THE "GREEN-GOODS" SPECULATOR I. Stewart THE LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY 97 OMNIBUS ARTIBUS OF REGENTS MIN ESOTA CLASS BOOK 8136491 The Green-Goods MAGNET DETECTIVE LIBRARY No. 349 By Speculator Dick Stewart STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Ol wary AMERICA'S MOST COMPREHENSIVE COLLECTION ON THE MAGIC ARTS 20 MASTERPIECES OF DETECTIVE LITERATURE ALL BOOKS COPYRIGHTED NEW MAGNET LIBRARY Issued Semimonthly. (Trade supplied only by the American and other wholesale news companies.) Our efforts to fill the enormous demand for scientific detective literature at a reasonable price have been unceasing for the past eight years. Any one who looks over the titles in the New Magnet Library can hardly doubt that we have succeeded splendidly in giving American readers the kind of mystery stories that is usually found between cloth covers at $1.50. Fifteen cents seems very insignificant in comparison to the amount and quality of reading that is given by books contained in this line. Our watchword in connection with this line is "never be content," and it will be our earnest endeavor to not only maintain the high standard of excellence that prevails in the stories that we have published in this line, but to improve upon it. Every lover of detective stories will rejoice in having this line brought to his attention because it will place within his reach just the sort of literature that he has been seeking. ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT TO THE PUBLIC:-These books are sold by news dealers every- where. If your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to the price per copy to cover postage. 101-The Stolen Pay Train. By Nicholas Carter 105-A Bite of an Apple.. By Nicholas Carter 108-Nick Carter's Clever Protégée. By Nicholas Carter III-The Stolen Race Horse.. By Nicholas Carter 114-The Man Who Vanished.... 117-A Herald Personal.. By Nicholas Carter 120-The Twelve Tin Boxes. 123-The Elevated Railroad Mystery By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter 126-A Game of Craft.... By Nicholas Carter 129-The Man Who Stole Millions • By Nicholas Carter 192-Nick Carter's Girl Detective. By Nicholas Carter 135-The Crime of the French Café. By Nicholas Carter 138-Crossed Wires By Nicholas Carter 141-Nick Carter Down East.. By the author of Nicholas Cartes THE S. & S. NOVELS 144-The Twelve Wise Men.. 147-Nick Carter's Retainer.. 150-Lady Velvet 153-Nick Carter's Clever Ruse. 156-A Victim of Circumstances. 159-A Framework of Fate. 162-Nick Carter's Star Pupils. 165-Held for Trial.. 168-Brought to Bay. 171-The Silent Passenger. 174-A Princess of Crime.. 177-A Scrap of Black Lace. By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter 182-The Bottle with the Black Label. By Nicholas Carter .. 186-A Desperate Chance.. 189-The Man of Mystery... 391-The Murray Hill Mystery. 193-The Missing Cotton King. 196-The Queen of Knaves, and Other 199-The Man at the Window.. 201-The Steel Casket, and Other 203-The Price of a Secret. 205-A Bogus Clew.. By Nicholas Carter .By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter Stories... Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter Stories...By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter • 207-The Blow of a Hammer, and Other Stories, 209-A Triple Crime.. 211-In Letters of Fire. 213-Millions at Stake, and Other 215-The Seal of Silence.. 218-The Man from London. By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter .By Nicholas Carter Stories...By Nicholas Carter 220-The Dumb Witness, and Other 222-A Prince of Rogues.. 224-Played to a Finish. 226-A Deal in Diamonds. 228-A Syndicate of Rascals.. 230-A Race for Ten Thousand. 232-The Red Signal..... 234-The Tell-tale Photographs. 236-A Move in the Dark... 238-The Claws of the Tiger. 240-Weaving the Web... By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter Stories. By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter ..By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter 242-Run to Earth... 244-A Trusted Rogue.. By Nicholas Carter 246-Nick Carter's Death Warrant... By Nicholas Carter 248-The Toss of a Coin..... By Nicholas Carter 250-A Double-handed Game. 252-The Man and His Price. 254-Behind a Mask.. 256-The Vial of Death 258-Man Against Man. 200-At the Knife's Point. 20-A False Combination. 264-Two Villains in One.. By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Carter By Nicholas Cart The "Green-Goods" Speculator BY DICK STEWART 53(1) 11/20 NOVELS NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1892 By Norman L., Munro The "Green-Goods" Speculator 81,52491 OG JUL 2 2 49 JAN 3 '50. * UNDECI Keys to Knowledge We have a line of the best and cleanest hand books ever published. They are known as DIAMOND HAND BOOKS. Each one was written by a man or woman thoroughly conversant with the subject he or she treated. The facts are presented in an especially attractive man- ner so that every one who can read, can understand. 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By Lieut. Lounsberry. Medal No. 236, 10c. Complete List of S. & S. Novels sent anywhere upon reqnert STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK THE "GREEN-GOODS" SPECULATOR CHAPTER I. A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH. "Rodney Bronson, the famous secret service detective, is in New York on the track of a gang of green-goods men who have been operating here for some time. He will make his headquarters at the Hotel Garrick, on Broad- way, during his stay in the metropolis." This paragraph crept into one of the New York evening papers and was probably passed over without comment by thousands of people. It was probable that the "green-goods" men in question read it with a smirk of satisfaction, and began to lay 'deeper plans for the covering up of their wrongdoing. Rodney Bronson, in his room in the Hotel Garrick, cast an angry look over the lines. "Confound these reporters!" he muttered, impatiently. "They get hold of everything. I thought my coming to New York was a secret; and some sneaking penny-a-liner has gotten this 'inside' information and sent it to his paper. Now the men I am after will have taken the alarm and may have skipped. Too bad, too bad!" A tap at his door aroused him from his gloomy medi- tations. 6 · A Newspaper Paragraph. "Come in," he said. A man entered hesitatingly, and carefully closed the door behind him. "You are Mr. Ròdney Bronson ?" he asked. "Yes. What can I do for you?" ? "My name is Freshy Oliver, sir. I think I can put you on the track of some green goods in this city." * * * * It is necessary to go back a few hours to explain Freshy Oliver's appearance in the Hotel Garrick. It had been a cold, rainy afternoon, and comparatively few persons were on the streets, even in busy lower New York. Park Place, just a little to the west of Broadway, and the post office, seemed especially dreary and deserted. Suddenly there was a muffled, but unmistakable sound of pistol shots from the upper interior of a lofty business and office building on the north side of that thoroughfare. Freshy Oliver, who had been seemingly lounging lazily in an opposite entrance, came slouching across the street in response to the sounds. As he did so, a goateed, rustic-looking man of middle age, in one hand a firmly clutched fat carpetbag, in the other a smoking revolver, which he was just thrusting out of sight, came rushing out of the building. He looked about him somewhat bewilderedly, but seemed very content that no general attention had been attracted by the incident. "Waal, I shot at 'em, if not into 'em, anyway!" he A Newspaper Paragraph. 7 grunted, half to himself, and with much satisfaction. "An' then I've got what I come for-the villains' genuine, an' not their bogus, green goods-to boot. Hu! I reckon these hyar New York sharpers'll hev to git up a leetle earlier afore they come their slippery dodges over Dan'l Johnsing, of Rapptown, Georgy." He was about turning westward in the direction of the railroad ferries, when he first perceived Freshy Oliver. "Hello!" he said. "Look hyar, sonny, don't you go up inter thet place," with a jerk of the head back to the en- trance. "Haw! haw! haw!" And he went off into a fit of laughter. There was certainly some excuse for it. The young fellow was tow-headed, open-mouthed, star- ing-eyed and slouchy, with a half-timid, half-eager air- the very personification of an awkward, unsophisticated innocent abroad, whose mother or other legal guardian could scarcely know of his being out, with any peace of mind in consequence. He didn't even know enough, apparently, to be angry at the other's manifest ridicule, but smiled with vapid good humor in response. "What ye larfin' at me for, mister?" he inquired, scratching his head. "I carn't help it, you're sech a gawk!" replied the South- erner, going off into a somewhat more subdued chuckle. "Ye look even more like a jay than I do-an' I'm Dan'l Johnsing, of Rapptown, Georgy, to boot. But don't ye go up them stair-flights. Ye've got fair warnin'." 8 A Newspaper Paragraph. "But I ain't thinkin' er goin'. Thank'ee fer givin' me. your name, though, mister. Mine's Freshy Oliver." "What! Fresh-Fresh-oh, Jerushy!" and Mr. John- sing, of Georgy, went off into another roar. "But why shouldn't I go up them stairs, sir?" inquired the good-natured young man. "Please tell me. Be thar tigers an' hyeeners up thar?" "Wuss'n that-green-goods men!" "Hello! I've heerd tell of them. I hope they haven't skinned you, sir." "Not much, though they wanted to durned bad," tap- ping the stuffed carpetbag affectionately. "Hu! they won't try it on a Georgy man ag'in in a hurry. But come on 'ith me, Mr. Fresh-Fresh-oh, Jerushy! haw, haw, haw!-if you're goin' my way, an' I'll tell you all about it. Some things is jess too good ter keep ter oneself." "But which is your way, sir?" "Pennsylvania Railroad ferry, as a starter for old Georgy." "Good 'nough, that suits me!" and they proceeded to- ward the foot of Cortland Street together. On the way to Jersey City, the Georgian gave his new acquaintance the green-goods circular which had lured him northward, and told his story very patronizingly and with much self-celebrating loquacity. In brief, it was this: He had brought five hundred dollars in good green- backs, ostensibly for the purpose of receiving three thou- A Newspaper Paragraph. 9 sand in green goods, or counterfeit bank notes. The rogues, on getting him into their Park Place den, after the usual preliminaries, had in the first place exhibited for his benefit the three thousand dollars bargained for, but in perfectly genuine bills. These, on his expressing his satisfaction, they had in- closed and placed before him in a russet-colored leather valise, or carpetbag, and he had paid over his five hun- dred dollars accordingly. But then, on their attempting to slip away the russet valise, and leave a similarly shaped, but darker-colored one in its place, he had promptly foiled them, by simultane- ously grabbing the first carpetbag, pulling his gun, and making a break for the door. "They made a jump ter stop me, an' were jess wild, but I was too quick fer 'em!" said Mr. Johnsing, in conclusion. "An' oh, cracky! ye orter seed how skeert they was as I let fly at 'em 'ith my shooter-though aimin' over their heads, as a matter er co'se. Oh, golly!"