to sell as he expected a rise in price every day. after some dickering i induced him to sell me seven thousand five hundred dollars' worth, which i paid for with the stolen funds of the company. "i had the cotton shipped to r. g. barnard, charleston, s. c., to be sold, proceeds to be remitted to me, in montgomery. the cotton was sold and the amount forwarded to me in two drafts on new york, one of which i had cashed in that city, and the other in montgomery. i lost quite a sum by my speculation, as cotton did not rise, but fell. i was perfectly contented to stand the loss, as the stolen money was exchanged. i bought "yankee mary" with the two thousand five hundred dollars remaining, and returned to montgomery, after having successfully disposed of all the stolen money. "on my return i found everything quiet, and went on with my duties as usual; but one day the superintendent came to me and said the company had concluded to change agents, and that i had better resign. i did so at once, saying that i was just about going into business on my own account. i must say that when i met the general superintendent i did not like his looks, as he seemed to suspect me. he made many enquiries as to how i got my money, but was unable to ascertain anything. "the superintendent of the southern division asked me to take charge of the office until my successor arrived, and i willingly consented. the superintendent had much suavity of manner, and it was hard for me to tell whether he considered me guilty or not. i rather thought he suspected me. when i found that my time with the company was to be so short i determined to make a good haul, as i knew i could never get a situation in the business again, for the adams express was the only express company in the south. i began to look around to see how i could best accomplish my purpose. i studied the character of the different messengers, and thought chase the best man to operate upon. i determined to wait until i had a good heavy run out, and then put my plan in operation. chase was a good, clever fellow, but careless. i tried him in several ways, and found that he could be "gulled" more easily than any of the other messengers. i could not do anything on the runs in, as the messengers checked the packages over to me, but on the runs out i checked over to them, and, with a careless man like chase, it would be the simplest thing in the world to call off packages, and, as he checked them off, for me to drop them behind the counter instead of into the pouch." _chapter xxvi._ on the twenty-seventh of january i had a very heavy run in, and among numerous other packages were four that attracted my attention; one for charleston, s. c., for two thousand five hundred dollars, and three for augusta, geo., for thirty thousand, five thousand and two thousand five hundred dollars respectively. chase was going out in the morning, and then was the time to act. i got an old trunk that was lying in the office, and packed it full of different articles, among other things four boxes of cigars. early in the morning i was up and down at the office. chase soon came in, drew his safe over to the counter, and began to check off the packages marked on the way-bill, as i called them off and placed them in the pouch. if he had obeyed the rule of the company he would have taken each package in his hand and placed it in the pouch, but he carelessly allowed me to call off the amounts and place the packages in the pouch. in this way, as he stood outside of the counter, i was enabled to call off all the packages on the way-bill, but dropped the four containing the forty thousand dollars under the counter amongst a lot of waste paper i had placed there for the purpose. the way-bill checked off all right; chase said "o. k.," so i locked the pouch, handed it to him, and he locked it up in his safe. he then went to breakfast, leaving me alone in the office. i immediately picked up the packages, distributed their contents into four piles of equal size, removed the cigars from the boxes, and placed a pile of money in each. i then filled the space above the money with cigars, nailed down the lid of the boxes, placed them in the trunk, tied it up and directed it to w. a. jackson, galveston, texas. there was a wagon loading at the door. i had the box immediately placed on it, and within an hour of the time i had taken the money it was on its way down the alabama river, for mobile. the boat started down the river at the same time that chase left for atlanta. that is what i call sharp work. no one but me knew of the loss of the packages. [illustration: "_as he stood outside of the counter, i was enabled to call off all the packages on the way-bill, but dropped the four containing the forty thousand dollars under the counter._"--page .] "chase was in his car, perfectly at ease, but when he reached atlanta he was destined to receive a shock he would not soon forget. as soon as he arrived there the loss was discovered, and the assistant superintendent of the southern division, who happened to be in the atlanta office, immediately telegraphed to me for an explanation. i did not take the trouble of answering the despatch, and he came on to montgomery that night to investigate. all i had to say was that i had checked the money over to chase, and they would have to look to him for an explanation. telegrams came thick and fast, but i was nerved up to pass through anything, and left them unnoticed. "when chase returned to montgomery he was greatly excited and appeared much more guilty than i. the assistant superintendent was in the office when he arrived. i received the pouch from chase, checked off the way-bill, found the packages all right, and throwing down the pouch, placed the packages in the vault. i then returned and picked up the pouch as if to look into it. i had my knife open, but concealed in my coat sleeve. as i raised the pouch to look into it, i slipped the knife into my hand and in a second cut two slits in the pouch and threw the knife back up my sleeve. i immediately said to mr. hall, who stood directly in front of me, 'why, it's cut! how the messenger could carry the pouch around, cut in this manner, and not discover it, is astonishing!' "the assistant superintendent examined the pouch and found it cut, as i had stated. this was a great point in my favor, and the assistant superintendent was at once convinced that i was innocent of any participation in the robbery. no one suspected me after this until the vice-president and general superintendent came. they looked at the pouch, and one of them said, 'i understand this,' and they had the pouch taken care of. this was the first thing that seemed to create suspicion in the general superintendent's mind. he had me arrested, but could not prove any thing against me. my friends all stood by me, and i had to do an immense amount of drinking. my wife one day asked me about the robbery; i at first denied any knowledge of it, but she is smart and does not easily give up. she kept at me and i finally concluded that the best way to keep her still was to tell her all. so i owned up to her, and then gave her some money and started her for the north. it is hard for me to keep any thing entirely to myself, and especially hard to keep any thing from my wife. "i remained in montgomery, but was not at all lonely, as i always had a squad of friends around me. in fact i never knew before that i had so many. i knew that the trunk was safe, but felt at times a little apprehensive that some one might open it. its contents were amply sufficient to pay all charges on it in case it should never be claimed. "after my arrest, i was taken before justice holtzclaw. at the preliminary examination i was held in forty thousand dollars bail, but at the final examination the company presented so weak a case that i think i ought to have been discharged at once. the justice thought differently, but reduced my bail to four thousand dollars, in which amount i was bound over to appear for trial before the circuit court. i easily procured bail, and was soon at liberty. i remained in montgomery after my release, keeping a sharp look out for detectives, as i felt sure the company would have plenty of them on my track, but i could not discover any. it was hard to believe they had none employed, as on the ten thousand dollar case they had a small regiment of them; but none were to be seen in montgomery, and i concluded they must be looking for the money in another direction. i had a slight mistrust of mcgibony, but soon proved to my entire satisfaction that he was not employed in the case. every thing went on smoothly, and i could discover nothing suspicious going on around me. i at length determined to make an excursion to several of the large southern cities, to ascertain, if possible, whether i would be followed. before leaving, i wrote to the agent of jones's express, at galveston, assuming the name of w. a. jackson, and directed him to send my trunk to natchez. i started out on my trip and visited atlanta, chattanooga, nashville and memphis. i scanned the passengers who came on board or left the trains, all the guests who 'put up' at the various hotels where i stopped on my journey, but could not discover a sign of a detective. by the time that i got to memphis i knew i was not followed, and so took the steamer 'john walsh,' intending to get off at natchez, gain possession of my trunk, which must have reached there, and go on down the river to new orleans. when i reached natchez, i enquired of the agent of jones's express whether he had a trunk for w. a. jackson, shipped from galveston, texas. he examined his book and said that he had not received such a trunk, but that possibly it had been sent and detained in the new orleans office. i was now in a quandary; i was afraid to go to new orleans and ask for the trunk, as i knew the adams and jones's express occupied the same office in that city. could it be possible that the company had suspicions of the trunk and were holding it as a bait to draw me out? no! it was not possible! still, i did not care to go to the office and ask for the trunk, as some one would be sure to know me, and my claiming a trunk as w. a. jackson would be proof positive to them that something was wrong about it. they would seize and search it, and then my guilt would be apparent. i finally determined to go to new orleans, put up at the city hotel, and then carelessly drop into the office of the company and see if i could discover the trunk lying around. i did so, and on coming into the office was immediately recognized by the employés, some of whom were glad to see me. i did not stay long; glanced around, saw the trunk was not there, and returned to the hotel. "i wanted to find whether the trunk had gone on to natchez, so i wrote a note, asking whether a trunk directed to w. a. jackson, natchez, was in their possession or had been forwarded to its destination, and signed it w. a. jackson. i then walked out of the hotel, limping as if so lame as to be scarcely able to walk, and met a colored boy standing on the corner. i hired him to take the note to the office for me and bring back the answer. he soon returned with a note which politely informed me that the trunk had been sent to natchez. i immediately returned to natchez, found the trunk, signed the receipt, paid the charges and left for mobile _via_ new orleans, and i tell you i was more than pleased when i arrived there with my trunk. "when i reached montgomery a bevy of my friends came down to see me. porter, one of my best friends--a splendid fellow--was amongst them, and as he was clerk of the hotel i had him order my baggage up. he had a carriage for me and we drove to patterson's, and then went over to the hotel. in the morning i had him bring the old trunk into my room. i opened it before them all, carelessly took a few cigars from each of the boxes and gave to them to try. in this way their suspicions in regard to the old trunk, if they had any, were entirely dispelled. "mrs. maroney was still in new york. i remained for some time in montgomery, still suspecting that some one was on my track, but could find nothing to confirm my suspicions. it was getting time for me to make some preparation for my defense. i had formed a plan to overthrow the testimony of the company by having a key made to fit their pouch, introducing it at the trial and proving that outsiders might have keys as well as the agents. i was desirous of having the key made at once. it could not be made in montgomery or at new orleans, for, though there were plenty of locksmiths, their work was not fine enough to suit me; so i concluded to go to new york and have one made. "i had some business to transact with my wife also, and wrote to her to meet me at a certain date in philadelphia. i came north, met my wife in philadelphia, where we stopped a day or two, and then started for new york. as i stepped ashore from the ferry-boat i was arrested. never before in my life was i so dumbfounded. i can't tell you how they knew the time i would arrive. the detectives in philadelphia must have been after me while i was there, and when i left for here they must have telegraphed, and thus secured my arrest. they brought me here and i told my wife to come and see me in the morning. i was too confused to say anything and my brain was in a maze. i never dreamed of the possibility of arrest in new york. i might have been prepared for it in montgomery, but did not think it possible that anything of the kind could happen here. my wife spoke to me on the subject, but i was unable to do or say anything. i make it a rule, when i am confused and can't collect my thoughts, to say nothing until i am calm, when i plan what i had better do. "in the morning i decided that it was necessary for my wife to go to montgomery and bring the money north with her. i was in jail and might need the money to procure bail, which i would like to do now. then, there was danger in leaving the money where it was secreted--in the old trunk in the garret--as floyd might want to clear the garret out, and i had several times seen him sell unclaimed baggage. my old trunk might be sold for a trifle and some one take it home and find it contained a treasure. "as soon as she could, mrs. maroney went to montgomery for the money. i had informed her where it was concealed, and told her to get it and bring it north. "the money was rather bulky, as although there were some large bills, there were a great many fives, tens, twenties and a few one hundred dollar notes. the whole of it made a large pile, but my wife proved a good hand. she fooled them all, and concealed the money in her bustle. it was a troublesome weight to travel with, and she was obliged to stop at augusta, ga., to rest herself. she also spent a day with my brother at danielsville, who promised to come and see me. he came, and, as you know, accomplished nothing. "my wife has now got the money concealed in the cellar of josh. cox's house. cox is her brother-in-law, and from what she tells me of him is a good-natured fellow, but pretty shrewd. mrs. cox is very smart. they never leave the house entirely alone, one or the other of them always keeping watch. "that madam imbert is said by my wife to be a fine woman. i was much pleased with her when she came here the other day. mrs. maroney managed well with her and discovered that her husband is imprisoned in missouri. she also followed her in philadelphia and found her changing money. my wife is smart, she suddenly confronted her and the madam admitted all. a man comes to see her who exchanges money for her. my wife was about arranging with her to have the express money exchanged, but you are going out and i prefer to entrust my affairs to you. you see, white, i know i can trust you. there is only one thing that troubles me about jenkintown: a fellow named de forest is stopping there and is quite attentive to my wife. i think he is an agent of the adams express; but from what my wife says, she is smart enough for him and can rope him in long before he can her. "now i have told you all, and hope you will act in the matter just as your judgment dictates. the fact of the matter is, your knowledge of the north is so great that you can act much better than i." "yes," said white, "i understand the ropes well, and you may depend upon it i will handle them as well as i know how. i think that as soon as i get clear myself--which may take four, five, or six days--and have settled up with my lawyers--i don't like those fellows, but sometimes you can't get along without them--i think i will try and get a key to the pouch made; i can do so easily. then i will go to montgomery and see chase, study his movements on the cars and at the hotels. i can at the same time arrange to get the girl, whom i intend to bring from here, into the exchange, and as soon as possible get her acquainted with chase. but see here, don't you think it best to get some of the stolen money to use in this case?" "certainly," said maroney, "my wife will give you all the money you need. i will give you a letter to her." "no," said white, "i don't want to have anything to do with women. your wife may be perfectly true to you, but if i come in i doubt very much whether she takes any interest in me, unless it be to thwart my plans." "why not?" asked maroney. "my wife should know and take an interest in all my affairs. she will do all in her power for us, and she is so shrewd that she will be able to help us very much." "well," said white, "that may be all true enough, but women are sure to get strange notions. i don't like to deal with them; women seem naturally suspicious. i don't want to treat your wife with injustice, but at the same time if she has a finger in the pie, ten to one she will suspect me of trying to get the whole pile and intending to clear out with it." "don't you believe that for a moment," replied maroney. "she knows i have entire confidence in you, and that will be enough for her. you need have no fears that she will interfere in the matter in any way. i trust you, and my word is law to her. i would prefer to have you take all the money; you can then select what you want for chase, and try and work off the balance in small amounts. this will be a delicate operation, as the banks very likely marked some of the bills before they shipped them." "yes, there are a great many obstacles to be overcome in changing the money, but i think i can manage to work it off in some way." _chapter xxvii._ "white, i will write a letter to my wife which will pave your way to gaining her implicit confidence." "how will you do that?" asked white. "i will write to her informing her that you are coming, and that you will identify yourself by presenting a letter from me." "yes, but suppose she won't give up the money? i could not go back again, as some of the detectives might suspect me and take me into custody." "oh, nothing of the sort will happen. i will write you a letter that will surely get the money; come, we will see what we can do." and they sat down at a table, where maroney began to write. in a short time he finished a letter, and read it to white. he wrote: "my dearest wife: i have confided all to mr. white. he will be liberated to-day or to-morrow. he has some business to attend to, which will detain him four or five days, when he will call on you in the guise of a book-peddler. now, i say to you, trust implicitly in him! i have trusted him with my secret. he will take care of all. give him everything you have in the packages. take no writing from him, whatever. he requires something to work off on chase, and wants to use some of the stuff i got in montgomery. when he succeeds in this, chase will be in my place. then he will begin to exchange all i have; afterwards all will be easy. when i am at liberty, we can enjoy it in safety. i feel perfectly safe, and confident. now, dearest, as i have before said, trust him implicitly, and all will be right. yours forever, nat." white approved of the letter. maroney, therefore, sealed it up, directed it, and gave it to shanks, who was in the jail, to post. of course the dutiful young man would not fail to do so. he then wrote the following letter of introduction and handed it to white: "my dearest wife: this is the book-peddler. you will want to buy books from him. buy what you want. give him the packages for me. he is honest. all is well. nat." white scanned its contents, and said: "i suppose this is sufficient, but the question still remains: will she obey it? i will do the best i can, but i have little faith in women." "oh, now!" said maroney, "don't make me feel down-hearted. i have done the best i can, and i know she will obey me." "very well," replied white, "i will go as soon as possible--in a week, more or less; as soon as i can possibly arrange my own affairs. on my arrival in jenkintown i will write to you at once and let you know how i am received." "agreed; i have trusted you, and my wife must trust you." shanks had several commissions to attend to. he first came to my room in the hotel and handed me maroney's letter to his wife. i opened and read the letter, and exclaimed. "now the battle is ours! victory is almost within our grasp." i saw the vice-president and read the letter to him. he was highly delighted and said he could now see the wisdom of all my manoeuvres. the following day white was released from his long confinement. it must be admitted that his duties were extremely arduous, but such is often the fate of a detective. i have sometimes had my men in prison for a longer time than this, and they have often failed to accomplish any thing, being obliged to give up without discovering what they were looking for. white remained in new york attending to his _own_ business after his release. he called once or twice on maroney to show that he had not forgotten him, and to assure him that he would soon get a pouch-key made. this was easily accomplished, as all he had to do was to go the express office, get a key, file it up a little to make it look bright and new, and show it to maroney as an earnest of his intentions in regard to chase. we will now leave the parties in new york and return to jenkintown. very little had taken place here and the various parties in whom we have an interest were conducting themselves much as usual. mrs. maroney and madam imbert went to philadelphia on the same day that white was liberated. they spent most of the day in the city and came out on the cars in the evening. de forest met them and drove them to stemples's in his buggy. after tea madam imbert went down to cox's and strolled up to the post office with mrs. maroney. mrs. maroney received a letter which she opened. she said it was from nat. she began to read it as they walked along. as she read, madam imbert noticed that all color left her face, and she became white as wax. she folded up the letter and leaned heavily on the madam's arm for support. "what's the matter? are you sick?" she anxiously enquired. "no; but i have received so strange a letter; walk along with me; i am very weak; i will tell you its contents in a few minutes." she did not go in the direction of cox's, but led the way to the garden. here the two women took seats. she read the letter over again and then handed it to madam imbert. "read it," she said. the madam did so. neither spoke for some time. "what do you think of it?" she at length asked. "i think it a little strange, but at the same time have no doubt but that it is all right. your husband is of course the best judge in this matter, and must have good reasons for taking the step. he has full confidence in white; has been locked up with him for several months; has seen him day and night, and doubtless has thoroughly studied his character. white is almost like his wife, and he knows what he is doing when he consents to trust him so far." mrs. maroney was rapidly getting better and said, angrily, "no, i will never give him the money in this way! it is all nonsense! 'what do i know about white?' this is asking too much of me! why did he not write and consult me on the subject? he simply says, 'white is out of jail now; give him the money!' and gives me no chance to speak on the subject. suppose white gets the money; how do i know but that he will run away with it and leave us to suffer without getting any of the benefit? madam imbert i must tell you all: you see that in this letter nat. does not mention money, but he means money. as you are now the only one i can trust, i will talk plainly to you. my husband took the forty thousand dollars from the express company, and also ten thousand dollars previously. now all is out! when he was thrown into prison in new york he sent me for the money which he had concealed in montgomery, and i brought it here, and have it hidden in josh.'s cellar. now what am i to do? if i give it to this man white, i shall probably never see it again; in fact i am sure i never shall." "you are mistaken, i think," said madam imbert; "have confidence!" "_confidence!_ it would be my best plan to run away myself!"--she was going on still further, but madam imbert stopped her. "don't say any thing more at present, my dear mrs. maroney. you are too excited to talk calmly; let the matter rest until morning." they dropped the subject for the time, and as mrs. maroney expressed a desire for a little brandy to calm her nerves, went down to cox's. mrs. maroney offered some brandy to the madam, which she politely declined to take, but this did not in the least abash her, for she gulped down enough to stagger an old toper. josh. was not at home, and so very little was said. mrs. cox asked her if she had received a letter from nat. "yes," she answered in a snappish tone, and said no more. madam imbert had accomplished all she desired for that day, and so left mrs. maroney to herself. in the morning mrs. maroney sent flora to her, with a request that she would accompany her to philadelphia. madam imbert sent word that she would be happy to go and would come to cox's immediately. de forest met flora and commenced playing with her. "i must go right home," said she, "as ma is going to philadelphia and sent me with a message to madam imbert, asking her to go too. she said she would, and is coming down to the house, so i must hurry home." "what a fool i am," thought de forest, "i would rather have her go with me." so he went to cox's with flora to offer his services. mrs. maroney appeared troubled and excited. he knew that he never made progress with her when she was in a moody state, so he timidly said that he was going to philadelphia and asked her to go along. she said, "no!" very harshly, and he immediately vanished. she started out and met madam imbert on the way down. "come back with me, i want to hire stemples's team," she said. stemples soon had his team ready for them, and they started. "i didn't want any one with me but you, madam imbert, as i am much troubled and need your advice. i want to consult a lawyer, but don't know how to go about it. there is a lawyer in philadelphia, a good man, in fact the same one my husband had at new york for consultation, and i think i shall ask his advice." "i would not do it, if i were in your place," advised madam imbert. "if a lawyer once gets hold of the facts, he is much more likely to get all the money than white." "that is the trouble. last night after you left, josh. came in and we talked the matter over. you know josh. and the opinion i have of him, but with all his faults he is shrewd. his wife and he held the same opinion: that it would never do to trust white with the money, and josh. was in favor of changing its hiding place. i did not tell them that i had told you all, but i intend to do so. i informed them that i was going to the city to consult a lawyer, but they were both against me, and now you are opposed to me and i don't know what to do, or what i am doing. i am almost crazy!" they drove up to a tavern on the way and she took some brandy, which seemed to give her more courage. when they reached the city madam imbert wished to report to bangs, but found it almost impossible to get away from mrs. maroney, who had concluded not to ask the advice of a lawyer. they went into mitchell's and madam imbert managed to get away a few moments and reported to bangs. she had not been with him ten minutes before rivers, who was shadowing mrs. maroney, came in and reported that she seemed very uneasy and had been out on the street several times, glancing anxiously around. madam imbert at once hurried back to mitchell's. "where were you?" demanded mrs. maroney. "i am suspicious of you all!" madam imbert drew herself up with an air of offended dignity which spoke more than words. "i am sorry i have offended you!" said mrs. maroney quickly. "please forgive me! i am so nervous that for a time i mistrusted even you and thought you had gone for a policeman or a detective; let's have dinner and go." when they were on the return journey, mrs. maroney said: "i feel much better on the road with you alone than when in the city. i want to talk continually, and you are the only one to whom i dare talk. however excited or miserable i may feel, companionship with you always makes me feel happy and contented." at the various taverns they passed on the road mrs. maroney always stopped and invoked the aid of stimulants to cheer her up. she suddenly turned to madam imbert and asked: "would you be willing to run away with me? we could go down into louisiana, where we are not known, buy a small place in some out of the way town and live secluded for four or five years, until our existence was forgotten, and then make our appearance once more in the fashionable world, with plenty of money to maintain our position; or we might go to new york and from there to england and the continent." "yes, we could do all that if we had the money," said the madam; "but you forget that at this time we cannot use it." "you have plenty of money of your own and you might let me stop with you for three or four years, as by that time we could use the express' money without any risk." "yes, i would gladly keep you for years if that is all you want." "when do you expect the man who exchanges your money? could you not get him here at once? then we could go." "i could write to him," replied the madam, "and he would come at once, provided my letter reached him, but sometimes i have to wait two or three months after writing for him before he makes his appearance. he travels a good deal, and comes to the place where he has his letters directed only once in a while. he is a strange man, but very honest. i will write to him to-night, if you say so, so that we can soon hear from him and get him here." they arrived in jenkintown without arranging any decided plan. after tea they again met. mrs. maroney said that she was so fatigued that even her brain was so weary that she felt completely broken down, and must retire early. rivers arrived from philadelphia on the cars long before the women, and went down to see josh. josh. had remained at home all day with his wife, and was glad of the excuse rivers's coming gave him to go down to stemples's. he was moody and would not talk much. even barclay could not get a word out of him. he was willing to drink, but spoke only in monosyllables. at nine o'clock he went home. rivers got into cox's yard and watched the house for about two hours, when finding all quiet, he returned home and went to bed. _chapter xxviii._ time rolled on, and the third day after the trip to philadelphia, madam imbert was with mrs. maroney, who talked incessantly about giving up the money. she alluded to cox's idea of the question. he said that he would never give white the money; that he did not know the man, and that he would trust no one with forty thousand dollars. he declared that he had now got the money, and that he was going to keep it. she insisted that they should let her arrange the matter to suit herself. mrs. cox was, like her husband, bound that white should not get the money. every thing appeared against white's chances of getting the money. at this time they were seated in a secluded part of the garden. mrs. maroney glanced around, saw that no one was near, and then said: "madam imbert, you are accustomed to attend to affairs like mine; won't you take the money, claim it as your own, and go with me to the west? you could then find your friend, and he would be willing to exchange the money for two or three thousand dollars--wouldn't he? i want to get away from here; my sister is against me, and josh. treats me as if he was my equal, or superior." madam imbert saw she must act very prudently. mrs. maroney must be quietly dealt with. she wished her to give the money to white, as if she took the money she would have to be a witness in the case. she wished to avoid this, but if she could not succeed in making her turn the money over to white, as a last resort she would take possession of it herself. she therefore replied: "no, i don't like to take it; i have enough of my own to look after. if my poor husband were only out of jail he would get it changed for you in short order. i don't want any more money about me at present; it would go hard with me if i were discovered with the money on my person." "there is little danger of that," said mrs. maroney. "i carried it all the way from montgomery and was not much inconvenienced by it; you must help me." "mrs. maroney, if i were in your place, i would do exactly as my husband wished." "yes, yes," said she, "but who knows white? i never saw him." "we will let the matter drop for the present. i will do all i can to assist you. i wrote to my friend last night, and he will send an answer directed to you in my care." mrs. maroney was greatly pleased and went home in high spirits. on the following day she got a letter from maroney; he had seen white, and he would be in jenkintown in a day or two. he said white was opposed to dealing with women, and if he did not get the money on his first visit, he would never come back. he finished by entreating her to give up all cheerfully, remembering that it was for the good of both. this letter arrived in the evening, and mrs. maroney, after perusing it, told madam imbert that she had made up her mind never to give up the money. "i will burn it before i will give it to white," said she. madam imbert was rather startled at this avowal, but on a second consideration was convinced that it was a bit of braggadocio, and that there was not the slightest fear of her carrying such a threat into execution. she found mrs. maroney in too unreasonable a state of mind to accomplish any thing with her that day, and she therefore returned to stemples's. the next day was decidedly a breezy day for all. early in the morning mrs. maroney sent for madam imbert, who at once joined her at cox's. mrs. maroney met her at the door. "o, madam imbert, i am so glad you have come! josh. has been acting in a most independent manner. i almost believe he is right, in protesting that he will not allow the money to go." madam imbert appealed to mrs. maroney's sense of duty. she depicted in glowing terms the happiness of the wife who looks only to her husband's interests, and makes sacrifices in his behalf. she drew a touching picture of maroney's sufferings in jail, and tried to impress upon her the conviction that it was more than probable that he had taken the money so as to be able to place her in a situation where she could command any luxury. what did cox know about suffering, or of the steps her husband found it necessary to take in order to effect his release? when maroney took the forty thousand dollars, he had to ship it at once down the alabama river, and now they could see how wise he was in so doing. he had displayed consummate ability in every movement he had so far made, and was it at all likely that he had lost his cunning? "he loves you," said she, "and would do any thing for you. your duty as a wife is plain and simple; do as your husband wishes you to do." madam imbert's reasoning was unanswerable, but to mrs. maroney it was a bitter pill. without saying a word, she led the way into the house, where they met cox, just coming up from the cellar. she had informed both josh. and his wife that she had made a confidante of madam imbert, and they thought she had done wisely. "josh., have you been moving the money?" demanded she. "no!" he replied, in rather a surly tone. then turning to madam imbert, he said: "you must have the same opinion of this matter as i! i think it folly to give the money up to white. no one knows about this would-be book peddler, and i will not give up the money to such a man. let him come to me and i will talk to him." josh. strutted about the room with the air of a six-footer. "i'll have it out of him in short order. i'll show him he can't pull the wool over my eyes, as he seems to have done over nat.'s. i'll be d----d if i can understand it." cox was ably seconded in his opinion by his wife. mrs. maroney had very little to say. madam imbert said that, in her opinion, josh. was entirely wrong. maroney knew better than they what was for his interest. as for her, if her husband was to tell her to give up all she had, she would cheerfully do so, as she knew he was best able to judge what was for the benefit of them both. the day passed in a continual wrangle. madam imbert could hardly get away from mrs. maroney long enough to eat her meals. mrs. maroney and josh. dealt exclusively in brandy. toward evening josh. proclaimed his intention of "raising" the money, and starting with it that night for the west. he would hide himself until maroney got out of jail, when he would return and deliver the money over to him. josh. was sublime in the purity and philanthropy of his motives. he did not want a cent of the money; not he! but he could not consent to see his brother-in-law swindled while he stood by and calmly looked on, without making an effort in his behalf. no! this he could not do. to his own serious inconvenience, he would voluntarily tear himself from his family, impose upon himself the task of becoming the watch-dog of nat.'s treasure, and for a time lose himself in the wilderness of the west. madam imbert thought _his_ would be a clear case of "though lost to sight, to memory _dear_," but did not say so. mrs. maroney rather took the wind out of his sails by saying: "don't you dare to 'raise' the money until i tell you to! i am in no hurry to have it moved; the cellar has proved a safe hiding place so far, and i see no reason why it should not so remain. you will please remember that it belongs to nat. and me. i am able to take care of it, so you may just let it alone." josh. said no more, but mentally washing his hands of the whole transaction, started for stemples's. he found rivers and barclay there, but said nothing about what had happened, further than that he was having trouble at home. in the evening mrs. maroney received a letter from her husband, stating that the book-peddler would call the next day. the next day was to be an eventful one for me. by noon i should know the fate of my enterprise. i had no doubts about what the results would be, but i should then have the proofs in hand to show my employers that the confidence they had bestowed upon me had not been misplaced; that the theory i had advanced and worked upon was the correct one; that my profession, which had been dragged down by unprincipled adventurers until the term "detective" was synonymous with rogue, was, when properly attended to and honestly conducted, one of the most useful and indispensable adjuncts to the preservation of the lives and property of the people. the divine administers consolation to the soul; the physician strives to relieve the pains of the body; while the detective cleanses society from its impurities, makes crime hideous by dragging it to light, when it would otherwise thrive in darkness, and generally improves mankind by proving that wrong acts, no matter how skilfully covered up, are sure to be found out, and their perpetrators punished. the great preventive of crime, is the fear of detection. there are quacks in other professions as well as in mine, and people should lay the blame where it belongs, upon the quacks, and not upon the profession. in the evening i received a letter from madam imbert, telling me of the difficulties in the way of white's receiving the money. she was full of hope, and said she thought she could manage to make mrs. maroney give up the money; but if all else failed she would take the money herself. it was often offered to her by mrs. maroney, and josh. had said he had no objections to her receiving it. she would make arrangements so that if white did not get the money, she would. the money would be in philadelphia the next evening if she had to walk in with it herself. the recovery of forty or fifty thousand dollars, to-day, is considered a small operation; but in , before the war, the amount was looked upon as perfectly enormous. i showed madam imbert's letter to the vice-president. he was greatly pleased to find success so near at hand, and agreed to make a little trip with me in the morning. white was with me, in philadelphia, and i made all my arrangements for the following day's work. i was up bright and early the next morning. the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and the weather promised to be fine. it would most likely be excessively hot by noon, but the morning was fresh and balmy. white, in his character of a book-peddler, was to go into jenkintown on foot, so as to give the impression that he had walked out from the city. shanks was to drive him to within about two miles of jenkintown, where white was to get out and walk in, while shanks would drive back and wait for him at the rising sun, a tavern on the road. the vice-president and i drove over from chestnut hill, put up our team at the rising sun, and took up our position as near the probable scene of action as was prudent. early in the morning, just as day began to dawn, rivers came in and reported the condition of affairs. he had watched cox's through the night, but aside from high words there had been no demonstration. i sent a note to madam imbert by him, with instructions to deliver it to her as soon as she was up. i told her to be sure and do as she said she would--get the money to-day at all hazards--by storm, if necessary, as i did not like to trust cox another day. _chapter xxix._ at jenkintown there was no lull in the fight. the battle was going on gloriously. breakfast at cox's was a meagre meal, even the children were neglected, as all the grown portion of the household were on the lookout for the book-peddler. "sister ann! sister ann! do you see any one coming?" was the cry. every once in a while one of them would go to the gate and look anxiously down the road, in the direction of philadelphia. mrs. maroney was impatiently awaiting the arrival of madam imbert. she did not have to wait long, as the madam came down immediately after breakfast. her commanding figure and decided expression made her appear like a general giving orders. she was perfectly calm, while all the rest were so excited that they did not know what to do or say. she controlled the position. mrs. maroney had not slept any and was still unable to decide upon her action. she strolled out with the madam a short distance, thinking to find relief in a quiet chat. she said she was filled with doubts and fears. she was afraid to trust josh., and he might go off at any moment with the packages. madam imbert told her that there was only one thing to be done, and that was to give up the packages to white as her husband ordered. "are you sure," said she, "that the letter is in your husband's handwriting?" mrs. maroney looked at her in a startled manner and pulled the letter from its hiding place in the bosom of her dress. she scanned it over carefully and said: "yes, it is nat.'s writing." "then there is nothing to do but to give it up. if my husband ordered me i would gladly give up all i have in this world to please him." they remained away from the house for some time, and when they returned it was nearly noon. on looking down the street they discovered a book-peddler slowly toiling along from the direction of philadelphia and evidently bending his steps towards cox's. as mrs. maroney saw him coming along sweltering in the sun and bending under the weight of his load of books, she gave an involuntary start, and madam imbert, on whose arm she leaned, felt that she was trembling with excitement. cox stood beside his wife in the door-way with his teeth clinched. his wife looked unutterable things, but neither uttered a word. madam imbert and mrs. maroney went into the yard and stood leaning over the gate, watching the peddler, who was rapidly drawing near. he arrived at the gate at the appointed time. "do you wish to buy any books?" asked he, at the same time handing mrs. maroney a novel to look at, which he opened so as to disclose a note. he spoke to her in a low tone and said: "i am from prison," then glancing at the note, "i think that is for you." she took the novel, and, holding it open as if reading it, scanned the contents of the note: "my dearest wife: this is the book-peddler. you will want to buy books from him. buy what you want. give him the packages for me. he is honest. "all is well. nat." when she had read the note she stood looking at it, apparently unable to speak. madam imbert looked at her, and as she began to fear that some of the neighbors might notice the long stay of the peddler, said: "have you no message for the man? time is precious!" "yes," she answered, looking up as from a trance. madam imbert spoke in a low tone: "tell him to meet you down the lane." "yes," said she, "i will meet you down the lane at two o'clock and take some books from you." the peddler left a few novels and walked off. mrs. maroney and madam imbert walked into the house. now was the time for madam imbert to show her power. "come, mrs. maroney, be quick! you must act at once! get the money for the book-peddler, quick!" mrs. maroney seemed to act mechanically. madam imbert's strong will had asserted a power over her that she could not resist. they went into the cellar accompanied by josh. and his wife. "dig the money up," commanded mrs. maroney still in the same mechanical tone. josh. hesitated. "give me the spade!" said madam imbert. "show me where the money is secreted!" then, turning to josh. and his wife, she said: "_you are fools!_ you would not only ruin mrs. maroney, but yourselves. maroney knows best what is for his interest." mrs. maroney pointed out the spot where the money was buried. the madam struck the spade into the ground. "stop, i'll do it!" said josh.; "if you are bound to make a beggar of yourself it is no fault of mine." the money was about eighteen inches under the level of the cellar floor, wrapped up in a piece of oil skin. it was soon unearthed and taken up stairs. mrs. maroney said: "i will go and get the buggy, or--no! josh.! you go to stemples's and get his team; tell him it is for me." josh., without waiting to fill up the hole, started off. madam imbert wrapped the money in two newspapers, and when josh. came with the team, which he soon did, put it into the front part of the buggy and covered it with the apron, and, getting in with mrs. maroney, drove down the lane. white, when he received the message from mrs. maroney, returned to the rising sun and reported to me. we (the vice-president and i) secreted ourselves under some magnolias growing close by the lane, and near where the meeting would take place. at the appointed time the book-peddler was seen by us coming up the lane, and at almost the same moment a buggy came in sight going down. it was a moment of breathless interest to both of us. they met almost directly opposite to where we were concealed. madam imbert said: "let us have some books!" the peddler lifted his satchel into the buggy; the madam hurriedly emptied it of its contents, and holding it open jammed the bundle of money into it and handed it back to the peddler. not a word more was said. madam imbert turned the team around and started the horses on a fast trot toward jenkintown, while the peddler sweltered along under the broiling sun in the direction of the tavern. [illustration: "_the peddler lifted his satchel into the buggy; the madam hurriedly emptied it of its contents, and holding it open, jammed the bundle of money into it, and handed it back to the peddler._"--page .] madam imbert drove up to stemples's, took the books, which were wrapped in papers, to her room, and invited mrs. maroney up to take some brandy. mrs. maroney was in a passive state, and did everything madam imbert told her to do, as if powerless to resist. she remained for some time with madam imbert, but finally said, in a pitiful tone: "well, i believe i am sick. this excitement has nearly killed me." madam imbert advised her to lie down, and accompanied her to cox's. josh. had gone out with rivers, and mrs. cox refused to be seen. madam imbert administered an opiate to mrs. maroney, and then returned to the tavern. toward evening she hired stemples's team and drove into philadelphia. the vice-president and i remained concealed until the two women were well out of sight, when we overtook white, who was slowly toiling down the road. i received the satchel containing the money from him. from the time he received the money until he handed it over to me, i had had my eye on him--not exactly because i did not trust him, but i thought it wrong to lead the poor fellow into temptation. we went to the rising sun, where we took dinner, but did not mention the subject which was uppermost in our minds. after dinner we drove into the city and placed the money in the vaults of the express company. the vice-president at once telegraphed to the president of the company to come from new york, as he did not wish to count the money until he was present. in the evening madam imbert arrived at the hotel, and finding i was in consultation with the vice-president, sent word in that she would like to see me. when i came to her she eagerly asked: "is the money all right?" "all right," i answered. when she heard this her strength seemed suddenly to leave her, and she nearly fainted. the victory was complete, but her faculties had been strained to the utmost in accomplishing it, and she felt completely exhausted. she had the proud satisfaction of knowing that to a woman belonged the honors of the day. the president arrived on the third of august, and we met at the lapier house, where we counted the money. the package proved to contain thirty-nine thousand five hundred and fifteen dollars--within four hundred and eighty-five dollars of the amount last stolen. the officers of the adams express company were much pleased at my success, and perfectly satisfied with everything. the money had been recovered, and the case had come to a stand-still. i held a consultation with the president and vice-president, and asked them if they had any further orders for me. the president said i had better finish the operation, and not give up until maroney had been convicted and placed in the penitentiary. i had done them invaluable service so far, but it still remained to "cap the climax" by bringing the guilty party to justice. this i assured him would soon be accomplished, and i left to give the necessary orders to my detectives. i told madam imbert to return to jenkintown, and ordered rivers and miss johnson also to remain as before. the vice-president also told de forest to remain in jenkintown for the present. green was to continue in philadelphia. roch, who had been sent back to montgomery, was to await orders there, as was also porter. white was to attend to maroney, while bangs was to continue in philadelphia in charge of all. _chapter xxx._ on the fifteenth of august, white called on maroney in eldridge street jail. he detailed what had transpired at jenkintown, and told maroney that he had the money hid in a safe place in philadelphia. this was undoubtedly the truth, as the money was safe in the vaults of the adams express. i deemed it best to curtail expenses as soon as possible, and instructed white to impress upon maroney that jenkintown was not a safe place for his wife, and that she had better leave there. he was to endeavor to get maroney to send her to the west, and to chicago, if possible. he told maroney that he was afraid some of the express men were watching his wife, and if he did not look out she might be induced to "blow" on him and tell all. he dwelt on his repugnance to being mixed up with women with such effect that maroney was convinced that she had better go to some other part of the country, and so wrote to her at once. he told her she had better go west. she was so near the headquarters of the company that he feared they might find her out, and make trouble for her. he hinted that he was not entirely satisfied with de forest, and wished her to go as soon as possible. white said he was having the key to the pouch made, and would be able to show it to him in a day or two. he did not wish any one in the jail to see him with the key, and wished maroney to be careful that no prisoners were in their neighborhood when he disclosed it. when he did bring the key maroney examined it closely and expressed himself well pleased with it. the day set for the trial of the suit in new york was near at hand, and maroney would have to prove that he had not taken the fifty thousand dollars. he did not much care how the suit went, as he was confident he would be acquitted at his criminal trial in montgomery. when the suit came off, we managed to get a judgment against him for the fifty thousand dollars in such a manner that it was not necessary to let him know that the money had been recovered, or that white was working against him. he was of course the principal witness in his own behalf, and if wholesale perjury could have saved him he would have been acquitted beyond a doubt. the day after the trial white called on him and he laughed heartily at the judgment which had been obtained against him. "wait till i get to montgomery," he said, "and then they will find that their judgment does not amount to shucks. white, i wish you would settle up my matters as soon as possible." "i am going to charleston this evening to see if i can't pass some of the money, and must hurry off and pack my satchel, as the train leaves at four. good-by for a time; i will write and let you know how i succeed," said white, as he prepared to leave. "i know you will succeed," remarked maroney, and white hurriedly walked out of jail. this was all done to blind maroney as to white's real character. there was no necessity of white's leaving the city to accomplish his purpose. all he had to do was to write letters and send them to the agents of the adams express at the different points where maroney supposed him to be, and they would mail them to maroney. he pretended that he was having great trouble in trying to exchange the money, and wrote that he would be in new york in a few days. at the end of a week he walked down to the jail. he met maroney with a troubled look on his face, and said that he had been frightened away from charleston after he had exchanged about five hundred dollars. he was doing very well when he found the detectives were close after him, and he had to leave without his carpet bag. "it is up-hill work, maroney, trying to exchange this money. the adams express are keeping a sharp lookout every where, and i have had a number of detectives on my track. i have no money of my own and need all of yours. so far i have exchanged only enough to get me to montgomery, and to pay the girl for stuffing the express money into chase's pocket." maroney gave white what money he had, and told him to go on and fix chase as soon as possible. mrs. maroney had all the money, so that we had to foot all white's bills. the company had already been at heavy expense, and i was desirous of stopping all unavoidable expenditures. white remained in philadelphia or new york, as the case might be, performing on paper a journey through the south. maroney received letters from him from augusta, ga., new orleans, mobile and montgomery. he seemed to meet with many adventures and reverses, but was slowly and surely accomplishing his mission. he had the girl in montgomery, and she was rapidly winning her way to the innermost recesses of chase's heart. in a couple of days came another letter. chase was captivated, and had so far worked on the confiding, innocent nature of the girl as to prevail on her to consent to let him into her room that night. she had the money to put into chase's pocket, and all was going well. maroney could not sleep, so anxiously did he look forward for the coming of the next letter; he paced his cell all night. what would have been his feelings if he could have looked through about a mile of brick and mortar to where white was snoring in bed? the next day no letter came. he grew almost frantic, and was so irritable and excited that his fellow prisoners wondered what had come over him. the following day the anxiously expected letter arrived. he hastily broke it open and found that the faithful white had been true to his trust. chase had gone into the girl's room, mcgibony had seized him as he came out, a search was instituted and the stolen money and a pouch key had been discovered in his pocket. "hurrah!" said maroney, "i am all right now! boys, here is five dollars, the last cent i have! we will make a jolly day of it." we will now return to our friends in jenkintown. it took some time for maroney to impress upon his wife the necessity of her going west. she had little money, for though she had pocketed the proceeds of the sale of her husband's livery stable, and other effects, in montgomery, her expenses had been heavy, and the money had dwindled away until she was nearly penniless. one day mrs. maroney said to madam imbert: "wouldn't you like to go out west somewhere and settle down for a while?" "it makes no difference to me where i go," she replied, "i have to see the gentleman who exchanges my money for me, once in a while; but no matter where i go, he is sure to come to me when i send for him. why would it not be a good plan to go to some place in the south? swansboro, n. c., is a good place." "yes," remarked mrs. maroney, "but it is so dull!" "what do you say to jackson, mississippi? it is a beautiful place." "no, we don't want to go south now, it is altogether too warm. were you ever in chicago, madam imbert?" "no; but it is a good place to summer in, i understand." "well, let's go there; will you?" "yes, certainly, if you wish," said madam imbert; and they at once began to arrange for their departure. it was decided that madam imbert should go ahead to chicago, and see if she could rent a furnished house for them. she started off, and, as a matter of course, easily accomplished her purpose. i had a house in chicago, where i lodged my female detectives, and as i had only two in the city at the time, i easily found them a boarding-house, and turned the house over to madam imbert. the servants were well trained, and understood their business thoroughly. everything being arranged, madam imbert wrote to mrs. maroney and miss johnson, telling them to come on. two weeks after, mrs. maroney, miss johnson, and flora arrived in chicago, and took up their quarters with madam imbert. it was necessary to have a young man to run their errands, and shanks was promptly furnished them. white did not need his services any longer, as he was able to run his own errands. business was crowding fast, and the time set for maroney's trial at montgomery was drawing near. the governor of alabama requested the governor of new york to deliver maroney for trial in montgomery, which request was immediately acceded to. i sent maroney south in charge of an officer from philadelphia, of course "shadowed" by my own men. this was the last time that roch was on duty in this case. he had done good service already in its early stages, and might be of service again. the vice-president accompanied the parties. when they arrived in montgomery, maroney was not met and escorted to the exchange by a bevy of admiring friends. on the contrary, he was led to jail. hope never forsook him. he received letters from white, who said all was going well, and he expected to get the funds exchanged soon. maroney wrote in reply that he hoped he would hurry up, as he wished to give a part of the money to his lawyer in new york. the lawyer was evidently expecting to reap a rich harvest at the company's expense. little more need be said. the circuit court was in session, his honor john gill shorter, presiding, and maroney would soon be tried before him. he was confident that he would be acquitted and had all his plans made as to what he would do when he was liberated. not the shadow of a doubt had crossed his mind as to the fealty of white. he heard that he was in montgomery and received a note from him, saying that all was well; that the adams express had compelled him to come--an unwilling witness--to see if they could not force the secret from him, but they would find that they had "collared" the wrong man this time. maroney was braced up by this note. he knew that white would not give up; he felt confident of that! it was the morning of the trial, and before nightfall he would be a free man. it was a lovely day and the court-room was packed with spectators, among whom were many of maroney's former friends. he walked proudly into the court-room, between two deputies, with an air that plainly said, "i am bound to win!" his friends clustered around him and vied with each other as to who could show him the most attention. foremost among them was porter, to whom he gave an extra shake of the hand. i will not dwell upon the trial. the witnesses for the prosecution were called one by one. they were the employés of the company who were in any way connected with the shipment or the discovery of the loss of the money, which ought to have been sent to atlanta, when, in reality, it had gone down the alabama in maroney's old trunk. the witnesses proved that the money had disappeared in some mysterious way; but they did not in the slightest degree fasten the guilt upon maroney. his spirits rose as the trial progressed, and his counsel could not but smile as he heard the weak testimony he had to break down. he had expected a toughly contested case, but the prosecutors had presented no case at all. at length, the crier of the court called "john r. white." as john r. white did not immediately appear in answer to the call, maroney seemed, during the brief period of silence, to suddenly realize how critical was his position. his cheek blanched with fear. he seemed striving to speak, but not a word could he articulate. as white deliberately walked up to the witness-stand, maroney seemed at once to realize that white would never perjure himself for the sake of befriending him. his eyes were filled with horror and he gasped for breath. a glass of water was handed to him. he gulped it down, and, vainly endeavoring to force back the tears from his eyes, in a hoarse, shaky voice, he exclaimed: "oh, god!" then, turning to his counsel, he said: "tell the court i plead guilty. he," pointing to white, "knows the whole. i am guilty!! i am gone!!!" this ended the matter. the counsel entered a plea of guilty and the judge sentenced maroney to pass ten years in the alabama penitentiary, at _hard labor_. team [illustration: frank r. stockton] the stories of the three burglars by frank r. stockton the stories of the three burglars. i am a householder in a pleasant country neighbourhood, about twenty miles from new york. my family consists of myself and wife, our boy, george william, aged two, two maid-servants, and a man; but in the summer we have frequent visitors, and at the time of which i am about to write my aunt martha was staying with us. my house is large and pleasant, and we have neighbours near enough for social purposes and yet not too near or too many to detract from the rural aspect of our surroundings. but we do not live in a paradise; we are occasionally troubled by mosquitoes and burglars. against the first of these annoyances we have always been able to guard ourselves, at least in a measure, and our man and the cook declare that they have become so used to them that they do not mind them; but to guard against burglars is much more difficult, and to become used to them would, i think, require a great deal of practice. for several months before the period of this narrative our neighbourhood had been subject to visits from burglars. from time to time houses had been entered and robbed, and the offenders had never been detected. we had no police force, not even a village organization. there was a small railway station near our house, and six miles away was the county town. for fire and police protection each household was obliged to depend upon itself. before the beginning of the burglarious enterprises in our midst, we had not felt the need of much protection in this direction; sometimes poultry was stolen, but this was a rare occurrence, and, although windows and doors were generally fastened for the night, this labour was often considered much more troublesome than necessary. but now a great change had taken place in the feelings of our community. when the first robbery occurred the neighbours were inclined to laugh about it, and to say that captain hubbard's habit of sitting up after the rest of his family had gone to bed and then retiring and forgetting to close the front door had invited the entrance of a passing tramp. but when a second and a third house, where windows and doors had not been left open, had been entered, and, in a measure, despoiled, people ceased to laugh; and if there had been any merriment at all on the subject, it would have been caused by the extraordinary and remarkable precautions taken against the entrance of thieves by night. the loaded pistol became the favourite companion of the head of the house; those who had no watch-dogs bought them; there were new locks, new bolts, new fastenings. at one time there was a mounted patrol of young men, which, however, was soon broken up by their mothers. but this trouble was unavailing, for at intervals the burglaries continued. as a matter of course a great many theories were broached as to the reasons for this disturbance in our hitherto peaceful neighbourhood. we were at such a distance from the ordinary centres of crime that it was generally considered that professional burglars would hardly take the trouble to get to us or to get away from us, and that, therefore, the offences were probably committed by unsuspected persons living in this part of the country who had easy means of determining which houses were worth breaking into and what method of entrance would be most feasible. in this way some families, hitherto regarded as respectable families, had fallen under suspicion. so far, mine was the only house of any importance within the distance of a mile from the station which had not in some way suffered from burglars. in one or two of these cases the offenders had been frightened away before they had done any other injury than the breaking of a window-shutter; but we had been spared any visitation whatever. after a time we began to consider that this was an invidious distinction. of course we did not desire that robbers should break into our house and steal, but it was a sort of implied insult that robbers should think that our house was not worth breaking into. we contrived, however, to bear up under this implied contempt and even under the facetious imputations of some of our lively neighbours, who declared that it looked very suspicious that we should lose nothing, and even continue to add to our worldly goods, while everybody else was suffering from abstractions. i did not, however, allow any relaxation in my vigilance in the protection of my house and family. my time to suffer had not yet arrived, and it might not arrive at all; but if it did come it should not be my fault. i therefore carefully examined all the new precautions my neighbours had taken against the entrance of thieves, and where i approved of them i adopted them. of some of these my wife and i did not approve. for instance, a tin pan containing iron spoons, the dinner bell, and a miscellaneous collection of hardware balanced on the top stair of the staircase, and so connected with fine cords that a thief coming up the stairs would send it rattling and bounding to the bottom, was looked upon by us with great disfavour. the descent of the pan, whether by innocent accident or the approach of a burglar, might throw our little boy into a fit, to say nothing of the terrible fright it would give my aunt martha, who was a maiden lady of middle age, and not accustomed to a clatter in the night. a bull-dog in the house my wife would not have, nor, indeed, a dog of any kind. george william was not yet old enough to play with dogs, especially a sharp one; and if the dog was not sharp it was of no use to have him in the house. to the ordinary burglar-alarm she strongly objected. she had been in houses where these things went off of their own accord, occasioning great consternation; and, besides, she said that if thieves got into the house she did not want to know it and she did not want me to know it; the quicker they found what they came for and went away with it the better. of course, she wished them kept out, if such a thing were possible; but if they did get in, our duty as parents of the dearest little boy was non-interference. she insisted, however, that the room in which the loveliest of children slept, and which was also occupied by ourselves, should be made absolutely burglar proof; and this object, by means of extraordinary bolts and chains, i flattered myself i accomplished. my aunt martha had a patent contrivance for fastening a door that she always used, whether at home or travelling, and in whose merit she placed implicit confidence. therefore we did not feel it necessary to be anxious about her; and the servants slept at the top of the house, where thieves would not be likely to go. "they may continue to slight us by their absence," said my wife, "but i do not believe that they will be able to frighten us by their presence." i was not, however, so easily contented as my wife. of course i wished to do everything possible to protect george william and the rest of the family, but i was also very anxious to protect our property in all parts of the house. therefore, in addition to everything else i had done, i devised a scheme for interfering with the plans of men who should feloniously break into our home. after a consultation with a friend, who was a physician greatly interested in the study of narcotic drugs, i procured a mixture which was almost tasteless and without peculiar odour, and of which a small quantity would in less than a minute throw an ordinary man into a state of unconsciousness. the potion was, however, no more dangerous in its effects than that quantity of ardent spirits which would cause entire insensibility. after the lapse of several hours, the person under the influence of the drug would recover consciousness without assistance. but in order to provide against all contingencies my friend prepared a powerful antidote, which would almost immediately revive one who had been made unconscious by our potion. the scheme that i had devised may possibly have been put into use by others. but of this i know not. i thought it a good scheme and determined to experiment with it, and, if possible, to make a trap which should catch a burglar. i would reveal this plan to no one but my friend the physician and my wife. secrecy would be an important element in its success. our library was a large and pleasant room on the ground floor of the house, and here i set my trap. it was my habit to remain in this room an hour or so after the rest of the family had gone to bed, and, as i was an early riser, i was always in it again before it was necessary for a servant to enter it in the morning. before leaving the library for the night i placed in a conspicuous position in the room a small table, on which was a tray holding two decanters partially filled with wine, in the one red and in the other white. there was also upon the tray an open box of biscuit and three wine-glasses, two of them with a little wine at the bottom. i took pains to make it appear that these refreshments had been recently partaken of. there were biscuit crumbs upon the tray, and a drop or two of wine was freshly spilled upon it every time the trap was set. the table, thus arranged, was left in the room during the night, and early in the morning i put the tray and its contents into a closet and locked it up. a portion of my narcotic preparation was thoroughly mixed with the contents of each of the decanters in such proportions that a glass of the wine would be sufficient to produce the desired effect. it was my opinion that there were few men who, after a night walk and perhaps some labour in forcibly opening a door or a window-shutter, would not cease for a moment in pursuance of their self-imposed task to partake of the refreshments so conveniently left behind them by the occupants of the house when they retired to rest. should my surmises be correct, i might reasonably expect, should my house be broken into, to find an unconscious burglar in the library when i went down in the morning. and i was sure, and my wife agreed with me, that if i should find a burglar in that room or any other part of the house, it was highly desirable that he should be an unconscious one. night after night i set my burglar trap, and morning after morning i locked it up in the closet. i cannot say that i was exactly disappointed that no opportunity offered to test the value of my plan, but it did seem a pity that i should take so much trouble for nothing. it had been some weeks since any burglaries had been committed in the neighbourhood, and it was the general opinion that the miscreants had considered this field worked out and had transferred their labours to a better-paying place. the insult of having been considered unworthy the attention of the knights of the midnight jimmy remained with us, but as all our goods and chattels also remained with us we could afford to brook the indignity. as the trap cost nothing my wife did not object to my setting it every night for the present. something might happen, she remarked, and it was just as well to be prepared in more ways than one; but there was a point upon which she was very positive. "when george william is old enough to go about the house by himself," she said, "those decanters must not be left exposed upon the table. of course i do not expect him to go about the house drinking wine and everything that he finds, but there is no knowing what a child in the first moments of his investigative existence may do." for myself, i became somewhat tired of acting my part in this little farce every night and morning, but when i have undertaken anything of this sort i am slow to drop it. it was about three weeks since i had begun to set my trap when i was awakened in the night by a sudden noise. i sat up in bed, and as i did so my wife said to me sleepily,-- "what is that? was it thunder? there it is again!" she exclaimed, starting up. "what a crash! it must have struck somewhere." i did not answer. it was not thunder. it was something in the house, and it flashed into my mind that perhaps my trap had been sprung. i got out of bed and began rapidly to dress. "what are you going to do?" anxiously asked my wife. "i'm going to see what has happened," said i. at that moment there was another noise. this was like two or three heavy footsteps, followed by a sudden thump; but it was not so loud as the others. "john," cried my wife, "don't stir an inch, it's burglars!" and she sprang out of bed and seized me by the arm. "i must go down," i said; "but there is really no reason for your being frightened. i shall call david, and shall carry my pistol, so there is really no danger. if there are thieves in the house they have probably decamped by this time--that is, if they are able to do so, for of course they must know that noise would awaken the soundest sleepers." my wife looked at me and then slowly withdrew her hands from my arm. "you promise me," she said, "if you find a burglar downstairs in the possession of his senses you will immediately come back to me and george william?" i promised her, and, slipping on some clothes, i went out into the second-story hall. i carried no light. before i had reached the bottom of the back stairs i heard david, my man, coming down. to be sure it was he and not a burglar i spoke to him in a low voice, my pistol raised in case of an unsatisfactory reply. "i heard that noise, sir," he whispered, "and was going down to see about it." "are you ready if it's thieves?" i whispered. "i have got the biscuit-beater," he replied. "come on, then," said i, and we went downstairs. i had left no light in the library, but there was one there now, and it shone through the open door into the hallway. we stopped and listened. there was no sound, and then slowly and cautiously we approached the door of the library. the scene i beheld astounded me, and involuntarily i sprang back a step or two. so did david; but in an instant we saw that there was no need of retreat or defence. stretched upon the floor, not far from the doorway, lay a tall man, his face upturned to the light of a bull's-eye lantern which stood by the mantel-piece. his eyes were shut, and it was evident that he was perfectly insensible. near by, in the wreck of the small table, glasses, and decanters, lay another man, apparently of heavier build. he also was as still as a corpse. a little further back, half sitting on the floor, with the upper part of his body resting against the lounge, was another man with a black mask over his face. "are they dead?" exclaimed david, in an undertone of horror. "no," said i, "they are not dead; they have been caught in my trap." and i must admit that the consciousness of this created a proud exultation of spirit within me. i had overmatched these rascals; they were prostrated before me. if one of them moved, david and i could kill him. but i did not believe there would be any killing, nor any moving for the present. in a high whisper, which could have been heard distinctly all over the house, my wife now called to me from the top of the stairs. "what is it?" she said. "what has happened?" i stepped quickly to the stairway. "everything is all right," i said in a loud, distinct voice, intended to assure my wife that there was no necessity for caution or alarm. "i will be with you presently." "i am glad to hear that nothing is the matter," said aunt martha, now for the first time opening her door. "i was afraid something had happened." but i had business to attend to before i could go upstairs. in thinking over and arranging this plan for the capture of burglars, i had carefully considered its various processes, and had provided against all the contingencies i could think of; therefore i was not now obliged to deliberate what i should do. "keep your eye on them," said i to david, "and if one of them moves be ready for him. the first thing to do is to tie them hand and foot." i quickly lighted a lamp, and then took from another shelf of the closet a large coil of strong cotton rope, which i had provided for such an occasion as the present. "now," said i to david, "i will tie them while you stand by to knock over any one of them who attempts to get up." the instrument with which david was prepared to carry out my orders was a formidable one. in the days of my youth my family was very fond of "maryland biscuit," which owes much of its delicacy to the fact that before baking it is pounded and beaten by a piece of heavy iron. some people used one kind of a beater and some another, but we had had made for the purpose a heavy iron club a little over a foot long, large and heavy at one end and a handle at the other. in my present household maryland biscuits were never made, but i had preserved this iron beater as a memento of my boyhood, and when the burglaries began in our vicinity i gave it to david to keep in his room, to be used as a weapon if necessary. i did not allow him to have a pistol, having a regard for my own safety in a sudden night alarm, and nothing could be more formidable in a hand-to-hand encounter than this skull-crushing club. i began with the tall man, and rapidly tied his feet together with many twists of the rope and as many knots. i then turned him over and tied his elbows behind him in the same secure way. i had given so much thought to the best method of securing a man by cords, that i do not think this fellow could possibly have released himself when i had finished with him. david was obeying my orders and keeping a strict watch on the prostrate men; but his emotions of amazement were so great that he could not keep them down. "what is the matter with them, sir?" he said. "how did they come so?" "there is no time for talking now," i answered. "i will tell you all about it when the men have been secured." i now turned my attention to the man who was partly resting against the lounge. i first tied his feet, and before letting him down to the floor, so as to get to his arms, i removed his hat and his mask, which was made of black muslin. i was surprised to see the beardless face of a young and very good-looking man. he was well dressed, and had the general appearance of a person belonging to theatrical circles. when his arms had been tied, i told david he might lay down his biscuit-beater, and help me with the third man, who was badly mixed up with the _débris_ of the refreshments. we hauled him out and tied him up. he was rather a short man, but very heavy, and i could see no signs of his having been hurt by the smash-up he made in falling. we now proceeded to search the insensible burglars for arms. upon the tall man we found a large revolver, a heavy billy, which seemed as if it had seen service, and a long-bladed knife. the stout man carried two double-barrelled pistols, and upon one of the fingers of his right hand wore a brass ring with a murderous-looking iron protuberance upon it, which, when driven forward by his powerful arm, was probably more dangerous than a billy. upon the younger man we found no arms at all, and his hip pocket contained nothing but a small handbook on civil engineering. i now briefly explained to david the nature of the trap which had caught the burglars. he gazed upon me with a face glowing with amazed admiration. "what a head you have got, sir!" he exclaimed. "i don't believe there is another man in this state who would have thought of that. and what are you going to do with them now, sir; hang 'em? that's what ought to be done with them, the hounds!" "all i shall do," i answered, "will be to keep them till daylight, and then i shall send word to the sheriff at kennertown, and have him send officers for them." "upon my word," exclaimed david, "they are in the worst kind of a box." now my wife called me again. "what in the world are you doing down there?" she called; "why don't you come upstairs?" this annoyed me, for i was not yet ready to go upstairs. i wished to resuscitate these fellows, for their stupor was so profound that i began to fear that perhaps they had taken too much of the drug and ought to be brought to their senses as speedily as possible. this feeling was due more to my desire that serious injuries should not occur to the rascals while in my house than to any concern for them. "my dear," said i, stepping to the bottom of the stairs, "i have some things to attend to down here which will occupy me a few minutes longer; then i will come up to you." "i can't imagine what the things are," she said, "but i suppose i can wait," and she went into her room and closed her door after her. i now began to consider what was to be done with the burglars after they had been resuscitated. my first impulse was to rid the house of them by carrying them out of doors and bringing them to their senses there. but there was an objection to this plan. they would be pretty heavy fellows to carry, and as it would be absolutely necessary to watch them until they could be given into the charge of the officers of the law, i did not want to stay out of doors to do this, for the night air was raw and chilly, and i therefore determined to keep them in the house. and as they could be resuscitated better in a sitting position, they must be set up in some way or other. i consulted david on the subject. "you might put 'em up with their backs agin the wall, sir," said he, "but the dirty beasts would spoil the paper. i wouldn't keep them in a decent room like this. i'd haul 'em out into the kitchen, anyway." but as they were already in the library i decided to let them stay there, and to get them as speedily as possible into some position in which they might remain. i bethought me of a heavy wooden settle or bench with back and arms which stood on the side piazza. with david's help i brought this into the room and placed it with its back to the window. "now, then," said i to david, "we will put them on this bench, and i will tie them fast to it. we cannot be too careful in securing them, for if one of them were to get loose, even without arms, there is no knowing what trouble he might make." "well, sir," said david, "if i'm to handle them at all, i'd rather have them dead, as i hope they are, than have them alive; but you needn't be afraid, sir, that any one of them will get loose. if i see any signs of that i'll crack the rascal's skull in a jiffy." it required a great deal of tugging and lifting to get those three men on the bench, but we got them there side by side, their heads hanging listlessly, some one way, some another. i then tied each one of them firmly to the bench. i had scarcely finished this when i again heard my wife's voice from the top of the stairs. "if any pipes have burst," she called down, "tell david not to catch the water in the new milk-pans." "very well," i replied, "i'll see to it," and was rejoiced to hear again the shutting of the bedroom door. i now saturated a sponge with the powerful preparation which dr. marks had prepared as an antidote, and held it under the nose of the tall burglar. in less than twenty seconds he made a slight quivering in his face as if he were about to sneeze, and very soon he did sneeze slightly. then he sneezed violently, raised his head, and opened his eyes. for a moment he gazed blankly before him, and then looked stupidly at david and at me. but in an instant there flashed into his face the look of a wild beast. his quick, glittering eye took in the whole situation at a glance. with a furious oath he threw himself forward with such a powerful movement that he nearly lifted the bench. "stop that," said david, who stood near him with his iron club uplifted. "if you do that again i'll let you feel this." the man looked at him with a fiery flash in his eyes, and then he looked at me, as i stood holding the muzzle of my pistol within two feet of his face. the black and red faded out of his countenance. he became pale. he glanced at his companions bound and helpless. his expression now changed entirely. the fury of the wild beast was succeeded by a look of frightened subjection. gazing very anxiously at my pistol, he said, in a voice which, though agitated, was low and respectful:-- "what does this mean? what are you going to do? will you please turn away the muzzle of that pistol?" i took no notice of this indication of my steadiness of hand, and answered:-- "i am going to bring these other scoundrels to their senses, and early in the morning the three of you will be on your way to jail, where i hope you may remain for the rest of your lives." "if you don't get killed on your way there," said david, in whose nervous hand the heavy biscuit-beater was almost as dangerous as my pistol. the stout man who sat in the middle of the bench was twice as long in reviving as had been his companion, who watched the operation with intense interest. when the burly scoundrel finally became conscious, he sat for a few minutes gazing at the floor with a silly grin; then he raised his head and looked first at one of his companions and then at the other, gazed for an instant at me and david, tried to move his feet, gave a pull at one arm and then at the other, and when he found he was bound hard and fast, his face turned as red as fire and he opened his mouth, whether to swear or yell i know not. i had already closed the door, and before the man had uttered more than a premonitory sound, david had clapped the end of his bludgeon against his mouth. "taste that," he said, "and you know what you will get if you disturb this family with any of your vile cursin' and swearin'." "look here," said the tall man, suddenly turning to the other with an air of authority, "keep your mouth shut and don't speak till you're spoken to. mind that, now, or these gentlemen will make it the worse for you." david grinned as he took away his club. "i'd gentlemen you," he said, "if i could get half a chance to do it." the face of the heavy burglar maintained its redness, but he kept his mouth shut. when the younger man was restored to his senses, his full consciousness and power of perception seemed to come to him in an instant. his eyes flashed from right to left, he turned deadly white, and then merely moving his arms and legs enough to make himself aware that he was bound, he sat perfectly still and said not a word. i now felt that i must go and acquaint my wife with what had happened, or otherwise she would be coming downstairs to see what was keeping me so long. david declared that he was perfectly able to keep guard over them, and i ran upstairs. david afterward told me that as soon as i left the room the tall burglar endeavoured to bribe him to cut their ropes, and told him if he was afraid to stay behind after doing this he would get him a much better situation than this could possibly be. but as david threatened personal injury to the speaker if he uttered another word of the kind, the tall man said no more; but the stout man became very violent and angry, threatening all sorts of vengeance on my unfortunate man. david said he was beginning to get angry, when the tall man, who seemed to have much influence over the other fellow, ordered him to keep quiet, as the gentleman with the iron club no doubt thought he was doing right. the young fellow never said a word. when i told my wife that i had caught three burglars, and they were fast bound in the library, she nearly fainted; and when i had revived her she begged me to promise that i would not go downstairs again until the police had carried away the horrible wretches. but i assured her that it was absolutely necessary for me to return to the library. she then declared that she would go with me, and if anything happened she would share my fate. "besides," she said, "if they are tied fast so they can't move, i should like to see what they look like. i never saw a burglar." i did not wish my wife to go downstairs, but as i knew there would be no use in objecting, i consented. she hastily dressed herself, making me wait for her; and when she left the room she locked the door on the sleeping george william, in order that no one should get at him during her absence. as we passed the head of the stairs, the door of my aunt martha's room opened, and there she stood, completely dressed, with her bonnet on, and a little leather bag in her hand. "i heard so much talking and so much going up and down stairs that i thought i had better be ready to do whatever had to be done. is it fire?" "no," said my wife; "it's three burglars tied in a bunch in the library. i am going down to see them." my aunt martha gasped, and looked as if she were going to sit down on the floor. "goodness gracious!" she said, "if you're going i'll go too. i can't let you go alone, and i never did see a burglar." i hurried down and left the two ladies on the stairs until i was sure everything was still safe; and when i saw that there had been no change in the state of affairs, i told them to come down. when my wife and aunt martha timidly looked in at the library door, the effect upon them and the burglars was equally interesting. the ladies each gave a start and a little scream, and huddled themselves close to me, and the three burglars gazed at them with faces that expressed more astonishment than any i had ever seen before. the stout fellow gave vent to a smothered exclamation, and the face of the young man flushed, but not one of them spoke. "are you sure they are tied fast?" whispered my aunt martha to me. "perfectly," i answered; "if i had not been sure i should not have allowed you to come down." thereupon the ladies picked up courage and stepped further into the room. "did you and david catch them?" asked my aunt; "and how in the world did you do it?" "i'll tell you all about that another time," i said, "and you had better go upstairs as soon as you two have seen what sort of people are these cowardly burglars who sneak or break into the houses of respectable people at night, and rob and steal and ruin other people's property with no more conscience or human feeling than is possessed by the rats which steal your corn, or the polecats which kill your chickens." "i can scarcely believe," said aunt martha, "that that young man is a real burglar." at these words the eyes of the fellow spoken of glowed as he fixed them on aunt martha, but he did not say a word, and the paleness which had returned to his face did not change. "have they told you who they are?" asked my wife. "i haven't asked them," i said. "and now don't you think you had better go upstairs?" "it seems to me," said aunt martha, "that those ropes must hurt them." the tall man now spoke. "indeed they do, madam," he said in a low voice and very respectful manner, "they are very tight." i told david to look at all the cords and see if any of them were too tightly drawn. "it's all nonsense, sir," said he, when he had finished the examination; "not one of the ropes is a bit too tight. all they want is a chance to pull out their ugly hands." "of course," said aunt martha, "if it would be unsafe to loosen the knots i wouldn't do it. are they to be sent to prison?" "yes," said i; "as soon as the day breaks i shall send down for the police." i now heard a slight sound at the door, and turning, saw alice, our maid of the house, who was peeping in at the door. alice was a modest girl, and quite pretty. "i heard the noise and the talking, sir," she said, "and when i found the ladies had gone down to see what it was, i thought i would come too." "and where is the cook," asked my wife; "don't she want to see burglars?" "not a bit of it," answered alice, very emphatically. "as soon as i told her what it was she covered up her head with the bedclothes and declared, ma'am, that she would never get up until they were entirely gone out of the house." at this the stout man grinned. "i wish you'd all cover up your heads," he said. the tall man looked at him severely, and he said no more. david did not move from his post near the three burglars, but he turned toward alice and looked at her. we knew that he had tender feelings toward the girl, and i think that he did not approve of her being there. "have they stolen anything?" asked aunt martha. "they have not had any chance to take anything away," i said; and my wife remarked that whether they had stolen anything or not, they had made a dreadful mess on the floor, and had broken the table. they should certainly be punished. at this she made a motion as if she would leave the room, and an anxious expression immediately came on the face of the tall man, who had evidently been revolving something in his mind. "madam," he said, "we are very sorry that we have broken your table, and that we have damaged some of your glass and your carpet. i assure you, however, that nothing of the kind would have happened but for that drugged wine, which was doubtless intended for a medicine, and not a beverage; but weary and chilled as we were when we arrived, madam, we were glad to partake of it, supposing it ordinary wine." i could not help showing a little pride at the success of my scheme. "the refreshment was intended for fellows of your class, and i am very glad you accepted it." the tall man did not answer me, but he again addressed my wife. "madam," he said, "if you ladies would remain and listen to me a few moments, i am sure i would make you aware that there is much to extenuate the apparent offence which i have committed to-night." my wife did not answer him, but turning to me said, smiling, "if he alludes to their drinking your wine he need not apologize." the man looked at her with an expression as if her words had pained him. "madam," he said, "if you consent to listen to my explanations and the story of this affair, i am sure your feelings toward me would not be so harsh." "now, then," said my aunt martha, "if he has a story to tell he ought to be allowed to tell it, even in a case like this. nobody should be judged until he has said what he thinks he ought to say. let us hear his story." i laughed. "any statement he may make," i said, "will probably deserve a much stronger name than stories." "i think that what you say is true," remarked my wife; "but still if he has a story to tell i should like to hear it." i think i heard david give a little grunt; but he was too well bred to say anything. "very well," said i, "if you choose to sit up and hear him talk, it is your affair. i shall be obliged to remain here anyway, and will not object to anything that will help to pass away the time. but these men must not be the only ones who are seated. david, you and alice can clear away that broken table and the rest of the stuff, and then we might as well sit down and make ourselves comfortable." alice, with cloth and brush, approached very timidly the scene of the disaster; but the younger burglar, who was nearest to her, gazed upon her with such a gentle and quiet air that she did not seem to be frightened. when she and david had put the room in fair order, i placed two easy-chairs for my wife and aunt martha at a moderate distance from the burglars, and took another myself a little nearer to them, and then told david to seat himself near the other end of the bench, and alice took a chair at a little distance from the ladies. "now, then," said aunt martha to the burglars, "i would like very much to hear what any one of you can say in extenuation of having broken into a gentleman's house by night." without hesitation the tall man began his speech. he had a long and rather lean, close-shaven face, which at present bore the expression of an undertaker conducting a funeral. although it was my aunt who had shown the greatest desire to hear his story, he addressed himself to my wife. i think he imagined that she was the more influential person of the two. "madam," said he, "i am glad of the opportunity of giving you and your family an idea of the difficulties and miseries which beset a large class of your fellow-beings of whom you seldom have any chance of knowing anything at all, but of whom you hear all sorts of the most misleading accounts. now, i am a poor man. i have suffered the greatest miseries that poverty can inflict. i am here, suspected of having committed a crime. it is possible that i may be put to considerable difficulty and expense in proving my innocence." "i shouldn't wonder," i interrupted. to this remark he paid no attention. "considering all this," he continued, "you may not suppose, madam, that as a boy i was brought up most respectably and properly. my mother was a religious woman, and my father was a boat-builder. i was sent to school, and my mother has often told me that i was a good scholar. but she died when i was about sixteen, and i am sure had this not happened i should never have been even suspected of breaking the laws of my country. not long after her death my father appeared to lose interest in his business, and took to rowing about the river instead of building boats for other people to row. very often he went out at night, and i used to wonder why he should care to be on the water in the darkness, and sometimes in the rain. one evening at supper he said to me: 'thomas, you ought to know how to row in the dark as well as in the daytime. i am going up the river to-night, and you can come with me.' "it was about my ordinary bedtime when we took a boat with two pair of oars, and we pulled up the river about three miles above the city." "what city?" i asked. "the city where i was born, sir," he said, "and the name of which i must be excused from mentioning for reasons connected with my only surviving parent. there were houses on the river bank, but they were not very near each other. some of them had lights in them, but most of them were dark, as it must have been after eleven o'clock. before one of them my father stopped rowing for a moment and looked at it pretty hard. it seemed to be all dark, but as we pulled on a little i saw a light in the back of the house. "my father said nothing, but we kept on, though pulling very easy for a mile or two, and then we turned and floated down with the tide. 'you might as well rest, thomas,' said he, 'for you have worked pretty hard.' "we floated slowly, for the tide was just beginning to turn, and when we got near the house which i mentioned, i noticed that there was no light in it. when we were about opposite to it father suddenly looked up and said, not speaking very loud, 'by george! if that isn't williamson green's house. i wasn't thinking of it when we rowed up, and passed it without taking notice of it. i am sorry for that, for i wanted to see williamson, and now i expect he has gone to bed.' "'who is mr. green?' i asked. "'he is an old friend of mine,' said my father, 'and i haven't seen him for some little while now. about four months ago he borrowed of me a sextant, quadrant, and chronometer. they were instruments i took from old captain barney in payment of some work i did for him. i wasn't usin' them, and williamson had bought a catboat and was studying navigation; but he has given up that fad now and has promised me over and over to send me back my instruments, but he has never done it. if i'd thought of it i would have stopped and got 'em of him; but i didn't think, and now i expect he has gone to bed. however, i'll row in shore and see; perhaps he's up yet.' "you see, ma'am," said the speaker to my wife, "i'm tellin' you all these particulars because i am very anxious you should understand exactly how everything happened on this night, which was the turning-point of my life." "very good," said aunt martha; "we want to hear all the particulars." "well, then," continued the burglar, "we pulled up to a stone wall which was at the bottom of green's place and made fast, and father he got out and went up to the house. after a good while he came back and said that he was pretty sure williamson green had gone to bed, and as it wouldn't do to waken people up from their sleep to ask them for nautical instruments they had borrowed, he sat down for a minute on the top of the wall, and then he slapped his knee, not making much noise, though. "'by george!' he said, 'an idea has just struck me. i can play the prettiest trick on williamson that ever was played on mortal man. those instruments are all in a box locked up, and i know just where he keeps it. i saw it not long ago, when i went to his house to talk about a yacht he wants built. they are on a table in the comer of his bedroom. he was taking me through the house to show me the improvements he had made, and he said to me:-- "'"martin, there's your instruments. i won't trouble you to take them with you, because they're heavy and you're not going straight home, but i'll bring them to you day after to-morrow, when i shall be goin' your way." "'now, then,' said my father, 'the trick i'm thinkin' of playing on williamson is this: i'd like to take that box of instruments out of his room without his knowing it and carry them home, having the boat here convenient; and then in a day or two to write to him and tell him i must have 'em, because i have a special use for 'em. of course he'll be awfully cut up, not having them to send back; and when he comes down to my place to talk about it, and after hearing all he has to say, i'll show him the box. he'll be the most dumbfoundedest man in this state; and if i don't choose to tell him he'll never know to his dying day how i got that box. and if he lies awake at night, trying to think how i got it, it will serve him right for keeping my property from me so long.' "'but, father,' said i, 'if the people have gone to bed you can't get into the house to play him your trick.' "'that can be managed,' says he; 'i'm rather old for climbing myself, but i know a way by which you, thomas, can get in easy enough. at the back of the house is a trellis with a grape-vine running over it, and the top of it is just under one of the second-story windows. you can climb up that trellis, thomas, and lift up that window-sash very carefully, so's not to make no noise, and get in. then you'll be in a back room, with a door right in front of you which opens into mr. and mrs. green's bedroom. there's always a little night lamp burning in it, by which you can see to get about. in the corner, on your right as you go into the room, is a table with my instrument-box standing on it. the box is pretty heavy, and there is a handle on top to carry it by. you needn't be afraid to go in, for by this time they are both sound asleep, and you can pick up the box and walk out as gingerly as a cat, having of course taken your shoes off before you went in. then you can hand the box out the back window to me,--i can climb up high enough to reach it,--and you can scuttle down, and we'll be off, having the best rig on williamson green that i ever heard of in my born days.' "i was a very active boy, used to climbing and all that sort of thing, and i had no doubt that i could easily get into the house; but i did not fancy my father's scheme. "'suppose,' i said, 'that mr. williamson green should wake up and see me; what could i say? how could i explain my situation?' "'you needn't say anything,' said my father. 'if he wakes up blow out the light and scoot. if you happen to have the box in your hand drop it out the back window and then slip down after it. he won't see us; but if he does he cannot catch us before we get to the boat; but if he should, however, i'll have to explain the matter to him, and the joke will be against me; but i shall get my instruments, which is the main point, after all.' "i did not argue with my father, for he was a man who hated to be differed with, and i agreed to help him carry out his little joke. we took off our shoes and walked quietly to the back of the house. my father stood below, and i climbed up the trellis under the back window, which he pointed out. the window-sash was down all but a little crack to let in air, and i raised it so slowly and gently that i made no noise. then without any trouble at all i got into the room. "i found myself in a moderate-sized chamber, into which a faint light came from a door opposite the window. having been several hours out in the night my eyes had become so accustomed to darkness that this light was comparatively strong and i could see everything. "looking about me my eyes fell on a little bedstead, on which lay one of the most beautiful infants i ever beheld in my life. its golden hair lay in ringlets upon the pillow. its eyes were closed, but its soft cheeks had in them a rosy tinge which almost equalled the colour of its dainty little lips, slightly opened as it softly breathed and dreamed." at this point i saw my wife look quickly at the bedroom key she had in her hand. i knew she was thinking of george william. "i stood entranced," continued the burglar, "gazing upon this babe, for i was very fond of children; but i remembered that i must not waste time, and stepped softly into the next room. there i beheld mr. and mrs. williamson green in bed, both fast asleep, the gentleman breathing a little hard. in a corner, just where my father told me i should find it, stood the box upon the table. "but i could not immediately pick it up and depart. the beautiful room in which i found myself was a revelation to me. until that moment i had not known that i had tastes and sympathies of a higher order than might have been expected of the youthful son of a boat-builder. those artistic furnishings aroused within a love of the beautiful which i did not know i possessed. the carpets, the walls, the pictures, the hangings in the windows, the furniture, the ornaments,--everything, in fact, impressed me with such a delight that i did not wish to move or go away. "into my young soul there came a longing. 'oh!' i said to myself, 'that my parents had belonged to the same social grade as that worthy couple reposing in that bed; and oh! that i, in my infancy, had been as beautiful and as likely to be so carefully nurtured and cultured as that sweet babe in the next room.' i almost heaved a sigh as i thought of the difference between these surroundings and my own, but i checked myself; it would not do to made a noise and spoil my father's joke. "there were a great many things in that luxurious apartment which it would have delighted me to look upon and examine, but i forbore." "i wish i'd been there," said the stout man; "there wouldn't have been any forbearin'." the speaker turned sharply upon him. "don't you interrupt me again," he said angrily. then, instantly resuming his deferential tone, he continued the story. "but i had come there by the command of my parent, and this command must be obeyed without trifling or loss of time. my father did not approve of trifling or loss of time. i moved quietly toward the table in the corner, on which stood my father's box. i was just about to put my hand upon it when i heard a slight movement behind me. i gave a start and glanced backward. it was mr. williamson green turning over in his bed; what if he should awake? his back was now toward me, and my impulse was to fly and leave everything behind me; but my father had ordered me to bring the box, and he expected his orders to be obeyed. i had often been convinced of that. "i stood perfectly motionless for a minute or so, and when the gentleman recommenced his regular and very audible breathing i felt it safe to proceed with my task. taking hold of the box i found it was much heavier than i expected it to be; but i moved gently away with it and passed into the back room. "there i could not refrain from stopping a moment by the side of the sleeping babe, upon whose cherub-like face the light of the night lamp dimly shone. the little child was still sleeping sweetly, and my impulse was to stop and kiss it; but i knew that this would be wrong. the infant might awake and utter a cry and my father's joke be spoiled. i moved to the open window, and with some trouble, and, i think, without any noise, i succeeded in getting out upon the trellis with the box under my arm. the descent was awkward, but my father was a tall man, and, reaching upward, relieved me of my burden before i got to the ground. "'i didn't remember it was so heavy,' he whispered, 'or i should have given you a rope to lower it down by. if you had dropped it and spoiled my instruments, and made a lot of noise besides, i should have been angry enough.' "i was very glad my father was not angry, and following him over the greensward we quickly reached the boat, where the box was stowed away under the bow to keep it from injury. "we pushed off as quietly as possible and rowed swiftly down the river. when we had gone about a mile i suddenly dropped my oar with an exclamation of dismay. "'what's the matter?' cried my father. "'oh, i have done a dreadful thing!' i said. 'oh, father, i must go back!' "i am sorry to say that at this my father swore. "'what do you want to go back for?' he said. "'just to think of it! i have left open the window in which that beautiful child was sleeping. if it should take cold and die from the damp air of the river blowing upon it i should never forgive myself. oh, if i had only thought of climbing up the trellis again and pulling down that sash! i am sure i could go back and do it without making the least noise.' my father gave a grunt; but what the grunt meant i do not know, and for a few moments he was silent, and then he said:-- "'thomas, you cannot go back; the distance is too great, the tide is against us, and it is time that you and i were both in our beds. nothing may happen to that baby; but, attend to my words now, if any harm should come to that child it will go hard with you. if it should die it would be of no use for you to talk about practical jokes. you would be held responsible for its death. i was going to say to you that it might be as well for you not to say anything about this little venture until i had seen how williamson green took the joke. some people get angry with very little reason, although i hardly believe he's that sort of a man; but now things are different. he thinks all the world of that child, which is the only one they've got; and if you want to stay outside of jail or the house of refuge i warn you never to say a word of where you have been this night.' "with this he began to row again, and i followed his example, but with a very heavy heart. all that night i dreamt of the little child with the damp night winds blowing in upon it." "did you ever hear if it caught cold?" asked aunt martha. "no," replied the burglar, "i never did. i mentioned the matter to my father, and he said that he had great fears upon the subject, for although he had written to williamson green, asking him to return the instruments, he had not seen him or heard from him, and he was afraid that the child had died or was dangerously sick. shortly after that my father sent me on a little trip to the long island coast to collect some bills from people for whom he had done work. he gave me money to stay a week or two at the seashore, saying that the change would do me good; and it was while i was away on this delightful holiday that an event occurred which had a most disastrous effect upon my future life. my father was arrested for burglary! "it appeared--and i cannot tell you how shocked i was when i discovered the truth--that the box which i had carried away did not contain nautical instruments, but was filled with valuable plate and jewels. my unfortunate father heard from a man who had been discharged from the service of the family whose house he had visited--whose name, by the way, was not green--where the box containing the valuables mentioned was always placed at night, and he had also received accurate information in regard to the situation of the rooms and the best method of gaining access to them. "i believe that some arrangement had been made between my father and this discharged servant in regard to a division of the contents of the box, and it was on account of a disagreement on this subject that the man became very angry, and after pocketing what my father thought was his fair share he departed to unknown regions, leaving behind a note to the police which led to my father's arrest." "that was a mean trick," said aunt martha. the burglar looked at her gratefully. "in the lower spheres of life, madam, such things often happen. some of the plate and jewels were found in my father's possession, and he was speedily tried and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. and now, can you imagine, ladies," said the tall burglar, apparently having become satisfied to address himself to aunt martha, as well as my wife, "the wretched position in which i found myself? i was upbraided as the son of a thief. i soon found myself without home, without occupation, and, alas! without good reputation. i was careful not to mention my voluntary connection with my father's crime for fear that should i do so i might be compelled to make a statement which might increase the severity of his punishment. for this reason i did not dare to make inquiries concerning the child in whom i had taken such an interest, and whose little life i had, perhaps, imperilled. i never knew, ladies, whether that infant grew up or not. "but i, alas! grew up to a life of hardship and degradation. it would be impossible for persons in your sphere of life to understand what i now was obliged to suffer. suitable employment i could not obtain, because i was the son of a burglar. with a father in the state prison, it was of no use for me to apply for employment at any respectable place of business. i laboured at one thing and another, sometimes engaging in the most menial employments. i also had been educated and brought up by my dear mother for a very different career. sometimes i managed to live fairly well, sometimes i suffered. always i suffered from the stigma of my father's crime, always in the eyes of the community in which i lived--a community, i am sorry to say, incapable, as a rule, of making correct judgments in delicate cases like these--i was looked upon as belonging to the ranks of the dishonest. it was a hard lot, and sometimes almost impossible to bear up under. "i have spoken at length, ladies, in order that you may understand my true position; and i wish to say that i have never felt the crushing weight of my father's disgrace more deeply than i felt it last evening. this man," nodding toward the stout burglar, "came to me shortly after i had eaten my supper, which happened to be a frugal one, and said to me:-- "'thomas, i have some business to attend to to-night, in which you can help me if you choose. i know you are a good mechanic.' "'if it is work that will pay me,' i answered, 'i should be very glad to do it, for i am greatly in need of money.' "'it will pay,' said he; and i agreed to assist him. "as we were walking to the station, as the business to be attended to was out of town, this man, whose name is james barlow, talked to me in such a way that i began to suspect that he intended to commit a burglary, and openly charged him with this evil purpose. 'you may call it burglary or anything else you please,' said he; 'property is very unequally divided in this world, and it is my business in life to make wrong things right as far as i can. i am going to the house of a man who has a great deal more than he needs, and i haven't anything like as much as i need; and so i intend to take some of his overplus,--not very much, for when i leave his house he will still be a rich man, and i'll be a poor one. but for a time my family will not starve.' "'argue as you please, james barlow,' i said, 'what you are going to do is nothing less than burglary.' "'of course it is,' said he; 'but it's all right, all the same. there are a lot of people, thomas, who are not as particular about these things as they used to be, and there is no use for you to seem better than your friends and acquaintances. now, to show there are not so many bigots as there used to be, there's a young man going to meet us at the station who is greatly interested in the study of social problems. he is going along with us just to look into this sort of thing and study it. it is impossible for him to understand people of our class, or do anything to make their condition better, if he does not thoroughly investigate their methods of life and action. he's going along just as a student, nothing more; and he may be down on the whole thing for all i know. he pays me five dollars for the privilege of accompanying me, and whether he likes it or not is his business. i want you to go along as a mechanic, and if your conscience won't let you take any share in the profit, i'll just pay you for your time.' "'james barlow,' said i, 'i am going with you, but for a purpose far different from that you desire. i shall keep by your side, and if i can dissuade you from committing the crime you intend i shall do so; but if i fail in this, and you deliberately break into a house for purposes of robbery, i shall arouse the inmates and frustrate your crime.' now, james barlow," said he, turning to the stout man with a severe expression on his strongly marked face, "is not what i have said perfectly true? did you not say to me every word which i have just repeated?" the stout man looked at the other in a very odd way. his face seemed to broaden and redden, and he merely closed his eyes as he promptly answered:-- "that's just what i said, every blasted word of it. you've told it fair and square, leavin' off nothin' and puttin' in nothin'. you've told the true facts out and out, up and down, without a break." "now, ladies," continued the tall man, "you see my story is corroborated, and i will conclude it by saying that when this house, in spite of my protest, had been opened, i entered with the others with the firm intention of stepping into a hallway or some other suitable place and announcing in a loud voice that the house was about to be robbed. as soon as i found the family aroused and my purpose accomplished, i intended to depart as quickly as possible, for, on account of the shadow cast upon me by my father's crime, i must never be found even in the vicinity of criminal action. but as i was passing through this room i could not resist the invitation of barlow to partake of the refreshments which we saw upon the table. i was faint from fatigue and insufficient nourishment. it seemed a very little thing to taste a drop of wine in a house where i was about to confer a great benefit. i yielded to the temptation, and now i am punished. partaking even that little which did not belong to me, i find myself placed in my present embarrassing position." "you are right there," said i, "it must be embarrassing; but before we have any more reflections, there are some practical points about which i wish you would inform me. how did that wicked man, mr. barlow i think you called him, get into this house?" the tall man looked at me for a moment, as if in doubt what he should say; and then his expression of mingled hopelessness and contrition changed into one of earnest frankness. "i will tell you, sir, exactly," he said; "i have no wish to conceal anything. i have long wanted to have an opportunity to inform occupants of houses, especially those in the suburbs, of the insufficiency of their window fastenings. familiar with mechanic devices as i am, and accustomed to think of such things, the precautions of householders sometimes move me to laughter. your outer doors, front and back, are of heavy wood, chained, locked, and bolted, often double locked and bolted; but your lower windows are closed in the first place by the lightest kind of shutters, which are very seldom fastened at all, and in the second place by a little contrivance connecting the two sashes, which is held in place by a couple of baby screws. if these contrivances are of the best kind and cannot be opened from the outside with a knife-blade or piece of tin, the burglar puts a chisel or jimmy under the lower sash and gently presses it upward, when the baby screws come out as easily as if they were babies' milk-teeth. not for a moment does the burglar trouble himself about the front door, with its locks and chains and bolts. he goes to the window, with its baby screws, which might as well be left open as shut, for all the hindrance it is to his entrance; and if he meddled with the door at all, it is simply to open it from the inside, so that when he is ready to depart he may do so easily." "but all that does not apply to my windows," i said. "they are not fastened that way." "no, sir," said the man, "your lower shutters are solid and strong as your doors. this is right, for if shutters are intended to obstruct entrance to a house they should be as strong as the doors. when james barlow first reached this house he tried his jimmy on one of the shutters in this main building, but he could not open it. the heavy bolt inside was too strong for him. then he tried another near by with the same result. you will find the shutters splintered at the bottom. then he walked to the small addition at the back of the house, where the kitchen is located. here the shutters were smaller, and of course the inside bolts were smaller. everything in harmony. builders are so careful now-a-days to have everything in harmony. when barlow tried his jimmy on one of these shutters the bolt resisted for a time, but its harmonious proportions caused it to bend, and it was soon drawn from its staples and the shutter opened, and of course the sash was opened as i told you sashes are opened." "well," said i, "shutters and sashes of mine shall never be opened in that way again." "it was with that object that i spoke to you," said the tall man. "i wish you to understand the faults of your fastenings, and any information i can give you which will better enable you to protect your house, i shall be glad to give, as a slight repayment for the injury i may have helped to do to you in the way of broken glass and spoiled carpet. i have made window fastenings an especial study, and, if you employ me for the purpose, i'll guarantee that i will put your house into a condition which will be absolutely burglar proof. if i do not do this to your satisfaction, i will not ask to be paid a cent." "we will not consider that proposition now," i said, "for you may have other engagements which would interfere with the proposed job." i was about to say that i thought we had enough of this sort of story, when aunt martha interrupted me. "it seems to me," she said, speaking to the tall burglar, "that you have instincts, and perhaps convictions, of what is right and proper; but it is plain that you allow yourself to be led and influenced by unprincipled companions. you should avoid even the outskirts of evil. you may not know that the proposed enterprise is a bad one, but you should not take part in it unless you know that it is a good one. in such cases you should be rigid." the man turned toward my aunt, and looked steadfastly at her, and as he gazed his face grew sadder and sadder. "rigid," he repeated; "that is hard." "yes," i remarked, "that is one of the meanings of the word." paying no attention to me, he continued:-- "madam," said he, with a deep pathos in his voice, "no one can be better aware than i am that i have made many mistakes in the course of my life; but that quality on which i think i have reason to be satisfied with myself is my rigidity when i know a thing is wrong. there occurs to me now an instance in my career which will prove to you what i say. "i knew a man by the name of spotkirk, who had invented a liniment for the cure of boils. he made a great success with his liniment, which he called boilene, and at the time i speak of he was a very rich man. "one day spotkirk came to me and told me he wanted me to do a piece of business for him, for which he would pay me twenty-five dollars. i was glad to hear this, for i was greatly in need of money, and i asked him what it was he wanted me to do. "'you know timothy barker,' said he. 'well, timothy and i have had a misunderstanding, and i want you to be a referee or umpire between us, to set things straight.' "'very good,' said i, 'and what is the point of difference?' "'i'll put the whole thing before you.' said he, 'for of course you must understand it or you can't talk properly to timothy. now, you see, in the manufacture of my boilene i need a great quantity of good yellow gravel, and timothy barker has got a gravel pit of that kind. two years ago i agreed with timothy that he should furnish me with all the gravel i should want for one-eighth of one per cent. of the profits on the boilene. we didn't sign no papers, for which i am sorry, but that was the agreement; and now timothy says that one-eighth of one per cent. isn't enough. he has gone wild about it, and actually wants ten per cent., and threatens to sue me if i don't give it to him.' "'are you obliged to have gravel? wouldn't something else do for your purpose?' "'there's nothing as cheap,' said spotkirk. 'you see i have to have lots and lots of it. every day i fill a great tank with the gravel and let water onto it. this soaks through the gravel, and comes out a little pipe in the bottom of the tank of a beautiful yellow color; sometimes it is too dark, and then i have to thin it with more water.' "'then you bottle it,' i said. "'yes,' said spotkirk; 'then there is all the expense and labour of bottling it.' "'then you put nothing more into it,' said i. "'what more goes into it before it's corked,' said spotkirk, 'is my business. that's my secret, and nobody's been able to find it out. people have had boilene analyzed by chemists, but they can't find out the hidden secret of its virtue. there's one thing that everybody who has used it does know, and that is that it is a sure cure for boils. if applied for two or three days according to directions, and at the proper stage, the boil is sure to disappear. as a proof of its merit i have sold seven hundred and forty-eight thousand bottles this year.' "'at a dollar a bottle?' said i. "'that is the retail price,' said he. "'now, then, mr. spotkirk,' said i, 'it will not be easy to convince timothy barker that one-eighth of one per cent. is enough for him. i suppose he hauls his gravel to your factory?' "'hauling's got nothing to do with it,' said he; 'gravel is only ten cents a load anywhere, and if i choose i could put my factory right in the middle of a gravel pit. timothy barker has nothing to complain of. "'but he knows you are making a lot of money,' said i, 'and it will be a hard job to talk him over. mr. spotkirk, it's worth every cent of fifty dollars.' "'now look here,' said he; 'if you get barker to sign a paper that will suit me, i'll give you fifty dollars. i'd rather do that than have him bring a suit. if the matter comes up in the courts those rascally lawyers will be trying to find out what i put into my boilene, and that sort of thing would be sure to hurt my business. it won't be so hard to get a hold on barker if you go to work the right way. you can just let him understand that you know all about that robbery at bonsall's clothing-store, where he kept the stolen goods in his barn, covered up with hay, for nearly a week. it would be a good thing for timothy barker to understand that somebody else beside me knows about that business, and if you bring it in right, it will fetch him around, sure.' "i kept quiet for a minute or two, and then i said:-- "'mr. spotkirk, this is an important business. i can't touch it under a hundred dollars.' he looked hard at me, and then he said:-- "'do it right, and a hundred dollars is yours.' "after that i went to see timothy barker, and had a talk with him. timothy was boiling over, and considered himself the worst-cheated man in the world. he had only lately found out how spotkirk made his boilene, and what a big sale he had for it, and he was determined to have more of the profits. "'just look at it!' he shouted; 'when spotkirk has washed out my gravel it's worth more than it was before, and he sells it for twenty-five cents a load to put on gentlemen's places. even out of that he makes a hundred and fifty per cent. profit.' "i talked a good deal more with timothy barker, and found out a good many things about spotkirk's dealings with him, and then in an off-hand manner i mentioned the matter of the stolen goods in his barn, just as if i had known all about it from the very first. at this timothy stopped shouting, and became as meek as a mouse. he said nobody was as sorry as he was when he found the goods concealed in his barn had been stolen, and that if he had known it before the thieves took them away he should have informed the authorities; and then he went on to tell me how he got so poor and so hard up by giving his whole time to digging and hauling gravel for spotkirk, and neglecting his little farm, that he did not know what was going to become of him and his family if he couldn't make better terms with spotkirk for the future, and he asked me very earnestly to help him in this business if i could. "now, then, i set myself to work to consider this business. here was a rich man oppressing a poor one, and here was this rich man offering me one hundred dollars--which in my eyes was a regular fortune--to help him get things so fixed that he could keep on oppressing the poor one. now, then, here was a chance for me to show my principles. here was a chance for me to show myself what you, madam, call rigid; and rigid i was. i just set that dazzling one hundred dollars aside, much as i wanted it. much as i actually needed it, i wouldn't look at it, or think of it. i just said to myself, 'if you can do any good in this matter, do it for the poor man;' and i did do it for timothy barker with his poor wife and seven children, only two of them old enough to help him in the gravel pit. i went to spotkirk and i talked to him, and i let him see that if timothy barker showed up the boilene business, as he threatened to do, it would be a bad day for the spotkirk family. he tried hard to talk me over to his side, but i was rigid, madam, i was rigid, and the business ended in my getting seven per cent. of the profits of boilene for that poor man, timothy barker, and his large family; and their domestic prosperity is entirely due--i say it without hesitation--to my efforts on their behalf, and to my rigidity in standing up for the poor against the rich." "of course," i here remarked, "you don't care to mention anything about the money you squeezed out of timothy barker by means of your knowledge that he had been a receiver of stolen goods, and i suppose the boilene man gave you something to get the percentage brought down from ten per cent. to seven." the tall burglar turned and looked at me with an air of saddened resignation. "of course," said he, "it is of no use for a man in my position to endeavour to set himself right in the eyes of one who is prejudiced against him. my hope is that those present who are not prejudiced will give my statements the consideration they deserve." "which they certainly will do," i continued. turning to my wife and aunt martha, "as you have heard this fine story, i think it is time for you to retire." "i do not wish to retire," promptly returned aunt martha. "i was never more awake in my life, and couldn't go asleep if i tried. what we have heard may or may not be true, but it furnishes subjects for reflection--serious reflection. i wish very much to hear what that man in the middle of the bench has to say for himself; i am sure he has a story." "yes, ma'am," said the stout man, with animation, "i've got one, and i'd like nothin' better than to tell it to you if you'll give me a little somethin' to wet my lips with--a little beer, or whiskey and water, or anything you have convenient." "whiskey and water!" said aunt martha with severity. "i should think not. it seems to me you have had all the intoxicating liquors in this house that you would want." "but i don't think you're the kind of person who'd doctor the liquor. this is the first gentleman's house where i ever found anything of that kind." "the worse for the gentleman," i remarked. the man grunted. "well, ma'am," he said, "call it anything you please--milk, cider, or, if you have nothin' else, i'll take water. i can't talk without somethin' soaky." my wife rose. "if we are to listen to another story," she said, "i want something to keep up my strength. i shall go into the dining-room and make some tea, and aunt martha can give these men some of that if she likes." the ladies now left the room, followed by alice. presently they called me, and, leaving the burglars in charge of the vigilant david, i went to them. i found them making tea. "i have been upstairs to see if george william is all right, and now i want you to tell me what you think of that man's story," said my wife. "i don't think it a story at all," said i. "i call it a lie. a story is a relation which purports to be fiction, no matter how much like truth it may be, and is intended to be received as fiction. a lie is a false statement made with the intention to deceive, and that is what i believe we have heard to-night." "i agree with you exactly," said my wife. "it may be," said aunt martha, "that the man's story is true. there are some things about it which make me think so; but if he is really a criminal he must have had trials and temptations which led him into his present mode of life. we should consider that." "i have been studying him," i said, "and i think he is a born rascal, who ought to have been hung long ago." my aunt looked at me. "john," she said, "if you believe people are born criminals, they ought to be executed in their infancy. it could be done painlessly by electricity, and society would be the gainer, although you lawyers would be the losers. but i do not believe in your doctrine. if the children of the poor were properly brought up and educated, fewer of them would grow to be criminals." "i don't think this man suffered for want of education," said my wife; "he used very good language; that was one of the first things that led me to suspect him. it is not likely that sons of boat-builders speak so correctly and express themselves so well." "of course, i cannot alter your opinions," said aunt martha, "but the story interested me, and i very much wish to hear what that other man has to say for himself." "very well," said i, "you shall hear it; but i must drink my tea and go back to the prisoners." "and i," said aunt martha, "will take some tea to them. they may be bad men, but they must not suffer." i had been in the library but a few moments when aunt martha entered, followed by alice, who bore a tray containing three very large cups of tea and some biscuit. "now, then," said aunt martha to me, "if you will untie their hands, i will give them some tea." at these words each burglar turned his eyes on me with a quick glance. i laughed. "hardly," said i. "i would not be willing to undertake the task of tying them up again, unless, indeed, they will consent to drink some more of my wine." "which we won't do," said the middle burglar, "and that's flat." "then they must drink this tea with their hands tied," said aunt martha, in a tone of reproachful resignation, and, taking a cup from the tray, she approached the stout man and held it up to his lips. at this act of extreme kindness we were all amused, even the burglar's companions smiled, and david so far forgot himself as to burst into a laugh, which, however, he quickly checked. the stout burglar, however, saw nothing to laugh at. he drank the tea, and never drew breath until the cup was emptied. "i forgot," said my aunt, as she removed the cup from his lips, "to ask you whether you took much or little sugar." "don't make no difference to me," answered the man; "tea isn't malt liquor; it's poor stuff any way, and it doesn't matter to me whether it's got sugar in it or not, but it's moistenin', and that's what i want. now, madam, i'll just say to you, if ever i break into a room where you're sleepin', i'll see that you don't come to no harm, even if you sit up in bed and holler." "thank you," said aunt martha; "but i hope you will never again be concerned in that sort of business." he grinned. "that depends on circumstances," said he. aunt martha now offered the tall man some tea, but he thanked her very respectfully, and declined. the young man also said that he did not care for tea, but that if the maid--looking at alice--would give him a glass of water he would be obliged. this was the first time he had spoken. his voice was low and of a pleasing tone. david's face grew dark, and we could see that he objected to this service from alice. "i will give him the water myself," said aunt martha. this she did, and i noticed that the man's thirst was very soon satisfied. when david had been refreshed, and biscuits refused by the burglars, who could not very well eat them with their hands tied, we all sat down, and the stout man began his story. i give it as he told it, omitting some coarse and rough expressions, and a good deal of slang which would be unintelligible to the general reader. "there's no use," said the burglar, "for me to try and make any of you believe that i'm a pious gentleman under a cloud, for i know i don't look like it, and wouldn't be likely to make out a case." at this the tall man looked at him very severely. "i don't mean to say," he continued, "that my friend here tried anything like that. every word he said was perfectly true, as i could personally testify if i was called upon the stand, and what i'm goin' to tell you is likewise solid fact. "my father was a cracksman, and a first-rate one, too; he brought me up to the business, beginning when i was very small. i don't remember havin' any mother, so i'll leave her out. my old man was very particular; he liked to see things done right. one day i was with him, and we saw a tinner nailing a new leader or tin water-spout to the side of a house. "'look here, young man,' says dad, 'you're makin' a pretty poor job of that. you don't put in enough nails, and they ain't half drove in. supposin' there was a fire in that house some night, and the family had to come down by the spout, and your nails would give way, and they'd break their necks. what would you think then? and i can tell you what it is, young man, i can appear ag'in you for doing poor work.' "the tinner grumbled, but he used more nails and drove 'em tight, dad and me standin' by, an' looking at him. one rainy night not long after this dad took me out with him and we stopped in front of this house. 'now, bobbie,' said he, 'i want you to climb into that open second-story window, and then slip down stairs and open the front door for me; the family's at dinner.' "'how am i to get up, dad?' said i. "'oh, you can go up the spout,' says he; 'i'll warrant that it will hold you. i've seen to it that it was put on good and strong.' "i tried it, and as far as i can remember i never went up a safer spout." "and you opened the front door?" asked aunt martha. "indeed i did, ma'am," said the burglar, "you wouldn't catch me makin' no mistakes in that line. "after a while i got too heavy to climb spouts, and i took to the regular business, and did well at it, too." "do you mean to say," asked aunt martha, "that you willingly and premeditatedly became a thief and midnight robber?" "that's what i am, ma'am," said he; "i don't make no bones about it. i'm a number one, double-extra, back-springed, copper-fastened burglar, with all the attachments and noiseless treadle. that's what i am, and no mistake. there's all kinds of businesses in this world, and there's got to be people to work at every one of 'em; and when a fellow takes any particular line, his business is to do it well; that's my motto. when i break into a house i make it a point to clean it out first-class, and not to carry away no trash, nuther. of course, i've had my ups and my downs, like other people,--preachers and doctors and storekeepers,--they all have them, and i guess the downs are more amusin' than the ups, at least to outsiders. i've just happened to think of one of them, and i'll let you have it. "there was a man i knew named jerry hammond, that was a contractor, and sometimes he had pretty big jobs on hand, buildin' or road-makin' or somethin' or other. he'd contract to do anything, would jerry, no matter whether he'd ever done it before or not. i got to know his times and seasons for collecting money, and i laid for him." "abominable meanness!" exclaimed my wife. "it's all business," said the stout man, quite unabashed. "you don't catch a doctor refusin' to practise on a friend, or a lawyer, nuther, and in our line of business it's the same thing. it was about the end of october, nigh four years ago, that i found out that jerry had a lot of money on hand. he'd been collectin' it from different parties, and had got home too late in the day to put it in the bank, so says i to myself, this is your time, old fellow, and you'd better make hay while the sun shines. i was a little afraid to crack jerry's house by myself, for he's a strong old fellow, so i got a man named putty henderson to go along with me. putty was a big fellow and very handy with a jimmy; but he was awful contrary-minded, and he wouldn't agree to clean out jerry until i promised to go halves with him. this wasn't fair, for it wasn't his job, and a quarter would have been lots for him. "but there wasn't no use arguin', and along we went, and about one o'clock we was standin' alongside jerry's bed, where he was fast asleep. he was a bachelor, and lived pretty much by himself. i give him a punch to waken him up, for we'd made up our minds that that was the way to work this job. it wouldn't pay us to go around huntin' for jerry's money. he was such a sharp old fellow, it was six to four we'd never find it. he sat up in bed with a jump like a hop-toad, and looked first at one and then at the other of us. we both had masks on, and it wasn't puzzlin' to guess what we was there fur. "'jerry hammond,' says i, speakin' rather rough and husky, 'we knows that you've got a lot o' money in this house, and we've come fur it. we mean business, and there's no use foolin'. you can give it to us quiet and easy, and keep a whole head on your shoulders, or we'll lay you out ready fur a wake and help ourselves to the funds; and now you pays your money and you can take your choice how you do it. there's nothin' shabby about us, but we mean business. don't we, pard?'--'that's so,' says putty. "'look here,' says jerry, jest as cool as if he had been sittin' outside on his own curbstone, 'i know you two men and no mistake. you're tommy randall, and you're putty henderson, so you might as well take off them masks.'--'which i am glad to do,' says i, 'for i hate 'em,' and i put mine in my pocket, and putty he took off his." "excuse me," said aunt martha, interrupting at this point, "but when mr. hammond mentioned the name of tommy randall, to whom did he refer?" "i can explain that, madam," said the tall burglar, quickly. "this man by his criminal course of life has got himself into a good many scrapes, and is frequently obliged to change his name. since i accidentally became acquainted with him he has had several aliases, and i think that he very often forgets that his real name is james barlow." "that's so," said the stout man, "there never was a more correct person than this industrious and unfortunate man sittin' by me. i am dreadful forgetful, and sometimes i disremember what belongs to me and what don't. names the same as other things. "'well, now, jerry,' says i, 'you needn't think you're goin' to make anythin' by knowin' us. you've got to fork over your cash all the same, and if you think to make anything by peachin' on us after we've cleared out and left you peaceful in your bed, you're mistook so far as i'm concerned; for i've made the track clear to get out of this town before daybreak, and i don't know when i'll come back. this place is gettin' a little too hot for me, and you're my concludin' exercise.' jerry he sat still for a minute, considerin.' he wasn't no fool, and he knowed that there wasn't no use gettin' scared, nor cussin', nor hollerin'. what's more, he knowed that we was there to get his money, and if he didn't fork it over he'd get himself laid out, and that was worse than losin' money any day. 'now, boys, says he, 'i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll make you an offer; a fair and square offer. what money i've got i'll divide even with you, each of us takin' a third, and i'll try to make up what i lose out of my next contract. now nothin' could be no squarer than that.'--'how much money have you got, jerry?' says i, 'that's the first thing to know.'--'i've got thirty-one hundred dollars even,' says he, 'and that will be one thousand and thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents apiece. i've got bills to pay to-morrow for lumber and bricks, and my third will pay 'em. if i don't i'll go to pieces. you don't want to see me break up business, do you?'--'now, jerry,' says i, 'that won't do. you haven't got enough to divide into three parts. putty and me agree to go halves with what we get out of you, and when i lay out a piece of business i don't make no changes. half of that money is for me, and half is for putty. so just hand it out, and don't let's have no more jabberin'.' "jerry he looked at me pretty hard, and then says he: 'you're about the close-fisted and meanest man i ever met with. here i offer you a third part of my money, and all you've got to do is to take it and go away peaceable. i'd be willin' to bet two to one that it's more than you expected to get, and yet you are not satisfied; now, i'll be hanged if i'm going to do business with you.'--'you can be hanged if you like,' says i, 'but you'll do the business all the same.'--'no, i won't,' says he, and he turns to putty henderson. 'now, putty,' says he, 'you've got a pile more sense that this pal of yourn, and i'm goin' to see if i can't do business with you. now, you and me together can lick this tommy randall just as easy as not, and if you'll help me do it i'll not only divide the money with you, but i'll give you fifty dollars extra, so that instead of fifteen hundred and fifty dollars--that's all he'd given you, if he didn't cheat you--you'll have sixteen hundred, and i'll have fifteen hundred instead of the thousand and thirty-three dollars which i would have had left if my first offer had been took. so, putty, what do you say to that?' now, putty, he must have been a little sore with me on account of the arguments we'd had about dividin', and he was mighty glad besides to get the chance of makin' fifty dollars extry, and so he said it was all right, and he'd agree. then i thought it was about time for me to take in some of my sail, and says i: 'jerry, that's a pretty good joke, and you can take my hat as soon as i get a new one, but of course i don't mean to be hard on you, and if you really have bills to pay to-morrow i'll take a third, and putty'll take another, and we'll go away peaceful.'--'no, you won't,' sings out jerry, and with that he jumps out of bed right at me, and putty henderson he comes at me from the other side, and, between the two, they gave me the worst lickin' i ever got in my born days, and then they dragged me down stairs and kicked me out the front door, and i had hardly time to pick myself up before i saw a policeman about a block off, and if he hadn't been a fat one he'd had me sure. it wouldn't have been pleasant, for i was a good deal wanted about that time. "so you see, ladies and gents, that it's true what i said,--things don't always go right in our line of business no more than any other one." "i think you were served exactly right," said aunt martha; "and i wonder such an experience did not induce you to reform." "it did, ma'am, it did," said the burglar. "i made a vow that night that if ever again i had to call in any one to help me in business of that kind i wouldn't go pards with him. i'd pay him so much for the job, and i'd take the risks, and i've stuck to it. "but even that don't always work. luck sometimes goes ag'in' a man, even when he's working by himself. i remember a thing of that kind that was beastly hard on me. a gentleman employed me to steal his daughter." "what!" exclaimed my wife and aunt martha. "steal his own daughter! what do you mean by that?" "that's what it was," said the stout burglar; "no more nor less. i was recommended to the gent as a reliable party for that sort of thing, and i met him to talk it over, and then he told me just how the case stood. he and his wife were separated, and the daughter, about eleven years old, had been given to her by the court, and she put it into a boardin' school, and the gent he was goin' to europe, and he wanted to get the little gal and take her with him. he tried to get her once, but it slipped up, and so there wasn't no good in his showin' hisself at the school any more, which was in the country, and he knowed that if he expected to get the gal he'd have to hire a professional to attend to it. "now, when i heard what he had to say, i put on the strictly pious, and, says i, 'that's a pretty bad thing you're askin' me to do, sir, to carry away a little gal from its lovin' mother, and more 'an that, to take it from a school where it's gettin' all the benefits of eddication.'--'eddication,' says he; 'that's all stuff. what eddication the gal gets at a school like that isn't worth a row of pins, and when they go away they don't know nothin' useful, nor even anything tip-top ornamental. all they've learned is the pianer and higher mathematics. as for anythin' useful, they're nowhere. there isn't one of them could bound new jersey or tell you when washington crossed the delaware.'--'that may be, sir,' says i, 'but them higher branches comes useful. if washington really did cross the delaware, your little gal could ask somebody when it was, but she couldn't ask 'em how the pianer was played, nor what the whole multiplication table came to added up. them things she'd have to learn how to do for herself. i give you my word, sir, i couldn't take a little gal from a school, where she was gettin' a number one eddication, silver forks and towels extry.' the gent looked pretty glum, for he was to sail the next day, and if i didn't do the job for him he didn't know who would, and he said that he was sorry to see that i was goin' back on him after the recommend i'd had, and i said that i wouldn't go back on him if it wasn't for my conscience. i was ready to do any common piece of business, but this stealin' away little gals from lovin' mothers was a leetle too much for me. 'well,' says he, 'there ain't no time to be lost, and how much more will satisfy your conscience?' when i said a hundred dollars, we struck the bargain. "well, we cut and dried that business pretty straight. i took a cab and went out to the school, and the gent he got the key of a house that was to let about three miles from the school, and he was to stay there and look at that empty house until i brought him the gal, when he was to pay me and take her away. i'd like to have had more time, so that i could go out and see how the land laid, but there wasn't no more time, and i had to do the best i could. the gent told me they all went a walkin' every afternoon, and that if i laid low that would be the best time to get her, and i must just fetch her along, no matter who hollered. "i didn't know exactly how i was going to manage it, but i took along with me a big bag that was made for the conveyance of an extinct millionaire, but which had never been used, owin' to beforehand arrangements which had been made with the party's family. "i left the cab behind a bit of woods, not far from the school, and then i laid low, and pretty soon i seed 'em all coming out, in a double line, with the teacher behind 'em, for a walk. i had a description of the little gal as was wanted, and as they come nearer i made her out easy. she was the only real light-haired one in the lot. i hid behind some bushes in the side of the road, and when they come up, and the light-haired little gal was just opposite to me, i jumped out of the bushes and made a dash at her. whoop! what a row there was in one second! such a screamin' and screechin' of gals, such a pilin' on top each other, and the teacher on top the whole of 'em, bangin' with her umbrella; they pulled at the gal and they pulled at me, an' they yelled and they howled, and i never was in such a row and hope i never shall be again, and i grabbed that girl by her frock, and i tumbled some over one way and some another, and i got the umbrella over my head, but i didn't mind it, and i clapped that bag over the little gal, and i jerked, up her feet and let her slip into it, and then i took her up like a bag of meal, and put across the field, with the whole kit and boodle after me. but i guess most of 'em must have tumbled down in hysterics, judgin' from the screechin', and i got up to the cab and away we went. well, when we got to the house where i was to meet the gent, he began straight off to blow at me. 'what do you mean,' he yelled, 'bringin' my daughter in a bag?'--'it's the only way to do it, sir,' says i; 'they can't holler and they can't kick, and people passin' by don't know what you've got,' and so sayin' i untied the strings, put the little gal on her feet, and pulled off the bag, and then i'd be hanged if i ever saw a man so ragin' mad as he was. 'what do i want with that gal?' he cried; 'that's not my daughter. that girl's hair is as black as a coal, and she's a jew besides.' as soon as i sot my eyes on the little varmint it come over me that i got the thing crooked, and in the scrimmage i let go of the right gal and grabbed another. "i don't see how a man could help makin' mistakes with that school-teacher's umbrella whanging away at his knowledge box, but i wasn't goin' to let on. 'she ain't no jew, nuther,' says i, 'and she's your daughter, too; you needn't try to play no tricks on me. pay me my money and take her away as quick as you can, that's my advice, or before you know it you'll be nabbed.'--'pay ye!' he yelled; 'do you think i'd pay you anything for that little jew?'--'she's just as much a christian as you are,' says i. 'ain't you a christian, little gal? and is'nt this gentleman your father? and ain't you surprised that he wants to give you back to be put in the bag?' i said this hopin' she'd have sense enough to say he was her father so's to get rid of me. "the wretched gal had been clean dumbfounded when she was took out of the bag, and hadn't done nothin' so far but blubber and cry, and try to get away, which she couldn't, because i held her frock; but now she ups and screams he wasn't her father, and she'd never seen him before, and then he storms and swears, and tells me to take her back where i got her, and i tell him i'll see him hanged first, and what i want is my money; she screams, and he swears he'll not pay me a cent, and i squares off and says that i'll thrash him out of his skin, and then he calls in his coachman, and they both make at me, and i backs out the door to get my cabby to stand by me, and i found that he'd cut out, havin' most likely got frightened, afraid of bein' mixed up in trouble. then i seed on the high road, some half a mile away, some men comin' gallopin', and the gent he looked out and seed 'em, too, and then says he to me, 'you'll jist take that little jew gal back where you got her from; she's no use to me; i'm goin';' and at that i hollered for my money, and made a grab at him, but the coachman he tripped me over backward, and before i could git up again they was both off with the horses on a run. "i was so mad i couldn't speak, but there wasn't no time for foolin', and i hadn't made up my mind which door i should cut out of, when the fellows on horseback went ridin' past as hard as they could go. they must have seed the carriage drivin' away, and thought for sure it had the gal in it, and they was after it, lickety-split. "when they was clean gone i looked round for the little gal, but couldn't see her, but all a-sudden she came out of the fireplace, where she'd been hidin'. she'd got over her cryin', and over her scare, too, judgin' from her looks. 'i'm glad he's gone,' says she, 'and i'm mighty glad, too, that mr. haskins and them other men didn't see me.'--'who's they?' says i.--'they's neighbors,' says she;' if they knew i was here they'd took me back.'--'well, you little minx,' say i, 'isn't that what you want?'--'no,' says she. 'i didn't want to go with that man, for i don't know him, and i hate him, but i don't want to go back to that school. i hate it worse than anything in the whole world. you haven't no idea what a horrid place it is. they just work you to death, and don't give you half enough to eat. my constitution won't stand it. i've told pop that, and he thinks so too, but marm, she don't believe in it, and my stayin' there is all her doin'. i've been wantin' to get away for ever so long, but i didn't want to be took off in a bag; but now that i'm out of that horrid hole i don't want to go back, and if you'll take me home to pop, i know he won't let me go back, and he'll pay you real handsome besides.'--'who's your pop?' says i.--'he's mr. groppeltacker, of groppeltacker & mintz, corset findings, seven hundred and something or other, i forget the number now, broadway. oh, pop does a lot of business, i tell you, and he's got lots of money. he sends corset findings to south america, and paris, and chicago, and madagascar, and the uttermost parts of the earth. i've heard him say that often, and you needn't be afraid of his not bein' able to pay you. a lot more than that man would have paid you for his little gal, if you'd catched the right one. so if you take me to pop, and get me there safe and sound, it will be an awful good speck for you.' "now, i begins to think to myself that perhaps there was somethin' in what that little jew gal was sayin', and that i might make something out of the gal after all. i didn't count on gettin' a big pile out of old groppeltacker,--it wasn't likely he was that kind of a man,--but whatever i did get would be clean profit, and i might as well try it on. he couldn't make no charge ag'in me fur bringin' him his daughter, if she asked me to do it; so says i to her, 'now, if i take you home to your pop, will you promise on your word an' honour, that you won't say nothin' about my carryin' you off in a bag, and say that you seed me walkin' along the road and liked my looks, and told me you were sufferin', and asked me to take you home to your kind parents, where you might be took proper care of; and that i said i wasn't goin' that way, but i'd do it out of pure christian charity, and nothin' more nor less, and here you was? and then, of course, you can tell him he ought to do the handsome thing by me.'--'i'll do that,' says she, 'and i tell how you talked to me awful kind for more than an hour, tryin' to keep me to stay at the school, and it wasn't till i got down on my knees and weeped that you agreed to take me to my kind father.'--'all right,' says i, 'i might as well take you along, but we'll have to go back by the railroad and foot it, at least two miles, to the station, and i don't know about walkin' across the country with a little girl dressed as fine as you are. i might get myself suspicioned.'--'that's so,' says she; 'we might meet somebody that'd know me,' and then she wriggled up her little forehead and began to think. i never did see such a little gal as sharp as that one was; needles was nothin' to her. in about a minute she says, 'where's that bag of yourn?'--'here it is,' says i; and then she took it and looked at it up and down, with her head cocked on one side. 'if i'd somethin' to cut that bag with,' says she, 'i could fix myself up so that nobody'd know me, don't care who it was.'--'i don't want that bag cut,' says i; 'it's an extry good bag; it was made for a particular purpose, and cost money.'--'pop will pay expenses,' says she; 'how much did it cost?'--'it was four dollars cash,' said i.--'they cheated you like everything,' says she; 'you could get a bag like that any day for a dollar and seventy-five cents. will you let it go at that?'--'all right,' says i, for i was tickled to see how sharp that little jew gal was, and ten to one i'd throwed away the bag before we got to town; so she pulled a little book out of her pocket with a pencil stuck in it, and turnin' over to a blank page she put down, 'bag, one dollar and seventy-five;' then she borrows my big knife, and holdin' the top of the bag up ag'in her belt, she made me stick a pin in it about a hand's-breadth from the floor; then she took the knife and cut the bag clean across, me a-holdin' one side of it; then she took the top end of that bag and slipped it on her, over her head and shoulders, and tied the drawin' strings in it round her waist, and it hung around her just like a skirt, nearly touchin' the ground; then she split open the rest of the bag, and made a kind of shawl out of it, puttin' it into shape with a lot o' pins, and pinnin' it on herself real clever. she had lots of pins in her belt, and she told me that she never passed a pin in that school without pickin' it up, and that she had four hundred and fifty-nine of them now in her room, which she was mighty sorry to leave behind, and that these she had now was this day's pickin' up. "when she got done workin' at herself you couldn't see not a ribbon nor a hem of her fine clothes; it was all black skirt and shawl, and she'd put up her sleeve, so that when her arm stuck out it was bare. then she took all the ribbons and flowers off her hat, and crumpled it up, and when she tied it on what a guy she was. 'now,' says she, 'i can go barefoot.'--'which you won't,' says i, 'for you'll get your feet all cut, but you can muddy your shoes,' which she did, i pumpin' on 'em, so that the dust in the back yard would stick. then we starts off across the country, and, upon my word, i was pretty nigh ashamed to be seen walkin' with such a little scarecrow. when i bought the tickets at the station she asked me how much they was, and put it down in her book. when we got into the cars the people all looked hard at her, and i reckon they thought some kind of a home had been burnt down, and this was one of the orphans that had been saved. but they didn't say nothin', and she fixed herself as comfortable as you please; and before long a boy came through the car with fruit in a basket, and then says she to me, 'i want two apples.' the boy had gone past us, but i got up and followed him and bought her two apples. 'how much did you give for them?' says she, when i come back.--'they was two for five cents,' says i.--'well,' says she, 'they do stick you dreadful. two for three cents is all papa or i pays for apples like them,' and she took out her little book and put down, 'apples, three cents.'--'very well, miss,' says i, 'but if you want any more refreshments you buy 'em yourself.'--'i think i'd better,' says she, and she went to work eatin' them two apples. she hadn't more than got through with 'em when the boy came around ag'in. 'i want a banana,' says she; 'lend me five cents,' which i did, and she put down, 'cash, five cents.' then the boy come up, and says she, 'how much are your bananas?'--'five cents,' said he.--'for two?' says she.--'no,' says he, 'for one.'--'what do you take me for?' says she. 'i've bought bananas before. i'll give you three cents for that one,' pointin' to the biggest in the lot.--'i can't do that,' said the boy; 'the price is five cents.'--'i'd like a banana,' says she, 'but i don't pay more'n three cents; take it or leave it,' and with that the boy went on. 'now,' says i, 'you've gouged yourself out of a banana.'--'not a bit of it,' says she; 'he'll be back;' and in two minutes he was back, and said she might have it for three cents. 'have you got two coppers?' said she. 'let me see 'em.' he said he had, and showed 'em to her, and she took 'em and the banana, and then give him five cents, and then she didn't give the change to me, but put it in her pocket. 'now,' says she, 'if you'd buy things that way, you'd be rich in time.' "when we got to the city we took the elevated and went up town to forty-eighth street, and then walked over to her father's house. it was a big one, on one of the cross streets. when we got there, she told me to wait a minute, and, lookin' around to see that nobody was comin', she slipped off the skirt and the cape she had made and rolled 'em up in a bundle. 'it don't matter about my hat and shoes,' says she, 'but they wouldn't know me in such duds.' then, handin' me the bundle, she said, 'for twenty-five cents you can get that bag mended just as good as new, so you can take it, and it will save us a dollar and a half.'--'no, you don't,' says i, for i'd had enough of her stinginess. 'i don't touch that bag ag'in, and i made up my mind that minute to charge the old man five dollars' worth. when the front door was opened, the servant gal looked as if she couldn't believe her eyes, but my young woman was as cool as you please, and she had me showed into a room off the hall, and then she went up-stairs. "i sat a-waitin' a long time, which gave me a good chance to look around at things. the room was real handsome, and i took a peep at the window fastenin's and the lay of the doors, thinkin' the knowledge might come in handy some time. right in front of me on a table was a little yellow mouse, and it struck me as i looked at it that that must be gold. i listened if anybody was comin', and then i picked it up to see if it really was. i thought i heard the door-bell ring just then, and shut it up in my hand quick, but nobody went to the door; and then i looked at the little mouse, and if it wasn't pure gold it was the best imitation ever i see, so i slipped it quietly in my pocket to look at it ag'in when i had time. "pretty soon old groppeltacker come in, shut the door, and sot down. 'so you brought my daughter back,' says he.--'yes,' says i.--'and you expect to be paid for it,' says he.--'yes,' says i, 'i do.'--'how much do you ask for your services?' says he. now, this was a sort of a staggerer, for i hadn't made up my mind how much i was goin' to ask; but there wasn't time for no more thinkin' about it, and so says i, plum, 'a hundred dollars, and there was some expenses besides.'--'well, well,' says he, 'that seems like a good deal, just for bringin' a little gal from school. it couldn't have took you more'n a couple of hours.'--'i don't charge for time,' says i, 'it's for the risks and the science of the thing. there's mighty few men in this town could have brought your daughter home as neat as i did.'--'well, well,' says he, rubbin' his hands, 'i expect i'll have to pay for the whole term of the school, whether she's there or not, and the business will come heavy on me. don't you think sixty dollars would pay you?' now, i know when you deal with this sort of a man there's always a good deal of difference splittin'; and so, says i, 'no, it won't. i might take ninety dollars, but that's the very lowest peg.'--'the very lowest?' says he, gettin' up and walkin' about a little; and then i thought i heard the door-bell ring again, and i was dreadful afraid somebody would come and call off the old man before he finished the bargain. 'well,' says i, 'we'll call it eighty-five and expenses, and there i'll stop.' "groppeltacker, now he set down ag'in and looked hard at me. 'i didn't ask you to bring my daughter back,' says he, speakin' gruff, and very different from the way he spoke before, 'and what's more, i didn't want her back, and what's more yet, i'm not goin' to pay you a red cent.'--'now, look a-here,' says i, mighty sharp, 'none o' that, old man; fork over the money or i'll lay you out stiff as a poker, and help myself. i'm not a fellow to be fooled with, and there's nobody in this house can stop me.' old groppeltacker, he didn't turn a hair, but just sot there, and says he, 'before you blow any more, suppose you take my little gold mouse out of your pocket and hand it to me.' i must say i was took back at this, but i spoke back, as bold as brass, and said i never seed his gold mouse. 'o, ho!' says he, 'what you didn't see was the electric button under the table cover which rung a bell when the mouse was picked up. that's what i call my mouse-trap.' "at this i jist b'iled over. 'now,' says i, 'just you hand out every cent you've got, and your watch, too; not another word.' and i jumped up and clapped my hand on my pistol in my hip-pocket, and just at that minute there was a click and the nippers were on me, and there was a big policeman with his hand on my shoulder. i couldn't speak, i was so b'ilin' and so dumbfounded both at once. old groppeltacker he just leaned back and he laughed. 'you came in,' he said to the cop,'jest the second i rang, and as soft as a cat, and the first thing that i want you to do is to take that gold mouse out of his pocket, and i'll be on hand whenever you let me know i'm wanted.' the cop he took the gold mouse out of my pocket, and says he, 'i know this fellow, and if i'm not mistook, they'll be more charges than yourn made ag'in him.' there wasn't no chance to show fight, so i didn't do it, but i says to old groppeltacker, 'there's my expenses, you've got to pay them, anyway.'--'all right,' says he, 'jist you send in your bill marked correct, by my daughter, and i'll settle it,' and he laughed again, and the cop he took me off. well, ladies and gents, that little piece of business, together with some other old scores, took me to sing sing for three years, and it tain't six months since i got out, so you can see for yourselves what hard times a fellow in my line of business sometimes has." "well," said aunt martha, "i don't approve of the groppeltacker sort of people, but if there were more of that kind i believe there would be fewer of your kind. that story shows you in such a bad light that i believe it's true." "every word of it," said the man. "i wish it wasn't." and now i spoke. "since you claim to be a truth-telling being," i said to the stout burglar, "suppose you tell me why you never attempted before to break into my house. every considerable dwelling in this neighbourhood has been entered, and i have no doubt you are the men who committed all the burglaries." "no, sir," said he; "not men, i am the man who did 'em all; but these two friends of mine was never with me before in a bit of business like this. 'tain't in their line. i have had pals with me, but they was professionals. these ain't cracksmen, they don't know nothin' about it; but this one is handy at tools, and that's the reason i brung him along, but you see he kicked, and was goin' to give me away, and this young gentleman"-- "never mind about that young gentleman," i said; "i have a certain curiosity to know why my house was not entered when the others were." "well," said he, "i don't mind tellin' yer how that was. it was on account of your baby. we don't like to crack a house where there's a pretty small baby that's liable to wake up and howl any minute, and rouse up the rest of the family. there's no workin' in a house with comfort when there's such a young one about. i'll tell you what it is, all your burglar-alarms and your dogs ain't worth nuthin' alongside of a baby for guardin' a house. if a cracksman ain't careful the alarms will go off, and if he don't know how to manage dogs, the dogs will bark. but by george, sir, there ain't no providin' ag'in a baby. he'll howl any time, and nobody can tell when, so i waited till your baby was a little more settled in its ways and slept soundly, and then we come along, and here we are." this statement very much surprised me, and did not elate me. without saying so to any one, i had flattered myself that the burglars had heard of my precautions, and of my excellent stock of firearms, and perhaps had got a notion that i would be an intrepid man to deal with, and it was somewhat humiliating to find that it was our baby the burglars were afraid of, and not myself. my wife was amazed. "can it be possible," she said, "that these people know so much about our baby, and that george william has been protecting this house?" "it makes my flesh creep," said aunt martha. "do you know everything about all of us?" "wish i did, ma'am," said the stout burglar; "wish i'd known about that beastly liquor." "well, we've had enough of this," said i, rising; "and, my dear, you and aunt martha must be ready to go to bed, and david and i will keep guard over these fellows until morning." at this instant the youngest burglar spoke. his face wore a very anxious expression. "may i ask, sir," he said, "what you intend to do with me in the morning?" "i have already said," i answered, "that i shall then hand over all of you to the officers of justice of this country." "but, sir," said the young man, "you will surely except me. i am not at all concerned in this matter, and it would be of the greatest possible injury to me to be mixed up in it, or to be mentioned in public reports as an associate of a criminal. i'm not acquainted with the gentleman at the other end of the bench, but i have every reason to believe from what he said to me that he intended to notify you if this james barlow proceeded to any open act. for myself, i beg you will allow me to state who and what i am, and to tell you by what a strange concatenation of circumstances i happen to find myself in my present position--one which, i assure you, causes me the greatest embarrassment and anxiety." "we've had enough story-telling for one night," said i, "and you had better reserve your statement for the magistrate." here aunt martha put in her voice. "that is not fair," she said, "two of them have been allowed to speak, and this one has just as much right to be heard as the others. what do you say, cornelia?" i hoped that my wife would put herself on my side, and would say that we had enough of this sort of thing; but female curiosity is an unknown quantity, and she unhesitatingly replied that she would like to hear the young man's story. i sat down in despair. it was useless to endeavour to withstand this yearning for personal information,--one of the curses, i may say, of our present civilization. the young man gave no time for change of opinion, but immediately began. his voice was rich and rather low, and his manner exceedingly pleasing and gentle. "i wish to state in the first place," said he, "that i am a reporter for the press. in the exercise of my vocation i have frequently found myself in peculiar and unpleasant positions, but never before have i been in a situation so embarrassing, so humiliating, as this. in the course of my studies and experiences i have found that in literature and journalism, as well as in art, one can make a true picture only of what one has seen. imagination is all very well, often grand and beautiful; but imaginative authors show us their inner selves and not our outer world; there is to-day a demand for the real, and it is a demand which will be satisfied with nothing but the truth. i have determined, as far as in me lies, to endeavour to supply this demand, and i have devoted myself to the study of realism. "with this end in view, i have made it a rule never to describe anything i have not personally seen and examined. if we would thoroughly understand and appreciate our fellow-beings we must know what they do and how they do it; otherwise we cannot give them credit for their virtues, or judge them properly for their faults. if i could prevent crime i would annihilate it, and when it ceased to exist the necessity for describing it would also cease. but it does exist. it is a powerful element in the life of the human race. being known and acknowledged everywhere, it should be understood; therefore it should be described. the grand reality of which we are a part can never be truly comprehended until we comprehend all its parts. but i will not philosophize. i have devoted myself to realism, and in order to be a conscientious student i study it in all its branches. i am frequently called upon to write accounts of burglars and burglaries, and in order thoroughly to understand these people and their method of action i determined, as soon as the opportunity should offer itself, to accompany a burglarious expedition. my sole object was the acquisition of knowledge of the subject,--knowledge which to me would be valuable, and, i may say, essential. i engaged this man, james barlow, to take me with him the first time he should have on hand an affair of this kind, and thus it is that you find me here to-night in this company. as i came here for the purpose of earnest and thorough investigation, i will frankly admit that i would not have interfered with his processes, but at the same time i would have seen that no material injuries should result to any members of this family." "that was very kind of you," i said, at which my wife looked at me somewhat reproachingly. "if he really intended it," she remarked, "and i do not see why that was not the case, it was kind in him." "as for me," said aunt martha, very sympathetically, "i think that the study of realism may be carried a great deal too far. i do not think that there is the slightest necessity for people to know anything about burglars. if people keep talking and reading about diseases they will get them, and if they keep talking and reading about crimes they will find that iniquity is catching, the same as some other things. besides, this realistic description gets to be very tiresome. if you really want to be a writer, young man, why don't you try your hand on some original composition? then you might write something which would be interesting." "ah, madam," said the young man, casting his eyes on the floor, "it would be far beyond my power to write anything more wonderful than what i have known and seen! if i may tell you some of the things which have happened to me, you will understand why i have become convinced that in this world of realities imagination must always take a second place." "of course we want to hear your story," said aunt martha; "that is what we are here for." "if i was unbound," said the young man, looking at me, "i could speak more freely." "no doubt of it," said i; "but perhaps you might run away before you finished your story. i wouldn't have that happen for the world." "don't make fun of him," said aunt martha. "i was going to ask you to cut him loose, but after what you say i think it would perhaps be just as well to keep them all tied until the narratives are completed." with a sigh of resignation the young man began his story. "i am american born, but my father, who was a civil engineer and of high rank in his profession, was obliged, when i was quite a small boy, to go to austria, where he had made extensive contracts for the building of railroads. in that country i spent the greater part of my boyhood and youth. there i was educated in the best schools, my father sparing no money to have me taught everything that a gentleman should know. my mother died when i was a mere infant, and as my father's vocation made it necessary for him to travel a great deal, my life was often a lonely one. for society i depended entirely upon my fellow-scholars, my tutors, and masters. it was my father's intention, however, that when i had finished my studies i should go to one of the great capitals, there to mix with the world. "but when this period arrived i was in no haste to avail myself of the advantages he offered me. my tastes were studious, my disposition contemplative, and i was a lover of rural life. "my father had leased an old castle in carinthia, not far from the mountains, and here he kept his books and charts, and here he came for recreation and study whenever his arduous duties gave him a little breathing-spell. for several months i had lived at this castle, happy when my father was with me and happy when i was alone. i expected soon to go to vienna, where my father would introduce me to some of his influential friends. but day by day i postponed the journey. "walking one morning a few miles from the castle, i saw at the edge of a piece of woodland a female figure seated beneath a tree. approaching nearer, i perceived that she was young, and that she was sketching. i was surprised, for i knew that in this part of the world young women, at least those of the upper classes, to which the costume and tastes of this one showed her to belong, were not allowed to wander about the country by themselves; but although i stood still and watched the young lady for some time, no companion appeared upon the scene. "the path i had intended to take led past the piece of woodland, and i saw no reason why i should diverge from my proposed course. i accordingly proceeded, and when i reached the young lady i bowed and raised my hat. i think that for some time she had perceived my approach, and she looked up at me with a face that was half merry, half inquisitive, and perfectly charming. i cannot describe the effect which her expression had upon me. i had never seen her before, but her look was not such a one as she would bestow upon a stranger. i had the most powerful desire to stop and speak to her, but having no right to do so, i should have passed on, had she not said to me, in the best of english, 'good-morning, sir.' then i stopped, you may be sure. i was so accustomed to speak to those i meet in either french or german that i involuntarily said to her,'_bon jour, mademoiselle_.'--'you need not speak french,' she said; 'i am neither english nor american, but i speak english. are you the gentleman who lives in wulrick castle? if so, we are neighbours, and i wish you would tell me why you live there all the time alone.' "at this i sat down by her. 'i am that person,' i said, and handed her my card. 'but before i say any more, please tell me who you are.'--'i am marie dorfler. my father's house is on the other side of this piece of woodland; you cannot see it from here; this is part of his estate. and now tell me why you live all by yourself in that old ruin.'--'it is not altogether a ruin,' i answered; 'part of it is in very good condition.' and then i proceeded to give her an account of my method of life and my reasons for it. 'it is interesting,' she said, 'but it is very odd.'--'i do not think it half so odd,' i answered, 'as that you should be here by yourself.'--'that is truly an out-of-the-way sort of thing,' she said; 'but just now i am doing out-of-the-way things. if i do not do them now, i shall never have the opportunity again. in two weeks i shall be married, and then i shall go to prague, and everything will be by line and rule. no more delightful rambles by myself. no more sitting quietly in the woods watching the little birds and hares. no more making a sketch just where i please, no matter whether the ground be damp or not.'--'i wonder that you are allowed to do these things now,' i said.--'i am not allowed,' she answered. 'i do them in hours when i am supposed to be painting flower pieces in an upper room.'--'but when you're married,' i said, 'your husband will be your companion in such rambles.'--'hardly,' she said, shrugging her shoulders; 'he will be forty-seven on the thirteenth of next month, which i believe is july, and he is a great deal more grizzled than my father, who is past fifty. he is very particular about all sorts of things, as i suppose he has to be, as he is a colonel of infantry. nobody could possibly disapprove of my present performances more than he would.' i could not help ejaculating, 'why, then, do you marry him?' she smiled at my earnestness. 'oh, that is all arranged,' she said, 'and i have nothing to do with it. i have known for more than a year that i'm to marry colonel kaldhein, but i cannot say that i have given myself much concern about it until recently. it now occurs to me that if i expect to amuse myself in the way i best like i must lose no time doing so.' i looked at the girl with earnest interest. 'it appears to me,' said i, 'that your ways of amusing yourself are very much like mine.'--'that is true,' she said, looking up with animation, 'they are. is it not delightful to be free, to go where you like, and do what you please, without any one to advise or interfere with you?'--'it is delightful,' said i; and for half an hour we sat and talked about these delights and kindred subjects. she was much interested in our castle, and urged me to make a sketch of it, so that she may know what it now looked like. she had seen it when a little girl, but never since, and had been afraid to wander very far in this direction by herself. i told her that it would be far better for her to see the castle with her own eyes, and that i could conduct her to an eminence, not half a mile away, where she could have an excellent view of it. this plan greatly pleased her; but looking at her watch she said that it would be too late for her to go that morning, but if i happened to come that way the next day, and she should be there to finish her sketch, she would be delighted to have me show her the eminence." "i think," interrupted aunt martha, "that she was a very imprudent young woman." "that may be," he replied, "but you must remember, madam, that up to this time the young lady had been subjected to the most conventional trammels, and that her young nature had just burst out into temporary freedom and true life. it was the caged bird's flight into the bright summer air." "just the kind of birds," said aunt martha, "that shouldn't be allowed to fly, at least until they are used to it. but you can go on with your story." "well," said the young man, "the next day we met i took her to the piece of high ground i had mentioned, and she sketched the castle. after that we met again and again, nearly every day. this sort of story tells itself. i became madly in love with her, and i am sure she liked me very well; at all events i was a companion of her own age and tastes, and such a one, she assured me, she had never known before, and probably would never know again." "there was some excuse for her," said aunt martha; "but still she had no right to act in that way, especially as she was so soon to be married." "i do not think that she reasoned much upon the subject," said the young man, "and i am sure i did not. we made no plans. every day we thought only of what we were doing or saying, and not at all what we had done or would do. we were very happy. "one morning i was sitting by marie in the very place where i had first met her, when we heard some one rapidly approaching. looking up i saw a tall man in military uniform. 'heavens!' cried marie, 'it is colonel kaldhein.' "the situation was one of which an expectant bridegroom would not be likely to ask many questions. marie was seated on a low stone with her drawing-block in her lap. she was finishing the sketch on which she was engaged when i first saw her, and i was kneeling close to her, looking over her work and making various suggestions, and i think my countenance must have indicated that i found it very pleasant to make suggestions in that way to such a pretty girl. our heads were very close together. sometimes we looked at the paper, sometimes we looked at each other. but in the instant i caught sight of the colonel the situation had changed. i rose to my feet, and marie began to pick up the drawing materials, which were lying about her. "colonel kaldhein came forward almost at a run. his eyes blazed through his gold spectacles, and his close-cut reddish beard seemed to be singeing with the fires of rage. i had but an instant for observation, for he came directly up to me, and with a tremendous objurgation he struck me full in the face with such force that the blow stretched me upon the ground. "i was almost stunned; but i heard a scream from marie, a storm of angry words from kaldhein, and i felt sure he was about to inflict further injury. he was a much stronger man than i was, and probably was armed. with a sudden instinct of self-preservation i rolled down a little declivity on the edge of which i had fallen, and staggering to my feet, plunged into a thicket and fled. even had i been in the full possession of my senses, i knew that under the circumstances i would have been of no benefit to marie had i remained upon the scene. the last thing i heard was a shout from kaldhein, in which he declared that he would kill me yet. for some days i did not go out of my castle. my face was bruised, my soul was dejected. i knew there was no possible chance that i should meet marie, and that there was a chance that i might meet the angry colonel. an altercation at this time would be very annoying and painful to the lady, no matter what the result, and i considered it my duty to do everything that was possible to avoid a meeting with kaldhein. therefore, as i have said, i shut myself up within the walls of old wulrick, and gave strict orders to my servants to admit no one. "it was at this time that the strangest events of my life occurred. sitting in an upper room, gazing out of the window, over the fields, through which i had walked so happily but two days before to meet the lady whom i had begun to think of as my marie, i felt the head of a dog laid gently in my lap. without turning my head i caressed the animal, and stroked the long hair on his neck. "my hound ajax was a dear companion to me in this old castle, although i never took him in my walks, as he was apt to get into mischief, and when i turned my head to look at him he was gone; but strange to say, the hand which had been stroking the dog felt as if it were still resting on his neck. "quickly drawing my hand toward me it struck the head of the dog, and, moving it backward and forward, i felt the ears and nose of the animal, and then became conscious that its head was still resting upon my knee. "i started back. had i been stricken with blindness? but no; turning my head, i could plainly see everything in the room. the scene from the window was as distinct as it ever had been. i sprang to my feet, and, as i stood wondering what this strange thing could mean, the dog brushed up against me and licked my hand. then the idea suddenly flashed into my mind that by some occult influence ajax had been rendered invisible. "i dashed down-stairs, and although i could neither see nor hear it, i felt that the dog was following me. rushing into the open air, i saw one of my men. 'where is ajax?' i cried. 'a very strange thing has happened, sir,' he said, 'and i should have come to tell you of it, had i not been unwilling to disturb your studies. about two hours ago ajax was lying here in the courtyard; suddenly he sprang to his feet with a savage growl. his hair stood straight upon his back, his tail was stiff, and his lips were drawn back, showing his great teeth. i turned to see what had enraged him, but there was absolutely nothing, sir,--nothing in the world. and never did i see ajax so angry. but this lasted only for an instant. ajax suddenly backed, his tail dropped between his legs, his head hung down, and with a dreadful howl he turned, and, leaping the wall of the courtyard, he disappeared. i have since been watching for his return. the gate is open, and as soon as he enters i shall chain him, for i fear the dog is mad.' "i did not dare to utter the thoughts that were in my mind, but, bidding the man inform me the moment ajax returned, i reëntered the castle and sat down in the great hall. "the dog was beside me; his head again lay upon my knees. with a feeling of awe, yet strangely enough without fear, i carefully passed my hand over the animal's head. i felt his ears, his nose, his jaws, and his neck. they were not the head, the ears, the nose, the jaws, or the neck of ajax! "i had heard of animals, and even human beings, who were totally invisible, but who still retained their form, their palpability, and all the powers and functions of life. i had heard of houses haunted by invisible animals; i had read de kay's story of the maiden manmat'ha, whose coming her lover perceived by the parting of the tall grain in the field of ripe wheat through which she passed, but whose form, although it might be folded in his arms, was yet as invisible to his sight as the summer air. i did not doubt for a moment that the animal that had come to me was one of those strange beings. i lifted his head; it was heavy. i took hold of a paw which he readily gave me; he had every attribute of a real dog, except that he could not be seen." "i call that perfectly horrible," said aunt martha with a sort of a gasp. "perhaps," said the young man, "you would prefer that i should not continue." at this both my wife and aunt martha declared that he must go on, and even i did not object to hearing the rest of the story. "well," said the young man, "ajax never came back. it is generally believed that dogs can see things which are invisible to us, and i am afraid that my faithful hound was frightened, perhaps to death, when he found that the animal whose entrance into the courtyard he had perceived was a supernatural thing. "but if i needed a canine companion i had one, for by day or night this invisible dog never left me. when i slept he lay on the floor by the side of my bed; if i put down my hand i could always feel his head, and often he would stand up and press his nose against me, as if to assure me that he was there. this strange companionship continued for several days, and i became really attached to the invisible animal. his constant companionship seemed to indicate that he had come to guard me, and that he was determined to do it thoroughly. i felt so much confidence in his protection, although i knew not how it could be exerted, that one morning i decided to take a walk, and with my hand on the head of the dog, to make sure that he was with me, i strolled into the open country. "i had walked about a mile, and was approaching a group of large trees, when suddenly from behind one of them the tall figure of a man appeared. in an instant i knew it to be colonel kaldhein; his was a face which could not easily be forgotten. without a word he raised a pistol which he held in his hand and fired at me. the ball whistled over my head. "i stopped short, startled, and frightened almost out of my senses. i was unarmed, and had no place of refuge. it was plain that the man was determined to kill me. "quickly recocking his pistol, kaldhein raised it again. i involuntarily shrank back, expecting death; but before he could fire his arm suddenly dropped, and the pistol was discharged into the ground. then began a strange scene. the man shouted, kicked, and beat up and down with his arms; his pistol fell from his hand, he sprang from side to side, he turned around, he struggled and yelled. "i stood astounded. for an instant i supposed the man had been overtaken by some sort of fit; but in a flash the truth came to me,--kaldhein was being attacked by my protector, the invisible dog. "horrified by this conviction, my first impulse was to save the man; and, without knowing what i was going to do, i stepped quickly toward him, but stumbling over something i did not see i fell sprawling. before i could regain my feet i saw kaldhein fall backward to the ground, where a scene took place, so terrible that i shall not attempt to describe it. when, with trembling steps, i approached, the man was dead. the invisible dog had almost torn him to pieces. "i could do nothing. i did not remain upon the spot another minute, but hurried home to the castle. as i rapidly walked on i felt the dog beside me, and, putting my hand upon him, i felt that he was panting terribly. for three days i did not leave the house. "about the end of this time i was sitting in an upper room of the castle, reflecting upon the recent dreadful event, when the thought struck me that the invisible dog, who was by my side, apparently asleep, must be of an unusually powerful build to overcome so easily such a strong man as kaldhein. i felt a desire to know how large the creature really was, and, as i had never touched any portion of his body back of his shoulders, i now passed my hand along his back. i was amazed at his length, and when i had moved my hand at least seven feet from his head it still rested upon his body. and then the form of that body began to change in a manner which terrified me; but impelled by a horrible but irresistible curiosity, my hand moved on. "but i no longer touched the body of a dog; the form beneath my hand was cylindrical, apparently about a foot in diameter. as my hand moved on the diameter diminished, and the skin of the creature became cold and clammy. i was feeling the body of a snake! "i now had reached the open door of the room. the body of the snake extended through it. it went on to the top of the stairs; these i began to descend, my heart beating fast with terror, my face blanched, i am sure, but my hand still moving along the body of the awful creature. i had studied zoology, giving a good deal of attention to reptiles, and i knew that, judged by the ordinary ratio of diminution of the bodies of serpents, this one must extend a long distance down the stairs. "but i had not descended more than a dozen steps before i felt a shiver beneath my hand, and then a jerk, and the next moment the snake's body was violently drawn upward. i withdrew my hand and started to one side, and then, how, i know not, i became aware that the dog part of the creature was coming downstairs. "i now became possessed by a wild terror. the creature must be furious that i had discovered his real form. he had always been careful to keep his head toward me. i should be torn to pieces as kaldhein had been! down the stairs i dashed, across the courtyard, and toward a lofty old tower, which stood in one corner of the castle. i ran up the winding stairs of this with a speed which belongs only to a frantically terrified creature, until i reached the fourth story, where i dashed through an open doorway, slammed behind me an iron door, which shut with a spring, and fell gasping upon the floor. "in less than a minute i was aware, by a slight rattling of the grate-hinges, that something was pushing against the door; but i did not move. i knew that i was safe. the room in which i lay was a prison dungeon, and in it, in the olden times, it is said, men had been left to perish. escape or communication with the outer world was impossible. a little light and air came through a narrow slit in the wall, and the door could not be forced. "i knew that the invisible dog, or whatever it was, could not get in unless the door was open. i had frequently noticed that when he entered a room it was through an open door, and i sometimes knew of his approach by seeing an unlatched door open without visible cause; so, feeling secure for the present, i lay and gasped and panted. "after the lapse of a few hours, however, i was seized by a new terror. how was i ever to get out of this horrible dungeon? even if i made up my mind to face the dog, trusting that he had recovered from his momentary anger, i had no means of opening the door, and as to making any one hear me i knew that was impossible. "i had no hope that my servants would seek me here. i had not seen any one when i ran into the tower, and if they should discover that i was in this dungeon, how could they open the door? the key was in my father's possession. he had taken it to vienna to exhibit it as a curiosity to some of his mechanical friends. he believed that there was not such another key in the world. i was in the habit of making long absences from the castle, and if i should be looked for i believed that the tower would be the last place visited. "night came on; the little light in the room vanished, and, hungry, thirsty, and almost hopeless, i fell asleep. "during the night there was a most dreadful storm. the thunder roared, the lightning flashed through the slit in the wall, and the wind blew with such terrific violence that the tower shook and trembled. after a time i heard a tremendous crash as of falling walls, and then another, and now i felt the wind blowing into my prison. "there was no further sleep for me. trembling with a fearful apprehension of what might happen next, i cowered against the wall until the day broke, and then i perceived that in front of me was a great hole in the wall of the dungeon, which extended for more than a yard above the floor. i sat and gazed at this until the light became stronger, and then i cautiously approached the aperture and looked out. nearly the whole of the castle lay in ruins before me! "it was easy to see what had happened. the storm had demolished the crumbling walls of the old building, and the tower, itself frail and tottering, stood alone, high above the prostrate ruins. if the winds should again arise it must fall, and at any moment its shaken foundations might give way beneath it. "through the hole in the wall, which had been caused by the tearing away of some of the connection between the tower and main building, i could look down on the ground below, covered with masses of jagged stone; but there was no way in which i could get down. i could not descend that perpendicular wall. if i leaped out, death would be certain. "as i crouched at the opening i felt the head of a dog pushed against me. a spasm of terror ran through me, but the moment the creature began to lick my hands i knew that i had nothing to fear from him. instantly my courage returned. i felt that he was my protector. i patted his head and he renewed his caresses. "passing my hand over him, i found he was holding himself in his present position by means of his forelegs, which were stretched out upon the floor. what a dog this must be, who could climb a wall! but i gave no time to conjectures of this sort. how could i avail myself of his assistance? in what manner could he enable me to escape from that dangerous tower? "suddenly a thought came to me. i remembered the snake part of him. judging from the ratio of diminution, which i have mentioned before, that part, if hanging down, must reach nearly, if not quite, to the ground. by taking advantage of this means of descent i might be saved, but the feat would require dexterity and an immense amount of faith. this serpent-like portion of the animal was invisible. how could i know how long it was! "but there was no time for consideration; the wind had again arisen, and was blowing with fury. the tower shook beneath me; at any moment it might fall. if i should again escape from death, through the assistance of my invisible friend, i must avail myself of that assistance instantly. "i stopped and felt the animal. he still hung by part of his body and by his forelegs to the floor of the dungeon, and by reaching out i could feel that the rest of him extended downward. i therefore seized his body in my arms, threw myself out of the aperture, and began to slide down. "in a very short time i found that i had reached the snake portion of the creature, and, throwing my arms and legs around it, i endeavoured with all my strength to prevent a too rapid descent; but in spite of all my efforts, my downward progress was faster than i would have wished it to be. but there was no stopping; i must slip down. "in these moments of rapid descent my mind was filled with wild anxiety concerning the serpent-like form to which i was clinging. i remembered in a flash that there were snakes whose caudal extremity dwindled away suddenly into a point. this one might do so, and at any instant i might come to the end of the tail and drop upon the jagged stones below. "calculation after calculation of the ratio of diminution flashed through my mind during that awful descent. my whole soul was centred upon one point. when would this support end? when would i drop? "fortunately i was on the leeward side of the tower, and i was not swung about by the wind. steadily i descended, and steadily the diameter of the form i grasped diminished; soon i could grasp it in my hand; then with a terrified glance i looked below. i was still at a sickening distance from the ground. i shut my eyes. i slipped down, down, down. the tail became like a thick rope which i encircled with each hand. it became thinner and thinner. it grew so small that i could not hold it; but as i felt it slip from my fingers my feet rested on a pile of stones. "bewildered and almost exhausted, i stumbled over the ruins, gained the unencumbered ground, and ran as far from the tower as i could, sinking down at last against the trunk of a tree in a neighbouring field. scarcely had i reached this spot when the fury of the wind-storm appeared to redouble, and before the wild and shrieking blast the tower bent and then fell with a crash upon the other ruins. "the first thought that came into my mind when i beheld the dreadful spectacle concerned the creature who had twice saved my life. had he escaped, or was he crushed beneath that mass of stone? i felt on either side to discover if he were near me, but he was not. had he given his life for mine? "had i been stronger i would have searched for him; i would have clambered among the ruins to see if i could discover his mangled form. if i could but reach his faithful head i would stroke and caress it, living or dead. but excitement, fatigue, and want of food had made me so weak that i could do nothing but sit upon the ground with my back against the tree. "while thus resting i perceived that the whole of the tower had not been demolished by the storm. some of the rooms in which we had lived, having been built at a later date than the rest of the great edifice, had resisted the power of the wind and were still standing. "from the direction of the uninjured portion of the castle i now saw approaching a light-coloured object, which seemed to be floating in the air about a foot from the ground. as it came nearer i saw that it was a basket, and i immediately understood the situation. my faithful friend was alive, and was bringing me some refreshments. "on came the basket, rising and falling with the bounds of the dog. it was truly an odd spectacle, but a very welcome one. in a few moments the basket was deposited at my side, and i was caressing the head of the faithful dog. in the basket i found a bottle of wine and some bread and meat, which the good creature had doubtless discovered in the kitchen of the castle, and it was not long before i was myself again. the storm had now almost passed away, and i arose and went to my own rooms, my friend and protector still keeping close to my side. "on the morning of the next day, as i sat wondering what had happened to my servants, and whether my father had been apprised of the disaster to the castle, i felt something pulling at the skirt of my coat. i put out my hand and found that it was the invisible dog. imagining that he wished me to follow him, i arose, and, obeying the impulse given me by his gentle strain upon my coat, i followed him out of the door, across the courtyard, and into the open country. we went on for a considerable distance. a gentle touch of my coat admonished me when i turned from the direction in which it was desired that i should go. "after a walk of about half an hour i approached a great oak-tree, with low, wide-spreading branches. some one was sitting beneath it. imagining the truth, i rushed forward. it was marie! "it was needless for us to say anything, to explain the state of our feelings toward each other. that tale was told by the delight with which we met. when i asked her how she came to be there, she told me that about an hour before, while sitting in front of her father's mansion, she had felt something gently pulling at her skirts; and, although at first frightened, she was at length impelled to obey the impulse, and, without knowing whether it was the wind or some supernatural force which had led her here, she had come. "we had a great deal to say to each other. she told me that she had been longing to send me a message to warn me that colonel kaldhein would certainly kill me the next time he saw me; but she had no means of sending me such a message, for the colonel had had her actions closely watched. "when the news came of kaldhein's death she at first feared that i had killed him, and would therefore be obliged to fly the country; but when it was known that he had been almost torn to pieces by wild beasts, she, like every one else, was utterly amazed, and could not understand the matter at all. none but the most ferocious creatures could have inflicted the injuries of which the man had died, and where those creatures came from no one knew. some people thought that a pack of blood-hounds might have broken loose from some of the estates of the surrounding country, and, in the course of their wild journeyings, might have met with the colonel, and fallen upon him. others surmised that a bear had come down from the mountains; but the fact was that nobody knew anything about it. "i did not attempt to acquaint marie with the truth. at that moment the invisible dog was lying at my side, and i feared if i mentioned his existence to marie she might fly in terror. to me there was only one important phase of the affair, and that was that marie was now free, that she might be mine. "before we parted we were affianced lovers, pledged to marry as soon as possible. i wrote to my father, asking for his permission to wed the lady. but in his reply he utterly forbade any such marriage. marie also discovered that her parents would not permit a union with a foreigner, and would indeed oppose her marriage with any one at this time. "however, as usual, love triumphed, and after surmounting many difficulties we were married and fled to america. since that time i have been obliged to support myself and my wife, for my father will give me no assistance. he had proposed a very different career for me, and was extremely angry when he found his plans had been completely destroyed. but we are hopeful, we work hard, and hope that we may yet be able to support ourselves comfortably without aid from any one. we are young, we are strong, we trust each other, and have a firm faith in our success. "i had only one regret in leaving europe, and that was that my faithful friend, the noble and devoted invisible dog, was obliged to remain on the other side of the atlantic. why this was so i do not know, but perhaps it was for the best. i never told my wife of his existence, and if she had accidentally discovered it, i know not what might have been the effects upon her nervous system. "the dog accompanied me through austria, switzerland, and france to havre, from which port we sailed. i took leave of him on the gang-plank. he licked my hands, and i caressed and stroked him. people might have thought that my actions denoted insanity, but every one was so greatly occupied in these last moments before departure, that perhaps i was not noticed. just as i left him and hastened on board, a sailor fell overboard from the gang-plank. he was quickly rescued, but could not imagine why he had fallen. i believe, however, that he was tripped up by the snake part of my friend as he convulsively rushed away." the young man ceased, and gazed pensively upon the floor. "well, well, well!" exclaimed aunt martha, "if those are the sort of experiences you had, i don't wonder that realism was wonderful enough for you. the invisible creature was very good to you, i am sure, but i am glad it did not come with you to america." david, who had been waiting for an opportunity to speak, now interrupted further comments by stating that it was daylight, and if i thought well of it, he would open the window-shutters, so that we might see any one going toward the town. a milkman, he said, passed the house very early every morning. when the shutters were opened we were all amazed that the night should have passed so quickly. the tall burglar and the young man now began to exhibit a good deal of anxiety. "i should like very much to know," said the former, "what you intend to do in regard to us. it cannot be that you think of placing that young gentleman and myself in the hands of the law. of course, this man," pointing to the stout burglar, "cannot expect anything but a just punishment of his crimes; but after what we have told you, you must certainly be convinced that our connection with the affair is entirely blameless, and should be considered as a piece of very bad luck." "that," said i, "is a matter which will receive all the consideration it needs." at this moment david announced the milkman. counselling my man to keep strict guard over the prisoners, i went out to the road, stopped the milkman, and gave him a message which i was certain would insure the prompt arrival at my house of sufficient force to take safe charge of the burglars. excited with the importance of the commission, he whipped up his horse and dashed away. when i returned to the house i besought my wife and aunt martha to go to bed, that they might yet get some hours of sleep; but both refused. they did not feel in the least like sleep, and there was a subject on which they wished to consult with me in the dining-room. "now," said aunt martha, when the door had been closed, "these men have freely told us their stories; whether they are entirely true or not, must, of course, be a matter of opinion; but they have laid their cases before us, and we should not place them all in the hands of the officers of the law without giving them due consideration, and arriving at a decision which shall be satisfactory to ourselves." "let us take them in order," said i. "what do you think of the tall man's case?" "i think he is a thief and manufacturer of falsehoods," said my wife promptly. "i am afraid," said aunt martha, "that he is not altogether innocent; but there is one thing greatly in his favour,--when he told of the feelings which overcame him when he saw that little child sleeping peacefully in its bed in the house which he had unintentionally robbed, i felt there must be good points in that man's nature. what do you think of him?" "i think he is worst of the lot," i answered, "and as there are now two votes against him, he must go to the lock-up. and now what of the stout fellow?" i asked. "oh, he is a burglar by his own confession," said my wife; "there can be no doubt of that." "i am afraid you are right," said aunt martha. "i know she is," said i, "and james barlow, or whatever his name may be, shall be delivered to the constable." "of course, there can be no difference of opinion in regard to the young man," said aunt martha quickly. "both the others admitted that he had nothing to do with this affair except as a journalist, and although i do not think he ought to get his realistic ideas in that way, i would consider it positively wicked to send him into court in company with those other men. consider the position in which he would be placed before the world. consider his young wife." "i cannot say," said my wife, "that i am inclined to believe all parts of his story." "i suppose," said i, laughing, "that you particularly refer to the invisible dog-snake." "i'm not so sure about all that," she answered. "since the labours of the psychic researchers began, we have heard of a great many strange things; but it is evident that he is a young man of education and culture, and in all probability a journalist or literary man. i do not think he should be sent to the lock-up with common criminals." "there!" cried aunt martha, "two in his favour. he must be released. it's a poor rule that does not work both ways." i stood for a few moments undecided. if left to myself, i would have sent the trio to the county town, where, if any one of them could prove his innocence, he could do so before the constitutional authorities; but having submitted the matter to my wife and aunt, i could not well override their decision. as for what the young man said, i gave it no weight whatever, for of course he would say the best he could for himself. but the testimony of the others had weight. when they both declared that he was not a burglar, but merely a journalist, engaged in what he supposed to be his duty, it would seem to be a cruel thing to stamp him as a criminal by putting him in charge of the constables. but my indecision soon came to an end, for aunt martha declared that no time should be lost in setting the young man free, for should the people in town arrive and see him sitting bound with the others it would ruin his character forever. my wife agreed. "whatever there may be of truth in his story," she said, "one of two things is certain,--either he has had most wonderful experiences out of which he may construct realistic novels which will give him fortune and reputation, or he has a startling imagination, which, if used in the production of works in the romantic school, will be of the same advantage to his future. looking upon it, even in this light and without any reference to his family and the possible effects on his own moral nature, we shall assume a great responsibility in deliberately subjecting such a person to criminal prosecution and perhaps conviction." this was enough. "well," said i, "we will release the young fellow and send the two other rascals to jail." "that was not well expressed," said my wife, "but we will not criticise words at present." we returned to the library and i announced my decision. when he heard it the stout burglar exhibited no emotion. his expression indicated that, having been caught, he expected to be sent to jail, and that was the end of it. perhaps he had been through this experience so often that he had become used to it. the tall man, however, took the announcement in a very different way. his face grew dark and his eyes glittered. "you are making a great mistake," he said to me, "a very great mistake, and you will have to bear the consequences." "very good," said i, "i will remember that remark when your trial comes on." the behaviour of the young man was unexceptional. he looked upon us with a face full of happy gratitude, and, as he thanked us for the kind favour and the justice which we had shown him, his eyes seemed dim with tears. aunt martha was much affected. "i wonder if his mother is living," she whispered to me. "a wife is a great deal, but a mother is more. if i had thought of her sooner i would have spoken more strongly in his favour. and now you should untie him at once and let him go home. his wife must be getting terribly anxious." the young man overheard this last remark. "you will confer a great favour on me, sir," he said, "if you will let me depart as soon as possible. i feel a great repugnance to be seen in company with these men, as you may imagine, from wearing a mask on coming here. if i leave immediately i think i can catch the first train from your station." i considered the situation. if i did what i was asked, there would be two bound burglars to guard, three women and a child to protect, an uncertain stranger at liberty, and only david and myself to attend to the whole business. "no, sir," said i, "i shall not untie you until the officers i sent for are near at hand; then i will release you, and you can leave the house by the back way without being seen by them. there are other morning trains which will take you into the city early enough." "i think you are a little hard on him," remarked aunt martha, but the young man made no complaint. "i will trust myself to you, sir," he said. the officers arrived much sooner than i expected. there were five of them, including the chief of police, and they were accompanied by several volunteer assistants, among whom was the milkman who had been my messenger. this morning his customers might wait for their milk, for all business must give way before such an important piece of sightseeing as this. i had barely time to untie the young man and take him to the back of the house before the officers and their followers had entered the front door. there was now a great deal of questioning, a great deal of explanation, a great deal of discussion as to whether my way of catching burglars was advisable or not, and a good deal of talk about the best method of taking the men to town. some of the officers were in favour of releasing the two men, and then deciding in what manner they should be taken to town; and if this plan had been adopted, i believe that these two alert and practical rascals would have taken themselves out of my house without the assistance of the officers, or at least would have caused a great deal of trouble and perhaps injury in endeavouring to do so. but the chief of police was of my mind, and before the men were entirely released from the ropes by which i had tied them, they were securely manacled. a requisition made on david and myself to appear as witnesses, the two men were taken from the house to the wagons in which the officers and their followers had come. my wife and aunt martha had gone upstairs before the arrival of the police, and were watching the outside proceeding from a window. standing in the hallway, i glanced into the dining-room, and was surprised to see the young man still standing by a side door. i had thought him gone, but perhaps it was wise in him to remain, and not show himself upon the road until the coast was entirely clear. he did not see me, and was looking backward into the kitchen, a cheerful and animated expression upon his face. this expression did not strike me pleasantly. he had escaped a great danger, it was true, but it was no reason for this rather obtrusive air of exultation. just then alice came into the dining-room from the kitchen, and the young man stepped back, so that she did not notice him. as she passed he gently threw his arm quietly around her neck and kissed her. at that very instant, even before the girl had time to exclaim, in rushed david from the outer side door. "i've been watching you, you rascal," he shouted; "you're done for now!" and he threw his strong arms around the man, pinioning his arms to his side. the young fellow gave a great jerk, and began to struggle powerfully. his face turned black with rage; he swore, he kicked. he made the most frenzied efforts to free himself, but david's arms were strong, his soul was full of jealous fury, and in a moment i had come to his assistance. each of us taking the young fellow by an arm, we ran him into the hallway and out of the front door, alice aiding us greatly by putting her hands against the man's back and pushing most forcibly. "here's another one," cried david. "i'll appear against him. he's the worst of the lot." without knowing what it all meant, the chief clapped the nippers on our prisoner, justly believing that if burglars were about to show themselves so unexpectedly, the best thing to do was to handcuff them as fast as they appeared, and then to ask questions. the reasons for not having produced this man before, and for producing him now, were not very satisfactory to the officer. "have you any more in the cellar?" he asked. "if so, i should like to take a look at them before i start away." at this moment aunt martha made her appearance at the front door. "what are you going to do with that young man?" she asked sharply. "what right have you to put irons upon him?" "aunt martha," said i, stepping back to her, "what do you think he has done?" "i don't know," said she; "how should i know? all i know is that we agreed to set him free." i addressed her solemnly: "david and i believe him to be utterly depraved. he availed himself of the first moments of his liberation to kiss alice." aunt martha looked at me with wide-open eyes, and then her brows contracted. "he did, did he?" said she. "and that is the kind of a man he is. very good. let him go to jail with the others. i don't believe one word about his young wife. if kissing respectable young women is the way he studies realism the quicker he goes to jail the better," and with that she walked into the house. when the men had been placed in the two vehicles in which the police had come, the chief and i made an examination of the premises, and we found that the house had been entered by a kitchen window, in exactly the manner which the tall burglar had described. outside of this window, close to the wall, we found a leathern bag, containing what the chief declared to be an excellent assortment of burglars' tools. the officers and their prisoners now drove away, and we were left to a long morning nap, if we were so fortunate as to get it, and a late breakfast. in the course of the trial of the three men who had entered my house some interesting points in regard to them were brought out. several detectives and policemen from new york were present, and their testimony proved that my three burglars were men of eminence in their profession, and that which most puzzled the metropolitan detectives was to discover why these men should have been willing to devote their high talents to the comparatively insignificant business of breaking into a suburban dwelling. the tall man occupied a position of peculiar eminence in criminal circles. he was what might be called a criminal manager. he would take contracts for the successful execution of certain crimes,--bank robberies, for instance,--and while seldom taking part in the actual work of a burglary or similar operation, he would plan all the details of the affair, and select and direct his agents with great skill and judgment. he had never been arrested before, and the detectives were delighted, believing they would now have an opportunity of tracing to him a series of very important criminal operations that had taken place in new york and some other large cities. he was known as lewis mandit, and this was believed to be his real name. the stout man was a first-class professional burglar and nothing more, and was in the employ of mandit. the young man was a decidedly uncommon personage. he was of a good family, had been educated at one of our principal colleges, had travelled, and was in every way qualified to make a figure in society. he had been a newspaper man, and a writer for leading periodicals, and had shown considerable literary ability; but a life of honest industry did not suit his tastes, and he had now adopted knavery as a regular profession. this man, who was known among his present associates as sparky, still showed himself occasionally in newspaper offices, and was generally supposed to be a correspondent for a western journal; but his real business position was that of mandit's head man. sparky was an expert in many branches of crime. he was an excellent forger, a skilful lock-picker, an ingenious planner of shady projects, and had given a great deal of earnest study to the subject of the loopholes of the law. he had a high reputation in criminal circles for his ability in getting his fellow-rascals out of jail. there was reason to believe that in the past year no less than nine men, some condemned to terms of imprisonment, and some held for trial, had escaped by means of assistance given them by sparky. his methods of giving help to jail-birds were various. sometimes liberty was conferred through the agency of saws and ropes, at other times through that of a habeas corpus and an incontestible alibi. his means were adapted to the circumstances of the case, and it was believed that if sparky could be induced to take up the case of a captured rogue, the man had better chance of finding himself free than the law had of keeping him behind bars, especially if his case were treated before it had passed into its more chronic stages. sparky's success was greatly due to his extremely specious manner, and his power of playing the part that the occasion demanded. in this particular he was even the superior of mandit, who was an adept in this line. these two men found no difficulty in securing the services of proficient burglars, safe-robbers, and the like; for, in addition to the high rewards paid these men, they were in a manner insured against permanent imprisonment in case of misfortune. it was always arranged that, if any of their enterprises came to grief, and if either mandit or sparky should happen to be arrested, the working miscreants should substantiate any story their superiors might choose to tell of themselves, and, if necessary, to take upon themselves the whole responsibility of the crime. in this case their speedy release was to be looked upon as assured. a great deal of evidence in regard to the character and practices of these two men came from the stout burglar, commonly known as barney fitch. when he found that nothing was to be expected from his two astute employers, and that they were in as bad a place as himself, he promptly turned state's evidence, and told all that he knew about them. it was through the testimony of this man that the motive for the attempted robbery of my house was found out. it had no connection whatever with the other burglaries of our neighbourhood, those, probably, having been committed by low-class thieves, who had not broken into my house simply because my doors and windows had been so well secured; nor had our boy, george william, any share whatever in the protection of the household. the burglary was undertaken solely for the purpose of getting possession of some important law papers, which were to be used in a case in which i was concerned, which soon would be tried. if these papers could be secured by the opposite party, the side on which i was engaged would have no case at all, and a suit involving a great deal of property must drop. with this end in view the unscrupulous defendants in the case had employed mandit to procure the papers; and that astute criminal manager had not only arranged all the details of the affair, but had gone himself to the scene of action in order to see that there should be no mistake in carrying out the details of this most important piece of business. the premises had been thoroughly reconnoitred by sparky, who, a few days before the time fixed for the burglary, had visited my house in the capacity of an agent of a telescopic bookcase, which could be extended as new volumes were required, therefore need never exhibit empty shelves. the young man had been included in the party on account of his familiarity with legal documents, it being, of course, of paramount importance that the right papers should be secured. his ingenuity was also to be used to cover up, if possible, all evidence that the house had been entered at all, it being desirable to make it appear to the court that i had never had these documents in my possession, and that they never existed. had it not been for a very natural desire for refreshment that interfered with their admirably laid plans, it is probable that the mechanical skill of mandit would have been equal to the noiseless straightening of the bent bolt, and the obliteration of the scratches and dents made by the attempts upon other shutters, and that sparky, after relocking all open desks or cabinets, and after the exit of the others, would have closed and fastened the kitchen shutters, and would then have left the house by means of an open window in the upper hall and the roof of a piazza. thus it was that these three men, so eminent in their different spheres of earnest endeavour, came to visit my comparatively humble abode; and thus it was that they not only came to that abode, but to the deepest grief. they were "wanted" in so many quarters, and on so many charges, that before they had finished serving out their various sentences their ability to wickedly avail themselves of the property of others would have suffered greatly from disuse, and the period of life left them for the further exercise of those abilities would be inconveniently limited. i was assured by a prominent detective that it had been a long time since two such dangerous criminals as mandit and sparky had fallen into the hands of the law. these men, by means of very competent outside assistance, made a stout fight for acquittal on some of the charges brought against them; but when they found that further effort of this kind would be unavailing, and that they would be sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, they threw off their masks of outraged probity and stood out in their true characters of violent and brutal ruffians. barney fitch, the cracksman, was a senior warden compared to them. it was a long time before my aunt martha recovered from her disappointment in regard to the youngest burglar. "of course i was mistaken," she said. "that sort of thing will happen; but i really had good grounds for believing him to be a truthful person, so i am not ashamed for having taken him for what he said he was. i have now no doubt before he fell in his wicked ways that he was a very good writer, and might have become a novelist or a magazine author; but his case is a very sad proof that the study of realism may be carried too far," and she heaved a sigh. the end. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) the gray mask by wadsworth camp author of "the abandoned room" "the house of fear," etc. frontispiece by walter de maris garden city, new york doubleday, page & company copyright, , by doubleday, page & company all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian copyright, , , , , by p. f. collier & sons, inc., in the united states, great britain and canada [illustration: "_'even if you had croaked him you wouldn't dare acknowledge it here. why, george, you're kneeling where he lay'_"] contents i. garth is shown a gray mask ii. it opens nora's eyes iii. in the steel room iv. garth buys a boutonniÈre v. what happened at elmford vi. a crying through the silence vii. nora fears for garth viii. through the dark ix. the phantom army x. the coins and the chinaman xi. nora disappears in an empty house xii. the hidden door xiii. alsop's incredible visitor xiv. the levantine who guarded a curtain xv. the veiled woman xvi. a note from the dead xvii. the knife by the lifeless hand xviii. the stained robe xix. payment is demanded for the gray mask xx. the black cap xxi. the antics of a train the gray mask chapter i garth is shown a gray mask garth, in response to the unforeseen summons, hurried along the hallway and opened the inspector's door. as he faced the rugged figure behind the desk, and gazed into those eyes whose somnolence concealed a perpetual vigil, his heart quickened. he had been assigned to the detective bureau less than six months. that brief period, however, had revealed a thousand eccentricities of his chief. the pudgy hand beating a tattoo on the table desk, the lips working at each other thirstily, the doubt that slipped from behind the veil of the sleepy eyes, were all like largely printed letters to garth--letters that spelled delicate work for him, possibly an exceptional danger. "where were you going, garth?" "home. that is--" garth hesitated and cleared his throat. "first--i thought i might drop in on nora for a minute." with a quick gesture the inspector brushed the mention of his daughter aside. abruptly he verified garth's hazard. "how much do you love your life?" the inspector's voice possessed the growling quality of an animal. a warning rather than an aggressive roar, it issued from a throat remotely surviving behind great masses of flesh. garth had rarely heard it raised, nor, for that matter, had it ever deceived him as to the other's amiability and gentleness of soul. its present tone of apologetic regret startled him. "on the whole i value my life rather highly just now," he answered, trying to smile. "then turn this down and nothing said," the inspector went on. "it's volunteer's work. no gilt-edged prophecies. it's touch and go whether whoever tackles it eats bacon and eggs to-morrow morning." "what's the job?" garth asked. the inspector glanced up. "you've heard of that fellow without a face?" garth stared until he thought he understood. "one of those bellevue cases? awful burns?" the heavy head shook impatiently. "no. this fellow simmons in chicago--several years ago now--experimenting with some new explosive in a laboratory. he got his arm up in time to save his eyes." "seems to me i remember," garth began. "worn a gray mask ever since," the inspector said. he drew a telegram from a pile of papers at his elbow, spread it on the writing-pad, and tapped it with his thick forefinger. garth wondered what was coming. a feeling of uneasiness compelled him to lower his eyes before the other's steady gaze. there was something uncanny about this thought of a mask, worn always to hide a horror. the inspector's tapping quickened to an expression of anger. his voice exposed a cherished resentment. "no doubt about your having heard of our friend hennion?" garth started forward, resting his closed fists on the desk top. his face was excited, unbelieving. "mean to say there's a chance--" the inspector ceased his tapping. he looked up slyly. "a real one at last. you know what that means. it's the job. take it or leave it. i won't ask you to go where i mightn't have cared to go myself at your age." garth thought rapidly. his chief had been right. the man who tried to trip hennion needn't worry about to-morrow's breakfast until his eyes greeted the sun in the east. he, with the rest of the bureau, could point to half a dozen men as vassals of this almost mythical figure. he, like the rest, had frequently diagnosed obscure crimes as the workmanship of the hennion group. but he knew also that nothing had ever been proved against this organization of criminals, which was unique, because, in addition to prosaic brutality, it appeared to be informed by brains of a brilliant and inscrutable character. "how much of a chance?" garth asked. all the drowsiness left the inspector's eyes. "maybe to sit in with them to-night. i've never had a ghost of a show with a stool before, and this is the night of all nights. one of these crooks has been boasting. he said--and i have it straight--'to-night we play our ace.' get that, garth! what must an ace mean to that lot, eh? and the president's here, but he'll be well looked after. still there are lots of big men in this town whose sudden death would make a noise more like a home-run than a funeral. or, if it's burglary, play it to scale. these fellows would unlock the gates of hades while satan slept in the vestibule. i've been saying to myself all day i've got to find out what that ace is and stack the cards, and at the same time i've been asking myself what the devil i was going to do about it. but the luck's changed." garth breathed hard. "how do you expect to throw sand in the eyes of that outfit?" "give me," the inspector answered slowly, his rumble approximating a whisper, "someone with no nerves to speak of and a build like this faceless man simmons." he looked up. his eyes were very sleepy again. "you have that build, garth. all you need is a plain, dark brown suit." he raised the telegram. "this is simmons' description as he left chicago last evening. he expects to arrive on the western express to-night. he's looking for someone to meet him and take him to the headquarters of the hennion gang." garth's face lightened. "has he a record?" "a suspect, chiefly because he's tied up with that anarchist crowd out there--an analyst of explosives, a chemist, cursed by this hideous accident--dangerous as giant powder itself! that's why his mail's been watched, how they got onto this move. but they've no details for us. maybe simmons himself doesn't know what he's up against." with a secretive air he opened a drawer and lifted out a tightly-woven gray cloth. it was pierced by two holes above and a long, narrow opening below. from its edges four elastic straps dangled. "i had it made," he said, holding it out tentatively, "so that, perhaps, you might find out instead of simmons." garth took the cloth and fitted it over his face. it left visible a small scar on his neck. the inspector pointed at this with a pleased, wondering smile. "that scar peeping will fetch them. put on a brown suit and you'll pass." "where," garth asked, "does simmons change cars?" "i'll have the express stopped at the end of the bridge above garrison. not much chance of spies there. a couple of my men will take him off and keep him out of mischief while you get on. understand? you'll go up on the west shore and ferry over from west point. you're on?" "sure. you'd jump at the chance yourself, sir." he removed the mask. the inspector handed him a piece of frayed white paper. "did you notice me fingering this just now?" he asked anxiously. garth shook his head. "then take it, and, when the time comes, play with it that way yourself. scratch your instructions on it with a match, a toothpick, anything handy. it will stay white, but i can make whatever you put on it as visible as headlines in a war extra. you'll reach town after ten. i'll hold back instructions until eleven in case these fellows have any spies in the department. but after that you can drop it near a uniformed policeman with a fair chance of its reaching me." "you'll try to trail us, too?" garth asked. the inspector grinned sheepishly. "of course i'll try. i'll probably have to let it go at that." "yes--slippery," garth answered. now that his offer was accepted, and his plan understood, the inspector gave way to a disquieting nervousness. he stood up and stepped around the desk, putting his hand on garth's shoulder. "watch out for yourself," he faltered. "i don't want another kridel case on my conscience." the name dampened garth's enthusiasm. he had never known joe kridel who, a year ago, had been the ascending star of the bureau. but the manner of the young man's death was depressingly familiar to him--found stabbed through the heart in a private house whose dwellers had heard no alarm. the key to that puzzle had never been discovered. even the inspector had harbored the nature of kridel's assignment that night of his murder. "i hate," the inspector continued, that note of regret in his voice again, "to give a man i like such an ugly risk." this reached garth as definite encouragement to words which he had restrained for some time with difficulty. to loose them, now, however, would be, in a way, unfair to his chief; would, in every sense, form no fitting prelude to his formidable and dangerous task. he contented himself, therefore, with an unsatisfactory compromise. "if i've time i may drop in for a chat with nora after all." "but you won't alarm her with this?" "certainly not." the inspector was very friendly. "you know i wouldn't be surprised if nora had taken kind of a fancy for you herself." garth's face reddened. he turned away. the inspector sighed. "oh, well. there's plenty of time to think of that when you bring yourself back--alive." * * * * * * before making his arrangements garth called at the inspector's flat. this was, in fact, a preparation. without seeing nora he felt he would not be armed to enter these unfair lists with death. he found her by the window in the sitting room. she looked, he thought, more latin than usual, although the black clothes she habitually wore accentuated her dark hair and flashing eyes, the olive complexion and regular features she had inherited from her italian mother. she smiled up at garth, and, as always in face of that smile, he recalled the unexplored neutral ground where their minds had never really met. this impression had unquestionably retarded the development of their relations. it had until now held their emotions in the leash of friendship. garth had no idea of snapping that cord at his entrance, but nora's proximity and the suddenness of an unexpected gesture distilled logic and fairness for the moment's irresistible intoxication. their hands, reaching for the book she had dropped, met. the quick contact was galvanic to garth. an unconquerable impulse possessed him. if he was to risk death that night it was folly to shirk life to-day. so his hand closed over hers while he sought for words. after a moment he became aware of the impassivity of her fingers within his violent grasp. he saw grave trouble and an unanswerable doubt extinguish the excitement in her eyes. a premonition reached him. he fought against it desperately. his voice swayed a little. "don't look at me like that, nora. you're going to marry me." she shook her head. all at once there were tears in her eyes. her hand lightly brushed her black skirt. "jim, you've often asked me why i wear these dark clothes. now you make me tell you. i can trust you? because no one knows unless my father guesses." he nodded. she spoke with an effort. "for the man i was going to marry, jim. you see he--he died." garth arose and turned to the window. he leaned there, staring at the busy street, listening to its jarring discords. among the children at play one boy, unkempt and filthy, stood braced against a railing, crying at the top of his lungs. in his abandonment to disappointment garth accepted the picture as typical of his life--a crying out for the unattainable, a surrender to despair. the night's work lost its terror. its issue became a matter of callous indifference. then her hand was on his arm, drawing him around so that he saw her face, which had lost its colour, and the growing doubt in her eyes. "try to understand, jim. i think i scarcely do myself. i only know it hurts to see you unhappy. six months ago when you first came i never dreamed a man could make even that much difference to me again." without warning the colour rushed back to her face. she clenched her hands. the determination in her tone was overwhelming. "is that inconstancy to him? don't think that. i'm not inconstant. i wouldn't be that." garth waved his hand helplessly. "what difference--never mind, nora. it's finished." "but you--it's so unfair. and i want you for my friend." she sat down, hiding her face. "later--i don't know. how can i tell? how can anybody?" garth saw her shoulders commence to shake. this emotion fired a tiny hope, yet it angered him that she should suffer, too. "stop that," he said roughly. "it isn't worth it to you. i'm sorry i spoke. i ought to have had better sense, but i'm going out of town to-day on a job--" he paused. he turned back to the window. "that's why i spoke, because--because i may be away a very long time." she controlled herself. "how long, jim?" "god knows." "where? west?" he shook his head. "up the state. it's just as well now. i've got to go. i ought to be getting ready." she arose. she spoke wistfully. "then good-by, jim. and you'll try to understand? maybe you'll come to see me just the same when you get back?" he swallowed hard, forcing back his craving for abandonment, for revelation. "when i get back," he said. chapter ii it opens nora's eyes garth waited at the end of the bridge above garrison. at eight o'clock it was dark, but the river, glass-like between the rugged hills, retained a pallid light. at a short distance two men smoked and chatted. they had withdrawn themselves in response to garth's moodiness. he fancied they discussed him as one already dead. a whistle shrieked. the hills rumbled. flinging their cigars in the water, the men rejoined garth. he slipped the mask from his pocket, and secreted his features behind its gray protection. the train dashed across the bridge, sparks grinding from its wheels. when it stopped, panting sullenly, the two men sprang aboard. garth flattened himself against the side of the car and watched them reappear, leading a third who wore a grey mask above a plain brown suit. he heard a croaking, unnatural voice issue from behind the mask. "didn't look for you so soon, friends." excitement drove the melancholy from garth's brain. the undertaking had begun reassuringly. simmons had no suspicion that he was in the hands of the police. garth noticed also as he entered the car that the passengers were not aware of the substitution. he resented the repugnance in the glances they turned on the mask. simmons' attitude toward life became comprehensible. but, as the journey extended itself interminably, garth grew restless. he realized he was in the position of a man entering a cavern without a light. he must feel his way step by step. he must walk blindly toward innumerable and fatal pitfalls. at last the train paused for the change from locomotive to electric motor. although he knew that normally no passengers would board it at this place, he gazed anxiously from the window. a man stood close to the track with the evident intention of entering the train. garth saw him elude a brakeman, saw him grasp the railing and swing himself out of sight. a moment later the man walked into the car, stopped dead, and turned sharp, inquisitive eyes on the gray mask. about the figure was a somber air, accentuated by a black felt hat, drawn low over the eyes. it let garth see, however, a sharp and colorless face which conveyed an impression of uncommon forcefulness. after a moment the slender man leaned over and spoke with a leer. "you must be a star gambler, judging from your face." he continued to stare as though expectant of an answer. perhaps some countersign was demanded. if that was so the whole enterprise swayed in the balance. garth concentrated his thoughts with difficulty. one word had strayed circuitously from the gang to him. he used it at random, trying to approximate the voice he had heard at the bridge. "that depends on whether i hold the ace." the slender man continued to stare. garth's heart sank, but at last the other straightened with a nod. "suppose you take a little stroll with me." garth arose and followed him down the aisle. he didn't know whether to interpret that quick command as acceptance or condemnation. he might be going to the work for which he had been chosen, or--and he realized how likely that was--to an execution. yet he had no alternative. he must follow the slender, sinister figure into dark places not knowing. they paused on the platform. garth thought it likely that one of the inspector's men was in the car, but of course the fellow would not confess himself by stepping to the vestibule at their heels. it would be enough for him to know that they were on board and that the train was not scheduled to stop before reaching the grand central station. garth knew that, too. therefore he could not understand why his conductor stooped and with an air of confidence opened the vestibule door and raised the trap. garth started, for, as if the engineer were an accomplice and had received some subtle signal, the brakes commenced to grind while the train lost its speed rapidly. the slender man grasped garth's arm, and, as the train stopped, leapt with him to the right of way and hurried him into the shadows at the foot of the embankment. any men the inspector might have had on the train had been outwitted. he saw ahead the red and green lights of an open draw-bridge. he understood now, and marvelled at the simplicity of the trick. certainly it would not have occurred to the inspector to post his men at the harlem river where express trains were seldom detained at night. yet it had been only necessary to send some small boat to loiter in the draw at the proper moment to assure the security of the conspirators. immediately garth lost all sense of direction. the other led a stealthy, circular course through a lumber yard, across a fence, around darkened buildings, and finally onto a small wharf. a craft was moored there--a barge, garth thought at first. it lay in darkness except for its navigating lights, and, as garth looked, even these were extinguished. the slender man glided across the wharf, and, garth at his heels, stepped to the deck. there he reached over the railing, dropping something from his hand. garth heard three splashes at regular intervals. a blade of light flashed sharply athwart the darkness and became an open doorway, framing a troubled face. garth, shoved from behind, stumbled over the sill into the presence of five men who circled about him, like cats, wary and suspicious. he would know now. one word from his conductor would deliver him to the inevitable judgment of that circle. but the slender man slipped in after him, closing the door. "the cops are drunk with sleep," he said. garth breathed again. but into that moment's respite crept the thought of nora, suddenly become unobtainable. resolutely he fought his depression back. at a gesture from the slender man he sat on a bench against the wall. he saw now that the apparent barge was a rough houseboat, unpainted, unfinished, with windows closed and heavily barred. the only furniture was this bench and another opposite with a deal table between. fumes of gasoline and cylinder oil came through an open doorway forward and mixed repellently with an atmosphere already poisoned by tobacco. for all five smoked, not with enjoyment, garth noticed--rather in an abandonment to nerves. it impressed him that these men, who unquestionably were the cleverest and most indomitable of the hennion group, should expose this restlessness, this apparent fear, on the threshold of the night's work. his conductor, indeed, was the only one immune to the contagion of suspense. garth glanced at these others with a sharp personal curiosity. they varied amazingly from his anticipation. one, a sallow youth with untidy yellow hair and large-rimmed eye-glasses, might have been a student of the most devoted species. another cunningly resembled a well-to-do business man, while a third had the clothing and the air of a tramp. the fourth, with his dapper tailoring and ferret-like face, was more familiar to the expert in crime. these, however, garth passed over quickly for the fifth, perhaps because, with the detective's extra sense, he foresaw there a special and unintelligible menace. this man brought his huge, handsome figure forward and leaned heavily on the table. his close-cropped hair, dampened by the heat, curled about a bronzed forehead from beneath which inquisitorial and threatening eyes challenged. the slender man, who clearly was the leader, crossed the room. "seeing ghosts, george?" he asked. "or maybe you're anxious for a glimpse of what simmons hasn't got any more. why not show him the big event, simmons?" his laugh, scarcely audible, was like the wrath of a gigantic sneer. garth's hand crept to his pocket and closed over his revolver. george drew back. "look yourself, slim, and it ought to be done." the other swung on him angrily. "do you think i'm bringing him here without checking him up. he doesn't have to take his mask off to show you a scar. the lot of you look like sudden wealth for a nerve specialist. sit down. we'll get to business." he swung on simmons. "i know how you feel about that. now, listen. all you know is that we wanted a scientific fellow who doesn't use his profession exclusively for the benefit of humanity. also one without any nerves. i've always heard that of you." garth nodded, smiling a little to himself. lack of nerves had been the inspector's chief requisite. now the criminals demanded the same quality. he stood, as it were, between two deadly fires. he wondered if murder was on the boards. he recalled the slip of white paper in his pocket, questioning if he would be able to finger it, to scratch upon it those vital invisible directions before these sharp and overcurious eyes. the slender man hurried on, glancing at his watch. "we're waiting for one more. at first all you have to do is to keep close to george. we're going to crack a safe." his voice colored apologetically. "no jewelry or bags of gold. george falls for that cheap stuff now and then, but you needn't be ashamed of this job, simmons. by the way, i don't have to ask you if you duck your lid every time the band blats 'oh, say, can you see!'" garth shook his head. "say, simmons," george broke in, "you talk yourself to death. that explosion must have hurt your voice something fierce." again garth tried to approximate the croaking tone he had heard at the bridge. "talk's as cheap and easy as cracking safes." he risked it for its effect on the others. moreover it was an antidote for his nervous strain to give that much rein to the antagonism he already experienced for the huge, dark fellow. secretive laughter greeted his daring. a gesture from the leader halted george's movement, almost instinctive, to resent the affront physically. then three faint and regular splashes came from the water. they all held their poses of the moment statuesquely until, at a nod from the leader, the intellectual-looking youth arose and moved towards the door. during that moment of waiting garth tried to fashion what he knew into a recognizable pattern, but the pieces were incomplete. he could only wonder why they had sent to chicago for an anarchistic chemist to connive with this expert at a task as simple as cracking a safe. the youth turned the lock and opened the door a little. it was pushed boisterously against him, and, beyond his amazed back, garth had a glimpse of a gaudily colored skirt. the others had risen. the leader, grasping the youth's elbow, shoved him to one side, and garth, his view unobstructed now, gazed incredulously at nora's blazing, painted face. his first impulse was to cry out and warn the girl back from this ambush into which she had unaccountably strayed. he gripped the edge of the table. he half arose. for a moment the room went black. all at once he realized that her presence at this unique rendezvous must be without the slightest ambiguity. perhaps it was an ill-advised attempt to rescue him from the net. he waited tensely for some word. his heart sank. she couldn't recognize him behind the mask. he wouldn't lie to himself any longer. nora, whom he had always seen in black, wore a flashy dress. she had given the conspirators their own signal. she received from them a welcome of anxiety. the room darkened again. he sat in a frozen silence. he saw and heard as from a vast distance. "whole force at your heels, nora?" the leader asked gently. closing the door, she faced them breathlessly. her eyes flashed, but fear lurked there, too. "no," she said, "but it might be tramping on the dock without your guessing it. listen, slim." she raised her clenched fists. "there's a bull here. there's a cop with his hand at your throat." "nora! you're having a nightmare." "hold on," george said. "nora ought to know." "yes," she gasped, "and it's straight." slim relaxed. "from your father?" she nodded. "how in--" "i don't know," she said, "but he was sure he'd have a stool with you to-night. he's tried so long i know he wasn't bragging. slim! we can't trip up now. i've worked too hard. you've told me what a mess you made last time, when that cop, kridel, was croaked. where will we be if anything like that's pulled again?" "easy, nora," slim said. "maybe we wouldn't be any worse off than we were then. has anybody burned in the chair for that? does anybody know who croaked kridel? well--the man who did it. don't lose your nerve. the cops would have a fine time getting a witness in a murder case out of this crowd. and, if what you say is so, maybe the same thing will happen to-night, only in a more convenient spot." "what are you going to do, slim?" she asked. "tie him up, but no more murder. i quit at that." "leave it to me," he muttered. "show me the bull." garth received the words as a condemned man probably hears the voice of a judge who wears the black cap. the girl glanced rapidly around. then, advancing steadily to the table, she raised her hand and pointed at garth. he stared fascinated at the finger which, a few hours ago, he had held violently in the rush of his passion. he was aware of the flashing eyes which that afternoon had been wet with tears. but his brain was dull. he waited patiently for the exposure which now appeared unavoidable because of the woman he loved. she spoke evenly. "who could it be but this man that hides his face? there's no doubt about the rest of you. you only have to see, slim, whether this fellow, simmons, has got a face." "he had the word," the leader answered, "and look at that scar. but you're right, nora. if there's a bull here he's behind that mask." "then make him take it off," she said. garth raised his hands. his croaking voice was torn with dismay. "no. i warn you. spare me and yourselves that. it's not pretty, what you'd see." "take it off," the girl repeated. "i hide it," garth cried. "for years--listen, you. if you don't let me keep a little pride you can do your dirty work without me." the leader put his hand on garth's shoulder. "now, now," he said soothingly. "depend on it, simmons, if you're all right we don't want to hurt your feelings." "all right!" nora mocked. "and i tell you there's a cop here. and you know as well as i he's the only one. you're crazy, slim." "good thing one of us is then," the leader sneered. "if this isn't simmons we're out of the running for to-night anyway. if it is, what do we gain by making a show of him? that's what i was going to propose. only one of us need look." "that'll do," nora agreed. "well! who?" "george here was anxious." "look yourself," george answered. "i'm no dime museum fiend." suddenly garth arose. "maybe the lady--" he croaked. "she's so set on it. a pleasant sight for ladies." nora flushed angrily. "i'll call that bluff." she waved the others back towards the end of the room. "and be quick about it," she said to garth. garth caught the expressions of the others. he noticed their ready hands. while his fingers rose to the fastenings of the gray mask he turned slowly and faced nora. for a moment he hesitated. even after all he had seen he shrank from forcing on the girl the responsibility of tossing him to those waiting hands. he was tempted to spare her that, to confess himself to the others. but the stamping of her foot, the tone of her voice, impatient, commanding, decided him. "hurry, i say! there's no way out." so, holding her with his eyes, he slipped the gray mask aside. he saw her stare while the angry color left her cheeks. but at first her expression did not alter. it seemed to him a long time before terror twisted her face, before she screamed. he watched her cower back, crossing her arms over her eyes; watched her fall against the wall, where she bent, trembling. garth replaced the mask, shrugging his shoulders, and turned to the others. the leader laughed lightly, with satisfaction. "never dreamed it was as bad as that, simmons. you're right. don't blame you, but you must see we had to be sure." garth nodded. he sat down. let the girl speak. until then he would play his part. "looks as if the stool lost a leg somewhere," he said. he studied nora. her face hidden, she remained shrinking against the wall. still she did not speak. george stepped to her side and put his arm around her. "forget it, little girl. wish i'd looked for you." she shook his arm off and pushed him away. "forget it yourself, george," the leader warned. "you ought to have learned that won't go with nora." "she knows i'm no butterfly," george answered sullenly. his touch had aroused her. she straightened and turned wild eyes on the gray mask. garth waited then for her to betray him, but she only stammered a little. "he's right. a pleasant sight for ladies! boat--must have thrown them off the track." she laughed hysterically. she sank on the end of the bench. garth was surprised, now that the strain was broken, not to experience any exceptional relief. in spite of the game's vital stakes it had interested him chiefly because of the various effects it might have had on nora. yet it had yielded him no key to her presence here, to her disgraceful marketing of her father's confidence, to her assumption at home of black robes and grief, or, finally, to her apparent decision to let the night's work continue in spite of his presence. probably she hoped he could not get help until the job had been done. or--and the thought struck him with the shameful tingling of a slap--perhaps she thought he would let the others go rather than capture and convict the woman he had craved in marriage. he pressed his lips together. he beckoned to slim. he took the whip in his own hands. "is the safe here? are we going to spend the rest of the night on this boat? if the cops are awake it isn't wise." "all right," the leader said. "george, you and nora and simmons wait here. the rest of you start out." the studious-appearing youth, the tramp, the dandy, and the elderly man filed through the door and silently closed it. the leader spoke to garth quickly. "george will unlock the safe without any trouble. he's the best in the business. your job's to open it and handle what you find without blowing the lot of us to everlasting dirt." garth stirred uneasily. "explosives!" he said. "i see why you wanted me." "the pay's high," slim answered. "the fellows that are after this stuff don't trust diplomatic talk. everybody wants it if only to be sure that nobody else gets it, for they claim that the nation that has it, could make a league of all the rest look like tod sloan fighting dempsey. the inventor thinks uncle sam ought to have it, if anybody, but he's been holding off. it's new, and he's either afraid of it himself, or he thinks he can perfect it." "he's afraid of it," nora breathed. "he told me it was a sin to invent it." "the point is, simmons," the leader said, "can you handle the stuff with a degree of safety after you have read the formula? a man of your experience--" "i am not afraid to tackle it if i can see the formula," garth answered quietly. "say, simmons," george put in with a wry face, "if there's anything phony about your education, drop off here." garth fingered a frayed sheet of white paper. "i am not afraid if i can see the formula," he repeated. the leader turned to nora. "you're sure there's some of the stuff in the safe with the formula? the foreigner wouldn't dicker without a sample to analyze." "i saw the formula and the sacks put in the safe to-night," she answered. george shook his head. "nora, you're a wonder." "no wonder," she said contemptuously. "nothing but hard work. an imbecile could have made friends with the housekeeper, but it took drudgery to get at the old man. i won't waste that. if there's any slip--" the leader glanced at the gray mask. "that's up to simmons now," he said. chapter iii in the steel room garth's fingers played with the piece of white paper. "you haven't told me where the house is," he said. the moment the leader had answered garth was standing on the bench. he waved his arm. suddenly he blew out the lamp. "on the dock!" he stammered to the darkness. "a noise!" as the others crept to the door he scratched rapidly and silently with a match on the piece of paper the location of the house, the nature of the job, and an appeal for help. when he was through he heard the others coming back. "if your nerves jump like that, simmons, what a chance we'll have!" george said. "not a sign. light up." garth struck the match and relighted the lamp. "i never take unnecessary risks," he said simply. nora, he knew, would guess that his excess of caution was a police trick. his eyes sought her anxiously as the lamp flamed, but she gave no sign. after a moment she whispered: "let's start. it--it frightens me here." the leader opened the door. "it's time," he said. "they're asleep in the house by now." they followed him, threading obscure spaces and alleyways to the unlighted end of a street which deployed into a stone mason's yard, and always garth asked: "will she whisper my life away to the others?" a taxicab waited there. garth manoeuvred so that he had a seat by the window. he let his hand, which clenched the piece of paper, dangle through. such policemen as he saw were indifferent until crossing one hundred and twenty-fifth street he noticed one who looked straight at the cab. he let the paper flutter from his fingers, but he did not dare glance back to see if the policeman had picked it up. the cab halted in a dark side street off lexington avenue. a man stepped from the shadows and waved his hand. they alighted and walked with an unconcern that surprised garth to the servants' entrance of a large house. this nora unlocked. they entered and waited in the alley while one by one the four from the boat slipped through after them. garth understood what these numbers meant. in order that nora, george, and he might accomplish their task undisturbed, these men would bear to each inmate of the house chloroform, or, under necessity, something more permanently silencing. walking heavy-hearted through the alley at nora's heels, one last saving possibility occurred to garth. could this be another police trick? it was likely that the inspector had denied him his full confidence. could nora be on the same errand as himself, working for her father? when she had unlocked the house door he found himself brushing against her in the hall. impulsively he reached down and clasped her hand. but her hand was like ice. she snatched it away. in her action and the sharp intake of her breath he felt his doubts resolved. then he was flung into a stealthy, sure, and dreadful whirlpool of action. he heard feline movements on the stairs, a muffled thud in the darkness ahead, from the second floor a shrill cry, all at once strangled and beaten back into the heavy silence. he waited, panting. upstairs someone rapped sharply three times. a pocket lamp flashed ahead, throwing a white shaft against finely-grained mahogany. a hand in the shaft signalled him, and he crept forward until he stumbled over a round, inert mass which lay just outside the room where the white light searched the mahogany. the light, wavering around to greet him, disclosed the obstacle. it was a man, deftly bound, and bandaged about the mouth, the ears, the eyes. "shut the door." garth closed the door on this disturbing vision. the mahogany formed the doors of a large and very wide cabinet. george knelt in front of this, inserting slender, gleaming tools in the lock with the adroitness of a watchmaker. to one side nora crouched, playing the light on his illicit undertaking. george opened the doors and nodded to garth. the light glowed now on the sleek, steel belly of a safe; and, as garth, a trifle confused, reached out a steadying hand, he realized that the walls of this room were of steel, too. the cold, uncompromising feel of the metal was another warning to him. his only chance was that the safe might balk george for some time. the man's first words, indeed, encouraged this hope. "may take a little time," he muttered. "might's well be comfortable, simmons. nora, toss us a couple of those sofa pillows." nora reached to the divan behind her and passed the cushions to george. he arranged one to his satisfaction before raising his hand to the combination. "plenty of time, isn't there?" garth croaked anxiously. "ought to be," george answered. "everything's covered now. didn't expect to find the watchman where we did though. if he hadn't been half asleep--nora, maybe you doped him at supper." the girl gave no sign. she remained crouched at the side. she was like an animal, ready to spring at the first alarm. garth was aware of an unusual tension himself. it was not quite the suspense he had forecasted. perhaps this sharing of criminal labor for the first time accounted for its nature. he appreciated the amount of courage demanded. he received, as it were, george's disturbing point of view of the moment. garth had caught a new stammering quality in the man's voice. he wondered at the perspiration which bathed his face in spite of the comfortable temperature of the room. he studied the shoulders, squared as for an attack, momentarily expected. only the fingers at their facile work displayed no emotion. garth questioned if george always worked under this strain. did any of the responsibility rest with this room? since his first entrance over the prostrate form of the watchman, since his first touch of those unyielding walls, he had himself experienced a distaste for the apartment. this may have been accounted for in part by that single, brilliant shaft of light, which, illuminating the nest of this perilous booty, deepened the shadows elsewhere. garth could make out little. his eyes failed to explore the corners, succeeded only in reaching the divan and one or two easy chairs--furniture altogether incongruous in a chemist's laboratory. although the water streamed from george's face, he saw the man shiver. it started an expository train of thought. the last time this job had been attempted kridel had been killed--in this house, almost certainly in this room. he recalled the superstitious fears of many criminals. perhaps that accounted in a degree for the other's bared nerves. "may take time," george jerked out again. "if i could only use a drill and a touch of nitro." he whistled softly. "none of that rough business here. good lord, simmons, don't let that stuff go off." nora leaned forward. "scared, george?" the question brought fire. "show me anybody else who'd do this stunt with more nerve." "slim must think a lot of you to put you at it twice." "what do you mean by that?" "didn't you fall down on it last time?" "ask slim," he said shortly. "this is the time i'm interested in, and if we pull it off--" he reached over, tapping the mahogany with ritual precaution. "if we pull it off, nora, you're going to quit fooling with me. i've dangled a long time, and we'll have plenty of money then." physical greed for a moment drove the uneasiness from his eyes. "maybe, when i get the door open, you'll give me that kiss i've been waiting for." garth felt shame that he had the impulse to risk his mission for this woman he should have loathed. he wanted to take the burly, glistening throat between his hands. he controlled himself with an effort. but he could not experience for the girl that just loathing. she had altered subtly. at george's question her form had lost its alertness and had assumed the unyielding lines of a somnambulist; and her voice had the colorless tone of one who speaks out of a dream. "maybe when you get it open, george. time enough to think of that then. i'm not so sure you'll open it. i'm not so sure of your nerve." "wait and see," he said. "you're a pretty one to talk about nerve. you look as though you'd seen a ghost." she sank back in a heap. she screened her face with her hands. george stared. "now what--" "don't say that, george," she whispered. "not here. ever since i've been in this room--it--it doesn't feel right." she trembled. "hurry! i'm afraid here." "hold the light up," he said roughly. "what's the matter with you? this isn't a graveyard." he resumed his manipulation of the knob. garth noticed that from time to time he glanced quickly over his shoulder at the somber corners of the room. nora had, to a certain extent, startled garth. her barely audible words still breathed disquietingly in his ears. they had been like a bow drawn across a string too tightly stretched. she kept her face hidden now while george worked. the only sound was the muffled clicking of the balls in the combination; the only light, the shaft from the lamp which she held unsteadily. the thought of the steel walls added to the oppression of the air. garth breathed with difficulty. he fancied once that something moved behind the divan. george caught his start and demanded an explanation. he scolded querulously. "well," garth croaked, "i agree with the lady. i don't like the room." "i looked around," george said. nora lowered her arms. "george," she said, "sometimes you can't see everything." she straightened. that disquieting, colorless whisper came again. "i know what it is. that cop was killed here, wasn't he?" "what do i know about it?" he asked angrily. she leaned closer and grasped his arm. "right here, george. and if he--it must have been just like this--this time of night--when he--george! can't we turn on the lights?" he swallowed hard. "why not send out a call for the patrol? what do you mean, if he--" she shivered. "i don't like places where people have died hard. that's what i felt when i came in here. but you--you're not afraid?" he turned momentarily from his work. he tried with indifferent success to fill his voice with challenge. afterwards he looked up expectantly as though he was far from certain the challenge might not be accepted. "afraid! a man with a red heart afraid of dead ones! they never come back." "don't say that. i know. my mother told me such things. she was italian. she knew. she saw. george, don't say that. it's like cursing the dead. and he lay right there, didn't he, george, between you and the safe? that's why slim stayed outside. maybe slim killed him. i want to go, too. let simmons hold the lamp." "no," george said. "that thing he wears isn't human company. you stay." garth wondered that in that fantastic light the girl's manner should set a cold anxiety rippling along his own nerves. he looked with an unnatural curiosity at the place which she had indicated. evidently she had yielded to an excess of terror. in spite of george's command she was trying to pass the lamp to garth. it slipped from her fingers, and the white shaft circled swiftly downwards. she caught the handle before it reached the floor, but now the only light in the room was a narrow circle which bored into the carpet and exposed a dark, irregular stain. nora cried chokingly. "blood! george! that's his blood!" cursing, george reached forward, caught her arm, and swung the light away from this desolate reminder of tragedy. "no wonder!" she whispered. "no wonder slim didn't have the nerve to come back and do those same things. he'd have seen the man he'd killed between him and his work." garth could scarcely catch her voice. "if i thought you had that much nerve, george, i might--i believe i might--" she broke off abruptly. george stared at her, then turned back and fumbled for the knob. "try to keep the light steady, nora." there was a beseeching, child-like quality in his tone. he worked with difficulty now. his hands were no longer perfect mechanical tools. they wavered about the knob. his lips twitched. perspiration thickened on his face. garth saw drops glitter and fall slowly to the stained carpet. garth caught himself paradoxically wishing george to hurry. for a moment he was relieved when a new sound came from the combination, and george with a sigh turned the handle. "ready to open," he said. he swung on nora. "talk about slim! crying, nora? good lord--" "don't, george," she said. "if i half close my eyes i can see him through my tears, lying here in the shadows. can't you?" he clasped his arms about her. he hid his eyes in her hair. "hush," he said hoarsely. "and, while simmons does his work, give me that kiss." garth's fingers reached out, then he thought of the frayed piece of paper possibly in the inspector's hands and already urging the night to a successful climax. this anguish, too, he must suffer. so he drew back profoundly shaken. nora, however, was protecting her lips. "you promised--" george began. "i said if you had that much nerve. but i know you haven't. even if you had croaked him you wouldn't dare acknowledge it here. why, george, you're kneeling where he lay." he threw back his shoulders. he laughed demonstratively. "what difference does that make? i'm kneeling to you. and let slim rave. i'll give you your price. you needn't be ashamed to kiss me, nora. it wasn't slim. i did it. the cop jumped me from behind that sofa, and i let him have the knife." he raised his lips expectantly. garth didn't understand at first. he only realized with a savage joy that their lips did not touch. yet he questioned why the big man, instead of answering the temptation of that mouth, half-open and inviting, drooped backwards until he lay stretched on the floor. george's cry in his ears aroused him, and he saw in the reeling, drunken shaft of light that blood flowed and joined the ancient stain in the carpet. he arose. he knew what that scream would unloose upon them. springing backward, he grasped the handle of the safe and opened the doors. "nora," he whispered. "come here." she obeyed him with mechanical precision; but when he took the lamp from her listless hand, turning it upward to examine her face, he read in her eyes awakening realization and horror. he snapped off the light. still grasping her hand, he seated himself on the floor with his back to the open safe. he drew her down. for a moment he thought she would resist, then she yielded and sank passively to the cushion at his side. "why?" she asked. "they will be here," he said. "there is no way out except through that door which they will use. it is safer to wait here. why don't they come?" "they are careful," she whispered back. "they will come slowly. they will take no chances." he felt the quick shaking of her body. "i know what i have done," she said, "what i have done to you." he realized that his hand still grasped hers. he released it gently. "i understand a little," he answered, "but if you cared enough to accomplish this madness for him, you should have been even less kind to me than you were this afternoon." "perhaps," she answered. "oh, i don't know. i don't know. i was so young. i loved him so much, and my father said his murderer would never be punished--justice must fail. maybe it was my italian blood, but i swore over his body the day they buried him that, if there was no other way, i would get justice for the poor boy. we were practically certain it was this gang. i said nothing to my father. through a girl i had helped i met slim. it pleased his vanity to have a spy at headquarters. i made him trust me. but i couldn't find out who--yet sooner or later i knew the time would come. that's why i worked so hard for to-night, why i wouldn't let anything interfere, because i thought in this room--well! you see--listen!" she breathed hard for a moment. "since i've known you i've doubted, but i couldn't turn back. you despise me, jim, but in a way i have done good. i made them respect me. i have restrained them. i think, because i have been with them, i have saved lives. and always i had planned at the end to punish them as they deserved. but now--in a trap. we're like mice in a trap, jim. i've done that to you. they'll find me out now, and what's behind the mask, too. they'll kill us both. they'll have to. listen!" "we'll make a fight of it, nora," he said grimly. "no matter what i do, trust me." "hush!" she breathed. "i think the door is open." "i'm going to flash the light," he answered. "no. i know they are here. i know they are in the room. i hear--" he snapped the button. the white shaft pierced the darkness. nora had been right. slim and three others with ready revolvers were half way across the room. garth put his finger to his lips. "sh--h," he said. "wait! don't come any closer." "what's wrong, simmons?" slim whipped out. "who called? that's george. what--" "he got fresh with the girl," garth answered. slim waited, taking in the details of the tableau, weighing garth's words and manner, studying nora's collapsed figure and its proximity to garth's. "you're bluffing, simmons," he said at last. "i'm after facts now. toss up your hands." he raised his revolver, aiming at garth's body. nora gave a little cry. garth laughed. "you don't quite understand," he answered slowly, "and you're usually so observant, slim. look around. the safe is open behind us. your bullets would clip through nora and me into those sacks of army destroyers. what then? so you won't be surprised when i take my hands down." he lowered them. he took his own revolver from his pocket. "but," he went on, "there's nothing behind you but a steel wall, and if one of you comes a step closer i'll shoot." the four gathered together, whispering, inaudibly to garth; but this tense grouping, this excited council warned him of their only possible answer. "if you try to rush me," he cried, "or if you try to get out of the room, i'll turn the revolver on the safe and blow the whole lot of us to powder in this pleasant steel shell." slim turned, white-faced. "you wouldn't have the nerve," he said. "after all, you're a bull." "just to show you," garth answered quietly, "i'll put the whole pack on the table. you've called the turn, slim. i'm that." he snatched the mask from his face, and took a police whistle from his pocket. he raised it to his lips. he blew a call which he felt would penetrate beyond these steel walls. it was the first unrestrained sound the room had heard that night. it thrilled garth. it was like a tonic. he laughed outright. "no more fighting in the dark. thank god!" the four men stared with the helpless rage, the abandoned suffering of snared animals. chapter iv garth buys a boutonniÈre garth wondered if relief would ever come. he was afraid that the slip of frayed white paper must have gone astray. otherwise, it seemed to him, it would have brought help even before he had sounded his shrill alarm. he glanced at nora. she had placed her hand on his arm. she gazed at the open door. "i thought i heard--" then garth heard, too--a tramping in the house, a struggle outside the door, a voice whose roar betrayed excitement and triumph. "where's garth?" the door filled with men in uniform. nora covered her face with her hands and turned away. with a start garth grasped the reason. planning vaguely, he arose and leaned over the prostrate figure of george. the man breathed. the wound was in the shoulder and appeared of little real consequence. he straightened to find the inspector standing over him with a look of pleasure. it hurt garth to think of that expression's vanishing for one of unbelief and revolt. "this fellow will stand his trial," he said. he added gently: "for the murder of joe kridel. it was here, you know." the inspector puffed. "garth, i'm proud of you." his eye caught the figure of nora, crouched against the safe. his voice grew hard and business-like. "bring that woman here." slim, bound and at the door, laughed. garth grasped the inspector's arm. "don't," he said. "don't bother about her. let her go." but the inspector strode to the safe, raised nora, and drew her hands from her face. he gasped and leaned heavily against the divan. all at once he appeared old. garth sprang to his side. he knew the inspector must not speak now. "i'll tell you," he cried. "you have to thank nora as much as me." he glanced at the girl. "that is, we put it over together. it was a winning combination, but we didn't have the nerve to put you wise." the color rushed back to nora's cheeks, but the inspector's face did not alter. he looked doubtfully from one to the other. at last he seemed to gather his emotions in a volley of wrath for garth. "you dragged a woman in this! you ought to be horsewhipped. dragging my daughter into this hell!" garth took the girl's hand. "cheer up, chief," he said, "because if you and she would only let me i'd drag her into a lot worse than that." he turned to her anxiously. there were tears in her eyes. he questioned if they had sprung from pity for him. she touched his hand. he looked away, for the quick pressure expressed only thanks, and a friendship troubled by his persistence. * * * * * * during the next few days garth saw little of nora, meeting her only once or twice by chance in her father's office. he was not inclined, indeed, to urge a more intimate opportunity. he had let her see rather too much of his heart, and he shrank from an appearance of seeking advantage from her gratitude. that gratitude existed abundantly, and the inspector shared it. the affair of the gray mask had altered a good deal for garth. it had placed him all at once apart from his fellows in the bureau. the newspaper publicity, which, unlike most of his kind, he would have preferred to avoid, had swept his reputation far beyond the boundaries of his own city. he acknowledged a benefit in that. such notoriety might deter the desire for revenge of any of the friends of slim and george who remained at large. a very real danger for nora and himself lay there. it created, too, a tie that the inspector visualized with an increasing friendliness and confidence. "if slim and george go to the chair," the big man said on one of those mornings when garth had stumbled into nora in the office, "you two are probably safe enough. with those birds salted away the weaker brothers aren't likely to take any wild chances, at least until the thing has been pretty well forgotten." apprehension clouded his sleepy eyes. "but, young people, if slim and george escaped conviction or managed a getaway, i'd look for a new first-class detective, and--" he took nora's hand and studied her face, whose dark beauty remained unafraid. "i guess i'd need another daughter, which i couldn't very well have." he laughed brusquely. "slim and george are tight enough now, so why borrow trouble." garth saw the foreboding of his chief's eyes turn to curiosity, a trifle groping. "wish you'd kept out of it, daughter." "don't scold," she laughed. "you did enough of that the other night." "i'm not," he grumbled, "i'm only wondering where you got the nerve, and the brains." "some from you, father." "not as much as all that. i guess your mother gave you a little that we hum-drum new yorkers don't quite understand." "if," garth said, "anything develops, you'll have to send nora away." "if there's time," the inspector agreed. he turned back to his papers, shaking his head. it is, perhaps, as well, when one fears, that the march of routine brings new and destructive demands. it was only a few days afterwards that garth and nora were involved in events that drove their minds for the time from the threat, which they should never have quite lost sight of. yet the elmford murder didn't leave room in one's mind for much else. on the afternoon before that tragedy garth, leaving headquarters, made an unaccustomed purchase. not long ago such affectation would have appealed to his sturdy, straightforward mind of a detective as trivial, possibly unmasculine. he reddened as he handed his ten cents to the shapeless italian woman whose fingers about his coat lapel were confusingly deft. he had no illusions as to the source of this foppish prompting. the inspector had called him in and told him that nora would welcome him at the flat for dinner that evening. the event appeared a milestone on the amorous path he sought to explore hand in hand with the girl. he realized his desired destination was not yet in view, but such progress required a deviation from the familiar--some peculiar concession to its significance. so he turned away from the cheap sidewalk stand, wearing, for the first time in his life, a flower in his button hole--a rose of doubtful future and unaristocratic lineage. * * * * * * before following garth with his blushing decoration it is serviceable to know what happened at elmford. chapter v what happened at elmford that night on the edge of winter it was thoroughly dark when dr. john randall left new york for his long island home. treving had unexpectedly detained him at the club. the interview had evidently projected more than the unforeseen, for randall's habitual calm, which carried even to his hours of relaxation a perpetual flavor of the professional, was suddenly destroyed by the color and the lines of a passionate indecision. he crossed the queensborough bridge and threaded the long island city streets with a reckless disregard of traffic which probably went undisciplined only because of the green cross on the radiator of his automobile. his house, although just within the city limits, had an air, particularly under this wan starlight, remote and depressing. it stood in wide grounds not far from the water. heavy trees, which clustered near, appeared to shroud it. the doctor, scarcely slackening speed, swung his car through the gateway and glided up the drive. at the turn the house rose before him, square, frowning, black. it was only after a moment that a nebulous radiance from a curtained window upstairs defined itself as light. usually there was much light and the companionable racket of a busy household. randall's hands trembled while he arranged the levers and shut off the engine. yet the radiance, at last, was somewhat reassuring. he sprang out, and nearly running, stumbling a little, climbed the steps, crossed the verandah, and pushed the electric button. from far away the response echoed as through an empty house. no sound of hurrying feet followed it. randall, after waiting for a moment, took out his latch-key and entered. because of his impatience he didn't stop to fumble for the switch. instead he flung his hat haphazard through the darkness, felt his way across the hall, and climbed the stairs. "bella!" he called. immediately the relieving answer came: "here--in my dressing-room, john. why are you so late?" he leant weakly against the wall. "i was detained. what's the matter?" "why don't you come in?" she asked. he straightened and opened the door. the light, shining upon his face, showed it still scarred by anger and indecision. the relief of finding his wife at home and safe was not, then, wholly curative. he closed the door behind him and stared at her, lying in a reading-chair, a book open on her knees, her dark and lovely face upraised to him, expectant, questioning, a trifle startled. "where are all the servants?" he demanded. she stirred. the youthful fluency of her body in the mauve dressing gown must have impressed itself upon the excited man by the door. "i had to let myself in. i--not a light. it frightened me." "you've forgotten," she answered. "we talked it over a week or so ago, and i thought you had agreed. ellen's wedding. naturally they all wanted to go. i had an early dinner and packed them off. but i counted on you. i was growing afraid, all alone in the house. what kept you?" "old mrs. hanson--at first. she's very ill. i should really have stayed the night. i went to the club for a bite--" he broke off. he walked closer, looking down into her eyes which did not quite meet his. "at the club--i knew i must come home to-night. i--i sent your cousin, tom redding, to mrs. hanson." her eyes wavered even more. "why? that isn't like you to--to turn a critical case over to another man. i could have managed. anyway, you'd forgotten about my maid's wedding. so it wasn't that. what--what happened at the club?" she shivered for a moment uncontrollably. "john! what's the matter? why do you glare at me like that? why do you look so--so--" she tried to laugh. "so--murderous?" his face worked. "bella," he said, "i've not been altogether blind about you and treving." she exclaimed impatiently, but her shiver was repeated, and the uncertainty of her voice lingered. "you're not going to commence on that!" he brushed her interruption aside. "but treving's seemed a decent enough sort in spite of the way he spends his money and his broadway record, and, you see, bella, i've always trusted you unquestioningly." "and now? tell me what you're driving at, john. i won't put up--" she sprang to her feet, facing him, wide-eyed, furious, yet, one would have suspected, not completely free from apprehension. randall touched her arm. "don't work yourself up, bella. you know. i've told you. it's bad for you." "what do you expect, when you insinuate--" "what have i insinuated, provided your conscience's clear?" he urged her back to the chair. "it's just this: we must talk it out. i've a right to know how far this folly's gone--what it portends, so that i can take measures of defence for myself and for my wife." she yielded and sat down, but now she bent forward, her hands clasped at her knees to prevent their trembling. randall clearly made an effort to speak normally. his tone had resumed its professional quality. it was, in a sense, soothing, but the power of the words themselves could not be diminished, and, as he went on, her emotions strayed farther and farther from the boundaries she had plainly tried to impose. "i overheard," he said. "it was delafield and ross. i went to ross. i felt i knew him well enough. my dear! it's common scandal--much worse, i'll do you the credit of saying, than the facts. you've been seen with treving in cafés of doubtful reputation, and out here on long island, at some of these unspeakable road houses--" he turned away. "people aren't kind at construing those things. he was a damned scoundrel to take you to such places." "i'll judge that," she said. "if it's all you have to charge me with!" "isn't it enough? good god! how indiscreet!" "then why not tell all this to freddy treving?" she asked. the lines about his mouth tightened. "treving," he said with an affectation of simplicity, "came into the club while i was talking with ross. he had been drinking--a great deal. i didn't realize it at first--it's quite necessary you should hear this--so i took him out in the hall and tried to talk to him reasonably. i told him it must stop--any friendship between him and you." she glanced up tempestuously. "i'll not have my friendships questioned." "i'm sorry, bella. you've placed this one beyond your own control. you made me speak to treving. it was the only thing to do. and he was impertinent, defiant. as i told you, he had been drinking, but that didn't explain his astounding assurance. i don't want to do you an injustice, but i couldn't help fearing his confidence was based on an understanding with you." "john! you're mad!" "no. i think it's treving who's a little mad as well as drunk." he studied her face morosely. "i told him, if i heard of his coming near you again or communicating with you in any way, i would thrash him within an inch of his life. bella, he laughed at me." his eyes left hers. a look of utter discouragement entered them. he spoke slowly, with unnatural distinctness. "treving offered to lay me any stakes he'd spend this evening with you without my knowing." his eyes remained averted. perhaps he didn't dare risk the vital testimony hers might have yielded. her voice was sharp. "treving said that?" he nodded. "but i don't think he'll succeed. and i warned him as he deserved. you may as well make up your mind, bella, that that incident is finished." "on the contrary," she answered, "it's only begun." he swung around and bent over her, grasping her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "unless, bella--unless--" his hands tightened until she cried out. "that's why, when i saw the house dark, i was afraid you'd gone. did you and he know about old mrs. hanson? have you any arrangement with him for to-night?" she pressed her lips together. blood congested her cheeks. he shook her more determinedly. "answer. you have to answer that." her lips parted. "take your hands away." "bella! you can't keep quiet. see how you're racking me! answer." somewhere in the house a bell commenced to jangle, and continued, irritatingly, insistently. she grasped his wrists and pushed his hands aside. "you've gone rather too far," she whispered. "i've a right. answer. was there an arrangement? did you expect him here to-night while i struggled in town?" the discordant jangling appeared to enter his consciousness. he sprang back, listening. "that might--by gad, if it were!" "it's the telephone," she said, "in the library." "why isn't it answered? oh, yes. you might have kept thompson at least. let it ring. i shan't go down." "a doctor!" she said scornfully. she arose with an effort. the lace of the mauve dressing-gown exaggerated the difficulty of her breathing. his glance, which took all this in, was not wholly without contrition. "answer it," she said. "i shan't fly from the house to any man's arms while you are in the library." he half stretched out his hand to her, but the appealing motion resolved itself into a gesture of despair. he walked out and descended to the library. after a moment the discordant bell was silent. the murmur of his voice, moment by moment interrupted, arose through the quiet house to this single lighted chamber. she stood for a time by the door, listening. once or twice she placed her hand above her heart. at last she turned back and gazed through the narrow door to the next room where a yellow ribbon of illumination from the reading light draped itself across her bed. her face set in the cruel distortion that precedes tears, but at the sound of her husband's returning footsteps it resumed a semblance of control. no tears fell. "well?" she asked. his face was haggard, confessing greater suspense than before. "the hansons' butler," he said. "i--i'm afraid the old lady's off this time. redding had told him to get me. they sent the chauffeur some time ago with a fast car. man said he ought to be here." he paused, searching her face in an agony of indecision. "well?" she repeated. "bella," he went on. "won't you tell me? won't you promise? that old woman--for years she's depended on me. i could do more for her than redding. i might help her--a little--" "of course you'll go," she said. he spread his arms. "how can i go, knowing nothing, imagining everything. tell me. was there an arrangement with that beast? bella, he'd been drinking. he's unfit--" she raised her hand. "you only make matters worse. john, you've done your best to make me despise you, to urge me to freddy treving. for, understand, i do care for him--a great deal. there's been nothing really wrong, but evidently you're not content it should stop at friendship. we can settle what's to be done to-morrow. meantime--you've put me in such a position! what am i to say?" she shrugged her shoulders. "go to your work, i've no arrangement with freddy. i don't expect him here. if he came i shouldn't let him in. your honor is safe enough in my hands for to-night. does that satisfy you?" her tone had a merciless lashing quality. he bowed his head before it. his words stumbled. "i trust you, bella. i'm sorry." "then go. in the morning--" she waved her hand vaguely. "we'll arrange--something." his eyes begged, but she offered nothing more. so he went out, closing the door softly behind him. almost immediately he heard the sound of a motor. he couldn't find his hat. the front door bell rang, and, snatching an ancient cap from the table, he opened the door. no one stood in the verandah, but the glare of powerful automobile headlights blinded him. "you're mrs. hanson's chauffeur?" he called. an indistinct voice came back affirmatively. randall caught the word "hurry." therefore he ran down the steps, and, his eyes still blinded by the glare, stepped into a large runabout and settled himself by the driver. they swung away at a breakneck speed which before long swept randall's cap from his head and forced him to cling with both hands to the side of the car. the landscape tore up through the glare and disappeared in a dense and terrifying confusion of darkness. "man!" he shouted. "this is dangerous. there's no point in such haste." he managed to turn, but the other had protected himself against the cold by rolling his collar up about his face and drawing his slouch hat down to meet it. "slower!" randall commanded. the car swerved. the other cried hoarsely: "look out! hold tight!" randall clung, but the car kept the road. its speed was all at once reduced. with a disconcerting jerk it came to a standstill. as randall, trying to recover his balance, started to speak angrily, something soft and blinding struck his face and enveloped his head. his hands, raised purposelessly, were caught and pinioned. the cloth suddenly became moist and a familiar odor arose. the other laughed as he fastened a cord about the arms and body. randall gasped. his bound limbs relaxed. the driver turned the car, and, with one arm around the senseless doctor, drove in leisurely fashion back towards elmford. hidden among the undergrowth at some distance from the house stood a small, partly ruined stone building, used once, from the water flowing nearby, as a spring house. the driver carried randall to the interior of this building and placed him on the floor. lighting a match, he glanced around. the unfinished walls were mottled with the melancholy vegetation which takes hold in places where the sun is forbidden. drops of water oozed from the stones. the earth yielded to the pressure of feet soggily. the man raised his hat higher on his forehead and lowered his coat collar, exposing a face that was handsome in a weak and flippant way. he grinned rather foolishly now at his victim, outstretched on the damp floor. he swayed a trifle, steadied himself with an effort, then, as the glow of the match expired, bent over and thrust his hand in randall's pocket. he drew out a key ring. he struck another match and ran quickly over the ring until he had found the key he desired. this he slipped from the ring into his own pocket and returned the rest to randall's coat. on the point of leaving, he hesitated, and with a resolute air stooped and removed the cloth from randall's head and the cord from the body. afterwards he took a small bottle from his pocket, forced the unconscious man's lips open and poured a quantity of the fluid down his throat. evidently the doctor would sleep thoroughly and for a long time. when he had gathered up the cloth, the rope, and the bottle, the man left the stone building, laughing with a satisfaction that was not wholly vicious. in spite of the anger his face had displayed the situation for him possessed at least a tiny element of humour. he secreted the compromising bundle beneath a large stone in the bed of the stream. "put it over," he muttered. "people'll say the old boy was off his head or's a reason why we had to have prohibition." his lurch was more pronounced as he walked to the car, and his manner less confident as he drove on to the house. he alighted and, steadying himself against the mud-guard, gazed at the dark, forbidding façade in which that diffused and indeterminate radiance alone suggested habitation. after a time he straightened, climbed the steps, and crossed the verandah. he felt in his pocket for the latch-key he had taken from randall, inserted it in the lock, and noiselessly opened the door. he was very careful to see that the door did not latch behind him. he placed the key on the hall table. he folded his coat and laid it with his cap on a chair. stealthily he advanced along the dark and silent hall to the stairway. at the sound of his automobile bella had half arisen. she waited attentively, but when for some time no sound followed, she walked to the window, raised it, and leaned out, striving unsuccessfully to penetrate the heavy night. a board creaked in the corridor outside her door. she swung around, her hand at her throat. "john!" complete silence followed. unless something out of all reckoning had occurred, her husband could not be back. none of the servants would have used an automobile. then who prowled about the unlighted house and hesitated in the vicinity of her door? "john!" the formlessness of her cry unveiled her fear. the knob moved. inch by inch the door opened, and, inch by inch, as if impelled by a perfectly controlled impulse from the door widening on the intruder, she retreated until the wall held her. "freddy!" she gasped. he stepped in and closed the door. it could scarcely have been apparent to her all at once how much he had been drinking, for, although his face was flushed, the event justified that, and he had evidently forced on himself for the moment a supreme control. yet her relief was short-lived. to be sure she could leave the wall and advance to meet him, yet, as if the room possessed a phonographic quality, it was still loud with her husband's anxiety and her own contemptuous promises. "what are you doing here? how did you get in? go before--this is out of the question." his hand left the knob. "it's all right, bella. needn't be afraid. randall's out of the way. he won't bother us to-night." "then you know about mrs. hanson?" she asked. he nodded sagely. "i know a lot." "you can't stay here," she said. "go." he stretched out his hands. "then you shall come with me. that's the scheme. been in the back of my head all along. we'll show a clean pair of heels. time something definite happened. bella!--you know--how i love you." a slight impediment, unfamiliar to the startled woman, made itself noticeable in his voice. his control was limited. already his true condition disclosed itself. fear as powerful as that which had greeted his stealthy approach returned to her eyes. "you know i won't come with you, freddy. perhaps later things will be arranged. john and i had a talk to-night." his face worked evilly. "he had a talk with me, too," he said. "it's come to a showdown. no use talking about waiting, bella. it's now or never. you've held me off too long. got to choose. we love each other." he advanced. she stepped behind the table. "don't come any nearer, freddy. what's the matter with you?" he laughed. "just you." he tapped the side pocket of his coat. "by gad! i'd have killed him to-night to get to you if it had been necessary. that's what you've done to me, bella." he reached across and grasped her arm. he held her tight while he glided around the table. a book fell to the floor, and another. a vase of roses toppled over and shattered musically. the flowers made brilliant patches on the dull carpet. "let me go. listen, freddy! we'll talk it over to-morrow--all three. i promised john i wouldn't see you to-night." "tomorrow!" he laughed. "too late. you don't know all i've done for this--a real sportin' proposition. i tell you it's now or never, and i'm mad about you." he got his arm around her. "you've got to let me keep my promise." still laughing, he drew her closer. his flaming eyes were near. his breath was revolting on her cheeks. she struggled, gasping for words. "let me go. you've been drinking. he said--" "he said!" he cried furiously. "what are you going to do?" she begged. as he flung her back against the table the side pocket of his unbuttoned coat flapped against her hand. "i'm not going to let you slip now, bella." "freddy! you're killing me!" she put her hand in his pocket and snatched out an unpolished, stubby, evil cylinder with a square grip which perfectly fitted her hand. "look out, freddy! you hurt!" he laughed again. his lips, repulsive and cruel, crushed hers. her smothered crying was bitter. an explosion, slightly muffled, crowded the room with sound. another followed. his lips, a moment ago masterful with unreasoning vitality, no longer troubled her. "freddy!" she sobbed. "i'm sorry--" he crumpled at her feet. near the water, spilled from the vase of roses, a darker stain spread. she screamed. "what's the matter? freddy! i'm sorry--say something--pray!" she stumbled to her knees by the dead man. her desolate cries fled ceaselessly through the open window. chapter vi a crying through the silence garth the next day did not repeat his floral indiscretion. one experience had convinced him that practice is necessary to the successful threading of such by-ways. his rose, in fact, had disclosed its limitations even before he had reached the inspector's flat. on his entrance it had not adorned his coat. he read the brief and scarcely illuminating account of the elmford murder in the morning papers. irritation at his own assignment--an unimportant case up-town--let it slip through his mind without arousing any exceptional interest. when he returned to the central office in the afternoon the doorman beckoned to him. "inspector's been asking after you." garth yawned. "all right. tell him i'm here, ed." after a moment the doorman called: "inspector says, walk in." garth went, and paused, ill-at-ease, just within the doorway. the huge man lolled in his chair. his quiet eyes fixed garth genially. for once he failed to fidget with his desk paraphernalia. his rumbling voice was abnormally mild. garth appreciated these portents. they connoted favoritism, but he traced that to the inspector's love for his daughter, because he was too modest to place in the scales his own conspicuous virtues. "come over here and sit down, garth." garth obeyed. "thanks, inspector." the inspector's eyes twinkled. "boys tell me you're a little sore on the jobs you've had since you smashed slim and george and their favourites." garth grew red. "there are old women everywhere," he said. "nothing to do but talk." the inspector guffawed. "ain't it so?" "incriminating question, chief." the other leaned forward. "i can't take chances with such a valuable man." he cleared his throat. "were you thinking of paying your party call to-night? because i've got to disappoint you. but i don't want to do that two ways. i can't see anything particularly dangerous about this job, but i'd like you to look it over this afternoon. it's the elmford murder. suppose you've read about it." "i glanced it over in the morning papers," garth answered. "they were short on details." "there doesn't seem much to clear up," the inspector said, "except dr. randall's whereabouts. the men i sent out this morning haven't got a trace. nothing's been heard from the ferries or the stations or out of town. seems there ought to be some indication at the house for a sharp pair of eyes." "there's no doubt then," garth asked, "that he killed treving?" the inspector ran his hand through his hair. "those must have been rotten papers you read," he answered. "ask me if cain killed abel. treving's goings-on with randall's wife have been common gossip. the boys blushed about it in the clubs up town. listen, garth. i've found out things you won't get from any papers. randall and treving met at their club last night. seems randall had overheard some of this conversation. i've had a few of the high-hat crowd down here to-day, and one of the hall boys who heard what went on between randall and treving. randall warned treving away with threats. treving lost his head and offered to bet he'd spend last evening with mrs. randall." "good lord!" garth exclaimed. "was he drunk?" "can't tell," the inspector said. "the boy thought he had been drinking, but he didn't believe he was drunk. that don't mean much. nothing like a college education to teach a man how to carry his liquor. anyway, randall came back with his own conviction. swore he'd shoot treving if such a thing came off. well! randall found treving late last night in the lady's dressing-room." "pretty bad," garth agreed, "but i've never thought threats were very satisfactory evidence." "plenty of other evidence," the inspector answered. "randall had stayed late in town. he must have driven up and found treving's car by the verandah. they're both there now. easy to understand how that sight fixed his resolution to kill. and the signs of the struggle are all over the room. he left in a hurry after he had shot him. he lost his hat off, rushing down the stairs. it's lying by the newel post. mark my words. when we find randall he'll have a new hat or none at all. he had enough sense not to try to make his getaway in his own machine or treving's. that's why i'm putting you on the case, garth. you know what a pipe it is to round up these amateur criminals. i tell you this fellow's clever." garth considered. "that's clear enough evidence," he said at last, "if the woman--but i suppose she refuses to open her mouth." the inspector's rapid fingering of his paper-cutter confessed his annoyance. his small eyes narrowed. "wish i knew if she's acting. she's been practically off her head ever since that motor cop found her kneeling over the body, screaming fit to--to wake the dead. nothing but hysterics all night and day. jones reports she's had some nervous trouble--something about the heart. her cousin, another doctor, is with her. you know i hate to make a wife testify. got to be done though when she comes around. that's about all, garth. run out there and see if you can hit randall's trail." garth arose. "seems simple, chief. any dope on the gun?" the inspector shook his head. "one of these deadly automatics it ought to be a felony to have around. natural enough for a doctor to carry one." he grinned. "got to kill their patients one way or another." "nothing been disturbed?" garth asked. "no. they've taken treving away, but the room's just as it was when they were found." garth moved towards the door. "i know you'll bring randall in," the inspector called. "i'll do my best," garth answered. he hurried through the outer office. perhaps the inspector was right and the case promised no unusual excitement, but at least it possessed interest. it was late in the afternoon when he reached the station near elmford. he inquired the way from the agent. "it's about ten minutes' walk," the man replied. "maybe you're a reporter or a cop? say, there's no mystery about that case. any word of the doctor?" garth smiled discreetly. he disentangled himself from the agent's curiosity and set off along a road bordered by unlovely suburban dwellings. these soon gave way to fields and hedges which in turn straggled into a miniature forest. just beyond that the gateway opened to the left. garth walked through and up to the secluded house. he glanced at the two automobiles, near each other in the drive. a tired-looking man in plain clothes lounged in the verandah. another with a languid air paced up and down at the side. they became animated and converged on garth, anxious to know if the inspector had got any word of randall. while he was talking to them garth first became aware of a mournful undertone, sometimes punctuated by a shrill, despairing note, now smothered in a heavy silence. "what's that?" he asked sharply. the men moved restlessly. "been listening to that music all day," one of them answered. "lonely hole! who'd want to live here?" "i see. mrs. randall," garth said. "i'd hoped she'd be able to stand a little talk by this time." "swell chance!" the man answered. "there's a high and mighty sawbones with her who'd do murder himself before he'd let you get within a mile of her. i'm sick of the rotten case. nothing to it anyway." "i'm going in, boys," garth said. "inspector told me everything had been left." one of the detectives handed him a key. "room's locked. this lets in from the corridor. key to her bedroom door's in the lock." garth entered the hall. randall's hat lay as the inspector had described it. its gilt initials stared up at garth with an odd air of appeal. he saw treving's coat and hat--another tragic excitation for the doctor if he had chanced to notice them--on a chair by the table. a key, which garth found fitted the front door, lay at the table's edge. garth replaced it there and continued up the stairs. mrs. randall's cries were quieter. garth, inured as he was to unbridled suffering, was grateful. he unlocked the door of the dressing-room and paused just across the sill while he made a quick survey of the scene of the murder. there was plenty of light and air here, for the curtains were thrown back and the window was open. since the doctor had unquestionably left by the front door he could not understand why the window had been opened on such a chilly night. he mused. before bothering with randall's course from the verandah it would be useful to examine the source of everything. the table cover was awry. one or two books lay on the floor beneath. half a dozen long-stemmed roses, faded as they were, still splashed color across the carpet of a neutral tint. as his eyes took them in garth smiled, shame-facedly reminiscent. he started. the formless, agonized cry of a woman arose and seemed to set in violent motion the atmosphere of this tragic chamber. the cry was repeated. garth shivered. he had a quick uncomfortable fancy that the woman was making horrid and superhuman efforts to overcome some obstacle to expression. "i wish she'd keep quiet," he thought. "confound it! there's no acting about that. she wants to talk and can't." he returned to his scrutiny of the room. its disordered condition suggested a struggle before randall had fired the shots and dropped the revolver there at the end of the table. a circle of no great radius would have enclosed the scattered and faded roses. no--not all. one bud lay farther off, nearer the bedroom door. garth tiptoed to it, stooped, and picked it up, examining it curiously while he tried to reconstruct from it an active picture of the tragedy. the stem had been broken away, indicating, since treving or randall had probably worn it, the close and desperate nature of their struggle. for it was not like the roses from the vase. they were of a larger variety and wider open, and this lay, he estimated, near the spot where treving, conquered and killed, had fallen. as he stooped there, reflecting, constantly troubled by the impotent sounds from the next room, a ray of late sunlight penetrated the foliage, entered the open window, and gleamed upon a silvery thread apparently in the carpet. in his haste to reach this thread garth stumbled noisily against a chair, and, as if in response, while he detached the thread from the carpet, a gentle knocking reached him from the bedroom door. a little ashamed of his racket, he thrust the thread in his pocket, arose, and opened the door. a tall man with iron-gray hair entered, closing the door gently behind him. his tone was repressed, but garth did not miss its annoyance. "do you want to kill that woman?" "i see. the chair," garth said. "every sound from this room," the man explained, "must be torture to her. i suppose you policemen think all this fuss and feathers necessary. you'd do better to get after randall." garth curbed his own irritation. "when do you think we'll be able to question her?" "god knows! if this keeps up. she's in a bad way. do you suppose i'd waste my time here otherwise. i tell you quiet is essential." garth rested his hands against the table. the knotted veins testified to his anxiety, but his tone was casual. "by the way, doctor, since you're mrs. randall's cousin, you must have known the doctor pretty well." "yes, yes, very well." "did you ever notice--was he in the habit of wearing a flower in his button-hole?" the other glanced at him suspiciously. "what are you driving at?" "answer me, please," garth insisted. "i never saw him with one. he was a very masculine type--no affectations." garth flushed. "and mr. treving?" he asked. "you knew him, too?" "slightly." "did he?" "what? wear a flower? i'm sure i don't know. never noticed. but i think it likely enough." garth's hands relaxed. he straightened. "thank you, doctor. there'll be no more noise here to-night. i'm sorry about the chair. i'd rather you didn't say anything about those questions." the doctor's face, which had shown suffering all through, broke into a derisive smile. "about the flowers! i understand. one must appear wise, even if there's nothing to be wise about." "quite so," garth said gravely. the other returned to the bedroom and garth went downstairs. he paused in the hall long enough to take the latch-key from the table and slip it in his pocket. then he walked to the back of the house where the servants were collected in an uneasy group. there was a chauffeur, he found, a butler, a cook, and a maid. another maid, they told him, was with mrs. randall. garth questioned them about last night's wedding and the hour of their return, but they were an incoherent lot, all talking at once, and saying nothing useful. therefore he returned to the verandah where he stood, trying to put himself in randall's place, casting about for his likely course when he had sensibly decided not to use his automobile. the sun had set. the dusk had already rendered objects at a distance indistinct. a decided chill heralded the night. the two detectives sat disconsolately on the steps. mrs. randall's voice continued its pitiful monotone, now and then torn by unavailing and demoralizing cries. garth started. he stared at a patch of shrubbery on the hillside to the right. certainly something had moved there. it occurred to him that to a man in the shrubbery the three forms under the verandah roof would be in this light invisible. again he was sure there was movement over there. if it were randall, come back! his experience had taught him that such a return was psychologically conformable. without speaking to the others he walked to the end of the verandah and dropped over the rail. aiding the friendly dusk by keeping behind trees and bushes as far as possible, he approached the patch of shrubbery. after a moment there was no question. the foliage did not wholly secrete the figure of a man. the man appeared to listen. garth's hand tightened on his revolver. the description fitted, but that was scarcely necessary, for on this cold evening the man was hatless. garth appraised the fugitive's damp and stained clothing. he could picture him hiding all night and day--perhaps in that small, half-ruined stone building which showed dimly from here--until the necessities of hunger or the impulse to return to the scene of his crime and learn its dénouement had driven him from cover. the haggard face seemed eloquent of guilt. garth sprang up and, his revolver ready, faced the man. "dr. randall! i've plenty of help near." randall stepped back. "and what about treving?" he asked in a husky voice. garth watched him warily. "i'm sorry," he answered, "but i've got to take you for his murder." randall's face whitened. he held himself rigidly. after a time he relaxed and laughed. his words came with difficulty as if his mouth held no moisture. "i'm wanted for treving's murder!" "you'll come quietly?" "yes. what's that noise? i thought i heard some one scream, a--a woman." "dr. randall," garth began steadily, "did you ever--" "see here," randall interrupted, "i'll answer no questions until i've seen my lawyer. where's my wife? what about my wife?" garth cleared his throat. "she's been hysterical--well--practically out of her head." garth could not fathom randall's expression as he walked at his side towards the house. "of course," he said, "she'll be called as a witness against you--in fact the only human witness of the crime itself." the doctor smiled contentedly. "yes," he said. "i should like to see her." "dr. redding's with her," garth explained, "but if it's in my presence i've no objection if he hasn't." garth waved the two excited detectives away. as he led randall across the verandah he was provokingly conscious of something missing. when he had opened the door and taken his captive into the hall, he realized all at once what it was. mrs. randall's pitiful and chaotic crying no longer disturbed the quiet house. he noticed, too, that dr. redding had descended the stairs and leant against the newel post. "who's that?" redding asked. "hello, redding!" randall said easily. "randall! they've got you!" randall's contented smile persisted. "mrs. randall?" garth asked in a low tone. "she's quieter now? dr. randall would like to see her." redding stepped forward swiftly. "he can see her," he sneered, "if he's got the courage. she's dead." he swung in a fury on randall. "two murders on your soul! that's what it comes to. what were you thinking of, man? you'll go to the chair for this." randall staggered against the wall where he leant, covering his face with his hands. "my only human witness!" he mumbled. garth knew it would be a kindness to get him out of this house, but first he did his duty with a strong distaste. "you'd better tell us," he said. "say something. it might help you in the end." randall lowered his hands. his face worked. "i'll say nothing--nothing," he cried fiercely. he stretched out his hands to garth. "no handcuffs," garth said gruffly. "we might go in one of those automobiles." randall stumbled forward. he groped about the hat-rack. "my hat! where's my hat? do as you wish. but not treving's car. good god! you wouldn't take me to jail in treving's car!" * * * * * * garth was restless the next day. the public, in common with the police department and the district attorney's office, looked upon the case against randall as proved and, to all purposes, disposed of. but garth, walking along upper fifth avenue in the afternoon, could not resist stopping at an expensive florist's and demanding a rose for his button-hole. when it was brought he asked the price, and, a good deal disconcerted, handed over the money. for some time he gazed at the colorful, fragrant flower which swayed on its graceful stem. then, with an absent air, he placed it on the marble stand and moved towards the door. the clerks glanced at each other, amused. "you've forgotten your rose, sir," one of them said. "no matter," garth replied. "i've had my money's worth." he called at the inspector's flat after dinner. the inspector was still at the office, but nora commented on his restlessness immediately. "what are you working on, jim? of course you're through with the elmford case." "not quite." he faced her, fighting back the quick emotions in which her proximity always involved him. he loved her too much to risk demanding at random a fixed understanding. moreover, with this case on his mind, it was clearly not the hour. "i've arranged for a number of subpoenas to be served in the morning," he said. "the servants have left the house. your father has arranged to call his men in. in an hour or so the house will be empty. nora--i--can't stay long this evening." "jim! what's on your mind? it's a clear case." "yes," he answered. "that's why jones and the other flat-foot your father sent out yesterday didn't search the neighborhood far enough to find the stone building where randall hid. it's why when i arrested him i didn't look it over either. the arrest at the time seemed enough. but he didn't act like a man caught with the goods. your father says he's clever. maybe he is, but i wonder if he is to that extent. it's been the trouble all along. it's too clear a case. i talked to his lawyers this afternoon. he's refused to put in any defence." "isn't that proof, jim, that he knows he hasn't a chance?" he fumbled, almost unconsciously, with the button-hole in the lapel of his coat. "it might mean," he answered, "that he was protecting somebody else, and that makes one wonder if there mightn't be something in the house--letters, perhaps, in that bedroom i've never had a chance to explore--something he would like to have destroyed." "trust your instinct, jim." he arose smiling. "that's what i've arranged to do." "then you're going out there to-night?" "yes." he hesitated, but the temptation was too strong. "how would you like a taxi-ride to elmford?" "jim, you talk like a millionaire." "if anything comes of it," he said, "the city will pay. if nothing does i'll look an awful fool, so i'd rather you didn't ask any questions now. but if you want to come--i know you're game." she laughed and got her hat and coat. so they drove to the lonely patch of woods near the elmford gate where garth instructed the driver to wait for them. he led nora, warning her not to speak, through the obscurity to the entrance. there he paused, and, after a moment, whistled on a low, prolonged note. almost immediately the sound of voices came to them and the scraping of feet in the gravel. two blacker patches scarcely outlined themselves against the black shrubbery. "jones!" garth called softly. the men approached. "all right," garth said. "go along home. when did they take mrs. randall away?" "over an hour ago. thought you were never coming. spooky hole!" "no alarms?" garth asked. "no," jones replied, "but i can hear that woman yelling yet." garth laughed, uneasily. "well, good-night. there's no secret about your leaving, but don't mention at the station that i'm here." the men merged into the darkness by the gate. garth took nora's arm, and, circling the house at a distance, reached the stone building by the stream. he entered, sniffing suspiciously. when he had closed the door he took his flashlight from his pocket and pressed the control. "don't move around, nora." quickly he examined the confusion of footprints. it impressed him at once as significant that none strayed far from the threshold. the damp floor farther in was disturbed only by a long, irregular depression modelled, he knew, by a body, lying prone. "think of lying there, nora," he said. "i'd have preferred standing indefinitely. and why didn't he move around?" nora's teeth chattered. "it's bitter cold in here." garth's face set. "and a fastidious man like the doctor lies here all night and most of the day. then let's see." he went outside and ran his light over the lines of footprints which converged at the door. one set straggled unevenly up the stream. with an exclamation he followed it along the bank until it swung close to the water. he stooped. his lamp moved searchingly about the bottom of the shallow creek. nora bent over his shoulder. "jim! do you see that stone? there. hold your light steady. it's been moved. look at the dark stain on this side." garth reached over, rolling the stone away. he drew from the water a stout, slender rope and a black cloth. as he raised the cloth a tiny bottle fell from its folds and splintered on the rock. nora's eyes sparkled. "does it fit, jim?" "it suggests a lot," he answered, "and it explains something, but it's little use unless--" he caught his breath. "he might be that kind of a fool." he sprang upright. "come along. we've got to turn up something in the house that will make randall talk. nora! if there had been letters do you think she would have destroyed them one by one? you see there was no chance after the murder, and don't women cling to such things?" "she'd probably keep them," nora said. they climbed the hill. the unlighted house, like a thing dead itself and surrendered to decay, arose before them forbiddingly. "jones was right," nora said. "it's spooky." garth crossed the verandah on tip-toe and silently opened the door. "no lights," he breathed. nora shivered. "it's as cold and damp here as the stone house. can you find your way?" "yes. sh-h." he led her across the hall, up the staircase, and down the corridor to the dressing-room. the window had been closed in there, and there was no escape for a humid and depressing chill which enveloped them with discomfort. he found the easy chair and told nora to sit down. he drew another one close. "but why not lights, jim?" "it's logic to wait awhile," he said. "the letters, you know." she gasped. "i begin to see." "maybe i shouldn't have brought you," he whispered. "but who--" "sh-h!" "did you hear anything?" she asked. "no. if randall never wore a rose--" "jim! i've never--felt such darkness." "i must think," he said. but his brain refused to enter the new country of speculation whose gates the discovery in the stream had opened. the dank air of the room where treving had been murdered was thick with imminence. a formless anticipation possessed garth's mind. he had a quick instinct to turn on the lights and proceed with his search, abandoning this course which logic had suggested, but which was fraught, he had no doubt, with positive apprehension to nora. why not, indeed, satisfy her curiosity now? but his pride denied the impulse. he wanted first something more tangible, something more provocative of her praise. "it frightens me here," nora breathed. "i've the queerest desire to--to scream." her laugh was scarcely audible. her words had set garth's memory to work. he knew again what he missed in this silent house--the amorphous screams of a woman in an agony powerless to express itself. how she must have wanted to speak! how horribly she had tried until the supreme, the enduring silence had clutched about her throat! the sullen and sepulchral air of the room seemed to vibrate with the wraiths of those efforts. was the door open to the next room where she had struggled and died? garth stirred uneasily. nora spoke. "how long?" "not long," garth whispered, "or i'll turn the lights on. i'll look." his thoughts swung back to the next room and the despair it had harbored. could such passionate resistance to circumstance perish utterly? could the violent will behind it accept silence and pass with the body into nothingness? what had she wanted to say? a movement, scarcely audible, reached him from the next room. nora's hand touched his arm. he was aware of the trembling of her fingers. he leant forward, listening. he scarcely caught nora's voice. "you heard--that?" the movement was repeated--somebody--something stirred in the dark room where the woman had died. nora swayed against him. her other hand touched his shoulder. his heart leapt, but he realized that this contact was only an impersonal appeal for protection. so he drew his arms back, but his brain was clearer. he no longer answered to the fancy that the echoes of those screams tortured his ears. "stay here quietly," he whispered. "don't go in there, jim." he pushed her hands gently away. his movements as he crossed the floor were stealthier than those which still persisted in the bedroom. he paused in the doorway. the darkness was complete, yet he could locate the movements now against the farther wall. he drew out his revolver and his flashlight. he pressed the button. the glare splintered the blackness and centered on the figure of a man who bent over the open drawer of a desk. "throw your hands up!" garth said. in the dressing-room nora cried out. the man at the desk swung around, lifting his hands and exposing the white and contorted face of the butler, thompson. garth laughed nervously. "i've got him, nora." "wh--what do you mean?" the man asked. "i came back--who are you? what do you want of me?" garth stepped forward aggressively. his conscience troubled him not at all. "i want you for the murder of frederick treving--there in the next room." the fellow's jaw dropped. "no--no. i had nothing to do with it. i swear." garth raised his hand to the lapel of the butler's coat. "i thought so," he said. "no question about you, my man. you wore the rose i found where treving's body lay. got it at the wedding, didn't you?" the man sank on the unmade bed. "what are you talking about? i had nothing to do with it." "tell that to the judge who'll send you to the chair," he said. the butler shook. he raised his uncertain hands to his face. he shuddered. "no, no. i tell you i had nothing to do with it. it was mrs. randall. he attacked her, and she shot him." garth relaxed. "you heard that, nora?" nora came to the door. "yes." "then," garth said, "i am about through with the case." he turned back to thompson. "but you're not clear yet. how did you happen to be here? i know you went to the wedding with the rest." "yes, but mrs. randall got me on the telephone--said the doctor had been called back to town and she was nervous and i'd have to come home. as i let myself in the back way i heard her scream. i ran up and through this room. i got to the door just in time to see her shoot him. but when i rushed in and tried to lift her up she screamed. i couldn't do anything with her. and i got frightened. when i heard the motorcycle and guessed it was a policeman who had heard her screaming, i ran out the servants' entrance and went back to the wedding and came home with the rest. i was afraid they would take me, and she couldn't say anything to clear me. that's the truth." garth looked him over contemptuously. "and, knowing the truth, you'd have let dr. randall go to trial." thompson uncovered his face. through his tears his eyes glowed with an exceptional devotion. "i worked for her, sir. i had been with her family ever since she was born. besides, if he didn't want to give her away, what business was it of mine? he sent for me to-day, and when i told him i had seen her shoot him, he made me promise to keep my mouth shut." "i know he sent for you," garth said. "that's why i hoped to find you here to-night. he suspected you were a go-between and that there might be letters or something here to incriminate her with treving." thompson nodded. "i told the doctor, a few letters and trinkets. he said i must get them as soon as the detectives had left and the house was clear. but i can say, sir, there was never anything really out of the way. she wasn't quite happy with the doctor. it would be a kindness to the dead--" garth smiled, turning to nora. "you wouldn't give me away, would you? all right, thompson. do what you came to do." thompson shot him a grateful glance and returned to his obliterating task at the desk. garth snapped on the light. "but, jim," nora asked, "how did you know that man had been a witness? was it a guess?" garth shook his head. "simple enough," he said. he took a short, slender, silvery thread from his pocket. with a shame-faced look he handed it to nora. "you'd know more about such things than i. it's a wire that made a broken, worn-out rose look a whole lot better than it was. i found it and the rose in the next room. i recognized it, because, nora, when i came to dinner the other night i stopped at a sidewalk stand and bought a rose for my button-hole. silly, wasn't it? but it was a good thing, because i got stung with one of those. that's why i knew what the broken stem and the wire meant. i learned that randall didn't wear flowers, and i made sure this afternoon what kind of a rose treving would have worn. therefore, somebody else had been in that room, wearing a cheap rose which he had almost certainly got at that cheap wedding. when i heard randall had sent for this man i decided to hold over my subpoenas for the servants until to-morrow, and run out here myself as soon as the detectives were called in--maybe get my man when he wouldn't lie." her eyes sparkled. "and you guessed randall didn't know about the murder when you caught him?" "after i had landed him in jail, his manner, taken with the rest of it, worried me. if he wasn't guilty, why had he hidden all night and day? what we found in the stone house answered that, and almost certainly put it up to mrs. randall. of course he guessed she had done it, and that cleared her in his eyes. it's why he's been so sentimental about protecting her memory. he didn't want it stained with murder, and he's probably figured he could tell some story on the stand that would clear her of the scandal, provided thompson gathered up these little souvenirs of her indiscretion." "jim, i'm proud of you," nora said. "but will dr. randall thank you for interfering?" "i think so, when he's got over this first mistaken idea of what he owes her for protecting his honor and her own even to the point of murder. he'll soon be clear-headed enough to weigh both sides. he'll appreciate then that there isn't much disgrace about such a crime for her, particularly since it's the strongest proof the world could have that thompson's opinion is right." he turned to the butler. "surely, thompson, there isn't as much evidence as all that. come. we ought to get back to town." as they went down the stairs garth wondered that his success borrowed its chief value from its effect on nora. as large as the satisfaction of clearing an innocent and harassed man, loomed the fact that he had, indeed, provoked her praise. at the turn their hands met in the darkness. he rejoiced that the warmth of her fingers lingered momentarily in his. chapter vii nora fears for garth from the moment of his solution of the elmford affair garth was recognized at headquarters as the man for the big jobs--the city's most serviceable detective. for one who accepted his success so modestly it was difficult to breed jealous enemies. there was, to be sure, some speculation as to how long such a man would chain his abilities by the modest pay of the department, and a wish here and there that he would find it convenient to free himself for broader fields in the near future. garth realized that it was the inspector's attitude that had determined his new standing. under other circumstances things might have progressed more slowly. the tie formed the night of the arrest of slim and george was still strong. garth arranged, when he went to bear the news of his discovery to dr. randall in the tombs, to catch a glimpse of the two. their greeting sufficiently defined the threat he had always known existed. in their faces he read an intention from which he shrank, more for nora's sake than for his own. he didn't stay to argue. he walked on to randall's cell and told the stricken man that in a few minutes he would be free. garth had been a good prophet. randall's first resentment gave way to a gratitude, expressed with difficulty but genuine. "it--it was exceptionally fine of you to let thompson destroy those things." "i would want someone to do as much for me," he answered, "that is, if i ever had the nerve to do what you did. that was the fine thing, doctor." and garth went away, aware that he had made a staunch friend. the inspector was troubled when he heard of slim and george's open hatred. he saw the district attorney, and others whose ears he had. on his return he sent for garth. "the district attorney tells me," he said, "that there isn't a loophole. they'll be convicted and go to the chair as certain as that when the moon shines lovers kiss. if they don't escape. without suggesting that every crook doesn't get the same attention, i've seen to it that those chair warmers will be watched closer than fido watches the butcher." so again garth put the matter out of his mind, and was aided by an unexpected threat, apparently just as serious, that faced him a very short time after. on that fall morning he paused on the threshold of the inspector's office, and, surprised and curious, glanced quickly within. it was not so much that nora sat by the window, clothed in her habitual black, nor was his interest quickened by the fact that she knitted deftly on some heavy, gray garment. rather his concern centered on the inspector who had left his desk and whose corpulent, lethargic figure moved about the room with an exceptional and eccentric animation. at garth's step nora glanced up, smiling. the inspector retarded his heated walk. to ease the perceptible strain garth spoke to nora. "seems to me you knit no matter where you are." "when one knits for the hospitals," she answered, "any place will do. i had hoped my example might quiet father. i only dropped in for a chat, and look at him. what a welcome! i'm afraid, jim, he has something disagreeable for you." the inspector paused and sat on the edge of his desk. "maybe so. maybe not," he rumbled. "i don't like working through the dark, so i don't like to ask anybody else to do it. i've got to, though. cheer up, garth. i'm asking you." he raised his paper cutter and jabbed at the desk with a massive petulance. "ever since i got down this morning," he went on, "i've been hounded by telegrams and long-distance calls. well? do you want a holiday? it's apt to be a hell of a holiday. excuse me, nora." "i see," garth said. "something out of town." the inspector's manner warned him. after long experience he knew it veiled a grave distrust. "why," nora asked, "don't you tell us what the case is?" the inspector walked around the desk and with a sigh settled himself in his easy chair. "that's the rumpus," he answered, and garth saw that his eyes were not quite steady. "don't know anything about it myself unless they'd like garth to chase a few spooks. here's the lay-out. it's a man who's done me a good many favors. there's no secret--political ones. i'm in his debt, and he's asked me for a good detective to go up to his place in new england--not as a detective, mind you, garth. that's the queer side, the side i don't like. he insists on his man's showing up as a guest, knowing no more than a random guest would know. sounds like tommy-rot, but he isn't sure himself there's anything out of the way. he wants you, if you take it up, to live quietly in the house, keeping your eyes peeled. he expects you to put him wise to the trouble or to stake your reputation that there isn't any trouble at all. are you willing to jump into a chase blindly that way? he'd like the fellow that swung the hennion job, but if you turned it down cold i couldn't help it, could i?" "nonsense, chief," garth answered. "never heard of such a thing, but it sounds interesting. i'll take a shot at it." the inspector wrote hurriedly on a piece of paper. "here's his name and address. catch the ten o'clock from the grand central and you'll get up there to-night." garth took the slip. before placing it in his pocket he glanced it over. "andrew alden," he saw. "leave boston from north station on four o'clock train and get off at deacon's bay." "i've heard of mr.--" garth began. the inspector's quick, angry shake of the head in nora's direction brought him to an abrupt pause. he walked to nora and took her hand. "then i won't see you until after my holiday," he said with a smile. her eyes were vaguely uneasy. "i agree with father," she said. "it isn't safe to walk through the dark. won't you tell me where you're going?" garth's laugh was uncomfortable. he didn't pretend to understand, but his course had been clearly enough indicated. "i'll leave that for the inspector," he answered. "i have to rush to pick up my things on the way to the train." the uneasiness in her eyes increased. "you know, jim, as father says, you can turn it down. it might be wiser." his heart responded to her anxiety. in view of her fear it was a trifle absurd that their farewell should project nothing more impulsive than a hand-clasp. its only compensation, indeed, was the reluctance with which she let his fingers go. when garth had left, nora arose and faced her father. "what's all this mystery?" she demanded. "it's easy enough to guess there's danger for jim, and you know a lot more than you pretend." "see here, nora," the inspector grumbled, "i usually give the third degree myself in this place." she rested her hands on the desk, studying his uncertain eyes. "why," she asked, "wouldn't you let jim tell me the man's name?" his bluster was too apparently simulated. "what did you come down for this morning anyway? no sense in your getting upset. a detective bureau isn't a nursery." she straightened slowly, her face recording an unwelcome assurance. "politics!" she cried. "and jim's leaving from the grand central. i know. he's going to mr. alden's at deacon's bay. i see why you wouldn't let him tell me." "place is all right," the inspector said stubbornly. "you've seen it. you were there with me two summers ago. what's the matter with the place?" "no use trying to pull the wool over my eyes," nora answered. "it's the loneliest place i've ever seen, and you ought to know i'd remember mr. alden's big furnaces and machine-shop. i read the papers, father. he's staying up so late this year on account of the enormous war orders he's taken. you know as well as i do that that may mean real danger for jim. what did mr. alden tell you?" the inspector spread his hands helplessly. "i sometimes think, nora, you'd make a better detective than any of us. alden's sick and nervous. i guess that's all it amounts to. he's probably scared some german sympathizer may take a pot shot at him for filling these contracts. and he's worried about his wife. she won't leave him there alone, and it seems all their servants, except old john, have cleared out." "you said something to jim about spooks," nora prompted. "thought you'd come to that," the inspector said. "you're like your mother was, nora--always on the look-out for the supernatural." "so, i gather, were the servants," she answered drily. "silly talk, alden says, about the woods back of his house. you remember. there was some kind of a fight there during the revolution--a lot of men ambushed and massacred. i guess you saw the bayonets and gun-locks alden had dug up. servants got talking--said they saw things there on foggy nights." the inspector lowered his voice to a more serious key. "the angle i don't like is that alden's valet was found dead in those woods yesterday morning. not a mark on him. coroner, i believe, says apoplexy, but alden's nervous, and the rest of the help cleared out. i suppose they'll get somebody else up as soon as they can. meantime alden and his wife are alone with old john. confound it, nora, i had to send him somebody." "but without a word of this!" "i tell you i don't like it. i didn't want to do it. it was alden's idea--would have it that way. frankly i don't make it out, but maybe, being on the spot, he knows best." "there's something here," she said, "that we can't understand--maybe something big. it isn't fair to jim." the inspector looked up slyly. "jim," he said, "can take care of himself if anybody can. seems to me you're pretty anxious. sure you haven't anything to tell me about you and him? if you had, i might make a place for him watching these ten-cent lunch joints to see that customers didn't carry away the hardware and crockery. then all the danger you'd have to worry about would be that he might eat the food." but nora failed to smile. she glanced away, shaking her head. "i've nothing to tell you, father," she answered. "nothing now. i don't know. honestly i don't know. i only know i've been through one such experience, and if anything happened to jim that i could help, i'd never forgive myself." chapter viii through the dark the night had gathered swiftly behind a curtain of rain. garth, glancing out the window of the train, saw that darkness was already close upon a somber and resentful world. pines, hemlocks, and birches stretched limitlessly. the rain clung to their drooping branches like tears, so that they expressed an attitude of mourning which their color clothed convincingly. the roaring of the train was subdued, as if it hesitated to disturb the oppressive silence through which it passed. the car, nearly empty, was insufficiently lighted. garth answered to the growing depression of his surroundings. his paper, already well-explored, no longer held him. he continued to gaze from the window, speculating on the goal towards which he was hurrying through this bleak desolation. the inspector's phrase was suddenly informed with meaning. he was, in every sense, advancing through the dark. the realization left him with a troublesome restlessness, a desire to be actively at work. the last streak of gray had long faded when the train drew up at deacon's bay station--a small building with a shed like an exaggerated collar about its throat. at this hour there was no operator on duty. only one or two oil lamps maintained an indifferent resistance to the mist. garth saw a horse and carriage at the rear. he walked to it. "could you drive me to mr. andrew alden's place?" he asked. from the depths of the carriage a native's voice replied: "probably you're the party i'm looking for. if you're mr. garth from new york, step in." garth obeyed, and they drove off along a road for the most part flanked by thick woods. without warning, through an open space, garth saw a flame spring upward, tearing the mist and splashing the sky with wanton scarlet. "what's that?" he asked sharply. the glare diminished and died. the native clucked to his horse. "mr. alden's furnaces," he answered. garth stirred. "i see. iron. steel. and now it works night and day?" "on war orders," the native answered. "now you wouldn't think we'd ever have got in the war, would you? there's a whole town--board shacks--to take care of the men--more'n fifteen hundred of them." garth nodded thoughtfully. here at the start was a condition that might make the presence of a detective comforting to his host. as they penetrated deeper into the woods the driver exhibited an increasing desire to talk, and from time to time, garth remarked, he glanced over his shoulder. "none of my business," the man said, "but it's funny mr. alden's having company now." garth smiled. he was certainly on the threshold of a case he had been asked to enter wholly unprepared. "maybe you'll tell me why," he encouraged. "because," the driver answered, "although mr. alden stands to make a pile of money, he's paying for it in some ways. you didn't hear about his yacht?" garth shook his head. "maybe some of these rough workmen he's got up from the city, or maybe somebody wanted to pay him out. took it out of his boat-house a few nights ago, started on a joy-ride, i suppose, and ran it on the rocks." "much loss?" garth asked. "total, except for the furnishings." "are you one of mr. alden's servants?" the driver's laugh was uncomfortable. "that's what i meant about his having company. there aren't any servants except the old butler. a woman from the village goes to get breakfast and lunch for them, but she won't stay after dark." garth grinned, recalling the inspector's comment about spooks. "why did the servants quit?" the driver glanced over his shoulder again. he hurried his horse. "laughing's cheap," he said, "but you can judge for yourself how lonely it is, and mr. alden's right on the ocean--only house for two miles. you see he owns a big piece of this coast--woods right down to the water. they've always told about a lot of soldiers being killed in those woods during the revolution. all my life i've heard talk about seeing things there. servants got talking a few days ago--said they saw shadows in grave clothes going through the woods. i laughed at that, too. but i didn't laugh when they found mr. alden's valet yesterday morning, dead as a door nail." garth whistled. "violence?" "not a sign. coroner says apoplexy, but that doesn't convince anybody that doesn't want to be." "curious," garth mused. for some time a confused murmuring had increased in his ears--the persistent fury of water turned back by a rocky coast. they turned through a gateway, and, across a broad lawn, he caught a glimpse of lights, dim, unreal, as one might picture will-o-the-wisps. but the night and the mist could not hide from garth the size of the house, significant of wealth and a habit of comfort. that such an establishment should be practically bereft of service was sufficient proof that there was, indeed, something here to combat. yet from the driver he could draw nothing more ponderable than the fancied return of the dead to their battlefield, and a distrust, natural enough in a native, of the horde of new men gathered for the furnaces. when he had stepped from the carriage he saw that the lights were confined to the lower hall and one room to the left. the rest of the great house stretched away with an air of decay and abandonment. in response to his ring he heard a step drag across the floor, but the door was not opened at once. instead a quavering voice demanded his identity. with some impatience garth grasped the knob, and as he heard the carriage retreat towards the town, called out: "my name is garth. i'm expected." the door was swung back almost eagerly, and garth stepped across the threshold of the lonely house. an old man faced him, white-haired, bent at the shoulders, unkempt and so out of key with the neat hard-wood floor, the hangings, and the wainscot of the hall--a witness to an abrupt relaxation of discipline. "thank heavens you've come, sir," the old man said. "then you know," garth answered. "what's wrong here?" but before the other could reply a man's voice, uncertain, barely audible, came from the lighted room to the left. "who is that? if it is mr. garth bring him to me at once." garth became aware of the rustling of skirts. he stepped into the room, and, scarcely within the doorway, met a young woman whose unquestionable beauty impressed him less than the trouble which, to an extent, distorted it. her greeting, too, almost identical with the old servant's, disturbed him more than his. it was reminiscent of the desolate landscape he had seen from the train, of the forest loneliness through which he had just driven, of the gaping scarlet that had torn across the cloud-filled sky. "i'm glad you've come. i--i was afraid you mightn't make it." garth's glance appraised the room. it was a huge apartment, running the width of the house. casement windows rose from the floor to the ceiling. an oak door in the farther wall, towards the rear, was closed. there were many book-cases. a fire burned drowsily in a deep hearth. before it stood a writing-table with an inefficient lamp, and at its side--the point where garth's eyes halted--a man sat--huddled. the man wore a dressing gown and slippers. his hair was untidy. from his cadaverous face eyes gleamed as if with a newly-born hope. he put his hands on the chair arms and started to rise, then, with a sigh, he sank back again. "you'll excuse me," he said. "i've not been myself lately. it is an effort for me to get up, but i am glad to see you, mr. garth--very glad." garth understood now why the voice had barely carried to the hall. it lacked body. it left the throat reluctantly. it crowded the room with a scarcely vibrating atmosphere of dismay. garth asked himself hotly if he had been summoned as an antidote to the airy delusions of an invalid. a stifled sound behind him caused him to turn swiftly. he was in time to see the distortion of the woman's features increase, to watch the resistless tears sparkle in her eyes and fall, to be shamed by the laborious sobs which, after she had covered her face, shook her in freeing themselves. he advanced, at a loss, shocked by this unforeseen breakdown. he took alden's hand, but the other appeared to have forgotten his presence. "don't, cora," he mumbled. "you mustn't do that any more. we are no longer--alone." garth glanced from one to the other, answering to the atmosphere of dismay, which moment by moment became more unavoidable. yet what could there be here beyond loneliness, and, perhaps, threats from those against whose cherished principles alden's furnaces were busy night and day? the loneliness, garth acknowledged even then, could account for a lot, but, he decided, a doctor was needed here as much as a detective. at last mrs. alden resumed her control. she faced garth apologetically. "it's because i can't get him away," she said wistfully. "and he's sick. anybody can see that." "a week or two more," alden said, "until the works are running right. then we'll go back to new york. i've had trouble replacing unsatisfactory workmen, and i can't make the government wait." "new york!" the woman echoed. "you've a doctor?" garth asked. "from the village," alden answered. "i'm afraid he doesn't understand me." "then," garth said firmly, "i should let the works go to blazes until i'd looked after myself." alden moved his hand vaguely. "it's nothing--cold, maybe a touch of the gout. i sometimes suffer, and my nerves are a little under. too much involved here, mr. garth. you couldn't afford to take chances with that." garth glanced at the room's luxurious furnishing. "i couldn't," he answered captiously. "i'm not so sure about you." it annoyed him that the lamp on the table failed to drive the shadows from the corners. mrs. alden approached him timidly. "you'll forgive our welcome? you'll try to understand? you may have noticed something about the fall in a remote place. it is very depressing here. if only you could persuade him to leave. you see we've no servants but old john. shall i tell him to get you something--a whiskey and soda?" garth shook his head. "i never drink when i'm at work." "but you are our guest," she said. "our guest," came in her husband's difficult voice. in neither of their faces could garth read the reproof their tones had suggested. what point could there be in this abnormal masquerade? he glanced at his watch. mrs. alden caught the gesture. she walked to a cabinet and measured her husband's medicine. "it's time," she said as she gave it to him, "that we all were in bed. shall i ring for john?" "i'll ring," garth answered, "a little later. i should be glad of a word with your husband." when mrs. alden had gone he tried to talk sanely to the sick and melancholy man, urging him to seek more cheerful surroundings. alden merely shook his head. "see here," garth exploded at last. "there's no point in your closing your confidence to me. it only makes matters a thousand times more difficult. you're afraid. of what?" the other answered with a difficulty that was not wholly physical. he had hit upon this incomprehensible plan and he would carry it through. "then it's only fair to tell you," garth said, "that the man who drove me out talked a little. i've heard about your boat, of why your servants ran, of the strange men with whom you've crowded the village. tell me one thing. have you had threatening letters about your contracts?" "several." the deep lines in alden's face tightened. "don't think," he managed to get out, "that i'm a coward. i'll stay. my contracts will be carried through." "no," garth answered, "you're not that kind of a coward, but there's something else. don't deny, mr. alden. you're more than sick. you're afraid. what is it?" alden shuddered. "a--a coward." the words stumbled out of his mouth. "but i don't know what it is. you're to tell me, mr. garth, if it's anything." "this rot about the woods and the spirits of dead soldiers?" garth asked. alden stirred. he nodded in the direction of the rear casement windows. "just across the lawn." "you haven't seen?" garth asked sharply. "but," alden said, "the servants--" this, then, garth decided, must be the source of the fear the other's appearance recorded. "nonsense, mr. alden. that's one of the commonest superstitions the world over, that soldiers come back to the battlefields where they have died, and in time of war--" "if there's nothing in it," alden whispered, "why is it so common? why did my servants swear they had seen? and the fog! we've had too much fog lately--every night for a week. my man died in the fog." garth whistled. "could they have mistaken him for you?" "there were no marks on the body." alden looked up. his voice thickened. "we are talking too much. i--i want you to stay and judge for yourself." garth arose and walked to the rear window, but he could see nothing for the mist. he stood there, nevertheless, for some time, puzzled and half angry. the mental and physical condition of his host, mrs. alden's shattered nerves, the extreme loneliness, impressed on him a sense of uncharted adventuring. "why," he asked himself, "won't these people talk? what do they expect me to find in this house?" when he turned back he saw that alden's eyes were closed. the regular rising and falling of his chest warned garth to quietness. he would not disturb the worn-out man. so he pressed the electric bell and walked to the hall. he met john there. "please show me to my room," he said. "mr. alden's asleep. perhaps you'd better speak to his wife before you disturb him." john bowed and led him upstairs. "good-night, sir," he said, opening the door. "may you sleep well. it's a little hard here lately." he hesitated. he cleared his throat. "you couldn't persuade him to send his wife away?" he went on at last. "she's not strong, sir. it's pitiful." "see here, john," garth said impulsively. "i know it's against the rules, but tell me what's wrong here. what are you all afraid of?" the old man's lips moved. his eyes sought garth's urgently. with a visible effort he backed out of the room. his glance left garth. when he opened his lips all he said was: "good-night, sir." garth closed the door, shrugging his shoulders. of what a delicacy the threat must be to require such scrupulous handling! "if there is anything," alden had said. garth brought his hands together. "there is something," he muttered, "something as dangerous as the death alden is manufacturing back there." he went to bed, but the restlessness of the train returned to him. reviewing alden's exhaustion and the old servant's significant comment, he wondered half seriously if sleep refused to enter this house. the place, even for his splendidly controlled emotions, possessed a character, depressive, unhealthy, calmly malevolent. he had lost account of time. he had been, perhaps, on the frontier of sleep, for, as he sprang upright, he could not be all at once sure what had aroused him. a man's groan, he thought. suddenly, tearing through the darkness, came the affirmation--a feminine scream, full of terror, abruptly ended. he threw on his clothes, grasped his revolver, dashed down the stairs, and burst into the living-room. there was no light now beyond the wan glow of the fire, but it was still sufficient to show him alden, huddled more than ever in the chair, and the terror that had quivered through the cry, persisted now in alden's face. his wife, in a dressing gown, knelt at his side, her arm around his knees. at garth's entrance she sprang erect, facing him. "it came," she gasped. "oh, i knew it would. all along i've known." "tell me what's happened," garth commanded. the woman's voice was scarcely intelligible. "i let him sleep here. just now he groaned. i ran in. somebody--something had attacked him. i ran in. i--i saw it." "where?" she pointed to the rear window. "i saw it going out there. it was foggy. it went in the fog. i couldn't--" garth sprang to the window. it was, in fact, half open. before he could get through mrs. alden had caught his arm. "don't follow. it isn't safe out there." "i want that man," he said. she leaned weakly against the casement. "but out there," she whispered, "they are not men." again she caught his arm. "don't leave me alone now that they can come in." she pointed at her husband. "look at him. he saw it in the fog that came through the window. it is all fog out there. don't leave me alone." he thrust the revolver impatiently in her hand. "then take this. not much use outside on such a night." he jumped to the lawn and started swiftly across. since the intruder had fled this way he might hear him in the woods, might grapple with him. he regretted the loss of his revolver, although he realized it would be useless to-night except at close quarters, and for that he possessed a cleverly-devised reserve, which he had arranged on first joining the force--a folding knife, hidden in his belt, sharp, well-tested, deadly. at the edge of the woods he paused, straining his ears, trying to get his bearings, for he was on unfamiliar ground and the fog was very dense here. it lowered a white, translucent shroud over the nocturnal landscape. beneath its folds he could make out only one or two tree trunks and a few drooping branches. these, as he stared, gave him the illusion of moving surreptitiously. the moon, he knew, was at the full, but its golden rotundity was heavily veiled to-night, so that it had the forlorn, the sorrowful appearance of a lamp, once brilliant, whose flame has gradually diminished and is about to expire. garth could hear nothing, but he waited breathlessly, still straining his ears. this, he mused, was the place where many soldiers had died in battle, the setting for ghostly legends, the spot where the servants had fancied a terrifying and bodiless re-animation, the death-bed of alden's valet. now that he had time to weigh it, mrs. alden's manner puzzled him. she had said _it_ had been in the house, that now _they_ could come in, and that out here _they_ were not men. had the loneliness imposed upon her intelligence such a repulsive credulity? he had to admit that imagination in such a medium could precipitate shameful and deceptive fancies. then, without realizing at first why, garth knew he had been unjust. he found his eyes striving to penetrate the night to the left. surely it was not the old illusion of moving trees and branches that had set the fog in lazy motion over there. he stepped cautiously behind a pine tree. the chill increased. a charnal atmosphere had crept into the woods. as he shivered he realized that this sepulchral place had filled with plausible inhabitants--shapes as restless and unsubstantial as if sprung solely from a morbid somnambulism. chapter ix the phantom army shadows advanced through the shadowy fog, and garth could define them as no more than shadows. in one place the mist thinned momentarily, and he glimpsed, apparently floating forward, the trunk of a man's figure. pallid tatters, such as might survive in a mortuary, flapped about bare shoulders, and from a little distance beyond came a sickly gleam--the doubtful response uncertain moonlight might draw from a bayonet or a musket barrel. the fog closed in. there were no more shadows. garth, eager to follow, forced himself to wait. he told himself that the march of phantoms possessed a meaning which would give direction to his task. the unveiling of its impulse, he was confident, would unveil the mystery at the house. against so many only caution was useful at present. he was glad nora was not with him. he knew how profoundly she would have been stirred, how ready she would have been to discard a rational explanation for the occult. he could smile a little. in this one respect of vulnerability to superstition he felt himself immeasurably her superior. he was glad she had not involved herself in such a case. finally, phantom-like himself, he proceeded through the fog in the direction the silent shadows had taken. he walked for some distance. without warning he stumbled and pitched forward to his knees. reaching out to save himself, his fingers touched something wet, cold, and possessed of a revealing quality which in one breathless moment drove into his brain the excuse for those at the house, and focussed for him their terror of the unexplored world of whose adjacence their solitude must have convinced them. he snatched his hand back, rendered for the moment without purpose by this silent and singular tryst to which chance had led him in the evil forest. it was necessary, however, to strip the mask of night from the face of the one who lay, defeated and beyond resistance, in the path of the shadowy army. he took his pocket lamp from his coat and pressed the control. the light fought through the fog to the face of the old servant who a few hours ago had begged him to get mrs. alden away, whose lips had been incomprehensibly sealed. quickly he searched for the manner of death, for there could be no coincidence about two such catastrophes in the same spot. in spite of the coroner's verdict, murder was the only sensible deduction. yet he found no slightest souvenir of violence. the face alone held a record of an attack--the features were twisted as if from its vehemence, and the eyes appeared to secrete some shocking vision. garth sprang to his feet. alden's sick fear and his wife's hysterical misgivings were placed on a basis far sounder than imagination. a danger, unconformable, but none the less real, skirted their isolated house, had at last, according to the woman, forced an entrance. garth knew his limitations. he must have help, and now alden must be made to talk. he ran back to the house and stepped through the window. the lamp had been lighted. it shone on mrs. alden who bent over the writing-table, her gaze directed hypnotically towards the huddled man in the chair. garth, since he came from the rear, could not see alden's face at first. "mrs. alden," he said, "i found your man, out there--" her hands left the table. she straightened. with a perceptible effort she raised her eyes from the chair to meet garth's. "not de--" she put her hand to her mouth and crushed back the word. garth nodded. "i must have help. where's the telephone?" he asked. he started for the hall. "lock that window," he said. "i've left it open." suddenly he paused and turned. a sound, scarcely human, had come from the chair--a hollow, a meaningless vocal attempt, as though there were no palate behind it, no tongue to shape its intention. from where he stood garth could see alden distinctly enough. his head was sunk forward on his chest. his fingers clutched powerlessly at the chair arms. his eyes appeared to have hoarded and just now released all the strength of which his meager body had been stripped. they flashed with a passionate purpose which drew garth magnetically until he was close and had stooped and was staring into them with a curiosity almost as pronounced as their eagerness. "what is it, mr. alden?" he asked. the other's fingers continued to stray about the chair arms. "you've got to tell me what you know--all you suspect," garth urged. "we've murder on our hands. what do you know?" alden's head rose and fell affirmatively. "out with it." but alden did not answer, although his eyes burned brighter; and garth guessed. "speak, mr. alden," he begged. alden's lips moved. his throat worked. his face set in a grotesque grimace. "there's danger for all of us," garth cried. "the time for silence has passed." then alden answered, but it was only with that helpless, futile sound--such a whimper as escapes unintelligibly from the fancied fatality of a nightmare. garth drew back. now when it was too late alden wanted to talk. now when he had been robbed of the power he craved the abandonment of words. "mrs. alden," garth whispered. "you know your husband can't speak! look at him!" about her advance there was that hypnotic quality garth had noticed before. he read in her face, moreover, a sympathy and a love that made it as difficult of unmoved contemplation as the helpless suffering in alden's. alden smiled sorrowfully as his wife came close and stooped to him. his hands ceased their straying about the chair arms. they rose with a quick motion, an unsuspected strength, and closed about her white and beautiful throat. she did not cry out. perhaps there was no time. her eyes closed. her lips were wistful. garth tore at the man's fingers. it took all his force to break their hold. and as he fought the answer to a great deal came to him. alden was clearly insane, and his wife's fear and john's doubt of her safety were accounted for. yet it didn't answer all. what was the share of the shrouded army in the forest? what was the connection of the death that had struck there twice? alden's vise-like grip was broken. mrs. alden swayed against the writing-table, gasping. alden's whimpering had recommenced. garth looked from one to the other. "good god!" he said. she turned on him. "why did you come? it is your fault." garth pointed at the cabinet where the medicine was kept. the nightmare whimpering did not cease. "get him something," garth directed. "the doctor must have left you a narcotic." she walked with a pronounced lurch to the cabinet where garth heard her fumbling among the bottles, but he did not turn away from alden. the imbecile sounds stopped, but the lips worked ineffectively again. one of the hands moved slowly with an apparent sanity of purpose. garth realized that it was motioning him back. alden started to rise. garth saw his veins swell and the emaciated muscles strain as he literally dragged himself out of the chair and braced his elbows against the writing-table. he grasped a pencil and wrote rapidly on a piece of paper. garth understood, and he reached out for the sheet on which alden had written the words--perhaps a warning, perhaps the truth--which his tongue had been unable to form. "don't touch that paper." there was a new quality about the voice garth could not deny. there was no more tinkling of glass at the cabinet. he found it difficult to credit mrs. alden with that clear, authoritative command. he turned warily and looked into the muzzle of his own revolver. mrs. alden's outstretched hand, he noticed, did not waver. "what does this mean?" he cried. "it means," she answered in a tired voice, "that if you read what is on that paper you'll leave me no choice. i shall have to shoot." alden whimpered again. the paper fluttered to the floor and rested, white and uncommunicative, beneath the table. his face set. he pointed accusingly towards the rear window. the gesture was clear to garth. he knew what it meant before his eyes followed its direction. before he had seen, he appreciated almost palpably the new presence in the room. at the moment it seemed inevitable to him that the tense group should be joined by a stronger force, the inspiration, probably, of the mysteries that had posed it, and that worked ahead, he could not doubt, to a graver issue for alden and himself. the newcomer glided from the shadows by the window and moved to mrs. alden's side--huge, powerful. the cap, drawn low over his eyes, and the thick growth about the mouth, robbed his face of expression and gave to his actions a mechanical precision not lightly to be disturbed. he took the revolver from the woman. "i couldn't," she said. "he hasn't read. it won't be necessary?" "necessary," the man answered, "but you were right. not in that way. it leaves too much evidence. as the others went." "no more death," she cried. "there has been too much death." "these days the world is full of death," he answered. "what are one or two here?" the voice carried as little expression as the face or the figure, but an accent, which garth knew, hindered its flow, and defined the situation with a brutal clearness. he turned at a slipping behind him, a heavy fall. alden lay on the floor, his hand stretched towards the futile spot of white beneath the table. his wife stumbled across and knelt beside him, restlessly fingering his shoulders. "andrew!" she cried. "you don't understand. look at me. you have to understand. i love you. nothing changes that." the newcomer moved to her, and, without relaxing his vigilance, grasped her arm. "there's too much to be done to-night for tears. keep your watch." he indicated garth. "i'll come back and attend to him later." she continued to stare at her husband's closed eyes. "he knows now, but you shan't kill him. i tell you you shan't kill him." "when the occasion arises you will follow your duty," he said. he turned to garth, pointing to the oak door in the rear corner. "you will go in there." a flashing recollection of nora decided garth. resistance now, he knew, as he studied the great figure, would mean the end, whereas, if he waited and obeyed, the knife, secreted in his felt, offered a possible escape. "wait!" the man snapped. he thrust the revolver in mrs. alden's hand while he ran quickly over garth's clothing. the thickness of the belt escaped him. he found only the pocket lamp. "the telephone is disconnected," he said, evidently to reassure the woman. "your husband is too weak to leave the house, and no one will come near it until daylight. we won't cross that bridge before we reach it." she shuddered. the other opened the oak door and motioned garth to enter. he went through, simulating a profound dejection, but actually reaching out again to confidence. for the man would come back to visit him with the silent, undemonstrative violence that had done for the two men in the woods, but garth would be waiting for him, behind the door, with his knife. therefore, when the door was locked, he commenced hopefully to examine his prison. the night, he found after a moment, was not complete in here. it possessed a quality, milky but lustreless, reminiscent of the shroud through which the shadowy figures had paraded. it retained, however, the obscurity of thorough darkness. he had a feeling, indeed, of standing in a darkness that was white. there must be windows over there, many windows. he felt his way across. the wall, as well as the interior face of the door, was lined with sheet tin, suggesting immediately the nature of his prison--a dismantled conservatory. the glazed end was of small panes, heavily leaded. the frames in themselves offered a resistance to escape as efficacious as prison bars. the arrangement, nevertheless, gave him one advantage. a single door to guard removed the threat of a surprise. in the centre of the floor he found a considerable heap of wood, probably the fittings of the place. he scarcely dared pause to examine it. he hurried back to his post at the doorway, removed the knife from his belt, jointed it, and tested the point against his finger. he didn't know how long his respite would last. he couldn't hazard a guess as to the nature of the big man's occupation. he could only estimate its importance by the fact that it had prevented the other's dealing summarily with him. he had entered the case with too little light. nora had been right. one can not follow a straight course through the dark. only a few dim outlines offered themselves for his appraisal. mrs. alden had made her choice between an evident, an exceptional affection for her husband and an enterprise directed by the sinister figure who had stepped from the shadows. of what a vast importance that enterprise must be since it had prodded her to such a decision, since it had made her acquiesce, however unwillingly, in murder to safeguard its progress! she faced even the death of her own husband because he had learned too much of its intention. and she had no slightest amorous tendency--of that garth was sure--towards the bearded giant to whose will she bent her own with a pitiable humility. the lack of that world-wide, easily comprehensible motive to wrong, taken with the leader's german accent, directed garth's logic to the furnaces, which night after night stained the sky with a scarlet, significant of their feverish industry. yet the shadowy figures of the woods were still elusive, unless the place was used as a rendezvous and the affair to-night approached a crisis. could he escape? would he be in time to prevent a crime of such proportions, of such disquieting possibilities? he stiffened at a stealthy movement of the key in the lock. the answer lay just ahead. garth could not doubt that the german was about to enter, to annihilate in his subtle manner an enemy he believed unarmed. with his left hand he braced himself against the door-frame for the stroke, while with his right hand he lifted the knife. the necessity of striking without warning sickened him. he had no choice. there was too much eager help within ear-shot of an alarm. the stakes loomed too commandingly to tolerate a sentimental hesitation. it was not only his own life in the scales. the lives of those who toiled at the furnaces swayed with his. but it was from the recollection of nora that he drew the most strength, from the desire to see her again; to watch her quiet figure--a little inscrutable, unconsciously provocative; to hover again on the edge of an avowal, alert for his favorable moment. the door hinges responded to a pressure. the lamp had evidently been extinguished again, for he saw in the uncertain radiance of the embers a thing, scarcely definable as human, prone beyond the threshold. the empty doorway, the inert object on the floor, the darkness, accented rather than diminished by the embers, blurred his calculations. where was the one who had opened and for whom his knife was eager? unexpectedly a brilliant light flashed in his eyes and went out. half-blinded, he sensed the presence of something on the sill, and he struck downward with all his force. he reached only emptiness. the one on the sill had sprung through. from somewhere in the house garth heard the patter of hastening feet. he fought away the effects of the flash, striving to locate the one who had entered. there beside the heap of rubbish knelt a form darker than the white darkness. he moved noiselessly over. he reached down and grasped the bent shoulder, and, as the shoulder recoiled from his touch, so he recoiled from its quality that revealed the presence in his prison of a woman. through his amazement he heard the door close, but he felt sure of himself now. mrs. alden was his prisoner--a hostage, if he chose, for his own escape, unless, indeed, she had finally revolted and come to his aid. "get up," he said roughly. the woman's sigh conveyed relief. something scraped beneath her hand. a tiny flame was born and entered into the base of the rubbish. then the woman turned slowly, and, in the light of the flame, garth looked into nora's excited eyes and smiling face. incredulous, he grasped her arms, lifted her to her feet, and stared. the growing flame struck a flash from his knife, drove into his brain a full realization of the monstrous misunderstanding which had nearly involved them in unspeakable disaster. "good god, nora! i nearly--i tried to--" her smile grew. "i didn't know what i should find in here. i couldn't afford to take chances." "but i left you in new york," he went on uncertainly. "how did you come? why are you here?" "no time for explanations now," she answered quickly. "we must get out of here." he recalled the patter of hastening feet, the soft closing of the door. in the growing light he saw its tin-sheeted face flush with the wall. "the door has been shut," he said. "i'm afraid--locked. why did you light that fire?" she ran across, grasped the knob, then commenced to beat with her fists at the tin. suddenly she stopped. her shoulders drooped. "no use," she whispered. "she must have come in. she won't open now." garth hurried to her side. "i don't understand," he said, "but it's evident we are caught here, and that fire has been fixed--a signal?" she nodded. "why did you light it?" "because," she answered dully, "it had to burn to-night." the crisis they faced was clear to him. "nora! in a minute this room will be a furnace." he imagined from the excitement still flashing in her eyes that she did not quite realize, but she spoke without regret, and her words carried the shocking fatality of the german's. "i'm sorry, jim, but if i had known we would be caught i would have lighted it just the same. after all, a small price in the long run--only the two of us." he brushed the rapid perspiration from his face. the fire had reached the heart of the pile. the air thickened with a reddish, pungent smoke. he choked. "i'm sorry, jim. i came only to help you, but i found--" the vapour cut her voice. the sentimental possibilities of their predicament came with a gentle wonder to garth. they over-weighed the danger, robbed him for the moment of full comprehension. this clearly was his moment, and whatever the next might bring seemed a fair exchange for her probable response. he reached blindly towards her through the smoke. "nora!" his heart leapt as she swayed a little. then he heard the grating of the key in the lock. it impressed him as curious that the saving sound carried to him a sense of disappointment, the emptiness of a destiny unfulfilled. nora turned the knob. he pushed against the door. they stumbled into the next room, breathing deeply the fresh, clean air. alden's prostrate form lay just within. his wife stood across the room by the hall door, the revolver held listlessly in her hand. her hair, more than ever disordered, fell about her weary eyes, and gave her face an air of ironical witchery. garth caught the meaning of the tableau. he glanced with admiration at the sick man, appreciating the bitter obstacle he had overcome, the abhorrent chance he had taken after conquering his physical incapacity and reaching the door. the result, garth noticed, had carried to alden a vast relief, a shadow of content. the light from the conservatory flickered about his face, exposing an expression of pride. the silent lips moved as if to frame a boast. "so, mrs. alden," garth said, "you left him again. to warn the others?" she did not answer. he shrugged his shoulders. "anyway," he went on, "when you came back and found him at the key you didn't have time to get to him, and you weren't quite as bad as you should have been. you let him unlock the door. you didn't have the nerve to shoot--your husband." "don't, jim," nora warned. "you don't understand." frankly he didn't, but he knew that mrs. alden, in a sense, still controlled the situation. her revolver could compel their movements. its explosion would doubtless bring help swarming to her side. "and you see," nora went on, speaking to her gently, "what a useless sacrifice it would have been. everything was finished for you the moment i lighted the beacon." mrs. alden nodded. garth grinned as the protective feminine instinct expressed itself through this woman in her most intricate hour. "it was all arranged," she said. "if you will close that door the house will be safe enough from the fire." she indicated her husband. there were tears in her eyes again. "you will take care of him?" "yes," nora said. she turned and closed the door. through the sudden darkness garth heard mrs. alden run into the hall. he sprang after her, but nora's voice, sharp and commanding, halted him. "let her go, jim. i'll explain. light the lamp now." "you've earned the right to give the orders," he said. he felt his way to the writing-table and lighted the lamp. "you know," he said, "that there are many men near here--that they can trap us in this house?" "i don't think," she answered, "that they will come to this house again." he turned to her. "nora! what is it? even after all i've seen i can't be sure. the furnaces? they are two miles away." she shook her head. "not the furnaces, jim. come with me and i will show you." she led him to an unlighted room across the hall and flung back the curtains. the glare of a conflagration, far vaster than that which had threatened them in the conservatory, flashed in their eyes and lighted the neighborhood with a brilliancy fiercer than noonday. for the first time garth could see that the house stood on a high, wooded plateau. the trees had been cleared away between it and the water, and a slope, bordered with hedges, had been blasted to a beach, small and crescent-shaped. the fire blazed with a destructive violence in a structure on this beach. he recalled the driver's gossip about alden's yacht. he saw a small launch, heavily-laden, making for the open sea. "the boat house," he said. "yes," nora answered. "look." she drew a little back. an explosion tore at their ears. somewheres upstairs a window broke. the tinkling of glass was like an absurdly attenuated echo. but garth's attention was fixed on the boat-house. the building appeared to disintegrate. out of its ruins rose a colossal column of muddy smoke. from its summit streaming banners of purple and violet flame unfurled. they waved their frantic message to garth. he turned, gaping, to nora. "that building!" he gasped. "it's crowded with gasolene--oil!" "you didn't guess, jim? you see now i couldn't take chances. i had to light the signal that made them fire this." "and you were right," he agreed. "only the two of us--" he gazed at her wonderingly. there was only pride in his voice. "how many lives! how many millions of dollars! you've spared them, nora." * * * * * * garth had lifted alden to the sofa and had left nora hovering over the man who, they knew now, had been systematically drugged for days. after reconnecting the telephone and notifying the federal authorities he had returned to the living-room. nora arose, and, with her finger at her lips, joined him by the fireplace. "he's asleep," she said. "you know, jim, there wasn't much point in your telephoning. they've destroyed the evidence. they've gone." she sat down. garth drew a chair close to her. their voices were low in order that alden might not be disturbed. "was it near?" he asked. "the fact that they took the launch--yet they might put in at some lonely cove and scatter." "it must have been expected soon," she answered. "they were working desperately. they were very anxious to-night." "you must have guessed, nora, as soon as i left new york. how?" "by giving father a scolding," she answered with a smile. "i knew that mrs. alden had been born in berlin, and that her family was still prominent there where mr. alden had married her. even since her marriage she's spent much time abroad. i wondered what these shadowy figures were doing in the woods on foggy nights unless they were transporting something or working about some building. but mr. alden would know if it had anything to do with the house or the stable. since he was sick, the boat-house might be their objective without his knowing it. i suspected the truth then. such an opportunity! no one would doubt the property of a man who manufactured ammunition for the government. the natural thought was that any attempts by germans here would be directed against the furnaces or alden personally. it was ideal. all that was necessary was to scare the servants away and keep alden in the house while his wife and the rest made ready for it." "still those men in the woods?" garth asked. "they were probably working at the furnaces. when you saw them they were on their way to the boat-house to make the necessary alterations. and, of course, they carried all the supplies there. you see, i went to the freight agent of the only railroad that runs to deacon's bay. he helped me a lot. we found that a large number of heavy cases had been sent here and to nearby stations, falsely invoiced and labelled to be called for. he had suspected gasolene in one of them and was about to hold up further shipments. that settled it for me. i knew you were going blindly, so i took the next train." "how did you learn about the signal?" he asked. "i came very quietly," she answered, "a little like a sneak-thief, i'm afraid. that front window is a little open. i overheard mrs. alden and a huge man. of course she was only to light that signal if the game was wholly up. it meant to them that there was a party big enough to handle the lot of them. so i made up my mind i must slip in and burn it to-night, in case it was near by. i knew then they would burn the evidence, escape themselves, while the submarine would turn back, believing that the game was up." "what a base!" he muttered. "with the trans-atlantic lanes at its mercy. all those transports and freighters marked for destruction! alden saved the fat." "yes," nora answered, "i gathered from what they said that he made sure to-night somehow and faced her with it. that was when she screamed and tried to send you out. then her courage failed her and she called you back. she wasn't strong enough for murder. and from her point of view what she did was pure patriotism." "it was because he suspected his wife, poor devil," garth answered, "that he'd tell me nothing. i guess he hoped i'd convince him he was wrong." he had been staring at the fire. he looked up now to find that nora was knitting complacently on something heavy and comfortable and grey. her eyes were thoughtful. "wife against husband," she mused. "such tragedies are common in war. and she loved him. have you noticed the conservatory door?" it stood open. through the glass garth could see the far sea, still ruddy from the fire, and there entered again into his consciousness the restless clamor of water. "he made me open it," nora went on. "he looked out there until he went to sleep--a sort of farewell, a welcome if she should come back. perhaps she will some day." such devotion stirred anew in garth the sensations he had experienced in the conservatory. he watched nora as her fingers moved with their accustomed deftness about her knitting. she made the old picture, lovable and tempting, of quiet, house-wifely efficiency. "you always knit," he said in an uncertain voice. "another winter is very close," she answered gravely, "and if the peace should be delayed there would be so much suffering--" he stretched out his hand. "nora," he said huskily, "you've saved my life to-night. it's yours. what will you do with it?" she glanced up. she smiled a little. "you very nearly took mine, jim, so aren't we quits?" chapter x the coins and the chinaman on their way to the station, and during their long journey to new york, nora drew back from any attempt of garth's in the direction of sentiment. frequently he stared at her with a whimsical despair. it was clear enough that he was not distasteful to her. he fancied, moreover, that he had through his very persistence softened perceptibly the girl's regret for kridel; had remodeled to an extent her earlier attitude of a widow. would he, however, he asked himself, be able to go the whole way? now she wished to talk of trivial things, to make a lark of their luncheon in boston, to get as far away as she could from the dangerous and uncertain profession which had taken kridel from her, and which might, even before she could resolve her own feelings, involve garth in some fatal accident. once he recurred to the gray mask, and spoke of slim and george, whose trial would soon begin. she trembled slightly, he thought. she wouldn't let him go on. her fear, he was certain, was not for herself. that much encouraged. yet this rivalry with one who had been for some time dead often brought him a sensation of complete helplessness; for nora was not one to pose. she was honest with herself, with garth, with the dead man. perhaps some grave sacrifice would resolve her doubts. he felt himself capable of that. he fell into her mood at last, and found the journey home too short. in retrospect it assumed an increased value. during a long period he saw practically nothing of nora. for a month or more he found no comfort in his work. headquarters, he remarked many times, was a rest cure for anybody who wanted one. all at once that altered, as such things happen, without warning. he had spent an hour or so on an unimpressive case, and it was nearly midnight when he turned south from the frontier of harlem. from time to time a light snow fell, and always there was a vaporous quality about the cold night air which added to the waywardness of his unexpected experience. he walked for a long time, scarcely aware of the landmarks of the neighbourhood, rehearsing thoughts which, these last few weeks, had grown familiar and unpalatable. now, as always, they failed to guide him to any explanation of nora's abrupt abandonment of her routine. his recent visits at the flat had thrown him into the hospitable hands of the inspector, who, however, had maintained an incomprehensible silence as to his daughter's whereabouts. garth could read in this attitude no antagonism to his own ambitions. he was confident that the result of his campaign for nora's heart depended wholly on the girl herself. he realized it was growing late. absent-mindedly he turned into a side street, intending to reach third avenue and climb the steps of the nearest elevated station. it was the discreet murmuring of a motor that routed finally his preoccupation. a limousine of an extravagant type had halted close to the curb at the end of the block. it pointed a contrast which stirred the detective's curiosity. the street, he noticed now, in common with many this far up-town, was inadequately lighted, but, in spite of the veils placed by the snow and the haze over the few gas lamps, a glance informed him that fashion had not invaded this far. the buildings, with high stoops and sunken areaways, were of a depressing, tasteless similarity--doubtless cheap boarding-houses or dreary converted apartments. he wondered what such an automobile did here, unless, perhaps, the chauffeur, alone, had some object. but he saw that, while the chauffeur retained his seat, the door was opened from the inside and a tall man, in a high hat and a fur coat, which exposed an evening shirt, stepped with nervous haste to the sidewalk. garth slackened his pace. he kept to the shadows near the house line. he watched with increasing interest while the man crossed the pavement, and, instead of climbing the steps, stooped to place an object on the ground. he saw him rise then and take something from his pocket which he tossed in the air. he was not surprised when the man failed to catch it. he heard it, whatever it was, strike the sidewalk, clicking metallically. the man dropped to his knees and with wide gestures searched the flagging and the gutter. after a moment the chauffeur exclaimed--angrily, garth fancied--then descended from his seat and joined the hunt. garth, speculating on this unconventional performance, stepped casually into an areaway, as if, indeed, it was his destination. from this shelter he observed the outcome. the chauffeur picked up something which he thrust into the other's hand. after glancing quickly around he sprang to his seat while the man in evening clothes straightened, returned to the limousine, and closed the door. the car rolled almost silently up the street. what, garth questioned, had been left with such care on the sidewalk in front of the corner house? what object, probably similar, had occasioned the search? when the car was nearly opposite him the man inside tapped on the pane. on a subdued note the chauffeur exclaimed again, then pulled the car to the curb and stopped it. once more the well-dressed man left the limousine and crossed the sidewalk. for the second time he bent and placed something carefully on the ground. it lay within garth's reach, but just outside his line of vision. in fact, garth could have grasped the other, so close was he; and he could see, in spite of the inefficient light, that he was young and probably good-looking. his inspection, however, was limited, for the other arose, breathing harshly, as if he were labouring under an unfamiliar excitement, and returned to the car. as the driver set his gears and let the clutch in garth reached through the areaway railing and fumbled about the sidewalk for the object. his fingers found it--round, flat, hard--not at all puzzling in itself, yet completely unintelligible as a clue to the young man's motive in placing it there. it was a piece of money. garth slipped from the areaway. he held his find up to the nearest lamp. the piece of money was a five dollar gold piece. he glanced along the street. the automobile had just swung from sight. he started quickly after it, because it had occurred to him that if such a performance were repeated in park avenue, his curiosity would make him stop the machine, would suggest a number of questions to the young man in the fur coat, would seek an explanation of the chauffeur's furtive impatience. when he turned the corner he was not surprised to find the limousine halted again, to see the young man returning from a third excursion to the house line where, doubtless, he had with an extreme anxiety placed another piece of money. garth broke into a run. the chauffeur glanced over his shoulder and muttered quickly to the man, who sprang in. as soon as the door was closed the car started with a speed almost affirmative of flight. garth held up his hand with the gold piece and shouted. the car went faster. he hastened to read the license number on its rear. as he wrote it in his pocket book he watched the red of the tail light diminish and disappear. he walked over and picked up a twenty-five cent piece. why then had the young man left five dollars around the corner? he stared at the two coins, his bewilderment growing. what could be the explanation of this trail of money, left with a scrupulous care on new york pavements? of what abnormal diligence could such an eccentricity be an echo? how pronounced was its significance? almost certainly another coin lay close to lexington avenue where the car had first stopped. it was not probable that a third exhibit would reflect any light on the affair, still he wanted to learn the denomination of that coin, and evidently it was the final goal of his curiosity to-night. as soon as he turned the corner he saw that he would be too late. the discovery heightened his interest. breathlessly, he slipped into an areaway and watched. a singularly small figure of a man shuffled across lexington avenue and, as if with an assured purpose, made for the corner stoop. the arc light down there, while it emphasized few details, sharpened garth's wonder at the size and shape of the newcomer. he was inclined to explain him as a small boy, masquerading in mature clothing. yet there was about the shoulders a thickness and a curve which did not belong to youth. the face was concealed by the turned-up collar of a diminutive overcoat and by a felt hat, drawn low over the eyes. even at a distance the figure projected an air of the lawless and sinister. the man bent and picked up the coin. afterwards he continued towards garth, not, however, in a straight line. he shuffled stealthily, his feet scarcely leaving the ground, in a series of zig-zags across the sidewalk. and always his shoulders remained bowed, the eyes lowered, as if he examined with a vital solicitude every inch of his path. it was obvious to garth that there was some connection between the young man in the limousine and this stunted, clandestine figure who followed his trail with such anxious vigilance. therefore he felt justified in setting a small trap. if its issue involved him in a mistake a laugh would extricate him. but he foresaw no mistake. the deformed thing approaching was not to be explained as a peaceful, if tipsy, citizen, bound for home. so he placed the five dollar gold piece just outside the railing. he removed his gloves. he took his pocket lamp from his coat and held it ready. if the other saw the money and tried to pick it up he would be quite at the mercy of garth's lamp and hands. that would happen, for the man had evidently caught the pallid gleaming of the gold. without increasing his pace he shuffled across and stooped, stretching out his hand. up to this point the other's activity had worn an established air. garth proceeded to rout its complacence. he reached through the railing, and as the hand was about to close over the money grasped it with all his strength. he had been prepared for fright, for a struggle, but scarcely for the shrill, animal cry that greeted his surprise, nor for the violent and unnatural strength that quivered through the little body as it tried to break away. and at first garth combatted a quick impulse to let go. the quality of the bare hand in his own revolted him. the fingers were long, slender, and hard. the skin was dry. it gave him an impression that there was no flesh between it and the bones it covered. "steady, my friend," he muttered. "that's my money in your claw. let's have a look at you." the other's squirming increased. the scream was not repeated. only a difficult, sobbing sound came recurrently from the man's throat. at last garth managed to twist the small wrist so that practically he controlled the fellow's movements. then he pressed the button of his lamp. the light shone mercilessly upon an abhorrent face. the skin was yellow, and tight, like parchment, across the high cheek bones. the tiny eyes lay far back in rounded sockets. in the lamplight they were deceptively reminiscent of the eyes of a cat. but it was on the head, from which the hat had fallen, that garth's glance lingered with the most distaste. a queue was curled about it. it gave the last touch to the fantasy of the snow, the mist, the deserted street of old houses--a fitting setting for the night's vagaries. for him the coil of hair gleamed like a serpent, carefully poised and awaiting the most favorable moment for its stroke. as the yellow head moved spasmodically the coil appeared to writhe. it provoked garth's imagination. with quiet eloquence it symbolized a vicious conservatism, publicly dead. it suggested secret ceremonials in forbidden shrines. in a broader sense it was the outward survival, properly snake-like, of unconquerable and scarcely apprehended customs. garth shuddered. he found it more difficult than before to cling to that bony hand. he arose, snapped off the light, and grasped the oriental by the shoulder. "how did you know you'd find this money on the sidewalk?" he asked. the other shivered, as if for the first time the cold had reached him. "talk up," garth ordered. "who's the fashion-plate that left it?" the chinaman made a last effort to escape. garth subdued him. "no talk-ee, eh? all right, little one. then you'll have a nice free ride downtown--just as a suspicious character." for a possibility had occurred to him from which he shrank. still, since it existed, it dictated a clear enough duty. he stepped from the areaway. "hustle along, sonny." the other exploded into a torrent of chinese. garth understood not a word, yet the shrill voice, rising and falling, cried to him a fear and a despair that were tragic. "bluff away," he muttered, "though i don't see what good it will do you. plenty of interpreters at headquarters. point is, are you coming peaceably, or will i have to wake up a patrolman to get a wagon?" the chinaman was on the point of collapse. garth practically carried him to the corner. he experienced a feeling of remorse, which, however, vanished before the recollection of the queue, glistening, serpent-like. he was relieved to turn his man over at headquarters. he saw him placed in an empty detention cell. "sleep tight," he called as the key turned. "maybe you'll learn english by morning." his own sleep was untroubled, save by his persistent uneasiness about nora. as soon as he was up the next morning he telephoned the bureau of licenses and apparently ran his one clue into a dead wall. the limousine, he found, belonged to thomas black, a young man of more than ordinary wealth and position. garth flushed uncomfortably. he began to suspect that he had been guilty of an indiscretion, for black, some years ago, had married the sister of rufus manford, whose recent selection as head of the society for social justice had set in motion a cumbersome amount of self-satisfied and unusually ill-designed activity against crime. still garth knew that manford was working with the inspector now on some urgent cases about which little was said at headquarters. it was possible, then, that the trail of coins had been arranged by manford in the society's office for a purpose which his interference might have destroyed. but the growing day diminished the importance of the whole adventure. that returned to it only when the telephone summoned him as he was about to leave his rooms. "hello!" he called. the voice that answered was gruff, disapproving, almost reproachful, he would have said. "it's ed, at headquarters. say, you've got me in bad. hustle on down. inspector's on his ear and wants you." "what's up, ed?" "that pigtail of yours. can't make out the chief. might be a member of his own family." "what are you driving at, ed? what's the matter with the pigtail?" "dead--that's all." "dead!" garth echoed. "yup. must have done it right after you left. choked himself to heaven with his bloomin' queue. now if he'd had it cut off proper--" chapter xi nora disappears in an empty house for the first time garth entered the inspector's office with the discomfort of a culprit. yet he could not accuse himself justly of blundering. nevertheless the brief telephone conversation with the doorman had informed him that the inspector attached an uncommon importance to the chance capture of the chinaman. because of it he would place the blame for the suicide where it fell most conveniently. when he opened the door he appreciated that there was more than that out of the way at headquarters this morning. a woman bent, ancient, poor, sat in a chair to the right of the inspector's desk. he could hazard no more concerning her, because of an intricately-patterned shawl which was draped over her head and nearly covered her face. her presence was less astonishing than her bearing in this room, terrible alike to wrong-doers and to the reluctant witnesses of crime. her attitude, indeed, was expectant. her lack of distrust impressed him as aggressive. moreover, its customary rumble had left the inspector's voice which had flowed, garth had remarked, with a conciliatory blandness. it paused shortly as garth entered. the huge man turned slowly in his chair. his eyes, somnolent as a rule, fixed garth with a lively reproach. "shut the door," he grumbled. garth obeyed. "here's a pretty mess! why did you bring him in at all?" "the chink?" garth asked mildly. "no," the inspector roared. "queen lilliokulani! who do you suppose i mean? how many mugs have you brought in since i saw you last? maybe you thought the big chinese population was unhealthy." "i never dreamed he'd do that," garth protected himself. "why didn't you warn the boys to keep an eye on him?" the inspector demanded. garth threw up his hands. "how could i tell? i only brought him in on a chance. i knew you were after the funny medicine crowd. he was up to some queer business last night, and i thought he looked the type." "yes," the inspector agreed drily, "he certainly looked the type, so much so that i'd gamble that wizzened brain of his held all i want to know." he seized a paper weight and commenced to toss it ponderously from fist to fist. "that's what you've let get away from you. maybe you'll be accommodating enough to tell me how you happened to pick him up." garth glanced questioningly at the woman. "don't fret," the inspector said scornfully. "she won't give you away even if you have made an ass of yourself." garth reddened. impulsively he turned on his heel. later he would be ashamed, since he understood the inspector thoroughly. but for the moment he surrendered himself to pride. the sound of the chair shoved back by the inspector was not unexpected, nor did he fail to catch the note of apology, the appeal for terms in the gruff voice. "come back here. where are you going?" but it was another voice that swung him sharply. "jim! don't lose your temper." the inspector's fist scattered the papers on his desk top. "who's running this office?" garth scarcely heard. he strode to the woman. he snatched the intricately-patterned shawl from her head. the face beneath was old, stained, and wrinkled; but there was no disguising the dark, young eyes which smiled up at him. "so that's why?" he gasped. "you've done it well, nora. now maybe i can know something about it." she laughed. "not if you resign. so much dignity!" he laughed back. "nor if i'm fired." the inspector grinned. "i'm glad you let me in this on some basis." the disclosure of the girl's personality had scattered garth's revolt, and her eyes, now that they were no longer concealed, seemed to have rebuked the inspector to a milder humour. "understand," he said, "nora doesn't tell me any too much how she's working, and she's been at this off and on for a long time. it's only the last two weeks that it's gotten serious. she had to see me to-day. that's why i'm on my ear about the chinaman. he might have saved her a good deal. you see, she's working on that case." garth's heart sank. "dope!" he cried. "it isn't safe. i tell you she's fighting desperate people, inspector. look at that chinaman, whether he's mixed up with the traffic or not, if a brute like him suspected her!" the inspector returned to his chair. he waved his hands helplessly. "talk to nora. i've told her all that. once or twice i've wanted her to use her brain in cases where there wasn't any risk. nothing doing. when this rotten business came up she would go into it on her own hook. i guess that's because she knows manford and his high-brow, meddling society have got the district attorney behind them, and they've put it up to me hard." nora shook her head, smiling a trifle wistfully. "no, father, i did it to save souls and bodies. you see, jim, they can handle the little fellows under the new laws, but everybody knows there's this one place up-town, marvelously hidden and guarded--a distributing center, the heart of the whole surviving drug traffic. when i found out from father that everybody else had failed i just had to try. my conscience kept at me. success would turn so much misery into happiness, so much sickness into health, so much crime into usefulness. and to-night, i believe, if we're lucky--jim! i want you to be there." "she thinks she's spotted the house," the inspector said softly. "that's what she had to see me about. she wants a raid arranged for to-night." garth's voice was anxious. "how are you working, nora? i don't like it. i wish you were out of it." but nora would tell him nothing, and he realized instinctively that in her crusade she had taken desperate chances and would face more, probably the worst, to-night. "you must tell us," she said, "how you found the chinaman. i've no doubt he was one of them. in itself his death was a confession--a pitifully silent one." garth told his story of the man in the limousine, of the trailing oriental, of what he had learned at the bureau of licenses. nora offered no interpretation, but she smiled sympathetically at the inspector's rage. he saw in the affair more than garth. to him it meant an underhanded attempt on the part of the society to trap a material witness. "they put it up to me," he grumbled, "then they want to put it over me. manford gets a line of his own and keeps it to himself. out for a little glory and advertising! what happens every time i work with these silk-stockinged, fur-coated societies that think they know more about vice than the police. and to think, garth, you snitched him away from them, then let him croak!" nora arose. "no use crying over spilt milk, father." she prepared to leave. garth followed her to the hallway. he urged her to let him share her plans, to give him a more pronounced part in the risks. she shook her head. "it's best to let me work this alone until the last minute, jim." his one grain of comfort was her insistence that he should be in the van of the raiding party. so he watched her leave, her grace and beauty transformed by an inspired ingenuity into the bent lines and the haggard distortion of a crone. the day lingered interminably. whatever nora had told her father he guarded with an unqualified stubbornness. aside from the fact that he was to join the inspector in an up-town precinct house at ten o'clock, garth walked into the affair wholly ignorant of plans or probabilities. when finally the hour struck and he kept the appointment, he found manford, in evening clothes, leaning against the desk while he tested the inspector's temper with a smiling face and an insinuating conversation. garth had never before seen this amateur in social justice. his first glance furnished him a share in the inspector's resentment, for clearly manford's illusions as to his importance were all of a happy character. his moustache, arranged with a studied precision, his ruddy complexion, his eyes, noticeably sarcastic, testified to measureless pride in a success which, garth knew, had arisen almost of its own power from his inheritance. it was not to be doubted that his selection as its head had given the society in his eyes a majestic and peculiar value. the fact that the inspector failed to counter impressed garth. probably it would be a sufficient revenge for him to accomplish the raid and smash the gang with manford as a witness, yet without his active assistance. a number of detectives and some men in uniform were grouped about the two. the inspector's commands were brief and delivered with an excited anticipation which he could not conceal. at last he announced the number of the house. it was in the centre of the block east of that in which garth had captured the chinaman. some of the men were to reach the back yard. others were to guard the roof. the remainder would form the attacking party at the front. "when these people find they can't get through," the inspector warned, "it's a good bet they'll show fight. so look out for yourselves, and impress on them that your guns aren't watch charms." garth, manford, and the inspector led the way. garth's misgivings were far more profound than if the chief risk had been his own. where was nora now? what would such conscienceless men do to her if they found at the last moment she was responsible for their hopeless predicament? they walked slowly to give the others time to reach their posts. at last the inspector glanced at his watch, snapped it shut, and quickened his pace. "come on, boys," he muttered. "the season's open." the house presented an uncommunicative front. they climbed the steps. no lights showed in the hall. the windows appeared to be shuttered. the inspector pulled the old-fashioned bell handle. after an undisturbed wait he tried again. "guess we haven't got the combination, chief," garth whispered. "no time for experiments," the inspector said. he put his shoulder to the door. "give a hand here, boys. bring that ax." the lock snapped under their assault. they stumbled through into the vestibule. garth choked. he was aware of fine particles of dust in his nose and his throat. the inspector had been similarly affected. "filthy lot!" he sneered. "one more door." they attacked the inner door. they burst through into a black hallway. the dust rose in clouds. the inspector snapped his flashlight and fell back with an exclamation, disappointed and surprised. the light shone on bare floors and walls. its power was radically diminished by the long accumulated dust their entrance had disturbed. as far as the first floor was concerned they stood in an empty house. manford sneered. "a fine plan of yours, inspector!" the inspector glared his dislike. "i'm beginning to think you were jealous a minute ago, young man." "then you've quite disarmed my unworthy emotion," manford laughed. garth had read more than dislike in the inspector's manner. it had veiled, he was sure, a positive, an increasing fear; and the scorn of his voice had not thoroughly cloaked its uncertainty. "get up stairs," he snarled to his men. "scour every inch of this place." he turned back to manford. "i'll swear they were here this afternoon. this house was used as a dive no later than this afternoon." manford chuckled, indicating the dust which still whirled in the rays of the flash light. the plain-clothes men returned almost at once. there was not a person in the house--not a piece of furniture. the grime on the walls, the thick dust testified to its long disuse. manford's superior wisdom appeared justified. the intolerance of a position and a success, both inherited, shone in his eyes, expressed itself in his voice. he drew his coat closer about him. he touched his hat. it assumed a jauntier air. "good night, inspector," he drawled. "i cut the opera to take in this example of police efficiency. i hope my society, on its own initiative, will be able to make more progress with the case. maybe i'll find some amusement chatting with the lieutenant at the station house. at least i can learn from the police what sins to omit." the inspector strangely, did not answer. manford lighted a cigarette, grinning, and strolled down the steps. garth marvelled at the inspector's lack of belligerency. he looked at him more closely. the big man's jaw had fallen. he stared without purpose at the blank walls. the picture made garth afraid. he grasped the inspector's arm. he drew him to one side. "how were you so sure?" he asked under his breath. "because nora gave you this number?" the inspector shook his head. his great shoulders trembled. "no. she had no number to give me. but this afternoon i saw her enter this house. i watched the door close behind her, and, garth--she has never come out." * * * * * * garth with frantic haste explored the place himself from roof to cellar. there was no question. it had remained uninhabited for many months, perhaps years. yet nora had told her father that, while its location had been kept from her, she had arranged a certain entry to the evil house that afternoon. she had told him to follow her. he had seen the door close behind her. garth scarcely dared open his mind to full comprehension. if nora had been directed to this deserted building and admitted, it was clear that her connection with the police had been discovered. it was logically certain that she had walked into an elaborately plotted ambush. he hurried to the sidewalk where he found the inspector braced heavily against the rail. "what can i do, garth?" the big man asked hoarsely. what to do, indeed! garth thrust his hands in his pockets. he stared helplessly up the street. his glance rested on the corner house of the next block where last night the man in the fur coat had left the first coin. suddenly his breath sharpened. his mind, planning blindly, paused, drew back, dared again to face the single chance that had risen from the shadows of the corner house. he wet his lips. he touched the inspector's shoulder. he understood that on a bare possibility he would place his entire career in the scales. since, however, it balanced nora's rescue from such unspeakable hands, he did not hesitate. "chief," he whispered, "take your men back to the station house and keep them ready. i'll telephone you there in a few minutes, fifteen or twenty at the outside." "what are you going to do, garth?" "take one chance to get nora back," he answered quickly, "probably say good-bye to new york. it was something i thought of last night. it seemed common sense to forget it this morning. now i'm going to make sure. no time to talk." chapter xii the hidden door he ran swiftly west, past the house on the corner, past the areaway where he had secreted himself last night, into park avenue, always on the course taken by the limousine. and, when he came to black's number, he saw the limousine drawn up, waiting. in the upper story of the small but expensive house lights burned. he pressed the electric button, sighing his relief. he was grimly determined to see the thing through. his resolution was stimulated by his memory of the queue, coiled like a serpent, watching to strike with fangs bearing the poison of degradation and death. nora stood within reach of that, perhaps, was already its victim. so when the door was opened by a sleek serving-man, he did not hesitate. "i must see mr. black." the servant displayed a mild astonishment at his tone. "i'm sorry, sir. mr. black is not at home." the lights he had noticed upstairs and the limousine gave garth confidence. "mr. black," he said, "is the brother-in-law of the president of the society for social justice." the servant nodded. "then he will see me." the other was shocked. "really, sir--" garth gave him a glimpse of his badge, pushed past, and entered the reception hall. the servant turned, staring at him with insolent eyes. "you'll have to get out of here. mr. black has no official connection with the society. what do you mean by forcing--" garth called: "mr. black! mr. black!" the servant tried to catch his arm. "this is outrageous." "mr. black!" garth called again. and the response he had prayed for, the response he had made up his mind to force at all hazards, came quavering from the upper floor. "who is that? what's all this row, arnold?" garth sprang up the stairs, eager and relieved at the quality of the voice. the young man of the limousine stood at the head, bending anxiously over, backed against the railing, as if to repel an assault. "i'm sorry, mr. black," garth said hurriedly. "i have to speak to you about something too important for delay." he paused, embarrassed, reluctant to go on, for in the brightly lighted doorway of the living-room a woman had appeared, small, with an extraordinary grace of figure, and a face which, in a trivial, light-hearted way, impressed him as rarely beautiful. she wore evening dress. a wrap was draped across her arm. her resemblance to manford established her identity beyond debate. she glanced at garth with an amused curiosity quite at variance with her husband's emotion. she smiled tolerantly. "quite like a bearer of evil tidings in a play, but even they don't come upstairs, unannounced." "i'm sorry, mrs. black," garth said apologetically. "your man drew the long bow. i couldn't be put off." but the smiling, graceful figure was a defence, almost incontestable. nothing short of nora's danger could have armed him to overcome it. he would, however, spare black's wife as far as possible. "i wanted to speak to you, mr. black, privately." he turned back to the woman. "you see i come from your brother, the head of the society for social justice." "what can he want at this time of night?" she said. she advanced to the head of the staircase. "it makes no difference, john. you weren't coming anyway. i'll tell aunt sarah why--business!" she laughed lightly and passed on down the stairs. garth breathed more freely. he waited until the front door had slammed, until he had heard the motor whir, until he was sure she was started for her reception or dance, unsuspecting the desolation he had brought into her home. then he swung on black. "come in here." he indicated the living-room. black followed with uncertain steps. the light shone on his sallow face out of which heavy eyes looked distrustfully. "what do you want?" he asked. "what does manford want?" "don't trouble to sit down, mr. black," garth directed. "i've little time--just enough to tell you that i'm on to you." black with an odd, halting motion reached the centre table. his fingers shaking, he lifted a cigarette from a silver box and essayed to strike a match. the wood splintered. he fumbled aimlessly about the table. he took the unlighted cigarette from his mouth. he stammered. "wh--what the devil do you mean?" "no use bluffing," garth said. "you give yourself away. but don't get too scared. i'm the only one who knows." the other's voice was scarcely audible. "who are you?" garth threw back his coat lapel, displaying momentarily his badge. black's voice rose on a shrill note. "it's a lie! it's a lie!" garth shook his head. "i watched you last night," he said, "planting money here and there--a pretty, generous fancy, just to give people the joy of finding it. men don't do such things in their right senses. i've heard of it, but the fact that you were the brother-in-law of the head of an organization that was after these cases offered a more likely explanation. put me off the track. thought you were working for him. now that i've had a good look at you, there's no question." black made a last pitiful effort. "this is blackmail." "i have my price," garth admitted. black sat on the table edge. "i'll put them on to you down town--through manford." garth laughed outright. "you! you'd never have the nerve. give a police surgeon one good look at you!" black fumbled in one of the drawers. he lifted out a cheque book. "how much?" he asked with dry lips. "not money," garth said. he felt every nerve in his body tighten. "when i saw you making a fool of yourself last night," he went on, "you had come straight from a house you are going to get me in to-night." the cheque book fluttered to the floor. "wh-what for?" "to save a woman," garth answered. "it's enough for you to know that they've trapped her there, and that she means too much to me--" black turned on him with a snarl. "you mean you love her. then maybe you can understand. what about my wife?" "black," garth said quietly, "you stand a better chance of sparing your wife if you meet my price. i promise to do all i can to keep you out of the scandal. i'll get you away clean if it can be done. all i ask is, that for your wife's sake, you'll try to be a man. but now you listen. by gad, if you refuse to do this thing, i'll raise a scandal that will finish you once for all. i'll shout the thing from the housetops. i'll take you to a cell within the next ten minutes. what about your wife then? look at me. i'm not bluffing. i hate it, but i've no choice. it's life and death to me, and, since it's all i've got, i'm going to use your reputation to make it life." black sank into a chair, covering his face. "you do mean it. i can't do it. i tell you i can't do it." garth stood over the man. as he fought, there came back to him with an advocacy not to be denied, the memory of nora's altered face, out of which, however, her eyes, unalterable, had glanced at him with a definite appeal. "yes you can," he said savagely. "they'll let you vouch for a--friend. and if you don't, you'll give the game away to a jury and a crowded courtroom." black's hands dropped. he stared straight ahead. he did not answer. garth reached out and grasped the telephone. black stumbled to his feet and tore at garth's arm. "what are you going to do?" "call for a patrol wagon to drive up to your exalted home." "no, no, no!" "then you agree?" "you'll come with me alone?" "yes." "then i agree." the gleam in black's eye was revealing. it retarded garth's relief. it warned him that, entering the place alone, he could be handled, as, perhaps, nora had been handled. "i'll get my hat and coat," black said. "no," garth answered. "from now on you'll stick to me like a brother." he took the receiver from the telephone and got the inspector at the station house. while black protested, he instructed the inspector to have a man follow black and himself, and, no matter what house they entered, to surround that entire block and to keep a watch on every house front. if he could communicate in no other way, garth promised to fire his revolver twice, if possible, from a front window. black shrank back. "but you said--alone." "alone," garth answered, "but that's what's going to happen once i'm in. i'm not throwing my life away. are you ready, or do you prefer the cell and your picture in the morning papers?" black led the way without further protests down the staircase. at the foot he broke down again. garth warned him and helped him on with his overcoat. "you leave me no choice," black whimpered. "no choice." garth drew him to the sidewalk. "if you waste time steering me wrong," he said, "i'm through. and don't forget i have a gun. try to throw me down once we're in, i'll use it." black made an effort to square his shoulders. he crossed the avenue with a lurching gait. garth glanced back. a dark figure skulked after them. so that was all right. the inspector would know their destination immediately. "one thing," garth asked. "how did you have the nerve to drive your limousine to the place last night?" "i didn't," black answered. "i picked it up in third avenue." he did not speak again, and garth no longer urged him. he walked straight for the block in which he had been at his folly last night. but he did not pause there. he continued across lexington avenue and made confidently for the deserted, dust-filled house which just now had mocked the police. garth, amazed, followed him to the basement door. black took a key from his pocket, and with the ease of long habit inserted it through the obscurity in the lock. the door opened and garth walked into the blackness with a quickening suspense. his apprehension was for nora rather than himself. what had happened to her when she had stepped into the dusty hall? her only chance was that he would not be caught in this somber pit as she had probably been. he put his hand on his revolver. "go first," he whispered. the darkness was so complete that garth had to keep his fingers on the other's arm to avoid stumbling against the walls. yet his guide went with a quick assurance to the rear door which he opened with another key. they stepped beneath a rough shelter of corrugated iron such as is hastily thrown up for the protection in summer of washboards, or, in winter, for the storing of wood. black proceeded beneath this shelter along the fence to the corner. garth noticed a large accumulation of rubbish in the yard, souvenirs, doubtless, of indolent and utilitarian neighbors. black stooped. evidently he had given a signal which garth had not seen or heard, for straightway he arose and leant against the fence, waiting. "what now?" garth asked. black raised his finger to his lips. garth looked down at a rustling among the rubbish. a thin piece of flagging had opened at his feet as if hinged like a trap-door, leaving visible the top of a flight of rough wooden steps. black stepped down and garth followed. the steps led diagonally under the angle of the fence. others rose into the corner of the adjacent yard. if this was their destination it was neither to one side nor directly behind the empty house used as an entrance. garth marvelled at the simplicity of the contrivance. two men in half a day could have accomplished the entire excavation and arranged the steps. moreover, without a definite clue the police would never suspect such an entrance. while black carefully lowered the flag on the other side garth glanced around. they stood in the kitchen shed of a house which, of course, faced the next street. garth had no doubt that the place was masked with a physician's office, or, perhaps, an appeal for boarders, who, nevertheless, would always fail to find rooms available at the hour of their application. he saw nothing of the man who had admitted them by raising the flag. he was more disturbed than before, since he could picture the inspector's bewilderment on learning that he had entered the house which had been so recently raided and combed. garth had small time for speculation. he saw black press an electric button. faintly he heard the response from a muffled bell--two rings short, and one long. almost at once the door opened a crack, but no gleam of light came through. black muttered something unintelligible to garth, and led him into a darkness as complete as that which had oppressed him in the empty house. yet in spite of it he was sure it was a woman who had admitted them. "this way," black said. garth followed, scarcely breathing. where would he find nora? how would he find her? a door opened ahead, and at last there was a light--a subdued, brown light, unhealthy, suggestive of a melancholy repose. black went first, then garth, into an inner hallway, which was saturated with this aberrant radiance. garth turned sharply to inspect the woman who had followed them in. he drew back. he controlled his gasp of relief and gratitude, for it was nora herself who had opened the door for them and who stood now on the threshold of the hall. yet he saw that his presence, instead of bringing to them a grateful welcome, had drawn into her eyes a fear which quickly approached despair. she wore the apron and the cap of a housemaid, transparent hints as to how she had found an entrance and remained here, unmolested. her features, in addition, were subtly changed, so that one, less acquainted with them than garth, might have passed her unrecognizing. his astonishment had held him longer than was discreet. he turned at a sound to find his conductor gone. he knew what that portended. he cursed his carelessness. nora took his arm. "what are you doing here?" she whispered tensely. "go before it's too late. i knew they suspected trouble to-night, but i never dreamed of your getting in here alone. go--the way you came." "to be caught in the yard?" he scoffed. "that fellow's given me away by this time. they'll watch that exit first." he ran along the hallway. the strange brown light appeared to have given the air a substantial resistance. he breathed it with distaste. it choked him. at the foot of the stairs nora caught his arm again. "where are you going?" "up there," he answered. "i haven't the ghost of a show in this suffocating basement. they'll look for me here first." he climbed the stairs. she followed him. "jim," she breathed, "it's hopeless. they'll never let you out." he turned at the head of the stairs. the same dim, unreal light was repugnant in his lungs here. a repellent odor, not to be classified, crept into his nostrils, made him want to cough. heavy purple hangings were draped across two doorways. "tell me the lay-out," he whispered. "quick! the yard isn't the only getaway?" "except the roof and the front," she whispered back, "and they're locked. the head one keeps the keys. for god's sake, jim, try to get out of this house before it's too late." he pointed to one of the draped doorways. it was at the end of the hall, but the hall appeared to him too short. "is that the front door?" she shook her head. "only leads to the front of the house. that's planted, of course--a boarding house. i tell you that door's locked." "then how can i get to a front window?" "you can't, jim." he tried to plan. "then how am i--" a heavy step seemed to set the thick, brown air in lazy motion. it came from a nearby room. it approached. garth glanced at the purple hangings, expecting them to part on one who would discipline without mercy his presumption. "jim! they've got you, and if they see me with you--" she spread her arms. "they know you're a detective. your only hope is that they shouldn't suspect me. and i can't lose all i've done. hit me, jim." "nora!" "trust me," she begged, "and we've a chance. they mustn't doubt me. hit me, jim. take hold of me. clap your hand over my mouth. quick!" he drew back. he knew she was right, but he couldn't, all at once, bring himself to obey. "i've my gun," he muttered. "it's worthless." the footsteps were nearer. they had persisted with a measured, an unhurried purpose. garth drew his revolver. the curtains waved. suddenly nora screamed. she flung herself upon him tigerishly. "jim!" she whispered. "now!" the contact swept him with a bitter, distorted content. he had to force himself to grasp her shoulders, and to bend them back. her hand rose. scarcely understanding her intention, he saw her strike herself sharply across the face. an ugly, reddish mark survived. there was a suggestion of tears in her voice. "you coward, jim!" the curtains were wider, but always, as he forced her back, he combatted the desire to draw her closer instead, to heal with his lips the scar with which his precipitancy had marked her. she cried out again. he glanced at the curtains. he let her go, staring with a sense of loathing at a yellow, wrinkled face, which protruded from the purple, and permitted him to see, glistening above it, a braid of hair, serpent-like and perilous. the leering face was withdrawn. garth heard a low whistle modulated on an unfamiliar, minor interval. "don't resist them, jim," nora whispered. "i'll do what i can." then she turned and ran, screaming, through the curtains. garth dashed for the hidden door which led to the front of the house. if only he could break through there, reach a window, and signal the inspector, but when he tore the curtains back he faced panels of an exceptional stoutness, unquestionably built to deaden sound as well as to form a competent barricade. he surrendered to the realization that he was caught in the heart of this evil house. he wondered if nora's strategy retarded his captors. a stealthy shuffling turned him from the door so that he faced the hall. he had heard that same sound last night when the diminutive chinaman had approached him. now he saw three of the same mold whose queues appeared to writhe in the brown and stifling light as they glided along the hall, their talon-like hands outstretched. he guessed that the picture was intended to terrify, to impress upon him the futility of resistance, yet while he had his revolver the success of such an attack was remote. "stay where you are," he said, puzzled, trying to understand. "come any closer and i'll shoot." the yellow mouths grinned. then, when it was too late, garth understood the trick. a rush of colder air on his back informed him that the heavy door was open. he stood between two fires. in fact, before he could turn, his wrists were grasped. two leering faces were close to him, but as the revolver was wrenched from his hand, he pulled the trigger twice. with the great door open those explosions might penetrate beyond the house wall, might carry even to the inspector's men on the sidewalk. they had at least aroused in the thick brown twilight of the house a restless, incoherent stirring. voices muttered. steps pattered here and there. a muffled bell commenced to complain. through the curtains from the inner room stepped a man--a white man with cruelly intelligent features. garth realized that he probably faced the head of this organization which for so long had outwitted the police. garth laughed with an effort at bravado. "that was a signal," he said. "block's surrounded. they'll be in here before you can light a joss stick. call these things off, or you're as good as in the chair." upstairs the stirrings increased. someone shrieked. nora appeared at the man's elbow. her face was twisted with an abandoned terror. "men in the yard!" she gasped. garth guessed that it was a part of her scheme to turn the hunt from him, to give him that one moment he needed. and it worked. he felt his hands released. the chinamen crouched along the wall, as if trying to conceal themselves, whining pitifully. garth jumped through the front hall. the vestibule door was locked and the key was missing. there was no time to conquer locks. his opportunity was limited. so he ran into the front room. the window catch baffled him. he didn't dare wait to fumble with it. he raised his fists and crashed them through the glass. his hands, scratched and bleeding a little, waved a frantic appeal. he shouted. and he heard answering voices and the pounding of feet. he saw figures glide into view and spring up the steps. the battering of shoulders filled the house with a turmoil that drowned its own increasing agitation. he went back to the inner hall. "nora!" he called. he pushed through the curtains into a room fantastic with oriental furnishings. black, in a panic, had nora in his grasp. the girl struggled mutely. "drop her, black!" black turned. "that ends our bargain," garth said harshly. "she tried to stop me," black quavered. "he's the brother-in-law," garth said scornfully, "of the very man who's been trying in his useless way to smash this gang. what do you think of that?" nora came forward. she was shocked, but it was clear she failed to share his scorn. as the front door yielded she put her hand on his arm. "have you ever seen his wife, jim?" she asked simply. he nodded. "so have i," she went on. "she's the one i'm thinking of. she's too young, too happy, to have her whole life stained by this thing." but garth's anger persisted. black, however, in response to nora's nod, slipped behind the window curtains. the inspector, manford, and a number of detectives rushed in. "get your men through the house," nora advised. the inspector motioned the men to go. he lumbered over to nora. he put his arms around her. an excessive gratitude moistened his eyes and thickened his voice. "thank the lord!" "thank jim," she said, "although he risked everything by appearing here." "if you'd told us more of your plans," garth said, "we would have worked better together." "i didn't dare," she answered. "i knew so little myself. so much depended on success." manford's fragile fingers pulled at his moustache. the humor in his eyes did not quite veil a real admiration. "well!" he said gaily. "let me congratulate you, inspector. the police _have_ put something worth while over--through a woman." garth, whose eagerness had carried him closer to the girl, noticed for the first time on her neck a bruise left by black's urgent fingers. a sudden, unreasoning temper swept him with the necessity for atonement. impulsively he burst out: "inspector, one of the beasts you want is behind those curtains." nora cried out. "jim! you might have let me have that. his wife!" the inspector glanced from one to the other. "what's on your mind, nora?" manford laughed easily. "no sentiment in this game, young woman. if we thought of the wives there'd be few arrests." with an air of satisfaction, as if the climactic feature of the raid had been reserved for his importance, he snatched the curtains open. black cowered in the embrasure of the boarded window, glaring out at his brother-in-law. he moistened his lips. "don't let them tell anna, billy." manford's satisfaction, founded on a self-imposed superiority, suddenly expired. he became rather pitifully human. his cheeks darkened. his insinuating antagonism for the inspector dwindled and faltered, finally, into a passionate mendicancy. he would meet any terms to spare his sister's entanglement in the destroying scandal. "i'm afraid you might think the police didn't do its duty," the inspector said softly. "i just heard your own motto--no sentiment for the wives." garth had not shifted his glance from nora. her disapproval more and more impressed him, yet, with the bruise still eloquent on her white neck, he forced himself only with distaste to bargain. "he's my prisoner, manford. if the inspector says the word we'll tamper with the law and get him away and home. there's one condition. he does as i say for the next couple of years--takes any treatment i suggest." "don't worry. i'll see to that," manford said. "it's good of you, garth." he turned to his brother-in-law. "are you willing, john?" black stumbled from the embrasure. he reached out his hands appealingly. "yes, yes. i want to--with all my heart." "then, inspector--" manford began. the inspector winked good-humouredly. "since we're all such old friends i agree. i've never had a come-back yet from reading a little humanity and mercy into the law. you've a good deal to learn about police work, young man. let's start your education now. we'll see what the boys have bagged." chapter xiii alsop's incredible visitor when the crowded police van had left, nora, garth, and the inspector stepped into the crisp night air. "garth," the inspector said, "you and nora ought to have medals or something. that pale-face at the head of the gang is jerry smith. he must have been sent on from san francisco. if there's a country-wide syndicate of crime he's on the board of directors along with your old friend slim." "some day," garth said, "that syndicate will be tapped properly." nora, after her experience in the heavy, repellent atmosphere of the house, was anxious to remain in the air. she proposed that they walk down town. garth, aware of her displeasure, scarcely dared suggest an answer to his curiosity, but the inspector, in a happier mood, did not hesitate. "maybe, nora, you'll tell us how you got in that dive as a first class housemaid." "there was only one way i could think of," she answered. "the place was bound to make cases for bellevue, so i went to the head nurse and took her into my confidence. she kept me posted. at every chance i went there and was apparently ill myself of the same dreadful illness as the patient in the next cot. about two weeks ago the head nurse telephoned me a case had come in which looked promising. i've been there since. i'll confess, the best i hoped for was the number of the house, but this girl grew confidential finally. she had actually worked there. when she found she couldn't go back for a long time, and learned that i was about to be discharged as cured, she whispered a telephone number and a name. she said they would want somebody and it was hard to get just the right kind. i called up last night and told them about her and my anxiety for the place. a meeting was arranged with smith in a café. he wouldn't give me the address, but he agreed to take me there this afternoon. you see he wouldn't have let me out again until he was sure of me--no afternoons off there." "clever, nora," the inspector muttered. she shook her head. "only choosing the best chance. i knew i couldn't trace them in any obvious fashion. they were too careful. few customers had the run of the place. the stuff was taken to the rest. the way they had black followed last night to make sure he left no trail shows how they accounted for everything. he had evidently been seen answering to that generous symptom of his before." garth noticed that she did not speak to him directly, but her resentment could not completely veil her relief at his safety, her appreciation of the courage that had urged him to her rescue, her gratitude that his daring had brought about the end she had so ardently desired. he hoped, moreover, that there was, about her quiet manner, something to be followed to that necessary but impulsive moment in the brown radiance of the evil house. yet that illusion she did not permit him to hold for long. he left the inspector and her at the flat with an uncomfortable feeling of having failed to measure up to the idea of him she had developed. she did not mention black again, but her restraint persisted. sooner or later, he tried to tell himself, something would destroy that--probably another case that would throw them together, that would make them depend one upon the other. at headquarters one day the doorman told him that the inspector had been taken ill. the detective satisfied himself that nothing serious was to be feared, so he smiled, thinking the situation might offer something useful for himself. it was really the trivial fact of the inspector's cold that involved nora and garth in the troubles of addington alsop. those gathered into one of the most daring and dangerous cases headquarters had had since the commencement of the period of reconstruction. to begin with, the inspector's indisposition confined him to his flat. it held nora there in the part of a nurse. it drew garth, who would have braved the most virulent contagion to be near her. most important of all, it allowed the mighty alsop to apply for police help without fear of detection by the reporters and agents constantly swarming at headquarters. when garth entered the flat that afternoon, he was, unknowingly, already on the threshold of the strange case; for he had read in the noon editions the brief paragraph which recited an accident to all appearances common enough. a man had been picked up unconscious in the middle of a quiet street. evidently he had been struck by an automobile. two details, however, arrested garth's attention. the victim, ralph brown, he knew as a successful private detective. moreover, the outrage had occurred during the slack hours before the dawn. apparently no clue as to its perpetrators remained. garth spoke of that casually to the inspector. the huge, suffering man was scarcely intrigued. wrapped in an ancient dressing-gown, his throat smothered beneath flannel, he sat in an easy chair, facing the fire, whose coals he perpetually reproved with a frown. he groaned. there was utter despair in the rumbling, animal-like note. nora laughed. "laugh away," the inspector roared, "but make garth forget he's a detective if he can't do better than hound a sick man with a cheap automobile case." from her dark and striking face nora's quiet eyes smiled sympathetically at garth. "these unimportant things, father, are sometimes the most important of all," she said. "jim's right. it's odd no witnesses can be found." as if there had been something prophetic in her words and her attitude, a muffled knock came from the outer door. "why doesn't he ring?" the inspector growled. "you haven't had the bell disconnected, nora? good lord! am i as sick as that?" nora, a trifle bewildered, moved towards the door. "queer! and i think there are two in the hall." garth, as he always did, marveled at her acute perception. for, although he had heard no footsteps, no voices, two men followed nora into the living room. the one in advance was young, with a frightened and apprehensive face. his companion was older and portlier, with narrow eyes and full-blooded cheeks. and those eyes were uneasy. for garth they did not quite veil a sense of sheer terror. with a growing discomfort he guessed the cause of this visit. nora's voice betrayed none of the amazement garth knew she felt. "it's mr. alsop, father," she said--"mr. addington alsop." the inspector had already struggled to rise. he conceded the importance of this unexpected call. he apologized for his failure. "nora's got me wound up like a mummy--" alsop broke in rapidly. "no politeness, inspector. i must speak to you. i'm up against it. they're after me." he sat down heavily. the young man, whom he introduced as his secretary, arthur marvin, lighted a cigarette with trembling fingers. garth watched them both while the inspector explained that they might speak freely before him and nora. alsop, he knew, because of his genius for organizing money and industry, and his utter ruthlessness in dealing with those whom necessity had thrown within his power, had made dangerous and active enemies. garth was aware, moreover, that recently alsop had publicly defied certain organizations which had asked what he believed to be too much. the detective could understand the financier's position. his death might be a cheap risk for outside fanatics to take to destroy his leadership against the forces of radicalism, for there were few men strong enough to replace him. alsop had a newspaper in his hand now, and was holding it out to the inspector, while with his forefinger he tapped the paragraph which told of brown's accident. "no accident," he muttered. "that man worked for me--a precaution any fool would take. well, he must have found out what he was after last night, and they got him, and thought they had killed him. they tell me at the hospital he's still unconscious." nora smiled at her father. "a cheap automobile case!" she reminded him softly. alsop handed garth a crumpled, torn, and soiled post-card. "that came in the noon mail. must have been picked up by somebody and dropped in a post box. i figure brown, before they got him, threw it out of a window, or some such thing. anyway that settled it. it brought me here for a quiet talk." garth read the card. a single line, almost undecipherable, sprawled across the back: "danger to-morrow night. brown." "that means to-night," garth said. "had you planned anything important for to-night?" marvin laughed a little. alsop spread his hands. "the conference with capitalists and politicians at which we settle on certain legislation that will put some of these foreign anarchists on the skids, snatch american labor beyond their influence, and give the honest business man a chance to make a fair profit by driving his men as he should. see here, inspector. i'm not afraid of good americans. they may put me out of business, but if they do, i'll know i've been beaten in a fair fight. it's these damned foreign anarchists and some sore central europeans i'm afraid of. i expect some important men from wall street and washington to-night. i can't let them walk into a bomb, and i don't want any high explosives myself." the inspector grunted. "nasty situation. i'm no politician. fight crime. we'll see what we can do. it's a good thing you found garth here." garth, who had not ceased to study alsop's face, realized that the man had more to report--something which he shrank, however, from mentioning. "what is it, mr. alsop?" he asked. "you've something else to tell us." nora, who had clearly noticed the same symptoms, nodded approvingly. alsop flushed and glanced at marvin. the secretary knocked the ashes from his cigarette. the trembling of his fingers was more apparent. "you should tell that by all means, mr. alsop," he said in a low voice. "that's what i want to find out. if i don't get some explanation of that i'll doubt my sanity." alsop cleared his throat. "a ghost story," he said with an attempt at a laugh. "fact is, marvin and i and some of the servants are haunted by a veiled woman." nora came closer. the inspector turned back to the fire a little contemptuously. but garth had no doubt that this hard-headed business man was serious. "go on," he said softly. "you think this ghost is connected with a dangerous conspiracy against you?" "i can only tell you facts and let you judge," alsop answered. "i daresay you know about my house on the river near the city line. it is lonely for that neighbourhood, and very old. i've always heard stories about a ghost, a veiled woman on the upper floor--some connection with the suicide of a beautiful girl long ago. you know the sort of thing. it's always told about old houses. the point is, i saw that veiled woman last night, and she gave me rather too much evidence of spirituality." "why do you connect a ghost with anarchists?" the inspector demanded. "because," alsop answered, perfectly seriously, "i believe the thing was after my papers." garth laughed outright. "then why suspect your visitor of being a ghost?" "because," alsop said patiently, "this visitor had every appearance of walking through a locked door." nora alone was thoroughly impressed. "tell us," she urged. "i've a safe in my room," alsop said, "and as an extra precaution, when i've had important papers at the house, i've locked my door. i went upstairs late last night. there was no light in the upper hall, but a glow came from the lamps downstairs. in this sort of radiance i saw the figure of a woman, clothed in white, her face hidden behind a white veil, come apparently from my room, cross the hall, and disappear. i cried out. i sprang for the door. it was locked. marvin and i searched the house. my daughters are in florida. the only women in the place were servants. there seemed no way in or out of the house without the collusion of one of these. and i've had them a long time. it's hard to suspect them. besides, marvin has had much the same experience. tell them, arthur." "as a motive," marvin said slowly, "i might mention the fact that i often take my work upstairs--letters of mr. alsop's to answer, statements to make out. the first time the thing happened was thursday night. it must have been after midnight. i was in bed. i awakened with that uncomfortable feeling of being no longer alone. at first i saw nothing. the only light in the room came from a dying moon. i had been nervous for several nights, fearing an attempt on mr. alsop. i never could get him to take that very seriously until to-day. at any rate, after a long time, i saw this figure that mr. alsop describes. it did not seem to come from anywhere." he commenced to pace up and down the room. there was about the sudden gesture of his hand a despairing belief that shocked garth. "the thing--white veil and all--seemed to materialize out of nothing. it moved softly about the room as if searching--searching. i thought of the letters on my desk. i called out instinctively, 'who's there?' there was no reply. the figure did not hurry. it stepped behind a screen by the fireplace. i sprang up and went there. i couldn't believe the evidence of my eyes. there was no one--nothing behind the screen. i examined the door. it was locked as i had left it, with the key on the inside. there was no way in or out of that room. yet the veiled woman had been there, and had gone, leaving no trace." "the windows," garth said, "or the fireplace?" marvin shook his head. "the windows were scarcely open, and a fire burned in the fireplace. and, mind you, this was before mr. alsop had seen the woman. i mean, he had not suggested the vision to me. the same thing happened last night. that figure came searching and disappeared in the same impossible way. i knew i wasn't dreaming then. i spoke of it to mr. alsop. it frightens me. i want an explanation of that." "catch your enemies and you'll catch your ghost," garth said drily. "i'd like a shot at both." "what you want," the inspector said to alsop and marvin, "is protection for yourselves and your distinguished guests. what the police want is to catch these fellows red-handed. we'll try to fit the two things. don't lose your nerve. go ahead with your conference, and trust garth to find out how your veiled woman gets in and out of the house and through locked doors. i should say if we find her we should have the brains of the conspiracy. there may be no danger for you to-night. we've only brown's post card to go on. that looks serious, and i'll do my best to protect you. but you must give me every chance to nab these birds. this sort of thing's getting too bold. there's too much foreign propaganda in this country. it would please me to throw the fear of uncle sam into such people." and when nora had gone to the door with alsop and marvin, he called garth over, and hurriedly whispered: "it's a big chance, garth, but dangerous as dynamite. these fellows won't hesitate to blow that house up if they can't block alsop's dirty politics any other way. and remember, you're fighting a woman who behaves like a ghost. take it from me, she's the one you've got to be afraid of. she has the brains." "if i could get something out of brown," garth mused. "maybe he's conscious now," the inspector said. "run up to the hospital, then look over the neighborhood where he was found. come back here by five, and we'll lay our plans." nora stopped garth in the hall. "jim," she breathed, "you're going to take this case?" "surely. i've only to lay a ghost. that ought to be simple." she hesitated. "i've been thinking," she said, "and i wish you wouldn't go, because it will be hard, terribly hard--with death always in the way." chapter xiv the levantine who guarded a curtain garth, in spite of nora's fears, went confidently enough to the hospital. if he could learn all brown knew the case should be easy sailing. in brown's room the blinds were down. the greenish light scarcely found the upturned face. it sought rather the bandage, ghastly and white, wound thickly about the head. from time to time brown's lips moved with a pitiful futility. garth, while the nurse cautioned him to silence, bent closer, so that at last he could define the pallid face and the closed eyelids that trembled. suddenly the eyes opened. from them into garth's brain sprang an impression of immeasurable terror as if they still secreted the outline of some monstrous vision. garth started back as the injured man, apparently spurred by that recollection, struggled to rise, sat bolt upright, his head swaying drunkenly, while from his wide throat vibrated an accusing and despairing cry: "the veiled woman! oh, my god! the veiled woman!" garth's nerves tightened. again that incredible feature of the case startled him. here was proof he needed. the figure that had frightened alsop and marvin was probably involved in the attack on brown. the inspector was right. she was the brains of the affair. brown must tell him all he knew. he urged the man desperately. "take hold of yourself! you've seen this woman! you've got to talk to me!" but brown screamed incoherently with a diminishing power. the nurse had run into the hall. through the open doorway her voice tore anxiously, summoning a house physician. garth's feeling of a desperate helplessness increased. before him was the knowledge that would safeguard alsop and his friends, that would insure garth's own life, that would destroy, perhaps, a dangerous foreign influence, and the man couldn't speak. at last the nurse's calls seemed to seep through the bandage into that tortured brain, suggesting the necessity for caution. in a whisper coherent words came again from the trembling lips. "for god's sake, don't look behind the white veil! no! no! i have. that's madness!" the doctor slipped in and hurried to the bedside. in response to his touch brown lay down. "don't dope him," garth begged. "that man knows things on which many lives depend. he must tell them to me before night. when will he be able to talk straight?" the doctor smiled tolerantly. "you don't seem to understand. a frightful fracture at the base of the brain. he seems inclined to be quiet enough now." the doctor turned away. garth followed him to the door, urging him to use his skill to make brown talk. the nurse had remained by the bed. garth heard her sharp cry through his own pleading. the sound puzzled him because it was a trifle strangled. the doctor, however, turned like a flash and hurried back to the bed. garth looked. the nurse bent over the bandaged head. the doctor fumbled quickly beneath the bed clothes. he arose, glanced at garth, and spread his hands. garth picked at his hat, unwilling to believe. "you mean," he whispered, "that he's--gone?" the doctor nodded. the nurse sobbed once. garth had not noticed how young her face was. * * * * * * the block where the murdered man had been found was flanked by long rows of similar houses. its cobblestones, unfriendly to traffic, made it an ideal place for the brutal deception which had been attempted. opposite the spot where brown had been picked up garth paused and looked curiously across the street. the dreary house line was broken there by a number of basement and first-story shops. his eyes, alert for the unusual, had found it. a basement window displayed intricately patterned rugs, lamps of the orient, unfamiliar and barbaric jewelry. the fact that he had not noticed the window sooner testified to a significant discretion in its arrangement. it was, he fancied, designed less to attract curiosity than to satisfy it once it was aroused. probably it was that idea that suggested a fantastic connection between what he had heard at the flat and the hospital and what he saw now. half derisively he recalled that oriental women went veiled--customarily secreted their faces behind white veils. he had intended entering all these shops and houses in search of a witness of the attack on brown. he determined now to proceed rather more warily. suppose brown spying, or about to spy, had been assaulted in one of these basements--for instance, in the oriental shop which had straightway aroused his interest? he crossed the street and darted quickly down the steps from one side, so that he was sure he had taken by surprise whoever was in the place. what he saw was sufficient proof of his success, and his special detective sense was immediately impressed by much that was ominous in the shadowed room. the echoes of such an attack as brown had suffered could have been easily smothered here. rugs were draped against the walls or flung at haphazard on the floor. carved tables supported lacquer work. from a glass case jewelry gleamed with a dull beauty. but it was on the rear of the shop that garth's eyes rested, while a cold fear grasped him. a long, low divan sprawled there against a tapestry hanging of a colorful and grotesque design. on this divan, seated cross-legged, was the figure of a man, at first quite motionless, like an image in a somber and guarded temple. he wore a fez, set formally on his head. one hand clasped the sinuous stem of a water pipe. the round, flaccid, repulsive face defied classification. garth could not be sure whether it was egyptian, turkish, arabian, or semitic. he only knew that it was evil and accustomed to perfect control, for he suspected that his rapid entrance had made the concealment of the fez and the alteration of that ritual attitude impossible. in a matter-of-fact tone garth spoke of examining the rugs and antiques. the figure did not stir. the sallow face remained as if carved. the only motion in the room was a lazy curling from the water pipe of white smoke which faded in the darkened, perfumed air. then the curtain moved stealthily at one end, disclosing a dark face of a levantine cast. this man came through, carefully replacing the curtain behind him, stroked his bony hands, and demanded garth's desires. the immobility of the cross-legged creature ceased. the stem of the water pipe as he raised it to his mouth writhed in sinuous curves. he commenced to puff. the water bubbled unevenly. garth examined the rugs with growing excitement. he was prepared to believe that he had stumbled on a meeting place. and after all wasn't this an ideal rendezvous? the shop had probably been here for years. the town was full of such stores. at any rate his impression of a calculated evil increased. he felt himself the object of suspicion. it was conceivable to him that he might suffer a fate similar to brown's--perhaps behind that hideous curtain which the levantine and the cross-legged figure seemed to guard. garth started. the unequal bubbling of the pipe had accompanied all his thoughts. constantly it would pause, then recommence. the idea which had been struggling unconsciously in the detective's brain took shape. that uneven bubbling possessed a significance beyond the pleasures of nicotine. it suggested a means of communication, a code. while he bargained with the levantine his confidence in this eccentric explanation increased. it condemned the occupants of the shop. whether or not the men were connected with the plot brown had feared against alsop, they were decidedly objects of interest to the police. still, if brown had spied here, the danger was obvious. the levantine and the man in the fez were sinister opponents. yet garth wanted to see behind that grotesque curtain. for a time, listening to the bubbling, he wondered if they would let him leave the shop at all. he was in no hurry to go until he had made sure of one or two things. while fingering a rug he managed stealthily to examine the wall. it was about what he had hoped, what he had expected. the house was very old. it was one of a row built simultaneously before the fire laws had amounted to much. he was sure that the dividing walls between these basements were not fireproof. as nearly as he could tell from the surface he examined, they would probably be lath-and-plaster, with, perhaps, rubble in the space between. his next step was to measure as accurately as he could with his eye the distance between the entrance and the curtain, which was like a ceremonial background for the man in the fez. stooping to inspect one of the rugs, he struck the flooring with his fist, as if by accident. he was satisfied. there was no cellar beneath this basement. he dared hope that he would see what lay behind the curtain. approximating as nearly as he could the subtleties of a buyer, he promised to make up his mind and return with his decision the next morning. he knew that sharp and angry eyes followed him from the shop. he had a feeling that the darkened place had become active as soon as he had turned his back. he walked slowly to the corner, studying the houses on either side of the shop. the one to the right was a cheap boarding house. the one on the other side was evidently a private dwelling. at the nearest hardware store he bought an auger and a screwdriver. then he entered the alley that bisected the block, and, counting the houses, knocked at the kitchen door of the one to the right of the oriental shop. the servant who admitted him verified his hazard. at this hour the occupants were at work. she was, for the present, alone in the house. garth showed her his badge, warned her to make no noise, and to stay close to him. the girl, frightened and unable to comprehend, followed him into the basement. he paced from the front of the house along the wall to a point which, according to his calculations, was opposite the hidden portion of the shop. he glanced up then with satisfaction. against a thin and antiquated partition was suspended one of those heavy and unwieldy gas meters which are found only in very old buildings. garth drew up a table, climbed upon it, and examined the thick screws which held the contrivance in place. with his screwdriver he commenced noiselessly to remove one of these. he thought it likely that the screw hole would go all the way through. if it did not, his auger would complete the journey. he instructed the girl to draw the blinds and close the door so that the room would be darker. he pulled the screw from the rotten wall. the aperture was sufficiently large. it admitted the repellent odor he had noticed in the shop; so he put his eye to the hole and waited for his brain to accustom itself to these new conditions. the drone of voices reached him, but at first he could see very little--shadowy outlines circling a dull, glowing thing close to the floor--a brazier, he decided, about which men sat. then he started, for he thought he saw something long and white, like a woman. but the smoke from the aperture hurt his eye. he had to close it. when he opened it again there was nothing white, but out of the droning voices came words in english with a foreign accent, and he crouched against the wall, listening. he marveled that he should hear just these words at this particular moment. "the police are suspicious," he heard, "so it's been put ahead. at nine o'clock to-night. two raps on the west door at alsop's. the veiled woman will open the door and take the bomb, and then, by god, we'll show them!" a sibilant demand for caution reached garth. the droning recommenced. garth fancied that it continued in the guttural accents of some eastern dialect. he replaced the screw. he got down from the table, able to plan definitely. against her protests, he took the girl to headquarters and warned the matron to let her communicate with no one before nine-thirty. he hurried to the flat then, and told the inspector and nora of brown's death and of his experience at the shop. "that's where brown was struck," he ended, "and brown was right. they are after alsop and his crowd to-night with dynamite, and the veiled woman's the figure of chief danger. do you know, chief, i'm going to let them hand her that bomb, then i'll try to handle her." the inspector shook his head. "it's taking too big chances to let them get as far as the house with the thing." "it's the veiled woman i'm thinking of," garth answered. "grab these people before her share commences, and you'll probably never see her. she'll bob up here and there, causing infinite trouble, because everything she does has the marks of a fiendish cleverness. let me take the risk and land her." "it's utter madness your way," nora said quietly. "how could you control her with a thing like that in her hands?" "i think i can take care of her and the bomb, too," garth said quietly. the inspector thought for a long time. it was clear the idea tempted him. if garth could ambush the mysterious creature at the proper moment, her capture would be certain. his own share in the night's work was simple. he had arranged to surround the alsop place quietly with his best detectives. they would keep themselves hidden. they would permit the conspirators to enter the grounds. garth, at the house, would use his own judgment. when he blew his whistle this small army would close in and make the arrests. meantime the oriental shop would be raided. the dictaphone, which undoubtedly carried the signaling of the pipe, would probably lead the police to another rendezvous. "it looks like a big haul," the inspector said. "we can't let alsop's ghost slip us." with a grumbled oath the inspector tossed his blankets aside and lumbered to his feet. he stood for a moment swaying against the chair. his pudgy fingers tore at the bandage about his throat. nora ran to him and grasped his arm. "what are you doing, father?" "haven't you any eyes?" he roared. "getting well. i'm tired being sick. i want to get on this job. working, i can cough my head off as comfortably as i can sitting here." nora spread her hands. "you are both mad," she said. "you both want to take too great risks--impossible risks." garth was warmed by her concern for him. for the first time since their quarrel in the house with the hidden door the barrier of reserve which had risen between them lost a little its solidity. the inspector had gone into his bedroom. from the sounds there garth gathered that the huge man fought his way into his clothing. nora stared helplessly from the door to garth and back again. then he saw resolution tighten the lines of her face. her eyes flashed. she laughed. without shaking hands she turned and walked to the door of the inspector's room. "good-by, jim," she called. "i suppose i'll have to look after this reckless one first." * * * * * * garth went. nora's words and manner had made him a trifle uneasy. little time, however, remained for speculation. it was seven o'clock when he had completed his arrangements. he took the subway to harlem and continued in a taxicab. alsop's great wealth permitted him a rural loneliness even in this expensive neighborhood. garth dismissed the cab at the edge of a wide property along the river, made sure he had not been followed, then climbed the fence, and entered a thick piece of woods. certainly nature favored the police as thoroughly as it did the conspirators. there was no moon, and sullen clouds hid the stars. suddenly in the dense obscurity of the woods he experienced that sensation marvin had described of no longer being alone. he paused and waited, scarcely breathing, aware of the dangers, perhaps fatal, that might lurk for him here. and, as he stood, not knowing what to expect, he wondered if the veiled woman was abroad in the woods. he became filled with a passionate desire to learn her identity. the somber, perfumed atmosphere of the shop came back to him. there were odd things in the orient--happenings, apparently occult, for which no explanation had ever been offered. marvin was young and imaginative, but alsop was not the type to be frightened by fancies, yet both of these men believed that the woman could pass through locked doors, that she could appear and disappear as she wished. and brown had said that to look behind the veil was madness. was she abroad in these woods? he had waited for some time. there was nothing. he stepped forward. immediately he knew there was someone. he sprang aside, whipping out his revolver, crouching against an expected attack; for a figure blacker than the night had glided in his path from behind a tree trunk, and the hands carried something round, black-- "put that thing down," garth whispered, "then up with your hands!" her laugh barely reached him. "i thought it was you, jim." he dropped his revolver in his pocket and strode forward, angry and anxious. "what are you doing here, nora?" he laughed uncomfortably. "for a minute i looked for the veiled woman." "i've come," she said confidently, "for her, and to see that you don't throw your life away, because you won't admit the possibility of incomprehensible forces." "you must go back," he said. "what's in that bundle you're carrying?" she held the bundle up, and garth touched it. it was a soft substance wrapped in a black shawl. "what is it?" he repeated. "a white gown," she answered simply, "and a white veil, so that i may take the bomb after i have trapped this queer creature; so that i may talk to these men and learn how wide the organization is." she argued logically enough that there was less risk this way than the other. once she had the bomb in her hands the great danger would be over. try as he might, garth could not move her. she walked on towards the house. they paused at the edge of the woods. the dark, vague mass of the building frowned at them. the windows, garth gathered, were heavily curtained, for no gleam of light escaped. "i am going in with you, jim, to see it through," nora whispered. "don't be disapproving. i only want to help." impulsively he grasped her hand. for a moment he forgot the restraint she had forced upon him. "nora," he said hoarsely, "since i lost my temper with black, you've not been kind. you know i want you with all my heart--" through the darkness her voice was filled with wistful regret and sympathy. it reminded him again that her tragic love affair, preceding their capture of slim and george, still touched her with fingers of sorrow; had not yet given her time to adjust herself to this new ardor. "hush! you were not to speak of that." but he would not let her hand go. "and you--will you ever speak?" he asked. "i don't know," she answered dully. she snatched her hand away. her voice rose. "don't you see? it's because i don't know that i can't let you take such chances with death. that's why i'm here, jim." chapter xv the veiled woman inside the house the atmosphere of danger reached garth more positively than it had done even through brown's unreasoning terror. alsop and marvin met them in the hall. both were white-faced and nervous. through the open door of a library garth saw five men in evening clothes gathered about a table which was littered with papers. alsop closed the door. "i hope you and the inspector are satisfied," he jeered. "we're properly trapped." "the house is surrounded by detectives," garth said. "we've arranged to take care of the one with the bomb. for there is a bomb, mr. alsop. there's no point lying about that." alsop scarcely made an effort to hide his fear. "how are your detectives outside going to help us in here?" he pointed to the closed door of the library. "all my figures, all of my plans that i've ever put on paper i've brought out here for the first time to-night for this conference. don't you suppose those devils know? and that thing--you can laugh at me if you like--i tell you that thing in white is after them. when i went upstairs just now to bring them from the safe i felt it. i _saw_ something white, and i ran down. ask marvin. i'm afraid. i acknowledge it. stay in this house with that--that influence, then if you'll tell me i'm a coward i'll believe it." "i'm not sneering," garth said grimly. "as a matter of fact we know your veiled woman is actually to be in this house at nine o'clock. it's likely enough she's upstairs now in some hidden corner after failing to steal your papers. i'll search every rat hole, because you can take it for granted her apparent magic is pure trickery, and if she isn't to be found upstairs we've a net arranged down here for her a little later." he explained briefly the arrangement that nora's presence and her disguise had made possible. alsop and marvin were not impressed. "better find out what you can now," alsop advised. he nodded at marvin. garth and nora followed the secretary towards the stairs. suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, garth turned, grasped nora's arm, and drew her back. "alsop," he whispered excitedly, "i don't give a hang how long you've had your servants, or how much you trust them. the thing's obvious anyway. nora! you saw that?" nora nodded. her eyes were wide. "what do you mean?" alsop gasped. without answering garth ran down the hallway and flung the curtain at the end to one side. across a wide dining-room he saw a woman, slender and middle-aged. her attitude was of flight. her hand rested on the knob of the farther door. as garth called sharply for alsop she opened the door and went through. alsop had only a glimpse. "it's my housekeeper," he said. "she's worked here for twenty years. certainly there's nothing wrong there." "i wonder." nora spoke softly. "such people are clever enough to involve one's own family against one. she can't leave the house anyway. suppose, jim, we look upstairs." while alsop, angry and at a loss, went back to the library, garth and nora climbed to the upper hall. garth supposed that marvin would have made a light for them, but of all the doors that opened from the stair landing one alone was wide, and no light gleamed through that. "marvin!" he called, and again: "marvin! marvin!" he was aware of nora's shivering. he glanced at her. the color had left her cheeks. "something's wrong up here, jim," she said. "i know it. i feel it. don't you feel anything strange? you heard him come up, and after what mr. alsop said--where is he? why doesn't he answer?" garth stepped forward. nora reached out and grasped his arms. the quality of her voice startled him. "don't go in there without a light, jim." he shook off her hands. he entered the dark room, and immediately he knew she had been right, that he had advanced too precipitately. he stumbled against something soft and yielding, and went down, stretching out his hand to save himself. he knew what his fingers had found. he snatched them away with a little cry: "get back to the hall, nora!" but he heard no movement from her, so, since he didn't dare wait, he took his flashlight from his pocket, pressed the control, and turned the ray on the features his hand had touched in the dark. marvin was stretched, face downward on the floor near the head of the bed. his arm lay beyond his head, pitiful evidence that he had reached for the electric light switch which had been just beyond his grasp. nora with a reluctant air had come closer. crying out her horror, she indicated the collar, at the back of marvin's neck. "blood!" garth nodded. "like brown. the same place as brown's wound." nora covered her face with her hands. garth sprang up, unconsciously quoting brown's words: "that's madness!" he ran to the bathroom and brought water with which he bathed marvin's face and head. he looked up after a moment with a sigh of relief. "it was only a glancing blow," he said. "he'll come around." marvin, indeed, before long stirred, and tried to struggle to a sitting posture as brown had done. he cried out, as brown had cried: "the veiled woman!" "you see," nora breathed. garth lifted the secretary to the bed, but when, to an extent, the man had recovered consciousness he had nothing reasonable to tell. he had started, he said, up the stairs, thinking garth at his heels. he had been about to press the switch. "i knew she was there," he sobbed. "i saw her--all white, and with a veil over her face. then i don't know. i don't remember being struck. everything went black." garth with a gesture of determination turned and commenced examining the room. nora, crouched against the wall, watched him with the assurance of one who sees an evil prophecy fulfilled. after a quarter of an hour he gave it up. there was no one concealed in the room. nor, he would have sworn, was there any reasonable hiding place. from behind the screen where the veiled woman had evidently disappeared twice there was no possible escape. "before long, marvin," he muttered, "i'll be as bad as you and old alsop. if you believe in ghosts, nora, this certainly looks like one." he glanced at his watch. "are you still anxious to try that plan of yours after what you've seen?" she nodded. she went uncertainly from the room. marvin stumbled after them. they helped him down the stairs and to a sofa in the lower hall. garth led nora to the west door. "we've less than ten minutes," he said, "and i don't understand. i'd rather you kept out of it." in silence and with determination she slipped on the white gown she had brought and draped the white veil over her face. garth, shaking his head, arranged a screen just within the doorway. he turned out the electric lamp, lighted a single candle, and placed it on a stand at some distance. "wait behind the screen," he said. "actually, nora, unless we are dealing with something beyond the human, the result is certain. i shall be at the other end of the hall just within the library door. anybody coming from the interior of the house must pass me. i'll grab the woman. i'll see she makes no outcry. i'll keep her out of the way for she must be human to that extent. when you hear the two raps open the door and take the bomb. according to alsop's description you won't be suspected in this light. a little over five minutes! i'll get alsop and his crew out of the library and where their precious skins will be safe." he touched her hand in farewell. her fingers were very cold. she shivered and slipped behind the screen. he went to the library, knocked, entered, and closed the door. the faces that greeted him were restless with misgiving. "i want you all out of this room now, please," garth said. "i've delayed moving you as long as i dared, so, if anything goes wrong, those outside won't know you have left. take them to the back part of the house, mr. alsop. into the cellar, if you like. it's safest. in fifteen or twenty minutes i hope you will be able to resume your conference in perfect security." without words the men gathered up their papers and filed out. garth, left alone in the room, turned out the light, went to the window, slipped behind the curtain, opened the casement, and peered through. the darkness was still unrelieved. through that darkness, he knew, men crept on an errand of fanaticism and death. through that silence he was momentarily expectant of the audible evidence of their approach. but he could hear nothing, see nothing. he couldn't wait. it was necessary for him to go to the door from behind which he was to ambush the veiled woman in order that nora might take her place. as he thrust the curtain aside a thin, tinkling sound stole from the silence of the