-he was beam- ingly patting and hugging his precious valise by turns; "I guess they're still kickin' 'emselves. I only wish I could notify my ol' chum, Sam'l Wilkins, in time.” "Who's Sam'l Wilkins?" asked Mr. Freshy Oliver, whose open-mouthed admiration for his companion's shrewdness and bravery was apparently unbounded. "He's also from Georgy-down Gooseville way. How- ever, he may know ernough ter look fer hisself, jest ez I hey did. But look hyar, we've landed." Freshy Oliver even accompanied his new-found friend into the railroad waiting room, and there suggested a final IO A Newspaper Paragraph. examination of the russet bag's contents, just to make sure, and for a visual feast, as one might say. "Good idee!" acquiesced Mr. Johnsing; and they retired into a corner to open the valise. "But see here, young feller, you won't be jealous, an' want ter try ther same sort er bluff on them green-goods fellers yourself?" "I'll try hard not to,” replied Oliver, with both hands in his pockets and watching the opening of the treasure with a sort of anticative greediness and amaze. "Oh, Lordy, what men you Georgians be!" "Ain't we, though?"-while getting the lock open with some difficulty. "An' then, ye see, I wouldn't like to have my warnin' throwed away on you. Fer it ain't everybody thet could make ther sort er prime haul out of 'em that I've done, and-and-and-" His boastful voice had suddenly sunk to a whisper, and he was madly dragging package after package out of the sack, with a visibly lengthened face. "Haw, haw, haw!" guffawed Mr. Freshy Oliver, in his turn. "Ho, ho, ho!" Mr. Johnsing had desperately torn open several of the packages. They contained nice, crisp slips of news and wrapping paper, cut up and bunched in the shape of bank notes. The spare room in the valise interior had been neatly filled out with religious tracts and sawdust. "Not even a counterfeit-not even a greenie, unless it's myself," howled the victim, smiting his brow. "Sold, gouged, bamboozled and kerflunked!" A Newspaper Paragraph. II "All on board for southern express!" at this moment roared out the gateman. The duped Southerner laughed hysterically, while gaz- ing about him with a dazed air. Then, restuffing the bag with its worthless contents, and gasping out: "I'll have the law on 'em, I will, by gravy!" he slunkingly loped and shuffled off to catch the train, without looking once behind him, like a scared fox. "The law on 'em ?" repeated the gawky young man, con- temptuously. "Consistency's a jewel. That old jackass was willing and eager to purchase counterfeit money, for the purpose of flooding his entire rustic neighborhood with it on the sly, and now, when he finds himself swindled in his turn, as he deserved to be, he whines about getting the law on 'em. But it's always the way." He leisurely returned to the city and to Park Row, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and with his hat on the back. of his head, as if solely intent upon seeing and drinking in all the city sights obtainable, and in the lump, if possible. At the entrance of the green-goods building, as we shall characterize it, three men were standing, to whom the ap- proach of our gawky young man seemed to afford no little satisfaction of a quiet sort. All three were fashionably dressed, and two were still young and of a generally agreeable and persuasive ap- pearance. The third was more than middle-aged, mighty of frame and Herculean of build. His dark, somewhat frowning face, smooth-shaven, with I2 A Newspaper Paragraph. deep-set, flashing black eyes, was likewise expressive of massive, perhaps sinister, resolution and power. It was perceivable at a glance that if these men were associated together for good or ill, this man was the ruling spirit and the master mind. They exchanged a few words together, and as Freshy Oliver came sauntering up to them, the elder of the trio addressed him. "It was you who went off with the hayseed Southerner a while ago, wasn't it?" he inquired. "Yes," was the prompt response, with an easy confidence of manner which had thus far been entirely wanting in him. "I saw that you had pinched him," with a peculiar smile, "and I wanted to hear him 'squeal.'" The trio had at once assumed a stern, implacable air, as if an invisible helmet of watchful reserve had suddenly shut down over the face of each. "You seem to think you know us?" continued the big man. "I don't think, but am sure of it-Bad Man Balder!" Freshy Oliver's gawkiness had almost disappeared by this time. "You see I know you. And your two pals, here” -with a pleasant nod-"are George Dixon, otherwise Gentleman George, and Samuel Hooley, alias Soapy Sam, and Heaven only knows what else. But don't be uneasy, gentlemen," smiling. "Bunco, not green goods, will con- tinue my specialty." "Who are you, then?" demanded "Balder." "A dead-alive." "What do you mean?" A Newspaper Paragraph. 13 "Ever hear of Bunco Fleischmann, otherwise Famished Frank?" The trio at once betrayed the liveliest interest, though with renewed suspicion and reserve. "Famished Frank, the great Western bunco-crook of a few years ago?" softly-even soapily-observed the pre- possessing young sport, who had been indicated as Soapy Sam. "Should say we had." "Well-aw-that goes, you know," drawled the equally, attractive "Gentleman George," screwing a gold-rimmed monocle, or squinting glass, into his left eye. "Everybody has-aw-heard of Bunco Fleischmann, be Jawve!" "I'm the duck!"-composedly. There was a fresh movement of surprise, and then "Bad Man Balder," as he had been designated, with no denial on his part as yet, turned scowlingly upon the tow-headed claimant for bunco notoriety. “It stands to reason that you're both a fool and a liar,” said he. "For it is well known among the 'mob' that Famished Joe was dead and buried out of the Wisconsin State prison hospital a month ago." The young man smiled. "You mistake," said he, quietly. "It was my clever trick, by which I managed to give the prison the shake, another man being dead and planted there under my name. Red Calkins was alone into the trick with me, he being one of the hospital nurses at the time. He is now in Cali- fornia, and can doubtless be communicated with, to prove the truth of my story, if needs be." 14 A Newspaper Paragraph. T 1 And he went on to give further particulars, much of it in argot, or thieves' slang, and with such an earnestness of manner as to win not a little upon their credulity. "All right, then," said Balder, though with a non-com- mittal grunt. "But yours is a dangerous secret, eh, cully ?" "I should say so for me." "Why, then"-with a searching look-"are you giving it away to us." The answer came promptly and naturally enough. "I'm a comparative stranger in the East, having never worked my racket to any extent this side the Alleghanies. Sort of lonesome, see? Besides, being all but on my uppers." The men's faces cleared, and they gave him their hands, one after the other. "Come upstairs," said Balder, hospitably; and a general adjournment was accordingly made into the front office of the green-goods men's den. It was a comfortable, unsuspicious-looking room, with a sham counter and cashier's desk at the rear, and cozily furnished with upholstered easy-chairs in red morocco. "Hello!" observed Freshy Oliver, looking about him, ap- provingly. "And there's one of Mr. Johnsing's bullet marks, too." Balder laughed, while one of his pals produced some cigars and the other smilingly set out a decanter and glasses from under the counter. "Yes," said the former, taking off his nobby spring overcoat. "And, of course, we made the jay believe we A Newspaper Paragraph. 15 were scared out of our boots. Sit down," indicating the largest and most luxurious of the easy-chairs. The visitor obeyed, sinking agreeably down amid the yielding upholstery of the seat. As he did so, however, the great, spreading arms, op- erated by some hidden spring, folded over his lap and breast, making him a prisoner as securely and indubitably as a regulation strait-jacket could have done. "By-Jupiter!" he exclaimed, looking up, with an oath. At the same instant, however, his utterance was equally enchained by a patent cushion gag, similarly worked, shutting down swiftly over his face, and settling down- upon his open mouth with a remorseless pressure. "This is one of our tricks, cully!" laughed the burly swindler-chief; "though we don't get up no sham death and funeral in our case-'cept on occasion." Then they all laughed together, and with something sin- ister and even menacing in their mirth, that was quite the reverse of reassuring. Then, for a few minutes, the precious trio were very busy men. To disengage their captive from the chair-trap's 、em- brace, jerk him out of it, and pinion his arms while going through him deftly and systematically, consumed almost as little time as it takes to tell about. However, Freshy Oliver had not neglected to prepare. himself for just such an emergency. Nothing was found upon him but seventy-five cents in money, a penknife, a bunch of keys, some tobacco. and sev- 16 A Newspaper Paragraph. eral recently received letters, apparently from the afore- said Red Calkins, which seemed to indirectly corroborate what the prisoner had affirmed with regard to his dead- alive personality. "I reckon you'll do, cully," growled Balder, this time with genuinely restored good humor, while the young man was smilingly relieved of his gag and his property restored to him. "But there's nothing like making sure; you will understand that as well as we." Soapy, "Now take a drink and a smoke with us. there's a bottle of better stuff than this under there; and, George, d'ye mean to trot out these jay cigars when we're gentlemen and friends among ourselves?" As all three turned temporarily toward the counter, Freshy Oliver "went through" something in his turn. The something was Chief Green-Goods Man Balder's spring overcoat, hanging from a conveniently near-at-hand hook, and the whole operation was performed with a lightening-like sleight-of-hand swiftness and dexterity which a watchful eye could have scarcely followed, and without the rogues having the slightest suspicion of it. "Taken altogether, cullies, you've treated me bang- up," observed the young man, when about to take his leave, after the promised drink and cigar. "And, as one good Mr. Johnsing, your turn deserves another, tell me, did Rapptown, Ga., victim, give you any hint as to his neigh- bor, Mr. Sam'l Wilkins' intentions in the green-goods line ?" "No," replied Balder, while all looked up eagerly; A Newspaper Paragraph. 