room. he felt his way to the telephone and lifted the receiver. "hello!" he whispered. "hello!" the inspector's hoarse voice came to him, lowered to a note of caution. "you, garth? i'm in the gardener's cottage. tell me alsop and his people are safe." "yes," garth said. "hurry! hurry! what's up?" "for heaven's sake, be careful," the inspector answered, "because, garth, all your dope was right. there are four of them in the grounds now, and one carries a thing that looks like a bomb. are you going to get away with it? the veiled woman--" "she's in the house," garth murmured. "i'm waiting. i must go. hush! i hear--" he broke off. through the appalling quietness of the house he had heard distinctly from the direction of the west door two sharp raps. he flashed his light at the clock over the mantel. its hands pointed exactly to nine o'clock. yet he had seen no one pass the dim frame of the library doorway--nothing white. he ran through. in the wan candle light he could see the slender figure in the white gown and the flowing veil slip from behind the screen and open the door. then nora would get the bomb, but where was the real veiled woman? what unaccountable intuition had warned her away? garth slipped along the hall, clinging to the shadow of a tapestry. he knew from the black patch at the end of the corridor that the door was wide. in that dark patch he suddenly saw the silhouette of a man. the hands were stretched out as if to meet the hands which nora appeared to offer for the bomb. but the man carried no bomb. in the dim light garth thought at first that he carried nothing. then he understood his mistake, and he cried out, drawing his own revolver, darting forward: "nora! look out!" he had seen that the man's fingers fondled an automatic, raised it, aimed it at the confident, expectant figure. "for police spies!" the man called. before garth could reach the door the harsh, tearing report of the automatic came, and was repeated twice. there was no question. at that short range each sound from the stubby cylinder was the voice of death. garth saw the form that he loved sway, clutch at nothing, without a cry crumple and lie motionless across the threshold. before the other could turn his gun on him the detective had grappled with the murderer. he bore him to the porch floor and struck him across the temple with the butt of his revolver. garth arose then, and, scarcely aware of what he did, placed his police whistle at his lips, and blew shrilly through the night. while he waited for the help that he knew would be too late for nora or for him, he gazed at the silent, slender form. the veil alone moved, trembling from time to time in the wind which came gently from the woods. that reached the candle also, which flickered, making the light ghastly, unbearable. * * * * * * garth shook. he covered his face with his hands, for the dim, unreal illumination had shown him that the figure was no longer completely white. the reason for its stillness exposed a scarlet testimony. that which garth had feared but had forgotten in the rush of his more personal terror rent the silence with a chaotic turmoil. a terrific detonation was followed by the shattering of glass. shouts and curses arose from the house. someone hurried across the drive and up the steps. garth was aware of a heavy hand on his shoulder. he glanced up at the inspector's startled face. suddenly the detective realized that the old man had no misgivings for nora. at this moment, with the white form at his feet, he must picture her quietly, safely at home. garth moved away, but the inspector grasped him again. "what's the matter with you? you've let them use their infernal bomb. you're responsible for alsop and his people." "they're safe," garth answered. the candle still burned. in its wan and flickering light he indicated the still, white figure. "the veiled woman!" the inspector said. "dead!" he stooped swiftly. "you've done well here anyway, garth. let's have a look." frantically garth snatched at his arm and tried to pull him away. "don't look! not you!" the inspector glanced up amazed. garth knelt with a gesture of despair. "what's that?" the inspector whispered, and his voice was suddenly afraid. garth followed his glance. from the black shadows of the woods a white figure glided. its face was hidden beneath a white cloth. garth's shaking fingers reached out and lifted the stained veil from the silent form. he drew back. his cry was like a sob. for a long time the inspector and garth stared at the features, apprehensive even in death, of the secretary, marvin. * * * * * * nora, who ran up the steps crying out her fear for those in the house, gave garth no opportunity for questions or for the expression of that relief which shook him with a power nearly physical. even the inspector, after his first shock of surprise, had no time to demand the particulars of her share in the night's work. the four prisoners were brought to the hall. they knew they must stand trial for brown's death as well as for this attempt. the one who had shot marvin and who had gone down before garth's attack was still dazed. garth identified him as the man who had disguised himself as an oriental in the shop. the sharp face of the levantine twitched with hatred and fright. the other two, although he knew the type, the detective had never seen before. they boasted openly that the shop had been only an outpost for this affair. through a dictaphone and the telegraphy of the pipe, instructions had been sent to and from their headquarters. to-night, they declared, the shop had ceased to be useful. no trail would lead from it to the central force that worked in new york. as they drove home in a taxicab the inspector bitterly lamented the fact to garth and nora. "we'll get to it later," garth said. "if only things hadn't gone wrong at the last minute!" nora cried. "if only i might have taken the bomb and talked to the man who brought it! even with the others! for it's clear those fellows will give nothing away now. we can blame poor marvin that i never had a chance." "what do you mean?" garth asked. "you haven't told us what happened when i left you by the west door." "you remember we had got marvin on a sofa in the hall," nora answered. "he must have seen you close the door when you went in the library to warn alsop and the others, because from my hiding place i saw him get up, and, with no appearance of an injured man, sneak along the wall to the stairs. i followed him up, and, jim, i found him on the floor in his room again, but this time he didn't hear me, and he was talking. then i saw his whole game. there was a dictaphone hidden beneath the bed with which he had probably communicated with those outside the house for days. we had stopped him the first time when he had just learned of my intended masquerade. don't you see? he had to tell them that. we caught him, and he scratched himself to throw us off the track with the details of another case like brown's. now i heard him tell everything--just what i was to do, and that alsop and the others were in the library. i ran downstairs, but when i reached the lower hall i saw him coming after me. so i said i had changed my mind, that i was afraid, that i wanted only to leave the house. i went to the kitchen and slipped out, intending to get to you, jim, with my information. but i knew these men were in the grounds, and i had to go carefully. when i crept up to the library window i thought i saw you. then the telephone bell rang, and i couldn't make you hear." "of course," garth said, "marvin, coming down, had seen that the library door was open, and that there was no longer a light there. it was too late to use the dictaphone again, but he knew he must change his instructions and tell them not to waste the bomb in the library. so he threw on his disguise and rushed to the west door as he had originally planned, in too much of a hurry to dream such a mistake could happen. i suppose he got past while i was at the window." "marvin," the inspector mused, "was just the man for them. probably full of wild-eyed ideas, and feeling a divine call to help smash alsop. i hold no brief for that millionaire. i understand he had to work, like most everybody else, for what he's got, and maybe that's the reason he can't understand these new social notions. and far be it from me to say anything about marvin's grand thoughts, although it may be his share in this affair was made worth his while. my part in life is to see that the law's kept, and i guess without the law there wouldn't be anything much worth while for anybody to fight over. these rough boys had certainly fixed marvin to help them break the law into little bits of pieces. so maybe he deserves just what he got. alsop tells me he didn't trust any of his employés with his schemes for putting a stop to socialistic movements in his concerns, and that's where the big hitch came. marvin, whenever he knew there were private papers in the house, was always searching. he had a key to alsop's door. he used that old ghost story, and dressed himself up in case any of the servants should see him. their fright would give him time to cover himself. when alsop did catch him he came across with the terrible experiences he had had himself with the veiled woman. ought to have got on to him before." "it wasn't easy to suspect him," nora said, "particularly after we had seen the housekeeper's curiosity, and had found him, apparently unconscious, in his room. he was really too frightened at the flat, and we might have suspected when jim heard those directions at the shop. such luck as that doesn't often happen. it's easily explained now. the time it took you, jim, to go to the hospital and to visit the shop was just the time he needed to return to wall street with mr. alsop, make some excuse, and get into the shop by a back way to receive his new orders. it was simple enough." the inspector grunted. "if we saw all the simple things there'd be no need for detectives." he commenced to cough with a persistent vehemence. "take me home, nora," he groaned. "back to the fireplace and the flannel for the old man. you're always right, nora. isn't she always right, garth?" but garth, recalling that moment before nora and he had entered the alsop house, shook his head. nora must have seen and understood, for she laughed lightly. "maybe she is," garth said thoughtfully, "but sometimes i wonder." chapter xvi a note from the dead alsop was around the next day, loud with generosity, and anxious to give garth the only form of reward he could understand--large sums of money. garth, however, didn't care for the man. he preferred to keep their relations on a purely business basis. "i only did my duty, mr. alsop," he said. "some day i may break away from here and start an office of my own. in that case, if you cared to mention me to your friends i would feel i had been well repaid." "maybe you were a little too proud, garth," the inspector grunted afterwards. nora, however, when she heard of it, said simply, "jim, you did perfectly right. if you had taken money from that man he'd have believed he owned you body and soul." "when you two combine against me i've nothing more to say," the inspector grinned. garth knew that the old man watched, with something like anxiety himself, the progress of his and nora's friendship. the detective had long since made up his mind not to speak to the inspector on that subject until he had received some definite encouragement from the girl. the inspector himself brought up the matter about this time. probably the impulse came from the trial of slim and george which began and threatened, in spite of its clear evidence, to drag through several weeks. it would be necessary, of course, for both garth and nora to testify sooner or later. so they rehearsed all the incidents of that night when garth had worn the grey mask. after this exercise one evening the inspector followed garth to the hall. "i don't want my girl to become morbid, jim." garth nodded. "you mean kridel?" "you've said it," the big man answered with an attempt at a whisper. "i've thought that maybe you and nora--see here, jim, i wouldn't mind a bit. you see nora's mother was italian. i don't altogether understand her, but i know it isn't natural for her to mourn for this fellow forever, and i mean, if you and she ever hit it off, i won't forbid the banns. only maybe you'll let me live with you now and then. you don't know what that girl means to me, jim; but i want to make her happy, and i believe you're the one, for a blind, deaf, and dumb man could see you are in love with her." garth laughed, not altogether comfortably. "it's up to nora, chief, but i don't see how i can ever get along without her." it wasn't often that the inspector had used garth's first name. it seemed to bring the detective closer to his goal. during the daytime at headquarters, however, their relations were scarcely altered. garth often suffered from lack of work there, probably because the inspector didn't care to send him out on unimportant matters that the least imaginative of his men could handle. when he had to assign him to an unpromising task, either to spare him too prolonged idleness, or because no other detective was available, the big man always assumed an apologetic air. it was so when he started him on the mystifying taylor case. "nothing doing these days," he grumbled. "city must be turning pure, garth. anyway i got to give it something for its money. run up and take a look at this suicide. seems taylor was a recluse. alone with his mother-in-law and the servants. wife's in california. suppose you had other plans, but i don't see why the city should pay you to talk moonshine to nora." he grinned understandingly, encouragingly. so the detective nodded, strolled up town, and with a bored air stepped into that curious house. * * * * * * garth for a long time stared at the pallid features of the dead man. abruptly his interest quickened. between the thumb and forefinger of the clenched left hand, which drooped from the side of the bed, a speck of white protruded. the detective stooped swiftly. the hand, he saw, secreted a rough sheet of paper. he drew it free, smoothed the crumpled surface, and with a vast incredulity read the line scrawled across it in pencil. "don't think it's suicide. i've been killed--" there was no more. until that moment garth had conceived no doubt of the man's self-destruction. the bullet had entered the left side of the breast. the revolver lay on the counterpane within an inch of the right hand whose fingers remained crooked. the position of the body did not suggest the reception or the resistance of an attack. in the room no souvenir of struggle survived. here was this amazing message from the dead man. its wording, indeed, offered the irrational impression of having been written after death. garth thought rapidly. granted its accusation, the note must have been scrawled between the firing of the shot and the moment of taylor's death. but a murderer, arranging this appearance of suicide, would have given taylor no opportunity. on the other hand, the theory that taylor had written the note before killing himself, perhaps to direct suspicion to some innocent person, broke down before the brief wording, its patent incompleteness. one possibility remained. garth could imagine no motive, but another person might have prepared the strange message. a number of books littered the reading table at the side of the bed. garth examined them eagerly. he found a blank page torn from one--the sheet which taylor had clenched in his fingers. in another was taylor's signature. when garth had compared it with the message on the crumpled paper no doubt remained. taylor himself had written those obscure and provocative words. garth found the pencil on the floor beneath the bed, as if it had rolled there when taylor had dropped it. the place at the moment had nothing else to offer him beyond an abnormally large array in the bath room of bottles containing for the most part stimulants and sedatives. they merely strengthened, by suggesting that taylor was an invalid, his appearance of suicide. the coroner and taylor's doctor, who came together, only added to the puzzle. the coroner declared unreservedly for suicide, and, in reply to garth's anxious question, swore that no measurable time could have elapsed between the firing of the shot, which had pierced the heart, and taylor's death. the physician was satisfied even after garth confidentially had shown him the note. "mr. taylor," he said then, "understood he had an incurable trouble. every one knows that his wife, whom he worshipped, had practically left him by going to california for so long. it may have appealed to a grim sense of humour, not unusual with chronic invalids, to puzzle us with that absurdly worded note. i might tell you, too, that mr. taylor for some time had had a fear that he might go out of his head. perpetually he questioned me about insanity, and wanted to know what treatment i would give him if his mind went." garth, however, when they had left, went to the library on the lower floor and telephoned headquarters. the inspector agreed that the case held a mystery which must be solved. garth walked to the embrasure of a high colonial window. the early winter night was already thick above the world. the huge room was too dark. there was a morbid feeling about the house. he had noticed that coming in, for the place had offered him one of those contrasts familiar to new york, where some antique street cars still rattle over sonorous subways. the taylor home was a large, colonial frame farmhouse which had eventually been crowded by the modern and extravagant dwellings of a fashionable up-town district. in spite of its generous furnishings it projected even to this successful and materialistic detective a heavy air of the past, melancholy and disturbing. garth sighed. he had made up his mind. the best way to get at the truth was to accept for the present the dead man's message at its face value. he turned on the single light above the desk in the center of the room. he arranged a chair so that the glare would search its occupant. he sat opposite in the shadow and pressed a button. almost at once he heard dragging footsteps in the hall, then a timid rapping at the door. the door opened slowly. a bent old man in livery shuffled across the threshold. it was the servant who had admitted garth on his arrival a few minutes earlier. the detective indicated the chair on which the light fell. "sit down there, please." as the old man obeyed his limbs shook with a sort of palsy. from his sallow and sunken face, restless, bloodshot eyes gleamed. "i understand from the doctor," garth began, "that you are mcdonald, mr. taylor's trusted servant. the coroner says death occurred last night or early this morning. tell me why you didn't find the body until nearly four o'clock this afternoon." the old servant bent forward, placing the palm of his hand against his ear. "eh? eh?" on a higher key garth repeated his question. mcdonald answered in tremulous tones, clearing his throat from time to time as he explained that because of his master's bad health his orders had been never to disturb him except in cases of emergency. he drew a telegram from his pocket, passing it across to garth. "mrs. taylor is on her way home from california. i don't think mr. taylor knew just what connection she would make at chicago, but he expected her to-morrow. that telegram sent from the train at albany says she will be in this afternoon on the western express. i thought it my duty to disturb him and get him up to welcome her, for he was very fond of her, sir. it will be cruel hard for her to find such a welcome as this." "then," garth said, "you heard no shot?" mcdonald indicated his ears. garth tugged at his watch chain. "i must know," he said, "more about the conditions in this house last night." he had spoken softly, musingly, yet the man, who had displayed the symptoms of a radical deafness, glanced up, asking without hesitation: "you don't suspect anything out of the way, sir?" garth studied him narrowly. "i want to know why the shot wasn't heard. you were here and mr. taylor's mother-in-law. who else?" the bony hand snapped to mcdonald's ear again. "eh? eh?" "speak up," garth said impatiently. "who was in the house besides yourself and mrs. taylor's mother?" "the cook, clara, sir--only the cook, clara." "you're sure?" "absolutely, sir. who else should there be? we've been short of servants lately." garth dismissed him, instructing him to send mrs. taylor's mother. while he waited he stared from the window again, jerking savagely at his watch ribbon. from mcdonald he had received a sharp impression of secretiveness. he hadn't cared to arouse the servant's suspicions. through strategy he might more surely learn whatever the old man had held back. garth swung around with a quick intake of breath. he had heard no one enter. through the obscurity, accented rather than diminished by the circular patch of light around the chair, he could see no one. yet almost with a sense of vibration there had reached him through the heavy atmosphere of the old house an assurance that he was watched from the shadows. impulsively he called out: "who's that?" he stepped to the desk so that he could see the portion of the room beyond the light. it was empty. garth, as such things go, had no nerves, but through his bewilderment a vague uneasiness crept. he sprang back, turning. a clear, girlish laugh had rippled through the dusk. a high, girlish voice had challenged him. "here i am! hide and seek with the policeman!" he saw, half hidden in the folds of the curtain at the side of the embrasure in which he had stood, a figure, indistinct, clothed evidently in black. he took it for granted mcdonald had sent the girl, clara, first. "i wanted mr. taylor's mother-in-law," he said. "no matter. come here, and let me remind you that humor is out of place in a house of death." nevertheless the pleasant laugh rippled again. slowly the dark figure detached itself from the shadows and settled in the chair while garth watched, his uneasiness drifting into a blank unbelief. he couldn't accept the girlish laughter, the high, coquettish voice as having come from the grey, witch-like hag whom the light now exposed mercilessly. "i am mr. taylor's mother-in-law," she said laughingly. "everybody's surprised because i'm so youthful. my daughter's coming home this afternoon. that's why i'm so happy. they wouldn't let me go west with her, but when one's as advanced as i young people don't bother much." garth experienced a quick sympathy, yet behind the mental deterioration of extreme old age something useful might lurk. "you slept in the front part of the house last night," he tried. "you probably heard the shot." she shook her head. her sunken mouth twitched in a smile a trifle sly. "once i drop off it would take a cannonade to wake me up." for no apparent reason her youthful and atrocious laugh rippled again. "please," garth said gently. "mr. taylor--" "at my age," she broke in, "you say when a younger person dies: 'ha, ha! i stole a march on that one.'" she arose and with a curious absence of sound moved towards the door. "i must go now. i am knitting a sweater. it was for my son-in-law. now that he's put himself out of the way it might fit you." the door closed behind her slender figure, and garth tugged at his watch ribbon, wondering. her actions had been too determined, her last words too studied. they had seemed to hold a threat. was she as senile as she appeared, or had she tried to throw sand in his eyes? he rang and sent for the cook clara, unaware that a new and significant surprise awaited him in this dreary room. the girl, when she came, was young, and, in a coarse mold, pretty. when she sat down the light disclosed a tremulousness as pronounced as mcdonald's. before garth could question her she burst out hysterically: "i am going to leave this house. i was going to leave to-day, anyway." garth pitched his voice on a cold, even note. "for the present you'll stay. mr. taylor didn't kill himself. he was murdered." she covered her face with her hands, shivering. "i didn't kill him. i didn't--" "but," garth snapped, "you know who did." she shook her head with stubborn vehemence. "i don't know anything," she answered, "except that i must leave this house." "why? because you think the old lady's crazy, and she frightens you? i want to know about that." as clara lowered her hands the increased fear, rather than the tears in her eyes, held garth. she shook her head again. "i've only been here a week. i haven't seen much of her. she's only been to meals once or twice, and then she's scarcely said a word." she glanced about the room with its small paned windows, its deep embrasures, its shallow ceiling. "it isn't that," she whispered. "it's because the house is full of queer things. the servants all felt it. they talked about spirits and left. five have come and gone in the week i've been here. but i've never been superstitious, and i didn't hear anything until last night." garth stirred. "what did you hear? when was it?" "about midnight," she answered tensely. "i had had company in the kitchen until then, so i was alone downstairs. mcdonald had told me before he went to bed to make sure the last thing that the library fire was all right. i had looked at it and had put the fender up and was just leaving the room when i heard this sound--like moans, sir. i--i've never heard such suffering." she shuddered. "it was like a voice from the grave--like somebody trying to get out of the grave." "but you heard no shot?" "no, sir." garth spoke tolerantly. "these sounds must have come from up stairs. you've forgotten that mr. taylor was an invalid." she cried out angrily. "it wasn't like a man's or a woman's voice, and i can't tell where it came from. i tell you it was like a--a dead voice." "you failed to trace it, of course," garth said. "describe to me what you did." "i ran to the kitchen," she answered, "but, as i told you, there was no one there. mcdonald had gone to bed, and so had his daughter." garth stooped swiftly forward and grasped her arm. "what's that you're saying? his daughter! you mean to tell me mcdonald has a daughter, and she was in the house last night?" she shrank from his excited gesture. "yes. he asked me not to tell you, but i'm frightened. i don't want to get in trouble. she's the housekeeper. she engages all the servants and runs the house." "then where is she now?" "she must have gone out early this morning, sir, for i haven't seen her all day. i wanted to be fair. i've only been waiting for her to come back so i could tell her i was leaving." "send mcdonald back to me," garth said, "unless he's left the house, too." the butler had deliberately lied to shield his daughter, and had asked secrecy of this girl. and all this talk of spirits and of cries! it was turning out an interesting case after all--possibly an abnormal one. moreover, he was getting somewheres with it. mcdonald slipped in. he was more agitated than before. his face was distorted. his tongue moistened his lips thirstily. against his will garth applied the method he knew would bring the quickest result with such a man. he grasped the stooped shoulders. he shouted: "why did you lie when i asked you who was in the house at the time of the murder?" "eh? eh?" the old man quavered. "you're not as deaf as that. where's your daughter now?" "my ears!" the old servant whined. "i can't hear, sir." "all right," garth shouted. "if you want to go to the lockup and your daughter too, stay as deaf as you please." he wasn't prepared for the revolting success that came to him. mcdonald clutched at one of the window curtains and hid his twitching face in its folds, while sobs, difficult and sickening, tore from his throat, shaking his bent shoulders. "god knows! i haven't seen her since i went to bed last night. i thought she'd gone out." he glanced up, his face grimacing. "don't you think she did it. don't you think--" "first of all," garth said, "i want her picture." "i haven't any," mcdonald cried. but garth hadn't missed the man's instinctive gesture towards his watch pocket. then, whether he actually knew anything or not, he suspected his daughter and sought to protect her. against his protests garth took the watch and, as he had foreseen, found a photograph in the case. the picture was not of a young woman, but the face was still attractive in an uncompromising fashion. it was this hardness, this determination about the picture that made garth decide that the original, under sufficient provocation, would be capable of killing. "for her sake and yours, mcdonald," garth said, "answer one thing truthfully. did she fancy herself any more than a superior servant? had she formed for mr. taylor any silly attachment?" mcdonald's reply was quick and assured. "to mr. taylor she was only a trusted servant, sir, and she knew her place." the whirring of a motor suggested that an automobile had drawn up before the house. garth slipped the photograph in his pocket. "if that is mrs. taylor arriving," he said with an uncomfortable desire to shirk the next few minutes, "the news of her husband's death might come easier from you." "i telephoned mr. reed," mcdonald said. "he's an old friend of mr. and mrs. taylor's. i told him about the telegram, and he's probably met her and brought her home." "i will be here," garth said, "if she wishes to speak to me." chapter xvii the knife by the lifeless hand he heard mcdonald open and close the front door. then the widow entered, followed by a young man with an abundance of dark hair curling over a low forehead and shading eyes a trifle too deep set. but at first garth saw only the widow, and he marveled that one so young and lovely in an etherial sense should have been mated with the elderly invalid upstairs. as he looked it suddenly occurred to him that reed, since he had lost taylor as a friend, might crave more than friendship from the widow. she sank on a divan. even in the shadows her heavy black hair and the dark grey traveling dress she wore heightened the weary pallor of her face. had her eyes held tears they would have been easier to meet, for the shock was there, dry and unrelieved. "it is dreadful to come home this way," she said, "dreadful! i had never dreamed of his doing such a thing." "it is by no means certain," garth said gently, "that he killed himself. there is a curious situation in this house. mcdonald's daughter, the housekeeper, for instance, has not been seen since a short time before the crime." her lips twitched a little. he fancied hope in her eyes. "if i could only cry!" she said. "at any rate that would be better for his memory, wouldn't it? you suspect this woman?" "if you are able," garth said, "i would like you to tell me something about her." "i have never seen her," she answered. "she came after i went west. mcdonald had a good deal of influence over mr. taylor, and i never quite trusted him. there's no use. you might as well know the truth about mr. taylor and me. you've probably heard. we were never quite happy. he was so much older. we never quite belonged to each other. but that is all. it isn't true all this gossip that i went west for a divorce, and i don't believe he was the man to kill himself. if there has been a crime against him i want the world to know it. i want his memory clean." quickly the man reed touched her shoulder. for the first time since entering the room he spoke. his voice possessed a peculiar, aggressive resonance. "helen, you shouldn't take this man's suspicion that he was murdered too seriously." garth motioned him to silence. "at such a time," he said to mrs. taylor, "i dislike to bother you, but i'd like to ask one or two questions. your mother? her mind?" he caught a flash of pain across her white face. "she has always been peculiar," she answered, "but she isn't out of her head, if that's what you mean. i've always thought it's a habit of hers to hide her real thoughts behind apparent absurdities." "i had wondered about that," garth said with satisfaction. "one more thing. there has been talk among the servants of spirits, of moans." she shivered. "i know nothing about that," she said, "except that the house is unbearable. that is one reason i decided on this long visit, why i shrank from coming home." "unbearable?" garth helped her out. "old, moldy, and depressing. my husband, i think, believed in it a little. i've heard him and my mother talk about a figure who sometimes walked. i laughed at that, and i laughed when they heard moans. you see the wind often cries in the narrow space between us and the high wall of the next house. i've never liked it here. it depresses me too much. that's all." "thanks," garth said. "you will want time to accustom yourself. rest assured i will do everything i can to get the truth." "you must," she said tensely, "and don't hesitate to disturb me if i can be of any use." as they went out the resonance of reed's undertone reached garth. "helen. you are giving this man's suspicion too much weight. he seems to have no evidence." after the door had closed garth telephoned the inspector, suggesting that the house be guarded in order that he might have mcdonald, clara, and the old lady at hand. "i'll give instructions," the throaty rumble of the inspector came back, "to arrest any one who tries to make a getaway." garth hurried to the kitchen. the night was nearly complete there, but, as he entered, he caught a swift, silent movement from the servants' stairs. he walked to the entrance. "i thought so." the girl clara shrank from him in the shadows. she wore a hat and cloak. she carried a hand bag. "if you don't want yourself locked up, charged with murder, take those things off," garth said. "from this moment the house is watched, and any one attempting to leave will be arrested." the girl commenced to cry again. "i am afraid," she sobbed. "afraid." garth turned on the light. "take me," he directed her, "to the room occupied by the housekeeper." shaken and uncertain, clara led him to a room at the head of the stairs, which, garth found, had a second door opening into the upper hall of the front portion of the house. the room displayed a taste seldom found among servants. his examination of it from the first spurred garth's curiosity. the bed had been occupied last night, but to all appearances for only a brief period, since the blankets and sheets were little disturbed. some clothing and a pair of shoes lay at one side, and clothing, shoes, and hats were neatly arranged in the closet, but nowhere could he find a dressing gown or a pair of bedroom slippers. clara, moreover, could not recall having seen the housekeeper wear any hat or clothes other than those in the closet. if mcdonald's daughter had fled from the house in slippers and dressing gown it was strange she hadn't been heard of long ago. it became increasingly clear to him that the woman remained hidden in the house. it should be easy enough to find her. he would search every corner for the one whose brain, he was now convinced, held the solution of the mystery. but on the lower floor he found no trace. he paused in the lower hall, intending to ring for mcdonald to guide him through the rest of his task. all at once his hand which he had raised to the bell hesitated. he braced himself against the wall. through the heavy atmosphere a stifled groan had reached him, followed by a difficult dragging sound. but as he sprang up the stairs he knew he hadn't heard the cause of clara's fright, for the groan had sufficiently defined itself as having come from a man. in the upper hall there was no light beyond the glow sifting through the stair well. it was enough to show garth a dark form huddled at the foot of the stairs leading to the third story. he ran over and stooped. "mcdonald! what's the matter? are you hurt?" the silence of the house was heavier, more secretive than before. at last, in response to garth's efforts, a whimpering came from mcdonald's throat. the heap against the wall struggled impotently to rise. garth recalled the medicines in taylor's bath room and started down the hall. the unintelligible whimpering increased. garth went on, aware that the black, huddled figure crawled after him with the sublime and unreasonable courage of a wounded animal. he snapped on the light and ran to taylor's bath room where he poured a stimulant into a glass. as he stepped back to the bedroom he faced taylor's body on which the light shone with peculiar reflections. they gave to the pallid face the quality of a sneer. but it was only in connection with another radical difference at the bed that that illusion arrested garth and sent a chill racing along his nerves. for on the counterpane, as near the crooked fingers as the revolver lay, now rested a long and ugly kitchen knife. with a graver fear the detective glanced at the door of the hall. mcdonald had dragged himself that far. he raised his trembling hand, stretching it towards the bed in a gesture, it seemed to garth, of impossible accusation. then the crouched figure toppled and fell across the threshold while from somewheres beyond the door a high girlish laugh rippled. garth sprang forward and knelt by the old man, reluctant to search for what he expected to find. there it was at the back of the coat, a jagged tear whose edges were stained, showing where the knife had penetrated the shoulder. the wound didn't look deep or dangerous, and in his unconsciousness mcdonald breathed regularly. so garth hurried back to the bed and examined the knife. there was no ambiguity about the red stains on the blade. the knife, resting close to the dead hand, had wounded mcdonald who had seemed to accuse the still form whose note projected the impression of having been written after death. garth smothered his morbid thoughts. mcdonald's daughter was the living force, probably at large in this house, that he wanted to chain. if she were guilty of the earlier crime she had sufficient motive for this attempt to keep the old man silent. she could have got such a knife from the kitchen. so, for that matter, could clara. but the eccentric had laughed. was that merely coincidence? garth ran across the hall and listened at her door with an increasing excitement. he heard the running of water, regularly interrupted, as if by hands being cleansed under an open faucet. he tried the door and found it unlocked. he entered, staring at the daring indifference of the old woman who stepped from the bath room, calmly drying her hands on a towel. "come in, policeman," she said in her high girlish voice. "don't suffer in the black hall." "let me have that towel," he cried. without hesitation she offered him the piece of linen. it showed no stains, nor were there stains to be found about the wash basin, but the slab of marble in which it was set was damp as if it had just now been carefully cleansed. she watched, her wrinkled face set in an expression of contempt. "what are you up to? think if i wanted to do anything wrong i'd let you find me out?" "then you know," he said, "what happened out there in the hall. i heard you laugh." she started. her voice was lower. at last it was as old as herself. "things always happen out there. it is crowded with the people who have lived in this house before us--unhappy and angry people. often i have seen and heard the black thing out there. i would never laugh at her." again the doubt of her senility attacked him. "you can't impress me with that," he said harshly. "i am talking about mcdonald. he was stabbed out there a few minutes ago." she laughed foolishly. "horrid old man! but why should i want to see him stabbed?" he watched her closely. "i saw you strike him. you didn't have enough strength to send the blow home." the assurance of her voice increased his doubt. whatever her mental state she was at least purposeful. "you need glasses, policeman. don't neglect your eyes. you have only one pair." he felt himself against a blank wall, and there was mcdonald to think of. he asked one more question. "when did you last see mcdonald's daughter?" "maybe at dinner last night," she said. "nice girl, in spite of her father. i must go back to my knitting, policeman." garth left her, hurrying down stairs to the front door. he called the policeman from the shadows of the portico, instructing him to go to the large apartment house on the corner where he would almost certainly find a physician. as he gave his directions he saw nora's slender figure cross the street and come up the steps, and, as he looked at the pretty latin face, expressive of an exceptional intelligence, his morose and puzzled mind brightened. he was surprised to see her now, and a little worried, for a grave menace existed for every one in this house. moreover, the case mystified him to the point where he felt he must find the solution himself. he didn't care to place himself again under obligations to her. rather he was ambitious to impress her, perhaps to the removal of her reserve. "father's told me about the case," she said. "i couldn't keep away, because you're so hard-headed, jim." smiling whimsically, she glanced at his frayed watch ribbon. "i see you haven't found the answer yet. tell me everything you have learned while you have been torturing that poor ribbon." "ghosts or not, nora," he answered, "the house isn't healthy, and i'd rather you didn't stay." she laughed and walked in. shrugging his shoulders, he followed her, closed the door, and told her what had happened since he had telephoned the inspector. her face, he noticed, had grown pale, and a troubled look had entered her eyes. she shivered. "what an uncomfortable place! i can guess what clara meant. don't you get an impression of great suffering, jim?" he was familiar with her superstitious sensibility which at times seemed nearly psychic. it irritated him that to his own matter-of-fact mind the house had from the first conveyed a sense of unhealth. as he started to laugh at her, nora with a quick movement shrank against the wall. "what's that?" she whispered. garth strained forward, listening, too. he had heard what clara had described, a crying, smothered and scarcely audible, and he knew what the girl had meant when she had spoken of a voice from the grave--a dead voice. across the moaning cut a shrill feminine scream. "stay here," garth called to nora as he started up the stairs. he heard her voice, like an echo behind him, as full of misgivings as clara's had been. "i am afraid." at the foot of the attic stairs he saw the white figure of mrs. taylor, staring upward, trembling, hysterical, a violent fear in her eyes. "you heard it, too," she breathed. "it wasn't the wind." with a shuddering gesture she indicated mcdonald's still form. "he isn't dead," garth said. while she relaxed a little the fear in her eyes didn't diminish. "i--i heard her moan," she said. "i opened my door, and there she was--a black thing--bending over him like--like a vampire. i couldn't seem to see her face. she ran up these stairs, and i could see through the banisters that she went in the big attic room--the room they always talked about where the woman--" she broke off, screaming sharply again. "look out! back of you! there's something black creeping up the stairs--" chapter xviii the stained robe garth had been aware of nora's slow ascent. as he turned she reached the upper floor and the light from the well caught her face. "a friend who has just come," garth explained to mrs. taylor. "there is nothing to frighten you. the woman you saw is mcdonald's daughter. i had satisfied myself she was in the house. we are pretty near our goal now." "but why," nora asked, "should mcdonald's daughter cry through the house in this fashion? why didn't mrs. taylor see her face?" but garth had started up the stairs. the two women followed, as if each was unwilling to be left alone. garth snapped on his pocket lamp. the light shone on the only two doors on the attic floor. from behind the first keened once more that ghastly and smothered escape of suffering, scarcely audible. as garth stepped towards the door mrs. taylor cried out again: "is it safe?" "don't go in there unprepared," nora warned him. "i want the woman in that room," garth muttered. "i've heard her and i know she's there. the case is finished with her arrest." he took out his revolver, flung open the door, and flashed his light about the interior of the room. he lowered his hand with the revolver. the lamp shook a little. there was no one in the room. "you heard her, too," he said. "look here." the others followed him in. the light played on the usual attic chamber, common to old houses. the plaster was stained and cracked. the single window at the end was boarded over. an iron bed rested against the wall, and the customary conglomeration of old furniture cluttered the floor. but there was no possible hiding place or means of escape except a door in the side wall, and garth found that locked, and when he had entered the other attic room to which it led he found that empty too except for dust and lumber. yet, as he searched, that stifled and unearthly moaning reached him again. feeling himself caught in the sway of incomprehensible forces that mocked him, he sounded the walls and measured until he was convinced the two rooms could hold no secret place. meantime the women watched with a deepening fear. "just the same, she's in this house," garth said. "by every rule of logic she's in this attic. but i'll go through every nook and cranny. nora, you and mrs. taylor take the bedrooms. i'll go through the cellar and try the lower floor again." on his way down he saw the doctor, whom the policeman had brought, bending over mcdonald. "the wound is nothing," the doctor said in answer to his question, "but he's had a slight paralytic stroke from the shock." "when," garth asked eagerly, "will he be able to talk?" "certainly not for several days," the doctor answered. "i'll carry him to his room and make him as comfortable as possible." as garth went on down, helpless and bewildered, he heard again the old woman's jibing laugh. it assumed the quality of a threat as he searched unsuccessfully the cellar and the back part of the house. he met nora in the library. mrs. taylor and she had found no more than garth. as they talked, reed's tall figure appeared in the doorway. garth had supposed the man had gone home immediately after bringing mrs. taylor from the station. "what are you doing here?" he demanded. reed yawned. "mrs. taylor and this young lady woke me up searching through the spare bedroom in which i was resting. they were after a woman in black. that sounds rather silly, doesn't it? i've heard taylor drool about his pet guest--lady in black, strangled in attic by jealous husband. i see you're surprised to find me still here. i thought it was understood i should stay and be of what help i could to mrs. taylor and her mother." "then i'm afraid you'll have to stay for some time," garth answered dryly. "the house is guarded. no one will be permitted to leave until i have found or accounted for mcdonald's daughter." "clever girl that!" reed said indifferently. "never heard her open her mouth." he took a book from a shelf and seated himself in a comfortable chair by the lamp. "if i can be of any use you'll find me here or in my room." "i'm wondering," garth answered, "if clara knows anything about mcdonald's daughter. for to-night the back part of the house interests me." at his nod nora followed him into the hall. "apparently reed knows nothing," nora said. "but the old woman--" "i'm thinking about the room where taylor's body lies," garth replied. "from the first an attempt seems to have been made to color the case with the supernatural. the wording of taylor's note, for instance. an illusion is furnished us that it was written after the man's death. that is followed by another illusion that his cold hand wounded mcdonald with the knife. and this crying! the complete disappearance of the black figure almost under our eyes! i grant you it's a moldy, unhealthy house, but it can't shelter such miracles. these phases are clearly manifestations of some abnormal criminality. i have to work on physical lines. the black figure proves that the woman is actually hidden here. the knife on taylor's bed means that the murderer was in the room this evening. mcdonald's gesture, instead of accusing, probably tried to tell me that; tried to warn me, perhaps, that the murderer would return again to the body. i didn't tell reed the truth. i am going to that room about which nearly everything centers. before the night is over it may tell me what mcdonald tried to say. there at any rate my mind should be more receptive to that flash of intuition i need to make some theory fit this mystery. since the house is clearly dangerous, nora, i want you to go home." her laugh was uncomfortable, but garth recognized its determined quality. "i'll see it through, thanks," she said. "i want this sense of suffering destroyed. i want--you don't know how anxious i am--to see the case put on a physical basis. so i'll watch with you." since he failed to alter her determination, he sent her upstairs to make sure no one was spying, for he wanted their entrance of the room of death to remain a secret. she beckoned him from the head of the stairs, and he went up, and they entered the black room. garth closed the door and snapped his light on. immediately strange reflections played again over the face of the dead man. its sneering expression seemed to follow garth as he moved about, searching in the closets and the bath room, looking behind each piece of furniture. meantime nora waited, for the moment stripped of her familiar confidence. she watched the dead man rather than garth. the knife and the revolver, close to the cold and motionless hand, appeared to fascinate her. "no one," garth whispered. "no evidence, beyond the knife, that any one has been here unlawfully." he removed the cushions from a lounge and arranged them in a window recess. he seated himself with nora there. he drew the curtains so that they would be thoroughly concealed from any one entering the room. then he snapped off the light. the vigil, garth realized nearly at once, would not be comfortable. nora's obvious tenseness encouraged him to morbid fancies, to formidable premonitions. the heavy black silence of the decaying house became more oppressive. the near presence of the soulless thing on the bed, which had yielded to him the puzzling note, seemed through the night capable of a malicious and unique activity. garth, in spite of himself, became expectant of some abnormal and impossible movement in the room. nora, he knew, listened with him. once she whispered: "haven't you a feeling there is some one here who laughs at us?" the old woman's atrocious mirth came back to him. "hush. it is better even not to whisper." the minutes loitered. the silence grew thicker, the presence of taylor's body more oppressive. then suddenly through the night garth became finally aware of a movement in the room, and at first it seemed to be in keeping with the supernatural fears nora had imposed on him. he aroused himself. he commenced to reason. he had not heard the door open or close, but the intruder must have entered that way. again his ears caught a sly scraping sound as of one walking stealthily, and the sound was nearer the bed--between the window recess and the bed. garth thrust his revolver and his lamp through the narrow opening between the curtains and pressed the control. there was no more shuffling. nora swayed closer. the light revealed all of garth's doubts. he became efficient again. for, while there was a ghoul-like quality about the picture his lamp had suddenly illuminated, the figure bending over the body was sufficiently human. in this position, however, because of the dressing gown and the slippers, its sex remained undefined, but garth, remembering his examination of the housekeeper's room, thought he knew. yet he couldn't understand what the creature was doing. one hand had partly drawn from beneath the mattress what appeared to be a long and wide piece of jet black cloth. "game's up!" garth said. "i've got you. turn around and let me have a look at your pretty face." the bent shoulders twitched. "come!" garth said harshly. "you're no ghost. you can't evaporate before our eyes again." then with a gesture of repulsion the hand let the piece of black cloth fall. it trailed across the floor, one end still caught beneath the mattress. slowly the figure turned until a profile cut against the shaft of light. nora cried out her surprise. garth sprang erect, covering with his revolver, not mcdonald's daughter, but the friend of taylor and his wife, the man reed. the shock of discovery stripped reed of his control. he glanced once at the dead man, then sank in a chair by the bed. "don't send me to the death house," he groaned. "i couldn't stand that. i won't stand that." "you killed taylor so you might marry his wife?" garth shot at him. the head jerked back and forth. "fortunately you did a rotten job with mcdonald," garth said. "where's his daughter? i don't get that." reed shrank farther into the chair. "i won't answer. you can't make me say any more." garth stooped, lifted the black cloth, and drew it clear of the bed beneath the mattress of which it had patently been hidden. as he held it up it fell in folds to the floor, and he saw it had sleeves and was a long garment without shape. but it recalled the black figure that had vanished from the attic. he ran his lamp over the gown. in spite of the coarse, tough material it was torn here and there, and on the right hand sleeve there were blood stains. that was why the gown had been hidden in the easiest place, the first place at hand. that undoubtedly explained reed's daring intention to get the gown and destroy it before the body should be moved and the evidence discovered. garth glanced at the man, who still shook, a picture of broken nerves, at the side of the bed. and garth's hand, holding the tell-tale gown, commenced to tremble too, for it had offered him a solution of everything. he had no time for analysis. already there were stirrings outside. their voices and nora's cry had aroused the others in the house. "don't you see it, nora?" he cried, "and it wasn't intuition. the truth has stared at us from the first, but we wouldn't open our eyes." "i see nothing," nora said, "except that his motive was common enough, cheap enough." "you don't understand," garth smiled. he stepped to the hall where he met mrs. taylor coming from her room. "what is it?" she asked. garth shrank from telling her the truth. "i know who murdered your husband," he answered gently. "who--" but the opening of her mother's door interrupted her. the old woman appeared, her eyes wild, her hands shaking. "what's the matter out here? helen! what's happened?" "i want to examine your room a little closer," he said. "i wondered at the start that there was so much furniture in it, and i'll wager there are things hidden beneath the bed and back of that large screen. i know now, too, that it wasn't you who washed your hands this afternoon. i know that you fooled me with a clean towel while the person who had tried to kill mcdonald slipped through the communicating door from your bathroom--" she screamed to stop him. she placed her slender body against the panels of the door. she stretched her arms to either side, forming a barrier he didn't care to pass. she commenced to laugh again, but there were tears in her eyes, and he saw that all along her laughter had been grief. still without time to analyze, he received from the old lady a perfect corroboration. he whispered to nora, instructing her to bring the policeman from the front door. "we may have difficult violence on our hands," he warned her. without waiting to argue, nora ran down the stairs. mrs. taylor came closer, asking the question her mother had interrupted. "who is it? why do you speak to my mother like this? not she--" "he caught me, helen," reed said with dry lips. she flung up her hands. "what do you mean? oh, my god! what do you mean?" the policeman came briskly up. nora followed him, her eyes wide and uncertain. "everything is accounted for," garth said to the policeman. "make your arrest." reed stepped forward, offering himself. "i admire you, reed," garth said, "but your devotion can't do any more for her. mrs. taylor! i don't want you to get excited. this man must take you--just a form, you know--for the murder of your husband and for the attack on mcdonald." the violent rage garth had feared flamed in her eyes. "i did kill him. he kept me locked up for more than two months, because i didn't love him." she commenced to struggle in the grasp of the policeman. abruptly she went limp and her efforts ceased. garth nodded with satisfaction. "that's better. she's fainted. carry her to her room. we'll have a doctor right away to go down town with her." reed touched his arm timidly. his husky voice was scarcely audible. "i understand now. once or twice this afternoon i've wondered, but she told me that taylor had lied, that she had never been to california, that he had kept her a prisoner here because in his sick, morbid way he was jealous of me. in any case i would have done anything to help her over the next day or two, for you must understand i've loved her very deeply and for a long time--" garth turned away, because he didn't care to see the man's tears. later the humility of nora's interest amused garth. he told her frankly how the pivotal pieces of the puzzle had been within reach long before reed had tried in mrs. taylor's service to recover and destroy the tell-tale black gown. "those sedatives in taylor's bathroom," he said. "the man's perpetual questioning of his doctor about the symptoms and the treatment of insanity, the moans which frightened the other servants without affecting mcdonald or his daughter, the old lady's exaggeration of her eccentricities to draw my attention from mrs. taylor--any of these clues ought to have reminded us, nora, of the hundreds of similar cases in new york of fond relatives who, through a mistaken pride, hide and treat in their own homes such cases of mental disorder." he scarcely needed to outline for her the picture, filled in by the old lady, of that black hour last night in the melancholy house, when mrs. taylor had tricked mcdonald's daughter--a competent trained nurse--had escaped from the attic sick-room, and had got the revolver. garth saw that nora, too, could fancy taylor's panic and self-reproach as he lay sick and helpless in bed, knowing his wife was free, foreseeing inevitably much the sort of thing that had happened, trying when it was too late to confess his mistake, to warn the authorities that his wife was at large and, possibly, dangerous. "but she didn't give him time to write enough," garth said. "she followed too quickly her ruling impulse to punish the man she blamed for her tragic situation. moreover, the realization of what she had done, as is common in such cases, returned her to approximate sanity, suggested, even without her mother's prompting, taylor's california blind as a road from her dreadful dilemma. and mcdonald's daughter, through her fright and a promise of money, could be persuaded to avoid arousing her father or clara, to throw on one of mrs. taylor's dresses, to hurry with her to albany. evidently the girl lost her nerve, for she was to have come back as if nothing had happened. she was to have taken care of mrs. taylor. eventually she was to have placed her in a sanitarium, explaining her breakdown, as well as any present peculiarities, naturally enough through the shock of her husband's suicide. it was mcdonald's demands to know what had happened to his daughter that made mrs. taylor turn on him finally. if he had been able to speak then i think he would have broken faith with his dead master and told us the truth about her condition." "is there any hope for her?" nora asked. "i've asked the doctor," garth answered. "he says that the studied manner in which she threw us off the track when we caught her crying over mcdonald, and her failure to lose complete control of herself when she was arrested indicate that her trouble is curable. it seems to have been brought on by her intolerable life in this gloomy house with an invalid whom she didn't love, while her affection for reed increased hopelessly. her illness was broken by such periods of apparent sanity as she had last night and to-day. i rather think reed and she may be happy yet." nora smiled wistfully. "then," she said slowly, "i almost wish we had kept taylor's secret better than he did himself." chapter xix payment is demanded for the gray mask the approach of the moment when she must testify against slim and george; must tell in public the details of that tragedy which had played such havoc with her, drove nora into a morbid humor which neither garth nor the inspector could alter. she followed garth on the stand. she was dressed in black. the appeal of her personality was irresistible. it was clear that if the two criminals had ever had a chance nora would destroy it. slim and george sat by their counsel. george could not quite hide the animal character of his face, but he had managed to soften it somewhat. evidently he endeavoured to impress the jurors with the idea that he was a good-natured fellow who had been involved in the case through some curious mischance. at nora's appearance, garth noticed, there came into his eyes a survival of the passion he had so recklessly declared in the steel-lined room. slim, on the other hand, let slip nothing of the criminal. his quiet clothing gave him an air almost clerical. his sharp features expressed a polite interest. he could not, a casual spectator would have said, be capable of the evil with which he was charged. garth watched the men perpetually. he saw the hatred slip through while he quietly told the story that would condemn them to death. during nora's recital, too, both men exposed something of their powerful desire for revenge against these two who quietly droned away their lives. garth took nora from the courtroom well aware that, given the opportunity, slim and george would not let them move a foot without exacting full payment. garth respected nora's mood. he put her in a cab and sent her home, then wandered restlessly about the down town streets. perhaps nora's attitude was partly responsible for his feeling of oppression, of imminence. nothing could happen, he told himself again. slim and george would start for the death house to-morrow. they would have no chance. if they delegated such work to their subordinates still at large, garth fancied that he could take care of himself and nora, too. it was the exceptional cunning of slim and george that he shrank from, had feared ever since the night nora and he had trapped them. angry with himself he went to headquarters. the inspector admitted that he, too, would breathe easier when the two were in the chair. the next day garth managed to dismiss his premonition. he chatted with two or three detectives in the outside office. the inspector sent for him. the moment he answered the summons he knew something disastrous had occurred. he felt that the exceptional, almost with the effect of a physical violence, had entered the room ahead of him. the inspector held the telephone. the receiver was at his ear. his huge figure projected to garth an uncontrolled fear. his voice, customarily rumbling and authoritative, was no more than a groping whisper. "why the devil doesn't nora answer? do you know, garth, that slim and george are loose on the town?" garth started back. he would have responded just so to a blow in the face. "they are on their way to the death house," he countered. "you mean they were," the inspector said, "condemned by your testimony and nora's." his voice rose and thickened. "i've just got the word. an explosion was planted in front of their van on the way to the grand central. there was a crowd of rats from the slums. those birds were torn from the sheriff's men, and their bracelets knocked off. they were spirited away. but don't you suppose slim and george would gamble i'll never let them out of this town? every exit's barred now. they know their liberty's only good to pay old debts. what'll they do at the start?" garth braced himself against the desk. "they'll go for nora first. then they'll get me. i've been afraid of it all along." "i'm trying to warn her," the inspector raged. "she doesn't answer." he shouted into the transmitter: "are you all dead out there? get me that number, or by heaven--" while the inspector stormed to be put in communication with his daughter garth tried to plan. could he devise any useful defence against slim's imagination, abnormally clever and inscrutable; or against such naked brutality as george's? and the malevolence of these two would be all the more certain in its action since no fear of punishment would restrain it. the murder, or worse, of garth and nora, which undoubtedly they intended, could earn for them only the death penalty to which they were already condemned. "you've got to get nora," garth urged the inspector. "the servant at least should be there." "her afternoon out, and nora said she would be home." "then," garth cried, "they made for her like a shot." he turned and strode to the door. "where are you going, jim?" "keep after that number," garth called back. "if you get nora tell her i'm on the way, and to sit tight." the inspector tried to stop him. "you're out of your head. your only chance is to keep under cover. they'll give you a bullet in the back." "somebody's got to look after nora," garth called, and caught up his coat and hat, and ran from the building. he threaded a course through the homeward bound crowds, experiencing the sensations of a truant from an impending and destructive retribution, his eyes alert for a sudden movement, his ears constantly prepared for the sharp crack of a revolver. as he ran he recalled that evening last summer when he had side-tracked simmons and had taken his place behind a replica of the gray mask. he could see nora in her cheap finery, and george, he remembered with a sense of sheer terror, had loved nora in his way; had, in fact, through his brutal and amorous eagerness, delivered himself into her hands. he threw aside all caution. he ran faster. somehow, no matter what the cost, he had to keep nora out of the grasp of those men. he reached the flat, breathless and wondering that he had not been disturbed. no one answered his ring. he questioned the hall-boy. the inspector's daughter had left fifteen minutes ago. she had said headquarters had telephoned her to go to her father without delay. the situation was clear. garth grasped the hall-boy's arm. "didn't you follow her to the door? didn't you see where she went?" the boy shook his head, clearly alarmed before such vehemence. "then you must have heard. did you hear anything?" the boy tried to free his arm. he whimpered. "no. unless--maybe somebody screamed, but there are so many children in the street, playin' and hollerin'--" garth let him go and ran to the sidewalk. a man stood there. in spite of the sharp cold he wore no coat. garth recognized him for a tailor who worked in a nearby shop. the tailor's excitement made him nearly incoherent, but garth drew from him a description of slim and george. as the inspector's daughter had stepped to the sidewalk, he said, the men had sprung upon her, stifled her one scream, and driven her off in an automobile. "i saw it from my shop," he spluttered. "i've been telephoning the inspector. i just got him, because his wire was busy." "which direction did they take?" the tailor pointed south. garth hurried to the curb, stooped, and found fresh tire marks. he was aware of his helplessness unless nora's ingenuity had hit upon some trick for his guidance. he searched with a greedy hope. while his eyes roved about the frozen dust of the gutter he acknowledged that the inspector had appraised his men justly. slim and george wouldn't even try to leave the city until the hue and cry had somewhat abated. into the windings of the underworld they had carried nora, and garth knew how devious those windings were--what silent and invisible machinery would nourish and secrete and protect. he lifted a tiny tuft of fur which had nestled, almost hidden, in the dust of the gutter. he examined it closely. it's colour and texture were reminiscent of the muff he had frequently seen nora carry. it might be a souvenir of her struggle, or else-- he arose and walked down the street, searching every inch of the pavement. at the corner his breath quickened, for he knew the piece of fur had not rested in the gutter by accident. two others were there, trampled, but suggestive of the direction taken by the automobile. he could picture nora surreptitiously tearing the bits from her muff and dropping them from the window of the car. he hastened on. as soon as he was confident the pieces constituted an intelligible trail he conquered his impatience long enough to enter a drug store and telephone his discovery to the inspector. "i'm going on," he explained. "the lord knows what i'll find, so get after me right away." the voice that reached him could not conceal its suspense. "go fast, garth, and i'll follow with every man i can raise. pull nora out of this and ask me for my badge." garth went on, following the trail into the dark and intricate thoroughfares of the lower east side, knowing that each moment his pursuit might be abruptly and fatally ended by a flash of light from the obscurity ahead. * * * * * * he emerged into a waterfront street which was nearly deserted at this hour. one or two street lamps of an antiquated pattern flickered ineffectually. the only sign of habitation was a glow, wan and unhealthy, which escaped from the broad windows of a saloon on the corner. garth knew the reputation of that dive, and its long resistance to a final closing of its shutters. more than once the yellow sawdust of its floor had reddened, while men had fought towards its doors through a whirling, pungent fog of powder smoke. he remembered, too, that it was suspected of harboring the explanation of stealthier and more revolting crimes, the responsibility for which, however, had never been legally determined. he was glad when the automobile tracks swung beyond it, but they turned in at the next building, a warehouse with a crumbling, picturesque façade. he saw beneath the edge of a double cellar door a larger piece of fur, mute testimony that the place had recently been opened, that the condemned men had carried nora to its abandoned vaults; but if slim and george had trusted themselves there, the cellar obviously furnished other exits, perhaps underground to the river, almost certainly through the evil saloon next door. that, indeed, might offer him the chance he must have to come upon his men unexpectedly, from the rear. he glanced around. there was no policeman in sight. he saw only half a dozen pedestrians--shambling creatures who appeared to seek the plentiful darkness. the neighboring warehouses, the pier opposite, frowned back at him. the lapping of the water was expectant. yet high in the air two brilliant arches were suspended across a slight mist. they were restless with blurred movement. constantly they lowered into this somber pit an incessant murmuring, like an echo, heard at a distance, from some complicated and turbulent industry. these crowded bridges, his desolate surroundings, assumed a phantasmal quality for garth. the only real world lay beyond those sloping, silent doors which had been swung back to admit nora. while he looked a figure detached itself from the shadows at the corner of the warehouse. it moved, lurching, in his direction. he could only see that the newcomer was in rags with unkempt hair, and features, sunken and haggard. he grasped his revolver, suspecting that this vagabond exterior disguised a member of the gang--an outpost. yet there was a chance that the man was one of the neighborhood's multitude of derelicts--a purveyor, possibly, of valuable information. "come here, my friend," he called. "how long have you been loafing in that corner?" the other hesitated. when he answered his voice was without resonance--scarcely more than an exaggerated whisper. "who the devil are you?" garth held out some money. the claw-like hand extended itself, closing over the coins. in quick succession the man rang three of the pieces on the pavement. garth's watchfulness increased. such routine suggested a signal, but the fellow picked up his money, grinning. "seems good," he said in his difficult voice. "if you want to know that bad, maybe an hour; maybe more. napping. nothing better to do, but i'm honest, and i'd work if i got the chance." "an automobile drove up here," garth said rapidly. "why so it did. i seen it with these very peepers--not a quarter of an hour back." "how many got out of it? what did they do?" "i seen two men and a woman," the other answered. "they lifted that cellar door and went down. now i wondered why they did that." "did the woman make a fight?" the other shook his head. "went like it was a candy store." cutting across his throaty accents, a feminine cry shrilled. the heavy doors could not muffle its terror. it seemed like a response to the ringing of the coins. suddenly it was hushed. garth shoved the man to one side, urged by a temper that no longer permitted calculation. at any risk he must get to nora and to those who were responsible for that unrestrained appeal. beyond the doors of the saloon he faced the proprietor across unoccupied tables. he remembered the round, livid face beneath its crown of reddish hair. he had seen it more than once, sullen and unashamed, behind the bars at headquarters. he had often watched its wrinkles smooth into a bland hypocrisy before the frown of a magistrate. the man's past history made a connection between him and slim's party nearly inevitable. but garth had no choice. the proprietor, at his entrance, had braced his elbows against the bar. "i ain't done a thing, mr. garth. i call god to witness there ain't anything to bring a bull here except near beer and tobaccy." "we'll see, papa marlowe," garth said evenly. "i'm going into the cellar of the warehouse next door. dollars to dimes there's a way through your place. will you give up the combination quietly?" marlowe's misgivings resolved into a smile. instead of protestations he offered only an oily surprise. "now who told you there was a door through my cellar?" "never mind," garth snapped. "i'll take all the chances and use it, but at a sound from you--you understand? come ahead then." marlowe slouched down the stairs, muttering apologetically: "blest if i know what you want there. old hole's been closed six years. that was a growler door for the warehousemen. hold up, mr. garth, and i'll strike a match." garth ordered him ahead while he pressed the control of his pocket lamp. they continued between grim walls, splashed with mold, beaded with moisture, offering the appearance and the odor of a neglected tomb. they paused before an oak door. "don't open," garth whispered. "let me get my fingers on the latch." "maybe it's locked on the other side," marlowe whispered back. but when garth tried the latch noiselessly he found that the door would open. "i don't trust you, papa," he said, "but if you want to make yourself solid at headquarters find a policeman and tell him what i'm up against." the round, white face leered. "the cops and i seem hand and glove these days. what _are_ you up against, mr. garth? what you want in that empty cellar?" garth waved him away; watched him retreat towards the stairs, squinting his beady eyes, mouthing unintelligibly. the detective snapped off his light, aware that he faced the critical moment. he opened the door and stepped into the black pall of the warehouse cellar. his memory reinforced him. other members of the bureau had taken equal risks, had followed into such places criminals as desperate as the ones who held nora. moreover, they had lacked the impulse of a vigorous personal motive. they had answered only to the stimulation of duty. not frequently they had emerged successful, unharmed. he held his revolver ready. he moved to one side and paused. for some moments the silence was broken only by the drumming of his pulse in his ears. he realized it was not unlikely that the cellar was empty save for himself. the men might have led nora into it as a trick to confuse the police. nora's cry might have marked their departure by some ingeniously contrived exit. as his own immediate danger appeared to diminish his disappointment and anxiety increased. he had been prepared to risk everything for nora. as if it had actually been prolonged to this moment, her cry still vibrated in his brain. inaction was no longer bearable. he must assure himself that the cellar was, indeed, empty. he must find that exit and continue his pursuit. he stepped forward. light flashed, and from the sudden, sparkling confusion a remembered laugh jeered at him. chapter xx the black cap four shadowy figures stood in front of him, holding flashlights. behind the blinding barrier he could make out nora, crouched against a stained and rugged wall. and the brute, george, was at her side, his muscular hands on her arm. slim stepped out of the obscurity, moving for garth with a stealth and an evenness nearly cat-like. garth raised his revolver, strengthened by the knowledge that the inspector with many men would soon be tearing through the cellar doors. if only he could postpone the issue for himself--fight for time until that saving moment! there lay nora's best chance, but her ignorance of such a possibility couldn't account for the horror in her customarily expressionless face. "it's no use," she screamed. "get back, jim! quick! through the door!" slim was so close that garth could see the automatic held at his hip. "you'll stick here, garth," came the smooth tones. "and you might's well drop your gun." garth saw george's hands tighten on nora's arm. he understood then the real threat by which they would control him. "hands off the girl!" he said. but george smiled, and pressed tighter until nora cried out involuntarily. "that means, drop your gun. for any little damage you do here nora'll foot the bill." she shook her head, but her face recorded an insufferable pain. garth knew that the one shot for which he would have time would spare her nothing. "i never expected to see the pride of your gang slinking behind a woman's skirts," he sneered. "i suppose those are four of the rats who helped put your breakaway over. six against one, and a woman for a shield!" it chilled him that the four strangers exposed their faces to his glance with a contemptuous indifference. he laughed, however, as slim took his revolver. "you giants must know that you haven't the chance of a pretzel at a dutch wedding." slim affected not to have heard, but his gestures lacked smoothness. "let's see how you enjoy your own jewelry, garth." and he reached in garth's pocket and drew out the pair of handcuffs he had been certain to find there. he snapped them on the detective's wrists. the four confederates lounged forward, produced stout cords, and bound them about garth's ankles. his momentary resistance was smothered by nora's sharp cry: "don't fight, jim!" his sense of utter helplessness increased, while the men, in obedience to slim's gestures, stretched him on the floor. the surface was wet, as if the ooze of the river had penetrated this far. slim stooped and glared at him, his eyes exposing a measureless resentment. "thanks for walking into our parlor, you fly cop. we heard how you and the skirt had fallen for each other. we guessed if we gave you a lead with some of her trinklets, you'd play the busy sleuth hound." nora's voice held the quality of a sob. "jim! why did you come?" he shrugged his shoulders. he forced on himself a semblance of confidence. "planted or not, the trail was my best chance." slim beckoned to george. "straight you've come to the place where i've dreamed for months of getting you." garth managed a grin. "cut out the bum acting, slim. let's hear what you've got on your mind." he shrank from a reply. more and more he was impressed by the indifference with which these confederates constantly revealed their faces. he knew, if the inspector did not arrive quickly, he must suffer an eccentric and barbarous punishment. he tried to forecast the penalty, but his imagination was insufficient and his appraisal of slim's cruelty too conservative. it wasn't until george stepped forward and nora screamed that he guessed why the others were unafraid of his identification, that he understood how his situation might involve more than life and death. and, perhaps, the shambling creature outside had put the inspector's party on the wrong track. george placed a pint bottle in slim's hand. a smoky liquid did not quite fill it. slim turned to the others, assuming an attitude of mockery. "this is the brave guy that side-tracked simmons last summer and wore the gray mask just as if he had something, too, that would frighten women and children. he's the bull that steered us against the black cap yesterday. let's see how he likes hearing the sentence read himself. only he isn't going to get anything as comfortable as the electric chair." a laugh sneered through the cellar. "better speed it up, slim," george advised. slim drew the cork from the bottle while his thin lips ceased to smile. "since you found a gray mask so becoming, garth," he snarled, "it's only fair to give you honest cause to wear one. but you'll go poor simmons one better. _your_ mask won't need any eye holes." nora cried out again. "you couldn't do it," garth muttered. beneath his rage lurked a fear of which he had never dreamed himself capable. to face death would have been so much simpler. "what's in that bottle, slim?" "a black cap for you, damn you! pure vitriol!" he bent closer. "squirm! those ropes and your own handcuffs will hold you. you'll beg me for a bullet before i'm through." george twisted the girl so she had to watch. "pipe your handsome beau, nora! you'll think i'm more your style in about ten seconds." she shuddered. "you're not bad enough to do that, slim!" "watch me," he answered. a complete satisfaction blotted from his eyes the fear he had hitherto never quite concealed--the quiet fear of a strong man who acknowledges his own inevitable destiny. garth reminded him of that. it was his last weapon. "they'll get you, slim. they're keeping the chair warm for you. will this help then?" slim laughed. "will it hurt? i've waited for this moment ever since you and she sent me to rot in the tombs. i'll pay old scores while i can." with an extreme deliberation he commenced to tip the bottle. the fluid, almost imperceptibly approaching the mouth, exercised for garth a dreadful fascination. it was easy to estimate its progress. george had been right. in about ten seconds! and he couldn't get his chained hands to his eyes. he tried to tell himself it was impossible that that innocent-appearing fluid in the control of this criminal could condemn him to an unrelieved blackness through which, hideously scarred, he must grope henceforth, a thing repellent and past use. the lights were centred upon his face. it struck him as ironic that their glare should hurt his eyes. suddenly nora sprang forward. she stretched her hand towards slim, but she didn't touch the bottle or his wrist, for the fluid filled the neck; was so close to the edge that a quick contact might have spilled it. george looked on, his hands in his pockets, his attitude expressing satisfaction at a just and long-deferred punishment. slim smiled at nora. he moved the bottle a little. a drop fell. something tortured the skin of garth's cheek. it was as if an iron at white heat had been applied against his flesh with a strong pressure. the stuff was real enough. again slim moved the bottle sluggishly, so that the liquid, ready to trickle out, was directly above garth's eyes. nora reached and closed her hands about the mouth. "look out!" george warned. "you'll get burnt." "you see, george won't stand for that," slim said slily. "no, no, slim!" nora whispered. "i'll bargain." "you're in a swell position to bargain," george scoffed. the handcuffs cut into garth's wrists. "you don't think," he muttered, "that i was fool enough to follow that trail without covering myself?" "that doesn't affect me," slim grinned. "there's a getaway from this place no cop will ever find. now, nora! hands off!" but she resisted him. "slim," she said breathlessly. "you're not a fool. you must know that i can bargain. suppose you got clear--across the border--into canada? couldn't you keep out of trouble once you were there?" slim ceased pulling at her hands. he stared at her, amazed, casting aside his last pretence. "what you talking about, nora? i know you're clever, but there aren't any more miracles. there's no way out of this town for us." her voice was barely audible. "unless my father unlocked the gates." slim started. garth, too, answered to a desire almost violent. surely slim would realize the hopelessness of securing the inspector's complicity, or, failing that, would seek, as garth did, for the stratagem behind her plan. slim, nevertheless, continued to study her, and the narrow face no longer hid his greed for life. "there's no way under heaven to get the old man to stand for that." she took her hands from the bottle. her eyes did not waver. "no one else could do it, but you know how he loves me. i could make him do it as the price for myself and jim." slim laughed shortly. "one thing's certain," he mused. "if you did get away with it, i could keep you and the inspector straight. i'd take garth, bound tight, some guns, and the acid along as gilt-edge securities. hadn't thought of that, eh? expected to trip me, didn't you? well, nora, you have let yourself in for a dicker, and, by gad i'm inclined to think it over, because i've got you this far: the minute you played queer garth would go blind and burnt." nora conquered her disappointment. "you'd swear to let jim go at the border?" "on my oath i'd let him go clean." "not for a million," george broke in angrily. "she gets herself away, then she throws garth down to see us roast in the chair. you ought to know the skirt. she'd double cross the devil himself." garth waited for slim's answer, his gaze controlled again by the acid. "george," slim said slowly, "any chance is worth playing now, for we're as good as in the chair already. and i don't believe she'd throw garth down. you know what she went through with for the sake of a dead lover." "you've got to show me," george sneered, "that she's forgotten the dead one to take on garth." "we heard in the tombs," slim said drily, "that these pigeons wanted to roost on the same stool." with a growing wonder garth watched nora fling aside her reserve. she turned on george, raising her hands in an attitude of fury, as if inspired by a passion beyond her control. "and that's true. if you think i'd let him take that acid give the bottle to me, and i'll use it on myself instead." she knelt at garth's side, and for a moment the light in her eyes, her unrestraint, more than the result of her appeal, held him tense. "tell them, jim," she cried. "if they made you that way i swear i'd kill myself." she glanced up, tears in her eyes. "i love him so much, slim, that to save him i'd see my father dead." a subdued murmur of voices sifted through from the street. they could hear the stealthy straining of hands at the cellar doors. nora arose, and, hiding her face, stood trembling. "the bulls!" george whispered. "throw the stuff and let's make our getaway." slim shook his head. "i tell you it's a chance. all of you vamoose except george. we'll wait and see, and maybe we won't need you after this. remember, nora, there'll always be time for us to wash garth's face and show our heels." "oh, i know it," she breathed. "i know it." the lights snapped out. garth was aware of clandestine stirrings. then the silence of the cellar was broken only by the fumbling at the door. "i'll let you go, nora," slim whispered. "send the other cops back. if they try to rush us, by god we'll do the trick on garth and kill who we can besides, the inspector first of all. so play straight." garth heard her retreating footsteps. after all he had accomplished his chief purpose. through him nora had found escape. he heard a sharp splintering of wood, and a wan light, not much stronger than the glow of the city through the mist, diffused itself in the cellar. the inspector's breathless voice reached them. "nora! garth!" garth saw nora's shadowy figure advance into the well of the door. he heard her stifle her father's relief and tell him to order his men beyond ear-shot. her voice murmured. garth guessed that it recited his abhorrent danger and the terms on which she had agreed to buy his release. he strained his ears, understanding fully what depended on the answer, yet convinced that reasonably it could only be a refusal. in a way nora had placed the responsibility for whatever might happen to him on the inspector's shoulders, but the alternative was too distinct. as the price for his connivance the inspector must throw his position and his reputation to the winds, perhaps, face a trial, more than likely to jail sentence. it was conceivable that his love for nora would dictate even that sacrifice, but she would have to force on him an illusion of a passion as unaccounting as that which had convinced slim. could she act to that extent with her father? in spite of his logical interpretation of it, garth responded to the memory of her agitation. had she, in fact, been acting in the cellar? had his peril finally shown her heart the truth? the two most compelling issues of his own life, as well as the inspector's career, depended on the reply, and he could hear nothing. nora and her father must have moved to one side, for their voices entered the cellar in barely audible murmurs. slim had handed the bottle to george, and he moved now into the door well where he could listen. garth's nerves tightened. always george held the acid close to the detective's bound and helpless body. of course the inspector couldn't do it. slim came slinking back. his whisper warmed the cold, damp air. "i couldn't catch it all, but she's getting away with something." the murmuring ceased, and through the wan light nora glided, wraith-like, into the doorway, and called to them softly across the cellar: "slim! he hates me for making him, but he'll do what he can. he'll tell the harlem police and the towns along the hudson that he's got you. he'll try to cover himself with a planted getaway. you have an automobile. take it and leave by the broadway bridge. you'll catch the montreal express at tarrytown. you've plenty of time, and everything will be arranged; but he can't keep the wool over the district attorney's eyes forever. if you're not over the border to-morrow morning it's no good. so catch that train." "come here, nora," slim sighed, "and let me thank you properly." her laugh was hard, more suggestive of forbidden tears than mirth. "one hostage is enough. and, jim, there's a condition for you. father won't budge unless you give him your word to go quietly. you have to promise on your sacred oath not to make any effort to escape or to throw slim down." "what's that for?" george asked suspiciously. her tone was contemptuous. "use your head, george. it would do father a lot of good to risk so much for jim if he took matters into his own hands and got the acid just the same." "right!" slim agreed. "you've plenty of common-sense, nora, and it's going to give us a chance." "you promise, jim?" he fancied an element of command in her voice. "i'll do what you wish, nora," he answered. "i promise." "then good-by," she called, and her voice no longer held any command, nor was it steady. "good-by. if i only dared come over to you! god bring you back safe to me." garth tried to fight back the response of his heart. he told himself that honorably he must accept all she had said that night as mimicry whose only intention was to save his life. she would expect him to take it at its real value, but he could not shake off the recollection of her emotion. with a great longing he watched her move into the shadows beyond the door. chapter xxi the antics of a train at a gesture from slim, george cut the cords that bound garth's ankles. the detective rose. with a nod slim motioned george towards the oak door which opened on marlowe's cellar. "get to the 'phone," he whispered. "pass the fair word, and bring the wheels here on the minute." he swung on the detective. "if you see anybody upstairs, just keep your back turned so they won't notice your pretty bracelets." garth shivered, aware that a new and disquieting element had entered the situation. slim indicated the revolver, held ready in his coat pocket. "after george, and in front of me. always like that from now on." he touched the bottle of acid which he had taken from george. "remember this will be behind you like my gun, but i don't want to shoot to kill with either. just a little in the face is better if you try to cut up." "you heard my promise," garth said. he followed george through the doorway, resisting continually the impulse to turn around, to assure himself of what he already knew, that slim was actually alert each moment to discipline his slightest effort at escape. they crossed the damp spaces of the cellar and climbed the stairs, pausing at the head until they could be certain marlowe's evil figure still faced a bar-room, significantly empty. george hurried to the telephone booth, fastening the door behind him so that garth could hear nothing. marlowe wiped his hands on his apron. a sly smile twitched at the corners of his colorless lips. "well! well! who's rented the warehouse? who are your pals, mr. garth?" garth kept his back turned. the glasses tinkled musically under marlowe's nervous fingers. "maybe you'll name your pleasure, gentlemen." "nothing but a little quiet," slim grunted. marlowe flung up his hands, indicating a profound disapproval. "then what you mean coming through my cellar? that might get me in bad with the cops. or maybe you're detectives like mr. garth?" slim responded to the strain of this waiting. he turned angrily on the man. "how often have i told you, papa marlowe, to keep your fat mouth shut?" for garth that outburst pitilessly defined the new element. slim's anger had let slip real evidence of the proprietor's lawless connection with the gang; and slim, garth knew, was unlikely to make blunders he couldn't retrieve. this one dovetailed into the fact that the detective could still identify the four confederates he had seen down stairs--that is, if he kept his eyes. slim, then, had no intention of holding to his bargain with nora. he would use garth as far as the border, then he would protect his own through the unspeakable punishment his twisted soul craved. nor could garth see any way to save himself. moreover, he knew nora too well to cast lightly aside the promise she had drawn from him on a note of command. george emerged from the booth. the four men stared at each other without words. once or twice marlowe started to speak, but at a frown from slim he smothered the impulse in a busy attention to his bar cloth. faintly the whirring of a motor reached them. george sprang for the door. slim motioned garth ahead and followed him to the sidewalk where an automobile had drawn up. it exposed, in the vague light, an air of smug respectability in itself protective. the driver wore a fur coat with a voluminous cape, of a common chauffeur pattern. its collar was turned up so that it completely hid the lower part of the wearer's face. garth didn't understand at first when slim took a smaller coat from the car, stooped, and whispered in the driver's ear. the other stepped obediently to the sidewalk, removed his great coat, handed it to slim, and slipped on the smaller one. slim motioned george and garth into the car, followed them, and, while he jerked out his instructions, drew down the side curtains. garth was to sit on the back seat with george, who would keep one hand conveniently on his automatic. slim would be opposite, his gun handy, and the bottle of acid ready at his side. "and that isn't all," he leered. "you're too precious to take chances with. here! lean forward." he flung the chauffeur's great coat across garth's shoulders, and, over his chained wrists, buttoned it tight about him. he chuckled as the car started. "the cape, george, makes it look as if our friend kept his hands out of sight for warmth. let's hope the train'll be a little chilly, too. your arms are going to sleep and get a nice rest, garth." he chuckled again. he took his own handkerchief and borrowed george's. with the two he improvised a gag which he fastened skillfully in the prisoner's mouth. then he turned the great collar up so that the gag was hidden. "you've a swell chance to make trouble now, garth. that's how i check up on a bull's promises. if anybody tries to stop us or to snitch you free you'll get the acid in those shining peepers without being able to move. you'd better pray everybody keeps straight." enough light entered from the front to draw an ashen glow from the acid which he held at his side perpetually ready. beyond the driver's back garth could follow their route among tortuous downtown thoroughfares into lower broadway. they went then at a discreet pace straight through the heart of the city. he watched the lights flash by, the impatient traffic, the crowds, hurrying and voluble. such things, taken with the grim man opposite and his unique threat, became like one of those dreams which project against a familiar background incredible and grotesque details. the car at last drew a hollow response from the pavement of the broadway bridge. slim moved restlessly. "the first toll-gate, garth! who pays the bill?" and garth struggled, and could not move his hands, for george cried out, and slim started to raise the bottle as the horse of a mounted policeman halted across their path. the car stopped. swiftly the policeman bent down, shaking his fist at the driver. "if you want to run me down," he shouted, "why not give me a chance to make my will? you might be a good chauffeur for a baby carriage. go ahead now, and keep to the right. i ought to run you in." slim grinned and lowered the bottle. george sank back. the dryness of garth's gagged mouth choked him. how could he continue to face such moments? during the remainder of that swift ride he sat voiceless and helplessly trussed. he smiled grimly, recalling the promise nora had drawn from him not to resist. he was as little able to resist as he had been when bound on the floor of the warehouse cellar. nora, he tried to tell himself, would not condemn him to the torture of that bottle opposite; nor would she, he was willing to swear, throw her father's career and reputation to the winds. she would try some trick, not realizing how many precautions slim had taken. he struggled again futilely to free his hands, to loosen a little the coat, buttoned tight about his own overcoat, across his body and his legs. nora, his logic told him, could have hit upon no plan dexterous enough to control these men before they could carry out their monstrous threat. yet what difference did it make? if she didn't intervene, slim would let him have it at the border anyway. the night was disturbed only by the sound of their passing, nor at the station was there any indication that an effort would be made to halt them. so tightly was garth bound slim had to help him from the automobile. he stood beside him while they watched through the station window george as he purchased three tickets from a sleepy-eyed agent. the gag was as tight as at first. even if it had not been for the acid garth was helpless. a dull rumbling made itself audible far to the south, and increased until the rails commenced to hum. the headlight gleamed--hastened closer. the locomotive grumbled by, drawing an interminable string of mail and express cars and pullmans, shrouded for the night. at the very end, far from the station lamps, were two lighted day coaches. slim and george led garth there, and helped him to the platform between. the rear car was a smoker, comfortably filled with sleepy men. slim turned his back on it, urging garth into the car ahead which housed scarcely more than a dozen passengers--men and women in various attitudes of somnolence. he nodded his satisfaction. it became clear that for him the gravest strain was at an end. and the car was chilly. the dozing passengers wore wraps and hats. the fact that garth retained his great coat would pass unnoticed. when they were settled as before with slim opposite garth and george, and the acid held ready in the corner of the seat, the detective ventured with one last hope to appraise his neighbors. a man opposite lounged on his cushion, his paper fallen to the floor, his eyes closed, his head swaying drunkenly in unison with the motion of the train. farther back two women in deep mourning wept quietly from time to time, and a man and a woman across the aisle stared restlessly at them, speaking in low tones whose accents of pity alone reached garth. the rest slept. the face of none was recognizable, nor did any suggest the slightest interest in the new arrivals. garth resented their innocuous companionship. it was not to be believed that their ignorance should permit this flight, which, at its termination, threatened him with an unbearable punishment. the drowsiness of the car increased. only his captors and himself seemed immune to the contagion of sleep. the muttering of the pair behind had ceased. the women in mourning had controlled their grief. one of them had left her seat, and, carrying a tin cup, moved along the aisle towards the water tank. garth saw slim glance at his watch. he took in george's contented smile, evidently appreciative of the smoothness of their escape. without warning a dark and chaotic confusion descended upon and destroyed the smooth orderliness of their journey. with a sudden jar the brakes locked. the jolting of the wheels, as if they had left the rails, flung the passengers from their sluggish indifference. the lights expired, leaving a darkness almost palpable, through which one momentarily flinched from the splintering, destructive violence of a collision. during that first instant garth was lashed by misgivings for the time, as compelling as those which had been constantly inspired by the threat opposite; and in the last flash of light he had seen that the steady courage of his captors had furnished no antidote for this uncharted peril. as women screamed and men fought along the aisle towards the door he endeavored frantically and without success to free himself. the turmoil might involve slim and george, might smash that atrocious weapon, but he could do nothing. then he felt george's arms about him. he heard slim's oath. the jolting of the wheels was less difficult. the train resumed its smooth haste. the lights came on, and garth stared at the inspector and other men he knew, holding leveled revolvers. somebody cried out: "take care!" garth turned in time to see slim whirling the bottle from which the cork had been drawn, and from whose neck the liquid was already spouting towards his face. "then shoot!" slim shouted. he heard nora's voice, screaming: "you won't, slim!" he moved his head. he saw the woman in mourning who had thrown back her veil, exposing nora's face and nora's eyes which reflected the unbelief and the horror of her voice. the future seemed to crush upon him, a sable weight, lowered by her as the result of a deliberate choice. the liquid struck his forehead, filled his eyes. he wondered why the pain wasn't greater. he could not grasp the fact that he still read through a blur the tense unbelief of nora's face, and saw vaguely the two condemned men struggling in the grasp of the detectives who fastened upon their unwilling wrists gleaming handcuffs. then he understood, and laughing a little hysterically, shook the water from his eyes. shame of his doubt joined the relief that swept him with the urgency of a material suffering. he glanced at nora. she had stooped and was raising from the floor behind slim's seat a bottle precisely similar to that from which the water had poured. she had not conquered her emotion. "he ought to have it," she whispered. "i didn't believe he'd do that when he saw the game was up and there was no use. the chair is too kind." she opened the window and emptied the bottle. she flung it far to the right of way. the inspector freed garth from the coat and the handcuffs. he grasped garth's hand. "i know it hurt you, garth, to promise to go along with these crooks quietly, but nora made me ask it. she passed me the wink at the top of the cellar steps." "you mean," garth asked, "that nora had all this planned from the very beginning?" "not then," the inspector answered, "but she promised to get us both out, and i've had enough experience with that daughter of mine to believe her when she talks like that. she chased to the grand central while we watched marlowe's and saw you leave. got the number of your car, of course, and had reports on you all the way to tarrytown. a mounted cop on the bridge made sure you were all three inside, and the operator at tarrytown was a local detective. nora smiled at them in the railroad offices and fixed the rest." garth beckoned nora. she sat by a window. her expression was nearly tranquil again. the only concession she made to the reaction was a quick tapping of her fingers on the window ledge. "better sit down, too, garth," the inspector advised. "your legs ought to be shaky." garth obeyed, laughing nervously. "i've been trying to hide it." he turned to nora. "i'd like to know how you changed the bottles." "i only arranged the most likely opportunity," she answered. "i knew something must happen to make slim forget that acid for a moment. it had to be bigger, more immediate than the fear of capture. everybody has a dread of railroad accidents. own up, jim. you were scared yourself when the brakes set." he nodded. "you sized us up right. for that minute i was about as afraid of the wreck as i was of the acid, and i was trussed like a fowl." "so," she went on, "i persuaded them in new york to furnish an illusion of the beginnings of a wreck. it was simple. slim would almost certainly take his hands from the bottle then. he wouldn't risk having it broken over him in the smash. but if it hadn't worked out right, jim, you know i'd never have let the others come in. you see they were with father in the dark sleeping car ahead. father watched from the vestibule. when i chose my moment--you remember, i was going along the aisle close to you--he gave the engineer and the brakeman the signals we had arranged in new york." the inspector's wink was brazen. "that's a bright girl by you, garth," he grunted. "guess it's time i enjoyed a cigar again. so long, children." he drifted down the aisle. garth wanted to tell nora of his gratitude, realizing how far beyond expression that lay. with a smile she stopped his awkward attempts. "i think i know what you would say, jim. it was nothing--only what i had to do." all at once he looked away. he had caught in her smile a new, untrammeled quality. "why do you look away, jim?" she asked softly. he turned back. he tried to meet her eyes. "things can't be the same," he said hoarsely. "i know i'm a beast to speak of it. i know you expect me to take what you did in the cellar as acting. but, nora, lying there as i was, it made me happier than i ever have been in my life." he looked straight at her. "tell me how you managed such acting." her lips trembled. "i--i think nobody could act like that." he saw the tears in her eyes. she closed them. "while i was doing it," she went on, "it came to me that it wasn't acting at all." there was no one to see the quick surrender of her hands. allan pinkerton's great detective stories. .--the mollie maguires and detectives. .--strikers, communists, and detectives. .--criminal reminiscences and detectives. .--the model town and detectives. .--the spiritualists and detectives. .--the expressmen and detectives. .--the somnambulist and detectives. .--claude melnotte as a detective. .--the mississippi outlaws and detectives. .--gypsies and detectives. .--bucholz and detectives. .--the railroad forger and detectives. .--bank robbers and detectives. .--the burglar's fate and detectives. .--a double life and detectives. .--professional thieves and detectives. .--thirty years a detective. .--the spy of the rebellion. "the mental characteristics of allan pinkerton were judgment as to facts, knowledge of men, the ability to concentrate his faculties on one subject, and the persistent power of will. a mysterious problem of crime, against which his life was devoted, presented to his thought, was solved almost in an instant, and seemingly by his intuitions. with half-closed eyes he saw the scene in which the wrong was done, read every movement of the criminals, and reached invariably the correct conclusion as to their conduct and guilt." _a new uniform edition, cloth bound, illustrated. price per vol._ $ . . g. w. dillingham co., publishers new york. [illustration: "_at this instant i flung open one of the shutters, and simultaneously i heard a cry of horror from my clerk._"--page .] the somnambulist and the detective. the murderer and the fortune teller. by allan pinkerton. author of "expressman and detective," "spiritualists and detectives," "professional thieves and detectives," "railroad forger and detectives," "mollie maguires and detectives," etc., etc. [illustration: logo] new york: _g. w. dillingham co., publishers._ copyright, w. b. keen, cooke & co., . copyright, , by joan chalmers. _the somnambulist._ preface in presenting to the public my third volume of detective stories, i desire to again call attention to the fact that the stories herein contained, as in the case of their predecessors in the series, are literally true. the incidents in these cases have all actually occurred as related, and there are now living many witnesses to corroborate my statements. maroney, the expressman, is living in georgia, having been released during the war. mrs. maroney is also alive. any one desiring to convince himself of the absolute truthfulness of this narrative can do so by examining the court records in montgomery, ala., where maroney was convicted. the facts stated in the second volume are well known to many residents of chicago. young bright was in the best society during his stay at the clifton house, and many of his friends will remember him. his father is now largely interested in business in new york, chicago, and st. louis. the events connected with the abduction of "the two sisters," will be readily recalled by w. l. church, esq., of chicago, and others. the story of "alexander gay," the frenchman, will be found in the criminal records of st. louis, where he was sentenced for forgery. so with the stories in this volume. the characters in "the detective and the somnambulist," will be easily recognized by many readers in the south. as the family of drysdale are still living and holding a highly respectable place in society, the locality is not correctly given, and fictitious names are used throughout. by reason of the peculiar nature of the circumstances, the facts narrated in "the murderer and the fortune-teller," are known only to a small circle, but they can readily be substantiated. captain sumner was never informed of the means employed to influence his sister, and his first knowledge of them will be obtained in reading this book; but he will remember his own visit to "lucille," and will undoubtedly see that the affair was managed exactly as i have stated. in reading these stories, the reader will probably come to the conclusion that the detection of criminals is a very simple matter, and that any one with a moderate amount of intelligence could have done just as well. to a certain extent this is true, but not wholly. the plan once adopted, it is not difficult to put it in execution; but experience, judgment and tact are required to form a plan which will bring out the real facts connected with the crime. this done, the capture of the criminal is only a question of time. legitimate, honest detective business is yet in its infancy, but the trade, as at present generally conducted, approaches the dignity of an art--a black art, unfortunately, the object being accurately to distinguish the percentage of plunder which will satisfy the criminals and the real owners, the remainder being divided among the so-called detectives. in point of fact, these fellows are worse than the acknowledged criminals, since they rob under the guise of honest men, and run little or no risk, while the actual thieves take their lives in their hands. it may safely be said that the average detective would rather be in league with the criminals of this city than opposed to them, and the great majority _are_ so leagued; and until such a state of affairs is broken up, the criminals who have money will surely escape punishment. allan pinkerton. the detective and the somnambulist. _chapter i._ about nineteen years ago, i was enjoying a short relaxation from the usual press of business in chicago. i had only one or two really important cases on hand, and i was therefore preparing to take a much needed rest. at this time, my business was not nearly so extensive as it has since become, nor was my agency so well known as it now is; hence, i was somewhat surprised and gratified to receive a letter from atkinson, mississippi, asking me to go to that town at once, to investigate a great crime recently perpetrated there. i had intended to visit my former home in dundee, for a week or ten days, but, on receiving this letter, i postponed my vacation indefinitely. the letter was written by mr. thomas mcgregor, cashier of the city bank, of atkinson, and my services were called for by all the officers of the bank. the circumstances of the case were, in brief, that the paying-teller had been brutally murdered in the bank about three or four months before, and over one hundred and thirty thousand dollars had been stolen. mr. mcgregor said that no expense should be spared to detect the criminals, even though the money was not recovered; that would be an important consideration, of course, but the first object sought was the capture of the murderers of poor george gordon, the late paying-teller. having already arranged my business for a brief absence, i was all ready for the journey, and by the next train, i was speeding southward, toward atkinson. i arrived there early in the morning, of one of the most delightful days of early spring. i had exchanged the brown fields and bare trees of the raw and frosty north, for the balmy airs, blooming flowers, and waving foliage of the sunny south. the contrast was most agreeable to me in my then tired and overworked condition, and i felt that a few days in that climate would restore my strength more effectually than a stay of several weeks in the changeable and inclement weather of northern illinois. for sanitary, as well as business reasons, therefore, i had no occasion to regret my southern trip. my assumed character was that of a cotton speculator, and i was thus able to make many inquiries relative to the town and its inhabitants, without exciting suspicion. of course, i should have considerable business at the bank, and thus, i could have frequent conferences with the bank officials, without betraying my real object in visiting them. i sent a note to mr. mcgregor, on my arrival, simply announcing myself under a fictitious name, and i soon received a reply requesting me to come to the bank at eight o'clock that evening. i then spent the day in walking about the town and gathering a general idea of the surroundings of the place. atkinson was then a town of medium size, pleasantly situated near the northern boundary of the state. the surrounding country was well watered and wooded, consisting of alternate arable land and rolling hills. the inhabitants of the town were divided into two general classes: the shop-keepers, mechanics, and laborers, formed the bulk of the population; while the capitalists, planters and professional men were the most influential. most of these latter owned country residences, or plantations outside of the town, though they kept up their town establishments also. a small water-course, called rocky creek, skirted one side of the place, and many of the most handsome houses, were situated on, or near this beautiful rivulet. the whole appearance of atkinson, and the surrounding country, indicated a thrifty, well-to-do population. having roamed about to my satisfaction, i spent the latter part of the afternoon at the hotel, where i met a number of the professional men of the county. i found that the hotel was occupied by many of the best families during the winter and spring, and i soon formed the acquaintance of several of the gentlemen. they greeted me with characteristic southern hospitality, and i was pleased to see that my _role_ as a scotch speculator was quite an easy one to play; at least, no one ever appeared to suspect my real object in visiting atkinson. at the appointed hour i went to the bank, and was met outside by mr. mcgregor, to whom i had been introduced during the day. he took me in through the private entrance, and we were joined in a few minutes by alexander bannatine, president, and peter a. gordon, vice-president, of the bank. mr. bannatine was about fifty years of age, but he looked much older, owing to his continuous and exhausting labors as a lawyer, during the early part of his life. having made a large fortune by successful practice and judicious investments, he had retired from the active pursuit of his profession, and had joined several old friends in the banking business. mr. gordon was, also, about fifty years old. he had become wealthy by inheritance, and had increased his fortune by twenty years of careful attention to business. he was unmarried, and george gordon, the murdered bank-teller, had stood in the relation of a son to his uncle; hence, there was an additional reason for the capture and conviction of the murderers. the recovery of the large sum of money stolen, would, alone, have been an important consideration, but mr. gordon was willing to spend a very extravagant amount in the detection of the criminals, even though the money might never be discovered. we seated ourselves at a table in the cashier's room, and i prepared to take notes of all the facts then known by the gentlemen present. "now, mr. bannatine," i said, "please tell me everything connected with the case, which may be of service to me." "well, mr. pinkerton, i have not been connected with the bank so long, or so closely as mr. mcgregor," said mr. bannatine, "and perhaps he had better give a short sketch of young gordon's connection with the bank first." "george gordon was taken into our employ about five years ago," said mr. mcgregor. "he had previously acted as our agent in one of the interior towns, and when he became of age he was offered the place of paying-teller. since then his obliging disposition, courteous manners, and faithful performance of duty, have endeared him to all his associates, and have given him the confidence of all persons with whom he came in contact. his character was spotless, and his devotion to duty was superior to all allurements; he would never sacrifice one moment to pleasure which should have been given to business." "had he any associates among the fast men and women of the place?" i asked. "no, sir, not one," was the prompt reply; "we have not been able to learn that he had any acquaintances even, among that class." "well, please proceed to state all the circumstances connected with the murder," i suggested. "i was not at home at the time," said mr. mcgregor, "but i can give you many facts, and mr. gordon can add thereto. george was in the habit of remaining in the bank after office hours for the purpose of writing up his books, as he acted as book-keeper also. during the very busy seasons, he would sometimes be kept at work until long after dark, though this was unusual. occasionally customers would come to the bank after the regular hours, and george would accommodate them, or i would do so, when i was present. we were both very careful about admitting outsiders after the bank had closed, and we never allowed any one to enter except well-known business men and old customers of the bank. we had large sums on hand at times, and george frequently said that we could not exercise too much care in managing our business. i mention this to show that he was not careless in his habits, but that, on the contrary, he always took the greatest precautions against fraud or violence." "were there any customers who were in the habit of coming in late?" i asked. "yes, there were several," replied mr. mcgregor; "for instance, mr. flanders, the jeweler, used to bring over his more valuable jewelry every afternoon to put into our vault; he would put it into a small box and leave it here about five o'clock. then, our county clerk, mr. drysdale, used to stop frequently to make deposits in cases where other parties had paid money to him after banking hours. he was very intimate with george, and he used to stop to see him sometimes and walk out with him after his work was finished. walter patterson, also, was one of george's particular friends, and he has often stayed with george until nine or ten o'clock in the evening. besides these there were several of our leading planters who would come in as late as eight o'clock to deposit funds, or to obtain cash for use early the next day." "did young gordon have the keys to the vault?" i asked. "oh! yes," replied mr. mcgregor; "i was often called away on business for several days, and he used to act as cashier in my absence. he was in the habit of carrying the keys with him at all times; but his uncle advised him not to do so, as they might be taken from him by a gang of desperate characters, and the bank robbed. he had, therefore, given up the practice of taking the keys home with him after night-fall. just about the time of the murder, we had one of the busiest seasons ever known; the cotton crop had been enormous, and sales had been very rapid, so that our deposits were unusually large. one morning i found that i must go to greenville for several days, on business of great importance. before going, i gave george full instructions upon all matters which might need attention during my absence; yet i felt, while on my way to the depot, that there was something which i had forgotten. i could not define what it was, but i hurried back to ask whether he could think of any thing further upon which he might wish my advice. i found him chatting with his friend, mr. drysdale. calling him to one side, i said: "'george, is there anything more upon which i can advise you?' "'no, i guess not,' he replied; 'you will be back so soon that if there should anything new turn up, it can wait until you return.' "'well, be very careful,' i continued, 'and don't allow any one to come in here after dark. it may be an unnecessary precaution, but i should feel easier if i knew no one was admitted to the bank during my absence.' "'very well,' he replied, 'i shall allow only one or two of my personal friends to come in. there will be no harm in admitting them, for they will be an additional protection in case of any attempt on the bank.' "i could offer no objection, and so we parted. i was gone about a week, when, having settled my business in greenville, i returned here. the first news i received was, that george gordon had been found murdered in the bank that morning, the crime having been committed the night before. i will now let mr. peter gordon, george's uncle, tell the circumstances, so far as he knows them." mr. mcgregor was a careful, methodical man, about sixty years of age. he always spoke directly to the point, and in his story, he had evidently made no attempt to draw conclusions, or to bias my judgment in any way. nevertheless, he showed that he was really affected by young gordon's murder, and i saw that i should get more really valuable assistance from him, than from both of the other two. mr. gordon was greatly excited, and he could hardly speak at times, as he thought of his murdered nephew. his story was told slowly and painfully, as if the details were almost too much for him. still, he felt that nothing ought to be neglected which would assist me, and so he nerved himself to tell every little incident of the dreadful crime. "i remember the day of the murder very distinctly, mr. pinkerton," he said. "mr. bannatine was obliged to visit his plantation that morning, and mr. mcgregor being away, as he has already told you, i spent most of the day at the bank with george. he was perfectly competent to manage all the business himself, mr. pinkerton, for he was a very smart and trustworthy young man, the very image of my dear brother, who was drowned twenty years ago, leaving me to bring up george like my own son; but, as i was saying, i kept george company in the bank that day, more as a measure of safety, than because he needed me. well we received a large amount of money that day in bank notes and specie, and i helped george put the money into the vault. when the bank closed, george said that he should work until five o'clock and then go home to dinner. i was anxious to go to my store, as business had been very heavy that day, and i had had no opportunity to attend to my own affairs; i therefore left the bank at four o'clock. george and i boarded at the hotel, and at dinner time, he came late, so that i finished before he did. about seven o'clock, george came down to the store, where i had gone after dinner. he sat a little while and smoked a cigar with me, and then said that he must return to the bank, as he had a great deal of work to finish up on the books; he told me, also, not to sit up for him, as it might be quite late before he came home." "were there any other persons present when he said this, mr. gordon?" i asked. "yes; there was a shoemaker, named stolz, whom george had just paid for a pair of boots. mr. flanders, the jeweler, was there also, and he had his box of jewelry for george to lock up in the safe. there had been so many customers in his store that afternoon that he had not been able to take the box over before. there were several other persons present, i recollect now that you ask me about it, but i had not thought of the matter before, and i cannot recall their names." "well, i guess we can find out," i replied; "please go on. by the way, one question: had george drank anything at all during the day?" "no, sir, nothing whatever. george used to smoke a great deal, but he _never_ drank at a bar in his life; all his young friends will tell you the same. he sometimes drank wine at meals at his own or a friend's table, but he never drank at any other place. he left my store about half-past seven o'clock, and flanders went with him to leave his jewelry. flanders' store is near mine, and he soon came back and chatted with me a short time. he has since told me that he did not enter the bank, but that he simply handed the case of jewelry to george on the steps of the private entrance, and george said to him: 'i won't ask you to come in, flanders, for i have too much work to attend to, and i can't entertain you.' these are the last words that george is known to have spoken." here mr. gordon's agitation was so great that he could not speak for several minutes, but at length, he continued: "i went to bed about ten o'clock that evening, and came down late to breakfast next morning. i did not see george anywhere around the hotel, but i thought nothing of that, as i supposed that he had gone to the bank. after breakfast, i got shaved, smoked a cigar, and then went to my store. in a few minutes, a man named rollo, who has an account at the bank, came in and said: "'mr. gordon, what is the matter at the bank this morning? it is now after ten o'clock, and everything is still shut up.' "'what!' i exclaimed, 'the bank not opened yet! my nephew must be sick, though he was quite well yesterday evening. i will go to the bank with you at once, mr. rollo.' "one of my clerks accompanied us, and on arriving at the bank, we found a cabinet-maker named breed, trying to get in. i went and pounded on the front door several times, but no one came. i then went to the private entrance and gave the signal by rapping, to let those inside know that one of the bank officers was at the door. we had a private signal known only to the officers, so that i was sure there must be something wrong when i found it unanswered. i had a dreadful feeling in my heart that something horrible had happened, and i was about to hurry away to the hotel, to see if george was there, when i casually let my hand fall upon the knob and turned it; to my surprise, the door yielded. "by this time, quite a crowd had gathered outside, attracted by the unusual spectacle of the closed bank, and the knocking at the doors. i therefore left mr. rollo and mr. breed to keep the crowd from entering the side entrance, while my clerk and i threw open the heavy shutters of this room where we are now sitting. we then entered the main bank through yonder door, and while i went to open the outside blinds, which excluded every particle of light, my clerk walked down behind the bank counter. he suddenly stumbled over something and fell, and as he got up, he said that the floor was wet. at this instant, i flung open one of the shutters, and simultaneously i heard a cry of horror from my clerk. running to the counter, i looked over and saw a terrible sight. my poor boy--" again mr. gordon's feelings overcame him, and it was some time before he could go on. finally he was able to resume his story, though he was frequently obliged to pause to wipe away his tears. "my nephew's body was lying midway between his desk and the vault door; he had evidently been standing at his desk when he was struck, as was shown by the direction in which the blood had spirted. he had been murdered by three blows on the back of the head, the instrument used being a heavy canceling hammer, which we found close by, clotted with blood and hair. the first blow had been dealt just back of the left ear while george was standing at his desk; he had then staggered backward two or three steps before falling, and the second and third blows had been struck as he lay on the floor. although it was evident that the first blow alone was sufficient to cause death, the murderer had been anxious to complete his work beyond any possibility of failure. "the scene was most ghastly; george's body lay in a pool of blood, while the desks, chairs, table and wall, were spattered with large drops which had spirted out as the blows were struck. i shall never forget that terrible morning, and sometimes i awake with a horrible choking sensation, and think that i have just renewed the sickening experience of that day. "well, i immediately suspected that the murder had been committed to enable the murderer to rob the bank. i knew that george had no enemies who would seek his life, and there could be no other object in killing him inside the bank. the outer door of the vault stood slightly ajar, and as soon as i had satisfied myself that my nephew was dead--as indeed was evident, the body being quite cold--i sent my clerk to call mr. rollo and mr. breed into the bank, while he remained at the door. i told him to send any person whom he might see outside for the sheriff and the coroner. as i was saying, the vault door stood slightly open, and when the other gentleman joined me i called their attention to the position of everything before i entered the vault. i found the keys in the lock of the inner door, and on opening the latter we saw that everything inside was in great confusion. without making any examination, i closed and locked both doors, and sealed the key-holes with tape and sealing-wax. i determined to leave everything just as it was until the inquest should be held. the sheriff and coroner soon arrived, and a jury was impaneled immediately, as, by that time, the news had spread all over town, and the bank was surrounded by nearly all the best men in the place. in summoning the jury, the coroner put down for foreman the name of mr. drysdale, george's most intimate friend, but it was found that he was not in the crowd outside, and when they sent for him he begged so hard to be excused that he was let off. "the inquest was held in this room, but nothing was moved from the bank except the body and the canceling hammer. the jury elicited nothing more than what i have told you, and they therefore adjourned to await the examination of our vault when mr. mcgregor and mr. bannatine returned, in the hope that some clue might be found therein. i forgot to mention that we found in george's hand a bill of the planter's bank of georgia, of the denomination of one hundred dollars. it was clutched tightly, and he had fallen on that side, so that the murderer had not noticed it. here it is, partly stained with blood," and mr. gordon handed me a bank note. he then continued: "a messenger had been dispatched to inform mr. bannatine of the disaster, and he arrived in town almost simultaneously with mr. mcgregor, who was already on his way home when the murder occurred. as mr. bannatine is well acquainted with all the subsequent events, i prefer that he should give the account of our action since that time." it was clearly very painful to mr. gordon to talk upon the subject of his nephew's murder, and mr. bannatine willingly took up the thread of the story. he had practiced at the bar so long that his style resembled that of a witness under examination, and he was always careful to give his authority whenever he stated facts outside of his own observation. his testimony was of the greatest importance to me, and i took very full notes as he went along. _chapter ii._ i received the intelligence of george gordon's murder about noon, by a messenger from mr. gordon. i immediately rode into town and went to the bank, where i arrived about two o'clock. the inquest was not completed, but at the sheriff's suggestion the jury adjourned until the next morning. the cause of death, according to the testimony of dr. hartman and dr. larimore, was concussion of the brain, produced by three separate blows on the back of the head; the blows might have been dealt with the canceling hammer, which, mr. gordon said, had been found close by the body. the latter was removed to the hotel preparatory to the funeral. "mr. gordon, mr. mcgregor, and myself then proceeded to open the bank, taking the sheriff to assist us in searching for clues to aid in the detection of the criminals. we first opened all the shutters to give as much light as possible. we then examined the interior of the bank; outside of the counter nothing whatever was found, but inside we discovered several important traces of the murderer. the fireplace showed that something had recently been burned in it. the grate had been perfectly clean all summer, and mr. gordon tells me such was the case when he left the bank at four o'clock. the character of the ashes--as i am assured by expert chemists--denoted that clothing had been burned, and while examining them i found several buttons; here they are," he added, producing four or five iron buttons, and the charred remains of two or three horn buttons. "while feeling around in the light ashes beneath the grate," continued mr. bannatine, "i found a piece of paper twisted up and charred at one end; its appearance indicated that it had been used to light the fire in the grate. on unrolling it carefully, it proved to be a fragment of a note for $ . ; the signature, part of the date, and the amount of the note were left uncharred, but most of the upper portion was wholly burned. the signature was that of alexander p. drysdale, our esteemed county clerk." mr. bannatine here showed me this fragment pressed out between two oblong pieces of heavy plate glass. i glanced at it a few minutes, and then placed it beside the buttons for future examination. "among the few scraps of paper found," resumed mr. bannatine, "was another one, which we found under george's body, saturated with blood. the murderer had evidently destroyed every piece of paper that he could find; but this one had probably been lying on the floor, and when george fell, it was hidden by his body. this, and the note, were the only papers found on the desks or about the floor of the bank which had any writing upon them; even the waste paper baskets and their contents had been burned. here is the paper, mr. pinkerton; we have preserved it carefully, because we thought that it might suggest something to a detective, though it had no special significance to us." he handed me the paper, as he spoke. it was a fragment of letter paper, about three by six inches in size. it was stained a brownish red by poor young gordon's lifeblood; but beneath the stain, were plainly visible the pen marks of the murdered man. it had a number of figures on one side, arranged like examples in addition, though they were scattered carelessly, as if he had been checking off balances, and had used this fragment to verify his additions. the reverse side was blank. i laid this paper beside the note, and mr. bannatine continued his story: "we then opened the safe, and counted the money; this was easily done, for we found that all the loose money was gone, leaving only a small quantity of coin and a number of packages of bills. these latter were put up in lots of five thousand dollars each, and were wrapped in a bright red tissue paper. george had put up over one hundred thousand dollars in this way, about a week before, and the murderer had not touched these packages at all; we were thus spared a loss, which would have somewhat crippled us. as it was, the loss in bills amounted to about one hundred and five thousand dollars, while exactly twenty-eight thousand dollars in gold eagles and double eagles, were also missing. a few days after the murder, one of col. garnett's slaves found two twenty-dollar gold pieces at an old fording place on rocky creek, just outside the city, and we came to the conclusion that the robber had dropped them there; but of course, we could not identify gold pieces, and so we could not be sure. the coroner closed the inquest the following day, and the jury found a verdict of death at the hands of a person or persons unknown. the funeral was attended by people from miles around, and there was a general determination shown to spare no pains to bring the murderers to justice; large rewards were offered by the governor, by the bank, and by the county officials, and some of the best detectives in the country were employed, but all to no purpose. when the gold pieces were found, a number of george's intimate friends organized a party to search the adjoining woods for traces of the criminals, as it was thought they might have camped out in that vicinity, before or after the deed. all of george's intimate friends joined in the search, except mr. drysdale, who was so much overcome at the terrible occurrence, that he was quite prostrated. nothing was found by this party, however; neither have the various detectives, professional and amateur, who have investigated the case, made the slightest progress toward a solution of the mystery. we have determined to make one more effort, mr. pinkerton, and therefore we have sent for you to aid us. it may be that you will see some trace which others have overlooked; you can take whatever steps you choose, and you need spare no expense. if you are successful, we will pay you liberally, besides the rewards offered." "one of the rules of my agency," i replied, "forbids the acceptance of rewards; hence, i wish it understood in advance, that my only charges will be according to my regular schedule of prices, and that i expect nothing more. this is my invariable custom, whether the case be one of murder, arson, burglary, or simple theft; the number of detectives, and the time they are employed, will determine the amount i shall charge." we then arranged the financial portion of our agreement to our mutual satisfaction, and i began my investigations. "what detectives have you hitherto employed, mr. bannatine?" i asked. "i first laid the matter before two new york detectives, who had been highly recommended to me," he replied; "but they could offer no satisfactory theory to work upon, and after staying here three or four weeks, they said that the murder must have been committed by some member of a gang of gamblers; they thought the murderer would probably go to new orleans to exchange his money, and that it would be easy to learn by going to that city, whether any gambler had had an unusual amount of money about that time. we were not very well satisfied with this theory, and so the detectives returned to new york. we next engaged two detectives from new orleans, but they were equally unsuccessful. we then allowed the matter to rest until about a month ago, when we heard such a favorable account of the manner in which you had conducted a case of great difficulty, that we began to discuss the propriety of engaging you in investigating this affair. the more we heard of you, the better we were satisfied, and finally, we authorized mr. mcgregor to write to you on the subject." "well, mr. bannatine, i shall do my best," i replied, "but you must not expect me to work miracles. now, i am going to ask you a number of questions, and i wish you to answer them without regard to their apparent drift. who were george gordon's intimate friends?" "mr. flanders, mr. drysdale, mr. patterson, and mr. henry caruthers; i think they were the only ones he was really very intimate with; isn't it so, mr. gordon?" "yes; george had very few cronies," replied mr. gordon. "who is mr. caruthers?" i asked. "he is the son of a wealthy planter living a few miles from town," replied mr. bannatine. "where was he the afternoon previous to the murder?" "he came into the bank for a few minutes," said mr. gordon, "and asked george to spend sunday with him on the plantation; then he rode home." "were there any strange men in or about the bank that day?" "none, so far as we could learn; nearly every person that i can recollect having seen that day was a customer, or a townsman whom i knew." "when george gave up carrying the safe keys home with him, where did he leave them?" "there is a secret drawer in that desk, which opens by pressing this knob, thus," said mr. mcgregor, suiting the action to the word; "we used to keep the keys there." "did any one beside you four gentlemen know this hiding place?" "i am sure that no one else knew it," said mr. mcgregor. "was it necessary for george to open the safe that night, or could he have done his work without going into the vault at all?" "he had work to do on the journal and ledger, and he would have to use the keys to get them out of the vault. he did not need to open the inner safe where the money was, however." "does the outer vault key open both doors?" "no; but they were kept on the same chain for convenience." "were the ledger and journal on george's desk when you entered the bank, mr. gordon?" "no, sir; they were put away in their usual places in the vault." "did they show any marks of blood?" "none at all; they were perfectly clean." "could you tell from their appearance whether george had done any work upon them that night?" "yes; i am sure he had done a great deal; in fact he had finished up all entries to date." "were there any papers missing besides the money?" "yes; one or two bundles of old checks, drafts, etc., were used to assist in burning the murderer's clothes. they were fastened in packages with fine wire, and we found the wire in the grate." "then this note, signed 'alexander p. drysdale,' might have been pulled out of one of these packages?" "i suppose so; i don't know where else it came from; do you, mr. mcgregor?" said mr. gordon, rather bewildered. "no; i never thought about where it came from," said mr. mcgregor. "i suppose the man built a fire of old papers and the fragments of the waste paper baskets, and then used that note to set them on fire from the lamp." "there were no papers of any value used, then?" i continued. "oh, no; the papers were old bundles, merely kept as archives of the bank." i then picked up the note and glanced at it; as i did so, something caught my eye which sent the blood throbbing through my veins at a feverish speed. enough of the date remained to show that it was drawn some time during the year of the murder, hence it could hardly be one of the archives. besides, a note, if paid, would be returned to the maker, canceled; if unpaid, it would be kept among the bills receivable, in the inner safe; in neither case could it have been stowed away among the old checks and drafts. this reasoning passed through my mind quickly, and i realized that that little piece of paper might play an important part in the tragedy after all. i did not form any definite theory on the instant, but still i had a sort of presentiment that i had touched a spring which might open the windows of this dark mystery and let in the light of day. i did not show what i thought to my companions, but continued to ask questions. "was mr. patterson in the bank the day of the murder, mr. gordon?" "oh, no; he was not in this part of the country at that time; he had been in mobile for some weeks." "i understood you to say that mr. flanders went no further than the private door with george; did he notice any one standing about when he came away?" "no; he stopped only an instant, while george unlocked the door, and then gave the jewel box to him to put away. george wished him good night, with the remark that he could not ask him in, as he would be too busy to entertain him. mr. flanders then came straight back to my store; but he said at the inquest that he heard george lock the door behind him, and that he saw no one around the building." "do you know anything about his circumstances at that time? was he in need of money?" "no, indeed; he had a large balance to his credit. why, surely, you do not see any reason to suspect mr. flanders?" said mr. mcgregor. "i don't say that i suspect anybody," i replied, "but i wish to gather all the information possible. now, please tell me how large a balance mr. flanders had on deposit." mr. mcgregor immediately examined the ledger for the previous year, and reported that the balance due mr. flanders at the time of the murder, was over twelve thousand dollars. "you see, mr. pinkerton," he went on to say, "we balanced our books up to that date, and thus we know just how each person's account stood that day." "well, did you find that any of those gentlemen, who were in the habit of entering the bank after business hours, were in debt to the bank, or that they were cramped for money at that time?" i asked, carelessly. "none of them were in debt to the bank, i know," replied mr. mcgregor; "whether there were any of them in need of money particularly, i cannot say." "had any of them tried to borrow from the bank recently?" "no; in fact, none of them had drawn out the balances due them." "please give me a list of their balances on that day," i said; "just give me a memorandum of the amounts standing to each one's credit." "whose accounts shall we give you?" asked mr. mcgregor, evidently wondering what object i had in view. "well, let me have those of mr. flanders, mr. patterson, mr. drysdale, and mr. caruthers; also, let me know whether any of those gentlemen had made any loan from the bank during that year, and if so, the amount, date, etc., and whether a note was given, or security of any kind." mr. mcgregor, and the other two gentlemen, were completely mystified at my request, but they complied with my wishes, and i noted down the amounts given me in my note-book. the balances were as follows: patterson, $ , . ; drysdale, $ . ; caruthers, $ . ; and flanders, $ , . . none of them had made loans from the bank, except caruthers, who had once overdrawn his account nearly three hundred dollars, but he gave no note, as he was good for any amount. none of the others had given a note to the bank, or to any one else, so far as was known, for several years. "now, gentlemen," i said, "please take me into the bank and show me exactly how the place appeared when mr. gordon first discovered that george had been murdered." mr. gordon rose with great effort and opened the door connecting the private office with the main bank. it was evidently very painful to him, but he did not shrink. turning to me, he said: "mr. pinkerton, let mr. mcgregor go first, and light the lamp; i will then proceed just as i did that morning, and will point out the exact position of everything in the bank." mr. mcgregor accordingly lighted a large lamp, which threw a soft radiance over the whole interior, and the two moved the furniture into the position in which it had been found on that fatal morning. mr. gordon then showed me the exact position of the body, the spot where the paper lay, the canceling hammer, and the blood-marks. after i had been shown everything, i stood and thought over the matter in connection with the surroundings, and endeavored to re-enact the scene of the murder in my own mind. bit by bit, i brought out some of the surroundings to my own satisfaction, and when i went back to the private office, i had a well-defined theory in my mind. not that i had so narrowed down my suspicions, as to fix them upon any particular individual--i had not yet gone so far--but my theory was fully established, and i felt sure that by working it up carefully, i should soon discover some traces of the guilty party. the officers of the bank followed me in silence, and on resuming our seats, i said: "gentlemen, i wish to take a day to weigh the testimony in this case, before i can give you any opinion about it. i would like to take this note, the memorandum, and the buttons to my room, and to-morrow evening i will tell you what conclusions i have reached. is that satisfactory?" "certainly; we do not wish to proceed in haste, mr. pinkerton," said mr. bannatine; "we will meet you then at the same hour to-morrow." "i do not wish to seem impatient," said mr. gordon, "but can you not tell me now whether you have obtained any clue from what we have told you, which will enable you to learn more?" mr. gordon's anxiety was so keen that i wished to relieve his mind somewhat; but, on the other hand, i did not wish to raise his hopes unnecessarily, lest some unforeseen thing might occur to overthrow my theory entirely. i replied, therefore: "mr. gordon, i may think i have a clue now, which, on mature reflection, may prove worthless; hence, i should prefer to take a day, before giving my opinion." "you are right, mr. pinkerton," he said; "i should feel worse to have my hopes raised, only to be dashed down again, than if i had never expected anything. take your own time, and then let us know the result." "there are two questions more, which i would like answered," i said. "was it possible for any person to have entered the bank by force? that is, were there any indications whatever, to show that the murderer might have possibly gained entrance during george's absence at dinner?" "no; none at all. the sheriff made a very careful examination of all the windows, and both doors," replied mr. mcgregor. "he thought that a gang of gamblers, who stopped here a few weeks, might have used nippers on the key of the side door after george had locked it, and that they had then stolen upon george, at his desk, and killed him; but, there were no evidences that such was the case." "well, did any one, except you three gentlemen, know the private signal by which those inside the bank could tell that the person at the door, was one of the bank officers?" "i am not sure about that," said mr. gordon; "possibly some of our well-known friends might have been with us when we gained admittance to the bank, but i cannot say that i think they ever learned the signal." "you think, however, that patterson, drysdale, flanders, or caruthers, _might_ have known it?" "yes; in fact, on thinking it over, i feel quite sure that mr. patterson and mr. drysdale did know it." "well, i don't think i have any more questions to ask," i said. "i shall be here promptly at eight o'clock to-morrow evening, and if you should wish to communicate with me before that time, send me a message, and i will call at the bank. this will not attract attention, as my business is supposed to be cotton buying, and a visit at the bank will not be considered unusual." i then took charge of the papers, etc., and went to my room at the hotel. i merely glanced at the buttons, and bank note, hastily, as i knew they could serve only as corroboratory evidence in the event of obtaining a weak chain of proof. i then turned to the note, which i studied long and carefully. i was convinced that it was of recent date, at the time of the murder, although only the last figure of the date was visible. i finally looked over the blood-stained piece of paper, which george had nearly covered with figures. i saw at a glance, that there was no reading matter on it, but i began to go over his figures half mechanically, mentally following his addition, to verify it. suddenly my eyes caught two numbers near the bottom of the paper. they were placed together, and their difference was written below; they were much fainter than the rest, having been made in pencil, instead of in ink. it was probably due to this fact, that they had never been noticed before, as the deep stain made it difficult to distinguish them clearly, without close observation. however that may be, they acted upon me like an electric shock, and i was obliged to walk about the room a few minutes, to compose my nerves. it was strange that those faint lines should have told so much, but it seemed almost, as if the murdered man had whispered his murderer's name to me. the numbers which were there set down were $ . , and $ . . _one of them was the amount of the half burned note of drysdale; the other, was the amount of his balance in the bank._ i sat up until a very late hour, thinking over the possible solution of the mystery, and when i finally went to bed, i had satisfied myself as to the identity of the murderer. the next day, i rose late, and spent the afternoon in arranging the points of evidence in consecutive order, so as to be able to present them to the bank officials in the most convincing manner. i then walked around town for exercise. during my walk, i visited mr. flanders' jewelry store and the county clerk's office. mr. flanders was an elderly gentlemen of very mild and courteous manners, and his whole appearance would lead any one to regard it as impossible, that he should have committed murder. mr. drysdale, the county clerk, was a fine looking man, of about forty years of age. he was of the nervous, sanguine type; was quiet and courteous, but haughty and reserved to strangers; he was looking thin and weary, as if he worked too hard, and streaks of gray were just visible in his hair and mustache. i talked with him for about half an hour, representing that i was a stranger, desirous of gaining information about the plantations of the county. he answered my questions politely, but as briefly as possible, and i saw that my presence, apparently, bored him, and interfered with his duties. as i was about to go, i asked him to write the name and address of some reliable cotton factor in my note-book, and he complied very willingly. i then returned to the hotel, and patiently waited until eight o'clock. _chapter iii._ on going to the bank i found the three gentlemen awaiting me most anxiously. after the usual greeting we seated ourselves at the table. i arranged my notes for convenient reference, and began to state my conclusions: "gentlemen, i have approached this case with a great deal of care, and have given it much thought. aside from the importance of the interests involved, there are other reasons which render me cautious in forming and stating an opinion; other detectives of ability and experience have been baffled; several months have elapsed since the crimes were committed; and, lastly, the theory upon which i have reasoned has led me in such a direction that nothing but the strongest conviction in my own mind would warrant me in making the statement which i am now about to give you. let me first, then, review the case, and show the chain of evidence as it appears to me: "george gordon appears to have been a young man of more than average ability as a bank officer; he was cautious in his habits, and at this particular time he had recently been specially cautioned by mr. mcgregor; consequently it is likely that he would have been unusually careful to admit only those with whom he was very well acquainted. again, the position of the furniture and the appearance of the blood-marks, show that george was standing at his desk, and that he was struck from behind. now, he had finished his work on the books and put them away. what, then, was he doing? there is but one thing which throws any light upon this subject--the bank bill which you found in his hand. from its presence i infer that he was engaged in handling money; indeed, i may say that he must have been either receiving it or paying it out. that he was receiving it is not likely, for the murderer was probably short of funds; hence i conclude that he was paying it out. it is also clear that the amount must have been large, as shown by the denomination of the bill--one hundred dollars. "these facts and inferences lead me to believe that the murderer was a personal friend of george, and a customer of the bank; and i may say that i had reached this conclusion yesterday evening, while listening to the testimony of you three gentlemen, before i had discovered any corroborative evidence. i will now give some of the additional points which i have brought out since then; but i wish that you would first tell me whether this signature is genuine," i said, pointing to alexander p. drysdale's name on the note. "oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," said mr. mcgregor; "i am perfectly familiar with his signature, and there is no question in my mind but that he signed that himself." "well, gentlemen, i will now make up a possible case, and you can see how nearly it compares with the present matter. i will suppose that a man of wealth, refinement, and position, should become cramped for money to supply present necessities; he is intimate with the officers of a wealthy bank; he goes there one evening and is admitted by his friend, the acting cashier. he explains his embarrassment, and his friend agrees to lend him the amount which he requires. the friend completes his work, puts away his books, and figures up the amount needed. the borrower has a small balance to his credit, and he gives a note for the difference. then the teller opens the safe, brings out a roll of bills, and begins to count out the amount. the safe door is left open, and the visitor sees within the piles of bank-notes and the rouleaux of gold. a fortune in cash is within his grasp with only a human life standing in his way; his perplexities and embarrassments come upon him with added force as he sees the means before him by which he may escape their power to annoy him. like tantalus, dying of thirst with the water at his very lips, this man gazes on the wealth piled up in that safe. glancing around, he sees his friend slowly counting the paltry hundreds he is to receive; close by lies a heavy weapon, heretofore used for innocent business purposes; another glance into the safe and insanity is upon him; his brain is a perfect hell of contending passions; again the thought flashes into his mind--'only a life between me and that money.' he seizes the heavy hammer and deals his victim a terrible blow behind the ear; as the latter falls lifeless, the murderer strikes him twice more to make sure that there shall be no witnesses to testify in the case. the deed is done, and there remains nothing to prevent him from seizing the contents of the safe. but first, he must protect himself from the danger of discovery; to this end he carefully removes his bloody clothing, gathers every vestige of paper within sight, and breaks up the waste paper baskets for fuel. he needs more flame, however, and he takes several packages of old papers to make the fire fiercer; then his eye falls on a slip of paper lying on the desk, and he twists it nervously into a lighter to convey fire from the lamp to the mass of material in the fire-place. the flame is started, and soon the clothes are reduced to ashes. stealthily he packs the packages of bills and the rolls of coin, and when he has taken as much as he can carry, he slips noiselessly away, leaving no trace of his identity. no one has seen him enter or depart; his position is far above the reach of suspicion; every clue has been destroyed in the fire-place, and no witness to his guilt can possibly be raised up. so he thinks; and as month after month passes, as detective after detective abandons the case in despair, as the excitement dies out in the public mind, and as the friends of the deceased apparently give up the hopeless task of seeking for the murderer, his confidence becomes complete, and he no longer fears detection. "but stop! when his victim fell a bloody corpse at his feet, _was_ every witness destroyed? no, gentlemen; helpless and lifeless as that body fell, it yet had the power to avenge itself. the right hand convulsively grasps a bank note, and it is hidden from sight by the position assumed in falling; a slip of white paper dotted with figures at random, is also covered, and is quickly saturated with blood; a fragment of paper is found below the grate, twisted so tightly as to have burned only in part; lastly, the direction of the blood-spirts show that the first blow was struck on the left side. now, gentlemen, do you think you can read the testimony of these dumb witnesses?" "my god! i do not know what to think," said mr. gordon. "i see where your suspicions lead," said mr. bannatine, "but i do not yet fully know whether i can see the evidence in the same light that you do. please go on and tell us all you suspect, and your reasons." "yes, mr. pinkerton," said mr. mcgregor, "whom do you suspect?" "gentlemen," i replied, solemnly, "i have formed no hasty conclusion in this matter, and i should not accuse any man without the strongest reasons for believing him guilty; but i think that when i have connected together the links which i have gathered, you will agree with me in the moral certainty that george gordon was murdered by alexander p. drysdale, and no other." "go on, go on, mr. pinkerton," said mr. gordon, in great excitement. "it seems impossible, yet there are some slight fancies in my mind which seem to confirm that theory. tell us all your conclusions, and how you have arrived at them." "well, first, i am satisfied that only a particular friend would have been admitted to the bank by george that night; second, the blow was struck from behind, on the left side, showing that the murderer was probably left-handed. mr. drysdale satisfies both of these conditions; i visited him to-day and saw him write an address in my note-book with his left hand. third, i have here a note for $ . , signed 'alexander p. drysdale;' the signature, you say, is genuine, and further, you told me yesterday that you had not held a note of mr. drysdale's for some years. on reflection you will see that this note could not have been taken from the packages of bank archives which were burned, for it never could have been put there; moreover it is dated ' ,' and must have been made some time last year. as you have no record of such a note, i infer that it was drawn the night of the murder. fourthly, i have conclusive evidence of that fact in this slip of blood-stained paper," and so saying, i produced the slip upon which george had done his figuring. "how! where!" exclaimed my listeners. "near the bottom of that paper you will find in light pencil marks three numbers arranged like an example in subtraction, while the rest are all additions in ink. the figures are: first, , . ; then, . ; and . below the line. mr. drysdale's balance was $ . , and the amount of this note bearing his signature is $ . . it looks to me as if he wanted to draw $ , . , and that george subtracted the amount of his balance in bank, $ . , from the amount he wished to draw, $ , . , and that mr. drysdale then gave his note for the difference, $ . . what do you think of my witness, gentlemen?" the three gentlemen put their heads together over the paper long enough to convince themselves that the figures were really there, and then they resumed their seats in silence. i had watched their faces carefully as i drew my conclusions, and had seen their expressions change from incredulity to uncertainty, then to amazement, finally turning gradually to half belief; but when they sat down, positive conviction was evident in every face. "how is it possible that these facts were never discovered before?" ejaculated mr. bannatine. "it is very simple," i replied; "the search has hitherto been conducted on a wrong basis. the whole endeavor seems to have been to _guess_ who might have done the deed, and then to find evidence to convict him. my plan in all similar cases is, to first examine the evidence before me, with a perfectly unbiased mind; then, having formed a theory by reasoning on general principles, as applied to the facts in my possession, i proceed to look about for some person who will answer the conditions of my theory. i may find more than one, and i then am obliged to make each such person the object of my attention until i obtain convincing proof of his innocence or guilt. the person upon whom my theory causes suspicion to fall, may have been hitherto regarded as above suspicion; but, that fact does not deter me in the least degree from placing that person's circumstances, motives, and actions under the microscope, so to speak; for experience and observation, have taught me that the most difficult crimes to fix upon the criminal, are those which have been committed by men whose previous reputation had been unspotted. now, you have never connected mr. drysdale with this affair, because it has never entered your minds to suspect him; but, had you gone over the ground in the same manner that i have done, you would have been led to the same conclusion. this is the real point, where the services of an experienced detective, are most valuable. the plan by which a detective operation is to be conducted, is as important as the method of procedure. to find a man who is hiding from justice, his criminality being well known, is a task of little difficulty, compared with the labor involved in mysterious cases, where there is apparently, nothing left to identify the criminal. i claim no special credit in this case, since the clues have proven more numerous than had been supposed, but i have given you my idea of the proper way to conduct an investigation, simply to show you how i am accustomed to work. let me now ask, whether any of you have doubts, as to the propriety of putting my detectives upon the trail of mr. drysdale, to determine the extent of his connection, if any, in the murder of george gordon?" "none whatever," said mr. bannatine, emphatically; "it seems almost impossible that he should be guilty; but, in the face of the strong array of accusing circumstances cited by you, mr. pinkerton, i can only say: 'go on with your work in your own way.' the innocent have nothing to fear, and the guilty deserve no mercy." "amen," said both the other gentlemen. "what is your plan?" asked mr. gordon. "well, gentlemen," i replied, "i have been struck with some strong points of resemblance between drysdale and one of bulwer's characters, eugene aram. you are aware, that the only evidence we can bring against drysdale, is circumstantial, and that we could hardly obtain an indictment on the strength of it; still less a conviction for murder. besides, there is a large amount of money at stake, and it is desirable to recover that money, as well as to convict the murderer. we must proceed, therefore, with great caution, lest we defeat our own plans by premature action. i have arranged a scheme to obtain a direct proof of drysdale's guilt, and with your consent, i will put it in operation immediately." i then gave the details of my plan, and the gentlemen, though somewhat nervous as to the result, finally acquiesced in it. the next morning, i left atkinson, for chicago, where i duly arrived, somewhat improved in health, by my southern trip. i immediately sent for timothy webster, one of my most expert detectives, to whom i gave full charge of the case in atkinson. i explained to him all the circumstances connected with it, and instructed him in the plan i had arranged. mrs. kate warne, and a young man named green, were assigned to assist webster, and all the necessary disguises and clothing, were prepared at short notice. mrs. warne was the first lady whom i had ever employed, and this was one of the earliest operations in which she was engaged. as a detective, she had no superior, and she was a lady of such refinement, tact, and discretion, that i never hesitated to entrust to her some of my most difficult undertakings. it will be understood by the reader, that each detective made daily reports to me, and that i constantly directed the operation by mail or telegraph. this has always been my invariable custom, and no important steps are ever taken without my order, unless circumstances should occur which would not admit the delay. _chapter iv._ about a week after my departure from atkinson, a gentleman arrived there by the evening train, and went to the hotel. he was an intelligent, shrewd, agreeable business man, about thirty-five years old, and he impressed all who made his acquaintance, as a gentleman of ability and energy. he signed the register, as 'john m. andrews, baltimore,' and the landlord soon learned from him that he had come to atkinson to reside permanently, if he could get into business there. mr. andrews was evidently a man of considerable wealth, though he made no ostentatious display, nor did he talk about his property as though he cared to impress upon other people the idea that he was rich. still, it came to be generally understood, in a few days, that he had made quite a fortune, as a cotton broker, in baltimore, and that he had a considerable sum in cash to invest, when a desirable opportunity should offer. this fact, together with his agreeable manners, made his society quite an acquisition to the town, and he was soon on familiar terms with all the regular boarders in the hotel, and with many prominent residents of the place. some days after mr. andrews arrived the hotel received another equally popular guest. she gave her name, as mrs. r. c. potter, and her object in visiting atkinson, was to improve her health. she was accompanied by her father, mr. c. b. rowell, a fine looking, white-haired old gentleman, but he remained only long enough to see her comfortably settled, and then returned to their home in jacksonville, florida, as his business required his immediate presence there. mrs. potter was a distinguished looking brunette; she was a widow with no children, and she might have passed for thirty years of age. she was tall and graceful, and her entertaining conversation made her a general favorite among the ladies in the hotel. she was not an invalid, strictly speaking, but the family physician had recommended that she should go to the dry air of northern mississippi for a few months, to escape the rainy, foggy weather of florida at that season. about a week after her arrival, she went out with two other ladies, mrs. townsend and mrs. richter, to explore the beauties of rocky creek. they spent a pleasant afternoon in the wooded ravines, and it was after five o'clock, before they returned. as they sauntered down one of the pleasantest streets of the town, they noticed a lady standing at the gate of an elegant residence, with large grounds. "oh! there is mrs. drysdale," said mrs. townsend. "have you met her, mrs. potter?" "not yet, though i have heard of her so frequently, that i feel almost as if i knew her." "well, i think you will like each other very much," said mrs. richter, "and we will introduce you to her." on reaching the gate, therefore, the ladies presented mrs. potter in due form. "i have been intending to call on you, mrs. potter," said mrs. drysdale, "but my youngest child has not been well, and i have not gone anywhere for several weeks. in fact, i am quite a home body at all times, and i always expect my friends to waive ceremony, and visit me a great deal more than i visit them. i hope you will not wait for me, mrs. potter, for my domestic affairs keep me very busy just now; i shall be glad to see you any time that you feel like dropping in." "i shall be very glad to dispense with formalities," answered mrs. potter, "and you can depend upon seeing me soon." after some further conversation, the three ladies resumed their homeward walk, leaving mrs. drysdale still waiting for her husband. he was soon seen by the ladies, rapidly walking up the street toward his home. he was on the opposite side, so that he merely bowed to them, and hastened on. "there seems to have been quite a change in mr. drysdale during the last year," said mrs. richter. "my husband was speaking of it the other day. he said that drysdale was becoming really unsociable. i hope he is not growing dissipated, for the sake of his wife, who is a lovely woman." "yes; she seems to be a most devoted wife and mother," said mrs. potter. "possibly, the change in mr. drysdale, is due to business troubles." "oh, no; that is impossible," said mrs. townsend; "he is very wealthy indeed, and as he is not engaged in any regular business, he cannot be financially embarrassed. no, i attribute his recent peculiarities, to religious doubts; he has not been to church since last fall." "is it as long as that?" asked mrs. richter. "yes; i recollect it, because he did not go to the funeral of poor george gordon, and he has not attended service since then." "well, if he really is in religious trouble, the minister ought to visit him and give him advice," said mrs. richter. as they walked toward the hotel, they turned the conversation into a different channel without reaching any conclusion as to the cause of mr. drysdale's eccentricities. a few days thereafter mrs. potter called upon mrs. drysdale and passed the afternoon very pleasantly. when mr. drysdale came home he was very polite and agreeable; he seemed glad to find his wife enjoying herself, and when mrs. potter rose to go, both husband and wife urged her warmly to come frequently. "i am going out to my plantation in a day or two," said mr. drysdale, "and i hope you will visit my wife while i am gone, as i am afraid she may be lonesome." "who are you going with?" asked mrs. drysdale. "there is a gentleman from baltimore, staying at the hotel," replied mr. drysdale, "and he talks of investing some money in land, so i thought i would take him out to see bristed's old place next to mine. it is going to ruin now, but if a man like mr. andrews would take it, he could make it pay. he seems very intelligent and agreeable; i suppose you have met him, mrs. potter?" "oh, yes; he was introduced to me the first week i was here," replied mrs. potter. "he seems to me to be a southern gentleman with a good deal of real yankee shrewdness." "that is my opinion, also," said mr. drysdale, "and if he buys bristed's place, he will join me in some improvements which are much needed." "well, good afternoon, mrs. drysdale," said mrs. potter; "i am going out horseback riding in a day or two, and perhaps i will stop here a few minutes on my way back." "do so, mrs. potter; we shall be delighted to see you. good afternoon." on mrs. potter's return to the hotel, she stayed in the parlor for some time, and as mr. andrews came in soon after, they had a pleasant _tete-a-tete_ before going to dinner. the next morning mr. andrews went out to get a cabinet-maker to make a small book-case for his room, and the hotel clerk directed him to the shop of mr. breed. the latter said that he was very busy, indeed, but that he could get a young man who was boarding with him to do the job. "is he a good workman?" asked mr. andrews. "i think he is," replied breed, "though i am not sure, as he came here only day before yesterday from memphis. he has served his time at the trade, however, and he ought to be able to make a book-case neatly." "well, send him over, mr. breed, and i will give him a trial. by the way, who was that gentleman that just passed? i have seen him several times, but have never met him in society." "that was mr. peter a. gordon," said breed. "he boards at the hotel, also, but he rarely mingles with other men except in business." "i am surprised at that," mr. andrews remarked, "for he appears like a naturally genial man; yet he has a very sad look." "yes; he has never recovered from the shock of his nephew's murder last fall; he always used to be very sociable and hospitable, but now he seems too much cast down to care for society. you may have heard of the dreadful manner in which young george gordon was murdered?" "oh, yes; i recollect," said mr. andrews, "the circumstances were related to me soon after i arrived here. george gordon seems to have been a fine young fellow, and i don't wonder the old gentleman mourns his loss." "he was one of the most promising young men i ever knew," said mr. breed warmly: "and speaking of poor george, reminds me that i noticed a strong resemblance to him in this young workman boarding with me. ordinarily i would not have perceived it, but yesterday he slipped on a coat of mine, which was just like the one george used to wear, and the likeness was remarkable." "you were one of the first at the bank the day after the murder, were you not, mr. breed?" "yes; and it was a dreadful sight. it was wonderful how mr. peter gordon retained his presence of mind; he did not break down until he found that there was no hope of discovering the murderer." "was no one ever suspected?" asked mr. andrews. "oh, yes; several persons were arrested--gamblers and loafers--but they all proved their innocence conclusively." mr. andrews showed considerable interest in the murder, and mr. breed related all that was known about it. when he was about to go, mr. andrews said: "well, it is a very mysterious affair, and i am not surprised that mr. gordon is so dejected; that horrible scene must be always before him. by the way, don't let your young man dress in gray, when he comes to my room; i should be continually haunted with a suspicion that it was a ghost." "please don't speak of that to any one," said mr. breed, confidentially; "i ought not to have mentioned it myself, for young green was frightened nearly out of his wits about it. as i said before, when he wears his every-day clothes, no one would notice any special resemblance, but in that particular style of dress, the likeness was really alarming. he was so scared, that in future, he will take great care not to be seen in any clothes like those of poor george." "of course, i shall not mention the matter," said mr. andrews; "send him over this afternoon." _chapter v._ on leaving mr. breed, mr. andrews paid a visit to mr. drysdale, at the latter's office. "i hope i shall not interfere with your work, mr. drysdale," he said. "i am an idler for the present, but i try to respect the business hours of others, and so, if i disturb you, let me know it." "oh! not at all, i assure you," said mr. drysdale, warmly. "i am never very busy, and just now, there is nothing whatever to do. indeed, i wish i had more to do--this lack of steady work wears upon me. i need something to keep my mind constantly occupied." "that is where you and i differ," said andrews; "i have worked pretty hard for twenty years, and now i am willing to take a rest. i don't wish to be wholly idle, but i like to give up a good part of my time to recreation." "i used to feel so, too," said drysdale, as if his thoughts were far away; then, he added, hastily, as if recollecting himself: "i mean that i have felt so at times, but i always need to come back to hard work again. will you be ready to go out to my plantation next monday?" "yes; monday will suit me as well as any other day," replied andrews. "when shall we return?" "i had not intended to remain there more than three or four days, unless you should wish to stay longer. if agreeable to you, we will return thursday afternoon." "that will enable me to join our riding party the next day," said andrews. "all right; i will be ready to start monday morning. now, i must be going; i only stopped to find out when you would be ready to go." "i am sorry you cannot stay longer," said drysdale. "i hope that you will drop in without ceremony, whenever you feel like it." in the afternoon, young green, the cabinet-maker, called upon mr. andrews, and went up to the latter's room. the work to be done, must have required a great deal of explanation, as green remained nearly an hour. as he went out, mr. andrews said to him: "if we fail to return thursday, you must be there friday at the same hour. you had better take a look at the place before then." on monday, mr. drysdale called at the hotel immediately after breakfast, and found mr. andrews all ready for the ride to the plantation. as they rode out of town, mr. drysdale's spirits seemed to rise rapidly, and he entertained his companion so successfully, that when they reached the plantation, they had become quite well acquainted with each other. drysdale was a man of fine education, and fascinating manners; he really had great eloquence, and his abilities were far above the average, but the circumstances of his life had not been such as to develop his powers, and give play to his ambition; hence, he was apparently becoming disappointed, sour, and morose. at least, this was the impression which many of his friends had gained, and they accounted for the gradual change in his manners on the above theory; namely, that he was the victim of disappointed ambition. during their stay at the plantation, the gentlemen usually spent their evenings together, while the mornings were given up to business by drysdale, and to hunting by andrews. the plantation required a great deal of attention just in the spring, and drysdale's time was pretty well occupied. andrews easily formed the acquaintance of the neighboring planters, and he spent much of his time in paying visits around the country. he thought quite favorably of buying the bristed plantation, as drysdale had hoped, but the owner wished to sell another place with it, and andrews did not care to buy both. drysdale suggested that by autumn, the owner would be willing to sell it separately, and he advised andrews to hold off until then. on thursday, andrews started out shooting early, agreeing to be back at noon, to make an early start for atkinson, as the time required to ride there, was about four hours. he strayed so far away, however, that it was two o'clock before he returned, and they did not mount their horses until three o'clock. by this time, they had become much more intimate than one would have expected on so short acquaintance, and drysdale showed a marked pleasure in the company of his new friend. during the first part of the ride, he was as brilliant and entertaining as possible, but, as they approached the town, he began to lose his cheerfulness, and to become almost gloomy. both gentlemen were rather tired, and they soon allowed the conversation to drop almost wholly. it was early dusk when they reached the banks of rocky creek, about a mile from drysdale's house. from this point, the scenery was bold and picturesque; the road passed through heavy masses of timber at times, and crossed many ravines and rocky gorges, as it followed the general direction of the winding stream. daylight was rapidly fading into the night, though objects could still be distinguished quite well at a distance of one hundred yards. as they arrived at one of the wooded hillocks, over which the road passed, they were shut out from any very extended view, except in one direction. here, andrews reined in his horse a moment, to take a last look at the beauty of the scene, while drysdale passed on a few yards in advance. the spot was rather wild and perhaps a little weird; on the right was a dense forest, rising some distance above the road, which curved around the hill-side about mid-way to the crest; on the left the hill descended rapidly to the creek, along which ran a heavy belt of timber, which permitted only an occasional gleam of water to be seen; the abrupt hill-side between the road and the timber was nearly cleared of undergrowth, but it was filled with large boulders and creeping vines; over the tops of the timber the country stretched away in dissolving views as the mists of night began to form and spread over the landscape. having paused an instant, andrews spurred his horse forward just as drysdale uttered an exclamation of horror. as he came up, he saw that drysdale had stopped and was holding his reins in a convulsive grasp; all color was gone from his face, and he was trembling violently. "what is the matter, drysdale?" said andrews, drawing up beside him. "my god! look there!" broke from drysdale's ashy lips, as he pointed down the hill-side. at the distance of about fifty yards the figure of a young man was moving down the slope toward the timber. he walked slowly on, with a measured pace, turning his eyes neither to the right nor left. he was apparently about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and his face was indicative of intelligence, ability and energy. his course was nearly parallel to the direction of the road at that point, and only his profile could be seen. he wore a business suit of light gray clothes, but he had no hat on his head, and his curly hair was tossed lightly by the evening breeze. as he moved further from the road, the back of his head was more directly exposed, presenting a most ghastly sight. the thick brown locks were matted together in a mass of gore, and large drops of blood slowly trickled down upon his coat; the whole back of the skull seemed to be crushed in, while the deadly pallor of his face gave him the appearance of a corpse. drysdale seemed to rally his faculties a moment and shouted in powerful but hoarse tones: "say! you, sir! who are you, and where are you going?" although his voice might have been heard at a long distance, the figure continued its course without indicating, even by a sign, that he had heard the hail. "why, what in the devil has got into you, drysdale?" asked andrews. "whom are you shouting at in such a savage way?" "don't you see that man down the hill?" he asked, in a perfect agony of fear and excitement. "see! right in line with that pointed rock; why, he is only a few yards off. my god! it can't be possible that you don't see him!" "upon my word, drysdale," said andrews, "if you keep on, i shall think you are going crazy. what man are you talking about? there is no one in sight, and either you are trying to play a joke on me, or else your imagination is most unpleasantly active." "andrews, look where i point, less than ten rods off," said drysdale, in a hoarse whisper, clutching andrews by the arm; "do you mean to say that you don't see a man slowly walking toward the creek?" "i mean to say," replied andrews, deliberately, "that there is no man in sight from here, either on that hill-side or any where else." "god help me," muttered drysdale, as the figure disappeared in the woods, "then it must have been a ghost." "my dear fellow," said andrews, sympathizingly, as they continued their ride, "i am afraid you are feverish; you probably imagined you saw something, and you are superstitious about the matter because i did not see it. tell me what it was." by this time they had passed some distance beyond the spot where drysdale had seen the apparition, and he began to recover his strength somewhat. it was evident that he was still very much distressed, but he endeavored to pass the matter over. "oh! it was nothing of any consequence," he said, "but i thought i saw a man crossing that clearing." "well, what of it?" asked andrews. "was he a dangerous looking fellow?" "yes; very dangerous looking, indeed;" then, suddenly, as if struck by a plausible idea, he added: "i thought it was a negro with a gun; you know what my opinions are about allowing the slaves to have fire-arms, and this fellow looked like such a villain that i was really alarmed. you are sure you saw no one?" "quite sure," replied andrews. "i am afraid you have worked too hard, and that you are going to be ill. i shall tell your wife to nurse you well for a few days to cure you of seeing spooks and wild niggers roaming 'round with guns." "no, indeed," said drysdale, hastily; "please say nothing to my wife; it would only alarm her unnecessarily." "well, take my advice and rest awhile," said andrews. "your nerves are a little shaken, and you will certainly be ill if you keep on working so steadily." drysdale soon relapsed into moody silence, and when they reached his gate, he was a really pitiable object. he asked andrews to take supper with him, but as the invitation was given only as a matter of form, the latter excused himself, and rode immediately to the hotel. he happened to meet mrs. potter in the parlor, but he stopped only a few minutes to talk to her, as he was too hungry and tired to feel like entertaining the fascinating widow. it was then only about seven o'clock, and mrs. potter proposed to mrs. townsend, and several other ladies and gentlemen, that they take a walk. accordingly, they strolled through the pleasant streets, enjoying the balmy spring air, and often stopping at the gates of their friends, to chat a few minutes. as they passed the drysdale place, mrs. potter said: "i want to run in to speak to mrs. drysdale a minute; i promised to stop here on our riding excursion to-morrow, but as it is postponed, i want to tell her not to expect me." the rest of the party stayed at the gate, while mrs. potter went in. she was ushered into the library, and mrs. drysdale came down at once. having explained her object in calling, mrs. potter asked whether mr. and mrs. drysdale would not join the party outside, for a short walk. "i am sorry to say, that my husband is quite unwell," said mrs. drysdale. "he returned from the plantation to-day, quite feverish, and excited, and now he is in a sort of nervous delirium. he has had one or two attacks before, but none so serious as this." "i sincerely hope he is not going to be ill," said mrs. potter. "what does the doctor think?" "oh! he won't have a doctor," replied mrs. drysdale; "he says that i am the best doctor he can have, because i can soothe him." just then, mrs. potter heard a heavy footstep, beginning to pace up and down overhead. "there, he has arisen," said mrs. drysdale, "and i shall find him pacing the room, and muttering to himself like a crazy man. you must excuse me, as i must go to quiet him." "oh, certainly; i am sorry i called you away. please let me know if i can do anything for you. if mr. drysdale should be seriously ill, don't be afraid to call upon me. i am an excellent nurse, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to assist you; or, at least, i could look after the children." "you are very kind, mrs. potter, and i shall be glad to accept your assistance, especially, as the children are so fond of you; however, i hope aleck's illness will be only temporary." mrs. potter then withdrew, and the party slowly strolled back to the hotel. as mrs. drysdale surmised, her husband's illness was very brief, and in two or three days, he returned to his duties at the court house. he was somewhat changed in looks, however, his face being haggard, his figure slightly bowed, and his hand tremulous. he seemed, more than ever before, to avoid society, and on his way to the court house, he always chose the least frequented streets. the change in his looks and manners, was noticed only by a few who had formerly been intimate with him; in this little circle, his eccentricities were accounted for by significant gestures of drinking, and it was understood among those who knew him best, that liquor was responsible for the ruin of another fine fellow. one peculiarity that he evinced was, a great partiality for the society of mr. andrews, and for the next week, they were together every day. he frequently referred, in conversation with andrews, to the freak his imagination had played, while returning from the plantation, and, though andrews always made light of it, and laughed at him, he evidently thought about it a great deal. it seemed to be a kind of relief to him to discuss it with andrews, and so the latter used to humor him in it. _chapter vi._ several days after drysdale's return from the plantation, mrs. potter and several others, set out for a horseback ride. they enjoyed the afternoon exceedingly, and it was growing dark before they reached the town on their return. as the party passed down the street upon which drysdale lived, mrs. potter, and another lady, lagged behind the others, and the main body were quite a distance in advance. mrs. potter suggested that they put their horses at full speed, in order to overtake their friends. mrs. robbins, her companion, assented, and they dashed off together. the latter's horse was the faster of the two, however, and mrs. potter was about fifty or sixty yards in the rear, when they approached the drysdale place. there was no one in sight on the street, and there was so much foliage on each side, that the road was quite hidden from the view of the scattered houses. suddenly, mrs. robbins heard a shriek and a fall behind her; quickly reining in her horse, she turned back, passing mrs. potter's riderless horse on the way. she soon discovered mrs. potter lying by the roadside, groaning, and in great pain. mrs. robbins did not stop to ask any questions; she saw that mrs. potter was badly hurt, and she knew that assistance must be brought instantly. she therefore, galloped up the drive to the drysdale house, and hastily told them what had happened. in less than three minutes, mr. drysdale had improvised a stretcher out of a wicker settee and a mattress, and had summoned four stout negroes to bring it after him, while he and his wife hurried out to the road. there they found mrs. potter and mrs. robbins supporting her. she said that she was in great pain, from severe contusion, and possible dislocation of the knee joint, and that she had also sustained some internal injuries. in a very few minutes, they had tenderly placed her on the settee, and carried her up to the house. she was carefully put to bed, and mrs. robbins remounted her horse to go for a physician. the latter, on his arrival, said that he could hardly tell the extent of mrs. potter's injuries at once, but he thought they would not confine her to her bed for more than a week or two. she asked if she might be removed to the hotel, as she did not wish to trespass on mrs. drysdale's hospitality. mrs. drysdale, however, refused to hear of such a thing as the removal of a sick person from her house, and she said that she should enjoy mrs. potter's society enough to compensate for the slight trouble. it was decided, therefore, that mrs. potter should remain until she was able to go without assistance. she improved very rapidly, but her knee seemed to pain her considerably, and she spent most of her time in her room, or on a sofa under the veranda, whither her stout negro nurse used to carry her. [illustration: "_she soon discovered mrs. potter lying by the road-side, groaning and in great pain._"--page .] a few days afterwards, mrs. potter was lying awake in her room at about seven o'clock in the morning. mr. and mrs. drysdale's room was next to hers, and the transom over the connecting door was open, so that whatever was said in one room could be easily heard in the other. mrs. potter heard drysdale get up and open the blinds to let in the morning sun. he had hardly done so ere he gave a sharp cry and sank into a chair. "what is the matter?" asked mrs. drysdale, in great alarm. "oh, nothing," he replied; "i don't feel well." "i should think you wouldn't," said mrs. drysdale, "for you have had the nose-bleed terribly. why, it is all over the pillow and floor, and leads out of the door. you must have gone down stairs." "yes, yes," he exclaimed, hastily, "i did get up in the night. i--i don't feel very well--i guess i will lie down again." "is there anything i can do for you?" asked his wife, anxiously. "no, nothing at present. just go right along with your household affairs, as usual; i shall be all right in a short time." mrs. drysdale saw that her husband was nervous and irritable, and so she dressed quickly and went down to superintend her domestic duties. when mrs. potter's breakfast was ready, she brought it up herself and stopped a few minutes to talk. "do you know of any remedy for bleeding at the nose, mrs. potter?" she asked. "my husband had quite a severe attack last night, and he went down on the front veranda, and then down the gravel walk, thinking, i suppose, that exercise would stop it. it must have bled frightfully, for i could see marks of blood all the way down the path to the gate." "i suppose he let it run instead of trying to stop the flow," replied mrs. potter. "some people think it is good for the health occasionally, and so they allow the nose to bleed as long as it wants to." after a few more remarks, mrs. drysdale went down stairs again. mrs. potter could hear mr. drysdale tossing about on the bed in the next room, muttering to himself, and occasionally speaking aloud such expressions as--"oh! this is horrible!"--"what does this mean?"--"my god! what could have done it?" after a time he became quieter, but he did not leave his room until the afternoon. soon after he got up, mr. andrews called to see him, having failed to find him at his office. "i thought you might be sick and so i dropped in to see you," he said. "i am very glad you came," replied drysdale. "i have been a little unwell, and i need some one to cheer me up." "let us take a short walk," said andrews; "the exercise will do you good." as they strolled out, andrews pointed to some blood and said: "any one hurt in your house?" "no--yes--that is, nothing serious; one of my negroes cut his hand this morning," replied drysdale, shuddering. "i can't look at blood without feeling sick," he explained, as he saw that andrews was wondering at his agitation. as they continued their walk, andrews noticed that drysdale was very self-absorbed, and so they strolled down the street without conversing. their course took them past the bank, and as mr. mcgregor was standing on the steps of the side entrance, he accosted them heartily. "why, how do you do, gentlemen?" he asked. "won't you walk in for a few minutes? i havn't seen you since your illness, mr. drysdale; won't you come in and rest a while?" on hearing mcgregor's salutation, drysdale started as if stung, and trembled violently. he had been walking along with his eyes down, so that he had not seen mr. mcgregor until spoken to. "no, thank you," he replied; "i think i won't have time--that is, i promised my wife to come back soon. you must excuse me this time." he hurried on with a nervous gesture of courtesy, and he did not recover his calmness until some minutes afterward. andrews accompanied him to his home, and on the way they agreed to go to drysdale's plantation for a short visit on the following monday. having settled upon the time for starting and returning, andrews declined an invitation to dine with drysdale that evening, and they separated. andrews dropped into breed's shop on his way back to the hotel, and there he found young green, the man who had made his book-case. they talked together only a few minutes, and andrews then went to his room, where he stayed the remainder of the day. on monday, andrews and drysdale rode off to the plantation at daylight, and the latter's spirits seemed to lighten rapidly after leaving the immediate vicinity of atkinson. in the afternoon, andrews took his gun and wandered off into the woods, but he did not seem very desirous of shooting anything, for he soon took a position whence he commanded a full view of the house. in about half an hour, drysdale came out and walked slowly toward a small cluster of trees, about five hundred yards from the house. here, he leaned against a tree, and paused to look around in every direction; then he began to stride with a measured step in a straight line. when he stopped, he began to examine the ground carefully for some minutes, and finally, he seemed satisfied with his inspection, and returned to the house. during the remainder of their stay at the plantation, andrews and drysdale were constantly together, and the latter seemed to find the greatest pleasure in the former's society. he frequently recurred to the subject of ghosts and spooks, and always closed by discussing the character of the apparition he had seen on the roadside. there was no doubt that it had made a deep impression upon him, for he never tired of talking about it. andrews laughed at him, ridiculed his vivid imagination, cross-questioned him, and reasoned with him upon the absurdity of his hallucination, but all to no effect; drysdale maintained in the most dogged manner, that he had seen a ghost. on friday, they were to return to atkinson, and in the morning andrews rode over to make a short visit to a neighbor. he was so hospitably entertained, however, that he did not get away until after two o'clock, and it was nearly three before they started on their homeward ride. as before, it was growing dusky, when they reached the banks of rocky creek, and drysdale was in a state of high nervous excitement. on reaching the spot where drysdale had seen the ghost before, he kept close at andrews' side, and endeavored to appear unconcerned. suddenly, he grasped andrews by the arm with a faint groan, and said: "andrews, look! look! for god's sake, tell me, don't you see it?" as he spoke, he pointed toward the same ghastly object which he had seen before. there, right under his eyes, passed the image of the murdered george gordon. "there, i was afraid you would have the same folly again," said andrews, soothingly, as if anxious to attract his attention away from his ghostly friend. "what the devil is the matter with you?" "tell me, tell me, andrews," gasped drysdale, in such terror that his parched throat and quivering lips could hardly pronounce the words; "can't you see that horrible man close to the fence, walking toward the creek?" "i tell you, my dear fellow," replied andrews, earnestly, "that you are laboring under a most unpleasant hallucination. there is absolutely no person, or any moving object in sight, except you and me." at this moment, the sound of approaching hoof-beats could be plainly heard, and drysdale turned his head to look back in the direction whence they came. on looking for the ghost again, it was nowhere to be seen. "andrews, it is gone--the earth has swallowed it up," he said. he would have fallen from his horse, if andrews had not caught him around the waist, and just as he did so, mr. breed and mr. o'fallon, the station agent, rode up, one on each side of them. "what's the matter with mr. drysdale?" asked o'fallon. "didn't you see it? tell me--did the ghost pass you?" drysdale queried eagerly, turning toward the new comers. "what are you talking about? what do you mean by 'the ghost?'" asked mr. breed, in great wonderment. "the ghost, i say--did neither of you see a horrible figure pass out of sight suddenly, toward the creek yonder?" "i saw nothing, mr. drysdale," said o'fallon; "did you, breed?" "well, i don't know what mr. drysdale means by a ghost," said breed, deliberately; "but i think i did see something down there. i couldn't say what it looked like. why do you call it a ghost, mr. drysdale?" "because i have seen it twice close to me, and mr. andrews has not been able to see it at all," replied drysdale with great difficulty. "i began to think it must have been imagination on my part, but now, that you have seen it, i know that it was a ghost." drysdale was so helpless, that it was necessary for one gentleman to ride on each side of him to hold him in his saddle. on arriving at his place, they helped him into the house, and left him in charge of his wife. he immediately went to bed, and during the night, he suffered a great deal. mrs. potter heard him groaning, tossing, and muttering until nearly daylight. the story of the ghost was soon freely circulated by o'fallon and breed, though they could not describe the apparition at all. still, it created quite an excitement, and the results were not very beneficial to the neighborhood, for the reason that no negro could be induced to pass along that part of the road after dark; indeed, there were a great many educated white people who would not ride past the spot alone on a dark night. drysdale was confined to his room for several days, during which time he received no visitors except andrews. it was curious to observe what a strong preference he showed for his new-found friend. just at this time i decided to re-visit atkinson myself, and on my arrival there i had a long interview with messrs. ballantine, mcgregor, and gordon. i explained to them all the steps i had taken, and they learned to their great astonishment that mr. andrews, mrs. potter, and mr. green were my detectives. the ghost was green, whose resemblance to young gordon was a great aid in carrying out the scheme. mrs. potter had voluntarily fallen from her horse in order to get herself carried into drysdale's house, and it was she who sprinkled the blood over drysdale's clothing and down the walk. after settling all our plans, i returned to the hotel, where i was easily able to obtain a private interview with mr. andrews and mr. green. i gave full instructions to andrews, and he informed mrs. potter of my wishes, at the same time conveying to her another large bottle of blood. _chapter vii._ about one o'clock that night mrs. potter rose, quietly dressed herself, and stealthily left the house. she walked to the nearest point on the creek and began to drop blood from her bottle. she spilled small portions of it all the way back to the house, up the front walk, in the hall, and finally, slipping into drysdale's room, she scattered the crimson drops on his pillow. she then retired to bed. when she awoke in the morning, she found mrs. drysdale in a very uneasy state of mind. she said that her husband had again been attacked by bleeding at the nose, and that he was quite weak from the loss of blood. mrs. potter deeply sympathized with mrs. drysdale, but she could assist her only by kind and consoling words. the family had hardly finished their breakfast when a number of the neighbors came in in a high state of excitement. they said that blood had been discovered on the grass near where the ghost had been seen, and that quite a crowd had gathered around it. they had found other blood-marks at intervals along the road, and on following the direction in which they traveled, it was found that they led straight to drysdale's house. the question now arose, did the wounded person go from the house to the creek, or _vice versa_. drysdale was terribly excited on learning of the discovery, and he was soon in a species of delirium. it was known that he was quite sick, so that the neighbors soon withdrew. many thought that the blood was that of a burglar or negro sneak-thief, who might have gone to drysdale's house to steal, but who had been frightened off before he had secured any plunder. the blood might have been from an old hurt. others, more superstitiously inclined, believed that the ghost was in some way responsible for the blood. no one was able to solve the mystery, however, and it added to the terror with which the ghost story had inspired the negroes. drysdale was now confined to his bed, and he would see no one except his wife and andrews. he insisted that he was not sick, but only run down by overwork, and so refused to have a doctor. andrews' influence over him was greater than that of any one else, and it was plain that the latter had completely secured his confidence. as i now felt convinced that drysdale would surely confess in a short time, i returned to chicago, leaving the whole charge of the operation with andrews. a few nights later mrs. potter was troubled with the tooth-ache, and she lay awake most of the night. suddenly she heard footsteps in drysdale's room, and then she saw drysdale pass her window on the veranda. he was dressed in slippers and night-dress, and his actions were so strange that she determined to follow him. hastily putting on some dark clothes, she hurried cautiously after him. the night was clear with no moon, and she was able to distinguish his white figure at a considerable distance. he walked rapidly to the creek and followed its windings a short distance; then he paused a few minutes, as if reflecting. this enabled mrs. potter to hide herself near by in some undergrowth, whence she could watch him more carefully. to her great astonishment, she saw him walk into the creek at a shallow spot, and begin wading up against the current. very soon he stopped and leaned over with his hands in the water, as if he were feeling for something. in a few minutes he came out of the stream, on the opposite side from that on which he had entered, and took a path to a footbridge leading across the creek toward his house. as soon as she saw that he was on his way back, she hastened home as rapidly as possible, arriving there only a few seconds before him. the next morning, drysdale appeared at the breakfast table for the first time, in several days. he remarked that he felt much better, but he said nothing of his midnight walk, nor did his wife, as she had slept in a separate room; however, she was probably ignorant of it. neither mrs. potter, nor mr. andrews could imagine what drysdale's object was in making his pilgrimage to the creek at that time of night, especially as he had always shown the greatest aversion to that vicinity, ever since he had first seen the ghost. i was equally puzzled when i was informed of his freak, but i determined to make use of the incident, in case he should do the same thing again. i therefore instructed andrews to have green watch the house every night, dressed in his apparition suit. he was then to "shadow" drysdale, when the latter went out, and if a favorable opportunity should present itself, he was to appear before him in full view in the role of the ghost. by this time, drysdale had recovered sufficiently, to attend to his office duties, but he always seemed anxious to have andrews with him. andrews had talked very encouragingly to him, showed a good deal of sympathy, and thus, they had became quite confidential friends. he, therefore, assured drysdale that he should be happy to give him as much of his company, as possible, if it would afford drysdale any pleasure. "you are very kind, mr. andrews," said drysdale; "you may think it strange, but i feel a sense of relief, when i am with you, especially lately. i wonder if i shall ever be better," he mused plaintively. "why, certainly; we hope for your speedy recovery," said andrews, cheerfully. "you let trivial matters prey on your mind, and you must stop it, for your health will not stand it." "well, i shall try," responded drysdale feebly. one evening, mrs. drysdale was sitting at mrs. potter's side, waiting for her husband's return. by this time, mrs. potter was able to sit up, and even to move about the room somewhat. "my husband is failing in health, i fear," said mrs. drysdale. "i am afraid so, too," replied mrs. potter, "and i feel sorry to think that i am a burden upon you at the same time; but, i hope to be well soon, and then i will help you take care of him." "you have been no burden, whatever, mrs. potter; on the contrary, your company has been a great comfort to me. but, i was thinking, that if my husband would try a change of air and life, it would be a great help to him. i should miss him sadly, but i would make any sacrifice to see him restored to health." at the tea table mrs. drysdale said: "i was just speaking to mrs. potter about your health, aleck, and i thought that if you would go away for a time, the change of scenery, and habits of life, would be very advantageous. why don't you go down to new orleans with mr. andrews? he is always talking of going there, but he is too lazy to start. you could both enjoy yourselves very much, and i know it would do you good. you would return as healthy and happy as you always used to be." "i have been thinking of going there, or to some other place," said drysdale, "but i can't leave just now. i think a trip would do me good, and as soon as i feel able to do so, i will get andrews to go with me." nothing of interest occurred for several days. green kept a close watch every night, but drysdale did not appear. andrews got drysdale to go out hunting with him twice, but each time, drysdale succeeded in arriving at home before dark. green had kept up his vigils for over a week, and he began to think there was no use in them. one night, however, as he lay behind a bush, watching the house, he was suddenly aware of a white figure gliding noiselessly by him. forewarned, though he was, the ghostly stillness with which it moved, gave him quite a severe fright, before he recollected that it was drysdale. he immediately followed the figure and noted his every movement. in the same way, as he had done at first, he now proceeded, and after walking up the stream a short distance, he reached down, felt for something at the bottom, and then came out. as he slowly walked home, he passed within a few feet of green, who made a considerable noise to attract his attention; but, drysdale passed straight on, looking neither to the right nor left, and green was unable to play ghost for the lack of an audience. green's account was the exact counterpart of mrs. potter's, and i was puzzled to account for this new move. as i sat in my office, in chicago, with green's report before me, the idea flashed into my mind, that possibly some of the stolen money was hidden at the bottom of the creek. recollecting the gold pieces, which had been found on the banks of the creek, i surmised that the remainder of the gold was buried somewhere in the bed of the stream. i had no doubt of the eventual recovery of all the money, and so i decided to let that matter rest until i had complete evidence of drysdale's guilt. a few days after the midnight walk, drysdale invited andrews to make another visit to the plantation, saying, "my overseer sends me word that he needs a great many things, and i think i had better go out to see what is wanted, myself. i would like to have you go with me, for, to tell the truth, i am almost afraid to go alone." "i shall be very glad, indeed, to go; when shall we start?" "let us start monday, and return friday, as before," replied drysdale. "very well," said andrews. "i shall be ready on time." at the first opportunity, andrews informed green of their intended visit, and told him that in order to insure the success of their plan, it would be best for him to ride out to the plantation, also, on wednesday or thursday. he could thus be on hand in his ghostly capacity whenever wanted. green promised to be at a certain spot, near the plantation, on wednesday afternoon, to receive instructions from andrews, and all their arrangements were then completed. andrews took breakfast with drysdale before starting, monday morning, and at table, mrs. drysdale said: "aleck, mrs. potter is so far recovered, that i guess we shall drive out to the plantation on wednesday or thursday, and spend a day or two with you." "that will be delightful," replied drysdale, "and we shall look for you with great pleasure." "well, if the ladies are coming at that time, i hope they will bring our mail, for i expect an important letter," said andrews. "oh, certainly," said mrs. drysdale; "and, if anything should prevent us from coming, i will send your letters by a servant." andrews had written to me of the intended visit to the plantation, and he was anxious to receive any instructions i might send, before he returned to town. the two gentlemen mounted their horses and cantered off. drysdale appeared in better spirits than at any time for several weeks, and by the time they reached the plantation, he was quite gay and cheerful. he had a great deal to attend to, and andrews gave him very considerable assistance. they were kept quite constantly busy until wednesday noon, when mrs. drysdale and mrs. potter arrived in a carriage, bringing the mail. as andrews had expected, there was a letter for him, in which i instructed him to have green appear to drysdale, in the small grove of trees, where he had acted so queerly during their last visit. from drysdale's manner in this grove, i had concluded that some of the money was buried there, and i therefore, considered it a good place for the ghost to appear. on reading my letter, andrews remarked that he should be obliged to go to atkinson, to send a telegram, as his letter required an immediate answer, but that he should return the same evening. this, of course, was only an excuse to get away to meet green, and so his horse was brought up at once, and he rode away. green was punctual at the rendezvous, and andrews gave him full instructions; he was to remain in sight of the house, on the side near the little grove of trees, until an opportunity should occur to appear before drysdale. andrews then took a long ride over the country, so as to delay his return to the plantation until after dark. during the evening, mrs. potter told him that drysdale had visited the little grove that afternoon, but she was, of course, unable to follow him. the next evening, after supper, andrews proposed taking a short walk, and they all started out together. by chance, they took the direction of the little grove, previously mentioned, and they were all in fine spirits. mrs. potter, however, was obliged to walk very slowly, owing to her injured knee, and mrs. drysdale kept her company; the two gentlemen were, therefore, some distance in the advance, when they reached the edge of the grove. drysdale had been unusually cheerful until then, but as they entered the shadow, he began to lose his gayety, as if something disagreeable had been suggested to him. it was now approaching twilight, and he turned toward andrews half pettishly, and said: "don't go into that dismal place; let us stay out in the open walk. i never like to go into such----" the words died on his tongue, and he nearly fell down from fright. there, crossing their path in the sombre shades of the grove, was that terrible spectre with its ghastly face, measured step, and clotted hair. it passed into the deep recesses of the grove, while drysdale watched it like a condemned criminal. as it moved out of sight, he fell to the ground like a dead man, and andrews called for help. mrs. drysdale hurried up in great alarm, and took her husband's head in her lap, while mrs. potter chafed his hands and held her vinaigrette to his nostrils. mr. andrews quickly called some negroes from the house, and they carried their unconscious master to his room. he was soon restored to his senses, but he was in a pitiable condition. the least sound made him start like a person in the _delirium tremens_, and he muttered to himself constantly. finally he caught andrews by the hand and said: "andrews, didn't you see that horrible ghost?" "no, indeed; i saw no ghost," replied andrews. "did either of you see it?" he continued, turning to the ladies. they both answered negatively. "if there really had been such a thing we certainly should have seen it," said mrs. potter. "well, i know that i saw it, and it is terrible to think that i should be the only one to whom this thing appears," said drysdale. andrews handed him a drink of brandy, which revived his strength a great deal, and he again began to talk about the ghost. "i can't understand, andrews, why you didn't see it," he said; "it passed within fifty feet of us, and it was truly terrible." "it is certainly very strange," replied andrews. "here are three persons that did _not_ see it, yet you insist that you did. what did it look like? you have never yet described it to me." drysdale made no reply, but a look of renewed dread came over his face, and he reached for more brandy, which was given him. "it surely must be some disease of the brain," said mrs. drysdale, tearfully, "for he frequently imagines that he sees strange sights, and i am afraid to think what will happen. if he would only go to some watering-place, and put himself under the care of a reliable physician, he would soon get better." "the doctors can do me no good, my dear," he said controlling himself by a great effort; "do not be alarmed, but let me go to sleep for a while and i shall be better." mr. andrews and mrs. potter left the room in a few minutes, as mr. drysdale evidently wished to be left alone. they had ample opportunity for consultation, and they decided that green had better stay near by all night, to watch the house and the grove. "if that is to be done," said mrs. potter, "i will go and put up a lunch which you can take to him, since if he is to remain out there all night, he will not be able to get anything to eat, and you know that a hungry ghost cannot do as well as one which is well fed." she soon prepared a large lunch, and added to it a small bottle of wine, which she gave to andrews. he immediately hastened out to the grove, and found green at a point where they had agreed to meet. he gave the food to green, and told him to keep a close watch on the house all night; in case of anything occurring he was to tap on the window of andrews' room, which was on the ground floor. andrews then returned to the house, leaving green to eat his lunch, drink his wine and keep watch. the night was damp and warm, and the insects were particularly active, so that green's duty was none of the pleasantest. the hours slipped wearily by until after midnight, when he saw a white figure emerge from the house and approach the little grove. he hastily gained an open spot where, in the bright starlight, he could be plainly seen, and, as drysdale advanced, he slowly paced toward him. to green's astonishment, drysdale passed within two feet of him without noticing his presence in any way; they passed so close to each other that green was forced to step to one side, yet drysdale walked slowly on until he reached the grove. here he walked around a moment or two and then returned to the house. green immediately tapped on andrews' window and related what had occurred. there being no new developments, green returned to the wood where he had picketed his horse, and then rode back to atkinson. _chapter viii._ friday morning drysdale appeared at breakfast and tried to appear natural and at ease. he spoke of his peculiar hallucination, but his remarks were simply repetitions of those he had frequently made before. andrews again requested him to describe the appearance of the spectre, but drysdale seemed averse to continuing the conversation on that subject, and so it was dropped. immediately after dinner they started for atkinson, the gentlemen on horseback, and the ladies in the carriage. as andrews could offer no plausible excuse for detaining them, mrs. potter was obliged to try what she could do. by making two calls on acquaintances living along the road, she was enabled to keep back their arrival much later than drysdale liked, though not late enough for her purpose. it was too early to have green appear, as there were so many people traveling on the road that he might be seen by others and the trick exposed. it was quite evident that drysdale was in a miserable condition. he was sure that he had seen the ghost of george gordon, and he was in a state of momentary dread and suspense. he had entertained thoughts of leaving the place, but he dared not. like eugene aram, he pictured himself as continually haunted by the spirit of his victim, and he feared lest others should see it, and accuse him of the murder. his health failed rapidly; his form was emaciated, his cheeks hollow, his eyes haggard and sunken. it was clearly only a question of time how soon he confessed or went insane. green continued his night watches about the house, and again one night drysdale passed out to the creek and acted as before. this time, however, he had his clothes on, and as he passed green at arms length, it seemed almost incredible that he should have failed to see him. green took particular pains to identify the exact spot where drysdale had searched in the water, and he marked it carefully by placing a stone on each side of the bank opposite where drysdale had stopped. the following night mrs. potter got up and went into drysdale's room, where he was sleeping alone. she then dropped some blood on his pillow, on the floor, and around the bed. then passing out, she left the trail as before from the house toward rocky creek. drysdale was horrified early next morning when he saw the blood-stains. he groaned piteously as he walked about the room, and then followed the spots out to the front gate. on seeing that they continued beyond this, he came back with a most dejected and helpless look. mrs. potter saw him go into his room, and, by looking through the keyhole of the connecting door, she was enabled to see that he was engaged in washing out the spots on the floor and bed clothes. he did not appear at the breakfast table, but his wife told mrs. potter that he had had another severe attack of bleeding during the night, and that he was very weak in consequence. during the forenoon mrs. potter went in to see mr. drysdale, whom she found in great distress physically and mentally. he was anxious to see mr. andrews, and his wife sent a message to the hotel at once. in about an hour andrews came in. "i am sorry to find you feeling so bad this morning," he said. "you were looking quite well last evening. what is the trouble? wouldn't you like me to go for a doctor?" "no, thank you; i shall get along better without physic," replied drysdale. "i was feeling unusually well last evening, but i had a severe attack of bleeding last night, and i am very weak." "is there anything i can do for you?" asked andrews. "well, yes; there are some papers in my office that should be sent to captain rowland, a planter in the west end of the county, and as it is important that they should be delivered soon, i should be greatly obliged if you would get them and send them off." "certainly, certainly," said andrews; "where shall i find them?" "they are in the left-hand pigeon-hole of my upright desk, in the office, and you can send them by dan. marston, who lives near the court-house; he is very faithful and trustworthy. any one can tell you where to find him." "oh, i know dan.," said andrews, "he has done several errands for me. where are your keys?" "they are on the bureau, yonder; but, andrews, i wish you would come back after you have sent the papers. i always feel better when i hear you talking; when i am alone i keep thinking about that spirit, and i tell you it is terrible. you will come back, won't you?" "oh, certainly, i shall be glad to keep you company while you are under the weather." when andrews started off with the keys, a sudden thought flashed into his mind, and he first went to his room, where he obtained some blood, of which he had quite a supply. he then went to drysdale's private office and dropped some blood on the desk, chairs and floor, and also on the wrapper of captain rowland's papers. he was well known to the deputy clerk, and so no one questioned his right to go to drysdale's desk. on leaving the private office, he locked the door, and hurried back to drysdale's house with the papers. he entered drysdale's room in an excited manner, and said: "why, drysdale, you must have been bleeding at the office, for there is blood on your chairs, desk, and on these papers; look there!" as he spoke, he held out the package with its dull crimson stain. the shock was too much for drysdale, and he fainted away instantly. it was sometime before he revived, but finally, he was able to talk again. "please take the wrapper off those papers," he said feebly, "and put them into another. they are copies of papers in a law case now in court, and i would not like them to go out in that condition." andrews agreed to fix them all neat and clean before sending them, and he then went out to attend to it. on his way down town, he met mr. mcgregor, to whom he related what he had done, and its effect. "mr. mcgregor," he continued, "i think it would be a good idea to sprinkle some blood in the bank, on the floor, and on the desk, where young gordon used to stand; also, to put some blood and hair on the canceling hammer. do this in the evening, and arrange to have some one enter the bank with you in the morning; then, the story will be circulated until drysdale will hear it, and it may have a powerful effect upon him. i think mr. pinkerton would approve the plan, if he were here." mr. mcgregor thought favorably of the suggestion, and he agreed to act upon it, as soon as possible. andrews then went back to drysdale's office, wiped up the blood spots, and put captain rowland's papers into a new wrapper. having sent them off, he returned and passed the afternoon with drysdale. the latter was in a terrible condition; he seemed like a man suffering from hydrophobia, so sensitive were his nerves, and so depressed was his mind. his thoughts could turn in only one direction, and that was toward remorse and fear. "'tis guilt alone, like brain sick frenzy in its feverish mood. fills the light air with visionary terrors and shapeless forms of fear." through advices from andrews, i was aware that things were approaching a crisis, and i therefore, went immediately to atkinson, in order to be ready for any emergency. i arrived there the very morning chosen by mr. mcgregor, to carry out his project of sprinkling blood at the bank. he had arranged, by apparent accident, to have two planters enter the bank with him, and in fact, it happened that four gentlemen were present at ten o'clock when he opened the bank. they all entered together, and when mr. mcgregor had taken down the blinds, he went inside the bank railing. as he did so, he uttered a sudden exclamation, which caused the others to follow. "what can this mean!" he said, in an excited tone. the other gentlemen gathered around the ghastly scene and examined the blood, which lay in a pool on the floor, and in spots on the furniture and wall. the canceling hammer, stained with blood, and clotted with hair, lay close by, and every one was reminded of the appearance of the place, the morning after george gordon's murder. "what can have happened?" asked old mr. gordon, who had just entered. "surely, no one was murdered here last night." "ah! i fear it is done by poor george's spirit!" exclaimed o'fallon, who was a very superstitious man. "this looks just as it did that fatal morning, except that the body is not here. his spirit must be uneasy at the failure to discover his murderer." by this time, flanders and several others, had entered the bank, and the appearance of things there, was soon circulated throughout the town. the excitement about the murder, was revived in all its original importance, and many were the speculations about the mysterious affair. drysdale felt rather strong that morning, and about noon, he walked down to his gate. while there, some of his neighbors passed on their way to their homes, and they were all anxious to tell him about the new sensation at the bank. on hearing the news, drysdale dragged himself into the house and went to bed. there he lay, groaning and sobbing piteously, and when andrews called in the afternoon, he was so helpless that andrews insisted on calling a physician. in a short time he returned with dr. sprague, who examined the patient, and prescribed for him. dr. sprague said that drysdale would speedily recover with a proper amount of rest and sleep. wakefulness and nervous irritation seemed to be the trouble with him, and the doctor told andrews that he had prescribed morphine. he said that there was nothing serious to fear unless fever should set in, and if any symptoms should show themselves it would be necessary to call him immediately. upon leaving drysdale, andrews came to me to report. i had arranged with mr. mcgregor, to pay a visit to the creek that night, to search the spot which had been visited so often by drysdale. i therefore sent andrews back to offer to remain with drysdale during the night. this arrangement pleased drysdale very much, and he was quite touched by andrews' kindness. i also instructed green to watch drysdale's house, so as to be ready to appear before drysdale, in case the latter left his house. he was to cross and re-cross drysdale's path, until drysdale should take notice of him, while andrews was to be at hand immediately, pretending that he had fallen asleep during his watch, and on waking up suddenly and finding drysdale gone, had come out in search of him. i told mr. bannatine and mr. mcgregor, to bring a wheelbarrow, pick-axe, and large shovel with them, since we should probably need the two latter to dig up the gold, while the wheelbarrow would be handy to carry it home. everything was provided for in advance, and i felt confident of the success of our expedition. _chapter ix._ the night was clear and bright, and everything was favorable for our work. at twelve o'clock, we met as previously agreed, and hastened to the banks of rocky creek, at the spot which green had pointed out to me that day. on reaching the designated place, i threw off my coat and waded into the creek. i soon found a large flat stone, which i removed to one side. i was just beginning to dig under it, when green hurried up and told me that drysdale had left the house, and that he was only a short distance behind. we quickly hid ourselves in the underbrush, and in a few moments drysdale appeared. green passed him back and forth, several times, but drysdale paid no attention to him whatever. suddenly the thought flashed upon me, that he was walking in his sleep, and i soon saw that such was the case. all of his midnight promenades were now accounted for, and it was not strange that he had not noticed green. so great was the man's anxiety and nervous dread of discovery, that he could not rest in quiet, and he was forced to visit the spot where his blood-stained treasure was concealed, even in his hours of repose. he now waded into the creek, as before, but he remained a much longer time than usual, as he was unable to find the large flat stone in its accustomed spot. finally, he discovered where i had thrown it, and he immediately replaced it in the very hole whence i had taken it. he then returned to the house, and went to bed. i again removed the stone, and while mr. mcgregor handled the pick-axe, i plied the shovel vigorously. in a very few minutes, we struck a piece of wood which gave back a hollow sound. this encouraged us to renewed activity, and we were richly rewarded by unearthing a large cheese-box, whose weight gave ample proof of the value of its contents. having replaced the flat stone where we first found it, we put the box on the wheelbarrow, and took turns in wheeling it to the bank, where we soon broke it open and discovered, as we had expected, that it was full of gold coin in rouleaux. the counting of this large sum of money was rather tedious, but it was finally accomplished satisfactorily, and the result showed that only eighty dollars were missing. the officers of the bank were in high glee, and they asked me whether i had any hope of recovering the paper money. "if i am not mistaken," i replied, "i shall find the paper money also, within twenty-four hours. i shall go to drysdale's plantation to-morrow night, and shall search the ground in that group of trees of which you have already heard so much. i think we shall find there all the paper money." the next day, drysdale and andrews remained together constantly; indeed, drysdale did not seem willing to let andrews leave his sight for a moment. he was perfectly helpless and inert. in the evening, i met my companions of the night previous, and we drove out to drysdale's plantation, taking along the necessary tools. we secured our horses in the grove, and then green led the way toward the spot where drysdale had examined the ground. on making a close examination with our dark lanterns, we discovered a piece of sod which had evidently been taken up, for the edges had not yet joined with the surrounding turf. we quickly pulled it up and began to dig beneath it; as before, our search was rewarded after a few minutes of labor. at the depth of two feet, we came upon a large candle-box, which we carefully dug up and placed in one of our buggies. there was apparently, nothing more concealed in this spot, and so we replaced the earth, packed it down, and put the piece of sod back into its place. we then returned to atkinson, where we arrived just before daylight. the bank officers immediately opened the box, and counted the paper money contained therein; it was found to agree exactly, with the sum stolen from the bank. the packages of bills were replaced in the box, which was then locked up in the vault. i sent instructions by andrews to mrs. potter to again make use of the blood about drysdale's house, and i also ordered green to keep watch during the night. the next morning andrews reported that drysdale's terror on discovering the blood had been greater than he had ever shown before, and that he was fast breaking down. i therefore held a consultation with the bank officers. "now, gentlemen," i said, "we have recovered the money, and we have sufficient evidence to convict the murderer. i think it is time to arrest him; don't you?" to tell the truth, i was in no easy frame of mind myself. i was morally sure of drysdale's guilt, but i had no legal evidence which was sufficient to convict him in case he should maintain his innocence. moreover i had assumed a terrible responsibility in taking such extreme measures with him, for there was danger that he might go insane without confessing his guilt, and in that case my position would have been really dangerous. i should have been accused of driving him crazy with no proper justification for my actions, and the result might have been most disastrous to me. the fact that i, an unknown man from the north, had driven a high-toned southern gentleman insane, would have been sufficient to hang me by the summary process of lynch law. the fact that part of the money had been found on his plantation, would be only circumstantial evidence, since another man might have buried it there as well as drysdale. his visits to the spots where the money was concealed, were not conclusive of guilt, since he was a somnambulist, and in his sleep-walking he was not responsible for his actions. mrs. potter suggested to me that he might have been sleep-walking the night of the murder, and (while in that condition,) he might have followed the murderer to the spot where the gold was hidden; it would then be nothing strange that he should go to the same spot in his subsequent night-wanderings. it will thus be easily understood that during the remainder of my connection with the case, i was in a highly wrought up frame of mind. indeed, when i came to make the arrest, it would have been hard to tell whether drysdale or i was the more excited. in reply to my question, mr. bannatine instructed me to take whatever course i saw fit, as they were all perfectly satisfied with my management of the affair. i learned from andrews that drysdale would visit his office that afternoon, as there were some important matters requiring his attention. drysdale had told andrews that he intended to put the office in the charge of a deputy for a time, so as to enable him to go off to new orleans on a visit of several weeks, and he desired that andrews should accompany him. he little thought that the toils were closing around him so rapidly, and that he should never start on his projected excursion. having decided to arrest him immediately, i went to the office of an old friend of mr. bannatine, a lawyer, who drew up the necessary affidavit upon which i proposed to apply for a warrant. i then called upon the sheriff, and asked him to go before a justice of the peace with me, while i swore to an affidavit for a warrant which i wished him to execute. "what is the warrant for?" asked the sheriff, as he walked along with me. "it is quite an important case," i replied, "and i have had the affidavits drawn up by mr. wood, the lawyer, and you will see the charge in a few minutes." "all right," said the sheriff; "let us go to squire baker's." fortunately we found the justice alone, and having stated that i wished to obtain a warrant, i handed him the affidavit which i had had prepared. he carefully adjusted his glasses and began to read the paper, but in a moment or two he gave a sudden start and dropped the document, in utter amazement. he looked at me keenly and said: "do you mean to accuse mr. drysdale of murdering george gordon?" at this the sheriff was equally astonished, and he said: "oh! nonsense; it can't be possible. why, do you know, my dear sir, that he is one of the finest gentlemen, and one of the most honorable men in atkinson? surely you are joking." "no, i am not joking at all," i replied. "i knew, of course, that you would be greatly surprised and shocked, but the proofs are too clear to admit of any doubt. the matter has been carefully examined by mr. bannatine, mr. gordon, and mr. mcgregor, and it is at their request that i have come to get a warrant. however, i can soon convince you of his guilt." "well, well, it is almost incredible," said squire baker, "but if mr. bannatine and mr. mcgregor are convinced, i presume there must be strong grounds for suspicion, for they are both very careful men. i certainly hope, however, that it may prove to have been a mistake, and that mr. drysdale will be able to show his innocence." i then made oath to the facts, and the warrant was issued. the sheriff asked me when he should make the arrest, and i told him that drysdale was then at his office, and he must be taken at once. we accordingly, went straight to his office, where we found him with andrews. as the sheriff entered, drysdale said: "how do you do, mr. ringwood? take a chair." "no, i thank you, mr. drysdale," said the sheriff in a sympathetic tone; "the fact is, i am here on a very unpleasant duty, and i cannot stay long. i have a warrant for your arrest, mr. drysdale." "warrant for me! what for?" exclaimed drysdale, huskily. "it is for the murder of george gordon," replied the sheriff. "who charges me? i----" drysdale could only shriek the above, ere he fell back into a chair almost lifeless. in a few minutes, he recovered somewhat, and the sheriff said: "mr. pinkerton here, has made an affidavit to the charge, and he seems to be acquainted with the grounds for accusing you; suppose you walk down to the bank with us." drysdale gazed at me steadily for a moment, and then said: "let me look at the warrant." he was trembling like an aspen leaf, while he was reading it, and when he had finished, he expressed a willingness to go with us, if andrews would go too. it was now after banking hours, and the bank was closed, but the officers admitted us. after the door had been closed, i turned to drysdale and said: "i have the unpleasant duty, mr. drysdale, of charging you with the murder of george gordon, in this bank; have you any denial to make?" this was the signal to green, and as i finished speaking, he passed from behind the desk, where he had been seated, across the spot where gordon's body had fallen. he was made up exactly like gordon, as on previous occasions, and though he was in sight only a second, it was enough. drysdale gave a shriek, and fell lifeless, as the apparent ghost disappeared in the vault. it was done so quickly, that even the sheriff was puzzled to determine what the apparition was. restoratives were applied, and drysdale soon revived. "great god!" he exclaimed. "where is george gordon? i am sure he was here. did you see him, andrews?" no one answered, and seeing that we were all looking at him in amazement, he sprang to his feet, exclaiming: "i deny the charge you have made against me; it is false in every particular." "then, mr. drysdale," said i, "you will probably deny that you buried the gold, which was taken from this bank, in the bed of rocky creek. here it is," i added, uncovering the box, which had been placed near by. he said nothing, but hung his head, and drew a long breath. "will you also deny that you buried the paper money in a grove near your house, on your plantation?" i continued, showing him the candle box. he still said nothing, and i made a motion to andrews to have green ready for a re-appearance. then i went on speaking. "this money has all been identified as that which was stolen from the bank; it was found as i have stated. i also have here a partly burned note of yours, which you used to light the fire in the grate. i have examined these fragments of buttons, and i find that they are exactly like those on the coat which you brought home from new orleans just before the murder; they were found in the grate yonder, where you burned your coat, but there is enough left of them to identify them. but if you are not satisfied with this evidence, that we can prove you are guilty, i will even call upon the murdered man himself, to testify against you." as i spoke, green slowly glided out toward us, with his white, set face, and bloody hair. drysdale covered his face with his hands, dropped into a chair and shrieked: "oh! my god! i am guilty! i am guilty!" and he sank back, but did not faint. green instantly retired, whence he came, and drysdale continued speaking, as if he obtained relief by confessing his crime. "yes, i am guilty, and i have suffered the tortures of the damned since that frightful night. i do not know what made me do it, but i have never known a moment's peace since then. my mind has been occupied with that money constantly, and even in my sleep i would dream about it. oh! it is terrible!" "have you ever gone to look for it at night, mr. drysdale?" i asked, as i wished to know whether he was aware of his somnambulism. "oh, no; i would not dare to go near it, but it has haunted me always." "how did you come to murder george?" i asked. "i can't tell," he replied, in a choking voice; "it all occurred like a dream." "what motive did you have? you surely could have got money without resorting to robbery, much less murder." "no, i could not. people think i am wealthy, but the fact is i lost a great deal of money in speculating when i went to new orleans, a few months before the murder, and although i have a good deal of property, i had no ready money, and i could not work my plantation properly for want of it. i had purchased seven slaves from a man in new orleans, and i could not pay for them. he was pressing me for the money, about twelve hundred dollars, and i came down to the bank to get the money from george. i had only three hundred dollars in bank, and so i gave my note for the remainder. while george was counting out the money, i was taken with a sort of insanity, and i struck him with a large hammer which happened to be at hand. then i carried off the money and buried it, since which time i have never touched it. it has been a curse to me. this is all i have to say now." i turned to mr. bannatine and said: "i have now done all that i can do in this matter, i think." "yes, you have completed your task, and the law must now take its course," he replied. "mr. ringwood, you had better take charge of mr. drysdale." drysdale rose from his chair, wearily, and said: "i am glad the end has come at last. this affair has been killing me by inches, and i am glad i have confessed." the sheriff then touched him on the shoulder and said that he must go. "yes, i am ready," he replied, "but please let me speak a few words privately, to mr. andrews; i want to send a message to my wife," he added, with a sob. he and andrews then stepped into the small private office, and andrews closed the door behind him. "andrews, my friend," said drysdale, convulsively, "i beg you to break this news to my poor wife. god help her and the children. tell her that i feel better for having confessed, and whatever happens she must keep up her courage. now, my dear friend, good bye. tell the sheriff to come here and take me to jail." he wrung andrews' hand warmly as the latter stepped to the door, but before the latter had reached us, we heard the ringing report of a pistol shot. we made a simultaneous rush for the little room, but we were too late. there, quivering on the floor, with a bullet in his brain, lay the murderer of george gordon. the crime and the avengement had occurred in the same building, only a few feet separating the spot where the two bodies had fallen. the somnambulist had walked on earth for the last time. the end. the murderer and the fortune teller. _chapter i._ one sultry day in the summer of -, i arrived in chicago, from a tour i had been making through the southern states. i had attended to a portion of the accumulated business which i found awaiting me, when a gentleman entered the outer office and asked one of my clerks whether he could see me immediately on some very important business. mr. howard saw by the gentleman's appearance, that the matter must be one of great consequence, and, therefore, ushered the visitor into my private office, without asking any questions. "mr. pinkerton, i believe?" said the gentleman, as he advanced toward me. "yes, sir," i replied; "what can i do for you?" he took a letter from his pocket and handed it to me. i motioned him to be seated, while i read the letter. i found it to be from my old friend chapman, a lawyer in new haven, connecticut, introducing the bearer, captain j. n. sumner. the letter stated that captain sumner was a resident of springfield, massachusetts, near which place he owned a farm. he had a moderate fortune, and he was a most estimable man. mr. chapman had known him for many years, during which time he had always borne himself in an upright, straightforward manner, free from all reproach. lately, however, he had become involved in some very serious difficulties in the west, and mr. chapman had advised him to see me, and obtain my assistance in extricating himself from his troubles. mr. chapman concluded by saying, that he was confident, that, if any one could aid the captain, i was the best person to consult. i had not seen mr. chapman for some years, the last time having been while i was attending to some business in which he was interested. he was especially noted as a criminal lawyer being employed quite as often for the prosecution, as for the defense. we were the best of friends, and had cracked many a joke at each other's expense. he did not mention the nature of the captain's troubles in his letters, leaving that for the captain to do himself. while i was reading the letter, i was aware that the captain was observing me closely, as if desirous of reading my very thoughts. when i had finished, i said: "captain sumner, i am glad to meet you. any one bearing a letter from my old friend chapman, is welcome." as i spoke, i looked straight at him, and took in his whole appearance. he was apparently, about fifty years of age, but was very well preserved, not a streak of gray being visible in his dark, curly hair. he was slightly above the middle height, and his frame was proportionally powerful, his limbs being well knit, and muscular. his clear, hazel eyes looked frankly out beneath heavy, straight eyebrows, while his large roman nose and massive chin, gave his face great firmness and determination. his teeth were white and regular, and his smile was unusually sweet and expressive. his face was much tanned from long exposure to the weather, and his hands were large and hard. he was dressed in a quiet, neat suit of gray cloth, well fitting but easy, and there was nothing loud or in bad taste about him. his only articles of jewelry were a gold watch and chain, and a seal ring with a peculiar, plain stone, worn on the little finger of his left hand. i gazed steadily at him for about two minutes, which is about as long a time as i need to obtain a correct opinion of a man's character. i was very favorably impressed by his appearance, and i prepared to hear his story with more interest than i should have had, if he had been a less honest, reliable looking man. he opened the conversation, while i was still looking straight into his face. "mr. pinkerton," he said, "i have heard a great deal about you from various sources, and i little thought that i should ever require your services; but, lately, while consulting mr. chapman relative to a possible flaw in the title to my farm, i also laid before him some other troubles which he acknowledged were so serious as to require the advice and assistance of some one with a training and experience somewhat different from his. he urged me so strongly to state my case to you, and obtain your aid, that i have finally decided to follow his advice, and here i am." "when did you arrive?" i inquired. "about a week ago. i looked around for a time to see if my difficulties had diminished,----"(and he passed his hand nervously through his hair, drawing a long breath)--"but i found they had increased, if anything. mr. pinkerton, when i retired from the sea and settled down on my farm, i thought my cares and vexations were over, and that i could find in the peace and tranquility of country life, a rich reward for the hardships i had endured while earning enough to retire on. my father, also, was a sailor many years, and, after passing the best part of his life at sea, in like manner, he was able to live his last twenty years in peace and content upon his farm; there i was reared, until i was old enough to go to sea. i have followed his example; but, instead of enjoying the peace he did, i find that my serious troubles are only just beginning. if i were at sea, i should have no fears, for there i am perfectly at home. no matter how the wind might blow, or the seas roll, i always brought my ship through in safety. i could read the signs of the weather, and could detect the approach of danger from the elements. i _knew_ my enemies were there, and that was half the battle. here, on land, i find it so different; my worst enemies come to me with the smiles and greetings of friends; they express the tenderest wishes for my welfare, and shower upon me the tokens of their affection; then, having fairly won my confidence, they turn upon me when i least expect it, and stab me cruelly. i am a plain, blunt man--often irritable and unjust, i know--still, i never flinch from danger when i can see it; but, the very nature of my bringing up has rendered me unfit to cope with the wiles and subtleties of my fellow man. you, mr. pinkerton, it is said, have the power to see direct to the hearts of men through the shams and artifices by which they seek to hide their true characters, and you are the only man who can assist me. oh, i wish i were back on the sea, far away from all my troubles. i should care but little if i never returned." he spoke in a low voice, but the tone was clear until the last, when his words were very pathetic. as he closed, his head dropped forward, and he sat gazing fixedly at his ring in an attitude of mournful retrospection. "perhaps you had better wait awhile before telling me your story," i suggested. "yes," he replied, looking at his watch, "it is now five o'clock, so i will defer making my statement until to-morrow; though i should prefer to make it now, if i had time. the story is a long one, and i shall have to take a considerable portion of your valuable time in telling it. will you please to name the hour when i can meet you to-morrow, to give you all the facts in the case?" i had already become interested in the captain, and, after thinking for a moment how i could best arrange my other business so as to grant him the necessary time, i told him to come at nine o'clock next morning. he said he would be punctual in keeping the appointment; then stepping forward, he took my hand and said, in a very impressive way, "mr. pinkerton, i shall meet you if i am alive. i am not afraid of death; i have met it scores of times, face to face, and have never flinched from it; but now i must take care of myself. if i don't come, just look for me at my boarding house." i glanced quickly at him, but could see nothing wrong about his mind. his eyes were clear and natural; his whole appearance showed him to be a plain, blunt seaman, little disposed to invent imaginary dangers. still, there was in his manner, a deep melancholy which showed me that it was not any natural disease that he dreaded, and which caused me to exclaim: "why, captain, you fear death by violence, do you not?" "yes," he replied; "but i cannot enter into details at present. i shall try to save myself and meet you to-morrow morning, but if i do not come, please send my body to connecticut, to be interred near the rest of my family." he then said good-day and went out, leaving me to speculate upon his peculiar behavior, and to wonder what were the dangers which surrounded him. i was so much pleased with his frank, manly simplicity that i was determined to give him all the assistance in my power. _chapter ii._ at nine o'clock the next morning, captain sumner walked into my private office, and i immediately locked the door to avoid interruption. i noticed that he was apparently much more contented than he had been the evening previous; but i said nothing, preferring to have him tell his story in his own way. he began immediately, without wasting time in preliminaries: "mr. pinkerton, i know that you are always busy, and that time is money to you; hence, i shall be as brief as possible. in order to begin right, i must go slightly into my family history. my father owned a farm near springfield, massachusetts, where my mother brought up the family while he was away at sea. he was as fine a seaman as ever trod a deck, and became captain in one of the regular lines of east india packet companies while i was a mere child. i had one brother who died very young, leaving me the only boy of the family. i had two sisters, however, lucy and annie. my father took me to sea with him when i was quite a boy, and he put me through such a thorough course of seamanship and navigation that, by the time he was ready to resign his captaincy and retire to his farm, i was promoted to the position of first mate in the same line. this was in . "about this time my mother died, and my sisters took charge of the domestic affairs of the farm. my older sister, lucy, now mrs. w. r. lucas, was twenty-two years old. she was a girl of great firmness of character, and she has since proved herself the best of wives, being very domestic and fond of home pleasures. annie, my younger sister, was eighteen years of age, and she was then my special pride and delight; as, indeed, she has been all her life. she was tall and slender, but well proportioned and graceful. her features were regular and expressive, and her complexion was very delicate; yet it has retained its freshness until now, instead of fading, as is the case with most clear, soft complexions. she was then, and is still, a beautiful woman. she was very vivacious and witty, was fond of society, and cared less for domestic pursuits than to have a gay time in a large company. she was petted and indulged a great deal, being the youngest and a beauty, so that she was not often called upon to practice self-denial. it is probably partly due to this lack of restraint during her early years that she never has had the strength of character and devotion to good principles as lucy." here the captain sighed heavily, and stopped speaking for a minute or two. i handed him a glass of ice-water, which he drank mechanically. he then continued: "as i before stated, i became first mate when my father retired. the company was a wealthy one, owning a number of ships, so that the chances for promotion were very good. my most intimate friend was a young man named henry thayer. we had long been ship-mates together, and had passed through a school of navigation at the same time. he was a thorough seaman, a careful, considerate officer, and a true friend. he was a general favorite on account of his cheerful disposition, and we soon became like brothers. whenever we returned from a voyage, i would bring henry out to the farm to spend a few days, and, about the time of my promotion, i found that he had become warmly attached to annie. at every opportunity, he would run down to see her, and in every foreign port we entered, he would be sure to buy some rare and curious present for her. his affection was reciprocated by annie, and one day, after i had made two or three short voyages as first mate, i returned to the farm and found annie wearing an engagement ring. i laughingly asked her when it was to come off, and she replied, with many blushes, that they were to be married on henry's return from his next voyage. i knew that annie was very fond of gentlemen's society, so i advised her to try to overcome her taste for dress and company; since, when she was married, her husband would be away from home a great deal, and then it would not look well for her to receive much attention in his absence. she seemed to acknowledge the force of my remarks, and said that she should do all in her power to make henry happy. "on returning to new york, i found that henry had been just appointed first mate, and that i had pleased the company so well that they wished me to take command of a new ship which they were building. i gladly accepted the command, and as the ship was not ready for sea, i returned to the farm, where i spent two months. i was somewhat annoyed at annie's conduct occasionally, as she received, and apparently enjoyed, the attention of several stylish young men, more than was befitting a girl who was engaged to be married. i frequently ran down to new york to oversee the rigging of the new ship, so that i did not know much about her acquaintances; but once, on my return, i saw a beautiful amethyst ring on annie's finger. "'where did you get that ring, annie?' i asked. "she laughed gaily and said: "'oh! it isn't mine; a gentleman loaned it to me to wear a few days.' "my impression was, however, that it had been given to her, and i feared she was forgetting henry; so i said: "'that is a strange way of acting, annie. you are engaged to henry, and you ought to know that it is a wrong and an insult to him for you to receive a present from another young man. if henry knew of this, it would make trouble.' "she recognized the truth of what i had said, but she was determined not to acknowledge that she had done wrong; so she flew into a passion and said, as sneeringly as possible; "'oh! so you are left here to watch me, are you? well, then, just report to him that i can get a better husband than he is, any day. i am not going to shut myself up, like a nun in a convent, for any man.' "i told her that i had no desire to act the part of a tale-bearer, but that i spoke only for her good; her conscience must tell her that she was doing wrong. i concluded by asking her to stay more at home, and thus prepare for a more domestic life. i did not see the ring after this, but annie was very distant in her manner toward me; her actions showed as plainly as if she had spoken, that she considered me in the light of an unreasonable guardian, who wished to deprive her of all enjoyment. her giddiness and perverseness caused me much trouble, and i greatly feared she would become reckless after my departure. she was my favorite sister, however, and no matter how she might treat me, i could never lose my love for her. "the first voyage in my new ship, was a very long one, and, on my return, i found that there had been many changes in my absence. henry and annie had been married for sometime, and henry was then away at sea. as my father had died shortly after the marriage, annie was living alone in new york, where i called upon her. she was pleasantly situated, and seemed to have everything that could be wished. lucy was also married, and was living in morristown, new jersey. the old homestead had been sold at my father's death, the proceeds being divided between my sisters. a few thousand dollars were left to me, which i deposited in bank with my savings. "on my return from another long voyage, i was delighted to find henry at home with annie, and they seemed more devoted to each other than ever. after this, i saw henry but twice--once in singapore, and once in calcutta. he was then as much in love with annie, as when he first married her, and he said that she made him perfectly happy. the last time i met him, he had just been notified that he should be given the command of a fine ship on his return to new york; consequently he was in high spirits. "when i next arrived in new york harbor, i made it my first duty to call on annie. much to my surprise, i found that she was teaching music in brooklyn, at a very high salary. her musical education had been very thorough, so that she was perfectly competent; but i could not see the necessity for her to teach. she had had one child, but it had died in infancy, and she was living in a fashionable boarding house. i called in the evening, intending to ask her to accompany me for a walk, but she was surrounded by a brilliant company, among whom were several gentlemen, and all were paying her great attention. she was very stylishly dressed, and, to my great disgust, she seemed to be coquetting with several of her admirers. when i was announced, she led me into the library, as if anxious that the company in the parlor should not know that a hard-fisted, weather-beaten sailor like me, was her brother. still, she spoke very kindly, and seemed glad to see me. she excused herself from going to walk with me on the ground that she had an engagement to accompany the rest of the party to the theatre; but she said that if i would call some other evening, she would gladly go. i was somewhat puzzled by her surroundings and manners, and i determined to have a quiet talk with her as soon as possible. "the next day, i went to boston on very important business, and, on my return, i found annie plunged into all the gayety and dissipation of new york fashionable life. she certainly presented a very elegant and stylish appearance; yet, my heart ached as i looked at her. how much joy it would have given me to have found her in a quiet little home waiting anxiously for henry's return. "i talked with her for sometime about her affairs, and urged her to lead a more quiet life; but she insisted that henry approved of her present way of living; of course, i could say nothing further. "'henry is not as unreasonable as you are,' she would say. 'he knew how lonely i would be while he was gone, and, therefore, he told me not to mope and pine, but to get into good society, and try to be cheerful and happy.' "still, i had an undefined feeling that annie was in danger, and i wrote to lucy about her, asking lucy to induce her to break away from the gay life she was leading. soon afterward, i went to sea again, and, during my absence, henry was given command of one of the finest ships in the line. two years passed quickly away, but, as i was engaged during that time in making short voyages to the west indies and back, i frequently saw annie in new york. she seemed to grow more and more estranged from me, however, and her conduct caused me great anxiety. i had seen some things in her deportment, which, though not absolutely wrong, were, to my mind, far from proper; besides, she showed a carelessness of appearances not at all becoming a married woman. "my next series of voyages were very long, and i was able to see annie only once or twice in several years. she was now thirty-two years old, and was unusually and strikingly handsome. about this time, i returned from a long cruise, and found annie still teaching music in brooklyn. she dressed as elegantly as ever, and seemed very complacent and contented. i invited her to take a walk with me, and we went out toward one of the small city parks. as she swept along beside me, her features all animation, and her eyes sparkling with health and pleasure, i thought i had never before seen any one so beautiful. i did not wonder that henry was so proud of her, or that he should indulge her so much. we strolled about in the park for a time, and then seated ourselves in a quiet spot. "'how long is it since you have heard from henry?' i asked. "'why, don't you know that we had a quarrel several months ago?' she answered, with an effort, her face turning very red. "'annie, do you mean that you and henry have separated?' i asked, very much shocked at such news. "'yes; that is what i mean. henry became so strict and unjust with me that i complained to him of his treatment. one word brought on another, until at last he flew into a violent passion and left me.' "on hearing annie relate, in such a cool, off-hand manner, how she had driven away one of the best husbands that ever lived, i was perfectly thunderstruck. i had feared that something of the kind might happen, but now that it had really come to pass, i hardly knew what to do or say. "'is it possible, annie!' i said. 'where did he go?' "'i don't know,' she replied; 'he left his ship and went off.' "'but they know at the office where he went, don't they?' i asked. "'no; he left his ship at short notice. the company tried to keep him, but he would not stay; and, finally, he went off without telling any one where he was going,' answered annie, beginning to cry. "it seemed to me that she was crying more to avert my displeasure than because she missed henry; but she was my favorite sister, and i still loved her. hence, though i deeply regretted and condemned her actions, i could not find it in my heart to characterize her conduct as it deserved. "'annie, are you not entirely to blame for this? remember how many times i have cautioned you against the course you were pursuing. tell me what led to your separation,' i asked, finally. "at first she refused to say anything; but, at length, i drew out that reports had reached henry's ears that she was in the habit of accepting a great deal of attention from a certain gentleman, and that he accompanied her to the theatre very frequently. "'but,' she said, 'there was nothing wrong in that.' "then, on several occasions, henry asked her to attend the theatre with him; but it so happened that she had a severe headache each time. this made henry jealous, and he asked her, tauntingly, why she never had a headache when a certain gentleman called. this sneer led to mutual recriminations and bitter language on both sides, until henry went away in a towering rage. "i could see the whole trouble. henry loved her passionately, and her conduct had driven him away in despair. i determined to search for him everywhere, in the hope of bringing them again together, and effecting a reconciliation. "the day before i sailed on my next voyage, i saw a beautiful diamond ring on annie's finger. "'annie,' i asked, sorrowfully, 'whose ring is that?' "'why, mine, of course,' she replied; 'have you never seen it before?' "'you must have plenty of money to be able to buy such valuable jewelry as that,' i said. 'i think you show very bad taste to display it at this time, when you know that your folly has driven your husband from you,' i added, angrily. "she hung her head in silence, as if really ashamed, and i went away feeling almost guilty for having spoken so harshly to her. "my next voyage was to the east indies, and i made inquiries about henry at every port, besides 'speaking' every vessel i met at sea, but no one could tell me anything about him. it became evident that he had not only left the service of the company, but that he had disappeared from all the localities where he was known. "on my return to new york, i hurried over to see annie early in the evening. she was dressed for the opera, and was evidently expecting some one. she was quite surprised to see me, but she threw herself into my arms and kissed me very affectionately, as she inquired whether i had heard any news of her dear henry. when i told her of my poor success, she pretended to feel very sorry, though she did not apparently allow her sorrow to interfere with her enjoyment. "'well, annie,' i said, 'you are dressed to go out somewhere, aren't you? tell me all about it.' "'yes,' she replied, 'i intended going to the opera with mr. pattmore, but if you do not wish me to go, i will remain at home. you must stay to meet him; he is one of the most perfect gentlemen i have ever met. he belongs in massachusetts, but he now owns a large hotel in greenville, ohio. mrs. pattmore and i are _such_ good friends, and all the children think the world of me. i have been out to visit them in greenville twice, and they made my stay so pleasant that i always speak of their house as my home. mr. pattmore is in town on business, and i received a note from him this morning asking me to go to the opera.' "mr. pattmore came in just then, and we were introduced to each other. he was a well-built man of about forty-five years of age, with very agreeable, easy manners. his hair and mustache were jet black, and his features were rather pleasing. his eyes were large and black, but restless and snaky; i noticed that he never looked straight into my face when speaking to me. he was dressed in the height of the prevailing fashion, and he showed a good deal of jewelry. they both pressed me to accompany them to the opera, but as i was not appropriately dressed, i declined politely, and they went without me. "i had previously learned at the office of the company, that they had not heard anything of henry, so i sorrowfully returned aboard my ship, almost decided to give up a sea-faring life. i was then fifty years of age, and i thought of buying a farm, where i could settle down at my ease. i knew that annie was in a dangerous position for a handsome woman--left alone with no one to advise or restrain her--and i wished to take her with me, so as to remove her from temptation. i therefore, wrote to lucy, asking her opinion, and requesting her to advise annie to give up her present mode of life. "lucy wrote a long letter in reply: she said that she very much feared there was something wrong between annie and pattmore; when annie was staying at greenville, lucy had written twice, asking her to come to morristown, where lucy lived; annie had promised to do so, but she had never come. pattmore, lucy said, was a prominent politician in greenville, and he was looking forward to the nomination for congressman. mrs. pattmore was a very good woman, of fine appearance and agreeable manners; she was very domestic in her tastes and she delighted in taking care of her home and children. there were three children living, the eldest son being about twenty-one years old, and the other two being quite young. mr. pattmore's hotel was very well kept and popular, and he was supposed to be wealthy. "lucy's letter added greatly to the anxiety which i felt about annie, and i was very desirous of resigning my command immediately, in order to settle down on a farm with her, and thus remove her from the temptations of a gay city. i felt sure that nothing more would be necessary than a retired, quiet life for a few months, to prepare her to give henry a joyful and affectionate welcome on his return. circumstances, however, made it impossible for me to give up my ship at that time, and, at the earnest request of the directors of the company (in which i had invested a considerable portion of my savings) i consented to make one or two more cruises. accordingly, i sailed for the east indies for the last time, and made a very speedy and prosperous voyage. i continued my inquiries for henry thayer, but was unable to obtain any tidings of him. on my return, i called to see annie, and found her occupying her old position as music teacher in brooklyn. she said that mrs. pattmore had urged her so strongly to visit them that she had accepted the invitation twice during my absence. "i had hardly reached new york, before i was hurried away again; my ship was hastily loaded with a cargo for rio janeiro, and i again sailed in command. the trip was a speculative venture, which resulted very profitably, and, on my return, i asked to be relieved from further service. i was then fifty-three years of age, and i needed rest. the company treated me very handsomely, and i sold my shares at a high valuation. having settled my affairs with the company, i hurried off to see annie; but i was surprised to find that she had moved to greenville, where she was teaching music to mr. pattmore's younger children. "i had bought a farm near springfield, massachusetts, sometime previous, and, learning that there was some slight inaccuracy in the deed, i went to new haven to consult a lawyer--your friend, mr. chapman--relative to the title. while there, i wrote to annie, asking her to come and live on the farm with me. she immediately replied that she was under an engagement as teacher for six months, and that she could not leave greenville until the end of that time. she said that lucy had asked her to pay a visit to morristown, but that she had been obliged to decline the invitation for the same reason. in conclusion, annie begged me to visit her in greenville. "as soon, therefore, as i had settled my business affairs, i went to greenville to stay a few days. annie seemed very glad to see me, and appeared to be in excellent health. i repeated my proposal, that she should come to keep house for me on my farm, and she seemed favorably disposed toward the arrangement, though she asked time to think about it. i told her that at my death, i should leave her all my property, and that, meantime, she should have everything she wished. i also tried to talk to her about henry, but she refused to say much, and seemed desirous to believe that he was dead. "i found that she had very little to do as a teacher, the children being too young to study; but she was much attached to greenville, as, to use her own words, 'there were so many fashionable people there.' she used to go out driving with mr. and mrs. pattmore, and sometimes with mr. pattmore alone, often going as far as fifteen or twenty miles into the country. i did not at all like the way she was acting, and i determined to use every effort to induce her to return to massachusetts with me. this visit, mr. pinkerton, took place about two months ago. "after remaining in greenville a few days, i went to visit lucy in morristown. we had a long talk together about annie, and finally, lucy confided to me that she feared that annie was _enceinte_. "'good heavens, lucy! that is impossible!' i exclaimed. 'our family has never had such a disgrace cast upon it before; it has always maintained its purity. no, no; it can't be possible.' "'i am not _sure_ of it,' said lucy; 'but i know there is something wrong with her, and i greatly fear that she is a ruined woman.' "i hardly knew what to say or do, the mere suspicion was such a terrible blow." here the captain became greatly affected; the perspiration started on his forehead in large beads, and he often made long pauses, as he continued. his emotion would sometimes entirely overcome him, so that he could not speak. "well," he went on, "lucy wrote to annie, and back came the answer fully confirming the horrid suspicion. annie freely confessed that she was _enceinte_, and that pattmore was the father of her unborn child. she said that she and pattmore dearly loved each other, and that she could not bear the thought of separating from him. "my first impulse was to curse her and never see her again; but my old love for her could not be set aside, and pity soon took the place of anger. i could see that pattmore had thrown a spell around her by his fascinating manners, and she was completely under his influence. i determined to save her from exposure and disgrace, if possible, and, therefore, started for greenville immediately. i had intended to speak to annie in a severe and indignant tone, but she rushed to meet me with such a glad little cry that my anger melted away, and tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. "'oh! annie! annie!' i exclaimed, 'what have you done! how has this man acquired such a terrible power over you as to make you forget your marriage vows and live a life of infamy with him? have you no stings of conscience? think how our sainted mother would feel if she could see her little annie in the power of a heartless libertine. return with me at once, and i will forget everything. in the seclusion of my farm, you need not fear the fiery tongue of scandal, and i will be a father to your child.' "she stood with downcast eyes while i was speaking, but when i had finished she began a vehement defense of her conduct, in the course of which she repeated all the usual arguments of those who wish to ease their consciences when on the downward path. "mr. pattmore, she said, was a perfect gentleman; he loved her, and she returned his affection; it was true, unhappily, that they were both married, but nature had intended them for each other, and she preferred to obey the laws of nature to those of society; mrs. pattmore was a very fine woman, but she could not make her husband happy. "the doctrine of free-love was fully endorsed by annie, who had learned it all by heart, and she advanced the most extraordinary theories in justification of her conduct. "for years, she said, she had held the first place in pattmore's heart, and he had lavished his money upon her freely; the diamond ring i had seen, the rich dresses she had worn, a valuable necklace, and many other articles of jewelry were among the gifts he had showered upon her; they loved each other as husband and wife and as soon as mrs. pattmore should die, mr. pattmore would make annie his legal wife. "i saw that she was completely infatuated, but i endeavored to show her how false her reasoning was, and to what wicked conclusions it would lead. i asked if she had forgotten henry, who was liable to return at any moment; she could not marry until she obtained a divorce. besides, the fact that they were looking forward to, and wishing for mrs. pattmore's death, was almost equivalent to committing murder, since to desire any person's death was morally as bad as to murder that person. "we had a long conversation, and finally annie agreed to join me in springfield in a short time. i therefore returned to the farm and prepared to settle down. i received no reply to several letters which i wrote to annie, but at last she sent me a short note saying that she had changed her mind, and that she should stay in greenville. i immediately replied that i would not permit her to remain there any longer, and i then went to consult mr. chapman about the matter. he acknowledged that he could do nothing, as annie was her own mistress; but he advised me to see you, mr. pinkerton, and obtain your advice and assistance. as it was a very delicate matter, affecting the honor of my family, i did not like to speak about it to a third party, as i feared that the story might be made known publicly, and annie's reputation would then be ruined. i therefore told him that i should not consult you if i could possibly avoid doing so. "while i was inwardly debating what was best to be done, i received a note from annie, asking me to come to her, as she feared that something serious was about to happen. i went at once to greenville, and found that she had decided to remove the evidence of her guilt by performing an abortion. i tried hard to dissuade her from a step which might result in her own death, but she was resolute in her determination not to wait for the child's natural birth. she said that if i would stay with her until she recovered, she would return to springfield with me and never see pattmore again. she spoke very feelingly about henry, and she seemed so deeply and truly penitent that i was finally won over to her wishes, and i agreed to stay with her until she had an operation performed. i determined to take her to stay with lucy, at morristown, at first, and she accordingly prepared to leave greenville. "she had a long private interview with pattmore before leaving, and when she came out i saw she had been shedding bitter tears. as i stepped to the office desk to pay my bill, i saw pattmore in the clerk's room back of the office, and he, too, seemed very much dejected. i could hardly keep my hands off his throat when i recollected his villainy; but i curbed my temper by a great effort, as i knew that a personal encounter between us would only publish my sister's shame to the world. on our arrival in morristown, lucy and i had a long talk with annie, which was far from satisfactory to me, as i saw that she was still infatuated with pattmore. "i thought best to go some distance away from the places where we were known during annie's trial, and i therefore brought her to chicago. here i obtained board in a very respectable family, where there were only a few other boarders. annie did not show her condition in her appearance at all, and no one could possibly have suspected her. i found a physician named enfield, who was a noted operator in such cases, and annie at once placed herself under his treatment. "i knew that i was about to assist in committing a great crime, yet i felt that i must shield annie at all hazards, and so i yielded to her wishes in the matter. enfield was an expert in such matters, and, in a short time, he brought annie through in safety. she was recovering fast, when one day, on entering her room, i found pattmore there. i went out instantly, as i was afraid to trust myself in the same room with him; but, when he had gone away, i besought annie never again to admit him to her presence. she would make no promises, and finally, she fell back in a swoon. on recovering, she said that she would die if she could not see pattmore, and i was obliged to drop the subject until she should become stronger. pattmore remained in town two days, and she insisted on having him with her a great deal of the time. "i fear that you will consider me very weak and foolish for permitting this; but i have never been able to refuse annie anything. i knew, moreover, that, in such a case, harsh measures would only add fuel to the flame, and so i continued to humor her, trusting, that in time, she would gradually recover her normal condition, and see the folly of her conduct. "pattmore told her, during his visit, that he was in great hopes of receiving the democratic nomination to congress; and, as the democratic party had a large majority in that district, the nomination would be equivalent to an election. he also said that his wife was in failing health, and that she seemed to grow weaker every day. i could see by annie's manner, when she told me this, that she hoped to be pattmore's partner in enjoying the gay life of the national capital, though she did not say so directly. "one day, she brought up the subject of wills, and said that she thought every one owning property, ought to make a will. she said that otherwise a man's property, in case of sudden death, might be eaten up by the lawyers and court officials. i admitted the justness of her remarks, and told her that i should follow her suggestion. i was obliged to go east on business for a few days at this time, and, on the way, i left a letter and package with pattmore, which annie had asked me to deliver. while in new haven, i employed mr. chapman to draw up my will. lucy had asked me to leave all my property to annie, as she had enough for herself and children, while annie had no one to look to for an honest support, except myself; accordingly, i made my will in that way. "on my return to chicago, i hurried to our boarding house to see annie, and, to my intense disgust, i found pattmore with her. the sight of him fondling my poor sister, was too much for me: and, although i succeeded in restraining myself from doing him any personal violence, i used the most severe language possible in characterizing his villainy, and in expressing my contempt for him. i concluded, by telling him that the affair must end then and there; that he must never address my sister again, or attempt to see her; and that if he dared to disregard my demand, he must take the consequences. they both hung their heads guiltily, while i was speaking, and when i closed, pattmore quitted the room without a word. i found that he left town the same day. "i also went out of the house immediately, being too excited to talk calmly to annie; but i returned after supper, and reasoned with her as gently as possible on the impropriety and wickedness of her conduct. she seemed to feel very sorry, and was so penitent that my hopes of saving her, rose considerably. she promised, with tears in her eyes, to overcome her unholy love for pattmore, and never to see him again. i noticed, however, that when i spoke of my efforts to obtain tidings of henry, she was very indifferent; but she promised to return to springfield with me as soon as she was able to travel, and matters began to look more cheerful for the future. "a day or two after, she received a letter from pattmore, saying that his wife was seriously ill, and that the physicians considered her life in danger. "'what is the matter with her?' i asked. "'i don't know,' she replied; 'mr. pattmore does not state what is her disease.' "i then spoke very harshly about pattmore, and said that he, above all other men, was hateful to me, because he had ruined her. she replied in his defense, and, as our conversation seemed likely to become bitter, i walked out to allow time for both our tempers to cool off. on my return, i found that annie had gone out for the first time, since her illness, but she soon came in, saying that she had taken a short walk for exercise. she had regained her good humor, and seemed more like herself than she had for sometime. she again brought up the subject of wills, and i told her that i had made my will while i was in new haven. she asked me about it, and i told her that i had made her my sole legatee, and that she would be in comfortable circumstances when i died. she seemed very much pleased at this, and said i was a dear good brother; but she hoped it might be a long time before she should become heiress to my property. "'who knows?' she said, laughing; 'perhaps i may die first.' "'that is possible,' i said, 'but not probable. in the course of nature, i ought to die many years before you; and sailors are proverbially short-lived.' "'oh, nonsense!' she replied, 'you are so salted and tanned that you will last fifty years yet.' "she then skipped gaily into the next room and brought out a bottle of ale, to reward me, as she said, for being good. she poured out a glass for each of us, and we drank to each other's good health. in about half an hour i became very sick; i vomited and retched terribly, while my bowels seemed to be on fire. the weather was very warm, and i attributed my illness to some fruit i had eaten, which the ale had disagreed with. i suffered agony all night, but toward morning i became quieter and the pain gradually left me. "at daylight i casually glanced at my ring, and i was surprised to see that the stone had turned to a creamy white--a sure sign that my life was in danger. you will call me foolish and superstitious, i know, but i cannot help it. a belief in the virtues of this ring is a part of my very nature, and it has always been an unerring guide to me. this ring invariably predicts my good or bad fortune." and so speaking, the captain held the ring out for me to see it. i looked him straight in the face, expecting to see some signs of insanity, or at least monomania, in his eyes, but there were none. he was evidently perfectly rational, and this belief was apparently as natural to him as a belief in a hereafter, or in any other religious doctrine, is to other people. after a short pause, as i glanced at the ring, he continued: "now, you can see nothing strange in that stone, mr. pinkerton, but i can. from its appearance i can obtain warning of approaching good or bad fortune. away out at sea, when a storm is coming, the stone turns black; when enemies are near me it turns the color of blood; and when i am in danger of death, it becomes a creamy white. "my father once saved the life of a sepoy soldier, and, as a mark of gratitude, the latter presented my father with three rings of wonderful powers. the sepoy said that he had obtained them from a hindoo hermit, far out in the jungle. i have long tried to find other rings possessing the same qualities, but have never succeeded. one of these rings was buried with my mother, one with my father, and i have the third." i looked at the ring carefully, but could see nothing remarkable about it. the stone was an opal, set in a heavy gold band, peculiarly chased; but, aside from the popular superstition with regard to opals, there was nothing which would lead me to suppose that it possessed any exceptional powers. "when i saw you last," continued the captain, "i meant to have asked you to have this ring buried with me, in case i died; but i was afraid you would consider the request too foolish. i wished it buried with me because i did not wish annie to have it." "but why do you think annie would take it?" i asked. "because i know she wants it," replied captain sumner. "she thinks that it would enable her to make pattmore love her always, and so she wishes to own it. now, i think pattmore is a villain, and i wish to separate her from him and destroy his influence over her. therefore i do not wish her to get the ring, since its possession will induce her to continue her connection with that man." i confess that i did not know what to make of the captain. if he was insane, he certainly had the most impenetrable mask over his insanity that i had ever seen. his eyes were so bright, clear and honest, that the most experienced physiognomist in the world would have failed to observe the slightest trace of cunning, or want of a balanced mind in their expression. during the progress of his story he had continually held his ring where he could see it, and several times had raised it to the light, in a contemplative sort of way, as if he drew some satisfaction from its appearance. he bowed his head in his hands as he ceased speaking, and some moments elapsed before he looked up, though when he did so he was perfectly calm. "captain, did you find the ring of any practical value at sea?" i asked. "yes; often it has apprised me of a coming storm in time to prepare for it. i have thus passed in safety through many sudden gales of the approach of which i have been warned only just in time to save my ship. my men always had perfect confidence in my ability to weather the heaviest gale." "well, captain, if you should give that ring to me, would it be equally prophetic in my hands?" i asked. "but i will not give it to you nor any one else; nor will i part with it, even in death if i can help it," replied the captain. "the sepoy told my father, that he must never allow the rings to go out of his family, as they would then lose their powers. i know that the fancy seems strange to you, and, no doubt, you think i am not exactly sane; but i have proved the power of the ring so often, that i know its virtues, and believe in them. i may be able to satisfy you of its value by a practical demonstration yet." i saw that he was not insane, but terribly superstitious, so i made no further remarks about the ring. he drew his chair closer toward me, and said in a low, painful whisper: "mr. pinkerton, i have positive knowledge that _annie has attempted to poison me three times_. she put poison in that ale; she afterwards gave me some in a cup of coffee; and, the third time, it was administered so secretly, that i do not know when i took it. the first time, i recovered because the dose was too large, and i vomited up the poison so soon that it had not time to act. the second time, i took only a sip of the coffee, and found that it tasted bitter, so i threw it away, though the little i had taken distressed me exceedingly. the third time, i nearly died, and it was only by the prompt attendance of a physician that i was saved. he said it was a metal poison which probably came off from a copper kettle in which some fruit had been cooked. neither he, nor any one else, ever suspected that i had been poisoned intentionally. when i recovered, i accused annie of trying to poison me; she denied it vehemently at first, but i said to her: "'annie, the ring tells me that i have an enemy near me, and you must be that enemy.' "i spoke as if positive of her guilt, and, as she is a firm believer in the ring, she finally burst into tears and confessed having given me poison at three different times. on her knees, she begged my forgiveness, and thanked god that my life had been spared. she was so broken down by the thought of her unnatural and wicked purpose, that i feared that she would have a relapse into sickness. she seemed so wholly contrite, that i thought she would never undertake such a terrible crime again, and i freely forgave her." i looked at the captain in perfect amazement, hardly able to credit my own senses. "can it be possible," i asked, "that your sister admitted that she had tried to poison you?" "yes," replied the captain; "and she said that pattmore had encouraged her to put me out of the way. he had told her that he would marry her when his wife, (who was now dying) was dead; that i was bitterly opposed to him, and would never consent to their marriage; that if she would poison me, they would be married and go to california to live; and, therefore, that it would be well for her to poison me before mrs. pattmore died." "what!" i exclaimed, "is mrs. pattmore dying? what is her disease?" "i do not know," replied the captain; "but i fear that _she, also, has been poisoned_." "how long is it since you had this talk with annie?" i inquired. "about three days ago, and she has been sick abed with excitement and remorse ever since. she says that she expects to hear of mrs. pattmore's death at any time, and she is sure that pattmore has poisoned her. mr. chapman told me, when i last saw him, mr. pinkerton, that you were the only person who could help me; and so i have come to you to save mrs. pattmore and my sister. i feel that mr. chapman was right, mr. pinkerton, and i beg you to give me your assistance--i will pay you liberally." _chapter iii._ when the captain had finished his almost incredible story, i hardly knew what to make of it. it was impossible to doubt his word; yet it seemed almost equally hard to believe that his sister could have tried to murder him. pattmore's intention of killing his wife in order to marry annie, was another piece of cold-blooded villainy which was almost past belief. the question frequently came into my mind: are all the parties in their right minds? after i had thought about the matter in silence a few minutes, i said: "well, captain sumner, yours is certainly a strange case, and i cannot give you any answer until i have had time for reflection. return in three hours and i will then tell you my decision. i will help you if i possibly can do so." he rose to go, but stopped a moment as he reached the door, and said, with the utmost simplicity and confidence: "i _know_ you can help me if you will do so, and no one else can." after he had gone, i sent a man to the captain's boarding house with instructions to learn all he could about the boarders. he reported that, among others, there was a captain sumner boarding there with his sister, mrs. annie thayer. my detective also learned many things about the captain and his sister which corroborated the account given by the captain. having satisfied myself that the captain's story was true--in part at least--i sat down to reflect upon the strange medley which he had told me. mrs. thayer had, undoubtedly, committed a serious crime against her husband, besides making the attempt on her brother's life; but i could not have her punished, for her brother's object was to save her from the ruin in which her downward course would probably end. pattmore, however, was a dangerous man, and it would be necessary to proceed with caution in handling him. he seemed to be a villain at heart, and it was probable that he only sought mrs. thayer's society in order to gratify his sensual passions. perhaps the captain's suspicion, that mrs. pattmore's illness was caused by poison administered by her husband, was correct; if so, it would be necessary to act at once, before she should become his victim. it was barely possible that he might intend to get a divorce from his wife and then marry annie; but i did not consider this supposition a very probable one. he wished to be elected to congress, and he would not dare to give such an opportunity for scandal as would ensue if he attempted that course. no; poison had been his reliance in one case, and he would not scruple to make use of it again. mrs. thayer was probably well informed as to all his plans, but, evidently, she would not willingly divulge anything prejudicial to her lover. her brother was clearly unable to compel her to confess anything, or he would not have applied to me. moreover he could refuse her nothing, and he would certainly object to any attempt to force her to give evidence against her will. he admitted that she was weak, vain and thoughtless; that she had been false to her husband; and that pattmore had completely bewitched her; yet the captain resolutely stood between her and harm. she could tell all of pattmore's secrets if she were so disposed, and it would be easier to get information out of her than out of him; the question was--how shall i go about it? i reflected that she was very superstitious, as shown by her belief in the captain's ring; it occurred to me that i might take advantage of that trait of her character to draw her secrets out. why could i not introduce a fortune-teller to her, and thus learn all i wished to know? the idea seemed to me to be admirably adapted to the necessities of the case. i sketched out, in my mind, a skeleton plan of operations about as follows: i should entrust the case to one of my female detectives; she would be posted upon all the points of mrs. thayer's history; she would be required to learn enough of astrology, clairvoyance and mesmerism, to pass for one of the genuine tribe; the plan would be so arranged that mrs. thayer would voluntarily consult this fortune-teller, who would soon gain a complete ascendency over her superstitious nature by revealing to her all her past life; finally mrs. thayer could be brought to tell all she knew of pattmore as a means of aiding the sibyl to read her future. this plan seemed to me the most feasible of any, and i therefore decided to adopt it in working up the case against pattmore. after all, he would be the one against whom my efforts would be directed, mrs. thayer being only an unconscious instrument in bringing him to justice. in case it could be shown that he had actually attempted to murder his wife, i was determined that he should not escape the swift vengeance of the law. just as i had concluded my deliberations, the captain hurried into my office, the perspiration standing in great beads on his forehead. "mr. pinkerton, i fear we are too late!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. "annie has just received a telegram from mr. pattmore, saying that his wife is dead." "_dead!_" i repeated. "is it possible! when did she die?" "to-day," he replied. "it will be an easy matter to discover the cause of her death," i said, after a moment's pause. "we must have a _post mortem_ examination held." "that may be possible," replied the captain; "but you must recollect that pattmore has a great many friends in greenville; that, in fact, he is a prominent candidate for the democratic congressional nomination; and, even if he were supposed to be guilty, the party would make a strong fight to protect him, as they could not afford to have him exposed." "is it possible that he has so much influence as that?" i asked. "oh, yes," said the captain; "he is a brilliant speaker, and a very agreeable man socially, so that he makes many friends. he is such a wily scoundrel that i fear we shall have great difficulty in tracing any crime directly to him. i do not care whether he is convicted or not, provided i can rescue annie from his clutches. he has apparently cast a spell over her, and she is wholly controlled by him." "if that is the fact, we must use strategy, and undermine his plot with a deeper one. i will accept a retainer from you, captain, and then we will proceed to work up the case." the financial part of the arrangement having been adjusted, i gave the captain some advice as to what he should do. i told him that he must place implicit confidence in me, and not try to interfere in any manner with my plans. if he could not do this, i should withdraw at once. he must come in to see me often and keep me well informed; but he must not expect me to tell him about my plans, any further than i should see fit. i should try to show pattmore's villainous character to annie, and if i could gather sufficient evidence that he had poisoned his wife, i should bring him to justice. i then told the captain that he ought to have a quarrel with annie, at the end of which he should burn his will in her presence, and leave her; on going out, he should tell her that he intended immediately to deposit his ready money in bank, and make a will wholly in favor of lucy. this would prevent annie from again attempting his life, as she would have nothing to gain by his death. the captain was satisfied to accept my conditions, and he said that he had full confidence in my ability. all that he desired was to save annie from the power of pattmore, and from the ruin which would inevitably result from their further intercourse. he then went home to have his quarrel with his sister. i determined to send a detective named miller, to greenville, to obtain board at the pattmore house, and, if possible, to become intimate with the proprietor. this part of my plan would require prompt action, as pattmore might succeed in removing all evidences of his guilt. i therefore, sent for mr. miller, and went over all the facts of the case with him, giving him full instructions as to his duties. he was to hail from bangor, maine, and to represent that he wished to start in the lumber business in greenville, if the prospects were good. i told him to post himself thoroughly upon the qualities and prices of all kinds of lumber, lath, shingles, etc., and to read up the local history of bangor. to make matters easier for him, i gave him a letter of introduction to a lumber dealer in greenville, with whom i was well acquainted. the next day, miller was ready, and he took passage to buffalo by steamer, going thence to greenville by rail. he then took a room at the pattmore house, and soon became acquainted with the proprietor. the same day that i gave miller his instructions, i sent for miss seaton, one of the detectives in the female department, and ordered her to make arrangements to take board in the same house with captain sumner and mrs. thayer. miss seaton was a brunette, about twenty-seven years of age; she was of agreeable appearance and pleasing manners; she had been a school teacher, and was a good judge of human nature. mrs. warne, the superintendent of the female department, said that miss seaton was very sharp, and that nothing could escape her piercing black eye. she was to cultivate mrs. thayer's acquaintance, and endeavor to win her confidence. this would probably be a difficult task; but i told miss seaton to be patient and discreet, and not to be discouraged, if she should not be immediately successful. by pretending to be in poor health, she could obtain mrs. thayer's sympathy, and their progress toward intimacy would be accelerated. miss seaton immediately moved to the city hotel, whence she set out to look for a boarding place. by a curious coincidence, she could not satisfy herself until she came to the house where mrs. thayer was boarding on the north side. there she found a pleasant room adjoining mrs. thayer's, and it suited her exactly. that evening at supper, she was introduced to her fellow boarders, of whom there were only three besides the captain and his sister. the employment of female detectives has been the subject of some adverse criticism by persons who think that women should not engage in such a dangerous calling. it has been claimed that the work is unwomanly; that it is only performed by abandoned women; and that no respectable woman who becomes a detective can remain virtuous. to these theories, which i regret to say are quite prevalent, i enter a positive denial. my experience of twenty years with lady operatives is worth something, and i have no hesitation in saying that the profession of a detective, for a lady possessing the requisite characteristics, is as useful and honorable employment as can be found in any walk of life. previous to the early part of , i had never regularly employed any female detectives; nor were women engaged in that capacity in any part of the union. my first experience with them was due to mrs. kate warne, an intelligent, brilliant, and accomplished lady. she offered her services to me in the early spring of that year, and, in spite of the novelty of her proposition, i determined to give her a trial. she soon showed such tact, readiness of resource, ability to read character, intuitive perception of motives, and rare discretion, that i created a female department in the agency, and made mrs. warne the superintendent thereof. the work of my female detectives is generally light. zeal and discretion are the principal requisites, though conscientious devotion to duty, and rigid obedience to orders, are also essential. they are expected to win the confidence of those from whom information is desired, and to lose no opportunity of encouraging them to talk about themselves. with regard to the moral influence of their duties, i say boldly that it is in no respect different from that of any other position where women are thrown upon their own resources. it is an unfortunate fact in our social system, that no single woman or widow, dependent upon herself for support, can escape a loss of caste and position by working in the great field of business where she comes in competition and contact with men; but, aside from this general prejudice, there is nothing in the detective's duties to make her profession less respectable and honorable than there is in the duties of a lady cashier, book-keeper, copyist, or clerk. the detective's temptations are no greater than those of any of the foregoing who mingle with men in their daily business; while, on the other hand, the safeguards of their virtue are much more numerous, since all the detectives of my agency know that their conduct is under constant surveillance. there are instances of frequent occurrence where great criminals are successful in hiding all traces of their guilt so effectually as to make their conviction impossible without the aid of the female detective. most of these men have wives or mistresses in whom they confide to a great extent. the testimony of these women, then, become the sole means by which to convict the criminals, and their testimony can be obtained in only one way--a female detective makes their acquaintance, wins their confidence, and draws out the story of the crime. such an instance is given in "the expressman and the detective," hitherto published. i have in my employ several ladies of unquestionable purity of life, who are also among the most successful operators on my whole force. i take pleasure in offering this tribute to their ability, and their spotless characters. the next day the captain called to see me, and said that, according to my advice, he had quarreled with annie about pattmore, and had worked himself into a great rage. finally, he had torn up and burned his will, saying that he should immediately make another, leaving everything to lucy. "so far, so good," said i; "she now will have no motive for poisoning you, so you can rest in peace." the captain stated further that he had deposited in bank a few hundred dollars which he had brought with him, so that he felt comparatively safe for the present. that evening miss seaton reported that mrs. thayer had left the house shortly after the captain. miss seaton had followed her to the post-office, where mrs. thayer had deposited a letter, and had received another at the ladies' window. she had immediately torn it open, read it hastily, and crumpled it in her hand, while slowly walking home. i was very anxious to know to whom she had written, and also who had written to her. i immediately wrote to miller to watch pattmore's mail, and to learn whether there were any letters in it from chicago. if so, i wished him to obtain a view of the handwriting, and, if possible, to get possession of the letters themselves long enough to take copies of them. the next morning captain sumner came in again, but he had nothing to report. "does annie write much?" i asked. "no, very little," he replied. "does she correspond with lucy?" "sometimes, but not regularly." "did she not write a letter two days ago?" i inquired. "no," answered the captain; "but why do you ask?" "oh! for no particular reason; however i wish you would write to lucy and inquire whether she has received a letter from annie lately; also whether she has written to annie." "certainly, i will do so now," said the captain, and, he straightway sat down to write to lucy. in a few days, the captain received a letter from lucy stating that no letters had passed between her and annie for over a month. this made it certain that lucy was not annie's correspondent. miller sent in a report about the same time, saying that he had become slightly acquainted with pattmore, who was deeply mourning the death of his wife. even the mere mention of her name was sufficient to draw tears to his eyes, and her loss had so severely affected him that his friends were afraid he would never be the same man that he had been during her life. miller had expressed an intention of opening an office in greenville, and pattmore had given him some valuable advice and information relative to the lumber market in the interior. since getting my letter, miller had noticed that pattmore had received four letters from chicago. miller said that he had not been able to obtain possession of these letters, but he should make a great effort to capture those which might come in the future. he had taken pains to cultivate the friendship of the clerk of the hotel, and he was on such good terms with him as to find it convenient to pass a great deal of time in the office. he had noticed that when the clerk received the mail, all of pattmore's letters were put into a particular box behind the desk, and he hoped to be able to secure some of them. i had devoted a large amount of thought to this singular case, and i finally decided that i would go to greenville in person. i determined to see the coroner and find out what kind of a man he was. if possible, i should induce him to have mrs. pattmore's body exhumed and an inquest held upon it. i had previously written to mr. chapman to obtain further information about the captain and his family, and had mentioned his superstitious belief in the ring. i said that i was not afraid of losing money, as the captain offered me more than my usual scale of prices; but the captain's story and his great superstition led me to think that he was a "wee bit daft," and that there was insanity in the family. mr. chapman replied that he had known the captain's father and mother intimately, but there had been no sign of insanity in any of their actions. they had been, however, firm believers in their rings, and had had the rings which they had worn buried with them. they had been clear-headed, religious people, and it was surprising that they should have had such a superstitious faith in the power of those opal rings. the captain had always been an honorable, straight-forward man, but he and his sister were even more superstitious than any of the others. "well," i thought, on reading mr. chapman's letter, "the whole family are a strange medley; but i think i can turn their superstitious credulity to good account, in any efforts to learn whether pattmore poisoned his wife." _chapter iv._ as soon as possible, i started for greenville, to see the coroner; on my arrival, i was so fortunate as to meet mr. wells, an old friend, who had formerly been sheriff of the county. he offered to introduce me to his successor, mr. tomlinson, who had once been his deputy. mr. wells was quite wealthy, and had retired from business. mr. tomlinson was an honest, hard working carpenter, who was thoroughly reliable and zealous. neither of these gentlemen, however, had the shrewdness nor the experience necessary to detect criminals of the character and ability of pattmore. they were perfectly competent to attend to the small thieves and swindlers of the district, but they were wholly ignorant and unsuspicious of the means by which daring and skillful villains carry out their plans and hide the evidences of their crimes. they knew mr. pattmore well, as he had resided in greenville for seven years. they stated that he was a scheming politician who could not be depended upon, and that he was trying to get the democratic nomination for congressman. probably, he would not succeed, but he was spending money freely, and he would, therefore, be apt to get some good office. he was not wealthy, but he kept his hotel well, and did a large business. mr. wells thought that he used all his money as fast as he made it, either in trying to get votes, or in some other way outside of his business. his wife had been generally esteemed by a large circle of acquaintances. i told mr. tomlinson that i should like to see the coroner, and have him investigate the causes of mrs. pattmore's death. "oh! that will be easy," he replied, "as i know van valkenburgh, the coroner, very well, and we are on good terms. he is a warm friend of pattmore,--in fact, they are boon companions. he spends most of his time in idling about the pattmore house, and only yesterday, they went driving together." "i am sorry to hear that," said i; "for he will not wish to do anything to injure his friend. how can i get an inquest called?" "i don't know," said mr. tomlinson. "suppose that i should make an affidavit under an assumed name and hand it to you, could you not serve it on the coroner as a complaint which required his attention?" i asked. "no; that would not do, as it would involve me in difficulty," replied the sheriff; "but if i should hear people talking about the death of mrs. pattmore, and hinting at foul play, it would be my duty to lay the matter before the coroner. then he, as a friend of pattmore, could not do otherwise than order an inquest." i determined to act on this suggestion, and i therefore telegraphed to mr. bangs, my general superintendent, directing him to send two of my detectives, mr. green and mr. knox, to meet me at the clarendon house in greenville. they left chicago by the next train, and when they arrived in greenville, i instructed them to go into the office of the hotel and begin a conversation about mrs. pattmore's death; having told them what i wished them to say, i sent them in. i had previously arranged that mr. tomlinson should be present. accordingly, they took seats in the main hall in front of the clerk's desk, near which there was a large group of guests and citizens, and began to talk in loud tones. "well," said knox, "there are more cases of death by poisoning than you would suppose. now, there was a case in this town, only a short time ago, in which i think that poison was used." "oh! you mean mrs. pattmore," said green. "yes, that was a very suspicious affair. was anything done about it?" "no," replied knox; "but every one, who knows anything about the circumstances of her death, believes that she was poisoned." my men were soon surrounded by an excited crowd, all of whom were anxious to know the grounds upon which their suspicions were based. they replied in vague terms and insinuations, as if they knew a great deal more than they would tell. the news that mr. pattmore was suspected of having poisoned his wife, was soon buzzed all through the clarendon house; and, as soon as the excitement had become general, my men slipped away and joined me in my room. sheriff tomlinson was immediately appealed to by many citizens to require the coroner to investigate the matter, and he finally went to the coroner's office, accompanied by quite a crowd. when the coroner was informed of the reports in circulation, he became quite indignant. "what! _pattmore poison his wife!_" he exclaimed. "why, he fairly doted on her, and, since her death, he can hardly assuage his grief. he is a gentleman in every sense of the word, and his character ought to be a sufficient protection against so gross a slander. this is a contemptible invention of his political opponents. i will soon vindicate him, however. i shall have mrs. pattmore's body exhumed, and shall call an inquest. then, if any one has any charges to make, there will be an opportunity for them to come forward. i will not consent to see a friend of mine so vilely slandered." coroner van valkenburgh immediately wrote an order to have mrs. pattmore's body disinterred, and, also, a call for an inquest the following day. he had become very indignant at the idea of connecting his friend, pattmore, with such a hideous crime: he, therefore, hurried over to tell pattmore of the rumors, and of the prompt measures he had taken to prove their falsity. he drew pattmore into a private room and told him all that he had heard and done. he expected that pattmore would thank him heartily for his friendly action; but, instead, pattmore's face turned very white, and he asked who it was that had spread the rumors. the coroner said that the sheriff and several prominent citizens had called upon him to investigate the rumors that were circulating at the hotels and on the street. pattmore became very much excited when he heard this, and paced up and down in a nervous, irritable manner. "well," said van valkenburgh, "i will have the body exhumed to-morrow, and when we have disproved the calumny, this scheme of your enemies will do you more good than harm." "yes," said pattmore; "but my love for my wife is far above all other considerations. it is shocking to think that her body must be torn from the grave to refute the vile slanders of my political opponents. i do not know what course you usually pursue in such cases, but i would not, for the world, have her remains exposed to the gaze of a cruel, heartless crowd of strangers." mr. pattmore's feelings quite overcame him, at the thought of such desecration, and he wept. "i'll take care of that," said the sympathizing coroner; "i will have dr. forsythe make the examination, and his testimony will be sufficient for the jury." "well, i shall be satisfied with any arrangements you may make," said pattmore. "i hope a good jury will be summoned; i do not wish my wife's body to be examined by a lot of curiosity seekers." "your wishes shall be attended to," replied the coroner. "i know who are your friends and i will summon no one else to sit on the jury." "van valkenburgh," exclaimed pattmore, seizing the coroner's hand, "i am your friend for life!" he then led the way to the bar-room and invited the coroner to drink. miller was standing in the bar-room as the coroner and pattmore passed, and noticing a haggard, pallid expression on the latter's face, he stepped up and said: "why, what's the matter pattmore? has anything gone wrong with you?" "no, mr. miller, nothing very serious. some of my enemies have started a story that i am responsible for my wife's death; but, of course, there is not a word of truth in it. the coroner has taken the matter in charge, and his verdict will soon set at rest these scandalous lies. there is nothing too sacred for these political harpies and ghouls: they literally have dragged the loved dead from the grave in the hope of injuring my reputation. well, time will show my innocence." so saying, pattmore pressed miller's hand warmly, as if overcome with emotion, and passed into the office. mr. green and mr. knox were watching him, and when he went up stairs, he was followed by knox, who saw him go into his room. knox immediately came down stairs and passed across the street to a corner where i had agreed to wait for him. having heard his report i said: "mr. knox, you are a stranger here, so you had better go back to see what pattmore is doing. you can stumble into his room, as if you had mistaken it for your own. be quick!" i added, as he started, "for we must keep watch of him every minute until the inquest has been held." "knox rushed into the hotel, ran up stairs and hastily entered pattmore's room, where he found pattmore writing a letter. "oh! i beg pardon," said knox, "i have mistaken the room," and so saying, he withdrew and returned to me. "so he is writing a letter, is he?" said i. "we must learn the contents of that letter, and i have not a minute to lose. knox, find green and miller and bring them over here at once. thank goodness, it is getting so dark that we shall not be noticed." knox was off like a shot, and in a very few minutes all my men were with me. "green," i said, "go to your hotel, pay your bill, and proceed to the pattmore house. when you register your name, you must hail the clerk as an old acquaintance. this will be an easy matter, as hotel clerks are known by hundreds of people. miller, you must be in the office at the same time, and you must both remain there until pattmore puts his letter in the mail-box. then, green you must ask the clerk out to take a drink, and while you are gone, miller must get possession of the letter. when you have secured it, come over to the globe hotel, where i am stopping." green hurried off to the clarendon house to get his carpet-bag, and miller returned to the pattmore house. i also sent knox to watch pattmore, and to follow him wherever he might go, until he retired for the night. soon after miller reached the office, pattmore came down stairs with a letter, which miller carefully scrutinized, so as to be able to recognize it among a group of others. "has the mail for the west closed yet?" asked pattmore. "no," replied the clerk, "there is still about an hour to spare." pattmore then dropped his letter into the mail-box and went out. at this moment green stepped up to the desk, registered his name, and asked for a room. as the clerk was attending to his room and baggage, green looked intently at him, as if trying to recall his name. then, stepping forward, he said, cordially: "why, how are you? when did you come here? let me see; the last time i saw you was at a hotel in buffalo, wasn't it?" this was a lucky guess, for the clerk replied: "havn't you seen me since then? why, i left there over a year ago." "well, i'm right glad to see you again," said green; "step into the bar-room and take a 'smile' with me." "i can't very well leave the office just now," said the clerk. "oh, yes you can," said green; "your friend there will look after the office for a few minutes; come along." "wait here until i come back, will you?" the clerk asked miller, as he went off with green. [illustration: "_as soon as the clerk had left the office, miller quietly extracted pattmore's letter from the box._"--page .] as soon as the clerk had left the office, miller quietly extracted pattmore's letter from the box. he had marked its appearance so well that he only needed one glance to identify it and he secured it so quickly that none of the crowd outside the desk noticed any movement on his part. in a few minutes the clerk returned to the desk, and miller lounged out into the bar-room, whence he hurried over to meet me at the globe hotel. he there gave me the letter, which was addressed: "mrs. annie thayer, "chicago, "illinois." i carefully opened it by a simple process, which did not leave any evidence that the envelope had been tampered with. the letter began: "my own dear annie," and the writer went on to caution mrs. thayer that she must not be alarmed at the news he was about to tell her. he said that some of his enemies had started a report that he had poisoned his late wife. he had no doubt that the whig newspapers would spread and magnify these reports; still, he had no fears that they would be of any permanent injury to him, since his friend, coroner van valkenburgh, had agreed to hold an inquest, and there would be no difficulty in proving his innocence. he begged her to excuse the haste and brevity of the note, as he only had time to dash off a few lines to assure her that all was well, and to warn her not to become alarmed at anything she might see in the newspapers. the letter was signed: "ever your loving and devoted husband, alonzo pattmore." "well, this is certainly strange," i meditated. "her 'devoted _husband_,' eh? how can that be? he has had no opportunity to marry her since his wife died; hence, unless he committed bigamy, this title of 'husband' is only assumed in anticipation; yet mrs. thayer is, undoubtedly, beautiful and winning, and she may have induced him to ease her conscience by a form of marriage, even while his legal wife still lived. i must look into this more closely on my return to chicago." i then re-sealed the letter and gave it back to mr. miller, with instructions to return to the hotel and keep a general watch on all that went on. he was not to mail the letter until early the next morning. as miller went out knox came in. "well, knox, what news?" i asked. "mr. pattmore has gone away in a hack," replied knox, breathlessly. "what direction did he take?" "he drove off at a rapid rate toward the southern part of the town, and i could not keep up, nor get on behind. i took the number of the hack, though," answered knox. "that was right," i remarked, as knox paused to get his breath. "it was number fifty-two, and the driver seemed to be an irishman. he looked like a genial, half-grown, young fellow, and i do not think i shall have any difficulty in pumping him when he returns, as i know where his stand is." "right again," i exclaimed. "now you had better wait around there until the hack returns; then get into conversation with the driver, and ask him to take a drink in the nearest saloon; while you are talking with him, you can easily learn where pattmore went." it was ten o'clock when knox left me, and, as i was greatly fatigued, i went to bed immediately. shortly after midnight, knox again awoke me. "what news?" i asked, starting up. "did you succeed in learning anything from the hackman?" "yes," replied knox; "he returned a little before eleven o'clock, and i asked him whether he knew where there were any young ladies i could visit. he said that he knew several places. i then asked him to take a drink while we talked about it. i said, i judged, from his appearance, that he was just the young fellow who could take me where i wanted to go; that i was crossing the street to employ him in the early part of the evening, when he was taken by another gentleman, who probably went to the same kind of a place that i wanted to find. this had confirmed my opinion of the hackman, so i had decided to await his return. 'by the way,' i added, 'was i right about that gentleman?' the driver laughed loudly, and said that that was mr. pattmore, and that he did not go to such places. he went on to say that mr. pattmore's wife had been dead only a few days, and he supposed that mr. pattmore had gone out to pay the grave-digger, since his visit had been made to that individual at the graveyard gate." "did the boy say whether pattmore saw the grave-digger?" i asked. "yes," continued knox; "i pumped out all that the young fellow knew. the grave-digger lives in a little shanty close by the graveyard, and, on arriving there, pattmore called the fellow to one side, and conversed with him in a low tone for some time. he then paid him some money, entered the hack, and told the boy to drive straight back to the pattmore house, where pattmore discharged the hackman. i drew this information out of the boy very easily, without appearing to take any special interest in the story. i then told him to drive me to some quiet house where i could meet some young ladies. he took me to a place near here, and i paid him off immediately, saying that i should spend the night there. as soon as he was out of sight, i came straight here, without going into the house at all." "by jove!" i exclaimed, "we shall have some rough work to-night, and we must be quick, too. go over to the pattmore house, find out from the register what room green is in, and wake him up as soon as possible. tell him to come here, being careful that no one notices him, and to be sure to bring his pistols. you have yours, have you not, mr. knox?" "yes; do you expect to need them?" "it is quite possible, as we shall have some risky work to-night. i will meet you outside, and you must tell green to prepare for a march. luckily we are all good walkers." knox hurried away, and, in a short time, both of my detectives joined me in the street. we then hired a hack and drove to within half a mile of the graveyard, where i paid off the hackman, and we entered the grounds of a residence, standing some distance back from the road. my object in entering these grounds, was to make the hackman believe we were stopping there; otherwise, his curiosity would have been excited as to my reasons for going into the country at that hour of the night. as soon as the hack was out of sight, we returned to the highway, and, after a brisk walk, we reached the graveyard. _chapter v._ the resting places of the dead are localities which i do not much care to visit in the night. in the day time it is different; there is a holy calm about a cemetery then which impresses me with a feeling of rest, and i can really enjoy an hour or two in quiet contemplation of the monuments and humble head-stones of a large burial ground. but in the night, even the least superstitious person in the world will be awed by the solemnity pervading our cities of the dead, and will quicken his pace as the wind rustles mournfully through the shrubbery. i never should care to go into a grave-yard at night, as a matter of choice; but business is business, and must be transacted, no matter how unpleasant the surroundings may be. the first difficulty i encountered on entering the greenville cemetery, was, that i did not know where mrs. pattmore's grave was located. we therefore separated to the distance of about one hundred yards, and advanced through the underbrush across the grounds. we arranged, before starting, to meet at a certain tall tree, which stood up against the sky in the dim starlight. green had gone only a few rods when he came upon three men. their smoky lantern threw a ghastly light upon their work, and they were so busily engaged in digging that they did not notice him. he quickly withdrew and hurried after me. it was some time after he overtook me before we could find knox, but we finally met and returned to the place where the body-snatchers were at work. it was evident that they were professionals, for they had worked so rapidly as to have nearly succeeded in getting the coffin out of the grave. a thrill of horror even now goes through me as i think of that night; the white tomb-stones stood forth among the foliage, by which they were surrounded, like sheeted ghosts, and the waving leaves gave them the appearance of weird shapes in fantastic motion. the light of the lantern feebly glimmered in one direction, and the body-snatchers flitted about like restless ghouls preparing for a horrible banquet. we approached as quietly as possible, and, on emerging from the cover of a copse of hazel bushes, we made a general rush forward. the ghouls were too quick for us, however, and they ran away at a break-neck speed which we did not dare to imitate. they had the great advantage of knowing every foot of the ground, while we were continually obliged to dodge around some obstruction. first, knox stumbled headlong over a low grave, and then i became entangled in some trailing vines. as i regained my feet, i saw green rising from an encounter with a chain which had tripped him, and we simultaneously abandoned the chase. it was clearly useless to follow them further, but we fired at them with our revolvers in the hope of frightening them into a surrender. one of them instantly stopped, returned our fire, and then continued his flight. this satisfied me that they were old hands at the business of grave-robbing, and that they were not to be scared by long-range pistol practice. after watching for a couple of hours, i returned with my men to the city, being convinced that the body-snatchers would not make another attempt to rob the grave. as i walked back, i tried to account, in my own mind, for this new move of pattmore. i could not see the advantage to be gained by the removal of mrs. pattmore's body, and i retired to rest with that problem still unsolved. being greatly fatigued, it was eight o'clock next morning before i awoke. while i was at breakfast mr. miller came in, but he had nothing to report, except that pattmore seemed greatly troubled, and looked very haggard. i ordered miller to watch pattmore closely, and to engage him in conversation as much as possible. i then went in search of sheriff tomlinson, whom i soon found. believing him to be a thoroughly trustworthy man, i related to him all that had occurred the night before. he was much astonished at my story, and said that he was sorry i had not asked him to accompany me, as he knew the graveyard well. if the body-snatchers had been caught, they might have been able to give very important testimony at the inquest. pattmore might have been held to appear before the grand jury on their testimony alone. "yes," i replied; "no one regrets their escape more than i do; but i am almost equally annoyed by the fact that i cannot reach a satisfactory conclusion as to pattmore's motive in having his wife's body carried off. of course, if the coroner's men should have found the body gone, every one would suspect pattmore of having had it removed. however, i propose to solve the mystery in some way. by the way, mr. tomlinson, when do you expect the body to arrive?" "it will be here by eleven o'clock, and the men having it in charge, will take it directly to coroner van valkenburgh's office." "i suppose he will impanel a jury," i remarked. "certainly," the sheriff replied; "and it would be well for you to be present to watch the proceedings. pattmore must be made to face the music in some way." accordingly, i watched the coroner's office until i saw the hearse arrive, and, when the coffin was carried in, i followed it. the coroner's assistants reported that some body-snatchers had been at work, and had attempted to steal mrs. pattmore's body, having succeeded in getting the coffin nearly out of the grave; but they had evidently been interrupted, as they had left all their tools behind, and had not tried to open the coffin. they had been more successful in another case, however; the body of a woman had been taken from a grave in the potter's field, (which was devoted to paupers, etc.) and had been carried to a spot near mrs. pattmore's grave. the supposition was that the robbers, wishing to procure female subjects for dissection, had chosen those two graves as containing the bodies of persons who had most recently died. on hearing this story, i saw through the trick at a glance. the sheriff was in the office, and i beckoned to him to join me outside. "mr. tomlinson," i said. "i wish you to send a man to the graveyard to learn the name of the other woman, whose body was found; get a description of her age, height, size, and general appearance, as i feel sure that pattmore's intention was, to substitute her body for that of his wife." "by jupiter! that's so!" exclaimed mr. tomlinson; "but i should never have thought of that. i will attend to your request myself, while you can remain here to watch the proceedings before the coroner. i will go to the cemetery and make a thorough investigation. it is my duty to become acquainted with all the facts in the case," and he started off, accompanied by mr. green, whom i sent with him. in a short time, pattmore walked into the office and sat down. he wore a martyr-like expression, and, though he controlled his feelings sufficiently to appear outwardly calm, i could see that, inwardly, he was racked with fear and nervousness. the coroner hastily impaneled a jury, consisting wholly of pattmore's personal and political friends. the coffin was then opened, as a matter of form, and the jury merely looked at the rapidly decaying corpse. pattmore refused to look at the body, on the ground that he did not wish to mar the sweet memories of his beloved wife's features, which he had seen only in the flush of life and beauty, even by a glance at her merely mortal remains in their present condition. dr. forsythe testified that he had attended the late mrs. pattmore in her last illness, and that dysentery was the cause of her death. he was corroborated by another physician who had been in consultation with dr. forsythe during the last day or two of the patient's life. as no other witnesses were called, the jury immediately returned a verdict that mrs. pattmore's death had resulted from natural causes; namely, dysentery. i was watching pattmore closely during the interval before the verdict was delivered, and i saw plainly that, in spite of the farcical character of the inquest, he was in a state of nervous dread lest something unforeseen should occur to reveal his criminality. when the verdict was read, an expression of relief and triumph came into his face, and he received the congratulations of his friends like a man who had just escaped a great danger. i had too little evidence to warrant me in showing my hand at that time, by accusing him in person; nevertheless, i was satisfied of his guilt, and i decided to use other means to bring him to justice. in about an hour, sheriff tomlinson returned from the graveyard, with mr. wells and mr. green. they had made notes of the condition in which they had found mrs. pattmore's grave, and they had written out a full description of the other corpse found near by. the body was that of a woman of about the same size, age, and general appearance as mrs. pattmore. i had heard of an eminent physician in greenville, named dr. stuart. on inquiring for him, mr. tomlinson took me to the doctor's office and introduced me. he was a man of great ability, and he had a high reputation throughout the west as a scientific analytical chemist. i at once laid the facts in the pattmore case before him, and said that i wished him to analyze carefully the contents of the stomach and bowels of the late mrs. pattmore, in order to determine whether she had been poisoned. i said that it was a difficult case to undertake, owing to pattmore's political influence; but i felt sure that a thorough investigation would establish his guilt beyond question. the doctor replied that, under most circumstances, he should hardly feel inclined to comply with such a request, since he had no right to make such an analysis, unless he had the consent of the relatives of the deceased; or, upon the coroner's order. still, he had a natural desire for fair play, and the facts which i had presented to him seemed to point toward the possibility that a foul crime had been committed; hence, he would perform the analysis, provided that his action should never be made known to any one, until he should be called upon to testify in court. of course, if no trace of poison should be found, the theory of death by that means would have to be abandoned, and his connection with the affair need never be disclosed. "i have never met you before, mr. pinkerton," concluded dr. stuart, "but your reputation is well known to me, and i feel sure that you would not have made this request unless there were strong reasons for such action. i have full confidence in you, and i will give you all the aid in my power. where is mrs. pattmore's body now?" "it is in the coroner's office," i replied, "and it will be taken back to the grave in about an hour." "well, mr. pinkerton, can't you obtain possession of it in some way? i shall only want it for a short time." "that is what puzzles me," i replied; "i am afraid pattmore will follow the body to the grave." "then, if he should do so, can't you get two men who know how to handle a shovel quickly, to disinter it a second time?" asked the doctor. "yes; i will take two of my own men," i said; "i can trust them more than any one else." "oh, nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor, laughing, "you can do better than that. you had better offer the regular grave-diggers ten dollars to leave the body a short time in your possession before burying it; or, if pattmore should insist upon seeing it buried, they can easily disinter it for you, and it will take me only a short time to remove the intestines. i shall then seal them up for the present, as i am too busy to make the analysis just now; but when i shall have finished my present work, i will take up this case. you can depend upon hearing from me at the earliest possible moment." it was then arranged that mr. wells and sheriff tomlinson should be present to witness the removal of the bowels from mrs. pattmore's body; the sheriff further decided to give an official order for the analysis, so as to protect dr. stuart in case of any accident. if any signs of poison were found, the doctor's charges would be paid by the county; otherwise i should be responsible for the amount. i then went out to see the grave-diggers, and used such convincing arguments that they willingly agreed to disinter the body. my arguments were brief, but cogent, and were presented to them about in the following way: "mr. grave-digger, you look like a man of discretion, who knows how to open his hands and shut his mouth. i wish to obtain the body of the late mrs. pattmore for a short time. i will give you several excellent reasons why you will be willing to let me have it. in the first place, i will give you twenty-five dollars for the job; secondly,----" "wa-al, i guess you needn't go any furder," drawled the grave-digger, with a knowing wink; "twenty-five o' them reasons are enough for me; so just tell me where you want the body, and i'll see that it's forthcoming." i have always found that half the argument may be dispensed with if the matter is only _presented in the proper light_. in accordance with the agreement, therefore, the body was again taken from the grave in the presence of mr. wells, sheriff tomlinson, dr. stuart, my detectives, and myself; the necessary parts were removed by the doctor, and the body was re-buried; finally, the doctor placed the portions which had been removed in a jar of alcohol, and it was then sealed up to await the doctor's analysis. of one thing i felt certain; and that was, that the regular grave-diggers and the body-snatchers of the night before were the same persons; hence, i feared that they might give pattmore information of our proceedings. i communicated my opinion to the sheriff, and suggested that a slight hint from him might induce the men to keep silence for their own protection. accordingly he spoke to them about the occurrence of the previous night, and said that for the present he did not intend to make any investigation to learn who were the body-snatchers on that occasion. "but," he added, significantly, "if i ever discover that mr. pattmore, or any one else, has been informed of this action which i have just taken, i shall consider it my duty as sheriff, to bring to punishment immediately the men who attempted to rob this grave last night--_and i don't think i shall have any trouble in finding them_." while returning to the city, i impressed upon sheriff tomlinson the necessity of procuring all the evidence that could be reached relative to mrs. pattmore's death. i asked him particularly to find the nurses who attended her, and to learn all that they could tell about the symptoms of the patient; the kind and amount of medicines administered; the effect of the doses; and, in general, all the particulars of mrs. pattmore's illness and death. the sheriff promised to do all in his power, and mr. wells also agreed to give his assistance in bringing out the whole truth. on arriving at the globe hotel i met miller, who gave me a copy of a letter which pattmore had written to mrs. thayer, as soon as the coroner's jury had given their verdict. the letter contained a brief account of the inquest and the finding of the jury. it said that she could understand his feelings of great relief that all had turned out so well for him. the letter was signed, as in the former case, "your loving husband." mr. miller said that pattmore's manner had wholly changed since the close of the inquest; before he had been morose and irritable; now he was all vivacity and good spirits. one of his first acts, after the verdict had been given, was to write the above-mentioned letter, which miller had secured as before. having taken a copy of it, miller had mailed it in the general post-office. "you have done very well, mr. miller," i said, "and i wish you to remain here to watch pattmore's movements and intercept his letters. i shall return to chicago to-night, and you must inform me by telegraph if pattmore leaves here." having completed all my arrangements, i returned to chicago, taking knox and green with me. _chapter vi._ my first action, on reaching my office, was to send for mrs. kate warne, the superintendent of the female department of my force. she made a full report of all the work in her charge during my absence, and brought up among other cases, that of captain sumner. "miss seaton," said mrs. warne, "reports that she has progressed somewhat toward an intimacy with mrs. thayer, but that she has learned very little except by observation. mrs. thayer seems to be greatly troubled at times, but she is very reserved, and does not appear anxious to make any one her confidant. she goes to the post-office regularly twice a day, but she rarely goes anywhere else. once she went to a druggist's store, but, being unable to get what she wanted, she entered another one and purchased a small package." "has miss seaton been able to examine any of mrs. thayer's trunks or bureau drawers?" i asked. "only once," replied mrs. warne; "she succeeded in getting into one of her trunks, and there found an immense quantity of letters signed 'alonzo pattmore,' some of them dating back several years." "were they long, sentimental and--in short, were they to be classed under the head of love letters?" i asked, with a smile. "yes; miss seaton so reports them." "well," i said, "let her continue to watch mrs. thayer, and to seek to win the latter's confidence. by the way, what kind of books does mrs. thayer read?" "oh! anything that is romantic." "then, tell miss seaton to get 'eugene aram' and read it. she can make such allusions to it as will make mrs. thayer wish to read it too. the effect of the story on her mind will, perhaps, prepare her for the train of thoughts which i wish to excite in her." "oh! that reminds me," said mrs. warne, "mrs. thayer complains that she sleeps very poorly, and dreams a great deal. she has been wondering whether she talks in her sleep." at this moment, one of my clerks entered and said that captain sumner wished to see me. i immediately sent word that he could come into my private office; at the same time, i requested mrs. warne to step into the next room for a few minutes, as i should need her, as soon as the captain had gone. when the captain entered, i was busily engaged in examining some papers, and i greeted him as if he were an old friend whom i had not seen for months. "why, how are you, captain sumner?" i said, shaking his hand, warmly. "i am delighted to see you." "i'm pretty well," he replied; "but have you heard the news?" "no; what news?" "read that," he said, handing me the greenville _advocate_, and pointing to an account of the inquest on mrs. pattmore's body. the paper contained a full report of the coroner's proceedings, and an editorial on the subject. the editor spoke in the highest terms of pattmore, and congratulated him on his triumphant vindication. i read all that the _advocate_ contained relative to the case, and then remarked: "i wonder who started that investigation." "i can't imagine," replied the captain; "though, as the paper says, the story might have been originated by his enemies, for mere political effect." "yes; that is possible," i replied; "but there was no use in attempting anything of that kind. the result must have strengthened him, even among his opponents." "i am afraid so, too," said the captain. "we shall have a hard time in obtaining any proofs of his guilt, now that he is so popular." i saw that the captain did not suspect that i had been connected, in any way, with the greenville inquest; i therefore, changed the subject. "well, it will all come out right, if you have patience. how is mrs. thayer?" "not at all well," he replied; "she is very restless, and she complains of being nervous; besides, she is more reserved with me than ever. don't you think i had better try to induce her to go home with me? i should feel more comfortable if she were on the farm in connecticut, as she would then be out of pattmore's power. sometimes i think there is no use in trying to reform her; for, she seems so infatuated with that man that i only wonder she has not run away with him before now. i know that she will marry him at the first opportunity." "we must prevent that," i replied; "for the present, i think she had better remain here." i then asked the captain to excuse me a moment, and, stepping into the next room, i called my stenographer to the door; by leaving the door ajar, the conversation between the captain and myself could be easily heard in the next room. the short-hand writer, therefore, was able to take down everything that was said. returning to the captain, i commenced a friendly chat, in the course of which, i led him on to talk about his family. i especially desired to draw out the particulars of annie's history, and the honest old gentleman talked so freely that i obtained a very full account of all that he knew about her. in the conversation which we had about his own affairs, the captain gave me the following story to account for the fact that he was an old bachelor: "it seems somewhat strange," he said, "that i am unmarried, as i have always been a great admirer of the fair sex; but, the fact is, i had one strong affection, and that has lasted me all my life. the last time i was with her, she promised to be my wife, and we pledged ourselves to be eternally faithful to each other. i sailed for singapore the next day, and, on my return, i was to lead her to the altar. i felt that i had secured a prize far beyond my merits, for she seemed to be superior to me in every way. the days dragged along slowly and wearily, while on the voyage; but, at length, we returned to new york. i immediately hurried up from the landing-place, all impatient to see my sweetheart. as i passed up the dock, i met an old acquaintance. "'where away so fast?' he asked, as he stopped me. "'i am going to see miss curtis,' i replied. "'why, she married a rich banker, six months ago,' he said. "'oh! did she?' i exclaimed; 'i am glad she was so fortunate.' "then i returned aboard ship, feeling completely crushed. since that time i have never paid attention to any other woman, for i can never forget her. once afterward i met her on broadway, on her way to her carriage. she nodded carelessly, with a 'how d'ye do, john?' and was quickly whirled away out of my sight. i have never heard from her since then. "after the captain had told me everything about annie and himself that he could recollect, i asked him to excuse me, pleading an important engagement at that hour. as soon as he had gone, i requested my stenographer to write out his notes in long hand as quickly as possible, and i returned to consult with my female superintendent. "mrs. warne," i said, "we shall have a difficult task in working upon mrs. thayer; she seems to be very reticent and wary. i have decided to attack the superstitious side of her nature, which seems to be her weakest point; and, in order to do so successfully, i shall need your services. how do you think you would succeed as a fortune-teller?" "a fortune-teller!" she exclaimed, laughingly; "that is certainly a new _role_; however, i think i might learn to take the part after a few lessons." "yes," i replied, "the tricks of the trade are easily learned. here is a book which explains all the secrets of the profession. it is called 'the mysteries of magic and the wonders of astrology; by dr. roback.' you can take it to read at your leisure; but, after all, the costume and make-up are the principal things necessary. you will be obliged to trust largely to your own judgment and tact in working upon mrs. thayer's feelings. i suppose she has some vague ideas about astrology, etc., but i have no doubt of your ability to mystify her thoroughly. one thing is certain, mrs. warne, that we must have a fortune-teller of our own, and i do not know of any one so competent as yourself. i will rent an office for you near by, and the duties will interfere very little with your other work." "i will undertake it," she said, decidedly, after a moment's thought; "i will make it a success, too, if you will give me my own way about it." "all right," i answered; "success is all that i require." mrs. warne then withdrew to make her preparations. in a day or two i received a letter from miller. he said that the talk over the inquest was gradually subsiding; that there were some few persons who were not fully satisfied with the manner of conducting the inquiry, but that the general effect had been favorable to pattmore; that the latter had began to drink a great deal, though not enough to become intoxicated; that he, (miller,) had been taken into pattmore's confidence to a considerable extent; and that the latter had expressed an intention of going to cincinnati to make a visit. in conclusion, he said that pattmore was doing his utmost to appear cheerful, but that he looked very haggard, and seemed to be in great trouble. miss seaton reported to mrs. warne the same day, that she was becoming more intimate with mrs. thayer, though the latter manifested no desire to take any one into her confidence. the day previous mrs. thayer had gone to the post-office, where she had received a letter, as usual. she had torn it open, as if very anxious to learn the news it contained for her, and had then crumpled it nervously in her hand, after reading it. miss seaton also described a scene which had taken place that morning. mrs. thayer was in her room about eleven o'clock; soon afterward miss seaton went to the door and knocked. no answer being given, she went in quietly, intending to surprise mrs. thayer. she found the latter deeply absorbed in telling her own fortune with a pack of cards. miss seaton laughed pleasantly, and said: "so you were telling your fortune, were you? well, how did it come out?" mrs. thayer looked somewhat confused at first, but she gathered up the cards mechanically, and said: "i don't know how to tell my fortune; do you?" "yes, indeed, i used to be a splendid fortune-teller," replied miss seaton. "let me try to tell your fortune." she then shuffled the cards, dealt them in three piles, and turned up the last card, which happened to be the queen of hearts. "now let us see what your fortune _has_ been, what it _is_, and what it _will_ be," said miss seaton. "you are represented by the queen of hearts; this pile contains your past; that one your present; and the third your future." so saying, she turned up the top card of each pile. by an odd coincidence the present and future were both clubs, the past being a diamond. miss seaton said, gravely: "your past has been pleasant, but your future is unpromising." "yes, it is always so," replied mrs. thayer, despondently. then, as miss seaton was about to go on, mrs. thayer threw all the cards into a heap, saying: "no, i don't want to hear any more; i shall have the same luck throughout; clubs always come to me." "have you always had such bad fortune?" asked miss seaton. "oh! no; only a few years ago, i used to be as happy as a bird; sorrow was unknown to me, and one enjoyment seemed to pass away only to be succeeded by another. now i have nothing but trouble all the time." "your lot seems hard," remarked miss seaton, in a sympathizing tone; "probably you feel worse since your husband has been dead." "dead!" exclaimed mrs. thayer, springing up; then, recovering her presence of mind, she sat down, muttering: "yes, yes, of course, he's dead." "what do you mean?" said miss seaton. "is it long since he died?" "i do not feel well to-day; and i shall not try to read my fortune again when i am so nervous," replied mrs. thayer, evading miss seaton's question. seeing that mrs. thayer wished to change the subject, miss seaton did not press her further. the two ladies remained together until dinner time, and miss seaton read a portion of "eugene aram" aloud. mrs. thayer became deeply interested in the book, and borrowed it to read. next morning i received a telegram from miller, briefly stating that pattmore had left greenville. his destination was chicago, though he had given out that he was going to cincinnati. i knew that he could not arrive that day, as the railroad connections were not promptly made at that time; but i instructed mr. knox and mr. green to be prepared to "shadow" him, on his arrival at the depot the next morning, and to keep upon his track constantly, while he remained in chicago. i also sent word to miss seaton to make some pretense for calling upon mrs. thayer early in the forenoon, and to remain with her as long as possible. i knew that pattmore would communicate with mrs. thayer immediately on his arrival, and my object was, to have some one to witness their meeting. on entering my office early the next day, i was surprised to find captain sumner awaiting me, in a great state of excitement. "that man has come here again, mr. pinkerton," he broke out, impetuously. "he came before breakfast and went straight to annie's room. i called her to the door and expostulated with her, until she agreed to send him away as soon as possible. i then came here directly to inform you." "quite right, captain," i replied; "there is nothing like taking prompt action in such cases. you can return to the house now, and trust to me for the rest." "but i'm afraid she will run away with that villain," said the captain. "of course, we must prevent that," i replied; "i shall have a plan prepared, in case they attempt to run away together; but, i do not think pattmore is quite ready yet for such a step. keep your spirits up, captain, and don't borrow trouble." "i have all confidence in you, mr. pinkerton," he said as he went out; "but i shall be much happier when i am back on my farm." according to instructions, miss seaton called on mrs. thayer, though she did not gain admittance to her room. when mrs. thayer opened the door, miss seaton saw that she had been crying, and that she was evidently much disturbed. she asked miss seaton to excuse her, as she had company from the east. about noon pattmore returned to his hotel, as the captain would not permit him to dine at the boarding house. as mrs. thayer did not come down to dinner, miss seaton again visited her, and found her dressing to go out. she asked miss seaton to remain until she was dressed, but said that she was going out driving in the afternoon and to the theatre in the evening. in a short time, the captain came in, and miss seaton retired. the captain asked mrs. thayer what she meant by breaking her promises not to see pattmore again. she replied that pattmore was a man she could not help loving; that she had tried her best to overcome her passion, but in vain; and that she could not break off the connection so abruptly, but that she would endeavor to do so gradually in the future. then she kissed the captain, saying that she was never so happy in her life, and that she was going out driving with pattmore that afternoon. the captain remonstrated with her without effect, and, seeing that he could not move her from her purpose he came straight to my office to report. pattmore came again in the afternoon and took mrs. thayer out driving. she looked superb as she went off, having recovered entirely from her illness. she was in a perfect flutter of happiness and excitement, which gave her a brilliant color, and added to the brightness of her eyes. she was agitated by conflicting influences; on one side, was her brother, determined to separate her from her lover, and justly blaming her course; on the other, was pattmore, claiming her love, and urging her to abandon her brother's protection. they were gone about three hours, and, on their return, they seemed very complacent and much less excited than when they set out. in the evening, they went to the theatre together, being "shadowed" by mr. knox. he took a seat close behind them, in order to listen to their conversation; but he overheard nothing of any consequence. captain sumner had a long talk with his sister next morning, in relation to their return to connecticut. he begged her to go immediately, and thus escape from pattmore's influence; but she opposed his wish, on the ground that she was too weak to make the journey. he then lost his temper, and replied that she was strong enough to go around to places of amusement with pattmore, and it was very strange that she could not travel slowly home. this show of anger on the captain's part, caused her to commence crying, as she knew that he could not resist so powerful an appeal to his sympathy. the result equalled her anticipations. the captain soon lost all his irritation and began to console her, as if she were a spoilt child; finally, she induced him to go driving with them that afternoon. the captain told me afterward, that pattmore behaved with great propriety during the drive, and that they did not seem to be so much in love with each other as he had supposed. i smiled inwardly at the old sailor's simplicity; for i noticed that they had gone out in an open barouche, (instead of a close carriage, such as they had used the day before,) and they had remained away only one hour, instead of three. on their return from the drive, pattmore and annie went to mrs. thayer's sitting room, and the captain went down town. at four o'clock, miss seaton knocked at mrs. thayer's door; but, receiving no answer, she tried to enter quietly. she found that the door was locked on the inside, however, and she was, therefore, obliged to withdraw to her own room to watch. it was six o'clock before pattmore came out, having been nearly three hours in mrs. thayer's room with the door locked. mr. knox "shadowed" pattmore on his departure from the boarding house, and saw him take the nine o'clock train for greenville. i immediately notified mr. miller by telegraph, directing him to renew his intimacy with pattmore, and to remain in greenville until further orders. _chapter vii._ mr. miller was not idle during the time that pattmore was away. his first action was to learn who were the nurses attending mrs. pattmore in her last illness. one of them had left the city, but the other, being an old resident of greenville, was soon found. she was quite an elderly woman, with no family except one daughter. the latter was a seamstress, and mr. miller soon made her acquaintance by employing her to make some shirts for him. he kept up friendly relations with them by taking both mother and daughter out riding occasionally in the summer evenings; and in various ways he ingratiated himself into the old lady's confidence. it was not long before he was able to draw out all the particulars of mrs. pattmore's illness. he learned that when she first became seriously sick, mr. pattmore began to show a very tender solicitude for her health. he even insisted upon preparing her medicine and giving it to her himself. mrs. pattmore, however, did not seem to appreciate his watchful care, for she told the nurse that she did not like to take her medicine from her husband; she also asked very particularly whether the medicine which she took was that which the doctor prescribed. mrs. reed, the nurse, said that she did not like the effects of the medicine at all. it was put up in small yellow papers, and when mrs. pattmore took a dose of it she was always taken with violent vomiting; her bowels and stomach would become very hot, and the pain would be so severe as to cause her to scream terribly. then mr. pattmore would give her a dose of another kind of medicine, which would soon relieve the patient and cause her to fall into a deep sleep. when dr. forsythe called, mrs. pattmore always informed him very carefully about the effect of the medicine, but he treated it as a case of common occurrence, and said that those symptoms invariably accompanied an attack of dysentery. after the doctor had gone, mr. pattmore would return to the room with the same medicine, and his wife would exclaim: "oh! has the doctor ordered that horrid medicine again? i cannot stand it long. oh! what shall i do?" then her husband would tell her that it pained him almost as much as herself to see her suffer so, and that he would willingly take it himself if he could thereby save her from pain; but she must recollect that she was very dangerously sick, and that a failure to obey the doctor's instructions might prove fatal to her. mrs. pattmore would be too feeble to protest long, and she would take the medicine; the same symptoms as before would then result, and each day she seemed to grow weaker and weaker. the day of mrs. pattmore's death the doctor was unable to call; hence only mr. pattmore and mrs. reed were present when she died. pattmore spoke very endearingly to his wife and tried to caress her, but she pushed him away, gave him one long, reproachful look, and fell back dead. pattmore professed to be overcome with grief, and tears flowed down his cheeks, as he requested mrs. reed to arrange for the funeral, and to spare no expense. he stopped at the door as he was leaving the room and said: "by the way, mrs. reed, if any one inquires about it, you can say that dysentery was the cause of my beloved wife's death." miller said that there was little doubt that mrs. reed suspected foul play in connection with mrs. pattmore's death; but she was a very discreet woman, and would not spread any story which she could not prove. it was only by very skillful management that he had been able to induce her to talk upon the subject at all. she knew that pattmore was very popular, and that she would be speedily silenced if she attempted to suggest anything against his character; hence she preferred to keep her suspicions to herself. on receiving this report from miller, i sent him instructions to continue his acquaintance with mrs. reed, and to keep a close watch upon her movements, for it was possible that she, too, might be induced to go away. as she would be an important witness, it would be necessary not to lose sight of her. at the end of the week i received another report from miller, stating that pattmore had called a select meeting of his political supporters in the district, and had laid the plans for an energetic effort to obtain the congressional nomination. miller had been taken into their confidence, and he was working hard to secure the election of pattmore delegates to the approaching convention. this gave him ample opportunity to become intimate with pattmore, and he felt sure that the latter would not take any important steps without consulting him. i was much pleased to hear this news, as it showed me that pattmore was no longer in fear of detection; moreover, it satisfied me that politics would detain him in greenville for some time, and there would be no immediate danger of his marriage with mrs. thayer. having a prospect that he would not return to chicago to interfere with my plan for some weeks, i decided to proceed with my attack on mrs. thayer's credulity and superstition. in the afternoon, therefore, i sent for mrs. warne, and asked whether she had secured rooms in which to play the part of a fortune-teller. "yes," she replied, "i have rented three rooms on clark street, which are just suited for the purpose. there are two entrances, so that you can slip in at any time without being seen by my visitors." "well, you had better have them fitted up as soon as possible. i will drop in to look at them to-day." "no," she answered, "i don't wish you to come until i have completed my preparations. the rooms are on the second floor, and have not been occupied for some time; hence they will need considerable cleaning. you are too busy to attend to the furnishing and arranging, so i will relieve you of all the trouble; only give me _carte-blanche_ for the purpose of furnishing the rooms, and i know you will not regret it." "all right," said i; "you have my permission to do as you please, and you can get whatever money you need from the cashier. all i ask is that everything be done in the best manner. when you are ready to begin operations let me know, so that i can have an audience with the great fortune-teller in advance of the general public." during the next four days, nothing of any consequence occurred. the captain reported that his sister was gaining so fast in health and strength that he thought she was able to go back to connecticut. of course, i was obliged to oppose the journey at that time, since i wished to bring mrs. thayer before my fortune-teller. miss seaton reported that she was on quite intimate terms with mrs. thayer; but the latter never talked about her own affairs. she wrote daily to pattmore, and received daily letters in reply. at length, mrs. warne reported that her temple of magic was in complete order, and that she would be ready to receive me that afternoon. "very well," i replied; "i will drop in to have my fortune told about three o'clock. have you arranged it wholly to your own satisfaction?" "yes; it is nearly perfect." "whom have you engaged for an usher?" i inquired. "you must not ask questions now," she answered, laughing. "i have taken more liberties than i ever dared to take before; but i think, when you consider the object to be gained, that you will be satisfied." "well, i hope your rooms are as mysterious as your answers would lead me to expect," said i. "however, i shall be there promptly at three o'clock, so i will restrain my curiosity for the present." at the appointed hour, therefore, i called at the rooms, where i was received by a young negro of the blackest type. he was dressed in full turkish costume, and his actions gave me the impression that he was dumb. this black mute first ushered me into a very large front room, elegantly furnished in the style of a modern _salon_. heavy curtains hung in graceful folds from richly gilded cornices, sufficiently obscuring the windows to prevent the strong glare of the afternoon sun from penetrating directly into the room; arm-chairs and sofas were plentifully scattered about, to accommodate the throng of persons who were expected to visit the fortune-teller; the walls were hung with engravings and paintings; and on the floor was a thick brussels carpet into which my feet sank noiselessly, as i walked about inspecting the pictures and furniture. after scanning the sable usher for a few minutes, i said: "now, if that color would wash off, i should feel sure of finding one of my office boys, named jack scott, underneath." the mute grinned responsively, and i saw that i had guessed correctly. "well, jack," i continued, "i don't think you need fear detection. where is mrs. warne?" jack still remained mute; but he went into another room, and soon beckoned me to follow him. as i crossed the threshold, the door closed noiselessly behind me. it took me several seconds to accustom my eyes to the change in the light. then i began to gather an idea of the surroundings, and my surprise at mrs. warne's success was equalled only by my admiration of her good taste and judgment. the room was nearly square, but a large mirror, at the end opposite the entrance, gave a duplicate view of the whole; the shape of the mirror being that of a large doorway, the effect was to give an appearance of two rooms, instead of one. the walls and windows were hung with some dark colored material, which wholly shut out every ray of sunlight; but a soft, dim radiance was shed from five swinging lamps, one in each corner and the fifth in the centre of the room. these lamps were of bronzed silver, of oriental patterns, and were all in motion; the corner lamps swinging back and forth toward the centre, and the centre one, swinging slowly around in a circle. on the walls, were hung several charts and mystic symbols, while the floor was covered with a close matting of white straw, upon which was painted the common representation of the signs of the zodiac. a number of small globes stood upon a low shelf in one corner, and on a table in the centre of the room was a large globe standing on a chart. with the exception of one large easy-chair and a lounge, there were no other articles of furniture in the room. a pair of skeletons stood facing each other, one at each side of the mirror, and their ghastly appearance, duplicated in the mirror, added to the unnatural effect. near the table was a small portable furnace upon which stood a peculiarly shaped retort, and from this, issued a pungent, aromatic incense. while i was examining the globe and chart, mrs. warne slipped into the room, through the folds of a curtain at one side of the mirror, and swept down toward me. i should hardly have known her, so great was her disguise; her face and hands were stained a clear olive, and her hair hung down in heavy masses to her waist; her dress was of rich material, trimmed with oriental extravagance; the sleeves were large and flowing, and the skirt trailed over a yard. in her right hand she carried a small wand, around which two serpents twined. her whole appearance was dignified and imposing. the light and atmosphere added to the general effect, and i felt wholly satisfied with mrs. warne's work. "well, mrs. warne," said i, "you have certainly made a great success; but i am afraid i shall not be so much pleased when the bills come in." "don't be very much alarmed on that score," replied mrs. warne. "i have been very economical. many of the most expensive articles have been hired for the occasion, while the rest have been picked up cheap at auction sales. the expense, i assure you, will not be great." "all right," i rejoined; "the captain will have to foot the bill, whatever it may be; but, if we succeed in our object, he will not have any reason to regret the cost." mrs. warne showed me the door through which she had entered, and asked me to seat myself behind the curtains. she then called her usher into the room, and conversed with him; though they spoke in low tones, i was able to hear every word. the door where i was sitting, was hung on noiseless hinges, and it led into the last room of the suite; from this room, another door opened on a hall leading to a pair of side stairs. i was thus able to reach my ambush without entering by the front way. "now, mrs. warne, nothing remains to be done but to advertise you thoroughly," i said, after i had inspected all her preparations. "very well," she replied; "but you must recollect that i shall not be able to oversee all my general work, unless you make my office hours as a fortune-teller very short. three hours will be the longest time i can spare daily." i then returned to my office and wrote out the following advertisement: the great asiatic sibyl, l. l. lucille, the only living descendant of hermes, the egyptian, who has traveled through all the known parts of the world, now makes her first appearance in chicago. she will cast the horoscope of all callers; will tell them the events of their past life, and reveal what the future has in store for them. she has cast the horo- scope of all the crowned heads of eu- rope, asia, africa, and oceanica; she will cast the horoscope, or celes- tial map, for the hour and mo- ment of the inquiry for any visitor with the same care, and by the same method as that used in the case of the sultan of turkey, and the pacha of trincomalee. she will remain only a short time in chicago; hence the sorrowful and afflicted, who wish to know what the future has in store for them, had better call at once. she will tell who loves you; who hates you; and who is trying to injure you. she will show you your future husband or wife. l. l. lucille is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. she never fails to give satisfaction. visit her and learn your fate. office hours-- a. m. to p. m. fee $ . . office at the temple of magic, south clark street. this advertisement was inserted in the daily newspapers for a week, and i also had a number of small handbills printed for distribution in the street. in this way lucille's name was brought before the public very conspicuously. at that time the trade of fortune-telling was not so common as it is now, and those engaged in it rarely had the means to advertise themselves so extensively; hence lucille's half column in the newspapers attracted an unusual amount of attention. _chapter viii._ the next morning miss seaton called on mrs. thayer as usual, and found her eagerly reading lucille's advertisement in one of the newspapers. miss seaton asked mrs. thayer whether she was ready to go out for their regular morning walk, and mrs. thayer soon prepared to accompany her. they first went to the post-office; and, as they walked away, after mrs. thayer had received a letter, they met a boy distributing hand-bills. they each took one and walked along slowly in order to read lucille's glowing advertisement. mrs. thayer folded her bill up carefully and said: "i wonder whether this woman can do what she claims; if i thought so, i would call on her myself." "well, i don't have much faith in these people, as a rule," replied miss seaton, "but it is a fact that some of them really have a strange and inexplicable power to foresee events. whether it is a genuine science, or a mere application of general rules of physiognomy to the particular features of each visitor, i do not profess to say; but there is no doubt, i believe, that they have been very successful in reading the future for some people." "i am so glad to hear you say that," said mrs. thayer, "for i was afraid that you would laugh at me. now i have a real desire to see this woman, just to test her powers. the moment i read her advertisement in this morning's paper, i had a strong presentiment that she could help me out of my troubles, and i determined to visit her. see, here we are, right at the door, no. clark street. won't you go up with me while i get my fortune told, miss seaton?" "oh, certainly; if you really wish to try your fortune, to-day is as good a time as any other." they therefore ascended to madam lucille's rooms and rang a bell at the reception-room door. the sable usher immediately admitted them and asked them to be seated for a short time, as madam was engaged at that moment. he then left them alone, while he went to inquire how soon they could have an audience with the great sibyl. having told mrs. warne who her visitors were, the usher hurried over to my office and informed me. i instantly called my stenographer, and we proceeded quickly to the back room, where we took our seats behind the curtain. a lady was already in mrs. warne's room, but she was easily dismissed with instructions to return next day. when she retired, mrs. thayer was admitted, and miss seaton wished to follow, but this could not be allowed, as only one could have an audience at a time. mrs. thayer entered the room with her veil down; and, what with her nervousness and the superstitious terror inspired by the weird appearance of the room, she was hardly able to walk to the visitor's chair. when she became somewhat accustomed to the peculiar light, she saw madam lucille standing beside the table. her tall, commanding figure struck mrs. thayer with awe, and mrs. warne already felt sure of drawing out everything that she knew. "come hither, my daughter," said lucille, in a clear, sweet voice. mrs. thayer advanced falteringly, and sank into the large chair which the sibyl pointed out. "what would you know, my child?" continued lucille. "state your errand quickly; as my time is short, to unfold the mysteries of the future. like the wandering jew, i must forever advance upon my mission. what do you seek to know?" lucille's powerful mind, aided by her fantastic surroundings, had gained a complete ascendency over mrs. thayer's superstitious nature; in a voice trembling with emotion, she replied: "i have come to learn my future." "then you must unveil; i can tell you nothing until i see your face," said lucille. mrs. thayer slowly removed her veil and sat motionless, regarding the fortune-teller as a frightened bird watches a snake. "you wish to know your destiny, do you?" asked lucille, gently. "well, i can tell it, if the stars are propitious; but i must first look at your hand." she paused and waved her wand with several mysterious gestures over mrs. thayer's head; then she swept forward and took her hand. "tell me the day and hour of your birth," continued lucille. "i was born about daybreak on the eighteenth of october, ," replied mrs. thayer; "i cannot tell you the exact hour." "that will be sufficiently accurate for the present," said lucille; "though it may cause me much trouble in casting your horoscope." lucille continued to examine the lines of the hand, and presently commenced speaking in a low, but clear voice: "your parents are dead, and also one brother; your father passed through great dangers safely--ah! i see, he was a sailor. you have been surrounded by other sea-faring people; still, i cannot certainly tell what relationship they bore to you. i shall learn all when i cast your horoscope. your father acquired moderate wealth, of which you have received your share; but you desire more, and you are not too scrupulous as to how you get it. why, what means this?" she exclaimed, starting back and fixing a piercing glance on the cowering woman before her. "you are in danger! yes; there is danger all about you, but it is impossible to tell now how it will end. there is a man in your trouble, who claims to love you; and there is a woman who comes between you. ah! what is she doing!" she suddenly demanded in tragical tones, starting back with a look of terror in her eyes. mrs. thayer fell back as if stabbed to the heart, and her whole attitude denoted guilty fear. lucille, fearing that she would faint, handed her a glass of water, which soon revived her strength. as soon as mrs. thayer had sufficiently recovered, lucille again took her hand and carefully examined it; she then continued: "i cannot do much now, but you must come again, when i have more time; then i will cast your horoscope, and will be able to tell you all you can wish to know----" breaking off suddenly, she changed her tone and demanded imperiously: "who is this woman? is she his enemy, or yours? _are you sure that man loves you?_" "oh, yes; i am sure he does," mrs. thayer replied, hastily. "then what is the trouble between you and this woman?" asked lucille. "she is older than you, yet she constantly crosses your path." then, closing her eyes, lucille broke out passionately and rapidly, like a person in a trance: "why does she act so? what is the matter with her? she is often interfering with you, but is always followed by that man; he must be her enemy. see! a shadow falls over her! what does it mean! she fades away and vanishes--_it must be death_!" "death!" shrieked mrs. thayer, and then she fell back lifeless. [illustration: "_'death!' shrieked mrs. thayer, and then she fell back lifeless._"--page .] lucille did everything possible to revive her visitor, but it was some minutes before she recovered sufficiently to be able to stand alone. she finally joined miss seaton, but promised to call the next day to have her horoscope read. she left a fee of ten dollars for the prepayment of the labor which lucille would be forced to perform in reading the stars. when miss seaton and mrs. thayer left the room, the latter was scarcely able to walk, so much was she agitated and alarmed. they reached their boarding house in safety, however, and mrs. thayer at once retired to her room. a large crowd of visitors had already assembled in madam lucille's reception room, so that there seemed to be a fair prospect that all the expenses of the affair would be paid out of the fortune-teller's receipts. indeed, from the very first, mrs. warne had a great many more callers than she could attend to; but, by granting each one a short interview on the first day, long enough to learn what information they desired, it was an easy matter to satisfy them all to an exceptional extent. i put two good detectives at work to find out everything possible about the parties making the inquiries, and lucille was thus able to astonish them with the accuracy of her knowledge as to the past. of course, she was at liberty to exercise her own judgment as to her predictions for the future, since no one could tell whether they would prove true or not. when every one had gone, mrs. warne changed her dress and returned to my office, where we had a hearty laugh over the superstitious folly of the many ladies who had consulted her. she told me many amusing secrets, which her fair visitors had confided to her, and i learned that some of the most fashionable people in the city had invoked her aid. she was rather fatigued by her labors, however, as the weather was warm, and the atmosphere of her room, at times, became almost suffocating. she said that she had made an engagement to admit mrs. thayer the first one, the next morning. "very well," said i, "you have succeeded in startling her very much indeed, and to-morrow you will be able to do much more. be careful, however, to warn her against informing any one else of what you have told her, until her whole future is determined. it will not do to have her alarm pattmore." "i will caution her particularly on that point," replied mrs. warne; "i think i understand pretty well about how far i can go without terrifying her too much. i will send for miss seaton, and learn how mrs. thayer has acted since visiting me." in the afternoon, captain sumner came in and asked what steps i had taken in his case. i told him that i could not tell him what i had done, nor what i was doing; but he could rest assured that the best talent i had was employed in his behalf; if everything worked as i hoped, i should accomplish the object which he sought, inside of a month. "well," he replied, "i should like to take annie back to springfield as soon as possible; for i fear that she is again losing her health, and for the last day or two, she has been quite ill. yesterday she received a letter from pattmore, which i tried to snatch from her; but she was too quick for me, and i obtained only a small part of it. here it is," he continued, showing me the lower corner of a letter; "see how he signs himself." i took the fragment and saw the same signature as that which pattmore had used in his former letters: "your affectionate husband." the captain went on: "my blood got up when i read this, and i told her that if she ever saw pattmore again, i would shoot them both; that i would no longer permit her to disgrace our family. then she also flew into a violent passion, and said that she loved pattmore, and that he intended to marry her when he next came to chicago. as usual, she finally succeeded in appeasing my anger, and she promised to leave pattmore forever. i also agreed to make my will in her favor, and we thus became friends again. i may now be able to get her away, as she has promised to go as soon as she is able; but i can easily destroy my will, if she refuses to keep her promise. what do you think about it?" "well, it can't do much harm, i guess, for you are probably in no particular danger just now." "then i will make my will to-day. by-the-by, there is a great fortune-teller in town; have you seen her advertisement?" "yes," i replied; "but there is nothing unusual in that. you can find such people here at all times." "i know that," said the captain; "but they are generally mere humbugs, while this one appears to be of a different class. she has been in the east indies, and the fortune-tellers there are not humbugs, as i know by experience. i shall go to see her to-morrow. i had my fortune told once by a hindoo in calcutta, and he was correct in every particular as far as he went." after the captain had gone away, i sent for mrs. warne and told her that she would receive a visit from the captain next day, and that she could learn all about his past history by referring to the conversation which my stenographer had taken down some time before. i then looked over a report i had just received from miller, who was still watching pattmore in greenville. there was little of importance in it except an account of a conversation between miller and pattmore, in which the latter said that he was staking everything upon the hope of getting the congressional nomination; if he should fail in that, he would not remain in greenville, but would go to kansas to live. miller added that pattmore received letters daily from mrs. thayer. i immediately wrote to miller to secure a copy of one of mrs. thayer's letters; and, if possible, to intercept every one of them. i felt confident that she would describe her visit to the fortune-teller in part, at least, and i was anxious to know how much she would reveal to him. besides if he were disposed to be superstitious, he would probably be more or less affected by her account, and i might use the knowledge thus gained, to good advantage. late in the evening, miss seaton came in and told mrs. warne that mrs. thayer had been greatly agitated by her interview with lucille; that she had shown great dejection and grief all the way home; and that she had immediately retired to her room, where she had thrown herself on the bed; that she had risen, late in the evening, and had written a very long letter, which she had asked miss seaton to put in the post-office for her, being too weak to go out herself. of course, miss seaton gave the letter to mrs. warne, who immediately brought it to me. i opened it at once and hastily read it through. it began, "my dear husband," and went on to describe her visit to lucille. she gave a full account of all that lucille had said, and also related the effect which the fortune-teller's revelations had had upon her. she said significantly that pattmore could understand how much she had been alarmed by the references to the woman who came between them, for the inference was that lucille meant mrs. pattmore. however, she was going, she said, to have her full fortune told the following day, and she would write all about it in her next letter. i had the letter copied and sent to the post-office in time for the first mail. _chapter ix._ i had sent word to my new york correspondent to make a thorough search for henry thayer, as i wished to learn definitely whether he was alive or dead. by communicating with the london board of underwriters, my agent learned that henry thayer was in command of an english whaler in the south sea. at the latest advices from him, he was nearly ready to sail for england, as he needed only a few more whales to complete his cargo. i received this information the morning after mrs. thayer's first visit to lucille, and i communicated the news to mrs. warne at once, instructing her to make the best possible use of it in her coming interview with mrs. thayer. shortly before ten o'clock the next morning, i took my place behind the curtain. in a few minutes mrs. thayer and miss seaton arrived, and mrs. thayer was promptly admitted to lucille's presence. she removed her veil and sank into the visitor's chair with an expression half of longing and half of dread. again lucille waved her snaky wand, and, as before, the room was filled with the fumes of burning incense. lucille looked at mrs. thayer's face intently, and said: "my child, i am pleased to see you; i have worked at your horoscope unremittingly, but it is not completed to my satisfaction. there is some peculiar influence about you which prevents a clear reading of your future. even your past, though much of it is easily determined, seems obscured by strange inconsistencies--not to say impossibilities. some of the results were so startling as to make it necessary for me to refuse to reveal them, until, by a second test, i can decide whether there was no mistake in the solution of certain calculations. to-night, therefore, i shall do what rarely is necessary in reading the horoscope of ordinary humans--i must invoke the aid of my progenitor and master, hermes. it is a dreadful task; one for which i must nerve myself to meet the greatest dangers and the most frightful scenes; but i never shrink from the path of duty, and i have confidence that the sanctity of my mission will give me safe conduct, even through the hosts of demons who must be met before i can come face to face with the great egyptian king." lucille spoke with a weird earnestness, and a far-away look in her eyes, as if she actually realized the presence of ghouls and goblins. mrs. thayer fairly shivered with terror, but said nothing, and lucille continued: "i wish i dared read the whole of the horoscope as it was divulged to me in the lone watches of last night; but i have decided to omit all those portions where there is a possibility that the malign spirits around you have misinterpreted your past and future. when you were younger, you passed your days in happiness; you were very handsome, and you could charm the hearts of men without difficulty. there has been with you frequently, during your past years, a man some years older than yourself. he appears to have been a sailor; and, though often away from you, he has always sought you out on his return. he loves you, and is undoubtedly your true friend; he is unmarried, yet he does not wish to make you his wife. he wears a peculiar ring which he obtained in the east indies. he often consults this ring, and it informs him whether he is in danger or the reverse. you do not love this sailor as well as he loves you, and he wishes to remove you from the other man. i cannot understand the actions of the woman whom i mentioned yesterday; i cannot tell whether she is living or dead. the man you love has been with her; he gave her something in a spoon which she was forced to take. ah! i see! it was a medicine, a white powder--and now begins the obscurity. further on, i see that he visited you; you ran to meet him and plied him with caresses. if he were your husband it would partly clear away the cloud. is it so?" "yes," mrs. thayer at length replied, "he is my husband." "well, that removes much of the uncertainty; this woman loved that man and wished to keep him away from you; he gave her a powder to make her sleep, so that he could escape from her." then, suddenly catching mrs. thayer's hand, lucille glanced over it rapidly, and again closely examined the chart. drawing back from mrs. thayer, she eyed her sternly and disapprovingly. "who is this other man?" she asked; "he, too, is a sailor; he is handsome; he is brave; he is an officer; yes, he commands a ship. he has been much with you, but he is now far away. you loved him once, but now the other man has come between you." then, pausing a moment, she broke forth rapidly and harshly: "woman, you have tried to deceive me! this sea captain is your husband!" mrs. thayer was only able to say, as she fell back, fainting: "he is dead! he is----" lucille soon revived her, and then asked whether she was strong enough to hear the remainder of her fortune. mrs. thayer signified her assent, and lucille again examined the chart. she first said: "you cannot deceive me; your husband is away at sea; is it not so?" "he _was_ my husband," said mrs. thayer, in a half audible voice; "but he went away several years ago, and i heard that he was dead. i had fallen in love with the other man, and, on hearing of my husband's death, i married the man i loved. it can't be possible that henry is alive." "yes, he is," replied lucille; "and i think he is about to return to seek for you; but the horoscope again becomes obscure. it is as i feared; the only means of learning the truth will be through the aid of the dread hermes, whose power no demon can resist. to-morrow you shall learn all that my art can discover about your past and your future." "but can you tell me no more than this to-day?" asked mrs. thayer, in a vexed tone. "you have given me only bad news. how long shall i live and be happy with my husband?" "that man is not your husband, and you cannot long live happily with him. as far as the cloud permits me to see, i can discern that something terrible is about to happen to him. you are in danger yourself; there seems to be a strange fatality attending your fate wherever it comes in contact with that man; it is especially gloomy when complicated by the presence of the other woman. as i have before told you, i cannot clearly see from this horoscope what will be your _absolute_ future; but i can tell you this much:--and, woman, weigh well my words, for the spirit of prophecy is strong within me--your future is dependent upon your present decision. fate is unchangeable, and neither seer nor sibyl can alter its least decree; but it is sometimes permitted to us to determine the _contingent_ future of a person and no more. we then say, thus and thus has been the past; the future may be thus, or it may be so; one course of conduct now, will lead to _this_ result; the other will lead to _that_. yours is such a horoscope; and, even with the aid of my mighty master, i cannot expect to do anything more than to learn definitely the two alternatives which are to be presented to you, and the consequence of your decision each way. to-morrow i will see you again at an early hour, and will tell you all i have learned during the night." "can you tell me no more now?" demanded mrs. thayer, impatiently. "is it then true that my first husband is alive?" "it is true," replied lucille; "and he is at present commanding a ship far away in the south sea, which is the reason why you could not find him." "how do you know that i ever looked for him?" said mrs. thayer, languidly. "no; you did not look for him; but the other sailor who loves you, made inquiries for a long time. i see him plainer now; he must be your brother." mrs. thayer had been very much awed by the imposing manners of lucille, and by the mystic surroundings in which she was placed. she was now quite in lucille's power, and i should have proceeded to force her to reveal the truth about pattmore's crime, had she been stronger physically; but i was afraid to test her endurance too far in one day. i had arranged a series of simple signals, which would not attract the attention of any one but lucille, and i therefore signalled to her that she might close the interview. mrs. thayer lifted her head to look at lucille a few moments after the latter had spoken of her brother, and said: "you are the strangest woman i have ever met. you have told me things which i believed were known only by myself. all that you have said is the truth; but you do not tell me enough. i wish to know what i must do to make amends for all the wrong i have done. i have been very wicked, i know." "if you really wish to do right, there is still a prospect that you may be happy. my duty is to show you that you are doing wrong, and to help you to change your course of action." "will you not tell me about my--" mrs. thayer could not complete the sentence, but she evidently meant pattmore, so lucille said: "yes, my child; i will tell you all to-morrow; but i think you are unable to bear more at present. i will point out two paths, and will show you where each one of them leads; then, if you wish, i will give you my advice; after that, all will depend upon yourself. you can be happy again, if you decide to follow my counsel." "indeed, i will try to do so," replied mrs. thayer. "i have suffered myself to be led astray; but, hereafter, i will be guided by you. i never before heard a fortune-teller who could talk as you do,--you give such good advice." "i endeavor to use my powers for the good of mankind," said lucille, solemnly. "i speak only what i know to be true. when i have told you all, you must decide upon your course; and, if you choose the right one, you will, doubtless, be very happy. be careful that you do not reveal to any one the knowledge you have this day learned from me; when you have heard all, you can tell as much as you please. farewell, my child; be here promptly at ten o'clock to-morrow, for my time is precious." mrs. thayer withdrew, joined miss seaton in the reception room, and they returned home. lucille then received in rapid succession the visitors who had made appointments the previous day. she had a note-book filled with information obtained by my detectives, and she was thus enabled to satisfy them all immediately; or else, to postpone telling their fortunes until the next day. then the new arrivals were admitted long enough to tell what they wished to know, after which they each received appointments for the next day. when all were disposed of, lucille came into the back room to change her dress. i congratulated her upon her success, and was about to withdraw with my stenographer, when the usher came in and said that a gentleman desired an audience. from his description, i felt confident that captain sumner was the person who had arrived. i therefore begged lucille to give him a full sitting, and to read his past for him very thoroughly. "by the way," i added, "you recollect that while he was away at sea, his sweetheart, miss curtis, married a wealthy new york banker, named agnew. well, i saw a notice the other day of the death of a banker of that name in new york, and i feel sure that his old flame is now a widow. i want you to refer to this fact in telling his future." "oh! well," said lucille, with some vexation, "i'm rather tired of the business already, and i don't care to spend the whole afternoon in that hot room; so i shall get rid of him as soon as he is satisfied. if you want to tell me anything, make a sound like the gnawing of a rat, and i will come out." accordingly, i resumed my place at the door, with my stenographer close beside me, and the captain was ushered into lucille's room. she motioned to him to be seated, and then asked, in her most commanding tones: "what can you learn from lucille that you have not already learned from the hindoo or calcutta?" the captain regarded her for an instant in reverent amazement; but, finally, he said: "i see that you know my past, and that you are truly one of those who can read the fate of others. i am in trouble, and i wish to know when i shall escape from it, if ever. the hindoo told me much, but i would know more." without further conversation, except to ask the day and hour of his birth, lucille proceeded to pore over a chart and to examine his hand. finally, she gazed at him steadily a few minutes, and said: "what i have to say is the truth alone; if it be painful to you, it is because the truth is not always pleasant. listen calmly, therefore, to the words which the stars declare to be true: your parents are both dead; your father was a sea-captain, and he brought you up in the same profession. on one of his cruises, a sepoy presented him with three rings, one of which you now wear; its powers are very great, and it has frequently rendered you important services; take care that you lose it not. it has even saved your life. yes," she continued, after closely examining the palm of his left hand; "your life has been attempted three separate times lately. you have two sisters living; one of them is happily married and lives in comfort in an eastern state; the other married a sea-captain, but she does not live with her husband. she is with you, and is in poor health. why! is it possible!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "it was your sister who made the attempt on your life! you may not suspect that your young and charming sister, whom you so deeply love, could have been guilty of such an act; but, unless my powers have failed me so that i cannot read the stars aright, such is the fact. wait; lest i should have made a mistake, i will try again. it seems too horrible to be believed." the captain had buried his face in his hands; but now he looked up and said: "it is unnecessary to try again; you are right. i see that you are one of the gifted ones of this world, and i wish you to tell me all; i can bear it." lucille continued her examination of the captain's hand as she went on speaking: "your sister still has the same kind of poison with her which she used before. she does not intend to use it herself--she has no motive for committing suicide; but she may intend to give it to you again. you must be careful, for that is your greatest danger. your principal trouble for some time has been caused by that sister. she no longer loves her husband, who has wholly disappeared from your knowledge, and she professes to believe that he is dead. this is not the case, however: he is now in command of an english whaling ship in the south sea, and he will soon return to england." at this, the captain sprang up in a whirl of excitement and joy. in relating the story to me the next day, he said that he felt like taking lucille in his arms and giving her a genuine sailor hug; but she looked so fierce and wicked that he got the idea that she was a genuine witch; and he was afraid that her beautiful white hands would turn into claws, and that she would soon make a meal of him, if she felt so disposed. when he sat down again, lucille again scanned the chart and compared it with his hand. she seemed very much disturbed at the revelations, and, at length, she said: "your troubles are so closely interwoven with those of your sister that i cannot separate them; but i never saw a horoscope so full of frightful scenes--i do not wish to go on with it." "please do not stop," said the captain; "i feel that you have the power to tell me all, and i must know it. i will pay you anything you ask," he added, taking out a roll of money. "my fees are invariable," said lucille, drawing herself up haughtily. "you insult me by suggesting that i need to be paid extra to tell the truth." "i beg your pardon," replied the captain excitedly; "but i hope you will not refuse to tell me all you know. i can bear it, i assure you." "know then that your sister is deeply in love with a very bad man, who lives two or three hundred miles from here. she became acquainted with him in the east and he seduced her, though he was a married man, living with his lawful wife. to quiet your sister's scruples, he had a marriage ceremony performed; but, of course, it had no legal value, since both of the parties were already married. she became _enceinte_ by this man, and she caused the premature removal of the evidence of her shame by an abortion. this crime you connived at, though you did not advise it. but the worst is not yet told: this wicked man, finding that you were determined to prevent him from seeing your sister, _resolved to murder his wife_, and to marry your sister legally, supposing that her husband was dead. he accomplished part of his design by poisoning his wife; but he has not yet been able to carry out the whole of his plan. he is now in danger, but he knows it not. he will soon be arrested and tried for murder. if you can succeed in uniting your sister and her lawful husband, they may be able to forget the past and live together happily. all, however, depends upon her. at present she is in deep distress, but the effect of it will be good for her. there is a strong hope that she may be led to see the character of her wicked lover in its true light, and that she may return penitently to the arms of her husband, if he will receive her." "oh! he will, i know he will," said the captain. "then, when that happens, your troubles will be at an end. now i can tell you but little more, as i have a great task to perform, and i must be left alone." on hearing lucille say this, i immediately gave the signal, as agreed, and she made an excuse to leave the room for a moment. "what more do you want?" she asked. "you have forgotten to tell him about his old sweetheart, mrs. agnew." "oh! let me skip that," said lucille impatiently, "i am nearly exhausted, and i cannot stand the atmosphere of that room much longer." "just tell the captain about mrs. agnew, and then you will be through work for the day. try to send him off happy," i pleaded. "oh! yes; that is always the way: provided the captain goes away happy, you don't care what becomes of me. well, i suppose i must; but i will never undertake such a _role_ again." when lucille returned to the captain, he was sitting with his face buried in his hands; but he looked up instantly and asked whether she had anything more to tell him. she looked at the chart for a few minutes and then said: "in your youth, you loved a lady of great beauty, and she returned your love; but while you were away at sea, her parents made her believe that you were false to her. they wished her to marry a wealthy banker, and, in a fit of pique, she accepted him. she has always loved you in secret, however, and now that her husband is dead--" "is that so?" ejaculated the captain, springing up in great delight. "yes," replied lucille; "he died a short time ago, and she is now passing her widowhood in new york. she is stouter than she was, but she is still handsome, and she has never ceased to love you. this completes the reading of your horoscope." the captain rose to go, but paused to express his feelings. he spoke slowly and with great emotion, since lucille had completely secured his confidence. "madam, i thank you from my heart for the revelations you have made to me. i know that most of the things you have told me are true, and i am satisfied of the truth of the rest also. i should like to pay you in proportion to the value of your words to me." so saying he went out quickly, leaving one hundred dollars on the table. i found that lucille's fame was becoming uncomfortably great, since the reception-room was thronged with eager inquirers, who insisted on seeing her, even after the close of her office hours. i, therefore, arranged with mr. bangs, my general superintendent, to have a crowd of my own _employees_ constantly in attendance, so that outsiders, seeing so many others waiting for an audience, would not remain. by this means, lucille was able thereafter, to receive as many, or as few, as she chose, and her labors were greatly lightened. _chapter x._ after the interview with lucille, mrs. thayer returned to her boarding-house with miss seaton, and invited the latter to spend the day with her. she said that she was low-spirited and wanted company to keep off the "blues." she was very nervous, and she could not take an interest in anything. she said several times that lucille was the most wonderful person she had ever met, and that she had heard things which convinced her of lucille's supernatural powers; but she carefully avoided stating anything definite relative to the revelations made to her. finally she commenced to write a long letter, and miss seaton became absorbed in a novel. after some time the captain came in, looking very solemn, and miss seaton saw that he wished to have a private talk with mrs. thayer. accordingly she rose to leave the room, remarking that she was going down town in the evening and would like to have mrs. thayer accompany her. miss seaton knew that it was very improbable that mrs. thayer would go, on account of the fatigue and excitement of the morning; but she hoped that the latter would give her the letter to put in the post-office. on hearing the approach of the captain, mrs. thayer had hastily concealed her writing materials, thus showing that she was writing to pattmore. on entering her own room, miss seaton took a seat close by a door which connected the two rooms. this door was nailed up and the cracks had been filled with cotton; but she quickly pulled out the filling and obtained an excellent opening to hear all the conversation in the next room. the captain first asked his sister when she would be ready to return to springfield with him. she replied that she would go as soon as she felt able to stand the journey. "annie," said he, in an impressive manner, "i fear that you are deceiving me, and that you intend to do me harm. why do you seek my life? you know that i have done all i could for you, and that i will continue to do so. why, then, do you wish to poison me? i know that you have poison with you, and that i am the only one for whom it can be intended." "no, no, you are wrong," replied mrs. thayer, in trembling tones; "you are my brother, and why should i wish to injure you?" "annie, i know that you have poison about you," said the captain, firmly, "and i am afraid to remain with you any longer. i have forgiven you once, but now it is my duty to cast you off; _you are plotting to take my life_." "who told you this? what reason have i given you for thinking so?" demanded mrs. thayer. "i have been to see a wonderful fortune-teller, who----" the words had no more than passed her lips, when he was interrupted by an exclamation of terror and surprise from mrs. thayer, who started to her feet and then fell back upon the sofa, fainting. the captain was much alarmed at the effect of his remark, and he could not understand why she had fainted at the mere mention of the source of his information. however, he did not spend any time in trying to account for her terror; his first action was to bathe her temples with cold water, in order to restore her to consciousness. when she had partly revived, she lay on the sofa with her eyes closed, as if she had no strength left. finally she spoke in a weak voice, without looking at her brother: "was it a fortune-teller who told you what you have just accused me of?" "yes," replied the captain, "and i know that she speaks the truth." "my god!" exclaimed mrs. thayer, "how could that woman have known that? well, it is true that i have some poison, though, as god is my judge, it was not meant for you; but, i was resolved that if i could not escape from my present misery, i would take it myself. never, for an instant, did i intend it for you." "in either case, annie, i must have the poison." mrs. thayer rose with great effort, and, going to her trunk, produced a small package labeled "poison," in conspicuous letters. she handed it to the captain, and he said: "i will now destroy this package and thus remove all temptation from you; let us both thank god that you have been prevented from carrying out your design. o, annie! may this be the last time that i ever shall have reason to doubt you. the fortune-teller whom i mentioned is a wonderful woman. i learned from her many things which i will tell you when you are strong enough to hear them." "i should like you to tell me very much," said mrs. thayer, eagerly; "perhaps she could tell my fortune, if i should visit her." "yes, indeed; she could tell you all your past and future; you ought to go there." "well, i guess i will try to go to-morrow, if i am strong enough," said mrs. thayer. the captain kissed her tenderly, and said: "annie, never again follow the advice of an evil counsellor; you will never be happy while you continue in a path which you know to be wrong. the fortune-teller had good news for us both, and all will go well if you will only be guided by the wishes of your true friends, who love you and who desire to save you from sorrow." the captain then went out and left mrs. thayer dozing on the sofa. in the evening, after supper, miss seaton went to mrs. thayer's room to see whether the latter wished to take a walk. mrs. thayer was not able to go out, but she asked miss seaton to put a letter in the post-office for her. miss seaton took the letter and brought it straight to mrs. warne, who delivered it to me at once. i opened it and read it aloud to my stenographer, who took down its contents as fast as the words fell from my lips. the letter contained a full account of mrs. thayer's second visit to lucille, and it betrayed great fear of discovery and punishment. she said that she had thought their secret to be perfectly safe, but now she knew that there was at least one person who could disclose their guilt to the world, since that person had the power of finding out everything. she begged him to come to chicago, to see lucille, and have his fortune told; he would then learn the wonderful extent of her powers, and would be able to decide what was the best course to pursue. she thought he ought to fly for safety at once, since the fortune-teller predicted that he was in great danger. as for herself, she expected to go east soon, as her brother was anxious to start. if pattmore did not come to chicago immediately she might never see him again; she could not bear the idea of separation, but she knew that it must come. it was evident that mrs. thayer had wholly forgotten lucille's injunction to maintain silence upon the subject of her revelations, and i debated an instant whether i should send the letter; but i finally decided to let it go, as he would receive it too late to interfere with my plans, even if he should come to chicago. i sent a letter to miller by the same mail, telling him to keep a strict watch on pattmore, as i feared that he might leave greenville suddenly. in case of such a movement miller must telegraph to me instantly. miller's reports for several days had been to the effect that pattmore was working very hard to secure the congressional nomination, but that he seemed very much troubled about some other matter. he had changed his mind about going west, and had asked miller to go to galveston, texas, with him, in case he failed to get the nomination. although he still had hosts of friends, he did not confide his plans to any one except miller. this showed me that there would be but little probability that pattmore would come to chicago without miller's knowledge. that same evening miller sent me a telegram stating that pattmore had just received a long letter, evidently from mrs. thayer; on reading it he had shown great excitement, and had afterwards become gloomy and dejected to an unusual degree. miller wished to know whether i had any special instructions about the letter. as this was the letter which miss seaton had secured the day before, i replied that he need not trouble himself about it, but that he must keep a close watch upon pattmore, and endeavor to retain him in greenville as long as possible. by the early mail next morning i received a letter from dr. stuart, of greenville; having finished the work upon which he had been engaged, he had begun the analysis of mrs. pattmore's bowels; he said that he would let me know the result within a few days. the whole affair was now gradually drawing to a focus, and i felt confident of a successful termination. i therefore instructed mrs. warne to describe me to mrs. thayer, and to say that i was watching her movements constantly. about nine o'clock that morning mrs. thayer went out as usual with miss seaton, and they proceeded straight to lucille's rooms. they were the first arrivals, and mrs. thayer was admitted to lucille's presence at once; but miss seaton immediately went back to her boarding-house, as i wished to have mrs. thayer return home alone. mrs. thayer was in a more impressionable state than ever before. the day was dark and lowering, showing every sign of an approaching storm; outside there had been the noisy bustle of active business life, while within the limits of lucille's mystic chamber all was hushed in a deathly silence. the monotonous swinging of the lamps, the perfume-laden air, the ghastly skeletons, and the imperious bearing and powerful will of lucille--all struck upon her imagination with resistless force. as she sank into the seat which lucille pointed out, she felt like a criminal entering the prisoner's dock for trial. she felt that she must relieve herself from her load of guilt or she would forever suffer the torments of remorse. "well, my child," said lucille, in her most solemn tones, "to-day you have come to learn all, and i trust that you have nerved yourself to sustain the revelations which i have to make. i have been through many difficulties and terrible dangers since i last saw you, and a very sad story has been laid before me. your situation is one of great peril, and upon your own decision this day will rest your hopes of happiness hereafter. still, you must not be cast down; if you will only resolve to do what is right, your sorrows will gradually pass away, while health and happiness will steadily return to you. your worst crime was the destruction of your unborn child, for that was a sin against nature herself; but true repentance will save you from the effects of that sin, further than you have already suffered." this was the first time lucille had mentioned the fact that she knew of the abortion; yet it seemed perfectly natural to mrs. thayer that lucille should know it; hence, beyond turning very pale at the memory of her suffering, she did not manifest any special emotion on hearing lucille's words. the sibyl continued speaking as she gazed, first at mrs. thayer's hand, and then at the chart: "this man, whom you so wrongly love, does not return you the affection of a true husband; he loves you only for selfish, sensual purposes; he will fondle you as a plaything for a few years, and then he will cast you off for a younger and more handsome rival, even as he has already put away his first wife for your sake. if you do not give him up now, some day he will throw you aside or trample you under foot. think you he will fear to do in the future what he has done in the past? when he wearies of you, have you any doubt that he will murder you _as he has already murdered his wife_?" lucille had spoken in a rapid, sibilant whisper, leaning forward so as to bring her eyes directly before mrs. thayer's face, and the effect was electrical. mrs. thayer struggled for a moment, as if she would rise, and then fell back and burst into tears. this was a fortunate relief, since she would have fainted if she had not obtained some mode of escape for her pent-up feelings. seeing that there was no further danger of overpowering mrs. thayer, as long as she was able to cry, lucille continued: "yes, the heartless villain murdered his wife by poisoning her. i can see it all as it occurred; it is a dreadful scene, yet i know that it must be true--a woman of middle age is lying in bed; she has evidently been very handsome, but now she shows signs of a long illness; your lover, her husband, enters, and he wishes to give her some medicine; but see, she motions him away, though she is unable to speak; she must know that he is going to poison her; yet she cannot help herself, and the nurse does not suspect his design. now he has given her the poison, and she is writhing in an agony of pain. he professes to be much afflicted, and, oh, heavens! with the treachery of judas, he attempts to kiss her! now it is all over; with one last, reproachful look, she has passed to that land where 'the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.' she is dead, _and her husband is her murderer_." "oh! for god's sake, spare me, spare me!" exclaimed mrs. thayer, between her sobs. "i cannot listen to the description of such a death-bed scene without horror. i know i have been very guilty, but i shall try to make amends in the future. have pity on me, i beg of you, and do not overwhelm me with such terrible scenes." "you must hear all," said lucille, firmly. "there are two more acts in this tragedy to which you must listen; the first is a weird scene in a church-yard by night, and the clear starlight only half reveals the actors; there are three men engaged in digging at this woman's grave; yes, even in death, her body cannot rest in peace. near by lies the corpse of another woman, whose cold, white face is turned up mutely to the silent stars; now the men reach the coffin and try to drag it from the grave. what is their object? ah! i see! they wish to substitute one corpse for the other, so that the poison will never be discovered in case of an inquest upon the body of the murdered woman. suddenly three other men rush upon the grave-diggers before they have been able to pull the coffin from the grave; a chase ensues, and pistol-shots are fired; but finally the resurrectionists escape, though they have been foiled in their purpose. the last scene is the inquest: the coffin is brought in, but the murderer dare not look upon the face of his victim; a sham investigation is held, and he is cleared by the verdict of the jury; but other watchful eyes have been regarding the proceedings; keen detectives have been at work, and they now step in, unknown to the public, and take quiet possession of the corpse; the stomach is removed for analysis, and a chemist of great reputation takes charge of it; poison has been found; positive proof of your lover's guilt have been obtained, and he will suffer the penalty of his crime. you also are in danger, but if you tell the truth, you will be saved." as lucille impetuously placed before mrs. thayer the occurrences which my investigations had disclosed, it seemed to the latter as if she were the victim of a horrible nightmare. she felt that she was surrounded by unseen foes, who were gradually tightening the toils in which she and pattmore had become entangled. she was neither brave nor self-sacrificing; she had a sensitive dread of exposure, trial, and punishment, which was aggravated by a knowledge of guilt and an uncertainty as to the extent to which she had become legally liable; also, she had none of the spirit of devoted affection which sometimes prompts a woman to bear the greatest hardships for the sake of the man she loves; hence, she was ready to do anything to save herself, even at the expense of pattmore's life. as lucille concluded her terrible recital, mrs. thayer shrieked in an agony of remorse and fear: "oh, have mercy on me! i am lost! i am lost! tell me what i can do to escape punishment; i will obey you wholly--i will do anything you tell me. oh, save me, save me! i know you can if you will." it was some time before lucille could restore her to a quiet state of mind, but at length her sobs ceased and lucille continued: "the worst is now past, and if you will return to your brother and confess all, he will forgive you. when you are called upon to tell what you know about this wicked man, you must do so without reserve. you will never see him again except in prison. if you do as your brother wishes, you will regain your light heart and sweet disposition; your real husband will come back to you, and your future will be one of happiness." mrs. thayer sat motionless, with her face buried in her shawl; occasionally a long, choking sob would make her whole frame quiver, but otherwise she gave hardly a sign of life. "let me see your face," commanded lucille. as mrs. thayer slowly raised her tear-stained countenance, lucille gazed intently into her eyes, and again examined the lines of her hand; then she went on speaking: "there is another man near you, whose presence you do not suspect; neither have you ever seen him; but he is watching you all the time. you will soon meet him, for he wishes to talk with you. he is only of medium height, but he is very well built and powerful; he has a full face, ruddy complexion, brown hair, and gray eyes; he wears full whiskers all around his face, and his expression is kindly but resolute. he is a very determined man, and when he tries to do anything he never gives up until he has accomplished his object. he has great power, and if you follow his counsel he can save you from harm; but you must trust him fully and tell him the whole truth, for he can instantly detect any falsehood or evasion, and he will be very dangerous to you if you try to deceive him. this is all i have to tell you at present, my child; i wish you well, but i cannot devote more time to you. i hope you will give heed to what i have told you, and that you will decide to follow the right path. there are many now awaiting an audience with me, and i must hasten to admit them, since i cannot tarry long in one city. i have been here now some time, and i must soon journey on; the waste places of the far west call to me--yea, even the deserts of the barren hills. i must plunge into solitude for a time, to commune with nature." then, raising her arms, lucille placed both hands lightly on mrs. thayer's head and said, solemnly: "may the spirit of eternal truth go with thee, my child, to guide thee forevermore! farewell." when mrs. thayer looked up, after a few minutes of silence, lucille had disappeared, having slipped into the room where i and my stenographer were listening. seeing that the fortune-teller had dismissed her, mrs. thayer drew down her heavy veil and left the room. one of my men was stationed at the front door to watch her movements, so that when i joined him, after a few minutes hurried talk with lucille, he pointed out to me the direction she had taken. i hastened down the street until i caught sight of her; then, seeing that she was on her way back to her boarding-house, i decided not to speak to her just then. the street was quite crowded, and i preferred not to risk having a scene in the presence of so many spectators. therefore i walked at a safe distance behind her until she was across the bridge; but, on reaching a quiet neighborhood, i overtook her and said: "mrs. thayer, i believe?" it must be remembered that she had no acquaintances in chicago except her fellow-boarders; hence my recognition of her would have startled her, even had she never been told to expect me. but, as it was, my appearance gave her a great shock, since she was at that moment revolving in her mind the information given her by lucille. therefore, when she was addressed by a stranger, whom she at once recognized as the man about whom lucille had given her a forewarning, she was struck almost speechless with fear. she could only ejaculate: "oh! god help me! that man has come!" i saw she was nearly ready to faint, so i took her arm and said: "mrs. thayer, i wish you to accompany me to my office." she was so weak that i supported her a short distance until one of my men, who had remained within call, could bring a hack. i then helped mrs. thayer into the carriage and told the driver to proceed at once to my office. mrs. thayer said nothing, and showed no objection to my wishes; but she was greatly alarmed, and she could not take her eyes off my face. she had a sort of helpless, questioning look, which i was glad to see, since it was evidence that she was now wholly under my control. when the carriage stopped, i assisted her to walk up stairs into my private office, where my stenographer had already taken a position to hear without being seen. i gave her a comfortable chair, and handed her a glass of water, for i saw that she was very faint. as soon as her color began to show that she had revived i said: "mrs. thayer, you perceive that i am well acquainted with you. i am sorry that you are in trouble, and i wish to be your friend, if you will allow me to be so; all i ask is that you tell me the whole truth about all your difficulties." "are you really my friend?" she asked, in a trembling voice; "can i rely upon what you say, and be sure that you will not take advantage of me? oh, sir, my heart seems ready to break, and i know not what to think. i am a poor, weak woman, completely in your power." "you need have no fear of me," i replied, "i know nearly everything relative to your troubles, but i wish you to tell me all the facts; then i shall know precisely what to do to help you. it is possible to raise a criminal charge against you, but it is my desire to prevent that; therefore, you must tell me everything, without any reservation whatever." "who are you?" she asked, after a few moments of thought. "you have not told me your name, yet i know you; i have heard of you before, and i know it will be useless for me to try to hide anything from you, but i would like to know your name." "my name is pinkerton," i answered, "but i cannot tell you how i know you, nor why i take an interest in your affairs. i wish you to give me a full account of your relations with pattmore ever since your first acquaintance with him." i then gave her a glass of wine to strengthen her, and asked her to proceed. as she spoke at first in a very low voice, i professed to be hard of hearing, in order that she should speak loud enough for my stenographer to hear also. she first referred to her early married life, when she was perfectly happy in henry's love; then she said that he made several very long voyages, and when he came home he remained only a few days each time. during one of these voyages, she met pattmore and his wife in brooklyn, and they became well acquainted. afterward pattmore frequently came to brooklyn alone, and he always spent much of his time in her society. she did not realize the danger of his intercourse at first; but, gradually, he began to make love to her, and, finally, he accomplished her ruin. thenceforward she was wholly under his control, especially after henry's desertion of her. he brought her to his own hotel on the plea that she would be company for his wife, and she lived as his mistress, in fact, though not outwardly, until her brother came to take her away. her brother succeeded in awakening her remorse, and she determined to return to connecticut with him. pattmore, however, opposed this action very strongly, and offered to marry her immediately, saying that his wife was sure to die soon from quick consumption, since all her family had died of that disease at about her age. they were therefore secretly married, and she then wrote to her brother that she should not return to connecticut. when she discovered that she was _enceinte_ she was much alarmed, and she again decided to return to her brother after the abortion had been performed, but pattmore had a strong control over her still. as soon as she was able to go out, after her illness, pattmore wrote to her to get a certain prescription put up by a druggist. she did so, and then sent the powders to him. in a short time pattmore came to chicago and told her that he had arranged to poison his wife. she was very much shocked at first, but he told her that mrs. pattmore could only live about a year anyhow, and that she would suffer a great deal during her rapid decline; hence he argued that there could be no harm in hastening her death to save her from many weeks of pain. he said that he had already commenced to poison her, using small doses, so as to break down her system gradually. while he was there captain sumner came back from the east, and he was very angry at mrs. thayer for permitting pattmore to visit her. then pattmore told her to poison her brother in order that she might inherit his property. this proposition perfectly horrified her, as she really loved her brother; but pattmore said that they never could live together as long as captain sumner was alive, and that he was afraid the captain would some day get into a passion and kill them both. in this way he worked on her feelings until she agreed to give her brother some of the powder which she had sent to greenville. accordingly she made three attempts to poison her brother, but fortunately she was not successful. pattmore then returned to greenville, and soon afterward his wife died. he had visited her only once since that time, but they corresponded regularly. he was very guarded in his letters as to what he said about his wife's death, but she knew that he had carried out his plan, because he had told her so distinctly when he last saw her. he said that he had given her small doses every day until she died; but the doctor believed that she had died of dysentery, so that he was all safe. when she had finished, i said: "well, mrs. thayer, i suppose you are aware that you are not legally pattmore's wife?" "yes, i am," she said, with a sort of blind persistency; "his first wife is dead, and as i was legally married to him i am now his wife." "no, mrs. thayer," i replied, "i will show you that your pretended marriage was no marriage at all; when it took place pattmore's wife was alive, and he could not contract a second legal marriage; again, you have no evidence that your husband is dead, and it is therefore probable that you could not marry again legally. hence, as he _certainly_ committed bigamy, and as you _probably_ have done the same, there could be no legal marriage between you." "yes, mr. pinkerton," she acknowledged, sadly, "i know you are right, but still i cling to that belief. if i could be sure that henry was alive, i should not regard pattmore as my husband; but, as his wife is dead, and henry is also dead to me, i shall think that i am pattmore's wife." "well, you can have your doubts set at rest very soon," said i, "for i have received letters from england saying that henry is on his return from a whaling voyage in the south sea." "is that so?" gasped mrs. thayer. "well, i was told that, but i could hardly believe it. oh, what shall i do? it was all my fault that henry left me; he loved me truly, and i once loved him. oh, if he would only forgive me, and love me, i might hope to be happy again; but i fear he can never pardon the wrongs i have done him." "do not despair, mrs. thayer," i said; "henry may be willing to forgive and forget if you show yourself ready to return his affection. however, the first business is to circumvent pattmore, and you must lend your assistance." "what are you going to do with me?" she asked, in a timid voice. "i shall let you go home," i replied; "but i shall keep a strict watch upon your actions, and if you show a spirit of true repentance, i will shield you from the penalties of your crimes. you will be called upon to testify in court against pattmore, and then your brother will take you to his farm in connecticut. you can go now, but your brother must come here and become responsible for your appearance when wanted. one thing more, mrs. thayer; you are receiving letters from pattmore every day; now, i wish you to send me all his letters without opening or answering them. if you attempt to deceive me in anything i shall be obliged to put you in prison." "oh, no, no!" she said, eagerly; "you can trust me, i assure you, for i know that i am in your power; a fortune-teller told me so." "well, well, i don't care anything about fortune-tellers--i never saw one that wasn't a humbug--but you may depend upon it that i cannot be deceived, and i will not be trifled with. you can go home now and tell your brother to come over here to become your security." so saying, i called a carriage and sent her home in charge of one of my men. on returning to my office, i found mrs. warne awaiting me. i complimented her very highly on her success, and told her that she need not continue the business of fortune-telling more than a day or two longer. i told her to be careful not to receive mrs. thayer again, however, but to instruct the usher to tell her that madam lucille never received any lady a second time after having completed her horoscope. in about half an hour captain sumner came in. i told him that i was now master of the situation, and that i would make a decided move in a day or two. "yes," said the captain, "annie has told me a great deal, and she says that i must become responsible for her, and guarantee that she shall not leave town. how have you accomplished all this? i cannot understand it." "some day perhaps i will tell you all about it," i replied, "but i cannot do so just now. i wish you to bring your sister here to-morrow morning; i will prepare an affidavit for her to sign, and then we shall soon have pattmore under arrest." "well, if you will only have him punished as he deserves," said the captain, "i shall consider no reward too great for you. he is a snake in the grass, who has ruined my sister, and covered our family with shame. now i want revenge." "i shall do all in my power to have him punished," i said; "and i am very well pleased to see the end so near. by the way, you might write to mr. chapman to inform him of our success." "i will, indeed," said the captain, enthusiastically; "if it had not been for him, i never should have thought of coming to you, mr. pinkerton." "well, good-day, captain; come here with mrs. thayer about ten o'clock to-morrow morning." i immediately placed the facts before my lawyer, and requested him to prepare an affidavit for mrs. thayer to make relative to pattmore's guilt. the next morning it was ready, and mrs. thayer swore to the facts as therein set forth. i then told the captain to remain in chicago until i should send for him, and that evening i took the train for greenville. on my arrival there i called on dr. stuart and learned that his analysis had been finished that day. he had found enough poison in mrs. pattmore's bowels to make it certain that she had died from that cause, and not from natural disease. i then made an affidavit, charging pattmore with murder, and i also filed mrs. thayer's affidavit in the court. everything was done quietly, so that pattmore was arrested before any one except the sheriff and the judge knew that a warrant had been issued. the arrest created immense excitement; a bitter political campaign was in progress, and it was charged, as before, that the arrest was made for political effect. the grand jury was in session, however, and i sent for captain sumner and mrs. thayer at once. the testimony of mrs. thayer, the nurse, and the grave-diggers, made a pretty strong case; but when i clinched the whole matter with the testimony of dr. stuart, there was no longer any doubt in the minds of the jury as to pattmore's guilt. he was immediately indicted for murder in the first degree, and was consigned to prison to await trial. the trial took place very soon afterward, and the lawyers for the defense made a very strong fight to clear their client. they were successful to the extent of saving him from execution, but he was sentenced to a term of ten years in the penitentiary. some years after pattmore was sentenced, i was walking down broadway, new york, when i happened to meet captain sumner. our greetings were very cordial, and i invited him to visit me at my new york office. "i shall be very glad, indeed, to come," he said; "i often think of you, and i can never forget how much i am indebted to you. by the way, i should like to bring a friend with me." "do so, by all means," i replied; "i shall always be glad to see any of your friends. but how is mrs. thayer? do you intend to bring her to see me?" "no; she is not in this country now," he answered, with a pleasant smile; "but she was in good health when i last heard from her, and was very happy, indeed. henry thayer returned to the united states about a month after we had settled down on my farm, and he immediately came to see me. i need not tell you how delighted he was to find annie waiting for him. their old love for each other returned with redoubled power and now nothing could separate them. when annie began to speak of her past follies and errors, henry stopped her instantly: 'no, annie,' he said, 'let the dead bury the dead--we will live for the future. our past shall be forgotten except such memories as are pleasant.' they have resided for several years in china, where henry is a partner in a wealthy firm. they have two lovely children, and life runs very smoothly and pleasantly for them. i know that this great change in her life was largely due to you, mr. pinkerton, and i shall never cease to be grateful for your exertions to save her from misery. i owe you still another debt, which i will tell you about to-morrow, when i bring my friend to see you." "i am very glad to know that mrs. thayer is so happy," i said; "give my regards to her when you write. i must hurry on now, captain, as i have an important engagement; so good-bye. bring your friend any time to-morrow afternoon." so saying, i shook his hand and passed on. the next day he came sailing in, with a fine looking lady of middle age leaning contentedly on his arm. "mr. pinkerton," said the captain, with a very complacent expression, "i'm spliced. allow me to introduce mrs. sumner--lately mrs. agnew." the end. mississippi outlaws and the detectives. allan pinkerton's great detective books. .--mollie maguires and detectives. .--strikers, communists, and detectives. .--criminal reminiscences and detectives. .--the model town and detectives. .--spiritualists and detectives. .--expressmen and detectives. .--the somnambulist and detectives. .--claude melnotte as a detective. .--mississippi outlaws and detectives. .--gypsies and detectives. .--bucholz and detectives. .--the railroad forger and detectives. .--bank robbers and detectives. .--burglar's fate and detectives. .--a double life and detectives. these wonderful detective stories by allan pinkerton are having an unprecedented success. their sale far exceeding one hundred thousand copies. "the interest which the reader feels from the outset so intense and resistless; he is swept along by the narrative, held by it, whether he will or no." all beautifully illustrated, and published uniform with this volume. price $ . each. sold by all booksellers, and sent _free_ by mail, on receipt of price, by g. w. carleton & co., publishers, new york. mississippi outlaws and the detectives. don pedro and the detectives. poisoner and the detectives. by allan pinkerton, author of "the expressman and the detective," "the model town and the detectives," "the spiritualists and the detectives," "the mollie maguires and the detectives," "strikers, communists, tramps and detectives," etc., etc., etc. [illustration] new york: _g. w. dillingham, publisher_, successor to g. w. carleton & co. london: s. low, son & co. mdccclxxxvii. copyright by allan pinkerton, . samuel stodder, stereotyper, ann street, n. y. trow printing and book binding co. n. y. contents. mississippi outlaws and the detectives. chapter i. page a daring express robbery.--mr. pinkerton appealed to.--cane-brakes and cane-fed people.--annoying delays and amateur detectives. chapter ii. difficulties.--blind trails and false scents.--a series of illustrations showing the number of officious people and confidence men that often seek notoriety and profit through important detective operations. chapter iii. "old hicks," a drunken planter, is entertained by a hunting-party.--lester's landing.--its grocery-store and mysterious merchants.--a dangerous situation.--the unfortunate escape of two of the robbers. chapter iv. the captured ruffians are desired for guides, but dare not join in the search for the outlaws.--one of the robbers is taken, but subsequently escapes from the amateur detectives.--another clue suddenly fails. chapter v. a rich lead struck at last. chapter vi. the mother of the farringtons, being arrested, boasts that her sons "will never be taken alive."--another unfortunate blunder by amateur detectives.--an interesting fate intended for the detectives.--william a. pinkerton captures the murderer of a negro in union city, proving "a very good fellow--for a yankee." chapter vii. the scene of action transferred to missouri.--the chase becoming hot. chapter viii. a determined party of horsemen.--the outlaws surrounded and the birds caged.--a parley.--the burning cabin.--its occupants finally surrender. chapter ix. barton's confession.--the express robberies, and the outlaw's subsequent experiences fully set forth therein.--a clue that had been suddenly dropped taken up with so much profit. chapter x. a terrible struggle for life or death upon the transfer-boat "illinois."--"overboard!"--one less desperado.--fourth and last robber taken. chapter xi. the last scene in the drama approaching.--a new character appears.--the citizens of union city suddenly seem to have important business on hand.--the vigilantes and their work.--the end. don pedro and the detectives. chapter i. a fraudulent scheme contemplated.--a dashing peruvian don and donna.--a regal forger.--mr. pinkerton engaged by senator muirhead to unveil the mystery of his life. chapter ii. madame sevier, widow, of chicago, and monsieur lesparre, of bordeaux, also arrive at gloster.--mr. pinkerton, as a laborer, anxious for a job, inspects the morita mansion. chapter iii. monsieur lesparre, having a retentive memory, becomes serviceable to don pedro.--diamond fields and droll americans.--a pompous judge in an unfortunate predicament.--the grand reception closes with a happy arrangement that the gay señor and señora shall dine with mr. pinkerton's detectives on the next evening. chapter iv. madame sevier and her work.--unaccountable coquettishness between man and wife.--a startling scheme, illustrating the rashness of american business men and the supreme assurance of don pedro. chapter v. the third detective is made welcome at don pedro's.--the señor is paid the first half-million dollars from the great diamond company.--how don pedro is "working" his diamond mines. chapter vi. an unexpected meeting and a startling recognition. an old friend somewhat disturbs the equanimity of don pedro. the detectives fix their attention upon pietro bernardi. chapter vii. pietro bernardi and the detective become warm friends.--a tête-à-tête worth one thousand dollars. chapter viii. don pedro anxious for pietro bernardi's absence.--"coppering the jack and playing the ace and queen open."--bernardi quieted, and he subsequently departs richer by five thousand dollars. chapter ix. important information from the peruvian government.--arrival in gloster of the peruvian minister and consul.--in consultation.--"robbing peter to pay paul."--mr. pinkerton's card is presented.--juan sanchez, i arrest you, and you are my prisoner.--mr. pinkerton not "for sale." chapter x. the fête champêtre.--a grand carnival.--the disappointed married lover.--a vain request.--unmasked!--an indignant deacon.--don pedro taken to peru in a man-of-war, where he is convicted and sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment. the poisoner and the detectives. chapter i. mr. pinkerton at a water-cure becomes interested in a couple, one of whom subsequently causes the detective operation from which this story is written.--a wealthy ship-owner and his son.--the son "found dead."--mr. pinkerton secured to solve the mystery.--chicago after the fire. chapter ii. the detectives at work.--mrs. sanford described.--charlie, the policeman.--mrs. sanford develops interest in government bonds.--chicago relief and aid benefits.--mrs. sanford's story of trafton's death. chapter iii. the dangerous side of the woman's character.--robert a. pinkerton as adamson, the drunken, but wealthy stranger, has a violent struggle to escape from mrs. sanford, and is afterwards robbed.--detective ingham arrested, but very shortly liberated. chapter iv. connecting links.--mrs. sanford's ability as an imitator of actors.--one detective tears himself away from her, and another takes his place.--mrs. sanford's mind frequently burdened with the subject of murder. chapter v. a moneyed young texan becomes one of mrs. sanford's lodgers.--the bonds are seen and their numbers taken by the detectives.--mrs. sanford arrested.--she is found guilty of "involuntary manslaughter," and sentenced to the illinois penitentiary for five years.--mr. pinkerton's theory of the manner in which trafton was murdered preface. in presenting to the public another volume of my detective stories, i would call the attention of the reader to the fact, that these stories are literally written from facts and incidents which have come under my own observation, or been worked up by officers acting directly under my instructions. the mississippi river has for many years--more especially since the close of the war--been infested by a class of men who never would try to get an honest living, but would prey upon their neighbors or attack the property of southern railroads and express companies; these marauders could be seen any day prowling along the banks of the mississippi, in fact, the shores and immediate neighborhood were peopled by just such a class, who cared not how they obtained a living; for the crimes they committed, they often suffered infinitely worse punishment, more so than any suffering which could have been entailed on them from leading a poor but honest life. the story of the "mississippi outlaws and the detectives" is written to illustrate incidents which took place in the southern section of the country at no very remote date. "don pedro and the detectives" is another story of detective experience, which came under my own observation and management; it is a truthful narrative, and shows that some men are worse than known criminals, and can squander the money they have obtained by false pretenses, in a very lavish manner. "the poisoner and the detectives" is a well-known bit of detective experience, which, when read, will be recognized by any one who ever takes an interest in crime, and the bringing to justice its perpetrators. the reader must remember that fictitious names are used in all of these stories, otherwise the facts are plainly and truthfully told as they occurred. allan pinkerton. _april, ._ the mississippi outlaws and the detectives. chapter i. _a daring express robbery.--mr. pinkerton appealed to.--cane-brakes and cane-fed people.--annoying delays and amateur detectives._ the southern and border states, since the close of the war of the rebellion, have been the frequent scenes of extensive and audacious robberies. this has been largely owing to the sparsely-settled condition of certain districts, to the disorder and lawlessness generated by the war, and to the temptations offered by the carelessness of many persons having large sums intrusted to their care in transit through lonely and desolate localities. the express companies have always been favorite objects of attack by thieves of every grade, from the embezzling cashier to the petty sneak-thief, and some of the operations connected with the detection of this class of criminals are among the most difficult and dangerous that have ever been intrusted to me. probably a no more reckless and desperate body of men were ever banded together in a civilized community than those who were brought to my attention in by the southern express company's officers in memphis; and i consider the successful termination of my efforts in this case as of the greatest value to the people of the south and west. the whole affair was conducted with such a limited force, and under such adverse circumstances, that i take pride in here recording the history of the affair and my connection with it. though i maintained a general supervision of the operation, my eldest son, william a. pinkerton, was the person having immediate charge of the matter, and to his energy, perseverance, and sagacity is mainly attributable our success. some time in the latter part of july, , an express messenger on the mobile and ohio railroad was overpowered by three men at moscow, kentucky, and his safe was robbed of about sixteen hundred dollars. the manner of effecting the robbery was a very bold one, showing the presence of men of experience in crime. the loss was not heavy, but the company made every effort to discover the robbers, in the hope of bringing them to a severe punishment as a warning to other criminals. in spite, however, of the efforts of two of my men, who were immediately sent to the scene of the robbery, the guilty parties escaped into the almost impenetrable swamps along the mississippi river, and the chase was reluctantly abandoned, as it was impossible to tell where they would come out or cross the river. the amount stolen was not sufficiently large to warrant the expenditure of much time or money in the pursuit of the thieves, and my men were soon wholly withdrawn from the operation. in order, however, to guard against a repetition of such a raid, an extra man was placed in each express car to act as guard to the regular messenger. it was considered that two men, well armed, ought to be surely able to protect the company against further loss, and everything ran smoothly until october , . at this time, the money shipments by express were very heavy, as a rule, and orders were given that special care should be exercised by all the employés having money packages in charge. the northern-bound train on the mobile and ohio railroad was due at union city, tennessee, about half-past seven o'clock in the evening. at this point the northern and southern-bound trains usually passed each other, and stopped long enough for supper, the train arriving first being the one to take the side track ready to pull out. saturday evening, october st, the northern-bound train arrived on time, stopped at the station long enough to let the passengers go to supper, and then took the side track to await the arrival of the train bound south. as soon as the side track was reached the conductor, engineer, fireman, brakeman, and express messenger went to supper, leaving the train deserted except by the express guard, named george thompson, and a few passengers. the local express agent came up at this moment, gave his packages to thompson, receiving his receipt therefor, and returned to the station. this action was directly contrary to the rules of the company, which forbade the messenger to leave the car during his whole run, or to go to sleep; also, the guard was forbidden to transact any business, or to have possession of the safe key. martin crowley, the messenger, had given his key to thompson, however, to enable him to attend to the business of the local agent while crowley was away at supper. in accordance with thompson's request, crowley sent a negro porter to the express car with thompson's supper on a tray, and the porter, after handing the tray to thompson, turned to walk away. as he did so, he saw two men spring into the partly open door of the express car, and, almost immediately, the train began to back. the negro knew that something was wrong, and he hurried to the station to give the alarm. by the time he arrived there, however, the train was backing at a moderate speed, and was well beyond the reach of pursuit on foot. meantime, the guard, having received his supper from the negro porter, turned his back to the door to set the tray down. before reaching the desk, he heard a noise at the door, and turning, he was confronted by two men, one of whom held a revolver at his head, while the other seized his throat. thompson was a young man, and, not being accustomed to meet such hard characters, he was badly frightened. he immediately gave up the safe key and helped one of the men to unlock the safe. having taken all the money out of the safe, one of the robbers took also the contents of thompson's pocket-book; but here the other man interfered, insisting that the guard's money be returned to him, which was done. no conversation took place, but when the safe had been carefully examined and all the money it contained taken, one of the men stepped to the door and swung a lantern once or twice. the train, which had been backing at a moderate rate of speed, now stopped, and the two men jumped off, telling thompson to stay where he was and keep quiet. when the conductor, engineer, and other persons, whom the porter had alarmed, reached the train, they found everything in order except the safe, into which poor thompson was vainly peering in the hope of discovering that some portion of the funds might have been overlooked. the men had disappeared in the thick woods, and no trace of them was found except a small carpet-bag containing potatoes and bread. the amount missing from the safe was about six thousand dollars in currency. although the robbery was at once reported to mr. m. j. o'brien, the general superintendent, by telegraph, no action seems to have been taken until the following wednesday--four days later--when mr. o'brien sent me a brief telegram announcing the robbery, and requesting me to come to union city in person, if possible, and if not, to send my eldest son, william a. pinkerton. the telegraph was used freely for the next two days, and while my son was gathering clues and making his preparations, we learned most of the facts by letter. william arrived in union city on saturday, just one week after the robbery had been committed, and he instantly began to gather information from every available source. except the statements of the negro porter and thompson, the guard, as condensed in the account heretofore given, little information could be obtained, as so few persons were about the train when it began to move off. while two or three had seen the men who had entered the car, no one had seen who had run the locomotive, and there was, therefore, no certainty as to the number of persons engaged in the job. one passenger had seen two men walking toward the engine in a suspicious manner, and, as his description of these two was entirely different from that given of the men who had entered the car, it was fair to presume that they had been a part of the gang. still, no one had seen them get on the engine, and it was not certain that they had had anything to do with the affair. at the end of three days, however, william had collected sufficient information to satisfy himself that either four or five men had been at work together; and, by collating the various descriptions he received, he obtained a pretty fair idea of the party. the first thing which struck him was the similarity of this robbery to the one which had occurred exactly three months before at moscow, kentucky. the appearance of the men and their actions had been precisely like those of the moscow party, and it was evident that they had been emboldened to a second venture by the ease with which they had carried through their former scheme. one thing was imperative: the capture of the whole gang would be necessary to insure the safety of the express company's property in the future. indeed, it was a mere piece of good fortune that the loss in this instance was not irreparable, for the amount of money carried on the southern-bound train was eighty thousand dollars, and the robbers would have obtained this large amount if the southern-bound train had chanced to arrive first. the robbery was clearly one which no common tramp or sneak-thief would have dared to attempt, and william saw immediately the difficulties of his work. before proceeding with the incidents of the operation, i must give some idea of the country and the people living there, since no-one would otherwise comprehend one-half of the obstacles and dangers which were involved in a search for the criminals in that vicinity. the southwestern part of kentucky and the northwestern part of tennessee are about as desolate portions of the world as are inhabited by a civilized people. there seems to have been some convulsion of the earth at this point, which is sunk so far below the general level of the whole country as to make it a perpetual swamp. the annual overflow of the ohio and mississippi lays the country under water for a distance of many miles, while even in the dryest season, the morasses, sunken lakes, and dense cane-brakes, render it almost impassable, except for people who have been thoroughly acquainted with the locality for years. the sunken lakes are natural curiosities in themselves, and, although they have attracted considerable attention from scientific men, no satisfactory explanation of their causes and phenomena has been found. the country is full of game and the water is alive with fish, so that the necessities of life are easily obtainable. the cane-brakes are wonderful growths of bamboo cane, and they sometimes cover strips of country as much as seventy miles long. in the spring-time, the water rises to such a height that a skiff can navigate freely above and through the tops of the cane; but in dry weather, the stalks grow so closely together that the brake becomes impenetrable to man or beast, except by winding tortuously around the clumps through the comparatively thin portions of the undergrowth. to search for any one wishing to remain concealed therein is like the proverbial attempt to look for a needle in a hay-stack, since a man can pass within ten yards of another without seeing him or being aware of his presence. the only roads which traverse these places are mere cattle paths, which begin at no place and run nowhere; and, unless a man be thoroughly acquainted with the country, he can never tell where any given path will lead him. the people around the towns, such as hickman, union city, dyersburg, and moscow, are a highly respectable and well-educated class; but in the low, swampy country, in the cane brake and along the river, they are not, as a rule, a very agreeable class to live among. of course, here, as in all other places, there are many intelligent, reliable, honorable men, but the great mass of the cane-brake population are ignorant and brutal. the term which they apply to their stock is also eminently appropriate to designate the people: they are "cane-fed." it is the custom to turn the cattle into the cane to feed when it is young and tender, and, as the amount of nutriment thus obtained is not very large, the "cane-fed" animals bear about the same relation to grain-fed stock that the people in that vicinity bear to the residents of healthy, prosperous, and educated communities. the larger portion of the population may be classed as "poor whites," and they constitute a peculiar variety of the human species. the men are tall, loose-jointed, and dyspeptic; they bear a marked resemblance to the vegetable productions of the vicinity, being rapid of growth, prolific, and generally worthless. their education consists mainly of woodcraft and rifle-shooting; their proficiency in both of these branches is sometimes astonishing, and it is frequently said of their most expert hunters that they seem to have been born shot-gun or rifle in hand. accomplishments they have none, except the rare instances where a few tunes upon the banjo have been learned from the negroes. their tastes are few and simple,--whisky, snuff, hog, and hominy being the necessities and luxuries of life; that is, whisky and snuff are the necessities, all other things being secondary considerations. in their sober moods, they are frank, rough, and courageous; yet, even then, there is little about them to excite other feelings than those of pity and aversion. when full of bad whisky, however, they are apt to become quarrelsome and brutal, so that no man can feel sure of his safety in their company. an affront, real or imaginary, will then be apt to cause bloodshed, even if the insulted party has to bushwhack his enemy from a secure covert on the roadside as he is returning to his home. every man goes armed, and, though fair fights in broad daylight are rare, cold-blooded murders are not infrequent. the law is seldom invoked to settle private differences, and, in fact, the functions of the legal officials are practically very limited in their influence. if a coroner ever sits upon a corpse, it is understood that he has done his whole duty by recording a verdict that "the deceased came to his death at the hands of some person or persons unknown." the women, like the men, are tall, thin, and round-shouldered. up to the age of sixteen they sometimes are quite pretty, though sallow and lifeless always; after that period, they become gaunt, emaciated, and yellow. whisky hath charms for them, also, but their favorite dissipation is snuff-dipping. they marry very early and bear children nearly every year, so that the size of many of these west tennessee families is often enormous. the father exercises patriarchal control over his whole household until the daughters are married and the sons old enough and strong enough to defy the parental authority as enforced by a hickory rod. the wife never escapes the application of this potent instrument of marital discipline; and, indeed, should a husband fail to make frequent use of it for the correction of his better half, he would probably soon learn that his dutiful spouse could find a use for it on his own person. throughout this whole district, the people suffer from fever and ague for nine months of the year, and dyspepsia seems hereditary. their physicians, however, usually require no further education than is requisite to attend fractured limbs and gun-shot wounds, the whole school of medicine being limited to three specifics: quinine, calomel, and whisky. as before stated, it should be understood that the foregoing description applies to the majority of the inhabitants of the low swamp lands only, and not to the residents in and about the towns; even in the cane country itself are to be found occasionally men of education, ability, and good character, and to several of them william was largely indebted for assistance and information. there was one redeeming feature also to the character of the "cane-fed" population; in the main they were honest, and they would do all in their power to break up a thieving gang, even if they had to hang a few of its members as a warning to the rest. i was thus able to trust them to a certain extent, though the fear which they had of this band of desperadoes rather kept their naturally honest impulses in check for a time. william was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the people, and he knew what a difficult task had been set before him, especially as he was allowed no other detectives of my force to assist him, the express company being desirous of conducting the operation as economically as possible. among the large number of men employed directly by the company were two or three good men, but the majority were even worse than useless, and the expense of the affair was finally much greater than as if only my own men had been employed. besides the fact that william was thus continually working with strange men, he was harassed by large numbers of amateur detectives, to whose stories the company's officers too often lent a ready ear. indeed, every express agent in tennessee, kentucky, and missouri seemed impressed with the idea that he was a naturally gifted detective, and many were the annoying delays which resulted from their interference. chapter ii. _difficulties.--blind trails and false scents.--a series of illustrations showing the number of officious people and confidence men that often seek notoriety and profit through important detective operations._ the art of detecting crime cannot be learned in a day, nor can the man of business understand, without previous experience in the habits of criminals, the expedients which the boldest class of law-breakers adopt; hence none but skilled detectives can hope to cope with them. yet often my clients insist on some certain method of procedure wholly contrary to my judgment and experience, until the total failure of their plan convinces them that there can be but one thoroughly successful mode of detection, namely, to submit the case to a skilled detective of character and standing, and allow him to act according to his judgment. the range of investigation in such a case as this robbery will often extend from new york to san francisco, and unless one mind gathers up the clues, classifies the information, and determines the general plan, there will be continual error and delay. such a state of affairs frequently occurred during this operation, and much time and money were spent upon matters too trifling even for consideration. the principal of a detective agency, from his long experience with criminals, learns the earmarks of different classes of men, and he is often able to determine the name of the guilty party in any given robbery by the manner in which the job was done. he can readily see whether a novice in crime was engaged, and also whether any collusion existed between the parties robbed and the criminals; and so, when he sees the traces of a bold, skillful, and experienced man, he knows that it is useless to track down some insignificant sneak-thief, simply because the latter happens to have been in the vicinity. yet, neither will he slight the smallest clue if there is a bare chance that any valuable fact may be obtained from it. but the _sine qua non_ is that he, and he alone, shall direct the whole affair. a divided responsibility simply doubles the criminal's opportunities for escape. among the many difficulties of the detective's work, none are more embarrassing than the early development of false clues. in the stories heretofore published, the direct steps leading to the detection and arrest of the criminals have been related, without referring to the innumerable other investigations, which were progressing simultaneously, and which, though involving the expenditure of much thought, time, and money, proved after all to be of no value whatever in developing any evidence in the case. in this operation, such instances were of frequent occurrence, and i propose to mention a few of them to show how wide is the range of the detective's inquiries, and also the annoying delays to which he is often subjected by the inconsiderate zeal and interference of outside parties. these latter may be--indeed, they generally are--well meaning people, anxious to serve the cause of justice; though, on the other hand, they are sometimes spiteful meddlers, striving to fix suspicion upon some personal enemy. the plan of detection which alone can insure success, must be one which neither forgets nor neglects anything. in investigating any alleged crime, the first questions to be considered are: . has any crime been perpetrated, and, if so, what? . what was the object sought thereby? the matter of time, place, and means employed must then be carefully noted, and finally we come to consider: . who are the criminals? . where are they now? . how can they be taken? the fact that a crime has been committed is generally apparent, though there have been cases in which the determination of that point requires as much skill as the whole remainder of the operation. such was the case in the detection of mrs. pattmore's murder, related in my story of "the murderer and the fortune teller." the object of a crime is also sometimes obscure, and, where such are the circumstances, the detection of the criminal is apt to be one of the most difficult of all operations. having once solved these two difficulties satisfactorily, however, and having observed the relative bearings of time, place, and means to the crime itself, the question of individuals is the important one to be determined. it often happens that there is no concealment of identity, the problem to be solved being simply the way to catch the guilty parties; but, on the other hand, the greatest skill, experience, patience, and perseverance are sometimes required to discover, first of all, the persons engaged in the crime. indeed, an operation is often divisible into two distinct methods of action, the first being to find out the identity of the criminals, the second to follow up and capture them. in the course of a blind trail, such as we were obliged to travel in the case of this express robbery, it was impossible to know whence the men had come or whither they had gone; hence, i was forced to take up every trifling clue and follow it to the end. even after i was satisfied in my own mind of the identity of the criminals, the agents and officers of the express company were continually finding mares' nests which they wished investigated, and the operation was sometimes greatly hindered on this account. as an example of the number of discouragements which the detective must always expect to encounter, i propose to mention some of the false scents which we were forced to follow during this operation. three or four days after william's arrival in union city, he was informed by the superintendent of the express company having charge of the operation, that there was a young man in moscow who could give important information relative to the first robbery at that place. this young man, thomas carr by name, was a lawyer who had once had fine prospects, but he had become very dissipated, and he finally had been taken seriously ill, so that he had lost his practice. on recovering his health he had reformed his habits, but he had found great difficulty in winning back clients, and his income was hardly enough to support him. on learning that this impecunious lawyer had valuable information, william strongly suspected that it would amount to little more than a good lie, invented to obtain money from the express company; nevertheless, he sent for the young man and heard his story. according to carr, a man named john witherspoon had visited him about six weeks before, and had asked him whether he would like to get a large sum of money. carr replied affirmatively, of course, and wished to know how it could be obtained. witherspoon had said that the express company could be robbed very easily by boarding a train at any water-tank, overpowering the messenger, and making him open the safe. witherspoon also had said that he and several others had robbed a train at moscow some weeks before, and that they had got only sixteen hundred dollars, but that they should do better next time. he had asked carr to go to cairo and find out when there would be a large shipment of money to the south; then carr was to take the same train and give a signal to the rest of the party on arriving at the designated spot. on hearing carr's story, william sent him back to moscow with instructions to renew his intimacy with witherspoon, and to report any news he might learn at once; in case it should prove to be of any value, the company would pay him well for his services. it is hardly necessary to add that mr. carr, having failed to get, as he had hoped, a roving commission as detective at the company's expense, was not heard from again, his bonanza of news having run out very quickly on discovering that no money was to be paid in advance. the next case was a more plausible one, and william began its investigation with the feeling that something might be developed therefrom. it was learned that a former express messenger named robert trunnion, who had been discharged several months before, had been hanging around columbus, kentucky, ever since. while in conversation with the clerk of a second-class hotel, trunnion had spoken of the ease with which a few determined men could board an express car, throw a blanket over the messenger's head, and then rob the safe. the clerk said that trunnion had made the suggestion to him twice, and the second time he had given trunnion a piece of his mind for making such a proposition. trunnion had then said he was only fooling, and that he did not mean anything by it. william learned that trunnion was then engaged in selling trees for a nursery at clinton, kentucky, and that he was regarded as a half-cracked, boasting fool, who might be anything bad, if he were influenced by bold, unscrupulous men. william therefore paid a visit to mr. trunnion, whom he found to be a very high-toned youth, too fiery-tempered and sensitive to submit to any questioning as to his words or actions. in a very brief space of time, however, his lordly tone came down to a very humble acknowledgment that he had used the language attributed to him; but he protested that he had meant nothing; in short, his confession was not only complete, but exceedingly candid; he admitted that he was a gas-bag and a fool, without discretion enough to keep his tongue from getting him into trouble continually; and, having clearly shown that he was nowhere in the vicinity of either robbery, he asked humbly not to be held responsible for being a born idiot. william was satisfied that the fellow had told the truth, and, after scaring him out of all his high-toned pride, he let him go, with a severe lecture on the danger of talking too much. on the nineteenth of november, when the identity of the robbers had been fully established, william was called away to iuka, mississippi, on information received from mr. o'brien, the general superintendent of the express company, that a man named santon had seen the leader of the party in that place, just a week before. santon represented that he knew the man well, having been acquainted with him for years in cairo, and that he could not be mistaken, as he had spoken with him on the day mentioned. william found that the man santon was a natural liar, who could not tell the truth even when it was for his interest to do so. the descriptions of the various robbers had been scattered broadcast everywhere, and none of them were represented as over thirty-five years of age; yet santon said that his man was over fifty years old, and that he had been a pilot on the mississippi for years. this was a case--not an infrequent one, either--where people talk and lie about a crime for the sole purpose of getting a little temporary notoriety. owing to various accidents and railway detentions, william lost three days in going to hunt up this lying fellow's testimony. perhaps the most impudent of all the stories brought to the express company's officers was that of a man named swing, living at columbus, kentucky. he sent a friend to union city to tell them that he could give them a valuable clue to the identity of the robbers, and william accompanied this friend back to columbus. on the way, william drew out all that swing's friend knew about the matter, and satisfied himself that swing's sole object in sending word to the officers of the company was to get them to do a piece of detective work for him. it appeared that his nephew had stolen one of his horses just after the robbery, and he intended to tell the company's officers that this nephew had been engaged in the robbery; then if the company captured the nephew, swing hoped to get back his horse. a truly brilliant scheme it was, but, unfortunately for his expectations, william could not be misled by his plausible story; and, if he ever recovered his horse, he did so without the assistance of the express company. nevertheless, he took william away from his work for nearly a whole day, at a time when his presence was almost indispensable. another peculiar phase of a detective's experience is, that while following up one set of criminals, he may accidentally unearth the evidences of some other crime; occasionally it happens that he is able to arrest the criminals thus unexpectedly discovered, but too often they take the alarm and escape before the interested parties can be put in possession of the facts. about two weeks after the union city robbery, in the course of my extended inquiries by telegraph, i came across a pair of suspicious characters in kansas city, missouri. i learned that two fine-looking women had arrived in that city with about eight thousand dollars in five, ten, and twenty dollar bills, which they were trying to exchange for bills of a larger denomination. the women were well dressed, but they were evidently of loose character, and the possession of so much money by two females of that class excited suspicion instantly in the minds of the bankers to whom they applied, and they could not make the desired exchange. one of the women was a blonde and the other was a brunette. they were about of the same height, and they dressed in such marked contrast as to set each other off to the best advantage; indeed, their dresses seemed to have attracted so much attention that i could gain very little acquaintance with their personal appearance. i could not connect them in any way with the robbery at union city, nor with any other recent crime, though i had little doubt that the money they had with them was the proceeds of some criminal transaction; still, having my hands full at that time, it would have been impossible for me to look after them, even had i thought best to do so. as it is my practice to undertake investigations only when engaged for the purpose by some responsible person, i did not waste any time in endeavoring to discover the source whence these women obtained their money; though, of course, had i learned enough about them to suspect them of complicity in any specific crime, i should have reported my suspicions to the parties interested, to enable them to take such action as they might have seen fit. the most important of all the false clues brought out in this investigation was presented by a noted confidence man and horse-thief named charles lavalle, _alias_ hildebrand. i call it the most important, not because i considered it of any value at the time, but because it illustrates one of the most profitable forms of confidence operation, and because the express company, by refusing to accept my advice in the matter, were put to a large expense with no possibility of a return. very shortly after the union city robbery, a letter was received from a man in kansas city, calling himself charles lavalle. the writer claimed that he had been with the gang who had robbed the train, but that they had refused to divide with him, and so, out of revenge, he was anxious to bring them to punishment. he claimed further that he was then in the confidence of another party, who were soon going to make another raid upon the express company somewhere between new orleans and mobile. the plausibility of his story was such that he obtained quite a large sum from the express company to enable him to follow up and remain with the gang of thieves with whom he professed to be associated. no news was received from him, however, and at length i was requested to put a "shadow" upon his track. my operative followed him to st. joseph, missouri, and thence to quincy, illinois, but, during two weeks of close investigation, no trace of the villains in lavalle's company could be found, and he was never seen in the society of any known burglars or thieves. it was soon evident that he was playing upon the express company a well-worn confidence game, which has been attempted probably every time a large robbery has occurred in the last fifteen years. he became very importunate for more money while in quincy, as he stated that the gang to which he belonged were ready to start for new orleans; but, finding that his appeals were useless, and that no more money would be advanced until some of his party were actually discovered and trapped through his agency, he soon ceased writing. the foregoing are only a few of the instances in which our attention was diverted from the real criminals; and, although the efforts of my operatives were rarely misdirected in any one affair for any length of time, still these false alarms were always a source of great annoyance and embarrassment. chapter iii. _"old hicks," a drunken planter, is entertained by a hunting-party.--lester's landing.--its grocery-store and mysterious merchants.--a dangerous situation and a desperate encounter.--the unfortunate escape of two of the robbers._ one of the most direct sources of information relative to the party was found in the person of an old planter, named hicks, who lived some distance down the track of the railroad. he was in the habit of visiting union city very frequently, and he usually rounded off his day's pleasure by becoming jovially drunk, in which condition he would start for his home, walking down the railroad track. he had been in union city all of friday before the robbery, and about ten o'clock in the evening he was in a state of happy inebriety, ready to "hail fellow, well met," with any person he might encounter. on his way home, about three-quarters of a mile west of union city, he saw a camp-fire burning a short distance from the track, and around it were gathered five men. they hailed him, and asked him to take a drink; and as this was an invitation which hicks could not refuse, even from the devil himself, he joined them, drank with them, and danced a hornpipe for their edification. hicks acknowledged in his account of meeting them, that by the time they had made him dance for them, he was heartily frightened at their looks and talk. he heard one of them say that they wanted ten thousand at least, but he could not tell what the remark referred to. he asked them why they were camping out, and one, who seemed to be the leader of the party, said they were out hunting. "yes," continued another one, "i am out hunting for somebody's girl, and when i find her we are going to run away together." at this, they all laughed, as if there was some hidden meaning in his words. hicks described all of the men, three of them quite minutely; but the fourth was evidently the same as the second, and the fifth was lying down asleep all the time, so that hicks could not tell much about him. they were armed with large navy revolvers, which they wore in belts, and their clothing was quite good. the tall man, who seemed to be the leader, related an account of a deer-hunt in which he had participated, in fayette county, illinois, on the kaskaskia river, and when he mentioned the place, the others scowled and winked at him, as if to stop him. hicks said that they seemed to be familiar with cincinnati, louisville, evansville, and other northern cities, and that they talked somewhat like yankees. he remained with them until about midnight, when a negro came down the track. hicks and the negro then went on together to hicks's house, leaving the five men still camped in the woods. other persons reported having seen the same party in the same vicinity several times before the night of the robbery, though some had seen only two, others three and four; but no one, except hicks, had seen five. the accounts given by the persons near the train when the robbery occurred did not show the presence of more than three persons, though possibly there might have been a fourth. the descriptions of the suspected parties were quite varied in some respects; yet the general tenor of them was to the same effect, and, as no one knew who these persons were, it was quite certain that this quartette of strangers had committed the robbery. in the case of the moscow robbery, we had strongly suspected two notorious thieves, named jack nelson and miles ogle, so that my first action, on learning of this second affair in the same vicinity, was to telegraph to my correspondents and agents throughout the country, to learn whether either of these men had been seen lately. i could gain no news whatever, except from st. louis, whence an answer was returned to the effect that nelson was said to be stopping somewhere in the country back of hickman, kentucky. ogle's wife was in st. louis, and she had been seen by a detective walking and talking earnestly with a strange man a short time previous. the information about nelson was important, since, if true, it showed that he was in the immediate neighborhood of the points where the robberies had occurred. the man seen with mrs. ogle might have been one of the party, sent by her husband to appoint a future rendezvous. the description of the tall, dark man, mentioned by hicks and others, tallied very closely with ogle's appearance. my son, william, was well advised of these facts, and, as soon as he had obtained the statements of every one acquainted with any of the occurrences at the time of the robbery, he was ready for action. his first inquiries were directed toward discovering where nelson was staying near hickman, and he learned in a very short time that this rumor had no truth in it. while making search for nelson, however, he heard of a low grocery-store at lester's landing, about twelve miles below hickman on the mississippi river. the store was situated four miles from any other house in a sparsely settled country, where the amount of legitimate trade would hardly amount to twelve hundred dollars per year. it was said to be the resort of a very low class of men, and the proprietors passed for river gamblers. on william's return to union city from hickman, he decided to make a visit to this grocery-store to learn something about the men who frequented it. having none of his own men with him, he chose one of the express company's detectives, named patrick connell, to accompany him, and, on the last day of october, they started on horseback, with an old resident named bledsoe for a guide. on arriving at the house of a well-to-do planter, named wilson merrick, they obtained considerable information about the men who kept the store and the people who visited it. mr. merrick said that a man named john wesley lester kept a wood-yard on the mississippi, and the spot was called lester's landing. about three or four months before, three men arrived there and obtained leave from lester to put up a store, which they stocked with groceries and whisky. the men gave their names as j. h. clark, ed. j. russell, and william barton, and they seemed to have some means, as the store did only a limited business, except in whisky. they were all men of ability and determination, and, as they were always well armed, the people of the cane-brake country were rather afraid of them. nothing positive was known against them, but it was suspected from their looks and actions that they were northern desperadoes lying quiet for a time. they seemed to be well acquainted in cincinnati, louisville, st. louis, memphis, vicksburg, and new orleans, but they were careful never to give any hint of their previous place of residence in the hearing of strangers. mr. merrick had, however, heard russell say that he had once run a stationary engine in missouri, and from occasional expressions by barton it would appear that the latter had once worked on a railroad in some capacity. they dressed quite well, and treated strangers politely, though not cordially. although they were all three rather hard drinkers, they never became intoxicated, and they seemed to understand each other well enough not to quarrel among themselves. clark was the oldest of the party, but russell seemed to be the leader, barton being apparently quite a young man. they stated that they intended to exchange groceries for fish and game, and ship the latter articles to st. louis and memphis. from the description of the men, william began to suspect that they formed a portion of the party of robbers, and he determined to push on at once. he induced a young man named gordon to go with him as guide and to assist in making the arrest of these men, if he should deem it advisable. by hard riding they succeeded in reaching lester's landing before nightfall, but the twilight was fast fading as they came out of the dense underbrush and cane-brake into the clearing around lester's log-cabin. the spot was dreary and forlorn in the extreme. the river was then nearly at low water, and its muddy current skirted one side of the clearing at a distance of about thirty yards from the house. the wood-yard and landing at the water's level were some ten or fifteen feet below the rising ground upon which the house stood. the store was a shanty of rough pine boards with one door and one window, and it stood at the head of the diagonal path leading from the landing to the high ground. a short distance back was a rail fence surrounding lester's house and cornfield, and back of this clearing, about one hundred yards from the house, was a dense cane-brake. the corn-stalks had never been cut, and, as they grew very high and thick within twenty feet of the house, they offered a good cover to any one approaching or retreating through them. a rough log barn stood a short distance inside the rail fence, and, like the house, it was raised several feet above the ground, on account of the annual overflow of the whole tract. the house was a rather large building built of logs, the chinks being partly filled with mud, but it was in a dilapidated condition, the roof being leaky and the sides partly open, where the mud had fallen out from between the timbers. on entering the clearing, william's party rode up to the store and tried to enter, but, finding the door locked, they approached the house. at the rail fence, william and connell dismounted, leaving gordon and bledsoe to hold their horses. up to this time, they had seen no signs of life about the place, and they began to think that the birds had flown. the quiet and the absence of men about the clearing did not prevent william from exercising his usual caution in approaching the house; but he did consider it unnecessary to take any stronger force into an apparently unoccupied log-cabin, where at most he had only vague suspicions of finding the objects of his search; hence, he left gordon and bledsoe behind. knowing the general construction of this class of houses to be the same, he sent connell to the rear, while he entered the front door. a wide hall divided the house through the center, and the occupants of the house were in the room on the right. william's door leading into the room opened from this hall, while connell's was a direct entrance from the back porch, and there were no other doors to the room. as the two strangers entered simultaneously, five men, a woman, and a girl started to their feet and demanded what they wanted. the situation was evidently one of great danger to the detectives; one glance at the men, coupled with the fierce tones of their inquiries, showed william that he had entered a den of snakes without adequate force; but it was too late to retreat, and he replied that they were strangers who, having lost their way, desired information. the scene was a striking one, and it remains as vividly in william's mind to-day, as if it had occurred but yesterday. in the center of the room, opposite him, was a broad fireplace, in which the smouldering logs feebly burned and gave forth the only light in the room. in one corner stood several shot-guns, and in another, four or five heavy axes. grouped about near the fire, in different attitudes of surprise, defiance, and alarm, were the occupants of the cabin, while to the left, in the half-open door stood connell. the flickering flame of the rotten wood gave a most unsatisfactory light, in which they all seemed nearly as dark as negroes, so that william asked the woman to light a candle. she replied that they had none, and at the same moment a young fellow tried to slip by connell, but he was promptly stopped. another large, powerful man, whose name afterward proved to be burtine, again demanded, with several oaths, what their business was. "i've told you once that i want some information," replied william, "and now i intend to have you stop here until i can take a look at your faces." while william was making them stand up in line against the wall, one of the largest drew a navy revolver quickly and fired straight at william's stomach, the ball just cutting the flesh on his left side. at the same instant, the young fellow previously mentioned, darted out the door, connell having sprang to william's side, thinking him seriously wounded. connell's approach prevented william from returning the fire of the tall man, who had jumped for the door also the moment he had fired. william fired two shots at him through the doorway, and connell followed him instantly, on seeing that william was unhurt. once outside, the tall fellow sprang behind a large cottonwood tree and fired back at connell and william, who were in full view on the porch. the second shot struck connell in the pit of the stomach, and he fell backward. at this moment, the powerful ruffian, burtine, seized william from behind and tried to drag him down, at the same time calling for a shot-gun "to finish the yankee------------." turning suddenly upon his assailant, william raised his revolver, a heavy tranter, and brought it down twice, with all his force, upon burtine's head. the man staggered at the first blow and fell at the second, so that, by leveling his revolver at the other two, william was able to cow them into submission. the affray had passed so quickly that it was wholly over before gordon and bledsoe could reach the house, though they had sprung from their horses on hearing the first shot. [illustration: _the fight at lester's landing._--_page_--] the two men had escaped by this time into the dense cane-brake back of the house, and it was necessary to attend to those who had been secured, and to examine the injuries of connell and burtine. the latter's head was in a pretty bad condition, though no serious results were likely to follow, while connell had escaped a mortal wound by the merest hair's breadth. he was dressed in a heavy suit of kentucky jeans, with large iron buttons down the front of the coat. the ball had struck one of these buttons, and, instead of passing straight through his vitals, it had glanced around his side, cutting a deep flesh furrow nearly to the small of his back, where it had gone out. the shock of the blow had stunned him somewhat, the button having been forced edgewise some distance into the flesh, but his wound was very trifling, and he was able to go on with the search with very little inconvenience. having captured three out of the five inmates of the cabin, william felt as though he had done as much as could have been expected of two men under such circumstances, and he then began a search of the premises to see whether any evidence of their connection with the robbery could be found. absolutely no clue whatever was obtained in the cabin and barn, nor did the store afford any better results so far as the robbery was concerned, but on this point william was already satisfied, and he was anxious to get all information possible about these so-called storekeepers. in the store, he found bills and invoices showing that the stock of goods had been purchased in evansville, but there was no other writing of any character except some scribbling, apparently done in an idle moment, upon some fragments of paper in a drawer. on one was written: "mrs. kate graham, farmington, ill."; and on another, amid many repetitions of the name, "kate graham," were the words, "my dear cousin." having found very little of value, the party returned to the three prisoners and closely examined them. to william's intense chagrin, he found that these men were, undoubtedly, mere wood-choppers living with lester and having no connection with the proprietors of the store. although desperate, brutal, and reckless, ready for a fight at all times, as shown in this affray, they were clearly not the train robbers, while it was equally evident that the two who had escaped were the guilty parties. william learned that the young man who had first slipped out was barton, and the man who had done the shooting was russell. clark, they said, had taken the steamer for cape girardeau, missouri, two days before, accompanied by a married woman, named slaughter. the description of the train robbers tallied so well with the appearance of barton and russell, that, taking their actions into consideration, there could no longer be any doubt of their complicity in the affair, and it was highly provoking that these two should have escaped. still, it was an accident which could hardly have been avoided. the fact that the express company would not consent to the employment of a larger force of detectives was the principal cause of this misfortune, for it could have been prevented easily, had william been accompanied by two more good men of my force. as it was, two detectives, dropping unexpectedly upon a nest of five villainous-looking men in the dark, could have hardly hoped to do better than to secure three of them. it could not have been supposed that they would know which were the important ones to capture, especially as they could not distinguish one from another in the uncertain light. indeed, as afterward appeared, they were fortunate in having escaped alive, for the close approach to fatal wounds, which they both received, showed how deadly had been the intentions of the man russell, while burtine had evidently intended that they should never leave the house alive. it may be supposed that the shooting on both sides was none of the best, but it must be remembered that it began without warning, and was over in two minutes. it cannot be expected that snap-shooting, even at close quarters, should be very accurate; yet it was afterward learned that russell's escape had been about as narrow as william's, two balls having passed through his clothes and grazed his flesh. chapter iv. _the captured ruffians are desired for guides, but dare not join in the search for the outlaws.--one of the robbers is taken, but subsequently escapes from the amateur detectives.--another clue suddenly fails._ having searched the whole place, and satisfied himself that the men captured had had no connection with the robbery or the robbers, william offered them one hundred dollars to act as guides through the cane-brake to arrest barton and russell. they said they could not if they would, since no man could find his way there in broad daylight, much less at night. they further admitted that they dare not attempt it, as russell would kill them if they learned of their action. it was now pitch dark, and after a vain attempt to beat through the cane in search of the fugitives, william decided to return to mr. merrick's until next day. the next morning at daybreak he started back for lester's, accompanied by a number of the cane-brake population, all of whom were anxious to secure the one hundred dollars reward. they had long suspected the men at the store of being desperadoes, but they had had a wholesome fear of them on account of their fierce ways and their reckless habit of drawing their revolvers on slight provocation. on arriving at lester's, the party found that lester had returned from hickman during the night. he was a treacherous-looking scoundrel, and his reputation was bad, although he had never been caught in any crime in that vicinity. his name, john wesley lester, showed that he must have once belonged to a pious methodist family, and, indeed, he claimed to have once been a methodist preacher himself. he had sunken eyes, milky white, and his hair was lank and long; his complexion was dark, cheeks hollow, chin pointed, and forehead low. his manner was fawning and obsequious to those above him, and he looked and acted like a second "uriah heap." he pretended to know nothing of russell, clark, and barton, except that they had come to his place in july, built the store there, and had been around the landing more or less ever since. he said that he knew nothing against them, except that they were gamblers, and that they often went off on gambling excursions, during one of which, according to their own statements, they had killed a man in a quarrel. william learned from lester's daughter that barton had returned during the night to get a shawl, blanket, and two shot-guns. he had told her that russell was hurt pretty badly, but that they intended to take the first packet down the river. from other parties william learned that the packet julia had passed down during the night, and had stopped at a point about seven miles below, having been hailed from the bank. he did not place much faith in the theory that the men had taken passage by the julia, for the reason that lester's girl was too anxious to tell the story of the route barton proposed taking. he discovered that barton had been paying lover-like attentions to the girl, and he believed that barton had instructed her to say that he intended taking the next packet, in order to give them a false scent. having set the men of the neighborhood at work searching for russell and barton, william returned to union city. from hickman connell was sent to cape girardeau, missouri, to capture clark, who was said to have gone there three days before. on the arrival of william in union city, the superintendent telegraphed to me the result of william's visit to lester's landing, and authorized me to send an operative to farmington, illinois, to hunt up mrs. kate graham, and learn what she could tell about russell, clark, and barton. a man was sent there the next day, and he had no difficulty in finding mrs. graham, who proved to be the wife of a highly respectable business man. she was a member of the church, and was held in high esteem by every one acquainted with her. my agent, therefore, called upon her without any circumlocution or deception, and asked to see her on business. she was confined to her room by illness, but she saw him for a few minutes, and answered his questions so frankly that there was no doubt she was telling the truth. she stated that she was not acquainted with any one living at lester's landing; that she did not know, nor ever had known, any persons of the names given (russell, clark, and barton); and that she knew no one who would answer to their descriptions. this clue seemed to come to an end very quickly, yet it afterward proved to be the means by which we captured one of the gang, and it was a striking instance of the necessity for the most careful and minute inquiry upon every point of news obtained, especially upon those received directly from the criminals themselves. on the d of november, connell went with a constable to the house of mrs. gully, the mother of clark's companion, mrs. slaughter, and there he found them both. clark was surprised by the officers, but he made a bold fight, and was overpowered with difficulty. when finally handcuffed and searched, a navy revolver and fifty dollars in money were taken from him; he was then taken nine miles on horseback to cape girardeau, where connell obtained a light wagon to drive sixteen miles to allenville, on the railroad leading to hickman. on this trip connell made the mistake of trusting to handcuffs alone, instead of securely fastening his prisoner's feet with rope. the idea that one man in handcuffs could escape from two active, unimpeded men did not, however, occur to connell, and so the constable drove the horse, while clark and connell occupied the back seat. in justice to connell, it should be stated that he had been constantly in the saddle for several days in raw and rainy weather, and had had very little sleep for two nights previous. about nine o'clock in the evening, when only a mile from allenville, clark suddenly made a leap out of the wagon. the horse was jogging along at a good trot, and, though connell sprang after his prisoner instantly, it was a couple of minutes before the constable could follow. as he ran, connell fired at the dim figure disappearing in the thick brush; but the next instant he pitched headlong into a deep mud-hole, and, by the time he got out, the cylinder of his revolver was choked with mud, and clark was far in advance. the chase was kept up as long as the pursuers were able to distinguish the direction of his flight, but, in the darkness of the gloomy woods, it was impossible to follow an athletic fellow like clark with any hope of success. connell returned to union city very much crestfallen, and reported his misfortune. my first feeling, on learning the news, was one of deep regret and anxiety at the loss of one of the leaders of the gang; my second thought was one of profound thankfulness that my men were in no way responsible for it. the situation was an illustration of the disappointments and difficulties which are so often met in a detective's experience; and, though i felt somewhat discouraged, i was more than ever determined that none of these men should eventually escape, even though it should be necessary to follow them for months. the desire of the express company to employ as few as possible of my operatives embarrassed me exceedingly, for william was obliged to depend upon strangers, and he had little confidence in their ability or discretion. he was now satisfied of the identity of the parties he was in search of, and all that he needed was a small force of experienced and reliable men. had i been limited and interfered with in the maroney case, described in "the expressman and the detective," as i was in this, there is no doubt that i might have failed to capture the criminal; but the cordial coöperation and support of the adams express company gave me a fair opportunity to work to good advantage, and victory was the result. chapter v. _a rich lead struck at last._ william was quite sure, from the reputation and actions of russell, clark, and barton, that they had been the leaders in the robbery, and he believed that lester could give important information about them; he therefore caused lester to be brought to union city, and, on november , he succeeded in getting a statement of the doings of these men since lester had known them. the important points developed were as follows: they came to lester's landing in the middle of july, and built their store. they were rarely there together, as they would go off for two or three weeks at a time, leaving barton or clark in charge, and sometimes putting lester in as storekeeper during the absence of all three. on one occasion, russell showed him a pocket-book containing nearly one thousand dollars, which he thought he had lost, but which he found under a rail fence where he had hidden it; the other men, also, seemed to have plenty of money. about the middle of october, the three storekeepers went away, and were gone until october , three days after the robbery, on which day lester met clark and barton walking toward his house, on the way from hickman. they seemed quite excited, and said that they had been engaged in a difficulty, but they did not state what it was. they asked him whether he had seen russell recently, and also whether there was a skiff at his landing; both questions were answered negatively, and they passed on toward the store, while lester continued his walk to hickman. on his return at night, he found that clark and barton had been across the river all day, scouting the missouri shore for russell, and that shortly after their return, russell had come across the river in a skiff. russell said that he had been shot, but that he was not much hurt, and he did not seem to act as if he had been hurt at all. sunday morning, october , clark took passage in a steamer for cape girardeau, having mrs. slaughter in company, and it was understood that he was going with mrs. slaughter to the house of her mother, nine miles from the cape. tuesday evening, william and connell arrived at lester's, the fight took place, and barton and russell escaped. after the detectives had gone back to campbell's, barton returned to the house and obtained a shawl, blanket, and two shot-guns; he said that they would never be taken alive, but that russell had been badly wounded by one of the detectives. william had left two men at the landing the next day to capture the men if they returned, but they were afraid to attempt it, although they had a good opportunity that night. russell came into the house alone, showing no signs of having been wounded, and said that he and barton had joined four friends, who were outside waiting for him; that they were all well mounted and armed, and that they intended to kill any one who should betray them or attempt their capture. he added that they intended to make their way on horseback to alabama, and that they were strong enough to fight their way through, if necessary. of course, russell's object was to frighten the detectives and others who were searching for him, as he had no one with him except barton. among other points of value in lester's statement, was some incidental information relative to the men, which he had learned during the time they boarded with him. he had heard clark say that his mother lived sixty miles back of nashville, and russell had once run a stationary engine in missouri. lester was shown the satchel found on the engine after the robbery, and he recognized it as having been left at his house once by a wood-chopper named bill taylor, who lived in the cane-brake, some distance below him. he said that the three men each carried a navy revolver and a derringer, while russell had also a new, large-sized smith & wesson revolver. meantime, the telegraph had been used constantly to learn something about the three men, russell, clark, and barton, from whatever source information could be obtained. barton was well known in nashville, new madrid, and union city. he was quite young, but he had been involved in a stabbing affray in nashville, and was regarded as a desperate character. he had been respectably brought up by major landis, general agent of the nashville and northwestern railroad, and had been given a place in the employ of that road, with good prospects for promotion. having become dissipated and hardened, he had been discharged from his position, and major landis had cast him off; thenceforward, his career had been rapid in the downward direction. with regard to the other two men, little could be learned, until a rich lead was struck on the seventh of november. the corrected descriptions of the different parties having been sent to all the agents of the express company, mr. charles pink, agent at cairo, recognized russell as a man who had sent eight hundred dollars in currency from cairo to mrs. m. farrington, gillem station, tennessee, on the eleventh of september, and who had then started, according to his own statement, for his home in illinois. mr. pink also stated that the chief of police in cairo claimed to know russell, and to be able to find him--for a sufficient consideration. not having any use for the services of this disinterested officer, his offer was politely declined. the superintendent of the express company was strongly impressed with the belief that russell and barton were lurking around lester's, and so, while william went to nashville to see what could be learned about barton and his companions, a number of men were hired to scour the country, hunt through the brake, and guard the mississippi ferries, while connell and crowley, the express messenger, were placed on the missouri bank, to scout that side of the river. i may say here, _en passant_, that, with the exception of the two named, these men were a source not only of great unnecessary expense to the company, but of vexation and hindrance to william. in most cases, their scouting consisted in riding the high-roads from one tavern to another, and in order to have something to show for their work, they would bring in every species of wild and foolish rumor that they could discover or invent. as the superintendent frequently desired that these reports should be investigated, much valuable time was thus wasted. these men were not only employed without my advice, but they were retained long after i had urgently requested the discharge of the whole party, and i had great difficulty in obtaining their discharge, even after i was positively sure that the robbers had crossed the mississippi and escaped into missouri. william spent one day in nashville, and then went to gillem station, where he learned that mrs. farrington, to whom russell had sent eight hundred dollars from cairo, lived on an old, worn-out farm, and passed for a rich widow. she had three sons--hillary, levi, and peter, the latter being quite young. hillary and levi farrington bore a very bad reputation, having been mixed up in all kinds of fights and quarrels for a number of years. they were suspected of horse-stealing and counterfeiting; but most people were afraid of them, and they had never been arrested in that vicinity. william here learned, also, that barton had been a frequent visitor at the farringtons', and that he was as bad as the others. while at gillem station, william met pete farrington, the youngest of the three brothers, and his resemblance to russell, whose face william had seen by the dim firelight and the flash of his pistol in the cabin at lester's landing, caused a sudden possibility to flash across his mind. he reasoned out the connection of the different facts about as follows: "russell was, undoubtedly, one of the moscow and union city robbers, and he obtained a considerable share of the plunder; two months after the first robbery, i find that he sent eight hundred dollars to mrs. farrington; this establishes the connection of those two persons. barton was one of the actors in both robberies, also, and i find that he was formerly intimate with mrs. farrington and her sons; another link. pete farrington bears a strong resemblance to russell, their peculiar roman noses, with a lump in the middle, being exactly alike, and this creates a strong presumption that they belong to the same family. now, russell and clark were so similar in their general appearance, that many people who have seen them together believe them to have been brothers. hillary and levi farrington, i am told, also closely resemble each other, and they have not been seen about here for some months, they being, according to their mother's account, in texas. the chain of evidence is very complete; what if russell and clark should prove to be the farrington brothers!" chapter vi. _the mother of the farringtons, being arrested, boasts that her sons "will never be taken alive."--another unfortunate blunder by amateur detectives.--an interesting fate intended for the detectives.--william a. pinkerton captures the murderer of a negro in union city, proving "a very good fellow--for a yankee."--an unfortunate publication.--nigger-wool swamp and its outlaws._ the more william thought about it, the more convinced he became that his theory was correct, and he took steps to verify his suspicions by placing a watch upon mrs. farrington's movements. he also made arrangements to get possession of any letters that might come for her, and then, being hastily recalled by the superintendent of the express company, he hurried back to union city. he there learned that, during his absence, clark had talked with both lester and his wife. the latter had warned him of his danger, and he had then disappeared in the cane-brake. the men stationed at lester's for the express purpose of arresting any of the robbers who might come there, had been either unaware of clark's visit, or else they had been afraid to attempt his capture, and he had escaped again when almost within our grasp. william had, therefore, been called back by telegraph to take charge of the men engaged in beating through the cane-brake, as it had been clearly demonstrated that, without a determined leader, these men were no more useful than a flock of sheep. the hunt went on for several days with no results whatever, while at the same time scouts patroled the highways, and other men kept watch upon the ferries and fords for many miles around. while this was going on, the express agent at gillem station was keeping a close watch upon mrs. farrington, when suddenly she announced her intention of going to join her sons in texas. instead of sending word to william at once, the agent began operations on his own account, and when mrs. farrington arrived at waverly, tennessee, he caused her arrest. she had started with two new wagons and a complete outfit for an overland journey of some length, so that her progress could not have been very rapid, and nothing would have been lost by waiting for instructions; but the insane desire to play detective seemed to overpower all other considerations in the minds of the company's agents, and she was arrested by the sheriff and a _posse_ of citizens. her salutation to the officer who stopped her settled the question of identity at once, for, on being told that she would be obliged to let him search her wagons for certain men, she replied: "oh! yes; i know what you want. you would like to find my two sons and barton for the express robbery; but you will never catch them, for they are not now in this country, and they will never be taken alive." this piece of information led the express agent to take the only sensible step of his whole proceeding. mrs. farrington had two negro families with her, some of whom had belonged to her before the war; and, with the personal attachment noticeable in many of the colored people, they were now desirous of going west with her. it occurred to the agent that some of them, from their confidential relations to the family, might be able to give some information as to the whereabouts of the boys. the negroes were, therefore, taken separately and closely examined, until one of the men was urgently persuaded to reveal what he knew. he said that levi, hillary, and barton had committed the robbery, and that they had since been at mrs. farrington's together. according to an agreement between the mother and her sons, she was to start for texas, passing through nigger-wool swamp, on the west side of the mississippi, and the two eldest sons were to meet her in the swamp, when they would determine where to go. the agent also learned that the men had arrived at their mother's house friday evening, november , and that a man who had gone there to sell her a wagon had been met by hillary farrington with a shot-gun; on seeing that it was a neighbor, however, hillary had lowered his gun and allowed him to come in. it was also learned that the three desperadoes had been seen at the house of the farringtons' uncle, named douglas, on hurricane creek, about ten miles from waverly; again, on monday, they had been noticed at hurricane mills, making their way to fowler's landing, on the tennessee river between florence and johnsonville, fourteen miles from the last-named place. it was evident that they intended to strike across the country below reel's foot lake, and cross the mississippi at some point between columbus and memphis. the men were all well mounted and armed, and they had changed their personal appearance somewhat by altering the arrangement of their hair, whiskers, and beards. the arrest of mrs. farrington was a most unfortunate blunder, since it disclosed to the criminals how close had been their pursuit, while little really important information was obtained. it was a good illustration of the danger of taking any decided step in a criminal investigation before knowing to a certainty that some good result would be obtained. the parties thus learned that we were not only aware of their identity, but also that we were very close upon their track, and the danger, as well as the difficulty, of the case was largely increased. these men were desperadoes of the most reckless type, and they would not have hesitated a moment to lie in ambush and kill their pursuers, if they had found it possible to do so. in order to intercept the fugitives before reaching the swampy country near the mississippi, the number of scouts and patrolling parties was increased by the superintendent of the express company, and two men, named ball and bledsoe, were engaged to follow mrs. farrington on horseback until her sons should join her in nigger-wool swamp. this would have been a sensible and necessary move if the right kind of men had been employed; but the selection of untrained men for the delicate and important work of "shadowing" such an experienced gang of villains was risky in the extreme. had they ever met barton and the farringtons, the latter would have undoubtedly murdered both of them without scruple; but there was no danger of such a meeting, since the robbers, and mrs. farrington also, were perfectly aware of the presence of their pursuers from the start. indeed, they afterward stated that it had been their intention to have led the detectives on as far as the wild, unsettled country of western missouri, and to have then hanged them in some unfrequented spot, placing the inscription "horse-thief" upon each of the bodies. subsequent events prevented them from carrying out this plan, but there was no doubt that they would have taken that or some other equally daring means of ridding themselves of pursuit. the manner in which ball and bledsoe exposed their intentions wherever they went showed the inexperience of both men in such work; for, along the whole route over which they passed, they were known as officers tracking a band of thieves; and we afterward learned that, while they were innocently and unsuspectingly following mrs. farrington, two of the men, barton and clark, were almost continually watching them. however, they had been started on their mission by the superintendent before william could make any other arrangements, as he was away at lester's landing when the chase began. from william's reports to me, i saw the uselessness of maintaining such a body of men in the work of scouting, watching ferries, and beating the cane-brake, for the reason that no good could come of it. i knew that if the robbers could escape from lester's landing and make their way to gillem station once, they could do it again. clark (or hillary farrington) had been at lester's early thursday morning, while guards were stationed all about; yet, on saturday morning he was at his mother's farm, and no one had even seen him on the way. this convinced me that they had such a knowledge of the country as to make it impossible to stop them by any system of guards or patrols, and i therefore wrote several letters asking that the superintendent discharge this expensive force at once, and allow me to manage the whole operation by my own plans and with my own men. while william, therefore, was at work with indefatigable energy and perseverance, scouting and following up all the reports brought in by the vast army of volunteer detectives in the company's employ, we were both satisfied that the method adopted was useless, and that even the ferry guards would discover nothing. knowing the character of the three desperadoes, i had no doubt of their sagacity in avoiding observation and pursuit; they would never try to cross without knowing positively whether the ferry was guarded, and if there should be any real danger, they would undoubtedly steal a skiff and make their horses swim across the river, a feat of no great risk in the then low condition of the water. about this time an incident occurred which added greatly to william's popularity in union city, and gained for him the respect and kindly feeling of the community. on sunday two roughs, having drank enough bad whisky to be absolutely fiendish, began to beat an old and inoffensive negro whom they happened to meet. a merchant, named blakemore, who was passing at the time, stopped to remonstrate with the ruffians, when one of them turned and plunged a knife into his stomach, inflicting a wound which caused his death next day. the murderer was the terror of the town, and so great was the fear of him that he would have probably escaped had not william appeared on the street as he rushed away flourishing his bloody knife and threatening to kill any one who should stand in his way. the sight of william's heavy revolver leveled at his head, backed by the certainty which he saw in william's face that death or surrender was his only alternative, caused him to choose the latter, and he was lodged in jail to await his trial for murder. the people of the town were quite enthusiastic over the way in which william had brought the fellow to bay, and then compelled his surrender; and they even went so far as to say that he was "a good fellow, a very good fellow indeed--for a yankee." on the twentieth of november an unfortunate publicity was given to our operations by the publication in the union city _journal_ of a long history of the farringtons, showing their whole career of crime, and terminating with an account of their latest exploit, as developed by our investigations in and about union city. it is unnecessary to state the source whence this information was derived, further than to say that it was not obtained from any member of my force. it was a very dangerous piece of news to be published, since it might have wholly overthrown all our plans, besides involving the death of two or three men engaged in the operation; fortunately, the robbers were undoubtedly across the mississippi by that time, and beyond the reach of newspapers for some weeks at least. on the same day that this matter was published, mrs. farrington crossed the mississippi river at bird's point, opposite cairo, and the fact was reported to william and to me by telegraph. we had previously learned that mrs. farrington had relatives in springfield, missouri, and in dade county, in the same state, and the probabilities were that, instead of going to texas, she was going to visit in one of these places. meanwhile, though my opinion was that her sons intended to rejoin her somewhere, either in nigger-wool swamp or at her place of destination, i had no certainty that such was their intention; and, bearing in mind the warning they had received by her arrest at waverly (and possibly by reading the newspaper article previously mentioned), i felt that every clue must be carefully traced, even though it might lead in an exactly opposite direction from that in which our previous suspicions had caused us to look. my correspondents and agents in louisville, cincinnati, st. louis, and new orleans were, therefore, kept on the alert to capture the men if they should venture into those cities, while i held three determined men ready to go at once in pursuit of mrs. farrington, in case she should take the route through nigger-wool swamp. it will be remembered that one of the negroes accompanying mrs. farrington had stated that her sons were to join her in that swamp; now, there were three possibilities about this statement: first, the negro might have lied; second, he might have been so informed by the old lady on purpose to give a false scent in case he should be questioned; and, third, while their intention might have been to meet there, subsequent events might have altered their plans. still, thinking the subject over carefully, i decided that she would not take so difficult a course unless she really intended to meet her sons there. my reasons for so thinking were based upon the nature of the place, and, to comprehend my solicitude about nigger-wool swamp, a description of it will be necessary. the swamp is more than seventy miles long by about thirty-five miles wide, and, as a piece of bottomless ooze, its superior cannot be found in the united states. there are just two roads crossing it, one running from hall's ferry, at point pleasant, missouri, and the other from mitchell's ferry, thirty-five miles below. these roads are mere bog-paths in themselves, being heavily overlaid with underbrush and corduroy logs, yet they afford the only means of crossing this vast morass. the period of the annual overflow turns it into a turbid, sluggish lake, the roads being then deeply buried under water; but even in the dryest seasons the greater portion of the swamp is a bottomless slime of mud and putrefying vegetation. large tracts of thickly-wooded land are contained within the limits of the swamp, and these constitute a semi-substantial basis for the two roads which run through them; but even these clumps are impassable at most seasons, except along the artificially-constructed roads. sometimes, for miles and miles, nothing but the rankest of swamp-vegetation is seen, growing in wild profusion and covering the treacherous ooze with a close network of leaves and branches, until the surface looks firm enough to be taken for solid ground; but should any unfortunate traveler venture to cross such a spot, his limbs would be clogged by these clinging water-plants, his feet would find no secure resting-place, and, sinking rapidly deeper and deeper into the mire, his bones would find a sepulcher where nothing but a general natural convulsion would ever disturb them. still, there are occasional islands of firm ground through this section, and these have become the resort of lawless characters of every nationality and degree of crime. over the entrance to nigger-wool swamp might be placed, with perfect truthfulness, the motto: "who enters here leaves hope behind." each man is a law unto himself, and he must maintain his rights by the strong arm and the ready shot-gun. in one thing only are the dwellers of the swamp united, namely: a bitter and deadly resistance to the law. no officer of justice ventures therein to perform any of the duties of his office; unless backed by a powerful body of determined men, he would never return alive, and, if so accompanied, he would never succeed in catching a glimpse of any criminal whom he might be seeking. about the middle of the swamp, the two roads cross each other at a spot called "the gates," and every person traveling through either way must pass this place. knowing this fact, i felt sure that mrs. farrington would await the arrival of her sons at "the gates," in case she entered the swamp, and i determined that, in such an event, i should try to capture them there. i was fully aware of the danger of such an attempt, but i knew that to take the bull by the horns is sometimes the safest means of overpowering him. to send officers to that point with the avowed purpose of arresting any one, would be equivalent to sending them to their certain death, and i had no intention of doing anything of the kind; but i had men of my force who could visit nigger-wool swamp for the professed purpose of hiding there from pursuit for alleged crimes, and, when the moment came for action, i did not doubt that they would bring out their men before the neighboring outlaws could discover their object. everything depended upon the course mrs. farrington should take on leaving the mississippi river, since by striking north from the point where she crossed, she could skirt the edge of the swamp, while if she turned south toward point pleasant, i should know that she intended to carry out her original programme. this question was quickly settled, however, not only by the reports of the scouts, ball and bledsoe, who were following mrs. farrington, but also by an unexpected piece of intelligence from gillem station. mrs. farrington moved about twenty or twenty-five miles each day, and, from the fact that she went north to fredericktown, there was no doubt that she had changed her plan of meeting her sons in nigger-wool swamp. chapter vii. _the scene of action transferred to missouri.--the chase becoming hot._ on the twenty-second of november, william learned that a letter had arrived at gillem station, postmarked verona, missouri, november , and he immediately took measures to obtain this letter. three days later he learned its contents, which were of such an important character as to give a new direction to our efforts. the letter read as follows: "verona, mo., nov. , . "my dear cousin: "i seat myself to answer your kind letter, which came to hand last evening, and was glad to hear from you, and hear you was well and doing well. i have nothing new to write, only that we are all well at present, hoping that when these few lines come to hand they may find you well and doing well as ever, as you say you have been doing very well. it must be a good thing if it could stay so. sometimes it was well and sometimes it wasn't, but i hope it will stay so, as you say it is a soft thing--as soft as things gets to be. i would like to see something like that, you bet. you talk like it can't be beat. that is the thing to take in. i think, and i know you think it, for i saw your name. i guess i did see you. you know mr. crapmel? he is a great fellow; you bet it is so. i have nothing more to write at present, as you said you are going to start out here. you said you was coming by here. cousin, if you do come by, we don't live where we did when you were here; we live two miles nearer verona. come the same road. we live now half mile off the road on john ellis' place. you can find out where we live anywhere. come out the same road you did when you came before. john timothy has just come out here; has been out here about three weeks. he is well satisfied here. so i will close for this time. "from your cousin, "j. m. durham. "m. f. sends her love to all of the family. excuse my bad writing and bad spelling." it was evident that mrs. farrington had previously written to her cousin informing him of her intention to visit him soon, and this letter was intended to direct her to the new location. the allusions in the letter to the "good thing" in which she was engaged showed that the writer had been made aware of the farringtons' success as express robbers, and that he quite approved of their operations. on reading this letter, william sent a copy to me immediately, and suggested that one or two good men be sent to verona to get work near this man durham, and to get into the confidence of the family, so that, when mrs. farrington should arrive, she would not be likely to suspect any one who had come before her. i fully approved of william's plan, and, on the last day of november, detectives george w. cottrell and arthur c. marriott started for verona. i inferred that the people in that vicinity were rather lawless and desperate characters, from the fact that durham spoke of "john timothy" being well satisfied there. on the principle that "birds of a feather flock together," i judged the farringtons, the durhams, and this fellow timothy to belong to the same type of people; hence, i concluded that, if durham and timothy were satisfied with the country, the people living there must be congenial spirits, especially since mrs. farrington was about to make a place of refuge in that vicinity. my two men were detained a day in st. louis, and they did not arrive in verona until the second of december. the first thing they noticed about the town was the total absence of liquor saloons, and a few minutes' conversation with one or two of the citizens convinced them that no more orderly, honest, law-abiding community existed in missouri than the population of lawrence county. this discovery made a marked change in their plans necessary, as my instructions to them had been based upon the supposition that they would find a number of robbers, horse-thieves, and counterfeiters around verona, and that they would be easily able to get durham's confidence by appearing as reckless and desperate as any one. they had each prepared a choice autobiography for use among the residents, and, according to their own intended accounts of themselves, two greater scoundrels never went unhung. all this was necessarily useless in the changed circumstances surrounding them. to attempt the _rôle_ of criminal characters, hiding from justice, would quickly cause their banishment from the place, or possibly their arrest, and a new plan was essential. their instructions had been that they should not put any confidence in any one, and they were obliged to invent a plausible reason for their presence there; also to have some business which would enable them to ride about the country, making inquiries and scouting for mrs. farrington and her sons. finding that the railroad company had a land agent in verona, cottrell decided to represent themselves as would-be purchasers of land. this would give them an excuse for going all over the county, examining different farms and unimproved tracts. they were introduced to mr. purdy, the land agent, by the hotel clerk, and from him they obtained a map of the county. it was then agreed that mr. purdy should go out with cottrell and marriott on tuesday, december , to look at some pieces of property which the railroad company wished to sell. during sunday and monday both of the detectives were trying to learn where durham lived, but no one seemed to know; neither could any one tell them anything about john ellis, upon whose farm durham had said he was living. the idea that mrs. farrington was rapidly pushing west, toward durham's place, made cottrell very anxious to begin operations as quickly as possible, since, if she should arrive before the detectives were established in the vicinity, there would be great difficulty in working into her confidence, as she would instantly suspect their true character; whereas, if she should find them already there, she would have no possible occasion to distrust them. they therefore thought best to confide the real object of their visit to mr. purdy, the land agent, and to ask his advice and assistance. mr. purdy had been an officer in the union army during the war of the rebellion, and had settled in verona at the close of the war. he was evidently an honorable man, who would always be found on the side of law and order, and as he was very popular in verona, he would be able to give them a great deal of assistance in capturing the farrington party. on communicating with me by telegraph on this point, they stated the facts briefly, and i authorized them to confer with mr. purdy on the subject, at the same time forwarding full instructions by letter. on tuesday, therefore, they told the whole story to mr. purdy, and showed him their credentials. he was quite astonished at their revelations, but he was very hearty and sincere in his expressions of good will toward them, and he promised to aid them in every possible way. he knew john ellis quite well, having sold him the farm on which he was living, and he had heard of durham, who hired a small portion of the ellis farm. he said that if force should be necessary to capture the farrington party, he could raise fifty determined men in ten minutes to help the officers. he said that after the war verona had been a very bad place for a short time, but that, as eastern men began to settle there, the respectable people had tried to drive out the hard cases; this had been slow work at first, but they eventually had been completely successful; they not only had driven out the dangerous characters, but they had closed all the liquor saloons also; and now, having once got rid of them, they would take care not to let any of that class of people back again. mr. purdy was called away for a day or two on business, but he promised, on his return, to go with the detectives to durham's place, and, meantime, he said he would speak of them as gentlemen who intended buying land in that section, and who wished to ride over the country until they found a place which satisfied them. during the next three days, therefore, they learned nothing new, their time being occupied in scouting the road along which they expected mrs. farrington to come. thus the first week of december passed, and the operation was not progressing very favorably anywhere. ball and bledsoe had reported mrs. farrington's route up to the thirtieth of november, and she had moved quite rapidly up to that date, but nothing had been learned since, and i expected to hear of her arrival at verona every day. she had gone from cairo to frederickstown, missouri, and thence to ironton; then, instead of following a direct road, she had struck up north to potosi, in washington county; again taking a westerly route, she had passed through steelville, crawford county, and on the thirtieth of november, she had camped at waynesville, pulaski county. beyond this we knew nothing of her movements, although by the eighth of december she had had ample time to reach verona. william had spent this week in following up a clue received from louisville, kentucky. it will be remembered that about november , a pair of dashing women had been reported as having visited the banks in kansas city, trying to get large bills for about eight thousand dollars in small bills. i had not believed the story at that time, and therefore had taken no steps to follow them. when william learned from louisville, however, that a woman named annie martin, whom levi farrington had been in the habit of supporting on the proceeds of his robberies, had been staying there with another woman named lillie baker, who had sustained the same relations to barton, it occurred to him that these might have been the women who were said to have been in kansas city with so much money. he started at once for louisville, at the same time telegraphing to me his suspicions in the matter, and i began inquiries again in kansas city by telegraph. i could learn very little except from the teller of one bank, who described the women as well as he could remember their appearance; but the description was not accurate enough to determine whether these two women had or had not been annie martin and lillie baker. in louisville, however, william learned that these women had been there recently, and they had appeared to be well supplied with money. they had not remained very long, but had gone to new orleans, where they were then living in good style. as mr. o'brien, the general superintendent of the express company, was in new orleans, the information was sent to him, and he agreed to have a sharp watch kept to discover farrington and barton, in case they should follow these women. on the eighth of december, cottrell, marriott, and mr. purdy started on horseback to visit john ellis's farm, where the durhams lived. about a mile before arriving there, they met a farmer named wisbey, who was a neighbor of ellis and the durhams. without letting him into their confidence, they talked with him a long time, and gradually drew out a number of important facts. the durham family consisted of two brothers and a young sister living with their mother, old mrs. durham, and they rented a small house on a part of the ellis farm. nothing positive had ever been discovered against the character of either james or tilman durham, but the neighbors had a poor opinion of them, and kept a pretty close watch upon their actions. during the previous fall a young man had visited them for some time, and his description was exactly that of levi farrington; but wisbey could not tell his name, though he promised to learn it, and let mr. purdy know mr. wisbey was a downright honest, intelligent man, and mr. purdy asked him to learn everything possible about the durhams and their visitors; in case any wagons should arrive, it was agreed that he should send word to mr. purdy instantly. there was no occasion for telling him the whole story, as he was quite willing to undertake the trust on the strength of mr. purdy's request, without asking further particulars; and, as he was a thoroughly discreet man, there was little danger that he would betray his mission by idle talking. the detectives and mr. purdy then returned to verona, it being considered undesirable that they should visit the durhams, lest they might possibly excite suspicion. the day following their visit to wisbey, he arrived in verona and told cottrell that he had sent his son-in-law, mr. stone, to see jim durham, and the latter had said that he was expecting the arrival of some relatives very soon. he had learned further that the young man who had visited durham in the latter part of the previous september had given his name as levi farrington, and had passed as the beau of the young durham girl. in speaking of him, jim durham had told mr. stone that he did not wish his sister to marry farrington, as the latter was a dangerous man, and had recently killed a man in a quarrel, while those who stood about were too much afraid of him to arrest him. mr. wisbey then returned home, with instructions to alternate with mr. stone in secretly watching durham's place, so that every occurrence might be at once reported. on the tenth of december i received a dispatch from mr. o'brien, saying that the express agent at springfield, missouri, had telegraphed to him on the eighth that the wagons of mrs. farrington's party had camped five miles from springfield, and that the three men were known to be sixty miles south of rolla. mr. o'brien therefore requested me to send a good detective to meet connell in st. louis, whence they would go together to capture the men at rolla. i at once sent one of my best men, named martin galway, with instructions to join connell, and, in case the rolla report should prove to be a false alarm, they were to go on to verona to assist cottrell and marriott. i had hardly completed my instructions to galway, ere i received a telegram in cipher from cottrell, as follows: "levi farrington and a man calling himself george cousins are at durham's. they came on thursday evening. shall i arrest them? i can get all the help i need." i immediately replied, also by a cipher dispatch, as follows: "are you sure it is levi farrington? his brother and barton will probably be at verona soon. we must get the whole. i think they will come from douglas county. probably connell and galway will be with you by monday or tuesday night; they can identify the men. mrs. farrington will be at durham's by sunday night or monday morning. keep a cool, clear head, and advise with purdy. have written by mail to-night. keep me posted. william will arrive by tuesday." at the same time i wrote full instructions to cottrell, ordering him to keep a close watch upon the men at durham's, but to take no action until william should arrive, unless they attempted to go away. i did not alter galway's instructions, but i telegraphed to william to start for verona at once, to take charge of the operations there. the chase was now becoming hot, and a few days would decide the question of success or failure. i had reason to believe that the outlaws would not be taken without a desperate resistance, and i was anxious to have william present to direct the attack. on sunday, the tenth, cottrell and marriott rode out to see wisbey, who met them just outside of verona and informed them that levi farrington had arrived at jim durham's late thursday night, accompanied by a young man named george cousins. they did not receive my reply to their telegram announcing this fact until late that day, and so they could do nothing toward satisfying themselves as to levi farrington's identity until next morning, when they visited wisbey at his own house. mr. stone, wisbey's son-in-law, had met a man named smothers, who worked for jim durham, and smothers had told him all about the two men who had just arrived. according to their own account, they had left mrs. farrington at ash grove, in greene county, where she was going to buy a farm, levi having given her five thousand dollars for that purpose; levi and cousins were on their way to kansas, where they intended to settle down to raise cattle; levi's brother was said to be at lester's landing for the purpose of selling off a stock of groceries which they owned there. both men were well armed, having three navy revolvers and a shot-gun. when this news was transmitted to me by telegraph, i decided that this man cousins must be barton, and that hillary farrington might possibly be at lester's landing, as they said. i therefore telegraphed to william, who i knew would be in st. louis that day, _en route_ to verona, that he had better take connell and galway back to lester's to capture hillary, while cottrell and marriott undertook the arrest of levi and barton at durham's. i also sent a dispatch to cottrell to take no steps for their arrest until after william should have captured hillary. william, having previously thoroughly examined the contents of the store at lester's, knew that they were not worth over two hundred dollars, and he telegraphed me to that effect, suggesting that it was improbable that hillary should run so much risk for so small a sum. on learning this fact, i coincided with him, and ordered him to go on to verona, as i had originally intended. i desired that he should keep the durham place carefully watched until the arrival of the other farrington, who, i believed, would soon join the rest of the party; then, in case he arrived, we should get all three together; but, if the other two should show any signs of moving off, they could be taken at any time. mr. o'brien obtained requisitions from the governor of tennessee on the governor of missouri for the three men, and i felt that success was only delayed a day or two at most. chapter viii. _a determined party of horsemen.--the outlaws surrounded and the birds caged.--a parley.--an affecting scene.--the burning cabin.--its occupants finally surrender._ while the telegrams were flying back and forth on tuesday, the twelfth, cottrell and marriott were busily engaged. early that morning mr. stone came to verona, and told them that he had learned that farrington and cousins intended to leave durham's for the indian territory the next day. the news was doubtless authentic, stone having heard it from smothers, who had said that farrington had told him so himself. it was clearly impossible to wait for william's arrival, as, by that time, the men might be safely hidden in the wild country to the westward. instant action was absolutely necessary, and cottrell so informed mr. purdy, who soon gathered a force of eight men. very little would have been needed to obtain even a larger number of recruits, for, had mr. purdy and the detectives publicly told the story of the men whom they wished to capture, there would have been plenty of eager volunteers, all anxious to aid in ridding the country of such a band of outlaws. it was not deemed advisable, however, to summon a large posse, lest the news might spread so fast as to reach the ears of the criminals before the detectives could surround them; on this account only a few reliable men were let into the secret, and they left town singly and in pairs to avoid observation, having a rendezvous outside. just before starting, mr. purdy received a dispatch from the general land agent, ordering him to pearce city instantly, as several purchasers of land were awaiting him there; although he tried to have his visit postponed one day, he was unsuccessful, his orders being imperatively repeated by telegraph, and so he was unable to accompany the detectives and citizens on their expedition to durham's. the party of eight met the detectives outside the town, and they were joined on their way by three others, who lived on the road. they were all substantial business men or farmers, but they were accustomed to a life in the saddle, and they had all borne arms during the war on one side or the other. in spite of their present peaceful occupations they were not a body who could be trifled with, and it was evident that any gang of desperadoes would find their match in these cool, determined, law-abiding men. a few miles from verona they met a young lady riding a large brown mule, but none of the men in the party knew her. cottrell felt sure, however, that she was durham's sister, and that she was riding farrington's mule. the descriptions he had received of the girl from stone and wisbey coincided exactly with her appearance, while the mule could not be mistaken. he therefore sent a man back to watch her, lest she should have taken alarm at so large a cavalcade of armed men. she rode on to verona, however, without showing any signs of uneasiness, and the scout soon overtook the party. on arriving one mile from wisbey's, marriott went on to stone's house with six men, while cottrell went to wisbey's with the other five. stone and wisbey soon gathered a number of the neighbors, among whom was john ellis, who owned the house and land where the durhams were living; he was a very highly respected citizen, and was not at all displeased at the idea of getting rid of his semi-disreputable tenants. the management of the affair was then unanimously voted to cottrell, and the party rode rapidly toward the durham house. it was situated at the edge of a clearing, with underbrush and woodland close to it on three sides, so that great caution was necessary, lest the villains should see them approaching, and escape into the woods. at a reasonable distance from the house, therefore, the party divided, a part, under marriott's direction, dismounting and making their way to the rear of the house on foot. when sufficient time had elapsed to enable the latter party to surround the house, cottrell, with the remainder, dashed up to the front of the house and spread out, so as to make sure that no one should escape. as they approached, a man, who proved to be jim durham, appeared on the porch and asked what they wanted; to which cottrell replied that he wanted the men in the house. the words had hardly passed his lips ere barton sprang into the open doorway with a navy revolver leveled at cottrell; but, seeing that the latter, as well as several others, had him covered, he shut the door quickly and started for the back of the house. by this time, however, the cordon of guards had drawn close around, and, as he emerged at the rear, he found himself confronted by half a dozen determined men, who ordered him to surrender. he then hastily tried to close the back door also, and pointed his revolver through the crack; but the discharge of several shots, which struck close to him, caused him to withdraw his pistol and tightly close the door. it was evident that the birds were caged at last, and it was now only a question of time when they would be taken; as it was only one o'clock in the afternoon, there were still four hours of daylight to conduct the siege. jim durham, when he saw the rifles and revolvers of so large a force pointed at him, was thoroughly frightened, and he begged piteously that they would not shoot him. cottrell placed his men behind trees, fences, and other protections, so as to be safe from any attempt to pick them off by the men in the house, and yet to guard every means of exit from the place; he then called jim durham out and searched him, finding nothing but a single-barreled pistol. he then sent jim to the door of the house to summon the men inside to surrender, telling them that he was determined to have them--alive if possible, but if not, dead. they refused to surrender, saying that they would kill any man who should approach the house. when durham brought back their answer, cottrell sent word that he would give them five minutes in which to decide whether they would yield peaceably or be burned out and shot to death. just then mrs. durham, the mother of the durham boys, begged cottrell to allow her to go speak to farrington and barton, as she believed she could induce them to surrender. accordingly, she went to the front window and implored them not to have the house burned down, as all her household goods would be destroyed. they replied that they might as well die inside as to come out and be shot down. cottrell sent back word that they should be treated like all other prisoners if they would pass out their arms and surrender quietly; but if they tried to fight or resist, they would surely be killed. as they still refused, jim durham was sent to barricade the doors with fence rails, so that they should not be able to rush out unexpectedly. he whined and complained that the men inside would shoot him, but he was obliged to go, and though they did threaten him, he was able to crawl up and lay the rails without getting within range. the house was a solid log cabin, with only two doors and very few windows, so that it was possible to approach it in one or two directions without exposure to a fire from within. when the doors had been securely barricaded, cottrell ordered him to get on the roof, which was a common shingle roof, and set fire to the house. mrs. durham was carrying on at a great rate, first begging farrington to surrender, and then praying to cottrell not to burn her property. john ellis, to whom the house belonged, gave full permission to burn it, and a fire was built in the open air to make brands to set it afire. mrs. durham was allowed to make one more appeal to the ruffians inside, but they would not listen to her entreaties. they asked her, however, what kind of a looking man cottrell was, and what he wanted to arrest them for. cottrell was standing near enough to hear the question, and after mrs. durham had described his appearance, he told them that he wanted them for an express robbery; that he would treat them kindly if they should yield peaceably; but if they should refuse this, his last offer, he should set fire to the house and shoot them down as they ran out. he said he had no wish to kill them, but that he was determined they should not escape; rather than allow them to get away, he would have them shot on sight; but they would be protected and brought to trial if they would surrender. to this they replied that they intended killing some of their besiegers first, anyhow. finding further parley useless, therefore, cottrell gave the order to burn the building, and durham was forced to carry the embers and brands to burn his own premises. just at this time, the young girl, whom they had met riding a mule toward verona, rode up to the house and asked what was the matter. as cottrell had surmised, this was miss durham, and she was very much frightened at what she saw. the afternoon sun was buried in a deep bank of clouds, so that the twilight was rapidly drawing on, there being just enough light to show the barricaded doors, the deserted porch, and the determined men scattered around, with shot-guns and rifles pointed at the low log cabin, above which a frightened man stood out in bold relief against the sky, tearing off the shingles and piling them upon a glowing flame at his feet. everything was now hushed in deathly silence, and it needed no explanation for any one to understand that a bloody tragedy was about to occur if that flame should be allowed to envelop the building. it was now the prison of its two occupants, but only a short time would elapse before it would be their tomb. [illustration: _burning out the outlaws!_] on seeing the situation, miss durham asked to be allowed to speak to the men, as she said she knew they would listen to her. on cottrell's refusal to hold any more parley with them, she burst into tears, threw her arms around his neck, and implored him to let her speak to barton just once, if only for five minutes. finally, seeing that most of his party wished to give the girl a chance to speak to her sweetheart, cottrell said that she could have three minutes to obtain their arms; if they surrendered immediately, the fire should be put out; but, if they should still refuse, their last chance of saving the house and their lives would be gone. miss durham then went to the window, and talked with the men in the most imploring manner, urging them not to sacrifice themselves, as they would surely do if they remained in the burning house. her entreaties did not seem to affect them at first; and, as the flames were then beginning to gather strength, cottrell ordered her to come away from the house, and leave them to their fate. she made one more appeal, and barton handed her a navy revolver; then farrington did the same, and she brought them to cottrell, saying that they would surrender if they could be sure that their lives would be spared. cottrell told her to go back and get the rest of their arms, and assure them that they should be taken to tennessee for trial. she soon returned with another revolver and a shot-gun, and said that the men would come out. cottrell therefore removed the rails, opened the front door, and called them out--barton coming first, and then farrington. the latter proved to be hillary, not levi, as he had called himself. it was not known why he had used his brother's name, but it was supposed that hillary had taken his name to enable him to prove an _alibi_ in case he should be arrested. cottrell's party first secured the prisoners with ropes, and then assisted jim durham to extinguish the fire on the roof; the latter was quite rotten, and it had burned so slowly that very little damage had been done. the prisoners were thoroughly searched, but nothing of any consequence was found upon them, the total of their funds being less than three dollars. a prolonged search through the house revealed nothing of importance, except the fact that it was quite an arsenal for arms, there being found six navy revolvers, two double-barreled shot-guns, and a spencer repeating rifle. the siege had lasted nearly three hours, and, another hour having been spent in searching the house and saddling their animals, it was nearly dark by the time they started for verona. farrington and barton were carefully tied upon the horse and mule respectively, and, after thanking the neighboring farmers for their assistance, cottrell took the road back, accompanied by the eleven men who belonged in and about verona. the greatest care was taken that the prisoners should have no opportunity for escape, and they were informed that any attempt to get away would be the signal for riddling them with bullets. while riding along, cottrell learned from barton that the party had been very lucky in finding the two men in the house, since their usual custom had been to spend the days in the woods, coming in only at night to sleep. on this occasion, however, the weather was so cold that they were spending the day indoors. when asked why they had not surrendered before, they both made the same reply, namely: that they believed the posse of citizens intended either to shoot them immediately, or to hang them after a trial by lynch law. on arriving in verona early in the evening, the prisoners were securely tied up with ropes, and cottrell alternated during the night with marriott in watching them. a blacksmith was also called up, and shortly after midnight he completed two pair of leg shackles, with which they were fastened together. my men were greatly fatigued, having ridden a large number of miles every day for a week, and the excitement of the affair added, of course, to their prostration, but they resolutely paced the floor in alternate four-hour watches, determined that no possible loophole for escape should again be afforded to such daring villains as these two. the result of the expedition was, of course, transmitted to me in telegraphic cipher at once; but the arrest was kept secret for the time, in order to prevent a knowledge of it coming to levi farrington, who was still at large. according to barton, levi was concealed somewhere in tennessee, but this statement was proof positive that he was not in tennessee at all, since barton's object in telling anything about him was evidently intended to mislead us; hence, no faith was put in his story, and other steps were taken to capture levi. william arrived in verona on the morning after the fight, and he prepared to return with the prisoners to st. louis by the noon train. it was supposed that levi farrington was also on his way to the rendezvous at durham's farm, and that he would probably approach by the direct road through douglas county. cottrell and marriott were left, therefore, to attend to levi and the old lady, whose whereabouts were still uncertain. william saw most of the citizens engaged in the affair, and heartily thanked them for their aid; being questioned as to whether they should receive the reward of one thousand dollars offered by the express company for the capture of the two farringtons and barton, he informed them that he considered them entitled to it, and that he should recommend its payment, but that the matter would be decided by the officers of the company. i may here anticipate events somewhat to state that the company paid the citizens and farmers a liberal amount for their services in capturing the robbers, and a settlement was made which was satisfactory to all parties. william left verona about noon of the day he arrived, taking hillary farrington and barton with him, under guard of galway and connell. on arriving in st. louis, he separated the prisoners in order to induce barton to confess; and, after a long conversation, in which he showed barton how conclusive was the evidence against all three of the men, he obtained a very full confession, of which the greater part is here given exactly as it was taken down from barton's lips. chapter ix. _barton's confession.--the express robberies and the outlaws' subsequent experiences fully set forth therein.--a clue that had been suddenly dropped taken up with so much profit, that, after a desperate struggle, another desperado is captured._ "i am twenty-two years of age," said barton, "and my native place was columbus, mississippi. when quite young, i left home and took to following the army. about five or six years ago i moved to normandy, tennessee, and lived with the family of major landis, and two or three years later, i went to work on the nashville and northwestern railroad as a brakeman, remaining as such over two years. about three years since i formed the acquaintance of hillary and levi farrington, at waverly, tennessee. these are the men otherwise known as j. h. clark and edward j. russell. afterward i opened a saloon in nashville, and levi farrington visited me there several times. last april or may he was arrested on suspicion of counterfeiting, but as there was no case against him, he was discharged. after a short time, i went down to visit levi at mrs. farrington's; she lived at the head of tumbling run creek, twelve miles back of gillem station. hillary was in jail at memphis at that time, charged with murder and horse-stealing. when he got out of jail, levi, hillary, and myself all made a trip to little rock, arkansas, gambling by throwing three-card monte, and we won about thirteen hundred dollars; we then returned to gillem station, where we remained until the twenty-first of july, this year. during this time, levi, who frequently rode back and forth on the express trains, spoke of the feasibility of robbing them. "on the morning of july , levi, hillary, and myself left gillem station for the purpose of robbing the express train at some of the stations either on that road or on the mobile and ohio railroad. at union city we changed cars, and arrived at moscow just after dark. the plan was, that we all three should enter the car and overpower the messenger; but levi and hillary were the only ones who entered. i remained on the platform of the first passenger coach and kept watch. when the train was passing the water tank, they slacked up the speed, and we all jumped off and struck for the woods. the messenger had nothing whatever to do with this robbery, so far as i was ever informed. "as i said before, we struck into the woods and reached the river just above hickman, where we stole a fisherman's skiff, and all three of us started down the river. finding that we were pursued, we left the skiff on the tennessee shore, near island number ten. we then took the river road and walked back as far as lester's landing, arriving there about dinner-time, july . levi divided the money, giving me one-third of one thousand dollars, which was all, he said, in the safe, although i always believed there was more. "so far as i know, neither of the farringtons had ever met lester before, and i am sure that i had never set eyes on him until we went to his place at this time. on account of the spot being so lonely and isolated, hillary proposed that we put up a store there, as it would be a good cover for our actual business. we started the store, and applied to the postmaster to establish a post-office, to be known as lester's landing; our object in this move was, of course, to give an added color of respectability and _bona fide_ business to our transactions. from this time until the middle of october, i remained at the store nearly all the time; hillary was also there most of the time, but levi very seldom. during one of the latter's western trips, he said he had been out to see his aunt durham. "along in october, levi proposed that we again strike the express company when the train stopped for supper at union city. hillary had been in the habit of riding back and forth on the engine, and he understood how to run a train. levi suggested that we take a man named bill taylor into the robbery with us; he was then employed chopping wood for lester, and when levi approached him on the subject he agreed to go. levi left lester's a few days before the robbery. hillary and i did not leave until the nineteenth, when we went up to columbus by steamer, taking along a large quantity of fish. having sold our fish, we took the train for union city, where we arrived the same evening. on getting off the train, we met levi and bill taylor on the platform, and the only conversation which took place was when levi asked why we had not arrived sooner, to which we replied that we came as soon as we could. the next morning we met again, having slept in separate places so as not to attract attention, and went down the road some distance toward hickman. while camped in the woods that evening, about ten o'clock, an old man named hicks came along with a bottle of whisky and stopped at our camp-fire quite a time. there were present hillary, levi, myself, and bill taylor. we remained in the woods all that night. the next day we moved further into the woods toward hickman, and at night, just at dark, we came back to union city. "we had been there only a few minutes when the up train came along; she stopped and backed down a little ways, when all the train hands left her and went to supper. hillary and taylor then boarded the engine, and levi and myself jumped aboard the express car. the messenger was eating his supper when we went in, and, seeing levi point a derringer at him, he exclaimed: 'don't shoot me! i will surrender.' levi compelled him to unlock the safe, and we took all the money. levi then swung the messenger's lantern, and the train stopped, when we all jumped off and started down the railroad to hickman. our intention was to go to the wood-yard near union city, and steal a ride on a freight train to hickman. we hid under the platform at the wood-yard, and while there levi accidentally shot himself in the thigh; but the wound was very slight, and it hardly interfered with his walking. as the freight train did not stop, we were obliged to walk to hickman, where we arrived sunday night. we had had some provisions when we first camped out, which bill taylor had carried in a valise; but he had left the valise and all its contents on the engine, so that we had very little to eat. "while in the woods we divided the money, but levi, who carried it, showed up only twenty three hundred dollars. "sunday night we stole a skiff in hickman and went down the river to james' bayou, and while there, on monday morning, we saw messenger cross, whose car had been robbed, making inquiries about us in a grocery-store. we then started off on foot, going down the river on the missouri shore. about a mile below james' bayou we found the skiff which we had previously set adrift, and which had evidently been picked up by some one. taking this skiff again, hillary, taylor, and i dropped down to a point about a mile above lester's, leaving levi on the missouri shore, where we started from. we landed on the tennessee shore, and walked down the river road a short distance, when taylor left us, remaining in the woods. hillary and i met lester on the road soon afterward, and told him that we had come down on a steamboat which was then tied up, on account of the heavy fog. levi arrived next day, having come across the river with a fisherman. "the following sunday, october , hillary left on a steamboat, taking with him a woman named slaughter, with whom he said he was going to davidson's wood-yard, nine miles above cape girardeau. he expected to return in a few days. "the next thing of any importance which occurred was on the tuesday night following, when messrs. pinkerton and connell rode up to lester's house. at the first glance, i thought they were officers, and levi told me that he thought the same. i saw him pull his pistol out of his pocket before getting out of his chair." [the moment connell opened the door, levi knew that he was a detective, having seen him acting in that capacity in memphis, when hillary was arrested for horse-stealing the previous spring.] "when i made my escape from lester's house," continued barton, "i ran right back through the cornfield; i heard all the shooting, but did not see it. in a short time levi joined me in the cane-brake back of the cornfield. levi told me that he had had a shooting match with the two officers, but he did not know whether he had hit either of them or not; they had not hit him, but he had had a very narrow escape. "after awhile we slipped up to the house, and saw that the officers were gone; so we went in, got our supper, and took our pistols, besides a shawl and blanket. we then got an old skiff, crossed the river, and slept in the woods on the missouri shore. the next day we remained under cover until nightfall, when we recrossed the river, and went through the woods to union city, spending wednesday night and thursday in the woods on the way. on thursday night we took the train from union city to gillem station. the conductor of the train was conductor roberts, on whose run i had formerly been brakeman; and, being afraid he might recognize me, i laid down in my seat and covered up my face, while levi paid both fares. we arrived at gillem station about three o'clock in the morning, and reached mrs. farrington's house about daylight. "i gave mrs. farrington five hundred and fifty dollars in money to keep for me, this amount being the proceeds of both express robberies, and she still has it in her possession. before leaving lester's, hillary had given most of his money to levi to take to their mother to keep for him, and levi left with her nearly the whole of his share of the plunder also. "we had been at mrs. farrington's a week when hillary arrived. before this, we all thought that the officers had captured him, and we were quite surprised to see him safe. he said that detective connell had arrested him at mrs. gully's, and that he had made his escape by jumping out of connell's wagon into a thicket near allenville; he had then gone right back to the house where he had left mrs. slaughter, where he got a pistol and some money, and had his irons removed. "at the time hillary arrived at mrs. farrington's, the old lady had been gone a day and a night on her way to texas or missouri. it was understood that levi and i were to meet her somewhere on the road, or at holton's farm, near the line between lawrence and dade counties, missouri. the day after hillary arrived, we started for missouri; i was riding a sorrel horse; hillary, a chestnut-sorrel horse; and levi, a large brown mule. we spent two days at the house of mr. douglas, near mrs. farrington's, and then crossed the tennessee river at cuba. we crossed the mississippi river by the last ferryboat on friday evening, november , at hall's ferry, opposite point pleasant, missouri. we saw no men on guard at the ferries. we struck right out through nigger-wool swamp to bloomfield, where levi left us. he said he was going to farmington, illinois, as that was a good place to keep under cover. after he left us, nothing important occurred until our arrest. we knew where mrs. farrington was every night, and also knew all about the two men who were following her; we did not mind letting them follow her, as they could not have captured us, and we could have shaken them off at any time if we had wanted to do so. "levi and hillary frequently spoke of making other raids upon the express company, and said what a soft thing it was. it was my intention to separate from them as soon as i could get my money from the old lady, as i wished to return to my friends below columbus, mississippi. "the foregoing is all i know of the farringtons or the express robberies. (signed), "william barton." it will be observed how completely this confession corroborated our investigations, there being few new points learned. the information that mrs. farrington had possession of nearly all the stolen money was valuable, and i sent instructions to cottrell, at once, to attach all of her property in the name of the southern express company, if it could be done. but the most important feature brought out was the hiding-place of levi farrington, which was given as farmington, illinois. it will be remembered that william found, at the store at lester's landing, some pieces of paper, upon which was scribbled, "kate graham, farmington, illinois;" that i sent a detective to that place to see mrs. graham; that the latter answered, with every evidence of truthfulness, that she did not know russell, clark, or barton; and that the clue was dropped immediately. from barton, however, william learned that mrs. kate graham was a cousin of the farringtons, and that, being a highly respectable and conscientious woman, she knew nothing of their _aliases_, nor of their crimes. it was there that levi farrington had gone to hide. barton's confession was made on the fourteenth, and william instantly sent me a cipher dispatch containing the important features of it. by the evening train of that day, my other son, robert a. pinkerton, took passage for farmington, accompanied by detective w. t. brown, of my force. they arrived there about noon the next day, and soon learned that levi farrington was staying with his relatives. having presented letters of introduction to one or two influential men, robert obtained an introduction to the city marshal, who promised to give all the aid in his power to arrest farrington. about two o'clock they saw the latter coming down the street, and, by previous arrangement, robert allowed levi to pass him, both walking toward brown and the marshal. levi farrington was a very powerful man, standing six feet in his stockings, with a frame and muscles in proportion to his size. remembering the desperate character of the man, robert did not deem it advisable to give him any chance to draw a weapon or show fight; he therefore followed farrington closely until he was about ten feet from the marshal, and then, springing at him, he pinioned the desperado's arms by clasping him tightly around the body just at the elbows. farrington did not stop to question the cause of this proceeding--he knew the reason of his seizure well enough--but, gathering his whole strength, he made one jump away from the two officers who were approaching in front, and landed nearly in the middle of the street, taking robert along with him. robert clung to him like a vise, however, and before he could make another such an effort, the other two were upon him. a terrible struggle now ensued in the street, during which both robert and brown were badly bruised by being rolled upon and kicked by their powerful prisoner. robert knew that farrington was desperate enough to fight to the bitter end, and that he would kill as many as he could before being killed himself; to release his arms, therefore, would enable him to draw a weapon, as he was undoubtedly well armed, hence robert never relaxed his hold. having a professional pride in securing his prisoner alive, moreover, he did not wish to resort to extreme measures except to save the lives of other persons, and, as a large crowd had gathered around the moment the struggle began, there would have been evident danger in allowing him an instant's freedom. over and over they rolled together, therefore, farrington striving with all his strength to break robert's clasp upon his arms, while the other two officers were doing their best to pinion his legs. after a ten minutes' struggle, they succeeded at length in holding him down and sitting upon his legs until he could be tied with ropes. by this time, the whole party were pretty thoroughly exhausted, but, after resting a few minutes to recover their breath, the officers got handcuffs on their prisoner's wrists, and took him to the railroad station, where he was searched. little money was found on his person, but he had a large revolver, two derringer pistols, and a large dirk concealed about him. he was then placed in the freight office, while brown and mr. graham, mrs. kate graham's husband, went to the latter's house to get levi's baggage. on their return, the whole party took passage for chicago, where they did not arrive until next day, owing to the failure to make connections. in levi's valise were found two revolvers, some jewelry, and a very large sum of money. they arrived so late on saturday that there was no train for cairo before the following evening, and meantime the prisoner required the most careful watching, as none of our handcuffs were large enough to fit his wrists without cutting into the flesh. robert and brown were completely prostrated by the strain upon their muscles and the injuries they had received, so that they felt the effects of the struggle for several days. the moment that robert arrived in chicago with his prisoner, the latter was taken to the first precinct police station, where he was placed in a cell for safe keeping. during the afternoon it was learned that he had sent for a lawyer to obtain a writ of _habeas corpus_. the arrest had been made without any warrant, and no requisition had been obtained for use in illinois, as i had expected to capture all three of the men in missouri. should farrington succeed in getting the desired writ, i should be forced to give up my hold upon him, and, before the requisition of the governor of tennessee upon the governor of illinois could be received, he would be probably beyond the reach of pursuit. i therefore procured a closed vehicle and took the prisoner out for a drive, carefully bound, with two reliable men as guards. the afternoon was thus spent, and, after dark, there being no longer any object in driving around the suburbs of the city, farrington was taken to my office and kept all night. he behaved very well, and did not seem anxious to get away by force. he tried, however, to induce robert to let him go, telling him that it would be worth a very large amount of money to him to do so. finding his offers disregarded, he appeared to take his arrest very coolly, saying that he guessed he had money enough to see him through. on sunday evening, robert and brown took him to the railroad station, and the party embarked for cairo. chapter x. _a terrible struggle for life or death upon the transfer-boat "illinois."--"overboard!"--one less desperado.--the fourth and last robber taken._ after barton had made his confession to william in st. louis, the prisoners, hillary farrington and barton, were kept separate, as the latter was afraid that hillary would find some means of killing him. about midnight of thursday, december fourteenth, they all took passage by railroad for cairo, and there they immediately went on board the large transfer-boat to columbus, kentucky. all the detectives were thoroughly worn out from excitement and loss of sleep, but they did not for an instant relax their vigilant watch upon their prisoners. william had been talking for some time with hillary, trying to obtain a confession and to learn what had been done with the money secured at the two robberies. from the questions that william asked, hillary soon learned, or surmised, that barton had confessed. he was terribly enraged at this, and without doubt he would have killed barton if he could have got at him; but being unable to do so, his fury was all turned upon his captors. my son hoped by threatening to have mrs. farrington arrested and imprisoned, to induce hillary to give up his share of the plunder rather than have his mother punished. this threat seemed to infuriate him beyond anything, and he swore that he would have his revenge on william if he had to wait twenty years for it. after sitting sullenly thinking on the subject for a time, he said he was cold, and wanted to get a drink. william therefore offered to go with him into the bar-room, and they walked toward the forward end of the saloon, leaving galway and barton seated together. connell had gone into the water-closet a few moments before, but, as there was a detective with each of the prisoners, no attempt at escape was anticipated. the steamer was the powerfully-built transfer-boat "illinois," and she was running with great speed, her ponderous wheels revolving at an unusually rapid rate. the bar-room was situated just forward of the saloon, after passing through the barber shop, and it could be entered from the saloon or through a door leading upon the guards, just forward of the paddle-box. as they were about to enter the barber shop from the saloon, hillary drew back, saying that he did not want to go that way, as there were some men in that room whom he knew. they therefore went out upon the guards to walk along to the outer door of the bar-room. the space was narrow, and the rail quite low, so that it would not have been at all difficult for a man to spring overboard, even though he were in irons. this idea occurred to william, but he did not trouble himself about it, since he knew that the heavy strokes of the paddle-wheel would instantly kill any one who might attempt such a thing. william wore a loose-fitting sack coat with large pockets, in one of which he carried a heavy army revolver, which he had taken from hillary, his own revolver being in his belt. in walking it was his habit to put his hand on the butt of this army revolver, which protruded somewhat from the pocket. on reaching the door, however, he took his right hand from the pistol to turn the knob. this was a careless action, of which he never would have been guilty, had he been less fatigued, mentally and physically, but, being so used up as to act almost mechanically, his habitual thoughtfulness was momentarily absent, and he was caught off his guard for an instant in a manner which nearly cost him his life. it should be understood that the scene which ensued occurred so rapidly as to occupy less time in its passage than is required to read about it, and that during those few seconds a struggle of life and death was going on. hardly had william's hand touched the doorknob ere he felt the pistol drawn out of his coat pocket. he knew there was but one person who could have done it, and that person was a perfect devil thirsting for his blood. turning like a flash, he seized farrington by both wrists, just as the latter was trying to cock the pistol; then there was a terrible contest. the pistol was in farrington's hands, which were held so close together by the irons as to make it impossible to wrench one away from the other; it was pointed directly at william's head, and should farrington succeed in cocking it, william's death would be instantaneous. all his energies, therefore, were directed toward keeping farrington's hands far enough apart to prevent him from drawing back the hammer. the space was too narrow to permit of such a struggle without one party or the other being forced back upon the rail, and, in a moment, william had lifted his lighter antagonist from the deck, pressing him against the railing, and at the same time shouting for assistance. in response to his call, connell came running out in _dishabille_, with his pistol in one hand and his pantaloons in the other. at this moment the cold muzzle of the pistol was pressed against william's temple, and he heard the click of the hammer as his desperate prisoner succeeded in drawing it back. he made a violent plunge forward, ducking his head as he did so, and simultaneously the pistol exploded close to his ear, the ball ploughing a little furrow in the scalp, while the powder scorched his neck and hair. staggering back stunned and dizzy for a moment, he was caught by connell, who asked whether he was much hurt. he soon gathered his senses, and, finding his wound to be only trifling, he asked what had become of farrington. connell pointed overboard, and no further answer was necessary; no man dropping in front of those wheels could have lived for an instant, and, even had he not been struck, he could not have kept himself up in the rapid current then running filled with fine ice. by this time the bar-room, barber shop, and saloon had been emptied of their occupants, and the boat had been stopped to see whether the man could be picked up; but, as this was clearly hopeless, the trip was soon resumed. connell's arrival had been most opportune for william, since he had caught the weapon the moment it was discharged, and succeeded in changing the course of the bullet sufficiently to save william's life. thinking, however, that william had been killed, connell had struck farrington on the head with his pistol almost simultaneously with the explosion, and the blow, aided by the plunge which william made forward in endeavoring to dodge the pistol-shot, had sent farrington over the rail into the water, where he was undoubtedly killed the next instant by the paddle-wheels. the fact of the man's death was so absolutely certain that no person could doubt it, if acquainted with the circumstances; yet there were not wanting people who insinuated that he had been allowed to escape by jumping overboard and swimming ashore. the absurdity of such a story is manifest, for, even supposing that his irons had been removed, and that he had escaped injury from the paddle-wheels, he never could have swam ashore at the spot where the affair occurred. the nearest point of the river bank was more than three hundred yards away, and the current at that place was running off the shore; besides, the night was very cold, and the water was covered with a film of ice, so that after five minutes' immersion in it, a man would have become wholly numbed and insensible. barton was not at all surprised when he heard of hillary farrington's death, for he said that he knew hillary so well that he had expected nothing else from the time he was taken; he was so desperate that his intention undoubtedly had been to have seized william and dragged him overboard; but, seeing the pistol, another idea had probably occurred to him. barton said that had hillary succeeded in killing william, he would have gone up to the pilot-house with the revolver, and forced the pilot to land him immediately; once on shore, his knowledge of the country would have enabled him to escape again. whatever had been his plans, however, he had failed in his attempt at murder, and had paid the penalty of his rashness with his life. the rest of the party went on to columbus, where they took passage for union city, arriving there friday morning. about this time, mr. ball, who had been sent to follow the wagon train of mrs. farrington, reported, after a silence of several days, that he had traced her into the indian territory. in point of fact, she was settled at ash grove, near mount vernon, in greene county, missouri, and had been there ever since hillary and barton had left her before their arrest at durham's. it will thus be seen how fortunate it was that i had not trusted to ball and bledsoe to keep track of mrs. farrington, since they had utterly lost the trail, and had followed another set of wagons for several days as far as the indian territory; when, probably suspecting that he had made a mistake, ball telegraphed to the express company's officers for instructions. he was then ordered to return at once with bledsoe, the whole party having been captured by that time. while speaking of mrs. farrington, i may as well give an account of all our dealings with her, irrespective of the chronological order of the story: having received barton's order upon her for all of the wagons and stock, and for five hundred and fifty dollars in money, cottrell endeavored to attach her property in a civil suit. she insisted that she had none of barton's money--indeed, that she had no money at all--and she refused to give up anything. at last, finding that he could not legally attach her property, cottrell took the bold step of arresting her for receiving stolen goods. she was taken to mount vernon, where she engaged a lawyer to defend her, and then, of course, cottrell was also obliged to employ a legal adviser. at length, a compromise was effected, by which mrs. farrington was allowed to retain a small portion of the property; cottrell then took possession of the remainder as agent of the express company, and mrs. farrington was discharged from custody. after selling some of the animals, cottrell shipped all the remaining chattels to st. louis, where the agent of the express company took charge of them. the two detectives then returned to chicago, and no further attention was paid to mrs. farrington. on saturday, after the arrival of william's party, with barton, in union city, detectives galway and connell started out to arrest bill taylor, the fourth one of the party of robbers. this man was a long, lank, round-shouldered fellow, with putty face, long, straggling hair and beard, and a vacant expression of countenance, who lived by hunting and chopping wood, below lester's landing, in the vicinity of reel's foot lake. william had been satisfied of his complicity in the robbery for some time previous to the arrest of the others, but he had not arrested him for the reason that he was sure of picking him up whenever he wished to do so; and, knowing taylor to have been merely a weak accomplice, he was anxious to secure the leaders in the crime first. barton's confession made the suspicion of taylor's guilt a certainty, and so galway and connell were sent to arrest him. at mr. merrick's they obtained a good guide, and four other citizens joined them, so that they had quite a formidable party. after visiting several houses in the cane-brake, they learned where taylor was staying, and, on going there, they saw him looking at them from a front window. galway asked taylor to come down a few minutes to give them some information, and taylor unsuspectingly complied. he had been allowed to go free so long, and had so often talked with william and others about the robbery, that he did not imagine their object on this occasion. on coming into the yard, therefore, he greeted the men cordially, supposing them to be a party scouting for the other robbers, of whose arrest he had not heard. when he saw a couple of navy revolvers close to his head, and heard an order to throw up his hands, he surrendered without a word. he was evidently badly frightened, but he would not confess having had any part in the robbery, and he refused to tell where his share of the money was concealed. he was placed on connell's horse and taken to merrick's, where another horse was obtained, and the party went on to hickman; thence he was taken by wagon to union city, arriving there about midnight of saturday. both barton and taylor were placed in rooms in the hotel, where they were carefully watched night and day by my detectives, the county jail being almost useless as a place for keeping prisoners. on learning that the whole party had been arrested, taylor made a very full confession of all the circumstances connected with the robbery, and the movements of the robbers after it had occurred. he confirmed barton's account in every particular, but revealed nothing new of any importance. his share of the stolen money had been only about one hundred and fifty dollars, as levi had made him believe that they had obtained only six hundred dollars in all. about fifty dollars were found on taylor's person; the rest he had spent. he said that levi farrington had hidden all the checks, drafts, and unnegotiable paper underneath an old log in the woods, but that he could not tell where the log was, nor find it, since it was not marked in any way, nor had they taken any bearings by which to remember it. he gave an account of the evening when hicks, the tipsy planter, came to their camp-fire, which agreed exactly with the previous statements of hicks and barton; but one slight remark in his confession seemed to account for the fifth man mentioned by hicks. taylor said that during most of the time hicks was at their camp, one or two of the party were lying on the ground with their feet toward the fire, and that there was a log of wood lying beside them. now, it is probable that hicks was just drunk enough to be unable to tell the difference between a man and a log, especially as, in his description of the men, he gave the appearance of hillary farrington twice as belonging to different persons. hicks's vision was somewhat uncertain that night, evidently. chapter xi. _the last scene in the drama approaching.--a new character appears.--the citizens of union city suddenly seem to have important business on hand.--the vigilantes and their work.--their bullets and judge lynch administer a quietus to levi farrington and david towler.--the end._ the last scene in this drama seemed about to end in the complete defeat of the whole gang of villains and the triumph of law and justice, when a new character came upon the stage, and the curtain fell upon a bloody tragedy. that substantial justice was done cannot be denied, though the manner of its execution was beyond and outside all forms of law. it was a striking instance of the manner in which an outraged community, particularly in the west and south, will arrive at a satisfactory settlement of important questions without the intervention of courts, juries, or lawyers. the court of judge lynch makes mistakes occasionally, but it rarely admits of an appeal from its decision. robert arrived in union city with levi farrington on monday, december eighteenth, and he took his prisoner to the hotel for safe keeping, with the others. they were kept in separate rooms, and a detective remained with each of them constantly. william spent several hours with levi farrington, trying to induce him to tell where he had hidden the stolen papers, and also what he had done with his share of the money, of which he had undoubtedly retained the greater part. finally he agreed to return all the papers, and about twenty-five hundred dollars besides, on condition that he should receive a sentence of only five years in the penitentiary on entering a plea of guilty. having agreed to this arrangement, william went to his room, which was a large one, with several beds, occupied by robert, brown, and connell. as the men of my force were all pretty well used up, taylor and barton were placed in the same room, with galway guarding them, while farrington, being such a desperate fellow, was put in another room, with three of the union city policemen as guards. soon after the arrival of robert with levi farrington, a man, named david towler, tried to get admission to farrington's room. on being denied, he was very insolent, and he insisted on seeing farrington alone. finding that this would not be permitted, he went away cursing the officers and swearing to be revenged. his actions naturally attracted the attention of the police, and caused him to be regarded with a great deal of suspicion, as a probable member of the farrington party of robbers. about eleven o'clock that night, a policeman, named benjamin kline, discovered this man towler with a drawn revolver, skulking behind a car standing on the side track near the dépôt. he immediately called for the railroad company's night watchman, and the two approached the thief to arrest him. the man instantly shot kline through the lungs, and then shot moran, the watchman. kline's wound was mortal, and he died in a few minutes, while moran was supposed to be fatally hurt also. the pistol-shots quickly drew a crowd, and a few determined men gave chase to the murderer. after quite a long pursuit he was captured, and brought back to the station where kline had just died. a justice of the peace held a preliminary examination at once, and the prisoner, david towler, was held for murder, without bail. he was known to be a low, desperate fellow, who had been imprisoned for horse-stealing and other kindred crimes, until he was regarded almost as an outlaw. he had long lived near reel's foot lake, and while there he had become acquainted with the farringtons. that their friendship was more than that of two casual acquaintances was shown by an important circumstance discovered by william. it will be remembered that when levi farrington stopped in cairo to send eight hundred dollars to his mother, he purchased two of the largest-sized smith & wesson revolvers. they were exact fac-similes of each other, and were numbered , and , respectively. at the time of levi's arrest, only one of these revolvers was found, and he said that he had given away the other to a friend, retaining number , himself. when towler was captured, william happened to notice that his revolver was similar to the one levi had carried. this would have been nothing to be remarked under ordinary circumstances, since there were, undoubtedly, many of these revolvers in use, all exactly alike except in number; but william connected this man towler's appearance in union city with the arrival of the express robbers, and the new revolver caught his eye at once. on closely examining it, his suspicions were fully confirmed: _it was numbered_ , , and was, without question, the mate to levi's, bought by him in cairo and given to towler. when this news became known to the throng of citizens whom the shooting of kline and moran had drawn together, the feeling against all the prisoners became intense, and when towler was committed by the justice to the guard of the men who were watching levi, the citizens began to depart very suddenly, as if they either had important business elsewhere, or were in a hurry to get home. by midnight the town was quiet, and after a visit to the guards, to caution them to be extra vigilant, william and robert retired to their room, together with brown and connell. young kline, whom towler had murdered, was very highly esteemed in union city, and his death at the hands of an outlaw would have aroused deep indignation at any time; but just now there were additional reasons why the affair should excite a desire for summary vengeance upon his assassin. it had been shown that towler must have formerly been on intimate terms with the farringtons, and these latter were well known as desperadoes, whose hand was turned against every man; hence, the crimes of the whole party were considered as a sort of partnership affair, for which each member of the firm was individually liable. but, besides the natural indignation of the law-abiding citizens for the crimes committed by these men, there was a widespread sense of insecurity so long as they were in that vicinity. towler had remarked, when captured, that he would soon be out again, and all the prisoners bore themselves with an air of bravado, as if they had no fear nor expectation of punishment. it was believed that a number of friends of the gang among the desperadoes living in nigger-wool swamp and near reel's foot lake intended to attempt the rescue of the whole party of express robbers, before they could be consigned to a secure place of confinement. the citizens who had risked their lives to capture towler and the others, who had turned out in time to see poor kline die in agony, were determined that nothing should occur to prevent justice from reaching the criminals, and exacting the fullest penalty for their numerous crimes; hence the sudden departure of the throng who had attended towler's preliminary examination before the justice. they did not go to their homes, but gathered in a secluded place, and formed a committee of safety. the question as to what course would best protect the lives and property of the community was then discussed, and a conclusion was soon reached, without a dissenting voice. throughout the town all was hushed in the usual stillness of a winter's night; no lights were burning anywhere, save in an occasional sick-chamber, and sleep seemed to have fallen alike upon the just and unjust. in one room of the hotel were barton and taylor, guarded by galway and an employé of the express company, while near by was the room where levi farrington and david towler were watched by three of the city policemen. a dim light burned in each room, and, while the guards paced the floor in their stocking feet, the prisoners lay on their beds in deep slumber. not a memory of the past, full as it was of scenes of crime and blood, came to break their repose; not a thought of the future, with its possibilities of punishment, caused them to lose one moment of their customary rest. fear they had never known; remorse was long since forgotten; unconscious or careless of their impending doom, they slept the night away. about two o'clock there was a stealthy gathering of masked men at the door of the hotel, and, at a given signal from the leader, a certain number slipped upstairs with little noise, and filled the corridor from which the prisoners' rooms opened. so sudden was their appearance and so quiet their approach that even the wakeful guards scarce heard them until the doors were forced open. then the policy of silence was dropped, and a rush upon the guards was made. a battery of pistols suddenly confronted them, and, as resistance was clearly impossible, an unconditional surrender was at once made. the bursting in of the doors awakened william and robert, who hastily sprang up, and, without stopping to put on any clothing, opened their door, pistol in hand. this move, however, had been anticipated by the vigilantes, and a dozen or more pistols were thrust in their faces as they appeared in the doorway. "go back, pinkerton, we don't want to hurt you," said one of the men outside, and they were pushed back into the room, while the door was hastily closed in their faces. to resist such a body with the few men at his command, william knew, would be suicidal, and he did not especially care to sacrifice himself in the interest of such a villainous band as those whom the vigilantes were seeking. the four detectives, therefore, dressed themselves and remained in their room awaiting further developments. having overpowered the guards, the leader of the vigilantes ordered the removal of towler, and, as the latter was hustled out of the door, levi farrington knew that his hour had come. standing up and facing the remainder of the crowd, who had withdrawn to the further side of the room, he defied them all, and told them to fire away. a volley of pistol-shots was the reply to his words, and a rattling fire continued for two or three minutes; when it ceased, levi farrington was no more, his body having been struck by more than thirty balls, almost any one of which would have been instantaneously fatal. his body was left where it fell, and the room was soon deserted as the party hastened after the detachment which had towler in charge. the whole affair was over in ten minutes, and when the detectives again left their room none of the masked party were to be seen. levi farrington's body was found in his room, but no trace of towler could be discovered. finding that the excitement was over, the detectives returned to bed, leaving barton and taylor still carefully guarded. the former had slept through the confusion and noise without even a start or restless movement, but taylor was terribly frightened, and he fully expected to be lynched also. [illustration: "_the work of the vigilante's._"--_page_--] the next morning at breakfast, william was informed that the body of towler had been found hanging to a tree near the graveyard, and, on going to the spot, they found him as represented. at the coroner's inquest little testimony could be obtained further than that one man had been shot to death and the other hung by parties unknown, and the verdict was rendered accordingly. there was naturally considerable excitement over the affair for two or three days, but the general verdict was, "served 'em right." however violent had been their taking off, there were few who did not feel that society demanded their death, not only as a punishment for their past crimes, but as a means of security in the future. believing that a sentence to the penitentiary was wholly inadequate, and that their escape therefrom was not only possible, but probable, the citizens preferred to take no risks of future robberies and murders by these desperadoes, and they therefore took the most effectual method of preventing their occurrence. their action was illegal, it is true, but then it was just--which is a more important consideration sometimes. on the following friday, barton and taylor had their preliminary hearing before a justice, when they waived examination, and were committed for trial in default of bail in the sum of ten thousand dollars each. upon the representation to the justice that the county jail was an unsafe place to confine the prisoners, permission was obtained to remove them to the jail in memphis; the proper papers were made out, and the transfer was made under william's management. the death of levi farrington made the recovery of the missing checks, papers, and money an impossibility, since neither barton nor taylor were able to conduct the officers to the place where they were hidden. barton gave the company a bill of sale of the goods in the store at lester's landing, however, and an assignment of all debts due the firm, from which about five or six hundred dollars were eventually realized. robert and brown attended to this matter and returned to chicago. william was on duty until the two remaining prisoners were safely lodged in jail in memphis, and then, having settled up all the business of which he had had charge, he also returned home. at the next term of court in obion county, tennessee, barton and taylor pleaded guilty of grand larceny, and were each sentenced to five years' confinement at hard labor in the penitentiary. thus, out of a party of four engaged in this robbery, two were finally brought to trial and appropriately punished, while the other two would have been so punished also, had not a higher penalty been demanded by the circumstances of their cases, aggravated by their own brutal and revengeful dispositions. no reminiscence in my experience shows a more striking illustration of the certainty of retribution for crime than does the career and fate of these outlaws of the southwest. the end. don pedro and the detectives. chapter i. _a fraudulent scheme contemplated.--a dashing peruvian don and donna.--a regal forger.--mr. pinkerton engaged by senator muirhead to unveil the mystery of his life.--the don and donna morito arrive at gloster.--"personnel" of gloster's "first families."_ the history of crimes against prosperity is of vital interest to the public. the ingenuity of thieves, burglars, forgers, and confidence men is active and incessant, so that their plans are often successful even against the experience and precautions of men of the most wary and cautious character. this seems to be especially true when the amounts at stake are large, for petty attempts to defraud are so frequent, that when a criminal plays for a large sum, the suspicion of the capitalist is wholly allayed by the improbability that a mere swindler should undertake an operation of such magnitude. indeed, in many cases the cupidity of the victim is so great that the sharper hardly offers the bait ere it is swallowed by some confiding simpleton. hence, as a warning for the future, the lessons of past frauds possess no small degree of interest and value to the world; and as there is no portion of society free from the depredations of these schemers, their various wiles and snares cannot be exposed too often. more than twenty years ago, the city of gloster was one of the most thriving cities of the west. controlling the interior trade to a large extent, its interests were of the most varied character, and its inhabitants were already distinguished as being more cosmopolitan than those of any other city in the union, except new york. they had imbibed, perhaps, some of the genius of the prairies, and their scorn of petty methods of doing business, their breadth of charity and hearty hospitality, were as boundless as the great plains of which the city was the business center at that time. among such a people, a plausible adventurer had a fine field of operation, and i was not surprised when i was asked to go to gloster in the latter part of the winter to investigate the character of some persons who were living there. the application came from senator muirhead, a man whom i had long known, both in his public and private life. his suspicions were of the vaguest possible character, and a hasty examination of the case failed to convince me that they were well founded; yet he was convinced in his own mind that there was a fraudulent scheme in contemplation, and his positive conviction had great weight with me. the senator's interest in the case had led him to make extensive inquiries into the antecedents of these parties, but he was unable to trace them further back than their arrival in new york, several months before. there they had suddenly appeared in society with a great display of wealth, stating that they had been traveling in europe for some time, and were gradually making their way back to peru, where they lived. don pedro p. l. de morito and his wife, having enjoyed life in new york for several months, now proposed to spend at least a year in gloster, and it was this couple whose character was suspected by the senator. indeed, he felt sure that, at least, they were traveling under assumed names, and certain coincidences led him to believe that they were adroit swindlers of the most capable, dangerous type. he had discovered a chain of circumstantial evidence which needed only one link to make a clear connection between certain crimes and these fascinating peruvians, and it was for the purpose of discovering this link that he had requested my aid. in brief, his suspicions were, that after innumerable frauds in other countries, this plausible pair had settled in gloster to add to their ill-gotten wealth by some new scheme of villainy. his theoretic history of the man, derived from various sources, mainly newspapers in which crimes had been described bearing the same style of workmanship, was as follows. josé gomez, a cadet of the ancient brazilian family of that name, began life with a fine physique, ample mental endowments, and a high social position. he was the heir-expectant of a valuable estate, and no pains were spared upon his education. as he grew to manhood, however, his habits became such as to excite the gravest apprehensions as to his future, and by the time he was thirty years of age he was a reckless libertine, gambler, and spendthrift. finding that his source of supplies was about to be cut off by his family, he obtained large sums of money by means of forged paper, with which he fled from rio janeiro to lima, peru. his whereabouts were not discovered for a long time, but when the information was received, the brazilian government made an effort to obtain his extradition. he was living in fine style in lima, under the assumed name of juan sanchez, and, in some way, he was warned of his danger. before any steps had been taken to expose or arrest him, he perpetrated another series of forgeries, by which he obtained a large amount of money, and then wholly disappeared. the aggregate of his forgeries was so great that a considerable notoriety attached to the case, and the facts were published in full in the leading newspapers of this country. about the time of the great rush to california, after the gold discoveries there, a gentleman known as don josé michel appeared in san francisco, where he lived in regal splendor; indeed, his extravagance was so great as to make him conspicuous even among the reckless throng who filled the golden city. after wasting a fortune with a prodigal hand, however, he suddenly vanished, and, although little was known positively on the subject, it was commonly understood that he had swindled a number of bankers and capitalists by worthless notes, drafts, and checks, many of which were wholly or partly forged. the men thus defrauded kept the matter quiet, both because they were ashamed to acknowledge how easily they had been imposed upon, and because they hoped to facilitate the capture of the criminal by working in secret. the incidents were related to senator muirhead in a casual conversation with a friend who had recently returned from the pacific coast, and the description given of don josé michel tallied exactly with that of juan sanchez and josé gomez. by an odd coincidence, the month after the departure of don josé michel from san francisco, a brilliant gentleman of nearly the same name appeared in quito, ecuador, where he pursued a course so exactly similar in character to that of gomez, sanchez, and michel, that it was not difficult to imagine that that ubiquitous person was identical with the elegant don pedro michel who created such a brief excitement in quito, terminating with forgery and a hasty flight. about two years previous to the time of which i write, a wealthy brazilian arrived in london, and became a great favorite in society. his wife was a beautiful spaniard, and her exquisite taste, courtesy, and knowledge of the world were highly appreciated by the select circle of aristocracy into which she and her husband were soon admitted. don josé arias was the name of this gentleman, and he was soon known in nearly every drawing-room in belgravia. he was introduced by the brazilian _chargé d'affaires_, in the absence of the minister resident, and this semi-official guarantee of his position in brazil gave him a passport everywhere. it was not strange, therefore, that such a handsome, refined, and agreeable couple should be cordially and hospitably received, especially as their wealth was undoubtedly enormous, while their manners showed that they had been born in the purple of aristocracy. it was a sad shock to society when it was learned that don josé and donna maria had absconded suddenly, taking with them about fifty thousand pounds sterling, obtained by forgery. it was then learned that the brazilian legation had been the victim of forged documents also, though the intimate acquaintance of don josé with the policy and statecraft of brazil in many important affairs had contributed largely to his success in deceiving the young diplomat who was temporarily in charge of the legation. it was not until more than a year after this occurrence that don pedro p. l. de morito arrived in new york, with his beautiful wife, donna lucia. they did not stop long in new york after their arrival, but spent the latter part of the summer in the white mountains in a very retired manner, although they lived in the best style that the place afforded. in august, they made a hasty trip to washington and back to new york again, where they began a more pretentious mode of life than they had chosen theretofore. don pedro kept a yacht elegantly fitted up, and his horses were the best that money could obtain. his bachelor suppers were models of epicurean perfection, and when his wife gave a reception, everything was in the best taste and style. while visiting washington, don pedro had met senator muirhead, who had gone there for a few days on public business, and the acquaintance was renewed in new york, where the senator had some private interests demanding his attention. something had led the senator to connect don pedro with gomez, sanchez, michel, and arias, and though the idea was a vague one in his mind, it was sufficiently fixed to cause him to institute inquiries into señor morito's antecedents. as previously stated, nothing could be learned of him previous to his arrival in new york, and the only circumstance which could possibly be regarded as suspicious was, that both in washington and new york he had avoided meeting the peruvian minister and other fellow-countrymen. the peculiarity of the case interested me, and, after a long conversation with the senator, i agreed to unravel the slight mystery surrounding the parties, and to make a complete review of their past history so far as it might be possible to obtain it. no harm could result from such a course, whether they were honest or the reverse; and so, having decided upon a simple plan, i returned to chicago to select the persons to represent me in gloster. my preliminary survey of the field had brought me into contact with many of the most fashionable people in gloster; and, as i foresaw that my operatives would be called upon to move in the best society while engaged in this investigation, i obtained as extended information about the members of the _crême de la crême_ as possible. since many of them will figure conspicuously in the incidents of this story, a brief description of the leaders will be necessary. one of the wealthiest men of gloster was a bachelor, named henry o. mather. he was about fifty years old, but he still retained much of the fire of youth, and he was one of the most popular members of society. at an early day in the history of the great west he had settled at gloster, where he had invested largely in unimproved lands; and, by forethought and good judgment in his speculations, he had rapidly increased his property in extent and value, until, at this time, he was one of the few millionaires west of the alleghanies. about three years previous to the time of which i write, he had invested largely in the new railroad schemes then organized, and his importance as a railway magnate was recognized throughout the whole country. his reputation as a shrewd business man made him a species of authority among his fellow-townspeople, and few persons would have ventured to distrust the safety of any enterprise in which he was actively interested. indeed, so complete was the confidence of most men in him, that it was not considered necessary in buying real estate to trace the title further back than to henry o. mather, a deed from him being considered as secure as a patent from the government. personally he was a very agreeable man, being gallant without affectation, and brilliant without priggishness. his figure was of medium height, compactly built, and he carried himself with an erect bearing and springy gait, which greatly aided in deceiving strangers as to his age. his hair was brown, turning gradually to gray, and he wore full gray side-whiskers. his features were quite pleasing except the mouth, which was rather large and sensual. on the whole, he was a man with uncommon ability to please when he felt disposed to exert himself, and his great wealth was an additional charm which society was not slow to recognize. he owned a large house, occupying the whole of a square in the most fashionable part of the city, and his sister-in-law was installed as its mistress. richard perkins was an englishman who had long lived in gloster, where he owned the largest brewery in the west. he was of middle height, but being quite fleshy, his gait was a kind of waddle--the reverse of elegant or dignified. his smooth, round, jovial face was strongly expressive of an appreciation of the good things of this world, and he rarely denied himself any indulgence that passion craved and that money could procure. it was while mather and perkins were on their annual visit to new york that they met señor morito and his beautiful wife, donna lucia. the distinguished foreigners soon made a complete conquest of both the western gentlemen, who invited them in the most cordial manner to visit gloster at their earliest convenience. the delights of new york society were enjoyed for several months by these wealthy and aristocratic foreigners before they were able to keep the promise made to mather and perkins; for they were entertained by the old knickerbocker families of manhattan in a princely style. they were the guests of the most exclusive circles of the city, and everywhere they displayed such perfect courtesy, good breeding, and _savoir faire_, that it was evident they were accustomed to wealth and high social position. they had elegant apartments in the leading hotel of the city, and their cash expenditures showed the possession of an unlimited fortune. they finally tore themselves away from new york, arriving in gloster during the comparatively dull season of lent. here their fame had become known in society through the incessant praises of mather and perkins, and their reception into the highest circles was coincident with their arrival. the unanimous verdict of those who made their acquaintance was, that gloster had never entertained two more thoroughly pleasing guests than the don and donna morito. don pedro was about forty years of age, but he had all the brilliancy and ease of a man of thirty. his figure was very fine, being slightly above the medium height, erect, compact, and muscular. his hands and feet were small and elegantly shaped, but were not effeminate. his rich olive complexion was in admirable harmony with his soft black eyes and deep red lips. his face was a good oval, without being unmanly, and his black, glossy hair was beautifully curly and wavy. he wore side-whiskers and a long moustache, beneath which his smile, the ladies said, was faultless. like most south americans, he seemed too lazy to be unamiable, and his general style was that of a man who, having possessed wealth always, would be perfectly lost without it. donna lucia was a fine specimen of spanish beauty, education, and refinement. it was easy to see that she possessed more force of character than her husband, and that her passionate nature was like a volcano, which might burst forth at any time, driving her to the most dangerous courses if it took possession of her. a detailed description of such a woman is an impossibility. in general, she was a beauty of the andalusian type, as nearly perfect in form and feature as can be conceived; but her expression was of an infinite variety of characters, each one giving the precise shade of meaning most applicable to the time, place, person, and sentiment. in short, she was so near perfection that nearly all the men she met were in love with her, and nine-tenths of them more than half believed that she regretted her marriage for their sake. nevertheless, she kept all admirers at a certain distance, which only bewitched them the more. at the time of which i write, don pedro was so much pleased with gloster, that he had rented a large residence in a very fashionable locality, and was making preparations to spend a year there. the charming manner in which they had entertained their friends at the hotel was ample guarantee that when the don and donna were established in their new home, they would surpass anything in the way of festivities ever seen in gloster; hence, all the best society of the place rejoiced greatly at the arrival of this new constellation in the social firmament. among the bachelors most noted in _salons_ and parlors of the city were daniel mccarthy and charles sylvanus, the former a lawyer, and the latter a journalist. mccarthy was an irishman, of brilliant talents and ready wit. although still comparatively a young man, he was the county prosecuting attorney, and was considered one of the foremost lawyers of the city. he was very good-looking and good-hearted, and his natural drollery made him a most entertaining companion. while speaking in court, and often in society, he had a habit of running his fingers through his long, thick hair, which he would also, at times, throw back with a peculiar jerk of his head. this habit was especially frequent when he became deeply interested in his subject, and the spectators could always tell whether dan was doing his best, even when they could not hear his words. sylvanus was editor and part proprietor of an evening newspaper. as a journalist he was not above mediocrity, but he was well received in society, where even a moderate allowance of brains will suffice for success. a conspicuous member of society and a pillar of the swedenborgian church was mr. john preston, a banker and capitalist. with a book of swedenborgian revelations in one hand and a bundle of tax titles in the other, he would frequently orate to a crowd of unbelievers, from a text drawn from his book, in a manner calculated to quite convert them, were it not that they knew he was only working up a fresh head of steam to enable him to grind the faces of the poor upon whose property he held tax titles. in fact, many people were of the opinion that this man was a dangerous character, in spite of his pretense of piety, his ostentatious charity, and his assumption of the _rôle_ of a professional philanthropist. they insinuated that a man could afford to give largely to an astronomical society, a college, an academy of sciences, and other objects of education, when he had appropriated many thousands of dollars belonging to the school fund to his own use; that he could easily contribute freely to his church, when he used the church property in his own interests and managed the society to suit himself; and that there was no great amount of philanthropy in giving a few hundred dollars to miscellaneous charities, when he made ten times the amount in shaving notes at usurious interest and acquiring land by means only one remove from actual theft; these things were becoming so notorious that a man of less indomitable brass than john preston would have long since been sent to coventry, if not to jail; but he revolved on his own center, sublimely indifferent to the attacks of his enemies, for whom, by the way, he used to pray with most fervent unction. his wife was a pleasant, motherly woman, who gave liberally to charitable objects, and who regarded her husband as one of the saints of the earth. there were three children--a young man and two girls. the former gave no promise of either ability, probity, or ambition, and there was about him a noticeable air of deficiency in both mental and moral worth. the girls were commonplace nonentities, with no pretensions to beauty or grace. one of the most prominent citizens of gloster was a wealthy tanner, named charles h. sanders. having foreseen at an early day the great progress which the city would make in population and importance, he had invested largely in tracts of unimproved land, which he held against all offers to purchase until his real estate was more extended and valuable than that of any other property-owner in the city. personally he was very thin and angular, with such a sickly look that his death seemed possible any day, though his constitution was of that character which might hold out much longer than that of a more robust type. his wife was a very charming woman, and they had two young daughters, who gave promise of considerable beauty when they should arrive at maturity. mr. thomas burke and his wife were, perhaps, the most general favorites in gloster society. mr. burke was tall and well built, and his large head and commanding appearance made him conspicuous in any group. he had a broad, high forehead, heavy eyebrows, deep-set black eyes, a roman nose, and a heavy black moustache, which completely covered his mouth. his straight, black hair, high cheek-bones, and swarthy complexion, gave him slightly the look of having indian blood in his veins; but the rest of his features were unmistakably celtic, and the moment he spoke, the irishman stood confessed. he was a man of such extensive reading and general information that few persons excelled him in conversation. his wife was also cultivated and intelligent, so that either as guest or hostess she was equally agreeable and popular. they had a large family of bright and interesting children. one of the social curiosities of the city was known as deacon humphrey. he was a striking instance of the importance which self-complacent mediocrity can obtain in a newly-settled community, in spite of ponderous stupidity. his large head gave him his only excuse for professing to have brains, and his air of preoccupation made him in appearance the personification of wisdom; indeed, a witty journalist, who had sounded the depths of humphrey's ignorance, once said that "no man _could_ be as wise as humphrey _looked_." no better condensation of this character in a few words could be made. he was part proprietor of a morning newspaper, and at times, to the dismay of the other stockholders, he aspired to the editorial tripod. the mighty lucubrations of his intellect were generally assigned to the waste-basket, and in the city it was well known that his influence in the columns of the paper was absolutely nothing, though in the country he was still regarded with awe by the bucolic mind. he was generally known as "deacon" from his honorary occupancy of that office in a presbyterian church. mrs. humphrey was seldom seen, being in poor health almost constantly, but their only daughter, jennie, was one of the foremost of the fashionable of the _dilettanti_ of the city. indeed, it was confidently anticipated that, some day, miss jennie would burst forth as a full-blown authoress, and overpower an expectant public with the radiance of her intellect and the elegance of her style. no description of gloster celebrities would be complete without that of ethan allen benson, esq., formerly member of congress, and late minister plenipotentiary at an important european court. the suggestion having once been made to him by some waggish diplomat that he resembled the first napoleon, he was ever afterward desirous of drawing attention to this fancied resemblance. he was a vain, fussy, consequential politician, whose principal strength was in the ward caucus and the saloon. judge peter b. taylor was another old settler, and he was frequently seen in social circles in spite of his age. his forehead was very broad indeed, but his face tapered so rapidly to a pointed chin as to make his head wedge-shaped. he had coarse, faded hair, but no whiskers nor beard, and only a scrubby, gray moustache. he had a singular habit of working his eyes independently of each other, and the effect upon a stranger who was not aware of this peculiarity was sometimes startling. his mouth was quite large, one side appearing larger than the other, and his lower lip slightly protruded, giving him a very harsh and forbidding appearance. he had at one time occupied a seat on the judicial bench, but few persons could understand on what grounds he deserved the office, unless it were that people believed the adage about a poor lawyer making a good judge. he was quite wealthy, and his business was that of a money loaner and real estate speculator. he was considered to be very pious and charitable--on sunday; during the rest of the week no shylock ever demanded his pound of flesh more relentlessly than he his three per cent. a month. it was among a society of which the foregoing were shining lights, that i was to operate at the request of senator muirhead. on returning to chicago from gloster, i gave a great deal of thought to the case, for there was so little to act upon that none of the ordinary plans could be depended upon. during his stay in this country, don pedro had apparently acted in a perfectly honorable manner toward every one, and it would be impossible to proceed against him legally in the united states for crimes committed elsewhere, until the aggrieved parties should take the necessary steps for his extradition; with several of the countries in which he was supposed to have committed his crimes we had no extradition treaty, and nothing could be done here to arrest or punish him; hence, the task of exposing his previous career might be fruitless, even though the senator's suspicions should be confirmed in every particular. nothing whatever could be adduced against his character since his arrival in the united states, and i was, therefore, confined to the prevention of future frauds rather than the detection of old ones. the primary object of my efforts was thus made to be the discovery of the don's intentions, as, without some slight forecast of his plans, i might be unable to circumvent them. accordingly, i decided that i must furnish him with a friend who would be sufficiently intimate with him to become his trusted companion and adviser. at the same time, it would be essential to learn as much as possible relative to the previous career of both the don and donna, for it might be desirable to use a little moral suasion with them by showing that their history was known. this plan would involve no injustice to them, for, if innocent of wrong-doing, they would never know that they had been under surveillance; while, if guilty, they deserved no consideration. chapter ii. _madame sevier, widow, of chicago, and monsieur lesparre, of bordeaux, also arrive at gloster.--mr. pinkerton, as a laborer, anxious for a job, inspects the morito mansion.--a tender scene, resulting in profit to the fascinating señora.--madame sevier is installed as a guest at don pedro's._ my first action in this affair was to detail a man to "shadow" don pedro and the donna until the detectives chosen for the more difficult portions of the work should be in a position to take notice of all their movements. as three detectives would require some little preparation to gain the position i desired them to fill, i hastened to select them and give them their instructions. for this mission i detailed a married couple, who had been several years in my employ. mr. and mrs. rosel were natives of france, and as they had been constantly in my service almost from the time of their arrival in this country, i felt sure they would not be recognized as detectives by any one in the city of gloster. they were people of more than average intelligence and education, with a natural refinement which would be especially desirable in the prosecution of this case. in a few days all their preparations were completed, and they went to gloster by different routes. mrs. rosel was not handsome, but she had a good figure, and she was very attractive, on account of her dashing, spirited ways, and because she could assume a deep interest in every one whom she met. she spoke english with so slight an accent that it was only noticed as an added charm to her winning conversation. i instructed her to represent herself in gloster as madame sevier, the widow of a lace merchant, lately of chicago, where he had carried on a moderate business. his death had thrown his affairs into some confusion, but the estate would be settled up soon, leaving a comfortable fortune to his widow. madame sevier did not like the climate of chicago, and therefore she had decided to remain in gloster until her business affairs were settled, when she would probably return to her relatives in france. i intended that she should mix in society as much as would be consistent with her character as a widow, and that she should endeavor to become intimate with donna lucia. mr. rosel was to make a slight detour, arriving in gloster from the east. he would be known as monsieur girard lesparre, and his ostensible character was to be that of a man of moderate capital from bordeaux, looking for a favorable opportunity to invest some of his means in a profitable business. i followed the rosels in a day or two, and found that monsieur lesparre was pleasantly located at a fashionable family hotel, while madame sevier had taken apartments in a stylish boarding-house only a few doors from the handsome residence which the moritos were to occupy. this was quite satisfactory, and i turned my attention to the examination of the reports made by my "shadow." the reports were very monotonous in character, except as evidences of the popularity of the don and donna. the dull days of lent had just passed, and the close of the season was now more crowded with parties and balls than the earlier portion had been. the presence of two such distinguished guests as don pedro and donna lucia contributed largely to the reasons for this rush of gayety, and they were overwhelmed with visitors and invitations. mr. mather had set the example by giving a large dinner-party in their honor, followed in the evening by a grand ball; and they had so charmed the other leaders of society that no entertainment was considered complete without the presence of don pedro p. l. de morito and his beautiful wife. on leaving my hotel to visit the house which don pedro was fitting up for his residence, i met charlie morton, the united states commissioner of gloster. morton was a capable lawyer and a shrewd politician. he was equally attentive to ladies as to gentlemen, and it was well known that charlie would never slight any one who could cast or influence a vote. his acquaintance extended through all classes, from the lowest to the highest, and few men were more generally popular. his powers of observation were only equaled by his tact, so that, while he saw all that went on about him, he never talked indiscreetly. he and i were quite intimate, and we chatted for some time about various people before i succeeded in bringing up the names of those in gloster in whom i was just then most interested. "i suppose you are quite glad that the gay season is over, charlie," i said, interrogatively. "as usual, you will not have many social events of any consequence after lent, i presume?" "oh! yes, indeed," he replied; "we shall be more active in society for the next month or two than ever before. you see, we have two wealthy and aristocratic peruvians visiting gloster, and they are so fascinating that they have quite taken our people by storm. they have been accustomed to the finest society of europe and south america, so that we are put upon our mettle to show how well gloster can compare in wealth, luxury, and refinement with older cities at home and abroad." "are they then such remarkable lions?" i asked, "or do people run after them simply because they are rich foreigners?" "of course their wealth and foreign birth would cause many people to pay them attention," said morton; "but their popularity is something exceptional, and is undoubtedly due to their perfect knowledge of all the courtesies and customs of modern society, to their charming manners, and largely to their personal good looks. señor morito has fascinated all the ladies, while nearly every man in society is in love with the señora." "well, take care of yourself, my boy," i said, jokingly. "if the lovely donna causes charlie morton to strike his colors, she must be dangerous indeed." after leaving morton, i sauntered along to the house which don pedro had rented, and which was now nearly ready for occupancy. it was a large residence, with ample grounds fronting on the principal avenue, and its imposing front of heavy columns gave it a striking appearance as compared with the more commonplace stone fronts around it. while i was glancing curiously about, a truck arrived laden with costly furniture. i was rather roughly dressed, and the driver asked me if i wanted a job of work. i accepted his offer to aid in carrying the furniture into the house, as i was anxious to examine the interior. after finishing the job, the furniture salesman took me over the house to show off the elegance with which it was decorated and furnished. it was certainly a model of good taste, while the paintings, statuary, frescoing, and articles of _bijouterie_ were evidences of enormous expenditures. having obtained a thorough knowledge of the plan of the house, i withdrew, receiving fifty cents for my labor. the time when don pedro was to occupy his residence was to be signalized by a grand reception held therein, and the invitations were already out. meantime entertainments were given by john preston, alexander mcintyre, and charles h. sanders. the latter's reception was especially brilliant, and those who knew mr. sanders's parsimonious character were much surprised at his profuse expenditure for the occasion. i soon afterwards obtained an explanation of this unusual liberality, by hearing another banker casually remark that don pedro had withdrawn a part of his funds from new york, and had deposited them in mr. sanders's bank. this gave me a hint, and i immediately acted upon it. being well acquainted with a number of bankers, i visited several of them, and talked about various business men of gloster, as if i were desirous of getting information about their commercial standing and credit. in each case i succeeded in learning the extent to which don pedro had deposited money in bank. the total amount then due him by the three houses with whom he had made deposits was about $ , , although his original deposits had amounted to more than double that sum. heavy drafts to pay his current expenses and to furnish his house had largely reduced his available cash, though he still had an ample sum on hand. knowing how enormous his expenses were, i felt sure that he would reach the end of his bank account in a short time, unless he should have other funds, of whose existence i was unaware. if this sum of seventeen thousand dollars represented his total capital, however, he would soon show whether he was what he claimed to be, or an adventurer; for, in the former case, he would draw money from his peruvian estates, and, in the latter, he would accomplish some great swindle. i was, therefore, anxious to put my detectives at work as quickly as possible to enable me to learn something definite of his intentions. madame sevier was making quite rapid progress in her new quarters. mrs. courtney, the lady who kept the house, was a widow of some means, who took boarders to enable her to educate her children in the best manner. she was highly regarded by every one, and her visiting-list included all the most fashionable people in the city. she soon became greatly interested in madame sevier, and through her assistance the madame made the acquaintance of a number of the families living in the neighborhood. as the rage for foreigners was at its height just then, madame sevier soon became highly popular, and she was invited to several entertainments, where she met don pedro and donna lucia. the latter, finding that madame sevier was to be her near neighbor in her new residence, became very intimate with her, especially as donna lucia was desirous of reviving her knowledge and practice of the french language. consequently, when don pedro's arrangements were all completed and the new house occupied, madame sevier used to drop in for a few minutes' chat every day. as she was a very capable manager, she was frequently able to give donna lucia valuable hints about her household affairs, especially with reference to the approaching reception. ever since the arrival of the moritos, mr. henry o. mather had been a constant attendant upon the donna. his attentions had not been so publicly marked as to have created scandal; but he had been so assiduous in paying his regards, that he was much more intimate than mrs. grundy would have thought strictly proper. he was in the habit of calling very frequently, and he often took the don and donna out for a drive. sometimes the party would consist wholly of ladies, and occasionally the donna accompanied him alone. in short, he became a sort of intimate friend of the family, welcome at all times, without the necessity of invitation or ceremony. one day, madame sevier went in to see donna lucia in the afternoon, and was told by the servant that she would find the donna in the library. without permitting the servant to announce her, she passed on toward the room mentioned; but, as she approached the door, hearing voices within, she paused a moment to see who was with donna lucia. the room was in a very retired part of the house, and she was able to take a position close to the partly open door without the probability of being noticed by any one. she was thus enabled to overhear a highly interesting conversation between the donna and henry o. mather, who had evidently arrived only a moment or two before her. "you are not in good spirits to-day, donna lucia?" questioned mather, sympathetically. "no, mr. mather; i have my troubles at times, like other people, but i try not to let others see them." "then you do not care for sympathy, señora," said mather, with a tender sigh; "i see that you have been in tears, and it grieves me to think that i cannot save you from the painful things which cause you to cry." "oh! mr. mather, i do appreciate your kindness, i assure you," said the donna, also sighing deeply; "i am almost tempted to ask your advice, for i feel that you are truly my friend; but i am afraid you will think i have been naughty in having exposed myself to such annoyances." "no, indeed, my dear donna," replied the millionaire, quite enraptured at this evident token of her confidence in him; "i know that you are too lovely to be anything but an angel, and i shall be only too happy to give you advice upon any subject that you confide to me." as the conversation was becoming highly interesting, the tones of the parties being of a really lover-like tenderness, madame sevier took a hasty glimpse through the door, and saw that she could watch as well as listen, unperceived. mather was standing beside the donna, bending over her and looking into her face, while she had her head half turned away, as if in coy indecision. "well, mr. mather----" "why do you address me always so formally? can you not call me henry?" asked mather, boldly. "how would it sound if any one should hear me?" said the donna, casting down her eyes and playing with her watch-chain. "but when we are alone no one can hear you," replied mather. "won't you call me henry when we have an occasional _tête-à-tête_?" "well, then you must be very discreet, henry," answered she, looking up, blushing and hesitating as she spoke. "i will be discretion itself," said the now wholly infatuated mather, with a look of triumph; and to show that he accepted the conditions of the agreement, he sealed it by raising her hand to his lips. "oh! fie! fie!" she exclaimed; "is it thus that you show your discretion? i shall be obliged to retract my promise if you become so rash. now, sit down beside me, and be more polite in future." "i will not be so hasty again, my dear donna; but my pleasure was so great that i was somewhat beside myself. now tell me what it was that caused your troubles." "well, mr. math----" "no, no; not 'mr. mather;' recollect your promise," interrupted mather, as he saw she hesitated to call him by his first name. "well, then, henry, i have been very thoughtless and extravagant, and i do not know what to do. you see, i have always spent money for everything i needed without regard to cost; for my own fortune was ample for everything, and pedro would give me any amount that i might desire. but last month a draft for six thousand pounds, which was sent me by my trustees, was lost on the way, and so i have used up all my own funds. having run up several large bills in new york, i asked pedro to pay them, and he did so; but he said that, having ordered his factors to send him no more money until his arrival in callao, he should be somewhat embarrassed until he heard from them again. his sudden determination to fit up and occupy a residence here has exhausted all his available funds except a few thousand dollars for current expenses, and he requested me not to make any large purchases until one of us should receive a remittance from our estates. well, you see, i expected surely to have received a large sum before now, and so i made purchases without regard to consequences; the result is, that i am deeply in debt, my money has not arrived, and i am afraid to tell pedro, because he will not forgive me for running in debt and disobeying him. unfortunately, i have done both these things, and i am momentarily in fear that some of the bills will be sent to him. now, my dear henry, you see that i have good cause to look sad and cry." as she finished, the donna began to whimper and put her handkerchief to her eyes in so touching a manner that mather was quite overpowered. the artistic expression with which she hastily called him her "dear henry" was the finishing touch to an already powerful attack, and he surrendered completely. "my dear donna," he exclaimed, seizing her hand in both of his, "how glad i am that you confided in me. i will see that you are not troubled by another anxious thought in this matter. tell me how much you need to settle all your indebtedness." "indeed, henry, i cannot let you do anything of the kind," she protested, feebly. "why, it is a very large sum in all, and it may be several months before i can repay you." "now don't talk about payment, but just tell me how much you need," replied mather. "the large bills amount to over four thousand dollars, and there are a number of small ones which i have not figured up," she said, thoughtfully. "well, then, i will bring you around five thousand dollars to-morrow, and you can pay the bills without any one knowing where the money comes from," said mather, again kissing her hand. "oh! you dear, good fellow!" exclaimed the donna; and, overcome by his generous response to her request, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him several times. "there, there," she continued, releasing herself and coquettishly tapping his lips with her hand, "i don't know how i came to do such a thing, but you were so kind that i couldn't help it." "if that is the case," said the overjoyed mather, "i will add five thousand more to have a similar expression of your gratitude." "will you, really? i believe i am half in love with you," she murmured, as she allowed him to embrace her a second time, and press burning kisses on her lips. the ringing of the door-bell interrupted their happiness, and madame sevier hastily retired to the drawing-room, into which other visitors were shown by the servant. donna lucia soon entered, perfectly self-possessed, and greeted all her friends with her usual ease and cordiality. mr. mather probably passed out by the library entrance, for he did not appear in the parlor. the ladies conversed together for some time, one of the important subjects of their talk being the troubles of household management. donna lucia complained bitterly that her servants robbed her, and that they were careless, dirty, and impudent. she knew very little about housekeeping, and every domestic in her employ took advantage of her. she added that, as soon as her housewarming was over, she intended to get, if possible, a lady who would be a member of the family, and who would relieve her of the management of the house. "now," said she, in her most winning manner, "here is madame sevier, who has nothing to occupy her time, who is a natural manager of other people, and who is so agreeable that she would be a positive charm to any household; and i have been thinking, positively, of asking her to take charge of my whole establishment, and help me entertain my guests. what should you think, madame sevier, of such a request?" the opportunity of becoming domesticated in the morito mansion was thus afforded to one of my detectives, but she knew better than to accept at once. she therefore professed to treat it as a pleasantry, and said that she had no doubt that she should succeed as a housekeeper, but whether she could add anything of attraction to such a charming home was greatly to be doubted. the other ladies, however, thought the idea an admirable one, and they all urged madame sevier to adopt it. having once broached the subject, donna lucia again spoke of it with the greatest interest, showing, by her arguments and determination to coax madame sevier to decide favorably, that she had thought about such a plan before, and that she was really in earnest in her request. finally, madame sevier said that she saw no objection to accepting the offer, as she really enjoyed taking care of a large establishment, but she was not prepared to accept it at once, and she would wait a few days to reflect upon it. it was then agreed that she should give her decision at the grand reception to be given as a housewarming. this part of my plan had worked admirably, and i felt confident of my eventual success in learning all about the affairs of the morito family. the method by which donna lucia had obtained ten thousand dollars from mr. mather was a decided confirmation of senator muirhead's suspicions; though there was nothing in the transaction which could make her liable to punishment by law, and as there was no danger that her victim would ever appear against her, i paid no further attention to this episode. i ordered madame sevier to accept donna lucia's offer on the following terms: she should have full authority over all the female servants in the house; she should have charge of the ordering of all articles for household use; she should be considered in the same light as a guest, so far as social intercourse went; she should go and come as she chose, without regard to the duties of the _ménage_; and she should receive no salary. this last point she was to insist upon, as necessary to preserve her feeling of independence, and enable her to occupy her time as she might see fit. as the day approached for the moritos' reception, all gloster's best society were filled with pleasurable excitement and anticipation, as the preparations were known to be far more magnificent than those for any similar entertainment since gloster was settled. as monsieur lesparre had already made don pedro's acquaintance, and had received an invitation, i felt sure that i should be thoroughly informed as to all the occurrences of the evening, and so i awaited developments. the employment of detectives to penetrate into the social life and domestic surroundings of any family is strongly repugnant to my sense of propriety, and i rarely countenance the practice, if i can possibly attain my object in any other way. i dislike to feel that i am trespassing upon the privacy of any man's home, even though that man may be a criminal. the idea of introducing a spy into a household is opposed to the spirit of our free american institutions, violating, as it does, the unwritten law that "a man's house is his castle;" hence, i never resort to such a measure, except in extreme cases. i saw, however, that there was no other means of protecting the interests of my client, senator muirhead; he was acting disinterestedly in the case, to save his constituents from being defrauded, and i could only prevent the threatened swindle by learning in advance the exact plan of operation proposed by the suspected person. i was careful, however, to employ my most discreet and cautious agents, in order that i should quickly learn whether the senator's suspicions were based on fact; in case i should find that the suspected parties were innocent, i was determined to withdraw instantly. they would not then suffer any injustice, for my employés would keep their discoveries secret from every one except myself, and no one would ever know that they had been the objects of suspicion. chapter iii. _monsieur lesparre, having a retentive memory, becomes serviceable to don pedro.--diamond fields and droll americans.--a pompous judge in an unfortunate predicament.--the grand reception closes with the happy arrangement that the gay señor and señora shall dine with mr. pinkerton's detectives on the next evening._ the day of the reception was unusually pleasant, and at nightfall the full moon rose to add her splendor to the attractiveness of the evening. the morito mansion was ablaze with wax candles, gaslight being considered too common for use on such an occasion. from the street to the door was a passageway of double canvas, with an opening at the sidewalk to prevent interference with passers. this opening was brilliantly lighted, and was hung with flags, pennants, and flowers, artistically arranged so as to give the guests a charming prospect when alighting from their carriages. the rooms of the house needed no decoration beyond that already given by the frescoes and paintings adorning the walls and ceilings. nevertheless, flowers were abundantly distributed about the spacious apartments. the beautiful conservatory contained a superb fountain, whose jets and sprays gave forth exquisite odor and rippling music. everywhere throughout the house the most artistic grouping of furniture, pictures, and statuary could be seen, and the variety of taste displayed was only equaled by the unity of arrangements as a whole. at ten o'clock the guests began to arrive, and as the throng of carriages became thicker, it seemed as if the house would be over-crowded. this did not happen to any noticeable degree, however, as the whole of two floors were thrown open to accommodate the guests. the music was furnished by the best musicians of the city, and the supper was a miracle of epicurean excellence, delmonico having sent one of his chief assistants from new york to superintend its preparation. never had gloster seen an affair where such elegance and good taste had been displayed; even the smallest details were perfect, and the don and donna received innumerable congratulations and good wishes from their guests. during his brief stay in gloster, monsieur lesparre had been very active in forming acquaintances, and he was already well known in society. he had a very retentive memory, and, when once introduced to any gentleman, he immediately took pains to learn everything possible about him. by careful observation and perseverance, he had learned the general history of a very large number of the leading people in society, and his droll comments and half-sarcastic criticism of them, expressed _sotto voce_ to the don on various occasions, had caught the latter's attention. the don therefore frequently singled out lesparre for a companion in society, in order to obtain information about the social and business standing of various people. "you see, my dear lesparre," said the don, "i am such a poor judge of character that i am liable to be imposed upon unless i know something about the previous history of people who seek my friendship. and, as i have a miserable memory for faces, names, places, and everything else, it is a great pleasure to find some one who can keep me posted as to the status of the people i meet. you must let me see as much of you as possible, for, being both foreigners, we ought to have a common bond of sympathy." "it will give me great pleasure," replied lesparre. "of course our friends here are very attentive; but then, you know, they lack the polish one meets in european _salons_, and they are too apt to obtrude their business into their social relations." "exactly; i agree with you perfectly, and it is for that reason that i enjoy a conversation with a gentleman of continental education and tastes. it is wonderful how keen these americans are in their pursuit of the 'almighty dollar.' why, only a week or two ago, i happened to mention to mr. mather and a few others, that some of my estates in the peruvian andes contained extensive diamond fields, when they began to upbraid me for not working them and adding to my already ample revenue. they seemed positively shocked when i told them, that i saw no reason for increasing my income, as i had as much money as i could use now. they insisted that i was doing a positive wrong to my fellow mortals in refusing to burden myself with a new enterprise, and i assure you they were quite in earnest in their remonstrances. ah! how droll they are, monsieur lesparre!" "yes, indeed, i have found the same spirit even with reference to my humble means," replied lesparre. "they want me to invest in something right away, and i have very many disinterested offers of advice; but they cannot understand my delay, and they think i am throwing away so many good chances by waiting. now, i should be content to settle down for a year, before investing, just to examine at length all the openings offered me; but i doubt whether i could afford to do that, unless i could obtain a satisfactory salaried position, and i feel that that is impossible. there are very few such positions as i would be willing to accept, as i do not care to be tied down to regular duties." the gentlemen had stepped into the supper-room while this conversation was going on, and were about to take a glass of wine together. lesparre's last remark seemed to give a sudden idea to don pedro, and he sipped his wine in silence for a moment or two. then he said, inquiringly: "i suppose you would like a position of a responsible character, where your knowledge of commercial and financial affairs would be available, but where your whole time would not be absorbed?" "yes, that was my wish," answered lesparre; "but, of course, i do not expect to realize my hopes." "possibly you may, monsieur lesparre," said don pedro; "but let us leave the subject of business until to-morrow, when i should like to talk with you more fully about this matter. now, let us return to the drawing-room, and when you see any of my guests approaching, please, tell me briefly who and what they are. for instance, tell me about that stiff and military-looking person crossing the room." "that is captain adrian l. kerr, a retired army officer, who has lived here a long time. he has been unsuccessful in business, and it would be difficult to account for his means of livelihood were it not that his wife, the brilliant brunette near the mantel-piece, is supposed to have an income of her own. some people are so ill-natured as to suggest that alexander mcintyre, the wealthy scotch banker now talking to her, is the source of her revenue, but that may be pure gossip. at any rate, she is always elegantly dressed, and she moves in the best society." "if people suspect her of improper intimacy with mcintyre, why do they admit her to their houses?" asked don pedro. "well, you see, many of the merchants and business men have financial dealings with mcintyre, and they do not dare to offend him. as an illustration of his power, i will relate an incident that occurred recently. the wife of a well-known merchant was about to give a large party, and, in making out her list of invitations, she purposely left out the name of mrs. kerr. her husband, on going to the bank to obtain the renewal of a note, found mcintyre as surly and savage as a bear, and the renewal was refused. as he had never before had any difficulty in obtaining such an accommodation when hard pressed for money, he could not account for the change in mcintyre's conduct; but when his wife informed him of her action the day previous in withholding an invitation from mrs. kerr, he understood it all. his affairs were in such a condition that he could not afford to quarrel with mcintyre, and so he insisted that an invitation be sent to mrs. kerr, in spite of his wife's assertion that mrs. kerr was an improper character. he was willing to admit that fact, but he preferred to submit to her presence rather than to be seriously crippled in business. an invitation was therefore sent in such a way as to make the delay in its delivery appear accidental, and in a few days mr. mcintyre was willing to renew the merchant's note." "well, she certainly does carry things with a high hand," replied don pedro, smiling. "i wonder how she would have retaliated upon me if i had struck her name off my list to-night? however, it is not my business to question her character, and if my wife is satisfied to receive her, i shall not interfere." as the don finished speaking, the music sounded the preliminary notes of a quadrille, and he hastened to find a partner. among the guests were mr. and mrs. arlington, whose minds were of such opposite characters as to keep them continually quarreling. he was a wealthy banker of austere manners and puritanic tastes, while she was a butterfly of fashion, fit only to be petted, kissed, and caressed. she was all gayety and life; he, all piety and gloom. her pleasures he considered sinful, while his recreations were to her the most painfully melancholy observances that could be devised. while he believed that she was a child of wrath, a creature of the world, the flesh, and the devil, she was equally satisfied that he was on the highway to fanaticism and hypocrisy. under these circumstances, it was not unnatural that she should seek her friends among those who mingled in fashionable society, nor that her husband should consider it necessary to follow her into the gay world in order to keep a watch upon her. her most attentive cavalier was a young bachelor named harry bertram, who seemed infatuated with her. indeed, their preference for each other's society was so marked that the tongue of scandal had already begun to wag, although no overt act could be cited against them. the don, on leaving lesparre, chanced to meet mrs. arlington, and she readily accorded him the pleasure of dancing with her. in the same set were daniel mccarthy and donna lucia, charles sylvanus and madame sevier, and mr. mather and mrs. simon. in the adjoining set were mr. benson and miss jennie humphrey, alexander mcintyre and mrs. kerr, harry bertram and mrs. sanders, and judge robert morgan and mrs. middleton. judge morgan was a remarkable-looking person at any time, but his appearance was especially noticeable in a dancing-set, the incongruity of his presence in such a scene being irresistibly comical. he was about fifty years of age, but his face was smooth and unwrinkled; though he was of the medium height, his great size gave him the look of a short man, which effect was partly increased by his long arms. he was very broad and fat, his stomach projecting to an absurd degree. at the same time he stood very erect, so that a profile view gave him a general resemblance to a loggerhead turtle set on end. his eyes were small and treacherous, his cheeks were puffy and flabby, his mouth was large and sensual. his hair and whiskers were brown and fine, but they always seemed unkempt. he wore closely-fitting black clothes, and he was fond of displaying an unusual amount of jewelry. he had obtained the office of judge of the criminal court by currying favor with the very classes most likely to be brought before him for trial, and his judicial ermine was not considered free from the foulest stains. his private life was, in many respects, a counterpart of his official conduct; though married to an agreeable woman, he was a notorious libertine and profligate. still, he held his position in society, and was admitted to the acquaintance of the most reputable people in the city; hence, he frequently appeared at balls and dancing-parties, where he always tried to act like a light and graceful youth. [illustration: _the judge's downfall._] on this occasion he was especially anxious to display his manly form in the same set with the donna, but being disappointed in this, he chose the set next to hers, and acted like a playful hippopotamus. while backing rapidly, in an attempt to balance to his partner, he came in contact with mrs. simon of the next set, and, tripping on her dress, he fell violently upon her. her partner, mr. mather, tried to catch her as she also fell, but the ponderous form of the judge came upon them both with crushing effect, and all three were brought to the floor at once. mr. mather and mrs. simon were quickly on their feet again, flushed with mortification but unhurt. but it was no such easy matter for the corpulent judge to raise himself erect; he lay on his back a moment groaning, and it was thought that he might be seriously injured, as his fall had jarred the whole house. several gentlemen carefully lifted him upright, and the ladies gathered about to condole with him, when it was suddenly discovered that, if the judge's person had not suffered, his clothing had. his tight dress coat was split several inches down the back, while a hasty glimpse behind his coat-tails satisfied the spectators that his pants were in an even worse condition than his coat. it may be imagined that the situation caused some merriment, in spite of the efforts of the more well-bred guests to preserve their gravity; but when the judge, having regained his feet, vociferated in great wrath: "you are a pack of monkeys. i don't see anything to laugh at," there was a universal burst of laughter which could not be repressed. this so enraged him that it was difficult to make him understand his absurd position, but at length don pedro and monsieur lesparre induced him to go to the dressing-room for repairs. as there was no coat in the house large enough for him, the don was at his wits' end to make him sufficiently presentable to enable him to return to the drawing-room; but at length the judge was arrayed in one of the don's gorgeous dressing-gowns, which was large enough to hide most of the effects of the fall. he soon returned to the lower rooms dressed in the most remarkable costume ever worn at a full-dress party in gloster. with the exception of this accident, the evening passed off with the most perfect success, and the unanimous verdict was that there had never been a more thoroughly enjoyable entertainment given in the city. during the evening, madame sevier informed donna lucia of her willingness to take charge of the morito establishment, and agreed to begin her reign the next day. donna lucia was delighted at this news, and willingly accepted all the conditions, though she insisted for some time on giving madame sevier a liberal salary. finding that madame sevier was resolute in her refusal to receive pay, the donna informed her friends that she had invited madame sevier to live with her, and that the madame had kindly agreed to assist her in entertaining her numerous guests. it was not until nearly daybreak that the more indefatigable revelers became weary of dancing and flirting, so that the donna was quite exhausted when the last guest had departed. madame sevier remained to the end, as she intended occupying her room in the morito mansion at once, instead of returning to her boarding-place. donna lucia left orders that she was not to be disturbed until five o'clock in the afternoon, but madame sevier decided to get up at twelve o'clock, in order to superintend the work of clearing away the decorations and _débris_ of the ball. the don had invited monsieur lesparre to dine with him at six o'clock, and so it was arranged that they should all meet at that hour. chapter iv. _madame sevier and her work.--unaccountable coquettishness between man and wife.--a startling scheme, illustrating the rashness and gullibility of american business men and the supreme assurance of don pedro.--disaster approaching the gloster capitalists.--other suspicions aroused.--the story of mr. warne, english diplomatic agent.--a new move._ madame sevier began her work of reform in the household as soon as she was dressed that afternoon. finding that they now had a mistress competent to control them, the servants showed a greater willingness to be useful, though some of them were inclined to be lazy and impudent as before. the madame made mental notes of everything, took charge of the keys to all storerooms and closets, and clearly demonstrated that she was able to manage the house according to her own ideas. the cook, thinking she was indispensable, and that she could act independent of control, was very impertinent to madame, and she evinced an insubordinate spirit that created a good deal of trouble. seeing that prompt and severe measures were necessary, madame sevier paid this woman her wages and discharged her without a moment's warning. the effect upon the other servants was most satisfactory, and although the madame was obliged to make some minor changes afterward, she was never again annoyed by impertinence or presumption. the dinner for that day was prepared by the assistant cook, under madame sevier's direction, and when the don and donna came down from their chamber, they were delighted to find that the house was in perfect order, showing no signs of having been the scene of revelry and dissipation the night before. [illustration: madame sevier discharging the servants.] during dinner, at which monsieur lesparre was the only guest, don pedro, after complimenting madame sevier very highly upon her success in bringing order out of chaos, turned to his wife and said: "lucia, your selection of a companion and advisor has been so fortunate that i am more than ever disposed to follow your example. what do you think, monsieur lesparre, cannot you serve me as confidential secretary and financial agent as satisfactorily as madame sevier assists my wife?" "indeed, don pedro," replied lesparre, gallantly, "if you impose upon me the task of equalling so accomplished and charming a lady as madame sevier, you will probably be disappointed in everything i do." "bravo, bravo, monsieur lesparre!" cried the donna; "you will certainly be successful in paying delicate compliments, at least. yes, pedro, i think you ought to secure monsieur lesparre's services at once; when you have nothing for him to do, he will be an agreeable companion for us. what say you, madame sevier?" "i quite agree with you," replied the madame, casting down her eyes coquettishly; "but i prophesy that monsieur lesparre would find his position an onerous one if he should be under obligations to pay me compliments." "ah! the obligation would be unnecessary," said lesparre; "the difficulty would be to avoid doing so constantly." the don and donna smiled at each other significantly, thinking that they saw the incipient signs of a mutual attachment between these two, and that it was not unreasonable to imagine that a wedding might result therefrom. how little they imagined that these apparently distant acquaintances were, in fact, already man and wife! after dinner, the don and lesparre repaired to the billiard-room to smoke, while the ladies entered the drawing-room to receive visitors. "monsieur lesparre," said the don, as they lounged back in luxuriant easy-chairs, "what do you think of my suggestion at dinner? i should really like to obtain your services as private secretary, and i will gladly give you such a salary as will make you independent of other labor. while you are attending to my affairs you will naturally become well acquainted with many business men, and will be able to investigate a number of enterprises, so that you will be better able a year hence to invest your capital to advantage." "your offer is truly liberal," replied lesparre, puffing his cigar thoughtfully, "and i feel disposed to accept it. what would be my duties?" "well, i will explain what i wish fully, and then you can judge how the position would suit you," answered don pedro. "in the first place, i wish a financial agent, a man whom i can trust, who will attend to all my affairs. you see, i detest the details of business. i desire to live free from the vexing annoyances consequent upon the providing and disbursing of money. my estates produce as much as i can use, and i do not trouble myself to inquire whether they might not yield more. i am accustomed to buy whatever i wish, but i hate to bother my head to know whether i have enough on hand to pay for my purchases; hence i want my secretary to attend to such matters for me. there is another thing in which you could be of the greatest service to me; for, while it is an affair of great importance, involving large interests, i am positively too fond of my own ease to give it the attention which it deserves. i know i can trust you not to repeat the slightest portion of what i am about to tell you, for it is not desirable that it should be talked about, unless the enterprise is successfully carried out." "indeed, you can rest assured that i shall never mention a hint of it to any one," replied lesparre. "well, you recollect i told you last night that mather, perkins, and some others were anxious to have me explore and open up the diamond fields which, i have reason to believe, constitute a large part of one of my estates in peru? some time after i spoke to you, toward the end of the party, i missed mather, perkins, mcintyre, sanders, and several others from the rooms, and while i was wondering what had become of them, mather came up and asked me to go up to my dressing-room, which, you recollect, adjoined the room used for the gentlemen's dressing-room last night. on arriving there, i found about a dozen of the wealthiest men of gloster sitting around the room, with dan mccarthy at the table acting as secretary. will you believe it? they had actually formed a business meeting in my own house, and had made speeches, passed resolutions, and voted upon two propositions, which they wished to submit to me; they had then sent the chairman, mr. mather, to bring me in, and i was expected to stand and deliver my decision at a moment's notice. the idea was perfectly ludicrous to me, yet it did not strike any of them that they were doing anything unusual. i believe that if a party of these gloster business men were to be landed suddenly in hell, they would organize a stock exchange to deal in brimstone and ashes!" "they certainly carry their business instincts everywhere," said lesparre, laughing heartily. "i suppose they had fully arranged everything before you were sent for?" "yes, indeed; the very minor details were provided for, and i could not raise an objection which had not already been discussed and removed. both propositions provided for the formation of a stock company for the mining, cutting, and sale of diamonds. according to the first plan, i was to fix a price upon my diamond fields, which the company would then purchase, paying me three-fourths in cash, and one-fourth in stock. in case, however, that i should be unwilling to part with my controlling interest, the second plan provided that i should receive one-fourth the estimated value of the land in money, giving to the company therefor the privilege of mining for a certain length of time, and receiving also one-half of the value of the diamonds found. the idea of disposing of this property had never before occurred to me, and naturally i was not prepared to give any answer on such short notice; but if i had done so then, i should have positively rejected both propositions. in fact, i said as much to mather, and he then suggested to the meeting that 'señor morito be given a week to decide upon the propositions submitted to him.' the cool impudence of thus graciously giving me a week did not seem to strike them, and the meeting broke up with great satisfaction, every man feeling certain that i _must_ accept one proposition or the other. it was further decided to appoint a committee to draw up a charter and by-laws, 'so as to save time,' as one gentleman remarked. after the gentlemen had left the room, mather urged the matter upon me very strongly. he apologized for having acted with such precipitation, but, he said, the others were so eager, as soon as they heard that i owned a vast tract of unworked diamond fields, that he could not restrain them. he begged me to make some arrangement with the proposed company, as the men who had become interested in it were wealthy and enterprising, and they would surely push it to a profitable conclusion. in answer to my remark that i was rich enough already, he said that i ought to give others a chance to make some money who needed it, perhaps, more than i. finally, as he urged it as a personal favor to himself, i agreed to give the most favorable answer that i could, and so the matter stands." "when are you to give your answer?" asked lesparre. "the committee adjourned until a week from last night," replied the don, "and i shall then again be summoned before them, i presume. now, although the first proposition would not probably pay me so well in the end as the second, i much prefer it. you see i do not wish to keep a controlling interest because i should have the continual annoyance of supervising the business; and, as i have said before, i wish to be perfectly free from cares and responsibilities. my object is to enjoy life, and i can't be happy if i am obliged to work. nevertheless, i do not wish to turn over this property to a body of men who will squeeze it like a sponge, leaving it a mere waste. there are a large body of tenants occupying portions of it, whose rights must be respected. they will make willing and honest laborers if properly treated, and i wish to protect them as far as possible from cruelty and extortion. hence, i desire to learn all i can about the men who will create and manage the company before i agree to put the property into their hands, no matter what price they may be willing to pay for it; it is here, my dear lesparre, that you can be of great service to me. you are well acquainted among all classes of business men in gloster, and you can readily learn all about the people who purpose buying stock. this will be considered very natural and proper if you become my private secretary, and your duties will not be severe. what do you say?" "i think i can do what you wish," said lesparre, "but i should like a day for reflection. i never like to act hastily in an important matter, even where my mind is already made up." "you are quite right," said the don; "but i hope your mind will remain unchanged in regard to this matter. i will give you whatever salary you wish, and shall expect you, of course, to live here on equal terms with myself and wife. now, let us join the ladies." on receiving lesparre's report, i saw the whole scheme at a glance, and i was now convinced that senator muirhead's suspicions with regard to don pedro were correct. i immediately visited the senator, and laid the latest developments before him. we could not help admiring the consummate knowledge of human nature which the don displayed; he had baited his hook so skillfully that the gudgeons were actually fearful lest something should prevent them from swallowing it; but there seemed to be no probability of defeating his schemes unless we could obtain positive proofs of his dishonesty elsewhere, or detect him in some criminal offense in this country. we therefore decided to keep a close watch upon all his movements, and await further developments. it was evident that the sufferers by don josé michel's forgeries in california would not take any active steps against him unless they were sure of the identity of the man, and so we had no ground of accusation against him which we could rely upon. both senator muirhead and myself were indignant at the audacity displayed in his swindling projects, but we did not dare to attempt his exposure without absolute proof of our charges. the waiting game is never a pleasant one to play, but i could not do otherwise under the circumstances. about this time i was called back to chicago on important business, but i immediately sent my superintendent, mr. bangs, to gloster, to take charge of the case there. during my absence little of note occurred, except the meeting to hear the don's answer to the propositions to purchase the diamond fields. at this meeting the don was apparently anxious to decline all offers, saying that the property had been in the possession of his family for about two hundred years, and that he considered himself in honor bound to retain an interest in it. also, he tried to cool the ardor of the would-be purchasers by telling them that he had no positive certainty that there were valuable diamond fields on the property, though such was probably the case. his reluctance to sell the land only made them more determined to buy, for they argued that he was so well satisfied with it as a means of revenue that he wished to retain possession of it all himself. at length he found that they would give him no peace until he yielded, and so he graciously agreed to accept the first proposition. the question of price then remained to be discussed, but, on this point, there was little opportunity for disagreement. having had so much difficulty in inducing the don to sell at all, they were not disposed to endanger the sale by haggling about the price; and when the latter was fixed at one million five hundred thousand dollars, they made no demur, although the sum rather staggered their enthusiasm at first. this effect was only momentary, however, for the vivid anticipations of dividends in proportion to this price quickly banished their fears, and they hastened to subscribe the amounts required. these facts were all reported to me immediately after my return to gloster, which occurred a day or two after the meeting, and i saw that the day of disaster to the trusting capitalists of that city was fast approaching. neither monsieur lesparre nor madame sevier had learned much about the private affairs of the moritos, for, whenever the latter had anything important to say to each other, they usually spoke spanish. the don's remaining funds amounted to only about eight thousand dollars, and at the rate with which he had hitherto spent money, this sum would not last much more than five or six weeks. the time might be extended to two months by running the establishment on credit; but the don was averse to such a course, and all bills were paid promptly at the end of each month. he showed no uneasiness as his cash began to run low, but merely said that if the first installment on the mine should be paid in soon, it would obviate the necessity of drawing upon his agents in lima, otherwise he should call upon them for fifty thousand dollars to carry him through the year. there was nothing in his manner or actions to excite suspicion, and certainly, if he intended to defraud the diamond company, he had too much nerve to betray himself, even to so close an observer as monsieur lesparre. having heard the reports, i strolled out in the evening for a walk with mr. bangs, and while passing one of the leading hotels, i met a very intimate friend, named judge key. the judge was an old resident of gloster, and his character was highly esteemed by all who knew him. he was a man of great ability and force; but, possessing little ambition, he was not nearly so well known as many of those who were his inferiors in point of intellect and morals. we had a great deal of business between us at one time, and our relations to each other were of the most cordial character, partaking more of the nature of personal friendship than mere business acquaintance. i had not visited him previously during my stay in gloster, for the reason that, even to my intimate friends, i never make my presence known when engaged in an operation, if i can avoid doing so. on this occasion, the judge recognized me instantly, and greeted me with great warmth, at the same time adding that i was just the man above all others whom he wished to see. he then introduced his companion to mr. bangs and myself as mr. edward ashley warne, of london, england. "now, mr. pinkerton," said the judge, "let us step into the club close by, and over a social glass of wine, mr. warne will tell you about a peculiar case of mistaken identity, or of consummate rascality--it is hard to know which. possibly you may be able to understand some things which puzzle us, and to frustrate a fraudulent scheme, if our suspicions are correct. you both know each other by reputation, i guess, and i presume, mr. warne, that you will not object to tell mr. pinkerton what you have told me." "oh! yes, i have often heard of mr. pinkerton," said mr. warne, "and i think, as you say, that he can clear up the mystery, if any one can. i shall be pleased to tell him all that i know with regard to it." mr. edward ashley warne was an _attaché_ of the british diplomatic service, and having been entrusted with the settlement of some questions relative to commerce between the united states and great britain, he had executed his mission with such fairness, good sense, and courtesy that he was regarded with great kindness and respect by our people as well as by his own government. he was on a rapid tour through the united states, previous to his return to london, and he had spent a week in gloster with judge key at the time when we met in front of the hotel. we were soon comfortably seated in one of the private dining-rooms of the club, and, after a few sips of wine, mr. warne began his story. "i don't know whether i am the victim of imagination, or the gentlemen of gloster are likely to be the victims of an impostor; but one thing is certain, that a gentleman here known as don pedro p. l. de morito is the exact image of a man who was known in london as don josé arias." this information came so unawares that i almost betrayed my interest in the case by uttering a hasty exclamation. i restrained my feelings, however, and asked mr. warne to tell me all he knew about this man. "well, i first met him in paris, when i was a member of the french legation," replied mr. warne. "he was then moving in the most aristocratic society, and his wealth was reputed enormous. i saw a great deal of him at times, and, indeed, i was better acquainted with him than i was with many of my countrymen; but i was recalled to london about that time, and i soon forgot all about don josé arias." "pardon me," i interrupted; "was the don married?" "oh! yes; he had a beautiful wife, i have been told, but i never happened to see her. i think she was spanish, if i recollect rightly. one day, after my return to england, as i was entering the foreign office, i met don josé coming out, and he seemed delighted to see me. he said that he had come to spend some months in london, and he hoped to enjoy my society frequently. i was then engaged in studying a very difficult diplomatic question, and i was unable to give any time whatever to society; i therefore expressed my regrets that i should be obliged to decline all invitations, and, after some further conversation, we separated. i often heard of him in connection with social events in the best circles, and, on one or two occasions, i met him in the street; but i did not renew our former degree of intimacy, for the simple reason that i did not have the time to do so. just before i left london on the mission for which i had been preparing myself, i was astonished to learn that don josé arias had proved to be a scoundrel of the most dangerous character. he had not hunted small game, it is true, but this was probably a part of his whole scheme. so far as i could learn, he had left no unpaid bills in the hands of tradesmen, but he had taken enough out of bankers and capitalists to pay his tradesmen's bills for half a century. the aggregate fraudulently obtained by him was never known, for many of his victims refused to state their loss; but it was surmised that he obtained as much as forty or fifty thousand pounds sterling in london alone, while several paris bankers also suffered heavily. i was not specially interested in the affair, and it had wholly passed from my mind, when suddenly, while walking in the streets of this city last week, i came upon don josé arias again. he wore his hair differently from his old way in london and paris, having now full side-whiskers, whereas then he wore only moustache and goatee; but i could not be mistaken, and i said to judge key: 'there is a man who forged paper to an immense amount in london less than two years ago.' 'impossible!' replied the judge; 'he is a very wealthy man, moving in the best society in the city.' the judge then vouched for him with such earnestness that i began to believe that i was mistaken; but i determined to meet him face to face, to see whether there could be two persons so nearly resembling each other. unfortunately he had an opportunity to see me before i saw him when i next met him, so that i lost the chance of surprising him into betraying himself. he appeared to glance at me casually, as any stranger would do, and then went on with his conversation without hesitation or embarrassment. i have met him several times since then, and he always acts with the same natural ease of manner, as if we had always been perfect strangers to each other; but, mr. pinkerton, the more i see of him, the more fully am i convinced that don josé arias, of london, and don pedro p. l. de morito, of gloster, are identical; and, believing this, i consider it my duty to tell you these facts in order that your citizens may be protected against him, if possible." "well, mr. pinkerton," said judge key, "what do you think of this affair? mr. warne does not admit that he can be mistaken, and there are some corroboratory evidences that he may be right; yet, it seems incredible. it is a pity that mr. warne should have never seen don josé's wife, because he could then compare her with señora morito, and if they, too, were exact resemblances, there would be no longer any room for doubt." "that would certainly be a strong proof," i remarked; "but i think it is unnecessary. the suspicion you have spoken of, mr. warne, has already been raised by another gentleman in this city, and i have been requested to discover whether or not it is correct." "why, you astonish me!" exclaimed judge key, "for mr. warne has not mentioned the subject to any one but me, and i have never even hinted anything about it except to you gentlemen." "nevertheless, i have suspected for some time that this don pedro was an impostor, and have been trying to obtain positive proof of my opinion, in order to save many persons here from being swindled by him. you are acquainted with senator muirhead, judge?" "oh! yes, quite well." "he has taken enough interest in the affairs of his constituents to place in my hands the task of exposing this man, don pedro, in his true light." "that seems very kind and disinterested on the part of our senator," said judge key, with a quizzical smile; "but i will venture to say that his interest has been excited more by the don's marked attentions to mrs. muirhead, than by the fear that some of his constituents would be defrauded." of course i took no notice of this remark, although i was quite convinced that such was the fact; but as the senator was my client, it would have been eminently improper for me to discuss his motives, and so i turned to mr. warne. "as you have already met this man under another name, mr. warne," i said, "can you not go with me to meet senator muirhead, and tell him what you know about him?" "i must beg you to excuse me, mr. pinkerton," he replied. "you see, i am in this country in an official capacity, and, while i am personally perfectly satisfied of the truth of the statements i have made to you, i cannot prove them; hence, i must be careful not to involve myself in a difficulty which would compromise my position as a diplomatic agent of great britain. i shall immediately give to the police, on my arrival in london, a description of this man, and i presume that prompt action will be taken to insure his arrest and extradition, in case his offenses should come under the extradition treaty. but as this is a question upon which the decision of both governments may be required, the delay may enable this man to escape. i will use all my influence with the london authorities; you will readily see, however, that personally i cannot appear here as an accuser against him." i recognized the force of mr. warne's objection, and did not press him further, but judge key agreed to visit the senator as soon as the latter should return to the city. when i left mr. warne we had agreed that any british official who might be sent to identify and arrest don pedro, should communicate with me the moment he arrived in this country, so that we could work together for the same object, though my whole duty in the case would be to protect the interests of my client, senator muirhead. i then returned to my room with mr. bangs, and made a new move. i saw that more than two months would elapse before any news could be expected from london, as mr. warne would be somewhat delayed in his return home, and meantime, the don would probably obtain a large advance payment for his fictitious mines. if anything should occur to prevent us from sending him to england, he might succeed in getting away with his plunder before we could find any new grounds upon which to hold him. i therefore instructed mr. bangs to write to the proper authorities in peru, brazil, and ecuador, describing don pedro and his numerous suspected _aliases_ accurately, and asking that some steps be taken by his victims to bring him to justice. it was true that we had no extradition treaties with those countries, but nevertheless he might be arrested and frightened into surrendering himself voluntarily. the letters were dispatched at once, and duplicates were also forwarded by the next steamer. there remained nothing further for me to do except to keep a strict watch upon the moritos to see that they should not slip off suddenly with a large sum of money. the diamond company were in such haste to bind the bargain with don pedro, by making him a large payment, that there could be no hope of preventing the partial success of his scheme. whether i might not be able to force him to disgorge afterward was uncertain, but i determined to use every means in my power to accomplish such a result. chapter v. _the third detective is made welcome at don pedro's.--the señor is paid the first half-million dollars from the great diamond company.--how don pedro is "working" his diamond mines.--very suspicious preparations.--the don describes his proposed fête champêtre._ one evening, as the members of the morito family were about to retire, monsieur lesparre noticed a nervousness and abstraction in don pedro such as he had never shown before. thinking that something new might be learned by overhearing the conversation between the don and donna when they should be alone, lesparre, instead of going to his own room, slipped into an unused closet adjoining the don's dressing-room, and communicating therewith by a door, which was kept locked. there was a transom over this door, and, by climbing to one of the shelves, lesparre could hear all that was said in either room of the don's bedroom _suite_. he had hardly taken this position when the two entered their apartments. "see what a handsome necklace that old fool mather sent me to-day," said the donna. "yes, it is very elegant and valuable," said don pedro, with a yawn; "but what we most need is money. however, i do not imagine we shall have any difficulty, for i expect a large sum in a few days from the stockholders in this diamond company. still, you may as well get all you can out of mather and the others, for we must keep up our present style of living to the end." just at this moment the shelf upon which lesparre was sitting gave a loud creak, and he had only just time to slip down and regain his own room before the don came out to see what was the matter. fortunately, there was a large pet cat in the hall, and she received the credit of having made the noise. the next day, on hearing lesparre's report, i decided to place still another detective in the morito mansion, and so i instructed lesparre to recommend the employment of a young man to assist the butler and to do general work about the house. as i expected, don pedro acquiesced in the suggestion, and told lesparre to engage such men-servants as he considered necessary. accordingly, i at once telegraphed to chicago to have a young fellow named george salter sent to gloster at once. he was a very intelligent french canadian, and i chose him because of his slim build, his ingenuity, and his capacity as an eavesdropper. he could listen to a conversation with such a stolid expression that no one would imagine he had an idea in his head beyond the performance of his regular tasks, and even when caught in a place where he had no right to be, he could invent a plausible reason on the instant, which would divert all suspicion from him. on his arrival in gloster, he was sent to ask employment of monsieur lesparre, and, of course, the latter was so pleased with him as to engage him at once. he made himself very useful in the house, and soon became popular with every inmate. a few days later a meeting of the stockholders of the diamond company was held, and it was agreed to make a payment of five hundred thousand dollars at once, another like sum when the title-deeds should be delivered, and the balance within one year from that time. this arrangement was satisfactory to the don, and the sum of half a million dollars was paid over that day in the checks of the different original subscribers. the meeting then appointed a committee of two to visit peru and examine the property. there was some difficulty in selecting two gentlemen who would be willing to go, and yet who would be satisfactory to the others; but deacon humphrey and john preston were finally chosen. either of these gentlemen was willing to go anywhere at others' expense, and it was believed that john preston was too well versed in fraudulent practices to let any one else do any cheating; hence, he was sent to investigate the mines, and deacon humphrey was sent to see that john preston should not steal them. they were not to depart on their mission, however, until the title-deeds were received from peru and delivered to the directors. don pedro passed the checks over to lesparre, and informed the meeting that he had already sent to peru for the deeds, and that the directors should be informed the moment they should arrive; thereafter, all business matters relative to his interest in the mines would be attended to by robert harrington, esq., who would be his attorney in fact. the deeds would be directed to mr. harrington, and that gentleman would deliver them to the directors, receive the second payment, and give his receipt therefor. this arrangement was satisfactory to all, and the meeting adjourned in good spirits, every man feeling that the don had done him a personal favor in accepting his check in part payment for such a valuable property. the don, having indorsed the checks, instructed lesparre to present them at once for payment, each at its own bank, and to bring the money to the house; he was to obtain as much as possible in gold, as the don professed to have little confidence in the bills of private banks. "they may be perfectly sound, lesparre," he said, in an off-hand way, "but then, you know, we foreigners are accustomed to government bills, or gold, and so i prefer to have the latter." taking don pedro's carriage, lesparre visited each bank, and by the time he had cashed the last check, he had a considerable weight of gold and a large amount of bills, about two-thirds having been paid in coin. lesparre and salter carried all the money up to the don's dressing-room, where the don and donna were sitting. "there, my dear," said don pedro to his wife, "this is the first installment of the purchase money of the diamond fields, so that now it will not be long before they will be thoroughly worked. the directors have promised me that you shall have the finest diamond set that the mines can produce within a year from this time, as a present from the company, and you need no longer plague me for not having tried to work them before." "oh! pedro, how lovely!" exclaimed the donna; "you know i have always wanted you to open those mines, and i am so glad that you have consented. now i shall have a set that i shall be proud of." "well, i did not like to give up the old estate to strangers, i confess," replied the don; "but now that it is done, i do not regret it. if you wish any money, help yourself; you can write to your agents in rio that they need not send any more for the present, for we shall have as much as we can use for a year or two. george," he continued, addressing salter, "you will find a stout iron box in the attic, and i think it will serve as a safe for the present. bring it down here and put it in this room." the box was soon brought, and the don checked off the packages of gold and bills as lesparre packed them away, the gold at the bottom. "now, you can check against my bank accounts for our current expenses, lesparre," said don pedro, with a complacent smile; "and when the funds on deposit are exhausted, i will give you cash monthly to pay all bills as heretofore. i intend to give a grand _fête champêtre_ soon, as a lesson to these gloster people how to enjoy life. i propose to engage one of the islands in the river at once, and begin the necessary work of preparing it artistically for the scene of our revelry. i shall choose one of the large wooded islands with ridges and ravines running through it, and it will take about two weeks to clear away the underbrush, to clean up the grass and prepare the landing-places. then, by the end of another week, the weather will be delightful, and our arrangements will be completed. i will make the place a fairy spectacle, such as the unimaginative inhabitants of gloster never dreamed of, and then we will prepare for our summer trip to newport and saratoga. what do you think of the plan, monsieur lesparre?" "it is an admirable one, and i feel sure that the people of gloster will enjoy such an entertainment far more than any that has ever been given here." "well, i shall rely largely upon your assistance," continued the don, carefully locking his safe as he spoke, "and we must divide the duties between us, though of course my time will be somewhat taken up by society. suppose we issue invitations for three weeks from to-day?" "better say five weeks, if not six," replied lesparre, anxious to delay don pedro's departure as much as possible in order to obtain an answer to our letters to peru and brazil. "you see, the people here are not accustomed to such gayeties, and it will take some time to prepare their minds to appreciate it." "yes, that is true," said the don, reflectively; "but i do not like to defer it so long. however, let us compromise by fixing one month hence as the time, and we will make it a masquerade as well as an outdoor _fête_. the guests will then have ample time to prepare their costumes, and we can give that as a reason for issuing the invitations so long in advance." the don was in no special hurry to escape with his plunder, but neither was he desirous of remaining too long in the vicinity of his victims; hence, although he had no suspicion that his schemes had been discovered by any one, he fixed an earlier date than that suggested by lesparre in order to prevent the probability of any accident occurring to mar his plans. lesparre immediately ordered the cards of invitation, and in a few days all gloster was in a state of pleasurable excitement over the news of the coming event. never had such a commotion been created in the placid waters of society as was raised by the delicate cards of invitation to señora morito's _fête champêtre_ and _bal masque_. the number who received invitations was enormous, including every individual having any claims to be regarded as a member of good society. from that time forward, lesparre was so busy with the preparations for the _fête_ that he was able to see very little of the rest of the family except in the evening. the don and donna and madame sevier continued their usual round of dissipation and gayety, however, and "all went merry as a marriage bell." still there were some curious features of their conduct which i regarded with suspicion. every day the don gave lesparre a large sum in bank-bills to be exchanged for gold, and the coin was then locked up in the iron safe. then the don and donna held frequent conversations in spanish, during which it was easy to see by their manner that they were discussing an affair of great importance. madame sevier found a newly-purchased traveler's guide-book in the donna's bureau, and from various marks and turned pages it was evident that it had been carefully consulted with reference to an ocean voyage. these things led me to the conclusion that the don was preparing for a journey, and the fact that he made no mention of it, even to lesparre, showed that he intended to go secretly. to all his acquaintances he spoke freely of his contemplated tour of the watering-places during the summer, but he always promised to spend the following winter in gloster, without fail; hence it was clear that he was playing a double game, to deceive some one. i could only wait further developments, and heartily wish for advices from peru or england. in company with judge key i called upon senator muirhead, on the return of that gentleman from the session of congress, and we discussed together the best plan to pursue, to foil the schemes of don pedro. the senator was very anxious to proceed against him immediately, with the intention of showing him up in his true character, and thus saving his victims from any further loss. "indeed, senator muirhead," i replied, "i am as desirous to arrest his fraudulent operations as yourself, but i want to be sure of success before i do anything, and i do not see my way clear to act just now. at present we can prove nothing whatever against him; in fact, the only charge we could make would be that of obtaining money under false pretenses. now, what evidence could we bring to substantiate the accusation? there is no judge living that would hold him on my or your individual opinion that he has sold mines which do not exist, and we should have nothing else to offer." "yes, but you forget his forgeries in other countries," interrupted the senator. "in the first place," i replied, "you could not charge him in this country with crimes committed elsewhere, even though you had the positive proof of those crimes. if you charged him here with obtaining money under false pretenses, you could produce no testimony except such as bore upon the specific act alleged in your complaint; all other testimony would be ruled out. but, even suppose that such testimony were admissible, can you produce any witness to his crimes in other countries? indeed, admitting again that these crimes were proven, can we establish the identity of don pedro p. l. de morito as the perpetrator of those crimes? no, sir; we have not a single witness; i ask you as a lawyer, judge key, am i not right?" "you are correct in every particular, mr. pinkerton," replied the judge. "i confess that you present the difficulties of the case more forcibly than i could have done myself." "yes, you are right, mr. pinkerton," said senator muirhead; "i do not see that we can do anything; yet it seems shameful to sit idly doing nothing, when we know that this scoundrel is obtaining such immense sums from our people. what do you propose to do in the future, mr. pinkerton?" "i can hardly tell what may be possible as yet," i answered; "but i feel sure that i shall not only prevent him from securing any more plunder, but also wrest from him that which has already fallen into his hands. he feels secure in the possession of this large sum, and he is in no great hurry to get away; he will undoubtedly remain until after his _fête champêtre_ at least. before that time, i hope to hear something definite from either england or peru, and then i can act with a power in reserve in case our own means should be insufficient to enforce our demands for restitution. any action against him now would only result in hastening his departure with all the money he has gained, for i am certain that we could not hold him." "well, i see that nothing can be done now," said the senator, despondently; "but do not lose sight of this man for a moment, mr. pinkerton, for he seems an adept in all the tricks of crime." "never fear, senator muirhead," i replied, cheerfully; "i feel sure that we shall eventually not only bring his career here to a hasty close, but also recover the money which he has fraudulently obtained." when we parted, the senator was a little more hopeful, though he said that he should not be at all surprised if don pedro outwitted us after all. the loss to the senator's friends would, of course, be very large; but, perhaps, the lesson would not be a bad thing for them; they would know better thereafter than to part with their money so foolishly. that same evening the don and donna, monsieur lesparre, and madame sevier, were engaged for the evening at a dancing party given by judge peter b. taylor. knowing of their intentions to attend this party, i saw an excellent opportunity for salter to examine the private apartments of the don and donna. accordingly, after the family had gone away in the carriage, salter began to talk to the other servants about the advantages of belonging to a family where the domestics were allowed to do as they pleased, instead of being so carefully watched. the laundress then related how much less pleasure they had, now that madame sevier was in charge of the household. "why," said she, "before this french woman came, the servants here had as good a time as any one could ask. many a fine ribbon, or handkerchief, or bit of a collar, they picked up unbeknownst to the donna; and, as for aitin', why there was niver a lock on any storeroom in the house, so that there was lashins of good livin' in the kitchen as well as in the dinin'-room. but when this madame sevyay came, she put everything under lock and key, and she snapped off the old cook's head in no time for sassin' her. jist so with the men; this lesparre, the don's private secretary, is as close with the men as the madame is with the women. the butler used to often bring a nice bottle of wine into the kitchen for us to be merry over, but he can't do it now." "well, i believe i can find something to drink by a little search," said salter, with a knowing wink at the laundress and chambermaid. "you wait here, and i'll see what i can do to provide a glass of wine all 'round. "oh! would you dare?" asked the handsome chambermaid, looking at salter admiringly. "ain't you 'fraid you'll be caught?" "no, indeed; i believe i can get a bottle of port out of one of the rooms upstairs, without any one ever discovering its loss. anyhow, i'm going to try, so you all stay here while i make search." accordingly, salter went straight to the don's room, to which he had a key. having received from lesparre an impression of the locks of the house several days before, i had had a skeleton key made, which would open almost any door about the place. while apparently engaged in cleaning the door-knobs, it had been a very easy matter for him to take, in wax, a complete impression of the wards of all the door-locks, with out attracting suspicion. he now had no difficulty, therefore, in entering the don's room, where he found that the don had removed his iron chest from his dressing-room to his chamber, it being placed at the head of the bedstead. on trying to lift the box, he found that it was very heavy indeed, requiring all his strength to stir it. this was due, of course, to the coin which had been put into it, and salter's testimony, therefore, corroborated lesparre's. salter then, in accordance with my instructions, carefully bored holes through the door leading into the closet in which lesparre had once listened to a short conversation between the don and donna. he arranged these holes so that they would not be detected by the eye, and having thus prepared an excellent place for listening to the occupants of the chamber suite, salter returned to the kitchen. on the way, he opened the dining-room sideboard and captured a bottle of port wine, with which he entertained the other servants in fine style. meanwhile, the don and his party had been received with the utmost cordiality by judge taylor and his wife, who felt quite proud to be the first to entertain such distinguished guests after the sale of the diamond mines, and the issue of the invitations to the don's grand _fête_. every one had talked about the affair, but no one felt exactly sure what a _fête champêtre_ was, and so united states commissioner charlie morton determined to ask the don himself what his entertainment would be. accordingly, as don pedro approached with mrs. arlington on his arm, morton greeted him pleasantly, and said: "don pedro, every one who has received an invitation to your _fête champêtre_ is dying of curiosity to know what it means, and so i am going to take the liberty of asking you to explain it. i freely confess my own ignorance, and i know that there are a great many others no better informed than i am, who would be ashamed to admit that fact; but i cheerfully acknowledge that i have never attended one, and i don't know how i shall be expected to dress nor to act. so please tell me all about it, and i will promise to spread the news among my acquaintances." "my dear sir," replied don pedro, politely, "i admire your frankness, and i shall take pleasure in explaining the principal features of our _fête champêtre_. it was the donna lucia's desire and mine to devote one day to enjoyment, and we therefore decided upon giving an entertainment in the open air which should combine every species of gayety and social recreation. it is our intention to embark in the forenoon and proceed by steamer to one of the large islands in the river. there everything will be prepared for outdoor enjoyment; there will be boats and bathing-houses; swings and archery-grounds; billiard-tables and bowling-alleys; in short, opportunities will be provided for the gratification of every one's tastes. about five o'clock a dinner will be served, the _menu_ for which will include every procurable luxury of the table, and after dinner, the evening will be spent in dancing on the open platforms or in enclosed ballrooms, according to the preferences of the guests, while magnesium lights and colored lanterns will give all possible brilliancy to the scene. dazzling displays of fireworks will be given at intervals during the evening, and when we finally leave the island on our return to the city, a grand illumination of the whole island will take place as we steam off into the darkness." [illustration: _don pedro explaining the fête champêtre._] quite a group had gathered around while the don was speaking, and as he closed, there was a general murmur of admiration. the whole affair was planned on a scale of such magnificence as to appear almost too wonderful to be believed, but the don had shown such fertility of invention previously, that there was no doubt he was quite equal to creating a scene of oriental splendor such as had never before been witnessed in this country. "well, i admit frankly," said charlie morton, "that we americans must learn the art of enjoying life from foreigners, and i think there is no doubt that don pedro is a most adept master of its mysteries. is there not something said in the invitations about appearing in masks, don pedro?" "oh, yes; i forgot to say at first that there will be much amusement in requiring every guest to be dressed in fancy costume and to wear a mask. the masks will not be removed until the dinner is served, and then, at a given signal, the guests will expose themselves in their own characters." the don's description of the intended programme for the _fête_ was soon repeated through all the fashionable circles of gloster, and the expectation of the whole city was raised to a high pitch. no other social event had ever created a like excitement, and it was the theme of conversation at all times and in all places. the day following the taylor's party don pedro seemed to have determined to get rid of as much paper money in exchange for gold as possible, and during the day he sent more than twenty thousand dollars to be exchanged; of this amount lesparre and madame sevier handled the greater portion, but even the young man, salter, was entrusted with three thousand dollars in paper, for which he obtained gold at a trifling discount. this method of exchanging money was repeated several times, it being evidently the don's intention to retain nothing but gold in his possession, and as he had already obtained the greater portion of his plunder in coin, it was not long before he had accomplished his object. meantime, the preparations for the _fête_ went on apace, and the time of the don and lesparre was quite fully occupied in planning and arranging the details. the senator called to see me daily, and his constant urging somewhat excited me, so that i became nervous and apprehensive myself. still, no news came from abroad, and i could do nothing. chapter vi. _a mysterious stranger.--an unexpected meeting and a startling recognition.--an old friend somewhat disturbs the equanimity of don pedro.--the detectives fix their attention upon pietro bernardi.--pietro and his unpalatable reminiscences.--the donna shows spirit._ "early one forenoon salter was called to the front door by a violent pull at the bell, and on arriving there he confronted a rather disreputable-looking character, who eyed him with an extremely distrustful look. the man appeared to be about thirty years old, and he was evidently a foreigner. he was tall, well-formed, and muscular, and his general bearing was quite at variance with his ragged, dirty clothing. he had black hair and moustache, a swarthy complexion, small feet and hands, the latter soft and well-shaped, and his dark eyes were piercing and brilliant. "good morning," he said to salter, with a haughty nod; "is don juan at home?" "no such person lives here," replied salter, partially closing the door upon the wolfish-appearing stranger. "i have good reasons for believing that don juan _is_ here," replied the man, "and is doubtless the guest of the gentleman who resides here. at any rate, i know that he is now in this house, and i want to see him very much. he would be equally glad to see me if he knew i were here;" and so saying, he pushed salter aside and entered the hall. this action still further prejudiced salter against him, and he said: "perhaps you mean monsieur lesparre, who is a guest of my employer?" "that may be," replied the man; "please say that i wish to see him immediately." salter did not care to leave the stranger alone, and so he told one of the female servants, who was dusting the parlor furniture, to call monsieur lesparre. that gentleman was in don pedro's room, discussing some plans for the _fête_, and, when informed that a stranger wished to see him, he told the servant to show him to the room where he usually transacted business. as the man passed before don pedro's door, however, lesparre stepped out to learn who it was. "this man wishes to see you, monsieur lesparre," said salter, who was following the stranger. "that is not the gentleman i asked for," the latter replied. at this instant don pedro came into the hall, and, as his eyes fell upon the stranger, he gave a sudden start, and became very pale. the recognition was mutual, for the newcomer rushed forward and said: "ah! don juan, i am delighted to meet you again. i knew i was not mistaken when i saw you yesterday and recognized----" "there, there!" interrupted the don, giving the speaker a warning look, "i am glad to meet you again, pietro; walk into my room, and sit down." lesparre was about to follow, but don pedro stopped, and whispered to him: "excuse me a short time, my dear lesparre; this is an old acquaintance whom i knew in better circumstances years ago. he seems quite reduced now, and he may be sensitive enough to object to telling the story of his loss of fortune before a stranger;" and, so saying, the don retired to his room, leaving lesparre and salter outside. the latter immediately hurried into the closet, where he could hear the whole conversation within the room. "well, pietro," began the don, "where are you from? you have not been fortunate, it is evident; but how did it happen?" "you are right; i have had bad luck," replied pietro. "it is the old story; i have had thousands of dollars at times, and have lived like a prince; and again i have been badly treated by dame fortune, and have lived as i could; but i have never before been so very miserable and poor as now. positively, it is most providential that i have met you, for i have eaten nothing for twenty-four hours." "indeed, pietro, you shock me," replied the don, sympathetically; "shall i order some breakfast for you?" "no; i can wait awhile, and i do not care to be seen by your servants until i get better clothing. but tell me where you have been since we parted in peru. you have certainly been as fortunate as i have been the reverse; do you make much by gambling?" "no, pietro; i gamble very little, except in an occasional game of cards with gentlemen of my acquaintance; but i made a good sum--that is," continued the don, checking himself a moment, "i made a wealthy marriage, and my wife's fortune is ample for us both. by the way, how did you happen to find me?" "well, i have been enjoying life in new orleans for some time, and, having won quite a large amount there, i decided to come north as the mild weather began. so i started a month ago on one of those enormous mississippi steamboats, and, of course, i gambled whenever i could. my luck was bad from the start, and, on arriving here, i had nothing except my clothing and jewelry; these i pawned gradually, and soon i was reduced to my present condition. yesterday i met you as you were entering the globe hotel with a party of gentlemen, but i did not want to mortify you by speaking to you in company; so i waited until you came to this house, intending then to call upon you late in the evening, when no one would see me; but you went out in your carriage, and remained so late, that i put off my visit until this morning. i thought that, considering our former relations to each other, you would be willing to set me on my feet again." "i shall be very glad indeed to do so," replied the don, eagerly, "and you must tell me what you wish to do, and where you wish to go." "well, just now i should like to go to breakfast, don juan," said pietro, with a gaunt smile; "but i have no money to pay for my meal." "don't call me 'don juan,' my dear friend," said the don. "i have adopted another name for use in this country, and of course no one knows me except as don pedro p. l. de morito." "oh, ho! is that all there is of it?" asked pietro, with a laugh. "well, i shall remember in future to call you 'don pedro'; but what can you do for me in the way of money and clothes?" "i will give you fifty dollars at once, and you can get a new outfit yourself; then, when you call again to-morrow morning, we will talk over your future plans. i have a very important engagement to keep in about fifteen minutes, so i must ask you to excuse me now." "but i can't get any respectable suit of clothes and underclothing for fifty dollars," replied pietro. "well, here are fifty dollars," said the don handing a roll of bills to pietro, "and my secretary, monsieur lesparre, will give you an equal amount. you will then have enough to satisfy your immediate wants, and we will arrange the rest to-morrow." so saying, the don called monsieur lesparre and introduced the stranger as pietro bernardi, a fellow-countryman in distress. the don was quite pale and nervous, and though he did not show any marked signs of agitation, a close observer, like lesparre, could readily see that his new visitor was anything but a welcome one. "i wish you to give señor bernardi fifty dollars, monsieur lesparre," said the don, "and order breakfast for him here, if he wishes it. i am going out immediately, as i see the carriage is waiting for me, but i shall return at lunch-time. _au revoir_, gentlemen; call about nine o'clock to-morrow, pietro." the don then went to his carriage, and pietro followed lesparre to his business-room, where he received an additional fifty dollars. pietro quickly stowed the money away in his pocket, and walked abruptly out of the house, saying: "i'll not trouble you to prepare breakfast for me, as i can get it down town just as well." the moment pietro was gone, lesparre called salter out of the closet, and sent him out on an errand ostensibly; of course, his real duty was to "shadow" mr. pietro bernardi, and report the occurrences of the morning to me. salter kept his man in view until he was seated at a popular restaurant table, and then, knowing that some time would be required before the peruvian's appetite would be satisfied, my detective hurried to my office, and made his report. as it would not be safe to detain salter long away from his duties at the morito residence, i decided to keep a watch upon bernardi myself until mr. bangs could send me a man from chicago. having sent a telegram to mr. bangs, i went to the restaurant at once, being joined by judge key on the way. together we entered the restaurant, and i quickly discovered bernardi still lingering over his breakfast. we each ordered a cup of coffee, and i informed the judge of the new developments in the case as brought out in the conversation between the don and bernardi. "my opinion is," i said, in a tone audible only to the judge, "that this man, bernardi, knows some important facts relative to the past life of don pedro, and if we can pump this information out of him, we may thereby obtain valuable assistance in our endeavors to outwit the don. now it shall be my aim to learn all that this man knows, for it may give us the means of proceeding against señor morito immediately; but even if it should not, we may need such information very much. you see, it is not impossible that we may be forced to use threats to make him disgorge, for i shall not let him escape with his plunder without a struggle, even though no news whatever should come from peru or england. at present, however, we will devote some time to this pietro bernardi, and see what he can tell us." the judge fully concurred with me, and said that, as i might be too busy to see senator muirhead, he would call upon that gentleman and tell him the latest news. we accordingly sipped our coffee slowly until bernardi was ready to go, and then i followed him at a little distance, while the judge went to call upon senator muirhead. bernardi slowly sauntered down the street, smoking a cigar, and soon reached a large retail clothing store. i remained in the street watching the entrance of the store about an hour, when, as i expected, bernardi came out in a neat business suit complete, but wearing the same old boots and hat. these articles were soon replaced by new ones, and after a bath and shave, señor bernardi was a very different-looking person from the rough customer who had visited don pedro in the morning. in addition to his underclothing, linen, hat, boots, and suit of clothes, he purchased at a pawnbroker's shop some very decent jewelry and he now appeared like a gentlemanly gambler, or a member of the board of trade. he did not conclude his business arrangements until he had engaged a boarding-place and bought a trunk, which was sent to his lodgings. he then appeared to have relieved his mind of all care, and he spent the afternoon playing pool and billiards in a fashionable saloon. after dining at a restaurant, he went to a minstrel entertainment, after which he returned to his lodgings to retire for the night. when i went to bed at eleven o'clock, after having followed bernardi most of the day, i realized that the duties of a faithful "shadow" were sometimes excessively wearying. the next morning, however, i found that a mr. newton had arrived from chicago in response to my telegram, and i was thus relieved from any further anxiety. he was a cool, shrewd fellow, of attractive appearance and pleasing manners, so that he was peculiarly fitted to obtain the confidence of a man like bernardi, and it was on that account that i had selected him for the work. he had no difficulty in tracking bernardi to don pedro's residence, and having seen him admitted there, newton hurried back to report to me. i then instructed him to follow bernardi until he should have an opportunity to make his acquaintance; this could be done without difficulty in a drinking or billiard saloon, and he was then to cultivate an intimacy with him. on asking to see señor morito, bernardi was at once admitted, and as soon as the don closed his door, salter slipped into the closet to listen. "ah! you are looking much better this morning," said the don, as he scratched a match and handed it to bernardi to light his cigar. "yes, i am feeling much better too. this seems quite like old times, doesn't it? as i sit here and puff your fragrant havanas, i could almost imagine you were again in the real estate business in peru. ha! ha! that was a speculation that paid well, eh?" "pietro, you must be careful not to drop a hint of those times to any one, or i should be ruined," replied the don; "i am in good society here, and i hope to make a little money out of a scheme i have on hand; but it is still quite uncertain whether i shall succeed, and my expenses in engineering the affair are fast eating up all my capital. now, i shall be happy to assist you as far as i can, but it will be on condition that you leave town; for if you should get tipsy and begin to talk about me, i should lose everything. next month, i may realize my hopes, but i am playing a risky game, and i cannot afford to jeopardize it. what do you want? tell me how i can serve you, and how much money you need, and if i can help you, i will gladly do so." "that is fair enough, don juan--pedro, i mean--i only want a start, and i shall get along without any difficulty; but to tell the truth, i don't know where to go. i could not return to peru--neither could you, for that matter--and i know of only one place where i could succeed and be satisfied to stay. i have been thinking of going to buenos ayres, if i could have a fair sum to start me in good style on arriving there; but it is a long journey, and i am in no haste to start. by the way, where is your present señorita? or are you really married as you said? is she as handsome as the other was?" "yes, she is very handsome," replied the don, curtly; "but she knows nothing about my history previous to our meeting, and i do not wish that she should; so let us leave her out of our discussion. i have some money left, though it is decreasing rapidly, and i will assist you as far as possible, if you will leave gloster at once; for i am afraid that you will begin drinking to excess again, and you know that when you are half drunk there is nothing in the world you will not tell. how much do you want?" "oh! don pedro, you need not fear that i shall betray you; but i can't start off on a long journey so soon after the fatigue and hardship i have undergone during the last month. just let me have three or four hundred dollars to enable me to live in good style for a week or two, and to get some better jewelry than this cheap stuff, and i will be ready to start for buenos ayres as soon as you wish." "well, i will give you three hundred dollars now, and as soon as you have spent that, you must be ready to leave gloster on your way out of the united states." so saying, the don stepped to his dressing-case, opened and then closed a drawer, and said: "there are three rouleaux of gold pieces, each containing one hundred dollars. when that is gone, i will buy your ticket to buenos ayres or montevideo, as you prefer, and will give you as much money as i can possibly spare; you must be prepared to go then." "all right, my dear pedro," replied bernardi, rising to go; "i shall be ready at that time. you can trust my discretion, however, as long as i stay here, and no one shall ever hear a word from me to your discredit. i may call to see you occasionally?" "oh! certainly; come in the forenoon. by the way, pietro, let me caution you against gambling while you are here, for i have found that we are no match for these northern gamblers. they will take every dollar from you if you venture to stake against them. you will surely lose, and then you will want me to supply you again; but i tell you frankly i will not do it. i have hardly money enough to carry through my scheme, and if you choose to betray me, you can do so, but it won't do you any good whatever; whereas, if you are faithful to me, i can spare you a reasonable sum to start you afresh in buenos ayres." "never fear, don pedro, i shall be mute as an oyster," and so saying, bernardi took his leave. the foregoing conversation had taken place in the don's dressing-room, so that salter had no difficulty in hearing every word, even when the speakers dropped their voices to mere whispers; but there was another listener in the don's bed-chamber who was equally successful in overhearing all that had been said. the donna, having heard of the arrival of this mysterious pietro bernardi the day before, was anxious to know who he was and what he came for. accordingly, she placed herself at the keyhole of their chamber door leading into the don's dressing-room, and when pietro had gone, she entered the don's presence. "who was that person, don pedro?" she asked, with a sharp tone to her voice, foreboding no good to her already nervous and irritated spouse. "oh! his name is pietro bernardi, and i formerly knew him in peru. he was quite a fine young fellow then, but he has taken to gambling, drinking, and general dissipation, so that it is very unpleasant to have him turn up here as an acquaintance." "is that the only reason why you dislike to see him, señor morito?" asked the donna, her manner becoming more clearly inquisitive and hostile. "you are too anxious to get rid of him for that to be the sole cause of your annoyance at his presence." "well, my dear lucia, the fact is, that he knows enough about me in the past to be a very dangerous person to have around just now, for he might expose me to the people here, and ruin our schemes upon the diamond company." "why did you not tell me about this? there must be no secrets which i do not share, for i do not intend to be deserted by you as you have deserted others before. no, no, don pedro," she continued, passionately, "i heard every word of your conversation with this man, and you must understand that you cannot treat me like a doll, to be thrown away when you are tired of me. i am able and anxious to help you in all your plans, but i must have your full confidence. you know that i love you, and you say that you return my love, but sometimes i distrust you. you deserted a señorita in lima, and some day you may try to desert me; but i warn you that i would follow you to the ends of the earth, and i could easily find it in my heart to kill you if you played me false." as the donna uttered these words, her determined tones clearly showed that she would have no hesitation in executing her threat. the don had no reply to offer, and finally the donna closed the conversation by saying: "this is our first approach to a quarrel, and i hope it will be the last. you know that i am fearfully excited by any suggestion of the possibility of losing you, and this man's words and sneers have made me almost beside myself. but recollect, i am not without friends, for there are plenty of rich men here who would be delighted to obey my lightest whims if i would permit them, and if you should ever desert me, i would tell all i know of you, and invoke their aid to bring you to punishment. now let us go along together, without any secrets apart from each other in the future, and we shall have no occasion to quarrel again." the donna then left the room, and went out to drive with madame sevier, leaving the don alone. salter quickly slipped downstairs, but was summoned back by the ringing of the don's bell. on entering the dressing-room, salter found his employer seated in a large easy-chair, looking quite pale and agitated. "i wish you would bring me a decanter of brandy and a glass, george," said the don; "i don't feel very well, and i think a sip of cognac will do me good." salter obeyed orders, and then went to lesparre's room to report the conversations which he had overheard while concealed in the closet. lesparre soon went into the don's room to talk over the plans for the _fête_, but don pedro was in low spirits, and did not care to converse. he ordered his horse to be brought to the door, and was soon galloping down the avenue as a relief to his depressed nerves. lesparre immediately came to my office, reported what salter had told him, and then went about his duty of preparing the island to receive the guests on the day of the _fête_. chapter vii. _pietro bernardi and the detective become warm friends.--a "tête-à-tête" worth one thousand dollars._ when pietro bernardi left the morito residence, he sauntered downtown in a leisurely manner, with newton carefully following at a safe distance. bernardi was evidently vain of his personal appearance, for he was dissatisfied with his ready-made outfit, and, entering a fashionable tailoring establishment, he was measured for a complete suit of clothes. the rest of the forenoon was spent in buying shirts, underclothing, trinkets, and toilet articles of quite an expensive character. after a hasty lunch at a restaurant, bernardi walked to the post-office, where he met a man whose appearance indicated unmistakably the professional gambler. they seemed to be old acquaintances, and, after taking a drink together, they conversed for some time in low tones. finally they separated, and bernardi went to his lodgings. about six o'clock he reappeared, and newton followed him to the post-office again, where the gambler, who was waiting in the morning, was met apparently by appointment. the two men walked a short distance together, and then disappeared up a stairway, which, newton was certain, led to gambling rooms. he waited outside nearly an hour undecided what to do, but at length he went upstairs among a crowd of young sports, who seemed to know the ways of the place, and he was allowed to pass in with them unquestioned. he found bernardi just rising from the dinner-table, which the proprietors of the gambling house were in the habit of setting for their regular patrons. the faro-table was in full blast, and bernardi was soon seated at it with the air of an old _habitué_. he was thenceforward so deeply interested in the game as to pay no attention to anything else, and, as he was unusually lucky, his pile of gold pieces rapidly increased. newton took a position at his elbow and watched the game in silence for some minutes. at length, seeing bernardi win a large stake, he said in a familiar tone: "you are unusually lucky to-night, and i see you play for all the game is worth." keeping his eyes intently fastened upon the dealer's box, bernardi replied carelessly: "yes, this is a game where a man must put down his money freely if he wants to win." the next turn of the cards was doubly lucky for bernardi, and, as he raked in his winnings, he glanced up at newton, scanned his face a moment, and said: "i think i have met you in new orleans, have i not?" "very likely, for i have often been there; but i do not recall your name, though your face is quite familiar to me." "why, certainly," continued bernardi, apparently quite pleased at the idea of meeting an old new orleans acquaintance; "my name is pietro bernardi, and i have often seen you in the rooms of french joe on magazine street." "oh! yes, i used to go there a good deal, and we must have met frequently. let us take something for old acquaintance' sake." this was taking a short cut to bernardi's friendship, and as the two stood before the sideboard clicking glasses together, a stranger would have supposed them to be old cronies, as indeed bernardi actually believed to be the case. newton instantly saw that bernardi's frequent drinks during the day and his later potations in the evening had rendered him somewhat intoxicated; he was not drunk, for he had a perfect comprehension of his actions, but he had drunk enough to be very happy, and he probably saw in newton's face a hazy resemblance to some one he had known in new orleans. he soon returned to the faro-table, and, taking his seat, asked newton whether he intended to do any betting. "no, not to-night," newton replied, yawning. "i am very tired and restless, and i make it a rule never to bet when my nerves are shaky." "well, that is a mighty good rule," said bernardi, as he put out a pile of gold pieces. "if you will only stick to that plan, you will be sure to win. i can always feel when luck is with me, and if i could only make up my mind to stop when i know that i cannot win, i should be as successful as could be wished; but sometimes i get obstinate when the cards begin to run against me, and then i buck against fate until i lose all." having an absorbing interest in the game, bernardi talked very little after this, but about eleven o'clock he counted his winnings, and, finding that they amounted to more than two hundred dollars, he decided to withdraw. in company with newton, therefore, he left the room, and entered a bar-room below. they drank and chatted together a short time, and then separated, bernardi going to a well-known house of ill-repute, while newton carefully dogged his footsteps unseen. knowing that bernardi intended to spend the night where he was, newton returned to his own lodgings. they had agreed to meet at the post-office about eleven o'clock next day, and newton knew that his services would not be required before that hour. about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, newton and bernardi met at the post-office, as agreed, and, after a morning dram together, they went to a restaurant for breakfast. "how did you enjoy yourself yesterday evening?" asked newton, as they were finishing their meal. "oh! very well indeed. i met a young lady whom i used to know in new orleans, and she was very lovely; but i shall never meet one like my señorita. she was the most beautiful woman living;" and, as he spoke, bernardi sighed deeply, and became moody, silent, and abstracted. "yes; i recollect having seen her with you once in new orleans," replied newton, on a venture; "is she dead?" "no, ---- ---- her! i wish she was," replied bernardi, savagely. "she started to come north with me, and i gave her everything she could ask; but when i had won a large sum of money at natchez, she stole several thousand dollars from me, and disappeared with a mississippi gambler, whom she had never seen but twice. i didn't care for the money, but i loved her passionately, and i cannot think of her without becoming enraged. come, let us go get some brandy; i always have to drink when i think of her." while they were drinking together, newton asked bernardi if he was always fortunate in gaming. "oh! no, indeed; why, less than a week ago i had not a cent to buy my breakfast, and i did not know whether to enlist in the army or commit suicide." "then your present success is marvelous, for you must have won, in all, four or five hundred dollars," said newton, inquiringly. "no, i did not win it all; in fact, i could not have done so, for i did not have a dime to start with; but i met an old friend here who gave me a few hundreds, and who will give me more when i want it." "that's the kind of a friend to have," said newton, warmly; "come, let us drink again to his health. i wish i had met you before, for i would have been glad to divide with you. we ought always to stand by each other, especially we southerners, among these yankee gamblers." "yes, that is true," replied bernardi, taking an immense drink of brandy; "they are not so generous to each other as we are down south. now, my friend, whom i spoke of, is one of the right sort. he gave me enough for a new outfit, and has promised to give me a good sum when i am ready to go south again." "is he a southerner too?" asked newton. "oh! yes," bernardi replied, "he is from peru, where i first met him, and we have had many a gay time together. i used to keep a fine suite of gambling rooms, which he frequented, and he used to play with the utmost indifference to the results; he always seemed equally unmoved whether he won or lost." "i suppose you must have been very warm friends," said newton, "or he would not now be so ready to assist you?" "well, don juan is a very liberal fellow, i admit," answered bernardi; "but he might not be so generous were it not to his interest to be so," he continued, with a knowing wink. "oh! ho! i see," replied newton, nodding his head expressively. "your friend would not care to have you talk about his past history, i suppose?" "exactly; he knows that i could tell some things about him which might spoil his pleasure here, and so he is anxious to keep on good terms with me. however, he needn't fear me as long as he treats me decently, for i do not wish to injure him, and when i am ready to go i shall get a good sum from him to start me in business elsewhere." "suppose he should refuse to give you anything more, or have you arrested for blackmailing him," suggested newton. "i'd like to see him try it," bernardi exclaimed, with a volley of oaths. "i guess two could play at the game of swearing out warrants, and when the account was balanced, his imprisonment would be twenty times as long as mine. no, no; i have no fear that he will attempt such a thing." "i merely spoke of it as a possibility," said newton, "in order that you should be on your guard. a man with wealth and position might succeed in crushing a friendless poor man in spite of the latter's protestations. however, if any such thing should happen, you can depend upon it that i will work for you until you are released." "that's right, my friend," replied bernardi, as he called for another drink of brandy. "if i should suddenly disappear without warning to you, don't fail to search for me everywhere, and i will see that you are handsomely rewarded. if don juan should attempt any treachery, i should have him at my mercy as soon as i should get free, and, together, we could squeeze a large sum out of him." newton spent the day with bernardi, and they became quite inseparable. after driving about the city for an hour or two, they attended a matinée performance at one of the theatres, and then had a long and sumptuous dinner at a fashionable restaurant. in the evening they went to the gambling-rooms where they had met the night before, and bernardi was soon absorbed in the game of faro. his luck still clung to him, and, on leaving the place at midnight, he had won three hundred dollars more. as before, bernardi went to enjoy the society of his new orleans charmer, and newton went to his own lodgings. after newton had made his report to me, early the next morning, i told him to continue his intimacy with bernardi, and to pump him as thoroughly as possible relative to don pedro's past history. soon after his departure to meet bernardi, senator muirhead and judge key entered, and we discussed the possibility of doing anything with this new witness, pietro bernardi. "would it not be possible to frighten him into telling all he knows of don pedro?" asked the senator. "i hardly think we could," i replied. "in the first place, you have no charge whatever against bernardi, nor any reason to suppose that he has ever been a criminal anywhere; hence, how could we frighten him? moreover, he is a man of considerable nerve, and he would see that, as against third parties, his interests would be best served by supporting, instead of attacking, don pedro. no, i don't see anything to be gained as yet by showing our hands. our object is to recover possession of the money paid to the don for those bogus diamond fields, and to do that, we must wait until we have a sure case against him for his crimes committed elsewhere." "i agree with you wholly," added judge key. "besides, this fellow, bernardi, knows nothing of the don's forgeries and frauds except those committed in peru, and as we have before shown, we could make no use of those accusations until we hear from peru. indeed, it is questionable how far we can proceed even then, for we have no extradition treaty with that country." "well, i do not mind that very much," i replied, "for my chief dependence is upon the moral effect upon don pedro. i think that we can so work upon him as to obtain his consent to go to peru voluntarily, rather than to be detained here until a requisition arrives from england. he knows that if he be sent to england, he will be transported for a long term of years; whereas, in peru, he may avoid conviction altogether, or purchase his escape after conviction." "but can we make him give up his plunder?" asked the senator, anxiously. "i think we can," said i. "you see that he is liable to be held here for obtaining money under false pretenses, and during the trial the money could be taken by attachment. then, even though he should not be convicted, the delay would enable us to make sure of sending him back to london, where a heavy sentence would undoubtedly be given him. now, by representing these things to him, we shall induce him to hand over the money voluntarily, and after that we shall not care whether he is taken to great britain or peru." "if that be the case, why not arrest him now and get the advices from london afterward?" asked the senator, who was very anxious to hasten matters. "because we could not present a sufficient case to hold him under the preliminary examination," replied judge key. "when we get official news of the fellow's character from peru, we shall have a sure thing against him, and then i shall feel ready to act; but i agree with mr. pinkerton that there would be danger in overhaste. you see, we have him carefully watched, and there is no probability that he intends to make off until after this _fête champêtre_; therefore, let us wait for our foreign advices as long as we can, and in case he prepares to go before they arrive, it will be time enough to arrest him then." "how about the donna?" asked muirhead. "do you propose to take any steps against her?" "i don't see how we can," i replied. "with the exception of the sums she has received from mather, she has obtained nothing fraudulently; and, as you may well suppose, we could never get mather to testify against her; so i guess we need not trouble ourselves to interfere with the lovely donna at all." our conference then broke up with the understanding that we should assemble again the moment any new facts in the case should be developed. just after the gentlemen had left, madame sevier came in and reported a scene between mather and the donna which had taken place the previous evening. the don had remained at home entertaining various guests until nine o'clock. he had then gone out with lesparre and several other gentlemen, to attend a banquet and ball given by a semi-political club at one of the hotels. the affair was attended by many highly respectable ladies, particularly by those whose husbands had any political aspirations, but it was not sufficiently exclusive to satisfy the donna, and she remained at home. the visitors gradually dropped out until only mr. mather remained, and then madame sevier excused herself, on the plea of fatigue, in order to retire. instead of going to her room, however, she hastened to the library and hid herself behind a statue standing in a deep bay window, which was heavily shrouded with drapery and curtains. thus placed, she was completely hidden from the sight of any one in the library, though she had a perfect view herself, and she could hear every word spoken in the room. as she expected, the donna soon entered, followed by mr. mather. the latter seemed to consider that the donna could refuse him nothing, for he put his arms around her, and was about to kiss her, when he found her fan quickly interposed between their faces. "you are too free with your caresses, señor mather," she said, coldly, slipping out of his embrace, and pointing out a chair to him at some distance from the sofa, upon which she seated herself. poor mather was quite astonished, for, having kissed her several times before, he supposed that he could continue doing so whenever he wished; but the donna was an expert fisher of men, and she recognized the force of that old proverb, "familiarity breeds contempt;" besides, she wanted some more money, and she knew that her elderly lover would gladly purchase her kisses at a round price. the folly of giving them away gratis could not be indulged in, therefore, and she kept her sighing swain at a distance for a little time. she was too politic to give even the slightest hint of her object in the conversation which ensued, but she used every possible allurement to fascinate her victim, while she would allow him no liberties nor caresses. mather could not fail to recollect the affectionate manner in which she had received his previous gifts, and he therefore decided to try the same policy again. "i saw a beautiful camel's hair shawl to-day," he said, "and i was going to get it for you, my dear lucia, but i did not know whether it would suit you, and so i determined to let you select your own gift. the shawl was worth one thousand dollars, and i made up my mind to give you the amount that i should have paid for it, and you could then exercise your own taste." "oh! my dear henry," she exclaimed, "how thoughtful you are! how can i sufficiently thank you?" and she made room for him on the sofa, as he advanced holding out a roll of bills. "you know how you can please me best," he answered, tenderly, bending over her. "oh! really, henry, you mustn't," she protested, feebly, as he showered kisses on her cheeks and lips; "suppose any one should come in!" as she spoke, a carriage stopped in front of the house, and their affectionate _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the unexpected return of lesparre, who, having left his watch at home, had returned to get it. he did not enter the parlor nor the library, but the donna seemed very much agitated at the mere possibility of being detected in a compromising situation, and so mather took his departure. the coolness with which she counted the money, after he had gone, was in striking contrast with her simulated embarrassment while he was present, and it was plain that, having obtained the gift, she was quite glad to get rid of the giver. she went immediately to her room, and madame sevier then retired also. chapter viii. _don pedro anxious for pietro bernardi's absence.--"coppering the jack and playing the ace and queen open."--a gambler that could not be bought.--splendid winnings.--diamond cutting diamond.--bernardi quieted, and he subsequently departs richer by five thousand dollars._ at eleven o'clock, newton and bernardi again met at the post-office, and the latter remarked that he intended making a short call upon his wealthy friend. "come along with me," he said, "and you will see what a fine place he has. i shall not remain very long, and if you will wait for me outside, we can pass the day together. i hate to go around alone in a strange city." accordingly they strolled along until they reached don pedro's house, and newton agreed to remain near at hand until bernardi should finish his call. salter was on the lookout, and when bernardi was admitted, he led the way to don pedro's room. the moment the door closed on bernardi, salter took his place at the auger-holes in the adjoining closet, and overheard the entire conversation, as before. "well, pietro, have you decided how soon you will be ready to leave town?" asked the don. "from your clothes, jewelry, and other purchases you have made, you must have used up most of the money i gave you, and, if so, your departure must take place soon; for i warn you again, i shall give you nothing more until you depart for some distant city!" "well, to tell the truth," replied bernardi, in an independent, indifferent manner, "i am in no hurry to go away just yet. you see, i have been very lucky since i've been here, and if i keep on, i guess i can repay you the amount you kindly loaned me." "do you mean that you have been gambling again?" asked the don, in a vexed tone. "yes, and i have won constantly, so that i don't like to change my luck by making a move right away. you know gamblers are superstitious, and i have a strong feeling that it will be for my interest to remain here for some time yet." "but you promised to go as soon as you felt able to travel," said the don. "well, there is no hurry. i haven't done you any harm yet, and i don't mean to. why are you so anxious to get rid of me?" of course, don pedro's principal fear was that bernardi would learn how large a sum the former had received for his bogus mines, and that he would not be satisfied to go unless he got a large slice of the plunder. it would not do, however, to excite his suspicions by appearing too desirous of sending him away, so the don changed his tone, and said: "oh! i'm sure i don't want to get rid of you as long as you keep sober and don't talk about me; but you know how it is, pietro; if you should get drunk and talk about me, you would tell everything you know, and the result would be that i should have to flee the town without accomplishing my object. in that case, i should lose not only all that i hoped to make, but also all the immense outlay i have made in preparing my scheme. if you want to go to new orleans again, i will start you in a faro-bank there, and will come down there next winter to play with you; but i confess i should feel easier if you were out of gloster for the present." "well, i will be ready to go in a few days, if you insist upon it, but i don't see the necessity of such haste. however, i will come in again and talk about it before the end of the week. i want to win a little more before i go." "how have you been betting?" asked morito, in a conciliatory manner. "i have been 'coppering' the jack and playing the ace and queen 'open,'[a] and i have won constantly. i left them a few times and played other cards, but i always lost when i did so. now i am going to stick to that scheme right along." [a] these are technical terms in playing faro. the player meant that he was in the habit of making one bet that the jack would be a losing card all the time, and another that the ace and queen would be winning cards. "where are you playing?" asked the don, carelessly. "i generally go to dave carter's, in mahogany block, for i think he deals a 'square' game." "yes, i suppose so," said morito; "as much so as any of them; but they are all sharpers here, and they may have been letting you win on purpose, thinking that you had a large sum in reserve which they hope to catch hereafter. if you will take my advice, you will stop while you are ahead. you know, from your own experience as a banker, that the 'bank' always wins in the end." "well, i shall try a few more games, and then i shall be ready to talk with you about going south. i want to run my luck while it is good," and so saying, bernardi rose to go. "all right, pietro," said don pedro, "be careful not to get swindled, and to keep silent about me." the moment bernardi was gone, the don rang his bell violently, and sent for monsieur lesparre. when the latter entered the don's room, he found his employer in a more disturbed and excited condition than he had ever before indulged in, and evidently he meant mischief to some one. "lesparre, that fellow bernardi, of whom i spoke to you the other day, has been here again," burst out the don. "i gave him a considerable sum of money to set him on his feet again, for old acquaintance' sake, expecting that he would return to his friends in the south, or, at least, behave like a decent gentleman; but he has returned to his old habits of gambling and drinking, so that, at any moment, he may come here and mortify me before a party of my guests, or, worse still, claim me as his friend when arraigned in a police court for drunkenness, _etcetera_. he promised to leave town as soon as the money i gave him was gone, and i was to give him then a respectable sum to start him in business elsewhere; but he has won considerably at the faro-table, and he is now independent of me, and therefore declines to keep his promise until he is ready." "would he go, do you think, if he should lose all he has?" asked lesparre. "oh! yes, indeed; he would be forced to yield to my terms then, and i should give him nothing until he started." "how would it do to suggest to the proprietor of the gambling rooms that it would be doubly for his interest to fleece this man? i think it could easily be done, if the 'bank' were so disposed." "i have no doubt of it, especially as i know the way he intends to bet all the time," replied the don, eagerly; "he 'coppers' the jack and plays the ace and queen 'open.' it must be a pretty poor dealer who cannot 'stack' those cards, with such a stake in view. suppose you drop a hint to dave carter, or to the dealer to-night, before bernardi goes there." "i will go down at once," replied lesparre, "and i will promise him three hundred dollars additional if he wins all that bernardi has; that is not too much, is it?" "no, indeed!" exclaimed the don; "i would gladly give five hundred, if necessary." lesparre arrived at the gambling rooms about noon, and at that early hour no one was present except the proprietor and one of the dealers. lesparre obtained an interview with the proprietor alone, and then asked him if he would like to make a thousand dollars. "oh! yes," he replied, in an indifferent way, "i should have no objection, although it would not be such a novelty that i need take a great deal of trouble about it. the 'bank' often wins more than that in a single evening." "well, there is a south american who has been playing here recently, against whom i have a bitter grudge. he has about six hundred dollars now, most of which he has won here. he has one regular system of playing--'coppering' the jack and playing the ace and queen to win--and you can easily fix those cards so as to clean him out in one evening. the moment you have done that, i will give you five hundred dollars more." the gambler fixed a keen look upon lesparre for a moment, and then replied that he was no gudgeon to bite such a stale bait as that. he added that they played a "square" game, and if a man won, he was welcome to his winnings; but that no trickery would be resorted to against any patron of the house. lesparre was obliged to withdraw, feeling that he had made a mistake in proposing the plan so openly. that evening, after a day spent in playing billiards and driving about, bernardi and newton again entered the gambling saloon. bernardi did not make any bets for some time, but stood watching the game in silence, apparently guessing as to the winning and losing cards to determine whether he was in luck. finally he bet fifty dollars on the ace and lost; this was followed by one hundred dollars on the same card, which again lost. he waited a few deals and then placed two hundred dollars on the queen to win, and one hundred dollars on the jack to lose. the cards fell as he had hoped, and gathering in his stakes and winnings, he began betting in earnest. his luck was wonderful, and as all his bets were for fifty dollars or more, he soon had quite a large sum. presently he stopped betting, and went to the bar with newton. they talked and drank together for some minutes, but bernardi was not ready to leave just then. his winnings were already quite sufficient to cause the proprietor to regard him with a considerable degree of interest, and when he returned to the faro-table, a seat was given him at once. he made no bets for some minutes, but at length he asked: [illustration: _this was taking a short cut to bernardi's friendship._] "what is your limit to-night?" "five hundred dollars," was the reply. bernardi then placed four hundred dollars on the nine spot, and, a moment later, he was again a winner. he now seemed satisfied, for he presented his "chips" for payment, and received cash therefor. the proprietor then invited bernardi and newton to drink with him, and, while standing at the sideboard, the proprietor asked bernardi whether he had many acquaintances in the city. "no," replied bernardi, "i have very few; why do you ask?" "because one of them is your enemy, or else he was trying to play a trick on the 'bank' this morning," continued the proprietor, watching bernardi narrowly. "he came in about noon, and wanted the cards put up so that you should be cleaned out of all your money." "the devil you say!" ejaculated bernardi; "why did he want to clean me out?" "that i can't say; but he told me that he had a bitter grudge against you, and that he would give a great deal to injure you." "i do not know any one here who could say that of me," replied bernardi, thoughtfully. "there is only one man in the city who knows me intimately, and i do not see why he should wish me to lose, even if he did hate me. was he a south american, like myself?" "no; he might have been a foreigner, but he was not dark-complexioned." "well, i cannot imagine who it could have been," mused bernardi; "and i guess i need not be afraid of him, if he goes to work in that roundabout way. however, i am obliged to you for the information, and i will take care that he does not drop on me unexpectedly. so-long." as bernardi walked down the street with newton, he was evidently deeply abstracted, for he muttered to himself in spanish, and swore at intervals in quite an excited manner. finally, he said aloud: "i don't know what to think about this story. it may be that this gambler made it up to shake my nerves, or to cover some plot against me; but i have a sort of feeling that don juan is at the bottom of it. i don't fear him one bit, but i want to solve the mystery, and if he has been plotting against me, i will have my revenge upon him. but, no; i can't see what he could gain by it, and i think, perhaps, this gang despair of breaking my luck, and are planning to rob me by force." "that seems reasonable," replied newton, "for then you would attribute the act to this unknown enemy, and they would escape suspicion. still," he continued, anxious to lead the conversation back to don pedro as a subject, "your first supposition may be the correct one, and your pretended friend may be scheming to ruin you." "but why should he want me to lose money?" persisted bernardi. "he knows that i should come to him for more, and that he would be obliged to give it to me." "perhaps he would like to get rid of your presence," cautiously suggested newton; "and if you were penniless, he could insist upon your departure as a condition upon which alone he would give you money." "caramba! i believe you are right, my friend," bernardi exclaimed, furiously; "and if i find that it is so, i will make don juan, or don pedro, as he calls himself now, regret the day he played me false." "don't be over-hasty," counseled newton, "for the whole story may be a gambler's lie after all." "oh! i will investigate it carefully," answered bernardi, "and, when i am satisfied about the truth of the matter, i will consult with you as to the best course to pursue. it is a good thing to have a friend to advise with, especially among such a gang of thieves as seem to hang 'round these rooms. meet me to-morrow, as usual, and i will go see my friend again." the men then separated, and went to their respective lodgings for the night. in the morning they met, took breakfast together, and afterwards sauntered down to visit don pedro. as before, bernardi was conducted straight to the don's room, and salter again stationed himself in the closet to listen. "so you are still successful?" was the first remark he heard. "yes, moderately so," replied bernardi; "but it is strange how cards run sometimes." "well, you ought not to be astonished at anything after your long experience in gambling." "oh! i'm never astonished," said bernardi, who had drunk a good deal of brandy before and after breakfast; "but i was thinking how lucky it was that i changed my mind last night about playing those three cards--the jack, ace, and queen." "how so?" asked morito. "well, if i had played the jack 'coppered,' and the ace and queen 'open,' last night, all the evening, i should have been entirely cleaned out; what do you think of that?" "i think you were very lucky in having played elsewhere," replied the don; "but what's the matter with you? what makes you look at me so strangely?" "i want to find out whether it was you who sent a man to tell dave carter, the gambler, how i was playing, and to ask him to fix the cards so that i should lose all i had." bernardi's voice was husky with liquor and anger, and he had evidently worked himself up into a great rage; but, in spite of his partial intoxication, he was very determined, and his tones foreboded no good-will to the don. in a contest of words, however, he was no match for his opponent, and don pedro instantly took the most effectual method for quieting his visitor's suspicions. "my dear pietro," he began, contemptuously, "i gave you credit for more common-sense than you seem disposed to claim for yourself. why should i want you to lose? on the contrary, i would like to see you win enough to start in business for yourself, and repay me what i have loaned you, for i assure you that i much prefer to have you spend your money than mine. i have none too much for my own wants, and if you could repay me, i should be delighted. what is the reason for your question?" bernardi did not reply for two or three minutes; he was evidently keenly scrutinizing don pedro's face; but at length he said: "well, it's all right now, and i suppose i was wrong to suspect you; but the proprietor of the place where i gamble told me that some one had been trying to get him to play a trick on me, and i determined to find out who it was." "well, pietro, i don't think you would have thought of suspecting me if your head had not been fuddled with liquor. why can't you stop drinking for a month or two?" "what do you care about my drinking?" asked bernardi, in a half-cowed manner. "because pietro drunk is a very different fellow from pietro sober; and some day you will let out some damaging reports about me, and then all hope of making anything here will be destroyed. if i could feel sure that you would remain sober, i would gladly start you in a good 'bank' here." of course, don pedro had no intention of doing anything of the kind, but he saw that bernardi was in a dangerous mood, and that he must handle him very skillfully if he wished to get him to leave the city. the don knew that to urge him to leave would be the surest way to make him stay, but that, if left to follow his own inclinations, he would be anxious to go south, where the climate and people were more congenial to him. hence, don pedro boldly took the ground that he was quite willing for bernardi to stay if he would only keep sober, and bernardi quickly fell into the trap. "i don't want to start a 'bank' in this place," he said, "and i can't get along in this climate without drinking. i have been moderately successful here, and i am in no hurry to leave, but i should like to go back to new orleans, if i could fit up a good place there, and deal a first-class game." "how much would you need for that purpose?" asked the don. "if i can let you have it, i will do so, and you can stay here or go back to new orleans, as you may prefer; only i shall make one condition: that you promise faithfully to drink nothing but wine while you are in this city, until i get ready to leave. will three thousand dollars be enough?" "hardly; i have won some money here, to be sure, but it will cost a good deal to spread a handsome layout in new orleans--as for this place, there are not enough gentlemen gamesters here; the gamblers are all trying to live on each other. if you will make it five thousand, i will start for new orleans day after to-morrow." "that is more than i ought to pay out in my present circumstances," said the don, thoughtfully; "but i guess i can run the establishment on credit for about a month, and that will help me out; so if you will go to-morrow, i will give you five thousand when you start." "done!" replied bernardi, much gratified at having obtained so large a sum. "i have nothing to do except to get a young lady friend to go with me, and she won't need a great while to make her preparations. so you can have the money ready to-morrow?" "it shall be awaiting you any time that you call for it," answered morito, and bernardi then took his departure. on joining newton, bernardi was in high spirits, and he talked very freely of his intended plans. "my friend convinced me that he had nothing to do with the trick which the gambler said some one tried to play upon me, and as a proof of his regard, he is going to give me a start in new orleans. i shall leave here to-morrow, and if you would like to go in with me, we can make a pile of money there." "i can't very well leave here for some time yet," said newton, "for i have a large sum staked in bets on the races next month, and i shall have no money until they take place. i have a sure thing on a new horse, and i have got such large odds that i have put up every dollar i could reach. i shall clear about ten thousand dollars sure, and then if you are so disposed, i will join you in new orleans." "all right, we'll do it; but then, you may lose everything instead of winning. i don't care to bet on races, myself; there are too many chances to deal from the bottom." "there is no danger in this case, so you must let me know where i can find you, and within a month i will join you in the crescent city." bernardi then went to see his fair and frail charmer, to obtain her company on his southern trip, and newton came to my room to report. i instructed him to stay with bernardi as much as possible while the latter remained in the city, and to be sure to obtain his address in new orleans. i then called upon senator muirhead and informed him of the proposed departure of bernardi. the senator was very anxious to detain him in some way, in order to get his testimony, in case we should fail to hear from england or peru in time; but i was unable to suggest any plan for holding this man without exposing our whole connection with the case. bernardi was evidently ready to act in good faith with don pedro, and any endeavor to retard his departure would be regarded by him as coming from the gang of gamblers from whom he had won money. there was no doubt but that he would keep up a correspondence with newton, and we should thus know where to find him in case his presence should be needed. we decided, therefore, to let him go as he intended. early in the evening, bernardi and newton went as usual to the gaming-rooms. there they met a stranger, who seemed to be a spaniard or cuban. bernardi addressed him in spanish, and after some conversation, they sat down to play. by some freak of luck, bernardi continually won his small bets, but whenever he put out a large amount, he lost. the cuban stranger had the same experience, and at length bernardi rose in disgust and left the rooms with newton, having lost about two hundred dollars. "those fellows have got some kind of a 'skin-game' at work," he said, "and they tried to beat me and that cuban out of all our cash. i gave him a hint in spanish before i came away, and i hope he will stop before they fleece him. now let us go to the theatre." they attended one of the theatres, and then had a glorious supper at bernardi's expense after the performance was over. about midnight, they parted with mutual good wishes, and bernardi promised to write to newton as soon as he should reach new orleans. the next morning bernardi called upon don pedro and received the promised amount of five thousand dollars, assuring him that he should leave the city that afternoon. as soon as he left the house, the don asked lesparre to keep a watch upon bernardi to make sure of his leaving according to promise. when lesparre returned about three o'clock, and reported that bernardi was then actually on his way to cairo, accompanied by a young lady, the don was overjoyed, and he expressed himself greatly relieved thereby. "now we can take more interest in our _fête champêtre_, and we will make it the most delightful affair ever known in this country," he said, exultantly. "when it is over, my dear lesparre, we will make a tour of the fashionable watering-places, and enjoy life to the full." chapter ix. _important information from the peruvian government.--arrival in gloster of the peruvian minister and consul.--in consultation.--"robbing peter to pay paul."--mr. pinkerton's card is presented.--juan sanchez, i arrest you, and you are my prisoner.--mr. pinkerton not "for sale."--a dramatic scene.--the bubble burst._ several days now sped by with no fresh developments, and don pedro was almost constantly engaged in his preparations for the _fête champêtre_. as the day approached, society was stirred to its very center, and nothing was spoken of save this grand event of the season. but four days remained before the _fête_, when i was delighted by receiving a letter from the secretary of state for peru, giving full particulars of the forgeries and frauds committed by don juan sanchez in that country, and enclosing a fine portrait of the man. one glance at the picture was sufficient to assure me of the identity of don pedro p. l. de morito with don juan sanchez, and i now felt ready to act. the letter informed me that a peruvian official would be dispatched to gloster at once, to obtain the arrest of don pedro, though there were a great many difficulties in the way, owing to the lack of an extradition treaty. every effort would be made, however, to bring him to justice, and the peruvian minister at washington would be instructed to confer with me. i informed senator muirhead and judge key of this news, and they were both much encouraged at the prospect, especially as we learned that a peruvian man-of-war had arrived in new york from aspinwall, it being doubtless intended that this vessel should take the prisoner to peru, in case he could be frightened into surrendering himself. the _fête_ was to take place on wednesday, if the weather should be favorable, or on the first pleasant day thereafter, and everything was already in complete order for the grand occasion. a large and elegant steamer had been chartered to convey the guests to the island, and she was to make several trips during the day for the convenience of business men who could not go early. there remained nothing further to be done, except to pray for fine weather on the important day. on monday morning i was told that two gentlemen were waiting to see me, on very important business, at one of the leading hotels. i accompanied the messenger, and was at once shown to the room of the peruvian minister, who was accompanied by the peruvian consul at new york. before proceeding to business, i informed the minister that i was acting under the instructions of senator muirhead, and that i should like to send for that gentleman, and for my legal adviser, judge key. the peruvian officials made no objection, and both judge key and the senator were soon with us, ready for consultation. as the new arrivals were tired and dusty after their long journey, we merely exchanged information relative to don pedro, and agreed to meet at ten o'clock next morning, to make plans for his arrest. at the appointed hour, we were all prompt in arriving at the parlor of the minister. the latter and the consul, in accordance with a suggestion i had made the day previous, had not mentioned their official rank to any one, and had remained as secluded as possible, in order to prevent morito from knowing of their arrival in the city. the minister stated that the forgeries of don juan sanchez in peru had been so enormous, amounting to more than seven hundred thousand dollars, that the government had taken up the pursuit of the criminal with unusual zeal, and no effort nor expense would be spared to bring him to justice. unfortunately, however, in the absence of any extradition treaty between peru and the united states, the chances of securing don juan, even now that he had been discovered, were not bright; indeed, the minister acknowledged that he saw no way of accomplishing it. "by an appeal to law," said judge key, "nothing _can_ be gained; but it is possible that my friend, mr. pinkerton, may have a plan which will induce don pedro, as he now calls himself, to surrender voluntarily rather than stand trial here or in great britain. let us hear your opinion, then, mr. pinkerton." "well, gentlemen," i replied, "this is a case where the greatest care must be exercised, for the criminal is a bold, skillful man, of good education and address, with, probably, a fair knowledge of his legal rights. we cannot afford to make any mistakes, for he would surely take advantage of them. we must, therefore, present the case to him in such a way that he will believe it to be to his interest to give himself up. the presence of the peruvian man-of-war in new york is very fortunate, for, once under her flag, he cannot escape; but he must be induced to go on board voluntarily, or else we shall be liable to the charge of kidnapping." i then explained the method by which he had had swindled the citizens of gloster, and showed how difficult it would be to convict him of anything, owing to the probability that his victims would refuse to testify against him; besides, for obtaining money under false pretenses, a short imprisonment only could be inflicted, and then he would be free to go where he pleased. "however," i continued, "i think i can present to him his position in such a light that he will regard a surrender to the peruvian authorities as preferable to a long trial and detention here, with the possibility of being sent to california or great britain for trial on a more serious charge. when he knows that we are fully acquainted with his past career, he may be willing to accept our terms rather than to defy us." "suppose, however," said the minister, "that he should refuse all terms, and determine to fight it out?" "in that case," i replied, "we should be obliged to arrest him here for obtaining money under false pretenses, and be prepared to arrest him again the moment he should be set free, repeating the operation as often as we could get different victims to enter complaint against him. the number of stockholders in this bogus company is quite large, so that we could easily hold him until a requisition could be obtained from california or england." "how large a sum has he in his possession now?" asked the consul. "about half a million dollars," replied the senator. "well," said the consul, "that sum will go far toward reimbursing the people whom he swindled in peru, so i think that mr. pinkerton's plan is the best that can be adopted. we might induce him to go aboard our vessel by promising to use our influence to lighten his sentence, in case he makes restitution to his victims in peru." the consul made these remarks with a wise expression, as if he thought he had hit upon a very easy way of solving the problem. the senator, judge key, and i exchanged looks of astonishment and amusement at this cool proposal to take our citizens' money to reimburse the peruvians; it was a case of "robbing peter to pay paul" which we could not appreciate. finally, i said: "i presume that there can be no question as to the way to dispose of this money which don pedro has in his possession. not one penny of it came from peru, and we cannot permit any of it to be taken there. on arriving here don pedro had only a few thousand dollars, which he obtained in england by forgery. this sum he has already used up, and the only money in his possession has been obtained by the sale of his fictitious diamond fields in peru. it would be manifestly unjust to allow this money to be taken away, and it is our intention to obtain it at all hazards, whatever may become of the don." "oh! i shall make no such claim, mr. pinkerton," said the minister; "that was only a suggestion of the consul, who did not understand exactly how the money referred to came into this man's hands. all that i care for is to get don pedro on board our vessel, and i shall be pleased to pay for your services in the matter. we must be careful, however, that there shall be no opportunity to charge us with kidnapping, for we wish to avoid any possibility of complications with the united states; the fellow has made us trouble enough already." "i will arrange that matter satisfactorily," i replied; "as for the question of payment, i am acting wholly in the interest of senator muirhead, and under his instructions, so that i can accept nothing except from him." we spent an hour or two more in preparing papers and arranging the details of our plans, the conclusion being that we should make the arrest that evening, about seven o'clock, when there would be few or no visitors at don pedro's house. as i had supposed, there was no charge whatever against the donna, and my only intentions with regard to her were to see that she did not carry off any of the money belonging to the diamond company stockholders, nor assist the don to escape. it was decided to send don pedro to new york immediately, in case he yielded to our terms, and the donna would be at liberty to go or stay, as she might see fit. on returning to my office, i found bangs and lesparre awaiting me, and the latter said that he believed the don and donna intended to take flight immediately after the _fête_. they probably desired to finish their career in gloster in a blaze of glory, and, as they would not be expected to receive visitors for two or three days after the _fête_, they would have a good start before their departure would become known. i told lesparre to see that madame sevier and salter kept a close watch for the remainder of the day, and in case any attempt should be made to remove the box containing don pedro's coin, he must send salter to me instantly with the news. i also suggested that the servants be kept out of the way that evening, so that no one should know of our visit. lesparre departed to attend to his duties, and i remained to complete the details of my plans with mr. bangs, who had arrived from chicago with two detectives, in obedience to my summons. about six o'clock, senator muirhead and judge key arrived, and a more nervous man than the former i never saw. in a few minutes the peruvian minister and consul arrived, and we proceeded in carriages to don pedro's house, the senator remaining at the hotel, however. we left the carriages a short distance away, so as not to attract attention, and, while mr. bangs's two men stationed themselves to watch the house, the rest of my party ascended the steps and were admitted by salter. "the family are still at dinner," said salter, "but they are finishing the dessert, and i presume don pedro will go to the billiard-room after dinner to smoke, as usual." "give him my card as he leaves the dining-room," i said, "and tell him that i am waiting to see him in the drawing-room." in a few minutes, don pedro and lesparre rose from the table, and salter gave my card to the former. "pinkerton! pinkerton! i don't know any one of that name; do i, lesparre?" "possibly it may be some gentleman having business with you in connection with the _fête_," suggested lesparre. "ah! very true; where is he, george? i will see him at once," said the don, unsuspectingly. salter led the way to the drawing-room, where i alone was waiting, the rest of the party having waited in the vestibule. as he entered, followed by lesparre, i rose and said: "juan sanchez, i arrest you, and you are now my prisoner!" and, so saying, i put my hand on his shoulder. he turned very pale, and sat down in the nearest chair, while lesparre quickly brought him a glass of water. i then continued: "juan sanchez, or josé gomez more properly, we will retire to the library if you wish, as we may be interrupted here by the arrival of some of your friends, and i do not wish to expose you at present." "what do you mean by addressing me in this manner?" he replied, trying to regain his composure. "my name is neither sanchez nor gomez." "it is a long time since you have been so called," i answered, "but your victims in brazil and peru still retain the names in their memories without difficulty. i will now present to you the minister of peru and the peruvian consul at new york, both of whom have taken a lively interest in your past life and actions." just as i spoke, the donna and madame sevier entered, and the former, seeing the abject appearance of her husband, asked what was the matter. "your husband is a prisoner, madam," i replied; "and as our interview would be painful to you, i must ask you to withdraw for the present at least." she immediately gave an hysterical scream, and sank upon a divan sobbing frantically. madame sevier succeeded in quieting her somewhat, and she remained on the scene with her face buried in the madame's lap. i felt confident that much of her emotion was feigned, and that she was an attentive listener to all that took place about her; however, i made no objection, but requested mr. bangs, who was watching in the hall, to admit the minister and the rest of the party. as mr. bangs withdrew, the don stepped up to me and said: "mr. pinkerton, i will give you five thousand dollars if you will leave me alone for half an hour." i smiled, and looking at my watch, said: "it is now seven o'clock; at ten o'clock you will be on your way to new york." "you can have ten thousand, if you will let me go; i will pay you the cash in coin immediately." "your offers are useless," i replied; "i will let no guilty man escape if it can be avoided." as i spoke, the peruvian minister, the consul, and judge key entered, and we proceeded in a body to the library, leaving the donna in the care of madame sevier. on the way thither, the don made one more effort to appear in the _rôle_ of an injured innocent. "i don't understand this proceeding at all," he said, "and i claim my liberty. what authority have you for arresting me in my own house?" "i _have_ the authority, and that is sufficient," i replied, coolly. "if you desire to be taken at once to jail, i have no objection to granting your request; but i thought, perhaps, you might first prefer to hear what these gentlemen have to say." i have arrested and have watched a great many criminals, but i have never seen one who, having carried out such an extensive scheme of villainy, was so utterly broken down as this man was. i had feared that his nerve might be firm enough to answer my threats with defiance, and force me to bring him to trial in gloster; but i saw that there was no danger of such a misfortune, and so i stood aside while the peruvian minister addressed him. "juan sanchez," said the minister, "i have come here to obtain your removal to peru, that you may be tried there for your numberless forgeries in that country. a peruvian war-ship is now in new york harbor, and you will be placed on board of her for transportation to peru. mr. pinkerton's superintendent will proceed with you to-night." the don was speechless for a moment, and then, glancing up, he said, in a sullen voice: "i want to know what i am charged with, and by what right you send me to peru. i am entitled to a hearing, and a lawyer to defend me." "my friend, judge key, who is present, is a most able lawyer," i replied, "and you can consult with him if you wish advice; but first let me show you your true position. your real name, don josé gomez, was given you in brazil, where it is remembered only to be cursed; don juan sanchez was your name in peru, and your crimes there are also well known; as don josé michel, there are serious charges against you in san francisco; don pedro michel is badly wanted in quito, where he would probably be shot, as they treat criminals there rather unceremoniously; and don josé arias would undoubtedly be transported for life if the london detectives should discover his present hiding place, to say nothing of a lively interest which the french _gens d'armes_ take in the same person. all of these people are now informed that the person whom they wish to find is living in gloster as don pedro p. l. de morito, and they are at this moment hastening agents here to arrest him. by chance, the peruvian authorities are the first to arrive, and they have, therefore, the happy privilege of making the arrest. now, as you are probably aware, the minister will have some difficulty in obtaining an order from washington authorizing me to send you to peru, for want of an extradition treaty; but while you are under arrest here, we can easily get warrants from either california, england, or france, and then you can take your choice between being shot by vigilantes in california, transported to van dieman's land by england, or sent to work in the galleys by france. this is your present situation, and i am perfectly indifferent which course you prefer. if you decide to go with the peruvian minister, you must agree to do so voluntarily, until you are placed on board the peruvian vessel, and you must make an assignment of all your money and property here to reimburse the people whom you have swindled by the sale of fictitious diamond-fields. if you are willing to comply with these conditions, you will sign all the necessary papers at once, and you will leave for new york to-night, before the english extradition writ arrives; if you refuse these conditions, i shall hold you until that writ, or one from california, arrives." the don was evidently in no mood for defiance: the knowledge of his past history which i displayed had wholly cowed him, and my allusions to the vigilantes of california, and the galleys of france, made him tremble like a leaf. he knew perfectly well the extent of his crimes in those places, and, also, that my hints of his probable punishment were not fancy sketches. finally, he asked to see me alone, but i refused to grant his request, knowing his object. then he wished to see the minister alone, and i again objected, but i accompanied the two to another room, where they conversed in spanish for some time. the minister told me that the don offered the whole of his money and property to allow him to escape; but, finding his offers useless, he agreed to go to peru for trial. no pledges were made to him to influence his decision, though he begged so hard that the minister would intercede for him with the authorities in peru, that his excellency finally promised, in view of the don's consent to go willingly, to recommend that his punishment be the lightest that the law could allow. the don having fully yielded to the arguments of the minister and myself, nothing remained to be done except to obtain his signature to the papers which had been already prepared, and to pack his trunk for his journey. lesparre and salter performed the latter task while the don was signing the papers, and writing out his voluntary agreement to deliver himself up to the peruvian authorities. the most important document was a deed assigning his furniture, horses, carriages, paintings, statuary, books, and, in short, all his personal property, to judge key, to be disposed of at the latter's discretion, and the proceeds, with the large amount of cash on hand, to be applied to repay the subscribers to the diamond company stock. in case there should not be sufficient to pay them in full, the payments should be made _pro rata_; but should there be an excess, such excess should be applied to the payment of the don's private debts, contracted prior to that date. this provision was, of course, necessary to shut out the bills for supplies and services at the _fête_ on the following day. evidently it was too late to interfere with that interesting entertainment without throwing a heavy loss on many persons who could not afford to be the sufferers, and i saw only one way to prevent this, namely; to let the _fête_ go on, and make those who danced pay the piper. when the documents had all been signed, i said: "josé gomez, you fully understand the meaning of this paper?" holding up his surrender to the peruvian authorities; "it gives me power to convey you to new york and place you on board of a peruvian vessel, using force, if necessary." the don bowed his head submissively, and said that he so understood it. the acknowledgment of the deeds was then made by judge key, who was a notary public, and our success was complete. the donna was then informed that her husband would be taken east that night, and she professed to be much affected. i told her that there was no charge against her, and that she could go with her husband, or stay in gloster, according to her own wishes. she said that she would go with him if madame sevier could accompany them. i had no objection to this, and the two ladies retired to pack their trunks. there was some uncertainty in my mind whether some of the don's cash might not be in the donna's possession; but i felt rather confident that she kept her money entirely separate from his, and that i could trust to madame sevier's acuteness to discover how much the donna had on hand. i was not disappointed, for, while packing, the donna told the madame that she had about nine thousand dollars, the remains of her gifts from mather, but that she could secure an immense sum out of the iron box if she could get it open. i had already made the don confess where he had hidden his money, and one of my detectives was placed to guard the box; hence, the donna was disappointed in her attempts to make a raid on the treasury. while the packing was going on, i sent to the railroad dépôt and bought eight railroad tickets for the party, which was to consist of the minister, the consul, the don and donna, mr. bangs, madame sevier, and two of my men. at half-past nine o'clock the party was ready and the trunks were sent off. i had kept a close watch upon the don until now, and i saw that he hoped to escape while traveling. when the carriages were announced, i stepped up to him and told him that my invariable custom in such cases would require me to put him in irons to prevent any attempt at escape. "shall you permit me to be treated in this manner?" he said to the peruvian minister. "you are not yet in the custody of the peruvian authorities," i replied, "and i am responsible for your safe delivery in new york; hence i must take such precautions as i consider necessary. when you are on board the peruvian vessel, the minister can give such orders concerning you as he may think proper; but, until then, i alone have the right to determine what shall be done with you." in a moment, i had placed a light set of shackles on his feet, and handcuffs on his wrists; he was quite submissive now, and only seemed anxious to avoid observation. as we passed out to the carriages, the donna handed me a note, addressed to henry o. mather, and asked me to have it delivered immediately. i agreed to send it at once, though i sent it in such a manner that he should not receive it until the morning after the _fête_. the party arrived at the dépôt in time to secure seats together, and at ten o'clock the train bore them from the city. chapter x. _the fête champêtre.--a grand carnival.--the disappointed married lover.--a vain request.--unmasked!--a shrewd caterer and his humiliating demands.--an indignant deacon.--don pedro taken to peru in a man-of-war, where he is convicted and sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment.--but the donna manages to satisfy her affections in a quiet way in new york._ to the great delight of hundreds of people in gloster, wednesday morning revealed all the indications of a pleasant day, and by noon the weather was so lovely that nothing could have been more auspicious for the grand occasion. as the hour approached for the departure of the steamer, carriage after carriage drew up at the dock to discharge its load of brilliantly-dressed and masked ladies and gentlemen. the only person who was not completely protected from recognition was monsieur lesparre, who stood at the gangway to receive the guests, and wore a plain evening dress, with no mask. in order to prevent the attendance of persons who had not been invited, each guest was required to present his or her invitation, and, as there were, as usual, many who had forgotten to bring their cards, lesparre remained at hand to pass them on board, on leaving their names. when the hour of departure arrived, the boat swung out into the stream, amid the laughter and merry shouts of the gay revelers that crowded her decks, as the band flooded the air with music. at first there was some embarrassment and reserve in the intercourse between the masqueraders, owing to the novelty of their situation, and the fact that the ladies at first clung closely to their own little parties, with whom they had come and to whom they were known; but soon this feeling wore off. they began to enter into the merry spirit of revelry which characterizes such entertainments in the cities of the old world. the idea of personal identity began to be lost in the gayety of the moment, and in its place was substituted an identification of each person with the character which that person represented. the balmy airs of a perfect spring day wafted to them the sounds of country life along the shores of the river, and gave sensations both novel and pleasing to the gay denizens of the city, who rarely experienced any change from their routine of fashionable entertainments. during the trip by steamer there was much speculation as to the disguises worn by the don and donna, and though several persons were suspected of being the host and hostess, there was no sufficient way of identifying them. [illustration: _the fête champêtre.--page--_] at length the island was reached, and the party disembarked. the scene, as they took possession of the tents, booths, and pleasure-grounds, was brilliant and attractive beyond anything which the guests had ever witnessed. the island was covered with large trees, whose branches and foliage afforded a delightful shade. the close underbrush had been removed everywhere, except in certain ravines and other picturesque spots, so that the island presented a fine example of the beauties of landscape gardening. the foreground, at the place of landing, was a level expanse of green turf, which had been laid there weeks before. this was partly arranged for archery grounds, while rustic seats and swings were to be found under every tree. a large platform for open-air dancing, was placed at the foot of the first ridge from the landing, while near by was an enclosed dancing-hall, to be used in the evening. two bands were in attendance to play dance music constantly, one resting while the other played. it was understood that dinner would be served, at four o'clock exactly, in a long dining-room near the dancing-hall, and at that time every one was to unmask. as the party spread over the grounds and began to enjoy all the opportunities for pleasure afforded them, they presented a most novel appearance. there were representatives, both male and female, of nearly every known nationality, and all the leading characters of historical and fictional literature were admirably delineated. of course, among such members there were many accidental repetitions of the same character, but there were also instances of _fac similes_, which were intentional. this was a frequent cause of mistakes and embarrassing adventures, and often, when a gay cavalier was talking in tender tones to some lovely señorita whom he believed he knew, he would be astonished to see a second señorita, exactly like the first, passing unconcernedly by. the afternoon was spent in rowing, sailing, shooting, dancing, and flirting, and all agreed that they had never known a more truly delightful day. an elegant lunch was kept ready at all times in a large _buffet_, adjoining the dining-room, and all kinds of wines and liquors were served freely. the hour for dinner was fast approaching, and, of course, by that time, many recognitions had been made, though large numbers still carefully and successfully preserved their own secrets; some, however, had already abandoned their masks, still retaining the fancy costumes. among these was mr. mather, who wandered over the island half distraught. he had vainly searched for the donna all day, and had been unable to enjoy anything because he could not distinguish her. often he had believed he had found her, but again and again he had discovered that he was mistaken; so he continued his search without his mask, hoping that she would make herself known to him. at last he approached lesparre, just before four o'clock. "my dear lesparre," he asked, in imploring tones, "i beg that you will tell me how to recognize donna lucia. i have talked with every person who could possibly be taken for her, and i acknowledge that she is so perfectly disguised that i cannot discover her. won't you please tell me how she is dressed?" "that i do not know myself," replied lesparre. "she was very careful to keep the knowledge from me, for fear i might be teased into telling some one." "well, how is the don dressed, then?" asked mather. "perhaps he will tell me about the donna." "i do not know how he is dressed, either," answered lesparre. "he was as secret in his preparations as his wife." "what! haven't you seen him to speak to since the _fête_ commenced?" inquired mather, in astonishment. "no, i have not seen him since last night," said lesparre. "you see, the don and i made all arrangements yesterday afternoon, and i came down to the island to superintend the placing of the fireworks in the evening. i spent the night down here, and have not gone back to the house since i left it after dinner yesterday evening. the don has not spoken to me to-day, and, for all that i know about him, he may not have come to his own _fête_." lesparre said this in a jocular manner, as though he had made quite an impossible supposition; but mather seemed to catch an idea from it. "by jove! i begin to think so myself," he exclaimed, as if confirming a thought which had already occurred to him. just then judge morgan, dressed to represent the fat boy of the pickwick papers, rang a large bell, which could be heard all over the island, and the guests began flocking into the dancing-hall, preparatory to unmasking and having a grand march into the dining-room. when all were present, the bustle and talk quieted down, and all looked expectantly for the don to give the signal for unmasking. several of the intimate friends of the host had assembled on the _dais_ at the head of the hall; and each of these looked at the others to see which among them was the don. at last, mather stepped forward and addressed the whole company: "ladies and gentlemen, somewhere among us are the host and hostess of this, the most elegant entertainment ever given in gloster; they have been successful not only in producing here a fairy spectacle of unequaled beauty, but also in effectually hiding themselves from discovery in their assumed characters. so far as i know, not any person present can state positively the disguise of either don pedro or donna lucia. am i right? if any one has discovered either of them, i ask him to let us all know it before the signal for unmasking is given." mr. mather waited a moment amid profound stillness, but no one replied to his request. "well, now," he continued, "i respectfully call upon the don and donna to come forward to the _dais_, assume their rightful positions as host and hostess, and give the order to unmask." alas! he was calling upon a pair of unfortunate travelers, who were then far on their way to new york, one in irons, and the other in tears. there was no answer nor movement among the gay masqueraders, and whispers of wonder began to run through the throng. "oh! come, don pedro," said judge morgan, whose appetite called loudly to be satisfied, "you have shown that your disguise defies discovery; now come forward and take your place. you can laugh at our dullness all you please, but don't keep us in suspense any longer." still there was no reply, and the astonishment of all the guests began to assume a form of vague suspicion. at length, mather again spoke up, in a husky voice: "as our host is so retiring, i will take the liberty of asking those present to unmask, and we shall then discover his disguise. tap the bell, morgan." judge morgan immediately pulled the bell-rope three times, and, as this was the concerted signal, a gun was fired on board the steamer, and the band struck up a spirited march. the confusion of unmasking was quickly over, and the guests formed a long procession around two sides of the hall, preparatory to marching to dinner; but on the _dais_ the confusion only increased, as face after face was revealed, and neither host nor hostess was to be found. robert harrington, charlie morton, captain and mrs. kerr, alexander mcintyre, judge taylor, mr. and mrs. benson, mr. and mrs. simon, charles h. sanders, wife and daughter, deacon humphrey and daughter, john preston and family, and several others, were there, but not a trace could be seen of don pedro p. l. de morito and donna lucia. "where in the devil is the don?" was the forcible manner in which charlie morton expressed the sentiments of all present. the absence of the host and hostess could not fail to cause great confusion at any time, but, in this instance, there seemed to be a host of suspicions flying about in a few minutes. madame sevier's absence was also noted, and a sort of panic seized every one. no movement toward the dining-room was made, but all stood irresolute, anxiously waiting for some one to determine what to do, and set them an example. lesparre was sought for and questioned closely as to the reason for his employer's absence, but he could give no satisfactory answer. he told all inquirers that he had not seen the don since the evening previous, and that he was as ignorant of the cause of his absence as any one. then several questions relative to the don's pecuniary affairs were asked, and lesparre told all that he knew. the fact that the don had exhausted his bank account, and had kept all his money in his own possession, set a good many people to thinking about the circumstances of his arrival there. then the stockholders in the diamond company began to grow suspicious, and it took but a few minutes to put them in such a state of vague uneasiness, that they hardly knew what to believe of the man whom they so lately admired and honored. at length, a consultation was held among some of the more intimate friends of the morito family, and it was decided to go in to dinner as if nothing had happened. if there had been any accidental detention of the don and donna, they would, of course, be desirous that the _fête_ should proceed without them the same as if they had been present; while if there was any trickery connected with their absence, there would be no use of waiting for them to come accordingly, the procession was again formed, the band struck up another march, and the party proceeded toward the dining-room, headed by henry o. mather with mrs. simon, and richard perkins with miss benson. but now occurred the most humiliating part of the changed programme: mr. george p. westerfield, the caterer, refused to admit the guests to the dining-room unless the payment of his bill was guaranteed. mr. westerfield was a man of uncommon shrewdness. he had been accustomed to furnishing the suppers at the grand entertainments of the city for several years, and he was well acquainted with the circumstances of every person in the social world; hence, he had seen a great deal of the don and donna during their stay in the city. he had no more reason to suspect them of having taken flight than the others, but his native keenness and good judgment led him to protect himself, and he resolutely declined to open the dining-room doors unless his bill was guaranteed. an animated discussion immediately arose between mr. westerfield and the hungry guests; but nothing would induce him to change his resolve. he said that he was already out of pocket largely by the lunch he had served during the afternoon, and he could not afford to lose his dinner too. "but don pedro will pay for everything," said mr. mather. "he is immensely wealthy, and he always pays cash promptly for all he buys." "yes, that may have been true heretofore, but how do i know where don pedro is?" queried the caterer. "why, he is probably accidentally detained in gloster," replied mather. "i have every confidence in him, and when he explains his unfortunate absence to-day, those who have suspected him will regret their hasty remarks derogatory to his character." "well, then, mr. mather," said the shrewd caterer, "if you have every confidence in don pedro, you can give me your guarantee that i shall be paid in full, and then i shall be happy to serve the guests the same as if the don were here." mr. mather hesitated a moment, and then refused to do anything of the kind. he was, undoubtedly, so disturbed in mind that he hardly knew what he was doing. if he had kept his wits about him, he would not have hesitated an instant to take the whole expense of the _fête_ on his own shoulders rather than have such a scene occur as seemed imminent, for the sum would have been a mere bagatelle to him; but he knew not what to think, and his suspicions ran far ahead of those of any other person present. he had on his shoulders the whole responsibility of this man, don pedro, for he had invited him to gloster, and had largely vouched for his character; hence, if don pedro should prove to be a swindler, a great deal of blame would fall upon mather. this feeling contributed largely to confuse and annoy him, while his passion for the donna was another cause of embarrassment. he therefore acted in a most nervous, uncertain way, and seemed quite unable to decide what to do. mr. westerfield's proposition was reasonable enough, and he was willing to accept the guarantee of any other gentleman of known responsibility; but singularly, there was not one among all who had been intimate with the don who would make himself liable for the cost of the dinner; consequently the caterer refused to admit the throng into the dining-room. by this time every one was worked up into a state of righteous indignation. the apprehensions of the owners of diamond company stock were the first causes of the feeling against the don, and the disappointing termination of the long-anticipated _fête_ was another fruitful source of bitterness. as people's appetites began to call loudly for dinner, it became evident that the caterer's demands must be satisfied in some way, and finally it was agreed that the dinner should be paid for by those who partook of it at the rate of ten dollars a plate. this amount was to include the lunch and wine already furnished, and also all the provisions for dinner with the remainder of the wine provided under the contract with don pedro. under this agreement, the dinner was served in the best possible style to the long array of famished and irritated masqueraders. it was not a very cheerful meal, for too many of the participants were preoccupied with thoughts of their possibly lost investments in the stock of the diamond company; but, under the influence of excellent viands and good wine, there was a slight reaction in the feelings of the younger members of the party, and when the last course had been served, they proposed to go on with the entertainment the same as though nothing had happened. on entering the dancing-hall, therefore, the greater portion of the young people prepared to enjoy the evening in dancing; but here again an obstacle presented itself: the bandsmen had taken alarm from the action of the caterer, and they refused to play unless their account was settled. not a note would they sound until their demands were satisfied, and so the gentlemen contributed, jointly, enough to pay them in full also. the troubles and annoyances of the later portion of the _fête_ were soon forgotten by the greater number of the butterflies who formed the assembly, and as they floated off to the strains of a beautiful waltz, they unanimously decided to spend the evening in a delightful dance. meantime, however, many of the more staid and elderly guests, having decided to go home immediately after dinner, had gone down to the steamboat landing to embark. to their astonishment they saw the steamer tied up on the opposite shore, her lights being just visible across the water. after various attempts to hail her, a reply was heard from a small boat, which contained the captain. he pulled in near the shore, and judge morgan, in an important tone, ordered him to bring his steamer across the river and convey a party back to gloster. "but who is going to pay me for the use of my steamer all day?" asked the captain, resting on his oars, within easy talking distance of the shore. alas! he, also, had determined to follow the example of the caterer, and demand payment for his services before admitting the excursionists on board his steamer. "pay you" exclaimed the horrified ethan allen benson, who had paid so much for his dinner that his miserly soul was already repenting having come; "why, don pedro will pay you, of course." "well, i'd like to see him, then," said the captain. an exciting conversation then ensued between the indignant would-be passengers and the captain of the steamer. the latter, however, had all the advantage, for he knew the masqueraders must eventually come to his terms. "what do you mean by refusing to take us on board?" demanded deacon humphrey, furiously. "don't you know that we can't stay here all night?" "i presume not," said the captain, "and i don't suppose you will do so; but i must have payment for the use of my steamer. you can pay me in one sum by a check, or you can pay me at the rate of three dollars a head: i don't care which you choose, only i must be paid." the altercation continued at some length, and eventually the captain said that he could not afford to waste coal in keeping steam up, and if they did not agree to his terms, he would haul fires and let his steamer stay where she was all night. this threat brought the party to his terms, and he was ordered to bring his steamer over. he refused to make more than one trip, however, and so the dancers were called away from the ballroom at the end of the first waltz, thus spoiling their gayety almost ere it had begun. as the motley groups gathered on shore awaiting the steamer's approach, a more deeply disgusted and indignant assemblage was never known in the annals of good society, and curses, both openly and inwardly expressed against the don, were numerous and bitter. as they passed over the gangway, the captain and clerk were at hand to collect fares, and no one was allowed to pass without paying cash or giving a check for the amount, indorsed by some well-known man of wealth and position. finally, the whole sorrowful party was embarked, and the steamer turned her head toward gloster. the excitement and continuous dancing, which most of those on board had indulged in during the day, had left them in a state of nervous and physical fatigue little calculated to improve their spirits, while the financial losses of many were matters of an intensely depressing influence upon them. a more ill-tempered, disappointed, and irritable cargo cannot be imagined. their troubles were not ended even on their arrival at the wharf in gloster, for, being so much earlier in returning than they had expected, no carriages were in attendance, and the ladies were obliged to wait on board while their escorts went to the livery stables to order carriages to take them home. [illustration: _"what do you mean by refusing to take us on board?" demanded deacon humphrey furiously.--page--_] thus ended the _fête champêtre_ which had been anticipated so fondly as a new departure in the social world of gloster. in this, however, it was a success; for, certainly, its like had never been seen before, and the guests were profoundly hopeful that they never should see its like again. the following morning the whole city was talking of the flight of the peruvian adventurers. their late residence was besieged by the holders of diamond company stock, and the fact of their absence was then clearly established. the servants had been paid off by madame sevier a day or two before, and no one remained in the house except lesparre. to all inquirers he gave the same answer as he had given at the _fête_: he was entirely ignorant of the whereabouts of the don, and was as anxious as any one else to find him, in order to obtain his last quarter's salary, which was unpaid. the affair was a nine-days' wonder, and the mystery was still further increased in the minds of the stockholders on receiving a note from judge key requesting their attendance at a meeting to settle their accounts with don pedro. the meeting was strictly confidential, only the actual purchasers of stock being admitted. judge key explained to them that don pedro p. l. de morito had been arrested and carried away for forgery and other crimes, but that, before going, he had assigned all his property to judge key to satisfy the claims of the diamond company stockholders. "but how did you induce him to surrender this money and property?" was the question which was asked in various forms nearly a score of times. "i cannot give you any particulars," replied the judge; "you must be satisfied to know that he made this assignment in due legal form, and that the amount which i shall realize will pay your claims nearly in full. the slight loss which you will sustain will be serviceable as a warning against throwing away your money so recklessly hereafter." the letter of donna lucia to mr. henry o. mather was delivered to that gentleman early the day after the _fête_. immediately on reading it he packed his trunk and took the next train for new york. meantime the party under the charge of mr. bangs arrived in new york without accident thursday afternoon. in accordance with telegrams sent by the peruvian minister, the captain of the peruvian man-of-war had taken his vessel down into the lower harbor, and was ready to sail at a moment's notice. a steam-tug was in readiness at pier to take the party out to the vessel, and don pedro was transferred by carriage directly from the hudson river railroad dépôt to the steam-tug. the party accompanied him on board the man-of-war, and the tug towed the war-ship through the narrows. the don and donna had an affectionate and sorrowful parting in the cabin, and as the ship made sail outside the bar, the tug dropped alongside; the minister, consul, donna lucia, madame sevier, and the detectives, leaving the don in charge of the captain, then returned to new york in the tug. two days later, mr. mather also arrived in that city, and quickly found his way to the donna's presence. what they said to each other may never be known, but it is probable that the interview was satisfactory to both parties. thenceforward the donna lived in new york in the best style, though for some reason she failed to enter the same social circle that she had known before. as long, however, as she and mr. mather were contented, they considered that no one else need be troubled about their arrangements. how long mr. mather's infatuation lasted, i have no means of knowing, as i soon recalled madame sevier, and lost all interest in the affair. josé gomez was tried immediately on his arrival in peru, and was sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment, but he made his escape within two years from the time of his trial. his future career i never learned, but it is altogether probable that he pursued, during the remainder of his life, the same style of money-making (though perhaps on a smaller scale) as that which rendered notorious the name of don pedro p. l. de morito. the end. the poisoner and detectives. chapter i. _mr. pinkerton, at a water-cure, becomes interested in a couple, one of whom subsequently causes the detective operation from which this story is written.--a wealthy ship-owner and his son.--the son "found dead."--a woman that knows too much and too little by turns.--mr. pinkerton secured to solve the mystery.--chicago after the great fire._ during the summer of , i was spending a few weeks at a water-cure for the benefit of my health. the place was one not widely advertised nor generally known, and the number of frequenters was not large; hence, i became somewhat acquainted with most of the visitors, and, as a matter of habit, noticed their traits and peculiarities with more attentiveness than a casual meeting would naturally warrant. of course i had no idea that i ever should make any use of my observations, but i simply kept up a customary oversight upon everything about me. among those whom i thus noticed was a lady, about forty-five years of age, and her son, who was about twenty-six years old. the mother, mrs. r. s. trafton, was a pleasant woman, well preserved, and comparatively youthful in appearance. she was afflicted by a rheumatic affection, which caused her to visit these springs for relief; and her son accompanied her partly to look after her comfort, and partly to obtain a vacation from work. he was a tall, robust young man, with fine physique and strong constitution, but he showed the effects of overwork. i always make a point of observing the character and habits of those around me, and long experience has given me considerable accuracy of judgment with regard to my acquaintances, even where i am not an intimate associate with them. the more i saw of stanley d. trafton, the more i was interested in him. his mother was devoted to him, and he to her, so that they were rarely seen apart. springville was a very quiet, dull place, and, aside from the invalid visitors, there was nothing about the society to relieve the usual monotony of an uninteresting country town; hence, i was thrown largely upon my own resources for amusement, and i had little else to do except to observe the different strangers and speculate about them. among them all there were none who afforded me a more interesting study than young trafton, and, although i never formed his acquaintance, i began to feel that i understood his character quite thoroughly. he was about five feet ten inches in height, of compact, muscular build, full chest, stout limbs, and erect carriage. his complexion was clear and healthy, his features regular, his expression intelligent and open, and his manners were very frank and attractive to most people. his general appearance was that of an intelligent, handsome man, of more than ordinary ability and steady character. i learned that his father, mr. richard s. trafton, of cleveland, was a wealthy ship-owner and merchant, and that his son attended largely to the purchase of grain in the west for shipment in his father's vessels. i judged that young trafton was a good business man, with an eye to details as well as general results, and while he had no appearance of being small-minded, he did not despise economy in his business affairs. he did not seem like a person who would spend money for mere display or effect; yet, neither would he deny himself the comforts and luxuries belonging to a man of his wealth and position in society. there was nothing of the profligate about him, and his devotion to his mother showed that he must have a genuine and hearty respect for the whole sex. in the course of a few weeks i left springville, much improved in health, and i soon forgot all about mrs. trafton and her son, until the latter was brought under my notice again amid very tragical and sorrowful circumstances. early in the winter of the following year, i was deeply engrossed in business, having an accumulation of cases on hand which taxed my ingenuity and energies to the utmost. i therefore placed almost all of the less important operations in the hands of my superintendent, mr. francis warner, though i kept a general supervisory control over every case on the books of the agency. one morning, as i was conversing with mr. warner, two gentlemen were admitted to my office by my confidential clerk, who informed me that they had suspicions of foul play as the cause of the death of one of their friends, and they wished the circumstances fully investigated by the agency. the gentlemen were mr. john updike, of cleveland, and captain edward r. dalton, a ship captain, of buffalo. they introduced themselves, produced credentials and references, and then told me the following story: in november previous, mr. stanley d. trafton, of cleveland, left that city to go to chicago. he was the son of mr. richard s. trafton, a wealthy shipper of cleveland, and the father was anxious to keep his vessels employed. captain dalton commanded one of mr. trafton's schooners, and he expected to arrive in chicago harbor about november . accordingly, young trafton was to meet the vessel there, and, in case she did not obtain a charter at a paying rate, he was to purchase a cargo of oats on his own account. he brought, therefore, a considerable amount of money and negotiable paper. he had about eight hundred dollars in currency, two thousand five hundred dollars in united states five-twenty bonds, and a letter from his father authorizing him to draw upon him for a large amount. the bonds were the usual coupon bonds of the denomination of five hundred dollars each, and fortunately mr. trafton, senior, had the numbers of these securities. stanley trafton arrived in chicago november , and found the schooner awaiting him. he tried to obtain a room in one of the hotels, but he soon gave this up as a hopeless task, for the reason that there was no hotel in the city which was not already crowded almost to an unsafe degree. he then took up his quarters on board the schooner, getting his meals at a restaurant. this was not at all pleasant, and he finally discovered a place where furnished rooms were to let near one of the hotels. he therefore announced to captain dalton that he had taken a room at west madison street. they met each other every day, however, and at last, seeing no profit to be made by purchasing grain in the then condition of the market, mr. trafton informed the captain that he might sail for cleveland on friday, december . on thursday he visited the captain and promised to return on board again that evening; he failed to do so, however, and the schooner sailed next morning. five days afterward, captain dalton received a dispatch, sent by a firm of commission merchants in chicago, announcing that stanley d. trafton had been found dead in his bed. mr. updike, who was a warm friend of the family, and captain dalton, then visited chicago, arriving december . they found the body of mr. trafton at the morgue awaiting claimants, together with a quantity of valuables which had been in his possession when he died. there were two five-twenty bonds, one being torn in two pieces, a set of diamond studs, a small amount of loose change, and three one-hundred-dollar bills. a coroner's inquest had been held, and a verdict of death by congestion of the lungs had been rendered. the circumstances of young trafton's death, as related by the officials in charge of the body, created considerable suspicion in the minds of messrs. updike and dalton, who, therefore, proceeded to investigate the affair. in the first place, they were well aware that fifteen hundred dollars in bonds, and nearly five hundred dollars in currency, were missing; secondly, they learned that trafton had been found dead in bed friday morning, december , only about eighteen hours after he had left captain dalton in perfect health. accordingly, mr. updike and captain dalton visited his late lodging-place, which was kept by a woman named may sanford. the building was a two-story frame residence, which, like thousands of others after the great fire, had been rearranged for business purposes. the lower floor was occupied as a furniture store, while the second floor was also partly occupied by business offices. a covered stairway on the side led to the upper story, and, while the front hall bedroom, the front parlor and the next room back, were used as offices, the rear portion was occupied by mrs. sanford, who rented most of her rooms as sleeping apartments. [illustration: _"he was lying in bed with froth about his mouth and a ghastly look on his face."--page--_] on stating their object in calling, the two gentlemen were admitted to mrs. sanford's sitting-room, and she then gave her account of the circumstances connected with young trafton's death. she stated that she met him first on the street and recognized him as an old acquaintance who had been intimate with her husband and herself when they lived in buffalo; that he stopped and talked with her for a time, and, learning that she had furnished rooms to let, he said he would rent one. he stayed there five days, and, on the sixth, which was thursday, november , he came to his room in the evening and complained of feeling unwell. he had been drinking very hard all the week, and she said that this evening he was quite drunk. he complained that he could not keep anything on his stomach, and asked mrs. sanford to cook something nice for him. accordingly she boiled a chicken, but he could not eat it, and he then went to bed. during the evening, she heard him snoring very loudly as she passed his door, but she thought nothing of it, and went to bed at eleven o'clock. about seven o'clock next morning, she knocked at his door, but he made no answer, and she pushed the door open, the bolt being a very slight one. she then found mr. trafton lying diagonally across the bed, with his head hanging down and froth on his lips. becoming alarmed at his appearance, she called in a gentleman named taylor g. pratt, who occupied her back parlor as a real estate office and sleeping-room. mr. pratt examined the body of mr. trafton and told her that he was dead, advising her to inform the police authorities of the fact. she immediately closed the room and went to the nearest police station, where she reported the circumstances relative to the death of mr. trafton so far as she knew them, and asked what she should do with the body. the police sergeant promised to send the coroner as soon as possible to make an investigation, and she was instructed to leave the body and room untouched until the coroner should arrive. that evening an inquest was held by the county physician, and a verdict of death by congestion of the lungs was rendered. mrs. sanford gave an account of the finding of the money and bonds, which exactly agreed with that given by the county physician, whom she assisted in making search for trafton's valuables. in one boot, lying under his head, they found a five-twenty bond for five hundred dollars and half of another one, the remainder of this torn bond being found in the right-hand pocket of his pantaloons. in his vest pocket were found three united states notes for one hundred dollars each, and a small quantity of loose change. a set of diamond studs still remained in his shirt, and, as the story was related by her, there was nothing suspicious about the affair except the suddenness of his death. having heard all that mrs. sanford and the county physician had to say on the subject, mr. updike and captain dalton took charge of the body, and shipped it to cleveland, where they placed it in the hands of four experienced surgeons, with instructions to make a thorough and careful examination as to the cause of death. the first thing noticed by them was an evidence of considerable external violence on the right side, over the liver, there being a large bruise, about the size of a saucer, apparently caused by a blow. the coagulation of blood beneath the skin showed that this injury must have been caused during trafton's lifetime, but very shortly before his death. a similar, though smaller bruise, was found on his thigh, while several bruises on the base of the neck and throat showed that the windpipe must have been severely compressed just previous to death. none of these marks had been noticed by the county physician in making the post-mortem examination, and it seemed probable that he had first guessed at the cause of death, and then made only a sufficient examination to find some corroboration of his theory. the cleveland surgeons had great difficulty in accounting for trafton's death, but they were unanimous in scouting the theory of death by congestion of the lungs. they found the body to be healthy in every part, except the external bruises; and, while these were not of a sufficiently serious character to account for the death of so robust a man, they could find no other cause whatever. these facts, together with the disappearance of fifteen hundred dollars in bonds, and about five hundred dollars in currency, which trafton was known to have had in his possession, caused his relatives and friends to believe that he had been murdered for his money, and that the murderer had been shrewd enough to leave a large portion of the plunder to allay suspicion. the trick had proven to be a most excellent one, for, as the county physician afterward acknowledged, the idea of foul play never occurred to him, owing to the apparent lack of incentive thereto; had there been no money, or only a small amount, found on the body, he would have made a much more rigid examination; but no suspicion even crossed his mind, and he acted with the haste which characterized almost all operations in chicago at that time. in order, therefore, to discover all the facts in the case, and to recover, if possible, the missing money and bonds, mr. trafton, senior, had decided to put the affair in my hands for a thorough investigation, and mr. opdike and captain dalton had called upon me for that purpose. having heard their statement, i asked a number of questions, which elicited the following additional information: on returning to chicago the second time, they had again visited mrs. sanford, and found that she had taken every particle of furniture out of the room where trafton had died. at the time of their call, they saw a policeman whom she called charlie, with whom she seemed to be very intimate. she said that charlie was the first person to see trafton after she found he was dead that morning, he having been sent over by the sergeant as soon as she reported the fact. this story contradicted her former statement, that she first called mr. pratt into the room; moreover, the sergeant of police had told them that the policeman did not go to the room at all, but merely took the number of the house and went away. at this interview, mrs. sanford gave them the blank power to draw upon mr. trafton, senior, saying that she had found it at the foot of the bed since their former visit. she also showed them a gold coin which she said young trafton had given her as a keepsake. both gentlemen recognized this coin as one which trafton prized very highly for some reason, he having refused to part with it even to his mother; it seemed hardly possible that he should have given it to a chance acquaintance like mrs. sanford. during this conversation she claimed to have lent mr. trafton three hundred and twenty-five dollars, though she did not seem greatly disappointed when they refused to repay her that amount. mr. updike gave her twenty-five dollars, however, to pay for mr. trafton's board and lodging, and to recompense her for her trouble. the story that trafton had borrowed money of her was absurd on its face, and she acted as if she hardly expected to be believed. before coming to chicago this time, mr. updike had written to mr. t. b. vernon, of buffalo, asking for information relative to the antecedents of this mrs. sanford. mr. vernon had replied that she had a very bad reputation in buffalo, having been divorced from her husband for adultery, and having been arrested in march previous for being drunk and disorderly. she had a paramour at that time, named james mcsandy, a police-station keeper, and it was supposed that he had gone west with her. another circumstance had been noticed by captain dalton, which led him to believe that trafton had been murdered with his clothes on, and afterward undressed and put to bed: the sole of one of his boots was covered with whitewash, as if it had been violently pressed and scraped along a wall. now, the room where he was found had been newly whitewashed when they arrived there, so that any marks on the wall made by him in his struggles would be wholly obliterated. having learned all the facts bearing upon the case known by my visitors, i informed them of my terms for conducting an investigation of this character, and sketched a hasty outline of my plan of operation. as they had already hinted their suspicions to a member of the city detective force, who was inclined to make light of them, i suggested that they inform him that they had changed their minds in the matter, having learned from the cleveland physicians that death was surely caused by congestion of the lungs. they then took their departure, saying that they would lay my plan before mr. richard s. trafton, and he would telegraph to me whether i should proceed with the operation. on christmas day, i received a telegram from mr. trafton, briefly instructing me to proceed, and my plan was put in operation at once. before proceeding further with the history of my connection with this case, it will be necessary to remind the reader of the anomalous condition of social and business affairs in chicago at the time of which i write; for, without any explanation, he might have difficulty in understanding many things in connection with the story. it will be remembered that the great fire of chicago occurred october and , , and this case was placed in my hands only about nine weeks afterward. at the time of mr. trafton's death, a pall of smoke hung over the city, and, at night, the still-smouldering heaps of coal throughout the "burned district" glowed like volcanic fissures, casting a weird fantastic light about the ruins, and illumining the clouds of smoke overhead with a ruddy glow which was visible for miles away. the streets were filled with dust and ashes, while the fumes of carbonic acid gas were sometimes almost stifling. to venture, at any time, into the waste of ruins, which stretched more than three miles in one direction, through the formerly richest portion of the city, was not a pleasant undertaking; but to make such an excursion at night was attended with more hazard than most peaceably-disposed men would care to run. there were no gaslights, no sidewalks, no street indicators; in many places, piles of stone and brick were heaped in almost impassable barricades from one side of the street to the other; all landmarks were gone, and the old resident was as liable to lose his way as the stranger. the city, moreover, was crowded with what is sometimes called "a floating population," a species of driftwood, or scum, gathered from every quarter of the globe; indeed, a large percentage seemed to have come straight from the infernal regions, with all the passions and habits incidental to a prolonged residence there. hence, the labors of the police force were increased to an extent which taxed their abilities to the utmost, and made the task of protecting the respectable portion of the community about all that could be required of them; that they should be apt to suspect foul play, in a case where the coroner had no suspicions, was hardly to be expected. besides this, there was nothing settled on any permanent foundation; business men flitted hither and thither wherever they could best obtain accommodations for the time being, and whence people came or whither they went was a matter which no one had time to inquire into, much less to investigate. the destruction of thousands of business blocks and dwellings left the city without adequate accommodations for offices and residences, even for its own regular population; but when the rush of strangers swelled the aggregate nearly twenty per cent., there seemed hardly sleeping-rooms for them all. dwelling-houses by thousands were converted into stores, manufactories, and offices, until fabulous prices were offered for the merest closets in the vicinity of the new temporary business centers. every hotel was thronged from the basement to the mansard roof, and late arrivals were oftentimes happy if they could get a straw mattress on a billiard-table, or an army cot in a hall. i call especial attention to these things to account for certain apparent anomalies in the action of different persons connected with this tragedy. for instance: a young gentleman of mr. trafton's wealth and respectability would never have rented a mean little room in a petty lodging-house, if he could have found any other place equally convenient to business; the county physician would not have taken things so much for granted, if he had not been so hard at work and so pressed for time, owing to the immense army of gratuitous patients who thronged the offices of the county agent and the relief and aid society; the police would not have been so remiss in failing to examine into the death of mr. trafton, if they had not had their hands full of other business to an unprecedented extent; and, lastly, when i came to work up the case, i should not have had so much difficulty in finding witnesses, if it had not been that people came and went through chicago like the waves of the sea in mid-ocean, leaving no trace by which they could be followed or identified. these circumstances, combined with certain facts which will appear in the course of this narrative, made the task assigned me one of unusual difficulty. mr. warner was intrusted with the general management of the case, though he frequently consulted me in relation to it; and, though we were continually working in the dark, we never despaired of our eventual success. chapter ii. _the detectives at work.--mrs. sanford described.--charlie, the policeman.--mrs. sanford develops interest in government bonds.--chicago relief and aid benefits.--mrs. sanford's story of trafton's death.--a nice little arrangement.--mrs. sanford explains to the detective her method of "quieting people."--ingham "makes a raise."--mrs. sanford fears being haunted, but is not easily frightened._ the day after christmas a tall, well-built man called at no. madison street, and asked for the lady of the house. mrs. sanford soon entered the sitting-room, and the stranger said that, having seen the sign, "furnished rooms to rent," he had called to engage lodgings. he introduced himself as john ingham, and said that he was a bookkeeper, temporarily out of employment. mrs. sanford received him with great cordiality, and seemed much pleased to have him as a lodger. she said that she had no suitable room just then, but that a married couple were about to leave, and then mr. ingham could have their room. she then showed him through the house. the two front rooms were occupied by an insurance company, and the back parlor was used as a real estate office and sleeping-room by two brothers, named pratt. at the head of the stairs was a small bedroom, through which it was necessary to pass to obtain admission to the rear part of the house. the passageway from this bedroom to the sitting-room was made by partitioning off a small entry from the back parlor. there were four doors in this sitting-room: one opened from the entry; at the opposite side was one which opened into another entry; the third was adjoining this second door, and it opened into the large bedroom occupied by the married couple; the fourth door led into mrs. sanford's own room. at the end of the back entry was an unfurnished room and a kitchen. the front bedroom was occupied by two young women who worked in a bindery, and their accommodations could hardly have been very agreeable, as every one was obliged to pass through their room on the way to the other rooms in the rear. mrs. sanford was a good-looking woman, about thirty-two years old. her features were quite pretty, and her expression was pleasing. she was very plump, and her skin was smooth and soft. she had brown hair, a nose slightly _retroussé_, and a pleasant smile. her eyes, however, were a bluish gray, cold and watchful as those of a hawk. she might have been called handsome but for the effects of dissipation, which were plainly visible in her face. she had a pleasant voice, and she was naturally easy in her manners. if she was in a good humor, she could be quite fascinating; and almost any stranger, after talking with her for a few minutes, would feel satisfied that she had once occupied a social station far above that in which she was now placed. she had a good education, and very frequently she would give evidences of having had a wide range of really good reading. at times, her recitations and declamations, wholly from memory, were exceptionally fine, and, but for her two ruling passions, she might have been an actress of a high rank. she had two controlling vices, one natural, the other acquired: her greed for money was inborn, and it seemed to absorb at times every other faculty; while the habit of using morphine had become so fastened upon her, that she could not shake it off. she was a most contradictory medley of compounds, however, and while her thirst for money seemed to overpower all other considerations with her as a general rule, on some occasions she would be as wasteful and careless of expense as the most prodigal woman in the world. but when she had set her mind on the acquisition of any particular money or piece of personal property, there was no length to which she would not go to attain her object. the mere sight of money seemed to act upon her with an effect almost of insanity, and she would then have no regard for consequences until after she had secured the coveted prize. it will be readily understood, of course, that mr. john ingham, usually known as jack, was one of my detectives, sent to obtain lodging with mrs. sanford, to win her confidence and learn all that he could. ingham agreed to take the large room in the rear, but he wanted to come immediately. mrs. sanford agreed, therefore, to make up a bed for him on the sofa in the sitting-room until the departure of mr. and mrs. graves, who were then occupying the back room. having agreed upon the terms, ingham went away, promising to return that night. accordingly, he came in again about nine o'clock in the evening, and found that mrs. sanford was entertaining a policeman. he was a rather good-looking fellow, and was in full uniform, except his star. he remained until nearly twelve o'clock, and when he went out, mrs. sanford followed him to the door, with many affectionate caresses and tender remarks. after he had gone, she began to converse very confidentially with ingham, telling him that she was engaged to be married to charlie, the policeman. "don't you think a policeman is good enough to marry?" she asked. "oh, yes!" replied ingham, "and your charlie seems to be a fine fellow." "well, he is awfully fond of me," she continued, "and he spends all his time off duty with me; but i don't know whether i care to marry him. what do you think about it, mr. ingham?" "you ought not to be in any hurry about it," he replied, "for you might see some one whom you would like better." "oh! i have had a number of offers lately," she said, laughing. "i have had to work hard for a living, and have saved up quite a good sum; and, besides that, my father sent me two thousand dollars a short time ago, so that i have a snug little fortune. but charlie doesn't know anything about it, and i shan't tell him until after we are married." after some further conversation, she said that she was hungry, and wished she had someone to go to the nearest restaurant with. ingham volunteered to act as her escort, and they went out together. while eating supper, she suddenly asked whether government bonds were good property to invest in. ingham replied that they were very good indeed, since the interest was payable in gold, and there were no taxes to pay upon them. "well, suppose you should lose them," she queried; "could any one who found them make use of them without being discovered?" "yes, i think so," said ingham. "there is no means of learning how they came into the bearer's possession." "did you ever own any?" she inquired. "no, but i used to cash the coupons for my employer in louisville, and i know a good deal about them." "what business were you in there?" she asked, with a considerable show of interest. "i was bookkeeper for a wholesale liquor firm, and the senior partner used to put all his money into government bonds." "why did you leave louisville?" she continued, seemingly desirous of learning as much as possible of his history. "oh! well, i got hard up," he replied, evasively, "and there was some mistake in my accounts which i couldn't explain satisfactorily, so i thought best to go out of town for awhile. you know we are all liable to mistakes when we are hard up." "yes, indeed, i understand," she replied, in a satisfied tone of voice. "what are you going to do here?" "well, i can't tell yet. i have a small job of closing up a set of books for the year, and when that is done i shall look around for something else. i'm not particular what i do, if it pays well." "perhaps you could get employment from the relief and aid society," she said, "and then you could get lots of nice things for me. this man, graves, whose room you are to have, is employed there, and he steals enough to keep the woman who is with him in good style." "why, aren't they married?" asked ingham. "no, i don't believe they are married," she replied, "and i've given them notice to leave. mr. graves gets hardly any pay, but he brings her all kinds of presents, and she sells them to the pawnbrokers." on their return to the house, mrs. sanford made up a bed on the sofa for ingham, and then went to her room. the day following, ingham went down to his work on the south side, and did not return until eight o'clock in the evening. he said that he knew of a chance to buy a cigar stand in one of the leading hotels, and that he would like to do it if he could raise the money. mrs. sanford seemed to have taken a great fancy to her new lodger, for she told him that she would assist him, if it did not cost too much. "by the way, i was sorry you were not here this afternoon," she said. "there was a very pretty young lady friend of mine here, and i would like to have you meet her." "what was her name?" "ida musgrove." "have you known her long?" "oh! no, i have only lived in chicago a few months. i used to live in cleveland before i separated from my husband, and we had a fine stone-front house there." "how did you happen to leave your husband?" asked ingham. "well, he began running after other women, and, though i forgave him several times, when he brought his mistress to live in the same house with me, i left him." "he must have been a very hard case to do such a thing as that," said ingham, sympathizingly. "yes; and then he sold the house, promising to give me half if i would sign the deed; but he never gave me a cent, so that i have had to work hard to support myself and my little girl, who is boarding at riverside. however, i am all right now, for my father sent me three thousand dollars the other day, and i shall have plenty of money hereafter." "hadn't you any friends here who would have helped you?" asked ingham. "no, i hardly knew any one; but i met an old friend from cleveland about a month ago, and he died here in my house. haven't i told you about that?" "no, indeed; how was it?" "well, you see, this mr. trafton was a former lover of mine in cleveland, and he was very rich and handsome. he came here last month and took the back room in my house. he was very kind to me, and wanted to marry me; but he drank hard for a week and began to show the effects of his dissipation. finally, he came home one evening quite drunk, and he complained of feeling sick. i boiled a chicken for him, but he could not eat it, and he went to bed. next morning he did not call me as usual, and i went to his door and knocked; there was no answer, and so i pushed open his door. he was lying in bed with froth about his mouth and a ghastly look on his face which frightened me terribly. then i called in mr. pratt, who roomed in the back parlor, and he said that mr. trafton was dead. when the coroner came, we found twenty-five thousand dollars in mr. trafton's pockets, besides his diamond studs and other property. oh! it was a dreadful thing for me to think that such a handsome fellow as my stanley should die in my house." "what was the matter with him?" asked ingham. "the coroner held an inquest, and a post-mortem examination showed that he died of congestion of the lungs." "did you know that he had all that money with him?" asked ingham, significantly lowering his voice. "no, i did not know it until afterward," she replied; "why do you ask?" "oh! for no special reason; but," he added, in a determined way, "you might have helped yourself to some of that money and no one would have been the wiser. i tell you, i wouldn't have let such a chance as that slip." "well, i know i might have taken some of it," she answered, thoughtfully, "but i couldn't steal from him. oh! i have mighty good credit among people here now, for every one knows about that money, and that i could have taken it all if i had wished. a reporter came here, and afterward stated in the paper that there was only a small amount, about fifteen hundred dollars, found; but i had it corrected." she prattled on for some time about her intimacy with mr. trafton, until she was interrupted by a noise in the hall bedroom. on going to see what was the matter, she found the two bindery girls in great excitement, as they had been awakened by a strange man in their room. ingham also went to the door, when mrs. sanford told him to get his revolver, as she wanted to shoot any man who should try to break into her rooms. no one was found, but the lower hall door was open, and ingham went down to lock it. on his return, mrs. sanford said that she had a revolver, and that she knew how to use it too. it was about midnight before they retired, but mrs. sanford seemed to consider it quite an early hour. the next day ingham was again absent until evening, and mrs. sanford scolded him a little for not staying more time with her. he replied that he had been out looking for a chance to make a raise. "what kind of a raise?" she asked. "oh! any kind," he replied; "i'm not particular, provided i can get enough to pay for the trouble. if i knew of any good hiding place, i could get a lot of valuable goods some night without much work, and with no danger." "you can bring them here, and i will hide them so that they will never be found," she replied, in a whisper. "that will be a pretty hard thing to do, for these policemen and detectives can find almost anything if they want to. i shouldn't like to bring any plunder here and then have it found in your house, for you would then be punished for receiving stolen goods. "never you fear about me; i know some sharp tricks if i _am_ a woman. i can hide anything you bring, and if they get after you, i can hide you too." ingham then told her about various criminal devices for obtaining money, which he had practiced in new york several years before, and called her attention to the ease with which they might rob strangers by the "panel" game. she was very much interested, and said that she could easily get hold of some fellow with plenty of money, make him drunk, and then rob him. "how i wish you had been here when mr. trafton died, for you could have got away with ten or fifteen thousand dollars without any difficulty whatever." "yes, it would have been a good chance," he replied; "but i guess we can do nearly as well, if you will be true to me and help me." "you can depend upon me for anything," she answered, with great determination, but adding suddenly, in a cautious tone, "that is, anything except murder, you know. i shouldn't like to do that. but i would protect you even if you should kill a man--not willfully--not willfully, you understand; but if you should be obliged to do it to save yourself, i should not blame you very much." "i am determined to 'make a raise,' soon," said ingham; "but i don't know whether i can trust you." "how so?" she asked, as if greatly surprised. "i am afraid you will 'give me away' to that policeman whom you think so much of." "you need not fear anything of the kind," she said, leaning forward, and speaking slowly and emphatically. "i can help you a great deal, and i would never betray you to any one. i don't think so much of charlie as i pretend to." soon afterward she had to go into the unfurnished room to get something, and she asked ingham to hold the light for her. "why can't you hold it yourself?" he asked. "well, to tell the truth, i don't like to go into that room alone," she replied, trying to laugh in an unconcerned way. "why not? you aren't afraid of anything, are you?" "no, not afraid; but i have never felt like going in there since mr. trafton died there. i cannot help recollecting the way he looked when i first saw him hanging over the bedside, with the froth on his lips. i took out all the furniture on that account, but i am going to furnish it again next week, as i can get a good rent for it." ingham went with her as she requested, and he noticed that all the time she was in the room overhauling a trunk containing the things she wanted, she was very restless and nervous. several times when she heard a sudden noise she would start and turn pale, as if much frightened. presently the two girls occupying the front room came in and said that they should leave next day, as they were afraid of a man coming into their room as one had done the night before. mrs. sanford was evidently not sorry to have them go, and they soon went to bed. ingham and mrs. sanford then talked together about their plans for getting money for some time. her whole mind seemed bent upon one object,--to obtain money; and she seemed to have no scruples whatever as to the means employed. "don't you know of any wealthy fellow who carries considerable money about with him?" asked ingham. "oh! yes; i know two or three who come here to do business, and i expect one from canada next week. he always has plenty of money with him, so that i have no doubt we could get a big sum out of him." "does he ever drink?" he asked; "i don't want to tackle a sober man, if i can help it." "that needn't trouble you," she replied, in a whisper; "i can give him something to keep him quiet." "how can you do that?" he inquired, with apparent astonishment. she then showed him a bottle of morphine, and said that she always kept it for her own use, and that she knew how to give just enough to produce a deep sleep. they finally agreed to lay their plans together, and to make a big haul at the first opportunity. ingham went out again on his prospecting tour next day, but when he returned, in the evening, he had not discovered any good place for a robbery. he told mrs. sanford, however, that he thought he could get a quantity of counterfeit money at a very low price, and that they could pass a great deal of it, if they were skillful. she liked the idea, and said that she could pass it on a great many people who would never recollect where they received it. she also said that she had a good place to hide it, and that some time she would show him where she had hidden some property, when the police were looking for it. "oh! how i wish you had been here when that man died with eighteen thousand dollars in bonds in his pockets!" she exclaimed. "you could have helped yourself to all you wanted." "yes, indeed," he replied, "i should have made myself rich for life." "but could you have disposed of the bonds without being suspected?" she asked. "wouldn't his friends catch you if they had the numbers of the bonds?" "oh! that wouldn't make any difference. there are millions of dollars afloat of these bonds, and they cannot be traced any more than money." "his bonds were all for five hundred dollars each, and they had little tickets on the end, which could be cut off for the interest," she said. "i saw them when the coroner was examining them." "yes, they were undoubtedly five-twenty bonds, and were worth their face in gold." "well, another time, if we get such a chance," she said, "we will take enough to make ourselves comfortable, and leave the rest to remove suspicion." on the following day, ingham returned to his room at mrs. sanford's about three o'clock in the afternoon, and she told him that the two girls and mr. and mrs. graves had left. she said that she had a great fuss with the latter, and that they went away in a state of high wrath against her; besides this, she had had a quarrel with charlie, the policeman, who had sided with mrs. graves during their quarrel. mrs. sanford said, further, that charlie had acted very meanly in not making her any christmas or new year's present, and she didn't care whether he came there again or not. she said that mrs. graves had left her trunk to be called for, and that there was no doubt she had stolen some of mrs. sanford's towels and other things. she then went to the trunk, opened it, and took out a number of articles, which she said belonged to her. she took the articles into the kitchen, and secreted them in a hole in the floor, where she was able to take up a board. ingham thought it rather strange that she should hide these things, if they were her own property, but he said nothing on the subject to mrs. sanford. about five o'clock a young lady called to see mrs. sanford, and they seemed very intimate with each other. when they entered the sitting-room, mrs. sanford said: "ida, let me introduce to you mr. ingham; this is miss ida musgrove, mr. ingham." "mrs. sanford has spoken of you in such complimentary terms, miss ida," said ingham, "that i have been very anxious to meet you." "now, how can you be so foolish, may," said miss ida, addressing mrs. sanford; "you always talk about me so extravagantly that people are very much disappointed when they meet me." "oh! that is quite impossible," chimed in ingham. "i am sure that mrs. sanford hardly did you justice." "i see, mr. ingham, that you are, like all the rest of your sex, a great flatterer," simpered miss ida, who was evidently greatly pleased with his compliments, but who wished to appear too modest to believe him to be in earnest. miss ida was a brilliant brunette of fine features and figure. she was stylish and graceful in her appearance, and her dress showed remarkably good taste. she was very vivacious and merry, but a close observer would have noticed that she was not endowed with much sentiment, and a physiognomist would have said that she was more interested in the size of a man's fortune than in his looks or powers to please. the three chatted together very pleasantly for some time, and when miss ida rose to go, she said that she hoped to have the pleasure of seeing mr. ingham again; but she did not inform him where she lived, and was apparently rather indifferent with regard to him. the next day mrs. sanford refurnished the back room where mr. trafton had died, and ingham took the room vacated by the graveses. on the same day, mrs. sanford missed her watch, and, after searching for it everywhere, she came to the conclusion that it had been stolen. she was greatly distressed about it, but she could not imagine who could have taken it. a few days after this, ingham came hurriedly into the sitting-room looking as if he had been running hard. he found mrs. sanford and miss ida in the kitchen, but when the former came into the sitting-room, he gave her a significant look, and said that he had "made a raise." mrs. sanford was highly pleased, but she had no time to make inquiries, as miss ida came in from the kitchen a moment later. they took supper together, and had a very gay time, as both ingham and mrs. sanford were quite excited over the former's adventure. after miss ida had gone home, ingham gave mrs. sanford ten dollars, and told her that he and another man had followed a stranger into the "burnt district" just at dusk, and while the other man choked the stranger, ingham had "gone through" his pockets. owing to the fact that there were very few persons and no gas-lamps in their vicinity, they had not been observed in their work of robbery until they let the man go, when his shouts had attracted attention. he said that some men had chased them, and that he had escaped by running into a lumber-yard, where he had hidden the greater part of the plunder. he said that he had obtained a roll of bills, but that he could not tell how much money there was in all, as he had not had time to count it. he said that he did not expect to get much out of it, as he would be obliged to divide with his partner. the day following, ingham, on his return to the house in the evening, found mrs. sanford standing in her room fixing her hair, while a man stood beside her with his arm around her waist. the door of her room was open, so that ingham could not help seeing them, and he did not stop, but went straight to his own room. mrs. sanford soon afterward came to his door and told him that the man he had seen was mr. taylor g. pratt, the real estate agent, who occupied the back parlor; that he was one of her best friends, and that he wanted to marry her. he had been away for the holidays, and had only just returned. she had told him that ingham was her brother from detroit, and that he was going to remain with her for some time. ingham was then introduced to mr pratt, and they talked with each other until supper-time. pratt was a middle-aged man, with a mean-looking face and suspicious manner. they went to a restaurant for supper, and the gentlemen paid the bill equally. pratt seemed to expect mrs. sanford to pay her share, and this made her angry, though she said nothing about the matter at the time. when alone with ingham, however, she said that pratt was a miserly cub, with no generosity whatever. she borrowed five dollars from him, nevertheless, and then invented a story about having lost the money to escape paying it back. the next evening, when ingham returned to his lodgings, he found mrs. sanford in a sad plight; one eye was wholly closed and discolored, while her whole face was bruised and inflamed to such an extent as to make her an unpleasant object to look at. charlie stokes, the policeman, was sitting by the stove, and mrs. sanford, with her head done up in wet towels, was moaning on the sofa. she explained that mrs. graves had been there, and had seized her by the throat, beaten, scratched, and kicked her until she was perfectly helpless from her injuries. charlie, the policeman, was trying to condole with her, but he was evidently out of favor, for she finally told him to go out and not bother her any longer. ingham told her that she certainly ought to have mrs. graves arrested and punished severely, and he petted her so nicely that she said he was her best friend, and that she would do anything for him. he prepared a dressing for her black eye, and got some supper for her, telling her that on monday--that day being saturday--she ought to get out a warrant for the arrest of mrs. graves. "why didn't you hit her with the poker?" he asked. "i did pick it up," she replied, "but i was afraid to hit her for fear i should kill her." "well, it would have served her just right, for she had no business to attack you first." "i know that; but if i had killed her, just think how awful it would be! why, her ghost would haunt me forever after. i don't want to be haunted. i'm afraid now to go into the room where trafton died, and i wouldn't go in there alone after dark for fifty dollars." ingham comforted her all he could, but finally he said that he must go out for a time, and he did not return until about ten o'clock. he then went upstairs quietly, and went to bed. two or three hours later, a heavy, groaning sound was heard in the house. it was difficult to tell exactly whence it came, but ingham heard mrs. sanford spring up and open her door. he did the same, and saw her listening at the half-open door. the groans were not exactly like those of a person in distress, but they resembled the efforts of some stage ghost in a blood-and-thunder drama. suddenly mrs. sanford stepped out, with her revolver in her hand, and began to walk toward the hall. he instantly overtook her and asked her, in a whisper, what she was going to do. she made a significant motion with her revolver, and again stopped to listen. he then took the pistol away from her, saying that the noise was probably due to some drunken man who had got into the hall. he told her to go back to bed, and he would investigate. accordingly, he went into the hall, and soon mrs. sanford heard him dragging a maudlin drunken fellow downstairs. this affair had been arranged by me, in the hope of frightening mrs. sanford into making some kind of a confession, but she was not so easily alarmed as i had hoped. the door had been left open by ingham on his return to the house, and another detective had been sent to the top of the stairs to make the groans. from the determined way in which she walked out, with her pistol in readiness, it was evident that she would not have hesitated to shoot the unfortunate ghost on sight. the next day ingham showed her a fine gold watch, which he said he had snatched out of a man's pocket in a crowd. she wanted him to steal one for her, and he promised to do so, if possible, though it was more difficult to get a lady's watch. she then advised him to be careful to see that there was no private mark on the watch, lest he should be detected thereby. then she asked whether the numbers on government bonds were all different. he said that there were different series, which were exactly alike except the letter, and he tried to explain the matter to her, but she could not understand it. she also wanted to know whether the bonds could be sold in a foreign country, and he told her yes; that that was the best way to sell them, if there was anything wrong about them. after some further conversation, she said she thought of going to canada soon, and perhaps she would like him to take charge of her rooms while she was away. chapter iii. _the dangerous side of the woman's character.--mr. pinkerton makes a new move.--robert a. pinkerton as adamson, the drunken, but wealthy, stranger.--a "funny" game of cards.--the drunken stranger has a violent struggle to escape from mrs. sanford, and is afterwards robbed--according to the papers.--detective ingham arrested, but very shortly liberated._ it has already been observed by the reader that, while ingham had learned nothing new about the fate of poor trafton, he had obtained a very excellent understanding of mrs. sanford's character. her most prominent characteristic was the love of money, and this passion seemed to overpower all others. her language and manners at times showed that she had once been a member of good society, while her reading and declamations from shakespeare and other poets gave evidence of great natural talents. combined with her greed for money was a strong element of sensuality, and though she usually granted her favors only where she expected a large pecuniary reward, still, at times, she was apparently as prodigal in that regard as if she had no care whatever for money. her mind was naturally powerful, and i had little hope of breaking down her will; she would evidently show fight to the last, and all that i could hope would be to learn enough secretly to insure her conviction without her confession. she was as shrewd as if all her life had been passed in evading the toils of the law; even in her sleep, or when pretending to sleep, she would talk with great freedom; but, as she never gave any intelligence of importance on such occasions, i put little faith in the soundness of her sleep. in her readiness to assist ingham to hide his plunder, i saw the dangerous side of this woman's nature strongly revealed. if she were so willing to act as an accomplice in one crime, why not in another? as she had been so successful in her encounter with trafton, might she not be glad to carry out the same scheme again? at least, there would be no harm in putting an opportunity before her, and her actions in one case might give some clue to those by which she had succeeded in the former affair. "yes, that will be a good plan," i soliloquized; "i will send a young fellow there with a large sum of money, and he will get drunk. then, if she tries to rob him, i shall be certain that she did the same with young trafton." i therefore arranged that ingham should pretend that he had made the acquaintance of a stranger from the east, who had a large sum of money; he was to tell mrs. sanford that he would bring the stranger to her rooms to spend the evening; the stranger would be rather drunk when he arrived there, and they would give him more liquor, until he should be quite drunk; if she should then try to rob him, he would get away as well as possible, and ingham would go after him. in a little while, ingham would return and show her a package of bonds, stolen from the stranger, and tell her that he had knocked the man down with a brick, before robbing him. the next morning a notice would appear in the papers to the effect that a stranger had been found in the burnt district, lying on the ground in an insensible condition, having been knocked down and robbed. ingham was instructed as to his part in the affair, and next day he told mrs. sanford that there was a young fellow down town whose acquaintance he had made, who had a large amount of money with him. ingham said that the man's name was adamson, and that he was a gambler in good luck. he wanted to bring adamson to the house that evening, and she was very anxious that he should come. i intrusted the stranger's part to my son, robert a. pinkerton, who assumed the name of adamson for the occasion. accordingly, the two detectives met at my office, and adamson was given five hundred dollars in fifty dollar bonds. they then went to mrs. sanford's house, and, on arriving there, mr. adamson was quite unsteady on his legs. mrs. sanford was nicely dressed to receive the stranger, and she made herself very agreeable to him, in spite of his apparent drunkenness. they played cards together for a time, and then adamson proposed to play euchre with ingham seven points for five dollars a game. while they were playing, adamson became quite reckless, and he threw down his cards with such a look of drunken gravity as to be quite amusing. he lost almost every game, and, at length, he wanted to go out for a drink. mrs. sanford told him to go on with his game, and she would get what he wished. "what do you want to drink?" she asked. "anything excep' warrer," he replied. "what do you know about water?" asked ingham; "i don't believe you can tell how it looks." "tha's a lie. i know how to tell warrer's well's you. i (hic) can allus tell warrer--it looks jus' like gin. get us some gin." while mrs. sanford was gone, ingham and adamson arranged that the latter should pretend to have lost all his money to the former, and that he should insist upon playing one game for fifty dollars. this he was to lose, and he was to become angry and go away. adamson then gave ingham about fifty dollars to show as his winnings, and presently mrs. sanford came in. she had been introduced to adamson under the assumed name of mrs. robertson, and he therefore addressed her by that name. [illustration: "_i'll play you a (hic) game f'r fiffy doll's!_"] "mrs. rob'son, 'f you'd come sooner (hic), you'd ha' seen th' funniest game 't ever was played. never 'ad such bad luck 'n m' life, an' now i've los' all m' money. gimme big (hic) drink of gin." mrs. sanford poured him a glass half full, and also poured a little into two other glasses. when she turned her head, ingham emptied the contents of his glass into the coal-scuttle, exchanged glasses with adamson, and emptied his drink into the same place. when they stood up to drink, mrs. sanford was the only one who really did so, the two men merely going through the motions, with great apparent satisfaction. adamson then became more and more excited. "tell you, miss'r hang'em, or whatever y'r name is, i'll play you a (hic) game f'r fiffy dolls; can beat you 't euchre any day th' week. wha' you say? wan' to play?" "no, i don't want to play for so much, but i'll play you for twenty-five dollars." "fiffy or nothin'. come, now; 'f you're 'fraid to play, say so. i c'n play like a steam-whissle, i can." "i'll play you for twenty-five," replied ingham, irresolutely. "no, sir; i won't (hic) play'ny more small games. you've won more'n fiffy doll'rs fr'm me now, 'n i wan' m' revenge. you goin' ter gimme a (hic) chance t'win it back?" "all right," said ingham; "i'll play you just one game for fifty dollars, and then we'll stop, no matter who wins. just wait a minute, until i go to my room for a handkerchief." while he was gone, adamson pulled out a package of ten united states bonds, of the denomination of fifty dollars each, and said that he would put up one of them against ingham's fifty dollars, and that he should send the rest to his mother. when ingham returned, he counted out fifty dollars, and adamson laid down one of his bonds. "what's that?" asked ingham. "is that worth fifty dollars?" and picking it up, he examined it carefully. "yes'r; tha's worth more'n fiffy doll'rs; tha's worth fiffy doll'rs in gold." "will you guarantee that it is good and all right?" asked ingham. "course i will; didn't you ever see a (hic) bond b'fore?" "oh! i know that's all right," said mrs. sanford, who was beginning to show the effect of the gin very strongly; "i've had bon's like that, too. th' young man who died here had eighteen thousan' bonds like this." "well, all right," said ingham; "let us cut for deal." as the game progressed, mrs. sanford felt the strength of the gin more and more, and she soon became quite sick. ingham got her some warm water, and she went into her own room to vomit. she soon returned, feeling much better, and the game went on, ingham winning by one point. adamson then became very angry, and said he was going out; and, although the others begged him to stay, he put on his overcoat and insisted on going away. ingham finally said that he didn't care whether adamson went or stayed, and, so saying, he walked off to his own room. mrs. sanford used every argument to induce adamson to stay all night, but, with a drunken man's obstinacy, he refused to remain any longer. he walked downstairs, with mrs. sanford clinging to him and coaxing him all the way, until they reached the lower landing, when she put her back against the door and refused to let him out. they then had a violent struggle, in the course of which she tore open his coat and vest in the endeavor to get at the bonds in his breast pocket. finally, he was obliged to use all his force to get away, as she was like a tigress in her anger, and was evidently determined to rob him. indeed, had he not been an active, muscular young man, she would, undoubtedly, have finished him then and there; as it was, he barely succeeded in making his escape, by forcing her back upon the stairs, and then springing out of the door before she could seize him again. meantime, ingham was a silent spectator of this scene from the top of the stairs, where he stood holding the lamp. as soon as adamson was out, ingham rushed down and told mrs. sanford that he intended to have those bonds anyhow. he told her to sit up for him, and then ran out after adamson. in less than an hour, he returned and saw mrs. sanford watching for him from a front window. when he went upstairs, she was still somewhat under the influence of the liquor she had drank, but she asked him where he had been. "that's all right," he replied, flipping over the ends of the package of bonds; "i guess i've made a good enough haul this time." "oh! you are a splendid fellow," she said, leaning on his shoulder. "i didn't think you would dare to do it." "i dare to do anything where there is any money to be made. you won't go back on me, will you?" "what do you mean?" she asked. "i mean, that you won't give me away to the police?" he asked, anxiously. "why, of course i won't," she replied. "i never yet went back on any one who did the fair thing by me; and i know you will do that, won't you?" "oh! certainly i will; i will make you a nice present to-morrow." "i don't want a present to-morrow," she said, sullenly; "i want my share now." "but i shall have to cash these bonds first," he said. "they would be of no use to you in their present shape." "i can get them cashed as well as you can," she replied. "come, hand over; i don't want half, but i want my share now." "what is your hurry?" he demanded. "can't you wait until to-morrow?" "no, i can't; i want my share, and if you are going to be mean, i will be mean too. you can't keep those bonds unless i say so, and if i choose to report you, i can have them all taken from you, besides sending you to joliet." "oh! if that's the way you talk," replied ingham, "i shall know what to do. if you can't trust me until to-morrow, i can't trust you at all. you can't scare me by threats, and if you want to get any of this money, you must deal fairly with me; i'm not afraid of being arrested." "all right, then," she answered, with a wicked look in her eye; "we'll see whether you will 'come down' or not. if you want to keep it all, i shall take care that you don't keep any of it. i'm going to the police station at once." she was, evidently, just ugly enough to do as she said; and, as ingham had the bonds in his possession, he did not fancy the idea of letting her go for the officers just then; so he replied: "you can go right along, if you want to, but, in that case, i shall go somewhere else." he then quickly brought his hat and overcoat into the sitting-room; and, seeing that she was still making preparations to go out, he took a hurried departure, taking a room at a small hotel for the night. in the chicago _tribune_ of january , , the following item appeared: "highway robbery. "at about twelve o'clock last night, an officer of pinkerton's preventive police stumbled over the body of a man near the corner of state and washington streets. stooping down, he discovered that the man was half drunk, half insensible, bruised and bleeding. on being restored to his senses, he gave his name as robert adamson, stating that he had come from troy, new york, having with him several hundred dollars in currency and bonds. the time between drinks was very short yesterday afternoon, and he has no clear idea of what happened after dark, up to the time the officer found him minus his money and valuables. he remembers drinking frequently with a stranger, who made himself very agreeable, but cannot state the time when they parted company. he describes the stranger as a tall slender man, with black side-whiskers, giving a sufficiently minute description of him to afford the police a valuable clue, and it is likely that the highwayman will soon be overhauled." about noon of the day that the above was published, ingham went to call upon mrs. sanford, and she received him very coolly. "how do you feel this morning?" he asked. "does your head ache?" "no, i feel all right," she replied. "have you seen that fellow that was here last night?" "no, i have not seen him," he replied. "why do you ask? has he been here looking for me?" "yes, he came here this morning, and asked me all kinds of questions about you; and now, if you are arrested, it will be your own fault. i would have shielded you, if you had done the fair thing by me; but now you must look out for yourself." "you are very unreasonable, mrs. sanford," he replied; "it would have been very dangerous to have left any of those bonds with you, for if the man had brought the police here, they would have searched the house, and would have found the bonds. then you would have been arrested, and you would have been obliged to tell where you got the bonds. now, as soon as i get the bonds cashed, i will treat you handsomely, but i do not intend to run any risks." "there would have been no danger of their finding the bonds, if you had left them with me; and, even if they had found them, i never would have told where i got them. you might have been fair enough to give me one hundred dollars at least." "he did not have any money besides what i won from him, except the bonds; and, as i said before, i did not dare to leave those in the house." "i am sorry i ever let you into my house," she said, presently. "i thought a great deal of you, and i expected to assist you when i received my money; but now i have lost confidence in you. i suppose, if you got a chance at my money, you would take that too. i begin to think i know where my watch went; the detective wanted to search you for it two or three times, but i wouldn't let him, and this is the way you reward my confidence." "mrs. sanford, you are talking wild," he answered, angrily. "i have always treated you well, and when i made a raise the other day, i gave you a part of it. i intended to do the same this time, but you acted so suspiciously that i thought best to wait awhile. now, as soon as i get these bonds cashed, i will give you some more money, but not till then." "you can keep your old money," she retorted; "i don't want any of it. you think you were very smart, yesterday, but you don't know what danger you are in. i could have you arrested this very day if i chose." "i know you could; but what good would it do you? i should be punished, to be sure, but you would not get a cent; while, if you keep quiet, i will make you a fine present." "i don't want your present, nor you either," she replied. "i don't want you in my house any longer." then, as ingham started toward his room, she said: "keep out of there; you can't go into that room, for i've let it to a young couple, who are in there now." "all right, then," replied ingham; "i will call again to-morrow." "you needn't take things so mighty cool," she replied, perfectly white with anger. "you may find yourself in jail before you know it." "i know it," he answered, carelessly; "but it's my nature to take things cool, and so, if you want to put me in jail, you can; but you can't scare me a bit, and you may as well understand it first as last." the following morning, i received from mr. trafton, who was then in philadelphia, the numbers of the bonds which were missing. they were five-twenty bonds of the issue of , numbers , and , , series a, and number , , series b. information of the robbery had been sent to the treasury department at washington, and to all the sub-treasurers in the united states, in order that, in case any of the interest coupons should be presented for payment, they might be traced back, possibly, to the hands of the thief. in _the tribune_ of monday appeared the following item: "beaten and robbed. "a man takes a walk with a comparative stranger, and is knocked down and robbed of nearly $ , in greenbacks. "mention was made in yesterday's tribune of the finding of a man, named robert adamson, on the corner of state and washington streets, he having been beaten and robbed of several hundred dollars in greenbacks. the police were looking for him yesterday, but failed to find him. it was ascertained that he had been boarding at no. west madison street, and that, on saturday night, he indulged in several games of euchre with a man who also boarded at the place. while the game was in progress, and adamson was under the influence of liquor, he displayed an express company's envelope full of money. at the conclusion of the game, the two men went out to 'take a walk.' yesterday morning, adamson's companion returned to the house, and, it is said, offered the landlady $ if she would say nothing about his having played cards with adamson. she refused, and would not allow the fellow to take his trunk away, which he wanted to do very badly. the landlady sent her little daughter to police headquarters for an officer, and one was sent over to arrest the man; but he had left previous to the officer's arrival. it is not known how much money adamson had, but it must have been in the neighborhood of $ , , or the man who took it would not have made such a munificent offer to have the fact of the theft kept secret." in accordance with my instructions, ingham went to mrs. sanford's house about noon on monday. he told her that he had read in the paper that she had reported him to the police as being the assailant of robert adamson. she denied ever having done so, and offered to swear that she had never betrayed him. he replied that he felt sure there must be a mistake, as he could not believe it possible that she would betray him. he felt perfect confidence in her, and had no fears that she would try to have him arrested. "besides," he continued, "i don't care now whether they arrest me or not. i'm not afraid of being held, for i am generally shrewd enough to cover my tracks pretty thoroughly, if i have a start of two or three days." "you can't prove that you didn't rob that man," she replied. "i don't need to; all the proof must come from the other side, and they haven't any witnesses who can swear that i did the robbery." "i could prove it, if i choose to go against you," she said. "no, you couldn't," he replied. "you didn't see me; and, while your testimony would, perhaps, be circumstantial evidence, your oath would be no better than mine, as you have no one to swear to the same thing." "oh! i have great credit up at the station," she said, in a boasting manner. "they recollect the finding of eighteen thousand dollars under the pillow of the young man who died here, and they have all confidence in me, for they know i might have easily stolen all he had. but i think it is best never to do anything wrong, and then there is no fear of getting into trouble." "that's all right, if you can do it," he replied; "but i must have a living, and if i can't get it one way, i will another." just then some one knocked at the door, and presently charlie stokes, the policeman, walked in. they talked together a few minutes, and then stokes said: "step this way a moment, mr. ingham, i wish to speak to you alone." they walked to the head of the stairs, and ingham then asked what he wished to talk about. "well, there seems to be some kind of a misunderstanding at the police station," said stokes, keeping his eyes on the ground, "and they have sent me to ask you to walk around to the office." "a misunderstanding about what?" asked ingham. "what do you mean?" "well, you know all about it," continued stokes, in the same mysterious way. "i beg your pardon; i don't know what you have reference to; please explain." "oh! you know well enough. you are wanted on account of that man you robbed last saturday night." "i did not rob any man saturday night, and i am surprised that you should make such a charge against me, knowing me as well as you do," said ingham, in an injured tone. "i have nothing to do with it," replied stokes. "i am simply obeying the captain's order, and i have no personal feeling against you whatever; but i have been sent to take you down to the station, and i must obey orders." "then you arrest me?" inquired ingham. "well, you must go to the station with me to see the captain." "not unless you arrest me," replied ingham. "i want to know whether i am to consider myself under arrest." "yes, you can consider yourself arrested, if you want to," replied stokes, who did not seem to like to take the responsibility of making the arrest under the circumstances. "i don't want to, and i shan't, unless you say so," persisted ingham. "well, then, i _do_ say so, and we will go now. we can walk along together like two friends, however, and no one need know that you are my prisoner." "i don't care who knows it," said ingham; "but i think there is something strange in the way of arresting me." "well, i hope you will come out all right," stokes replied, adding significantly, "and perhaps you will, if certain folks don't appear against you." "i'm not afraid," replied ingham; "there is no one who can say anything against me." on arriving at the station, the same consideration was shown to him, and the station-keeper asked him to make himself comfortable in the main sitting-room. "am i under arrest?" he asked again. "no, not exactly; you can take it easy for a time, and you will have an examination soon." "if i am not under arrest," ingham replied, "i shall not stay here." "why not?" asked the station-keeper. "because i have no business here unless i am a prisoner," was ingham's reply. "we can lock you up in a cell, if we want to," said the station-keeper; "but we thought you would prefer to be comfortable up here." "then i _am_ a prisoner?" again inquired ingham, who seemed anxious to have his status satisfactorily explained. "yes, confound it; if you are determined to have it so, you are." about five o'clock the sergeant of police came in, and asked ingham his name. "ingham," was the reply. "jack ingham?" "no; john ingham." "what is your business?" asked the sergeant. "i'm not employed at all, just now." "have you ever had any work to do in this city?" again queried the sergeant. "no; not yet." "who was that man you were playing cards with the other night?" "what night?" asked ingham. "well, saturday night." "whereabouts?" "at your boarding place." "oh! i play cards with a great many fellows," ingham replied. "i don't know which one you mean." "well, we know who he was," said the sergeant. "then what are you asking me for?" said ingham. "am i under arrest?" "i guess you will have to stay here awhile," was the sergeant's reply. presently a number of persons came into the room, and ingham thought he saw among them one of the bindery girls who had formerly lodged with mrs. sanford. she looked at him very hard, and then went out into the hall, where he could hear her talking with the station-keeper and stokes. he also heard the sergeant call a policeman and give him some instructions, in which ingham caught the words, "pinkerton's office." the man then put on his coat and went out. presently the sergeant approached him again, and, looking at him significantly, said: "now we know all about your playing cards with that man, and afterward robbing him." "i don't know what you mean," ingham replied; "i don't know what man you are talking about." "didn't you see that piece in the paper yesterday?" asked the sergeant. "i saw a number of pieces in the paper yesterday, but i can't tell which one you are referring to." the sergeant then showed him the item headed "highway robbery," and said: "now, we can prove that you came back to your landlady with a large package of money, and offered her five hundred dollars to keep quiet about the fact of your having played cards with this young fellow, and then having followed him out." "well, if you can prove that, you had better do it," said ingham; then, changing his tone, and looking straight in the sergeant's face, he added: "now, look here, sergeant, if you have any charges against me, just state them." the sergeant muttered something about locking him up, and started to go out. "if you lock me up," replied ingham, coolly, "i hope you are prepared to take the consequences." "who the devil are you, anyhow?" asked the sergeant. "no relation of yours, i assure you," was the reply, and the sergeant went away. at this time, a tall, dignified man came in and asked the station-keeper a question. the policeman replied that there was no such man there. "i know better than that," said the stranger, "and i must see him." the station-keeper declared positively that they had no such man, and the stranger then went upstairs. in a few minutes the sergeant came in and told ingham to follow him. as they were going upstairs, they met the tall stranger coming down. ingham felt confident that this man was looking for him, and, in passing, he pinched the stranger's leg. the pinch was returned, and the tall man stopped; but ingham and the sergeant went up to the captain's room. after asking ingham his name, the captain said: "where were you last saturday night?" "that is none of your business," said ingham. "come, now, you needn't put on any airs," said the captain; "i want to know all about this." "captain," ingham replied, "if you have any charges against me, i should like to hear them. i don't put on any airs, but i want to know what i am under arrest for." turning to the sergeant, the captain said: "how long would it take you to bring that man on here, sergeant?" "three or four days, at least," was the answer. just then the tall stranger entered, and the captain took him into a private room, where they remained some time. when they came out, the sergeant joined the captain for a few minutes, while the tall gentleman introduced himself to ingham as judge b----, and said that the captain would let him go. this proved true, for the captain very soon came out, and told ingham that he was at liberty. chapter iv. _connecting links.--mrs. sanford's ability as an imitator of actors.--one detective tears himself away from her, and another takes his place.--mrs. sanford's mind frequently burdened with the subject of murder.--new evidence appearing.--a peep at the stolen bonds.--the shrewdness of the murderess._ ingham did not return to mrs. sanford's until late in the evening of the day of his arrest. on arriving there, he was admitted by charlie stokes, the policeman, who seemed very much surprised to see him. mrs. sanford was also quite astonished, and turned very pale on seeing him. however, they soon began talking in a very friendly way, expressing their regret at his arrest and their pleasure at his release. charlie did not remain long, and after he was gone mrs. sanford made all kinds of inquiries as to the manner of his escape. "why, mrs. sanford," he replied, "i told you they couldn't hold me. there was absolutely no evidence against me, and they were afraid to even lock me up. i have been ten years in this business, in new orleans and elsewhere, and i have never been caught yet. the only thing which puzzles me, is to account for my being arrested at all!" "you don't suspect that i had any hand in it, i hope?" asked mrs. sanford. "oh, no indeed! i trust you perfectly; but i think that one of those bindery girls may have seen me with adamson on the street. one of them came into the station while i was there, and looked at me very hard, as if trying to identify me. still, i don't see how she could have suspected anything, unless some one put her up to it." "perhaps some bartender may have seen you drinking with him during the afternoon," she suggested, "and he may have described you to the police." "well, i should like to know who it was," he said, savagely, "for i would shoot him like a dog." as mrs. sanford had rented ingham's room, there was no place for him to stay, and he went away about midnight, telling her that he would return next day. he did not go there, however, until after dark, as he felt confident that the police would try to "shadow" him. he found mrs. sanford quite uneasy about him, as she thought he had been arrested again. he invited her to go to the theatre, and, on their way home, they stopped at a restaurant to get a late supper. as there were no accommodations for him, he was obliged to go to a hotel for the night, but mrs. sanford promised to have a bed put into the unfurnished room for him the next day. the next afternoon he called again, and mrs. sanford said that charlie had been there, and had told her all about their visit to the theatre the night before. she said that he knew exactly where they had been, what they had had for supper, and what they had paid. ingham was thus made aware that he was being watched, and his position, therefore, became very embarrassing. "oh! by the way," she exclaimed, suddenly, "did i tell you that i got back my watch?" "no; how did you recover it?" he asked. "well, that man graves had it, and i had to pay one hundred dollars to get it back." "that was a great shame," said ingham, sympathetically, as if he fully believed her. "yes, i got my watch and several other trinkets, which i had all together in one box. see, here they are," she said, producing a box. ingham looked at them with great interest, and, among the old sleeve-buttons, odd earrings, and other broken pieces of jewelry, he saw two gold shirt studs, one diamond-shaped, and the other star-shaped. this was a small matter, but it was one of the connecting links, nevertheless, in the chain of evidence against her; for, from the description, i felt sure that these were young trafton's missing studs. ingham spent the evening with her, and she was very friendly indeed, seeming anxious to remove any suspicion he might have that she was responsible for his arrest. she had made no arrangements for him to sleep there, however, and so he went to a small hotel for the night. when he reported at my office the following day, i gave him four hundred dollars in money, and told him to show it to mrs. sanford as the proceeds of the sale of the stolen bonds. accordingly, when he went there in the afternoon, he counted over a large pile of bills before her astonished eyes, and asked her if he didn't know how to make things pay well. "why, where did you get all that money?" she asked. "i sold those bonds which i showed you the other night," he replied. "i tell you, it isn't every man who knows how to dispose of property when it falls into his hands." "now you will be flush for a long time, won't you?" she said, in her most amiable manner. "what are you going to do with all that?" "oh! i shall have to divide with my partner first," he replied. "did you have a partner in this affair?" she asked. "you did not tell me about him." "oh! yes; i had the same partner as in the other case," ingham replied. "he held adamson, and i struck him with a brick. however, here is a present before i go, may," he continued, tossing two ten-dollar notes into her lap. "i will give you some more in a day or two." mrs. sanford was very much gratified, and said that she cared more for him than for any one else, and he could depend upon her for anything. ingham then left her, and came to my office to return the money. in the evening he took mrs. sanford and miss ida musgrove to the theatre, and the latter, evidently having heard of his improved fortunes, treated him with great cordiality. they returned to the rooms of miss ida after the theatre was out, and mrs. sanford gave some fine imitations of different actors and actresses, in a way which showed great powers of mimicry, as well as considerable dramatic force. it was very late when ingham and mrs. sanford got home, and they immediately went to bed. the next day, ingham went away as usual, and stayed until nearly dark. when he saw mrs. sanford, he professed to be in a very sulky mood, and said that he had been gambling all day. "at first i won right along, and i was nearly two thousand dollars ahead at one time; but the cursed luck changed, and i began to lose every bet; so that, when i left, i had only ten dollars in my pocket out of all that money i got for the bonds." ingham could not control his feelings as he thought of his loss, and he swore and raved like a crazy man. mrs. sanford was very much disappointed, also, but she did not say much, except that he ought to have known better than to gamble. there were two or three new lodgers coming in and out while he was there, so that he did not have much time to talk to her, and he went away early in the evening. owing to the arrest of ingham, and his quarrel with mrs. sanford, i had decided to relieve him from this operation, and to put another man in his place. his story about gambling was a part of my plan; and the next day, when he called upon her, he was under instructions to announce his intended departure from the city. accordingly, he did so, giving as a reason the fact that he had lost all his money, and that the police were watching him so closely that he was afraid to attempt another robbery in chicago. he told her that he was going to st. louis, and that he should come to see her immediately, if he ever should return. she appeared very much distressed at the thought of losing him, and told him that when she got her money, she would let him have as much as he wanted. she made him promise to write to her, and when he went away, she cried with seemingly genuine sorrow. three days later mrs. sanford received a visit from a gentleman who said he wished to rent a furnished room. mrs. sanford seemed to like his appearance, and she offered him the small back room at a low rent. having decided to take it, he told her that his name was henry c. morton, recently from england. "oh! i am so glad you are from the old country," said mrs. sanford, "as i am from edinboro' myself, and my father is lord chief justice of the courts there. he is very rich, and has treated me very liberally since i left my husband; why, only last week, he sent me three thousand dollars." just then a mr. bruce, the owner of the furniture store below, came in, looking rather tipsy. mrs. sanford introduced the two men, and mr. bruce said something about being an irishman. "why, what a strange coincidence," said mr. morton. "here are three persons, each representing one of the three kingdoms of great britain. if i had some one to send for some ale, we would drink a toast to britannia, god bless her!" after talking together for some time, mrs. sanford and mr. morton went into the sitting-room, and mr. bruce went down to his store. then morton said that he had left his valise at the stock yards, and that he would go for it at once. on his return, he found two rough-looking men at the door trying to get in, but the bell would not ring, and so morton went away for half an hour, leaving the men knocking and kicking on the door. about eight o'clock, he came back and found the door open. he went upstairs and entered the sitting-room. mrs. sanford was full of apologies for having locked him out, but she said that she had had trouble with one of her boarders, and she had resolved to keep him out of the house. while they were talking, the two men whom morton had seen at the door came in, and a quarrel immediately sprang up between mrs. sanford and the younger of the two. in a short time, they both became furiously angry, and they used the most bitterly opprobrious language toward each other. finally, mrs. sanford, who was ironing, rushed at the young man with a flatiron in her hand, and she would undoubtedly have seriously injured him if he had not escaped into his own room at the head of the stairs. she then laid a heavy poker on the table beside her, and said that she would mash his skull if he came near her again. in a short time, he again reëntered the room, when, seizing the poker, she rushed at him like a fury. he succeeded in avoiding her until morton and the other man induced her to give up the poker; and both the strangers then went away, saying that they should be back at eleven o'clock. after their departure, mrs. sanford dropped into a chair and cried for a time, saying that she never had acted so before in her life, as no one had ever treated her so shamefully. then she became loquacious and confidential, telling morton the old story of her father being lord chief justice of scotland, and her husband a wealthy man in buffalo. she recited the reasons she had for leaving her husband, and said that her father first sent her one hundred and fifty dollars after the separation, but that she thought so small a sum was an insult, and so she sent it back. she added that he had promised her three thousand dollars very soon, and that she expected to receive it in a week or two. from this subject, she drifted to the story of young trafton's death, which she told with great minuteness. she said that when she found he was dead, she fainted away, and did not recover for nearly two hours. while she was running on in her story, a loud noise was heard, and she explained to morton that mr. bruce had been drinking all day, until he was afraid to go home, and that now he was quite drunk in her room. she said that he had been very kind to her in letting her have furniture on credit, and so she wanted to make him comfortable until he was sobered off. during the evening she recited a number of selections from byron, scott, and longfellow, and even gave several parts from shakespeare's plays with great force and beauty of elocution. she also talked a great deal about jack ingham, a former lodger in her rooms, and she seemed to have a very high opinion of him. she said that he was obliged to leave town because the police were after him about something he had done, adding, that she didn't care for that, however, and she would never go back on a friend, but would shield him for anything except murder. it was after two o'clock in the morning before they retired, and as she had not fitted up morton's room properly, she made a bed for him on the lounge in the sitting-room. as mr. bruce was lying dead-drunk on her bed, she was obliged to sleep on the floor of her room. about four o'clock morton was awakened by mrs. sanford, who said that she could not sleep in her room, as bruce snored so loudly, just as stanley trafton did the night he died. "oh! it is horrible to think of," she said, shuddering. "i shall go crazy if i stay in there any longer." she then lay down on the table and covered herself with a bedspread she had brought from her own room. about six o'clock they were awakened by a loud noise at the outer door, and mrs. sanford said that those drunken loafers had come back again. she immediately got up, took a revolver from her room, and went down to the door, where she told the men to go away, as she would not admit them at that time of night. while she was talking bruce began moving around, and he found his way into the hall. then morton heard a great crash, as if some one had fallen downstairs, followed by a call from mrs. sanford, in tragic tones, for him to come and help her. morton went out and found that bruce had fallen from the top to the foot of the stairs, and on going down he discovered the unfortunate representative of the emerald isle lying in a heap against the front door. the two men outside had evidently been scared away by the noise, and they did not return until eight o'clock. bruce was not hurt, except a cut on his hand, which morton bound up, and then quiet reigned again until after daylight. about nine o'clock morton went in to see bruce, whom he found sitting up in bed. bruce said that his money was gone, and that mrs. sanford had drugged him the night before to enable her to steal it. morton called mrs. sanford, and asked where bruce's money was. she said she had put it away for safe keeping, and, lifting the mattress, she took out two pocket-books and a box containing her watch, trinkets, etc. having given bruce his pocket-book, she went out, and he then counted his money. he said he ought to have eighty-one dollars, but that she had helped herself to ten dollars; it was not worth while making a fuss about it, but he said that he knew she had drugged him. after awhile, mr. graves came in, and had a private interview with mrs. sanford. she seemed afraid of him, while he acted as if he had some hold upon her. when they came into the sitting-room, where bruce and morton were talking together, mrs. sanford asked graves to lend her a dollar, but he refused. "pshaw! i don't want it," she replied. "i only asked to see whether you'd lend it, as i have quite enough of my own;" and, so saying, she took out her pocket-book. morton saw her count out nine ten-dollar bills and nine one-dollar bills. from the fact that she showed just ninety-nine dollars, it was probable that she had only recently changed one of the one-hundred-dollar bills taken from young trafton. she then opened another compartment, and took out two pieces of folded paper, of a creamy tint, apparently about the size of two sheets of foolscap. they were folded several times, and were crammed in pretty tight. "do you know what those are?" she asked. "no, i do not," he replied; "what are they?" she merely laughed, and closed the pocket-book, whispering that she didn't want graves and bruce to see her money. she said she did not wish to be left alone with graves, for fear he should rob her; so morton asked him to go out and play a game of billiards. bruce was in a great state of anxiety, lest his wife should have come down to the store to see where he had spent the night, and he remained with mrs. sanford. morton did not return to mrs. sanford's until late in the evening, and he found her dressing to go to a ball. she insisted that he should go, offering to pay all the expenses. he pretended to be very much hurt at her suggestion, saying that he never would permit any lady to pay anything when he took her out. she was dressed very tastefully, and presented a very stylish appearance, so that she attracted a good deal of attention at the ball. before going, she sent morton to a drug store for a drachm of morphine, saying that she must have it, as she used it constantly. the next morning, they did not get up until a late hour, and mrs. sanford said that she did not feel very well. while talking together, they drifted into a discussion about money. morton, like a genuine john bull, maintaining there was no safety except in gold, or bank of england notes. "but we don't have either in this country," said mrs. sanford; "and now, suppose you had a large sum of money, what would you do with it?" "that's just what i would like to know," he replied. "i expect to receive one hundred pounds from england very soon, and i don't know where to keep it." "well, i shall put my three thousand dollars into bonds," she said. "they can be registered, so that no one can use them except the rightful owner, and the interest is payable in gold." "i don't know anything about bonds," said morton, "especially these american bonds, which sometimes depreciate very fast." "oh! the bonds of the united states are good anywhere," she replied, "and they will sell for their face in england or canada just as well as here. they are the best securities there are. i have some now, and i intend to get some more." while talking, morton picked up a card which was in her work-basket, and saw that it was an advertisement of a gift concert or lottery. she noticed it, and said that it had been left there by a man named druen, who used to come to see her. she said that he had stolen a five-hundred-dollar bond from her, however, and he had never been there since. soon afterward she went to sleep again, and did not awake until evening, as she was very tired from the effects of the ball. morton remained in the house all day; and, when she woke up, he got supper for her. she seemed very much pleased at his thoughtfulness, and said that she never had had any one so kind to her since she left her husband. "i want you to go to the bank with me some day," she said, "as i want to draw the interest on some of my coupons, and then you will see what good securities american bonds are." "i shall be very glad to go with you," said morton; "for, if they are really good securities, i will invest some money in them." "oh! there is nothing better," she replied, "and i will show you mine." she then took out the pocket-book she had shown him before, and unfolded one of the pieces of paper. morton saw that it was a five-hundred-dollar bond, of the issue of , payable in , with about twenty or thirty coupons attached. he was so surprised and excited at seeing the bond, that he could hardly tell what to do, and so he failed to notice the most important point--the number. by the time she had opened the other bond, however, he had his wits a little more under command, and he was able to remember that the figures of the number were five, seven, one, zero, and some other figure; but he could not recollect positively the order in which they came. "you can go to the bank to-morrow and get the coupons cashed for me, can't you?" she asked, after putting away the bonds. "oh! certainly, if you wish me to do so," he replied. then she laughed, and said: "you would be arrested if you should take these bonds to the bank." "how so?" he asked, apparently in great surprise. "why should i be arrested?" "because the bonds belong to me, and you would have to give an account of the way in which you obtained them." "oh! well," he replied, "you could give me an order, and that would make it all right." "yes, i suppose so," she said, carelessly. her object, evidently, was to make morton believe that it would not do for him to attempt to steal the bonds; for, though she trusted him to the extent of showing him her money and valuables, she was eternally suspicious and careful. of course, on receiving morton's report, i felt quite confident that the two bonds he had seen were a part of those taken from young trafton. still, i had no positive proof of their identity, and, in accordance with my invariable custom, i took no hasty step, being confident that my detective would soon elicit all the facts. i wrote to mr. richard s. trafton, however, suggesting that he have himself appointed administrator of his son's estate, so that he could begin proceedings instantly, the moment i was ready. several days passed, during which morton gained mrs. sanford's confidence more and more. she was anxious one evening that he should rob mr. bruce, who came in half drunk; but morton told her that he never worked that way. "why, jack ingham would have killed a man to get money out of him," said mrs. sanford. "jack wasn't afraid to do anything for money." "well, that isn't my style," said morton, contemptuously. "do you suppose i am going to have a scuffle and struggle, ending perhaps in murder, when i can make ten times as much by a little skillful work with my pen? i don't want the police to be snuffing 'round my heels on account of highway robbery and such small game; when _i_ do anything to set them after me, it will be for a big stake, and even if they catch me, they will be mighty glad to compromise. oh! no; not any little jobs for me; it is only the big rascals who can work safely." morton succeeded in inducing her to leave bruce alone, though she had evidently meant to drug him, for she took a glass of beer, which she had poured out for him, and threw it into the sink. they all drank considerable beer, however, during the evening, and mrs. sanford, having taken also a large dose of morphine, became nearly insensible. on seeing her condition, morton and another lodger thought they had better put her to bed; but as bruce was in a drunken stupor in her room, morton determined to try the effect of putting her into the room where young trafton had died. no sooner had they laid her on the bed, however, before she sprang up, gazed around an instant, and then rushed shrieking from the room, saying that she dare not lie there, and that she had seen "him" lying beside her. she was then placed on the lounge in the sitting-room, where she became quite hysterical. morton sat beside her, and soothed her until she became quiet, and about midnight she fell asleep. morton said to me, on making one of his reports, that she would often determine to give up morphine and liquor, and live more respectably. then she would become excited from the craving for the drug, and would take a dose, which would soothe her, make her amiable, and give her energy enough to do anything; gradually she would become wild again, and would be almost unbearable, while the maddening effect lasted, especially if she took any liquor to add to her temper; finally, the influence would pass off, leaving her weak, despondent, and stupidly affectionate. i saw that she was not likely to confess anything to any one, and i therefore decided to bring the affair to a crisis without delay. chapter v. _a moneyed young texan becomes one of mrs. sanford's lodgers.--the bonds are seen, and their numbers taken by the detectives.--mrs. sanford arrested.--sudden and shrewd defense by the prisoner.--she is found guilty of "involuntary manslaughter" and sentenced to the illinois penitentiary for five years.--misdirected philanthropy, and its reward.--mr. pinkerton's theory of the manner in which trafton was murdered._ having discussed my plan with my superintendent, mr. f. warner, i sent for one of my youngest men, named thomas barlow, and gave him explicit instructions as to the course which he was to pursue in connection with mrs. sanford. on the first day of february, therefore, a young fellow called at mrs. sanford's about five o'clock in the afternoon, and asked if she had any rooms to rent. she was very civil to him, and offered him the room at the head of the stairs, for three dollars a week. while she was showing him the rooms, she asked him a number of questions about himself; and as he was a smooth-faced, innocent-looking young man, he told her all about his affairs. he said that his name was thomas barlow, from texas, where his father was a great cattle-raiser; he had brought several hundred head of cattle to the city, and had sold them at a high price; he intended staying in chicago for a short time, and then he should go up the red river of the north, in the early spring, to do some fur trading, as he believed there was a good deal of money to be made up there, by any one with sufficient capital; he intended to have a good time in chicago first, however. as soon as mrs. sanford learned that he had money with him, she became very affectionate indeed, telling him that she would make him more comfortable than he could be anywhere else, and that she would treat him like a prince. she introduced morton as her brother, and said that they would all go to the theatre together. at first, barlow refused, but she insisted so urgently, that he finally consented to go. he went away for an hour to get his valise, and when he returned, mrs. sanford was dressed in her most stylish clothes, as if determined to make the best possible impression upon him. he was very good-natured and boyish, apparently believing all she told him, and laughing at all her attempts to be funny. after leaving the theatre, she learned that one of her old acquaintances was to have a "grand opening" in a new saloon, and she was obstinately determined to find the place. after walking about for an hour, she called a hackman, and offered him five dollars to find this new saloon, where she was anxious to take a drink, as she said, "for good luck and old acquaintance' sake." after driving about until midnight, she learned that the opening was postponed, and they then went to a restaurant near her house to get supper. it was two o'clock before they went to bed, but before going, mrs. sanford learned that barlow was to receive his pay for the cattle in a check for over four thousand dollars. she talked with him about the risk of carrying money around on the person, and told him that he ought to buy bonds, as then they would not be lost even if they should be stolen. he agreed with her, and said that he would try to buy some bonds when he got his check cashed. the next morning they took breakfast with mrs. sanford, as she seemed anxious to keep barlow with her as much as possible. it was noticeable that she did not, as she had usually done in all previous instances, tell him anything about young trafton, who had died in her house, "with eighteen thousand dollars in bonds in his boots." she told barlow that she had some bonds, and he would do well to get the same kind. "i don't know much about them," he replied, "but if _you_ think they are good, i guess they are good enough for me. what are they like? i never saw any." "i will show you mine," said mrs. sanford. "i am going to sell one of them soon, as my lease is up at the end of the month, and i want to buy a house." she then went into her bedroom, closed the door, and remained several minutes. when she came out, she had a fat pocket-book in her hand, and she took from it the two pieces of folded paper which she had shown to morton. on opening them, she spread them out, and both barlow and morton saw the numbers plainly, as they looked over her shoulder. "there, these little tickets are coupons," she explained to barlow; "and every six months i can get fifteen dollars in gold by cutting off one from each bond." "did you say you wanted to sell one?" asked morton. "if you do, perhaps you might sell it to mr. barlow, as a sample of the kind he wants to get." "yes, that would be a good idea," said barlow; "then they can't fool me with any other kind, when i go to buy." "well, i guess i will do it," said mrs. sanford; "at any rate, you can see me about it before you go to buy yours." she then put the bonds into the pocket-book again and went into her bedroom. on her return, barlow told her that he must go down town to get paid for his cattle, and he asked morton to go with him. accordingly, the two men went out about noon, but mrs. sanford called morton back a moment to tell him to stay with barlow all day. "don't you lose sight of him for a minute," she said; "and bring him back here with all his money." they did not return until after four o'clock, and barlow told her that he had been obliged to go to the stockyards to get paid. he then went to his room for a few minutes, and mrs. sanford asked morton whether barlow had his money with him. "yes, they gave him a check for the amount, but it was too late to get it cashed, and he will have to wait until to-morrow." "couldn't we get it away from him and forge his name to it?" she asked. "we could get it cashed the first thing in the morning." "it would be too risky," he replied, "as they probably know him at the bank, and we should be arrested at once. but you can offer to go with him to the bank in the morning, and he is so soft that you will not have much trouble in getting a large sum out of him." during the evening, mrs. sanford was very affectionate toward barlow, and she learned all about him. he told his story in such a way, that she believed him to be an innocent country boy from texas, whose most dangerous experiences had hitherto consisted of hairbreath 'scapes from steer and bull. he showed her a check on the first national bank for about four thousand dollars, and told her that when he got it cashed in the morning, he would give her a nice present. it was then agreed that she should go to the bank with him next day. the evening was spent in reading aloud and singing, and they all retired much earlier than usual. when morton and barlow left mrs. sanford at noon, they had, of course, come to my office to report their discovery of the stolen bonds. there was now no possibility of a mistake, as they had seen the two bonds of the series a, numbered , and , . i therefore instructed mr. warner to obtain a warrant for her arrest, and a search warrant for her house, both to be served the next morning before the hour appointed for going to the bank with barlow. everything was prepared in advance, a trustworthy constable was obtained to make the arrest, and a telegram was sent to mr. r. s. trafton in cleveland, asking him to come to chicago immediately. a reply was received the next morning, stating that he had left by the evening train. about eleven o'clock on saturday, february , mr. warner and the constable arrived at mrs. sanford's rooms. on knocking at the door of the sitting-room, they were admitted by morton, who asked what they wanted. "i would like to engage rooms, if there are any to rent," said mr. warner. "i will speak to the landlady," said morton, going to the door of her room. "tell the gentleman to call again," said mrs. sanford; "i am not dressed, and can't see him." "i only wish to see her a few minutes," mr. warner replied, addressing morton in a tone loud enough to be heard by mrs. sanford, whose door was slightly ajar. "well, i can't see the gentleman until this afternoon," she replied. "i have some important business, and i must attend to it now," answered mr. warner, putting his foot in the opening and pushing the door in with his shoulder; then he continued, addressing the constable, "this is mrs. sanford, and you can arrest her now." the constable immediately took charge of her, and she was allowed to complete her toilet, though mr. warner first searched her dress, before letting her put it on. he then made a careful search of the bedroom, during the progress of which mrs. sanford was very noisy and troublesome, crying, and pretending to go into hysterics several times. once, when mr. warner was looking very carefully through her trunk, she said to him, in very tragic tones: "by the way you act, one would think you were looking for a murdered man." "well, perhaps if we had come a little sooner, we might have found one," he replied, quickly, giving her a sharp glance. as nothing had been said to her or to any one else about any charge except that of larceny, this remark was highly significant; and, on her trial, it undoubtedly had great weight with the jury. mr. warner soon found the pocket-book containing the bonds under the mattress of her bed, and after examining them sufficiently to identify them, he gave them to the constable. mrs. sanford was then taken to my office, and, as mr. trafton had arrived from cleveland, we tried to have an interview with her relative to young trafton's death. she was too crafty, however, and she pretended to go into hysterics whenever we began to question her. meantime, morton and barlow had accompanied her, and morton offered to get her a lawyer to advise her. she was very grateful to him, and said he was her only friend. he soon brought in a lawyer well versed in defending criminals, and the whole party then went to the justice's courtroom. at the close of the examination, she was held to await the action of the grand jury, and, in default of two thousand dollars bail, she was sent to the county jail. she told morton that her lawyer could not half lie, and that she should not pay him a cent. she stood up, when the justice's decision was announced, and made quite a speech; and the native cunning of the woman was never more clearly shown than in this plea, which was undoubtedly invented on the spur of the moment. she claimed that young trafton had given her the bonds to support her child, whose father he was, and she spoke with so much vigor and cunning that many persons believed her statement to be true. thus, without consultation or legal advice, she invented in a moment the strongest possible defense against the charge of larceny,--the charge of murder had not then been brought. when she was removed to the jail, she gave morton the keys to her rooms, telling him to take charge of everything there, and to find a purchaser for her furniture. he therefore informed two young men who were lodging there that mrs. sanford had been arrested, and that they must find other rooms, as he intended to sell out the furniture. after they had gone he cleaned up the house, packed mrs. sanford's trunks, and made everything look as well as possible. while she was awaiting trial, he visited her every day and gave her various delicacies to improve the prison fare. one day he pretended to have pawned his overcoat for five dollars, in order to get her some lemons, tea, and sugar. she was very much touched, and she gave him five dollars to get back his coat; but this action was due to a momentary impulse. she had plenty of money, and was able to get anything she wanted; but her desire to hold fast to her money was greater than her wish for good food. indeed, she came near jeopardizing her cause by refusing to pay the lawyer she had engaged, but finally she gave him a retaining fee of fifty dollars. she was very anxious to learn who were the detectives employed in working up the case, and she said that she believed barlow had had something to do with her arrest. morton agreed with her, and, as the papers had said that there were three engaged in the case, he suggested that perhaps the two men whom she had turned out of doors were also detectives. she never suspected either ingham or morton for a moment; and when ingham called upon her in jail, she was delighted to see him. she tried to get bail from the two brothers, named pratt, who had occupied one of her rooms, as one of them had been very intimate with her; but they were afraid of getting mixed up in her difficulties, and so refused to help her obtain bail. she also asked ingham to swear to a number of falsehoods about her intimacy with trafton, and when he refused to do so, for fear of being tried for perjury, she said that she could get "her billy" to swear to anything. this "billy" proved to be one william simpson, a barkeeper, and her former paramour. he was tracked for some time by my detectives, but he suddenly disappeared, and was not seen again until her trial for larceny, when, just as she said, he was willing to swear to anything. he then disappeared again, but i did not take much interest in following him up, as i knew that he would not dare to repeat his perjury when the murder trial should take place. his testimony was to the effect that he had overheard a conversation between mrs. sanford and young trafton, in which the latter acknowledged that he was the father of mrs. sanford's child, having been intimate with her in buffalo about eighteen months before. the question of a support for the child was discussed between them, and trafton said that he would give her fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars in bonds, to enable her to bring up his child in comfort. the witness also testified that trafton and mrs. sanford were very intimate with each other, often occupying the same room together; that mrs. sanford often spoke of her former intimacy with him; and that he inferred from their conversation that trafton had been the cause of her separation from her husband. this testimony was very skillfully manufactured and artistically developed, so as to make trafton appear in the light of a libertine and profligate, and mrs. sanford as a confiding wife, led astray by the wiles of a treacherous man. in spite of the bad character and appearance of this fellow simpson, his testimony had enough weight with some of the jury to cause a disagreement, and mrs. sanford was remanded to jail. mr. robert s. trafton was anxious to bring her to punishment, as he felt confident that she had caused the death of his son. the circumstances of the case caused considerable delay, and it was not until january , , nearly a year after her arrest, that the trial on the charge of murder took place. the testimony in this trial was highly interesting on many accounts. the county physician, who had made the first post-mortem examination of the remains, and who had given congestion of the lungs as the cause of death, stated that he found the deceased lying dead in mrs. sanford's rooms, and that he took charge of the property found in his possession. he stated that he should have made a closer examination if he had not found the bonds and money; but he did not suspect foul play, and therefore made only a hasty investigation. by the testimony of two or three witnesses it was shown that on the night of trafton's death mrs. sanford went into two saloons about midnight, asking for "her billy," meaning the man simpson, by whose testimony she escaped conviction on the larceny charge, he being then living on her bounty. while looking for him she was very wild and excited, her clothes being disordered, and her watch-chain broken. to one witness she said that she wished billy to come to her house to look at the "prettiest corpse she ever saw." one witness testified that she returned to his saloon about five or six o'clock in the morning, and induced him to go up to her rooms to look at the body; he did so, and found the body of a man lying in bed, partly covered up. she had a large roll of money and papers in her pocket-book. a surgeon of the highest reputation in cleveland was called, and gave his testimony in the most direct and convincing manner, like a man who knew perfectly well what he was talking about, and who was not guessing at any of the facts as stated by him. he declared that death resulted from the blow on the right side, aided by the violence on the throat and neck. there was very slight congestion of the brain and of the lungs, but he was positive that death was not the result of either of these; indeed, leaving out of consideration the marks of external violence, he said that he should not have been able to account for mr. trafton's death. at the conclusion of his re-direct examination he said that death could be caused by a heavy blow of the fist, followed by choking, and he would swear positively that trafton's death was produced by violence. the testimony of this witness was corroborated by that of several other surgeons of high reputation, and then a sensation was created by the calling of john ingham for the prosecution. as mrs. sanford saw her well-beloved friend, jack, take the stand and acknowledge himself to be one of pinkerton's dreaded detectives, she broke down and cried bitterly. ingham related the history of his connection with the affair, stating the different stories which mrs. sanford had told about trafton's death, and also her fear of going in the room where he died. he then gave the inside history of his arrest for the alleged robbery of adamson, showing that it had been planned in advance by me to induce mrs. sanford to give him her confidence. after her arrest for larceny, he had visited her in jail, and she had tried to get him to swear that he had heard trafton promise to give her the bonds to support her child. when he objected, on the ground that he might be arrested for perjury, she had told him that "her billy," meaning william simpson, would swear to it anyhow. the testimony of mr. warner relative to finding the bonds in mrs. sanford's possession was corroborated by that of the constable; they also repeated mrs. sanford's remark made during the search, before any charge of murder had even been suggested: "by the way you act, i should think you were looking for a murdered man." when the testimony for the prosecution was all in, the defense had a turn, and they produced as many medical experts to prove that trafton did not die of violence, as the other side had to prove that he did not die a natural death; indeed, from the medical testimony given, there might have been grave doubts raised as to whether he had any business to die at all, for, according to both sides, no adequate cause of death had been discovered. several witnesses testified that they believed him to have been on a long spree just before his death, but these were soon rebutted by equally trustworthy witnesses for the prosecution. in summing up, the counsel for the people presented a highly plausible theory of the manner in which the murder was committed, and asked a verdict on the following grounds: young trafton, as shown by the testimony of his father and others, visited chicago to buy grain, and he was, therefore, under the necessity of carrying with him a large amount of money. being unable to get a room at any hotel convenient to business, he probably entered the first place where he saw the sign, "rooms to rent," and engaged a sleeping-room, taking his meals at a hotel near by. while lodging with mrs. sanford, he was trying to buy grain at a paying figure, and he was daily in consultation with captain dalton, who commanded one of his father's schooners. finding that he could not buy to any advantage in the existing condition of the grain market, he sent the schooner back to cleveland on the last day of november, in order that she should not be caught in the ice in the straits at the close of navigation. he was then ready to return himself, and, doubtless, on going to his lodgings, he so informed mrs. sanford. as he had made no secret of his reason for visiting chicago, she was, probably, well aware of his object, and also of the fact that he had a large amount of money with him. seeing his careless ways, the idea occurred to her to rob him, and, having his expected departure in view, she knew that she would have only one more opportunity to carry out her scheme. on his return that evening, therefore, having just parted from captain dalton in perfect health and sobriety, he was invited to eat supper with her. suspecting no harm, he sat down and ate a hearty supper. in some way, either in his food or drink, a dose of morphine was given to him, and he soon fell fast asleep. the woman's opportunity was before her, and all the natural thirst for money which characterized her came upon her with full force, urging her on and inciting her to any lengths necessary to accomplish her object. having laid him on his bed, she began to search his pockets with the stealthy touch of a practiced hand. finding nothing at first to reward her search, she pulled off one of his boots and discovered the united states bonds, which he had concealed there. but the violence necessary to remove the boot caused him to partly waken from his drugged sleep, and he became vaguely aware that some one was trying to rob him. still in a drowsy, confused state, however, he was unable to do more than to sit up and clutch wildly at his assailant; having caught one of the bonds, he clung to it until it was torn in two pieces, the fragments plainly showing how they had been wrenched asunder in the clasp of two determined hands--those of the murderess and her victim. but she soon found that he was gaining his senses too rapidly, and that she would be foiled in her attempted robbery; hence, with every blinding passion aroused, her greed and her fear equally inciting her to action, she struck him a heavy blow on the thigh and another more powerful one on the side. partly stunned by the concussion, he fell back, and she then seized him by the throat. her round, plump hands, though powerful enough to strangle him, left only slight marks of abrasion on the skin, and in a few minutes all was over. his property was at her mercy, and she gave no thought to the body of her victim until she had seized every piece of valuable paper in his possession. but her position was a dangerous one, and, on cooling off somewhat, she saw that something must be done to remove any appearance of foul play. how could it be done most effectually? manifestly by giving no apparent ground for suspecting that she had any object in his death; and no course would be more effectual than to leave such an amount of property in his possession as to make strangers believe that none of it had been taken. it may well be imagined that this was her hardest task; for to give up money was probably a greater hardship for her than for some people to give up life. still, it would never do to run the risk of being accused of murder; so, reluctantly, she placed one bond in his pocket, and, by accident, included with it one-half of the torn bond, the other half being placed under his head, in the boot from which it was taken. she then undressed the body, placed it naturally in bed, and went out to look for "her billy," her paramour and panderer in vice. this was the history of the crime, as pictured by the prosecution; and all her actions since that fatal night had been in harmony with such a theory. her allegations of intimacy with young trafton were unsupported, save by the testimony of this william simpson, her paramour. it was noticeable that, while this man had testified in the trial for larceny that he had overheard mr. trafton's acknowledgment of being the father of mrs. sanford's child, in the murder trial he was not asked to give any such testimony, nor was the existence of such a child even hinted at by the defense. the counsel for mrs. sanford were well aware that she had never had a child, and that this fact could be proven if necessary. on discovering, too, that jack ingham was a pinkerton detective, instead of mrs. sanford's best friend, they saw other reasons why it would not be advisable to cause mr. william simpson to perjure himself again. the defense contented themselves with claiming that there was no sufficient evidence to prove that mr. trafton had died a violent death at all, and that there was no evidence whatever to show that, even if foul play had occurred, mrs. sanford had been the guilty person. this plea was ably presented by the counsel, and the judge then briefly charged the jury as to the law, and the form of their verdict. during the early part of the trial, mrs. sanford behaved very badly, often contradicting witnesses aloud, and making many audible remarks to the jury and the court; after the testimony for the defense began, however, she paid very little attention to the proceedings, often dozing and sleeping in her chair. this habit was, undoubtedly, due to the use of morphine, of which she consumed large quantities. the jury retired at three o'clock, and, on the first ballot, they stood nine for conviction and three for acquittal. after discussing the testimony for more than four hours, a compromise was reached, and the judge having been informed that the jury had agreed upon a verdict, the prisoner was brought in to hear the finding. all being in readiness, the clerk read the verdict as follows: "we, the jury, find the defendant guilty of involuntary manslaughter, and fix her time of imprisonment at five years in the penitentiary." at the word "guilty," mrs. sanford gave a violent start; but, as the remainder of the finding was read, she seemed to feel agreeably surprised. she asked for a glass of water in a low tone, turned very white, and then fainted away before the water could be handed to her. she was then removed to the jail to await the argument on a motion for a new trial. while there, she gave one of the most effectual evidences of her ruling passion--greed. she was the object of considerable sympathy among a certain class of sentimentalists, and the amount of compassion wasted upon her was remarkable to those who knew her real character and habits; but there is no accounting for tastes, and so mrs. sanford was treated with great consideration by a number of well-meaning but unsophisticated people. among the good samaritans who took the most interest in her was a lady named mrs. jones, and this lady visited her quite frequently in her cell, bringing her books and papers. one morning, mrs. jones complained of feeling unwell, and mrs. sanford immediately gave her a glass of water. soon after drinking it, mrs. jones became very sleepy, and in a few minutes, she was in a sound slumber. this effect had been produced, of course, by a dose of morphine in the water, and mrs. sanford then proceeded to rob mrs. jones of all her valuables. mrs. jones was in moderate circumstances, and her purse was not sufficiently well filled to satisfy mrs. sanford's avaricious demon; hence, she made a thorough search for other plunder. it happened that mrs. jones, having lost all of her upper teeth, had supplied their place by an artificial set, mounted on a plate of solid gold. not content, therefore, with plundering her benefactress in other respects, mrs. sanford actually took the set of teeth from mrs. jones's mouth, and hid them in her own trunk. of course, on awakening, mrs. jones missed her teeth and charged mrs. sanford with having taken them. the latter denied having done so, railed and swore at mrs. jones, and tried to prevent the officers from searching the cell. the teeth and other articles stolen from mrs. jones were found at the bottom of mrs. sanford's trunk, and mrs. jones retired from the jail strongly impressed with the conviction that philanthropy had its hardships as well as rewards. the motion for a new trial being overruled, sentence was pronounced in accordance with the verdict of the jury, and mrs. sanford was consigned to the illinois state penitentiary at joliet. in regard to the manner in which young trafton was murdered, i have always had a theory of my own; and, while of course i do not pretend to any surgical learning, i give it for what it is worth, prefacing it, however, with the remark that several eminent physicians concur in my opinion, or, at least, admit its strong probability. it will be remembered that mrs. sanford used morphine continually, and that she boasted of her ability to administer it in just the proper proportion to cause her victims to fall into a heavy sleep. in all probability, as suggested by the state's attorney, she gave young trafton a dose at supper; but it is also possible the effect was not sufficient, and that when she tried to rob him, he slightly revived, struggled, and, seizing one of the bonds in a convulsive grasp, tore it in two. so far, the theories are identical, but i failed to see a sufficient cause of death in the slight blow and mild choking, especially as the lungs did not present the conditions which would have appeared had death resulted from strangulation or asphyxia. on searching mrs. sanford's rooms, mr. warner found two or three small syringes, intended for making hypodermic injections, and these led me to believe she caused trafton's death by morphine alone. my idea was as follows: when she found that trafton was not sufficiently drugged to enable her to rob him in safety, she probably let him alone, and the drug again took effect to the extent of putting him to sleep. she then resorted to a subcutaneous injection of morphine, knowing that the soporific influence of the drug would thus be made more rapid and powerful. this operation was performed on the side, and then near the large veins of the leg, and thus were caused the apparent bruises filled with extravasated blood. now, the effect of morphine varies largely, according to the constitution, temperament, and habits of the persons to whom it is given; but the combined result of internal and external doses almost invariably is death. it seems altogether probable to me, therefore, that trafton came to his death in that manner, and that the traces of morphine in the wounds, as in the stomach, had wholly evaporated before the cleveland surgeons made their examination, twelve days after death. whatever may have been the means, however, there can be no doubt that murder most foul was committed, and that mrs. sanford richly deserved a greater punishment than was awarded to her. whether she had any accomplice will never be known, but it is probable that she had some one in the house who was aware of the murder after it had been committed, if not before. this would account for the absence of the fifth bond, which was never recovered, but which was afterward traced back from the treasury department, when it was presented there, to some unknown woman, who had sold it in milwaukee. this woman was evidently not mrs. sanford, but her identity could not be discovered, and, therefore, all trace was lost. the end. transcriber's notes: missing hyphenation at line breaks has been assumed, e.g. "necessary" not "neces sary" on page . hyphenation has been standardized, e.g., "bookkeeper", "cornfield", and "housewarming". nonstandard spellings have been maintained, e.g. "intrusted", "dryest", "smouldering", "patroled", "tragical", "unnegotiable", "quartette", "gayety", "indorsed", "reëntered". missing periods have been added at ends of sentences. other printers errors have been corrected as follows: page v - "unvail" replaced with "unveil" for internal consistency page - "cousins" replaced with "cousins" page - "harrington" replaced with "farrington" page - "insant" replaced with "instant" page - "pleasantly" replaced with "pleasantry" page - "to k" replaced with "took" page - "out door" replaced with "outdoor" figure caption after page - "judges'" replaced with "judge's" figure caption after page - "fete champetre" replaced with "fête champêtre" for consistency page - "don pedo" replaced with "don pedro" page - "bfore" replaced with "before" page - "hairbreath" replaced with "hairbreadth" transcriber's note: this story was first serialized in the _boys of new york_ story paper and was later reprinted as vol. i, no. in _the new york detective library_ published november , by frank tousey. this e-text is derived from the reprinted edition. shadow, the mysterious detective. by police captain howard, author of "old mystery," "young sleuth," "the silver dagger," "a piece of paper," "the broken button," etc., etc. contents introductory. chapter i. a murder. chapter ii. mat morris. chapter iii. shadow--who was he? chapter iv. out of the lion's jaws. chapter v. helen dilt. chapter vi. the remembered bills. chapter vii. a happy moment. chapter viii. a narrow escape. chapter ix. in the black hole. chapter x. favoring fortune. chapter xi. in the mad-house. chapter xii. shadow. chapter xiii. in a bad box. chapter xiv. dick stanton. chapter xv. a fiend in human shape. chapter xvi. disappointed again. chapter xvii. helen's torture. chapter xviii. puzzled. chapter xix. in deadly peril. chapter xx. still searching. chapter xxi. fun! chapter xxii. out of jeopardy. chapter xxiii. weaving the net. chapter xxiv. "help is here!" chapter xxv. man or woman? chapter xxvi. cornered criminals. chapter xxvii. the mystery explained. introductory. again i have been called on to entertain my wide circle of young friends, by relating another story of detective life. before plunging into my story, i have thought it best to address a few words to you personally, and about myself. it is held as a rule that an author should never introduce himself into the story he is writing, and yet i find, on looking back, that in nearly all of my recent stories i have described myself as playing a more or less conspicuous part. and yet i could not avoid doing so, as i can plainly see, without having detracted somewhat of interest from the stories. as i sit here now, prepared to commence, the question arises: "shall i keep myself in the background, out of sight, or shall i bring myself in, just as i actually took part in the strange story of "'shadow, the mysterious detective?'" well, i don't know, but i think it may be just as well to introduce myself when necessary, since when i write thus i feel that my pen is talking to you instead of at you. and, besides, i think that to you the story is more realistic. am i right? don't each of you feel now as if i had written you a personal letter? and are you not satisfied that there is only one police captain howard, and he that one who now speaks to you? i am sure of it. and now for the story. chapter i. a murder. it was a dark and stormy night. the rain fell heavily and steadily, and what wind there was roamed through the streets with a peculiar, moaning sound. it was after the midnight hour. not a light was to be seen in any of the houses, nor was there any sound to be heard save that produced by the falling rain, and that soughing of the wind--not unlike the sighs and moans of some uneasy spirit unable to rest in the grave. it was as disagreeable a night as i ever saw. and i could not help shuddering as i hurried homeward through the storm, with bent head, for i felt somewhat as if i were passing through a city of the dead. this heavy silence--except for the noises mentioned--was very oppressive; and, while i gave a start, i was also conscious of a sense of relief, when i heard a human voice shouting: "help--help!" i paused short. my head having been bent, the cry coming so unexpectedly, i could not locate its direction. presently it came again. "help, for heaven's sake, help!" off i dashed to the rescue. crack! then came a wild wail. crack! then i heard a thud, as of a human being falling heavily to the sidewalk. and as the person uttered no further cries, one of two things must be the case--he was either insensible or dead. i increased my pace, and presently turning a corner, saw a burly fellow just dragging a body beneath a gas-lamp, the better to enable him to secure the plunder on his victim's body. the assassin had already secured most of the stricken man's valuables, when my rapid approach alarmed him, and jumping up, he sprang along the street at a break-neck pace. crack! crack! i had drawn a revolver, and i sent a couple of bullets after him, hoping to wing him, as well as to extend the alarm which his shots must already have raised. a policeman put in an appearance some distance down the street, but the flying murderer took a running leap at him, tumbled him head over heels into the gutter, and then succeeded in making his escape. when i compared notes with the policeman, i found that neither of us had distinctly enough seen the murderer to be able to give any description of him whatever, save that he was a chunky-built man, and seemed roughly dressed. we were not surprised, on examining into the prostrate man's condition, to find him dead. right in the center of his forehead was a small hole, edged with drying, clotted blood, which mutely said: "here entered the fatal messenger from a death-dealing weapon." the body was conveyed to the station-house, there to remain until it was claimed or conveyed to the morgue. an examination of the pockets resulted in our learning that his name was tom smith. as to his residence, we could find no clew from anything he had on his person, or by consulting the directory. about two o'clock the next afternoon, a wild-eyed woman entered the station-house, and, in trembling tones, asked to see the body. i was present at the time, and my heart went out in pity to the pale-faced woman--or perhaps i should say girl, for she certainly had not seen her twentieth birthday. she disappeared into the inner room where the body was lying, and a few seconds later i heard a low and anguished cry. then i knew that she had recognized the poor fellow as some one who was near and dear to her. kindly hands drew her away from beside the body, and when i saw her again her face was convulsed with anguish, and tears were streaming from her eyes. for fully half an hour she continued weeping, and not a man of us was there who did not feel uncomfortable. we did not venture to console her, for it seemed like sacrilege to intrude on her during the first period of her sorrow. then her sobbing became less loud, and gradually she subdued the more demonstrative expressions of grief. she finally lifted her head, and in a hollow voice asked to hear the story of his death. the captain briefly outlined what was known, and she calmly listened to the tale. "can i see the person who first reached him?" she asked, when the captain had finished. "yes," was the reply. "detective howard here is the man you want." she wished to see me alone, and i conducted her into another room. arrived here, she begged me minutely to relate what had happened; and, exhibiting a singular self-control, asked for as close a description of the assassin as i could give. "you knew him very well?" said i, when an opportunity occurred. "yes." "perhaps he was your brother?" "no," she said, and a faint flush flitted into her pallid face for an instant. "no," and then her voice sank to a whisper, "he was to have been my husband." "ah! and now, miss, you don't suppose that the assassin could have been an enemy of his? did he have any enemies, who might rob him, as a blind to cover up their real motive?" "tom have an enemy? no--no--he was too good and kind for that. it was done by some murderous wretch for the sake of plunder. tom must have resisted being robbed, and the ruffian killed him." "that is my own theory. and--i do not wish to pain you, miss--but what about the body? has he any family or relations?" "no, none in this world. he and i were all in all to each other," and the eyes of the girl became moist again; but she fought back the tears, and quite calmly said: "i will take care of the body." then a troubled expression crossed her face; and, to make a long story short, i gained her confidence, learned that she had not enough to properly inter her lover, and loaned her the money. with tears of gratitude in her eyes, she thanked me, and every word came straight from her heart. her name was nellie millbank, she said, and she was utterly alone in the world. until several days before, she had been employed in a store, but had then been discharged. tom was a clerk, but had only a small salary, as soon as which was raised they were to have been married. he had been to see her on that fatal night, to tell her he had obtained a day off, and was going to take her on an excursion on the morrow. she had been dressed and waiting for him, but he had not come. alarmed, for he had always kept his word, she knew not what to do, nor what to think, until, having bought an afternoon paper, she saw an account of the shooting. this was her simple history. after the inquest, the body was delivered to her, and then she faded from my sight and knowledge for a long while. exactly how long, the ensuing chapters will inform you. chapter ii. mat morris. "i've been discharged, mother." "what?" "i've been discharged." the face of mrs. morris became very grave, and presently her eyes were turned on the boyish yet manly face of her son mat. earnestly she gazed at him for several seconds, and then her lips parted with a smile which, wan as it was, expressed satisfaction. "it was no fault of yours. you did nothing wrong, my son?" "no, mother, it was not through any fault of mine that i was discharged. business has fallen off so very much of late that they were compelled to reduce the number of hands. and as i was one of the newest, i was among those laid off." "of course i am sorry," said poor mrs. morris, "but we must do the best we can." "i'll not act the part of a sluggard, mother, you can depend on that. i'll try and find something to do to keep the wolf from the door. and my boss gave me a splendid recommendation, and said if business got better he'd send for me at once." mat was a good son. few better were to be found. his worst fault, perhaps, was in being a little reckless, or over-brave and independent. none could insult him with impunity, nor could he nor would he stand by and silently witness anybody being imposed upon. he invariably took the part of the under dog in the fight. hardly had mat finished speaking, when the door opened and a girl entered; a girl whom both mother and son greeted with glances of affection. her name was helen dilt. five years before, when the circumstances of the morris family had been better, they had taken her from the street--found starving and freezing there on a cold winter's night--and had cared for her. mr. morris had died only a year later, since which time helen had clung to them, doing what little she could to keep the roof above their heads. she was not yet sixteen--a slight and winsome little creature; not beautiful, but with a sweet face that when lighted by a smile was remarkably winning. of her history she knew nothing. her knowledge of herself could be summed up in a few words. for years cared for by a drunken old hag, with only a faint remembrance of a sweet, sad face before that, she had lost even such a squalid home as she had when the hag died. then she had come with the morris family. and well did they love her. mrs. morris loved her like a daughter, and mat loved her much better than a sister. and helen returned the latter's deep regard. while no word had openly been spoken, it was tacitly understood by all three that some day, when mat and helen were old enough, and the circumstances permitted, they were to be married. mat was of slight build, of lithe and willowy frame, in which, however, resided an amount of strength which few would have dreamed possible. he was just eighteen. there is an old saying--"that it never rains but it pours." it seems true sometimes. helen, employed in a situation bringing her three dollars a week, had also come home with the news of having been discharged. it was a grave little trio that gathered about the supper table that night. latterly they had been getting along comfortably, but now destitution and want again stared them in the face, and must inevitably take up quarters in the household, unless some one obtained work of some kind to bring in some money. mat was up and away early the next morning, and for many mornings thereafter, but although he honestly searched all day long for employment, none was to be found. and helen, too, sought for work, but failed to find it, and day by day their slender stock of money diminished, until at last they had eaten the last meal, and had no money wherewith to buy another. that evening helen left the house and was gone for a short while, and when she came back she did not say where she had been. but she had gone with her shawl to a pawn-shop, and hid away in her dress was the pittance which had been loaned on it. in the morning she stole out unheard, not long after daylight, and invested her capital in newspapers. her cheeks were flushed with shame as she stood on the street, offering her papers for sale. but she fought back her pride. they had been very kind to her, and she should be only too glad, she told herself, to make the sacrifice for their dear sakes. and how happy she was when she hastened to their home, and put her morning's earnings into the hand of mrs. morris. in vain mat protested against helen's selling papers. let him do it, he said. "it will need all we can both make to live and pay the rent," helen quietly returned. "but you must not go on the street to sell papers, helen," protested mat. "i am young and can afford better to do this than that our good mother should work," said helen, bravely, casting an affectionate glance toward mrs. morris. and mat said no more. it was one day several weeks subsequent to the time when she first began selling papers, that a gentleman stopped to purchase a _herald_ of helen. he had paid for it in a mechanical way, and was turning away when he chanced to glance at the face of the newsgirl. he started slightly, then cast a keen glance at her, paused, and then in a tone of assumed carelessness, asked: "haven't i seen you somewhere else, my girl? you have not always sold papers?" "no, sir." "where can i have seen you?" "i don't know, sir," was the only reply, for helen did not care to talk to him. but she saw that he was an elderly man, his hair was streaked with gray, and in clothing and manner he bore the impress of apparent respectability. "what is your name?" he inquired. "helen." "what!" with another start. "your name is helen, is it?" recovering himself. "helen what, my girl?" "helen morris," was the reply, for she had now for a long time used the name of her benefactors as her own. again the gentleman glanced keenly at her, and then moved away slowly, muttering to himself: "morris--morris! i can't understand it. that likeness is wonderful, and cannot exist as a mere accident. i must investigate this, and i'd bet anything that that is not her name." the gentleman entered a large building on broadway, ascended in the elevator, and opened the door of an office, on which was lettered the legend: "joseph brown, _attorney at law_." having written a note, he dispatched his office boy with it to a liquor saloon, it being directed to james mcginnis, in care of the saloon's proprietor. late that afternoon a beetle-browed and forbidding-looking individual entered brown's office. "well, i got your letter and i've come!" was the rather sullen salutation he gave brown. "what's up now? want to badger me again?" "don't talk to me in that manner!" said brown, quietly, yet in a grim tone. "remember that i saved your neck from a halter, which i can again put around it at any moment." the man shuddered, and became meek as a lamb. "what do you want?" "that's better," and brown smiled. "i don't want much of you just now," and then he sank his voice to a whisper. "that's easy enough," mcginnis said, a few minutes later. "i can let you know to-morrow morning, i think." "very well." when mcginnis put in an appearance the next morning, it was evident from his expression that he had been successful in the task required of him by brown. "i've found out that her name isn't morris. that's the name of the people as she lives with. she's a kind of an adopted daughter, and they said as how her real name was dilk, or something like that." "ha! i thought so," brown exclaimed, inwardly. and then he bade mcginnis sit down, and for nearly half an hour they conversed in low tones. then brown put a roll of bills into his confederate's hands, and the latter withdrew, saying: "i'll do the job nately, and there'll be no trouble after it." and that night helen did not return home. half-crazed with alarm, mat and his mother awaited her coming until nine o'clock, or a little after, and then the young fellow could stand it no longer, but went in search of helen. he could not find her. she did not return during the night, nor even the next day, nor when night again fell. mat had scoured the city for her, had visited the places where she usually sold papers, and had questioned all the boot-blacks and newsboys, but had only obtained the meager and unsatisfactory information from one little fellow that he had seen helen in company with a man just after dusk. she had disappeared completely, had vanished as utterly as a mist that is dissolved by the sun's warm rays. "she is gone from us, mother," mat at last said, in a choking voice. "you remember, mother, what helen has told us--her impressions concerning her early childhood. and, mother, i believe there is money at the bottom of the thing, that helen stood in somebody's way, and has been spirited off by this person's orders." "it is possible." "possible! i feel it to be the truth. and i shall not rest night or day, mother, until i have found her. good-bye, mother, for i am going. heaven in mercy assist you and care for you until i can come back to do so. good-bye!" mrs. morris did not wish him to go, but she could not thwart him, for she knew how much he loved helen. but her face was very pale and anguished as she saw him go. chapter iii. shadow--who was he? mat morris was grimly in earnest in his determination to find the missing helen. he had no clew to follow, no starting-point from which to begin his search, but he would not permit himself to think about it in this light, for fear he would become discouraged. helen was alive--was somewhere--could be found--and must be found! first of all, he paid a visit to police head-quarters, and described the man who had been seen with helen, as the boy had described him. from one detective to another he went, giving the description, and inquiring if any could say who tallied in appearance with it. among the others he came to me, but, like the others, i could not even guess who the person might be, so meager was the description. i asked him if he intended turning detective himself. "i do," he firmly said; "and i shall never give up until i have found her, and unearthed the rascal who has done this." "who is this 'her' you speak of?" "a girl whom i love dearer than my life itself!" was the earnest reply--not given in a mawkish and sentimental tone, but in a manly way that won for the speaker my good opinion. "perhaps i can help you," i said. "tell me your story." he did so, but so little did it contain that i could see no advice to give him, and told him so frankly. "i like you for your frankness," said mat; "but say no more or you may discourage me." i asked him his name, and when he had told me what it was, i found that i had known his father. "i hope you may be successful--i sincerely hope so," i told him, as we shook hands at parting. mat morris went his road and i went mine, and in the busy details of my life soon forgot him. one afternoon, a lot of us detectives were grouped together, discussing an offer of a reward of one thousand dollars for the discovery of some stolen bonds and the person who had made free with them. the known facts of the case were in our possession, and when i sat in my room that evening, recalling them one by one, it struck me that a certain criminal might have had a hand in the affair, for the method of making the robbery was in his style. singular as it may seem, nearly every professional thief has a method of working up his "jobs," and a detective very frequently can positively say: "such and such a person had a hand in that affair," merely because they know the style and method of the work. i put on my coat and hat and went out, my footsteps turned in the direction of this person's haunts. as i drew near to a saloon which he was accustomed to frequent, i caught sight of the very individual, and followed him. he passed the saloon, and going on, turned the next corner. i hastened forward, was about to turn the corner, when a slight thing brought me suddenly to a halt. it was nothing more nor less than a simple shadow, cast on the walk by a gaslight. it was the shadow of a slender figure, in male attire, a cap on the head, one hand raised, while the index finger was being shaken after somebody in the distance. simple as the circumstance was it impressed me, and i stood still and waited. my eyes wandered from the shadow for an instant, and when my eyes sought the spot where it had been, it was gone. i sprang to the corner. the criminal whom i had been following was out of sight, and the person who had cast that shadow was nowhere visible. and yet i had heard no footsteps, and the time anyhow was too brief for the person to have gone more than a dozen feet. i was deeply puzzled. soon after i turned my steps toward home, for i was balked for the present, whatever else might be the case. i remember just before leaving the spot that i muttered, rather loud, perhaps: "where did that shadow disappear to so suddenly?" the next day these words were recalled to my mind when a note was handed to me, and i had opened it. "the bonds are hidden under the dock at the foot of ---- street. the person who stole them will recover them to-night. capture him. claim the reward; keep half, and be ready to give the other half at an instant's demand to shadow." "let the word answer as a countersign." this note puzzled me not a little, and i hardly knew what to do in regard to it; for i did not wish to be made a fool of, as well as the laughing-stock of the other detectives. i finally determined to tack my faith to this unknown person who signed "shadow," and that night took a couple of men to the spot designated, and captured the bond thief after he had taken the bonds from their hiding-place. i got the reward, and kept five hundred myself, reserving the other five hundred until it should be demanded of me, when, where, or how, i had not the slightest idea. several weeks later, after the midnight hour, i was suddenly brought to a halt as i drew near my house, for across the walk was cast that shadow. i knew it must be the same one, and belonging to the same person, for the hand was raised, and the index finger shaking. determined that this shadow should not disappear so suddenly and mysteriously again, i kept my eyes on it as i hastily sprang forward. the shadow moved, and its owner suddenly stood before me--a lithe figure, in male attire, with a large-peaked cap. i glanced keenly at the face. it was a boyish-looking face, with eyes very deep-set, it seemed to me, and a face, besides, that lacked expression. "shadow!" was uttered by a low voice, evidently disguised, and then a hand was extended--for the money, as i well knew. "who are you? what do you want?" "shadow!" was the single word of reply. "what do you want?" "you know perfectly well. if you are villainous enough to keep it all, why, do so!" and he would have glided away. "hold on! here is your share. and now, who are you?" and i bent closer to the mysterious being, and then discovered that i did not see a real face, but a closely-fitting mask, which defied all but the closest scrutiny. "i am shadow." "a detective?" "yes. now go--leave me alone--cease your questioning. and, as you value my friendship (which may be worth much to you) never speak to me again, but act simply as i shall write. you have compelled me to break an oath--be satisfied and go; and never cause me to break a new oath, which i now again make, or i swear solemnly that you shall regret it." thus spoke shadow, and then he went swiftly away, with the most noiseless steps of any human being i ever saw. i took a few steps in the same direction, but i paused when he turned and shook that index finger at me in that peculiar way. he was a deep mystery to me. "who was he?" disguised as a sailor just arrived in port, i shadowed a man into a low dive some nights later. two professional burglars, well known to me, passed near me as i crossed the room. "could that little chap have overheard anything we said?" one rather anxiously asked of the other. "no," was the careless reply. "i've seen him before, and know that he's deaf and dumb. if it hadn't been for that, i'd a told you of his being near us." thus much i heard, and then distance swallowed up the sound of their voices. i glanced around in quest of the little chap alluded to, and my eyes lighted on--shadow! was he playing deaf and dumb? i got near him after a while, and managed to whisper into his ear: "i know you now. i detected you from the way you carry your head--you are mat morris." shadow's hand was resting on the table. without even glancing up to see if i was looking, his index finger began forming letters on the table--letters, of course, that were invisible. my eyes followed the finger carefully, and i read the words: "fool! your folly may cost us both our lives. i am shadow--nothing else. do not seek to penetrate my disguise. go." i turned away rebuked. if he wished to conceal his identity, it certainly was none of my business. as i was turning about, a genuine tar--a regular son of neptune--staggered against me. he was half seas over, and i tried to avoid him. but he grasped me by the shoulder, gave me a shake, and-- "come along and have some grog, you son of a sea-cook!" i tried to get away from him, and to keep up my assumed character was foolish enough to attempt using a sailor-like phrase. no sooner had the tar heard my words than he bellowed out: "hurroo--hurroo! shiver my timbers if ye ever smelt salt water! you're no tar--smash my headlights if ye are! can't play that game on me," following his speech with a hearty guffaw. he raised his hand to slap me on the shoulder, and his fingers caught in and dragged off the bushy whiskers i had put on for a disguise. all eyes had been drawn to us by the drunken sailor's words, and when my face was seen there was a start of alarm on all sides. some one recognized me. "a detective--a detective!" and then a hoarse and angry murmur was heard on every side, and i was slowly hemmed in by a crowd of scowling-faced villains. chapter iv. out of the lion's jaws. things looked remarkably squally where i was concerned, when, on my exposure by the genuine tar, the inmates of the den gathered threateningly about me. i attempted to draw my shooting-irons, but desisted as a measure of prudence when i saw that i should be killed before being allowed to do so. it might have gone very hard with me, had it not been for the quick-wittedness of the mysterious being known as shadow. several empty beer-glasses were on the table in front of him. these he caught up, and swiftly and accurately hurled them at the lights--lamps being used in the place instead of gas. crash! crash! crash! ban-n-n-g! one of the heavy beer-glasses had smashed the bottom of one of the lamps, the oil had ignited, and there came an explosion, followed by the burning oil being scattered in every direction. instantly ensued a scene of confusion and consternation. the oil had set fire to the clothing of several persons, and they cursed and screamed and shouted, as they wildly strove to smother the flames. now was my opportunity. toward the door i made my way through the surging and excited crowd, some of whom were madly grasping at each other, thinking they were laying hold on me. by the fluttering blaze of the burning, oil-soaked clothing of the persons on fire, i saw which way to go; and i had nearly reached the door, when some one cried: "be careful, boys! look out for the door; don't let him escape!" i made a bolt for the door, and reached it just after another person had done so. i up with my clenched fist and toppled him over, and then dashed into the street and took to my heels, and did not halt until i was a block from the place. this was not caused by fear, for i could easily have summoned half a dozen policemen to my assistance. no matter how wicked a man may be, he has rights under the law as well as anybody else, and unless i knew or suspected him (for good reasons) to be guilty of some particular crime, i had no business to interfere with him. so i did not wish to make any further move by making any arrests of the inmates of the dive. nor, on the contrary, did i wish to give them an opportunity of putting a surreptitious bullet in me. and again, i had begun to consider shadow as an ally of mine, and did not wish to run the risk of upsetting or balking any scheme he might be working up through his presence in that place. nevertheless, i naturally felt resentful toward the men who, for a moment, had my life in their power, and who seemed inclined to use their power. but i knew them all, and i would have my revenge when, some day--as they surely would--they fell into the strong grasp of the law. i hung around the vicinity for an hour or more, but as i saw nothing of shadow, i concluded to turn my steps homeward, and did so. and shadow? he, too, had started toward the door, but had been too slow in his movements to reach it before it was barricaded. made aware that he could not pass through it, he quietly made his way back to where he had been sitting, and there sat down again, just before a lamp was hastily lighted. by this time the ignited clothing had all been extinguished, with no more results than a few painful burns, and consequently the first thought of everybody was concerning the detective. but he was gone. that somebody had escaped they knew, but had clung to the hope that it was one of the tars, who had been frightened and bolted out. but, no, the half-drunken sailors were all huddled together, gazing stupidly about them, not knowing what was to come next. some of them had drawn the tar's never-absent companion, their dirk-knives, and were prepared to make resistance in case all this row was but a blind to cover up an attack on them for the purpose of robbing them. but robbing the tars was the thing furthest from the minds of that rascally crew just at that moment. they had threatened the life of a detective, he had escaped, and they thought the consequences would be a descent on the place, as soon as enough blue-coats could be gathered for the purpose. "now--who fired those beer-glasses?" the bullet-headed proprietor of the "ranch" asked this question in a gruff tone. instantly they began eying each other, and slowly but surely pair after pair of eyes were fastened on shadow. "run out these jacks." immediately the tars were told to "vamose"--"vacate"--"skip"--and the door being held open for them, they lost no time in giving the place a wide berth. the proprietor sharply eyed those who remained. all were friends. making a sign to a couple, they separated from the rest, who were then told to "skip and lay low." shadow made no attempt to leave with this departing crowd. he knew that it would be useless, in addition to which it would have implied that he had heard and understood, which would not have been in keeping with his assumed character of a deaf and dumb person. "now, then," said the bullet-headed proprietor, when none but a trusted few were left in the place, "into that 'cubby' of ours with him!" indicating shadow. the latter eyed them with blank astonishment when they laid hands on him, and signed to know what it meant. and when they commenced running him across the floor, he struggled to prevent them. but he became quiet when one of them placed the muzzle of a revolver to his temple. he made no further resistance, but allowed them to gag him, and shove him into a little black cubby-hole or closet, whose door was a segment of the wainscoting, undiscoverable to a person unaware of its existence, save by the closest scrutiny. the door was banged shut, and shadow was left to his own reflections in the cramped confines of the dark and moldy-smelling closet. he was left here until all danger of a raid was thought by the proprietor to be past. then he was brought out. "what did you mean by smashing the lamps and putting them out?" was sternly demanded of him. shadow looked vacantly at them. "come, come!" and he was given a cuff alongside of his head. "come, give us an answer, or i'll 'liven you up with something heavier than my hand." while looking wonderingly and inquiringly at them shadow pointed first to his mouth and then to his ear. one of them held a revolver close to the back of his head, unseen by him, and then cocked the weapon, thinking that at the click shadow would certainly give a start if he was not really deaf. not a muscle of face or body could be seen to even twitch. "it's straight, i guess," said this fellow, as he let down the hammer of the weapon and returned it to his pocket. they now repeated the question by writing it on a sheet of paper. shadow looked at it, his face brightened, and seizing the pencil, he scribbled the reply: "i knew him for a detective! i thought you'd rush in on him in the dark and slug him!" the villains looked at each other. there was reason in it. darkness might easily have proved an aid to them, although, as it chanced, it had really opened the way for the detective's escape. then they scrutinized shadow closely, and tried to intimidate him by saying they did not believe it. but when they wrote this on paper, shadow only shrugged his shoulders on reading it. then they discussed the advisability of letting him go or putting him out of the way. "there's no good in killing him, as i can see," one said finally. "it might easily be a bad thing, for there's no tellin' who may show up here afore the body could be got rid of," and in this view all at last concurred. shadow was led to the door and pointed out. he hastily gained the street--_and disappeared_. chapter v. helen dilt. there are thousands of people in new york, to whom some portions of the metropolis are as much of a mystery as paris, or bagdad, or calcutta, or cairo in egypt. this may seem like a singular statement, yet it is a perfectly true one. along the east river front of the city many sights are to be seen, which could not but be as surprising as interesting to those to whom this section of the city is a sealed book. here junk-shops flourish in all their glory, side by side with old iron and old chain shops. groggeries of the lowest kind abound, and here is the lair of the river-pirate. sometimes blocks occur on which not a single building is to be found, save small offices in connection with iron or lumber yards. at night no section of new york is more lonesome, or more inviting to the performance of deeds of darkness. just opposite a tumble-down pier, not far from grand street ferry, stood, and still stands, a little shanty, built in the rudest manner, only one story in height. into this shanty we wish to convey the reader, at least in imagination. there are but three rooms in the shanty, the front one being about half of the entire floor, and two smaller rooms, answering as bedrooms, took up the other half. in the outer or larger room an old acquaintance--mcginnis--may be seen, seated at a deal table, before him a half-emptied soda-bottle and a glass. the bottle, however, did not contain soda, but what may well be termed "liquid fire." "well, that was a good job," mcginnis was saying to his wife, who was bustling around to get him something to eat. "a bully good job, and no mistake. i don't know as i ever had one before that paid so well for so little trouble." "that brown is a foine, liberal gintleman, i'm a-thinkin'," remarked mrs. mcginnis, as she turned the slice of ham in the frying-pan. "he doesn't throw any money away, ye can depind on that," mcginnis abruptly rejoined. "whin he pays me that sum of money jist to capture the girl, yez can jist bet your life he's a-goin' to make more money by the operation than he gives me." "ah, mcginnis, you're a sharp one, that's what ye are," said his wife, admiringly. "now, shure, i'd never a-thought of the likes of that. it's an alderman ye'd ought to be, instead of what ye are." "whist!" interrupted mcginnis, bringing her to a halt. "niver mind mentioning me occupation. walls sometimes have ears, so they do. but, i say, be lively, old woman, for the boss is a-comin' to-night to have a look at the gal." the ham had been discussed, and mcginnis had just lighted his pipe, when a low knock came at the door. "that's him!" exclaimed mcginnis, as he started for the door. "he's on time, jist." surely enough, it was the highly respectable-looking lawyer, who had asked helen if he had not seen her somewhere before, and also what her name was. as the door was opened, he glided in swiftly, and himself hastily closed the door, and stood by until it was secured. "well," said he, as he advanced into the center of the apartment, rubbing his hands, "well, you were successful?" "that i was!" with a hoarse laugh. "this is your wife?" "it is, sor." "she can be depended on?" "every bit as much as meself, sor. no fear of her--not a bit." "and the girl?" "is below," was the reply, as mcginnis pointed downward, to signify that helen was somewhere beneath the floor. "good! excellent!" and the rascally lawyer laughed quietly. "would ye be after wantin' to see her?" mcginnis now inquired. "yes." at a sign from her lord and master, mrs. mcginnis lighted a candle, then took a look at the two small windows to see that the curtains were closely drawn, and then handing the lighted candle to mcginnis, she bent and raised a trap-door. this disclosed a dark-looking hole, up from which came a rush of damp, cold air, which almost chilled the marrow in the lawyer's bones. but he must descend, if he wished to see the girl, for it would hardly be safe to bring her up. an idea that flashed across his brain just as he was about to descend caused him to suddenly pause and bend a keen gaze on the rascally pair. the life of mcginnis was in his hands. suppose the villain should take this opportunity of putting it forever out of his power to again threaten him? it was a startling reflection. brown had come there secretly; nobody knew of where he was going, nobody had seen him enter this shanty--facts concerning which mcginnis was as well posted as himself. but in the faces of man and wife no sign of treachery was to be seen. he could trust them. "there is no danger," brown mentally said. "they will not kill the goose that lays the golden eggs--they are too avaricious for that." he judged them rightly. brown descended into the sort of half-cellar beneath the house, of so little depth that it was necessary to bend the head to move about. "careful, sor," said mcginnis, who was ahead. "bad cess to it----" splash! "there ye go!" mcginnis went on; "i forgot that the tide is up, and that the hole was filled with water." "deuce take it!" growled brown. "i'm wet up to my knees. does the water rise in here with the tide?" "it do, sir. in the spring tides the water comes up close to the flure of the rooms above." a few steps further, and then the villainous abductor of helen dilt said: "here we are, sir!" they had reached one corner of the cellar, and when mcginnis held up the light, brown saw the fair young girl, stretched on a pallet of straw, which kindness even the cruel mcginnis had not been able to deny her. "is she dead?" asked brown, in a hoarse whisper. "i think not. she wasn't less than two hours ago when the old woman brought down some grub to her." so very still did helen lie that the lawyer thought she surely was dead, until having drawn very close it became evident that she was only sleeping. poor helen! it was the first time that her eyes had closed in slumber in the three days which had elapsed since she had been forcibly brought to this place. approached by mcginnis, he had told her some plausible story, and led her away from the more public thoroughfares, and then had suddenly turned on her, and putting a revolver to her head had threatened to kill her did she make any outcry. he had hurried her into a "ranch" where he was known, had kept her there until after midnight, and then had forced her through the deserted streets to his own shanty. the flashing of the light into her face woke her up. one moment she seemed confused in mind, and then appeared to recognize her surroundings. she did not know, could not guess, why she had been brought here at the expense of so much trouble and risk, but she could not but feel certain that it was for the furtherance of some evil design. she started to a sitting position and glanced at her visitors. the light of the candle shone across brown's face, and before he could turn and hide his features in shadow she had recognized him. "sir, what have i done to you that you should persecute me thus?" she asked, in a tone that trembled with a mixture of indignation and fear. "i know you; you bought a _herald_ of me once, and asked my name." "curse the luck! i had not intended this," muttered brown. "all i wanted was to see the girl and make sure he had abducted the right one. well, since you know me, then, let me ask you a question: _what do you know of your early life?