17 "though we long ago sent Wilkins our circulars at Goose- ville, without obtaining any response." "Well, he's your next gudgeon, and you can expect to land him to-morrow. Mr. Johnsing was more communi- cative to me than to you. Ta, ta!" And dropping this gratifying bit of intelligence, Freshy Oliver smilingly took himself off. The next movements of the gawky young man—whose open-mouthed, wide-eyed innocence of aspect had been instantly resumed-were no less interesting. Making sure that he was not being followed or ob- served, he in the first place dropped into the neighboring 'Astor House barroom. Here a momentary retirement to the washrooms enabled him to completely disguise himself, by means of a wig and false beard cleverly applied, after which he hurried down Broadway as quite another man, and with a brisk, springing step. In this disguise he presented himself before Rodney Bronson at the Hotel Garrick. Rodney scanned his visitor carefully. "Why do you come disguised?" he asked, abruptly. "Ah! I thought I was cleverly made up." "You are," assented Rodney; "but my long experience as a secret service man has made me something of an adept at scenting disguises." "Well, I was afraid I might be followed. I have just talked with green-goods men, and was then gotten up as a youth from the country. 18 A Newspaper Paragraph. "I've been a bunco-sharp and all-round crook, chiefly in the West and Southwest, but I'm done with that life, and I want you to give me a starter so that I may become an honest man, maybe a secret service detective, if you think I'm worthy of being recommended to your chief.” "Ever done time in prison?" Rodney asked. "Never, sir-honestly, never!" with a quiet ring of sin- cerity in saying the words. "Why, then, should you have got disgusted with crooking?" "My heart was never in it-circumstances-it is a long story and a painful one." "Don't try to tell it, then. How long since you have knocked off?" "Not quite a twelvemonth." "Tried detective work before?" "Once only, in Chicago, and for but a brief, heart-break- ing period. They wouldn't trust me; strive as I might, nobody would credit my good intentions; it was no go." "How long have you been in New York?" "A fortnight." "Know the city?" "Yes, from schoolboy and somewhat later residence. here." "What chiefly prompts you to this-er-change, or reform ?" "First, a haunting, lingering desire to cut loose-to be a decent man among decent men; second, revenge." A Newspaper Paragraph. 19 } "Revenge, eh?" "Yes, to hunt down the accused, criminal wronger of me and mine. Perhaps," with a feeble smile, "that is the real incentive, the chief prompting, you know. Human nature is so weak and one's passions are so strong. I'll name the villain in the course of my story." Rodney saw a way by which he could overcome the effects of that paragraph in the newspaper. If this man could get into the secrets of the green-goods men, his work would be easy. His next words were in the nature of a command: "Take away everything! let me see you as you are." His visitor obeyed on the instant, snatching off both wig and beard. "Humph!" with a slightly approving nod. "Your name-true name, of course?” "Fletcher otherwise Freshy-Oliver." "Not so bad, that!" "In my previous essay at detective work, they also dubbed me the Gawk Detective. By the way, sir, I've been thinking a good deal about the Maylands stolen child case, and I think I've got a clew to it," he added. He referred to a mystery that had defied all the efforts of the New York detectives to solve. "So!" muttered Rodney, who was familiar with the case; "and the police have had it in hand for a long time without obtaining a single tangible clew as yet." "I have one, sir." "Good! what's your theory, Mr.-er-Oliver ?" 20 A Newspaper Paragraph. "It isn't a theory, but a regular clew, a trail, with my man in full view." "Convince me of this, young man, and your aspirations toward honest detective work may not be in vain. I would put you on this green-goods case at once, with my credentials at your back." "Oh, thank you, sir! thank you!" "Tell me what you know." Instead of doing this directly, Freshy Oliver told swiftly, but in minute detail, of his afternoon's experiences with the green-goods men and their dupe. "Not bad work, this," was his hearer's comment when he had finished. "But what has it got to do with- "By your leave, sir," interrupted Freshy Oliver, po- litely. "You haven't thought of asking me what I found in Bad Man Balder's overcoat pockets?" "True; and what did you find?” "Only these that were of any importance." And he laid before the secret service man two papers. One was a copy of the thousands of reward-offering and descriptive handbills that had been scattered over the country by the parents of the stolen child, already al- luded to. The other was the right-hand half of an addressed let ter envelope. It was this fragment which Rodney at once took up and scrutinized. It bore the canceled Tarrytown postmark of a date three days previous, and, having been torn irregularly down and across, furnished these words, or parts of words, A Newspaper Paragraph. 21 as the sole clew to the person to whom the letter had been addressed, something in this fashion: VELLE, ME DECHASSEZ, 04TH ST. New York. "What do you make of it?" inquired Rodney, looking up curiously from the consideration of the fragment. "That the letter was received by Bad Man Balder, say two days ago, under his true name, Thomas Lavelle, care of Madame Dechassez, at somewhere 104th Street, this city." ! "Lavelle, eh? Good! But how do you know it to be his true name?” "This man is my family curse, our evil genius, whom I am bent on hounding down. "It was under his true name of Lavelle that he caused my father's bankruptcy and then swore him into the Ohio State prison twenty years ago, when I was a mere boy. "My father's innocence was proved a year later. But the perjurer's work had been accomplished. The convict- stain was on the wronged victim's life and name. He only regained his liberty in time to die in his own bed, vindi- cated, but crushed irreparably. His wife-my mother- had succumbed to a broken heart several months before. "Alone in the world, without friend or guide, chance as- sociations, remorseless circumstances, molded me into the crook, the little better than professional thief which I became, but wish no longer to be. "Another black mark to the villain's account, to be ex- · 22 A Newspaper Paragraph. piated solely upon the scaffold, or in the condemned felon's lifelong cell, as the event shall determine. "I have sworn it on my mother's ashes, on my wronged father's grave, on my own soul, lost, or so nearly lost, through the same demon hand! "But he had disappeared, leaving not a trace. "I have only recently discovered his identity with this green-goods master crook, Bad Man Balder. Therefore I am here. Henceforth I am this man's bane, his Neme- sis, his pitiless hunter-down." All this was said very quietly, but with a terrible, half- suppressed earnestness that seemed for the moment to transform the staring, all but laughable gawkiness of Freshy Oliver into something menacing and grand. But, for all that, the government detective only shrugged his shoulders a little impatiently. "How do you connect Bad Man Balder with this child- stealing?" he asked, abruptly—"for, of course, the mere fact of his having had this handbill in his possession, goes for little or nothing." "True; but one Karl Moshner was the master-criminal in a similar case in San Francisco, several years ago, though for some reason never brought to book for the crime." “Ah, I remember! and a keen rascal, that fellow. But how irrevelant you can be! What has Karl Moshner to do with- "" "Another of Lavelle-Balder's aliases." "You are sure of this?" "I can prove it to your satisfaction." CHAPTER II. THE STOLEN CHILD. A brief consultation followed, during which Freshy Oliver proved the truth, or, at least, the striking plausi- bility, of his revelations. "Now," said Rodney, "listen to me. I came to New York for the purpose of running to earth these very green- goods men that you have so fortunately met. That un- fortunate announcement in the paper brought you to me, did it not?" "It did," assented Oliver. "I thought so. Now, if I were to go ahead with the matter, these fellows would be on their guard. I have a proposition to make." "I agree to it before hearing it." Rodney smiled. "I see you are confident. Well, my proposition is that you go ahead with this child-stealing case. It will bring you in contact with the green-goods men, and you can kill two birds with one stone." "You mean me to tackle the case?" "Yes, if you are willing?" "Not only willing, but anxious," said Oliver, enthusi- astically. "Good! Now, let me write you a letter of introduction to Col. Maylands, the missing girl's distracted father, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting.. I will tell > 24 The Stolen Child. him you are on the case. You do not know the gentleman, I suppose?" "Only by reputation, for his great wealth and still greater benevolence and popularity." "Better see him at once. He may have received some fresh particulars worth knowing, and not as yet com* municated to the police. By the way, I will move to the Elephant Hotel, on Lexington Avenue. Make a report to me there." Freshy Oliver, a full-fledged detective now, as he told himself, had already resumed his disguise. He turned to go, with a gesture sufficiently eloquent of his gratitude. "One moment more," said Rodney. "That dead-alive yarn of yours for the benefit of the green-goods sharps?" "Only a yarn, as a matter of course, sir," with a smile. "But not altogether so, either." "How was it?" "The Wisconsin convict had really-though for what reason I have been unable to discover or guess-entered the prison under my name and alias. And under such he likewise died, and was buried." "Humph! the dead-alive racket is seldom or never stale, You ought to work this one to your advantage in more ways than one." "I intend to." "And the Red Calkins character?" "Actually existent. It was he who gave me the strange particulars." "Good-day, Mr. Freshy Oliver," with a parting nod; The Stolen Child. 45 and as his visitor took his departure, Rodney said to him- self: "The Gawk Detective, eh? Another dodge that sel- dom or never fails, if systematically well played. I shouldn't wonder if this young chap might have something of a future before him." It still rained, and the light of the day was nearly spent when Freshy Oliver reached the street. The letter of introduction which had been given him bore an address in the Bronx. Though light of heart over his new employment, the young man was feeling somewhat faint; for shortness of funds had necessitated his living on short commons since his arrival in the great metropolis. He therefore bought a frugal, but sufficient supper at the first cheap restaurant he could reach, and then pro- ceeded to make the acquaintance of Col. Maylands. The latter was a fine specimen of the free-hearted, old Kentucky gentleman, with a very beautiful and lovely wife many years younger than himself. He had, however, long resided in New York, where he had made a colossal fortune, in natural oil and other in- vestments. His house was one of the finest and most spacious in the Bronx, though built of wood and piazza-girt, in the South- ern style, and it was situated in the midst of liberal, nobly kept orchard and garden grounds, almost parklike in char- acter and extent. Here, with his charming consort and their only child, Dorothy, or "Daisy," a sweet, rather serious-minded little girl of ten summers, he had lived in well-earned luxury 26 T The Stolen Child. and dispensed a wide hospitality, until the one great mis- fortune which had fallen upon the happy household about a month previous. The child had been stolen out of the family carriage, on a bright, sunny afternoon, and in the midst of thronged Broadway, during the few minutes of her mother's ab- sence in an adjoining dry-goods store. There was no clew whatever to the manner in which the thing had been effected. The colored coachman, an old and trustworthy servitor, could only remember seeing a richly dressed lady, wearing a veil, pause for an instant at the side of the coach, as if merely to glance in admiringly at its little occupant. But it was common for the child's beauty to attract a similar passing attention everywhere. He had, consequently, not given the incident a second thought, and when he looked again, the veiled lady-he could not even describe her dress or general appearance particularly, save that she seemed to be tall and of grace- ful carriage, as if, perhaps, young and comely-had dis- appeared. So had the little girl, as was announced by her mother's alarmed inquiries a few minutes later. That she had likewise been kidnaped-probably after being quietly lured out of the vehicle, when the unsus- picious driver's back was turned, as a preliminary to whisking her away out of sight and reach-was equally ap- parent. Pinned to the upholstered lining of the interior there 1 ཎྞཛཧཱ The Stolen Child. 27 was found, in place of the missing child, a scrap of paper, with the following words-written in ink, and evidently with due deliberation beforehand : "COLONEL AND MRS. MAYLANDS: Though now in other keeping than your own, your absent darling will not be otherwise than kindly treated, unless—————— "It will cost you just twenty thousand dollars, cash, to effect her restoration to your arms, in regard to which you will be secretly negotiated with sooner or later. "In the meantime, any other means on your part to track your Daisy, or punish her abductors, will not only be un- successful, but may also provoke retaliatory resentment upon-you can guess whom. BUSINESS." Mrs. Maylands had been carried home in a dead faint, the abduction had at once become one of the crowning sensations of the day, scarcely less than that over the cele- brated and piteous Charley Ross case of many years pre- vious; duly agonized but undeterred by the cowardly threats conveyed, the unhappy parents had, spent their money like water, scattered their proffered rewards broad- cast to a princely amount, and stimulated into activity every agency, public and private, in the search, but thus far without success; the heartfelt and indignant sympathy of the entire country was with them, but equally in vain. Daisy Maylands had been snatched up out of the fash- ionable shopping promenade of mid-afternoon New York, to all appearance, as indubitably and irrecoverably as if the earth had swiftly and silently swallowed her up. More than this, and perhaps still more inexplicably, neither had the kidnapers, up to the last account received, 28 The Stolen Child. made as yet any effort to communicate with the parents of their victim. Arriving at the Maylands' residence, Freshy Oliver slipped very quietly into the grounds by a side gate which had come under his notice as connecting with them from one of the cross streets-the mansion itself presenting its front to the broader avenue-and then waited. This he did on the general detective principle of unob- trusiveness or secrecy of movement being mostly worth one's while, and on this occasion the precaution proved to be well taken. It being still early in the evening, the house was pretty brightly lighted up. A private and comparatively secluded path, bordered by evergreens, led from this side gate to the kitchens and other offices at the rear. Hardly had the Gawk Detective, as we shall call him, taken up his post as indicated before he observed three or four dark figures flit stealthily across the farther or house end of the path, made rather bright at that point by the reflection from the immediately adjoining windows. "Others before me, and also on the watch!" said he to himself. "Can the kidnapers be trying to open negotia- tions at last? However, nothing like setting a spy to spot a spy." The suspicious figures had disappeared a second time, after once again flitting across the line of light. He slipped into the bordering evergreens, and glided along the edge of the path with the stealth and secrecy of an Indian on a night trail. The Stolen Child. 29 The unsuspecting spies were quickly under his critical gaze, and even within easy earshot. They were three in number, all evidently made up with disguising beards, and one, somewhat shorter and more rounded out than the others, possibly a woman in mas- culine garb. "It won't do to hurry the thing," said the taller and more powerful of the trio, in a guarded tone. "We must still wait." "Yes," the shortest made reply, and in a voice which was a further betrayal of her sex. "A lurking police- man, or detective, inside the house, would get us in trouble. We must be sure of finding the bereaved couple alone." "Let us watch and wait a little longer, then, before making the venture," counseled the third. Then they flitted up to the lighted windows again, and cautiously peered in under the nearly closed blinds at the servants passing in and out of the dining room, pantries and kitchen. Freshy Oliver could also obtain some glimpses of the interior, though less distinct ones, from his concealed position in the background. The four or five domestics thus on view were all colored women, and it was evident that the dinner table had not long been deserted by its recent occupants. These had been but two,. doubtless the master and mis- tress, but there was also a place set at the table which had not been disturbed-most likely a mutely eloquent me- morial of the missing child. 30 The Stolen Child. C It was the detective's opportunity. Noiselessly slipping across the path, behind the spies, and around through the adjoining shrubberies, he was speedily in front of the house-a large double one, all of whose lower front windows were comparatively dark. To announce his visit by a ring at the doorbell might frighten off, or at least delay, the intentions of the prowling trio. Freshy Oliver, accordingly, flitted up on the piazza, and, producing a skeleton key, forthwith picked the drop lock of the great door, which he softly closed behind him on effecting an entrance. He was in a noble, rather dimly lighted hall passage where a gigantic negro footman had just risen alertly from a seat near the hatrack, and now confronted the intruder with a hostile scowl. "I am a detective," Oliver promptly announced himself before the other could thoroughly collect himself. "There was no other way for me to enter without alarming cer- tain spies who are on the watch outside. Lead me at once to the master of the house." The giant was by this time showing his teeth, having produced from under his livery coat a policeman's night stick of exaggerated proportions and formidable sug- gestions. He, however, nodded suspiciously, and motioned the other to precede him up the broad adjoin staircase. This was done, and a minute or two later the detective was introduced into the presence of Col. and Mrs. May- lands, who were found alone together in a cozy little The Stolen Child. 3I salon, or sitting room, belonging to one of the chamber suites. Freshy Oliver presented Rodney Bronson's letter, with a few words of explanation, and the footman was dis- missed with a nod. Both the gentleman and his young wife betrayed in their general appearance the wearing anxiety which they had so long been subjected to. But no sooner was the letter read and the new detective's mission made clear than they both looked up with pitiful hopefulness. "Ah, sir! you bring us some relief at last, then?" ex- claimed the colonel, while the lady clasped her hands ex- pectantly. "You have some trace, some clew ?" ་ "I have, yes; and that is why Mr. Bronson has sug- gested that I should get to work upon the case," replied the detective, being careful to assume but a moderately hopeful tone. "And the great secret service officer with whom I have just had a lengthy conversation, has seen fit to place some credit in my views, though it may not be prudent to more than outline them to you at present.' "Ah, doubtless another theory?" grinned the bereaved father, bowing his head, while his wife's dejection likewise returned. "I have facts, not empty theories, to go on, I assure .you!" the detective hastily interposed. "Do not be down- cast. Your stolen darling shall be restored to you, and uninjured at that. I pledge myself to it." No other detective had spoken to the unhappy parents quite so hopefully and confidently as this, and they once 32 The Stolen Child.. I D more looked up with brightening faces, as he went on to speak more fully. Especially at the mention of three spies in the garden did the old gentleman seem to kindle afresh. "What!" he exclaimed; "you think, sir, they are about to open negotiations with us at last ?" "Undoubtedly. One of the spies, by the way, is a woman in disguise. And, as they will doubtless send in their ablest member to manage the interview, he is the one you must prepare to nab. Now where, if you please, can I best conceal myself here? Ah, that portière yon- der, next the broad window, might answer." The detective had risen while speaking, and made a step toward the place indicated. "But hold on!" exclaimed Col. Maylands. "Are you sure our best plan is to capture anyone?" "Of course"-coolly. "If you had intended to submit quietly to their blackmailing demands, wouldn't you have signified so much long before this?" "True," irresolutely. "But, you see, we have suffered so much since then-poor Gertrude, here especially- and- >> He was interrupted by a ring at the doorbell. "The critical moment is at hand," said the detective, peremptorily. "Let me know at once if my counsel is to be followed?" "Yes." "Listen, then. Receive the rogue here alone, and leave it for me to interrupt the interview as I shall see fit. It is doubtless he. Remember!" -The Stolen Child. 