_" for a minute helen was silent. why this peculiar question? earnestly she gazed at him, but she could find no clew from his face, for he kept it in the shadow. "i know nothing at all of it," she finally answered. "positively nothing?" "nothing whatever, save that a sad, sweet face seems sometimes to rise before me, as if seen through a mist. but it never lasts long, for the mists thicken until it has disappeared again." an evil and exultant smile flitted across the lawyer's face. "come," he said, and he and mcginnis ascended to the rooms above, leaving helen alone in that dark and damp and dank place--left her there alone to encounter a terrible ordeal. it was a time of neap or spring tide, besides which the wind was in the right direction to make the water rise very high. helen slept again. and so heavily that she was not awakened by the water which crept up around her and saturated her clothing, until it reached her lips, and partially strangled her by being drawn in along with a breath. she started up with a wild shriek. "quiet down there!" bellowed the harsh voice of mcginnis, as he raised the trap-door a little. "quiet, i say, or i'll keep my word and murder you if you make any noise." and helen was silent, even though so horrified, and stood there trembling, with lips pallid and heart at almost a standstill, as the cold and treacherous tide mounted higher and higher. it reached her knees, her waist, her arm-pits, and even here did not stop. higher still it mounted, until it reached her pallid lips. chapter vi. the remembered bills. some few days subsequent to my adventure in the dive i met a lady on the street, at sight of whose face i gave a slight start. i had seen the face somewhere before; in fact, felt that i had once been quite familiar with it. ah! "mrs. morris!" i said. the lady turned swiftly, not a little startled at being thus addressed. then i saw her face light up with a look of recognition. "i thought i was not mistaken," i said. "you remember me, i hope?" "i do. you are howard, who became a detective after i last saw you." "right," i rejoined, and then i walked along beside her towards her humble home. i had not thought of mat in some days, but at sight of her he flashed into my mind. i finally inquired about him. "i have not see him in some time," mrs. morris said, in reply. i told her of my having seen him, and then she told me about helen. we reached her humble home. she then told me that she had heard from mat, although she had not seen him. several mornings before she had awakened to find an envelope thrust beneath the door, on opening which she found its contents to be five hundred dollars. "five hundred dollars!" i exclaimed, in surprise. "will you let me see the money, mrs. morris?" "certainly." the amount was precisely that which i had paid shadow. i remembered some of the bills, and was curious to see if they were contained in the money. they were. every bill that i had specially noted was in the roll of bills she handed to me in response to my request. the last lingering doubt as to mat morris and shadow being one and the same person was swept from my mind by this circumstance. i said nothing, however, to mrs. morris of where and how i had last seen shadow--or mat--for i knew it could only make her more anxious on his account. while wondering where mat could have obtained so large a sum of money, the mother's confidence in her son was so great that she felt it had been come by in none other than a proper and honest manner. "will you not do what you can toward finding our helen?" mrs. morris asked at parting. "i will," was the reply; and, indeed, i kept the subject constantly before me, and my ears always open, when i visited the many haunts of vice in the pursuit of my duties. but weeks glided away and i found no clew, nor had i heard or seen aught of shadow. yet he was not idle, and i now know that though i did not see him he saw me many times, and avoided me on purpose. steadily, although slowly, he pursued the one object of his present mode of life. any man who was known to be "crooked," and who at all resembled a certain description, he would persistently shadow until he knew that the person was not guilty of that particular crime. again and again was he disappointed. but he would only make a dissatisfied gesture with his hand, and then in thin air write the words: "try, try again! success must come at last!" and then he would go relentlessly on, pursuing some unknown person who was even more shadowy than himself. besides searching for this one person, shadow had devoted himself from a feeling of resentment toward the whole tribe of evil-doers, to the exposure of villainy whenever and wherever he found it. the two burglars whom i had overheard talking about some "job" on entering the dive, were being cared for by shadow. supposed to be deaf and dumb they had talked freely before him--it was destined to be to their sorrow. they laid their plans for the robbery of a bank with the most consummate skill. having rented a vacant store adjoining the building in which the bank was located, they opened an oyster saloon, but rather discouraged than encouraged trade. with the fall of night they would descend to the cellar, and until break of day would work at cutting through the foundation wall. it was thick and strongly built, but this they had expected, and were prepared for. digging out the mortar between the bricks, first one and then another was pried out, until at last only one layer of four inches in thickness remained, which a single blow from the blunt end of a crowbar would knock out. this was accomplished on friday night. they now quit work until the following night, when they intended entering, knowing that in all probability they would have until monday morning to "tap" the vault and safe. but, safe as they felt themselves, a pair of keen eyes were upon them. they were those of shadow. late on sunday afternoon a note was handed me. it was from the mysterious being, whom i felt sure was none other than mat morris. the note was very brief. it simply said: "be at the corner of ---- street and ---- avenue at eleven o'clock to-night, with a dozen men. you must be in citizens' clothes. shadow." this time i did not hesitate about getting ready to act upon the communication of the mysterious detective. promptly at the hour indicated i was at the designated spot, while the required number of men were scattered about in the concealment of various doorways there, and waiting, but out of sight. i had not long to wait. it seemed as if shadow had arisen out of the ground, for i had not seen or heard him approach, yet on turning on feeling my elbow touched, found him at my side. holding up his hands between me and the light of the nearest lamp, so that i could plainly see what he was about, he asked me in the deaf and dumb alphabet: "can you understand this?" there are few school-boys who have not at some time learned the art of thus talking with the fingers, and i have once been able to do almost as well as the mutes who are compelled to converse in this way. making an effort i found that i could recall the alphabet, and answered: "i can understand." "pretend to be drunk, and follow me. when i cough, quietly capture the man you will see." side by side we reeled up the avenue, and several blocks away i saw a fellow coming in the opposite direction. "the lookout," i mentally said, and placed my revolver in a handy position. i was not mistaken. just as we were about to pass the fellow, shadow coughed. quick as a flash, i wheeled and planted the muzzle of my weapon to the lookout's head, sternly saying: "not a word--not a bit of noise--or i'll put a bullet in your noddle!" surprised completely, the fellow caved, and i ran him along to where the men were walking, handcuffed him, and sent him to the station in charge of two men, but not until after shadow had gone through his pockets. we now all followed shadow. "wait here," he finally spelled on his fingers. "in five minutes, at the farthest, i will return." from the lookout's pocket he had taken a pass-key, which admitted him to a hall connecting with the bogus oyster saloon, and leaving the door unlocked, disappeared from sight. five minutes passed, lengthened into ten, twelve, fifteen, and still shadow had not returned. had he been detected and murdered? i could wait no longer. i opened the door and entered, followed by my men. we heard stealthy steps, and paused. then the slide of a dark lantern was opened by some one, and in the big strong patch of light it threw we saw shadow. there was a rush of feet, the light was covered, and we--the silent witnesses--heard a low cry and a heavy fall. had shadow's boldness cost him his life? i thought of mrs. morris, and my heart was saddened. chapter vii. a happy moment. when shadow left us outside and entered through the door which he opened by aid of the pass-key taken from the captured "lookout," he turned aside from the hall, into the store. as before stated, one marked peculiarity of his was his light tread, so light that none but a suspicious and very acute ear could detect it. from his pocket he took a wax match and lighted it. before it had burned so low as to necessitate his blowing it out, he had gained such additional knowledge as he required, which was principally that the movable articles in the room were in the same positions as when he had come here to eat oysters on several occasions. the trap-door that had been cut through the floor behind the counter was open; to its head shadow softly went. noiselessly as a cat he descended the stairs to the cellar, and there was guided forward by the light that shone through the breach in the foundation wall. he soon reached the breach, without having aroused any suspicion of his proximity, and obtained a hasty although comprehensive glance into the vault beneath the bank. the burglars had had easy work, and had already secured the "swag." in fact, at that very moment two of their number were engaged in bringing loads of specie to the breach. so close were they that shadow could not retreat without discovering himself to them. he shrank back against the wall, and edging away, paused only when a dozen or fifteen feet from the breach. through this the two burglars passed, entering the cellar beneath the store. shadow supposed that after depositing their loads both would return to the bank building. in this he was mistaken, for while one returned the other remained for the purpose of receiving the loads which now began to arrive. the detective was in a box. to attempt to retreat now was equivalent to detection: to remain, he would be spotted the very minute a light was brought into the cellar. while it was dark, and he even suppressed his breath, he was safe, but for no greater length of time. shadow at last determined on making an attempt to reach the stairs and mount them, so as to give us the word. holding his breath, he took a step, and then paused. in a minute he took one more step and paused again. he had not been heard. still another step. and yet he was undetected. taking advantage of the bustle at the time of the delivery of each armful, he would glide along several feet. in this manner he had nearly reached the foot of the stairs, and so far as he could judge was unsuspected. but as yet he had only had play when compared with the tact required to mount the stairs. when half way up he overheard whispers. the words he could not comprehend, but, as he heard no movement toward the stairs, he thought they did not refer to him. but they did. the stairs had cracked and squeaked, notwithstanding his carefulness in stepping. and the earth which had softened his footfalls so that they had not been heard, now performed the same kindly office for the burglars. they were edging toward the stairs. they reached the foot, as shadow reached the head of them. any doubt which the burglars may have had was put to flight by hearing the sigh of relief which unconsciously fell from shadow's lips as he took the last upward step. at once there was a rush up-stairs by the villainous crew. so promptly did they accomplish the ascent of the stairs that shadow had no time to cross the store floor to the hall. as already described, the bull's-eye flashed its light on him, after which there was a grand rush at him, followed by a low groan and the thud of a falling body. "poor fellow!" i inwardly exclaimed. "poor mrs. morris--how her son's death will grieve her." meanwhile i was not idle. my hand had dipped into my pocket, and now held a parlor match. "ready!" so i lowly said to my men. then i suddenly struck the match, glanced around, sprang to the gas fixture my eye lighted on, turned on the gas, and in less than five seconds from the time of striking the match, the scene was lighted by a blazing gas jet. "surrender!" i sternly ordered, leveling a brace of revolvers, before the rascals had ceased to gasp in surprise at the sudden turn affairs had taken. then they turned and made a rush toward the trap-door behind the bar. but with equal swiftness i sprang upon the counter, kneeling in a position to command the entrance to the cellar. "the first man who tries to escape in that direction gets a bullet in his noddle!" i grimly told them, and they halted short in their stampede, and dumbly looked at each other. "close in, boys!" this to my men. "now then, my hearties, you're fairly cornered, and the wisest thing for you to do is to cave." "don't give in, lads!" yelled a gruff voice. "we're almost as many as they are, and a good bold stroke will carry us out." thus encouraged, the desperate men made a wild, although irresolute and wavering charge. "stand firm!" i yelled to my men, and then aimed at the leader of the gang. he had cocked his revolver, was aiming at my head with deadly intent. it was my life or his, and i pulled the trigger. crack! with a single groan, he sank to the floor, with a bullet in his brain. "close in now! and shoot every man who offers resistance!" the men did as directed. the charge had been only half-hearted anyhow, and the fall of their leader completely demoralized the remainder, and dropping their weapons, they flung up their hands in token of surrender. in less than two minutes we had them all handcuffed. when i had heard the last pair of bracelets click, i put up my revolver, but not before; and then i wiped the perspiration from my forehead. it is singular how quickly a man begins to perspire in moments of excitement like this through which i had passed, but perspire he always does, and freely at that. i had caught a glimpse of a body stretched on the floor at the farther side of the room from where i was perched on the counter. "poor mat! poor shadow!" so i muttered as i made my way toward the body. it laid just where i had last seen shadow standing, in the full glare of the light from the bull's-eye lantern. i reached the body, and--_it was not that of shadow!_ i rubbed my eyes. no, it was not shadow. i arose to my feet and glanced about the room. but naught was to be seen of the lithe figure of the mysterious detective. nobody had seen him go out by way of the hall. then, i thought, he must have descended to the cellar. but when we went down-stairs, we could find no trace of him there. he had disappeared. but how, or where to, not the wisest one of us could say. neither could i imagine how he had escaped with his life, when they made that wild rush at him. chapter viii. a narrow escape. afraid to incur the anger of mcginnis, helen made no further outcry after receiving his harsh command to be silent, but stood there, trembling with horror, as the treacherous waters continued to rise. tiny waves were rippling the surface of the water, and one of these at last sprang against her lips. panting, worn out, helen felt like permitting herself to sink, and thus quickly end the horrors of her situation. but the ripple receded, and she was again able to breathe. she did not wish to die. above all, she did not wish to meet such an awful death as this. she pictured her dead body floating in the water or stretched in the mud of the floor, and her frame was convulsed by swift-flying thrills of horror. this mental picture nearly crazed helen. "no, no," she moaned. "no, no, i cannot, i will not, die in this terrible manner." she beat the water with her hands, and clutched at it, and tried to push it back. slowly but softly the water continued to rise, and she could lift her head no higher, for it was even then against the under side of the floor above her. the water was at her lips now--not a ripple, but the whole body was on a level with them. she closed her lips, but a minute later it filled her nostrils when she breathed. out of her very desperation was now born a singular calmness and self-possession. she was now able to think and reason as she could not have done before. it is singular but true that in the face of death many people, in times of lesser danger absolute cowards, become brave and calm as any one can be. so it was with helen. whether or not she was to be drowned like a rat she did not know. but she did know that her situation was a precarious one. calm now as she was, she was not long in striking on the only means whereby she could preserve her life a little longer, perhaps for a long time longer. throwing her head backward, she let it rest against one of the floor-beams, and thrust her face upward close to the floor. she could now breathe again. but she had played her last card, so to speak, and did the water rise another three inches her fate was unalterably sealed. the position she had assumed was an uncomfortable one, but she did not allow her resolution to waver even though the tide continued to creep higher and higher, although not so rapidly as before. at last--what a fervent prayer of thanks helen uttered--at last she knew that the water had ceased to rise. and then presently it began slowly falling. at the expiration of a quarter of an hour she was able to move her head from the unnatural position in which she had placed it. lower and lower the water now went, in just the same regular, even pace with which it had arisen in the cellar. lower and lower--lower and lower--until helen sank on her knees, her head remaining above the surface, and then she prayed as perhaps she had never prayed before. as she was thus engaged she heard a heavy tread on the floor over her head. mcginnis had just come in. and he came with haste, for he had just heard of the remarkably high tide, and feared that his prisoner had fallen a victim to its cold embrace. he now understood the meaning of helen's cries, and their not having been repeated under such circumstances, he considered as indicating her death. "i say--i say, down there!" he yelled. "are you alive and kicking?" helen had nothing to gain by keeping silence, and as she arose from her knees, she replied in the affirmative. "good enough!" grunted her jailer, banging shut the trap-door. when he afterwards brought helen down something to eat, and saw the height to which the water had risen, he gazed at her in blank astonishment. he could not understand how it was that she had preserved her life. "thunder!" he exclaimed. "how did you do it, gal? why, there wasn't more'n an inch of space left between the water and the floor." "i did it, though, with his assistance," said helen, reverently. "whose assistance?" and mcginnis glared about him, as he asked the question, in an alarmed tone. "his!" and helen pointed upward as she uttered the one word in a solemn tone. "oh!" in a relieved tone, and the villain then laughed harshly. he stayed by helen while she was eating, and his evil eyes were lighted with admiration as they rested on her. "i say," he remarked, when she had finished eating--"i say, you're a trump, even though you be such a young gal." helen's puzzled look was evidence that she did not comprehend at what he was driving. "you're a smart one, too," said mcginnis. "and i think it's blamed tough on you to pen you in here." "then why did you do so?" demanded helen. "orders, my sweet, orders--and orders must be obeyed. but, i say, how'd you like to take the place of the old woman up-stairs? you're a piece of good stuff, you are, and with a little edication, could take the shine out of any crooked woman i ever seen. as for the old crow up-stairs, jist say the word, and i'll put her out of the way, after which, orders or no orders, i'll take you outer this place." the young girl was completely taken aback by this offer of mcginnis to make her his wife, after murdering the one he now possessed. she was unable to say a word. mcginnis construed her silence in another way, and advancing, would have kissed helen, had not she retreated, holding up her hands to ward him off, her face expressive of horror and deep disgust. he pursued her. helen faced him, her back to the wall. "keep away--leave me alone," she cried. "keep away, or i will shriek until somebody hears me." her tone was a determined one, and mcginnis was shrewd enough to see that it would be foolish to bother her any farther, or her cries might be heard, and be the means of getting him into serious trouble. he backed away, and, with an oath on his lips, went up-stairs, banging shut the trap-door behind him. a number of times he brought her meals down to her, but never again attempted to renew his suit. then one night joseph brown paid him another visit, and they held a long conference together. it was about helen. in the dead of night, not long after that, helen was brought up from the damp and noisome place. some clothing was flung to her, which she was compelled to attire herself in while guarded by mrs. mcginnis. after being led several blocks away she was forced to enter a carriage, which was then rapidly driven away. "where am i being taken to?" asked helen, in a tone that trembled as much as her body. she felt that there were greater dangers to dread in this midnight ride than if she had remained in the cellar. mcginnis only laughed delightedly for reply. "i demand of you to tell me where i am being taken," and the girl spoke now more firmly. "i'll tell you--ha-ha-ha! let me whisper," and bending forward the villain whispered a few words into her ear--words that caused the color to desert her face, that caused her to clasp her hands together, and to sink moaning into her corner of the conveyance. chapter ix. in the black hole. where had shadow gone to? at the instant that the murderous crew rushed at him, he quietly sank to the floor. the first one to reach the spot where he had been standing struck his body. the cry of surprise on his lips was changed into a death-groan, as the man nearest him grabbed at and stabbed him, under the impression that it was the strange, and to them, unknown person whom they had detected spying on them. shadow had seen us and knew that we would now take care of the gang, and he had edged toward the door communicating with the hall, and had disappeared unseen by my men, deeply interested just then in another quarter. the villains were marched away and locked up, and to make a long story short were properly punished in due course of time. the bank officials, grateful at having been saved a heavy loss, voted me a handsome sum in reward for my services. this, i felt, belonged entirely to shadow, and i kept it about me in the shape of a check, to be given him at the first opportunity. from the fact that he had not been found anywhere around, i was assured that he had escaped, although the manner of it was then a mystery to me. and i fully expected to hear something from or see him within a very few days. but i did not. he seemed to have disappeared from the face of earth. i went around among the dens of the east side, but could neither see nor learn anything of him. again and again i made the tour of the dives, but always with the same result. then, put to work on a case, i plunged into it, became interested, and shadow slowly faded from my mind. it was a murder case. the murder had been committed under peculiar circumstances, and i had not been long at work before i became convinced that it had been done by the hands of a regularly organized gang of evil-doers. at last i struck a clew. i became convinced that i knew the very individual who had committed the bloody deed, but i delayed arresting him, as by this time i had gained an inkling of greater work to be done at the same time. i was ambitious of entrapping the whole gang, instead of this solitary member of it. i laid my plans accordingly. disguise was always a forte of mine, and i proceeded now to conceal my identity as thoroughly as possible. my next step was to ingratiate myself with a member of the gang. i picked my man, and proved an apt student of human nature when i did so, for perhaps of all the gang he was the only one who could have been so easily gulled. his confidence gained, i knew the rest would be easy enough. by him i was made acquainted with several others belonging to the same gang, and on his guarantee of my trustworthiness, they talked freely before me. one day shadow was brought forcibly to my mind by a chance remark dropped by one of my new friends. "have you seen the young chap we've got in the black hole?" this was the remark. could they mean shadow? at once i pricked up my ears. "no," was the reply. "i want to see him, though. what does he look like?" "a young fellow with a smooth face, not more than eighteen, and slender as a girl." it tallied with shadow's appearance. "none know him?" "so it seems; leastways, none as has seen him yet ever saw him before. we had dick stanton come in and take a peep at him, and dick says he ain't a detective--that is, a regular detective, at any rate." "he was caught nosing around, though?" "yes." "had he tumbled to anything much?" "that we don't know, for he won't say a word--aye, yes or no." "and what does the cap'n mean to do with him?" "i give it up. one of the boys told me that in the end he meant to have him knifed." "the best thing to do. 'dead men tell no tales,'" remarked the other. here they let the thing drop. i wanted to find out where this black hole was, but dared ask no questions, nor press the subject of the young fellow's captivity. for the present i was compelled to adopt a waiting policy, or run the risk of killing the confidence i had already gained, by the asking of too many questions. still, it was a horrible thought to me that, while i was doing nothing, shadow (otherwise mat morris) was in captivity in the black hole, a place whose name implied nothing but the horrible, and in hourly danger of being butchered like an animal. in this dilemma i changed my disguise and took to tracking these men to find out where their head-quarters were, presuming that it would be there where the black hole would be found. i tracked them finally to an old and ruined brick building near the east river. it had once been a sugar-house, but had burned out, leaving only its walls standing. the remains of the building had been turned to advantage--its walls squared on top and roofed over, leaving a structure in some places one story high, in other places two stories. it was for the most part occupied by old junk and chain men, and among them were several well-known to the police, and suspected of being receiving shops for the "swag" of the river pirates. was the black hole only one of the vaults of the old sugar-house? was it located here? i would have given a thousand dollars to have been sure of this. in the dead of night i again drew near this old sugar-house, and stretched myself out alongside of a big piece of dock timber that chanced to lie in a good position. about two o'clock i heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the river, and when the persons drew nearer i recognized one voice as that of the individual whom i had thus far bamboozled. the scent was getting "hot." they were carrying several heavy coils of rope, the result of their depredations on the river during a few preceding hours. they passed me and approached the building, and i heard one of them whistle twice, very softly. then a peculiar knock was given on a particular door, which at once promptly opened to give them ingress. at once a desperate scheme flashed across my brain. i wanted to save shadow, but still i did not wish to make a descent on the place with a body of officers, as it would make it impossible for me to carry out my original plan of bagging the whole gang. i had heard mentioned the name of dick stanton. he was a detective, and, as i now knew, a false one, through whom had leaked out the intentions of the police on several occasions, rendering well-laid plans fruitless; so that the police had found empty nests when they expected a bag full of game. i arose and went forward. i whistled thrice, and knocked at the door as i had heard the others knock. as the door opened i glided in. the guard spotted me as a stranger at once, and laid his hand on his revolver. "i am sent by stanton," i promptly said. "he gave me the points, and told me to carry a message of warning to 'cap.'" closing the door, the guard conducted me into a large room, where was gathered an immense quantity of old junk and rigging of all descriptions. "cap!" he called. "yes," came from the distant side of the room, where a lot of men were gathered about a lantern. "somebody to see you," with which the guard went back to the door, leaving his lantern beside me. a slight noise caused me to look around, and i was startled at seeing a human hand protruding up through a crevice in a junk pile. the hand held a bit of paper, at which i blankly stared, thinking it held by a dead hand. but no--the fingers stirred, the note was shaken. it was clear that it was intended for me. i took it. cap had not yet started toward me. i read the few words on the note by the aid of the guard's lantern. "fly! although the guard does not know--stanton is here! your first word will betray you. shadow." here was a fix. how could i pass the guard on the portal? yet i must go. chapter x. favoring fortune. in the course of my professional career i have been in many tight places, and among the tightest i count that night, when in the old sugar-house, converted into a "fence" for receiving the "swag" brought in by the river pirates. immediately on reading the note written by shadow i commenced retreating, even while cap was coming forward to see who wanted him, and what for. i had pretended to have been sent with a message by dick stanton, who, as shadow had informed me, was already there, a fact unknown to the guard, else i must have been roughly used before this. to have told this to cap would have at once betrayed me, and my heart swelled with gratitude to shadow--for i considered that he had saved my life. did misfortune attend my efforts to pass the guard, it would not be shadow's fault, but my own in venturing into this place. and yet i had done so on his account, had done so because i had learned that a young fellow answering his description was kept close prisoner in a place significantly called the "black hole." toward the guarded portal i went as rapidly as i could without an appearance of noisy haste. i reached it at last. cap had not yet reached the spot where he expected to see me. i had now just as long to fool the guard as it would take cap to grow impatient at not seeing me, and bellow out some question as to where i was. "here's your lantern, my friend, and i'm much obliged for it," i said, as i drew near the guarded portal. "see him?" "yes." "all right?" "yes." "cap's in one of his black humors to-night." "phew! i should say so." "nothing wrong, was there?" "nothing particular," i answered. "what's the matter with that bolt? does it stick?" "like thunderation. there it goes. i've got it now. now for another one--you see we keep this place well guarded--now another, and all that now remains is to turn the knob." "suppose you do it, then, as i've got one or two messages more to deliver yet." "kerect." the guard's hand was on the knob. he was in the act of turning it when he suddenly paused. "got the pass?" he inquired. "the what?" "the pass." "what pass?" "why, every night the cap'n gives out a new pass, and none go through this door without giving it." "he must have forgotten to give it to me," i returned, clenching my fists unseen by the guard. "it's all right, though, so let me out, as i'm in a hurry." "can't help it. hurry or no hurry, you can't get through here until the cap'n gives me orders to let you, or you give me the password." i set my teeth. with liberty before me i was not going to be balked in this way. "let me out!" i ordered. "i can't do it." "let me out, i say." "i dare not, and i won't 'thout the cap'n's orders. so you might's well be easy." from the interior of the densely dark place i now heard an angry oath. "i say, where are you?" cap was impatiently asking. there was no time to lose. "growler!" "aye, aye!" returned the guard. "didn't you say somebody was here to see me?" growler turned on me a glance filled with mistrust, and making a dive, tried to shoot several bolts. now was my last and only chance. i raised my clenched fist. spat! it took him squarely between the eyes, and felled him to the ground like a log. "a spy--a spy!" he yelled, as he was falling. cap heard the cry. toward the door he came flying, drawing his revolver on the way. but i was not slow in taking advantage of my opportunity, and seizing and turning the knob, i flung open the door and bounded out into the darkness. fearing pursuit, and knowing myself to be in a mighty hard neighborhood, where every man i might chance to meet would be more likely friends of the pirates than friends of mine, i dashed around the old building and flung myself down in a place of hiding. i heard a door open on that side of the building, only a few seconds later. the person who emerged was dick stanton, the false detective. i recognized him by a peculiar snuffle that had long been a settled habit of his. quick to think and act, i sprang to my feet, and dropping all fears of pursuit, followed him. when he had got into a section of the city where there was no chance of his being rescued by the pirates, i hastened my pace and finally reached his side. "how are you, dick?" he gave a start as i called him by name, and turning swiftly, glanced keenly at me, pausing beneath a street lamp that he might see me better. "is my disguise so good, then?" i asked, with a laugh, speaking in my natural tone. "howard!" "correct." "your disguise is perfect." "would my own mother know me?" "not a bit of it. how in the world do you manage to get yourself up so thoroughly?" "it's a knack of mine. i say, dick, got anything on hand?" "no." "lend me your revolvers, then, will you? mine i forgot when i left the house." "did you? that's funny, for i forgot mine also. i haven't got so good a weapon about me as a jack-knife." "then," and i spoke very sternly, and quickly drawing a revolver, placed it to his temple, "then consider yourself my prisoner." "wh-what do you mean?" he gasped. "i'll show you." "this must be a joke of yours," said the trembling wretch. "it will be a sorry joke for you," said i. "hold out your hands." "what for?" "hold 'em out." i pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver against his temple a little harder. he understood the significance of the movement, and loathfully put out his hands. "howard, i don't like this," he said, in an assumed angry tone, to carry out the idea that he considered it in the light of a practical joke. "you'll like it less before i get through with you," as i snapped the handcuffs on his wrists. "to be a thief is bad enough, but to call yourself a detective and then be in league with a gang of cut-throats, river-pirates and burglars, is far worse, and i give you my word that i intend to shove you as hard as i can." stanton's jaw fell. he was cornered and confounded. "lost!" he groaned. and then, with bent head, he walked dumbly along at my side. "howard, will you not let up on me?" he pleaded, humbly, his tone trembling with fear. "what will i gain by it?" i artfully said. "why, they always let the one go who turns state's evidence," he said, eagerly. "give me a chance, won't you?" how disgusted i was with stanton! a traitor to the force, he was no sooner found out than he was ready to turn traitor to his pals. "i'll promise you nothing," i coldly returned. "you can tell me what you please, and if i then think your information worthy of mercy to you, you shall have it." "you always were a good fellow," he said, fawningly, "and i'll trust you." "you must do exactly as i say." "i will," he promptly answered. an idea had occurred to me. it was, instead of taking stanton to the police station--where i would have been obliged to enter a specific charge against him--to take him to a secret place of confinement, and there keep him until i had bagged the river-pirates, penetrated to the black hole, and bursted up the villainous den. to reach the place i had in my mind's eye, it was necessary to retrace some of our steps, and we once again entered the rough precincts right along the east river. as stanton had been treacherous to the force of which he was a member, was willing to be treacherous toward his pals, so, now, in keeping with his character, he acted treacherously toward me. while passing a low drinking place--"boozing ken" was its popular name in that locality--he suddenly pursed up his lips and whistled sharply in a peculiar way, repeated a given number of times. i knew he intended it for a signal. i was not mistaken. within half a minute a little squad of men dashed out of the "boozing ken" to rescue him who had given this signal. chapter xi. in the mad-house. what were those whispered words of mcginnis' which so affected helen dilt? let them be what they might, there could be no doubt that they struck terror to her soul. she sank back in the corner of the conveyance, and audibly moaned. poor girl! she was a heroine in her way, and could have borne a great deal were it to advance some good cause, or because she merited it. but to be compelled to endure untold horrors, why and wherefore she knew not, was terrible. "why am i persecuted?" so she asked mcginnis a little later, appealingly, in a wavering voice. "can't tell you--don't know." "you are employed by that monster whom i saw in that cellar?" "i am. there's no good denying that." "has he no heart? have you no heart, that you conspire with him to persecute a friendless girl?" "i gets paid for it." so mcginnis dryly replied. "paid for it? then you lack conscience as well as heart. i beg of you, do not do this horrible thing. release me, restore me to my friends, and i will pray for you as long as i live." "pray for me? ha-ha!" laughed mcginnis. "that's a good one!" helen moaned bitterly. nothing could move the villain except money, and that helen did not have. mcginnis watched her for some time in silence, a gloating expression in his eyes. he had something in his mind, and presently it came out. "there is one way," he said to helen, "to escape this thing which you appear not to hanker after very much. "and that?" she exclaimed eagerly. "can't you guess?" as he asked the question he leered at her in a meaning way. the girl's heart sank. she knew at once what he meant. "what do you say?" helen made no reply, only shuddered and shrank away from the villain besides her. "it's your last chance," urged mcginnis. "and you'll not get another, i kin tell ye. once them doors close behind your back you're done for. got any answer for me?" "mercy!" gasped helen. "anything but that. pity me--spare me--do not stain your soul with a crime so dreadful as this." "yes or no, plain," growled mcginnis. "come now, speak up right sharp and don't waste any time in palavering. yes or no? and remember, it's your last chance. say 'yes,' and yer gits mcginnis for a husband, mcginnis as is known to be one of the sharpest and best men on a 'lay' in the country. say 'no,' and you're done for. into the mad-house you'll go, never to come out until you're carried out, feet first." she could never marry him, after he had imbrued his hands in the blood of the woman he now called his wife. she could never have married him anyhow. better the mad-house, better death itself, than that. there was nothing gained by attempting to fool him. suppose she did say 'yes,' and by means of it staved off incarceration in the mad-house for several days, what would it amount to in the end? nothing. had there been any reason for her to expect a rescue, she might have tried on the game. but she knew of no efforts being made to find her. then a shudder convulsed her frame. "yes," she could not say, now that a new thought came to her, even though she knew it would lead to her rescue before such time as mcginnis claimed the fulfillment of her pledge. the little word "yes" would be the death-warrant of a living human being--no matter how fallen and wicked, a human being all the same. to say "yes" would seal the fate of the woman mcginnis now called his wife. poor helen! she bent her head and hid her face in her hands, and wept bitterly as the closed carriage rolled swiftly onward. a strange fancy, a love for helen had taken root in the evil heart of mcginnis. that it possessed depth was evidenced by his being willing to brave the wrath of the man in whose hands his life rested, provided helen would become his wife. "it will be 'yes,' won't it, deary?" his tone was softer, more affectionate, more tender than we could have expected from such a man. he had leaned over toward helen, and as he asked the question, he placed one arm about her. with a shiver she sprang to her feet, wrenching herself from his grasp, and then she cried: "no, no! i would sooner die than marry you! help--_help_--help! oh, heaven! is there no one to help me?" like lightning came a change in mcginnis' tone and demeanor. "silence!" he hoarsely and angrily hissed. "silence, i say! do you hear me?" "help!" shrieked helen. "silence!" and now the villain threw both arms about her to pull her down. "help!" mcginnis wasted no more breath in senseless orders. down beside him he dragged the girl. bravely helen battled, but her strength was insufficient to maintain the struggle long. he seized her by the throat, and tightened his grasp on it. she gasped for breath. her brain reeled. consciousness finally fled. mcginnis now glanced from the carriage window. the driver perfectly understood his business, and at the instant of helen's first cry had commenced winding a tortuous course through the crooked streets. his prompt action prevented helen's cries procuring for her the help for which she had shrieked. "get there as quick as you can," mcginnis told the driver, and then sat there and watched helen until the carriage rolled up and paused before the gate of a private insane asylum. into this she was carried in her unconscious condition, the carriage departing as soon as she was removed from it. to the sour-visaged dame who was encountered in the hall mcginnis handed a note. "brown, eh?" as she read it. "well, the poor dear's room is ready. right this way with her." when she had been deposited on a bed mcginnis took his departure. at the door he paused for a last glance at the pale face of helen. "blast it!" he muttered. "it's too bad. such a plucky critter ought to a been married to a good feller like me, who could make somethin' outen her." an hour later helen recovered her senses with a wild start. opening her eyes she saw an evil-faced hag above her, who laughed, held up a big bloody pin, and remarked: "pins is better'n water to bring a pusson outen a fainting fit." helen tried to move. she found on doing so that her feet and hands were secured by stout cords to the four corners of the bedstead. "now, my gal," said her tormentor, "how is it agoin' to be? are you goin' for to be good an' docile, or are agoin' to give me a heap of trouble? there," jabbing the pin into helen, "how do you like that? that's what i allers does when my patients is bad." poor helen! a terrible fate opened before her. chapter xii. shadow. a keen pair of eyes scanned the faces of a party of men, all of them criminals of the worst class. those eyes belonged to shadow. on one man in the group his eyes rested long and earnestly, although covertly. "he's just about the build," shadow mentally said. "and he tallies with the description." with what description? we shall see in due course of time. "shall i dog him?" thought shadow, and then his eyes sought the floor and remained fastened there in a reflective way for some minutes. the result of his reflections was apparent when, the man having left the saloon, shadow followed him. "i have been disappointed a dozen times," shadow told himself, and then sighed. "if i am disappointed again it can make but little difference, for in the end i shall take a fitting revenge for that great wrong." and woglom, river-pirate, murderer, burglar, anything so long as it paid him well enough, was from that minute under the surveillance of as keen a pair of eyes as were ever set in human head. the villain was one of the gang connected with the old sugar-house, and thither shadow had tracked him. the mysterious detective determined to secretly gain access to the place, though that would have been a task to appall the heart of the stoutest detective on the force. but he accomplished it. having gained access to one of the shops in another part of the building, he at once turned his attention to the vaults. once these had connected from one end of the building to the other. some of the arched communicating doorways had been closed up by wooden barriers. these shadow found means to get the better of, and passing through, would replace the boards he loosened, so that they bore no signs of having been tampered with. at last he gained access to the vault beneath the portion of the building used as a "fence." it was not a hard job now for him to get up-stairs. he had only to wait his chance, and then quietly slide up the stairs communicating with the store-room above. once this was performed without being observed, he found no difficulty in concealing himself in the piles of old junk and goods of all descriptions with which the place was filled. there were times when the place was left without a single occupant. these occasions were few, but shadow did not fail to take advantage of them, and by moving various articles a little to this side or that, he constructed a little avenue or passage under the miscellaneous truck and plunder. on his hands and knees he used this passage, and he was in it when he heard the writer of these lines speaking to the guard, and saying that he was sent by dick stanton. hastily tearing a leaf from a blank-book, he had written the note, as well as he was able in the darkness, and had thrust up the hand containing it through one of the interstices in the big pile. anxiously he laid there, awaiting the result of that almost foolish venturing of my head into the lion's jaws. a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he heard the thud caused by growler's fall, followed by the deep-chested oaths of cap, who, in his rage, turned his revolver on the guard, and was within an ace of pulling the trigger. cap took it for granted that the spy was a detective, and supposed that the game was up; that the place would surely be in the hands of the police in an hour or two. "lock that door, and keep it locked!" he savagely ordered growler, and then started on a run for the other side of the building, hoping to catch stanton. meantime, however, the latter had taken his departure, to be nabbed a few minutes later. hastily cap got his portable valuables together, and prepared for flight at a moment's notice from the scouts sent out in all directions. no alarm came in. hours passed, daylight broke, and still they had not been molested. a message was privately sent to stanton, asking him to ferret out the true meaning of the strange visit, as well as who the visitor was. cap moved his money and valuables to a place of safety, and then sat down, assuming an air of injured innocence to fool the police with in case they came. meanwhile shadow was busy. off in one corner was a sort of room made by piling up boxes and rubbish. this cap used as an office, and here he took those with whom he wished to confer privately. having learned this, shadow had determined to extend the passage right up to the office, so that he could overhear what passed within. sometimes a natural crevice was made large enough for him to crawl through by a little exertion of strength, and the thing could be done without producing any noise whatever. like a mole beneath the surface he worked his way on toward the goal, knowing full well that i would not put my knowledge into use, now that i knew he was on the ground with some object in view. singular, was it not, that we should have so much confidence in each other? still we had. little by little cap's confidence began to return, and he was quite himself again when a note came from dick stanton. at least it was signed with stanton's name. "cap, everything's o. k. i gave a _true blue_ a message for you a couple of nights ago, about the same matter of which i spoke to you. "he didn't try to deliver it until the following night, the same when i was there. after getting inside he got scared and forced his way out by knocking down growler. don't worry at all over the affair, for i know what i am talking about. he's a good fellow, no coward, and once he is given a show will do some good work." "dick stanton." the explanation was satisfactory to cap, although he thought it a little singular that the note should be shoved under the door, instead of delivered personally. the scouts were called in. work was resumed; in other words, cap's gang again began pillaging on the river and around the harbor. and cap had confidential talks with his men in the office. as silently as the mole, which we have just likened shadow to, he made his way toward the office, until, at last, he drew so near as to be able to distinguish any ordinary toned conversation. still closer he wished to go. "i must get near enough to overhear a whisper," he told himself. "out of his own mouth must the monster i am after convict himself." and closer he got. and then his steady successes were offset by a disaster that caused even his face to blanch. the stuff he moved settled and closed up the passage behind him, hemmed him into a little space of two feet by six and high enough for him to kneel in, and here he must stay until released, for the stuff just there was too heavy for him to even budge. he must reveal himself or starve to death! chapter xiii. in a bad box. shadow was in a fix. and it was a fix as bad as it was strange. the pile of old junk through which the passage ran had settled down, closing it up. retreat was now an impossibility. he must either find a way out of the narrow prison he now found himself in by forging ahead, or else must either reveal himself or starve to death like a rat in a trap. he was in a bad box and no mistake. for the present he was compelled to lie perfectly quiet where he was, for the noise of the pile in settling had drawn to the spot several of the den's inmates. cap was seized with a fit of ill-humor over the occurrence, which he accepted as evidence that the miscellaneous stuff had been carelessly stowed. "come--come, cap?" shadow heard one of the men rather impatiently say. "you've said enough now, so haul in your horns, for i, for one, won't stand any more." they were all in one boat, to adopt a much-used simile. and a certain number of them belonged to a co-operative sort of an association, and consequently were on an even footing. over these men cap had no authority, save that which he had acquired from the fact of his being a very important man in the association. so now, when spoken to in this plain manner, cap swallowed his wrath, and discontinued his cursing the men with him. he said that he was afraid that the noise would attract attention that might prove unwelcome. but that was not the only reason for his anger at the settling down of the big pile. another and stronger reason was that he had not a few articles of considerable value stowed away in crannies at the base of the big pile of junk. these things were breakable, and for all he knew then, had been completely destroyed. hiding his mingled anxiety and wrath, he now directed his efforts toward drawing the men away from the spot, and succeeded soon in doing so. the moment shadow heard them take their departure he commenced moving about, examining into the facts of his singular imprisonment. he found himself in a place high enough to permit his crawling about on his hands and knees, and about two feet in width and ten in length. had it not been that he received a certain quantity of air through the interstices of the pile, he must have suffocated. as it was, it took only a very few minutes after the settling down occurred before the air contained in the narrow place became foul, and really unfit to breathe. but it contained enough oxygen to support life, and once satisfied of this, shadow calmly pursued the task he was at. before long, however, cap returned to inquire into the condition of his hidden articles of value, and shadow was compelled to again become as quiet as a mouse. he was more than satisfied with the result, since cap's examination involved the moving of a number of articles, and the disposition of others in a manner which promised to make it much easier for the mysterious detective to extricate himself from his predicament. cap grunted. and it was a grunt that indicated relief and satisfaction. although endangered, the articles concerning which he was solicitous had not been injured. once more he took his departure, and again shadow made good use of his time. the change which cap had made permitted the better ingress of air into shadow's prison-pen, and he could now breathe more easily. not a few times was he compelled to pause by the coming of some of the gang, and it required hours of careful labor before he had assured himself of having found a safe means of exit from his narrow cell. but he did not take immediate advantage of this means of escape. it would not have been in accordance with his plans. once having emerged he would have been compelled to walk some distance in open sight, by a much used path, to reach the stairs descending to the vaults beneath. it was all he could hope for, could he once traverse the distance without being observed. he was hungry and thirsty, to be sure, and stood sadly in need of rest. but to have reached the vaults and gone through them to procure food, then return and make the passage again to his hiding-place, and then hope to reach the stairs by a third passage of the open space, would have been to hug a foolish hope to his breast. no, he could not hope to more than once successfully make the passage of the open space without being observed. so it was practically a question to go hungry and thirsty, or give up all idea of carrying his quest to completion. the latter he would not do, until absolutely driven to it. he decided on going hungry. only a light packing-case now stood between him and liberty--that is, liberty as far as emerging from his prison was concerned. having moved the box in and out to be sure that it did not bind anywhere, and that he would not be delayed when the time had come, in his judgment, to beat a retreat, he then turned his attention toward extending the passage in the direction of the office, in pursuance of his original intention. it was already so close to the office that he could overhear what was said, although not as clearly at all times as he wished. conquering his rebellious stomach, which clamored for food, shadow stuck to the task he had set for himself. his pluck was properly rewarded, for he at last gained a position in which the lowest-toned and most confidential conversation, if above a low whisper, could be overheard. and in the office there was a gathering not long after he had gained this point of vantage. than that company of men in the so-called office, it would have been a next to impossible task to have found an equal number of deep-dyed scoundrels or red-handed villains. there was a full moon, and the night was a clear one, and the river-pirates do not choose such nights in which to ply their vocation. as men in honest callings in life will boast sometimes of what they have done or can do, so villains when in secret quarters, and believing themselves beyond prying ears, will boast of their rascally feats. an exceptional good humor and communicativeness seemed to have descended on this occasion on the party in the office, for they revealed many secret chapters of their lives to each other in illustrating their various exploits. one fellow told, with a hearty laugh, how, when engaged in making away with a coil of rope, he had shot down the captain of the sloop, the mate and the cook. "it was just--pop--pop--pop--in reg'lar one, two, three style, and down they went. they all 'kicked,' every one of 'em. mebbe there wasn't a howl? well, i just guess! but the police never yet have found out who was responsible for them there 'stiffs.'" another had even a more horrible story to tell of robbery and bloodshed. another owned up to have "laid out" six men since the day he first "gripped the graft." and every word was drank eagerly in by a pair of acute and hungering ears. shadow was highly excited, and his face was filled with an expectant light. he fully believed that one among the men gathered there was the will-o'-the-wisp which he had so long been following, and he was waiting until this one should utter a word that would commit him, one word by which he would fasten on himself a crime by which shadow had sworn solemnly to avenge in as terrible a manner as was within his power. chapter xiv. dick stanton. "you treacherous hound!" i angrily and indignantly exclaimed, as i gave stanton a hearty shaking when i learned to a certainty that he had given a signal to call a crowd of desperadoes to his assistance. as the roughs began to pile out of the darkened saloon, the false detective gave vent to a nervous laugh. he was afraid he would not be rescued, and yet did not see how it could be possible for me to retain him as a prisoner in the face of these friends of his. i was, however, determined to do so. i was considerably riled up just about then, and could have laid down my life rather than have let him escape. i set my teeth. through them i hissed: "stanton, you cannot escape me! you know me well in private life, and know that i am a determined man--a man of my word. now, then, i place the muzzle of my revolver to your head, and by all that is holy i swear to shoot you rather than let you escape." stanton gasped. a hollow moan followed, and he became paler than a corpse. he knew me for a man of my word, and when i had thus spoken he was positive that any attempt at rescue would cause me to keep my word good. suddenly he brightened. his tone was hopeful. "how can i help it now?" he said; "i am helpless now, either one way or the other." there was a ring of something like triumph in his tone. "not so," i said sternly. "order them back. you can do that, and must do it! you know the alternative." stanton quivered and shook in his boots. he was in a bad fix. instead of having the upper-hand of me, as he expected, he was precisely under my thumb. he saw all the ins and outs of his predicament at a glance. he looked up at me in an uneasy, scared manner, and then at the help he had summoned by that secret cry of distress. he knew not what to do. but decide he must, and that without further delay. by this time the villainous gang he had summoned were beginning to close in on me. i pressed the muzzle more firmly against his temple, and i heard his teeth chatter. "go back, boys!" so he implored them. "and furthermore, do not reveal your identity," i sternly ordered him. the gang halted in surprise. they were stumped by his pleading with them not to make any attempt at rescuing him. "what in thunder did you give the secret cry for, then?" demanded a gruff and angry voice. "who are you, anyhow? give your number." "do it at your peril!" i hissed in stanton's ear. he understood the significance of the slightly harder pressure of the deadly weapon against his temple. i grimly maintained silence, save when i whispered a few threatening words in the ear of the false detective. it was a moment of quiet, yet intense excitement. bound by a terrible oath to answer that signal of distress, the villains had rushed out to the rescue. yet here was the man who gave it now begging them not to interfere. they were puzzled, and knew not what to do. "give your number," was again called out by the same gruff voice as before. "at your peril!" so i again breathed into the false detective's ear, and he made no reply. "now, then, let's get away from this spot," i said, in a low tone; and still holding firmly to my prisoner, i began slowly retreating, taking good care always to have an eye on the gang, who were undecided what to do. i quickly put a different aspect on the state of affairs when i got a chance, and i gave the night-call for a policeman. the gang continued to follow. had stanton given his number, they were ready to rush in and rescue him. but for a good reason he did not give his number, and when two blue-coats, having heard my summons, swiftly approached the spot, the villainous crew's indecision vanished as well as themselves. again warning stanton not to reveal his identity, i met and satisfied the guardians of the peace as to who i was. they offered to accompany me to the station with my prisoner. i declined their proffered services. having been assured that i considered all danger past, they saluted and returned to their respective beats, and i resumed my course with my prisoner. stanton was very chopfallen. i had nipped his scheme of rescue in the bud, and he knew that he was now in for it. his action, he felt sure, would kill all sympathy i might have previously had for him. since his plan had failed, he knew it would have been better for him had he never attempted to put it into execution. i kept silence. and stanton never said a word. i reached the place at last where i wanted to keep him in confinement. it was at the house of a deputy sheriff, who had built several strong cells in his cellar, for occasions similar to the present. and it not infrequently happens that when a detective has captured a particular prisoner it is a decided benefit to be able to keep the capture a profound secret for a while. the place afforded the means of keeping the capture a secret. fortunately the deputy was at home, and i soon had stanton locked up in one of the cells. "well," said i, as i entered the cell with the false detective, "here you are, in a safe place, where the dogs won't bite you." "what do you intend doing with me?" the rascal tremblingly asked me. "whatever i think you may deserve having done with you," was the grim reply. "howard, i--i--didn't think any one was in that saloon, or may be i wouldn't a-given that signal," he faltered. "you know you lie!" he winced. he saw he could not fool or bamboozle me in the slightest degree. "now, then," i said, presently, "are you going to make a clean breast of it?" "yes," he loathfully answered. the black hole, so called, crossed my mind. "who did you have in the black hole?" "black hole! what black hole?" "you can't come that. i know pretty much all about the old sugar-house and cap, and the kind of a business you carry on there." "how did you find out?" "never mind that. the black hole is in the cellar under the store-house?" "yes," he admitted. "you had a prisoner in it?" "yes." "who was he?" "i don't know." "describe him." "a young fellow." "a young fellow, inside of twenty, and of a slim build." the description tallied. "when did you last see him?" "just about dark." "he was safe then?" "he was." "could he have escaped from the black hole, think you?" stanton gave a great start. "it is possible," he said. "they thought it a mighty strong place, but i didn't. a fellow with any grit could have dug his way out." that settled it to my satisfaction. shadow had been the prisoner in the black hole. that he had got out somehow i had received ample proof by the hand thrust up through the pile of junk holding that note for me. i pumped stanton for all he was worth. he kept back many things, i knew; but i pretended to believe that he had made a clean breast of it. i had seen him glance about his cell, and knew that he hoped to be able to make his escape. "ain't you a-goin' to take these irons off?" he inquired, holding up his wrists, just as i was about to take my departure. "not at all." "why?" "i don't intend that you shall have your hands free to dig your way out," with which i left him, decidedly crestfallen in demeanor. a few nights later i spent the entire period of darkness in the neighborhood of the old sugar-house. leaving just before dawn, i was on my way home, when, as i drew near a corner, i was suddenly confronted by a slenderly-built mulatto. gliding up before me, he extended his hand, and uttered one word: "shadow!" chapter xv. a fiend in human shape. poor helen dilt! better, much better, would it be for her to die at once, if she was to be called on to long endure the torments that were devised and executed by the ugly-faced hag who presided over that private mad-house. the hag was literally a fiend. and a fiend in human form at that. we speak of the natural love that resides in the human heart, that is an indestructible part of it, that is born with it, and never departs until the member has ceased to pulse, and lies silent and heavy in the heart that contains it. this fancy is a pretty one. few of us are there who do not try to paint humanity as more humane than it really is. instead of love being the natural resident of the human heart, it is something that is cultivated. left to itself, the feelings of the human heart are as savage and fierce as those that reside in the hearts of the indians of the plains, or of the tigers in the eastern jungles. the old hag was one in whose heart tender feelings had never been cultivated, and she was not burdened with sensations of sympathy or pity. on the contrary, the natural inclinations of a cruel nature had been cultivated until it had become callous to all sensations of pleasure save at the sight of the sufferings of some living, breathing thing. there is money in a private mad-house run by unscrupulous persons, and several evil men had advanced the money and set this human fiend up in business. few people have an idea of how easy it is, when there is a splendid property to reward the horrible deed, for relations to get a wealthy member of the family adjudged insane. a single eccentricity is sufficient to do the thing. and once the person is declared insane, into a private mad-house he is inveigled, never again to see the light of day. and there he is kept until he is actually driven mad, or until death steps in and releases him. the old hag had given herself, and delighted in, the name of tige. it was a corruption or contraction of tigress. and it was into such hands that poor helen dilt had fallen! again and again did the hag stick a big pin into helen. and again and again did she exultantly laugh at the evidences of pain which the poor creature could not avoid displaying. "will you be quiet and docile?" a jab with the pin. "will you?" another jab. "will you?" another prod with the bright pin, whose point was reddened with helen's blood. "will you, i say?" still another jab. "yes--yes," helen almost shrieked. "it's a good thing for you if you will bear your promise in mind," said tige, grimly. "i always make people regret breaking their word with me." helen was left for some hours stretched on the bed, her arms and feet extended and secured by ropes to the four corners of the bed. there was agony to be endured in even this quiet position. place a pound weight on the palm of your hand, and endeavor to keep that hand extended, for, say five minutes. can you do it? you think you can, that is if you have never tried it. try it now. you will not be able to do it. long before the five minutes have expired your arm will be a pathway for a succession of spasms of pain such as you have never felt before. all that you can voluntarily endure, quadrupled and more, helen was forced to pass through because of the strained position of her arms. it was terrible. the pains that shot through her arms were frightful for a while, and then the intensity diminished and her arms became numb and felt as if dead. she could no longer feel the cords so tightly fastened to her wrists. her arms were perfectly bloodless, and to all intents and purposes were dead. they might almost have been amputated without causing her any pain. food was finally brought her by a male attendant, a short, thick-set, bull-headed individual, with the most brutal expressioned face of any that helen had ever seen. he released her arms, and then lifted her by the shoulders to a sitting posture on the bed. her hands were useless. she could not raise them, could scarcely more than barely move her fingers. the attendant laughed gleefully. "don't they feel bully, eh?" he said, as he noted helen's face twitch with pain. what anguish she presently suffered! the tingling and burning as the blood began to flow back into her arms were something awful. "tige understands the 'biz' if any one ever did," said the bullet-headed attendant, laughing gayly. "but, i say, ain't yer hungry? 'cos if yer ain't, there's no good of my stayin' here with this grub, which yer hain't touched these last ten minutes." but, although he badgered helen, he did not take his departure with the food. he knew better than that. tige had ordered the food taken to helen, and if she cared to eat it he dared not leave until she had done so. the old hag wanted to do nothing as yet that could in any way injure helen or disable her. she made a point of doing with her patients exactly as was ordered by her customers, and brown had as yet not told her what he wanted done with helen. brown was expected when night had again fallen, and the hag's expectations were not amiss. brown came. at once he was closeted with the hag. "come, brown, spit out just what you want," tige impatiently said, some minutes later. "i positively refuse to act on hints, so you might's well say plumply what you want." brown was thoughtful. it was his usual style to make people take what he wanted for granted, as in the case of mcginnis. this enabled him to lay back in his chair and say: "i did not tell you to do anything of the kind. if you chose to put that interpretation on my words i can't help it. it wasn't my fault that you did." he was a wily man. but tige was equally as wily. her safety lay in forcing her customers to commit themselves, and knowing that she would take no steps as regarded any patient without having received point-blank orders. brown was helen's uncle. property of hers, which he had robbed her of, he managed to hold himself without question. but he dared not sell it or try to transfer it. if helen were insane, then it would be policy to prove her identity, be appointed her guardian, and then when she died, the court would decide that he was the legal heir, and confirm him in his title to the property. it was this which he was now conning over in his mind. "well?" from tige. "the girl is insane?" "of course," with a curl of the lip. "i should like to carry her before some big physicians, and have them certify to the fact." "in other words, you want me to drive the girl to real insanity? is that the plain english of it--yes or no?" "yes." "and if it can't be done?" "she must be put out of the way unless you can drive her mad," brown said, in a low tone. "fix your own price for the job; i only ask that you do it well." this was the horrid compact that they entered into regarding helen. poor helen! poor--poor helen! with fiendish zest the hag set about her horrid work without loss of time. that very night helen was gagged to stifle her cries, and was securely bound to the bed, after which tige amused herself by stripping the victim's feet, and then pulling the nails from her toes with a pincers. and during the terrible ordeal, the sweat-drops of awful agony rolled down helen's face, and she writhed and strained, but in vain, to burst the bonds which held her. chapter xvi. disappointed again. with ears wide open, and with an expression of intense interest, shadow remained stretched in the narrow passage in the pile of old junk, listening to the words that fell from the lips of the villains gathered there in the office. he was all expectancy. he fully believed that one among the rascals could solve the mystery which he had so long been endeavoring to probe. would this particular fellow tell of this particular rascally exploit? shadow hoped so. as time passed by, however, without one word being said, the mysterious detective began to grow impatient, since the particular thing about which he wished to learn was not mentioned. however, he paid strict attention to the many stories of rascality which they told. the knowledge thus derived might be of use some time. more than once the secret listener shuddered on hearing the tales that were told. it seemed to him as if all the crimes that were ever committed could not sum up as large a total as these men boasted of having committed. and, at the moment when his cheeks were paling over some horrid relation, he could hear the whole gang joining in a hearty laugh. that they were able to laugh over descriptions of bloodshed and death was ample evidence of the manner of men they were, and shadow more fully realized the peril which surrounded him so long as he should remain in the old sugar-house. "that's the list of the things i've done, and never been nabbed yet," said one, as he finished a story of crime. "you've heard all my exploits," said another. "and mine." "and mine." shadow sighed. not one word concerning that of which he wished to hear had been uttered. he had waited expectantly--had hoped until the very last boastful tale had been told, but had hoped in vain. and now the sigh that he gave utterance to was filled with disappointment. his head sadly drooped, and he felt as if he hardly cared whether his presence was discovered or not. repeated disappointments had taken away his courage for the time being. it was now very late. morning was not so very far distant, and the villainous party broke up and left the place, to separate and depart for their various places of abode. at last an intense silence rested over the place, and except the sentinel at the door and cap in a distant corner, in a partitioned-off room, shadow was alone in the big place. reckless, and disheartened, and discouraged as he had felt, he had been wise enough to remain so silent as not to betray himself. up to the present moment he had not stirred. but now he shifted his position a little to a more comfortable one, and became lost in thought. he had been disappointed before--had been cast down, but had recovered both confidence and courage. why could he not do so now? so he asked himself. patience and perseverance never yet failed to meet with a proper reward, he told himself, and presently he began to brighten up--became more hopeful. was there any use in longer remaining here in the old sugar-house? clearly not, he thought. then to bid it farewell. he backed down the passage until he reached the spot where cap had so disarranged the "stuff" as to leave only an empty box between the passage and the open floor beyond. after listening a minute, shadow then softly shoved back the box, without making any noise, and next crawled out of his cramped quarters. before attempting to move away from the spot, he was sensible enough to wait until he had got some fresh breath, and had limbered himself up a little. perhaps five minutes later, he started toward the stairs that descended to the vaults below. it was necessary to approach within a dozen or fifteen feet of the sentinel. knowing of the latter's presence, shadow exercised great caution as he drew near him. had the sentinel been wide-awake and bright, shadow could hardly have made the passage undetected. but the fellow was nodding in a state of half-slumber, and failed to hear the light-footed detective. shadow safely reached the head of the stairs, and commenced descending. the descent was safely accomplished, and once in the vault, all danger was passed. on stepping forth into the streets, his first care was to visit a restaurant; and how he did eat. "i say," remarked the waiter, after having received a third and a fourth order from shadow, "i say," and his eyes were big as saucers in his surprise, "be you holler clean down to your heels?" "i'm hungry, that's all." "hungry? well, i should say so." on receiving a fifth order from the detective, the waiter, before filling it, took the proprietor of the place into a consultation. shadow's grub bill was of a pretty good size, and from his appearance the waiter was in doubt as to whether he was good for the amount, let alone a greater one. "show your hand, young feller," remarked the waiter, on returning, before placing the ordered edibles before shadow. the latter understood, and a quiet smile began playing about his lips. placing his hand in his pocket he took out and ostentatiously laid down a five-dollar bill. "good enough!" grunted the waiter, setting down the plates. "fill up the cavity. i guess i kin fetch the grub as fast as you kin stow it away." with shadow's departure from the restaurant we must drop him for a while. but we again introduce him, disguised as a mulatto, as he glided up to the writer of these lines, and, with extended hand, simply said: "shadow!" was this shadow? i could hardly believe my eyes. adept as i was myself in the arts of disguise, if this was the mysterious detective, he was able to equal if not even outdo my ability. "shadow!" so he repeated, when i allowed a full minute to pass without having spoken a word. "are you shadow?" he made a disdainful gesture, and in an impatient tone repeated that one word. "i want you to answer me a few questions," i said. an instant later i could no longer doubt his identity. he raised his hand, and i saw him shake his index finger in that peculiar way, as i saw him do on the occasion of our first acquaintance, when i saw his shadow do the same thing. but there was a difference, since, on the present occasion, the finger was shaken at me. then he remained holding out his hand, and i could not but know what it was he wanted. it was his share of the reward, which he had not yet claimed. i found that to ask him any questions would only result in angering him, so i placed a roll of bills in his hands, which i had kept ready and waiting for him. without a word of thanks or farewell, he turned on his heel, and within the space of a minute had vanished from my sight. our meeting had occurred on a corner, before the doors of a liquor saloon. several hard characters had watched us, and by aid of the lamp on the corner had seen that it was a roll of bills that i handed shadow, although, of course, they knew neither of us. instantly they took a hasty departure by means of a back entrance, their object being to attack and rob the mysterious detective. by means of an alley-way they headed him off, and lying in ambush, sprang out upon his approach, and flung themselves toward him. chapter xvii. helen's torture. bound so tightly that she could not rise--could not resist, helen dilt was put to the torture by the cruel hag, who had received orders to either drive her actually mad or kill her. helen at first had screamed. a continuance of this was prevented by the hag, who gagged helen most effectually. tige was a fiend. a fiend! the word has not sufficient meaning to describe what she really was. if satan ever quits his sulphurous house to take up his residence in a particular human being, he certainly was residing then in the earthly form of the terrible woman who presided over that private mad-house, and was the arbiter of the fates of so many beings who were helpless in her vile clutches. and torture! and the sight of human agony! she loved them. she loved to hear the shrieks of agony that she wrung from her victims. as prudence made it necessary to still these sounds by gags, the fiendish woman refined her cruelties the more, that the loss of this horrid music might be compensated for by the greater writhings of her victims. regarding helen, her instructions were as plain as they were fiendish! "drive her mad or kill her!" in few cases was she allowed so broad a latitude of action, and she proceeded to helen's torture with the same zest that a gourmand exhibits when he sits down before a table that groans beneath the weight of some particular thing which he loves to exercise his teeth upon. helen was fastened to the bed securely, and, as we have said, was gagged. and then, as stated in a previous chapter, tige amused herself by taking a pincers and dragging out the nails of helen's toes. kind heaven, what agony that is! it is terrible! terrible! yes, and awful and horrible as well! how helen suffered! how she strained--but in vain--to burst the bonds which held her! how tige chuckled! how she gloated! how she made helen writhe and moan! the dewdrops of agony were not long in making their appearance on the victim's forehead--great, large drops, which rolled off and down her face to make room for others. "ha, ha!" laughed tige, showing her teeth like a snarling dog; "oh-ho! don't i love this! groan and moan and twist and squirm; it is all a feast to me." and helen suffered so much that she would have hailed death as a welcome release. aye, she even prayed that she might die. she had nothing to hope for; rescue she thought impossible, or it would have been accomplished before this. to die would be the easiest way for her. "there, how did that feel?" tige asked the question with a chuckle, as she ripped another nail out of the living flesh. feel! helen was writhing in anguish. she made one more effort to burst her bonds. she strained until the veins were swollen out on her face and neck like whipcords, and seemed on the point of bursting. but the work of tying her had been too well done, and she finally fell back in a state of utter exhaustion, with moan after moan coming in a sort of ripple. "what!" exclaimed the fiendish hag; "make such a fuss about a little one like that, which came out so easily? why, i should have considered that one a pleasure. just wait until i get hold of the big one. ha, ha! that's where the fun comes in. you see, it's more deeply rooted, and i've seen some i wasn't strong enough to pull until i rigged up a sort of tackle i have for the purpose." helen shuddered. and well she might. poor girl! it was monstrous that the law should permit the existence of such places--such private mad-houses--where such infernal wickedness can be enacted. tige was grinning like a hyena. she made one or two feints of pursuing her hideous work, and then halted to gloat over the shudder which each time thrilled her victim's frame. at last she fastened the pincers on the nail of one of helen's great toes. she gave a strong twitch. helen groaned. the human hyena gave a stronger pull. helen lifted herself to the limit her bonds permitted, and flung herself against the ropes, which would not break, but held her with cruel rigor. again tige pulled. and this time pulled direct, and with an amount of strength which could not have dwelt in a less sinewy frame than hers. then she twisted the pincers. had she been free from her gag, helen must have shrieked so loudly that she would have been heard for blocks around. again tige pulled direct. she meanwhile kept watch of helen's face. her victim could stand no more. this tige saw. "now!" she hissed. then, exerting her strength, she threw it all into that one motion, and---- as the nail was dragged out by the roots, helen uttered one long, quivering moan, and then laid there pallid and motionless. one would have thought her dead. but tige's experience told her different. she knew that helen had only fainted. and she knew, also, that the suffering she had endured would produce a nervous shock from which helen might never recover. tige made no attempt to release helen from her bonds. she merely loosened the gag a little, that she might breathe easier. then flinging a pail of water over her victim, as she might have flung a worthless bone to a cur, tige took her departure, allowing helen to return to consciousness or die, she did not much care which. but she did not forget to take with her the nails she had extracted. reaching the door of her own room, secured by a number of strong and elaborately made locks, she paused to unlock it, and then entered. at one side of the room was a bed, in the center a table, in one recess a sofa, which, in addition to a few chairs, made up the furniture of the room, save a small glass-front cabinet that was attached to the wall. the door of this she unlocked. glancing in, she gave vent to a chuckle that was perfectly horrid. what was it--perhaps you ask--that produced this chuckle on tige's part? nothing more nor less than a few score of human toe-nails, dragged out by the roots as helen's had been. they were the horrible mementoes that drew back to her memory those whom she had tortured in days gone by. and to this collection she now had an addition to make, an addition furnished at the expense of a poor girl who had never wronged a person in the world, who had never made herself an enemy, but who simply stood in an evil man's way to a fortune. helen did not die. no, she lived, ardently as she prayed that she might not. and of a strength of character that is unusual in a woman, she did not suffer as great a nervous shock as tige had anticipated. "i guess it'll have to be 'kill her!'" the hyena-like woman muttered to herself. "but i'll not do that until i've had a little more fun with her." fun! if fun it was to her, she had plenty of it. but to her victim it was something far--far different! chapter xviii. puzzled. several days after meeting shadow in his disguise of a mulatto, i was the recipient of a letter which puzzled me not a little. the text was simple enough. the letter read: "mr. howard.--herewith i return you the money you so kindly loaned me on an occasion that was filled with sadness for me. you will remember the occasion to which i refer--when tom smith was killed, and you so generously provided me with the means of interring him in mother earth. "that i am deeply grateful you may rest assured, and perhaps at some future time i may be able to testify to the depth of my gratitude. "accept my thanks with the money i return, a kind of interest on the loan, which i am satisfied you will best like. "yours gratefully, "nellie millbank." a very nicely worded and straightforward letter. don't you think so? of course you do. then, why was i puzzled? simply because when i received the letter, and before opening it, i said as i glanced at the penmanship of the address: "another letter from shadow," and then, on opening it, found that it was not. i had preserved shadow's letters or notes, and these i now brought out and compared with this epistle from nellie millbank. the penmanship was "as like as two peas." now, then, if you have read the foregoing chapters with any interest, you can see why i was puzzled. was nellie millbank the mysterious little detective? as i said, provided your interest has been deep enough, you know that i had strong reasons, and many of them, for supposing shadow to be none other than young mat morris. let us recount some reasons. i had taxed shadow with being mat morris, and he had not denied it. then, i had paid shadow five hundred dollars, and had afterwards seen the very bills themselves in the hands of mat's mother. this last circumstance was of itself strong evidence that mat and shadow were one and the same person. then there was the manner shadow had of carrying himself--mat morris' style exactly. a person's manner of bearing himself, and his mode of walking, and the use of his hands and head when speaking, are things that no disguise can hide. knowing this, i had been ready to almost take an oath as to the true identity of shadow. yet here comes a letter that completely upsets all my faith in my powers of penetration. if the writing of nellie millbank and of shadow was the same, then mat evidently was not shadow. and if mat was not shadow, who was? nellie millbank? it was barely possible. that slip of a girl do what i knew shadow was capable of doing, as well as what he had done? it was not to be credited. and yet--the similarity of the handwriting. how was that to be accounted for? i thought of mrs. morris. i intended to go and show her one of the shadow letters, and inquire if she knew the writing. when i arrived at the house where mrs. morris lived, it was to learn that she had moved away early that morning. where to, nobody knew. balked in this direction, i turned my steps toward the house of the deputy sheriff, in a cell beneath whose house, it will be remembered, i had in confinement dick stanton, the false detective. no sooner did the treacherous detective see me than he began whining like a whipped cur, and begged like a dog to be let go, or be dealt with mercifully. if i would only release him, he said, he would "give away" his pals of the sugar-house, besides putting into my hands numbers of clews in connection with various crimes. "and they won't be false scents," he said earnestly. "i'll deal square with you, howard, i swear i will. it will get promotion for you, sure, if you bag the game i can put you on the track of." i had, however, paid him a visit for a particular purpose, and evading all his questions and turning a deaf ear to his entreaties, i told him i wanted to know if the prisoner who had been confined in the black hole was male or female. he looked at me in surprise. "male or female?" he said. "yes." "male, of course." "you are sure of it?" "sure of it? why, he was a man just as much as you are a man, or i am one." "_you_ are not a man--except in name," i rejoined (and the words made him wince) "so do not bring yourself into the comparison." i made him give me a close description of the prisoner who had been confined in the black hole, and after listening to it, i could have no manner of doubt that the person was other than mat morris. "and," volunteered stanton, "moreover, he was a surly sort of a customer. we couldn't get a word out of him." this tallied with shadow. i left stanton still ironed, despite his prayers to at least have the handcuffs taken off. "you deserve all the punishment you are enduring," i bitingly told him. i no longer doubted that mat morris and the mysterious detective were one and the same person. all the evidence pointed toward that conclusion. it was a stickler. i dropped in to see a writing expert, and after examining them, he said that the two specimens might or might not be written by the same person. "it is penmanship as taught in our public schools," he said. "pupils are drilled into a set way of forming their letters, as a consequence of which there is a great similarity in writing until the persons have been for years out of school." that settled it. the similarity was one caused by education, and i was more than ever convinced of mat and shadow being one individual. i went home in a thoughtful mood. there i found a letter awaiting me from the chief, asking why i had not reported in a certain matter which had been placed in my hands. i felt conscience-stricken. in my great interest in what concerned shadow i had neglected my duty, to which the last few hours should have been devoted, instead of to an endeavor to find out whether shadow was mat morris, or nellie millbank, or somebody else. immediately i donned the disguise in which i had acted a part, and wound my way into the confidence of woglom and his companion, by means of which i had learned of the prisoner in the black hole. at once i started out. in their usual place of resort i, that evening, encountered the precious pair of rascals. they were rather shy of me at first, not liking my sudden and unaccounted-for absence, but an off-hand manner and a few drinks fixed matters all right. after that they seemed to take to me amazingly, and i noticed them glancing first at me and then at each other with an askance expression. i knew that something was afoot, and patiently waited to hear what it was. after awhile they withdrew to a little distance and began to earnestly converse, concerning me, i was quite positive. such indeed was the truth. they were discussing the advisability of taking me into their confidence, and making me a party in a villainous scheme that was already hatched. "want to go into a big job with us?" woglom asked me, on their resuming their seats. "certainly, if there's enough 'swag' to pay for the trouble," i replied. "what is the line?" my answer satisfied them, and they unfolded their scheme. it was a scheme into which i entered for a purpose; they were to put it into execution that night, and i accompanied them--accompanied them into as great a peril as ever threatened my life. i shudder, even now, when i think of that night. chapter xix. in deadly peril. never shall i forget the adventures of the night when i accompanied woglom and his pal on that expedition. i have been in many ticklish places, but i never got into one where i was worse stumped than i was that night. the circumstances were very peculiar, and the knowledge that at any moment i might be---- but, perhaps, it would be more intelligible to the reader, did i begin at the beginning and narrate the incidents of that escapade. while the pair of precious villains pretended to have taken me fully into their confidence, they had not really done so. they were going to break into a house. this much was truth. but, as i understood them, the house was in the suburbs--somewhere in the neighborhood of fort washington, i took it. it was because i believed that vicinity contained the intended scene of robbery, that i so readily consented to accompany them. i would probably be left outside to keep guard, and would take advantage of the circumstance to call the police, and be on hand to bag them when they came out with their plunder. it was not until after we had got started that i was undeceived. i then learned that the "suburbs," as they meant it, was in new jersey, on the line of the central railroad. a train left near midnight. this was the train we were to take, to reach which we were compelled to somewhat hasten our pace. i was puzzled to know what to do. i might have called for assistance on the policemen we passed, and have taken them into custody. but this would have been worse than useless under the circumstances. the rascals could not be held and punished because it could not be proved that they had _intended_ committing a robbery. men cannot be sent to prison for intention of wrong. they must be proved to have committed the wrong. should i back out of accompanying them? so i asked myself. while still in a state of uncertainty we reached the ferry. "i will go along," i mentally decided. "i may be able to give an alarm and collar them there as well as if it had taken place here." and so i went. we reached the little town after a short ride in the cars, a little town which i shall not name, but which is noted for its handsome residences, and its wealthy people. while on a tramp through the country woglom had applied at the house for something to eat. he was provided with food, and asked if he did not wish to work. he said "yes." he was put to work cleaning out the cellar of the house. such an opportunity was not to be thrown aside. he made a diagram of the interior of the house, and located its rooms and the furniture in them with an accuracy that comes only by practice. this was the house that we were on the way to "crack" that night. we reached it. passing by, we paused at a little distance to hold a consultation. the house was all dark and silent, the sky was somewhat clouded, and everything seemed favorable for our undertaking. i was given a bottle of chloroform, and on my pleading ignorance, was instructed how to use it. there was no need here of any one remaining outside to watch. we were all to enter. when woglom was in the house, he had made use of a "crooked" man's never-absent companion, a screw-driver. with this he had loosened the screws of the iron buttons which secured the cellar windows, which were then left so poorly secured that a slight push would be sufficient to open them. consulting his diagram by the light of a match, woglom located the particular window which he considered it most advisable to attack. with soft steps we crept around the house, keeping close to it. we reached the window. woglom went down on his knees before it. listening a minute, and finding everything continued quiet, the master-villain applied a gentle pressure to the window. it did not give. he pressed harder. still it remained firmly secured. harder still he pressed. then i heard him utter an oath. by some manner, or by accident, the inmates had discovered that the windows had been tampered with, and had re-fastened the buttons. again we consulted, having withdrawn for that purpose. it was woglom's opinion, that while the looseness of the buttons had been noticed, the inhabitants of the house would hardly be likely to suppose it a piece of work preparatory to a robbery. "shall we go ahead then?" i asked. "yes," was the decision. back to the house we went. again we paused at the window. from his pockets woglom now produced a number of implements. against the window pane he pressed a bit of a sticky substance resembling putty, and then sunk the head of a tool he did not wish to use in the stuff. this done, he made use of a glazier's point. he made a circular cut on the pane, the putty forming the central point or axis. now he tapped gently on the cut glass with an iron chisel, whose head was covered by a piece of felt cloth to deaden the sound. presently the cut portion gave way. now the use of the putty became apparent. it was to prevent the cut-out part of the glass from falling and shattering on the floor inside. the ingenuity, the great care, the art with which burglars work is a revelation to those who have no knowledge of the methods by which such startling robberies are made possible. the circular piece of glass was brought to the outside and laid carefully down. through the aperture thus formed a hand could be inserted, and the buttons turned about, when the window could be easily opened, permitting ingress to the cellar. once this was gained, little or no trouble would be experienced in reaching the upper portions of the house. woglom inserted his hand. he reached the button at one side and turned it. he then reached out for the other button, and--a wild howl gave me an awful start. woglom had uttered it. following close upon its heels came a string of horrible oaths. "what's up--what's wrong?" "my hand is caught in some sort of a contrivance!" moaned or groaned woglom. "quick--the hole is big enough--try and get my hand loose." his pal inserted his hand. now was my time to capture them! i drew my revolver, and had taken a forward stop, when---- bang! almost beneath my feet a spring gun was discharged, and i could hear the big buckshot--each one a young bullet--buzzing about my ears, like a swarm of hungry flies on a hot summer's day. i paused. a window went up. a head appeared and a stern voice said: "aha! i've got you now, you rascals;" and i saw the muzzle of a gun appear. "stay where you are if you value your lives! a dozen spring guns are concealed just there, and a single step may discharge them all." heaven! the cold sweat started from every pore of my body. spring guns! what infernal things they are, anyhow. i trembled. yes, i own up to it--i trembled. and so, i think, any man would who was made of flesh and blood. it was an awful feeling, to know that a mine was concealed right beneath your feet, which the slightest move might cause to explode. did i stand still? well--i think i did. i was rooted to the spot, and with horror watched woglom's struggles to free himself, for i feared that his movements would cause the dreaded explosion. chapter xx. still searching. all possibility of shadow being nellie millbank would have been driven from my mind had i been where i could see him after parting with him on the night when i gave him the money. seen to receive a roll of bills by a party of rascals, they had made use of an alley-way to head him off, and then suddenly sprang on him from an ambush. the possibility alluded to would have been killed by the coolness of shadow's demeanor, by his quick-witted promptness taking his measures to disconcert the villains, by the exhibition of courage displayed by him. the whole thing could never be a part of a woman's character. only a man, and not an ordinary man at that, could have acted as shadow did under those trying circumstances. he showed no disconcertion whatever when so suddenly attacked. agile as a cat in every movement, he gave a backward spring the moment they broke cover. before they could reach him, his hand had clasped the butt of his revolver. the next second it was out. they had then reached him--had him hemmed in, but he forced a passage by grimly pointing his revolver at the head of one of them. he uttered not a word. he did not forget himself, nor cease to maintain that singular silence which he seemed to have forced upon himself. perhaps his silence added to the effect of his threatening movements, but at any rate the villainous quartette shrank away from him, feeling they had caught a tartar. shadow never lost his composure. keeping his face to them, he slowly backed away from them. they followed him up, chagrined, yet resolute, wishing to retrieve their mistake. one or two swift glances shadow threw behind him, then changed the line of his retreat, at last fetching up in a doorway. with his back planted against the door, the villains could only attack him from the front, and this--well, shadow smiled. he gauged their temper and courage to a t. fire-arms are tools too noisy for such fellows, and they were armed with knives. to make these effective it was necessary to get within arm's length. but to do this in the face of shadow's revolver was a task they had little relish to attempt. silent as the grave itself, and grim as a man of stone, shadow kept his revolver raised, his finger on the trigger, ready to defend himself. nearer came the villains. shadow made no movement until they were within a half-dozen feet of him, and then he slightly waved his deadly weapon to warn them away. they paused. glaring at him, they cursed under their breaths. to be balked was bad enough. but to be balked in this off-hand, cool, easy manner, was far worse. but what could they do? they could not fail to see and understand that a revolver was aimed at them with deadly intent. they well knew that a bullet is a messenger which travels rapidly, and if the mulatto's aim was as true as his arm was steady, to attempt to rush on him would be the death-signal of at least one of their number. this fact was evident. and they hung back in an undecided state of mind. shadow laughed quietly. he had the advantage--had turned the tables, and was aware of it. he now assumed the aggressive, and took a step toward them, menacing them with the loaded and cocked weapon. they retreated. finally one uttered a few low, hoarse-toned words, and then they took to their heels, shadow after them. around the corner they dashed, but the detective kept them in sight until they disappeared into the alley-way which they had used to head him off. it was a singular incident, and would have appeared so to any one who could have been there to witness it. nor was it any the less thrilling that it was so quiet. during the whole affair, from beginning to end, shadow had uttered no word, but had preserved that mysterious silence in which he had wrapped himself, for causing him to break which on a certain occasion he had poured out on my head the vials of his wrath. he had conquered four desperate men, had done it in as calm a manner as he would have eaten his dinner. verily, he was a mysterious being. in thinking of him afterward, it seemed to me as if his path and mine were always crossing, for it was due to him that woglom and his pal and myself were placed in our horrible fix. the gentleman who lived in this place had been visited one evening by a mulatto. "a mulatto--a negro?" he said, when the girl told him that such a person wished to see him. "what does he want?" "i don't know, sir. he jist showed me a bit of paper wid 'i want to see the master of the house' on it." "take him into the library." as the reader will readily suppose, the mulatto was shadow. it will be remembered that woglom and his pal were connected with the sugar-house gang. woglom was "down on his luck" so badly as to have been obliged to dispose of his burglarious implements. he had visited cap to be supplied with some tools. cap demanded to know what woglom was going to do with them, and what were the chances of his success, before lending him what he wanted--for a good round consideration. thus, while in concealment in the passage under the junk pile, shadow had learned the particulars of this "job." "you wished to see me?" said the master of the house, as he entered the library, where shadow had been shown. the detective bowed, pointed to the open desk, then took paper and pencil and wrote: "a plan has been formed to rob your house." reading this, the gentleman gave a start of surprise, then looked more closely at shadow. "who are you?" he asked. "a detective," shadow replied, in writing. in terms as brief as possible he outlined the case, spoke of the tramp they had given food and a day's work to, and told him he would find that the fastenings of the cellar windows had been tampered with. having warned the gentleman, shadow retired, refusing either pay or refreshment tendered him. at once the owner of the house had prepared his trap and the spring guns, while shadow went back to the city to continue the discouraging search for a criminal to whose identity he had only the faintest possible clew. like a very shadow he was, as he silently stole hither and thither, and glided in and out of the haunts of vice, searching for the man who had done him a great wrong and had aroused his enmity. and then, ere night, his lips involuntarily parted, and the long silence was unconsciously broken, as he fervently exclaimed: "thank heaven!" his keen gaze rested on a man whom he felt an inward conviction was the individual whom he had for so long in vain endeavored to discover. and, with eyes beginning to flame, the mysterious detective gradually drew nearer to the individual, while one hand rested on his revolver. was the hour of his vengeance at hand? chapter xxi. fun! helen dilt's brain had withstood the shock of the torture to which she had been subjected by the human hyena who presided over that establishment, called a "first-class private asylum, where excellent care is guaranteed for those unfortunates who are mentally deranged." it was tige's business to drive her crazy or kill her, and apart from the sum to be made by boarding her after being made mad, the fiend cared very little which fate she assigned to helen. "i must try a few more tortures on her," muttered the tigress, "and if she don't begin to weaken soon, i'll take the bull by the horns and prepare her for transplanting." the wretch laughed at her own facetiousness, and at once took steps to have some more "fun," as she called it. perhaps it was fun to her. if everything that a person enjoys is fun, then it was fun for her to torture her patients and watch the exhibition of their anguish. poor helen! it was enough to make a heart of adamant soften to see her lying there, quivering and shivering. it was enough to cause the stoniest eyes to shed tears of blood. but tige was not a human being. it would be a libel on the whole human race to call her so. she was rather a form of flesh and blood, without feeling, without heart, the spirit, the life, which animated her being that of satan himself, or else one of his arch fiends. a few words had been received from brown. they were to the effect that tige was to endeavor, above all things, to actually craze helen. it suited his ends better. but in case it was impossible to drive her mad, then to kill her. a keeper entered helen's room, removed the gag, and motioned her to eat. she shook her head. she could not eat. he then offered her some liquor or wine, but this she also refused. "you must take something to keep up your strength," the keeper said. "i've got orders to see that you take some wine, and in this establishment orders has got to be obeyed, even if i have to force the stuff down your grub-tube." he placed a glass of wine to helen's lips, and when she would not take it--fearing poison--he throttled her, and when she gasped let the wine run down her throat, almost strangling her. the keeper waited. finding that the wine was undrugged, so far as she could tell, and feeling the generous glow it produced, she drank another glass without compelling the keeper to resort to violence. "will you eat now?" "no." "ain't you hungry?" "not a bit." "better eat it," said the fellow. "patients is never sure here when they'll get another meal. if you ain't hungry now, you might better eat this grub ag'in the time when you will be." but helen motioned the food away. she could not eat. before taking his leave, the fellow replaced the gag. when helen saw him take it up, and divined what he intended to do, she filled her lungs for screaming. but the keeper's eyes were quick ones. he was accustomed to similar scenes, and quick as a flash had helen by the throat, and choked the first shriek short off. "now be quiet, curse you!" he hissed, as the poor girl's tongue began to protrude. "you're mighty slow in learning that it ain't best to kick against the pricks in this 'ere shebang." letting go of helen's throat now, he deftly applied the gag before she could recover sufficient breath to finish the cry for help which he had choked down. then he left her. an hour later she had another visitor. it was tige. helen was a brave girl. she had proved her courage when in the cellar beneath the house of mcginnis, when the cruel tide mounted higher and higher about her. yes, she was a brave girl. there could be no question about that. yet she could not help cowering down in terror as she saw her tormentor entering the room--could not help shrinking down close to the bed, while cold chills crept up her spine, accompanied by a feeling as if she were telescoping into herself. tige paused. as she stood and gloated over this unconscious action of helen's, the fiendish woman gave utterance to a blood-chilling chuckle. the sight of this fear that was manifested for her, was the highest compliment which tige could be paid. "well, how does my deary feel after our last little picnic party?" inquired tige, as she approached the bed, her face distorted by a horrible grimace. helen quivered from head to foot. but she was silent. the gag prevented all speech, smothered all sound, save moans and groans, and these there was no occasion for now, although there soon would be. helen's feet were still bare. toward these the hag directed her attention, and as a first move lightly ran her fingers over the soles. the victim drew them hastily up as far as the ropes about her ankles permitted. tige exultantly chuckled. helen's feet were very sensitive. there was a world of fun in store for the she-hyena. from her pocket the human she-hyena now took a bunch of feathers--innocent-looking things of themselves, but capable of being made an instrument of terrible torture. these feathers tige commenced drawing over and brushing around on the soles of helen's feet. it was torture indeed! torture! the word does not describe it. soon helen was writhing again, and straining again, until the veins were swollen nearly to bursting. it was agony to endure. don't you think so? well, try it. it can be easily done; there is no costly apparatus to procure. just two or three feathers, to be drawn over your bare feet. laughing, exultantly crowing, chuckling as she watched the evidences of helen's sufferings, the she-hyena pursued her hideous work with relentless energy. it was awful. at last human nature could not stand it, and helen went into convulsions. then tige threw down the feathers, and sprang to get a pitcher of water. "i must be quick," she muttered, "or she may die before i can get her out of the fit." chapter xxii. out of jeopardy. we were in a fix of the worst possible description, and i felt at that minute that no matter how important a capture i might expect to make thereby, i would never again put myself in seeming league with house-breakers. no, sir! spring guns was just one too many to suit my taste. this was my first experience in the art of "crib-cracking," and if i could only get safely out of this i felt that i should be perfectly contented to have it my last as well as my first. if you have never been in a similar situation you can only have a faint conception of my feelings as i stood there, not daring to move lest i might set those concealed springs to going. i do not think my bitterest enemy would accuse me of cowardice, and i don't think that my trembling just then was the result of cowardice on my part. such a feeling as came over me then i never had before and have never had since. in reaching for the button of the window woglom's hand was made a prisoner by the same means. at once both commenced to wildly thrash about with their heels, in an attempt to get loose and make their escape. "for heaven's sake," i gasped, "keep your feet quiet. you may set the infernal machine at work." but they only thrashed harder. i momentarily expected to be blown to pieces, to be riddled by a teacupful of young bullets, a certainly not very pleasing reflection. it occurred to me that it was a singular sort of position for a detective to be caught in, and i groaned as i thought of the laugh my brother professionals would have at my expense. that i would eventually be able to exonerate myself, i had no doubt. but before i could do so i would of necessity be obliged to spend the remainder of the present night, and possibly several additional days and nights, in jail before being set free. it was not a pleasant prospect. indeed, it was quite the contrary. and it would, in all probability, hurt my standing in the force, and give my envious enemies a handle for sneers and innuendoes. some of these--and i knew i had enemies--would not hesitate to hint that there was "a nigger in the fence;" in other words, that i was not as innocent as i tried to make out. i am afraid that i uttered an oath or two. in fact, i am quite sure i did. but how to help myself? was i to stand there like a stake until i was reached and collared by the gardener and hostler, who had been hastily roused, and whom i could now hear coming with heavy tread down the stairs inside the house? all the thrashing around of woglom and his pal had not started the spring guns. this thought flashed across my brain. ha! perhaps the gentleman's statement of a whole battery of these masked weapons was a fiction, designed to hold us spellbound with fear. there was a hope in the thought. how my heart bounded! i had often thought i could imagine just how a cornered criminal feels, as he gathers himself, in very desperation, for a dash for liberty. but my imagination had never drawn so vivid a picture as was painted by my situation and its natural feelings at that moment. i glanced up. out of the window that head still protruded, and the eyes in it were watching me sharply. the muzzle of the gun was directed at me point-blank. the gentleman knew that the two others were trapped, and so paid me the compliment of keeping me under surveillance. i heard the back door of the house opened. in a minute the gardener and hostler would be upon me. i had no time to lose if i meant to make my escape. and escape i must! two or three bounds would certainly carry me outside the circle in which the spring-guns were concealed, if concealed they were. i gathered my muscles. the watcher seemed to divine my intentions, for he sternly called: "stand still there! if you move, or try to escape, i'll shoot you down. i am not talking idly, but am in grim earnest." i was satisfied of that from his tone. but i must escape. i would risk a shot at me. catching my breath, i took a big leap, and---- bang! he had been as good as his word. i thought a swarm of bees were flying around my head. but i had taken a second leap just in the nick of time, and, unharmed, escaped the shower of big buckshot which would have riddled my body, had not i been so quick. a third and fourth leap, and then i took to my heels. the fence barred my way. and the gardener and his companion were close behind me. i made no attempt to go out of the gate. nor did i waste time in climbing the fence. i ran toward it for all i was worth, and bounded over it on the fly, alighted safely on the other side, and then went down the road like a streak of greased lightning. "after him!--after him!--i can attend to these two!" i heard an excited voice yell, and the two men obeyed the order. as i ran, i conned the situation. i found that i could easily outstrip the lumbering workmen. but that was not the thing. in an hour the whole country would be aroused, and it would be impossible to get a train back to the city without being collared. a thought struck me. easing my pace, so as just to keep ahead of my pursuers, i took off and turned my coat inside out (it was made reversible for the purposes of disguise.) i yanked off my false mustache, with a tiny pair of scissors hastily trimmed down my false beard, and changed its shape. a few other changes i was able to make without pausing, and i felt sure i could then pass muster. suddenly halting short, i uttered a shout and then blazed away with my revolver, and was still shooting when the puffing men reached me. "were you after him?" i inquired. "yes," was the reply. "which way did he go?" "straight ahead. my!--how he did run! you can never catch him." "we can try," said they, and i joined with them in the pursuit--of a phantom, now! finally giving up the pursuit, we turned our steps backward over the course we had come. they told me what had happened, and i informed them that i was a detective. we reached the house. the constable had been summoned, and the two rascals were already in irons. the display of my badge made me perfectly solid, and i was taken into the confidence of the authorities when i--to their surprise as well as that of woglom and his pal--told the names of the pair and gave their pedigree. when in the light, i saw woglom and his pal glance at me rather hard. but the change in appearance was so great, that, while they might suspect, they could not be sure that detective howard was their recent companion. should the forgoing chapter be read by the inhabitants of that little jersey village, they will for the first time learn who the third person of that burglarious trio really was. i saw the rascals caged safely, and then returned to the city, as thankful a man as ever stepped in two shoes. no more such adventures for me. i was perfectly satisfied with one such experience. my next move was to try and find shadow, whom i next saw under very peculiar circumstances. chapter xxiii. weaving the net. was the hour of shadow's vengeance at hand? it would seem so, from the expression which came into his face as he passed nearer to the man whom he believed he had at last recognized. an intense but suppressed excitement marked his every movement. "thank heaven!" he had thus exclaimed a moment before while he was earnestly scrutinizing the face of this person. the fact that he could be surprised into breaking his long and well-maintained silence spoke very strongly for his belief that he had at last found the man he was in search of. and that man was mcginnis. when he left the place shadow followed him. like a sleuth-hound he kept on the track of the evil man, and so carefully did he time his movements, that the suspicions of mcginnis were not aroused. light-footed as a cat, noiseless as a very shadow, gliding along like a ghost, a better person than the mysterious little detective could not have been found for the purposes of dogging and pursuit. gradually the expression of excitement left his face, and it became very stern and set. it pictured a grim and unalterable purpose. and that purpose was--vengeance! that is, if mcginnis should prove to be the right man. shadow had been mistaken before, and there was a possibility of his being so again. but he was satisfied that this time he had found the right man. earnestly he had studied the face of helen dilt's abductor, and it exactly corresponded with the mental picture he had formed of the individual he was after. such a likeness, he told himself, could hardly be the result of accident. a description which had been given him, every word of which he had carefully treasured up, suited mcginnis perfectly and in every particular. and, as shadow pursued, a grim smile began to play about his lips. "it is the man!" he muttered, again breaking through the shield of silence with which he had so long kept himself surrounded. "it is the man!" he muttered again. "my darling, you shall be avenged soon." shadow knew that he had broken the self-imposed silence. yet he did not appear vexed, as he had when i forced him to speak on a certain occasion. why was this? it seemed to me as if he had vowed solemnly to utter no word to living being until he had found the man he was after. satisfied that mcginnis was the person, he considered the vow fulfilled. this was, indeed, the true reason. but was mcginnis the man? as closely as "death hangs to a nigger," shadow hung to mcginnis, nor ever let him get out of his sight. more than once the hand of the mysterious detective sought the butt of his revolver, as it had done in the saloon, in the first fever of excitement subsequent to the recognition. an equal number of times, however, the fingers unclasped from the weapon. while mcginnis filled the bill as far as the description went, and while shadow would have staked his life that he was the man, he had sense enough, and was cool enough, to be aware that after all he might be mistaken. he did not wish to kill the wrong man. that would be worse than no revenge at all. no, he must be sure beyond even the smallest doubt, before he fired the fatal shot. he must follow the same general plan he had followed for so long--keep near the suspected man, waiting until he should convict himself by his own word of mouth. mcginnis had not the remotest idea that he was under surveillance, and certainly did not dream that he was tracked to his very door. in the dark hours before the dawn a dark figure glided around and around the shanty, ghost-like in the perfect silence of its movements. it was shadow surveying the lay of the land. he was seeking a mode of access to the house of mcginnis. none was to be found. it was secure from any but forcible entrance, and eavesdropping from outside would be worse than useless. shadow saw this. it did not stump him, however. he knew the old saying, that there is more than one way of killing a cat, and failing in one plan, he always was able to invent another without much loss of time. just before daybreak shadow withdrew from the vicinity of mcginnis' house. while in sight of it he paused, and had any one been near, it would have been to see shadow raise his hand and shake that slender forefinger in that peculiar way of his. then he was gone. little dreaming of the mine that was preparing beneath his feet, mcginnis, with plenty of money in his pockets, which meant unlimited rum while it lasted, considered himself in clover. he did not issue from his house until just after sunset. on his way up the street his attention was drawn to a rather showy-looking woman--a blonde--coming from the opposite direction. she was young, not much over twenty, was tolerably well dressed, and wore a derby hat with a decidedly rakish air. all told, there was a certain jauntiness about her bearing telling so plain a story that most men would have turned aside to let her pass. not so mcginnis. he winked at her. without an instant's loss of time she winked back. "halloo, bridget!" said he. "halloo, pat!" was her rather free-and-easy reply, in a jocular tone. mcginnis paused short. "which way?" he asked. "any way," was the reply. "walk along with me, then." "good enough." mcginnis and the girl walked along side by side, the man eying her in silence for a while. then he asked: "who are you?" "me? i'm called daisy, mostly." "belong here?" "no; just got to new york this morning from london. i say, you old rooster, are you 'crooked?'" "yes," assented mcginnis. "so am i. my pal was nabbed in london, but i managed to escape the bobbies." "what's your lay?" inquired mcginnis. "'whipes' and 'tickers' and such like." without following their conversation further, we shall advance the time a few hours, and once again carry the reader to one of those low saloons that are patronized by the "crooked" and "flash." at either side of a small table sat mcginnis and daisy. he was treating her and trying to induce her to join her fortunes with his. daisy hung back. mcginnis continued to argue earnestly--and to order drinks. a shrewd observer might have noticed that, while mcginnis swallowed all his liquor, the girl each time managed to dump hers out beneath the table. the liquor began to mount to mcginnis' head, seasoned though it was. he was becoming intoxicated. he had been quite taken by the dashing manner of the girl and was now rapidly becoming maudlin and correspondingly affectionate. he wanted to hug daisy. he put his arm around her, but she shook it off with a: "here, let's have another drink." at last, when more than half intoxicated, he became very confidential, and to impress daisy with the desirability of her taking him as her pal, began recounting his exploits in the past. her eyes began to snap and sparkle, and she listened to him with ill-concealed eagerness, while i, disguised, stood at a little distance, looking on. my eyes had rested on daisy's face for an instant, as they took in every inmate of the place. back to her face my eyes had wandered, attracted by a something that was familiar. the heavy falling of a drunken man caused her to glance around. her eyes were directed at me for a second or two--and instantly i was staggered. those eyes were shadow's! daisy was shadow. if shadow was mat morris, then mat morris was daisy. but could that be? could mat morris so artfully disguise himself? could that slender throat, and drooping shoulders, and swelling bust, belong to a man? chapter xxiv. "help is here!" not because she pitied helen, or wished to save her life as a matter of humanity, but because she had received her orders, tige sprang to the task of getting her victim out of the convulsions into which she had been thrown by torture. tige found it necessary to call for help, and did so. for some time helen's life hung as in a balance, and it was a matter of doubt what the result would be. but hard work carried off the palm of victory, and at last tige drew back with a satisfied grunt. she next dismissed the person she had called to assist her. now her brow began to cloud with anger, directed at helen, for having unconsciously caused her some anxiety. anxious tige had been, for she always endeavored to do exactly as her partners wished, since by doing so she held them bound to her by closer ties of interest, and thereby was enabled to demand countenance, protection, and support from them. it had been brown's orders to kill helen only as the extreme alternative, his first wish being that she should be driven mad. tige did not blame herself for helen having gone into convulsions. not at all. in her estimation it was the victim's own fault, and helen must be made to suffer for having caused her so much trouble. wiping the perspiration from her forehead, tige sat down to await helen's return to consciousness. it occurred soon after. the poor girl opened her eyes, saw tige beside her, shuddered, cowered down like a timid hare beset by a blood-hound, and closed her eyes, to shut out the sight of her tormentor. "a pretty girl you are, to give me so much trouble!" growled tige. "i'm going at you again for doing it." on hearing these words, helen began to shake, and a second or two later she went into a fit of hysterics. a gloating look came into tige's face. it was music to her ears, these hysterical sobs and moans of her victim. "the corner is turned," muttered tige, as she stood beside the bed, looking down on helen. she referred to the corner of helen's reason. she meant that the edge was entered. poor girl! never before in her life had she had a hysterical attack. her mind had been too healthy and strong for that, and it indicated, as tige said, that the turning point was reached. a vigorous following up of the mental impressions left on helen's mind by the torture she had endured could not fail to result in the dethronement of her reason. tige was too well posted in her business, however, to attempt to torture helen while suffering with hysterics. to have done so must inevitably have resulted in an immediate attack of convulsions again. instead, she took herself out of her victim's sight, and sent in one of the attendants to look after her. when helen had become somewhat calm, she was offered food, which, as before, she declined. but of the really excellent wine she took three glasses. having sworn on a bible, which was brought in, that she would not shriek or cry for help, the attendant removed the gag. sometimes gagged, sometimes not, sometimes bound to her bed, and again left unbound, but never permitted to leave her room, some days passed. several times each day tige would pass suddenly into the poor girl's presence, and no matter how composed helen might have been a minute before, the sight of her torturer at once threw her into an excited state, at the same time inducing a fear that caused her to retreat into a corner, quivering and gasping for breath, while a cold dew that sprang from every pore would bathe her entire body. this was what tige liked to see. it indicated the state of helen's mind, and kept her nerves constantly in a state of tension. few people have any idea of the frailty of the tenure which the human mind holds on reason, or how easily the mind can be warped or upset. helen's appetite was tempted with good food, daintily prepared, and rich wines were kept always at her hand. of all these she now partook freely, wondering at the kindness manifested for her in this direction, but never once dreaming that it was done to build up her physical strength, so that she might stand a greater amount of torture without fainting, or going into hysterics or convulsions. so the days passed for a period, the length of which helen never knew. she had flung herself on the bed one day, and had fallen asleep. she was awakened by her wrists and ankles being clutched hold of. opening her eyes, she saw tige and two of the attendants there. the scream that arose to her lips was cut short by the strong grip of the human she-hyena fastening on her throat. when wrists and ankles had been secured to the four corners of the bed, they proceeded to gag helen, who was then left alone with tige. this time the torture was one of burning with red-hot irons. tige had brought in with her a small charcoal furnace with which to heat the implements of torture. she first touched the irons to the soles of the victim's feet. then tige touched the iron to the palms of helen's hand. it was terrible! helen had lived so generously that she was stronger in body than when tortured before, and as she writhed and twisted the ropes squeaked and strained. a throe of anguish caused her to concentrate her strength with one grand effort, and the rope that held her right hand parted. quick as a flash she dragged off the gag, and madly shrieked for help. tige sprang on her to throttle her, to choke her down; but her hands became nerveless and her face like that of a corpse, as a ringing voice exclaimed: "help is here!" chapter xxv. man or woman? man or woman? i looked at the individual who was seated opposite to mcginnis, and asked myself this question. the glance of those eyes had assured me that daisy was shadow. but was shadow man or woman? man i certainly believed him, and yet--well, i was dumfounded if ever man was. that swelling bust might be a work of art, but it seemed to me that it arose and fell too naturally to be anything but genuine. true, i had had ample evidence of shadow's ability in the art of disguise, yet still i could hardly believe this to be all making up. shadow saw that my eyes were upon him (or her), and also that i had recognized him. mcginnis had been so plied with drink by shadow, that he was too drunk to notice or understand the significance of a motion of the mysterious detective's hand. yet it said to me as plainly as words could have done: "be circumspect. be careful. do not betray me. go away, and leave me to alone work out the scheme i have laid." i obeyed. i turned on my heel and left the place. as i was about to pass through the door i glanced back. mcginnis was becoming very affectionate, and was winding his arm about daisy's waist. since daisy was shadow we shall not mystify the reader, but simply speak of him by the name to which we are accustomed. "say yes, daisy, won't you?" said mcginnis, with a slobber which he meant for a kiss. an expression of intense disgust on the other's face was not noticed by the drunken villain. "i'll think over it," was the reply. "but there's one thing, mcginnis, which i want you to understand, that i won't take up with a slouch." "i ain't no slouch," protested mcginnis. "why, i've----" and then started again, he began recounting his exploits in a boastful tone. shadow listened, his ears drinking in the other's words with an avidity equal to that of the leech, as it sucks the blood of the victim to which it has fastened. the detective heard partially what he wished to hear, and his eyes began to gleam with a red and dangerous light. deftly, and with a purpose, he now and then interpolated a word to direct mcginnis' mind into other channels, and at last the end toward which he had aimed was gained. out of his own mouth mcginnis had convicted himself. distinctly, unequivocally, he had fastened on himself a terrible crime--a crime which it was shadow's sworn purpose to avenge. "thank heaven!" so earnestly did shadow utter this exclamation that it fixed the attention of mcginnis, stupid with drink as he was. shadow saw it, and hastened to remove the impression made on the mind of the villain. "let's have another drink," said mcginnis, as soon as his mind was again at ease. "you've had enough," said shadow. "i want another drink," growled mcginnis, now in his ugly state of intoxication. "no," was the decided rejoinder. mcginnis clenched his fist and brought it forcibly down on the table. he swore that he was not going to be dictated to by a woman. "very well," said shadow, coolly. "you were the one who was anxious for a partnership. it wasn't me. if you drink another drop i'll bust up the whole arrangement." muttering under his breath that he would tame her when the time came, he nevertheless did not order the drink. for shadow's purpose mcginnis was now drunk enough. "come, let's get out of this," at last remarked shadow. "all right, daisy," hiccoughed mcginnis. "goin' home with me, ain't ye?" with a leer. "yes." "bully for you. you're a gal of the right stripe. sail ahead--give us a wing, though, for i'm kind o' unstiddy on my pins. an' i say, you must be well seasoned, 'cause you don't show the effects of this bout's much as i do." "i've drank many a stout lad under the table," was the laughing reply, and mcginnis looked at his daisy more admiringly than before. too drunk to know even where he was going, shadow found no trouble in leading the villain whither he wished, since mcginnis now trusted him completely. "what a mash!" mcginnis kept muttering to himself, and every time they passed under a street-lamp he insisted on having another look at his darling daisy's face. "what's zish?" he finally asked, reeling unsteadily and glancing around. "what's zish? where'sh the house? zish is a dock!" shadow had led him to a lonely and deserted pier on the east side of town. click! click! it was a pair of handcuffs that produced this clicking, as they were snapped on mcginnis' wrists. realizing what had been done, and nearly sobered by the shock of surprise, mcginnis started back, and, raising his hands quickly, tried to bring the handcuffs down on shadow's head. shadow started back in time to save himself. then mcginnis made an attempt to fly. shadow was too quick for him. in less than a second he had drawn and cocked a revolver, and with one spring reaching mcginnis' side, he planted the muzzle against the villain's temple. "be quiet, unless you wish to die instantly!" shadow sternly said, and the villain paused and stood trembling like a leaf. mcginnis' head was more sobered than his body, and when shadow suddenly tripped him, his feet flew out from under him, and down he heavily went. shadow seemed working in a systematic way, seemed to have planned everything exactly as it happened, for when he sprang on the fallen villain he held a gag in his hand. at the revolver's muzzle mcginnis yielded, and permitted the gag to be placed in his mouth. shadow next fastened his feet, and when the villain was perfectly helpless the detective coolly sat down on the string-piece, to wait until the liquor's effect had passed more away. mcginnis' fear tended to sobering him quickly, and just as a distant church-clock was striking ten, shadow arose and then knelt beside the villain, at whom he gazed with a fixed look that indicated unalterable purpose. "mcginnis, your time is short," the mysterious detective sternly said. "make your peace with heaven if you can. in three minutes you die!" there was no mistaking the tone in which these words were said. mcginnis was by this time sober enough to understand the full import of the words, and he began to writhe, and strain, and try to burst his bonds. the wisdom of shadow's gagging him was now apparent, for had he been free to do so, the villain would have bawled and shrieked like a madman. "i abhor a murderer, and i shudder at thoughts of murder," shadow went coldly on. "but i stifle all such feelings for the sake of avenging in a fitting manner the death of one who was more than all the world to me, whom you robbed of life. now you know why this terrible fate has overtaken you." it was a fearful sight, that of this man struggling with such fierce intensity to burst his bonds, to free his hands, to save his life. like the nemesis he was, shadow remained kneeling beside mcginnis, and in calm, cold voice, counted the expiring seconds. "the three minutes are gone," he finally said, in a tone that was harsh but unwavering, and then---- "avenged!" muttered shadow, as he glided away from the spot a few minutes later. "tom, i have kept my oath! darling tom, the same fate that was meted out to you, i have meted out to your murderer!" just as the clock struck eleven, and i was preparing for bed, a note was brought to me. "waiting for you. important! shadow." chapter xxvi. cornered criminals. "are you ready for some sharp work?" so i was greeted when i, as is almost needless to say, hurried down-stairs in response to shadow's note. "oh, you can talk, can you?" i said. "yes, i am ready for some sharp work. what have you on hand?" as i glanced at him from head to foot. the skirts were gone. he was again the slenderly-built youth that i had seen on first making his acquaintance. "i'll tell you at the proper time," was the cool reply. "for the present do as i say. get a dozen men as quickly as possible." it did not take me long to do this. then, under shadow's guidance, we were conducted to the vicinity of the private insane asylum in which helen dilt was held a prisoner. stationing the men so that they would not be seen, shadow and i ascended the steps, and he rang the bell. soon the door opened a couple of inches, being prevented from opening further by a stout chain attached to it. but for this we should have thrown ourselves against it and forced our way in. "who are you? what do you want?" was asked from within. "i came from mr. brown," shadow promptly replied. "what of him?" asked the cautious individual inside. "he has sent me with a message to tige concerning his patient, whom i am also commanded to see with my own eyes." satisfied by this display of knowledge, the fellow unfastened the chain and shadow glided in. i sprang out from behind the pillar which had concealed me, and forced my way in just as shadow clapped a revolver to the villain's head. "give an alarm at your peril!" hissed shadow, and dragged him away from the door, which i at once swung open and admitted the men. handcuffs had been brought in plenty, and the keeper who had opened the door for us soon had a pair of them on his wrists. over the building the men scattered with as little noise as possible. tige was so wrapped up in her devilish work as to have heard none of the noise that could not be entirely avoided, and she knew not that her sins had found her out, until, in a ringing voice, shadow cried out: "help is here!" helen dilt uttered one sob, and then became very silent. she was not dead, however. shadow sprang to her side even as i secured the tigerish woman, and he said that she had only fainted. the tenderness of his manner, the way in which he commenced to bathe helen's face, led me to inquire: "do you know her?" "it is helen dilt!" he returned. helen dilt! i remembered the name. it was the foster-sister, the intended wife of mat morris. curiously i awaited helen's return to consciousness, after having ironed tige and turned her over to the custody of one of the men. she opened her eyes at last. she did not fling her arms about shadow's neck, did not call him mat, did not seem to recognize him. then shadow was not mat morris! this much was clear. who, then, was shadow? the mystery fretted me not a little. "are you ready for further work?" coolly asked shadow, turning to me a minute later. "yes. will we need as many men?" "all but one. you can spare one to remain in charge here. let the others march the prisoners to the station-house, and then follow me." "are we going to bag more game to-night?" inquired one of the men. shadow heard the question. "yes," he promptly returned. "there are plenty more to bag; but in bagging the next lot i'd advise you to keep your pops ready." our prisoners once safely in custody, shadow led us by the shortest route toward the east river. i guessed his destination this time. "the old sugar-house?" i inquiringly said. "yes," was the brief reply. "how do you expect to gain entrance?" "leave that to me." i did leave it to him. great was my surprise when he led us by his secret entrance into the vaults beneath the old sugar-house. i now began to understand how he had escaped--that is, if shadow it was who had been confined in the black hole. this latter i was now beginning to doubt. carefully we crossed the last of the series of vaults, and paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the store-room, where i had once had a most exciting adventure. shadow softly mounted first. i followed. in the office, at the further end, cap and some of the men were gathered, earnestly consulting about something. the men were called up. one was instructed to look after the door-keeper. "now!" shadow gave the word. we rushed forward, every man with a brace of revolvers in his hands, and when i called on the rascals to throw up their hands, they cast one glance at the gleaming array of "barkers" and raised their hands. happily, shadow's augury was forestalled. we bagged as dangerous a lot of men as ever were banded together, and without firing a single shot. unexpectedly taken as they were, they had no time to prepare for defense. "now for the black hole," said shadow, when all the captives were in irons. i followed him. in the vaults he called loudly: "what!--ho!--where are you?" soon came back a smothered reply, and we finally were led to a heavy wooden door secured by stout locks. as we could not open the latter, we proceeded to batter down the door, and released, in a half-starved condition--mat morris! shadow gave me no opportunity to indulge in feelings of surprise, or to obtain any information whatever concerning the mystery. "waste no time!" he said, coldly. "we have more work yet to-night." five of the men were left in the sugar-house to bag any members of the gang who might come straggling along. the others, with shadow and myself, went to the station-house with the captives. between us walked poor mat morris, so weak that he could hardly stand. "take only two men this time," said shadow, after we had reached the station; and so with two men we departed--to be surprised, i felt, as well as to surprise somebody else. i was not wrong. mr. joseph brown was awakened by the ringing of his doorbell, and when he demanded what was the matter, was told that an intimate friend was dying and had sent for him. when he came out we nabbed him, and within half an hour later, despite his protestations, he was behind the bars of a cell. chapter xxvii. the mystery explained. during the next afternoon all of the most active parties in this written drama were congregated in the parlor belonging to a suite of rooms at one of our second-class hotels. here mat morris had been taken, as he could be more comfortable here than at any other place, not knowing where to find his mother. here also had helen dilt been conveyed in a carriage. shadow was there. and lastly, i had just put in an appearance. both mat and helen understood that to shadow they owed their deliverance, and both were deeply grateful and could not thank him enough. after a while i said plainly that there was a mystery underlying all this which i should like to have explained. "you shall hear the explanation," said shadow. "i am not what i seem; i am not a man; i am nellie millbank, to whom you were kind enough--although a stranger--to lend the money with which to decently inter the body of her murdered lover." "i sometimes suspected as much," i said, while mat and helen both opened their eyes with surprise at learning that shadow was a woman. "now," said i to shadow, "it was to you whom i paid five hundred dollars?" "yes." "then"--to mat--"how was it possible for you to send that same five hundred dollars to your mother?" "i found the money," said mat. "i lost it," said shadow. here was one of those little things which had so deeply puzzled me made light as day. by questioning, by listening when all the parties talked freely, i finally understood all the ins and outs of the thrilling drama in real life. in his search after helen, and in his endeavor to find her abductor, mat had been engaged only a short while when he rendered himself suspected by the sugar-house gang, had been arrested and clapped into the black hole, where he had been kept a close prisoner ever since. so it turned out that mat morris, whom i had believed the most active character in the drama, was for the greater part of the time kept in a condition of forced inactivity. nellie millbank told me how, after having seen her lover laid away in his resting-place, she had taken an oath to avenge his death. knowing how slight a clew she had on which to work--the most vague description of the murderer--she had adopted a male attire, and started out with the plan of insinuating herself into the confidence of such a man as she might suspect, and lead him to convicting himself. starting out on this plan, she had just caught sight of an individual whom she thought answered the description of the murderer, and was shaking her finger after him when i saw her shadow. she heard the remark i dropped at the time, and, when she afterward wrote to me, she adopted the name my remark had suggested. the five hundred dollars i gave to her she had lost, and mat morris had found, which explained the complications arising from finding bills which i recognized in the hands of mrs. morris. i also then learned how it was that shadow had come to be in the sugar-house at the time of handing me that note, although that is something concerning which the reader needs no explanation, the detective's purpose being made evident at the time. and this is so as regards many other incidents in connection with shadow, mysteries to me at the time of their occurrence, but made plain to the reader in various places. and this is so also as regards helen dilt. we had all her adventures and experiences to listen to, which have been recorded in their proper places. late in the afternoon mrs. morris, who had been sent for, put in an appearance, having been found and sent here. a happier woman never drew the breath of life than she was when she was enabled to clasp both her loved ones to her heart. nellie millbank and i drew a little apart, that the others might have the first few minutes of meeting to themselves. in response to a question of mine as to how she had gathered up all the threads of the tangled skein, she replied: "it was through mcginnis. he was the tool of brown, the abductor of helen, as well as the murderer of my lost one. i suspected him rightly, after many previous failures, threw myself in his way in the character of a thing which i care not to name, and when he was in liquor he told me all. he convicted himself out of his own mouth." "where is mcginnis?" shadow turned away. he pretended not to have heard my question, and i did not press it. together we five had supped, and a right merry party it was--although i thought that the merriment of nellie millbank was rather forced. this i thought might be because of a natural embarrassment at being in men's clothing after having revealed her true sex. early in the afternoon i had heard of the discovery of a dead body on an east river pier. the man was handcuffed and gagged, and had been repeatedly stabbed. already it was becoming spoken of as the most brutal murder on record. that evening i was sent to look at the body and to give any assistance i could toward working up the case. the moment i reached the morgue and the sheet was drawn down, i understood the reason why shadow had pretended not to hear my question. the body was that of mcginnis. on his breast had been found pinned a bit of paper, bearing these words: "this man died a righteous death. he was a murderer, and meets the same fate he dealt to another. his victim is avenged. "search for the person who inflicted this punishment will be in vain." this last sentence several shrewd detectives thought implied that the writer intended self-destruction. this view i bolstered up to the best of my ability. needless to say, the murderer of mcginnis was never discovered. in fact, none of us who knew shadow--confound it! nellie millbank--ever saw her afterward, unless---- well, one day long afterward i entered a horse-car; opposite to me sat two black-garbed sisters of mercy. for just one fleeting second the eyes of one of them encountered mine. it may not have been nellie millbank, but i have always thought it was, and hope that i was right. dick stanton, the false detective, was brought from the private cell in which i had placed him, and was convicted and "sent up" with the rest of the sugar-house gang. tige and her companion hyenas were roughly dealt with. murder was charged to their account, and was so well sustained that they all received life sentences. brown was sent to prison for twenty years, a sentence long enough to insure his never leaving the prison alive. helen dilt was not long kept out of the money which her rascally uncle had so long deprived her of, and the first thing she did was to buy and present to her kind benefactress, mrs. morris, a completely furnished home. not so very long since i met a gentleman in the street, who clasped me warmly by the hand, as he said: "howard, it's a boy, and we think of naming it after you." the speaker was mat morris. he and helen have been married some years now, and this boy he spoke of is not the first baby by--well, a few. and thus we draw to a close, and with genuine regret bid adieu to the history of the strange being who was so long a mystery to me under the indefinite title of shadow. [the end.] transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_. added table of contents. the original contained some publisher's advertisements that are not reproduced here. changed "her knowlege of herself" to "her knowledge of herself." changed "name of her benefactor's" to "name of her benefactors." changed "speeech" to "speech." added missing quote after "and now, who are you?" changed "quick-witedness" to "quick-wittedness." changed "less that two hours" to "less than two hours." changed "capn's orders" to "cap'n's orders." changed "helen'e uncle" to "helen's uncle." removed unnecessary quote after "how he did eat." changed "ead not denied it" to "had not denied it." changed "credted" to "credited." changed "it" to "i" in "i would not put my knowledge into use." changed "that had not really done so" to "they had not really done so." changed "i was because" to "it was because." changed "unclapsed" to "unclasped." changed "prespiration" to "perspiration." changed ? to ! after "meted out to your murderer!" added missing "not" to "they were puzzled, and knew not what to do." this word was present in the original _boys of new york_ appearance but was missing from the _new york detective library_ reprint. transcriber's note: this story was first serialized in the _boys of new york_ story paper and was later reprinted as vol. i, no. in _the new york detective library_ published july , by frank tousey. this e-text is derived from the reprinted edition. bats in the wall; or, the mystery of trinity church-yard. by p. t. raymond author of "the bicycle detective; or, tracking a crime on the wheel," etc., etc. contents chapter i. a rejected proposal. chapter ii. dyball's club. chapter iii. an unheeded warning--frank mansfield finds himself in a bad fix. chapter iv. the strange disappearance beneath the church-yard wall. chapter v. bats in the wall. chapter vi. what happened at the catherine market. chapter vii. a still greater crime unearthed. chapter viii. the secret of the iron door. chapter ix. in which frank mansfield makes an important discovery. chapter x. in the chamber of death. chapter xi. an unexpected ally. chapter xii. what was seen by the church-yard wall. chapter xiii. in cagney's sanctum. chapter xiv. an intruder in the home of the bats. chapter xv. caleb hook makes himself at home. chapter xvi. the three oaks. chapter xvii. an advertisement. chapter xviii. the ghost of three oaks appears again. chapter xix. mr. callister's clerk. chapter xx. jerry buck plays the part of a detective again. chapter xxi. frank visits cottage place. chapter xxii. an untimely occurrence--caleb hook discovered. chapter xxiii. a detective in a bad fix. chapter xxiv. treasure hunting. chapter xxv. the mystery of trinity church-yard explained at last. chapter xxvi. elijah callister adds still another crime to the list. chapter xxvii. the jonah. chapter xxviii. a frustrated crime--the end. chapter i. a rejected proposal. "no, frank, most decidedly not. i must say that i am more than surprised that you should have had the audacity to even think for an instant that such a thing could be." "but we love each other most sincerely, mr. callister, and you know as well as i do that there was a time when, with your approval, i was allowed to consider edna as my future wife." "that may be, young man, that may be--i will even go so far as to admit that such was the case. but circumstances alter cases, and i am inclined to think that i could do somewhat better than to bestow the hand of my only daughter upon a bank clerk at a beggarly salary of twelve hundred a year." "i am assistant cashier of webster national bank, and my salary is quite enough for a young couple to get along on with economy; besides, i have prospects of promotion----" "had, you mean. a year ago such was the case, frank mansfield. from what i have recently heard of your career, your drinking, gambling and nightly carousals, i am inclined to doubt if your prospects amount to much now." it was mr. elijah callister, the rich wall street stock operator, who spoke these words, the person to whom they were addressed being frank mansfield, a handsome youth of twenty-one. the scene was mr. callister's office on broad street, in one of the nine-story buildings just below wall, and the time the close of the short winter's day, december , . now, in thus demanding the hand of miss edna callister, frank mansfield was by no means as presumptuous as at first glance might seem. but little less than five years previous to the date just mentioned, the father of this young man had been a wealthy and honored merchant, and the stock operator's most intimate friend. their business interests to a great extent in common, their elegant residences on fifth avenue side by side, and their children--in each case the only child the friends possessed--had been taught to look forward to the day when they should marry with their parent's full consent. to-day all was different, and edgar mansfield lay in a dishonored grave, his wife, driven mad by the reverses of fortune and the loss of a kind and loving husband, had disappeared from the circle of friends in which she had long figured as a leading spirit, while frank had been thrown to shift for himself upon the cold charity of an unsympathizing world. all this happened in the spring of , which, all will be seen, was five years before our story begins. meanwhile, elijah callister had flourished, even as his friend mansfield had slipped and fallen. while frank, who had obtained a position in the webster national bank, had been working hard to advance himself, with occasional slips and frequent lapses into dissipation and folly--always bitterly repented of when committed and it was too late--the father of edna callister had steadily increased in influence and wealth. he was honored among business men, a pillar in the church, and high in social circles, and yet he had turned his back completely upon the son of his old-time friend, having even gone so far as to forbid him entrance to his home. that the course he had pursued had not prevented the love which had existed from childhood between the youthful pair from developing as time went on, is evident from the conversation in which we now find the highly respectable mr. callister and the son of his former friend engaged. "i am hardly as bad a fellow as you would make me out, mr. callister," answered frank, flushing to the eyes at the stock speculator's last remark. "i have been a little wild and imprudent, i'll admit, but i've made up my mind to reform, and with edna for my wife----" "stop!" mr. callister had brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang. "my daughter shall marry no pauper, mr. mansfield!" he exclaimed, with emphasis. "come to me with proof that you are possessed of at least ten thousand dollars of your own, and i will listen to you--not before. at the present time i doubt if you can produce ten thousand cents." "and this is final?" the face of frank mansfield was very pale as he spoke. "it is. reform your habits of life, go to work and advance yourself, make money somehow, anyhow, so that you make it, and then, if edna has not previously found some one more worthy of her, as i have no doubt she will, i will give your proposal the consideration it deserves. now i must bid you good-night." without a word the young man turned upon his heel and passed out of the office. listening for a moment to his retreating footsteps as they died away through the corridor, mr. elijah callister arose, drew on his overcoat, adjusted his shiny beaver at the proper angle upon his head, and taking up his walking stick, prepared to start for his palatial home with a general air of respectable business solidity standing forth from every portion of his portly presence from the crown of his hat to the soles of his well-polished shoes. "that settles him for the day," he muttered, as he cast his eye about the office to see that everything was as it should be for the night; "by to-morrow, unless i greatly mistake, the young gentleman will have most effectually settled himself. i have nothing against frank, nothing in the world, but of late he has become altogether too inquisitive, and there is nothing for it but to remove him from my path." "though i don't doubt in the least," he added, meditatively, as he locked the office door behind him, "that when she hears what has happened, she will kick up a deuce of a row." and the respectable mr. callister, the last man in the world who among the brethren of the tenth baptist church on murray hill, in which he was a bright and shining light, would have been suspected of such a thing, stepped into the elevator, passed out of the nine-story building into broad street, and, slipping around the corner into a little alley, hurriedly descended the steps of a basement groggery, and walking up to the bar, called for as stiff a glass of brandy as any old toper in the land. "has billy cutts, the detective, been in here this evening, joe?" he asked of the white-aproned bartender, as he set down the brandy glass which he had drained to the last drop. "no, he hasn't, mr. callister," was the man's reply. "i haven't seen billy in more'n a---- by gracious! talk of angels, and they are right on top of you! here's billy cutts comin' now." as he spoke a young man, comfortably dressed in a dark overcoat and ordinary business suit, entered the saloon. he was to all appearance not over twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, but his face bore indelibly stamped upon it a knowledge of the crooked ways of the great city not usually looked for in a man of his years. he shook hands with the stock operator upon his entrance, with a familiar, easy-going air, both withdrawing at once to a table in a remote corner of the saloon, upon which, by the order of the elder man, the bartender placed a bottle and glasses between them. "well, billy, is it all fixed?" said mr. callister, pouring out a stiff glass of liquor for his companion and another for himself. "all o. k.," was the reply. "the old man an' his pals got the plans all right, an' will be on hand, you can bet. i saw detective hook not an hour ago and gave him the tip. he swallowed the bait whole, the shallow fool, and now all that remains is to get the feller to consent, an' that i consider about fixed." "how did you do it?" "oh, through the help of a couple friends of his an' tools of mine. they've been workin' on him for the best part of a week, an' have pretty well brought him round. i want them in the thing, too, don't yer see, to give the racket a natural air." "of course neither of them suspect the truth?" "what d'ye take me for, boss? i guess i know what i'm about as a general thing. when i tell you a thing is fixed, it's fixed; you can bet yer life on that every time." "i hope so, and i believe so," replied the other, in a fierce whisper. "that boy frank mansfield is in my way, billy. he must and shall be removed from my path. your scheme is a good one, and i believe it will work; if i read of his arrest in the morning papers you can count on five thousand dollars any time you have a mind to call round to my office and get it." mr. callister arose abruptly as he spoke, and buttoned up his overcoat as though to depart. "you'll see me to-morrow mornin', then, fer sure," replied cutts, likewise rising. "so you'd better be ready with the cash." "i will, billy, never fear. how's your father, by the way?" "oh, the old man's all right, but confoundedly nervous till this little spec is over." "well, give him my regards when you see him, and i shall expect to see you with your work accomplished at my office to-morrow by noon." and the respectable mr. callister with a face so smiling that, as the saying goes, butter would not have melted in his mouth, shook hands with detective cutts and moved off in the direction of the nearest station on the elevated road. chapter ii. dyball's club. dyball's club-room was not the most high-toned of the new york clubs, nor is it frequented by what are, as a rule, termed the highest of high-toned men. situated on the second floor of a building on the bowery, not far from the corner of canal street, its nightly patrons were those of a decidedly low-toned sort. small clerks in wholesale stores, small sporting men, not yet arrived at the dignity of the more fashionable clubs, and small--oh, very small--card-flippers and poker playing cheats, who considered the ability to store aces and kings, _ad libitum_, in the sleeves of their small-tailed coats, the very highest touch of art, and who used their skill, as may be readily believed, to fleece such of the small clerks who were bold enough to challenge them to a friendly game. for card-playing--and that means plain poker and nothing else--was all they did at dyball's club-room, except to consume the vile liquor and smoke _regalia de avenue b_ cigars served over the bar; but, although limited in variety, the entertainment furnished made up in quantity what it otherwise lacked; nor did the votaries at the dyball shrine often separate until morning had well-nigh dawned. upon the evening referred to in the last chapter, at a few minutes after eleven o'clock, just as the sidewalks along the brilliantly-lighted bowery were beginning to whiten with what promised to be a heavy fall of snow, there entered dyball's club room no less celebrated a person than mr. detective cutts, a young but already popular special on the force of the new york police. he was in citizen's dress, of course--in fact, the same in which we have already met him on this night once before--and as he pushed his way among the card tables, a long cigar stuck in one corner of his mouth, his cane under his left arm, and his derby hat set rakishly upon the side of his head, several of the small clerks rejoicing in a speaking acquaintance with so prominent an official, greeted him with an air of great respect, their less fortunate companions regarding them with feelings of envy not unmingled with awe. but the young detective paid little attention to any of the players at the card tables. pushing his way among them through the stifling atmosphere, fairly blue with tobacco smoke, and reeking with the stale odors of whisky and beer, he approached a small table in a remote corner of the room, where sat four young men who, if the chips upon its green baize top and the anxious faces of the players themselves could be taken as a guide, were indulging in a pretty stiff sort of game. "frank, i want to see you," he said, quietly, placing his hand lightly upon the shoulder of the youngest man of the four. "all right, billy, i'll be with you when i finish this hand." "i'll wait for you in the wine-room." "very good. two jacks and two queens--i'll take that pot, boys. i'll be with you in a second, billy--just one hand more." it is frank mansfield, and no one else, we are sorry to say, who again deals the cards around, and with flushed face, being evidently considerably the worse for drink, a moment later joins detective cutts in the private wine-room, to the left of mr. dyball's bar. what brings the boy to a place like this? disappointment and a fatal love of exciting pleasures, yielded to too often--far too often--in the past. firm in his resolution to reform his ways, frank, who loved the daughter of elijah callister, and was devotedly loved by her in return, had, at her own suggestion, asked of the stock operator the hand of his daughter in marriage with the ill success already told. now, instead of meeting that refusal like a man--instead of returning to the object of his affections at the house of a mutual friend, who loved them both, and where they had been in the habit of meeting at intervals in the past--frank had sought to drown his sorrows by that fatal method--recourse to the whisky bottle and glass. one drink had been followed by another, the second by a third, until, reckless of the consequences, the boy had yielded to a temptation which he had for days been struggling to resist, and which---- but that brings us back to detective cutts again! "well, young fellow, what shall it be?" asked that individual, touching the little call bell upon the table by which he had seated himself the moment frank appeared. "oh! i don't care--whisky, i suppose. what do you want of me? the same old scheme?" "of course. what else should it be?" answered the detective, calling for the drinks, which were speedily produced and consumed. "you can't do better than to join me in that, and i suppose you have made up your mind to do so, since you are here by the appointment we made." "i don't know about that. i want to make money as well as any one, and i'm more than ever in the mood for it to-night; but i'm afraid of your scheme, billy, and i don't deny it. i'm afraid it'll get me in a hole." "no, it won't--nothing of the sort. i don't want to get you in no hole, nor to land in one myself. i'm just as honest as any one else, but i'm bound to look out for no. every time, and you owe it to yourself to do the same." "but this letting a man into the bank at night is something that has a very nasty look." "well, i ain't a-goin' to steal nothin', am i? all i want is to look at a name in a book. upon my word, young feller, you're a deal too squeamish. i can't see where's the possibility of harm comin' to you from a move like that." "but it's against all rules. if it were known that i had shown the signatures of our depositors to an outsider, i'd lose my place before i knew where i was." "perhaps you would. but whose a-goin' to give you away? to show you that i mean to be perfectly square with you, i've asked jim morrow and ed wilson to meet us down by the bank and go and see the thing done." "you have?" "yes. they are both good friends of yours, and in case anything was brought up against you, you could prove that you did nothing wrong. come, now, what do you say? it's getting late, and if it's to be done at all it must be done to-night. all i want is to copy the signature of old thomas hendrickson. if you will help me to do it i'll give you five hundred dollars as soon as we leave the bank." "but i don't understand what your man wants it for. why can't he get it by some other means?" "because he can't, that's all i know, and i don't want to know any more. hendrickson never leaves his room, and will see no one and answer no letters; my man has got them deeds i told you about, and wants to be sure that the old miser's signature is all o. k.; why, he don't tell me, and i'm sure i don't care to know, so long as he is willing to pay for the job he wants done." now this was not the first time frank mansfield had had this proposition made to him by detective cutts, nor the second nor the third. he had been introduced to this individual about a month before, by two of his fast companions, the jim morrow and ed wilson the detective had just named, and in their presence this strange request had been first made, to be renewed upon several occasions since. at first the proposal had been rejected outright. frank had positively refused to have anything to do with it at all. but, upon its repetition, the boy had been more inclined to lend a willing ear. he was more inclined than ever to do so upon this night. to be sure, he did not more than half believe the detective's statement as to the reason of his singular request; but, after all, he was a member of the police force, an officer of the law, although little older than frank himself. detectives were obliged, as he knew well enough, to attain their ends by all sorts of singular means. surely, in these days of defaulting cashiers and pilfering tellers, there could be no serious harm in letting a police detective copy a signature from the bank's books. nor was the promised reward without its full weight in the mind of the boy. "come to me with proof that you are possessed of at least ten thousand dollars, and i will listen to you, and not before," the father of the girl he so devotedly loved had said. money makes money. with five hundred dollars he would at least obtain a start. visions of successful speculations in the institutions known as "bucket shops," which cluster around the stock exchange, floated through his brain. if he had luck, as many of his acquaintances had had before him, his five hundred might be doubled in no time at all, and the thousand thus increased to ten in a comparative short space of time. and then---- "well, cutts, i'll do it!" he exclaimed at last; "but, mind, if you go back on me, i can make it as hot for you at police headquarters as you can for me at the bank. i'll show you the signature-book of the webster bank, and let you trace old hendrickson's autograph from it--but don't expect me to do anything else." "i shan't, my boy, for that's all i want," replied the detective, with an air of triumph. "now let's have another drink." there were two doors connecting with the private wine room of dyball's club. one opened into the main or card room, and the other out into the hallway, from which descended the stairs leading to the street. had detective cutts been a little older in the business, and a little more observing withal, he might have noticed that during all his conversation with frank mansfield this hall door stood open on the crack. no sooner had the young men left dyball's by the regular entrance, and gaining the stairs, descended to the street, than from the floor of the hall close to the wine room there arose the form of a woman. she was of somewhat above the ordinary stature, but of withered features and attenuated form, while her long gray hair, hanging in a tangled mass down her neck and shoulders, and a pair of wild, restless eyes ever moving in their shrunken sockets, lent to her whole appearance an air of hopeless misery painful to behold. her dress neat, but shabby and worn; a faded shawl and a cheap woolen hood being the only outer wraps she wore. and this strange creature crept after the two young men in the darkness and storm, dogging their steps as they moved down the bowery towards chatham square never taking her restless eyes from their moving figures for so much as a moment of time. chapter iii. an unheeded warning--frank mansfield finds himself in a bad fix. the storm had now greatly increased, and the whitened flakes were rapidly covering sidewalk and street, as well as the forms of such belated pedestrians as hurried past, while the glass in the lighted store fronts glistened with frost like so many diamonds in the light of the flickering street lamps scattered here and there. now, the webster national bank, as is well known to every one, is located on the corner of rector street and broadway, directly opposite the high wall, ever rising as the street descends, upon the top of which lies the ancient burial ground surrounding trinity church. bustling with life and activity during the business hours of the day, at night no more lonely spot can be found in all new york than this. standing a little back from the street rises the mighty spire of this, new york's most famous house of worship, surrounded on three sides by the crumbling head-stones of a century ago, and marking the last resting-place of many a famous citizen of the days gone by. rising above these stones, the many dingy tombs scattered among them, clusters of noble trees raise their spreading branches toward the sky above, overshadowing this time-honored burial place of the dead. brick and mortar everywhere, gigantic structures upon every hand, the old trinity church-yard has remained untouched by the hand of time--remained the one green spot in lower new york, even as it was in the days when the great city was young. it was upon this sight that frank mansfield daily looked forth, for his desk in the bank commanded a full view of the church-yard from the rector street side. it was by the side of the wall that, with his companion, he now stands, contemplating an act, which, if not criminal, is a breach of the implicit trust placed in him by the officers of the webster national bank, at least. and now the old church-yard is robed in white, the snow flakes bearing downward the branches of the spreading trees, covering the tombs and graves of the dead--we doubt very much if the souls of many who lie beneath are as white as the ground above their moldering bones. detective cutts turned the corner of rector street, and moved silently along the church-yard wall. it was now twelve o'clock and after--in fact, the bell of old trinity had rung out the midnight hour before they passed the corner of fulton street and broadway. the storm had increased as the night advanced, broadway was deserted, and not a soul could be seen moving on rector street from end to end. for the evil-doer no better night could be found than this--even the policemen had sought shelter in friendly doorways from the pitiless storm. "by george! but this is a nasty night!" said the detective, in a low whisper, coming to a halt beneath the shadow of the wall. "now, where in thunder are those fellows, i'd like to know? they promised to be on the corner at midnight and wait until we came." "well, we can do without them," said frank, uneasily, beginning already to repent of the step he had taken. "for my part, i can't see what we want with them, anyhow. the thing don't amount to anything, after all." the liquor of which he had partaken so freely was beginning to tell on him. he mistrusted his companion, he mistrusted himself; he was anxious to do what he had undertaken and begun. after all, it was but a little thing, and with the money he could do so much. he had been trying to persuade himself, but with ill success, during the walk down-town, that it amounted to just nothing, after all. "why, i only want them with us for your own protection, my dear boy," replied cutts. "i'm as square as a die myself, and i want you to see that everything i do is entirely open and above the board. "by the way, you've got a key to the side door of the bank, i suppose?" "yes; the cashier and myself carry that." "and you tell me there's no watchman in the bank?" "no; otherwise i should not be here, of course. this corner is so prominent that they never thought it worth their while to keep one employed. it's lucky for you, cutts, that they think as they do." "i should say so," replied the detective, with a slightly marked emphasis. "and that being the case, we can slip in that side door and through the hall as easily as you please." now, there are two entrances to the webster national bank. one from broadway and one from rector street. it was to the latter that detective cutts referred. "i say, frank," said that individual, in a whisper, "we may be observed if we stand waiting here. i move we jump over the church-yard fence and wait on the inside until jim and ed show up." careless now of what he did, and too much muddled in his brain through the fumes of the liquor to give the matter very much thought, frank followed cutts as he lightly leaped upon the low wall and vaulted the fence, landing inside among the snow-covered stones. at the same instant from among the trees in the shadow of the great church beyond a low whistle was heard, which was presently followed by the appearance of two dark forms moving cautiously toward the spot where they stood. "hello, is that you, billy?" the voice came from the advancing figures, now emerging from the trees. "yes," called cutts, in a whisper. "is that you, ed--you and jim?" how came these two in the trinity church-yard at this hour of the night? the strangeness of the thing struck the boy at once, as he stood leaning against the rail. "what the mischief are you fellows doing there?" he exclaimed, peering forward into the darkness. "cutts, what does this thing mean?" "it means villainy, it means wickedness!" cried a feeble voice from the sidewalk below. "it means ruin to you, my son, if you persist in what you are about to do." there, kneeling upon the snow-covered pavement beneath the wall, frank, turning suddenly and pressing his face against the iron palings, perceived a strange and weird form. it was a woman, old, faded and gray, who, with upturned features and hands clasped above her head now met his astonished gaze. it was the singular creature who had followed him from the gambling hall. not for one moment had the boy been lost from her view. "pause, my son!" she exclaimed, raising her clasped hands aloft with a supplicating air, as she knelt before him in the pure white snow. "remember your dead father--i ask you not to remember me--pause before it is too late." "hello!" cried cutts, placing his hand on frank's shoulder as he spoke, "who the mischief have we here?" as though stung by an adder, the boy shrank back from that aged form. "mother!" he cried, in husky tones, "for god's sake, what brings you here? have they let you escape again?" "escape!" said the woman, in feeble tones. "can doors hold a mother when danger besets her son? no, no, bolts and bars cannot keep me in. locks amount to nothing for me. i roam the streets by night and by day, and i watch over you, my son." "she is mad, cutts!" cried the boy angrily; "mad for years, and has escaped from those by whom she was confined. follow me, and let's be done with this thing at once. with her on my hands i need the money more than ever now." he leaped the fence railing as he spoke with the lightness of a cat, landing by the woman's side. cutts instantly followed him, as did the two young men, who had during this strange scene come to a halt a little in the rear of the spot where frank and the detective had stood. "no, no, you shall not go! you shall not rob the bank!" shrieked the woman, seizing frank by the skirts of his coat. "don't listen to these wicked men, my son; they only seek your harm!" "confound the old hag!" muttered the detective, angrily. "what are we going to do? if we don't stop her mouth she will ruin all." "hold her where she is and stop her mouth; but gently, boys," said frank, in a hoarse voice. "cutts, you follow me and the thing is done. i've gone too far to back out now. i want your pay, and as i am wronging no one, have it i must and will." he sprang across the street as he spoke, followed by the young detective, while the woman, feebly struggling in the arms of the two young fellows, still knelt moaning beneath the church yard wall. "i'll have to take care of her, cutts," said frank, producing a key and fitting it into the lock of the door of the bank. "she's hopelessly crazy, poor thing, and god only knows by what strange chance she came to be here to-night." he turned the key in the lock as he spoke and threw open the door leading into a dark hallway in the great building on the corner of rector street and broadway, in the rear of the offices occupied by the webster national bank. "follow me," he added, entering the passage as he spoke, "and shut the door behind you--it won't take a moment, and the thing is done." he moved through the passage and opened an inner door, supposing the detective to be close behind. great heavens! what sight was this? there, before his astonished gaze in the dim light of the gas, kept burning through the entire night in this, as in other banks, lay the great doors of the money vault blown out of all shape, disclosing the vault within. a burglar's jimmy, a crowbar, and a powder-can lay mingled with a pile of books and papers--the contents of the rifled vault--upon the floor. "cutts, cutts! for heaven's sake look here!" frank mansfield sprang out into the dark hall, calling the detective's name. there was no reply. the outer door stood open, the dark outlines of trinity church appeared beyond, but detective cutts was nowhere to be seen. with one bound frank mansfield leaped toward that open door. "stop!" cried a stern voice. "young man, what are you doing here?" and the form of a large and powerful man was interposed before him, who seized the boy by the arm. "this way, men!" he cried, as three policemen came running down rector street from broadway. "here's one of the rascals now. we are here just in the nick of time!" chapter iv. the strange disappearance beneath the church-yard wall. "come, speak up! are you dumb? what are you doing at the door of the webster bank at this hour of the night?" it was mr. caleb hook, the famous new york detective, who spoke, as he seized frank mansfield by the coat-collar and jerked him violently into the dark hallway which formed the rear entrance to the bank. at the same instant the forms of the three policemen were to be seen filling the open door. even as he spoke the detective threw the full glare of a dark lantern upon the pale and frightened countenance of the boy who stood trembling in his grasp. "i--i--work in the bank," he stammered, brokenly. "i wanted---- i am the assistant cashier. i came here with my friend, detective cutts, to try the door and see that all was right." it was a bold stroke, but a useless one. detective hook laughed in his face. "well, and where is cutts?" he asked, sneeringly. "he was here a moment ago, just outside the door. i went into the bank and found that the vault had been blown open, and turned to call him in as you seized me on the steps." "i don't see him anywhere around," said the detective, coolly, at the same time pulling frank toward the door, and looking quickly up and down rector street. it was deserted. cutts, the strange woman, and the two young fellows who held her down had alike disappeared. there was nothing to be seen save the dark outlines of trinity church, the old burial ground about it, and the white flakes of the ever falling snow. and the heart of frank mansfield sank within him as the full meaning of his perilous position burst upon his bewildered brain. the bank robbed--cutts and his companions gone. who would believe his story, now that he had been caught almost in front of the rifled vault? "now look here, young fellow," said the detective, "you might just as well own up and tell the truth. where are your pals? who are you? what's your name?" "my name is frank mansfield. i'm assistant cashier of the bank." there was nothing to be gained by attempting to conceal his identity; frank saw that at a glance. "i thought as much," replied the detective grimly, "and i'm a little behind time, i see. but you don't answer my other question. where are your pals?" "i don't know what you mean." "spread yourself, you jones and brady," exclaimed the detective, turning suddenly upon the officers. "examine every doorway, one of you, the other make for the church-yard wall. schneider, you come with me. we'll soon see what's been going on in here. this comes from the folly of the chief in keeping me so long engaged. i might have been here an hour ago at the very least." he turned quickly upon the boy as he spoke, and without a word of warning snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists. "move on ahead there," he exclaimed, pushing frank before him into the hall. "you say this bank has been robbed. i believe you. show me what you have done." the vault door, wrenched out of all shape and hanging by one hinge, the burglar's tools, the books and papers scattered upon the floor around, were quite answer enough without a word from the wretched frank, who stood trembling by his side. the detective surveyed the scene grimly. "i was born a day too late, it seems," was all he said. then, turning toward his youthful prisoner, he gazed intently upon his face. "you and your friends have made a clean job of it here, young man," he said, at length. frank stared at him dumbly. could he hope to win the hand of edna callister after such a fatal slip as this? what was he to do? what should he say? ah, if he had but heeded the warning voice of that mother who had knelt before him in the snow! but no! he had for the meanest of motives, money, been willing to violate the confidence and trust reposed in him by the officers of the bank, and this was his reward. not without his fair share of natural shrewdness, frank at once perceived that his only hope lay in silence and a strict adhesion to the story he had told, which to a certain extent was true. he had come to the bank with cutts--as for his reason for so doing, he determined to keep that to himself, for the present, at least. "well," said the detective, "why don't you speak?" "because i've nothing to say. i've told you all i know." "do you persist in the statement that you came here with mr. cutts?" "i do." "for what reason?" "i've already told you that." "to see that all was right about the bank?" "yes." "is that your business?" "not particularly. we had been spending the evening together, and happened to be passing, and i thought i would try the door." "mistake added to wrong doing." lies never yet availed any man in an emergency. better by far would it have been for the boy if he had confessed his fault and told the simple truth. "and upon entering you found things as we see them now?" continued the detective, with an incredulous air. "yes." "do you carry a key to those doors?" "yes. both the cashier and myself have keys." "suppose you give them to me." frank motioned toward his pocket, into which detective hook now thrust his hand, drawing forth the keys, and embracing the opportunity to search the boy thoroughly at the same time, but finding, as a matter of course, nothing to further indicate any connection with the affair. he examined the keys attentively, and turning, tried them in the lock of the door. one of them fitted perfectly. the detective appeared surprised. "you told the truth, then, my boy," he said, regarding the handsome face of the youth before him meditatively as he spoke. "i don't know what to make of this. either you are other than what you seem to be, or i've been most outrageously sold." "i assure you, sir," exclaimed frank, plucking up a spirit, "that i am just what i tell you, as any officer of the bank can testify, if you will take the trouble to ask. the janitor of this building knows me. were it only daylight, i could prove my identity in a dozen ways. what has become of cutts and those who were with him, i am sure is more than i can tell, but i----" "ha! then there were others here besides cutts and yourself?" a deep flush overspread the countenance of the boy. here was a fatal slip. until now he had relied upon cutts' desire to shield himself to be cautious in what he might say, but as for ed wilson and jim morrow, who were nothing more or less than two very fast young clerks in a neighboring steamship office, he saw instinctively that he could hope to exercise no control whatever with them. but there was no use in trying to conceal anything from the keen eyes of the detective, now fixed upon him as though seeking to read his inmost thoughts. "yes, there were two other fellows with us," he answered, with evident reluctance. "who were they?" "acquaintances of mine." "and their names?" "wilson and morrow." "hem! and they, likewise, seem to have disappeared, most unluckily for you." "so it seems," said frank, gloomily. "i'm sure i don't understand it any more than you." "we'll understand it better by and by," replied the detective, quietly. "meanwhile, think the matter over, if you will allow me to offer my advice, and make up your mind to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. you'll find it will pay you better in the end." "schneider," he added, turning abruptly to the policeman who had been a silent witness to the scene, "take this young man to the new church street station, and let him be held until i come." "very good, mr. hook," replied the officer. without another word he took frank by the arm and led him through the hall and out into the street. the snow was still falling, sidewalk and roofs, church-yard and wall, everything within range of the eye, was clothed in a mantle of white. "now, den, de nex' question is how ve not our necks already preak," muttered the officer, with a strong german accent, as he moved heavily down the sloping sidewalk toward new church street, which skirts the rear of the burial ground at the bottom of the hill. for he was a clumsy man, and had evidently no wish to measure the length of his teutonic form upon the slippery walk beneath his feet. "keep close beside me, young feller," he added, releasing his hold upon frank's arm, the better to steady himself by aid of the hand-rail separating the sidewalk from the sunken areas before the basement shops with which this block on rector street is lined. "you notings can do mit tem pracelets on your hands, so dere's no use in trying to run." "i'm not running to-night," replied frank, shortly. "lead on, i shall follow; you need have no fear." "nein, you go ahead, den i keeps you in sight," said the policeman, pushing the boy before him. "you gets not pehind me ef i knows vat i do." frank made no reply, but plowed his way on through the snow, officer schneider following close in his rear. at a word from that individual, upon reaching new church street, he turned to the right and moved slowly along the wall of trinity church-yard, here rising high above their heads. to the left rose the structure of the elevated railroad, to the right the wall itself, the iron railing still surmounting it, from which hung, depending, clusters of the snow-covered vines. not a soul was to be seen moving about them. the street was deserted for as great a distance as the eye could reach. they had hardly proceeded half the length of the wall, when, proceeding apparently from the clustered vines above them, a shrill, piping sound was heard. it was precisely such a sound as bats are sometimes heard to make just at nightfall as they go whizzing through the air. "vat in tonder ish dat?" exclaimed officer schneider, coming to a sudden halt, and looking up into the air. again the strange sound broke upon the stillness of the night a little ahead of them through the thick mass of falling snow. both frank and the policeman had now checked their steps close to the church-yard wall. at the recurrence of the sound, forgetting for the instant that he had a prisoner on his hands, officer schneider moved a few steps in advance of the boy, and raising his head, tried to peer in among the clustered vines, all laden with snow, which overhung the iron fence upon the top of the wall, leaving the boy standing behind. "i can't see notings," he muttered, "but dere's something crooked going on up dere. dis is not de first time nor de second i hear dot sound. who goes up mit dem valls on top, i'd schust like to know?" now this was a little private mystery of the officer's own, this self-same bat-like sound. several times previous to the present occasion had he heard it, and---- hello! and what ails officer schneider now? enough to make him stare as he does, and shower all the german imprecations known to his vocabulary upon the air around. for the handcuffed prisoner, whom he supposed to be standing so close to him that it was only necessary to reach out and touch him, had during that one moment in which he had raised his head to the top of the wall above him, from which proceeded the bat-like sound, most mysteriously vanished. there were his footprints on the snow-covered walk, nor was there other prints anywhere to be seen upon the smooth surface of the street, save those made by the boy and himself, and pointing up--not down the street. and this was all. his handcuffed prisoner, who could not by any possibility have advanced a dozen steps through the snow in the brief space of time during which the policeman's attention had been withdrawn, had strangely, marvelously disappeared. chapter v. bats in the wall. left to himself within the banking-room, detective hook, with the closest scrutiny, began a systematic examination of the rifled vault and its surroundings. there was no evidence that the bank had been entered other than by the rear doors from the rector street side. and these doors, strange to relate, were unprotected, save by ordinary spring locks. evidently the officers of the webster bank had relied upon the solidity of their vault doors for protection, and upon the fact that with plate glass windows upon two sides, facing rector street and broadway, the policeman on the beat could see the entire front of the vault as plainly as though it had been standing in the street itself, by the light of the gas-burner, kept burning the entire night directly in front of the combination lock. and, after all, no better protection could be devised than this, providing always, the policeman of the beat is true to his trust. and yet the deed had been done, and, stranger still the officer in whose charge this portion of broadway lay had put in no appearance yet. crowbar and jimmy, powder-can and fuse, and the shattered door itself, told with startling plainness the methods by which the bank-robbers had attained their end. detective hook examined each point with close attention. nothing of value remained in the vault. it might have contained millions--it might have contained cents--the bank officers alone could tell. "there is something altogether out of the usual order in this affair," he muttered to himself, as he stood musing before the rifled vault. "the strange hints received by me from cutts have proved both true and false. instead of this clerk and a gang of desperate burglars, i find the vault already robbed and this young man with his strange story, involving cutts himself, standing here alone. "i don't like the look of it. i believe this boy is as innocent as i am, caleb hook; there is something else at the bottom of all this. if i don't greatly mistake---- "hello! well, what have you discovered?" "nothing," replied policeman jones, now appearing at the door. "there's not a soul anywhere about, except an old crazy woman walking up and down before trinity church, muttering to herself. i questioned her closely, but she knows nothing at all." "did you see anything of officer flaherty, who ought to be on this beat?" "not a thing, and i've searched for him everywhere, too." "i'll see that he is provided for, the careless rascal," muttered the detective, "and you, brady"--addressing the second policeman who had also appeared--"what luck in the church-yard? any tracks in the snow?" "the tracks of two men, mr. hook, but they are pointing this way. just over the fence are others, too. i should say several persons had been tramping around there." "remain here and guard what is left," said the detective, briefly. "i'll examine into this for myself." he hastily passed to the street, leaving the two policemen in charge. "now for the trinity church-yard," he muttered, as he sprang toward the low wall at the point before which the strange woman had kneeled but a few moments before. "i've got a genuine mystery on my hands at last, i fancy, and that's what i've been sighing for these last three months---- ha, schneider, where's your prisoner? surely you are not back from the station as soon as this?" the stout german policeman, panting for a breath, stood trembling by his side. "dunder und blitzen! now mebbe you kills me, mr. hook. i swear it vos not my fault." "not your fault! have you lost your prisoner--but that is impossible! speak, you dutch scoundrel! where is the boy i gave into your charge?" "gone, mr. hook! disappeared unter mein very nose. i take not mein eyes from him, und i looks for him und he ish not dere. i tink dere's some devil vork mit dis, by shiminy, i do!" a moment later, and detective hook, with the frightened german by his side, stood beneath the high wall skirting trinity church-yard on the new church street side, at the spot where frank mansfield had so strangely disappeared. twice over had the wretched schneider told his tale, without rendering matters in the least more clear. if he told the truth--and he related the facts so circumstantially that there could be no doubt of that--there was absolutely no explanation to be had. there was the dead wall upon one side broken only by the iron doors, leading to the vaults beneath the bank, which had not been opened, perhaps in a century, filled with the moldering bones of the long-forgotten dead, and the structure of the elevated railroad upon the other, with the dark outlines of the building upon the opposite side of the street rising just beyond. that the boy could have crossed the street was a simple impossibility. not a trace of human foot was visible in the freshly fallen snow. upon the sidewalk beneath the wall the detective had no difficulty in tracing his footsteps. but this only served to double the mystery. they all pointed one way--in the direction of the station toward which they had been going, and at the precise point where the boy had halted when the attention of his conductor had been attracted by the bat-like cry from the wall above they ceased to appear at all. it was impossible that the vanished prisoner could have advanced or retreated, crossed the street--moved up or down. deeply puzzled, the detective hurried to rector street again, and leaped the iron fence at the first available point, landing among the stones of the grave-yard beyond. nor did he leave it until an hour had passed, and but little the wiser then. the tracks of two men crossing toward the rector street side of the grave-yard from a point overlooking the place where frank had disappeared were found and carefully measured. at this point, also, the snow was found to be much disturbed, both on the ground itself and upon the vines overhanging the wall. to all appearance, a number of persons had been moving about here, but their foot-prints seemed to lead nowhere, extending simply up and down the wall. what did it mean? detective hook had been called upon to solve many mysteries in his time, but never before had he encountered one so deep as this. he was baffled; he could not deny it. accompanied by the crestfallen schneider, he repaired to the station at last, and reported the occurrences of the night. in a short space of time every newspaper in the city was preparing for their morning issues an account of the bold robbery of the webster national bank. the great clock in trinity steeple had rang out the hour of four, when detective hook, still hovering about the scene of his late defeat, turned, for the twentieth time that night, the corner of rector street and broadway. as he did so there brushed past him the figure of a woman, plainly but neatly dressed, with gray hair hanging down from beneath her worsted hood, and wild, roving eyes, moving restlessly from one object to another as she walked along. "bats in the wall! bats in the wall!" she muttered, as she passed. "blessed be the bats in the wall for what they have done for my erring boy this night!" chapter vi. what happened at the catherine market. of all the quaint old landmarks still standing in the city of new york that serve to remind the more ancient of its inhabitants of the days when they were young, surely none so quaint and curious as the old catherine market and its surroundings can be said anywhere to exist. it stood there at the foot of the street whose name it bears when the writer was a boy--and many long years before--and will, no doubt, stand there long after he is dead and gone, a low, narrow shed of rotten wood, in color a dingy brown, with three half-round windows on the ferry side--we mean the ones over the oyster booth, where they used to give a round dozen saddle-rocks to every stew, and over the coffee and cake saloon, where the butter-cakes were always fresh on the pan--looking like the eyes of some great monster standing majestically alone in the center of the little square, calmly watching the crowds that pour out of the ferry-gates as the sun rises up, and pour in again as it goes down. now there is nothing stylish about the catherine market, nothing in any way smacking of "tone." it is not one-third the size of the washington market, nor does it profess to have that far-famed celebrity for succulent meats, fat turtle, fish, oysters and clams to which fulton market lays claim. but it does a driving, thriving business of its own, just the same, does the catherine market--make no mistake about that! for here come to purchase their daily supplies the denizens of water, cherry and oliver streets, of madison, monroe and hamilton streets, to say nothing of east broadway, equal in number, when taken all in all, to the population of a good-sized city in themselves. if one wants to see the catherine market in the full tide of its bustling trade, sunday morning is the time to come--when the fish peddlers cluster outside its walls, between the hours of four and five. they spread themselves up south street; they stand beside their pails, tubs and baskets on the sidewalk facing the old tumble-down rookeries on the side of catherine street to the right of the market itself, and before the second hand clothing stores on the left. blue-fish, white-fish, weak-fish, porgies, twisting eels, and soft clams strung on strings, lobsters alive and lobsters boiled, soft-shell crabs, packed in moss-lined boxes, hard-shell crabs, not packed at all--all are spread about outside of this singular building on the sidewalk in the gutter--yes, even in the very street itself, while the bawling of the fishermen as they cry the merits of their wares, the cackle of housewives, moving about here and there with giant market baskets on their arms, are all mingled in one unearthly clatter and din. nor is this all. other branches of trade must needs elbow their way into this busy spot as well, all carried on from baskets in the open streets, be it plainly understood, whose owners sit or stand beside them on the pavement as best they can. but waste no time in seeking what is new. this is most emphatically the bartering-place of the worn and old. second-hand coats, trousers, hats and shoes. damaged crockery, rusty cutlery, half-worn articles of ladies' apparel, whose uses we would, of course, not even dare to name. lace curtains, kitchen pots and pans, cheap chromos, candlesticks and beads, all are represented here, while small peddlers, whose stock in trade is carried in their hands, move here and there in the crowd, adding, with their various cries, to the strangeness of the scene. we left detective hook by the church-yard wall at the moment of his encounter with the woman who with strange mutterings hurried past. we find him at the early hour of half-past four moving down catherine street in the direction of the singular scene we have just described. and just before him is the woman, still treading wearily along the snow-covered sidewalk, her wild eyes ever roving here and there, now to the right and now to the left, never resting for even one moment of time. the storm has ceased at last. the clouds have rolled away to the eastward; the stars shine brightly in the cold, wintry sky. and the busy market is teeming with activity and life while the remainder of the great city is still locked in slumber and repose. who is this strange creature with her singular mutterings concerning "bats in the wall?" it is just this that the detective sought to learn; and in the endeavor to learn it had not suffered the woman to pass from his observation from the moment of their first encounter until now. at the instant of their meeting he had stopped her and questioned her sharply. that she was beyond all question insane was perfectly clear. her remarks were most incoherent, and yet they bore direct reference to the subject weighing most heavily upon the mind of detective hook: the robbery of the webster bank. "he robbed the bank! he robbed the bank! i warned him, but he would not heed." this was her sole answer to the questions the detective had pressed upon her, mingled with muttered words of thankfulness to the "bats in the wall." now nine men out of ten, under similar circumstances, would have arrested this woman at once. detective hook was of a different sort. let him arrest this woman mad beyond a doubt--and, save for such vague information as could be drawn from her muttered ravings, her usefulness would at once be destroyed. follow her, and there was no telling where she might lead him--possibly to the abode of the bank-robbers themselves. that she had seen those who blew open the vault, either enter or leave the bank, from her rambling words the detective became firmly convinced; so he let her go, and, dropping all else, followed her through the streets on that sabbath morning. if nothing came of it he could at least arrest her whenever he pleased. and a long road she had led him, until at the catherine market we find them now, with caleb hook seriously debating in his mind whether it would not be best to take her in charge at once and end this so far useless chase. crossing cherry street, the woman pushed her way among the old clothes dealers and second-hand venders whose baskets were crowded together in the snow-covered street upon this side, and passing along the wall of the market itself, paused among the fish-mongers who cluster opposite the ferry gate. "fresh fish this morning, ma'am?" cried a runty vender, well wrapped up in a coat that looked as though it might have done service in the days of noah's flood. "blue-fish, weak-fish, flounders, sea-bass, eels. any kind you want you'll find right here!" but the woman did not heed him. moving slowly on among the baskets, she passed the front of the market and crossed the street to the other side. there she turned, and proceeding perhaps half way up the block, stopped before the window of a low rum-shop, and, raising her hand to her forehead, stood peering in behind the corner of the battered curtain which shielded its lighted interior from the gaze of an over-inquisitive outer world. "at last she stops," muttered the detective to himself, as he took his station by the side of the old hotel on the corner of catherine street and south, watching to see what her next move would be. "now, whose place is that, i wonder, and what does she expect to see?" he glanced at the sign above the door of the groggery. "the donegal shades, by p. slattery," was the way it read. it was evidently a saloon for the accommodation of the marketmen, open at this early hour on sunday morning in defiance of the law. as he did so his attention was attracted by two figures advancing toward the saloon from the street above. one was a youth of twenty or twenty-one, the other a boy, his junior, perhaps, by a year or two. both were roughly dressed in cheap, worn clothes, the younger of the pair carrying a bundle of newspapers under his arm. at the same instant the woman, having seemingly satisfied her curiosity, opened the door and entered the saloon. "now, then," muttered the detective, "this has gone as far as it must. unless i greatly mistake, there's business inside there for me." he moved rapidly forward as he spoke toward the door of p. slattery's shades. at the same moment the two boys came to a halt beneath a street lamp before the saloon, toward which the younger of the pair pointed with his raised right hand, addressing his companion in hurried words, spoken in too low a tone for the detective to hear. as he did so, in the light of the lamp above their heads detective hook, glancing carelessly at them, obtained a good view of the features of both. with a smothered exclamation of surprise he came to a sudden halt--stood staring for an instant only at the features of the elder boy. it was frank mansfield who stood before him--the youthful clerk of the webster bank, who had so strangely vanished from beside the trinity church-yard wall. fatal pause! in that instant of hesitation the eyes of the boy met his own. seizing his companion by the arm, he turned and sped along the icy walk like a deer. "stop there!" cried hook, springing forward with a bound. "halt! you young rascal!" and he reached forth his hand to catch the flying boy by the tails of his coat, now almost within his grasp. but a sudden obstacle intervened. at this identical moment a roughly dressed individual emerged hastily from the donegal shades, carrying upon his arm a large open basket loaded with fish, thrusting himself inadvertently directly in the detective's path. it all happened in an instant, and indeed, it is difficult to explain how it happened at all. but the foot of the detective slipping beneath him, he came in sudden and violent contact with the basket of fish, throwing the owner backward in the snow, falling himself at full length by his side, while frank mansfield and his newsboy companion sped up the street with the speed of the wind. in an instant they had turned the corner of cherry street and were lost to view. the owner of the basket leaped to his feet, and sprang away up the street with a bound. he paid not the slightest heed to the fish scattered around him--stopped for nothing at all. "confound the luck," muttered detective hook, scrambling up as best he could. "if i ain't a clumsy ass, there never was one! where's the----" he paused suddenly, and stood staring down at the wreck of the fish-basket beneath his feet. there, mingled with the fish upon the surface of the snow, lay a heap of bright silver dollars--not one, but ten, twenty--a hundred or more, with three or four bags beside the pile, evidently filled with the same sort of coin. chapter vii. a still greater crime unearthed. detective hook stared at the strange sight before him in dumb amazement. there could be no question concerning the genuineness of the coins displayed before him among the masses of frozen fish scattered over the snow-covered walk. they were silver dollars, and bran new ones at that, as fresh as on the day which they left the coiner's hands. meanwhile, the man who had borne this most singular variety of fish had disappeared around the corner of cherry street with all possible speed, as had the two boys but a moment before, never pausing even to look behind him, to all appearance utterly heedless of the loss of his coin. "well, upon my word, this is a night of adventures for a positive fact," muttered hook, stooping down and examining this singular find. "there's something crooked here, or i'm no judge; and as i could not catch those boys if i tried, i had best----" "hello! what's this?" he added, half aloud, examining each of the unbroken bags of dollars in turn. "webster national bank, as i'm a sinner, stamped on the bottom of each of these bags. here's some of the plunder now--there can be no mistake about that." it was even as he said. upon each bag, in plain black letters, the name of the webster bank was plainly stamped. without a word he seized the basket and emptied out the remainder of the fish on the snow. two other bags of smaller size appeared, one evidently containing gold. meanwhile several persons, early purchasers in the catherine market, had stopped to gaze upon the strange sight of a well-dressed man picking dollars out of the snow, for the detective was now tossing into the basket the contents of the broken bag, placing the others upon the top of the shining heap thus formed. "here, officer," he exclaimed, beckoning to a policeman who now suddenly appeared, bustling out of the side door of the market opposite with an air of authority, which suddenly changed into one of meekness as he recognized in the man before him one of the most noted detectives on the new york force. "i want you to take charge of these. take them to the oak street station. they are part of the haul made in a down-town bank last night." the words were spoken in a tone calculated to reach the officer's ears alone, while the little crowd which had now gathered around stood staring wonderingly on. "very good, mr. hook," replied the policeman, nervously. "i just went inside the market for a moment to----" "never mind that," returned the detective, quickly. "i have no interest in your private affairs, and you need have no fear of me. now, tell me quick, what sort of a place is that saloon before us--the donegal shades? who is this slattery? what sort of shop does he keep?" evidently a most law-abiding establishment, so far as all outward appearance was concerned, for the interior of the saloon, a moment ago ablaze with light behind the curtains, was now totally dark, showing no signs of life within at all. "bad lot in there," replied the officer, briefly. "do you know them?" "some of them." "anything going on outside of regular business?" "i think so, but i never could get a charge agin 'em. there's a mighty crooked lot goes in there, mr. hook; river thieves and confidence men, to say nothing of a whole lot of dirty loafers always hanging round inside." "just so," answered the detective, coolly. "now go on with your basket. tell the captain i'll be around in a little while." he had kept his gaze fixed upon the darkened windows of the worthy mr. slattery's establishment during this brief conversation, and though he felt that he might be mistaken, it certainly seemed to him that he saw an eye appear at the open space at the edge of the curtain, and as suddenly disappear within. he stepped to the door and tried the knob. the door was locked, as he had supposed. he raised his fist and struck blow after blow upon it, with an evident intention of making himself heard. to attempt to conceal his identity he knew perfectly well would be a simple impossibility. he had been observed by entirely too many persons for that. presently the door was noisily unlocked from within, and a head covered with a fiery red shock of tousled hair thrust outside. "well, an' what d'ye want?" "to come in," replied the detective, sternly, throwing the weight of his body against the door. "i have a few questions for you, my man, and don't propose to ask them here on the street." "an' who are yez, entering the house of an honest man on the sabbath morn? this place is closed, i'd have ye know." "nonsense!" cried hook, pushing his way boldly in. "i'm a detective officer, and have no time to waste in idle words. your place was running full blast a moment ago, and but for what has just occurred would be running now. shut that door." the man obeyed. caleb hook stood alone in the darkened saloon with its ruffianly-looking proprietor by his side. few men would have cared to place themselves in such a position, but his was a nature which knew not the meaning of the word fear. coolly striking a match upon the bar, he touched the gas burner above his head, and in the light which followed glanced around him. he stood within a low groggery of the ordinary type found in this part of the city--there was nothing singular in its appearance at all. he and the red-headed individual occupied the place alone. "what's your name, my man?" he asked, at the same time carelessly showing his shield. "slattery," was the gruff reply, "and i'll bet it's good for more money nor yours." "very likely, but it may be good for less if you should happen to lose your license. who was that old man with the basket of fish that just went out of here?" "no one went out of here. the place is closed. i'm just after getting up out of me bed." "you lie, slattery, and you know it!" exclaimed the detective, sternly. "now, answer my questions, and i promise that you shall not be interfered with in any way; refuse, and i shall make it warm for you, now you may depend." "well, then, i don't know him from a crow. he just stopped in here for a sup of beer." "you saw what happened to him outside?" "suppose i did?" "how long before was it that he entered your place?" "tin minutes, mebbe--mebbe not more nor five." "and you don't know him?" "i do not. i tould ye that before." "and how about the old woman in the worsted hood that entered this place a moment before this man came out? who was she, and where is she now?" "that? oh, that was mrs. marley," replied the saloon-keeper, with the air of a man relieved to be questioned on a point upon which he could answer freely at last. "and who is mrs. marley?" "the woman what lives on the top flure of the house in the rear; she passed through by way of the store, as she often does." "what sort of a person is she?" "faix, an' ye'd better ax hersilf; i've as much as i can do to attind to me own concerns. she lives all alone by hersilf, pays her rint promptly, and goes an' comes whin she likes. the neighbors say she's mad, and mebbe she is--it's no business at all of mine." "show me her room," said caleb hook, abruptly. "i'll question her for myself." "well, then, go through the back dure, cross the yard, and you see a house in the rear--" "i shall do nothing of the sort. you will go ahead and show me the way to this woman's room. come, be lively, i've no time to waste." the saloon-keeper hesitated for an instant, and then moved towards the room beyond. that the detective was a man not to be trifled with he now fully realized. "come, then," he said, gruffly. "i want to be through with this business as soon as i can, for i've something else to do beside wasting me time like this." he opened a rear door and led the way across a narrow courtyard. a small frame dwelling stood before them. connecting with the street was a narrow alley, now choked up with snow. in the hurried survey of the scene taken by the detective, he observed that the snow was much trodden down by feet, as though several persons had passed in and out, notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. "this way," said p. slattery, opening the door of the rear house and advancing up a pair of rickety stairs. the detective followed in silence. arriving at the top of the flight, the proprietor of the donegal shades knocked at the door opening immediately from the head of the stairs. there was no answer from within. an ominous stillness seemed to pervade the place, which was totally dark, save for the dim starlight which found its way through a broken window at the end of the hall. "this is blamed strange!" muttered the man, rapping smartly again. "she can't be asleep, for it's only just now she went in." but if the strange woman whom caleb hook had shadowed was within and awake, she did not reply. except the muttered words of the man beside him, not a sound fell upon the detective's ear. a strange feeling of creeping horror seemed to come over him--a wholly unaccountable feeling, something which he had never experienced before. without being able to explain why, even to himself, he was seized with a sudden desire to penetrate behind that plain deal door, upon which his companion was still exercising his knuckles wholly without avail. pushing the saloon-keeper to one side, he rapped smartly himself, at the same time grasping the knob in his hand. it yielded to his grasp--yielded so suddenly and unexpectedly that both the detective and p. slattery were precipitated forward into the room. with a cry of horror bursting from his lips the saloon-keeper sprang back toward the door. "holy mother! what mutherin' work is this?" he ejaculated, every several hair upon his fiery pate seeming to rise with terror as he stared at the sight which met the gaze of both detective hook and himself. for there, stretched upon the uncarpeted boards before them, amid surroundings the most poverty stricken, lay a fearful, sickening sight, rendered more plainly visible by the light of a guttering candle standing upon a plain wooden table, which, with a bed and a chair or two, formed the sole furniture of the room. nor was the detective scarcely less affected, for the sight which he now beheld was one calculated to move the strongest man. the strange woman whose steps he had followed through the streets lay before him in the dim light of that cheerless room--dead upon the floor. chapter viii. the secret of the iron door. the feeling uppermost in the mind of frank mansfield, as handcuffed and helpless, caught under the most suspicious circumstances on the very spot where a great crime had been committed, he accompanied officer schneider on the short journey to new church street station, was one of hopeless despair. what was the true meaning of these strange happenings? what has become of cutts, of his unhappy mother, and of the two boys who had detained her beneath the church-yard wall as he himself entered the bank? he did not know. he could not form even the faintest idea. until now the thought that cutts had been other than sincere in his request to examine the signature book of the bank had never entered his mind, but as he began to think serious doubts found place therein. was not this very like a conspiracy? did not the whole affair bear the appearance of what is commonly termed a put-up job? most decidedly it was so, and yet, so far as he was aware, the boy, in spite of his misfortunes, did not possess an enemy in the world. who, then, would be likely to go out of their way to plot against an individual so insignificant as himself? it was at the precise moment in which frank, propounding that question to his troubled mind, heard above the heads of the officer and himself that strange, bat-like cry. again the cry was repeated, his conductor advancing before him to ascertain its cause, as has already been described. now, such a thought as trying to escape had never once entered into frank mansfield's head. handcuffed as he stood, to attempt to run with any hope of distancing his pursuer would have been simple folly at best. moreover, such an action upon his part he knew perfectly well would only add to the appearance of guilt, quite strong enough against him as matters already stood. the german policeman had advanced before him, and was peering up among the vines clustered about the top of the trinity church-yard wall, when frank, also looking about, perceived close by his side one of the great iron doors, of which there are several at this point set in the wall, opening to the tombs built beneath the bank which rose behind. now frank had often noticed these doors, and as often had carelessly wondered what sort of looking places they might conceal. just now he gave the one before which he stood no thought at all, his mind being occupied by his unfortunate situation, and his immediate attention attracted by the bat-like cry from above. his surprise was, therefore, intense when he suddenly perceived the iron door softly open to an extent sufficient to admit the body of a man. in the aperture stood a boyish form, rendered plainly visible by the light of a street lamp which stood directly opposite the door itself. nor was his surprise less in recognizing in the face before him that of a bootblack who had every afternoon for more than a year past polished his shoes at the close of business hours at the bank. with a quick movement the boy extended his hand and silently beckoned to him to come in. the policeman was still skirmishing along the foot of the wall with his head in the air, for that the whole thing occupied but the space of an instant must be distinctly understood, and yielding to an uncontrollable impulse, without the slightest thought of what the result of such action might be, frank stepped within the iron door by the bootblack's side. in an instant the door was noiselessly closed behind him, rendering the darkness entire. the boy, without a word, took frank by the arm and led him forward, up several steps, and opening a second door of iron like the first, ushered him into a low-vaulted apartment not higher than his head. "there you are, mr. mansfield," said the boy, respectfully. "i tought i could do it, an' i have. i'd like to see the cop as could catch onto yer now!" "why, you're barney, the bootblack, ain't you?" demanded frank, glancing about him in curious surprise. within the vault--for it was nothing more, nor larger than a small-sized bedroom--was a table with dishes upon it, a lamp burning in their midst, a chair or two standing about, and piles of old carpets and faded blankets rolled out upon the stone floor. nothing else was to be seen about this strange dwelling-place save a short ladder leading up toward the vaulted brick arch above their heads, down which at this moment two ragged boys came scrambling with all possible speed. at the same instant frank heard just such a sound as that which a heavy stone dropped upon frozen ground might make. the two boys sprang from the ladder to the floor of the vault, laughing aloud. "we fixed him, barney!" cried one, giving utterance at the same time to the strange, bat-like cry which had so puzzled the worthy schneider. "he's running up and down the wall, swearing every dutch swear he knows. an' dis is your friend, is it? i suppose de fellers will kill us for what we've done, but it's too late to help it now." "bully for you, sandy! garibaldi, you're a trump! dere's nothing mean about this gent wot i've been a-shinin' of fer more nor a year, you bet. they've jest been a-playin' it onto him, an' i knew it. in course i couldn't stand by quiet like and see him took'n in." "barney, what does all this mean?" cried frank, regarding the boys and their strange surroundings with looks of unfeigned surprise. "it means that those two fellows, ed wilson and jim morrow, have gone back on you, mr. mansfield, and put up the job with cutts, the detective to get you into a hole. you are wid the bats now and dey'll see yer all right, and don't make no mistake." "put up a job on me! what do you mean?" "look at dem bracelets wot you have on yer hands and then ax me. cutts paid jim and ed to rope you in, an' i s'pose somebody's a-payin' of him. we fellers seen the bank robbers go out, an' one of de bats is a-follerin' of 'em now to spot where dey live. if you don't believe me, look a-here--here's a hull lot of things wot dey dropped!" the boy stooped, and from beneath the pile of old carpet and blankets in one corner of the vault drew out a small tin box filled with a number of documents, which he emptied upon the table among a mass of broken dishes, bread and scraps of meat, with which the table was already covered. "there dey am," said barney, triumphantly. "you've been kind to me, mister mansfield, and i'm not the feller to go back on you. the boss of de gang dropped 'em, an' me an' sandy picked 'em up. an' we didn't say nuthin' to them two sick bats, jim morrow an' ed wilson, about our find, an' now i'm mighty glad of it, too." the box was marked "webster national bank" in black letters painted upon its side. instantly frank recognized it as a box filled with various private documents, intrusted for safe-keeping to the bank, which he had often seen quietly reposing within the rifled vault. and his heart bounded for joy as he gazed upon it. if these boys, whoever and whatever they might be, had witnessed the robbery, then with the aid of their testimony, and this box to corroborate it, he would have no trouble in proving his own innocence before the world. "speak, barney!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "what place is this--what do you know of the robbery of the bank? tell me all about it, and tell me slowly, so that i may be able to understand." "well, den, mister mansfield, it's jest like dis," replied the bootblack, with the air of one who had suddenly attained greatness, and was fully aware of it, his companions gazing admiringly at him as he spoke. "fust we fellers are wot dey call de 'bats in de wall,' or, in plain united states, a lot of chaps wot find it more convenient to live in dis here snug little hole than to sleep on the trucks when the winter-time comes on. ter-night, as sandy an' me an' another feller was a-comin' in from the thayter, we happened to see three fellers a-comin' out of the side door of the bank." "the webster bank?" cried frank, trembling with excitement. "of course. wot other do you s'pose? we was a-comin' down rector street just as these three fellers come a-sneakin' out. "we skinned over the church-yard fence, an' give 'em the bat-call, wot we gives to de fellers of our gang to let dem know we're around. "giminnetti! you'd orter see 'em cut round the corner, an' the foremost of them dropped this here box in the snow." "i see it all!" cried frank, bitterly. "cutts knew of this intended robbery, and planned to have suspicion thrown upon me. fool that i was to listen to his lying words!" "betcher life," replied barney, sententiously. "hold up fer a minute, an' i'll tell you all about that, too." but frank mansfield failed to reply. moving toward the pile of documents, he had, as well as his manacled hands would allow him, opened the one nearest the edge of the table, and was now examining it by the uncertain light of the lamp. what was this? surely there must be some mistake! but no--here it was all down in black and white. "and i do give and bequeath to the said frank mansfield, when he shall have reached the age of twenty-two, all of the property herein described, the exact location of which will be found fully set down in the sealed parchment which accompanies this will. "witness my hand and seal, "jeremiah mansfield. "witnesses: "elijah callister. } "henry smith. } new york, ." it was the will of the boy's paternal grandfather, dated five years back, and on the very day preceding the old gentleman's death, as he had good cause to remember, and drawn in favor of himself. chapter ix. in which frank mansfield makes an important discovery. had it occurred to officer schneider to remain quietly in the precise spot at which his prisoner had disappeared until the trinity church clock struck the hour of four, his patience would have been rewarded by seeing the iron door in the grave-yard wall cautiously open, and the head and shoulders of a boy thrust out into the silent street. but as neither that exceedingly astute member of the new york police force--the finest in america, we believe it has been said--nor any one else was about at the time, the head and shoulders were followed by a well-developed pair of arms and legs, and a boy stepped out upon the snow. instantly this boy was followed by another, after which the iron door was softly closed from within. turning their faces toward the north, both boys started upon the dead run up new church street, and whipping around the corner of cedar street like a flash, suddenly slackened their steps, and began slowly to ascend the hill in the direction of broadway. in the stillness of the sabbath morning not a sound is to be heard. the great city sleeps, its ceaseless roar is hushed. even as the virtue of charity covereth a multitude of sins, so has covered the pure snow everything in and about these silent streets with an unbroken mantle of white. let us glance at these two solitary travelers as they move along, and seek to learn who and what they may be. as to the larger of the pair there can be no doubt. frank mansfield disguised or frank mansfield in his usual dress must to the reader, who has free admission to all our secrets, be frank mansfield still. and we find him now clad in a rough, well-worn suit of clothes, with a blue woolen shirt and a low, slouch, felt hat, not unlike the garments which a few hours since we saw adorning the person of barney, the bootblack, one of the "bats" in the vault of the church-yard wall. but his hands are free--there is no doubt of that, for he has one inserted in each side-pocket of his short monkey-coat as he hurries along by the side of his companion through the snow. and for this relief, one may as well say right here, frank had to thank a sharp file, procured by one of his new-found friends and master barney's strength of arm. as to the second boy, he is likewise a "bat from the wall." the special "bat," in fact, mentioned by barney in his graphic description of the robbery of the webster bank as having taken upon himself to track the burglars to their home. he was a well-built fellow of some eighteen or nineteen years, rough and uncouth in his dress and speech, but immeasurably superior, as could be seen at a glance, to either of his companions encountered by frank in the vault. he rejoiced among his fellow "bats" in the short and easily-remembered appellation of "jerry buck." "are you sure you'd know the place again, jerry?" asked frank, as they walked along. it was for the purpose of pointing out the house into which the three bank-robbers had disappeared that the two boys had now sallied forth. "positive," replied the boy, quickly. "it was down in cherry street, just behind the catherine market. i never let up on 'em till i seed 'em go in." "there were three of them, you say?" "yes--one big feller with a carpet-bag, his head all tied up in a comforter, and two others, one with a big bag over his shoulder, an' the other with nothin' at all." as frank said nothing further, and his companion evinced an equal disinclination to talk, the boys, having now turned into broadway, moved along in silence until they reached the newspaper offices which line the right-hand side of park row and printing house square. at each one of these they made a halt, jerry buck entering at the basement doors, and elbowing his way among a crowd of men and boys, emerged with an ever increasing bundle of morning papers under his arm. for jerry was a newsboy as well as a "bat in the wall," and had his living to get on sunday as upon the other days of the week. "now, we won't stop no more," he said briefly, as his complement of papers was completed at last. "let's hurry up, for as soon as it's light i've got to get to work." he turned into frankfort street as he spoke, and leading the way past the great arches of the brooklyn bridge, entered cherry street at its junction with franklin square. continuing along that thoroughfare, clean to the eye at least for once, the boys passed the end of the catherine market, and at a sign from jerry came to a halt before a dirty brick tenement. "that's the place," he said. "i saw them all three go in that door." "you are sure?" "certain. i can't make no mistake about it, for i used to live in that house once myself." "and i suppose they are there now, the miserable scoundrels," exclaimed frank, looking up at the house. "jerry, i think the best thing i can do is to go directly and inform the police." "maybe it is. you've got education and ought to know better than i, but there's another road out of this place by way of the alley in the rear. perhaps i'd better show you that first." he led the way around the corner into catherine street, and paused before an old tumble-down rookery bearing the sign "the donegal shades, by p. slattery," above the door. here in the neighborhood of the busy market there were signs of abundant life. men, women and boys were moving up and down the sidewalk, to and fro, bent on their various affairs. "that's the place," said jerry, pointing toward an alley leading to the rear of the saloon. as frank raised his eyes in response to the sign a man sprang toward them with a loud shout. it was the detective who had arrested him at the bank that night. by the light of a neighboring street-lamp frank recognized him at a glance. with an exclamation he sprang away just as the man's hand was stretched out to grasp his coat, and, followed by jerry buck, who did not comprehend the situation at all, dashed up the street with the speed of the wind, without pausing to look behind. but jerry was possessed of no such fears as at that moment filled our hero's breast. as they turned the corner of cherry street he shot a hurried glance behind him and beheld the singular accident already described, which served to bring the detective to a sudden halt. "hist! hist!" he whispered, seizing frank by the arm. "he's down, and there comes one of the bank burglars now!" even as he spoke the man who had dropped the basket of fish dashed round the corner and past them up cherry street at the top of his speed. "that's the one wot carried the bag!" whispered the boy, excitedly. "who's the feller that made you cut an' run?" "the detective what arrested me--i don't know his name." "the deuce? well, you don't want him to see you, and there's no danger of it. i can give him the slip twenty times in this neighborhood--never you fear. if yer a-goin' to give yerself up you' better do it. don't let that fellow take you in, or they won't believe a word you say." but the detective on whom their eyes were fixed from around the corner of the building by the side of which they stood, showed no disposition to follow. on the contrary. he remained stooping over the basket dropped by the flying man in the snow. as the boys watched him there emerged from the alley at the side of the donegal shades two men, who, moving unobserved through the crowd which had now gathered about the building, hurried up catherine street, passed within two feet of the spot where the boys now were. "i know the big fellow," whispered jerry buck, seizing frank by the arm. "that's another of them--that's the fellow who carried the carpet-bag away from the bank." but frank mansfield made no response. he stood staring at the vanishing forms like one in a trance. if the larger of the two men was one of the robbers of the webster bank, what was his companion doing in such company as his? for the man who walked by the burglar's side was the old-time friend of the boy himself--was the father of the girl he loved--that most respectable stock operator and member of the tenth baptist church, elijah callister, and no one else! chapter x. in the chamber of death. caleb hook stared at the fearful sight which in that darkened chamber met his gaze with feelings of mingled horror and surprise. could this, indeed, be the strange creature whose footsteps he had followed--who but a few short moments before he had seen in life. it was hard to realize it, but there could be no doubt that such was the fact. there lay the same attenuated form, the same pale and worn features, the thin gray hair, now falling in a tangled mass to the floor, behind the head. and the restless eyes had ceased their wandering at last, stilled by the cold hand of death. upon the woman's forehead a fearful bruise was plainly to be seen as the detective stooped, and, by the light of the candle which he had seized from the table, examined the inanimate form. it was such a mark as a man's fist might make upon the right temple above the eye. there was nothing save this fearful bruise, which in itself would have been enough to have felled the strongest man, far less a frail woman like this. caleb hook set the candle upon the floor, and taking the woman's hand in his own, silently felt her pulse. it had ceased to beat--the hand was already cold. "is she dead?" demanded the saloon-keeper, in a frightened whisper. "she certainly is," replied the detective. "can you look at her and ask? that blow must have been the work of a powerful man--coward, i should rather say, whoever he was, to use a woman so." "god save us! an' yer right," exclaimed slattery, with a shudder. "an' she was a dacent body, if she war mad. bad luck to the murtherin' spalpane who raised his hand agin her. i would i had me own two hands about his throat!" as the warm-hearted irishman uttered these words, with some evidence of deep feeling, the sound of footsteps was heard on the stairs without, and a stout woman, bare-headed and so lightly dressed as to leave a strong suspicion in the minds of the two men who beheld her that she had just left her bed, now bustled into the room. "an' what's all the row up here?" she demanded. "there's noise enough to wake the dead." "but not enough to wake yon poor crayter, mrs. o'brien!" exclaimed slattery, grimly, pointing at the same time toward the body of the woman on the floor. "d'ye know what's been goin' on up here? poor mrs. marley's after bein' murdered." "holy vargin! an' is it murther that's been done?" cried the woman, who, having caught sight of the body, now sprang toward the door, extending her hands before her, as if to ward off the sight. "help! murder! perlice! och, an' it's bad luck that's overtook me respictible house!" before the hand of the detective could be raised to stay her, the frightened creature had rushed down the stairs, through the alley and out into the street, causing the air to ring with her cries of murder and her shouts for the police. "it's the woman down stairs," said slattery aghast. "sure, an' it's the whole worruld we'll have in to join us now." caleb hook made no reply. he cared little, in fact, who entered this chamber of death and who stayed away. he could not be everywhere, and had no desire to take charge of the case. the woman was dead, and her knowledge concerning the robbery of the webster bank must remain forever untold. nevertheless, he realized fully that between the robbery and this murder there was unquestionably a connecting link. in all human probability the secrets possessed by this unfortunate creature had cost her life. he kneeled beside the body and made a hurried examination of her clothes, slattery talking volubly as he did so, and, professing his entire innocence of any knowledge of the affair. but the search was fruitless. save for a few cheap personal belongings, there was nothing found upon the woman of any interest at all. he had scarce completed his work, before the sound of many footsteps was heard upon the stairs, and a motley crowd pressed their way into the room. men from the market, men from the street. butchers, fishmongers, and housewives with their baskets, on their way to purchase their morning supplies. close behind them came a policeman, who elbowed his way through the crowd. into the hands of this man the detective resigned the case, informing him of his own identity and of the facts connected with the discovery of the body. "i'll go around to the oak street station at once, officer," he added in a whisper, "and send you help. meanwhile, keep an eye on that man slattery, if you want my advice. better keep him in here with you--i'll send these people away. "get back there!" he said, sternly, facing the crowd now pressing about the door. "get back, every one of you! the law will attend to this matter without your help!" he pushed back a brawny butcher as he spoke, who, with his check frock hanging to his heels, had pushed his way beyond the rest within the little room. at the same instant a slight stir was observed among those beyond, and a young man with pallid features and whitened lips tightly set pushed his way into the room. he was followed by a second youth but little younger than himself, who held a bundle of newspapers beneath his arm. detective hook started back with an exclamation of surprise. before him stood the very pair who had eluded his grasp in the street but a few moments before. it was frank mansfield and his newsboy companion, jerry buck. attracted by the outcry in the street and impelled by a desire for which he was wholly unable to account, frank had followed the crowd through the alley and up the rickety stairs, wholly regardless of results. springing forward, he now sank beside the body of the unfortunate woman with a low, horror-stricken cry. instantly the detective's hand was upon his shoulder and had gently, but firmly, raised him to his feet. the boy stared at him wildly. "let me go," he said hoarsely, pulling himself away. "send away these people! leave me alone with my dead!" "your dead, young man? is that woman anything to you?" "she is my mother!" cried frank, kneeling by the side of the body, and taking the cold, white hand within his own. "she is my mother, and i, who basely left her to the hands of others, am responsible for this--i, her most unworthy son!" chapter xi. an unexpected ally. for a moment no one spoke. the kneeling boy wept by the side of the woman's body upon the floor, the crowd falling back to make way for him of their own accord. "come, my boy," said detective hook, at length, laying his hand with womanly tenderness upon frank's shoulder, "this is no place for you. the coroner has a duty here; meanwhile you had better come with me." the boy arose obediently. forcing back the crowd, the detective closed the door of the little room behind him, and taking frank by the arm, he led him to the street without speaking a word. to jerry buck, who had followed them through the alley and now stood with his bundle of newspapers under his arm staring at them wonderingly, he paid no attention at all. at this moment the policeman who, at the detective's orders, had taken the stolen dollars to the oak street station, came hurrying up. releasing his hold on frank's arm, caleb hook drew the man aside and whispered a few hurried words in his ear. the policeman turned abruptly and hurried back in the direction from which he had come. "that man will see that all proper steps are taken for the care of the remains of your unfortunate mother," said the detective, quietly, "which leaves me free to attend to you." "now, my boy, i want to talk with you. i know you to be the same person who has twice given me the slip to-night, and by right ought to handcuff you and take you to the station at once. but, although it may surprise you, i don't propose to do anything of the sort, for i think it unnecessary to resort to such means." "i'll go with you now, sir," replied frank, in a broken voice. "i was just going to give myself up. i shall not try to escape again." "good!" replied the man, putting his arm through that of the boy and moving up catherine street as he spoke. "i flatter myself i can read men's faces as well as the next, and that is why i have determined to place confidence in you. i may deem it my duty to arrest you yet. very likely i shall; but before i do so i am going to have a quiet talk with you, when i'm certain you'll see the advantage of telling me the whole truth about this bank affair, and in order that we may be undisturbed i propose to take you to my own room, which, fortunately, is not far off." now the room occupied by caleb hook--for he was a bachelor, and had no one to care for but himself--was situated in a respectable lodging-house in madison street, between montgomery and clinton. ten minutes later the detective himself entered the apartment, followed by the youthful assistant cashier of the webster national bank. it was a large room on the second floor of the house. the furniture was modern and abundant, giving to the interior a thoroughly comfortable air. locking the door behind him and lighting a handsome drop-light, detective hook touched a match to a fire already laid in the open grate, which in a moment broke into a cheerful blaze. "now then, young man," he said, pulling off his overcoat, and drawing up a comfortable easy chair, "you are my guest for the present, whether i conclude to turn you over to the authorities later on or not. sit down there, and make yourself at home." frank seated himself wearily and remained gazing at the fire without reply. meanwhile, caleb hook studied his face in silence. "was that woman really your mother?" he said at length. "yes." the boy had burst into tears, burying his face in his hands. "poor fellow!" said the detective, sympathizingly, putting his hand gently upon his shoulder, "i had a mother once, whom i loved better than any one in the world. dear me! she died a dozen years ago. "you've had a great deal of trouble," he added, after a short pause. "i can see that at a glance. now, do you know, frank, that two-thirds of the scrapes people get themselves into come from lying? suppose your mother were to speak to you now? don't you think she would advise you to tell me all you know about this bank affair? come, now, i'm sure she would." "she would as she once was," replied frank, bitterly; "but my mother has been insane for the last five years, and in an asylum. god only knows how she came to escape to meet her death to-night." "tell me all about it, my boy, tell me all about it," said hook, familiarly, and in the most sympathizing tones. "if there is any way in the world to help you, count on me every time." it was the favorite motto of this famous man that to understand the motive of a criminal it was only necessary to lead him to believe that your sympathy lay wholly with himself. personally, he fully believed the boy before him to have had a hand in the bank robbery. nor was this strange. had he not caught him almost in the act? if he could, by working upon his feelings in these, the first moments of his bitter sorrow, bring him to confess, much trouble to himself and much expense to the police in working out a troublesome case might thus be saved. it was with this end in view that he had adopted this unusual course. nor were his efforts unrewarded. frank opened his heart without further pressure, and related truthfully all that had occurred. one thing only he concealed--the secret of the "bats in the wall." the boys had befriended him in his moment of need. he was firmly resolved that no amount of pressure should draw from him the secret of their hiding-place, which through their kindness to himself he had learned. "upon my word, this is a most remarkable story," exclaimed the detective, gazing at frank with a puzzled air as he completed his tale. "but you have omitted to tell me how it is that having handcuffed you myself, and delivered you into the charge of an officer, you managed to escape as you did." "i can't tell you that, sir," replied the boy, firmly. "it would not help you any so far as tracing the bank-robbers are concerned to know." "you say you met some boys who saw the burglars, who showed you a box of papers, which they had dropped in their flight, from which you took this will of which you have given me so strange an account. did these boys have anything to do with your escape?" "perhaps they did and perhaps they didn't--they proved my friends, and i shan't give them away." "that's right, never go back on your friends. now, then, frank mansfield, do you know who i am?" "i know you are a detective." "so i am. my name is caleb hook." "i've often heard of you," said frank, regarding him with some curiosity. and who has not! the name of caleb hook has for years been the most famous of the new york force. "no doubt," replied that individual, quietly. "but to return to our subject in which i am becoming more interested every moment. i see deeper into things than you can expect to, my boy, and let me tell you in what you have related i see evidences of a deep and carefully laid scheme, of which this bank robbery forms only a part. let me see that will you found in the box." frank took the document from his pocket and placed it in his hands. "i've had no time to read it through," he said. the detective opened the paper, the seals of which had already been broken when frank first found it, and perused it in silence. "my boy," said he, as he came to the end, "let me tell you that this document is likely to prove of the greatest value to you. in it the testator--your grandfather, you say he is--relates that he has converted all his property, valued at over half a million, into gold and gems and has buried it in a place described in a sealed parchment which ought to accompany this will. all of this is to be yours at the age of twenty-two, under certain conditions; until then the document is to be secret, and its contents remain unknown. now, where is that sealed parchment? that's the question before the house!" "i'm sure i can't tell," replied frank, in astonishment. "it may be with the other papers in the box. half a million! and all for me! and we all thought my grandfather died poor!" "it is very evident he did nothing of the sort. jeremiah mansfield--jeremiah mansfield--let me see--wasn't that the miserly old fellow who was murdered in harlem some five years ago?" "yes: his house was entered by burglars in the night. they killed him, and no property except the old house was ever found, although until then my father thought him to be rich." "and it seems he was right," replied hook, musingly. "then your father was francis mansfield, the foreign importer, who was said--who----" "they said he stole one hundred thousand dollars of the funds of a european house intrusted to his keeping!" cried frank, with deeply flushed face, "but it was false. the money arrived too late for deposit, father put it over night in his safe. burglars entered the store that night, blew up the safe and stole every cent. it killed my father to be thought a defaulter, drove my mother mad, and ruined us all." "just so," answered the detective; "i remember it all perfectly well. it was a sad case, indeed." for a few moments he remained silently musing, still holding the open paper in his hand. "who is this man callister?" he asked, at length. "is it the wall street speculator of that name?" "yes. he was my father's best friend." "and it was he whom you saw coming out of that alley with the other man that jerry buck, the newsboy, told you was one of the burglars?" "yes, i'm sure of it. i know him too well to make a mistake." "and i know him, too," muttered hook, "and i propose to know him better by and by. you observe that he is one of the witnesses to your grandfather's will!" he added, aloud. "yes." "now, frank, let me tell you something you don't know, but might have known if you had taken the trouble to read this document carefully. listen to this clause in your grandfather's will, which has a most important bearing on this case: "'and if, at the age of twenty-two, my grandson, the said frank mansfield, shall be found to be honest and upright, and in every way a reputable member of society, the sealed parchment, together with the buried treasure which it represents, which i deem unsafe, in these days of fraud, to intrust to the keeping of any bank, shall be delivered to him, and shall become his sole property by virtue of this my last will. if, however, the said frank mansfield shall have become deceased, or if he shall have been at any time proven guilty of any unlawful act, then this, my last will and testament, together with the accompanying parchment and the buried treasure it represents, shall be given to my good friend, elijah callister, of the city of new york, to become his sole property, under the provisions of this will.'" "and knowing this, mr. callister tried to have me convicted of crime!" cried frank, springing to his feet in great excitement. "can it be possible that the man is so base?" "young man, it looks tremendously like it," said caleb hook, decidedly, folding up the will and putting it in his own pocket. "you tell me that cutts led you into this affair--and i want you to understand for what you proposed to do you are most decidedly to blame--that he agreed to pay these boys, ed wilson and jim morrow, who, according to the story told by them to that boy barney, have undoubtedly left already in the early morning train for california, where, had the plot succeeded, they could never have been reached to prove your innocence, even had they been so disposed. "now, if cutts paid them--and cutts is crooked, if he is a detective; i've known that this long while--the question is who was to pay cutts? my answer would be this man callister, whose direct interest it is to have you convicted of crime." "mr. hook," exclaimed the boy, lost in astonishment, "i am completely bewildered. what would you advise me to do?" "to place yourself in my hands, if you will," answered the detective, decidedly. "i will take up your case if you wish me to do so, for it is just the sort of an affair i like. "i now fully believe your story, my boy, and shall not place you under arrest. in working for your interests i shall also be doing my duty in unearthing the robbers of the webster bank." "of course i shall be only too glad of your help," said frank, eagerly. "i have been foolish--i see it now. whatever you say i'll do." "then, inasmuch as you have mysteriously disappeared, remain so. i've reported your disappearance to the police; let it be your care not to reappear until i say the word. "disguise yourself, watch callister, see your bootblacks and newsboys, and procure from them the tin box and all it contains. i will do for your unfortunate mother all that can be done. when you want money come to me. we will work together, frank, and as i don't work for nothing, you can repay me when you come into your own." "i can never repay you, sir!" cried the boy, with tears in his eyes, grasping the detective's outstretched hand. "yes, you can, and i'm sure you will. here are a few dollars now. when you need it you shall have more. now go, and don't be seen in the streets so dressed that any one will recognize you again. you can meet me--let me see--i've got to go out of town this afternoon on important business, and won't return until late to-night. meet me where i saw you first--on the corner of rector street and broadway--to-night, as the clock of old trinity strikes twelve." chapter xii. what was seen by the church-yard wall. the sabbath has passed, and night has fallen upon the city once more. the busy streets are growing deserted, and the great business thoroughfares about lower broadway, silent at all hours on this the day of rest, have, as the night wears on, become almost entirely abandoned by pedestrians, and have sunk into obscurity and gloom. as the midnight hour approached, the figure of a young man, roughly dressed in garments of the commonest sort, his face concealed beneath a low slouch hat, his mouth by a heavy black mustache, might have been observed to briskly ascend the rector street hill, which rises along the church-yard wall, and to take his station at the corner of broadway, close by the side of the iron fence which divides the old burial ground from the street. he was evidently waiting for some one, for as he paced up and down beneath the cold light of the glittering stars his eye was from time to time turned upon the clock in the church tower, now about to strike the hour of twelve. no one that had ever known frank mansfield would have recognized the neatly dressed young bank clerk in this rough looking youth who now strode uneasily up and down. and yet it was none other than frank himself, cleverly disguised, prompt on the hour of his appointment with detective hook. nor was that famous officer at all behindhand. just as the clock of old trinity rang out the midnight hour the boy perceived him moving at a rapid pace down broadway. clever as was frank's disguise, it did not deceive the detective for an instant. "well, young man, you are on time, i see?" he said, abruptly, peering beneath the low slouched hat. "what have you learned? you have got the sealed parchment that should accompany the will, i hope? otherwise, your chances of finding your legacy are mighty slim." "i have learned nothing, excepting the fact that my mother escaped from the private asylum up-town where she had been confined over a week ago." "and the parchment?" "was not in the box, mr. hook. here it is, with all the papers it contained. i have examined every one of them, and it is not there." he drew a small tin box from beneath his coat as he spoke and placed it in the detective's hands. "that's bad for us," replied caleb hook, opening the box and examining the papers one by one. "these seem to relate to all sorts of matters. surely this cannot be the box in which the will was originally contained." "i can't say--it is all that was found by the boys. i----" "seek not the parchment. watch and wait, for the day of vengeance is at hand!" plainly heard by both the man and the boy, these words rang out upon the silence of the deserted street. "who spoke?" exclaimed the detective, springing back from the church-yard rail against which he had been leaning. save himself and his companion, not a soul was to be seen either on rector street or broadway. with a low cry the boy had seized him by the arm. "there--there!" he whispered, trembling with excitement, pointing, at the same time to the open expanse of the trinity church-yard within the rail, by the side of which they stood. the eyes of caleb hook followed the direction indicated by frank's hand. there, moving among the headstones in the shadow of the church itself, was the form of a woman, cheaply dressed in a faded calico, an old shawl and a woolen hood. she was tall and thin, and her long gray hair hung in a tangled mass down her neck and shoulders. "great god! if it ain't----" "my mother!" cried the boy aloud, springing toward the rail. "it is! it is! look! she faces us now. god have mercy! what can this mean?" the form had paused, and, turning, gazed sorrowfully toward the astonished pair beneath the stars which glistened above. but, feeble as was their light, detective hook recognized in that care-worn face, at a glance, the features of the strange woman whom he had tracked through the streets on the previous night, and who, to his positive knowledge now lay dead in the city morgue! chapter xiii. in cagney's sanctum. we never heard it claimed that oliver street was fashionable. if such a claim was made, many who know that narrow lane, extending from chatham square down to the east river front, would be inclined to dispute its truth. crossing cherry street, water and front, passing directly through the heart of the densely populated fourth ward, long known as the home of the toughest of the "toughs" who infest the city of new york, it would be useless for us to pretend that oliver street was anything else than just what it is--as bad as bad can be. not that many excellent people cannot be found within its limits. that is true of every city street, no matter how poor its seeming; but michael j. cagney was certainly not one of these, nor was his saloon--"the fourth ward shades"--any better than it ought to be, if common rumor was to be believed. and yet cagney did a flourishing business--there could be no doubt as to that. it was open all day, it could be entered at night, nor upon the sabbath were the thirsty turned away. how mr. michael j. cagney managed to arrange matters with the excise commissioners is no concern of ours. in the present stage of the events of this narrative we are concerned only with two individuals, who, at the hour of daybreak on the particular sunday morning of the visit of frank mansfield and jerry buck to the catherine market, entered quietly at cagney's little side door. they were none other than the two men who had emerged from the alley at the side of the donegal shades, one of whom it will be recollected, frank recognized as that most reputable member of society, mr. elijah callister, the well-known operator on the stock exchange, and the other the man pointed out by jerry buck as one of the burglars of the webster bank. pushing against the door, to all appearance tightly fastened, but which instantly yielded to their touch, the two men found themselves within a dirty bar-room. bottles and demijohns lined the grimy shelves, great casks and barrels were piled from the level of the sawdust-covered floor in double tiers around two sides of the room. upon the top of these barrels lay four or five ragged men, some young, some old, all sprawled out without reference to the gracefulness of the position shown and all sound asleep. these were the drunkards of the saturday night previous, taken from the floor, to which they had fallen under the influence of the vile poison imbibed at this and other bars, and thrown upon the top of these barrels to sleep off the effects of their debauch. the two men paid no attention to this--a common sunday morning spectacle in many low saloons--but with a nod to the sleepy, red-eyed bartender passed through a swinging half door, which formed to a certain extent at least, a dividing line between cagney's proper and cagney's private sanctum beyond. it was only a little x affair, in the center of which stood a table, and one or two hard wooden chairs, all a shade less dirty than the room beyond. the stock operator seated himself at the table upon entering. his companion, sinking into a chair and burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud. for a moment mr. callister regarded him gloomily. then, extending his hand, he grasped his shoulder and shook the man with some violence. "rube, rube, i say!" "well, what is it, lije? why the deuce can't you let me be?" "but there's no use in this kind of business. what's done is done, and can't be helped. brace up man, and try to look as near like yourself as you can. here comes paddy to see what we'll take." the burglar raised his head and was staring fixedly before him, as the half door swung inward and the sleepy bartender entered the room. "what's your liquor, gents?" he demanded, with an air of indifference. they must pay for their use of the apartment by an order of some kind. so that they did this, their presence in the place, be their business, lawful or unlawful, was a matter of no moment to him. "a bottle of cagney's particular and two glasses, paddy, and you may keep the change," said callister, throwing down a five-dollar bill. "we have a little business to transact together--don't let us be disturbed." "o. k., gents," replied the sleepy bartender, with a gleam of intelligence in his blinking red eyes. "i'll look out for yez, and if ye want anything else, wy jest tap that ere bell." he presently returned with bottle and glasses and having placed them upon the table, withdrew. "here, rube, drink this. it will give you some heart," said the stock operator, pouring out a portion of the liquor and passing it to his friend. the man seized the glass eagerly and drained it to the last drop. "my god--my god! lije, what a terrible thing this is!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, as he set the glass upon the table again. "i can see her face before me now, so white and worn! it will never leave me--i feel it--i know it! it will haunt me as long as i live!" "nonsense, man! you have been guilty of a piece of tremendous folly, but we've too much at stake to break all to pieces over such a slip." "poor maria! poor girl!" groaned the man rube, again burying his face in his hands and groaning aloud. "it was all my vile temper, lije. i swear to god i never meant to kill her, and now----" "and now she's dead," returned callister, with an air of hardened indifference. "she was hopelessly mad, and a nuisance to herself and to us. she's dead, and it can't be helped. you let your temper get the better of you, and you killed her. that's all there is to be said." "for which act may god forgive me," groaned rube again. "oh, lije, it seems but yesterday since i married her! do you remember what beautiful girls they were when you and i and frank mansfield went a-courting them? do you remember----" "no, i don't remember, and i don't want to. all the love i had for them was turned to hate long ago. she's dead, and let her go. what i'm interested in just now is the whereabouts of those papers. you thought she had them, and because she wouldn't give them up----" "i killed her. god forgive me! i killed her! oh, lije, if i had only listened to maria's advice, i'd be a different man to-day from what i am!" a soft-hearted bank burglar, surely. a strange murderer, for a fact. the man had buried his face in his hand again, which rests upon the table now, and is crying like a child. "rube tisdale, you are a fool. if you give way like this, no power on earth can keep you from being nabbed. you thought maria had old mansfield's will and the paper telling where he buried his fortune. she refused to give it up, and you killed her with your fist. we searched her, and the papers were not to be found. no one suspects your connection with the woman. if you will but keep a stiff lip you are as safe in new york as anywhere else; but if you are going to give way like this, why the sooner you skip----" "sun, herald, journal, world! papers, gents--papers!" a head was thrust through the swinging door; a ragged boy, carrying a bundle of newspapers under his arm entered the room. "get out, you young imp, or i'll throw this glass at you!" cried callister, picking up the glass and swinging it above his head. the boy sprang back, the half-door, which worked on a spring, closing noiselessly after him. then the leading light in the tenth baptist church turned to the remorse-stricken man again. now, if there was one thing upon which mr. elijah callister prided himself more than another, it was upon his shrewdness at all times and seasons--no matter how engrossing the business for the moment occupying his mind. but if possessed of this quality to any startling extent, he surely has failed to display it now, for had he but taken the precaution to open the half door and look out into the bar-room, he would have perceived that the sleepy bartender, yielding to his sleepiness at last, was as firmly locked in the arms of morpheus as any of the drunkards stretched upon the barrels, his head resting upon his hands, his hands upon the bar. he might have seen also--for of this we are not so certain--the youthful figure of a ragged newsboy, crouching in the shadow of a tier of great whisky-barrels in such a position that, while he could obtain a view of the feet only of the two men who occupied cagney's sanctum beneath the closed half door, he could, by simply placing his ear close to the jamb, hear plainly every word spoken within. thus matters stood in the saloon as the conversation within the sanctum was renewed. "rube tisdale," said the stock operator, fiercely, "stop this child's business and listen to me." "well, i'm listening." though he replied, the man did not raise his head. "our scheme with the webster bank has proved a miserable failure in every particular." "you don't need to remind me of that." "but i chose to, and that is enough. first, all the money we got was five thousand dollars, for the bonds and securities are utterly useless; and second, the will of old mansfield, which i was most anxious to secure, by your stupidity is lost, perhaps forever, and the secret of the hiding-place of a fortune in solid cash is gone with it, i suppose you understand." "well, it ain't my fault. you drew the plans for the job. you said there was a hundred thousand in specie in the vault of the bank." "so there was at noon. how was i to tell that they would send it all to the sub-treasury in wall street for security before three o'clock?" "that's your business. it ain't mine." "but the mansfield will and the parchment telling the hiding-place of the buried treasure--who botched that job, may i ask?" "i took the box of papers you told me about. i was particular enough to break open the lid to assure myself that all was right. i had it in my hand when we heard those infernal bats whistling in trinity church-yard. it scared the life out of us, i want you to understand, for how were we to know they were bats or what they were? i must have dropped the box in the snow as we ran up broadway." "and because you happened to see maria wandering about, you thought she picked it up, and killed her, only to find out your mistake. well, rube, upon my life you are a precious fool. next time i let you into a scheme like this i'll know it, i guess." "come, you've called me names enough," replied the burglar, gruffly, raising his head and facing the man before him. "you are as deep in the mud as i am in the mire, i want you to understand. the detectives will turn new york upside down for this affair. now, what do you propose to do? they've got joe dutton, and they've got a part of the swag. it's my opinion that the best thing we can do is to skip." "nonsense! joe is all right. i shall make it my business to send some one to him at once. have no fear, rube. he'll never blow." "and the--the body?" "we can't do anything about that. matters must take their course. i agree with you that it would be wiser for us to leave town for a while--not that i have any serious fears, but only as a matter of precaution--but i intend to have that mansfield money before i go, make no mistake about that." "but how do you propose to get it? without the parchment you don't know anything more about its hiding-place than you did before." "rube, it is concealed somewhere about the old house, i'll be willing to bet all i'm worth. it was there on the night that--but no matter about that--and i'm sure it is there now. we never wanted that hidden wealth half as much as we do now. frank mansfield is almost of age; my scheme to convict him of crime may have worked and may not. we can't tell into whose hands the papers may fall. what we want is the money now." "all very true, but how are you going to get it, when you don't know where it is?" "i'm going to search for it, rube!" cried callister bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang. "i'm going to search for it, and i'll find it if i have to tear the old rookery to pieces bit by bit. come, we've been here too long already. wherever you think yourself the safest, there hide for the next few days until we see what comes of this affair. meanwhile, i'll go home. to-morrow, at midnight, meet me at the gate of the three oaks, and we'll search for this hidden treasure as we never searched before. i've no notion of seeing it drop like a ripe cherry into the open mouth of that cub of a boy while i can raise a hand to prevent it." the pair arose and passed out of the saloon. the sleeping paddy did not attract their attention--they did not perceive the boy behind the barrels at all. once in the street they separated, the man tisdale going down cherry street, elijah callister up oliver street to chatham square. he had hardly passed henry street before a ragged newsboy went past him on the run. "sun--herald--world!" he cried. "morning papers! herald--sun--world--journal!" if frank mansfield could have seen the newsboy then he would have unquestionably recognized in him jerry buck, his companion of the old church-yard vault. had an elephant crossed the path of the scheming villain, or a dog, or even a mouse, he might have turned aside and looked upon either one. mr. elijah callister, however, paid no attention to the flying bat at all. chapter xiv. an intruder in the home of the bats. we left frank mansfield standing in company with detective hook before the fence of trinity church-yard, beyond which moved the form of the woman who had tracked his footsteps to the bank upon the night previous--of his mother, whom both he and his companion knew to have met her death in the upper room of the little rear house behind the donegal shades. it was for an instant only that the figure faced them. had the warning words spoken behind them proceeded from those pale, set lips? such undoubtedly was the case. and as if to make the matter still more plain, even as they gazed upon the apparition through the palings of the graveyard fence, the words were repeated again. "again i say to you, my son, seek not the parchment. watch and wait, for the day of vengeance is at hand." suddenly the figure of the woman had come to a halt. raising one thin hand aloft to the starlit sky above, these words escaped her lips. then advancing with a gliding movement among the crumbling stones of the old burial ground, the outline of her form seemed to fade away in the darkness, to mingle with the shadows of the great church, of the snow-capped tombs. it was all the work of an instant. not half the time was consumed in the happening that has elapsed in telling the tale. as though animated by a common thought, the detective and young frank mansfield had leaped toward the church-yard wall. the fence offered no obstacle. they dropped in the snow among the headstones. "after her, boy!" whispered hook. "after her without an instant's delay; there's some crooked work going on here, and it will go hard with some one, but i'll find out what it is." but frank mansfield did not heed him. he no more believed in ghosts than did caleb hook. if the woman by the side of whose dead body he had knelt in the house on catherine street had been his poor, insane mother, driven mad by such a combination of afflictions as woman is seldom called upon to bear, then who was this? he needed no encouragement from the man by his side to spur him on to solve the mystery for himself. the day had been clear and more than unusually warm, causing the snow to soften considerably, but as night had approached the thermometer had fallen, forming a hard crust upon the smooth surface among the stones. with a bound frank reached the point in the church-yard at which the apparition had appeared, detective hook pressing close behind. it was unoccupied by human form. the headstones were there, the shadows of the church were there, the leafless branches of the great trees rattled gloomily above their heads. but the woman whose warning words had fallen so plainly upon their ears was nowhere to be seen. she had disappeared--disappeared, leaving no trace behind. there was not so much as the outline of her footsteps to be seen upon the hardened crust of the snow. "come," whispered hook, "this is the way she went, over toward the new church street wall. she cannot get out; there are but two gates, and both are locked at night; it is twenty feet to the ground on the side towards which she disappeared, to say nothing of the fence she would have to climb." they picked their way among the tombs to the rear of the church. here, in the cold starlight, the entire expanse of the church-yard was plainly visible from the fence on the rector street side to the wall of the great trinity building at the upper end. not the faintest trace of the woman could be seen. footsteps there were in abundance, but the hardened crust had formed over them, showing plainly that they were the footsteps of persons who had passed over the snow some time before. as it was sunday, and service had been held in the trinity church twice at least during the day, there was nothing strange in this. a score of people might have amused themselves wandering about among the moldering tombs, as the church-yard is free to all. detective hook examined these footprints carefully. among them he recognized his own and those measured by him the night before. at one point he observed also many smaller than the rest, as though made by the feet of boys; and these were particularly numerous in the vicinity of a great flat tomb-stone, embedded apparently in the solid earth, about which the snow had all been cleared away. "mr. hook," whispered frank, nervously, "what can this mean?" "my boy, you have me there. i can't tell any more than yourself." "it is very, very strange. i saw my mother as plainly as i see you now. i heard her words spoken in her own voice." "you are positive that it was your mother, frank?" said the detective, musingly, as he stood contemplating the great flat stone. "positive? of course i am. it is almost enough to make me feel that i am going mad myself. i should doubt my own vision, my hearing even, had you not both seen and heard too." "there is nothing to doubt," replied hook with sudden emphasis, turning his gaze at the same time upon the boy, who stood trembling with excitement before him. "what you saw i saw, what you heard was heard also by me. no, no, my boy, there is no madness in this case. if you are positive that the woman murdered in catherine street was your mother, that the woman i followed through the streets last night was your mother, then, although i am an utter disbeliever in spiritual manifestations of all kinds, i see but one conclusion to draw----" as the detective paused, staring about the church-yard in deep perplexity, frank felt a shudder pass through his frame from his head to his feet. if the man by his side did not believe in ghosts, no more did he. and yet---- well, the woman seen by them both was gone, and that was all there was to it. the whole expanse of the rear of the trinity church-yard, toward which she had moved, now lay spread out before them. if her gliding figure had vanished into thin air it could not have disappeared more effectually than it had. "come," said hook, abruptly moving at the same time toward the low wall on the rector street side, "there's no use in remaining longer; we shall learn nothing here to-night." gaining the fence, he vaulted lightly to the street. frank, following his example, stood by his side. "well, which way are you going?" asked the detective. "i am tired, and off for home." "oh, i stay with some friends to-night." "friends! what friends? be careful. if we are going to work together, you must follow my instructions to the letter. are you sure of these friends of yours? won't they give you away?" "i have no fear of that," replied the boy, quietly. "i've had some experience with treacherous friends. i know that i can depend on these." "very well. go to them, then, and meet me--let me see--you can meet me to-morrow at my house at four o'clock, if you don't see me before that time. meanwhile, i'll keep this box and these papers, including your grandfather's will. we'll lay out a regular course of action together next time we meet. if we only had that parchment, the way would be plain; but it seems that we are obliged to follow the advice we have received so strangely to-night, whether we want to or not--to watch and wait." pressing frank warmly by the hand, caleb hook turned abruptly and walked off up broadway. he did not look behind him, nor even turn his head. passing trinity church and the grave-yard beyond, his form was presently lost to view among the high buildings which line either side of the street. and not until then did frank mansfield move from the place where the detective had left him, but remained leaning against the iron fence at the corner of rector street and broadway. no sooner had caleb hook disappeared, than he turned, and keeping close within the shadow of the wall, moved down rector street in the direction of new church. as he passed opposite the webster bank he turned and gazed upon it with feelings of mingled shame and an utter despisal of himself. if he had had no hand in the robbery, he had at least been ready to betray the secrets of those who had trusted him for hope of paltry gain. within the banking-room lights were burning, and the boy could see his fellow clerks poring over books and papers in the endeavor to discover the extent of the bank's loss before opening for business next day. deeply depressed, and with a sense of utter self-contempt strong upon him, frank slunk by those lighted windows, and turning the corner of new church street, still keeping close to the grave-yard wall, paused before the great iron door. leaning against it, he cast a hasty glance up and down. the street was deserted. not a soul was anywhere visible. but stay! it might have been fancy, but as he looked a second time it seemed to the boy, in his excited state of mind, that a woman's form at that moment turned the corner of rector street upon the opposite side of the way and disappeared from view. darting to the corner at the top of his speed, he swept the short street at one glance. that he had been mistaken was evident. from broadway above to the river front below not a living thing was to be seen. "if this thing keeps up i shall go mad myself," he muttered, brokenly. "i see my dead mother now at every turn." pausing once more in front of the iron door in the church-yard wall, he gave utterance to a peculiar bat-like cry. presently, as though from a great distance, the cry was repeated. whether from above or below no one could have told. indeed, it seemed as much as anywhere to come from out of the wall itself. frank remained silently waiting. presently the great iron door swung slowly back, and a boy's head appeared in the opening. "is that you, frank mansfield?" "yes. is that you, jerry buck?" "slide in, young feller," said the boy, in a whisper. "i'm a-scart to hold the door open long. after all that happened last night i'm expecting every minute that some one will catch onto our hole in the wall." his sentence was completed within the old tomb itself, for frank had entered at the first word, the door being closed behind him and securely barred. "come up to the den," said jerry, leading the way up the steps. "most of the fellers is in to-night and are abed long ago. i know'd you'd keep your promise and come, so me and barney sat up to let you in." entering the inner apartment of the tomb, frank found that the boy had spoken the truth. barney the boot-black sat smoking a clay pipe by the side of the table, upon which was a loaf of bread and a mug. "hello! i know'd you'd come!" said the bootblack, springing up. "have you had your supper? i kept some in case you didn't." "thank you. i've had all i want," replied frank, sinking wearily upon an old stool. "i'm tremendously obliged to you fellows for your kindness to me. mebbe i shall be able to return it some of these days." "that's all right," put in jerry buck. "if i can help any friend of barney's, i'm glad to do it." "hush!" cried barney, holding up his finger warningly as frank was about to reply. "jerry, as true as i live there's some one up above. i didn't hear no signal, did you?" the three boys stood motionless. above their heads, at the top of the ladder, down which frank had seen the two boys descend upon the occasion of his first visit to the tomb, a grating sound was heard--such a sound as might be made by the rising of a tightly-fitting trap-door. at the same instant two feet were seen upon the top round of the ladder, which, descending, were followed by the legs and body of a man. "twigged at last, by thunder!" exclaimed jerry buck, uttering a warning cry, which had the effect of instantly arousing several sleeping boyish forms stretched upon pieces of old carpet at various angles upon the floor. at the same instant a man sprang from the ladder and stood in their midst. "good-evening, boys," he said, quietly. "so this is where you hang out? upon my word, now, it ain't half a bad place. i've slept in many a worse one myself." chapter xv. caleb hook makes himself at home. the boys stared at the man who had leaped among them from off the ladder with feelings of alarmed surprise. nor was the surprise of frank mansfield less than the others. it was detective hook who stood before him--detective hook, whom he had supposed to be already far upon his homeward way. "so these are your friends?" he said, quietly, as the boys gathered about him, with faces expressive of anything but welcome. "i rather thought i should tumble on something like this. introduce me, frank. it will take off the awkwardness a bit." "oh, we don't want to know you, boss," spoke up one of the boys, with a threatening air. "we don't allow no visitors, we don't, and we're going to show yer, too, blame quick." "yes," growled garibaldi, the italian boy, "disa whata coma from taka in de stranger among us." as for jerry buck, barney the bootblack, and frank himself, they stared at one another, the two bats surveying the boy whom they had befriended with angry looks, frank regarding them with a face upon which was seen plainly imprinted every evidence of innocent surprise. he did not dare to offend the detective, who could, as he was well aware, throw him into the hands of the law at any moment. he felt both sorry and ashamed to think that the kind-hearted boys who had befriended him in his trouble should for a moment think that he had betrayed their hiding-place to a member of the police. "is this feller a friend of yourn?" demanded barney, in no pleasant tone. "it is detective hook, boys," replied frank, with as much firmness as he could muster. "i swear to you all that i never breathed a word." "i knowed it," muttered jerry beneath his breath. but caleb hook, with a keen realization of the way matters stood, gave no opportunity for further words. he had suspected the existence of just such a place as this from the first moment of frank's mysterious disappearance on the previous night. now, it was a life rule of this remarkable man that no suspicion worthy of entertaining at all should be abandoned until either its truth or its falsity had been proved. it was for that reason he had chosen for his meeting with this boy, in whose strange case he was becoming hourly more interested, the time and place he had. "hold on, boys," he said, a broad smile breaking over his face, "before you fire me out of here, before that little italian sticks a tooth-pick into me or you condemn frank mansfield for a traitor, hear what the detective has got to say." "well, say on, den, blame quick!" exclaimed sandy the bat, who had first spoken, "for we fellers is a-goin' to pound the life outer yer in jest about a minit and a half." "indeed! well, i'm not afraid. in the first place i swear now, without being asked, never to give this place away, provided i catch none of you boys transgressing the law. second, i tell you now, and tell you the truth when i say it, that this young man, frank mansfield, never by so much as a word told me anything about this place, any boy here present, or gave me the slightest clew how to enter it as i did." all the boys stared at the detective in surprise. "i knowed it," growled jerry buck again. "how could frank mansfield tell him about the up-stairs way, fellers, when he didn't know nothing about it himself?" "well, what do you want with us, anyhow?" asked barney, with a somewhat mollified air. "we're only a lot of poor kids as hasn't got no better place to tie up in winter-time nor this. we don't do no one any harm." "i know that," answered hook, pleasantly, "and that's why i propose to let you alone. i found the entrance beneath the flat tombstone in the church-yard entirely by itself. if you wished to conceal it you were foolish to clear the snow away. but you need have no fears of me, not one of you. all i want now is that you answer me a few questions, and then i'll be off about my business and forget that i was ever here." "well, that depends upon de questions," replied barney, taking upon himself the duty of spokesman. "maybe we'll answer and maybe we won't." "they concern frank mansfield only and can't harm you." "fire away, den," said barney, shortly. frank, meanwhile, maintained a discreet silence. it was plainly evident that nothing he could say or do would help matters at all. "who was the woman that passed through here just now by the way i came in?" the detective had seated himself carelessly upon the table, with one foot resting upon the ground. as he propounded the question he coolly lighted a cigar, and passed one to each of the boys. "i don't know wot yer mean," replied barney, with some slight evidence of embarrassment. "dere's no woman comes in here, is dere, jerry?" "not much!" said jerry, shortly, as he produced matches and lit his cigar. "well, i'll try again. which of you boys found the box last night?" he held up the tin box of papers handed him by frank mansfield a short time before. "i found it first. and i gave it to barney to take care of," replied jerry. "i picked it up on rector street, right in front of the bank, after i see'd the burglars run." "oh, you saw the burglars, did you? by the way, you are the newspaper boy that was with frank at the catherine market this morning?" "yes." "what's your name?" "jerry buck." "how did you come to see these fellows?" "why, i was coming down rector street on my way here just as they were comin' out of the bank." "did they see you?" "not much," replied the boy, laughing and showing his teeth. "i'm too fly for that, mister. i hid in the shadow of the wall, and give them the bat call. gosh! you orter seen them run! there was three of 'em--one had a big bag, another a carpet sack. it was the big feller wot dropped that box." "what do you mean by the 'bat call?'" "i didn't mean to say nothin' 'bout that," answered jerry, hesitatingly, seeing that the bats were regarding him with no pleasant eyes. "well, never mind," said the detective, indifferently. "i don't want to pry into your secrets, boys. all i want is to bring these bank robbers to justice, and remove suspicion from our young friend here. that's my business here to-night, and i've nothing to do with any other matters at all. i suppose you are all friends of his, or he wouldn't be among you. by the way, that was a mighty sharp trick, getting him away from the officer who had him in charge last night." "oh, we're fly every time, boss," replied barney, with an air of conscious pride. "you can just bet your life on that." caleb hook laughed pleasantly, and took an extra puff at his cigar. "frank, here's one witness to prove that you didn't rob the bank," he said, pointing carelessly to jerry buck. "an' here's anoder," put in barney. "i seen the fellers too." "i'm sure both of them will testify to what they know, mr. hook," said frank, somewhat puzzled to discern the detective's aim. "of course we will," exclaimed barney. "me an' jerry has undertook to set you right, and we're de kind as goes de whole hog or none." the reply came heartily, nor was the assent of jerry buck any less strong. it seemed strange that these wild street arabs had taken up his cause in the manner they had. strange to caleb hook as he sat scanning the faces of the "bats" about him. doubly strange to frank himself the more he turned it over in his mind. but his situation was such that there was nothing for it but to drift helplessly with the tide, with detective hook for his rudder, to steer him to whatever haven of safety he might choose. and the boy did well to place his reliance where he did. had he searched new york from end to end, he could not have found a shrewder ally or a better man. "good!" exclaimed the detective. "the testimony of two is better than that of one. would either of you know the three men again?" "every one on 'em," said jerry, decidedly. "good again. you saw the man over whom i tumbled in catherine street this morning, when i tried to catch hold of your coat. was he one of them?" "yes, he was, boss, an' a minute after another--the big feller wot dropped the box--went up the street." "he did?" "sure's yer born. i know'd him the minute i saw him." "i saw him, too, mr. hook," said frank, eagerly, "and with him----" "one moment," said the detective, throwing a warning look toward frank. "i'm listening to jerry now. you can tell your story by and by. where did the man go, jerry? do you know?" "no," replied the newsboy, shaking his head. "i went down to the house where the woman was murdered. you seen me there, you know." this, of course, was true. and yet the reader knows, as well as did jerry buck himself, that it was far, very far, from being the whole truth. of his subsequent adventures in cagney's sanctum, of the conversation he had overheard while crouched behind the whisky barrels outside the half door, he said nothing at all. nor did he mention the little fact--and this the reader does not know--of his having followed the respectable mr. elijah callister to the very door of his fifth avenue mansion before allowing him to pass from before his eyes. for reasons best known to himself jerry buck was silent in all these points, neither frank nor the detective, as a matter of course, dreaming of the knowledge he thus held in reserve. but whatever had been the motive of caleb hook in thus penetrating the retreat of the bats in the wall--the entrance to which let us say right here, his keen eyes had detected from the suspicious circumstances of the snow being cleared away around the great flat tombstone by the side of which he had come to a halt, when in company with frank he had followed the strange apparition through the trinity church-yard--whatever had been his motive, we repeat, it was evident that he had satisfied it now, for he leaped from the table and moved toward the foot of the ladder leading to the church-yard above. "well, good-bye, boys," he exclaimed, as carelessly as though his unexpected visit had been an every-day affair. "i'll call upon you fellows when i want your testimony. never mind opening the door; i can raise the stone myself. frank mansfield, i want you. come along with me." he sprang up the ladder, frank following him. completely carried away by the manner of the man, not one of the bats even thought of interfering. the flat tombstone was raised and lowered as they passed out. it was of sandstone, much decayed, and only a light affair, after all. what caleb hook had to say to frank as they once more vaulted the fence, this time walking up broadway together, we do not know, but it is a fact that the boy, who, had he fallen into the hands of a detective of the average density of skull, would at that moment, in all probability have been an inmate of the tombs, spent the short remainder of the night upon a lounge in detective hook's own room, as comfortably as you pleased. chapter xvi. the three oaks. the three oaks was haunted. at least every one said so, and what every one says is supposed to be true. to be sure, it would have been difficult to have found any person who had actually seen the ghost. nor was this necessary. strange lights moving about the old house at night, flitting from window to window, from the great parlor panes upon the first floor to the little diamond-shaped panes up under the roof, had been seen by the passers-by on the fort washington road at night, over and over again, and was quite enough for the neighbors who dwelt outside its crumbling walls. but what was three oaks and where was it? these are both proper questions, and should be answered at once. three oaks was a house, and an old one at that. it still stands to-day on the road mentioned above, which is, as every one knows, in the north-west corner of manhattan island, and extends from the little village whose name it bears to the th street station of the elevated road. it was a large house and an old house; it stood in the center of a thick growth of oaks, surrounded by a stretch of uncultivated ground, and divided from the road by a high stone wall. a more gloomy, desolate-looking old rookery it would have been difficult to have found. and yet three oaks had been a handsome place in its day. but that day had long since passed. for ten years, at least, old jeremiah mansfield, its former owner had lived there alone. it was five years since he had been found murdered in his bed. this was the work of burglars. they had broken into the old house in the night, in the hope of obtaining a large sum in money, of which the strange old man, little better than a miser, was supposed to be possessed. whether they had succeeded in finding it no one ever knew. the burglars were not caught--the dead lips of the murdered man never told the tale. from that night three oaks had remained deserted, and was fast sinking to ruin and decay. to whom it belonged few in the neighborhood could have told, but every one had seen the lights--seen them not only once, but again and again. and who but the ghost of old miser mansfield himself would think of prowling about the dust-laden rooms of three oaks at midnight? that was precisely what the neighbors wanted to know. you could not have hired one of them to have approached the old house after dark. indeed, some timid persons objected even to passing it on the public road after the shades of night had begun to fall. upon the evening of the day following the events of the last few chapters, at a little before midnight, a solitary pedestrian might have been observed picking his way gingerly along the fort washington road, opposite the moldering stone wall surrounding three oaks, sheltering himself beneath a large alpaca umbrella from the rain which all day long had been falling in torrents, rendering the snow of two days before a slushy mass beneath the feet. might have been observed, did we say? the qualification was well put. surely no one save a person whose errand was most pressing would venture out in a spot so lonely upon a night like this. the wind whirling down the road from the hudson and the heights of the palisades beyond played with the alpaca umbrella as with some child's toy, the rain coming down in what appeared in the darkness an almost unbroken sheet, has drenched the clothes of this unfortunate traveler as to make them cling like so many plasters to his body. indeed, so utterly saturated has he become, that it seems a matter of wonder that he does not abandon the umbrella altogether and boldly face the storm. slump! slump! slump! as he raises one foot from the pasty, dripping mass of melting snow the other sinks through it to the very stones of the road beneath. as he approached the broken gate leading up to the clump of oaks behind which the dark outlines of the old mansfield house could be dimly seen, the man paused, leaned for a moment against the dripping wall, and gave utterance to a single word: "rube!" there was no answer. "he has not come," muttered the man, impatiently. "can anything have happened? rube is generally punctual. perhaps the wind sighing through those gloomy old oaks has deadened the sound of my voice." again he called more distinctly than before: "rube! rube!" at the same instant from out of the clump of oaks a man's form appeared. "all right. come on," a voice was heard to say. pushing up the avenue leading to the mansion, which now more nearly resembled a rushing river than the smooth graveled road its builder had intended, he of the umbrella joined the man from among the trees, and both ascending the steps of the piazza, stood before the door of three oaks, sheltered from the storm at last. "pah! what a beast of a night!" exclaimed the owner of the alpaca umbrella, petulantly, shaking the water from his garments and closing it with a vicious snap. "i've had satan's own time getting here, rube. but it's just the night for our work. no fear of interruption from any inquisitive neighbors in a storm like this." "you are right, lije," replied the other, striking a match upon his trousers and touching it to a cigar. "but somehow i wish we had chosen any other night myself. it reminds one of the night the old man pegged out. you remember--it rained harder even than this." dim as is the light of the match, it is sufficient to show us the faces of these midnight visitors to old jeremiah mansfield's former home. it is mr. elijah callister who grasps the alpaca umbrella, it is his friend the bank burglar who now puffs away at the cigar--reuben tisdale by name. "well, upon my word, if you ain't the greatest fellow to bring up unpleasant memories i ever saw," exclaimed the stock-broker, crossly, as he produced a large key from his pocket, and inserting it in the rusty lock, threw open the hall door. "why the mischief can't you let sleeping dogs lie? no man wants to be reminded of his past sins." "i need no reminding of mine, lije," replied the man gloomily, as the door was closed behind him and the broker proceeded to light a lantern, which he took with apparent familiarity from one corner of the carpetless hall. "they are before me night and day. if i had the courage i'd kill myself, but i have no more than a mouse. i'm a doomed man, lije callister, i feel it more and more, but being past redemption must go on sinning to the end." "well, if you ain't positively the worst," exclaimed callister, impatiently. "what ails you?" "i should think enough ailed me. with poor maria's blood upon my hands calling for vengeance--ain't that enough?" "you ought to have thought of that before you struck her. what's done is done. be your old self, rube. we are likely to want all our courage before this bank affair quiets down." "what's the latest, lije?" asked tisdale, in a low tone, and with some expression of anxiety. "i have not seen a paper to-day." "oh, you may speak as loud as you wish," replied callister, taking off the top of the lantern, and picking up the wick with a pin. "there's no one within a quarter of a mile of us. there's no special news other than what you know, except so far as concerns frank mansfield." "and what of him? did the plan of billy cutts succeed?" "yes, and no. frank was arrested just as he was entering the bank, but on the way to the police station he managed to escape." "the deuce! how was that?" "no one seems to know. i sent a party to interview the detective who arrested him--a fellow by the name of hook--but could only learn that somewhere in the neighborhood of the wall of trinity church-yard he managed to give the officer the slip." "was he handcuffed?" "yes, so i understand." "and has not been caught since?" "no." "that is most mysterious." "so i say." "what do they say about the bank robbery?" "they all believe frank was in the job, of course. the bank has offered a reward of a thousand dollars for his arrest." "and what about joe dutton?" "he was sent to the tombs this morning. my party saw him, and he swears by all that's holy he'll die before he gives us away by so much as a word." "he'd better," muttered tisdale, fiercely. "he'll be a dead joe if he attempts to speak--don't let him forget that." "that's all very true, rube," replied the stock broker, "but all the same his arrest is mighty bad for us. he's the first of our gang who ever fell into the hands of the law. when one goes, all goes--that's the old saying, you know." "then so much the more reason why we should succeed to-night. i tell you, lije, as i told you yesterday. it would be healthier for us to leave town for awhile." "yes, or to put joe dutton where he can't do us any harm," replied callister, in a fierce whisper. "what! you wouldn't----" "wouldn't i? well, never mind. let's attend to the business we have in hand. rube, old mansfield's money is in this house. you know how the will reads. if frank can be convicted of crime before he is old enough to inherit, which will now be in a very short time, the money comes to me in a regular course, and the parchment containing the secret of its hiding-place would have been delivered into my hand." "exactly. and not satisfied with the job you put upon the boy, you must rope me into a bank robbery, where all we get is five thousand for our pains. you must have that parchment, and this is the result." "the result would have been quite different if you had managed to hold on to it instead of dropping it in the street," replied callister, crossly. "that's where the folly comes in. but come, we've wasted time enough in talking. let us go up-stairs to the old man's chamber. i've an idea that the treasure is hidden somewhere about the hearth." he picked up the lantern and began to ascend the broad staircase leading to the rooms above. "so you've thought twenty times before, but could never find it," growled tisdale, following. "didn't you examine this blessed old rookery from garret to cellar, not over a year ago?" they ascended the stairs, and entered a large room at the rear of the house upon the floor above. ruin and desolation met their gaze wherever the feeble rays of the lantern fell. filled with rich and costly furniture, adorned with pictures, expensive cabinets, and rich hangings about the windows and doors, the chamber--once that of the master of the mansion--was a forcible illustration of the truth of that memorable warning against riches. upon earth jeremiah mansfield had heaped up treasures. moth and rust had corrupted--thieves had broken in to steal. the rich carpet, the elegant hangings were worn and faded, the costly furniture heaped up in the corners rotting with dampness and decay. from one side of the wall a large strip of heavy gilt had fallen away, green with mold, displaying the discolored plaster behind, dust covered the picture frames, the floor, the ceiling--in fact, everything in and about the room, and more than all the bedstead upon which the old miser had met his end. this cumbrous piece of mahogany, tilted forward into the room, from the lapse of one decaying leg, was a dust heap in itself. tisdale looked about him shudderingly. "lije, it's enough to give a man the horrors!" he mutteringly said. but the stock broker made no reply. that he was in this chilling apartment for work, not talk, was evident from every motion he made. throwing aside his coat and hat, he placed the lantern by the side of the fire-place, and with a hammer and cold chisel, taken from the pockets of his overcoat, began to remove its back, brick by brick. "hold the lantern, rube," he whispered, as he struck upon the back of the fire-place with the hammer. "there is a hollow space back of this--don't you hear? i tell you, man, we've struck it at last!" tisdale seized the lantern and stooped forward toward the fire-place, callister ringing blow after blow upon the chisel, and prying out the bricks right and left. suddenly the whole back of the fire-place fell inward with a crash, raising a cloud of dust which nearly blinded them both. seizing the lantern from the hand of his companion, the broker thrust his head into the space revealed, a hollow in the chimney, large enough to hold a million in gold. it was empty! save for the broken bricks and bits of mortar, the rays of the lantern shone upon empty space alone. with a smothered curse, elijah callister drew back into the room. "fooled again!" he muttered, fiercely. "if the builders of this infernal den had constructed that place on purpose to raise my hopes, they could not have succeeded better. we'll have to try again." the words had scarcely left his lips, when from the gloom behind them a strange sound fell upon their ears. it was half-sigh--half-groan. it seemed to come from behind the bed. "my god! lije, did you hear that?" exclaimed tisdale, in a hoarse whisper, seizing his companion by the arm. at the same instant from behind the bed there emerged the form of a woman, tall and thin, with pinched features, wild, restless eyes, and long gray hair hanging down her neck and shoulders. coarse, worn garments hung loosely about her, a cheap shawl was thrown carelessly about the shoulders and pinned across her breast. with one long, white finger extended before her, she advanced slowly toward the villainous pair without uttering a word. could frank mansfield have seen her, he would have instantly recognized the mother whose death he mourned. could detective hook have seen her, not for one instant could he have doubted that mrs. marley, whose dead body he had raised with his own hands from the floor of that wretched upper chamber in the rear of the donegal shades, and this woman were one and the same. with a cry of horror reuben tisdale sprang backward toward the fire-place. "keep back, woman!" he yelled, his eyes starting from his head in terror. "god have mercy! 'tis the spirit of my murdered wife!" with a deep sigh the specter, with a gliding motion, moved backward, disappearing in the gloom beyond. and even as the last glimpse of her shadowy form had disappeared from the gaze of elijah callister, who, with whitened face, stood still, grasping the lantern in his hand, his companion fell forward with a deep groan, motionless upon the floor. chapter xvii. an advertisement. when frank mansfield awoke next morning he found detective hook standing by his side. indeed, it was the pressure of the detective's hand upon his forehead that had called him from sleep. "good-morning, my boy," he said, pleasantly. "it's time you were stirring, if you intend taking breakfast with me." frank sprang off of the lounge and began putting on his clothes. "i could sleep all day, i think," he said, rubbing his eyes. "i never felt so sleepy in my life." "no wonder, after the strain you have been under for the last forty-eight hours. that was one reason why i insisted upon your coming home with me. i want you to get thoroughly rested and refreshed; then you will be able to show what you are made of in working out our scheme. that hole in the wall may do well enough for newsboys and bootblacks, but it is no place for a boy like you." "it served me a good turn the other night, all the same." "i don't dispute that. by the way, how did you manage to get into the vault that night? through the iron door on the new church street side?" "yes, that was the way." "i thought as much. i took a good look at the place and its surroundings before i entered. i thought i had sized it up pretty well." "but how did you come to guess the entrance lay beneath that particular tombstone?" asked frank, stooping to tie his shoes. "i didn't know myself where it was, although i knew there was some way of getting in from above." the detective smiled. "if i told you all i knew," he replied, pleasantly, "why, then you'd know as much as i do myself, and would have no further use for my services. no, no, young man, i am working for money. under the will of your grandfather you are justly entitled to a large fortune, which through your own folly and the machinations of that man callister has come mighty near slipping through your hands, if it has not already done so. my work now is to help you to the recovery of this fortune. once you are in possession of it, i shall expect to be paid. then ask me for my secrets, and i may tell you; meanwhile, we will see what kind of a breakfast my landlady has sent us up this morning, talk matters over together, and decide what is the first step to take." he led the way into the room immediately behind the sleeping chamber, where a comfortable breakfast for two was already spread. "i prefer to take my meals in private," said the detective, proceeding to help frank to beefsteak, rolls, coffee and eggs. "it avoids all gossip among the boarders as to my movements and enables me to come and go as i please without exciting comment from any one, which is just the sort of an arrangement i need. make yourself at home; if you don't see what you want, ask for it. there are the morning papers for you if you want to read." frank appropriated one paper, the detective taking another. the first thing that struck the boy's eye was a full account of the robbery of the webster bank and the reward offered by the bank officials for his own arrest. and over his mind there crept a feeling of renewed shame for the wretched position into which he had been led by his own folly. he inwardly resolved that once out of this scrape--once clear before the world--that never, so long as he lived, should a drop of liquor pass his lips again. "the papers seem to be making quite a stir about you, don't they?" said the detective, laying down the one he had been reading, and plying his knife and fork. "wouldn't there be a fine kick-up if they knew i had you concealed here?" "i suppose there would. i am entirely in your power, mr. hook. you can handle me as you please." "don't say power, frank. i don't like the word. i know you to be innocent of any intention to rob the bank. were it not so, i should give you up at once." "and claim the reward?" "most assuredly. that's the way i earn my living; but i have no such intention. i feel interested in your case, and would like to see you righted, if i can. besides, it will pay me better to help you recover the money than to choose any other course. i make no secret of my motives. they are purely mercenary, you see." "i am just as much obliged to you, all the same." "you have reasons to be. the ordinary detective would have marched you off to the station-house. false witnesses would have been brought against you beyond a doubt; you would have been convicted, and under the provisions of your grandfather's will could never have inherited a cent." "i don't seem likely to in any case, now that the parchment describing the hiding-place of his buried money is lost." "don't be too sure. i have a feeling that we shall yet succeed in finding that parchment. but now for a question or two. how came those boys--what do they call themselves--to lend you a helping hand?" "they call themselves the 'bats in the wall.' barney has been in the habit of blacking my boots at the bank. that was the reason he gave for helping me as he did." "'bats in the wall,' eh? a good name. that accounts for the bat-like cry officer schneider heard. as for the reason, that don't amount to anything. depend upon it, these boys would never had let you into their secret for any such reason as that." "what do you think was the reason?" "blest if i know. if i did, i am certain that i would have the key to much that is now mysterious about this strange affair. what do you know about this jerry buck?" "nothing at all, except meeting him in the wall as i did." "there is something that boy is keeping back," said the detective, musingly. "now what is it? that's the question. have you noticed, frank, how much he resembles you?" "no, i'm sure, i haven't. do you mean to say he looks like me?" "enough like you to be your twin brother. i never saw a more marked resemblance in my life. but that is always the way. a man can rarely see a resemblance to himself in the face of any one else." "well, now you speak of it, i can see some points in which we are alike. his hair is the color of mine; his eyes are not unlike----" "eyes, nose, mouth, everything," replied the detective, quickly. "but never mind that now. tell me something of your own past--something concerning that mother of yours." tears gathered in the boy's eyes. "it is a sad, sad story, mr. hook," he replied, brokenly. "after my father's misfortunes she lost her reason, as i have already told you. mr. callister, who had charge of our affairs, had her removed to a private asylum, where she has been most of the time ever since." "what asylum was it?" "dr. belding's, st. nicholas avenue and th street, up near the fort washington road." "i know the locality. you say you went there yesterday, and they told you she had escaped." "yes. she disappeared one night, some three weeks ago." "and you were not informed?" "no. mr. callister had the matter in charge. i visited the asylum from time to time, but they would rarely allow me to see my mother, and never at any time leave us alone." "was she very bad?" "well, pretty bad at times. she was particularly violent in the presence of mr. callister." "humph!" muttered the detective, "i'm not much surprised at that." "she always had the idea that he was the cause of my father's misfortunes, though i'm sure i don't know why." for a few moments the detective maintained silence. "what was the name of your mother before your father married her, frank?" he asked at length. "helen dupont." "where was she from?" "she was born in the upper part of new york, in what was then the village of fort washington." "has she any relatives?" "i don't know. i never heard her speak of her past life at all." "then you have no idea why she should seek such quarters as that house in the rear of the catherine market, where we found her?" "not the slightest, mr. hook. when i first saw her in the street on that terrible night i never was more surprised in my life. i ought not to have left her even for a moment. i never would have done so had i been myself." "there, there. don't think anything more about it," said the detective, kindly, seeing that frank could no longer restrain the tears. "whisky makes fools of us all, my boy. finish your breakfast and we'll talk about these matters later on." he resumed the paper, leaving frank to his own bitter thoughts. for the space of a few moments neither spoke. suddenly, with an exclamation of surprise and satisfaction, caleb hook brought his hand down upon the table with a thump which made the dishes rattle. "the very thing!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "frank mansfield, fate is playing into our hands." he passed over the paper to frank, with one finger pressed upon the advertising columns. "read that," he said briefly, "and tell me what you think of it." it was an advertisement under the head of "clerks wanted." this was the way it read: "wanted--a young man for a responsible position in a broker's office. one familiar with a general stock brokerage business preferred. apply to elijah callister, room , ---- building, broad street." "what do you think of it?" asked the detective. "it's mr. callister, certainly; but i don't see how it concerns me?" "you don't? what we want in this little scheme of ours more than anything else is to set a watch on this man; to trace out his movements, to learn who his associates are, and what interest he has with bank burglars and thieves, such as the man in whose company you saw him at the catherine market yesterday morning." "do you propose to send one of your men to apply for the place?" "one of my men! why, i mean that you shall apply for it, and get it, too." frank laughed. "he'd know me at a glance," he said. "would he? we'll see about that. after a certain costumer with whom i am acquainted is through with you i don't think he would. but, supposing you were so effectually disguised that he could never recognize you, do you think you could fill the position and play your part?" "yes, i'm sure i could. at all events i'm not afraid to try." "good! that's the way to talk. i've been studying you closely, my boy, and feel sure that you could carry the thing through as well as any actor living." "always providing that i can get the place. i have no references, you know." "that is easily fixed. the president of the stock exchange is a cousin of mine. you shall apply for that position this very morning with a letter from him. do you understand the duties of such a position well enough to fill it?" "oh, perfectly. i learned all that in the bank." "then come with me at once," exclaimed detective hook, springing to his feet. "if you want to clear your name before the world--if you want to avenge the wrong done by that man callister to you and yours--embrace this opportunity which fate has thrown in your path, and never rest until you have read his secrets through and through." chapter xviii. the ghost of three oaks appears again. for an instant elijah callister stood riveted to the floor. then, springing forward with a fierce imprecation upon his lips, he approached the door of the deserted chamber in the direction of which the ghostly figure of the dead mrs. marley had disappeared. it was firmly locked. he had himself thus locked it upon their first entrance, not from fear of intrusion--that was not to be expected in a mansion so utterly given over to rats and the dust of neglect as this--but from the natural tendency of a suspicious evil-doer to perform his acts behind barred doors. and even as he had left it so remained that great oaken door now. there had not been sufficient time for the woman, were she living, to have even turned the key, providing it had been in the lock. but the key was not in the lock--it snugly reposed at that very moment in the pocket of the man himself. now, elijah callister did not believe in ghosts. search the length and breadth of new york city over, and in all probability no less superstitious man than the stock broker himself could have been found. he shook the latch fiercely. it had not been disturbed--there could be no doubt of that. no other means of entrance to the chamber existed save by one of the windows, forty feet from the ground, at least. a strange sense of fear seemed to creep over him--a tightness about the heart. there lay his villainous companion stretched senseless upon the floor. neither window could have been approached without passing directly by the place where the man lay, where he himself had stood. and yet the appearance had been a reality. the figure of mrs. marley had advanced from behind the broken bedstead, whose high headboard offered an effective shield to the movements of any object behind it, had moved forward across the room, and retreated in the direction from whence it came. seizing the lantern, mr. callister swept its light underneath the bed. the dust that everywhere filled the room was there plentiful enough, but that was all. there were no signs of its having been recently disturbed--it lay in one unbroken sheet upon the floor. at that instant a terrific gust of wind swept the rain fiercely against the panes. and amid its moaning of the oaks without, and the rattling of the rain upon the glass, a low, mocking laugh was heard, seemingly from the floor itself, which sent a chill to the very marrow of his bones. "this thing must be investigated," muttered the man, striding toward the fire-place. "either that woman lives, or--but, pshaw! don't i know she is dead? i saw her killed with my own eyes. i know that at this very moment her body lies waiting identification in the morgue. there is some infernal trickery in all this; what it means i must know and will." setting down the lantern by the side of the hearth-stone, he seized the shoulder of the unconscious man and shook it with all the violence he could exert. "rube, rube!" he cried, "what ails you, man? for heaven's sake, stop this nonsense and try to be something like yourself!" slowly the eyes opened and reuben tisdale, raising himself to a sitting posture, looked wildly around. "lije, did you see her, or was it only meant for me?" "see her! of course i saw her. there's some infernal jugglery going on in this house, and i propose to find out what it is." the man shook his head. "no, no. it was maria's spirit," he muttered. "i killed her and she haunts me, and no wonder, in this evil room." "well, and what's the matter with this room?" "can you ask?" said the man, shudderingly, rising with difficulty to his feet. "after the crime committed here on this very bed, can you ask why this room should be evil to me?" "i don't see what that has to do with it. if that is your mode of reasoning it ought to be the ghost of old man mansfield, not of your wife, that should appear to you here." again the man shuddered, glancing at the same time nervously about him. "i don't know what came over me," he muttered. "i believe i must have fainted for the first time since i was a boy. lije, for heaven's sake let's get out of this. i shall be of no more use to you in this house to-night." "i shall do nothing of the sort," replied the stock-broker, decidedly. "i shan't leave the house until i've searched it from garret to cellar and found out what this thing means. if it were not that i know that she is closely confined i might almost think----" but what mr. callister might have almost thought was destined never to find expression in words, for, at that moment, his companion pressing his hand to his forehead, reeled heavily forward and would have fallen again had not the broker caught him in his arms. "rube, for heaven's sake," he exclaimed, "what on earth ails you, man? one would take you for a nervous woman instead of the man you are from the way you act. here, drink this. it will put some heart in you, and then we'll search this old barn together. if there is a ghost in it, i'll warrant you i'll have it out." he passed a whisky flask to the trembling tisdale, who pressed it to his lips. "there, do you feel better?" "yes, somewhat, but i'm as weak as a rat still." "well, then, come along. i'm bound to see this out." striding toward the bedstead, he seized hold of the headboard and tried to move it out into the center of the room. weak and decayed before, this action proved too much for the dilapidated piece of furniture. with a loud crash it fell a mass of broken rubbish to the floor, causing tisdale to spring back with a startled cry. "confound the old trap!" exclaimed callister. "but one thing is settled--what we saw is neither under it nor behind it, that is clear. where the mischief it could have found means to hide beats me. the door is locked, and the rest of the room is all clear before us. there is no place in which a cat could lie concealed." he flung open the door of the closet as he spoke. it was empty. nothing but a heap of dust met his gaze. "come," he said, shortly, picking up the lantern and producing the key from his pocket; "there are rooms below and above. let us examine them all, and see if we can find trace of her ghostship there." he unlocked the door and led the way out into the deserted hall. to the right and left opened other doors, connecting with the various chambers upon the floor. opening each in turn, callister and his companion examined the rooms in silence. one was a large guest chamber, containing various articles of antique furniture; another was a small bedroom, entirely vacant, and another still a bath-room, filled with rubbish of various kinds. in neither one nor the other was there the slightest trace of the form of the woman which had appeared before them, nor evidence that the dust which covered everything had been disturbed for years. nor was their examination of the floor above better rewarded. here piles of old lumber were found, broken furniture, boxes, and bales. evidently years had passed since this portion of the house had been occupied. from the appearance presented there could be little doubt that it had been used for storage purposes by its miserly owner, who met death by violence on the floor below. the parlor floor, the kitchen, and even the cellar itself, did not escape examination. equally to no purpose. some of the rooms were furnished, others were not. everywhere the furnishings were green with mold and sinking rapidly to decay. no trace, not even so much as a footprint on the dust-covered floors of the ghostly visitant was anywhere found. "it's no use, lije," said tisdale, hoarsely, as they paused at length in the great hall at the foot of the staircase which they had ascended upon their first entrance to the house. "you may search all night, but you'll find nothing. it was poor maria's spirit that we saw." "nonsense, reuben tisdale! do you mean to tell me that at your time of life you are going to give way to a belief in ghosts?" "i didn't believe in them any more than you until to-night, but, after what we saw, what is a man to think?" "i tell you it's a trick. this house has the reputation of being haunted, brought about by my own nocturnal searches within its walls. some one saw us enter, and followed us to give us a scare." tisdale shook his head incredulously. "absurd," he said, with emphasis. "you saw the thing as well as i. what did it look like? answer me that." "well, i must admit that it looked like maria." "i should say so. wasn't it her face, her form, her dress? do you suppose a man can forget the form of his wife? i tell you no. not if he lived to be a thousand years old. besides, i saw the mark of my fist upon her forehead, poor girl. great god, to think that i should have struck her dead at my feet! she who once loved me more than all else on earth." "rube, you are acting like a perfect child!" exclaimed callister, impatiently. "here we are standing directly upon the verge of a precipice, as it were, and you give way like this. detectives are on our track, man; the capture of joe dutton, unless he can be silenced most effectually, is likely to prove a fatal blow to us, and what we want is money--money alone will pull us through; without it all my influence in the business world will go for naught." "well, you have money, folks say. use it--it is as much to your interest as the rest of us." "have i? so you say. let me tell you, rube tisdale, that my stock operations of the last year have left me a well-nigh ruined man. i depended upon this bank affair to put me on my feet again. it has failed. if you had only preserved that parchment more carefully, every dollar of old mansfield's wealth would now be within our grasp." "oh! stow that!" cried tisdale, angrily. "what's the use of throwing all the blame on me? the bank affair proved a failure, didn't it! the parchment was lost, through my carelessness, i'll admit. let's face matters as they are, and make the best of them we can. come, let's be off out of this. we can do no more here to-night." callister blew out the lantern and opened the door. "i go," he said, sulkily, "but, mark you, rube, i shall return again. in a month's time, under the will of jeremiah mansfield, which fortunately is recorded in the surrogate's office, even if you did lose the original, this house and all it contains belongs to me, if i can only catch that cub of a boy and turn him over to the law. once in my possession, i'll raze it to the foundation stones but i'll discover the secret hidden by its moldering walls." he slammed the door behind them, and descending the piazza steps, started down the avenue leading to the fort washington road beyond, regardless of the pelting rain, his companion following without a word. hard as it had poured all day long, and now far into the night, not at any time had the storm assumed such violence as now. the water fell about them in torrents, the wind swept through the tops of the tall oak-trees with a wild, unearthly moan. now what possessed the man tisdale to pause before he had advanced ten paces from the old mansion, and turn to survey its gloomy front once more, is something we cannot tell. but turn he did, and simultaneously with the movement there broke from his lips a wild, unearthly yell. "lije! for god's sake! there she is again!" and elijah callister also turned. from out of the darkness before him there shot a blaze of light. the door of the old mansion stood wide open. the piazza, the great hall, and even the staircase beyond, were to be seen illuminated with the brightness of day. and there, in the midst of that blaze of light, upon the threshold of the door itself, stood the form of the dead mrs. marley, pale and rigid, with one thin, white finger pointing directly toward himself and his frightened companion who with chattering teeth stood trembling by his side. for one instant only the apparition maintained its place. the next, and all was darkness again. with a loud cry of terror reuben tisdale sprang down the avenue, and was lost from view among the trees, while his companion, now scarcely less alarmed, hurriedly followed in the direction of the gate. chapter xix. mr. callister's clerk. "ketchum & bustem, eight hundred wabash common, buyer three!" "all right, ketchum & bustem--there you are." out of a little hole in the glass partition, which divided the interior of mr. elijah callister's office, room , ---- building, broad street, from the portion which was open to the outside public, a hand was thrust, passing back a receipt book to the waiting messenger of the well-known firm of ketchum & bustem, brokers on broadway. as no further messengers appeared, the transactions of mr. callister upon the board that day having been small, the door of the glass partition was presently thrown open, and a young man, neatly dressed, with a pen thrust behind his ear appeared, and began to walk up and down the office with a meditative air. he was to all appearance of some twenty-eight or twenty-nine years of age, certainly not over thirty at the most. tall and straight, with light hair, which he wore long about the neck, and mustache and side whiskers, trimmed in the latest style. now, as the office was vacant, save for his own presence, this new stock clerk of mr. callister's--for it is this young man who has secured the position in the stock broker's office, the advertisement of which had attracted the keen eyes of detective hook, fell to thinking, and, as is the foolish custom of some people when alone, thinking aloud: "and so this is the beginning of my third week here," he muttered, as he paced the office floor up and down, in momentary expectation of the return of his employer from the closing of the stock exchange, "and so far all goes well. mr. callister certainly does not suspect me--has not from the first. that letter of hook's procured from his cousin, the president of the exchange, did the business; he hired me without the least suspicion in the world. "and to think that i should have been able to play this part for two whole weeks," he continued; "but i have done it, and i flatter myself that it has been well performed. not for a moment has this man mistrusted that i am other than what i seem, while on my part i have learned much that will be invaluable----" here his reflections were interrupted by the entry of the broker himself. he was as suave and sleek as ever. to use an old-fashioned expression, butter could not have melted in his mouth. "ah, mr. maxwell, you are alone, i see. although forced by circumstances to remain indoors, you are enjoying the beautiful afternoon, i trust?" "i am, mr. callister, as well as one can from the window away up here above the street." "just so, mr. maxwell. my offices are somewhat elevated, but so much nearer to heaven, my dear sir--so much nearer to heaven--and when you come to consider, there is much that is beautiful in the thought. have ketchum & bustem reported that lot of wabash?" "yes, sir." "and brownell & popkins the brazilian sixes?" "yes, mr. callister. those were reported an hour ago." "very good, mr. maxwell--very good, indeed. i have some important papers to prepare, and shall now retire to my private office. if any one calls, show them in." "very well, mr. callister." "and, maxwell?" "sir." "should you feel so inclined, i should be pleased to see you at our prayer-meeting to-morrow night, at the tenth baptist church. i take the deepest interest in the welfare of all young men." thereupon, mr. elijah callister, smiling blandly, entered his private office, closed and locked the door. "you old hypocrite!" muttered the clerk, shaking his fist at the oaken panels. "you miserable, canting fraud. never would i have believed you to be what you are had i not witnessed your duplicity and double dealing now daily for the past two weeks with my own eyes." and the assumed mr. maxwell, in whom no one, not even, we venture to say, caleb hook himself, had he not been in the secret, would have recognized our young friend, frank mansfield, resumed his seat at the desk behind the glass partition, and began figuring away upon a large book of accounts. yes, it was frank mansfield. detective hook's plan had succeeded to the letter. for two weeks he had been an inmate of the business office of the man who had plotted his ruin. and during that short lapse of time many things had occurred. let us narrate them briefly, as they are highly essential to a correct understanding of subsequent events. in the first place, the matter of the webster bank robbery remains still a mystery. it is generally believed that frank mansfield was at least a participant in the crime, a guilty tool of the thieves. from the moment of his escape from officer schneider, the whereabouts of that young gentleman have been a matter of mystery to the world. when, through the accident which had happened to detective hook, the burglar joe dutton had been captured with his basket of stolen dollars at the catherine market, it had been thought by the police authorities that a speedy solution of the mystery was at hand. they were mistaken. during the four days of his confinement in the tombs the captured criminal could not be persuaded to utter a word. on the morning of the fifth day burglar joe dutton was found lying dead upon the floor of his cell. upon the same day occurred the funeral of the murdered mrs. marley. through some unknown source a lot had been purchased in a suburban cemetery. detective hook and frank mansfield, concealed within a closed carriage, were the sole mourners who followed to the grave. not the slightest clew to the perpetrator of this cowardly murder had been obtained by the police, but then they had not exerted themselves very violently, you see. mrs. marley was only a poor, half crazy woman--there was no money in the case. but in the busy rush of new york already were these matters well-nigh forgotten. the robbery of the webster bank, the disappearance of frank mansfield, and the murder of mrs. marley were all things of the past. maxwell, the clerk, had been engaged at his books not over an hour--and even that short space of time had sufficed to bring the short winter's day nearly to a close--when the office door again opened and a flashily dressed young man smoking a long cigar entered. "callister about?" he asked, with an air of general proprietorship of the whole establishment. mr. maxwell peeped through the little round opening in the glass partition and immediately opened the door. "he's in, but very busy," he replied, stepping into the outer room. "tell him detective cutts wants to see him, will you, young feller?" said the individual with the cigar. now the appearance of mr. billy cutts, police detective, as a visitor at the stock broker's office caused the newly engaged clerk no surprise. the fact was, detective cutts had been a daily caller upon mr. callister for more than a week. of the nature of the man's business maxwell, the clerk, was unaware, but it appeared to be involved in much mystery, and was invariably conducted behind locked doors. "mr. cutts, sir," said the clerk, as the door of the broker's office was opened in response to his knock. "show him in, mr. maxwell. show him in," was the bland reply. and during that momentary glimpse of the interior of the private office, the assumed maxwell saw that the desk was littered with papers and large drawings, closely resembling architects' plans, strange things to be seen in a stock broker's office, to say the least. detective cutts had not been closeted with mr. callister ten minutes, when the door of the outer office opened again, and a sweet, womanly voice was heard inquiring for the broker without the glass partition. as the voice fell upon the ears of the disguised frank mansfield his heart seemed to rise in his throat. it was the voice of miss edna callister, loved by him as deeply as her father was despised. by the earnest advice of detective hook, to whom the young man had confided his tender feelings for this beautiful girl, frank had refrained from visiting the object of his affection or holding any communication with her at all. difficult and trying as this had been, it was certainly a wise precaution, as can be readily seen. how much under the influence of her father the girl might be it was impossible to tell. not that frank loved her the less for the wrong that parent had attempted to do him. but he now saw things by a new and less selfish light than ever before. had he the right to aspire to the affections of the daughter, when against the father he was working night and day? the severest test to which his disguise had yet been subjected was now about to occur. could the eyes of love be deceived? there was no time to hesitate, and frank, mastering all his self-control, stepped from behind the glass partition into the office beyond. "mr. callister is engaged just at present, miss. will you please to give me your name, and i will let him know that you are here." "say to him that miss callister would like to see him," replied the young lady, her clear blue eyes resting upon the face of the clerk. "please be seated. i will inform him at once." "edna, you here!" exclaimed the broker, in tones of surprise, as he hurriedly emerged from the office, closing the door carefully behind him, not, however, without enabling the watchful eyes of the disguised clerk to catch a glimpse of detective cutts poring over the plans upon the desk within. "yes, father," replied the girl, coldly, "i am here, as you see." "mr. maxwell, oblige me by stepping out into the hall a moment," said the broker, hurriedly. "i wish to speak with my daughter alone, and mr. cutts is too busy to be disturbed." frank obeyed. evidently mr. callister had forgotten the open fan-light above the door, which afforded ample opportunity for any one in the hall outside who chose to stand close beneath it and listen to hear every loud word spoken within. otherwise he might have lowered his voice a trifle, perhaps even have spoken less harshly than he did. "what brings you here, girl?" were the first words the listener heard. "how many times have i told you not to come to this office?" "it makes no difference," was the reply of the daughter, in clear, ringing tones. "i come here because i choose to come. knowing you as i do, father, i have long since ceased to love you. can you then expect me to obey?" "i'll find means to force obedience if you don't give it willingly. what do you want?" "to know what you have done with frank mansfield." "impertinent jade! why do you come to inquire of the movements of that young rascal from me? i have told you already that i know nothing of him at all. his companions, the bank robbers, could tell you, perhaps. hunt them out and ask them." "i am convinced from the remark you let fall in my presence last night that you know more of frank than you choose to tell. he left me to come to you for the purpose of asking your consent to our marriage, and has not been seen since. what have you done with him, i ask again?" "oh, yes, he has. you forgot the trifling fact that your beloved was caught in the act of robbing the webster bank." "i don't believe it--i will never believe it. i demand to know what you have done with frank. i know only too well that it is for your interest to put him out of the way." "you are a silly fool!" the voice of the father was heard to angrily exclaim. "go back to your dolls and your playthings. if i catch you here again i will lock you up on bread and water for a month." to this speech there was no reply, but at the same instant the door of the office opened. the disguised listener drew hurriedly back. he was not quick enough, however, to avoid coming face to face with the daughter of his employer. their eyes met. it was for an instant only, but in that instant the pale face of the girl blushed rosy red. love penetrates all disguises. frank saw instantly that his was no longer of avail so far as those loving eyes were concerned. "shall i assist you to the elevator, miss callister?" he asked, quietly, stepping to her side. "if you please, sir." and they stood together by the door of the elevator shaft, the car at that moment being seen descending from the story above. suddenly the girl, extending her dainty, gloved hand grasped that of the youth within her own. "i still visit the old place," she whispered, hurriedly. "oh, frank, to know that you are alive and well lifts a great load from my heart. never doubt that it still beats alone for you." the door is flung open--the elevator has come. the door is closed--the elevator has gone. and frank mansfield, turning, beheld the tall form of elijah callister regarding him malevolently from the threshold of the open office beyond. chapter xx. jerry buck plays the part of a detective again. it was after eight o'clock when mr. elijah callister left the ---- building, broad street, by the side door opening upon exchange place, and the night had turned off cold. detective cutts was still with him, and buttoning their overcoats about them, both hurried off in the direction of william street, with the air of men having business on hand. as for frank mansfield, he had left the office of the stock-broker a good three hours before, with his mind full of doubts and fears. "my daughter is quite capable of taking care of herself, mr. maxwell," the broker had said in his usual oily tones, as frank returned to the office after the little scene enacted at the elevator door. "in future i beg you will be less attentive to any ladies who may chance to favor my office with a visit." with this rebuke he had shut himself up in the private office with mr. billy cutts again, and was seen no more up to the usual hour for closing the office, when frank, without attempting to even say good-night, simply put on his hat and walked out, wholly undetermined as to whether his hasty communication with miss edna callister had been overheard. as the stock broker and the detective hurried along the southerly side of exchange place--we mean the side where the street dealers in government bonds spend their entire time during business hours in leaning against the iron railings of the basement offices awaiting customers for their wares--there crept out from a doorway a ragged, shivering newsboy, hugging a great bundle of the evening papers tightly under his arm. shooting a hasty glance at the men before him, he bounded ahead over the icy sidewalk, shouting at the top of his voice: "fo'rt commercial, nooiz or telegram! evenin' papers, gents?" evidently the "gents" were disinclined for the evening paper, for callister, rudely pushing the boy aside, crossed william street and paused opposite the great stone building occupied by the lispenard bank, one of the wealthiest of the wealthy financial institutions in new york. for an instant only the pause was made; but during that instant the stock broker, with a hurried glance up and down the street--there was no one but the newsboy in sight, and he was half a block away--unrolled a stiff paper plan which he took from under his coat, and giving one end of it to cutts to hold, pointed first at the plan and then at the building of the lispenard bank again. "fo'rt commercial! nooiz! telegram or german! evenin' paper, gents?" again the newsboy stood by their side, looking almost over their shoulder at the plan they held between them, as he thrust his bunch of papers in the broker's face. "no, you young imp!" exclaimed callister. "these newsboys are thicker than flies about here. i tell you, billy, there's no trouble about it--no trouble at all. an entrance can be effected as easy as rolling off a log. and as to money, why, good lord, it's the clearing house, you know, and there's always money there. come, let's get down and show these to your father, and see what he thinks of the idea." he rolled up the plans hastily, and putting them under his overcoat, moved off up william street toward wall, the detective keeping pace by his side. at that moment the newsboy crept out from under the shadows of the custom house fence and followed them, dodging from one side of the street to the other, calling his papers, and occasionally stopping to sell one, but always keeping the forms of messrs. cutts and callister plainly in view. "i've got yer now, yer sly old rat!" he muttered, as he crossed wall street close at their heels. "an', by gracious, i orter after all the time i spent a-watchin'. i seen them papers wat's got the picter of the lispenard bank onter them. if she an' me don't spoil yer little game this time 'twon't be no faalt of jerry buck's, an' don't yer forget it!" who "she was" did not appear as yet. certainly, in his present position, master jerry buck was playing the part of a detective quite alone. down william street to liberty, down liberty to its junction with malden lane, down malden lane to pearl street the men advanced, all unconscious of the ragged youth who followed close at their heels. turning to the left, they kept along pearl street, beneath the shadows of the great structure of the elevated railroad, nor did they make another turn until franklin square was reached. and when they passed beneath the roadway of the brooklyn bridge and entered cherry street, smelling of a thousand and one ill odors, suggestive of anything save the luscious fruit from which its name is derived, jerry buck was still behind them. he had ceased to call his papers now, but stood silently watching them from between two empty trucks drawn up by the side of the curbstone, as they entered the very house on the easterly side of cherry street, just beyond catherine, which he had pointed out to frank mansfield upon the occasion of their sunday morning visit to the catherine market as the one into which the burglars of the webster bank had disappeared. no sooner had the two men passed through the doorway than the newsboy, pulling his tattered felt hat low down over his eyes, quietly crossed the street, entered the house himself, and crept silently after them up the rickety stairs, just in time to see detective cutts, the man paid by the city for the detection of crime, and mr. elijah callister, the pious brother of the tenth baptist church, disappear within the rear room on the second landing of the tenement, the door of which was immediately closed. then jerry buck, giving utterance to a peculiar chuckle, slipped past the door, mounted still another pair of stairs and tapped lightly upon the panels of the door of the room immediately above. it was presently opened, and a woman's head and shoulders thrust out into the hall. "is that you, jerry?" "yes, missus, it's me." the door was softly opened wide and closed again, the boy slipping into the room. "them fellers meets down-stairs again to-night, missus. they means business this time, and no mistake." "is he there?" asked the woman. "you bet! didn't i jest see him go in! i've been a-layin' for him, a-followin' of him since five o'clock. cutts the detective is with him, too." "you are a good boy, jerry," said the woman, tears springing to her eyes. "god will reward you for what you've done for me." "do you think so, missus? 'twan't much, after all. when i seed you a-tryin' to jump inter the river i stopped you. when you told me yer troubles, an' how that old mean snide, callister, had robbed your husband and killed him, an' how he had treated you an' was a-tryin' to treat yer boy, why i jest took a-holt an' helped yer, an' the rest has come about of itself." for reply, the woman stroked the boy's tumbled hair, and then, as if moved by some sudden impulse, stooped and kissed him. "looka here!" exclaimed jerry, half pleased, half ashamed. "i never had no one do that to me before, but then you seem somehow jest as though you were my own mother, so i suppose it's all right." "and you never knew your mother?" asked the woman, regarding the boy with a wistful air. she was a person who had evidently seen much sorrow. tall and thin, with gray hair tied tightly in a knot behind her head, poorly but respectably dressed, there was about her an unmistakable air of refinement, indicative of quite a different position in life from the one in which we now find her. for surely the carpetless room, cheap table and chairs, the little stove and scanty display of common dishes through the half open closet door were indicative of anything but plenty and comfort, to say the least. but they were miles and miles ahead of anything jerry buck was accustomed to, and he regarded them with an almost respectful air, as he replied: "no, missus, i never had no father nor mother as i remember. i've always lived about the streets." "but you must have some early remembrances," continued the woman. "can't you tell me what they are?" "yes, some other time. them fellers have been in the room below for full five minutes. if we are a-goin' to ketch onto their racket, we'd better be about it, i should say." and as he spoke jerry buck, creeping behind the stove, threw himself flat on his stomach upon the uncarpeted floor, close by the mouth of a small round hole, through which in some former time, when the house had been occupied by the old quaker families once resident in this part of new york, a stove-pipe had passed, conveying heat to this upper chamber from the room beneath. a thin sheet of paper covered the opening upon the ceiling in the room below them, through which a light could be seen shining dimly and the sounds of men's voices distinctly heard. the woman now seated herself likewise upon the floor, and, in common with the boy, bent over the hole. had they been in the chamber beneath them, they could not have heard the words of its occupants more plainly. sound rises, as is well known to every one. through the round opening every syllable uttered fell with startling distinctness upon their ears. "i tell you the job's an immense one, rube, whether sam cutts can see it or not." "that's old callister," murmured jerry in a low whisper. "hush!" replied the woman, speaking in tones equally low, at the same time holding up her hand. "i know his wicked voice only too well, i'm not likely to forget the voice of one who has brought the ruin he has done upon me and mine." "well, i'm not kicking," came a man's voice up the tube. "the plan looks all right, and lije talks all right. it's a big scheme on paper, but the question is, won't it prove another webster bank affair? providin' it works, will there be enough shug in the vault to pay us for our trouble? that's what i want to know in advance." "why, it's the clearing house for all the other banks, man," replied callister's voice, impatiently. "there's always money, thousands upon thousands, in the vaults of the lispenard bank, i'm a director in it myself, and i guess i ought to know." "and these plans----" "are drawn from personal knowledge of the interior of the bank and its vault. let me tell you, sam cutts, this is the biggest thing of the kind i ever put you on to. billy here knows that i'm giving it to you straight." "rat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat!" both jerry buck and the woman were upon their feet in an instant. the rapping was upon the door of the room in which the listeners were. "who can it be!" whispered the woman, turning pale. "give it up. better throw suthin over the hole while i open the door an' see. it's some of the neighbors have come to borry suthin', most like, or a peddler mebbe." "rat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat!" the boy hastily crossed the room, and turning the key, cautiously opened the door upon the crack. instantly a man sprang into the room, and seizing jerry by the shoulders with a vise-like grip, clapped one hand over his mouth. chapter xxi. frank visits cottage place. cottage place is one of the by-ways. no man in his sober senses would attempt to describe it otherwise. starting from bleecker street, and running in a winding manner south-easterly to houston, it affords with its snug little dwellings, its blossoming gardens in the grass-plat centers before the low, red brick cottages, from which it derives its name, a quiet abode for a few old-time families of moderate means, whose necessities compel them to live and maintain some show of respectability in this most undesirable quarter of new york. but the flowers do not blossom in the winter before the brick dwellings of cottage place, and as the evening we are about to speak of is that of the day upon which miss edna callister visited her father's office in broad street, winter is the season with which we have to deal. it was still early--the factory whistles had not yet blown for six, when the lithe, well-dressed figure of maxwell, mr. callister's new clerk might have been seen to drop from a bleecker street car, and, turning into cottage place, enter the gate of the snug little cottage bearing the number " " over its doorway, and hastily ring the bell. notwithstanding the fact that it was already dark, he seemed to display a familiarity with the house and its surroundings which indicated with perfect plainness that this was by no means his first visit. standing upon the little stoop while awaiting the answer to his ring, the eyes of the young man wandered toward the windows of the first or parlor floor, which, as the house was without basement, stood but slightly raised from the level of the ground. the blinds were thrown back, but the curtains were drawn, a light burning brightly, suggesting a comfortable, home-like interior within. "i wonder if she's there," escaped the young man's lips as he gazed upon the curtains. "i feel sure she is, and though i am acting in direct opposition to mr. hook's express instructions, i know, i could stand it no longer--i had to come. "dear edna! never did i fully realize the depth of love until now. never----" the door was opened suddenly. a stout, motherly-looking woman stood gazing inquiringly upon his face. "mrs. brown! it's an age since i've seen you. is edna here to-night!" the young man had sprung eagerly forward, extending his hand toward the woman as he spoke. "edna! who are you, sir? i don't know what you mean." frank mansfield laughed. all eagerness to meet once more the girl he loved, he had for the moment forgotten his disguise. "mrs. brown, don't you know me?" "it's frank mansfield's voice. can this be you?" "it's no one else, auntie," replied frank, laughing, at the same time closing the door behind him. "i forgot that my face had changed." "i should have never known you," replied the woman, doubtfully. "she's inside, and expecting you, frank. but, good gracious me! i don't know whether i'm doing right or wrong to let you meet here so. what a terrible scrape you've got yourself into! we thought you had run away." "not yet, auntie, not yet. when i get ready to do such a thing as that i shall let you, my dear old nurse, into the secret first, now you may depend. but where is she? in the little parlor as usual? i'm just dying to hold my darling in my arms again." the woman threw open a door without a word, displaying a small but neatly furnished room. "edna!" the daughter of elijah callister stood before the open grate. frank rushed toward her with extended hand. "my love! my darling!" he cried, impetuously. "thank god, we are together again!" the young girl drew back. her face was pale, her bosom heaved--there were tears resting in her eyes. "one moment," she said, with an evident struggle. "it seems to me, frank mansfield, that, before admitting you to your old-time place in my heart, some explanation is due to me." at the same instant the door was heard to close. mrs. brown had discreetly retired, leaving the lovers alone. frank drew back abashed. "i thought after what you said this afternoon--" he began, hesitatingly. "that i stood ready to receive you, without explanation, on your old footing? no, sir, nothing of the sort! i have some questions to put to you before that can be done." "edna, i am yours--yours body and soul! ask me what questions you please." "then, sir, where have you been during all these weeks? you stand accused of a terrible crime before the world. if you are innocent, why have you not communicated with me? why have you not come to tell me so before?" "edna, i am innocent. i swear it before almighty god and you, the woman i love." "i believe it. i maintained it against my father, against all the sneers and reproaches that he heaped upon your name. but when day after day passed, and i heard nothing from you, what was i to believe? what am i to believe now, finding you in my father's office and in disguise?" for the space of a moment frank stood gazing upon her beautiful form in a maze of perplexity and doubt. what should he do? what should he say? to betray his plans to the daughter of his enemy was to frustrate them. he could see it at a glance. "hook was right," he thought, bitterly. "i have made a mistake. i ought not to have come at all." he gazed sadly upon the girl for an instant, and then taking his hat from the table upon which he had thrown it, motioned to withdraw. "edna, i--i----" he stood hesitating now, his hand upon the knob of the door. instantly the girl's manner changed. springing forward, she threw herself in the arms of her lover, and burst into a flood of tears. "frank! frank! don't go. i can forgive anything, everything, but your slight to me." "my slight to you, dearest?" he led her gently toward a sofa near the window, and seated himself by her side. "it's weeks since i have seen you, frank. in your trouble could you not trust me?" "can you trust me, little girl?" he cried, clasping both her hands within his own. "can you trust me, when i tell you that i did not rob the webster bank, that i am not guilty of the terrible crime with which the newspapers have had me charged?" "frank, i can trust you in anything; but only think! it is three weeks since you left me in this very room--left me to seek my father and ask his consent to our marriage. i have not seen you since." "dearest. i could not help it. i saw your father. he refused my request. i--i--that is--i have been so situated that i could neither see nor communicate with you since." the cheeks of the youth blushed red as he spoke. the memory of his dissipation and folly in the presence of this innocent girl seemed to crowd upon him with crushing force. how unworthy he was of love like this? how---- but his thoughts were interrupted. edna callister had spoken again. "frank, i believe your innocence firmly," she said, in clear, decided tones, "i believe it first because i know your heart, second, because--because--oh, how can i say it! because--frank, you will not betray me--because my father tries to make me think you guilty, and i know my father to be a very wicked man." "edna!" "it is true, frank. you know it is true. it is my firm belief that he is at the bottom of a plot against you, and that you know this to be the fact. is it not so?" "edna, i cannot tell you." "but you must. i insist upon knowing. it is because you have discovered his baseness at last, because you know what i say to be true that you have kept away from me, and hate me for all i know. it is for this reason that you are watching him in his office in this disguise." "edna, i love you and shall love you always, no matter what your father may be to me. i promise faithfully---- hark! what noise was that?" it was the sound of some one without the window tapping gently upon the pane. rising hastily, frank strode to the window and raised the shade. "great heaven! again!" with face the color of death the young man leaped back from the window, the perspiration starting in great drops from his pallid brow. "look--look! do you see her?" he breathed, hoarsely, pointing with one finger toward the window facing which both the lovers now stood. "why, frank, it's your mother! what in the world can she be doing here?" it was a woman who stood in the little courtyard without, her face pressed against the pane. it was the strange woman who has already figured very prominently in this tale--the mother of frank mansfield, whom he believed as firmly as he believed in his own existence to be now lying in her grave. the face, form, figure were all the same. the apparition of trinity church-yard stood before him now. with one hand, she struck the window feebly as with the other she raised what appeared to be a piece of paper before the eyes of the astonished pair. then, laying the paper against the glass, she drew back into the darkness and disappeared. "remain where you are, edna!" cried frank, springing toward the door. "in a moment i will return." he was in the street in an instant. too late! the woman was nowhere to be seen. but there upon the window-sill, leaning against the glass, still rested a folded parchment, affording the most positive evidence of her presence before the house. search was useless. whoever the strange creature might be--if a being of this world indeed--she had but to turn the corner of bleecker street to lose herself in the crowd. with his mind filled with a thousand doubts and fears, frank seized the parchment and returned to the room. without speaking a word he strode toward the table, and spread it out beneath the lighted lamp. his eyes had scarce rested upon it than he uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise. and no wonder. it was the description of the treasure hidden by old jeremiah mansfield, his grandfather, which lay before him. as though a gift from heaven, it had been restored to him. he had watched and waited. the missing parchment had been placed in his hands. chapter xxii. an untimely occurrence--caleb hook discovered. "hist--hist, jerry buck!" whispered detective hook as he slipped through the door opened by the newsboy. "you are a smart lad--a bright lad--to track those fellows as you have. i watched you do it, but, having got them into close quarters, we must put our heads together and find out what's going on in the room below." both jerry buck and the woman drew back in startled surprise. the appearance of the detective thus unexpectedly, was, to judge from the countenances of both, anything but welcome to them. for the moment even the ready wit of the bat seemed to desert him, and he glanced from the face of the woman, who stood motionless behind the stove with her foot covering the hole in the floor, to that of caleb hook with an appearance of deep perplexity, not unmingled with fear. "i don't know what you mean, mister. i----" "stop, jerry. this is no time to lie. you know me well enough. have you forgotten the morning at the catherine market--my visit to the bats in the wall?" "well, s'pose i hain't? what's that got to do with it? this here's a private room. what call have you got to run your nose in here?" "one moment, jerry," said the detective, coolly pushing the boy aside and advancing into the room. "madam, your most obedient," he continued, bowing respectfully to the woman. "my name is hook. i am a police detective and the best friend frank mansfield has got. may i trouble you to tell me who and what you are?" the woman trembled before him. a wild, hunted look overshadowed her face; her eyes wandered restlessly about the room. "i harm no one, sir," she murmured. "i only wish to be let alone that i may complete the work of vengeance which i have begun against the man who has brought so much misery to me and mine." "just so, madam, just so," answered caleb hook, soothingly. "you refer to mr. callister, no doubt, who is now in the room below. i stand ready to help you in your work if i can." "but you are the detective who arrested my--frank, i mean." "i did, but i have stood his friend from that night until now. i am anxious to help him and all belonging to him. are you not the person to whom i spoke at the trinity church-yard wall on the night of the arrest? did you not tell me that frank mansfield was your son, and that he robbed the webster bank?" "no, no, i was mistaken. i was mad!" exclaimed the woman, springing forward wildly. "i have no son, he robbed no bank. go away and leave me alone." "'tain't no use to make him mad, missus," whispered the newsboy. "frank trusts him an' i guess the best thing will be for us to trust him too." "you are right, jerry," said the detective quietly. "neither this good lady nor yourself have anything to fear from me." "ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! you can just bet your life the detective will never get into this little racket--never in the world." from the room below these words, accompanied by loud and boisterous laughter, suddenly burst forth, the sound finding easy passage through the uncovered stove pipe hole in the floor. the effect upon the woman was electrical. advancing quickly toward caleb hook, she grasped him by the hand. "that's his voice," she whispered wildly. "help me to bring that man to the hangman's scaffold and i'll fall down and bless you on my bended knees. it is elijah callister that robbed me of my husband; it is he who robbed me of my reason, and would have robbed me of my son. oh, if i could only trust you, sir! if i could only trust you! how can a weak woman like myself, with no other help than that of this faithful boy, hope to bring justice upon his sinful head alone." "you may trust me fully, madam. i too have a grievance against elijah callister. will you help me to bring him into the grasp of the law which he has so long defied?" "yes--yes! let them hang him as high as haman! oh, that i could only dance on his grave!" she spoke wildly--excitedly. that her mind was far from clear was plainly to be seen. that she hated elijah callister with a deep and bitter hatred was equally plain. caleb hook, watching her closely, saw all this, and understanding that his opportunity had come, proceeded to grasp it at once. "tell me what you know, and you shall do it!" he said, emphatically. "i swear that your desire shall be fulfilled! who and what is this smooth-spoken callister--that's what i want to know?" "who is he?" cried the woman. "he is a hypocrite, a liar, a murderer, a thief! i have been watching him for weeks, and i know what i say is true. he is the man who concocted the robbery at the webster bank, and tried to throw the crime upon my son." "ah! then you are mrs. mansfield, the mother of frank? i thought as much from the first." "yes--yes; they locked me in an asylum, but i outwitted them and got away, but too late to save my boy from harm. they drew the net around him, but i will tear it off. i will live to see those wretches swing for their crimes when frank is rich and prosperous. i say it, sir, and i mean it. god will grant a mother's prayer!" she fumbled at her dress as she spoke these words, and producing a package of greasy, worn papers, thrust them into the detective's hand. "read--read!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting to the right and left more wildly than before. "i have written it all down for the world to read when my work is done. but you, who love my boy, shall read it now." "say, mister, don't try to talk to her no more," whispered the boy, pulling hook slyly by the coat. "she always goes on like that when she gets talking about these here things. it's my opinion she's a little off." "i'll read them carefully, and return them in due time, my dear lady," replied the detective, in a quiet tone, taking the hint. "what we have to do now is to find out what's going on in the room below if we can. it's my belief those fellows are up to no good." "you can just bet your life on that, mr. hook," whispered the newsboy. "they're concocting a scheme to rob the lispenard bank. i caught on to it through the hole. just you come over here and listen for yerself. look a-here, missus, it's all right; you can just set down there and be as quiet as you can. him an' me'll attend to this here business alone." sinking into a chair, the woman, burying her face in her hands, began muttering wildly to herself, while jerry, taking the detective by the arm, drew him toward the hole behind the stove. "there, boss, just you put your ear down there," he whispered. "there's a hull raft of them fellers down below, and them that busted the vault of the webster bank's among 'em too. i seed 'em an' i know 'em. i was a-tryin' fer to foller 'em up meself fer ter help her along"--he gave a jerk with his thumb toward the woman behind them--"but since you've dropped onto me an' are disposed to help, i'll just turn the hull business over to you, fer you ought to understand it better nor me." "quite right, jerry," whispered hook, throwing himself flat upon his stomach and bending over the hole in the floor, while the newsboy, less clumsily, did the same. beneath, voices in earnest discussion could be plainly heard; the voice of that pious and most excellent man, mr. callister, being prominent above the rest. "and so it's fixed for the day after to-morrow. we are to meet at cagney's at eleven o'clock, where i shall await your return from the bank with a bigger haul, unless i'm greatly mistaken, than we ever made before." a look of triumph overspread the face of caleb hook as those words, spoken in the voice of the stock-broker, fell upon his ear. "jerry!" he whispered, softly. "well, boss?" "run around to the oak street station and tell captain mcginty to send me five of his best men without an instant's delay. quiet now! not a particle of noise as you value your life." "i'm fly, boss," whispered the boy, drawing himself cautiously into an upright position. as he did so his legs swept over the hole. crash! bang! a heavy body had fallen through the stove-pipe hole, into the room below. it was the iron stove-lifter, which a moment before had rested quietly upon the floor by jerry's side. in his movement to rise the legs of the boy had come in contact with it, sweeping it across the hole. the intervening covering of thin paper was broken on the instant. with a loud crash the stove-lifter, sweeping down through the opening, had fallen like a bomb-shell into the midst of the men assembled in the room below. there was a sudden exclamation in the voice of callister. then all was as silent as the grave. like a flash caleb hook was upon his feet. "take care of her, jerry," he whispered. "lock the door after me and open to no one. i shall head them off at the front entrance. great cæsar! how unfortunate! but i'll clap the bracelets on that villain callister even if the rest escape." he flung open the door and darted toward the stairs, jerry buck locking it behind him as he passed. scarce had he descended half the flight connecting with the floor below, when a door was suddenly flung open and four men sprang out into the passage dimly illuminated by a single hanging lamp. "there he is!" exclaimed one of the men--the smallest, in whom the detective instantly recognized his companion on the force, mr. billy cutts--"there's the fellow who dropped us his card. gentlemen, this is my friend, detective hook. he has come to pay us an evening call!" chapter xxiii. a detective in a bad fix. detective hook flung his hand behind him. instantly a revolver, grasped firmly between his fingers, glittered in the rays of the hanging lamp which shed its feeble light through the hall of the cherry street tenement in which he now stood at bay. "stand off, there, you fellows!" he shouted, sternly. "one step forward and some one bites the dust!" crack! the warning was unheeded. in the wild western towns the rule is, "shoot first and explanations afterward." with fatal result caleb hook had chosen the course in direct reverse of this. with the quickness of thought--in fact, even as the words had passed his lips, a short, thick-set fellow, from the shelter of the doorway connecting the passage with the room from which the men had emerged, had drawn a revolver of the smallest caliber and discharged it at the detective's head. it made no more noise than an ordinary popgun, but, notwithstanding, accomplished its fatal work. a low cry escaped the lips of caleb hook. the revolver dropped from his nerveless hand. with one arm outstretched he clutched at the banisters, missed them, clutched again, and pitched headlong to the foot of the stairs. "three cheers and a tiger for the man who fired that shot!" whispered callister, as all hands crowded about the inanimate form of the fallen man. "sam cutts, old man, there's some life left in you yet. now, what's to be done with the carcass before the whole neighborhood comes piling in?" "into the room with him--quick!" exclaimed billy cutts. "we are safe there for a while, at all events. we do not even know that he is dead, meddling fool that he is." his instructions were instantly obeyed. the body of the unfortunate detective was unceremoniously dragged into the room adjoining, the door of which was immediately bolted from within. "is he dead?" asked billy cutts, hoarsely. "by thunder, father, i suppose you had to do it, but his death will kick up a satan's own row upon the force. the chief of police will never rest night or day until he has run us down." "do it! why, of course i had to do it!" replied the elder cutts--a grizzled reproduction of his hopeful son in appearance. "it's my belief, gents, that that there iron lifter dropped down upon us by mistake. he knew it, and was off to give us and the whole business away to the captain of the nearest station before we had time to escape." "sam's about right," growled reuben tisdale. "i tell you, boys, this is a serious snap. we've doctored this spy with a leaden pill, but who can tell how many more of the same kind of cattle there is in hiding in that room overhead? who lives up there, anyway? does any one know? why were we not told of that stovepipe hole?" "blest if i know," said callister. "cutts, you ought to be able to tell--these are your rooms." "tell! i don't know no more about them what lives in the house than the dead. i reckon it would pay to have some on us slip up and see." "no, no!" whispered callister, breathlessly. "what's done is done, and can't be helped. it is my opinion the whole scheme has been overheard through that confounded hole in the floor." "hold on, you fellows," put in billy cutts. "i'll go up-stairs and reconnoiter. i'm a detective, don't you know, and if i catch on to anything in the shape of the police i'll knock with my heel once hard upon the floor. if you hear the signal light out, every mother's son of you. of course they won't think anything strange at seeing me come snooping round." silently unbolting the door, he crept up the stairs, the others listening breathlessly for the signal he proposed to give. through their own door--open on the crack--they could hear cutts open the door of the room above. evidently he had met with no opposition, for the sound of his footsteps could be heard overhead walking about the room. "blame me if i don't think it was this cuss that was up there alone, and no one else," muttered the elder cutts, indicating the detective, who lay white and still, dead to all appearance, in the midst of the little group. "he's wrong, lije," whispered tisdale to the stock-broker, who stood by his side, a little apart from the rest. "i heard the footsteps of two persons, at least, overhead there before that iron thing came down. luck has deserted us since my--my--you know what. i'm doomed to be the jonah of the gang." "hush, rube, for heaven's sake! can't you let up on your infernal croaking even in a strait like this? if the police are upon us, why, we'll do the best thing that offers. if it's only this fellow, hook, why, sam cutts' bullet has settled him. but not another word now. here's billy coming back." the young detective, if one so unfaithful to his trust can truthfully be so termed, entered at this moment with a smile of satisfaction on his face. "it's all right," he exclaimed, closing the door. "there ain't a soul in the room up-stairs. it's fixed up roughly to look like housekeeping, but it's my belief that it was hired by hook for the simple purpose of catching us. it's a common method with the profesh." "hadn't some one better inquire of the agent on the first floor?" put in one of the men who had not spoken before. "some other time will do for that," said callister, hurriedly. "what we want to do now is to dispose of this body without further delay. we can investigate later on." "well, and how do you propose to do it?" "i rather guess we can fix that if we can get it through the alley to the donegal shades--eh, rube?" replied the broker, with a smile. "after we've finished with mr. hook, he'll trouble us no more, i fancy. it's too bad to deprive the new york police force of such a bright and shining light, but then he had better have minded his own affairs." "so i say," growled another of the gang--a rough-looking fellow. "these blamed detectives don't give a hard working man no kinder show." "better be sure he's actually croaked before we bury him," grumbled tisdale, in his characteristic way. "that's soon done," returned callister. "i guess i'm doctor enough for that." he knelt beside the body and unbuttoned the coat and vest. placing his ear upon the detective's breast, he listened to the beating of the heart. but the heart of caleb hook had apparently ceased to beat. nor did his pulse give sign of any movement whatever. "dead as a door nail!" said the broker, laconically. "say, sam cutts, have you got such a thing as a big bag?" "no, an' you don't want it," answered cutts. "to carry that body down-stairs in a bag! you must be crazy, man. that would never do at all. we'll take him by the shoulders, two of us, and drag him along as though he was blind drunk--paralyzed, don't you see--then no one will suspect anything at all." "good! that's the very scheme. now, then, gents, as it ain't always best for a man to know too much, you had better say good-night, and leave the management of this affair to rube, cutts and myself. i feel sure that we have nothing to be afraid of now, for i am confident that this fellow was working alone. if i find that i am wrong, some of us will notify you, you may rest assured. meanwhile, the appointment remains the same as before, unless you hear to the contrary--cagney's sanctum, day after to-morrow night." several of the men now silently withdrew, leaving the two cutts--father and son--callister and tisdale with their victim. the sound of their footsteps had scarce died away upon the carpetless stairs when the stock-broker spoke again. "are you ready?" "yes," answered cutts, the elder; "i should say we were." "then you slip round and give pat the tip. we mustn't lose a moment, once we start, and you are to see that all is prepared." billy cutts, opening the door cautiously, left the room without a word. for the space of perhaps ten minutes the three men stood motionless, listening to every sound. overhead all was silent. there was no unusual noise about the house. "that pop of yours is a daisy, sam," whispered callister. "it's my opinion that the report of that shot was not heard on this floor. come, time's up. you take one arm, rube, and i'll attend to the other. sam can give us a lift down the stairs." two minutes later a peculiar but by no means unusual sight might have been observed in the alley leading from the side of the cherry street tenement through, by means of the gate pointed out by jerry buck to frank mansfield, to the rear of the donegal shades on catherine street, opposite the old market building. it was two men dragging between them a third, apparently in a state of helpless intoxication, while a fourth man--a short, thick-set fellow--brought up the rear. if they were observed by any of the dwellers in the adjoining tenements, it is safe to say that their appearance attracted no attention at all, for such sights are far too common in that part of the city to excite even passing remark. the passage of the alley was made in safety--the gate was opened by cutts--in another moment they had entered the yard facing the residence of the unfortunate mrs. marley, and in the rear of the donegal shades. two men stood ready to receive them by the side of a little flight of steps leading down to an open cellar door. one was billy cutts, the other p. slattery, the proprietor of the saloon, whose fiery shock of hair betrayed his identity at a glance. "all o. k., pat?" said callister, in a whisper. "you're right, it is; run him down, an' i'm wid yez in a jiffy. begobs! if it ain't that fly detective what shook me up on the sunday morning poor mrs. marley was murdered--an' phat ails you, mister tisdale? howly mother, but you're as white as though you'd seen a ghost!" "hold your jaw and lead the way!" muttered the burglar, fiercely. slattery made no attempt at reply. running down the cellar steps, he motioned to the others to follow without a word. no sooner had they entered than he closed and locked the door, and producing a match, lit a lantern which he held in his hand. "this way, gents," he said, briefly, advancing through the cellar among a heterogeneous mass of barrels and boxes and rubbish of all kinds. dragging the body of the detective between them, the others followed. suddenly the man slattery paused, and stooping down, seized a great iron ring in the floor. a trap-door was lifted, disclosing a dark opening leading to unknown depths below, out of which rushed a noisome stench causing the men by its side to draw back with exclamations of disgust. "now, then, down wid him," whispered the proprietor of the donegal shades. "it's as putty a grave as wan might ax for. drop him in, byes, an' it's done nice an' handy, only there's niver a praste to shrive him--worse luck. we must bury the poor cuss widout book nor bell." raising the inanimate form of the detective between them, callister, tisdale and cutts dropped it into the darkness of the open trap, while p. slattery, letting go the iron ring, jumped heavily upon the lid. chapter xxiv. treasure hunting. "hey, you garibaldi!" "ay, ay! alla righta!" "coast clear?" "beta your lifa!" "come on, then, fellers," said barney, the bootblack. "if it's all right outside, we may just as well moosy along." and the iron door of the old tomb set in the wall on the trinity church-yard opened and closed with a bang--three "bats in the wall" stood upon the street. they were our old acquaintances, barney the bootblack and sandy, the third being none other than frank mansfield himself. instantly a fourth lad came running across new church street and joined them. it proved to be garibaldi, the italian bat, who had been sent out of the wall to reconnoiter and report whether or no the coast was clear. evidently the "bats" are bound upon some expedition, for barney carries a spade, to conceal the true character of which a faint attempt has been made by winding newspapers about its blade; sandy a similar package, while frank mansfield has under his arm that which greatly resembles a pick ax, tied up in a similar way. to all outward appearance our hero stands upon a social level with his companions, and looks as little like mr. maxwell, mr. callister's new clerk, as that individual looks like the young man who was once assistant cashier of the webster national bank. one day has elapsed since the visit of frank to miss edna callister at the house in cottage place, upon which occasion, the reader will remember, the missing parchment containing the secret of the hiding-place of the treasure buried by his grandfather was strangely placed in his hands. upon further examination, the parchment placed by the mysterious woman upon the window-sill proved to be the document named in the will of jeremiah mansfield. bidding farewell to the faithful girl--not, however, without having promised to see her again at the very first opportunity afforded him--frank hurried to the police headquarters, where at this hour in the evening it sometimes happened that detective hook could be found. the parchment, which he studied carefully, gave the most minute instructions as to where the buried treasure could be found. with his soul filled with triumph, frank hurried through the broad corridors of the mulberry street building and entered the office where mr. hook was usually to be found when not engaged on duty elsewhere. he was all eagerness to tell of his discovery and ask what, under the circumstances, had best be done. but frank was doomed to disappointment. caleb hook had not been seen at headquarters since the night before. nor did he appear next day. frank, employing the messenger boys of the district telegraph freely, was unable to find the slightest trace of his whereabouts. mr. callister was at his office as usual, and appeared more sleek and urbane than ever before. he made no reference to the little affair at the elevator, treating the disguised mr. maxwell with even more politeness and consideration than was ordinarily the case. considerably alarmed by the unexplained absence of detective hook--doubly so from the fact that he had neglected several most important engagements that day--frank resolved to confide the situation in part to barney the bootblack, and assisted by the bats, whom he had learned to trust fully as the rough but honest lads that they were, to investigate the truth of the statements contained in the parchment for himself. after the close of the day's business, therefore, he paid a visit to the vault and arranged to start upon their expedition that very night. thus it happened that we find the "bats" leaving the wall in the manner described just as the clock of old trinity rings out the hour of twelve. "now, then, where's de place?" asked barney, as the four boys hurried along new church street in the direction of the rector street station of the sixth avenue elevated road. "it's at fort washington," replied frank--"a good mile beyond the th street station. up the steps, boys, and we'll start at once. remember, barney, if i succeed in this undertaking and in clearing my name before the world the 'bats in the wall' will never have occasion to regret their kindness to me." an hour later the little party moving along the fort washington road might have been seen to steal quietly through the gateway leading up to the half ruined mansion once the home of old jeremiah mansfield, known as the three oaks. the night was cold and cheerless--the wind sighed mournfully among the trees of the park-like inclosure--not a star was to be seen in the clouded sky. pursuing their way up the avenue, the boys came suddenly upon the house itself, standing half ruined and deserted among the overshadowing trees. it was not without feelings of emotion that frank mansfield gazed upon it. many and many were the pleasant hours spent within the old mansion during the more prosperous days of his boyhood--days not to be forgotten so long as he lived. and if that prosperity could be but in a measure restored? if the name of his dead father, to say nothing of his own, could but be cleared before the world? the finding of this money would place a powerful weapon against the enemies surrounding him at once in his hands. no wonder that his soul burned with impatience to grasp it. that he ought not to have moved in the matter without first consulting detective hook he instinctively felt, and yet---- but the impatience of youth is proverbial--than that no more need be said. familiar with the premises from boyhood, frank, making no effort to enter the house by the regular way, and conducting his companions to the rear of the building, removed without difficulty a small window sash set in the wall close to the ground. a moment later the four boys stood in the great cellar beneath three oaks, gazing about them by the light of a lantern which he carried in his hand. it was festooned with cobwebs and green with mold. the floor was littered with boxes, old barrels, and rubbish of every sort. frank, setting the lantern upon a box, turned to sandy and garibaldi, who, not having been informed as to the nature of the undertaking in which they had engaged, were looking about them in a decidedly mystified way. barney he had taken into confidence, leaving him to tell the other "bats" what he pleased. having now reached the scene of their labors, however, it seemed necessary to make some explanation to these boys, who had come willingly with barney to help him, and he accordingly briefly informed them of what he was about to do. the eyes of the two boys open wildly. "what! diga for golda?" exclaimed garibaldi, in surprise. "that's the size of it, boys, and it belongs to me by rights. how, it would take too long to explain; but help me out, and i promise that you shall have your share." "you beta we willa!" cried the little italian, throwing aside his jacket and seizing one of the spades. "showa whera diga, i finda him, donta forget it." sandy likewise gave full assent. "then listen, boys," said frank, pulling a paper from his pocket, and holding it up to the lantern on the box--it was a copy of a portion of the contents of the parchment--"this will tell us what to do." he read as follows: "descend to the cellar. measure ten feet from the north chimney, then five due west. here a flat stone will be found, beneath which the treasure lies. it is for my grandson if he be found worthy, for my friend, elijah callister, if he is not. if it shall fall into the hands of frank mansfield, let him so dispose of it as to shed luster upon the name he bears. "jeremiah mansfield. "three oaks, january , ." "now for it, boys!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "this is the cellar, and we are here ready to work. barney, the tape-line. lay over to that chimney, now, while i run out ten feet." the distance was measured off and marked upon the cellar floor. "now, then, five feet to the west. that's the idea! by gracious! here's the flat stone just as the paper says!" it was as frank had said. buried in the earth which composed the cellar floor a flat stone of a grayish color was discovered, above which all now stood. "the spades, barney and sandy!" cried frank, seizing the pick-ax himself. "hold the light, garibaldi, that we may see what we are about. make what noise you like, boys, there's no one to hear us--this house has been deserted for years." he struck the ground with the pick-ax as he spoke, the sound echoing upon the rafters of the floor above. the earth once loosened, barney and sandy made short work of it with their spades. it was of a light and sandy character, and yielded so readily to their efforts that frank, finding the pick-ax useless, soon threw it to one side, and taking the spade from the hands of sandy, joined barney in the hole, now rapidly deepening. both boys had removed their coats, and were working with a will. around them the little mound of earth thrown out by their spades steadily grew, until a depth of four feet or more was reached. and yet, they had found nothing. nor was there any appearance that the earth had been ever disturbed. "by thunder, but this is tough work!" growled barney, straightening himself up. "how much further do you think we've got to go?" "it is impossible to tell," answered frank, working away vigorously. "it may be one foot, it may be ten---- by gracious! here's something now. i've just struck it with my spade." a sharp, ringing sound was heard. the spade had struck something of a metallic nature at the bottom of the hole. "i've found it, boys," he cried, in great excitement, stooping down and with his hands brushing back the loose earth from the lid of a great iron chest at the bottom of the hole. "the treasure is mine--mine at last! let that wretched callister now beware!" "and 'that wretched callister' bids you say your prayers, young man!" cried a deep voice behind them. "in digging that hole you have dug your grave. prepare to lie in it now." the four boys sprang back, frank leaping from the hole. there, amid the old boxes and barrels in the dim light, the forms of two men could be seen with cocked revolvers pointed--one directly at the head of barney, the bootblack, the other at the head of frank. chapter xxv. the mystery of trinity church-yard explained at last. at the sight of elijah callister and his companion standing before him with cocked pistols in their hands amid the shadows of the cellar, frank mansfield sprang from the hole in which he stood. seizing the pick-ax, he advanced bravely toward the man who long had been the persecutor of himself and his afflicted family, heedless of the glittering muzzles of the revolvers pointed directly at his head. barney the bootblack, garibaldi and sandy had meanwhile sought refuge among the boxes and barrels, the little italian making the cellar ring again with his cries of fear. "shoot, if you dare, elijah callister!" cried frank, with proudly curling lip. "you helped to kill my father, you drove my mother mad. murder me, if you dare! there is justice for such as you. as god hears me, it will descend swift and sure upon your sinful head." "be careful, lije," whispered the man by his side. "there are three of them--we can't kill them all. by heaven! the lad is right, there has been murder enough. beside, he is my nephew, poor helen's son, and i say he shan't be killed!" it was reuben tisdale, the burglar, the husband of the dead mrs. marley, by whose hand that unfortunate creature came to her untimely end in the little house in the rear of the donegal shades. as he spoke these words, with one blow he struck the pistol from the hands of elijah callister, his own hand falling to his side. "meddling fool!" cried the broker, fiercely, springing upon him. "the treasure for which we have risked so much lies uncovered before us at last, and now you would spoil it all! that boy must die or we are ruined! i tell you he has been a spy upon us; he has----" "stop! he is my son, elijah callister, and he shall live! harm one hair of his head at the peril of your life!" through the dark passages of the cellar the words resounded. instantly there burst upon the scene a blaze of light. it rested upon the boxes and barrels, it fell upon the cobweb-hung beams overhead, and, glancing back, lit up the faces of callister, tisdale and frank with a strange, unearthly glare. with a loud cry the bank burglar, heedless of the blow aimed at him by his infuriated companion, sprang back. "lije! lije! look! look! it is maria's ghost again!" he cried, frantically, clapping his hands before his face to shut out the light which met his gaze. before them standing by the side of the hole in which the buried treasure lay hidden, was the form of the mysterious woman who had played so stirring a part in this tale. with one warning finger outstretched before her she glided forward and placed her form in front of frank. "go, vile wretches!" she fiercely cried. "go and work evil no more to me and mine! may heaven's vengeance fall upon you both for your many crimes." for an instant elijah callister stood regarding her with set teeth and eyes filled with snake-like glittering. as he did so a mist seemed to rise before them, obscuring the woman and the youth, who now held her clasped tightly in his arms, from view. and the light increased. through the cellar a loud crackling noise was heard as the light increased. one glance behind him explained the sounds. the rubbish which filled the cellar had burst out into a sheet of flame. "it's all up with us, rube, curses on your folly!" he whispered fiercely, as, grasping by the collar the man who had crouched cowering by his side, he dragged him toward the cellar stairs. "fire! fire! oh! missus! i've dropped the pan! and the hull business is a-burnin' up!" out from among the burning rubbish sprang a frightened boy. it was jerry buck, with every hair standing up in horror, his jacket all ablaze. "take her through the window, boys!" cried frank, springing toward the fleeing men. "save her and save yourselves while i deal with these villains fate has thrown into my hands!" he sprang toward callister and seized him by the collar of his coat. too late! with a sudden twist the stock-broker jerked himself free, and leaving the coat in the hands of frank, had followed reuben tisdale up the cellar stairs. to attempt to follow them was useless. a wall of seething flames, bursting forth from the rubbish of years accumulated beneath the stairs, now intervened. meanwhile, barney and sandy had assisted the woman through the open window, gaining a place of safety without, while little garibaldi was bravely but vainly endeavoring to pull the burning jacket from the back of jerry buck that he might be able to escape. all attempt to follow callister was useless. frank saw that at a glance. "let him go," he muttered. "heaven will deal with him according to his deserts. after all, i cannot harm him, for he is the father of the girl i love." he sprang toward jerry, and wrapping the coat left in his hands by the fleeing stock broker about him, thus smothering the flames, drew him hastily through the cellar window, garibaldi, the italian, following with all possible speed. the mysterious woman, barney and sandy stood upon the snow covered ground awaiting them. with a low cry of joy the woman threw herself into frank mansfield's arms. "my son--my darling boy!" she cried, wildly kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair. "thank god i hold you in my arms once more! i have sought to prove your innocence, and though i have so far failed, come what will, we must not part again." as she spoke these words behind the little group the roaring of the flames increased. from the window of the first floor of the old mansion they now burst forth, illuminating the landscape for yards around. "mother, can this indeed be you?" cried frank, gazing upon the worn features of the woman in mingled astonishment and surprise. "it is, my son. and did you think me dead?" "i most certainly did. i left you beneath the church-yard wall when--when i went into the bank. when i came out you were gone, and next morning i saw that which i could have sworn was your dead body lying in a house in catherine street in the rear of a place they call the donegal shades." the woman smiled sadly. "listen, frank," she said, with more calmness than she had before displayed. "listen to my story, to be told in a few brief words, and you will understand this mystery which has been puzzling you for weeks." here barney was seen to glance at jerry buck, who stood quietly by, still wrapped in mr. callister's coat. neither spoke, however, and frank stood breathlessly listening to what his mother was about to tell. "i escaped from the asylum where mr. callister had placed me," began the unfortunate mrs. mansfield, "some weeks since as you know. i had been mad, but was so no longer, although no one would believe me when i told them so. my first care was to look for you, my son. with sorrow i heard of your dissipation and wrong-doing, and knowing well the interest mr. callister had at stake in leading you into crime, i determined to watch over you in secret and save you if i could. but this was after the time when, in desperation at what i had heard, i attempted to commit suicide by jumping into the river, from which i was rescued by this brave boy, known to you as jerry buck, but instantly recognized by me as the outcast son of my unfortunate twin sister, maria tisdale, the wife of that man who a moment ago stood in the cellar of yonder burning house by elijah callister's side. stop! do not interrupt me!" she exclaimed, seeing that frank was about to speak. "a crowd will gather here before many minutes. before it comes we must be far away. i knew the lad's features at a glance, and i told him who and what i was. in return he took me to the home of the 'bats' in the old tomb beneath the church-yard wall. "on the night of the bank robbery i followed you from the time you left mr. callister's office until i spoke to you in the street by the side of the fence which surrounds the grave-yard of trinity church. "you would not heed my warning--you left me in the hands of those two young ruffians while you entered the bank to do the wrong into which you had been led by that young villain, cutts, whom i knew to be a thief and an associate of thieves. "no sooner had you entered than cutts sprang back, and joining the two young men who had held me down, all three ran off down rector street and disappeared. "meanwhile i slipped across the street and crawled beneath an empty truck, determined to follow you in secret the instant you appeared. "there i found this good boy, barney, who told me of the bank robbery and just how it had occurred. he had with him the tin box, also, which the burglars had dropped in the street. examining the papers i recognized your grandfather's will at a glance. "this i left with barney, with instructions to give it to you, while i took the parchment myself, that by no combination of circumstances might it be lost. "it was by my directions that barney rescued you and took you into the vault, and when i knew you were safe i started to meet my unfortunate sister, mrs. tisdale--who had long been suffering from insanity from the brutal treatment of her husband--whom i had just succeeded in finding upon the morning of the day in which these events occurred. "at the corner of rector street and broadway i met detective hook. "he followed me, but at park row and frankfort street, seeing my sister, who exactly resembled me, awaiting me, i slipped away while his eyes were for the moment turned, and saw him following her in my stead." "then it was she who was murdered?" cried frank, lost in wonder and surprise. "it was," replied mrs. mansfield, sadly. "murdered beyond all doubt by the husband who drove her mad and made her life a curse." "and he's the man i'll hang, even if he is my father!" exclaimed jerry buck, who, with whitened features and firmly-set teeth, had been listening attentively to the woman's tale. "see here," he added, stretching out his hand in which a bundle of papers was grasped. "i've been looking at these 'ere while you two have been talking, an' can read well enough to know that they'll give me the grip on him an' his pal." "where did you find them?" cried frank, eagerly. he had seized the papers from jerry buck, and hastily examined them in the light of the burning house from which the flames were now pouring, illuminating the surrounding scene with the brightness of day. they were small, but well-executed plans of the vaults of the lispenard bank, all marked "duplicate," and bearing upon them elijah callister's name. "where did i find them?" cried the boy. "why, in the pocket of this here coat to be sure. come, we must take 'em to the chief of police. if they ain't the fixin' of him what killed my mother an' the feller what's runnin' you down to earth, why, it won't be for want of tryin' on the part of the 'bats in the wall'--that's all i've got to say." chapter xxvi. elijah callister adds still another crime to the list. it was well on toward three o'clock in the morning when p. slattery, the red-headed proprietor of the donegal shades, was aroused from his sleep in the back room behind his saloon by a loud knocking upon the outer door. "now who the blazes can that be?" he muttered. "it's too early for the market-men, i'm sure. must be some drunken tramp who hain't got full enough widout disturbin' an honest man in his bed. go way wid yez, ye spalpeen! it's not pat slattery that'll open the dure for yez the night." thump--thump--thump! upon the door the knocks were rained with redoubled strength. "begorra, an' i'm afeard it's break me dure in he'll be after doin'," muttered the saloon-keeper, tumbling sleepily out of bed. he crept across the darkened bar-room, and pulling aside the curtains cautiously, peered out into the deserted street. two men stood without. p. slattery recognized in their faces messrs. callister and tisdale at a glance. the stock-broker was in his shirt sleeves and hatless. he was shivering with the cold, while reuben tisdale, pale and haggard, stood to one side with his eyes fixed upon the ground. the sound of the movement at the curtain, slight as it had been, had not escaped mr. callister's ears. "open the door, pat, for god's sake!" he whispered, pressing his face to the glass. "rube's gone crazy, i think, and i'm almost perished with the cold." "be the pipers! an's there's suthin' gone wrong!" muttered the saloon-keeper. "it's the ould boy himself that's to pay, i'm afeard." he hastily undid the fastening of the door. callister and tisdale entered the saloon. "some whisky, quick, pat," exclaimed the former, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "we have had satan's own time of it getting here, and you must give us a shake down for the balance of the night." "an' i'll do that same wid pleasure, mr. callister," cried the irishman, with the good nature proverbial of his race, as he bustled behind the bar. "howly mother! but yer gills is as blue as indigo. what happened ye that ye lost the coat an' the hat?" "it's a story that'll take too long to tell, pat. there, that's better"--he had emptied the glass of raw spirits at a gulp. "now show us where we can sleep." "it's no use, lije," said tisdale gloomily. "you had best light out and save yourself while you can. i shall have no peace until poor maria's death is avenged. i'm going now to give myself up to the police; to see the spirit of my murdered wife again would kill me. i can't stand it any longer and i won't. as i told you before, i'm the jonah of the gang." the eyes of elijah callister blazed with evil light. "you are, eh?" he hissed between his tightly set teeth. "so you are going to give yourself up, and ruin your friends, you soft-hearted fool--you man of putty--you--you---- ain't it enough to have lost these plans, to have gone through what we have, without----" he stopped, backed toward the bar, and, glaring at his companion, leaned heavily against it. unseen by either slattery or tisdale, his hand stole behind him like a flash, grasping a large cheese-knife which lay upon the bar of the "donegal shades," carelessly left there by the proprietor himself after cutting up the free lunch which it was his custom each night to spread. "is your mind made up, reuben tisdale? will no argument bring you to reason? speak--you had best be quick." "no--i am resolved to do it, lije, no matter what you say. i tell you still again i can't help it; i'm doomed to be the jonah of the gang." he stood dejectedly by the stove, his eyes fixed upon the sanded floor. with measured step the man at the bar advanced toward him, one hand still held behind his back. "and do you know what the men on the ship did to jonah?" he hissed. "no? then i'll tell you--they threw him overboard, as i now throw you, reuben tisdale, and the pit beneath this house, which already numbers its victims by the score, is the whale, and will swallow up the jonah of the gang to which you and i belong, and you can bet your sweet life that from out of the depths of that whale's belly you'll never come forth to give my secrets away!" the words had not fully left his lips when with a sudden spring, his now upraised hand descended, and reuben tisdale fell to the floor with a groan. * * * * * and while these events are transpiring how fares it with our old friend, mr. detective hook. "why, he is dead!" did we hear some one exclaim? not at all. detectives, as a race, are hard to kill, and caleb hook offers no exception to his class! beneath the cellar of the donegal shades lies that brave man, neither dead nor helpless, but able to stand erect and move about, eagerly longing to escape. and no wonder. the foul pit in which he found himself confined was damp and slimy--filled with a thousand noisome smells. for an hour and more after the body of the unconscious detective had been dropped through the trap-door by callister and cutts he remained lying unconscious upon the muddy floor of the place into which he had fallen, an old sub-cellar, used in former days by the occupants of the building, but long since abandoned on account of its dampness and from the fact that it was filled to the brim with the water of the east river at every tide rising above the usual height. but caleb hook was not dead. no. by a merciful providence the ball from the burglar's pistol, missing by a hair's breadth a vital part, touched a certain nerve, well understood by the medical profession, glanced from the accompanying muscle and buried itself in a fleshy spot, leaving its victim in a state of suspended animation, practically unharmed. its action upon that nerve spent, and the eyes of caleb hook opened to life once more. where he was or how he came there were two questions which he was unable to decide. matches which he always carried soon revealed to him the nature of the place--damp, foul-smelling cellar that it was, with the only outlet the trap-door through which he had fallen, a good five feet above his head. beyond a feeling of great weakness, he felt neither fear nor pain. that he had been thrown there as dead he understood perfectly well, and yet--brave heart that he was--he refused to banish hope. the hours passed. caleb hook has exhausted every means to reach that trap above him, but in vain. crouched in a corner we see him now, his head buried in his hands. through the foul place the rats scurry past, but he heeds them not--his thoughts are upon the strange case in following which he has come to this living death. the robbery of the webster bank--the following of the strange woman--the murder of mrs. marley and her singular reappearance in the church-yard later on, passed one after another in hopeless procession through his mind. the capture of the burglar, joe dutton, the man who dropped the dollars at the catherine market--whom we should have stated before was arrested by a policeman on cherry street before he had run a dozen yards--and his untimely death also rose up before him. that he had been poisoned by his associates in crime the detective could not doubt. and the thought gave him no courage. if these scoundrels had no mercy to share to their own what hope was there for him? hark! what sound was that? surely there are footsteps walking on the floor above? springing to his feet he stares wildly at the trap-door above his head. it moves! it opens! but alas! it opens not in aid to him! there is a low murmuring of voices, and suddenly the body of a large and powerful man drops through the open trap, falling heavily at the detective's feet. chapter xxvii. the jonah. as the body of the falling man struck the slimy floor of the old sub-cellar beneath the donegal shades, detective hook sprang back against the damp and dripping wall. it was well that he did so. with a heavy thud the man fell at his feet half buried in the foul and pasty mud. instantly the trap-door was heard to close above him, followed by the sound of feet moving away. "oh, god--oh, god, have mercy on my sinful soul! must i die here like a dog?" from the man at his feet the sound went forth. caleb hook kneeled by his side. "courage, friend!" he whispered. "courage! god may help us yet!" "ah--ah! keep off--keep off!" shrieked the dying man. "is not one ghost enough to haunt me, that the voice of the man i helped to bury in this devil's den must come ringing in my ears? keep off, i say! detective hook, i know your voice! i did not raise a hand to kill you! you know it well enough!" crack! the last match possessed by the detective is lighted--he holds it to the face before him. "reuben tisdale, you, the most successful maker of burglars' tools known among the crooks of new york!" the man raised himself with difficulty, gazing with wild, staring eyes upon the detective's face. "alive--alive!" he gasped. "it is hours since we threw you here, dead, as we all supposed." "but i still live, reuben tisdale, and so perhaps may you. answer, man! beside that trap-door overhead, is there no way out of this?" "yes--yes," murmured the burglar, sinking back upon the muddy floor. "there is a secret passage, and you shall escape; for me there is no hope; callister has settled me; foul fiend that he is. but i will be revenged--i swear it! i will tell the truth, as i hope to meet my poor wife above. ha--ha! elijah callister, did i not speak the truth? there is fate in this--it is written that i should live to be the jonah of the crowd!" "speak!" cried the detective. "show me the way out of this and i will save you if it costs my life!" "no, no," moaned the dying man. "it's no use--it's all up with rube tisdale at last, but you shall be saved: the secret passage leading from this place can be opened by a pressure of hand. it shall be opened, and you shall live, it is within my reach to do it, even as i lay here now." "then do it! do one good action before you die." "i will, do not fear, but listen first to the confession of a dying man." "speak, i am listening," said the detective, quietly, raising the head of the sufferer and supporting it on his arm. "caleb hook," began the burglar. "i am a man of many evil deeds. listen to the story of my life." "in my youth i was a machinist; i had two friends; frank mansfield was the name of one, elijah callister, the other. "our home was in the upper part of new york, now known as high bridge. "near us lived two twin sisters, beautiful girls, both. their names were helen and maria dupont. "i married maria, my friend mansfield helen, and then the trouble began. "little by little, by callister i was led into crime, and for years we have worked together, he making plans for burglaries, i furnishing the tools and assisting to carry them out. "frank mansfield--i speak now of the father of the lad you know by that name--would not join us. in fact, he never suspected callister, although he knew well what i was about myself. "time passed and he prospered, our families were separated and never met. "callister hated him. he had himself loved helen dupont, and when she married mansfield swore to be avenged. "by trickery and device he so worked upon mansfield's father as to cause him to make a singular will---- "yes, yes," interrupted the detective, "i know all about that, you need not stop to explain." "do you? it may be so, but you do not know that it was callister and myself who killed old jeremiah mansfield in his bed hoping to gain the buried treasure which we never found. you do not know that we robbed mansfield's store of the funds intrusted to his care, and casting suspicion upon him drove his wife mad as was mine already, and sent him with a blackened name down to a defaulter's grave. "we did that, caleb hook, and more. we robbed the webster bank, and concocted the conspiracy to throw the burden of that crime on frank mansfield's son, the lad arrested by you." "and you did all this," said the detective, sternly. "reuben tisdale, you are justly punished, you----" "hush, hush! if that were all i might still wish to live. "listen, for my breath grows short. you saw a woman dead in an upper room in the house in the rear of this evil den?" "yes, yes, mrs. marley--what of her?" "mrs. marley was not her name. she was maria tisdale--my wife. detective hook, it was my hand that struck her down. i did it in anger, god forgive me, poor insane creature that she was. i saw her hovering about the webster bank--i thought she had found in the street certain papers which i dropped, and----" "and you killed her?" "i did; i--ah! take her off! take her off! there she is bending over me! her hand is above my throat now!" "hush! hush!" whispered the detective. "there is no one here but ourselves. "my god, the man is dying!" he exclaimed, as the eyes of reuben tisdale closed and the head rested more heavily on his arm. "no--i--i--still live." the words came faintly from the parted lips. "drag me to the wall--there--right--behind--you. stop--them--they rob the--lispenard bank--at--twelve--to-night. callister--made plans--i--revenge--revenge--oh! god have mercy on my sinful soul!" they were the last words of reuben tisdale on earth. even as they were uttered, dragged across the slimy floor of the cellar by the detective, he stretched forth his hand and pressed a groove in what appeared to be a wall of solid stone. it moved, it opened, a door flew back, displaying a dark and narrow passage at the very moment the man breathed his last. laying him gently down. caleb hook, trembling with weakness and excitement, moved toward the secret passage now disclosed. "saved--saved!" he murmured, faintly. "means of escape are open before me, but--oh, god! how weak i am! this mist before my eyes--this trembling in my limbs! i--i--help--oh, help!" the "jonah" has spoken. have his revelations come too late? apparently, for the trembling form of caleb hook sinks lifeless across the very entrance to the secret passage. chapter xxviii. a frustrated crime--the end. since the startling events at the three oaks, terminating with the complete destruction of that gloomy old mansion by fire, another day has passed, and night has settled down upon the city of new york once more. it has been an eventful day for many, no doubt; of its events for our hero, frank mansfield, his mother restored to reason and the world, and his faithful friends, the "bats in the wall," we have no time to speak. meanwhile, the virtuous mr. callister appeared at his office as usual, and figured prominently in several large transactions on the floor of the stock exchange. the new clerk, mr. maxwell, however, did not appear at the office, nor had detective hook been seen by any one. the police authorities, now thoroughly alarmed by his continued absence, caused a general alarm to be sent out, and during the entire day his brother detectives searched for him in all directions, but in vain. now, upon the night of the day in question, had any one chanced to stand upon the bulkhead of the east river front at a point somewhere between catherine street and the market slip, they might have observed a man of most singular appearance creep apparently out of the solid wall of the bulkhead itself, and, with evident effort, leap to the deck of a little sloop lying within arm's-length of the street line. once upon the deck of the sloop, he did not pause, but seizing the string-piece of the bulkhead, drew himself to the ground above, and standing erect, gave vent to a sigh of relief. and no wonder. from head to foot he was a mass of dripping mud. "safe--safe at last!" he muttered; "safe and free to act once more. it still lacks something of twelve--if my strength holds out i may make it yet. i will make it. let elijah callister beware, for the day of his reckoning at last has come." turning abruptly he crossed south street and disappeared in the dark shadows of the great warehouses which cluster around the east river shore. who is this man who swears vengeance upon so worthy, so pious a member of society as mr. elijah callister of the tenth baptist church? his name is caleb hook. his business is that of a police detective. reuben tisdale was right. out of the whale's belly the avenger has come. fate had indeed willed that he should prove the jonah of the band. * * * * * "now, then, billy, you slip up the steps and try the door. if the watchman has not gone back on us, it ought to open at the first touch." before the lispenard bank stood three men, well disguised in great coats and low slouch hats, one carrying a small grip-sack in his hand. they are elijah callister and the two cutts--father and son. it is the stock broker who speaks, and billy cutts, the renegade detective, is the one who creeps up the steps of the lispenard bank in obedience to his command. "is it all right, billy?" whispered cutts, the elder. "we want to get off the street as soon as we possibly can." "all right, dad, come on." the two men moved stealthily toward the steps of the bank. "squeak! squeak! squeak!" behind them a low, bat-like cry went up for one instant only, and then all was still. "what the deuce was that?" whispered callister, drawing back in alarm. for the space of a minute all three stood motionless, billy cutts at the top of the steps, callister and cutts the elder at the foot. the street was utterly deserted. nor was this strange. lower new york is always deserted at night, and the hour of twelve had already passed. before them rose the grim stone walls of the custom house on william street--that upon which the lispenard bank is situated--from wall to beaver, as far as the eye could reach, not a living thing could be seen. "come on; it's only a blasted bat!" whispered billy cutts, from the top of the steps. "we have no time to fool away, i tell you. first thing we know a cop will be along. the goose is ready for the plucking, and we want to be about it. it's blame strange rube didn't show up!" "oh, never mind him!" answered callister, hastily. "probably he's off on some other lay. open the door, billy, and we are with you. we must and shall put this job through successfully. there's enough in that vault to make us all independent for life!" "go on--go on, you make too much talk," whispered sam cutts, leading the way up the steps. "lead on there, billy, if the door is open. we've nothing to fear." billy cutts opened the door softly without reply. followed by his companions, he entered the bank. "hey, mike!" he whispered, hoarsely. it was the bank watchman he called who, faithless to his trust, had been bribed to assist them in their work. there was no reply. within the bank all was dark; by the feeble rays of the street lamp without the outlines of the desks could be just discerned. "hey, mike! mike!" whispered billy cutts again, stealthily advancing. the words had scarcely left his lips, than through the interior of the lispenard bank there shot out a blaze of light. "throw up your hands, there!" cried a stern voice before them. "up with them, or you are dead men!" with a low cry, elijah callister sprang toward the door. before them, in the full blaze of the lighted gas, stood frank mansfield and five policemen at his side, with glittering revolvers in their outstretched hands, aimed directly at the burglars' heads. "halt, there!" behind them, entering by the door through which callister had turned to flee, a second posse of police was seen, headed by the pale determined figure of detective hook, while following close behind were three ragged street boys, easily recognized as our old friends barney, the bootblack, sandy and garibaldi the bats in the wall. "those are your men, officers!" cried frank, in clear, ringing tones. "that's callister--the tall one by the door--that's the head of the gang who robbed the webster bank, and sought to throw the crime on me!" * * * * * morning dawned upon the city of new york with clearer skies so far as frank mansfield was concerned, than he had known for months. the end had come. the mystery of the robbery of the webster bank was a mystery no more. the rising sun found the virtuous mr. callister and the two cutts snugly ensconced in the tombs. before a force so overwhelming they had not even tried to resist. and then the whole thing came out, and the newspapers rang with it next day. it appeared that the first information of the intended robbery of the lispenard bank had been given by frank mansfield, who walked boldly into the office of the chief of police, told his whole story and placed the plans found in the coat of callister in his hands. it was upon information thus received that the police secreted themselves in the bank after nightfall, stationing the "bats" to watch outside and sound the alarm of the approach of the burglars by their usual cry. the arrival of detective hook had been an entirely independent affair. reviving at last from his swoon, this brave officer had escaped by the secret passage--an old sewer beneath the donegal shades, used doubtless by the scoundrels who frequented that den for the conveyance of stolen goods--as we have seen, and hurrying to the oak street station had made his story known, and started with a number of policemen for the lispenard bank. of their timely arrival we are already informed. that the arrest of callister made a tremendous stir in financial circles need not be told. but frank mansfield stands to-day rich, happy and prosperous, his name justified before the world. the officers of the webster bank now understand his innocence, and would be only too glad to receive him again into their employ. but frank has no need for further toil. from beneath the ruins of the three oaks there came forth a golden treasure which has placed him beyond all fear of want. for a round half million will do that and leave some to spare, even in these expensive days, and such proved to be the value of the gold and gems buried by that strange old man, jeremiah mansfield, in the cellar of the great house where for so many years he dwelt alone. during the search which took place at the ruins, both detective hook and frank's new-found cousin, jerry buck, whose true name proved to be dupont tisdale, assisted. by jerry the presence of mrs. mansfield at the three oaks was made perfectly plain. familiar with the house and its secret passages for years, she had, assisted by the boy, played the ghost most successfully, gliding in and out of the chamber of its former owner by means of a secret panel set in the wall, while the light--nothing more than the usual stage fire--was used to add effect to the scene at the suggestion of jerry himself. they found the iron chest without difficulty, and the will having been placed in the hands of the surrogate of new york county, its contents were turned over to that official to be dealt with according to the law. by the confession of tisdale, all stain being removed from the name of our hero, in due time he came into his own. and these two important points being settled, nothing remains but to dispose of the principal actors in this strange but true narrative of events growing out of the robbery of the webster bank. the body of reuben tisdale was recovered from the sub-cellar beneath the donegal shades upon the morning of the burglars' arrest. in some unexplained manner, p. slattery had got wind of the affair, and deserting his saloon, has never since been seen. in due time, elijah callister, exposed in his true colors before the world, paid the penalty of his many crimes upon the scaffold in the yard of the tombs, which event occurring as it did only a few months since, after a long and much talked of trial, must still be fresh in the minds of all who read this tale. the cutts, father and son, were sentenced to sing sing on the testimony of caleb hook, for a term of years. between the detective and mr. billy cutts this most effectually squared accounts. for his services, so kindly and faithfully rendered, as may be well believed, frank mansfield saw this brave member of the new york detective force fully repaid. indeed, it is rumored that so liberal was this compensation, that there is no actual need for caleb hook to continue on the force. the papers given by mrs. mansfield to the detective in the room in cherry street proved to be simply a desultory description of the history of that unfortunate woman's past life. before his final resignation of the case he turned them over to frank, who having revised them in the light of later disclosures, gave them to the press, thereby clearing the name of his dead father from all stain, tisdale's confession rendering it absolutely certain that the funds placed in the hands of that unfortunate gentleman for safe-keeping had been stolen by callister and himself. the watchman of the lispenard bank, and flaherty, the "crooked" policeman on the beat covering the webster bank, were tried together for aiding and abetting the gang of burglars. against mike, the watchman, the evidence was conclusive, and he was sent to sing sing to keep company with his friend detective cutts, but flaherty escaped for want of evidence, although he was dismissed from the police force in disgrace. jim morrow and ed wilson, frank's fast companions, who assisted billy cutts to betray him, we presume remain still in california--at all events we have heard nothing of them since. nor is this to be regretted. frank plays poker no more, and has no use for any of their sort. in an elegant mansion on one of the avenues, frank mansfield lives with his mother, whose reason is now fully restored. with them dwells a young lady who seldom appears in public, and dresses in the deepest black. it is miss edna callister, who, while admitting the justice of her father's punishment, still deplores his fate. time, which cures all things, has, however, already done its work for her, and it is commonly rumored that at the expiration of the prescribed year of mourning, her marriage with our hero will be duly announced. with them also dwells jerry buck, who is now attending school, and endeavoring to make up by hard study for the time lost during the years spent as a waif in new york's streets. the old vault beneath the grave-yard of trinity church is deserted now--restored to its original use, a burial place of the dead. after the newspaper disclosures the boys could not return there, of course, and frank, mindful of his promise, not only rewarded barney, the bootblack, sandy and garibaldi by a substantial gift from his newly acquired wealth, but provided for all the boys a comfortable home. "for the result of these strange events," as he remarked to us the other day, when we visited him at his elegant home for additional particulars to be incorporated in this tale, "might have proved to be a very different affair had it not been for the timely assistance afforded my mother and myself by those kind-hearted street boys, the 'bats in the wall.'" [the end.] transcriber's notes: added table of contents. retained some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. second hand vs. second-hand). changed lige to lije for consistency (twice). removed unnecessary quote before "now, in thus demanding...." changed "neerest" to "nearest." changed "to night" to "to-night" for consistency. changed "detetective" to "detective." changed comma to period after "she will ruin all." added missing quotes after "try the door" and before "mistake added...." added missing comma after "better by and by." changed "schnieder" to "schneider" (twice). added missing quote after "bats in the wall?" removed unnecessary quote after "p. slattery's shades." changed "that was the true meaning" to "what was the true meaning." changed "clastered" to "clustered." changed "fasionable" to "fashionable." changed "suddenly appear within" to "suddenly disappear within" (error found in _new york detective library_ edition but not in _boys of new york_ text). added missing "it" to "frank took the document from his pocket and placed it in his hands" (based on consultation of original _boys of new york_ appearance). added missing long dash after "who was said--who" (based on consultation of original _boys of new york_ appearance). changed "churchyard" to "church-yard" for consistency (twice). changed "cotemplating" to "contemplating." removed unnecessary quote after "and yet----." changed "boys's" to "boy's." added missing quote after "return it some of these days." changed "garabaldi" to "garibaldi." changed "familarity" to "familiarity." removed duplicate word from "clump of of oaks." removed unnecessary quote after "reuben tisdale by name." removed unnecessary quote after "even had they been so disposed" and "sort of an affair i like." added missing quote before "exclaimed the stock-broker." changed "familarity" to "familiarity." changed "but the name" to "by the name." added missing quote after "this is the result." changed "mansfied" to "mansfield." swapped ? and ! in "now, where is that sealed parchment? that's the question before the house!" changed "supposing your" to "supposing you." changed "couse" to "course." added missing quote after "what's the matter with this room?" changed "forhead" to "forehead." added missing quote after "within our grasp." changed "suburbam" to "suburban." changed "goverment" to "government." removed superfluous quote after "who are you, sir?" removed unnecessary quote after "how----." added missing quote before "there's the fellow." changed "monment" to "moment." changed "got got" to "got." changed "are your not" to "are you not." changed "similiar" to "similar." changed "that was ordinarily" to "than was ordinarily." changed "weeke" to "weeks." changed "at steak" to "at stake." changed "cuting" to "cutting." changed "hook spring" to "hook sprang." changed "murder" to "murderer" in "a strange murderer, for a fact." (based on consultation of original _boys of new york_ appearance). changed "deeective" to "detective." changed "tremling" to "trembling." changed ! to ? in "well, which way are you going?" and "won't they give you away?" changed "floor" to "door" in "the rapping was upon the door...." (based on consultation of original _boys of new york_ appearance). changed "tree oaks" to "three oaks." changed "seeen" to "seen." changed "ruben" and "rueben" to "reuben." removed unnecessary comma from "elijah, callister." added missing comma in "rube, cutts and myself." changed "mansfied" to "mansfield." changed ! to ? in "my slight to you, dearest?" removed unnecessary quote before "with them dwells...." added missing end single quote to final "bats in the wall." [illustration: _geo. s. m^cwatters_ photographed by brady.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ knots untied: or, _ways and by-ways_ in the hidden life of american detectives. by =officer george s. mcwatters,= late of the metropolitan police, new york. [illustration] a narrative of marvellous experiences among all classes of society,--criminals in high life, swindlers, bank robbers, thieves, lottery agents, gamblers, necromancers, counterfeiters, burglars, etc., etc., etc. [illustration] =hartford:= =j. b. burr and hyde.= = .= ------------------------------------------------------------------------ entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by j. b. burr and hyde, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. electrotyped at the boston stereotype foundry, no. spring lane. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ preface. -------------- i am aware that the preface of a book is usually the last portion of it which is read--if read it is--and, therefore, of little import; and i have, consequently, deliberated somewhat whether i would encumber the following tales with a prefix or not, but perhaps it is due to the reader to say (what, however, is apparent enough in some of the tales themselves) that the experiences and observations therein narrated, are not all personally mine; that some of them have, at different times, been detailed to me by old and tried personal friends, of deep knowledge of the world, and of extreme sagacity, and that i have presented them here, together with my own, in special instances, as being equally illustrative with mine of subtle human nature. what is specifically my own in these tales, and what little i am indebted for to my good friends, i leave to such as may be curious, to determine for themselves. it must now suffice them (for in the experiment of "book-making" i have nearly lost my best patience--amidst its multiplicity of perplexities; its "proof-reading," the awful blunders of the printers, the "bungling" of the mails, the calls for "more copy" at inopportune moments, etc., etc.)--it must suffice them, i repeat, simply to know, that whatever experiences here recited are not my own, are equally authentic with mine, and, in my judgment, add to the merits of "knots untied" (if merits it has) rather than detract therefrom. so, since it cannot be that the reader will peruse my book for my sake, but for the book's sake and for his own, let him thank me for whatever "clearer light" i have accepted from others for his benefit. it was only at the instance--i might properly say by the repeated importunity--of certain partial friends of mine, that i was first induced to put into readable form some of the notes of my experiences and observations, particularly those running through a period of a dozen years of official life, preceded by a dozen more of a quasi-official character. i would remark here, that no chronological order has been observed in the collation of the tales composing "knots untied." having, from my early days, been interested with various sociological problems, it has been my wont to fix in memoranda, of one form or another, such data as i conceived worthy, as simple statistics or eccentric facts, bearing upon the great general question of human suffering and crime, and their causes, and the means of their depiction, and final extinction also (as i firmly believe) in "the good time coming," when science shall have ripened the paltry and distracted civilization of the present into that enlightenment in which alone the race should be contented to live,--in which only, in truth, they can be fully content with existence,--and which the now subject classes could, if they were wise enough to know their rights and their power, command in concert, for themselves, and the ruling classes as well. and these partial friends of mine have thought i might do some good, and that i ought to, however little it may prove, to the cause of human happiness,--in the intent thereby of enlarging the security of the innocent from the machinations of the depraved,--by the detail of certain wily "offences against the law and good order of society," while demonstrating therein how sure of final discovery and punishment are the criminally vicious, however crafty and subtle, in these days, when the art of police detection has become almost an exact science. authors are sometimes sensitive (i believe), about the reception which they, "by their works," may meet with at the hands of the public; and not seldom do they, in more or less ingenious ways, attempt to cajole their readers, through well-studied prefaces, into a prejudicedly favorable mood regarding the body of their books. perhaps mine is a singularly good fortune, in that my partial and importuning friends before alluded to, have given me consoling courage to "go forward" and publish what they are so kind as to be pleased with, by the assurance that they will take upon themselves, and patiently bear, all the severe criticism, the curses, the wanton blows, etc., which may be aimed at me by "hypercritical critics," or by vexed and wrathful readers; while i shall be left to enjoy, unalloyed, all the "blessings" with which the rest of the public may be pleased to favor me. i regarded this as so excellent an expression of human[e] goodness upon the part of these my friends, that i consented to honor it, by submission to their will. hence these tales, in their printed form,--designed at first to beguile an hour for particular friends in the reading, as the same had beguiled many long hours for me in the writing,--and not primarily intended to be put into the form of a book. if any good to the world accrues from their publication, through the instruction which they may afford to some, perhaps; or by their possibly enlarging the scope of the reader's charity for the erring, or in any way, i shall be gratified; and so (it _is_ but fair in me to add this, for they are human, and sensitive to the joys which "a good done" brings)--and so, to repeat, will also be my aforesaid partial, good friends. george s. mcwatters. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents. -------------- page publishers' introduction. =biographical notes.= =officer george s. mcwatters.= personal description--always temperate--in wonderful preservation--"a good face to look into"--neither scotch, irish, nor english in appearance. =where he was born and reared.= no matter where a man is born--kilmarnock, scotland--north of ireland--ambitious boyhood--"the beautiful land beyond the western waters"--intensely democratic--becomes a mechanic. =removes to london.= follows his trade in london--marries there--his interesting family--miss charlotte, his eldest daughter--her marriage--signor errani. =migrates to the united states.= officer mcwatters' great sympathy for chattel and wages-slaves--his countless deeds of benevolence leave him no time to get rich--anecdote of professor agassiz. =settles in philadelphia, and studies law.= a year ( - ) in a law office--revels in the study of blackstone, kent, chitty, etc.--a beautiful dream. =a heart too soft for a lawyer.= the beautiful dream overshadowed--poor orphans and poor debtors touch his heart with their sufferings--distraining goods for rent--a touching story--mcwatters' benevolent device--he quits the law in disgust. =departs for california.= the "gold fever"--in the new eldorado--the reckless warfare of greed and crime--men lost their consciences there--return. =back in new york.= associated with laura keene, as her agent--first called upon to enact the part of a detective--his success, and what it led to. =mr. mcwatters as agent and lecturer.= becomes exhibiting lecturer, accompanying a grand panorama--in the chief cities and towns--the countess of landsfeldt, or "lola montez." =anecdote of lola montez and laura keene.= an amusing story--lola becomes pious, and sells her theatrical wardrobe--laura purchases a part--a splendid silk dress pattern proves to be furniture cloth--attacks and retorts--the goods finally burned up. =mr. mcwatters solving social problems.= his great interest in sociological questions--how shall the grievous burdens which fall upon the laboring classes be made lighter? =our subject and the public press.= remarkable record--pusillanimous highwaymen--two knights of the road frightened by a spectacle-case. =mcwatters enters the metropolitan police force.= distinguishes himself therein in many ways during a period of twelve years--officer mcwatters ubiquitous--the starving people of kansas ( ) elicit his sympathies--a forcible public speaker. =personal incidents.= rescues children and men from watery graves--always at his post of duty--receives the warmest praise of his chief officer, superintendent kennedy--the late superintendent jourdan. =officer mcwatters during the late civil war.= his foresight--understood the miseries of the subject-classes--his appreciation of republican institutions--prevented by untoward circumstances from going to the front--not of the "noble home guard." =first seizure of guns at the north.= officer mcwatters intercepts dahlgren guns on their way to the rebels, may , --honorable mention by the new york tribune--fernando wood's infamous apology to toombs--wood and mcwatters compared--the gratitude of republics. =officer mcwatters' services through the public press.= able and spirited letters to the press--noble words addressed to the workingmen of the nation. =kindly and wise providence.= private appeal for lemons for the famishing soldiers, may, --it did a brave work--eventually inspector carpenter reveals that it was one of officer mcwatters' benevolent deeds--other effective modes of aiding sick and wounded soldiers and their families. ="riot week," july, .--officer mcwatters in the thick of the fight.= the state of the public pulse of the north when the riot broke out--the number killed that week in new york estimated at over fourteen hundred!--mcwatters and his fellow-officers fight their way through the mob into the tribune office--mcwatters felled to the ground; springs to his feet, and deals destructive blows upon his assailants. =officer mcwatters and his literary associates.= countless contributions to the public press--his unpretentious career--"pfaff's," a famous resort for authors and artists--an interesting sketch of the place, and the host of mcwatters' author friends who meet there; an illustrious array--of the dead of this goodly host--a most interesting retrospection--mcwatters' authors' library. =officer mcwatters as the good samaritan.= as a philanthropist officer mcwatters has most distinguished himself--his acquaintance with sociological sciences demonstrates to him the folly of fragmentary reforms; yet he continues his wonderful individual charities--patchwork charity--his vitality of benevolence--mcwatters in the ranks of the howards of the world. =mcwatters and the soldiers.= the poor veteran soldier's best friend--mcwatters' generous enthusiasm in behalf of the poor soldiers and their families--his great passion--the poetry of his current life. =ladies union relief association.= a grand charitable organization--distinguished ladies of new york at its head--its scope of self-imposed duties of benevolence--assisted by an advisory board of the leading men of the city; officer mcwatters the chief and most active man thereof--superintendent kennedy seconds officer mcwatters' benevolent work--rev. dr. bellows' warm indorsement of mcwatters' good deeds--the late superintendent jourdan cruelly interferes with mcwatters' labors of love--death calls for mr. jourdan: where they put him, and who followed his hearse--officer mcwatters resigns, and leaves the police force, in order that he may continue his humanitary work--copy of his letter of resignation--appointed to a post in the custom house--complimentary notices by various journals on the occasion of mcwatters' resignation. =the swindling bounty claim agents.= officer mcwatters' relentless opposition to the swindlers--their infamous modes of operation explained--mcwatters' plan of warfare--he routs their forces and wins a great victory--seriously threatened by the swindlers--mcwatters appeals to congress, and gets a new act passed--chief members of congress who gave him their aid--payments under the new law--the gratitude of the poor soldiers and their families--"how a poor man feels!"--the national cemeteries and the dead veterans--mcwatters' further work for the soldiers. =honorable testimonials to officer mcwatters.= presentation of a gold watch by the ladies' union relief association--comments thereon by the public press--officer mcwatters' great popularity--a resumÉ of some of officer mcwatters' good deeds, by the sun, times, tribune, etc. =the bellevue hospital iniquity.= the rascality exposed in a masterly way--the horrors of the hospital pictured--the war carried on through the papers--officer mcwatters directs the battle--the scamps brought to terms, and the sick poor at the hospital no longer treated like dogs--the citizens' association, and its connection with the fight--beneficent results. =conclusion.= officer mcwatters in his continuing labors of love--his famous letter in behalf of the poor veteran soldier organ grinders--eloquent words of social statesmanship therein--a great moral duty--when it can be properly done--labor must be protected--parting tribute to officer george s. mcwatters, the true man, the sterling patriot, and practical philanthropist. =the organ grinders.= a word in their behalf--letter from officer mcwatters (referred to in biographical notes)--a sad story. =ten dollars a month: a story of grief and joy.= ("man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn") mcwatters--patrick o'brien and his suffering family--ladies' union relief association--a storm of grief quelled by the voice of true charity. =mack and the veteran.= a touching tale--the poetry and pathos of bare feet. =lost in the streets.= operations of the bureau for the recovery of lost persons--missing men and women--troubles about lost people--where and how people are lost--lost children--the dens of midnight--the horror of a breaking dawn--misery, shame, and death--finis. =among the sharks.= adventures of a fall river wanderer--his valuable experience in new york--catching a flat. =a smart young man.= an after-dinner colloquy, and its result--a funny affair. =a suspected california murderer.= arrested--charged with killing four men: a german for his money, and two sheriffs and a driver who were conveying him to prison. =extensive counterfeiting.= seizure of fifty thousand dollars in spurious postal currency--arrest of the counterfeiter--his confession. =the gambler's wax finger.= charles legate--a forger--studying him up--fifty thousand dollars his "prize"--description of legate--no two persons ever agree in describing another--a mark hit upon--start for st. louis--musings--curious incidents of my journey--a genealogical "dodge"--on legate's track at last--st. louis reached--of my stay there--leave for new orleans per steamer--a genial crowd of men and women on board--characteristics of a mississippi "voyage"--napoleon, arkansas--some characters come on board there--a gambling scene on board--one jacobs takes a part--a private conference with jacobs's negro servant--a terrific fight on board among the gamblers--jacobs set upon, and makes a brave defence--how i discovered "jacobs" to be probably legate, in the melee--he is badly bruised--his life despaired of--we arrive in new orleans--jacobs's identification as legate--legate proves to be very rich--curious visit to an italian artist's studio--a novel medicine administered to signore cancemi--he gets well at once. =lottery ticket, no. .= a dignified real estate holder, very wealthy, loses seven thousand two hundred and fifty-five dollars--our first council at the howard house--visit to his house to examine his safe and servants--a lottery ticket, no. , found in the safe--how came this mysterious paper there?--conclusions thereon--visit to baltimore, and plans laid in conjunction with the lottery agent to catch the thief--the ticket "draws"--the new york agency "managed"--trap to identify the thief--the security and "solitude" of a great city--a new york banker--mr. latimer visits a gambling house in disguise--identifies the suspected young man--the agent at baltimore waxes gleeful--his plan of operations overruled--meeting of "interested parties" at the office in baltimore--a little game played upon the new york agent--mr. worden, the thief, identifies the ticket, and falls into the trap of a pre-arranged "draft"--discloses some of the identical money stolen--we arrest him--exciting scramble--the money recovered--worden's after life. =payne and the counterfeiters.= an idle time--a call from my old "chief"--the case in hand outlined--i discover an old enemy in the list of counterfeiters, and lay my plans--take board in nineteenth street, and open a law office in jauncey court--make the acquaintance of mrs. payne, lewellyn's mother, and finally get acquainted with him--he visits my law office--i am ingratiated in his favor--i track him into my enemy's company, and feel sure of success--lewellyn finally confesses to me his terrible situation--certain plans laid--i make "collins's" acquaintance--visit a gambling saloon with him--a heavy wager--$ , at hazard, payne's all--the counterfeiting gamblers caught together--severe struggle--payne saved at last, and his money too--a reformed son and a happy mother--two "birds" sent to the penitentiary. =the genealogical swindlers.= pride of ancestry in the united states--it is sometimes more profitable to others than to those who indulge it--"property in chancery"--a western merchant, his story, and how he told it--a family meeting at new haven, and what a member learned there--the great "lord, king, & graham" swindle--the way in which the fraud was accomplished--a cunning letter from "willis king," of the firm of lord, king, & graham, to one of his relatives--the correspondence of this noted firm--the search--the trap laid--the sharpers caught, and found to be educated young men of the highest social status--they are made to disgorge--a paradox, with a moral in it. =hattie newberry, the vermont beauty.= "society, for the most part, creates the crimes which it punishes"--a beautiful girl on the cars from rutland, vermont, on the way to bellows' falls, beset by new york rogues--a detective recognizes in her the former playmate of his own daughter--he encounters the rogues at bellows' falls, and knocks one of them down in the ladies' room--they all take the next train, and move southward, on their way to new york--incidents of the journey--a third villain gets aboard at hartford, conn.--why hattie was going to new york--an old tale--the detective gives hattie much good advice--a skilful man[oe]uvre, on arriving in new york, to put the rogues off the track--a painful discovery at last--a deep, devilish plot of the villains drives hattie to despair, and she is rescued from a suicide's grave--the rogues prove to be the most heartless of villains, and are caught, and duly punished--hattie returns eventually to vermont, after having married her old lover--this tale is one of the saddest, as well as the most interesting of experiences, throughout. =about bogus lotteries.= how they are "got up"--their mode of operations detailed--how they manage the "drawn numbers" beforehand--the great shrewdness of the operators--the social respectability of these--the great firm of "g. w. huntington & co."--the immense circulation of their journal.--their victim, a maine farmer, who believed he had "drawn" five thousand dollars, and counsellor wheaton, his lawyer, a story to the point--who invest in lotteries? children, widows, clergymen, bank cashiers, etc.--how the firm of "g. w. h. & co." was captured--no. williams street, new york--their pretended banking house--how a bogus lottery company swindled its own agents--a queer tale. =the borrowed diamond ring.= the detective officer's chief "incubus"--at winter garden theatre--"harry dubois"--an expert rogue examines his prospective victims--some southerners--harry "introduces" himself in his own peculiar and adroit way--harry and his friend are invited to the southerner's private box--harry "borrows" mr. clemens' diamond ring, and adroitly escapes--my dilemma--visit to harry's old boarding mistress--his whereabouts discovered--active work--a rapid drive to pine street--a fortunate light in the office of the late hon. simeon draper--a sudden visit for a "sick man" to harry's room--how entrance was effected--the ring secured--hunt for mr. clemens--a slightly mysterious letter--a happy interview. =the mystery at ---- street, new york.= "kleptomania"--the tendency to superstition--an old knickerbocker family--a very "proper" old gentleman, a mr. garretson--he calls on me at my office, and finds a curious-looking room--his story of wonders--"everything" stolen--talk about disembodied spirits--the mystery deepens--probable conjecture baffled--visit to mr. garretson's house--mrs. garretson a beautiful and cultivated old lady--we search the house--an attic full of old souvenirs--we linger among them--mr. garretson's daughter is convinced that disembodied spirits are their tormentors--she puts an unanswerable question--a dangerous dog and the spirits--tedious and unavailing watching for several days and nights--the "spirits" again at work--re-called--the mystery grows more wonderful--the "spirit" discovered, and the mystery unravelled--the family sent away--the attic re-visited with mr. g., and its treasures revealed--a re-discovery of the "spirits"--the family review their long-lost treasures found--reflections on the causes of the mystery--a problem for the doctors. =a sorceress' trick; how she was caught.= classification of men--the superstitious element in man--the old cults continued in the new--fire worship--the sorcerers--my legal friend's story a laughable one indeed--the despondent old maid, though engaged to be married--an aunt arrives in "the nick of time"--they hunt up a fortune-teller--mrs. seymour, the sorceress, and her pretty little "oratory"--the "prie-dieu"--the old maid marries--mrs. seymour's plan for insuring the affection of husbands--her powers as a charmer--the sacred box and its five thousand dollars contents--mrs. seymour is lost sight of--search for her in brooklyn and at boston--the charmed box opened by mr. and mrs. ----, and the contents found to have changed form materially--my legal friend and i look after matters--a portion of the transformed valuables found--a mrs. bradley, a "medium" in boston, proves to be the identical mrs. seymour--the high-toned devotees of boston--sudden proceedings taken--mrs. seymour and her husband come to terms--results--respectable victims of the sorcerers numerous--dupes in the "athens of america." =dishonest clerk and fatal slip of paper.= in an ugly mood with myself--a visit from a cincinnatian--a loss detailed--the fate of a banking house resting on "collaterals" stolen, which must be recovered--a lawyer figures in the matter and is baffled--the thieves speculating for a settlement--the scheme laid for their detection--a business visit to the banking-house--the chief clerk sent to chicago on business--a search revealing love letters and a lovely literary lady--on track of mysterious "papers"--the fatal slip of paper--the way the stolen bonds were recovered--the chief clerk, and how he was "enlightened"--a novel and quiet arrest in a carriage--the clerk's confederate caught--the property restored--the scamps decamp--the innocent literary lady's eyes opened. =the thousand dollar lesson.= charles purvis: taking him in charge at a distance--hangers on at the st. nicholas and other hotel entrances--a colloquy, spiced with reminiscences of "old sam colt," of the "revolver," in his gay days; a party at the "old city hotel," hartford, conn., and other things--trinity college boys--"george ellsworth"--purvis and he start on a walk--"where can they be going?"--going to see ellsworth's "friend"--an exchange of coats--a survey taken--a first-class gambling saloon--a new man in the game--purvis drugged--his "friends" take him "home," but where?--purvis is returned to his hotel in a state of stupefaction; is aroused; misses a thousand dollars--plans laid to catch his late friends--williams found by accident, and quietly caged--the old irish woman's appeal--williams "explains," after proper inducement--most of the money recovered--supplements. =the wolf in sheep's clothing.= the antiquity of that sheep's skin and its pious usefulness--a large loss of silks, satins, laces, and other goods--a consultation--a long study--the various characters of several clerks, what they did, and how they killed "spare time"--influence of the city on morals--new york central park--a most wonderful series of thefts--the matter, inexplicable at first, grows more subtle--a gleam of light at last--a bright italian boy plays a part--a lady followed--more light--an extemporized servant of the croton water board gets inside a certain house--sarah crogan and i--how a house in nineteenth street delivered up its treasures--"william bruce," alias charles phillips--a very strange denouement--a meek man transformed; his rage--a delivery up, with accompanying jewels--a "widow" not a widow removes--what sarah crogan thought. =a forced marriage scheme defeated.= goshen, conn.--a lady stranger there--a pilgrimage to goshen, via the far-famed mountain town of litchfield--the beautiful widow--an unpleasant reminiscence of dr. ives, late bishop of north carolina--more about the widow--she leaves for new york--at the "mansion house," litchfield--a marked character encountered there--mr. "c. b. le roy" studied and weighed--the beautiful widow and le roy meet--her face discloses conflicting emotions--mr. le roy and the beautiful widow, mrs. stevens, take a walk down south street, in the "paradise of loafers"--sympathies silently exchanged--we all start for the "station"--the stage-coach "turns over"--the affrighted le roy reveals his manners--a peculiar scene in the cars--at bridgeport i present myself to mrs. stevens--at new york again--a tale of complications--mrs. stevens in deep trouble--a friend of hers seeks me--revelations--a fearful story--a secret marriage and unhappy consequences--the wretch le roy wants the widow's money--a trap set for le roy--he falls into it--wedding scene disarranged--the widow saved, and the intended forced marriage defeated. =the marked bills.= a little key bearing a monogram shapes the destiny of an intelligent man--how this man came to be involved in the matter of which this tale discourses--my partner and i--far-off mysteries may solve nearer ones--a consultation--a committee "seek light," and find consolation--burglaries and highway robberies by the wholesale--my partner leaves for europe--a town in ohio infested--a "doctor hudson" appears in the town--he makes a professional visit to one mr. perkins--a colloquy; seeking light--a callous hand, and a clew to mysteries--"doctor hudson" extends his acquaintanceship--he makes a night's visit out of town, and gets waylaid and robbed, but manages to create the fatal evidence he wants of the robbers' identity--a council of principal citizens--"doctor hudson" makes a disclosure--a scheme laid--a "military investment" of a domestic fortress; an exciting hour--breaking into a house at midnight and surprising a sleeper--the thief leaves town to go to cincinnati to study medicine with "doctor hudson"--a suicide--puritanic mercilessness--the music teacher's ingenious letter to his lady love. =the cool-blooded gold robber.= a sudden call--great consternation at the ---- bank in wall street--ten thousand dollars in gold stolen--a hard, insoluble case--"try," the soul of success--banks compelled to greatest cautiousness--no esprit de corps among money-changers--the way i "created" detectives--rag-pickers made useful above their calling--an up-town carriage house, and its treasures--a laughing coachman--a present--complicated evidence unravelled--an old office-woman involved in the mystery--a bit of fun furnishes the desired "key"--"smouching," and what came of it--extending my acquaintanceship--the thief found--a wall street broker--studying him--his clerk wiled away--good use of theatre tickets--the scheme of identification--a plot within a plot--the broker worsted--he struggles within himself; grows pale--how he executed the robbery--the terrible "force of example" sometimes--the thief becomes a member of the common council--a salutary warning to other thieves. =$ , , , or the private mark.= money-getting as related to crime--a very strange history--the most wondrous pursuit of a man by his enemy which ever (probably) was known in the history of the world--james william hubert rogers and "ned" hague, two englishmen--"damon and pythias" in early life--a change comes--a departed and considerate uncle described, once a protege of the emperor of austria--oliver cromwell hague, a rich india merchant--a marvelous search for a lost man--a man found and identified by numerous friends as the one in question--plotting and counter-plotting--a shrewd vermont "lawyer" makes a thousand pounds sterling--the indefatigable rogers comes to america in his search--lost in the vastness of the country--we meet, and depart for st. louis--troubles, and an enlightening dream--a wicked lawyer--the right to repent--a spirited colloquy with the lawyer--an enemy found and set to work--the grasping lawyer outwitted--the lost found in a terrible condition--a little private fun over the lawyer's discomfiture--a sharp examination and cross-examination--lawyer outwitted, and loses five hundred dollars--mr. rogers departs with the "lost one," bound for england--drowning of the latter at sea--the cherished victory of years vanishes--out, with a laugh. =william roberts and his forgeries.= a man of the olden type--his sad story about his wife and himself--they adopt a bright boy--the wife's prophet speculations about the boy--the boy grows up and goes to college--a pleasant year--he learns certain mysteries of life--students' pitched battle with the faculty of the college--of the "white horse"--a while in a lawyer's office--becomes a merchant--making money too fast--a fatal hour--the vortex of wall street--sundry forgeries--a strange career--an important witness lost, and found in the insane retreat, hartford, conn.--a terrible complication of affairs; lawyers and all baffled--i am called in to work up the case--difficulties encountered--fate interposes--wentworth, the insane witness, recovers--a vast difference between black ink and blue ink--dying of grief--an unhappy household. =old mr. alvord's last will.= the destructive greed of gain--a weird, wondrous tale--"what if they but knew"--telling stories away from home--revelations--an old man of the high moral type--curious notion about the size of a family--the mystic number three--portraits of a family; a perfect woman--death and intrigues--a "faithful servant"--old wills and new--legal complications--the last will missing--a crafty lawyer--a thorough search--a diabolical courtship, and fierce struggle through three years--a detective at last called into the matter--a plot laid to foil old boyd, an unscrupulous lawyer--did it succeed?--the reader permitted to answer the question for himself--a vital discovery--more plotting--a beautiful young lady makes a diversion in the plans--old andrew wilcox's funny letters searched and a treasure "found" among them--old boyd's consternation--the last will finally carried out--"nothing impossible"--a fortune too large to be laughed at--a cunning wife leads her husband a curious life--a bit of comfort, perhaps. =the confidential clerk.= the innocent often suffer with the guilty--the detectives' "keys"--regrets--leonard savage, a young man of new hampshire, and his family stock--richard brooks, a wealthy new york merchant--his visit to young savage's father--results--partial biography of mr. brooks, in wall street and elsewhere--a slave to fortune--a father's pride--mr. brooks' fearful dream--mr. brooks in the old home of his childhood--how a true man treats his wife--family aspirations--the love of young men--country and city temptation--a "new suit," and a trip to the mountains--a surprising present--a happy season--a fearful change comes--terrible results of an unjust judgment--strangest thing ever known--a catholic penitent an actor in the scenes--remorse--unravellings in an unexpected way--a speedy voyage to europe to restore the wronged to his right place. =the peculiar advertisements.= the doctrine of chance--a night at the girard house, philadelphia--an inoffensive gentleman, my room-mate--i disturb his sleep--a queer tale--nellie wilson and her uncle--william wilson, nellie's dissolute cousin--fearful love-making--a rescue--a call to duty--a dead man's will missing--studying up the case with the great criminal lawyer, judge s.--fate interposes--a mysterious and peculiar advertisement--at the continental hotel, waiting and watching--an "appearance"--william wilson again--an upper room, and the villains therein--a private conference not all secret--a flash of victory before utter defeat--notes and documents exchanged--base rejoicings--fatal neglect--the surprise--complete discomfiture--end accomplished--"coals of fire," but they do no good--violent death--happy consequences--peculiar advertisements unravelled. =col. novena, prince of confidence men.= the confidence man, par excellence; a real "artist"--"col. novena," "count antonelli," "gen. alverosa," "sir richard murray," makes a visit--a man of great natural ability, with "a screw loose"--a bit of "philosophy"--the man described, versatile, agile, brave, daring--the colonel as a gallant--curious tale about two sisters and col. novena--president buchanan, professor henry, gen. fremont, and mr. seward of the number of his friends--dishonest ways of doing "legitimate business"--a shocking bad memory--the colonel as a philanthropist--comes to grief--at washington, d. c.--saratoga tempts the colonel.--his successes there--a change of circumstances--a valuable diamond necklace lost--the great mystery--historic character of the necklace--thorough searching--the shrewdest scamps generally have better reputation than most people--too good a "character" a matter of suspicion--"mr. henry inman, artist," is created--headway made--the necklace comes to light in the possession of a most remarkable woman--goodness in bad places--a living moral paradox--an "unfortunate" good samaritan--the general's sense of honor wounded--to canada--down the rapids of the st. lawrence--a tomb in greenwood--rendering to woman her due--a blessed charity--wall street corrupts the morals of the nation. =circumstantial evidence.= a robbery--one of the female attachÉs of the great kossuth--a widow lady of rank in hungary--kossuth's sister--a boarding-house at newark, n. j., and its inmates--sundry facts and considerations--beauty wins--an investigation--servants examined--the patent-roof maker--"tracing" a man--a hollow walking-stick with money in it--no clew yet--a pathetic blunder--revelations in dreams--a bit of paper tells a story--identification--thief arrested--conditional settlement--triumphal visit to the widow--"white lie," and announcement--doubting--perfect evidence sometimes imperfect--unsolved problem; who did the robbery? =the counterfeit money speculators.= "money"--the counterfeiters' moral philosophy--the cunning of bank bills--no valid bank bills issued--a trick of the banks to evade the law--swindling under "color of law," and in defiance thereof; a vast distinction--counterfeiters as "public benefactors"--the regular counterfeiters embarrassed by the bogus ones--mr. "ferguson's" marvellous letter--countless complaints--the "honest farmer" of vermont, and his speculation with the counterfeit money men--what he sent for, and what he got--a securely done-up package--a "down-cellar" scene--the "honest farmer's" confusion--a bit of local history relating to thomaston, conn.--the honest oyster dealer there, and the ninety dollars "c. o. d."--a question unsettled--how the "honest farmer" of vermont cheated me at last. =the detective system.= the necessity of the detective system generally discussed--state of society which created it--regular and irregular robbers--the young man of intelligence entering upon active life, a picture--he naturally allies himself to the tyrant and robbing classes--no honesty in trade--trade rules; and all are corrupt--no conscience among traffickers--lying a fine art--all villains, but none individually at fault--the detective belongs to the corrupt governing classes--weighing him--great thieves--"the purveyors of hell"--the eternal talkers, and what they amount to--the use for detectives an incident; "catching a flat"--the detective's vocation further considered--how the detectives protect society--illustrative incidents--a great detective described--stratagems--what the philosophers say--is the detective system from above or below? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ list of illustrations. . portrait of geo. s. mcwatters, _frontispiece._ . mcwatters' spectacle case, _to face page_ . "ten dollars a month," . mcwatters and the veteran, . the bond operator, . the wax finger discovered, . seizure of young worden in baltimore, . atlantic beer garden.--payne and collins' rendezvous, . descent upon blanchard and the gamblers, . protecting the innocent, . rescue of hattie newberry, . restell at sing sing, . the bogus lottery office, . surprising the bogus lottery dealers, . recovering the diamond ring, . the old knickerbocker in the detective's office, . discovering the "spirits" at no. ---- street, new york, . "ketch him and hould him!"--williams' arrest, . the wolf in sheep's clothing, . break-down on litchfield hill, . the ceremony defeated, . dr. hudson's stratagem with the highwaymen, . the missouri lawyer outwitted, . a rash courtship, . fearful dream of old mr. brooks, . rescue of nellie wilson, . rescue of the will, . the two sisters courting col. novena in his library, . the "honest" counterfeit money speculator, . catching a flat, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ publishers' introduction. -------------- deeming that the public would be deeply interested to know, indeed had a right to know, something more of the author of the following work than gleams through the series of entertaining, instructive, and in many respects unparalleled articles which constitute "knots untied," we applied to him for his autobiography, in details covering other portions of, and facts in his life, than are revealed in the wonderful experiences of his professional career, as brought to light in these articles. but we were met by a reply, characteristic of most men of deeds rather than of words, that it would be wholly against his taste to furnish his own personal history: he was in 'no wise desirous to vaunt himself,' he said; 'he had not sought,' he continued, by the articles in question, to illustrate himself, or to play the part of a hero in any measure, but merely to contribute to the current literature and the history of the times a narration of sundry interesting facts, which, in their hidden and secret nature, are usually withheld from the general public. throughout this book officer mcwatters has shown the modesty of a retiring and unassuming man; making no further allusion to himself, and his deeds and experiences, than necessary to sustain the thread of the narratives. he desired that the book should stand upon its own merits, without any adventitious aid from the high indorsements of his own daily life and personal character, such as will be found in what follows. he would, so far as the book is concerned, be judged as an officer and an author, rather than by the merits of his own private life, be they great or small. in this he evinced a commendable pride and a good sense which we could not question. nevertheless we considered it fitting that we add to the book such facts as we might possess ourselves of regarding the career of a man whose life has been given, in so great part, to deeds of good, heartfully and freely done, and to humanitary reforms, as has officer mcwatters'. for it is not strictly and merely in the capacity of a successful officer or as a spirited and graceful writer that "the literary policeman" (as the journals of new york are wont to distinguish officer mcwatters) has done his best works. officer mcwatters is, _par excellence_, a humanitarian, a gentleman of the widest tolerance and liberality of opinions, as is evinced in various parts of the narratives, which exhibit nothing of that cruel and tyrannical spirit so common to men who have much to do with the criminal classes. it is rather by kindness than severity that he would deal with the erring. officer mcwatters, being unwilling to supply his autobiography; and being ourselves without sufficient notes to furnish the public with the biographical comments which we considered so desirable concerning him, we intrusted the matter of writing his personal history to a well known literary gentleman of new york, with directions to him to put into form whatever he could authentically gather of a nature interesting to the reading public in general, concerning the author of "knots untied." how well he fulfilled his arduous duty, under the circumstances, the reader of the biographical notes which follow will judge for himself. but we regard it as not improper for us to say, that in our opinion the biographical notes will be found a very interesting addition to "knots untied," not only by the insight they give the reader into the career of a man, who, filling an unpretentious sphere in life, so far as technical vocations are concerned, has made himself illustrious by deeds of good will; but also by their style, peculiar in some respects, and here and there marked by the utterance of brave thoughts regarding matters of so much vital interest to the laboring classes, the poor, who are the "chief constituency," in a humanitary sense, of officer mcwatters himself,--by his benefactions to whom he has mostly won that high popular esteem, which is so well recorded in the biographical notes. it is due to the writer of the biographical notes to remark here that, in view of the very short period that was given him in which to prepare the same, he accomplished in their production, a task which would be notable, even without consideration of the peculiar difficulties which lay in his path. it is not an easy thing to search hurriedly through a thousand newspapers, for example, for material, and select and arrange the same acceptably. but upon this point, perhaps, we cannot do better than to append to this, our introduction, a copy of the letter which accompanied the biographical notes, from the gentleman in question. the publishers. new york, february , . to the publishers of "knots untied": gentlemen: concerning the biography of officer mcwatters, which you requested me to supply, i am compelled to say that i am unable to give you anything in the "form and order" which a biography should--that it may be whole and symmetrical--present to the reader. officer mcwatters belongs to the class of men who _make_ history,--the actors and workers in life,--rather than those who merely write history, or who so order their lives, and keep diaries, that their biographers can readily follow them from the cradle to the tomb. officer mcwatters is widely known in new york. everybody recognizes him as an active philanthropist, of the practical school; yet but a few of all, if any, if called upon as i am, to make detail of the deeds of his life, could place his hand upon this or that, and say, "this is mcwatters' work," without some investigation; and for the most part of what i have collected, i have been obliged to search the public journals. i am indebted, also, for sundry facts, to several of officer mcwatters's personal acquaintances, and have also drawn upon my own memory somewhat for facts which have come to my knowledge during an acquaintanceship with mr. mcwatters of about sixteen years. but i have not attempted to put things in their order, to any great extent; for there is no such thing as a "_course_ of events" (the "declaration of independence" to the contrary notwithstanding). events are individuate, each a completion in itself, and the great deeds of any man's life are usually individual, and not dependently connected with each other. but in the accompanying papers i send you such a hurriedly executed biographical sketch of officer mcwatters as the short time you have allowed me would permit, trusting that, notwithstanding all its literary imperfections, it will not, so far as it goes, be found wanting in due appreciation, at least, of the noble career of a faithful, true man, who has done, earnestly and with loving spirit, his share of good deeds; and who merits both the respect and affection of all who prize what is gentle, brave, honorable, and honest in life. very respectfully yours, s. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ biographical notes. -------------- officer george s. mcwatters. the subject of these notes is now about fifty-seven years of age,--a hale, hearty, rosy-faced man, agile, lithe of limb, in the full vigor of life; and were it not for his gray beard and hair, might easily pass as not over forty years of age. always temperate in his habits, he has, notwithstanding the many hardships of his life, some of which would have broken down less vigorous constitutions than his, preserved to himself the blessing of health and the hues of youth in a remarkable degree. he is of a medium height, with a countenance not only always fresh and rosy, but beaming with benevolence--"a good face to look into," to quote carlyle. judging from officer mcwatters' physiognomy, and from his style of speech, it would be difficult to declare him to be either scotch, irish, or english; he might, by many, be considered an american by birth and education, especially if he were to assume the name "hudson," "clark," or "hyde," for example. where he was born and reared. it matters not in what country a man may have been born, whatever the institutions under which one is reared may have to do with the formation of his character; and as to officer mcwatters' place of birth, we are not absolutely certain, but believe he was born in kilmarnock, scotland, and was taken thence by his parents, at an early age, to the north of ireland, where he was reared. it is easy to conjecture that a man like mr. mcwatters must have had a more or less ambitious boyhood; and his friends have sometimes heard him recite the wakeful dreams he as a youth indulged in, of "the beautiful land beyond the western waters." officer mcwatters was evidently born out of place, for he is intensely democratic in his sentiments, more so than most native-born americans, and manifests an appreciation of free institutions, which not unfrequently rises to the sublime, or intensifies to the pathetic. it is doubtful, for example, that during the late civil war there could have been found in all the land a man who took a deeper, soul-felt interest in the integrity of the republic than he. but of this farther on. mr. mcwatters after receiving a very respectable education in the schools of the north of ireland, became a mechanic; but the monotonous life of a working-man there, was ill suited to an ardent nature like his; and while yet a young man, full of the spirit of adventure, he left his irish home, and proceeded to london, where he pursued his trade, and eventually married a most estimable lady, who has ever been to him a helpmeet indeed. by this lady mr. mcwatters is the father of a very interesting family of some six children, who have been carefully reared, and have enjoyed excellent opportunities of education. miss charlotte, the eldest daughter of mr. mcwatters, a lady of refined culture, as well as extreme personal graces and attractions, was married in october, , to signor errani, then the distinguished tenor of the academy of music, and who not only occupies a first class position in his profession, but is a gentleman of marked intellectuality and extensive literary acquirements. removes to london london is a world-school in itself. what a man cannot learn there of arts, sciences, and literature and of all the various phases of humanity, from the worse or lower than the barbarian, up to the highest type which "natural selection," according to the darwinian theory, has developed, he would be unable to learn in any other spot of earth. though young yet mature, and with an active, inquiring brain it cannot be supposed that mr. mcwatters allowed the grand opportunity for observation which life in london gave him, to pass profitlessly. going from among the stiff presbyterian forms of life in the north of ireland, which must have been galling to a spirit like his, directly to london with all its social freedoms, the change was a great one for him, and must have piqued his intelligence to the keenest examination and scrutiny of his new surroundings. in london dwell the best as well as the worst people to be found in the world. the advanced spirits, philosophers and reformers, whom the civilization of other european countries is not sufficiently developed to tolerate, seek the asylum of england and make london their home; so, too, of the criminal classes. the most murderous thieves and burglars find in london a hiding place and theatre of operations. london, which was too large even fifty years ago, and was then emphatically one of those accursed "vampires upon the public weal," as jefferson declared all cities to be, has grown marvelously since, and continues to grow to the wonder of all political economists, who are at a loss to determine wherefore. but such is the fact, and into this great seething sea of human life was it that mr. mcwatters plunged in his first essay at "studying human nature" away from the narrow field of his boyhood's observations. whoever resides in london, and acquaints himself with what is about him, and mingles in the city's strifes, and comes out unscathed need not fear to trust himself anywhere in the world. migrates to the united states. mr. mcwatters, after sojourning in london for a while after his marriage, betook himself, with his estimable wife, to this land of promise. in london he had made the acquaintance of many of the leading men most interested in questions bearing upon sociology, humane reforms, and philanthropic efforts at the amelioration of the condition of the laboring classes. his warm heart became greatly aroused in seconding the needed reforms which his keen intellect demonstrated were urgent for the good of not only the laborers of london, but of the working classes everywhere; and he brought with him to this country what may properly be termed an intense general anti-slavery spirit, embracing in its sympathy not only chattel-slaves, but wages-slaves, of every kind and color. and this may properly be said to be the chief characteristic of mr. mcwatters; and that he has made this felt for the good of his fellow-men as effectively, perhaps, as any other man living, considering his means and the sphere in which he has operated, cannot be questioned by any one who has attentively read our city journals of the last ten years especially. the writer has gathered, and has before him, not less than two hundred and twenty different extracts from the papers of new york, in all of which mr. mcwatters is complimentarily spoken of in reference to his benevolent action, his humanitary deeds to the poor and suffering, or his active coöperation with some great public charity. mr. mcwatters, though gifted with that untiring industry, clear, native intelligence, and wide understanding of men and things, which conquer fortunes in money for their possessors, has never achieved fortune for himself, so busily has he been engaged in deeds of benevolence. at the expense of his heart he could never afford the time to make a fortune. the like fact has marked the history of many other philanthropic spirits, and should redound as much to their credit, as does the same to that of certain great scholars whose devotion to science would never allow them the opportunity for turning their great talents to money-making. it is reported of professor agassiz, the great scientist, that being asked by some admirer of his vast talents (and who knew that he rejoiced not in a large share of "this world's goods" in the shape of money), why he did not turn his attention to money-making, and get rich, as he would be sure to do soon, he replied, "i cannot afford the time." settles in philadelphia, and studies law. soon after arriving in this country, mr. mcwatters made his way to philadelphia, where he took up his residence. after various vicissitudes, he gave his time ( - ) for a year to the study of the law, under william r. dickerson, esq., a philadelphia lawyer of large practice, but a man of that stamp of character which made him of peculiar value as a collector of debts, especially in doubtful cases. he was rigid, exacting, and uncompromising with debtors. mr. mcwatters reveled in the study of blackstone, kent, chitty, etc., and looked forward with eagerness to the time when he should be prepared to enter the "glorious lists" of the knights of the bar. a heart too soft for a lawyer. but a change was to come suddenly over the spirit of his beautiful dream, and which he foresaw not. eventually mr. dickerson intrusted mr. mcwatters with sundry collections. he found this branch of the business unpleasant in its performance. his soft heart ached for the poor debtors. he could not nerve himself to act the part of an extortioner. when a poor widow, or orphans, or some discouraged man just arisen from a sick bed, and in arrears for rent, etc., shed tears in reciting his sufferings, mr. mcwatters forgot the lawyer in the humanitarian. finally, one day he was sent to collect a debt of a poor shoemaker, who was barely able to get bread enough for himself and his family to subsist upon. the laws of pennsylvania exempt from civil process certain portions of a housekeeper's furniture; but when contracting for rent, the housekeeper may waive his right to such exemption, if he likes. the poor shoemaker in question had done so; but in order to distrain his goods for the debt,--in other words, to take away his very bed, and other necessary furniture,--it was incumbent upon the officer to get peaceable admittance into the house; and that he might do so in this case, mr. mcwatters was sent forward to effect entrance as a person seeking the shoemaker's service, while the constable had his post at a corner near by, and was to rush in when the door should be opened. the whole thing was sickening to mr. mcwatters. he went, however, as ordered, and rapped at the door, the officer watching at his post. for a reason most creditable to mr. mcwatters' heart, but which may be left here only to the reader's surmise, that door, which was unlocked when he rapped, became duly locked, without the officer's being any the wiser as to _how_ it was done, and entrance was not then effected. this was the crowning grief to mr. mcwatters' disgust with the practice of the law, and he quitted the further study of the "science" thereof, feeling that he could never harden his heart to the practice of a profession which often requires much of unscrupulousness of conscience and such mercilessness. but his year's study became of great service to him later in life, when called upon as a detective officer, or member of the metropolitan police force, in sudden emergencies, when a knowledge of the law in this or that particular was necessary for judicious action. departs for california. about this time the great exodus from the united states, in fact from all parts of the world, to the california gold diggings, began. mr. mcwatters arranged his affairs, and migrated, with tens of thousands more, to the new el dorado. but he was not happy there. the mad strife for gold overwhelmed all other things there. men, in general, lost whatever of conscience they carried there, and the whole population was plunged in vices or crimes of one kind or another. mr. mcwatters found that he was not constituted to engage in such reckless warfare at the expense of all that was manly and good, and after nine months came to new york, which has since been his home. back in new york. soon after his return from california, mr. mcwatters became associated with laura keene, the actress, as her agent in new york and buffalo; and it was while he was at this time associated with her (for he was connected with her in subsequent engagements) that mr. mcwatters was first called upon to enact the part of a detective. to his success in this instance referred to may be attributed the series of wonderful articles which constitute "knots untied;" for had he failed on that occasion, it is probable that he would never have had confidence to attempt again the critical _rôle_ which the successful detective must necessarily play; and the literature of the age would therefore have lacked the charming contribution of the mysterious revelations of hidden life which mr. mcwatters has made in these spirited tales. it would be pleasing to the writer to make allusion here in detail, somewhat, to that incident, and other affairs in which mr. mcwatters became engaged, and which have come to the writer's knowledge, but which mr. mcwatters has not seen fit to reveal in "knots untied;" but it would, perhaps, be an unwarranted act to do so. he has conceived the design of the book to suit his own tastes, of course; and while he has in these articles struck a chord which cannot but awaken in the popular mind a rich responsive appreciation of his book, yet he cannot expect to suit everybody's taste in every respect. mr. mcwatters as agent and lecturer. it is not attempted here to give the current of mr. mcwatters' life as it occurred, in successive steps; indeed, the writer is not sure in respect to dates in all cases, possessing only the facts in substance. but not long after mr. mcwatters' first engagement with miss keene was determined, he became the exhibiting lecturer accompanying a grand panorama of a "journey to california by water and back by land," and it is not difficult to conceive that with his experiences as a traveller, his residence in california, and his gifts as a public speaker, he made the "journey" a matter of great delight to his audiences. the panorama was exhibited in the chief cities and towns of various states. subsequently mr. mcwatters became the agent of the late countess of lansfeldt, more generally known as lola montez, which he continued to be until nearly the time of her death. much has been written about lola,--much which is false, as well as much which is true. she was, in some respects, particularly social ones, a great woman, but had her weaknesses, like other mortals. lola, like many, was inclined to occasional religious fits; and this fact suggests an incident worthy of recital, since it illustrates something of the life of persons of much public note. anecdote of lola montez and laura keene. reference has been made to mr. mcwatters' association with laura keene. at a certain time lola montez became very religious, and continued so for a while. during her pious enthusiasm she determined to sell her theatrical wardrobe, consisting of splendid dresses, and dress-patterns (unmade-up), stage jewelry, of magnificent description, etc. she requested mr. mcwatters to offer them for sale to laura keene. he took some of the "goods" to laura, whose purse at that time was rather limited. she could not gratify herself with the purchase of all, but selected a very heavy, rich dress-pattern, for which she paid in part, but on which mr. mcwatters trusted her for the sum of twenty-five dollars. when mr. mcwatters reported the sale to lola, she was angry that he had trusted laura. miss keene was then running the olympic theatre. john duff was her manager, together with leutz, her husband. laura wished to surprise them with the story of her new purchase, and had sent it off privately to have it made up gorgeously. when she heard that lola was angry at mr. mcwatters' having trusted her, she sent for the dress; found it finished; declared that she had already paid for it all it was worth, but sent mr. mcwatters to some merchant's to have the goods appraised; whereupon he found that it was not dress-goods at all, but stuff for covering furniture,--known by all ladies now as "rep." mr. mcwatters reporting the discovery, laura became angry, and sent the dress, with all its costly trimmings on, to lola. lola got angry again in turn, and tore off the trimming (which she sent back to laura), and burned up the dress. mr. mcwatters solving social problems. mr. mcwatters was busily occupied in connection with theatres, etc., for a long period, more or less interspersed with his enterprises as a detective officer, and his busy life was richly freighted with interesting experiences. mr. mcwatters has ever been greatly interested in social problems, having in view the emancipation of the laboring classes from their more grievous burdens, and belongs, in his sympathies, to that class of humanitarians who see in association something like a realization of the teachings of the founder of christianism; and at one time was practically engaged with several other philanthropists, in an experiment partaking considerably of coöperation, but which unhappily failed of its desired success for want of more, and better disciplined coöperatives therein. it would be interesting to the reader, but out of place here to present something particular of the history of the experiment alluded to. our subject and the public press. the writer has before him, clipped from the public journals, the record of remarkable incidents enough in mr. mcwatters' life to fill a small volume of themselves, only a few of which can properly be alluded to in a cursory biography. such men's lives are often illustrated by "hairbreadth escapes," or signal good fortune under trying circumstances; but it is doubtful that a more singular and happily ending affair has ever occurred in any man's experience than one, the record of which was made at the time, in the new york dispatch of june , , and which is here copied in full. "pusillanimous highwaymen.--two knights of the road frightened by a spectacle case.--at a few minutes to one o'clock yesterday morning, mr. g. s. mcwatters, late door-keeper at laura keene's theatre, was passing through bleecker street, near mott. suddenly two men sprang at him from behind a tree, one catching him around the waist, and the other making a grab at his throat. with a quick and powerful effort, turning himself around, he managed to fling from him the one who had hold of his waist; and quickly taking from his side coat-pocket a silver spectacle case, he drew his hand back with great emphasis, cautioning the other fellow not to advance a step, or he would stab him to the heart. the second fellow evidently mistook the glistening of the spectacle case in the moonlight as the gleaming of steel, for in double-quick time he took to his heels, followed by his companion, whose fall, as the result proved, had not detracted from his nimble-footedness. mr. mcwatters let the fellows run, very prudently avoiding imposing a task upon his lungs by calling for the police. it is thought they followed him for his money, of which he had a considerable amount about him." [illustration: mcwatters' spectacle case.] mr. mcwatters enters the metropolitan police force. passing over a period in mr. mcwatters' busy life, checkered with incidents and exploits of a marvellous kind in his career as a private detective, as well as much that is interesting of his active participation in many measures of a politico-reformatory and socialistic nature, we find that mr. mcwatters entered the metropolitan police force in , wherein he distinguished himself, for the period of twelve years, up to october , , when he resigned his post,--not only as a most effective and reliable officer in routine duties, but also by many suggestions and plans of enlarging the utility of the force to the community in general. for instance, we find in the new york world, of date november , , an article under the head "information to railroad and steamboat passengers," which dilates, to some considerable extent, and most complimentarily, upon the beneficent results to the public of the operations of a detachment of the police force, "called the railroad and steamboat squad," by which travellers visiting new york, and passing through, were saved from the impositions and robberies of ticket swindlers, hotel runners, unprincipled boarding-house keepers, etc., by encountering the travellers before they leave the cars and steamboats, and giving them all requisite information in regard both to the swindlers, and how best, most safely and economically to conduct their sojourn in the city. the world's article concludes with stating, that "this plan originated with officer mcwatters, who, we know, was for a long time an efficient, and one of the most popular officers attached to this section of the force." how well officer mcwatters performed his individual duties in connection with this squad, might be illustrated by the quotation of an article entitled "personal," in the daily tribune of july , , which is most highly complimentary of officer mcwatters, but is too long to be incorporated here. mr. mcwatters' onerous vocation as a policeman did not forbid his finding time for earnest participation in many matters not pertaining to his special duties as an officer. indeed, it would seem that, with all his labors, he found more time to devote to good causes outside of his police duties than many men of leisure and benevolent spirit think themselves able to bestow. it is said that none find so little leisure time to do anything as the wholly indolent and unoccupied, and the more a man has to do of daily labor, the more time can he find to attend to extra calls upon his services. officer mcwatters seems to have practicalized this "doctrine," for, judging from the several hundred extracts before us, taken from the new york journals for the last ten years, one would be led to think that officer mcwatters possessed the attribute or faculty of ubiquity, for we find him "here, and there, and everywhere" in the city, and without it, in attendance upon reform meetings; or advocating humanitary measures from the rostrum, for officer mcwatters is a forcible public speaker. the suffering and starving people of kansas ( ) we find elicited his warm sympathies and active exertions in their behalf, expressed by the practical mode of raising contributions for their aid. in the evening post of october , , we find allusion to officer mcwatters as the secretary of the patriotic association of metropolitan police (of which, in conjunction with the late inspector carpenter, if the writer is not mistaken, officer mcwatters was the originator), which was organized to afford support to the families of policemen who joined the metropolitan brigade in the war for the union. personal incidents. chancing to turn at this moment to the new york world of march , , the writer finds that on the day before officer mcwatters "immersed" himself in the north river, plunging in to rescue a six-years-old boy, who had fallen off the dock. in the sunday mercury of april , five weeks after the occurrence last mentioned, we find officer mcwatters aiding in the rescue of another boy from a watery grave; and in the daily tribune of march , , appears the statement of still another rescue from drowning by officer mcwatters, this time of a man, one captain william vanname. we might extend, indefinitely, the list of kindred good deeds by officer mcwatters, as gathered from the public journals; but these will serve to show the fact that he was always to be found in the line of his duty. he was frequently saving life, or performing other noble acts.--but we do not intend to dwell in detail upon the professional life of officer mcwatters in his connection with the metropolitan police. it is enough, perhaps, to say in general terms, that he fulfilled his duties nobly well; that from superintendent kennedy, under whom, for the most part, he served, his official career received the very warmest praise, and that the public press made frequent complimentary mention of him all along the period of about twelve years during which he was a member of the metropolitan police force. we might also refer for further evidence of officer mcwatters' honorable performance of his official duties and high standing in the force to the expressed opinion of the late superintendent jourdan. this gentleman's judgment of the merit of an officer's services was, of course, to a great degree worthy of respect. but though the latin maxim is, "de mortuis nil nisi bonum" (say only good of the dead), we are constrained to feel, that although superintendent jourdan's praise had a certain professional merit, yet his moral character was so questionable, that his commendation of officer mcwatters could hardly add to the merit of the latter, while his taste as a gentleman, and his reverence for the honest and the true, would probably induce him to prefer the non-production here of the former's testimony. officer mcwatters in the late civil war: his foresight. officer mcwatters' earnest love of, and reverence for the free institutions of the united states, are something extraordinary, it would seem. reared in the north of ireland, and having resided in london long enough to thoroughly understand the miseries of the subject-classes of that great metropolis and of england, officer mcwatters was prepared, when he landed on our shores, to render at least due appreciation to republican institutions; and when the late civil war broke out, he entered into the conflict against secession with all his soul. his anxiety to go to the front at the breaking out of the rebellion, and take a soldier's place in the struggle, was only equalled by the bitter regret that he was prevented doing so by untoward circumstances. but what service to the country he was thus forbidden to do upon the field, he fully rendered, in various forms, in his capacity as a most active and enthusiastic patriot at home. officer mcwatters was not of that "noble home guard," so justly and severely ridiculed at the time, who urged others on to the war, and felt satisfied with their achievements in so doing; but he was ever alert in the discovery of ways and means to serve the government, perhaps more effectively than if he had been in the ranks on the field, or had headed a regiment in battle; for if officer mcwatters had gone to the field, such are his temperament, popularity, and capacity, that he could not long have held a position second to that of many men who gained distinction and led new york regiments and brigades--to say nothing of superior leaders. he was of the number of those (few, indeed, they may properly be said to have been), who, in the early part of the rebellion, took anything like an adequate preview of its results. it appears that, early in the war, he wrote a letter to the press, in which is clearly stated his opinion, that the war "can have no less result than the abolition of negro slavery." he was prepared for this: implicitly believing in it, he ordered his conduct thereby, and throughout the contest manifested an enthusiasm proportionate to the mighty victory for humanity which he so clearly foresaw was to be won. first seizure of guns at the north. always vigilant, and, everywhere that he was able, ready and prompt to serve the government, it must have been a matter of proud satisfaction to officer mcwatters when he made the first seizure of guns which occurred at the north during the war, and which guns were intended by their northern consignors--sympathizers with the rebellion--to be used by their southern consignees to shoot down the patriot forces. this seizure is thus recorded in the tribune of may , :-- "the vigilance of the police was yesterday evinced by the seizure of four nine-pound dahlgren guns by officer mcwatters, of the steamboat and railroad police, on pier no. , north river." it will be recollected by all who watched the current affairs of the war, that it was in regard to this seizure by officer mcwatters, that fernando wood, then mayor of new york, so infamously and cowardly made an unasked apology to robert toombs of georgia. communication with the south was not at that time suspended, and he telegraphed to the secessionist his regrets at the seizure, and added assurance that if he had had control of the police the guns should be restored, or that he would have forbidden the seizure. such was the substance of his telegram. but fortunately for the honor of the nation, as well as of the city of new york, the control of the police had, before that time, been taken from mayor wood. but his telegram sent a thrill of shame through all patriotic hearts, and added a new lustre to the merit of officer mcwatters' deed, by the contrast in which it placed the two men,--the dutiful, freedom-loving police officer, and the poor creature who, having escaped the issues of a criminal trial by pleading the statute of limitations, had been borne on the shoulders of a "sixth ward brigade" of repeating voters to the questionable height of the mayoralty of new york. it is, perhaps, worthy of note here that the virtues of fernando wood have since been duly rewarded by an appreciative constituency in new york, who have sent him for several terms as their fit representative to the congress of the nation. it is seldom that the historiographer has the opportunity of recording such a lofty expression of the "gratitude of republics;" and the writer hereof takes especial pleasure in fixing it here "in eternal types." officer mcwatters' due reproof for the seizure is fitly found in the fact, that a noble constituency like wood's, would, if they could, have annihilated him for the deed. officer mcwatters' services through the public press. not only at his post of official duty was it that officer mcwatters rendered efficient service to the government, but throughout the war we find him frequently making noble appeals for aid to the union in one form or another, or setting forth some judicious plan of operations to secure the same, in able and spirited letters to the evening post, the tribune, etc. it should give the writer pleasure to copy some of these letters herein, especially one which appeared in the evening post of october , , but the limits of these biographical notes forbid. in the tribune of august , , appeared a letter from officer mcwatters, from which, notwithstanding our narrow limits, we cannot forbear to make a short quotation, since it so well evinces his spirit, both as a man and a writer, as well as his lofty appreciation of the honor and glory of his adopted country's institutions. a portion of the letter is addressed to working-men, urging them to loan to the nation, in its hour of peril, such sums of money as they could save; and the letter concludes with these noble words: "fellow working-men: i have, by hard scraping, saved one hundred dollars. i am going to lend it to the government. i ask you, in the name of humanity and patriotism, to 'go and do likewise.' your country demands your assistance; respond generously, quickly; think of the proud eminence on which you stand before the working-men of the world,--_as american citizens!_--and acquit yourselves as though you felt your dignity." kindly and wise providence. often is it, perhaps, that little deeds of gentle and silent charity, care for the suffering, and unostentatious benevolence, speak more eloquently for the heart of a true man, than those of valor on the field of battle in the noblest cause. in the tribune of june , , is copied a certain appeal made a day or two before, and which we recopy below:-- "to the police of new york: thousands of soldiers--your fellow-countrymen--are now lying in the hospitals about washington, suffering from wounds received in battle. their chief torment is a craving thirst; water is unwholesome, and cannot be given in quantities sufficient to satisfy the craving. the only safe and effectual remedy is found in the juice of lemons, and for a supply of this fruit the kindness of individuals must be appealed to. twenty-five cents from each member of the force would afford incalculable relief to those who now pine for the want of this simple luxury. will you help? all money paid over to inspector carpenter for this purpose will reach its destination immediately." this appeal, effectively "displayed" (in the job-printer's parlance), and printed upon small handbills, was secretly circulated among the police, and soon resulted in a contribution by them of the unexpectedly large sum of over six hundred dollars, for lemons for the sick soldiers. though a small affair in the matter of money, it proved a great one in other considerations. it was not only a beneficent act, but a very judicious one. from whom the appeal emanated was a profound secret among the police, until, on the th of june, , there appeared in the tribune a notice of a "report" by the late inspector carpenter, in which, referring to this matter, he says: "to patrolman mcwatters, of the twenty-sixth precinct, is due the credit of projecting this trifling donation from this department to relieve the sufferings of our sick and wounded soldiers." in many other quiet and effective ways officer mcwatters administered to the comfort of our soldiers and their families during the war, but we have not space to recall them here. some of them became known, from time to time, and were recorded in the public journals of the day. "riot week," july, : officer mcwatters in the thick of the fight. during the whole war nothing of a more fearful nature to the cause of the union occurred than the great riot in new york city, which commenced on monday, the th of july, , and was not subdued until the following friday. the people of the north were, to a considerable extent, becoming weary of the war, and thousands, if not tens of thousands, who had previously exhibited a good degree of sturdy patriotism, began to wane in their vigor and firmness of purpose, and were ready to "let the rebels go in peace hereafter." but the facts of those perilous days are too fresh in the memory of all to need recital here. the rioters were exultant, and the people stood aghast for a while; but finally the metropolitan police force obtained ascendency over the surging elements of the local rebellion, and brought back peace to the city again. but this was not done without more severe effort and a greater destruction of life than was generally understood by the country at large at that time. before us is a book, entitled "record of the police during the july riots, ," by david m. barnes, in the preface of which the author, speaking of the slaughters during those days, says, "the number killed by the police and military in the different conflicts, when alone and united, can never be ascertained; it is estimated by those who witnessed the scenes, and had the best opportunity of judging, at fourteen hundred. the bodies of those killed on the spot were hurriedly taken off, and in many cases conveyed out of the city, or secreted here, and privately buried. cases of subsequent deaths from wounds, it is known, were attributed to other causes. eighteen persons are known to have been killed by the rioters, eleven of whom were colored." we confess ourselves somewhat astonished at so large an estimate of the number killed during the riot; but those were horrible days, indeed, and the estimate is, we think, quite probably within the limits of the truth. the book was published in september, , it appears,--a date a sufficiently long time after the riots to have allowed much careful investigation to have been made. among the other heroes of those days, whom the author signalizes by especial mention by name,--commissioner acton, superintendent kennedy, commissioner bergen, chief clerk hawley, inspectors carpenter, dilks, and leonard, etc.,--is found our chief subject, as brave, active, earnest, and efficient in the midst of a deathly struggle, as he is ever gentle, kind, and tender in his silent ministrations to the sick, sore, and suffering in the days of peace. on page eighty-two of the book referred to, and where the special history of the conduct of the police of the twenty-sixth precinct is detailed in regard to their conflicts with the mob in the city hall park, printing house square, and the tribune office, the author says,-- "no mercy was shown, and over a hundred lay in the square and park, the well-punished victims of their own folly and crime. while the mob were being thus terribly handled in the street, some of the force turned their attention to the tribune building, fighting their way to, and entering it. the fire had just been lighted, and was readily extinguished. officer mcwatters, on entering the door, was assaulted by a burly ruffian, armed with a hay-rung, who, by a powerful blow on the shoulder, knocked him down; instantly on his feet again, he more than repaid, on the heads of the rioters, the blow. the building was cleared speedily, and not a man in it escaped without severe punishment." but it is unnecessary to extend comment upon the career of officer mcwatters, as related to the active operations of the war. as a patriot, his name is not only "without spot or blemish," but is one of which the best of citizens might be proud, and of which only such could have made themselves worthy. officer mcwatters and his literary associates. before passing on, in direct course, to the most interesting portion of officer mcwatters' life, in which the character of the man, in his intensely benevolent nature, is most beautifully and nobly illustrated in a thousand ways, we pause here to revert to him as a gentleman of general literary tastes, and to his friendly and genial associations with men of letters. mr. mcwatters, in his almost countless letters, and other contributions to the public press, has ever seemed to avoid anything like notoriety,--to be, in short, quite unambitious to secure to himself anything like popular distinction by his pen; for nearly all his contributions to the press have been unaccompanied by his name, and when not literally anonymous, published over various _sobriquets_, known only to a few of his friends at most. not a few of his most intimate acquaintances will doubtless be surprised when the spirited and elegant series of articles which he now gives to the world in "knots untied" reveal to them the man in his higher literary estate, so unostentatious has he been, and so little merit did his modesty permit him to attach to the articles in question, until diffidently submitted by him to the inspection of a few of his critical literary friends, who, delighted with their engaging style, and appreciating their practical worth, urged the half-astonished author to give them to the public, as a duty he owed to his fellow-citizens. his course has been altogether a too modest one (if we be permitted to speak in criticism thereof). but, for his own private happiness, mr. mcwatters has never failed to appreciate the society of literary men, and notwithstanding his multiplied duties, official and humanitary, has always managed to find time to cultivate the acquaintance of the most gifted and distinguished literateurs, artists, and so forth, who, during the last fifteen years especially, have given lustre to the great metropolis. a genial man, a good story-teller, courteous under all circumstances, full of sparkling intelligence, generous to an extreme degree, a man of excellent habits as well as refined sentiments, he has always been welcomed by these men of lettered distinction, to whom we refer above. and here we should be pleased to introduce the names of the most remarkable of mr. mcwatters' literary associates, up to the year , as illustrative of the good taste of our subject. but the record would be too long for place here; besides, we might, while reciting the names of some, fail, through fault of memory, in this hasty writing, to recall those equally worthy of record here. but we have at hand an article clipped from the new york illustrated news of august , , in which is arrayed a list of many of those who at that time were distinguished lights in the literary world, and some of whom have achieved imperishable honors since, while others of the number have been gathered to their fathers--borne to their tombs in the "laureate hearse," after having won and borne upon their brows the bays of many a literary victory. the article in question descants upon "pfaff's;" and its literary, artistic, and other distinguished _habitues_. but we will quote it entire for the reader's pleasure, and information, possibly, as well:-- "as so much has been said in the papers, from time to time, about 'pfaff's,' it may be well to state that the name is descriptive, simply, of a 'restaurant and lager bier saloon,' kept at no. broadway, by a teuton of that name, and which, partly from its central position, and partly from the excellence of its fare, has been such a favorite resort, for several years, for artists, literateurs, actors, managers, editors, critics, politicians, and other public characters, as to have become quite famous. it is not, as has been often reported, the rendezvous of a particular clique or club of bohemians (whatever they may be), but simply a general and convenient meeting-place for cultivated men, and one where, almost any evening, you may meet representatives of nearly every branch of literature and art, assembled, not by appointment, nor from habit even, but 'met by chance, the usual way.' among the literary men whom we have met there from time to time, during the last three or four years, may be mentioned walt whitman, aldrich, winter, stoddard, bayard taylor, w. ross wallace, w. d. howells, frank otterson, charles dawson shanly, w. h. fry, edward howland, charles seymour, 'doesticks,' 'artemus ward,' 'figaro,' t. c. evans, e. c. stedman, charles f. briggs, e. g. p. wilkins, charles gayler, j. v. sears, harry neill, e. h. house, frank wood, c. burkhardt, rosenberg, a. f. banks, 'walter barret,' george arnold, charles d. gardette, 'howard of the times,' and thad. glover; among artists, stillman, palmer, launt, thompson, cafferty, g. h. hall, shattuck, innis, sewell, henessy, loop, avery, frank howland, homer martin, eastman johnson, bierstadt, van beest, hitchings, bellew, mullen, anthony, eytinge, nast, baker, sontag, boughton, rowse; and of other well-known characters, ullman, strakosch, maretzek, grau, stigelli, mollenbaur, h. l. bateman, nixon, dolly davenport, davidge, young, fisher, floyd, reynolds, stuart, moss, chanfrau, mason, the hanlons, officer mcwatters, j. augustus page, gill davis, schauss, seitz, brisbane, dr. wainwright, etc., etc., including a good number of politicians, and that large class of people, called germans, without end." of this goodly host, the gifted wilkins; fry, the erudite, then so distinguished in the editorial and musical world; arnold, the genial young essayist, poet, and humorist; "artemus ward," and perhaps others, long since made their last visit to pfaff's--their lights of life going out in the peaceful darkness of death, while "their literary torches burn on,"--"stars which gleam forever." and other of these,--whitman, stedman, howells, aldrich, and edward howland, for especial example--(the last four being, in , of the very youngest of the above array), and bierstadt, shattuck, etc., have climbed to the top of parnassian heights, won bright and solid victories in the field of prose as essayists, historians, etc., or transferred nature to the canvas with that beauty and sublimity of artistic truthfulness which have commanded for them the admiration of the world. it is with these men, and others of equal order of intellectual and social gifts, that officer mcwatters has passed most of his leisure hours for many years; thus keeping his genial nature and bright intelligence free from the corrosion and canker which eat into the moral and intellectual vitals of the mere business man; and preserving himself physically, too, fresh and buoyant as youth itself. the great number of personal souvenirs which officer mcwatters' author friends have presented him, in the shape of copies of their respective works, constitute quite a "library" in themselves,--a pleasing recognition, grateful to himself and his family, of the excellent social merits, intellect, and moral worth of the man and the officer. officer mcwatters as the good samaritan. whatever are our subject's merits otherwise, as a man and an officer, and extreme though was his patriotic zeal during the late civil war, and to which he gave practical expression in the wisest and noblest ways, all these has he eclipsed, and rendered comparatively unworthy of note, by his career since the war as a good samaritan, a practical "home missionary" (if it be not derogatory to apply to him a designation, however kindly, which usually signifies but little more than a sectarian proselyter of one school or another). always interested in social problems, officer mcwatters is too intelligent not to fully understand that the fragmentary reforms and the ordinary great charities of the times can never subdue the evils which his heart would abate and banish from society forever. indeed, it is the opinion of the writer, (however little this may accord with officer mcwatters' views, or however opposed he may be to so radical sentiments, for herein the writer speaks for himself and no one else), that the availability of charity towards abolishing evil is but pitiable at best. giving the beggar an old coat, only to be called on by some other beggar for a like coat, and never seeking to abolish beggary and its attendant sufferings by some judicious means of abolishing beggars themselves, by destroying the causes which create them, is unscientific, paltry, and in every way unwise at best. it is only about nineteen hundred years since the advent of christianity; and perhaps not over two hundred and fifty millions of people at the present time profess to be christians, and belong to some of the symbolized divisions of the church, while may be not over three hundred millions more profess to be christians in spirit; and not much of good could well be expected to grow up in so short a time, and with so few advocates to encourage it; yet the writer confesses that, in some of his weaker moods, he is astonished after all that something has not been done by christian people to abolish the proximate and fruitful cause of nearly all the crimes and sufferings, namely, poverty. the sufferings of the poor in new york, for example, are terrible to contemplate; and the much-boasted great charities of the metropolis are directed only to temporary relief of the sufferers. this is their highest aspiration even. they proclaim no desire to do more, at best, than to smooth the bed of the sick, and procure "places" for children (to grow up and work for others in), or situations for this woman or that poor man out of employment. the right of these children and these poor men and women to live at all, and the duty of society to guarantee to the individual the enjoyment of that right, are wholly ignored by them. year after year they perform their patchwork charities with a patience which would be commendable in the pursuit of science, and which, while it astonishes the writer at its stupidity, nevertheless commands from him, as he cheerfully confesses, a sort of respect, if not admiration; for many of these charity-doers are really the best of people at heart, and would doubtless, if they knew how, do better, act more wisely. but they are ignorant of better means than they use; and, in fact, it has never occurred to them that better and wiser means ought to be, or could be taken than those they employ, to assuage human suffering. with his study and understanding of sociology, officer mcwatters must necessarily see, we think, and painfully feel, how meagre and pitiful are the amends which charity makes to those victims whom society has robbed of their rights; and his sense of this must constantly operate to weaken his courage and chill his enthusiasm in the cause of petty or "patchwork" charities. yet withal so abundant is his good nature, so sensitive his sympathies, that years do not seem to abate his zeal therein at all; and here is the wonder. he keeps on in his good works, though the institutions of society multiply the sufferings he would abate, and bring to his door ten new sufferers _because_ he has just aided one old one. as long as such souls as mcwatters' continue doing their good deeds, so long will the rapacious and extortionate thank them, and continue to create victims for them to practise their humanity upon. the landlord, whose tenant is poor and sick, is very grateful, of course, to the "charitable society" which helps his tenant to pay the rent; and it is a question with the writer, sometimes, if it were not better that the kind and tender-hearted benefactors of the poor were less numerous; for if the poor were goaded on by suffering a little further, they might, dispelling the mists of ever-fallacious "hope" from before their eyes, come to see their rights, and demand them. it is to the advantage of the master to feed his chattel-slave sufficiently well to keep him in good strength for work. charity, under direction of the masters in society, feeds the working classes only up to the point of usefulness as wages-slaves. it is cheaper for a given present time to keep a poor man in a working condition than it is to let him starve to death, and so incur the expense of burying him. that expresses the _morale_ of the master-classes' "consideration" of the subject-classes; and here in the united states the "tender love" of the strong for the weak is just as marked as in other lands, perhaps; but, alas! no more so, notwithstanding our boasted love of "liberty and right." but we remarked that officer mcwatters must understand all this, and yet pursues his constant course of charities. not for the wisdom (or the lack of it, as the case may be) which prompts or permits him to do the thousand acts of benevolence for which he is noted, is it that he commands so much of our admiration, but for that tireless sympathy and wondrous vitality of benevolence (so to characterize it) which ever bestir him, notwithstanding his clear understanding that he will, and can alone, only mitigate effects, and not cure causes; that he is "carrying coals to newcastle" all the while, or is putting one brick on a pile, only to see a dozen fall therefrom; and this, though he repeats it day after day. as we have before remarked, officer mcwatters is not a rich man, save in his own good nature and the affection of his multitudinous friends; and _his_ charities mean something to his purse, drawing from it constantly whatever he can find time or opportunity to place there; for, if the writer is correctly informed, officer mcwatters has never received a cent for his multifarious labors in connection with any of the several organized charities to which he is attached. as a member of the metropolitan police he received his salary, rendering therefor his full duty; and this was all he had to support himself and family upon; and that was constantly depleted by his benevolence, as we have remarked before. in view of these facts, officer mcwatters is elevated, in our esteem, to the rank of the howards, and the other marked philanthropists of the world. mcwatters and the soldiers. during the late civil war, as we have said, officer mcwatters took a deep and patriotic interest in the conflict. this was manifested in many ways, particularly towards the soldiers and their families; and he has not forgotten them since. whatever the reader may think of a man who in this age allows himself to go deliberately into a contest, the avowed purpose of which is to maim and kill his fellow-men, for any cause; or what he may think of that order of society which compels a man to enlist in a cause of cruelty and blood (as hosts of men were driven into the rebel ranks at the point of the bayonet, or by conscription, or want of something else to do, however remonstrating), ought to have but little bearing upon the case of the veteran soldier now. our northern soldiers went to the war with the assurance of the public press, and the declaration of hundreds of thousands of those who remained at home, but who gathered in crowds ("to see the soldiers _off_") at the places of departure, that they should, on their return, receive the gratitude of those for whom they fought. promises were abundant, and the poor, confiding fellows for the most part believed them, and on the battle-field found consolation for their hardships and dangers in the love of those they had left behind, and which, poured forth in unstinted measure on their return, was to be their "good and abundant reward." poor fellows! they have learned, for the most part, the value of their countrymen's love; they have learned how priceless is the glory of an arm or a leg lost, since it secures for them, who only had precarious homes before, a permanent home in the poor-house, or has led them to the due consideration of the virtue of economy; the estimable and superior value of rags over the whole coats they used to wear; of temperance in eating, and other like virtues. very few care for the "veteran soldier" now, and his family is left to starve with those of other paupers, or with those of the imprisoned criminal. this is the sad truth; and were another civil war to arise to-day, probably but very few of the old rank and file, who are still strong and able, would muster around the standard again, but would generously suggest to those who remained at home before, that they might now win all the victories, and enjoy all the glory. but there are a few in the community who have not forgotten the maimed veterans and their suffering families; and chief among these few is officer mcwatters; for we hazard nothing in saying, that, all things considered, there cannot be found another person, male or female, in the whole land, who has done more for the poor soldiers and their families than he. he seems to be impelled in his constant care for them by what amounts to almost a generous frenzy, and which might so be denominated were it not that his deeds in their behalf are always directed by wisdom; it is a passion, at least, with him; the poetry of his current life. ladies' union relief association. officer mcwatters is an active member of several charitable organizations; but that under which the greater share of his benevolent deeds have been done for the last five or six years during which he has been connected with it, is the ladies' union relief association. this is an organization, under the directorship of several benevolent ladies of distinguished social position in new york, such as the wives of messrs. marshall o. roberts, ex-mayor havemeyer, dr. joseph worster, henry dwight, j. a. kennedy (president), william e. churchill, etc., with miss evelina s. hamilton, as corresponding secretary, miss madeline mckibben, recording secretary, and miss marianna hale, treasurer of the association. this organization has an advisory board, composed of generals dix, van vliet, butler, rev. drs. chapin and thompson, hon. w. f. havemeyer, drs. herrick and worster, messrs. theodore roosevelt, george bliss, jr., william e. dodge, jr., and many other distinguished gentlemen. but the chief and most active man of the board is our subject, officer george s. mcwatters, with whom, and his constant aid, this benevolent association would not willingly part. the ladies' union relief association undertake to assist the sick and disabled veteran soldiers and their families, and the families of deceased soldiers; and their self-imposed duties are very onerous, and a vast amount of charitable work do they, visiting the sick and taking to them the necessaries of life, paying their rents, clothing the children; finding places of employment for the ex-soldier, or his widow, or family; furnishing this or that one means of transportation to the far west, for example, when offered a home there with some relative, etc., etc. these duties are constant. the field is always a large one; and in a season like that of - , when business is dull, and employment is scarce, the poor of new york suffer extremely. it is in such a season that the relations of poverty to the wealth which its labors have created (for the workers are ever the poor), is seen in painful relief upon the face of society. in the performance of his voluntarily assumed duties under this association, officer mcwatters found nearly all his time, aside from that strictly required by his official duties, occupied, nights as well as days. at the police headquarters, where he held a detailed position, the poor and suffering flocked to him during the day for advice and succor; and when off duty as a policeman, he gave his time to visiting and aiding them in their squalid homes. the ex-superintendent kennedy cordially seconded officer mcwatters in his benevolent work, and gave him every facility for receiving the poor at the police office. in this way he was enabled, while fulfilling his duties as a policeman, to gratify his heart with kindly attention to the poor. but eventually superintendent kennedy was superseded by mr. jourdan. jourdan was, it would appear, an unfeeling man. he refused to let the soldiers visit the headquarters in search of officer mcwatters, and declared that they were "dirty, and smelled bad," and that he would no longer suffer them to come. thus officer mcwatters' mendicant clientage was prohibited consulting with him during the hours of police duty, and he felt that his dearest, most cherished "occupation," was almost "gone." his sphere of pleasant, though onerous duties, was limited, and he fretted under the restraint of the rule which prevented the poor to approach him--a man whom the rev. dr. bellows declares, when referring to the poor soldiers, to be "one of their few steady, laborious, and judicious benefactors." but death came, and laid superintendent jourdan in the grave--the common earth--as lowly as the graves of the "dirty," poor soldiers whom he despised. it is a significant fact that this man jourdan's remains were followed to the tomb by many distinguished citizens of new york,--politicians, men of wealth and professional good standing, and others. but perhaps it is not so strange after all that he should have been so honored in new york, for fernando wood has been mayor of the city; and many who have grown rich by political thieving are kept in office, and jim fisk, jr., is not only suffered to live within the city limits, but has been elected to the post of colonel of the ninth regiment, and is actually extolled by great numbers of the people. crime is no great stain to any man in new york if he but have money, or is in the "line" of making it fast. the city's moral worth reposes, for the most part now, with the few members of the churches who are what they profess to be, and with the benevolent and christian women,--comparatively few in number,--like those of the ladies' union relief association, and the few howards, whose best representative is officer mcwatters. jourdan's death, however, did not abate the unjust rule he had made, forbidding the poor to seek their friends at the headquarters of the police, and officer mcwatters, unwilling longer to follow for a livelihood a calling by which he was prevented from honoring the dictates of his heart by doing all which he might do in some other vocation for the poor soldiers and their families, determined on resigning his post. while he was casting about for such a position, some of his friends, among whom were rev. dr. bellows, president of the united states sanitary commission (and who cheerfully says of officer mcwatters, "the evidence is overwhelming that few private persons have given so much time and effectual aid to the friendless class as he"), wm. cullen bryant, and other gentlemen of high character; and the ladies of the relief association, who were unwilling to part with his invaluable coöperation, sought, for officer mcwatters, a place in the custom-house, where the lingering sway of no heartless jourdan would oppress him. officer mcwatters' desire being made known to collector murphy, he, be it said to his honor, immediately and generously offered him a situation which would enable him to earn his living, and continue his benevolent work; and on the th of october, , officer mcwatters tendered the resignation of his place as policeman to the commissioners, by the following letter, a copy of which we take from the new york dispatch of the d of that month:-- "new york, october , . "_to the hon. board of police commissioners of new york._ "gentlemen: i beg respectfully to offer my resignation as a patrol policeman, the same to take effect on tuesday, october , . "this step has been rendered necessary for the following reasons: i have been prohibited by your representative, the late superintendent, from employing my spare time in the fulfilment of a duty which, in common with all good citizens, i owe to the defenders of our country, the sick and disabled soldiers, and to the widows and orphans of those who perished in the late war; and being determined to fulfil that duty, i have obtained employment elsewhere, under circumstances that will enable me to continue to assist and advise these poor people. "respectfully asking your acceptance of my resignation, i remain, gentlemen, yours, &c., "george s. mcwatters." the public journals of the times made most complimentary allusion to officer mcwatters when noticing his withdrawal from the police force and acceptance of a post in the custom-house. they spoke of him--but perhaps it were well to let some of them "speak for themselves." we reproduce here the following (all we have space for in this article) from the new york evening post and the daily times. the former remarked thus:-- "the resignation of george s. mcwatters deprives the police force of one of its most faithful and efficient members; but, on the other hand, it enables mr. mcwatters to continue his benevolent and gratuitous services in behalf of the wounded soldiers, and the widows and orphans of those who fell during the late war. mr. mcwatters proposes to open an office, under the auspices of the ladies' union relief association, and of general butler, in his capacity of president of the board of managers of the national homes for disabled soldiers, where, at certain hours each day, he can be consulted, and will offer relief and assistance. there is now no place in this city where this class of persons can get advice without paying roundly for it, and running the danger of falling into the hands of unprincipled claim agents. mr. mcwatters intends to give his service gratuitously in this good cause, as he has been doing for the last five or six years. he is now filling an office in the custom-house, and collector murphy has shown his discriminating good sense in making the appointment." the times said:-- "the appointment of mr. george s. mcwatters to the position of storekeeper, under the new york custom-house, was most judicious, and will be heartily approved by those who are familiar with the man and his good deeds. he has been connected with the police department of the city for the past twelve years, and never had a charge preferred against him in all that time. since the war, in addition to his police duties, he has been an indefatigable worker for the interests of sick and disabled soldiers, and the families of those who died in battle. hundreds of cases have been investigated by him, and relief obtained for the unfortunate in scores of instances. for these services mr. mcwatters received no remuneration whatever, save the gratitude of those who were the object of his beneficence. his merits were recognized by the collector, and hence the offer of an appointment, which was accepted a few days after." thus it was that officer mcwatters ended his connection with the metropolitan police, with the honor of the public for his faithfulness and efficiency as an officer, and the applause of all good people for his benevolence and laborious services in the cause of philanthropy. this brings us to the month of october, ; since which time officer mcwatters has been attending to his duties as an officer in the custom-house, and pursuing his career as a "good samaritan" as usual. the swindling bounty claim agents. in these biographical notes it has not been attempted to preserve chronological order throughout, as the reader has observed, and we now revert to sundry important facts in officer mcwatters' history, which have been passed over by us without allusion. perhaps the chief service which mcwatters has rendered to the soldiers is the successful war he waged against the bounty claim agents in - . as the law regarding bounties then stood, the agents were able to grossly swindle the soldiers. and many of these agents, all over the land, and probably the most of them, did swindle them. to appreciate the full merit of officer mcwatters in circumventing the swindling agents, it is necessary to understand how they operated with poor soldiers; and as we find in the new york times of march , , a succinct explanation of their mode of operations, we transfer a portion of the article containing it to these pages. it will be found interesting as an item in the history of the times (as well as a comment upon the beauties of civilization in general). the article is headed "bounty swindlers," and goes on to say:-- "herman, who is well known as a former claim agent in this city, is now at large, under forfeited bail of ten thousand dollars, for swindling discharged soldiers, who were credulous enough to trust him, out of their well-deserved bounties. it is estimated by the authorities that he made nearly twenty thousand dollars by these operations, which he has so carefully disposed of that it cannot be recovered by his unfortunate victims. there are, perhaps, fifty others of the same stripe in this city, who have gathered small fortunes by thus defrauding the soldier or his widow and orphans. "to protect the soldiers from these sharks, mr. french, second auditor of the treasury department at washington, has, from time to time, suspended all business transactions with them. this had the effect of stopping the frauds for a while, but the swindlers soon found a method of overcoming the obstruction. this they did by procuring willing tools through whom they operated as successfully as ever. "there are said to be thousands of dishonest agents all over the united states, who are continually engaged in this nefarious business. they are principally lawyers who have no reputation to lose, and who, therefore, are indifferent to public opinion. "the _modus operandi_ by which these swindles are carried on is as follows: a. is a discharged soldier, b. the claim agent. a. calls on b., and requests him to procure his bounty money for him. a. is informed that, in order to enforce his claim, it will be necessary for him to intrust b. with his certificate of honorable discharge, to be forwarded to washington as a voucher. thus far the transaction is legitimate; but now comes the trickery. b. further informs a. that there is another paper to be forwarded with the discharge, a blank, which he (a.) must sign. it is merely a matter of form, b. says, which the government requires, for some reason best known to itself. the signature is given, and the soldier goes away, assured that within a few days his check will be ready for him. the paper to which, in his ignorance, a. signed his name, turns out to be an absolute power of attorney conferred upon b., not only to enforce the claim, but also to indorse the draft when it is received, and to collect the money therefor at the bank. thus authorized, b. draws the cash at the proper time, puts it into his own pocket, and keeps it there. a. calls for his money at the appointed time, but is put off with the excuse that the return has not yet been made by the department at washington. this explanation is repeated each time that a. calls, until, finally, he becomes suspicious of unfair dealing, and peremptorily demands either his certificate or the bounty. as a rule, this demand leads to the speedy unfolding of the base villany. b. acknowledges that he has collected the money, and adds that he has spent it, but that he will refund it as soon as he is able to do so. the claim agent having acted by full power of attorney in the matter, cannot be prosecuted criminally, and the only remedy open to the victimized soldier is a civil suit for the recovery of the amount of his claim. the remedy is ineffectual, however, by reason of the fact that the swindler has no property out of which to satisfy judgment, and the soldier being too poor to prosecute the case, the affair ends at this point. "there are now in the second auditor's office as many as sixty-five thousand unsettled bounty claims, representing about four millions five hundred thousand dollars, and by the recent passage of another bounty act, that sum will soon be augmented by nearly five hundred thousand dollars. it will thus be seen that, unless some measures are taken by the government to prevent it, five million dollars more will pass into the hands of swindling agents, to the great loss of those for whose benefit it was intended." but long before this article appeared in the times, officer mcwatters had been reflecting upon a measure for rescuing the poor soldiers from the despoiling grasp of the agents. he had laid his plans before the ladies' union relief association, and the good ladies, at once appreciating it, commissioned him to go, in the name of the association, to washington, and procure, if possible, the immediate carrying out of his plan, which consisted of certain changes in the law. he went at once to the capital, and called upon president grant, who kindly received him, and to whom he unfolded his plan. the military committee of the senate were also visited, and they, as the president had likewise done, gave mr. mcwatters assurances of their sympathy with his designs, which they proceeded to directly express, by a proposed change in the law, which was in due time made. messrs. wilson and howe of the senate, general butler and general logan of the house, were particularly earnest and active in aiding officer mcwatters to accomplish his great aim in this matter. a resolution "for the protection of soldiers and their heirs," according to officer mcwatters' plan, after passing both houses of congress, received the approval of the president, and became a law on the th of april, , and thousands of soldiers have since blessed their ever warm and judicious friend, mcwatters, for one of the very best deeds that has been done in their behalf since the war. lodges of the grand army of the republic, in all parts of the country, passed votes of compliment and gratitude to him; and the press, also, was everywhere laudatory of him. the new law forbids the treasury and pay departments paying bounties due the soldiers to any claim agent, or upon "any power of attorney, transfer, or assignment whatever;" but provides that the money due shall be sent directly to the soldier or his heirs, by draft, on their order, or through the freedman's bureau, or state agents appointed specially for that purpose, etc., at no cost to the soldier or his heirs. the law also provides, that the government shall retain in its hands such proper fees as may be due to the claim agents for their services in procuring bounties, which fees are subject to the agents' order; thus securing to them all that is justly their due, while also, in a truly christian or motherly way, shielding them from the temptation to rob the poor soldier or his heirs of everything. (one object of governments, we are told by sundry "great writers on law," is to protect the morals of the people; which we are very glad to be assured of--sometimes. it is refreshing to be told that a divine power has a hand in the governmental institutions of the world; for if we were not so informed by the great writers, we might not always be able to discover the fact.) but this victory over the claim agents was not won without much hard fighting on officer mcwatters' part. the rascally agents harassed him, threatened him, and attempted to bribe him, etc. but without going into details, we will content ourselves with transferring to these pages an article which we find in the sun, of april , :-- "the thanks of hundreds of soldiers who have been defrauded by the bounty thieves, are due to general john a. logan, for pushing through metropolitan policeman mcwatters' bill, requiring that all moneys due them shall be paid to the soldiers direct, the government reserving to itself the fees. while officer mcwatters was in washington, the bounty thieves pretending to enjoy influence with the metropolitan police commissioners, threatened him, and tried to buy him off, one of the fellows offering him five hundred dollars to 'go home and mind his own business.' we reproduce two of their threatening letters, as follows:-- "'mr. mcwatters. dear sir: you are in a business that don't suit you--something you have no right in. the men you are working against are a large and influential class; have power where you least expect it. you have a good position on the police. as you value it, quit your present action. let the _soldiers_ take care of themselves; it don't pay _you_, nor will it. you can't afford to play philanthropist. leave that to men of means, and women, if you like. a word to the wise. "'yours, a friend, "'new york, march , . h. b. l.' "'mr. mcwatters. dear sir: your visit to washington will do you no good, but may possibly result in great harm to yourself. you have a good position now, and i think you had better let the soldiers' matters alone, as you are interfering with the business of those whose power and influence can be used against you to disadvantage. if you think anything at all of your own welfare, leave washington immediately, and pursue the matter no further. yours, etc., p. g. w. "'new york, march , '" but officer mcwatters' labor for the soldier and his family, in regard to the laws regulating payments thereto, did not stop here. in , in conjunction with others (he being the proposer of the same, we believe, as he was surely the most active mover thereto), obtained a change to be made in the time and frequency of the payment of pensions; the same theretofore being paid only semi-annually. there were evils attending these semi-annual payments. some recipients getting so much of their dues at a time, were led to improvidence, spending the same more freely than they would have done smaller sums; and their families often complained about the matter. officer mcwatters urged the proposition of monthly payments, but was unable to secure his object; but the law was changed, making the pensions payable in quarterly instalments. this was a great improvement over the old law. officer mcwatters received numerous letters of gratitude on the passage of the law. we clip the following in relation thereto, from the tribune of december , :-- "the first payment of pensions under the new law making the payments quarterly instead of semi-annual, began last monday, and many grateful letters, illustrating the beneficial working of the new plan, have already been received by mr. g. s. mcwatters, who was instrumental, in conjunction with the ladies' union relief association, in procuring the passage of the bill." the payments were made formerly in march and september; and how the pensioner welcomed a quarterly payment coming on the first monday of december, is perhaps as feelingly told, in its own homely way, as it well could be, in the following extract from one of those letters to which the tribune refers. a pensioner, writing to mcwatters, says: "nobody but a poor man can appreciate the feelings a poor man enjoys in the consciousness of having a clean rent bill, a ton of coal, and a barrel of flour, in the first month of winter." ay! there _is_ an eloquence in those words--an eloquence which touches the softer chords of the heart,--"the poor man enjoys"! nobody more than officer mcwatters, the philanthropist, could appreciate the poor pensioner's letter. but is there not in that letter that which touches other chords than those of sympathy--the chords of justice in all decent souls? a sense of justice which regards with horror, and burns with indignation over, the wretched order of things, or disorder the rather, which creates these suffering poor? very likely that pensioner, who tells us so touchingly of "a poor man's feelings," has done more for the world, created more for the good of his fellow-men, through his labor, in the form of agricultural products, necessary work of one kind or another, etc., etc., than all the millionnaires of new york together,--the mere cormorants, who fatten upon the toil of the laboring classes. is it not a shame to our common humanity that a barrel of flour should, in any family, become a subject for their rejoicing? "how a poor man feels!"--in this world of wealth! in this age of christian teaching! in this era of churches! bah! it is enough, one would think, to make the apostles of the nazarene arise from their graves, and seize the sword of peter, to put an end to the villany which still enslaves the masses and keeps them poor. but we do not hear that they are disturbed, nor do we learn that there is pity anywhere in the universe for the poor, save in the souls of the poor themselves, and in those of a few philanthropists here and there. but that is well, for it is not pity which is to work the good reformation which must some time be wrought; it is justice, the justice which shall yet demand _rights_, and banish even the name of _privileges_; justice, with science as its means. all else has signally failed to achieve any great good. froude and other great writers admit that but little real progress has been made under our social institutions. changes have come along the line of the centuries, it is true, but the "poor man" (and the term generically comprehends the vast majority of the race), the poor man suffers as much in these days as in those of moses, or in caligula's, or in the dark ages, or any period of feudal times; and yet we boast of "progress." in no period of the world's history has anything more reprehensible than the suffering of the irish people at home, in these days, occurred; and there is no reason found in the organic structure of our government why our own poor suffer less, or shall suffer less in the future, than the irish people now, save that there is a little more mercy in the laws which the tyrant or governing classes of this country make for the laboring classes, in the matter of certain household goods, for example, exempt from levy of attachment or execution; (but this is true only of the laws of certain states, not of the national laws). and this very hour, as we write, the national congress is contemplating putting millions of acres of the public domain into the hands of the tyrant forces, thus robbing the future millions who will need the soil to live upon. "the poor man's feelings"! but we dismiss the subject here, with the simple words,--eloquent enough to stir every decent soul to indignation over the wrongs of the laboring classes,--"the feelings of a poor man"! but more work for the soldier and his family remained for mcwatters to do, and he is at this writing (february, ) attempting, with the support of the ever noble and active ladies' union relief association, to get an act passed by congress, by which an honorably discharged soldier, too poor to buy his own grave, may console himself, in his last moments, that his family will not be obliged to follow him to a pauper's last resting-place. now, only such soldiers as die in actual service have a right to be buried in the national cemeteries. the veriest villain may have enlisted in the service yesterday, and died, and be buried to-day in the national cemeteries. but the honorably discharged soldier, who served through the war bravely and nobly, is not entitled to be buried therein, and if he dies poor, goes to the potter's field. such is the nation's gratitude! there's an awful sarcasm in this last work of mcwatters. we do not know whether, in the overflowing kindness of his soul, he sees it or not. memorializing "the honorable the senators and members of the house of representatives in congress assembled" to provide a place to bury the nation's heroes in, by a sort of legal fiction, which, while they do fill paupers' graves, technically, obscures a little the fact of their abject poverty, by giving them graves "free of cost." poor fellows! after death they get more rights than they had when living! the government takes away the soil from the living man, robs him of his right to it,--a right, the true title to which is in the fact of his existence,--his being born, if you please,--and makes restitution with six feet of subsoil to the dead man! but the merit of officer mcwatters' work is not decreased by this consideration. he does the very best thing he can do under the circumstances. but the nation--the community--civilization--what of them? honorable testimonials to officer mcwatters. we have somewhere said that officer mcwatters has received not a dollar for his years of constant, active benevolence. this is literally true: but it is not exactly true in the interpretation which some readers might give it; for officer mcwatters has not been wholly without substantial rewards other than those of the joys of his own happiness in well doing. but we have not space to notice all of these. the one which we presume is most dear to the gallant heart of officer mcwatters, is a testimonial of his benevolent services given him by the ladies' union relief association, in july, . we copy the following article regarding it from the new york times of july , :-- "testimonial.--the well-known services of officer george s. mcwatters on behalf of disabled soldiers and of the widows and orphans of fallen ones, received a handsome acknowledgment, a few days since, at the hands of the ladies' union relief association, with whose invaluable labors he has closely identified himself since the organization of the institution. mrs. john a. kennedy, who is president of the association, presented mr. mcwatters with a very valuable gold watch, purchased for him with private contributions of the ladies of the association, as a testimonial of their appreciation of his energetic labors in the work they have so much at heart. the watch is richly chased and bears on one side of the outer case the monogram 'g. s. mcw.,' and on the other, also in monogram, ' .' the inner case has the following inscription:-- "'_presented to george s. mcwatters by the members of the ladies' union relief association, in appreciation of his services to the families of union soldiers._ .' "it is pleasing to note this handsome recognition of the quiet energy and modest worth of officer mcwatters, who has in many ways and frequently, during the war and since, given remarkable evidence of how much good work, in a humble and unpretending way, is within the compass of a single individual, impelled by a spirit of true philanthropy." we also append a notice of the same testimonial, taken from the sun of the same date, since it very succinctly sets forth officer mcwatters' great worth as a philanthropist. "handsome and well-deserved compliment.--a few days ago officer g. s. mcwatters was surprised by a request to attend at the residence of mrs. john a. kennedy, the president of the ladies' union relief association. there he was presented with a beautiful gold watch, as a token of recognition of the valuable work done by him in assisting the objects of the society. ever since the war officer mcwatters has devoted all his spare hours to the benefit of union soldiers and their families. _we could fill columns with stories of his work and its good results, but have only room to say that no man of equal means has worked so hard and so successfully._ to the assistance and encouragement of that noble institution, the ladies' union aid society, he has given every moment that could be spared from his official duties. it is a fitting and graceful compliment, when such ladies as mrs. wm. f. havemeyer, mrs. marshall o. roberts, mrs. kennedy, and others of similar standing, so generously recognize the faithful services of their co-laborer. of course mr. mcwatters has official permission to accept his well-earned present, and long may he live to wear it." we also subjoin the following from the tribune, inasmuch as it makes allusion to certain benevolent acts and plans of officer mcwatters, to which we have not referred in these biographical notes, but which are most worthy of record. so good a summary is the tribune's article of officer mcwatters' claims upon the public esteem as an active philanthropist up to the period of its date, that we copy it entire, though it embraces several matters upon which we have descanted more or less extendedly in these notes:-- "it is always gratifying to see genuine and unpretending merit recognized and honored. we are therefore specially glad to record the fact that the ladies' union relief association of this city have recently, by the presentation of a valuable and appropriate gift, so recognized and honored the services rendered by officer g. s. mcwatters to the peculiar cause of benevolence to which they are devoted. the gift is a handsome gold watch, and the presentation was made on thursday evening, the d inst., by the president of the association, mrs. john a. kennedy, at her residence, no. west twenty-second street. the ladies' union relief has been established two years. it was instituted with a view to the relief of sick and disabled soldiers, their families, widows, or orphans, from the evils of extreme poverty. great good has been accomplished by the association; and, in its peculiar charity, it has had no ally more efficient and indefatigable than officer mcwatters. indeed, from the very beginning of the late civil war, this officer has consistently and faithfully devoted himself to the cause of the union soldiers. in he was associated with the late daniel carpenter in the mission of raising money from the police force for the support of the families of policemen who had gone to the war. in --an assessment having been levied on the police force for the purpose of raising and equipping the metropolitan brigade--officer mcwatters subscribed more money to this fund than any other patrolman on the force. in , when our military hospitals around washington and elsewhere were in great need of lemons for the wounded and suffering victims of battle, officer mcwatters collected six hundred dollars from among the police towards supplying this want; and the lemons so procured were gratuitously forwarded to the hospitals south and west by adams express company. a letter of thanks from dr. bellows, representative of the sanitary commission, was, on this occasion, addressed to the police commissioners. in , also, officer mcwatters was a member of the little band of police officers that rescued and defended our building from the miscreants who attacked it during the july riots, and in that affray he was badly wounded. in he was one of the originators of the new york sanitary fair, and he served as one of its committees, with so much devotion and success that he won a letter of thanks from mrs. lane, the president of the fair, mrs. jessie benton fremont, and colonel le grand cannon. officer mcwatters, it should also be mentioned, is the originator of the police mutual aid society, a very useful institution, founded on the principle of fraternal benevolence. the society has served as a model for similar societies--of firemen, post-office clerks, and other bodies of men all over the country. a plan of practical benevolence has likewise been formed and matured by officer mcwatters in the masonic fraternity, and has won the commendation of some of the highest officials in that organization. these facts strongly attest the humane spirit, active intelligence, and earnest devotion to duty which have characterized officer mcwatters in a highly creditable career of practical benevolence. the ladies of the union relief society have no less justly than gracefully acknowledged the worth of his character and services, in making the gift we have recorded. every lover of this country, we may add, and every friend of mankind, will naturally wish the amplest success to all these workers in the good cause of charity." the bellevue hospital iniquity. charity, holy though the poets sing her, and beautiful the painters picture her lineaments, is, after all, a hag, if real; or only an ideal being, at best, if we are to judge her by her precious, favored children, the almoners she sometimes employs to dispense her bounties. in new york a great many vulgar wretches are, from time to time, officially connected with the charitable institutions under control of the city government. bellevue hospital was, in , the theatre of some of these base fellows' operations. these men were protected by the "citizens association," so called,--a self-constituted body of very respectable gentlemen, whose business it is to see that everything in the city is properly conducted; gentlemen of high moral tone, the hems of whose phylacteries (made of invisible or abstract "great moral worth," "solid character," "piety," "good standing in society," and visible and real amounts of greenbacks, all interwoven in some mysterious way, and which together constitute "dignity," we believe), are broad enough to out-pharisee those marvelous gentlemen in christ's time who made jerusalem such a genial place of residence, with their "long prayers." in july, , the citizens' association published, through the newspapers of the city, what they called the result of an investigation of the several institutions under the control of the commissioners of charities and corrections, in which they assured the public that these institutions were all properly and well conducted, and felicitated the said public that the said institutions were in charge of such high toned and efficient gentlemen as they named. but there was a man in new york, who, when he read the citizens' association's manifesto, thought it a most astonishing falsehood, either of the kind known as a lie, or of that kind which people tell sometimes when they are talking of things about which they know nothing; for his duties had called him to bellevue hospital on sundry occasions, and he had there witnessed, with his own eyes, sundry things which made his blood boil with indignation; and when he read the manifesto of the citizens' association, he determined to correct it. of what this man had seen at bellevue hospital, some faint conception may be formed from the following facts: there was scarcely a bed there, in any of the wards, which was free from vermin; patients who took most care of the beds, were always liable to get lousy in the water closets; only a single clean sheet a week was allowed, no matter how filthy a bed might become through the poor patient's weak misfortunes; the blankets were dirty; to keep the coverlets clean, for "whited-sepulchre" purposes, when visitors called, they were taken off nights; the cooking of the institution was done by a drunken, filthy cook, and was served to the patients on what had once been tin dishes, but had been so often polished "clean" that they had became rusty sheet-iron plates; the "orderlies," who were paid to attend to the sick, were tyrannical, and little or no attention was paid to the complaints of the sufferers. the only thing a poor sick man had to sit on was a stool, with a seat of about twelve inches by fourteen inches in size, without a back (and most of the sick had weak backs). the sick poor, picked up in the streets, for example, and carried there, had their outer garments taken off, and were put to bed without washing, with their under clothes on, and had no "change of raiment" till they died! the wards were cold in winter, and the poor were glad of even their filthy rags to keep them warm. generally the bed in which a poor fellow died remained as he left it, unchanged, for the comfort of the next occupant and corpse! but this is quite enough, we opine, for the reader's entire satisfaction. of course this "augean stable" needed cleansing, and the citizens' association needed enlightening, or reforming, whichever is the proper term in the case, and that man to whom we have alluded knew how to do it. the tribune and evening post, when informed of the true state of affairs, cheerfully gave space in their columns for the facts, and appealed to the citizens' association to revise their work of voluntary report-making. we have before us a copy of the evening post of date september , , containing a long editorial article on "bellevue hospital," mostly made up of a letter (which was written by a poor, disabled soldier, then "confined" in bellevue hospital), setting forth some of the luxuries, conveniences, the neatness, etc., enjoyed at bellevue hospital. (it appears that the only decent thing connected with the hospital then, was the medical care which was pronounced excellent.) the article alluded to, called on the citizens' association "which, by a recent publication, has made itself in some sort responsible for the good management of the city charities," to "investigate" the matter (out of courtesy it ought to have said, "_re_-investigate," but it didn't). the secretary of the citizens' association visited one of the editors of a city paper, and stated that bellevue hospital was the only institution under the commissioners of charities and corrections which he had _not_ personally visited! and after two weeks' delay, the citizens' association sent a committee of investigation to the hospital, and found everything all right, of course, and drew up a report, which, however, was never published; for when they presented the same for publication, the wary editors required that the report, if it were to appear in their columns, should be followed by affidavits of proper parties, showing that the iniquities complained of existed at bellevue hospital when the complaints were made. the result was, that reforms so much needed at bellevue hospital were made there; for which hosts of patients have since been grateful. it is said that the authorities of the hospital offered a hundred dollars reward for the person who wrote, or instigated the writing, of the various letters to the press, exposing the state of things there, and which wrought the reform. but they were not successful at the time in discovering their enemy, and the poor patients' friend; for the bringing to light, and subjecting of these outrages at bellevue hospital to public condemnation, was one of officer mcwatters' many silent good samaritan deeds, and he did not intend to have them or the public know who wrought it. besides, the officials were powerful, and might do him great harm, in their indignation at his exposure of their wickedness, and it would not have been wise in him to act too openly. but time enough has passed now, we presume, to calm their animosity; and having possessed ourselves of the facts without officer mcwatters' knowledge, we think it proper that the credit due him in this matter be acknowledged here. conclusion. in these meagre biographical notes we have done but partial justice to officer mcwatters. our readers were duly assured that no attempt would be made by us to write a fitting biography of the man; and we have only, in a hasty way, and in a manner wholly unsatisfactory to ourselves, alluded to certain incidents in our subject's life, which serve to stamp him as a man far above the average of even good souls, in his active, practical benevolence. but it is often in little things that the generous soul demonstrates itself most eloquently--in the usually unremarked, quiet acts of a man; and, in our judgment, a letter from officer mcwatters, which, in our search of the public journals for most of the material of these notes, we found in the evening mail of october , , bespeaks for him as much respect from the good and charitably inclined as anything he ever did. we judge from the opening sentence of the letter, that some "good enough" fellow, "s. w. h. c.," soft of heart, perhaps, but limited in judgment, had found fault, through the columns of the mail, with the poor organ-grinders' "plying their vocation" on the public streets. of course there was nobody in all the great metropolis to come to their defence, except some man like officer mcwatters. and so he came, it seems, seasonably. the letter shows not only the tender, generous spirit of the man, but his ripe good judgment and comprehensive view of things as well, and is worthy of preservation here in these pages, along with the masterly efforts of his pen, which, in "knots untied," have not only given us,--his present readers,--the liveliest gratification by the mysteries they unfold in a lucid style, but have made one of the best possible records of certain phases of now current life, for the information of the future historian. the old romans (as well as other peoples) had their secret police service; and how interesting it would be to us, in these far off centuries, to read of their deeds in the empire, or during the kingdom of rome. history, for the most part, is made up of the deeds of great conquerors, etc. we know too little of the domestic and "hidden life" of the past. but the future historian of these times will have all the _materiel_ his ambition can desire for weaving the thread of his story. and what a _resumé_ of crimes and outrages of all kinds will that of the th century be for the historian of the th century to make! the letter to which we refer above, regarding the organ-grinders, will be found appended hereto, together with some other matters of interest regarding officer mcwatters, which we have collected in our examination of the public journals. we place them in connection with these biographical notes, as in some respects presenting our subject in a more graphic manner than we are able in this hurried writing, to make him known to the great reading public of his adopted country. the concluding paragraph of the letter referred to regarding the organ-grinders, as will be seen by reference to it, is, "until the country has reached out her helping hand to all to whom she owes assistance as a right, it is in bad taste to find fault with the mode in which the disabled soldier tries to earn a living for his family." in these words, so just and wise, is embraced more than the casual reader will be apt to perceive. they are, in our opinion, very remarkable, and involve a great principle, one which officer mcwatters, as a student of social science, as we have remarked him, must clearly understand. "to all to whom she owes assistance as a right," are words eloquent with the great truth of social statesmanship which they suggest; which is, that a country, a government, should recognize the right of its subjects (or component parts, to speak more decently, for there is a hateful sound in that word "subjects") to life; and the great moral duty of all these parts to assist each other; a duty which is clear and imperative in the nature of things (but we cannot here go into the subtleties of the matter, and show why); a duty, however, which can never be fitly performed till some nation or people are so organized, politically and socially, that each shall receive all he merits therein; till the labor forces, the creators, the only really worthy, are honored and protected; and not, as now, when the chief villains and the worthless tyrants live upon the fat of the land, enjoy all the honors, and are shielded by the laws in robbing from and exploiting upon the poor, the laboring classes. healthful and buoyant of spirit, officer mcwatters doubtless has many years of active life yet to enjoy. the record of his past is abundant assurance that his future will be just, generous, brave in good deeds, sternly and patiently laborious, and benevolent to all mankind; and when he ceases to be, when the organized atoms which make what we call the man, and are discriminated by us from all other organized atoms as "mcwatters," shall have been resolved into their original conditions, and his individuality is lost forever in the ceaseless processes of continuing creation, his good deeds shall live on still, and make for him a place in the reverence of those who honor good works far above that of most men; above that of all the talkers, the self-elected teachers, who heed not their own doctrines, however noble these be. one such man as officer mcwatters is worth more than an army of self-proclaimed saints, who do nothing but prattle about virtue, and preach, to use their own figure of speech, but live not out in their lives, nor exemplify in their deaths, "christ and him crucified;" but who think more of christ _on_ the cross, in the "triumph of faith," than of the nobler christ-come-down-from-the-cross, and still battling, with untiring spirit, against the wrongs which men do to one another. with this hasty sketch, and the appendices which we may see fit to make (as before indicated), we leave officer george s. mcwatters,--the kind of heart, the merciful, the dutiful, the intelligent and honest man; the patriot of the true type; the practical and great philanthropist,--in the hands of our readers, trusting that some able biographer will yet write his history, in a style and with a particularity commensurate with officer mcwatters' nobility of character and multifold great good works in the cause of humanity. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the organ-grinders. a word in their behalf--letter from officer mcwatters (referred to in the biographical notes)--a sad story--why the asylums cannot be homes for all the disabled. to the editor of the evening mail: the communication signed "s. w. h. c.," in your issue of the th, breathes a good spirit towards our sick and disabled soldiers, but evidently was not written understandingly. by far the greater number of the street organ-grinders, clad in soldiers' garb, have been true and honest soldiers, but being husbands and fathers, they cannot take advantage of the asylums. the article on this subject was in all respects correct. until the nation furnishes homes for this class of our disabled soldiers,--homes which will not necessitate their parting from their little families, dearer to them by far than their own personal comfort,--we must look for such street exhibitions as we see, and which are not disgraceful to the soldier, whatever they may be to his country. that some of these are impostors, i do not doubt; but it is the duty of the police to satisfy themselves who are and who are not, and to treat them accordingly. on the other hand, there are no more deserving objects of charity in the world than some of these are. in evidence of the reluctance which those who have family ties feel in entering any of the asylums, i now narrate you an incident. some six months ago i found a poor fellow in this city who had lost his health in the army, in which he had served four years. he had just been sent out of hospital incurable--a consumptive. he had a wife and four children, the eldest a boy of twelve, a cripple, and three little girls. some one of the customary blunders at washington had hitherto delayed his pension. the sole income of the family, when i called, was what the mother earned by scrubbing. the father had evidently not long to live, and poverty was hastening him to the grave. when i called, and saw how things were, i advised him to go to the home, to which i would find means to send him. he said he would consult his wife. he did so, and then said that he had resolved to go; that he was only eating the bread his poor wife earned, and which his little ones needed. i took the necessary steps, and received from general butler the coupons for his transportation. by this time i had had several interviews with his family; and seeing how much misery the threatened separation was likely to entail,--for they were deeply attached--father, mother, and children--to each other,--i resolved to try and prevent it. to this end i consulted mrs. j. a. kennedy, president of the ladies' union relief association, who, having heard the pitiable case, consented to extend the aid of the institution to the family, that they might stay together as long as the father lived. freighted with this news, i went to the miserable home. they were waiting for me; had been sitting, weeping in company for hours, expecting the separation. i cannot describe to you the joy that filled that poor home when i told them that the father was not to go. their joy was more touching than even the preceding grief. had "s. w. h. c." been with me then, or had he seen so many of just such cases as i have seen, he would be much slower in coming to judgment of the poor organ-grinder. for it is this love of wife and children, which we honor, or ought to honor, which sends the married soldier on the street to beg in this way, rather than take life easy, and "fight his battles o'er and o'er again" in an asylum. the soldier above referred to is still alive, thanks to the assistance given him by general butler and the good ladies of the association. the asylums, as they are at present ordered, cannot meet cases like these; but they merit help, and should have it in some fashion. the ladies' union relief association does much to keep a great number off the street who would otherwise present much more disagreeable pictures than the organ-grinders to the eyes of your sensitive correspondent; but their means are limited. they cannot reach all who need. until the country has reached out her helping hand to all to whom she owes assistance as a right, it is in bad taste to find fault with the mode in which the disabled soldier tries to earn a living for his family. mcwatters. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ten dollars a month: a story of grief and joy. it is a painful comment upon the state of society, or the character of our civilization, that our most cherished literature, both of poetry and prose, has its origin in human woes and wrongs. "man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." dickens, with all his wealth of genius, so much prized, would have found no use for it in a decent world, unless, perchance, it might have shone as brightly upon the face of joy, as it beamed pathetically upon the tortured visage of misery. hood, in his immortal "song of the shirt," and the "bridge of sighs," and in many other of his verse; tennyson, in the best of his poems; mrs. browning, with her vast power of thought and feeling, to say nothing of many other great writers of the past and present; our own blessed poet whittier, etc., have given us their noblest works with pens dipped in human tears, or sharpened by human sufferings. so, too, of the great good deeds of the other philanthropists--the howards, the nightingales, the mcwatterses. they could only have had their origin in the wrongs which man does to his fellow-man; in the outrages which the tyrant classes do to the weaker; in the riot of wars for governmental supremacy; in the sufferings of the outraged, trampled into the dust by the powerful robbers of society in their mad greed for wealth, or cheated by pious and talented hypocrites out of their moral as well as physical rights. society should be so ordered, as it might readily be, that all the pathetic literature now so much cherished, would be obnoxious to us, as belonging to a state of things which once existed, but which all were anxious to forget; when only the songs of joy should find birth, and when the basilar principles of christianity should be practically recognized, and everywhere expressed in our institutions, or organic social life. but this we cannot hope for till superstition shall be done away with, the "money-changers" driven from the porches of our "temples;" the poor and ignorant made aware of their rights, and earnest in claiming them; and the tyrant classes come to learn the falsity of their chief "motto," namely, that 'tis "better to rule in hell than serve in heaven." we had thought to give in the foregoing biographical notes some touching instances of the experiences of the good women of the "ladies' union relief association" and officer mcwatters, in their noble work of succoring the needy, and binding up the wounds of the suffering. we have before us, furnished by the kindness of a friend, a partial record of the association's deeds (never intended for publication), freighted with notes of bitter sorrows which they have assuaged, and which, written out, would fill pathetic volumes; but we have no space for them here. one, however, so enchains our interest that we cannot forbid ourselves to recite it here, as an exemplary instance, which, if multiplied in his mind by hundreds and thousands, will give the reader something like an adequate understanding of the vast work of kind and tender ministrations which these philanthropists have done, and are constantly doing. officer mcwatters had two or three times visited a poor, sick, emaciated veteran soldier, by the name of patrick o'brien. of course patrick could earn nothing for his own support, and depended wholly upon what little his good wife (a comparatively young and fragile woman) could earn by washing and scrubbing, and which she shared with him and their three young children. mcwatters was greatly moved by the condition of this family. he saw that the wife could not much longer sustain the burden she was bravely attempting to bear, and finally advised that, as the best thing to be done, the veteran should be sent, at the expense of the ladies' union relief association, to the soldiers' home at dayton, ohio. this was consented to by the soldier and his suffering wife, but not without great reluctance. the sympathy of sorrows is tenderly cohesive and sensitive. after leaving with the family some money for their aid, and fixing upon a time, two or three days thereafter, to call with a carriage, and take the soldier to the cars, officer mcwatters bade good day to the family. they expected him to come for the veteran in the night, for the poor man preferred travelling then, as he got no sleep in the night season. officer mcwatters was so greatly impressed by the innate pride, high spirit, and profound love of the soldier for his family, so deeply reciprocated by them, that he could not bear to see that poor household separated, and at once interested himself to get an allowance for the soldier from the association, and thus enable him to stay with his family; and he succeeded in procuring ten dollars a month for him, assurance of which he received by letter, just at the time appointed for taking the soldier from his poor home to the cars. he went to bear the good news to the family. it was so late when he got to their miserable little room (for one room, one bed, served them all), that they had retired, thinking that he would not come that night. he rapped, and announced his name, and the poor wife arose from the bed, and admitted him. the poor children awakened before he could announce the good news, and supposing that he had come to take away their father, rushed off from their couch, and sobbing and weeping, implored him not to take their father off, the violence of their and their mother's grief preventing officer mcwatters explaining his present errand for the space of a full minute or two. the poor soldier, moved by his family's grief, had risen from that one bed, and added his prayer to the rest, for something else possible to be done than the sending of him away. [illustration: ten dollars a month!] at last officer mcwatters succeeded in quelling the passionate storm of wailing and grief for an instant, which he seized to tell them his errand in. it is not probable that pen or pencil could ever do faintest justice to the picture of the gleeful, tearful gratitude which that family exhibited in their sudden revulsion from broken-hearted grief to wild joy, as mcwatters finished reading the letter he had received assuring the monthly allowance. "ten dollars a month!" a pitiable sum, yet it brought joy to that whole household at that dead hour of night, in the city of mingled sorrows, and vanities, and debaucheries, when hundreds and thousands of the pampered sons and daughters of luxury (worthless members of society) were wasting each more than ten dollars an hour in worse than useless ways,--in riot and "ribald revelry." the poor man remained with his family nearly two years; when he died, and was buried by the association. upon his death his grateful widow wrote to the ladies a letter (a copy of which was taken from the archives of the association without their special knowledge, it must be confessed, but by "no robbery" after all), and which we think most worthy a place here, in honor of the good ladies whose charities it acknowledges. "new york, may , . "_to the ladies union relief association_: "ladies: it is my painful duty to inform you of the death of my husband, patrick o'brien. allow me to express the deep sense of gratitude that i and my children feel towards your association for the assistance you have generously extended to us during the last two years of his illness. the value of that assistance has been enhanced by the manner of its bestowal. mr. mcwatters, the kind dispenser of your bounty, has smoothed to the grave the pilgrimage of a proud spirit; but for the many delicate assurances he gave my husband that your generous assistance was not charity, but the poor soldier's rightful due, the last years of his life would have been embittered by a sad sense of destitution and dependence. "my husband served the republic for nearly four years, during which service he was maimed in its defence, and died at last of disease contracted in the service. he could not have borne the thought that he and his little ones were subsisting on the cold charity of the world, and thanks to the delicate tact with which your aid was bestowed his mind was smoothed, and his last days on earth made peaceable. "please accept the sincere gratitude and blessings of a soldier's widow and three children. mary o'brien." this scene of the poor family, with their single bed, and as they stood in their night-clothes before officer mcwatters, as, choked with mingled feelings of sympathy and a sense of the joy he was about to give them, he read, with tears, the welcome news, ought to be put upon canvas, and hung upon the walls of all the haunts of sin, the gold-room of the exchange, the brokers' offices, bankers', princely merchants' ware-rooms, sectarian churches, and the other meeting-places of pride and robbery throughout the city, and underneath it should be written, "a chapter of our civilization in the th century." s. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ mack and the veteran. a touching tale--the poetry and pathos of bare feet. the following, taken from the new york dispatch of october , , is not only to the point as illustrating the noble traits of officer mcwatters' character, but is too well told not to be preserved here. we think best to make no substitution of "mcwatters" in the place of the familiar _sobriquet_ by which the genial writer was pleased to designate him. in one of the big public institutions set apart for a branch of the municipal government of this big, overgrown city of ours, there is one, among the many departments of this, that, and the other thing, presided over by our friend mr. mack. mr. mack is a gentleman, who, though old in years, is not old in infirmity, and he walks about with a vim and spirit that might be profitably imitated by many listless young men of the period. besides devoting his time and talents to his official position, he takes an active interest in everything of a philanthropic nature. we are ignorant of the number of societies which have these objects to attain, of which mr. mack is a member; but in all of them he is among the most active. among the charitable societies, is one composed of ladies, who attend the wants of disabled soldiers, their widows and orphans. the ladies have selected our friend mr. mack as their almoner, and his office is visited every day by scores of poor people. on a late visit to the good man, we found a poor veteran just approaching his desk. "mr. mack, sir," said the man. "that's my name sir. take a seat." the man stepped forward briskly, but with a limp. he was sixty years of age, with gray hair, shabbily attired, lame in the leg and arm, and, as it afterwards appeared, one half of his right foot gone; a wreck of the human form divine, but with much manliness left about him. "what is your business, friend?" "that's it, sir; and i'll thank you if you can do it," he replied cheerily, as he handed a letter. "you want to go to new london?" said mr. mack, after reading the missive. "that's it, sir; my darter lives there. i've walked all the way from philadelphia, and my legs have kinder give out. one of them ain't of much account anyway, but i've got to make the best of it." _mr. mack._ "were you a soldier? you know my business is principally with soldiers, although i should be glad to assist you if it is in my power." _veteran._ "well, i guess so, sir. i got knocked up in this kind of shape doing service for uncle sam." he raised his arm with difficulty, and pointed to his leg. _mr. mack._ "have you your discharge papers?" _veteran._ "i'm sorry to say that i haven't got them with me. i had them framed, and after the old woman died (tearfully), i sent them to mollie for safe-keeping. but they're honorable, sir--they are, indeed." _mr. mack._ "i might give you a letter that would insure you an entrance to the soldiers' home. would you like to go there?" _veteran._ "o, dear! no, sir; although it may be a good enough sort of a place. i've got a home with my darter mollie, who is well married, and settled in the place that i am making for; and i know that she will never go back on the old man, for she used to think too much of me, and be too delighted to see me when i came home from a long voyage in happier days. o, no, sir! (brushing the tears from his eyes with his coat sleeve), mollie will make room for me." during the colloquy, mr. mack was busily engaged in writing a note, and after finishing it, went into an adjoining room to obtain a necessary signature. he returned without getting it, and was obliged to delay the veteran until the official, whose name to the letter was wanted, came in. _mr. mack._ "you will have to wait a little while until i can get this note signed." _veteran._ "all right, sir; never mind me--i'm used to waiting. i learned that some time ago, when i waited through the long watch at sea, till my turn came to climb into my bunk, and when i was on post in the army, till the relief guard came around; and when i've been away from home,--in times past, you know, i had a home of my own once, sir,--i've waited for the day to roll around when i would see my wife and mollie (who was a little bit of a thing then) again. and all i'm waiting for now is the time when my shattered old hulk shall be laid aside as used-up timber; and all i hope for, when that time comes, is, that my darter mollie may be alongside, and i shan't mind it much." _mr. mack._ "are you a native of connecticut?" _veteran._ "no, sir; i'm a baltimorean. i was born opposite the old independent engine-house, in gay street, and my father and mother before me were born in the city, too, for that matter." _mr. mack._ "a great many from your state fought in the southern army." _veteran._ "that's so, sir; they did. but how do you think it was possible for me to do so, after having followed the old stars and stripes through the mexican war, and having sailed under its protection for going on thirty years? o, no, sir! i had too much love for it. why, sir, every port i ever entered respected that flag. they couldn't help it; besides, they knew they had to!" (drawing himself up proudly.) _mr. mack._ "did you enlist in a maryland regiment?" _veteran._ "no, sir. i'll tell you all about it. you see when the massachusetts regiments passed through baltimore, the brig that i sailed on had just returned from a voyage to rio, and we were unloading in smith's dock, near centre market. the soldiers had disembarked from the cars at the philadelphia depot, and were marching along pratt street, towards the washington station, when the attack was made on them. as i looked from the deck of the brig i saw the old flag pushing and dodging along the street, with a shower of stones and bricks flying around it, and i heard the sound of pistol-shots and the hissing and hooting of the mob. i happened to turn around, and i saw the same colors proudly flapping in the wind from the mast head, and i tell you it was too much for me--i couldn't stand it. i went to the captain, almost choking, and i told him i wanted an order for my pay; i was going home. i was the second mate of the brig; and the captain was a little wrathy at the idea, for he wanted me to stay and help him superintend the unloading of that part of the cargo that was to be left on the dock, before dropping down to fell's point the next day. i told him i must leave; and as he had no further hold on me, he had to give me the order. the owners were surprised, too; but after some talk they paid me, and i went home to the old woman. she said, 'you look excited; what's the matter with you?' 'well,' said i, 'i am going to enlist in the union army, and try and help to pay these fellows that fired on the american colors in pratt street to-day, back in their own coin.' 'that's right,' said she; 'i wish they'd let me carry a gun, and i'd go with you.' and i wished for once in my life that mollie was a boy; for i might have made a drummer out of her, anyway, for she was too small for anything else. well, you know;--but i hope i'm not tiring you with my long yarn, sir?" _mr. mack._ "no; go on with it." _veteran._ "they were not raising any regiments in maryland; and i fell in with a hoosier, who was going home to madison to enlist, and i promised him ten dollars if he would get me past the surgeons. i'm sixty-six years old; and you know i was too old for them, because they were more particular in the early part of the war than they were later. well, when we got to madison, to make matters sure, i went and got my hair dyed; and as luck would have it, the recruiting officers were a little drunk, and i passed without any difficulty, though one of them asked me how old i was, and i told them a lie, god forgive me, that i was thirty-nine years old! i went into the army of the cumberland, and at chickamauga a shell burst near me, and i was knocked up in the way you see." _mr. mack._ "you have served with general howard?" [illustration: mcwatters and the veteran.] _veteran._ "yes, sir; and a good, noble-hearted man he was, too, sir. there was no airs about him. he was just like one of the boys,-- moving around among the men in a blue army blouse and the regulation cap, with a kind word for everybody; and when there was a battle, wherever there was the most danger you were sure to find him." mr. mack stepped out, and returned with the letter, which he handed to the old veteran, with some money, which he took with some hesitation, saying, that all he wanted was to get a passage to new london, and mollie would attend to his wants. "when i get there," said he, "mollie will find me some clothes to wear, for these are getting rather soiled; and i'm kind of ashamed to be seen in them, for i've been used to wearing a little better." mr. mack told him that he only gave him the money to buy some food on the way, and keep him strong enough to look for his mollie when he arrived at his destination. "that's so, sir," said he; "i ain't got as much as will buy me a good supper. when i left philadelphia, i didn't have enough to pay my passage, and i have made many a longer march. i didn't think it was much to walk a hundred miles, so, sooner than beg my passage, i thought i'd walk it. my lame leg made it rather harder than i expected, and i made slow work of it. i soon spent what money i had for meals, and i was obliged to part with a bull's-eye watch, that cost me twelve dollars a good many years ago. it was pretty old, and i only got a dollar and a half for it. bull's-eye watches ain't worth as much as they used to be. i sold my old pocket-book, too; but as it didn't have anything in it, it was no good to me. i got my breakfast this morning, and have a small balance in my pocket, off of my spectacles, that i sold to an old fellow that they suited exactly; and i tell you i missed them this morning when i tried to read a newspaper with an account of the war in europe. i think that war is going to do our people some good. they'll want some of our corn and wheat, and i tell you the crops did look amazing fine in the country that i passed through. i'm getting interested in the way things are going on on the other side of the water, and i think i'll buy a pair of specs with some of this money you gave me, and read to-day's news about it." "do you know," said mr. mack, "that you are entitled to seventy-five dollars for the loss of your foot, under the law to supply soldiers with cork legs, when they have sustained the injury in the line of duty?" "well, sir," said he, "i didn't know it, but you can see whether i am entitled to it;" and he pulled off his boot, and showed the stump of his foot, with the same pride that we remember to have seen a general officer display the stump of his arm lost in action. the exposure showed that he was without socks, his foot being wrapped up in a handkerchief. while he was exhibiting his stump, we observed mr. mack pulling his shoes off, and we expected to see him display a wounded foot also, when he hastily pulled off his socks; but instead of so surprising us, he handed the socks, which he had evidently but just put on that day, to the veteran, and against that individual's earnest protestations, forced him to take them to wear. we are certain that the same angel who dropped a tear on the record of uncle toby's oath, will enter those socks to the credit side of mr. mack's account, at a large increase on their market value. shaking hands with the battered old veteran, and wishing him good speed on his journey to mollie, we left mr. mack in his office in a meditative mood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ lost in the streets. operations of the bureau for the recovery of lost persons, etc.--officer mcwatters in charge. during a considerable portion of his connection with the metropolitan police, officer mcwatters had charge of the department denominated "bureau for the recovery of lost persons;" a position which both his experience and active sympathies with sorrow peculiarly fitted him to fill. its duties were very onerous, as will be seen by the following article copied from the world newspaper of december , , and which cannot fail to greatly interest such of our readers as are not conversant with life and its mysteries in the great babylon of america. -------------- in a side room of the main hall of the central police headquarters, on the second story, in mulberry street, is a desk, at which sits an old rosy-cheeked, white-headed police officer, named mcwatters. officer mcwatters is famous in new york. he is a theatrical critic, and his opinions on music and the drama are greatly esteemed by artists; but, like most critics, he is a little dogmatic at times, perhaps. officer mcwatters is detailed by inspector george dilks to take charge of a department organized in november, , to supply a great want, and which is now in successful operation. this department is known as the "bureau for the recovery of lost persons." officer mcwatters was formerly in the city hall precinct, under captains thorne and brackett, and is very well acquainted with the city, so his services have been made available in his new bureau. missing men and women. the manner of investigation in regard to a missing relative or friend is as follows: as soon as a person disappears from home, the nearest relative, on learning of the missing person, goes to police headquarters and makes application to the "missing bureau" for information. the age, height, build; whiskers, if any; color of eyes, dress, hair; the place where last seen, the habits and disposition of the person, are given to the inspectors, and officer mcwatters makes proper entries on his register, which he keeps for that purpose, of all these facts. the personal description of the missing one is compared with the returns made by the morgue every twenty-four hours to the police inspectors. should the description answer to the person and clothing of any one found at the morgue, word is at once sent to the relatives of the joyful news. besides this, another very necessary precaution is taken to find the person or persons missing. cards are printed, five or six hundred in number, and sent to all the police offices on special duty in the different metropolitan precincts, with instructions to the captains to have his men make active and energetic search for the person. troubles about lost people. over seven hundred people have been reported as missing, to police headquarters during the past twelve months. of this number the majority have been found, it is believed, as no record can be kept of those who are not reported when found, by their relatives or friends, to headquarters. occasionally, a person who reports some one missing belonging to them, will give all the details about him, but if found, will fail to notify the authorities, from a sense of shame where domestic difficulties have occurred in families, or from laziness, or a sense of forgetfulness. thus all track is lost of those who have been found unknown to the police, and accurate statistics are baffled in the matter of inquiry. where and how people are lost. the manner in which missing men are advertised, is as follows: a card, of which the following are fair examples, is circulated among the police. "missing.--morton d. gifford, about twenty-five years of age, light hazel eyes, brown hair, full beard and mustache same color, five feet six and three quarters inches; has lost two first joints of the middle fingers of right hand. had on a light brown cloth suit bound with black, the vest cut without a collar, a black cloth overcoat made sack fashion, with black velvet buttons. was last seen on board the steamer city of norfolk, running between norfolk and crisfield, in connection with the crisfield, wilmington, and philadelphia railroad annameric line, on the d of february, . had with him a black leather satchel, containing a full suit of black clothes, hat, linen, &c. was a soldier in the union army, and has recently been in business in plymouth, north carolina. any person having any information regarding him will please communicate with inspector dilks, mulberry street, new york." "office of the superintendent of metropolitan police, } mulberry street, new york, january , . } "missing--since thursday evening last, mary agnes walsh, years of age, residing at - / elizabeth street, five feet high, medium size, slim built, dark complexion, dark-brown hair, dark eyes, had on a black alpaca dress, black plush coat (or cloak), black velvet hat. it is supposed she is wandering about the city in a temporary state of insanity, as she has just returned from the lunatic asylum, where she has been temporarily confined for the last three weeks. any information of the above to be sent to her brother, andrew walsh, - / elizabeth street, or to inspector dilks, mulberry street." "missing, since thursday, november , john f. mccormick. when last seen, he was on board the steamtug yankee, at the foot of charlton street; age years, eyes and hair dark brown, height five feet four inches, heavy eyebrows. he was dressed in a brown sack coat and brown vest, black pants, flat-crowned black hat. any person knowing his whereabouts, or having seen him since the above date, will please call at the residence of his uncle, robert mccormick, no. talman street, brooklyn, or to inspector dilks, police headquarters, mulberry street. november , ." "fifty dollars reward.--missing from bay street, stapleton, staten island, since wednesday, november , , willy hardgrove, a boy eight years of age, medium size, dark hair, dark, clear complexion, blue eyes; has a recent scar on his cheek, made by the scratch of a pin; dressed in a dark striped jacket and pants; the pants button on the jacket with light bone buttons; old, strong boots, no hat. he is rather an attractive boy, and very familiar with strangers. it is feared he has been abducted, from the fact of his musical abilities. he can sing, in a good tenor voice, any tune he may hear once played, but can't speak plain. the above reward will be paid by his father, terence m. hardgrove, stapleton, for such information as will lead to his recovery. information may be sent to inspector dilks, police headquarters, mulberry street." "missing.--annie hearn left her home on monday last. she is ten years of age, dark blue eyes, black hair cut short; has a slight scar on her left temple. was dressed in a dark alpaca frock, black woollen sontag with white border; black velvet hat, no trimming, high laced boots, striped stockings. any information relative to her will be gratefully received by richard burk, madison street, or inspector dilks, mulberry street." "left her home, at hyde park, scranton city, pa., on monday, june , sarah hannaghan, aged , tall for her age, short brown hair, light eyes, and fair complexion. had on a tan-colored dress, light cape, drab hat, trimmed with ribbon of the same color. had with her a dress with a yellow stripe, made short. information to be sent to inspector dilks, mulberry street, new york, or to james hannaghan, leonard street." "twenty-five dollars reward will be paid for information that will lead to the arrest or recovery of henrietta voss, aged years. she left secausus, hudson county, new jersey, tuesday, july , about a. m. she is tall, slim built, and a little stooped; brown hair, blue eyes, long, thin, pale face. dressed in a full suit of black. the gratitude of a father, who desires to save his daughter, will be added to the above reward. john voss." "twenty-five dollars reward.--missing, an insane man, named frederick liebrich, native of germany, speaks english, german, and french. supposed to lodge at night in the police station houses about the lower part of the city; is very stupid looking, and clothed in rags. was last seen in washington market, about the middle of last november. he is about years of age, eyes and hair black, large, regular features, and very dark complexion; about five feet ten inches high, stout built, straight and well made. the above reward will be paid for his recovery, or direct evidence of his death, by frederick kummich, washington street, brooklyn. information to be sent to inspector dilks, police headquarters, mulberry street." lost children. hundreds of "lost children" bear testimony to the carelessness of mothers and nurses, who are more intent on other business, when their charges stray off, to be found afterwards, in out-of-the-way places, by stray policemen. quite often a pedestrian will notice, on going along one of our side streets, a young child, its eyes bubbling over with tears, and red from irritation and inflammation, who has strayed from its parents' residence. sometimes it will have a stick of candy in its infantile fist, or else an apple, or a slice of bread, butter, and molasses, to console it in its wanderings. it is very seldom, however, that these children do not find their way back to their parents, unless that there is foul play, in such instances where a child may be kidnapped by people who are childless, or through their agency, for the purpose of adoption in barren families. the practice of baby-farming has not as yet attained, in america, the height that it has reached in england, and therefore the lives of children are not yet so endangered as they are across the water. it is calculated that at least one thousand children are missing every year in this city, but they are nearly all returned before the close of the day on which they are first missed. the dens of midnight. if the thousand and one noisome crannies, nooks, and dens of this great city could be exposed to view, day after day, the body of many a missing man and woman might be found festering and rotting, or their bones bleaching, for want of decent burial. where do the bodies come from that are fished up, bloated and disfigured, night after night, by the water police, in haunts of the docks, and from the slimes of the hudson? it is fearful to think of men, influenced by liquor, who, with their gold watches, pocket-books, and other valuables, exposed in the most foolish manner, are to be seen, night after night, in the dens and hells of this great, sinful city. many of these men are from far-off country villages and happy homes, and when thrown into our streets at night, under the flare of the gas lamps, and among crowds of showily dressed women, whose feet are ever downward into the abyss, it becomes almost impossible for them to resist the thousand and one meretricious temptations that are placed before them. the horror of a breaking dawn. instances may be related of how men disappear, and are never heard of to be recognized. a well-to-do person from ohio, who had never visited new york before, pays a visit to this city, and stopping at a down-town hotel, sallies out in the evening in search of what he has been taught, by his limited course of reading to call "adventures." he believes, in his ohio simplicity, that he will meet with a beautiful and rich young lady in new york, who, struck with his rural graces and charms, will at once accept his hand and farm. well, he takes a look at the "black crook," or "white fawn," or "genevieve de brabant," and, returning late to his down-town hotel, is struck by the beauty and grace of a female form that glides before him on his way thither. pretty soon she makes a signal to him that cannot be mistaken, and our ohio friend, rather astonished at the freedom of the aristocratic and well-bred ladies of the metropolis, but nothing loath, hastens to her side, and accompanies her to her richly voluptuous mansion in bleecker, green, mercer, or crosby streets. in the watches of the night he awakens to find the aristocratic lady fastened on his throat, and a male friend of hers, with a villanous countenance, poising a knife for a plunge in his neck. the work is done quickly; a barrel well packed, or a furniture chest, placed in a carriage at night, can be taken up the hudson river road, and there dropped in the river, and after a day or so the head of another dead man will be found eddying and floating around the rolling piers near the battery, his face a pulp, and no longer recognizable. the sun shines down on the plashing waters, but the eyes are sightless, and never another sun can dim their brilliancy or splendor. it is only another missing man, without watch, pocket-book, or money on his person. misery, shame, and death. another missing instance. a beautiful girl, born in a village on the sound, where the waters of that inland sea beat, and play around the sandy pebbles of a land-locked inlet, is reared in innocence and virtue, until she reaches her seventeenth year. she is as lovely as the dawn, has had no excitement--but the sunday prayer-meeting, and her life, peaceful and happy, has never been tainted by the novelty of desire. at seventeen she visits new york for the first eventful time in her life. she is dazzled with its theatres, its balls, its central park; the broadway confuses and intoxicates her, but opera has divine charms for her musical ear, and she is escorted, night after night, by a man with a pleasing face and a ready tongue. she is yet white as the unstained snow. one night they take a midnight sleigh ride on the road, and stop at a fashionable-looking restaurant in harlem lane. she is persuaded to take a glass of champagne, and finally to drink an entire bottle of champagne. that night the world is torn from under her feet. she has tasted of the apples of death. she returns to her peaceful home, by the silken waves of the sound, a dishonored woman. to hide her shame, she returns to new york; but her destroyer has gone--she knows not whither. then the struggle begins for existence and bread. she is a seamstress, a dry-goods clerk, but her shame finds her out when an infant is born to her unnamed. one night, hungry, and torn with the struggle of a lost hope, she rushes into the streets and seeks the river. on a lone pier she seeks refuge from her "lost life." the night-watchman, anxious about the cotton and rosin confided to his charge, does not hear the cry of "mother" from a despairing girl, or the plunge into the gloomy, silent river below. she is not found for days after, and then her once fair face is knawed threadbare with the incisors of crabs, and the once white neck, rounded as a pillar of glory, is a mere greenish mass of festering corruption. she is not recognized, and thus fills the page devoted to missing people. finis. then there are the cases of girls who disappear from their homes outside of new york, and descend into her brothels, where they find rich raiment, rich food, a merry and unceasing round of gayety, champagne and lovers, which they could never hope for where they came from. these girls leave home very often through sensuality or laziness,--for girls are lazy as well as boys,--and when missing, are generally found in brothels, which, as a general thing, they will not leave for their parents. then there are husbands and wives who quarrel foolishly, and separate to vex each other, and are missing for years, to finally be forced into other illegal ties. and there is a case of a young man, twenty, married and rich, who leaves his wife; is gone for twelve months, and is found in new orleans, when he tells those who find him that he has been very sick, and was forced to leave his happy home. there is also, as it is well known, a great number of infamous houses in this city where abortion is openly practised, and where whole hecatombs of innocent children are slaughtered, to hide the shame of their guilty mothers. how many wealthy and refined girls are to be found in these slaughter-houses, concealed there to hide the evidences of their indiscretion, by their parents or relatives, whose social position would be lost did the consequences of such indiscretion show themselves? the mothers are left to die in agony, again and again; and there is no coroner's inquest or public burial; for are there not scores of obliging physicians to hush the matter up? and then, again, our private lunatic asylums. how many men and women are spirited away to those tombs of living men, where remonstrance or clamor is useless unless the public press tracks the injury, as in the case of a well-known naval officer, who was most unjustly confined, as the investigation proved, and was only released by the agitation made by the world newspaper. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ among the "sharks." adventures of a fall river wanderer--his valuable experience in new york--the bond operator. a part of officer mcwatters' duty, when connected with the railroad and steamboat squad, was to advise and protect strangers in the city. he, of course, encountered many a curious country chap, making his _debut_ in the great metropolis. one of the most comical, if not the most valuable things officer mcwatters could possibly do for the delectation of readers in general, would be to write out his multifold experiences with strangers in the city, and put the whole into book form, entitled, for example, "afloat in the sea of iniquity, waifs gathered there." the following is taken from the new york mercury of some years ago. officer mcwatters, whose urbanity and politeness is proverbial, was accosted yesterday forenoon, by a young man who had just stepped off of the fall river boat, who inquired of him to know the way to the park. "what park?" politely queried the officer. "o, i don't know,--any park where i can sit down a while, and see something of new york!" "better take a stage and go to union park. everything clean, quiet, and orderly." the officer assisted the young man into the stage, which soon sat him down in union park. the park never looked lovelier. children and drums, nurses and baby-wagons, small boys and fire-crackers, lovely maidens with books of poesy, the water-basin and the flowing fountain, the green trees and the luxuriant shade, all were but parts of a perfect whole, which mr. jasper gray, the young man in question, enjoyed hugely. mr. gray is a native of that enterprising village known as fall river, and he had come to new york to see the sights. the senior gray had warned him to look out for the "sharks;" and with a promise that he would do so, and about one hundred and sixty dollars in his pocket, the young man left his home, to sojourn several weeks in and about the metropolis. mr. gray's idea of "sharks" was, that of some huge braggadocio, who would fiercely assault him late at night, demand his money or his life, or assume some other equally disagreeable mode of placing him in a dilemma. he had no idea that under the bright sun of midday, and in the grateful shade of the trees of a public square, the shark was looking and watching for a victim; but so it was. as he cast his eye towards the fountain, his gaze rested upon a little child playing on the greensward, now rolling on the grass, and again approaching dangerously near the water's edge. once thinking that the child might fall in, he sprang from his seat, and caught the little fellow by the arm, and delivered him into the hands of his nurse. a few moments after this occurrence an elegantly-dressed young lady came up to the seat upon which he was sitting, and begged leave to thank him for having so kindly cared for her little brother, whom, she declared, he had saved from falling into the water. "nurse has gone home with the darling, now; but i could not feel to leave you without expressing my gratitude for your kindness," said the lady, whose eyes shone with brilliancy through the thin gauze veil, filling mr. jasper gray with the most undefinable feelings. he replied awkwardly to her many complimentary expressions, but finally became animated, and began, as all slightly verdant people are apt to do, to speak of himself, his connections, the town he came from, how he came to leave, what his father told him, how much money he had, and a hundred other equally as interesting matters. the lady was interested. she grew animated as mr. jasper gray proceeded; and as he alluded to the one hundred and sixty dollars with which he had been provided on leaving home, her interest seemed to have reached its height. she declared he must accompany her home to see pa and ma, and receive their thanks for having saved little charlie's life. really, this was too much; but the young lady insisted, and mr. gray at length yielded to her solicitations, happy in the thought that he had not only escaped the "sharks," but had fallen into the most pleasant of experiences with the most respectable of people. the mansion into which our hero was inveigled was one of the first class. the furniture was of rosewood and brocatelle, and the lace curtains swept the floor with their magnificent dimensions. elaborately carved chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, costly mirrors and valuable paintings decorated the walls, and marble-top tables and a splendid piano lent their attractions to the room. bouquets of choice flowers shed a rich fragrance about the place, giving it an air of elegance and enchantment. here mr. gray spent the afternoon. an elderly-looking personage played mother, and thanked him a thousand times for saving charlie. pa would soon be home, and he would be equally grateful. cake and wine were served. the youth was in a perfect sea of delights. the wine raised his spirits, and evil thoughts entered his heart. he cast longing and loving glances upon the fair florine of the mansion, and the elderly matron adroitly withdrew. more wine was served, and the young man was in a fit condition to sing with burns, "inspiring bold john barleycorn," so bravely did the ruddy fluid lift him up. what followed must be left to the imagination of the reader. suffice it to say, that the fall river wanderer, when in the full flush of the paradise of which the wine had led him to believe he was the sole master, was suddenly confronted by an enraged father, who desired simply to know who he was before he killed him on the spot, and by a sobbing mother, who declared he had betrayed the confidence she had reposed in him; and last, but not the least important, the beautiful being, whose dishevelled hair and disarranged toilet told a woful story, standing before him, a mute upbraider of his crime. such a combination of revenge, despair, and injured innocence, as the trio presented, very nearly, but not effectually, sobered mr. gray, and left him in a peculiarly muddled condition, in which, with true yankee simplicity, he felt for his pocket-book, as the most available and only method of settling the accumulated difficulties under which he found himself laboring. it is a credit to his instinct, that the production of the pocket-book aforesaid produced the desired result. the mother was compromised by the payment of one hundred dollars, and mr. gray was allowed to depart. he of course sought for his new-made friend, officer mcwatters, for consolation and advice in his emergency, and seventy dollars of the amount was recovered last evening, and mr. gray was admonished to expect the "sharks" in any and every possible garb, from the rollicking gutter-man of the five points to the extensively got-up denizens of the fifth avenue or the astor. but we ought, perhaps, to add here an incident of mr. gray's experience among the "sharks" of another kind than that alluded to in the foregoing portion of his history. not willing to trust himself further alone in the city, and wishing to make his visit to new york as profitable as possible to himself in the sight-seeing way, he begged officer mcwatters to permit him to go around with him on his business tours. the complacent mcwatters, who was never known to deny any one anything proper to be asked, and which he could give, permitted the bore to accompany him for a day or two. among the early sights thereafter seen by the young man, was one, which frightened him so thoroughly, that the wonder is his hair did not turn white on the spot. he declared, after he recovered his self-possession, that he "wouldn't be hired to live a week in new york for all old vanderbilt's pile." [illustration: the bond operator.] officer mcwatters had occasion to cross wall street, on a hasty errand of business down into beaver street, accompanied by his _attaché_, mr. gray, when they came suddenly into the midst of a great excitement. a dandily-dressed, rakish-looking young man was just breaking out of a crowd, and running with hands full of papers and a bag. officer mcwatters instantly "twigged" the nature of the trouble, and put chase after the fellow, unceremoniously leaving mr. gray in the midst of the turbulent and excited crowd. the fleeing young scamp, who had just snatched a package of united states bonds and a money bag from an old messenger of some house, who was on his way to make a deposit, was a little too fleet for officer mcwatters, and gained on him a little; but, turning a corner, was fortunately impeded in his flight by another policeman, who chanced to have his pistol about him, and brought it to bear on him. the bold "bond operator" (as such villains, who were quite plenty in those days, were called) thought discretion the better part of valor, surrendered, and got his dues, we believe, at last. mr. gray was in fearful plight over losing officer mcwatters, and it was some time before he found him again, meanwhile getting jostled about among the large and fierce crowd of excited wall streeters, whom the interesting occasion hurriedly brought together. he quite lost heart for sight-seeing in that adventure, and was, at last, only too glad to "get out of the infernal city," and went home a wiser man, we presume, than when he first landed in the city from the fall river boat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a smart young man. an after-dinner colloquy--and its result. from one of the public journals we clipped the accompanying spicy article; we have lost our notes, and have forgotten from which, or we should duly credit it to the proper source. we discover that we have "pencilled" it " ," and presume that it first appeared in that year. our readers will pardon its somewhat "swelling" style in sundry places, but it exemplifies officer mcwatters' quick and acute perceptions, and his character as a detective, and we therefore give it place. young man of large appetite and small conscience.--the necessity of eating is a strong one; the demands of appetite are peculiarly and pertinaciously potent. there are many fleshy-looking young men in new york whose appetital demands are largely ahead of their pecuniary resources, the latter being of a limited nature, like their consciences. our leading hotel diners are appreciatively affected by these unconscionably-stomached and conscienceless individuals; and it requires all the devices of the proprietors, and ingenious watching of sharp-sighted detectives, to guard against their stealthful appropriation of dinners. in the multiplicity of guests daily arriving at first-class hotels, and multiplied disguises assumed by the unpaying diners, it is easy to conceive that the labor of watchfulness is no light one, and the guarantee of detectives by no means sure. there is no keener man in the police department to scent out a rogue than officer mcwatters. he can tell a rascal by a sort of instinct. a stranger to him is like a piece of coin in the hand of the skilful medallist, who tells the spurious from the genuine by the feeling--by a glance even. officer mcwatters measures a man at a glance. he sees the latent roguery peering out of the corner of the eyes, lurking in the smile, hiding itself in the cultivated mustache and careful whiskers, strongly and unconsciously developing even in the gorgeous watch-chain, flashy vest, showy cravat, elaborately-checked pants, and brilliantly shining patents, or, _vice versa_, suit of puritanical plainness. his penetrative optics permeated, yesterday afternoon, the disguise of that most notable and audacious of non-paying hotel diners, jack vinton. jack had taken dinner at the metropolitan hotel. his brassy impudence had enabled him to pass muster, as a guest of the hotel, the cerberus at the dining-room door. not to betray a dangerous haste in leaving, he sank back leisurely into a soft-cushioned chair in the gentlemen's parlor, and read a newspaper for a while. he was going out of the hall door, when officer mcwatters spotted him. "are you stopping at this hotel?" asked the officer (who, by the way, was in citizen's dress), in that tone of politeness, for which he is remarkable. "i am, sir." "how long have you been stopping here?" "ever since i came here." "is your name registered?" "registered? i never heard of such a name. mine begins with an initial letter of higher alphabetical rank." "you misunderstand me. is your name on the hotel books?" "the bookkeeper is the proper informant." "have you a suit of rooms here?" "am suited perfectly--all the rooms i want." "what is the number of your room?" "a no. --first-class, sir. first-class hotel has first-class rooms, you see, sir. this is a first-class hotel--the _ergo_ as to the rooms is conclusive." "you are evasive." "only logical, sir!" "you took dinner just now up stairs?" "ask your pardon. i took no dinner up stairs. i went up with an empty stomach. an excruciating stomachical void. 'nature abhors a vacuum,' says philosophy; and, to borrow the apothegmatic utterance of that philosopher, dan brown, 'dat's what's de matter.'" "i must be plain, i see. you are jack vinton, and are up to your old tricks. you have come here, eaten a tip-top dinner, and were coolly walking away, with no thought of paying for it." jack saw he was in for it. he offered to pay for his dinner, and attempted by bribery to effect what he had hoped to effect by colossal cheekiness of action and tongue; but his antecedental history was self-crushing, like the mad ambition of the great cæsar. he was conveyed to the second district police court, and committed to answer this and other graver offences of swindling, of which he is supposed to be guilty. jack is only twenty-three years old, and is a master-swindler. of good family, he has been well educated, and to fine looks adds the manners of a polished gentleman; while in artistic culture and familiarity with the classics, scientific studies and polite and poetical literature, he has few equals of his years. his dashing form is often seen on broadway--the envied of his own sex and the admired of the opposite sex. his career betrays a wonderful and perverse mingling of the finest intellectual endowments and culture with the meanest and most pitiable traits of low and dishonest natures. he is a sort of lord bacon, on a vastly reduced scale of brilliancy. as philosophy delves the mysterious problem, she finds only "darkness to shadow round about it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a suspected california murderer. -------------- arrested--charged with killing four men; a german, for his money, and two sheriffs and a driver, who were conveying him to prison. the following article is taken from the new york dispatch ( ), and serves to illustrate the sagacity of officer mcwatters in "picking out his man" in a crowd. a young man named velge, lately from california, was arrested at the pier of the ocean mail steamship company by officers mcwatters and hartz, of the steamboat squad, and taken to police headquarters, where he has been since detained, till the matter can undergo examination before a magistrate. the report, as obtained from an officer at the central office, is substantially as follows:-- about eighteen months since, a german, residing in sacramento, was murdered under circumstances of extraordinary brutality. he was mild and inoffensive, said no extenuation appeared to exist for the atrocious crime. he had saved some money, which the assassin had taken, but the amount was hardly sufficient to induce an ordinary bravo to attempt his life, or otherwise disturb him. the suspected murderer was known to the police. extraordinary measures were adopted to bring him to justice. his likeness was obtained somehow, and photographs of it were multiplied and distributed all over california and oregon. after some time, intelligence was received at sacramento that the suspected murderer was at carson city. there was a resemblance, certainly. the sheriff of sacramento and a deputy repaired thither, and arrested him. a conveyance was obtained, and the legal formularies having all been attended to, the officers set out for sacramento. the journey was tedious, as may well be expected. the party finally neared sacramento. already the officers began to dream of home and rest from their fatiguing journey. the driver was in an equally listless mood. velge, the prisoner, was not slow to perceive their half-somnolent condition, and take advantage of the circumstances. quietly but adroitly taking hold of the revolver which one of the officers was carrying in one pocket, he cocked it so as not to arouse attention, and a moment after sent a bullet through the brain of the unfortunate sheriff. the other sprang to his feet, just in time to receive the contents of another barrel in his body. he fell from the vehicle, while the assassin hastened to despatch the driver. having thoroughly completed the work of death he fled. the excitement produced by this triple murder was terrible. rewards were offered, and the state was thoroughly searched for the felon. but it was of no avail. among the passengers on the north star was a young man of singular mien, whose appearance attracted comment. one of the passengers had a portrait of the murderer of the sheriffs, and found it to agree remarkably with that of the strange passenger. he made no effort to call attention to the matter, but took the opportunity, as soon as he came on shore, to place the authorities in possession of the facts. the first man whom he observed was the busy mcwatters, of the steamboat squad, who was making himself ubiquitous and useful in the way of superintending the landing of baggage, protecting passengers from runners and pickpockets, and enabling them to come and go as best suited their convenience. approaching the indomitable mcwatters, rev. mr. peck addressed him. _peck._--"are you an officer?" _mcwatters._--"yes, sir; i hold that position, and am proud of it." _peck._--"i have an important matter to call your attention to. please examine this likeness." _mcwatters._--"i see it. i would know that face in a thousand. i could pick it out in a crowd." _peck._--"he is a passenger on the north star, and i think is guilty of murder." calling his comrade to his help, mcwatters carefully noted each passenger as he was leaving the steamer. as velge came up, mac recognized and arrested him. he was thunderstruck at the occurrence, and protested his innocence. the officers conveyed him to the central office, and laid the case before the superintendent. the prisoner showed that he was an old resident of this city, though only twenty years old. several of his relatives were at headquarters yesterday pleading his innocence. the clergyman who had caused his arrest made his statement to the superintendent, who finally decided to retain the young man in custody till he could be brought before a magistrate. there was certainly a striking resemblance between the portrait and the countenance of the prisoner. if the suspicions now entertained should prove to be well founded, this is another instance of the perpetration of crime followed by its speedy detection. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ extensive counterfeiting. seizure of fifty thousand dollars in spurious postal currency--arrest of the counterfeiter--his confession. in the new york times of november , , we find an article with the above caption, and which we copy as below. the arrest therein spoken of created much sensation at the time, as well it might. officer mcwatters acted in the matter, not only as an ordinary member of the police force, but in the capacity of a detective, and won great credit by his sagacity. "an important arrest was effected in brooklyn last tuesday, the particulars of which have been suppressed up to the present time. the treasury department at washington have long been aware that the business of counterfeiting greenbacks and postal currency has been carried on to an alarming extent at different points throughout the country, but their endeavors to arrest the guilty parties have, with a few exceptions, been attended with failure, or only partial success. one exceedingly skilful engraver of bogus postal currency has been especially marked as the most dangerous operator, inasmuch as his execution was so perfect as frequently to deceive even the government officials; and the boldness of the counterfeiter was almost as great as his skill. the man in question is an english engraver, by the name of charles j. roberts. the best government detectives have been on his track for six months, without succeeding in finding him, until last tuesday, when his arrest was effected in brooklyn, by messrs. r. r. lowell and a. j. otto, detectives in the service of the treasury department, with the assistance of officer mcwatters, of the twenty-sixth metropolitan precinct. "the operations of roberts have been mainly confined to philadelphia, in the suburbs of which city his "money mill" was situated. the last counterfeit pieces which he made, and which, in an indirect manner, led to his arrest, were copies of the latest issue of fifty cent postal currency. they are of steel, and the impression from them is so beautiful and perfect, as to be entirely undistinguishable from that of the genuine plates. upon this counterfeit the criminal artist had exerted his skill with the most elaborate patience and precision, intending to make it, in every sense, a _perfect_ resemblance, which would even escape the suspicion of the government detectives. "but though an engraver, roberts was not a printer. his plate was perfection, but unaided, or assisted only by mediocre printers, he could not produce an impression equally perfect. he therefore left philadelphia a short time ago to seek the services of a brooklyn printer, whom he understood to have been in the counterfeiting business, and who was well known to be a mechanic of extraordinary skill. unluckily for the english operator, this printer was in the service of the government detectives, who were, therefore, promptly informed of the whereabouts of the game for which they had so long been in pursuit. "messrs. lowell and otto, mcwatters and others, accordingly surprised roberts in his brooklyn retreat, on tuesday morning last, at - . the counterfeiter made a desperate resistance, swearing that he would die sooner than be taken; but the detectives were too many for him. he was knocked down, disarmed, and speedily lodged in the raymond street jail. "the arrest was kept a profound secret, to allow the detectives time to effect the seizure of the plates and counterfeit money already manufactured in philadelphia, which they were unable to do prior to the arrest. they also knew of twenty thousand dollars in the fraudulent currency, which the manufacturer had brought with him to brooklyn, and which they hoped to procure. after lodging their prisoner in confinement, they immediately set out for philadelphia, found the mill, and seized its contents, comprising the plates, tools, presses, fifty thousand dollars' worth of the fraudulent currency, all in fifty cent postage stamps. some of it was in an unfinished state, but the detectives declare that the completed issues would have deceived them instantly; that they would never have doubted their genuineness. but they were outwitted by the prisoner, so far as the counterfeits in brooklyn were concerned. during the absence of his captors, roberts managed to have the following letter conveyed to his mistress and confederate:-- "'brooklyn, november --, . "'mary: please go at once, when you receive this, and tell louisa to come and see me at once. _tell her to clean things away._ i am at raymond street jail. please go some roundabout way, and take care nobody follows you. tell louisa to keep cool. i am all right. do this right away, please, to-night, and oblige, "'yours, charles j. roberts. "'mrs. lloyd, corner north first street and third street, brooklyn, e. d.' "this note was conveyed to the above address by the brother of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge, whence it reached 'louisa,' who, of course, 'cleaned things away,' much to the disappointment of the detectives, when they called for the purpose of making the seizure. the guilty brother of the sheriff has fled, and has thus far effected his escape. "the detectives are now in pursuit of a confederate of roberts, and they are quite confident of soon capturing him. since his incarceration roberts has confessed everything. he says that the plate which has been seized was intended for his final and greatest effort. if the detectives had only held off for another week he would have made one hundred thousand dollars, and been in europe enjoying it. we understand that roberts's new counterfeits, to the extent of twenty thousand dollars, are already afloat. "overton, the counterfeiter of twenty-five cent stamps, who was arrested some time ago, pleaded guilty on friday last. roberts will also probably be speedily convicted, and, as he is not so fortunate as to have 'a wife and nine children,' there is no likelihood of his receiving the hasty pardon which was recently granted to antonio rosa, a similar criminal." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ knots untied the gambler's wax finger. -------------- charles legate--a forger--studying him up--fifty thousand dollars, his "prize"--description of legate--no two persons ever agree in describing another--a mark hit upon--start for st. louis--musings--curious incidents of my journey--a genealogical "dodge"--on legate's track at last--st. louis reached--of my stay there--leave for new orleans per steamer--a genial crowd of men and women on board--characteristics of a mississippi "voyage"--napoleon, arkansas--some "characters" come on board there--a gambling scene on board--one jacobs takes a part--a private conference with jacob's negro servant--a terrific fight on board among the gamblers--jacobs set upon, and makes a brave defence--how i discovered "jacobs" to be probably legate, in the melee--he is badly bruised--his life despaired of--we arrive in new orleans--jacobs' identification as legate--legate proves to be very rich--a curious visit to an italian artist's studio--a novel medicine administered to signore cancemi, the sick artist--he gets well at once. early in my detective life, when i was more ready than now to accept business which might lead me far from home, i was commissioned by a new york mercantile house to go to st. louis first, and "anywhere else thereafter on the two continents" (as the senior member of the house _fervently_ defined my latitude) where my thread might lead, to work up a subtle case of forgery to the amount of about fifty thousand dollars, out of which the house had been defrauded by one charles legate, a canadian by birth, but combining in himself all the craft of an italian, with the address of the politest frenchman, and the bold perseverance and self-complacency of a london "speculator." the task before me was a difficult one, and at that time more than now i craved "desperate jobs," entering into them with an enthusiasm proportioned to the trials and dangers they involved. after a thorough study in every particular of the correspondence between legate and the house, which covered a long period of time, and in which was disclosed to me, as i thought, a pretty clear understanding of the man in all his various moods and systems of fraudulent pursuit, and having gathered from the members of the house every particular in regard to the personal appearance of legate, of which they could possess me, i started on my mission. the house had been unable for some time to get any word from legate, or any tidings of his recent whereabouts from others; so we felt certain that i should not find him at st. louis, the point from which they had last heard from him, and where they had evidence he had for some weeks resided; so i was even unusually particular in my inquiries of the firm as to legate's mode of dress, the peculiarities of his manner, and all possible personal indices. legate was one of those men whom it is difficult to describe, being of medium height, having black eyes and black hair, a nose neither large nor small, mouth of medium size, teeth the same, nothing peculiar about his cast, and his complexion sometimes quite light, at others "reddish." there's nothing more difficult to determine by inquiry from others than a man's complexion, no two persons seeing it alike. he dressed neither gaudily nor carelessly, and though my informants all agreed that he was a man of consummate address, yet none of them could by imitation give me any definite representation of his manner. almost in despair of learning anything at all definite about his personnel, which might enable me to identify legate, i finally said, "gentlemen, almost everybody is in some way deformed or ill-formed--nose a little to one side--one foot larger than the other, leading to a habit of standing on it more firmly than on the other--one shoulder higher than the other--an arm a little out of shape--hand stiff--fingers gone, or something of the sort." "see here," exclaimed mr. harris, a junior member of the firm, interrupting me, and resting his face pensively for a half minute on his hand, the elbow of which was pressed upon the table at which we sat. "ah, yes; i have it. you've hit the nail on the head. i remember noticing once, when legate dined with me at delmonico's, that the end, or about half, of his little finger of the left hand was gone. he doesn't show it much. i remember i looked a second time before i fully assured myself that what i first thought i discovered was so. he is as adroit about concealing that, as he is in his general proceedings." i felt great relief to learn so much, and bidding my employers good day, found myself, as speedily as i well could, on the way to st. louis, taking my course up the river, and on viâ the new york central railroad. i suppose that it is the fact with every business man when travelling in the pursuit of his occupation, either as a merchant going to the big cities to buy goods, the speculator hunting out a good investment somewhere in real estate,--no matter what the business,--to be more or less occupied in thought regarding it. but no man has half or a tenth part so much occasion for constant weariness about his business as has the detective officer, whether he be in pursuit of an escaped villain, working up a civil case, searching for testimony in a given cause, or what not; for however deep his theories, or well laid his plans, some accident or incident, apparently trifling in itself, may occur to give him in a moment more light than he might otherwise obtain in a month's searching and study--a fact which is ever uppermost in my mind when in the pursuit of my calling, and i endeavor to turn everything possible to account. it so happened, that when along about syracuse on the cars, i overheard some men, who were evidently enjoying each other's society greatly in the narration of stories and experiences, saying something about "home" and st. louis; and i fancied they were, as proved to be the case, residents of that city; and i became consequently quite interested in them, hoping that something would occur on their way to allow me, without obtrusion, to make their acquaintance; for they were both men who apparently know "what is going on around them," and very possibly might know legate, or something about him, which might serve me. indeed, i half fancied that one of them might be legate himself; for he would answer the description given me of that person as well as anybody i should be apt to find in a day's travel; and i was more than half confirmed in my suspicions, as you can readily surmise, when i discovered that the traveller was lacking the little finger, or nearly all of it, on the left hand! of course, thus aroused, i became very watchful, and devised various plans of getting into the acquaintance of the gentlemen as soon as might be. but the cars rolled on and on, and no chance occurred to place myself in their immediate presence, although i walked up and down the aisle of the cars, occasionally lingering by this or that seat, and passing a word with the occupants; but somehow i could not get at the men in question in this or any other like way; but i kept myself as much as possible within hearing of their ludicrous, comical, or exciting stories, over which, at times, they laughed immoderately. eventually, as the cars were starting on from a station at which we stopped for a moment, there came on board a fine, brusque, jolly, but courtly-looking man, of that class who bear about them the unmistakable evidences of good breeding, frankness, and honor, and whose associates are never less than respectable people, and who, as he brushed down the aisle of the car in search of a seat, accosted the man upon whom in particular i had my eye,-- "ah, mr. hendricks! i am very glad to meet you," extending his hand and giving him a cordial grasp and "shake" which assured me that the man hendricks was a very different character from the mr. legate in search of whom i was making my journey; and so my "air castles," founded upon suspicion, came to the ground. i know not why, but i really felt a relief to find that it was not legate, after all, notwithstanding it would have been a happy circumstance for me, had mr. hendricks really been he. but i listened still to the st. lousians' story-telling, which grew more and more loud as we moved on, in consequence, i suppose, of their occasional attention to a little flask of wine which each gentleman carried; but they did not become boisterous. mr. hendricks was narrating to his friend,--whose name by this time i had discovered to be phelps,--what was evidently an intensely interesting story to the latter, when he, striking his hand very heavily upon his leg, exclaimed, "that legate was one of the most accomplished villains--no softer word will do--that i ever heard of." "ah, ha!" i thought to myself, "now i am in the right company to get a clew to the fellow. but stop; he said "was," not _is_. i wonder if legate is dead: perhaps he is; and i became quite fearful that he might be, and so my mission prove entirely fruitless. but i could see no chance to break in upon their conversation, here, or make their acquaintance. "_that_ legate," too, might also be another than the charles legate, whom i was seeking. what shall i do? and i pondered over the matter. finally i made the bold resolution to interrupt the gentlemen at the first half-favorable opportunity, my seat being one back of theirs, on the other side of the car, and so near that i might do so quite readily. while talking of this man legate, their conversation was, in the main, more subdued, and as if half confidential, than upon other topics, which made it the more difficult for me to interpolate a query, for i had by this time resolved upon my plan. presently i heard mr. hendricks say, "the last i heard of him, he'd gone to mexico." i fancied this must relate to legate, and began to think that my journey might indeed extend "over the two continents," according to my conditional orders on starting. presently i heard the name legate, and as messrs. hendricks and phelps were at this time in the height of their jolly humor, i fancied they wouldn't mind the obtrusion. i stepped from my seat to theirs, and said, "gentlemen, you'll pardon me, but i am somewhat interested in the genealogy of the legate family both at the west and east; and just hearing you speak the name legate, it occurred to me that perhaps i could get a new name to add to my list. is it a gentleman of the western branch of whom you were speaking?" "o, no, sir," replied mr. hendricks; "the man we were speaking of doesn't belong to the united states at all. he was (and is, if alive) a canadian, who lived for a while at st. louis. are you a legate, sir, or a relative of the family? allow me to ask." "no, sir; simply a general genealogist. you know all men have their weaknesses: genealogical studies are among mine." "i asked," said he, "because, if your name was legate, you might have been offended, if i had told you that the legate we were talking about wouldn't add any grace to your family list." "ah, ha! then i infer that he might have been at least a man of bad habits--perhaps a dishonest one." "well, the public opinion in st. louis is, that this man legate wasn't very honest, however good his general habits may have been." "i am sorry," said i, "that any member of the legate family anywhere should bring disgrace upon the name; but we can't always help these things--a pretty good family generally throughout the country, i find. permit me to ask, what was this legate's first name? perhaps i have heard of him before." "charles," said mr. hendricks; "or familiarly, among his old acquaintances, 'charley black eyes legate,' to distinguish him from a blue-eyed gentleman by the same name. his french friends, too,--there are a great many french-speaking people in st. louis,--called him 'charley _noir_' (black--short for black eyes.)" having learned so much, i was not anxious to press my inquiries, at that time, beyond simply asking if he was still residing in st. louis, and was assured that he had departed--nobody knew to what point--nine months before. i managed, before we arrived in st. louis, to make the further acquaintance of these gentlemen, without letting them at all into my business; indeed, so cordial had they become as to insist on calling on me the next day after my arrival at the planter's hotel, and giving me a long ride about the city. during the ride i referred to legate, and learned from them that he was a swindler and a gambler; that for a while he moved in the best society in st. louis, and was thought a "pink of a man," possessing good manners, and being an unusually interesting colloquist and story-teller. he was considerable of a "romancer among the ladies," said hendricks. "better say necromancer; that would be nearer the truth," suggested mr. phelps. "o," said i, "a man given, in short, to wine, women, and cards, you mean?" "yes, exactly; but a man might be all that, and not be a legate," responded hendricks. "the fact is, sir, this legate is a most unscrupulous villain--a man who would hesitate at nothing. if i am rightly informed, he made a murderous assault in new orleans once upon an old friend who happened to cross him in some way. it was in that encounter, phelps, that he lost his finger, i've heard." i could no longer have any doubt that i was on the right track, and i felt that there could be no danger in confiding my special business in st. louis to these men, who might be able to give me great assistance, possibly. so i told them that i was hunting this same charles legate, of the frauds he had perpetrated upon the new york house, and that i wished to find him within a given time in order to secure a certain amount of property in canada, which, after a certain period, would be so disposed of as to be of no avail to my employers, and that i was willing to give any reasonable amount for information which might enable me to reach him. my friends told me that they thought my case an almost hopeless one, that legate's sagacity could outwit the very d----l, and that he was the most uncertain man to "track" in the world; but they would do all in their power to find out who were his principal associates, during the last of his stay in st. louis, the time, as near as might be determined, when he left, and what course he took. they had heard that he had gone to mexico; but that was probably only a "blinder." i staid in st. louis five days, prosecuting my inquiries; but all i could learn of any import was, that the last which was known of legate in st. louis, he was constantly with a certain pack of gamblers, of rather a desperate order, and that, with his quick temper, it was possible that he had got into a fight (as some had suspected), and been made way with--possibly thrown into the mississippi. this was not decidedly encouraging, and i was on the point of writing back to my employers that it was useless to search for legate longer at that time; that they would have to trust to some future accident to reveal him, if still alive, indeed. but having another affair on hand at the same time, which necessarily called me to new orleans before returning to new york, i thought better of the matter, and merely wrote to my new york friends, that having gotten all possible clew to legate in st. louis, i should take boat next day for new orleans, from which point they would hear from me duly. the next afternoon i took the steamer "continental," after having made all arrangements with my new friends in st. louis to apprise me if ever legate "turned up" in that city; and down the mighty mississippi the proud boat bore me and a large number of the most cheerful, genial, and hearty men and women i ever travelled with. there's a certain frankness and generosity about the western and southern people which captivated me, when i first went among them, at once; but though i had often been in the west, i had never encountered a finer class of travellers than departed with me that day from st. louis, on board the well-tried steamer continental. nothing special, save the usual jollity, mirth, good living, copious drinking, and lively card-playing, which characterized a "voyage down the mississippi," especially in those days, occurred, and being not over well, i kept my berth considerably--until our arrival at napoleon, arkansas, where we stopped to "wood up" and take on passengers, accessions of whom we had had all along our course, at every stopping-place. at napoleon quite a concourse came on, mainly of not well-to-do people, mostly migrating to texas in order to better their worldly condition, as they thought. poor fellows! i fear many of them found themselves doomed to disappointment. but to my story. among the on-comers at napoleon were three men of marked individualities. they came aboard separately. one of them was quite large and comely, neatly dressed, in the style then prevailing at the north; nothing about him but certain provincialisms of speech to indicate that he might not be a northern man. the other two wore long hair, and beards, and slouched hats, and had the air of well-to-do planters of middle age. one of them was accompanied by a negro, the most obsequious of all his race, and who, whenever ordered by his master to do anything, always took great care to indicate his willingness to obey by saying, very obsequiously, "yes, massa colonel," or "yes, massa jacobs;" by which fact i of course learned what the negro supposed, at least, his master's name to be, but there was something about this man's appearance which excited my suspicion, at first, that he might not be a planter, after all. it was near nightfall when we departed from napoleon and it was not long after the cabin was lighted up that the usual card-playing was resumed; and these three men crowded, with others, round the tables, to look on at first, and of course to take part when occasion might offer. jacobs was particularly observant of the games as they proceeded. although i saw that he had peculiar talents for the gaming-table, i wondered why he lingered so long before taking a hand. but he was biding his time. the bar, of course, was pretty well patronized, and the finest looking of the three men in question grew apparently more and more mellow. the stakes at this time were not large, but the players were waxing more and more earnest, when this man--assuming to be slightly intoxicated--exclaimed, "gentlemen, i say, i say--do you hear me?--that this fun is rather slow. is there anybody here that wants to play for something worth while? see here," said he, "strangers, please let me draw up my seat," pushing his chair up between those of two players; "see here; there's a cool two thousand, that i want to double or lose to-night," and poured from a red bag a heap of gold, over a portion of which he clapped his large hand. "i am in for it. is there anybody that wants to make this money?" "well, stranger," said jacobs, "when these players can give us room, i'm your man; that is, till my pile's gone. 'tain't so big as yours, and it ought to go for a new nigger down to orleans. i must have another hand; but your challenge is rather provoking, i must confess, and i don't care if i try you." the players, moved by that curiosity which such a proceeding between "strangers" would be apt to excite, politely made room for the combatants, and in their turn became lookers on. the large man played well, but he was (apparently) intoxicated, and now and then "bungled," giving the game into jacobs' hands at times. my curiosity about jacobs was, i know not really why, constantly increasing, and when the third of that trio had entered the lists with a partner, i managed to slip out down to the lower deck, where jacobs had ordered his servant, and fall into conversation with him. "are you mr. jacobs' nigger?" "yes, massa; i'se massa jacobs' body sarvant." "your master's a jolly fellow--isn't he? he's a planter, i suppose--has a great number of "hands"--hasn't he?" "no, massa jacobs don't plant. he's a banker, or a specumater, as they call um up there." "up where?" "little rock--we lives about five miles wess of little rock." "o, then he don't plant. what do those speculators do? i never heard of them before." "o, massa, you's quare--ain't you? you never knows about the specumaters? that's quare." "but tell me what they do;" and the darky, turning up the whites of his eyes in a most inimitable manner, and cocking his head to one side, while he put his big hands into the attitude of one about to shuffle cards, went through the motions of dealing off cards with a celerity that indicated that he, too, might be a "specumater," as he doubtless was, among the darkies, having taken lessons in his master's office. when he had finished this exhibition, he whirled about on his heel in true negro style, and with great glee shuffled a half dozen steps, and ended with an air of triumph, which indicated to me that he thought his master a great man. the slaves used, despite all they might suffer from a cruel master, to take great pride in him if he excelled in anything, or was a noted man. "your master's a great speculator, then? i reckon i had not better try him, eh?" "tell troof, massa, i reckon dare's nobody on dis heah boat that can beat massa;" and he looked very serious, and spoke low, as if kindly warning me. i had learned enough, and proceeded to the cabin, and watched the play. for a while jacobs played with the large "stranger," sometimes losing a little, sometimes winning more, and at last gave up the play, having won quite a sum. noting jacobs' success, and the "stranger," too, having ordered on sundry glasses of liquor during the play, and having become apparently more heedless, others anxiously sought his place. a party of four was made up, and the large "stranger" and the third one formed two as partners. jacobs posted himself where he could signal to the large "stranger," who, with his partner, went on now winning great successes. frequent charges of "cheating" were indulged in by the losers, and jacobs was appealed to to decide the points in issue, which he always did favorably for the large "stranger." but as the losses grew heavier, the suffering parties became incensed, and charged jacobs as coöperator with the large "stranger" and his partner; and finally some one on board declared that he knew jacobs and the large "stranger" to be chums; that they travelled together up and down the river, swindling everybody they could "rope in" to play. this, being whispered about at first, became finally talked aloud; and then commenced fearful criminations and recriminations among the parties. pistols and knives were freely brandished, and a grand melee seemed on the point of breaking out; and it did break at last, fearfully. all the while my eye was upon jacobs. i could not, for some reason, avert it. somehow he seemed to me to wonderfully resemble the description i had had of legate; but there was this difficulty in the way of my suspicions. jacobs wore upon the little finger of his left hand a large seal-ring, and there was unmistakably a full-formed finger, which articulated at the joints properly, and i must be mistaken. during the earlier part of the disturbance, which the officers of the boat tried in vain to quell, the big "stranger" had been the chief centre of abuse and attack; but suddenly some one exclaimed, "that black-muzzled wretch is worse than the big one," and the whole party of sufferers turned instantly upon him. jacobs was a brave fellow, and with cocked revolver in hand breasted the whole, and swore he would kill the first man who laid hands on him, standing then on one side of the cabin with his back to the door of a state-room. suddenly a passenger, who had retired for the night, opened the door behind him, and jacobs, being stiffly braced against it, "lurched" for an instant, when an agile, wiry fellow of the angry crowd suddenly jumped forward and grasped his revolver, turning its muzzle upwards, when off went the pistol--the first shot, which was a signal for a desperate conflict, in which jacobs struggled hard for the possession of his revolver, but was overpowered, and most severely beaten, so much so, that he had finally to be carried to his berth; and i followed the crowd that bore him there. he was speechless and nearly dead, i thought, and they laid him in his bunk. i noticed that the ring had gone from his finger, and with it, lo! the end of the finger also, leaving only the first joint and part of the second. i examined the stump, and saw that it was old. no further doubt rested on my mind that jacobs and legate were one and the same, and i immediately called the attention of the passengers to the loss of the ring and the finger, and caused search to be made for the same, which we found evidently unharmed, having somehow fallen into the state-room, the opening of the door of which first threw jacobs off from his balance. i took charge of the finger, which was made of hardened wax, as my trophy, and some one, i knew not who, took the ring. [illustration: the wax finger discovered.] the big "stranger," who was badly bruised too, was not so much wounded that he could not be about next day, but kept aloof from poor jacobs, probably because he had protested utter unacquaintance with him, and the next night, with the third "stranger," got off the boat, it was supposed, at the point where the boat stopped to wood, for the next day they were nowhere to be found on the boat; but poor jacobs was so severely handled that his life was despaired of by a doctor on board, and we took him along to new orleans. meanwhile i had made my suspicions and business known to the captain of the boat, and we took means for jacobs' detention on board after the rest of the passengers should leave. but, poor fellow! there was hardly need in his case for so much caution or prevision, for when we arrived in the city, jacobs could not have left the boat had he tried, so weak and sick was he. i left him on board, and hastened to the office of a friend of mine, once a detective in new york, and told him the story, asking his counsel how best to proceed. "why," said he, "this is a strange affair; but i think i can put you in the way at once of identifying this jacobs as the very legate whom you are after. indeed, rest assured that he _is_ your man, without doubt." going to his drawer, he produced and showed to me an advertisement of a year before, offering a reward of two thousand dollars for the arrest of one "charles legate, alias charles l. montford," giving a description of his person, but pointing especially to the fact that he was wanting a portion of the little finger of the left hand. "you see," said my friend, "that _we_ have an interest in the fellow as well as you. if he is our man, we are all 'hunky-dory,'" said he, "for he is very rich, as we have found out--know where his money is." "rich?" asked i. "why, then, does he continue to lead the life he does?" "why? why, indeed, such a question from an old detective like you astonishes me: it wouldn't, though, if a woman, or a fool, asked it," said he, giving me a curious wink. "don't you know yet that the mississippi is infested with old gamblers rich as jews, and who can't give up their pious trade to save their lives? come along." and he took me down st. louis street a ways, and stepped into a side street, and standing before a door a moment, said, "give me the finger, and follow me." we mounted a couple of flights of dirty stairs, and my friend opened a door into a sort of anatomical museum of old gypsum and wax casts, and all sorts of small sculptural devices. "mr. cancemi at home?" asked my friend of a weird-looking lad, whose hands were besmeared with the plaster he was working. "si signore," (yes, sir), was the reply; "but my fader is much sick, questo giorno" (to-day). "but i must see him a moment. won't you go ask him to come down?" the family, it seemed, occupied rooms in the loft above. the boy hurried off, and presently the father came down with him, almost too feeble to walk. "cancemi," said my friend, "you are sick; but i've brought you some medicine that will cheer you up at once." "ah, dio," exclaimed the old italian, "i vish it be so. i am much ammalato (sick). what have you brought?--tell quick." "see here!" said my friend; "did you ever see that before?" producing the finger. the old italian seemed a new man as his eyes dilated at the sight with wonder, and he went into raptures over the matter, the reason for which i could not understand, and in his broken english muttered a thousand exclamations of surprise and joy. of course he identified the finger as the one he had made for the "villain-scoundrel legate." legate, i found, had never paid the italian for his skillful handiwork, and he had been promised a portion of the reward, if my friend should succeed in earning it--hence his joy. we left the old italian soon, and proceeded to the boat, where we confronted jacobs, and made him acknowledge his identity with legate. my business was made known to him. he lay on the boat for two days, until her return trip, when we had him carefully taken to a private hospital, where he could, beyond possibility of escape, be confined, and awaited his slow recovery under the best medical and other attendance we could procure. i telegraphed to my parties in new york, one of whom came on directly, reaching new orleans within ten days from that time; and before two weeks had passed from the time of his arrival, we had settled matters with the now penitent, because caged, legate; and the new orleans parties who had offered the reward were now called in by my detective friend, and settled their affairs with him by accepting a mortgage he held for twenty-five thousand dollars on a sugar plantation in the opelousas country, paying the reward to my friend, and losing nothing in the result. only for the advertisement in the new orleans paper, probably legate would never have thought to procure a false finger; but for which i should never have been able to satisfy myself that jacobs, in his bruised and battered state, was the identical legate, and might have left him without further investigation on the boat. the old italian recovered his health speedily in his joy over legate's capture, and was not forgotten by my friend, who, by the way, but for this old artist, would of course have never known of legate's attempt at disguising the only peculiar mark about him, and would not, therefore, have been so sure of his identity when i told him my story. "straws show which way the wind blows," and "fingers," though they be inanimate and waxen, may "point," you see, unmistakably to a villain. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ lottery ticket, no. . -------------- a dignified real-estate holder, very wealthy, loses seven thousand two hundred and fifty-five dollars--our first council at the howard house--visit to his house to examine his safe and servants--a lottery ticket, no. , found in the safe--how came this mysterious paper there?--conclusions thereon--visit to baltimore, and plans laid in conjunction with the lottery agent to catch the thief--the ticket "draws"--the new york agency "managed"--trap to identify the thief--the security and "solitude" of a great city--a new york banker--mr. latimer visits a gambling-house in disguise.--identifies the suspected young man--the agent at baltimore waxes gleeful--his plan of operations overruled--meeting of "interested parties" at the office in baltimore--a little game played upon the new york agent--mr. worden, the thief, identifies the ticket, and falls into the trap of a pre-arranged "draft"--discloses some of the identical money stolen--we arrest him--exciting scramble--the money recovered--worden's after life. "your name is ----, i believe, sir?" asked a tall, gray-haired gentleman of me one evening, as i was stepping out of the carleton house, a hotel then on the corner of broadway and leonard street. "yes, that's my name," offering my hand to receive the already extended hand of the gentleman. "i have sought you," said he, "at the suggestion of my friend and lawyer, james t. brady; who tells me that you are able, if anybody is, to help me in my loss." "you've had a loss? well, sir, you wish to tell me about it. shall we go in here, or where shall we go to talk it over." "can we not walk up broadway, and i tell you during our walk?" "probably that would not be the best way," i replied, "for it is doubtless as a detective that you need me, and we might meet somebody who knows me as such, and who might be the very last person whom i should like to have see us together," i replied. "you are right, sir," said he, smiling. "your caution shows me that you understand your business; but it is too late to go far up town to my house.--i have it. i'll call at the howard house, take a private room, and you follow, in half an hour, say, and finding this name on the register with my room, come up. here's my card. come directly to the room, and say nothing." "that's a good plan, sir. i will be there;" and he left, and i, having finished my business at the carleton, wandered slowly up broadway to kill time, wondering what such a stately, dignified, cool-headed sort of a looking man as he--a real estate holder to large amount, a man whom everybody knew by reputation as one of the most quiet in the city--could have for me to do. i suspected forgery, arson, or some attempt at it, and a dozen other things. but i drove them all out of mind in a few minutes, for it is never well for a detective to indulge in anticipations in such a juncture of affairs; and meeting just then an old friend, beguiled a few minutes with him along broadway, and finally taking out my watch, saw i had only ample time to get to the howard at the time appointed, and so "suddenly recollected" an appointment, excused myself to my friend, sought the howard and the gentleman there, whom i readily found in waiting for me. "you are here on the moment," said he, as he closed and locked the door on my entry. "take this seat, if you please, and i'll try to be short with my story." "go on, sir," said i; "but please don't be in too much haste. i have plenty of time; but tell me all your story as you would, and probably did, to mr. brady." "well, sir, day before yesterday morning i missed from my safe, at my house, seven thousand two hundred and fifty-five dollars, which i placed there the night before, having received most of it that day, at an hour too late to make deposit of it in bank;" and here he paused. "well, sir," said i, "who took it? that's the question, i presume, which you wish to solve." "yes, that, of course, is the point; but i can't fix my suspicions upon anybody." "you say that most of this money was received after banking hours. suppose you tell me next where and of whom you received it, and in what amounts, for i infer that you did not receive it in a lump." "no; i collected it partly from rentals due, and some came to me from the country,--notes due,--and some from the sale of a cargo of pressed hay over at jersey city, and i did not get around in time to put it in bank, such as i had, before closing hours," looking at memoranda. "well, i am glad you have memoranda of the amounts. now tell me where you received these, each one;" and he went on to tell me, in detail, where, and who was near by, if anybody, in each case where a tenant or other debtor paid him money. i listened intently, and could get at nothing worthy of note till he came to the hay transaction at jersey city. it appeared that there were several persons standing about at the time of the payment of the money to my client (call him latimer, for further convenience), mostly working-men, some dealers, loafers, and two or three well-dressed, but rather dashily-dressed, young men. mr. latimer had been obliged to take out considerable money from his own purse, in order the better to arrange it to put in the amount then received; and feeling that he had quite an amount of money, even at that time, and he added some before he reached home, put his purse in his inner vest pocket, thinking of nothing worse than possibly encountering pickpockets, or losing his money by accident on the way. in his vest pocket he thought it secure, and secure it was to take home, but not secure for keeping. the result of our conference was that evening, that i should be obliged to go with mr. latimer to his home the next morning, when he would call at my office for me. i could not go that night, and perhaps it was as well; for i had a business appointment which led me, not an hour after parting with mr. latimer, into certain haunts where i fancied,--it was mere imagination, if it were not instinctive perception, in which i do not much believe, although many mysterious things have occurred in my life which seemed to be governed or directed by some subtle law, which the human brain is not yet strong enough to discover,--where i fancied, i say, that i saw some of the money which mr. latimer had lost, displayed, and distributed in dissipation. in short, i imagined that i had stumbled upon the thief, and had i known the character of the bills, which mr. latimer, however, could not tell me much about, i might have seized my man then and there. but the next morning i visited mr. latimer's house in an up-town street, which was not then, as now, compactly builded; at least, in the portion of it where he dwelt. i examined everything about the premises, concluded where a thief might have gotten into the house without much trouble, and finally commenced questioning mr. latimer about his family, the servants, etc. none of mr. l.'s family, except his wife, were at home. two boys, or young men, were at school, rather at college one of them, and both far away, and the daughters were at the female seminary in cazenovia. as to the servants, in whose honesty mr. latimer had the utmost confidence, i had them called into my presence, and questioned them about the condition of the house on the night of the robbery. one of them heard some slight noise, at some time between twelve o'clock and four in the morning; was not definite. the others slept soundly; heard nothing. they did not seem to me likely to be connected with anybody, or to have lovers who would be apt to be of the class who might have robbed the safe. besides, nobody, not even mrs. latimer, knew that mr. l. had deposited any amount of money in his safe that night. he was of the order of men who attend strictly to "their own business," too strictly, sometimes, when evidence is wanted especially. his bedroom adjoined the room in which the safe stood, and was so situated in regard to a pair of "back stairs," that if the robber had come in from the back (on the theory of his possible complicity with the servants), he could have hardly gotten into the room without disturbing mr. and mrs. latimer, unless on that night, which was probably the case, they slept with unusual soundness. i concluded that the robber must be an expert one, and somehow i constantly referred in mind to the fellow whom i have alluded to before as having been seen liberally dispensing money. he seemed to me competent for the business; but there was one thing which i left to the last, which arose in my mind at first on my interview with mr. latimer at the howard; but i said nothing of it then, for i had learned that the best way is to approach the most serious troubles softly; as often the "course of things," as they take shape in an interview, will better point out how this or that mystery occurred than all the attempted solutions which one might, _a priori_, project for a week, and that one thing which perplexed me was, how did the robber unlock that safe? he must either have been familiar with the house and the safe, and perhaps had a key to it, or he must have carried about him, probably, several safe keys, one of which happened to fit (and the key to this safe was a small one, fifty of the like size of which would not much trouble a burglar to carry), or he must have gotten possession of mr. latimer's key. but his key was in his vest pocket, and his clothes were on a chair at the head of his bed, he said, on my inquiring,--there's where he left them, and there was where he found them in the morning,--and he was sure he locked his safe securely after putting the money in. i finally, as the concluding portion of my examination, asked mr. latimer to let me see the inside of his safe, and to show me where he deposited the money. he unlocked and opened the safe,--a simple lock concern, proof really against nothing but fire, perhaps; for although it was supposed that the keyhole was so small, and the safe so constructed, that burglars could not get sufficient powder into it to blow it up, yet it would not have stood a minute against the skill and power of professional burglars; but to open it, as they would have done, would have necessitated noise enough to have awakened mr. latimer, especially as the bedroom door was open. mr. latimer had put the money into a little drawer in the safe, and turned the key of that, which key, however, remained in the drawer lock. but the drawer was tight, and we tried a dozen times to pull it out without making a creaking noise, without avail; so i concluded that, on the whole, mr. latimer and his wife _had_ slept that night pretty soundly. we were about closing the safe again,--i having made due examination, and asked all necessary questions,--when mr. latimer, thinking to arrange a half dozen or so papers which had been thrown loosely upon the bottom of the safe, took them up in one grasp of the hand, and commenced to put them in file, when out of his hand dropped a little white card with figures on it, which arrested his attention. he picked it up, looked at it with astonishment, and said, "that's a curious thing to be here," handing it to me. "you will perhaps think me a sporting man, a devotee of the goddess of luck; but i don't know who put that here." "who has access to your safe besides yourself?" "my wife; she has a key." "o," said i, "perhaps she's put it here then." "not she," said he. "she'd turn pale with horror if she had found that here, in fear that i might be trifling with lotteries. a brother of hers spent a good-sized fortune in lottery tickets, and died of disappointment and chagrin over his course. not she!" "yes, i know," said i; "still she may have put it there, if not for herself, for one of the servants, perhaps; for you know many servants have a mania for 'trying their luck.'" so mrs. latimer was called, and asked about the lottery ticket. there was no mistaking her seriousness when she said that if one of the servants had asked her to lock up the ticket for safety, she would have taken it and torn it to pieces before her eyes. i was satisfied. but how came the ticket there. "no. , great havana consolidated lottery," to be drawn on such a day, through the house of henry colton & co., baltimore. this is as near as the notes of my diary of those days, much worn, permit me to recount the words and figures of the ticket as i took them down in pencil. i studied the ticket, and saw from a note at the bottom that some days would elapse before the drawing was to come off. it was a fresh ticket then, evidently. but how did it get there? mr. and mrs. latimer knew nothing about it--that was clear. it had not been there long--that was equally clear. i questioned mr. latimer about the condition of the loose papers in the bottom of the safe. it appeared he did not observe much order in them, so i could learn nothing by that query. finally, i concluded that perhaps in pulling out the drawer the robber experienced considerable trouble, and that if he had the ticket in his vest pocket at the time, in bending over, and exerting some force to pull out the drawer, he might have dropped it on the floor, and perhaps his curiosity led him to pull out the papers too, some of which fell from his hand, and he picked them up, the ticket along with them. i settled upon this, and there was a clew to the robber, if nothing more. but how did he unlock the safe? this question remained unanswered. perhaps with a false key, as i have before suggested; but this lock was one supposed to need a special key, none other exactly like it in the whole world. after we had finished our examination, mr. latimer closed the safe door, gave a turn to the knob, and jerked out the key. i do not know what led me to think of it, but i asked, "have you locked it?" "yes," said he, "that's all you have to do to lock one of these safes," at the same time taking hold of the knob, and pulling it, to show me how securely and simply it was fastened; when, lo, open came the door! mr. latimer was confounded, and i confess i was greatly surprised. it might have been that the robber that night found as easy access to the drawer as mr. latimer then. we examined the working of the lock as well as we could, and found that something must be deranged, for although it would, on turning the knob, give a "thud," as if the bolts were driven home, it did not always put them in place. mr. latimer had his safe repaired after that, and found some "slide" in the lock-work a little out of place. but i had gotten the ticket, and i told mr. latimer that we must work out the problem with that, or fail; and i sent mr. latimer about to his debtors, who had paid him the stolen money, to see if any of them could remember the denominations of the bills, and by what banks issued, which they had given him. he found something in his search which seemed likely to serve me. i gave mr. latimer my theory of the case, and pointed out to him the course i should pursue, and we concluded that a week would probably bring us to the determination to try longer, or would put us on the clear track of the robber or robbers, for there might have been more than one. mr. latimer authorized me, in case i saw fit, to offer a reward of five hundred or a thousand dollars for the robbers, or double these sums for the robbers and the money. my first step was to go to baltimore, where i learned that the ticket was genuine, but i could not learn the name of the person to whom it was issued. i had obtained it, i represented, of a man who never bought tickets, and was curious to know of whom he got it: but it was of no use to inquire. they kept faith with their customers. i could have inquired, with perhaps more success, of the agent in new york, but i dared not venture to see him. some special friend of his might have bought that number,--" ,"--and he would tell him of the inquiry, and the robber might suspect that he had lost it on mr. latimer's premises. the new york agent had fortunately made his report to the "general office" in baltimore a day or two before. i left the lottery office, baffled for a moment, but i soon laid a plan. if this ticket wins,--and i shall know by the drawn numbers as published in the papers immediately after the drawing,--then i will "lay in" with the ticket agent, with the bribe or "reward" of five hundred or a thousand dollars, to help me detect the robber; and if the ticket fails to win, i will make the ticket agent my confidant, and have him despatch a note to the person to whom this ticket was sold, saying that " " has drawn a prize, to be paid on presentation of the ticket; and in this way get the man into my clutches. so thinking to myself, i concluded to stop in baltimore till after the drawing, which occurred three days from that time. as fortune had it, the ticket--" "--was lucky, and drew a prize of three thousand dollars. i went to the agent, and putting him under the seal of secrecy, with the prospect of five hundred dollars, and one half of the money drawn by the ticket besides, we arranged to catch the robber, if possible. the new york agency would claim the privilege of paying the three thousand dollars itself, for this would help to give it the reputation of selling lucky numbers, and increase its sales, and consequently its profits. of course the new york agency was alive to its interests; but where was the ticket? the man to whom it was sold was expected to present it at once at the new york agency; but it didn't come, and he was advised of its having drawn a prize. but it was lost, he said; and the new york agency, desirous of making capital for itself, ordered the payment of the prize money through it, advised with the home office. it was finally concluded that the buyer might make affidavit, before a notary public, of the fact that he purchased the ticket no. ; that he had not transferred it to anybody else; that he had lost it, and when. and it was suggested that, as possibly the ticket might yet be presented by somebody who might have found it, it would be well for the buyer to state whether he had given it any private mark--his initials, or something else,--which is often done. this was done to excite the robber's memory about it, and drew forth from him a statement that he had not marked the ticket, but remembered that it was "clipped" in a certain way, cutting into the terminal letter of a line across the end; which was just what we wanted, as it identified him, beyond a doubt, as the real purchaser. he swore he had not transferred the ticket, but had lost it somewhere, as he alleged that he believed, on such a day (which chanced to be the very day on the night of which the robbery occurred), somewhere between the corner of fulton street and broadway (where was located then a day gambling-saloon) and union square. this was indefinite enough for his conscience, i presume. of course a name was signed to the affidavit, but how could we know that it was correct? together with this came the agent's affidavit that he sold to such a person the ticket. we arranged that payment should be made to the affiant if the ticket was not presented by somebody else within a month; and if it were presented before that time, he should be informed, and the proper steps taken to secure him his money. this was communicated to the new york agency, and i left for new york to find out who was this "charles f. worden," the purported purchaser of the ticket; and the baltimore agent came on to see the new york agent, and adroitly draw out of him a personal description of this "worden," for we suspected that the agent and he were special friends. the baltimore agent had no difficulty in executing his part of the work, and indeed effected an interview with worden, whom, with the new york agent, he treated to a superb supper at the astor house. when he came to give me a detailed account of the fellow's personal appearance, i recognized him, especially by a curious bald spot on the left side of the head, and which he took some pains to cover by pulling his long hair over it,--which, however, did not incline to stay there,--as the young man whom i had seen in the gambling saloon on the night that mr. latimer first consulted me at the howard. i now felt quite sure of my game; but was confident enough that i should find that the young man bore some other name than "worden." suffice it that it was the work of a couple of days only before i had my man in tow, knew all about him, his antecedents, etc. his family was good. he had been prepared for college, at the columbia college grammar school; was a young man of fair average capacity, but by his dissipations managed to make himself an eyesore to his family. his father, who was a well-to-do, if not rich merchant, doing business in maiden lane, had, in order to "reform" him, "given him up," and ordered him to shirk for himself, something like a year before this. he went into a grocery store, being unable to get work elsewhere, and had done very well for three or four months; but there was a private room in the back of the store where liquor was sold by the glass--one of those places which are now known by the felicitous name, "sample rooms," the disgusting frequency of which all over new york, and in many other cities, is so remarkable; places which are really worse than the open bars of hotels, or the regular "gin mills" (if i may be permitted to use the vulgar phrase), because in these sly, half-private places is it that most young men learn to drink, and here it is, too, where many a man, too respectable to be seen frequenting the open liquor stores of his vicinity, steals in and guzzles his potations, on the sure road to a drunkard's fate--failure in business, ruined constitution, and final poverty and disgrace. here the young man, "worden," as he now called himself, had fallen in with genial company, who came to his employers to "buy groceries," and to drink, and among them had made the acquaintance, in particular, of a down-town "banker," who boarded in the vicinity of the grocery, which was on the corner of bleecker street and ----. this banker was a fascinating fellow, and young worden soon fell in love with him. by and by he found out what sort of a "banker" was his new-made friend--the same who kept the day gambling-rooms on the corner of fulton and broadway. it is astonishing how little one may know of the business of his neighbors whom he meets every day in new york, unless he takes special pains to find out. the "solitude of a great city" is no mere byronic fancy. one could hardly be more solitary in the dense woods than a man may be in the midst of the throngs of men and women he may meet in new york. he sees them--that is all. his heart is closed to them, and theirs to him, as much as if they were in china, and he the "lone man" on some island of the west indies. so that "banker" passed for a rich, active, business man, in the vicinity of bleecker street and ----, within less than a mile, perhaps, of this nefarious den. young worden was easily led on till he got to neglecting his business when sent out on errands, or down town to the wholesale grocers; and finally the grocer discharged him for neglect of business; and how he had lived since then was a mystery to his old companions, who found him afterwards always better dressed. the secrets of his history, from the time of his discharge up to the time of the robbery, as i finally learned them, would form an interesting chapter by themselves, but are out of place here. an incident in his career, however, may yet find place in these papers, because it was interlinked with an extraordinary case which at another time i worked up, and of which i have made note, in order, if my space permit, to recite it in this work. it must suffice now, that despair, resulting from the loss of money at the gambling-table, and which he was not for some days able to win back, though he hazarded his last dollar, drove the young man to commit a small robbery, or theft, from the purse of one of his fellow-boarders, when the latter was asleep one night. the full success of this hardened him, and led him on. if detection could always follow the first offence, the number of criminals would be far less. but few will "persevere" beyond a detection, if it comes early enough in their career. i had made sure of my man. but he was not caught yet, by any means; besides, the baltimore agent and i had something further to do together. upon him depended much. i had the ticket in my possession, and the young man had sworn to it--identified it in his affidavit, to be sure; but he would insist that he lost it, and that somebody who found it must have robbed the safe, if we should pounce upon him now. so i went to mr. latimer, and managed to take him, in proper disguise, to a gambling saloon, which this young man frequented, and he thought he recognized him as one of the persons standing near him on the day the money for the hay was paid him in jersey city; and before we left the saloon,--staid half an hour perhaps,--mr. latimer was quite willing to swear to the young man's identity as one of those present at the hay transaction. but this would not be enough to convict the young man, unless we could find some of the stolen money upon him, or among his effects, which i felt sure we should do, for i saw that he was gambling those days sparely, like one who means to win, and keep what he wins. i reasoned that the robbery had given him a snug little capital; that he felt his importance as a "financial man," and that perhaps he was resolving to gamble but little more, give up his old associates, and with what he had, and what he would obtain from the lottery, go into business, and perhaps win his way back into his father's favor. and i reasoned rightly, as a subsequent confession of the young man proved. in his investigations among the creditors who had paid him the sum stolen, mr. latimer had found out a fact on which i was relying for aid in the course of the work, as i have intimated before; and renting on that becoming important in the line of evidence, i repaired to baltimore, and told the general agent that i thought it time now to draw matters to a close. we arranged our plans. the new york agent was informed that the ticket had been presented at the general office, and the prize demanded; that it would be necessary for the young man and himself to come on to baltimore to meet the presenter of the ticket, and that he was to call again in three days. the general agent was in great glee over the matter; for i had arranged with him that he should have the whole of the three thousand dollar prize as his own, if he would not demand the five hundred dollars reward of me, in case the matter worked out rightly, and we managed to get back a good share of the money stolen from the young man. he was for attacking the young man at once, as soon as we could get him into the private office, and charging him with the robbery of mr. latimer's safe; overwhelming him with the history of his being that day in jersey city, and showing him the trap we had set to get him to identify the ticket so minutely, etc.; but i feared that the young man might not be so easily taken aback, and we agreed to wait for something else which might, in the negotiation, turn up. i had not informed the agent yet of what mr. latimer had discovered in his investigations about the kind of money paid him, but had arranged with the agent that if things came to the proper point he should offer to pay the young man by a draft on new york, and should say to him, that if it would be convenient he would rather make the draft for three thousand and five hundred dollars, and let the young man pay him five hundred dollars, as that amount would draw out all his deposit, and close account with the bank in question, he having determined to do his business with another bank. so much i had asked which he said he would do; and duly the young man and the agent came on. we had a private conference; i being disguised, with spectacles and all, as the legal counsellor of the lottery men. the agent from new york was present. i had asked the young man many questions about the ticket, heard the new york agent's story, and given my advice to the baltimore man to pay it to him, but to send for the "other man" who held the ticket, and who was said to be waiting the result of things. so the new york agent was politely asked to take a note to a man quite a distance off from the lottery office, and whom the agent had informed that he might receive a note that day, and instructed what to do in such case. the man was a store-keeper; was very polite to the new york agent; bade him be seated in the counting-room, and he would send his boy out to bring in the man indicated in the note. the new york agent was told to be sure to get the man, wait till he could bring him along with him, "if it takes three hours," said the baltimore agent, as the new york man went off. "yes, yes; depend on my doing the business right," responded the new york agent, as he went off on his tomfool's errand. papers were given the young man to read, and we chatted together a little; the lottery agent having gone to work at his business desk in the next room. a half hour passed, and then--"this is dull business. i must go to my office, and come back if needed," said i to the lottery agent, as i opened the door into his room. "when shall i return?" "stay; he'll be back soon." "no," said i; "i'll go, and return." "well, please don't be long away,"--and he gave me a significant look, which the young man, of course, did not see. i went off, and returning in about a quarter of an hour, called the agent into the private room, and said, "see here! a new phase in affairs. i found that man waiting at my office to consult me about the ticket. he said he knew i was your attorney, and would advise him what was best; he didn't want any fuss about it. this was after i told him i was quite sure that the ticket was the property of young mr. worden here; and the matter is left entirely with me. see! i have the ticket here; do you recognize it?" asked i of worden, presenting it to him. he started up, looked at it, and with a face full of joy, exclaimed, "the very same: don't you remember how i described this slip here in my affidavit?" "well, mr. worden, as the matter is left with me, i have no doubt the ticket is yours; and of course the agent will pay you the prize." "yes, of course," said the agent; "stay here, since you are here, and i'll make the due entries, etc., get the money, and be back." he closed the door behind him; and as it was a late hour, drawing near closing time, told the clerks he'd give them a part of a holiday; and bade them to be on hand early next morning. "a good deal of work to do to-morrow, you know," said he, as he smilingly bowed them out. presently, after a delay, however, which i was fearful would excite the young man's curiosity, if nothing more, the agent came into the room, and told worden that he found it would be inconvenient to pay the three thousand dollars that afternoon in money, and then proposed to him to take the draft on new york, of which i have before spoken. worden compliantly fell in with the suggestion; said he would cash the draft for the balance. he was anxious, he said, to get on to new york as soon as might be; and, "by the way," said he, "where's my friend, mr. ----?"--(the new york agent.) "ah," replied the baltimore agent, "he's waiting at the place to which i sent him for the man." "well," turning to his watch, "there'll be time to send for him before the next train north, after we have settled the matter." he went to his desk, drew the check, came in and handed it to worden, who, laying it on the table, proceeded to take out his wallet, which i noticed was heavily loaded. he selected five one hundred dollar bills and handed them to the agent, who stepped into the next room, as if to deposit them in his safe, saying, "i'll be back in a moment, mr. worden. step in here, 'counsellor,'" said he to me, "and tell me how i am to make this entry"--for the want of something better to say. i followed, and he showed me the notes. we "had" the young man! four of the notes bore on their back, in writing, the business card of one of the men who had paid mr. latimer money on that day; the notes were of the bank of america, such as he had told mr. latimer he had drawn that day from bank, and he had indorsed his card on them not an hour before he paid him. his account was new with that bank. he had no other than _six_ of those one hundred dollar notes, so i saw our game was sure, and i said instantly, "go in and ask worden if he can't give you two fifties, or five twenties for this note," taking up the one not bearing the business card. he did so, and i followed, and instantly that worden drew his purse to accommodate him, i suddenly knocked the purse from his hand, and caught worden by the throat--"no noise, you villain! you are caught! you are the scoundrel who robbed mr. latimer's safe. i've traced you, and you are splendidly trapped!" i exclaimed. [illustration: seizure of young worden in baltimore.] he made some exertions to get from my grasp, but i held him firmly; waited a moment or two that the first flush of excitement might pass from him, and led him to a chair; gave him his history in brief; and in a short manner showed him how he was caught. meanwhile the agent, at my request, was searching and counting the money in the purse which he picked up as i knocked it out of worden's hands. "here's another one hundred dollar bill with bordell's card on it," said he. (the card was "rufus bordell, optician, and mathematical instrument maker, bowery, n. y.," as my notes read. it was not an unusual thing in those days, though i always thought it a foolish one, for men to indorse all the new bills that came into their possession with their business addresses, as a mode of advertisement. poor mr. bordell! he was an englishman, and was making a trip to england to visit his relatives on board the ill-fated pacific steamer in her last trip out, which went to sea, and was never heard of after.) well, worden saw that he was caught, and there was no escape for him. we found he had over three thousand dollars in money with him, and he agreed to go to new york with us and get what remained of the rest, which he said was all he had taken except six or eight hundred dollars, and he thought he could manage to raise that amount too, if i would not prosecute him. the vision of state prison was too much for his nerves. he wanted to go unmanacled; and so i insisted on the agent's accompanying me to help watch him. however, he could never have got away from me alone, for i should have felled him at once to the ground had he tried, and i was sure he had not been in the business long enough, or done enough at it, to have "pals" to assist him. in fact, he said he never had any comrades in crime. the agent arranged his affairs; sent word to the new york agent that he was suddenly called to new york, and would see him there the next day, and we left baltimore for new york by the next train. the young man kept his promise to us; not only got the money left out of his robbery, but raised of a "friend," whom we all visited, seven hundred and ten dollars, which we found was the deficit; gave up the lottery ticket to the agent (who had the honor, however, to pay him back the sum he paid for the ticket), and we let him go. i hardly know whether i ought to state what i am about to or not; but it may encourage some reader of this who may be inclined to a life like that which young "worden" was then leading, to reform. "worden" saw the situation of things, thanked us for our kindness, and begged me to never mention his real name. (i had not communicated it to the agent or to mr. latimer, and have never since told it to either or to anybody). he promised to reform at once, and go to work, however humble the situation. he did so, and in two or three years won his way back into his father's smiles, conducted business in new york for a while after that, and is now a prominent and wealthy man of chicago. i met him not over ten months ago from this writing, and enjoyed his hospitality. "you saved me," said he. and that was all that was said between us about the robbery. the baltimore agent drew the prize for no. , and it was none of the lottery company's business that he pocketed it. when i carried the money back to mr. latimer, he was astonished, and insisted that i take the reward of one thousand dollars, which, as he was rich, i did accept. i never told him _how_ we let the fellow escape, but satisfied him on that point. "but," said he, "you haven't told me what you learned about how he got into the safe." "no, for the scamp was in as much doubt about it as we; he thought that the lock turned easily, if it turned at all. he pulled, and the door came open, and afterwards, on looking at the key he tried it with, thought it curious that it could have raised the spring. probably the safe was not locked." "but how did he get in, and do it so secretly, my wife and i lying right there?" pointing to the adjoining bedroom. "o, he says you were both snoring away so that nobody in the house could have heard him if he'd made ten times the noise he did." "i--do--not--believe--it," said mr. latimer, with an emphatic drawl, and more seriousness of face than i had seen him exhibit over his loss even. "i never caught her snoring in my life. she says i snore sometimes. i'll call her, and tell her the story." mrs. latimer came in; the snoring matter was settled in a joke, and i was made to stay and take a private supper with them, which, in due time, was served in superb order; and i left that house to go home at last with a firm friend in mr. latimer, who has never failed to send me business, when he could command it, from that day. he is ignorant of the young robber's real name to this day; and, indeed, said he did not care to know it; when, four years after the occurrence, as he was one day badgering me to satisfy his curiosity on that point, i told him the man had reformed, and was made a good citizen of, indirectly through the facts that the safe was probably unlocked that night, and that he and his wife snored so loudly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ lewellyn payne and the counterfeiters. -------------- an idle time--a call from my old "chief"--the case in hand outlined--i discover an old enemy in the list of counterfeiters, and lay my plans--take board in nineteenth street, and open a law office in jauncey court--make the acquaintance of mrs. payne, lewellyn's mother, and finally get acquainted with him--he visits my law office--i am ingratiated in his favor--i track him into my enemy's company, and feel sure of success--lewellyn finally confesses to me his terrible situation--certain plans laid--i make "collins'" acquaintance--visit a gambling saloon with him--a heavy wager--fifteen thousand dollars at hazard, payne's all--the counterfeiting gamblers caught together--a severe struggle--payne saved at last, and his money too--a reformed son and a happy mother--two "birds" sent to the penitentiary. there had been a lull in business for a time with me soon after i had left an organized force of private detectives, and with the promised assistance of some friends, mercantile and otherwise, whom i had served more or less, under the direction of the chief of the corps to which i belonged, had taken a private office, and was beginning to wish that i was not so much "my own master," and had more to do. during those days i tried to divert my mind with much reading, and one day, poring over de quincey's "opium eater," i was half buried in oblivion to all particular things around me, though wonderfully aroused to a sweet sensuousness of all things material, when my old chief entered my office. i was not a little surprised to see him, for it had been weeks since i had met him, and that casual meeting was the first time i had seen him since my resignation from the corps. "good day, my boy," said he, giving me a hearty grasp of the hand. he looked weary and worn. i thought he looked vexed, too, about something, and i asked, "well, what's up? what ails you? are you unwell?" "no," said he, "not unwell; in fact, never in better health; but business annoys me. i've been on a scent for some parties for quite a while, and i can get nobody to do what i want done. report of failure to find out what i want has just been rendered an hour ago, and i have come down to see if you can't help me out." "tell me your story," said i. "but i don't suppose i can accomplish anything for you if wilson, baldwin, or harry hunt" (detectives of rare ability on his corps) "have failed." "they have," said he, "signally; but i believe the matter can be worked out readily, though you will have to take your time at it. the case is this: there's a lot of blacklegs and counterfeiters, some of whom you know, whose den i want to find out. that's all. they are passing more or less counterfeit money these days. what i want is not to detect any one of these by himself, but to capture the whole of them in their den--gobble them all up at once, and break up their gang; and now i think i have a key to their hiding-place, which, if i can get anybody to work it well, will open in upon them." "well, give me the particulars, and your general instructions, and i'll try it." "you know," said he, "that some of it may be desperate work, and that's one reason why i want you--steady hand, and cool head, and time enough, must succeed in this business. here is a minute description of five of the gang. look it over," pulling from his side pocket a paper. "there, you know this first one, harry le beau. we dealt with him, you know, two years ago; and the next i guess you don't know. in fact, i reckon you don't know any of the rest." i was studying over the personal descriptions; meanwhile the chief went talking on, i paying little heed further to what he was saying. coming to the last on the list, "mont collins!"--"mont collins?"--i don't know the name, but the description just suits another person; rather, just suits the character himself, for i knew, of course, that "collins" was one of any number of aliases. "this is a particular friend of mine," said i. "his name used to be bill blanchard, and--and--well," without saying any more, "i'll undertake the job; and, by heavens!" said i, "i'll succeed," for i had been warming up out of my opium reverie from the instant my eye fell upon the description of "collins," with an indignation and a hope of revengeful triumph over this villain, who had now taken a step in counterfeiting, or in passing counterfeit money, where i could, if successful, get him confined within the walls of a prison, and pay him for his vile iniquities. "you have encountered this scoundrel before, it seems," said the chief, noticing the glow upon my face. "no, not i; but a relative of mine. i can't tell you the story now. i'll follow him to the death. no stone shall remain unmoved in this business." "i am glad you have a peculiar incentive, and i feel that you are sure to succeed; but i have not given you the key yet. may be it will serve you. perhaps you can get a better one, and won't need to use it," said the chief. "give it me," said i, "by all means. a straw, even, might serve to point the way; and if the rest are as desperate and cunning as 'collins,' i shall need all the help and advice possible to work up the job," said i. so the chief went, on to say, "it is very evident that these fellows have an important victim in a young man, by the name of lewellyn payne, from kentucky, who came to new york some months ago, reputed to be very rich, and had always at first about him money enough; but he has become reckless. he's a fine-looking fellow, of good address, and how he allowed such a vile gang to get hold of him, i don't see"-- "but i do," said i, interposing. "collins is as keen and genteel a villain as the city holds," said i. "may be," said the chief; "but the rest of them are only cutthroats, without a particle of grace to save them." "but they cannot be worse at heart than he," i responded. "he has chosen his crew for his own purposes--fit instruments for his style of villany." "well, you think you know him. i hope you do, and can manage him; but i'll tell you about this payne. they have drained his purse, i think; in fact, i've had him watched, and have found out that he is greatly in their debt. they hold his notes, and he is about to sell property in kentucky to meet them. at least this is my translation of hunt's report from him. hunt "cultivated" him for a while, but we couldn't find out anything from him in regard to the gang's rendezvous." "well, what am i to do? where does he live, this payne?" "in west th street, no. --, corner sixth avenue. he and his mother board there." "o, ho," said i; "his mother! does she know anything about her son's dissipations?" "yes; it was she who came to me first about him,--says her heart is broken, and that something must be done to save her son. she can learn but little from him; but says he's away a great deal all night, and sleeps mostly during the day; that she fears he's gambled away most of his property, etc." "then she can be approached upon the subject. well, i see the way clear. i must make his acquaintance without his knowing why. i may make such use of your name as i please?" "certainly." before night that day i was fortunate enough to secure board at the house in th street, though i did have to accept a room a little farther up toward the sky than i desired, with the assurance that i should have the first vacant room below. my first business was to effect a meeting with the lady, mrs. payne, which i found but little difficulty in doing. the poor woman, who was a model of elegance and matronly character, was greatly moved when she came to tell me of her son's wanderings from the strict path of morality in which she had tried to rear him. young payne's father had died some twelve years before, and she had taken her son lewellyn to europe to finish his education. being of scotch origin herself, and most of her relations residing in and about edinboro', she had taken him to the university there, whence, after leaving college, she went to the continent with him. finally, spending a season at baden baden, young payne caught there the fashionable mania for gambling, which was proving his ruin. she was ready to spend liberally of her means in order to reform him, and wished me to spare no expense necessary in the course which i pointed out to her. i found it necessary to take an office or desk as a lawyer in jauncey court, out of wall street, and had some cards struck off, announcing myself as an attorney at law. three or four days passed before i thought best to make the acquaintance of the young man, the mother having stated to me, meanwhile, a legal matter of hers in kentucky, on which i had taken advice, so as to be able to talk learnedly to the son. all being arranged, the mother told the son that she found they had a lawyer in the house, and had thought best to consult him regarding the matter in kentucky, and was pleased with his advice, but would like him (young payne) to talk with the lawyer also. through this means i made the acquaintance of young payne next day, and invited him down to my office. he said he should have occasion to go into wall street that very day, and would call about three p. m. of course i was there, received him, spoke of the library, which was quite large, as mine, and played the lawyer to the best of my abilities. we went out to a restaurant together, and i allowed myself to accept his treat to a little wine; and, in short, before reaching home that evening, for we went up town together, i felt very certain that i had properly impressed young payne with my consequence, and with the notion, too, that i was no "blue-skin," but ready always for a little "fun." mrs. payne looked a degree or two improved that evening when she saw how swimmingly her son and i were getting on in our acquaintance. after supper, young payne said he had an engagement out, and would bid me good evening. but i said, "i am going out too; perhaps our paths may lie along together for a while. i am going down town." "so am i," said he, "and i should be pleased with your company as far as you may go." i left the house with him, and we proceeded to broadway, and turned down, talking over many things, and managing to agree pretty well upon them all. at last, as we neared th street, i thought i saw that young payne was a little uneasy, as if wishing to shake me off; and i said to him, "well, good evening, mr. payne," offering him my hand. "my course leads this way," pointing to the left, and turning in that direction. "i suppose you keep down farther." "yes," said he, "i am going on farther," and bowing me an "adieu, for the while," he passed on, and i kept a good look out for him, for i "scented" that he expected to meet somebody not far from that point. dropping into a saloon near by, where a friend of mine was engaged, i left my "stove-pipe" hat, and pulled from my pocket a thin "slouched" hat, which i carried for occasion, and taking the opposite side of the street from payne, kept him in sight till he passed into the new york hotel, when i crossed over, and entered. i had hardly done so before he, returning from the back portion of the hall in company with another, passed by me. his companion was evidently telling him a funny story, for he laughed quite loudly, and was hitting payne, as if in glee, upon his shoulder. i knew my man, both by his voice and face, which was partly concealed by the manner in which he, at this moment, had fixed his hat upon his head. he was unmistakably blanchard, alias "collins," and my blood was up. blanchard, the villain, had ruined the husband of my cousin elizabeth ----. "bettie," as we familiarly called her, was one of the sweetest women i ever saw,--my most cherished cousin, of whom i was proud in every sense,--and the griefs which bore her down, in the ruin of her husband, pierced my heart, and i resolved to be avenged, if possible, upon this villain blanchard, who had worked her husband's downfall, and robbed him of every dollar. the husband had been at one time in the enjoyment of a lucrative trade, as a merchant of woollen goods, and had a fine standing with some of the best manufacturers in rhode island and elsewhere, and was on what seemed the sure road to a great fortune, when he unluckily fell into the clutches of blanchard. indeed, i too had suffered by blanchard, to no small extent for me, having been indorser of some of my cousin's paper, which went to protest, and which i had at last to pay. i do not allow myself to cherish enmity against my fellow-man. the detective soon learns to not be surprised at finding the man of the best reputation frequently involved in crime, and he comes to look with charity upon the faults, and even the crimes, of his fellow-men. comparatively, men do not, in society, differ at heart so greatly as the uninitiated might imagine. but few men are proof against the wiles of "circumstances." no man can really tell what he would have done, or would not have done, had he been placed in these or those circumstances by which some other man has been led on to a career of crime, or to some dark deed. but i could never wholly suppress my longing for vengeance whenever blanchard came into my mind, and on this occasion my temper was quite as intense as i could well control. i turned when payne and his friend had passed a proper distance on, and taking the sidewalk, followed them near to a house in houston street, which i saw them enter. i did not know the character of the house then, but was satisfied that it was a "hell" of some sort--a genteel one, for its outward appearances indicated as much; but i made myself acquainted with the probable character of the place before i returned to my boarding-house that night. the next day payne was not up till two o'clock in the afternoon, and i feigned illness enough to delay me at home that day, in order to make further study of him. when he came into the general parlor, i saw that there was a peculiar haggardness about his countenance, not such as over-drinking or ordinary mere dissipation gives. to me it was a tell-tale haggardness, and i felt i knew full well that he was on the last plank, and just about to be submerged beneath the waves of irretrievable ruin. so he looked, so he felt, too, of course. i entered into conversation with him, drew out some of his experiences in new york, and gradually led him on to the disclosure of some pretty serious confessions. at last he told me that he had run a wild career, but had made up his mind to reform, and find some useful employment. "but," said he, "i've promised myself to do so a thousand times before, and have failed as often to make a beginning." "i know your case," said i. "i've known a great many such. there's always ground for hope, i assure you, so long as the desire to escape exists. but each case has its peculiarities. one case is never an exact representation of another, of course." we carried on the conversation for a while longer, till we came to a point where mr. payne, in giving me a description of some friends whom he had made since he came to new york, spoke of his friend "collins" as a very "brilliant, dashing fellow," who was a nondescript for him, otherwise, in character. i was, of course, more interested at this point than at any other, which must have been manifest at once to young payne. he told me of some of his and collins' adventures. in all these i could clearly see the workings of the villain blanchard, and i was several times on the point of uttering my full views to mr. payne, but i thought it an hour too early in our acquaintance to do so, and so delayed to do it. another day came. i was out all day away from the house, but not idle, for i managed to learn more of "collins'" or blanchard's proceedings for the last few months before, of his places of resort, etc.; but when i returned at evening, before mr. payne's usual hour for going abroad, i found him in great dejection; and having opportunity to converse with him, approached him, and was soon invited to his room. it was not long before our conversation took such shape that i was able to breathe to him some of my suspicions. payne listened with surprise; but i drew blanchard's modes of proceeding, his general character, etc., so accurately, that payne became more than half convinced that "collins" and blanchard were one. in short, i got down into payne's heart before our conversation concluded that evening. it was necessary for him to go forth again that night, or, i think, he would have held me in his room all night, reciting his adventures and running over his mistakes. i saw that he was utterly ruined, beyond all hope, unless i could manage to get out of the hands of his captors a large number of collaterals, which he had for the space of three months past left in their hands, as security for promissory notes to a large amount which he had given them, and to pay which he was looking to the sale of some property in kentucky, and for some dividends on stock in a manufactory in cincinnati, which, however, was itself pledged. these were debts of honor, as he, up to that moment, had regarded them, and must be paid, no matter if paying them more than bankrupted him. indeed, he had played and lost far beyond the sum of his actual property, so desperate had he become in the matter; and the gamblers, his elegant friends, were willing to show their gentlemanly confidence in him, and trusted him more,--the well-bred scoundrels. but i pointed out to him the fact that he had (which was evident enough to me) been victimized by villains who never play an honorable game of hazard; indeed, who never play a game of hazard at all, since all is in their hands and under their perfect control. when he came to see this, and reflect upon each step, and saw how the thing had been done, and also that, as his memory, now excited, called all vividly before him, when he had lost heavily with the gang they had, without doubt, in every instance played a false game, the dark shades deepened in his face. mr. payne became at first very serious, but at the close of our conversation i saw that his mind had become quite calm: he was very deliberate. the muscles about his mouth assumed a firmer expression. i could easily see that he was meditating some way of revenge on the scoundrels who would have gladly ruined him in all respects, as they had already done in some. finally he said to me, "you seem to understand all about these villains. how came you to know them so well? have you ever been victimized by them?" "no, not victimized; but i came to learn these characters through my profession. professional men are compelled to know more or less of them, and it has been my lot to be greatly interested; in fact, somewhat involved in a matter in which blanchard, or, as you know him, 'collins,' was the principal actor; and i'll say to you here, that it would give me the keenest pleasure to give you any aid in my power as against that wretch." mr. payne's time for going out that evening had come, and i left the house at the same time with him, hoping that he would do something, or that something would occur on my walk with him, to further my projects. but we parted that evening with nothing done. but next day payne came to me at my office in wall street about twelve o'clock. he was uneasy, and did not wish to sit down to talk, and asked me if i would walk with him. we sallied out up to broadway, and along it; got to courtlandt street, when he said, "somehow i feel a great inclination to go down to the water. suppose we go over in the ferry to jersey city." [illustration: atlantic beer garden--payne and collins' rendezvous.] of course i was ready to humor him, for i well knew the agitated state of his mind; and down to the dock and over the river we went, and arriving in jersey city, payne having no special point of destination, we wandered the streets and talked. he told me his whole story over, as of the night before, and added to it many touching incidents. "help me now, i beg you, if you can." i asked him if this gang dealt in counterfeit money at all, and found that he knew nothing about it. this was a relief, in one sense, to me, and a surprise in another; and i thought, "perhaps i may be mistaken after all." but we planned, as the result of our day's conversation, that, as a first step, he should take "collins" that evening into the "atlantic beer garden," in the bowery, to take beer (of which he said collins was very fond, not drinking anything else intoxicating), to treat him, and i should come in carelessly, but unexpectedly, upon him. and he should present me at once to "collins" as mr. "wilson," the name i had assumed on my legal card, but which i did not explain the reason for at that time to mr. payne. that night i came upon the twain at the place proposed, where they were sitting at a table over pots of beer, and smoking, when i, darting in, called for a pot of beer; and seeing payne, pushed up to his table, extending my hand. "ah, here, eh? mr. payne; very glad to meet you?" "take a seat with us," said he. "this is my friend, mr. collins, mr. wilson." i looked into "collins'" eyes; gave him a wink, as much as to say, "mr. payne thinks my name is wilson; you know better; keep still." of course "collins" was as anxious that i should not call him blanchard, as i was that he should address me as wilson. "and," he said, "mr. wilson--i am glad to make your acquaintance, mr. wilson. let's fill up, mr. payne," for their mugs were dry, "and invite mr. wilson to take what he likes with us." "thank you, gentlemen, but here comes my beer. i'll wait for you to fill up again." i put "collins" quite at ease, and we drank, and told stories, and sang a song or two. so well did collins and i disguise the fact that we had ever heard of each other that payne, as he afterwards told me, made up his mind soon that i had been utterly mistaken in the man. we had nearly finished our cups at the table, when payne, spying a southern friend coming into the saloon, with a number of others, asked to be excused for a moment, and left us. "the devil!" said blanchard; "how did you come to know payne?" "o, he is one of the acquaintances one picks up in the city, he hardly knows how." "yes, yes; but as i happened, by the mistake of a partial acquaintance, to be introduced to him as 'collins,' i have let it go so. i hope you'll be as careful the rest of the evening to not call me blanchard, as you have." "o, we are in the same boat, 'collins,' you see! he calls me 'wilson,' and i let it go at that." "but," said blanchard, "i must say, 'wilson,' you are very complaisant, and i hardly thought you would speak to me at all." "o, well, blanchard, we grow wiser as we grow older. we don't see things, generally, in the same light we used to." "true," said he; "and i am glad to find you not unkindly disposed,"--and i doubt not that he was, for he well knew how i loved my cousin, and that i knew he was the cause of her husband's downfall, and her greatest griefs. "what are you doing these days?" asked b. "i've turned lawyer," said i, "and have an office on wall street. here's my card. don't like my profession over much, and so find time to speculate more or less." (blanchard had never known that i had become a detective, fortunately. though living in the same city we had been, practically, as wide apart as the poles.) "what are _you_ doing?" i asked in turn. "well, i am speculating, too, a little," said he, with a half-inquiring wink in his eyes. "i see you misinterpret me a little," said i. "not so much either," i continued, "for i speculate in wall street some, and elsewhere some." "the fact is," said 'collins,' "i am getting to be very much attracted by sundry speculations, though i lose money as fast as i make it. i was on my way to-night on a little speculation. perhaps you'd like to go along." in paying for my beer i had purposely made display of all the money i had,--quite a pile,--and doubtless collins' gambling avarice was a little whetted, or he might not have invited me along. payne returned to us; and collins telling him that he had invited me to accompany them "for a little fun to-night," we sallied forth, and were not long in crossing broadway, and finding ourselves in a suite of rooms, which, as soon as i set my eyes on them, i understood as one of the worst of the second-class of gambling hells in the city. roulette, dice, and the latter loaded, and every other appurtenance of such a place, as well as cards and a faro bank, were there. the whole air of the place, the men at play and about the boards, were assurance to me that i was on the right track of the counterfeiters; but i felt at once that the game i had to play was a desperate one; that these fellows were the worst sort of cutthroats. we both played a little, payne and i; but collins played not at all that night, except the part of a particular "friend" to payne in various ways. i lost considerable, payne lost more, and his note was received on demand; but still with the understanding that he was not to be asked to cash it till his kentucky remittance came on. it was a part of my plan to play and lose a little that night, to furnish occasion to come again; and when we parted to go home, the "gentleman" of the establishment, to whom collins had introduced me as wilson, said, "mr. wilson, now you've learned the way, drop in occasionally. poor luck don't run always." "ha, ha!" said i, "gentlemen," taking the matter good-humoredly. "i'm not feeling very well to-night; but you can expect me around some time to break your bank when i am in good spirits." "that's right, come along any time. we like bold players, if they do clean us out sometimes; nothing like spirit,"--and we bowed ourselves out. it was arranged by me and payne, as we betook ourselves home, that he should continue to go there and play a little every night till his money came; that then he should offer to play all his pile against his indebtedness to the concern, his notes of hand, and all the collaterals he had pledged. i knew the gamblers would catch at that, and count him a bigger fool than ever. i was to be there, and play too. payne continued to visit the place, played less and less each night, and at last declared to them that he would not be in again till his money came. "and," said he "i'm going to take wilson in, as my partner--he has a pile." meanwhile i reported to my old chief, and had all things arranged for a descent upon the place if i should be able to work the matter up to the proper point by the time payne's money came. the money came. payne's fifteen thousand dollars, in good money, i knew would be a temptation to the villains, although his indebtedness to them had increased to over twenty-five thousand dollars, and we went to the den; i having my force of policemen in training, and ready for my call. it was a wet night. there was quite a number of visitors in early in the evening; but they straggled home, as the rain increased, some not having umbrellas with them, and for various reasons, and we were left, eventually, almost alone with the regular keepers of the place; and payne was asked if his money had come? "yes, gentlemen, fifteen thousand dollars of it; all i shall get for more than a year to come, and i'm going to hazard it all against my notes and the collaterals you hold." "all right," said the leading genius of the place. "all right," said "collins," aloud; but he stepped up to payne, and kindly whispered in his ear, "but would you do it? i wouldn't hazard it now. play half for half, say; for if you should lose all, you know--well, do as you like." "yes, i will do as i like--i'll play all." there was a smile of fiendish triumph then on collins' face, which payne did not see, but _i_ did, and i couldn't help feeling a pulse of vengeance beating in my heart as i contemplated how soon the scoundrel's face might change its expression. payne's money was put up; one game was to decide the whole. his notes were put up on the table, by the other side, to the amount of fifteen thousand dollars. "but where are the rest?" said he. "no trifling; and where are the collaterals?" and there was bickering about the understanding, and i was appealed to. "i did not wish to interfere," i said; but that "i understood it was to be a clean sweep. but as there was a misunderstanding, perhaps 'twasn't best to play at all to-night; wait for another occasion, and payne take his money and go." the gamblers saw it was of no use to pretend further misunderstanding, and that payne's money was likely to be more readily "gobbled up" then than if they were to wait, and consented to put all on the table, though as the collaterals were packed away and locked in the safe, they proposed to put money up instead--ten thousand dollars. "no, no," said payne, "i want to see the whole on the table. i want to look at 'em once more. there's my harry clay watch" (a very fine five hundred dollar watch); "i want to look her in the face again--play better, i tell you, gentlemen, in her smiles;" and so he went on. i was at the instant disposed to favor him; but on second thought i suspected that that money would be mostly, if not wholly counterfeit, and i saw if it was, how i would trap the scoundrels, and save payne's fifteen thousand too, as well as get up his notes and all his collaterals; and i interposed. "no need, mr. payne, of troubling to get out the collaterals. the money at hand's just as good, and if you win you can buy back the collaterals." "yes, yes, that's it," said collins, eager now to see the foolish payne slaughtered. the money was produced. "here, count it if you please, mr. wilson," said payne, as the first bundle of a thousand dollars was thrown upon the table. i caught it up carelessly, and ran it over rapidly. "one thousand," said i, all right; and so with the next, and the next, till the fifth had been counted, when i said, "mr. payne, there's no use counting the rest; i guarantee it all right." it is not easy to deceive me with a counterfeit bill at any time; but that night, alert and watchful, i could have sworn that more than nine tenths of the money i counted was counterfeit. the play came. i declined to join as "partner" of payne, as he had called me. he played tremblingly. i began to fear that he would not hold out till the proper time for me to expect my men; but he did, and just as the game was about concluding, disastrously to him, there came a ring at the door-bell. the servant hurried down, and the excited gamblers bade payne "play, play." up came a dandy-looking chap, apparently intoxicated. he was my man. he blundered around, took a little wine from the side-board, and said maudlin things; staggered on to the board, made the gamblers angry, one of whom drew a light cane over him. i interposed, took his part, said that they should excuse him; if he was a fool, he was drunk; should be pardoned if he asked pardon; and, taking advantage of the black boy's absence in the exterior room, said, "i'll show him down, and get him out of the way." "wilson, you are always so polite and obliging," said blanchard, facetiously, as i led out the stranger, who was very loath to go, and needed some encouragement. [illustration: descent upon blanchard and the gamblers.] "just so," said i. "don't you think i'd make an excellent waiter here?" "yes, we must employ you. what do you want by the month?" "talk about that when i come up," said i. we went down the stairs--two flights--but to return. i opened the door, the "stranger" gave the signal he had arranged with the rest of the men, and eight stalwart, well-armed policemen were in the house, and silently on their way up those stairs; the stranger fighting me, and pulling me along up, making some noise, and more drunk than ever. "our friend won't go out," said i: "insists on staying." "d--n him! _i'll put_ him out," said one. "no you won't," said the stranger, drawing a pistol, and calling out to our followers, who were just at our heels, "come on, boys!" and there was a rush into that room which startled every gambler to his feet, only to be throttled by a policeman. there were six of the villains, including collins, and the policemen had no little trouble to silence them. the drunken stranger immediately seized all the money on the table, notes and all, and ordered the gamblers manacled on the spot, which was done. payne then told them his story (as i narrated before only in short), asked to have his collaterals delivered up. in short, the gamblers were ready for anything. the counterfeit money was in our hands, and the evidence complete. payne got all his notes back, which were at once put in the grate and burned, and all his collaterals, his fifteen thousand dollars of money, and was satisfied. but i was not; and a compromise was made that on the delivering up of all the counterfeit money they had about them the gang should give up the rooms and disperse, all but two of them, one of whom was my man blanchard, and another desperate scamp whom the police wanted to answer to a charge of burglary in philadelphia. the safe was searched; all its counterfeit money given up, and all the collaterals, with the names of parties who had pledged them for gambling debts, were delivered into the police's hands. the rest were then allowed to escape; but blanchard, and johnson (the philadelphia burglar), were ironed and taken to the tombs. "blanchard" was tried before the united states court in due time, but under another name, which, unfortunately for his respectable relatives, became known as his proper one before the trial came on, and was sent for five years to sing sing. johnson was, after due process of requisition by the governor of pennsylvania, on the governor of new york, taken to philadelphia, tried, and sent up for ten years. in a short time after the breaking up of this gang proceedings were taken to find the parties to whom the collaterals, other than payne's, belonged, in order to deliver them up. it took a good while to find and surely identify them; and this delivery led to information regarding various matters which needed the keenest detectives to unravel. i was overrun with business, in consequence, for months after, incidents of which i may think best to relate in other papers. mr. payne was the happiest of men over his good fortune, and insisted on deeding to me some very valuable real estate in kentucky, besides giving me more money than i had the face to ask. he became my fast friend, as he remains to-day. but there was a happier mortal than he in those days, in new york, when all came to be disclosed, and that was the beautiful, noble old lady, his mother, mrs. payne. she could hardly contain herself in her joy, when lewellyn made clean confession of all his misdeeds, all his great sins, and pledged her that he would not only never play cards again for a cent, not even for fun--a pledge which he sacredly keeps to this day. his experiences were too great, his sufferings had been too severe, to be forgotten; and mr. payne, in due course of time, went into legitimate business, in which he has proven himself a very capable man. good old mrs. payne lived happily with her reformed son for about four years and a half, and at last died of a fever, which followed a cold contracted one wet day, on mount washington, new hampshire, where she and her son were passing a summer vacation, and her remains were taken back to kentucky. i had the honor of accompanying mr. payne on his mournful journey there. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the genealogical swindlers. -------------- pride of ancestry in the united states--it is sometimes more profitable to others than to those who indulge it--"property in chancery"--a western merchant, his story, and how he told it--a family meeting at new haven, and what a member learned there--the great "lord, king, & graham" swindle--the way in which the fraud was accomplished--a cunning letter from "willis king," of the firm of "lord, king, & graham," to one of his relatives--the correspondence of this noted firm--the search--the trap laid--the sharpers caught, and found to be educated young men of the highest social status--they are made to disgorge--a paradox, with a moral in it. the pride of ancestry is usually great among those whose ancestors possessed any traits of character worthy to be remembered, or did deeds of which history has made emblazoned record, or who held large estates, or were in other respects distinguished,--and justly great is this pride, perhaps. however, it is not to be overlooked that, as a general thing, how great soever the pride of the progeny may justly be, that of the ancestors would probably not have been extreme, in most cases, could they have looked forward for a few generations, and seen what their successors in time were to be. it is not certain that some of them would have refused to have successors at all, and might not in very shame have betaken themselves to the cloister, in celibacy, or forsworn their mistresses altogether. and could their ancestors have foreseen that even their greatness would be overshadowed by the large or small estates which they might leave, what would have been their disgust or displeasure, is left to us to conjecture. but a "pride of ancestry" has developed itself in this country, which, if it is not altogether profitable to those exercising it, is sometimes made so to others; to lawyers who seek fortunes for others, and who, for due fees, are ready to hunt up "estates in chancery" in england, and find them, too, _if_ they are there,--which is the only requisite for the finding, except the fees. at sundry times many families get it into their heads that there ought to be property of their ancestors preserved somewhere for them, and talking up the matter among themselves, get feverish over it, and finally assure themselves that such property exists, and that it is their first duty to procure it. such people become an easy prey to speculating lawyers and others, who find it an easy thing to whet their hopes, and procure money from them to make "primary investigations." a shrewd lawyer, wishing to make the tour of europe, for example, can readily play upon the credulity of some such family, and induce them to advance him a few hundred dollars to go to england with to examine records, and so forth; and when there, can send home such a "statement of the case," so full of hope, as to evoke a few hundred, or a thousand or two more dollars, in order to retain and pay first-class counsel. it is a shame to our people that so many of them fall victims to the greed for money in this line. i hardly knew whether the more to be vexed at the stupidity of the sufferers, or amused by the skill of the intriguing scamps who perpetrated the swindle i am about to disclose, when i first heard of it; and _i_ confess i haven't yet come to a decision on that point after the lapse of a dozen years or so. i was called on one day by a western merchant, an old man, by the name of king. he was a new yorker by birth, he said, born in a place called janesville, in saratoga county, where he had lived to maturity, had then done business in new york city till he had reached beyond middle age, when, failing in business, he had retired to some land he had, in the course of business, acquired in illinois; but finding farming irksome, had managed to open a little country store, which had grown upon his hands until he had, in the process of time, become rich, and was in the habit of visiting his old home in saratoga county every year, and also coming on to the city, sometimes to select goods, though his junior partners came down at the same time, and did the principal business. the old man had learned to drink whiskey at the west, in order to keep off the "fever-na-gur," as he called it, and at the time of visiting me, had evidently not gotten over his last "fuddle" at home, some weeks before, or had somehow managed to get abundance of that creature comfort--"old rye"--in new york; not that he was drunk, but he was "keyed up" to a good pitch--a height from which he surveyed all the glory of the king family, and felt that nothing but royal blood flowed in his own veins; and who knows but the blood was royal? it might have been the whiskey, however,--but what matters it? the old man descanted a long time on the glory of his ancestry, and the pride of his race; claimed relationship to the great rufus king of new york, and all the kings by name, who were of any account; spoke of their natural pride; said that they were always ready to avenge any insult to their name, come from what source it might, and so forth, and so forth. it was in vain that i interrupted him at times at the end of a sentence, in order to ask him to come to the point. talk he would, in his own way; and as he was a white-haired man, the outlines of whose face showed that he was a gentleman when not in liquor, especially (and he was thoroughly gentlemanly at the time, though vexatiously garrulous), i thought i would let him have his talk out in his own way. at last he got to tell me that some months before he had been swindled out of a dollar, and that a large number of the king family, he had recently learned, had each been defrauded to the amount of a dollar, and that some of them, moved by family pride, had, as he had been informed, made effort to discover and punish the defrauding parties, but had failed. he felt his pride wounded at this. the king family had made an effort to find out the parties who had so questioned their good sense as to successfully swindle them, and such a number of them, too--and failed. this he could not endure. if all that had been lost had been wheedled out of one member of the family, if he himself, for example, had been the only victim, he could have endured that, and would, for the pride of the name, have endured it in silence. but the whole race had been insulted, the very family coat of arms had been mocked, and he would not suffer it any longer. there had been, a few days before he came to me, a large gathering of the king family from all over the country. if i remember rightly, this was at new haven, about the time of commencement at yale college. the kings of georgia shook hands there with the kings of new york and the western states, and so on; and it was there that he learned how extensive had been the swindle. some of the family had talked and laughed about it as a good joke, and poked fun at each other about it. but the old man considered that these were degenerate in spirit, and spoke of them with a degree of shame. persons present at the gathering, with king blood in their veins, but bearing other than the king name,--the sons of king daughters, by men who rejoiced not in so royal a name,--made great sport of the swindle, and said that people high in position, like kings, emperors, etc., were more subject to such things than people of undistinguished names and of low estate, and assured the king relatives that the latter ought to feel complimented by the deference that had been paid to them by the swindlers. the old man felt sore over this style of joking; felt that the name had been trifled with, and he was resolved to let the jokers "see that there was yet the 'true spirit' in the king blood to avenge an insult,"--and so he did at last. he was not particular about "terms." he was willing to pay abundantly, for he was rich,--rich on that day, at least,--and persuaded me to take hold of the matter by advancing me,--and insisting on my taking it,--double what i told him it might cost to make thorough work of the matter. i told him i had not a particle of hope, for i saw no prospect whatever of tracing out the perpetrators of this fraud in question months after it had been accomplished. but i took the matter in hand, and hearing his story in full, told him to call next day, for i might, on reflection, wish to consult him again. he left with me a letter, which a son of his had received--the man to whom i was indebted for my engagement in the matter. his son, and a partner of his in business at utica, n. y., had about a year before had occasion to engage my services in tracing out some forgers, who had been "speculating" a little upon them; and when he found his father, against his advice, was determined to do something about the matter in question, he told him he had better employ a regular detective, and so sent him to me. i kept this letter for a long time, and, indeed, had three or four copies of it, which i got, some from the kings, and others from some persons by the name of perkins, who had been victimized at the same time. i supposed i could readily find a copy now; but in the multitude of vicissitudes to which a detective's papers and "things sacred," as well as those of other people, are subjected, the letters have become misplaced or lost. but my memory is pretty retentive, and i can reproduce the letter so nearly that i presume several thousands of people in the land would, trusting to their own memories, say that it is a perfect copy, for these several thousands and their families were the victims. the letter purported to be, at its head, the advertisement of a great firm of lawyers in new york city; or rather the professional firm name was displayed in type at the head of an ordinary full-sized letter sheet, thus:-- lord, king, & graham, _attorneys and counsellors at law_. (address, p. o. box .) daniel lord. willis king. j. perkins graham. _new york_, ----, . [the above was printed in an elegant manner upon the nicest paper. under this was _written_ a letter, the same to the kings, the lords, the grahams, and perkinses, with the exception that when writing to a king, the "king family" was named, in the place where, when writing to a perkins, the "perkins family" was named; and the letter ran pretty much after this sort; for example:--] william king, esq., _quincy, illinois_. dear sir: our firm, in the course of investigations, which it has made during the last year among the records of the high court of chancery in england, discovered that there is a vast estate lying in chancery there for the descendants of john king, who came to this country in the year , as near as we can learn. in behalf of the king family in this country, i have undertaken to make out a genealogical list of the direct descendants, and their branches, from said john, and have found a branch, of which i suppose you to be a member, and if so, entitled to your share in the estate. will you have the kindness to forward me your pedigree, as fully as you understand it, or are able to obtain it? i am making out a genealogy of the king family, which will be furnished to those wanting at its cost price, one dollar. this list will be used in bringing suit in england, and it is desirable that all kings claiming relationship to the said john should be registered therein, as this will be made a part of the pleadings in the case, and, according to a peculiarity of the english law, only such as are thus made parties to this suit will receive a share in the estate. your name will be at once registered on receipt of the dollar and your pedigree. please be as particular as you can about the latter. yours, very respectfully, willis king. the letters i saw all seemed to be written in the same rapid, half-clerkly, half-lawyerlike, but elegant scrawl, whether written to a perkins or a king. it will be seen that the third partner--"j. perkins graham"--could represent both the graham and the perkins family, and i suppose he did. so there were in the scheme four families to be preyed upon,--lord, king, graham, and perkins; and these families are numerous over the land, and many of them in high positions. i learned from the scamps, after their detection, that they received all sorts of epistles, from the lowly lord up to the exalted one, who wrote on paper displaying flaming coats of arms, and their letters bearing a huge seal. so with the rest of the families. the swindlers had spent some time in hunting through all the directories of other cities and towns which they could find in new york, and gathered all they could from advertisements in newspapers for a year or so, before they launched out in their long-meditated scheme. meanwhile they were practising their cunning arts in other swindles. they also wrote to the postmasters of a large number of towns, enclosing to one a letter for a king, to another a letter for a perkins, to still another a letter for a graham, asking each postmaster to have the kindness to "read the accompanying letter," and to pass it over to any king, perkins, and so on, who might be within the delivery of his office, or in his vicinity. these letters they got copied by a clerk at a few cents (five, i think) apiece. so when they got a dollar back it paid for about twelve letters, inclusive of stationery and postage. a hundred letters and the postage would cost them about twelve dollars, and from a hundred they would probably get fifty, if not more, favorable answers. from several thousand letters they received several thousand dollars, aside from large sums which, by subsequent correspondence, they swindled out of such pompous, or other parties, as, judging by their letters, they thought they could further entrap. some of these forwarding to the famous firm of lord, king, & graham as high as a hundred dollars to be guaranteed _especial_ effort in their behalf! it is almost too preposterous to be believed, but such was the fact--such the credulity of some who occupied political positions of note; one of them, indeed, being at the time a member of congress! but credulity in matters of this kind is a weakness, alike of the poor and the rich, the educated and uneducated. the device of these swindlers proved to be more profitable than one would have, on first thought, judged possible, so much greater is human credulity than we are wont to consider it. perhaps credulity is the only thing in the world that we are not apt to overrate. but it is not strange that it should be great touching material things, when in matters of religion the most absurd fancies have, from time immemorial, down through the ages of oriental, pagan, and other religions to the days of mohammedanism and mormonism, had possession of the human soul, ruled nations, gathered armies, and taught millions of millions of human beings to sacrifice each other in death, willingly and proudly. and in the matter of money-getting, where hope may be whetted, in order to inspire the actor,--as in reaching out for a fortune in chancery,--their credulity usurps a wondrous supremacy, and carries all along with it. so many of the most intelligent representatives of the various families addressed by "lord, king, & graham" fell as readily into the trap as the least intelligent. now and then a man, a little more wary than the rest, wrote, wishing to make further inquiries about the property in chancery, how it came to be discovered, what was its amount, about how many, probably, it would have to be divided between, etc., etc. but he could not, after asking so many questions, neglect to enclose the small amount of a dollar; and the swindlers taking his measure by his letter, would generally reply in so cunning a manner as to finally elicit from him a "contribution" of from twenty-five to a hundred dollars, in order to prosecute the matter in england. in some instances persons who had received letters wrote that they were coming on to new york in a few days, and would call and talk over the matter. replies would be made to these, that "_our_ mr. perkins," or "mr. lord," or whatever name the special letter-writer bore, and "who has exclusive charge of the matter in question," is away from home, gone to meet some of the family in--(kentucky, for example); that he would proceed, immediately on his return, to england, etc., so as to keep the party from making investigations, and finding that there was no such firm as "lord, king, & graham," generally managing to conclude the letter in some such way as not only to win the one dollar at once, but to elicit more from the man; as, for instance, suggesting that some of the perkinses were making up a sum, by the contribution of ten dollars each, to secure special legal talent in england, and intimating that the interests of those who took a generous and manly part in prosecuting the matter would be likely to be better looked out for than would the interests of those who are not so generous. the family pride of the correspondent would often be flattered in such a way as to make him go deeper into his pockets. the recital of affairs, as given me by one of the swindlers, himself a young man of fine education and genius, was very amusing. it was a pity, he said, that they had not preserved all the correspondence. it would have made a most remarkable book, as funny, in parts, as anything thackeray ever wrote. it was serious and serio-comical; bombastic and pecksniffianly humble. it represented all grades of society, from the "lord" who "drove stage" for a living, up to the "king" who had a seat in congress. widows, whose deceased husbands' names had been culled from ten years old directories, wrote mournful stories about "the late mr. william lord," or "james perkins," or whatever the names might have been, and declared that their late partners had always told them there was an immense estate in england for them, and so on. the pious and the less pious each wrote his peculiar letter. but what was most noticeable was, that almost all of them assumed the airs of "nabobs." and why shouldn't they? were they not on the eve of becoming immensely rich? and what is there in this world, with its grievous labors and trials, comparable to riches? i presume this same sort of trick could be successfully played with almost any family in the land which has an american line extending back of the revolution, say, for a hundred years, and with many of less age, so great is the desire to get riches. indeed, there is a lawyer in vermont who has made the matter of searching out estates in england a study. he spent ten years in england in hunting up genealogies and titles; has a regular partner in london to whom he transmits business from this country, and publishes a good-sized pamphlet filled with the names of families residing in america, and entitled to property in england. this lawyer now and then gets an important case, in which his fees amount to something handsome,--sometimes to twenty thousand dollars. but this is wandering from the direct line of my story, though, perchance, it is far more interesting than the simple detecting part of the tale. my old friend king left the city, and went home a few days after i accepted the work; but his interest did not flag because he had handed over the matter to another, but rather increased. his letters were very frequent, sometimes three a week, none of which, except the first, did i take the trouble to reply to for a long while. i soon found that i needed more facts than i had in my possession to enable me to reach any practical result. it was impossible to find any job printer in the city who had ever done a job for "lord, king, and graham." nobody had ever seen the letter-head before, and no one could suggest where the work was probably done. it was not recognized as like the style of anybody. possibly it was done out of the city; but the fact was, as i afterwards learned, that it had been done privately by a firm which had meanwhile failed in business, and i was baffled on that point. i expected to fail, and so gave but little heed to the matter; but it finally occurred to me that if i could find some king, or somebody else who had received a letter and not replied to it, that he might at that late day make reply in such way as to get into a correspondence with the parties, and i could then have them followed from the post office, or in some other way trap them. about this time i went on to louisville, ky., and there encountered a gentleman, one of the king family,--we will call him lemuel, for a name,--whom i had not met in some fifteen years before. he was a new yorker by birth, and i had known him when a school-boy. lemuel was a bright boy, and made a most acute man. when i asked him if he had ever done business with "lord, king, & graham," of new york, he laughed outright, and exclaimed, "no; but my george, you knew him, has, and got badly bitten." when i found out this, i disclosed to him my reason for inquiring, and found that he had on file somewhere the letter from "l., k., & g.," which was hunted out, and we coined a letter to the firm, which was calculated to wake up any one of them who should receive it. mr. king's letter had been found, sealed and unopened of course, in a package of letters, and he wrote hastily, with great anxiety, to know if it was too late yet to be put in the genealogical list for the dollar; and intimated his desire to contribute anything of a reasonable amount to the prosecution of the search and claim for the estate. this letter was posted, and i hurried back to new york, suspecting that it would appear in the list of advertised letters, as it did; and thinking that it would meet the eye of some one of the firm who would be curious to get it, i had a man stationed in the post office, along with the delivery clerk, and when the man came, as i suspected he would, and asked for the advertised letter, the clerk delayed the delivery long enough to enable my man to get out near the fellow, and follow him. he found that the man entered a law office in nassau street, and that the real estate business was also attended to in the same office. so we devised a business call upon the office, and got well acquainted with the man who took out the letter. he caught at this bait, as i soon learned from louisville, and i carried a letter in reply to his, which led him along till i was fully satisfied that the lawyers and real estate men were all of a piece. i "laid in" with the post office clerk to let me know when a letter bearing mr. king's monogram, from louisville, should arrive. the clerk delayed its delivery one day, and i made a call into the office at the time one of the partners went for their mail. he returned smiling, and passed the letter, which he had read, over to the other party. there was an amount of blind talk over it. finally they excused themselves to retire into the "counsel-room," and coming out, the lawyer sat down and answered the letter. i left the office soon after, and had the letter intercepted at the post office, which i took into my possession. i then sent to louisville for the letters which had preceded this, and receiving the same, i now had the writing of two of them in my possession, and i had managed in a business way to possess myself of sundry documents written by each of these men, and i found other parties, too, who could identify the handwriting of each; and having secured these, i advertised in a philadelphia paper, also in a boston paper, in one at utica, and one in cincinnati, to the effect that any person by the name of king (that for philadelphia), or any person by the name of lord (for boston), and so on, might hear of something to his advantage by calling on so and so any time during the week. i made arrangements with brother detectives in these places to receive their calls, and instructed them what to say. in this way i became, in the course of two weeks, in possession of abundant facts to convince the firm of lord, king, & graham that we had them trapped; and one day, taking an officer along with me, and setting watch till i saw that the two men i have spoken of were in their office, dropped in, and said, "gentlemen, i have been here often on business affairs, and we have got along very pleasantly, and i have invariably found your advice good; but i've something now which i fear will puzzle you; perhaps you can help me out. by the way, if you please, as it's private, i'll lock the door," stepping towards it. "o, certainly, certainly," said both of them at once. i locked the door, and putting the key in my pocket, said, "perhaps, gentlemen, you think i am over-cautious in pocketing the key; but my business is serious, and--you are my prisoners." there was astonishment, and differing shades of color going and coming on their cheeks. "give me the key!" exclaimed the lawyer, finally, resuming his composure in a measure. "'twouldn't do you any good," said i, "for i have brother officers at the door, and the best way is to sit down and talk over the matter coolly. you naturally wish to know why you are my prisoners. i'll tell you. some months ago you carried on a system of frauds under the name of 'lord, king, & graham.' i was lately employed to work up the case. i've all the facts necessary for your conviction; your handwriting, and so forth, and so forth, in my possession;" and then i read them a series of names of those they had swindled, and said, "although i don't need to do so, yet i am going to cause your back office there to be searched." one of them started to rise in his seat. "sit still, or i shall handcuff you," said i; and i stepped to the door, called in the officer, relocked the door, and put the key in my pocket, and directed my man to go into the other room and possess himself of all books and papers which he could find there, and search especially for anything bearing on the "lord, king, & graham" business--(i had told him all about it before); "and, gentlemen, i propose to take possession of all your papers here." my man was hunting over matters vigorously in the other room while i was at work briskly searching the larger room, when the lawyer rose, and said, "gentlemen, i see you've got us. i'll give you up what books there are left, and you can make what you please out of them; they won't do you any good, however." "please to deliver them up, and i will see as to that." they were produced--journals of accounts; and fortunately in one i found three letters written out, but which, for some reason, had never been sent, in the writing of "j. perkins graham," which i discovered to be that of the letter written by the lawyer to my friend in louisville. i also searched the books, and found entries therein in his hand. taking out his letter from my pocket, "there," said i, "is your late letter to mr. king, of louisville. i saw you write it, can prove your hand by a half dozen persons in this building; and that" (taking up a newly-found letter), "is yours, and here are entries in your hand, and i have your friend caught still more firmly. now you see the relation of things, and we needn't dispute; how will you settle this business? all the expenses i have been to must be met first, and you can't object to paying a handsome sum for the education, discipline, and experience you have had in this business. you've learned a good deal of human nature. i don't propose to be hard with you, but my instructions are to expose you through the public press,--you two, and the rest of you,--for i know you all." there was consternation in their countenances, and i had no great difficulty in bringing them to terms, for i informed them that i knew all about their social standing, and that of their relatives, especially dwelling upon the relatives of one of them who was at that time absent, but whom i had inextricably caught with the rest. the lawyer was willing, and so was his friend, to submit to "any reasonable terms," an item of which was the returning to those whom they had swindled out of ten dollars and upwards the money they had defrauded them of, as nearly as from the books and memory they could make out, and to bear the expense of such correspondence as i should think necessary. they were also to pay all expenses i had been to, and to give me full wages for the time i had been at work, the account of which made no small sum. there was no need of my holding them under arrest, for they could better afford to come to my terms than to run away and be exposed in the public papers. besides, they could not think of such a thing on account of their relatives. the father of one of them was a clergyman, in high standing, and the rest held higher social position than he, and the terms, were duly complied with on the return of the third party the next day. i kept possession of the books, had a short letter, in the form of a circular, printed and sent to all the parties whose names were on the books, and were marked with a little cross, which they told me meant those who had responded, in which was set forth the fact of the swindle, with a request that each party should reply as to how much he had lost, especially over ten dollars, and make affidavit of his loss before some notary public or other officer in his vicinity. the amount thus heard from was over three thousand dollars (not counting the several thousands which came in one dollar at a time). on the three thousand and upwards i charged, as permitted to do, ten per cent. for "collecting;" but it was a bothersome business, and vexed me more than it profited me. my acquaintance got to be somewhat intimate with those sharpers, who were all men of education, and very adroit, as the reader may well conceive, from the fact of their perpetrating their frauds on some of the shrewdest and most important men in the land. they kept files of some of their letters, as well as copy-books, which revealed the most consummate skill on their part. indeed, as i said before, i sometimes hardly knew whether to swear, to laugh, or be indignant over this subtle fraud. old mr. king, who first employed me, was delighted with the detection of the villains, but could never forgive me for not exposing them to the public. however, he took all the credit which was fairly due him, if not more, and considered that the good name of king in america was at last preserved from the shame which easy imposition had brought it, and used to say that the lords, perkinses, and grahams of the country all owed the kings a great debt of gratitude. but as my name is not king, i sometimes used to reflect that perhaps they owed gratitude to some others than kings as well, for the largest share of the money returned went to lords and perkinses. not a graham, save one in north carolina, had been defrauded of over one dollar. for many it proved better to have been swindled out of ten dollars or more, than it would have been to have lost only a dollar,--a paradox, with a moral in it, which i leave to the reader's solution. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ hattie newberry, the vermont beauty. -------------- "society, for the most part, creates the crimes which it punishes"--a beautiful girl on the cars from rutland, vermont, on the way to bellows' falls, beset by new york rogues--a detective recognizes in her the former playmate of his own daughter--he encounters the rogues at bellows' falls, and knocks one of them down in the ladies' room--they all take the next train, and move southward, on their way to new york--incidents of the journey--a third villain gets aboard at hartford, conn.--why hattie was going to new york--an old tale--the detective gives hattie much good advice--a skilful man[oe]uvre, on arriving in new york, to put the rogues off the track--a painful discovery at last--a deep, devilish plot of the villains drives hattie to despair, and she is rescued from a suicide's grave--the rogues prove to be the most heartless of villains, and are caught, and duly punished--hattie returns eventually to vermont, after having married her old lover--this tale is one of the saddest as well as most interesting of experiences throughout. it was my original intention when i contracted with my publishers for these sketches from my diary, to avoid such narratives as hinged upon matters of love between the sexes, and especially to avoid all those matters of abduction of females for unholy purposes, the detection and exposure of the schemes of procuresses, or the rescuing from a life of infamy girls of respectable parentage and home surroundings, from both the country and city--matters which frequently come into the hands of detectives, and with which old detectives, in particular, are painfully conversant. i could fill a quarto volume with what has come under my own eye of that nature, with recitals far more romantic in their truthfulness than are the cunning devices of the most imaginative novelists. indeed, the more astute novelists of the sensation school are wise enough to gather instruction, and obtain from interviews with detectives the plots which they work up, out of facts given them by these officers. in my own experience i have been, indeed (at one time especially, when it seemed to me as if all the scribblers had gone mad upon sensation tales), harassed and vexed by what we would now term "interviews," fishing from me the issues of this or that experience. it was my purpose, to which i shall adhere, of course, to give publicity to not a line in these narratives which may not properly fall under the eye of the most fastidious or the most innocent child. nevertheless, such is the course of life the detective is obliged to lead, finding himself frequently among the vilest characters,--thieves, gamblers, highway robbers, unfortunate and lost women, and wretches too low and vile to be named here, even by the crimes or base offences which they commit,--that it is almost impossible to give the full history of anything, with all the incidents of a nature interesting (in some respects) which may have attended it. the scenes which occur in new york, for example, in one day, if gathered into a book, such as the regular police force and the detectives might furnish, would astound the uninitiated; and were they recited in all their details, would, many of them, horrify and disgust, as well as "astound," the reader. at this writing there are crowding upon my memory many occurrences in my life, that i have been called to take a part in, which would hardly be fit for these pages, in view of the extreme immorality that generated them, or follows in their trail, which yet have their romantic side. most of these affairs, to which i now especially refer, relate to the life of fallen women, their first enticements from the path of virtue, their utter ruin, or their final rescue. but it were better that the public remain ignorant of these things as far forth as possible, than to be well informed. yet the eye of sympathy cannot but fill with tears of pity over the ruined and wronged; and as i write, i feel a strong impulse to go aside from my original intention in these tales, and mingle with them recitals of horrible personal wrongs suffered, and the lives of infamy led by many females, whom better surroundings than they enjoyed, or more benevolence and kindness than they received, might have saved, and elevated to places as comparatively dignified in the world as the position they now occupy is base and degraded. "society," it is true, as a great philosopher has aptly said, "creates, for the most part, the crimes which it punishes;" and though the detective, in the pursuit of his calling, is apt to become merciless towards the really guilty, and to condemn them outright,--declaring that they could, if they would, do better,--he knows that it would, a thousand times, seem that the very "conspiracy of circumstances" irresistibly impels men on to the commission of crimes, and in his reason he is more lenient towards his fellow-men than his profession permits him to be in practice. but there are villains in the world who seem to combine with base desires and notions a persistency in the expression of them which never wearies. they pursue their base objects with a tirelessness which would be most admirable in a good cause. indeed, virtue, save as exemplified in the characters of a few great souls, grows weary and careless, and turns almost to vice, long before the perseverance of these villains would turn from its course of wrong. there seems to be a romantic impulse for some in the very trials that beset the path of crime. the more hair-breadth escapes to be made, the more eagerly do these villains seem to enter upon their course. but i must not stop to moralize farther here. unwilling to recite any tale of my own experience of the kind to which i have alluded, as related to the rescuing of intended female victims from the snares of the despoiler, which now comes to my mind, i will recall, as clearly as i can, the story of a brother detective. i was coming from buffalo, in , and chanced to enter the car in which he was seated, on his way to new york, from a successful professional mission at the further west, and fortunately found a seat with him in the same chair. we occupied our time mostly as detectives, when travelling together, are apt to, in the narration of our professional experiences; and let me say here, that of all "story-tellers," the best i have ever listened to are detectives,--the most "apt scholars" usually of human nature,--and what is more, they always have truths enough of a startling kind to tell, to be under no necessity of "drawing on the imagination." thus ran his story of "hattie newberry:"--i may get places and names, in some particulars, not exactly correct. i merely wish to present the substance; and i remember it more particularly, because the case he cited was in so many respects like one of mine, which, however, had features which would be unfit for display in these pages. but to the narrative. my friend said, that once on his way from vermont, he took the cars at proctorsville, i believe, below rutland, coming south; that he had not been long on the cars before he observed a couple of men whom, by their "flashy" dress, and certain signs unmistakable by the "initiated," he knew to be either new york or boston cutthroats of some sort. he thought he had encountered them somewhere before; and as he was on a peculiar mission, connected with the subject-matter of which these very men _might_ be, he kept his eye on them, watching their manners with each other. he discovered that they had some iniquity on hand, as he thought, or were very gleesome over some already secured success, or something of the kind. he observed, too, that they frequently turned their attention to a young lady who was sitting alone in the front seat of the car, by the door, near the stove; and by and by these fellows got up, and went forward to her, and commenced talking, and it was evident from her manner that she had seen them before, and that she wished to avoid them. they tried to affect a familiarity with her, offered her something to drink which they carried in flasks, and so conducted, in short, as to attract the attention of the car full of passengers, who seemed disgusted with their movements. it was evident to my friend that something was wrong; and eventually, as the cars stopped at bellows' falls for a change of passengers to another train for those going down, my friend caught a glimpse of the young lady's face, which he had not seen before, sitting, as he was, some distance behind her, and at once he reflected that he had seen her somewhere, and ought to know her. she was startlingly beautiful, not only in the regularity of her features, but in the expression of her face--"the most beautiful being i ever saw in all my travels," to use his own declaration. he felt a great interest in her; and now that he had seen her pure, beautiful face, he understood well enough that the two villains had no proper acquaintance with her; that they were only harassing her, and had some low design regarding her. the cars waited at the falls for some fifteen minutes before the other train would come in, and my friend, leaving the gentlemen's room, wherein the two men in question were, among others, partaking of refreshments, and "giggling" over their pretty designs, and talking about "her," "that bully gal," etc., and smacking their lips with evident delight over some contemplated victory,--he sauntered into the ladies' room, and proceeded towards the young lady, who arose, moved towards him, and giving him her hand, called him by name. he was astonished as well as delighted that she knew him. "but, miss, i am sorry i cannot call you by name. i think i must have known you," said he. "why, then," she replied, "you have forgotten 'little hattie newberry,' whom you used to dance so much on your knees, along with your jane." "o, no, i've not," said he, grasping her hand, and shaking it heartily, but tenderly, for the tears came into his eyes; for his jane, to whom miss hattie referred, was dead, and he called to mind how dearly she loved "little hattie." ten years had passed since he had seen hattie. she was then a "wee bit of a thing" of her age, and she was not very large now, though grown to full womanhood, as exquisitely moulded in form as she was beautiful of face. my friend had married a vermont girl, he himself being a native of new jersey. the illness of his wife had led them to remove to a little town somewhere above rutland,--new haven, i believe, but may be that is not it,--for a summer, in which place he had first known hattie, when but a child of six years of age. his little daughter jane was just her age, having been born on the very same day that she was, and the two little creatures, just the opposites, however, in complexion, color of hair and eyes, and quite unlike in all respects, fell into the warmest mutual friendship. "they had not a single taste alike," said he. "jane was a great romp, loved to be out in the stables with the horses and cows, was full of boisterous life;" but hattie was as mild as her own blue eyes, and as delicate as her fine, glossy hair. "it was a strange affection these children had for each other," he said; "very beautiful, and i used to be constantly with them when there." he used to spend a month or so of each summer there, while the wife staid from the last of may, he said, into october. for three years his wife made the little town her summer home, and these children grew more and more together. ten years had gone, and hattie was now in her nineteenth year,--a beautiful woman, into whose countenance her advanced years had thrown just enough of spirit to make her interesting,--with an air of sweet, just ripe maturity about her, which gave my friend an inkling of what the two villains were pursuing her for. pretty soon my friend introduced the subject of her "friends,"--her two "fellow-travellers,"--and she shrugged her shoulders with an expression of mingled disgust and dread, and said, "you are going down?" "yes." "o, i am so glad, for you'll be company for me, and keep those mean men away from me--won't you?" "why, certainly. where did you meet them first?" "they came on at rutland, i think, and the impudent fellows have tried to talk with me all the way down. at first i said a few words to them, and told them i was going to new york, and they've left their seats several times, and come forward to me." "yes, i've noticed them," said my friend, "and that's why i came in here, not expecting to find hattie newberry, but sure that you, whoever you are, were being persecuted by those villains, and needed protection." "o, you are so good," said she, "and i shall be so glad to go with you. i did not know what to do, but i had thought that if they got into the same cars with me on the next train, that i would speak to the conductor about them, or go out into another car. they had the impudence to ask me to take some liquor with them, and i do not think they were drunk." their conversation had proceeded to this point, when into the ladies room boisterously came the two men. "here's the darling," said one, approaching her, bringing cakes, etc., in their hands. "and you must take something with us." she declined, and turned her face away, when my friend said to them, "she doesn't want anything--don't trouble her." "yes, she does, too," said one, and the larger of the men; "and she mustn't be bashful--must take it. see here, sis," said he, and placed his hand familiarly on her shoulder to turn her around; at which she shuddered, and gave my friend such a look that he couldn't control himself, "if 'twas in the ladies' room," and dealt the fellow such a blow in the face with his brawny arm--for though he was not very large, he was a hercules in strength, and as skilful with his fists as a prize-fighter--as stretched him flat upon the floor. [illustration: protecting the innocent.] "this young lady is under my protection, and if you harass her any more, i'll break your head," said he, as the scamp "gathered" himself up, and looked for an instant at my friend, perceiving then, perhaps, that the plain-looking man, whom he had quite likely taken for a "common country fellow," was something of a genius in the art of self-defence, as well as that of offence, for my friend was on his "pose," ready to resist the attacks of the two. the scamps almost instantly decamped, and about this time the expected train arrived, and my friend led hattie to a car. into the same the two men came; but my friend, rising, and looking about at them as they passed back, and they perceiving him, they said something to each other, and turned about, and went into a forward car. my friend hoped that that was the last of them; but at several stopping-places on the road, one of them--not the one who got the blow--would saunter through their car, as if looking for some new in-comer, but evidently to feast his eyes on hattie's beauty,--so my friend thought. after being well seated in the cars, my friend called to mind, that, not long before, his wife had heard from some of the relatives in hattie's native village, with whom she kept up an occasional correspondence, that hattie newberry was engaged to a young man by the name of dwight phelps, a member of a quite wealthy family in that place; and he wondered if hattie was going to new york to get "fixed up" for the marriage, for he knew that she had some relatives there somewhere, and his curiosity led him to inquire if she was going to stay long in new york. "yes, perhaps so. i am going with my cousin charlotte,--going to work in the same store with her. she's been trying to have me come for a long time, and at last i've made up my mind to go." hattie's parents were poor people; industrious and respectable, but with quite a large family; and mr. newberry himself, never a very "touch" man, as they express it in vermont, and ill a good deal, they had hard work enough to make ends meet, and send the children to school, and all that. "o, so you are going to live in new york! how's that? let me see; it seems to me that somebody wrote to my wife a few weeks ago, that you and young dwight phelps were to be married; and so i supposed you'd always stay up there." hattie blushed, and replied, "o, there was such a rumor; but that's all over now." she tried to be cheerful, but a sigh, which did not escape my friend's ear, and a sad look, for an instant, which did not escape his eye, revealed to him that something had gone wrong with her; and he finally found, on joking her a little about the matter, kindly, that young phelps's father, who was a sort of a miser, was in the way; that he wanted his son to marry some rich girl, or not a poor one in money, at least, however poor she might otherwise be; and the young man was in his father's hands, so far as pecuniary means were concerned, and would not be independent enough to think of marrying soon. the old man phelps had threatened to disinherit him if he married against his will; and she had determined to not make difficulty in the family, and was on her way to new york, at her cousin's solicitation, to go to work where she could earn something, and help her father and mother support the family. the subject was a painful one for hattie to descant upon, and my friend addressed himself to other matters of conversation. hattie informed him that her cousin, charlotte keeney, was the chief clerk in a confectioner's establishment, with a neat restaurant attached, in sixth avenue, near twelfth street, new york, the proprietor of which was a certain mr. henry ---- (brown, for a name)--a popular, thriving business man, of the rigid school of morals; just, generous, and kindly in manners, but as fixed in his opinions, and as relentless against evil-doers, and as unforgiving of actual moral delinquencies, as if he had been carved out of the "ribs" of the mayflower--(before she became a slave-ship); a sort of wooden-headed man in all matters of morals; a descendant of the puritan stock. this fact lightened my friend's regret that hattie had resolved to go to the city to live, for he chanced to know mr. brown's reputation, otherwise he would have felt it his duty to say more to her of the perils and trials of city life than he did. he said, as he looked upon her wonderful beauty, and thought how many girls, almost as beautiful, had found city life full of thorns; had borne sad trials, and suffered deathly sorrows, principally through the fact of their exquisite beauty; and reflected, too, that she was going there with a wound upon her heart, and therefore less likely to resist the city's temptations,--his heart quite overcame him, and he wanted to take her directly into his own family, and as a father protect her. along the route, as i have observed before, he noticed the impertinence of the two men, constantly seeking to get a sight at hattie whenever the cars stopped. my friend (call him frederick daniels) was greatly annoyed by this; but it gave him occasion to descant to hattie upon the character of certain heartless beings she might meet with in the city, and to advise her touching the companionships she might make. but hattie thought that in her cousin charlotte's riper experience she should find sufficient protection, and she seemed to look upon charlotte as a wonder of wisdom as well as of goodness; and mr. daniels, reflecting that mr. brown's must be as safe a place as any for a young lady, probably contented himself with asking hattie to visit his family as often as she could; but he lived far up town, and on the other side of the city from mr. brown's, so it was not likely that she could find time, save on sundays, and then she would be obliged to walk much to get to his house. but she promised him to visit his family when she could, and to always come to him if she needed aid or protection of any kind. the journey was passed pleasantly on to new york, without notable incident, save that at hartford, where the cars were delayed for some time on account of an accident which had occurred on the road some miles below: the two men were met by a man of the same character with them, evidently, and who gave them something to drink from his flask, theirs being apparently empty, and which fired one of them into unusual impudence, which made him annoying to hattie and mr. daniels--breaking in at times into the ladies' sitting-room in the depot, whither they had gone, with other passengers, for "sake of change" from the cars. mr. daniels, it chanced, knew this third man, who seemed to have no memory that he had ever run across mr. d. before; and knowing him, mr. d. was not at a loss where to place them. he told hattie that they were gamblers, and worse; besides, probably being pickpockets. she, in her innocence, was surprised to learn that so well-dressed men as these could be so low in character, and mr. d. felt that she almost questioned his judgment. so, hoping to impress her with the danger of "trusting to appearances," in a great city especially, he told her such tales about such elegantly-dressed scoundrels as came into his mind; and filled up the time of the journey with such lessons as he thought might be of use to hattie, and put her on her guard against evil. mr. daniels chanced to observe that the third villain took passage with the other two from hartford, and he saw that this man had become more interested, if possible, in hattie than the other two, if anything was to be judged by the more extreme eagerness with which he eyed her. the third villain, whose name or _alias_ was, as mr. d. knew, "harland," was a more accomplished man than the rest. he hailed from meriden, conn., where it was said he was quite respectably related, and had at one time occupied a respectable business position in new york; but turning to sporting, he at last got involved, and operated some adroit forgeries, and had been connected with a swindling bogus lottery. it was in the detection and breaking up of this concern that my friend daniels had come across harland. this man had lost his best old friends, who discarded him outright, he being obliged to take up with a low class of society; yet there was a natural, or educated pride in him, which probably suffered much from his debasement, and which prompted him to make tools of these beings, whom he regarded, notwithstanding his fraternizing with them, as inferior beings. mr. daniels felt a renewed interest for hattie when he considered this adroit man; and the fear came over him that the rascal would, in some way, manage to make himself felt by her to her sorrow; and he told hattie that the fellow would as likely as not seek her out in her employment, and that the place she was going to, being open to the public, he would doubtless find her out; but that if he did, she must not allow him to make her acquaintance, beyond what her necessity as a clerk would demand of her allowing. she promised him to observe his advice. my friend, with his usual shrewdness, had preconceived that these villains would endeavor to follow hattie, to see where she went on her arrival in new york; and when the passengers alighted from the cars, he was not surprised to find these men near him, watching his movements; and to thwart them, he took hattie and her trunk, by coach, to the hotel, intending, as he did, to soon after take her to her place of designation on sixth avenue, and to send from there some trusty man for her trunk. the scoundrels followed in another coach, and kept close behind him, alighted at the same hotel, and registered their names just below his and hattie's. "fred. harland," "edward rowe," and "philip jas. mchenry," were the entries, in the bold and elegant hand of harland. mr. daniels procured a room for himself and one for hattie, who began now to see the desperate course which these men would pursue, and was very willing to be guided by daniels, to avoid being followed by these fellows. mr. daniels, not being willing to be kept close prisoner there by these men,--and the night was coming on, too, and he wished to be at home,--went out to a trusty friend's store, advised him of what was going on, and asked him to allow one of his lady clerks, about hattie's size, to go to the hotel parlor, the gentleman to follow soon; and the girl, "for the fun of the thing, if nothing more," as she giddily said, acquiescing, made entry to the hotel parlor, whence mr. daniels took her to hattie's room, and caused her to assume hattie's hat and shawl, in exchange for which hattie took hers; and after the merchant had come over to the hotel, and had been made acquainted with hattie, mr. daniels took the young lady, and proceeded through the hall to the street; and acting as if utterly oblivious or careless of the existence of these fellows, passed on, with his thickly-veiled charge upon his arm, down the street. in crossing to the opposite side, at no great distance from the hotel, he had opportunity to look back without being suspected, and saw harland, and the man "rowe" (the one whom he had knocked down at bellows' falls), following slowly, but with eyes bent upon him. he would have been better satisfied had he seen the third following him. the young lady liked the sport, and daniels led the fellows quite a chase, and finally brought about to the store of his friend, trusting that the latter's sagacity had enabled him meanwhile to leave the hotel with hattie, and take her to mr. brown's, on sixth avenue. he had told hattie to take the key of her room with her, and give it to his friend. the surprise of the scamps in seeing mr. daniels come away from this store, and leave "hattie" there, must have been considerable. mr. d. went back to the hotel, and to his joy found that the merchant had gone with the real hattie; and he withdrew to the store again, and awaited his return, which he made in good time. it was then arranged that the porter of the store should be sent for hattie's trunk, and it be brought there. mr. d. went with the porter, paid the bills, and took the trunk, brought it to the store, whence the next day it was sent to hattie's new home, and mr. d. then betook himself to his own home,--feeling that his stratagem had saved hattie much annoyance in the future, and perhaps much suffering. the next day the ladies re-exchanged, through the porter, their hats and shawls, and mr. daniels, being called away from the city soon on business, and being exceedingly occupied for some two months and over, had almost lost memory of hattie altogether. she, however, called at his house once in the mean while, in his absence from home, and had a cheerful "reunion" with the wife and the family. mrs. daniels took the greatest interest in her, and regarded her beauty as something "almost superhuman," she said. she knew that as a child she bade fair to become a beautiful woman; but the change had been so great in her in the last eight years (for mrs. daniels had seen her once since her husband had, before the latter's late meeting with her), that she would not have known her at first, had she not given her her name, and then could barely recognize that it was she. mrs. daniels gladly accepted the husband's invitation to "go down and call on hattie newberry," which they did; and on entering the confectioner's shop, what was mr. daniels's astonishment and horror, on discovering there both harland and mchenry, in cheery conversation with one of the girls, whom he took, and who so proved, to be charlotte keeney, hattie's cousin! evidently they were old acquaintances of hers. mr. and mrs. daniels passed by them, on to where they discovered hattie, who saluted them cordially, asked them into the little rear saloon, and called in her employer, mr. brown, to whom she presented them as old friends, who "used to live in vermont." they had a charming visit with hattie, who was released from her engagements by her kind employer, in order to entertain them, and mr. brown sent in confections and "goodies" for them to carry back to their family, and gave them much of his attention besides. mr. daniels was indignant to find those two men there; but he knew not precisely what to do. had they hunted out hattie, or were they old acquaintances of charlotte, and had found hattie there by accident when calling on the former? were they time-old customers of the place, or recent comers? these and such like questions occupied his mind. he wanted to speak to mr. brown, and tell him of the character of these men; but they might be good customers,--certainly they were lavish with their money that night,--and it was clear that charlotte liked them; indeed she seemed fond of them, and mr. daniels hesitated as to what to do, for fear of giving offence. he knew the reputation of mr. brown, to be sure, and that he would not wish his clerks to be on terms of friendship with such villains, if he knew their true character. but then he, daniels, was a comparative stranger to mr. brown, and why should brown accept his single word as against such well-behaved "gentlemen," who were good customers, too. besides, business men, however good they may be themselves, exist upon, and make their money out of, their customers; and whoever should enter upon a close scrutiny of the character of his patrons in new york, would be apt to find nine scamps in every ten persons. the fact is, that the greed for money is so great in new york, and all over the country, that the best men come to be as polite to their most wicked patrons and customers, as to those of high and noble characters. mr. daniels, as a detective, whose business it is to "mind other people's business" in some respects, felt more keenly than most men feel the like, the propriety and expediency of minding his own business, and was cautious in his proceedings therefore. he made up his mind to say nothing to any one except hattie, at first, at least; and so, when she, and his wife, and himself were quite alone together, he spoke to her of these men as the ones whom they had encountered on the cars, and whom she had escaped. what was not his astonishment when he found that she did not recognize them as such. it appeared that harland was an old friend of charlotte, of whom charlotte had, in fact, written her before she came on,--speaking of her having been, the night before her letter was dated, to the theatre, with her friend, mr. harland, "a very fine, spirited gentleman," etc., whom hattie would like, she thought. mr. daniels had not mentioned the names of these men to hattie on the day of her escape from the hotel. it had not occurred to him to do that; and when, in the course of a week or two after her arrival at mr. brown's, harland called on charlotte, who received him joyfully, and after a while presented him in warm terms to hattie, she of course did not recognize him by his name, though she thought she'd seen him somewhere; but she reflected that on her way to her boarding-house--for she did not board with charlotte--she saw many noticeable men, and probably had encountered him somewhere in going or coming. but notwithstanding mr. daniels's assurance, she could not identify either of the men as having been aboard the cars that day; and it was evident that they had made quite a pleasant impression upon her mind. they had been there quite often; and mr. daniels, from what he saw of their sly glances towards hattie, discovered that it was she, rather than charlotte, whom they came most to see. but mr. daniels was not willing to leave without making some further effort in hattie's behalf; and he asked her to call charlotte into the room, to see him and his wife, while hattie should wait upon the customers, and especially these men. he thought that possibly hattie might yet call them to mind as the scamps who pursued her that day. it was evident to him that the men recognized him, and were bound to stay as long as he did, and entertain charlotte. they proved themselves "good customers" that night, if never before; in fact, hattie confessed that she thought they had bought more that night than in all their calls before. she went, at mr. daniels's request, and asked charlotte to go into the little room; and charlotte said she would "soon." the men heard the request, and it was clear that they meant that she should not go, and so they kept chatting on; but hattie, going out again, and evincing some anxiety, charlotte excused herself to the men, and went, not however till harland, calling her back after she had gone a few steps after hattie, said something to her. she came to the table where mr. and mrs. daniels were sitting, and thanked them for their wish to see her, but said they must excuse her; that they saw how occupied she was, and that mr. brown, though a kind, generous man, was very earnest in wishing his clerks to do their full duty, and not lose a chance to trade. she hoped they would come again, and find her more at leisure. of course mr. daniels could have nothing to reply to this, but to thank her, etc., and she bowed herself away pleasantly, and so daniels was foiled in that move; and at last, contented himself with earnest advice to hattie to let these men alone, to avoid them all she could, and to tell charlotte their true character, and that they were the men who persecuted her on the day of her arrival. hattie promised to heed mr. daniels's advice, and she told charlotte about the men, on the first good opportunity that she had; but charlotte could not believe it, especially as hattie had not recognized harland before, and confessed that she could not yet call him to mind. "but mr. daniels cannot be mistaken," said she. "i did not look the men in their faces much. i avoided them, and would not be apt to remember them in other dress, and coming here as your old friends." but charlotte would not be persuaded, and believed mr. daniels mistaken. indeed, she finally told hattie that harland said he had seen her friend, mr. daniels, somewhere before; couldn't say where; but that he was a man of poor character he knew, and he wondered hattie allowed him and his wife to call on her. this, mr. daniels heard long after from hattie's lips. that night mr. d. went home down-hearted, feeling that he had failed to impress hattie sufficiently of her danger; but he had made her promise him, that if she ever had any serious trouble she would seek his aid, and that she would call on him and his family, whenever she could find it convenient to do so. time went on, and though mr. daniels's mind frequently reverted to hattie, yet his business cares did not allow him to visit her. he made up his mind that night that the wretches intended to possess themselves of her in some way, and that they would carry out their vile purpose if possible. he talked with mrs. daniels about it. such beauty as hattie's would not fade easily, and such a prize as she would be sought. he hoped she'd make the acquaintance of some good man, and get married, and thus be saved from trouble; but he reflected that these villains would manage to keep such men as that away from her. as for themselves, even if either of them was moved by her beauty to love her, he probably then had a half dozen wives somewhere; and would prefer her as mistress rather than wife, even if he were unmarried. mrs. daniels had no fear for hattie; which consoled mr. daniels somewhat. she said she _knew_ that such a girl as hattie could take care of herself as against the seducers. she felt in her woman's nature that there was something in hattie's composition which the despoiler could not corrupt, and which would be her protection; besides, hattie's duties required her services evenings, and these men had not much opportunity to ply their villanous arts. mr. daniels deferred a good deal to his wife's judgment in this, and felt more easy--and time wore on. three or four more months had passed, and one night, just as mr. daniels had returned home, there was a violent ringing of his door-bell, which he answered on the spot, not having yet removed his overcoat. the messenger had come for him, with imploring word from hattie newberry, that he should at once come to the jefferson market station to see her. she was in trouble: charged with crime, and was almost frantic; had been rescued, an hour before, from the north river, where she had attempted to drown herself, and was calling, in incoherent terms, his name, and much which they could not make out. he must go at once, and he did, with a willing but a sad heart. he revolved all sorts of possibilities in his mind as he accompanied the messenger, and arriving at the station-house, found there poor hattie, who, recognizing him, rushed upon him, threw her arms about his neck, and exclaimed, "o, if i had but minded your good advice. i am not guilty! not guilty!--and i wanted to die." "no, no, hattie, you are not guilty," he replied; "no matter what the charge is, you are not guilty of any crime." at this point a brother detective stepped up, one of mr. daniels's best friends. his clothes were still wet, and daniels exclaimed, "what, was it you, montgomery, that rescued my child here from the water? god bless you!" "yes,"--and montgomery, pulling him by his sleeve, as if to take him away, he said to hattie, "be calm, hattie, you are my child, and nothing shall hurt you; excuse me a moment, i'll be right back." "yes, yes," interposed montgomery, who was a splendid officer, and greatly respected by all about the station, "i assure you that what mr. daniels says is right. you shall not be harmed, and we'll be back soon." daniels and montgomery went aside, and the latter said, "tell me all about this girl, daniels. i never saw such beauty. i thought one spell she'd drag me down, but i would have gone under willingly to save her; and when she called your name i was glad, for i knew all was right somehow--but i haven't questioned her much; indeed, she's been half delirious till you came; but i see her eye is getting natural." montgomery then went on to tell him how he happened to be down near the wharf, saw a well-dressed girl running in such a mad way as to arrest his attention, and he followed her, and saw her plunge off the dock, but not before she had paused a second, and looked about, when he caught sight of her wondrous face. his first thought was, that she was some unfortunate of the town, who had resolved to end her unhappy career; but he stripped off his outer coat and boots, and ran along some logs which were lying in the water, and reached out a pole to her which he had caught up. as she rose, puffing and struggling, she seized it, and he saw that the water had chilled out her purpose of suicide; and, indeed, she cried for help, and he plunged in, finding the water deeper than he thought, and had a hard struggle to get out with her, for she was frantic, and grasped his arms so that he could hardly use them. he had gotten assistance and a carriage, and had taken her to the station, and quickly after arriving there had encountered an officer, who said he was after her; that she was a thief, had stolen a diamond ring of great value, "and, of course, lots of other things," as he said. but montgomery would not give her up till daniels came, after hearing her call for him. this was all that montgomery knew about the matter. [illustration: rescue of hattie newberry.] dry clothes had been procured for hattie, and she had recovered from her fright a little when daniels came. daniels told montgomery all about her, and they both believed her innocent, and resolved to save her. the charge was surely false, they said, and they went back to her, dismissed those about her, and asked her to tell them her trouble, which, in her plain, simple way she did. she had been charged by harland with having filched from him a valuable diamond ring, worth three hundred dollars. she had denied it; and harland had asked her to let her room be searched, and she had willingly done so; and in company with an officer, she had gone to her room with charlotte and mr. and mrs. brown, and allowed the search; and there, to her consternation, in her own reticule, wrapped up in a little white paper, was found the very ring harland had described. "the villain slipped it in there in the search!" exclaimed daniels. "no, no," said she, "mr. brown opened the box, and found the reticule, and examined it himself. harland did not touch it." "did he examine anything?" "no, he didn't touch anything," said she. "mr. brown and mrs. brown did the searching; he looked on." "then," said montgomery, "the villain had, in some way, got the ring in there. he knew what the search would result in,--felt sure of his game." mr. brown was convinced of the girl's guilt, and was going to discharge her. he was dreadfully perplexed by it, for he had thought hattie the best of girls; but her guilt was so apparent to him as to excite his old puritan sense of justice. mercy lost its hold in his heart, but he consented, at harland's suggestion, to let her stay a day or so longer. harland said, that now he had got his ring he did not care to punish her; that he presumed she had been sorely tempted by it, for she had seen it in his possession, and he knew well enough when she took it. he thought it too bad to not give her another trial; but mr. brown would have no thief in his employ, but would let her stay a day or two,--but not to work,--till harland could get her a place. when daniels and montgomery got to this part of her story, they could account for the man's villany; and consulting with each other away from hattie, concluded to send at once for mrs. daniels, for they saw that there were probably things which hattie would prefer to tell to a woman. while the carriage was gone for mrs. d., they learned further of hattie's story: that she partly loved harland, that she was innocent of the theft, and somehow suspected him of having planned to destroy her character. the light began that day to open upon her mind, and she loathed him; and so dreadful were her feelings, and so deep her sense of wrong at mr. brown's hands, in that he had no charity for her, that, brooding over it all, and thinking what a horrible story would reach her home about her, she got frenzied, and resolved to put an end to her life. she expected harland at about such an hour, and the nearer that approached the more terrible her condition seemed to be; and finally, life seeming unendurable longer, she had rushed from the house, as it would seem, just about the time harland and the officer with him had come. this would account for the appearance of the officer whom montgomery had seen. "that scamp is no officer," exclaimed montgomery, when he came to hear this, for he was the same man, she said, who had accompanied harland on the day of the search. "i thought i had seen him before. do you go, daniels, and meet him, for he may know me. i think it is a wretch by the name of harry restell; and if it is he, you'll discover a slit in the lobe of the left ear, shaped liked an inverted 'v,' and if you notice further, you'll see a slight inclination of the head to the left side, as if the cords of the neck, on the left side, were a little shorter than on the other, and stiff. if you find so much, make his acquaintance pleasantly, get him to talk with you, and go with you about the cells, and without ceremony shut him in; call badger for the keys, and tell him i told you, for this will end that game, and send for me instantly. i'll fix him. i want him." mr. daniels went, and finding restell, the man whom montgomery suspected, was adroit enough to accomplish the feat given him to perform in less than fifteen minutes; and montgomery was delighted with the word to "come." he told hattie to be calm; that the rascals would be foiled, and she proved innocent,--as she was, in reality, before another day rolled round. he rushed to the cells, opened the one in which was restell, drew in daniels with him, and clutching the villain by the hair, said to him, "i have you, you scamp, you murderer, you --!" but it will hardly do to repeat here the last word, implying crimes which, though common enough, are hardly fit for the eye of the general reader to see named in print. "you show your guilt, and my proof you know, when i name mary ----; and now you have been personating an officer, helping that harland to destroy an innocent girl. you have your choice, whether to go with me at once to the tombs, and from there to sing sing prison for five or ten years, or to tell me all about what harland and you have been doing. make a full confession." montgomery spoke as rapidly as lightning, and there was a terrible firmness and earnestness in his voice. restell quivered. he saw that he was known. he had been guilty of a terrible crime; had personated an officer, too,--a misdemeanor punishable with fine,--and he was sure to be caught in the conspiracy with harland; and he thought it the better way to confess at once, which he did; and he told montgomery that harland had managed to slip the ring into the girl's reticule at the theatre a few nights before; that the ring was a paste one, and not a diamond ring; that its setting was really worth about twenty-five dollars, but the diamond being only paste, harland had not risked much; that harland wanted to degrade the girl, get her away from her place, get her a situation himself, make her dependent on him, and finally make her his mistress. "and he told me i might have her a part of the time, if i would help support her," said restell; "and when i came to see her, i found her so beautiful that i agreed to help him, and went with him, as an officer, to look for the ring, and we were after her to-night, and got there five minutes after she'd left. that's how 'tis," said he, "and i went one way in search of her, and harland another." "where were you to meet when one of you found her?" quickly asked daniels. "at washington parade ground, on this north-west corner." "ay, ay," said daniels, "i know that fellow. we'll nab him,"--and taking an officer with him, proceeded at once to the spot, and luckily found harland walking back and forth there, very nervously. daniels knew him, and without a word, as they were about to pass each other, knocked the rascal down, and fell upon him, while the officer clutched him too. "don't make any noise, or you are a dead man," said daniels. "give me that diamond ring the first thing, or die," clutching the scoundrel by the throat, till he was so nearly dead that he could hardly point with his finger to an inside vest pocket, where daniels put his hand, and found a wallet, in which he found the ring. getting that, he let the scamp up. he wanted the ring to prove its paste character, as one of the evidences against the villain. "now," said he, "restell is nabbed. you see he has 'peached' on you, and we want you to go along with us to him." the officer told harland that if he didn't go quietly, he would "put the irons on;" and harland felt the propriety of subjection, without any attempt at escape. meanwhile mrs. daniels had arrived, and being instructed by montgomery, had inquired into harland's conduct towards her. it was evident that his intentions had long been to possess her, but that the girl, in her innocence, had not known what he meant; and when he had asked her to marry him, although she had considerable liking of, and affection for him, she had refused to accept him for the time, and he had urged her several times. she said he was always quite nervous, and sometimes almost angry, that she would not marry him; yet, after all, he had been very kind to her in most respects; had made her several presents, and taken her and her cousin to the theatre, etc., whenever they could get away from the shop. some things which she told mrs. daniels, on the latter's minutely inquiring into the modes in which he had treated her, and what he had said, showed a peculiar innocence in the girl, amounting to almost stupidity. yet it was no wonder, after all, in view of her careful rearing at home. what mrs. d. learned confirmed mr. d.'s and montgomery's theory, and with it, and all they had learned before, they had solved the problem. harland saw how thoroughly he was caught, and thought best to acknowledge that what restell had disclosed was the truth; that the girl was innocent; and he went so far as to express his love for her with tears, and was allowed to see her, and beg her pardon on his knees, with protestations of love, and his desire to marry her. he was allowed to do this, only that hattie might have better evidence of her innocence, for it was done in mr. and mrs. daniels's and montgomery's presence. harland wanted to give her the ring which daniels handed to her for him, but she spurned it; and daniels said he would keep it for her, to which harland consented; for daniels had a notion that harland would yet do evil with it if he possessed it. to make all sure, mr. brown was sent for, routed out of bed, and brought before the girl and harland, and harland made to repeat his confession before him. mr. brown was delighted, put his arms about hattie, called her his own child, and said he could not all the while believe she _meant_ to do any wrong; but there was the ring in the reticule, and she had stoutly denied having any such ring; and how could it have gotten in there without her putting it there? etc. this had convinced him against his will; but he said he would never believe any charge against anybody on circumstantial evidence again, hattie was taken back into his employ, remained with him over a year, as kindly cared for as if she was his child, and finally went back to vermont as the wife of young phelps, who had, at last, overcome his father's objections, mostly through his mother's intercessions, who had died meanwhile, and who, on her death-bed, had made him promise to let the son marry the girl he loved. harland agreed to leave new york forever if proceedings were not taken against him; and having money enough (obtained, though, by gambling and forgeries), the officers thought it no wrong to make him pay pretty liberally for the trouble he had made; and mr. daniels, having hattie's good at heart, was not easy with him in his demands, but secured enough, so that mr. brown could afford to do a great deal for her; for, at different times, mr. daniels put sums of money into mr. brown's hands to buy this or that for hattie, letting her suppose that it all came from brown's generosity; and it should be added, that the latter _was_ generous to her also, for he always added to the sums given him, and purchased better things than directed for her, as a sort of quietus, it is supposed, to his wounded conscience, in believing that she was guilty. harland decamped; but he came back at last, and carried charlotte keeney off with him somewhere as his wife,--which was the strangest part of the story. she had loved him before hattie came, and he had probably loved her, but hattie's great beauty had attracted him from her; that is, his affection,--for he had always taken charlotte along with hattie to theatres and elsewhere. the fact is, there was a jealousy of hattie in charlotte's heart, so great, that though she loved her cousin, it seemed that she was almost sorry that she proved innocent at last; and she felt harland's absence, notwithstanding his villany, greatly. the heart of a woman will cling to her lover or husband in crime or obloquy, almost as strongly as the heart of a loving man will cling to, and protect, the woman he really loves, doing deeds of crime at her will, and, in fact, wrecking fortune, and health, and life at her behest. it is common to declare the constancy of woman greater than that of man; but that is a false notion, cherished only by the inexperienced in human nature's laws. charlotte found pardon in her own heart for harland; and if she did not invent sensible excuses for his conduct, was not wanting in the number of them. she married, and was heard from afterwards as living happily with him somewhere. [illustration: restell at sing sing.] restell expected to escape his deserts by peaching on harland; but montgomery had not so promised him when daniels caged him in the cell, and montgomery had taken care to not do so, for officers of the law and detectives are very scrupulous about keeping their plighted word to even the basest criminals. and if they were not so, the whole fraternity of wretches would know it, and refuse to give evidence at any time, and thus many a criminal mystery would go unexplained, and many an innocent, like hattie, might suffer the full consequences of a criminality of which they were not guilty. it is often better to let a dozen guilty go than that one innocent should suffer. restell was taken to the tombs, on charge of a crime here unmentionable; but a portion of the evidence against him failed by the death of a witness for the prosecution, while he lay in prison, and a matter of forgery having meanwhile become disclosed involving him, he was tried on that, and sent to sing sing for four years and some months--the longest term the law would allow for his offence. mr. daniels interwove in this narrative many interesting facts, to which i cannot, at this distance of time, do justice. he was a keen observer of human nature, and told a story pleasantly. he recited to me many other tales of almost equal interest; and, as i learn that he is alive at this writing, i am not sure that i shall not try to hunt him up, and engage him to give zest, with his piquant stories, to these pages; for it matters not whose an interesting experience may be, so that we have the facts. truly, "facts _are_ stranger than fictions" often; and it has occurred to me, while hunting over my diaries and burnishing up my memory, to hint to my publishers that the truest, shortest, and best way to collect a volume of marvellous experiences would be to invite a number of detectives to dinner, accompanied by short-hand reporters, and treat them so well that they tarry with their story-telling through the night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ about bogus lotteries. how they are "got up"--their mode of operations detailed--how they manage the "drawn numbers" beforehand--the great shrewdness of the operators--the social respectability of these--the great firm of "g. w. huntington & co."--the immense circulation of their journal--their victim, a maine farmer, who believed he had "drawn" five thousand dollars, and counsellor wheaton, his lawyer, a story to the point--who invest in lotteries: children, widows, clergymen, bank cashiers, etc.--how the firm of "g. w. h. & co." was captured--no. , william street, new york, their pretended banking house--how a bogus lottery company swindled its own agents--a queer tale. the object of these narratives is not simply to paint human nature in the color of its subtle facts, more strange than the imaginings of fiction, in order to excite the reader's mind as he runs over these pages, or to feed the greediness for the marvellous--not these alone; but the writer trusts that what he has taken so much pains to cull out of the repertoire of his observations and experiences, and from those of others, and reproduce here for the instruction of his fellow-men, shall be found useful as well as interesting; and by teaching those who are inclined to the commission of offences against law and the good order of society, that they cannot easily escape discovery if they commit crimes, shall prevent, to some degree, the perpetration of such crimes. but there are sufferers as well as guilty actors, and these the writer would serve also, as well as preserve the innocent and unwary from the operation of those crafts and cunning devices by which they might be made sufferers. to-day, tumbling over some old files of notes and papers at the bottom of an old trunk, the contents of which had not been thoroughly disturbed for over ten years before, there came to light a sealed package, marked "the bogus lottery papers: not to be opened without my consent." this package has awakened a host of "memories of other days," and decided me to wander a little perhaps from the preconceived line of these narratives; and not so, either; for in this tale it will be seen that the detective had his legitimate part to play in the matter which it recalls. the package is found to contain notes for guidance in working up the case; letters from dupes or victims of the crafty speculators in human credulity; bits of the personal history of some of these wily scamps, and which they would hardly desire to see in public print, with their true names affixed (for some of them were and are of high rank in the business, social, and literary world); copies of certain financial journals, devoted to the dissemination of remarkable facts tending to show the wise philosophy of "nothing venture, nothing have," and from their first column to the last, filled with cunning lies; my own correspondence with certain victims; memoranda of facts gathered at sundry post offices and elsewhere; piteous letters from the deluded; correspondence with lawyers on the subject at issue, etc., etc.,--quite a little pile, as they lie on my table here. some of the letters have grown dark with age, and there is a peculiar smell about them, as if they hinted at unsavory things, and so they do. and these remind one of other years very peculiarly, and suggest many thoughts on human weakness and perversity. i am vexed not a little as i look over them, and call to mind the class of men who mingled in the iniquities of which i am about to speak, that i cannot write out these men's names for the public eye. but some of them have "reformed," have gone into legitimate business, and have families dear to them, and who were ever quite unconscious of the modes by which their husbands and fathers obtained money here in this seething sea of iniquity of new york,--this worse than modern babylon,--whom it would be cruel now to wound. and i call to memory now one of these operators in petty villany, who is dead--a noble fellow in the general way, a son of a distinguished father, well bred, and related by blood to some of the first, and really finest people in new york. ah! what would a certain philanthropist say--a man who leads noble charities, devotes his now declining years to the practical duties of a sunday school teacher, and whose voice has been, within a few years past, heard in the national congress, as that of one of the few there whom the corruptions of politics have not stained; a man of large wealth, with which he makes far less display than many a man of the expensive habits of these latter days with but a tenth or fiftieth of the former's income, and a man of marked intelligence, too, as well as of high morals,--what would he say, were it disclosed to him that his relatives, his nephews, the sons of his not unnoted sisters, were participants in these crimes,--cool-blooded, mean, devilish,--and continued, and carried on, under the guise of "business," and indeed as a business for years? but if this simply, were told him, he could not understand the half, for he would not know the half. i shall spare the participants in those criminal schemes the mention of their names here, though i conceive that i should have done no more than my duty had i, at the time in question, given them publicity through the press. but even in the last ten years the public sentiment has largely changed, not only in new york, but throughout the country, perhaps, in regard to the true standard of morals, or the recognition of any standard at all, may be; and those who are acquainted with the modes of conducting business in wall street,--(the real centre of practical government for the nation),--and therefore know what iniquities transpire there in the way of "legitimate business," so called, could hardly be surprised at anything i might disclose of the past. it is a sad reflection that the greed of gain governs everything else in these days in this union; and that the manner of obtaining a fortune is, in most people's opinion, of no account, however vile, in comparison with the matter of possessing it. money is a veil which will cover every crime, and nobody knows this fact more surely than the detective. it is a fact, that to save anything like a fair proportion of the value of a thing stolen, the loser will almost universally compromise with the thief when the detective secures him. "compounding a felony," in itself a crime at the common law, has become so universal as to be the "common law" itself: and in new york it is a matter of but slight disgrace, at most, to be guilty of any crime; and especially of those crimes by which the perpetrator secures a large amount of money. wall street, for example, is thronged every day by men in respectable and high ranks of society, who are frequently guilty of crimes which would, a generation ago, have consigned them to the state prison for a long term of years, if not for life. but after all, the reflection comes that morals, like the matter of conscience, are educatable, changeable; and that the hearts of men are not so very bad at bottom, most wrongs being chargeable to the institutions of the people. competition, instead of coöperation, being the rule, and the depraved doctrines of such writers as carlyle, advocating the development of the individual, rather than the interest of communities and blended peoples, have had a direct tendency to increase the volume of crime. but i will, with these "prefatory remarks," return to the body of my subject. new york contains a large number of people who obtain their living by the practice of frauds, of one kind and another. the gambling saloons, with their marked cards, and faro banks, so arranged that while the pretension of fairness is observed, the chances in favor of the bank are made sure in the proportion of ninety per cent. to ten per cent. for every hundred dollars which go upon the table; the iniquitous "corners" made in wall street, and all the fine scheming of the bulls and the bears, etc., etc., illustrate this. in fact, commerce itself is, in all its avenues, made to bend to this skill of fraud in making money, and making a living; and it is a wonder that there are not more, rather than less of the institutions of which i am about to speak, in new york. these exist to-day; but it is a long while since i have been called into relations with them in a professional capacity. at the time to which i allude, there were several bogus lottery companies having their centre in new york, and extending their operations all over the country, fleecing the credulous people to the extent of hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. in maryland and in georgia, and also in kentucky, at that time, lotteries were licensed, and perhaps in some other states; but most of the states prohibited them. cuba, too, licensed extensive lotteries, and havana was, as she still is, the chief city of the world, perhaps, in this respect. the bogus companies in new york mostly pretended to be agents of the legitimate companies to which i allude above; and purported to give their "policy-holders" the true reports of the public drawings of these lotteries, by which their fate, as winners or losers, was decided. among these companies of scamps, was one, self-styled "g. w. huntington & co.," concocted and "managed" by men of classical education, high bred, representing some of the really best families in the land, but who had not been as fortunate in legitimate business as desirable, and so resorted to this course of fraud in order to make money easier, and more of it. they knew the value of advertising, to any business, and they published a sheet in the form, in part, of a literary paper, in which counterfeit schemes of the companies they pretended to represent, were set forth in due style. it appeared, in the course of my investigation of these affairs, that this company issued monthly no less than two hundred thousand copies of this paper, which were sent to various addresses, culled out of directories, and otherwise obtained, from almost every village as well as city in the nation, north and south, east and west; but principally in the western and middle states. as the agents of the companies they pretended to represent, and of pretended companies too, which never had an existence, these men were in constant receipt of letters, containing from fifty cents, as a minimum, up to ten dollars, usually the maximum, from their victims, who wished to purchase tickets in this or that drawing; and they _got_ tickets in return, to be sure. i was informed that these letters were received in numbers varying from thirty to a hundred a day, for several days, and even weeks at a time, when some especially grand "drawing" was announced to soon take place. their mode of operations, as disclosed in our investigations, was this: they first fixed upon nine numbers, which they were to report after the alleged (pretended) drawing should have taken place, as the numbers drawn--thus, for example:-- , , , , , , , , . according to their "rules," whoever chanced to hold a ticket upon which any three of the above numbers should appear in consecutive order (as, for example, , , ; or , , ; or , , )--would draw the largest prize of the scheme in which he bought his ticket, and in many of these schemes such sums as $ , , or $ , , or $ , , were announced as the chief prizes; and then there were numerous small prizes in each scheme which the ticket holder was sure to draw if he happened to hold a ticket with numbers thereon, which should represent _two_ of the above numbers consecutively; and so on ran their rules. well, having previously decided what numbers they would report to their countless victims as the drawn numbers, these wily scoundrels had, for their safety, only to take care in issuing each ticket to see that it did not contain any three of the "drawn numbers" in consecutive order. to a, for example, they would send a ticket bearing the nos. " ," " ," " "; to b, " ," " ," " ", etc., etc.; and after the "drawing" they would send their report, containing a slip of paper bearing the nine "drawn numbers," as above arranged, with a letter, running somewhat this wise.--i am sure i had, at one time, several of the letters actually sent to victims, but they do not disclose themselves from my package now; but no matter, for my memory of them is pretty clear. the report of drawings was private; but the letters were usually written with a pen, in part, in order the better to flatter each person that the company took especial notice of him, and hoped for his particular success. (here was a picture of their banking office.) banking house of g. w. huntington & co., bankers and brokers, and dealers in foreign exchange, and agents for the chief baltimore and havana lotteries, william street. "new york, june , . "john henry jones, esq., _harrisburgh, pa._ "the public drawing of the 'grand consolidated lotteries' of baltimore, md., no. ----, took place as advertised, yesterday. herewith find slip bearing the drawn numbers." (thus far, save the address, printed, then followed in writing.) "we are sorry to perceive that your ticket in scheme no. ----, and numbered , , , has drawn a blank. but you observe that you came near winning the chief prize, as we heartily wish you had (as it is for our interest as agents that our special customers be lucky); ' , ' only needed ' ' to follow them, to have made you a rich man. but perhaps your luck will come next time. 'perseverance is a virtue which wins in the long run.' hoping for your further favors, and that you will yet be amply lucky, we beg to remain, "your obedient, humble servants, "g. w. huntington & co." now, "john henry jones, esq." was probably an ignorant, low-minded, dirty-faced ironmonger, of harrisburgh, who managed now and then to get together a few dollars, and had a hankering to get rich fast. his letter to the company was badly spelled, and so forth; but it contained money, and was, therefore, as acceptable as the elegantly-written letter of some cashier of a bank in ohio, or some poor clergyman of illinois, who thought it no harm to try his luck for once--(for many clergymen, as well as others, get bitten by these schemes). john had never been addressed as "esquire" before; never received such a polite letter in his life, and from a great banking house, in the largest city on the continent! and john was flattered. besides, he had almost drawn a great prize; of course he would "try again," and again, and again, for it appears that many persons become infatuated in this sort of speculation, and will buy lottery tickets several times a year, and year after year, for a long period, even without a particle of success. when a customer sent these fellows ten dollars, they would so arrange the numbers on his ticket, sometimes, in relation to the prepared drawn numbers, as to allow him to draw one, two, or three dollars, so that he should not feel that his loss had been entire, and to tempt him by a little success to try again for a greater one. this will serve to illustrate the business ways of the fellows; and just here, since it now comes to mind, perhaps i had better note a little "side issue" of one of these companies, of which i was told by one of the participants. the company had its agents,--postmasters, many of them,--all over the country,--and thought they would make a little speculation on their agents themselves. so they prepared a splendid "scheme,"--a wonderful grand consolidated union drawing, etc. the tickets were most elegantly printed, and vary-colored, in red, blue, and black, on the nicest paper. no ticket in this grand scheme was less than ten dollars. to some fifteen hundred of their agents, in as many different localities, they sent from three to five of these tickets each, with a printed letter, but marked "very confidential," setting forth the great advantages of the new scheme, and suggesting that among these tickets were doubtless many prizes, and the company did not expect to reap much profits from the sale of tickets in this scheme, but were anxious that its old customers should reap the prizes, and so forth. of course the company did not expect that any agent would be able to sell all the tickets sent him, even though so few, and were surprised that many were disposed of before the time of the alleged drawing. on the day of the "drawing," more than nine tenths of the tickets still remained unsold, and unreported upon in the hands of the agents. having prepared written letters in anticipation of the small sales, as a part of the trick, they sent them forth to each agent. the letter ran something like this, in substance:-- "dear sir: the drawing of the grand c. u. lottery took place at baltimore, at twelve m., yesterday. please to return us the tickets, nos. --, --, --, --, --, now in your hands, at once, without fail, and _buy back any, if you can_, which you may have disposed of, and charge us, and ask no questions, and we will send you certified copy of drawing immediately on your reply. "yours, most respectfully, "---- ----." this being an unusual way of doing business, excited the agent's suspicion. he reflected that probably some one of the tickets he held had drawn a great prize, and that the company meant to keep it, but he could not, of course, guess which; and so as to secure the prize himself, he would hold all the tickets, send on the money for them, with an apology for not having reported earlier, and frequently with a long lie about the trouble he had had, and naming this or that man to whom the tickets had been sold. so hundreds of them sent in, after the day of the alleged drawing, from thirty to fifty dollars apiece, according to the number of tickets they held, and received by return mail a "certified report" of the drawing, by which they discovered that the tickets they held were all blanks, each, perhaps, thinking that somebody else had drawn the "mammoth prizes." this trick was fruitful to the amount of a great many thousands of dollars, and cost the company only its expenses for printing, stationery, and postage. these same agents continued to act for the company, and i presume that not one of them to this day knows how he was taken in. but i trust that this narrative will fall into the hands of many a one of them, and open his eyes as to the fact of his having been made a tool of by designing scamps to cheat his neighbors, and to be cheated himself. the mayor of new york was constantly besieged, and i presume the same is the case now, with letters from all parts of the country, complaining that these writers had tried and tried their luck, time after time, in this or that company, in vain, and asking him regarding the standing of the company, and so forth. sometimes a victim would get his eyes open, conceive that he had possibly been cheated; or, having had some rupture by correspondence with the company, discovered that he was cheated, and beg the mayor to take the matter in hand. on two or three occasions, within my memory, the police have made raids upon such companies as they could get at; but usually matters were so secretly conducted, that it would cost the police too much effort to get at anything decided, especially without extra compensation for their labors; and the frauds complained of in each case would generally amount to not over ten dollars at most, and the complaints usually, perhaps always, came from obscure men, living at a great distance from new york, who could not afford to come and attend to the matter themselves. but the companies constantly had difficulty from one quarter of the land or another--enough so as to keep them all the while on the alert. their offices were in obscure places. the members had business names which differed from their real ones. ostensibly, they carried on a real estate business, for example, actually doing something in that line for respectability's sake, and conducting their lottery swindle in some secret room, having a box at the post office, and sending for their letters a clerk, who was instructed to deposit the letters in some secret place, from which one of the firm would secretly take them. thus they managed. but one day "there came trouble into the camp" of "g. w. huntington & co." they had sold a ticket to a sturdy, and somewhat intelligent farmer in or near portland or bangor, maine. (i am unable to find his address at this writing.) when the alleged drawing took place, the company sent on its usual report to the farmer, among the rest of their victims, saying, "you perceive that your ticket has unfortunately drawn a blank. we regret it," etc. [illustration: the bogus lottery office.] now the farmer had "studied up" on the matter, and he saw that if they had sent him what they called the copy of the "certified report" of the drawing, he had drawn a prize of five thousand dollars, instead of a blank, and so he politely wrote the company about their mistake. correspondence ensued, in which the company tried to convince the farmer that he was mistaken; but it was of no use. the farmer was too keen for them, and insisted on his rights. he consulted a lawyer in his place, and the lawyer opened correspondence with the company, hinting that legal measures would be taken. the company put the matter into their lawyer's hands, and the two attorneys fired away at each other, the company laughing in their sleeves over the humbugging they were operating on the maine lawyer. finally the farmer's lawyer wrote on to say, that the farmer would go down to new york, and institute proceedings there, unless the prize was cashed within a week, and suggested that a suit would seriously injure the credit of the company. to this the company, by its lawyer, made no reply. the farmer came on, and proceeded to the "banking-house of g. w. huntington & co., william street." he brought with him one of the company's papers, in which was an engraving of the building, william street, with the great sign of "g. w. huntington & co., bankers," running across the whole face of the building, in large letters. his astonishment can be guessed at when he failed to find any such bankers, or any such sign there. there was the building, correctly represented in the picture. the rest was fiction, of course. the building, except the lower story, which was the office of some brokers, i believe, was occupied mainly as lawyers' offices, and it chanced that the farmer, in his astonishment at not finding "g. w. huntington & co." there, and being determined to investigate the affair, and not be cheated out of his five thousand-dollar prize, after coming all the way from maine, sought counsel at the office of one mr. wheaton,--a great criminal lawyer, and the son of the distinguished author of an extensive and valuable work, in two volumes, on international law and practice. mr. wheaton was the same gentleman who, a few years ago, was run over by the harlem train of cars, on its way out of the city, and killed. he was a very gentlemanly man, and heard the poor man's case; told him that the company was undoubtedly bogus; but pitying the man, who was really not well off in this world's goods, undertook to aid him, and through the post office sent a very polite note to the company touching the matter. the note was politely responded to, and eventually, after three or four days' delay, the company, securing a sharp and unscrupulous lawyer, sent him to wait upon mr. wheaton. the lawyer represented that he did not know the company's place of business even, but was ready to treat for them; that they would not pay a dollar, and that the whole trouble arose from some mistake. but mr. wheaton would not settle without something being done; but at last, after a few days, agreed to take thirty dollars, which would pay for the farmer's travelling expenses to and from maine. how the poor fellow met the rest of his expenses, i was never told; but he doubtless went back to maine a wiser, if not a better man. (should this article chance to fall under his eye, he can certainly do some of his neighbors good by reading it to them, and "illustrating" it in person, saying, "gentlemen, _i_ was the man! behold the picture! and forever be wary of lottery agents.") i had been called in to work up the case, but the settlement was effected the next day, and it was dropped. mr. wheaton had a conference with the mayor concerning it; and afterwards, when, on several complaints being made against the company, the mayor resolved to trace out the company, and break up their nefarious business, he sent for me. numerous efforts had, at times theretofore, been made to hunt out these companies' dens. officers had been stationed inside the post office, and when a clerk--usually a rusty, scampish-looking lad, or an old sinner of a man--came for the letters, and he took them, he was tracked, with the hope that he could be traced to the secret office. but he was too wary for that,--had had too good instructions,--and escaped; or, if next time he was arrested, after having been traced along a circuitous route, going into this or that crowded store, or eating-house, it would be found that he had already disposed of the letters, having adroitly handed them to one of the "firm," perhaps, properly stationed at some point for the purpose of receiving them: or, if he was arrested at the post office with the letters in hand, he was found to be an individual not easily frightened, and when taken before the mayor, would declare that he did not know the company, or the individuals composing it; that some man, whose name he did not know, had employed him at fifty cents or a dollar a time to draw the letters with the box check or card. if the mayor took away the check, all the company had to do was to write to the postmaster for another, alleging their loss. keeping this fellow under arrest for some length of time did no good. the company readily found out about the arrest, and would send some lawyer to act for the clerk, and the result would be that he would be released speedily, and go to drawing letters again. attempts had also been made to trace out the printers of the papers sent out by these companies. so great were the numbers of these at times that they seriously burdened the mails. the postage expenses to the companies must have been enormous; but advertising "tells," and if only one paper in a hundred chanced to fall into the hands of a man who would be allured thereby to invest in lottery tickets, the business would pay. but after considerable search for the printers, within the city, it was concluded that the papers were printed somewhere else, and sent into new york in bulk, and privately prepared for the mails. this was the situation of things when i took hold of the matter. i was advised of what had previously been done, but was, of course, allowed to pursue my own method. after a day or two's experimenting in following clerks from the post office, and finally tracking one of them into a lawyer's office on nassau street, and being coolly informed by the lawyer that the company were his clients, and having had some difficulty with disaffected parties, had put their correspondence into his hands for a while, i thought best to pursue another course. there was little or no use in attempting to convict him of complicity with the matter. he said he would take his oath that he did not know whether the company was bogus or not, or were really the agents of responsible companies in foreign states; and as for that matter he did not care. he had been, he said, employed by them to attend to certain legal matters of theirs, and he never inquired into the private character of his clients except when necessary. "they pay me well for my services, generally advancing my fees, and i am satisfied." my own opinion was, and is, that he was one of the firm himself, and as guilty as any of the rest, but he was shrewd enough to not get trapped. i saw it would cost more than it would come to to pursue that line. if i arrested the letter clerks for a few days, and took them before the mayor, that would not break up the business. the company's plans were safely laid. when i did get at them, i wanted to break them up effectually; and i set myself about procuring copies of their papers, which i did by writing from the mayor's office to the parties who had sent in their complaints, asking them to forward all documents and papers which they had received from the company. receiving these, i submitted them to various wary and knowing printers, in order to find out at what office in the city the printing was probably done. a printer or newspaper man will ordinarily detect, by the size of column, or some other peculiarity, from what paper a given extract has been clipped, as readily as a tailor can tell from whose shop a certain coat or pair of pantaloons came, or as easily as a man can distinguish the handwriting of his friends. but in this case i was baffled at first. nobody could give me any hint, till i finally came across a printer then working in the tribune office; and on looking over some of the papers, he discovered something which reminded him of the style of a certain paper in norwich, connecticut; and then, as if a new light had dawned upon him, suddenly exclaimed, "by george! i believe i have it, for i know that at the ---- office, a year or two ago, the boys used occasionally to do a great deal of extra night work, and got extra pay. i never knew what 'twas." in further conversation with him, i concluded that there must be something in it, and in a day or two posted off for norwich, where i made the acquaintance of a gentleman by the name of sykes, then editor of the "advertiser" (i think that was the name of his paper), and was soon put in possession of abundant facts for the then present time. i learned that the papers for certain bogus lottery companies, to the extent of several hundred thousand a month, were printed at a certain office there, and mailed through the norwich post office; that it was a matter of considerable pecuniary profit to the post office to have the mailing of these documents, and that certain men of much social respectability in norwich were engaged in printing and mailing these papers, which they well knew to be the circulars of bogus lottery companies; but i could do nothing with them; and exposure of their conduct in mr. sykes's paper was not likely to result in much good. the lottery papers reached parties who would not be apt to ever hear of the exposure; besides, to make it was no part of my business on that occasion. i found, to my satisfaction, that whereas "g. w. huntington & co.'s bulletin" had formerly been printed in norwich, and distributed from there over the country; that it was now doubtless printed somewhere in new york, and at norwich i prepared my traps to find out certainly where the papers were printed in new york, which fact i finally accomplished after a little delay. determining about what time of the previous month the papers for the next month's issue would be put to press, i made business to the printing office, and gave the printers an order a little difficult to fill, and which i knew would have to be delayed. i also set a brother detective on their track with a like affair, so that we could have proper excuse for visiting the office occasionally. i managed to privately secure (no matter how, for somebody yet living might not wish me to tell) two or three copies of the paper then in process of being struck off. the character of the printing office was high, the members of the firm being all what are styled "good fellows," not likely to be in complicity with the lottery pirates, and i was not disposed to injure the printers; but i was determined to learn what parties gave them the orders for printing these papers. the laws of new york are a little stringent upon this matter, and i waited till i found out that a very large number of the papers were struck off and ready to be delivered. i had learned that these were usually sent off out of the office to somebody's care, but i did not propose to follow up the parties as i had done the letter clerks; so one morning, when all was right, i took a couple of regular policemen along with me, and entered the printing office on spruce street, and calling one of the proprietors into the counting-room, advised him of my business, and the law in the premises. he was taken aback; turned a little pale; and protested that he had no suspicion that he was engaged in an unlawful business; said they exercised no secrecy in the printing, so far as attempting to cover up any offence was concerned; but that the lottery company had asked them to observe a degree of privacy in the printing, on account of their competition with rival companies. "but," said he, "i read a little law once in ohio; thought i would make a lawyer, but got sick of it; and i remember that one of the first things my old instructor, in whose office i read, taught me, was, 'ignorance of the law excuseth no man,' and we shall have to bear the brunt of it, i fear. besides, we have a bill of nearly a thousand dollars against these fellows, and if you break them up, where are we to get our pay?" "have they been good pay heretofore?" "o, yes; we let one bill run on to over fifteen hundred dollars. i felt a little skittish about it, but they paid it all up, and gave us five hundred dollars in advance on the next month's issue." i was convinced of the gentleman's honesty. i had learned a good deal about him, and his manner was that of an honest man. "well," said i, "i'll tell you what we'll do. you deliver these papers, but do you let me know precisely where they are delivered; tell me the true names of the parties who order them; give me such 'copy' as they have sent in to be printed from, so that i may be in possession of their manuscripts; describe the personal appearance of each of them whom you know, in writing, and make a written statement over your own signature of all your connection with them, and i will wait till you get your pay from them, if you will stir them up immediately, and promise to not do any more work of this kind for them." the gentleman instantly replied,-- "that's fair. of course we won't do any more such printing if it is illegal: but some of these lottery men are persons of great respectability in society, and i am astonished to find they are engaged in such a nefarious business, and i prefer to consult my partner" (a much older man), "before i concede to your proposition. let me speak to him a minute, for there he is, and i will give you my answer. i prefer that _he_ shall take the responsibility." the gentleman walked out to where his partner was engaged in looking over some work, held a moment or two's conversation with him, when they both came into the counting-room, and the older gentleman heard from me my story and my propositions, and answered at once. "of course we will accede to your propositions, and be much obliged to you for giving such excellent terms." the propositions were specifically complied with. the printing-house got its pay for its work by refusing to deliver it till paid for. as the lottery agents were in need of the papers, and would lose a month's revenue for want of them, they were obliged to yield, and pay up all arrearages, threatening to take their printing elsewhere thereafter, which had been considerable; but the printers kept silent, and did not even let them know that they had discovered they were pursuing an unlawful business. the papers were duly delivered to the lottery men, and i kept watch on their private den, concluding that i would not disturb them till they had gone to the expense of wrapping the papers, and paying the postage, which must have been something enormous. whole bushels at a time of the papers went to the post office, and the rascals were probably dreaming of the revenue which was to follow that month's laudable labor. i was willing that they should do the government as much service as they pleased in the way of sustaining the postal system, and inwardly rather feasted on the "prospect." their private den was unoccupied during the night. indeed, they usually left at an early hour in the afternoon, save on great mailing days. i hired desk room in a lawyer's office in the same building, no. tryon row, close by the courts of justice, and within the immediate shadow of the city hall,--not an inappropriate locality for the bogus lottery scoundrels after all; for the common council of new york holds its sessions in the city hall, and there, too, is the mayor's office, and that office has sometimes been filled by as great wretches as these lottery agents. indeed, i call to mind one mayor who made not a little of his large fortune in the "policy business," i. e., in a scoundrelly, though, in a measure, legalized lottery swindle. matsell, the old chief of police, had his rooms in the same building, and had he been in office at the time, would have rejoiced to find these "birds" making their nest so conveniently near him. having a desk in the lawyer's office, i was of course entitled to spend my nights there, or as much of them as i pleased; and being next door to the "real estate office" (as a sign on the door facetiously intimated), or, in other words, the private office of "g. w. huntington & co.," i found the "patent lock" on their door not at all in my way for making observations. with a dark lantern i could select such of their correspondence as i pleased, take it to my room, and there, by a broad light, read it. i got possession in this way of many astounding facts, and also procured "specimens of the handwriting" of several of this honest firm--notes written to the clerks, giving orders, etc. some of these i preserved for future use, but returned most of the customers' correspondence. there were in their office numerous large packages of "business" letters; letters from agents and customers--(when we took possession we found somewhere about twenty thousand letters, which were only a part of what the company had received during their comparatively short existence. they had destroyed great numbers, merely to rid themselves of the incumbrance.) i got a pretty thorough understanding of the business, and collected facts and names of customers for future witnesses, etc., to put it quite out of the question for these fellows to ever resume their business under their then title, after they should be broken up; and, all things prepared, kept watch so as to catch one of the proprietors in the office at work. the "real estate" department, in which nothing at all was done, was divided off from the lottery den by a board partition, over the door of which was a sign "private consulting office." leaving my assistants at the door (and having sent an officer to an office in nassau street, to arrest another of the "proprietors" there), i went in to see the gentleman on real estate business; and was informed by the clerk that his principal was in the consulting room, and would be out soon. the clerk who had come out from the "consulting room" as i went into the office, had closed the door (which was evidently open before); and i remarked, that as i was in a hurry, i'd step in and see the principal; and suiting the action to the word, stepped to the door, when the clerk,--a tall lad, of twenty years of age, perhaps,--brusquely stepped up before the door, and said,-- "you cannot enter here--that's my orders." [illustration: surprising the bogus lottery dealers.] i pushed him aside without saying a word, whistled, and went in, and caught the principal with pen in hand at work at a table, with a pile of correspondence before him, while at the same time my two men at the door rushed in, and i called to them to secure the clerk, and bring him into the private room, which they did. i then stepped out of the private room and locked the outside door, and returning, informed the principal what i knew about him, and so terrified him as to extort from him a full confession of his connection with the business. he confessed that they were thoroughly caught, and must be broken up; which conviction was soon deepened, when one of my men answering a knock at the outside door, let in an officer, accompanied by another of the principals. i took possession of the contents of the office, made the parties deliver up the mails for that day and the day before, (the money received from which they still had on hand,) in order to refund the money to the swindled parties; made them give me money enough to pay for the requisite stationery and postage, all of which i got from them on the spot; and then took due proceedings against them legally, leaving the office in charge of one of my men, till i could get around to it and examine the correspondence, which was in time to be destroyed. i made these fellows advance me money, too, to pay for the rent of the office, on which a month's rent was then due the lessor, and for another month's rent. these fellows were men in high social position, and they tried hard to bribe me into silence, and made large and tempting offers, and promised also to quit the business forever; but i reminded them that their very offer was an offence against the law, and suggested that they must not even repeat their bribes. there was a third member of this honest firm, but the officer sent to arrest him reported that he was out of town, to return next day; and as we wanted him too, we took good care that his friends should have no opportunity to communicate to him, or anybody else that day. i never saw more "sore-headed" chaps than they. the fear of exposition through the public press, was a terrible one for them; and as it was compounding no felony, and was no breach of law to agree to not give the facts to the press, and to let these chaps be brought before the proper officers and plead guilty, under assumed names, when we should get to that point, i had no hesitancy in accepting for myself and my men a pretty large sum of money from them. it was true that the money gave me some uneasiness, as i reflected that it had probably been cheated out of poor victims, although the rascals asserted that they had not made much in that way. but their correspondence showed that they had. the third man was arrested next day, and kept apart from the other two. he was taken before the mayor under his assumed name, and there made a pitiful confession, disclosing more than his _confreres_ had done. he was the "scion of a distinguished house," was younger than the rest, and had been inveigled into the matter by the ambition to be independent of his father, and make money for himself; and having been bred to no legitimate business, easily fell into this in connection with his cousin, one of the other principals. the third party is now dead. he "reformed," and went into a legitimate business. some of the steps we had taken with these fellows, were rather bold ones, hardly within purview of the law; and the mayor, satisfied with the thorough work which had been done,--we having captured all their correspondence, their elaborately-kept journals, containing corrected lists of all their agents, together, with quite a large library of city and business directories, and a countless quantity of business cards, which had afforded them names to which to direct their papers, and schedules of "drawings to be held," etc., etc., the mayor conceived that we had so effectually crippled them, that they could not, seeking a new office, go on with their business; and as all he wished to do was to break them up, he concluded to let them go, on their promise to not reënter upon the business; and turned to me, and asked if i did not agree with him. i said, "yes; but i think there is one thing more which these men owe to the public, through their victims. they have apparently a plenty of money, and we have their register of correspondence. my proposition is, that we draw up a circular to be sent to all their victims, stating that the firm is broken up, and warning the customers of the fraudulent character of this and all other such concerns, get a few thousand of the circulars printed, and mail them to each man on their books, and make them bear the expense of printing, enveloping, clerk hire and postage, and pay the clerks liberally for their work. they ought to do this, to undo the wrong they have done, as far as they can." "yes, yes, gentlemen, i like that proposition. what do you say to it?" said the mayor. they were deathly silent for a moment; looked askance at each other (for at this session we had all the three present); but one broke the silence-- "it will be a pretty big bill. i told you the truth when i said we are poor; as for myself, i am worth next to nothing." the mayor looked at me inquiringly, and probably saw something in my face which was as expressive as if i had said, "bosh! they are perfectly able;" so he said, "gentlemen, i shall insist on the condition;" and turning to me, he added, "make out a liberal estimate, and hold these men under arrest till you get the sum advanced. mind! i say advanced! don't trust them for a minute." the firm, seeing that it was of no use to quibble, agreed to meet the emergency that day; and i, having in the course of two hours found out how much it would cost to print twenty thousand circulars, and for clerk hire for two months, for two clerks, with postage added, at two cents a circular, agreed to accept eight hundred dollars,--a pretty liberal sum, for i was not disposed to oppress myself for want of means, on account of any foolish pity for these chaps. the amount was forthcoming, and the scamps were released. i at once drew up a circular in these words. by the way, i had secured their engraving of the building, no. william street, with which the circular was headed:-- "mayor's office, new york. "dear sir: this is to inform you that the great 'banking house of g. w. huntington & co.,'--the above picture of which you have doubtless seen before,--has 'suspended operations' having fallen into the hands of the police. this house was a bogus lottery concern, which conducted its stealthy business in an obscure den, while pretending to occupy the building above represented, by the picture of which they more readily enticed their country customers to 'invest' in their shrewdly-devised schemes. if in dealing with them you ever secured a prize, it was only given to entice you into larger ventures. beware of all such companies in the future. the mayor directs me to advise you that there are no legitimate lottery companies or agencies in the city of new york. none are allowed by law to do business here. all of them are bogus and fraudulent. his honor the mayor further suggests that you may, perhaps, do your unwary neighbors a service, by showing them, if you please, this circular,--or by at least informing them that all such companies and agencies in new york are fraudulent in their character. the mayor receives hundreds of complaints during the course of a year from the victims of these companies, or 'agencies,' and a list of all those to whom this circular is sent, is kept, and no notice of the complaint of any one of these will hereafter be taken. the mayor trusts that you, sir, will not only escape being imposed upon by these bogus lottery sharpers hereafter, but will so warn and instruct all your friends that they, too, will escape being victimized. respectfully yours, "---- ----, "mayor's special clerk." about eighteen thousand of these circulars were duly mailed to the addresses found in the captured books, and the books themselves were duly deposited for further reference. it would seem that this warning, scattered as it was into more than half the towns in the union, ought to have lessened the number of victims to these swindling concerns; but i have been informed that some of them are in full blast to-day, and that all along, since the arrest of "g. w. huntington & co.," other concerns carried on heavy operations. everybody, almost, it would seem, _must_ have personal experience; will _not_, for some reason, profit by the experience and advice of others who have suffered--been bitten by sharpers. but i trust that this article will be heeded by all who read it. perhaps it is a sufficiently clear exposition of the way these rascals proceeded, to make it evident that there is no trusting the pretences of any of them. sure it is that there are at least five hundred thousand people in the land, who, if they were to read this exposition, could reflect that it must be, as it is, literally true, entirely unembellished by imagination to the extent of even a word, and that, too, from their own experiences; and they can now understand the _modus operandi_ by which they were swindled. all "gift enterprises," so common in new york, and other places, to-day, partake in their nature of these bogus lottery operations, and no man is safe who trusts a single one of them. he will be swindled in the end, in some way. i could not well allow myself to cut this article short at this point, although my tale is, properly speaking, finished, and my contract under this head, with my publishers, fulfilled. there is something so marvellous in the human heart in the way of its disposition to adventure in order to make money easily; such a wonderful credulity in the minds of large numbers of people, and a willingness to fasten in trust upon the merest shadow of success, that perhaps these fraudulent concerns will never lack victims. but in studying the correspondence which fell into my hands,--over twenty thousand letters,--and with which i beguiled many hours during the six months in which i kept them, before burning them, i became apprised of the fact that the great majority of the "customers" of these concerns are illiterate; most of their letters being misspelled; that great numbers of them were young men, boys, and poor women; nearly all evidently mechanics, and from some of the states, such as pennsylvania, many farmers. (pennsylvania, by the way, furnishes more victims to petty frauds, i learned, than several other states which i might name, taken together.) she has a large number of citizens who are barely able to read and write poorly, and who probably do not read the public journals extensively, and are, therefore, not likely to be well informed of the current iniquities of the time. i seriously meditated, after having studied the "g. w. huntington & co." correspondence, the writing of a book on the matter of swindling, in general; and this correspondence would have afforded me many pathetic things for comment. while looking over that correspondence, the tears often came irresistibly to my eyes. i recollect the letter of a boy writing from easton, penn., i think it was. he had, it appeared from his letter, sent many dollars to the company for tickets, a dollar at a time, and winning nothing from his ventures, was getting discouraged. he wrote an imploring letter at last, accompanied by a dollar, in which he begged the company to choose him a winning number. he told them it was his last dollar; (he was but sixteen years old, he said); that he should not be able to send again, if he failed this time, for he had to give every cent he could earn; (i forget what he said he worked at, but he named the business and the pitiable wages he got); that his father was a dreadful drunkard; one of his little sisters was "sick all the while;" another had broken her leg two months before, and the doctors thought she might have to lose it, and so on, a pitiable tale--a tale to stir the hardest heart, and written in that style which stamped it as undoubtedly true. at the bottom of this letter was a note for the clerk, in the handwriting of one of the firm. "write to" (somebody, i forget his name, of course), "at easton, and learn if this story is true; and if it is, let the boy draw five dollars in scheme no." (so and so.) there was a note dated some days after, below this in the clerk's hand. "letter received from easton; story true; ticket issued." _probably_ that boy re-invested the whole five dollars. drawing the money, his hope would naturally be excited; and now that he could buy a ticket in a larger "drawing," he probably sent the five dollars back, and lost them of course. widows, with large families, and who wrote most mournful stories, sending on every cent they could save (while half-starving their families in order to do so, probably), were among the number of correspondents. clergymen of poor parishes sent for tickets, with long letters, in which they commented piously upon the matter of hazard and lotteries, in a manner to excuse themselves for sending, and hoping that they should draw something to help them out of their poverty and misery, and expressing their belief that "god would pardon them if they were doing wrong," were also of the number. many letters were of a comical nature, the writers half-laughing at themselves for doing so foolish a thing as buying tickets in a lottery; but yet unable to resist the temptation. by some of the letters it was evident to me that the writers told abominable lies about their sufferings and trials, in order to excite the sympathy of the "agents," and induce them to use their best efforts to secure for them winning tickets. some of the correspondents offered to give the "agents" half their prize money, in order to bribe them to select a successful ticket. some of them sent counterfeit money. i found such notes as this at bottom of several letters, "one dollar counterfeit, two dollars good. send tickets in scheme no. ." "counterfeit; send back." these were evidently directions to clerks. if the writing in these letters which contained only counterfeit money had been good, i might have suspected the writers of perpetrating an appropriate joke; but the letters were evidently from ignorant people, some of whom, perhaps, knew that the bills they sent were counterfeit, and hoped that the great banking company, in their vast press of business, would fail to detect the bills. many of the letters were written in excellent mercantile hand; but i noticed some badge of ignorance about all these, as well as about the poorly-written and misspelled ones. probably ninety-nine in a hundred of the victims were made such through their ignorance of the world and the wicked men in it. "knowledge is power;" not only a power to execute, but a power for salvation; and when her light shall be sufficiently diffused, all such crafts _as these bogus lottery swindlers_ will "have had their day," and not before. i doubt somewhat that if all the newspapers of the land should, on some given week, publish each a full _exposé_ of these swindles, and repeat the same every week, for a month, the majority of the victims would be saved. many would; but some with their eyes opened, as far as facts could open them, would still be duped. the investigation of this bogus lottery business did more to weaken my respect for the good sense of my fellow-men in general, than had all the experiences of my life theretofore. but i find i am tempted on beyond the limits i had set for myself in this article. the subject is an interesting one to me, and i may return to it at another time, and to some of its phases not here commented upon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the borrowed diamond ring. -------------- the detective officer's chief "incubus"--at winter garden theatre--"harry dubois"--an expert rogue examines his prospective victims--some southerners--harry "introduces" himself in his own peculiar and adroit way--harry and his friend are invited to the southerners' private box--harry "borrows" mr. clemens' diamond ring, and adroitly escapes--my dilemma--visit to harry's old boarding mistress--his whereabouts discovered--active work--a rapid drive to pine street--a fortunate light in the office of the late hon. simeon draper--a sudden visit for a "sick man" to harry's room--how entrance was effected--the ring secured--hunt for mr. clemens--a slightly mysterious letter--a happy interview. just before the late war broke out, and the winter garden theatre being in its prime, my friend, henry c. p., of new haven, conn., being in town, urged me to accompany him there one night to see the play. the house was quite crowded with a more than usually fashionable set of play-goers, many being from different parts of the land, visitors for a time in new york. no matter where i go, to theatre, court, or church, along broadway crowded with its vast moving tides of humanity, or through the streets of some half-deserted hamlet, my mind is ever on my business; rather, ever pondering on the craft and crime of society, symbols of which, in more or less emphatic shape, i am ever liable to see. it is one of the greatest vexations which the detective suffers, that the nature of his business is such that he can never fully liberate his thoughts from dwelling upon the frailties, the follies, and particularly the crimes, petty and felonious, of which so many of his fellow-men are constantly being guilty. like an incubus of dread and darkness, these thoughts are ever weighing on his mind. he has no peace; and the only approximate peace he can win, is to let his thoughts drift on in the usual current, without attempting to direct them by his will. consequently, that night, though for a while i enjoyed the play, studying its representations of human nature with some delight, and being not a little pleased with the beauty of sundry of the female _dramatis personæ_, who were rather above the average in personal graces, my eye was wandering over the parquet, family circle, etc., considerably. hearing a slight noise in a part of the gallery, i observed that three young men, probably having a "prior engagement" to fill somewhere, were leaving the theatre,--a thing of no moment in itself, and which i should have forgotten on the instant, only that the vacancy they left enabled me to cast my eye a little farther on, when i discovered a character of much interest to me--a man elegantly apparelled, and having every outward semblance of a gentleman. at the moment my eye first rested on him there, he was peering into one of the boxes, and i saw him soon in the act of whispering some mystery, apparently, into the ear of the comrade who sat by his side. the latter person i did not know; but knowing the company he was in, i divined that some mischief was up, for the former person was no other than a man whom, in my detective career, i had several times encountered--an elegant, scheming fellow, who sometimes operated on wall street, kept an office at pine street, as a real estate broker and money lender, etc., though he was seldom there, and was as skilful a juggler and pickpocket as any of whom new york could at that time boast. i could not, from my then position, well see into the boxes, so i changed my seat--through the courtesy of an old friend, who gave me his in exchange for mine--to a point where i could watch the boxes and the two elegant gentlemen, of whom i have spoken, without the latter's knowing the fact. as i have intimated, the season was gay. in one of the boxes sat two gentlemen and two ladies, the former evidently southerners i judged, and so i thought the ladies to be also. they were quite richly dressed, and "sported" a large amount of richest jewelry. i was not at a loss, as soon as i had enjoyed a good view of them, as to the nature of the special concern which they had evidently awakened in the minds of the two worthies whom i was watching. i felt very sure that some plan was being devised by the latter two to make the acquaintance of the gentlemen, and, perhaps, the ladies in the box, with an eye to relieving them of some of their jewelry or money. "harry dubois" was one of the aliases of the elegant rogue; his friend's name i knew not, and have never learned it. i was not surprised then, when, after a little polite leave-taking at the end of an act, and the gentlemen left their ladies in the box, to see harry and friend leave their seats, and saunter out. divining that the gentlemen had gone into the refreshment-room, i followed, disguising myself as i went out, by the assumption of a pair of spectacle bows, to which was attached a false nose quite unlike my own, in order that harry might by no means discover me. i arrived in the refreshment-room, and had selected out my friends of the box before harry and his friend, or "pal," came in. i had prepared my mind to expect some peculiarly stealthy, circumlocutory proceeding upon the part of harry. perhaps he would come only to "watch and wait" still longer; perhaps he would find there somebody, also, who knew the gentlemen of the box, and get a formal introduction. indeed, i had conceived a half dozen modes of operation on his part, when, to my astonishment, harry, having first cast a searching glance over the room, and giving his "pal" a knowing touch on the elbow, rushed, with all smiles upon his face, up to the apparently elder of the gentlemen of the box, who were at this moment lifting glasses of wine to their lips, and exclaimed, "pardon me, mr. le franc; but how _do_ you do? i am exceedingly glad to see you! how long have you been on from new orleans, my dear sir?" the gentleman addressed looked with astonishment upon the elegantly attired harry, whose face was the symbol of the frankest honesty and most certain refinement, and evidently "taken" by harry's manner, replied, "my dear sir, there's a mistake here, for my name is not le franc; and truly, sir, i can never have known you, for i surely do not now, and if i had i should never have forgotten you." "upon my honor," said harry, "i thought you were a mr. le franc, of new orleans. you look just like him, with whom, and others, i went on an excursion up to donaldsonville, three years ago, at the invitation and expense of bob mcdonald." "bob mcdonald? why, he's my cousin, sir. if you know him, give me your hand. my name, sir, is william hale, of savannah, and this is my cousin, mr. clemens, of mobile" (turning to his friend), "mr. ---- ah! excuse me, but you have not given me your name, sir, i forgot." fully pleased, harry pulled out a card case from his vest pocket, and presented to mr. hale a neat card, inscribed:-- =henry clarkson dubois= attorney at law. _specialty--dealing in real estate, effecting loans, and securing advances on cotton._ office, pine street, n. y. city. "pardon me that i give you my business card; i find i have no other about me." "ah, mr. dubois! i am sure i am very glad to know you as bob mcdonald's friend. tell me when you last saw him. how was he? jolly fellow--isn't he? take some wine with us? and your friend, too; he'll join us?" harry was nothing loth to accept the wine. he was making splendid progress, he doubtless thought; and joining in the wine, he said, "you asked when i last saw bob. well, when he was here in new york, three months ago, on his way to hamilton, canada, he was my guest for a week, at the metropolitan, where i board." "just so," said mr. hale. "bob wrote us at that time from canada. i am sorry i did not go on there when he was there. he was well as usual then, i suppose, and just as full of the 'old mcdonald'" (for his father was a great old sport) "as ever, eh?" i saw that harry was making smooth inroad into the affections of these gentlemen, and wondered what would be the result. mr. hale treated to cigars. harry refused, saying, that with permission he would smoke a cigarette,--pulling a box from his pocket,--commented on the habit which he had learned in cuba, when he was attached, as he said, to the united states legation there, and quite took the savannah gentleman aback with his delicate manipulation of the dainty cigarette. harry's mastery of good manners seemed to completely win the southern gentlemen, and harry's friend too, though less elegant than he, was no "slouch" of a fellow in appearance. the next act of the play had begun before the gentlemen had finished their cigars and chat, and mr. hale said to his friend clemens, "wouldn't mary be delighted to meet so intimate a friend of her cousin bob? mr. dubois, i spoke of mcdonald as my cousin; so he is by marriage; but he is cousin by blood to my wife, and she likes him above all her kin. wouldn't you and your friend do us the honor to accompany us to our box, where our wives now are?" "with the greatest pleasure," said harry, suiting the action to the word, and away they started for the box. i lost no time in getting back to my seat, on the way depositing my spectacles and false nose in a side pocket. from what i afterwards learned from mr. hale, he delightedly presented harry to his wife, as an intimate friend of her cousin bob; and it was evident to me that harry was making as sure victory of the esteem of mrs. hale, and the other lady, mrs. clemens, as he had of their husbands. he laughed and chatted with the ladies to their evident delight. they could not have heard much of the second act, so busily were they engaged with him--gentlemen and ladies both. i noticed that harry was not lacking, on that occasion, in a good degree of effrontery, mingled with his polite manners, which fact was assurance to me that he had formed some plan of operations already, but what it would be i could not conjecture. i saw more or less display of jewelry, harry taking a splendid solitaire diamond from his finger, and evidently telling some story about it. but eventually, as the act was drawing to a close, i discovered that mr. clemens had taken from his finger a very costly ring, which, as the sequel proved, he had bought at anthony's the day before, for fifteen hundred dollars, to take as a present to his brother, then studying medicine in harvard college, whither mr. clemens and his lady were about going. all was very jubilant in the box as the act drew to a close, and there was a clatter in the box--the gentlemen laughing, and the ladies shaking their fans at them, as if half menacingly forbidding them to go out, evidently begging them to stay, and so forth. but harry, according to the story i learned afterwards, kindly assured the ladies that he would return with his new "charge" all duly and "soundly," which the ladies interpreted to mean soberly, and they let them go. harry left the box, the last of the gentlemen, and as he did so, foolishly waved his hand in parting, at the ladies; and the mystery was at once unravelled to me, for on his finger was what i took to be, knew to be, that new, flashing ring of mr. clemens. i hastened to the refreshment-room. i saw at once the flush of victory on harry's face, and watched him intently. he was very brilliant in conversation, and very generous; insisted on "treating" all the while himself. wouldn't allow mr. hale or his friend to call for anything, etc. the time for the next act coming on, the gentlemen, not a little "warmed up" with the numerous glasses of wine they had taken, returned to their box, and i to my place, replacing my spectacles in my side pocket. i had been a little delayed in getting back to my place by a crowd gathered around a lady who had fainted, and when i resumed my seat, and looked into the box, what was my astonishment at not finding harry there. i saw that mrs. clemens was very serious about something, while the rest seemed very much excited; meanwhile, harry's friend seemed engaged in some sort of wonder-looking protestations, for he _looked_ astonished, and was putting one hand very emphatically upon the palm of the other. the whole thing flashed upon me. i saw that there was no time to lose; and i left my seat, and proceeded directly to the refreshment-room, in time to find mr. hale and his friend there, eagerly inquiring of the bar-keeper if "mr. dubois" had returned there; if he had seen him since they went up last time to the box, and sundry other hurried queries. the bar-keeper had not seen him; no clew could they get to him; and mr. hale said, "clemens, you are 'done for,' sure. that's one of those arch scamps we read of. he's borrowed that ring, and we'll never see it again." "let's find a policeman, and put him on the track," said clemens. "foolishness," said mr. hale; "no policeman can track that fellow. he's too keen; besides, who knows but he'll take the train for philadelphia or somewhere. i don't believe he lives here. here's his card, to be sure, but who knows that it's not a fraud? let's hunt the directory," and the bar-keeper brought forward the desired directory. no "harry clarkson dubois" was to be found in it. the gentlemen looked confounded and dejected, and hale said, "well, clemens, let's go back to the ladies. they've more wit than we. you know what your wife said. if we'd taken her advice perhaps we should have got out from here in time to catch the villain," and so they sauntered back. i did not feel like making myself known to them. they might take me, perhaps, as harry's coöperator, and so i silently watched them leave. turning the matter over in my mind a moment, i resolved upon the best course to pursue. harry must be come upon that night if i were to succeed with him, i saw. i had known his lodging-room three months before, but had heard he had changed quarters; where to hunt him was the point. i bethought me of a boarding-house keeper in west th street, with whom harry once boarded, and who, not knowing his real character, had great respect for him, and whom, too, harry evidently really respected, for i had been told that he always spoke of her in terms of admiration. i fancied she would be as apt as any one to know where were his quarters, and i took a carriage, and drove immediately to her house. fortunately she was at home; and on inquiring of her if she could tell me where i could find mr. dubois the next morning, for i did not let her know my haste, she said that she guessed i'd be most apt to find him in his office in pine street, no. ; that he had applied to her for board two days before, with which she could not accommodate him for a week or so to come; so he said he would sleep on a lounge in his office, and take his meals out till she could give him quarters, and that the day before he sent up for blankets, with which she had supplied him. my plan was complete. hurrying away from her house, i ordered the driver to push straight for my rooms, where, arming myself completely, i drove on as far as the post office, when, ordering the driver to await my return, i alighted, and proceeded to pine street. as it chanced, next door was the office of my friend, the late simeon draper, and i was not a little pleased to find a light there, and one of his clerks and another man looking over some papers, as i saw through the window. tapping on the door, it was readily unlocked, and i said to the clerk, who recognized me, "no questions asked; but let _me_ inquire if you are going to be here for fifteen minutes longer?" [illustration: recovering the diamond ring.] "yes, for an hour, perhaps." "well, i may call again." "do so--are you after a 'bird'?" asked the clerk, with a knowing wink in his eye; for he very quickly divined that i was on some detective mission; for mr. draper had been a frequent patron of mine, and often sent this clerk to me on business. i closed the door, and ran up two flights of stairs to "dubois's" room, and immediately rapped upon the door. no noise within--all silence! had the bird flown? i thought not. i believed he was there. again i rapped. "who's there?" asked a half-sleepy voice. i replied, "o! you're asleep, mr. dubois--are you? well, no matter. it's a case of exigency. i knew you were here; saw you as you came in; and there's a man fainted away in draper's office, and i'm alone with him, and want you, if you will, to watch him while i run for a doctor. don't mind to dress yourself more than half--come quickly," and i started away rapidly down stairs, and returned as rapidly, and rapping on the door again, exclaimed, "get ready, and run down as quick as you can, while i go for a doctor. the door's unlocked; but see here, he may revive, and want some stimulus. here's the key to the back closet. there's a bottle of brandy there. here, take it." the unsuspicious harry opened the door slightly to take the key, when i pushed in. on his finger gleamed that very ring. he was but half dressed, coat off, a muscular fellow, and just in trim for fighting. i saw the situation, and pulling out a pistol, clapped it to his face, and extending my left hand, said, "it's no use, harry; give me mr. clemens' ring without any noise, or i'll call the officers at the door below." harry was never before so confounded; protested he had no ring but his own. "we'll see," said i. "mr. hale will be here in a moment. if he comes, it's all day with you. he can identify the ring, and--so--can--i. give it to me at once!" i exclaimed, with a stern voice. harry saw that i knew all about it, and yielded, begging me to not expose him. i assured him i had no care to do so; but should exact of him the expenses i had incurred for the carriage, which, at that time of night, would be about fifteen dollars; which he quickly took from out a large sized roll of bills from his inner vest pocket. the gas he had lighted when he rose to dress, was turned on at full head, and gleamed like a spectre through the room. i examined the money to see that it was not counterfeit, put it in my pocket, and bade harry "good night," telling him i guessed the man in draper's had recovered by this time, and that he needn't trouble himself to go down. i drove to my rooms, paid the driver, and having deposited the ring in my little safe, went to bed, and pondered on the next step--the finding of mr. clemens next day. i arose rather early next morning, and went in search. i expected to find him and his friends at some of the prominent hotels; but they were not there to be found, but had left the st. nicholas some three days before, and where gone nobody knew. but the coachman would know where he took them. after waiting hours to find the coachman, i at last learned that they had all gone to a house in madison square, to which i proceeded, and found it the private residence of one of our prominent citizens. the parties, therefore, were evidently of the _elite_, and were to be approached delicately. perhaps they hadn't told their friends of their loss, and from pride might not want it known. how should i proceed? well, i rung the bell, and inquired of the servant if a mr. clemens was stopping there; and learned that he was, but that he and his wife had gone out, and would not be back till evening. "was a mr. hale there?" "yes; but he, too, and his wife have gone with mr. and mrs. clemens." i didn't want the ring about me. i had pressing work to do that day and that evening; in fact, i hardly knew whether i should have time to call that evening or not. so i asked the servant if he could provide me envelope and paper, for i would leave a note for my friends. i was ushered into the library, and given the due materials; and addressing a note to mr. hale, which ran much as follows:-- "sir: i have not the pleasure of your personal acquaintance, but the fact that i am the _true_ friend of your cousin, mr. robert mcdonald, of new orleans, will be all the assurance, i presume, that you will want of my being entitled to an audience with you. i have called to see you upon interesting and important business, and finding that you are not to return till evening, i beg to ask you to expect me at half past eight o'clock. do not, if you please, by any means fail to be at home. i would also be pleased to meet mr. clemens; and i trust you will not consider me impertinent (and you will not when you come to learn my errand), if i ask also to meet mrs. hale and mrs. clemens at the same time. "i would prefer to meet none of the family residing here, but yourselves alone. "yours, very respectfully, "---- ----." i hurried through my business for the remainder of the day, and a little before half past eight was duly at the house on madison square. being admitted, i called for mr. hale. he came to see me in the hall; looked at me mysteriously; was very civil and polite, but coldly so. i said, "i left a note here to-day for you." "yes, sir, i received a curious note, and don't know what to make of it. please explain your business. we are strangers, and you will excuse me that i am always cautious with strangers, whoever they may be." he had evidently taken the lesson of the night before to heart. "but," asked i, "are mr. and mrs. clemens ready to receive me, as i requested in my note?" "yes, and mrs. hale too." "can i see them all immediately, for i've but little time to spare?" "yes, sir," said he, quite rigidly; "follow me, sir." i followed him to a small side parlor, where sat mr. clemens and the two ladies. "this is the gentleman who left the note here to-day, and says he knows bob mcdonald," said mr. hale, as he bowed me to a chair, and cast a furtive glance at his friends as he spoke mcdonald's name. "pardon me, sir," i broke in. "i did not say that i _knew_ mr. mcdonald, but that i was a 'true friend' of him, as you'll observe on looking at the note, if you have it, and as i guess i shall prove." "o, then you don't know my cousin, mr. mcdonald?" asked mrs. hale. "i am glad you do not, sir, for i was beginning to fear you if you did. we've seen one of cousin's friends here of late to our regret." "well, ladies and gentlemen," said i, "i'll make my story short. you have, indeed, had occasion to regret meeting one of mr. mcdonald's pretended friends. perhaps he does know him too, personally. but i do not; and i am a 'true friend' to mr. mcdonald, in that i would serve his friends as he would desire to have me, if he knew your late loss." there were glances from the eyes of each into those of the others--a momentary silence and wonder-looking--when mrs. clemens tremulously exclaimed, "why, sir, do you know all about it? have you found the ring?" "foolish woman!" said mr. clemens. "how do you suppose anybody could find what wasn't lost--only stolen?" "but i have something here for you, sir," said i, as i took the ring from my pocket, and held it up in the light. "the same!" "that's it!" "where did you get it?" "did he lose it, and you find it?" "how glad i am!" etc., burst from their excited lips. "be calm, and i'll tell you all about it," said i; and taking their seats, for all had risen to their feet, they listened attentively to my story. i told them my business; how i came to notice them; all that i did--all except what transpired in pine street, making a short tale of that. i had handed the ring, as i commenced my story, to mr. clemens, who placed it upon a book lying on the table, where it lay throughout our discourse, which was carried on for nearly an hour. near the conclusion, mr. clemens said, "but after all this i do not feel that the ring is yet justly mine. you have earned a part of it, at least, and i wish you to tell me how much i shall pay you for your trouble. i should have lost the ring wholly but for you, and i am willing to pay you half its value, seven hundred and fifty dollars." "o, no," said i, "i could not for a moment consent to take so much. in fact, i would have no right to." "well, name the price." "if you give me fifty dollars i shall be satisfied." "no such paltry sum, sir," said the generous southerner. "you shall take double, yes, four times that, at least." "yes," said mr. hale, "and i'll gladly pay half of it, or the whole of it, or double it, and make it four hundred." but i insisted upon only one hundred; and paying me that, mr. clemens restored the ring to his finger, saying, "the next time i allow a stranger, no matter whose friend he is, to trifle with my property, i shall _know_ it, i reckon. it's been a good lesson, cheaply bought, for me." business over, these cheerful people insisted upon entertaining me till a late hour, and i recited to them some quaint instances in the detective's life; but they could not but think that their adventure in new york had been the most remarkable of all. i dare say that the lesson they learned that night will serve them through life; and although their loss was so stupidly occasioned that i presume they keep it secret as to themselves, i've no doubt they sometimes tell it, in the third person, as a warning to their friends who may be "going abroad, travelling." it is a trite saying, that "'tis not all gold that glitters." everybody has heard it, and repeated it, but few only profit by it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the mystery at no. ---- street, new york. -------------- "kleptomania"--the tendency to superstition--an old knickerbocker family--a very "proper" old gentleman, a mr. garretson--he calls on me at my office, and finds a curious-looking room--his story of wonders--"everything" stolen--talk about disembodied spirits--the mystery deepens--probable conjecture baffled--visit to mr. garretson's house--mrs. garretson, a beautiful and cultivated old lady--we search the house--an attic full of old souvenirs--we linger among them--mr. garretson's daughter is convinced that disembodied spirits are their tormentors--she puts an unanswerable question--a dangerous dog and the spirits--tedious and unavailing watching for several days and nights--the "spirits" again at work--re-called--the mystery grows more wonderful--the "spirit" discovered and the mystery unravelled--the family sent away--the attic re-visited with mr. g. and its treasures revealed--a re-discovery of the "spirits"--the family review their long-lost treasures found--reflections on the causes of the mystery--a problem for the doctors. "kleptomania," the delicate term of modern coinage from the old greek, which is used to signify a passion for thieving under peculiar circumstances, and is mostly used when the thief is a person of some importance and of moneyed means, so that the lust for gain is not supposed to be his prompter to the "offence against the statute in such cases made and provided," indicates a moral "dereliction" which not only attacks the wakeful subject, but sometimes infuses itself into the dreams of sleepers. many women in a state of pregnancy are said to be liable to this disease, so to term it, who, in any other state, would be horrified at the bare mention of the crime of theft. they exhibit great adroitness in their man[oe]uvres when under the influence of the disease, and possess a boldness, too, of which, in their strictly "right minds," they would be utterly incapable. such establishments as stewart's great retail dry goods store expend large sums of money yearly in the employment of detectives to watch the customers, to see that they do not slyly purloin such goods as they may easily secrete in carpet-bags, in their pockets, under shawls, or under their dresses, and so on. not a small number of these would-be thieves are kleptomaniacs, and mostly women suffering under diseases peculiar to the sex, or women in a state of pregnancy, whose blood is more or less driven in unusual quantities into the head, and stirs there passions and desires which they never so feel at other times. the philosophy of this thing would be a pleasant matter of study, and falls legitimately enough into the line of a detective's life to investigate; but here is not the place for its discussion at any great length. i may run some risk in the narration of this tale, of trespassing upon the feelings of some persons who might prefer that i say nothing about it; for the facts were known to a large circle of highly-respectable people, mostly relatives of the "chief person of the drama," who would, perhaps, prefer that the matter should rest in peace, and go out in oblivion by and by. but i will endeavor to be delicate and courteous enough, in the avoidance of names, and in my general descriptions, to offend no one of those relatives who may read this. there are a great many people who have a natural tendency to superstitions of all kinds. they have excellent common sense, for example, in everything except in matters of a religious nature. a family of such people may be divided into religious partisans of the bitterest stamp; the one may be a baptist, for instance, and believe that all the rest, who disagree with him, must be lost. another member may be a modern "adventist," deny the doctrine of the essential immortality of the soul, and think his brother, who does believe in it, guilty of a proud and sinful assumption and godless vanity in so doing. another may become an english churchman, and gravitate from that character into the roman catholic church, and feel that all the rest,--the baptist, the adventist, etc.,--must "perish eternally," unless they come into the fold of the roman see. and still another may be a modern spiritualist, and believe in the return of "departed souls" to earth, to commune directly, or through "mediums," with poor mortals here, etc. it seems to depend very much upon how the superstitious element in each member of such families is first or finally addressed, as to what each may become. the reader will please conceive of an old, respectable family of knickerbockers, into whose veins was infused a little yankee blood, imported from near boston, mass., a family whose sires held in the past high rank and official position in the state and nation--a family not a little proud of its far-off dutch and english stock--reared in wealth and luxury, well bred, of course, at home, and well educated, both the males and the females; with a large amount of landed estate in various parts of the country, and blessed with a plenty of houses and building lots in the cities of new york and brooklyn; and, in fact, i have been told that their property could be pointed out all along the road, from jersey city to morristown, new jersey. in fact it was by the possession of city lots, and the constant increase of value thereof, that the family acquired the larger portion of their estate. add to this that the relatives of the family are mostly rich, and that such of them as are not rich, belong to that highly respectable, humdrum sort of people, who are here and there found in the midst of the stir and bustle of new york, who persist in representing old notions, old modes of doing business, and whose chief pride exercises and delights itself in talking over what their fathers did, who their grandfathers were, etc., or in preserving, perhaps, some legend, that when washington had his residence near bowling green, their grand-uncle, or some other relative, was a welcome visitor there. it is necessary to bring to the mind's eye this class of people in order to comprehend the commotion which bestirred them at the time when i was called to "work up a case" in their midst. one day, in the last "decade," i was waited on by a very proper old gentlemen, neatly dressed, with long white locks smoothly combed, hanging over his shoulders. the old gentleman possessed one of those passionless faces, so difficult to read, unless you can get a chance to peer down the eyes. he wore his gloves just one size too large; a little too independent to conform to the fashion of tight gloves, and a little too aristocratic to go without any,--(although i think a poor-fitting glove no ornament, to say the least),--and walked with the short, dainty, quick step of the men of note of the last century; he was tall, that is, about five feet and ten inches in height, rather slim, though he evidently had been a man of quite robust form. but some name i must have--and what better can i substitute for the real one than garretson? i might have chosen paulding, or van wyck; but i may wish to use them yet in this. well, such a looking man was mr. garretson, as he came one day into my office, bearing me a note of introduction from an old skipper who had his office in pearl street then, near wall street. the note, it appeared, was written at mr. garretson's, on peculiar family note paper, and bore the garretson coat of arms, and would, i presume, have been sealed with the garretson "stamp," and a pile of sealing-wax as large as one of the lead drops on "bulls," which the pope attaches to deeds of excommunication, or of convocation of councils, if it had not been a note of introduction, and therefore not proper to be sealed; for the garretsons were never known to do anything which was not proper, not suitable to their rank, and so forth, to do. the old gentleman stared a little as he entered my office, evidently expecting to find its appointments a little more to his taste, instead of finding "everything" in the office, and nothing in order; and asking if such were my name, and being answered in the affirmative, he daintily handed me the note. [illustration: the old knickerbocker in the detective's office.] "be seated, sir," said i, as i took it; and pointed him to a seat near the window, which looked out on the public street, and the only empty seat in my office save mine, the rest being filled with books, papers, coats, hats, shackling irons, some old disguises, masks, etc., which i had that day pulled out of a trunk to give them an airing, and had scattered about. as i read the note, i looked at the old gentleman, and found him looking out of the window, as if he were uneasy, and was questioning in his mind what manner of man was he whom he had come to visit and consult,--for so intimated the letter of my old friend, the skipper. i finished the perusal of the note in a minute or so, and stepping up to the old man, offered him my hand, with the usual salutations, and drawing my chair near him, sat down. "well, mr. garretson, our friend has intimated your business with me. i am at your service." there was quite a long pause, when the old man brought his cane down on the floor between his legs, rested his hands upon the head of it, bent over it a little, and began:-- "really, mr. ----, i was thinking why, on the whole, i had come here; for the more i think, the less do i believe that you can give us any assistance. we've tried everything ourselves." "yes, sir, perhaps i cannot assist you; but if you will tell me your story, i shall probably be able to tell you whether i can or not immediately." "that's the trouble, sir; the question of probabilities in the matter," said he; "for my story is a peculiar one, and involves the disclosure of matters which i should not like to tell you, unless you can conscientiously say that you think you can solve one of the greatest mysteries in the world,"--and here he paused. "why, sir," said i, "everything is a mystery to those who do not understand it. i cannot assure you that i can be of any service to you; but it is my business to unravel these matters which are mysteries to most people, and however complicated your case may be, i dare say i can cite many instances of as difficult ones, which have been worked out." "i presume so," said he. "you are right. 'what man has done man may do,' you know; but we've tried everything which seems possible to be done, to solve the trouble." "doubtless all you have thought of as being practicable has been tried, sir; but there is some solution of your trouble possible, sir, of course." "yes, yes; that's true--unless there is some superior power at work in the matter. some of my family and friends think there is." "o, ho! then to find out _that_ for a certainty would be a solution worth having; but you can only discover that by first proving that your affair is not operated by any ordinary power. do you mean that it's thought to be the work of disembodied spirits?" "yes, and i confess i am half-inclined to think so myself; and i almost feel sorry that i have come to you so soon," said he, in a voice and manner which revealed to me his superstitious proclivities quite pointedly. "o, well, sir," i replied, "it is not proper for me to press you to tell your story now. you must be your own judge of the propriety of doing so; but if you wish to, you can recite your case to me confidentially, and i will give you whatever construction of it may occur to me." "well, if the matter can remain a secret with you, if you do not see a way to solve it, i will tell you, and i do presume that you may be able to cast some light upon it. the case is this. i live at no. ---- street, as you already know from mr. ----'s note." "yes, sir; i call the house to mind; have often noticed it as i have passed along that street." "well, sir, now for some eight months i've been able to keep nothing in our house of a small kind, and valuable nature, such as spoons, napkin rings, all sorts of silver ware, jewelry, watches, ladies' dresses, and my own clothing, etc., in fact, anything; it is all mysteriously carried off. i say mysteriously, for we have kept watch, night after night, and things would disappear right before our eyes, as it were." "well," said i, after a pause of some length, in which the old man seemed to be pondering whether he would go on with his story or not, looking bewildered, as if there was something he wished to tell me about, but did not quite dare to, or was ashamed to tell. "well, tell me the whole story. how many persons are there in your family?" "my wife and myself, three unmarried daughters; two married ones spend much time there too; and two of my sons, unmarried. they are in business; but i like to have my family about me--" "are these all?" "yes, except the servants. i have four maid-servants in the house, besides my coachman and butler." "do you suspect none of these servants?" "no; i've tested them in every way. they have all, with the exception of one girl, been with me for from ten to twenty-five years. i called the women maid-servants; two of them are widows, one has been a widow for twenty years, and has lived with us for all that time, and the butler has been with us longer. i would trust any of them as soon as i would my own children." "of course, then, you suspect no one in your house?" "no, no; there's nobody there to do these things. we've all watched and watched, i tell you, and the servants are as much interested as we to know who is the guilty actor, for they have lost many things as well as the rest of us." "you speak of one girl who has not been there so long as the rest. how long has she been with you?" "about three years." "has she a lover who visits the house?" "o, yes; and he's been coming there for two years." "why don't he marry her and take her away?" "my wife wouldn't part with her--will keep her as long as she lives, if she can. she thinks she's the best servant she ever saw. we should suspect her least of all. she has lost nearly every keepsake her lover has given her, and some very valuable things which her mother gave her on leaving ireland, and the poor girl has nearly cried her eyes out over her loss." "well, her lover, what sort of a man is he?" "a hard working mechanic; works at the novelty works, and bears an excellent name." "is he irish, too? i suppose he is." "no; he is an englishman--a yorkshire man, i think." "is he protestant or catholic?" "protestant to be sure. she's catholic, though." "have you ever talked with him about your losses?" "yes; and he and mary, the girl, have watched several times, sitting up to keep my wife company, who was watching too; sitting up half the night, and things would disappear then." "so you have no reason for suspecting him. well, the case _does_ look a little strange, i confess," said i; "but i would like to have you go into detail all about your premises; where the things taken were, who were in your house at the time, the kind of locks you have on your doors; what searches you have made, at what hours, or between what hours, the things have been taken; for how long, in consecutive days or weeks, things have been stolen; if there's been any cessation of these pilferings for any length of time since they began; if you have ever discovered any traces of anybody's having gotten into the house at this or that window; what part of the house has been rifled the most,"--and every other query i could then think of, i added. this drew from the old gentleman a minute story of the whole affair. i found the locks were the best; that he had a ferocious watch-dog loose every night in the lower and middle part of the house, but excluded from the chambers, on the servants' account, who were afraid of him; that all parts of the house were rifled alike, and it seemed from what he said that the thefts were accomplished from about the time of the family's retiring until morning, for they had watched sometimes till near morning, and then on rising would find something gone, mostly things of value, too; but sometimes trivial things, such as the grand-children's tops, etc., when they happened to be visiting there. the relatives of the family had been called in to watch too; but things went when they were there the same, and when the watch was most complete as to the number of watchers, then it was that the most valuable things were missed, and injury (evidently out of pure malevolence) done to valuable furniture; and finally mr. garretson told me that there had been two obvious attempts to fire the house,--and this he uttered with tremulous emotions. from all i could gather from him i could not make up my mind to any conclusions upon which it could rest, and i told him i must visit the premises, and make examinations for myself. but i could not go till the next day or night, for that night i had engaged to meet some parties in counsel upon an important matter; "but which," said i, to him, "was more mysterious, a week ago, than anything you have told me, and which has been worked out. now we are to consult as to how best to get the guilty parties into our hands, for we know who they are." this seemed to encourage mr. garretson for a little, and we parted, i to call at his house some time next day, at my convenience. i went as appointed, and was presented by mr. garretson to his wife, a fair-looking old lady, of the blonde school. indeed, she was a motherly, sweet woman to look upon, and had evidently drunken at the "fountain of youth" somewhere; for although she was only five years younger than mr. garretson, as i learned, she looked thirty years his junior. her face was a blending of the greek and modern german in style, nose aquiline, and head broad, and not lacking in height; a pleasingly-shaped head to look upon; and there was all the mercy, tenderness, and kindness in her eye and voice which one could desire to find in a woman. there was a sweet, unostentatious dignity, too, about her which compelled respect. she gave me a long account of the household's troubles, of her own watchings night after night, of the hypotheses she had had about the matter, and how one by one they had been exploded; and she and mr. garretson took me all over the house, even up into the attic, among piles of old "lumber," such as boxes, old trunks, old furniture, that had been set aside to make room for new, piled up with hosts of things which almost any other family would have sent off to the auction shops, or sold to second-hand furniture men. but she explained that some of these things had belonged to her grandfather, and other deceased relatives, and that a large old dutch wooden chest, with great iron clasps all over it, was brought over by mr. garretson's ancestors from europe. these she couldn't bear to sell, she said; "and often," said she, "they afford me great pleasure, for when mr. garretson and the girls are gone from home, i sit up here in this old chair" (and she pointed to a large chair, the posts of which were large enough each to make a modern chair out of), "and muse, read, and think over the past, and dwell upon heavenly things to come." in her talk, mrs. garretson became quite animated, and we waited up there, listening to her stories about the old furniture and her ancestors, quite a long while. i noticed that with the excitement of the hour her face had become quite rosy, and that there was a peculiar spot on each cheek, not unlike the hectic flush upon the cheeks of the consumptive. but she was, apparently, in the full vigor of health; a tall, but solidly-made woman, and evidently had no trouble in her lungs. but the spots gave her face a peculiar expression, and withal seemed, somehow, to give her eyes the look of subtle intelligence, which i had not observed before. i found that although mr. garretson was a sensible old man, well educated, and, withal, courtly, yet mrs. g. was the chief spirit of the house, and so i consulted her further when we came from the attic. we visited each chamber, and looked into each closet, of course; and the windows of the house in front and rear were all examined, and i satisfied myself too that there was no easy approach, and no way of getting in without great risk to life or limb from the other adjoining houses; and i examined the basement as thoroughly, talked with the servants, and finally with the daughters, two of whom were then at home, and who came in from making morning calls. one of these daughters had settled down upon the conviction that the thefts were the work of disembodied spirits; but to my query if she meant by these words "departed _friends_," she smiled, and said, "not exactly;" and went on to tell me her religious notions about "evil spirits," as well as good ones, etc. the father fell in with her views considerably; but the clear-headed old lady, the mother, in a kind way, combated them with great force. but there was no answering the daughter when she retorted,-- "well, perhaps it is not the work of spirits; but will you tell me whose work it is--who does it?" of course the family could have nothing to reply. they had exhausted their powers to solve the mystery, and i confess i began to think a particle less lightly of ghosts, hobgoblins, and "spirits of departed men," than ever before. that dog, too, which was chained up below, and was let loose of nights, was a savage-looking fellow, and it seemed to me that he would catch and tear to pieces anything but a spirit that might be prowling about the house. i was at my wits' ends to conceive a theory which should throw light upon the subject, or even to make anything at all like a reasonable conjecture. but i could not help feeling that perhaps out of the daughter's suggestion of "spiritual" interference might be wrought something in the way of a solution of the vexatious mystery; and so i brought up the topic in that phase again, and we all entered into a general discussion. it appeared that things had more frequently been missed when all the outer doors and all the windows of the house had been closed and locked, than at other times, when some of the upper windows especially had been opened; more in the winter than in the summer time. the articles taken, then, could hardly have been borne by "spirits" even, through the solid doors, or the glass of the windows; and so i inquired if it was sure that every trunk and every hiding-place in the house had been searched, and was assured by all, father, mother, and daughters that such search had been frequently made by them; and they explained how they had gone to the bottom of trunks and boxes, and had "shaken out sheets," etc., for in the early period of these thefts, it had been conjectured that the things missed had simply been mislaid. the daughter gave me her reasons extendedly for supposing the thefts the work of spirits, and i had to confess that some of her reasoning seemed good, "provided always," as a lawyer would say, that there are any such existences as "spirits" at all. but the family believed in "spirits;" whether they could or did communicate with "things on earth," or not, was the whole question with them; but the mother's judgment seemed to settle the question for the father and the other daughter, which was, that these thefts were not committed by spirits; and to this point we got during my tarry there that day, and it was agreed that i should return in the evening and pass the night in the house. i left mr. garretson's, and being a little weary, when i returned home threw myself on my bed, and managed to secure about four hours' sleep, which i needed in view of my prospective watching that night, and i arrived at mr. g.'s about half past ten o'clock. a room had been prepared for me on the first flight, above the parlor, its door opening into the broad hall, which room i took after a half hour's conversation with the family. it appeared that things were missed equally on nights when the gas was burning dimly about the house, as when it was shut off; and i deemed it best to have a slight light burning in the halls, parlors, and so forth, which was permitted. bidding the family good night (having concluded to not let the dog loose for fear, in my secret mind, that he might attack me if loose, and i should be about the house; but which thought i did not then reveal, saying only that he might make a noise, and i could perhaps listen better if i heard steps). i betook myself to my room, and drawing a lounge near to the door, which was open a few inches, i stretched myself upon it, and began to muse upon the probabilities in the case. there i lay. the clock struck twelve--again it struck one--and i had no occasion to move from my position, and began to conceive that possibly the "spirits" wouldn't work with me in the house. a half hour more went on, when suddenly i discovered the light in the hall go out. quickly leaving the lounge, i rushed into the hall, only to discover that it was total darkness all over the house, save in my room. when mrs. garretson, hearing me, stepped to her door, and said,-- "is that you, mr. ----?" "yes, madam. i saw the light go out, and i came to see what it means." "o," said she, "i put out the light, for somehow, i found it oppressive--the sense of it--and could not sleep, and i guess we shall not be disturbed to-night." a few more words were exchanged between us, when i retired to my room, and there watched the whole night out, waiting for some sign of noise in the house. but i reflected that mrs. g. had been in different parts of the house to put out the lights, and i had not heard her move. had she not put out the lights i should not have known that she had stirred. how, then, could i hear spirits, or even mortals, so far as their footfalls were concerned? mr. g. got up early that morning, came to my room, and begged me to go to bed and sleep, as he should be up and about the rest of the morning, as well as the servants, who would soon be up. they would have a late breakfast, or i could lie till dinner time, if i liked, and get a good rest. he closed the door as he went out, and i lay till called for dinner. at breakfast-time mr. g. had made his way to my room, and finding me "snoring soundly," as he said, let me sleep on. at dinner, it was disclosed that some three or four things had been missed that night; among them a very valuable gold thimble, which the daughters knew was left in a given place, and they were the last who retired; and a peculiar, elegant, silver-mounted sea-shell, which had been brought from the mediterranean, and on which had been cut some sea-songs in the modern greek language. i had noticed this beautiful shell myself. where were these gone, and who had taken them? mrs. garretson was sure that she was awake a good part of the night, and could have heard anybody moving about the house, for with a screen at their door, her husband and herself usually left their bedroom door open. we canvassed the matter over and over, and arrived at no conclusion. finally, it was determined that i should stay the coming night. and i left, and returned in due time. this night was one of severe watching, to no purpose. nothing was found to be gone, and i watched still the third night, to no purpose. no noise was there, and nothing taken; and i gave up the matter for a while, subject to be called in again if mr. garretson thought best. [illustration: discovering the "spirits," at no. ---- street, n. y.] several days, and finally three weeks passed, before i was again called. meanwhile this case was constantly on my mind, no matter how busily i was employed with other matters, some of which were almost as difficult of solution as this. i could not yet come to any conclusion; but i had resolved, that if i should be called in again, what course to pursue. at the end of three weeks mr. g. called on me, and said that the "spirits" were again at work; had visited the house the night before, and carried off several things, this time having evidently tried to carry away some chairs, for they found two of the parlor chairs in the basement hall, standing against the door. this was rather too much for my credulity, that "spirits" should do these things, and i went that night to mr. g.'s with the determined purpose of meeting the "spirits" in the operation of carrying off chairs, etc., for i concluded i could see the furniture if the spirits were indeed invisible. the room i had before was given me, and the household retired,--i giving them no clew to the course i intended to pursue. the dog was chained as before, and i had taken quiet notice of the location of everything in the parlors, and had visited the kitchen (from which things were frequently taken, even loaves of bread, for which i suspected the "spirits" had no use), and taken notes there. i had visited the dog in company with mrs. g., and gotten into his good graces as well as i could, and made him familiar with my voice. the family retired, and so did i, but not to sleep. in a half hour after going to my room, there being no light in the house this night, i took a dark lantern i had secretly brought with me, and taking off my boots, tripped down into the parlors, out of one of which, in the somewhat old-fashioned house, opened a closet with shelves in it, at the top, but with room enough for me to sit comfortably in it upon an ottoman, which i placed there, and with the door slightly ajar, there i sat. of course i was well armed for any emergency, and my purpose was to shoot anything like a "spirit" i might find prowling about, provided i could get "sight" of the wretch. there i remained for two hours and over, when, about half after one o'clock in the morning i heard something like a person's stumbling against a chair. i listened intently, and heard something moving very stealthily. there was no light in the room, and so cocking my trusty pistol, and holding it in my right hand, i with the other brought out from its concealment my dark lantern, and threw its full blaze into the room, and there, to my astonishment, i found a person in a night-gown, with a sort of tunic over it. the size indicated mrs. g., and i was just about to apologize to her, when she turned about, and i saw that her eyes were closed. there was a very peculiar and cunning look in her face, and she concealed in her tunic a pair of opera glasses, and other small things, which she took from the _étagères_ in the corner of the room. it flashed upon my mind at once, of course, that mrs. g. was the troublesome "spirit" i was seeking, and i immediately turned the veil upon my lamp, fearing that the light might disturb her operations, and awaken her; for i suspected at once that she was in a state of partial sleep, and was, in short, a somnambulist; and when in the condition of one, affected with the desire to conceal things; romancing, in short, in her dreams. i resolved to follow her, to see what disposition she would make of her prizes; and so, when i concluded she had gotten to the other side of the room, i brought out my lantern again, and discovered her tripping lightly to the hall stairs, and i slowly and softly followed. up stairs she went, and up another flight, and finally ascended the attic stairs. i followed, as near as i could, without disturbing her, and with my light got the opportunity of seeing her open the big dutch chest, of which i have spoken before. she unlocked it, and i waited no longer, but went down to my room, and stood within the door of it waiting for her to return. she came down after some ten minutes had passed, as stealthily and softly as she had gone up, and there was playing upon her face, which my light partly turned on revealed, that same covert smile. she passed on to her bed-room door which was open, and must have glided around the screen, which stood within the doorway, and lay down. i withdrew to my room, locked the door, and went to bed, and slept more soundly than i had done for three nights before,--the solace which comes to mental anxiety is so much more soothing than the balm which heals only physical pains. breakfast was called at a late hour next morning, and i felt perfectly refreshed from my sleep, and was in one of my jolliest moods; and when i announced at table that i had, i thought (as i cautiously said), fully solved the mystery,--had seen the "spirits," and knew all about the matter,--there was no little astonishment expressed all around the board. but i got the family in a joking mood, and held them in suspense--in half doubts. mrs. g. was the liveliest of all, and said they could never be grateful enough to me, never could pay me enough for what i had done, if i had really scented out the culprits. they asked me all sorts of questions; but i was not ready to explain, for i was in doubt what was the best course,--whether i should tell the mother alone, or the father, or both, or all. at last i decided upon a course, which was, to get the daughters and mother away from the house on some errand; to tell the father, and with him make search of the chest, and every other conceivable hiding-place in the house, which thing,--the sending off of the mother and daughters,--was readily accomplished after i had slyly taken the father to my room, when the ladies were occupied with their cares and pleasures, and told him that i wished he would ask no questions why, but that i desired he would send out his family. fortunately they were projecting a visit that day to some friends in a distant part of the city, and the old gentleman encouraged it; and finally ordered out his carriage, and sent them off with the driver, in great glee, in their expectancy of "the great revelation when we get home," as the spiritualistic daughter expressed it. they had not gotten well away before i asked the father to hunt up whatever keys he could find in the house; and he was not long in finding two or three bunches, and several other single ones besides, and, without explaining anything, i told him to follow me, and proceeded at once to the attic. a half dozen trials of the keys resulted in the chest's yielding up its deposits. there we found all sorts of things secreted away in old boxes placed within the chest, and all covered with a blanket, and over all this small piles of time-old newspapers, brown and faded. the chest was very capacious, and contained a great deal of the silver ware that had been taken, valuable little articles of _virtu_; a large quantity of jewelry, and all sorts of small things which are ordinarily to be found in the houses of wealthy people. these were all nicely laid away. considerable order was observed in their arrangement, which accounted for the hours of solitary comfort which mrs. g. told me, on the first visit to the attic, that she spent there among the old mementos of the past. but when we had gotten everything out of the chest, mr. g. called to mind many things which had been missed, which were not found there; so we made the most scrupulous search into old trunks, and other things in the attic, without much avail, finding a few things, however. at last, in removing some old boxes which stood atop of each other, and against the chief chimney running through the attic, we came across a fireplace, which mr. g. said he had forgotten all about. long years before the house had been extended into the rear yard (for it was a corner house), by a small "l," in which the servants were provided with rooms. prior to that some of them had occupied a room done off in the attic, the board partitions of which had been removed. it was then this fireplace was in use. a sheet-iron "fire-board" closed it up, and was held in place by a button. as i took hold of the button, and found it moved easily, i said to mr. g., "we shall find treasures here;" and we did. it was quite full of household things; and here we found some of the largest pieces of silver ware that had been lost. a full tea-service, etc., together with a large roll of bank bills, and five bills of old "continental scrip," the loss of which mr. g. had mourned as much as that of almost all the rest, for they were pieces which alexander hamilton had given to mr. g.'s father, upon a certain occasion notable in the history of the latter, and bore general hamilton's initials in his own hand. we continued our search, and found other things, which it is needless to specify. then mr. g. and i held a "council of war" as to what was to be next done. we concluded that the servants must not be allowed to know anything about the matter, and we had not concluded whether the daughters were to be let into the secret or not. this was after i had told mr. g. of my solution of the matter, which i had kept secret from him until we came to consider what was to be done with the things. at first we thought we would at once carry them all to his bedroom, and place them in a large closet there. but finally mr. g. thought it would be more satisfying to see his wife operate, himself; and we put back the things as well as we could, and went down. it was arranged that i should come back that night to watch further, and that mr. g. should tell the family that i wished to make more investigations, and that i was not quite satisfied after all; which he did. that night i returned, kept excellent watch, and mrs. g., as fate would have it, left her room, and went prowling about as before. at the proper time i entered mr. g.'s room, and awakened him; and, drawing on his pantaloons, and wrapping himself in a cloak, he followed me and watched his wife's man[oe]uvres to his satisfaction, and retired, before she had concluded her work. the next day, at breakfast, the family rallied me about the things missed the night before, mr. g. joining in the badgering, jokingly. i played the part of a defeated man, half covered with shame; and before noon mr. g. had the family out to ride again. we hastily gathered up all the lost and found treasures, and placed them in a large closet in mr. g.'s bedroom; he having made up his mind to give his wife, by herself, a great surprise, and then tell her what he had seen, and consult her feelings as to whether the children were to ever know how the things were gotten back, or not. he was anxious to have me wait till she came; and we managed, without exciting the suspicion of the girls, to get together in the bedroom, where mr. g. opened the door of the closet, first cautioning mrs. g. to make no loud exclamation, and there revealed the lost treasures. "see what the 'spirits' have brought back to us?" said he. "mr. ---- is the best 'medium for business' in the city. we must give him a certificate;" and the old man "rattled away" with his jokes, while mrs. g. looked on with astonishment and delight. "you must tell me all about it," said she. "how _did_ you find these things? who brought them? who is the thief? how did he get in the house? does he come down chimney?" and a host of other questions. "i'll tell you all about it to-night," said mr. g. "it is a long story; but first the girls must be called to see the lost treasures now restored." and the daughters were called up. to their queries, uttered amidst the profoundest astonishment, as to how, and when, etc., the treasures were brought back, and who was the thief, and if it was some catholic, who had disgorged the stolen goods through the confessional, mr. g. only answered, slyly winking at the spiritualistic daughter, "it was through the means of a first-rate 'medium' that the things were restored." "there, there," said the daughter, too serious to understand her father's irony, "i could have told you so. what do you think now of spiritualism, father?" "o, i don't know," said he in reply. "there _are_ a great many strange things in the world, that's a fact." but he would not promise to ever tell them how the things got back, and the ladies went to assorting them, and commenting on each article. it was a novel sight to see the eagerness with which they grasped at this or that article as it turned up,--the long-lost treasures found. i left the house duly that day, and i understood from mr. g., who called on me three or four days after, that when he told his wife that night what he had seen, and how she looked, and so forth, when moving about so slyly, that she had a "great crying spell" over it, and did not wish the daughters to be informed of the secret state of things; and that for fear the somnambulistic state should come upon her again, she tied her arm or foot to the bedstead, in order to be awakened if she should attempt to get out of bed. but she had had no more attacks of the disease. "perhaps her severe crying broke it," said he. i made many inquiries of mr. g. about his wife's habits in life, her general health, her peculiar troubles, if she had any, by way of resolving this mystery of the kleptomania connected with the somnambulism; and from all i could learn, i believe that she was one of the most conscientious and best of mortals in her normal state, and i was led to believe that the kleptomania, if not the somnambulism, was caused by diseases, though slight ones, peculiar to the female sex; but why these came on so late in life, (for mrs. garretson was sixty-three years old,) i cannot conceive, but leave that for the doctors to decide. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the sorceress' trick, and how she was caught. -------------- classification of men--the superstitious element in man--the old cults continued in the new--fire worship--the sorcerers--my legal friend's story a laughable one indeed--the despondent old maid, though engaged to be married--an aunt arrives in "the nick of time"--they hunt up a fortune-teller--mrs. seymour, the sorceress, and her pretty little "oratory"--the "prie-dieu"--the old maid marries--mrs. seymour's plan for insuring the affection of husbands--her powers as a charmer--the sacred box and its five thousand dollars contents--mrs. seymour is lost sight of--search for her in brooklyn and at boston--the charmed box opened by mr. and mrs. ----, and the contents found to have changed form materially--my legal friend and i look after matters--a portion of the transformed valuables found--a mrs. bradley, a "medium" in boston, proves to be the identical mrs. seymour--the high-toned devotees of boston--sudden proceedings taken--mrs. seymour and her husband come to terms--results--respectable victims of the sorcerers numerous--the dupes in the "athens of america." what the human race might have become without the love of the mysterious or marvellous in its composition, would be a pretty subject of speculation for the philosophers, but one which human genius will prove perhaps ever unable to solve. there are three classes of human beings,--or so i am apt to divide them in my "philosophy,"--the good, and in different degrees, sensible; the crafty; and the simple and weak, neither positively good or bad. these latter two divisions comprehend the vast majority of mankind, made so, to a great extent, by the institutions which the race has, in its ignorance, wrought out for itself, and by which it is constantly cursed, until one by one it outgrows, along the course of the ages, these outrages upon itself, which itself has imposed. this process of outgrowing we call _progress_, and so it is, perhaps; but it would be more satisfactory progress if, when it overrides or abates one wrong or malicious incumbrance upon a race, it could or would also avoid the establishment of another equally bad. the love of the mysterious is, to a great extent, the religious element in man. some writers hold that it is such to the full extent; but i am not about to decide that, even for myself alone, much less for others. true it is, however, that in all historic time this element, or whatever else one is pleased to call it, has been the medium through which the intellectual and tyrant forces in the race have subjected the weaker to their sway. the ancient oracles played upon the superstitious in men in the government of whole races and nations, and to-day the oracles of old are reproduced among us in a thousand ways, and the religions of the past, in their symbolizations, exist among us, and exert their influence, almost unconsciously to the masses. for example. that beautiful cult, or religion of old, sun-worship,--is traceable in modern institutions, and the old fire-worship, so wondrous, still lives in that word purity (from the greek word _pur_, fire), which is the expression of our highest or deepest sense of all that is morally perfect; and in the very steeples of our churches is the old fire-worship symbolized; for the steeple is but a representation of the old obelisks, which were themselves but symbols of the tall shafts of fire which shot up from the top of some mountain, like sinai, when the worshippers built thereon the vast _bon_-fires,--or good, i. e., _holy_,--fires to which the vast assemblages poured forth their devotions. and in even the names of the days of the week we preserve the memories of the old superstitions, and to some extent the superstitions themselves--sun-day, day devoted to the worship of the sun, and so on. in thurs-day, or thor's-day, we are kept in mind of the old scandinavian god, as potent in the estimation of his worshippers as the jehovah of the hebrews was to them, though a somewhat different character. through all grades, and shades, and degrees the superstitious element of to-day finds itself fed. the sublime and the ridiculous still exists as of old, and the advertising columns of the public journals tell but too plainly and painfully of the susceptibility of the masses to the deceits and frauds to which the superstitious element in them subjects them. the sorcerers are not yet extinct, and the prophets, as good as most of those of ancient days, and magicians as expert as those whom the greater magician, moses, outwitted, are still to be found; and i suspect these excel those of ancient times in one important, the most important, art--that of money-getting. but they have an advantage over their prototypes in that they have the influence of the public journals of these days to widely proclaim themselves--to make their pretensions heard by a larger audience. i suspect that many a reader of this would be surprised to learn, could he be statistically informed, how vast is the number of the victims of modern sorcery. these are not confined to the lower orders, as many an intelligent and educated man, who has not made the special matter of remark here a study, might quite sensibly suspect. none of the conventional grades of society, whether the same be measured by money, by the education of books, or what is called "blood," or high hereditary social position, is lacking in them; and it is remarkable that the victims from the educated circles are as much more intense, generally, in their superstitions, as their superiority in other respects to the uneducated is marked and distinguished. i suppose this may be accounted for thus: being once led into superstition, the man of letters resorts to his pride of intellect to sustain himself in it, and deepen his convictions; for although we cannot exactly believe whatever we please,--for the character of evidence must be a matter of some consideration with us, must have weight with us,--yet when we are led on to a certain point, and have averred our belief in any absurdity, we are disposed to admit its logical consequences, however wide apart from good sense they may be. in this narrative i have first to deal with parties of high social position--of education, and much refinement, of course,--but descended from a long line of ancestors more or less noted for their inclination to believe everything which came to them under the similitude of religion or superstition of any kind--anything which seemed to them inexplicable; anything, in other words, mysterious to them. a lawyer of my acquaintance--in fact an old friend, who had employed me many times before, especially in the ferreting out of legal evidence in criminal matters--came one day into my office with a broad grin on his face. i was in pretty good humor, and was beguiling an hour or two,--while i was awaiting the advent of a party who i hoped would bring me some valuable news of the working of a little plot of mine in the investigation of a case,--with dickens's martin chuzzlewit. of course i was in good humor, enjoying that rare word-painter's faithful pictures of american society as he found it; and my friend, the lawyer, was of course enjoying himself, otherwise why that irresistible grin, which, in my mood, stirred me up to outright laughter as he entered? "what's up?" i said. "deliver yourself _instanter_; for i want to hear the fun." "o, ho," he replied, "i've the jolliest affair to tell you of that ever occurred in the line of my experience. i am counsel, advocate, and judge in the matter, and expected to be constable, jury, and executioner, all in one; for the whole thing, involving love and lovers, 'potions and pills,' quacks, schemers, thieves, and everything else, is left in my hands, and i've come over to divide the honors with you--" "well, well; after your long opening, suppose you come down to the points in the matter--'judge,' 'executioner,' or whatever you please to call yourself in the premises." "to begin, then, you must know that there's a part of the business which you must not know at present, and that is, the _names_ of the people i am about to tell you of. these people occupy a very high position in society, and their case is the funniest thing in the world, considering their rank, life-time associations, and the man's official position in the world, or rather the one which he has held,--a very high one under the government. you must understand that he is old and wealthy, and that his wife is a young woman, comparatively speaking, though she had arrived at that degree of maturity before marriage which entitles a lady to the honors of an old maid. she is extremely well educated, comes of a good family, and has been a successful teacher in her day in a ladies' seminary. all things considered, she is, in the general way, rather the superior of her husband. this much to begin with, to give you a sort of inkling of how extraordinary the case is; for if they were simply a couple of fools, or ordinary people, the matter wouldn't have any spice in it." "well," i broke in as he paused, "go on, and satisfy my curiosity, counsellor, now that you've whetted it up." "be patient," said he, "and i will, but i am always choked with the comicality of the affair when i picture it to myself; and i was only stopping to gather a little dignity, to go on reciting the serious thing to you. the parties are very rich, and it's only a matter of some five thousand dollars anyhow--a bagatelle for them. they are ugly about it, considering the way they, or rather she, was duped,"--and here the lawyer fairly roared, as he slapped his hand upon his knee, over the thought of such people's being "taken in and done for" by the arts which usually prevail mostly among the ignorant. but there is no telling what the superstitious element in the mind may not lead to. my friend went on to say, then, that about the time of the marriage of the old maid in question with the rich old man, she had, in brooding over her future, gotten it into her head in some way, that perhaps his affection,--of which she felt pretty contentedly sure for the time, however,--might wane and grow less, and she become but a slave to the old man and his money. brooding over this, she got quite melancholy and "nervous." she really loved the old man, who was not only a man of ability and honors, but was very kind of soul. of course, too, his great wealth was no objection to a woman who could appreciate the value of a comfortable home, or enjoy the refinements of a luxurious one. "i would not wish to intimate," said the lawyer, "that she took this matter of wealth into consideration, even lightly; for i like to assure myself once in a while that there are to be found a few women in this populous vale of tears, who have considerations superior to the thought of wealth; and, verily, this woman _looks_ to me like one of those." but the woman got nervous. if his affection should fail, why, she would become only a prettily-dressed bird in a handsome cage, with enough to eat and drink, but without loving companionship; excluded, in fact, from the society of her old and poorer friends, and, to use a religious phrase, unhappy enough to be practically "without god in the world." she hardly dared to mention to any of her particular friends the dreadful thought that was knawing at her heart, and growing fiercer every day, for fear they would ridicule her. "ladies having passed a certain age are supposed to be peculiarly sensitive on matters touching love and marriage, you know," said my friend, with a very knowing wink in his eye. no, she had no friend to pour out her soul to on the very point, of all things, the most dear to her. her "intended" had exhibited some peculiarities of character which she did not understand, and now, while she was brooding over her especial grief, he was naturally enough more eccentric than ever. possibly he, too, was undergoing fears,--fears that when he grew older, and older--and he was far in advance of her in years,--that her affection would wane, and then all that would bind her to him would be his money. perhaps he had caught her disease unconsciously. withal the condition of things generally between them, in their silent hearts, must have been anything but pleasant to both of them. the lady prayed for light to know her duty to herself and her coming lord,--in fact, to be taught from on high whether she would be doing a wrong or not to him, to marry him,--for her fever had burned on beyond the point of simple selfishness. the great question of duty and right had seized hold of her mind, and she had become religiously morbid thereon. but one thing she thought she knew for a certainty--that she not only loved him now, but would continue to love him, always. so she reflected that she should do no wrong to him in marrying; and she finally got to the resolution that she would patiently bear his coldness and neglect, and even his tyranny, if he should display anything of the last, as a good christian woman ought to,--and the time set for the wedding was fast drawing near. but she found this resolution of christian fortitude under the condition of unrequited love rather more than a good human nature could bear, or ought ever to be asked to bear; and it got to be an awful burden to her, meek and lowly though she was. as the time grew shorter before the wedding, the lady's wakeful hours at night grew longer and more burdensome, and her friends began to notice their telling effect upon her countenance, and whole constitution, in fact. such of them as were indelicate enough (and who ever knew many ladies, especially, who are not inclined to be indelicate at times on matters of love and marriage, or rather towards those indulging the one and contemplating the other?),--such, my friend went on to say, got to poking fun at her a little; said the condition she contemplated must be terrible, indeed, since it wore upon her so much, etc.