33 C As he spoke, he stepped out of sight behind the portière. But there was one thing which this over-confident protégé of Rodney Bronson had failed to make provision for-a combined visit on the part of the spies. "Dere's free gemmen wants to see yo' on de quiet, Marse Maylands," announced the huge footman, in no little sup- pressed excitement. "Dey says to tell yer dat it's 'bout Missy Daisy." "Show them up," commanded the colonel, somewhat taken aback, but not knowing what else to say or do. "Gertrude, my dear," anxiously, "hadn't you better let me see the rascals alone?" he continued, as the servant dis- appeared. "No, Ezra, I shall remain," replied Mrs. Maylands, with sudden firmness. Here Oliver found time to peer out from his hiding place and say, encouragingly : "This combined move is something of a surprise. But be all the more on your guard; that is all; and leave the rest to me." Here the three visitors-rather decent-looking persons, on the whole, in spite of their uniformly bearded exteriors, though Mrs. Maylands could not abstain from at once regarding the shorter and better rounded of the group with much curiosity-were shown into the room. They remained standing mutely and somewhat expect- antly, hat in hand, until the footman had been dismissed with a sign, the door closed behind him, and even his re- treating steps down the staircase distinctly made apparent. "Sirs," said the old Kentuckian, with more or less harsh- 34 The Stolen Child. ness, "we are the parents of the stolen girl, Daisy May- lands. Are we to understand that you are here, on the part of her abductors, to treat with us for her restoration ?" The visitors had taken in their surroundings, espe- cially the one broad window directly opposite the door, with swiftly comprehensive glances. "That depends, sir," replied their evident leader, a tall and powerfully built man, making a step forward. "Are you alone with us here, you two?" "Can't you see for yourself?" impatiently. "Take a look outside the door, and then lock it," or- dered the tall fellow, without turning his head. The shorter of his companions obeyed, saying: "All's clear!" while closing the door again, fastening it, and then pocketing the key. "A high proceeding this, especially in a man's own house!" exclaimed Col. Maylands, with difficulty master- ing his indignation. "However, if you rascals really mean the business in hand, perhaps is't all the better." "We do mean that!" said the leader, and, abruptly stepping close up to the colonel, he produced and covered him with a cocked revolver. Simultaneously, the shorter ruffian followed his example, with regard to Mrs. Maylands, who turned very pale; while the third paused calmly at the edge of the little read- ing table that was between the pair. "Don't be alarmed, my love," observed the colonel, glancing, so to speak, reassuringly at.his wife with one eye, and down the mouth of the weapon that menaced him with the other. "There is no real danger to be ap- The Stolen Child. 35 1 prehended from this sort of scum. In fact, I very much doubt if their guns are loaded." "Don't doubt it too much, sir!" growled the master rogue, with a grim smile. "What do you mean, and what do you want?” "Assurance against any meditated treachery on your part, in the first place.' "But you fellows are exhibiting all the treachery there is." "It isn't treachery, it's our precaution." "Well, well; were you the actual kidnapers of our little girl, or do you only represent them for this occasion?" "We represent them." "What is their demand?" "Thirty thousand dollars ransom. "You doubtless mean twenty thousand?" "Not at all. The first offer has been raised because you paid no heed to the warning that accompanied it." "Humph! Suppose I accept your terms?" "Do so, and the matter can be most simply arranged. Give us your check for the amount demanded now, to- gether with your word of honor that the transaction shall be kept secret until noon to-morrow. In the meantime, your child shall be restored to you and the check cashed -the first event to precede the second by a good hour, as evidence of our good faith." "You seem to have confidence in my word." "Absolute, because we know you. Besides, we are not treating for the restoration of a miserly millionaire's } لمي The Stolen Child. 36 corpse, but for a live little girl, who is the darling of both your hearts." This allusion to the Stewart body-stealing mystery, however, if meant to be reassuring, seemed to have an opposite effect. The husband and wife merely exchanged a glance and no reply was vouchsafed. "What do you, say?" demanded the leading scoundrel, impatiently. At the same instant there was a shot, causing him to reel back with an oath, the pistol dropping from his grasp. Then the portière was flung back, revealing the Gawk Detective, a revolver still smoking in his hand. Before the ruffians could recover from their surprise, he knocked the pistol out of the short rascal's clutch, knocked down the middle rogue with a blow straight out from the shoulder, and then tackled the leader at close quarters, dropping his own weapon the better to secure him. "This is a bad business!" cried the disguised woman, and she forthwith jumped through the window, carrying part of the sash with her. "I'm there, too!" exclaimed the floored scoundrel, who had promptly regained his feet, and he was also out of the window, on the other one's heels, like a shot. CHAPTER III. BEAUTY IN DISTRESS. In the meantime the leader had rolled over on the floor in the detective's tenacious grasp, and was slowly being mastered, though he had not been seriously injured by the opportune shot, which had merely paralyzed his hand for the moment by striking the weapon out of it. Mrs. Maylands had heroically abstained from fainting, which is saying a good deal for her, while the old colonel, being chronically half crippled by his gout, had managed to pull the bell rope, at the same time roaring out his foot- man's name. When the latter finally burst in the door, the detective. had conquered his man, torn off his disguising beard and was coolly searching his person. The only thing he brought to light of importance, how- ever, was a letter bearing the Tarrytown postmark, which "he possessed himself of unperceived. The fellow, as revealed, was a sallow-browed but keen- looking rascal whom none of those present remembered to have ever seen before. "Who are you?" demanded Freshy Oliver, rising wholly unruffled from his hard tussel and the subsequent in- vestigation. "Find out!" was the growled response, as the man rose slowly into a sitting position and rubbed his sore head. "What is your name?" > · 38 Beauty in Distress. "Don't you wish you knew?" "Not particularly." And then, turning calmly to Col. Maylands: "Pray, send your man for a policeman, sir. You will doubtless wish to disembarrass yourself of the fellow at once, for the time being, at least." This suggestion was acted upon, and the prisoner forth- with carried off in custody. There was a fair chance of the two other rascals hav- ing broken their necks by their jump through the window, but an investigation in the garden below failed to discover any trace of them. These arrangements being accomplished, the detect- ive accompanied Col. and Mrs. Maylands into another apartment, and then only waited long enough for them to recover in some measure their equanimity before rising to take his leave. "Sir, you are a brave man and a gallant fighter," said the colonel, pressing his hand. "Only fairly so, I think, sir," replied Freshy Oliver, with becoming modesty. "But somehow-I have never had a fight-except with fate or circumstances-without coming out on top." "Nevertheless, sir"-warmly-"I am glad to make your personal acquaintance." "And I, too, Mr. Oliver," added Mrs. Maylands, with as much of a smile as her settled sadness could summon into her sweet face. Freshy Oliver thanked them, and again turned to go. "But wait!" cried Maylands. "You will surely take a glass of wine with us before going?" Beauty in Distress. 39 "Not this evening, thank you kindly. I have much more to do before my bedtime." "In our case?" "Yes, sir." "One minute! Do you regard this evening's incident as fortunate, or unfortunate ?" "Fortunate, most decidedly." "But isn't it unfortunate that the rascal's confederates made their escape?" "Quite the contrary. I could easily have killed or crip- pled both, for that matter." With these words, the detective effected his retreat. His next step was to examine the letter which he had taken from his prisoner, which he did in a neighboring café. Its contents were not a little mysterious, and yet, as a whole, the letter was both encouraging and satisfactory. The envelope was addressed simply to "John Smith," at a cheap hotel lodging house in the lower Bowery. The subject matter cautioned the recipient against coun- seling with anybody regarding "the lamb case" except "Mr. Lavelle or Madame Dechassez," and also warned him to make no public inquiries about "Whip," even if sent to Tarrytown for the purpose of personally consulting the writer, but in that case to make an appointment by letter beforehand. That would have been all, save that the handwriting outside and in was the same as that upon the half en- velope which had been appropriated from Bad Man 40 Beauty in Distress. Balder's spring overcoat, and as unmistakably a woman's handwriting at that. "The Dechassez woman again," said Freshy Oliver to himself. "Come, now, this looks like progress." H He hurried off in search of a city directory, but had to visit several drug stores before alighting upon one of the current year. At last the Dechassez address was located as a boarding` house at a certain number in West 104th Street. "The very street mentioned on the torn envelope," thought the detective, making a bee line for the nearest west elevated railroad station. "Surely I'm in luck." But it was late at night-past eleven-when he de- scended from the station, which happened to be just at the corner of 104th Street and Columbus Avenue, and turned off westward in search of the desired number. The rain had ceased, but the crosstown streets are always deserted at a comparatively early hour in that rather artistocratic quarter of the upper West Side. He reached the house he was in search of a modest- appearing, three-story, high-stoop brick dwelling, closely shut in on both sides by towering apartment houses- somewhere between Amsterdam Avenue and the Western Boulevard, without meeting a soul. But at the foot of the steps he found a handsomely 'dressed woman, who was holding on to the railing, and who looked up to him half pleadingly, half laughingly. "What a shame, sir," said she, in a maudlin voice. "Isn't it, young man?" A street lamp was conveniently near, and Oliver had Beauty in Distress. 41 come to a pause as if merely because of her addressing him. "Indeed it is, madame," he replied gravely; adding to himself in a moralizing vein: "And a fiendish shame, at that, seeing how you can be at the same time so ladylike and so drunk!" Here, as he caught a better view of the fair toper's face-doubtless a beautiful face in its time, too, and still comely after a faded, passée fashion-he with difficulty, repressed an exclamation of surprise. "Great Scot! it's La Santerelle, the ex-ballet queen," he muttered. "And Dechassez means to dance, or to chasser-yes, it must be the Lavelle-Dechassez woman, too." "Monsieur-sir-señor!" stammered the lady, looking up blinkingly, while still keeping a somewhat wavy equilibrium. "Yes, madame," politely. "You're a gentleman, I think." "I do my best in that line, madame." "Then why don't you help me up my steps?" she asked in French. "Diable! why can't there be but one language? Can't you see how-how indisposed I am?" "At once, ma'am !" And he forthwith guided her gently but firmly up the steps. But, while fumbling for the latchkey, a vague terror seemed to be mixed up with her general confusion of ideas. “Ah, mon Dieu! if he should come now unexpectedly and find me, not only drunk, but accepting the assistance. & 42 Beauty in Distress. of a strange monsieur? N'importe." She laughed, half recklessly, half fearfully. "Where is my key? Ah, le voici!" But having found the key, she could neither fit it in the lock herself, nor make up her mind to give it into her companion's hand. "Ah, if he should but come!" she repeated, with a dazed, anxious look up and down the deserted street. “Ah”—again—“but never mind." And then she went dawdling. along with a rambling story of her immediate misfortunes, half in English, half in French. From this he gathered that she was rather frequently accustomed to tipple in a private or family annex of a neighboring liquor saloon, and occasionally, as at present, taking a little more than she could conveniently carry. She also let out something more of her affairs in a gen- eral way, though for the most part scemingly restrained by a constitutional reticence, and always wound up with the renewed apprehension that "he" would come. The detective assumed some impatience, though by no means discontented with the situation as it stood. "Come, Madame Dechassez, let me have the key," said he, with gentle authoritativeness. "I shall at least see you into your house.” "Tiens!" you know my name, sir ?" "Haven't you just told it to me, ma'am?"