--all of which did not seem to amend matters much. but finally, only three or four days before the time set for the wedding, and not over an hour after her old lover had called, and rolled away in his carriage,--he having seemed very gloomy that day, too,--an old aunt of the lady came,--came from new orleans to pass a few days with her niece,--and she found the latter in tears. she had heard of her niece's prospective marriage; and as she was a demonstrative old lady, and very sympathetic, she both pitied her niece, and spared no pains in attempting to console her, and finally won her great secret. "la, me!" exclaimed the old aunt; "do tell--_is_ that _all_ that's troubling you so? now, do take heart. i tell you we can get that sore spot fixed up,--cured in a mighty short time. i understand all about it. fact is, i've had such an experience myself in my day, and i've known others have the like, and i got it all made right, and they did too, if there's any believin' folks; but some folks are curious creatures--that's true, mary," (for that's the niece's first name); and she went on to tell her "as how" she didn't believe in witchcraft, or in seers, or "clair-ry-voy-ants" (as she called them), or in fortune-tellers, "either with the cards or without them," nor "in them as sees into things through crystals, and such like," as a general thing. but she did believe that some folks had a magic about them, by which they could peer into the future, and prevent things happening that might otherwise occur. she was a very garrulous old lady, it would seem, and overwhelmed her niece with instances enough, which she had "known" to prove valuable, of the mysterious "power of some people," to establish a general rule in favor of all seers' pretensions. the niece was just in the mood to believe in anything that seemed likely to bring her any relief, and asked her aunt for her advice in the premises, which was given, of course, and was to the effect that they should find out a _good_ fortune-teller, and visit her next day. but the time was short, and they had no acquaintances of whom they could inquire. the aunt sighed deeply over the fact that new orleans was so far off; "for if it wasn't, we would go and visit old aunt betsy"--an aged negro woman--"right off. she's always sure and certain. i've tried her a hundred times." "what, aunt! a hundred times?" asked mary. "yes, yes, a full hundred times." "why, aunt, then i am afraid you do believe in fortune-tellers." "no, no; i don't. i told you that i don't, generally speaking; but aunt betsy is a wonder, if she is black. _she_ ain't any the worse for that, i tell you, no matter what the rest of the blacks are." any one acquainted with the character of the people, who, at the south, put their trust in prophetic old negroes and negresses, need no further hint as to the superstitious character of mary's aunt. they are a peculiar class, the like of whom is not to be found in all the world besides. they are weaker than the idolaters of the east, and are generally a sensuous, if not sensual, class, they who worship these old negroes, and there are a great many of them. the aunt was not only superstitious, but enthusiastic--one of those magnetic creatures, who, at times, exercise a good deal of influence--a sort of "psychologic" power over others; and in mary's state of mind, she was not much disposed to resist the aunt's advisory suggestions. she needed sympathy at the time, and was willing to accept it in whatever form presented. with no one to inquire of as to a "successful fortune-teller," the aunt and mary consulted the newspapers, determining to select among the advertisements the name of the "medium," or "sight-seer," or "clairvoyant," or what not, who appeared to reside in the most respectable quarters; and they were not long in determining, through the columns of the herald, upon a mrs. seymour, then residing in grand street. this "mrs. seymour" was the wife of a crafty irishman, of much intelligence, and extremely good address, by the name of brady. this man was capable of concocting dark designs; and although his wife was also a cunning person, and was not lacking in real skill and strategy, yet it was generally supposed, as i learned on investigating this case, that he was the subtle "power behind the throne" when any great cheat or curious deviltry was performed by her. but she was a "canny" woman, after all, and as mild and attractive, when she pleased to be, as she was sharp and unscrupulous. long experience had given her great facility in necromantic arts, and the smoothness of her tongue was something remarkable. it is supposed by most people, who are unacquainted with these sorcerers, that they are both illiterate and unintelligent. they are usually ignorant of books; but they are by no means lacking in intelligence, cultivated and sharpened by a discipline which books can hardly give. "mrs. seymour" was the assumed name of the wife--her advertising _sobriquet_--a name well chosen, since, unlike her real name, it did not suggest her irish origin, and therefore forbid irish servant girls from visiting her, and leaving with her a dollar or two dollars a time for advice on the subject of their lovers, marriages, or a "new place" to work. the irish in this country, at least, have no respect for sorcerers of irish birth. the name, too, sounds not unaristocratic; something substantial about it; has not the appearance of being assumed, like those of "madame leclerque," "madame duponleau," and other high-sounding aliases of some fat, dumpy english or welsh woman, or some dark weazen-faced polish hag, whose real name is perhaps johnson, jones, or thomascowitch. "mrs. seymour" was a middle-sized woman, not ugly of features, not handsome, with a sort of mobile face, which could easily assume any expression which her subtle, crafty mind might suggest. her house was a decent abode, pretty well furnished; and, in this respect, far above the character of the houses which most "mediums" and fortune-tellers inhabit, presenting a cosy, inviting appearance in the parlor. mr. brady, a man of wholesome face and good address, was usually at home to aid in entertaining visitors, especially ladies, who called upon "mrs. seymour" professionally. to "mrs. seymour" went the aunt and mary, and at first had a "sitting" with her, in order to test her capacity at fortune-telling. on entering the house, they had first encountered the shrewd mr. brady, who probably at once suspected that the younger woman was revolving matrimonial matters in her mind, and having opportunity to speak with his wife in private before she entered the room, told her, probably, his suspicions. at all events, mrs. seymour had hardly sitten down, and thrown herself into her accustomed trance, before she told mary that she had come there upon a question of marriage, and that there were troubles in the way, and invited her to free her mind. the simple-hearted mary and the credulous aunt were taken aback at once by mrs. seymour's sudden approach to the very subject on their minds, and the aunt exclaimed, "there, mary, i told you so!" the ladies did "free their minds" immediately, and mrs. seymour begged to be excused for a few moments. she said it was a case involving nice points, and she wished to act cautiously; that in cases of the kind, where the happiness of parties hung for life upon a decision which must be so soon made, she was in the habit of taking counsel of her "heavenly father," and in her private oratory to approach him in prayer. she started from the room, and then suddenly returned, and said, "ladies, perhaps you would like to see a beautiful '_prie-dieu_,' which i have in my oratory; a beautiful present to me by the duke of argyle, when i was visiting scotland, in honor of a successful clairvoyant discovery which, with the help of almighty god, i was enabled to make for him." the ladies followed her up to the little "hall bedroom," so customary in certain new york houses, and which was quite neatly fitted up. there was the _prie-dieu_--a thing which these ladies had never seen, or indeed heard of before. they asked "mrs. seymour" what it was for; and she explained to them that it was a chair to pray in, and showed them how to kneel and sit, and where to put the prayer-book. duly they withdrew, greatly edified by the pious, good lady's conduct, while she tarried for a while to "pray," and came down at last to the parlor with a very saintly countenance on--quite "illumined" in fact. she had been inspired with counsel how mary was to proceed with her coming husband, in order to increase and secure forever his love. mrs. seymour had learned all she needed to know from mary's full confession, spiced with suggestions by the garrulous aunt. she had learned that mary's coming husband was very rich; and she began by saying, that on entering into married life, any great disparities between the parties--in riches, age, accomplishments, etc.--were apt to prove disastrous in the end. the rich husband, for example, would taunt his poor wife sometimes with her poverty, and the young wife might throw the fact of age and infirmity in the face of her old husband, or either accuse the other of ignorance. all these things would bring severe troubles in the end. but the greatest trouble frequently came from disparity in social position--where a man or woman of high station had married a partner of low station. in this case she was glad to see that this trouble would not exist. the parties were of equal rank in respectability and social surroundings. the husband's great riches were the only thing to fear. better marry a poor husband, and plod on with him, and make one's own fortune, than marry a rich man whose love might soon cool. there would come a domestic hell between the parties: among low people, quarrelling, and absolute fighting, now and then; among people of higher grade, a genteel indifference,--no ugly words, but cold, cruel demeanor, etc.,--worse, a great deal, than actual physical violence through which the angry passions would exhaust themselves, and after which repentance and "making up" were frequent. but in the other case,--in the higher grade,--no such thing would occur as "making up," and the most luxuriant home would become a prison, or a grave rather, of the affections--a horrible life to lead, out of which there was no escape for parties who valued public opinion, or who, as in the case of a dependent wife, had no haven of peace to resort to, no means of support--and much more said mrs. seymour, in her grave, effective way. so solemn was she that the timid, fearful mary cried, and the old aunt became all of a tremor, and poured forth torrents of caressing words upon poor mary. but mrs. seymour relieved their distress to great extent, by informing them that when at prayer, the "dear almighty god" (to use her own expression) had favored her with a vision, which she had interpreted. there were many ways, she said, to preserve a husband's or wife's love. all these ways were well known to the scientific. they were always effective, were these various means, when properly applied. she could have told them at once, without resorting to counsel with her "heavenly father," of what would probably be effective in this case; but she was glad she had resorted to prayer first, because, although she would have taken very much the same course pointed out in the vision, yet she might not have been so thorough in her counsel, and would not have felt such certainty or confidence in it. the ladies lifted up their hands again, and hung with confiding delight, and with believing smiles upon their faces, upon every word mrs. seymour uttered. she told them, that in answer to her prayer, she saw a group of angels descending from the heavens. they wore beautiful robes of various colors. here she stopped to tell them that it was a popular fallacy to suppose that the angels all wore white robes; that such a uniform would be inconsistent with nature's usual course; that the god of nature loved variety,--infinite variety,--and therefore he had exemplified it all through his works. the ladies were delighted with mrs. seymour's eloquent words, and she went on to tell them that she saw these angels decorating each other with amulets, and souvenirs, and ornaments of all kinds, beautiful brilliants more dazzling than earthly diamonds, etc., and she noticed that each ornament was blessed by a beautiful priestess before it was passed from one angel to the other, and when the latter assumed it she observed that his or her face lighted up with a new and glorious expression of love for the gems; that these angels were of apparently different degrees of age, which suited mary to hear, of course. thus mrs. seymour went on with her pious rigmarole, which she managed, by her cunning imagination, to make very charming, and finally said that, though the vision was easy enough of interpretation, yet, in this case of great importance, she had prayed for an interpretation, and was at once "impressed" with this solution. it would be wise for mary, she said, to put off all care from her mind, from the present moment, with the belief that she should be happy with her husband, as would be the case if she followed the advice; she would retain his love forever. marry him on the day appointed, be cheerful and kind, and have no unpleasant forebodings, as she need have none, and then, as fast as she could collect together all valuables which he had been in the habit of wearing on his person, as ornaments, or carrying in his pocket, such as watches, jewelry of all kinds, especially of the rich kinds, such as diamonds, and all the money which he had _actually handled_ (for it was necessary, she said, that he must have touched it, and it would not do for her to get a draft from him, and go to the bank and draw it herself, unless she should afterwards put it in his hands, and naively ask him to count it for her),--all these things she was to get, and the more of them and the greater their value, the surer would be the spell which was to be worked. these things, as she procured them, she was from time to time to bring to mrs. seymour, who would operate with them as in the vision directed. the lady would then take them home and put them in a box, and then mrs. seymour would visit her house and charm the whole box, which the lady would keep, for a few weeks, as near herself as she could all the while without inconvenience, and the spell would thus be worked. the ladies looked in wonder, and believed. mrs. seymour charged them fifty dollars for her counsel; but the ladies not chancing to have so much in their purses, she consented to take twenty-five then, and wait till after the marriage, and when mary should bring the first article to be charmed, for the other twenty-five dollars. this was all fair, and pleased the ladies, who went away happy, it seems. the marriage took place. the old man having some estates in canada, which needed looking after, made his bridal tour in the now dominion of canada; and with quebec as his central point, travelled about the province for some three weeks, with his new wife. he was very happy, and so was mary. they returned to new york duly, and in the course of a few weeks mary, now mrs. mary ----, visited mrs. seymour, with her first batch of articles to be charmed. these were a watch, a very elegant one, profusely ornamented with diamonds, which had belonged to the old gentleman's former wife, but which mrs. mary had discovered that he had sometimes carried, and a large diamond ring which he had once worn, but which, on account of an injury to the finger which it fitted, he had laid aside, with some trinkets of value. taking these to her "oratory," mrs. seymour pretended to have charmed them, and then brought them back to mrs. mary, and told her to get a box of suitable size, and place them in it, also the other things that she should bring, to get them charmed. while mrs. mary was consulting with her in regard to the box she should get, mrs. seymour happened to think of one which she had, and which she would as lief give to mrs. mary as not, and she went to her side-board drawer and brought a little square-shaped enamelled _papier-maché_ box, neat, but cheap; she said this would do, and it could be sealed so easily when it should be filled. mrs. mary wished to pay her for it, but mrs. seymour would not allow her to do so; and the box, with the watch, etc., in it, went off with mrs. mary, who had paid mrs. seymour the other twenty-five dollars. mrs. mary followed mrs. seymour's counsels as speedily as she could, and was soon at the latter's house with the other matters of jewelry, this time bringing a very valuable brooch, which was once the property of the former wife; and mrs. mary had a piece of her own cunning to tell mrs. seymour. in order that the brooch might come under the rule of having been worn on the person of the husband, she had pinned it on to his night-shirt when he was asleep, and laid awake and watched it there for an hour or more. mrs. seymour rewarded this piece of stratagem with her august approval, and told mrs. mary that it would do just as well to lay the things under his pillow, and if she found anything more which he had not worn, to put it there. she suggested that whole sets of silver spoons could be placed there at any time; which was a happy thought for mrs. mary, who wished to get all the value she could into the box, and she told mrs. seymour that there was in the house, but never used, a set of gold spoons, a present from some of her husband's rich relatives. in time these were in the box. but to make the matter sure as to value, mrs. mary begged of her husband the sum of two thousand dollars one day, when he had sold a piece of real estate in brooklyn, and realized some ten thousand dollars advance over cost. this money was charmed and put into the box, and finally mrs. seymour was slyly taken in a carriage to the house by mrs. mary, in order to put on the finishing stroke, and seal up the box. she took her wax and a peculiar seal with her; and mrs. mary and she, being duly closeted, the box was nicely sealed up, with all the valuables in it, money and all, amounting to about five thousand dollars. mrs. seymour then wished to be left alone in the room for a few moments, while she prayed, and invoked a peculiar charm on the box. mrs. mary, of course, consented. presently mrs. seymour came out of the room, handed her the box, and went with her to the bedroom to see it properly deposited in its hiding-place,--all this while the gentleman was growing better and better, kinder and kinder, to his wife; and he was "splendid" to begin with, she said. but this increased affection was attributed to the charms. what would it not become if these remained near her there in the box for two months, as mrs. seymour directed? after two months, mrs. seymour would call, if mrs. mary had no occasion to call her before, which she was to do, if her husband showed any signs of failing affection, and would then open the box for mrs. mary; for it was necessary, as a part of the work, that she should open the box in such a way as not to break the spell. the two months went past, and mrs. seymour did not call. mrs. mary sent for her to come, but found that she had left that house--gone to brooklyn to live, somewhere. she tried to hunt her up, but unavailingly; at last, after some three months and a half had passed, she heard she was in boston, and mrs. mary made an errand on there, her indulgent husband accompanying her, and there she privately sought for mrs. seymour. but she could not find her, and so let matters rest. but, eventually, her husband telling some relative visiting him, about the gold spoons, and seeking them to show him, failed to find them; and mrs. mary got very nervous over it, and at last told him that they were not stolen, as he suspected, but where they were; and after much mental struggle, told him how they came there. he was delighted with her great desire to preserve his love, for it was a most genuine case of deep affection on his part; but he gently laughed at her, nevertheless, and declared that mrs. seymour was a great cheat; that she had, by her chicanery, won the fifty dollars; "and she found you and your aunt such easy disciples," said he, "the great wonder is, that she did not abstract more money from you. but we'll open the box now, and get the spoons, and you'll do what you please with the rest;" and they opened the box, breaking the peculiar seals, and found----nothing but a few small stones and bits of iron, done up in cotton-wool, to keep them from rattling, and weighing, perhaps, as much as the contents supposed to be there. it was evident then to the old gentleman, that the woman must have brought a box with her on her last visit to the house, a fac-simile of the one which mrs. mary had filled with valuables and money. the things were of such a nature, that the old gentleman said it was of no use to try to hunt up mrs. seymour and get them back. she would deny all; besides, there was the risk of his wife's being exposed in her foolish credulity, and he wouldn't have that known for ten times the value of the property lost, he said. so they agreed to let it pass. but the thing preyed on mary's mind. she wrote to her aunt,--who had then gone away,--a doleful story, and upbraided her partly for her connection in the matter. the poor old aunt was sadly affected, and insisted that some step ought to be taken to find mrs. seymour, and to punish her; and mary felt so too, and talked about it till the old gentleman thought he would take some step about it, and he consulted me. "i have devised some plans; but they are good for nothing, and i've come over to tell you the funny story, and see what you think of it." such was the substance of the lawyer's tale; and we had a good laugh over it, and contrived together what might be done. i told him it was a hopeless case, pretty much, unless we could find mrs. seymour, and these things in her possession, which it was absurd to expect, unless, by inquiring of the parties who suffered the loss, i could learn more about the things taken. we both resolved that the watch was too valuable to be destroyed, and there might be other things saved, and sold, perhaps, here and there. accident might give a clew to the whereabouts of mrs. seymour and the things. the lawyer visited the parties, and got their consent to take me into the case, and i visited them--learned what things were taken; examined the box, and found on it a peculiar mark, which i copied exactly; and i also got an accurate description of the watch, with the maker's name, the number of the watch, and so forth. this was a superb affair for a lady's watch, and was worth, at least, with its chain and diamonds, eight hundred dollars. i concluded that it was not probably destroyed. it had perhaps been sold or pawned; and i made close search in many jewelers' establishments and pawn shops for it in new york, and not finding it, advertised for it in the boston and philadelphia papers, stating that the subscriber had such and such a watch, and would give a thousand dollars for its mate, "no. ," if in good condition, and added that it was known to be in this country. i signed "henry romaine brown, agent for the earl of derby," and made an address in liverpool, england, and in new york. the object of this the reader can readily see. i soon got a letter from baltimore, and in consequence found the watch. it had passed through several hands to the owner, the wife of a mr. hurlbut, a large merchant. he had answered the advertisement out of respect to the earl of derby(!), with no suspicion whatever that the watch had been stolen. mr. hurlbut required the property to be thoroughly proven as that of the old gentleman in new york, which it was fortunately easy to do, as the bill of it from the importing house had been saved. still it was necessary to prove the theft, for it might have been sold; and here was a chance for a lawsuit, which the new york man did not want. but mr. hurlbut was willing to advance some money, while he held on to the watch, to ferret out mrs. seymour. "perhaps she could settle the matter, or had some relatives who could" he said. my client, too, took courage, and resolved to spend some money in the matter, and i went to work to find mrs. seymour. meanwhile, through the peculiar mark on the bottom of the box, i managed to find out where mrs. seymour had purchased it, and learned, as i supposed before, that she had bought two on the same occasion; and, fortunately, i found that she had, when selecting the boxes, occupied a good deal of time, giving the clerk a great deal of vexation, and he felt sure he should know her. besides, she had offered a counterfeit bill in payment for them; and when informed that the bill was bad, had declared her surprise, and rummaged her purse for good money, without finding enough into twenty-five cents, which she said she would call and pay next day, and so was allowed to take away the boxes. so the clerk thought he should surely know her, although the lady did not call the next day. i tracked mrs. seymour from her place in grand street, where her sign still remained, and business was carried on by a younger medium, who assumed her name, and divided the spoils with her, probably, over to brooklyn, down to philadelphia, where she sold the watch, and up to boston. brady, her husband, had gone the rounds with her. i searched every possible place in boston, and engaged a detective there. i had been able to secure several photographs of the woman, and of her husband, in new york; and with one of these, the boston detective was able to make her out, he thought, one day. he followed the woman, and at last abandoned the "game," when he found that she was in company with people of high character, and entered with them one of the finest residences in vernon street; and, moreover, was told by a servant of the house that she was a mrs. "_bradley_," from portland, me. he concluded that he was mistaken. we finally learned brady was not like "seymour," an assumed name, and that the husband had wealthy relatives in boston; and then conceiving that the detective might not have been mistaken in supposing he recognized "mrs. seymour," we laid siege to the vernon street house, till we satisfied ourselves that "mrs. bradley" and "mrs. seymour" were one and the same. but how did she get there? boston is full of people, in high rank, who are spiritualists, and who keep "mediums" for themselves, and do not visit the advertising mediums, to be found there in such numbers, even to this day. we traced brady out too, and found him a chief clerk in a house on washington street, in which his brother was a partner. my friend, the detective, made his acquaintance, and managed to learn from him that he was worth several thousand dollars. he had two building lots in new york, which he had bought for a song, some four years before, but which would be worth, he said, fifty thousand dollars in less than ten years. my friend, the detective, wished to buy these, and they got on such good terms that brady, in the course of a few days, accepted his invitation to "go down to york," on his, the detective's, expense, and when there showed him the lots, and told him confidentially that they stood in his wife's name, as he had failed in business some years before. we thought we had enough materials together to commence the attack, and my friend, the lawyer, managed to bring a suit in such a way that the building lots were attached, and then wrote me at boston to "go ahead." i proceeded at once to the house in vernon street, and inquired for mrs. bradley. she had, meanwhile, moved her quarters to the residence of a distinguished clerical gentleman in hancock street, whose wife was a spiritualist, and a "medium" besides. i called upon mrs. bradley there, and having a private "seance" with her as a "medium," until i thought i had studied her enough, told her that i was very much pleased with the communication she had brought me from my "deceased wife" (who was then living in new york, one of the healthiest and jolliest women in the land, and likely to live, perhaps, till the "spirits" are all dead); and that now i had a communication to make to her; and that i did not wish to disturb her peace, or expose her conduct in life, and should not do so if she kept quiet. she wanted to know "what in the name of goodness" i talked to her in that way for. i told her it wasn't i that was talking, that i was only the "medium" through whom mrs. mary ---- (using the full name now), of new york, was speaking, and that she had come to ask her what she did with that little charm box, and its contents, for which she substituted the box of stones and iron. "mrs. bradley," _alias_ "seymour," turned pale as a sheet, and _tried_ to swoon. she was a little too quick in the play, and hadn't declared, as her true rôle was, that she didn't know what i meant; so she waked up, and declared it; and i told her to be tranquil; that we had got the property all attached; knew where the watch was, and had her properly identified on the day she bought the _two_ boxes at such and such a store. i looked her calmly in the eye while i said this; and she was not at a loss to discover that i knew what i was saying. "now madam," said i, "all that we want is, that you save us the trouble and time of a suit. we shall arrest you, and have you taken to new york, and tried criminally, as well as prosecute the civil suit, unless you are willing to settle the matter quietly; and i can't give you any time. an officer is awaiting my call close by here;" (indeed, he was in the porch of the house at the time) "and unless you are willing to get your bonnet and shawl, and accompany me at once to mr. brady, and settle this matter, we will arrest you, and take you where you'll be kept safe till we get a requisition for you from the governor of new york." "mrs. seymour" had had, as i knew before, more or less to do with legal matters, and she saw the force of things at once. she accompanied me to the store where her husband was engaged, the officer following at a proper distance; and i managed to cool the husband's assumed wrath when i came to tell him of the charges against her, he asseverating her virtue and innocence in terms that savored of milesian profanity. "mr. brady," said i, "i am glad to see a man so brave a champion of his wife; but you are only making matters worse. _she_ don't deny the charges; the property is under attachment, and the officer is at hand, and she will be arrested in less than five minutes" (taking out my watch to look at the time), "unless you cool down and come to terms. you, too, know all about the business, and would probably prefer to escape arrest also--wouldn't you?" he looked at me for an instant, then at his wife, and said,-- "well, i suppose we'll have to give in for now; but i'll carry the matter under protest, up to the united states supreme court before i'll be trampled on." this boast seemed to relieve him, and we all left the store and went to my friend's, the detective's, office on tremont street, where the preliminaries of a settlement were entered into. the watch we wanted back at any rate; the rest of the jewelry was scattered here and there, only that mrs. seymour had preserved a nice string of pearls, worth some three hundred dollars. there was not much "higgling" over the estimate of value of the various articles, and the two thousand in money, of course, went in at its value. in all, the bill footed up about thirty-six hundred and fifty dollars, besides five hundred--(which was too little)--for the expenses we had been at. suffice it that those building lots in new york changed hands soon after, "in due legal form," and that a thousand dollars in money besides left brady's pocket, and found its way where it could pay "expenses," etc. the building lots have sold since for far more than brady's estimate of "fifty thousand dollars in ten years." the old gentleman and his wife mary were delighted with my success: of course mr. hurlbut delivered up the watch for the price he paid for it, which it was proper he should ask, inasmuch too, as brady had given us the money, or its equivalent for it, and more too, and mrs. mary said she should carry it till her dying day, "to ward off mediums and sorcerers, as the puritans nailed horse-shoes to door-posts as protection against witches"; and i venture she's faithfully wearing it now for that purpose, and as a souvenir of the old gentleman, her good husband, who is now dead. i was so much pleased with the cunning and skilful address of mrs. seymour, that i cultivated her acquaintance, and by a "close study" managed to learn a good deal of her art, and came to a knowledge of the great extent to which mediums are consulted by people of the first classes; and was astonished to find how readily they fall, through the superstitious element in their composition, victims to the sorcerer's arts. it would require volumes to cite the instances which occur yearly in new york city alone. boston is not a whit behind in this, notwithstanding she boasts herself the athens of america; but, perhaps, she so boasts because she worships so many different idols--has as many gods as the greek mythology embraced. in proportion to her population her dupes of superstition are more numerous than those of new york. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the dishonest clerk, and the fatal slip of paper. -------------- in an ugly mood with myself--a visit from a cincinnatian--a loss detailed--the fate of a banking-house resting on "collaterals" stolen, which must be recovered--a lawyer figures in the matter and is baffled--the thieves speculating for a settlement--the scheme laid for their detection--a business visit to the banking-house--the chief clerk sent to chicago on business--a search revealing love letters, and a lovely literary lady--on track of mysterious "papers"--the fatal slip of paper--the way the stolen bonds were recovered--the chief clerk, and how he was "enlightened"--a novel and quiet arrest in a carriage--the clerk's confederate caught--the property restored--the scamps decamp--the innocent literary lady's eyes opened. i was sitting in my office one day, meditating over a case i had had in hand to work up, for some four months, off and on. an hour before one of the parties interested in the matter, and who had furnished considerable money to press the investigation of the affair had left my office in a state of dissatisfaction, evident enough to me, although his interest compelled him to express in words his pleasure at the course i had taken, and his hope that my theory of the case would soon be worked into practical demonstration. but i fancied, nevertheless, that he had secretly resolved to abandon the matter, or to abandon me, and procure some one else to undertake the job; and i was conjuring in my mind who this might be, whom he would secure to aid him; and resolving myself into a happy state of mind that this point, namely, that he could find nobody who could or would for the like slight encouragement i had had, undertake the affair, and into a somewhat unhappy state of mind on this other point, namely, that i had been induced to enter upon the work upon too slight amount of facts, and accusing myself of stupidity in so doing, i had resolved that i would never undertake a like case, involving so much work, with such little probability of success, for there are some things which may baffle the oldest detective's skill as surely as the simplest peasant's brain. i was in an ugly mood with myself, when there entered my office an excited looking man, who accosted me--"you are mr. ----?" "yes, sir." "the very man that worked up that case for coe and phillips, two years ago?" "yes, sir; i suppose i am _the_ man," said i, emphasizing the article "the;" "but what of it, what if i did?" said i, in a mood which i was conscious was not very attractive, and with a look, i suppose, not over-enticing, for the man "hitched" unpleasantly in his chair, and seemed confused. "what of it? why do you ask?" he still looked disconcerted, but taking from his pocket a file of papers, carefully thumbed them over, and drew out from them a letter of introduction to me from mr. coe, in which mr. coe said that his friend had an affair on hand in which he thought i could serve him, and he had commended me to his friend. "ah, you are a friend of mr. coe? well, i see this note is dated over a month ago. why have you delayed to bring it to me before?" "o, i'll explain. i live in cincinnati, and was here on business at the time, stopping at mr. coe's. i told him my story, got this note from him, and intended to see you in a day or two; but a telegram called me home,"--(or "telegraph message," as he said, for this was before the days when some happy genius coined the felicitous word "telegram"), "and i have come again on business, and so have brought the note." "is it in cincinnati that i must work, if i enter upon the matter you may have to relate to me?" "yes, sir, i suppose so; in fact, yes, of course, for there the robbery was committed." "o, a robbery, eh? well, i don't think you had better tell me of it. it's too far away, and i have enough to do here; more than i wish i had of the kind which falls to my lot these days, and you can get detectives in cincinnati who can afford to work for you cheaper than i could." "there you are mistaken," said he; "i cannot get any detectives in cincinnati who can do me any good. i tried the best, and they were baffled, and so i had told mr. coe when he recommended you." "i am greatly obliged to mr. coe for his good opinion, but your case is a desperate one, if the best detectives of cincinnati have had it in hand; and i suspect i could not do you the least good. you'll waste your money, i fear." the man looked for an instant as if he were shot; and then, suddenly recovering himself, he exclaimed, with an energy and fierceness of purpose which pleased me, "but, sir, something _must_ be done, and we must spend all our ready money or go to the wall, at any rate; things are getting complicated in our business, and we must fail in more than one way, _if_ we do not succeed." "you say 'we.' are there others involved besides yourself?" "yes; my partners, two of them." "i see that mr. coe has not told me your business, merely calling you his 'friend.'" "yes, i suppose he thought best to let me tell you my whole story myself; and i would like to do that, although you seem unwilling, sir." i smiled, and said, "o, no, sir, not unwilling, for it is my business to listen to all such things; but you found me in a grum mood when you came. have you never passed days in which you wished you were out of your present business, and in some other that you envied." "yes, yes," said he excitedly; "and of late i've wished so all the while, for reasons i shall give you." "well, go on with your story, i am a good listener." "the whole matter is in a nutshell," said he, "so far as the crime committed is concerned, and i'll tell you that first. we are bankers, and have lost out of our safe ten thousand dollars in money, and negotiable paper, securities, collaterals, and the like for over thirty thousand more. we have obligations maturing; some have matured already, and we have been pinched to meet them, and the rest we cannot meet without these securities;" and then he went on to tell me when the loss was discovered, etc. "well," i broke in, a little impatiently, "if you have _lost_ those papers, what do you propose? to find them?" "yes, to get them back; that's what we want. the money has gone, of course,--we don't expect that or any part of it,--but we must have the papers--the collaterals; and here i must tell you, that about a week after our loss we received a note from a lawyer in cincinnati, saying that he had been visited by parties claiming to reside in kentucky, asking him to communicate with us, and saying that they were ready to deliver up 'those papers,' which they knew to be valuable to us, upon our coming to the terms which they left with him to communicate to us orally; that he did not know whether the story was all a hoax or not, but if we knew what it meant, we might call on him, and he would narrate the rest. i hurried to see him on receipt of note. he was a stranger to me personally, but i knew him by repute as a lawyer of fair standing, and a man of good social status. when he came to tell me the offer which these parties made, which was to deliver up the papers through their attorney--himself--for fifty per cent. of their face value (for at this point i had only told him that i knew what the parties meant, and had come to hear their offer), i asked, 'do you know for whom you are dealing? do you know how these papers came into the possession of the parties?'" "no; i know nothing of them, more than i tell you. but explain to me how the papers came into their possession." "by robbery," said i; "those parties are burglars or worse." "robbery!" he exclaimed, "and the villains wished to make me a middle-man in the transaction! tell me all about it, and we'll see if we can't turn the game upon them. consider me your attorney; it shall cost you nothing,--the scoundrels!"--and he brought his fist down upon his table with a blow that made it quiver. "if i've got to that pass," said he, "that scoundrels dare approach me in this way, it is time i give myself a close examination, and reform, if need be. please to tell me all about the affair." "i told him the facts of our loss, and our situation; how the money and papers must have been taken out of our safe by some one who had obtained knowledge of the numbers of the permutation lock; and he asked at once, as you will do, about the clerks, my partners, and so forth, and said some one of them was the villain. but no matter for this now. we laid plans which failed; and he concluded that after all, it must be the work of some one in the office, but how to catch him, was the question; and i cannot think that any of my partners or my clerks is the man, for we have exhausted all schemes in trying to fix the crime on any of them, and failed signally." "well, is that all you've got to tell me?" "no; i've not told you my story yet but in part. when shall i begin again?" "when you please; but first tell me, perhaps, about your partners, and your clerks, each by himself; who he is, how long he has been with you, and what his age, his habits,--all about him." so mr. redfield--(the reader understands always that assumed names are given in these narratives, where there exists a proper reason for so doing)--mr. redfield, as we will call him, went into a minute description of the men, each by himself, and i confess i was baffled. i said to him that it must be that some one of those was the guilty party, yet that nothing he had told me would allow me to suspect one of them for a moment; that my impression of the guilt of one of them was solely the result of the common-sense reflection that somebody who understood the safe-lock, with its numbers, must be the man who took the money and papers: that was all. and in fact i suppose it was, because the case at this point became so desperate, or difficult of solution, that i undertook it all; for if i could have hit upon some expedient which would seem to me likely to work out the problem, i should, in my state of mind at the time, have given mr. redfield the advantage of it, for a small counsel fee at most, and declined to go on; but it was just enough unsolvable at this point to vex me, and pique my pride. i did not wonder that the best detectives in cincinnati had failed, for i could easily see that the scoundrels had only to keep these papers hid in some unsearchable spot, and exercise ordinary care--indeed be quite careless--and never be found out, unless their greed should at last betray them. it was evident to me, from what mr. redfield said, that the parties had become suspicious of the lawyer they visited, for some reason; for they never visited him again, and neglected to answer a rather ingenious advertisement that he published in one of the papers. but they had again managed to communicate with mr. redfield, and repeated their offer; and had sent him the form of an advertisement to put in the paper, if he concluded to accept. but he delayed beyond the day they named, unwilling to accept, and still hopeful of detecting the villains, and getting back the full papers for nothing; and thinking better of it, a day or two after, he had published the advertisement, but they had not regarded it; probably, as i judged, because they thought he had laid some plan to trap them. so when he went, "armed to the teeth," he said, out to a lonely place, as indicated in their letter, about five miles, to meet somebody, there to make further arrangements, nobody came. they were very wary then, and it was evident that they would, as they threatened in their note,--for the writer represented that there were two of them,--destroy the papers unless they got their price for them, and in a manner, too, secure to themselves. they could "afford,"--the wretches!--to lose the papers, for they had made ten thousand dollars in money, at any rate, they kindly wrote. i insisted that this mode of proceeding on their part indicated an acquaintance with the bankers' business,--showed that they knew the great value of these papers to the firm,--and that this was a further reason for suspecting some one in the office. but mr. redfield persisted in believing that the cincinnati detective had settled that point against my opinion. well, it was agreed that i should go on and take my own way to work up the matter, and mr. redfield left. i followed him in a day or two, with my first plans matured, and with all such implements, clothes, etc., for disguises which i thought i might need, and met him at a place appointed. my first course was to go into the banking office, with papers in hand of business to be done with the chief, mr. redfield; to be delayed there with him talking a long while over the matter of loans on some western lands, and to engage his assistance in raising capital for a manufacturing concern to be established at minneapolis, minnesota. his partners were to be kept profoundly ignorant of my real character, and one of them was to be called into our conference regarding the lands, etc., whenever i indicated. this was the plan i made for getting a chance to slyly study the clerks and the younger partner--for it was out of the question that the older partner could be engaged in the theft. i went to the banking-house as arranged, called for mr. redfield, gave him my name; "made his acquaintance," etc., rather rapidly; and while i was doing so, cast a listless glance around me, and chanced to find the chief clerk's eyes staring at me in a manner not merely of ordinary curiosity. there was a gleam in them which i did not like, and in an instant i changed our plan of operations, and said, "mr. redfield, can't i see you in private?"--taking an easy-going look about the room, and not neglecting to take in the clerk in the sweep of my eye. he was writing, and there was a nervousness about the shoulders, a flush in the face, and his lips seemed much compressed. "guilt there," said i to myself, as mr. redfield stepped into the private room. the door was closed by mr. r----, who asked, "why do you change the programme? what have you seen?" "enough," said i; "and now the question is how well can you play your part? i know that a man in your office is the guilty party." mr. redfield looked a little astounded at my rapid operations, and replied, "well, you are to work up the case according to your own methods; but you surprise me." "well," said i, "let me alone, then; let's talk up the western lands, etc.;" and we did--i laughing outright, immoderately at times, telling mr. redfield a story or two, which made him laugh in real earnest; and after we'd fixed up a plan, he went out smiling, asked his older partner to come in to see me, saying, "he's the queerest speculator i ever saw; come in, and see if we can do anything for him." and the man came in. we talked, could not get near a bargain, and i finally left the bank, saying to mr. redfield that i'd "write in a week or so; perhaps they'd think better of the offer." i was not at a loss to see, by the clerk's countenance and manner as i went out, that he was at ease again--which was all i wanted to then effect. mr. redfield and i met that night in a place appointed. he told me they'd had much fun in the office over the "queer speculator," and that his partner had no suspicion of my real business at all; and we entered into a serious conversation. i told him that the chief clerk was the guilty man in my opinion, and that i should proceed upon that theory, and pursue it till forced to give up in that direction, and then drop the matter; that there was no use of attempting anything without the clerk in the programme. we talked over the matter, and i learned where the clerk kept his private rooms--for he boarded at a hotel, and roomed in a block of business offices and dormitories; and what at first surprised me was to learn that he had left much better rooms within a month or so, since the robbery, and taken up with poorer ones. mr. redfield could give me no information as to his habits, save what he judged and what the detectives had reported--all good. but somehow i suspected that there must be a woman involved in some way--a mistress, perhaps, whose extravagance had led astray the clerk, whom we will call childs, to need more money than he could legitimately make. so i told mr. redfield that we must search childs's room and private papers, if he had any; and it was arranged that childs should be sent on business to chicago for two or three days. mr. redfield had no difficulty in arranging that, and childs departed, highly honored with his chief's confidence. we managed without much trouble to get into childs's room, where everything but his trunks were first searched,--not excepting the minutest scraps of letters in a wastebasket,--where i found evidences of female correspondence. further search among some books, on a little shelf at the top of a clothes-press or "closet," revealed some more in the same handwriting--sweet little _billets-doux_, longer letters, etc.,--all passionate, very,--sometimes complaining, etc. none of these had envelopes, and i therefore judged that they were written in the city, and sent through the post office, and that childs probably always, at once, destroyed the envelopes. i should say that none, except some evidently old ones, had envelopes. there was no date or place, save "my little room,"--"our dear boudoir," or something like that,--and sometimes a further day,--"thursday morning,"--"monday evening." it was evident to me that the charmer lived in the city somewhere; and i had already made up my mind that she must be tracked out as the first step, when, turning over a letter from this female, the rich, passionate, burning language of which, well-expressed, had led me on, i came to the conclusion, and found--"i have not received pay yet for that article. r---- must not think that he can neglect me as he did hattie; i will be paid for what i write--something, at least. i guess we shall have to visit him together;" and with very affectionate words of parting, the letter closed. and then came a p. s. "every day i grow more uneasy about _those papers_. i wish you would take them away. what if i should suddenly die, and they should be found with me? you said they were very valuable--and you may lose them. i should regret that. come _to-night_, dearest." ah, ha! here was a literary lady,--a contributor to the story or other papers,--wrote a good hand, and in good style of composition; was evidently on loving terms with childs. i was in doubt whether mistress or only ardent lover; could not tell that till i should see her, if then. she must be seen. how to find her? easy enough, perhaps, but maybe not. we left mr. childs's room in good order, and separated for the night, i giving mr. redfield no more insight into the modes i intended to pursue next day than necessary. the next morning i started for the newspaper offices with a portion of one of the letters i had found, made a proper story of wishing to engage the literary services of the writer of the letter if i could find her, but that i knew not her name; as her friend, who had given me the portion of the letter to show her style, and had not yet given me her name, had been called off to new york by telegraph, i found,--wanted to find her that day. at the first office i entered nobody could tell me anything. but on entering the second one, and finding the associate editor, and asking him if he recognized that writing, he looked up and smiled, as if he thought i had a joke for him. "i guess i do," said he. "well," said i, "there's a dispute about it." "let's see," said he, in a hasty, nervous way, snatching it from my hand, and glancing at it again. "no dispute about it; that's our ---- ----" (using her _nom de plume_, which i won't repeat, as she is probably living, and many old friends might recognize her in this tale, and learn more than they are entitled to know). "where can i find her?" said i; "i want to see her about some writing." "all right," said he, making some marks on a paper, which i found to be name of street and number of house. "there's where she was the last i knew of her, two months ago. i think you can find her through that." "would you give me a note to her, as i am a stranger?" "why yes, such as i could. i don't know your name; but stay--no," said he; "give me that paper again;" and taking it, he put his initials to it, and the name of office and date of day. "that will be enough--good as a more formal note," said he; and he caught up his pen, and proceeded as if something was on his mind. "you must excuse me, sir; i have a great deal to do to-day. can i assist you any further now?" i replied, "no; i thank you for your courtesy;" and bowed myself out. i was as confident now that i should trap childs as if the thing was done; but there were two of them, and they must both be caught. childs could not be carrying on this correspondence with the lawyer and writing to mr. redfield, that was patent. i would watch childs that night, and see if he went to the lady's residence. he did go, and as they took a walk out, i saw her,--got a good view of her face, and made up my mind that she was innocent of any intelligent complicity in the matter. i liked her looks very much. she was one of those impulsive, earnest creatures, who, when they love, love desperately, but who know not how to hate, as some women know, who also know how to love intensely,--a miserable class of women, in my opinion, although novelists love to paint them, and these women themselves are ever boastful of their twofold power of love and hate,--a mean boast of a mean character of soul. i saw that she loved childs, and i was sure she respected him, and what i should do i knew not exactly; but following them in their walk and back, and waiting till he left her, and went on his way to his office, had given me much time to think, and i had resolved upon a course which i thought the next day would see consummated; when, returning to my quarters, i found a note from mr. redfield, begging me to meet him at a certain place that night,--by no means to sleep without seeing him. he would be there at such an hour, and at such other hours till he met me. something important had happened. i sought mr. redfield as requested; found that he had that afternoon received a note from the parties, again requesting him to meet them, or one of them, next day, at a place near covington, kentucky, and to come prepared to "take up the papers, according to our offer," in the afternoon, at six of the next day. mr. r---- was greatly excited; said that this was their "last call," as they expressed it; that the papers would then be destroyed; "and that will be the last of our house," he tremblingly muttered. i had been looking the letter over carefully meanwhile, not at all disturbed, for i felt that childs would not long be out of our hands, when i chanced to reflect that the paper on which it was written was like some of that on which the lady's letters to childs were written; and i said to myself, probably he has supplied himself and her some time with the same kind of paper; but this is not his or her handwriting. "no, she's innocent," i muttered to myself; "i am satisfied of that;" but the paper was like, and that, though a slight thing, helped to steady me in my opinion of his guilt. i handed the letter to mr. redfield to replace,--he having taken it from the envelope before giving it to me,--when, placing it back, a small slip fell out of the envelope as he turned it upside down. "what's this?" said i, as i picked it up; "we must scan everything." it was a narrow strip, and on it was written, "my dearest a----." (it was the lady's name, as it proved.) i was astounded, for i had seen childs's writing, and this was like it for all the world. it was his, indeed--so mr. redfield decided. but how came it in there? when mr. redfield opened his letter it had not fallen out. he had cut the end of the envelope. i took the envelope, and rounding it out, peered in, and satisfied myself, from its shape, that the writer had done what i frequently do, with the old-fashioned envelopes especially,--put in a piece of paper to keep the gluten from sticking to the letter, as it will, when wet and sealed, in many kinds of envelopes. in handling the envelope, and opening it a little to put back the contents, this paper, if stuck at all, had "chipped off." but how came the address there in childs's hand? either the letter had been written in a poorly-lighted place, or a careless or drunken confederate had slipped the strip we found into the letter, without noting both sides. but really _how_ it came there i did not care--it was there. "mr. redfield," said i, "that clerk's game is up. give me the letter; ask no questions, but to-morrow morning, as soon as he comes in, make occasion to send him off on business which shall detain him till into the afternoon, if you can; or provide business for him here that shall occupy him beyond noon-time. better send him out of town. i want to get over to-morrow noon." mr. redfield said that fortunately he could send him out of town to see parties about a mortgage, and he would send somebody along with him,--his servant,--and tell him to be sure to not get in before two or three. the boy will do what i say, and ask no questions and tell no tales. my word is law with him, and childs will have to walk back twelve miles, or hire somebody to bring him in, for the boy won't come till i tell him to. next morning i was up betimes. childs was out early before going to the office, taking a morning walk with his lady. he carried no bundle away from there, and i tracked him to the office. i felt safe now: and now for the final work, i thought, for i was sure that redfield would pack off childs duly, and the coast would be clear. i had gotten possession of the lady's name meanwhile, and proceeded to her boarding-place, called for her, introduced myself, talked with her about literary matters in my own way, not at great length, and was delighted with the innocence of the girl. i had formed no fixed mode of procedure when i entered the house, but i was resolved to wait till i saw her, and the longer i talked with her the more convinced was i that she was innocent and artless, and that a pretty direct way was the best to approach her by. so i said, "well, you'll pardon me, miss ----, but mr. childs told me i would be pleased to chat with you, and i have--" "what! you know mr. childs? he's always saying flattering things of me." "o, is he? well, perhaps he didn't say anything especial to me, then; but i was going to say that i called on business. he's going out of town to-day, and he had to start earlier than he expected; just gone; wasn't going till afternoon--" "yes, he told me he was going over to covington in the afternoon," she broke in. "yes," said i, "and he said that he wanted you to give me _those papers_; said you'd understand what he meant. i am to meet him, and this, he said, would be enough word for you" (handing her the slip of paper, 'my dearest a----.') "he was in haste." she took it, blushed, and said, "yes, this is his writing. he writes nicely--doesn't he? excuse me, i will be gone but a moment," and she hied up stairs to her room, as unsuspecting as a dove. i was surprised at the success of my simple stratagem, but i had others behind it, which would have worked had that failed. she came down stairs, bringing a nicely sealed package. "that is what he wants," said she. "you will be careful of it, of course, or he would not have sent you. you are his friend--a mysterious man i've heard him speak of; and i must tell you," she said, laughing heartily, "that i've told him i did not like that friend very well, keeping him away from me so much." "o," said i, "no harm i hope. men have their business arrangements together,--their speculations,--and can't always be as gallant as they would." "o, i know it," said she. "i don't complain. i was only joking him." it was evident to me that that woman had not the remotest thought of childs's being aught than as noble and pure as she; and as i took the package, folded it in a newspaper, and left the house, i felt for her to the bottom of my heart, so much so, that i at first resolved to not tell redfield how i had obtained the package, but to give him up the papers, tell him to dismiss the clerk, get my pay, and leave; for i thought it would break her heart to find childs so great a scoundrel; that perhaps he, finding himself foiled, would never be guilty of a crime again; would seek some other spot, reform, and marry her, and make her ever happy. these thoughts i revolved in my mind as i passed on to my lodgings, and when i got there i opened the package. lo! all the papers, so far as i could judge, and something more,--a letter or two, in a scrawly hand, with some rude drawings of roads, a sort of diagram, on a page of one of them. i deciphered the letters, and found that childs's correspondent spoke, in one of them, of that "little fool of yours," evidently meaning miss a----; and said something else, which i knew he would never have said had not childs given him occasion. in short, i saw that childs's respect for her was feigned; that he was only fooling her, and my mind changed towards him; besides, there was his confederate, and we must have them both. i hurriedly repacked the papers, proceeded to the bank, called mr. redfield into the private room, and showed him what i had got. he was confounded, of course. i said, "what shall we do with them?" "seal them, and put them in the safe for to-day. i want to arrest that villain childs now," said he, "for i understand how you've come by these. we've no time to lose." we went out after sealing the papers, and leaving them in the safe, properly marked with my name--a deposit. as soon as we got out of the office we made our plan. it was to take an officer, ride out on the road on which childs had gone, and wait for his return. but this would take too long. no, we'd ride right to the place he had gone to, all of us. we found the officer, took a two-horse carriage, and were on our way very shortly--drove to where childs was. "how do you do, mr. redfield?" said childs, surprised to see him. "couldn't you trust me to do the business? and so _you've_ come out? ha! ha!" "no," said mr. redfield; "some friends of mine wanted to take a ride, and i thought i might as well ride this way as any. getting on well with the business?" "yes," said he, "all finished; but i couldn't find that boy of yours. he's gone off somewhere, and there's a part of the harness gone. gone to get it mended, i suspect, for coming out here he said it was weak in places." i gave mr. r---- a wink, and said, quietly, "that boy would make a good operator--wouldn't he?" "he'll do his duty," said he. "well, he won't be back yet," said mr. redfield to mr. childs. "get in here, and we'll all take a short ride. mr. wilson," said mr. redfield, "you proposed to ride on the front seat when we returned; perhaps you'd like to now?" "yes, i would," said i. "well, please get out, and let mr. childs take your place. mr. childs, these are mr. wilson and mr. french, friends of mine, looking about cincinnati for speculation." i got out, childs took my seat in back, under the carriage top--a sort of half buggy and half coach. the officer was considerably disguised, (because he thought he knew childs, and that the latter knew him), with a pair of blue shaded glasses and false grayish whiskers and hair. we chatted on together, rode off a mile or two, when mr. redfield said he guessed we'd return, and leave word at that place for the boy to come as soon as he got his harness mended. "and you can ride back with us, childs," said mr. r----. childs expressed his pleasure to do so. we returned to the place, left the boy, and proceeded on a mile or two, telling stories, looking at the land, etc., when mr. redfield gave me a touch with his elbow, and looked into my eyes, as much as to ask, "shall we not arrest him now?" i gave the proper sign, and mr. redfield, stopping the horses, turned deliberately around, and said, "mr. french is an officer of the law, mr. childs, and would like to have you give yourself up without any fuss about it--wouldn't you, mr. french? do your duty." "yes, mr. childs, i am sorry to disturb the pleasure of such a ride as we've had, but it is my duty to arrest you." childs was overcome with surprise, and said, "yes, he would give himself up, but he didn't know what for--anything to oblige mr. redfield," and he gave himself up, and the officer thought best to handcuff him, at which childs turned very pale, with mingled anger and fright. "now, childs," said redfield, "since you are secure, and the papers are all back in the safe, and your lady, miss a----" (for redfield knew i must have gotten the papers from her in some way), "has turned upon you, you've nothing to do but make a clean breast of it. we want your confederate, and you must help us to take him, or suffer alone. if you wish to escape, you must turn state's evidence--that's all. he probably has put you up to crime. you are not too old to reform, and may be allowed to go, and suffer nothing but the penalty of dismissal from our office; but you'll have to return the money you took, for i find that you are regarded worth considerable property, and i presume your confederate is." childs was so utterly taken aback that he had not a particle of courage or address left. he consented to everything we demanded, and said he would write to his friend whom he was to meet at covington that night, but for some reason he could not come, and ask him to come over at night or next day to cincinnati. when we got into the city, childs was taken to a private room by the officer, who had taken off his manacles, and then manacled him again after writing the note, and telling us where to find his messenger. the man came over, and was under arrest before he had time to think, and was taken to another place, and told that childs had turned state's evidence. "i always thought childs was shaky," said the fellow, evidently not quite so subdued as he might be; but we threatened him with the extreme ends of the law, and he agreed to get money, and see that the bankers were paid back all that had been taken if childs would do his part, and to clear out "down the river" (meaning to n. o.), and leave cincinnati together. it appeared that he had done the _work_ of the robbery, childs having provided him with a key, of which he had procured a counterfeit, and having told him of the changes of the lock, and selected a time when there was a good amount of money in the safe. he said he could "work" better alone than with childs. i needn't lengthen out the story, except to say that mr. redfield got back all the money too, and enough besides to pay him and me for all our trouble; that childs and his friend left for parts unknown, for mr. redfield said it would hurt his bank, shake faith in it so much, to prosecute the rascals, and expose the affair, or it would gratify him otherwise to punish them: on the whole he would let them go. i took care that childs had no opportunity to see miss a---- before his departure, or even to write her, i think; and as i spent two or three days more in cincinnati, i thought, on reflection, she ought to know the facts, and in a delicate way got opportunity to disclose them to her, for which the innocent, sensible lady expressed her gratitude in tears. she felt that she had escaped a villain's clutches; confessed her ardent love for him, but told me that sometimes she felt as if there was something bad in his nature; that he had given her much pain from time to time; and though they were engaged, she sometimes had thought he did not intend to marry; and now she could see that he had, at times, taken advantage of her love to require her to do things for him quite disagreeable. "why," she exclaimed, "if i had known that package contained stolen things, i could not have slept in the room with it. he said they were private business papers of his, and he did not wish to ask to have them put in the bank safe, and thought they would be more secure with me than at his rooms, for everybody could get in there in his absence who liked; so i was glad to oblige him, of course." but my conversation with this lady need not be detailed. she was not informed how the slip, with "my dearest a----" on it, came into my hands. probably it did not then occur to her to ask. if her eye happens to light on this article, she will now come at last to know how. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the thousand dollar lesson. -------------- charles purvis: taking him in charge at a distance--hangers on at the st. nicholas and other hotel entrances--a colloquy, spiced with reminiscences of "old sam colt," of the "revolver," in his gay days; a party at the "old city hotel," hartford, conn., and other things--trinity college boys--"george ellsworth"--purvis and he start on a walk--"where can they be going?"--going to see ellsworth's "friend"--an exchange of coats--a survey taken--a first-class gambling saloon--a new man in the game--purvis drugged--his "friends" take him "home," but where?--purvis is returned to his hotel in a state of stupefaction; is aroused; misses a thousand dollars--plans laid to catch his late friends--williams found by accident, and quietly caged--the old irish woman's appeal--williams "explains," after proper inducement--most of the money recovered--supplements. i had just returned from a trip to detroit, and failing to find my chief partner in town, strolled up to the st. nicholas hotel one night, in july, , and while sauntering about there, came across a gentleman whom i had, a few days before, remarked in the cars, on the shore line road. he got on board at painesville, ohio, and by sundry peculiarities of his dress, which was a particle "flashy," but still neat and elegant, he attracted my attention. i was at a loss where to place, or how to classify him. sometimes i took him for a merchant, then i thought he might be a lawyer, and again a young man of wealth and leisure. suffice it, i allowed myself to study him--i know not why--so much that i was not likely to forget him. among the first persons i chanced to come across that day at the st. nicholas, was this young man, and curiosity led me to learn from the bookkeeper his name, which i found to be charles purvis, of louisville, kentucky. "purvis?" i said to myself, "purvis? the name is familiar, but where have i known anybody bearing it?" and so i cudgelled my brains to awaken memory, and at last called to mind a story told me by a brother detective, in my way, on a time, up the mississippi river, in which the name of "purvis" figured largely in a criminal transaction. "perhaps," thought i, "this is the chap in question," and as i had nothing on hand to do for a day or two, i thought i would take the young gentleman in my charge--at a distance. i left the hotel, determining to return early in the evening, and keep an eye to the young man. i did so, and i found that he was not a little "cheerful" in his ways about the bar,--treating, quite extensively, apparent strangers, but evidently, after all, not much given to making acquaintances. finally, he left the bar-room, alone, and walked slowly through the hall, with the air of one who has nothing to do, and was reflecting how to amuse himself. near the front entrance of the hotel stood three men chatting,--men whose characters the experienced are never at a loss to know at once; a gentlemanly looking class, well dressed, of affable manners, and of the greatest shrewdness of address; men whose colloquial powers are very great at times, but who know how to measure every word, and adapt it to the precise wants of the individual whom they may happen to address. these were of a class always infesting the hotels, especially the better ones, of the city, and whose business it is to "rope in" strangers into the various gambling saloons. upon the approach of mr. purvis, two of these worthies, bidding the other a cordial adieu for the evening, and addressing him in a style to indicate that he was a man of unusual importance, withdrew up broadway. still this courtliness was evidently intended to bear upon mr. purvis, who was in hearing; and as he drew nearer the distinguished gentleman, the latter addressed him, in a mild way, touching the weather,-- "a very pleasant evening, sir." "decidedly. you seldom enjoy a finer one here in new york, i suppose?" "o, i don't know about that. the weather here is usually pretty fair. are you a stranger, sir, in new york, allow me to ask?" "not a stranger exactly, but not a resident. i have been here considerably, off and on--enough to know the city pretty well, i reckon." "that's my case exactly, for the last few years, though i formerly resided here for a while. a pretty stirring place to get into, if one knows all the avenues of business or pleasure, sir." "surely, but i have never had occasion to learn much of these." "well, i too have only a limited acquaintance here, yet i always find my way around without much difficulty--generally going about with some friends, of whom i have a few here, formerly from my native state, connecticut." "ah, connecticut? do you know anything about hartford? perhaps you are from there?" "yes, sir, that is my native place, and a pleasant little city 'tis. great deal of wealth and refinement there, sir." "yes, i know it. i had a cousin from arkansas there, at trinity college, some years ago, and a gay boy, too, was bill sebastian" (if i rightly remember the name he gave). "i visited him there during his collegiate course, and spent a delightful week. old sam colt was a trifle gay--wasn't he? well, we had a jolly time with him one night, and several more of the jolly men of hartford, in rooms at the old city hotel. you know where that is?" "of course; and it has witnessed many a festive meeting. the trinity boys always go there for their fun." "i am glad to learn that you are from hartford. i've thought i should visit that town before i return. do you intend to return there soon?" "yes, i may go up to-morrow, but i may remain here a day or two more. should you be going up when i go, i should be pleased to have your company." "well, stranger, i hope it will happen that we go up together, if i go at all. and now let us exchange cards. my name is purvis, as you see, of louisville, kentucky." the lounger fumbled in his pockets for a card to give to mr. purvis, but finding none, half-blushingly announced that his cards were out, but that his name was george ellsworth. "ellsworth? well, sir, you rejoice in a right honorable name. i've heard my uncle throckmorton talk a great deal about one of the ellsworths of connecticut." it was evident to me that "ellsworth" was making fast inroads into the good graces of purvis, and of the latter's character i was beginning to be at a loss; for though i had from his name connected him at first with a criminal transaction, yet his manner, in conversation with "ellsworth," did not seem to sustain my early suspicions. their conversation now assumed a lower tone, as purvis had drawn nearer up to ellsworth, the two acting very like old acquaintances by this time; so i managed to draw nearer them, fumbling over the envelopes of some old letters i had taken from my pocket, and assuming to be in a "brown study" over something. "well, isn't this a little dull, mr. purvis? i've been waiting here an hour or so, expecting a particular friend along, with whom i was going out for a while to look about. but he has been obliged to disappoint me, i suppose," said ellsworth. "yes, it is a little dull, as you say; a stranger, especially, is apt to be very lonesome in a big city. do you ever take wine, mr. ellsworth?" "seldom, sir, especially when away from home; but i don't mind a glass now and then." "come, sir, accompany me, if you will. i would invite you to my room to take wine, but unfortunately they're so crowded here they've been obliged to put me far up. suppose we go to the bar?" "well, if you please; but you'll pardon me when i say that i must not indulge but once now. the night is long yet, and we shall have other occasion, perhaps, to drink. i know how generous and impulsive you southern gentlemen are." "o, surely, i know we are apt to 'go ahead,' like davy crockett, when we are right, and when we are not, too; but come along, please," and the trusting purvis carelessly locked his arm in that of ellsworth, and they moved towards the bar-room. my first intention was to follow them, but i hesitated, and waited their return. they were gone a far longer time than necessary to take one glass, and when they came along down the hall, rested but a moment at the door, and stepped out down broadway together. "ellsworth has his victim in sure training," thought i to myself. "where can they be going?" feeling confident that some mischief would be wrought ere the night was passed, i followed on at proper distance, and saw the two lingering for a moment before no. broadway. ellsworth seemed more in doubt what to do than purvis, or less decided. by this time i had, by mingling with sundry pedestrians, managed to approach near enough to ellsworth and purvis to hear the latter say,-- "well, if you think we won't obtrude, let us go up to see your friend for a while." "no, we shall not obtrude," replied ellsworth, "but i was thinking if we might not find some more agreeable place,"--but he turned and went up the stairs, followed by purvis. in , at that time, was a half gambling hell, kept as the private rooms of a worthless sporting son of a distinguished surgeon. i had never been in the place, but had heard that many fast young men gathered there to play cards for fun, and that sometimes a faro-bank was run there for "amusement." fearing that by some possibility ellsworth might notice me as the individual having stood near him in the st. nicholas so long, and suspect something if i went in alone, and undisguised, i was resolving what course to pursue, when my friend, henry w----, a detective, came along. he was just my size, and wore a blue "swallow-tailed" coat, while i had on a black frock. i took henry into the small hall-way, and said, "business up; swap coats with me in a minute; and if you've a pair of false mustaches with you, let me have 'em, henry." "i haven't mustaches," said henry; "but here's something as good," said he, pulling from the skirt of his coat a paper containing a fine long-haired wig. (my hair was cut extremely short for the then prevailing fashion.) the changing of coats, and assuming of the wig, was but a moment's work, and with my promise to henry "to report in the morning," we parted, and i mounted to the sporting-room in a trice. walking in coolly, i proceeded quietly to the "bureau," and helped myself, as is the custom in such places, to a small glass of wine, and while drinking, took a survey. there were my friends ellsworth and purvis, the former evidently instructing the other about the ways and habits of such places. this night the faro-bank was in operation in one room, and in another several parties were playing at cards. after a while i overheard ellsworth say, "i never play for money, but some one here, i dare say, will take a hand with you if you wish a little amusement," and they sauntered into the card-room, where, without trouble, parties were found to "make up a hand" at an unoccupied table--ellsworth declining to play, but taking a seat near purvis, to watch the game. the stakes were small, but during the play purvis lost a little more than the loose change which he had about him, and was forced to draw a well-filled wallet from his side coat pocket. i noticed a peculiar smile on ellsworth's face as his eye rested on that wallet; and from that moment i felt that i had work to do. i took an apparently listless interest in the game, and kept my eye as much on ellsworth as i could. he seemed to be restless. persons were coming in and going out of the other room especially, and ellsworth's face always reverted to the door when he heard new footsteps or a new voice. presently his face brightened, and he got up, went into the other room, took a glass of wine, and on returning, affecting to just then discover a friend, exclaimed, "ah, williams! how do you do? how did you get here? i was waiting at st. nicholas for you for over an hour." "well, i was delayed--did not know where to look for you when i got there, and dropped in here, i hardly know how; but, old fellow, it's all as well now--isn't it?" giving ellsworth a gentle pat on the shoulder. all this was said in such a manner that purvis might have heard it if not too much engaged in his play; and he probably did hear it; and the two worthies went arm in arm into the card-room. "let me interrupt the play for a second, gentlemen, if you please," said ellsworth, taking williams directly up to purvis. "mr. purvis, allow me to introduce to you my friend, mr. williams, the gentleman we were waiting so long for to-night. lucky--isn't it, he dropped in here?" the usual courtesies of introduction were passed, purvis assuring mr. williams that he was very glad to make his acquaintance, and that the game would soon be over, when he would be glad to learn more of his "friend ellsworth's" friend. but who was this "williams?" you are apt to inquire, right here. i did not know ellsworth, but i had seen williams before. he was elegantly attired, more so than ellsworth, indeed, and nearly as mannerly; though, to the practised eye, there was discernible in his face a lower range of character than in ellsworth's. he had more low cunning, and was fitter to do deeds of positive criminality. he belonged to the higher class of pickpockets, and i had known him under the name of "billy seaver." i saw that the two were well met to work together. purvis and his party's game ending, williams proposed to take a hand; and a party being made up, purvis continued to play, not neglecting to take wine occasionally. on one occasion williams, accompanying him to the sideboard, i noticed the former turn suddenly about, as he said, "mr. purvis, join me in claret this time,--an unfashionable drink, to be sure" (with a most graceful smile). "i see that you take sherry generally," and having suited the action to the word, had poured out a glass, which he handed to purvis, who took and drank it. i had no doubt that williams had skilfully "drugged" that dram; and my interest began to deepen now that my observations would have to continue for several hours. at length i united in a game with several new in-comers, and posted myself at the table where i could easily watch purvis and his friends. he played on well for a while, but by and by i saw he began to grow a little stupid. at this time williams, who was a good talker, entered upon the recital of many curious tales ("good stories," as they are called among his class, but which were not so "good" as to bear repeating here), and tried to keep up purvis's waning spirits with laughter and jokes. and so purvis was kept at the board, while the drug was constantly doing its sure and secret work. purvis lost considerably, and occasionally reverted to his wallet for supplies. an hour or so went on, when ellsworth, who took no practical interest in the game, said to williams, "isn't it about time for honest people to be a-bed? hadn't we better go?" "just as you like; and i presume mr. purvis would like to go to his hotel. i declare," said he, turning to the clock on the mantel, "it _is_ later than i thought." presently the three sallied out. with some difficulty was it that purvis moved. they reached the sidewalk, and ellsworth said, "mr. williams, let's go up to the st. nicholas with mr. purvis," taking purvis by the arm in a quiet way; and they started. the distance was so short, that on reaching the walk from the stairs, where i overheard the proposition, i thought i would not follow too speedily. they had not gone on their way over a minute at most, when an alarm of fire on the corner of howard and broadway arrested my attention, as i thought but for a minute or so,--but time flies on such occasions, and it might have been five minutes,--when, turning to look after my men, i could not see them, but rushed on to the hotel. not finding them there, i sought the clerk, to learn if purvis had taken his key and gone to his room. he had seen nothing of purvis at all, "since early in the evening," he said. where could the scoundrels have taken him? o, they must have dropped into one of the coaches standing at all hours of night near the hotel; that was my solution of the matter, and i knew it would be folly to attempt to follow them farther; and i had nothing to do but to withdraw to my rooms and go to bed, and await the issue--clew to which i felt sure to get next day. i took the night clerk into my confidence sufficiently to tell him that i suspected purvis would be victimized, lose his money, and perhaps his life; but conjured him to keep still, if he should chance to return before morning; watch those who might come with him, and be sure to get the number of the coach and name of the driver, if he should be brought back in a carriage, and then find out if and how he had been "played with," and to send me word: all of which he promised to do, entering with spirit into the enterprise. i went home, feeling sure that the clerk would give me an intelligent report if anything wrong happened. next morning, about seven o'clock, i was awakened at my rooms by the clerk, who told me that, an hour before, purvis had been pitched into the entrance way of the hotel, in a state of stupidity so great that, after a half hour's attempt to arouse him, they had sent for a doctor; that instantly on hearing the noise of his advent, he had rushed to the door, only to see a tall man running down street, while a coach, at some distance off, was driving rapidly up; but whether the coach had any connection with the matter he thought was doubtful. but he had examined purvis's clothes, which were much stained and soiled, and found a cut in the right side, over his wallet pocket, but "not large enough to let out much of a purse," he said. as the wallet was large, i fancied that this cut had been made, possibly, as they left the gaming-rooms, and not succeeding with that, had taken purvis away to "finish" him,--which was doubtless the case. i dressed myself rapidly as possible, and hurried to the hotel. purvis had been carried to his room; and a doctor and his student, a tall, good-looking, sympathetic fellow, were attending him. the doctor administered some medicines as well as he could, and then performed some quite vigorous manipulations of purvis's body. the student said that he was a native of louisville, and knew purvis's family very well, and that he'd give five hundred dollars himself for the detection of the scamps who had ill treated purvis. he warmed up to great height on the occasion, in true southern style, generous and ardent. i took a great fancy to him, and when the doctor left urged the student to remain, which he gladly did. we watched by purvis's side for an hour and a half before he sufficiently recovered to recognize his louisville friend, and to answer me as to how much he had lost,--which was what i most desired to know. where he had been he had no memory of. all was a blank to him; but he knew that the evening before he had a thousand and sixty dollars with him--a thousand in his wallet, in the side coat pocket, and the sixty in various pockets. he had paid a bill a day before for parties in louisville, and had so much left, only about half of which belonged to him, the remainder belonged to the louisville parties; "which makes the matter a heap worse," as he said. when i had learned so much, i set about laying my plans, within myself, for catching ellsworth and williams. i had no doubt that they were still in the city, so secret had been their operations, as they probably supposed; and thinking i might need help, took into my counsels, as far as i thought best, my young friend, the stalwart student. he was all on fire for the work, if we should chance to come across the enemy; and we started forth, he to arm himself at his rooms, i to prepare myself, and we to "rendezvous" at the st. nicholas in an hour. coming together, i bethought me that perhaps purvis's wallet might have some private mark by which it might be identified; and we went up to his room to inquire, and learned that the wallet was the gift of his brother, and bore, under the principal clasp, in faded gilding, the letters, "c. h. p., l'ville." the letters were quite obscure now, he said. and we started on our search. i fancied i could readily find williams's lodgings, and that he would likely be there, in a state of more or less sleepiness, and his compeer ellsworth with him. but i had counted without my host that day; and though we were constantly going from point to point, in our investigations, nothing had we learned when nightfall came, and we were very weary. passing up roosevelt street, having had occasion to go down to the williamsburg ferry, a tall man brushed rapidly by us, whom i at once discovered to be williams, who suddenly dropped into a little filthy cellar oyster saloon, and we followed. williams had taken a seat at the remote corner of the dirty room, and called for a stew. he looked haggard, as if he had, not long ago, been on a tremendous spree. we called for oysters roasted in shell, as likely to be the most cleanly in that dirty crib. williams was quite "nervous," and spilled the broth over himself considerably, and i half conjectured that he, too, had been drugged. i knew he must have taken the wallet, and that perhaps he had it about him then; but i had no warrant to arrest him on the spot, but must follow him farther. he arose, having finished his meal, and started straight for the door, and opening it, was going out, when the dirty irish woman who kept the shop exclaimed, "look here, mistur, is that the way gintlemens trates ladies? don't yer pay for yer vittals when yer takes 'em?" williams, who hardly knew what he was about, had not, i presume, intended to "beat" the woman (to use the slang phrase for cheat), but he was maddened by the woman's gross manner, and turned upon her with an oath. "be jabers," screamed the woman! "gintlemen," turning to us, "will yees see a poor honest woman, so there!" (the tears coming into her eyes) "chated by the likes o' that dirthy blaggard? ketch him, and hould him!" (flourishing a big spoon, like a sword, in air). my impulsive student friend needed no more encouragement, and quickly catching williams in his brawny arms, exclaimed, "here, you scamp! pay this woman before you go, or you'll stay here all night," pulling him at the same time up to the little dirty counter, behind which the woman stood. half drunk, williams, finding himself in a strong man's grasp, was instantly quiet, and began fumbling for his money. in his search he pulled out a silk sash--as it proved, a stolen one at that--from his inner side coat pocket, when out tumbled a plethoric wallet with it. "be jabers, that's a fat one, indade!" said the woman: "the gintleman has money enough to buy out old astor and all his kin." williams, more intoxicated than i thought at first, seemed to take no heed of this, and after he had managed to fish out of his pocket money enough to pay the old woman, i took up the wallet, and said, "here, don't leave this; you'll want it." he looked in amazement, as he started towards me, as he saw me deliberately opening the clasp. there were the self-same initials purvis had told us of. "i will keep this, mr. williams," said i; "this is what i am after.--old woman, this man is a pickpocket.--bolt the door!" i exclaimed to my student friend, which he did instantly. "take charge of williams while i examine the wallet; and you, old woman, keep quiet; and, williams, don't _you_ dare to make the least noise, or we'll finish you here." [illustration: "ketch him and hould him"--williams' arrest.] i made rapid search, and found in the wallet nine hundred and thirty dollars (some of it kentucky money), a lady's elegant gold enamelled watch, and a chain which could not have cost less than two hundred dollars, but which had been cut in some of the links--evidently a recent prize of williams. he would never tell where that watch came from; and i advertised "a lady's watch, taken from a pickpocket. the owner can have the same by identifying it. call at no. -- broadway," for several days, in the papers. but no one ever came to claim it, and i gave it to a lady, who still wears it, subject to the owner's reclamation at any time. williams saw that it was all over with him, but he protested that he did not abstract the wallet; that the whole "job" was ellsworth's; and i was willing to believe this in part, for ellsworth was the prime roper-in. more anxious to catch ellsworth than to punish williams, i agreed that if he would tell me the whole story truly, and where ellsworth could be found, i would, on finding the latter, let him, williams, off. he told me the story in detail. they had taken purvis, that night, over to a place in williamsburg, occupied by ellsworth, and his "family," as he pretended. purvis was so stupid when they arrived there that the coachman had to assist them to bear him into the house. of course the process of robbery was easy after that. but not having a good place to keep purvis, and that matter being dangerous, too, they had hired another coach near morning, and brought him over to new york, williams coming alone with him. he would not tell me the coachman's name,--the one of the night before,--but said he had "bled" them to the tune of fifty dollars for his services. he had been over to williamsburg, and was on his way back, taking with him the money, which he was to divide the next day, at a certain hour, in a place he named in the bowery, with ellsworth, who would be there. i did not credit his story, to be sure; but still i was there duly, and found williams, who pretended surprise as he came in with an officer (into whose keeping i had given him,--having called him before we left the shop,--on a charge of forgery, not telling him i knew the real state of the case), at not finding ellsworth up to his appointment. but my story is running into too much detail. suffice it that we got back to the hotel as speedily as we could, and a more delighted man than was mr. purvis, on the recovery of so much of his money, can hardly be imagined. he gave the watch, of course, into my keeping, and in spite of all my protestations, compelled me to receive a much larger sum than would have amply satisfied me. i pursued ellsworth somewhat afterwards, visiting his "family" in williamsburg, but i could not get track of him for a long while, when he turned up in another city, and i chanced to make him available in the detection of sundry other rogues. but that story is _sui generis_, and i must not mar it by a recital of a part here. as for the brave medical student (whose name i have purposely withheld), he became a fast friend of mine, and afterwards we had several adventures together, some of which i purpose to relate, should i at some other time feel more in the spirit to do so. enough to know now, that he is, for his years, an eminent physician, with a large practice, in a district in the south, and married to a most beautiful woman, whose acquaintance he made while once playing the amateur detective. in some of these papers, perhaps, his name, if he permits, will be disclosed. had he given himself to the business, i conceive that he could not have had a successful rival, as a detective, in the world. the same knowledge of human nature which the detective needs, cannot but serve the physician to great advantage. mr. purvis said that if he had wholly lost the thousand dollars, the lesson he had learned would have been cheaply bought. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the wolf in sheep's clothing. -------------- the antiquity of that sheep's skin and its pious usefulness--a large loss of silks, satins, laces, and other goods--a consultation--a long study--the various characters of several clerks, what they did, and how they killed "spare time"--influence of the city on morals--new york central park--a most wonderful series of thefts--the matter inexplicable at first, grows more subtle--a gleam of light at last--a bright italian boy plays a part--a lady followed--more light--an extemporized servant of the croton water board gets inside a certain house--sarah crogan and i--how a house in nineteenth street delivered up its treasures--"william bruce," alias charles phillips--a very strange denouement--a meek man transformed; his rage--a delivery up, with accompanying jewels--a "widow" not a widow removes--what sarah crogan thought. it is an astonishing thing to a detective, and ought to be to every person of sense, it seems to me, that after the experiences of ages "the-wolf-in-sheep's-clothing" still keeps on deluding people. everybody ought by this time to know the animal, and everybody does, in a sense; but everybody has heard of him, and seen him somewhere along the path of life, and either been bitten by him, or sorely frightened, or something of the sort. yet forever he is playing his wiles with success with everybody; and his sheep skin is the same one he has used ever since historic time began, and perhaps long before that. but i did not take my pen to descant upon the blunders and stupidities of my fellow-mortals, or to adorn this page with a lecture on morals and hypocrisies, but to tell a tale in which, perchance, a "moral" will be better "painted" by the facts it discloses than by my discursive pen. i was called upon one day by the confidential clerk of a large mercantile house in this city, and informed by him that he had been sent by one of the partners of the house,--the other partners being abroad, one in europe, and one in the south,--in regard to the matter of extensive robberies from their store; and it had been thought best that i should be made acquainted with the chief facts before visiting the house--as they supposed, of course, he said, i should wish to. i told him (and here, for sake of brevity, let me give him a name, which is correct only in the initial letters--charles phillips)--i told mr. phillips that his policy was quite right, and that i would listen then and there to his story. he went on to recount that, probably for a long while, the house had been robbed of various kinds of goods, but that of late, particularly, they had been greatly annoyed by missing large quantities of the highest priced goods: their best silks, satins, laces, etc., which, being costly goods, amounted, as nearly as they could calculate,--in one month's loss, too,--to some eighteen hundred dollars; "and of course," said he, "the loss may be more, for perhaps we do not know all we have lost." he told me of plans which he and the partner at home had devised to find out the thief or thieves, and the watch that had been set, all to no avail. he had a different opinion about it, he said, from the partner, who thought some of the clerks must be the guilty parties; and it did seem so, sometimes, he said, for the store was well watched nights by a trusty watchman, whom he himself had watched as well, and felt confident that he could have no confederates; and, besides, the things taken were not usually in reach of customers--only the clerks could get at them. so he thought his employer excusable, perfectly, for his suspicion that some of the clerks must be the thief. yet for his part he could not believe it, inasmuch as he had known all the clerks so long,--five years, a majority of them, and the rest of them, save three, who had been but from two to six months in the house, for from one year up to three and four; and he thought he knew all about them, and could not allow himself to suspect any one of them. but, nevertheless, his employer, who could not in his own mind fasten suspicion upon any specific person, had fully made up his mind that some of the clerks were guilty, and they were now going to wake up the matter, if possible, and "bring things to a focus," as he expressed it. i listened to what mr. phillips had to say, and inquired how many clerks there were in the establishment, when he informed me that, aside from himself, there were thirty-seven. "thirty-seven?" said i; "and you are not able to say that any one of these is more innocent or less guilty than another, eh?" "no." "well, then, we've a job on hand which may last for a good while, and require not only time, but patience, and a good deal of money to work out; for we might hit on the thief the first thing, but we might not be able to identify him till we had been through with all the rest, and satisfied ourselves of their innocence, you see, and it may cost your house more than it would to suffer the losses, and let accident, perhaps, hereafter disclose the guilty party." "i have talked this very point over with mr. redding," (the partner), said he, "and he says the firm must go to any necessary cost to find the thief, and put a stop to peculations; that the house cannot, in fact, long do business at this rate of loss, and he's made up his mind to go into the matter thoroughly, and when he gets _his_ head set, there's no moving him. the house must go ahead in this business, and let you have your way about it." i learned from mr. phillips that many of the goods taken were of a peculiar kind, but after all, not to be readily identified, if the private marks of the house were removed; "and any thief," said he, "shrewd enough to steal from our store, at the rate the thefts have been going on for the last few weeks, is wise enough, i dare say, to leave nothing of a story-telling nature on the goods. he's probably removed our private marks at his earliest convenience." after our conference was over, and i had agreed to call at the store the next day, in the capacity of a wholesale customer "from buffalo," and mr. phillips was gone, i set myself to work at some theory in the case, and found myself quite baffled at every point. i had not facts enough yet in my possession to form an opinion; and as i prided myself in those days, more than i do now, on my unerring skill in detecting a thief by his countenance, i resolved to theorize no more till i had gone through the house, and scrutinized each clerk's face. but that night i talked the matter over with certain of my brother detectives, for it was evident that there was work enough to be done, if we wished to save time, for several of them. each of my men thought the matter could be easily solved. some of the clerks were, of course, the thieves, and they only needed to be "spotted" for a few nights at once, and sure as fate the guilty one would be brought to light 'twas agreed; but it didn't prove so easy a job, after all. the next day i called upon mr. redding, it having been understood between me and mr. phillips that he was not to recognize me before the clerks, until after i might have been presented to him by mr. redding, and then only cursorily. i handed mr. redding a note which i had prepared, and as he did not know me personally, and was a little taken aback at what i said in the note, i giving him sundry orders and directions therein, his strangership to me was quite evident to the clerks who chanced to be about when we met. mr. redding showed me all the distinction that i required, and himself showed me through the establishment. it was a long list of goods, indeed, that which i prized, in every department; and we took our time, in order that i might have the amplest opportunity to study each clerk's face, which i did to my satisfaction, but to no certainty as to which one if any was the thief. i thought that either my usual sagacity had fled me, or else that the clerks were a singularly honest set of young men, and withal exceedingly well chosen and clever. i was at times tempted to suspect one or two of them; but i could not tell why, and came to the conclusion at last that this temptation resulted rather from my anxiety to "spot" some one, than from good judgment; and i concluded that part of the business without having arrived at any conclusion whatever as to the guilty parties. after this mr. redding called his chief confidential clerk, mr. phillips, into the counting-room, and we quietly talked over the matter. at mr. redding's request, mr. phillips produced such a list as they had been able to make of the goods lost, which amounted in all to quite an astonishing sum; but of these things they could inform me of nothing which was very peculiar in its nature--nothing the like of which other stores had not. but i finally requested to see some of the richest silks, such as those they had lost, and was taken by mr. redding to see them. i have a pretty accurate eye for forms and colors, and i paid special attention to a piece of silk, the like of which i had never seen, and the cost of which was more than that of any other piece in the store. it was a heavy silk--would stand alone, and had in it "ribs," after the fashion somewhat of a twisted column, the pattern of which was perhaps borrowed from a column in the court of some old convent, such as i had often seen in italy, where for a year i was occupied in that country ferreting out some scamps who had fled there from philadelphia, and who were badly wanted to settle sundry accounts. with the association of the "ribs" and the column, i was not likely to forget that piece of silk. but other houses had the like, and i might not be able to identify the piece as coming from mr. redding's store, if i should chance to come across it in some retail store, at the pawnbroker's, or anywhere else. yet it might prove a clew, and i put my faith in it; with what result, will be seen further on, for i cannot mar my narrative by introducing it here. it was quite evident to me that the thief must be some one or more of the clerks; and i could not, on inquiry into the habits of the clerks, so far as mr. redding understood them, or in any way, fix upon any one of the clerks as more likely than another to be the thief. these young men had been well selected; were smart fellows, each in his way. indeed, mr. redding thought that, on the whole, his house had the best set of clerks of all the houses in the city, and although he was convinced that some one or more of them (and he as well as i inclined to the notion that there must be two at least) were guilty, yet he said he would gladly give a thousand dollars if the guilt could be fastened upon somebody without the store; for the house had always treated its clerks as if they were the partners' own children in many respects, and given the clerks rather better wages than they could get anywhere else, and some unusual privileges. they had nearly all been long with the house, and i thought that mr. redding seemed to suffer as much from the fear that some of the clerks would prove to be the guilty party, as from the loss of the goods themselves. in fact, he confessed that he felt "chicken-hearted" about the matter, as he expressed it; but his partners' interests as well as his own must be looked to, and so he was resolute. i returned to my office, and set about immediate preparations on the work. i was going at it that night, and i saw that there was no other way than to take matters coolly, and work systematically. i sent for some of my men, having apprised mr. redding that it would "cost something" to work up the case, and that to do it within any conscionable time i must set several men at work. he had given me quite a wide range for expenses, saying that it would not do to be guilty of any laches in the business for want of means; because, at the rate they were losing property, with all their eyes open at that, they would soon have to give up business. i set my men to keeping their eyes on certain of the clerks whose places of residence and names mr. redding had given me. he had not procured the streets and numbers of all of them, but was to do so next day. the clerks designated were carefully watched and followed, to find out how and where they spent their nights, for it was my conjecture, that whoever stole the goods was under the influence of some demon passion; that he either gambled, and was deeply in debt, and stole the goods and sold them, or that some wily woman had him in her power, or some fiend of a man was driving him on in crime; and it was necessary first to find out all about where these young men spent their time out of the store. i took my own place in the work, and having been so much about the store that day, it was necessary that i disguise myself, as i did; and i took my station on broadway, near the store, and waited for the young men to sally forth, directing my men to the boarding-places of some of the clerks, with as accurate descriptions of them as i could give. i had not long to wait before some of the clerks passed me, and i selected two, whom i followed. darkness was just coming on. they stopped on a corner to lay out their programme for the evening, and concluded to not go home to tea, but to go to a restaurant, where i followed them, and remained there till they left; and when they came out they went up broadway, and stopping before a billiard saloon, seemed to be debating the question whether they would go up or not; but finally they went up the stairs, and i remained behind a few minutes, and then followed them. somehow, as i entered the room, and my eye fell upon the face of one of them, something seemed to tell me that he was the guilty fellow. the young men had already commenced a game, and were busy with the bewitching balls. i lounged about, and finally got a partner for a single game. the young men did not bet--only played for sport, and at a seasonable hour left, not however, till i, having observed that they would soon depart, had gotten down on to the pavement before them. when they came down, they set off together, walked some distance together, turned down a side street, and on the corner of it and another street bade each other good night. one of them went on to his boarding-house, and so i suppose did the other. the next night i gave my particular attentions to those same young men. they went over to the bowery theatre, and like sensible fellows, too, had seats in the pit, in which part of the house i also secured a place. they seemed to enjoy the play greatly, and one of them threw a quarter of a dollar on the stage in lieu of a bouquet, in testimony of his appreciation of the splendid representation of a mock richard the third by the leading actor, and i fancied that perhaps i had found out the young man's leading passion--his besetting sin. when they left the theatre they proceeded to an alehouse, and after taking a mug apiece of somebody's "best pale ale," sallied out, and wended their way together homeward, till they came to the parting-place again; and i followed the one whom i did not pursue the night before, only to be led on a long distance up into hudson street, when the young man applying his night-key to the door of a very respectable-looking house, entered and vanished. i had begun to make up my mind that this sort of work would not do; that these clerks were but like ten thousand others, who, wearied by their day's work, sought recuperation in slight dissipations, and, perhaps, questionable pleasures, such as billiards, and comedies, and ales give. but i followed up some other of the clerks, reporting every day to mr. redding or to mr. phillips very ill success. the latter was particularly anxious to have me "go on, and make thorough work of it;" and as the days went on i became much attached to him. my men, too, brought me their accounts daily, with as little success towards the desired end as i myself had, and we were frequently on the point of giving up the job. we concluded that perhaps several of the clerks were engaged in this robbery; that they might have formed a secret society among themselves, and that they probably had a safe place to send their goods to, and a skilful "receiver," who would pay them perhaps half price for the goods, but we could find nothing to sustain this hypothesis. two or three of the clerks were quite literary in their tastes, and belonged to some debating club, i forget the name now, but it was quite an institution at the time, and thither my men had followed them, and quite fallen in love with the spirited manner and eloquent speech-making of one of the clerks. of course they followed these wherever they went, and nothing could convince them that these young men were guilty. one of the clerks was an inveterate theatre-goer. he went every night to one theatre or another; but my men found out that he usually had passes, and was, to some extent, a dramatic critic, furnishing the reporters of sundry papers with notes, and that in this way he probably got his passes, and so did not in this way waste much of his slender salary. he neither smoked nor drank liquor, and seemed to be always alone, careless of companionship; so he was dropped as "not the man." another of the clerks had, it was found, a strange fancy for old books and antique engravings. he spent, evidently, as little money on his person as would suffice to dress neatly and well enough for his position, and put all he could have into old books and engravings; and we found that he was well known by all those strange men, who in these days mostly collect in nassau street, and live among the rubbish and dirt of old, and for most part, worthless books, driving keen bargains, giving little, and asking much for some rare old folly of a book, or some worthless volume in which some lord of the blood, or some royal sovereign of literature, like johnson or addison, had chanced to write his name. the young clerk had a business man's as well as an artist's eye for these things, we found, and was said, by the old book-men, to make such excellent assortments of engravings, etc., which he bound together, as to be able to realize in their sale quite an advance on the original purchase. and so we found merit instead of crime in him, and felt very sure that he could be "counted out." but we had some singular experiences. one of the clerks, as did indeed three of them, boarded in brooklyn. this one was a sunday-school teacher, but he came over to new york one sunday night to attend a religious meeting, and being particularly followed that night, he was found going into a disreputable "ladies' boarding-house." some of the clerks were sunday-school teachers, especially certain of them who were middle-aged, and married; but we discovered, in our scrutiny of these clerks, that these older ones especially, had a habit of taking their country customers and friends to see the sights of the city at night, and that in order to beguile these persons, in other words, to "show them proper attentions," they were not scrupulous about forgetting their sunday-school teachings, and taking these customers into the most questionable dens in the city. in those days the vulgar phrase "seeing the elephant" was more common than now, and included participation in all sorts of small and impure vices. in my opinion, this greed for trade, which impells the competing clerks of different houses to show every possible attention of this kind to the young men (as well as old, for often the old are worse than the young) who come to the city to buy goods, has led to the downfall, the moral and financial ruin, of thousands who would otherwise have led honorable, and perhaps noble lives. but things in this respect are better now a days than they were many years ago in new york. the great advance which the fine arts have made in this country, even within the last ten years, has had much to do with this improvement. the theatre is "a thing of beauty" and attractive in comparison to what it used to be; and everywhere scattered throughout the city are many matters of the higher arts to attract and interest the stranger or frequent visitor even, and so in a measure keep him out of harm's way. the central park has been a great educator of the city people out of vices, and has an elevating influence upon country people coming to the city, many of whom "luxuriate" in a visit to it, instead of "dissipate," as in years ago, in the dens of the crowded city; for in winter even, when the cold is intense enough to make ice, joyous nights are spent in skating on the park pond, or in beholding the witching gayeties of the accomplished skaters. but the days went on,--i almost daily conferring with mr. redding, or his accomplished chief clerk, mr. phillips, whose sagacity and inventive genius pleased me greatly. he would have made--in fact was, in one sense--one of the most shrewd and capable of detectives. there was no avenue for the slightest suspicion which his keen brain could not discover when mr. redding seemed disposed to give up in despair, as from time to time i faithfully reported to him the empty results of my own and my men's constant watching, or drew on the house, on different occasions, for current expenses. mr. phillips stimulated him to further endeavor, feeling, as he said, and as an honest man, in his capacity, could not well but feel, that the responsibility on his part was morally as great as if he were the pecuniary sufferer, and he continued to bravely and nobly work in the interest of the house. but constantly the peculations went on; and so mysteriously were they conducted, that i believe it would have required no great amount of argument to convince mr. redding that invisible hands took part in the thefts; that the spirits of some old merchants, perhaps (not having forgotten their greed of gain in the other world), were the authors and doers of this wickedness; for he was half inclined to belief in modern spiritualism, and the partner who was in europe was an avowed spiritualist, his daughter, a sickly young lady of eighteen or twenty years of age, being a "medium." it was partly for her health's sake that the father had taken her to europe. mr. redding was confounded, as from time to time, something more of much value, often of great value, was missed. finally he took up his lodgings for a few nights at the store, with an inside and an outside watchman, and with an ugly watch-dog for a companion; but this did no good, for valuables were still missed, and what was the most perplexing thing, were apparently taken in the night. mr. redding became sensibly weak, looked haggard, was restless and nervous, and his family physician ordered him to suspend work. mr. redding had great pride about this matter, and all the clerks were put under an injunction of secrecy in regard to the losses, and i have reason to think they faithfully respected the mandate. this secrecy was suggested as a matter of pride as well as prudence, for mr. redding would not have had his brother merchants in the city know of the troubles in his house for anything. it would have led, he thought, to the financial injury of the firm. finally, mr. redding was taken sick, and remained at home for three days. on the second day he sent for me, and showed me an advertisement he had caused to be put in the herald, calling for twenty clerks of experience in the dry goods business, etc. "none need apply who cannot produce the best certificates of character, and come recommended by all parties in whose employ they may have ever been." he named a box in the herald office as the place of address, and he already had sent his servant to the herald office, and when i arrived was opening one of over fifty letters received. he showed me the advertisement and responses with an air of pride. "i have made up my mind that our salvation is in a change of clerks," said he. "the innocent and guilty must go alike. i will first dismiss twenty,--fortunately, we make our contracts with clerks in such way that i can do this,--and after twenty new ones are worked in, and know our modes of doing business, i will dismiss all the rest, and fill their places with new men. what do you think of my new plan?" i told him that, as a _dernier resort_, it was probably wise, but that fruitless though had been our work heretofore, i nevertheless wanted to try further; and i proposed that he go on and make the acquaintance of the new applicants privately, examine their credentials, and get ready to receive them, if wanted, in due time; but that so great and sudden a change of clerks could not but tend to confuse his customers, especially as many of their clerks had been with him for years, and they would inevitably take many of the customers with them; while he could not be sure that the newly-incoming clerks would bring him any trade at all. there was a wildness in mr. redding's eyes that day, which looked to me precursory of insanity, and i felt that anything like full espousal of his plan would excite him, and perhaps hasten the wreck of his intellect. but mr. redding got better, and reappeared at his store, and he told me when i next met him thereafter, that he had no heart to turn away some of his clerks who had been so long his companions, and he found it impossible to select the first twenty for decapitation. mr. redding communicated his plan to mr. phillips, and the latter, with his usual sagacity, opposed it, suggesting several reasons, among which was one which weighed much with mr. redding, to the effect that he could be no surer of the honesty of the new clerks than of that of the old, and that it was by no means certain that like losses were not being suffered in other houses, and that some of these new clerks might have been dismissed under like circumstances to those which suggested the dismission of his own clerks, and he added, "if you were to dismiss the clerks, you would be obliged, in honor, to give each one of them the best commendation for faithfulness in business, and you could not conscientiously refuse to add, 'for honesty and integrity.'" "no, no; i could not do less; that is true," said mr. redding; "and perhaps the new comers would bring certificates from employers situated just as we are. i had not thought of that." there was the greatest respect on the part of the under clerks manifested towards mr. phillips, and i doubt not that if he communicated this matter of the proposed change, and his opposition to it, to them, that he won upon their gratitude and regard still further. mr. phillips was indeed a model man in every respect. he had not only great business tact, but he had the refined manners of a cultivated gentleman, and was evidently considerable of a literary man withal, and was, i was told, a very happy public speaker. he was, as i have before observed, a man of ready expedients, of fertile inventive genius, and it was difficult to see how the house could well get on without him. but as the difficulties of the situation increased, mr. phillips began to evince much wear and tear of mind, and he told mr. redding, that though his contract called for two years more of service (it had been three years before), he thought he should be compelled to ask that the contract be rescinded, and he would withdraw from business for a while and get rest. mr. redding would hear nothing of this; but, of course, he could not oblige, nor would it have been expedient if he could, mr. phillips to remain, and so, to cheer him up, and secure his inestimable services longer, he agreed to advance his salary from the beginning of the next month by fifty per cent., and insisted that mr. phillips should give up the old contract, and enter into a new one to that effect. this was an unexpected turn of affairs for mr. phillips, and of course stirred his deepest gratitude, and he entered with renewed vigor into the matter of the detection of the thieves--himself offering, as he did, to forego the pleasures of his nights at home, in the bosom of his charming family, and occupying a couch at the store with the watchman. but this lasted only a week, for the robberies were no less frequent during that week than before; and mr. phillips began obviously to experience something of the despair which had afflicted mr. redding when he slept at the store. mr. phillips abandoned this course, and retired again to his home for his nights' lodgings, "giving up all hope," as he expressed it, and sorely vexed that he had entered into a new contract on any terms. mr. redding, waiting for his partner, who was at the south, to return, and greatly tried that he could get no word from him, had resolved, finally, to carry out his plan of dismissing all the clerks, and obtaining new, when the partner suddenly came back, and being made acquainted with the state of things, and feeling that mr. redding had not pursued the wisest course, undertook to manage affairs himself, by making each clerk responsible for all the goods within such and such spaces, or in such and such lines of wares. this scheme worked well for a few days; but the clerks revolted at it, as one after another suffered losses, and his partner became as much perplexed as was mr. redding. it was evident now that if one clerk was to be suspected of creating the "losses" which occurred in his department, several were to be suspected, and the partner finally coincided with redding and mr. phillips, who had finally given his judgment in favor of the plan of thorough change, and they proceeded to put their plan in execution, by dismissing ten clerks at first, and employing ten new ones in their places, which was done. the parting with some of the ten was quite affecting; but each bore from the house the best possible written commendation, and all were able, as i was afterwards told, to secure good situations in other houses. but mr. redding and his partner, seconded by mr. phillips, wished me to continue my investigations as i had opportunity, and settled with me up to the time, and i must add, generously, thanks to mr. phillips, who suggested that though we were all foiled, i was entitled to more than i charged, for i had, he said, actually kept the house on its legs by the moral support i had given mr. redding and him. i tried to dismiss the matter from my mind, but the chagrin i felt at having actually discovered nothing kept it constantly in memory, although i was as constantly perplexed with other and pressing business. i had by no means given up the matter finally, however; for i had known too many cases before, where the desired knowledge or evidence came only in accidental, or some most unlooked-for ways, and that a long while after it was most wanted, to give up all hope of solving this problem; and finally, some three weeks from the time to which i last refer, light began to dawn. i was on a hurried mission in a fourth avenue horse-car, on my way to the new haven depot at th street, in order to identify, if possible, a man there held in temporary custody, as the man whom i was seeking, charged with the commission of a crime in new jersey, when two ladies entered the car at th street. both of them would have been elegantly dressed, only that they were "over-dressed," and sparkling besides with an abundance of jewelry, which suggested vulgar breeding and sudden accession to wealth. the car was already full, and as no one else stirred,--mostly travellers with their bags, on their way to catch the train boston-ward,--i rose, and made place for one, which was immediately taken, with a bow of grateful recognition of my courtesy, for a wonder, by the better looking of the ladies. i do not know whether there is such a thing as magnetic attraction or not in the world, but sure it is that somehow i felt that lady to bear some important relation to my business before i observed her dress particularly, and nothing could have been further from my then present memory than that dress, and at first i could not at once call to my mind where i had seen anything like it; but suffice it that on slight inspection i discovered it to be of the same pattern with the one i had seen at mr. redding's store, with the twisted-column "ribs." i felt that, perhaps, here was a clew at last to the whole matter, but i was on business of equally great importance. the ladies, perchance, might be going out on the next train, but probably not. they might stop short of th street, and i _must_ go there, and what should i do? i surveyed the passengers, stepped to the front platform, and cast a look at a man there, and saw nobody whom i could address, and we were making more than usually rapid progress up. i had half resolved in my mind to send word up by the driver to th street, and get him to stop, by giving him a dollar, and run into the station-house, and say i would be up before long, and to follow the ladies myself, when, at the next crossing, there came on to the rear platform of the car as bright a black-eyed boy, of italian parentage, i saw at once, as could have well been found in the city. he had with him a basket, in which he carried some valuable toys for sale. i took a fancy to the lad, and asked him how old he was. "thirteen," was the reply, though he did not look over ten years of age. i asked him if he wished to earn five dollars that afternoon. his eyes sparkled, as he replied, "yes." i inquired of him where he lived, the number of his house, his name, that of his parents, and so forth, and took them all rapidly down on my diary. "now," said i, "here's my card. i am one of the officers of the city, and could find you out in any part of the city in the darkest night, and i want to make an officer of you for a little while" (and the boy looked up with proud wonder). "i will take your basket; you can come for it to-morrow to my office, and here are two dollars for you to begin with. i will give you the three dollars to-morrow, and you may bring your father along with you, if you like. i should like to see him, and may be, if you do well in the matter i am going to tell you of, he'll let you go to live with me, where you can make a great deal of money." i had hit the right chord, and the boy was all ears. in a low voice i told him of the two ladies in the cars, sent him to look at them, without their seeing him eye them, and come right out. i told him that i wished him to follow them, keeping at a distance behind, not let them suspect him, and if they separated, to follow the larger one (the lady with the peculiar silk dress), and if she stopped in stores or houses, to wait till she came out, and not give up watching her till he was sure she had stopped for the last time that day, and was at her home, and to take the number and street, so as to be able to go and point out the place to me. "could he do this nicely, and not be suspected?" the little fellow's pride was all aroused. he knew he could do it "all right," and he would follow her into the night, he said, if necessary. then i told him where i lived, and put the number on the back of my card, and told him if he got hungry or benighted to come and stay over night at my house. the little fellow had probably never been treated with such distinction before, for the tears came into his eyes. i had hardly got my arrangements with him made when the bell announced that somebody wished to get out at d street, and forth came the two ladies. i clapped his cap over the boy's eyes, that the ladies might not get a glimpse at those wonderful "orbs" of his, and took him on to the next street, when i let him off, with the injunction to "stick to it, and give me a good report." i had told him to use his money for rides in the omnibuses or cars, if necessary, and i would pay him; and this seemed to make him still prouder. i felt that that boy, whose name was giuseppi molinaro,--or what would be plain joseph miller, in english,--would do his duty. the wares in his basket, which i held, were worth considerable more than two dollars, and i was sure he would come back to me, and that he had too much pride to come back with a poor report; and i went on to th street, and fortunately identified my man there. had i sent up word by the driver, as at first i thought to do, the fellow would have been let go, and would have soon been in connecticut, beyond our reach. a search, which revealed a peculiar scar on his left thigh, the result of a successful combat with a couple of officers years before, revealed the villanous bank robber and wily scoundrel in the general way, beyond question, and notwithstanding he almost made me believe, by his protestations of innocence in spite of my fine memory of forms and countenances, that i had not known him eight years before. he, being properly taken care of, i returned to my home, thinking that the boy might come there in the night, as he did, and with an excellent report. the little fellow had followed instructions to the letter, and i indulged him in a detailed narrative of his exploits, which he gave with all the spirit of his race. the ladies had led him a long chase, but fortunately they had only resorted to cars and omnibusses, had not taken hacks, and he had managed to keep them in sight; and, to cut the matter short, he had tracked the lady in the peculiar silk evidently to her own home. i may properly stop here to say that giuseppi's experience that day gave him such impulse in the way of a detective's life that he finally became an officer, and is to-day one of the most efficient young men in his calling to be found anywhere in this or any other country. indeed, he has become rich in his profession--a thing not usual with detectives. i had half suspected that these over-dressed ladies might be traced into a house of ill-fame,--not that they looked altogether like prostitutes of the most "respectable" class, but there was enough in appearance to warrant a suspicion,--and i had rather dreaded such a result of affairs, because such people are so facile in the expedients of lying, etc., that if that which the lady wore were indeed the very dress-pattern stolen from the store, it would be difficult to trace it into the hands of the thief. but the boy had followed the lady into the respectable quarter of th street, near th avenue, and i felt at loss. i wanted him to stay, and go with me early in the morning to the place, but he could not. he said his father might punish him, although he brought home five dollars and should tell him his story. so i went home with him, and told his parents,--he interpreting in parts,--what the boy had done, and what i wanted. mr. molinaro was a very respectable looking man, and followed the business of an engraver on wood, as well as that of a lithographer also, and i took such an interest in the family as in time brought the boy quite exclusively under my charge. giuseppi returned home with me, and very early the next morning, before but a very few in the city were stirring, he and i had taken notes of the house in th street. it was an easy matter, some two hours thereafter, to learn from the nearest grocery-man, and a druggist in the vicinity, the name and character of the occupants of the house in question, and before two days had passed i had seen mr. william bruce,--said to be an operator in wall street,--the gentleman who occupied the place, enter and depart twice from that house, and had recognized in him an old acquaintance. but i had not possession of facts enough to warrant my making complaint against him, and so i proceeded to mr. redding's to burnish my memory as to the kind of articles which had been stolen from the store, keeping the secret of my special desire from mr. redding. his partner, together with the faithful clerk, mr. phillips, had gone to cincinnati, to settle with some house which had just failed, owing them quite an amount, and would not be back under two days or so, and i had not the advantage of mr. phillips's assistance in instructing me in what style of goods had been taken; but i got as good descriptions from mr. redding as he could give me, and the next morning found me at the house on th street, properly arrayed, with tools and all, in the character of a servant of the croton water board, wishing to examine all the pipes, faucets, etc., in the house. sarah crogan, as she gave me her name,--a buxom, laughing irish girl,--heard my story, and let me in. i told her to tell the mistress that i should be up stairs after examining matters in the basement; when she informed me that her master, mr. bruce, had gone off travelling somewhere, and that her mistress went off the afternoon before, to spend the night with a lady friend,--perhaps the one with whom i had seen her in the horse-car,--so i took things easy; and with a good deal of joking and merry-making with sarah, managed to go all over the house, and flattered sarah with showing me a great deal of her mistress's wardrobe, which was splendid indeed. (i confess i thought of it with some degree of envy, when i reflected what poor dresses, in comparison, a certain handsome and honest woman, who was the mother of my own dear children, was obliged to get along with.) and better than all, i identified, on some unmade-up dress-patterns, two of what i took to be, and what proved to be, of the peculiar cards which mr. redding's house attached to its goods, with secret cost-marks in ink. i had no difficulty in securing these without exciting sarah's suspicion, and having made all the research i cared to, left the house, not without, however, taking a cosy lunch with sarah in the basement, and flattering her, to such a degree, with the hope of future attentions from me, that she agreed not to say anything about the pipe-repairer's having been there. finding a pair of scissors in mrs. bruce's bedroom, i had made a few sly clippings from some of the unmade-up goods, and encountering the peculiar silk dress, hanging in a large closet with a dozen more of other styles, i had jokingly shut myself in, in a frolicsome way, with sarah, long enough to make a clipping from a broad hem in the inside of a sleeve of the dress. i felt quite satisfied that sarah would say nothing of the scotchman's having been there, for i assumed the rôle of a scotchman with her, which was by no means a bad dodge, as sarah was a north-of-ireland lass, and no catholic. duly in another garb, i was at mr. redding's, and told him my story. i took him into his private office, and told him to be perfectly reticent,--to say nothing to anybody, not even to his partner, or to his faithful clerk, mr. phillips, when they should have returned, until i should see him again; "for," said i, "the thief was one of your old clerks, and mr. phillips's heart is so kindly and soft, and he evidently thinks so much of the man, and will be so overcome with astonishment, that his sympathies may become aroused to the extent of interceding for him, or giving him a timely hint to 'clear out.'" mr. redding could not comprehend this, but promised to obey me, upon my saying to him that it was better always that there should be just as few to keep a secret as possible, however tried and trusted any might be. i knew that i should have to take things by storm, so, accompanying myself with a policeman, in the proper badge and dress, i called on mrs. bruce the next day, and sending for her, she came to the parlor, when i told her that i had business with her husband, and asked where i could find him. she produced the card of "william bruce, dealer in stocks, etc., wall street," from a little pile in a basket near at hand, which i took, and rising, thanked her, and started for the door, as if about departing, my friend doing the same; but reaching the door, i closed it. a slight pallor had been discernible upon mrs. bruce's face, on her entry into the room, evidently caused by the sight of a policeman, and it deepened as i closed the door, and said,-- "mrs. bruce, i am here with my friend, as an officer of the law, to search your house. your husband is not what his card purports here, as you well know, but he is a clerk in the employ of"--(naming mr. redding's house)--"and is a thief. the most of your splendid wardrobe, which i had the pleasure of inspecting in your absence day before yesterday, is the result of his thefts; and i am here prepared to take possession of it--preferring to do so quietly rather than make any noise in the neighborhood. i do not suppose that you have a guilty knowledge of his crimes. he probably does not tell you of them,--and i have no desire to do you any harm, or him either,--but the firm must have back their property, or as much as they can get; and as i see you possess a great deal of rich jewelry, i shall ask you to put the most of that into my hands till your husband can settle with the firm." she was perfectly stupefied through all this; declared that she had no belief that mr. bruce was any other man than he pretended to her to be; said she had had letters from his sisters living in pennsylvania, and that she believed he was an honest man, and would gladly give up to officers of the law anything in her possession, if it could help him, to do so. the upshot of the matter was, that several large trunks left that house that day, filled with rare goods and wares, and under the charge of the mayor's clerk (for i had arranged it with her that she might name anybody to take charge of the goods). sarah helped pack the trunks, and rendered us great aid, all unconscious that i was the pipe-repairer, her _quasi_-lover,--until just as i was leaving, catching her alone, i whispered something in her ear, which brought her astoundedly to her senses. she clasped my hand with a convulsive "squeeze," and looked unutterably into my eyes, quite as tragically as a fashionable lover, with her heart just a little broken for the twentieth time might have done, and said "silence!" in response to my utterance of the same word. the goods were taken to a proper place of deposit, and mr. redding was sent for, and succeeded in identifying some of them as surely having been in his store,--the unmade-up ones in particular,--and a peculiar shawl, of great value, only three of which his house had imported, and he knew where the other two had been sold. mr. redding was very anxious to have me proceed at once to unmask the clerk; but i told him that i preferred to await, for some reasons, till the return of his partner, and that just as soon as he returned i wished him to send me word, and a carriage to take me, and say nothing at all to his partner till i arrived. two days elapsed and the message came. i was fortunately at home, and took the carriage instantly, and was off for the house. i found that the partner and mr. phillips had returned but an hour before from a very successful trip to cincinnati, and mr. redding and they were in the counting-room congratulating themselves on their success. [illustration: the wolf in sheep's clothing.] "well, mr. redding," said i, "i suppose it is time to tell you my story. i am ready--" "stop," said he; and turning to his partner and mr. phillips, he said, "i've some good news to tell you, also. our friend here has been successful at last, and discovered the thief, and we've got back many of the goods. go on, and tell us the story, for i don't know yet myself who the thief is." the partner and mr. phillips looked in wonder into our and each other's eyes, and simultaneously said, "yes, yes, let's hear; and first," said mr. phillips, "let us hear the scoundrel's name, if you have it, and then the rest of the story." "ah, yes, sir," said i, "that _is_ the point first. his name, mr. phillips, is 'william bruce, dealer in stocks, etc.' (so his card says), ' wall street.'" mr. redding and the partner looked confused at the announcement (for i had told mr. redding that it was "an old clerk" of his), and mr. phillips, for a second, looked confused for another reason, which confusion was somewhat deepened, when i turned directly upon him, and said,-- "but mr. bruce has an alias, another name, and that is mr. _charles phillips_; and you, sir, are the scoundrel you inquired for!" phillips turned pale as a ghost, and tried to say something, but his voice failed. "mr. phillips," said i, "the house in th street has delivered up its treasures. they are all in my possession, together with your mistress's pearls, diamonds, and watches, and everything valuable which she, as your 'wife,' would permit me and the officer to take, and you are now my prisoner, without the slightest possibility, on your part, of escape from the full penalties of the law; and now i propose to send a carriage at once for 'mrs. bruce.' she, i am sure, don't know of your guilt, and would be happy to encounter her returned husband here in the person of mr. charles phillips, the time-old, confidential clerk of this house." phillips reached out his hands imploringly to me, and begged that i would not send for "mrs. bruce,"--said he was justly caught, and was ready to confess all, without our going to the trouble of a trial, and then commenced crying like a girl--hysterically. the astonishment of mr. redding and his partner can better be imagined, perhaps, than portrayed here. i never saw such a change come over a man as that which mr. redding evinced. all his old strength seemed to come back to him at once. he was inflexible and severe. he said but few words, and these always to the purpose. his disgust for phillips was something sublime. "o, you pious hypocrite!" said he; "you d----est of all 'whited sepulchres' that ever disgraced our common humanity! i am more angry that i have been so deceived by your pious villany, than for all the anxiety and sickness you have brought upon me. but, in your own pious cant, as you have meted it to others, 'so shall it be meted unto you,' you thief, libertine, and saintly class-leader!" mr. redding's partner, on the other hand, was differently affected. he cried, and said to phillips, "o, charles phillips, how could you? i know you must have had dreadful temptations. it was all that woman: she spurred you on." phillips was silent for a moment; and i, who believed the woman innocent of any knowledge of his crimes, waited anxiously to hear what he would say in reply; and the hardened man had the magnanimity to not shield himself behind the woman, but said, "o, no; she knows nothing of my guilt. she has not prompted me to it directly, but it was to support and to please her that i, without her knowledge, pursued my career of crime. i am the wickedest 'whited sepulchre,' as mr. redding calls me, that ever walked broadway, or disgraced the inside of a church. but i have got my punishment, in part, now, and i am ready, if you demand it, to suffer the penalties of the law; but for my wife's and children's sake, i could wish that i could compromise with you, and go away from new york forever." (his family resided in brooklyn.) to cut the tale short, i will only add, that mr. redding unbent, in the course of a day or two, sufficiently to let phillips off, on his promise to go at once to new orleans, where he had relations, and never show his face again in new york. the goods were returned--made and unmade dresses, and all; and the jewelry amounted to nearly enough to cover the best estimate of the losses which we could make. phillips made a full confession of how he did things. he was sly and wily, and easily abstracted such goods as he desired, and doing them up himself, sent them off by the porter, when sending out other packages. one of the porters remembered to have gone many times with packages for mr. or mrs. william bruce; and he also, he said, sent packages to various hotels, to impossible names, and marked on the corner, "to be called for;" and being able to describe the goods, if any query arose as to the propriety of giving the package to him, always succeeded in getting it. it was thus he managed. the house, at my suggestion, very generously furnished mrs. bruce with three months' support, out of compliment to her giving up the goods without resistance, and in order to give her time to turn about and find something to do; for, though unmarried, by legal formula, to phillips, as mr. bruce, she supposed herself his legal wife under the laws of the state, and was by no means a bad woman. indeed, she was a good woman at heart; and after in vain trying to get together a little private school, as the widow of william bruce,--for she insisted on being called mrs. bruce,--she turned to dressmaking, and did very well; and being a fine-looking, indeed, a showy woman, succeeded, in the course of two years after phillips's flight, in winning the affections of a much older man than phillips, but a wealthy and honest one; and was duly, and this time, with much ceremony, married. i did not meet sarah crogan again for over five years from the time i last saw her at th street; but she had not forgotten the croton water company's man. she had married meanwhile; but she vowed that it came "nare breakin' her heart, so it did," when she discovered that the "bould officer of the law" was her sweetheart of a day or two before, and had but "thricked" her into letting him go all over the house, "like a wild rover!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a forced-marriage scheme defeated. -------------- goshen, conn.--a lady stranger there--a pilgrimage to goshen, via the far-famed mountain town of litchfield--the beautiful widow--an unpleasant reminiscence of dr. ives, late bishop of north carolina--more about the widow--she leaves for new york--at the "mansion house," litchfield--a marked character encountered there--mr. "c. b. le roy" studied and weighed--the beautiful widow and le roy meet--her face discloses conflicting emotions--mr. le roy and the beautiful widow, mrs. stevens, take a walk down south street, in the "paradise of loafers"--sympathies silently exchanged--we all start for the "station"--the stage-coach "turns over"--the affrighted le roy reveals his manners--a peculiar scene in the cars--at bridgeport i present myself to mrs. stevens--at new york again--a tale of complications--mrs. stevens in deep trouble--a friend of hers seeks me--revelations--a fearful story--a secret marriage and unhappy consequences--the wretch le roy wants the widow's money--a trap set for le roy--he falls into it--the wedding scene disarranged--the widow saved, and the intended forced marriage defeated. in the summer of -, i had occasion to visit my brother, who was a clerk in a wholesale grocery store of one lyman, on water street, i think, and who, being consumptively inclined, had, at mr. lyman's suggestion, and through his kindness, gone to the town of goshen, litchfield county, connecticut, to spend a few weeks in the genial family of mr. lyman's father, and taste the bracing air of the hills of litchfield county, so far-famed. so delighted was my brother with his "country home," as he called it, that he wrote me as often as once a week, and sometimes twice, varying his letters, in the enthusiasm with which they were filled over the mountain scenery, the fresh air, the excellent hunting, the rides and drives, with now and then a word about a beautiful, mysterious lady, supposed to be from new york, and by some supposed to be a widow,--a gentle, sweet, good woman,--who bore some grief or other in her soul, as was evident, he said, but who, with excellent good sense, kept her affairs to herself, and would not obligingly recite the history of her life to the gossiping villagers of that country town, who, like those of all other towns away from the centres of business, and not even on the line of any great thoroughfare, "must have something to busy themselves about," and therefore mind each other's business considerably. goshen is reached by stage, a common country mail stage only, of the cheapest pattern, running up from litchfield, several miles north. litchfield itself being four or five miles from the station on the naugatuck railroad, and reached only over a heavy and steep road, at points almost perpendicular to the horizon, and withal a dangerous ride, if the stage-horses are not kept perfectly in hand. i did not know of this road, and the jolting character of the stages from the station to litchfield, and from litchfield on to goshen, or all the alluring words of my brother's letters might not have seduced me into acceptance, finally, of his invitation. but i went up to goshen, and once there, in the society of my brother, and some genial citizens to whom he presented me, passed four or five days of my stolen vacation most pleasantly. the supposed widow--and who proved to be one in fact--had, at the time i arrived in goshen, ceased to be talked about so generally as before, had won everybody's respect and kindness, and had taught the villagers one good lesson--the value of little, rather than great curiosity, about others and their business, by her impenetrable silence upon those matters about which they had no right to know anything. in her daily promenades with her little bouncing girl, of about five years of age, she passed by the house where i stopped, and one day, when my brother and i were taking the air along the public street, we met her. my brother--who knew her, but not well enough to arrest her in her walk, and present me--bowed to her, and on her turning up her face to respond to his salute, i felt that i had never seen such chastened beauty before. there was a slight evidence of a present, or the mark of a former grief or suffering in that rich face, which only seemed, however, to add to its beauty, or rather the soul-beauty which beamed through it. i felt as if i would almost be glad if that woman were to suffer some dire calamity, if i could only have the privilege of relieving her from it. years before, i had heard the late dr. ives, formerly episcopal bishop of north carolina, but who had then become a roman catholic, lecture one night in the old tabernacle, on broadway, new york. his discourse touched upon charity. he said, among other things, in substance, that god made some people miserable in order that others might cultivate the sweet grace of charity in their own hearts, by administering to their sufferings! i thought it a monstrous doctrine, and felt like throwing a book, which i chanced to have with me, at the doctor's head. but when i found myself imagining misery for that sweet woman, in order that i might abate it, the doctor's discourse came back to memory with a new meaning; and, in fact, i don't know but i could have seen a horse run over her, breaking an arm, _if_ i could have been on the spot in time to so far save her as to prevent a probable imminent death. the reader may well judge that my emotions were not of a faint nature, but such as it would be less improper for me to express here, perhaps, had i not at that time been a married man, with one of the best of soulful wives at home, longing for my return "from the country." but strange thoughts sometimes rise in the greedy souls of men, and we would love to possess, in order to make them happy, all the good beings of both sexes in the world. mrs. stevens--for so we will call her for the sake of a name--announced to the family, with whom she was stopping a day or two before i was to leave, that she was necessitated to return to new york in a day or two. the family were astonished, because she had previously declared her intention to remain a month longer. of course everybody in the village soon heard of her intended departure, and all begged her to stay. i was a little surprised; but i said to my brother, "her leaving so suddenly has some connection with that grief which we remarked in her face. she'll probably go by the same stage with me, and i'll learn more of her." the morning of my departure came, and brother said he would ride down to litchfield with me, and we took the lumbering stage together, confident that we should "take up" mrs. stevens on our way; but the stage passed the house at which she boarded, without her! the driver said she had started out before him, in a private wagon, with a neighbor, who was going to litchfield, and i felt easier; that i should, in short, still be able to keep my eye on her, and learn her evidently mysterious history, and possibly yet have the gratifying opportunity of being of service to her. we rode on. stage-drivers in the country, with their two-horse teams, have a peculiar pride in out-driving the one-horse vehicles which they may come upon on the road, and our ordinarily slow old driver became quite a jehu that morning, and drove past two or three teams which we overtook on the way, one of them being that which bore the beautiful widow and her no less beautiful child, and we arrived in litchfield before them, alighting at the "mansion house," the chief hotel of that centre of country aristocracy--a centre once of the best talent in the land, when calhoun, and many other great men of the nation, were students there, under such other great men as judges reeve and gould, of the once famous law school. mrs. stevens had received letters nearly every day, it was said, while in goshen, and it had been remarked that she had had letters as often as every other day from somebody, evidently a man, who wrote a peculiar hand, as the superscriptions showed. this, the family with whom she boarded, and who brought the letters from the post office to her, had said. my brother had occasion to carry up the letters for that family once or twice, and had remarked the peculiar style of writing in the address of letters to mrs. stevens. we naturally went into the office of the hotel, and brother, carelessly turning over the register, and noting the arrivals of the evening before, called to me: "see here--here's a 'mare's nest,' perhaps. i would swear that the man who writes so much to mrs. stevens wrote that name," said he, pointing to an inscription--"c. b. le roy, new york,"--made in a style which it would be almost impossible to successfully imitate; as markedly singular as a style of writing could well be. "i will swear it. what do you think?" asked my brother. "why, nothing, only that mr. le roy is here, and that his coming accounts for the sudden departure of mrs. stevens. we must get a view of him," i said. i had hardly uttered the words, before a man entered the room, and said to the young man behind the desk of the office,-- "is not that goshen stage behindhand this morning? i thought it was to arrive a half hour ago." "yes, sir, 'tis a little late this morning, but it has come," replied the young man. "come?" exclaimed the man; "and whom did it bring?" "those two men only," said the clerk. the man inquiring was a dark-complexioned, black-whiskered fellow, dressed a little _outre_, in a dandy-sort of style, had a half-professional look, but something very hard in the muscles of his cheek. he was evidently a little vexed at the stage's having brought no other freight, and a little nervous withal; and when in one of those spasms of nervousness in which men do this or that, or what not, without consciousness, he raised his hat from his head, i saw in him the imperious, heartless wretch, who could do anything which his baseness might chance to incline him to. he could play the merciless tyrant--if need were, cold-blooded, and without a pulse of sympathy for any suffering: and i saw more. that head was one never to be forgotten in its singular shape; a head that sends a thrill of disgust through one; and i at once saw that "c. b. le roy" (for i was sure the man before me was the man who had made the entry in the strange handwriting), was no other than a very wicked, low-lived lawyer, of whom i had had occasion to know something; but the name le roy was assumed. at last the wagon came, and mr. "le roy" was on the piazza in time, having been pacing the hall, evidently making up his mind to do something, he knew not what--something desperate, perhaps; and he bounded across the "walk" in front of the house, reached out his hand to mrs. stevens, caught the little girl in his arms first, and handed mrs. stevens to the ground. i happened to be watching the scene. the lady's face, on which for a moment was a forced smile, betrayed terribly conflicting emotions in her soul, as she passed into the hotel parlor behind le roy, who led the little girl playfully by the hand. "that le roy is a villain," said i to my brother; "and that woman is in some way in his power. there is no attraction between them. she hates him. but he has her in his grasp. if it were not that the goshen people think they know she has not much money, i should believe that he either has funds of hers in his possession, or that he is doggedly persisting in wringing them from her." "o, no, brother," replied my brother. "you detectives are always looking out for evil. i don't like that scamp's looks myself. i guess he's a bad fellow; but why not put the most natural construction upon the matter; that is, that the fellow is in love with that beautiful woman, as almost every other man in the world might be; for there isn't one in ten thousand like her; and that she, like thousands of other women, loves a scamp. they have met here evidently by appointment. he's going to take her home." "but didn't you see how she looked?" i asked. "yes; but she's a prudent woman; wasn't going to exhibit her affection outdoors, where she might be discovered by a dozen; besides, that neighbor who brought her might have an unpleasant story to tell. i know him and he's as gossipy as an old woman; she knows him, too, of course." "but my opinion is formed, brother," said i. "i shall keep an eye on them, and i'll let you know in time, all about it. i haven't told you yet that i know that scamp. i detest him. he is no less than ----;" but my brother chanced not to have heard of him, and so the conversation dropped for the moment. we were obliged to wait for the stage to the station for some two hours; and mr. le roy and mrs. stevens sallied out with the little girl, to enjoy the fine air, perhaps, of the morning, and sauntered down "south street," so i think it is called; a fine broad avenue, lined with beautiful elms, and on which are many of the residences of the principal "nabobs" of that old town of litchfield, which somebody has facetiously termed "the paradise of loafers"--elegant ones. in summer, many people from cities, far and near, spend weeks and months at litchfield; and my brother and i followed along after le roy and mrs. stevens, for i was bound to study him then and there as much as possible. we noticed that all of the promenaders who were coming in the opposite direction,--and there were several out that morning,--gazed upon mrs. stevens with expression of wonder at her beauty; and then seemed to look from her to her attendant with shrugs of the shoulders and a leer of the eyes, as they instinctively read his true character. there is a magnetism about the coarser villains, a something indescribable and individual too, not of the same kind and degree in all, which discloses their real nature, however much they may try to hide it. as well might a short man hope to appear tall. but the great, successful villains, the keen men, who succeed by their genius, and not so much by force, constitute another class; genial, affable, often very delicate and refined in their appearance, attractive in short, especially to women. indeed, they seem to work a spell over nearly every woman they meet. le roy was one of the coarser class, whose villanous natures the tailor's art cannot hide, however neatly they may be dressed,--and he was much adorned that day. we followed on behind le roy and mrs. stevens at a respectful distance. occasionally le roy cast a glance behind; but we were occupied with our own fun and laughter, or were busily engaged looking at this or that place, or distant scene, whenever he did so. the conversation between him and her was apparently one of an intense nature, he gesticulating considerably, in a forcible manner, and i noticed that when she turned up her face to look at him, as she did when evidently answering some question of his, there was visible a painful expression of fear of something, and i was sure it must be of him. she kept a little space between herself and him, leading her child on the side nearer him or when the child at times ran on before, i observed that she "sidled" away from him, as if too near approach were pollution. i thought her manifestations unmistakable; and there was in his actions something which was as readily translatable, to the extent, at least, that he felt he had an important victim in his power; and so he had, as the sequel proved; but not so surely as he thought--the villain! le roy and mrs. stevens continued their walk far down the street, and turned about to go back. i said to my brother, "engage his eyes as we meet, and i will study her face." soon we met. brother stared him so directly in the face as to secure his whole attention. he seemed to wince, my brother said; and i looked into the face of mrs. stevens,--how beautiful!--and i was conscious that i must have expressed a deep sympathy, for i felt it. something told me that she felt it, too. there was a slight flush upon her cheek, and a kindly, prayerful look in her eye, like one needing sympathy, and we passed each other. "you are right," said my brother, as we got well past; "that man _is_ a villain, without doubt. i don't think it is love, or even a desire to possess that woman for himself, which moves him; there's a 'wheel within a wheel,' here somewhere." i asked my brother to describe to me minutely then the looks of the villain as we passed him, for i had half a fear that he might suspect we were watching him. but from what my brother said, i concluded that the fellow was not suspicious of us. they returned to the hotel in due time. he dogged her every step, and she kept aloof from him as much as possible. finally the time to depart came, and we took the stage together, my brother bidding me good by, shaking my hand with a firm grasp, just as the stage started, and saying,-- "i hope you will have the best success." there was a fervor in his tone, coming from his good heart, which strengthened me, and moved me to stronger resolves than ever to ferret out the iniquity which i knew le roy must be engaged in. mrs. stevens took the back seat, with her child next to her, and le roy crowded in at the other end of it; and although there were only another man and myself as passengers besides, i took the front seat, facing them, in order to have opportunity to study them as quietly as possible. le roy attempted conversation at various times. the lady answered him in monosyllables--not inclined at all to carry on the conversation. she seemed to me to be hopeless; looked like one who would rather not be than to be, and quite frequently looked down into her child's eyes with gleams of evident pity, and would then turn away her head, and express, what i took to be, despair. an unfortunate circumstance took place just as we had passed a few rods down the ridge of the great hill, or mountain, which divides litchfield from "litchfield station." there had been a terrible shower the day before,--one of those sudden rains, which come on, gathered up by a fierce wind, and pour down in torrents. the road was badly gullied, and men were there repairing it, having scraped great heaps of earth into the road, not yet spread. "can i get by?" asked the driver of the coach of some of them. "yes, go ahead; seymour's team just went along." the driver pushed on, not checking his horses sufficiently, and coming upon a heap in which was concealed a large stone, the stage toppled, trembled for a second, and we went over, amidst the screams of mrs. stevens and her child, and the affrightened groan, "o, o," in a mean, cowardly voice of le roy. there was a momentary plunging of the horses and dragging of the stage. the men on the road were at the coach in a moment. the stage had fallen over on the side on which mrs. stevens sat, and le roy was stepping on her in his attempt to get himself upright, without an apparent particle of consciousness of her presence. being thrown on my knees, i pushed him upward with my hands, saying,-- "you'll kill this lady, and her child" (who, fortunately, was lying back of her mother, out of harm's way, however); "why don't you take care, sir, what you are doing?" the brutal eyes of the man looked at me with wrath. "i'll mind my own business, sir," said he, "without your interference!" i pushed him up still harder, and looked at the same instant into the beautiful suffering face of mrs. stevens. she gave me a knowing look, as her face was suffused with contempt for the brutal remark of le roy. [illustration: break-down on litchfield hill.] in aiding her to get out of her painful position, which i did as soon as le roy was out of the way, i saw that i had won her respect, and i thought, too, something of her confidence. the stage was uprighted, and went on to the station safely enough, where i, alighting first, gave her my hand to help her out, and took out her little girl; and at once, with a bow, and steady look in the face, of that sympathy i felt, turned away, for i saw that le roy was angry, and i thought he would vent his anger upon her. i kept out of his sight till they had taken a car of the train which now came down the road, and going into the rear of the same car, and on the opposite side, where i could see her face to advantage, took my seat a little in the rear. much did le roy try to talk; but mrs. stevens was not to be provoked into much conversation. the little girl, who sat in the seat before them, and facing them,--her seat having been turned back,--was constantly looking at me; and at my distance i got up a childish "flirtation" with her, which seemed to annoy le roy. he looked back several times only to find me smiling, and tried to smile, or pretended to, himself; but such a man can never smile warmly. we arrived at bridgeport, where we had to tarry but a short time,--half an hour, perhaps,--before taking the new york train. i saw that le roy had gone out, probably to get a strong drink at some saloon, opposite the depot, there; and i entered the ladies' room, and diverting the child for a moment, with some other children, so as to be able to speak a word to the mother, i said, "madam, i am a detective police officer. i see that you are in deep trouble of some kind. i do not wish to know what, now; but here is my private card. that's the number of my residence. if you ever need aid, come to my house, and if i am not at home, see my wife, and arrange with her as to where you can find me. i am not, madam, seeking business; i will gladly serve you without reward." "o, sir, i thank you; may be i _shall_ want you," was uttered in reply, in tones, accompanied by a look, too, which told the deep grief of her heart. i had hardly time to get away when le roy came back. in choosing my car for the train to new york, i watched them again, and took the same car, but failed to secure so favorable a position, although i kept them in sight. having given my trunk into the hands of the solicitor for the express company, who passes through the cars when near new york, i took a carriage, and ordered the driver to follow the one taken by le roy and mrs. stevens, and to keep at a respectful distance. we followed on; at last they alighted, le roy resuming his carriage, and driving on. knowing now the lady's residence, it was no trouble for me, in a few days' time, to learn her history, so far as generally known to her friends. she was a teacher, formerly from vermont, and had married a mr. stevens some years before,--a man supposed to be rich,--the son of a very wealthy man. during her husband's life she had been well cared for. he had gone abroad for some reason, had died in europe something like a year or so before, and she was, obviously, now comparatively poor. this was the substance of all i could learn. on my arrival home that day, i told my wife about mrs. stevens, what i had seen, etc. her interest in her became as deep as mine, and often afterwards, for a long while, she would say, "i wonder what has become of that poor mrs. stevens!" the duties of my calling constantly connecting me with other people's miseries, had, after a lapse of a few months, quite driven mrs. stevens from my mind. as she had not sought me, i inferred that her troubles had been settled; and so she had vanished almost from memory, when, one day, on returning home, i found that a lady had been to my house, told my wife of the sufferings of a mrs. stevens, who had my card, on which she had written "detective officer." this woman knew that mrs. stevens was in great affliction; that she had been oppressed for months, by a wretched man by the name of le roy; that there was something wrong; that mrs. stevens was to soon marry this fellow, although the woman knew well enough that she could not and did not like him--in fact hated him, for they had overheard some words between them. her sympathies were so great for her that she wanted somebody better able than she, she said, to find out the trouble, and save mrs. stevens. i asked my wife, on her telling me where this woman lived,--in the same building with mrs. stevens,--how the woman looked, how she was dressed; for i was surprised at finding her in that quarter of the city. "o," she said, "plainly, poorly, but neatly dressed--looked like a sempstress." and i at once saw that misfortune had been playing with mrs. stevens, she having gone down from a somewhat elegant boarding-house into a respectable but poor quarter. my wife had told the lady that i would look into the matter; and that night i made haste to visit her, calling on the other lady first, to find whether i might obtrude upon other callers. i found that i might call without intrusion; and mrs. stevens expressed great pleasure at seeing me. after a few words had passed, i told her i knew she was in trouble, and asked her why she had not demanded my services, which were ever ready for her. "o, sir," said she, "my troubles took such a shape that i knew you could not help me--nobody can. i am driven on by despair; but for my child, i think i should have long since committed the crime of suicide," and the tears streamed from her eyes. i was so convulsed with sympathy that i could hardly speak, but mustering as firm a voice as i could, i said, "madam, have hope. there never was a case so desperate yet, but some chance of escape might be involved in it. i do not wish to pry into your affairs, but i know you are suffering wrongfully, and i could wish that you might tell me enough to enable me to see if i cannot help you; and let me say here, that i know enough already to be aware that your chief trouble is in some way connected with le roy." "le roy!--do you know him? "she exclaimed. "ah, i forget. you know him, of course; but do you know any more about him than travelling with him that day--and what do you know?" "yes, i know him as a miserable villain,--heartless and coarse." "i think you must know him, for he is all that you call him. that he is heartless and coarse, repulsive and tyrannical, is true. i do not know that he is criminal; but i fear he is. do you know?" "yes, he is; as such a nature could not well otherwise be--" "o, then my condition is worse than i thought," said she, sobbing. i consoled her all i could, and in the result induced her to acquaint me with her story,--and it was a fearful one, in many respects,--which i shall not here relate; bad enough, as you will see, in those which i shall tell. it was, in brief, this. she had married privately the son of a wealthy man, who had intended that his son should form an alliance with the daughter of an old schoolmate of his, a wealthy new york merchant, residing in brooklyn. but the young man could conceive no affection for this young lady--revolted; declared that he had a right to choose a wife for himself. his father, who had intended to get him up in business with a large capital, being angry with his son's refusal to even attempt the alliance he desired for him, turned him off with only a comparatively small amount of money, and threatened that if he ever married anybody else but the girl he desired him to marry, he would cut him off in his will. the son, falling in love with the lady in question, married her privately; and it so chanced that le roy, happening to be at the minister's house, calling on a servant girl, at the time of the marriage, was called in with the girl as a witness. the son, mr. stevens, had gone to europe, and died there. but, just before his death, his father had died intestate, and the son's child became entitled to her part--a fourth, if i rightly recollect--of a large estate; but there was no evidence of the marriage save that which le roy could furnish; as the servant girl had gone nobody knew where. an advertisement in the herald had failed to find her,--she might be dead,--and the minister who performed the ceremony could not identify mrs. stevens. but le roy, when hunted up by mrs. stevens, recognized her, and seeing here a chance to make money,--she having unfortunately told him why she needed his testimony,--refused to swear to his signature unless she would marry him, pretending at once to fall violently in love with her. and the poor woman had gone on resisting his offer of marriage, till at last driven to almost distraction, and mourning over the future of her child, she had consented, for her sake, to marry the wretch. she had told him that she would try to become guardian for her child in the surrogate's court, and would save all she could from her allowance from year to year for him. but the father having died first, and the son having right, therefore, to a large amount of personal property, which would become in good part his wife's, if the estate should happen to be so divided that she got other than real estate for his share, the scamp saw that he would likely have the handling of the funds, so deemed that he might possibly induce her to give all to him, to get rid of him--would not yield the point. marry him she should, or she and her child might starve. at last, having been constantly dogged by him in the city,--he having written her letters almost daily while at goshen,--having followed her as far as litchfield, and written her a letter compelling her to return to the city, that he might have more immediate communication with her, she, to save herself from poverty, and from the greater motive of preserving her child from want, and to secure her just rights, had consented to marry him within a week. every day was adding to her gloom and distress. she loathed the man; but she saw no way out of the trouble but to marry him, privately, whereupon he was to go forward and swear to his signature, his presence at her marriage to mr. stevens, etc. the widow cried bitterly. i sympathized deeply with her. i could see no way out of the dilemma; but i reflected that one might possibly be hunted out; and i said to her, "madam, don't give up hope till the last minute. we've time to work a little yet. something will turn up to aid you--be sure of it." "o," said she; "o, i hope, i pray there may; and--yet, o my child! my child!--o, i fear i am doomed!" i consoled her all i could, and left her, agreeing to return duly. getting out upon the street, and taking a few listless steps, i conjured my brain for an expedient. at last i resolved to devote myself to the work of freeing that woman at all hazards; and instantly i had firmly fixed that resolve, i felt (for some reason which is inscrutable to me, unless the doctrine of our having "guardian angels" is true), that a new power of thought possessed me; and i seemed to see the straight way out of this difficulty at once; and although it did not prove a way of thornless roses, exactly, i did see it pretty clearly--for i hit upon a man who proved able to give me just such information as i wanted; and i went straightway to my old friend, jordan williams, formerly a detective, and who, i thought, knew le roy. i told my story in confidence to williams, and said, "now if we can manage in some way to get le roy into limbo for some of his misdeeds, we can frighten him out of this scheme, and make him give the requisite testimony." "yes, yes," said williams, "and although i am no jesuit, yet if ever the 'end justified the means,' whatever they are, it would in this case. le roy is guilty of a thousand crimes, but he has some sort of influence with the courts and officers, and we could not get him up on any former crime. he must be guilty of a fresh one. let's see; let me manage this part. they are to be married within a week? well, i saw le roy day before yesterday; he looked rather seedy for a bridegroom. he asked me then if i could loan him a little money, which i of course refused to do. ah, i have it; he must want a suit of clothes, and other things; i'll fall in his way to-night, and if he asks for money, as he will, i will give him a check for fifty dollars on my bank. i have three thousand dollars and over, there, now. my habit is to always make figures (i hate to write out the full words,--you know i don't write over well),--and then fill up the blank with a line. on the back i'll put the figures $ . he'll see that, and i'll leave a little space after the figures $ , on the face, for another 'nought.' i'll have a witness to the size of the draft, before i hand it to him. he'll surely never let such a chance go. he'll want five hundred to splurge with on his bridal tour, you see, and he'll think he can make it all right with me." williams's ingenious plan worked. le roy wanted one hundred dollars. williams declared he would not let him have but fifty--he must borrow the other fifty elsewhere; and he wrote out a note for fifty for le roy to sign, payable in ten days from that time, as le roy wished it, and gave the check to him, having first shown it to a friend, who put a private mark on it. le roy fell into the trap. next day the five hundred dollars were drawn--early, too; for only late in the morning williams went to the bank to draw out his deposit, in order to learn whether the draft had been presented. the bank, of course, in rendering his account, debited him, among other things, with the five hundred dollars, at which he expressed astonishment and indignation, as was his right to do, and refused to settle with the bank that morning, and they held on to the draft of course. williams lost no time in communicating with me, and i hastened to the widow's; told her to be a little more yielding to le roy; to put on a more pleasant face, and to abide the result, with the assurance that she was to be delivered from the clutches of le roy at last; giving her some money to assist her in her distress. i advised her how to proceed with the arrangements for the marriage; went home and instructed my wife, who took as much interest in poor mrs. stevens's fate as did i; put her in communication with mrs. s.; and it was finally arranged that the wedding should take place at a cousin's of mine, who occupied a house in a very respectable portion of the city, and who, and whose wife, were let into the secret so far as proper. mrs. stevens was to represent this lady to le roy as an old friend of hers, whom she had come across of late, and who was assisting her. mrs. stevens was all this while kept profoundly in the dark as to what course was finally to be pursued; and notwithstanding she borrowed much confidence from my perfect confidence, yet i could see that she was nervous, and feared a little that after all she might be victimized to le roy. i saw to it that the legal portion of the matter was properly attended to. williams settled with the bank under protest, alleging that the draft was a forgery, etc., the cashier agreeing to identify le roy when called upon; and at the last moment he was let into the secret that le roy was to be arrested on the night of the proposed wedding, and with williams was duly on hand at the house, and properly secreted. officers, two of them, were engaged to follow le roy, and at a given signal from me, were to enter the house. mrs. stevens had been allowed the choice of a minister; but the people of the house thought best to secure the minister of the church which they attended. le roy came in a carriage that evening, in great style. he was going to take the next train to philadelphia, with his bride. he was as well arrayed as the great house of devlin & co. could dress him, and had probably borrowed, or by hook or by crook had procured a valuable diamond pin; and looked like a--well, a polished scoundrel; but he could not hide the intrinsic villany of that face. the cashier of the bank was a notary public, and had, at my request, brought along his seals and stamp. i should add that my cousin had invited in several friends, who came in partial evening dress, making quite a lively party. [illustration: the ceremony defeated.] i was flitting about, making myself generally useful, and so disguised that le roy had no notion who i was. the time appointed for the ceremony drew on. poor mrs. s. was in a flutter. le roy tried to sooth her, took her aside and talked to her a little; put her arm in his; looked very proud, but a little provoked, as if he feared that at last she'd fail him--faint away, perhaps. the hour came, the attendants began to draw into order, and the minister, too, put on his gravity, asking that the parties to be married take their place, and le roy stepped forth to lead up mrs. s., who sat at the end of the long parlors. full of pride was he, suddenly to be humbled. as he approached her, i cast a glance at puzzled mrs. stevens, tripped to a side window, gave the appointed signal, and the door-bell rang with great fury, as i had ordered. all the people present were startled, and on the _qui vive_ to know what such a call could mean. "a fire somewhere!" "is this house on fire?" "o, dear! what can it mean?" was ejaculated, etc., etc. meanwhile the servant had rushed and opened the door. "does mr. ---- live here?" asked the officers. "yes." "is he in?" "yes." "we wish to see him." "take seats in this room," said the servant. "he'll be down presently. there's a wedding going on up stairs." "we can't wait--call him;" and the servant ran to call him, and the officers pushing on after him, entered the room. le roy was talking to his expected wife, and, facing the door, i was there, and giving the officers the secret hint, they exclaimed,-- "our man, by heavens! mr. ---- (my cousin), whoever you may be, you must pardon us; but mr. le roy, here is our prisoner. sorry to break up a nice party; but, le roy" (proceeding to collar him), "we've hunted you out; been after you all day; a pretty man to be married; better have arranged your funeral." the ladies screamed, and said, "o, o!" mrs. stevens sank back upon a sofa, half fainting at the joy of her delivery, but not seeing yet how it was to be accomplished; and le roy stormed at the "outrage." "villains," said he, "what's your charge?--rascals, come to extort money, i suppose;" but his boastfulness subsided, as one of the officers whispered quite shrilly in his ear, "williams is after you for the five hundred dollar forged check. we've got you, and there's no escape." the minister was the most confused man i ever saw--quite lost his self-possession. i pointed the officers to a room, whither they took le roy, whoso astonishment on encountering williams there cannot well be conceived. "you villain!" exclaimed williams. "how dared you to abuse my kindness--you dog? you've no fool to play with. i've caught you, and at last you shall suffer for your crimes as you ought." a tap on a door, leading into an adjoining room, and the cashier entered. "who's that man?" asked williams of the cashier, pointing to le roy. "mr. le roy, the man who presented this check. the teller was out, and i occupied his place so early in the morning." "and i," said i, stepping up to le roy, and removing my slight disguise of full whiskers, revealing the side whiskers i was accustomed to wear, "do you know me?" (he did at once recognize me). "what do you think now of your ability to 'attend to your own business,' as on that day the stage upset in litchfield?--officers," said i, "take away your man. he's good for five or ten years, if not fifteen, at sing sing." le roy turned pale--stammered out something, and sat down--saw he was caught. i motioned the ladies away from the door, and asked to be allowed to close it, desiring the officers, too, and all but williams, to go into other rooms, and closed the doors. "le roy," said i, "i am master here. i understand the whole matter of your villany with that woman. you have only one means of escape. here's a writing i have prepared for you. i'll read it." it was a simple statement that he recognized his signature to the marriage certificate of mr. and mrs. stevens; that he saw the servant girl sign hers; that he was called in as witness, being there visiting the girl; that he not only saw her sign the document, but that he had read many notes from her, and knew her handwriting, and that this signature was hers; in short, a succinct statement of all the facts i could get hold of in the matter of the marriage. "sir," said i, as i finished reading the document, "tell me if that is all true." he tremblingly said, "yes." i opened the door, and asked the cashier to come in, in his character as notary public; got pen and ink for le roy, and asked him to put his signature to the statement. it was a perfect fac-simile of that subscribed to the marriage certificate. the notary, at my request, put him under oath, mr. williams and i having left the room for the time, so that the notary could properly state that he acknowledged the signature to be made by him without fear, and not under duress, etc. the notary gave us the signal to return, and i went into the parlor, found mrs. s., and said, "it is done. he is caught. you are saved. the property is yours." she did not faint away, as many a woman might, though she trembled with joy. "let me take you before the wretch," i said. "i have not done with him yet." mrs. s. took my arm, and accompanied me. entering the room, i closed the door behind me, only williams and the cashier being there, and proceeding to le roy, i said, "your victim is safe, you villain--and now we have but one thing more for you to do. you must consent to be handcuffed, and taken to private apartments by the officers, and there kept till to-morrow, or you must go to the tombs at once. the forgery is proved upon you, and there is no escape but one; that is, go to the surrogate's office to-morrow, and swear to your signature, as you have done here. i have taken the precaution to put you on your oath, and secure your signature for comparison at this time. you see you are caught." "i will, i will!" said le roy, trembling. he hated the thought of imprisonment. he had suffered it once for two years, and nearly died of the confinement. "but there's one thing more yet. you must deliver to mr. williams, or the cashier here, whichever you please, all the money you have saved out of the five hundred." "i will, i will!" said he, with alacrity; and drawing his wallet, pulled forth a roll containing two hundred and ninety-five dollars of it, which was given to the cashier, who identified it, marked it, and put it in his pocket. le roy was immediately given into the hands of the officers, and taken to their apartments for the night. we paid his coachman his charge, and sent him away. there was rejoicing in that house that night, not over nuptials consummated, but broken; and a happier being never lived than seemed mrs. stevens. "not only that my child is safe," said she, "from penury and starvation, but that i have escaped the presence of that loathsome man." the cashier went home. mrs. stevens, williams, and i had a conference, in which she gladly agreed to pay williams for his loss of over two hundred dollars, or rather that of the bank, for it was the bank's in fact; and we dismissed her, williams consenting that, though we had promised le roy nothing, yet if he went forward and did all he promised next day, faithfully, it would be no great crime to not have him duly arrested and tried, considering, too, the way in which he was caught. but after all, though, he went forward, and did as he agreed, and ought to have done, we made complaint, and lodged him in jail, where he remained for some three months; when, no one appearing before the grand jury against him, he was released, not, however, till i had visited him, and given him notice that he must leave new york forever, or we would re-arrest him; and he fled, greatly to mrs. stevens's relief. what became of mrs. stevens; how she became an inmate of my house while the estate was being settled; how happily she is now living, and many things which i should delight to relate regarding all this matter, have no particular relation to a detective's life and duties; and so i end this, the really most interesting affair of my life, with the simple prayer that, if there are in the wide world others as horribly persecuted as was mrs. stevens, as happy deliverance may come to them, as was that to her. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the marked bills. -------------- a little key bearing a monogram shapes the destiny of an intelligent man--how this man came to be involved in the matter of which this tale discourses--my partner and i--far-off mysteries may solve nearer ones--a consultation--a committee "seek light," and find consolation--burglaries and highway robberies by the wholesale--my partner leaves for europe--a town in ohio infested--a "doctor hudson" appears in the town--he makes a professional visit to one mr. perkins--a colloquy; seeking light--a callous hand, and a clew to mysteries--"doctor hudson" extends his acquaintanceship--he makes a night's visit out of town, and gets waylaid and robbed, but manages to create the fatal evidence he wants of the robbers' identity--a council of principal citizens--"doctor hudson" makes a disclosure--a scheme laid--a "military investment" of a domestic fortress; an exciting hour--breaking into a house at midnight and surprising a sleeper--the thief leaves town to go to cincinnati to study medicine with "doctor hudson"--a suicide--puritanic mercilessness--the music teacher's ingenious letter to his lady love. it is of an occurrence, which took place seven years ago this very month in which i am writing this sketch, that i propose to tell the tale--at midnight; having been unable to sleep much of late, and having now risen from my bed, taken my pen, and set myself at work, with the hope that some continuous mental labor may bring on drowsiness by and by; which, by the way, will not, i trust, affect or infect my narrative. seven years ago, then, this month, my partner was called on to go into his native town in the southern portion of ohio, to assist in ferreting out the perpetrators of sundry highway robberies, burglaries, etc., that were constantly taking place there, and whom it baffled the sagacity of the citizens of the place, and several constables, deputy sheriffs, detectives from cincinnati, and so forth, to detect. as a _dernier resort_, the villagers had made up a purse, and appointed a committee to proceed to new york, and wait upon my partner, with the whole story of the countless robberies, and see if he could not lay some plan which should prove successful in the arrest of the villains. my partner had left his native place in his sixteenth year,--a more than usually bright boy,--had wandered south, working out his own fortune by slow degrees; studied law, and been admitted to practice at washington, texas; tried practice for a year or so with some success, but disliked the profession; went to galveston; made the acquaintance there of an iron-founder and machinist by the name of hunt, if i rightly recollect, who, taking a liking to him, employed him in his office. my partner having excellent mechanical ability, passed much of his time in the work-rooms of the machine department, and became quite a skilful operator. one day some persons of foreign birth applied at the machine-shop,--as there was no other place in galveston where they could get the work done,--to have some three or four keys made after certain patterns which they provided. the work was done for them, and in the course of time it came out that these keys had been used in the commission of an extensive burglary at san antonio. one of the keys had been lost, and by chance bore a peculiar mark--a sort of monogram, which mr. hunt caused to be impressed, when proper, upon any work which was issued from his establishment. the key being new, and it being evident that the skilful burglars must have had long acquaintance with the premises which they invaded, a sheriff of san antonio surmised that the keys must have been made somewhere in texas, perhaps to the order of some old residents of that state. in fact, he had his eye of suspicion upon some persons who had long borne unenviable characters.--in what place were these made more likely than in galveston queried he? so he sent the key to a sheriff of galveston for his inspection, and asked him, if possible, to find out who made the key, and for what description of person it was made. the sheriff of galveston instantly recognized mr. hunt's monogram. taking down a pair of handcuffs which hung upon a nail in his office, said he to the messenger, "see here! these were made in england, but i had occasion to get hunt's establishment to repair them a little, six months ago, and there, you see, (pointing to the monogram), he put on his stamp." it was only the matter of a walk of ten minutes to hunt's establishment, and as many minutes more spent in getting a detailed account from the workmen and from my partner--hunt's then clerk--of the personal appearance of the two men who ordered the keys, when the messenger became convinced that the suspicions of the officers at san antonio had fallen upon the wrong persons; and he thought he knew the real parties,--comparatively very respectable people,--one a well-to-do and educated middle-aged planter, living a little outside of san antonio,--and so it proved. the parties were arrested and tried. my partner was called as a witness to identify them. the trifle of a lost key, and the little monogram almost carelessly stamped on it by the mechanic, having led to such results, touched the romantic, speculative nature of my partner, and he was never easy after that till, in the course of time, he had found his way into the business at new orleans, from which city he finally came on to new york to reside. mr. hunt kept up a correspondence with him for years, always trying to get him back into his employ, making him excellent offers, but he never returned to him, save on a visit. now it happened that mr. hunt was a native of the same village, or its vicinity, in which my partner was born, and on his summer visits there,--which he made nearly every year,--he had often descanted upon the great talents and ingenuity of my partner. thus was it that the committee came to wait upon him. but it was impossible for him to go there with them, or visit the place for a long while, for he was to take steamer the day but one thereafter for england, at the instance of commodore vanderbilt, to aid in investigations into some transactions in which it was believed that certain american scoundrels, whom my partner knew, were involved. we had been introduced to the committee as the partner of the firm, and we had listened to a portion of the story, when my partner announced the fact of his intended visit to england, and added; "but, gentlemen, that need be no loss to you, for my partner here can be of as much service to you as i,"--being, in his kindness, pleased to add,--"and, i think, probably more. if you please to accept him in my place, i am sure you will suffer no loss. he will track out the villains if anybody can." the committee expressed their great regrets at not being able to secure my partner's services, but said they would tell us their story in full, and if, after hearing it, i thought i could be of service to them, they would like to have me go out there. he listened to their recital of the numerous burglaries, robberies from the person, and so forth, with great patience, each of us asking a few, but a very few questions, at different points of their narrative. long before they got to the end of the doleful story, and after having asked not over a half dozen questions at most, my partner, i clearly saw from his manner, had formed his theory, and i saw that he thought it an easy case to work up. when the committee had finished, my partner said to them, "gentlemen, excuse us for a few minutes. i wish to consult my partner," and rising, stepped into the next room, whither i followed him, shutting the door behind me, when my partner, clapping his hand with an air of victory on my shoulder, whispered to me, "an easy case, old boy, eh? i suppose you've worked up the theory by this time? don't you see straight through it?" "no, i confess i don't see through it all; but i've got some glimpses of light." "well," said he, "i've told you about that san antonio case, which first started me into the detective business--haven't i?" "yes; but i don't see the bearing of that on this exactly!" "don't see? why there was only one peculiar feature about that, and there's the like in this case, if i am not mistaken; that is, these robberies are perpetrated, not by old, skilful burglars, but by raw hands, comparatively, who reside right about there, and are probably 'respectable citizens'--teach sunday-school, likely enough." with this from my partner, which struck me then as the true theory, we analyzed the stories of the committee in the light of it, and became perfectly assured that the theory was right, and were about proceeding to the next room to talk further with the committee, when my partner said, "see here, we mustn't tell these men our theory. who knows but some of them,--o, that can't be; they are too old, too clumsy, not alert enough, and too honest too, for that,--but some of their relations, their sons or nephews, perhaps, are the villains who are doing all this work! no, we mustn't tell them." so we hit upon what we would say. stepping into the room where the committee sat, looking as sedate and sombre, by the way, as if they were judges sitting upon some complex trial for arson, murder, and what not, they looked up, and one of them asked, "well, gentlemen, what conclusion have you come to?" my partner quietly replied, "we have worked out our theory." "pray tell us what it is?" exclaimed one of the committee, his face lighting up as if scales were falling from his eyes, and he was to be suddenly extricated from the "mystery of darkness." "well, gentlemen," he responded, "my partner and i have satisfied ourselves that we are on the right track. in our business, you must know, one case is often suggestive in unraveling another. we get to be able to track old offenders, as the indian tracks his enemy through the forest. it would take me too long to explain the whole mystery to you. but you may be sure that we've got hold of some of the right 'ear marks' of these villains, and my partner is not only willing to undertake the case, but i am confident that he will work it out all right. this is all i can say to you on that point. shall he go ahead?" "certainly, certainly," responded the committee, one after the other, "if _you_ think it can be done; our neighbors must have relief from these outrages." "well, one thing i wish to enjoin upon you, gentlemen. in calling a public meeting, and appointing you as a committee to come publicly to me, your citizens have taken false steps. your business ought to have been kept private--known only to a few of you at most, and that in positive secrecy. now the first steps toward undoing this false one, is for you to report, on your arrival home, that you couldn't get me; that i was on the point of starting for europe; but that you told me your story, and i said it was all the work of some old burglars, whom the police had driven out from this quarter, and that there was probably connected with them an old london burglar by the name of 'jerry black,' or who bore that name once, and is now supposed to be living in cincinnati; that i said further that 'twas a very hard case to work up, these old burglars understanding their business so well, and that the best way was for your citizens to defend their houses and themselves as well as they can, and wait for some accident to disclose the robbers, for 'murder will out' sooner or later." the committee replied that they would heed the advice perfectly. "now, then, for the special injunction, which is this. talk as little in general about your visit here as you can, each of you; but do you each be careful on this point, namely, not to mention the fact that you met my partner, or that i have one at all. indeed, you can truthfully say that i have no partner, if anybody there should happen to have heard that i have; for although we are partners in the sense of companions, and coöperators sometimes, yet we are not 'partners' in the legal sense of that term, though we call each other so, in the style of the profession. remember this!" the committee promised to do so, and we went on talking together, laying our plans to the extent that i should duly visit the place; that none of the committee was to recognize me if he met me in his walks; and that i should probably appear there as a cincinnati merchant; for the detectives of the best repute in cincinnati had already visited the place unavailingly, and it would not be suspected that poorer ones would be employed from cincinnati. i made inquiries of the committee about the various businesses transacted in the place, and asked the names of the other leading citizens, for the committee were all of them of the "heavy men" of the place. learning all i thought of use of these gentlemen, i promised to appear, if my life was spared, in due time, and not at a late day at that, in the town and go to work; and the committee left. it was a useless promise which we exacted of the committee that none of them should recognize me when in their village; for when they came to the office i had but a little while before returned from an expedition, in which i had worn a simple but effectual disguise. that removed, and my coat exchanged for another one in my closet, a few minutes after the committee left, they would not have recognized me had they returned at the time. duly after the departure of my partner for europe i was on my way to ohio. before he left we had talked up the matter in all the possible phases it could present, and among the last things he said to me, on our way down to the steamer, was, "that case _may_ bother you; but it seems to me now as easy as going down hill. we have the sight of it, and if the committee report as i instructed them, you'll succeed at once. in your first letter to me" (which, by the way, it was agreed should be sent by the next week's steamer) "i shall not be surprised to learn of 'victory won.'" "o, no, impossible; you forget the distance." "yes, truly i did. say, then, by the next letter," for he expected to be gone for some three or four months, if not longer. "but," said he, "don't let anything deflect you from our theory, whether you succeed in that time or not. it _will_ work out on our theory some way, at some time." i bade my partner good by, as the ocean steamer started on her proud course out into the bay, and returned to my office, to perfect my plans in detail for the work before me, and was, as i said before, duly on my way to ohio. my first point was cincinnati, where, arriving safely, i set myself about becoming acquainted with names of streets, then localities, public places, names of many citizens and their business--in short, i "booked" myself up in regard to cincinnati, in order to be "at home" whenever talking with the citizens of the village to which i was going, and who would soon be told that i was from cincinnati. leaving the latter place, i made my way to the village in question, arriving there towards evening, on a lumbering stage-coach, through--literally, not "over"--the deep clay-mudded roads, and alighted at the principal hotel of the place. the night before, or rather on the morning of the same day, for it was between the hours of one and two a. m., a citizen of considerable standing had been robbed on his way home from a house a little out of the village, where he had been to watch with a sick friend, a farmer. being relieved from watching about one o'clock, and his wife wishing to take the early stage which left at the inhospitable hour of six, on the road towards columbus, whither she was going, he thought to return. for a week or two the robbers had ceased from their theretofore almost nightly outrages, and it was with a sort of smile of contempt that mr. hiram perkins,--for that was the citizen's name, replied to an old lady nurse, as he was departing, and who asked, "ain't you afraid of the robbers, mr. perkins?" "o, no, 'aunty' they won't touch me; besides, i guess they are all dead now, 'aunty.' we haven't heard 'em peep for a week or two--gone off to some better land." but he encountered them, nevertheless, and lost four hundred dollars, and something over, which had been paid to him the evening before, at a time too late to make deposit of it in the little village bank, and which he had been foolish enough to not leave at home. this amount of money was the largest which the robbers had yet secured. they had effected the robbery, to be sure, of some negotiable bonds of considerably greater value; but this was an extreme case, and was, of course, at the time of my arrival there the chief topic of excitement. added to the robbery, was the fact that mr. perkins, who had made stout resistance, had been severely beaten, and though not fatally bruised, was lying quite feverish in bed: such was the report. i had had a room put in order for me, neglecting to put my name on the dirty little register of the hotel, where i observed that everybody who could write, and who stepped in to the "tavern," was in the habit of writing his name, and putting after it "city" (that was the town where i was),--a custom, probably, introduced by some joker, who had been to cincinnati, and seen names registered in that way there. but when i came down from my room into the "office," or "bar-room," properly speaking, the young clerk said to me, "would the stranger enter his name?" i had reflected, meanwhile, that i must see this mr. perkins, and had changed my original plan of proceedings a little, so i entered my name as "dr. h. h. hudson, cin.," with a somewhat bold dash of the pen, and soon after found myself on the street, seeking the way to mr. perkins's house. while in the hotel i encountered, and had quite a long talk with one of the committee who had visited us in new york. he kept his promise, and did not "recognize" me, and perhaps he would not if he had known me. he told me the whole story of his visit to new york; what the detective said to him, and the rest of the committee; and, said he, "he was right when he said they were old burglars who were committing these outrages, for nobody but men hardened in crime could have robbed mr. perkins, as they did last night;" and when i went out of the tavern, after registering my name, to seek mr. p.'s house, i encountered my committee-man. again, as i was loitering on the street, hardly knowing what to do to learn the way to mr. perkins's, he had evidently looked on the register after my departure from the office or bar-room, for he accosted me. "ah, again! happy to come across you again. dr. hudson, of cincinnati, i hear?" "yes, sir," i replied; "a doctor by profession, but retired somewhat from practice." "yes, yes; yours is a pretty hard life, that of a doctor, sir. i suppose all you doctors in the city retire as soon as you get rich," said the facetious committee-man. i replied, "that i had not retired from business exactly, for i was engaged more or less in speculation; but had always pursued the course of registering myself as a doctor at hotels, for i found that i generally got better treatment than when i registered in my plain name." "well, sir," said he, "i was thinking of going to call at friend perkins's, and see how he's getting along. he's pretty low, i fear. as you are a doctor, perhaps you would like to accompany me. you might suggest something for his comfort." i accepted the invitation with a half-reluctant manner, and we walked on towards mr. perkins's house, my friend, meanwhile, telling me all about mr. p., his wealth, family affairs, etc. we were bidden to enter the house on knocking, and the committee-man was invited into the "bedroom" to see mr. perkins, from which he came soon out, and said,-- "i dare say you'd like to see mr. perkins. he is pretty severely bruised; but says he's better, and shall be out in a day or two. i told him i had a friend along with me, dr. hudson, of cincinnati; and he says he don't need a doctor, but that he shall be glad to see you as a gentleman, and friend of mine." so i accompanied my friend to mr. perkins's room; and had hardly been presented to him before i made up my mind to take him into my counsels, for there was a certain frank nobility in his countenance, and an intelligence which quite won my esteem on the instant. we conversed about the robbery, and, after that, about various topics of the day; and the more we talked, the more i liked him. by and by the committee-man recollected an engagement; said that he must go, but didn't want to interrupt mr. perkins's and my conversation; "for, doctor, i perceive," said he, "that you've made him very cheerful, without pills even. sometimes i think there's more in a doctor than in his medicines," said he, with a very arch smile. "o, no," said mr. perkins; "if you must go, you needn't take the doctor. he's a stranger here, and 'tisn't late yet, and he can find his way back easily enough." and so i staid after the committee-man went out; and i talked with mr. perkins more about the robbery, and the burglaries, etc.; but i could get no occasion for private conversation with him, as the bed-room door, opening into a "sitting-room," was constantly open, and the sitting-room generally occupied by one or more persons, females, or else they were flitting back and forth; so at last i told mr. perkins that i had come to him on some business in regard to which i should like to consult him in the morning a little while, if he were well enough. he very kindly consented, and i departed. on returning to the hotel, i was accosted at once by a gentleman, around whom stood a dozen other eager ones. "doctor, you've been over to see mr. perkins, we hear; how's he getting along? recover soon?" "o, yes," said i; "he'll recover speedily if he is left quiet for a day or two. the neighbors, i hear, are running in to see him a great deal; but i think i shall order that nobody be admitted for a day or two." fortunately, mr. perkins's family physician had at this time gone to the funeral of his mother, whose home had been somewhere in pennsylvania, and mr. perkins would not call either of the two other "doctors" of the place, styling them "blasted quacks." so that i could very properly say that. i listened quite late that night to the villagers' talk about the robberies. every new man who came into the bar-room had something to tell, and everybody had a theory; but they all declared that the burglars were old heads at the business--hard to catch, "as that new york detective told the committee," they said. things were working well, and i finally retired to rest, and slept very soundly, to my surprise; for strange beds generally vex me, and keep me awake. the next morning i called on mr. perkins early, and found him quite comfortable; asked him to order that neighbors who might be coming in to inquire for the state of his health, should not be allowed to enter his room; and though surprised at first at my request, he granted it, and i felt secure of a good, uninterrupted talk with him. i sounded him, to my satisfaction, in that he was a man who could keep a secret profoundly, and then made known my business to him. he was glad i had come, he said, and he would give me all the information in his power. i inquired of everybody and everything in the place which could have any bearing on the matter in hand; learned the size, tones of voice, style of language, as far as he could remember, of his assailants, the highway robbers; gathered from him all i could of what had been overheard from the robbers' lips on various occasions; and i learned one especially important matter of him, which was, that one of the robbers was dressed in "a loose sack, like," and that in his contest with him, he thought that he felt that one of his hands, off from which a glove became slipped in the fight, was callous on the back. this he had not laid up in memory, but my questions called it to mind. at this point i developed my theory that the robberies were committed by residents of the village; and told him that they were not what professional robbers would call "good work," skilfully done; and then i asked him,-- "now, mr. perkins, do you know any man in or about this place who has a scarred, hard hand, such as you describe?" "yes; but i would not dare mention his name in this connection, for he is an innocent, elegant young gentleman, very mild in his manners; came here a few months ago with the best recommendations from a clerical friend, an old schoolmate of mine, in massachusetts, and bore a letter to me from him. o, i won't allow myself to name him; it would be too bad," said he. "but," said i, "the greatest scoundrels steal the livery of heaven to serve the devil in, you know; and i am here to work, and you want the full truth to come out, hit where it may--don't you?" "yes; but it can't be this young man: and yet the villain was about his size." "and wore a 'sack, like,' you say. do you know if this young man has any such garment?" "o, no, it was quite like a hostler's work coat. he hasn't anything of the sort." "well--no matter: please give me his name, and tell me all about him. what is he doing here?" "teaching music, principally; teaches most anything--the languages, especially french; says he has lived in france a while; but 'tain't he--and--if 'twas, i don't know but i should forgive him, if i knew it, as far as i am concerned, and let him go, or send him off; for he's engaged to a beautiful niece of mine, and first made her acquaintance here at my house. they had but just left when you called last night, and were full of sympathy for me. he is very active in devising plans to catch the villains, and has been out frequently with others, keeping night watch." "were there any robberies on the nights of such watching?" i asked. "no; but i never suspected there would be, when so many were watching." "yet," said i, "from what i learn, the robberies have been very bold at times--early in the evening, when people were abroad." "true," he replied. "i didn't think of that before. i wish i could have got at the scoundrels' faces that night; but their caps were securely tied on, and their faces blackened." "they were white men, you are sure, then?" "yes; no doubt of that." finally, i persuaded mr. perkins to give me the man's name, as he knew, of course, i could now find it out by inquiring of somebody else, if i thought prudent to inquire. we talked over the matter still further: and mr. perkins agreed to keep to his bed for two or three days. i was to reconnoitre, and report to him what i found out, and we were to consult together, and i left. i avoided making the acquaintance of the young man in question, although i had twenty occasions for so doing for a day or two; but on the night of the third day after my arrival another burglary took place, of considerable amount, and there was evidence, too, of an attempt at arson. in listening to the investigation of the burglary, i thought i saw that the young music teacher was as likely as anybody to have had a hand in it; and was confirmed in my suspicions by his manner, when i heard him talk it over next day with some friends at the hotel. i managed to get near him, and spoke of the robberies as the most daring outrages, and suggested that there must be a gang of villains--old offenders--secreted near the village somewhere, or else they must, if coming from abroad, perform herculean feats of riding. but he told me he thought my theory was a mistake, as no strange horses or teams had ever been discovered in or near the village on the occasions of robbery; and entered very intelligently into the question, declaring at last that the villains must be caught if he himself were obliged, with others, to lie in wait for a year. there was something a little bombastic in his style as he said this, which confirmed my suspicions of him more and more. he told me he had heard of my attendance upon mr. perkins; was glad he had such skilful care, and that he seemed improving; and as he resorted there much himself, had hoped to meet me there, but had not happened to; was glad to have made my acquaintance, etc.; all of which was uttered with a very innocent, and indeed pleasant air, yet i suspected him, somehow, only the more. mr. perkins kept apparently ill, and i visited him regularly. two nights after my interview with the music teacher, as related above, i was going home from mr. perkins's to the hotel. (i should mention that the teacher, whose name in the village was henry downs,--but not his true name,--had called at mr. perkins's, and left a quarter of an hour before.) going to the hotel, as i have said, i passed two men standing beside a large tree on the line of the sidewalk. the evening was very dark, and i only saw them when within six feet of them, perhaps, and i heard one of them say, "ah, ha! the old fool is unsuspicious; we'll get another chance near home. a good night to-night, eh?" the voice was unmistakably that of the teacher, and i inferred that he alluded to mr. perkins. "hush," i heard the other man say, as i approached in passing them; and i saw that the other man had on a "sack-like," such as mr. perkins had described. of course i was now fully confirmed in my suspicions, and devised various plans to trap the villains, but nothing i could think of seemed likely to me or mr. perkins to prove practical. at last we hit upon this as a first step. i was to get ill enough to keep my room as mr. perkins got well. he was to visit me in turn, and was to consult the committee, who were greatly vexed all the while among themselves (as it appeared afterwards) that that 'rascally new york detective did not come on.' mr. perkins was to report me as a man of much wealth, with quite a sum of money, which i had brought intending to speculate, but having looked around, and not being satisfied with any real estate for sale there, was going away as soon as i recovered. this was noised about, and a week or so passed before i got up and was ready to go. mr. perkins, in the mean while, had come to my opinion that the music teacher was indeed the villain, and believing it his duty to expose him rather than shield him on his niece's account, entered quite spiritedly into my plans. the music teacher was more attentive to me than ever when i met him, after it was said that i was rich; and at a little party which mr. perkins gave me the night before i was to leave, the teacher was all attention to me. it was given out that i should leave the next night, on the way north of the village, to call on a relative living about twenty miles from that village. i must be there, it was said, that night, to meet my friend from whom i had had a letter, and who would leave by the stage the next morning after; and for the next day mr. perkins and i had a ride of twenty miles and back to take in another direction to look at some mills in which he was persuading me to take an interest. mr. perkins was to loan me his horse for the night trip. the ladies present said, some of them, that they hoped dr. hudson would not think of going in the night. "just think of the robbers." i replied that robbers never touched doctors; that doctors never had any money about them; that they would not take my pills, i presumed, if i were to prescribe them regularly; and so we joked over the matter. the next day mr. perkins and i, having ridden out of town, returned after dark, and after a good supper at his house, i paid my bills at the hotel, took his horse and sallied forth on my "night visit." i had not ridden over three miles, and was passing along a dark avenue lined with trees, when suddenly two men appeared before me, each grasping at a rein, and one presenting a pistol as near my head as he could reach, exclaimed, in a husky voice,-- "no noise, you old villain! dismount!" "stop, stop!" said i, in a low voice. "have mercy! what do you want of me?" "nothing of _you_--but your money," answered the husky voice. "get off your horse quick, or i'll blow your brains out." "i will, i will!" i whispered, with a voice that intimated trepidation, "but my leg is a little lame. give me your hand to help," and extended my left hand, which he took in his left, still holding the pistol in his right. he had to extend his left hand quite high to help me, and i could not only feel, but see the scarred, hard hand--the same which mr. perkins had felt, and a like of which deformed the otherwise handsome music teacher. of course his face, as well as his comrade's in crime, was muffled. having dismounted, they insisted on my giving them all my money. i consented without resistance, and pulled out my wallet, and handed him fifteen dollars--a ten dollar and a five dollar bill. "give us the rest," said the husky voice. "gentlemen," i said, "i have no more." "it is a lie, doctor," said the husky voice. "we know all about you--we've watched you, and know that you brought hundreds of dollars to the village below." "i did," i said; "that is true enough; but my patient, mr. perkins, and i took a ride to his mills to-day, and when there i invested what i had, all but enough to pay my bills about here and get back again." [illustration: dr. hudson's stratagem with the highwaymen.] "but we must search you." i said "very well," and they did search me most thoroughly, and took my bull's-eye silver watch (not very valuable in itself, but the gift of an old brother detective, who had since died. said he, as he gave it to me, "don't let anybody rob you of that," with a laugh; and i thought how funny it would seem to him, were he alive, to find _me_ parting with it under _such_ circumstances). the robbers let me go, saying they had no use for the horse, and bade me have more money about me next time. said they'd been called pretty severe and cruel on certain occasions, but that they were gentle enough with folks that didn't make foolish resistance, etc. indeed, they tried to be jocular with me; and i submitted to their course, and joined in it, as the best way. they bade me a hearty good night, but enjoined me not to stop anywhere and mention my loss till to-morrow, or they'd find some way to dispose of me if i did, with like threats; and then darted off into the side fields, bidding me to "go ahead," however; and i rode on for some three miles, but fortunately, when riding with mr. perkins that day, i had noticed a cross road, which would lead into the road on which he and i had come out of and returned into the town. i was meditating, at the time i came upon it, what to do. should i ride back furiously over the road on which i was robbed, the villains might waylay me again, for, perhaps, they were not far off--may be were watching. perhaps they might fire upon me; but luckily here was the cross road, and i darted down it, and found my way back into the village by the old road, and you may be sure that my horse, if horses have memories, did not soon forget that night's race, for i put him to the top of his speed. i alighted at the barn of mr. perkins, and fortunately found there his "hired man," who clapped the horse into the stable at once, and i then felt secure. getting access at once to mr. perkins, i narrated my adventure. he was not astounded at what i had learned, for he had for some time believed, as i, that the music teacher was the man, but he was confounded that the villains let me off so easily. the next thing was to catch the scamps, and make the evidence against them sure; and mr. perkins, at my suggestion, sent his man out to call four of the most trusty citizens, two of whom chanced to be of the original committee who waited upon my partner and me in new york, to come to his house at once. to them, when they came, was intrusted his plan. "dr. hudson" was now announced as the partner-detective whom they had seen in new york. he, too, had been robbed, and he knew who were the robbers--or one of them! greater astonishment than these gentlemen evinced at this disclosure could not well be expressed. but we did not speak to them of the music teacher. they were to remain at mr. perkins's till we should call them. making some change in my dress by aid of articles borrowed of mr. perkins, and of my countenance by assuming a pair of false whiskers which i had brought with me, besides a hat very unlike what i had been wearing in the village, and mr. perkins disguising himself, we went forth, and placed ourselves where we could readily perceive any comer to the house at which the music teacher boarded. patiently we watched. two hours or more went by, when a man came from the opposite course by which we expected him, and, proceeding to the door of the house, evidently lightly tried it--could not get in; went around the corner of the house, noiselessly raised a side window, and as noiselessly mounted in. i was not over thirty feet from him as he entered, and notwithstanding the darkness, i felt sure i knew him, though he did not wear the sack. mr. perkins had seen his stealthy entry, too, from another point, and in a few minutes we came together, i having meanwhile slid up by the side of the house next to the window, and heard the in-comer open or close a window above. he had already gone to his room, which mr. perkins had told me was at the back of the house. he knew the way to it--had called on the young man there. we proceeded at once to mr. perkins's, instructed our waiting friends what to do,--for we might need aids,--and asked them to follow. no man was to speak a word, but do as he was bidden. my dark lantern was lit and deposited under my cloak, and we went out, along down the street, across another,--down another a little way, and i saw that the citizens were occasionally looking wonder into each other's eyes, as much as to say, where are we going? we arrived at the house, entered the yard. mr. perkins, by our arrangements, was to take and post two of the men under the villain's window, to catch him in case he should try to escape, to one of whom he gave a pistol, saying, "catch any man who tries to escape out of this house. shoot him, if necessary." up to this point not a word had been said to them of the music teacher. we had thought best to not knock for admission, of course; and i got in at the window where the villain had entered, proceeded to the little hall, unlocked silently the front door, and let in mr. p. and the two other men. "follow me softly," whispered mr. p., and he led to the villain's room. an hour had passed since we saw him come in, and we concluded he'd be asleep, as he was. we carefully tried the door: it was locked by a button. mr. perkins whispered to me, "shall we rap, and catch him when he rises?" "no, no," i answered quickly; and with a dash against the door with my shoulders, easily effected entrance. the villain started wildly. i threw the dazzling light of my dark lantern into his face, and rushed upon him in bed, clutched his throat, and cried, "seize his clothes, and everything in the room! this is the man. open the window, and call in the others to the show;" and mr. perkins did so. in an instant the two men had found their way up to the room; and, in fact, the whole household was by this time aroused. we made speedy work of searching the wretch's clothes, and among other money found the five dollar bill taken from me. without explanation, i passed it to mr. perkins, who recognized a peculiar mark we had made upon it, its date, etc. but the ten dollar bill was found in the villain's trunk, together with quite a sum of money. mr. perkins recognized the marks we had placed upon that: the watch was not to be found. the teacher was a lithe, muscular fellow, and would have given me, alone, much trouble to hold him; but he was overwhelmed, and did little else but groan. we at once told him of the marked bills, etc., and pointed out to him that his best course now was to expose his accomplice or accomplices; that the bitterest curses of the law would fall upon him if he did not. the pale, trembling fellow, a real coward at heart, as many such villains are, made his confession on the spot, notes of which were taken down by me, and by one of the committe-men in his diary. he told us that his accomplice was----, a son of a pretty well-to-do farmer, whose name i cannot mention, and whose relations still reside in the village--most estimable people, which is the reason why i have carefully avoided mentioning the name of the place. when he named his accomplice, one of the committee-men groaned audibly (i should say that we had kept the inmates of the house out of the room during this confession), for the accomplice, it appears, was that committee-man's nephew!--a much-esteemed, industrious young man, led away by the brilliancy, dash, and superior education of the music teacher. but where was the watch? the teacher told us. under a barn belonging to his accomplice's father, and not ten rods from his residence, was a place of deposit for such things as they could not readily dispose of. indeed, they had disposed of but little: there he thought we could find it, and there, next morning, we did. but here was a complication. the nephew must be saved if possible, and mr. perkins could not bear the exposure which would involve his niece in disgrace, and we were nonplussed what to do. we arranged, finally, that since the inmates of the house did not _know_ for certainty that this teacher was the villain, that we would let it go abroad that we had all been out, together with the teacher, watching the villains; that the teacher had suffered a severe fall when getting over a high fence, and that we had come home with him--all this upon the condition that the avails of all his robberies should be restored to the rightful parties, and that he should allow mr. perkins to go and draw, on his order, all his money in a certain bank in cincinnati, where he said he had at the time twenty-eight hundred dollars, which we found to be true; and that he should in the end accompany me to pittsburg, pa., which he declared to be the theatre of his first essays in crime, and where he said he was willing to deliver himself up to the authorities for old offences; for he was as penitent a man, in appearance, as i ever saw, and said he would rather go to state's prison for life, than be longer pursued by terrible temptations to crime. one of our party was left with him that night, armed, and bidden to shoot him if he attempted to escape; and the rest went forth. we found the place of deposit under the barn, removed everything therefrom to a safe place, and next morning mr. perkins called on the young farmer, took him out to the barn, and showed him my bull's-eye watch. "did you ever see that, sir." "no," said the young man. "no lies sir," said mr. p----; "we are going to do you no harm. the villain" (the music teacher) "has told us all about it. we have removed the things from down there" (pointing to the place of deposit), "and you are caught, beyond hope of escape." the young man turned pale, fell over upon mr. perkins's breast, and groaned out, "o god, that villain, as you call him, has ruined me! i could not resist him; he dragged me along against my will. i have suffered tortures of conscience. i cannot resist him! o, spare me!" "yes, yes," said p----, affected to tears by the young man's sufferings, "i believe you. you have been under a spell. we will see what can be done for you. as for myself, i forgive you." that day there was a private conference of the discovering parties at mr. perkins's house. the whole matter was discussed, and it was concluded that the villain should suffer his just punishment in pennsylvania rather than in ohio; that he should leave with "dr. hudson," and be no more heard of there; that the young farmer should be allowed to repent; and that so many of his relations, the committee-man with the rest, should not be put to the disgrace of his public punishment. he was sent for, and came; and a more harrowing case of an accusing conscience than was his, imagination, in its wildest flights, could hardly depict. i felt for him to the bottom of my soul. the teacher, who was so watched that he could by no means escape, was sent for too, and when he came, the poor young farmer looked at him with bewildering horror. the whole matter was discussed before him, his order duly made on the bank, and mr. perkins departed next day to draw the money. meanwhile it was arranged that the other property should all be brought and deposited in mr. perkins's barn at night, with a note accompanying it, that the robbers, having no use for it, wished it distributed to those to whom it belonged; which, becoming known to the villagers, there was a throng for hours at the barn next day, --one recognizing and claiming this silver spoon,--some old watch--this watch chain--that silver snuff-box (with the snuff and the veritable "bean" in it), as the owner said, and so on and so on, together with a few valuable books, all small articles, and many of them ladies' ornaments. how they came to the barn, is, i suppose, a mystery still to the villagers. mr. perkins returned with the money, was paid back all that had been robbed from him, and the teacher insisted that he should take a hundred dollars more. the teacher paid his bills in town, being all the time closely watched by some two of us, and the residue of the money was put into my hands. a strict oath of eternal secrecy was taken by perkins and the other four gentlemen, on account of the penitent young farmer. (i wish i dare to tell what has become of him, but it might lead to his identification. suffice it that he was, when i last heard about him, only a year and a half ago, regarded as the finest and best young man anywhere to be found. he had married a niece of mr. perkins, by the way. and here, perhaps, i ought to say that "perkins" is not the proper name of my friend, but one i have used for convenience; for it would be a wretched thing to do to give any clew to the young farmer's identification.) finally, all being settled, the music teacher consenting to the suggestion of the committee that i should be paid out of his funds one thousand dollars, then and there, and i keeping the rest of his money, we bade our friends good by, and started on our way to pittsburg. i had no trouble with the teacher on my way to cincinnati (it was given out, by the by, that he was going to study medicine with "dr. hudson"); but when we arrived in cincinnati i took him aside, told him he was my prisoner, and that i would give him a disguise, so that he need not be subject to shame in case we encountered, on our way, anybody he might know; but that he must submit to be manacled in travelling with me farther, for i feared he would escape. he consented to this. i started with him from cincinnati to pittsburg, and arriving there, placed him in charge of parties at the hotel where i stopped. he wanted to write some letters, he said, and i let him do so. one of them was to the lady he had left behind, mr. perkins's niece. the letters could not go till the morning's mail, and i could not, of course, let those to others than the young lady go without reading them myself, for they might mean mischief. intending to take proper legal proceedings the next day, i had him placed in a small room leading out from my sleeping-room, and without a door except that into my room, and with no avenue for light, save a small window at the top, divested him of his clothes, which i put back of my bed, and caused my door to be guarded outside all night. i suppose i slept with unusual soundness, for i heard not the slightest noise from his room. on awaking in the morning i called to him. there was no answer; and i jumped out of bed, and went into his room, only to find him hanging, cold and dead, from a clothes peg in the side of the wall in the room! he had somehow managed to strip a piece from a sheet without awakening me, rolled it into a small rope, and hung himself by this peg. he proved himself a young man of spirit in his last act; for his legs were bent up to keep his feet from the floor--the rope being too long, or having stretched evidently. such was the end of the music teacher; and not the least interesting fact touching him was, that he was from one of the first new england families, well educated, expelled college in his second year for some "romantic conduct" which bordered on crime, and was shunned by his high-toned puritanic relations,--mercilessly treated, in short,--and to this fact, i conceive, may be attributed his downfall in part. mercy and forgiveness, bestowed at the proper time, are among the best preventives of a course of crime once entered upon. the music teacher's letters were never sent to their intended destinations. that to the young lady was very kindly, telling her that his love for her was an infatuation, from which he had broken away; that they were not suited to live together after all; that she would probably never hear from him again, for years at least (!), and that he hoped her every joy. i did not think it best to forward it to her. she married, in a year or two after his "desertion," to a fine man, so "mr. perkins," when i last saw him, told me, and was very happy, and still in blissful ignorance of the fate of the "heartless" but brilliant music teacher, and finally brave (?) suicide. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the cool-blooded gold robber, and the way he was tracked. -------------- a sudden call--great consternation at the ---- bank in wall street--ten thousand dollars in gold stolen--a hard, insoluble case--"try," the soul of success--banks compelled to greatest cautiousness--no esprit de corps among money-changers--the way i "created" detectives--rag-pickers made useful above their calling--an up-town carriage house, and its treasures--a laughing coachman--a present--complicated evidence unravelled--an old office-woman involved in the mystery--a bit of fun furnishes the desired "key"--"smouching," and what came of it--extending my acquaintanceship--the thief found--a wall street broker--studying him--his clerk wiled away--good use of theatre tickets--the scheme of identification; a plot within a plot--the broker worsted--he struggles within himself; grows pale--how he executed the robbery--the terrible "force of example" sometimes--the thief becomes a member of the common council--a salutary warning to other thieves. "sir, can you come right down at once to the ---- bank?" (it was and is in wall street.) "mr. ---- (the president) wants to see you if possible," exclaimed a messenger, one day, less than ten years ago, as he bolted into my office in great haste; and this was the opening to me of a case in which i did, perhaps, more hard work than i ever performed in working out any other case. "no, i can't go now; don't think i can get there to-day. i've too much to do; but what's the trouble?" "o, dear, i can't tell you that. i only, know that mr. ----, the president, is greatly excited, and he told me to be sure to bring you now; to hunt after you if you were not here, and bring you at any rate." "well, if it is so urgent a matter, i must run down there for a minute--say that i'll be there in a half hour, if possible; if not, in an hour, say. i've documents here that _must_ be finished and sent off before i stir," said i; and an hour or so brought me to the bank, between four and five o'clock of the afternoon. it was closed, of course, for banking purposes, but the watching janitor hardly waited for ordinary ceremony before i was half-dragged into the entrance-way. the president at once took me to the private or directors' room, and told me that a half hour before sending for me they had missed a bag containing ten thousand dollars in gold, that every search had been made for it, and that one of the clerks thought he recollected something having been said by somebody that day about that bag. he even thought somebody had taken it up or out in his presence, but his impression was like a dim recollection of things passed twenty years ago, and this was all the president could say about it. the making up of the books, balancing accounts, etc., had kept the clerks after banking hours, as usual, and he had sent for me as soon as possible, thinking that i might devise some theory to account for the lost gold, and that promptness was the best course. i asked if there had been much business done there that day, and i found that they had been unusually occupied. i learned the location of the bag in the big safe, and saw that no thief could have come slyly in and got to the safe without being detected, so numerous were the clerks, some of whom were constantly behind the desks, back of which the thief would have to go. there was no clerk whom the president dare suspect. they were all well tried young men, in whom every confidence had heretofore been reposed, and who had ever proved worthy of the trust placed in them. besides, none of them, except at noon, when they had gone out to lunch, not singly, but two together at least, had been out of the bank since morning, and it was sure that the bag was in the safe that morning. in fact, it had then been brought there from the vault, with other moneys; so that to suspect any one, rendered it necessary to suspect another in concert with him. moreover, if one had been in concert with a thief, who had come in to receive the bag, he could hardly have taken the bag out without some one's noticing him. with these reflections and my examinations, i candidly told the president that it would cost too much to work up the case on any theory which i could conceive of; that his only hope was in waiting for something to be disclosed by accident, perhaps; but that he probably would never hear of the money, or know any more about the matter than he now knew, unless this suspicion of mine should happen to be correct (but how could we be sure of that?), namely, that the abstraction of this gold was the work of some bold thief, who, having studied the place, and giving himself a clerkly style, had suddenly dropped in when the bank was full of customers and the clerks much occupied, and passed himself off for one of them for a few seconds, taken the bag, and walked off with it as coolly as he came in. but the president, and i too, after surveying matters again, conceived that an impossibility--"almost"--still there _was_ the barest possibility that such might have been the fact. but if it were, how get a clew to the thief? how ever identify one dollar, or rather a single one of the ten dollar pieces? (for it was all in ten dollar pieces, in rolls: a heavy bag to snatch and carry away unperceived). there was a serious difficulty in that. of course i made the minutest inquiry as to the style of the bag, and was shown three or four which were said to be exactly like it, and took down upon my diary a copy of the special marks upon these. but i kept thinking all the while that it was folly to do this; and i dismissed reasoning upon the subject, and thought i might as well "trust luck" as to refuse to, especially as the president, in his urgency, said if i would "scour the city thoroughly," he would pay me so much a day for my time, for a given number of days, and that if i found any of the money i might have half of it besides. i told him his offer was hardly acceptable professionally; that i had my certain charges for my work by the day, dependent in amount a little upon the nature of the case, and that that would satisfy me; and that although i had about as much confidence in finding out the thief, or discovering the money, as i would have in labelling a plank "philadelphia," and throwing it into the bay at ebb tide, with the expectation it would float directly to the "city of brotherly love," and land itself duly; yet i would try. "well, that's all i can ask. 'try' that's the word," said the president; "and allow me to say that i know that _means_ something with you, and i cannot say why i feel a confidence that you will succeed, for everything seems to be against us. yet i _do_ feel that success in part, at least, will be yours. we shall hear where that money has gone to, even if we cannot secure a dollar of it. but there must nothing be said outside of the bank. i cautioned the clerks before you came; for in my whole life i have never been more ashamed of anything than of this loss, whether it is the theft of one person, clerk, or what not, or another: and if it should be the fact that this is only one of those bold robberies which have sometimes taken place, i should feel more chagrined than ever." so i was to keep the matter a profound secret, at any rate; which is the reason why i may not at least introduce a name or two, which i should, for some reasons, be pleased to make public. it is not a wise thing for a bank to make known to the public a loss of the kind. it looks like negligence in the conduct of its affairs. the public, too, would be disposed to think, even when the truth is told, that the statement is intended to cover the fact of a greater loss, or that a defalcation for example, instead of a robbery, has taken place. there is nothing like an _esprit de corps_ among banks. each acts for itself,--mercilessly, as regards every other bank,--unless, perhaps, when some question of a proposed general tax, which may be thought too high, is mooted; and each must look out for its reputation for soundness with scrupulous care. time went on, and, engrossed in other affairs, i paid but little heed to this, comparatively, though i did "try." my first step was to visit several of the rag-gatherers and purchasers about the city, and offer a large reward to each of them should he chance to become possessed of a peculiarly marked bag (which i described), in such a manner as to be able to trace its history into his hands. in this way i made "detectives" of quite a number of persons. i suspected that the thief would, of course, destroy the bag, yet i thought it possible that, in the flush of his success, he might throw it by, and that with other things--old papers perhaps--it might get to the old rag and paper men's hands. besides, i visited certain points where thieves resort, and certain gambling saloons, with the intent of seeing if anybody there was peculiarly "flush" with gold, and i secured the assistance of certain brethren of the profession to the same end. but i could learn of nobody who seemed to have had a "windfall" of late, and it was so long before i got the slightest report from any of the rag-men, that, when i did, i suspected that the money would be dissipated, or so "scattered to the four winds," even if it led to the fastening of suspicion upon somebody, that i had but little impulse to pursue the matter. but finally, a dealer in rags sought me, saying that he had come across the bag in question, he thought, but that it was not in his possession, and he had not thought it best to try to get hold of it till i had seen it. it was in an up-town carriage-house, the latter belonging to one of the old aristocracy, and he suspected the bag belonged to the coachman. he had been called into the house, in the prosecution of his business, to buy several bags of old rags, paper, etc., and as the rags, old clothes, etc., were promiscuously thrown together into the bags, without reference to color or quality, it was difficult to put a price upon them; the white ones predominating, the housekeeper would not sell them for the price he would give for unassorted rags, and so the bags were taken to the carriage-house, to be assorted and weighed there. while engaged with the stable-man and one of the servant girls in running over the rags, his eye happened to light upon a bag tied with a string, and hanging on a peg, which he saw, by a peculiar mark, must be like the one i had described to him so long before; and he asked the stable-man what was kept in that bag hung up so nicely, and got the reply that it held some of the coachman's knickknacks; and he thought best, to make no further inquiries then; but, putting his hand upon it, he found it held several things which "felt hard, like iron;" and this was all he knew about it, save that he, at the time he felt of it, took occasion to examine the marks upon it further, and felt assured that it was just the bag in question. he was quite enthusiastic over his discovery, and wished me to go at once, and look for myself. but i could not leave that day, and making an appointment with him for the next day, met him as agreed, and proceeded to the carriage house. fortunately we got in, without being under the necessity of asking to have the gate opened, as we watched an opportunity when the carriage was about being driven out. my friend the rag-man engineered the _entree_ under my instructions, referring to his having assorted rags there a day or two before, and easily got on the good side of the coachman, while i looked after the bag, which my friend had told me where to find without trouble. i made up my mind instantly that that was the bag in question, and sitting down lazily on a box in the carriage-house, got into a good-natured talk with the coachman. it was easy to be seen that he was an innocent enough fellow, and could never have been guilty of the robbery, or of complicity therein. but i was at a loss to know how to approach him on the subject of the bag. at last i got up and walked about, and surveying the things,--various carriages, light buggies, harnesses, etc., in the barn, which the coachman was pleased enough to hear me compliment on their order and neatness, etc.,--i at length listlessly approached the bag, and taking hold of it, said, "well, that's a funny mark--coat of arms, i 'spose?" giving the coachman a slight wink. he laughed in his easy-going way, and said, "you're disposed to joke, i see. no, that's not _my_ coat of arms; i could not afford it--he! he! he!--but it's my bag, i confess." "i've got one just like it at home," said i; "pretty good bag to wear. i wonder where a fellow could get another like it?" "i don't know. i got that off a heap of rags, in a cart that was standing on the corner here one morning, two or three weeks ago,--gave the boy six cents for it. don't know where you could get another." "what will you take for it?" "he! he! _hee!_" exclaimed the coachman, bursting with laughter, as if i had said a comical thing. "why, do you take me for a rag-dealer? he! he! he! i wouldn't sell it for nothing; but do you want it much?" "o, no, not much, but i should like it? want it badly enough to pay you for it--what you've a mind to ask." "wal, i'll give it to you. i thought that morning i wanted it to put screws and bolts in, but i've got a nice stand here since, and i can throw 'em in the drawer," as he pointed out the "stand," and proceeded to take down the bag and pour the bolts, etc., into the drawer, and handing the bag to me, said, "here, i'll make you a present of this 'ere thing,--he! he! hee!" i took it, of course, and thanked him. having got the bag into my possession, i asked him if he ever saw the man before of whom he bought the bag. "'twasn't a man, but a boy, that goes by here, every few days, with a cart." "would you know him anywhere you might see him?" "yes, he's got a curious look about him that everybody would remember." "you've seen him often?" "yes. i have seen him go by here ever so many times within a year." "well, i want to find him; and can i hire you to go with me to-day and pick him out? i'll take you among the rag-pickers, and i will pay you well." "he! he! _hee!_ that's funny that you want to find that nasty-looking chap. yes, i'll go with you now,--in ten minutes, if 'tain't too fur." "we can go in an hour; but perhaps 'twon't be the best time to find him. he may be out, and we shall not know whom to inquire for; and if we get on track of anybody that we think is he, may be you'll have to go again to-morrow. they'll tell us when he'll be apt to be found at home." "i'd know him by his dog, say nothing of himself," interposed the coachman. "yes, i'll go;" and the coachman got ready, and we started off for sixty-second street, where there were then a number of low houses, occupied by rag-pickers. i thought i would go up instead of down in the city, as the coachman said the loaded cart of the rag-man was headed that way. we took a fourth avenue car, and had not gone more than half way to our point of destination, when the coachman, who was standing on the platform, having given his seat to a lady, violently pulled the bell, and called to me: "see here, mister" (for i had given him no name as yet), "here's the very fellow we're after;" and i got out with him, and he ran to catch the rag-man, whom we had just past, and i came up as he had stopped him. "this is the man, and that's the tarnal striped dog i told you of. see here" (to the rag-man); "this man wants to see you." the rag-man looked at me with wonder and some expression of fear. "let him see me, then, if he wants to," he muttered; "no _great_ sight, i guess." "yes, i wished to see you a minute," said i; "and i wanted to talk with you. i won't hinder you long, and will give you twenty-five cents an hour for the time i hinder you. here, take that to begin with," slipping a new twenty-five cent piece of silver into his hand. the rag-man's eyes glistened, and he looked up with an air of mingled surprise and gratitude. "your route" (for all these fellows have routes of their own, which they observe with as much honor among themselves as bakers and milkmen, never trespassing on each other),--"your route lies, when you go up, along such and such streets?"--naming some. "yes, sir." "well, did you ever see this man before?" pointing to the coachman. he eyed him carefully, and replied, "'pears to me i have; but i dunno." "well, did you ever see this bag?" i asked, taking it from my pocket, and handing it to him. he looked at it but an instant, and said, "yes; and i guess that's the man that give me six cents for it; yes, that _is_ the man." "well, my good fellow," said i, "i want to find out where you bought it. that's what i hunted you up to inquire about. i want to find the man that sold it to you." the rag-man's memory was good, and he told me where he got the bag. it was among the last things he purchased the day he sold it to the coachman; and there was something about it peculiar, in this, that the rag-man, grumbling a little at the price he had paid for a few pounds of rags,--some few cents,--the old woman of whom he bought them threw that in, and told him to "go 'long." i dismissed the coachman, offering to pay him for his time, but he would take nothing; and i went on with the rag-man and his striped dog. but it was slow work, and we had some distance to go; so i assisted him in getting his cart and dog housed in a livery stable on our course, and took the cars, and soon found the old woman, a gatherer up of old odds and ends, living in bayard street, just out of the bowery. she traded a "good deal," she said, "with william, here" (the rag-man), "off and on." i brought the matter of the bag to her notice. she remembered it well; and the next thing was to ask where she got it. that she could tell me, too. she had a daughter living in a building in pine street, below william, and it was she who sold it to her mother, with a lot of old rags and papers. "it comed to me," said she, "in the pile i had from her." on inquiry, i found that the purchase had been made, as near as i could calculate, about three days after the robbery. i employed the old woman to go down to introduce me to her daughter, whom i found to be a very good, honest woman, who got a living by cleaning down-town offices, while her husband did a little private watching, now and then, and helped "along shore" a little. the woman being introduced to me by her mother, who said i was an old friend of hers (as i had asked her to; for i had given her some slight hint of why i wanted to learn where the daughter got the bag, and had paid her beforehand for her time in waiting on me), made ready reply to my queries. "yes, yes; now i do remember," said she, scratching her forehead in a peculiar way with her stubbed fingers, "where i got that; it was that sassy brat in ----'s office gin it to me." "where's that?" her reply gave me the number of a broker's office in wall street, and things began at once to shape themselves in my mind. if i had not been a detective, i might have been surprised; but it was easy now to form an intelligible theory. i did not know this man, and made no inquiries about him of the woman; but i asked her how the boy came to give it to her. "he ain't a young boy," replied she; "he's full-growed, and has got whiskers,--side whiskers,--but he's full of old ned, and acts like a boy, poking fun all the while; and i call him a boy. well, he gin it to me one night,--let's see,"--and she went over the list of names of offices where she had worked, and said, "yes, it was friday,"--fixing a time just the day after the robbery. she was there, it seems, just after business hours were over, to clean the room. her day there was saturday, generally, instead of friday, and she went three times a week usually, and washed and mopped. being a jolly woman, she was bantering with the "boy" (clerk), as she called him, who had staid to lock up after her. the clerk had thrown some old papers upon her, which he gave her to carry off, and she'd made a wad of some of them, and thrown them back to him; and so they had "smouched" each other,--as she termed that sort of play,--when just as she was going out, the clerk seized this bag from under the counter, and threw it, rolled up, at her head. she seized it, and said, "thank you; this will do to bile puddings in; i'll take it." "take it, sarah," said he; "and we'll call it quits for now," as she left the office. that was her circumstantial account. i was glad, of course, to find her memory so clear. there was no mistaking that evidence. the next step was to make the acquaintance of that boy, or clerk; and to do so, i went next day into the broker's office to get some money changed. the clerk was in; and after doing my business, i got into some conversation with him,--for i had taken an early hour when i knew there would be few customers in. i found him apparently an excellent young man, good-hearted, intelligent, and honest, i thought. his employer was not in; but i called at a later hour of the day, having watched the premises, and seen the clerk go out on some errand, and got some money changed by the broker; and i studied him as well as i could. he was a wiry man, of medium size, with much determination in his face, indicated particularly by one of those protruding chins, which disclose not only force of character, but the ability to do mean, desperate things. my mind was made up that the broker was the man who stole the money--such was my fixed opinion; and now how to trap him. the clerk was an honest young man; of that i was quite satisfied. the broker could not, i thought, be doing a large business, and his face did not indicate that liberality which would allow his giving his clerk (and he had but one, in his little basement den of an office) a large salary, and i made up my mind that the first step was to get the clerk out of that office into some other place, by giving him a larger salary. at this juncture of affairs i sought the president, and told him that i had traced the matter into a wall street broker's office; but did not at that time tell him where; that there was a clerk in the office who was evidently a very nice and efficient fellow, and that i wanted to get him out of there as the next step; that he was surely a good penman, and probably a first-rate bookkeeper; and he must find a place for him, and i would try to get him out. to this the president quickly consented, and told me to call next day, and he would have some place or other for him, among some of his friends. we discussed what a clerk probably got a year in such a place; and decided that two hundred dollars more would be bribe enough for him. "and i'll do better than that for him, if necessary," said the president. "now tell me who this broker is, if you please." i declined to tell him then, for i wished to get my evidence a little more certain. i called the next day as he told me, and found that he had been active, and had secured three or four places for the young man, should i find it necessary to get him into one. i lost no time in coming upon the young man that day, as he went out to his customary lunch, and walked along with him, managing to address myself to his jocose nature, and we sat beside each other on stools at the restaurant. i went out with him, and a part of the way to his office with him too, when, stopping suddenly, i said,-- "i must go another way; hope to meet you again;" and drawing my handkerchief suddenly from the outer breast pocket of my coat, as if to wipe my mouth, flirted out with it some tickets, three of them to wallack's theatre, with which i had prepared myself for the purpose. these were "complimentaries," with which i was not unfrequently supplied, in view of some services i had once rendered mr. james wallack, in a matter involving no small amount of jewels, etc. i picked up the tickets as they fell to the pavement, and, said i, "this is providential for you, perhaps. i see you like fun; there's a good comedy on to-night; would you like to go?" handing him one of the tickets. "and here's another; may be you'd like to take your lady." "ho, ho!" said he, "that's generous; but i won't take but one, for i haven't any lady to take." "well, give one to some friend, and take him along;" but he declined, and the upshot of the matter was, that he agreed to meet me at the metropolitan that night, and go with me. i told him to keep his tickets, and bring along any friend. but he came alone, and i was glad of it. the play was excellent, and between acts we discussed it. i fancied i had gotten well into his good graces before it was over; and when it was, we walked out, and along broadway together, and stopped once or twice and "lemonaded." the young man was temperate, as i was glad to find--all the better witness--and before he reached home that night, i managed to find out all about his salary, etc., and had told him that a young man of his parts ought to have a better place. he felt so too, of course; but said it was hard to find, as he had no friends to help him. unfortunately, he said, all his relatives in new york were of the medium class of people in money matters; and his father, who was a methodist minister, and had some influence with his people when living, had died some five years before, and these church people had pretty much forgotten them. i found that, from the latitude the president had given me, i could offer the young man a salary that astonished him. he said he could leave his employer at any time, with one day's notice, for there were calls every day for employment by clerks. suffice it that in four days from that time i had the young man installed as bookkeeper in a house where he got nearly double his former salary. besides, in my going about with him, i had fished out facts enough in the career of the broker, his old employer, to convince me that he was all i had taken him for. finally, i went back to the president, and told him whom i suspected, and what my evidence was, and that i had not yet said anything to the young man about the bag or about him; and we arranged it that the young man should be invited to his house by me the next night; which was done, and he accompanied me. the president had prepared a room for a private conference, and after i had introduced the young man to the president, and informed him that he, and not i, was his benefactor, to whom the young man expressed his gratitude, i took up a paper from off the table on which i had placed it, and under which i had slyly tucked the bag. i had gotten the young man seated near the table. as i lifted the paper, and noticed the bag with its peculiar mark on it, i said to the president,-- "beg pardon, mr. ----, but this singular device excited my curiosity;" and i took up the bag and looked at it. "allow me to ask what it is." "o," said he, "it's a sort of private coat of arms. 'tis a little curious, isn't it?" and he commented on it; and i, as a matter of politeness, passed it to the young man, asking, "did you ever see anything like it before?" "no, not that i know of," said he; "and yet there's something familiar to me about this bag," and he turned it over. "no, i never saw this device upon anything!" and he laid it down, and the conversation dropped on that point, and we fell into conversation about his old employer, the amount of his business, his habits, and so forth, and it was easy to see that he had no great respect for him. finally i led on to the matter of having seen the jolly scrubber there, the woman sarah, to whom he had given the bag; and finding she proved to be all right, i said to him, "sarah gave me that bag, and that bag got you your present place, through the kindness of mr. ---- here." the young man looked astonished, with a question in his eye, as if asking me to explain----. "well, i will explain. you remember one day (fixing the time), that, after office hours, when she came there to scrub, you and she got into a frolic, and threw things at each other?" "o, yes," said he, "very well; and i hauled the bag out from under the counter, and threw it at her." "just so; that's her story too. and now i wish to ask you if you knew how that bag got under the counter?" "why, certainly. mr. ----" (his employer, the broker), "took it out of his pocket a day or two before, and tucked it under there." "what was his condition that day? that is, what was his health?" "o, that was one of his nervous days, and he was much excited." "what did he place this bag with there--what's there?" "there's a shelf there; and the day i gave it to sarah, i had been putting some papers there, and pulled it out, and remembered it." "then he wouldn't be apt to see it, to remind him of its being there?" "no, sir, not unless he stooped down to get something there." it was evident to me, then, how the broker had forgotten it. we managed to make inquiries enough to satisfy ourselves that the broker was much excited at that time, and that he about the same time had made purchase of some building lots in "east new york," on long island, for he speculated in real estate somewhat, and was a pretty close man, and "rich enough," as the young man thought. we had obtained all the evidence we were likely to, and the young man and i left, he being in ignorance of how and to what end we had gotten that bag there. the next step was to get at the broker. we examined into his real estate, and found the young man right in his judgment--the broker was well off. we laid many plans; and he wanted to secure the money, and it wouldn't answer to do things by halves. our broker was a desperate man, but a nervous one, and i thought the best way was to take the lion by his mane. so, stalking into his office,--i being well armed,--i invited him into his little back room, having placed the president near the office, to come in a minute after me. i engaged the broker in conversation for half a minute, and then suddenly pulling out the bag, asked him (nodding my head towards the other little front room where the new clerk was); and saying, "no noise, unless you are disposed to make it," i asked,-- "did you ever see that before, sir?" he reached his hand for it, turning pale. "no, i never saw it." "do you know whose it is?" "no, i don't," half stammering, but with an air of decision. luckily, just at this time, the president stalked in. "here's a man who will tell you whose it is," said i; and holding it up to the president, i asked, "whose is this bag?" "mine," said he; "but the gold that was taken with it was the ---- bank's," as he eyed mr. ----, the broker, sternly; "and you are the man who took it." "i protest," said the broker, "that i never saw that bag before;" but his manner showed guilt. "well," said i, "that's a question of evidence. excuse me for a moment, and be calm;" and i stepped to the door, and nodded to the old clerk to come in. he came, and the broker's astonishment was evidently great. "did you ever see that before? and where did you first see it?" i asked of the clerk. "in mr. ----'s" (the broker's) "hands." "where did he take it from, and what did he do with it?" the young man told his simple story; and i told him we would relieve him, and away he went, still ignorant of the theft, but probably wondering what it all meant. i then said to the broker, "you are most thoroughly caught. that young man is only one of our witnesses, and he does not know of your theft yet. you are surrounded on all sides, and i advise you to send your clerk out on business, and settle up matters here at once. we want the money back, and pay for our time." there was a momentary struggle in the broker's heart. he was very pale, and his firm set chin quivered for a moment. he evidently took in the whole situation of affairs; but i thought i would not leave him wholly to his unaided reflections, and i remarked, for it was all clear now, of course, how the thing had been done:-- "from the hour that you personated a clerk, and coolly walked behind the desk and took the money, you must understand that you were known--recognized; but we needed further proof to convict you. the bag has supplied that," (and i saw, as i spoke, that a light went over his countenance, as if some purpose of his soul had suddenly changed). "had we followed you up at once, and found this gold, we could not have identified it; and we have followed you, therefore, with tireless patience, and would have pursued you for a year yet. you see your condition. we do not wish to prosecute you criminally, unless you force us to do so. you may have stolen the money under a pressure, or in some hour of temptation, which would never come again. we want our money and pay for our time, as i have said; and we do not propose to delay at all. do you understand me?" the broker quivered for a moment. there was a struggle of pride in his soul which he gratified with an oath, which i will not repeat here, condemning his folly and himself to the "bottomless pit," and then he sank back in his chair, and tears filled his eyes. "gentlemen," said he, "i give it up. you are very lenient. that gold has cursed me every day. i was a madman that day. had been drinking a little. it was only one stout glass of brandy, though, for i seldom touch a drop" (which i know to be true). "i had a month before read a story in a london paper which ---- sent me" (naming a well-known broker of wall street, who had gone to europe on business), "narrating the like exploit of a bold thief. i found myself often thinking of his daring, and that day the fiend got hold of me. it was but the work of a moment. i was near the ---- ---- ---- bank. i stepped in, and saw many there; stuck my hat in here" (within his vest, a small slouched hat); "and before i knew it, the thing was done. there's my confession. do with me what you please. i have often resolved to restore the money; but i have as often failed, for fear that somehow i'd get found out." "well, we are satisfied," said i; "and all we want is what i have asked." "of course it shall be done; but for god's sake you must forgive me, and forever conceal my name, for i never can do such a thing again. i have suffered too much from it." "the matter has been concealed from everybody except the clerks in the bank, who are pledged to secrecy; not even your own clerk knows that any money has been lost, and nobody but mr. ----" (the president) "and me has any suspicion of you. we wanted to get the money more than we wanted you." "i am ready to settle now," said he. but he had not on hand all the money we wanted; but before two hours were over proper deeds, in due legal form and execution, conveyed to the president, in personal mortgage, at least five times as much as was needed to make up the deficit in cash. this proved the most lucrative job for me which i ever "worked up," and the bank got back all its money, with interest thereon. it only remains for me to say, that that broker became an "altered man" in some respects. i did not like his countenance, and i did not believe his expressions of penitence fully. there was a dark, bad "streak" in his nature, i thought; but he has committed no more robberies, i suspect, unless they were done in his capacity of member of the common council, to which body he was afterwards elected, having left wall street, and entered upon other than the broker's business, and turned a ward politician. but let not other thieves, therefore, nourish hope from the example of his good (or bad) fortune. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ $ , , , or the private mark. -------------- money-getting as related to crime--a very strange history--the most wondrous pursuit of a man by his enemy which ever (probably) was known in the history of the world--james william hubert rogers and "ned" hague, two englishmen--"damon and pythias" in early life--a change comes--a departed and considerate uncle described, once a protege of the emperor of austria--oliver cromwell hague, a rich india merchant--a marvelous search for a lost man--a man found and identified by numerous friends as the one in question--plotting and counter-plotting--a shrewd vermont "lawyer" makes a thousand pounds sterling--the indefatigable rogers comes to america in his search--lost in the vastness of the country--we meet, and depart for st. louis--troubles, and an enlightening dream--a wicked lawyer--the right to repent--a spirited colloquy with the lawyer--an enemy found and set to work--the grasping lawyer outwitted--the lost found in a terrible condition--a little private fun over the lawyer's discomfiture--a sharp examination and cross-examination--lawyer outwitted, and loses five hundred dollars--mr. rogers departs with the "lost one," bound for england--the sudden drowning of the latter at sea--the cherished victory of years vanishes--out, with a laugh. the "battle of life" has so many phases, and my own experiences have run in so many channels, and my knowledge of human curiosity is so extensive, and my desire in these papers to gratify the same so great, that i am at a loss, as i turn over my diaries and notes of other histories of the past years to-day, what to select from my notes next; for, whatever disposition my publishers may make of this in the arrangement of these chapters, this is really one of the very last of them all in the order of writing, and one of the very last in point of fact, which i shall ever enlarge from my notes into current narrative. but my notes are so full, that my friends, after i am gone, should they desire to put before the world a supplement of these experiences, will have but little trouble--that, simply, of telling the tales in their own style. but it strikes me that the reader must feel, as he reads, something of the interest i felt as an actor, in part, in the scenes which it narrates. of the "battle of life," then, no phase can well be of so much interest to the great majority as that of money-getting. this absorbs everything, and is, in fact, the great source of nine tenths, at least, of all human crimes. but "money-getting," as well as wealth itself, has its "different sides,"--its positive and comparative, i might almost say, negative characteristics. wealth, in one locality, would be comparative poverty in another; that is, the amount of money which constitutes a man "wealthy" in a far off country town, would be sneered at as a very trifle in this great metropolis, new york; would hardly be enough to support the possessor for a year among the moderate livers of the city, with their luxury and indulgences, which cost so much more than those of the country. i said that money-getting is comparative also. it is, in this sense. the envious wrestler for the smiles of the "money god" has not only his positive work to do, but often feels it as much his duty to defeat others as to win himself; as the driver of the winning horse at the races often succeeds only by defeating his competitor's horse--"breaking him up," for example, by some more or less honorable mode--any mode which the rules of the race do not absolutely forbid. so in this case i am about to recite--the most wonderful hunt, perhaps, and the most exciting and long-continued, and replete with ludicrous, solemn, dangerous, as well as joyful incidents, which ever characterized any cause, and was carried on literally around the globe, inspired and sustained by the desire of a man, a rich man, not to profit by it himself, but to defeat his enemy and keep him poor, that he might not become a competitor with him, as a man of wealth, for the smiles, adulations, and sycophancies of the peasant, and small farming and mercantile population of a little town in england. the name of this strange man was james william hubert rogers, which he always wrote out in full, with true english pride, even when subscribing the shortest letter, as well as a five thousand pound promissory note. he reminded me in this of sundry gentlemen i have met, of our sister city, boston, who, proud of the "athens of america," take greatest pains in entering their full names--though frequently the initial of the first, and the middle name, if any, in full, in the dandaical style--in hotel registers. "j. adams bromfield," "h. gray otis ticknor," with boston "displayed" (as the printers would say) over as much space as possible, as if it would surely reflect credit on the person himself. james william hubert rogers was a peculiar man. i have thought that his history, even the comparatively little i know of it, would be one of the most interesting biographies ever published; but i do not intend to give more of it here than will be necessary to make this narrative connected and clear. mr. rogers had been brought up in moderate circumstances, educated to mercantile life in a small way, in a country place in yorkshire. prior to being apprenticed, at seventeen years of age, to a merchant, he had constantly attended school from about the age of six years; and whether at the "infant school," or the private classical school of some pretensions, had been as constantly attended by a bosom friend, just "one day and one hour older" than he, as their respective mothers were wont to tell them. this person's name was "ned" hague; (whether he, too, had a list of other cumbrous names i never asked, but i presume he had, and i wonder such a burden does not spoil the disposition of children--perhaps it does.) james and ned played together, romped, studied, and all that together; as children, were inseparable, in short. the one, "ned," was described to me as a very handsome fellow, and very athletic. james was equally athletic, but was less handsome in face; in fact, though his features were all well enough formed, and there was a hardy look about his face, yet there was a something in his expression of countenance which was at times very repulsive to me; a dogged, unfeeling look, not simply spiteful, but somehow of unwearying, cool-blooded vengeance; yet he was always kind and generous to me throughout our acquaintance. "ned" came into the world under a little better auspices than james, that is, his parents were a little "better off," and lived in a house which they owned, a little more stylish than that which james's parents occupied, but rented. however, james's father was a better business man than ned's father, and earned a larger salary. so things were balanced; but james confessed to me that he used, on account of the better house, to be a particle envious of ned's condition in their childhood, but this was all the ill-feeling he ever had towards him in those days. but james went to mercantile life at seventeen; and a year after, "ned," having quite an aptitude for writing, connected himself with a small provincial newspaper. the young men continued their intimacy, which was carried into their love affairs as well as into everything else, until they arrived at the age of twenty-three, when there came an "interruption" of their mutual affection, which finally degenerated into mutual dislike, and upon the part of james, whom we will now call mr. rogers, into unforgiving, implacable hate. what was the precise cause of this i was never informed in detail, but i learned the general facts from a friend of mr. rogers's, whom i met in england some two years after i first made his acquaintance. from all i could gather, there was really no sensible reason for the great enmity which came to exist between these men. but this is not a part of the story, properly, and i must pass it over. years went on, and mr. rogers and mr. hague continued to live near each other. the latter abandoned his steady connection with the newspapers, though he continued to write for the press more or less, and went into business with an old apothecary, and finally succeeded to his whole business at his death. he was more fortunate, for years, than was mr. rogers, who, however, managed to live comfortably, and to add considerably to his possessions. during these years, and after their quarrel commenced, the dislike of these men grew into a sort of silent hatred. they had but little to say of each other, but what they did say was crispy with bitterness. those who remembered their early-life's affection, were astonished that anything could have wrought such an enmity; for both of these men were considered honorable and upright in their dealings with their fellow-men, and were genial citizens, of democratic tastes and associations. but finally mr. rogers became suddenly very rich, through a legacy left him by a quaint old uncle, the brother of his mother, who, in mr. rogers's boyhood, had taken a fancy to him. the uncle was a deformed man,--a little in the order of richard third,--and this might be said of him, mentally as well as physically. he was competent to have filled the british throne with more credit than many a monarch who has sitten upon it. but henry de noyelles (for that was the uncle's name--sprung from an old norman stock) had curious deformities of face, which excited great ridicule among the heartless. his eyes could not be said to be "crossed" exactly, but something worse, and his nose was oddly shaped, besides being very flexible, and it flapped about as if there was "no bone in it," as the people used to say of it. mr. de noyelles was naturally a proud-spirited man, who felt that, intellectually, he was no man's inferior by nature, and his deformities stung him to the quick. he was a great mechanic naturally, very ingenious and executive; had a rare force for acquiring languages and the sciences; and, driven from society by his deformity and his wounded pride, he occupied his hours out of business with constant reading, and his acquirements in literature became large. he devoted himself considerably in his youth to mathematical studies, and had a great proclivity to civil engineering. he inherited a moderate fortune from his father, and after becoming of age, and feeling that he was ridiculed among his fellow-townsmen, became morose, and learned to hate all english people, and finally betook himself to the continent, and soon, in some way, attracted the attention of the emperor of austria, who gave him place at last as a superintendent of engineers, in which capacity his inventive genius served him, and in the course of a few years he became one of the most able operators in europe, and, enjoying an interest in many valuable contracts, acquired, at last, a vast fortune. ill-looking that he was, there were elegant women enough ready to marry him for his position and money. but he remained a bachelor, partly through fear of women, whom he looked upon as lacking in conscience, and none of whom, he felt, could really love such a looking creature as he. but he had another reason, which would have decided him, if nothing else had done so. it was this--and when i was told of it, i confess that i felt more respect for the good in humanity than i had ever done before. he said he was unfit for marriage, since he was unfit to be a father; that it were very possible that a child of his would inherit his deformities, especially that of the nose, and that the wealth of all europe would not induce him to be instrumental in inflicting life upon a being who might suffer as he had done. indeed, he held peculiar notions upon this subject in general; and taking malthus's notions in regard to a possible over-peopling of the globe, and the direful consequences thereof, as a basis to write upon, he dilated his views into a small book, which, however, both the catholic and protestant doctors of austria so seriously condemned as heretical, that he came near losing his official position under the government. but i digress again. mr. de noyelles, or as he was called in austria, for his great learning, dr. de noyelles, fell in love with young rogers, because the boy exhibited an affection for him, and never seemed to be conscious of his uncle's deformities, but treated him as affectionately and obediently as he did his own handsome mother, and noble-looking, symmetrical father, or anybody else. mr. rogers had paid his uncle, at the latter's invitation and expense, a short annual visit, for some years, and when dr. de noyelles came to die, it was found that he had privately visited england, where the great bulk of his funds was invested, the year before, and had made his will largely in favor of mr. rogers, after contributing to sundry charities in a large and generous way, and providing moderately for his sister's (mr. rogers's mother) other children. so mr. rogers got to be extremely wealthy; and though it was said of him, by his old neighbors in general, that his great fortune did not seem to make him vain as a man, or render him less approachable than before, it was evident that he prized his good luck most of all for the contrast which it established between him--now the man of abundant leisure and great wealth--and mr. hague, still the plodding, though well-to-do, apothecary. in various ways he made, or tried to make, mr. hague feel this, but it would seem that the latter gentleman was very imperturbable, and took things quite coolly. mr. rogers set up another apothecary in business, at a point near mr. hague's shop, and provided him with a large shop, with brilliant appointments and a large stock, and he caused him to sell cheaper than mr. hague could afford to. indeed, it was said that mr. rogers lost some two thousand pounds the first year, in thus going into competition with mr. hague; but he persevered. in england it is not an easy thing to draw away customers from an old house where the people can rely upon honest dealings; but mr. rogers was bent on doing mr. hague all the harm he could. of course he did not let the public know that he was at the bottom of the matter. the apothecary, whom he provided with means, came from liverpool, and mr. rogers was at first supposed to have given him only his custom and countenance in trade. but mr. hague suspected him from the first; and as things developed, and he became sure of mr. rogers's financial support of his rival, mr. hague whispered the matter to his own friends, who came, to some extent, to his aid. so the competition became spirited at last, and mr. hague found it difficult to contend with his competitor. little by little his business frittered away, and he was barely able to meet his current expenses. mr. rogers evidently gloated over the downfall of his once bosom friend, now hated enemy; but he _said_ never a word against him, seldom spoke of him at all. meanwhile mr. rogers surrounded himself with all luxuries; bought a splendid old mansion and its magnificent grounds, which he greatly improved, and though not a gaudy man, was vain enough to consult a herald office, and look up a coat of arms for his coach panels and the trappings of his horses' harnesses. he took a great delight in riding after his splendid horses along by the comfortable, but comparatively humble, house of mr. hague, and in arraying his wife and children in an attire too costly, not only for mr. hague, but any of his neighbors to attempt to imitate. mr. rogers enjoyed this kind of mean spite and low pride for considerable time, but there came a turn in affairs. thirty years before these days of which i was last speaking, oliver hague, or rather oliver cromwell hague,--for he was named after the great pretender, by his mother, the stanchest of all protestants, and who was very proud of her ancestors' service under the great oliver,--a then quite thriving london merchant, went out to india to extend his business there, with the purpose of returning in a year or so; but he remained there. his brother edward, after whom _our_ mr. hague was named, conducted the london end of the business, and the house grew rich very fast. mr. edward was older than oliver, and was at the time of oliver's departure a married man, and the father of some five or six children. meanwhile all these children but two died, and one of the others had proved a wild, graceless fellow, and at the early age of sixteen, after sundry dissipations, had fled to america. but little had been heard from him by his family for years, and when mr. oliver made his will, he had provided for this boy,--now man, if he could be found,--otherwise, what would come to him (his name was frederic), was to go to edward,--the "ned" of our story,--mostly to himself, and one part in trust for his younger brother and his sisters, for he was the eldest child of the family. mr. oliver hague set aside a certain sum, which was to be used in the search for frederic, if necessary. all reasonable means of finding him were to be exhausted, and then, upon satisfactory report to the court,--for the search was directed to be made by persons "of good and faithful disposition," as the will read,--that its directions had been followed unavailingly, then the property was to be decreed to be edward's, whether frederic were really living or not, edward to provide him an expressed and generous annuity in case he should thereafter come to light. the will provided, too, that frederic, if found, should give edward a like annuity. great search was made for frederic. i should say here that the senior edward and his son william had gone out to india to visit oliver, and had died there before oliver's death, and that all the business of the house of oliver c. hague & brother had been really that of oliver alone, his brother having been contented with a simple commission, in their private contract, expecting to succeed, at some time, to the whole business when oliver should die, as he expected, years before him, as he was many years older than he. numerous advertisements were inserted in the papers of the united states and canada, and every possible means taken to find frederic, even to sending a man to australia, where, by one account, it was said that frederic had gone years before. a messenger was sent to the united states, too, with instruction to visit the various cities, and to advertise as largely as possible, engage detective policemen when practical, etc. and the messenger did his work thoroughly as he went on. months rolled away, and the weekly communications of the messenger added no light to the whereabouts, or the existence even, of frederic hague--they only gave assurance of where he was _not_. meanwhile mr. edward hague kept on in the even tenor of his way, doubtless hoping that frederic would not be found, or, perhaps, wishing that he had "gone to heaven long before." but every day mr. edward's neighbors grew more and more gratulatory of him on the probable fortune coming to him, and his good luck of the annuity at least, but of which he would obtain nothing till it was sure that frederic was found, or could not be discovered. mr. edward, i was told, showed excellent sense during those days, and did not allow himself to be moved to vanity in his hopes. as time went on he became, of course, more certain in his opinion that frederic would not be found. but there was one man who took a fierce interest in this business. he became nervous over it. his enmity towards many increased; in fact, he began to hate the whole world, that it did not deliver up frederic hague to life and light; and that man was james williams hubert rogers. he could not bear the thought that his old enemy, "ned" hague, should come into the possession of a fortune reputed, at that time, to be vastly larger than his own, and which proved, on the settlement of the estate, more than twice as large as his, being, in minimum, two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. there were certain contingent interests which swelled it a good deal. a million and a quarter of dollars constituted no mean estate, and mr. rogers could not bear to be thrown into the shade by it, in the hands of one he hated, too. so he interested himself in the matter, opening private correspondence with sundry persons he knew in the united states, and well he got come up with for his pains. there was residing, somewhere in vermont, a lawyer, who had interested himself on behalf of persons residing in america, and entitled to property in chancery, etc., in england. to his knowledge came the fact of this search for frederic hague, and mr. rogers's interest in it, and he managed, through some london friend of his, to have himself named to mr. rogers as just the man to hunt up frederic. "if anybody _can_ find him _he_ can," so said the london friend. mr. rogers opened correspondence with the vermont lawyer, and the result was that, in the course of a few months, the lawyer succeeded in finding mr. frederic hague,--"a sickly man," as he described him,--who, having been through all sorts of vicissitudes in life, had settled down in an obscure town in upper new york state. this man, the lawyer found, answered to all the descriptions of mr. hague which had been elicited from the correspondence of mr. rogers. it was agreed that the greatest efforts should be made to restore this man to health, and send him over to england to claim his property. mr. rogers was more than delighted. he sent to the lawyer to have a detailed statement made by mr. frederic hague, and sworn to, as to what he remembered of his life in england, and what experiences he had undergone since, down to the hour; all of which was duly made out, and forwarded to mr. rogers, who was perfectly satisfied with the same, and indulged himself with secretly gloating over the terrible defeat which was to come to mr. edward hague, who, by this time, was confident that frederic would never be found; and he enjoined secrecy on the vermont lawyer; he wanted all the glory himself; and he wished to have frederic there in england, and present him to the commissioners who had the matter in hand, before it was known that he had been found. in his statement, frederic had disclosed that he had married rather late in life, and had a small family dependent upon him; and as he got better, and was about ready to depart for england, the lawyer wrote to mr. rogers, representing the dependent circumstances of mr. hague's family, and asking a loan for him of two thousand pounds, and asking also for a hundred pounds for his own services. mr. rogers thought this moderate enough, and forwarded to the lawyer, through the british consulate in new york, a check for two thousand one hundred pounds, with the form of a note for frederic to sign to cover the two thousand pounds; and the lawyer and mr. hague appeared duly at the consulate, and received the money. it afterwards appeared that this mr. frederic received only one thousand dollars of the sum, besides his expenses to and from england. the lawyer made sure of the rest. the man went over, and played his part as frederic hague for a time, quite successfully, and it is possible that he might have succeeded, for he found several old people who identified him as the frederic, and were ready to swear to their memory of him. but an old american friend and former schoolmate of the man chanced to come across him when in company with some persons interested in the estate he was after,--one of whom chanced to be edward hague, who was himself deceived,--and the american gentleman rushed up to him, overjoyed to meet him on foreign soil, exclaiming, "why, dick clapp, how _do_ you do? what on earth can have brought you over here?" clapp was for an instant taken aback, but rallied, denied his name, and declared that the american gentleman was mistaken, etc.; and this he did, unhappily for him, in such an ungracious way, as made his old friend angry. "dick clapp!" said he, "i hope you are not over here on business you are ashamed of. i swear you _are_ dick clapp, and i went to school with you and your brother james, and your sisters mary, adeline, and isabella, in the good old town of putney. now, if you are here up to anything you ought to be ashamed of, you should have given me the wink when you denied yourself, and not acted so like a d--d hog." there was no mistaking the american's conviction that he knew mr. clapp, and mr. edward hague called the man aside, and told him what this mr. frederic hague had come over for. the american was indignant, and offered to prove clapp's identity at his own expense; said he would send over to america for witnesses to come out, and identify him, and then went and told clapp he had better get out of the country as soon as he could, or he would expose him through the press of the united states. clapp defied him; but it was too evident to all present that he was an impostor, and it is supposed that when mr. rogers came to hear of the fact, he felt as if the yankee lawyer had been too shrewd for him. it afterwards appeared that rogers had not been carrying on the correspondence with _the_ lawyer he supposed to be his correspondent. some other lawyer had assumed the real lawyer's name, and given it an initial letter of a middle name. the london friend had not discovered or thought of this, and was himself imposed upon (he who commended the yankee lawyer to mr. rogers). so when mr. rogers afterwards instituted proceedings against a certain vermont lawyer to recover the amount of the swindle, he found he had been dealing with some other man--an "unknown" and unknowable. clapp got out of england at his early convenience, and the search of frederic was about being given up; but during the excitement in regard to clapp, an account of what was going on reached an old playmate of frederic's, living some twenty miles away from where mr. edward hague lived, and this man remembered that one time, when he and edward, as boys of about eight years of age, were playing in the loft of an old carriage-house, edward, jumping from a beam, had got his foot entangled in something, and fell slantingly upon the teeth of a kind of hatchel,--and terribly lacerated the flesh on the back portion of his left shoulder, tearing the flesh, in fact, nearly off from the scapular bone. this wound, he said, left great scars. he had, in after years, frequently been bathing with frederic, and knew that he must bear these scars for life. he therefore wrote to mr. edward hague that frederic could be identified by that "private mark," and mr. edward gave publicity to the fact, and quite a number of people then called the facts to mind. it so happened that in the correspondence mr. rogers had heard of a man in missouri who said he was the frederic hague, and gave a pretty good account of matters before he left england, and had told mr. rogers's correspondent, a lawyer, of this very incident of the injury in the carriage-house, and stated that he had borne the scars of it all his life since. this had been communicated to rogers, but the lawyer had added, in his letter, that, on the whole, he did not believe the man's story; that he had, as near as he could learn, been a gambler; had lived much, too, among the indians; was a drunkard, and much broken down, and quite incoherent in his memory. still he sometimes thought that he was, after all, the frederic hague so much wanted, but he could not conscientiously advise mr. rogers to spend any money on him. when the fact of frederic's "private mark" was called to mind, rogers again took heart, and searched his papers for the lawyer's letters, but they could not be found. he fancied to himself that perhaps some secret emissary of edward hague had been rifling his papers, and he got into torrents of anger over it, till at last he swore he would trust no man, and would go out to america himself to find frederic hague, "and restore him to his lawful rights." his friends remonstrated, pointed him to the perils of the sea, the sickly character of a great portion of our western states, etc.; but the hardy old man, for he was getting beyond middle age now, would hear to none of them. he made his will, left his affairs in good hands, and out to america he came, and it was three days after his arrival that i made his acquaintance. he could remember neither the missouri lawyer's name nor that of his post office, and it was suggested to mr. rogers by an english friend, whom he found residing in new york, and who had been here long enough to learn that there is a difference between the vast extent of the united states and the confined area of england, that he had better employ a man to "pilot" him about the country, especially in the great west; and it chanced that, through an acquaintance of mine, to whom mr. rogers's want was made known, i was hit upon as the proper individual to consult, and mr. rogers and his friend called on me, and made known his business, giving me a good part of this story as i have detailed it. other parts i, of course, obtained from others, for he did not, at first, let me into the secret of his present hatred of, and his former love for, edward hague. he was here as a sort of messenger of justice, as he would have me believe,--and as i did for a long time believe,--making pure self-sacrifices in the cause of right, to restore a man to his rightful possessions, and "see justice triumph." we soon got ready, and started off for st. louis, i having concluded that the best thing to be done was to hunt up that lawyer,--mr. rogers's correspondent,--and to go on to the ground, and find out the names of as many lawyers as i could, trusting to mr. rogers's memory to recollect the name if he should hear it; and we were in due time the guests of the planter's hotel, and went at once to prosecuting our inquiries. i proceeded to find the assistant clerk of the supreme court,--an old man, who had, since the territorial days of missouri, done service as a court clerk, and knew almost everybody of any note in the state. he gave us the names of all the lawyers in st. louis, and in the adjoining counties,--jefferson, st. charles, pike, crawford, franklin, warren, etc., lists of which he chanced to have; and then named to us all the lawyers in other parts of the state whom he had chanced to know; but mr. rogers recognized none of them as his correspondent, and after a day spent in this sort of search, we returned to our hotel, and eventually sought our beds. finally, i was aroused out of a two hours' slumber by a servant, who told me that mr. rogers wanted me to get up, and come at once to his room. "has he a fit?" i asked, fearful that the old fellow had got desponding over our ill success, and worked himself into a fever, or something else. "no; i reckon he hain't, massa," responded the darkey, opening the largest mouth i ever saw, and displaying a set of teeth formidable enough to frighten a man just awakened from sleep, "for he's up, poundin' 'roun'; but i do say, massa, his face _is_ juf as red as if he'd had a fit, or two uv 'em to th' same time, massa,--ugh! ugh!" i pulled on my pants and coat, and proceeded to mr. rogers's room. "my good fellow," said he, "i couldn't let you sleep any longer. that infernal name has come to my mind. my correspondent lived in warren county somewhere,--pinckney, i think is the name of his place, and i am sure the old clerk read his name to us to-day, but i could not recall it then." i asked him _why_ "in the name of st. george," he didn't take his pencil and make a note of this, and let me sleep till morning, reminding him that we could not do anything till daylight. with english stupidity, he said he didn't think so far as that, and didn't suppose i was asleep, as he was not! and back to bed i went, without even thanking him for thus disturbing me. in the morning we again repaired to the old clerk, and found at last the name of mr. rogers's correspondent. he was a very shrewd lawyer, so said the old clerk, and i "wormed out" of him that the fellow was rather "tricky." at this time i knew nothing of mr. rogers's affair with the vermont lawyer. he was rather ashamed of that, and i never heard a word about it till my visit to england subsequently. it was arranged that i go alone out to pinckney, about twenty-five miles west, or north-west of st. louis, and i departed--found the lawyer; and i would like to give his full name, for reasons which will suggest themselves to the reader as he goes on, but the man is still living, i hear; has since been a member of congress (from another state than missouri, however), and is believed to be a very honest, upright man in his present neighborhood; and, perhaps, he has properly won the esteem he enjoys. i believe in the right and privilege of scoundrels to repent, if they are so inclined (and here let me interpolate, that, in my opinion, if society at large would recognize and _respect_ such right and privilege, many a villain, who now preys upon communities, would lead a respectable life; and nine tenths of the poor fallen women, now "hedged in" (as that piquant and humanitary author, miss elizabeth phelps, would express it), by the unforgiving spirit of the times, and confined to the low estate into which they are fallen, would abandon their unhappy mode of life, and become true and pure women again; and many of them, too, become the very best, noblest, and greatest women of the age). well, i found the lawyer; and such a man i never encountered before. affable, "good-looking" in the general, but with a something so devilish about him--something indefinable--i have never met another like him, save within the last year from this writing, when i was closeted at the gubernatorial rooms with the governor of a certain southern state,--the keenest mere politician, perhaps, now on the stage. i made my errand known at once to the lawyer, that is, i told him that i came as the emissary of his english correspondent, mr. rogers, and at the same time handed him a short note of introduction, which mr. rogers had prepared just before i started. this was a mistake; but i never suspected that i should find such a man to deal with. as he opened the note, he turned his back upon me, but a little too late, evidently, to hide an expression of triumph on his face. i instantly suspected foul play, and as instantly put myself into the mood to receive it. "ah, my friend rogers has got as far as st. louis, on his scent?" said he, turning about to me. "what does he expect?" "the note of introduction tells you--does it not?" "no, not exactly; mr. campbell" (the name i had assumed, for the reader knows, who has followed these pages, that i had been in st. louis before, and there was a good reason now why i should not appear upon the register of the hotel by any of my old names); "but tell me what sort of a man is this mr. rogers. i have never seen him. i can only judge by his writing." "well, what do you judge by his writing?" i asked, resolved to tell him as little as need be. "i hardly know, in fact. is he a pretty resolute man--man of sanguinary temperament?" "i am not technically acquainted with temperaments--couldn't tell what you would call his." "well, describe him; is he large or small, red or black-haired; old or young; hearty or ill?" "you've seen a good many englishmen in your life, i suppose," i replied. "o, yes, sir; a great many." "well, to my eye, he's pretty much like all the rest." "that's not very definite, sir; but i suppose you don't study these matters of temperament, etc., as much as we lawyers do. it is a part of our business. we must know our clients in order to serve them well." "but, in this case, i don't see why it is necessary to know your client at all. no matter who he is; all he wants is to find mr. frederic hague, and i have come to you to learn where he is, with instructions from mr. rogers to pay you for the trouble you have been at, and for whatever further assistance you may render him," i replied. "yes, yes; well--i should--should rather like to see mr. rogers first," drawlingly responded he; and i felt that i was in the hands of a practised scoundrel, as well as a practising lawyer, and i resolved to bring matters to a focus at once; and so i inquired, "well, sir, what is your bill for past services, and what will you demand for pointing out mr. hague? is he here with you?" "no, he's not in this quarter now. i mean he lives in another state," returned he, hurriedly; for that word "now" had escaped his lips undesignedly. "well, i reckon i shall have to charge mr. rogers five hundred dollars for the trouble i've been at. it has cost a great deal of anxiety." "why, sir, if i understand mr. rogers aright, your correspondence with him was to the extent of only a half dozen letters at most; and you are not sure at that, it would seem, from what he says you wrote him, that you have found the veritable frederic hague. suppose you divide up your bill--charge some reasonable sum for the services you have rendered, and let the rest of the five hundred remain contingent on your presenting to mr. rogers the real mr. hague?" said i. this seemed to open up to him a new vision of things. "well, i will," said he; "give me two hundred and fifty dollars down, and i will wait for the rest till i produce mr. hague." "are these your best terms?" "yes; i must be paid for my services, and mr. rogers can afford to pay, for he'll make hague pay the bill finally, of course." "i will report to mr. rogers," said i, "and will let you hear from me in a few days at most," i said. "good day, sir." he bade me a very pleasant day, hoped i'd have a pleasant ride back to st. louis, and that our acquaintance, "so pleasantly inaugurated" (to use his own words), would continue, etc., in a most fascinating way, as if he felt that his little scheme for putting five hundred new dollars in his pocket was already a confirmed success. but i had no notion at all that mr. rogers would suffer himself to be bled to the tune of two hundred and fifty dollars on a decided uncertainty, and two hundred and fifty more, too, on another uncertainty; and as that little word "now" had not escaped my notice, i thought best to institute some inquiries in the village about this mr. hague before i left. so, returning to the little hotel, where i stopped, i inquired about the lawyer in the place and vicinity, and soon found out who among them was this lawyer's greatest foe,--the thing i wished to learn; and finding that he lived in an adjoining town, about five miles away, i procured a horse and rode over there to consult him. he was quite the opposite of the other in personal appearance. mr. john howe (now dead, i hear with regret, for he was one of those men who ought to live always) was a frank, open-hearted, sturdy man, of fine intellect, scorning to do mean things, and was, by nature, the uncompromising foe of such men as the one i had just left. so i found him, and the more i talked with him the less homely he grew to my eye; for i confess he was called, in the vernacular of that quarter, "the homeliest man, by a heap, around these yere diggings." but he was good, and that's "better than riches." i told him my story. he wasn't at all surprised at the lawyer's exactions, and told me that he doubted anybody's being about there by the name of hague. said that he had seen a man in the lawyer's office some three months before that would answer the description i gave of hague, as to age, etc., but said i would find he was known by some other name; that the lawyer had doubtless picked him up on speculation, having probably seen one of the advertisements, and that hague himself was in his power, and had probably been induced to change his name. he said the lawyer had a plantation in arkansas, and occasionally went down to new orleans. so that it would not be strange if he had encountered "hague" somewhere, and brought him home, and made a sort of servant of him, while he was carrying on the correspondence. the man he had in his office was a wreck, and in his poverty easily controllable. mr. howe agreed to make all inquiry possible into the matter at once, and i went back to the village; and making sundry acquaintances, i inquired after new comers, and eventually found that there was occasionally in the village, and sometimes with the lawyer, a fellow called john dinsmore, who, on a drunken occasion, two months or so before, had boasted that he was the ward of an english lord, and had large estates in england, and that he was going back, by and by, with squire ---- (the lawyer) to get his property. this was considered a drunken man's idle boast, and would have been forgotten but for my inquiry. i found out what persons had been most seen with this john,--for i was sure he was the man i wanted to find--and left some money in my informant's hands to encourage him in "the field of research," and instructed him to find out in as adroit a way as he could, where john could be found; and back i went to st. louis, to see mr. rogers. i told him of my visit to the lawyer, and its results, without stating at first what i had subsequently done. as i expected, mr. rogers was very wroth; but finally said, he supposed he would have to pay the five hundred dollars; he had come too far to lose his game now, he said. whereupon i told him i hoped we should be able to avoid the exaction, and "take in" the lawyer--play a sharp game on him; and told him what further i had learned. the old man brightened up, and said he'd rather spend two hundred pounds, in his own way, than be swindled out of a hundred; and told me to "go ahead," and take my own time for a while. i went back to warren county, and got scent of my man. a boon companion of his had told my "spy" that john had gone off to the lawyer's plantation in arkansas, where he was a sort of supernumerary overseer; but where the plantation lay, nobody knew within nearer than fifty miles; at least my man could get no definite information. so i instructed my friend how to act, and sent him over to the lawyer's with a statement that a cousin of his (my friend) had got it into his head to buy out a plantation somewhere in arkansas; that he had a plenty of money, and wanted a good plantation, and would stock it well; that he was coming down from lewis county in a few days, and wanted him to go on "prospecting" with him. could the lawyer give him any idea of where such a plantation could be found? the bait took. the lawyer was not only ready to have good neighbors to his plantation, but was ready to sell his own for "a fair price." of course this led to the naming of the place, and the time it would take to go there. the plantation was in the vicinity of gascony, jefferson county, on the arkansas river, as my friend reported, on his return from the lawyer's, and i felt easy. i rode over to see squire howe, and told him of the situation of things. meanwhile he had been active, and had learned that john dinsmore was the name of the man he had seen in the lawyer's, and that he had gone to the plantation in arkansas. so i felt quite assured that we were on the right track. that night i went back to the village--called next day on the lawyer, and told him that mr. rogers would not pay him over a hundred dollars to produce mr. hague; to which he replied, in a very gruff and decided way,-- "he can't have him short of my first figures; no, he shall not have him now for less than a thousand dollars." "well," said i, "that ends the matter. mr. rogers will return to england, i think, without his man, rather than pay you over a hundred dollars. it won't be any loss to him, except what he has already been at, if he don't find him; but," said i, "i guess we'll leave it this way. you may hear from him again or you may not. he will not remain in this country over a month longer, at most." "o, he won't go away without his man," said he, with a soft, oily voice; "he'll think better of it, and pay the money, before he returns." "perhaps so," said i; and i bade him a pleasant good day. we shook hands quite cordially, and i got off to st. louis as soon as possible, and the next day in the afternoon found us on board the steamer "pike, no. ,"--a cincinnati and new orleans boat, which had been run out of line up to st. louis, on an extra occasion,--on our way to napoleon, arkansas, where we arrived duly, with no noticeable incidents on board (save one, and that is the key to another narrative i may write out for this work), "always excepting," of course, "as worthy of note," the gambling, tippling, bowie-knife exercises, and so forth, by which steamboating on the mississippi used, more than in later years, to be rendered "interesting and fascinating;" and the next day the shaky steamboat "little rock" bore us on our way up the arkansas. we arrived safely at gascony, and were not many hours in finding our way to the plantation, and in the presence of frederic hague, alias john dinsmore. mr. rogers was a most delighted man, when, by sundry questions, he assured himself of the identity of the man; but he could not be satisfied till hague pulled off his flannel wrapper (for he wore no shirt, poor fellow, and everybody who can wears flannels, in that region, in summer as well as winter). the dirty old wrapper tore into pieces in the operation; and i dare say that hague had not removed it before in two months. but there was the "private mark." there was no disputing that; and mr. rogers ordered, on the evening of that day, the richest dinner ever cooked, i presume, at a country hotel in that state. he did not forswear wines, such as they were, and both he and hague put me quite to shame with the amount of liquor they drank. but i must hasten with my story. we learned from hague that the missouri lawyer had picked him up at napoleon one day, learned something of his history, called to mind an advertisement he had seen, took him on to missouri, as he was at that time on his way home, and had a written contract with him for one half of his estate, if he should recover it. he had kept him there and on the plantation in arkansas, and sometimes wrote him, always encouragingly, about the matter of the estate. hague had got it into his head that that lawyer was the only authorized person to treat with, and he was jubilant when he found himself out of his clutches. we were to return to st. louis, in any event, to see after some manufacturing matters in which mr. rogers had taken some interest, and i felt, and so did hague, that it would be well enough to have a little fun with the lawyer. so, after we arrived at st. louis, i went out to warren county to see him again, and told him i was ready to give him the two hundred and fifty dollars down, and two hundred and fifty more on his producing the identical frederic hague, if he would put himself under bonds of five hundred dollars, or put the money in the hands of the village landlord, to be paid over to me in case his frederic hague should, under my cross-examination, fail to assert himself to be the true frederic hague. he assented, being positively sure of his five hundred dollars, as he thought, and i drew up to his table and scratched off a short agreement, taking care to word it as indicated above. he was to produce hague within a week and a half or two weeks, and i was to wait there or in st. louis. the next day hague came straggling along, playing drunk, and told the lawyer a proper story; and he told hague his time was come--that an englishman would be there to see him, and take him home, to restore to him his estate, and he wanted hague to make some alteration in their contract. hague consented, but when he got the paper in his hands he feigned crazy, had a fit, a proper one, and tore and in part ate up the contract, and felt "relieved," as he said afterwards. the lawyer caused me to be sent for. luckily, as he thought, i had not left the village. when i reached his office he took me aside very privately, and told me the "bird" had dropped down upon him, all of a sudden, in a very providential way, and that now he would show me mr. hague, when i was ready to deposit, and he would do the same. the landlord was sent for, preliminaries arranged, and frederic hague called in. the lawyer questioned him before me, and he answered all clearly, even to having a "private mark on his shoulder," etc. "he's your witness now," said the lawyer, triumphantly, probably feeling the five hundred dollars itching in his palms. and i commenced, with confidence of success, for hague and i had practised "our parts," and "rehearsed" to my satisfaction. "you say your name is 'frederic hague'?" "yes, sir." "how do you know?" "that's what they call me." "ah! well, do they call you anything else?" "yes, sir." "what?" "john dinsmore." "then john dinsmore is as much your name as frederic hague?" "yes, sir." "who calls you john dinsmore?" "everybody here and in arkansas." "who first called you john dinsmore?" "mr. ----" (the lawyer); "he gave me the name--said that was my proper name; and i've used it ever since." "who gave you the name frederic hague?" "i don't know." "were you ever in england, sir? come, now, sir, tell the truth, and no lying." "seems as though i was." "seems so? what makes it seem so?" "why, i suppose it is because mr. ----" (the lawyer), "has told me so so often." "has he told you about one frederic hague, a man by the same name you sometimes have borne?" "yes, sir." "a great deal?" "yes, sir." "and you have come to think that you are that frederic hague? now, sir, tell me if you dare assert that you are the veritable frederic hague, the heir to the estate of one oliver hague, about which he has told you? don't let us have anything but the truth now, sir." "no, sir; i don't say that i dare assert it." "did you ever have any notice that you were entitled to any property at all in england, till mr. ---- told you so?" "no, sir." "well, do you now think you are entitled?" "i don't know anything about it--" "o, the fool," here broke in the lawyer; "he's stultified, or he's lied to me. here, 'john,' show this man the scars on your shoulder, and tell him the story you told me about it." "what story?" "why the story about the fall in the carriage house." "why, i never told you any such story--did i? i told you i had a dream once; i suppose that is what you mean," said john, stripping himself meanwhile. "there!" exclaimed the lawyer, "there are unmistakable marks; and they tell, of themselves, how they got there--cut with hatchel teeth." and john, alias frederic, roared out, with a well-feigned laugh, "yes, hatchel teeth, in bill currier's coach-dog's mouth, down to mobile!" [illustration: the missouri lawyer outwitted.] the lawyer looked confounded--and he put "john" through a severe re-examination; all to no avail, except to force john into some rather _bold_ species of story-telling. the landlord decided the case in my favor, according to the contract between the lawyer and me, and gave me the five hundred dollars on our return to his hotel. i got frederic hague to st. louis as soon as i could, and we proceeded to new york. i let my friend there into the joke by letter, and told him to make the most of the story for a month, when i would return the lawyer all his money, except what it had cost me--the matter of forty-five dollars--to play the joke on him, saying that he ought to be willing to pay for his fun; and at the end of a month, after the story had gone far and near, how the lawyer had set his bait to fish out an estate for a client, and had lost five hundred dollars himself, the money was duly returned to him through draft on a st. louis bank; and that was not the last i heard of him. but i cannot stop to tell the full story here. mr. frederic hague, neatly dressed, and apparently in excellent health, though by no means strong,--his nervous system having been shattered by his rough western life,--and mr. rogers, after a trip to montreal and boston, took steamer from new york for liverpool. mr. rogers was one of the most victorious, haughty-looking men i ever saw, as he stepped on to the steamer's deck, with frederic hague by his side. up to within one or two of my last interviews with him, he always vaunted himself as struggling in the cause of justice only; but at last he allowed some remarks to escape him about mr. edward hague, and how chopfallen he would feel when frederic should appear on the tapis. and my curiosity being awakened, i sounded him considerably, the rest i learned in england afterwards. mr. rogers was very liberal with me, paid me very handsomely, and treated me most hospitably when i visited him at home. but the poor man was destined to lose his almost won, but foolish, triumph. four days out, frederic, meeting on board a couple of men whom he had known, the one in new orleans, and the other at louisville, kentucky, he had served in the care of horses,--these men were cousins, it appeared,--must needs tell them of his vast estates in prospect, which he was just going over to claim. these men were high livers, and took along their own wines and liquors, and of these, with them, mr. hague partook very liberally, got ravingly intoxicated, and howling about the deck one night, while something of a breeze was blowing; and the ship ploughing a little, he was toppled over the rail, as she suddenly lurched, into the unquiet waters. every effort was made to save him. the steam was shut off, the life-boats lowered, and search made for a whole hour, without avail. the darkness was too great to permit him to be easily found, if he had not drowned at once. of course, mr. rogers went home a wiser, and perhaps better man. he had, unfortunately for his pride, written a triumphant letter home, stating that he had found the veritable frederic, and that he should bring him by the next, or the second steamer thereafter, and would then teach edward hague good manners. but it was difficult to learn anything from him, i was told, after he arrived at home. the terms of the will were such, that the property went to mr. edward hague; and when i met him, he was living in most comfortable style, but without any attempt at vain show. he was satisfied with his possessions, and was not a little amused when i told him of mr. rogers's personal exertions in america "in the cause of justice and truth;" but said he was sorry frederic had not lived to enjoy something of life, and that he had no doubt frederic would have been kind to him. in fact, i found mr. edward hague one of the most lovable of men, and i confess that i think the property in his hands was made more useful to a larger number than it probably would have been in frederic's hands, for he had learned some bad habits in america, among which was the inveterate one of gambling. i never think of mr. rogers without laughing; and so, with a laugh, i leave him now, and the fortune, and the "private mark." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ william roberts and his forgeries. -------------- a man of the olden type--his sad story about his wife and himself--they adopt a bright boy--the wife's prophet speculations about the boy--the boy grows up, and goes to college--a pleasant year--he learns certain mysteries of life--students' pitched battle with the faculty of the college--of the "white horse"--a while in a lawyer's office--becomes a merchant--making money too fast--a fatal hour--the vortex of wall street--sundry forgeries--a strange career--an important witness lost, and found in the insane retreat, hartford, conn.--a terrible complication of affairs; lawyers and all baffled--i am called in to work up the case--difficulties encountered--fate interposes--wentworth, the insane witness, recovers--a vast difference between black ink and blue ink--dying of grief--an unhappy household. i was sitting one day in my office, about noon, in july, , with windows up, coat off, my legs sprawled upon the table, and fanning myself for a breath of living air out of the sweltering atmosphere. i had tried to enjoy my position (but there was no joy for me on that day) only a few minutes, when i heard a strong tap at the open door, and without looking around, i called out, "come in!" with what i suspect was a peculiar emphasis, for presently an old man stood before me aghast, as if he knew not what to think. "you are mr. ----?" "yes, sir, the same." "mr. ----, the detective officer?" "yes, sir, the detective officer. but pray, sir, take a seat," said i, seeing that the man meant business, doubtless; and i pointed him to a seat near the window. "what can i do for you, sir?" i asked. "that's just what i've come to see," said he. i scanned the man. he was evidently from the country. his manner and dress showed this; but there was something remarkably intelligent about his well-cut, smoothly-shaven face, which was square at the base, with those wide cheeks, which distinguished so many of the rare men of revolutionary days. jefferson's face will give one a good notion of what i mean. this style of face has gone almost "out of fashion" in these days, only one here and there having been transmitted by the sires of the republic. i am always attracted to these faces, and although they denote firmness, amounting to obstinacy sometimes, i have never found one not belonging to a man of unquestioned respectability and probity. "it's a warm day, sir," said i, as he took his seat; "and you must pardon me for my being in undress, sir; but, really, i can't endure a coat to-day. wouldn't you like to pull off your own? make yourself perfectly at home, sir." "o, no, sir; thank you. _i_ am not warm; on the other hand, i am cold," and the old man buttoned his coat about him. i was surprised, for i saw that he was evidently healthy, and then i conjectured that his frigidity on that hot day must proceed from intense mental suffering, and i asked him,-- "did you call to see me professionally?" "yes, sir; i have been recommended by my attorney, judge hoffman, to call upon you and lay a case before you, which he says you may possibly be able to work out; and if _you_ can't, he tells me to give up trying further. he has exhausted his powers upon it, and my all depends upon it," and the old man's voice discovered a slight tremor as he uttered the last words, and excited my interest intensely. "tell me your story in detail, leaving out nothing that you can remember, however trivial, and i will listen patiently; take your time." the old gentleman, taking me at my word, and beginning with a "you must know," recited his own early history, which had no bearing on the case in issue, as i soon saw; but i let him go on; so much had his real trouble weighed upon his mind that he seemed to think the line which led to it ran through his whole life. he was a farmer and a country merchant, who had, at the age of twenty-two, succeeded to the estate of his father, who was also a farmer and a merchant; that is, he "kept store" in a respectable country farming town, and "carried on farming" besides, with the aid of "hired men," whom he supervised. he was a man--that is, my visitor--of more than ordinary information, probably a great reader, and at one time the leading "whig" of his place--the village oracle, in fact, at whose "store" the country people gathered of nights to hear him talk politics, and doubtless to debate among themselves the issues of those days when clay was the idol of the great, respectable whig party of the land. the old man was able to narrate a story with great fidelity, and showed a mind well disciplined. i had but few questions to ask him, as he went on in his narrative, and when he had concluded, i had already conceived a theory of the case, which in due time i proceeded to verify in practice. he was then seventy-eight years old, he said; was married at thirty-four, his wife still living. they had had one child, a son, born in his father's thirty-seventh year, but who died at the age of four years, just when he had begun to be most interesting, the delight, of course, of his parents. the old man descanted, in pathetic terms, upon his desolation over the loss of that dear child, and said it came near bringing his mother to her grave; that she had never since been the same woman as before; that she never laughed aloud now, as she used to when they were first married, being then a woman of very jocular habits, and full of boisterous fun. "since then," said he, "she has only faintly smiled, now and then, over something which pleased her fancy or met her hearty approval. no ordinary occurrence can bring a smile or a tear to her eye. but she is a dear, dear woman; and now that a great grief is upon us, i suffer more for her sake than my own." the old man's voice grew husky as he proceeded, and i confess that, accustomed though i was to tales of horror, and feeling always that nothing of a wretched nature could ever surprise or move me to deep emotions, i felt for him nevertheless, and entered into the spirit of his soul before i knew what were its griefs. the old gentleman continued his tale. "for some years after the death of our child my wife was disconsolate beyond my power to give her any relief. she used to keep to the house constantly; never went abroad among the neighbors, but treated them all kindly when they called at the house, and with no diversion except her household duties, led almost a hermit's life, avoiding seeing whomsoever she decently could. i fitted up a little private room for her, and beguiling her time with reading and with her devotions she spent most of her days. i sought every means to comfort her; called children to the house to play. she was very fond of children, and would chat and chaffer with them to make them happy, as if she too enjoyed it; but there was always a sadness mingled with her smiles upon them even. but i must not stop to tell you too much of this. and now, sir, in our old age has come a grief which weighs her down as did the loss of our blessed, only child. "i must tell you that, after years had passed, i finally induced my wife to consent to my adopting a bright boy--a cheerful, handsome lad of eight years of age, whose father was a good, honest laborer on my farm, but had been killed some months before by the falling upon him of a tree which he had cut. he having lost his life in my employ, i felt a particular interest in his family, and having aided the mother to get situations for her five other children, had defrayed her expenses back (with an infant in arms) to her native place in rhode island, according to her desire, and took the boy, of whom i spoke, to bring up, educate, and establish in business. "at first my wife, though she admired the boy's beauty and his manners, which were very gentle, did not open all her heart to him, and had misgivings that in her state of mind she should be able to do by the boy as she ought. and one day, after he had been with us a few weeks, she said to me, 'what if william should not grow up a good man? sometimes i feel, i know not why, that he will not. he is very "deep," and if his talents, as he grows up, should chance to take a wrong course, he might be a very bad man, and it would break my heart to think that we had brought him up in the place of our angel who is in heaven,' and she burst into tears, and i consoled her; but, sir, the terrible day which she seemed to then anticipate, has come, and her heart _is_ broken indeed. "i know, sir, you must lose your patience to hear me talk of these things, but though i am old in years in comparison with you, yet it is not years that makes me so weak to-day. i feel as if i were a hundred years old, and you must pardon my imbecilities." i assured the old man that i was far from being impatient with his story, for i knew full well that he could never make me an intelligent narrative of the facts i should need to know, if his business proved of real importance, until he had delivered his mind of these special burdens; and so i waited patiently to the end of his story, which it took far more time to reach than i can afford in this narrative. the young, adopted lad, william, it seems, enjoyed all the advantages of the village school, and of the preparatory academy in the shire town of the county in which the old man resided, and whither, at a distance of some twelve miles from his own home, the old man (taking his wife often) visited the lad at least once a week, and sometimes twice, especially if by any means the old gentleman could contrive to have a "business" excuse for going there, during the boy's whole course at the preparatory school, so great was his affection for him; and, finally, being well prepared, and giving high promise of becoming a great scholar, and a great man, the lad, or now well-grown young man, was sent off to college. during his first collegiate year he bore himself faultlessly, and achieved a high position in his class, in some branches of study being at the head. the old gentleman said that his own pride was never so flattered in all his life as when the boy came home at the end of the year and all the village was talking of the honors he had won. he said he felt a relief then, as if he had a staff well grown, and to grow still stronger and stronger in the coming years, upon which to lean in his own declining years--a young counsellor, whose judgment already good, would grow better and better. the boy had always been good, courteous, and obliging to the old man and his wife; but now, at the end of his first collegiate year, he seemed to have grown still better, if possible. vacation being passed in perfect happiness for that household, the old gentleman accompanied william back to college, the wife bidding them god-speed on their journey, with copious tears flooding her face. "come back, william, just as good a boy as you now are, and i will try to be better to you than i have ever been," said she; and william bade her dry her tears (while his own blinded his eyes), told her that she had always been more than a mother to him, and assured her that he thought of her and his happy home a hundred times a day, and could not, he hoped, but grow better himself every time he thought of home. "we thought," said the old man, "then, that that was the happiest day of our lives; and when i returned home, after seeing william back again in the college, we talked over, day after day, the happiness of the parting hour, and every letter we got from william, who always wrote once a week at least, prompted us to remember that 'holy day,' as we called it, and we talked it over and over. "but the next collegiate year brought william home, with a different report about him. he was still forward in his classes, but during the winter term had begun to grow a little wild; had attended a dancing-school privately, against the rules of the college, and had begun to feel himself 'man enough to control his own conduct,' etc. indeed, on account of the expression of a great degree of obstinacy and self-will, with not a little defiance of the professors on a certain occasion, when they had thought best to gently hint a sort of reproval of some act of his, william had come near being 'suspended,' as the phrase is, for a while; that is, dismissed from the college for a season, to return on conditions. but he was not suspended finally, and had come home still a member of the college. but he had had a taste of certain liberties, had learned to look upon some things, such as 'card-playing for fun,' and which he had been used to look upon with horror, as a foolish, sinful way of spending time, as not, after all, so very bad. but i need not recite these things; for his career was from the good, gently at first, and by slow steps to the bad--much like that of everybody else who has followed the like path. william did not finish his junior years, finding it convenient to withdraw from the college during the spring term (as he was, by the grace of the faculty, permitted to do, instead of being expelled, in consideration of the entreaties of his adopted father, the good old man, who had been sent for to confer with the faculty). william had been engaged, with a score of other students, in some mischief, which, though not seriously bad at first, led to a terrible fight between these students and the authorities of the college-town, or city, rather, in which william had drawn a pistol, and attempted to make use of it (as he always claimed, however, in strict defence of his life), against some of the opposing party. but the pistol, being fortunately snatched from his hands, no blood was shed. william would not acknowledge to the faculty that he had been wrong in drawing his pistol with the purpose of making bloody use of it, but, on the other hand, insisted that, under like circumstances, he would do the same again, in self-defence, as he claimed. the faculty would not yield, and permitted him, in conclusion, to withdraw. and william went home, a somewhat altered young man, but beloved by all the villagers about him, some of whom, however, sometimes said, there was 'a great deal of the "wild-horse" in him which has got to come out in some way, some time;' but they little thought what lay in the line of william's career." having thus left college, the question arose, what william should do, what profession or business he should pursue? first, he was inclined to take up the study of the law, and entered the office of mr. mills, the only lawyer of the village; but mr. mills was far from being a profound or scholarly man, had but a meagre practice, and, on the whole, william, who had read over blackstone, chitty's contracts, and some other works whose names the old man had forgot, and of which i know as little, came to the conclusion, that though he liked to read law, he should not like to practise it, and that course was abandoned; and william, thinking he would become a business man, entered the old man's little store. after a while he was intrusted to go to the city and make the little periodical replenishing purchases, and developed great taste and sagacity in his purchases. in fact, he had rare talents as a merchant, and it was not long before a place was found for him in new york, with a then ruling firm, where he speedily advanced, so as to be offered an interest in the concern. he had managed to lay up a little money for himself, but the old gentleman furnished him ten thousand dollars more,--a large sum, it was then thought,--the villagers thinking that the old gentleman was almost wild to part with that sum, which would then have bought two or three good farms in the vicinity of the village. thus provided, william went into the partnership, and his business went on flourishing till, at the end of five years, he became the second member in importance in the concern; and though not married, had built a very fine summer residence in the outskirts of the old village, and filled and surrounded it with every comfort. "i fear william roberts is living too fast," some old villager would say. "he'll make money easy and spend it as easy. easy comes, easy goes, you know." "o, no, he won't. he knows the value of money," another would say. "the old man's taught him that. he knows how to hold on to a dollar." "you see," said the old man, with a curious look in his eye, as he related what he used to hear (and sometimes overhear), that his neighbors said, "that they always thought me, up there, a little _too_ economical." but william roberts had made money too fast, as the sequel showed; he lived too high, contracted expensive habits, and, eventually, it got to be rumored that he indulged sometimes "in cards for fun;" but now the "fun" meant, the excitement of gambling for money. his business house knew nothing of this, and were unsuspicious of it for a long while, though william made large drafts upon it; but these not being more than he was entitled to, nothing was said about it. but finally he insisted on drawing at one time--when the house really needed the money to help carry on its business--the sum of five thousand dollars, and was rather curt and severe upon his partners on their remonstrating; and they began to look about them, and came to learn of mr. roberts's gambling habits; and, fearful of him, arranged, after a long while, to buy him out, accepting his figures on demand. this was the most fatal hour in his life. with some fifty thousand dollars, cash in hand, mr. roberts could not control himself, and, with the spirit of gambling upon him, rushed deeper into dissipation--more deeply than ever. together with his gambling pursuits at night, mr. roberts went into wall street by day, drawn there by the allurements of certain acquaintances, who presented to him visions of stupendous wealth to be early won. mr. roberts was, withal, a self-reliant man, and believed he could take his part among the bold and fiery contestants of the street; and went into that vortex, where so many brave souls have been wrecked, with greatest confidence, only to find himself, at the end of six months, penniless and poor, save in the country residence, which has been before alluded to. he applied to his adopted father now; told him the whole story; and evidently penitent over his wanderings and rashness, was again aided into business in a comparatively small way. but his talents were good, and for a while he pursued a line of success. but the old gambling mania came over him again, and he fell; and this time deeper than before. in his extremity, he had forged certain drafts on the bank in which his firm did business, intending to keep all dark, and make these good in time. though they were not large, he found he could not meet them at the proper time by the fitting deposits without further steps in crime. so he resorted to the country bank, in which his adopted father kept his funds, with drafts in the name of his father, from time to time, which were borrowed and paid; but these came so frequently as to excite the suspicions of the president of the bank, that mr. roberts was getting an undue influence over my client, his father; and so one day meeting the old gentleman (whose real name i have no right to disclose, but whom we will call mr. brown, for convenience), the president said,-- "mr. brown, mr. roberts seems to have occasion to use a great deal of money." "yes, yes," replied mr. brown, "he is doing a fine, large business since he's got on his feet again, after his 'failure'" (for it was by the modest word 'failure' that mr. brown always referred to the disastrous career of roberts among his country friends). the president, believing from mr. brown's reply that all was correct with roberts, since he, if anybody, must know all about his business, he thought, said no more, and moved on. however, something suggested to him, when roberts came to present the next check, to make matters more satisfactory to the bank, and to avoid any complaint on the part of mr. brown, against whom the debit side of his account was getting fearfully large, that when the day of settlement should come, he, roberts, should obtain mr. brown's power of attorney to draw when and in what amounts he should like. the president, on future reflection, thought roberts acted a little "nervous" over this suggestion; but roberts's ready acceptance of the advice caused him to forget it on the instant, and he had no suspicion whatever that mr. brown's name was counterfeited on the checks. in proper time roberts appeared with a power of attorney, duly made, and purporting to be mr. brown's, which was securely lodged in the bank. by and by mr. brown, who used his bank mostly as one of deposit, being then retired from business, and having money enough for his current wants accruing from the rent of some two or three farms, and his store-house, and interest on money lent to surrounding farmers, and having no business occasion to often visit the bank, going one time to the shire town on business, thought he would make a friendly call at the bank for a moment on his friend the president. on his calling, the usual hand-shaking and salutations took place, and were followed by the usual gossip about a little of everything and nothing; and mr. brown, who had been invited to a seat in the directors' room, rose to retire, bidding the president good day. as he was passing out, he spoke jocularly to the president,-- "the banks' breaking, i suppose, does not disturb _you_? bank's sound, i take it. you've got my deposits all safe as the rest, i dare say, eh?" with a little chuckle, as if he thought he had expended a little salutary wit. "yes, perfectly safe, what there's left of 'em. can't tell you exactly, without looking, how the account stands; but some balance yet to your credit." brown thought the president was joking, laughed a little, and went out. he had not gone far on his way, however, when, recalling the president's manner when speaking, he began to think he wasn't joking. but mr. brown drove on and on. at last he got to be uneasy, and determined to go back to ask the president what he meant by that word "balance." the president was surprised by the query, and answered,-- "why, i mean that roberts has not yet drawn out all your funds on that power of attorney." "power of attorney? what do you mean?" the president was confounded. he saw that old mr. brown was either forgetful, or that there was some wrong somewhere. he caused the cashier to look up mr. brown's account, and draw the balance, and presented the same to mr. brown; who, in turn, was confounded, said he had given roberts no drafts, or any power of attorney. the latter was produced. mr. brown could not believe his own eyes. so perfectly like his own signature was that of the power of attorney, that he clasped his hand to his head, and after deep thought for a few moments, said to the president,-- "well, i would not believe it. it seems like a dream to me. i cannot remember when i signed that power of attorney; but i must have done it in some hour of weakness for there's john wentworth's name to it as witness, and i know his handwriting well. he has borrowed money of me often, and given his notes. but, see here, if my name is forged, so may john's be. i don't know anything about this power of attorney." the checks drawn before the power of attorney was presented by roberts to the bank were new to mr. brown. he was surprised by his exact signature to these, and the filling out of some of them as well, in his own handwriting apparently. but sure he could not remember ever giving one of them. "do you think," said the bank president, who understood the situation of things if these should all prove forgeries, and wishing to save the bank from loss,--"do you think sometimes, mr. brown, that your memory fails you at all as you grow older?" "o, yes," said the honest old man, "i do. i find i forget a good many things. well, well; have i come to this?" what occurred thereafter, would be wearisome to recite in detail. suffice it that search was made for wentworth, the witness, by both mr. brown and the bank; but he was not to be found immediately. his signature was shown to several persons who knew his handwriting, and all declared it his. roberts, in some way, got wind of the old man's having visited the bank, and he, too, was not to be found, and so matters stood for a while. at last it was found out that wentworth, who had a pretty good farm, which he worked only a part of the year, and occupied himself as a pedler, with a wagon, through quite a large circuit of country the rest of the time, had been taken to the insane retreat, at hartford, conn. his "team" having been run into and capsized one night on the road by another "team" furiously driven by some drunken men, wentworth being violently thrown against a large rock, head foremost, and receiving such injuries as quite severely damaged his mind. he, therefore, could not be "improved" to determine whether his signature was veritable or not. mr. brown had, meanwhile, persuaded himself that the "power of attorney" was a forgery; that he had _not_ suffered any such mental weakness at any time as would have allowed him to give such an instrument to roberts. in fact, he knew that it was a forgery. great though his grief was over the heartless conduct of roberts, mr. brown could not make up his mind to tell his wife the facts. she noticed his sorrow, which he, upon her frequent inquiry, attributed to bodily ills, and time went on. eventually mr. brown made up his mind that perhaps he ought to be willing to bear a part of the loss; and after consulting his lawyer about it, went to the bank, and generously offered to compromise; to lose half his deposit, if the bank would pay him the other half, or sixteen thousand five hundred dollars. but the directors seeing the advantage they had of him, refused to entertain his offer for a moment, affecting to believe the drafts and power of attorney genuine. at last mr. brown broke the matter to his wife. she was struck with horror; but in the end counselled him to let it all go, inasmuch as they had enough left to "scrub along on the rest of their lives," as she expressed it, with economy. but the manner of his old friend, the president, when announcing to him the course taken by the directors, had greatly piqued mr. brown, and he was determined to have all his money at last. the great legal difficulties in the way were, however, insurmountable in the opinion of his attorney, who had exhausted his own resources in trying to get the proper testimony to set aside the power of attorney, and finally mr. brown had applied to me. i had heard his long story with greatest patience, seeing nothing tangible up to this point to take hold of. wentworth might not recover in years, if ever; roberts was out of the way, and would, perhaps, never be found. all his neighbors would identify mr. brown's signatures as veritable, and he himself had admitted to the bank president, on the day of the disclosure of his claimed indebtedness, that he found himself frequently forgetful; and had half admitted that he might have been led to sign the power of attorney in some hour of weakness. the case was desperate. i pondered it over a while, and finally asked mr. brown if he could give me the _date_ of the power of attorney. he could not. i asked him then to go to the bank with some friend, and ask to see it, and note the date; telling him that this was the first essential thing for me to know. before mr. b. left my office, i had planned a course of operations, all of which i did not develop to him, however. in the course of a few days mr. brown sent me a letter, saying that the date of the instrument was the th of june, -. i turned to my diary for that year, and found where i was on that day,--at coney island, with quite a large party, who went down on the excursion steamer belle, early in the day, and were gone all day; and, as i knew roberts very well by sight, i was sure that i remembered his being there that day. light began to gather in my mind. perhaps mr. brown, too, could remember where he was that day; and i sent for him, told him what i wanted to know; and he was sure, on reflection (as was afterwards found certain), that he was visiting, during a week which covered the th of june, with his wife, some old friends at danbury, connecticut. so much being learned, i lost no time in hunting up parties who were at coney island that day, and established the fact, beyond doubt, that roberts was there. next i turned my attention to wentworth's case, and found that he was at philadelphia that day, and the day before, making some purchases; and also found a letter from him to a brother, dated at pittsburgh, pa., on the th of june, in which we found a statement to the effect that he had left home on the th of june; had been in philadelphia for a day or two; had gone from there to pittsburgh, and should be "back about the th of july." we also found a man who had come on from pittsburgh to new york with wentworth on the d of july, and who had met him there several times a day, and for several days before. armed with these facts, we went to the bank, and presented our evidence frankly, and were surprised at the officers' then refusing to pay over the money. suit was brought by mr. brown for the recovery of his money, and the bank undertook to keep it in court, thinking to weary out old mr. brown, and effect a compromise, perhaps. but the old man grew more vigorous and confident as court after court sat, and the case was put over upon one pretence or another. but this, after all, was no disparagement to mr. brown's cause, for, before he could force the suit on to trial, wentworth recovered his mind and health; and being apprised of what was going on, declared that he had not seen roberts for several months before the th of june, and had not seen him since; and knew that he had never witnessed such an instrument for mr. brown. wentworth also kept an accurate business diary, which covered all the time, and corroborated the testimony that we had secured of his being on that day, and before and after, in pittsburgh, etc. wentworth accompanied mr. brown and his attorney to the bank to see the power of attorney, and they were informed that it was at their attorney's; but the officers would give no order that he might see it. but mr. brown's attorney, conceiving that the bank's attorney would not refuse him a professional courtesy, took mr. brown and wentworth to his brother lawyer's office, and they were at once shown the document. looking at it for a moment in astonishment, wentworth exclaimed,-- "no; that signature is not mine. the 'e' in the name ain't just as i make it; besides, i haven't signed my name, or written a letter, or made an entry in black ink, in many years (the signature was in black). i always use blue." "but," interposed the bank's attorney, "you may not have had blue ink at hand when you witnessed that instrument." "i tell you," said wentworth, in a manner which could not be mistaken for its firm honesty, "i never witnessed that instrument. i never can use anybody's else pen, and i always go prepared," said he, taking out from his side coat pocket an old, long, portable inkstand, with a pen held in its leathern case. "there, i've carried that, now, for over eight years, and i have never written a word from any other inkstand, with any other pen but my own, or any kind of ink but blue, in all that time." his manner convinced the lawyer of the bank that it was of no use to go to trial with such testimony against the bank, and he very frankly said so; and that he should advise immediate settlement, which he did; and old mr. brown recovered his whole deposit, with interest from the time he brought suit, and with sundry "costs." but both he and mrs. brown declared that they felt no better after the recovery of the money, for, after the struggle to obtain it was passed, and the excitement was over, the heartless conduct of roberts seemed to oppress them only the more, and mr. brown, after a year or two, pined away and died. mrs. brown is still living at this writing, an unhappy woman, when i last saw her. as for roberts, it is believed that he is leading a miserable life in the mining districts of california, under the name of william simpson; but this is a conjecture, founded on testimony hardly sufficient to be relied on. thus were wrecked roberts's bright hopes, and the happiness of his faithful old adopted parents. playing cards "for fun," at first, not unfrequently leads to disastrous, deplorable, ends--to unalterable wretchedness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ old mr. alvord's last will. -------------- the destructive greed of gain--a weird, wondrous tale--"what if they but knew"--telling stories away from home--revelations--an old man of the high moral type--curious notion about the size of a family; the mystic number three--portraits of a family; a perfect woman--deaths and intrigues--a "faithful servant"--old wills and new--legal complications--the last will missing--a crafty lawyer--a thorough search--a diabolical courtship, and fierce struggle during three years--a detective at last called into the matter--a plot laid to foil old boyd, an unscrupulous lawyer--did it succeed?--the reader permitted to answer the question for himself--a vital discovery--more plotting--a beautiful young lady makes a diversion in the plans--old andrew wilcox's funny letters searched, and a treasure "found" among them--old boyd's consternation--the last will finally carried out--"nothing impossible"--a fortune too large to be laughed at--a cunning wife leads her simple husband a curious life--a bit of comfort, perhaps. that "the love of money is the root of all evil," hardly needed for its proper declaration a divine voice. the records of man's life and struggles in all ages, in peace and in war, through the fictitious "honesties" of business enterprises, or in the eccentric ways called crimes, declare most emphatically that the "great good" _is_ "goods" or their equivalent in the "representatives of value" which we call money, in almost everybody's heart; and the sickening details of the struggles for it, with which the detective becomes familiar, are so multiplied, that one might almost write the history of current times, as well as of that of the past, in one phrase--"money-getting!" "money-getting!" and the modes by which money is sought are almost as multiplied as the persons seeking. the fierce quarrels between members of the same family,--an instance of which i have marked in my memorandum, to be presented in these pages if space permits,--and the devilish "greed of gain" which pursues a father, perhaps on his dying bed, and disturbs his last hour through the contentions of his loving children, quarrelling there, may be, with a step-mother, or somebody else equally "loved" by them, over the "goods and chattels" which the expiring man is expected to leave behind, have furnished matter for the satirist in all times; and most fit subjects are these for the satirist's and reformer's pen. they cannot be held up to too great execration. the story which i am about to relate might, in its interesting details and phases, be readily made to fill a duodecimo volume of several hundred pages instead of the short article into which it is compressed, so peculiar were the characters, and so beautiful as well as painful the varied life of the chief person whom it regards. i find myself lingering over it, as now i turn over my diary and note-books, and recall it so vividly to mind, with the wish that i might, and with a half-formed resolve that i _will_ at some time, put it in the form of an extended narrative, so thorough a portrayal of human nature in some of its best as well as worst aspects, would it prove. i am frequently vexed that i may not use the actual names of the individuals who figure in these tales. how many a neighborhood, or how large an acquaintanceship with this or that character would be astonished, if they but knew as they read that the subjects of this or some other articles are still beings lingering in the flesh, and residing, perhaps, next door! i was telling a story one night in a stage-coach which was full of passengers. i was more than two hundred miles away from my own home, and over eight hundred from the place of the chief scene in my story. the passengers had, most of them, been favoring each other with "yarns," of more or less truthfulness, but usually untrue, in some respects, to the actual experiences of life, and my turn came then. i chanced to call to mind an experience of mine more than ten years before. my story, i fancy, was of a more interesting kind than my fellow-travellers were wont to hear, for there was the profoundest silence on their part. as now and then the clouds which threatened a rain broke away, and revealed the moon, i noticed that an old man, sitting opposite me on the back seat, was all ears, all intent. to make my story comprehensible in some parts, i had, in the early portion of it, entered into a minute personal, rather, physical description of the chief character of it, and a bad one. it proved that the old gentleman recognized the very man, though he himself, when at home, lived some fifty miles from him, and it further proved that what that tale revealed led on to a course of affairs in which several families were more or less involved, to their displeasure. when we alighted, the old man took me aside, and whispered in my ear, "that was a fearful story you told us, but i knew it was all true, because i know the man that you called 'jones.' his name is ----, and he resides in ----, and i am greatly obliged to you for unearthing one of his villanies. i can see now _how_ he has accomplished others just as bad." i tried to laugh the old man out of his notion, but he said it was of no use, that he knew mr. ---- only too well. i have ever since observed a greater care in my general descriptions, and never forget that distance of space or time may be no surety of secrecy. in the town of ----, in the state of new york, for fifty years before the time i was called to take part in the affair which is the chief part of the subject-matter of this, there had lived a quaint old man of wealth, whom his neighbors but little understood. he had had, in the course of his life, three wives, two of whom had borne him children, none of which lived but a few years, and the third had died childless. but the old man, in his grief over the want of "natural heirs of his own body," had adopted several children, one after the other, whenever he lost one of his, "to keep the number good," as he said. the old gentleman, whom we will call james alvord, was born in vermont, reared in the strictest puritan ways, and was bred to work. at about sixteen years of age, i believe, he was apprenticed to learn the harness-maker's trade, from which time he left off going to school; but he was of studious disposition, and i was told (for i never saw him myself) that he had aggregated to himself a large amount of information upon almost all subjects, and that had he been an aspirant for public honors and distinctions, his fund of knowledge would have enabled him to cope successfully with almost any man in the state. but he had no vain aspirations. to accumulate knowledge and money was his chief desire, not to make display with either, but simply to enjoy the consciousness of having,--possessing, it would seem. the old man had not far wandered from the moral notions and feelings which were inculcated or aroused in him by his vermont education, but he entertained some peculiar notions of his own. in fact, he was all his own--all character, all strong individuality in everything. among his notions--perhaps i should call them his fixed opinions--was, that it was every married couples' duty, if possible, to bring into the world six children, and if they could not have them themselves, to adopt as many from families that had more; for in his early days, when he first imbibed this notion, it was no rare thing for families in vermont to count around the hearthstone ten and twelve children apiece. six is the product of two multiplied by three. three, of course, comprehends a "trinity," and upon the mystic trinity, so frequently discovered in nature, the old man built many theories. three was a mystic number with him. "there are but three primitive colors," he used to say. "all other colors are the results of the intermixture of two or all of these," and so on, the old gentleman was accustomed to elucidate his "philosophy;" and somehow he had so applied the mystic three to the matter of parentage, that he had arrived at the doctrine noticed above, and he was a man who most strictly observed himself what he was pleased to teach others as a duty; and so, from time to time, in the lack of children who continued to live, he adopted others. he did not seem, however, in his "adoptions" to have observed much "philosophy" (the word that was most often upon his tongue, and which, in fact, did signify not a little of the character it intimates, in his brain) in selecting the children. he overlooked the matter of stock and blood, and seemed only anxious to make sure of healthy children; which is not so much to be wondered at in his case, perhaps. so that when these six grew up to maturity they developed characters about as diverse as could possibly be found, notwithstanding the course of their education, or rather teachings (mental and moral) had been about the same. some of them gave the old man much uneasiness; and notwithstanding that he had placed each in business when he had arrived at age, or had given the girls each of them a good outfit on her marriage, yet some of them were discontented, and thought the old man ought to have the grace to die in good season, in order that they might obtain their expected shares of property; for it was presumed by them that mr. alvord would treat them all alike, and leave no will in fact. i should not forget to say here, that there were of these children three males and three females. mr. alvord had first adopted a boy, next a girl, and so on, alternating. time went on, and the three boys had grown to manhood, and married, and two of the girls had filled out into mature womanhood in good time, and had married. mr. alvord, as i have said before, had been generous to them all, and impartial in the bestowal of his pecuniary favors; but it would have been impossible, under the circumstances, to have been equally respectful of them all in his heart, so diverse were they in character. the oldest boy grew up to be a very respectful, but sluggish and somewhat stupid man. the second one became a tricky, crafty fellow, full of cunning wiles, and was what the world calls a "smart man"--ignorant of everything but business, and more willing to succeed at that through scheming and dishonorable practices (safely dishonorable, i mean, for he was too "smart" to do anything in which he was likely to be trapped; but dishonorable, still, in the strict interpretation of that word; only dishonorable so far as the laws of business would allow him to be--which is latitude enough for most wickedly-inclined men). he left the farm, for which mr. alvord tried to induce him to cultivate a love, and had gone into merchandizing on a moderate scale, a year or two after his marriage, and it was said at once of him that he could drive "as sharp a bargain as the best of them;" a phrase in which "worst" is substituted for "best" in the experienced hearer's mind. his name was a peculiar one--"floramond;" a name which his mother had selected from an old novel, which she read while bearing him, and which she made mr. alvord agree to not change when he adopted him. "flor" was his nickname, which he always bore in manhood as well as in childhood, and it became a name in his neighborhood at last, which was a synonym of craft and business meanness. "that's flor all over," was said when anybody, no matter who, was found guilty of some extortion, or cheating, or grasping meanness. while mr. alvord lived, floramond took better care of his reputation than afterwards. he was ever very attentive to mr. alvord, and never lost an opportunity of demonstrating to him his industry and attention to business, which were, indeed, very pleasing to mr. alvord, who, though he sometimes wished floramond could not be quite so sharp and grasping, nevertheless knew the world well enough to know that most other men in business were like him to the extent of their ability; and so soothed himself into the belief that floramond was "as good as they'll average." besides, floramond was a bit of a wag,--could tell a story well, made a good many hits at people, which pleased the majority,--and, withal, was a member of the congregational church in his place of residence, and "in good and regular standing." mr. alvord did not care for this last fact much. he was not a church-member, and lived and died a very good old man, without the church. but he reflected that the church-membership did not hurt floramond in the people's eyes, even if it did him no especial good; and i suspect it operated to blind the old gentleman's eyes a little to floramond's real character. the third son took a literary turn, after he had made considerable progress in some mechanical pursuit,--i forget what,--and was sent to college, and at last graduated as a minister of the dutch reform order, i believe. he had no business capacity, and on a fair salary could never exactly make ends meet from year to year, and was considerable of a pensioner on the old gentleman's bounty. the girls married pretty well, all of them. of these, one was a shrewd witch, almost as keen as floramond. her name was eliza, but she always bore the nickname "lise," which would not always have been _mal apropos_ if it had been spelled "lies;" for she had great skill in dissimulation and its kindred arts, even to the matter of pilfering, so the neighbors generally believed. but she had wit, and was quite handsome withal, and got a good, thorough-going business man for a husband. the second "daughter" in order proved a very nice, good-hearted woman, with moderate abilities, and the kindest of dispositions; and she, too, married a very worthy man. the third "daughter" was one of those curious, undefinable creatures, perfect in almost every respect, and gifted in several directions. mr. alvord had adopted her in her tenth year, and had selected her in preference to any of several other children whose parents were anxious to "get the old man to 'dopt the gals," because she was so robust, so stoutly formed, and withal so hardy and agile. he thought she would surely make a large, queenly woman. but she changed greatly as she approached the age of puberty,--shot up into a tall, wiry, lithe form, and her rounded face lengthened to a peculiarly spiritual shape, developing intellect, in short,--whereas she indicated, at ten years of age, only strength and solidity--as her chief characteristics in womanhood. she was a brilliant scholar at the "high school," and not only that, very vivacious, and withal just as gentle in heart as she was almost rudely playful, when play was the real work to be done--for she did everything earnestly; and there was a peculiar earnestness in her very gentleness. it was a positive gentleness, a gentleness springing out of high principles, and not merely a passive inertness. her name was margaret, and she made the name beloved by all who knew _her_. she married a splendid man; but he died in four or five years after their marriage, and left her with two beautiful children, who inherited much of his good qualities--more physical beauty than their mother bore, with not a little of her great goodness; and it was thought he had left her "comfortably off," too; but somehow his partner in business managed to show that the firm was considerably involved, and she got but a small estate after all. shrewd people suspected that her husband's partner knew how to "turn an honest penny" in a business way; especially when, three years after the husband's death, the partner built a very costly house, and added another horse to his old team, so that he drove a "spanking pair," before a carriage which was considered a "leetle" too expensive in that quarter of the world. but, however, 'twas no matter; she was poor, and old mr. alvord insisted that she should return to his home, with her children, and take charge of it for him. these things i was told at the time of my becoming acquainted with the remaining family, long after mr. alvord's death. with him margaret staid, a faithful, good woman, charitable to everybody, and beloved by all; by the poor, especially, who came to mr. alvord's house for aid, where they were sure to go first, before going anywhere else. with none of his children except margaret, was mr. alvord on so intimate terms as with floramond. they all lived some miles from him; but floramond managed to see the old man often, and not unfrequently took him to his own home, and kept him there for a week or two weeks at a time, especially when he could take one of margaret's children along with him; for the old man, though he had several grandchildren, did not seem to be very fond of any except margaret's son and daughter. margaret continued to take charge of the house, and watched over old mr. alvord, like a dutiful loving daughter as she was; and the old man and his wife grew every year more and more fond of her. the wife being, in the latter years of her life, mostly an invalid, was very grateful for the tender care of margaret, and when she came to die entreated mr. alvord that he should make his will, and make it particularly favorable to margaret, whom she loved best of all, and who, being a widow with children, needed more than the rest. mr. alvord, of course, promised to do so, out of affection for both wife and daughter, and the old lady died blessing him; and though she had long been expected by her friends to die any day, suddenly, so suddenly did she die that only mr. alvord and margaret were with her. there was no time to send for a neighbor, after she swooned away, one day, in her chair, before she was dead--reviving from the swoon but for a moment, before she took her last breath; in which moment, grasping the hands of margaret and mr. alvord in her own, she blessed them both, and reminded mr. alvord of the will. after her death, floramond increased his attentions to mr. alvord; and finally, his own wife dying, he, a few months after her death, became more than usually interested in margaret, and was found at mr. alvord's so often, that everybody was talking of his wonderful devotion to the old man. it is true that some people said he was "after the biggest slice in the old man's will," and hinted that he was mercenary rather than affectionate; but he was such a jolly fellow, that it was difficult to fix upon him the stigma of bad motives. mr. alvord was very devoted to margaret, and floramond must have felt that she would share as largely in mr. alvord's will (and he did not know then but he had already made one) as he, and perhaps more largely. finally he proposed marriage to his adopted sister; as the best means, probably, of making sure of a large portion of mr. alvord's estate. there was no blood relation between him and margaret, and no reason in the law why they might not marry; still, margaret was not a little shocked at the proposal from floramond, with whom, as a "brother," she had enjoyed a very pleasant intimacy--one which she would not have allowed on any other consideration than that of brother-and-sisterhood. but floramond was evidently greatly taken aback at her delicate refusal of his offer. but he persisted in his suit, not willing to suffer defeat so easily; and for a long while annoyed margaret with his repeated offers, which annoyance she gently concealed, though persisting ever in the firmness of her resolve to "not marry anybody." but floramond did not believe her in this resolution to remain unmarried, believing that she would marry somebody else,--"take up with the first good chance,"--and so he laid her refusal to heart, as a personal affront to himself, and ridiculed the objection which she sometimes made, in that they were brother and sister in spirit, if not in blood; which objection was really a serious one in her feelings, although her reason told her that it need not prevail, because they were really no kin to each other. besides, there was something, which she could not well define to herself, about floramond, which, while it did not forbid her loving him as a brother, made her shudder when she thought of him in the light of a possible husband. floramond renewed his suit from time to time, constantly with increased tenderness and delicacy, and finally resolved himself, after her repeated refusals, into the very best-behaving of brothers. [illustration: a rash courtship.] finally, old mr. alvord, very perceptibly approaching his end, one day rode out with margaret behind his span of fine horses, with which, and a nice double wagon, he had, among other luxuries, provided himself in his dotage, and regarding which the neighbors said he was becoming foolishly extravagant. but they little understood how much the quiet, saving old man was worth. he had been accustomed to drive his own horses, but of late was getting weak, and so transformed his "hired man" into a driver that day. john holt was a faithful, honest man, who had lived with mr. alvord for nearly twenty years, and was intrusted with everything. mr. alvord considered him one of the family; and although he always paid john for his services quite liberally, so that john had considerable money out at interest, yet he intended to remember him in his will to the extent of a thousand dollars, and on that day was, therefore, not at all private in what he said to margaret. john heard most of it, and particularly remembered what mr. alvord said in regard to the legacy to him. he told margaret how much he was worth,--a sum which quite astonished her,--and consulted with her in regard to what he should leave each of the children, to some of whom he proposed to leave but comparatively a small amount; but in each case margaret urged him to leave more. he had done much for them all, but she was willing, in her generous nature, that he should make such legacies, and leave the remainder of his property to her and her children. to floramond he had determined, he said, to leave one fourth; to divide another fourth between the other four; and to give to margaret and her children half, imposing upon her the payment of a thousand dollars to john, and the distribution of certain matters of personal property to a few friends he named; five hundred dollars to be kept at interest, and that given annually to an old, decrepid widow in the place, who had been a schoolmate with him in vermont, and whose husband had died in mr. alvord's employ, after many years of service. this she was to have as long as she lived, and he told margaret that day that he had for several years contributed a like sum to her support, and that he had told the widow that if she outlived him, he would provide as much for her in his will. these with other things john had heard mr. alvord say to margaret, and also that he had once made another will in different terms, which was lodged with floramond, and had been drawn by squire emerson, a crafty old lawyer, when mr. alvord was once stopping at floramond's for a week or two. "but the last will always revokes a former one," he told margaret; so that he guessed that he would leave that where it was. it was thought afterwards that mr. alvord had some fear that if he called on floramond to deliver up the will it might lead to trouble. floramond might fear that he was not to fare so well. the next day mr. alvord and john drove off to an old friend of mr. a.'s,--a sort of universal genius, who held multiplied petty offices, and withal was considerable of a lawyer. he drew a will after mr. alvord's dictation, and mr. a. signed it; but there was nobody at home but the old scribe, save a very young girl in the kitchen; and as john was a legatee, the man advised mr. a. that he could not properly be a witness,--so mr. alvord said he would find others to witness it; and on his way home stopped at a neighbor's, went in, and declared the document to be his last will, etc., in the presence of two persons, who subscribed it as witnesses. but john did not _know_ this of a surety. he suspected the document had been properly declared. mr. alvord went home and showed the will to margaret, and deposited it in a secret place among his drawers, telling her where. "now," said he, "if the house should catch a-fire, you run for this will the first thing, for i can't bear the bother of making another." mr. alvord lived on a year more. meanwhile the people who had signed the will as witnesses had "sold out," and followed a son to california; but neither old mr. alvord nor margaret thought of them then in connection with the will. by and by mr. a.'s "time" came, and with all his adopted children about him, he, after giving them his parting blessing, dropped away quietly into the arms of death. floramond took upon himself the management of the funeral, which for that place was made somewhat extraordinary, and the plain old mr. alvord went to his grave with a pomp and show which he certainly would not have approved could he have foreseen it. after the funeral the children gathered at the house, and floramond told them that he had, somewhere among his papers, a document which mr. alvord had given him, sealed up, and which he said was his will. he did not know its contents, he said, but would like to have a time appointed when they could all be there and hear it read. margaret said nothing, for she hardly comprehended matters, so great and real was her grief over the death of mr. alvord; and a time was appointed, one week from that day, for them all to convene and hear the will read. after they had all left, margaret bethought her of what mr. alvord had said a year before about a former will, and went to look for the will which mr. alvord had given into her keeping, but it was not to be found! where was it gone? she remembered to have seen it several times since its deposit in the drawer, when looking there for other things; but she could not convince herself whether or not she had seen it within some months. she talked with john about it, and john told her of what mr. alvord had done that day he rode to the old clerk's with him; and she rode over to the clerk's to consult him, but he said he knew nothing about the witnessing,--that the will must have been properly witnessed to be valid; and he said, too, that perhaps mr. alvord had altered his mind,--had destroyed the will without letting her know it; that the will, as drawn, revoked all former wills, and that if the existence of this latter will could be proved, it would set aside whatever will floramond had had, but that it would be impossible, in the present state of things, to prove the existence of the lost will,--that if anybody had stolen it away, that fact could never probably be discovered. the conclusion of margaret, after talking with this man, was to await and see what floramond would bring. the day came, and with it floramond, with the will done up in a once white paper, but which time had turned brown, and strongly sealed. the seals floramond broke before them all, drew forth the document, and handed it to one of his brothers, saying, "you read it out for us. you can read the old man's writing better than i." the brother took it, opened it, and said,-- "this is not his writing--somebody's else. it looks like a lawyer's 'quail tracks,' but" (turning it over), "the signature is father's." he tried to read it, but found himself puzzled; and one of the sisters tried to read it also, with like result. at last it was declared by them all that floramond understood how to decipher poor writing better than the rest, and he read at it, making bungling work, however (pretendedly, of course, for well he knew every word of it). by this will mr. alvord had left all his estate to his "beloved son floramond," subject to the payment of certain annuities to some of the children, among whom was margaret, who was to have six hundred dollars a year until her children should arrive at age, and then three hundred during her life. the rest all had less. indeed, the minister, for whom mr. alvord had done most in the way of giving him money, was allowed an annuity of but one hundred dollars (which was to provide him a rental, the will said), for three years, and was then cut off entirely. mr. alvord's will was quite elaborate, and stated where his property was situated,--some in this and that farm, stock in manufacturing companies, money in banks and on interest; and they were all astonished at the large amount of it. the will had been written five years and more before, and there was one peculiar clause in it,--the suggestion of the crafty lawyer, probably,--which was to the effect that mr. alvord had never before made a will, and that he should never make another; that he might destroy this, and leave all his children to share alike if he did so. margaret was confounded. she saw that she was left, as it were, in the hands of floramond, her often-rejected suitor, and she thought she saw a smile of triumph on his face. she was greatly confused as to whether she should say anything about the other will or not; but she thought, finally, that if she was to ever say anything about it, now was the time, when all were there. so she told them all about it, and where it was kept; how mr. alvord had brought it home, and how it left a great deal more to them all, and only one fourth to floramond, and who witnessed it. this made the rest jealous of floramond. with the old will they were in his hands: they were left comparatively poor. he had all, and the estate was far larger than any of them had thought, and it was probable that it had increased much in the five years, too. floramond professed to be astonished at what margaret told, and said he was willing to abide, of course, as he would be compelled to do, by any subsequent will; but why, if father had made another will, did he not call for this one and tear it up? his not calling for it made him think, he said, that margaret was probably mistaken. but margaret was firm in her statement, and declared that her father had made her read it all over to him, and she told them about the thousand dollars left to john, and what john said about mr. alvord's calling, on the way home, to get the will witnessed. then they sent out for john, who was at work on the farm, and he came in and told his story before them all. he could not say that mr. alvord had left him a thousand dollars in the will, but that the day before he had it drawn he said he was going to do so, and he supposed he did. at this point floramond, in a mild way, exhibiting no uneasiness, blandly suggested that 'before taking the will left with him to the surrogate's office, the house ought to be searched thoroughly. perhaps mr. alvord, who had become quite childish and fickle in the last few weeks of his life, and was always an over-cautious man, had, some time when margaret was away, put the document into a safer place, intending to tell her where, but forgetting it;' and so it was resolved by all of them that such a search should be made at once, before they parted; and for an hour that house was searched in every nook, drawer, and possible hiding-place. old linen, which had not been for twenty years drawn forth from trunks and chests which held it, was tumbled over,--in short, the search was complete as it could be,--but no will could be found; and there seemed but one way to do--for all to acquiesce, and accept their fate upon the terms of the will which floramond produced, and which was all correct in form. but there was no little feeling among the children, some of whom declared it impossible that mr. alvord intended to make such disposition of his property; that floramond must have in some way used improper influence with old mr. alvord; and all the public, when they came to hear of the will, were somehow impressed with the same opinion: nevertheless they all said that floramond was a jovial fellow, and very thrifty; that mr. alvord liked thrifty people, and as he had provided margaret with a sum sufficient in those days to live on, and had given her the rent of the house for life, perhaps it was, on the whole, just the thing he should have done. as for the lost will, that got noised about, and although everybody believed what margaret said, yet the majority thought that probably mr. alvord had destroyed it. the will which floramond had was duly presented and proved at the surrogate's office, and the estate settled under it. time went on, and it brought floramond frequently to see margaret,--to look after her affairs, and occasionally to bring her money. now that she was in these straitened circumstances he pressed his suit quite violently and provokingly at times; and although her patience was oftentimes sorely tried, she bore her vexation quite philosophically. it was evident that he did not want her for her money, for she had none; but she could not believe, after all, that he loved her, and she was sure that she did not love him. floramond was a good business man, and aside from the property he got under the will, he had accumulated a handsome sum for himself, and in the course of a year or two from mr. alvord's death he began to assume the airs and ways of a rich man;--enlarged his house and adorned his grounds quite expensively; built a row of houses in the village to rent, and possessed himself of "the best team in the county," as he was pleased to declare his noble span of black coach horses. all this while he was trying to court margaret up to the accepting point, but he failed signally, and every time he visited her he grew less and less courteous; finally, in the third year, she could not get her annuity as she wanted it. he promised, but did not fulfil at the time as before, and he was "short" in his words with her, and spiteful at times. at last, as if determined to force her into compliance, he visited her one day, and having failed, though using as much severity as he could command to win her consent, he got quite angry, and wished to know of her if she intended to always spurn him; asked her if she had made up her mind to that, at any rate. she objected to the word "spurn," for she wished, she said, to receive and treat him as a brother, but she had always declined his offers of marriage, as she thought, in a clear, frank way, and she considered that he ought to know, after all, that she could never consent to marry him. "then you shall suffer," said he, bringing his teeth together with greater firmness, as if he would like to put an end to her existence with one bite; and he manifested himself with such a degree of anger that she was frightened, and arose from her chair to leave the room, when he rushed and caught her firmly by the hand, and telling her to look straight at him, exclaimed,-- "you proud thing! i tell you now that if you had consented to have me at first you should now have half of all father alvord's property as well as mine; but i have outwitted you. i got him to make his will as he did, and thanks to john's blundering, i knew when he made the other; and now, as there's no witness here, i'll leave you to guess what became of it; and you may groan in poverty for all me, for you'll have to sue me every time you get any more money out of the estate." he had hardly ejaculated these words, in anger, before he seemed to see his error, and as margaret, now understanding his villany, tore herself from his grasp, and rushed into another room, he followed her, and tried to laugh away the effect of what he had said. "ho! ho! margaret, haven't i told you a pretty story though? i wish it had been true, i declare; but i must tell you that i never believed a word about the second will. you must have been mistaken, and as to the first, father and emerson, the old lawyer, got it up without my knowledge." margaret, who now began to see into his real character, and who hated hypocrisy, turned upon him, and said, "there's no occasion for you adding falsehood to your rudeness, sir. father made that will under your direction, in my opinion, and as for the last will, you _do_ believe that it existed, and i see now that you probably abstracted it, and i wish i could never see your face again till you can come prepared to prove that you did not. good day, sir," and she attempted to pass by him. but he put himself in her way, and said she shouldn't stir a step till she took back those words. "i have spoken what i feel must be the truth, and i will not retract a word," said she; "and you must let me pass, or i will call in john. there he is," said she, pointing through the window at john, but a short distance off. the mild, quiet face of margaret must have assumed great firmness then, for floramond looked but once into her eyes, and stepped aside; and as she passed, exclaimed,-- "you shall live to rue this, to your full satisfaction." and she did suffer. floramond managed to vex her in many ways,--sold off a portion of her garden, on which she depended for her vegetables, contending that it was only the rent of the house that was left her by the will; and sending her ten dollars on her annuity when she wanted perhaps thirty or forty; and getting up stories about her extravagance, etc. but, fortunately, she had a character and reputation formed, and he could only vex her in money matters to any great extent. weary months passed, and margaret frequently thought of the wills, and what floramond had said; and when the ministerial brother called to see her one day, about the time his hundred-dollar annuity "for a rental" was running out, margaret told him something of her troubles, and her conviction that floramond had stolen the will. the minister was not very astute in law matters, but he could see that it would only be by a "sort of miracle," as he told her, that they could ever learn anything of what had become of the will; but margaret was more hopeful, and continued to plan ways of getting at the truth. 'there was that old lawyer who had drawn the first will. may be he could find out something,--lawyers work for the side that employs them;' but the minister dampened her ardor in that direction, by telling her that floramond probably held him under a general retainer, and he could not be reached; but finally margaret was so anxious to have something done, that the minister consented to aid her to the extent of his little ability, as he was modestly pleased to say, and at last it came into his head that when he was once supplying for a few weeks a classmate's pulpit in brooklyn, he had one evening heard one of the congregation telling some marvelous stories about the adroitness and sagacity of detective officers, and he spoke to margaret of this. this was something novel to margaret. she knew there were police officers, and so forth, but was not aware that there were organized forces of private officers, detectives. the minister told her one of the strange stories he had heard, and margaret was quite astonished by it, and believed that if detectives could find out "such a thing as that they could really serve us," and it was resolved by them that a detective should be obtained, and he might work out something. all the rest of the children, except floramond, were consulted, and agreed to contribute towards procuring the detective; and margaret, who had got wrought up about the matter, and was a very capable woman to perform whatever she undertook, declared that she would procure the detective. her cousin had long wished her to visit her at jamaica (i think it was), long island, and in going through new york she would get some advice, and hunt up a detective; and thus it came that i chanced to be called in the case, and i obtained from her about what information i have thus far embodied in my narrative. i told her it was apparently a hopeless case; that probably floramond (who, i said, had doubtless abstracted the will) destroyed it at once, as any prudent man would have done, and that i saw no possible clew to the matter. but she was so urgent, and so willing to pay me for my time to go and see the rest of the family, and talk with them, and to look the matter over on the spot, that i consented to go, which i did duly. i learned but little more than i have recited, in the place where margaret lived, but i thought i would like to visit floramond's lawyer, and found myself duly at his office. i am very fond of the members of the profession generally. they are apt to be more "men of the world" than most other people. the practice of their profession brings them into contact with all classes of men, and they learn more or less of charity, and are, in fact, among the most reliable of citizens everywhere. but there was something in this lawyer's face (old boyd, we will call him, and but for a son of his, an honorable man in an important position, i would call the old villain's name fully) which revealed to me that i had a curious customer to deal with; that he lacked moral principle, and was capable of any sort of dark deed, murder included, perhaps. i said to myself, instinctively, this old boyd is at the bottom of this matter of the wills, and he has not let an opportunity pass to get floramond alvord in his clutches, and keep him there. that second will was taken by floramond, i said to myself, and the chances are that he showed it to boyd, and if he did, the old man was cunning enough to keep it. at this point i changed the plan of operations which i had in theory when i entered his office, and talked with him about things in general; told him i was a stranger from new york, stopping a day or two in the village; that when i was younger i had read law a little, and always felt more at home in a lawyer's office than i did in a country bar-room or hotel parlor, and seeing his office, had wandered into it. the old man had considerably many books, but they did not look very inviting; however, i complimented him on the size of his library, and at last asked him about his practice, and found that he had a good deal of patronage, considerable of which his age prevented him from attending to, such as that in justices' courts; and finally i suggested that i had a brother who had studied law a few months in the city, and i thought it would be better for him to study with somebody in the country; there were a good many temptations for a young man to waste his time, in the city. he seemed pleased, brightened up a little, threw off the sombre shadows from his face, and went to bidding for my brother, by telling me of this and that man who had studied law with him, and who were now eminent in the profession,--which was a fact, as i afterwards learned. so i contracted with him to have my brother come and study with him; and before i left the town i had secured good board at a moderate price for him, and went away. i lost no time in conferring with margaret as to her ability to furnish me about such a given sum of money a month for three months, not over six at most, and i found she could do it. i told her that she must ask me no questions, and in fact must not know of any such man as i, or speak my name; and that if my plans succeeded, she would, of course, know the facts, and that would be enough; and if they failed, after proper trial, i would tell them to her, so that she should see what use her money had been put to. she was perfectly reasonable, and consented to all. i found myself in new york city in two days from that time, and procured a young man, on whom i bestowed my last name, and sent him on with a proper letter of introduction to mr. boyd. i told him he had better tell mr. boyd that he had forgotten all the law he had read, and that he guessed he had better read over blackstone again at first. i had given the young man the points of the entire case as i understood it, and told him what i wanted him to do--to take his time, to study well, and to watch floramond alvord's movements in connection with mr. boyd for the first two or three weeks, and to write me from time to time what he thought of floramond. but the first thing he was to do, after being there three or four days, was to "slick up" the dusty office a little, sometime when boyd was out, and surprise him by its neatness on his return, and thus beginning to win upon the old man's respect as much as possible; to then take down and rearrange the books and the old papers, and so get himself familiarized to everything in the office; and to do these things, finally, in boyd's presence. he was as shrewd a young man as i could possibly have found, and he was a handsome fellow, very. old boyd told him, when he presented the note of introduction, that he did not much resemble his older brother! (me),--which was a sad but absolute truth. but the young man was ready for him:-- "no," said he; "brother takes after father's family. i'm said to be mother's boy." "yes, yes," said old boyd, "i'd have known that if you hadn't told me." my "brother" was not long in becoming popular in that village, and old boyd was quite proud of him; but he did keep him studying, was "faithful" to him, as he promised me he would be. i frequently heard from my "brother," and at last i got a letter, saying, "come on; i will meet you at no. " (which meant mrs. margaret's) "at such a time as you may appoint." i knew by this that my game had worked well, and that there was probably no time to lose; so i hastened on, and sending a letter before me, appointing the time, met my "brother" at margaret's. there was the document--the lost will! he had it with him. but what was to be done? in the first place, the witnesses had long been away in california, as was supposed, and nobody knew where. efforts had been made by margaret to institute a correspondence with them. if they could not be found, however, we could prove their signatures by others, if we could find the experts; but margaret had never been able to find anybody who ever saw their writing, except the old man's, with chalk on his barn door, noting number of bushels of wheat, or when his cows would "come in," and that would hardly do. but i bethought me that they had sold out their farm when they went away, and must have signed the deed, the wife to convey her right of dower, and i felt easy. i instructed my brother to return to the office next morning as usual, and go on with his studies, and i would go to the county seat next day, hunt up the records, and possibly find the deed still on file there, as well as the record, and then, if it was not there, i would go to the grantees, and ask for the deed; but these people were indebted to floramond largely, margaret said, and would have to be approached carefully. she was still in ignorance of the will being found, but knew, of course, that i had some good reason for what i was about, and she was equally ignorant that my "brother" was studying with old boyd. i took the will and went next day to the county seat, and though i could not find on file there the deed which i expected to, i found the record of it, and the record and the deed, too, of another conveyance made by the same grantors, and, as luck had it, made on the very day after the will was signed; and the signatures to the two instruments were wondrously similar. i was satisfied on this point. but there was another point to be gotten over; and this troubled my "brother" a good deal. although he had been but two months with mr. boyd, he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl (who was the daughter of the richest man in the town, except floramond alvord, and was on intimate terms with floramond's daughters), and they were already "engaged," and he wanted the matter worked so that he need not be found out in it, for the girl, he feared, would "sack him," as the village phrase was, if he was known as having searched for and delivered up the will. so i managed to stop in disguise at the same hotel where i had been before, and to find my brother in when old boyd was out, and learned precisely where he found the will, and the character of the documents which were in the same drawer with it; a drawer which had evidently not been opened for many years, save to hide away the will in. among the other documents were some curious letters to old boyd, from a man by the name of andrew wilcox, who had gone away years before to the west, and died, and who was a waggish fellow, and wrote funny letters, in a very peculiar style of penmanship. i was put to my wits' end how to work matters; but my brother told me that in two days old boyd was going to start on a journey, to be gone a week; that the stage would leave the hotel at ten o'clock in the morning, and after that i could come in again, and may be could arrange something. but he had told me enough. i had formed my plan before his words were cold. that night i found myself at one of the adopted brother's, about ten miles off; told him he must ask me no questions why, but that i wanted him to appear in the village at the time the stage was going off, and to ask old boyd if he didn't use to correspond with old andrew wilcox,--to which he would, of course, say "yes;" and then mr. alvord was to say, "i thought so, and i'd like, for a certain reason, to get hold of some of his letters to read. he wrote such a curious hand, didn't he?" that probably old boyd would say he was going to be back in a week, and then he'd hunt them up; but mr. alvord should evince a desire to see them as soon as possible, and ask him if his clerk couldn't hunt them for him; this to be done just as the stage was loading up to start; all of which was done, and resulted better than we expected, for old boyd was in pretty good spirits that morning, very accommodating; and told mr. alvord that his clerk might hunt up the papers; though he didn't call him his clerk but said, "tell the handsome rascal in my office to hunt and get you all of wilcox's letters to read he can find; and i don't mind if you take one or two along with you, so that you leave me some. good morning!" and away the stage rolled. i told mr. alvord that i would go over to the office, and he might drop in and ask the clerk for the letters, in the course of ten minutes. i went and arranged things, and he came and told my brother what boyd had said. my brother made unsuccessful search in three or four places, and at last came upon the letters; hauled out a few of them, which mr. alvord run over, laughing here and there at the odd, eccentric expressions, which he said were just like the stories he had heard about the old man, when my brother asked if he would like to see more. as he wished to, they were produced, and among them was reposing the will where i had placed it. mr. alvord was sitting by a little round table, and as my brother placed the second batch on the table, i asked him if he would not be kind enough to go over to the hotel (but a few steps off,) and buy himself a cigar, and bring some to me, handing him money. he went out; and placing my hand among the letters, i drew out the will, and placed it in mr. alvord's hands--"_you found that--do you understand?_ but i will take it, and be responsible for its return, if, after we have examined it, you think it better be returned." he had no notion of the will yet, and acted with a sort of mechanical blindness, as i guided him, throughout wondering what i could be up to. (i had agreed to pay him very liberally for his time.) "when the clerk comes in," said i, as i put the paper into my pocket, "remind him that old boyd said you might take off some of the letters; the whole stage full heard him say so; and do you select a few, and when you come out, come over to the hotel, and find me. i'll be there." the clerk came in, and brought me the cigars, and i offered one to mr. alvord, who declined to smoke, but kept on reading the letters; and i, bidding him good morning, walked out after lighting my cigar. in the course of a quarter of an hour he came out; said he found "wilcox's letters very interesting;" and now, said he, "i want to know what all this means." i got him aside as soon as i could, and we went up to my room. locking the door, i said, "mr. alvord, on turning over these letters of wilcox's, you came across a paper which you took possession of for a moment. now i want it understood that you _kept_ possession of that; that the clerk handed you a bundle in which you found it, (poor fellow, what _would_ he say, if he knew that he had unwittingly disclosed the profoundest secret in all old boyd's life and practice? but no matter for that.) you took the paper, and you handed it over to me, and i am going to keep it for the general good, unless you prefer to keep it. do you understand?" "why, yes, and no, too," said he. "i understand the language you use, but i don't know what it's all about. pray tell me at once, and end my suspense." "well, you promise me on your word, as a gentleman, to be guided by me in the matter which is to follow, if you think what i shall point out to be right and just?" "why, yes; any man could safely promise that." "are you under any special obligations to your brother floramond?" "no, sir; only he has lent me little sums of money, from time to time--which"-- "you have doubtless always paid up?" "yes, with interest." "ah, ha! then he was lending you money, and getting interest on it, which really ought to have been your own--wasn't he?" "well, yes, i've felt so sometimes; but there's doubt about it, perhaps." i had sounded the man deeply enough, and saw his temper towards floramond; and so, drawing a little nearer him, i said,-- "you have heard of me before, but have never seen me till night before last; but we must be intimate friends for a while. your sister margaret has told you of me. i am the detective from new york; and this paper (pulling it from my pocket) is old mr. alvord's last will and testament--the last one, and you are here entitled to a fortune." mr. alvord's face turned pale with astonishment. "let me put my eyes on it!" said he; and i handed it to him, opened. he ran it over hurriedly, looked at the signature, saying, "there's no mistake about it; and that's father's signature--just as margaret always said it was. i had feared father had destroyed it, and i had entirely forgotten all about the matter for a good while. i gave up all as lost the day that floramond produced the old will, and we searched the house, all of us, for this." it was not long from that morning before we had everything arranged for bringing mr. floramond alvord to terms, and i remained near the scene directing matters. i held on to the will, while the brother wrote from his home to floramond, that his father's last will had been finally found; that he felt it his duty to inform him of it at once, and that legal steps would be taken directly; but this letter was not sent till on the day before old boyd was expected back. that day mr. floramond alvord visited old boyd's office, very earnest to learn when he would be back, and asked my "brother" to ask mr. boyd to call on him at his house as soon as he should arrive. "tell him i have a very important matter for him to attend to," said he, "and want to see him at once." old boyd arrived, and the clerk gave him the word from mr. alvord. "some devilish speculation on hand, i 'spose," said old boyd, gruffly, as he left his office, and proceeded to alvord's house. but he wasn't gone long, and soon came back to the office, and went silently to rummaging his papers. he looked here and there, as if his memory didn't serve him exactly; finally he came to the drawer with the wilcox letters in them, and my brother watched his manner intently. the old man took up the letters, laid them out; took up other packages, and laid them out, and then laid them back, and looking at the wilcox letters, said,-- "these look as if they had been disturbed lately. have you been arranging this box?" "no, sir. i've not been re-arranging the papers; but there's a man been here, the morning you went off, and said you told him he might hunt for some letters of one wilcox; and, in fact, as the door happened to be open, i overheard you tell him so, just as you got into the coach, and i hunted them up, and he took some of 'em, as he said you said he might; but he said he would return them," said my brother, very seriously, "if you thought, when you got home, that he had taken too many." "did you ask him his name?" inquired old boyd, very gravely. "no, i didn't think of that. i supposed, by the way you spoke to him, you were old friends, and i didn't wish to question the gentleman," replied my brother, naively, with a probable cock in his eye, which might have revealed a great deal if old boyd had seen it. old boyd, with an assumed manner of great composure, said, in response,-- "i wish you had asked his name. i do remember somebody speaking to me, in my haste of getting off, about wilcox's letters. wonder who it was?" "i hope he hasn't taken off the most valuable ones," replied the clerk. "well, i can't tell; but i fear he has," said old boyd. "i must find out who he was. they'll remember over to the hotel, perhaps," and off he went over there; but it wasn't long before the clerk saw him on his way to alvord's house. what transpired there then is only known to old boyd and floramond alvord. by the next day the matter was all in an able lawyer's hands, and mr. frederic alvord and he had a conference with floramond and old boyd. precisely all that happened between them i do not know; but it would seem that floramond had given the latter will into boyd's hands, and he had been cunning enough to keep it as a terror over floramond, who had indorsed his paper, etc., etc., besides always paying him enormous fees for legal business, which old boyd managed to make quite considerable. indeed, old boyd had increased his property a great deal during the five or six years, and it is probable that he used floramond to advantage in many ways. alvord thought best to settle with his brothers and sisters according to the terms of the lost will, and to pay them out of his fourth the income of which they had been respectively deprived of for the five years and more. old boyd, of course, settled his affairs with floramond to suit himself, and it is presumed that he did not lose money; but it may be that he lost the former's confidence. it must have been a bitter thing for old boyd to consider how foolishly he played into frederic alvord's hands through the wilcox letters. but old boyd is dead now, and never, i suppose, learned how mr. alvord was led to inquire for old andrew wilcox's funny letters. margaret was overjoyed with the success of affairs, and declared, as did all the rest of the family, that after this she would consider nothing impossible, and never lose hope, even in the darkest hour. she is living still, a beautiful but older woman, with her children grown up about her, and married, i believe. my "brother," the clerk, took to the profession of the law, and studied with old boyd for a year or more, and finished his studies in judge ----'s office, in albany,--eventually marrying the young lady to whom i have alluded, and who brought him a fortune quite too large to be "laughed at;" but he did not continue at the profession long, but went into mercantile business, and is now a member, and has been for some years, of one of the most successful firms in new york city. the firm name is favorably known in all parts of the land. i should say that he was, through me, paid by margaret a quite handsome sum of money for his "good behavior" in the premises; enough to enable him with economy to "pursue" his studies--and his lady. i have had many substantial reasons in my life for not forgetting the alvord family, who believe that but for me they would still be lacking comfortable, indeed, large fortunes. floramond had enough with his one fourth; besides he had a fortune of his own. he ceased to persecute margaret instantly on the development of his villany, and two years afterwards married a woman, who, i am told, came to learn of his conduct (which it was for sundry reasons attempted to keep secret in the family), and being a woman of spirit, and much extravagance, leads him a funny life--probably using her knowledge of his conduct as a means of controlling him. floramond, should this sketch ever meet his eye, is welcome to reflect that he was once out-generalled by a man, of whom, happening to see him (me) one day at the hotel in his village, he asked of the landlord, "who is that simpleton?" the landlord was only able, of course, to give him my assumed name, and say that i was from "sandy hill, washington county" (as i had registered myself), he believed. "yes; well i should think he was dug out of the _sand_, somewhere," was floramond's response. i hope he still thinks so, for it must be a comfort to him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the confidential clerk. -------------- the innocent often suffer with the guilty--the detectives' "keys"--regrets--leonard savage, a young man of new hampshire, and his family stock--richard brooks, a wealthy new york merchant--his visit to young savage's father--results--partial biography of mr. brooks, in wall street and elsewhere--a slave to fortune--a father's pride--mr. brooks's fearful dream--mr. brooks in the old home of his childhood--how a true man treats his wife--family aspirations--the love of young men--country and city temptation--a "new suit," and a trip to the mountains--a surprising present--a happy season--a fearful change comes--the terrible results of an unjust judgment--one of the strangest things ever known--a catholic penitent an actor in the scenes--remorse--unravellings in an unexpected way--a speedy voyage to europe to restore the wronged to his right place. it is one of the misfortunes of a detective's life, that he learns to be suspicious of the innocent as well as of the guilty; and, like other men, detectives sometimes err in their judgment, and the innocent suffer, not only under unjust suspicions, but sometimes the penalty of offences of which they are not guilty, through the force of "circumstantial evidence" which is brought to bear upon them. indeed, in the eye of the law, circumstantial evidence is frequently of more weight than the direct testimony of alleged eye-witnesses, for the latter may falsify, but circumstances do not create themselves, and do not often occur simultaneously or in combination. there can be no "conspiracy" among them, as between living witnesses. they have no prejudices to express, no animosities to gratify, and we usually attach to them the greatest importance. indeed, they are the keys usually, by which the detective unlocks the mysteries of the case which he may be called on to work up. but notwithstanding all this, they are not always to be relied on; and when the innocent suffer from the misuse of these keys, or the misinterpretation of their significance, the officer who uses them must feel more keen regrets, if not remorse, than if he had been misled by the statements of living men, inasmuch as it is his duty to himself and his calling, as well as to his fellow-men, to draw wise and just conclusions from the circumstances of which he gets possession; and in what i am about to tell, i would be most gratified if i could make partial amends, publicly, of the result of an error of mine and others, by using the names of the party wronged. but the whole matter was known only to a few, some of whom are dead, others of whom are in business with the party wronged; and there are one or two more whose sympathy for the innocent wronged man, has, since the discovery of his innocence, only added to the high esteem in which they held him. and it were not wise for him that i give publicity to what was known to so few, and is to-day practically forgotten by them. as i may not give the proper names, i will, for convenience, coin them, while i give the important facts in the luckless and unhappy case. leonard savage was a bright boy, brought up in a town in grafton county, new hampshire, and born of one of the best of the old stocks of that state--a stock which had had its important representatives at the bar, on the bench, in congress, in the pulpit, in the profession of medicine, in journalism (at boston); in short, in every department of life, not to overlook farming, in which its representatives had always excelled. leonard had been prepared for dartmouth college, whither he was expecting, on the opening of the next scholastic year, to go, and with bright prospects; for at the preparatory school he excelled all his mates in some branches, and was their peer in the rest, when, in the summer of --, a relative of his, an elderly gentleman, and a new york banker, visited the white mountains for recreation, with his family, and called on leonard's parents on his way. this gentleman, whom we will call richard brooks, for the sake of a name, was born in new hampshire, and, indeed, was raised there, at a place about twenty miles from leonard's father's, the two being about the same age. he had visited his native spot, where he had not been before for twenty-five years, the day or so before coming to mr. savage's house. at his native place he found but few faces he recognized, and all his relatives were either dead or had "moved to the west, or the south." "nothing left there," said he, "of mine, save the sleepers in the graveyard, and the mouldering monuments over them." he became so mournful that he felt unlike proceeding at once to the mountains; and calling to mind the joys of his early days, when he and mr. savage, who were devoted friends as well as relatives, used to interchange frequent visits, even over that long distance of twenty miles,--longer in new hampshire, over hills and mountains, than fifty miles would be in our western prairie states, or even along the line of the hudson river, in new york,--he set his heart upon a visit to mr. savage, who, he learned, was still living in the old spot, though for fifteen years he had not heard from him, so absorbed had mr. brooks been by the exciting life of a wall street dealer, and with some operations which had called him more or less to europe. early in life he had gone to georgia (the southern portion of it, fort gaines, i believe), in a small mercantile business, which grew upon his hands into something quite important, where he married a wealthy planter's daughter, and was able, through this alliance, to enlarge his sphere of business, which eventually became very great, and was scattered over a large district. mr. brooks's early new england training had well disciplined natural capacities of no mean kind, and given him advantages as a business man at the south, equalled but by very few if any. his rise was rapid. visiting new york on his bridal tour, his lady formed certain acquaintances there, which led her, southern born though she was, to desire new york as a home. she constantly urged mr. brooks to dispose of his, or rather their scattered business and interests in the south, preserving only her plantation for a winter resort, when they liked (but which, by the way, they never occupied after they came to new york; for the glitter of fashionable life so inthralled mrs. brooks, that she spent no winter farther south than washington). year after year she persisted, and mr. brooks eventually arranged his business and removed to new york, easily managing to get an interest in a prosperous mercantile house as silent partner. in this he embarked a large share of his money; and finding that he needed more active life, he put most of the rest of his property into a manufacturing concern, of some department of which he took charge. the latter prospered moderately; but the "moral delinquencies," as they were modestly called, of one of his mercantile partners, who controlled the use of the funds, brought the house to ruin, and mr. brooks saved only some fifteen per cent. of his investment out of the wreck. putting his manufacturing business upon a good footing, he thought to be content with that; but he must have more money. the associations he and his family had made in new york must be sustained, and it required more money than his manufacturing business brought him to keep up the style he desired. he was dejected for a while; but having had more or less experience in stocks and in wall street, through his brokers, however, in other times, he turned his attention to the study of matters in that street, and came to the conclusion that he as well as another was entitled to succeed there,--and in the end he was not mistaken. taking the funds saved from the mercantile ruin, though they were small, he went into wall street and formed a partnership with an experienced broker, who saw that he could make the large and influential acquaintanceship of mr. brooks available. the latter's rise was steady, and somewhat rapid. everything he touched turned to gold, and he became one of the most fortunate of brokers and speculators. eventually the establishment of the bank of ----, the most active of the projectors of which mr. brooks had been, called him to the post of bank president, in which post he displayed rare abilities. but his financial cares so multiplied--he was called to engage in so many operations all over the land, in fact,--that he became a slave to his own fortune, and never left the city, save to go where business called him,--sometimes west, but more frequently south. his family went to saratoga, or the white sulphur springs of virginia, or where else they pleased, to pass a few weeks of the summers, but he could never "find time." so it was that he had not visited his native hills for so many years, and had almost forgotten the playmates of his boyhood, and with them his dear old relative and friend, mr. savage. it can easily be conjectured that when he found himself again with the most intimate friend of his childhood, in the very house (though it had been much repaired and changed since he had seen it) where he had spent so many days, and even weeks, in each of several years of his early life, the old affections came back to him, with emotions intensified by the very fact that so much that was dear had so long been buried from his sight, and memory almost, in the mad whirl of business in which he had won his successes. in short, the latter's brilliance only served to make more bright and vivid the sweetness and riches of the old memories; and to attempt to draw the picture hero which mr. brooks made for me when i first formed his acquaintance, of his sadness and his happiness at that meeting with mr. savage, would be preposterous for me, for he painted it in words which then brought tears to my eyes. he spent a few days with mr. savage, and they rode about over the familiar hills; on cloudy days tried the trout brooks, but without their early success; wandered off to old farm-houses where they used to "attend parties," and to and from which they used to escort the girls; and, in fact, lived over their young days together quite gleefully. but it was not alone for old memories' sake that mr. brooks lingered there. he had made an observation the minute he arrived at mr. savage's which constantly impressed him. mr. brooks had only a family of daughters living. he had lost two sons,--one in the south and one in new york,--the latter of whom having grown to nineteen years of age he had set his heart upon, had educated him at columbia college, and was about to send him to germany to add to his education, intending him for the bar, or for financial business, as the son might decide on his return, when the young man, one day, was run over by a horse, which, breaking away from his carriage, dashed across the sidewalk unexpectedly to everybody near, and injuring several persons slightly or severely, so crushed and trampled upon young george, the son, that after months of intense suffering, from internal wounds especially, he died. [illustration: fearful dream of old mr. brooks.] mr. brooks had never been fully his old self after the death of his son; and though some years had passed since the mournful accident, mrs. brooks was frequently awaked at night by her husband's talking in his dreams about, and often as if with, george. so he, too, frequently fell asleep in his chair after a weary day's work, and muttered in his sleep about george; and on one occasion, after being awakened from what was to mrs. brooks evidently a fearful dream, in which she stood over him and witnessed his agony for a moment before she aroused him, he, in response to her importunity, related the dream, the substance of which was, that while, when he first fell into a drowse he was enjoying visions of rural life and domestic felicity, in the midst of which george, sitting in an easy-chair, and caressed by a young maiden, or perhaps his youthful wife, was revealed to him. so blissful were these visions (which of course to him were realities), that he had just resolved to abandon the sickening struggle of business, go to the country and lead a quiet life, when all at once the scene changed! and down through the very centre of the beautiful panorama of bliss, came, half-wrapped in clouds, a hideous-faced, naked demon, bearing a great bag of gold in each hand, one marked " , ," the other " , , ," as if to tempt him to longer continue in the money-getting service of satan, and to peril his soul the more! and what added to the horror of all was, that just then george was represented as leaving his seat of bliss, seizing his hat, and rushing down into the lower plane, grasping at imaginary bags of gold which just eluded his clutch, his face covered with the greed of gain; and it gave him the greatest pangs to see his darling boy fall from so high an estate to one so low. it was while in the agony of these pangs in which he wildly threw up his arms, as if struggling to get up and go forth to save george, that mrs. brooks awakened him. it was, as it will be seen, a terrible blow to mr. brooks, the death of that son, who, he confidently hoped, would take and fill, or more than fill, his place in business. he doted upon him more, perhaps, than he otherwise would have done had he not been the only son in a family of half a dozen children. the daughters would need his aid and counsel, and of this the father thought much. it was an unspeakable and irremediable loss to mr. brooks. he had frequently thought to adopt some young man, or dreamed that some of his daughters might marry some man after his own heart; but looking around, he never found a young man for adoption who suited him. he had relinquished the hope that he might yet encounter somebody to his tastes when he came to mr. savage's home; and when the fresh, fair, well-formed, keen, but gentle-eyed, and firm of lip, leonard, with his fine, bared brow, ran out with his father and family to greet the just-arrived relations, who sent word of their coming the day before, mr. brooks's eyes gathered new lustre to themselves as he looked upon him, and discovered the strong resemblance of leonard to his favorite child george; and the impression then made upon his mind was deepened as mrs. brooks, taking her husband aside an hour after their arrival, spoke to him in low words, and with tears in her eyes:-- "have you not noticed how like our dear george is leonard savage? i noticed it the instant i met him, and i can't keep my eyes off from him; and he acts just as george used to, too," she added. mr. brooks told her that he had remarked the resemblance; "but," said he, "please do not tell him, or the family, or our girls of it, for i have already resolved to study the young man while i am here, and i shall not pay him too much attention. i wish to see him as he usually is. i wish you would watch him carefully, too, without letting him know it." mrs. brooks, of course, consented to her husband's sensible wishes (and wives should never consent to unsensible ones), and they watched leonard with great care, only to become more and more attracted to him day by day. sometimes mr. brooks and he took the old horse and carriage and rode away long distances together. during these journeys mr. brooks was sounding the mind and character of leonard, talking to him of the world and the men in it; of what he had seen and learned in europe; of the modes of doing business in new york; of his old acquaintances, some of whom had achieved honors and fortune, and how they had lived; others of whom had made shipwreck of themselves, earlier or later in life, and so on, only to find that leonard had a wondrously appreciative and grasping mind, and seemed to be perfectly well-grounded morally. the personal beauty, too, of leonard, and his excellent colloquial powers, charmed mr. brooks. he found himself, after a few days, wholly in love with leonard, and as his wife's judgment of the young man corresponded with his own, he felt increased confidence in leonard; for mr. brooks was one of those men who, fortunate in the possession of noble and sensible wives, know how to appreciate them. mr. brooks always told his wife his important business, and never took any great step, when there was time enough to do so, without consulting her. but men who do business in wall street are sometimes called on to act on the instant, in matters which involve hundreds of thousands of dollars. the brooks family remained several days at mr. savage's, and not only convinced themselves of leonard's perfect goodness and great capacities, but of the worthiness of the whole of mr. savage's family; and it can readily be conjectured that, at this early time even, mr. and mrs. brooks, who had a daughter of the same age as leonard, and other daughters a little younger, might have looked forward to an alliance for one of them with a young man so good and of so much promise in the world. the children, too, of mr. brooks became fond of "cousin leonard," as, in their caprices, they called him, and attached to the whole family, especially to old mr. savage, their father's time-old friend, who was one of those straightforward, severely honest, intelligent, but at the same time fun-loving, jocular persons, whose magnetism is contagious, and makes everybody around them "feel better." a day or two before his departure from mr. savage's for the mountains, mr. brooks took a long ride with leonard, in which he talked much with him about life, its cares, toils, and struggles, its successes and disappointments; the value of the education of the schools, and that of the arena of business, etc., and finally told him how he had been considering him, and what projects he had been forming in his mind for him business-wise. mr. brooks shed many tears as he told leonard of his resemblance to his own dear george, and leonard, too, was greatly affected, and could hardly utter a word. leonard was unwilling to give up his proposed collegiate course; but mr. brooks assured him that he was already superior in scholarship to the great majority of the country's most successful business men, and pointed out to him how many brilliant young men of real merit there are in the legal profession (to which leonard inclined), as well as in the medical and clerical, who can make but poor shift in the world; who do not succeed; and he pointed out to him the advantage of stepping at once into an established business, where the course of his life would be free from the heart-racking trials and tortures through which these men are compelled to pass. mr. brooks told leonard that he would place him in business, where an honest course would be sure to win him great fortune in the end; that he had profound confidence, from what he had seen of him, in his moral nature, and that he would, in short, take him at once into business with him, give him a small interest and a salary besides, till he arrived at age, and then, if all things proved, as he believed they would, would give him a large interest in his business. "besides," he said, "meanwhile my house shall be your home, and as much yours as if you were really my boy." leonard was overwhelmed with mr. brooks's kind offers, and expressed his fears that he had not the capacity to fill the place mr. brooks wished him to occupy. but mr. brooks would not hear to this at all; and finally leonard said he could take no such important step without consulting his father and mother, which only seemed to increase mr. brooks's respect for him; and it was arranged that that night mr. and mrs. b. and mr. and mrs. s. and leonard should have a conference, either sending the "girls" and "children" off to bed early, or managing to take a walk by themselves. night came, and it was very beautiful. mr. brooks proposed that mr. s. and wife, and himself and wife, should take an evening stroll over to an old farm-house, where lived some goodly neighbors, and make them a parting call, and told leonard to "come over" at such a time. on their way home they stopped under some grand old trees, where there were rude seats for the accommodation of travellers, and there, in the moonlight, talked over the matter. mr. savage was surprised at mr. brooks's generous offers. he hardly knew what to do. he had hoped that leonard would go to college, and finally determine to enter the ministry. this was his highest ambition for him. his own brother leonard, after whom the young man was named, was a minister of much promise, but who became ill early in his ministry, and died after a long period of sickness and infirmity, at the age of twenty-nine. mr. savage had looked to his son fondly to "do his unaccomplished work," as he expressed it (his brother's), for mr. savage was of that class of men who feel that their families--their "name"--must do about so much "work for the lord in his vineyard," at any rate, and he was loath to have leonard relinquish collegiate education. he said he was not rich, but could provide comfortably enough for leonard; and besides, he had a great dread to have leonard go so far from home, especially to new york, so young. he had never been in new york, but he had often visited boston, and felt that a city was not the place for young men. but mr. brooks told him that new york contained the best, as well as the worst people in the world; that idleness was the bane of young men, either in town or city, and referred him to many young men whom they knew in their boyhood, and of whom mr. savage had told him on that visit, that they had made wreck of themselves in the country, some having gone down to drunkards' graves, etc.; that leonard would, at once, have all he could do, and perhaps more; that he would directly enter upon a stern, and not a little laborious life, but that his great success would be sure; that he would watch over leonard with a father's care, etc. mrs. savage cried, and mr. s. persisted in his objections. finally, mr. brooks told him that if he would give his consent, he would watch leonard carefully, and that if he discovered the least thing to excite his suspicions that leonard was in any way unfitted for the course of life in which he wished to place him, he would send him back to his father, and that, in the meanwhile, leonard would have earned some money for himself, and that then he would not be too old to go to college; "for," said he, "a year's trial will decide all." this was a new suggestion to leonard, and he caught at it, and added his importunities to mr. brooks's; for he saw the brilliant prospect before him if he proved himself capable, and it was mr. brooks's own proposal that he go on trial. so, after much further conversation, mr. and mrs. savage consented, and the parties returned to the house. mr. brooks was so delighted that he could hardly contain himself, and insisted that leonard should go with him and his family next day to the mountains. to this leonard demurred, for he knew that fashionable people resorted there, and he had not, he said, a proper suit of clothes. he was having some made preparatory to going to college, but they were not done. mr. brooks gently laughed at this; told him he was well enough dressed now; that it was not his clothes, but him, that he wanted with him. but it was finally arranged that leonard should visit boston, and provide himself with a ready-made suit, and follow the family in two or three days. mr. brooks, knowing a certain clothing-house in boston, told leonard to go there, and nowhere else; and after leonard had selected his suit, judge of his surprise, when the clerk, asking his name, in order to make out the bill, presented it to leonard, subscribed, "payment received in full," as leonard was drawing his wallet to pay for the goods. "but what does this mean?" said leonard, as, taking the bill, he handed the clerk the money, which was refused. "i am not able to tell you more than that i had orders to hand you the bill receipted, and to refuse any money you might offer," said the clerk, as he started to go to do something needing then to be done. "but stop, sir," said leonard; "i cannot receive this compliment from your house. i must know what it means." at this point one of the proprietors, seeing that leonard was confounded, stepped up, motioned the clerk away to his duties, and said,-- "allow me to ask what is the trouble?" "no 'trouble' indeed," said leonard, "but this: i've bought a suit of clothes, for which i wish to pay, and the clerk won't let me, and has given me the receipted bill." the proprietor reached out his hand for it, looked at it for an instant, and said,-- "is this your name?" "yes, sir." "then the bill seems to be correctly made out." "yes, sir." "well, i am one of the proprietors of this house,--would you prefer _me_ to receipt the bill, rather than that it be done in our name by a clerk--is that it?" of course leonard was astonished at the query. "why, no, sir," said he; "i suppose this is as correct as it can be, as far as the signature is concerned, but i am astonished that you won't take my money." "well, we do refuse to, and shall be greatly obliged to you if you will take the suit along with you. you will have no trouble in the future about it, and i am not at liberty to explain the matter to you. all i can say is, it is all right; we are satisfied, and should be glad of your custom when you wish anything in our line." leonard left the store confused, unable to conjecture what it meant, for he had no suspicion of the fact, afterwards disclosed to him, a year from then, that mr. brooks had written a private letter to the house, enclosing a draft on a new york bank, telling the house to let such a young man, whom he accurately described, and who would be there in a day or two, have the goods, and they could settle the difference between amount of draft and cost of goods thereafter. of course he enjoined entire secrecy; hence it was that the proprietor was "not at liberty to explain." mr. brooks intended this as a pleasant surprise upon leonard, but it didn't prove so. he was more or less harassed by it till he came to know the facts. he was one of those independent, self-reliant souls, who rather go without this or that than receive it from patronizing hands; and as he did not even suspect this as mr. brooks's work, and as old mr. savage, when leonard came to tell him of the occurrence, was equally unsuspecting, leonard was a little vexed. mr. brooks had been so long away they did not conceive that he had acquaintances in boston; and moreover they knew that he had not been near the post office of the village while he was there, or had they suspected him they would have thought of that, and been puzzled. but mr. brooks had been wary, and without going to the post office himself, sent his daughter out to walk, and deposit the letter, and told her to say nothing about it, and to show its superscription to no one. leonard followed the family in his new but plain suit, for he had not been extravagant. his fine form needed no adornment, and the visitors at the mountains that season hardly knew which to admire the most, his frank, handsome face, his apollo-like form, or his gentle, kindly manners. of course mr. brooks was very proud of him, and was never so happy as when talking to the people he met of the prize he had found "up among the granite hills." he spoke of leonard as his "clerk," and was, in short, a particle silly in the expression of his pride over leonard; and mrs. brooks was not far behind him. so that the gossiping portion of the visitors to the mountains, when they met, began to whisper it about that it was "easy enough to be seen" that mr. brooks was arranging an alliance for his daughter, and they were very sure it was the next to the oldest; and before the brookses left the mountains, these gossipers were certain of it; and, as they observed the quiet, modest, and reserved appearance of the beautiful isabella, they construed her silence into her non-concurrence with the supposed plan, and mrs. brooks overheard some of them bewailing the condition of her daughter, declaring it was "too bad to compel a girl to marry against her will;" that although leonard was so beautiful, and all that, yet it was not right to compel the girl to marry him, and the brookses "ought to be ashamed of it." little did they know what at the same time was going on in isabella's heart, and as little foresaw what the future, not years distant, was to develop in the happiness and joy of the brooks and savage families. ah, and much less could they then have conjectured of the terrible reverses--the inexpressible sufferings, which were to come to some, indeed all, of those then happy households. the season over, mr. brooks and family returned to new york, making but a day or two's call at mr. savage's, where it was arranged that leonard should follow them in a month, and then set out for boston, where mr. brooks called on the clothing-house, and received the balance due on his draft. "that young man," said the proprietor, who had had the conversation with leonard, "is a splendid fellow to look upon, and i liked his manners. i've thought ever since he was here i would like to get his services in our store--if i could. do you think he could be induced to come to boston? we'd do well by him--give him a fair trial--he would have nothing to complain of." "then you like him? what struck you most in his appearance?" "well, he's intelligent and handsome, that everybody can see; but what i liked most, was his honest, open face. i think he's perfectly reliable--a thing i can say of but few of the clerks our house ever had." mr. brooks was delighted with this estimation of leonard by a shrewd, keen-sighted business man, and replied,-- "you've judged the young man rightly, i think; but you cannot secure his services. a business is already provided for him. were it not for that, i might try to get him into your employ." soon after mr. brooks left the store; and, of course, the first thing he told mrs. brooks on entering the revere house, where they were stopping, was what the merchant had said about leonard, and the daughters all heard it too. but i must cut this part of the story short, for i find my personal regard for leonard is leading me to dilate upon those points which are not so exactly connected with the detective's business; and i have gone over the substance of mr. brooks's narrative to me of the past, in such detail, in order to give the reader some adequate notion of the intensity of the grief which came upon the brooks family, and to show how the extremest innocence and the most lofty honor may sometimes suffer under false charges,--the designs of the base and vile for their own mean ends; or, as in this case, through the conspiracy of circumstances, the solution of which necessarily involves the innocent sometimes. leonard went to new york in due time, and was taken into mr. b.'s family as a member, and duly installed in mr. b.'s business, first as clerk, mr. brooks advancing him little by little, as he saw fit. a year rolled round, and leonard visited his country home, and mr. brooks had no occasion to "release" him in that he loved him; and all the family loved him; and there was one of them who more than loved him, isabella; but so gentle and undemonstrative had she been, that leonard did not know it; and he regarded all the girls as his sisters, and was kind, and gentle, and cheerful to them all alike. still, sometimes he thought he "liked" (for he never thought of "love" towards any of them, save in the kindly, friendly sense), isabella, in particular, the best. when he returned there was rejoicing in the brooks' house, and all went on smoothly. these things proceeded till leonard became of age, and mr. brooks at once took him into full partnership, giving him outright an interest sufficient to make him wealthy. leonard had not forgotten his love of books, and occupied most of his leisure hours at his happy home, reading to the family. thus he was storing his mind, and fitting himself for greater usefulness. so fashionable a family as the brookses, had necessarily been called into society much, and had given many parties themselves, but they gradually lost their interest in those things after leonard came; and as mr. brooks saw the advantage of which his reading and studential habits would be to his daughters, he encouraged their more quiet life. in short, leonard became indispensable to that household, and lived there as a brother and a son, to whom they all had come to look up, till his twenty-fourth year, when, going a little into society, and meeting various ladies, whom he admired, he began to conceive the thought of marriage; but he found none who, in comparison with the young ladies at home, he thought equal to them, especially to one of them, the gentle isabella, who was also a very good scholar, and had studied a great deal since leonard became a member of the family. he dwelt upon the matter very much. isabella was almost a sister, indeed. he felt a delicacy about revealing his affections; but at last he did, and the tears of isabella revealed her only too great joy. they made their story known to mr. and mrs. brooks, who, in their gladness, would have had them marry the very next day. mr. brooks said that any delay under the circumstances was absurd; that he did not care for formalities, and wanted to make no show. but mrs. brooks's pride took another direction. she wanted time to make a great wedding, and mr. brooks yielded. the wedding came, and passed all happily, and leonard savage and isabella brooks were united for a happy life, to be checkered, however, by great misery to them both. they remained with mr. brooks's family for a year, when they moved into a new house which mr. brooks had erected meanwhile, and given to isabella, and time went on; children were born to them, and happy grandparents lived over their lives again in the smiles of their loving grandchildren. meanwhile mr. brooks changed his business somewhat, and founding a bank, he became president of it, and along with him went leonard, as chief clerk, his property, now sufficient for his support in style, being invested in various paying stocks. he went more as a companion for old mr. brooks, than to fill a position for the sake of its salary; and as mr. brooks had a dear friend, who, in his old age had become ruined in wall street, it was arranged that he should be cashier so long as he might desire, or might live, and that mr. savage should succeed him, if he so desired. but mr. savage was mr. brooks's confidential clerk in all respects, and was intrusted with everything. all things went on happily and smoothly for a year and a half, till a certain fatal day arrived. the day before, mr. savage, who, in all the long time he had been with mr. brooks, never drew out at any time from the concern but a portion of his dues, told mr. brooks that he had become embarrassed a little through the decline of a certain stock, which was sure, however, to come up again, and that he wanted a thousand dollars for current expenses; and unwilling to sell any stock he held, and not willing to ask anybody else to loan him, was obliged to ask of him a favor. mr. brooks smiled at the matter, gave him the money at once, and in a manner of half reproof, and half joke, said, "leonard, what made you think i'd lend you money? i won't, never. take that as a birthday present _from_ me, to reverse the order of things, for to-morrow is my birthday." leonard took the money, considering it a loan, which he should make up in a week. the next day was a fatal one to the happiness of that house, and the one to which all i have written here has been pointing. it was noon. mr. brooks was out of town, the cashier had gone to his dinner, and so the clerks, and all but an old negro messenger, who had been with the house since its establishment, and he was dozing away in his accustomed seat, when a man entered the bank with a draft for two thousand dollars, and something over (i forget the exact sum); was in haste, or such was mr. savage's story; got it cashed by mr. savage, who acted as teller in the teller's absence, and cashier too, and made an entry in the books, and slipped the draft, as he declared, into the proper drawer, preparatory to its being duly filed, according to the custom of the bank. that night the entry was found in the books, but no draft to correspond was found. mr. savage was confounded; the old cashier said an unkind word to him about carelessness, and the bank closed without the matter being settled. next day the cashier brought the thing to mr. brooks's notice before mr. savage came in; and the old cashier presumed, on his intimacy with mr. brooks, to say that the affair "looked bad." the illness of one of mr. savage's children delayed him an hour or two beyond the usual time of arriving at the bank, and this added to mr. brooks's uneasiness, not knowing the cause. moreover, there flashed into his mind, what had been forgotten for nearly thirty years, the mournful history of the latter life of a man in the south, whom he once knew, and who, in the midst of happiest surroundings, and after having enjoyed everybody's confidence for a period of over forty years, proved at last a villain. mr. brooks deemed this man's name coming back, as it did,--he knew not how,--to memory, as a sort of providential presentation of light upon the matter in question; and, by the deep degree of his affection for his son-in-law, his suspicions became intense, as he afterwards explained it. by the time leonard savage got to the bank, mr. brooks was in the mood to believe almost anything of him. he remembered, too, that he was embarrassed the day before, and he had given him a thousand dollars. how did he know but he wanted more thousands? what had he done with his money? when mr. savage arrived, mr. brooks, with a frown on his face, invited him into the directors' room, shut the door, and asked him to explain about that draft. mr. savage told him the whole simple story, quietly; expressed his great regret at his stupidity; said he knew he must have--in fact, he knew as well as he knew anything--put the draft in such a place; that it was drawn by such a bank in the country (a familiar one, often doing business with them); was all right, etc., and that he and the clerks had hunted high and low, and it was not to be found the day before. mr. savage was secretly annoyed at mr. brooks's pertinacity in the matter, and he finally said,-- "father brooks, of course i propose that the bank shall not lose the money. the other bank will, of course, recognize the fact of having given the draft; and now, as the draft is paid it is all the same to us if it is lost." "yes, yes," said mr. brooks; "that's all well enough. i wonder why i've not thought to send word to the other bank, and find if they have issued such a draft on us." this very suggestion piqued mr. savage's pride awfully, but he suffered the affront silently; and as the conversation closed, mr. savage said, "and, father, even if it were a forged draft, i should tell you to have it charged to me, against my stock and dividends. the bank shall not lose for my laches." this suggestion about a forged draft struck mr. brooks unpleasantly. "what if it should prove that the bank has made no such draft on us that day?" asked mr. b. of himself, as he and mr. savage parted; and he immediately despatched a messenger to the country to find out the facts, who, returning, said the bank had issued no such draft. mr. brooks's suspicions became strong that mr. savage, for some inscrutable reason, had done wrong. he did not care for the money, but his confidence was shaken in him. he would pay the sum withdrawn, and get rid of mr. savage as easily as he could. this was his purpose; but he bethought him, that perhaps somebody could unravel the mystery; _perhaps_--but he did not believe it--somebody had deceived mr. savage with a forged check; but, ah! where had that gone. "perhaps," mr. savage had thought--well, he could not solve it for himself, knew not what to think; and after pondering over it, came to our office (for i then had a partner). he revealed his case to me,--told me the whole history which i have related, and far more, and said he had grown ten years older within the past two weeks. he had said nothing yet to his wife about it, and thought he never should. i told him it looked to me that mr. savage was an honest man, and had been imposed upon with a forged check; that possibly, by some connivance with the old negro messenger, the forger had repossessed himself of that check; but that that was the most unlikely thing in the world. i tried to conceive various ways to account for it, even to supposing that mr. s. was mistaken as to having put the draft in the drawer, but had tucked it, unthinkingly, into his vest pocket, and had lost it. but to all i could suggest, he had a ready reply; and i told him that i thought i'd better examine the premises, the drawers, and so forth; and we arranged a private examination,--he and i being alone in the bank,--which was made. i saw that if the drawers were full,--and it appeared that on that fatal day much business had been done, and the drawer was probably full,--a paper might get out over the back end and fall on the floor, and so get lost; but this suggestion was answered to my satisfaction,--the greatest search had been made for the paper on the afternoon of the day it was said to have been presented, etc., and my theory was thus precluded. after a few conferences, i finally yielded to mr. brooks's opinion, that mr. savage was guilty of having taken the money, and trumped up the silly story for his defence; and yet it was all so absurd an act in one situated as was he. a while after, mr. brooks had a serious talk with mr. savage, who was allowed to pay the bank the loss, and matters were so arranged that the clerks thought that the check had indeed been found, though they did not see it; but mr. brooks's confidence in and respect for mr. savage was gone, and the poor old man's grief was terrible. "not one honest man in the world," he used to mutter; "even if you educate him yourself, and nurture him in your own bosom, and give to his keeping your dearest child, and your wealth and all, he'll deceive you." mr. brooks caused mr. savage to give up his place; and told him that he wanted his daughter and their children to visit him as before, but hoped he should never see _him_ at his house, and if he did visit there, he trusted he would take care not to meet him. and mr. savage, whose feelings, under the circumstances, can perhaps be better conceived than described, seeing the old man's wretchedness, withdrew from his sight quietly, simply saying, "it is awful--i am innocent--perhaps something will convince you, some day, that i am." "no, no," said old mr. brooks; "i have no such hope; there is no room for hope; you have deceived me in your character, and i am fast breaking down." mr. savage went to his home an almost broken-down man himself. for a long time he kept all from his wife; finally, he told her; and she, against his advice, went to implore her father, now inexorable in his opinion. he cried over his daughter, but would not yield his opinion. mr. savage became quite low in health, and it was finally thought best, by his physician, that he should take a sea voyage,--go to europe to spend a year or two; which he did, leaving his wife and children at home. he made his will, and arranged everything as if he might never return. the physicians could not determine exactly what was his malady, but thought change of conditions and travel would do him good. they did not know that it was wounded affection--affection for his dear old father-in-law, whom he really loved and adored--that was secretly undermining his health; for he could not tell them his story. two years had passed since that unhappy day, of the presentation of the draft, when there came a letter to mr. brooks, purporting to be from a catholic clergyman, who gave his name, saying that a dying penitent had confessed a presentation of a forged draft on his bank for two thousand dollars at about such a time--day of the month he could not recollect,--and that he was ready to make restoration, to the extent of his ability, with funds left in his hands for the purpose. he could restore twelve hundred dollars, and asked mr. b. if such a check had been drawn on his bank at such a time, as the penitent was not in the most vivid state of memory at the time of confession, and talked of two or three banks at the same time. here is light! thought mr. brooks; and he lost no time in seeking out the priest, and getting from him all he could disclose; and when the priest,--who would not give him the man's name, on account of certain relatives of the forger's, who were respectable people,--mr. brooks remembered that mr. savage's meagre description of the man, who he alleged presented the check, was like the priest's, mr. brooks began to suffer remorse. "yet, where is the check?" he constantly asked himself; and with this he settled his conscience as frequently as it was disturbed; and saying nothing to his wife about this,--to whom not till months after the fatal day he had told his story,--thought over the matter by himself. he did not receive the money from the priest, but caused him to put it in the bank, told him to act as its trustee, and that by and by he could come to some conclusion. he told the priest that there was alleged to have been a draft for two thousand dollars drawn at that time; and he learned from the priest that the man who confessed to drawing a forged order was skilful with his pen, and capable, probably, of forging successfully. and with this all, mr. brooks was constantly in trouble of mind. finally, it had been resolved by the bank to get a heavy safe, in addition to the one in the vault, for its increasing business; and when the position it was to occupy was selected, it was seen that the old desk must be removed. in placing the safe in its position, the old floor broke down on the part nearest the wall,--for the banking rooms were in an old building,--and it became necessary to repair the floor. the safe was rolled out in the middle of the room, and the floor, or a portion of it, taken up. it was found that for nearly nine inches from the side of the room the floorboards had nothing to rest on, and consequently broke down with the weight of the safe. they were not thick and stout enough, and the reckless joiners, in laying the floor, had saved themselves labor in slighting their work. but the floor had served its purpose well enough till that day. on tearing off the broken ends of the floor, several papers were found between them and the ceiling of the room below,--the basement offices,--and small bits of sealing-wax, short strings, a few cents, and such things. the bank men and clerks looked at the papers, and one of them, taking up a paper of peculiar color, and folded, said, "what's this?" and carelessly opened it. "why, this is a draft on our bank by the bank of ----; cashed, too, i reckon; how came it here?" fortunately mr. brooks was looking on the scene. the old cashier was sick at home, the person in his place occupied, and the clerk who found the paper a new comer. "let me see that," said mr. brooks, and reached his trembling hand for it, took it, and turned away; looked at it; put it in his pocket, and went into the directors' room; cried till he was weak; and finally, coming out, said he was sick, and must go home; had a carriage ordered, and was soon at home, revealing to his wife what, together with the confession of the dying penitent, he considered the full proof of mr. savage's innocence. the color of the draft, which had proven a little dark in the mean while, however, was like that before and then still used by the country bank in its check blanks, and was all right. it flashed upon him that the forger had gotten possession of one of these, done his work, deceived mr. savage,--and all was clear but as to _how_ the check got there,--a mystery in some part never to be solved. but next day mr. brooks observed, what had never occurred to him before as remarkable, yet which he remembered to have carelessly noted every day of his life, that the base-board above the floor had shrunken away from the latter for the space of nearly a quarter of an inch; and he found that the broken ends of the floor boards revealed that they but barely reached under the base board, so short were they. the draft, found folded, had somehow slipped out of the drawer, and got on to the floor; and perhaps, in somebody's haste that fatal day, had chanced to be hit with the toe of a boot severely enough to be cast under the base board, into the receptacle where it was found. mr. brooks's remorse was great. he would have hurried to europe, to see his son-in-law, and bring him back, if he could possibly have then left new york, but he could not; and he did the next good thing. he would not trust to the slow process of the mail,--for where his son-in-law was at the time his daughter, who had been made acquainted with the facts, could not tell. he was last heard from at rome, but was about to depart for some other place--vienna, i believe. so mr. brooks wrote the most tender letter, imploring forgiveness, and together with one from mr. savage's wife, sealed it up very securely, selected a messenger, who was no other than the old cashier's, his friend's, son, and fitting him out, bade him make haste to find mr. savage, give him the letters, and bring him home. the messenger left for europe by the next steamer from boston, and going directly to rome, traced out mr. savage from there, and found him at last in athens, greece, an enfeebled, prematurely old man. he had suddenly changed his purpose to go to austria, and set out with a party from rome to greece. mr. savage was so overcome with joy that he was thrown into a fit of sickness, which lasted for some three weeks; but he recovered to his old status of late, and before he arrived in new york--his anxiety having gone, and his happiness at the prospect of soon being restored to the arms of the old man, whom he so loved, with all suspicions removed from his character, and his innocence proclaimed--he had grown to be quite like his old self in appearance, though yet unusually thin. i will not attempt to describe the meeting between him, his father and mother-in-law, and his wife, for these were all at his own house, in a private room, when he arrived from the steamer,--mr. brooks feeling that he could not meet him there, as he wished to in his heart, for he would be overcome, had written him a note by the coachman, telling him where he would find him. mr. brooks's recital of that scene, which he told me more than once, was the most touching story i ever listened to; would that i had the power of pen to reproduce it; but i have not, and i will not depreciate it by the attempt. during the messenger's absence mr. brooks had sought me, told me the story of the confession and the finding of the note, and would have scolded me a little i felt, because i did not think of the shrunken base board,--which i now think i noticed,--if he too had not overlooked that in the examination, although he had in fact noticed it nearly every day that the rooms had been occupied by his bank. the still unravelled mystery of how the check got out of the drawer and under the base board, sometimes puzzles me; but it is no stranger, after all, than many things i have known. there can be no doubt of mr. savage's innocence in the matter. the twelve hundred dollars, with some interest thereon, was finally paid over by the priest; but mr. brooks took care that father ---- received, in a way mysterious to him, and for his own use, a much larger sum; so grateful was he for the restoration to his home of his innocent son-in-law, whom he had so deeply, yet naturally enough under the circumstances, wronged. this case, i hardly need add, served to increase my caution in the examination of my future "work," though i thought i was as wary and careful as a man could well be before. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the peculiar advertisements. -------------- the doctrine of chance--a night at the girard house, philadelphia--an inoffensive gentleman, my room-mate--i disturb his sleep--a queer tale--nellie wilson and her uncle--william wilson, nellie's dissolute cousin--fearful love-making--a rescue--a call to duty--a dead man's will missing--studying up the case with the great criminal lawyer, judge s.--fate interposes--a mysterious and peculiar advertisement--at the continental hotel, waiting and watching--an "appearance"--william wilson again--an upper room, and the villains therein--a private conference not all secret--a flash of victory before utter defeat--notes and documents exchanged--base rejoicings--a fatal neglect--the surprise--complete discomfiture--the end accomplished--"coals of fire,"--but they do no good--a violent death--happy consequences--the peculiar advertisements unravelled. coincidences in life and its various pursuits are perhaps governed by some mysterious law, and are not always resolvable by the doctrine of chance. the detective is not only brought into contact with all sorts of people without the profession, but frequently finds himself in the company of his mysterious fellow-craftsmen, to some purpose. an advertisement among the "personals" in the new york herald had directed me to philadelphia, in the spring of ; or, rather, following the thread of one by which i thought i might possibly unravel a mystery of great importance to a client of mine, i had gone to philadelphia; and putting up at the girard house, was compelled, on account of the crowded state of the hotel, to take room for the night with a quiet, inoffensive looking gentleman, whose appearance at times, however, betokened to me that something was pressing upon his mind. not a little harassed by the mission i was on, i found myself unable to sleep, and while pondering over this and that device for the next day's proceedings in my mazy work, i was conscious that i constantly changed position, rolling over in bed, etc., but as softly as possible, in order to not awaken my fellow-lodger, whom i supposed to be sweetly enjoying his dreams. the night had worn well on, when my companion addressed me:-- "friend, are you ill?" "o, no,--why?" "i have observed that you have not slept any yet to-night." "then you, too, have been awake the whole time?" "yes, fully." "let me ask, then, if you are unwell?" "o, no; but business cares press upon me, of a somewhat serious nature." and thus beginning, after a long period of cautious colloquy the fact became developed to each that the other belonged to the fraternity of detectives. my new friend had come from cincinnati upon an errand which he disclosed to me in part, and i had the happiness of making him, what he was pleased to call, valuable suggestions, and which so proved in the sequel, i believe. i had aided him, and he was ready to serve me if possible. in so far as i properly might, i made him acquainted with my business, and the end which i sought; told him of the advertisement in the herald, and how i interpreted it, and why i believed that i was on the right track. he had an illustrative case in point, very like, in many respects, the affair i had in hand; and inasmuch as a change in the programme of my investigations took place in a day or two after, so that my affair was dropped, and never pressed to its full development, i will recall my friend's story here, as perhaps not less interesting than mine might have been, had i carried out things to their possible issue. my friend's story was, in substance this: "some years ago i formed the acquaintance of a wealthy gentleman, residing in this city. his name we will call wilson, and his home was one of the most comfortable and luxurious in the city. his wife had died some years before, and his home was presided over by his very beautiful niece, nellie wilson, a girl of about twenty years of age, who, with his only son, constituted his 'family.' miss nellie was a most attractive person, tall, symmetrically formed, with a wealth of beautiful hair. her eyes of that peculiar blue which is seldom seen in such richness as in hers, were among the most beautiful; in fact, to not be too sentimental, and yet to speak truth, i must say they were the most beautiful eyes i ever looked into. her complexion was faultless, and her manners, especially in their quiet majesty, were more than faultless,--imposing and elegant. a great prize, you see. well, i must say, and so i will say, friend, that if, when i first saw this miss nellie, i had not had at home one of the best wives in all my state, or in this whole country, i should have been obliged, i fear, to let myself go distracted over that embodiment of female perfections, miss nellie; and as 'twas, i confess i didn't forget her soon; and 'pears to me, if this is really i that's talking, i haven't quite forgot her yet!--how is that, friend?" "well," said i, in reply, "it would seem so to me, if i'd let it, but i won't trouble you with that. go on with your story, for i am all interest." resuming, he went on to say that it wasn't strange that such a girl as nellie, whose disposition was as sweet as her beauty was great, had captivated the kindliest affections of her uncle, to the disparagement of the son, who was an eyesore to his father, being exceedingly dissipated. his dissolute life had deeply tried his father, whose blasted hopes of his son's ever becoming reformed had only tended to deepen his regard and tenderness towards miss nellie. in fact, the son and father lived, if not in a sort of perpetual petty warfare, in very uncongenial relations. charles wilson, the father, was a sort of _bon vivant_ (bating the use of liquors), and took great pleasure in inviting to his table such persons as pleased his fancy. inviting me one day, i went, and enjoyed a most capital dinner, and with it an hour or more of very pleasing sociality. mr. wilson had the habit of retiring to rest for an hour after his dinner, and bowed himself out of the room with due explanations. i occupied myself in conning over some books in the studio, which was divided from the adjoining apartment by sliding doors. miss nellie had withdrawn soon after dinner to see, i suppose, after sundry household duties. a little weary of my solitude, i fell into a sort of doze in the capacious and inviting arms of a luxurious "study-chair," out of which i was awakened by voices which evidently proceeded from the adjoining room. our dinner had been partaken of at a late hour, and by this time the evening had advanced well on, so that the uproar of the street had ceased, leaving that quiet silence which one can almost feel by the touch, and rending audible almost the least sound. i was not obliged to listen, but was rather forced to hear all that was going on in the next room. it must have been, i saw, the voice of william wilson, the son, that had broken my reverie, and as i discovered something husky and gross in it, i concluded he was intoxicated, muttering,-- "hear me _now_, nellie! curse you! you--_know_--i--love--you,"--drawing out his words with the peculiar utterance of a drunken, but a very earnest man. "yes, i worship the very dust under your feet. your beauty makes me crazy. it transports me in imagination into fairy regions. yes, it's the fairy regions themselves, in its complete self!" "away with your ridiculous praises; i will have none of your compliments now. why do you continue to persecute me? have i not made my decision plain to you? i cannot recall it. i will not change," she replied. "dear nellie, do have mercy!--don't say so! if you but knew how utterly i worship you! i have no thoughts but of you! every pulse of my being beats for you! o, i beg you, sweet, blessed idol!--do, do smile once upon me!" the intoxicated brute responded. [illustration: rescue of nellie wilson.] "william, you are grossly intoxicated. how dare you come to me thus?" "my own cousin nellie, drunk or sober, i will be yours; and by all the gods, you _shall_ be mine!" "i pity you, william, but i beg you to leave me now, or i must and will leave your presence." "never! my beautiful cousin, until you own that you love me. i would barter all the hopes i ever had of future happiness for one moment of your love. i could stand a whole year gazing in rapture into your sweet face. o, darling one! blessed nellie! swear that you _will_ be mine!" thus the young fellow went on, working himself into a great passion. "mister--wilson!" here broke in miss nellie, "unless you leave the room, or let me, i'll call for help." "no, you shall not! i know that my father loves you better than he ever did me, and i know that in his will he has left you nearly all his property, and left me with next to nothing. so much you have won upon him, and to add to my misery you scorn my love; but there's no power on earth to forbid you being mine, and you shall be!" there was a movement in the room, as if miss nellie was proceeding to some action. "nellie, you shall not avoid me so. i tell you, you shall be mine. o, dearest! own that you love me! come, let me fold you to my breast!" there was a slight, fitful scream, and i heard the delirious fellow rushing towards her; and feeling her peril, i jumped to the sliding doors, pushed them apart just as the drunken wretch had wrapped his arms about the girl. but when he saw me he let go his grasp, and with a maddened expression on his face, hastened from the room. i caught the frightened girl in my arms, and bore her to the sofa; but it was some time before she recovered from her swoon. fearing that this might not be the last wrong which the drunken son would inflict upon that beautiful girl, i felt it nothing less than my duty to inform his father of the son's outrageous course; and william was banished from the house. not long after i left for the west, and was absent a week or so. the night of my return i received a call from judge s----, the great criminal advocate, who told me that he had been hunting me all day, exclaiming, "and thank a blessed providence i have found you at last." "you are a little excited, judge; what's the matter?" "i am in a great perplexity, and i want your aid to get out of it, for i know that you knew george wilson--didn't you?" "_knew_ him? yes, and know him perfectly well. he's a great friend of mine, i'm glad to believe." "hadn't you heard that he is dead?" "dead! it isn't possible--is it?" "yes; died night before last." "how sudden! is there any suspicion of something wrong about his death?" "no; for he had been unwell for quite a while. he died of heart disease. you, perhaps, don't know that i was his attorney; but you do know how wretchedly he lived with that infamous son, william. a few months ago i drew mr. wilson's will. he had been so long complaining that he began to fear that he could not last long, and wanted to make all things secure for his niece, nellie, who, by the will, was made legatee of nearly all his property, he leaving but a small annuity to his son--and--" "but, here let me ask you if william knows about the provisions of the will?" "not that i know, for a surety; but let's see. i do remember that when the will was witnessed, we were disturbed by a slight noise, as of one disposed to obtrude; but i saw no one." "you may be sure that it was william whom you heard, for i chance to know that he understood the chief contents of the will;" and then i recited to him what i had overheard william say to miss nellie. "this may be a thing in point," said the attorney, when i had concluded; "but let me finish what i have to tell you. the will was placed in my care, and i enveloped it and placed it in my private drawer. when i heard of mr. wilson's death, i reverted to my drawer, took out the envelope, but found no will within it--only a blank piece of paper there! you can hardly judge of my thrilling surprise." "ah! some scamp, or interested person then, had played you a trick?" "precisely. i was so taken aback that i was quite nonplussed--more than 'thunder struck.' but after a while i recovered my self-possession, and began to revolve in my mind the proper course to pursue under the circumstances. as good luck had it, i was alone, and nobody knew my discomfiture." "do you entertain any special suspicions of anybody?" "i am at a loss whom to suspect; but you give me a valuable hint, perhaps, in what you have related. it seems very probable that william wilson could give me light upon the matter, if so disposed. nevertheless, i feel certain that it was impossible for him to get access to my drawer." "but you have several clerks?" "yes, five; but i have full confidence in each of them. none of these knew what the envelope contained, for i never confide to anybody more than i think he has need to know; and of the existence of the will none of my clerks had any occasion to be apprised. i made the loss known to no one; but locked up my drawer, and plunged into my business in my usual manner." "you were wise in so doing. did you notice anything at all disturbed in your desk?" "nothing. it must have been carefully manipulated, and opened by a skilful hand." "and on reflection, you have no just reason to entertain suspicion of any of the clerks?" "no. i have studied them closely, but can see nothing unusual, nothing guilt-like in the manner of any of them. but thus outwitted, as soon as i heard of your re-appearance in the city, the thought flashed upon me that perhaps you could unravel the mystery." "well, now i have your story, i'll see what i can do. something tells me that that will can be found. do you believe in fate? sometimes i have premonitions which come as suddenly as lightning, and prove in the end of worth. i guess i shall be able to serve you." after the usual leave-taking, the attorney departed, and i leaned back in my chair, and threw my feet listlessly upon the table in the room, and set about conjuring up schemes. a score of plans flitted through my mind; but the case was a perplexing one, and i knew not which plan to adopt for action. but here fate again; for in the midst of my greatest distraction, i chanced to note on the table a copy of the new york mercury, of date a day or two before, which i picked up for diversion, and running almost unwittingly over a column of advertisements, my eye lighted upon this:-- "let the seeker after knowledge take heed. _will will be pleased to know the_ will _of the unwilling, at nine o'clock, monday night, next? for success and joy, perhaps, await him._ his continental friend." looking back upon it now, i don't see why i was startled at this. but i was. perhaps it was because of the frequent repetition of the word "will;" but so it was at any rate; and i thought i had a clew at last. "his continental friend"?