—which she just had not, all the same. "The key, if you please." "But if he should really come ?" "What he? Whom do you mean?” Beauty in Distress. 43~ ! "I must not say." "Oh, the deuce take him!" he said in as good French as he could muster. "Tiens! You speak French, too," she cried, delighted. "After a fashion. The key ma'am." It was given him at last, and he entered with her. "How kind and considerate in you, monsieur !"-making only a slight objecting movement as he closed the door behind them. "Turn up the gas, please." From this time on their conversation was almost wholly in French, in which polite tongue the Gawk Detective was, fortunately, fairly proficient. He turned up the light, as directed, disclosing a cozy, well-appointed hall passage. Still leaning unsteadily on his arm, she motioned to- wards the adjoining parlor, on entering which, and turning up the light there, too, she sank into a fauteuil, with a little sigh of relief, while signing him to a similar seat with a sleepy sort of politeness, and removing her hat, gloves and fur pelisse, tossing them one after the other on the floor. "N'importe! don't trouble yourself, monsieur," with a now careless laugh, as he, nevertheless, stooped to recover the discarded articles. "However, there is a little flask in the pocket of the pelisse, which you may give to me.” They were in a charming little parlor, well warmed against the damp chillness of the night by an old-fashioned grate fire. A drawn portière of gold-bordered crimson plush sep- arated it from what was probably an adjoining bed- t 44 Beauty in Distress. £ chamber; the whole evidently forming a part of what was a very bijou and complete little establishment. "Don't you think you have had enough, ma'am?" seri- ously inquired the detective, while producing the flask in question. "All right, then"-in obedience to her impatient gesture. A caraffe of water and glasses were on a salver within reach. He prepared two well-diluted drinks from the spiritous contents of the flask, and politely touched glasses with her as she drained her portion, with something of a wry face. "Ah, monsieur, would you drown me, and with water at that?" she cried. “Tiens!”—she snatched the flask from his hand, and before he could prevent her, poured out and emptied a half glassful of the pure stuff, with a rippling little laugh. Then she tried to get on her feet, but lurched forward before he could catch her, knocking a porcelain statuette. from its place and breaking it in several pieces. "My dear lady!" expostulated her companion, while re- storing her to her seat. "Aren't you afraid of arousing your boarders ?" But she only laughed the more. "Boarders? Ha, ha, ha! there are none." "What! no boarders?" "No, no! Ha, ha, ha! A blind!" "But the servants?" "There are only three-long since in bed, I warrant you, the rogues. Ta, ta! Wait, sir!" with sudden entreaty, Beauty in Distress. 45 and even a half return of sobriety, as he rose to go; not leave me to myself quite yet. I ask it as a favor." "Surely, madame.” "do "My sal volatile is on the dressing table in the adjoin- ing room. Would you mind, monsieur "Certainly." "" The sal volatile was produced accordingly, and a few rapid applications of it, both externally and internally, seemed to all but complete the lady's sobering-up process most surprisingly. But, this effected, her fears of somebody's return were renewed; she seemed both desirous of disembarrassing herself of her visitor and full of curiosity with regard to him, and she was thoroughly her native self as to pru- dence and mental self poise. "Monsieur, I have been imprudent to-night," she said, with a really pretty smile, though there was something be- seeching in it. "I hope you will altogether forget this ad- venture!" "At your service, madame!" gravely. "Yet you have been considerately kind to me, and- without telling me your name.' "" "But you have not told me yours, madame." "Ah, but you have already once addressed me by mine -Dechassez,” quickly. "So you must have met me once before?" curiously. "Just once before, madame-to-night !” “To-night ?”—incredulously. "Yes." "Impossible !" ? } 46 Beauty in Distress. "True, I assure you, madame." "When and how?"-now with growing alarm. "Three hours ago, at the Bronx residence of Col. May- lands. True," with an indulgent smile, "you were there in less becoming guise than now, madame. And then how spryly you jumped through the window! My faith! it was like the flight of a bird. In your best dancing days, a la ballerine, you could hardly have excelled it." The lady was so overcome with alarmed astonishment she could hardly rally herself. "Mon Dieu!" she stammered; "you were then the de- tective-the man with the pistol-that is-ah, what am I talking about?" "The truth, madame"-with a bow. "Yes, I was he." "No, no!" she was now recovering herself. "In fact," with a laugh, "I don't know what you are talking about." "I do, though, and enough for two," smiling "How- ever, madame's secret is safe with me.” "Ah! but there is no secret! However, think so, if you choose, monsieur; and"-with a sudden eagerness—“what do you refer to as 'my best dancing days, a la ballerine,' I should like to know?" "To the time when, as the famous La Sauterelle, ma- dame was the applauded ballet queen, the unapproachable star danseuse of our Western and Southwestern cities- doubtless here in the East, too, for that matter." There was a pleased kindling in the lady's eyes and cheeks, this was said so gallantly and with such an adoring bow. "Ah! you know me then, in my La Sauterelle, my La Beauty in Distress. 47 Grasshopper, triumphs, as your journals were wont to translate my stage appellation ?" "Who did not, with any sort of an eye for the perfec- tion of beauty and grace in art? Besides, it is not so long ago, and madame appears even younger now than then." This was strong, even for polite mendacity, but it struck the mark even more squarely than before. "Monsieur" "De Montague, madame." "Ah, thank you! And you may kiss my hand if you wish." Which he accordingly did, with becoming gratitude, as she extended it toward him. "What is your address, monsieur ?” He gave her one verbally. "Now you must go, monsieur, though we may meet again. But you need not have hesitated; your secret is safe with me." "My secret, madame?" "Well, the fact of your being a detective-your being here to-night, and all the rest." "Thanks; but I have madame's secret as my self- defense." "What secret?" "I will not refer to that jump out of Col. Mayland's window again. Oh, no; and yet if this mysterious 'he' whom madame was so fearful of surprising her to- night—————— "" Her former fears returned in full force. "Quick! go, go!" she exclaimed, hurriedly rising. “Ah, 48 Beauty in Distress. mon Dieu! if he should really come! Dispatch, I beg of you, monsieur, dispatch. Yes, yes, you shall come again; I will let you know-but go, go! !" He did so, but not before he had pressed the ex-bal- lerine's pretty hand again to his lips, receiving a pressure therefrom in return. It seemed that the instant the street door was closed be- hind him the entire house was suddenly as dark and silent as the tomb. As he hurried down the strect he passed between some heaps of building material and a deep cellar that was in process of excavation for a new building. A man of herculean build, who had been doubtless spy- ing upon the Dechassez house, suddenly precipitated him- self upon him with a hoarse, inarticulate growl. It was Bad Man Balder. The Gawk Detective felt that he had never been in such a grip before. He was all but helpless therein. It was like the clutch of a lion, with something human-or, rather, inhuman- in its combined ferocity and vise-like, crushing grasp. However, he was a capital wrestler. He managed to direct the brief struggle to the edge of the excavation, and to twist himself into the uppermost position as they toppled down together. It was a severe fall-for the giant assailant, who was knocked senseless, while the detective was uninjured. Freshy Oliver satisfied himself that his man was merely stunned, after which he thoroughly searched his person Beauty in Distress. 49 for anything that might be of further use to him in track- ing the stolen child, but without much success. Then he climbed out of the hole, and briskly continued his walk. "Mr. Officer," said he to a policeman whom he en- countered near the foot of the elevated station steps, "there's a man back yonder who appears to have fallen into a cellar excavation. Perhaps he needs to be looked after." Freshy Oliver reached the cheap hotel lodging house in lower Greenwich Street, which he had made his head- quarters, and where he slept soundly and sweetly in his little bed, without any further interrupting adventure, save perhaps in the hazy and unsubstantial domain of his dreams. Rising, very hungry for his breakfast, betimes, a pains- taking investigation of his worldly exchequer brought to light the dazzling sum of sixteen cents, all told, neither more nor less, and with every pocket corner industriously searched. And yet he was happy, with a future before him, and with a general contentment which he deemed honestly and well earned. He made a restaurant breakfast upon two corn-meal muffins and a cup of coffee, finished off with a five-cent cigar, stowing away the remaining odd penny for luck, and then strolled over to the new hotel where Rodney Bronson was now staying. The secret service man listened attentively to Oliver's story, looked over the letter which had been surreptitiously • Beauty in Distress. 50 & taken from the captured blackmailer, and nodded some- what approvingly. "I have already talked, or tried to talk, with this rascal in his cell," said he, simply. "They sent us word early from headquarters. Nothing can be got out of him—yet. He's as dumb as a fish." "Not even recognized-nothing that fits him in the rogue's gallery ?" "Nothing. He'll have to be left out of account in the quest, for the time being, at least. You've been energetic and painstaking so far, Oliver." At these last words, Freshy Oliver, who had begun to feel disappointed, brightened up not a little. Chary as was their commendation, it meant a good deal as coming from such a source. "Thank you," said he, heartily; "I shall do even better, I hope." "That will be expected. I will take a personal interest in this abduction case since it brings me in touch with green-goods men; and I have written Col. Maylands ask- ing him to come here to see me some time this morning. What are the next steps you have in your mind to take?” "There are two, I think, to be immediately considered." "What are they?" "First, to head off the anticipated Mr. Sam'l Wilkins, of Gooseville, Georgia, perhaps even personate him, and have another shy at the green-goods men." "Yes"-with a nod. "And then to take a trip of inquiry to Tarrytown; though, in the interval, I may think it necessary to im- Beauty in Distress. 5I f prove the acquaintance of my ex-ballet dancer, the Dechas- sez La Sauterelle, a little closer." "Good for the Tarrytown inquiry; but I wouldn't press the latter find too hurriedly." "I'll take heed, sir. You have scanned this letter rather carefully?" Freshy Oliver was again holding it in his hand as he spoke. "Yes." "You think that it bears upon the case?" "Undoubtedly. A good find, that." "Have you any notion what this mysterious abbrevia- tion, 'Whip,' refers to?" "To the name of some obscure locality, most likely. But then I don't know." "Of course it shall be my first business to find out on reaching Tarrytown." And pocketing the letter, the Gawk Detective buttoned up his coat as if to go. "All right, Oliver. Go on, and report back here as often as convenient." But instead of taking his dismissal, Oliver lingered, more or less uneasily. "I'd like to go on, sir," he stammered, in response to the somewhat impatient look which the other cast up at him, "but I can't. Humiliating to confess it, but it is out of the question-unless- "What do you mean?" "That I'm flat broke, without a cent-or, rather, with just one”—exhibiting the coin with a comically desperate look-"which I was intending to keep as a lucky piece.' 52 Beauty in Distress. And then he went on to state his financial straits in something like detail. "So you have lived here in New York, honest, without attempting any 'racket' whatever, for two weeks on only seven dollars?" demanded Rodney. "Some might call it living"-with a feeble smile- "others might call it half starving." "You'll do, Oliver. Here." And producing his pocketbook, the secret service man counted out ten five-dollar bills, which he tendered to Freshy, merely saying: "Of course, you'll keep an account of expenditures? But when more money is needed don't be afraid to ask for it. We'll charge it up to the bureau. Good-day, now, Oliver." The new detective went away with even a lighter heart than he had yet experienced. He was not only in an honest employment, but was being trusted. It was ten in the morning, and inquiry showed that the through Southern Express, via Washington, was due at eleven. The detective, therefore, lost no time in going to Jer- sey City. CHAPTER IV. JOB BEAN OF BRIER WOOD. On entering the railroad waiting room, however, Freshy Oliver-of course, he was in the same disguise as on the preceding evening, besides carrying a carpetbag contain- ing a supply of fresh changes, in case of an emergency— found that the wide-awake green-goods men were there before him. At least one of them was. It was the slick sport who has been characterized as Mr. Hooley, or Soapy Sam, and looking wide awake and smilingly hungry for his anticipated prey into the bar- gain. "This will never do," said the Gawk Detective to him- self, and he forced his opportunity to speak alone with the stationmaster accordingly. "Where is the last stopping place for the Southern Express via Washington, coming this way?" he de- manded. "Elizabeth," was the reply. "All on board for Newark, Elizabeth and Rahway!" almost at the same moment sung out the gateman as the communicating doors were swung open. "I'm there!" muttered Freshy, without waiting to pur- chase a ticket as he passed through with the crowd, after first satisfying himself that the green-goods lookout was still retaining his watch in the waiting room. 54 Job Bean of Brierwood. Luck was with the detective. He boarded his train, accomplished the brief trip as far as Elizabeth, and stepped off there just in time to jump on board the Southern Express, which was making its momentary halt there at the same instant. A swift subsequent investigation of the passengers re- sulted in his finding his man in the smoker without much difficulty. A tall, gaunt, earnest-looking man in the garb of a country circuit preacher, or hayseed tract distributor, oc- cupied a seat to himself, while carefully nursing a plethoric black valise, stamped in large white letters with the legend: "S. W., Gooseville, Ga." Freshy Oliver was careful not to claim a previous ac- quaintance, or even address the traveler by name, as a crook would have done. He plumped down abruptly at his side, and straightway, without any preliminaries whatever, began to pour into his slowly widening ear the story of his experience with Mr. Dan'l Johnsing, of Rapptown, on the previous day, to- gether with a sufficient account of himself, his detective mission, and all the rest of it. The stranger looked a little dazed at first, then inter- ested, then sympathetic, and then trustful. And finally, when his companion wound up his straight- forward explanations by introducing himself more for- mally and cautiously displaying his detective badge, the conquest was about complete. "Gce whiz!" exclaimed the traveler, grasping the other's hand. "What! an' ye be one of them detective chaps? Job Bean of Brierwood. 55 Oh, but won' I hev the laugh on Dan'l Johnsing when I git back to Georgy? An' he allers settin' hisself up ez sich a smarty, too! Gaugh! why, Rappertown'll be jes' too hot to hold him!" "While Gooseville will proportionably ring with your praises, my dear sir!" added the detective, with smiling heartiness. "It certainly will, if you place yourself un- reservedly under my guidance in this matter." "Sho'! that so? But, look hyar, I'm so upset, so sorter churned up-an' ye'll reely help me ter skin 'em, in place er bein' skinned by 'em, ez thet conceited Dan'l Johnsing was ?" "Yes, honor bright." "Good 'nough. I'll go ye! Now what d'ye propose?" "To personate you in the affair." "But how'll you manage?” "I can disguise myself"-Freshy tapped his own travel- ing bag as he spoke—“to resemble you pretty closely-or anyone else, for that matter. Five minutes in yonder re- tiring closet will suffice me for the change." "But, look hyar; if you're to double on to me thet way, what's ter become er me? Fer I'm bound ter stick to ye, in seein' the thing through." "That can be arranged. They've no personal descrip- tion of you." "Not onless thet durned fool, Dan'l Johnsing. "No; he told them nothing, while opening his heart to me. They are only expecting you now through infor- mation furnished by me, as I explained to you. But wait!" 56 Job Bean of Brierwood. And, snatching up his sack, Freshy forthwith disap- peared, as he had suggested. When he returned, it was as such a striking likeness, in caricature, of Mr. Sam'l Wilkins, that at first the latter only stared, after which he burst into such a hearty, hee- hawing guffaw as to excite the interest or ridicule of the other passengers. "Shut up!" warningly whispered the transformed de- tective, resuming the seat at his side. "Don't you see that you're attracting attention ?" And then, to ease the mat- ter over, he hee-hawed somewhat himself, though in mod- eration, and proceeded to reprove and chaff his companion in excellent hayseed fashion for the benefit of outsiders. "But I never, no, by Jukes, I never see the like!" gasped Mr. Wilkins, though somewhat guardedly, as the sur- rounding sensation began to subside. "Holy honeyhives an' beeswax! if the Goosville an' Rapptown deestricts could only" "Hush!" and Freshy Oliver forthwith began to coach him thoroughly for the work in hand; "we've only five minutes left before pulling into Jersey City, and we must make the most of them. But, in the first place, don't for- get that now I am Sam'l Wilkins, of Gooseville, and you are not. Here, let me take your valise, while you take mine." To the detective's surprise-for he hadn't a doubt that the Georgian's good money was in his valise, which he was bent on exchanging for "green goods"—the exchange was readily acquiesced in, though Mr. Wilkins still con- tinued to snicker and stare in a general way. サ ​Job Bean of Brierwood. في 57 "Yes, yes, I understan'," replied the latter. "Fact is, I once did some detectivin' myself-trailed down Col. Jeff Swiftpop's razor-back prize hog what had vanished inter Nigger Smith's smokehouse never ter be seen erlive an' kickin' ag'in. Whacked up Nigger Smith on ther chain gang fer it, too. But look-look hyar, Mr.-Mr.- " "Mr. Sam'l Wilkins, of course. Yes, yes!" impa- tiently. "What is it?" "Why, if you're me, who an' what in thunder am I?" "Anything you please. But wait. Mightn't some one of your Gooseville neighbors have accompanied you on this trip?" “Yes”-scratching his head-"sure enough, Job Bean wanted to, an' pay his way inter the bargain. But then, yer see, he's sich an all-fired, unmitigated, everlastin' durned jackass-fool thet" "All right; you're Job Bean; just the thing!" "What! Look hyar, Mr.-Man, ef ye reelly meanter in- sult me "" "No, no; don't be such a confounded- I mean that you are merely to pass yourself off as Job Bean for the time being, until we get through with the rogues." "Oh! all right, then, Mr.-Wilkins. Haw, haw, haw!" "How much stuff are you intending to bargain for?" -with a glance down at the well-stuffed valise. "Hu!" with a sudden, humorous twinkle in the rustic's off eye. “Hu! A thousand's worth, gittin' six fer one in ther swop. That's their offer.” "True. But have you really got that much here in this sack ?" 58 Job Bean of Brierwood. "Course !"-dryly. "Take er squint at it," passing him the key. "What! and you were not afraid to trust me, a com- parative stranger, with the custody of all this good money, even for the time being? My dear-Job, this confidence. in me, this—__” "Oh, git out"-with a yet livelier eye twinkle. "Take a squint at it, I say!" The detective did so, accordingly, opening the valise, looking in at, and even handling and examining some of its contents, with due precautions. Suddenly he looked up in unaffected astonishment. The valise was packed with notes of small denomina- tion, neatly bunched off in packets of fifty dollars each. The sample bunch, which he had scrutinized so closely, fell back into the receptacle. "Why, man!" he exclaimed, "these are counterfeits, every one of 'em, and admirably executed at that." The Georgian grinned, nodded, and hee-hawed under his breath. "Thet so?" he chuckled, in mock surprise. "Howsom- ever, I've the most perfect confidence in you, young chap; ain't so pow'ful afeared ter trust you 'ith all thet money. Haw, haw, haw!" But Freshy Oliver was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Would it be the proper thing to handle counterfeit moncy even for the discomfiture of professional rogues who made their subsistence by pretending to deal in similar stuff? "How did you come by this false money?" he demanded, almost sternly. Job Bean of Brierwood. 59 1 L "Purty good imitation, ain't it?” "Best I ever saw; but- "Waal”—easily-"never mind the rest. A feller down our way was gouged with it not long ago. By threatenin' him with Uncle Sam's vengeance, I made him sell it to me for next to nothin', an' thar it be. But what ye pon- - derin' on? Ter ketch a green-goodser with green goods, ain't bad, is it, any mor'n fightin' ther devil 'ith his own fire?" "Perhaps not; and then, again, that depends." "Oh, come off, Mr.