---- "o, i have it! the continental hotel is a place of rendezvous. i'll watch and wait." this much decided, i turned in reverie upon the beautiful nellie, and felt more than usual joy in the prospect of being of avail to her, and, i confess, not a little ugly towards william, whom, what i had seen of him had led me to despise. but he was a fellow of some ability, and must have been the prompter of the work of abstraction; and, having money at times, might have corrupted one of the clerks into his interest. thus i reflected, till i became, indeed, convinced. at the continental i resolved to be, at the time appointed in the advertisement, or before. i was on hand at an early hour, watching all that passed. the time went on very sluggishly, and i was getting nervous. a quiet stealthy-looking person came in at last, and ordered a room for the night. i watched the number on the register; and posting myself on the street, being partially disguised, i waited till william should come, which he did, in a half-intoxicated mood. he scanned the register in a maudlin way, and sent up his card to the room, which, as good luck would have it, was on the topmost floor, so crowded was the hotel that night. the servant who bore the card returned, saying,-- "he says, 'send the gentleman up.'" i waited till the clumsy steps of william sounded as from on the second flight, when i quietly followed, increasing my pace as i neared him; so that i was near upon him when the door opened. "halloo, wilson! here all right! well, i'm more than glad to see you!" exclaimed the inmate, as wilson entered, and the door closed. tripping to the door, i listened, and heard william quite distinctly, his cups having added emphasis to his somewhat gruff voice. "well, mr. roberts, my very legs tremble, for i feared it might not be you here after all. i'd most forgot the name we'd agreed on for the register, but i knew your handwriting. _was_ it hyde? i thought it was hood we'd fixed on. but no matter now. here you are, and that's enough." instantly that i heard the name roberts, i knew it must be the attorney's chief clerk, for he had spoken of this clerk as having been longest in his employ, and you can well understand how i became at once all ears. "but you have that important paper all secure?" "of course i have, or i wouldn't have advertised. i feared you might have left new york, and wouldn't get the notice in time." "but how did you get it--and when? tell me the story, my brave boy," said william, with the patronizing voice of a new-made millionnaire. "never mind now--tell you some other time. it's enough, isn't it, that it's here?" "all right, then. let's take up the 'business in order,' as they say in congress. how much shall i give you for that precious will?" "it _is_ a 'precious' document, i assure you, mr. wilson," said the scheming roberts. "do you know its provisions?" "yes, i know all about it; or all that's important; for luckily i overheard most of it read. my blessed father left everything of consequence to my cousin nellie; but, ah! ha! that will's got to be probated, and who's to do it? that fireplace" (pointing to the grate in the room) "will tell no tale, and here's matches. but fix your terms--what shall i give you for the document?" "one hundred dollars down, for i am about visiting my old home in canada, and want a little more ready cash; and say, if you don't think it's too much, your promissory note, made negotiable, but with a private agreement back from me that you shall not be pressed to pay it till you get in full possession of your estate, for ten thousand dollars." [illustration: rescue of the will.] "a _little_ 'steep'--aren't you, roberts? but you are a brave fellow, and it shall be done! here's ink, i see, and here's paper," said william, fumbling his pocket evidently for an old scrap, for he seemed to meet delays. "there, there's the note--now your agreement." papers rustled lightly on the table, and "all right," said roberts; "there's the document, read it at your leisure, and do what you like with it." at this point, in my eagerness, i had bent lower down by the door, and discovered a small, old keyhole, for the door had been evidently newly trimmed with locks, through which i could see with some distinctness. william read over the will; and with many oaths, and in his delirium of success, losing sense of caution, half shouted, as he swung the document in the air at the tip of his fingers, and half danced about the room:-- "there, now! my blessed, sweet little child, cousin nellie, you're outwitted--and--you--are--in--my power! love me, and tell me so, or you shall beg. no! i vow i'll buy your graces. i'll bring you to my feet, but i will never marry you! confound you! roberts, give me a match." roberts plunged his hand into his vest pocket, and drew out a portable safe, took a match therefrom, and struck it, handing it to william, whose hand trembled in the flush of victory, as he touched it to the paper. the unwise fellows had neglected to bolt the door,--probably from the fact of being on the highest flight,--so i had not the obstacle of a lock to overcome, as i quickly turned the knob, and rushed in upon the astonished pair, and snatched the paper from william's hand while only a corner of it was burned. "ah, you scamps!" i exclaimed, "i am in the nick of time, it seems. you are caught in the last and important act. do you think there's no god in heaven to watch over innocents like your cousin nellie?" the look of stupid horror which the countenances of roberts and william wilson revealed, remains as fresh on my mind as if it were only yesterday that i surprised them. i lost no time in getting the will safely into my pocket, and bade them defiance. roberts rushed out of the room, as if he had been shot, and from that hour the strictest search in philadelphia couldn't discover him. nobody knows where he went. as for william, he was too much overcome to stir, and i left the room with him in it; and i didn't sleep that night till i had relieved myself of the possession of the will, placing it in the attorney's hands. of course miss nellie had no trouble in getting possession of her property, but she would not allow her now penitent and subdued cousin to be pursued at the law for his nefarious conspiracy. indeed, she gave him nearly double the amount his father had provided in annuity. however, it didn't serve him long; for in less than six months from that time, while partially intoxicated, and driving a fractious horse, he was thrown from the carriage, and so injured on the head that his broken constitution could not recover from the shock, and he died in a few days. and now comes what to me is the most cheerful part of the story. one day, a couple of years after that eventful night, being here, and meeting by chance a handsome cousin of mine, dr. charles r., of st. louis, who had just returned from europe, where he had pursued his medical studies, in vienna, and having only a short time to spend with him, for i was obliged to be off early next morning, i ventured to ask him to accompany me to the home of nellie, for she had bidden me to always call on her when in philadelphia. we went. she _is_ very handsome, and so is cousin charles, and i reckon both discovered this fact of the other instantly, and appreciated it, for nellie, though very kind and courteous to me, managed to occupy herself mostly in entertaining "the stranger." to cut the story short, we left the house duly. "why, john,"--for that is my name,--"why didn't you tell me beforehand what a glorious creature you were going to see? i'd been a little more particular about my dress, or probably refused to accompany you," said cousin charles, half complainingly, as we got well out of doors. "ah! ah! charley,--aren't you glad, on the whole, though?" said i, touching him under the chin, "that i _didn't_ tell you, my boy?" "indeed--no--yes--well, i don't know as i care, after all; but _isn't_ she elegant. and if i'm any reader of human nature she's as good as she is beautiful." i saw that he was thoroughly "smitten;" and as we went on to my hotel, narrated to him the story of the will. the romance of the thing served to engage him the more. well, i needn't repeat all. they loved, and were married, and are the happiest couple out of heaven, i reckon. such was my room-mate's tale, for which i thanked him, and we both then managed to sleep thereafter. but perhaps the reader will have curiosity to know what was the peculiar advertisement which had drawn me to philadelphia at that time. it was this:-- "_astor discounts, wednesday, the th. so does independence hall._ rudolph, cashier." "astor" i had read by contrary. it meant "girard," i thought,--girard bank. "independence hall" i construed as signifying a place of meeting in front of that building; and "rudolph"--for this was the point--was a notorious bank robber, on whose track i wished to get, by the name of ralph seeker, among his "aliases," but ralph was his real name--"rudolph" being the german for the same; and doubtless i was right in my translation; but as nothing came of that, as i have said before, i here leave "peculiar advertisements" in general, to the unravelling of the curious. but it is a science of itself, which, in its subtleties, sometimes baffles the keenest wits. i am prompted, as i write, to add hereto, for the pleasure of the curious reader, sundry of the "blind methods" (in advertisements usually) by which one scoundrel intimates to another his whereabouts, and what he has accomplished, or where he would meet another to aid in some crime, etc., under circumstances which forbid their communicating through the mail or by telegraph. but i have hardly room in this article, already too long. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ colonel novena, the prince of confidence men. -------------- the confidence man, par excellence; a real "artist"--"colonel novena," "count antonelli," "general alverosa," "sir richard murray" makes a visit--a man of great natural ability, with "a screw loose"--a bit of "philosophy" (?)--the man described, versatile, agile, brave, daring--the colonel as a gallant--curious tale about two sisters and colonel novena--president buchanan, professor henry, general fremont, and mr. seward of the number of his friends--dishonest ways of doing "legitimate business"--a shocking bad memory--the colonel as a philanthropist--comes to grief--at washington, d. c.--saratoga tempts the colonel--his successes there--a change of circumstances--a valuable diamond necklace lost--the great mystery--the historic character of the necklace--thorough searching--the shrewdest scamps generally have better reputations than most people--too good a "character" a matter of suspicion--"mr. henry inman, artist," is created--headway made--the necklace comes to light, in the possession of a most remarkable woman--goodness in bad places--a living moral paradox--an "unfortunate" good samaritan--the general's sense of honor wounded--to canada--down the rapids of the st. lawrence--a tomb in greenwood--rendering to woman her due--a blessed charity--wall street corrupts the morals of the nation. "confidence men," in the usual way, are so common,--such as the fellows who drop pocket-books, stuffed with counterfeit money, in the streets of cities, in order that innocent countrymen or uninitiated foreigners may pick them up, and divide the spoils with an up-coming witness, and give him all their good money in order to have a large share in the poor or counterfeit money,--that i have hesitated a moment over the caption i should give this narrative, lest the reader should think i am about to introduce to him one of those common, every-day affairs. but, on reflection, i cannot think of a more appropriate title than i have chosen, for colonel novena _was_, of all the rogues and scoundrels i have encountered in my professional life, the confidence man, _par excellence_, as the french would say, not by the "excellence" of his high character, to be sure, or his moral worth, but by his artistic superiority. the public will recollect, or such of them as enjoy retentive memories of names will do so, how much was said some years ago, by the public press, for a few days, about a certain cuban, a "colonel novena," "count antonelli," "general alverosa," and "sir richard murray,"--for by these names, as well as sundry others, was this gentleman in his career known. his true name, as definitely as i could ever learn, was julian cinquez; but even that is doubtful, and it matters not. he was a man of brilliant talents, indeed, great native ability; and the wonder is that he did not attach himself to some honorable profession, or follow some pursuit in life recognized as legitimate; for he could not only have adorned any profession which he might have adopted, but he might have made an extensive fortune as well--or so we are apt to say of like characters. yet, to confess the truth, i am not so certain that our moral reflections upon these matters are correct. the fact that the man did not lead the life which his talents apparently indicated that he might, is perhaps evidence in itself that the world might misjudge him. he might not have been able to "adorn any profession" after all, for in such men's characters, there is obviously always "a screw loose;" and for want of fixedness or tightness of that same "screw," is it, perhaps, that the general machine will not work. that may be the philosophy of the matter. colonel novena was no small man in his way. he was a handsome man, too, possessing a finely-shaped face, with large, dark, not quite black eyes, and eyelashes such as would arouse the enthusiasm of the master painters, and which gave to those eyes that sweet, alluring expression so irresistible to women; or when reflecting the light of anger from them, added a twofold horror to their expression, enough to make the strongest men quail, for the man then seemed a very demon. the colonel was about five feet ten inches in height, elegantly proportioned, his form being, perhaps, as nearly perfect, in every respect, as any man on the wide globe could boast of. grace, dignity, and strength combined in it, and when at all aroused or excited, colonel novena was as lithe and flexible as a cat, or better, perhaps, a tiger. notwithstanding the classic outlines of his face, it possessed great mobility,--and having a comical vein in his nature, colonel novena could imitate anything, from the grimace of a pretty, simpering girl, to the falstaffian stolidity of a dutch judge, and was one of the most excellent of story-tellers, in consequence. in short, colonel novena possessed all the talents and natural "gifts" necessary to make a man the most acceptable companion under any circumstances. he won his way easily into everybody's heart, whom he considered worth his notice, either socially or business-wise; by which i mean, whom he regarded as of consequence enough to be exploited upon or victimized; and he had a way of exciting the sympathy of even officers of the law, when they felt conscious of his guilt; and i dare say that there has seldom ever existed a man so competent to play the _rôle_ of "injured innocence," as was colonel novena. it is not surprising then that he ran so long a career of forgery and false pretence of all kinds. colonel novena knew the art of dressing well. he was never over-dressed,--a fault of villains of his kind generally. he was never too poorly dressed for the special business he had in hand. his _rôle_ of the gentleman of leisure and wealth was incomparably well taken; and being thoroughly educated, he acted the part of the literary _savant_ to perfection. on the prairies or frontier, he was the most daring and hardy of backwoodsmen, and compelled the admiration of his fellow-travellers or hunters for his daring and prowess. he was a genius, in fine, socially. he seemed to need no "credentials" anywhere, save his fine manners and honest-looking face. yet he always took care to secure the best letters of introduction everywhere, and had his trunks full of such things, given him by the great men of the land, such as president buchanan, general fremont, professor henry, chief justice taney, corcoran the banker, mr. seward, andrew johnson, etc.; for he obtained them from leading statesmen of all sorts of political faiths, from men of science, and from leading financiers, and did not hesitate to demand the like of the most notable ladies of the land. why colonel novena never condescended to marry some one (or more, perhaps), of the ladies of great wealth whom he numbered among his admirers, is a mystery to me, for there was not one of them who would not have been proud to own him as her husband. but perhaps the colonel had some valid reason for remaining a bachelor, or for assuming to be one; for there is no certainty, of course, that he had not a wife somewhere, or that in several parts of the world (for he had travelled all over it) there might not have been found many ladies, each one of whom might have claimed him. however, it is probable that such was not the case, for "murder" of that kind "will out" in time, as well as the real article of homicide, and i was never able to learn that the colonel was married. as an example of the wonderful fascinations of the colonel, it may not be improper to relate here a tale, told me by one who was once on terms of intimacy with the schemer when he figured in fifth avenue society, and who vouched for the truth of it, as largely based on his own observations of the colonel's course with the ladies in question. there were two sisters, the one a middle-aged widow, very rich, and quite good-looking; the other, much younger, very beautiful, but without money--poor, in fact. the latter was very gifted as a colloquist, and was a charming woman of society. the former was also a lady of many accomplishments. the parents of these ladies were dead, and the elder and rich one had assumed the guardianship of the younger, who lived with her, for she kept up her house after her husband's death, and lived in great style. the colonel made the acquaintance of the elder at a fashionable party in madison avenue one night; and learning that she was very rich, was, of course, sufficiently charmed with her to seek admittance to her house, which he duly effected. calling upon the widow, he met her dazzlingly beautiful young sister. the colonel was in a dilemma; and it appears that he thought his only way out of it was to make love to both. [illustration: the two sisters courting col. novena, in his "library."] the sequel of the story is, that colonel novena so adroitly managed his addresses to these ladies, and gained such power over them, that neither dared disclose to the other the colonel's engagement to her, each sister enjoying, in her strictly secret heart, the sense of a sweet victory over the other; and in order to not expose her secret by receiving the colonel alone too frequently, often asking the other's presence on the colonel's calls. indeed, so fascinated did they become with the colonel, that they often visited his bachelor's quarters together, and there, in his library, spent hours at a time with him, reading, chatting, partaking of wine, and so forth. they were almost without restriction in their affectionate caressing of the "dear colonel" in each other's presence; for what of jealousy should either feel towards her sister, when she held in her heart the sacred truth that _she_ herself was dearer to the colonel than her sister? this complication of affairs continued for several months, the parties meeting daily. the colonel had, of course, persuaded each that the usual announcement of an engagement should be foregone in _this_ instance, for some wily, but apparently good reason, which he gave; and the gossips were at a loss to discover which of the two ladies he loved the more, so they "married" him to neither for a certainty. but finally an end came to the duplex affair, and the sisters told the "secret" to each other; and the colonel was upbraided by them both one evening when he called on them. it is said, however, that notwithstanding the colonel's dishonorable course, either of the sisters would have been glad to secure him. but the colonel was now in a dilemma again, out of which there was no such sweet escape as before. the beautiful lady he did not want as an "incumbrance," and the "other charmer" could not fully command him, with all her riches, without the society of the more brilliant one too, which he knew he could not have if married to the former; for the colonel well knew what tyrants most women are to their husbands when they have them in their power, and he preferred his freedom to the slavery of a "boughten" husband's position. the colonel was a bit of a social philosopher, and often "put things" in novel and clever ways. it was a saying of his, i was told, that "the condition of the average husband is the most comical and pitiable to be conceived--a slave to his wife or his family; a creature subject to all sorts of indignities at home, and not allowed to go abroad." "a model husband," said he, "is in these days little more, at best, than the gentlemanly butler or purveyor for his own house; has the privilege of paying all the bills, bearing all the burdens, etc., while his wife and family feel as 'grateful' as pigs at their dinner." of course the colonel had in mind only the wives and families of fashionable circles. the colonel's weakness was for "trading," in all sorts of ways, but especially in matters of considerable importance, such as in real estate, rich merchandise, ships, and stocks, as far as he could in the last. he made a good deal of money, in a manner which was legitimate enough, too, on the outside, but which always proved tricky. for example, going into a place like milwaukie, wis., he readily got himself reputed as a man of great wealth; would contract to purchase three or four adjacent building lots on some valuable site, at some future time,--say, three months thereafter,--for he always was about to send home (to cuba) for his money. the owner would enter into a written contract to convey the property to colonel novena, or his assigns, at the time named, for a given sum for each lot. it was immediately noised about that the colonel was going to build a splendid mansion on one of these lots, and keep the rest for a grand lawn. everybody talked about it, and the colonel, being an architect as well as everything else, produced drawings of the intended stately palace. the citizens were all very anxious to have so wealthy and tasteful a man settle in their midst. by and by it was announced that the colonel had changed his mind. his mansion was to be put up at some other point, but upon two of the building lots he was going to erect an extensive block for stores, offices, and so forth, and the other two lots were to be sold. these he would manage to sell for a very considerable advance above the price contracted for, as the new block was going to make them vastly valuable. of course the purchaser must take them before the time ran out; otherwise the colonel, as he did not then want them, and scorned to be a mere real estate speculator, would relinquish his claim to them to the owner, but since he had gotten control of them, might as well ask something for their increased value. as a by-play in connection with his various swindling operations, these speculations in real estate served to divert the colonel, as well as help fill his pockets. the building lots being well disposed of, the colonel could afford to let the original owner take back the two on which the famous block was to be built, and the purchasers of the other had only to wait till somebody or other should put up the desired block, and raise the value of their sites up to the imaginary height to which the colonel's elegant and magnificent pretences had elevated them; but then the poor fellows might have to wait years, for the colonel's block outshone, by far, all other possible blocks. the colonel had a way of ingratiating himself with the teachers of female seminaries, finding out who of the pupils were the children of the wealthiest parents, getting acquainted with the young girls, taking a fatherly interest in them, getting introduced to their parents, and flattering them upon the genius and beauty of their children, and at last borrowing very considerable sums (just for temporary accommodation, till he could get remittance through his new york bankers, of course) from the delighted fathers of the beautiful girls; and it was impossible to not honor the colonel's request under such circumstances. but the colonel had a shocking bad memory, and always forgot these little accommodations, amounting to from three hundred dollars to a thousand dollars, according to how much he had thought best, in a given case, to ask for. in the town of elmira, n. y., i think it was, the colonel managed to borrow some thirty thousand dollars, all in the space of four months; and when one of the victims came to speak of the swindle to one of his most intimate neighbors, and a cousin at that, i believe, he was astonished to learn that this person could practically "sympathize" with him. the colonel had professed to each that he had higher respect for him than anybody else in the village, and had, therefore, in his extremity, sought him to confide in; for of all things in the world, he thought it the greatest shame for a man of means to borrow money, he said, but his properties in cuba were of such a nature that his agents there could not always turn them into money instantly on command. so each of twenty or more persons, perhaps, became the special and only confidant of the colonel; the only man whom he would not be ashamed to inform about his present "little unpleasant strait." it must have been rather an amusing disclosure for the other nineteen when the twentieth victim came to expose his special honors, joys and "profits" to them. nevertheless, so engaging a man was the colonel that the most excited and threatening of his victims usually cooled down presently, if he had the boldness to give the colonel "a piece of his mind." this illustrates but partially the consummate skill and address of the colonel; and the number of his victims in many parts of the land was astonishing. the colonel bought ships even, or interests in them, and disposed of the same, and was always far away from the scene of his last fraud very speedily. there was no limit to his audacity. having gathered together a pretty large fortune here, the colonel left the united states, and went to canada to reside, not as colonel novena to be sure, but as "sir richard murray." he might have taken more money with him there than he did; but the colonel was almost as free in the use of his money as he was adroit in getting it. in fact, he was a philanthropist in his disposition, and aided a great many poor people, particularly children, many of whom he sent to school, leaving funds with some worthy persons as trustees, to continue them at school. there was no element of meanness, in the usual acceptation of the term, in the colonel, for all his misdeeds partook properly of the nature of crimes, to greater or less extent. at the south the colonel, i am told, fought several duels,--never on his own direct account, but for sundry "friends," ladies especially,--and at new orleans, his financial "speculations" amounted to "something handsome." i have been promised by a friend a narrative of the colonel's exploits in new orleans to be incorporated in this article, but it has not been forwarded to me, and i must now do without it. i remarked above that the colonel went to reside in canada as "sir richard murray." his residence was in montreal, but he had a country-house about seven miles out of the city, where, in fact, he spent the larger part of his time, in both winter and summer, and where, for two or three years he dispensed an elegant hospitality. his splendid manners forbade any inquiry into his right to wear a title, and his knowledge of the english language was so perfect, that no one would suspect from his accent his castilian descent. i have not been able to learn that the colonel ever "exploited" in canada. the states were his theatre; and during a residence of a couple of years in europe, he practised his skilful "profession" considerably, i am authentically informed, especially in england and ireland. but the colonel came to grief at last. he had gotten a little "short," and having left canada for want of means to longer sustain his princely mode of living, betook himself to st. louis. i have forgotten to say that the colonel was an expert, and usually very successful, gambler, but he had no real love for the life of a gambler. there was hazard enough in it, but it was of the tame kind. he longed to do bolder things, and he did them. but the colonel had no reputation at st. louis, and was obliged to turn to gambling, and for a few days he was successful, winning quite large sums of money, which aroused the resident gamblers to conspiracy against the handsome stranger, in that place known as count antonelli, an italian. the result was, that the gamblers robbed him of nearly all he had won, and the colonel beat a retreat from st. louis, and made his way, by degrees, eastward. although he encountered several "old friends" on the way, whom he had, in the years past, swindled out of various sums, they let him pass unheeded, or at most only warning their friends against him. but the colonel's star had in good measure become dimmed, he found, and he made his way to washington, d. c., where he revived some old acquaintanceships, and created new ones, which served him quite well for a time. but the colonel, finally playing a pretty severe swindle upon a person in high authority, and who prided himself too much on his sagacity and general good sense to be willing that his folly in this case be made public, the victim let him off, on his agreeing to leave washington, and 'never show his head there again.' as the colonel could thus escape a long term of imprisonment, he gladly accepted the condition, and made the promise, which he strictly fulfilled, for he never returned to that city. the colonel made his way from washington to saratoga, in the summer of , where he made the acquaintance of sundry new yorkers, of a class a little below the most distinguished, the colonel stepping down a little from his usual dignity and carefulness as to the selection of his society. with this class he "profited" considerably, and it is said that in the winter of ' and ' he managed to do a good business in various "speculative" ways in new york, through introductions which he obtained from his new-made friends of ' . however, it is to be remarked here, that at saratoga he had a new alias, that of general alverosa, of palermo, an intimate friend of garibaldi, but who had been educated in england, which accounted for his excellent understanding of the english language. in tracing the colonel, by facts of his own confession, for which facts i was indebted, in some measure, to the late dr. jeremiah cummings, of st. stephen's church, and through things stated by others, i find spaces of months, which i have to skip over. how the colonel got on to his last year of , i hardly know; but in the summer of that year the colonel, it seems, became hard pushed. he had wearied out such few of his friends as he had not swindled, and was living from hand to mouth, dressing well yet, and making some show of means, but unsuccessful at the gambling-table, and elsewhere. finally, there was one day found missing from a house in west th street, where the colonel (rather, general at this time) boarded, a diamond necklace, belonging to a distant relative of alexander hamilton, of revolutionary fame. the necklace was very valuable intrinsically, but a part of it was composed of diamonds, which had been presented to mrs. hamilton by some admirers of general hamilton, english residents of some one of the west india islands, i forget which, on which general hamilton was born. these had been presented to her out of respect to the general's great statesmanship, etc., he from republican scruples having refused to accept them while occupying an official position under the government. it was at this time that my special attention was called to colonel novena. i had known of him through the press, as i hear of other great men, some of whom one chances to meet, perhaps, but the majority of whom he knows "at a distance." there was great search made in the house for the diamond necklace; and upon no one in the place had a ray of suspicion fallen. it was such a mystery, in short, as to where that necklace had gone, under the circumstances of its loss, that no one there conceived it possible that it would ever be found; and after the search in which everybody in the house took part (and everybody was glad to have his own rooms searched), it was thought preposterous to do ought else than to sit down quietly, and "give it up" forever. but the mere fact that to a portion of the diamonds was attached a sort of historic fame, heightened, too, by the considerations of family affection and pride, induced the owners--(for the necklace was the joint property of a lady, and a gentleman who had succeeded to his deceased mother's interest therein)--to make some little effort to hunt out the necklace. they had thought that nobody who might have taken it would offer it for sale to the important jewellers of the city, and it was too valuable to be purchased by the smaller establishments. so they had conceived that the diamonds would be taken from their mountings, and sold separately, so as not to be identified. this thought had seized the owners at the time the loss was discovered, and had become, not a mere opinion with them, but a sort of conviction. so it was that they at once gave up in despair when the search at the house failed of the hoped-for result. i was visited by the gentleman partner in the necklace, who placed the matter before me with all the facts he was possessed of, and i told him that i felt very certain that some resident of the house had taken the lost treasures; but it would be best for me to call upon him there, and study the situation of the rooms, etc. an hour of the next day was fixed upon, and i called; had opportunity to examine the various rooms, and their relative situations. i found that no ordinary thief, however skilled, would be apt to run the hazard of penetrating the rooms from which the necklace was taken; and, besides that, it must have been somebody conversant with the place in which the necklace was deposited, or somebody who had been carefully instructed by some knowing one, to be able to steal the necklace at the time it was taken; for it was missed not a half hour after it had been taken from its case and redeposited there by the lady half-owner. i made careful inquiry about each of the boarders, and could fix my suspicions upon no one in particular; yet i came to the conclusion that it must be one of two of whom i was told, colonel novena being one, or, rather, general alverosa, his alias then. the owners of the necklace would hear nothing against the general; he was the last person in the world to be suspected. indeed, they were so much affronted, and expressed themselves so emphatically, bordering on bad manners, at my suggesting the general as the possible thief, that i was obliged to say, very firmly, that unless they allowed me to take my own way about the matter, i would not go a step further. they allowed me to take my own course; but it was with ill grace they did so, after all; for the general had made himself a favorite of this couple, especially. he spent much of his time in their rooms when at home. indeed, it was this fact, in a measure, which gave me a suspicion of him. besides, they represented him as so perfect a character, that i confess i had fears of him from that fact too; for i have found the most wily rogues among men (and particularly among women) to be those who enjoyed the finest reputations. these make a good reputation a part of their "stock in trade." but this was not all that influenced me in my suspicions of the general. these parties, who had known him for quite a long period of time, knew nothing of his business pursuits, or if the general had any business at all; and only judged, at one time, that he might be a lawyer, from something he happened to say; at another, that he might be a broker in wall street, and so on. but this was no occasion of suspicion to them, for they would have scorned to seem to wish to know anything of a gentleman's private life or business. but to me there was ground of suspicion in all this; and i concluded to take board at the house, and study the general, work myself into his good graces, and learn his places of resort, etc. the owners of the necklace were finally convinced that this was the true way, and were ready to pay my expenses for a given time. i provided myself with neater wearing apparel than i usually wore, and took board at the house as "mr. henry inman, artist." fortunately, one of my old school-fellows was both an excellent portrait and landscape painter, and had his office on broadway. i told him what i was up to; and a sign, new, but made to look a little old, and bearing my assumed name, was placed on his door; and a few of his sketches, some finished, others in process of completion, were assigned to me to talk about as my own, if i had occasion to introduce a special friend there. so that when "mr. henry inman, artist," secured board at the house in west th street, he also had a studio to boast of. i had selected this disguise of artist, because, in earlier days i had possessed a little talent at drawing, and could paint indifferently well, and had, to considerable extent, cultivated a knowledge of the great masters, and could talk, as i was pleased to believe, decently well upon artistic subjects; and i had learned that general alverosa assumed to be a great connoisseur of art. being established at my boarding-house, i easily made the general's acquaintance, and in less than a week had entertained him at my studio; gotten so well "into his good graces," that he had no hesitancy in taking me to sundry of his places of resort, gambling rooms, etc., though he did not gamble much; and had found out that the general loved the fair sex, if not wisely, yet too well, and at last begun to get a clew to his career. but how i was to learn more of him directly through himself, was a puzzle; and so i set about watching the general's course nights, after leaving me. i found that he frequented a house of a peculiar nature in th street; that the colonel went there every night, but that he usually got home some time towards midnight, staying away all night only seldom. putting together all i knew of the general, i came to the conclusion that he was indebted to some fair lady for a part, at least, of his support; and so i managed to get myself introduced to the house in question (for it was one of those select places of pleasure which boast of their exclusiveness and "high respectability"); and on my first visit there encountered the general, who, finding me "surprised" at being caught there by him, and on my begging him not to expose me at our boarding-house, relaxed what little restraint existed on his part towards me, and took me into his confidence. the keeper of the house, an elegant, courtly-looking woman, was his especial friend--his wife, practically speaking; and i now could better understand what motive might have impelled the general, if he were indeed the thief, to steal the necklace. i need not, indeed i should not, at any rate, go into details in regard to how i found that madame alverosa was in possession of that necklace; but so i found, and i had but little trouble in recovering it from her. the general had told her that it had belonged, for nearly a hundred years, in his family; and although it was a brilliant affair, and she was specially fond of displaying her jewelry, yet she rarely wore this, regarding it as something sacred; and it was only by a little strategy which could not be excused in anybody but a detective, that i found out she had the necklace; and it was not till it was safely in my possession, beyond the possibility of her immediately reclaiming it, that i let her know i had it. when she came to know the facts, she affected great indignation at, and disgust for the general; but the woman loved him, and she implored me to let him have a chance to leave the boarding-house in west th street before i should restore the necklace to the owners; and she said she would teach the general a lesson of honesty; that he had no need of resorting to crime; and that he had only been tempted to steal the necklace out of his love for her; he wanted to see her wear and enjoy it. such was her generous, and probably correct interpretation of the matter. she offered, too, to pay all the expenses the owners had been to in ferreting out the necklace, my board, fees, etc., which she insisted on paying just doubly for, and which she did pay. in view of what i had learned of this woman's charities, and her general disposition, i consented to her request. she maintained no less than five orphan children at different schools, paying all their expenses; frequently gave excellent marriage outfits to such of her girls as, desiring to reform, had chances to marry (a not unfrequent thing in new york); and would not encourage any girl to stay in her house; indeed, constantly besought them all to reform, and seek some other mode of livelihood; and not seldom did she succeed. but there are some of those "unfortunates" to whom any other mode of life would be tame and intolerable. these the madame disciplined into decency of deportment, and even attended to their education in books and music, etc., in order to render them as competent as possible to take care of themselves when the days of their physical attractiveness should have passed. she taught them economy, too, making each keep account with some savings bank. in view of madame's good qualities, i was disposed to respect her love for the general, and consented, as i have said, to let him withdraw from the boarding-house in th street before i disclosed to the owners that i had the necklace in my possession. when i returned the necklace, and reported who had taken it, and gave the recital of my interview with the general at last, when i advised him to withdraw from the house, the reader may essay to, but he can hardly imagine the astonishment which was expressed by the owners of the necklace and the household when they came to learn the facts. the general, of course, "took things easy" when he found that i had trapped him, so far as i was concerned; but he was greatly mortified in spirit to think that madame a. had learned of the theft, especially in view of his romantic story to her about the long possession of the necklace in his family. he at first declared he would never go back to her, and avowed to me that this was the only crime he had ever committed; but when i told him that i could not consent to his leaving me with the impression that he had deceived me, and opened his eyes to many things which had been disclosed to me of his career by my fellow-detectives, with some of whom during the time of my special study of him i was in concert, the general (whom at the time, by the way of the better assuring him of my accurate knowledge of his character i addressed as "colonel novena"), became very passive, and declared to me that if i would not further expose him, he would leave new york altogether, as soon as he could go. eventually he did leave; but not before he was fully reconciled to madame a., who, as she told me, read him a moral homily which would last him for his life. and went to canada, where she followed him, on a pleasure excursion. in about two weeks after their meeting in canada, a trip was planned with some friends through the thousand isles, and down the rapids of the st. lawrence. madame a. was taken suddenly ill, but not seriously, and staid over at a farmer's house, insisting on the "general's" going with the rest; and overcoming his gallant desire to linger with her, by representing to him that he would spoil the pleasure of all the rest by tarrying behind. so the colonel novena and the "general alverosa," with all his other characters wrapped up in one individuality, went on with the party,--which was the last time madame a. ever saw him alive. proceeding down the rapids in different boats, the party had gotten nearly through all safely, when some mishap occurred to the boat which bore "colonel novena," and it was dashed to pieces in the rocks, he receiving so severe a shock that, although an excellent swimmer, it was said, yet he was powerless to save himself, and was drowned. his body was recovered the next day; and madame alverosa spared no pains in honoring his memory. the body was taken to new york, and thence to greenwood cemetery, where it now reposes beneath a stately monument, which, however, bears neither the name of "general alverosa," nor that of "colonel novena," but a name equally euphonic, and certainly nearer the "general's" true one, if i am rightly informed; but madame alverosa is entitled to my silence on this point, for she asked it, and received my promise in response. and here, in justice to the character of woman,--to the sex whom we love to honor,--and in praise of an individual of that sex, who by untoward circumstances, was led into a course of life so base as that which madame a. long pursued, let it be recorded that a short time after the "general's" death madame a. abandoned her vile profession, sold out the house she occupied and owned, with the condition in the deed that it should never again be occupied or let for a like purpose; established a fund, in the hands of proper trustees, for the aid of a certain class of unfortunates, and withdrew to another part of the city, where she leads the life of a respectable woman during the winter. her summers are spent at her elegant country seat, near one of the most beautiful villages in now jersey. and the madame has declared to me that of all her varied experiences in life, that which gave her the most pain was the discovery that the general had stolen the necklace. she had supposed that he gambled, and she was far from being unsuspicious that he might commit forgeries sometimes, or had done so in his career before she made his acquaintance; but all this she looked upon as in the nature, somewhat, of business. "wall street gambles," she used to say;--"wall street commits its forgeries, and practises false pretences all the while, and men call these things there respectable. why may not others gamble on a smaller scale, and practise their smaller cunning?" thus she justified the general against her own suspicions; but she could never get over the theft of the necklace by the "clever man;" and one day, when she was deploring his conduct, and i suggested that she might have the image of the necklace cut upon his monument, as a perpetual reminder to her, when she visited the grave, of the wickedness in the heart of "the best of men," the madame shrugged her shoulders with a half-approving smile, and said,-- "well, you may joke, if you like, but i know something of men; they are all bad, the best of them; and general alverosa, with all his faults and his crimes, was a better man than any other _my_ eyes ever rested upon;" and she looked _me_ curiously in the face at that, as i bade her good day, and went away, thinking that, perhaps, i was properly enough rebuked, and that, may be, no better man had lived, as surely no more remarkably gifted, elegant, and strange one, than "colonel novena," had i ever met. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ circumstantial evidence: a knot still untied. -------------- a robbery--one of the female attachÉs of the great kossuth--a widow lady of rank in hungary--kossuth's sister--a boarding house at newark, n. j., and its inmates--sundry facts and considerations--beauty wins--an investigation--servants examined--the patent-roof maker--"tracing" a man--a hollow walking-stick with money in it--no clew yet--a pathetic blunder--revelations in dreams--a bit of paper tells a story--an identification--thief arrested--a settlement made, with conditions--a triumphal visit to the widow--a "white lie," and an announcement--doubting--perfect evidence sometimes imperfect--the unsolved problem; who did the robbery? in august, (so the notes in my diary of that year say, but somehow it seems to me as if it were more than ten years before), i was waited upon by a beautiful hungarian lady, residing at newark, n. j., to see if i could render her any aid in ferreting out the thief who had robbed her of eight hundred and forty dollars. she was a most charming lady, and with her pitiable story won all my sympathies. she came to the country with the sister of the great magyar leader, kossuth, which sister was at the time, as i understood the story, teaching a select school in newark, and the lady who called upon me had been a teacher under her for a while. she was very accomplished, but for some reason had left her vocation as a teacher, and gone to making gold-lace goods for some firm in new york, who were paying her larger wages than she could make at teaching. (so much more ready is the world to pay well for the brilliants which sparkle by the reflection of light from their surface, than for brilliance of mind, which is a light unto itself, and betokens in its possessor a wealth beyond that of rubies and pearls.) she was very artistic, and in her happier days had beguiled her time in learning many little arts, which, in her exile and poverty in america, she turned to good practical account. her lace-work she did at home, and she kept two or three boarders besides, generally, together with an hungarian servant, a sort of slave, or attaché of her father's house at home, and whom she felt obliged to watch over, and an english girl. her boarders were two hungarians at the time i made her acquaintance, and a middle-aged american, from the west. one of the former was a lawyer, having his office at no. beekman street, new york, and "dragging along," doing a little business in new york, and a little also in newark; a man of ability, and speaking the english language well. i think he had, at one time, been kossuth's confidential secretary; at any rate, he was quite distinguished for something in the hungarian revolution. it was at his suggestion that the lady had called on me, and when she came to describe him,--for i had never seen him, he having simply heard of me through a brother lawyer, in whose office he occupied a desk,--i at first suspected him of the theft in question. another boarder was a music teacher, who got on poorly enough, and who, had it not been that some relative in hungary occasionally sent him a remittance, would hardly have been able to pay his board bill, which was, i believe, but five and a half, or six dollars a week. these were comparatively old boarders. the third one was a new comer; that is, he had been with the widow about three months. he dressed pretty well, and represented himself as the manufacturer of patent roofs, and as having a business office on the corner of bowery and second street. this was all the widow could then tell me about them. her husband had died about two years before, after some years of illness; and a little daughter and a son had died before him, and not long after her arrival in this country; and the burden of their and his illness and funeral expenses had fallen upon her. saddened by her misfortunes here, and ever sighing for the "fatherland," she had been resolutely at work, since her husband's death, to accumulate enough to return to hungary with, and also to buy a little cottage where she had spent most of her early childhood's hours with her nurse, and which was situated near the confines of the great park in which stood her father's palace--a romantic spot, which she seemed to worship with her whole soul, now that her sweetest treasures were gone. her description of the dear old cottage and its surroundings was glowing, and even pathetic. her father had been a rebel officer, and his estates were confiscated and sold, but sold in divisions, it seemed, and some relatives had succeeded to the possession of the cottage. this, she was sure, she could buy for no very large sum. there would she go, and live, and die. that was her widowhood's ambition, and she cheerfully toiled, early and late, to achieve its realization. she had paid some debts, which remained unpaid at the death of her husband; had supported herself neatly and comfortably, and aided, to considerable extent, not a few of her unfortunate countrymen, the old attachés of kossuth, but had saved about eleven hundred dollars, inclusive of the eight hundred and forty which had been stolen from her; and the loss of the latter was to her a most heavy blow. she was one of those brave, unflinching souls, who do and dare on forever, without giving up in despair to, no matter how untoward a fate; but while she uttered no childish complaint, i could see that the loss oppressed her very seriously. she said to me, indeed, that it was very discouraging, and that she sometimes thought that she would give up the further struggle of earning her way back to her old home and purchasing the cottage, but settle down here, and only visit the old spot sometime--but to do so would be distasteful. this was all enigmatic to me, and of course i did not ask her to explain; but i learned afterwards, what i presume was its solution, that a wealthy widower, of some political distinction as well as literary character, and living at morristown, n. j., had offered the widow his hand, and heart perhaps: but such men do not often give away their hearts. they buy wives with their money, and treat them as their goods and chattels thereafter; which is a convenient way of doing things, and does not wear upon the purchaser's soul. but madame k. (the widow), who admired the man in some respects, had learned the value of a great, noble love too well to even trifle with her soul in this regard, and could not consent to accept the wealthy widower's offer. in view of the fact of this offer, she suffered from the loss of her money more than she otherwise would have done; for she was proud to have the widower, as well as everybody else, know that she was self-reliant and successful; and to be successful, it is necessary to be cautious and prudent in all things; and the widow had not been prudent in the disposal of her money. indeed, she had lost it through a sort of unpardonable carelessness, or rather lack of caution, and this vexed her not a little. my sympathies were greatly enlisted in behalf of the beautiful widow; and without being willing to acknowledge that my heart was touched by her facial beauty (for where is the man in the world who would not scorn to be thought susceptible to such a "trifle"?), i do confess that the widow's charming address and manners won me over to her cause with a force which i thought a little peculiar, and i resolved to do all i could to hunt up the thief, and find the money, and perhaps not charge the beautiful widow a cent for my services (if i _must_ confess the whole right here). armed with such high resolve, i went over to madame k.'s house the next day to tea, the time when she would have returned from her necessary business trip that day to the gold-lace house for which she wrought; and found her there ready to receive me, and point out the place where she had kept the money stolen. i should say here, that the theft had been committed five days before, and some effort had been made on the part of madame k. to discover a clew to the thief. madame k. had, in her sitting-room, a curious old "secretary," which had been brought out from hungary by some exiles, and which--since it exactly resembled one in her father's library or studio, and at which she had so often sitten and wrought out her lessons, written her school-girl "compositions," and made her early efforts in epistolary graces--she had bought. this secretary had close-locking double doors, in each of which was, as if it were itself a panel, a mirror, as a middle piece, with plates of deftly chased glass above each mirror; and the glasses were opaque, so that the doors might, in one sense, have been said to be solid. indeed, i think the whole mirror and ornamental glass plates were backed by a panel of wood. the secretary was a queer compound of strength, and more or less bad taste, as well as about the same quantity of good taste. the inner work was all curious,--sly boxes; boxes within boxes, etc., and the faces of each carved with the heads of lions, tigers, and so forth, of the natural order, as well as with all sorts of things of a mystic nature, as well as some never thought of before save by the special carver of these special faces. everything about it looked secure, but, alas! it would not protect its contents against a cunning thief. but i saw that it must have been somebody who was somewhat acquainted with the interior of the secretary to have readily abstracted any of its contents without disturbing things, in the short space of time between the discovery of the loss and the fact of the presence of the money there, just a little before; for i had determined matters so far as to learn this point, namely, that the money had been taken from a purse in a certain drawer, and the purse itself left. the money consisted of bank bills principally, with fifty dollars in gold--two tens and six five-dollar pieces. this drawer had a peculiar lock, a part of which turned around three times before the key could drive the bolt, so that the person unlocking it must have had time to study this, or had known it before. there was the outer key, too, the key of the secretary's doors. on inquiry, i found that this key was hung up on a little tack at the back of the secretary. it might almost as well have been left in the lock. the lock of the doors, too, was peculiar, and only the smallest of keys could open it, and it would have been difficult to pick. probably somebody who knew where to find the key had opened it. the result of my investigation was the conviction that some resident of the house, or some frequent visitor, had taken the money; so i asked madame k. to call up the younger servant. the old one was beyond all possible suspicion; and i convinced myself that either the servant was guiltless, or that if guilty we could never prove her so, unless by chance we should find the money on her; so i had arranged, before her coming in, to be writing at a table, and while in conversation with her, of such a style that she could not possibly conceive that we had the remotest suspicion of her, i asked her, in a careless way, to hand me some writing paper out of the desk, and the bungling mode in which she managed the key of that peculiar lock convinced me that she did not take the money, unless when the door had been carelessly left open; but madame k. was very sure that she was never guilty of such carelessness, and i was disposed to accredit her self-judgment. i took possession of everything in the drawer, a purse, some old papers, some letters; one letter particularly attracting my attention, a corner or strip of it having been torn off. i asked madame k. about this torn letter. she could give me no information about it. it was a business letter written to her late husband, and dated back some three years. it was written in english, but by a german friend of the late mr. k., residing then at cincinnati, ohio. there was the unmistakable german form of the letters; and i know not what should have "come over" me just then, for i am not a believer in the interference of intelligent spirits, and i fear i do not believe more than is necessary of ancient or modern "inspiration," but i said to the widow,-- "madame k., i feel as though we were going to find out, sooner or later, who took the money, and i hope we shall get the money back, too." of course her eyes sparkled a little with sudden hope, excited by my confident manner of speaking, but they dropped before she replied,-- "but, sir, _i_ dare not hope so, for the disappointment, if you should not find the money, would be worse than the loss original" (for madame still transposed some of her english words according to her native idiom). "but you will be a vary ex_cee_-lent man if you do find it," added she, with a most provoking smile of encouragement. i searched the boarders' and servants' rooms, with madame, most thoroughly, but unavailingly, and told her she must keep quiet, and wait for some circumstance to develop itself which might put us on the right track; and that, meanwhile, i would trace out the patent roof-maker in his quarters in new york. from something which madame told me, and from the fact of seeing an old, and pretty well worn pack of marked-back playing cards, and some other indications of a sporting man, i expected to find this fellow's "work," not so much _on_ roofs as under them. but i found he had really an ostensible business, and had an office,--a very small one,--in which he had three or four little houses, of the size of small dog kennels, the roofs of which were covered with his patent composition, and he had also some four men at work; but he did not work much. he hardly took the trouble to supervise his men's work, but charged so much a day for their time, and paid them less, living on the difference, and thus keeping up appearances, while he was trying to sell out his "right" to somebody who might be found stupid enough to give him as much as he paid for it. i found that some of his associates were gamblers and other kinds of sporting men, and that he kept his best suit of clothes in a wardrobe at his office, and dressed more elegantly in new york than he did in newark, where the clothes he wore were whole, neat, and good enough. this flashy dressing in new york not only suggested vanity, but some cunning, i thought, showing the man to be capable of some secrecy and diplomacy. i pursued my investigations into his character, not only in new york, but in ohio, where he was born, and raised. he came from the beautiful town of dayton, and his parentage, and relationship there, were highly respectable. the young man's countenance was in his favor. he looked honest and good-hearted, and i found that he dealt with his men as he agreed. but he would be a sorry fool who should trust much to appearances in a large city like new york, where the greatest scoundrels are the most fascinating men and women. but i confess my mind oscillated considerably between suspicions of this young man's guiltiness and the inclination to believe him innocent. i found he spent considerable money, and i found, too, where he sometimes made a good deal in gambling. he was one of those unfortunate beings who enjoy good luck enough, now and then, to constantly whet their hopes, and make their severest losses only prompters to more earnest trials of the "fickle goddess." i continued to trace him back and forth between newark and new york, which i was enabled to do almost daily, through the kindness of a friend who resided in newark, and came daily to new york to his business. this man talked with him about the widow's loss, for which the young roof-maker expressed great regret; said madame k. was a fine lady, worked hard, and he wished he was able to make up her loss to her in some way. when asked if he suspected anybody, the poor music teacher in particular, he expressed himself as unwilling to suspect anybody, and declared that he could never believe the music teacher guilty, except under the most positive evidence. he was too simple a man, he said, to do anything of the sort; a man who had no bad habits to indulge, and one of that stamp whom the possession of eight hundred dollars, however he might have obtained it, would have driven crazy. i managed to get entrance into the young man's office in new york, and make careful examination of everything there, such clothes as he had in the wardrobe, and everything else, even to a hollow cane, or walking-stick, in which, to my surprise, i found money--good money, but nothing corresponding with any of the bills lost by the widow, which were nearly all large ones, with a few small ones,--all the latter the issue of a newark bank. finding the money in this hollow cane made me suspicious of the man's general character. why carry good money in such a "purse"? it would be a convenient thing to conceal counterfeit money in, i thought; and then i said to myself, "why not good to keep stolen money in too?" and finally i answered, "yes, and good money too;" for not one person in ten thousand would ever think to look in such a place for money. besides, the young man's name was engraved upon the silver head of the cane, and that fact ought rather to ward off suspicion against him. in these and like ways i was always fluctuating in my mind regarding the young roof-maker; and as i had pursued matters under the inspiration of my sympathy for the widow in her loss (with a slight prompting, i confess, on the score of her bewitching ways and her delicate beauty) quite beyond what i would have felt warranted in doing in another case under like circumstances; so i told the madame one day, when she called at my office, as she not unfrequently did, that i thought we must give up the search; that probably nothing but the death-bed repentance of the thief would ever disclose who took the money, and that all had been done which could possibly be done, i thought, to ferret out the thief. it was easy for him to get the larger bills changed to small ones in new york, and get the newark money out of his hands, and as for the gold, there was no way to identify that; that either one of the boarders, or some visitor, had probably taken the money; and so much time having passed since it was taken, that we might as well expect the dead to rise that day in greenwood as to expect to find the thief or the money. at this madame burst into tears over the loss of the money, as i supposed, and i tried to calm her; but she wept quite frantically. i had never seen her before save in a calm, dignified state, and knew not what to make of it; but she said,-- "not for the gone money, i weep, sir; but what you said of the dead in greenwood: there are all mine." i had known that her children and husband were buried in an obscure quarter of greenwood, but forgot that fact when i spoke, and stupidly made allusion to that cemetery. the madame's tears re-strengthened my sympathy; and she told me a dream, too, which she had had three or four nights before, with such unction, that while i laughed in my sleeve at it, i could not, for the life of me, but express in my face believing astonishment. she said at the same time that she did not believe in dreams at all, yet this one was so startlingly realistic in its personages, localities, etc., that it seemed to her more a veritable history of facts than the shadowings of a disordered imagination in semi-sleep. the substance of the dream was, that i had been over to her house again, had made another search, and in the room occupied by the music teacher and the young roofer (for they occupied the same room, the largest in the little house, but had separate beds); and that while i was shaking some clothes belonging to one of them, she could not tell which, down fell a five dollar gold piece, and dropped on the carpet at a point exactly equidistant from the two beds, after rolling on the carpet in a small curve. madame derided the dream while she told it, yet it evidently had made some impression on her mind; discovering which, together with my re-aroused sympathies for her over her widowhood and the loss of the money, i assured myself that i ought to make further trial, and thought i would revisit her house and make further search. i did so two days afterwards, at my first leisure, and reviewed the whole affair there. in searching the roof-maker's room again, which i did out of a sort of deference to the widow's dream, but without the slightest expectation that i should find any clew to the thief, i came across a garment which i had not seen before, either in his closet there or in the wardrobe at his office in new york. it was an old vest, and, strange to say, madame did not remember to have ever seen the roof-maker wear it. yet there it hung with his clothes. perhaps it was the music teacher's; but at any rate we, in a sort of listless way, examined it; finding nothing but a few cloves and spices in it, such as too many young men carry in their pockets in order to draw therefrom disguises of a bad liquor-smelling breath; and a crumpled piece of letter paper, quite black on one side, which i was inclined to throw aside; and i should have done so, except from my habit (rather than judgment, in this case) of examining everything. unfolding this, which proved to be a strip of nearly triangular form, about two and a half inches wide on the line of one "leg," by four or five inches by the other "leg," i noticed some letters and words on the piece. it was evidently a part of a letter torn off; and i reflected that i had seen writing of that same style somewhere, and turning up the left-hand upper corner of the piece, to flatten it out more, i discovered the letters "ati," upon it, and it flashed into my mind at once where that piece came from. i made no remark to the widow at this point, but told her we would now take the vest in charge, and go down and look into the secretary again. she withdrew from the drawer the letters and papers she had shown me on my first visit, and which i had charged her to keep safe, and i was not long in finding the proper letter (the one i have described heretofore), and adjusting the torn piece to it, it fitted exactly, and the rest of the word--cincinn--was added to the "ati," and place of date; and then i called madame k.'s attention to it. my conclusion was, that the thief had, in some way, by accident torn that letter at the time he took the money, and that somehow the piece had gotten into his pocket and he had forgotten it. but it was carefully folded, as i saw, when i essayed to fold it back to the shape i found it in. while i was doing this, the widow exclaimed,-- "why mr. ----, i remember all about it now. i tore the letter to get a piece to wrap up the two ten dollar gold pieces in;" and i saw it was just the fit size as folded. so we had traced the gold pieces into the roofer's vest pocket; and all the rest was clear now. he was the thief. but how should we prove the vest to be his, if he should deny it? i did not wish to leave any loose place in the evidence, and i knew well enough that the roofer was "sharp," and i began to conceive that he would not be easily caught. it would not do to speak to anybody in the house to inquire if he had been seen to wear that vest, for he might be innocent, and the widow did not wish any of her boarders to know that another one was suspected; but fortunately on the inside of the neck of the vest was a little piece of silk, on which, in imitation of needlework, was stamped the maker's name, "h. schneider, merchant tailor, sixth avenue, n. y.," as i made it out with some difficulty. i rolled up the vest in a paper, bade the widow good afternoon, and informing her when she would probably see me next, left. the next day found me at mr. schneider's, the merchant tailor's. he recognized the vest as having been made by him a year and a half before or so, and thought he could, after a while, think for whom he made it. he turned over his books of measurements or orders, to help revive his memory; meanwhile some of his "jours," doing work at home, came in to return and take work, and he inquired of each of them if he made this. one of them remembered the work, and described the man for whom it was made, he having been put to the trouble of making an extra inside pocket. he described the man, and mr. schneider was at last able to remember his name, which was that of the roofer; and turning to his index found the name, and the order for the identical vest among other things. i considered the evidence complete enough; and going to newark next day, and providing myself with a local officer, then betook myself to the widow's house, and there awaited the return of the young roofer. he came at an unusually late hour that night; and we called him into the parlor,--the madame, the officer, and i,--and i asked him first if that was his vest, showing it him. "yes," he replied at once, "that's my vest; but i haven't seen it before in a good while; where did you get it?" "among your clothes in the closet, yesterday," i replied; "and it's of no use for us to make words about it. we are here to arrest you for stealing the madame's money. we've traced out all necessary evidence, traced the gold pieces into your pocket, and got the tell-tale piece of paper in our possession which you foolishly overlooked, but left in your vest pocket. we want to settle the matter now, as the madame needs the money more, perhaps, than the law needs you." the roofer looked at me with blank astonishment, and declared his innocence in a way which would have convinced all ordinary people. none but an old experienced officer could well have refused to believe the man innocent. but i told him it was of no use; that he would be arrested and tried if he did not settle; "and, you see," i added, "that even if you were innocent you could not withstand the evidence we have against you, unless you could prove an absolute _alibi_ on the day the money was taken; but, unfortunately for you on that head, we can show that you were here more hours than usual that day." he still persisted in declaring his innocence, and acted for all the world like the most innocent of men. i told him he was a capital actor already, and that, perhaps, it would prove the best thing which could possibly happen to him to be caught thus early in his career of crime. he grew apparently indignant; admitted that he gambled a good deal more than he ought to, but declared that he had never been guilty of crime of any sort, and never intended to be; and, said he,-- "i would not have the stigma of the suspicion fixed upon me for all the wealth of new york. it would kill my mother if she came to hear of it, and my father would disinherit me; and i am expecting a good fortune from him some day. i've got into bad habits enough; but i don't drink at all, and i am guilty of no crimes." i reminded him of the cloves and spices we found in the vest pocket. he made strange of this, and said somebody else must have worn the vest; "that he had no occasion to disguise his breath; that he neither drank liquors, had a foul stomach, or decayed teeth;" and i confess his mouth did look wondrously clean and wholesome. but of course i was not to be caught with the chaff of protested innocence; and, finally seeing his situation, he thought best not to stand trial, but to settle up, and pay the widow ("under protest, however," he said) for what she had lost, if we would agree to never mention his name in connection with the transaction, and if the widow would allow him to continue to board there for two or three months after she should report that she had finally found the money in another drawer. in that way the very fact of the theft would be concealed, and his reputation be uninjured. we consented to all this; and as his money was in new york, he agreed to go home with me that night, and remain under arrest at my house, and raise the money the next day, i to accompany him to the bank. he had some fifteen hundred dollars on deposit in the chemical bank, as it seemed, when we went there; that was his balance, and he had had some three or four thousand there as his original deposit. he paid over to me the eight hundred and forty dollars; and on my reminding him that the widow had had a great deal of trouble, and would have a large bill to pay for services, he petulently asked, "how much?" and i said, "suppose you make it nine hundred in all." he handed me sixty dollars more, with an angry, nervous look; and said it was "a hard thing for an entirely innocent man to be obliged to do; but the evidence looks very bad against me, or i would fight the case till i die." i smiled at him, as i was wont to smile at the guilty, who think to cheat one with words of protested innocence, and bade him good morning, and wended my way speedily to newark, to report to the widow, and "settle up." she insisted upon my taking just twice the sum i charged her, and was overjoyed at getting back her money, which she took care to put immediately in bank, and said she should never have any more money by her again than necessary for current expenses. she dreaded to have the roofer come back to board; but said she would abide by the bargain, and she did. he returned as usual that night. everything went on as before. madame announced, as was agreed, that the money had been found in another drawer (where, by the way, she, woman-like, insisted that it should be first put by me, in order that she might tell a "white lie" instead of a black one about it); and after the boarders had gratulated her upon her good fortune in finding the money, nothing more was said about the matter. the young roofer continued to board with her, according to the agreement, for some two months, and then left for quarters in new york. his conduct at the house was perfectly exemplary; and when i saw the widow, on an occasion about a year after, she expressed her satisfaction at having taken no steps at law against him, for the theft, and said, that after all she sometimes would think, now and then, for a minute, that he was innocent; "but then, i think immediately, how absurd!" said she; "and i pity him; but i do believe he will be guilty never of such a crime again." she told me, too, that he had called on her two or three times during the year, and made her pleasant visits. not a word passed between them about the money. but the reader must not be over-surprised when i inform him, that about two years after the time i last spoke of above, i found in the examination of another case that the young roofer was, as he always had declared, entirely innocent of the theft, and that the hungarian lawyer, one of the boarders, well knew that the roofer was innocent, and who was the guilty party, at the time he sent the widow to me. but this latter case has no special connection with the one i have here narrated, and i leave it for another time, stopping simply to say, that circumstantial evidence, while in its general character it is often more reliable than the oral testimony of living witnesses, who may be prejudiced or bribed, is nevertheless sometimes too strong, proves too much, and is liable to be misused. i have known several instances of this kind in my experience. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the counterfeit money speculators. -------------- "money"--the counterfeiters' moral philosophy--the cunning of bank bills--no valid bank bills issued--a trick of the banks to evade the law--swindling under "color of law," and in defiance thereof; a vast distinction--counterfeiters as "public benefactors"--the regular counterfeiters embarrassed by the bogus ones--mr. "ferguson's" marvellous letter--countless complaints--the "honest farmer" of vermont, and his speculation with the counterfeit money men--what he sent for, and what he got--a securely done-up package--a "down-cellar" scene--the "honest farmer's" confusion--a bit of local history relating to thomaston, conn.--the honest oyster dealer there, and the ninety dollars "c. o. d."--a question unsettled--how the "honest farmer" of vermont cheated me at last. so long as a false "representative of value" is made a "medium of exchange," whether we call it "money," or what not; or whether it be made of gold, silver, or paper, or any other material, so long, probably, will it, in all its degrees of professed value, be counterfeited; and shrewd men, men who possess logical discrimination enough to see that one humbug is no worse in principle (though worse, perhaps, in the degree of bad principle) than another, will always be devising "illegal" plans of making money, as subtle and keen, almost, as the regular banking business. it is probable, i think, that nothing more clever in the way of cheating or robbery will ever be invented than the issuing of paper money by private banks; for the business is so adroitly managed that it is highly respectable,--which cannot exactly be said of some other modes of cheating. a bank president and the cashier command much respect in the city or the country village, and conduct their business openly, too. indeed, they are usually magnates in the community in which they reside, and are intrusted, to large extent, with other people's money, while the unfortunate fellow who cannot procure a proper bank charter, and so has to content himself with running illicitly a humble faro bank, is apt to be frowned upon by the community. perhaps a more pertinent example of the inability of the masses to discriminate in moral affairs, could not well be suggested. the country is flooded with counterfeit money, especially of the "fractional currency" kind. everybody takes it, and nearly everybody who has a ten cent, or twenty-five cent, or fifty cent "representative of value," of the spurious kind, lets it pass on, if it will. the public conscience is not disturbed by these little things; and there are a great many persons who let the one dollar and five dollar counterfeit bills which they chance to receive, "go on doing their accustomed good," into the hands of others. this course is illegal, and therefore "immoral," and not right; and in another sense it is immoral, because it is unjust and thievish in its character. but then, as some simple people may be surprised to learn, nearly all the issues of private banks are also thievish and unjust. bank bills are not generally issued according to the requirements of the law, and are, therefore, not even legal money, and are of no more real worth than a counterfeit bill, so long as the latter passes. it is in their negotiability, or the passing thereof, that bank bills are valuable or useful as a means of exchange. the counterfeit bill is just as convenient so long as it does the work of "passing." i do not know what is the fact regarding the private banks of connecticut, for example, nowadays; but a few years ago an eminent lawyer of that state told me that he presumed there was not a single bill legally issued by any of the connecticut banks, the circulation of which amounted in the aggregate at that time to millions of dollars. the law of the state of connecticut limited the issue of bills by any bank to not over ten times as much in representative amount as the "specie or bullion" which the given bank had constantly in its vaults. if the bank's capital was, for example, $ , , but invested in real estate, then the bank could not properly issue a single dollar, unless by some means it possessed itself of specie to hold in its vaults; even then evading the spirit of the law. but my friend, the lawyer referred to, informed me that none of the banks complied with the rule of keeping the requisite specie in its vaults. suppose a bank's issues amounted to $ , ; to respect the law it would have to keep $ , specie on hand. is it reasonable even to suppose it would do so when it could readily loan the $ , to parties in new york at seven per cent. interest, and thus make them "earn" $ , a year? not at all; and the banks did not heed the law. but there were bank commissioners, whose duty it was (and there are the same still, i suppose) to see to this matter, together with others relating to banks. they visited the banks once or twice a year. when about to make a visit, they sent word to the bank officers when to expect them, and the officers of a given bank in hartford or new haven, for example, went to other banks and borrowed from several, for the time being, specie enough in the aggregate to make a "show" with. as the commissioners, after visiting one bank, and making an examination, were about to leave it and go to another, the specie found in the bank examined, was sent off to the other bank, and there did service again; and so on through the series of the city banks. the isolated country banks, like that at litchfield, had notice of the advent of the bank commissioners, and sent to the city banks for a temporary loan of the required specie. thus it was that the banks conducted their business illicitly, and it is probable that at no time was a single dollar of their issues properly predicated, and every dollar was therefore illegally issued. but the bills passed,--passed as well as undiscovered counterfeit bills,--and were, in reality, just as fictitious and illegal. but the banks being more sharp, and having more facilities for covering up their iniquity than have the counterfeiters, succeed in swindling the people, year after year, without detection, while the poor counterfeiters are frequently caught and punished, and their "capital" (dies for "making" the money, paper, etc.) is destroyed; and thus their business is interrupted, very much to the detriment of its profits, and their laboriously-earned skill, as "business men," made as nought, and all their valuable time in perfecting themselves in their business also lost. it is sad to reflect upon this; but the picture would be sadder, perhaps, if added to these irregular swindlers, were the regular bank swindlers of the land. so when one comes to analyze matters, no great moral distinction is found between two persons, one of whom swindles under "color of law," while the other swindles in defiance of law. the latter is perhaps the braver (though less sagacious) man of the two. it is, after all, only a question of taste or expediency; and so is it that the great counterfeiters think. officers arresting these men, frequently find them ready to defend their cause "on principle." they always avow themselves "as good men as the bankers," and they frequently declare themselves public benefactors, in that they make money plenty, and relieve the stringency of the money market! "the only good of paper money," once said a great counterfeiter to me, "is to pass; a counterfeit bill is just as good for passing as a genuine bill; and if you folks would let us "private bankers" alone long enough to give us time to perfect our business, we should be able to produce "goods" so perfect that nobody would find any fault with them, and all would feel grateful to us. but it costs us a great deal to get well started in business; and just as we are beginning to thrive, you step in and break us up!" the man to whom i allude was _serious_ in what he said. of course he was lacking in moral perceptions, and was, in one sense, demented, or a "great fool;" for he could not see the moral difference between one kind of robbery and another one just like it in principle. i pitied the man's moral obliquity, while i handed him over to the jail-keeper to await trial. (i am sorry to say that the fellow, for some reason, was never brought to trial. the district attorney "_nolled_" the case, although the evidence was clear enough against the "private banker." i half suspect that the attorney admired the fellow's reasoning, and sympathized with him.) under the circumstances, it is not then strange that a large number of persons of excellent talent, are engaged in counterfeiting, or in the distribution (or "shoving," to use the technical phrase), of counterfeit money in this country, and the distributors are to be found in all classes. i have in my mind's eye, as i write, an "honest farmer," in a certain town in the state of vermont, who manifested, in the goodly "year of our lord," , an excellent disposition to help the counterfeiters distribute their goods, but who was sadly "disappointed" in his enterprising spirit. almost every business has its counterfeiters. as surely as a man conceives of some practical, easy, business way of making money, so sure is he to find a host of competitors springing up about him, and injuring his business. this has been the fate, to considerable extent, of the regular counterfeiters,--the men, who, by their great talent as engravers, have added so much to the mechanical skill of the country. there is a plenty of scamps in such a place as new york, for instance, who always stand ready to profit by other people's labors. (i should not like to be called upon for a classification of these scamps, for fear that the various species of the genus "who profit by other people's labors" might include some reader's most respectable friends.) the regular counterfeiters have been greatly embarrassed, within the last two or three years, by a lot of unscrupulous villains, who pretend to deal in counterfeit money, and who send their advertising circulars into every town and hamlet in the land. the regular counterfeiters can only thrive when they are able to make their wares pass; and these unscrupulous villains, to whom i allude above, are likely to injure the business, and thus reduce the brave, bold, ingenious counterfeiters to the condition, perhaps, of "private bankers," whose course is that only of cowardly, false pretences, under "color" or shield of the law. this is a state of things which is not a little deplorable--for the counterfeiters. the business of these unscrupulous villains, whom we will call, if the reader please, counterfeit money speculators (for "speculators" is a name which one should not fail to honor as often as he can), is very extensive. to give the uninitiated reader a little insight into the business of these men, one of their circulars is copied below. it is a fair sample, in regard to its substance, of all that are issued by these "speculators." the one before me, and which i copy here, is a lithographed manuscript letter. (to explain, for the benefit of youthful readers:--the "speculator" first writes a letter, in neat style of penmanship, and then gets it copied by an engraver on stone, and from the plate thus obtained is able to strike off a large number a day. probably one third of those who receive these letters do not know that they are, in fact, "printed," and each ignorant receiver feels flattered as he reads the letter that the "speculator" has taken the pains to write to him so extendedly, and is led to "think over" the matter, and finally to "invest," when he would have taken no notice of a "printed" document.) the letter alluded to runs thus:-- "dear friend: while conversing with a gentleman from your locality recently, you were named as a shrewd and reliable person, and one likely to enter into a business, the nature of which will be explained in this letter. at all events, he said, whether you go in or not you would keep a still tongue, and would not expose me. he told me that under no circumstances must i inform you who recommended you; and as i claim to be a man of honor, i will never violate a pledge. i have on hand, and am constantly manufacturing large quantities of the best counterfeit money ever produced in the world. the sizes are two, five, and ten dollar bills, and fifty cent stamps. they are printed on first-class bank note paper. the signatures are perfect, and the engraving is admirable. not one banker in five hundred can detect them. i will take a solemn oath that the bills which i send you will never be detected, unless you make known your business to persons who have no right to know it. i shall charge you ten dollars in good money for every one hundred dollars of mine. if you have confidence in yourself, and desire to push matters, you had better order as much as you can get rid of in a month or two. in that case, if you buy as much as five hundred dollars at a time, i will sell it to you for twenty dollars cash down, and will allow you thirty days credit for the remaining thirty dollars. if you purchase one thousand dollars, i will sell it to you for forty dollars cash down, and will wait thirty days for the remaining sixty. if you want to make a desperate, but successful, struggle for a fortune in a few weeks, i will send you five thousand dollars for one hundred and eighty dollars cash down, and will wait thirty days for the remaining three hundred and twenty. under no circumstances will i sell less than one hundred dollars (price ten) at a time. when you send me any money, or a letter, go to the nearest railway station, ask the express agent for a money envelope; insert your letter, seal the envelope, and see that it is properly directed to me. don't send me a letter through the post office. the express agent never heard of me, and he will have no idea of the nature of your business. i would prefer that you would send me money in advance. if you are unwilling to do so, i will ship whatever quantity you wish by express, and the agent will hand you the sealed package as soon as you pay him the money. that is, i will collect my money on delivery of goods (c. o. d.). i will make it appear that your package contains jewelry. if you can spare time come on and see me. call at my private office, no. john street, room , up stairs, new york. i will then take you to my manufactory, and let you select whatever quantity of bills you desire. no person in the building knows what business i carry on. therefore you are just as safe as if you were going into a theatre. if any person suspected my business i would not have you call. now, sir, if you manage this business properly, you can clear twenty thousand dollars in a year. you have unusual advantages for passing the bills with perfect safety. always ruffle them up to make them appear dirty and old. you can pass one of my bills at every store, and as the change you receive will be genuine, you will be enabled to clear at least two thousand dollars a month. not one in a thousand of your neighbors can distinguish a genuine bill from one of mine. therefore you are foolish for not grasping an opportunity to make money that may never occur again. i could name a man in your country who made a fortune in the same way. all his neighbors wonder how he made it. but he keeps a still tongue. probably you know who i mean. i deal on the '_square_,' and if you are true to me you will never regret it. i pray you will not betray me in case you do not go in. you will find by dealing with me that i have the best counterfeit money in the country, and that i deal more honorably than any other man in the business, because i deal on the '_square_.' i would not ask you for any cash down for your first order only to secure myself for the cost of engraving, printing, etc. read my terms carefully, and remember them. bear in mind that i will give no more credit than i state in this letter. one or two of my counterfeit bills have already been passed on you, and you have in turn passed them on others. therefore you should be familiar with their appearance and quality. of course you did not know they were counterfeits. "read the following instructions carefully. be sure and follow them; then no mistake can be made. if you come on, call at john street, office no. , up stairs. but if you send me money, or a letter by express, direct it to my manufactory as follows:-- wm. j. ferguson, no. broadway, new york city." bold in its stupidities and brazen-faced in its assumptions as is the above letter, it has probably deceived hundreds, if not thousands, and the villain "w. j. ferguson" could doubtless tell many a side-splitting story in regard to the simplicity of his victims. copies of that and like letters, signed by other names, and sent out by different "speculators," find their way to the farmers', the mechanics', the poor widows', the shop-keepers', and other hands, and hundreds send little sums of money in response--"just to try the thing," if nothing more. i do not intend to animadvert upon the intelligence, sagacity, and moral worth of the masses of "the people of these states," for sufficient comment thereon can be found in the fact that these "speculators" do a thriving business, and if not disturbed by the police authorities would soon be able to build as fine edifices as do the "private bankers," and thus make themselves "a credit to the city of new york," for example, by adorning it! i have alluded to a man whom i have in my mind's eye. he is a somewhat "queer crittur," as one of his neighbors denominated him, though an "honest farmer," and something of a "horse character," being interested considerably in stock raising. he resides not a thousand miles from rutland, vermont, and is "well to do" in the world. the old fellow's name i am under certain obligations to keep secret; but lest his neighbors (especially a jolly blacksmith living in the same "parish" with him, and who gave me some "light" regarding him, and "enjoyed the fun" when i told him of what facts i discovered), should, when reading this, entertain unjust suspicions as to exactly who the "honest farmer" (and member of the ---- church, too!) is, i will simply use the fictitious name of w--orthy p. row--ley to designate him by. the exploiting of these "counterfeit-money speculators" became so extensive that at one time complaints were received by the score daily--by the mayor of new york, and others; and it was finally thought best to take some notice of them. various means were employed to detect the scamps. one of the most active persons, and who urged their detection and punishment most earnestly, was a man who is, undoubtedly, a regular counterfeiter. this was natural enough, as the "speculators," as will be seen further on, were hurting his business. this man had relatives in vermont, and in some way it became suspected that the "honest farmer," who sometimes visited to new york, and put up at the bull's head hotel, on third avenue, bringing with him a blooded horse for sale now and then, was one of his relations. (but this proved not to be the case. he had been in his company, but was not related to him by blood, though slightly so, as the sequel will show, as a "business man.") circumstances so occurred in the ferreting out of some counterfeiters, that suspicion fell upon the "honest farmer" as one of their aids in the distribution or "shoving" of the "queer" (the flash or business name for counterfeit money), and it was thought that he was wanted. so i was delegated to wait on the gentleman "at or near" his residence. he was in the habit of visiting canada two or three times a year to buy up stock (cattle mostly), and import them into vermont, and prepare them for market. this was one of his "side issues," as he said. when i arrived in his town i found he had gone to canada, and that i should be obliged to wait a day or two for his return. meanwhile i made as much investigation into the affairs of the old fellow (for he is a man of nearly sixty years of age) as i could safely; and from an enemy or two of his discovered enough to learn that he might be as guilty as he was suspected to be, and i prepared myself for "investigating" the old fellow on his return. to go into details of how i approached the "honest farmer," and what progress i made in studying him as connected with the regular counterfeiting business, as an agent in distributing the "queer" in vermont,--and somewhat in canada, as was supposed,--would make my narrative too long. but i found at last, to my satisfaction, and surprise as well, that that w. p. r., the "honest farmer," had no connection with the business we suspected him to be engaged in. but i found also something which might have surprised me regarding a man of his general shrewdness, if i had not known many equally astute men made fools of. the "honest farmer" had received, from time to time, letters like that which is quoted herein from mr. "ferguson." at first he paid no attention to them. finally his speculative nature became whetted, and out of "pure curiosity," as he asserted to me so often as to excite my suspicions that he had far other motive, he entered into correspondence with the "new york gentlemen," which resulted in his sending to the speculators ten dollars in greenbacks, for which he was entitled, according to their offer, to receive one hundred dollars in counterfeit bills. he gave instructions as to how he would prefer to have it sent, namely, by express, in a square box, well wrapped and sealed up, and he stated about what size. his correspondents were instructed to write on the corner of the package, "one doz. condition." (this, he said, would be understood by "the railroad folks," and his neighbors, if they saw it, to mean "condition powders,"--medicine for horses.) the box came to the railroad station near him. he was apprised of its arrival, and went for it himself. this was in the daytime, and he "wasted time" on his way home, so as to arrive in the night. ("didn't want to let his folks know," he said, "how deuced foolish his curiosity had made him.") he drove under the "shed" attached to his "home barn," and quietly took the box down into a cellar of "the old house"--an old dilapidated, untenanted house, in which some of the products of the farm, and a few farm tools, and some old barrels were kept; and down into the cellar of the old house he went, and deposited there the box, and then went in, "washed up," and sat down with his family to supper. after supper he was uneasy to investigate the package; and making an errand "to the barn," procured an old candle, and (forgetting the "barn") hastened into the cellar, managing to fasten the cellar door with a rope which he tied to the handle. he _said_ he did this for fear somebody might see a light through an end "winder" of the cellar, and come down and "ketch" him at the "silly job;" but i have my suspicions that the "honest farmer" had other reasons than that of pride for his secrecy. he put the box on the head of an old barrel, and the candle on another, and began to unfold his treasures. roll after roll of "old brown papers and newspapers" he cut off, and wadding them up, one after another, laid them on the head of the barrel on which stood the light, or threw them on the floor. there was a marvelous waste of paper, he said, in "doin' up that 'are box." at last he came to the box (a small, oblong, wooden, affair which he showed me), which i should think to be about eight inches in length by four in width and depth, and the original use of which, if it had any, i could not conjecture. the cover was barely tacked on. pulling off this, he presently came upon a few scraps of old iron, and a few bits of what he thought were paving stones, and not a single dollar of counterfeit money did his search reveal. [illustration: the "honest" counterfeit money speculator.] at the bottom of the box, pasted in, was a paper, on which was written, in a bold, quite elegant hand, "old fool!--ha! ha!" and while he stood contemplating his folly, and holding up a bit of the old iron in his hand, the heap of paper on the other barrel (probably warped, or "cockled," as paper-men would express it, by the heat from the candle) tumbled over into the flame of the latter. the old man said this frightened him at first, "like a judgment" on his folly, and he had close work for a minute or two to put out the fire. "i thought the old stairs would ketch," said he, "and i couldn't get up." the story as he told it (for he has a considerable "knack at story-telling") was not a little amusing, but i shall make no attempt to represent it here. the counterfeit money speculators have no notion of getting themselves into serious legal difficulties, and so long as they only swindle such men as the "honest farmer" in question, the authorities of new york will probably take no great pains to disturb them. it would be rather amusing if one could watch the countenances of the poor dupes as they open their packages. disappointed ambition, "castles in spain" all tumbled down, visions of wealth broken into clouds upon their countenances, would probably be the tale they would tell. but warnings will do this class of people no good, and it is not "good" they seek; so we need have no pity for them. if the counterfeit money speculators, of the kind i here speak of, do no good, they certainly do no harm, save to the regular counterfeiters, by forestalling their field, and getting away from the poor dupes money which might otherwise fall into the "regular" gentlemen's hands. but perhaps the result in the long run may be beneficial to the "regular trade," inasmuch as the present victims, when they come to get possession of the real counterfeit money, may buy more than they otherwise would, to make up their former losses. in this they will imitate other business men, who, when chancing to lose by one attempted swindle, balance accounts of profit and loss by "doubling" in a successful swindle, or as gamblers "hedge" their bets on a horse-race. at any rate, the "money-makers," whether of bank bills, or other false pretences, "regular" or "irregular," will always, i suppose, manage to find "honest farmers," and like victims, so long as the ignorance of the people sustains such institutions as private banks; and it matters but little whether a bank bill has passed under the eye of "jones, president," and "williams, cashier," or not, so long as it is well "executed" enough to "execute" its own mission, which is, to swindle labor out of its just dues. the man who devised paper money and "banking," as it is generally conducted, was the shrewdest servant that the tyrant and sagacious classes ever had in aiding them to keep the laboring classes subjected and "contented" with being robbed. if any reader thinks my estimate of that man's clever swindling capacity too emphatic or high, let him sit down soberly, and consider the subject in all its aspects, beginning with the cost of the paper, and the thousand profitable uses it is made to serve for the money-manufacturer, and then reflect how it is as much one man's _natural_ right to "make, money" as another's, but that the few manage to make a monopoly of the business. the fact is, that the counterfeiters are really more democratic than the bank men, and only stick to their "constitutional rights,"--the right of individuals, as well as of bodies politic, to manufacture money. if the state would let the matter of money-making alone, and abolish all laws regarding it, it would not only abolish counterfeiters and counterfeiting thereby, and "bogus" counterfeit speculators also, but would, in so doing, leave a clear field for sensible political economists to work out a plan of exchange, in which some justice and honesty might be obtained. till then, the counterfeiters,--the regular _bona fide_ ones, and the bogus rascals, too,--will thrive; for no plan of "making money" is found so ingenious that these capable gentlemen cannot imitate it. as i write (feb., ), i note in a connecticut newspaper an instance of the operation of these bogus counterfeit money speculators; and what surprises me a little is, that their victim lives within four or five hours' ride from new york, in the enterprising village of thomaston, litchfield county, conn., which connects with new york several times a day by railway. it appears that a worthy dealer in "oysters and vegetables" recently received from "chatfield & co." (professional dealers in counterfeit money, like "ferguson") a box marked c. o. d., the charges upon which were ninety dollars. "of course" the man made no order upon "chatfield & co." they sent the box voluntarily. "the charges were promptly paid" (i quote from the newspaper referred to), "and the box opened. the contents proved to be old iron, stones, shavings, and rubbish. these articles can be bought cheaper here. a factorizing suit was quickly served on the express agent here, the money detained, and by due process of law our neighbor ... will get it back, less the expenses of the law. but we cannot help asking the question, suppose he had received the "queer" instead of the rubbish for the ninety dollars, what would he have done with it? charity says he would have carried it to the nearest justice, and had it duly stamped counterfeit, and so lost the investment;" and the article quoted from facetiously adds, "if it had been any one less honest than he is, we are afraid he would have 'shoved the queer' just to get his money back, with a reasonable (say two per cent.) profit. after all, the question is still unanswered." but the thomaston people probably have more persons in their midst than the oyster dealer, who think that counterfeit money is good while it passes; and they should not feel sure, without looking, that they have not in their purses more or less of the "real genuine article" of counterfeit money, especially of the "fractional currency" kind; and it may be that some of the good housewives and marketing husbands of that goodly village have wittingly or unconsciously, from time to time, passed so much of it upon the unfortunate dealer in oysters and vegetables, as to inspire him with a sense of its great "convenience in trade," and so he thought to enjoy the blessings thereof himself, and communicated with "chatfield & co." drawing my article to a close, i was about overlooking a fact, which i ought not to forget to state here, in regard to the "honest farmer." i had a little business transaction with him--the purchase, in fact, of a few pounds of very nice butter, which i took home with me. i gave him a five dollar bill, out of which he took his pay, handing me the "change," which was two dollars and twenty cents. i took it (made up of sundry pieces of fractional currency), and gave it no attention beyond rapidly counting it, and chanced to place it in one division of my wallet by itself. at springfield, mass., i had occasion to use some of it, when i found that a fifty cent bill of it was counterfeit. i considered this "too good a joke to keep" all alone, so i sent the bill on to the "jolly blacksmith" i have alluded to before, and made him a present of it, with the suggestion to him to present it to the "honest farmer," who, to my astonishment, when i heard of it, did not deny that he "might have let that new york fellow have it;" and he modestly took it, and gave another bill (_supposed_ to not be counterfeit) in exchange. whether the man knew it was counterfeit when he gave me the bill, is more than i dare say here; but his neighbors, on reading this, will probably decide that question for themselves.--s. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the detective system. -------------- the necessity of the detective system generally discussed--the state of society which created it--the regular and irregular robbers--the young man of intelligence entering upon active life, a picture--he naturally allies himself to the tyrant and robbing classes--no honesty in trade--trade rules; and all are corrupt--no conscience among the traffickers--lying a fine art--all villains, but none individually at fault--the detective belongs to the corrupt governing classes--weighing him--great thieves--"the purveyors of hell"--the eternal talkers, and what they amount to--the use for detectives--an incident; "catching a flat"--the detective's vocation further considered--how the detectives protect society--illustrative incidents--a certain great detective described--stratagems--what the philosophers say--on the whole, is the detective system from above or below? the chief articles of "knots untied" being in type, i am asked by the publishers to add thereto my views upon the detective system in general. much misjudgment has been indulged in by some in regard to the moral merits of the system. indeed, some writers have been so rash as to condemn it altogether. but these are persons of very peculiar mental and moral construction, in my opinion. they have not, it is evident, studied deeply or thoroughly the condition of things which demands the detective system for its protection and support. it has been most wisely said, that "society creates, for the most part, the crimes which it punishes." it is a sad truth, but one to be dispassionately considered--not overlooked. the wonder to my mind is that there are not more criminals in society than there are, so heartless are the institutions of civilization in general, so lax the morality of business life, so hypocritical the common tone of society everywhere, from among the least up to the greatest of the participants, in what, as a whole, we call a community, a town, a city, or a nation. everywhere i see injustice and wrong triumphing over justice and the right; everywhere petty political successes, vain social triumphs, and especially the victories of wealth, emulated and worshipped. the crown for which the child is usually instructed to bend all his efforts hangs on the pinnacle of vanity or pride. he is expected to obtain it in business life, by gathering under his feet a pile of gold high enough to enable him to stand up, and reach out his hand to it; and he is taught that it is no matter how he gets the gold, so that he avoids all legal difficulties in the way; and he is further instructed that when he shall have acquired a certain amount of gold he need fear no law, for he can buy juries and judges then, and be "a law unto himself;" and he grows up to manhood and active life under these holy instructions. looking around him, as a man, he sees that everybody is striving for the same object which he would reach; and however his own sense of right may disturb him in his first mistep from her path, he soon learns that the "common law," the highest morality, in other words, on 'change, is to "buy at the lowest possible prices, and sell for as much as you can." he becomes extortionate when he can, and rejoices in whatever panic "sends up" his own stocks, for example, although it may ruin a thousand others, and bring desolation to countless homes. he sees, if he lives in new york, that wall street is a den of thieves, "respectable" ones; and he finds its counterparts all through the city, down into the lowest haunts of vice, where squalor and want, added to crime, make the last disreputable. but his mind is logical, and he sees that there is no difference in principle between making a "corner" in wall street, and thus robbing a man of fifty shares of a given railroad stock, and the picking of his pocket of those shares in the graceful way in which the _chevaliers d'industrie_ do it. he sees the real estate owner, who has already received in rents, from his tenants, ten times as much money as a certain building cost him, years ago (exclusive, at that, of the legal interest on the original investment), raising the rent as often as he dare, and frequently ejecting, into the merciless world, the family of a poor man who cannot meet the advanced rent, on the one side; and on the other, he witnesses a highway robber snatch a cloak from the shoulders of a man, or a bundle from a lady's arms; or a sneak thief escaping from a hall door with a garment in his hands; and for the life of him he cannot see any real moral difference in the two "sides;" on both are extortion and robbery. he sees vast monopolies arising, and breaking down small dealers. he sees the merchant princes absorbing the businesses once conducted by smaller traders, and usurping even the trades; so that, now, for example, several hundred dress-makers, once scattered over various parts of the city, and then living in a good degree of independence, are to be found gathered in a herd, if they have employment at all, the merest wages-slaves of some mercantile lord turned manufacturer, too, as well: or, if without employment by some large house, forced by the lower rates which the monopolists charge for their poorly paid-for goods, to live along on starvation wages. in short, the man sees about him the greed of gain in all its hateful and diabolical phases--and he meditates: "this is the world i am born into; this the field i must win my successes in; there are but comparatively two classes,--the successful and proud, who govern everything, and enjoy everything, and the unsuccessful and the wretched, who have nothing but woes and toils, and who enjoy nothing--but what they have. i must make my choice between the two. i cannot suffer myself to belong to the latter class." thus determining, he enters upon the busy scenes of life; and if a merchant, he misrepresents his goods, for he knows that all other merchants do the same; he scruples at no falsity, so that it is not so palpable and clear as to defeat his chief purpose of cheating,--the achievement of profits. he lies to enhance in the purchaser's eyes the real merits of his wares, and he lies to cover up their demerits. he hears that some merchant is trading upon a reputation he has somehow acquired of being an honest dealer. laughing in his sleeve over this,--for well he knows that an honest man, in the competitive sphere of trade, is too much of a _lusus naturæ_ to have an actual existence,--he casts about to rival the other in this matter of profitable reputation, and learn "how he does it." he finds that his competitor has joined beecher's, or some other popular church, and gone to teaching sunday school. he follows suit,--and thus makes religion useful and available in trade. taking pains to get his church membership noised about, he now adds sanctimony to his other facial graces, and lies with a more effective air than before. if a merchant in wet goods, he goes a step farther than before in their adulteration; if in dry goods, he puts upon his poorer silks and cottons, etc., the stamps which belong to better ones; and so he lives on and thrives, and builds him a mansion in fifth avenue, or some other fashionable quarter, and is a man beloved and respected, and powerful among the people. or, may be, he turns politician, makes his way into the city government, sets his active genius to work, and invents numerous jobs to be done at the public expense, and manages to reap a hundred, or several hundred per cent. profit thereon; becomes a money-lord and a chief ruler, and is noted and respected, and for his thefts of millions, perhaps, makes restitution by a large munificent donation to the poor of the city. or he goes into wall street, and robs and swindles there till he gets to be a power, and lords it over sundry railroad and other vast interests, and is a very demigod. in all he is a representative man; for throughout all the departments of trade and business, from the greatest to the least, all are swindlers, to more or less extent. nobody better than the detective knows how absurd and ridiculous it is to talk of "honesty in trade," for he is quite as likely to be called upon to ferret out and arrest a forger or a cheat in the respectable ranks of business as he is to entrap a common pickpocket. the detective knows too much to believe in the honesty of any one as a trader. he may be a good-hearted, companionable fellow, generous to his friends, kind to his family, a nobleman by nature, but in trade he is dishonest; not that he would prefer to be so even there, but because business rules and customs make him so. take the most nearly just man, as a merchant or manufacturer, to be found in the country, and prove to the detective (or any other man well informed as to the crafts of business), if you can, that that trader or manufacturer will not ask for his goods as large a profit as he can get,--always the market price, at least,--and think himself not only not wrong in so doing, but actually right, no matter how the "market price" is made, whether by the withholding from the market of a large amount of a given commodity in order to "raise the price" (which is simply, in other words, to rob the more) or not. i have never known a half dozen traders in my life who had any moral perceptions on this point. lying is said to be a fine art in china. nothing wrong is perceived in it by the celestials. just as some people have no ear for music, no sense for the harmony of sounds, so they, the chinese, seem to have no sense or perception of the beauty of truth. just so in the business life of our own people; hardly a man of all sees or understands that it is not right for him to receive as great a profit on his goods as he can "honorably get" (i. e., no matter how, so that he gets it,--for the getting is the soul of business life). what is true of the business morality of new york, is true of the trading morality of the whole country. new york is the chief market town, and rules in prices and modes of dealing. the trader, with lack of conscience; the lawyer, whose interest it is to win his cases at all hazards, and bring his witnesses up to the right point for victory; the broker, who has no conscience (save when not pretending to have any); the manufacturers of flour and other food for the market, who adulterate their goods, or pass upon the community poor ones for good ones (and all do more or less of this); the liquor merchant, who poisons his wines and brandies with strychnine, etc., in order that he may give them a "bead," after having adulterated them as much as he can; the quack-medicine dealers, and the ten thousand other comparatively respectable shams and cheats of society, are all on a plane, in point of principle, with the pickpocket and the sneak thief; while the braver men, who rob whole railroads, etc., at a time, rise to the dignity of highwaymen. and there is still another class of moral worthies, the large manufacturers, who, monopolizing certain great industries, force the poor, through their necessities, into perpetual slavery to them, and render back for their hard labor just enough to keep them from the grave, and make them useful; and these occupy the position of the cruel and heartless slaveholder. let not the reader suppose that i blame any of these characters individually. society's laws and customs make them what they are. they must be so, or must be content to be of the oppressed classes. there are but two great classes in civilization,--the oppressed and the oppressors, the trampled upon and the tramplers. to the latter class belongs the detective. he is dishonest, crafty, unscrupulous, when necessary to be so. he tells black lies when he cannot avoid it; and white lying, at least, is his chief stock in trade. he is the outgrowth of a diseased and corrupted state of things, and is, consequently, morally diseased himself. his very existence is a satire upon society. he is a miserable snake, not in a paradise, but in the social hell. he is a thief, and steals into men's confidences to ruin them. he makes friends in order to reap the profits of betraying them. he is as bad in these days as was his prototype, st. paul in his, "all things to all men," but like him, he is defensible, in that his rogueries and villanies are practised for other people's "salvation" or security; and, aside from the fact that the detective, in his calling, is often degraded to a sort of watchman or ordinary policeman, to help the big thieves, the merchants, etc., protect themselves from the small thieves, who are not able to keep places of business, and to perform sundry other undignified work, his calling is a very noble one, and a singularly blessed one, inasmuch as it is the only one which i call to mind, by which hypocrisy is elevated into a really useful and beneficent art. it is true, as i lately saw in a cursory glance at the book notices in some journal, that somebody in europe has written a work entitled "the purveyors of hell," in which, with the keen discrimination of an intelligent and honest man, he inveighs against the secret service and detective system as an immense corrupter of mankind, and aims heavy blows, i suppose, at it. the author, i think, cannot be far from right in his abhorrence of the system, but i am afraid that, like too many other doctors of morals, he uses his scalpel on, and directs his medicines to, the effects, and not the causes, of the evils he would cure. the detective has one palliative to his conscience which the criminal and thief--be he a regular or irregular one, a business man with a shop, or without one--has not; for he, in his trickeries, his lies, his false seeming, his unscrupulous betrayal of his victims, has ever the consciousness that he is operating as an aid to justice, and that in her cause is it that he commits whatever outrages he may do to truth and fair dealing. his position is paradoxical in a measure. he has the satisfaction of knowing that if he lies and cheats, he is no worse for this, in a business way, than his neighbors, and that his frauds are exercised to protect them in keeping whatever ill-gotten gains they may have in the shape of property, from being stolen from them by some of the rest of his (and their) neighbors; or in the discovery of criminals, such as murderers and assassins, in order that they may be punished, to satisfy the majesty of the law, made by the society which made the criminals. in this sense he is a public benefactor, and better entitled to the honors he wins in society than is, perhaps, any other useful citizen of the governing classes. whatever is bad in the detective's career, society has created for him to perform, and compelled him to do it. however unpleasant to himself his business may be, he has the happiness of knowing that in its results it is good,--that is, if it be good to preserve the present order of things; for without the detective the laws, such as they are, could not well be enforced; for so cunning have the crafts of business made our unfortunate criminal classes, that the ordinary officers of the law cannot surprise or entrap them; and, allowed to pursue their business uninterrupted, the pickpockets, counterfeiters, forgers, bank-robbers, and so forth, would soon monopolize the business of the country to the disparagement of the money brokers, grain and cotton exchangers, the land speculators, the usurers, the railroad robbers, the wholesale and retail merchants, the private bankers, etc., who, with less keen talent than the independent pickpocket proper, are obliged to have laws framed to help them in their iniquity, while he operates against the law. to preserve the weaker of the cormorant classes in their "lawful" pursuits, therefore, the detective is absolutely a necessity in society, and as such should be as much esteemed as any other necessity. obvious is it, then, that the writer of the work alluded to--"purveyors of hell"--is an impractical enthusiast in the cause of abstract right and truth. it would seem that he, poor man, believes in some system of abstract and speculative morality as a governing and directing force in society, without any regard to the customs of trade, etc., which obtain in a civilization, the main end of which is to enable its chief individual participants to "make money" by various means of enticing it out of their neighbors' pockets and filching it from the hands of labor. this sort of abstract morality, spiritual morality, which is talked from every pulpit in the land to audiences composed, for the main part, of people who, however strict attention they may pay to the talkers, punctuate the sentences of their discourses for them with scheming thoughts of what they are going to do in a business-way the next day--has failed of its desired results often enough, one would think, to confound the talkers. the wonder to me is that the intelligent classes do not, more than they do, look things squarely in the face, and see for themselves how utterly hopeless it is to ever do without the detective in society, so long as our legislators make ten laws for the protection of property to one for man; so long as the "sacredness of property" is a phrase which sanctifies the protection of all ill-gotten gains, if they but be gotten in some regular, or not too irregular, way, even more surely than it covers or protects the products of actual hard labor,--the very things of all that need protection, and the protecting of which, in the hands of those to whom they rightly belong, the laborers, would secure all other rights in society; for surely the defrauding of labor is the radical iniquity of the age (as it has been that of all the historic ages, so far as i can learn), out of which spring all the rest of the corruptions of society. but the talkers do not care to meddle with reforms which have a wise, radical end in view. they hate things which are radical. they dislike to disturb the "foundations of society." they are wiser than their master, and have so veiled his philosophy and teachings of a politico-economical kind, that he would not, were he to reappear on earth, here in new york, be able to tell the difference, in point of principle, between a wall street broker, owning the chief pew in one of the talkers' temples, and being a principal pillar thereof, from one of those wily rascals whom he saw fit to whip out of the sacred places some eighteen hundred and thirty odd years ago. in those days the detective was as necessary as now; and it was by his aid, probably, that the society of jerusalem was enabled to cohere. but the money-makers became so sharp and subtle, and got so well established in the practice of their iniquities in the very porch of the temple, that it became necessary for the great detective and reformer to come out of nazareth, and search into their "ways which were dark," and expose them. in fact it would seem that the detective system has the approval of very high authority,--so wise as not to be mistaken as to its fitness to "things as they are," and are ever likely to be till some method is invented to do away with criminals, by making crime unattractive, and labor, honest toil, for what a man has a right to have, and no more, respectable and attractive. i have hinted that the detective's vocation has much to do with "ways that are dark." so it has; and it might be inferred, perhaps, from what i have said, that his vocation has a bad influence upon his own interior nature. it is certain that it has no great tendency to elevate and refine him; but it would seem that the pursuit of devious ways for a good end has not the corrupting influence which the practice of falsehood for the mere aggrandizement of a man's individual, selfish interests, exercises. detectives are, for the most part, excellent citizens--very punctilious in observing the laws, themselves, as well as being social regulators to enforce others to respect them, also. still, whatever the intrinsic moral life or character of the detective may be, his art is a devilish one, and civilization is responsible for it. the use of the detective to society is not fully understood by the majority of the people, especially in country places; and visitors to a city like new york, or philadelphia, little consider how much of their peace and security, when there, depend upon the quiet, silent, effective operations of the master detectives. the citizen or stranger, on visiting a great mercantile establishment like stewart's up-town store, usually but little understands what a system of detection is carried on there, not only for the protection of mr. stewart's goods, but the purses of his customers, from the attractive powers of the graceful pickpocket's fingers. but the amount of money which stewart pays out annually for this sort of protection must be something large. in this way is dispensed to others a portion of the money which he, as a merchant, manages to win for himself from the labor-resources of the country by the jugglery of trade. there seems to be a sort of poetic justice in this. if mr. stewart, and the other enormous accumulators of wealth, were not obliged to employ others to help them protect it, there probably would be left to the poor but little else than the liberty to die, and be buried in paupers' graves, at a more early date after birth than is now their wont to reach those hospitable quarters. but everywhere throughout a great city, in the horse-cars, in wall street, in all the great stores, at the churches on sundays, in the lager-beer gardens, on the steamboats at the wharves, on the ferry-boats, throughout the large manufactories, around various dens of iniquity, at the theatres, etc., the detective is at his work. to-day he perhaps personates one character; to-morrow, another. to-day he is a trader from the west, making purchases among sundry dealers in tobacco, perhaps; and as he glides around their establishments, prizing this or that stock which he is to purchase, 'unless he can do better elsewhere,' he is carefully noting everything; for he is for the time in the employ of the general government, and it is suspected that the tobacconists are defrauding the treasury of the taxes, and he is in pursuit of evidence to convict them. yesterday he hailed from new hampshire, perhaps, and in the character of a countryman, was getting an insight into arts by which a sharper was fleecing, not only country people, but some of the residents of the city, too, by inveigling them into subscribing for stock in a fabulous gold, or silver, or lead mine, or some great colonizing project, and inducing them to advance ten or twenty per cent. on the nominal par value of the stock as a part of the working capital. the detective, in the character of the countryman, presenting himself in fancy as my pen traced the lines next above, memory reverts to a notable instance, which i conceive is well worth recording here, wherein a detective friend of mine, in his _rôle_ of a sort of brother jonathan, from new hampshire, caught a bogus gold-mine speculator of new york in a very clever way, and accomplished the restitution of several thousand dollars (which had been advanced as per centage on the stock subscribed for by several different persons). the speculator, who was a man of considerable moneyed means, and therefore "responsible," and thought to be, of course, "reliable," on account of his being a man of property, had, in a very ingenious manner, organized a company to work a supposed gold mine in virginia. he was president of the "company," and his cousin was secretary. a northern geologist (a professor in a college not over a hundred and fifty miles in a bee line from new york city), was taken by this cousin on to virginia to examine the mine, and make a report, which was duly done, the professor making a very attractive report. he found considerably more gold to the ton of quartz than is considered among miners "a fair, average yield." the mine was indeed a very valuable one in his opinion, and would have been so in fact, if his conclusions had been drawn from honest premises; but the poor professor had no suspicion that the gold he found in his assay of the quartz, which he actually saw taken from the mine in question, got into his crucible in a mysterious way, and never belonged to the quartz which he had taken so much pains to pulverize. the president had so deftly drawn up the printed constitution, or articles of incorporation, and by-laws of the company, that he could easily and legally resign his position, and withdraw when he pleased from the association, and carry off all the funds advanced, without fear of legal trouble from his victims. but after a large amount of the stock had been subscribed, and the advanced assessments of twenty per cent. called in (when somewhat over half the nominal stock had been subscribed), one of the victims got his eyes open, and wanted his money back. he saw that it was of no use to complain to the president (i will call the latter sharp, and my friend the detective, flat, for short), so he made his case known to a lawyer, who directed him to engage flat, who, he thought, and thought rightly, would "work up the job safely." flat managed to get himself into sharp's acquaintance outside of business hours, as a curious fellow,--a nondescript old bachelor,--from alton, new hampshire, owning several farms, and with more money than he knew what to do with. of course sharp needed _him_, and used his best arts to get him to take stock. flat agreed to call and look into the "darned thing," and if he liked it he'd "go in." he called. sharp showed him the books. flat found the amount of stock subscribed just as sharp told him, and of course was pleased at first, and was about to subscribe, himself--when a "notion struck him." "see here," said he, "these names is all correct, i guess. i don't know the writin'; but how do i know they ar' all genooine?" sharp, in his way, "satisfied" flat on that head. "but," said flat, "has all these fellurs paid up their 'cessments?" sharp assured him they had. "wa'al, how do i know? i don't see no proof on't here," said flat, pointing to the subscription stock-book. sharp explained; but flat was thick-headed, and would not understand or believe anything till sharp should have entered against each man's name the amount of the assessment he had paid, and 'then he would take his pick of 'em, he said, and go and ax 'em right to thar heads,' and ef he found all right, he'd subscribe, and 'go in his full length.' sharp saw nothing not flat and silly in this, and he agreed to it of course, for well he knew that all the stockholders would be glad to get more money into the treasury to develop the mine with. they would, of course, all tell flat that they had paid up, and so confirm sharp's word. flat quietly visited two or three of the heaviest stock holders, and informed them how they were cheated, and they became as anxious as his employer to have the scamp caught; and after two days, flat called again upon sharp, taking a couple of modest friends along with him, of whom he could manage to make witnesses in an emergency. sharp was all ready, greeted him cordially, pointed out to him carefully, and with much apparent pride, the names of the stockholders who had paid up their assessments, and explained to him that certain checks he had put against their names meant that they had paid, and showed how much each had paid. flat was a little thick-headed, but saw "straight" at last. "i declare," said flat, "that are's famous," taking hold of the book; "neow do tell me what your expenses is in runnin' this here company? what d'they charge you for this here nice book, to begin with?" (the book was gotten up with considerable care as to appearances.) sharp thought it a stupid question, but humored flat, and told him that it was worth twenty-five dollars; but that he had an eye to economy for the company, and "jewed" down the price to eighteen dollars. "wa'al," said flat, "that's cheaper an' i can git one anywheres else; guess i'll take it; talk of gittin' up a company myself;" and he appropriated the book, to sharp's amazement. [illustration: catching a flat.] he had all he wanted; evidence enough as to who had been swindled, and how much, etc. the matter was all brought down to a point, and sharp was arrested by one of flat's friends, while flat bore away the book to a safe place. suffice it, that sharp was so securely caught that he did not go home to his pleasant residence in new jersey that day so early as usual, or not until every dollar he had swindled from his victims was secured, and in the way of getting back to their hands. this was "catching a flat" with a vengeance for mr. sharp. but this is only an illustrative case of the best and most honorable class of the detective's work, and one of the comparatively "genteel" cases too. his field of labor is usually more thorny, and his work at times not only very perplexing, on account of the subtle characters he has to deal with, but very laborious in view of the much travelling, nights and days, which many jobs occasion. the tracking out of bank robbers, searching for the hiding-places of their stolen treasures, and various like things, will suggest the great amount of real, hard, physical labor the detective sometimes has to perform. only he can do it. he cannot delegate his powers to any great extent. if he employs others, it is only as aids, not as substitutes. he is expected to know everything in the ways of business regular and business irregular. if he would succeed as a detective of bank robbers, especially, he must not only know all the rogues of that class, but he must understand what class of "workmen" they are; for these industrious, hard-working bank-robbers all have different ways of doing their work; possess different degrees of skill; and when the robbery of a bank is reported to a detective, his first inquiry is directed to the manner in which the "work" was done. some workmen of this class have very little skill of a mechanical kind. they do their work bunglingly, and never attempt very difficult jobs. others are very skillful; are ready to undertake anything. the most skillful bank-robbers, of twenty or twenty-five years ago, would only be bunglers now. the thousand new devices for safe-locks, security of vaults, and so forth, would entirely confound them. but as genius makes progress in the arts of security, the bank-robbers keep pace. their profession increases in dignity among themselves in proportion to the new and great difficulties which they surmount. they are of different classes, of different degrees of merit in their vocation, and the detective must know at once by their "chips" to what class belonged the scamps who robbed this or that bank; for if he did not know he would be liable to get on the wrong track, and so the scamps would gain all the time they need for putting themselves in perfect security. and the detective must know the character and relative "standing" of the members of other divisions of the "cross" classes, as they are designated in the technical phrase of the profession. so the detective's calling is one which demands not only much cunning, but much general and accurate knowledge of human character, and not a little acquaintance with all sorts of business. he may be illiterate, as many an excellent detective is, for he has perhaps climbed up from unfortunate and poor early surroundings by force of his natural abilities, and not by any adventitious aid of the schools. if he cannot solve problems of the higher mathematics, he can unravel mysteries which would confound a newton or a laplace; and to keep pace with the "enlightened progress" of bank-robbers, counterfeiters, and so forth, the detective must not only be alert, but clear-headed. he must be honest, too, punctiliously so in a business sense; for he must keep within certain limits, observe certain rules of honor in his dealings with thieves and outlaws, otherwise he would often find himself lacking in one case evidence which he wants in another; or having one scoundrel in his power, could never use him as state's evidence to criminate another, his confederate, and a more dangerous person than he; for there is certainly "honor among thieves," as among other business men. there must be a certain degree of it, else business itself would die out or go into anarchy. honor enough to preserve the integrity of his business every thief has. the detective could not afford to have less than the thief. he is a sort of prince, in the thieves' opinion. he is the only man for whom they have any real respect. with the detective the thief usually "keeps faith," if he plights him his "word and honor as a gentleman!" (strange words to fell from a thief's mouth, but after all a most appropriate source; for a true man has no need to indorse his yea or nay with an oath of honor.) the detective is a power among the thieves; his are the laws they obey. they fear only him. he is a necessity, then, for protecting society against the frauds, [s]peculations, and robberies of these irregular business men. he governs the cities, and protects them, so far as controlling the rapacity of the irregular robbers is concerned. but few people resident of a city like new york, and but few strangers coming to the city, consider or ever know how continually they are under the protection of the invisible detective; invisible to them, but "seen and known of all men" in the irregular vocations of business. the detective is ever about in public places, exercising his calling for the protection of the thousands who know him not. for example, strangers from the country visiting new york generally attend the theatres, more or less, especially if they are very puritanic at home, and some such play as the black crook is ruling at niblo's, for instance. of course the country gentlemen, whether deacons, or what not, in their respective rural districts, must see the "sensations." what else do they come to new york for, to be sure? on business? yes, the detective who knows them all, and can tell at sight from what parts of the country they individually come, knows that they visit new york "on business;" for he sees them at the theatres, and often gets sight of them going into places where very wise people do not go, but where wisdom of a certain sort is to be obtained nevertheless; and so he knows that they come to the city only on business. but he keeps an eye out for them constantly. they go to niblo's, perchance, to see some spectacular play, like the "white fawn," or the "black crook," to which we have referred before. they go in great crowds. they have their "sunday clothes" on, watch chains in sight, pocket-books insecurely guarded, etc., and they sit out the hours and listen to the play, and are delighted, and go quietly out, away to their hotels, or among their friends, unconscious all the while that at the theatre they owed their security from pickpockets, and that class of skilled gentlemen, to a single, quiet man, whom they may not have deigned to cast a look upon as they passed through the vestibule into the body of the theatre; but he was there, having a care for them all. he is one of the chief men of his vocation in the land or the world. the thieves and pickpockets all know him, and respect him. standing near by the gateway in the railing which crosses the vestibule, is this gentleman to be seen. he is of rather more than medium height--a muscular, but not large man, has a face of regular cast of features, and a very fine intellectual brow. he is rather more than a good-looking man; a handsome man, indeed; and a gentleman of courteous manners. he is always well dressed, but never over-dressed; he exercises excellent taste in this respect. he is the only man in new york, perhaps, who could perfectly fill the place he occupies in that vestibule now as the guardian of the thousands who pass through that little gate. he seems not to be observing anything in particular; but you may hear him as you pass through the gate, perhaps, speak to some one in the crowd moving on with you; and turning about, you observe that a fine-looking gentleman has stepped aside to speak with the accomplished public guardian, wm. george elder (for that is his name), and the gentleman whom he has quietly called to him is an accomplished pickpocket. the detective is informing him that he must not go in now; some other night, perhaps, he may. that pickpocket has, perhaps, been long away from the city, for years, at boston, or new orleans, and thought the detective had forgotten him. but the detective has an excellent memory, and he never forgets his "friends," he says; and this pickpocket he had, years ago, enrolled among the best of his friends, because he had taken his advice, and left the city, with the promise never to return; and the detective gently reminds him of his promise and his "honor;" and the pickpocket, all smiles, and graciousness,--for he is a very gentleman in his line of business,--bows himself off. one after another the detective arrests the pickpockets quietly, and sends them away. none of them whom he has ever seen escapes him, however much disguised. but there may be some new ones, some lately arrived from london (the fruitful mother and skillful educator of this enterprising class of our fellow-men), or from somewhere else, whom the detective has never seen, and who have passed in. but pickpockets have a brotherhood of their own, and the stranger pickpockets find their way to the resident ones at once; so to keep watch on a strange one who may possibly have entered, the detective, perhaps, allows one or two of the resident gentlemen to go in, and makes them responsible for whatever watches or pocket-books may be lost there on the given night. the pickpockets so admitted plight him their word that they will not "work" there that night, and they keep it; and if some other pickpocket, still a stranger to the detective, carries on his business there, the resident pickpockets are sorely grieved, for they feel that their honor has been trifled with and imperilled, and they are sure to hunt out the stranger gentlemen, and make him disgorge, on the principle of the honor and respect which one member of their fraternity is bound to show to another. a higher law rules among these people than among the regular or legalized pickpockets in the business world generally. thus, by wise stratagem, the detective causes one villain to keep another "honest," or inoffensive at least. this particular officer is not always at that given post on play nights; but he may be often seen there, and he is a splendid specimen of the _genus_ detective. it would be difficult to find in any business vocation a more thoroughly effective and true man than he; but he honors the calling, and not the calling him. without him and his fellow-detectives the civilization of new york could not be maintained, and throughout the country a sort of anarchy would bear sway. vigilance committees would be needed in all our cities, and be made up of inexperienced citizens, who, not knowing what to do, would make confusion more confounded, and run riot themselves at last. but the skilled "vigilance committee," the educated detectives, keep things in order. on the whole, i am of the opinion that the detective system, with all its crafts and hypocrisies, its "higher law," or law of "expediences," which is constantly breaking in upon common law and the statute law of the states against the compounding of felonies, etc., etc., is, notwithstanding all that may be said against it, one of the very best institutions or features of our corrupt civilization, whether we regard the physical powers or the spiritual powers that be in its midst. it is, at least, the silent, secret, and effective avenger of the outraged majesty of the law when everything else fails, and must fail, to bring certain irregular members of society into order. and if there is any merit in sustaining our corrupt, abominable civilization as it is, then the detective's value cannot well be overrated. but there are social philosophers who hold that it is a sin to perpetuate things as they are, and who teach that society can never be reformed, and justice rule, protecting the rights of labor against the rapacity of greedy tyrants, etc., etc., until it shall have first become disintegrated in all its present parts, and be reconstructed; that out of the rotten particulars of which the general whole is now composed nothing worthy can be wrought; and that disintegration cannot come too soon, even if through all possible calamities. in the view of these men the detective system is but a power exercised in an unholy cause; a necessary part of an unnecessary system of wrong. between the philosophers and the general public i leave the detective system, unwilling to assume to decide for others whether, on the whole, it _fell_ from "heaven" or sprang from "hell." but while i would not undertake to determine for others the metaphysical (?) question above raised, i feel it proper to add for myself, that although most of my relations with the police during my whole period of office were pleasant enough, so far as my brother officers were concerned (some of whom, indeed, i hold in cordial esteem); yet the duties of my position were frequently obnoxious to my taste and--perhaps i will be pardoned for so expressing myself--to my better nature. my adoption of and continuance in the profession were not acts of choice, or volition, in the sense of what sundry more or less clear-headed theologians call "free agency"; but, rather, the practical expressions or verifications of "foreordination" perhaps, or in other words, the results of the "force of circumstances," in conflict with which i was powerless; and i felt relieved of a great burden when fate permitted me, at last, to forego my honors as a detective policeman. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ transcriber's note page numbers are documented as links within the source code of the html. illustrations have been moved near the relevant section of the text. "=" is used to mark bolded text and "^" is used to indicate that the letter following it is a superscript. [oe] and [oe] are used to represent the "oe" dipthong. inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - "th m" changed to "them" on page iii - " " changed to " " on page v - quote removed after "graham," - dot replaced with "--" on page xiv - "removes to london" heading added to page - "officer" changed to "officer" on page - "succint" changed to "succinct" on page - "pressent" changed to "present" on page - "filty" changed to "filthy" on page - quote removed before "in" on page - quote removed after "mood." on page - quote added after "street." on page - single quote moved from after "eyes." to after "noir" on page - "severly" changed to "severely" on page - quote added before "don't" on page - quote added before "but" on page - quote added after "prize." on page - period added after "g" on page - "busicess" changed to "business" on page - period added after "such" on page - period added after "newberry" in illustration caption near page - quotes placed around " " and " " on page - "circuituous" changed to "circuitous" on page - quote added before "i" on page - comma removed after "we'll" on page - quote added before "i" on page - "seige" changed to "siege" on page - "secretely" changed to "secretly" on page - quote added before "and" on page - quote added before "and" on page - quote removed after "to." on page - quote added before "he" on page - period changed to a comma after "hartford" on page - quote removed after "ellsworth." on page - quote added after "lost." on page - "not not" changed to "not" on page - quote removed before "and" on page - "ablility" changed to "ability" on page - quote added before "take" on page - comma removed after "few" on page - "acqaintance" changed to "acquaintance" on page - quote removed after "coachman" on page - "rag man's" changed to "rag-man's" on page - quote added after "here." on page - quote removed after "ah," on page - quote added before "but" on page - quote removed after "he," on page - "desposit" changed to "deposit" on page - "circumtances" changed to "circumstances" on page - "son-in law" changed to "son-in-law" on page - "stealthly-looking" changed to "stealthy-looking" on page - quote added before "do" on page - "thorougly" changed to "thoroughly" on page - "ruputations" changed to "reputations" on page - "unfreqnently" changed to "unfrequently" on page - "busines-way" changed to "business-way" on page - comma changed to a period after "detectives" on page - "dectective" changed to "detective" on page practical instruction for detectives _a complete course in secret service study_ by emmerson w. manning manning national detective institute chicago frederick j. drake & co. publishers copyright frederick j. drake & co. copyright by emmerson w. manning printed in the united states of america preface having been connected for many years with two of the largest and most successful private detective agencies in this country, both as an operator and as an official, and having been requested to outline briefly and concisely the most modern and up-to-date methods employed by leading detectives and private detective agencies of today, i shall confine myself in these pages to facts and a few personal experiences. i will endeavor to show that any person possessed of average intelligence, and who will use good common sense, can become a successful detective, regardless of his present or previous occupation. this country today stands in need of more and better detectives than ever before in its history, and if one be inclined to doubt this statement he need only pick up the morning newspaper of any city of any size and be convinced that this is true. hundreds of crimes of all descriptions are committed daily and statistics show that more than fifty per cent of persons committing crimes go unmolested and unpunished. besides, there are the thousands of employees on our various transportation systems, in banks, stores, and in mercantile establishments, who are daily committing thefts of various kinds from their employers and whose nefarious operations are rarely uncovered, when one considers the actual number of thefts committed. one may wonder why such conditions exist, or why so many criminals can operate without detection. it is because of the lack of sufficient trained detectives to hunt down the criminals and to ferret out the crimes. it has been said that every criminal, no matter how careful he may be in his operations and regardless of the nature of his crime, will leave some trail or clue by which he may be detected. all good detectives will vouch for the truth of this statement. for the real detective no case is too complicated nor too difficult. more trained detectives are needed, and until we have them, undetected crimes and unpunished criminals will continue on the increase. every large city, every corporation, transportation company, mercantile establishment and manufacturing concern is constantly in need of detective service. there are thousands of concerns, also individuals, who are ever on the alert for the opportunity to employ good detectives. to the young man who may wish to connect himself with some reliable detective agency it will be well to keep in mind the following: that when making application for such position he very likely will encounter such inquiries as: "what can you do?" or "what do you know about detective work?" in order to secure a position in any line it is essential that one have not only a talking knowledge, but also a working knowledge of the line. careful study of what i shall set forth should enable any ambitious young man not only to secure a position as a private detective, but to "make good" as well; and if he so desires, to start and successfully conduct a private detective agency of his own. detective agencies with regard to starting a private detective agency, laws pertaining to the granting of licenses to individuals and companies to engage in such business vary in almost all of our states. in order to engage in the business, in some states it is necessary to secure and pay a business license, the rate per year being approximately the same as is paid by any other business concern. in some states licenses to engage in private detective work and to conduct private detective agencies are granted only by the courts of the county in which it is proposed to establish the main office or headquarters of the agency. ability and fitness to hold such licenses must be established before the court granting them. this usually is accomplished by the applicant having several persons of responsibility vouch for his good character, fitness and ability. in some states bond must also be furnished to the state as a guaranty against misuse of the privilege that such license affords. where such licenses must be secured i would advise that a reliable attorney be consulted. it must not be construed that every private detective must have a license issued in his name or secured by him in order to operate in the state wherein licenses are required. in such states an agency must necessarily have a license, but as a rule agencies employ as many operators as they may require. operators work under the licenses of the agencies that employ them. in starting a detective agency it is by no means necessary to engage a suite of elaborate offices. i have known many successful agencies to have been conducted from one or two modest office rooms, for which only nominal rentals were paid. when starting an agency one of the first things to be done is to announce to business concerns, private persons, and the public in general the fact that the agency is open for business, at the same time advising of its location and how it may be communicated with by telephone and telegraph. letters of announcement should be mailed direct to prospective clients whom it may be desired to reach. contents chapter page i shadowing ii burglaries iii identification of criminals iv forgeries v confessions vi murder cases vii grafters viii detective work in department stores ix railroad detective work x detective work for street railways xi other kinds of detective work illegal liquor selling--anonymous letters--"roping"--detective work in warehouses--express companies--conspiracies--testing retail business establishments--divorce cases--arson - practical instruction for detectives chapter i shadowing shadowing, or more correctly speaking, keeping under surveillance some person, building or premises, is one of the most important branches of detective work. i know of many private and other cases wherein shadow work proved to be the only means of securing results. in my experience in handling and placing shadows, and in directing cases which necessitated shadow work, i have found that if one is to have any degree of success at shadowing, he should in the first place be a person not above medium height, of medium build, and preferably smooth shaven. while at work the shadow should give out no intimation of being interested in what may be going on around him, although he should be at the same time alert and watchful and alive to everything that may transpire near him. the shadow should wear no conspicuous clothing, shoes or jewelry. patience is the most important requisite to insure success in this branch of the work. while at work the shadow must never for an instant allow his attention to be detracted from the person or place he may be watching. to my own discredit, i will relate how i once shadowed a woman for five weeks, hoping to be on hand when she would meet a certain person. i was purposely occupying at the time a room in a house across the street from where the woman lived, and from which point of vantage i was enabled to observe, unknown to her, when she left or entered the house. on the opportune night, when i should have been watchful and wide awake, i found, no doubt because of my long vigilance, that i had slept for ten or twelve minutes. later i learned that the woman left her apartments during the few minutes that i had slept, and, with no intention on her part, gave me the slip. in these days of fast trains, street cars, high powered automobiles and taxicabs, which offer swift means of travel, the detective when shadowing should be prepared at all times to cope with such conditions. he should ever keep in mind the fact that his subject, whether he or she be a criminal or not, is liable to travel in accordance with what his or her means will permit. on another page i will take up the matter of shadowing criminals, but will state here that the detective, unless he has had experience, should not undertake to shadow a person who may have reason to suspect being shadowed. it has been my experience that boys can accomplish the most when such persons are to be shadowed. i have in mind a case where it was desired to have shadowed on a certain day, a woman who lived in an exclusive residential section of a large city. no man could have remained in the neighborhood in view of this woman's home longer than half an hour until he would have attracted the attention of every person in the block. for this particular case two young boys were selected to do the shadowing. they proceeded to a point near the woman's home, and apparently paying no attention to anyone, engaged in a game of marbles. when leaving her home the woman passed within a few feet of the boys and of course did not suspect their purpose. three blocks distant the boys boarded the same car with her, and were thus enabled throughout the day to observe the woman's every movement, and without having attracted her attention at any time. we will suppose that it is desired to keep under surveillance an employee of a bank, office or store. it is advisable in such cases that the person to be shadowed shall at no time see the detective if it can be so arranged. in my experience i have found that under most conditions the following plan will be most feasible for taking up surveillance of such persons. the plan applies also to any other occupants of such places. a detective other than the one who is to do the shadowing should visit the place where the person to be shadowed is located. when making such a call the detective may use the pretext of having called to solicit insurance, or he may use any other pretext that will be suitable and which will not arouse suspicion. while making such a call the detective must make the best of his opportunity to scrutinize the subject closely, and should make mental note of any peculiarities of the subject. the color of the subject's hair should be noted; the shape of his ears, nose, etc. the detective should look for the hat rack, and according to the season of the year should endeavor to note the kind of hat, overcoat or coat the subject will wear when he or she leaves the building. immediately after coming away from making his call upon the subject, the detective should convey to the one who will do the shadowing, a complete detailed description of the subject. detectives should immediately write down such descriptions and should never trust them to memory. the reason for this will become apparent when the detective undertakes to pick out of five or six hundred, or possibly a thousand employees, some certain employee when he or she leaves a large factory or office building. the detective who has seen and talked to the subject should remain near the logical exit from the building and when the subject comes out should designate him or her to the detective who will do the shadowing. subject will then be shadowed by a person whom he or she has never seen, and whose purpose will probably not be suspected if noticed. should the streets be crowded, the shadow, under ordinary circumstances, may keep quite close to the subject, but must at all times be governed by the number of pedestrians on the streets at the time as to how close to remain to the subject. the subject must not be lost sight of for an instant, as invariably, in private cases, clients expect to be advised of every movement of the person being shadowed. therefore, should the subject stop in the street to talk to anyone, careful note should be made by the detective of such persons, so as to be able, at the end of the day's work, to render a detailed description of every person with whom the subject may have talked or associated. care must be exercised by the detective when subjects board street cars. the detective should always endeavor to secure a seat in back of, and on the same side of the car that the subject sits. for the detective to sit anywhere in front of, or opposite the subject in a street car or railway coach would give the subject an opportunity to study his face and features, and which must be avoided. i know of a great many cases, however, when detectives boldly sat beside their subjects in street cars and by so doing were enabled to read letters and papers in the hands of the subjects, and even to engage them in conversation. when shadowing is being done in large cities, detectives must pay close attention and use the best judgment when subjects enter large office buildings or department stores. as to office buildings it is usually desired to know at what office a subject may call, and in order to ascertain this to a certainty it is necessary that the detective enter the same elevator with subject and leave it at the same floor that subject does. while the subject proceeds to the office he or she intends to visit, the detective may pretend to have gotten off at the wrong floor, or may busy himself scanning the names on the various office doors. in cases of emergency it may become necessary to make a "fake" call at some office in order not to attract the attention of the subject. after having made note of the office that the subject has entered, the detective may take up a position on the street or the main floor of the building and await the reappearance of the subject. should there be more exits from the building than the detective can properly cover he should endeavor to obtain assistance. when subjects enter large department stores, which may have from one to four entrances, it is of course essential that the detective keep in close proximity to the subject at all times, whether a man or a woman. if the subject stops to make a purchase, or to make inquiry at some counter, the detective should do likewise at some nearby counter so as not to attract the attention of floor walkers or sales clerks. often it becomes necessary for the detective to make purchases, but it is better to do this than risk losing the subject. i know of countless cases wherein it was desired to have women shadowed in order to learn of their actions during an evening, but because of their having visited department stores in the afternoon detectives lost them and were not on hand to observe their movements in the evening. occasions often arise when subjects visit theaters while under surveillance. very often it is desired to know with whom subjects visit such places. when a subject purchases his or her ticket the detective should make it a point to be next in line at the box office so as to see or overhear the kind of ticket bought. if successful in learning this, the detective can ask for a ticket in the same section, but one or two rows behind the subject, or in any other location that will serve his purpose. should the subject have previously secured his or her ticket and if it is necessary for the detective to ascertain if the subject is alone while in the theater, he may have to purchase several tickets until he locates the seat occupied by the subject. if a man or woman enters a theater alone, it must not be taken for granted that he or she is enjoying the performance alone. i have known many prominent men and women to meet clandestinely in theaters, although they did not enter or leave the theaters together. this is usually brought about by the man purchasing two tickets one or two days ahead and sending one by mail or otherwise to the woman; then, on the appointed night, they can occupy adjoining seats without entering or leaving the theater together. when subjects visit railway ticket offices the detective can easily arrange to be near enough to overhear the point of destination, and then if desired can purchase transportation to the same point. in cases where subjects board trains without stopping to purchase tickets, the detective, if he cannot learn the subject's point of destination from the gate man or through any other source, should be governed by the kind of train the subject boards. if the train be a local one it would be advisable to purchase a ticket to the end of the run and leave it at the station where the subject leaves it. if it be a through train and the destination of the subject is unknown, a ticket should be purchased or fare paid to the end of the first division; then, if necessary, to the end of the next division, and so on. if it be desired to have a person kept under surveillance for any length of time, it is advisable that the detective secure lodging near the home of the subject. from there it will be possible to observe the subject going to and leaving his or her home. if practicable it is always best for the detective to remain off the streets and away from public view. in the apprehension of criminals of all classes, records of private detective agencies and police departments in this and other countries show that in most cases more or less shadowing was resorted to in order to effect the arrest of the criminals, and also to establish their guilt. i know of a good many cases wherein careful and diligent shadowing was the only means by which "yeggs," "hold-up" men, pickpockets, store thieves and others were "caught in the act" or "caught with the goods on them," which in most cases is essential in order to insure convictions. some of the leading private detective agencies and most police departments in cities of any size, maintain and keep up, to a wonderful degree of perfection, photograph galleries which are commonly known as "rogues galleries," and in which are kept photographs of all known criminals, provided an opportunity has been had to photograph them or to secure pictures of them. along with these photographs detailed descriptions of the criminals are kept, also what are known as criminal histories which show the date and place of any previous arrest, the nature of crime committed, method of operating, term of sentence, etc. after a criminal has once been photographed his picture usually is well circulated and retained indefinitely, regardless of whether he remains in or out of prison. we will take for instance a pickpocket, who in detective vernacular is known as a "dip"; or a safe blower, who in the same vernacular is known as a "yegg." if he has been arrested or convicted at any time for one of these crimes his photograph very likely appears shortly afterwards in the rogues galleries throughout the country, it is reproduced on reward circulars and mailed broadcast over the country, or is shown in police and detective magazines published for the purpose. if, after serving a prison term, the criminal ventures to some large city, the chances are that he will not be there many days until he is "spotted" by some city or private detective, unless he is cautious and keeps under cover. as a rule, when detectives see and recognize him, yet know of no crime that he may have recently committed, or of no charge that can be brought against him, they shadow him to ascertain where he "hangs out"; then endeavor to have him kept under constant surveillance. i might state here that in my opinion there are very few detectives or police chiefs used to dealing with criminals, who believe a criminal can or will reform. but regardless of this, it has been found by detectives long ago to be a good plan to keep track of the time of release of criminals from prison, and then to watch them closely until they may commit another crime. i know of a good many cases where by this method detectives were enabled to catch their men in the act of committing a crime, or if they were not on hand or nearby when the crime was committed, as a result of their shadowing they knew just about where the criminal was at a given time and who would have been likely to commit such a crime; therefore they knew whom to look for. a good detective will make a study of the records of criminals and their methods of operating. it is a well known fact that every criminal has a distinctive manner of operating, and these distinctive features should be studied by detectives. detectives should also make it a point to know, as far as possible, what known criminals are in their city at any time. then if a store, warehouse, or residence is burglarized, if the picking of pockets becomes prevalent, or if a safe in a bank or office is blown, the wide awake detective can know from the nature of the crime, and the method employed, whom to confine his attentions to. if for instance a safe has been dynamited, if feasible, arrangements should immediately be made to have all known safe blowers in the city shadowed. in this way criminals have often been caught in the act of either dividing their loot, or in disposing of it. careful and systematic shadowing has also been the means of bringing to light the identity of many a thief who, until found out, enjoyed the utmost confidence of his employers. i recall the case of a young man of good family who was a trusted employee of a certain large business concern. sums of money ranging from ten to fifty dollars disappeared weekly from the firm's cash, the thefts having covered a period of about three months before the identity of the thief was established. four persons had access to the firm's cash, and all were in turn shadowed from the time they left their respective homes in the morning until they retired at night. this plan of systematic shadowing developed the fact that the young man in question was the only one of the four possible guilty ones who was not leading an exemplary life, and in addition it was found that once a week he visited and made deposits at a certain bank while away from the office during the noon hour. investigation at the bank developed that the young man was depositing each week more than the amount of his weekly salary. upon being shown detailed reports of his every movement for a period covering four weeks, and upon being questioned regarding his deposits at the bank, needless to say there was no difficulty in obtaining a confession from this young man. i was once called upon to place under surveillance for two weeks a young man who lived in an exclusive residential section of a large city. it was not feasible to have the detective obtain a room in the neighborhood or "cover" of any kind, and to have had the detective stand on the street in this particular neighborhood would no doubt have exposed his purpose in a few hours. i made arrangements for the services of a uniformed messenger boy, provided him with a few novels to read, then had him sit under a tree on a lawn not far from the subject's home. in this way when the subject would leave his home to go into the city, the messenger boy would signal to the detective who was stationed some three blocks distant at a logical car station, and where the detective's presence did not attract attention. the messenger boy's real purpose was not suspected, and this surveillance was continued successfully for a period of two weeks. when conditions are similar to those in the case just mentioned i frequently have provided the detective with a pair of field glasses which would be used from a room that the detective would rent. i have handled many cases wherein it was desired to keep under surveillance persons who visited the city each day, but who lived in the suburbs, or in thinly settled outlying sections of the city. in such cases two detectives were used, one to remain out in the suburbs to observe the car or train that the subject would board, after which this detective would telephone to the other one, stationed in the city, the number of the car or train upon which the subject would arrive in the city. in this way the subject can easily be picked up and his movements covered during the day. shadow work properly directed and properly executed never fails to bring good results. chapter ii burglaries private detectives are frequently called upon to investigate burglaries of banks, offices, stores and residences. if the burglary has been committed in the city or in the country, or in a large or small town, the detective who investigates the case should proceed to the place as soon as circumstances will permit. if the burglary presents the appearance of having been perpetrated by outside parties, a thorough investigation should be made and nothing overlooked. i know of dozens of cases of burglary in small towns in which no results were secured because of the fact that only perfunctory investigations were made, and these were not conducted along proper lines. in cases of burglary, especially where safes or vaults have been dynamited or wrecked with nitroglycerine, the detective should conduct an investigation along the following lines: notes should be taken and a record made of the name of the bank, store, firm or individual suffering the loss; the date and hour that the crime was committed; date and hour discovered; by whom discovered; and a descriptive list should be made of all articles known to have been stolen. if the theft consisted of cash, the respective amounts of gold, silver or currency should be ascertained. if possible, secure the numbers of any missing bills. if papers, checks or negotiable notes or securities have been stolen, banks or other places where they are liable to be cashed should be notified promptly. a careful investigation should be made as to how entrance was gained to the building. if a safe or vault has been blown or opened, note should be made of the name of its manufacturer, whether or not the safe or vault was old or new, whether equipped with double or single doors, whether opened by key or combination, and from whom it was purchased. note should be made as to the kind of explosive used, or if tools were used. if holes were drilled it is important to ascertain the exact size, and if possible the kind of drill used. if other tools were used the detective should endeavor to establish their nature, which usually can be done from the marks left by their use. professional burglars nowadays do not travel from place to place with tools on their persons, because suspicion might be aroused or arrest invited for carrying them. they often purchase or steal their tools locally at some hardware store or blacksmith's shop a few hours before the time set for the burglary. the detective should endeavor to establish, at least to his own satisfaction, whether the burglary is the work of a professional or an amateur; also if any known burglars or "yeggs" live in the vicinity where the crime was committed. if so, their most recent movements should be traced and checked up. if possible, names should be secured of any persons who may have been seen loitering in the vicinity. if the names of such persons cannot be learned, detailed descriptions should be secured. if the burglary has been committed in some small town, the hotel registers should be looked over and any doubtful persons investigated. finger and foot prints and measurements should not be overlooked, providing any are found at the time of the burglary. photographs should be made of finger prints and measurements made of foot prints. professional burglars, or persons representing them, disguised as umbrella menders, peddlers or beggars, often visit and look over the place it is proposed to burglarize. any such persons should be given consideration by the detective in the course of his investigation. proprietors of nearby garages and livery stables and their employees should be seen and interviewed; also ticket agents and section hands on any nearby railroads. conductors and crews of passenger and freight trains should be interviewed; also crews of street cars. if any known criminals likely to have committed such crime are believed to have been in the vicinity, their photographs should be shown to nearby residents and others. should a photograph be identified, the detective will have something upon which to work. when taking descriptions of criminals or of suspects, the following details should be embodied, if possible to secure them: nationality; age, height, and weight; color of hair, color of eyes; build; complexion, whether smooth shaven, moustache or beard; moles, marks or scars; kind of clothing worn, including hat and shoes; whether or not the person walks or stands erect or stooped; any jewelry or lodge emblems worn, and whether he has the appearance of being a business person, a clerk, a mechanic, or a laborer. in cases of thefts of jewelry, silverware, clothing, etc., from private residences the detective should first endeavor to establish to his own satisfaction whether or not the theft has been committed by an outside party, or by some member of the household. if it is believed that some member of the household is responsible, a servant for instance, such persons should be questioned closely regarding their movements, when they last saw or handled the stolen articles, if they knew of the existence or location of them, what they were doing and where they were about the time the theft must necessarily have been committed, etc. a descriptive list of the stolen articles should be made up, and if the same consists of jewelry, silverware, cut glass or clothing, pawnbrokers and proprietors of places where such articles would likely be disposed of should be seen and questioned. a descriptive list of the stolen articles should be left with the proprietors of such places and arrangements made to be notified promptly in case any of the stolen articles are offered for sale or appraisal. i recall having investigated for a bank a case which was at first believed to have been one of burglary from the outside. the bank had in its employ a well educated foreigner, who was in charge of the bank's foreign department. in order to conduct the business of this department of the bank, he was permitted the use of five hundred dollars in cash, and for which amount he was of course always responsible to the bank. the "burglary" was discovered about : a. m. on a sunday by the colored janitor when he came on duty to clean the banking rooms. the "burglary" having been committed in the foreign department, the foreign manager was among the first to be called to the bank. when he arrived he recalled that he had neglected the night before to lock into the vault a tin box in which he kept the five hundred dollars extended him by the bank. this box seemed to have been broken open during the night and was found lying on the floor empty by the janitor. i was called into the case the following day, and a few minutes after arriving at the bank the foreign manager called me aside and told me he suspected the colored janitor, and that i would do well to confine my attention to him. he, however, could give me no plausible reason for suspecting the janitor, which fact caused me to become suspicious of the foreign manager. i then began an investigation as to how the "burglar" had gained entrance to the premises, and found that a large transom over a side door had been forced in, seemingly from the outside; also a wire fly screen covering the transom space had been forced loose, which would have permitted any ordinary sized person to then have gained entrance. the transom was held rigid and in place by a heavy metal side fixture, and i still recall distinctly having wondered at the time how a person could have possibly exerted sufficient pressure or force against it from the outside to bend double the heavy metal side fixture, and to have accomplished it without attracting the attention of police or other persons. after studying the situation from all angles, i obtained a ladder and examined closely the ledge over which the "burglar" was believed to have climbed. between the transom and the outer edge of the transom frame, where the fly screen was nailed, was a space perhaps six inches in width, and which space was thickly covered with dust. i examined it closely but failed to find any finger imprints, or any other marks that would necessarily have been made by a person climbing through the transom. i became convinced that the foreign manager was guilty. he was the last person to leave the bank on the night of the robbery. it was quite plain to me then that before leaving the bank he broke open the tin box, appropriated its contents, then pulled down the transom from the inside and loosened the fly screen to make it appear that a burglar had entered from the outside. i brought my discovery to the attention of the officials of the bank, who agreed with me that no burglar had entered from the outside. i then took the foreign manager in hand and recounted to him how i believed that the entire matter had been planned and executed, that the same was all very clever with but one exception--that being that he had neglected to take into consideration the coating of dust on the ledge. i told him, in the presence of three officials of the bank, to turn over the stolen money, which he did, but he was not prosecuted and the case was given no publicity. in this, as in practically all cases, it will be seen that the criminal, no matter how carefully he plans his crime, usually leaves some clue by which he can be detected, and which clues, as a rule, can be developed by thorough investigation on the part of the detective. by permission of the current literature publishing company, we quote from the may number of "current opinion" an article dealing with the technique of crime according to inspector cornelius f. cahalane, a noted instructor of detectives, appointed to the metropolitan police force of new york: "practically every burglary is prearranged and the details planned. burglars guard against the ordinary precautions which they think a live policeman will take to prevent their crimes or to capture them. do not imagine that every burglar or thief wears a peak cap, box coat, sweater, striped trousers or bull-nosed shoes, so typical of stage burglars. they realize that to dress in such a manner would arouse immediate suspicion, and, accordingly, dress and carry themselves in a manner least likely to attract attention. they do not, as most persons fancy, carry burglary tools on their persons at all times. they know that it is not only a violation of the law, but that it is circumstantial evidence as well. hence burglars carry tools no longer than is absolutely necessary. sometimes they hide their tools near the scene of the contemplated burglary. if they have tools in their possession and think they are going to be searched, they will try to hide them or throw them away. tools are carried frequently in musical instrument cases. "there are many different types of burglars, who resort to various means in plying their calling. the burglars most dangerous to society are those known as 'dutch house men.' they are the most desperate. they always work heavily armed and to accomplish their purpose or to avoid capture will take life under the slightest provocation. they usually operate in an inhabited dwelling, and to gain entrance, secrete themselves in some part of the building or grounds until they think the occupants have retired; then, if necessary, they make their way to a roof, fire-escape or porch, and get in by prying open a skylight or jimmying a window sash. "as a rule, householders fasten windows leading to fire-escapes or porches, but are careless about the other windows. 'dutch house men' know this failing and often take advantage of it. they fasten one end of a rope (which one of them may have carried wound around his body) to a chimney on the roof and drop the other end over the ledge. one of them will lower himself to the desired window, open it and enter. they generally seek the place where it is most likely that valuables have been left before the owner retired, such as the tops of dressers or the pockets of clothing. in going from room to room, they usually place some obstruction, a table or a chair, in such a position that if the occupant should awaken and attempt to leave the room, he would trip over the object and make enough noise to warn the burglar that his presence had become known. unless they are sure that no alarm has been given, they will seldom leave by way of the street; usually they secrete themselves on the roof or in the back yard and remain until there is an opportunity to escape. "flat thieves are not as desperate as the ordinary run of burglars, but they are burglars too, and they manage to steal considerable property. as a rule they will not enter an apartment while anyone is at home. they profit by the knowledge that housekeepers generally hide their money and valuables in a nook where they think a thief will be least likely to look--under rugs, legs of tables, under mattresses and beds, in sewing machine drawers, and the like. "a flat thief requires only about five minutes in an ordinary flat, and when he is through it looks as though an earthquake had shaken the building. he starts by pushing the furniture to one end of the room. he turns the rugs over, empties the contents of bureau drawers into the middle of the floor, where they are examined, throws mattresses to the floor, cuts them open if he has not already discovered the hiding place, turns vases and bric-a-brac upside down, and, in this way, has every part of the flat searched in a short time. flat thieves are usually young men between the ages of sixteen and thirty years. "they gain entrance by ringing the vestibule bells, and, if no response is made, they assume that no one is at home, and enter the hallway and proceed to the apartment selected. if the door is locked they either use a false key or jimmy it open. or, they may watch persons leaving their apartment, and enter during their short absence. if questioned, they try to represent themselves as peddlers, agents, inspectors of telephones, gas, water or electricity, or mechanics. they usually bundle together the proceeds of a theft and carry it to the street, passing through the halls with an air of bravado, so as not to excite suspicion. they generally work in pairs; one standing in the hallway to warn his partner of the return of the tenant, and, in case the thief is pursued, to trip the person in pursuit or to divert him in some other way. they seldom leave a house together, but usually meet at a distance from the scene to dispose of the property and divide the proceeds. "many flat thieves work by hiring a room or rooms in a residential section of the city and as near the roof as possible, particularly where the roofs in the vicinity are of about the same height. they use scuttles and fire-escapes as a means of getting into buildings and convey the plunder over the roofs to their rooms. in this way they avoid the danger of being detected in the street. "more ambitious than the flat thief, but in something of the same class, is the loft burglar. loft burglars are the most feared by merchants, for when they make a haul it is usually a big one, amounting to thousands of dollars. they are necessarily the brainiest of burglars for the reason that their work requires more and better planning. plans are often made weeks in advance. "a loft is selected after a study of the location and the quantity and quality of the stock carried in it. weeks are then spent in becoming familiar with the habits of persons who might be in a position to thwart or discover them, particularly the watchmen and patrolmen on post, and the customary time of opening and closing the building, noting the person to whom this duty is entrusted. "a saturday afternoon or night is generally selected for the entry. sometimes it is necessary to gain entrance through a building three or four doors away and clamber back over the roofs. when the loft selected is reached they do not hesitate to cut through a wall to get one of their number in it; if necessary they will drill through the floor from the loft below or through the ceiling from the one above, lowering the first man down with a rope. the door of the loft is then opened from the inside if the circumstances warrant it. the loot is carefully selected from the most valuable stock. packing cases are constructed from material lying about, filled, and nailed shut. "they are now confronted with the most difficult task, that of getting the packing cases from the building. the property is seldom moved at night. they fear that the appearance of a vehicle at an unusual hour in a section of the city where lofts are located would arouse suspicion. instead, if as a result of their previous study, they know that the loft will be opened at : a. m., a vehicle will be brought to the front of the building at about : a. m., the door opened from the inside by one of the gang dressed as a porter, and in the most bold and daring manner the cases will be loaded on the wagon. one of the gang may even engage the patrolman on post in conversation, possibly within sight of their activities. the bogus porters, if the circumstances necessitate it, will go back into the building and escape by way of the roof or through an adjoining building. "safe burglars know as a rule the particular make of each safe on which they intend to operate. like loft burglars they plan far in advance and come prepared to break through any part of a building in order to get to the safe. they have been known, when working in an exposed position, to make a pasteboard safe, paint it to imitate the original, shove the genuine safe into an inner room and leave the substitute in its place. others do not resort to this subterfuge, but simply bodily shove the safe into a position where they can not be observed from the street and begin operations. they try not to use explosives. the easiest way, the combination, is tried first. if this fails, the weakest part, the bottom or back, is tried. the ordinary safe is turned upside down and the bottom or back is cut out with a tool they call a 'can opener.' if the bottom or back resists, they drill a hole near the combinations and try to disturb the tumblers sufficiently to turn the lock. as a last resort a hole is drilled and charged with explosive. to deaden the report the safe is wrapped with material found on the premises or with blankets brought along. a lookout is usually stationed on the outside to signal in the event of peril. safe burglars, like burglars who break windows or side lights, wait for the rumble of a passing vehicle to deaden the sound of an explosion. "store burglars generally gain entrance through a rear or side window. they travel in gangs of two or three, one always on guard, and steal from the till, cash register or small safes. they, too, have their work planned in advance, and know just what to do when they enter. the loot is seldom removed through the front of the building; it is carried through the rear yards or over the roofs of an adjoining building and thence to the street. "if the booty is too bulky to transport on their persons, a push cart is hired or stolen for the purpose, or a milk or baker's wagon is pressed into service, sometimes with the consent of the driver, and the goods moved early in the morning, during the hours when milkmen and bakers are making their deliveries, so as not to excite suspicion. burglars who break store windows and side lights work in pairs and are very tricky. their outfit in most instances consists of a long piece of heavy wire and a heavy piece of cloth, such as part of a bed comforter, which they carry wrapped about their bodies. "a store is selected which displays articles of some value in its windows. the habits of the man on post are learned, and at an opportune moment during his absence they will throw a padded brick or iron through the window or side light, having first placed the comforter on the stoop or walk to catch the broken glass and deaden the sound. or, they may use a glass cutter to remove a section of the window. this step accomplished, they dart into a nearby hallway and wait to see if the breaking of the glass has attracted attention. if they find it has not, operations are resumed and the contents of the show-window extracted by means of a stiff wire, the tip of which has been bent into a hook. the store selected is often covered by the crooks for hours, sometimes from an adjoining precinct or post, awaiting a suitable opportunity. "the sharpest and most successful burglars of late have been foreigners, some of whom can not speak english. their favorite method is to select a residence along some street-car route, enter it during the daytime, if possible, and remain secreted in areaways, back yards or on roofs until night, then force an entrance through a window, door or roof scuttle when the occupants have retired. after securing the plunder they open the front door and wait inside until a car passes. then they run out and board a moving car, watching meanwhile to see if they are pursued. sometimes they ride almost to the city line before getting off. they are afraid that if they pass a brightly lighted street corner they will be observed and for this reason they use the street cars. "if there were no receivers of stolen goods there would be but little burglary of these or any other kinds: a thief will not steal unless he knows that he can make some profitable disposition of his haul. it is comparatively easy to dispose of jewelry, but a thief must know positively where he can immediately dispose of bulky property that he cannot readily conceal. usually such stuff is immediately sold to unscrupulous dealers who carry goods of the same kind in stock; for instance, a quantity of stolen cloth may be sold to a dishonest dry-goods merchant. in some cases, however, a store or flat is rented in advance of a burglary or theft and the loot stored in it. the receivers are then visited in turn by the thieves, shown samples, and bids are requested. in this way they dispose of the goods more profitably. "a careful thief destroys, as soon as possible, all marks of identification, but if he has not done so, the receiver takes that precaution as soon as the stolen property comes into his possession. merchandise handled under unusual conditions should immediately suggest 'receivers' to you. for instance, if you saw a large quantity of silk being taken into a small retail store, or saw the delivery being made from a hand-truck or from a wagon not ordinarily used for such deliveries, or by persons who, from their appearance and manner of handling the merchandise, did not seem to be engaged in the business; or if you observed boxes of shoes being taken into a barber shop, or a great quantity of food being delivered to a dwelling, it should arouse your suspicion. "remember that persons engaged in a legitimate business are constantly devising ways and means of advertising themselves. they want everyone to know that they are engaged in a certain business, and located at a certain place, and invite inspection of their stock. they do not paint their windows to hide the contents of their store, or arrange the interior so that the stock will not be in plain sight, or deny prospective purchasers the privilege of examining their stock." chapter iii identification of criminals in all up-to-date police and detective bureaus the bertillon system is now being used whenever practicable for the identification of criminals. i consider it important that detectives be thoroughly familiar with the system, as it is a wonderfully accurate system of identification and quite easy for anyone to become familiar with, as i will show. the bertillon system of identification was unknown previous to the year , in which year it was adopted in france as a standard by the police department of paris, where it was introduced by alphonse bertillon, its founder. since then it has been adopted by police departments of practically all large cities in the united states, canada and europe. for the identification of criminals the bertillon system depends upon accurate measurements of various parts of the human body, having to do especially with the bones, which in adults never change. the parts measured are head, left ear, left foot, left middle finger, extended left forearm, outstretched arms, the trunk and height. in the bertillon system the metric measurement is used exclusively. in such measurement we have the meter, which equals . inches; the centimeter, which is the one-hundredth part of a meter and which equals . of an inch; and the millimeter, which is the one-thousandth part of a meter and which equals . of an inch. in order to take the measurements of a criminal in accordance with the bertillon system it is of course necessary to have and use a metric measure; one can be purchased almost anywhere in the united states for fifty cents. so as to make the matter of measurement more clear, i might state that under our own system of measurement we measure by yards, feet and inches, half inches, quarter inches, etc. under the metric system we measure by meters, centimeters and millimeters. it will readily be seen that with the metric system it is possible to measure accurately the thousandth part of an inch. we will take for instance a criminal whose height is five feet and one inch. in bertillon or metric measurement his height would be one meter and fifty-five centimeters; written thus: m. . . if a criminal's height be, for instance, five feet seven and a half inches, it would be, according to bertillon or metric measurement, one meter, centimeters, and five millimeters, written thus: m. . . a criminal whose height is five feet and / inches would be shown in bertillon in the following manner, with other measurements added: . . . . . . . . . . . . . hgt oa tr hl hw cw re lf lmf llf fa these abbreviations signify, in the order shown, that this criminal's height is one meter, sixty-seven centimeters and six millimeters; outer arms one meter, seventy-four centimeters; trunk eighty-eight centimeters and one millimeter; head length nineteen centimeters; head width, sixteen centimeters; cheek width fourteen centimeters and five millimeters; right ear six centimeters; left foot twenty-six centimeters and one millimeter; left middle finger eleven centimeters and eight millimeters; left little finger eight centimeters and nine millimeters; forearm forty-five centimeters and four millimeters. the foregoing abbreviations have been adopted for convenience upon the backs of criminal photographs and where space usually is limited. chapter iv forgeries although not generally known it is a fact that banks, business concerns, and the public in general probably suffer a greater loss through the operations of forgers and bogus check operators than through any other form of crimes perpetrated against them. there are confined today in the penal institutions of this country, thousands of persons convicted and found guilty of these offenses, and yet i would venture to state that not over forty per cent of this class of criminal is ever apprehended. there is hardly a morning anywhere but what one may pick up a newspaper and read an account of how some clever forger succeeded in victimizing a bank, hotel or merchant. with this large number of forgers at large and free to operate when, and practically wherever they please, we have additional proof that there are today by no means sufficient trained detectives to run them down. the methods most commonly practiced by forgers, both professional and amateur, are quite well known, yet i believe it will be well for me to dwell at some length on the subject. in a general way i might state that the methods of all forgers are much the same; at any rate such has been my experience with this class of criminal. their aim in most cases, before presenting for payment a check to which a signature has been forged, or an endorsement, is to ascertain if the firm or person against whom the check is to be drawn has deposits sufficient to cover the check. after satisfying himself on this point the forger proceeds to fill in the check and to affix thereto a signature or an endorsement purported to be genuine. after having selected the person whose signature or endorsement is to be forged, the forger must next be familiar with the handwriting of that person. it is comparatively an easy matter for anyone so inclined to secure an original, facsimile or tracing of the average business or professional man's signature. after providing himself thus the forger sets about writing a check that will be so near like the genuine that it will not be likely to be questioned when presented at the bank. the forger usually makes it a point to present his check at a time when the cashier or paying teller is busiest, and when the forgery will most likely pass unnoticed. in my experience i have found that employers very often are careless in leaving their private check books, and sometimes signed checks, lying around the office where a dishonest employee or other person may have easy access to same. very often cancelled checks fall into the hands of forgers who promptly take advantage of the handwritings for their ulterior purposes. there are dozens of ways by which a forger may secure them. workmen who receive their salaries from their employers in the form of checks often are tempted to make use of the signature to forge others and have them cashed. under this class of criminal we have also to contend with what are known as bogus check operators, who, when writing and passing checks, use fictitious names of banks and persons; also the worthless check operator, who, after gaining the confidence of his employer, or of some bank, writes and has cashed a check in excess of funds he may have on deposit. the detective must not confuse forged checks with bogus checks. the former is a check upon which is written what purports to be the genuine signature or endorsement of some person and which signature or endorsement was not written by, nor authorized by that person. the latter is one upon which is written the name of some bank which does not exist, or which may be drawn on a bank which does exist but at which bank the drawer of the check has no account. there are also many other forms of checks passed which come under the classification of bogus checks. thousands of hotel keepers and merchants are victimized yearly through cashing forged, bogus and worthless checks presented by oily tongued swindlers who tell plausible stories as to how they happen to be out of funds, etc. in order to be successful in handling forgery cases it is essential that the detective be a good judge of human nature and of handwriting. the more technical knowledge he may have of handwriting the better. if the detective is called upon to investigate, for instance, a case wherein a bank has been defrauded through the operations of a forger, he should endeavor first to see the forged check. a record should be made as to the kind of blank form the check was drawn on, whether or not same was drawn upon an ordinary counter check form, if the form was taken from a private printed check book, or from a pocket check book. record should be made of the date, the number, on what bank drawn on, in whose favor drawn, the amount, how signed, and how endorsed. such records should include whether or not the check or any part of it was filled in with pen and ink, with pencil, or with a typewriter. for the detective's future reference a tracing should be made of all handwritings on the check, especially of any known to have been written by the forger. by far the best plan is to have both sides of the check photographed. until such time as it may be needed as evidence in court, a forged check should never be taken away from a bank, carried in the pocket, or handled any more than may be absolutely necessary. the reasons are that in taking such a check from a bank it may become lost, and by carrying it or handling it the writings may become effaced. no chances should be taken in losing or destroying the most important evidence with which to prosecute the forger in case he is apprehended. the detective should place his initials or some other mark upon the original check so that he can positively identify it later if called upon to do so. at the bank the detective should secure as thorough a description as possible of the person for whom the check was cashed, also should make note of any statements made by the forger as to where he came from, what firm he claimed to represent, or by whom employed, etc. hotel registers should be examined closely for any registration in handwriting identical with that in the forged check. in order to establish the identity of the forger if not known, or to learn the direction in which he may have gone, the detective may proceed along the lines outlined with regard to burglary cases. i have handled hundreds of forgery cases and will say that i never found the forger a criminal difficult to apprehend. there are two good reasons why this should be so; the first is that the forger, as a rule, must present himself in person at the bank or other place to secure the money on his check, and by so doing enables the detective to secure a good description of him, how he was dressed, etc.; the second reason is that the forger when filling in his check, or by endorsing it, must necessarily leave behind one of the very best clues for the detection of any criminal, that being his handwriting. in fully ninety per cent of forgery cases i have handled i have found that the person whose signature was forged could tell, after being questioned, who was responsible for the forgery, and i will show you that the process is very simple and easy. i have in mind a good many cases each of which i cleared up in less than half an hour after arriving upon the ground. my plan was to first secure the best description obtainable of the forger, then a specimen of his handwriting, after which i would see or call upon the person whose signature was forged. to that person i would submit the description and the handwriting, and, as previously stated, ninety per cent of them were able to tell very quickly which employee, relative, friend, acquaintance, or enemy was responsible. after the detective has learned the identity of a forger but cannot locate him, he should keep in touch, under some good pretext, with the forger's parents, wife, sweetheart, sister, brother or other relative or friend. the forger will communicate with his sweetheart, friends or relatives sooner or later; it is human nature and i have never seen it fail. when the detective has succeeded in causing the arrest of a forger, or of a suspected forger, he should endeavor to secure a confession from him. i have secured many confessions from forgers by saying to them in a friendly way that the best way for them to prove that they had nothing to do with the forgery with which they were charged, was to write a specimen of the forged check. it is really surprising how many professional forgers will allow themselves to be led into this simple ruse. while the forger's mind is laboring under the strain of being under arrest, and seeing possible conviction ahead, he is eager to take advantage of what he thinks is an opportunity to prove that he did not write the forgery and will rely upon his ability to disguise his handwriting sufficiently to mislead the detective. another reason why he will comply with such a request is that he will fear his refusal to give a specimen of his handwriting will be taken as an evidence of guilt. as a matter of fact i have found no persons in my experience who could successfully disguise their handwriting with their minds under any kind of strain. the forger can therefore be easily led into hanging himself with his own rope, as it were. after securing such handwriting the detective should take out his facsimile, or photographic copy of the forged check, and if he finds the handwritings identical, he should point out the similarities to the forger. there should be no difficulty experienced in securing a full confession, and in addition the detective will have in his possession the handwriting of the forger, which, i neglected to state, should be secured in the presence of one or two reliable witnesses, so that the confession and handwritings can be substantiated in court if necessary. it goes without saying that efforts should be made by the detective to secure such handwritings and the confession as soon after the forger's arrest as possible. should the forger or suspect have an opportunity to confer with an attorney before this is done, the chances are that no handwritings or confession will be secured. great care must be exercised by the detective when it is left to him to have warrants issued for criminals of this class. it often happens that one person will forge a signature or endorsement to a check, then delegate a confederate or other person to present the check for payment. under these circumstances the presenter of such a check could hardly be convicted of forgery, but he could be convicted of passing the forged check and of obtaining money thereon. the point to be borne in mind by the detective in such cases is, that in order to convict a person of forgery, it is necessary to prove the handwriting, or produce one or more witnesses who actually saw the signature or endorsement being written. warrants should be issued accordingly; the best kind of warrant to be gotten out in such cases being one in which the offender is charged with passing the forged check and with obtaining the money. i have known quite a few clever forgers, who with the aid of good attorneys, succeeded in beating their cases simply because the warrants for their arrest were not properly gotten out, and which resulted in improper indictments being returned against them. i have known dozens of bungling detectives and officers to swear out warrants charging persons with forgery when, as a matter of fact, the forgery could not be proven, but a charge of passing a forged check and obtaining money thereon could have been made and proven. in the cases i have in mind the offenders went scott free simply because the wrong charge was brought against them, and because they were given advantage of the law itself to escape punishment. as a whole i consider the forger one of the most dangerous of criminals to be at large, but as stated, one of the easiest to apprehend when proper methods are applied. i believe i will do well to recount here what i considered, when it was first submitted to me, my most difficult forgery case, but which in the end proved quite easy to unravel and clear up. one day it was discovered by a bank in a small town in the west that during the preceding seven months it cashed for some unknown person eleven checks to which were forged the signature and endorsements of one of the bank's customers. these forgeries were discovered when the customer came into the town from his ranch to have his pass book balanced. upon being handed his cancelled checks he discovered the forgeries. in this particular case no person connected with the bank could recall in the slightest degree for whom, nor for what kind of person they cashed the checks. from the fact that the customer called at the bank so rarely they did not know him by sight. inasmuch as this customer lived far out from the city on a ranch, he could throw no light on who forged his signature to obtain the money from the bank, which, as i recall it, amounted to several hundred dollars. in looking over the forgeries and the dates upon which they were paid, i found that they had been presented at the bank and were paid, on an average, of one every three weeks. outside of the forger's handwriting, there was absolutely no clue upon which to work. after giving the case several hours' thought, i came to the conclusion that the case, to my way of thinking at that time, could be cleared up along only one line, that being that i find the person through his handwriting. the town in question was a county seat of about five thousand population. i had concluded also that the culprit, from the fact of his forgeries covering a period of seven months, must be a resident, or at least an habitue of the town. i found myself figuring how long it would take to enable me to see a specimen of the handwriting of every man in the town. this being my plan i started to work along the line of least resistance, going first to the court house, where i secured permission to look over any and all kinds of records, in the hope of finding somewhere in the town a specimen of handwriting identical with that of the forger in the case. near the close of the second day my search was rewarded through my finding upon the payrolls of a contractor a signature, every letter of which was identical with the same letter in the forgeries, the forger being at that time in the employ of the contractor. the same characteristics and peculiarities being evident in both handwritings, i lost no time in effecting arrangements for having the suspect brought before the town marshal and me. we handed the man pen and ink and check forms, and upon his signifying his willingness to write for us specimens of any checks we desired, we of course had him write copies of the forgeries. his handwriting proved to be identical to the smallest detail, with the handwriting in the forgeries, and upon being shown both writings he made a confession on the spot. later he pleaded guilty to the charge of forgery and was sentenced to serve two years in state prison. a favorite method of offenders in defrauding banks, and which scheme is worked somewhere every business day of the year, is to visit a bank and open an account by depositing a bogus or worthless check, and which transaction is usually handled by the receiving teller. as a rule a pass book will be given to the offender in the regular way, but no money will be paid out by the bank until it ascertains if the check is good, and which, by ordinary methods, usually requires two days' time, and longer if the check be drawn on a far distant bank. on the day following the opening of the account the offender will visit the bank and on this occasion approaches the paying teller. of course, he is not known to the paying teller, but he produces his pass book and shows the paying teller that he has on deposit say one hundred dollars. he asks to withdraw fifty. hundreds of paying tellers have been caught off their guard with this game by neglecting to look up the party's account, and in an unguarded moment take it for granted that the party's account is o. k. stolen pass books are an extensive source of loss to banks. throughout the country thousands of foreigners have savings accounts in banks. with most of them it is customary to keep the bank books in their trunks or rooms where they can easily be stolen by one of their countrymen, who takes the book to the bank, impersonates the owner and obtains the cash. to illustrate the importance that the detective must give to the small details when making an investigation, i was once called upon to investigate a forgery that had been perpetrated upon a bank in a town of about twenty thousand population. in this case a middle aged woman presented a check and obtained eighty dollars thereon, the check later proving to be a forgery. i questioned the paying teller for an hour, but he seemed unable to assist me and could say nothing about the woman except that she was of middle age and pleasant appearing. this, however, was very vague, as there were in the town probably five hundred women who were pleasant appearing and of middle age. i persisted in having the paying teller revert his mind to the occasion of the woman's visit to the bank, and he finally recalled that the woman wore a pin bearing the emblem of a secret society of some kind--he could not recall which. i immediately set to work, and later in the day submitted to the paying teller a dozen or more lodge emblems, when he selected the emblem of the order of the eastern star as being identical with what the woman wore. the foregoing consumed one day, and the next morning i set about ascertaining what member of the order of the eastern star in that town or vicinity would have been likely to pass the forged check. from the secretary of the order i obtained a list of the members, then decided to take the secretary into my confidence and asked him who of the members he thought would have been most likely to commit this crime. his suspicions rested upon a woman who lived in a village just outside of the town, and from all he told me i became convinced she was the woman wanted. the next morning, accompanied by the paying teller, i called at the woman's home under a pretext, and when the paying teller promptly identified her as being the woman for whom he cashed the check. many large sums of money have been obtained through forgery. the most remarkable case ever brought to my attention was one that involved $ , . . a man forty years of age had been made the business agent of a wealthy lady who was some eighty years old. this man was also named in the lady's will to be the executor of her estate after her death. it happened, however, that this man died first and among his papers and effects was found a note for $ , . purporting to have been signed by the woman in favor of this man. when claim was made upon her for the amount of this note she promptly denied having ever signed such a note, and pronounced the note a forgery, and so the note was never paid. in this particular case it occurred to me that the man no doubt believed that the woman for whom he was business agent would, in all probability, die first, and when it would have been an easy matter for him, as executor, to have taken possession of the amount of the note. because of the prominence of all parties concerned in this case, it was never given publicity. raised checks are an extensive source of loss and annoyance to banks and individuals. many checks, after being written, mailed or sent, fall into the hands of persons who make a practice of "raising" the amounts for which the checks were originally intended and written, and then pass or have them cashed. for instance, a check written for ten dollars will be raised to one hundred dollars, or to whatever amount the raiser may believe it can be passed without arousing the suspicions of the bank, merchant or individual upon whom it is to be passed. i have seen many raised checks, the favorite method of the latter day check raiser being to remove from the check with chemicals the figures and wording of the amounts, and then to insert a greater amount. the original signature of the drawer of the check is of course left intact. it often requires the aid of a magnifying glass to discover the erasure or removal of the original writing. when necessary the name of the payee is also removed and another name inserted. chapter v confessions as in other criminal cases, when confessions are obtained from forgers, it is a good plan to take the same in writing in the presence of reliable witnesses, and to have the confession signed by the criminal. however, great care must be exercised when taking a statement or confession from a criminal, and even though the statement or confession is given voluntarily and willingly by the criminal, it should be embodied in the statement in writing that the same is so given, that it is given without any threats or coercion having been made or resorted to, and that it is given without promise of reward or compensation. such a statement should also show that it has been explained to the person before signing it that he or she understands that the same may be used against him or her later. for the average case i would suggest a statement worded about as follows, or in accordance with the kind of case it is to apply to: "i, jone doe, wish to state that on june th, , i entered the first national bank and obtained $ . cash upon a check which i knew to be a forgery, and to which check i signed the name of john smith, without mr. smith's permission or authorization, and which check i represented to the bank as having been signed by john smith. i was arrested today by detective john brown, who has not threatened nor coerced me in any way, neither have i been promised any reward, compensation or leniency for making this statement, and i understand this statement may be used against me." having persons make affidavit to statements of this nature does not strengthen them in any way, since the law permits persons to repudiate affidavits without constituting perjury, so long as the affidavit or statement has not been given in any judicial proceeding. in connection with the investigation of forgery cases i might add that it is a good plan to have the person whose signature was forged make an affidavit that the check or other paper repudiated by him, was not signed by him and not authorized by him. i once had a case of forgery wherein it was neglected to do this. when the offender was arrested he proved to be a close friend of the man whose signature was forged. then to save his friend from prosecution the man went to the bank and stated that the check which he had at first repudiated was his own signed check. chapter vi murder cases in my experience with murder cases i would divide such crimes into three classes, namely: the cases wherein a murder has been carefully planned or premeditated; the cases where a murder is committed suddenly or on the spur of the moment; and those that are a result of some person intending only to do bodily harm to another but wherein such injuries later cause death. one could hardly lay down any set rule to be applied by the detective for the proper investigation of murder cases. there are, however, several primary things that should be kept in mind by the detective, and which i have found will apply in most murder cases. the first and most important thing to be looked into is the motive. every effort should be made by the detective to establish the motive, and if successful he will, as a rule, have little difficulty in ascertaining the identity of the murderer. after the murderer's identity is known the detective has something definite upon which to work. the detective should satisfy himself as to which of the three classes previously named the crime would come under. it should be borne in mind that murders as a rule, are not committed for pastime or amusement. i would venture to state that seventy-five per cent of murders committed come under the first named class. often they are very carefully planned and the plans just as carefully executed. the detective should ascertain, by making inquiry or otherwise, who would profit by the death of the person murdered. it should be ascertained if robbery was the direct motive. hundreds of persons have been murdered by slow poisoning. in such cases the detective must look for the relative who would benefit by the death of the person murdered. persons very often are murdered so that the insurance they may carry can be claimed. it should be ascertained if the person murdered had any quarrels with business associates, relatives, friends, or other persons, or if the enmity of any person in particular was incurred at any time. if a weapon was used to cause death, it should be ascertained from the nature of the wound what kind of weapon was used, and if the weapon prove to be a pistol, its calibre, make, etc., should be gone into. regardless of the kind of weapon used, if its nature can be established, the detective should endeavor to learn where it was secured, who was known to be in possession of, or known to have carried such a weapon. in murder cases every clue, no matter how small or vague, should be run out by the detective. the smallest clues often develop the best results. as the circumstances in every murder case will differ, the detective must use his own judgment as to how to proceed. application of good judgment and good common sense methods have never failed to bring about results. chapter vii grafters a class of criminals who are, in my opinion, the most obnoxious of any the detective may have to deal with, and of which class only a small percentage are detected and convicted are the grafters. i will venture to state that not more than one such criminal in every hundred finds his way behind prison bars, where all thieves of this class rightly belong. the general public cannot perceive how prevalent this form of stealing has become. the reason probably is because the grafter of today usually moves in the best society and often holds a position of trust, which facts tend to divert suspicion from him and from his crooked dealings. i am sure that a successful career awaits any ambitious young detective who will devote his time and energy to hunting down grafters. one or two successful cases will start the detective on the road to success. the field for detectives for this class of work is unlimited, remuneration is the best, and better still, the grafter is by far the easiest of all criminals to catch. it is as easy to catch grafters as it is to catch fish, the process being simply a matter of baiting a hook; the grafter, in his greed for money, will do the rest. in both large and small cities, and in country districts as well, grafters are daily gathering in ill gotten money in many different ways. criminal records of most of our states show that men, while holding important positions of trust in our state departments, have been detected and found guilty of various forms of grafting. the same records, in a good many of our large cities, will show the same. i believe that one of the best things that could possibly be done by the governors of our states, by the mayors of our cities, and by our prosecuting attorneys, would be to employ annually a first-class, reliable detective to investigate thoroughly into the various interests of the public which they control to ascertain if grafting exists. grafting has usually been found where such investigations have been made. the various ways by which men who have held official positions in state, county and city governments have been known to profit by grafting would be a long story to relate. regarding grafting by public officials, there is one thing in particular that the detective should always keep in mind, that being that political records show that thousands of men throughout the country have had themselves elected to public office, the full term of which netted them in salary often only half the amount expended by them in having themselves elected to office. when such persons are elected to public office it very often is the beginning of grafting by them in some form. we will grant that some of these men were public spirited citizens, and while in office may have served the public at their own expense. nevertheless, when we know that a man has actually bought his way, and paid dearly to have himself elected to office, that man will at least bear watching. i have in mind the case of a certain county official in a western state, who, some years ago, succeeded in having himself elected to office, which office, for its entire term of three years, carried a salary amounting to $ , . . this man was known to have expended close to $ , . to become elected. within a year after taking office he was ousted by the people of the county, who demanded his resignation, it having been found that his campaign for election was financed by a certain manufacturing company, and that after taking office he had accepted certain additional sums of money to protect the interests of the same concern. right here we have another kind of grafter. the man just mentioned was known to have purchased outright with money, at so much per vote, hundreds of votes that were cast for his election. voters accepting such money are of course guilty of a crime worse than grafting. in most of our states we now have laws which make it a misdemeanor for anyone to pay or promise to pay, or to give or promise to give anything for any person's vote. grafting of the worst kind has been found to exist in the law making bodies of some of our states. many state legislators have been convicted through having accepted money to vote for or against certain measures, when by so doing they virtually sold out, for considerations of money, the people by whom they were elected to faithfully represent. the methods employed by most grafters, i believe, are too common and too well known to need mention. in connection with grafting in county and city governments, it has been found very often that officials whose duties were to protect society, and to endeavor to stamp out and to prevent certain violations of the law, were grafters of the worst type. for considerations of money they guaranteed protection to persons known to be violating the law. such protection has been guaranteed in many of our large cities by police officials to keepers of houses of ill repute, to keepers of gambling dens, or blind tigers, etc. the extent to which such grafting is done can easily be ascertained by the detective if he will cultivate the acquaintance of the keepers of such places. and now a few words as to how the detective may set about catching some of these various kinds of grafters. one good way for the detective to secure evidence against a grafter is to first form his acquaintance, then lead him to believe, and make it plain to him that he also is a grafter, or at least willing to be one. after such confidence is established, an arrangement should be made for making any payments of money to the grafter at such a place and in such a manner that it can be substantially corroborated. so as to make this point more clear, i will illustrate how i once, as a result of one day's work, secured confessions from some forty grafters in connection with vote buying in one county just previous to an election. it was suspected that a certain candidate for office was spending large sums of money for votes and i was called in to obtain positive proof of it. after being supplied with a list of names of persons believed to be the distributors of the candidate's money, i purposely selected from the list a man said to be the smartest of the lot. a few hours later, accompanied by an assistant, i called upon the man at his home. i advised him that while we were strangers to him we were old friends of the candidate's and that we had been called upon to assist in his campaign. after discussing local conditions with the man, and the prospect of our friend's election to office, i took from my pocket two hundred dollars in bills which had previously been marked, and handed them to the man saying that our friend the candidate sent the money to give to him for distribution. needless to state, the man did not refuse to take the money. the bold and confident manner in which it was handed to him laid at rest any fears or suspicions he may have had. he no doubt felt satisfied that we were grafters of his own type, and immediately began to talk very freely with us. we conversed with him for probably an hour, during which time he advised us of various sums of money given him by the candidate for distribution, also gave us the names of a dozen or more men who were distributing funds for the candidate. before the day was over we had this man arrested and searched, when all of the marked money was found on his person. realizing that he had been trapped, he lost no time making a confession, in which he implicated others, with the result that some forty confessions were secured. i have found grafters of this kind very prevalent practically all over the country, and, as a rule, a good detective will experience little trouble finding some honest, public-spirited citizen willing to defray the cost of detective hire to run down such persons. regarding another kind of grafter, i once was called upon to secure evidence in a certain small town against a county official who was believed to be guaranteeing protection to persons selling liquor in violation of the law, the chief violators being several local druggists. shortly after arriving in the town i began to negotiate in a business like way for the purchase of one of the drug stores. i found the proprietor of one of the stores willing to sell out provided he secured his price. after remaining in town about ten days, i took an option for thirty days on one of the stores, for which option i paid a hundred dollars. i then left town temporarily, telling the druggist i was returning to my home town to consult with my partner in business. within a week i returned with my partner (another detective) and who expressed himself as being satisfied with the place i had negotiated for. we told the druggist we were ready to buy, but before closing the deal had decided we would like to be assured against interference by the authorities in case we saw fit to sell liquor in our store. i suppose because he believed he was getting his own price for his property and business, the druggist responded quite easily. as we expected he would do, he volunteered to take us and introduce us to the very county official we were after, and which he did that evening. the druggist explained to the county official that we were to purchase his property and business the next day, and that we were naturally anxious to know if we could be assured of protection in case we decided to sell liquor. everything appearing to be regular to the official, he told us very bluntly what it would cost us per year to be protected and requested a first payment of $ . . i advised him we did not have so much cash with us, and finally arranged that he call upon us the next day at a. m. at my room at the local hotel, when we would make the payment. early the next morning at the hotel we secreted two responsible persons in a closet in my room, then awaited the arrival of our grafter. he came at the appointed hour and we again discussed the matter of our protection and paid him $ . . immediately afterwards our witnesses stepped out of the closet, and finding himself caught with four witnesses against him, the man readily agreed to give us a written and signed confession. he was told he would have to resign his position forthwith or be prosecuted. he chose the former, which ended the case. the dictagraph has played an important part in the detection and conviction of grafters. when it is suspected that state, county or city officials are grafting, in order to detect them, we will take for example one or more city officials whose duty it is to let for their city, contracts for paving. when a municipality gets ready to pave three or four streets, or to let contracts for machinery, buildings or other public improvements, specifications are drawn and the same advertised. perhaps twenty contractors will submit bids and one can imagine the rivalry that may exist among the contractors, especially since the municipality usually reserves the right to reject any or all bids and are not bound to let any given contract to the lowest bidder. then naturally and very often the question arises as to who shall be favored. my experience in many cases has been that when the city officials are open to taking graft, a contract will go to the contractor who will pay the most for being favored. three city officials once were trapped when a detective spent six months in their city posing as a contractor, and finally when his company was favored with a street paving contract upon the payment of $ . cash, he arranged to talk over the transaction and later paid over the money in a room in a hotel in which a dictagraph was secretly installed, and which made it possible to substantiate the transaction from start to finish. grafting is prevalent in many lines of business, especially where one man is entrusted with the letting of contracts, or with the purchase of supplies for a city, corporation, factory or individual. the following will illustrate just how prevalent petty grafting has become and which came to my notice through a case i had occasion to investigate for a certain well-to-do gentleman. this man owned two automobiles and entrusted to his colored chauffeur the purchase of gasoline and supplies for the machines. from various dealers this chauffeur obtained a "rake-off" on every gallon of gasoline used, and on the purchase of new tires, etc. the more gasoline he used the more money this chauffeur would make, and the same with tires and other supplies. during the investigation this chauffeur's purchases of gasoline from the dealer were compared with the mileage of the automobiles, and when it was estimated that the owner was paying for two or three gallons of gasoline per week for a long time that could not possibly have been used. it was then believed that the chauffeur was selling the surplus gasoline, but this could not be proven. finally, when taken to task and shown the amount of his purchases, he confessed to having poured the gasoline into the sewer of the garage. i was once called upon to look into a case where grafting was suspected in a small town, and where the president of the town council, who was a prominent physician, was under suspicion. i arrived in town two days before a certain measure was to be acted upon in council, the measure being in relation to a heating contract. i called upon the physician at his office and told him in plain words that i represented one of the competing firms and that i had been authorized to offer him two hundred dollars for his vote and influence in favor of my company. he accepted from me the two hundred dollars cash consisting of marked five dollar bills, and endeavored to convince me that he was not a grafter by saying that he had intended favoring my company anyway and was not accepting the money for changing his decision on the measure in council. after leaving him i went promptly to the persons who had retained me, when it was quickly arranged to have a certain person who owed the physician a small bill go there to pay it with a twenty dollar bill. this party returned with three of the marked five dollar bills, which the physician unsuspectingly made the change with. in addition, i had had the physician prescribe for me for a pretended ailment, and by which i was enabled to substantiate my call upon him, in spite of the fact that i went to him alone. it was only desired to have this man resign from council, which, it may be imagined, he was glad to do when confronted with the evidence of having accepted a bribe. this entire case was closed successfully in less than four hours after active work was started. chapter viii detective work in department stores there are, in my opinion, no business concerns that suffer a greater loss, nor are occasioned more worry than are the department stores of our large cities. annually they lose thousands of dollars worth of merchandise mainly through the operations of store thieves known as shoplifters, and through the dishonesty of employes. in any of our large up-to-date department stores the services of no less than a dozen trained detectives, both male and female, are required to properly guard such stores against thefts. inasmuch as department stores offer one of the broadest fields for private detectives, i shall set forth some of the many ways by which such stores are robbed and defrauded daily; also one of the best known methods for detectives to cope with the offenders. as previously stated, in department stores, both male and female detectives are employed. although i have known instances where experienced female store detectives have been of valuable assistance to department stores, male detectives, as a rule, can give the best protection. the store detective must be a person of good, sound judgment, be able to think and act quickly, and must always be alert and wide awake during business hours at the store where he or she may be engaged. it is essential that store detectives dress well, but not conspicuously, and while in the store, if the detective be a man, he should wear his hat and coat at all times. if it be in the winter time the detective should wear a light overcoat, and on rainy days should carry an umbrella. it is a very good plan for the detective to carry a package under his arm, the purpose of all these things being to give out the impression that the detective is a customer instead of what he really is. the detective should keep moving about in the store, pretend to make purchases, and if possible change his hat and coat several times a day. in order to emphasize the necessity of these things, we will look at shoplifting for a few moments from the shoplifter's point of view. usually when a shoplifter decides upon some particular store to operate in, he or she may first visit the store a dozen times if necessary in order to pick out the store detective. after becoming satisfied on this point the shoplifter figures on how best to avoid the persons he or she have picked out as being detectives, then will begin to operate. the professional shoplifter, if she be a woman, usually wears, during cold weather, a long coat and wide skirt in which are capacious pockets for concealing and carrying off stolen merchandise. the shoplifter rarely will bother with cheap merchandise, but will confine her thefts to valuable laces, silks, furs, jewelry, etc., which she secretes in the pockets of her skirt or coat. during the summer season when it would be out of place to wear a coat, the shoplifter takes advantage of the rainy days and enters stores with her umbrella, in which she secretes and carries off such articles as she may find an opportunity to take from the counters unobserved by the clerks or floorwalkers. very often a professional shoplifter will take with her to a store a confederate, especially if she has reason to believe that her operations have aroused the suspicions of any of the store's detectives. the confederate will proceed directly to the ladies' toilet or rest room. after the shoplifter has taken one or more articles she joins her confederate, and unobserved passes the articles to the confederate. then in case she has been watched or is arrested upon leaving the store, no goods will be found on her person. i have known careless store detectives to arrest shoplifters whom they observed stealing goods in the store, but who did not have the goods on their persons when they were arrested. when an arrest of this kind is made it is usually the beginning of serious trouble for the management of the store. the detective will have played into the hands of the shoplifter; she will promptly take advantage of the circumstances and bring suit against the management for false arrest. ordinarily department stores do not relish such undesirable notoriety; damage suits are expensive, so usually they settle such cases. if the shoplifter, after having been observed taking some article, enters the rest or toilet room before leaving the store, it will be best for the detective not to take any chances in causing her arrest for the reason just mentioned. the detective, as a rule, should not make an arrest under any circumstances until after the shoplifter has left the store. i have known cases where shoplifters and store thieves were arrested inside of stores with stolen goods on their persons, but who, immediately after being arrested, set up the claim that they had no intention of stealing the goods, but that they were just taking the goods to the light to examine them. later when their cases came up in court they would be represented by shrewd attorneys who took advantage of the law itself by maintaining that inasmuch as the goods had not been taken from the premises of the store, no theft was committed. i would state that as a rule if the detective is watchful he will have no difficulty in picking out the shoplifters. persons so bent usually keep looking about them furtively to note if anyone is watching them. quite often they are nervous and flit quickly from one counter to another. if the detective be in doubt he usually can, with half an hour's careful watching, determine to his own satisfaction the real purpose of any person's visit to the store. department stores suffer serious losses through the operations of other classes of criminals who make a practice of preying on such stores. a large department store of the present day may have on its list from one to two thousand customers, who have with the store what are known as charge accounts. such customers may visit the store, make a purchase, and have the amount of same charged to their account. often they make such purchases by telephone, or may send a maid or other person to the store to make the purchases. a certain class of store swindlers make it a point to ascertain the names of persons having such accounts at stores after which they visit the stores, impersonate the customers, and very frequently secure and make off with goods of great value. usually such swindlers are not discovered until the end of a month, when the customer receives his or her bill, but by which time the swindler may be in some distant city preparing to victimize another store. dishonest employes and discharged employes are usually responsible for giving out information regarding customers' charge accounts. the swindler, however, can easily secure such information in many other ways. we have also the store swindler who goes to some large city and purposely registers at a leading hotel. he then visits a department store, purchases an expensive suit or overcoat, in payment of which he tenders a bogus check. he requests that his purchase be delivered to his hotel, which may be done, but the swindler will be gone long before the store discovers that it can not realize on the check. one may ask how stores can be so easily victimized. there are two reasons, and they apply not only to this class of swindle, but to many others as well. the swindler may have, by his smooth and suave manner, impressed the management or clerk that he was all that he represented himself to be, and they, in an unguarded moment, allowed themselves to be swindled. on the other hand, it may have been the anxiety of making a sale at a good profit with an apparently good customer that may have caused them to overlook ascertaining the genuineness of the swindler's check before delivering the goods. another source of loss by department stores is through dishonest clerks being in collusion with outside parties. a clerk, for instance, employed at a silk or lace counter, will have a friend or confederate call at her counter during the day. a yard of silk may be purchased and paid therefor, but it is quite an easy matter for the dishonest clerk to cut off and have wrapped a yard and a half or two yards of the material purchased. i have known respectable, well-to-do women enter into such arrangements with clerks at stores, seemingly treating such matters lightly, and even telling their friends about such transactions. there are innumerable other ways by which employes steal from stores. some clerks inclined to steal become very bold and very often carry out openly stolen goods that they claim to have purchased. at thoroughly up-to-date stores all clerks and employes, when leaving the store in the evening, are required to leave by some certain exit, where there is stationed a watchman who examines all packages that are carried out. the watchman holds up all packages that do not bear the o. k. of some floorwalker or other official of the store. during such times as the christmas shopping season, which in large cities begins about november first, the management of large stores find it necessary to double their detective forces, and well they may, as november and december are the months during which shoplifters, pickpockets and others figure on reaping their harvests. pickpockets in stores must also be given attention by the store detective. customers do not relish having their purses or pockets picked while in stores, and when it does happen to a customer, he or she usually remains away from that store in the future. much more might be said upon the subject of department store detective work, but i believe what has been gone into will be sufficient to guide the average person in this branch of the work. chapter ix railroad detective work railroad companies suffer tremendous losses yearly in spite of the fact that vast sums are continually being spent to guard against theft by employees, thefts by car thieves, damage suits, etc. as to the first mentioned source of loss railroad companies are obliged to maintain at their freight yards and terminals large forces of detectives to guard against thefts. although not generally known to persons outside of railroad circles, it is a fact that many roads employ an average of fifty detectives for every hundred miles of their systems. the large railroads nowadays are policed in much the same manner as are our large cities. besides guarding against thefts of valuable freight while in transit, patrons at the crowded stations and depots must be protected so far as possible from the operations of pickpockets, swindlers and baggage thieves. the smaller stations along the line where there are ticket offices must be guarded against attacks by burglars. practically all large railroads maintain staffs of detectives whose duties are to travel over the lines and do what is called checking. manipulation of tickets and cash fares is usually prevalent and no doubt will always be so long as we have railroads and conductors. trains are checked at regular intervals unknown to train crews. action of train crews while on duty are reported on by detectives; also the kind of service accorded patrons of dining, parlor and sleeping cars. in these days when competition is keen, and when railroads are vying with each other to furnish the best possible service, it is important to managements to know to a certainty if conductors and other employees are courteous and obliging to patrons, if any rules of the company are being disregarded, and, as a whole, if the kind of service that it is intended to give is being given. checking passenger trains is one of the most congenial branches of detective work, and a branch which gives the young detective plenty of valuable experience. this branch of railroad detective work being the most desirable, i will endeavor to show what managements usually expect from their detectives. the detective may be detailed to check a sleeping car on some particular line from the time of departure of the car from some given point in the evening until it arrives at its destination in the morning. the detective's report will be expected to contain information about as follows: name of the conductor in charge of the car; if the crew got out at stations to assist passengers to board or alight; if the stepping box was properly placed for passengers; if assistance was given with baggage; if the conductor and porter were wearing their proper uniforms; if uniforms were neat, and if the conductor and porter were courteous to passengers. if the car was properly cleaned and dusted; if the porter unnecessarily disturbed the passengers in any way; if all berths were made up properly, and if properly closed in the morning; if the window shades worked properly; if hammocks were properly hung in berths; if the linen was clean and the lights in good order; if the lights were turned out at the proper hour; if any persons at stations disturbed passengers; if any of the crew loafed in any unoccupied berths. if there were any complaints by passengers and if the complaints were attended to. if ventilation was good and proper temperatures maintained; if any of the crew slept while on duty; if the water and towel supply was proper and sufficient; if there were any accidents during the trip; if porter had shoes properly polished. if passengers were properly brushed by the porter; if any of the crew acted familiarly with passengers; if any of the crew smoked while on duty; if tickets were collected promptly by the conductor, and if railway and hotel guides were in proper places. in addition to the foregoing the detective usually is required to report on how many berths were occupied in the car, the number of men and number of women passengers, children if any, also how many cash fares were collected by the conductor for berths. when reporting on dining car service detectives usually are expected to cover in their reports the following: if crew was polite and efficient; if conductor was properly uniformed, amount of the detective's check and its number; if linen was in good condition and clean; if tables were properly set; if food was of good quality. if waiters were properly uniformed; if finger bowls were promptly and correctly served; if dining car was properly ventilated and lighted; if liquor was served on the car; if silver was in good condition and prompt service given. the articles of food and drink ordered by the detective should be shown, the number of the table at which he sat, the number of the waiter who served him, the number of the car, the time he left the car, the number of the train, its time of departure and arrival, and between what points traveled. with such daily reports placed in their hands, persons responsible to the managements for proper maintenance of sleeping and dining car service are enabled to know precisely the kind of service that is being given patrons, which information enables them to keep such service to the highest standard of efficiency. employees often, when coming in from a run, are summarily discharged, or their resignations may be asked for, but that is another matter; railroads need and must have detectives. it will be seen that the railroads offer a very broad field for detectives, and there is no reason why any young man with good common sense should not be able to properly check a sleeping or dining car on his first attempt. chapter x detective work for street railways practically all street railway companies find it necessary to employ detectives. the largest corporations of this kind may employ anywhere from ten to fifty detectives the year round, and one may wonder why and how all these detectives are employed. street railway companies, like the railroad companies, are obliged continually to guard against three serious sources of loss, namely: thefts by employees, damage suits and strikes. experience has taught the management of street railway companies that stealing on the part of conductors is always more or less prevalent. conductors are not usually prosecuted when caught stealing fares, but are simply discharged. the morning and evening crowds on street cars provide opportunities for conductors to steal, if they may be so inclined. a conductor may feel that half a dozen fares appropriated to his own use every day will not be missed by the company. however, if we take a corporation employing say five or six hundred conductors, it will readily be seen that small thefts by conductors can easily run into hundreds of dollars daily. as a rule managements do not discharge a conductor for stealing until it has been found conclusively, on at least two or three occasions, that he is doing so. usually there are as many detectives employed on street railway lines as there are runs or routes on the system. unknown to the conductors these detectives ride on the cars from early morning until evening, or from morning until midnight, changing from one line to another frequently enough not to be noticed by the conductors. the detective provides himself with a small counting machine which can be concealed in the hand. upon boarding a car he makes note of the number of the car, the cap number of the conductor, and the number of cash fares shown by the register. while apparently busily engaged reading a newspaper or magazine, the detective keeps accurate count of the number of passengers boarding the car, noting at the same time if transfers are received or issued. as a rule conductors are required to render separate reports to the company for every trip they make, and to show the place and minute the trip was terminated. they must show in their reports the number of cash fares collected; also the number of transfers issued and collected. if a conductor's report for any given trip does not coincide with the report of the detective the conductor will be checked more closely on succeeding trips, often by as many as three detectives at the same time. if the conductor's reports to the company continue to show a shortage of cash fares, the chances are that he will be discharged. as to the second mentioned source of loss, managements of large companies usually are obliged to defend in the courts the year round, damage suits brought against them for personal injuries by persons who very frequently have sustained no injury or damage whatever. a surprisingly large number of fake suits are entered yearly against transportation companies. there is also to deal with the professional witnesses, who go from place to place, and who, for considerations of money, will swear to having seen anything happen. i recall a case wherein a middle aged lady left her home one morning in new york to board a steamship bound for europe. she rode down town in a surface car which happened to collide with another car, with the result that half a dozen passengers were more or less injured. the lady in question, however, sustained no injury and continued on her way. several months later, while at the home of a relative in england, she accidentally fell and injured her spine. she promptly took advantage of her mishap by returning to new york, where she brought suit against the railway corporation, claiming to have been disabled permanently as a result of the street car accident before sailing for europe. the fact that she was permanently injured could not be disputed; the railway was not prepared to dispute the matter of where and how she claimed to have received her injuries, with the result that she received heavy damages. the fraud was discovered by chance several years later. like all other large employers of labor, street railway companies are not immune from having their employes go out on strike. when street railway employees, or those of other transportation companies are organized, a strike is liable to be called at any time, and often upon the least provocation. it is highly important that managements have advance information of any proposed strike, and of any grievances of any employees, whether well founded or not. by having such advance information serious loss can very often be averted by the management getting rid of the agitators and trouble makers as quickly as they make their appearance among the employes. it is well for the managements to keep advised at all times regarding the attitude of employees. there is but one good way to accomplish this, and that is to have detectives scattered among the employes. the detectives can be put to work among the men as conductors, motormen or as shop men. i have known detectives to work in each of these capacities for years at a stretch without becoming uncovered, and without their purpose having become known. the valuable services that such detectives can render their employers will readily be appreciated. chapter xi other kinds of detective work i believe it will be of interest to both experienced and inexperienced detectives to be enlightened regarding some of the many other sources from which private detective work arises. lawyers throughout the country, in both large and small cities, and even in thinly settled country communities, are large employers of private detective service. when prosecuting or defending damage cases, attorneys very often need detective service in getting at facts, in order to properly prepare their cases. witnesses must be interviewed, and very often investigated. murder, burglary, damage and divorce cases supply needs for a great deal of detective work. state, county and city governments are large employers of private detectives. counties and cities often have their own staffs of detectives, but there are many occasions when special detectives must be pressed into service. nowadays election frauds are practiced practically everywhere. private detectives are needed and can easily obtain employment wherever there are professional politicians. trusted employees often go wrong and disappear with public funds. officials holding high offices very often turn out to be embezzlers. dozens of banks are being defrauded daily somewhere by forgers, sneak thieves and others. hundreds of our large banking institutions periodically place under surveillance their entire staffs of employees, from the cashier down to the messenger boy and porter in order to keep advised regarding the habits and associates of the employees, which information enables them to select from time to time the proper persons for promotion. large manufacturers, no matter what the line, usually are extensive employers of private detectives. i have in mind a large manufacturing concern which employes in its factory probably three thousand persons, and at all times not less than two hundred traveling salesmen, also dozens of branch managers. when it is suspected that a traveling salesman is not attending to business, he is placed under surveillance while on his travels from city to city, for probably one, two or three weeks. the detective's report will show the time of day the salesman begins work, what firms he calls on, how much time spent with each firm, and how much time is idled away, and the time the salesman discontinued work each day; also how much time the salesman may spend in saloons or other places, how he spends his evenings and how much money he spends. in connection with this class of detective work, i once had occasion to keep under surveillance for three weeks a traveling salesman, who, as it developed, devoted more time to a side line than he did to the line he was being paid to travel and promote business for. needless to state, this salesman, after his employers received my reports, was obliged to change his ways. the tendency of salesmen to devote time to side lines is one of the worst evils that employers of traveling salesmen have to contend with. in factories, no matter of what nature, employers usually find it expedient to place secretly among their employees, detectives who work side by side with the employees. male or female detectives are so placed, as the case may warrant. the reports these detectives are enabled to render show which employees are worthy of trust or promotion and those that are not. such reports will show who are the lazy ones, the dissatisfied ones, the strike agitators, those who steal tools, material or supplies, those who violate any rules of the factory or shop; also what kind of treatment is accorded the employees by the foreman. an entire book could be written on this branch of detective work alone. it is an undisputed fact that large employers of labor nowadays cannot conduct their business as successfully without secret service work. besides the thousands of manufactories, transportation companies and others who constantly employ detectives, we have the wholesale companies who deal in groceries, dry goods, drugs, shoes, etc., who also are in need of such services. the traveling salesman of such concerns must be looked after, also the drones and thieves with which their warehouses become infested. illegal liquor selling illegal liquor selling opens a very broad field for detectives throughout the country, and i have personally obtained and directed the obtaining of evidence in a hundred different ways. in this branch of the work one cannot be guided by any set rule, but must be governed by prevailing conditions. if it be desired to obtain evidence regarding the illegal sale of liquor, or regarding any other violations of law in a hotel of any size, there is only one good plan, and that is to have the detective obtain employment at the place for a few weeks or a month. i have had many occasions to direct the work of obtaining evidence of the illegal sale of liquor, gambling and other vices in small towns. in the average town of from three to ten thousand population, the best plan is to have the detective obtain employment in some mill, factory or store. in this way he can easily become acquainted and can associate with whatever element he may choose to associate with and without his purpose being suspected. after the detective has been in the town for two or three weeks, and has purchased liquor at the various places where it is sold illegally, a second detective is sent to the town who poses as the friend of the first one. the first detective then proceeds to take his friend around to the various places in the evening, or on sunday, and in this way corroborative evidence is obtained. bottles of liquor should be obtained at the various places and retained intact for use later as evidence. anonymous letters there are written and mailed every year thousands of anonymous letters, threatening and otherwise, and there is need for much detective work along this line. many such letters are written and addressed with the typewriter, the authors believing that by so writing them they can escape detection. but this is not so, as i have always found it easier to trace to the writer those that are written with typewriter, because when type is placed under the magnifying glass it is found that type differs considerably on every typewriter, and each set of type has its own peculiarities. with the assistance of an able typewriter expert, i was enabled during the course of one year to clear up three anonymous letter cases wherein the letters were written with a typewriter. thousands of letters known as "black hand" letters are mailed and sent throughout the country, the sending of which offers a wide field for investigation. "black hand" letters are by no means all sent by italians, as is commonly believed. the term is usually applied to letters in which sums of money are anonymously demanded, upon threats of death, torture or punishment. "roping" the term "roping" is used in connection with detective work to express cultivating the acquaintance of a criminal or other person for the purpose of learning what the person may know regarding a crime or other matter about which it may be desired to obtain information. there is a vast lot of detective work of this kind done, and i will submit a few cases, since every detective should be proficient along this line. a man was in charge of the supply department for a large corporation, and was suspected of carrying to his home such articles as light globes, machinists' tools, paint, stamped envelopes, soap, towels, etc. being called upon to verify this, i detailed a female detective on the case, who succeeded in obtaining lodging and board at the house, and in two weeks she had seen and brought away more than fifty different kinds of articles that had been stolen and carried home by this man. i once directed the investigation of an $ , . jewel theft which was brought to a successful close by having a negro detective "rope" a negro waiter. the jewels in question were inadvertently left lying on a chair in a cafe by a well known actress, and they were not missed until the following morning. three negro waiters came under suspicion and finally suspicion was narrowed down to one of them, who, after the theft, kept roving from city to city. although he was kept under close surveillance for a period of four months he was never seen with any of the stolen jewels, and apparently made no effort to dispose of them. the suspect finally obtained a position as waiter in a fashionable cafe in a certain large city, when i arranged for a similar position at the same cafe for a negro detective, who immediately began cultivating the acquaintance of the suspect. after two weeks he told the suspect that he was worried over the fear of arrest for having stolen some jewelry in another city. this caused the suspect to feel safe in confiding to the detective the fact that he also had stolen some jewels and was worried over the matter. on a certain night they arranged to meet at the suspect's room to show each other their stolen jewels, the detective arranging for this so as to ascertain where the suspect was keeping his. the suspect was arrested the following day, and at his room practically all of the stolen jewels were recovered. i have handled a great many cases wherein the acquaintance of persons holding confidential positions were cultivated. for example, men who employ private secretaries often desire to know if the secretary is absolutely reliable and trustworthy. whether the secretary be man or woman, "roping" is resorted to, to ascertain if such persons would divulge secrets of their employers. "roping" of this class of people often entails great expense and detective work of a very high order. i have handled several cases wherein it was necessary to have the detective, in order to get acquainted in a natural way, join the same church and clubs to which the party to be "roped" belonged, also furnished the detective with an automobile and other things so as to keep up appearances, and apparently be on an equal footing with the person to be "roped." roping is very frequently resorted to in damage cases, also in theft cases. many fake damage suits are brought annually against street railway and other transportation companies. while such suits are pending it is a good plan to have a male or female detective, as circumstances may require, get acquainted with, or obtain room and board with the person to be "roped," and which usually results in the detective learning the extent of the person's injuries, if there be any, and such other information of value to attorneys defending such a case. detective work in warehouses as previously stated herein, every owner of a wholesale house or warehouse can employ detective service with profit, also packing houses and similar concerns. i have in mind a certain wholesale drug house which employs approximately one hundred men the year round. at one time it was estimated that between two and three hundred dollars worth of goods were stolen and carried off per month. i detailed a detective to go to work in the building among the other employees, and at the end of four weeks the detective's reports showed specific instances of stealing on the part of sixteen employees. the detective was then permitted to discontinue, and i took these sixteen men in hand, one after another, and obtained signed confessions from them relative to their stealings, and all were discharged. i recall that one of these men admitted stealing and carrying off seven gillette safety razors in a period of two weeks. also one of the men whom we took in charge, as he was about to quit work for the day, had secreted on his person six different stolen articles. in the case of a large packing house it was found that drivers were short some of their goods upon arriving at depots, claiming that the missing goods either were stolen or had not been loaded upon their trucks. they made these trips to the depots between midnight and a. m. these drivers with their trucks were shadowed, when it was found that each had along his route a place where goods were unloaded and sold by the driver. in the case of another large packing house i uncovered thefts of butter alone amounting to three hundred pounds per month. express companies express companies are large employers of detective service, because the temptation to steal goods while in transit is very strong with a great many employees. by detailing secret detectives to work with employees, both in the depots and on trains, i have uncovered many thefts. i once obtained a confession from an express messenger who admitted having stolen in one day two dressed turkeys, a loin of pork, two pounds of butter and a quart of whiskey. he admitted these thefts after he was shown that his helper in the express car was a secret detective, who saw him appropriate the articles. i once had occasion to conduct an investigation for an express company regarding the theft of $ , . worth of unset diamonds, which were stolen while in transit. in the course of three weeks the thief had not been detected, and the nearest that responsibility could be fixed was that the theft was committed by one of three persons. a ruse was then resorted to which produced results, and which ruse often brings results in cases of theft by employees. we caused it to be published in the newspapers that after several weeks investigation and surveillance we had learned the identity of the thief, and that an arrest would positively be made the following day. this had the effect of causing the thief to believe that he had actually been detected, for the next day the stolen diamonds were delivered to the company by mail. the same ruse, applied in various forms, has also been the means of obtaining many confessions in criminal cases. fear of arrest and conviction often leads a first offender to give up his plunder, and the successful use of this ruse is a matter of bringing it to the attention of the one under suspicion in the most forceful way. on behalf of an express company, i once was called upon to investigate what was reported to be a burglary of the express office in a town of about five thousand population. upon arrival there the next day i found that the front window of the office was broken, the break being sufficiently large to have admitted a man's body. i talked with the agent whose breath indicated to me that he had been intoxicated the night previous, and which fact he admitted. this agent had reported to his superiors that upon arrival at the office that morning he found the front window broken, that the safe apparently had not been tampered with, as the key was found to work perfectly. upon opening the safe he found that two hundred dollars was missing, fifty dollars having been left in the safe by the burglar, according to his statement. nothing else around the office was stolen or tampered with. in less than five minutes after arriving there i concluded that if any cash had been stolen the agent himself was the guilty one. from a boy outside i learned that the window became broken during a severe electrical storm the previous night, which placed the town in darkness for several hours around midnight. an overhead sign was blown down and crashed through the window. being further convinced that the agent was guilty and had taken advantage of these circumstances to report a burglary, i asked the agent if he had ever loaned his safe key to anyone, and he replied in the negative. i then told him that i knew how the window had become broken, and asked him if he believed it logical that a thief would take the trouble and risk arrest by having a suitable key made for the safe, enter the building, steal two hundred dollars of the cash and leave fifty there. i told him that in my judgment such would be the work of an employee but not of a burglar. the agent hung his head and i told him i was justified in having him arrested on the spot. he confessed immediately, less than an hour after my arrival upon the scene. the facts as shown in this incident should prove of much worth to the experienced or inexperienced detective. conspiracies the disclosure of conspiracies in their hundreds of forms offers a broad field for the detective. hundreds of damage suits are instituted annually throughout the country wherein damages claimed to have been suffered by the plaintiff are nothing more than conspiracies to defraud. the field for such investigation is very wide, especially as it applies to fake bankruptcy cases and damage cases brought by persons against railroad and street railway companies. for example, i once investigated a case wherein the store of a certain jewelry firm was destroyed by fire. later they claimed that during the excitement of the fire some $ , . worth of diamonds were stolen from the premises by some person unknown. the creditors were loath to believe this and had an investigation made which developed that the diamonds in question had not been stolen, but were removed from the store by the owners previous to the fire, and that the fire itself no doubt was a part of the plan to defraud creditors. railroad companies suffer tremendously as a result of conspiracies, of which the following is an example, and which ease i personally directed: a new railroad was constructed through a certain farming district, for a distance of perhaps fifteen miles. before the advent of the railroad none of this farming land had ever been valued at more than twenty-five dollars per acre. practically all the farmers along the line of the railroad claimed damages up to a hundred dollars per acre. the cases were decided in the courts, upon the opinions of viewers who were appointed by the court, and which body of viewers was composed of disinterested farmers of the same county. after the railroad company had been compelled to pay two or three excessive claims, it looked about for relief, it having suspected right along that a conspiracy existed among the farmers and viewers to claim and recommend such excessive damages. after three cases had been decided against the railroad company, i detailed two detectives to visit these farmers, and who pretended to have been sent by a number of farmers of a far distant county, who also proposed bringing damage suits against a new railroad company; that they had heard of the success these farmers were having with their suits, and that it was desired to know along just what lines they were proceeding. the two detectives also advised the ring leaders that they did not want the information gratis, and if given assistance were authorized to pay a certain percentage of all damages secured in the distant county. the result was these farmers then unsuspectingly told the detectives how they had all met and agreed to claim certain amounts of damages, and how they had even gone so far as to hold mock trials at several of the farmers' homes, so that all concerned would be properly coached when the time came to go into court. at these mock trials one farmer would pose as plaintiff, while another would pose as the railroad company's attorney, when questions were asked, and answers agreed upon, as was anticipated would come out at the real trials or hearings. needless to state, that after corroborative evidence of this conspiracy was placed in the hands of the railroad company's attorney, no more excessive damages were paid, and i later had the pleasure of being advised that this bit of detective work saved the railroad company fully forty thousand dollars. as to how creditors are defrauded in hundreds of instances, the following is a fair example: a retail shoe dealer in a middle western state went into bankruptcy owing several eastern jobbers several thousand dollars. examination of the dealers' stock and records of sales for several months developed the fact that two or three thousand dollars worth of shoes purchased from the eastern jobbers evidently had never entered the dealer's place of business. it was suspected that the merchandise was concealed or had been secretly disposed of by the dealer. i directed an investigation which resulted in locating the goods in another city, the investigation having been conducted along the following lines: information as to the road over which the goods were shipped, together with dates, weights and car numbers was first obtained from the shippers. the drayage company on the dealer's end was then seen, after which drivers for the drayage company were interviewed, and which developed information that the missing goods had never been delivered to the dealer's place of business, but instead were moved from one depot to another and promptly re-shipped to another city. the same plan was then followed in that city with the drayage companies and the goods easily located, and which were promptly attached by the creditors. in another case an italian fruit jobber once received three carloads of fruit, and after disposing of same left suddenly for parts unknown, without remitting to, or paying the shippers. i was called into this case, and i promptly directed that the italian's wife and children be placed under close surveillance. in about a week the wife and children packed up their household goods and had the same shipped to a city some three hundred miles distant. the household goods were then watched closely after being unloaded in the freight depot at the point of destination. three days later the goods were removed from the depot and taken to the home of an italian, whose house was then kept under surveillance, but no trace could be seen of the fugitive. at the end of a week the household goods were again taken out, hauled to a depot and re-shipped to a small town a hundred miles away. i recall having personally examined the shipping tags attached to the goods upon this occasion, which gave us the address of the final destination of the household goods, and which address, a few days later, enabled us to cause the arrest of the fugitive. testing retail business establishments the making of test purchases in retail stores is done very extensively, and for which work detectives are employed. taking for example a high class confectionery store, drug store or cigar store. the proprietor may not come to his place of business until late in the morning, or may be away for perhaps a week. he desires to know if his sales clerks are honest and reliable, and courteous to customers during his absence from the place of business. the detective retained for this purpose enters the store one, two or three times a day and makes purchases the same as any other customer would, and while in the place makes careful note of the kind of treatment accorded him by the sales clerk, and in particular notes if the amount of his purchase is properly rung up on the cash register, with which most retail business establishments are now equipped. owners of department stores and of saloons spend thousands of dollars annually for detective work of this kind. divorce cases as everyone knows, thousands of divorce actions are brought every year throughout the country and many detectives find employment in connection with such cases. the custom is that when the husband, for instance, suspects his wife of infidelity, he has her placed under surveillance for a month or so, which usually develops whether or not his suspicions are well founded. however, information and corroborative evidence is obtained by the husband, or by the wife, as the case may be, in a hundred other ways. while detective work of this nature has no doubt always been profitable to detectives, my opinion is that it has never been any too creditable, and my advice to the detective is to keep as clear of this kind of work as possible, because such cases require skillful work and handling, and often when handled successfully, the results do not offset the undesirable notoriety that may be given the detective. arson as is quite well known, the fire losses in the united states run annually into millions of dollars, and if one would take the trouble to have half an hour's talk with any fire insurance expert it will be found that a surprisingly large percentage of fires are no doubt the results of schemes to defraud fire insurance companies. much detective work is directed in an effort to lessen these losses, and to bring about the arrest and conviction of the offenders, but my knowledge of conditions is that the crime of arson continues on the increase rather than on the decrease. life and accident insurance companies throughout the country employ hundreds of detectives the year round to investigate risks and fraudulent claims. many individuals somewhere daily place in the hands of private detectives, various kinds of cases to be investigated, and in conclusion i will say that when a case is submitted to the detective for investigation it should be made the subject of careful thought and consideration. as a rule, every case differs in some way, but if good common sense methods are applied, results can be secured, no matter how difficult or how complicated the case may be at the start. finger prints simplified a new handbook of the science of finger print identification by james holt [illustration: book cover] contents i the uses of finger prints:--banking--military uses--family records--loss of identity--criminal work--opportunities for students. ii finger print future:--the probationary period--check protection--pensions--wills--business identification--criminal identification--offsetting circumstantial evidence. iii making and reading finger prints:--types of prints--articles needed--how to take prints--ridges and depressions--types or patterns--type distribution--care in taking prints--symbols used in finger prints. iv classification of finger prints:--how to produce formulas--method of forming primary classification--sub-classification--lettered formula--classification rules--second sub-classification--final classification--classifying broken sets--ring finger count. v filing, searching and comparing:--order of filing--searching files. vi review questions and answers. fully illustrated cloth binding. pages. price, postpaid, $ . frederick j. drake & co., publishers chicago transcriber's notes: --text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). --punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. cronus of the d. f. c. by lloyd biggle, jr. _she was wonderful and forsdon was in love. but he'd seen the future and knew that in five days she was slated for murder!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, february . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] a bright, sunny day in may, and a new job for me. i found the room in the basement of police headquarters--a big room, with freshly stenciled letters d f c on the door, and an unholy conglomeration of tubes, wires and dials bulking large in one corner. a bright young police cadet sat at a desk in the center of the room. "are you mr. forsdon?" i nodded, and dumped my bag beside the desk. "captain marks is waiting for you," he said and jerked his head toward a door to the rear. captain marks had his office in a cubbyhole off the main room. it was quite a comedown from the quarters he'd occupied upstairs as captain of detectives. he'd held onto that job past his retirement age and, when they were about to throw him out on his ear, d. f. c. came along and he jumped at it. the captain was not the retiring type. his door was open, and he waved me in. "sit down, forsdon," he said. "welcome to the department of future crime." i sat down, and he looked me over. a lean, hard face, closely cropped white hair, and steely grey eyes that looked through a man, rather than at him. small--five feet seven, a hundred and forty pounds. you looked at him and wondered how he'd ever gotten on the force in the first place, until you saw his eyes. i'd never felt comfortable in his presence. "do you know what we have here, forsdon?" he said. "not exactly." "i don't either--exactly. the brass upstairs thinks it's an expensive toy. it is. but they've given us a trial budget to see if it works, and now it's up to us." i nodded, and waited for him to go on. he packed his pipe, lit it, and then leaned back and let the smoke go out. "we have an invention," he said, "which i don't pretend to understand. you saw the thing?" "yes," i said. it wasn't easy to overlook. "walker calls it cronus--for the greek god of time. it gives us random glances around the city on what looks like a large tv screen--random glances into the _future_!" he paused for dramatic effect, and i probably disappointed him. i already knew that much. "the picture is hazy," he went on, "and sometimes we have a hell of a time figuring out the location of whatever it is we're looking at. we also have trouble pinpointing the time of an event. but we can't deny the potential. we've been in operation for three weeks, and already we've seen half a dozen holdups days before they happened." "at least it's an ideal we've always worked for," i offered. "i mean, to prevent crime, rather than just catch the criminal." "oh!" he said, and went to work on his pipe again. "maybe i didn't make myself clear. we saw the holdups on that screen, but we couldn't _prevent_ a single one. all we managed to do was catch the criminal a few minutes after he had committed the crime. so it raises an interesting question: is it possible to change the future?" "why not?" i said. captain marks thought a moment. "it isn't too critical, where the holdups are concerned. the criminal is caught immediately, the loot is recovered, and the victim goes his way thinking kind thoughts about the efficiency of the police force. but what about assault, or rape, or murder? apprehending the criminal ten minutes later won't be much comfort to the victim. but now that you're here to follow up the leads given us by cronus--well, we'll see what we can do. come on. i want you to meet walker. and cronus!" walker--dr. howard f. walker--was huddled over his creation. there was no doubt about it being his baby, as you could see from the way his hands caressed the dials. he was a gangling-looking man, six feet one, maybe pounds, fifty-odd years old. he had a long neck, an overly pronounced adam's apple, and thinning hair. he wore thick glasses, his face was gentle and dignified, and he looked like a very tired university professor. he didn't hear us come up, and the old man waited quietly until he noticed us. "walker," the old man said, "this is forsdon, our new detective." he nodded at me. "cronus has something," he said. "if i can find it again...." he turned to his dials. "that's one of our problems," captain marks said. "once we focus on a crime, it's sometimes hard to locate it again. the time interval between the present and the time the crime is committed keeps getting less. it takes a different adjustment each time...." his voice trailed away, and i looked from walker to the six-foot-square screen above his head. shadows flitted about on the screen. a female shadow walking along the street holding a child shadow by the hand. shadow aircars moving along jerkily. a row of male shadows grotesquely posed along a bar, their glasses making bright blotches in the picture. a room, and a female shadow moving around a table. the future revealed by cronus was a shadow world and the only way you could tell male from female was by their dress. the scene kept shifting. a park, with trees, and lounging adults, and running children. a room with people seated around a table, a reading room, perhaps at the public library. a large living room, with an old-fashioned fireplace, and a bright blotch that was the fire. another smaller room, a female shadow.... "that's it!" walker said suddenly. he moved a motion picture camera into position, and pressed a button. it whirred softly as we watched. a nondescript living room. a female shadow. she threw up her hands and stood transfixed for a horrible moment or two. a male shadow bounded into the picture--a giant male shadow. she turned to run, and he caught her from behind. his hand moved upward. something glittered in it, and he brought it down. he struck twice, and the female crumpled to the floor. he whirled, ran toward us, and disappeared. the camera ground on, recording the image of that shapeless shadow on the floor. abruptly the scene changed. a restaurant, with crowded tables and jerkily moving robot-servers. walker swore softly and turned off the camera. "that's all i got before," he said. "if i could come on it from a different angle, maybe we could locate the place." "when?" the captain asked. "seven to twelve days." it hit me, then, like a solid wallop on the jaw. i'd been looking into the future. * * * * * "plenty of time," the captain said. "but not much to go on." he looked at me. "what do you think?" "might be able to identify the man," i said. "he'll be well over six feet--wouldn't surprise me if he were six-eight or nine. he'll have the build of a male gorilla. and he limps slightly with his right foot." "not bad. anything else?" "it's an apartment or a hotel room," i said. "i'd guess an apartment. the scanner screen by the door means it's either relatively new, or it's been remodeled. the living room has a corner location, with windows on two sides. it's hard to say for certain, but i believe there's an old-fashioned sofa--one of those with a back on it--along the far wall." walker slumped into a chair. "you make me feel better," he said. "i thought there was next to nothing to go on." captain marks nodded. "but you missed one thing." "what's that?" "our assailant is left-handed. also--the limp may be something temporary. all right, forsdon, it's all yours. seven to twelve days, and you'd better plan on seven." he went back to his office, and i looked at walker. "can you give me any idea at all as to the location?" "i can draw you a circle on the map, but it's only about fifty-fifty that you'll find the place inside the circle." "that's better than nothing." "there is one thing," walker said. "i'd like to have you wear this. everywhere." a band of elastic, with what looked like dark beads placed on it at intervals. "it's an arm band," walker said. "cronus picks up these beads as bright spots. so i'll be able to identify you if you show up on the screen." i hesitated, and he said, "the captain wears one. we know it works, because cronus has picked him up twice." i took the arm band, and slipped it on. i sat down with the map and a directory and worked until a technician came back with the developed film. walker was still perspiring in front of cronus. he hadn't been able to focus on the crime a third time. the captain's door was closed, and his nasal voice was rattling the door as he bellowed into his telephone. i pulled the curtains to darken one corner of the room, and fed the film into a projection machine. i ran the film ten times without coming up with anything new. i couldn't make out the number on the door. i also couldn't decide whether the assailant was a chance prowler or someone known to the victim. i stopped the camera, and made a sketch of the room from what i could make out in the way of furnishings. the captain came barging out of his office, took a quick look at my sketch, and nodded approval. "we'll find the apartment," he said. "then our troubles will really start." i couldn't see that, and i told him so. i figured our troubles would be nearly over if we found the apartment. "you think it's possible to prevent this crime," he said. "i don't. even if we find the apartment and identify the man and woman, the crime is still going to happen." "why?" i said. "look at it this way. if we prevent the crime, it's not going to happen. right?" "right." "and if it's not going to happen, cronus wouldn't show it to us. all you see on that screen is what _will_ happen. as far as cronus is concerned, it already has happened. preventing it is like trying to change the past." "we can try," i said. "yes, we can try. the regular force will help us on this one. a team of detectives is waiting outside. tell them what you want done." i wanted an apartment living room with a corner location and a door scanner. it wasn't as bad as it sounded--the scanner was a new gadget at that time. not many apartment buildings would have it. there was always the chance, of course, that an individual had had one installed on his own, but that was a worry i could postpone. i put in a hectic day of trudging through apartment buildings and squabbling with superintendents, but we found it the next morning, in a stubby little seven-story building on south central. it was one of those apartment buildings that went up way back in , when the city decided it couldn't afford the luxury of open spaces and opened part of old central park to apartment buildings. this one was a midget among the other buildings in that development, but it had been remodeled recently. it had scanner screens. after the usual protests, the superintendent showed me around. most of the occupants weren't home. he let me into a rear apartment on the sixth floor, and i took one look and caught my breath. i pulled out my sketch, though i had it memorized by this time, and moved across the room to get the right angle. the sofa was there--it _was_ an old-fashioned job with a back. what had been a bright blotch in the picture turned out to be a mirror. a blur by the sofa was a low table. a chair was in the wrong place, but that could have been moved. what was i thinking about? _it was going to be moved._ every detail checked. "stella emerson," the superintendent said. "_miss_ stella emerson--i think. she never gave me no trouble. something wrong?" "not a thing," i said. "i want some information from her." "i dunno when she's home." her next-door neighbor did. i went back to headquarters and picked up the loose ends on the attempt to identify our assailant-to-be. no luck. and at six o'clock that evening, i was having a cup of coffee with miss stella emerson. she was the sort of person it's always a joy to interview. alert, understanding, cooperative--none of that petty, temperamental business about invasion of privacy. she was brunette and twenty-six or twenty-seven, maybe five feet four, a hundred and ten pounds. the pounds were well distributed, and she was darned nice looking. she served the coffee on the low table by the sofa, and sat back with her cup in her hand. "you wanted information?" she said. i fingered my own cup, but i didn't lift it. "i'd like to have you think carefully," i said, "and see if you've ever known a man who matches this description. he's big, really big. heavy set. maybe six feet eight or nine. he's left handed. he might walk with a slight limp in his right foot...." she set her cup down with a bang. "why, that sounds like mike--mike gregory. i haven't seen him for years. not since...." i took a deep breath, and wrote "mike gregory" in my notebook. "where was he when you saw him last?" "on mars. i was there for two years with civil service. mike was a sort of general handyman around the administration building." "do you know where he is now?" "as far as i know, he's still on mars!" my coffee was scalding hot, but i didn't notice as i gulped it down. "i'd like to know everything you can tell me about this mike gregory," i said. "may i take you to dinner?" as my dad used to say, there's nothing like mixing business with pleasure. she suggested the place--a queer little restaurant in the basement of a nearby apartment building. there were lighted candles on the tables--the first candles i'd seen since i was a child. the waitresses wore odd costumes with handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads. an old man sat off in one corner scraping on a violin. it was almost weird. but the food was good, and stella emerson was good company. unfortunately, her mind was on mike gregory. "is mike in trouble?" she said. "he always seemed like such a gentle, considerate person." i thought of the knife-wielding shadow, and shuddered. "how well did you know him?" i said. "not too well--he stopped to talk with me now and then. i never saw him except at work." "was he--interested in you?" she blushed. it was also the first blush i had seen in so long i couldn't remember when. i had heard it said that the blush went out when women did away with their two-piece bathing suits and started wearing trunks like the men. i'm telling you, you can't have any idea about what's wrong with our scientific civilization until you've seen a girl blush by candlelight. "i suppose he was," she said. "he kept asking me to go places with him. i felt sorry for him--he seemed such a grotesque person--but i didn't want to encourage him." "you're certain about the limp?" "oh, yes. it was very noticeable." "and about his being left-handed?" she thought for a moment. "no. i'm not certain about that. he could have been, i suppose, but i don't think i ever noticed." "is there anything else you remember about him?" she shook her head slowly. "not much, i'm afraid. he was just a person who came through the office now and then. he had an odd way of talking. he spoke very slowly. he separated his words, just ... like ... this. most of the girls laughed at him, and when they did he'd turn around and walk away without saying anything. and--oh, yes, sometimes he'd talk about california. i guess that was where he was from. i never found out anything about his personal life." "but you didn't laugh at him?" "no. i couldn't laugh at him. he was just too--pathetic." "have you heard from him since you came back?" "he sent me a christmas card once. he didn't know my address on earth, so he sent it to the office on mars so it would be forwarded. it didn't reach me until july!" "how long ago was that?" "it must be four years ago. it was a couple of years after i left mars." i dropped mike gregory, and tried to learn something about stella emerson. she was twenty-eight. she'd worked for two years on mars, and then she came back and got a job as private secretary with a small firm manufacturing plastic textiles. she made enough money for her own needs, and was able to save a little. she liked having a place of her own. she had a sister in boston, and an aunt over in newark, and they visited her occasionally. she led a quiet life, with books, and visits to the art institutes, and working with her hobby, which was photography. it all sounded wonderful to me. the quiet life. a detective gets enough excitement on the job. if he can't relax at home, he's going to be a blight on the mortality tables. we were on our second cup of coffee, by then, and i motioned the old fiddler over to our table. his bloodshot eyes peered out ever a two-week growth of beard. i slipped him a dollar bill. "how about giving us a melody." he gave us a clumsy serenade and stella reacted just as i'd hoped she would. she blushed furiously, and kept right on blushing, and i just leaned back and enjoyed it. i took her back to her apartment, and said a friendly farewell at her door. we shook hands! and she didn't invite me to spend the night with her, which was just as refreshing. i rode the elevator with chiming bells and a wisp of the old man's music floating through my mind. i stepped out on the ground level, walked dreamily out the door and hailed an aircab with my pocket signal. and just as i was about to step in, it stabbed me like the flickering knife on cronus's screen. she was a wonderful girl, and i was falling for her, and in seven to twelve days--no, nearer five to ten days, now--she was going to be murdered. "something wrong?" the driver said. i flashed my credentials. "police headquarters," i said. "use the emergency altitude." * * * * * walker was crouched in front of cronus, perspiring, as usual, but looking infinitely more tired. no matter what time i came in, he always seemed to be there, or there was a note saying he was down in his lab in the sub-basement. "i haven't found it again," he said. "that's all right. we can manage with what we have." he frowned irritably. "it's important, confound it. this is just an experimental model, and it's maddeningly inefficient. with money and research facilities, we could produce one that would really work, but we can't get that kind of support by predicting a few piddling holdups. but a murder, now--that would make someone sit up and take notice." "stop worrying about your dratted cronus," i snapped. "i don't give a damn about that pile of junk. there's a girl's life to be saved." it was unfair, but he didn't object. "yes, of course," he said. "the girl's life--but if i can't get more information...." "i've found the apartment," i told him, "and i've found the girl. but the man is supposed to be on mars. it doesn't figure, but it's something to work on." i called the captain, and gave him my report. if he resented my bothering him at home, he didn't show it. any wheel i could get my fingers on i set turning, and then i went home. i won't pretend that i slept. by morning we had a complete report from the colonial administration on michael rolland gregory. fingerprints, photos, detailed description, complete with limp and left-handedness. the works. also, the added information that he'd resigned his civil service job eight months before and had left immediately for earth, on a dawn liner scheduled to land at san francisco. i swore savagely, got off an urgent message to san francisco, and left for a dinner date with stella emerson. and another handshake at her apartment door. san francisco did a thorough job, but it took time--two more days. michael rolland gregory had hung around for a while, living in run-down rooming houses, and holding a series of odd jobs. two months before he had disappeared. "he could be anywhere by now," i told the captain. "including here in new york," the captain said dryly. two to seven days. i took stella back to her apartment after our dinner date, and in front of the door i said, "stella, i like you." she blushed wonderfully. "i like you too, jim." "then do me a favor--a very special favor." her blush deepened, with an overlay of panic. "i'd--like to, jim. because i--like you. but i can't. it's hard to explain, but i've always told myself that unless i marry a man...." i leaned against the wall and laughed helplessly while her eyes widened in amazement. then i dispensed with the handshaking. she clung to me, and it might have been her first kiss. in fact, it was. "i don't just like you, darling," i said. "i love you. and that wasn't the favor i was going to ask. you said you have an aunt over in newark. i want you to stay with her for a while--for a week or so." "but--why?" "will you trust me? i can't tell you anything except that you're in danger here." "you mean--mike?" "i'm afraid so." "it's hard to believe that mike would want to harm me. but if you think it's important...." "i do. will you call your aunt, now, and make the arrangements? i'll take you over tonight." she packed some things, and i took her to newark in an aircab. her aunt was hospitable and cooperative, albeit a little confused. i checked her apartment thoroughly. i was taking no chances that the aunt's living room could be the potential scene of the crime. it wasn't--no similarity. "promise me," i said, "that you won't go back to your apartment for any reason until i tell you it's all right." "i promise. but i may need some more things." "make a list, and i'll have a police woman pick them up for you." "all right." i arranged with the superintendent of her apartment building to have the lights in her apartment turned on each evening, and turned off at an appropriate time. i put a stakeout on her apartment building, and on her aunt's. i got a detective assigned to shadow her, though she didn't know it, of course. then it was zero to five days, and i was quietly going nuts. zero to four days. i walked into the d. f. c. room, and walker swarmed all over me. "i found it again," he said. "anything new?" "no. just the same thing. exactly the same." "when?" "two to three days." i sat down wearily, and stared at cronus. the screen was blank. "how did you manage to invent that thing?" i said. "i didn't really invent it. i just--discovered it. i was tinkering with a tv set, and i changed some circuits and added a lot of gadgets, just for the hell of it. the pictures i got were darned poor, but they didn't seem to be coming from any known station--or combination of stations, since they kept changing. that was interesting, so i kept working on it. then one day the screen showed me a big aircar smashup. there were about ten units involved, and i told myself, 'boy, these class d pictures are really overdoing it.' about a week later i opened my morning paper, and there was the same smashup on page one. it took a long time to get anybody interested." he stopped suddenly as the captain came charging out of his office. "brooklyn," he called. "gregory was living in a rooming house in brooklyn. he left three weeks ago." * * * * * a lead with a dead end. no one knew where he'd gone. it proved that he was somewhere in the vicinity of new york city, but i don't think any of us ever doubted that. "one thing is interesting," the captain said. "he's using his own name. no reason why he shouldn't, of course. he's not a criminal--but he is a potential criminal, and _he doesn't know that_." i saw, suddenly, that we had a double problem. we had to protect stella from gregory, but we also had to protect gregory from himself. if we could find him. "there's not much we can do," i said, "but keep on looking." it was what walker called the critical period. something had to happen on this day or the next, or cronus was a monkey's dutch uncle. "if we could only pick gregory up and hold him for a couple of days, maybe we could beat this," i told the captain. "we've eliminated stella emerson, we've locked the apartment, and caging gregory should snap the last thread." he laughed sarcastically. "you think that would solve the problem? listen. we spotted a holdup, and i recognized the crook. he had a long record. i had him picked up, and he was carrying a gun so we slapped him in jail on a concealed weapons charge. he escaped, got another gun, and committed the holdup right on schedule. i'm telling you, cronus shows exactly how the future is. we can't change it. i'm working as hard as anyone else to prevent this, but i know for a certainty that sometime today or tomorrow the girl and gregory are going to meet in that apartment--or in one exactly like it." "we're going to change it this time," i said. on my way out i stopped for a good look at cronus. nothing but a monster would give you a murderer, and a victim, and the place and approximate time, and make you completely helpless to do anything about it. i felt like giving cronus a firm kick in a vital part of its anatomy. i called off my dinner date with stella and prowled around manhattan looking for a big man with a pronounced limp. one speck of dust among the millions. i noticed with satisfaction that i was not alone in my search. aircars were swooping in low for a quick look at pedestrians. foot patrolmen were scrutinizing every passerby. and detectives would be making the rounds of the rooming houses and hotels with photographs. cab and bus drivers would be alerted. for a man who had no reason to hide, michael rolland gregory was doing an expert job of keeping out of sight. i radioed police headquarters at : p.m., and the captain's voice exploded at me. "where the hell have you been? the stakeout at the girl's apartment got gregory. they're bringing him in." i cut off without any of the formalities, and sprinted. i tore down the corridor to the d. f. c. room, and burst in on what might have been a funeral celebration. walker sat with his face in his hands, and the captain was pacing in a tight circle. "he got away," the captain snarled. "snapped the handcuffs like toothpicks, beat up his escort and ran. the man must have the strength of a utility robot." "how did they happen to pick him up?" i wanted to know. "he came strolling down the street and started to go into the apartment building. completely innocent about the whole thing, of course. he didn't have any idea we were looking for him." "he has now," i said. "it's going to be great sport locating him again." we had a small army loose in the area where gregory escaped, but for all they found he might have burrowed into the pavement. i called stella and asked her to stay home from work the next day. i got the stakeout on her aunt's apartment doubled. i was up at dawn, prowling the streets, riding in patrolling aircars, and i suppose generally making a nuisance of myself with calls to headquarters. we put in a miserable day, and gregory might have been hiding on mars, for all the luck we had. i had my evening meal at a little sandwich shop, and did a leisurely foot patrol along the street by stella's apartment building. the stakeout was on the job, and the superintendent had stella's lights on. i stood for a moment in the doorway, watching the few pedestrians, and then i signaled an aircab. "i'd like to circle around here a bit," i said. "sure thing," the cabbie said. we crisscrossed back and forth above the streets, and i squinted at pedestrians and watched the thin traffic pattern. fifteen minutes later we were back by the apartment building. "circle low around the building," i said. "oh, no! want me to lose my license? i can't go out of the air lanes." "you can this time," i said. "police." he looked at my credentials, and grunted. "why didn't you say so?" there was a narrow strip of lawn behind the building, with a couple of trees, and then a dimly-lit alley. the cabbie handed me a pair of binoculars, and i strained my eyes on the sprawling shadows. i couldn't see anything suspicious, but i decided it might be worth a trip on foot. the third time around i glanced at stella's lighted windows--the rear ones--and gasped. a dark shadow clung to the side of the building, edging slowly along the ledge towards her window. gregory. "see that?" i said to the cabbie. as we watched, he got the window open, and disappeared into the apartment. i tried to radio the men on the stakeout, and couldn't rouse them. i called headquarters. both walker and captain marks were out. they would be back in a few minutes. but i didn't have minutes left. "skip it," i said. i snapped out a description of the situation, and cut off. "can you get close enough to get me through that window?" i asked the cabbie. "i can try," he said. "but watch your step, fellow. it's a long drop." he hovered close, and i grabbed the edge of the window and pulled myself through. gregory faced me across the living room, a bewildered, panicky look on his huge, child-like face. i was thinking, how stupid can we get? from the way he came into cronus's picture we should have known he didn't come through the door. stella had come through the door, and we just assumed he was already in the room. but who would have thought gregory could make like a human fly? "all right, gregory," i said. "you're under arrest." tears streaked his face. his jaw moved, but no sound came out. suddenly i saw how we had blundered. this grotesquely oversized child meant no harm to anyone. stella was the only person he'd ever known who treated him like a human being, and he wanted to see her again. for some reason he couldn't understand, the police were trying to prevent that. suddenly the entire universe was against him, even stella, and he was frightened. and dangerous. he lunged at me like a pile driver, and forced me back towards the open window. i got my gun out, and he just casually knocked it out of my hand. he had me on the window ledge, forcing me back and all i could see were the stars out in space. then the apartment door opened and closed and gregory glanced back over his shoulder. i screamed. "run, stella! run--" then the night air was whistling past me. i bounced off an awning, crashed into the branches of a tree, struggled frantically for a hold, and fell through. from the window above came a piercing scream.... * * * * * the doctor had a face like an owl, and he bent over me, making funny clucking noises with his tongue. "there we are," he said, when he saw my eyes open. "not bad at all." "what's good about it?" i said. "young man, you fell six stories, and all you have is a broken leg and assorted bruises. you ask me what's good about it?" "you wouldn't understand," i said. "beat it." stella's scream still rang in my ears. i twisted, and felt the heavy cast on my left leg. my mood merged and blended with the dull grey of the hospital room. a nurse came tiptoing in, and smiled blandly when she saw i was awake. "you have some visitors," she said. "do you want to see them?" i knew it was the captain. i hated to face him, but i said, "let's get it over with." the captain loomed in the doorway, backed away, and came in again. and ahead of him walked stella. a different stella--face pale and distorted, eyes registering shock and grief, but alive. but very much alive. i started to get up, and the nurse placed a firm hand on each shoulder and held me to the bed. "not so fast, sonny boy," she said. captain marks moved up a chair for stella. "jim," she said. her voice broke. "i'll tell him," the captain said. "it seems that miss emerson has a sister living in boston. she didn't know anything about our problem, and she came down this evening for a visit. she had a key to miss emerson's apartment, and she walked in just at the right time to play a leading role in cronus's drama." "was she--" "no. thankfully, no. her condition is serious but she'll be all right again. the knife missed a vital spot by a fraction." i relaxed. "what happened to gregory?" "he tried to go out the way he came in. there wasn't any tree to break his fall. and one other thing. i have an urgent message for you from walker." i glanced at the slip of paper. "jim--for god's sake, stay out of aircars!" "cronus showed us your fall half an hour before it happened. from our angle, it looked as if you fell out of the aircab that was hovering over the building. some time in the next twenty-four hours, walker calculated, but we couldn't reach you." "it wouldn't have made any difference," i said. "you know yourself...." "yes," he said. "i know." his voice rambled on, while my eyes met stella's. "so cronus can show us the future," i heard him say, "but he can't change it, and neither can we." "cronus changed mine," i said, still looking at stella. the captain took the hint, and left. five minutes later the phone rang, and i reached around stella to answer it. it was walker, and stella held her face close to mine and listened. "just called to offer my congratulations," walker said. "congratulations for what?" "for your wedding. cronus just spotted it." i swore, but i kept it under my breath. "i haven't even asked the girl," i said, "and don't tell me i'm wearing that stupid arm band at my wedding, because i'm not." "no, you're on crutches. but the captain is standing up with you, and he's wearing his." "all right," i said. "when is this glad event going to take place?" "four to eight days." i slammed down the receiver, and kissed stella's blushing face. "cronus says we're getting married in four to eight days, and this is one time that monstrosity's going to be wrong. we'll get married tomorrow." "all right, jim, if you want to. but...." "but what?" "this is may twenty-eighth, and i want to be a june bride." we were married five days later, and we went to arizona on our honeymoon. i'd done some checking, and i knew arizona was well outside of cronus's range. internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/fiftyyearsadetec furl +-------------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).| | | |text enclosed by plus signs is in bold face (+bold+). | | | |the table of contents is located at the end. | | | +-------------------------------------------------------+ copyright, , by thomas furlong. fifty years a detective by thomas furlong late chief of the secret service of the missouri pacific railway, known as the gould system; the allegheny valley railway of pennsylvania, and first chief of police of oil city, pa. real detective stories hitherto unpublished facts connected with some of mr. furlong's greatest cases--other interesting incidents of his long and strenuous career which really began on september , , when he was detailed from his company, (co. g., st pennsylvania rifles, better known as the pennsylvania bucktails) for special service. illustrated for sale by all reputable newsdealers, or can be obtained by addressing c. e. barnett, chemical building, st. louis, mo. post office box price, $ . [illustration: thomas furlong.] preface. this book was not published for the purpose of displaying any literary ability i may possess, as i have never aspired to win fame by the wielding of a pen. within its pages, however, i have attempted, in my own way and in my own manner, to make clear to the reader the inside or hitherto unpublished facts about some of the big cases i have handled during the fifty years i have made the prevention of crime and the tracking and punishment of criminals my profession. how well i have succeeded, i will leave it to the reader to judge. i am today, i believe, the oldest detective, in point of continuous service, in this or any other country. during my long career i have handled many important cases, of which the reading public knows nothing about, for the reason that the men, or corporations, by whom i was employed, did not hire me for the purpose of furnishing newspapers with the material with which to amuse or entertain their readers. within these pages i tell how the work was done, and how the clues were found and put together. on the other hand, many cases referred to in this book have received much newspaper publicity, but in these articles the writers were not permitted to tell all the inside facts--how the work was really accomplished. these facts are made public for the first time. in a few instances i have changed, or veiled, the names of the culprits about whom the articles were written. for doing this i do not propose to apologize, however. these men are alive today and are leading upright lives. they have paid the penalty demanded by the law and society, and i cannot see where it would do any good to again publish their early digressions to the world. i have no disposition to willfully malign any one, and names are only used in cases in which the facts are supported by documents in the archives of the courts of this country, canada and mexico, the scenes of my greatest activity. in selecting material for this book i have only used cases which were out of the ordinary, or in the unraveling of which some original or unique detective work was done. no attempt has been made to enlarge on the facts at hand. the book is just a simple narration of real detective work done on real cases handled by me--no attempt having been made to color them as an experienced writer would do, or is done to the work or the deductions of the phantom detectives by the writers of fiction. hoping that the book will serve the purpose for which it is issued i am, yours truly, thos. furlong. side-lights on the business. elements necessary to make a good detective. honesty and tenacity valuable assets. the profession has its parasites. all professions have their parasites and crooks. among the lawyers you will find men who will commit a felony for a few paltry dollars to clear a client of a charge of petty larceny--providing he does not think there is a chance of his being caught. among the doctors you will find men (and they have diplomas with larger red seals on them than has the commission of the president of the united states) who make a specialty of committing illegal operations, and doing other things that are not considered either lawful or ethical. among bankers you will find men who every day violate both the laws of the state and the government--high finance, they call it. the general public, however, knows and freely admits there are honest, upright, truthful lawyers, doctors and bankers, and highly honor each of these professions. but the aforesaid general public is not so charitable to detectives. the pettifogging lawyers and irresponsible penny liners of the press have educated it up to believing that all detectives are thieves, thugs and black guards, just because there are some men in the business who make the peddling of family secrets and the working up of evidence in divorce cases a specialty. i could never quite understand why this state of affairs should be true, for i know many men of as good moral character and just as honest and upright in the detective business as i have found in any of the other professions. detectives are born, not made--that is the successful ones--just as are the successful lawyers or doctors or mechanics or merchants. education does not always make a man a success in his chosen profession or calling. unless he really possesses the peculiar make-up, or fitness, for what he chooses to make his life work, he will never reach the top round of the ladder of fame. education, however, will help develop these necessary qualities, but that is all. in addition to all these qualifications there are others which the detective must possess. he must be scrupulously honest at all times, with himself and with those with whom he has dealings. he must be sober, truthful and reliable, and, in addition, at all times and under all circumstances, a gentleman. tenacity and nerve are other valuable assets. a lazy man, or a coward, has no business in the ranks. and he must at all times be firm. to my mind, a real detective should possess all the elements within his general make-up, which would be necessary to make him a success at any of the leading professions. he should possess the keen perceptive abilities of a trained or successful journalist, be able to read between the lines, as it were, or recognize the value of a clue, as the journalist does the value of a bit of news. he must be well posted on the law, especially that part pertaining to criminals. he must have the foresight and judgment of the successful merchant or tradesman. he must be sympathetic and just to the same degree as is the beloved pastor of a large congregation. and he must be an actor, one of the versatile kind of actors, who can play any kind of a part or assume any character without month's of rehearsing. he should at all times act natural, even while assuming a character, for if he overdoes the part he assumes, it is more than likely to attract unusual attention to him, which a real detective should avoid at all times. remember another thing: all crimes, nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand, have a motive. true, these motives are often veiled and are not discernable at a mere glance. you must be a good diagnostician to handle these veiled cases--to diagnose them, as it were, as a learned physician diagnoses his case when called to the bedside of a very sick patient--find the cause. when you have found the motive for a crime, the balance of the work is usually easy. there is one more phase of the detective business that i want to refer to briefly. many men believe they were created or born for the express purpose of becoming detectors of crime. they believe they have missed their calling--it makes no difference by what means they are making a living now--because they have not been "called" into the detective business and many of them actually put in all their leisure time trying to "catch on" to a job, either in some municipal department or with some private agency. the truth is, not one in ten thousand of these men would "make good" if the opportunity to do so was offered them. the chief of a detective agency does not go among these men who are laboring under the delusion that they have been "called," when he wants men to do real detective work. he selects his recruits from among acquaintances in whom he has recognized the talents necessary for the making of good thief-catchers or investigators. these are found in all professions and trades. among the men in my employ can be found men who are capable of running the mechanical end of almost any kind of business, from a boiler shop to a composing room in a large printing house, or who could easily find, because of their qualifications, a good job in any large commercial or mercantile establishment. in conclusion, i will add that after the natural qualifications for a good detective have developed themselves, it takes more hard work and study to reach the pinnacle of fame than other professions require, and the remuneration is a great deal less, taking into consideration the hazardousness of the business. the preller murder case. true statement as to how the evidence which hung maxwell was obtained published for the first time. the preller murder occurred in the summer of , in one of the rooms of the southern hotel, st. louis, mo. clarence preller was a young englishman, as was also his slayer, hugh m. brookes. the discovery of the body, the apprehension of the murderer, his trial and execution, attracted the attention of the civilized world. the true story of the conviction of the perpetrator of this foul crime has never before been published. hugh m. brookes was a native of hyde park, a suburb of london, england. his father and mother were respectable people, and school teachers by professions. the young man was about twenty-five or six years of age when he committed this crime. he had never done anything but go to school, consequently was well educated. the last school he attended was a law school. he ran away from this institution, after stealing a lot of property that belonged to fellow students. the plunder he secured consisted mostly of ornaments and bric-a-brac, which he pawned at liverpool, england, to secure enough money with which to purchase a first-class ticket to boston, mass. after boarding the vessel he met and formed the acquaintance of clarence preller. preller was a trusted employee of a large export establishment of london. his duties required him to travel nearly all over the world, or, at least, to visit the principal cities of the world. he was a young man, being about thirty years of age, and finding brookes, a fellow-countryman, an agreeable companion, took very kindly to him. brookes represented himself as being a titled nobleman, who had just finished his course at college, and was making a pleasure tour of america. he called himself maxwell. [illustration: hugh m. brookes, alias maxwell the young englishman hung for murdering arthur preller in the southern hotel.] during the voyage from liverpool to boston, preller told maxwell, as i will call him hereafter, that after he had attended to a matter of business for his firm at boston he had to go to toronto, canada, where he would be detained but a day or two. then he would leave toronto for st. louis, missouri, where he also had some business to do for his firm, which would require but a short time, and that from there he would go through to san francisco, california, and sail from there on the first steamship to auckland, new zealand. maxwell told him that he believed he would go from boston to st. louis, where he (maxwell) would await the arrival of preller from toronto, then accompany him to auckland just for the trip. this proposition pleased preller. they arrived safely in boston, where they remained two or three days together, and where maxwell learned that preller had in his possession seven one hundred dollar bills. after preller had finished his business in boston they settled their bills at the adams house, where they had stopped, went to the depot together and separated, preller going to toronto and maxwell to st. louis. they had agreed that maxwell was to stop at the southern hotel in st. louis, there to await preller. maxwell arrived at that hotel and engaged a room, where preller joined him a couple of days later. i think it was saturday when he arrived, and they occupied the same apartments. on the following sunday, after they had eaten their dinner and returned to their room, preller complained of suffering from stomach trouble. maxwell claimed to have some knowledge of medicine, and administered an overdose of morphia, hypodermically. a short time after administering the drug, and when he saw that preller was beginning to breathe his last, he poured more than half the contents of a four ounce bottle of chloroform into preller's almost lifeless lips. when preller was dead, maxwell stripped the body and placed a suit of his own underwear on him. maxwell was small in stature, being only about five feet five inches in height, while preller was much larger and about six feet tall. maxwell's clothing was marked with the name of hugh m. brookes, and they were entirely too small for the body of preller. in removing the underwear maxwell used a candle snuffer, which is very much like a pair of scissors, only the cutting surface had a half-circle. he cut the undergarments the full length of the limbs so that he could easily strip them off. then he managed to pull his own garments on the body. he emptied out the trunk belonging to preller, and pressed the body into it. he had to almost double it into a circle to get it into the trunk, but he succeeded. then strapping and locking the trunk, he put his own, as well as preller's effects into his own trunk, and retired for the night. the next morning, after breakfast, he called at the cashier's office, settled his bill, and stated to the clerk that his friend preller had been obliged to make a short run out of town, and would be back to the hotel in two or three days, and desired that the room be held for him, as his trunk and effects would remain there until he called for them. maxwell explained that he had to leave that morning and expected his friend preller to join him later. he instructed the head porter to bring his large trunk down into the corridor. the one he had ordered brought down contained the dead body, but, to his consternation, the porter brought down the one in which his and preller's effects had been packed. he became very much alarmed, and had his trunk taken to union station and checked to san francisco, buying a ticket for that place. he departed over the frisco road, and arrived in san francisco, where he remained one night, and the following day bought a ticket for auckland, new zealand, and sailed that afternoon. the weather was quite warm in st. louis, and after a few days decomposition set in upon the corpse in the trunk. the odor from the room attracted the attention of the servants. they reported to the office, the room was entered and the body found. the police were notified at once. a good description of maxwell was furnished by the hotel people, and telegrams were sent in all directions, giving this description, and requesting maxwell's arrest. capt. leas, chief of police of san francisco, received one of these telegrams, started his detectives to investigate, and succeeded in learning that the murderer had sailed for auckland some three or four days before he had received the telegraphic description of him from st. louis. whereupon chief leas cabled the proper authorities of auckland a full description of maxwell, and even the number of the stateroom he occupied on the ship. of course, capt. leas' telegram reached auckland several days before the ship arrived. when the ship arrived at auckland, the police sent out two of their detectives with the pilot, who was to guide the steamer on which maxwell had taken passage into port. they arrested him as soon as they boarded the ship, and when the vessel landed immediately notified the st. louis authorities, in accordance with capt. leas' instructions to them. after obtaining proper extradition papers, the chief of police of st. louis sent two of his detectives to auckland to bring maxwell back to st. louis. they went to auckland by way of san francisco, found maxwell in jail there and brought him back to st. louis. it was a long and expensive trip, and cost the city of st. louis a great deal of money. on arriving in st. louis the prisoner was locked up without bail, on the charge of murdering preller. he immediately employed two lawyers to defend him. after having consulted with his lawyers, maxwell became jubilant--so much so that he became obnoxious to his fellow prisoners. he was naturally inclined to be overbearing, and seemed to hold himself aloof from the other prisoners. he was rather inclined to braggadocia, and attracted a lot of attention. the daily papers devoted a great deal of space to him, which he seemed to enjoy immensely. in fact, the notoriety appeared to be very pleasing to him. [illustration: marshall f. mcdonald the famous criminal lawyer who prosecuted brookes, alias maxwell] a few days after he had been lodged in jail in st. louis, ashley c. clover, circuit attorney of st. louis, in company with marshall f. mcdonald, assistant circuit attorney, drove out to my residence one night. i was then chief special agent for the missouri pacific railroad company, and both messrs. clover and mcdonald were personal friends of mine. mr. clover stated that the object of their visit was in reference to the maxwell case. he went on to state that although the arrest and returning of maxwell from auckland to st. louis had cost the city of st. louis a great deal of money, and the case had become one of international importance, yet he did not believe that the officers of the st. louis police department had made any efforts to get at the real facts in the case. so far they had not found enough evidence to procure a conviction, in case the defendant went on the stand and testified that the giving of too much chloroform to preller was an accident. mr. clover said that he wanted the real facts in the case. "for," he said, "while there is scarcely any doubt that maxwell caused the death of preller by an over-dose of chloroform, yet he may have done it innocently, and if such is the case, under our laws, he could not be convicted of the murder, and ought not to be, in my opinion. but, on the contrary, if he dosed him purposely and feloniously with forethought and malice, he ought to be convicted. if he did it innocently, and i could be assured of that, i would be pleased to ask the jury to acquit him, but, as i said before, if he is guilty it would be my duty as circuit attorney to insist on his conviction. and now, tom, i want you to get the facts in this case for me." to which i replied, "mr. clover, i really do not know anything about this case, except what i have read in the newspapers, and, of course, you know as well as i do that a man cannot base much of an opinion on a case of this kind on newspaper accounts, and, therefore, i wish you would give me a little time to think the matter over. i fully approve of the sentiments that you have expressed in connection with the case, and will be glad, indeed, to do all in my power to assist you." both gentlemen said they wished that i would take the matter under advisement until the following evening at eight o'clock, at which time they would again call at my house to talk the matter over with me. the following evening at the appointed time they called and were both apparently anxious to learn what i thought i could do in the way of obtaining the facts pertaining to the case. after the usual greeting, and when both had been seated, i said, "gentlemen, i have been thinking about the case in question, and have become satisfied that there were but two people who knew the whole facts connected with the case, and the facts that you now desire to know. one of these persons is now in jail, and the other is dead. in my opinion maxwell is the only living person who knows the facts, and, therefore, he is the only person from whom these facts can be obtained. i believe i can get those facts from him, but i want you gentlemen to understand that i am in the employ of the missouri pacific railroad company, and, of course, they are paying me for all my time, but if i were not in their employ i could not do this myself on account of my being so well known. for that reason it would be necessary for me to select a competent operative to do this work under my instructions. i shall be glad to do this, or anything else that i can do to assist you in unraveling this case, with the understanding that i am not to receive any compensation for what i may do myself, but i shall expect you gentlemen to pay the operative that i may use in this work the same amount of salary that we are paying him, and his actual expenses. as i said before, i will do all that i can, but will neither expect nor receive any remuneration for my services." "tom," replied mr. clover, "there is no fund provided by the city for the employment of outside talent for such work as this in question, but i expect to pay the expense out of my own pocket, and i shall insist on paying you for your services in connection with this matter." i answered, "i will receive nothing for any work that i may do in the matter." at this point in the conversation mr. mcdonald, who had been sitting quietly, listening to mr. clover and myself, said, "tom, how do you expect to obtain the facts in this case? that's what i would like to know." "mr. mcdonald," i responded, "i feel that it would be easier for me to go ahead and do this work, than it would be for me to undertake to tell you how i propose to do it." mr. clover then said, "tom, i am going to place this matter in your hands. i want you to go ahead and get this thing started as soon as possible, as the defendant's attorneys are clammoring for a speedy trial, and i do not wish to keep them waiting any longer than i can help. you do this work in your own way and i will pay the bills." i said, "all right." the next day i telegraphed to philadelphia to an operative in my employ there. he was an entire stranger in st. louis. i wired him to come at once, and not to stop at my office, but to come direct to my house on his arrival in the city, which he did. his name was john mcculloch. he was about thirty-five years of age, about five feet, ten inches in height, and weighed about two hundred pounds. he was well built, had a sandy complexion, and was rather a good-looking fellow. he was wearing side-whiskers, or burnsides, as they were called, and a blonde mustache, and looked very much like an englishman. he was truthful and honest, and of sober habits, but a little thick-headed, or, in other words, dull of comprehension. in instructing him it was necessary to explain each detail fully, and sometimes it would seem as if it were necessary to take a hammer and pound the instructions into his head, but when he once understood thoroughly what you wanted him to do he would carry out instructions to the letter. right here it might be well to take the reader into my confidence. i had decided to get my operative (mcculloch) into jail, where he could meet maxwell, without the knowledge of the local police officers. after explaining the nature of the case to him, i instructed him to procure the leading daily papers of st. louis, dating back to the time of the murder, and to read every line that had been published relative to the case. this he did, and it took him about three weeks. i met him each evening during the time and rehearsed with him what i wanted him to do, from the time he was arrested, and how he should act after his arrest and incarceration. early in february, , i succeeded in getting possession of a few blank checks from the office of d. s. h. smith, who was local treasurer of the missouri pacific railroad company in st. louis. being chief special agent of the road i had occasion to visit the local treasurer's office frequently, and being well known, not only to the local treasurer, but to all of his office force as well, i had no difficulty in obtaining the blank checks without the knowledge of dr. smith, as the local treasurer was called by most of the people who knew him, or any of his clerks. my chief clerk was a good penman, and was familiar with the signature of dr. d. s. h. smith. i had him practice for some time on imitating dr. smith's signature, and found that he could imitate it so clearly that it would have been accepted as genuine by any bank teller. while i wanted a fairly good imitation of the signature, i did not want it to be so good that it would be received at the bank. after practicing for a time he succeeded in making a signature which i thought would answer my purpose. i had him fill out one of the blank checks for the amount of one thousand one hundred and eighty-eight dollars and ten cents. i then gave this check to mcculloch, with instructions to him to present it to the paying-teller of the mechanics bank, which was then on fourth street. he was to present this check at : sharp, the following morning. i had received a check, a day or two before this, which bore the signature of dr. smith, and had purposely held this out, and was waiting across the street from the bank when i saw mcculloch, whom i will hereafter call frank dingfelter, as this was the name he assumed, and was the name to which the check had been made payable. on entering the bank dingfelter went to the window of the paying-teller, mr. warner, and presented the check. warner examined the check very carefully, and by reason of its being for so large an amount, and dingfelter being an entire stranger to him (i, having allowed dingfelter time enough to have reached the paying-teller's window, entered the bank with my check in my hand), held the check that dingfelter had presented, and when he saw me he excitedly motioned to me to come to his window. on reaching the window warner commanded me, in an excited manner, to arrest that man, pointing to dingfelter. i said, "what do you want him arrested for?" warner, holding up the check said, "why he has presented a large fake check bearing the name of dr. smith, for nearly twelve hundred dollars. why, you know dr. smith's signature?" i replied, "yes, here is one of dr. smith's checks. i know this is genuine, for i saw the doctor sign it." he compared the fake check with mine, and i said to mr. warner, "while i am not an expert on hand-writing, i do not believe that dr. smith wrote that signature." mr. warner exclaimed, "i am positive he did not." then turning to mr. dingfelter i asked, "where did you get this check?" "i got it from dr. smith," was his reply. "does dr. smith know you?" i asked. in rather a gruff manner he answered, "yes, he knows me." "will you go with me and see dr. smith?" i asked. "well, i do not know whether i will or not. i don't know who you are," he replied. whereupon i laid my hand on his shoulder and said, "you will either accompany me to dr. smith's office, or i will send for a patrol wagon, take you to police headquarters and have you locked up." "are you an officer?" he asked. to which i replied, "yes, i am the chief special agent of the missouri pacific railroad company." "oh, well," said he, "that is different. i will go with you and see dr. smith." it was drizzling rain the morning of this occurrence, was quite chilly and the streets and sidewalks were wet and slippery and dirty, as the streets of st. louis were not kept as clean at that time as they are now. i took the fake check and dingfelter and myself started for dr. smith's office, which at that time was in the missouri pacific general office building on the corner of sixth and locust streets. we walked west on pine from fourth. when we reached the corner of sixth and pine streets i gave dingfelter a signal, which had been pre-arranged. this signal was for him to hit me a good, stiff punch, as the fighters call it. there was a large, clumsy patrolman, wearing a raincoat, standing under an awning near the corner saloon. i was walking on the left-hand side of dingfelter, and when i gave him the signal he cut loose with his right hand, which landed just over my right eye and a little back of it. i had instructed him to hit me hard, and if he succeeded in knocking me down and i became groggy from the blow he was to stumble and fall himself, so as to give the big, clumsy police officer time to reach us. the officer was standing about ten feet from us when dingfelter struck me, but i knew how slow he was and i wanted to be sure and give him an opportunity of getting hold of dingfelter. i went down all right, and in fact, was a little dazed from the effects of the blow. dingfelter stumbled and fell, and the policeman made a dash (such as a heavily loaded ice wagon going up hill would make) and succeeded in reaching him, not, however, until he had arisen, and i also had got to my feet. he got to dingfelter about the same time that i did. the latter made a good fight and tore off most of the uniform of the policeman and my coat, vest and collar. all of us went down in the street and rolled around in the mud. our ears and faces were filled with mud, before we finally succeeded in subduing dingfelter, but i am satisfied if he had tried his best he could have gotten away with both of us, as he was a powerful man. my office was on eighth street, just north of pine, and this fight occurred just two blocks from my office, and after we had subdued dingfelter i suggested that we take him there, so as to give us an opportunity of washing ourselves while we were waiting for a patrol wagon to take the prisoner to police headquarters. this we did, and on arriving at my office we turned the prisoner over to my chief clerk and one of my operatives, who happened to be there, while the policeman and myself began digging the mud out of our ears and washing our faces. after washing i found that my right eye was very much discolored, and where my face had come in contact with the pavement there were a number of small cuts and scratches, which were somewhat inflamed, and i really had a sore face. the operative who i have mentioned before, whose name was phillips, on seeing my face said to me, "why, you sure ought to go and see a doctor at once. your eye is in bad shape, and you need medical attention immediately. let me go up to police headquarters with this fellow. i can attend to the matter for you." i thanked him, and said that i wished he would do so. i told him what had occurred at the bank, and instructed him to make a complaint against dingfelter accordingly. in due time the patrol wagon arrived and the police officer and phillips escorted mr. dingfelter to police headquarters. at this time hughie o'neil was chief of detectives, and major lawrence harrigan, was chief of police for the city of st. louis. as soon as dingfelter was hustled into the detectives' office in the four courts, chief o'neil and a squad of his men immediately set about searching him. they found in one of his inside pockets a letter, addressed, sealed and stamped, but apparently which dingfelter had forgotten to mail. it was directed to san francisco. they also found about seventy-five or one hundred dollars, and some other articles, all of which were taken from him and placed in the police department archives for safe keeping. the letter was eagerly opened and read. this letter was quite lengthy, and was just such a letter as one crook would write to another. there was then, and had been for some time previous, a gang of bank swindlers working the cities of the pacific coast, and the newspapers had been printing a great deal about the operations of this gang several weeks prior to the time of which i write; and for this reason the detectives of st. louis were led to believe by the finding of the letter that they had struck something which might lead to the capture of the bank swindlers. the contents of the letter appeared in the afternoon papers. some of these papers censured me for having failed to discover this letter. after reading the comments of the papers regarding this letter, i would have considered myself very stupid, indeed, for having missed the letter, were it not for the fact that i knew that i had not had an opportunity to search mr. dingfelter up to the time he assaulted me and the officer on pine street, and then i also knew it had taken me about two hours to compose and dictate that same letter. dingfelter was locked up, of course, and the time was set for his preliminary hearing, to be several days later. in the meantime the st. louis papers were devoting lots of space to dingfelter and his alleged crime; a relief to the newspaper readers, as they had begun to grow tired of reading day after day about maxwell and what his attorneys expected to do for him. from the time of dingfelter's arrest up to the time of maxwell's trial, the newspapers scarcely mentioned the latter's name. some of them occasionally mentioned my name in rather a joking manner, because i had been stupid enough to miss that letter. when dingfelter was called for his preliminary hearing he was promptly remanded to jail to await the action of the grand jury. he was besieged by lawyers who were anxious to defend him, but he declined their offers, telling them when the time came he had lawyers selected to defend him, and steadfastly refused to divulge their names. the second day after his arrest dingfelter was allowed to mingle with the other prisoners in what was called the "bull ring." an allotted time is given to the prisoners each day in this place for exercise. maxwell noticed that almost immediately after his arrest the newspapers were giving dingfelter all the notoriety, and had dropped himself, so he hastened to make the acquaintance of one so notorious when they met in the "bull ring." this was the only opportunity of meeting him, and from the first time that maxwell saw dingfelter he never lost an opportunity of talking with him, and he stuck to dingfelter like the proverbial fly to the horse. the first time maxwell approached dingfelter he rushed up to him and said, "you are dingfelter, i believe." dingfelter replied that he was and maxwell then said, "they seem to have a strong case against you." "you will have to excuse me, sir, i don't want to be considered impolite," dingfelter replied, "but i must decline to talk to any one in this place about my case, as you call it. i don't believe it would be a good thing for me or any other person to talk about a charge that is pending against them in a place of this kind. i shall be glad to talk with you on any other subject, however, but i trust that you will hereafter refrain from asking me any questions regarding the charge now pending against me in court, and then, i don't know you." maxwell hastily said, "oh, i am maxwell. i am the fellow who is charged with the murder of that man preller, who was killed in the southern hotel, and whose body was found in a trunk. i was arrested at auckland, new zealand, and brought back here to st. louis to stand trial, but i have been assured by my attorneys that i will be acquitted. they have no proof against me, and just as soon as i can get a trial, why, of course, i will go free." "so you are maxwell," said dingfelter. "i have been reading in the papers about you, and if you will pardon me for saying it, it seems to me that you have already been talking too much about your case. if you are not guilty of the crime with which you stand charged, why you ought to be acquitted, and i hope you will be." after this first interview between maxwell and dingfelter, he and many other prisoners looked upon dingfelter as being a wise and unusually smart prisoner. dingfelter was in jail forty-seven days, and during all that time maxwell never let an opportunity pass without talking to him. i received daily reports from my operative, a task which i found very difficult, and it became more difficult by reason of the southwestern railroad strike, which broke out on march , , and continued during dingfelter's stay in the st. louis jail. being chief special agent for the gould system, my time was occupied in protecting the railroad company's property, and in apprehending people who were continually committing illegal acts. i was occupied almost day and night in this work. from dingfelter's daily reports i learned that maxwell had admitted that he had killed preller for the purpose of obtaining seven one hundred dollar bills that he knew preller to have, as he had shown him the money in the adams house at boston, before they separated there. he also had pawned the plunder for the money which had brought him to america, and that he had made preller believe that he was connected with the titled family of maxwell, that his right name was hugh m. brookes, and that he would like to place himself under the guidance and advice of an able crook, as he believed dingfelter to be, when he gained his liberty, as he was sure he would, in the near future. he told dingfelter in detail how he had killed preller by administering an overdose of morphia, hypodermically; of how, after dinner on the fatal sunday, preller had complained of a pain in his stomach; that he, maxwell, saw that was his opportunity for carrying out the plan he had already formed for taking preller's life in order to secure the money; that he had provided himself with a large quantity of morphia and the hypodermic syringe, and that he had also procured four ounces of chloroform, for the purpose of administering it to preller immediately before death, to prevent the body from becoming rigid, as it does immediately after death, "as," said maxwell in his explanation to dingfelter, "i had to conceal his long body in the trunk, which was so much shorter, and i did not want to cut off his limbs, fearing that the trace of the blood would betray me." on receiving dingfelter's report relative to the use of the morphia in the murder, i at once reported the fact to messrs. clover and mcdonald, who immediately arranged with two of the most prominent doctors in st. louis to examine the body of preller for traces of the morphia. messrs. clover, mcdonald, the doctors, an official of bellefontaine cemetery, and myself, went to the cemetery, where preller's body had been buried, exhumed the body, and the doctors made the necessary examination, keeping what they discovered to themselves, and they did not divulge anything about it until called on to testify at maxwell's trial, when they said that the traces of the hypodermic syringe were plainly visible on the arm, and that traces of morphia were found. when maxwell was arrested a quantity of morphia was found among his effects, and also the hypodermic syringe, but up to this discovery neither had been considered in connection with the murder, as it had been taken for granted that preller's death had been caused by chloroform. of course, the exhuming of the body, and the arrangement that had been made were known to no one but messrs. clover, mcdonald, the two doctors, the cemetery official and myself, and was treated as a profound secret. meanwhile, after dingfelter had been in jail and had obtained the information we wanted from maxwell, i decided that it was unnecessary to keep him there longer, so i arranged to have dingfelter released on bail, which had been fixed at three thousand five hundred dollars. i had ex-judge henry d. laughlin, of st. louis, sign dingfelter's bond. i did this without judge laughlin's knowledge that i even knew who dingfelter was. upon his release i immediately sent him to new york, where he entered into correspondence with friends of maxwell's. just before being released he asked maxwell if he could keep a secret, and maxwell said that he could, whereupon dingfelter said: "i expect to leave this place soon." "how are you going to get out?" asked maxwell. "ah," said dingfelter, "that is none of your business. you said you could keep a secret, and the first thing you are doing is to pry into my business by asking how i am going to get out. after i am gone from here, of course, you will know it, but if you do not know how i propose to get out it will be impossible for you to tell any one about it. for that reason it is better that you should not know anything further than what i have already said." maxwell apologized and promised not to be so inquisitive again. dingfelter then said: "now, maxwell, after i am on the outside and away from this place, if i can do anything for you consistently i shall be glad to do it." "you can do a whole lot for me," maxwell answered, "by getting two of your friends to come here when my trial is called and have them testify that they met preller and myself in boston, and that they accompanied us to the depot when we were leaving boston; that at the depot i proposed that the party take a parting drink; that preller, these two men and myself, went to a cafe, and that i ordered two bottles of champagne, and that when i paid for it i displayed a roll of seven one hundred dollar bills; that i explained that i wanted to change one of these hundred dollar bills so that i might have some smaller change to pay expenses on my way to st. louis. if they will testify to this it will account for the six one hundred dollar bills i took from preller." dingfelter asked, "are you sure that your lawyers will not get these friends of mine into trouble or let the police get next to them if i can get them to come?" maxwell assured dingfelter that his friends would be perfectly safe in coming to st. louis, and that the police would not get next to them, providing, of course, that the parties were not already known to the police. he took a card bearing his name from his pocket and tore it in two halves, giving one half to dingfelter and retaining the other himself, saying, "be sure and give these witnesses half of the card, which will serve to identify them to my attorneys when they arrive here, as that half of the card will match the half that i will retain, the edges of the torn card will match and will answer the purpose of an introduction." it was about five o'clock in the evening when dingfelter was released from jail on bond, and at that hour the courts in the building had adjourned for the day, and the newspaper correspondents and all others had left the building except the few attaches who were on duty. thus dingfelter left the jail unobserved. on his release from the jail he came to my house by a circuitous route, where he remained until a late hour that night, when he left to take a train for new york. i instructed him to open a correspondence with maxwell on his arrival in new york, so as to get positive instructions from maxwell as to what the witnesses were to testify to when they appeared on the stand in his defense. he carried out these instructions to the letter. his letters reached maxwell through his attorneys, and maxwell's letters reached him through the same source, and in due time, all the letters were sent to me with his report. they kept up this correspondence at intervals until maxwell's trial was called. i told dingfelter to appear in st. louis on the morning of the trial, which he did. on arriving here he went to a private lodging house, and being a stranger in the city, his presence was unknown to any person but himself and the circuit attorneys, clover and mcdonald. when his trial was called, maxwell took the stand in his own defense, and testified that he had administered chloroform to his friend preller on the fatal evening at the southern hotel for the purpose of allaying the pain that he was suffering from, as both messrs. clover and mcdonald had predicted he would testify. maxwell went on to state that preller's suffering was caused by an acute attack of stricture, from which he had been suffering more or less for some time. on hearing this testimony from maxwell, it was decided to again exhume the body of preller so that the two doctors could make another examination of the remains, and either corroborate or disprove maxwell's testimony, as this was one of the most vital points in the trial. when the body was exhumed the doctors removed the organs, taking them to their laboratory, where the examination was made, and they later came into court and testified that their examination had shown beyond a doubt that preller had never suffered from stricture. frank dingfelter was among the first witnesses called by the prosecution. in answer to his name, he entered the court room from the private office of the circuit attorney, and after being duly sworn, took his seat on the witness stand. after sitting down he turned his face towards attorney mcdonald, who was conducting the prosecution for the state. maxwell got a full view of dingfelter for the first time since he had seen him in the jail. from where i was sitting i could get a good view of maxwell's countenance. i was watching him closely, and when he saw dingfelter he recognized him instantly. he turned ashy pale and nearly fainted, and would have fallen out of his chair were it not that he was partly supported by one of his attorneys who was sitting beside him. he hurriedly communicated to his attorney that he had recognized dingfelter, whereupon the attorneys for the defense became very much excited. dingfelter was asked by attorney mcdonald the following questions: question: what is your name? a. john f. mcculloch. q. where were you born? a. wilmington, delaware. q. how old are you? a. thirty years. q. what is your business? a. detective. q. by whom are you employed? a. thomas furlong. q. do you know the defendant in this case (pointing to maxwell)? a. yes, sir. q. where did you first become acquainted with him? a. in the city jail. q. were you a prisoner in the jail? a. yes, sir. q. what were you charged with? a. i believe it was forgery. q. when and where were you arrested? a. i was arrested at the mechanics bank on the corner of fourth and pine streets, this city, by thomas furlong, who was afterwards assisted by a police officer, whose name i do not know. q. why did furlong arrest you? a. he was commanded to do so by the paying teller of the mechanics bank. q. why did the teller cause your arrest? a. because i presented a check bearing what purported to be the signature of d. s. h. smith, local treasurer of the missouri pacific railroad company. the paying teller told furlong, in my presence, that the signature was a forgery. q. did you know it to be a forgery? a. i did not. q. where did you get this check? a. mr. furlong gave me the check and instructed me to present it at the bank, as i did, and told me that he would be at the bank when i presented it. q. was mr. furlong there? a. yes, he came into the bank while i was at the teller's window. that was when mr. warner, as i believe the teller's name is, told him to arrest me. q. then you do not know whether the check was a forgery or not? a. no, sir. i was only obeying the instructions of my employer, mr. furlong. i guess he can tell you all about that check. the court room was crowded, and as soon as dingfelter stated that he was a detective one of the city detectives rushed out of the court, pellmell, to the office of the chief of police, which was in the opposite end of the building, and informed the chief of what had occurred. the chief rushed into the court room, and from that time on consternation seemed to prevail among all the authorities around the four courts building. dingfelter was kept upon the witness stand for about two days, and during his entire direct testimony, nearly every question asked him by the prosecuting attorney was objected to by the attorneys for the defense. after mcculloch, as i will call him by his right name hereafter, had been excused from the witness stand, i was called. after being duly sworn and the preliminary questions asked, i was told, by the prosecuting attorney, to state to the court and jury how i had been approached by mr. clover and himself, and what i had done in connection with the case. i gave a detailed account of my work from the start up to that moment, being interrupted occasionally by an objection from the defendant's counsel. when i had finished my direct testimony, all of which has already been related, the counsel for the defense began to cross-examine me. my cross-examination consumed nearly a day and a half. the defendant's counsel first wanted to know how long i had been in the detective business. i answered that i had first become engaged in the business in september, . the attorney said, "then you have had a great deal of experience?" i answered that i had, and then he said, "where did you get this check?" exhibiting the check in question. i asked permission to examine the check, which was granted by the court, and after looking at it carefully i answered, "this is one of the blank checks that i took from dr. smith's office in the manner already described." question: then you stole this check from dr. smith's office? a. i took that blank check from dr. smith's office without his knowledge or consent. q. who filled out this check and signed dr. smith's name to it? a. that check was filled out by one of my employes. i stood alongside of him while he filled it out. he did it under my instructions, and if he had refused to do it i would have discharged him and he knew it; and if the law has been violated in any way i am responsible for it. the attorney for the defense insisted that i give the name of the person who filled out the check, but the court overruled the question on the ground that i had assumed the responsibility. the counsel for the defense then said, "you know that you were violating the law by having this check made out as you did, did you not?" i replied, "under certain conditions, it might have been a violation of the law." counsel for the defense asked, "you know that it was a forgery and forgery is a crime under the law?" my answer was the same as before, that it would have been forgery under certain conditions. but he insisted on me answering him direct "yes" or "no." at this prosecuting attorney mcdonald appealed to the court, stating that the witness could not answer the question with a direct "yes" or "no" unless permitted to explain what the certain conditions referred to were. the court permitted me to explain under what conditions the making of the check would not be considered forgery. to which i replied that inasmuch as that intent is the essence of crime, and that as there was no intent to obtain money or other valuables by means of this check on my part, who was responsible for the making of it, and that i was at the bank on the morning that mcculloch presented the check for the purpose of preventing the teller from cashing the check, if he, perchance, had not noticed that the signature of dr. smith was not genuine, and for the further reason that i had promptly apprehended the man who had presented the check at the bank for having done so. this was all a matter of court record. here i wish to say that almost every person in the courtroom, after hearing my testimony as to my obtaining the blank checks and causing one to be filled out and presented at the bank, were of the opinion that i had gotten myself into serious trouble. many clung to that opinion until they heard my explanation, and the competent court attorneys saw at a glance that i was safe when i explained that intent was what constituted a crime. i have been asked many, many times since the arrest of mcculloch and my tussle with him, why i caused him to knock me down and to strip the policeman and myself, leaving us in almost a nude condition, and which compelled me to go around several days with my right eye and one side of my face discolored--as some of them said, "in mourning"--and my answer has always been that i had decided everything i did in connection with the case was absolutely necessary so that i might obtain the true facts of the case, which were very essential for the proper prosecution of the perpetrator of this heinous crime, as he was the only living person who knew the real facts. i knew that maxwell was enjoying the notoriety the newspapers were giving him, and i also knew that the public was growing tired of reading about him, and, therefore, believed that if i could paint my operative as a more desperate criminal for the time being, by the notoriety he would obtain through the papers, it would have the effect of attracting maxwell's attention to him, so that he might bask in the light that was being attracted to mcculloch. and, as it turned out, my predictions proved true. i deemed it necessary to have mcculloch slug me and make the fight that he did with the police officer and myself in order to allay any suspicion that might arise in the mind of the chief of police or any of his men. the chief was an alert and experienced officer, and if he suspected for a moment that mcculloch was not what he represented himself to be, or that he was connected with me, he would have undoubtedly exposed our scheme, and thereby destroyed our efforts, which were for the honest purpose of serving the ends of justice. both mcculloch and myself were acting parts, and from the result it seems that the parts were acted well. i could have gotten the blank check from dr. smith, i have no doubt, merely by asking for it, but he, of course would have wanted an explanation from me, and if i had explained why i wanted them he would have been obliged to state the facts on the witness stand when called before the grand jury, and this would have been fatal to my scheme. had i told my operative phillips, who lodged the first complaint against mcculloch, or dingfelter, as he called himself, he would have been compelled, under oath, to have stated the truth. this, too, would have been fatal. my keeping the matter a secret, resulted in every person telling the truth, or what they believed to be the truth. i myself, did not appear either at police headquarters or at the preliminary hearing, nor before the grand jury, and was not called upon to testify until maxwell was on trial. marshall f. mcdonald was sitting in his office one day alone, about a month after dingfelter had been in jail and had made such good progress with maxwell, when william marion reedy, better known then as billy reedy, entered his office. reedy was, at that time, a reporter for the globe-democrat, and was very popular. he knew every official around the four courts and in fact, every man in st. louis who was worth knowing. he was a warm friend and great admirer of mr. mcdonald, and on entering his office and noting that he was alone, he said, "mac, why don't you select the right kind of a fellow and have him locked up in jail with maxwell. he might succeed in getting the facts as to preller's murder from him." mr. mcdonald was startled to hear this suggestion from mr. reedy, but, being a man of steady nerves, he managed to conceal his surprise. he told reedy that he did not believe that anything could be accomplished by locking a man up in jail for that purpose. "for," said mac, "there are nearly four hundred prisoners in that jail and a man might be there for months before he could get to maxwell, and then it is quite likely that his attorneys have already advised him not to talk to any person about his case." reedy said, "it occurred to me that it might be a good thing to do, and i therefore made the suggestion to you for what it is worth, but, as you do not think it worth while to try it, just let it go." he left the office, and just as soon as mcdonald could don his hat and coat and leave his office unobserved, he hastened to me. i saw at a glance that he was excited and believed something unusual had happened. i greeted him and asked him to be seated, and then said, "mac, what is the matter?" he extended his long right arm and exclaimed, "why, the whole thing is up." "what's up?" i asked, "mac, what do you mean?" "why, billy reedy came into my office a little while ago and suggested that i pick out the right kind of a fellow and have him locked up in jail so that he might work on maxwell," he said. "is that all reedy said?" i asked. he then went on and detailed as nearly as he could recollect just what reedy had said. i asked him what he had said to reedy and he told me. i then said, "do you think that reedy noticed your excitement when he made the suggestion to you?" "no, he could not have," he replied, "i was not excited, i never get excited." "you were excited when you came in here, and if billy reedy noticed it when he made that suggestion it might set him to thinking, and inasmuch as you did not take kindly to the suggestion, he might possibly make the suggestion to chief harrigan," i said. "oh, no," replied mac, "billy would not make any suggestions to the chief. he is my friend and i appreciate the feeling that prompted him to make the suggestion, but confound it, i wish he had not thought of it." i said, "mac, we know that billy reedy is a bright young fellow, and a great news gatherer, and a loyal friend of yours. i do not believe he will say anything more about it, and now i think the best thing to do is to quietly await developments." my advice was followed, and i do not believe that william marion reedy, who is now proprietor and editor of the st. louis mirror, has ever known just how much that friendly suggestion of his worried his friend marshall f. mcdonald. i have told in my story how mcculloch remained in jail and got the facts from maxwell, and our scheme was not spoiled by mr. reedy's suggestion, for he never repeated it to any other person. the testimony at the trial was overwhelming against maxwell, and the jury before whom this case was tried quickly returned a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree, and hugh m. brookes, alias maxwell, was hung for one of the most cold-blooded murders of the age. the st. louis police department had an exhibit in the educational building during the louisiana purchase exposition, st. louis, which consisted of photographs and police records of criminals, burglars, tools and various weapons. this exhibit also had the noose with which brookes, alias maxwell, was hung, and his photograph and the picture of the two st. louis officers who brought him back from auckland, new zealand. there were thousands of people who viewed this exhibit, and i deem it proper to tell the public that the police department had positively nothing to do with obtaining the evidence that convicted maxwell. they had really nothing to do with his arrest, other than sending out his description. he was arrested through the efforts of capt. leas, chief of police of san francisco, cal. his conviction was due to my efforts and the work of my operative, mcculloch, and to messrs. clover and mcdonald. mr. clover paid the expenses from his own pocket and mr. mcdonald deserved a great deal more credit that he was accorded for the masterful way in which he handled the prosecution, but not one of these names were mentioned in the exhibit at the world's fair. mr. clover paid about six hundred dollars out of his own personal funds for the expenses incurred in obtaining the evidence, and i got a black eye and a swollen jaw as my compensation. dingfelter, while in the jail, also made the acquaintance of two brothers by the name of johnston, who had been arrested in new orleans and brought to st. louis for safe keeping by the united states authorities, on the charge of having had a large number of brazilian bonds printed. these bonds were counterfeit, utterly worthless to any one who purchased them. the government secret service had captured a lot of these spurious bonds and had brought the prisoners to st. louis until they could be tried in the federal court. the johnstons took a liking to dingfelter and told him all about their scheme, where they had gotten the printing done, by whom, and all the other facts of their crime. dingfelter did not solicit any confidences, but they, supposing him to be a shrewd crook, thought their secret was safe, until maxwell was on trial and dingfelter, as he was known to them, took the stand and testified, giving his right name, john f. mcculloch, and his business, that of a detective. as soon as the johnston brothers learned who and what dingfelter was, they sent word to the united states authorities that they had admitted to detective dingfelter everything pertaining to their guilt, and they were willing to plead guilty to the charges pending against them in the federal court. this they did when they were arraigned for trial. the big cotton swindle. tragic ending of a big case on which a great deal of real detective work had been done. the cotton swindle occurred at sherman, texas, on the texas & pacific railroad, early in the fall of . it was in the cotton shipping season, and sherman was a point from which a very large amount of cotton was shipped annually, it being the principal shipping point, or outlet, for one of the largest cotton producing districts in the state. for this reason the eastern cotton buyers and cotton mill owners were represented by agents at these shipping points. these agents were really brokers. it was the practice of these brokers, as soon as they had purchased cotton, to have it delivered at once to the railroad company for shipment, when they would receive from the railroad company's agent a bill of lading, setting forth the number and weight of each bale. this bill of lading, when signed by the railroad agent, was negotiable at any bank in the cotton producing district. the bank would take the bill of lading, allowing the depositor ninety per cent cash on the face value and would hold ten per cent back until the exact value of the cotton was ascertained by the proper officials. the practice of cashing these bills of lading was then general in the cotton-growing country, and, i presume, it is at the present time. it was early in the month of january, , when i was suddenly called to the office of capt. c. g. warner, who was then general auditor for the gould railway system. the texas & pacific was one of the many gould lines. i occupied the position of chief special agent for that system. on my arrival at capt. warner's office, he informed me that he had just received from sherman, texas, a long telegraph message from one of his traveling auditors, which stated that a large amount of cotton, which had been shipped from that station, had undoubtedly been diverted in transit, as the cotton had not reached its proper destination. capt. warner instructed me to go to sherman at once, where i would find the traveling auditor, mr. finby, and make a thorough investigation. i left st. louis on the first train, and arrived at sherman in due time, where i found mr. finby, who informed me that the company's agent, in charge at sherman (whom i will call no. ) had left there on the saturday night previous, since which time not one word had been heard from him. he further stated that no. had told his assistant on saturday evening, that he was going to take a run down to galveston on personal business, and expected to return on the following monday. it then being wednesday, and no. not having returned, mr. finby had become aroused and wired the head of his department at st. louis, which accounted for my appearance in sherman. i at once began my investigation, with a view of locating no. , the missing agent. i remained in and about sherman several days, during which time the traveling auditor was busily engaged, with some of his assistants, in auditing and trying to straighten out the accounts of the station. in the meantime, telegraph messages of inquiry were pouring into sherman from parties in new york, philadelphia, fall river, mass., and providence, rhode island. these parties had purchased and paid for large quantities of cotton, the total amount aggregating $ , , and they wanted to know why they had not received it. messages of this kind had been pouring into sherman for a month or six weeks prior to the time mr. finby had been called there. the officers of the railroad became alarmed, believing from the facts learned up to this time, that the cotton for which the eastern buyers were inquiring, had been shipped and had been diverted, and probably stolen. if this were true the railroad company would be responsible for the loss of the cotton to the buyers and would probably have to pay additional damages. thus the loss of this cotton was a serious matter for the company. after i had worked at sherman for about ten days, as hard and earnestly as i had ever worked on a case in my life, i succeeded in obtaining information that led me to believe that there were three other men connected with no. , the missing agent, in this swindle. i had also succeeded in locating the family and friends of no. , and the other three suspects, whose names i withhold for the reason that some of them were connected with respectable families and have near relatives living today, who were in no way responsible for the wrong-doing of these men and ought not to be subjected to the humiliation which the publication of these names might inflict upon them. during my investigation i learned that one of these men (whom in mentioning i will call no. ) had a brother living in new orleans. (i will call the other two confederates no. and no. , withholding their names for the reasons i have already given.) i had decided to go to new orleans direct from sherman and there quietly investigate the brother of no. . i had also telegraphed to my office at st. louis, mo., instructing george w. herbert, one of my assistants, to meet me in new orleans, which he did. we located no. 's brother in new orleans very easily, and after i had previously obtained information that no. 's wife might be stopping temporarily with her brother-in-law's family, who were living in a large and rather pretentious mansion in that city, i began to watch the mansion for the purpose of learning, if possible, whether or not no. 's wife was staying there. i had a photograph of no. and also of his wife. she was a beautiful woman. she was born and raised in the state of tennessee, where her mother and other near relatives resided. i had learned that a man answering the description of no. in all respects had registered at the then leading hotel of sherman under the name of j. d. dillard, jr. this man had reached the hotel at a late hour at night, was assigned to a room and remained in it all the following day, ordering his meals sent to the room, explaining to the hotel people that he was ill. during the day no. called at the hotel and quietly visited the room occupied by dillard, where he (no. ) had remained an hour or more. he went to dillard's room without making any inquiries at the office, merely consulting the register. dillard, who was really no. , left his room about midnight the following night, and took a north-bound train from sherman. nobody had seen the supposed dillard during the time of his stay at sherman, except the night clerk, who had not noticed him particularly when he assigned him to his room, and a chamber-maid, a mulatto, who had charge of the room of no. , or dillard, as he called himself, had waited on him while he was there. she had become familiar with his features and stated to me that she would know him on sight any place. she described dillard accurately, after which i exhibited no. 's photograph. she instantly identified it as a good picture of mr. dillard. this is what caused me to place no. 's brother's house in new orleans under surveillance. i also traced dillard from sherman, texas, to emporia, kansas, where the photographs of himself and wife were identified by the proprietor of the hotel and the employes there, at which the dillards had stopped for a period of a month prior to dillard's recent visit to sherman. mrs. dillard had remained at emporia during her husband's absence, and he joined her at emporia on his return from sherman, and they departed from there immediately for parts unknown. i traced them to topeka, kansas, where the trail was lost. my assistant and myself kept up a steady watch on the home of the brother of no. , in new orleans, day and night, for about three weeks. we divided the time into eight hour watches, one of us sleeping while the other was on duty. it was one of the most difficult tasks of the kind i had ever undertaken, for the reason that i was personally known to the chief of police of new orleans, who was a friend of mine. i was also known to a number of police detectives of that city, and owing to the prominence of the family and connections of no. i did not deem it expedient to meet any of the police authorities, as by so doing i, of course, would feel compelled to explain to them the cause of my presence in their city. i had no doubt that some of them would render me all the assistance they could, but i was afraid that some of them might talk about my presence in the city, and the friends of no. might hear of it, and thereby be the means of hindering me in my efforts to locate the whereabouts of no. . for this reason it required more vigilance on my part to keep out of sight of the police, who knew me, than what i was bestowing to the watching of the house in question. during the long vigil many humorous incidents occurred. one morning, after we had been on watch several days, i hit upon a plan to find if there were any women about the big house, as we had seen none up to this time, hoping thereby to locate the wife of no. . a few blocks down the street a couple of good-looking young italian girls were playing a hand organ. the instrument was a fine new one and of exceedingly loud tone. i quietly bargained for their services to take up their station in front of the house i was watching, telling them to play there as long as the police would permit them. the music and the performance of the monkeys brought several women from the house to the veranda, but to my disappointment, the much wanted woman was not among them. the performance was repeated several mornings, with the same results. mrs. dillard was not in the house, as we afterwards learned. meanwhile the brother, a gentleman of leisure, was in the habit of strolling each morning from his house to the postoffice, where he usually mailed several letters. he always dropped these letters in the general receptacle, which had an opening in the main corridor at least a foot in length and three inches wide, and led to a large box in the basement below the main floor. this box would hold probably a wagon load of letters and packages, and when a letter was dropped in this mass it was almost impossible to find it again. no. 's brother was a man middle-aged, rather slow in his movements, and very deliberate in everything that he did. he carried these letters in an inside pocket of his dress coat, and walked with a cane. he would approach the general mail box, placing his cane under his left arm and carefully removing his snug-fitting glove from his right hand, would take the letters, consisting of three or more, and in an exasperatingly deliberate and slow manner deposit them in the box with the other mail. he would watch them until they had disappeared down the chute and out of sight. this operation was repeated by him daily, except sundays, during the three weeks, and witnessed each time by either herbert or myself, and had grown very tiresome to both of us. finally i concluded that we would prepare two letters and address them to ourselves, stamp them properly and then cover the back of each envelope with a thick coating of mucilage. herbert was given one of the letters, i keeping the other. herbert placed himself on one side of the chute, while i took my position on the other side, each of us being some distance away from the receptacle. the main corridor of the postoffice, in the forenoon, was generally crowded with people passing to and fro, between the hours of ten and twelve o'clock; for this reason we attracted no special attention. we knew about the time that no. 's brother was in the habit of visiting the postoffice, and, therefore, we were not kept waiting but a few moments for his appearance. he approached the mail box in his usual manner, and was as painfully deliberate as he had been on previous occasions, and after he had gone through the customary maneuvers, but before he had time to drop the three letters from his hand, herbert rushed up to the receptacle from the left side and i from the right, and we both reached out our hands at the same time with the letters we held having the mucilaged surface, in such a way that they came in contact with the three letters he had in his hand, and forcing the letters into the chute with ours, the mucilage sticking the bunch of five letters together. all slid into the chute. no. 's brother became very indignant and muttered something about rudeness and awkwardness. i attempted a hasty apology and disappeared around the corner to the office of the assistant postmaster, whose acquaintance i had previously formed. i told him that i had just deposited two letters in the main repository and that i had discovered that i had placed the letters in the wrong envelopes, and wished to get them so that i might rectify my mistake. he at once conducted me to the main mail box below, where there were at least a half a wagon load of letters and general mail matter. i at once found the bunch of five letters which were stuck together with the mucilage, and in separating them had ample time to note the different addresses on the three envelopes mailed by no. 's brother. one of these was addressed to a relative of mrs. dillard, to her home in tennessee. another was addressed to another brother of no. , who resided in atlanta, georgia. the third letter was addressed to j. d. dillard, jr., ocean springs, mississippi. i knew of the relatives in tennessee and of the brother in atlanta, georgia, and also that j. d. dillard, jr., was the man i wanted to locate, and for the first time learned that he was at ocean springs, mississippi. ocean springs was then a small winter resort located on the louisville & nashville railroad, between montgomery and new orleans. it was also an harbor on mobile bay and near biloxi, mississippi. upon the receipt of this information i went to ocean springs, miss., arriving there about midnight on the night that i had seen the letter addressed by no. 's brother to this place. there i found that the postoffice of the town was kept in a grocery store, which was part of the principal hotel of the town. i learned that the landlord, who was a very genial, clever man, and proprietor of the grocery store, was postmaster. i quietly showed him the photograph of no. and his wife, and he immediately identified them as mr. and mrs. dillard, jr. he told me that dillard had represented himself to him as a rich iron manufacturer from chattanooga, tenn., that his wife was in ill health and that they had been there for the past month or more and had rented a beautiful cottage known as the montgomery cottage, where they were living. this cottage was situated on a small peninsula, which extended from the main land, dividing biloxi bay from mobile bay. it was about two miles from the postoffice at ocean springs. the positive and ready manner in which the postmaster identified the photographs satisfied me beyond any doubt that i had succeeded in locating no. . i gave the postmaster to understand that no. had fallen heir to a sum of money and property, and that neither he nor his wife had become aware of the fact, and that i was very desirous of apprising him of his good fortune as a surprise, and before doing so, i desired to have all necessary papers prepared, which would require a week or ten days, and, therefore, i was anxious to have the matter kept a profound secret until everything was ready. the postmaster readily promised me that he would not mention the matter to any person until i gave him permission to do so, and after making these arrangements i felt perfectly safe in not arresting no. until i had secured the proper papers authorizing the same. it was necessary for me to obtain requisition papers from the governors of mississippi and texas. it would take about eight or ten days to accomplish this, as proper complaint had to be lodged at sherman, texas, request for the requisition had to be sent from sherman to austin, texas, and the request of the governor of texas to the governor of mississippi for the extradition papers, at jackson, miss., where the agent for the state of texas had to appear in person to receive the papers. i had myself appointed as the agent for the state of texas. at the conclusion of my understanding with the postmaster of ocean springs, i took a night train to new orleans, where i met george herbert, and instructed him to go on the first train to ocean springs, and on arriving there to represent himself as an invalid and to act the part. he was naturally thin and had a sallow complexion, usually without any color. he represented himself as having just passed through a severe attack of rheumatism, and claimed that he had been advised by his physician to come to ocean springs, where he should spend at least a month during his convalescence. he equipped himself with two heavy walking canes, which he carried continuously during his stay at ocean springs, and while he made good progress walking, he seemed to bystanders to do so with some difficulty, but the balmy climate of the resort seemed to benefit him greatly, and he appeared to improve daily while there. he was instructed by me to meander around and to get to the montgomery cottage, providing, of course, if he could succeed in so doing without arousing any suspicion, and if he did succeed in getting inside of the cottage, that he was to make a diagram of the place and surroundings, which herbert could do nicely, as he was a good draftsman. he succeeded admirably. he formed the acquaintance of no. , whom he met at the postoffice on the second day after his arrival. he also met him again the following day at the same place, when no. gave him an invitation to come over to the cottage and take a sail on the bay, as he (no. ) had a very nice sailing yacht, which he kept anchored in front of the cottage. herbert accepted the invitation and visited the cottage the following day, when no. introduced him to his wife, mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who happened to be at the cottage making a visit. he belonged in tennessee. herbert was also introduced to a young woman, about thirty years of age, who was rather good-looking, a brunette and of medium size. this woman was introduced to him under an assumed name, as we learned within a few days thereafter that she was really the wife of the missing agent. herbert was invited to luncheon at the cottage, and took a short sail with no. , no. 's wife and the brunette lady before mentioned. the yacht was a schooner-rigged, of about twenty tons burden, and was skillfully manned by a man about thirty-five years of age, black curly hair, a little bald, about five feet, five or six inches in height, weighing probably one hundred and thirty or thirty-five pounds, dark complexioned, and inclined to be slender, hollow cheeked, and had somewhat of a consumptive appearance. herbert was not introduced to this man by his host, but thought nothing of the matter, believing the sailing master, who was always in uniform, to be simply an employe of no. . herbert made a good diagram of the interior of the cottage, as well as the entrances and the grounds and outbuildings. after that he made daily visits to the cottage, when the weather permitted, the occupants seeming to enjoy and encourage his visits. he had made arrangements with the livery stable for the services of an old, but gentle horse, and an old-fashioned buggy, in which he drove around every day. herbert forwarded the diagram to me along with his daily reports during my absence from ocean springs. all this time i was busily engaged in procuring the necessary papers and making arrangements to effect the arrest of both no. and no. , as upon receipt of herbert's accurate description of the sailing master of the yacht, i had become satisfied that the sailing-master was none other than no. , the much wanted agent. in due time i procured the papers and proceeded to canton, miss., which was the county seat for ocean springs. i there found sheriff clark of that county. as sheriff he was commanded in the requisition papers to render me, as agent for the state of texas, all assistance i needed in making the arrests. i found sheriff clark to be a fine, affable gentleman of the "old school." he was an ex-confederate captain, having served through the civil war, had been elected sheriff of his county at the close of that conflict, and had succeeded himself in office up to the time of which i write. i requested the sheriff to go with me himself and furnish one of his deputies. we left canton, which was about twenty miles north of ocean springs, about ten o'clock at night, and arrived at a station five miles north of the springs an hour later, where we left the train, as we did not deem it safe to get off the train at ocean springs. i had been informed by herbert, with whom i was in daily communication, that no. 's brother-in-law visited the depot at ocean springs at night so as to see everybody who got off the night trains at that station. he also stated that all passenger trains passing that station were seen by some person connected with the cottage. i omitted stating heretofore that both no. and no. were good telegraph operators, and herbert, while inspecting the premises, had noticed two tiny copper wires running into the cottage, and had followed them from the cottage to the louisville and nashville railroad, and later discovered that these wires were connected with the commercial wire of the western union telegraph co., that ran between new orleans and the north. he also found that they had a telegraph office fixed up in one of the rooms of the cottage where they could find out all that was passing over the wires of the western union co., and take their ease. the peninsular upon which the cottage was situated was thickly covered with pine and cedar trees, and the wires were entirely hidden and could not have been discovered by any person unless one who was engaged as herbert was, so that these gentlemen could while away their time listening to what was going over the wires. after leaving the train, sheriff clark, his deputy and myself leisurely walked down the tracks to within a quarter of a mile of ocean springs, and then making a detour around the station, we reached the peninsula south from ocean springs, at which point i had arranged to meet herbert. it began raining the evening before we had left canton, and continued to rain all night. it was in the month of february, and was a cold and chilly rain. the night was inky dark. when we reached the peninsula we were sheltered by the dense foliage of the trees, and we approached the cottage to within about one thousand feet, and then decided to remain quietly among the trees until we could see daylight begin to appear in the east. at the first appearance of daylight herbert and myself reconnoitered, circling the cottage, he going one way and i the other. we found that every one was apparently asleep. we then went back and reported to sheriff clark and his deputy. we surrounded the place, herbert and the deputy covering the rear of the cottage, and the sheriff and myself going to the front door and rapping for admission, which was denied. after we had rapped for admission we could hear the window shutters being pushed open and the inmates peered out of the windows and discovered that the place was surrounded, or rather guarded, on each side. finally sheriff clark told the occupants that unless they opened the door that we would force it. after some parleying the front door was opened. the door was a double door and only one-half of it was opened, and very suddenly no. 's brother-in-law, a very tall and slender individual, appeared in the open door with a double-barreled shotgun in his hands, but before he had time to raise the gun to a shooting position, he found himself covered with two double-barreled guns, one in the hands of the sheriff and the other in my hand. upon being ordered to drop the gun he did so promptly. the sheriff took possession of him and i started down the wide hall, which ran directly through the center of the cottage. as i was passing the second door from the front door no. stepped out of the room into the hall with a pistol in his hand. i recognized him and promptly arrested him. i said to him, "where is no. ?" he answered, "in the room across the hall." i went to the room indicated and rapped, but was refused admission. i then forced the door and found no. standing in the middle of the room partly dressed. after some trouble with no. and his wife, we took them all to ocean springs. we walked over there, a distance of about two miles. it was breakfast time when we reached there, and the rain had stopped. we went to the hotel and got something to eat, and the landlord learned for the first time the true nature of the surprise that i had in store for no. . there was an early train to new orleans, and herbert and i took the two prisoners and left on this train for that city. i telegraphed ahead to have a carriage meet us outside of new orleans, and we left the train a short distance from that city. here we entered the carriage, which conveyed us to the ferry boat at new orleans. we took the ferry and went across to algiers. our object in doing this was that i wished to avoid newspaper notoriety. the newspaper men we were sure to meet in the main station at new orleans had we gone there. at algiers we boarded a southern pacific train for houston, texas. at houston we took a houston & texas central train, which took us through to dallas, texas. the prisoners were lodged in jail before the newspapers had mentioned the capture or arrest, for the reason that i knew that there were two others connected with the swindle, who resided in dallas, and had not yet been arrested, who were not even suspected of having any connection with the swindle or any other crime by the people of dallas. we arrived at dallas at night with the prisoners. the following morning the chief of police, jim arnold, and myself picked up and arrested the other two accomplices. these men were hebrews. one of them had been a respectable and prominent cotton buyer up to his connection with the swindle. the other was an educated man and somewhat noted for having been mixed up in crooked dealings. he was a lawyer, but was not practicing law for a livelihood. the reader should remember that no. was an ex-railroad agent and telegraph operator, and had been employed as such up to about one year and a half before he became engaged in this cotton swindle. he had become thoroughly familiar with the railroad system of receiving and handling cotton. no. , who lived in dallas, was also familiar with the buying and selling, and value of cotton, as well as the customary way of obtaining cash from the banks on bills of lading for the same. no. was the reputable cotton buyer, or broker, before mentioned in this story. he also lived in dallas. the arrests at dallas added greatly to the excitement which was caused by the incarceration of no. and no. the night before. the prisoners all waived preliminary hearings and were committed to jail in default of bail to wait the action of the grand jury, which convened a month or six weeks later. in the meantime, three of the defendants succeeded in getting bonds and were released from jail. my recollection now is that the bonds were fixed at $ , each. no. was taken sick immediately after his arrest and continued to steadily grow worse until he died, which was about two months after he was arrested. no. and no. almost immediately after they had been released on bonds fled the country, no. going to old mexico, and no. seeking refuge in london, ontario, canada. when the cases were called for trial in court at dallas, texas, no. and no. failed to appear, and their bonds were declared forfeited. no. , having died, his bond, of course, was not forfeited. no. , it appears either did not try to procure bail, or if so, did not succeed, as he remained in jail. meanwhile i was employed in procuring duplicates of the bills of lading, which had been issued and sold to the purchasers of the cotton, which caused me to visit the cities of philadelphia, new york, providence, rhode island and fall river, mass. the procuring of these duplicates proved no easy task, but i finally obtained certified copies of all of them. these duplicates were to be used as evidence at the trial. i was at dallas on the date set for the trial, and, on learning of the absence of the defendants, and that the court had postponed the trial of no. , he being the only one within the reach of the court, i at once reported the situation to the railroad officials at st. louis, in reply to which i received instructions by wire from vice-president hoxie, of the missouri pacific to proceed at once to locate and arrest the fugitives and take them back to dallas, and there to turn them over to the proper authorities, so that they might be dealt with according to law. upon receipt of these instructions, i detailed operatives bailey and herbert of my staff to locate and arrest no. , which they succeeded in doing after a lot of hard and good work. they arrested him at guymas, old mexico. this city is located on the pacific coast. they brought their prisoner back to dallas and lodged him in jail. i had assumed the task of locating no. . after considerable work i discovered that he was in london, canada, which is just one hundred miles east of detroit, michigan. i visited london, where i saw no. , without being seen by him. he would have known me at sight, as it was i who had arrested him in dallas. i found that he had surrounded himself with a number of sympathizing friends in london, many of whom were fugitives from justice from the united states, as he was. many of them, he among them, had money and felt safe while on canadian soil. the extradition treaty then in force between great britain and the united states was known as the ashburton and webster treaty, and was passed, i believe, in . this treaty only permitted the extradition of fugitives charged with one of seven crimes; murder, felonious assault with intent to murder, arson, rape, forgery, uttering of forged paper and perjury. after i had seen no. in london, i communicated the facts by wire code to mr. hoxie, he giving my report to ex-governor john c. brown, the general solicitor for the gould system of railroads. his headquarters were in the same building with mr. hoxie's at st. louis. governor brown was thoroughly conversant with this case, and had a national reputation as a lawyer, and when told by mr. hoxie of the whereabouts of no. , he at once wired me, by code, to try my best to induce no. to accompany me across the line of canada into either michigan or new york state. if i succeeded in getting him across the boundary line i could hold him in either state until extradition papers could be secured from the governor of texas. from the instructions gov. brown had wired me, i was satisfied that the governor was not familiar with the statutes of canada pertaining to extradition. if i had attempted to induce the fugitive across the canada line for the purpose of arresting him without legal authority i would be subjecting myself to prosecution for kidnapping. if convicted of that charge under the canadian statutes, i would have been sent to prison for a term of from two to seven years. knowing that it was impossible for me to obey gov. brown's instructions, i employed a young attorney, or barrister, as they are called in canada, whose name was mcbride, and while he had been practicing law but a few years, he was recommended to me very highly for his ability and integrity. during my consultation with him i explained to him fully that the bills of lading, which had been used in the cotton swindle, had been signed by the company's agent in blank and then turned over by the agent to no. in blocks. no. had then filled out each blank for various numbers of bales of cotton, setting forth the number of bales and the weight of each bale in the regular way. he then turned the bills of lading thus prepared by him over to no. , whom the reader will remember was a cotton buyer. no. placed these bills of lading in various banks at sherman, dallas and other texas towns. he drew cash from the banks for the face value, less ten per cent, for the purpose heretofore stated. after explaining all this to mr. mcbride, i asked him what crime these men had committed under the statutes of canada. he promptly answered without even referring to the statutes, that under the canadian law, they were all guilty of forgery and having uttered and published forged paper, including the company's agent who had signed each of these bills as agent. i said, "supposing these men had fled from the united states and were found in canada, could they be arrested and extradited back to the united states for trial?" "yes," he said, "they surely could, under the provisions of the ashburton and webster treaty, which provides for the extradition of fugitives who are legally charged with the crime of forgery, or of uttering and publishing forged paper." "but," i said, "mr. mcbride, the company's agent signed these bills of lading." he replied, "i understand from you that the agent had received no cotton. am i right?" i answered, "yes, he received no cotton." "then," said mr. mcbride, "the agent signed the bills of lading for fraudulent purposes, and therefore his signature was unauthorized by the company who employed him, and under the canadian law he is a forger, while the other conspirators would be guilty of uttering and publishing forged paper. the penalty would be just as severe for the latter offense, under the canadian law, as it would be for forgery." i neglected to state that after i had located no. , at london, ontario, the railroad company's attorneys were informed by the judge who presided over the criminal court at dallas, texas, that in his opinion the fraudulent bills of lading heretofore described were not forgeries, as they had been signed by the company's agent, and for this reason, i presume, gov. brown instructed me as he did, he knowing that the fugitive, no. , could not be extradited from canada unless we could substantiate a charge for forgery against him. no doubt, at the time, gov. brown believed the ruling of the texas judge was correct. all of which i fully explained to mr. mcbride, to which he replied, "a texas judge has no jurisdiction in canada, and his opinion or construction of our law would amount to nothing here. and if you find any fugitive from the united states in canada, who has been connected with the swindle, you will have to identify them as being the right parties, and then set forth the manner in which the swindle was enacted and the amount of money or property secured by the swindlers, and it does not make any difference what name the texas statutes or the texas judge gives the crime committed in the manner you have described to me, it would be forgery here. you must understand that you must comply with the requirements of the canadian laws in order to extradite a fugitive from canada. if you should find your fugitive here in london you can, if you desire, go to any other county or city in the province of ontario and make your complaint, have a warrant issued for the arrest of the fugitive, bring an officer from that county or city to serve the warrant, arrest him here and take him immediately before the magistrate who issued the warrant, and have the prisoner committed to jail for two weeks without bail. at the expiration of the two weeks, should you desire an additional two weeks, you can secure same by convincing the magistrate that you were unable to secure the presence of the necessary witnesses to substantiate the identity of the prisoner, and his connection with the swindle; our law will allow you these continuances. after the prisoner had had his preliminary hearing, if the testimony offered should be sufficient to satisfy the magistrate, he would then fix the bond at the amount of four times the amount involved in the swindle, which would be in this case nearly one-half million dollars." after mcbride had finished the foregoing advice to me, i thanked him and paid him his fee, which was only $ . , and went to chatham, ontario. chatham is the county seat, about fifty miles west of london, and just half way between london and detroit, michigan. i found the queen's counsel at chatham, to whom i fully explained my case. whereupon, he verified and approved the advice i had received from mr. mcbride of london. i at once filed the necessary complaint, and procured a warrant for the arrest of no. . the warrant was addressed and given to the chief of police of chatham, who accompanied me back to london, where i pointed out the fugitive to him. we arrested him immediately and took him to chatham, where he was locked up as a fugitive, and his hearing set for two weeks later in accordance with the canadian law. the reader will remember that when i first located no. in london he was surrounded by newly found friends there, a number of whom were fugitives like himself. for this reason i felt it prudent to begin legal proceedings against him in a country where both he and i were strangers and avoid the annoyance and trouble which his sympathizing fugitive friends were sure to cause. as soon as no. was safely lodged in jail i wired gov. brown at st. louis, missouri, stating that i had arrested and locked up no. on the charge of being a fugitive from the state of texas, united states of america, that the hearing was set for two weeks later and that while passing through st. louis on my way to texas, i would stop over long enough to report in person to him. in about two hours i received his reply, which was a severe reprimand, and read as follows: "why did you disobey my instructions when you knew that i had instructed you as to what the texas judge had decided, and therefore, the fugitive could not be extradited from canada under the existing treaty, nor in accordance with the act of congress, which provides for said treaty. answer." (signed) john c. brown. to which i answered as follows: "hon. john c. brown, general solicitor, missouri pacific railroad co., st. louis, missouri:--i disregarded your instructions, finding them erroneous, and that you did not understand the law pertaining to this case. have also learned that a texas judge's ruling are not considered in canada, as i find that i can legally extradite the fugitive from canada under the present law." (signed) thomas furlong. after sending the above message, i borrowed a copy of the revised statutes of canada from the crown counsel, who would be called prosecuting attorney in the united states. he marked each section of the statutes which pertained to our case. i at once put the law book in my grip, and started for st. louis, arriving there the following morning. i immediately reported to vice-president hoxie, whom i found in his office. after the usual greeting mr. hoxie said to me, "tom, gov. brown showed me a message that he had received from you yesterday. he appeared to be quite angry." to which i replied, "i am here to explain my actions fully, and i wish you would kindly request gov. brown to come to your office at his convenience, as i think my explanation should be made to him in your presence so that one explanation may serve both. my time is limited, as i must go to texas and procure certain witnesses and return with them to chatham, ontario, within two weeks, the time set for the hearing." whereupon, mr. hoxie sent for gov. brown, who appeared in a few moments. after the usual salutation, i repeated the instructions i received from him. i then stated that i had found it impossible for me to have carried out the instructions in canada without subjecting myself to prosecution, and probably a sentence to the penitentiary, and i, therefore, concluded to do the next best thing, which was to employ a competent attorney, who advised me as to my rights and how to proceed legally under the laws of that country. i then produced the copy of the statutes, which i had borrowed from the crown counsel, and directed gov. brown's attention to the marked sections before mentioned, which he carefully read. after he had finished i produced and read the telegram i had received from him, at the same time calling his attention to the question he had asked me to answer in his message. he then compared his message with the one he had received from me in dignified silence, and then without a word handed the two messages to mr. hoxie, near whose chair he was standing. mr. hoxie read them and then looked up at the governor and said, "governor, what do you think of this matter?" for answer gov. brown deliberately walked around the table to where i was sitting and extended his hand to me, and i arose and took it. he turned to mr. hoxie and said in a pleasant manner, "furlong was right all the way through." then turning to me he said, "furlong, you ought to have been a lawyer. i was a little angry when i received your message yesterday, but i see that it was all right, as you only answered the questions i had asked you." i left st. louis for dallas that night, and while there i arranged with the chief of police, jim arnold, and other well-known citizens, to accompany me to chatham, ontario, as witnesses in the case pending against no. . these witnesses had all known no. for years, and were familiar with his reputation as to truth and veracity, his business connections, etc. the witnesses and myself arrived in chatham in time for the hearing of no. . the judge, after hearing the evidence, committed no. to jail without bail to await extradition papers from the president of the united states and the governor general of canada. no. was defended in the hearing by two noted barristers, who at once appealed to a higher court. in due time the appeal was argued and the action of the lower court sustained; whereupon no. 's counsel had the case taken up to the privy court at toronto. this court affirmed the action of the lower courts, and it being the highest tribunal in canada its decision was final and no. was committed without bail for extradition. i immediately left toronto for washington, d. c., having already received the necessary papers from the state of texas. i presented these to the department of justice in washington, on the evening of my arrival there, and they were promptly approved and sent to president cleveland for his signature. by the way, these papers were the first of their kind ever signed by president cleveland, it being but four days after his inauguration for his first term as president of the united states. the papers were delivered to me and i left for chatham, ontario, for the purpose of taking no. back to dallas, texas, for trial and bearing the commission of president cleveland to do so. the following day the train on which i was riding stopped twenty minutes at canandaigua, new york, for dinner. as i was eating my dinner a messenger boy called out my name at the dining room door. i answered and he handed me a telegram, which was from the high sheriff of chatham, and read as follows: "when my jailor went to the cell occupied by no. at twelve o'clock to day he found him dead. had apparently been dead an hour. cause of death yet unknown. probably heart failure." i wired him that i would be in chatham on the following morning. on my arrival there a post-mortem autopsy was made of the body of no. , and it developed that he had committed suicide by taking laudanum. the sheriff and the jailor have never been able to satisfy themselves as to how no. got possession of the poison. he had friends and relatives who lived at jackson, michigan, who called at chatham and identified the body, and took it to jackson for burial. i then returned to dallas, texas, so as to be present at the trial of no. and no. , they being the only two of the swindlers left for trial. when i had first arrested the swindlers and placed them in jail at dallas, the prosecuting attorney called me to his office and told me that the defendants had employed a number of the most able attorneys at that bar to defend them, and he said that he thought that the railroad company ought to permit him to select an attorney to assist him in the prosecution of the defendants. i told him that i had no doubt but that general solicitor brown would do so if he would make the request of him. he replied that as i was going direct to st. louis that he wished me to make the request for him, which i did. when i delivered his request to gov. brown, he replied that capt. tom brown, of sherman, texas, was the railroad company's attorney in that district, an able lawyer, and he would be glad to instruct him to assist the prosecuting attorney in every way that he could, or, he would furnish him any other of the company's attorneys in texas, should he believe their assistance necessary, and that he would take it up with the prosecuting attorney at dallas and make all the necessary arrangements. i communicated these facts to the prosecuting attorney. later gov. brown informed me that he (the prosecuting attorney) had selected a lawyer to assist him who was not in any way connected with the railroad service, and that he had suggested that this assistant should be paid a fee of five or six thousand dollars by the railroad company for his services. gov. brown further stated that the attorney selected for an assistant was not looked upon with favor by either himself or any of his assistants. some of the assistants connected with the legal department of the railroad company, under general solicitor brown, refused to associate themselves with the cases if the man selected by the prosecuting attorney was connected in any way with them. his services were refused and capt. tom brown went to dallas for the purpose of assisting in the prosecution of the two remaining accused swindlers. i had turned the duplicate bills of lading over to capt. brown and on the morning of the trial of no. and no. , he placed these papers in his overcoat pocket with other documentary evidence. he was a little late and hastened into the dining room, leaving his coat and hat on a rack in the corridor of the hotel. when he finished his breakfast and returned to his overcoat he discovered the papers had been stolen. when the cases were called into court, the prosecuting attorney asked that a nolle prosequi be entered in the cases, thus letting two of the principals in the swindle go free. thus ended the cotton swindle, the most gigantic swindle of this kind that had ever taken place in the united states, or, i believe, in any other country up to that time. capt. tom brown was afterwards elected as judge of the supreme bench of texas, and was always esteemed as an able jurist and a thorough gentleman. a remarkable case. identification of a little girl from a description given of her father, leads to the latter's arrest. identification of criminals from descriptions is not always an easy task, for two reasons. first, there are but few men who can intelligently describe a person from memory. this is an art within itself. the second reason is, it takes so little to change the general appearance of a man to such a degree that it is hard to pick him up from a mere description, that is, unless the man wanted has some peculiar feature or form that is very noticeable. the ordinary man, to change his general appearance, has to do but little. a change of shape or style of hat or clothing, the cutting off or growing of a mustache, or even a haircut or shave will often serve the purpose. i have never claimed to have what is today called "a camera eye" but i did a piece of identification work while special agent of the allegheny valley railroad in the early ' s of which i have always been proud, for the reason that there has absolutely never been another case like it in the police annals of the entire country. during the spring , a man giving the name of joseph chalfont applied to mr. thomas m. king, the division superintendent of the allegheny valley railroad, at pittsburg, pa., for a situation as locomotive engineer. this man, chalfont, was a rather remarkable person, appearing to be about thirty-six years of age. he stood more than six feet in height, with extremely long arms and legs. his complexion was dark and sallow, and his hair coarse and black. his neck was very long, with a noticeable "adam's apple." his cheek-bones were high, and his nose straight and long. his eyes were beady and black, being set far back in his head and very close together; they were crowned with a bushy pair of eyebrows, which met above the ridge of his nose. then to make the picture more complete, his forehead was low, giving his head a small, bullet-like appearance. the reader can see that a description of this man, if given accurately and with any care could be almost as good as a photograph. chalfont presented a letter of recommendation from the master mechanic of the lake shore & michigan southern ry., at buffalo, n. y. the letter was very good, and stated that chalfont had been in the employ of that company for a couple of years, and that he had left its service of his own accord, because he hoped to benefit himself by a change of climate. supt. king was a close observer, and a good judge of human nature. he was badly in need of men at the time, and being rather impressed with chalfont's appearance and manner, he examined him as to the rules governing the movement of trains. he stood a fair examination and was engaged. it is usual for an engineer who has not been promoted on a road, or who comes from another road, to spend several weeks in riding on the engines back and forth over the portion of the road on which he is expected to run. in this way a man could become familiar with all the grades, switches, side-tracks, curves, signals and so forth. chalfont was given a copy of the company's rules and an order to learn the road. when he had done this he was given freight engine no. to haul freight between south oil city and pittsburg. one day he was given a train of empty oil tanks at pittsburg, and started for south oil city with them. he arrived there in due time and turned the cars in safely. the following evening he was given a train of forty-five full oil tanks with orders to take them to pittsburg. when he reached sarah's furnace, about half the distance to pittsburg, he received orders to run upon the side-track there and allow a north-bound freight to pass him. he took the siding as he had been ordered, and in due time the first section of the freight met and passed him there. the engine on this section carried two red lights, which is the warning to railroad men that another section is following the first one, and it has the same roadway privileges as the first section. it therefore became the duty of chalfont to remain upon the siding until the second section had passed him. instead of doing this, however, chalfont pulled out on the main line and started for pittsburg. about one and a half miles south of sarah's furnace there is a curve known as hard scrabble curve, which is one of the shortest and most dangerous curves on the road. here on this curve chalfont's train collided with the second section which was going north. both engines were about the same size and weight, so when they met the force of ninety-five empty cars going north and forty-five loaded cars going south caused the engines to rear up in front, crushing the machinery of both. the fire from the boilers immediately spread, and soon the oil tanks were a mass of flame. as the heat grew greater the tanks exploded, scattering the blazing oil over the surface of the allegheny river. the current was quite strong and it carried the blazing oil down-stream for miles, spreading destruction as it went. the heat from the oil changed the wreckage into a mass of molten metal. chalfont's fireman was crushed to death, as was his front brakeman. the same fate overtook the engineer, fireman and brakeman of the north-bound train. the bodies were cremated in the blazing oil. at this time oil was worth from $ . to $ . per barrel. the amount of oil lost totals up to nearly $ , in value. the company's loss in property was not less than $ , , besides being responsible for the loss of the five lives. all this destruction was caused by the incompetency of chalfont and the negligence of his conductor. chalfont luckily, or rather unluckily, escaped with his life by springing from his engine cab out upon the bluff side of the track. here he climbed an almost perpendicular cliff about feet high. the blaze from the oil had burned nearly all the clothing from his back, and had singed the back of his head and neck into a blister. he escaped into the hills. the officers of the company at pittsburg were notified immediately by wire, and a wrecking train and crew were sent to the scene post haste, in charge of supt. king. they arrived at the wreck early the following morning. here supt. king learned what facts he could as to the cause of the wreck. he then wired to me to come to the wreck on the first train. i was at oil city at the time, and left immediately, arriving at the wreck about noon. on my arrival mr. king walked a little distance down the track, out of earshot from the noise of the wrecking crew, and sat down upon a log. he then told me what he had learned and as to the cause of the wreck. he also proceeded to describe chalfont to me. he was so deliberate and careful in this description that it took him nearly an hour to do it. he had that rare faculty of being able to describe one person to another with accuracy. he then said, "tom, do you think you could recognize this man from the description i have given you?" i answered, "yes, i believe i could. the description you have given me reminds me very much of 'morg' erwin, a passenger engineer on the road." at this mr. king, usually very quiet and sedate, grew very excited and clapped his hands as if in joy, exclaiming, "why didn't i think of that before? he looks like 'morg' erwin." i then said, "no, mr. king, he looks very much like erwin, but not exactly like him. he is very much like him in some respects, though, being taller than erwin. chalfont's neck is longer and his 'adam's apple' is much larger and more prominent. his eyes are not so large and are set back farther in his head than erwin's. chalfont's cheek-bones are much higher, while his hair is more coarse and much like horse hair. in short, erwin is a more refined man than chalfont." to this mr. king replied, "tom, i feel sure that you will be able to identify that man on sight, and i want you to get him at all hazards. spare no time or trouble, but 'get him.' take him to katanning (the county seat of westmoreland co., pa., where this wreck occurred) and lodge him in jail." mr. king then told me that i would find the letter of recommendation chalfont had given him on file in his office at pittsburg. i took the first train for pittsburg, where i applied to mr. joe reinhart, mr. king's chief clerk, who was later president of the great atchison, topeka and santa fe system, and he turned the letter over to me. i then concluded to go to buffalo and see the master mechanic of the lake shore, from whose office the letter purported to come. at buffalo i found the master mechanic and showed him chalfont's letter. after reading the letter he told me that the letter head was genuine, but the letter itself, with stamp, seal and signature, were forgeries. he had neither written the letter nor authorized it, but he identified chalfont's hand-writing. i learned that chalfont had been a country school teacher earlier in his life, and that he received such small pay as such that he could not support his wife and children. he came to buffalo, where he applied for work in the round-house of the lake shore shops there. he was given a position at wiping engines in the round-house. here also his salary was too small to support his family and pay rent at the same time, so he was forced to move once a month to avoid paying rent. one day he got into the master mechanic's office and stole a part of a block of the official letter heads of the company. he then wrote himself a letter of recommendation which he had shown to mr. king, and when the chance offered he stamped and sealed the letter, after stealing the stamp one night from the office. about this time he became so lazy and indolent that he was reprimanded by the master mechanic. the master mechanic told me that he had discharged chalfont, previous to his going to pittsburg, because of failure to pay his grocery bills and his rent. the grocers and landlords were garnisheeing his wages, and as the company did not tolerate such things, he was discharged. he also said that chalfont's family was somewhere in buffalo, but he did not know their whereabouts because they had moved so often. i thanked him for this information and then decided to see the superintendent of police. i called at the office of superintendent phillips, and asked him to give me an officer who was more familiar with the haunts and dwellings of railroad men in buffalo than i was. he gladly assented and assigned detective tony collins to assist me. we started out by canvassing the grocers, butchers and milkmen in the neighborhood where the lake shore railway men resided. during the forenoon we found many who knew of chalfont's family, but did not know where they were at present. about : p. m., as collins and i were going down a side street called hayward st., i noticed a group of six or eight children playing before a row of wooden cottages, or more properly, shacks. one little girl in a dirty blue dress attracted my attention because of the likeness she bore to chalfont, according to my description of him. i also noticed a grocery on the corner below us. when we got to the grocery i told the man with me, detective collins, to go back to the group and ask the little girl in the blue dress to deliver a package to his wife. he was to tell her that he lived in the large white house down the street. i then told him to return to the grocery with the girl so that i could get a chance to speak to her without exciting her. he returned in a few moments with the little girl, who looked uncommonly like a little indian squaw, and who proved to be the living image of her father. while collins was inside the store examining the vegetables i said to the girl, "why, hello, sis, where is your uncle charlie now?" she smiled and said, "oh, do you know uncle charlie?" i said, "oh, sure; i know him well." she then said, "he is down in pennsylvania firing on a railroad." (uncle charlie was chalfont's brother-in-law, and had gotten a position as fireman at the same time chalfont got his job as engineer.) i then said to her, "is your father home now?" she looked up and said, "yes, he got home a couple of days ago, but he is sick, and--oh, he said i mustn't tell any one." i said, "that's all right, but tell me which one of those houses do you live in?" she said, "we live in that middle one, with the bunch of rags stuffed in the window." [illustration: "oh, do you know uncle charlie?"] i attracted collins' attention, and told him to send the girl away on some pretext. we then went up to the house the girl had pointed out. i sent collins around to the back door and i went to the front door and knocked. mrs. chalfont opened the door, and when i asked for joe chalfont she attempted to slam the door in my face. i pushed the door open and entered the house. seeing no one in the front room i walked through it to the door of the back room. here i saw chalfont seated before a window with his head and neck all swathed in bandages. as i entered the room he said, without moving, "well, mr. furlong, you have got me." i answered, "yes, joe, i am sorry to say i have." this showed conclusively that i had been pointed out to him while he was on the road without my knowledge. here i will state that up to the time i entered that room i had never seen joe chalfont himself, nor a picture or photograph of him. he had seen me and had heard me speaking so that he knew my voice. i had suspected from the first that chalfont might know me, so when i saw the little girl, whom i believed was his daughter, i did not stop in front of the houses in which i supposed the children lived, but kept on to the grocery store. this is the only case of its kind on record in which an officer picked out a child from a group of children and recognized her from a description of her father, whom the officer had never seen. i arrested chalfont and took him to katanning, as mr. king had ordered. i then went to pittsburg and reported in detail to general superintendent j. j. lawrence. meanwhile it dawned upon me that i had done a rather commendable thing in arresting this man chalfont, and i was expecting a little praise from the general superintendent. imagine my surprise, upon being ushered into his office, at his beginning to reprimand me for arresting chalfont. he said, "furlong, you have gotten this company into a lot of trouble by arresting this man." to this i replied, "why sir, mr. king ordered me to get him at all hazards, and i simply carried out his orders." he then went on, in a most bitter tone, "well, you should not have done it. i think i shall be forced to discharge you for so doing. from your reports from buffalo i see that chalfont was not an engineer, and, therefore, an incompetent employe. that makes this company liable to damages for the lives lost, and for all the property destroyed in that wreck. don't you see what you have done?" i was angered at his words, and said, "col. lawrence, if you did not want that man arrested mr. king should not have ordered me to get him. i believe i am entitled to some little credit for the capture of this man, in view of the fact that the feat is so far unparalleled. so far as discharging me goes, that will be unnecessary, for i have already quit the service of a company which does not approve of my work." to this col. lawrence replied, "furlong, i beg your pardon, and want to compliment you on your good work on this and other cases, but when this case comes to trial all the facts of chalfont's incompetency will be laid bare, and it will cost us a lot of money." i then said, "oh, i can fix that." "what can you suggest?" he asked me. "i will get some prominent lawyer," i said, "to sign his bond; he will be released, and as the quarterly session is nearly three months away it will be hard to find him in three months." col. lawrence said, "see that that is done and i will greatly appreciate it." a few days later a prominent lawyer of katanning signed a bond for chalfont's appearance in court. he was released and at once set out for parts unknown. of course, he did not appear for trial and the bond was declared forfeited. through professional courtesy the bond was never collected. chalfont was not heard from until the railroad strike at pittsburg in , when he again appeared in pittsburg under an alias, and got a job on the panhandle ry., running a passenger engine on the macdonald accommodation. he got partly over the road on his first trip, and failing to get the proper amount of water in the boiler the crown-sheet blew out of the locomotive, scalding his fireman badly. he again took to the woods and disappeared, and to my knowledge has not been heard of since. tracing train wreckers. review of a crime which ranks with the los angeles dynamiting case for heinousness--how confession were obtained. what many of my friends, who are familiar with the case in all of its details, believe to have been my best piece of real detective work during my long career at the business, was done on what is known as "the wyandotte wrecking case" in . while much has been written about this case, yet all the real facts have never appeared in print. the crime, which was the aftermath of the knights of labor strike on the gould southwest system that spring, occurred on the early morning of april th. freight train no. on the missouri pacific was pulling slowly into wyandotte, now kansas city, kansas, and on reaching a point near the north depot on the banks of the kaw river, the engine and several cars suddenly left the track, rolling down the embankment and some of them into the river. the fireman, benjamin f. horton, and the head brakeman, george carlisle, who were on the engine, were pinioned beneath the wreckage and were dead when taken out. the engineer, j. h. fowler, was severely injured, dying within a few months from his injuries. the conductor, a. spaulding, who was in the cupola of the caboose, was thrown from his seat to the floor and painfully bruised and badly shaken up. the rear brakeman, whose name i do not now remember, was the only one of the crew to escape either death or injury. the discovery immediately after the wreck of unmistakable evidence that it had been caused by wreckers, and because of the prominence of the men who had lost their lives thereby, caused a great sensation and much indignation. the dead fireman was a member of the brotherhood of railway firemen and the brakeman a member of the brotherhood of railway trainmen. all of the newspapers, not only of kansas city, but of the entire country, denounced the wreckers in no uncertain terms, as did all decent and law-abiding citizens. i will add right here that the facts brought to light at the trial of the men charged with this crime, more than to any other one thing, caused the disintegration or dissolution of the knights of labor. in other words, it was the beginning of the end of that once powerful organization. for the benefit of those readers who are not familiar with the history of this order, i will state that it had in something over a million members. it had a veritable mushroom growth. no class of people were ineligible to membership; all trades and professions, as well as races and tongues, provided they were males over years of age, and had the price of the initiation fee, usually one dollar, could join. the color line was not even drawn, as it is in most secret societies. of course, some good honest men were on its roster rolls, but it was dominated by a brazen gang of mountebanks, agitators and crooked politicians and others seeking power and prominence. to gain a point the officers of the organization would stop at nothing. if coercion failed in its purpose, the boycott and more harsher methods were substituted. in short, a veritable reign of terror existed throughout the middle west. to illustrate their methods better, i will state that if a merchant or other person in business, through a slip of the tongue or otherwise, made even the slightest remark reflecting on the order, or even one of its leaders, he was a marked man thereafter, his business ruined, and he, of course, driven from the country. business men were often subjected to this treatment--and worse--for simply refusing to join the order. in many of the western cities it was impossible for a man who did not "jine" the order to be elected to office, however deserving or competent he might be. [illustration: scene at the wyandotte wreck, a crime only paralleled by the los angeles dynamiters.] at the time the wreck occurred, i was very busy in st. louis looking after cases that had grown out of the great strike on the gould system, of which i was chief special agent. the strike, which had been over but about a month, was a long, bitter struggle, entailing much work on my department, and had resulted in a victory for the company. i could not get to wyandotte to investigate the wreck until nearly a month had elapsed. in the meantime the railroad company had offered $ , reward for the arrest and conviction of the guilty parties, and $ , for any information which would lead up to such conviction. after looking the ground over, i became satisfied that this diabolical crime had been committed by some member, or members, of the knights of labor, either out of revenge or to harrass the company and divert traffic from the road. after satisfying myself on this point, i returned to st. louis and requested vice-president hoxie to withdraw the offer of a reward for the conviction of the criminals, as i was then, and am now, opposed to offering rewards in such cases. mr. hoxie was in bed sick at the time, but he issued the order as requested, and i promised him that i would personally go to work on the case. a few days later, while i was engaged in laying plans for working out a solution of the case, a bold attempt was made to wreck another train near tampoo, a short distance north of where the first wreck had occurred. a couple of guards were on this train and these men and some of the crew, who saw the wreckers, gave chase and succeeded in arresting one of them. this man proved to be o. j. lloyd, a member of the executive board of the knights of labor, in charge of the late strike. prior to the strike he had been employed by the missouri pacific company as a switchman and had been a very active member of the committee. about this time my department was badly in need of a thoroughly trained criminal lawyer to prosecute the cases growing out of the big strike, and at my earnest solicitation, marshall f. mcdonald, former circuit attorney of st. louis, one of the best criminal lawyers of his time, was retained by the company for the purposes named, and given authority by vice-president hoxie to employ all other counsel needed. mr. mcdonald accordingly employed ex-judge laughlin and judge r. s. mcdonald to assist him. a few days later, these three lawyers and myself met the hon. bailie p. waggoner, general attorney for the state of kansas for the company, by appointment at kansas city. we visited the scene of the crime. as we were on the bank overlooking the place where the engine and cars had left the rails, i told the lawyers that i was satisfied that lloyd, the man in jail for the tampoo affair, was also implicated in the wyandotte crime, and that i proposed to get a confession from him. "how are you going to go about it, tom?" asked judge mcdonald. "i am going to get it through a knight of labor," i replied, and gave the gentlemen a short outline of the plan i had evolved in my mind for getting the confession. after i had finished the lawyers all thought my scheme was a good one, but not one of them thought it could be carried out. i will admit that, because of the peculiar situation in wyandotte county at that time, i knew i would have to be very careful or my scheme would not work. the mayor, sheriff, jailor and, in fact, all of the city and county officials, even policemen and constables, excepting judge hineman of the circuit court, were members of the knights of labor, and of the same local lodge as the prisoner, consequently were very friendly disposed towards him. as every one familiar with such organizations as the knights of labor knows, i would have had but little trouble to find a member among them who would betray the secrets of the order for a few paltry dollars and thus enable me to obtain the information i so much desired from lloyd, but i decided on another plan, as i never considered a man who would violate his obligation to be upright and honorable. in a word, in trusting such men one is liable to receive what is known in slang parlance as "the double cross." locked up in a safe in my office was a ritual and by-laws of the knights of labor, and a book of instructions showing how to initiate new members, together with the annual and semi-annual pass words, and the "hailing" and "distress" signs and various signals used by the members of the order, so i decided to set up a little knight of labor factory of my own and make a member that i could trust with the work in hand. i had an operative in my employ at that time named george fowle. he had for a long time been in the train service of different railroads of the country, and i selected him as the man to be trusted with securing the confession from lloyd. i took fowle into my private office, and after instructing him carefully as to how to carry out my plans, he was initiated into the mysteries of the order. we took our time and went through the initiatory work carefully, so that when fowle left for wyandotte the next day to play the part of brother alfred in the drama that i had staged for that town, he was as well posted on the secret work of the order as though he had just passed through the grand assembly, as the governing body of the order was called. on arriving at wyandotte, brother alfred proceeded at once to the headquarters of the organization, where he made himself known as a special envoy and minister plenipotentiary of the head assembly of the order at scranton, pa. his mission was to investigate the conditions as he found them in wyandotte, so that the head officers at scranton would know exactly what was going on in the west. he also hinted that the general master workman and grand treasurer hayes had empowered him to use his own judgment about what was to be done in the case of lloyd, who was in jail on the train wrecking charge. brother alfred also called on the sheriff, who was a knight of labor, and after giving him the grip, asked to be allowed to consult with lloyd. the sheriff readily granted the request and brother alfred was ushered into the jail, where he was closeted with lloyd for more than an hour and a half. after introducing himself to lloyd, brother alfred dispensed with all formalities and at once began a discussion of the charge against the prisoner. "of course, mr. powderly, mr. hayes and the other head officers of the order and myself, know that you are all right, lloyd, and that you will not make a confession, but in cases of this kind, where there are so many on the job, some one will squeal when they are arrested, as they all will be, for the goulds have a lot of detectives on the case, headed by tom furlong, and it is only a question of time until they are all run down. furlong, as you know, is not only a great detective, but he is also very unscrupulous and will not stop at anything to secure a conviction in these cases. now, the order at this time cannot afford to have this crime laid at its door. if one of the men implicated in it would confess, which some of them would be sure to do, as i stated before, it would be a great blow to the order and cast an odium over it that would take years to eradicate. another thing, the men charged with this crime could not get a fair trial here at this time, as the people here are very sore, as are the members of the brotherhood of firemen and brotherhood of trainmen, of which orders the two men killed in the wreck were members. i have, therefore, evolved a scheme to outwit these capitalistic bloodhounds, and thus save the order. i have a lawyer over in the city from headquarters, brother thomas, who will get you out of here on bond, and i will take you east and get you a job on a railroad where furlong cannot find you, and will do the same thing with the other men who were with you." "that is true about some of the gang squealing," replied lloyd. "we have been afraid of at least two of them giving the snap away, and i know they will do it if they ever fall into the clutches of furlong and his hirelings." lloyd further expressed himself as being delighted with the scheme, and within a few hours he was released from jail and taken by brother alfred in a circuitous route through kansas city to independence, mo., where the two boarded a train for st. louis. i had been informed of their movements by wire, and had one of my operatives meet them at the union station and escort them to the room of another operative in my employ at th and pine streets. that evening marshall f. mcdonald and myself and a stenographer called at the room, and i was introduced to lloyd as the "headquarters' attorney," brother thomas. i corroborated all that brother alfred had told lloyd, and o. k.'d the scheme to get all of these men in the job out of the country, and promised to do all i could to further the scheme. lloyd then gave us the names of his partners in the crime. they were george h. hamilton, mike leary, robert geers, fred newport and william vassen, all prominent and active members of the local executive board of the knights of labor. the next morning, lloyd, in charge of operatives bonnell, mccabe and two guards, and myself, boarded a special car at union station, and it was attached to west-bound passenger train no. . of course, lloyd did not know he was in charge of officers. at independence the special car was placed on a siding and i went on to kansas city. the next morning, which was sunday, a conference was held at the st. james hotel between the attorneys for the pacific company and myself. it was late in the evening when the conference ended, after which i decided to at once arrest the men named by lloyd as his partners in the wyandotte crime. i proceeded to wyandotte and procured the warrants. as the arrests had to be made quickly, and all my experienced men in that vicinity were in independence guarding the special car, i secured the services of frank tutt, who had been employed by me as a guard for the railroad during the strike, to go with the sheriff and myself to make the arrests. the first man arrested was george hamilton, chairman of the executive committee in charge of the strike. we found him in viceroy park, armourdale, where he was acting as a special policeman. when hamilton was pointed out to me, i approached him saying: "i want you, officer." "what for?" asked hamilton. "murder," i replied. had hamilton been cracked on the head with his own club he would not have been more surprised. before he could recover the club was taken from his hand and his pistol from his pocket, and his big star from over his palpitating heart. he made a feeble attempt to get indignant, but failed lamentably and broke down completely, and wanted to confess. he was taken to jail and locked up. we then got in the hack and were driven to armourdale, where we arrested robert geers, after breaking through several doors. while arresting geers we came near getting our heads blown off by an irate roomer, whose door we had broken open by mistake. after locking up geers, we went across the river and stopped in front of a shack in the bottoms, and entering it arrested fred newport and took him to jail, leaving his wife and six children in tears. we then visited kansas city and arrested mike leary. he was locked up about : a. m. there was one man yet missing, william vassen. we experienced considerable trouble in locating him. he had left his home to go to work for wood bros., the kansas city ice dealers, where he was employed as a driver to deliver ice. we obtained a list of his customers, and finally overtook him near the kansas city union depot, at about seven o'clock. he broke down at once and wanted to confess. after a good breakfast i took him to the st. james hotel in kansas city and into the presence of the attorneys for the company. the prisoner broke into tears, as soon as we entered the room, and made a piteous appeal to the gentlemen to see that the wants of his sick wife and children were attended to. "i have never been arrested before, and i was led into this. i went into it at the point of a pistol," he said, crying bitterly. "damn the knights of labor," he continued, and expressed the intention of making a clean breast of the whole affair. he was told by both the lawyers and myself that he did not have to talk if he did not want to. "i have been weighted down too long; i want to tell all about it. i will suffer, i guess, but i deserve it." then he made a full confession, giving the most minute details of the terrible crime. it was the intention of the gang, according to the confession, to wreck a passenger train. the tools with which the spikes were pulled, and the fish plates removed, were stolen from a tool house of the company, located between the depot and the scene of the wreck. geers and newport also made confessions, and all these men took the stand at the trial of the defendants when they were arraigned the following january. the testimony of these men was corroborated in every detail, but the jury failed to reach a verdict, standing to for acquittal. the knights of labor representatives, through the court officers, who were all, excepting judge hineman, members of the order, had succeeded in getting several of its members on the jury. the knights of labor employed the best attorneys in the west to defend the men. among them were ex-governor chas. p. johnson, ex-senator william warner, thomas p. fenlon and others; in fact, the officers of the order spent money very freely to bring about the desired end. after the mistrial, the attorneys for the defense made application for a change of venue, and the cases were sent to olathe. the officers of the knights of labor immediately sent a swarm of organizers into olathe and johnson county, and through coercion and other mysterious methods, succeeded in getting almost every male citizen of the county into the order. the second trial resulted in another farce, the jury again being packed with knights of labor. about this time there was a change of management in the legal department of the road, and the cases were all nollied at the request of the company--even the three men who had made confessions were turned loose. peculiar conditions existed in the west at that time. the laboring men knew nothing about the real benefits of unionism. they had been herded into the knights of labor like sheep into a pen, and were educated by those who led them into believing that any kind of crime was all right when committed during a strike, or against a firm or company against which there was a grievance, and the latter were often, as in the case of the big strike on the gould system, proved to be imaginary. i and my men were only interested in this strike in so far as it was our duty to see that no acts of violence were committed; in short, to protect the company's property from vandals and thieves. the rank and file of the order were led to believe by their leaders, however, that we were a lot of crooks, who regarded a man's liberty and life lightly and would violate any of the laws on the statute books to secure a conviction in any case we were called into. and strange to say, there are some men who believe this to be true, even to this day. i want to say right here, that this crime was one of the most diabolical and fiendish crimes of the century. had it not been for a mere accident, a loaded passenger train would have been wrecked instead of the freight, but, luckily, the passenger was late, and the freight was given orders at leavenworth to proceed into wyandotte on the passenger train's time, with the disastrous results told in the preceding portions of this narrative. the officers of the knights of labor knew these men were guilty, for three of them had gone on the witness stand and testified to the facts, while lloyd, one of the leaders, had furnished evidence to corroborate them. the investigation, at the next grand assembly of the knights of labor, at the insistence of a few good men in the order as to how much money had been spent in defense of these men, revealed a big scandal within the order. while it was true that a great deal of money had been expended, yet it was learned that the sum was not more than one-fourth of the amount claimed by the officers in charge of this fund. the amount of money expended by me for the company, in working up the case, was very small, as all of the men who did any work on the case were employed by the month on a regular salary and expenses. in fact, there were not cents expended in this case, when dollars were expended in running down the dynamiters who blew up the los angeles times, the latter crime being the only one which has occurred within my time that could at all compare with the wyandotte wrecking case for cold-blooded fiendishness. it is also the only case in which big rolls of money were expended by labor organizations, knowing that the men were guilty. because of my work in this case, i incurred the lasting enmity of all the heads of the knights of labor, from terrance v. powderly, the grand master, on down the line. this was evidenced several years later. in , i was tendered the position as chief of the secret service bureau of the treasury department at washington by president harrison. i was not overly anxious to accept the job, as the pay at that time was only $ , per year, and i had a good business in st. louis, as head of the agency which bears my name, but at the solicitation of friends, i agreed to accept the position. somehow, the fact that i was to be the new chief of the secret service had leaked out in washington, and immediately the knights of labor "tipped their hand," to use a slang phrase. the president had gone to deer park, maryland, to recover from the fatigue caused by his inauguration, and his few first months of service. telegrams poured in on him from all points of the united states. they came from the east and the west, and from the north and the south, and from towns i had not known were on the map. some of these telegrams were long and others short, but all showed the vindictiveness of the members of the order towards me. after the president returned from washington he sent for me, and on my arrival at the white house, told me of the protests. to offset these, i presented letters from ex-governor johnson and major william warner, chief counsel for the men i had arrested for the wyandotte crime, which stated in terms that could not be misconstrued, that i had done nothing but my duty in that case, and testifying further that i had been very respectful and magnanimous to the prisoners on trial--in short, that i had done nothing to secure a conviction that was not entirely honorable. "you are all right, furlong, and i am going to appoint you, as soon as this storm dies down a little," said the president. of course, i was a little put out by the delay, and told the president that if i accepted the place my commission would have to be handed me not later than january st. after further assurance from the president that i would have my commission before the date mentioned, i returned home. a few days before january st i was again called to washington by the president. i visited the white house in company with the hon. richard kerens. after a short discussion of the matter, the president told me to go over to the treasury department and get my commission. on my arrival there, i did not find the secretary, mr. windom, in, he being detained at home on account of sickness. my presence in washington again revived the rumors that i was to be appointed, and these rumors also put the knights of labor to work again, with the result that the white house was again flooded with a lot of telegrams protesting against my appointment, and my commission was again held up. i then dropped the matter and returned to st. louis. in conclusion, i wish to state that i assumed at the time all the responsibility for the manner in which the evidence in this case had been secured. the plan for obtaining the confession from lloyd, which, in reality, was the beginning of the case against the men, was worked out myself; fowle, or brother alfred, as he was known, simply played, or acted the part assigned him. true, he played the part fairly well, and carried out my instructions to the letter. at the time of the arrests, and on several occasions thereafter, a certain strike guard employed by the company, succeeded in getting his name and picture into the papers of kansas city as one of the chief unravelers of the mystery surrounding the crime, but he had absolutely nothing whatever to do with the capture of the criminals, beyond guarding them after the arrests had been made by sheriff ferguson and myself. the "dope" he handed the papers was mere rot. there was also considerable said in the papers about the part a wig would play in the case prior to the trial, but all who were present at the trial will remember that the wig was not introduced in evidence. this wig was a "pipe dream," to use a slang expression. "moonshining" in the oil regions. desperate struggle on a bridge with a thief carrying a carboy filled with nitroglycerine--narrow escape from death of prisoner and captor. early in the 's, while i was chief of police of oil city, pa., a long, wooden covered bridge spanned the allegheny river at oil city. this bridge was at least fifteen hundred feet in length, had a driveway through its center wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. this driveway was boarded up closely with siding, which separated it on either side from the footwalks, which were about six feet in width with a high railing on the outside. there were lights at intervals along the footwalks, about a hundred feet apart. the main structure of the bridge was about forty feet above the river. the bridge connected oil city and south oil city, extending from the south end of seneca street in oil city to south oil city. south oil city then, as it is now, was the principal residence portion of the city, while the north side of the river was, and is, the business portion. this bridge was a toll bridge, and there were night and day toll collectors stationed at the little house provided for their use at the north end of the bridge. their duty was to collect the toll from all drivers of vehicles, and two cents from each pedestrian who passed their window at the toll house. there lived in oil city at that time a notorious character by the name of tommy griffith, whose face and form had become familiar to all the residents of the town, also of the adjacent country. griffith was a welchman by birth, middle aged, stout and heavily built in stature; had a wife and a large family, and resided in south oil city, at that time owning his own home, and was apparently fairly prosperous. he was a man addicted to drink, and was known throughout the country as the "prince of moonshiners." moonshiners, in the oil region, were men who made a business of putting explosives, which were called torpedoes, into oil wells for the purpose of increasing the flow of oil. the oil-bearing rock, or crevices in the oil-bearing rock, which were usually found near the bottom of the oil wells, would get clogged with an accumulation of parafine. after the well had been producing for a while the inlet to the well would become clogged with this accumulation, when the owner of the well would resort to the torpedo. these torpedoes were composed of a tin can or case, which would hold from one to four quarts of nitro-glycerine, which is a liquid that resembles lard oil very much, and is one of the most powerful explosives known, if not the most powerful. the cases, or tin cans, were round and nearly the size of the wells in diameter. the oil wells in those days were usually four and one-half or five inches in diameter. the cases were long enough to hold the quantity required for the explosion, and were lowered from the top of the well by means of a copper wire, which was attached to the percussion cap at the proper depth in the well, then a heavy weight, the wire through its center, would be sent down from the top over the wire and would strike the cap on the torpedo. this would cause the explosion, and would shatter the oil-bearing rock and jar the parafine, thereby making the opening by which the oil found its way into the well, and increased the production wonderfully for a period, or until the opening became clogged again from the same causes. then the same remedy would be applied, and for this reason the torpedo business was a very profitable business, as this nitro-glycerine was sold at the rate of about ten dollars per quart. there was, at the time i am writing of, a company known as the roberts torpedo co., who had a monopoly of all the explosives and torpedoes used in the oil wells for the purpose before mentioned. the roberts company owned and operated the factories at which nitro-glycerine was made. they employed only men who were experts in the torpedo business, as the handling of torpedoes was very hazardous and dangerous, the nitro-glycerine being treacherous and liable to explode at any time, either from concussion, friction or heat. in fact, nitro-glycerine is liable to explode spontaneously or without any apparent cause, so that the most expert handler of the stuff does not really know when he may consider himself safe when near a quantity of it. the roberts company also had a number of what they call magazines, which were located in isolated spots all through the oil regions. these magazines were places for storing quantities of the nitro-glycerine, and usually close to a producing district, so that the operator in charge of said district could obtain a supply of it when he required it for use in his territory. the moonshiner made a practice of breaking into these magazines and stealing the explosives, which usually were placed in a square tin can which held from twenty to forty pounds. these heavy tin cans, or cases, were called carboys, and had a heavy wire handle attached to the top with a short spout at one corner of the top of the carboy from which the nitro-glycerine could be poured. as i said before, it was like lard oil, and of about the same consistency. these moonshiners would steal three or four carboys at a time, concealing it in the mountains, and when they got an order from a producer for a torpedo they would fill the order and put in the torpedo in proper shape, as they were as expert in the handling of this dangerous explosive as the roberts company's men were, as many of them were ex-employes of that company. prejudice existed among the smaller producers against the roberts torpedo company, as they complained that the roberts company were charging them extortionate prices for torpedoes, therefore the moonshiners were protected to an extent in their nefarious business. upon the night of which i am writing it was after midnight when i left my office at the city hall on the north side, and started for my home on the south side. i started on foot, and when i reached about the middle of the bridge before described, i heard footsteps coming towards me on the same foot-walk that i was on. i looked up and saw and recognized the familiar form of tommy griffith, as he was passing a light which was about a hundred and fifty feet from me. he was coming directly towards me, and was evidently intoxicated, as he staggered from side to side of the foot-walk. first he would stagger against the enclosed side, and then back to the outside railing. every time he came in contact with the bridge i could hear a slight thud. he was carrying a gunnysack upon his shoulder, containing a carboy of nitro-glycerine, and i thought it would explode any moment, as he was continually striking it against the sides of the bridge as he staggered. then again he was liable to stumble and let it fall, which would have been fatal both to himself, me and the bridge. i thought of all of these things in a great deal shorter time than it has taken me to write about it. it was in the winter, and i was wearing rubber overshoes, and for this reason i made no noise in walking. after recognizing griffith and his condition, i instantly turned and started back for the north side of the bridge. i am satisfied that i made a record-breaking sprint until i got safely to the toll house at the end of the bridge, where i hastily told samuel ervin, who was on duty as night toll collector. i insisted on ervin remaining at his position as usual until griffith arrived at the window, where i felt sure he would stop long enough to pay his toll. ervin was sitting in a bay window with a slide in front of him through which he could take the toll, and he could also see every person coming or going over the bridge. i hid myself around the angle of the bay window in such a manner that griffith could not see me as he approached the toll window, and when he neared the window he presented his toll with his right hand while he was holding the end of the gunnysack with his left hand. this bag contained the carboy and was hanging over his back. i noiselessly approached him from behind, and, seizing the gunnysack containing the carboy, jerked it away from him, while ervin held on to his collar so firmly that he could not get away or interfere with me until i had deposited the case of nitro-glycerine on the ground, which, of course, did not take me very long. i then grabbed mr. griffith, and he being a husky, stout little fellow, and full of pluck and whiskey, made a struggle, but i quickly overpowered him and promptly conveyed him to the lock-up. [illustration: "recognizing griffith and seeing he was loaded down with nitro-glycerine, i hot-footed it to the end of the bridge."] i then returned to where i had deposited the nitro-glycerine. i found mr. ervin standing upon the railroad crossing, which was about seventy-five or a hundred feet from the tool house. i was then obliged to carry the carboy of nitro-glycerine on my shoulder to the nearest roberts magazine, which was located in a ravine known as sage run, and about three miles from the north end of the bridge. the carboy weighed about forty pounds, and the walking was icy and slippery, and of course my progress was necessarily very slow. it was nearly daylight when i got home. it is needless to say that i was very tired. we had been informed of the theft of more than a ton of nitro-glycerine from a roberts magazine, which occurred a few days prior to the night in question, and after daylight the following morning i visited the home of griffith, which was situated in a good residence portion, and surrounded by a number of good homes and families. i found in the basement of griffith's house the remainder of the ton of nitro-glycerine, which was hidden under a stairway running from the kitchen of the house into the basement. at the time i entered the house i found griffith's children playing and running up and down these steps under which the explosive was standing in the original packages. there was nitro-glycerine enough under those stairs to have blown up the entire city. i was then compelled to procure a team and sleigh and do the driving myself, and to load the stuff into the sleigh and drive it to the magazine and there unload it. i could not induce any person to assist me, as i did not have time, being compelled to move the stuff immediately for the safety of not only griffith's family, but the whole neighborhood, and, therefore, could not wait to send word to the roberts co. and have them send their own men, who were accustomed to handling it. it was one of the most trying situations i ever found myself placed in. griffith was tried in the court in due time, and was sentenced for seven years in the state penitentiary at allegheny, on the charge of grand larceny. col. roberts, who at that time lived at titusville, pa., and was president of the roberts torpedo company, sent me a check for five hundred dollars, which i accepted. griffith served out his sentence, and returned to oil city, where he was living at my last account of him, and was following his old vocation, that of moonshining, in a more moderate manner than of yore. the capture of wess watts. after standing off a sheriff and posse, the notorious bandit is taken single handed. during the years of - i was chief special agent of the allegheny valley railroad. one morning i was called to brookville, pennsylvania, to investigate the burglary of the company's office at that point during the preceding night. on arriving in the little town i found the office of the company almost a wreck, the safe having been blown to pieces with dynamite or some other explosive, and its contents, including quite a sum of money and a number of centennial exposition and railroad tickets were missing. after some hard work, i obtained a clue which led me to believe that the job had been done by the notorious watts gang. this outlaw band, which originally consisted of eight men, had long terrorized the good citizens of jefferson, clarion, forest and elk counties--in much the same manner as had the james boys and their gang of cut-throats the citizens of western missouri. [illustration: wess watts. noted pennsylvania bandit leader run down and captured by detective furlong.] there was no crime too big or too little for them to commit, but they made a specialty of arson, murder, robbery and safe-blowing. the organizer and leader was wess watts, who, before he had adopted outlawry as a profession, had been a gun and locksmith in brookville, and had the reputation of being a skilled mechanic. he was about years of age, feet inches in height, and weighed in the neighborhood of pounds. there had never been any question of his gameness and he was known as the crack shot of that portion of pennsylvania. he often gave exhibitions of his expertness in the handling of firearms. one of his favorite stunts was to shoot an apple from the head of his brother at a distance of twenty paces with either a gun or revolver. in reporting to mr. david mccargo, the general superintendent of the road, a day or so later, that i was convinced that the watts gang was responsible for the brookville job, and venturing the opinion that this gang would continue to prey upon the railroad at intervals until they were exterminated; whereupon mr. mccargo said, "you are hereby instructed to bend every effort toward the suppression of this gang, and you will be relieved from all other duties until this has been accomplished." i at once took up the work, by visiting the western penitentiary at allegheny city, where i found a former member of the watts gang, who had been convicted of horse stealing and was at that time serving a ten-year sentence for the same. this man's name was lafayette edwards, and he had been connected with the watts gang for a number of years and was a member at the time of his arrest. he was about thirty-five years of age. he had a younger brother by the name of horace edwards, who had been connected with the gang until about a year previous to the arrest of lafayette, when he grew tired of the life he had been leading, and, as the gang was daily growing bolder in their depredations, he was afraid they would all be brought to justice sooner or later, so he disappeared, no one knowing his whereabouts in brookville. on approaching lafayette, at the penitentiary, i told him who i was, that i had learned of both his and his brother's connection with the watts gang and that i desired to find horace, so that i might get the facts from him as to his knowledge of the crimes perpetrated by the gang while he was a member of it. lafayette edwards said he believed that his brother would tell all he knew, providing he would not be punished for the part he had taken while working with the gang. i explained to him that so long as horace had severed his connection with the gang, that i had no doubt but that the prosecuting officers would use his testimony against the other members of the gang and nolle prosequi all charges against him, which is a custom, as the prosecuting attorney in criminal cases has the right, with the permission of the court, to annul proceedings against a criminal, where he has been used as a state's witness. i also told him if he would assist me in locating horace, that i would do all that i could, consistently, with the proper officers to have the charges annulled against his brother. finally he told me that horace was engaged as a farm hand at a point near vermillion, illinois. he said that horace had joined the church and was living an honest and conscientious life. i went to vermillion and located horace edwards, who was working as a farm hand under an alias, and found that he had established a good reputation, joined the church, and was respected by all who knew him. in other words, he had made friends with everybody with whom he came in contact during his few months' stay in that neighborhood. this information i verified before approaching horace. i finally called on him and told him who i was, that i was from pennsylvania, and that i had seen his brother lafayette, who was in the penitentiary in allegheny city, who had given me his address, and, in fact, i told him the line of facts that i knew he would recognize as facts. i then proposed to him that he go back to pennsylvania with me, at my expense, promising that i would keep him quietly in a small town near brookville, where he would not be known until i had apprehended the balance of the watts gang, and that i would pay his expenses back to illinois, where he had so many friends, and was favorably known, and that the people would not become aware of his identity after his return among them. in this connection, i wish to say that horace had adopted his mother's maiden name. to this horace replied promptly that, as he had become a church member, he would render all the assistance in his power towards bringing his former companions to justice, and thereby preventing them from committing further depredations. i told the parties by whom he was employed that his presence was required as a witness in an important case in court in pennsylvania, and that i had come after him and had no doubt but that he would return again in a few weeks. i took him back to pennsylvania, and rounded up the balance of the gang, with the exception of the leader, wess watts. i learned that he had last been heard from at paducah, kentucky. this i learned through the assistance of a sister of mrs. watts, who was in correspondence with her. i went to paducah and found mrs. watts. from my investigations i had become so familiar with the depredations of the gang, the dates and places where they had been committed that i decided to approach mrs. watts by representing myself as a friend of her husband and other members of the gang. at this she became angry and excited, and told me that if she had a kettle of boiling water convenient she would scald me, as she had no further use for her husband or any of his friends. he had deserted her and their child, and had run away with another man's wife. it was then my turn to sympathize with her, which i did to the best of my ability, and of course, denounced wess watts in plain words for having deserted his wife and child in such a manner. mrs. watts, who, by the way, was really a good natured woman and rather good looking, of the blonde type, about years of age, finally told me that her husband had taken this other woman, and that she had heard, a few days prior to my visit, that he and oliver brooks had opened a gun and locksmith repair shop at shawneetown, illinois. she said watts and this woman and oliver brooks and the brooks woman were living together, and that they had their shingle out for gun and lock repairing, but in reality were committing burglaries and thefts almost nightly in the vicinity of shawneetown. i took a boat at paducah for shawneetown, which is on the ohio river some miles from paducah. i arrived at shawneetown, which was then a very small place, about o'clock in the morning. the town is very low, the ohio river being held out of the town by a high levee along its banks. after leaving the boat i went over the levee to the only street in the town parallel to the river and had no trouble in locating the gun shop, by reason of the sign over the door. directly opposite this shop was a general merchandise store with a large pile of empty dry goods boxes standing in front of it. i seated myself upon one of these boxes, as it was not quite daylight when i found the place and, as i had had some sleep coming up on the boat, i was not sleepy. i could not go to a hotel at that time without arousing some comment, and, therefore, concluded i would wait in the vicinity of the gun shop and watch for developments. i had been sitting on the box for perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and day was just beginning to break, when i noticed a little cloud of smoke coming out of the stovepipe (which served as a chimney) in the shanty in which the gun shop was located. a few minutes later the door of the gun shop was opened and i could see, from my perch on the box across the street, that some one was sweeping. i could see the broom, but could not see who was operating it. i watched the broom for a few minutes and then concluded i would go over to the shop and look in and see who was doing the sweeping. this shop was a one-story frame shanty, about feet wide, by perhaps, feet long. it was divided in the middle by a partition, making two rooms. the front room, being the gun shop, contained a vise bench to the right of the front door, upon which were a lot of tools, such as files, wrenches, one or two old guns and a couple of pistols. diagonally across the shop and to the left was a door opening into the rear room, which was used as a living room. when i peered into the front room or gun shop there was no one in the room, but the door leading into the rear room was open and i rapped on the shop door. my knock was answered by a man, who came from the rear room and had a broom in his hand. he was clad in blue overalls, a knit undershirt and wore a pair of rubbers, but no socks. i saw at a glance that it was wess watts, himself. i had a very good description of him and had seen his brother, sister and mother, and he resembled them very strongly. i noticed that he had nothing in the shape of arms on him except the broom. i decided then and there to arrest him. when he came from the rear room i saluted him, saying, "good-morning," and he replied in the same way. i then said, "are you the gunsmith?" he said he was. i said, "i have a job for you. i have an old gun here, but i don't know whether you can do anything with it or not." in this connection i wish to state that before i left my perch on the boxes across the street, i placed my revolver, which was a -colts, short barrel, double action, in my right-hand coat pocket. i also had a pair of automatic hand-cuffs, which i placed in my left-hand pocket. i was wearing a sack coat, and when watts replied that he was the gunsmith, i took the revolver out of my right-hand pocket in an awkward manner, holding it about in the middle. he turned around, in a leisurely manner, and set the broom in the corner near the door, and while he was doing this, i placed my gun in working position, and as he turned extending his hand, evidently for the purpose of taking and examining my pistol, i leveled it at his head and told him to "throw up his hands." he hesitated for an instant, but i commanded him a second time, telling him to throw them up at once, or i would blow his head off. he threw up his hands, and, just at the time i commanded him the second time to throw up his hands, a man with a bushy head of red hair peered through the door leading into the rear room, but when he saw what was going on, he ducked back his head, as he was in direct range with my gun. i then commanded watts to about face, and step forward to the door, which he did, keeping his hands up. i was right behind him with my gun at the back of his head, and told him to step down and out of the door. he obeyed. i then took my hand-cuffs out of my left-hand coat pocket, and snapped them on his wrists, while his hands were still above his head. i then told him he could drop his hands, and marched him up the street to the hotel, which was but a few hundred feet from the shop. in the meantime watts did not utter a word, but merely complied with my commands. on our arrival at the hotel i found the night clerk or porter in charge, but asleep in a chair in the office, and as we marched in he awoke and appeared to be frightened at our intrusion. i told him that i was an officer and that watts was my prisoner. i told him we were hungry and asked him how soon we could get something to eat. he awakened the help and in about half an hour breakfast was announced. all this time watts and i were sitting in the office gazing at each other, not a word having been spoken by either, and when we went into the dining room and sat down to the table, watts looked at me and then at the hand-cuffs as much as to say, "aren't you going to remove these hand-cuffs?" he did not speak, however. i shook my head, looked at the table and food and then at watts, as much as to say, "there it is, you can eat it or leave it alone." i sat opposite him at the table and he helped himself to some ham and managed to eat a pretty good breakfast with the hand-cuffs on. on arising from the table it occurred to me for the first time that my prisoner was not very well dressed to make a long journey. i espied a large-sized, old-fashioned linen duster, and a big-brimmed straw hat hanging on the wall of the hotel sitting room. after some dickering with the porter i purchased them for c and put them on my prisoner. the addition of these garments made watts look more like the leader of a rube band, than the bold, bad man that he really was. at that time there was a branch of the wabash railroad running into shawneetown, and i had ascertained there was a train leaving there shortly for mcleansboro and east st. louis. we boarded the train at : a. m. and started for east st. louis. after we had been on the train for half an hour or more, watts, who was sitting in the seat with me, and to the left, next to the window, turned around facing me and said, "who are you, and where are you taking me, and what have you arrested me for?" i replied that i was a deputy sheriff from vermillion and that i had arrested him on suspicion of committing a burglary there a week before. he said, "why, i was never in vermillion in my life. you have made a big mistake." "i guess i am not very much mistaken," i replied, "some of our citizens saw the burglars when they left the bank, and have described you accurately. of course, if they fail to identify you on your arrival at vermillion, i will apologize to you, and then be obliged to pay your expenses back to shawneetown." he then said, "you say you are a deputy sheriff? well, don't deputy sheriffs have to give bond for the careful performance of their duties?" i replied, "yes, they have to give bond." "well," he continued, "these people won't identify me and i will make your bondsmen pay dearly for this outrage." "we'll see about this," i replied. "i can't be mistaken. i have been a deputy sheriff for the past two years, and i have arrested two house thieves and they were convicted, so i can not be mistaken." "well, you are very badly mistaken now," he answered, and with this he stopped talking and seemed to be at ease, as he knew he could not be identified at vermillion, and felt sure that he would be released. in due time we arrived at east st. louis, and i explained to him that i did not care to proceed to vermillion that night, as i had some little business to attend to in st. louis, and therefore, i proposed to come over to the city, remain over night and take the first train out in the morning to vermillion. he seemed perfectly satisfied. i brought him across the river and took him to the four courts and turned him over to major mcdonough, who was then chief of police of st. louis. i had known chief mcdonough for years. he locked watts up, and i, of course, had his meals taken in to him and had him well cared for. the next morning we took an early train for indianapolis over what is now a part of the big four system. we got along very nicely until we reached the wabash river, which separates illinois from indiana, when watts suddenly turned to me and in a loud and excited manner said, "where in h--l are you taking me? you haven't told me the truth." "no," i replied, "i did not tell you the truth about where i am taking you, but i will do so now. i am taking you to brookville, pennsylvania." "why didn't you tell me this in the first place?" he asked. i replied, "my reason for not telling you this in the first place was, that after i had located you, as i supposed, at paducah, kentucky, i reported the facts to sheriff steele of jefferson county and asked him to apply for the proper papers so that you might be taken back to pennsylvania. sheriff steele obtained the papers and insisted on bringing a posse of men to assist in your capture, to which i objected and i told him that i did not think it necessary for anybody to come after you, but he and myself. he reluctantly consented to accompany me. he had the papers and came as far as st. louis. the weather was very warm and when we arrived in st. louis, steele was very feverish and complained of being sick, and was afraid that he was taking typhoid fever, and insisted on returning to pennsylvania immediately, which he did. he insisted on me going back with him, but i told him that i was going to get hell before i returned. he left me and returned home." "why, he wasn't sick at all, he was just afraid of me," said watts. "he was afraid to meet me, for he knew if i saw him i would kill him. i stood off steele and seventeen of his men, all armed, in brookville once. those fellows are all afraid of me. so you came down here to get me yourself? well, you haven't any papers for my arrest, have you?" "no," i said, "i haven't any papers. i have nothing but you." "suppose i object to going any farther with you," he remarked. "in that case," i replied, "i would simply have to have you locked up and wait until the papers arrive. they are all made out, therefore you can raise all the objections you like. i am a deputy sheriff, and i could have locked you up in illinois, but i did not know what that red-headed fellow and your other associates in shawneetown would do, and not wanting to be bothered with them, i decided to just bring you right along." watts then said, "you saw that fellow with the red hair, did you?" "yes," i answered. "where did you see him?" "at the time i pointed my gun at your head he peered in at the door leading into the back room, but when he saw the condition of things, he ducked back into the rear room," i told him. "oh!" watts said, "he is a coward. if i ever get my eyes on him i'll kill him on sight." continuing, watts said, "did you notice when you told me to throw up my hands, that i hesitated for a second?" i said, "yes, i did." "do you know what i thought of when i hesitated?" he asked. "no, i don't," i answered. "why, i thought of just jumping forward and taking that gun away from you." i said, "why didn't you do it?" looking him straight in the eye. he replied, with an oath, "i thought you'd shoot." "i guess you were right about that," i answered. he stopped talking for a few minutes and then began to cry. he became almost hysterical. we were riding in the smoking car when this conversation occurred and his sobbing and crying attracted the attention of the passengers in the car, and it was really pitiful to see a strong, athletic looking young man like watts sob and cry like a child. he finally ceased and said, "well, i am glad you got me. i have never had an hour's peace or rest since that night at catholicsburg, kentucky." "why," i said, "what happened at catholicsburg?" he answered, "oliver beach shot my father, james watts, in our boat at catholicsburg, and he and brooks put the body into the ohio river. he killed him with my gun. i knew they were going to do it, but i did not take any part in the killing. now, i am going to tell you all about myself and my companions since i left brookville." i told him that while i would be interested in hearing what he had to say, it would be used against him at his trial at brookville, and that i would, therefore, prefer that he would not tell me anything about his crimes until we got back to brookville, and then if he felt like talking and making a confession, he could do so to the prosecuting attorney, and the authorities there; that my part in the matter would end upon my delivering him to the officers, and i would rather that he defer talking until we arrived in that city. however, he insisted on telling me about the numerous crimes that he and his associates had committed while going down the ohio river, about his capture at paducah, kentucky; his conviction, his pardon and the conviction and pardon of two members of his gang from the penitentiary. he was especially proud of one piece of work done by the gang while making their home in a house-boat anchored on the illinois side of the river opposite paducah. watts, beach and alston rowed across the river to the kentucky side in a four-oared skiff. it was cold and freezing. they were looking for plunder and spied a large egg-shaped coal stove in the office of a coal company on the levee. this stove had been filled with coal and was red hot, and the fire had been banked for the night with ashes, and the "gentlemen" before named, broke open the door of the coal office, procured a wide, strong plank, run it under the red-hot stove and took it to their house-boat, where they installed it without permitting the fire to go out. so that they thus succeeded in stealing and getting away with a red-hot stove, which was a verification of the old saying that "there was nothing too hot or too heavy for them." in due time we arrived at brookville, where he insisted on making a full confession, which he did, in the presence of prosecuting attorney reed, sheriff w. p. steele and myself. this confession, which was voluntarily made and sworn to before the clerk of the court, witnessed and attested by mr. reed, steele and myself, is as follows: confession of j. w. watts. left brookville, june , , for parkers landing. got a boat there and went down the river. my father, james watts, traded a gun for the boat. we built a shanty on the boat as we proceeded down the river. the names of the parties on that boat were: charles beach, oliver brooks, james watts, j. w. watts, sarah m. watts and myrta watts. there was no difficulty on the boat until we arrived at a point near ironton, ohio. we got a woman by the name of fanny rose on board the boat, and from there down to maysville there seemed to be some trouble between oliver brooks and james watts, my father, about fanny rose, the girl above named. my father had been talking of turning state's evidence, and on sunday, the th of september, , he took an axe and cut a hole in the bottom of the boat. i remonstrated with him and he was going to strike me with the axe. the water began filling the boat, which necessitated our landing. on the night of the th of september, , oliver brooks shot james watts, killing him almost instantly, for threatening to turn state's evidence, concerning what had been stolen during our trip down the river, by the male portion of the gang on the boat. james watts stole nothing himself. he only lived a few minutes after brooks shot him. i was on another boat about sixty yards above the one james watts was on. i knew that oliver brooks was going to shoot my father, and it made me very nervous. it made me sick and i laid down. i got up and started down to tell my father, when i heard a gun shot, but having an idea of what had occurred i was very much frightened, and was very weak through fear, and did not go into the shanty on the boat, where james watts and oliver brooks were. during this sunday afternoon oliver brooks and james watts had some difficulty, and brooks told us all, except james watts, that he would shoot james watts. alston told brooks that he would get my father to play a game of cards by a window, in order that brooks could slip around and shoot him from the bank of the river through the window, and he did shoot him. i am here to tell the whole truth, and want to keep nothing back. my father stole nothing, but he did help conceal what the rest of us stole. after he was shot, and when i came up, either brooks and beach, or brooks and alston, were gathering up stones on the bank and carrying them into the shanty on the boat where my father was lying, and i suppose they were taking them in to tie around his neck to sink him in the river, from what they said before the deed was committed. after they got everything fixed up, i heard them putting my father into a skiff and rowing out into the river and i heard them throwing him overboard. they used sixty or eighty feet of half-inch rope to tie the stones to him, judging from the amount that was gone from the boat. alston told me he had just dealt the cards and turned trump. the old man passed, and he (alston) turned it down. my father said he would make it hearts, but turned and looked towards the window from where the shot came and then fell. alston caught him to keep him from falling so hard. this is what alston told me. after they took my father out into the river and threw him in, oliver brooks said he felt just as well as he did before he committed the deed and better, too. after this there was no more conversation about it in my presence as i would not listen to them, nor permit them to talk to me about it. i did not go into the room where he was killed, for five or six weeks. it was my rifle that he shot him with and it was the best rifle i ever saw or used, but after brooks used it to shoot my father, i never shot out of it, or looked into the muzzle of it, but what i saw blood, or thought i saw blood in it. other persons saw blood in the muzzle of the gun after shooting it. i showed it to them without giving them any other information. there was an understanding and mutual agreement between us that we were never to say anything about the killing of james watts. we pushed the boat off that evening, after my father had been killed and thrown into the river and went on down stream following our usual avocation of stealing, etc., and we did not stop permanently until we got to paducah, kentucky. at paducah, all the males in our party were arrested on the illinois side by marshal geary of paducah, frank farland, wood morrow and bill green, on a charge of grand larceny, committed at buddsville, ky. we were tried, convicted and sent to the penitentiary at frankfort, ky. i got three years, oliver brooks got two years and nine months, pete alston got one year and six months and charlie beach got three years. brooks got pardoned through his wife on the th of may, or june, , and i got pardoned on the th of july, , and m. p. alston on the th of august, . brooks and his wife got beach pardoned. brooks' wife, as i understood it, had illicit relations with the son of the governor of kentucky, and through the influence of the son on his father, beach was pardoned. my wife got governor king to write to governor leslis, then acting governor of kentucky, and through his intercession i was pardoned. after brooks was pardoned out he stayed until beach and i got out. as soon as i got out i started for or back to paducah, ky., and left brooks and beach in frankfort. i left there on the th day of july, , and have never seen any of them since. alston, a short time after he got out of the penitentiary, went down the kentucky river, broke into a store, and got shot in the back. he was sent back to the penitentiary for five years, and is there at the present time. up to the time i left brookville i was in the habit of going out with a gang composed of dan miller, frank watts, john johnson, frank loader, oliver brooks, john lyons, and his father, and charlie beach. frank watts and myself went through eshelman's grocery store at dowlingville, and at other places, i cannot now remember. i make this confession of my own free will and without the expectation of any reward or through any fear. i make it because this thing has been lying on my mind like a lead weight, and i concluded i would tell the whole thing just as it occurred. my wife and i had a conversation at one time in regard to the affair and we thought of going to the officers and telling all about it, but for some reason we did not do it. this was when we were in paducah. made, signed and sworn to in the presence of thomas furlong, detective for the allegheny valley railroad company, wm. p. steele, deputy sheriff of jefferson county, pennsylvania, and john w. reed, attorney-at-law, august , . watts made the above statement with a view to shielding himself as much as possible. he, himself, killed his father, and mrs. brooks so testified. she said it was not only wess watts' gun that killed old man watts, but the gun was in the hands of wess watts. i, having been subpoenaed as a witness for the state against wess watts, arrived at brookville on the morning set for his trial. the whole forenoon was consumed in selecting a jury. when the last juror had been selected it was about twelve o'clock, and the court took a recess until one p. m. at that time, his honor, judge sterritt, stated that the prisoner, wess watts, should be brought into court, when the testimony for the prosecution would begin. i went to the hotel, ate my dinner and had returned to the sheriff's office in the courthouse a few minutes before one o'clock. while sitting there talking to sheriff steele an old man entered the office, whom the sheriff familiarly greeted, calling him uncle john, in the following manner: "hello, uncle john. i haven't seen you for a long time. how've you been?" uncle john replied, "quite well, but i'm getting old. mammy wanted to get some things in the store and we drove in this morning from beechwoods. i've been reading in my paper about wess watts and it says that he is to be put on trial today. you know, bill, i knew old bill watts, wess' father, before wess was born. i've been reading all about the boy and his gang and he surely must be a very bad and desperate man. while i'm here in town, i'd like to get a look at him." to this sheriff steele replied, "court will convene at one o'clock, which will be only a few minutes now, and i've been ordered by the judge to bring wess into court at that time. if you will go up and sit in the courtroom, uncle john, you will have a good chance to see him when i take him in." uncle john was a man more than seventy years of age, was a good citizen and had lived in the backwoods in jefferson county all his life. he knew everybody in the county. his home was on a small farm about eighteen miles from brookville. he was a strong, hale man for his age, and had a full, heavy, white beard. he was an inveterate tobacco chewer and a typical backwoods farmer. at the close of his conversation with the sheriff, uncle john walked to the door leading into the hall, but, just before reaching the door, he suddenly turned and said, "bill, i see in the paper that wess watts was captured down in egypt by one man, and that man brought him back here all alone. the paper said that man would be at the trial here today. i'd like very much to see him, too." the sheriff (pointing to me) said, "uncle john, here's the man who captured wess watts and brought him back here." whereupon, uncle john quietly walked across the room to where i was sitting, keeping his eye upon me all the time, till within a few feet of me, when he said, "young man, i wish you would stand up, i want to look at you." i stood up, and the old man walked about half way around me, eyeing me from head to foot. he then turned without saying a word and started for the door. before leaving, he said, stroking his long beard with his left hand and pointing his right at me, "bill, by jove, it didn't take much of a man, either." [illustration: "bill, by jove, it didn't take much of a man either!"] then he left the room. court convened at one o'clock and everything appeared to be ready for the beginning of the trial. the courtroom was packed with spectators as the watts trial had aroused a great deal of interest, and people were attracted from local and neighboring counties to see the prisoner and witness his trial. the sheriff did not appear with his prisoner, however, and the judge sent an officer to notify him that the court was waiting. in a few minutes the sheriff appeared, with the officer, but without the prisoner. he approached the judge's stand and informed him that he had been unable to induce the prisoner to leave his cell, and watts had said he would kill any person who attempted to take him into court. the jail was an old-fashioned stone jail, and the doors leading into the cells were only about two and one-half feet wide and four feet high, therefore, a person above four feet in height was obliged to stoop on entering or leaving the cell. they had old-fashioned wooden bedsteads in each cell, and watts had torn his bedstead to pieces that morning and had taken off one of its legs, which was about three feet long and four inches square, and of heavy hardwood. he was a powerfully strong man, and had declared his intention of massacring any person attempting to enter his cell. he defied the sheriff or any of his officers to enter. after judge sterritt had listened to the sheriff's report, he summoned me to his chair and said, "mr. furlong, you arrested this man in illinois and brought him to brookville. now i deputize you to go to the jail and bring wess watts, the prisoner, to this bar, as soon as possible." i left the court with the sheriff and went to the jail, in the rear of the courthouse, and direct to the door of watts' cell, where i found him standing in the center of his cell armed with the big club. i tried to persuade him to leave his cell, and accompany me to the courtroom, but in vain. he was obstinate and declared he would kill me or any one else who tried to enter that cell. i found that persuasion was unavailing and called the sheriff to one side, out of ear shot, and said, "how long will it take you to heat a few gallons of water to a boil?" the sheriff said he thought there was a lot of boiling water in the jail kitchen, as it was just after dinner. we went to the jail kitchen where we found a large amount of hot water on hand. we secured a tin wash boiler and put about five gallons of boiling water into it. i also obtained a large tin dipper with a long handle. we carried the boiler of water to the door of watt's cell. i also armed a big, burly deputy sheriff named clover smith, with an axe handle, and as smith was left-handed i placed him at the right hand side of the cell door, while i placed the boiler of hot water on the left side. i then dipped up a dipper full of boiling water (about two quarts) and with the long handle i could reach any part of the cell with the hot water. i threw the first dipper full at watts, which struck his breast and upper part of his body. as he was lightly clad, and the water struck him squarely, he yelled like a mad lion. i threw two more dippers of scalding water at him in quick succession, each time the water striking him fairly, and after i had thrown the third dipper, he made a lightning-like spring for the open door. as he was obliged to stoop so low that his head almost touched his knees, smith, whom i had instructed, struck him with the axe handle, on the head, felling him to the floor, unconscious. thereupon, the sheriff, smith and myself picked him up and carried him into the courtroom and laid him on a table before the judge's stand. there were a number of doctors present who applied restoratives and brought him to his senses in a few minutes. he was scalded slightly in spots on his neck and body, but otherwise uninjured, except a good sized bump on the back of his head where smith had struck him. he showed no further signs of obstinacy and was perfectly easy to control and handle thereafter until he was landed safely in the state prison at allegheny. he pleaded guilty of having made a criminal assault on a school girl of about sixteen years of age. she was returning to her home from school between and o'clock in the evening, her home being on a mountain on the outskirts of brookville. watts met her in a lonely spot on the road and committed a violent and criminal assault. the girl knew him by sight. he left her by the wayside in an unconscious condition, from which she partly recovered and managed to reach her home a few hours later. she told her parents what had happened and that wess watts was her assailant. whereupon, the father immediately saddled a horse and rode rapidly to the sheriff's office, and informed that officer of the crime. william p. steele was sheriff at the time, and immediately summoned a posse of seventeen men. these men hastily armed themselves with rifles, shotguns, and pistols and, headed by the sheriff, went to the home of the watts', and surrounded the house, which stood on a country road in the outskirts of brookville. after the house had been surrounded the sheriff and one of his men went to the front door where they rapped for admission. the door was opened by wess' mother. the sheriff addressed her as follows: "mrs. watts, i have a warrant for wess' arrest. i am satisfied that he is here, and your house is surrounded. he had better give himself up, peaceably, at once." mrs. watts was about to reply, but before she had time to do so, the large bony hand of her son wess was ruthlessly placed upon her shoulder and she was pulled back into the house, he taking her place in the doorway. he had a belt about his waist in which could be seen two colts navy revolvers. he also had a colts navy in each hand, and as he stepped into the doorway he said, "mother, you need not lie to shield me. i will take care of myself." and turning around he addressed the sheriff thus: "bill, i counted your men as they surrounded the house. there are eighteen of you, and i want to say to you that i have got twenty-four shots right here (referring to the four six-shooters he was carrying). i know all of you fellows and, bill, you know as well as your men know, that i never miss a mark that i shoot at. now, i am going to leave this place at once and i will not bother brookville again, unless you or any of your men attempt to stop me. if you do i will kill every man of you and will still have shots left." whereupon he extended his hands in front of him so as to brush sheriff steele and his assistant to one side, and suddenly sprang forward, ran to the gate in front of the house and then across the road to where there was a high rail fence. he placed one hand on the top rail and vaulted over the fence and disappeared into a patch of laurel brush and timber. in the meantime the sheriff and his posse, or at least a portion of them who were in sight of watts, quietly stood and watched the proceedings without raising a gun, or attempting to do so. it was after this escape that wess and his father, brooks and the others made their notorious voyage down the ohio river to paducah. in conclusion, i will add that on the morning that i arrested watts at shawneetown, i had not the remotest idea of either arresting or attempting to arrest him, as i was alone and in a strange state and had no papers authorizing me to make the arrest, as sheriff steele had retained the papers when he became ill at st. louis. i knew that watts had never seen me, therefore, he could not possibly know me or my business; but, then the terrible reputation he bore in pennsylvania would preclude the possibility of almost any sane man attempting to arrest him without what might be considered proper assistance. knowing that he did not know me, and having an irresistible desire to see this terrible criminal, as i had heard him called, i ventured into his shop merely to get a look at him, believing that i could give him a plausible excuse for my early visit; but when i saw him and that he was entirely unarmed, and he did not really look to be as desperate, or even as powerful a man as he had been described to be to me, i, being armed, instantly concluded i could never expect a more favorable opportunity to arrest him than right then and there, and, as a matter of fact, i found myself carrying out this resolution really before the resolution had been fully formed in my mind. i saw before me the man who was much wanted by the pennsylvania authorities and believed i could get him then and there, which i did. solving a trunk mystery. a very slender clue fastens a robbery upon a bosom friend of the victim--the loot recovered. early in , while i was chief of police of oil city, pennsylvania, i was sitting in my office in the city hall one morning, talking to col. e. a. kelley, who was at that time city comptroller. his office adjoined mine. the colonel was a jolly, good-natured gentleman, middle-aged, very portly, scholarly, and of military bearing. he was a graduate of annapolis naval academy, and had spent a portion of his early life in the united states navy. he had traveled a great deal, and was generally well-informed. he had formed a great liking to me, and took an interest in the police department, and especially in the detection of criminals and the capture of them, and loved to talk with me during our leisure moments relative to that portion of my duties as chief of the department. we were thus engaged in a pleasant conversation, when two young men, who were probably from twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age, entered the office and inquired of the colonel for the chief of police. colonel kelley pointed to me saying, "there is the chief," and arose to leave the office. i knew that there was no cause for his leaving at the moment, so asked him to remain, feeling that he would be interested in the young men's business with me. the spokesman of the two said to me that his name was william brewer, and that he was the superintendent of an oil company which was operating a large number of oil wells on the blood farm, which was located on oil creek, venango county, pennsylvania, and about six miles north of oil city. he stated that his home was in the state of ohio, near cleveland, where he had bought a small farm for a home for his parents, who were getting old, and who were now living on this farm. he said that he was earning a fairly good salary, and that he had been saving his money so as to make the annual payment on the farm, as he had made the purchase on the installment plan. his next annual payment of seven hundred dollars, including the interest, would be due in about a week from that date. he had been laying his money away in a trunk, which he kept in his room in the boarding-house. he stated that he had nine hundred dollars in bank notes, which he kept in a large, leather wallet, and which he placed in this trunk. he said that he kept the trunk locked, and on that morning he had occasion to unlock his trunk to take out some clothing, and to his dismay discovered that the wallet and its contents were missing. in answer to my question, he stated that he had found the trunk locked, and apparently intact. i believe i only asked him the one question. he did all the talking, clearly and distinctly, had a good face, and his general manner impressed me very much. his companion, who looked near enough like him to be a brother, which in fact, i at first judged him to be, had nothing to say. after listening attentively to his story, i was silent for a few moments, and finally asked him how long it would take him to go to his boarding-house and bring his trunk to my office, in exactly the same condition in which he had found it. he replied that as the roads were quite bad he thought he could have the trunk in my office in about four hours. i then explained to him that as his boarding-house was outside of my jurisdiction as chief of police, that i really would have no right to go there, but that i would be glad to aid him to the best of my ability; to which he replied that he would bring the trunk to my office as requested, and thanked me for my trouble. the boys then left the office, and i noticed that they had a horse and buggy, in which they departed. while this conversation was going on between myself and brewer, col. kelley was sitting with his arms folded, intently interested, but silent. when they had gone i returned to my office, and sat down, where the colonel was waiting for me. after i had seated myself and lighted a cigar the colonel said to me, "tom, why did you ask those boys to bring that trunk here to your office?" i unhesitatingly replied, "colonel, i don't know." right here i want to assure the reader that my reply was absolutely the truth. i really had no idea at the time that i asked the young fellow to bring his trunk to my office why i did so, other than that i had seen, while in the company of other chiefs of police and detectives, that they, as a rule, invariably cast as much mystery as possible about their work when dealing with people outside of their departments. neither did i feel at liberty to admit to these young men that i felt incapable of solving the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the money. all of which i explained to the colonel. he laughingly shook his head and said, "tom, you are a detective, sure enough. you are not candid in this explanation that you have given to me, but i beg your pardon, as it is really presumptuous on my part to ask you such questions. however, i will just wait and watch the outcome, which i believe will be all right." i tried to answer the colonel that i had been candid with him, but it was in vain. in due time, during the afternoon of the same day, the boys returned to my office, carrying the trunk between them. col. kelley was on hand, as he had evidently been watching for them and had seen them as they entered my office. i asked him to be seated, and said to brewer, "i wish that you would place that trunk in this room in as near the same position as it was in your room at the boarding-house." brewer said, "our room is square and nearly the shape of this office, but not so large. there are two windows in the west side of our room. they are about five feet apart." and he placed the trunk against the wall of the office between two windows, which were farther apart than the windows in his room. after he had placed the trunk, i said to him, "now, i want you to approach the trunk just as you did this morning, when you missed your money, unlock the trunk, and go through the same motions that you did until you discovered the loss." he approached the trunk, got down on his right knee, unstrapped the trunk, produced a key, unlocked it, turned the lid back against the wall, then removed the tray which covered the portion of the trunk below the lid. this trunk was a cheap one, covered with an imitation of leather, and was comparatively new. the trunk and tray were lined with a delicate blue paper. the tint was of such a color that it would easily soil. the tray had sides and ends which were perhaps two inches deep, and slid down into the lower half of the trunk from the lid, where it rested upon two cleats at either end. it fitted the trunk snugly. there were two straps of light colored tape, which were about an inch wide and were fastened with carpet tacks to the center of each end of the tray. these tapes acted as handles by which the tray could be lifted from the trunk. brewer had to work for some time to get the tray up out of the trunk, for the reason that one of the tape straps had evidently been recently jerked from its fastenings. as stated before, these tapes had been fastened to the tray by means of four large-sized carpet tacks. when the one strap had been jerked off the tack remained firm in the tray, but the heads of the tacks had been pulled off. this left a sharp point on one of the tacks, which projected from the wood about one-sixteenth of an inch, and like a needle point. while brewer was trying to remove the tray i was kneeling down at one end of the trunk and noticed the sharp point on the tack. i also noticed the mark of a thumb, which had been greasy and dirty, and which had been pressed over the tack as the light paper plainly showed. meanwhile, the young man whom i supposed was the brother, was standing at the other end of the trunk opposite me, when i happened to look up just as he turned around towards me, with his hands by his side. i noticed that the thumb on his right hand, which was calloused and dirty, had been cut diagonally across, leaving the cut about three-quarters of an inch long, and about a thirty-second of an inch deep. the cut was fresh and was beginning to gape open, although not deep enough to bring blood. the hands of all men employed around oil wells become more or less saturated with oil, and are rough and calloused. generally they present a dirty and greasy appearance. as the fellow turned and i got a glimpse of the cut in the thumb, i rose from beside the trunk, faced him, and instantly seized his right hand. i carefully examined the cut, then looked at the imprint on the end of the tray, and pointing to the stain, said to him in a sharp, commanding tone, "where is this man's money?" [illustration: "where is this man's money?"] he began to cry, and said, "if you will let me go i will get the money." i asked him where the money was, and he said, "i hid it yesterday under the carpet in the hall at the boarding-house." meanwhile, brewer had turned ashy pale, and burst into tears, exclaiming, "my god, chief, i am sorry to learn that he, above all other men, has taken my money. he knew all about it. he was the only person who knew that i kept the money where i did. we have been raised together. he was my schoolmate and is now my room-mate. his father and mother live in ohio and are our nearest neighbors. it would kill them to know that jim would do a thing like this. his name is jim davis." i said to davis, "will you go with brewer and get that money and turn it over to him, intact?" he promised that he would do so, but he said, "chief, i cannot get the money from its hiding place unobserved until after the people in the house have gone to bed, tonight." "that will be all right," said brewer, "i know jim will do as he promises. now, chief, if you will not arrest him i will gladly pay you anything that you may charge me, but please do not arrest him. i could not appear against him in court, for if i did so it would kill his mother, and probably my mother too." i replied that i would make no charges for my services, and if he was satisfied it did not matter to me. i said, "you may take charge of him, and if he does not turn the money over to you at once, i will take the matter up and have him punished according to law." the boys left with the trunk, and the next day brewer called upon me and told me that davis had turned all the money over to him, and had then attempted to commit suicide. he had gone to a near-by drug store and purchased a quantity of poison with suicidal intent. suspecting that davis had contemplated ending his life, brewer had detailed a trusted and mutual friend to watch him, unknown to davis, and who seized him and took the poison away from him before he could use it. davis and brewer were friends afterwards and became inseparable, as they had been before that time. if the parents of either of them ever heard of the occurrence i am not aware of it. after the boys had left, col. kelley, who had taken in the entire proceedings in silence, came to me with moisture in his eyes, and said, "chief, you are a brick." the glencoe train robbery. arrest and conviction of billy lowe and george ebberling.--a piece of quick work. glencoe is a small station on the missouri pacific railway, twenty-nine miles west of the city of st. louis. an east bound train which carried both mail and passengers was boarded on the night of february , , by two men, who climbed on the front end of what is known by railroad men as the blind baggage, next to the tender of the engine. these men were unobserved until the train had passed glencoe station, when they climbed over the top of the tank to the engine and covered the engineer and fireman with drawn revolvers. they were both masked with handkerchiefs tied over the lower portion of their faces, which entirely concealed their features below the eyes. they wore slouch hats and were described by the engineer and fireman and other members of the train crew who saw them--one as a short, stout built man with very black hair; the other as a tall, square-shouldered fellow with light-brown hair, and apparently younger than his stout partner. the stout man was described as having handled and carried his revolver in his left hand, while his right hand was bandaged and appeared to have been injured. he also was reported as having acted as chief and to have given all orders, and to have handled the locomotive as though he was as perfectly familiar with the work as an experienced locomotive engineer. these men compelled the engineer to bring the train to a full stop. they then made the engineer and fireman accompany them back to the rear end of the last mail car, when the engineer was forced to disconnect the two mail cars from the rest of the train. then the engineer and fireman were marched back to the engine, and after all four men had again entered the cab, the short man took charge of the engine, and pulled the express and two mail cars to a point about three miles east of where the rest of the train had been left with the crew. they stopped at this point on the main track and began rifling the sealed mail pouches in one of the mail cars, continuing this for several minutes, cutting open the sealed pouches and taking therefrom all the registered mail. they finally concluded that they were consuming too much time, as trains were liable to approach from the east. they, therefore, seized a number of large mail pouches filled with registered mail, and, after instructing the engineer and fireman to back the engine to glencoe and take up the rest of the train again, the men left the railroad on foot, each of them being loaded down with the registered mail pouches, which they had taken from the car. they hid these mail bags in a stack of corn-shucks in a cornfield near the bank of the meramec river. they had previously stolen a skiff, or rowboat, which they had hidden in a clump of bushes on the bank of the river near the cornfield. they took this rowboat and made their way down the meramec river a few miles, where they left the boat and made their way overland back to st. louis. on the morning of february , i happened to be in new york city and upon picking up a morning paper i read the account of the train robbery and the description that had been given by the train crew of the robbers. i immediately telegraphed to the manager of my office in st. louis to go and tell mr. dixon, of st. louis, postoffice inspector in charge of the district of missouri, that i knew who the train robbers were, and where they could be found, and that i would be in st. louis the following saturday and that i would get the guilty men and turn them over to him or to his assistants in case he, mr. dixon, and his force had not succeeded in locating and arresting the guilty men before i returned to st. louis. on my return the following saturday i found mr. dixon awaiting me. i told him that i was satisfied, from the description of the robbers, that billy lowe was the leader in the glencoe train robbery. i told about having arrested lowe eleven years before for having taken part, with others, in the leads junction train robbery, which had occurred on the missouri pacific railroad just east and south of kansas city. he with the others had held up the train and had blown the express car to pieces with dynamite. i also told him that i had finally succeeded in obtaining from lowe a complete confession as to the part he had taken in the leads robbery, and also the names of his associates in the crime. some of his other companions were also arrested at the time. lowe took the witness stand and by his testimony fully substantiated the confession that he had made to me in the presence of john hayes, who was then chief of police of kansas city, missouri, and d. f. harbaugh, one of my men at that time. lowe afterwards reiterated this confession to the prosecuting attorney of kansas city. the prosecutor's name i do not now remember. lowe having taken the witness stand and having promised the chief of police and prosecuting attorney and myself that he would thereafter lead an honest life, the prosecuting attorney annulled the proceedings against him and after the trial of his associates lowe was dismissed. he was a thorough railroad man. he came to st. louis and obtained employment as a switchman in the yards of the iron mountain railroad, where he met and formed the acquaintance of one george ebberling, also a switchman. he and ebberling became fast friends and continued to work for the iron mountain for several years, when they left the company's service and went to st. paul, minnesota, where they obtained employment in the train service of the great northern railway company, and finally worked their way to spokane, washington. in the meantime i kept track of them, believing that it would be only a question of time until lowe would become a train robber again. during the years of and a number of trains were held up and robbed in the vicinity of spokane, and i, knowing that lowe was there, wrote the officers of the great northern company that i believed that i knew who the guilty parties were and where they could be found. but these officers apparently did not deem the information i had sent them worth answering, as i did not hear from them. i knew that both billy lowe and ebberling were in st. louis prior to the glencoe train robbery. they had returned early in january and i immediately had placed a shadow on their movements, and when i read the description of the men who had robbed the train at glencoe i at once became satisfied that lowe was the man who had handled the engine. he had visited my office the day preceding the glencoe affair, and his right hand was bandaged by reason of boils that he had on his wrist just above the hand; and then the description in the new york papers was almost a perfect description of lowe, and also the description of the tall man given in the paper was that of ebberling. as soon as they arrived in st. louis, lowe had rented an office room on the upper floor of the granite building, on the southwest corner of th and market streets. lowe furnished his office and had a number of maps and charts of mining lands in alaska, and offered mining stocks for sale in that country. ebberling left st. louis immediately after the glencoe robbery. a day or so after the robbery, a country merchant, who resides in a small town near kansas city, furnished the postoffice inspector with a clue which afterwards proved that i was right in suspecting lowe and ebberling of the crime. this merchant owed a st. louis wholesale house a bill in the neighborhood of $ . . he had, on the day before the robbery, remitted the amount by registered letter, keeping a memorandum of the size, series and numbers of the bills. when he first heard of the robbery, and knowing that his package was probably a part of the loot, the merchant sent a copy of the memorandum to the postoffice inspector. the inspector had several hundred copies of the memorandum printed and forwarded to the officials of the banks within a radius of five hundred miles of st. louis. within twenty-four hours after the distribution of these circulars, one of the bills, a ten-dollar gold certificate, was presented at the receiving teller's window of a hot springs national bank, by one of its lady depositors--the keeper of a rooming house in that city. on being questioned as to where she had obtained the bill, the lady told the teller one of her roomers, mr. george ebberling, had given it to her in exchange for a week's room rent. in the meantime, i having learned that ebberling had gone to hot springs and his address there, notified inspector dixon, who immediately sent one of his assistants to ebberling's lodging place, where he secured an adjoining room to enable him to keep a closer watch on the suspected mail robber. the teller of the bank reported the finding of the bill to inspector dixon promptly, and we immediately planned the arrest of lowe. [illustration: william w. lowe. train robber and thief now doing a long sentence for robbing a mail train near st. louis.] [illustration: george ebberling. train robber and thief who assisted lowe in many of his robberies, also doing time.] the following morning accompanied by two of mr. dixon's postoffice inspectors, james smith, chief of detectives of st. louis, and two of his men, and my assistant superintendent, j. s. manning, i went to lowe's office in the granite building, having previously been advised by mr. manning that the man under suspicion was in his office. i pointed lowe out to the city officers, who arrested him promptly. he was locked up and after his arrest, mr. dixon telegraphed his inspector at hot springs to arrest ebberling immediately and bring him to st. louis. after ebberling had been arrested at hot springs, when he was asked how he got possession of the ten-dollar note, before mentioned, he confessed that he had gotten it from billy lowe and made a further and full confession as to how he and lowe had robbed the train at glencoe. lowe did not make a confession, nor did he make any admission as to his connection with the robbery; on the contrary, he strenuously denied everything. in his confession, ebberling stated that jimmy lowe, a younger brother of billy's, knew all about the robbery, and would have taken part in it but for the fact that he became intoxicated on the evening the robbery was scheduled to take place and could not make the trip. ebberling also stated that james lowe had visited the cache in south st. louis where the guns and masks had been hidden, and brought them to st. louis and delivered them to billy lowe at his mother's house. the amount of money secured from the rifled mail pouches, according to ebberling, was between six and seven hundred dollars, but the pouches which had been "stashed" in the cornfield by the robbers, and afterwards recovered by the officers, contained a great deal more than this amount. ebberling and lowe were tried in the april term of the federal court at st. louis and were convicted--lowe being sentenced to forty-three years at leavenworth, united states penitentiary, and a fine of $ , . , or the equivalent of two years in prison. ebberling was sentenced to eighteen years in leavenworth prison, and fined $ , . . jimmy lowe, who had laid in jail for months and had taken the witness stand for the government, was released and is now leading an honest life, so far as i know. after arriving at the penitentiary ebberling made a further confession in which he stated that he and w. w. lowe had held up and robbed eleven trains at different points on the great northern and the northern pacific railway lines in the vicinity of spokane, during and , and in this statement he described so accurately the places at which he and lowe had hidden certain property they had secured in these robberies that the united states authorities went to the places designated and recovered the property. lowe and ebberling have since been indicted for these robberies, proving conclusively that i was right when i wrote the officers of the roads named that i believed i knew who the parties were who had been holding up and robbing their trains. the great northern and the northern pacific had offered rewards for the arrest and conviction of the parties who had committed these depredations, which aggregate, i understand, $ , . ; but, as i have always strictly adhered to a rule that i formed early in my career, never to work for or receive rewards that might be offered for the arrest and conviction of any person, i did not claim the rewards offered by the two railroads. my reason for not accepting rewards is fully explained in another portion of this book. running down the revolutionists. difficult piece of detective work performed for the mexican government--sensational scenes attending the arrest of the leaders. early in the twentieth century a movement, which had for its object the overthrow of the diaz government in mexico, crystalized. the revolutionists went about this work very quietly at the beginning, but later became more bold, and finally the majority of the leaders in the movement were driven from that country. headquarters were first established at laredo, across the border, but afterwards at el paso and at tombstone, arizona. as this was a violation of the neutrality laws, at the instance of the mexican government the el paso and tombstone junta were broken up, and its officers disappeared. within a few months the mexican government learned that the revolutionists had again gotten together, and were once more flooding that country with inflammable literature. i was employed in by enrique c. creel, at that time governor of chihuahua, to locate the new headquarters of the junta, and find out what was going on. i soon went to work on the case, and found that the new headquarters of the revolutionists had been established in st. louis, in the block on north channing avenue. ricardo flores magon was the president, antonio i. villerreal, vice-president, and labardo rivera, secretary, of the junta. i also learned that ricardo flores magon was editing and publishing a scurrilous and inflammatory paper in st. louis under a fictitious name. the paper was supposed to be published monthly, and was called the mexican regeneracion. magon's staff consisted of his brother, enrique flores magon, antonio i. villerreal, labrado rivera, and a number of lesser lights, among them munwell lo pez, manuel sarabia, tomaso sarabia, and a number of women, two of whom were sisters of villerreal. villerreal's father, who was a very old man, sold newspapers on the streets of st. louis for a living. villerreal's sisters were named andrea, the elder, and teresa, the younger. antonio de p. araujo used the following aliases, german riesco, alberto m. ricaurte, joaquin p. calvo, luis f. carlo, and a. g. hermandez. tomaso s. labrado was a protege, a sort of a "man friday" for antonio de p. araujo. araujo made his headquarters at austin, texas, for quite a while, but finally established his permanent abode at mcalester, oklahoma, and was a live wire. villerreal's sisters lived in a basement with their old father for a while. their place of residence was east convent street, st. louis. it was the basement of a rickety old tenement house, and besides themselves and their father, there was a woman who represented herself to be the aunt of ricardo flores magon, and gave her name as lopaz. i never heard of her claiming any relationship with enrique flores magon, who was ricardo flores magon's brother. the old mother of juan sarabia, and the wife and two children of labrado rivera, also lived in the same place. juan sarabia was the cousin of manuel and tomaso sarabia, who were brothers. the entire furnishings of this hovel could have been moved in two good wheel barrow loads. the whole outfit was very poor and lived in what appeared to be abject poverty and filth. none of the members of the junta were in any way connected with the first families of mexico. to write up the characteristics, ideas, habits and the practices of the members of the st. louis junta, i have material enough to cover reams of foolscap, much of which would be uninteresting to the american people. i will, therefore, confine myself to the final locating of magon, villerreal and labrado rivera, the originators and the ringleaders of the conspiracy, their arrest in los angeles and their extradition to tombstone, arizona, after they had been in jail for nearly two years, during which time they exhausted all legal resources in attempting to avoid extradition to arizona, where they stood charged with having violated the united states neutrality laws. a large sum of money was raised and contributed by sympathizing mexicans who resided in and about los angeles, as well as by the different labor organizations, to assist them in their defense. the laboring classes in california and throughout the united states sympathized with these so-called revolutionists, magon and his party, as much as though they had been respectable, honest working people. if the magons, or any of his followers, mentioned heretofore, ever did a noble or patriotic act in their lives, either in the united states or mexico, i have never succeeded in learning of the fact, and from the information i obtained i am satisfied that none of them ever attempted to earn a living by honest labor. i succeeded in locating magon, villerreal and rivera in a cabin in the western part of los angeles, where they were entire strangers and their real identity was known to but two people in the city. magon had made it a rule to never trust his fellow countrymen, or any one else. many mexicans in los angeles knew magon was in or near the city, and knew him as the leader of the mexican rebellion, but did not know him personally, nor would he permit them to know him. there was a man there by the name of modeska diaz, who knew magon and his party was in the city and visited him in his sanctum, always between midnight and daylight. magon used this man's name, modeska diaz, as the editor of his paper in los angeles. there was also a married woman, a mexican, fairly good looking, thirty-eight or forty years of age, light complexioned and an admirer of ricardo flores magon, and this admiration was reciprocated. she visited him occasionally, always at late hours. she and the man diaz were the only persons in los angeles who were aware of magon's place of abode. they were also the only people in los angeles who knew him personally. after i had succeeded in locating the cabin where these men were living, i was fortunate in securing rooms just across the street and from my window was able to watch everything that went on in the retreat of the magon party. i kept them under surveillance, day and night, for a month before making the arrests. they left in the day time and did all their work at night, beginning as soon as it got dark and keeping up their work until daylight. i soon discovered that villerreal was absent. he had been arrested by the united states authorities the year before at el paso, texas, and placed in jail, where he remained for months, and was finally put in charge of a deputy united states marshal, who started to escort him across the line, as an undesirable citizen, but en route he obtained permission from his guard to enter a telegraph office at el paso, claiming that he wished to notify his sisters, by telegraph, that he was being deported. he left the officer standing at the front door of the telegraph office and passed through the place and escaped by the rear door, and thereby established a great reputation for himself among the lower classes of his fellow countrymen. the newspapers made a great sensation of the affair, and referred to it as a hair-breadth and miraculous escape from the united states authorities. the facts are, that his escape was from one deputy united states marshal, a half-breed mexican, who was almost immediately after villerreal's escape dismissed from the service. it was afterwards rumored around el paso that the deputy had been bribed. for this reason i decided not to arrest the others until villerreal appeared on the scene. i felt sure that it would be only a question of time when he would join his master, magon, in los angeles, as it would be necessary for him to make his report to magon on the progress in the mission that had been assigned to him in arizona. finally, on the night of august nd, about midnight, villerreal was seen to enter the cabin. satisfying myself as to his identity, i decided to arrest them the following day, august rd. we had discovered that the inmates of the cabin used large coal-oil lamps, and, as i expected magon and his companions would resist arrest, there was a chance that the lamps might be upset and explode. this would set fire to the place, and thereby destroy papers and documentary proofs, and for this reason i decided to make the arrests in daylight. at five o'clock on the evening of the rd, we surrounded the cabin. i had with me two los angeles police officers and two of my own men. we found villerreal and magon asleep, and rivera sitting in a chair, also in slumberland, although he was supposed to be on guard at the back door. our appearance had been so quietly arranged that the parties were completely taken by surprise and did not have time to reach their arms. they fought hard, however, and continued to struggle all the way from the cabin to the jail, a distance of at least three miles. a wagon happened to pass the place at the time and i pressed it into service, and it kept us busy to keep the prisoners in the wagon, as they struggled and fought the entire distance, and kept up a continual squawking, which reminded one of a flock of wild geese. none of them spoke english, and the only things they could say were that they were being kidnapped and the words "help" and "liberales." it was just the time in the evening when people were leaving their places of work and going home, and the streets were thronged with people. we had to go north on spring street, the principal street of the city. by reason of the continual uproar created by the prisoners it proved to be the most sensational arrest that had ever been made in los angeles up to that time. we landed them safely in the city prison, and without any one sustaining serious injury, except a few teeth knocked out, bruised faces and black eyes. to my great surprise villerreal, who had been so much lauded for his undaunted courage, was the easiest one of the party to subdue, and seemed to possess the least courage of anyone in the party. a remarkable feature of this affair was that this party of agitators appealed to the sympathy of the working element. the laboring classes, nearly to a man, were in sympathy with them. i know that none of them had ever been connected with the working man's interests, nor were they laboring men themselves. they were simply agitators and people who were always trying to obtain something for nothing. guiterrez de lara posed as a mexican novel writer, and claimed to have been admitted to the bar as a lawyer in mexico, and fled from there, going to los angeles, california, where he sought refuge. he obtained a meal ticket by marrying the proprietress of a lodging house, who was an american old enough to be his mother. he was not known to be connected with the revolutionary movement in mexico, and was entirely unknown to the magon faction until he broke into the limelight after magon and his party had been arrested. de lara was tall, inclined to be slender, had long, black, wavy hair, which he kept carefully parted in the middle, had some education, spoke no english, and was a typical agitator, and opposed to all law, order or government. however, he was not suspected by the people of los angeles as having either moral or physical courage. manuel sarabia, one of their number, was a printer by trade. he had gone to chicago during the printers' strike and took a position with m. a. donahue, hammond, ind. he was a "scab" printer for one whole winter. i had him under surveillance all the time. magon and the others all knew he was a strike breaker, as he had been in communication with them from time to time. rivera, after leaving his wife and children, started west to join magon. he worked his way from kansas city by stealing rides on freight trains, and in the same way from there to denver, colorado. here he stayed around the union depot, playing porter until the regular porters drove him away. he next made his way to leadville and worked there, also as a "scab" porter. he was continuously on the lookout for detectives, and imagined that every person who looked at him was one, when, as a matter of fact, we knew his whereabouts continuously from the time he left st. louis until he joined magon in los angeles. in fact, it was by following him that we finally located magon's place of abode. munwell lopaz was commissioned by magon as general organizer for the so-called revolutionary army. he went from st. louis to san antonio, texas, where he commenced organizing volunteers for the "army," and had considerable success, until he received orders to go to monterey, mexico, for the same purpose. on receiving these orders he secured the services of tomaso labrada, and left him in charge of his affairs in san antonio, while he went to monterey. one of our operatives, who was shadowing him, informed me of lopaz's movements. i was in san antonio at the time. i arrived in monterey twelve hours after lopaz reached there, and the following day i succeeded in capturing him at the postoffice in monterey. i turned him over to the authorities, and some credentials and other papers found on him caused the authorities to send him immediately to the city of mexico. during the four years that i was employed by the mexican government to look after the magon faction, i came in contact with a number of the leading officers of that government, among them president diaz, vice-president corral, and ambassador to the united states, enrique c. creel, and his successor, senor de la barra. i found them all gentlemen, good business men, honest, high-minded, and, i believe, thoroughly loyal to the people of mexico. i found that the people of mexico seemed to have great confidence in and respect for president diaz. all the officials were very popular with the exception of vice-president corral. he was the most unpopular officer connected with the mexican government, and i have no doubt that the dislike the people of mexico bore for him was a great factor in creating the disfavor that finally caused the overthrow of diaz's administration. ricardo flores magon was a man of brain, well mannered, inclined to be courteous, and educated and undoubtedly intended for a leader of men, but he was unscrupulous and irresponsible, and was an anarchist at heart. enrique flores magon, his younger brother, was educated, with a disposition and manners similar to those of his brother, inclined to be timid, verging on cowardice. lebrada rivera was forty years of age, small of stature, light weight, and from his appearance might have been mistaken for a japanese. he was well educated in spanish and was at one time connected with the university or school at san luis potosi. it was claimed by some of his friends that he had been a professor of this school, but, by his appearance and subsequent actions he was more like a janitor or assistant janitor. villerreal was about the medium height, well built and rather good looking, about thirty-odd years of age, had some education, and took great care of a luxurious head of black, kinky hair, and a pretentious mustache, which were, in my opinion, his most valuable assets. juan sarabia was between thirty and thirty-five years of age, and fairly well educated, was quite an orator, thoroughly disloyal to his country and a violent agitator, although he possessed more courage than any of his associates. munwell lopaz, manuel sarabia and tomaso sarabia, represented themselves as important factors in the revolutionary movement. they pretended to hold official positions of great importance in the junta, when, as a matter of fact, the importance of their positions in the junta would compare favorably with that of a bellboy in a first-class hotel to that of the manager, who was magon. magon, villerreal and rivera were finally extradited to tombstone, arizona, where they were tried in the united states court, convicted and sentenced to the arizona state prison at yuma for a term of eighteen months each for having violated the united states neutrality laws, by having organized an armed body of revolutionists at douglas, ariz., from where this expedition was sent to the cannanea copper mines, in mexico, about thirty miles from the south border of arizona, with the intention of exterminating all americans and other foreigners who were employed in and about the cannanea mines. fortunately for the foreigners around these mines, the arizona rangers, who were then an active body, pursued this mob of revolutionists, but did not overtake them, until they had reached there and began what might have been a massacre, but for the timely appearance of the arizona rangers. they put the so-called revolutionists, but who should have been called bandits, to flight, capturing a few of the participants. it should be remembered that the magons, villerreal and rivera, while not taking an active part in this raid, guided their adherents from a long, and what they considered a safe, distance. in my judgment the penalty for the violation of the neutrality laws of the united states are not as severe as they should be. just as soon as these men had served their time out and were released (within two months) they had reorganized and started the rebellion in mexico, that finally resulted in the overthrow of president diaz's administration. however, this was not accomplished by magon or his followers. it was accomplished by parties who were enemies of the magon faction. they quietly organized and stepped in at the opportune time to reap the benefit of the turmoil, disruption and dissension that had been created by the magon faction. this faction was headed by madero, who had financial means and a somewhat better class of followers than magon. madero's victory over the federal army was a comparatively easy one, as the government army had become completely honey-combed with disloyalty. when president diaz became aware of existing conditions there was nothing left for him to do but leave his country to save his life. it is to be hoped that the newly formed administration of madero will bring peace and prosperity to the people of mexico. however, at the present time, the writer has some doubts as to the fulfillment of this hope. while the arrest and capture of ricardo flores magon and his associates at los angeles, california, on the rd of august, , may not interest the american reader very much, i want to say that by reason of the shrewdness of ricardo magon and the secrecy that he engendered into his followers, the fact that none of them spoke english, and each and every one of them had many aliases, and did all of their important corresponding in various systems of cipher, and the further fact that the magon brothers continually kept their mexican followers from getting to know them personally, and from the secret methods employed by them on all occasions, i consider the final location and capture of these parties, under all of the foregoing circumstances, the most difficult, as well as one of the most important, cases i have ever handled. as a matter of course, after these people had been arrested and had had various hearings in the courts of los angeles while they were fighting extradition to arizona, the officers of this country, as well as of mexico, had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with their faces and their methods, and, therefore, before they were extradited from los angeles, many of the police officers and others in that city and all along the mexican border would tell people all about magon and his followers, and have been known to say that they knew all about them and their methods; that their capture had been a very easy proposition, and that had i not succeeded in capturing them just when i did that they were about to have made the capture themselves, when as a matter of fact these officers did not have the slightest idea as to the whereabouts of this party, nor were any of these people known to any of the officers on either side of the line, nor their methods, until after the capture and the subsequent development in the courts. a dallas murder avenged. prompt arrest and conviction of the murderer and suicide of the instigator of the crime while awaiting trial. early in the ' s, i received a telegram from james arnold, chief of police of dallas, texas, and ben cabel, county sheriff of dallas, requesting me to come to dallas immediately for consultation in a murder case. knowing both gentlemen well, having done business with them before, i answered that i would start for dallas the following day, which i did. i arrived in dallas late on wednesday evening. i found chief arnold and sheriff cabel waiting for me at the depot. we went to my hotel immediately where we could have a quiet conference. for obvious reasons i will not give the true names of the principals connected with this dastardly crime, but will state the actual facts which led to the arrest and conviction of the murderer, and to the suicide of the real principal. the chief and sheriff told me the nature of the case for which i had been summoned. they said that on sunday night, preceding, a prominent citizen of dallas (whom i will call temple) had boarded a heavily loaded electric car, downtown, in front of one of the principal churches, for his home. the car had at least forty or fifty passengers, most of whom were returning home from the evening services, which temple had attended. temple lived on the outer edge of the city in the better residence portion. when the car reached his home he got off and started towards his front gate. there were a number of shade trees in front of his home; the street at this point was well lighted by arc lights, one of which was suspended above the point where he had left the car. as he stepped from the street to the edge of the side-walk, a colored man, who had been concealed behind a shade tree, sprang out and was seen by a number of passengers who were on the rear end of the car to strike temple a powerful blow on the head with something like a baseball bat. after striking the blow, the negro dropped his weapon and his hat, and fled into an alley, disappearing in the darkness. the people who had witnessed the assault, hastened to temple, who lay unconscious on the sidewalk, picked him up and carried him into his house. doctors were summoned, and found that temple's head had been split from the crown to the level of the eyes. he was still breathing, but only lived a few moments, never regaining consciousness. the chief and sheriff were sent for and found that the weapon was a piece of ½-inch gas pipe, near four feet long. the blow was so powerful that it bent the pipe, midway, to almost an l-shape. they also found the hat, which the murderer dropped, to be a new, cheap, broad-brimmed, black hat and was of unusually large size. it was too large for any ordinary sized head and indicated to me that it was probably too large for the man who had worn it, and for that reason had fallen off with the first violent move the wearer had made. the witnesses to the crime had all had a plain view of the slayer, and described him as a young negro, very black, about five feet eight inches tall, well built, and apparently well dressed. they all agreed that he had the features of a white man, thin lips, straight nose and regular features. in fact, a number believed him to be a white man who had blackened his face. during our conference i learned that temple had a brother, who was a prominent physician, and who lived in springfield, illinois. he had been sent for by his sister-in-law, arriving in dallas on tuesday. the doctor was anxious to have his brother's assassin brought to justice, if possible, and had asked them to recommend a detective to him for that purpose, so they had wired me to come on to dallas. it was midnight by this time, and i was tired. after making an appointment with sheriff cabel to accompany him to the scene of the murder the next morning, i retired. next morning chief arnold, sheriff cabel and i went over the ground. i examined the hat and the piece of pipe, which the murderer had used, and i noticed that this pipe was new and had been cut from the end of a long joint. it was evident to me that it had been cut to the proper length so that he (the assassin) could conceal it in carrying it to the place of the murder. i then began my investigations. there was a large colony of negroes in dallas, as in other texas towns, but no one seemed to know a colored man who had a white man's features. all the witnesses agreed that they had never seen any one who looked like the murderer before. it was, of course, necessary for me to discover the motive for the murder, since in all crimes of this character there is a motive. i found that mr. temple had been superintendent of a sunday school. he was also in the wholesale lumber business, and was associated with two parties in the business. one of them i will call smith and the other perry. when the partnership had been formed they agreed to take out a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy on each other's life, and to carry these policies on the company funds. i learned that temple had incurred the enmity of a number of citizens; among them was a brother-in-law, who at one time had been heard to threaten his life. temple had had some litigation with a saw-mill proprietor who lived in east texas. this litigation involved about fifty thousand dollars, and had been in court for several years. finally a decision had been rendered in favor of temple, a short time prior to his murder. the saw-mill proprietor of east texas had the reputation of being a good citizen, honorable and reliable in business, but had killed two or more people, for which he had been exonerated by the courts. from the above the reader can understand that i had already discovered what might prove to be several "motives" for the crime. at noon on the second day after my arrival at dallas, i had eaten my dinner and walked out of the grand windsor hotel, where i was stopping, to the corner in front of the hotel, where i stopped for a moment, as i was undecided whether to go up or down the street first, there being people in both directions whom i wished to see. it was raining. there was a fine-looking young woman coming across the street towards me. as she approached i noticed that she was a colored girl, but about as white as myself. her hair was kinky and of a deep reddish color. her eyes were large and blue. she was tall, well dressed, but had large brown freckles about the size of a little finger nail. her carriage was graceful, and were it not for the freckles and kinky hair she would have been called a beauty. her graceful movements attracted my attention, and as i looked at her a hand was laid on my shoulder. on looking around i beheld doctor temple. he said in an undertone, "what do you think of her?" i said, "she is a freak of nature." he answered, "yes, she is a freak of nature. i noticed her yesterday in that building where my brother had his office. she appeared to be having an earnest conversation with the janitor." after a few other remarks the doctor left me and i concluded to go and see a party that i thought could give me some information. i could not get that colored girl out of my mind, and before i had gone a block i decided that i would go and find out who she was, and what her business was with the janitor of the building where the lumberman had had his office. i knew that sheriff cabel would know who this girl was, as he knew every one in dallas. i turned around and went back to the court house, where i found the sheriff and said, "sheriff, i saw a colored girl near the hotel a short time ago (here i described her) and i would like to know who she is and something about her." the sheriff said, "that girl is known as liza johnson. you know emma johnson. she's the daughter of an old colored woman who lived for many years with emma johnson. her mother died when she was a child and emma raised her like her own daughter. she's a good girl and emma thinks a great deal of her; emma can tell you all about her, and i will take you over to emma's if you want me to." this he did. we called on miss johnson, and the sheriff introduced me, and told her i was a friend of his, asking her to treat me accordingly, to which she assented. i said, "i want to know something about your maid, liza. i understand that she has been seen in an office building over on commerce st. and i am anxious to learn what business took her to that building." she replied, "why, i don't really know, but i reckon i can find out. about a month ago the negroes here in dallas had a picnic and liza went to that picnic. she met a young negro there and he brought her home. i saw him, and he was good looking, well dressed, and appeared to be fairly well educated. he was black as ink though, but had good features, like those of a white man. he had thin lips, small mouth and a straight nose. if he had been a white man he'd have been good looking." this was an exact description of the slayer of mr. temple. continuing, she said, "he came here from some place down in the state. he is a stranger here and don't mix with the other colored people. he's acting as a sort of body-servant to his master, who has an office in that building on commerce st." i then asked, "what is his name?" she replied, "his first name is john, and his last name is the same as his master's. i can't recall it." "was his master's name perry?" i asked. "yes," she answered, "that's it, john perry. but john is not in town now. he left town last monday. he came over and saw liza, and told her he was going to san antonio to attend the races there this week. he writes her every day, though, and she got a letter from him this morning." i asked her if she could let me see the letter without liza's knowledge. she said, "oh, yes, i'll send liza over to the drug store on an errand and i can get it then before she returns." she sent liza to the drug store, and got the letter and gave it to me. it was in the envelope and had been mailed the day before at san an--the balance of the word not appearing, because the mailing stamp had not touched the paper. i believe it to be san antonio, since he was supposed to be there. upon receiving this information i asked miss johnson to treat my visit in confidence, which she promised to do. i then located a plumbing shop where i found the proprietor and his brother, about eighteen years of age, who at once recognized the piece of pipe, which he said he had cut from a large joint for a negro the friday before the murder. he described the negro fully as miss johnson and others had done, and said he could identify him any place on sight. i immediately arranged with the elder plumber for his brother to accompany me to san antonio at my expense, with the understanding that i was to pay him for his time. the boy put on his best clothes and we left dallas that night for san antonio, arriving there next morning. we went to the menger hotel, and while at breakfast the hotel clerk brought me a telegram from sheriff cabel, of dallas, reading as follows: "go to san angelo, texas, at once." before leaving dallas i had arranged with the sheriff and miss johnson to examine all letters received by liza. on the morning of my arrival at san antonio liza received a letter from the san angelo postoffice with the postmark plainly stamped upon it. i took the first train for san angelo, which left that evening. we arrived at san angelo next morning, sunday. san angelo was, at the time, a small cattle shipping town, and within an hour after our arrival i learned that the negro, john perry, had left san angelo on saturday evening, with a ticket to lampasas, texas. i also learned that i could not leave for lampasas until sunday evening, as there was only one daily train each day. sunday evening we left for lampasas, where we arrived about : a. m. monday morning. lampasas was the county seat and it was court week. the town was filled to overflowing by reason of the court. the depot was about one-half mile from the postoffice in the center of the city. getting off the train the boy and myself walked over to the hotel, and as we neared the postoffice we noticed a large crowd around it evidently waiting for mail. the boy from dallas called my attention to a colored man, who was wearing a light fedora hat, with a blue serge suit, and was well dressed. he stood away from the crowd near the postoffice, evidently waiting for mail. the boy pointed to him and said, "that's the nigger that i sold that piece of pipe to." we were in front of the store when he recognized john perry, whom it proved to be. i told the boy to stay right there until i had captured the negro. he could then quietly follow us to the jail unobserved. i went over near the place where the negro stood and concluded that i would wait until he had received mail, which he was evidently expecting. in a few moments the negroes formed a line to the window where they received their mail. in a short time john reached the window and received a letter. he left the line and walked around the corner of the building, opened the letter and took from it a couple of bank notes, hastily placed them in his vest pocket and proceeded to read the letter, which was written in lead pencil. meanwhile, i had gotten within reach of him without being noticed by him or any one else, when i suddenly threw a -calibre colt revolver into his face, commanding him to throw up his hands. to my surprise he suddenly plunged his hand inside the waist of his trousers and attempted to draw a nine-inch barrel, -calibre colts, concealed under his vest. before he could draw it i seized his hand and his revolver and commanded him in forcible tone to desist. the moment i leveled my revolver on him the crowd's attention was attracted. one of them, who was standing very close, was about six feet tall, and really the thinnest looking individual i had ever seen. he wore a hat with a very wide brim, making him look much thinner. he promptly threw a colt on both of us, and with a voice as shrill as a wild goose, yelled, "heah, heah, i am the sheriff of this county and i command peace." to which i replied, "mr. sheriff, take hold of this negro. i'm an officer from dallas and have arrested him for murdering a white man there." the sheriff grabbed one side and i the other, and we started for the jail, nearby. the crowd hearing that i had arrested him for the murder of a white man, talked of lynching, but the sheriff, whom they knew and respected, told them that the prisoner should be dealt with by law, and that he intended to protect him. we took him to jail, where i searched him. i took from him the letter which he had just received, and which he tried to tear in pieces. i also took the two bank notes which he had received in the letter. they proved to be two treasury notes. i placed the fragments of the letter together, which had been mailed from dallas and which read about as follows: "i enclose you one hundred dollars, on receipt of which you must go quietly and at once to the city of mexico. i will join you there. detectives are on to us, and you must not let them catch you. it would be fatal." (signed) john perry. i took everything of a metallic nature from him, and had the sheriff lock him up in a cell, as i knew he would be compelled to remain in lampasas for twenty-four hours, until we could get a train for dallas. by the time he was searched and locked up it was nearly the dinner hour, and i instructed the sheriff to feed the prisoner, but not to allow him a knife or any article with which he could do himself bodily harm. i explained to him that it was very important that i get the prisoner back to dallas safely, as we wanted to get a statement from him as to why he had killed temple. i had just gone into the dining room to get something to eat, when a deputy sheriff rushed into the room and called my name, to which i answered. he said excitedly, "come to the jail at once. that nigger of yours has cut his damned head nearly off." the hotel was just opposite the jail and it took only a short time to get there. i found the jailor, on discovering what the prisoner had done, had pulled him out of the cell into the corridor, where he was lying on the iron floor, with his throat cut almost from ear to ear. in the cutting he had not severed the jugular vein, but had cut the wind pipe. it was a tremendous gash. he could breathe fairly well, and could speak, but with difficulty. meanwhile the sheriff had summoned an old doctor, who arrived at the jail shortly. he looked at the prisoner and said, "why, that nigger will die. i can't do a thing for him," and he positively refused to do anything. i pleaded with him to sew up the wound and save the life, as it was of great importance to the people of dallas. it was all in vain. we finally succeeded in getting a young doctor of the town, who came and tenderly dressed the wound, and stated that with proper care the negro would live. i assisted the doctor all that i could, and stayed there with him from that time until we left lampasas the next morning. i had my meals brought to the jail to me. about the middle of the afternoon, after the wound was dressed, perry began to feel better, and i presume, by reason of my kind treatment of him he told me that his young master, john perry, had induced him to come to dallas for the purpose of killing his partner, mr. temple; that he (his master) had paid his expenses and had been liberal in furnishing him with spending money, also that he was to give him five hundred dollars after he had killed temple. he said he did not want to do it, and tried to get out of it after he had reached dallas, but his master threatened to kill him unless he did so. he said he killed temple because he feared his master would kill him. he said that on the sunday night previous to the murder he was about to pounce upon another man of temple's congregation. this man resembled temple so much that he was about to kill him for temple, and would have done so but for the fact that his master was in hiding across the street and rushed out and prevented his making a mistake. he also confessed that he had received a telegram on the day that he had left san angelo, telling him to go to lampasas and call at the post-office for a letter, which was the letter mentioned above. whereupon, i wrote a telegram to sheriff cabel, which read as follows: "negro has cut his throat and is dying. give this message to the newspapers and have them get out an extra at once, without fail. will wire you explanation two hours later." i sent this message to the telegraph office by the plumber boy. after i had decided to leave dallas to arrest perry, i wired a code message to one of my operatives, d. f. harbaugh, to come to dallas on the first train and call for a letter of instructions that i left for him at my hotel. this letter was to the effect that he should carefully shadow the white man, john perry, as soon as he arrived at dallas, and keep him under continuous surveillance until further orders. harbaugh arrived at dallas on saturday and began shadowing perry according to instructions. as soon as cabel received my first message he called up the newspapers and they got out an extra at once. the white john perry got one of the first extras. he read the account of the colored man having killed himself, and at once left his office and started for his lodgings, about a mile away. on his way he stopped at every saloon en route (they numbered thirteen in all) and took a large drink at each place. by the time he reached home he had taken at least thirteen drinks. two hours after sending the first message, i sent sheriff cabel a second one, which read as follows: "negro doing well; will recover. leave here on morning train for dallas. treat this confidentially and meet me at temple tomorrow morning. arrest john perry on charge of complicity in temple murder. have full confession of negro which justifies this action." sheriff cabel did as directed, and met me at temple the following morning, where we had to change cars for dallas. we arrived in dallas about : p. m. tuesday, and during the long journey from lampasas to dallas the jolting of the cars, etc., caused the negro's wound to become inflamed, and he was suffering greatly when we reached dallas. the sheriff had telegraphed ahead for a physician to await us at the jail. the negro was placed on a cot in the corridor where the doctor could redress his wound. while the doctor was so engaged the master, john perry, who was a prisoner in one of the cells on the upper floor of the jail, could plainly see all that was going on below. he recognized the negro and immediately attempted to kill himself by butting his head against the steel bars of his cell. the sheriff and his assistants and myself were attracted by the actions of the white man, and at once rushed to the cell. here we found that the white prisoner had almost beaten out his brains against the bars of his cell. medical aid was called and a guard placed inside the cell with him to prevent any further personal violence. the following day the papers were full of what had occurred, and owing to the high standing of perry, the jail was flooded with sympathizers, among whom were many leading citizens. telegrams from all parts of the state, from influential people, poured in, tendering the prisoner all sorts of aid, financially and otherwise. an able counsel volunteered to defend him, and society ladies began to send him luncheons and delicacies of all kinds. the prisoner had offered as an excuse for trying to commit suicide that he felt so humiliated by being charged with murdering his partner. he declared that he was innocent and that he would be exonerated in court; which i have no doubt he would, as the main proof against him was the testimony of a negro, which does not usually go very far in court in the south when it cannot be strongly corroborated. the colored prisoner continued to improve, and the white man seemed to get along nicely for about five days, when a young society woman sent him a luncheon, in which was a cut glass plate containing delicacies. while he was eating this lunch, and the guard was at the far end of the cell perry suddenly struck the plate on the steel floor of the cell, breaking it into pieces. he picked up a large, triangular-shaped piece of glass, with edges as sharp as a razor, and plunged it into his throat, at the same time giving the piece of glass a twist, which severed the jugular vein, causing his death in a few minutes. thus ended the existence of the white john perry. the colored man pleaded guilty at his trial, and was sentenced to the state prison for life, where, i presume, he is at the present time. i omitted to state that after i had searched the colored john perry at lampasas, and had instructed the sheriff and jailor not to allow him to have a knife or anything of the kind with his meal, perry had called the jailor and told him that he had gotten a sliver in his finger, and asked the jailor to lend him his knife to remove the sliver. the old jailor, having evidently forgotten my instructions, gave the prisoner his pocket knife, through the bars. as he stepped back from the bars perry opened the knife and cut his throat before the jailor could get into the cell to prevent it. the skin on that darky's neck was as thick as ordinary sole leather and very tough. i held him while the doctor sewed up the wound, which was a hard job, but performed very nicely. i arrived in dallas on wednesday night, made the foregoing investigation, located and arrested perry, caused the arrest of the white john perry, left dallas and returned to st. louis, arriving there on friday evening of the following week, after having traveled nearly four thousand miles, which i believe to be the quickest time ever made in working up a case and capturing the guilty parties in a crime of this magnitude. i can say that i have never doubted but that it was a case of remorse that caused the white john perry to commit suicide, and not humiliation. the toughest of tough towns. east st. louis in the early eighty's--how i helped to reform the municipality--a spectacular raid on "sure thing" games and "big mitt" joints. dodge city, kansas, and corinne, utah, have places in history for being tough towns in their infancy, but take it from me, mr. reader, that neither of these much-advertised burgs, in their palmiest days, were "in the running" for toughness with east st. louis during the early ' s. the average st. louisan, in those days, was entirely different in his make-up from the denizens of the cities further west, especially if he was in politics, his nature being more bloodthirsty than the bandit, or tough cowboy or buffalo skinner, who made the first named towns famous. it was a different sort of crookedness in east st. louis. the little municipality was in the hands of crooks of the lowest degree. there was no crime to which they would not resort to gain a point of advantage over a rival. in other words, any crime was regarded as conventional, just so the man who committed it got the "mazuma." the principal city offices were held by gamblers and "sure-thing" men. the city councilmen were nearly all saloon or dive keepers, while the police department was recognized as the grandest collection of thugs, crooks and "strong-armers" that had ever been assembled together within the borders of one town. the fact that these alleged minions of the law were recognized as suspicious characters by the officers of other cities, and were shadowed whenever found out of their own bailiwick seemed to be regarded as a good point in their favor by those responsible for their being--the mayor and board of aldermen. any crook, big or little, if he had the price for protection, could ply his chosen profession on the main streets of the town without molestation on the part of those sworn to enforce the law. a "peterman" (safe blower) was held in higher esteem over there in those days than a priest, a "porch-climber" regarded as an artist, and the monte and confidence men placed in the same class as are college professors and clergymen in other cities, while the men who received the bribes were all looked upon as good fellows and smart, wide-awake business men. neither were the merchants and tradesmen all straight in those days. it has been said of some of them that they would refuse to take money in exchange for their wares when there was any suspicion in their minds that the money had been earned honestly. crooks of all classes congregated there, because they knew they were safe from arrest. if they were broke on their arrival, after being chased out of another town, they knew there would be no trouble in getting some dive-keeper or proprietor of a fence to "go to the front" for them at police headquarters and square things so they could "go to work." it was everyday talk that aldermen had "big mitt" men and "strong-armers" out working on percentage. [illustration: furlong's "full hand." cartoon published in a st. louis newspaper at the time of the east st. louis gambling raid.] as in all such places, gambling flourished--that is, gambling of the crooked kind. the whirr of the roulette ball and the rattle of the dice in the "bird cage" could be heard on the street, when not drowned out by the voices of the cappers for "the old army game" (chuck-a-luck) or the paddle wheels or sweat board. nobody had a chance to win, however, except the operators of the games, as they were all crooked. many of the merchants openly displayed in their shop windows the tools and devices used by the various "professions." the bully could buy brass knucks with which to knock the block off of his adversary; the hold-up man a sand bag to stun his victim, while he helped himself to his valuables; the card sharper could buy his "strippers" "bug" or "harness," while the safe blower could find any sort of "jimmy" or any quantity of "soup" he desired, or had the money to pay for. then there were "fences" where a thief might dispose of anything of value he might "find" on his excursions to the neighboring towns, which were not infrequent. the return of one of these marauding parties from a tour was always followed by an orgy, at which wine flowed freely, and the ill-gotten money tossed about with a lavish hand. east st. louis was then a wide-open town, with the accent on the words "wide" and "open." finally the good people of the town awoke to their responsibilities, as they always do in cases of this kind. headed by an ex-mayor, john b. bowman, editor of a newspaper, a fight was begun on the crooked officials. and it was a fight, a bitter one. a number of aldermen who had been under suspicion of being partially responsible for the bad state of affairs, were beaten for re-election, and an attempt was made to get possession of the city funds in the city treasury, which was in the hands of thos. j. canty, gang city clerk, who had usurped the office of treasurer. after much delay, he having resorted to the courts to prevent his being ousted, he was finally ordered to turn over the funds to the treasurer on the morning of may , . the night before the date set for the transfer, the vault in the city hall, in which canty claimed to have kept the funds, was robbed, an entrance having been effected by digging a hole through the brick wall which enclosed the safe. a few months before the robbery, mike coleman, alias charlie clark, a noted "peterman" of that city, had come down to st. louis from jefferson city, where he had been doing time for a safe-blowing job in monroe county, missouri. i had known coleman for years and had been instrumental in "settling" him on more than one occasion. he called upon me at my office, which, at that time, was in the allen building, broadway and market streets. "i am through with crime, mr. furlong," he said, "and i have secured a good job with the hamilton-brown shoe company as a cutter, at a salary which will permit me to take care of my wife and child, and i want to know if you will allow me to live in st. louis--that is, not tip me off to the st. louis police, none of whom know me." i told him i was truly glad to hear of his reformation, and that i would not tell any one of his presence here as long as he continued to work and behave himself. he seemed pleased to hear this, and told me he would not only live straight in the future, but would "put me next" to any one he knew to be crooked should they attempt to do any work in st. louis. he further voluntarily promised that he would report to me at my office every saturday afternoon. i then introduced him to my chief clerk, edward dawson, and told him to report to mr. dawson in case i did not happen to be in the office when he called. we shook hands and he took his departure. he reported to the office every saturday promptly for about three months, at which time i was called south on a train robbery case, and was absent from st. louis for several weeks. during my absence an epidemic of safe robberies occurred in st. louis. as many as three "boxes" were opened in a single night. one night the "petermen" would operate in north or south st. louis, the next night they would be down in the business district, or out in the west end. the work of the gang caused a panic at police headquarters. chief harrigan had his men working night and day, and the detective force was augmented by patrolmen in plain clothes, but still the bursting of "boxes" continued nightly. during my absence from the city i was enabled to get the st. louis papers once in a while. these papers were full of the accounts of the robberies. from the description in the papers of the way the work had been done, i was satisfied that coleman was either doing the work or directing it. nearly all of the places robbed had been entered from above. i knew this skylight stunt was one of coleman's specialties. he never broke a door or forced a window to get to a box. his method was to reach a fire escape and make his way to the roof of a building. he would then descend to the floor on which the safe was located, and after detecting and fixing a side or back door, through which the "get-away" was to be made in case of an interruption on the part of a watchman or officer on the beat, would go to work. i returned to st. louis one night, and in discussing the robberies with mr. dawson, i learned that coleman had not reported at the office during my absence. the next morning i called on the foreman of the hamilton-brown shoe company, by whom coleman had been employed, and who was the only man in st. louis besides dawson and myself who knew the ex-convict's record. the foreman told me that mike had left his position about a month before, without making any explanation. he had simply drawn his week's wages and had failed to show up again. on learning these facts, i was more than ever convinced that coleman had gone wrong again. i was very busy in my office that day looking after matters that had accumulated during my absence, and did not leave for home until after : p. m. on my way to the car i passed a doorway, in which was standing a man whom i recognized as pat lawler, the best detective on the city force, and with whom i was on very friendly terms. on approaching lawler i found him to be asleep. after i had awakened him he told me he and his partner and several other men in the department had been on continuous duty for over hours, trying to get a "line" on the men who were "blowing up the town" as he expressed it. he then told me that the men in the department were still at sea, having no clue as to who was doing the work. "i am going to bed and get some rest, at any rate," said lawler, "and i do not care what 'the big finger' (chief of police) says about it." i then told lawler i believed i knew who was doing the work, or at least directing it, and told him that if he and his partner would meet me at twelfth and olive streets at : the next morning i would help them find the man i suspected. after telling me that he and his partner would be at the rendezvous at the appointed time, lawler and i parted company. coleman, under the alias of charlie clark, was living at that time on the second floor of a house fronting on biddle street, between ninth and tenth streets. the entrance to this flat was made from the alley in the rear. i knew coleman's wife, or the woman he claimed to be his wife. she had formerly been the wife of tom gosling, a noted crook, who was at that time in the missouri penitentiary, doing a ten year stretch. her first name was annie, and she had a son about or years of age. [illustration: mike coleman, alias chas. clark. daring burglar and "peterman" employed to blow the city hall vault, east st. louis.] lawler and his partner were at the corner of twelfth and olive streets promptly at : the next morning, according to appointment. i then told them all about coleman, and we proceeded to the latter's flat. on reaching the head of the stairway, i knocked at the door. mrs. coleman, garbed only in a night robe, came to the door and opened it a few inches. i stuck my foot in the door to keep her from closing it. "i want to see charlie," i explained to her. "he is not here, mr. furlong," she replied, after recognizing me and permitting us to enter. "i do not know where he is," she continued. she then told me that charlie had gone to drinking and had quit his job about a week before, and she did not know where he was or what he was doing. i knew she was not telling me the truth, as charlie had quit his job at least a month previous, and did not drink at all. in fact, he never had been known to drink to excess. while we were talking i noticed a large-sized picture of coleman hanging on the wall. this i told the officers to take, and commanded her to dress. "what are you going to do, mr. furlong?" she asked. "i am going to take you down to police headquarters for lying to me," i replied. both she and her boy began to cry and make a scene, but she finally began dressing. while this was going on i heard a slight noise in the front room. "who is in there?" i asked, jumping to the door. "a couple of friends of charlie's from hannibal," she replied. lawler and i entered this room and found a couple of men in bed. after placing them under arrest we recognized them as a couple of crooks, both of whom were heavily armed. under the bed was a gunny sack, which, on investigation, we found to contain a safe-blowing outfit, including a sectional jimmy, a pair of "come-a-longs" (tool used to pull the knob or "ears" off of a safe), a new hammer and other tools. these men had evidently returned to the room late and being tired threw the sack under the bed and went to sleep. just as we were about to take our departure from the room with the prisoners a mail carrier arrived with a letter for mrs. clark. i took charge of the letter and saw it had been mailed at springfield, mo. i handed it to mrs. clark and she opened it and read its contents. the letter was from her husband, and stated he was in springfield, and for her to answer it at once as he was only going to remain in springfield a couple of days, and he wanted to hear from her before leaving there. we then took our prisoners, including mrs. clark, to the four courts. some small pictures of clark were taken from the large one we had found in his home, and chief of detectives burke, armed with one of these pictures, left at once for springfield to try and effect his capture. in this burke was successful, as clark appeared at the post-office to get his mail and was recognized and placed under arrest. clark was brought back to st. louis. he would not talk to the st. louis officers, although the latter used every art known to them to make the prisoner "cough up." clark told chief of police harrigan he knew nothing that would do them any good, but that he had some information that was very valuable for me, and asked that i be called. at that time the relations between the chief and myself were some strained, to express it mildly, but the chief finally sent for me. "this thief has some information for you," said harrigan to me on my arrival at his office. "i do not believe he is much of a thief, either, as i know all the good ones," continued the chief. after shaking hands with clark he told me the city officers could not connect him with any of the jobs pulled off here, as he had nothing to do with them, but declined to talk further in the presence of the chief, we being in the latter's office at the time. as harrigan did not seem inclined to let me interview clark privately i left, and returned to my office. later in the day clark employed a lawyer, and sent him to me to tell me that if i would get him across the river he would tell me all about that job, meaning the looting of the city hall vault. i referred clark's lawyer to prosecuting attorney holder of st. clair county, illinois, and later the latter made a demand on the st. louis police for the possession of clark. the st. louis officers, thinking that they might secure at least a part of the reward which had been offered for the apprehension of the men who committed the east st. louis crime, took clark over the river, where he was locked up. i then called on him and he told me all about the vault robbery. according to his story, which was later verified by his two assistants, clark was employed to do the job by thos. a. canty, acting city treasurer, to hide an alleged shortage in canty's accounts. the latter was, it was claimed $ , short, having lost the money at poker. the money had to be turned over the next day, and canty could not do it, because he could not raise that amount. clark had been introduced to canty by patrick eagan, who was at that time running a saloon in east st. louis, and was one of the city's aldermen. eagan was regarded as a friend of crooks of the higher class, such as confidence men, safe blowers and "big mitt" men. coleman claimed he was told by canty that ten thousand dollars would be left on the top of the safe, which was the amount he was to receive for doing the work. coleman was also introduced to lieutenant duffy, acting night chief of police of the east st. louis department, who was to act as lookout while the work was being done. the ten thousand dollars was to be divided equally between duffy, eagan and coleman. a few days before the time set for doing the job canty became ill and was taken to hot springs. this did not interfere with the plans, however, d. j. canty, according to the testimony, taking his brother's place in making the final arrangements for the entering of the vault. coleman did the real work, assisted by eagan, while duffy, in full uniform, stood guard on the outside. a box, in which was supposed to be $ , , was found on top of the safe, as had been promised by canty. this box was taken by the three men to duffy's home and its contents poured out on the kitchen table, but instead of $ , there was only $ , . this money was divided equally among the three men, after which all went downtown again. it was then about : a. m. duffy, not wishing to carry so much money around with him, placed his part in the safe of a saloonkeeper friend, who was also an alderman. the lieutenant in his testimony at the trial of the cantys, two years afterwards, declared that his $ , decreased to $ during the night. in other words, some one had touched the roll for $ . i told prosecuting attorney holder and the citizens' committee about coleman's confession, and was employed to secure corroborating evidence, which was done. eagan and duffy were arrested, convicted and sentenced to five years each in the penitentiary. they appealed the case, but at the next term of court withdrew their appeals, after a conference with prosecuting attorney holder, and entered pleas of guilty, and received two years each. the canty brothers were arrested, but notwithstanding the fact that coleman, duffy and eagan testified for the state, and there was much corroborating evidence, the jury failed to agree, standing seven for conviction to five for acquittal. at the time it was alleged that money had been expended very freely to clear the brothers. coleman was not prosecuted. he left the city for the west, and the next i heard of him he was conducting a saloon on geary street, san francisco. later he and henry schultz, another noted peterman, formed an alliance and opened a half dozen "boxes" in the country surrounding the golden gate metropolis. they were finally settled for one of their jobs by capt. leas, of frisco. later coleman was released, but was soon afterwards killed at houston, texas, while attempting to rob a bank. he was acting as lookout, while his pals were at work on the vault. the first explosion attracted the attention of the police, who opened fire on coleman and his death was instantaneous; thus his long career of crime ended. chief of detectives burke, of the st. louis police department, afterwards claimed the reward for capturing the vault robbers, and i believe secured a part of the money, but he was really not entitled to a cent, as he had done none of the real work on the case. the next sensation in east st. louis was the assassination of ex-mayor john b. bowman, which occurred about : o'clock on the evening of november , . the assassin did his work well. it can be described in a sentence--a shot was fired, and the corpse of the leader of the reformers was found lying near the gate leading to his residence, alone with the secret. i was employed by the son of the dead man to try and unravel the mystery, being given complete charge of the case. i had known bowman for years, and was acquainted with his past life, which had been a very turbulent one. he had always been a fighter, one of the kind who never knew when they were whipped. he settled in east st. louis in the latter part of the ' s, and acquired a large amount of property. he was one of the few men who recognized the fact that east st. louis would later become a great industrial center. because of his large interests he took an active part in municipal affairs, which, of course, brought him in contact with the politicians. bowman knew all about politics, even what is called the "practical" side of the game, but he was a poor diplomat--one of the kind of men who always called a spade a spade, consequently he was often in trouble with those who opposed him or his plans. he was often deserted by men whom he had practically made politically, because of his radical views on some question at issue. this was the beginning of a bitter war on the person so offending, by bowman. he never forgave a man who had deserted him or his cause. on taking charge of the case the day after the diabolical crime had been committed, i was not surprised to learn that several of the dead man's enemies were busy preparing alibis. another thing that impressed me as a little peculiar was that the police department was making no effort to find the perpetrator of the crime. after considerable hard work by both myself and my men, i succeeded in finding a couple of parties who claimed that they had seen the fatal shot fired. they were christian a. schmidt and william banks. these men were returning from the country, where they had been to secure some tobacco which had been stolen from a freight car and hidden in a hay stack. as they neared the bowman home they saw a flash from across the street, and saw bowman fall. they recognized george w. voice, a member of the police force, as the man who did the shooting. later some more evidence was obtained, which, it was thought, would corroborate the statements of schmidt and banks. this corroborative evidence implicated another police officer named patrick o'neil. voice was arrested at once and taken to belleville and locked up. later o'neil called on voice at the jail, and he, too, was placed behind the bars, he having been indicted as an accessory that day. these arrests caused a great sensation, not only in st. clair county, but on the other side of the river as well. at the preliminary hearing of voice, schmidt and banks went on the stand and told their story in a straightforward manner, and the defendant was returned to jail without bail. the friends of the prisoners then began harrassing the state's witnesses. the cases against the men were continued from time to time until april , , when the prosecuting attorney dismissed the charges against the accused because he could not obtain service upon the state's witnesses, they having left the county because of the threats made against them. the outcome of the case caused great rejoicing among the crooks and plug-uglies in east st. louis, and they began again to show their hands. the wabash railroad, at that time one of the missouri pacific properties, had rather large interests over on the east side of the river. it was a nightly occurrence for our cars to be broken open and looted. it was no trouble for us to locate the thief, or thieves, who did the work, but it was another thing to have them arrested by the officers who were receiving pay for protecting them. my activity in trying to cause the arrest and conviction of these car robbers, and in the other cases mentioned, earned for me the ill will of the police department. while they never attempted to harm me, the police would pick up my men and lock them up on trumped up charges, convict them in the police court, which was of the "kangaroo" type, and put them to work on the streets with a ball and chain attached to prevent them from +running away+. after the police over there had turned a few tricks of this kind, i decided to put a stop to it by "reforming" the police department. to do this i had to shut off the source of revenue from which the officials were being corrupted, for i knew, even at that date in life, that it took bribe money to create such a condition of affairs. the men higher up, in this case, were the proprietors of the gambling houses. they were paying $ , per week for protection. this was a nice little "bit" to be split up by a few aldermen and city officials and the heads of the police department. i called on prosecuting attorney holder at belleville, and asked his co-operation in bringing about a change in the state of affairs. i was not very well acquainted with mr. holder at that time, but i knew he was honest and a man who would do his duty. after i had entered his office and introduced myself, a dialogue something like this, as i remember it, took place: "do you know that the gamblers of east st. louis are putting up $ , per week for protection?" i asked. "i have heard they were putting up money," he replied, "but i have no real evidence as to how much." "are you and the sheriff getting your part of it?" i continued. the question had hardly left my lips before i saw the prosecuting attorney was beginning to make arrangements to throw me out of his office. before he had time to begin the work, however, i explained that i was joking, and we both had a good laugh. getting down to business again, mr. holder told me that he would "go after the gamblers with hammer and tongs" if he had the evidence. "i will get you that evidence, and pay the expenses out of my own pocket," i replied. the prosecuting attorney then assured me that the sheriff could be relied upon to do his part. i already knew this, for i had investigated both men's character before i had decided to make the move that i had. the sheriff was called upon, and he, too, promised to aid me in every manner possible. after asking both officials to keep the matter a secret until i had worked out the plans fully, i returned to st. louis. i sent a number of my men across the river, and it did not take long to get all the evidence needed. after arranging this evidence, i took it to prosecuting attorney holder and secured the necessary warrants. sheriff ropiequet was called over to st. louis and plans for raiding the houses simultaneously were made. i secured and paid for out of my own pocket an engine and two coaches from the cairo short line railway, and had them in readiness to take my men and the people we were to arrest from east st. louis to the county seat at belleville, after the raid. while there were over thirty open gambling establishments in east st. louis, i knew i could not raid all of them at one time, so i decided to raid the four largest, the ones whose owners were the most active in bringing about the crooked state of affairs. on the afternoon preceding the raid, i sent four trusted men, all armed, over the big bridge, with instructions to separate on the other side, one going to each of the four houses to be raided. these men were instructed to stay in the houses until the raids were made, to prevent the gamblers from locking their vaults and thus hiding their tools and other evidence. i then hired a big moving van, in which i placed eighteen of my men. sheriff ropiequet and i occupied the seat, i doing the driving. we had a number of fishing poles in the wagon to give the outfit the appearance of a fishing party. on reaching the other side i divided the men into four squads, placing a captain in charge of each. the squad i was to lead stayed in the wagon. after giving the other squads time to reach their houses i drove the van to colonel claude cave's famous resort. i handed the lines to the sheriff and ran up the stairs, followed by my men. we gained an entrance without any trouble and found the games running in full blast. the gamblers were taken completely by surprise, but submitted quietly to arrest. the spectators and players were not molested, but many of them became panic-stricken when it dawned upon them that a raid was being made, and sought to make their escape by jumping from the windows to the alley in the rear of the building, many of them actually making their escape in that manner. the gambling paraphernalia was taken down to the wagon, while the gamblers and their employes were marched to the waiting train. the wagon was then driven to the other houses, which had been raided at the same time by the other squads of my men, and the gambling tools found there hauled to the train. in making the raid every kind of gambling device known to the profession was captured, including faro boxes and layouts, dice, roulette wheels, sweat boards, keno balls and cards, and something like four bushels of poker and faro chips. all of this stuff was burned on the public square in belleville after the conviction of the gamblers. most of the men arrested pleaded guilty, and those who did not were convicted and the county was made some $ , richer by the fines. the raid created a great sensation in east st. louis. it was the biggest stunt of the kind that had ever been pulled off over there, and i received much praise from the law-loving people of the city for doing the job. as i had anticipated, it ended open bribery in east st. louis, and later to the ousting of the crooked officials, for at the next election the good people triumphed and succeeded in electing men who would do their duty. the new mayor was col. m. m. stevens, and as he had the co-operation of an honest board of aldermen, it did not take him long to finish the cleaning of the police department i had begun. my men were then enabled to go about their work of arresting car thieves without being interfered with by the police. if my memory serves me right, mayor stevens served six or seven terms, and did much to make east st. louis the city it is today. but this work was not accomplished without much hard labor on his part and on the part of those who assisted him, for the gamblers and crooks did not give up without a struggle. mayor stevens, however, made it as law-abiding a place during his administration as any other city in the country of its size. no man deserves more credit for the ending of gang rule in east st. louis at that time, however, than does j. w. kirk, editor of the signal. this paper fearlessly exposed all of the gang's methods, and to this fact was really due the awakening of the public conscience over there. the rohan express robbery. the thieves are taken after a four months chase, and all plead guilty--the messenger duped. the rohan pacific express robbery occurred near rohan, indiana, on what was then a part of the wabash railroad. the pacific express company had one of their cars attached to the wabash train, which was running between detroit, michigan, and indianapolis, indiana. it left detroit in the evening and should have arrived at indianapolis at about two o'clock the following morning. one night in october, , the train stopped at rohan, a small, local station, and the train was boarded by two men. they entered by the front door of the express car, and overpowered bert lumas, the express messenger, stuffing a large roll, consisting of two handkerchiefs, into his mouth. after tying another handkerchief around his face, and then tying his hands behind his back, he was leashed with a rope to the express company's safe. they took the keys to the safe from the messenger, after overpowering him, and looted the safe of its contents. there were, besides much jewelry and other valuables, about $ , . in the safe. they left the car at a point between rohan and peru, indiana. when the train halted at peru station the expressman rapped on the car door, and receiving no reply, he and others forced entrance into the car door, where they found lumas lying on his back with his arms and shoulders tied to the safe, and unconscious. they found indications of a struggle. there were three or four bullet holes in the side and roof of the car, the shots evidently having been fired from within. they discovered the safe open and the contents gone. medical aid was summoned, and the doctor, after considerable trouble, succeeded in restoring lumas to consciousness. he bore no marks of violence other than what he had suffered from the gag that had been forced into his mouth. this gag had almost cost him his life, as the ball was so large that it had prevented him from breathing hardly at all. when restored to consciousness he stated that as the train was leaving rohan he was busy writing out his report, and while thus engaged he was pounced upon by two powerful men who were wearing masks. they felled him to the floor, gagged him and bound him as he had been found, and took his keys and robbed the safe. while they were doing this he became unconscious from the effect of the gag. he said that they had taken his pistol, which was lying on a table in front of him, and fired two or more shots at him, but none of the shots took effect. i was chief special agent for the wabash railroad, which was a part of the gould system. the case was reported to me by wire the following morning. i went to rohan at once, and was unable to obtain any information. it seemed that the robbers had not been seen by any one in or near rohan. they had probably been in hiding and boarded the train unobserved, just as it was leaving the station. i then went to detroit, where i saw and interviewed lumas, the express messenger. lumas was a young man about twenty-six years of age, fine looking, about six feet tall, and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. he was born and raised in vermont. he had an older brother, who was a passenger conductor on the main line of the wabash railroad, who had been in the service of the company for many years, and afterwards remained in the service about thirty years, or until his death. they had a widowed mother, who resided in vermont. bert, the messenger, had always lived with his mother until he took service with the pacific express. his standing with that company was first-class. while i was making my investigation at detroit, i met mr. brazee, superintendent for the pacific express company of the wabash division, with headquarters at decatur, illinois. mr. brazee told me of lumas' good standing with the company, and spoke of him in the highest terms. i told mr. brazee that i was inclined to believe that lumas might have been connected with the robbery. he vigorously discredited the idea. "why," he said, "lumas, you should remember, was almost dead when he was found in his car at peru. the robbers, doubtless, tried to kill him, and would have succeeded had it not been for the timely assistance rendered by the doctors, and, of course, if he had been connected with the robbery in any way the robbers would not have tried to kill him." i knew mr. brazee personally, and i knew him to be a kind-hearted man and a thorough gentleman, and i appreciated very much the stand he had taken for one of his subordinates. i interviewed mr. fuller, the general superintendent of the pacific express company, and all the other officers who would have been likely to know anything about lumas. they all spoke of him in the highest terms, and of his brother they spoke equally as well. i did not know that lumas was connected with the robbery in any way, and they speaking of him in such high terms, i did not deem it advisable for me to inform the express authorities that i believed the express messenger was implicated, so i decided to put a shadow on lumas' movements on each end of his route. i placed two of my operatives on the work; one at indianapolis, and one at detroit. the operative at detroit was told to take up lumas when he left his train at detroit, and not to lose sight of him until he left on his train for indianapolis. the operative at indianapolis was likewise instructed; thus lumas was kept under observation at each end of the road. this was kept up continually for about four months. the operative at detroit had discovered that lumas was drinking heavily while in that city, and that he was a habitual frequenter of saloons and places of ill repute. our operative at indianapolis reported that lumas, while there, would leave his train and go direct to his rooming house, retire almost immediately and remain there until time to leave for detroit. i explained this to myself in this way: he needed the sleep and rest after his carousing in detroit. my operative secured a room adjoining the room occupied by lumas at indianapolis, and the other one in detroit was just as fortunate, and in a short time my detroit man made the acquaintance of lumas, became his chum, and was with him almost continually in detroit, and in that way became acquainted with most of lumas' friends. at this time there was a private detective in detroit, whose name was pat o'neal. o'neal was a widower and lived with a widow sister who kept a rooming house, and lumas and my operative both roomed with this widow. o'neal did not know either of them personally, but doubtless learned from his sister that lumas was employed by some express company, and that my operative was, as he represented himself, connected with some advertising concern of the east. there was also a noted thief known as jim o'neal, who was no relation to pat o'neal, but one being a thief and the other a detective, they knew each other. one night, while my man in company with lumas was sitting at a table in a beer garden in detroit, they were approached by a man about medium size and plainly dressed. he appeared to be about forty years of age, five foot eight inches tall, and weighed about or pounds. he was light complexioned, sandy haired and smooth shaven. he evidently knew lumas well, for he sat down at their table, and after they had had several drinks they engaged in a conversation in an undertone, evidently not intended for the operative's ears. however, the operative managed to hear a good deal of what was said. the stranger was evidently trying to convince lumas that everything would be all right. lumas was heard to say, "i have not been treated right, and this is why i have been drinking so much of late." the other man was heard to caution him about drinking so much, and to keep quiet, telling him that "everything would be all right later on." after hearing this conversation, my operative located the intruder and found that his name was denny downer, a barkeeper at a prominent saloon on griswold street, detroit. while the above conversation was going on between lumas and downer, jim o'neal, the thief, was seated at a table very close to our party, with some of his friends. o'neal knew lumas to be an express messenger, and knew that he lived at the house of pat o'neal's sister, and hearing a part of the conversation he concluded that possibly lumas was implicated in the robbery of his car, and when he met his namesake, pat, the private detective, he told the conversation he had overheard between lumas and downer, whom jim o'neal did not know. on the evening of the following day i received a report telling me of the happening, and on the next day i received a report from the operative, telling me that he had located the intruder and learned what his name was. on receipt of this report i at once decided that denny downer, whom i had known for years as a thief, was undoubtedly one of the parties who had participated in the rohan robbery. i had known downer in pittsburg, pennsylvania. in fact, i was in criminal court in pittsburg on one occasion when downer was convicted of burglary, and received a sentence of five years. i knew his criminal record. the description i had received tallied perfectly with that of denny downer, of pittsburg memory, therefore i felt sure of my man. i decided to go to indianapolis and take with me all of the daily reports received from my two operatives. i notified mr. brazee of my intention, and requested him to accompany me to indianapolis, telling him that i expected important developments there. he wired that he would join me at decatur, illinois, and go with me to indianapolis. on arrival there we secured adjoining rooms at the spencer house, which is just across the street from the union station, indianapolis. we arrived there in the evening, and lumas' train was to arrive at two o'clock the next morning. i instructed my operative at indianapolis to be at the union station when lumas' train arrived and to bring him from his car over to my room just as soon as he arrived. i had had one of my operatives meet him at his train several times before and take him to see different parties for the purpose of identifying them as one of the express robbers, but lumas, on each of these occasions, failed to identify them, and he had always declared that he could not identify any person, nor give any accurate description of the men who had attacked him in his car at rohan. i never expected him to identify any one, but he had been told by the express company to go with me or any of my men any time that we might need him for the purpose of identification, so i knew the operative would have no trouble in getting him to come to the hotel. on this particular morning i learned from the dispatcher that lumas' train would arrive on time, and i prepared my room for his reception. i set a table in the middle of the room and spread the daily reports of my two operatives over the top of this table. they filled it completely. i told the operative to tell lumas that he had a party that he wanted him to see, in my room. mr. brazee was occupying a room next to and opening into mine, and i arranged to leave the door partly open, and he was to sit alongside of the door in such a manner that he could hear everything that was said. he considered the whole thing would be a failure, as he firmly believed in lumas' innocence, as did all the other officers of the express company. the train arrived, and the operative got lumas, who grumbled a little about going to a room at that hour of the morning, but nevertheless he came over. the operative rapped at my door, and i bade him enter. i was sitting at the table containing the reports when he opened the door and came in accompanied by lumas. i asked lumas to be seated, and told the operative to retire to the hall until i might need him. i began by saying, "lumas, i want to call your attention to these reports that are spread out on this table. they are the daily reports of my operatives who have shadowed you and those associated with you, for the past four months. these reports set forth everything you have done in those four months, and every one you have associated with. i can tell you how many cigars you have smoked, how many drinks you have taken, whom you have talked with, and what you talked about. i find that your mother is a fine old lady and stands high in the community where she resides, in vermont. i find that you have respectable connections, and that you were well raised. i know all about your brother and his high standing on the wabash road, and that your character heretofore has been good. also that the officers of the pacific express company have had the highest regard for you and your integrity, and for these reasons i have taken it upon myself to give you the opportunity of telling the whole truth about this express robbery, but i want you to understand distinctly that if you do not tell the truth, if you say one word that is not the truth, i shall stop you and turn you over to the officers of the law. but, if you do tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, i will do all that i can to secure the extension of leniency to you for your part in the crime. i can also say that if you tell the whole truth, that mr. brazee and the other officers will be as lenient with you as the law will allow. so now i want you to answer my questions truthfully or not at all. now, sir, i want you to tell me how much money you received from the proceeds of that robbery." he said, unhesitatingly, "mr. furlong, i only received ten dollars." long before i asked this question i could see moisture in lumas' eyes, and he finally began to cry. when he stated that he had received but ten dollars, i said to him, "now, lumas, wait a moment until i call in mr. brazee, who is your friend." mr. brazee had heard every word, and i went to the door and asked him to come into my room. as he entered i also noticed moisture in his eyes. i asked mr. brazee to write down what lumas said, and he complied. "lumas," i said, "who were the two men who robbed your car?" he replied, "denny downer and a friend of his whom he called little al. i never did know his real name." lumas went on and stated that he had met denny downer in a saloon in detroit and that downer had evidently known that he was an express messenger; that as he had gotten well acquainted with him and had got to drinking considerable, downer had induced him to let him know when he would be carrying a large sum of money, or what they called a "big run," and that downer had explained that he would have a party with him and would board his car at an out-of-the-way station and bind him, without injuring him, and shoot a few bullets through the side of the car so as to make it appear that he had made a fight, and that they would divide the spoils and nobody would even suspect him (lumas) by reason of his good standing with the company. he finally agreed to enter the plot, and learned that there was to be a safe containing a sum of money, nearly four thousand one hundred dollars, and some other valuables, on the day of the robbery, shipped over on his train. this might not be considered a big prize, but it was above the average. he notified downer, and he and little al took a train from detroit and reached rohan a little ahead of his train. after the robbery, and he had returned to detroit, downer sent him a letter containing ten dollars, with the understanding that he would give him more later on, but that he had never received any more. he had become sorry that he had gone into the plot, and had begun drinking. he further stated that he was now positive they had tried to kill him by strangling him with the gag. mr. brazee and the express company officials were all surprised at lumas' confession. i turned lumas over to my operative, and took the first train for detroit, where i arrested denny downer. on being arrested downer acknowledged his connection with the robbery, and told me that little al was al perry of boston, mass., a noted porch climber and thief. i lodged downer and perry in the county jail at wabash, indiana, where in the course of time both were put on trial, pleaded guilty, and were sentenced to six years in the penitentiary at michigan city, indiana. their sentences were made lighter by reason of their having pleaded guilty. lumas also pleaded guilty and was used as a witness before the grand jury against downer and perry, and it having developed that lumas, who was much younger than the other two, being inexperienced in crime, was persuaded by them to do this thing, sentence on him was suspended. after the robbery the express company offered a reward for the arrest and conviction of each of the robbers, and after they had been arrested and convicted pat o'neal, the private detective, filed a claim against the express company to recover the reward. he had nothing whatever to do with the obtaining of the information which led to the arrest and conviction of these two men, and, therefore, his claim for the reward was nothing more than an attempt to obtain money under false pretense. arrest of lawrence poyneer. a crooked yardmaster's crime--bold attempt to throw his captor overboard from a steamer.--his conviction, sentence and a later escapade. lawrence poyneer was a young man about twenty-eight years of age in . he was a railroad man and was employed as yardmaster by the texas & pacific railroad company at new orleans, la., where he had performed the duties of his position in a satisfactory manner for about two years. he finally went crooked and formed a conspiracy with the proprietor of a cotton pickery in new orleans to defraud his employers. there are a large number of cotton pickeries in that city. their business is to buy up damaged cotton, such as has been through a fire and has been water-soaked, or otherwise damaged. they pick this cotton over very carefully, eliminating the parts that have been damaged by fire, or some like cause, and sell the salvage for a good price. in other words, these cotton pickeries conduct a business similar to that of junk dealers in other cities. poyneer ran a car load of cotton into one of these pickeries and sold it much below its market value. it was promptly unloaded by the pickery men, who destroyed the marks on the bales. the empty car was located after some time and trouble, by me, but it took a long time to locate the cotton. after i had ascertained what had become of the cotton and who had bought it, i set about to find poyneer, who had stolen it. i learned that he had left the service of the company of his own accord, about three weeks after the cotton in question was missed. i tracked him from new orleans to palmyra, new york, where his parents resided. in palmyra i succeeded in obtaining a good photograph and a good description of him. he was almost a giant in stature, being nearly six feet, six inches in height, splendidly built, weighed two hundred twenty-five pounds, and wore a number eight shoe. he was a fine looking fellow and an expert railroad train service man. from palmyra i traced him to buffalo, new york, from there to st. paul, minn., from st. paul i traced him to portland, oregon, and from portland to wallah-wallah, washington. from wallah-wallah back to ladales, washington, which is about midway between portland and wallah-wallah, and on the columbia river. here i found him in the service of the northern pacific railroad co., engaged in painting box cars. i obtained the necessary requisition papers from the governors of louisiana and oregon, and arrested him at ladales, took him to portland (the head of navigation on the willamette river), where i took passage for myself and prisoner on the steamship columbia for san francisco. there was no one on the steamer, not even the officers, who knew that poyneer was a prisoner. he had promised me that he would go with me quietly and i did not place him in irons. i could not have hand-cuffed him with any ordinary hand-cuffs for the reason of the enormous size of his wrists. [illustration: lawrence poyneer. the giant switchman who attempted to hurl furlong from the deck of an ocean steamer.] after we had left astoria and were out several miles on the pacific, we were taking a walk for exercise on the upper deck, and when we were nearing the stern end of the vessel, and there were no other passengers, or even any sailors, poyneer suddenly seized me by the neck and body and attempted to throw me over the rail into the sea. i grabbed him tightly around his neck and under one of his arms so tightly that he could not shake me off. i lustily called for help and one of the cabin boys heard me, gave the alarm, and the captain and officer on the lookout in front of the vessel came rushing to my assistance. when he heard them coming, he let go and tried, in vain, to make it appear that he had been joking. i explained the situation to the captain, who promptly placed poyneer in irons and placed him below in what is called the brig in a ship, where he remained until we arrived in san francisco. there i had him taken to the city jail, where i kept him for two or three days until i had gotten thoroughly rested. i borrowed a set of irons from chief of police crowley, placed these irons on poyneer, and took him on board a southern pacific railroad train, and in due time lodged him safely in the old parish prison in new orleans. he was tried, convicted and sentenced to four years in prison in baton rouge, where he served his term out. after this i lost track of him until about ten years ago, just before the olive street cable was changed to an electric street car line, in st. louis. i boarded a grip car on olive street one morning, and to my surprise, i recognized lawrence poyneer, acting as gripman on the car i had boarded. poyneer recognized me on sight, but he did not speak and seemed to be very much confused. i left the car near the turning point. later i was informed that "jones" had left his grip car at the foot of olive street that morning. "jones" was the name that poyneer had given when he had secured the position from the company as gripman about three weeks prior to my having recognized him. he left st. louis and has not been heard from since, to my knowledge. ticket forgers run down. arrest of louis rice and tom lands after a long chase--the forgers acquired almost a fortune. during the early ' s the officials of the passenger department of several western trunk lines made the discovery that they had been defrauded out of thousands of dollars by the means of forged railroad tickets. these tickets had been distributed or put on the market by ticket scalpers, who then thrived in all the large cities. these tickets were gotten up on what appeared to be regular paper and in regular form, with the exception of the serial and form numbers, which were necessarily duplicated. the tickets read from boston, new york, chicago, philadelphia and other prominent points on the east to the principal points on the pacific coast in the west. the forms were pronounced perfect and the signature of the various railroad officials were imitated admirably on them. the discovery of the forgeries were first made by one of the assistants of c. g. warner, general auditor of the missouri pacific railroad at st. louis. the assistant auditor discovered the forgeries, he having noticed the numbers on the tickets were irregular. at this time i was chief special agent for the missouri pacific, and the case was placed in my hands for investigation, by general auditor warner. after a lot of tedious work, the details of which would not interest the reader, i, with the help of some of my assistants, learned that rice and lands were railroad ticket scalpers and had offices in several cities in the middle west, from which they had supplied other scalpers with large quantities of these forged tickets. i also learned that rice and lands had established a private printing office in a small town in western illinois, in which the counterfeit tickets were printed; the forms of which had been arranged by rice, who had been a chief clerk for a number of years for a general passenger and ticket agent of one of the large railroad systems of the west, and was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with the details of all of the ticket business. lands was a crooked lawyer, who had married into an eminently respectable family of the state of indiana. rice was a single man, but was engaged to a young lady, whose family was of considerable prominence. he was also of a good family and had always borne an excellent reputation, and was considered a bright, affable young business man. after learning all of these facts and reporting them to the proper officials of the missouri pacific system, i was instructed to locate and arrest rice and lands, charging them with having made and issued the counterfeit railroad tickets. i had but little trouble in locating lands, but, as i considered rice the principal, knowing that he was the man who had gotten up the forms of the counterfeit tickets, i decided to quietly place lands under surveillance, by one of my operatives, and then took up the search for rice, as i desired to arrest him first, being very sure that i could apprehend lands any time that i wanted to do so. i traced rice from kansas city to denver, salt lake city, san francisco to portland, oregon, but lost trace of him there, and after consuming several days with no results, i decided to return to st. louis, and to visit the town in iowa where rice's betrothed resided with her parents, which i did. after spending several days near the home of this young lady, i was finally rewarded by learning the alias that rice had assumed, and his whereabouts at that time, and i immediately, as the traveling men say, "doubled back" to the pacific coast, boarding a steamship at san francisco for victoria, b. c., and from there went overland to a camp in the kassiar mountains, british columbia, which is about miles from victoria. on arriving there i learned that rice had left but a few days before my arrival, and that he had undoubtedly passed me on my way to kassiar. he had left word with friends there that he was going back to portland, oregon. he had been prospecting in the mountains for gold and had been unsuccessful, and had exhausted his funds, so he had concluded to go back to portland and seek employment there. i, therefore, returned to victoria and boarded a vessel for seattle and from there i went to portland, where i succeeded in locating rice. he was working as a day laborer in a bed-spring factory. he was clad in a suit of greasy overalls, when i found him, needed a haircut and a shave, and did not in any way resemble the dapper and stylishly dressed louis rice, whose photograph i had in my possession. i brought rice back to st. louis, and while en route he made a full confession to me as to his and lands' connection with the counterfeit tickets. he told me about the printing office and gave me the names of various scalpers throughout the country who were engaged with them in handling the bogus tickets. on arriving in st. louis i secured a lodging house for rice in the suburbs of the city, placed him there, by his consent, in charge of one of my operatives. i did this so that the scalpers who were in collusion with the fraudulent scheme would not become aware of his capture until i would have time to arrange for indictments and arrest all the parties connected with the fraud. i also wanted to arrest and bring lands to st. louis before he had learned his partner was in custody, and proceeded to indiana and took him in charge. his relatives, who were well-known and influential, immediately applied for a writ of habeas corpus, which prevented me from removing lands from the state until permitted to do so by due process of law. the judge before whom this writ of habeas corpus was returnable was a lifelong personal friend of the family of lands' wife, and the judge, therefore, released lands from custody on the grounds that forged railroad tickets had no intrinsic value. this was the first and only prisoner that i have ever had released by such a procedure. however, lands was sick at the time of his arrest, and lingered along for a few months after his release, and died, which was the ending of his part of the crime. in due time rice's trial was called in st. louis, and the judge before whom the case was tried decided the same in this case as had the judge in indiana on the lands case; and, therefore, the ticket forgers went unpunished. the state laws in nearly every state in the union have since been revised so as to make the forgery of railroad tickets a felony, with the same penalty attached as that of forging any other document or valuable paper. the farcical termination of the case also caused the passage of laws which have put the ticket scalpers out of business in almost the entire country. prior to that time, every city of any size was infested with numerous ticket scalping offices. the men engaged in the business were usually of the unscrupulous kind, and their crookedness caused the railroads no little amount of trouble. in working up this case and apprehending lands and rice, i personally traveled, in all, about eighteen thousand four hundred miles, and consumed nearly six months' time, did a lot of hard work and incurred considerable expense. i will say here that the attorneys of the legal department for the missouri pacific railroad company were fully advised as to all the facts connected with this case and they advised that the parties be located and apprehended: and the work involved in the location and arrest of rice and lands was as good as any work ever done by any one in a similar case. under the laws then existing the cases of rice and lands could not be reached. after rice's final release he went to the state of iowa, where he engaged in the insurance business. he was successful and finally married the young lady he was engaged to, and when last heard of by the writer, was a prosperous general insurance agent, raising a nice family and respected in the community in which he lived. conviction of john collins. how the clues, which lead to the arrest of the young man for his father's murder, were obtained--kansas' most sensational murder case. no crime committed in the west in recent years was surrounded with more mystery than was the murder of j. s. collins, which occurred in topeka, kansas, in the spring of . mr. collins was slain while asleep beside his wife in their home. the weapon used was a shotgun, and one or two of the shot struck the shoulder of the wife, making slight, though painful wounds. the murdered man had been a prominent insurance and real estate man of the kansas capitol, where he had lived for many years, and was well and favorably known to the citizens of that city, as well as throughout the entire state; in fact, he was considered one of the state's most prominent citizens. at the time of his murder he was about fifty-five years of age, had a wife, one daughter and a son, john. the collins' occupied a comfortable home in topeka. john, the only son, was a student at the state university at lawrence, kansas, where he was being prepared for the ministry. he had been a student at lawrence for two or three years before his father's murder. he boarded at the school and occasionally visited his home in topeka, usually on sundays and holidays. the collins home, which was one of the best on one of the capitol's most prominent residential thoroughfares, was disturbed early one morning by the discharge of a gun in the sleeping room occupied by mr. collins and his wife, which was situated on the ground floor. mr. collins had been shot and died instantly, and his wife, as stated above, received one or two grains of coarse shot in her shoulder. other occupants of the house that morning were miss collins, a young lady about eighteen years of age, and john collins, jr. both of them occupied rooms on the second floor of the house. there was also a servant girl in the house. it was in the early part of the summer and the windows were all screened with wire. john, apparently aroused by the shot which killed his father, dressed himself hastily and aroused the nearest neighbors. it was at an early hour in the morning, but after daylight. the police were sent for, and on their arrival ascertained that the doors of the house were all intact and carefully locked; but a window screen in the rear of the house on the second floor was found to have been cut, leaving a hole large enough for the passage of a human body. this window was immediately above a one-story addition to the main building in the rear. after the police authorities had finished their investigation of the premises they arrived at the conclusion that the murderer must have entered the house by means of a key, and after having shot mr. collins escaped, going up the main stairs from the lower hall to the second floor and then gone to the hall at the end of which they found the window before described, had cut the wire screen and jumped out of the window onto the roof of the one-story addition, and then to the ground, a distance of about ten or twelve feet, and in that way made his escape. the murder created a great sensation by reason of mr. collins' high standing in the community. a number of the more influential citizens of topeka who were friends of his, formed a committee for the purpose of locating the murderer and causing him, or them, to be brought to justice. these gentlemen wired me at st. louis, asking me to come to topeka to investigate the case. i went to topeka at once, arriving there, if i remember aright, the third day after the murder had been committed. i reported to the gentleman who was chairman of the committee, and at once began my investigation, by examining the premises at which the murder had been committed. i interviewed the widow, who, by the way, was mr. collins' second wife, her step-daughter and step-son, john collins. mrs. collins was a woman between thirty-six and forty years of age, of the brunette type, rather above the medium height and inclined to be slender. she was very attractive and considered a good-looking woman, intelligent and refined. miss collins was also above the medium height, nice-looking, well educated and intelligent. john collins had just passed his twenty-first birthday, was about five feet, eight or nine inches tall, light brown hair, fair complexioned, well built, pleasing in manner and a very fine looking young man. after i had consumed about four days in my investigation, i became satisfied in my own mind that the murder had been committed by some person who belonged in the house, and that the house had not been entered by an outsider. i had discovered that mr. collins had been killed with his own shotgun, a high priced firearm, which he always kept in a leather case, and usually placed on the upper shelf of a clothes closet in his bedroom. this closet was unusually large and extended from the floor to the ceiling. the ceiling being very high, an ordinary sized man could not reach the shelf where the gun was kept without the aid of a step-ladder, or possibly it could have been reached by a tall person while standing on a high table. mr. collins had not used his gun for months before the murder, and it had always been his custom after using the weapon to clean it thoroughly, take it apart and pack it in the case. it was, therefore, necessary for the murderer to take this gun case from the shelf, put it together and load it with the ammunition, which was also kept on the high shelf. all of this could not have been accomplished by any outside person without having been discovered by some one of the inmates of the house. i also learned that john collins had left his lodgings at lawrence on the evening preceding the murder, going to topeka and directly to his home, where, he claimed, he retired for the night at an early hour. he also claimed that he remained there until aroused by the shot that killed his father. i also learned that the young man had formed the acquaintance of a very estimable and wealthy young lady at lawrence, with whom he had become infatuated. he had paid much attention to her for months, and finally she had informed him that her mother had decided to purchase or lease a cottage at long branch, in which to spend the summer months. i surmised that when he learned that she intended to accompany her mother to long branch for the summer, young collins decided that his sweetheart was liable to meet some of the many fortune hunters who frequent the resort during the summer months, thus endangering his chances of winning her, so he had made up his mind that he would arrange, if possible, to spend the season at long branch too, so that he might guard the affections of his good-looking, or i might truthfully say, beautiful young lady friend. [illustration: j. s. manning. superintendent of the st. louis office of the furlong secret service company who did some clever work on the collins case.] the elder mr. collins had been considered to be more wealthy than he really was at the time of his death. he had met with financial reverses, and really had but little more than his home in topeka when he was murdered, but he was carrying thirty thousand dollars insurance on his life, ten thousand to his wife and ten thousand to each of his children. having secured the above information i sent one of my operatives, j. s. manning, to lawrence, kansas, with instructions to quietly ascertain all that he could as to the habits of the young man collins and his associates. mr. manning's investigation there developed that young collins had been spending considerable money in buying flowers, carriage hire and entertainments. he had no means of defraying these expenses other than twenty-five dollars a month allowed him by his father for that purpose. mr. manning also learned that there were a couple of colored hack drivers in lawrence, who had been patronized by the younger collins. upon receipt of this information from mr. manning, i sent d. f. harbaugh, who was then in my employ, to lawrence. mr. harbaugh had lived in lawrence, kansas, for a number of years before he entered my service. he had been in the livery business there, and had been a hack driver. he was personally acquainted with the colored drivers before mentioned, but these men did not know that he was in the secret service work. for this reason mr. harbaugh found it easy to find out everything that the hack drivers knew about john collins. after renewing their acquaintance harbaugh learned from them that collins had approached them and entered into a verbal contract to kill his father for a certain sum of money, part of which he had paid at the time the agreement was made, he agreeing to pay the balance after the murder had been committed. they told harbaugh that they had no intention of attempting to murder mr. collins, but had promised john they would do so to work him for what money they could get out of him, knowing, as they did, that he dare not expose them when they failed to carry out their agreement. the murder was to have been committed on or before a certain date. the date passed and mr. collins still lived, whereupon, john became anxious and expostulated with the colored drivers. they told him that they were entitled to more money than what he had agreed to pay them, and he gave them an additional one hundred dollars, as well as a gold watch his father had presented to him on his twenty-first birthday. this money young collins had secured by borrowing from his friends and through drafts he had drawn on his father, as we afterwards learned. there was then another date set for the murder to be committed by the hack drivers. when that day arrived and passed young collins again remonstrated with the drivers for not having carried out their agreement, and they coolly informed him that they had concluded that if his father had to be killed that he had better do the killing himself, that they positively would not commit the crime, and that they had never intended to do so. learning this, young collins became desperate and left lawrence and went to topeka, as before stated, and without doubt killed his father with his own gun. when this evidence was obtained i reported it to the gentlemen who had employed me, and they then decided to hand my report over to the prosecuting attorney at lawrence. at the request of the prosecuting attorney the county commissioners at topeka employed me to complete the evidence, so that collins might be arrested and prosecuted for the murder of his father. john collins was immediately arrested, placed in jail without bond, and in due time the case came to trial. the trial caused a great deal of interest in the community, by reason of the fact that the elder mr. collins was so well known, and the killing had been done in such a mysterious manner. the trial attracted great attention throughout the entire country. all of the leading western papers had special reporters present, and all the sensational features were "played up" (as newspaper men call it) as they developed. the court room was crowded, and many noted lawyers were also in attendance to watch the legal battle, which at times waxed very warm, as all the counsel on both sides were very able men. prosecuting attorney jetmore was at his best, making one of the greatest fights i ever saw to get his evidence before the jury. among the spectators during almost the entire trial was the late justice brewer, of the united states supreme court at washington, who was visiting his daughter, who was the wife of the prosecuting attorney, mr. jetmore, in topeka at the time the trial was on. at the close of the case mr. justice brewer complimented me very highly for my work in solving the mystery. during the trial a great many people got the idea that i had been employed by the insurance companies, believing that the companies were trying to avoid payment of the thirty thousand dollars insurance, by proving that the son had killed his father. this opinion was erroneous. the people who employed me in this case were citizens of topeka and lodge friends of the murdered man, and were in no way connected with the insurance companies interested in the case, and were merely acting as good and law abiding citizens, and just as soon as i had satisfied them that john collins was the murderer, they immediately turned the evidence, as far as had been obtained, over to the proper state authorities. the trial lasted more than a week. collins was defended by two of the most prominent attorneys at that bar. they labored earnestly and to the best of their ability to clear him, but he was found guilty of murder and sent to the state prison to await the governor's action in fixing the date of his execution; but, in as much as it has always been the custom in kansas for the governor to never fix the date for execution of a person found guilty of murder, the prisoners are usually kept in the prison, and a sentence of death in kansas usually means a life term in the penitentiary. there has been an effort made by friends of young collins and the family to obtain a pardon for him, but up to this writing i understand it has been unavailing. i will say here that the colored hack drivers, before mentioned, from lawrence, took the witness stand for the state against john collins, and produced the watch that he had given them, which had been presented to him by the elder mr. collins upon the anniversary of john's st birthday. this watch, with the testimony of the colored hack drivers, in which they detailed the contract they had made with the younger collins, all of which was corroborated by circumstances that were not, or could not be, contradicted, led to the conviction of the son for the murder of his father. fred erfert's fall from grace. a trusted employee of a jewelry firm robs his benefactor--quick capture of the thief and recovery of the loot. the arrest of fred erfert, who had been a trusted clerk in the jewelry house of john bolland & company, of st. louis, occurred in the latter part of . erfert had been employed by the company since his boyhood. at the time of his arrest he was about twenty-two or three years of age, and had become a trusted employe, and carried the keys of the establishment. he was the first man to open the store in the morning, and the last man out at night, closing and locking the store himself. the firm was rated among the first establishments of the kind in the city, and was doing a large business. a large quantity of valuable goods were mysteriously disappearing and could not be accounted for, and finally the manager, mr. clarence white, called at my office one afternoon, and stated the facts in the case as he knew them. he stated, further, that mr. bolland had requested him to come and see me and tell me of the state of affairs, and ask me to take the matter under advisement, and that mr. bolland would call on me the following day for a conference, which he did. mr. bolland stated to me that they had been missing goods from time to time for the past two years or more and that these losses had grown to alarming proportions. in an effort to clear up the mystery he had secured the services of another local private detective agency, at a considerable expense, but who apparently had not been able to fasten the numerous thefts on any person. he further stated that the losses seemed to be increasing, and that he would like to have me make an investigation and apprehend the guilty party, or parties, if possible. he said that in view of the amount of money he had already spent in attempting to locate the thief he did not feel as though he was justified in spending much more money, but he wanted me to make an investigation and see what i could do. he stated that he had also consulted the police department of the city, but they had failed to apprehend the thief. mr. bolland instructed me to proceed at once, saying that he did not believe that they had any one in their employ who was dishonest or disloyal, to which i answered, "it is evident to me, mr. bolland, that you believe all of your employes to be honest and faithful, or you, of course, would not have them in your employ." mr. bolland replied, "you need not spend any time in looking after clarence white, fred erfert or (laughingly) myself, but you may use your own judgment as to the other employes, although i want you to understand that i have the utmost confidence in all of them." a short time before this interview took place, the bolland company had purchased a large stock of jewelry at sixth and locust streets, at a bankrupt sale. on purchasing this stock the bolland company sorted out the most desirable parts, which they removed to their own store, and then culled out from the stock in the main store, stuff that was growing stale, and placed it with the bankrupt stock. they then started to auction off the surplus stock. they placed erfert in charge of this auction store, with a number of clerks and a professional auctioneer. this auction was running full blast at the time of my interview with mr. bolland. mr. bolland stated to me that goods were also being missed from the auction store, as well as from their regular store. so the following day i instructed one of my operatives to carefully observe all that he could about the auction store, from the time the store opened in the morning until it was closed at night, which the operative did. after he had spent the first day at the auction store the operative reported to me that he had noticed a number of what appeared to him to be irregularities, especially on the part of erfert, the manager of the place. he reported that on the evening of his first day on the job he had seen erfert and the other clerks leave the store. erfert, being the last man out, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and the whole party walked to the corner of th and olive streets, where they separated, taking different cars presumably for their homes. he said that erfert, however, did not take a car, but walked west a block on olive street to th street, then north on th street to locust street, and east on locust street to the side entrance of the auction store, where he unlocked the door, entered the store and immediately returned to the sidewalk carrying a couple of large and heavy packages, which were fastened with shawl-straps. he then went back by the same route to th and locust, where he boarded a car and carried these two heavy packages, one in each hand, to his home in south st. louis, where he resided with his widowed mother and his sister. he entered the dwelling with these packages. on learning this, i told the operative to carry out my instructions on the previous day, telling him that in case erfert doubled back on that evening after closing the store, and repeated the actions of the previous evening, that after he had emerged from the store the second time, as he had the night before, the operative should then approach him and say to him that i was in my office in the chemical building and wanted to see him at once, and to bring him up without delay. i remained in the office that evening, so as to be on hand in case erfert repeated his actions of the previous evening, and that is what he did. it was in the winter time and dark about : p. m., when erfert closed and locked the store and left the other employes, apparently starting for home. he accompanied the others, as he had the night before, to th and olive, then left them, they going home and he making a circuitous route, the same as the night before, and went back to the store, letting himself in, and emerging almost immediately again, carrying two heavy packages, heavier than those he had taken the night previous, and fastened with the shawl-straps. after he had locked the door and had picked up the packages, which seemed very heavy, my operative approached him unobserved, and touched him on the shoulder, saying, "mr. furlong is at his office in the chemical building and wants you to come over and see him at once." erfert replied, "what does he want to see me for?" the operative said, "i do not know. he will explain that when he sees you." erfert replied, "i am in a hurry and haven't time. i'm late anyway, and will call and see him tomorrow." the operative said, "you can either go with me right now and see mr. furlong, or i will call the policeman (pointing to a policeman who happened to be standing diagonally across the street from where they were) and have him take you to police headquarters, and probably mr. furlong will go there and see you. now it is up to you. if i take you to police headquarters your name and picture will appear in the papers in the morning and you will probably get a lot of undesirable notoriety." "i don't want any notoriety," replied erfert, "but i can't understand what mr. furlong wants to see me for tonight. however, i will go with you, but i will put these packages in the store." the operative said, "no, take these packages with you. what is in them?" erfert replied, "i have two fine clocks that were sent over to my store by mistake and are too expensive to sell at auction, and i intend to take them back to the main store, where they belong." "well," said the operative, "you take them up to mr. furlong's office, and after you have seen him he will probably allow you to take them to the main store." the operative brought erfert to my office, packages and all. i had known erfert since his boyhood, and on his entering the office i took him into my private office. here i will say that on the second day i had put another operative to work on this case, unknown to the first operative, who had been shadowing the first operative and had witnessed everything that had occurred, and had reached the office a few minutes ahead of the first operative and erfert, so that i was fully aware of all that had occurred. when we were seated in my private room, i said to erfert, "fred, what have you in those two packages?" he answered, "they are two clocks, which were sent over to the auction store by mistake. they are expensive clocks and i will not sell them at auction, and intended to take them home tonight and return them to the main store in the morning, before i opened the auction store." "what other stock have you on your person which was sent over to the auction store by mistake?" i asked. he replied, "i have only a few stick pins, and a few other small articles of jewelry." i said, "put them on my desk." he did so, and the articles that he had concealed in his pockets, according to the prices marked on them, amounted in all to nearly four hundred dollars. there were gold rings, stick pins, and other small pieces of good jewelry. thinking that possibly he had not emptied his pocket, i inspected them myself. i found a memorandum book, in which he had kept an accurate account of all articles that had been taken from the jewelry company, the cost price of each article to the company, and the price he had received for a large lot of articles that had already been disposed of. this book was written in cipher. i also found a key to a safe deposit vault that he had in some safe deposit company. i then informed him that thousands of dollars' worth of stuff had been stolen from his employers, that he had been practically raised by them, having been in their service nearly all his life, and that the company had always treated him well and justly; all of which he admitted, and that now, as he had been caught red-handed, i thought that it was his duty, and to his interest, to tell the whole truth as to what he had taken, and do all in his power to return as much of the property as possible. at this time my office was on the fourteenth floor of the chemical building. my private office fronted on olive street, and erfert made a sudden lunge for the window and attempted to jump out. i prevented him from doing this, and after talking to him for a few moments, he admitted that he had been stealing from the company for the past two years. recently he had been assisted by another of the employes. his grandfather was conducting a jewelry and novelty store in south st. louis, and nearly all the stock in this store had been stolen by himself and his confederate from the bolland establishment. he also stated that he had a quantity of the stolen property concealed in the attic of his mother's house, where he lived, and agreed that he would go with one of my men at once and deliver all the stolen goods that he could to me, and he faithfully kept his word. at the conclusion of his statement, i sent a messenger to mr. bolland, telling him that i wished him to come to my office at once, as i had succeeded in capturing the culprit. (it should be remembered that the above all took place on the second day that i was working on the case). mr. bolland arrived at my office about ten o'clock, accompanied by his wife and clarence white. i met them in the front office. mr. bolland said, "the messenger told me that you had captured the party who has been robbing us." i said, "yes, that is why i sent for you." "whom have you caught?" he asked. i replied, "fred erfert is the principal party." mrs. bolland and white simultaneously exclaimed, "why you have surely made a mistake." mr. bolland said, "i told you not to bother with erfert; that i believed he was all right." at this juncture white (using a slang phrase) "butted in," and said, "why, furlong, you have got your foot in it sure. erfert surely had nothing to do with these thefts, and you have made a great mistake by even accusing him. he has been practically raised by mr. bolland and in his service for many years, and we've always had implicit confidence in his honesty." i replied, "yes, i understand all of that; but mr. bolland employed me to apprehend the party, or parties, who were robbing him, which i have done. erfert knows that he is guilty and he has fully admitted his guilt, and i am satisfied from the evidence that i have found on his person that he told the truth when he said he was guilty. i, of course, realize mr. bolland's disappointment in finding that erfert was the guilty person, but i cannot help his feelings. i have simply done my duty in the matter, and now it remains with mr. bolland as to what shall be done with erfert." "where is erfert?" mr. bolland asked. i pointed to my private office and said, "he is there and waiting to see you. he has promised me that he will tell you what he has already told my assistant and myself, and that he would at once return a considerable quantity of the stolen property to you, which i have advised him to do." i then conducted them to the private room where erfert reiterated the statement that he had made to me. he admitted everything. then i, with some of my assistants, immediately procured a hack and went with erfert to his mother's house, where we found about two hack loads of stolen goods, consisting of clocks, silver plate, fine umbrellas, and various articles of bric-a-brac, all valuable stuff. i had these goods hauled direct to the bolland store. we then visited the store of the grandfather, in south st. louis and recovered about four hack loads of goods from there. by the time we had hauled the last load away from there it was nearly daylight. while this loot was being removed from erfert's house, by erfert himself and two of my assistants, i was standing outside guarding the hack into which the goods were being placed. a police officer came along. he knew me and was somewhat surprised to see me at that time of night in that locality, and asked me, in a friendly manner, what i was doing there. i told him that there had been some stuff stolen from a jewelry store, and that it had been taken to this house, and i thought it advisable to remove the goods after night so as not to attract the attention of the neighborhood, as i felt sure that the women of the family were not aware of the fact that the property which had been placed in their house had been stolen. the policeman later reported having met me and what i had told him, to his captain at the soulard street station, and, of course, this report reached the chief of police harrigan, the following morning. whereupon, the chief became exasperated and ordered the policeman suspended immediately, assigning the reason for so doing the fact that the officer had not arrested the hack-driver and myself. he also suspended one or two of the officers connected with the station who were on duty that night. the next morning, about ten o'clock, a city detective called on me at my office and said to me, "i have been sent down by the chief to see you. the chief understands that you arrested a young fellow by the name of erfert last night, and that you recovered a lot of stolen property. is this report true?" "part of the report seems to be true, while the larger part is not true," i replied. "you know, and the chief should know, that i have no legal right to make arrests, and therefore, i have made no arrest, nor have i caused any to be made within the city of st. louis, but i did recover a large quantity of stolen goods last night and early this morning. i have delivered them to the owner." "where is erfert now?" he asked. i replied, "i do not know where erfert is at the present time. why do you want to know this?" "because the chief instructed me to come down here and get him, and bring him to headquarters at once," he said. "have you any charges against him at headquarters?" i asked. "i don't know," he replied. "all i know is that the chief sent me down here to get him and bring him to headquarters." i said, "i do not know whether there will be any charges preferred against erfert or not. his employer seems inclined to sympathize with him and more especially with his family. i do not believe that he cares to have him prosecuted for these thefts. i expect erfert to call at my office some time during the forenoon, and i am looking for mr. bolland here at any moment. when erfert comes i will tell him that the chief wants to see him." the detective said, "no, you need not do that. i will wait here and when he comes i will take him up with me." i turned to him and said slowly, "if erfert calls at this office while you are here, and if you have a warrant for his arrest, charging him with any crime, you may take him to headquarters; but, unless you have a warrant, i will not permit you to take him out of this office. i think, perhaps, you had better go and communicate this to the chief." this city detective and myself had been friends for a number of years prior to this occurrence, and i must say that i did not like the idea of him coming to my office and attempting to have me admit to him that i had violated the law by having unlawfully detained a citizen, thereby laying myself liable to prosecution. however, not having violated the law, i felt perfectly safe. i knew that the chief was over-anxious to make me trouble as he had made others in my line of business in the past. the detective left my office and went to report to his chief. in the meantime mr. bolland came to my office and i told him of the visit of the city detective and what had been said. mr. bolland said that he did not care to prosecute erfert; in fact, preferred not to do so, but, as the police had the right to prosecute the case, he was really undecided as to what was the best course to pursue. i advised mr. bolland to quietly take erfert up to police headquarters and tell the chief what he had said to me, as it occurred to me in all probability the chief would insist on having erfert prosecuted. mr. bolland accompanied erfert to police headquarters, where the chief and the detective who had called at my office took charge of him and put him through a series of questions, which were principally concerning what furlong had done. they tried to make him say that furlong had arrested him and forced him to make a confession of the thefts, and erfert afterwards told me that they never did ask him whether or not he was guilty of having robbed his employer. they bent their efforts to try and make a criminal case against me, and had gone so far as to prepare a statement, which they urged erfert to sign, declaiming that i had violated the law, instead of erfert, by having arrested him and then forcing him to make the statement admitting his guilt, all of which would have been a violation of the law on my part. erfert refused to sign this statement on the ground that it was untrue. i will state right here that the foregoing is a sample of how criminal cases were handled at police headquarters about that time. however, all these efforts were in vain, as erfert truthfully replied to every one of their questions. he told them that i had explained to him in the beginning of our interview that i had no legal right to arrest him, and that i had advised him that it was optional with him whether or not he returned the stolen goods, but that if he did not stay with me and help me that it would be my duty to turn him over to the police, and he then would be written up in the newspapers and would get a lot of undesirable notoriety that he wished to avoid. the chief became very much exasperated with erfert's statement, by which he could make no case against me. however, he later made a complaint himself against me, charging me with running a private detective agency without a license from the police board. he had a warrant issued for my arrest. i waived a hearing, and in due time my trial was called before judge murphy. i was placed on the witness stand and asked if i was engaged in the detective business in st. louis. i replied that i was. i was then asked if i had a license from the board of police commissioners. i answered that i had not and had never applied for one. i was then asked by what authority i was conducting my business. i stated that i was conducting my business by the authority of a charter from the state of missouri. i was asked to produce the articles of incorporation. i did, and after the judge had carefully read them and had examined my charter, he dismissed the case and assessed the cost of court on the complainant. the chief of police insisted on a prosecution in the erfert case. erfert was out on bond, and in due time appeared in court, pleaded guilty and received a minimum sentence, which, if i remember correctly was two years in the penitentiary. i understand that he was a model prisoner and was released under the two-third rule. the stolen property that had been recovered amounted to several thousand dollars. i have learned that since erfert was released from prison he has been leading an exemplary life and is respected in the neighborhood where he resides. his confederate was a mere boy and was not prosecuted, it being understood that he had simply been a tool for erfert, and he had not been concerned in many of the numerous thefts. battle with would-be bandits. hold-up of a missouri pacific train frustrated--james west, engineer, and eli stubblefield, ex-conductor, caught with the goods on them. with the assistance of joseph s. manning, of my st. louis office, and three special agents regularly in the employ of the missouri pacific railroad, i prevented the holding up of a passenger train on the lexington branch near sedalia, on the night of november , . this was only done after quite a revolver battle between my posse and the robbers, resulting in the wounding of one of the latter. a few days before the attempted train robbery occurred, horace g. clark, then general superintendent of the missouri pacific, with headquarters at st. louis, summoned me to his office. on arriving there mr. clark told me that a former employee of the company, who resided at sedalia, had just informed him that a plot had been formed by six railroad men, including himself, james west and eli stubblefield, to hold up and rob one of the company's trains at some point near sedalia, missouri. the exact date and point had not been definitely fixed, but the informant was to furnish a team and conveyance with which to take the would-be train robbers to the point at which the holdup was to be made, and after they had succeeded in robbing the train he was to take them back to the city of sedalia. he further informed mr. clark that when the date and point of attack had been settled on he would at once advise him, as he, the informant, had only agreed to furnish the conveyance and assist in the robbery so that he might have the guilty parties caught and handed over to the officers of the law. i listened to the foregoing statement and called mr. clark's attention to the fact that i never placed much credence in the information given by any man who would deliberately enter into a scheme of this kind with his former comrades. mr. clark replied that he had known his informant, who was an ex-engineer named adams, as a faithful employee of the road for a number of years, and he was in good standing with the company. adams had met with a serious accident, having lost one of his arms while in the company's service, and since the accident he had engaged in a legitimate business in which he had succeeded and had accumulated considerable property within a few years. i had known mr. clark for a number of years, and had done considerable business with him while i was chief special agent for the missouri pacific road, with which company he also held an official position. it was on account of our close friendship that mr. clark had sent for me, for at this time i had severed my connection with the missouri pacific road and was conducting a secret service company in st. louis. mr. clark said to me, "furlong, just as soon as the time and place for this holdup has been fixed i will notify you and i want you to take measures to prevent that train from being robbed, and catch the guilty parties." early on the morning of nov. rd, i received a message from mr. clark, stating that he had just learned from adams that the passenger train on the lexington branch was to be held up and robbed that night, at a point nine miles north of sedalia, and instructing me to take immediate steps to protect the train and prevent the robbery. mr. clark placed w. w. kay, his special agent, at my disposal, and, on consulting the official time card of the missouri pacific road, i found that in order to protect the lexington branch train against the contemplated robbery, i must leave st. louis at : that morning, so that i might board the endangered train at independence junction, missouri, that evening, as that train was due to leave kansas city on its east bound trip before the one i was obliged to take from st. louis arrived at kansas city. i found that if both trains were on time i would have three minutes at independence to make connections, and i succeeded by hustling--to use a western expression. i only had time to catch the train from st. louis, and barely time to get word to my assistant superintendent, j. s. manning, who accompanied kay and myself to independence, where we boarded the threatened train. i told the conductor in charge of the train of the instructions i had received from general superintendent clark, and instructed him that when the train was flagged and stopped not to pay any attention to the parties who attempted to stop the train, but to devote his whole time to keeping his passengers quiet and to keep them in their seats in the cars, and to see that none of them raised a window and put their heads out. i then went over to the engineer and told him what was liable to happen, and told him that when we arrived at a certain curve, at which the information indicated we were to be flagged, and he saw the signal, which would be a red light shown across the track, he should stop the train immediately, and by all means he must not run beyond the danger signal. i told him that after he had stopped the train he and his fireman could squat down on what is known as the hearth of the engine, in front of the boiler, where they would both be entirely safe, and could not be reached by bullets fired from the ground, as the sides of the cab, up as far as the window sills, were steel, and by stooping down below the level of the window sills both of them would be perfectly safe from any shots that might be fired. the engineer and fireman understood my instructions perfectly, but i noticed that the engineer, who was a big, husky, middle-aged man, acted as though he was an arrant coward. when we arrived at the first station north of the curve, which was about two miles, i placed mr. manning on the front platform of the express and baggage car immediately behind the engine. he was armed with a . colts. detective frank barnett, of the missouri pacific, with headquarters at ossowattomie, kansas, and whose home was at sedalia, and who had joined my party at independence, was placed on the rear end of the express car, armed with a repeating winchester shot gun. i boarded the engine and took a seat on the engine box. i placed mr. kay on the fireman's box on the opposite side of the engine. the fireman gave kay his cap to wear and i had the engineer's cap on, so that any person on the ground, it being after dark, would naturally suppose that i was the engineer and kay the fireman. the real engineer and fireman stood on the hearth in front of the boilerhead. they could attend to their duties standing where they were as well as though they were seated on their respective boxes. we proceeded south from the last station in this order. when we reached the curve, i being on the inside of the curve, saw the signal first. it proved afterwards to be a white lantern with a red handkerchief tied over it, which gave it the appearance of a real danger signal. it was swung back and forth across the track, vigorously. i called the engineer's attention to it, while we were at least two hundred yards away. we were running then at a speed of about thirty miles an hour. i told the engineer to slow up, get his train under control and by all means to be sure and come to a full stop before passing the signal. there was a slight grade to the curve, and although he shut off his steam, he did not apply the air-brakes, so that the train slackened its speed but very little. i saw that we were bound to pass the signal, and again commanded him to stop the train, but he seemed to be bent on passing that signal. it appeared that he was too frightened to think of the air-brakes at all. whereupon, i threw on the reverse lever myself, or "plugged the engine" as the engineer would say, which caused the wheels to slip, although they did not hold to the rails or stop the speed of the train but slowly. meanwhile the party who was swinging the signal light stood in the middle of the track until the train was almost on top of him; in fact, i thought he was going to be run down, but he did manage to leap from the track just in time to save himself. he jumped to the left hand side, which was the opposite side of the engine to where i was stationed. when we passed him we were running at least fifteen miles an hour, and he immediately opened fire on the engine with what we afterwards learned to be a . colts revolver. he riddled the upper part of the cab with bullets. the moment the firing began i sprang from my side of the engine to the gang way on the opposite side. it did not take me an instant to get to that position. the gang way was just passing the fellow who was doing the shooting and i had time then to take but one shot at him. i knew that i hit him, for i saw him fall into the ditch. about the time the shooting began, another would-be robber was discovered on the right-of-way. he also began firing at the officers, sending a couple of shots at manning, who was on the front end of the express car, and both of which only missed manning's head by a margin of a few inches. on account of the grade the train did not come to a full stop until we had passed the place where the signal had been shown, probably a distance of fifteen hundred feet or three train lengths. i had instructed messrs. kay and manning and barnett that if any shooting occurred to open fire on any person they might see on the ground, knowing as i did that they would obey orders. i had also told the conductor to be sure and see that none of the passengers or his crew got on the ground, and for this reason we dare not leave the train until it came to a full stop. after we came to a stop kay, manning and myself got off of the train and started to the place where we expected to find the dead or wounded man whom i had shot and had seen fall into the ditch. after we had left the train the engineer began backing up, and nearly ran over us as the train was backing faster than we could either walk or run. at lexington, missouri, the train had picked up an extra coach, containing about twenty passengers, members of a local theatrical troupe bound for sedalia to give a performance there. they were what theatrical people would call "barn stormers." every one of them had a popgun of some sort with them, and they began shooting out of the car windows. when we reached the spot where i had seen the robber fall we found that he had disappeared. there had been a light fall of snow, probably two inches, on the day preceding the holdup, and the tracks of this man were plainly visible, and there was also a streak of blood about two inches in width, which led across the track from the east to the west to a road running north and south. the wounded man had taken this road, which led to sedalia. while we were trying to find the trail we saw another man attempting to get through a barbed wire fence, which was on the right-of-way of the railroad on the east. his clothing became fastened in the wire. he struggled, however, to extricate himself, and finally succeeded, just at the time that manning and i reached the place where the other man had fallen. we saw him as he was getting through the fence, and he started to run in an easterly direction through a large newly plowed field. to make matters worse the ground was covered with snow. discovering that our wounded man was gone, and spying the other one running across the field, we gave pursuit. manning succeeded in jumping over the fence, but i thought i could get through where the robber had, believing that he had sprung the wires and it would be easy, but i also got caught on the barbs and it was only with difficulty that i finally released myself. by this time manning had got quite a lead, but soon, however, after getting away from that fence, i overtook him, and so it was a neck and neck race between us for at least yards. after leading us a merry chase for that distance, the robber fell, and we, having gained on him, were close to him when he fell, and we sprung upon and disarmed him. his hands and face were covered with blood. he lay on the ground moaning, and we believed that he was badly wounded. there was every possibility of his being seriously hurt, because several shots had been fired at him by manning and myself during our chase across the field. the "barn stormers" had taken the matter as a general jubilee, and had begun firing at friend and foe alike. they all had shooting irons of some sort and threw open their windows and began firing as soon as we began to pursue the robber. even the express messenger, who knew that manning and myself were running across that field, opened fire with a winchester rifle from his car. just before the robber fell, a bullet, which had evidently been fired by the express messenger, struck the handle of the revolver that mr. manning was carrying in his right hand, splintering the handle and nearly paralyzing his hand and arm with the concussion. if the bullet had hit manning's hand it would have ruined it forever. just as manning and myself had grabbed and disarmed the fallen man, detective barnett reached us, and jerking the handkerchief, which had been used as a mask, from the would-be robber's face, exclaimed, "why, hello, jim." we all knew then that we had captured west, whom we had known to be in the conspiracy. "is that you, frank?" exclaimed west, after which he feigned unconsciousness. west was at that time in the employ of the missouri pacific, with a run out of sedalia, where he had resided for a number of years. he had been at one time superintendent of a sunday school, and stood well in the estimation of the business men of that town. he also had a reputation among persons who knew him better than the church people, as being a fairly good poker player, and exceedingly fond of the game. manning, barnett and myself were finally joined by the conductor and members of the train crew, and we succeeded in carrying west back to the train. he appeared to be unable to walk, so we had to carry him. we laid him down in the express car, examined him for wounds and found that he had not been shot, but he had severed some small blood vessels on his wrist while struggling to get through the fence and had smeared his face and clothing with blood from these wounds. he shammed being drunk, but he was not at all under the influence of liquor. thinking that the wounded man could be found later, and not wishing to delay the train any longer, we boarded the train and were soon in sedalia. i was personally acquainted with eli stubblefield, and being pretty sure he was the man i had wounded, when we arrived in sedalia i sent manning and detective john jackson, of the sedalia police department, out to watch his brother's house, where he made his home, in the hopes that they could intercept and arrest him. frank barnett and myself secured an engine at sedalia and returned to the scene of the attempted hold-up. picking up the trail of the wounded man, from his tracks and the blood in the snow, we followed it out to the main road and on towards sedalia. we came to a house occupied by a negro family, which stood near the road. there the negroes told us that just after they had heard the shooting a tall slender man, about middle aged, had stopped in front of their house, coming from the north, and was going south, and yelled to the occupants, stating that he had been hurt and would give them ten dollars if they would hitch up and drive him to sedalia. they told him that they could not get a horse at that time of night. he departed for sedalia holding his right arm, and leaving a trail of blood along his tracks. satisfying ourselves that stubblefield was sure to show up at sedalia, barnett and myself abandoned the hunt, returned to our engine and were again soon in sedalia. we were right in believing stubblefield would soon show up in sedalia, for about two or three hours later the wounded man, who sure enough proved to be eli stubblefield, turned up in sedalia and near his home, where he was captured by manning and the sedalia police officer, who were waiting for him, according to my instructions. he was taken to the county jail, where west had been incarcerated, and physicians called to dress his wound. it was then learned that i had shot him in the right arm, the ball entering and breaking the bones at the elbow. the wound soon healed, but stubblefield never had the use of the arm again, it always hanging limp at his side. early the next morning west was released on a bond signed by a couple of prominent and wealthy sedalia business men, but later in the day, on learning all the facts in the case, the bondsmen surrendered him to the sheriff and he was again locked up, where he remained until his trial. adams, the informant, stated to me the following morning, that at the last moment the other four who had promised to join in the robbery, had weakened, using his expression, and therefore stubblefield and west were the only two he had to take out, and that after the firing had commenced he did not wait for them, but hastily drove his rig back to sedalia. in due time both stubblefield and west were tried and convicted of the attempted holdup, and sent to the penitentiary, if my recollection serves me right, for ten years each. they have served their time out, and, i believe, are at large at the present time. we found two six-shooters in the possession of west, and also two revolvers in the possession of stubblefield. stubblefield was well known as a freight train conductor, and was in the service of the missouri, kansas & texas railroad company, popularly known as the "katy." west had always been an engineer and had been in charge of a freight engine on the missouri pacific for a number of years. the others who had promised to participate in the train robbery were all ex-employees of some railroad with the exception of one, who was a butcher. i withhold the names of the other four, as they did not appear on the ground nor participate in the robbery, and were not arrested or tried in connection with the crime. i will state here for the benefit of the reader that adams, the informant, had been in the employ of the missouri pacific railroad company for a number of years as a locomotive engineer, had a good record with the company and stood well in the community where he resided, as a sober, reliable and intelligent man, and a good citizen. while oiling around his engine one day at a station the throttle began leaking, thereby admitting steam to the cylinders, which caused the engine to move suddenly while his arm was extended through the spokes of the drive-wheels. the sudden movement of the engine tore his arm from the shoulder and thus terminated his career as a locomotive engineer. the railroad company settled with adams for the loss of his arm without a suit, paying him quite a sum of money. it was with this money that he began business in sedalia as a money lender. west and stubblefield were among his clients, each owing him quite a sum. it was while talking with them about their indebtedness to him that west and stubblefield first approached the subject of robbing the train to adams. "we will have plenty of money to pay you all that we owe you in a few days," said one of them to adams, and then they asked him to join them in pulling off the job, which he agreed to do for the reason before stated. the great pittsburg strike. thrilling scenes during the riots--attack on the state militia--sensational arrest of one of the riot leaders. in july, , during the railroad strike on the pennsylvania railroad, at pittsburg, pa., a riot was in progress on sunday, the st, which had started on the day previous. the rioters were led by the loosest characters in and about pittsburg. a great many of them were rolling-mill employes and miners from mines and mills adjacent to pittsburg, who were in sympathy with the railway employes, who had gone out upon a strike on all the lines operated by the pennsylvania company. all of these lines were tied up. not a car or locomotive had been moved for several days prior to the breaking out of the riot. the police force of pittsburg was disorganized, many of them being in sympathy with the strikers. the railroad company's officers then applied to the sheriff of allegheny county. the sheriff being unable to cope with the rioters or to protect the company's property, called up gov. harttranft, then governor of pennsylvania. the state militia of pennsylvania was ordered to pittsburg and placed under the command of gen. nagley. many of the militia were in sympathy with the strikers and laid down their arms and joined the rioters, whereupon the governor ordered re-enforcements from philadelphia. the re-enforcements consisted of two regiments, the first and second regiments of state militia. they arrived in pittsburg on saturday afternoon, july , from philadelphia, and were in charge of brig. gen. brinton. these men left the passenger coaches at union station at pittsburg, and were marched north to the railroad yards, which were full of freight and passenger cars, up to th street. at th street there was a mob from eight to ten thousand men, armed with guns, pistols and clubs, who closed in on the philadelphia troops, opening fire upon them and disarming a number of them with their overwhelming force. these troops displayed great coolness and nerve under the circumstances, but the numbers were so overwhelming against them that they were forced to take refuge in the pennsylvania railroad company's roundhouse at th street. here they held the position until a late hour saturday night. in the meantime the rioters had found a number of carloads of crude petroleum oil, which were on a side track north of the company's roundhouse, where the soldiers had taken refuge. the roundhouse being on a lower spot of ground than the main grade of the yards, the track where these cars were standing formed a down grade, running directly into the roundhouse. the mob released the brakes on two of the cars filled with oil, there being a number among them who knew just how to operate the cars and switches. these cars were turned loose down the grade, were set on fire, and ran into the roundhouse, where the oil exploded, thereby setting fire to the roundhouse, and the troops who had taken refuge there were compelled to flee for their lives, although they retreated in fairly good order. their line of retreat was through a portion of pittsburg then known as pipe town. the troops were assaulted from windows and roofs of houses with bricks, guns and pistols. many of them were maimed and wounded. thus they found their way to the sharpsburg bridge, which crossed the allegheny river north of pittsburg. the remainder of the philadelphia troops formed a camp on the hills just outside of sharpsburg, on sunday morning, where they remained until a sufficient number of re-enforcements had assembled in pittsburg to control the situation, when the philadelphians were again ordered back to pittsburg. here they remained with the other troops until the trouble was over. in the meantime, on saturday night, after the annihilation of the philadelphia troops, the rioters went through the business portion of pittsburg, breaking into hardware stores, pawnshops and in fact any other establishment they were liable to find firearms or ammunition. a reign of terror existed in pittsburg from the fatal saturday until late sunday evening. during the forenoon of sunday the rioters turned their attention to the other cars in the railroad yards. the writer saw men and women breaking into cars, and in many instances saw them leaving the yards; some instances they would have a bolt of silk, fine laces, or other fine dress goods in their arms, with possibly a ham or side of bacon on top. they, being heavily laden with this loot, would attempt to climb the abrupt bluffs which bordered the railroad yards on the east side, would lose their foothold on the steep bluffs and come tumbling down, and women and men, bacon and silk, would be found in a heap at the bottom. about ten o'clock on sunday morning the mob found a carload of tinware in the yards, and about the same time they also discovered two carloads of liquor nearby. they at once captured all of the tin cups and other vessels that would hold liquor from the carload of tinware. they also dumped out the barrels of liquor on the ground, turned the head up and used coupling links to knock the head out of the barrels. they then helped themselves to the liquor with the tin vessels which they had taken from the carload. the liquor consisted of brandy, whiskey and other strong liquors. having been engaged in rioting the night before, probably not having stopped long enough to get any breakfast, they drank this liquor like thirsty people, and were soon overcome with the effects of it. in a short space of time the more violent of the mob fell by the wayside, stupefied with the overdose of liquor. the citizens learning of the general drunk, got together all sorts of wagons, carts, and other vehicles that could be found and commenced to gather up these drunken people, who were utterly helpless, and conveyed them to the jail and lock-ups. these places were filled with them in a short time. in fact, this was the first and only time in which the excessive use of strong drink was instrumental in quieting one of the most desperate and destructive riots ever engaged in in pittsburg, or any other city. at about eleven o'clock on sunday morning, a man by the name of james boyd, who hailed from mansfield, pa., which is a small place about seven miles from pittsburg, at which place his father kept a hotel, or what was called in those days, a tavern (james boyd had been in pittsburg a short time prior to the time of the railroad strike, working as a barkeeper for charlie duchon, whose place of business was directly across from the union station at pittsburg), with a number of others was seen by the writer to roll a barrel of refined petroleum oil into the waiting room of the union station. there he turned the barrel up on end and knocked out the head, then turned the barrel down again, letting the oil run all over the floor of the waiting room. he then took a handful of waste that he had secured from one of the engines, set fire to it and threw it into the oil on the floor, which ignited instantly, enveloping the entire inside of the union station in flames. the writer witnessed this, and the direction taken by mr. boyd. that evening boyd, with others, set fire to a large grain elevator, which was situated just south of the union station at that time. the roundhouse and general offices of what was known as the pan handle railroad were also burned in the same manner. all this occurred on sunday and before the carloads of tinware and liquor had been discovered and the general drunk had occurred. boyd left pittsburg sunday evening, after the citizens had summoned courage and had begun to gather up the drunken rioters, as before mentioned. he hurried to mansfield to his father's house. the writer quietly followed him to mansfield, and after locating him at that place returned to pittsburg. after things had quieted down, and martial law was being rigidly enforced, the following wednesday i went to a livery stable where i hired a pair of horses and a light spring wagon, with top and side curtains, which would readily be taken for a country man's huckster wagon, with a seat in front, and also a seat in the middle of the wagon. the side curtains were drawn down. i called upon sol. colson, who was a roundsman, or what is now called a sergeant of police. he was big, strong and courageous. i told him that i had boyd located, and proposed to go down to mansfield and arrest him on a charge of arson, as i had witnessed his actions on the sunday previous. i will say here that at that time i was special agent for the allegheny valley railroad, which is now a part of the pennsylvania system, as it was at that time, but operated separately from the other pennsylvania lines. i also told colson that many of the parties who had taken part in the riots belong in and around mansfield (which is now known as carnegie) and that they would, doubtless, be making their headquarters at the boyd hotel. whereupon colson said that he would be glad to go with me to assist in the arrest, but that we ought to have another man with us, and he suggested a policeman by the name of john moran. we found moran. both colson and moran were dressed in citizens' clothes. we placed moran on the rear seat of the vehicle, colson occupying the front seat with me, and i did the driving. it was raining when we left pittsburg, it being about eleven o'clock on wednesday. we drove down to mansfield, a distance of seven miles, and located on the bank of a creek. in going from pittsburg to mansfield the ground is rolling and hilly, and near mansfield we came to the top of a hill, which is at least a mile long and quite a steep grade from the top of this hill all the way into mansfield. the road being fairly straight, we could see a large crowd of men assembled in front of and near the boyd tavern. as we neared the crowd i recognized many whom i had seen rioting in pittsburg on the saturday and sunday before. they were apparently prolonging the spree that they had begun in that city, whooping, hollering, wrestling and fighting. they were a motley crowd, and in fact what might be called a dangerous looking crowd. we drove up to within a hundred feet of the front of the boyd tavern. right here i want to say that moran, the patrolman we had brought with us, was not occupying the rear seat in the wagon. he had been on duty continuously since the beginning of the trouble, and was without doubt much fatigued. when we had gotten almost to mansfield i heard a thud in the rear of the wagon. turning around i noticed that moran had gotten down from the seat he had been occupying and was lying on the bottom of the wagon. colson thought that he was exhausted and had fallen from the seat. i went to arouse him, and to my surprise found a pint bottle which had been filled with whiskey. moran had this bottle of whiskey with him and had doubtlessly drank copiously of the contents. he was dead drunk, but on account of our close proximity to mansfield at the time of this discovery, it was too late for either colson or myself to change our plans, so we drove up to the place before mentioned, and leaving colson, after turning the team around and facing them towards pittsburg, i went into the boyd tavern to reconnoiter. in the barroom i found men standing at the bar three and four deep, and trying to elbow up to get drinks. old man boyd (jim's father), jim himself and two other barkeepers, sleeves rolled up and perspiring--you will remember this was in july--were serving cheap whiskey as rapidly as possible. i elbowed my way up to one corner of the bar where jim boyd was working. i caught his eye and said to him in an undertone that i had a friend in my wagon just outside in front of the house, who had been suddenly stricken with the cramp colic, and asked him if he would kindly fix me up a good big drink of brandy and jamaica ginger, and that i would appreciate it very much if he would. i handed him a two dollar note, telling him to keep the change. he placed the two dollar note in his white vest pocket and good naturedly said, "i will fix something warm and bring it out right away." he fixed up a drink, and in the meantime i went back to the wagon, and as the curtains were all buttoned down, of course moran was out of sight. returning to the wagon i hurriedly told colson that when this man came out with the drink i would be busily engaged fixing the harness and i would tell him (boyd) that the sick friend was in the wagon. when boyd came out i told him to hand the drink to colson. colson told him our friend was in the bottom of the wagon, whereupon boyd raised himself up on the front wheel to see the sufferer. colson caught him by the collar, and i boosted him by the heels into the wagon at the same time. colson released his hold on the reins and i had hard work to grab the front end of the wagon, but somehow managed to land on the front seat. colson had dragged boyd into the wagon box and was holding him down on top of moran, who was still soundly sleeping. colson had fallen into the wagon with boyd and he let the reins go down between the horses. by the time i got on the wagon the horses were running away at full speed towards pittsburg right through the crowd that was standing around the tavern. in the meantime, the drunken rioters on the outside, thinking the team was running away, started in pursuit. it was all the way uphill, therefore i had but very little trouble slowing the team down to a natural pace, as they soon became winded. as the team started old man boyd and some of the soberer spectators had noticed boyd being pulled into the wagon, and immediately procured horses and started in pursuit. our team being winded on account of the steep grade, the men on horseback were gaining on us rapidly. all this time colson was holding boyd down on top of moran, and boyd was making a desperate fight. he was a wiry young fellow, although no match for colson. however, it was just about all colson could do to keep him in the wagon. the writer had to do the driving and look after the team, and was not prepared to engage with the pursuers, who were armed with pistols and guns, but fortunately, by the time we had reached the grade, half a mile up the hill, one of those terrible pennsylvania thunder showers burst forth with wind and rain, and it struck us fair in the face; in fact, with such force that our horses stopped and would hardly go against the storm. of course, when this storm struck us it also struck our pursuers, compelling them to go back. the result was that we arrived in pittsburg in due time with our prisoner and lodged him in jail. moran had never once become cognizant of what had happened, and was still in oblivion when colson and i delivered him to his wife in pittsburg. colson was moran's superior in rank, but in view of the fact that moran had always been faithful, and was overcome by fatigue through overwork during the several days and nights preceding the occurrence just related, did not prefer charges against him. moran sobered up and did many years of good service on the police force afterwards. this, i think, was one of the most exciting arrests i ever participated in. boyd was tried in the courts of pittsburg in due time, and was sentenced to the penitentiary for fourteen years. the pennsylvania railroad company brought suit against the county of allegheny and the city of pittsburg for damages to their property sustained during the riots in pittsburg. this case was later tried in beaver county, pa., and the railroad company was awarded a judgment against the county of allegheny and the city of pittsburg for $ , , damages. the railroad company, needing ready cash at the time, sold this judgment of two million dollars to a syndicate, which consisted of wm. h. thaw, of pittsburg, and nine other representative men of pittsburg for $ , , ready cash. the city of pittsburg and county of allegheny then issued bonds for the two million dollar judgment. these bonds were to mature in twenty years, with legal interest payable annually, so that the purchaser of these bonds made four hundred thousand dollars net on the purchase, as well as the interest on the bonds, all of which has long since been payed by the tax payers of the county of allegheny and the city of pittsburg. murder of conductor frazier. a terrier beats a pack of blood hounds on a man trail--arrest and conviction of a pair of really bad texans for the crime. in an attempt was made by two masked men to hold up a passenger train on the international & great northern railroad, at a point south of overton, texas. it was in the month of february and about midnight, and the weather was quite cold, and the ground covered with about two inches of snow and sleet in the vicinity of overton. the train, bound south from longview to galveston and san antonio on that night, was in charge of conductor frazier. when this train was about to pull out of the small station of overton, the colored porter, whose duty it was to see that no tramps or other intruders boarded the train when leaving stations, noticed two men climb upon what is known as the blind end of the baggage car, from the north side, and the opposite side of the train from the station. the porter, upon seeing the men, boarded the baggage car at its rear end, and, as the baggage cars of that period all had doors at each end, he entered the car by the rear door and opened the front door from the inside, he having a key. the train had not got fully under headway as yet. he peered out and ordered the tramps, as he supposed them to be, to get off the train; whereupon the men, who were on the front platform of the car turned upon him, each of them holding two large colt revolvers. he then noticed that they were wearing masks, and it is needless to say that he was frightened. slamming the door shut, he fastened it and rushed back into the car where he met conductor frazier, and informed him that there were two tramps on the front end of the baggage car, whom he had ordered off, but that they had refused to leave and had pointed guns at him. he did not tell the conductor that the men were wearing masks. the conductor, believing them to be merely tramps who had gotten onto the car for the purpose of stealing a ride, and the night being very cold for that section of the country, he concluded that he would go and bring these men into the smoking car, carry them to the next station and there put them off. they would be more comfortable in the smoking car than out on the front platform. he went to the front end of the car, accompanied by a brakeman by the name of powers. frazier opened the front door, and the men on the outside immediately opened fire on him. he fell forward dead, and his body rolled off the train into the ditch. they now caught sight of powers, the brakeman, who was behind the conductor, but as soon as the firing commenced he (powers) turned to run back into the coaches. they shot him in the body, wounding him seriously. the affair was promptly reported by telegram to the vice-president and general manager, mr. hoxie, whose headquarters were in st. louis, mo. on receipt of this report mr. hoxie notified me at once, instructing me to proceed upon the first train to overton, and investigate the case. i left st. louis early the morning following the hold-up, arriving at overton eighteen hours later. here i learned, in addition to the facts before mentioned, that there was a north bound passenger train from galveston that night. there was a water tank about three miles south of overton. this north bound train was to meet and pass conductor frazier's train at the water tank, and the masked men, who later proved to be john knight and john price, intended to steal a ride on the south bound train to the water tank, and there to board the north bound train from galveston, hold it up and rob it between the water tank and overton, but owing to the fact that they had been discovered on the south bound train as it was pulling out of overton, and that they had shot and killed conductor frazier and wounded powers, they left the train, and, taking a circuitous route, made their way back to their homes in the little town of overton. owing to the coating of snow on the ground they were easily traced to overton. of course, when they reached the main street their tracks were lost among the numerous other tracks there. having learned all this i concluded that these men were residents of overton and not tramps. i therefore went on with my investigation, which consumed about two days of my time. in the meantime, as soon as it became known that conductor frazier had been murdered, a special train was sent from marshall, texas, to overton with a pack of bloodhounds, which were owned and kept by the texas and pacific railroad company, and were in charge of a man by the name of mundon, who accompanied the dogs everywhere they went. mundon had a posse of several men with him, and at overton their numbers were augmented by the citizens of that place. the dogs were taken to the spot where the masked men had left the train, which was about a mile and one-half south of overton. here the dogs went upon the tracks and followed them, in a circuitous route, to overton, where the dogs became more or less confused by the large number of tracks they found on the street. however, there was one old dog in the pack called lee. lee finally scented a track in the street, began bellowing, and continued until he arrived at a high picket fence which surrounded the home of john price. the dogs were being followed by a large crowd, and when the dogs arrived at the fence, which was too high for them to jump over, old lee kept up his howling until mundon silenced him. the dogs were then taken back to the spot at which lee had scented the first track that led him to the home of price, where, after a lot of barking and capering on the part of the dogs, old lee scented another track which he followed to the house of john knight. knight and price were brothers-in-law, and both of them were among the crowd who were following the dogs, and by reason of their presence the crowd burst into jeers and laughter when the dogs led them to the houses mentioned. again the dogs were taken away and put on other tracks, which led out into the country. while this was being done and the dogs were being followed over the country by nearly every man and boy in overton, i was quietly making the investigations, the result of which i have told before. i really feared that the dogs were liable to locate some poor unfortunate, but innocent person, who would be more than likely to be subjected by the mob to violent treatment. so i went to palestine, which is a division and headquarters of the international and great northern railroad. palestine is about forty miles south of overton. here i found the colored porter, who was a light and rather handsome mulatto. he wore short sideburns and a mustache, of which he took great care. he had previously stated that he would be able to pick out the men whom he had seen board the train at overton, and who had killed frazier, on sight, providing they were wearing the same clothing that they had worn on the night of the tragedy. meanwhile, i had telegraphed to st. louis for mike mccabe, one of my men, and mccabe had arrived at palestine on the same train that i was on. i took the porter, whose name was davis, to a colored barbershop in palestine where i had the barber shave off his sideburns and elegant mustache, to which davis protested vigorously. i then had davis don the suit of a common field hand and a soft hat such as are usually worn by colored field hands in that section. after i had gotten davis shaved and decked up in his new outfit, the change in his appearance was so great that i am satisfied his own mother would not have recognized him. i then placed him in charge of my man mccabe, who was unknown in that part of the country. i instructed mccabe to take the first train the following morning for palestine to the water tank before mentioned, near overton, and there davis and himself were to leave the train and walk from there into overton, and there to go around the town and look carefully over every person that came in contact with them. in case davis could recognize one or both of them he was to quietly inform mccabe and mccabe was to report to me at once. this program was carried out. in the meantime, i had arrived at overton before mccabe and davis and watched and waited for developments from them. a short time after mccabe and davis arrived they were passing a blacksmith shop when davis, the colored man, noticed and recognized john price, who was in the blacksmith shop, had on an apron and was shoeing a horse at the time. davis instantly recognized him as one of the men, from the opposite side of the street. it was then near noon, and the bloodhounds and the mob following them were seen coming down the hill into town, evidently for their dinner. davis caught sight of and recognized john knight among the front rank of the mob following the dogs. this fact mccabe promptly communicated to me. i then instructed mccabe to send davis back to palestine and to instruct him to await there for further orders from me. powers, the wounded brakeman, had been taken to the railroad hospital at ft. worth, texas, where he was supposed to be lingering between life and death from the wounds he had received. i had been informed that powers could also identify the men who had assailed him. as davis had identified knight and price, and his identification of them being corroborated by strong circumstances, i concluded to arrest price and knight and immediately take them to ft. worth, so that powers might have an opportunity of seeing them. i therefore telegraphed from overton to major jos. merron, general superintendent of the international & great northern railroad, and located at palestine. we had a cipher code. i requested maj. merron to send a special engine with a coach to overton that night and to arrive at about eleven o'clock, which would be after the citizens had retired. i also asked him to send my man mccabe to me with this special train. maj. merron replied that he would comply with my request and that he would come himself and bring another man with him if i desired. i asked him whom he proposed to bring. he wired back that he would bring chris. rogers, who at that time was city marshal of palestine, a position he had held for a number of years, and he was a terror to the evil doers of the community, having killed no less than seven or eight men during his term of office. i wired the major "o. k.," requesting him to instruct his engineer to approach the station at overton quietly and without ringing his bell or blowing his whistle. the train arrived at eleven o'clock, bearing maj. merron, chris. rogers and mccabe. i met them and we at once went to the house of john knight, where i rapped for admission. my knock was answered by john knight himself, whom we quickly seized. cautioning him to keep quiet, which he did, we then proceeded to the house of his brother-in-law, price. here we expected to have some trouble as price bore a very bad reputation, he having been mixed up in a number of shooting scrapes, and was considered by the people of overton "the bad man of the community." arriving at the price house i sent mccabe, who, by the way, was not a very large man, but thoroughly game, to the back of the house, while rogers and myself went to the front door, rapped for admission, and were promptly answered by a man's voice from within, asking who was there and what was wanted. i stated that we were officers of the law and had a warrant for his arrest. i omitted to say that i had obtained warrants for both price and knight, charging them with the murder of conductor frazier. price replied that if we were officers we might call in the morning, after he had his breakfast, and that if he felt like going with us he would do so, but that if he did not feel like going he would probably not go. price lived in a small, one-story cottage or shanty, and at one end of the sleeping room there was a large fire place, in which there was a large fire burning, which heated and at the same time illuminated the room. this fire place was built up against the outside of the house, and there was a crack extending along the chimney probably one-half inch wide. by looking through this crack, and by the light of the fire, a good view was to be had of the interior of the sleeping room. the bed was standing directly in front of the fire place and facing it. over the head of the bed was a shelf extending along the partition, and upon this shelf price kept a winchester rifle within his reach as he was lying in bed. when price made the above reply, i left rogers at the door and went to the crack near the chimney, where i got a view of the inside of the room, as above described. i saw price sitting up in bed with his winchester in his hand, and while he was still talking i went back to the door and hurriedly told rogers of conditions on the inside. whereupon rogers said, "price, your house is surrounded and you had better put that winchester you have in your hands back on the shelf. come to this door and open it at once or let your wife and babies come out before we set fire to the place and burn you out. you have been bluffing the people of overton, but you cannot bluff us. we are officers and if you come to the door and surrender we will protect you. if you do not we will get you, if we have to burn you out." his wife pleaded with him to open the door, which he did. we took our prisoners to the special car and immediately started for fort worth, arriving there late that evening. we went to the railroad hospital, where i arranged with the surgeon in charge to have powers brought out of his room, which was small, and placed in a larger room. we then had a party of probably twenty-five or thirty railroad men, and other men who lived near the hospital, file into the room and form a semicircle around powers' cot. he was placed so that by merely turning his head he could have a good view of the people who were lined up in single file, forming the circle before described. knight was standing in the circle near one end of the line and price was stationed in the line about midway between the center and the other end of the line. their dress and general appearance was very similar to many of the others present. after everything was arranged the doctor in charge told powers to look over the line and see if he could recognize any persons there. powers at once pointed his finger at price and said, "that is one of the men who was on that train." he then turned his head and looked along the line, and without hesitation pointed to knight, saying, "there's the other." we then took knight and price to tyler, texas, where they were both locked up in default of bail, to await their trials on the charge of murder. the knights were an old respected family of russ county, texas, and price had married john knight's sister a few years before the occurrence heretofore related. col. spivey, a prominent criminal attorney, was employed by the defense. the railroad company employed capt. jas. hogg and his law partner, john m. duncan, to assist in the prosecution. in due time the day of the trial arrived, circuit judge mccord presiding. the defendants demanded separate trials. col. spivey proposed to try knight first for the reason that it was generally understood that knight being the younger man of the two had been influenced by his brother-in-law, price, and also that he had always borne a good reputation prior to that time. knight's trial lasted about two days, when the jury returned a verdict of guilty of manslaughter. his punishment was fixed at ten years in state prison. his counsel immediately served notice that he would apply for a new trial, and also asked the continuance of price's trial until the next term of court. the continuance motion was granted and price was released on bail. while the question of price's bond was being arranged by the lawyer and the court, i, in company with master of transportation, wm. boyd, left the court room and walked out into the grounds in front of the courthouse, where we stood conversing for a few moments relative to the result of the knight case. i had noticed a rather singular looking young man who had been apparently following me almost continuously during the trial. he was a good sized man, probably thirty years of age, in his shirt sleeves, and was wearing an extra wide-brimmed texas hat, no collar, and had the appearance of being slightly under the influence of liquor, all through the trial. he promptly followed boyd and myself from the court house into the grounds, and appeared to be trying to hear our conversation. i noticed him so often that i had become accustomed to looking for him myself. i did not know him. he looked to me as if he were looking for trouble. after standing within a few feet of where boyd and myself were talking he approached us and said, in rather a gruff manner, "furlong, i know you, and i want to tell you all dat you will never convict john price, and i am mighty glad he is going out on a bond." i replied to him that it did not make any difference to me whether price was ever convicted or not; that i had only done my duty in causing his arrest and having him prosecuted; that the matter was now in the hands of the court and that whatever the court saw fit to do with mr. price would be satisfactory to me. he then said, "i was afraid that price would have to stay in jail until the next term of court. now that he is going to be let out on bail i intend to kill him before that time comes. he shot my brother some time ago, in a very cowardly manner and without any cause. my brother will die from the effects of the wound before long and i intend to kill him." i said to him, "if i were in your place i do not believe i would talk about what you intend to do, as you are liable to get into trouble." "well," he said, "i am just telling you this, and i don't propose to talk any more about it. i just want you all to know how i feel in the matter." as a matter of fact i felt greatly relieved when this man told me what he did, as i had feared that he contemplated making trouble for me. as he concluded his remarks he extended his hand to me, and as he was departing said, "watch out now, and remember what i have told you." about four or five weeks later price came out of his house. it was early in the morning, and he was standing on a platform, that extended from the rear of his house, washing his face. this platform stood about three feet above the surface of the ground, and a man who was under the platform crawled from his concealment and with a gun shot price through the head. he fell dead where he stood. a party was arrested for the shooting but there was no conviction, and up to the present time no one has been convicted for the shooting of price. after the arrest of knight and price, i returned to st. louis, mo., where i reported in person to mr. h. m. hoxie, vice-president and general manager of the gould system. when i entered mr. hoxie's office to make my report of the knight and price affair, the hon. john c. brown, then general solicitor of the gould railway system, was in his office, and he remained there by invitation to listen to my report of the case. at the conclusion of my report mr. hoxie turned to ex-governor brown and said, "governor, this is a remarkable case, and the only case that i know of where a terrier had beaten a pack of blood hounds on a man-trail." i, being irish, presumed that i was the terrier referred to by mr. hoxie, in his joking, but complimentary manner. all this occurred while i was chief special agent for the gould railway system. fight with a maniac. desperate encounter with a giant blacksmith, who had suddenly lost his mind and become violent. mr. hoffman, i believe his first name was john, was a blacksmith, and about thirty years old, six feet in height and weighed over two hundred pounds. he was a powerfully built man, quiet in demeanor and good natured. he was employed in the blacksmith shop of trax & cramer, which was the largest establishment of its kind in or about oil city, pennsylvania. they employed a large number of mechanics and their helpers. it was a very warm morning in july and the men were hard at work at the shop, when suddenly the big man, hoffman, attracted the attention of his companions by his actions. he was known to them as a sober man, and his sudden and strange conduct was a great surprise to all around him. he became violent without any apparent provocation, and all in a moment. he began throwing things, hammers, tongs, and large sized pieces of iron and steel, in fact anything he could get hold of, through the shop. his fellow workmen were unable to get to him. he began foaming at the mouth and making a noise like the muttering of thunder in the distance. in short, he had evidently become violently insane within a few moments. the city hall was situated on the opposite side of the street, and but a short distance north of the blacksmith shop. the messenger from the shop was sent, posthaste, for police assistance. i was the only officer there when the messenger arrived, and being the only one, i responded to the call. on reaching the shop i found hoffman occupying the building alone. he was standing near the center of the shop with a sledge hammer in one hand and a large piece of steel in the other, and apparently ready to attack any person that might appear within his range. the other occupants were all in the street and outside the door and out of his reach. a large crowd of passers-by had been attracted by the excitement, and were blocking the sidewalk in front of and near the place. on taking in the situation, as above described, i concluded that the only thing that could be done was to seize and overcome hoffman as soon as possible, so as to prevent him from injuring himself or others. the question then arose as to how this giant could be overcome and subdued without injury to any one. the bystanders were all anxious to see him captured, but there was none present that appeared willing to assist. i noticed at once that hoffman was watching the crowd and that his attention was in that direction, so i went around to the rear door and approached him from behind, being unobserved by him. i seized him around the waist and threw him down on the floor, but as he was like a rubber ball and strong as a lion, and perspiring as though he had been sprinkled with a hose, he soon squirmed himself out of my grasp and sprang to his feet. i again grabbed him by the legs and threw him to the floor. although i was strong and a pretty good wrestler, i found it easy enough to throw hoffman to the floor, but it was impossible to keep him there, he being so strong and active. he had scarcely any clothing on, and by reason of this and his perspiring so freely, he was as slippery as an eel, and i could not keep my hold on him. after i had thrown him down several times, which required every ounce of strength that i possessed, i found myself becoming exhausted, and finally in desperation i summoned all my strength and power and succeeded again in throwing him down, and this time i was fortunate enough to secure what the wrestlers would call the strangle hold, or neck grip, on him, thereby succeeding in shutting off his wind. i then yelled to the bystanders to help me, and finally a couple of them did. with their assistance i succeeded in holding him down until another bystander brought a coil of clothesline from a grocery store, which was directly across the street. i took the clothesline while the citizens, who had volunteered to assist me, were holding him, and commenced to wind it around his legs from his feet to his body, and then his arms, fastening them so that he could not move. i then procured a wheelbarrow, patrol wagons not being known then, and placed him in it and wheeled him from the shop to the lock-up, where he was examined and pronounced violently insane. in due time he was placed in a straight-jacket and taken in safety to the county institution for the insane at sugar creek, pennsylvania, where he died in a few months without having recovered his mind. this, i believe, was the most desperate and dangerous position i was ever called upon to face during my whole life. the reader should remember that the blacksmith was almost a hercules in stature and strength, and being insane his strength really had no bounds. decoying a bad man. barney sweeney "falls" for a bit of strategy, after killing his pal in a fake hold-up down in indian territory. the old indian territory, now the eastern portion of the state of oklahoma, was the scene, or stage, of many daring hold-ups and brutal murders, during the early days, but no crime committed there was surrounded with more mystery than the one of which i am going to relate the particulars. on the night of september th, , as a north-bound m. k. & t. passenger train was being moved out onto the main line from a siding about a mile north of vinita, two men climbed onto the front platform of the smoker. "chick" warner, the conductor, espied them and opened the door. before a word had been spoken, one of the men shot the conductor in the cheek with a small caliber revolver, making a painful and dangerous wound. the man who is said to have done the shooting, was then shot and instantly killed by his companion, his lifeless body falling across the platform of the car. the man who did the killing stepped from the train and walked back to vinita station, where he reported to the station agent, who also represented the express company, that the train had been held up by the famous james brothers and ed miller. he named others who had often been mentioned as members of the notorious james gang. he stated that this gang had been camping in the woods, or brush, on little cabin creek, about four miles to the north and east of the scene of the alleged hold-up. he had known them all personally before coming to the territory, having been born and raised in clay county, missouri, near the former home of the james boys. he also said that he was a cousin of the jameses. when the gang went into camp on little cabin creek, it was near to a farm where his sister lived, and where he was staying. they met him and had told him that they intended to hold up and rob, not only that train, but other trains on the "katy," and invited him to join them. he also told the express agent that he was an expert marksman with a revolver and rifle, and that he had been practicing shooting with his gang, and had beaten them all shooting at a target, and that he agreed to aid them in holding up the train near vinita for the purpose of causing their arrest and punishment later on. i was chief special agent of the gould system at that time, and the m. k. & t. was one of its leased properties. col. eddy, the general manager, wired me to go to vinita at once and investigate the affair, and instructing me further to prosecute all parties connected with the crime. i arrived in vinita the next day. i had no difficulty in establishing the identity of the man who had done the killing. his name was john b. (or barney) sweeney, formerly a resident of clay county, missouri, and whose reputation was all bad. [illustration: william (barney) sweeney. murderer, train robber and monumental liar who claimed kinship with the james boys.] i ascertained that during the afternoon preceding the affair sweeney had been at vinita, and while standing on the platform of the railroad station he, with others, had seen the special train bearing general manager eddy pass, south bound. the telegraph operator, of course, knew it was col. eddy's train and that the colonel was aboard, and had conveyed the news to the spectators. i learned that the man who had been killed was an unknown young man who had appeared at vinita but a few days before the trouble had occurred. he succeeded in making the acquaintance of a brother-in-law of sweeney's, who lived on a farm near the alleged camping place of the james gang on little cabin creek, and with whom sweeney was making his home. this brother-in-law needed help to work his corn field and employed the young man to go to work for him as a farm hand. the young man, who appeared to be a swede, or norwegian, and spoke but poor english, accompanied this man, whose name, i think, was powell, to his home and there met sweeney for the first time. i also learned that the latter had afterwards induced this unknown farm hand to accompany him and assist him in this attempted hold-up near vinita. sweeney had furnished the unknown with a little, light calibre, toy pistol, which was afterwards picked up near the scene of the killing. sweeney was a man about five feet seven inches tall, stout, stocky built, and about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, dark complexioned, dark small eyes, a luxurious head of black hair, a rather pretentious, long, dark mustache, and weighed about one hundred and seventy to eighty pounds. he was very quick and active in his motions, was a great braggart, and whenever occasion presented itself, never failed to tell people of his great marksmanship and how fearless he was. he was raised near missouri city, clay county, missouri, where his father owned a farm in what was known as the missouri river bottom. he had a sister, a young woman, who kept house for the father, his mother having died prior to the occurrence of which i write. sweeney's father bore the reputation of being an honest, hard-working man, while his son had the reputation in clay county of being a suspected horse thief, a notorious liar, absolutely unreliable and a treacherous coward. he had been arrested and tried for the murder of a reputable farmer of the neighborhood, who was shot and killed one evening while sitting on the porch of his home with his infant baby in his arms. the shot was fired from behind a thick hedge, from the opposite side of the road, and from a distance of perhaps seventy-five feet from where the farmer was sitting. sweeney was seen going towards the farmer's house a short time before the shooting had occurred. he had also been seen returning to his home from the same direction some time after the shooting. he was carrying a rifle. he was arrested and tried for the murder of the man, and it was proved at the trial that he had once threatened the life of the murdered farmer, who lived but a short distance from his father's place, but he was acquitted, there being no direct evidence of his guilt. however, a great many people of clay county believed then, as they do up to the present day, that "barney" sweeney, as he was familiarly called, had been the murderer of the farmer. a short time after this, by reason of his unpopularity, he left that part of clay county and went to live with his sister on little cabin creek. knowing the facts about sweeney's bad reputation, and after hearing the story he had told about the affair at vinita, i concluded to place him under arrest, charging him with having shot and seriously wounded conductor warner, as well as having murdered the man who he claimed was ed miller, or wilson, thinking, as i did, that i would surely be able to find out who this unknown man was. i knew that it was not ed miller, because i knew that he was dead, having been killed while attempting to rob a bank in a little town in minnesota. i also knew that at this time the james boys were not in or about the indian territory. frank james was living peaceably, as a good citizen, in tennessee. jesse, his brother, was also supposed to be somewhere in that vicinity. i knew where dick little, another member of the outfit, was making his home, and thus knew that sweeney was deliberately falsifying all the way through. to use stronger language, he was a deliberate liar. at the time of which i write, captain sam. sixkiller, a full-blooded cherokee indian, was the chief of the united states indian police, and lived at muskogee. this police force was maintained by the united states government, and consisted entirely of indians of good reputation, and it was their duty to patrol the indian territory. they were armed and mounted, and were there to protect the law-abiding indians and other residents and their property, especially from whiskey peddlers, of which there were a great many plying their nefarious trade, selling the indians cheap whiskey at exorbitant prices, which was strictly prohibited by the federal laws governing the indian territory. sixkiller and his force had all authority to arrest any person charged with a crime, on sight or on complaint. so after deciding to arrest sweeney, i wired from vinita to capt. sixkiller, at muskogee, requesting him to join me at vinita for the purpose of arresting this law-breaker, without mentioning sweeney's name. in a short time i received an answer from sixkiller's physician stating that sixkiller was confined to his bed with a severe attack of fever. upon receipt of this information, i reported to luke sixkiller, a brother of the chief, who lived at vinita, and who was a member of the united states indian police force. i requested luke to accompany me to where sweeney was living with his brother-in-law to arrest him. luke promptly told me that he would not dare arrest sweeney unless his brother, the chief, was present. "why," he said, "this man sweeney is a terror. he is a wonderful shot with either rifle or pistol, and it will take at least a half-dozen men, well armed, to capture him. he is a desperate man, and so we will have to wait until the chief gets well enough to come and help capture him." i had been accompanied to vinita by one of my assistants, whose name was william h. bonnell. he was a little fellow, only weighing about one hundred and thirty pounds, inclined to be tall, but slender, had plenty of nerve, and was a remarkably good marksman, always willing and anxious to do his duty, and would take as many chances as any man i ever knew. he had helped me to get the information which led me to the decision of arresting sweeney, and on hearing that sixkiller was sick he at once suggested that he and i go to the little cabin creek farm and capture sweeney ourselves. our conference took place in the evening, and i told bonnell that i would sleep over the matter and would decide by morning what should be done. [illustration: william h. bonnell. for many years one of detective furlong's trusted operatives and noted for his fearlessness.] i had seen sweeney but once in my life, and that was about a year before in kansas city, he having been pointed out to me by an officer, but i was satisfied he did not know me, so after carefully considering the matter next morning, i decided that i would take a horse and ride over to the little cabin place alone. i felt sure if sweeney did not know me, or recognize me, that i would be able to bring him into vinita alone, with less trouble than if i was accompanied by another stranger, knowing, as i did, his treacherous and cowardly disposition. i reasoned that if he saw two strangers approaching his brother-in-law's house he was liable to open fire on us and might kill one or both of us before we could reach him, and that he would be less liable to open fire on a lone man. bonnell demurred, saying that i would probably get killed going over there alone, but for the reasons above stated, i decided to go alone. i procured a horse from a livery stable and started. i reached the farm-house about : o'clock in the morning. i took a course across the open prairie, a distance of about four miles. on the other side of this i came to little cabin creek. there was a heavy growth of timber and thick underbrush on every side. the trail to the farm led directly through the brush timber for about two or three miles. at last i reached a set of bars that served for a gate directly in front of a two-story, frame farm-house, which stood in an open field, and about one hundred feet from the bars. the thick timber and undergrowth shut out a view of the house, and i did not see it until my horse had reached the bars. when i reached there i discovered the house and saw sweeney sitting on the porch in plain sight, and a winchester rifle was leaning up against the building near him. i got off my horse, placing the rein over the bar post, let down one of the bars and crawled through. as soon as i had got inside the bars sweeney commanded me to throw up my hands, and looking up at him i found that he had risen and was holding the winchester pointed at me. i halted. he said, "who are you and what do you want?" i replied, "my name is foster, and i want to see mr. john b. sweeney." "i am john b. sweeney," he said, "what do you want with me?" i answered him by saying, "i beg your pardon, mr. sweeney, but is that gun loaded that you have pointed at me?" he laughed and replied, "what the h--l do you think i would be doing with this gun if it were not loaded?" "well," i said, "if that gun is loaded i wish you would turn the muzzle of it in some other direction. that horse that i have down there is one that i borrowed from the livery man at vinita to ride over here on, and if that gun would accidentally go off it might scare the horse and cause him to break loose or maybe hurt me. if the horse got away i would have a lot of trouble catching him, and if i did not catch him the livery man would make trouble for me. furthermore, i did not come over here anyway to get shot. if i had expected there would be any shooting i wouldn't have come." "what did you come here for?" asked sweeney. i said, "col. eddy, general manager of the m. k. & t. road, went south last night, passing vinita on his special train (said this, knowing that sweeney had been standing on the platform when the colonel's train had passed) and he wired me from eufaula, in a cipher, to come out here and see john b. sweeney and ask him to come over to vinita and meet him on his return north to parsons. he said in the message that he expected to arrive at vinita about eleven-thirty today, and that he wanted to have a private talk with you to arrange with him for your services in assisting in the capture of the parties implicated in the holdup that occurred at vinita a few days before. if you are mr. sweeney, and will accompany me back to vinita we will just about have time, by starting soon, to reach there before col. eddy's train arrives. the colonel does not want the people at vinita to know that you have met him, as he has been led to understand that the people of that town do not like you, so he will run his train onto the siding about a quarter of a mile from vinita, and we can leave our horses at the livery stable and walk to the side track, each of us taking different directions, and the people will know nothing about your having met the colonel." sweeney replied, "i know them fellows at vinita are all afraid of me, and if col. eddy will give me a job and pay me enough i will get those train robbers for him. i will go with you." he called his brother-in-law and said, "go and put the saddle on baldy." baldy was his horse. he turned to me and said, "come up and take a seat here on the porch while i go up and get ready to go with you." he took his rifle and went upstairs. i took the seat he had previously occupied on the porch, to await his coming. i asked his sister to please give me a drink of water. i was terribly thirsty, caused, no doubt, by looking into the barrel of that winchester. i had only been seated a few moments when sweeney appeared in the doorway carrying in his left hand his nine-inch . six-shooter, colts, and in his shirt sleeves. he had left the winchester in the house. he said to me in a commanding voice, "you have found the way out here, and now you can get on your horse and lead the way back." while he was speaking the brother-in-law brought the horse around, sweeney mounted it and i let down the bars. he motioned me to lead the way, which i did. he rode up close behind me, carrying his gun in his left hand, and continuously telling about how he had practiced shooting with the james gang while they had been camping near his home, and that he had beaten them. he also pointed out a clump of bushes in which he said the gang had camped during the several days that they had been in that neighborhood. after we had left the covered ground and come out onto the prairie i told sweeney that i occupied the corner room in the hotel at vinita the night before. i said, "i have not settled my bill and my grip is still in the room, and i think we had better ride to the livery stable and leave our horses, and you had better go to my room direct, and i will go from the stable to the telegraph office and find out from the operator where col. eddy's special train is and at what time it will arrive at vinita. i am getting hungry and if i find that we have time to get something to eat before the special arrives, i will order something. i will come direct to the room and tell you what i have learned." we separated, sweeney going to the hotel and i, apparently, going to the telegraph office, which was in the opposite direction to that taken by sweeney. i did not stop at the telegraph office, but went around back of it, placing some buildings between sweeney and myself. i crossed the street at a point west of the depot and went around to the rear of the hotel, where there was a flight of stairs leading from the back yard to the second floor of the hotel from the outside. i ascended these stairs and went to my room, where i found the door standing about half way open and could see, through a crack between the door and the jamb sweeney lying down on my bed with his hat, boots and spurs on. he was taking things easy. i entered noiselessly, holding a small, double-barrel, remington derringer that i had taken from my pocket as i entered the room. i was whistling, and suddenly thrust the derringer into mr. sweeney's mouth, breaking two of his upper teeth loose. i told him to throw up his hands, and he was not long in obeying. with my left hand i unbuckled his belt and removed it from him. it contained the holster in which he had placed the nine-inch colts. bonnell had noticed us when we arrived, and when we separated and as i crossed the street going to the hotel i gave him a signal to follow me. he entered the room just as i had disarmed sweeney. i told him to put handcuffs on the prisoner and to take him to the calaboose and lock him up. i had sweeney's meals sent to the lock-up. when the next train arrived there, who should be on it but capt. sam sixkiller, who had left his sick bed and come up to vinita to assist me in making the arrest. he told me, on his arrival, that it would not do to take sweeney through muskogee, as the railroad men there were aroused and would undoubtedly attempt violence, for they had all come to the conclusion that sweeney was a fraud and was the man who shot conductor warner. warner was very popular among the employes of the road. so we boarded the north-bound train and brought sweeney to st. louis, transferring there to the iron mountain for little rock, arkansas. here we changed cars for the fort smith and little rock road, and thus reached fort smith, arkansas, in safety with our prisoner and without any interference from the railroad men. sweeney never uttered a word from the time i disarmed him until we had boarded the train for st. louis and were probably twenty miles north of vinita. we were in the smoking car, capt. sixkiller and the prisoner ahead and i in a seat just behind them, when finally sweeney turned his head around towards me and said, "mr. foster, i wish you would please show me that gun you stuck into my mouth." i took the cartridges out of the gun and handed it to him. it was not more than five inches in length and of . calibre. he examined it critically, and without turning his head handed it back to me over his shoulder, saying in a disgusted manner, "h--l, i thought that gun was a foot long." we lodged him in jail at fort smith in due time. he was indicted and finally tried, but, because i was never able to find out who the unknown farmhand was that he had killed and the motive for the crime, he was acquitted. however, he had lain in jail for nearly a year, and on his release he returned at once to clay county, missouri, and wrote a letter to a. a. talmage, then general manager of the missouri pacific, demanding that mr. talmage send him ten thousand dollars immediately, and threatening that if he did not that he would blow up the bridge on the wabash railroad and destroy property in general, and in any event he would kill furlong on sight. he sent this letter through the united states mail. mr. talmage gave the letter to me, and i at once made a complaint to the united states commissioner, got a warrant for sweeney's arrest and went to his father's farm near missouri city, clay county, accompanied by a deputy sheriff, whose name i don't remember, but who was a brave and splendid officer. sweeney was at home. it was after night and he had gone to bed. we rapped for admission and the door was opened by his father, to whom we stated that we were officers and had a warrant for the arrest of his son, "barney." the latter was in bed upstairs, but heard us when we rapped for admission and had come to the head of the stairs with a shot-gun in his hand. he said, "i am here and i will kill any man who attempts to come up those stairs." in an instant, and before i had time to think, the deputy sheriff, who had been standing beside me, sprang up the stairs. i followed him as quickly as possible, but before i had reached the top the officer had clinched with "barney" and had thrown him to the floor. i picked up the gun that sweeney had let fall, and in less time than it takes to tell it we had captured mr. sweeney without a shot being fired, so i feel safe in saying that he was an arrant coward as well as an inexcusable liar. i took him to st. louis, where he was tried and convicted for having sent the threatening letter through the mail. he was sentenced to either three or four years in the penitentiary. he served his time and again returned to his father's home at missouri city. a short time later he held up and tried to rob a wabash passenger train at missouri city. in this attempt he was shot through the ankle by a telegraph operator. he tried to escape by running, but was captured by the train crew and the company's telegraph operator at that city. he was tried for this offense and sent to the penitentiary for fourteen years, and i had lost track of him until he recently turned up in st. louis as a witness against the new york life insurance company, in the famous kimmel case. he claimed to have visited the wilds of oregon with kimmel, a man named johnson and another party to search for some hidden treasure. a portion of the treasure was found. a row over its division resulted and johnson shot and killed kimmel. sweeney avenged kimmel's death by killing johnson on the spot. both of the dead men were buried near where they fell. on reading sweeney's story in the papers, which was almost a repetition of the story of the fake hold-up down in the territory, as related to the express officials and myself, i will admit i really sympathized with the attorney who had gone to the trouble and expense of getting sweeney here, knowing, as i did, that he was absolutely untruthful and unreliable. i do not believe that i ever ran into as fun-loving a bunch of railroaders as the one which attended sweeney's trial. ft. smith was crowded, as was usually the case when court was in session. at that time there was only one "leading" hotel in town. it was a three-story, old-fashioned structure, the top story of which was one large room, or hall. social functions, such as balls and other gatherings, were usually held in this hall. when the railroad men arrived--there were about fifteen of them, including "chick" warner, ed smith, w. b. maxwell, "lute" welch and tom hall, all passenger conductors on the katy--all of the regular rooms had been taken. the proprietor, in order to take care of the boys as best he could, turned this large room, or hall, into a dormitory, placing therein several different kinds of beds and cots for them to sleep on. a large round table and a few rickety old chairs constituted the balance of the furnishings of the room. there was not much doing in the amusement line after dark in ft. smith in those days, so the railroaders retired to their rooms early--but not to sleep. the first seven or eight up the stairs, and there was always a race to see who would get upstairs first, would assemble themselves around the table and soon be busy playing a game of--well, there is no need of me naming it, as everybody knows the name of the game that usually interests the average railroad man most. i will add, however, that there was no "limit." by and by, those who were lucky enough to have to "sit out" would get sleepy and roll into their bed or cot, but they did not have a chance to get to sleep, the "i'll pass" or "i'll raise you" of the players keeping them awake until the game would break up, which was usually about the time the sun commenced to shine in at the windows in the early morning. the players would then retire and soon be snoring to beat the band. "chick" warner being a big, deep-chested man, had all his competitors skinned a mile at this snoring game. as soon as he hit the bed his snoring machinery would get in motion. then the real fun would begin. the balance of the gang would throw pillows, or shoes, or any old thing they could find at his head to wake him up. these efforts would not always be successful, however, and the snore would either increase in tone or volume. at the breakfast table one morning, after there had been an unusually long "sitting" the gang decided to get even with "chick" warner, who was still in bed, by holding an old-fashioned irish wake at his bedside. charlie walters, an express company route agent, who was an artist of no mean ability, procured a piece of chalk and in less time than it takes to tell it, had transformed the head of the bed into a monument with very appropriate inscriptions thereon. some lumber was secured and a fence arranged around the bed, on which were placed a lot of empty beer bottles. a candle was placed in the neck of each bottle, and after these were lighted and the windows darkened, the bunch arranged themselves around the "bier" and commenced a weird chant. the noise made by the bunch attracted the attention of most of the people in the town, and the big room was soon filled. news of what was going on soon reached the court room and judge parker adjourned court and he and his officers and the lawyers and jurors rushed to the hotel to witness the fun-making. after an exceedingly loud and boisterous outburst of "grief" on the part of the "mourners" warner awoke. it did not take him long to break up that "wake," as he at once began raising a rough house by throwing everything he could get hold of at his tormentors. the affair was the talk of the town for some time to come, and is to this day referred to when two or three of the gang happen to get together. on the sunday following, the citizens of the town, to show their appreciation of the bunch as good fellows, decided to give them a carriage ride and show them the places of interest. judge parker, in his private conveyance, was to lead the procession. as none of the vehicles had been decorated, as some of the railroaders thought they should be, they decided to do some decorating on their own hook. an empty beer keg was procured and with a rope it was anchored to the rear axle of the judge's conveyance. as the judge's abstemious habits were known to all the citizens of the town, the sight of the beer keg under his buggy created a great deal of amusement on the part of the citizens when they saw it as the carriage was drawn through the streets. the judge did not discover the trick that had been played on him until after the ride was over, but he seemed to enjoy the joke as much as did the jokers. tragic death of bill casey. incidents encountered while working on a case in the oil regions--capture of a couple of clever sneaks and safe robbers. in , a year after i had been elected chief of police of oil city, pa. (and, by the way, i had the distinction of being the first chief of police of that town), the safe in the store of henry fair, in south oil city, was robbed late on a saturday night. this safe contained a number of bonds, some cash and other valuable papers. the robbery was not discovered until the following monday morning by mr. fair himself, who was the only person connected with the establishment who had the combination of the safe. mr. fair found the safe locked, as usual, and upon opening it found the bonds and cash missing from the safe. i was immediately notified of the robbery, and upon examining the premises found that no burglary had been committed. the safe and windows and doors of the store were all found to be intact on monday morning. i also learned that the cash and bonds which were missed on monday morning were known to have been in the safe as late as ten o'clock upon the saturday evening previous. i further learned that at that hour quite a large crowd of people were in the store, all of whom were supposed to be customers, and at the close of my investigation there was no doubt in my mind but that the safe had been rifled of its contents by the sneak method. during the business hours prior to ten o'clock saturday evening, the safe had not been locked and the door was left standing partially opened, so that clerks and others connected with the store might have easy access to it during the busy hours of the day to get change, to look at accounts, and other purposes, so it became apparent to me that there were probably at least two persons connected with the robbery, and that one of them had attracted the attention of the clerk nearest to the safe, while his partner quietly slipped behind the counter and to the safe and took the cash and missing papers unobserved. it was also apparent to me that this must have been done almost immediately before the store was closed for the night, as the cash box and some of the missing bonds had been out of the safe on the manager's desk until a short time before they were placed in the safe by mr. fair himself at about ten o'clock. upon further investigation i learned that two young men had visited the store about ten o'clock saturday evening. one of them purchased a package of smoking tobacco, while the other consumed considerable time in trying to select a pair of shoes, which, by the way, he did not purchase. one of these young men was known as "butch" dewitt, then about nineteen years of age, the other was william heilman, twenty-one years of age. the parents of these young men were respectable, hard-working people and both resided in oil city. the boys both bore bad reputations, but up to that time were not considered thieves. upon learning that they were at the store at a late hour saturday night, i concluded that i would locate and interview them, but upon further inquiry i learned that they had not been seen since the saturday night in question, and evidently had left town. i also learned that "butch" dewitt had a sweetheart, whose name was hattie bates, who was a professional dancer and was supposed to be at the time an employe of ben hogan, proprietor of a large dance hall at petrolia, butler county, pa. for the information of the reader, i will say that ben hogan was a prize fighter of note and a sporting character generally. he at one time fought the celebrated tom allen for the heavyweight championship of the world, near st. louis. the fight was a draw and created a lot of bad blood between the two factions interested. some time after hogan's fight with tom allen he retired from the prize ring and became an evangelist, making his headquarters at chicago, and up to a few years ago, the last heard of him, the writer has been informed had been very successful in his missionary work. prior to the time hogan established himself at petrolia he had been engaged in the dance hall business at tidicute, warren county, pa., which is also an oil town on the banks of the allegheny river. while engaged in that business a party of roughs, who were looking for trouble, visited his place and started a disturbance in the dance hall, which resulted in one of the parties being killed and two or three of his companions being severely injured. hogan was arrested charged with murder. upon hearing of this trouble, and knowing as i did the character of the parties who created the disturbance, and that hogan was entirely justified in protecting his premises against the violence of this gang, who had gone to his place in search of trouble, i assisted hogan's attorneys by informing them as to the character and standing of the parties who created the trouble. hogan was acquitted and ever afterwards was very grateful and friendly towards me, and when i learned that "butch" dewitt's sweetheart was employed at hogan's dance hall, i hastened to petrolia, thinking that dewitt might visit his sweetheart there. petrolia was about sixty miles south of oil city and i arrived there on the afternoon of wednesday, after the robbery before mentioned. this was my first visit to petrolia, which was a big oil town or more like a mining camp, located in a valley on a tributary of the allegheny river, and the town consisted of one main street with buildings on both sides of the street running up and down the valley, all very close together and all frame. it consisted chiefly of boarding houses, saloons, dance halls and gambling houses. on my arrival at petrolia i started up this street. i had had a description of hogan's dance hall, which he had built a short time prior to my going there, and it was described as one of the largest buildings in town, and when i arrived in front of what i considered the largest building there i inquired for hogan's place. the man from whom i made this inquiry pointed out the building, which i had selected as hogan's, which was directly across the street from where i was standing, and told me that that was hogan's dance hall. there were two buildings standing along side of each other, and as they were almost identically the same in size and appearance, and being anxious to make no mistake, i inquired again, and the man pointed out the building to my left, so i understood, as hogan's, whereupon i crossed the street and entered the front door of the building, which was standing open. this was about four o'clock in the afternoon. i mention this fact for the reason that everything is usually very quiet about these dance halls until later in the evening, as places of this kind do all of their business at night. there was a screen, as there usually is, in front of bar-rooms, to shield the gaze of the passers-by on the sidewalk. as i entered the house supposed to be hogan's, and went around the screen to my left, i found a bar standing right back of the screen and behind the bar was a large young man with blonde hair, rather fine looking, standing about six feet, one inch, in height, and weighing in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds, and about thirty years old. this man was the then notorious "bill" casey, who was also a heavy weight prize fighter, and the proprietor of this dance hall. i knew casey upon sight, and he also recognized me. when i went around the screen i found myself face to face with him as he was leaning over with his elbows on the bar talking to one of his employes. he straightened up, looked at me for an instant, and exclaimed, "why, hello, chief. what in the world are you doing down here?" at the same time extending his right hand. i shook hands with him and said, "i just happened to be passing through petrolia on a little matter of business, and while on the opposite side of the street met a friend who told me that this was your place and that i would be likely to find you here at this time, so i just stepped in to pay my respects and shake hands with you." to which he replied, "i am mighty glad you did. you say that you are down here on a matter of business. you know that i am pretty well posted among the class of people that you are generally looking for, and if there is anything i can do for you i shall be glad to do so." i thanked him for his offer and told him that there might be some way in which he could assist me a little later on. he then said, "you know kittie, don't you?" (kittie was his wife), i said, "yes, i remember her." "wait a minute and i will call her," and he called to the rear part of the house for kittie. when she appeared he said to her, "kittie, you remember mr. furlong, don't you? he's chief of police at oil city, and i want you to shake hands with him." kittie came to where we were standing (in the meantime bill had come behind the bar alongside of me) and good-naturedly said, "oh, yes, i shall never forget mr. furlong." she then continued, "mr. furlong, bill and i often speak of you. you did the best thing that ever happened that time that you arrested bill in oil city and he has often told me that he would always remember you with the kindest of feelings for the reason that you did not kill him at the time he was arrested. the manner in which he acted and the manner in which he abused your man fry, if you had not appeared upon the scene as you did at that time he would have killed fry and would probably have been hung. you know he was drinking at the time and was acting very badly, as he always did when he drank. he has never touched a drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since that time, and it has made a man of him, and i give you credit for what you did. bill has often said that you had a perfect right to kill him under the circumstances and has always felt very grateful." as she finished i said in reply, "well, i am very glad that you and bill feel as you do, and i appreciate your good will very much, although i regretted at the time what occurred, but knew that there was nothing else to do but what i did, and i am more than glad of the good results." in this connection i will say that just prior to my arrest of "bill" casey at oil city, which was more than a year prior to the time of the foregoing interview, casey and his wife had a quarrel and had separated. mrs. casey (or kittie), as he called her, came to oil city and was boarding with a woman named mrs. brown, who had sixteen or eighteen other female boarders. casey, at this time, was living at petroleum center, in the oil country, and had heard that his wife was boarding with madam brown. he came to oil city in search of her and visited madam brown's house one afternoon about two o'clock. madam brown's house was situated in oil city in what is known as the "red light district" and was a large and well furnished establishment, in fact the finest of its kind in the oil regions of pennsylvania at that time. it so happened that i was passing madam brown's house, when i heard a tremendous uproar in the house; women were screaming and shouting for help, and it was a general tumult. some person i met on the street said to me, "you had better go into madam brown's house. officer fry has just gone in there and it seems as though he is in trouble," whereupon i hastened into the place, and in one of the parlors on my right as i went in i could hear officer fry calling for help. i ran into the parlor, where i found several women, all screaming at the top of their voices, and "bill" casey standing at one side of a large square, old fashioned piano, from which he had twisted one of the legs. he held this piano leg in his hand similar to the way in which a ball player holds his bat, and had officer fry backed up into a corner alongside of the piano and was about to bring the piano leg down upon the officer's head. fry had his revolver in his hand, but was unable to raise it, as casey had him covered with the leg of the piano. casey was standing with his back to the door from which i entered, and, upon taking in the situation, i pulled my revolver from my pocket and struck casey over the head with it just above the right ear, which cut an ugly gash and caused him to fall to the floor. i had dealt him a heavy blow, which took him completely by surprise, and before he could rally and arise from the floor he was seized by fry and myself and subdued only after a vigorous rough-and-tumble fight. he was locked up, but owing to the fact that his wife had been found by him in this disreputable place, and that he was under the influence of liquor, the committing magistrate fined him $ . and costs, with the agreement, on his part, that he was to leave town immediately, upon the payment of the fine and costs, which he did, and further agreeing that he would never again appear in oil city, or any place else under the influence of liquor. that promise he always kept until the day of his death. with the above explanation i feel that it is unnecessary for me to say to the reader that i did not enter "bill" casey's place voluntarily. i had not the slightest idea "bill" casey was there. the last time i had seen him was at oil city on the day of his arrest, and he had said to me before leaving that he would get even with me if it took him the balance of his life, so the reader can imagine my predicament better than i can describe it, when i first found myself in the presence of "bill" casey and in his own place. it would have taken a good sized rope to have dragged me into that place had i known that casey was its proprietor, but on confronting him i could think of no better way than to act boldly and act as though i had voluntarily come in to call and pay my respects, which worked admirably. after ascertaining the friendly feeling of casey and his wife towards me, i told them that i wanted to locate "butch" dewitt, who was a friend of hattie bates, who, i understood, was living next door with ben hogan. mrs. casey said to me, "i know mrs. hogan, and we are warm friends. i will go over and see her about this and see whether she knows anything about the whereabouts of dewitt or not." she did so, and in a few minutes returned with mrs. hogan, who said to me, "'butch' dewitt and a young thief by the name of heilman were here the night before last. dewitt, you know, is a sweetheart of the bates girl, who lives with me. dewitt and heilman had some money and left here yesterday morning at two o'clock for new brighton, pa., where they have a job of some kind that they expect to do, and intend to return here in a couple of days from new brighton." i took the first train from petrolia to pittsburg, and then from pittsburg to new brighton, pa., where i arrived the following morning early. at new brighton i learned that the night before my arrival the safe in a factory had been blown open by burglars and a quantity of money stolen. at new brighton i received a good description of heilman and dewitt, and traced them down the railroad to rochester, pa., to a hotel. upon entering this hotel i found that they had registered under fictitious names and were still in their rooms at the hotel. i went to their room, forced an entrance, and found dewitt and heilman there. i arrested them and took them to oil city, and in the meantime heilman made a clean breast of the robbery. he told me that while he was examining the shoes before mentioned, dewitt sneaked around behind the counter and took from the safe, which was unlocked, the money and bonds that were missing. they took the currency with them and secreted the bonds and other things stolen by them from the safe in a tin lard can, which they had buried on a farm south of south oil city, known as the faren farm. they accompanied me to the place and we recovered the can and its contents. these boys were convicted and sent to prison. the prize fighter "bill casey" continued as proprietor of the dance hall and saloon at petrolia, where he did a profitable business, and where he had many friends among the drillers and tool dressers who were employed at the oil wells in the district which surrounded petrolia. he was noted for being big-hearted, sociable and clever while sober, and it will be remembered he had quit drinking after his arrest at oil city. he had accumulated a small fortune, and upon the christmas eve following my interview with him, as before related, he and his wife left petrolia for the purpose of visiting his parents, who were living at the time at lockport, n. y. they boarded what is known as a mixed train, northbound, on the allegheny valley railroad, bound for buffalo. this train consisted of a number of freight cars, some of which were loaded with crude oil, a baggage car and two passenger coaches, which were at the rear of the train. the passenger coaches were crowded to their utmost capacity with passengers, as there were many people leaving the oil country to spend the holidays in other regions. as the train was rounding a very sharp curve near scrubgrass a front axletree broke on one of the freight cars, which precipitated the entire train, behind the breakdown, over a high bank into the allegheny river, which was at the time at high water mark. the crude oil ignited, by reason of the wreck, and set fire to everything. the oil spread out over the water, and, as crude oil burns just as fiercely upon water as it does upon land, the whole river was afire in a very short time from bank to bank, and the fire was carried down stream by the current at the rate of four or five miles an hour. many of the passengers were drowned, or injured and burned to death by the flames, as it should be remembered that the oil cars were ahead of the passenger coaches, and as the train was running upstream the flames immediately enveloped small portions of the passenger coaches which remained above the surface of the water. casey managed to escape from the wreck, and, being a very powerful man, took his wife with him and reached the bank in safety with the exception of a few burns. there was a crippled newsboy employed upon the train, and in the wreck he had managed to get a portion of his body through one of the windows which was upturned and out of the water, while his lower limbs were fastened in the wreck, and he was about to be engulfed in a body of floating burning oil, which was rapidly approaching him, when casey spied him. casey immediately left his wife standing on the bank and rushed to the assistance of the newsboy, and while tugging away trying to extricate the boy from the wreck casey was engulfed by the burning oil and lost his life, and thus died in the act of performing a humane and heroic deed. subduing a notorious bully. one of my early experiences while chief of police of oil city--how a bad man, with a long record, was taken to jail. the notorious tom daly of buffalo, new york, was arrested at oil city, pa., early in the summer of . daly had been regarded in and around the city of buffalo for years, prior to his arrest at oil city, as a desperate and bad character. he had a police record almost as long as the state statutes. he was a fighter and associated and lived with the most vile and vicious characters to be found in the city. he was never known to work at any legitimate trade or business. he did pretend to gamble. he drank at times to excess, and was known to the police as a strong-arm, or hold-up, man, and was considered by the police a hard and bad man to arrest--a task which they were frequently called upon to perform. but as bad as his general reputation was, he had what was called a political pull in the slums district, in which he resided. he had a following of his own class because he was more aggressive and more physically powerful than his associates and followers, and not for the reason of any superior intellect on his part. a couple of days before his arrest at oil city, complaint was lodged against daly and some of his associates by a man in buffalo, who charged them with having held him up and robbed him, by force, of a sum of money. the man also stated that daly and his confederates had brutally beaten him, the marks of which he bore plainly. two police officers were instructed to arrest daly and bring him to headquarters. as all the officers who were located in and about the precinct in which daly made his home knew him personally, the two officers who were detailed to make his arrest easily located him. when they approached him and told him that they had been instructed to arrest him he smilingly inquired on what charge, at the same time, as the officers were standing within his reach, he promptly struck first one and then the other terrific blows with his clenched fist, knocking both of them down. he then ran into a brothel, or dive, in front of which he had encountered the police officers. he, of course, disappeared and escaped being arrested. the part of the city was known, at that time, as rock street, or the five points, and was the worst and lowest district of not only the city of buffalo, but probably as bad, if not worse, than any other in the country. it consisted principally of low dance halls and drinking places which were patronized almost entirely by the lower grade of sailors and canal boat men. as this district was bounded on the east by the erie canal and on the west by the buffalo creek, which is the lake harbor of buffalo, it was consequently a peninsula, narrow, and frequented by the class before mentioned. after his escapade with the police, daly, on the same night, made his escape from buffalo and went direct to oil city, pa., where he had some friends and acquaintances. he arrived at oil city the next day about noon, where he met parties whom he knew and from whom he heard about the prowess of a valuable bulldog, owned by a respectable citizen named ziegenheim, and who was connected with a meat market on center street. this man daly was about thirty-five years of age, was over six feet in height and weighed at least two hundred pounds. he had an athletic build, was dark complexioned and somewhat marked by the after effects of small-pox. he had rather small dark eyes and the most villainous expression i think that i have ever seen. he was considered an expert boxer and was known to be a powerful man--at least by the two police officers whom he had knocked down and escaped from in buffalo. i had heard of daly and knew of his record, but i had never seen him until i was called upon to arrest him in oil city, and i did not know who he was at that time. when daly had learned from the friends he had met in oil city of the valuable fighting bulldog before mentioned, he at once went to the meat market, where he found mr. ziegenheim, and tried to purchase the dog from him for the purpose of using him as a fighting dog. ziegenheim informed daly, in a polite but firm manner, that his dog was not for sale, as it was a pet of his wife and children, and that he would not part with the dog under any consideration, and especially not for the purpose daly proposed to use him. daly became angry and assaulted ziegenheim, who was fully as large a man as daly, but was a gentleman, and not a fighter. ziegenheim immediately sought refuge behind a large, round table, known as a meat block, which is used in all meat markets to cut meat on. it was probably about four feet in diameter, and by keeping on the opposite side ziegenheim was out of daly's reach. daly picked up a large cleaver, which he was holding in a threatening manner. at this juncture i entered the shop, having been summoned by mr. steele, ziegenheim's employer, who had run from the meat market to my office, which was just around the corner in the same block, and told me, in a very excited manner, that there was a big man trying to kill ziegenheim in the shop. at the time that steele came into my office i was talking with the mayor, william m. williams, and when steele apprised me of mr. ziegenheim's danger i sprang to my feet and was about to leave for the meat market when the mayor said to me, "tom, you had better take a club or a gun with you. steele has said ziegenheim's assailant is a big, strong fellow." i hastily grabbed up a mace, or club, which was hanging on a rack near where i was standing, and hastened to the shop, where i found daly standing in front of the meat block before described, with his back to the door. he was holding a cleaver, as i said before, and facing ziegenheim, who was at the opposite side of the block. i approached him from the rear without being noticed by him, and placed my left hand upon the right collar of his coat as though i meant it, at the same time commanding him to drop the cleaver. whereupon he immediately turned his head and looked down upon me with a very disdainful and defiant expression. i saw in his eyes the most vile expression that i have ever seen. i instantly realized that i was in for trouble. he was wearing a stiff derby hat set back fairly well on his head, and it seemed to be tight fitting. upon noticing the expression on his countenance i instantly struck him as hard a blow as i could with the mace, which i held in my right hand, at the same time tightening my grip on his coat collar and vest. however, before i struck him he made a desperate backward lunge, evidently intending to get clear of me so that he might get far enough away from me to strike me with his fists. but, by reason of the strong hold i had on him i had drawn myself up close to him, and in his lunge he was so much heavier and larger than i that he carried me back with him, probably a distance of four or five feet. it was while he, or rather we, were making this lunge, that i struck him. my mace caught him, or more truthfully speaking, his hat, just above his forehead. it forced his hat, which was a stiff one, as stated, and drove it down over his forehead to his eyebrows. the hat was tight and the lining was leather, and with the force of the blow the lining cut the skin clear across the top of his forehead, and as the hat was forced down the skin peeled down over his forehead, and of course, the blood spurted over both of us. he fell to his knees with the force of the blow, but immediately tried to rise, when i hit him a second time, which felled him to the ground. i was still holding on to his collar, and when he fell i started for my office, dragging him behind me. he was upon his back and therefore helpless so long as i kept him moving. he regained consciousness when he had gone about a hundred feet and began pleading with me to let him up, which i did, with the understanding that he was to accompany me peaceably. this he agreed to and did. it being at the time of the day when the streets were crowded with people, an immense crowd was attracted by the excitement, and a great many comments were heard, many of them condemning my action as brutal and uncalled for. there was both a morning and an evening paper published in oil city at that time. the evening paper got out an extra, which censured me severely, and was entirely in accord with the previous comments made by many of the crowd. they were, by the way, entirely ignorant of the facts which led me to act as i had found it necessary. the crowd filled the mayor's office to overflowing, and among those present were a few friends and former associates of daly's, who succeeded in getting one of the citizens, a saloon proprietor and considered a good citizen and fairly well off, to come forward and intercede with the mayor, who at that time, in accordance with the laws of pennsylvania, was a committing magistrate. daly's friends told the mayor that they would pay his fine and the costs and would see that he left town within the hour, if he (the mayor) would let daly go upon the payment of the fine and costs for his having assaulted zeigenheim. the mayor assented and fined him one hundred dollars and costs, three dollars and fifty cents, making a total of one hundred and three dollars and fifty cents. the citizens before mentioned paid this fine and daly left town immediately thereafter. he gave an alias to the mayor, and his friends did not betray him, and for this reason the mayor or myself did not know who he was until after he had departed. mr. st. john, who was the editor of the evening paper, and who had so unmercifully roasted me, had always, prior to this occurrence, acted in a friendly manner towards me. the write-up that he had given me that evening, therefore, hurt my feelings beyond description. a mr. bishop, who was the editor and proprietor of the morning paper, had come from buffalo, where he was born and raised, to oil city, and he at once took it upon himself to investigate, through correspondents in buffalo, by wire, what and who this man daly was. the result of which was that he devoted the entire first page of his paper, on the following morning, to daly's complete history, setting forth his police record, his vocation and his desperate character, as well as the full particulars and details of his most recent encounter with the two buffalo police officers, his escape from buffalo and his subsequent arrest by me at oil city. the article wound up with the most complimentary comments that i have ever received, considerable space being devoted to the fact of my having succeeded in subduing and arresting daly unassisted by any one. this article caused a majority of those who had so loudly denounced my actions of the previous evening to apologize for their hasty conclusions. mr. st. john, of the evening paper, was among the first to approach me with an apology for his publication of the evening before. if i had known that it was the notorious tom daly i had been called upon to arrest i don't believe that i could have been pulled into that meat market with a large rope attached to my neck; but i was fully convinced that prompt and decisive action was required on my part the instant that i saw that vicious, and i might say, hideous expression on daly's face. the result of this arrest had more to do with securing me the confidence and respect of the law-abiding citizens of oil city than any other one arrest that i had ever made, and i had made many of them. a ruse that worked. how evidence to convict an anonymous letter writer was obtained.--tragic death of two brothers after their arrest and after breaking jail. early in the s, sam ackert called at my office one cold winter morning in the month of february. i was then chief of police of oil city, pa. mr. ackert was known to me as the owner of a large oil lease, on what was known as the towles farm, on the plummer road, about eight miles north, and a little east of oil city, and in venango county. mr. ackert was considered at that time, one of the largest oil operators in that district. he was operating twelve or fifteen oil wells, all of which were producing large quantities of oil. some were being pumped, while others were flowing wells. my recollection is that one of these flowing wells was producing four hundred barrels per day. crude oil was selling at that time for about eight dollars per barrel at the well. ackert employed quite a large number of men to attend to the wells and look after his interests in general. some of these men were employed as engineers, which were commonly known in the oil country as pumpers. two of these engineers, or pumpers, were required to operate each well, each man usually working from : noon until : midnight. these watches were morning and noon watches, and men so employed usually lived adjacent to the well upon which they were employed. mr. ackert had a superintendent who had charge of the employes and who lived on the lease. his name was joseph sullivan. he also had two engineers whose names were george and henry book. george book was a young man, married and lived in a cottage on the lease. his brother henry was single and lived with george. george was the eldest. they were both employed on the same well as pumpers. george was on the noon watch each day and was considered a very good engineer. he was sober, competent and attentive to his business; while his brother henry had also been considered competent and energetic, but not as reliable as george. he had been found asleep while on duty by supt. sullivan, on various occasions, for which he was reprimanded and finally discharged from the service. some months after henry's dismissal, mr. ackert received an anonymous letter through the mail. this letter threatened dire destruction to his property by fire, or other methods unless he (ackert) would discharge sullivan, his superintendent. this letter was followed by three other threatening letters, also anonymous, which were received at intervals of four or five days by ackert. sullivan being a very competent and reliable man of good character, mr. ackert at first did not pay any attention to the threatening letters, but laid them away in his desk. a short time after the receipt of the last anonymous letter, one of his oil tanks, which at the time contained about four or five hundred barrels of crude oil, was emptied one night, between dark and daylight, by some person who had gone to the tank and opened what was known as the lower faucet. this faucet, two inches in diameter, entered the tank about one-half foot above the bottom of the tank, and was placed there so that by opening it the salt water could be drawn out of the tank. all oil wells in that particular locality, which had to be pumped, produced a percentage of salt water, this water coming up with the oil. salt water being heavier than the oil, immediately settled to the bottom of the tank, and for that reason, as the tank would become nearly filled to its top, it was the duty of the pumpers to open this salt water faucet and let the salt water escape from the bottom of the tank, in order to make room for more oil above. on the night that this tank was emptied in the manner above described, there was about three feet of snow on the ground. the weather was cold, and the snow had drifted around the tank so that it was about four feet deep above the faucet in question. i will state here that the constant drawing off of the salt water had thoroughly saturated the ground for a space of two or three feet square under the faucet, and for this reason, the ground was soft and a little muddy. the saturated earth would not freeze in cold weather on account of the large quantities of salt which had become impregnated with the dirt. at the time this tank was emptied by means of the opening of the faucet, the oil, which was very inflammable, ran down into a ravine, which was thickly dotted with oil wells and tanks for a mile or more. but, fortunately, the flowing oil did not happen to reach any of the fires that were under the boilers of the pumping stations. if it had, it would have instantly burned everything within reach along the side of the ravine, thereby destroying hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of property and in all probability many lives. mr. ackert called upon me the morning after the occurrence above related and told me of what had occurred, stating at the same time, that he had no idea who was dastardly enough to perpetrate this malicious act. he knew of no enemy on earth and was more than anxious that i investigate the matter and locate the party, or parties guilty of the crime. he also told me of having received and retained the anonymous letters before mentioned. i instructed him to bring the letters to me at once, which he did. i noticed that the letters were written on the same brand of paper and in a legible and penmanlike manner and evidently by the same hand and pen. by the end of the third day of my investigation i had learned of the dismissal of henry book, and the difficulties he had had with supt. sullivan. i had also learned that his brother, george book, was a good scholar, had been a country school teacher some years before in his native county, which was crawford county, pa. i had also found out that he was considered an extra good penman, and during my investigation was informed that there had been other loots of oil well tools and other valuable property on the ackert and adjacent leases. i decided to locate the writer of the anonymous letters. being familiar with the manner of operating oil wells, i donned the suit of an oil driller, which usually consists of overalls. these overalls become spattered over with sand pumpings, giving the wearer the general appearance of a bill-poster. the weather was very cold, the thermometer standing below zero the night that i left oil city to visit the ackert lease and the pumping houses where i knew george book would be on duty until midnight. that evening, preparatory to my departure, i visited a meat market kept by a mr. steele, on center street, where i purchased five cents' worth of liver, telling mr. steele that i wanted it for a pet cat that stayed around my office. i dressed myself in heavy, warm clothing, which i wore under the overalls before described. taking a small slice of the liver, i placed it in the hollow of my right hand. i then placed another piece of the liver on top of the same hand and tightly bandaged the hand with a piece of white muslin. the liver placed on my hand as described, soiled the tightly drawn bandage, which gave the hand the appearance of being very swollen and inflamed. i then improvised a sling around my neck by tying two handkerchiefs together so that i could place my right hand in the sling at the proper time. i started from oil city, unidentified by reason of my costume, at about : o'clock in the evening, arriving at the ackert lease a few minutes after nine. i went direct to the engine house in which george book was employed, found him sitting alone there in a large easy chair, in front of the boiler, which was being fired with natural gas and well lighted by the same, was warm and neatly kept. book was reading a novel when i entered, and as the engine house was located but a few feet off the main road from oil city to the town of plummer, it was not an unusual thing for oil well men to stop at the engine house, while passing that way for the purpose of getting warm or getting a drink. so book was not at all surprised when i appeared at that hour of the evening. i asked his permission to stand by the boiler to get warm. he replied that it was cold, and that he would be glad of my company. he eyed me closely for a while and finally said, "where do you work?" i replied that i had been working on the foster farm, which was about fifteen miles southwest of oil city and on the allegheny river. he then remarked, "how did you get hurt?" as he noticed that i was carrying my right hand in a sling. i replied, "you have been kind in allowing me to get warm in your engine house, and you look to me like you would not get a fellow into trouble by giving him away, and i will tell you all about it." i began by saying, "you see, i am a driller and i was working under a superintendent. we had trouble over a girl and he had a gun. he shot me through the hand." i pulled my hand out of the sling and he exclaimed, "gracious! you have an awful hand there and you should have medical attention at once." to which i replied, "i am going to have it attended to when i reach petroleum center. you should see the other fellow. i shot him, but i don't know whether he is dead or not, as i left immediately and have walked the entire distance, only stopping long enough to get a cup of coffee at the eating-house in the depot at oil city." he said, "you must be hungry." his sympathy was now fully aroused and he was really a good-hearted fellow. i then said to him, "i have some friends at petroleum center who will keep me under cover and get me a doctor, but what is worrying me most now is that i cannot write with my left hand, and my folks live at ft. erie, canada, which is just across the niagara river opposite buffalo, n. y. i have been saving my money and sending it to my people at fort erie, and they have it deposited in a bank at buffalo to my credit. i have a few hundred dollars there and if i could only write a letter to-night, and mail it on the early train to-morrow morning it would reach fort erie to-morrow night. my friends could then send me all the money that i need, which i would receive the day after to-morrow at petroleum." to this he replied, "i am a pretty good penman, and would be glad to write the letter for you." on saying this, he excused himself and went to his house, which was close by, and returned in a few minutes with letter paper, envelopes, and a nice big lunch for two and a pot of hot coffee. we ate the lunch, and i had some cigars in my pocket. then he started to write the letter at my dictation. in dictating the letter i used as many of the words as i could intelligently get in which had been used in the anonymous letters, the contents of which i had familiarized myself with. this letter of mine was not necessarily very long, as i discovered that he was using the same quality of paper upon which the anonymous letters were written. i also noticed before he had written three lines, that it was the same handwriting, and that he was using the same ink, and no doubt, the same pen, that he had used in writing the anonymous letters. he addressed the envelope, sealed and stamped it. i thanked him and departed for petroleum center, apparently, but in reality for oil city, where i arrived about six o'clock in the morning. during the forenoon i submitted my dictated letter, together with the anonymous letters, to an expert who was connected with the first national bank of oil city. he unhesitatingly stated that the letters were all written by the same person. i then went back in the afternoon to the lease, knowing as i did that george, whom i had met the night before, would be off duty and probably in bed. i carefully shoveled the snow from around the faucet of the tank, and when i got down to the ground, i found two very distinct tracks of a no. boot. the boots had been recently half-soled, the shoemaker who had made the repairs having placed three nails in a row across the center of the half-soles. this was his trade-mark. i soon located the shoemaker who had done this work. he remembered having repaired the boots for henry book a couple of days before the emptying of the tank. i then returned to oil city, procured a warrant for the arrest of the book brothers, and that night about eleven o'clock i arrived at the ackert lease, where i found george on duty, as he had been the night before, and i found henry in bed at george's house. on this occasion i was accompanied by two of my officers. we drove out in a sleigh. after making the arrest, we searched the house which was a one-story building with an attic. in the attic we found wagon loads of loot, from the ackert lease and adjacent leases, that was afterwards identified by the owners, as having been stolen from time to time, as before mentioned. the book brothers in due time, had a preliminary hearing and were committed to the county jail in default of bail. in the meantime henry book had confessed to having emptied the oil tank and george admitted the writing of the anonymous letters. about a week before their trial was to take place, there was a general jail delivery at franklin, pa., effected one very stormy night. there were fifteen or more prisoners who escaped. the book brothers were among them. they boarded a north bound freight on the a. & g. w. r. r. which is now known as the "erie." when at a point about twenty miles north of franklin this freight train collided with another train. in the wreck henry book was killed instantly and george was so badly hurt that he died the following day. thus ended the ackert case. i consumed in all not to exceed six days in connection with this case, unassisted except upon the night of the arrests, when i was accompanied by two of my officers, whose names were george w. frye and max fulton. charlie dalton, outlaw. spectacular arrest of this much-wanted man on a crowded st. louis street car the arrest, in st. louis, on the evening of march , , of the notorious charlie dalton, was accomplished in a rather unique, yet sensational manner. dalton had been "scouting" for a couple of years, with a large reward offered by the state of texas and the missouri pacific railway hanging over his head. almost every sheriff, police officer and detective in the country had his description and were looking for him. the charge was murder, and the crime was committed during the strike on the gould properties. on the afternoon of april , , a freight train pulled out of fort worth, texas, for new orleans, louisiana. besides the regular crew, the train carried a number of guards in charge of jim courtwright, a noted western officer, who had formerly been chief of police, sheriff and deputy united states marshal at fort worth. as the train neared the fort worth and new orleans crossing, it was fired on by a gang of outlaws and cut-throats, headed by dalton, who were in ambush behind a pile of ties on the missouri pacific right-of-way. two of the guards were killed outright and several wounded. the crime created a great sensation throughout the entire country, because of its dastardliness. the st. louis globe-democrat of april , , editorially referred to it as the "fort worth massacre." dalton and some of his gang were indicted by the grand jury, but when the officers began a hunt for them they had disappeared. circulars announcing the amount of the reward and giving a description of the men wanted, were scattered almost broadcast over the united states, canada and mexico. i received one of them, studied it carefully and got into communication with the officers at fort worth. i had never seen dalton, but i had seen his brother, geary, who was connected with the track department of the missouri pacific railroad, in st. louis, where he lived. i noticed a resemblance in the photo i had of charlie to that of his brother, and had instructed my operatives to keep a sharp lookout for charlie, as i had learned that his mother was then residing in carondelet. in the latter part of february, , one of my operatives reported that he had learned from a reliable source that the much-wanted man had been seen at his mother's home in carondelet. whereupon, i took measures to have the premises watched. i later learned that he had been making a practice of visiting the standard theatre nightly. on learning this, i arranged with the chief of police of st. louis to detail a couple of his men to visit the standard theatre nightly, where i should have one of my men, who knew dalton, on hand, so that he might point him out to the officers, and they were to arrest him. these arrangements were all completed on the afternoon of march , . at about six o'clock that evening i left my office for home. i then lived at walnut street, and i walked to the corner of eighth and market streets, where i boarded a horse-car for home. the car proceeded west and when we got to the corner of th and market streets, two good sized, rough-looking young men ran to the rear end of the car and swung themselves onto the platform, one of them lighting heavily on my right foot and hurting me very much. his partner followed him and stood on the lower step. this man, who had tramped on my foot, offered no apology for his rudeness, and, in fact, paid no attention to me or the injury he had done, but instead remarked to his partner that people ought to get out of the way when they saw a person wanting to catch a car. his partner said, "charlie, we can't stay out at geary's but a few minutes, as you know i have got tickets for the standard tonight and we must get there early to get good seats." "we won't stay out there only long enough to say goodbye, as we leave town in the morning," replied charlie. while they were talking i took a good look at the man addressed as charlie, and from the conversation, and from the resemblance he had to his brother, i concluded that the man thus addressed was charlie dalton. i knew who geary was, and i saw the resemblance that "charlie" bore to him. i also knew that the car would necessarily have to pass what was then known as the mounted police station, located between th and th streets, on market street, and before reaching geary's house, and i decided that when we got in front of the station i would arrest mr. dalton and lock him up there. he was standing directly in front of me on the platform and had me crowded up against the rear dashboard. he was a burly fellow, considerably taller than i was, and would weigh one hundred and seventy-five pounds. having become satisfied that i had made no mistake in his identity, i waited until we had arrived in front of the police station, when i seized him by the coat collar with my left hand, pulled the bell-cord, and after the car had slowed up i sprang to the ground, taking dalton with me, but as he struck the street, he facing the car, he fell on his back, and i, still holding onto his coat collar, reached for his pistol, which i was sure i would find, and i was not disappointed, for there it was in the waist band of his trousers, and proved to be a colts. dalton then made an attempt to rise, but i took all of the fight out of him by giving him a blow over the head with his own weapon. "what is this for?" he asked. "your name is charlie dalton and you are under arrest for murder," i replied. "my name is charlie dalton, all right, by g-d, partner," he exclaimed. i then took him by the collar and assisted him to his feet. i took the prisoner over to the police station and had him locked up, and later wired the fort worth authorities that i had arrested charlie dalton, and he was being held by the police of st. louis, subject to their orders. in due time i received a reply from the chief of police of fort worth, requesting me to bring dalton to that city, providing he would go without waiting for requisition papers. dalton, having already informed me that he would go to texas without requisition papers, i left with him for ft. worth the following evening. on our arrival there the prisoner was lodged in jail, and remained there a number of months without bond. between the date of the crime and the arrest of the cutthroat a number of witnesses against him had died. others had left the state, and the result was that when his trial was called the state was unable to produce its evidence and the defendant was finally released from custody. while it is true that i was anxious to apprehend this outlaw for the texas authorities, and had just finished making preparations to do so should he visit the standard theatre that night, because of his known desperate character, and the further fact that he was accompanied by a big, husky pal, i doubt that i would have attempted his arrest single-handed, had it not been for the incidents enumerated. i know i would not have recognized him on this crowded car had not his rudeness attracted my attention especially to him. the remarks of his pal settled the question of his identity in my mind, and the pain in my foot and his insolence aroused my ire. the arrest followed, and it has a moral--"people should be careful as to whose toes they trample on." conspirators handed a lemon. sensational ending of an attempt to bribe one of furlong's operatives in the noted miles will case. how the conspiracy was exposed. in the latter part of the ' s, stephen b. miles, a wealthy resident of nebraska, died, leaving an estate consisting of lands in nebraska and kansas, bank stocks and bonds, and other property valued at several millions of dollars. he was survived by a wife, from whom he had been divorced, two sons, joseph h. and samuel, and a daughter, a number of nieces and nephews and several grand-children. one of the sons, joseph h., was a prominent banker and business man of falls city, nebraska, and also had large interests in other towns in that state. he had been a telegraph operator in his younger days, and was highly esteemed by all who knew him, not only as a good citizen, but a wide-awake, clean business man. the other son, samuel, was about forty years of age, and resided with his family on one of his father's ranches over the nebraska line in kansas. he had been rather wild in his younger days and had caused his father much trouble because of his dissolute habits. shortly after the death of the elder miles, a will was found in an old suit case, the provisions of which made joseph h. miles executor and trustee of the estate, and the chief beneficiary, samuel being left, besides some money, a life interest in the ranch on which he and his family were living. at the death of him and his wife the ranch was to be deeded to samuel's children. the will also plainly provided that samuel could not either entail or dispose of the land. the provisions of the will were very unsatisfactory, of course, to samuel miles, and, at the suggestion of his counsel, he began court proceedings to prevent the probating of it, and, not succeeding in this, later brought suit to have the will set aside. in i had in my employ an operative by the name of d. f. harbaugh. this man had become well known and had obtained considerable newspaper notoriety in and about kansas city through cases he had worked on under my instructions. one day harbaugh was approached in kansas city by one of the lawyers employed to break the will, and asked if he (harbaugh) could find a man whose former reputation had been good, who would go on the witness stand and testify to having drawn up and witnessed a will made by the elder miles, while on one of his numerous trips to st. louis during his life time. during the talk the lawyer told harbaugh all about the conspiracy that had been formed to break the will--by "finding" a later will, and gave the names of all connected with the scheme. one of these men was a prominent lawyer in falls city, nebraska, another a man of great prominence at omaha, and who had a big political pull throughout the state, while another was in good standing at the bar in st. louis at that time. harbaugh was further told that he would be paid a fee of $ , for his part when the will was broken, and as a further compensation the lawyer would send him to the paris exposition and back, paying all expenses up to the sum of $ , . harbaugh agreed to give the lawyer an answer in a few days, and left that evening for st. louis. the next morning harbaugh told me all about the proposition that had been made to him, and asked for my opinion as to the best thing to do. i at once said, "there seems to be but two things to do in this case. one is, for you to completely ignore the proposition, as there can be no doubt as to the rascality of all the parties who are in any way connected with the scheme. the other, and in my opinion, the right thing to do, is for us to try and locate this man joseph h. miles, and appraise him of the conspiracy that is being worked up by these lawyers and his own brother against him. for, if we keep quiet and ignore the matter, they will, in all probability secure a man who will accept the proposition and we would be parties to this conspiracy for not having exposed it." "well," replied harbaugh, "you are the boss, and it is up to you. i have told you all i know about the matter. i told this lawyer that his proposition was very important, and coming to me suddenly i would need a few days to think the matter over, and it would require at least a few days to select the right kind of a man--one that could be trusted. he approved of this and expects an answer from me in a week or ten days." i at once undertook to locate joseph h. miles, and succeeded in twelve hours. i found that he lived at falls city, nebraska, that he was president of the first national bank of that place, had a bank in another nebraska city, and had a large interest in a bank in york, pa., that he was a respectable citizen and prominent business man, and very well known. after locating him i wrote him a letter, which read about as follows: mr. joseph h. miles, falls city, nebraska. dear sir: if you are the son of the late stephen b. miles, and have a brother by the name of samuel miles, and a number of nephews and nieces who reside in kansas and nebraska, i have important information for you, and will impart it personally if you will come to st. louis. i would suggest that you bring your lawyer, as i believe my information important enough to justify you in so doing. on receipt of this i wish that you would telegraph me, stating when you will leave falls city, and at what time you will arrive at st. louis. on arriving at st. louis, go to the planters hotel, look at the register where you will find my name, and you can then come direct to my room, where i will be waiting for you and your attorney. i am using a fictitious name, for reasons that i will explain to you when i see you. yours very truly on receipt of the above letter mr. miles wired me promptly that he would leave falls city the same evening and would arrive at st. louis the following morning, via the burlington route, and would carry out instructions as per my letter. i went to the planters hotel that evening, registered under the name i had given mr. miles, and was assigned to a room on the fourth floor. the next morning about eight o'clock, mr. joseph h. miles, accompanied by his lawyers, ex-judge gillespie of falls city, and ex-judge martin, of the same place, and the latter's son who was a stenographer. i admitted them, and mr. miles stated his name, and asked if i was mr. foster, to which i replied in the affirmative. he introduced the other gentlemen and after they were seated i began my story by saying: "gentlemen, my name is thomas furlong, and i used the name of foster in writing to mr. miles, because my name and business are known to a great many people in nebraska, and a party connected with what i know to be a conspiracy against mr. miles, resides, and is an old citizen of falls city, and would probably know my name if he heard it, and i did not know but what he might be connected with or know people connected with the telegraph office, and would thus learn that i had communicated with mr. miles, so i deemed it advisable not to use my own name. now, gentlemen, before i give you the information that i have promised i wish that you would call on any of the general managers of any of the railroads that enter st. louis, or the president of any bank in the city whom you may know, and ask him as to my character and standing." mr. miles asked, "does mr. william nickolson know you?" i replied that mr. nickolson knew me very well. mr. miles said, "mr. nickolson is my correspondent here and has charge of more than a million dollars of our estate." we walked over to mr. nickolson's bank and mr. miles entered the private office, leaving me standing in the corridor outside. as he entered the office he left the door open. mr. nickolson arose and greeted him, and at the same time spoke to me. after the greeting, mr. miles said to mr. nickolson, "i see that you know mr. furlong." "yes," replied mr. nickolson, "i have known tom for years, and he is welcome to anything i have." mr. miles said, "mr. furlong told me that you knew him and insisted on me coming down here and asking you about his standing in st. louis." after a little further conversation mr. miles shook hands with mr. nickolson and we returned to my room at the planters, where judges martin and gillespie and the stenographer were awaiting us. i then related in detail the story that i had recently heard from harbaugh. after i had completed the narrative, all of which was taken in shorthand by the stenographer, the younger mr. martin, harbaugh was sent for and he verified the statements i had made to the gentlemen. the conference then adjourned, the luncheon hour having arrived. all parties again assembled in my room at the planters at two o'clock, when judge martin said, "we have been considering this statement of yours, mr. furlong. we have known for some time that these lawyers you have named have been trying to make trouble, but did not know until you told us today just what they intended to do, and now i want to say that mr. miles and myself appreciate what you have done in this matter so far, and we are anxious for your opinion as to what you think is the best way to proceed." to which i replied, "i believe the best way to proceed would be for harbaugh to go to the lawyer in kansas city and tell him that he would accept his proposition, and that he would secure a man who could be relied on, and who would assume that he had written the will for the elder mr. miles. i would then select a man that i could trust and turn him over to harbaugh. harbaugh would take him to kansas city and put him under the guidance of the lawyer. after these conspirators had thoroughly posted and instructed this man, whom they will expect to deliberately commit perjury, they will probably have his deposition taken in st. louis. he will take the stand and be able to answer all questions put to him until asked if he wrote the will. when he is asked this question, being under oath, of course, he will tell the truth. in this way we will be able to prove the enormity of the crime and the cool audacity of the parties connected with it." i turned to mr. miles and said, "that is my opinion, but if you do not approve of it and prefer to employ some one else to handle this case for you, you, of course, are at liberty to do so. i felt that it was my duty to advise you of this conspiracy and the manner in which i had received my information." judge martin said, "mr. furlong, we want you to handle this case for us," and mr. miles nodded his head and said, "yes, i want you to handle this case for me, and to handle it in your own way, and i will pay you your regular charge, allow you the expenses incurred, and pay you extra for your service." i told mr. miles that i did not expect anything of that sort, as i did not believe in rewards and never worked for them. he insisted, however, on paying me extra for my services, which he did, and i divided it equally with harbaugh. i instructed harbaugh to go to kansas city and get in touch with the crooked lawyer, which he did. i selected a man whom i knew well and believed to be honest. i instructed him as to what i wanted him to do, and in due time he was introduced to the kansas city lawyer, by harbaugh. the lawyer began instructing him and gave him a minute description of the deceased stephen b. miles, whom, of course, this man had never seen. he posted him as to a room in the old st. james hotel that had been occupied by stephen b. miles in one of his trips to st. louis. this was the place where the fake will was supposed to have been written. the lawyer was pleased with the man i had sent and feasted and dined him on several occasions when he was in kansas city rehearsing the part he was to play in the conspiracy. in the meantime harbaugh had grown to be the apple of the crooked lawyer's eye, and from the good treatment he received from this creature harbaugh had begun to admire him for his liberality. at last a day was set for the taking of the deposition of the man who was supposed to have written the will. due notice was served on the respective parties interested, and at the appointed time our man appeared at the office of the st. louis attorney, and the taking of his deposition began. after being duly sworn, the st. louis representative of the conspirators began to examine the witness in the usual way, asking a few preliminary questions, and at last reached the question, "did you know stephen b. miles, deceased, and did you not write this will for him?" indicating a paper he had in his hand. the witness said, "i have known a number of men by the name of miles. allow me to describe one of them and if his description suits i will be able to answer your question." i had previously requested mr. miles' attorneys to let the st. louis lawyer do all the questioning and examining, and not to object to any question that he might put to the witness, unless it was entirely out of reason. therefore, they merely sat still, carefully noting everything and objecting to nothing. of course, the conspirators were anxious to get a strong deposition from the witness, and, therefore, he was permitted to describe the man miles, for whom he was supposed to have written the will. the st. louis attorney kept nodding approval to his fine description of the dead man. when he had fully described mr. stephen b. miles to the satisfaction of the conspirators, he took the purported will and examined it carefully, saying, "the handwriting on that document looks like my handwriting, but (in a loud, clear voice) i did not write this or any other will for mr. stephen b. miles, or any other person. i have never met the man stephen b. miles, nor the man that i have just described. i was instructed to give the description that i have given here by these lawyers (pointing to the st. louis and kansas city lawyers, who were both present) and i was expected by them to testify that i had written this will, and i was promised five thousand dollars if i would." the reader can easily imagine the consternation that reigned among the conspirators at this testimony from the one they trusted would be their star witness. our man left the stand and the further taking of testimony was discontinued, it is needless to add. mr. miles and his attorneys believed that these conspirators had ceased their efforts for a time, but later on they produced another man whom they claimed had written the second will for stephen b. miles. he was a young man, also a lawyer, and had at one time lived in st. louis for a short time, married there, and had gone to old mexico. he was discovered in mexico by the kansas city outfit and induced to come back to chicago, illinois, where his deposition was taken. he claimed to have written the will for an old man in st. louis, but he was either afraid to describe him or could not do so, therefore his testimony was worthless. the conspirators continued to try to break the original will until it was finally pronounced legal and valid by the supreme court of nebraska, and joseph h. miles' rights were thoroughly and legally established. during this litigation, however, two of the parties in the conspiracy died, and the others were not prosecuted for complicity, although their actions had put joseph h. miles to considerable trouble and expense. they had made several indirect propositions to mr. miles looking to a compromise, but he promptly repelled all of them. harbaugh's connection with my service has long since been severed, and he is now in the employ of mr. joseph h. miles as manager of his large stock range in nebraska, not far from falls city, where the writer is informed he is doing well. the big southwest strike. how the blows which caused the death knell of the knights of labor were administered.--stirring scenes and incidents connected with the big strike of . if you have an ambition to lead a strenuous life, young man, and feel that excitement would serve as a tonic for your nervous system, and you want to gratify your ambition and secure the tonic in greater than homeopathic doses, both at the same time, just get yourself appointed chief special agent of a big railroad during a general strike. i am "dopeing" you right, for i have been "on the job" on several occasions during a strike, consequently know what i am writing about. the most strenuous thirty days of my long career, however, were the thirty days in , when the whole southwestern system of gould roads were tied up, and there was nothing doing in the traffic line. while there had been differences between the shopmen and the company for some time, these differences were considered trivial, and neither side had expected that they would result in a strike, consequently neither the men nor the company were prepared for the struggle when it began--at ten o'clock on the morning of the th of march. the shopmen, as well as many other employes of the gould roads, including engineers, firemen and trainmen, were nearly all members of the knights of labor. organizers and professional labor agitators had been busy all along the line for months, coaxing and coercing the men into the order. martin irons had been selected as chairman of the grievance committee, and while in texas attending a meeting of the committee, called the strike, without consulting the national officers of the organization, a violation of one of the order's most stringent rules. he afterwards admitted that he would not have called the strike had he been sober. [illustration: martin irons. chairman of the knights of labor strike committee on the gould system in .] irons was a little weazen-faced scotch-irishman, with a past--as most of these professional labor agitators have. at the time of the strike he was on the payroll as a machinist of the pacific company at sedalia, where he was living with what is now-a-days called an affinity, he having deserted his wife and several children in ray county years before. he was thoroughly unreliable, a drunkard, and was hated by most of his followers. there were two redeeming things about him, however. a good voice was one of them. he could have earned a large salary as a train-caller or a barker for a tent show, and he was a good actor. notwithstanding his repulsive appearance, and the fact that the shopmen did not like him, he could sway them as he pleased, if granted the privilege of addressing them--fill them with either tears or indignation, as best suited the occasion. he never made a speech in his life, though, during which he did not pay his respects to me and my men, and tell how we were shadowing and hounding him day and night. he did this to create sympathy. as a matter of fact, there never was a time when any of gould's c-a-p-i-t-a-l-i-s-t-i-c b-l-o-o-d h-o-u-n-d-s, to use his own favorite expression, were ever on his trail. he was always regarded by my men and myself as a harmless demagogue, and not capable of doing anything that would cause us much trouble. in fact, the only thing he ever did in which he did not leave a trail behind him as wide as a railroad right-of-way, was the wire-tapping job he supervised during the strike, which will be referred to later. as stated previously, the strike was called at ten o'clock on the morning of march , . the sound of the big whistle, the blowing of which was the signal for the men to quit work, had hardly died away before the main yards of the company at st. louis, which were just west of the old twelfth st. station, were filled with a mob of at least ten thousand knights of labor and sympathizers. the company's shops at chouteau and th streets were also at once taken possession of by the strikers and their friends. notwithstanding the fact that many of the employes of the company were loyal, and did not want to leave their jobs, these demonstrations caused them to do so. a call was sent in to police headquarters by general superintendent kerrigan, who was in charge of the operation of the missouri pacific and iron mountain roads, in the absence of vice-president and general manager hoxie, who was detained at his home on account of illness, asking for police protection for the company's loyal employes and property. maj. lawrence harrigan, then chief of police, responded to this call by detailing sergt. jack campbell, who was afterwards chief of police, and eighteen men for duty on the company's property. the reader can easily imagine the predicament in which this little handful of officers found themselves in attempting to handle a mob of at least ten thousand. on orders from mr. kerrigan, i secured three engines and crews, and we began to make up a train. at this sign of activity the mob became frantic. two of the engines were soon derailed and disabled. i then placed my force of special officers, which consisted of but a few men, on the remaining engine, and attempted to continue the switching of cars in order to get out a train of perishable goods, but we could not make any headway, as the mob pulled the pins, threw switches, derailed cars and otherwise interfered with the work. after a couple of hours had been thus consumed, i suggested to mr. kerrigan that we had furnished enough entertainment for the mob for one day, and told him i was going to take the engine to the round house to keep it from being disabled. "do you think you can succeed in doing it, tom?" asked mr. kerrigan. "i will do my best," i replied. "for goodness sake, do it, then, and when you get through come to my office as i want to consult with you." the engine, which had been abandoned by the engineer and fireman, was standing just east of th st., a portion of it being under the viaduct which spanned that thoroughfare. the viaduct was lined with spectators and strikers and their sympathizers, many of the latter being armed with paving stones, links, pins, etc. as i climbed aboard the cab some miscreant hurled a paving stone at me. it came within a few inches of landing on my head. it is needless to state that if it had struck me i would not be writing this story. david r. francis, at that time mayor of st. louis, was viewing the situation from the viaduct, and witnessed the attempt on my life. turning to robert s. mcdonald, former circuit attorney, and a well-known lawyer, the mayor exclaimed, "that man furlong will get killed by that mob." after the incident, i espied the engineer standing in the crowd. i called to him in a loud voice, "come here and let us take this engine to the roundhouse." on hearing this a mighty shout went up from the mob, and there was much rejoicing and clapping of hands, they thinking they had achieved a great victory--just what i wanted them to think. the engineer climbed on the engine and we made the trip to the roundhouse without molestation. after the engine had been safely placed in its stall, i went at once to the office of general superintendent kerrigan. after thoroughly discussing the situation which confronted us, i suggested that he call on judge portis, at that time general attorney of the missouri pacific, and insist on him preparing a legal notice to be served on the mayor and police board and sheriff of st. louis, setting forth that the company was being hindered in the operation of its property within the city and county of st. louis, and state of missouri, by a mob; that the company had many hundred thousand dollars' worth of perishable property in its cars in the yards in st. louis, and also had plenty of competent and loyal employes who were willing and anxious to do the work of switching the cars and running the trains, but were prevented from doing so by said mob. therefore, the company, after the serving of this notice, intended to hold the said city and county and state liable for all damages sustained by the company by reason of said mob's interference, as aforesaid. mr. kerrigan, acting on this suggestion, immediately called in judge portis, c. g. warner, general auditor, w. h. newman, the general freight traffic manager, and some other officers of the road, and had me repeat the suggestion to them, which i did. the attorney did not take kindly to the proposition at first, but at the demand of mr. kerrigan the notices were prepared, and later served on the officials named. the receiving of these notices by the officials awakened them to their responsibilities. that evening a meeting of the police board was called by president blair, and at its close an order was issued to chief of police harrigan, instructing him to don his uniform early the next morning and lead every available man in the department to the missouri pacific yards, where he was to so station his men that none but loyal employes could enter the yards. the board's orders were carried out, the chief causing a line of men to be formed around the yards before the strikers had entered upon the property of the company. at the head of a force of twenty-eight men, including a full train crew, conductor, engineer, fireman and three brakemen, i made up a train of ten cars and started west with them. we were not molested until we arrived at the compton avenue crossing. at this point a number of strikers under the leadership of a notorious agitator named geary, were seen on the track. each striker carried a small american flag, which they stuck up in the middle of the track at the crossing, and then every one began signalling us to stop, shouting to us that "we did not dare run over an american flag." i want to state right here, that no man in this country has a greater respect for old glory than i have. i put in four years, one month and eight days defending it on one occasion, and thus helped to make it what it is today, and it made me feel pretty bad to see it put to the use it was on this occasion, and it is the only time in my life that i failed to pay the flag the respect due it. to make the story shorter, we paid no attention to the flags, and would have run over the mob had they not skeedaddled out of the way of that train. at the city limits, sergt. campbell, who had been riding on the engine with me, left the train, and we continued on our journey westward. sitting on the running board on either side of the engine i had two men, billy bonnell and mike gibbons, each armed with a shot gun. on the deadwood, or cowcatcher, in front of the engine, i had two other men, jim mccane and w. k. moir, each armed with revolvers, and each carrying a clawbar. we had expected to find some spiked switches, and these clawbars were to be used in pulling the spikes. the balance of my guards, all armed, were placed in the caboose and on top of the box cars. no trouble was encountered until we neared pacific. we pulled into the town slowly, with all brakes set, so there would be no slack in the train, thus making it impossible for any one to dodge in between the cars and pull the pins, thus uncoupling the cars. we knew a lot of strikers had gone out to pacific over the frisco that morning, and expected trouble on arriving at that town. we were not disappointed. the first switch encountered had been turned for the side tracks and spiked, as had every other switch leading from the main line. my men who were armed with clawbars soon pulled the spikes and reset the switches and we slowly creeped into the town. the strikers were holding a meeting in an old brick house on the first road east of pacific, but on hearing our train coming the meeting was broken up and the men ran to a sand bin located just east of the depot and took refuge behind it. as our train pulled by this sand bin at least shots were fired at the train. strange to say, not one of my men was hurt, but the cab and caboose and some of the cars were badly splintered by the bullets. after pulling by the sand bin the mob ran after the train, and one of the leaders, named davis, picked up a drawbar and rushed to the front of the caboose, which he was enabled to do as we were running so slowly, and attempted to throw the draw bar under the front wheels of the caboose, for the purpose of derailing it. he would probably have succeeded had not marshall f. mcdonald, the noted st. louis attorney, who had volunteered to act as one of my guards, saw what the man was attempting to do. the lawyer was so enraged at davis' audacity that he picked up a coupling pin, which was lying on the platform of the caboose, and hit the striker over the head with it. it is needless to add that we had no more trouble with davis that day, as he went down for the count, as the sporting writer would put it. when we were fired upon by the mob entrenched behind the sand bin, i had hard work to control my men, they wanting to return the fire. i had previously told them not to fire a shot without my orders, but in the event i was compelled to order them to fire, i had instructed them to shoot to kill. after the first volley, and there being no return fire, the strikers concluded the guards were afraid to shoot, and immediately set about to uncouple the train. in this they were foiled, as they could not pull the pins. they then tried to climb to the top of the cars for the purpose of disarming the guards and throwing them from the train. in this they were again foiled, for the guards, using their weapons for clubs, beat them off. as soon as a striker's head appeared at the top of the ladder he received a blow over it that caused him to either fall to the ground or scamper back down the ladder. many of them were badly injured, either from the fall or the blow from the weapon in the hands of the guards. one of the mob singled me out and kept peppering away at me with a revolver. one of my men, mike gibbons, from his seat on the running board of the engine, and who was armed with a shotgun, wanted to "get" this man, but i would not let him do it. the fight was fast and furious, however, and lasted until our train had passed through the town. our train met with no further trouble of importance until we arrive at chamois, the end of the first freight division. here the foreman of the round house had deserted his post and joined the strikers, and was acting as leader, and not one of the company's employes were on duty--that is, for the company. as soon as we pulled in the strikers surrounded the train, but attempted no acts of violence, they evidently being over-awed at the sight of the twenty-two armed guards. i made a short but "impressive" talk to the men, using as near as i can recall it, the following language: "gentlemen, i am special agent of the missouri pacific railroad. these men you see with me here are in my department. we have no grievances against the company and are in no way interested in this strike, except to protect life and property. i want to convey to you, mr. foreman, the thanks of the management of the company to yourself and your associates for the good care you have taken of the company's property. i am here now with these men to relieve you of any further responsibility in the matter, and all of you are hereby notified to get off and stay off of the company's right-of-way until the trouble has been satisfactorily adjusted. if you attempt to get back on the right-of-way, or in any manner attempt to interfere with my men while in the discharge of their duties, or with the movement of trains, or commit other depredations, you are liable to get shot." at the conclusion of my talk the strikers left the company's premises. on investigation i found "dead" engines, that is, engines from which the water had been removed. the supply water tank was also as dry as the proverbial powder horn, and the pumping machinery disabled, parts of the engine having been removed, and as i afterwards learned thrown into the little creek from which the water to supply the tank was obtained. as it was getting late in the day i went over to the hotel to make arrangements for getting supper for my men and crew. the proprietor told me there was nothing doing, as he did not want to take chances on getting his building burned down by the knights of labor. all of the balance of the regular eating houses and boarding houses in the town refused to accommodate us for the same reason. they had been notified by the committee not to do so. they would be boycotted if they did, and it had been intimated that even greater punishment might be meted out to them in case the committee's orders were violated. later a good old german lady named mrs. stoeppleman, who had two sons who were loyal employes of the company, sent for me and told me she was not afraid of the knights of labor, and cared nothing about a boycott or what her neighbors might say, and she would feed us if we desired her to do so. it is needless to add that we accepted of her hospitality. after a good supper, i learned where the missing parts of the pumping engine had been thrown, and two of my men, messrs. mccane and moir, who were both good machinists and engineers, were set to work to repair the engine. the water in the creek, where the missing parts of the engine had been thrown, was about four feet deep, and was partially covered with ice. mccane and moir entered the icy water, while i and others held torches, and fished out the missing parts. the engine was repaired, and by morning we had the supply tank nearly full of water. early the next morning, we fired up one of the dead engines, and attaching it to the train of ten cars, sent it on to sedalia in charge of a crew and two guards. leaving eleven men at chamois in charge of mr. w. k. moir, i made up a train of loaded cars, and with the remainder of my men started on our return trip to st. louis. no trouble occurred until our arrival at pacific, where the scenes attending our arrival there the day before were partially re-enacted. we got through pacific without any serious trouble, however, and arrived in st. louis about : p. m. the st. louis strikers had not been idle while i was out on the road, however. on pulling into the chouteau avenue yards the first thing i saw was that the big turntable had been put out of commission. the strikers had deliberately run an engine into the pit, not only blocking the turntable, but badly damaging the engine. the next morning (wednesday) mr. kerrigan sent for me to call at his office. on arriving i was told that the strikers had attacked the washington accommodation, containing three coaches loaded with passengers bound for st. louis, at gray's summit, a little station west of pacific, and had run the train onto a siding and "killed" the engine. i at once repaired to the chouteau avenue yards, and taking an engine, attached it to a coach, into which i placed ten picked men, all well armed, and the run was made to gray's summit in fairly good time. the strikers and sympathizers soon dispersed when commanded to do so by me. one of my men, jim mccane, who was an experienced engineer, disconnected the disabled engine, taking off the side rods, and in a remarkably short time we had coupled the disabled engine and the coaches on behind our coach. we then ran our engine to a "y" west of the little town, and after turning it around brought the passengers safely to st. louis, where we arrived a little before dark. the rescue of this passenger train was the entering wedge which broke the strike. on arriving at the roundhouse that evening, a messenger was awaiting me with a note from general manager kerrigan, asking me to call at his office at sixth and locust streets to consult with the officers of the company. on arriving at mr. kerrigan's office i found mr. newman, freight traffic manager, and mr. werner, the general auditor, awaiting me. these three gentlemen were handling the strike situation for the company in the absence of vice-president and general manager hoxie. they had learned of the conditions at the chouteau avenue shops, of the running of the engine into the turntable pit, and also of the large number of men the strikers had on guard, both outside and inside of the fence which surrounded the shops. mr. kerrigan, recognizing the fact that we could do but little without engines, and as all the engines, save one or two, were safely locked within the round house, expressed himself as wishing to again get possession of the roundhouse. in discussing the best means of doing this the gentlemen thought it best to call on the police department for enough men to drive the strikers away. i told them that it was not necessary to do that, as i could get possession of the shops at any time. "how can you do it, tom?" asked mr. werner. "it will not take as long to do the job as it will to tell you about it," i replied, and further told them that we would be in possession of the shops again by daylight the next morning, if they so desired. they told me to go ahead and get possession of the shops in my own way. at that time i knew where i could get my hands on between forty and sixty of my men. i sent messengers to hunt up these men, instructing them to report to me on the handlan lot, southeast corner of grand and laclede avenues, promptly at : the next morning. they were further instructed to slip into the rendezvous quietly, not more than one or two going in together at a time, and all were given a pass word by which they would be able to identify each other. at the time fixed, forty-six men had reported, all well armed. i formed them into a double line, and after cautioning them to be careful about stumbling or coughing, or making a noise of any kind, marched them down grand avenue to the railroad track, and then down to the west gate of the fence surrounding the shops. on arriving there and finding the gate fastened on the inside, four men were boosted over the high fence. these men soon had the gate open and the balance marched in. immediately on entering the shopyard the men split ranks, half going to the right and the other half to the left, jim mccane heading one squad and i the other. the strikers had placed pickets every few rods all along the inside of the fence, but our entrance had been made so suddenly and noiselessly that these pickets had no time to sound an alarm. they were quickly disarmed of their clubs, or bludgeons, and taken along with us from one station to the other, until every picket in the yard had been captured. they were taken to the gate and boosted out. we then entered the shops, where we found many strikers asleep on benches and work tables. these were thrown out of the building before they hardly had time to get their eyes open. a good sized crowd of watchers and beer-canners were on the outside of the east gate of the fence. these men, too, were driven from the right-of-way. by daylight we were again in complete possession of the shops, as i had promised my superiors we would be, without a blow being struck or any one hurt. i then sent trusted men down into the city to the quarters where men out of work usually congregate, with instructions to hire all the men they could find and quietly get them into the shops in small groups. i did not care what the previous occupations of these men had been, just so they were able-bodied. it did not make any difference to me whether they had ever seen the inside of the railroad shop before. all i wanted was men--men who could make a noise. we soon had a sufficient number of these men inside of the shops to serve my purpose. engines were fired up, fire was built in the blacksmith forges and the big engine in the powerhouse was set in motion. in fact, to those on the outside of the shop who could see the smoke coming out of the smoke stacks and hear the noise, and to those who could get a peep through the gates, the shops presented a scene of great activity. men were pounding great molten pieces of iron on the blacksmiths' anvils, while others were pounding away on big pieces of boiler iron, but they were not blacksmiths or boilermakers; they were simply playing a part assigned to them by the master mechanic and myself. other men represented machinists, while others were painters, car repairers and helpers. of course, all these actors and guards had to be fed, so we established a commissary and a kitchen and brought in a lot of cots for these men and guards to sleep on, which were placed in the building. to those who are not familiar with the handling of strikers, i will tell why we employed all those unskilled men. it was for the purpose of making the strikers believe that we were fast filling their places, which it did, for in the next day or so many of the men who went out quietly made application for reinstatement. in many instances these applications were acted upon favorably and the men put to work, and the backbone of the strike was thus broken. as on all such occasions, many acts of violence were committed. when the strikers learned that men were being slipped into the shops they were very wroth. now and then one of the strike breakers would stray away from the shops. they were fortunate, indeed, if they did not fall into the hands of the pickets, for if they did, and which was usually the case, they were badly beaten. of course, we always attempted to prevent the men going out after they were once inside of the enclosure, knowing what they would be up against, but we were not always successful in keeping them inside. on the second day, after we had retaken the shops, a coach painter named haller, who had been employed at the shops for several months, and who was at home at the bedside of a sick wife when the strike was called, showed up at the shops and resumed work. at quitting time that evening he picked up his dinner bucket and started down the track to jefferson avenue, as had been his custom. on arriving at jefferson avenue he was approached by a number of pickets, who remonstrated with him for going to work. "i cannot afford to loaf now, as my wife has been sick a long time," said haller; "besides, i am satisfied with the wages i am receiving and intend to keep on working," and started up jefferson avenue towards his home, which was in the block on either franklin or easton avenues. the pickets began to assault him with rocks and clubs, and he sought to escape them by running. at every step, almost, the ranks of the mob were augmented. as haller ran past the strikers' headquarters, which were in eutopia hall, at walnut and jefferson avenues, a crowd of several hundred joined in the chase. the long run up the hill had winded haller. besides he had been weakened by the blows which had been showered upon him. seeing that he could not make his escape on account of his weakened condition, he backed up against a brick building at the northwest corner of the street named and stopped. a big bully rushed up to him and struck him, whereupon haller jerked out a revolver and shot his assailant, who dropped dead in his tracks. this stopped the mob from doing further violence to him. the police from the mounted district rushed to the scene and placed haller under arrest. no attempt was made to arrest any of the mob. later in the evening he was removed to a cell in central station, from which the company's officials, at my request, secured his release on bond. he was later acquitted by a coroner's jury, and in a day or so thereafter was again back at work. after that, for quite a while, i sent a guard home with him each evening, but no attempt was made to molest him. this, i believe, was the only fatality growing out of the strike in st. louis. mr. haller is now a prosperous business man in st. louis, and is highly respected by all who know him. thursday afternoon the big crane at the shops was rigged up for business, and, under the guidance of skilled men in my employ, ran out to the edge of the roundhouse pit, into which the strikers had dumped an engine, as referred to before in this article. this engine so blocked the turntable that not one of the company's engines in the roundhouse could be taken out. the engine was lifted out of the pit, and in a short time the turntable was in working order. that same evening, i decided to straighten out things at pacific. to do this i had made up my mind to place the ring-leaders of the mob which had attacked the train there earlier in the week under arrest. i knew it would take quite a force of men to do this, so i instructed twenty of my men to assemble quietly in the neighborhood of st. malachy's church, at th and clark avenues, at ten o'clock that night. they were to come to the rendezvous in ones and twos, and instructed to do nothing that would attract attention. i had an engine and caboose in waiting at the shops, and when the men had all assembled they were marched to the caboose, and between and o'clock we started to pacific. on arriving at the first cut east of the town the little train was stopped and left in the cut under guard of the engineer and fireman, and two of my men. the engine carried no lights, and no sound had announced our arrival near the town. in fact, we approached it as quietly as possible. the men were divided into two squads, one headed by billy bonnell and the other by myself. we then marched into town and to the homes of the men wanted. they were aroused from their slumber and placed under arrest. we had no trouble, except at the home of a big blacksmith, who had been especially prominent in the riot at the sand bin the day we ran the first train through the town after the strike had been called. he was soon subdued, however, and taken with the balance of the men arrested, to the caboose, which had been left standing on the track near the edge of the town. many of these men were still suffering from the blows they had received at the hands of the guards who were on the train they had attacked. davis, the leader of the mob, who was hit on the head with a coupling pin by marshall f. mcdonald, for attempting to derail the caboose of the train attacked, had his head still covered with bandages. after all the men had been arrested, we boarded the train with our prisoners and ran to washington, where we loaded them into hacks and wagons and took them to union, the county seat of franklin county, where they were placed in jail. in due time they were tried before judge seay, and vigorously prosecuted by prosecuting attorney gallencamp, and all of them convicted. davis, the leader, was given three years in the penitentiary, while the blacksmith and several others were let off with lighter terms, and the balance of the men, who proved to be mere tools of the leaders, at my suggestion, were given jail sentences. davis, after entering the penitentiary, contracted consumption, and after serving a little over half his time, was pardoned so he might go home to die. he was released from prison one saturday, returning to pacific at once. the following monday he died. two of the gentlemen connected with the trial of these strikers have since made reputations for themselves. judge gallencamp, who prosecuted the cases, is now, and has been for several years, surveyor of the port of st. louis, while judge seay, who presided, has received high honors at the hands of the people of oklahoma, his new home, he having served as governor at one time. mr. w. k. moir, whom i left in charge of chamois, proved to be a valuable man for the company. he being a good engineer and machinist he was retained there as general foreman for several years, until the division was removed to jefferson city. he was then given an engine in the yards of the company at that point, but later resigned and moved to st. louis, where he continued to reside until his death, which occurred a few years ago. the st. louis strikers made their headquarters in eutopia hall, jefferson avenue and walnut street, and an ex-convict named martin o'neal usually presided over the meetings. i lived, at that time, at walnut street. my wife was very sick, being confined to her bed, and many of these strikers in going to and from their meetings always passed by the house, and never failed to jeer at the children, if they happened to be in the yard, and otherwise conducted themselves in a rude manner. one striker, a tough switchman named duffy, went so far as to enter the yard and ring the door bell a couple of times, when he knew i was not at home, and when the door was opened by my little daughter, had forced his way into the house. he would then let on as though he wanted to see me, telling my daughter that he knew all about a conspiracy to take my life, and his call was for the purpose of putting me on my guard. his story and rudeness always frightened my family very badly, they thinking that possibly there might be some truth in his story. i knew duffy and his reputation as a general bad man, and knew he had no business with me. i also knew he was aware of my whereabouts during business hours, and i decided to put a stop to his visits at my private home at the first opportunity. as luck would have it, i was at the house the next time he called, one night about ten o'clock. i had slipped home to spend a few moments with my sick wife, and had been in the house only a short time, when the door bell rang. my daughter saw him enter the yard from the window, and called me. i answered the ring of the bell by opening the door and grabbing duffy by the collar and jerking him inside. i at once went to work on him with both fists. he was either too cowardly or his surprise was too great for him to make any resistance. after i had given him a few good stiff jabs, he began to beg for his life. "i am not going to kill you, you cur," i rejoined, "but i am going to teach you better than to come to my home," and i lit into him again. after punching him until i was tired, i let up. i then issued a few orders for the cowering wretch's guidance in the future, and also sent a message to his followers, couched in about the following language, "you people can go up and down this street, of course, but don't any of you let me catch you on this side of it. another thing, i will 'get' the next one of your cowardly curs who jeers at this house again while passing. i don't want any of you to ever even look at my house. if you do, and i find it out, there will be trouble." after making him promise to deliver the message, i again grabbed him by the collar, and pulling the door open, booted him into the street. i always gave duffy credit for delivering the message, for that gang always behaved themselves when passing the house thereafter, and always kept to the other side of the street. st. louis was not the only scene of rioting and mob violence during the strike. at sedalia, where the main engine building plant of the company is located, and where about machinists and other shopmen were employed, conditions were very bad. sedalia was also the headquarters of the operating department of the "katy," one of the gould properties, and a division point for all missouri pacific lines at that time running through missouri. in fact, it was what might be called a railroad town. it was also the main headquarters of the strikers. the knights of labor were very strong, even most of the business men of the city belonging to the order. the strikers had their own way for several days. each attempt on the part of superintendent sibley to move trains was the signal for rioting. to illustrate the boldness of the strikers, i will relate one incident. adjutant general j. c. jamison, of governor marmaduke's staff, had been sent to sedalia to investigate conditions there. he went to the yards and with two police officers, boarded an engine, attached to a train, which the officials were attempting to get out of the yards. the engine was given steam and the train started. before it had gone a hundred yards, however, a mob climbed aboard the engine, stopped the train, uncoupled the engine from the train, put on steam, and ran the engine down the katy track about two miles, and after letting all the water out of the boiler, ran the engine back to the yards and into the roundhouse. no attempt was made to harm the adjutant general and the police officers by the mob. immediately on the arrival of the captured engine at the roundhouse, the leaders of the mob, who proved to be john perry and fred page, two of martin irons' most trusted lieutenants, were placed under arrest by chief of police barnett of sedalia and a couple of his officers. the arrest caused one of the worst riots ever witnessed in the little city. the men were finally locked up, however, by the plucky chief of police, but were soon released on bond. this riot caused a change of sentiment on the part of the business men, which up to this time had been with the strikers entirely, and within a few days enough volunteer guards had been secured to handle the situation. traffic was then resumed on the roads. many of the ringleaders were indicted by the grand jury, but none of them were tried, they being allowed to leave the county. at kansas city, parsons, denison, ft. worth, palestine, little rock, and many other places much rioting was indulged in by the strikers, and much property was destroyed, and worse, several lives were sacrificed. martin irons, after the strike, was completely deserted by the men whom he had led, and became a wanderer and an outcast, a veritable human derelict. his constitution had become so weakened by the excessive use of liquor that he could not hold a job as a machinist, although he was a good workman. he then tried lecturing, but in this he was not successful. later he opened a lunch counter at kansas city. this enterprise was also a failure. he finally wandered down into arkansas, and one morning was found dead in a hovel. never was the biblical admonition, "as ye sow, so shall ye reap," more plainly illustrated than in the case of poor martin irons. why i oppose rewards. it often is an incentive for unscrupulous officers to convict innocent persons--rule regarding divorce cases. i do not believe in rewards, and in all my long career, have made it a rule to never work for, or receive one, no matter how great the amount offered for the arrest and conviction of the guilty party, or parties--this being the usual way that the heading of a reward is written. nor do i believe in or engage in procuring evidence in divorce cases. however, i can see no objection to the offering of a reward for the apprehension or capture of a fugitive who is known to have committed a certain crime against the law, and for whom a warrant has been issued, and i believe the detective, or any other person, who makes the arrest would have the right to accept such reward. where the reward is offered for the arrest and conviction of some person, for a crime that has been committed, and the guilty party, or parties, is unknown, i, from personal experience, have been led to the belief that the offering of a reward, especially a large reward, is an incentive for unscrupulous people, and especially unscrupulous officers of the law, to fasten the crime on some unfortunate, or perhaps some dishonest or undesirable citizen, which can be found in almost any community, in order to obtain the reward. these unfortunate people are easier to convict of a crime than persons who have always borne a good reputation. then, again, the offering of a reward for criminals whose identity is unknown, tends to keep a certain class of people from divulging facts that they may know, which might, if properly utilized, lead to the identity, arrest and conviction of the perpetrators of the crime for which the reward was offered. to make it more plain, when a crime has been committed, and no reward is offered, this same class of people are more liable to "come out from under cover" and tell what they know about the facts in their possession, believing them of no material value to the officers engaged in running down the culprit. experienced detectives have been very often handicapped by reason of a reward having been offered, and, for this reason, i have always made it a rule to pay no attention to rewards. while i am satisfied that it is, in many cases, necessary for the purification and preservation of society, to thoroughly investigate divorce cases as it is to apprehend and convict people who have committed a theft or other crimes, by reason of the fact that there are so many crooked and unscrupulous men, who claim to be detectives, and who make the divorce business their specialty, in order to elevate myself and my service from the level of this class of people, i formed a rule, at the beginning of my career, not to have anything to do with divorce cases. this rule i have always rigidly enforced. why i am opposed to hanging. aversion to this mode of execution was caused by an incident which happened at belleville illinois, years ago--through the trap with a murderer. in my younger days i was a firm believer in hanging as a means of capital punishment, but i do not hold the same views now, and have not for a long time. as my friends have often asked me what caused me to change my mind on this matter, i am now going to take them into my confidence, and tell them all about it. several years ago i had some important business to transact with sheriff ropiequet of st. clair county, illinois. i went to his office in the court house at belleville. the deputy in charge informed me that the sheriff was over in the jail yard putting the finishing touches to arrangements for hanging a negro named johnson, who had been convicted of killing his wife in a most brutal manner. the deputy further informed me that if my business was important, i had better go to the jail at once, as the sheriff would probably be too busy later to see me until after dinner. acting on this tip, i at once went to the jail and was admitted. the sheriff told me he was too busy at the time to attend to the business, and would be until after the hanging, and invited me to witness the execution, which was to take place in a few moments. i cared nothing about this, as the witnessing of executions had long since ceased to be a novelty to me, but under the circumstances, i accepted the invitation. the scaffold had been erected in the yard surrounding the jail. the platform, which was about eight feet square, rested on four upright posts, about six and a half feet from the ground. the trap door, which was about three feet square, was located in the center of the platform, and fastened to one end by two hinges, opening downward. the other end was fastened on the underside by a bolt, or trigger, the pulling of which would allow the body to drop down through the platform. on the center of the trap door was a soap box, on which the culprit was to stand while awaiting the arranging of the noose, one end of which ran around a pulley fastened to a cross-beam above the platform, so that the rope could be adjusted to the proper length. a stairway, about three feet wide, had been built from the ground to the platform. within a few minutes, the sheriff and condemned man, accompanied by a priest and a deputy sheriff, appeared at the door leading from the jail to the yard in which the execution was to take place. as they marched toward the scaffold the sheriff commanded me to join the procession, which i did, following the party up the stairway to the platform. the condemned man appeared cool and walked with a firm step. i took a position to the right of him, while the sheriff stood at his left. the priest and deputy stood just back of us. after the man who was about to be hanged had taken his position on the box on the trap, he was asked if he had anything to say, as is usual on such occasions. the negro made a complete confession of his guilt, but claimed that the drinking of bad whiskey was the real cause of his committing the crime, and admonished all within the hearing of his voice to beware of strong drink. at the conclusion of his talk, the deputy bound his legs and tied his hands behind him, while the sheriff adjusted the black cap. the negro had an exceedingly long head and neck, and as a result the cap did not cover all of his neck, there being a space of an inch or two between the bottom of the cap and the top of his coat collar. just as the sheriff placed the noose around the condemned man's neck, but before the officers had time to tighten the rope, it came in contact with the bare place on the negro's neck, and he fainted. the sheriff grabbed one arm and i the other to keep the fainting man from falling from the platform. in doing this we both stepped on the trap. the deputy became rattled and pulled the trigger at this moment, and all three of us started down through the trap together. now the sheriff was a very large man, and i was no infant myself, so when all three of our bodies reached the level of the platform we became wedged in the opening. the noose had become taut, just enough to strangle the negro a little, and he commenced to kick and squirm. finally his body squeezed on down, relieving the pressure on the sheriff and me, and we both, too, fell through to the ground. we were not harmed and were soon on our feet. because of the fact that the rope had not been adjusted to the proper length, the negro's toes touched the ground, thus preventing the breaking of his neck. he strangled to death, however, in a few minutes. since this incident i have been opposed to hanging as a means of capital punishment. a crooked doctor's crime. arrest of the culprit, and his cunning attempt to put his captor out of the way in an effort to make his escape. in , mrs. boardman, a widow woman with a large family of grown children, resided on a small farm in venango county, pennsylvania, a few miles east of oil city. she became acquainted with a hebrew doctor, who called himself dr. solomon steinman. he practiced medicine for a short time in and about rouseville, pennsylvania. there were a number of producing oil wells on mrs. boardman's farm, and she, from the royalty obtained from the products of these wells, had accumulated quite a sum of money. the doctor, representing himself as a bachelor, managed to grow into the good graces of the widow, notwithstanding the fact that she was the mother of two sons who were almost as old as himself. in a remarkably short space of time the doctor succeeded in obtaining ten thousand dollars of the widow's money, having represented to her that he would invest it for her in property that would yield fabulous profits; but instead of making the investment, he quite suddenly left for parts unknown. the widow's sons, on hearing that their mother had been swindled, reported the matter to me, i being chief of police of oil city. they requested me to locate and cause the arrest of the doctor on the charge of obtaining money under false pretense. i undertook the task of learning his whereabouts, and it seemed impossible to get any trace of him. he had disappeared from his boarding house, telling no person of his intention of leaving, and no trace could be found that would indicate where he had gone. he was at his boarding house for supper on the evening of his departure, and quietly left, after eating his evening meal, as though he was going to a cigar store or a barber shop, leaving what wardrobe he had, grip and other articles, in his room, and disappeared as effectually as though the ground had opened up and engulfed him. the evening trains had all left the town before he had left his boarding house, so that he was obliged to have left the town on foot. no one around rouseville had ever seen a picture of him. he was a small man, dark complexioned, about forty-five years of age, five feet, six inches in height, and weighed about one hundred and thirty pounds, was smooth shaven, had black curly hair sprinkled with gray, and had a decided hebrew countenance. about five months after his disappearance, in looking over one of the morning papers, i noticed a short article, giving an account of a dr. lewis who had been arrested on the charge of malpractice, at bay city, michigan, the day before. this article gave a minute description of the man arrested, and from this description, which answered the one that i had of dr. steinman, i concluded that i had found the person i was looking for. i took the first train to bay city and found dr. lewis in his office, he having been released on a two thousand, five hundred dollar cash bond, which he had placed in the hands of the committing magistrate. i also learned that the man giving the name of dr. lewis was none other than dr. steinman. he had already been indicted in venango county, pennsylvania, for obtaining money under false pretense, and the prosecuting officer of bay city, being willing to surrender him to me, i had no trouble in obtaining the necessary requisition papers. after getting the papers i left bay city with my prisoner. i searched him carefully and took charge of all his personal effects. we took the train for detroit, michigan, arriving there in the afternoon. i locked him up in the police station until ten o'clock that evening, when i took him to the dock and boarded a steamer for cleveland, ohio. it was the old steamer northwestern, and our state room was on the upper deck, pretty well forward. we left detroit about ten-thirty o'clock that night, and were due to arrive at cleveland in the morning between four and five o'clock. we retired about midnight. i assigned the upper berth to the prisoner, while i occupied the lower. as i said before, i had searched him thoroughly before leaving bay city. about two o'clock in the morning, after leaving detroit, i dozed off to sleep, when i suddenly awakened and smelled the strong odor of chloroform. the stateroom was dark, but i reached up towards the upper berth and my hand came in contact with the doctor's. he was holding a cone that he had made from a towel, and had reached down from his berth and was holding this cone over a four ounce bottle of chloroform, and was trying to put me to sleep for good, but the first breath that i had inhaled, after he had placed the chloroform over my face, aroused me. i grabbed his arm, pulled him out of his berth onto the deck in front of the room, and would have thrown him into lake erie, were it not for the fact that he yelled at the top of his voice, and aroused the lookout on duty at the forward end of the vessel, and also the wheelman, both of whom reached us in time to prevent me from drowning the doctor. if i had carried out my intention of throwing him overboard, nothing could have saved him from drowning. i then made him dress himself and took him down to the forecastle, where the captain placed two of the crew to guard him until we arrived in cleveland. i have never learned how, or where, the doctor secured the bottle of chloroform, as i had searched him thoroughly, and i am positive he did not have it on him when we left bay city, and have come to the conclusion that he must have secured it while he was in the lock-up at detroit. of course, i did not search him there. during the civil war, on december , , i received a gun shot wound above the right knee, at the battle of drainesville, virginia, and before the doctor began to dress the wound he administered chloroform to me. the after effects of the stuff were very disagreeable and i did not get over it for a long time, and resolved that i would never again take chloroform under any circumstances. i really suffered more from the nasty stuff than i did from the wound. this, i presume, accounts for the shock the odor of the chloroform produced on me. i arrived with the prisoner at oil city in due time. he was tried at the first term of court thereafter, and convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for a term of ten years. i succeeded in locating and recovering nearly five thousand dollars of the money the doctor had fraudulently secured from the widow. this was returned to her by due process of law. capture of a clever swindler. sam benard's unique method of defrauding the railroads--how he did the work--his conviction after a long chase. between the years of and the railroads of this country had been swindled, time after time, by some unknown person changing the address on an invoice of goods after it had reached the railroad office. this was done on an order which purported to come from the firm which had shipped the goods. in february of , a shipment of gentlemen's dress goods was sent to a. a. alden and company of franklin, pennsylvania, by brock and weiner of buffalo. the consignment was valued at $ . . a few minutes after the goods had been delivered at the freight office, a man entered and told the agent that the boxes had been marked with the name of the wrong town; that they should go to corry, pennsylvania, instead of franklin. the agent demanded an order from the firm, before making the change. the pretended clerk wrote out the order, signing the firm name to it, and the address, corry, was substituted for that of franklin. this being done, the supposed clerk went to corry. here he pretended that he was a merchant from new york, and that he was to open an auction store in the town. the merchant tailors did not like to have their trade injured in this manner, so offered to buy the goods. the pretended merchant sold them at a much reduced price, and received a check for three hundred fifty nine dollars and sixty cents. he indorsed the check with a. a. alden's name, thus adding forgery to his other crimes. then the case was given to me. two weeks went by without a clue to the swindler. i found that other detectives had been hunting for a man who had played the same game in other cities, but the culprit had guarded himself so well that even his real name was unknown. from the descriptions obtained and from his general manner of operation, it was known that the same person had been operating on all the roads where this swindling had occurred. one day while in buffalo, i chanced to go into a cigar store. at this time the newspapers were full of the swindle, and some of the people in the store were discussing the affair. an old gentleman who was among those present said that a young man who had been employed in the same store with himself, about six years previously, had swindled his employers in the same manner. this was in rochester. i took the hint and after questioning the old man i found that the name of his former working companion was william benard. i went to rochester, and while there obtained the names of some of his acquaintances, and finally found a photograph of him. the description given me by the detectives tallied with the photograph of benard. i therefore made up my mind that benard was the man i wanted. after further inquiry i found that relations of benard lived in detroit, michigan. i went there and obtained information as to the whereabouts of the swindler. i followed him through montreal, canada; cincinnati, cleveland, indianapolis, toledo, chicago, to st. louis. he was known in all these places as "jew harry." it seemed that it was impossible to find a detective in any one place who had not at some time or other been on benard's tracks. on my arrival in st. louis, june , , i went to the office of chief of police mcdonohue at once. i told him who i was and that i had information which led me to believe that benard had worked in st. louis. when the chief, who was very portly, and somewhat gruff, heard this, he straightened up in his chair, and said, "it is impossible. that fellow would not dare to come to st. louis. he would be afraid. he knows he could not work any such game in this town. my police would be sure to get him." i then told the chief that i had reason to believe that benard had been in st. louis within the last few days. this idea the chief fairly ridiculed. just at this moment a rather elderly man entered the office, in a very excited manner. he had brown hair, streaked with gray, and wore short side-burns, or galways, as they are sometimes called. he asked if he could see the chief for a few minutes, so i at once rose to leave the office. the chief told me to remain, then asked the visitor to state his business. he told the chief that his name was h. m. smith, and that he was a pawnbroker, in business at eighth and morgan streets. he then went on to say that a man giving the name of solomon, representing that he was from cleveland, ohio, had called on him a few days previous. he had represented himself as a pawnbroker, and had presented the business card of solomon & company of cleveland. mr. smith told him that he knew of the firm, but never had the pleasure of meeting a member of it. solomon then told smith that he had a nephew who had been in business with him for years, but that he had gone out west, in the mining district of colorado, and opened up a pawnshop of his own. there was then a large demand for revolvers and pistols of heavy caliber, and that he had ordered about two thousand dollars' worth of heavy caliber guns and ammunition from the simmons hardware company of st. louis. after he had placed the order with the request that it be packed and shipped immediately, he had received a telegram from his nephew stating that he had gotten into trouble and had been forced to leave the country; and, therefore, could not take the order from simmons. he requested solomon to call at simmons and cancel the order. the simmons people informed solomon that as the fire-arms were already packed and in the freight-house, preparatory for shipping, they could not cancel the order. solomon then said to smith, "i have no use for these pistols and guns, and i can't ship them to my nephew in colorado since he has left there. i will have these goods brought up to your store and you can examine them. then if you find them just as i have represented, i will let you have them at your own price. you can easily sell them and make some money on them." mr. smith assented. solomon then went and got a drayman and had the fire-arms brought to smith's office from the freight depot. solomon got there about the time the goods did and had the cases opened. smith found the goods were just as solomon represented, so he told solomon that he would give him eleven hundred dollars for them, which was about half their value. solomon, with tears in his eyes, accepted smith's check for that amount, and left for parts unknown. on the morning of my arrival and while i was talking to chief mcdonohue, smith had received by mail, a bill for the goods from simmons hardware company which extended to him the privilege of discounting the bill, and that upon making immediate payment, he might deduct the usual percent. whereupon mr. smith called upon the simmons hardware company, and was there informed that a man resembling him very much, had called there and selected the bill of goods, and had also presented smith's business card. they thought it was mr. smith, and, upon finding him all right formerly, had unhesitatingly packed and shipped the goods as directed. smith and benard looked very much alike, wearing the same style of beard and having about the same complexion. smith's description of solomon, who was really benard, was very accurate; and finally wound up by saying that solomon looked enough like him to be his younger brother. while smith was telling the chief this story i was listening, and when he began to describe solomon, i asked the chief if i might be permitted to ask mr. smith a few questions. "why, certainly," replied the chief. "do you think," i then said to smith, "that you would know this man, solomon, if you should see him again?" "surely!" answered mr. smith. "i would know him anywhere." i then took benard's picture from my pocket, and asked smith if that resembled solomon. he threw up his hands, and exclaimed: "why! that is him! that's an excellent picture of him!" i then turned to the chief and said, "chief, it seems that benard was not afraid to come to st. louis, after all." i then got busy and learned that benard had left st. louis over the burlington and had gone to quincy, illinois, a few days before my arrival. i then took the first train for quincy. there i learned of a similar swindle with a case of goods shipped to edina, missouri. i left at once for edina. there the freight agent informed me that a man named solomon, and answering to the description of benard, had called for a case of goods; but the agent, who was a relative of the party to whom the goods had been originally consigned, had refused to deliver them until presented with some identification. just about this time i received word that solomon was walking out of town. i pursued him, arrested him and brought him back to town. at first he denied everything, even his photograph, but finally consented to go with me when i brought out other proofs. i at once applied for a requisition from the authorities. after the capture of benard at edina, by me, benard's lawyer insisted that he could not be taken to pennsylvania while he stood charged with a felony in missouri. therefore, when he made his plea, i telegraphed a friend in st. louis to employ a good criminal lawyer, and have him report to me at edina. my friend employed col. nat. c. claiborne, of st. louis. at the same time i wired mr. smith to come at once, or send his son, sam, to edina, for the purpose of identifying solomon. in due time both sam smith and col. claiborne arrived in edina. col. claiborne was an old citizen, and was well known all over the state. he was acquainted with the judge of knox county, and had him convene a special term of court and empanel a special grand jury. i arranged to have witnesses appear before the grand jury, which immediately indicted benard for the edina swindle, col. claiborne assisting the prosecuting attorney at edina, for the state. benard was convicted and sent to the penitentiary at jefferson city, mo., for four years. i accompanied him to jefferson city, where i procured a duplicate of the receipt for the body of benard, from the warden of the missouri penitentiary, and previously a certified copy of the proceedings at the trial and conviction in knox county, which i turned over to the officers of the allegheny valley railroad on my return to pittsburgh. this satisfied them, but not so well as if i had extradited benard and brought him back to pennsylvania for trial. i omitted to say that on the night that sam smith arrived in edina, from st. louis, that the small hotel was filled to overflowing and the landlord was obliged to assign smith to my room, which was in the front of the second story, just over the office. about ten o'clock that night, just as smith and i had retired to our room, preparatory to turning in for the night, a shower of missiles such as rocks, stones and pistol shots were fired through the window of our room from the opposite side of the street. upon investigation i found that benard had enlisted the co-operation of some sympathizers, through a lawyer in the town, whom he had employed to defend him, and at the instance of whom this mob was formed with a view to frightening smith and myself and the other witnesses, who were to appear in the case, out of town. we were so badly frightened that we did not leave town until benard had been tried and convicted, and when we left benard left with us. long hunt for a defaulter. incidents connected with the arrest of e. t. simmons, which is accomplished after much hard work--his conviction. in , e. t. h. simmons was employed as book-keeper in the oil city savings bank, at oil city, pa. simmons was about years of age, and married. he had borne a good reputation, was cultured, pleasant and mild mannered, and also was known to be very industrious, and his associates were the best young people in the community. by perseverance and his strict attention to business he had risen from a messenger boy in the bank to head book-keeper. he married a young and handsome lady, who was an adopted daughter of a prominent citizen of oil city, by the name of hiram hoag. this young woman had been raised by her adopted parents in luxury, and was stylish and naturally extravagant. after her marriage to simmons her extravagant habits seemed to increase, to the extent that her husband's salary was not large enough to supply her demands. his affection for her and his desire to satisfy her every wish led him to steal the funds from the bank. at first he took the money in small amounts, which he covered by falsifying the accounts. the authorities of the bank noticed that there was something wrong in the accounts, and immediately and quietly employed the services of an expert accountant, unbeknown to simmons, the head book-keeper. on the morning that the expert accountant appeared at the bank and took charge of the books simmons suddenly feigned illness, and left the bank for his home, from which he immediately disappeared for parts unknown, his wife remaining in her home in oil city. mr. john mulwheeney, president of the bank, promptly engaged the services of what was then considered the greatest detective agency in the united states, to locate and apprehend simmons. however, the operatives of the detective agency referred to, after a number of months had been consumed and a large amount of expense incurred by them, had failed to locate the fugitive. finally the president, mr. mulwheeney, requested me to try and locate simmons. in the meantime simmons' wife had quietly left oil city, unbeknown to any person outside of the family who had raised her, it being but natural for that family to keep her whereabouts a secret. i undertook the case only after the earnest entreaty of president mulwheeney. as a matter of fact, i thought that the bank authorities should have applied to me in the first place, after simmons had disappeared, and before they had engaged the detective agency. by reason that the then far-famed detective agency had incurred an enormous bill of expenses and finally failed, i bent all my energy towards the task, and succeeded in a remarkably short space of time in tracing simmons' movements from the time he left oil city. i found that he had gone to new york city, found there that he had boarded a ship for panama, central america, and learned there that he had crossed the isthmus to aspewall, and again boarded a ship from there for san francisco. at san francisco he landed, i learned, and had gone across the bay to oakland, california, where he engaged lodgings, and a short time after having arrived there he had obtained a position on board a steamship as assistant purser. this ship was then plying between san francisco and victoria, british columbia. i also ascertained that a wealthy old bachelor uncle of simmons resided in san francisco, and was a large stockholder and director in the steamship line by which simmons was employed as assistant purser. i afterwards learned that it was through the influence of this uncle that simmons had secured the position with the company. this uncle was about seventy years of age, and was what was known as a ' er. he was among the earliest of the mine prospectors who had gone overland to california in the year . at the conclusion of my investigation i found that the steamship on which simmons was an officer was due to arrive in san francisco a few days later. in the meantime, i ascertained that simmons' wife had joined her husband in oakland, and that they had fitted up a comfortable little cottage in the suburbs of that town, so i quietly awaited the arrival of the ship mr. simmons was employed on. in due time the ship arrived, and i took up a position where i could plainly see every one that left the ship. finally, after all the passengers had left, the officers began to leave the ship for their homes, and among them i noticed e. t. m. simmons. simmons had changed his uniform for a suit of plain business clothes, and it being after dark in the evening i had but little trouble in following him unobserved. i shadowed him until he reached his residence on tenth street, in oakland, where he was met at the door by his wife and his mother, who appeared to be on a visit at his home. i then withdrew and learned that the ship would remain in port forty-eight hours. the following morning i took a train from oakland for sacramento, california, for the purpose of procuring the necessary requisition papers, which would authorize me to arrest and convey simmons from california back to venango county, pennsylvania, as the authorized agent for the state of pennsylvania. this i accomplished in a few moments, having already procured all the necessary papers with the exception of the signature of the governor of california. i returned to oakland the same day, and about ten o'clock, after first having ascertained that simmons was at his home, i, accompanied by detective james coffee, of san francisco, whom i had requested to assist me, approached simmons' cottage. i requested officer coffee to ring the front door bell while i took up a position on the porch at the back door. coffee, as instructed, vigorously rang the front door bell. when simmons, who had gone to bed, heard the bell he at once sprang from his bed, and wrapping his clothes in a bundle, not waiting to put them on, ran to the back door, hastily opened it, and ran headlong into my arms. i heard him instructing his wife, or mother, as he left his room, not to open the front door until he had time to get out of the back door. this cottage, being in the suburbs, there was a large open space of ground at the rear of the cottage, which was thickly covered with live-oak trees, and if simmons had succeeded in getting away from the cottage and among the live oaks he would have effectually been hidden by the dense foliage, and would, in all probability, have made his escape. we at once took him to san francisco, and by reason of my having known him so well and favorably, i did not lock him up, but instead took him to my room, where i kept him until train time, when we took the overland train for omaha, pittsburg and oil city, where we arrived in due time and safe, with but a single incident of importance on the trip. before leaving san francisco i told simmons that if he would stay close to me during our trip homeward i would not place him in irons, and that no person on the train, not even the crew, would know that he was a prisoner. he agreed to this and everything went along swimmingly until after midnight on the second night out of san francisco. simmons and i occupied a lower single berth in the pullman. simmons was sleeping next to the window, and i occupied the side next to the aisle. i had made it a rule not to let simmons go to sleep, and kept talking to him just as long as i could keep awake myself. the result was that simmons got to the point that he was ready to drop into slumber as soon as i would allow him to do so by stopping talking to him. in those days i could stand the loss of sleep if it was necessary. on the second night, as i said, while i was feigning sleep i noticed simmons was also playing "possum." finally he quietly turned the bed-spread down off of himself and then noiselessly took his wearing apparel from the hammock, which was above him, and proceeded to creep over me into the aisle with his clothes under one arm. i lay perfectly quiet and did not disturb him until he had succeeded in reaching the aisle, when i suddenly grabbed him by one of his limbs and threw him back into the berth. he strenuously denied that he was trying to escape, and protested that he was merely restless, and thought he would sit up a while and not disturb me, but, as a matter of fact, he was really attempting to escape from the train. this occurred in a desert in utah, but after that he behaved himself and made me no further trouble. after we arrived in oil city he was locked in the county jail, in default of bail, and when his case was called he pleaded guilty to the charge of embezzlement and was sentenced, by the hon. john m. trunkey, at franklin, pa., to a term of ten years in the western penitentiary of pennsylvania, which is at allegheny city. however, after he had pleaded guilty and received his sentence, and before he had been taken to the penitentiary, he received a letter from his wife, written from oakland, california, in which she coolly and heartlessly informed him that as he had pleaded guilty to a charge of felony, and had been sentenced to a term in prison, that she had decided to avail herself of her legal privilege, under the existing conditions, and apply for a divorce from him, which the law would grant her on the ground that he was a convicted felon, and that she had made up her mind to marry his wealthy old uncle, the "forty-niner" who had procured simmons his position on the steamship. she immediately proceeded to carry out her plans. she wound up her letter by saying that she would rather be an old man's darling than a felon's slave. the contents of this letter almost broke poor simmons' heart. every person in and about oil city, who knew him, knew that it was through her extravagance and love of luxury that he had committed the crime, and when the contents of this letter became known the sympathy of all who knew simmons was aroused in his favor, and the best people in the community, including the officers of the bank whose funds he had embezzled, filed a petition with the governor of the state for a pardon for him. this petition was later signed by the prosecuting attorney and by judge trunkey, himself. meanwhile simmons had been taken to the penitentiary, but he only remained there a short time until the governor of the state pardoned him. on his release he went immediately to california to find his former wife, now the wife of his old uncle, and at once instituted proceedings for the custody of their child, which he easily obtained. the child was born a short time after his father's arrest, and simmons had never seen his son. simmons obtained employment in the passenger department of a large railroad company. this position he filled creditably for a number of years. his former wife visited oil city about two years after her marriage to the second husband. she was accompanied by a couple of maids and a number of trunks, which contained many costly robes and gowns. during her stay in oil city she called on a number of her girlhood friends and acquaintances, but it so happened that they were all out when she called and finding it impossible to meet them she, as the soldiers say, "hiked" from oil city, and so far as the writer knows has never been heard of in that city since. george hersogg's downfall. facts regarding the conviction of an international and great northern baggageman of many crimes. early in the ' s the railroad companies of the southwest were troubled very much by the continued receipt of complaints of passengers from all quarters of the united states, and some from foreign countries, and their filing claims for articles which had been stolen from their trunks and other baggage while in transit. the iron mountain railroad company and the international & great northern railroad company were both parts of the gould system, and formed a through and direct line between st. louis, galveston and san antonio, texas in the winter season both galveston and san antonio were winter resorts, largely patronized by health seekers. the complaints became so numerous that they were turned over to my department for investigation. i took the matter up and after a long and tedious investigation decided to pay special attention to one george hersogg, who was employed as train baggage-master, running between longview and san antonio, texas. in my investigation i had noticed that nearly every case of lost articles from baggage were traced to the train on which hersogg was baggage-master, therefore i concluded to test him first. hersogg occupied a room in a private boarding house when at longview, where he had a twenty-four hour layover. i sent one of my operatives, george herbert, to longview, who represented himself as a railroad man, and he secured a room in the same boarding house where hersogg was stopping. after remaining there for a few days herbert became acquainted with hersogg and with his runs, and when he would be absent from his room. having accomplished this, herbert became indisposed, and for that reason was compelled to remain in his room for a few days. in the meantime impressions of certain keyholes had been taken, and a number of skeleton keys had been sent to herbert at longview. he had noticed that hersogg had two rather large trunks in his room, and when the proper opportunity presented itself he examined the contents of mr. hersogg's trunks, unbeknown to the inmates of the boarding house, and to herbert's great surprise he found in one of the trunks a silver mounted smith & wesson, pearl handled revolver, which he immediately recognized as the property of the hon. joseph harris, who, at that time, was circuit attorney for the city of st. louis, but was in san antonio for his health. herbert also found a number of articles of jewelry, which he knew to be the property of mrs. harris. in this connection i will say that herbert had been a member of the st. louis police department prior to his entering my service, and while there he had been on detached service at the circuit attorney's office, in which capacity he had acted for about two years, thereby meeting mr. harris daily, and seeing his wife very frequently, and becoming familiar with both harris' revolver and mrs. harris' jewelry. upon the discovery of the revolver herbert promptly reported to me by wire code. up to that time we had had no report of the harris robbery, and, in fact, did not know that mr. harris had gone to san antonio. on receipt of herbert's report, i at once got into communication with harris at san antonio, and he verified the loss of the articles which herbert had reported he had found in the trunk of the baggageman at longview. herbert also found other articles, the loss of which had been reported from various sections of the country. the most valuable article was a diamond and emerald ring, which contained one large diamond and two small sized emeralds. this ring was the property of a lady who lived at peoria, ill., and who had gone over the route to san antonio some months before the discovery of it in hersogg's trunk. she valued the ring at about $ . . we arrested hersogg, and he was tried in due time convicted and served four years in one of the state prisons of texas. many of the stolen articles which were recovered were fully identified, and returned to their owners. it developed that hersogg had provided himself with skeleton keys of all sizes and styles. having a whole baggage car to himself, he was thus able to open and inspect all the baggage at his leisure. he was afforded ample time between stations in which to loot the contents of the baggage car, and strap and lock them up again, leaving no trace on the outside of the baggage having ever been tampered with. the capture and conviction of hersogg was not only a source of relief to the gould system, but was an equal relief to all connecting lines. (the end.) organized at st. louis, incorporated furlong secret service company suite chemical building st. louis, mo. thomas furlong, president and general manager. john u. menteer, vice-president and ass't gen. manager. e. d. dawson, secretary and treasurer. j. s. manning, superintendent, st. louis, mo. w. e. ward, superintendent, chicago, ill. l. i. ziegler, superintendent, cincinnati, o. suite lyric theatre building. j. e. smith, superintendent, houston, tex. correspondents and resident operatives in all the principal cities of the united states and all foreign countries. this company furnishes competent and reliable operatives to railroads, corporations, lawyers and firms, to do all kinds of legitimate detective work. we do not handle divorce cases or work for rewards. contents page preface sidelights on the business the preller murder case (_illustrated_) the big cotton swindle a remarkable case (_illustrated_) tracing train wreckers (_illustrated_) "moonshining" in the oil regions (_illustrated_) the capture of wess watts (_illustrated_) solving a trunk mystery (_illustrated_) the glencoe train robbery (_illustrated_) running down the revolutionists a dallas murder avenged the toughest of tough towns (_illustrated_) the rohan express robbery arrest of lawrence poyneer (_illustrated_) ticket forgers run down conviction of john collins (_illustrated_) fred erfert's fall from grace battle with would-be bandits the great pittsburg strike murder of conductor frazier fight with a maniac decoying a bad man (_illustrated_) tragic death of bill casey subduing a notorious bully a ruse that worked charlie dalton, outlaw conspirators handed a lemon the big southwest strike (_illustrated_) why i oppose rewards why i am opposed to hanging a crooked doctor's crime capture of a clever swindler long hunt for a defaulter george hersogg's downfall +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ proofreaders canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net war-gods of the void by henry kuttner jerry vanning trailed the fugitive callahan into the swampy wastes of venus, hell-kingdom of the fabled war-gods. he reached his goal--walking with the robot-strides of a north-fever slave. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i earth consul, goodenow, tossed a packet of microfilms to vanning, and said, "you're crazy. the man you're after isn't here. only damn fools ever come to venus--and don't ask me why i'm here. you're crazy to think you'll find a fugitive hiding on this planet." jerry vanning, earth state investigator, moved his stocky body uneasily. he had a headache. he had had it ever since the precarious landing through the tremendous wind-maelstroms of the pea-soup venusian atmosphere. with an effort he focused his vision on the micro-projector goodenow handed him, and turned the tiny key. inside the box, a face sprang into view. he sighed and slid another of the passport-films into place. he had never seen the man before. "routine check-up," he said patiently. "i got a tip callahan was heading here, and we can't afford to take chances." the consul mopped his sweating, beefy face and cursed venusian air-conditioning units. "who is this guy callahan, anyway?" he asked. "i've heard a little--but we don't get much news on the frontier." "political refugee," vanning said, busy with the projector. "potentially, one of the most dangerous men in the system. callahan started his career as a diplomat, but there wasn't enough excitement for him." the consul fumbled with a cigar. "can you tell me any more?" "well--callahan got hold of a certain secret treaty that must be destroyed. if he shows it in the right places, he might start a revolution, particularly on callisto. my idea is that he's hiding out till the excitement dies down--and then he'll head for callisto." goodenow pursed his lips. "i see. but you won't find him here." vanning jerked his thumb toward a window. "the jungle--" "hell, no!" the consul said decidedly. "venus, mr. vanning, is _not_ earth. we've got about two hundred settlements scattered here and there; the rest is swamp and mountains. when a man gets lost, we wait a few days and then write out a death certificate. because once an earthman leaves a settlement, his number's up." "so?" "so callahan isn't here. nobody comes here," goodenow said bitterly. "settlers do," vanning remarked. "bloody fools. they raise herbs and _mola_. if they didn't come, venus would be uninhabited except by natives in a few years. the north-fever ... you'd better watch out for that, by the way. if you start feeling rocky, see a doctor. not that it'll help. but you can be put under restraint till the fever passes." vanning looked up. "i've heard of that. just what--" "nobody knows," goodenow said, shrugging hopelessly. "a virus. a filterable virus, presumably. scientists have been working on it ever since venus was colonized. it hits the natives, too. some get it, some don't. it works the same way with earthmen. you feel like you're cracking up--and then, suddenly--you go north. into the swamp. you never come back. that's the end of you." "funny!" "sure it is. but--ever heard of the lemmings? little animals that used to make mass pilgrimages, millions of them. they'd head west till they reached the ocean, and then keep going. nobody knew the cause of that, either." "what lies north?" "swamp, i suppose. how should i know? we've got no facilities for finding out. we can't fly, and expeditions say there's nothing there but the usual venusian hell. i wish--" * * * * * "oh-oh!" vanning sat up, peering into the projector. "wait a minute, goodenow. i think--" "callahan? no!" "he's disguised, but ... lucky this is a three-dimensional movie. let's hear his voice." vanning touched a button on the box. a low, musical voice said: "my name is jerome bentley, new york city, earth. i'm an importer, and am on venus to investigate the possibilities of buying a steady supply of herbs--" "yeah," vanning said tonelessly. "that's it. jerome bentley--nuts! that's don callahan! he's disguised so well his own mother wouldn't know him--best make-up artist in the system. but i've studied his records till i nearly went blind and deaf. i don't make mistakes about callahan any more." goodenow blinked. "i'll be blowed. i've seen the man a dozen times, and i'd have sworn ... well! if you're sure--" "i'm sure." vanning referred to the records. "staying at the star palace, eh? okay, i'll be pushing off." "i'll go with you," the consul offered, and lifted his bulky body from behind the gleaming desk. together the two men went out into the muggy venusian day, which was now fading to a slow, blue dusk. venus did not revolve; it librated. there was no such thing as sunrise and sunset. but there was a very regular thickening and fading of the eternal cloudbanks that writhed overhead, approximating day and night. despite the continual frantic disturbance of the atmosphere, the clouds were so thick that it was never possible to see the sun. only the ragged, eye-straining movement of the grayness overhead, and the warm, humid wind that gusted against your sweating skin. and the sulphurous smells that drifted in from the jungle--odors of stagnant water and rottenness and things that grew unhealthily white. frontier town, vanning thought, as he glanced around. chicago must have looked like this, in the old days, when streets were unpaved and business was the town's only reason for existence. but venus landing would never grow into another chicago. a few thousand souls, working under terrible handicaps, always fearing the north-fever that meant death.... muddy streets, wooden sidewalks already rotting, metal buildings, of two stories at most, long, low hydroponic sheds, a dull, hot apathy that hung over everything--that was venus landing. a few natives shuffled past on their snowshoe feet, looking fat and wet, as though made out of wax that had begun to run. the star palace was a down-at-the-heels plastic building, stained and discolored by the damp molds. goodenow jerked his head at the clerk. "where's leester?" "north-fever," the man said, worrying his lower lip. "this morning ... we couldn't stop him." "oh, hell," the consul said hopelessly, turning to vanning. "that's the way it is. once the fever hits you, you go crazy. do everything and anything to get away and head north. leester was a nice kid. he was going back to earth, next christmas." vanning looked at the clerk. "a man named jerome bentley's staying here." "he's somewhere around town. dunno where." "okay," the consul said. "if he comes in, phone my office. but don't tell him we were asking." "yup." the clerk resumed his vague scrutiny of the ceiling. vanning and goodenow went out. * * * * * "where now?" "we'll just amble around. hi!" the consul hailed a ricksha, drawn by a native--the usual type of vehicle in venus landing's muddy streets. "hop in, vanning." the detective obeyed. his headache was getting worse. they couldn't find callahan. a few men said that they had seen him earlier that day. someone had glimpsed him on the outskirts of the settlement. "heading for the jungle?" goodenow asked quickly. "he--yeah. he looked ... very bad." the consul sucked in his breath. "i wonder. let's go out that way, vanning." "all right. what do you figure--" "the fever, maybe," goodenow grunted. "it strikes fast. especially to non-natives. if your friend callahan's caught north-fever, he just started walking into the swamp and forgot to stop. you can mark the case closed." "not till i get that treaty back," vanning growled. goodenow shook his head doubtfully. the buildings grew sparser and ceased at the edge of the pale forest. broad-leafed jungle growths sprang from moist black soil. the ricksha stopped; the native chattered in his own tongue. "sure," goodenow said, tossing him a coin. "wait here. _zan-t'kshan._" his burly figure lumbered into the translucent twilight of the jungle. vanning was at his heels. there were footprints--many of them. the detective ignored them, moving in a straight line away from venus landing. here and there were blazed _mola_ trees, some with buckets hung to collect the dripping sap. the footprints grew fainter. at last only one set remained visible. "a man. pretty heavy-set, too. wearing earth shoes, not sandals like most of ours. callahan, probably." vanning nodded. "he didn't come back by this route." "he didn't come back," goodenow said shortly. "this is a one-way trail." "well, i'm going after him." "it's suicidal. but--i suppose i can't talk you out of it?" "you can't." "well, come back to town and i'll find you an outfit. supplies and a hack-knife. maybe i can find some men willing to go with you." "no," vanning said. "i don't want to waste time. i'll start now." he took a few steps, and was halted by goodenow's restraining grip. "hold on," the consul said, a new note in his voice. he looked closely into vanning's face, and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "you've got it," he said. "i should have noticed before." "got what?" "the north-fever, man! now listen to me--" vanning's headache suddenly exploded in a fiery burst of white pain, which washed away and was gone, leaving his brain cool and ... different. it was like a--like a _cold_ fever. he found his thoughts were moving with unusual clarity to a certain definite point.... north. of course he had to go north. that was what had been wrong with him all day. he had been fighting against the urge. now he realized that it should be obeyed, instead. he blinked at goodenow's heavy, worried face. "i'm all right. no fever. i want to find callahan, that's all." "like hell it is," the consul said grimly. "i know the symptoms. you're coming back with me till you're well." "no." goodenow made a movement as though to pinion vanning's hands behind his back. the detective writhed free and sent a short-arm jab to goodenow's jaw. there was power behind that blow. the consul went over backwards, his head thumping against a white tree-bole. he lay still. * * * * * vanning didn't look at the motionless body. he turned and began to follow callahan's trail. but he wasn't watching the footprints. some instinct seemed to guide him. north ... north! his head no longer hurt. it felt strangely cool, numb and stinging almost pleasantly. the magnetic pull drew him on. deeper and deeper into the jungle.... distantly he heard goodenow's shout, but ignored it. the consul couldn't stop him. but he might try. vanning ran for a while, lightly and easily, till the wilderness of venus had swallowed him without trace. then he slowed down to a walk. he would have been grateful for a brief rest, but he could not stop. not now.... the fog closed in. silver mist veiled the strange, ghostly forest. then it was torn away as a gust of wind drove down from the upper air. above, the clouds twisted in tortured writhings; but vanning did not look up. not once did he turn his head. he faced north ... he plodded north ... he slogged through mushy, stinking swamp that rose at times to his waist.... a sane man would have skirted the bog. vanning floundered across, and swam when he could no longer walk. somewhere to the left he heard the coughing mutter of a swamp-cat's engine, but he did not see the machine. his vision was restricted to a narrow circle directly ahead. dimly he felt pain. the clinging, soft nettles of venus ripped at his clothing and his skin. leeches clung to his legs till they fell off, satiated. vanning went on. he was a robot--an automaton. in silence the pale forest slipped by in a fantastic procession. lianas often made a tangled snare where vanning fought for minutes before breaking through. luckily, the vines had little tensile strength, but soon the man was exhausted and aching in every limb. far above, the clouds had thickened and darkened into what passed for night on fog-shrouded venus. but the trees gave a phosphorescent light of their own. weird beyond imagination was the scene, with the bloody, reeling figure of the man staggering on toward the north-- north. ever north. until overtaxed muscles refused to bear the burden longer, and vanning collapsed into exhausted unconsciousness. he did not know when he awoke. presently he found himself walking again. nothing had changed. the jungle was denser, and the cool light from above filtered down once more. only the light was cool. the air itself was sticky and suffocating. he went on into hell. days and nights merged into a fantastic pattern of dull torture. some distantly sane portion of his brain held back and watched, but could not help. days and nights. there was no food. there was water, for as vanning splashed through shallow pools he would bend his head to drink of the foul liquid. once his feet crunched on the green-moulded bones of a human skeleton. others had taken this way before him.... * * * * * toward the end, a fleshless, gaunt thing that had once been a man dragged itself laboriously toward a range of mountains that lifted from the swamp toward the north. they extended to left and right as far as he could see, and seemed unscalable. but they were v-shaped, and vanning headed toward the point of the v--the inner point. the terrible drive within him drove him on relentlessly. that night a sulphurous crimson glow lit the sky beyond the mountains. vanning did not see it. he slept. by morning he was on his way again, staggering into the funnel of the peaks. they were bare rock, eroded by eons of trickling water from the clouds. he could not climb them, even had he possessed the strength. he went on, instead, into the narrowing valley.... it ended in a sheer cliff of weathered stone. vanning reeled toward the barrier. he could not return. the north-fever drove him on remorselessly. he had to climb that wall of rock, or die. and he could not climb. he fell, rose, and fell again. in the end he crawled. he crawled to the foot of the cliff and dragged himself upright. he fell forward, as though trying to press his body against the towering wall that lifted to the writhing grey clouds-- fell--through the stone! he toppled through the rock curtain as though it were non-existent! instantly intense blackness closed around him. hard stone was under him. his mind was too dulled to wonder. he knew only that the way north was still open. he crept on through darkness, leaving a trail of blood behind him.... the ground dropped from under him. he crashed down on a mound of moulded vegetation. before the shock had passed, the living dead man was moving again. he crawled forward until his way was blocked by a perpendicular wall. gasping dry-throated sobs, he clawed at the barrier with broken, bleeding finger-tips. to left and right, an arm's length away, were other walls. he was in a pit. the sane part of his brain thought: "circle around! there may be some way out!" but vanning could not circle. he could only move in one direction. that was north. he fumbled blindly at the wall, until unconsciousness came at last.... twice again he awoke, each time weaker, and twice again he slept. the fever, having passed its peak, dwindled swiftly. at last vanning awoke, and he was sane. no longer did he feel the relentless urge to turn north. he lay for a little while staring into the blackness, realizing that he was once more in full command of his traitorous body. there was little life left in him. his tongue was blackened and swollen till it filled his mouth. he was a scarecrow, nearly naked, his bones sharply defined through his skin. it was an effort even to breathe. but death would not be long in coming--now.... ii dying is an uncomfortable business, unless a man is drugged or insensible. vanning found it so. moreover, he wasn't the sort of man who would give up without good cause. weak as he was, nevertheless he was still too strong to lie in the dark, waiting. laboriously, he got to his hands and knees and commenced a circuit of the pit. he expected nothing. but, at the southern end of his prison, he was astounded to find a hole in the wall easily large enough to admit his body. feeling into the blackness, he discovered the smooth floor of a passage. good lord! it had been there all the time, during his tortured imprisonment in the pit. if he had only searched before-- but he could not have done so, of course. not with the north-fever flaming in his veins. the tunnel might lead anywhere. all the chances were against its leading to safety. sooner or later, there would probably be a dead end. nevertheless, there _was_ a chance. that chance grew brighter as vanning's fingers discovered that the walls bore the marks of tools. the tunnel had been made by--perhaps not humans, but at least by some intelligent race! it grew higher as he went on, but vanning was too weak to rise. he realized dimly that the passage made a sharp hairpin turn. through the dark the distant clangor of a bell roared. vanning hesitated, and then resumed his weak crawl. there was nothing else to do. the ground dropped from beneath him. he went rolling and slipping down an inclined slide, to stop with a jolt against a softly padded surface. the shock was too much for his exhausted mind and body. he felt consciousness leaving him. but he realized that it was no longer dark. through a pale, luminous twilight he caught a glimpse of a mask hovering over him--the mask of no human thing. noseless save for tiny slits, gap-mouthed, round-eyed, the face was like that of a fish incredibly humanized--fantastically evolved. a patina of green scales overlaid the skin. the gong thundered from nearby. the monstrous mask dissolved into the blackness that swept up and took vanning to its heart. nothing existed but pain, and that, too, was wiped out by the encompassing dark.... * * * * * he was very sick. complete exhaustion had almost killed him. he was lying on a soft pallet, and from time to time the stinging shock of a needle in his arm told him that he was being fed by injection. later, water trickled down his throat. his swollen tongue resumed its normal shape. sleep came, tormented by dreams. the mask of the fish-like thing swam at him from gray shimmering light. it gave place to a great bell that roared deafeningly. then the face of a girl, pale, lovely, with auburn ringlets clustering about her cheeks. sympathetic blue eyes looked into his. and that, too, was gone.... he awoke to find--something--standing above him. and it was no nightmare. it was the thing of his dreams--a being that stood upright on two stocky legs, and which wore clothing, a shining silver tunic and kirtle. the head was fish-like, but the high cranium told of intelligence. it said something in a language vanning did not know. weakly he shook his head. the fish-being launched into the venusian dialect. "you are recovered? you are strong again?" vanning sought for words. "i'm--all right. but where am i? who--" "lysla will tell you." the creature clapped its huge hands together as it turned. the door closed behind its malformed back, opening again to reveal the auburn-haired girl vanning recognized. he sat up, discovering that he was in a bare room walled with gray plastic, and that he was lying on a pallet of some elastic substance. under a metallic-looking but soft robe, he was naked. the girl, he saw, bore over her arm a bundle of garments, crimson as the kirtle she herself wore. her smile was wan. "hello," she said, in english. "feel better now?" vanning nodded. "sure. but am i crazy? that thing that just went out--" horror darkened the girl's blue eyes. "that is one of the swamja. they rule here." "here? where's here?" lysla knelt beside the bed. "the end of the world--for us, jerry vanning." "how do you know my name?" "there were papers in your clothes--what was left of them. and--it'll be hard to explain all this. i've only been here a month myself." vanning rubbed his stubbly beard. "we're on venus?" "yes, of course. this is a--a valley. the swamja have lived here for ages, since before earthmen colonized venus." "i never heard of them." "none ever return from this place," lysla said sombrely. "they become slaves of the swamja--and in the end they die. new slaves come, as you did." vanning's eyes narrowed. "hold on. i'm beginning to understand, a little. the swamja--those fish-headed people--have a secret city here, eh? they're intelligent?" she nodded. "they have great powers. they consider themselves the gods of venus. you see--jerry vanning--they evolved long before the anthropoid stock did. originally they were aquatic. i don't know much about that. legends ... anyway, a very long time ago, they built this city and have never left it since. but they need slaves. so they send out the north-fever--" * * * * * "_what?_" vanning's face grayed. "lysla--what did you say? the fever's artificial?" "yes. the virus is carried by microscopic spores. the swamja send it out to the upper atmosphere, and the great winds carry it all over venus. the virus strikes very quickly. once a man catches it, as you did, he goes north. these mountains are a trap. they're shaped like a funnel, so anyone with the fever inevitably heads into the pass, as you did. they are drawn through the mirage, which looks like a wall of rock. no one who wasn't--sick--would try to go through that cliff." vanning grunted, remembering. "keep talking. i'm beginning--" "there isn't much more. the victims fall into the pits, and stay there till the fever has run its course. the swamja run no risks of being infected themselves. after the sickness has passed, it's easy to find the way out of the pits--and all the tunnels lead to this place." "god!" vanning whispered. "and you say this has been going on for centuries?" "very many centuries. first the natives, and now the earthpeople as well. the swamja need slaves--none live long here. but there is always a supply trickling in from outside." thousands of helpless victims, through the ages, drawn into this horrible net, dragged northward to be the slaves of an inhuman race.... vanning licked dry lips. "many die," the girl said. "the swamja want only the strongest. and only the strongest survive the trip north." "you--" vanning looked at lysla questioningly. she smiled sadly. "i'm stronger than i look, jerry. but i almost died.... i still haven't completely recovered. i--was much prettier than i am now." vanning found that difficult to believe. he couldn't help grinning at the girl's very feminine admission. she flushed a little. "well," he said at last, "you're not venusian, i can see that. how did you come to get sucked into this?" "just bad luck," lysla told him. "a few months ago i was on top of the world, in new york. i've no parents. my father left me a trust fund, but it ran out unexpectedly. bad investments, i suppose. so i found myself broke and needed a job. there weren't any jobs for unskilled labor, except a secretarial position in venus landing. i was lucky to get that." "you've got nerve," vanning said. "it didn't help. the north-fever hit me, and the next thing i knew, i was ... here. a slave." "how many earthmen are there here?" "about a hundred. not many are strong enough to reach the pass. and about the same number of venusian natives." "how many swamja?" "a thousand, more or less," lysla explained. "only the highest classes have slaves. most of the swamja are trained for the military." "so? who the devil do they fight?" "nobody. it's a tradition with them--part of their religion. they believe they're gods, and the soldiers serve as the valkyries did in the norse valhalla." "two hundred slaves.... what weapons do the swamja have?" lysla shook her head. "not many. a paralysis hand-projector, a few others. but they're invulnerable, or nearly so. their muscles are much tougher than ours. a different cellular construction." vanning pondered. he could understand that. the human heart-muscle is much stronger and tougher than--say--the biceps. the girl broke into his thoughts. "rebellion is quite useless. you won't believe that now, but you'll understand soon." "maybe," vanning said tonelessly. "anyhow--what's next on the program?" "slavery." her voice was bitter. "here are your clothes. when you're dressed, you'll find a ramp leading down outside the door. i'll be waiting." she detached a metal plaque from the wall and went out. vanning, after a scowling pause, dressed and followed. * * * * * the corridor in which he found himself was of bare plastic, covered with a wavy bas-relief oddly reminiscent of water's ripples, and tinted azure and gray. here and there cold lamps, using a principle unfamiliar to the man, were set in the walls. radioactivity, he theorized, or the venusian equivalent. he saw a ramp, and descended it to enter a huge low-ceilinged room, with doors at intervals set in the curving walls. one of the doors was open, and lysla's low voice called him. he entered a cubicle, not large, with four crude bunks arranged here and there. the girl was fitting the metal plaque into a frame over one. she smiled at him. "your dog-license, jerry. you're -r-mel. it means something to the swamja, i suppose." "yeah?" vanning saw a similar plaque over each of the cots. "what's this place?" "one of the dormitories. four to an apartment is the rule. you'll be lodged with three men who arrived a little while before you did--two earthmen and a venusian." "i see. what am i supposed to do?" "just wait here till you're summoned. and jerry--" she came toward him, placing her palms flat on his broad chest, her blue eyes looking up into his appealingly. "jerry, please don't do anything foolish. i know it's hard at first. but--_they_--punish rebellious slaves rather awfully." vanning smiled down at her. "okay, lysla. i'll look around before i do anything. but, believe me, i intend to start a private little revolution around here." she shook her head hopelessly, auburn curls flying. "it isn't any use. i've seen that already. you'll see it, too. i must go now. and be careful, jerry." he squeezed her arm reassuringly. "sure. i'll see you again?" "yes. but now--" she was gone. vanning whistled softly, and turned to examine the room. sight of his face in a mirror startled him. under the stubbly growth of beard, his familiar features had altered, grown haggard and strained. a razor lay handy--or, rather, a sharp dagger with a razor-sharp edge. there was a bar of gray substance that gave a great deal of lather when vanning moistened it in the metal bowl that served as a wash-basin. he shaved, and felt much better. his weakness had almost entirely gone. the medical science of the swamja, at least, was above reproach. nevertheless, he tired easily.... that would pass. who were his bunk-mates in this cubicle? idly vanning scrutinized their effects, strewn helter-skelter on the shelves. nothing there to tell him. there was a metal comb, however, and vanning reached for it. it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the plastic floor. vanning grunted and got down on his knees to recover the object, which had skidded into a dark recess under the lowest shelf. his fumbling fingers encountered something cold and hard, and he drew it out wonderingly. it was a flat case, without ornament, and clicked open in his hands. it was a make-up kit. small as it was, it contained an incredible quantity of material for disguises. tiny pellets were there, each stamped with a number. dyestuffs that would mix with water. there was a package of _isoflex_, the transparent, extraordinary thin "rigid cellophane" of the day. there were other things.... * * * * * vanning's eyes widened. two and two made an unmistakable four. only one man on venus would have reason to possess such a kit. that man was don callahan, whom vanning had vainly pursued from mars to earth, and thence to venus. callahan here! but why not? he, too, had fallen victim to north-fever. he had simply preceded vanning in his drugged trip to this hidden kingdom. "who the hell are you?" the harsh question brought vanning to his feet, instinctively concealing the make-up kit in his garments. he stared at the man standing on the threshold--a husky, broad-shouldered specimen with flaming red hair and a scarred, ugly face. squinting, keen eyes watched vanning. "i'm--your new room-mate, i guess," the detective said tentatively. "jerry vanning's my name." "mine's sanderson. kenesaw sanderson." the other rubbed a broken nose thoughtfully. "so you're new. well, get this straight. don't try any tricks with the swamja or get any ideas." vanning tilted his head to one side. "i don't get it." "new guys," sanderson said scornfully. "they're always figuring it'll be easy to escape. they try it, and we all suffer. the swamja are tough babies. take it easy, do what you're told, and everything's okay. see?" "not quite." there was a roughness in vanning's tone. "how long have you been here?" "a few weeks, about. i don't recall exactly. what of it?" "you don't look yellow. it just seems funny that you'd give up so easily. you look pretty tough." sanderson snarled deep in his throat. "i am tough! i'm also smart. listen, mr. jerry vanning, two days after i got here i saw the swamja punish a guy who tried to escape. they skinned him alive! you hear that? and his bunk-mates--they weren't killed, but one of 'em went crazy. those swamja--it's crazy to try and buck them." "they've got you out-bluffed already, eh?" sanderson strode forward and gripped vanning's shoulder in a bruising clutch. "you talk too much. trouble-makers don't go here. get that through your head." vanning said gently, "let go of me, quick. or--" "let him go, kenesaw," a new voice broke in. sanderson grunted, but released the detective. he nodded toward the door. "got off early, eh, hobbs?" "a little." the man in the doorway was as big as sanderson, but his face was benevolent, gentle, and seamed with care. white hair bristled in a ruff above his broad forehead. "a little," he repeated. "zeeth and i must go back tonight for the festival." "_sta._ we must go back tonight," said zeeth, in the venusian dialect. he appeared from behind hobbs, a native of venus, with the familiar soft plumpness and huge feet of the race. his dog-like eyes examined vanning. "new?" the detective introduced himself. he was secretly puzzled. one of these three men, apparently, was callahan--but which one? none of them resembled the man vanning had seen on the micro-projector back at venus landing. but, still-- iii on impulse, vanning took out the make-up kit and held it up. "i found this under the shelves. yours, hobbs? or sanderson?" both men shook their heads, frowning. vanning glanced at the venusian. "yours, zeeth?" "_esta_, it is not mine. what is it?" "just a case." vanning stowed it away, and sat down on one of the cots, wondering. as he saw it, he had two objectives to reach. first--escape. second--bring in callahan. not merely escape, though. he thought of lysla. a slave ... _damn_! and the other two hundred slaves of the swamja ... he couldn't leave them here. but what could he do? conquer the swamja? the thought was melodramatically crazy. perhaps alone he might contrive to escape, and bring a troop of space patrolmen to wipe out the swamja. an army, if necessary. the others, he saw, had seated themselves on the cots. hobbs kicked off his sandals and sighed. "wish i had a smoke. oh, well." vanning said sharply, "callahan!" his eyes flicked from one to another, and found nothing but surprise in the faces turned to him. sanderson rumbled, "what the devil are you jabbering about?" vanning sighed. "i'm wondering something. when did you boys get here?" it was the mild-faced hobbs who answered. "a couple of weeks ago, i believe. within a few days of each other. just before you arrived, in fact. but we recovered long before you did. it was only a miracle that saved your life, vanning." "and before you three got here--any others come from outside? lately, i mean." "not for months," hobbs answered. "so i heard. why?" "why? it proves that one of you is the man i'm after--don callahan. i'm a detective; i came to venus to find callahan, and--by accident--i followed him here. it stands to reason that one of you is the man i want." sanderson grinned. "don't you know what the guy looks like?" "no," vanning admitted. "i've recognized him before by certain tricks he's got--the way he walks, the way he jerks his head around suddenly. before he came to venus, i found out, he went to an anthro-surgeon and got remodeled. a complete new chassis, face and body complete. even got skin-grafts on his finger-tips. in time the old prints will grow back, but not for months. meantime, callahan's pretty well disguised." "good lord!" hobbs said. "one of us--" vanning nodded. "when he came to venus, he put a disguise over his new, remodeled face. that's gone now, of course. one of you three is callahan." zeeth, the venusian native, said softly, "i do not think the usual laws hold good here." sanderson roared with laughter. "damn right! you expect to arrest your man and ask the swamja to imprison him for you?" vanning shook his head, smiling crookedly. "scarcely. i'm getting out of this place sooner or later, and callahan's going with me. later, i'll bring back troops and clean out the swamja. but i'm not forgetting about callahan." hobbs shrugged. "it isn't me." "nor me," zeeth said. sanderson only grinned. vanning grunted. "it's one of you. i'm pretty sure of that. and i'm talking to you now, callahan. you'll be able to disguise your walk and your mannerisms, and i can't recognize your new face or fingerprints. but sooner or later you'll forget and betray yourself. then i'll have to take you back to earth." "you will forget," zeeth said. "in a year--five, if you live, you will forget. our people have legends of this land, where the gods live. our priests taught that the north-fever is sent by the gods. we did not know how true that teaching was...." his bulbous face was grotesque in its solemnity. * * * * * vanning didn't answer. his hope of tricking an admission from callahan had failed. well, there would be time enough. yet obviously one of these three was the fugitive. hobbs? sanderson? certainly not zeeth-- wait a bit! suppose callahan had disguised himself as a venusian native? that would be a perfect masquerade. and the diabolical skill of the anthro-surgeon could have transformed callahan into a venusian. vanning looked at zeeth with new interest. the native met his glance with stolid calm. "one cannot argue with fate. those who died on the way here are luckier. we must live and serve." "i've got other ideas," the detective growled. zeeth gestured vividly. "your race does not accept destiny, as ours does. we have from birth a struggle for existence. venus is a hard mistress. but some of us live. yet even then there is the shadow of the north-fever. at any time, we know, the sickness may fall upon us. if it does, and we are not kept close prisoners, we go into the jungle and either die or--come here. my brother was very lucky. he had the fever three years ago, but i held him and called for help. my tribesmen came running and tied gharza tightly, so that he could not escape. for ten days and nights the fever made him mad. then it passed. the threat had left him forever. the north-fever only strikes once, so gharza was immune. i, too, am immune--but i consider myself dead, of course." "aw, shut up," sanderson snapped. "you give me the leapin' creeps. let's get some sleep. we've got to attend the festival tonight." "what's that?" vanning asked. the mild-faced hobbs answered him. "a religious ceremony. just do what you're told, and you'll be all right." "just that, eh?" "our people have learned to bow our heads to fate," zeeth murmured. "we are not fighters. pain is horrible to us. you call us cowards. from your standards, that is true. only by bowing to the great winds have we managed to survive." "shut up and let me sleep," sanderson ordered, and relaxed his heavy body on a bunk. the others followed his example, all but vanning, who sat silently thinking as hour after hour dragged past. the door opened at last, and a swamja stood on the threshold. he wore the familiar costume of the race, but there was an oddly-shaped gun in a holster at his side. "time!" he barked in the venusian dialect. "hasten! you--" he pointed to vanning. "follow me. the others know where to go." the detective silently rose and followed the swamja into the huge room. it was filled now, he saw, with natives and with earthmen, hurrying here and there like disturbed ants. there were no other swamja, however. one of the venusians stumbled and fell. he was a thin, haggard specimen of his species, and how he had ever survived the trip north vanning could not guess. perhaps he had been in this lost city for years, and had been drained of his vitality by weeks of arduous servitude. he fell.... the swamja barked a harsh command. the native gasped a response, tried to rise--and failed. instantly the swamja drew his gun and fired. the venusian collapsed and lay still. vanning took a step forward, hot with fury, to find himself drawn back by hobbs' restraining hand. "easy!" the other whispered. "he's dead. no use--" "dead? i didn't hear any explosion." "you wouldn't. that gun fires a charge of pure force that disrupts the nervous system. it was set to kill just now." the swamja turned. "i must attend to this carcass. my report must be made. you, zeeth--take the new slave to ombara." "i obey." the native bowed and touched vanning's arm. "come with me." * * * * * followed by sanderson's sardonic grin, vanning accompanied the venusian into a corridor, and up a winding spiral ramp. he found it difficult to contain himself. "good god!" he burst out finally. "do those devils do that all the time? plain cold-blooded murder?" zeeth nodded. "they have no emotions, you see. they are what you call hedonists. and they are gods. we are like animals to them. the moment we make a mistake, or are no longer useful, we are killed." "and you submit to it!" "there was a rebellion two years ago, i heard. twenty slaves died to every swamja. they are like reptiles--nearly invulnerable. and we have no weapons, of course." "can't you get any?" "no. nor would i try. venusians cannot endure pain, you understand. to us, pain is worse than death." vanning grunted, and was silent as they passed through a curtained arch. never would he forget his first sight of the swamja city. it was like-- like an ocean world! he stood upon a balcony high over the city, and looked out at a vast valley three miles in diameter, scooped out of the heart of the mountains as though by a cosmic cup. overhead was no sky. a shell of transparent substance made a ceiling above the city, a tremendous dome that couched on the mountain peaks all around. gray-green light filtered through it. an emerald twilight hazed the fantastic city, where twisted buildings like grottos of coral rose in strange patterns. it was a labyrinth. and it was--lovely beyond all imagination. "those--things--built this?" vanning breathed. "they knew beauty," zeeth said. "they have certain senses we do not have. you will see...." from the exact center of the city a tower rose, smooth and shining as metal. it reached to the transparent dome and seemed to rise above it, into the clouds of venus. "what's that?" vanning asked, pointing. "their temple?" zeeth's voice held irony. "not a temple--a trap. it is the tube through which they blast the spores of the north-fever into the sky. day and night without pause the virus is blown upward through that tube, far into the air, where it is carried all over the planet." the air was darkening, thickening. here and there rainbow lights sprang into view. elfin fires in an enchanted world, vanning thought. through the grotesque city equally grotesque figures moved, to be lost in the shadows. the monsters who ruled here--ruled like soulless devils rather than gods. "come. we must hurry." zeeth tugged at vanning's arm. together they went down the ramp into one of the winding avenues. it grew darker, and more lights came on. once vanning paused at sight of a corroded metal structure in the center of a well-lighted park. "zeeth! that's a space-ship! a light life-boat--" the venusian nodded. "and it is well guarded, too. it crashed through the dome a century ago, i was told. all the men in it were killed. a space-wreck, i suppose." vanning was silent as they went on. he was visualizing what had happened in that distant past. a wreck in space, a few survivors taking to this life-boat and setting out, hopelessly, for the nearest world--believing, perhaps, that if they reached venus, they would be saved. and then the tremendous atmospheric tides and whirlpools of the clouded planet, in which no aircraft but the hugest could survive.... vanning whistled softly. suppose he managed to get into that space-boat? suppose there was still rocket-fuel in the tanks, and suppose it hadn't deteriorated? couldn't he blast up through the dome to freedom? sure--to freedom and death! no ship could survive in the venusian atmosphere, certainly not this light space-tub, of an antiquated and obsolete design. * * * * * at one of the twisted buildings, zeeth paused. the structure was larger than vanning had imagined from above, and his eyes widened as he followed the venusian up winding ramps, past curtained arches, till at last they stepped into a luxurious chamber at the top. seated on a low tussock was a swamja, fat and hideous, his bulging eyes glaring at the intruders. "you are late," he said. "why is that?" zeeth bowed. "we came as swiftly as possible." "that may be. and this slave is new. yet errors are not permitted. for your mistake, this--" a malformed hand rose, clutching a gun. "and this." instinctively vanning tensed to leap forward, but a blast of searing fire seemed to explode in his body. he dropped in a boneless huddle, gasping for breath. beside him he saw zeeth, similarly helpless, fat face twisted in agony. venusians, vanning remembered, were horribly sensitive to pain; and even through his own torture he felt anger at the swamja for meting out such ruthless justice. but it was over in a moment, though that moment seemed to last for eternities. zeeth stood up, bowed again, and slipped from the room, with a warning glance at vanning, who also rose. the swamja raised his gross body. "carry this tray. this flask and goblet--for my thirst. this atomizer--to spray on my face when i demand it. this fan for the heat." vanning silently picked up the heavy metal tray and followed the lumbering, monstrous figure out. he had an impulse to bring the tray down on the swamja's head. but that wouldn't solve anything. he'd have to wait--for a while, anyway. a show of temper might cost him his life. along the twisting avenue they went, and to a many-tiered amphitheatre, where the swamja found a seat in a cushioned throne. already the place was filled with the monsters. many of them were attended by human or venusian slaves, vanning saw. he stood behind the swamja, ready for anything, and looked down. in the center of the pit was a pool. it was perhaps ten feet square, and blackly opaque. that was all. "the spray." vanning used the atomizer on the scaly face of his master. then he looked around once more. not far away, standing behind another swamja, was sanderson. the red-haired man met his eye and grinned mockingly. neither hobbs nor zeeth was visible. but vanning could not repress a feeling of pleasure as he saw, several tiers down, the slim figure of lysla, her auburn curls bare in the cool night air, a tray similar to his own held strapped to her slender neck. vanning's pleasure was lost in resentment. damn these fish-headed swamja! "fool!" a croaking voice said. "twice i have had to demand the spray. put down your tray." vanning caught himself and obeyed. the swamja turned and leveled his gun. again the blazing, brief agony whirled sickeningly through the detective's body. it passed; silently he resumed his task. from time to time, he tended to the swamja's wants. but he also found time to glance at lysla occasionally. * * * * * when the ceremony began, vanning could not tell. he sensed that the assembly had grown tenser, and noticed that the eye of every swamja was focused on the black pool. but there was nothing else. silence, and the deformed figures staring at the jet square in the center. was this all? it seemed so, after half an hour had passed. not once had the swamja he tended demanded attention. what the devil were the creatures seeing in that pool? for they saw something, vanning was certain of that. once a shiver of pure ecstasy rippled through the swamja's gross body. and once vanning thought he heard a musical note, almost above the pitch of audibility. it was gone instantly. zeeth had said that the swamja possessed other senses than those of humans. perhaps those strange senses were being used now. he did not know then, nor was he ever to know, the non-human psychology of the swamja, or the purpose of the black pool. yet vanning unmistakably sensed that here was something above and beyond the limitations of his own humanity. he grew tired, shifting from foot to foot, but it seemed the ceremony would never end. he watched lysla. thus he saw her bend forward with a filled goblet--and, losing her balance, spill the liquid contents into the lap of the swamja she tended. instantly she shrank back, her tray clattering to the floor. stark panic fear was in her posture as she cowered there. there was reason. the swamja was rising, turning, and in his huge hand was a gun.... he was going to kill lysla. vanning knew that. already he was familiar with the swamja code that did not forgive errors. and as he saw the stubby finger tightening on the trigger-button, vanning acted with swift, unthinking accuracy. his hand closed over the flask on his tray, and he threw it unerringly. the fragile substance crashed into the face of the swamja menacing lysla, shattering into glittering shards. the being blinked and pawed at its eyes. in a moment-- vanning jumped clear over his own swamja and hurtled down the steps. his shoulder drove into the blinking monster beneath lysla, and sent the creature head-over-heels into the lap of another of its race below. vanning caught up the gun the swamja had dropped. he turned to look into lysla's frightened eyes. "jerry--" her voice was choked. "oh, no!" abruptly a crash sounded from above. vanning looked up to see sanderson swinging his metal tray like a maniac. the man's red hair was like a beacon in the strange light. he drove his weapon into the snarling face of a swamja and yelled down at vanning: "amscray! there's an oorday on your eftlay!" pig-latin! a door on the left? vanning saw it. with one hand he caught lysla's arm, and with the other smashed the gun-butt viciously into the mask of a swamja that rose up before him. the creature did not go down. its arms closed about vanning. he reversed the gun and squeezed the trigger-button, but without result. apparently the things were immune to their own weapons. the amphitheatre was in an uproar. in a flashing glance vanning noticed that the black pool far below was curiously disturbed. that didn't matter. what mattered was the devil that was seeking to break his back-- lysla tore the gun from vanning's hand, firing it twice. the gnarled arms relaxed. but the two humans were almost hemmed in by the aroused swamjas. a burly body dived into the mob, followed by another one. hobbs yelled, "come on, kid! fast!" hobbs and zeeth! they, too, had come to the rescue. and none too soon! the unexpected assault broke the ranks of the swamja for an instant, and then the earth-people were through, racing down a slanting corridor. they emerged outside the amphitheatre. lysla gave them no time to rest. footsteps were thudding behind them. "this way. they'll kill us now if they catch us." she sped into an alleyway that gaped nearby. vanning saw hobbs and sanderson racing in pursuit. so sanderson had got through, too. good! zeeth? the venusian reeled against vanning, his fat face contorted. "i'm--hit. go on--don't mind me--" "nuts," the detective growled, and hoisted the flabby body to his shoulder. zeeth had more courage than any of them, he thought. weak of physique, hating pain, yet he had not hesitated to join his companions in a hopeless battle.... iv vanning sped after the others, who had waited for him. after that it was a desperate hare-and-hounds chase, with lysla leading them through the labyrinth of the city, her slender legs flying. "you okay?" vanning gasped as he ran shoulder to shoulder with the girl for a moment. her white teeth were fixed in her lower lip. "i ... i shot at that swamja's eyes. blinded him. it's the only way ... _ugh_!" "where now?" hobbs panted, his white hair rippling with the wind of his racing. sanderson echoed the question. "lysla? can we--" "i don't know. we've been heading north. never been there before. can't go south--gates are always guarded." hobbs panted, "there are only two ways out. the way we came in--guarded, eh?--and another gate at the north." "we'll try it," vanning said. "unless we can get to that space-ship--" zeeth wriggled free. "put me down. i'm all right now. the space-ship--that's guarded too. but there aren't any soldiers at the north gate. i don't know why." through the city a rising tumult was growing. lights were blazing here and there, but the party kept to the shadows. twice they flattened themselves against walls as swamja hurried past. luck was with them; but how long it would last there was no way of knowing. suddenly a great voice boomed out, carrying to every corner of the city. it seemed to come from the dome high above. "attention! no slaves will be permitted on the streets unless accompanied by a swamja master! no quarter is to be given to the fugitives who blinded a guard! capture them alive if possible--they must serve as an example. but show them no quarter!" lysla's face had paled. vanning glanced at her, but said nothing. things were bad enough as they were. only sanderson chuckled sardonically. "nice going, vanning. how about callahan now?" the detective grunted. zeeth panted, "i would--have preferred a--peaceful death. i do not--like torture." vanning felt a pang of sympathy for the fat little native. but he couldn't help him. escape was the only chance. "here," lysla gasped, pausing in the shadow of a tall building. "these outer houses are all deserted. there's the gate." across a dim expanse of bare soil it loomed, a wall of metal rising high above their heads. vanning stared. "no guards. maybe it's locked. still ... i'm going out there. if there are any swamja, they'll jump me. then run like hell. don't try to help." without waiting for an answer he sprinted across the clearing. at the door he paused, staring around. nothing stirred. he heard nothing but the distant tumult from within the city. looking back, he could see the faint elfin-lights glowing here and there, and the shining tube rising to the dome--the tube that was pouring out the north-fever virus into the atmosphere of tortured, enslaved venus. and these were the gods of venus, vanning thought bitterly. devils, rather! he turned to the door. the locks were in plain sight, and yielded after a minute or two to his trained hands. the door swung open automatically. beyond was an empty, lighted tunnel, stretching bare and silent for perhaps fifty yards. at its end was another door. vanning held up his hand. "wait a bit!" he called softly. "i'll open the other one. then come running!" "right!" sanderson's voice called back. an eternity later the second door swung open. vanning gave the signal, and heard the thud of racing feet. he didn't turn. he was staring out across the threshold, a sick hopelessness tugging at his stomach. * * * * * the door to freedom had opened--mockingly. ahead of him was the floor of a canyon, widening as it ran on. but the solid ground existed for only a quarter of a mile beyond the threshold. beyond that was flame. red, crawling fire carpeted the valley from unscalable wall to granite scarp. lava, restless, seething, boiled hotly down the slope, reddening the low-hanging fog into scarlet, twisting veils. nothing alive could pass that terrible barrier. that was obvious. zeeth said softly, "it will be a quicker death than the swamja will give us." "no!" vanning's response was instinctive. "damned if i'll go out that way. or let--" he stopped, glancing at lysla. her blue eyes were curiously calm. "the cliffs?" she suggested. vanning scanned them. "no use. they can't be climbed. no wonder the swamja left this door unguarded!" "wonder why they had it in the first place?" hobbs asked. "maybe there was a way out here once. then the lava burst through ... i've seen lava pits like this on venus," sanderson grunted. "they're pure hell. this isn't an exit--except for a salamander." "then there's no way?" lysla asked. vanning's jaw set. "there's a way. a crazy way--but i can't see any other, unless we can get out by the south gate." "impossible," hobbs said flatly. "yeah. they'll have plenty of guards there now ... i mean the space-ship." there was a momentary silence. zeeth shook his head. "no ship can live in the air of venus." "i said it was a crazy way. but we might get through. we just might. and it's the only chance we have." sanderson scratched his red head. "i'm for it. i don't want to be skinned alive ... i'm with you, vanning. you a pilot?" "yeah." "you'll have to be the best damned pilot in the system to get us through alive." lysla said, "okay. what are we waiting for?" an indomitable grin flashed in her grimy, lovely face. "good girl," hobbs encouraged. "we'd better get out of here, anyway. back to the city." they returned through the valve, without troubling to close the doors. "the swamja might think we tried to get through the lava," vanning explained. "we need all the false trails we can lay. now--we'd better hide out for a bit till the riot dies down." "good idea," sanderson nodded. "these outer buildings are deserted--i told you that. we can find a hiding-place--" lysla led them into one of the structures, and into a room below the level of the street. "they'll search, but it'll take a while. now i suppose we just wait." since there were no windows, the light lysla turned on would not attract attention. nevertheless, vanning subconsciously felt the urge to remain in darkness. he grinned mirthlessly. "i'm beginning to know how you feel, callahan. being a fugitive must be pretty tough." nobody answered. the silence ran on and on interminably. finally sanderson broke it. "we forgot one thing. no slaves are allowed on the streets tonight without a swamja along." "i didn't forget," lysla said in a low voice. "there wasn't any other way." "but we haven't a chance in the world to get through." "i know that, too," the girl whispered. "but--" abruptly she collapsed in a heap, her auburn curls shrouding her face. under the red tunic her slim shoulders shook convulsively. sanderson took a deep breath. a wry smile twisted his mouth. "okay, vanning," he said. "let's have that make-up kit." * * * * * the detective stared. curiously, he felt no exultation. instead, there was a sick depression at the thought that sanderson--the man who had fought at his side--was callahan. "i don't--" sanderson--or callahan--shrugged impatiently. "let's have it. this is the only way left. i wouldn't have given myself away if it hadn't been necessary. you'd never have suspected me ... let's have it!" silently vanning handed over the make-up kit. lysla had lifted her head to watch callahan out of wondering eyes. hobbs was chewing his lip, scowling in amazement. zeeth was the only one who did not look surprised. but even he lost his impassivity when callahan began to use the make-up kit. it was a pandora's box, and it seemed incredible that a complete disguise could issue from that small container. and yet-- callahan used the polished back of it as a mirror. he sent lysla for water and containers, easily procurable elsewhere in the building, and mixed a greenish paste which he applied to his skin. tiny wire gadgets expanded his mouth to a gaping slit. artificial tissue built up his face till his nose had vanished. _isoflex_ was cut and moulded into duplicates of the swamja's bulging, glassy eyes. callahan's fingers flew. he mixed, painted, worked unerringly. he even altered the color of his garments by dousing them in a dye-solution, till they had lost the betraying red tint that betokened a slave. in the end--a swamja stood facing vanning! "all right," callahan said tiredly. "i'll pass--if we keep out of bright lights. now go out and help lysla do guard duty. i'm going to disguise you all. that'll help." vanning didn't move as the others left. callahan took an oilskin packet from his belt and held it out. "here's the treaty. i suppose you came after that." the detective opened the bundle and checked its contents. he nodded. it was the vital treaty, which would have caused revolution on callisto. slowly vanning tore it into tiny shreds, his eyes on callahan. it was difficult, somehow, for him to find words. the other man shrugged. "that's that. and i suppose you'll be taking me back to earth--if we get out of this alive." "yeah," vanning said tonelessly. "okay." callahan's voice was tired. "let's go. we haven't time to disguise everybody--that was just an excuse to give you the treaty. a private matter--" he shuffled to the door, with the lumbering tread of the swamja, and vanning followed close at his heels. the others were waiting. vanning said, "okay. let's start. no time to disguise ourselves. stay behind--" * * * * * in a close group the five moved along the avenue, callahan in the lead. the outlaw's disguise was almost perfect, but nevertheless he did not trust to it entirely. when possible, he moved along dimly-lighted streets, the four others keeping close to his heels. once a patrol of swamja guards passed, but at a distance. "i'm worried," callahan whispered to vanning. "those creatures have--different senses from ours. i've a hunch they communicate partly by telepathy. if they try that on me--" "hurry," the detective urged, with a sidewise glance at lysla. "and for god's sake don't get lost." "i won't. i'm heading for the left of the tube-tower. that's right, isn't it?" zeeth nodded. "that's it. i'll tell you if i go wrong. careful!" a swamja was waddling toward them. callahan hastily turned into a side street, making a detour to avoid the monster. for a while they were safe.... lysla pressed close to vanning, and he squeezed her arm reassuringly, with a confidence he could not feel. not until now had he realized the vital importance of environment. on mars or barren callisto he had never felt this helplessness in the face of tremendous, inhuman powers--against which it was impossible to fight. hopeless odds! but luck incredibly favored them. they reached their destination without an alarm being raised. crouching in the shadows by the square where the space-ship lay, they peered at the three guards who paced about, armed and ready. "only three," lysla said. vanning chewed at his lip. "callahan, you know more about locks than i do. when we rush, get around to the other side of the ship and unlock the port. it may not be easy. the rest of us--we'll keep the swamja busy." callahan nodded. "i suppose that's best. we've only one gun." "well--that can't be helped. lysla, you go with callahan." the blue eyes blazed. "no! it'll take all of us to manage the guards. i'm fighting with you." vanning grunted. "well--here. take the gun. use it when you get a chance, but be careful. zeeth? hobbs? ready?" the two men nodded silently. with a hard grin on his tired face, vanning gave the signal and followed the disguised callahan as he walked toward the ship. maybe the guards wouldn't take alarm at sight of one of their own race, as they thought. but the masquerade couldn't keep up indefinitely. the sentries looked toward the newcomers, but made no hostile move. one of them barked a question. callahan didn't answer. he kept lumbering toward the ship, his masked face hideous and impassive. vanning, at his heels, was tense as wire. beside him, he heard zeeth breathing in little gasps. twenty paces separated the two parties--fifteen--ten. a guard croaked warning. his hand lifted, a gun gripped in the malformed fingers. simultaneously lysla whipped up her weapon and fired. once--twice--and the swamja cried out and dropped his gun, pawing at his eyes. then-- "let 'em have it!" vanning snarled--and sprang forward. "callahan! get that port open!" * * * * * the masked figure hesitated, gave a whispered sound that might have been a curse, and then sprinted around the side of the space-ship. vanning didn't see him. his shoulder caromed into the middle of the second guard, and the two went down together, slugging, clawing, kicking. the swamja was incredibly strong. his mouth gaped at vanning's throat. with an agile twist, the detective wrenched himself away, but by that time there was a gun leveled at his head. a wave of blazing agony blasted through vanning's body--and was instantly gone. the weapon had not been turned up to the killing power. the swamja twisted the barrel with one finger, making the necessary adjustment. but vanning hadn't been idle. his hands crossed over the gun, wrenched savagely. there was a crack of breaking bone, and the swamja croaked in agony, his fingers broken. he wasn't conquered--no! ignoring what must have been sickening pain, he threw his arms around vanning and squeezed till the breath rushed from the human's lungs. the detective felt himself losing consciousness. it was impossible to break that steel grip-- once more the fangs gaped at his throat. vanning summoned his waning strength. his left hand gripped the monster's lower jaw, his right hand the upper. sharp teeth ripped his fingers. he did not feel them, nor the foul, gusting breath that blew hot on his sweating face. he wrenched viciously, dragging the creature's mouth wide open--and wider yet! a hoarse roar bubbled from the swamja's throat. there was a sharp crack, and the malformed body twisted convulsively. the mighty arms tightened, nearly breaking vanning's back. then--they relaxed. the swamja lay still, his spine snapped. vanning staggered up, hearing a roaring in his ears. it wasn't imagination. across the square, monstrous figures came racing, shouting harshly--swamja, dozens of them! "vanning!" hobbs' voice croaked. on the ground, three figures were wrestling in a contorted mass--zeeth and hobbs and the remaining swamja. the monster was conquering. his bulging eyes glared with mad fury. great muscles stood out on his gnarled arms as he tore at his opponents. with a choking curse vanning snatched up the gun his late enemy had dropped and sprang forward. his aim was good. the swamja's eyes went dull as the destroying charge short-circuited his nerves. the racing swamja were dangerously close as vanning bent, tearing at the monster's mighty hands. useless! he pressed his gun-muzzle into the swamja's arm-pit and fired and fired again. presently one arm writhed free. vanning seized the two men, literally tore them from the creature's grip. "the port!" vanning gasped. "get into--the ship!" hobbs lifted zeeth and staggered around the bow. as vanning turned to follow, he saw the slim body of lysla lying motionless on the ground, in the path of the racing swamja. he sprinted forward, scooped up the girl in one motion, and swerved back, running as though all hell were at his heels. a croaking yell went up. sickening pain lanced through vanning, and he nearly fell. but the shock, though agonizing, wasn't permanent. legs afire, the detective rounded the ship's bow and saw a circular hole gaping in the corroded hull. [illustration: _vanning sprinted forward, scooped up the girl, swerved back, and fired the full blast of his gun into the screaming face of the first swamja._] he flung himself toward it. through a crimson mist the masked face of callahan swam into view. the man leaped out of the ship, caught up lysla from vanning's arms, and scrambled with her back through the port. as vanning tried to follow, he saw callahan crouching on the threshold of the valve, an odd hesitancy in his manner. one of callahan's hands was on the lever that would close and seal the ship. for a brief eternity the eyes of the two men met and clashed. * * * * * vanning read what was clear to read. if callahan closed the port now, leaving vanning outside--he would be safe from the law. no doubt the man knew how to pilot a space-ship-- a shout roared out from behind vanning. callahan snarled an oath, seized the detective's hand, and yanked him into the ship. as a swamja tried to scramble through the valve, callahan's foot drove viciously into the monster's hideous face, sending him reeling back among his fellows. then the port clanged shut! the port clanged shut, and the sudden silence of the ship was nerve-shattering in its instant cessation of sound. vanning managed to get to his feet. he didn't look at callahan. lysla, he saw, was still motionless. hobbs was kneeling beside her. "lysla--she all right?" the detective rasped. "yes." hobbs managed a weak grin. "she got in the way of a paralyzing charge--but she'll be all right." "okay." vanning turned to the controls. they were archaic--in fact, the whole design of the ship was strange to him. it had been built a century ago, and rust and yellow corrosion was everywhere. "think it'll blast off?" callahan asked as vanning dropped into the pilot's seat. "we'll pray! let's see how much fuel--" he touched a button, his gaze riveted on a gauge. the needle quivered slightly--that was all. callahan didn't say anything. vanning's face went gray. "no fuel," he got out. there was a clanging tumult at the port, resounding from the outer hull. "they can't get in," callahan said slowly. "we can't raise the ship," vanning countered. "when we've used up all the air in here, we'll suffocate. unless we surrender to the swamja." hobbs gave a croaking laugh. "not likely. there aren't any weapons here. the ship's been stripped clean." callahan said, "if we could break through the dome--" "there might be enough fuel for that--if it hasn't deteriorated. but then what? we'd crash. certain death. you know that." vanning clicked another button into its socket. "let's see if the visi-plate works." it did. on a panel before him a dim light glowed. it gave place to a picture, clouded and cracked across the middle. they could see the square, with the swamja swarming into it in ever-increasing numbers, with the twisted buildings rising in the background, and the tower-tube shining far away. vanning caught his breath. "listen," he said. "there's still a chance. a damned slim one--" "what?" the detective hesitated. if he took time to weigh this mad scheme, he knew it would seem utterly impossible. instead, he snapped, "brace yourselves! we're taking off for a crash landing!" callahan looked at vanning's set, haggard face, and whirled. he picked up lysla's limp body and braced himself in a corner. zeeth and hobbs did the same. before any of them could speak, vanning had swung the power switch. he was praying silently that there was still a little fuel left in the chambers, just a little, and that it would still work. his prayer was answered instantly. with a roaring thunder of rocket-tubes the life-boat bulleted up from the ground! the bellow died. there was no more fuel. vanning stared at the visi-plate. beneath him the city of the swamja was spread, the elfin lights glimmering, the coral palaces twisted like strange fungus growths. automatically his hands worked at the corroded guide-levers that controlled the wind-vanes on the ship's hull. the space-boat circles--swept around-- the shining tower-tube loomed directly ahead. jaws aching, teeth clenched, vanning held steady on his course. the ship thundered down with wind screaming madly in its wake. the tube loomed larger--larger still. it blotted out the city. one glimpse vanning had of the metal surface rising like a wall before him-- and the ship struck! rending, ripping, tearing, the space-boat crashed through the tube, bringing it down in thundering ruin. briefly the visi-plate was a maelstrom of whirling shards. then the glare of an elf-light raced up to meet the ship. it exploded in flaming suns within vanning's brain. he never knew when the ship struck. v he looked up into zeeth's eyes. blood smeared the venusian's fat face, but he was smiling wanly. "hello," vanning said, sitting up. zeeth nodded. "the others are all right. still unconscious." "the crash--" "hobbs has a broken arm, and i cracked a rib, i think. but the ship's hull was tough." vanning stood up. his eyes was caught by the movement on the visi-plate, which had incredibly survived the shock of landing. he moved forward, bracing himself against the back of the pilot's chair. the city of the swamja lay spread beneath him. the ship had lodged itself high on one of the towers, smashing its way into a sort of cradle, and then rolling down till its bow faced north. in the distance the jagged metal of the tube stood up forty feet above ground level. the rest of it wasn't there, though gleaming, twisted plates of metal lay here and there in the streets. and through the avenues shapes were moving. they were the swamja, and they moved like automatons. they moved in one direction only--away from the ship. as far as vanning could see the swamja were pouring through their city. zeeth said softly, "you are very clever. i still do not understand--" vanning shrugged, and his voice was tired. "the only way, zeeth. i broke the tube that shot the north-fever virus into the upper air. the virus was released within the city, in tremendous quantity. you know how fast it works. and in this strength--" "yes. it strikes quickly." "once you've had the fever, you're immune to it ever afterward. so the slaves won't suffer. only the swamja. they're getting a dose of their own medicine." "they go north," zeeth said. "out of the city." it was true. far in the distance, the swamja were pouring toward the north gate, and vanishing through the open valves there. nothing could halt them. the deadly virus they had created was flaming in their veins, and--they went north. the did not walk; they ran, as though anxious to meet their doom. through the city they raced, grotesque, hideous figures, unconscious of anything but the terrible, resistless drive that drew them blindly north. through the north gate, into the pass-- through the pass--to the lava pits! vanning's shoulders slumped. "it's nasty. but--i suppose--" "even the gods must die," zeeth said. "yeah.... well, we've work to do. we'll get food, water, and supplies, and head south for venus landing to get help. a small party will do. then we can commandeer troops and swamp-cats to rescue the slaves from this corner of hell. we can get through to venus landing all right--" "yes, that will be possible--though difficult. vanning--" zeeth's eyes hooded. "yeah?" "callahan is not here." "what?" the venusian made a quick gesture. "he awoke when i did. he told me to say that he had no wish to go to prison--so he was leaving." "where to?" vanning asked quietly. "venus landing. he left the ship an hour ago to get food and weapons, and by this time he is in the southern swamps, well on his way. at the landing, he said, he would embark on a space-ship heading--somewhere." "i see. he'll reach the landing before we do, then. before we leave, we'll have to get things in some sort of order." * * * * * both hobbs and the girl were moving slightly. presently they would awaken--and then the work would begin. with the city emptied of the swamja, it would be easy to organize the slaves, get up a party to march to venus landing-- vanning's mouth twisted in a wry smile. so callahan was gone. he wasn't surprised. callahan would never know that the detective had awakened from the crash before any of the others--and had shammed unconsciousness till the fugitive had had time to make good his escape. vanning shrugged. maybe he was a damn fool. getting soft-hearted.... "okay," he said to zeeth. "let's get busy. we've got a job ahead of us!"