-Sam'l Wilkins. Haw, haw, haw! What ye givin' me?" The Gawk Detective had relocked the satchel, putting the key in his pocket. "My blooming and sapient Southern bud!" he observed, gently, "has it never struck you that you are about as much of a villain as these scoundrels you are intent upon circumventing?" "Waal, no," replied the old fellow, scratching his goatee thoughtfully, "I carn't say ez it has." But there was no time for further discussion now, as the train was about at its journey's end. "All right, I'll go the thing with you just the same," said Freshy Oliver, rising with the sack in hand. "Come on, and don't forget your character as Job Bean of" "Brierwood." "Good! Job Bean, of Brierwood. And here we are." And as they were alighting from the cars the detective eased his conscience by saying to himself: 60 Job Bean of Brierwood. "But, of course, I shall make a clean breast of it to the chief, who will then decide." No sooner were they outside the depot when they were approached by the watchful Mr. Soapy Sam, with the smiling alacrity and gentlemanly earnestness which seemed to be his inexhaustible specialty. The preliminaries were speedly disposed of. The an- ticipated Mr. Sam'l Wilkins was the recipient of especial blandishments, as apart from his humbler traveling com- panion, Mr. Job Bean. And the trio were quickly on the ferryboat en route for the green-goods mens' den. Mr. Soapy Sam was not only particularly beaming and on good terms with himself, but unaffectedly so. It was evident that but little of the customary fine work and beating about the bush would be required. True, he might have preferred the absence to the pres- ence of Mr. Job Bean, of Brierwood, but then the latter seemed to be even a softer cake than Mr. Sam'l Wilkins himself, who was little less than a daisy in this respect, and everything promised for slick, easy and expeditious busi- ness and plain sailing to the last degree. Still, it would not be well to neglect some of the pro- fessional precautions. "So it seems to have been a long time, sir," said Soapy Sam, most genially, as the trio were walking up Cortlandt Street from the ferry, "that you've been making up your mind to come on in response to our inducements ?” "Oh, bless yer, yes!" replied the false hayseeder, with a noncommittal air. "Had ter sell a piece of land an' some of my stock, you know. A feller can't raise a thou- Job Bean of Brierwood. 61 * sand in cold cash every day in the week. But look hyar, Mr. Hooley, I'm sorter skeery an' wanter rush this dicker. Whar's Mr. Balder an' his Co., an' his place of business?" "All in good time, my dear sir. We'll meet him first in the Astor House. Of course, there is a certain secrecy to be observed. So you've really raised a cool thousand, eh?" —with a cheerful look at the plump gripsack. "H'm! should say so!" and Mr. Wilkins nursed the valise yet more jealously. "And what may Mr. Bean have in his?" "Never mind me, Mr. Man!" suddenly responded the fictitious Brierwooder, speaking for himself, with a sus- picious glare. "I'm hyar simply as Sam'l Wilkins' friend, Ye can't come no slicks onto me. Whoop! look I am. hyar." The detective began to fear that his confederate might overdo his part, for he stopped in the middle of the side- walk to display an enormous navy revolver, which he wore slung by a belt down his spine, that was barely hidden by his coat tails, and even began to hitch up his right trouser leg for the revelation of a rusty, artilleryman's short sword, stuck away in his boot. He was placated at last, however, and a few moments. later they entered the Astor House barroom. Here they were met and cordially greeted by Mr. Balder and Gentleman George, the former of whom at once began to set up the drinks and make himself generally prepos- sessing at a lively pace. In fact, he needed to do his best in this line, for he wore a huge sticking plaster on the back of his neck and be- 44 Job Bean of Brierwood. 62 * trayed certain other effects of his shaking up on the pre- vious night. "Don't waste so much prime lush on the suckers," Soapy Sam managed to hint to his superior at an early oppor- tunity. "Wilkins has the money-an even thousand-in the yellow grip, and both are just dying to bite." "What hev ye on your neck, Mr. Balder?" sympa- thetically inquired Mr. Wilkins. "If it's a blind bile shoe- maker's wax an' brown soap's ther dror-poultice ter h'ist her out." "My folks allers use mustard an' yarb tea," interposed Mr. Bean. "Thar ain't er bile, blind, brue'r crust headed, thet lumps out on a feller's hide but what mustard an' yarb tea'll knock ther pesky stuffin' outen it. Jeewhiz an' Gineral Jackson! my ol' gran'pop hed a bile oncet thet———" "It isn't a bile!" interrupted Balder, half savagely; and an adjournment was forthwith effected to the Park Place sanctum. Here the travelers were made to feel at home. Mr. Wilkins was invited to display his wealth, and, doubtless as a precaution against possible interference on his part, Mr. Job Bean was invited to take a seat in the specially huge and inviting easy-chair, whose somewhat unexpected and treacherous characteristics have been al- ready alluded to. But the Brierwood sightseer had been duly forewarned, and brought himself to anchor upon the least comfortable- looking chair in sight accordingly. Then Mr. Wilkins, instead of opening the yellow valise, Job Bean of Brierwood. ·63 only hugged it more fondly, and insisted on first having a look at the sort of "goods" on sale. "Bully fer you, Sam'l!" roared out Mr. Bean, suddenly producing his 'gun' and waving it hilariously over his head. "Don't let 'em come any of their Nancy Slicks on you, ol' man. I'm hyar, too, you hear me !" And he also managed to unlimber his artillery sword with no less. demonstrativeness of manner. "Be easy an' keep your undershirt on, at least," said Mr. Wilkins, soothingly. "I ain't got none an' never owned one!" sputtered the man from Brierwood. "I ain't no dandy dood, I ain't. •Whoop!" The rogues smiled not only visibly but audibly. "Tut, tut! All this nonsense among gentlemen and business men?" amiably observed Mr. Balder, stepping up to the counter, behind which Mr. Soapy had already taken his place with a clerky air. "Everything's on the dead square here. Mr. Wilkins is right, though, in his demand. How much of the stuff is called for?" "Six thousand, or six for one," briskly responded Soapy Sam, to whom the query had been addressed. "All right! we ought to have that much on hand." "Just about." And the clerky young man forthwith produced the amount named from a business-like looking safe, which, with the show money itself, was the only solid or genuine property on sight. Both visitors had come crowding up to the counter, while Gentleman George stood a little apart, trimming his · } Job Bean of Brierwood. 64 ladylike finger nails with a bijou of a penknife and a careless air. The money produced by the crooks was, of course, per- fectly genuine, and probably represented all their own, or some more responsible backer's, capital in trade; they rely- ing, as usual, on getting it back again, together with their dupe's money, while sending him off with a sackful of substituted trash, as in the case of Mr. Johnsing, of Rapp- town. "Count her out!" cried Mr. Wilkins, peremptorily. "In the first place, what do you think of the goods?" and Mr. Balder handed a crisp twenty to each visitor for inspection. "Hunky!" cried Wilkins, with bulging eyes. gravy! I never see sich queer as this before." "By "Me nuther!" echoed Job Bean, with equal enthusiasm. "Why, jeewhiz! any un would jest swow that this was good money." "I should say so and safely enough, too," said Balder, with perfect truth for at least once in his life. "You can proceed, Mr. Hooley," taking back the sample notes and returning them to the general heap. Six thousand dollars of the money, all in good twenties, was accordingly counted out. "Good 'nough!" cried the disguised detective. "An' here's mine." He laid an iron hand on the money as he spoke, and by a swift movement emptied the contents of his gripsack on the counter. The latter, being in comparatively small bills, made even Job Bean of Brierwood. 65 } a larger heap than the show of good money of six times the amount. While not forgetting to keep an alert watch on their own property, the rogues' eyes fairly danced at the sight. The counterfeits, as has been stated, were exceptionally clever, and moreover the crooks were wholly unsuspicious, nothing of this sort having ever been attempted upon them before, or perhaps even so much as remotely anticipated. Therefore, experts as they were, or should have been, with crooked money, they were in an excellently receptive mood for being beaten at their own game. The bogus thousand was hurriedly counted and thrust away in the safe, while the sham Mr. Samuel Wilkins retained the genuine six thousand, which he had care- fully stowed away in a yellow valise. "Well satisfied, eh?" demanded Mr. Balder, smilingly, seeking to lay hands on the valise, while Gentleman George began to playfully dust down the back of the anticipated victim's coat with a whisk broom. "I sincerely hope so, anyway. Here, Hooley, secure this thing a little more firmly for your friend." But our friend rudely snatched away the money bag, and set his back against the wall, stepping on Gentleman George's toes in a manner to make him cry out while doing So. The crooks glared. "What's the meanin' of it?" roared Balder. 1 "This, fer one thing!" shouted the pretended Job Bean from behind, while at the same time fetching him a swing- 66 Job Bean of Brierwood. } ing and staggering blow with the carpetbag he was in charge of a particularly solid and heavy one. The disguised detective had simultaneously let out with two lightning-like and powerful fist blows, flooring the two confederates on the spot. Then a last and crashing blow between the eyes sent the tottering Balder directly into the embrace of his own trick easy-chair, which straightway imprisoned and gagged him in the manner which has been described. "Quick, old man!" commanded Freshy Oliver. "Yon- der's a lot of ropes and cords. Bind those chaps on the floor here, neck and heels, and then go through them. I'll attend to this other fellow." 1 The command was carried out with summary dispatch and thoroughness. "Who are you?" demanded Bad Man Balder at last, with an oath. He was once more in the confinement of the trick chair, with the exception of the gag appliance, of which he had been mercifully relieved, while the victorious visitors were smilingly turning to go. But Freshy Oliver's expression changed, even through his masking disguise, to a dark and menacing one. "Who am I, Thomas Lavelle, you ask?" he repeated, hissingly. "Call to mind the boy's father whom you falsely swore into the Ohio State prison twenty years ago -the unoffending wife and mother whom you slowly mur- dered the boy himself whom you likewise sent adrift to become a criminal and a waif-call this to mind and then answer your question and tremble! Who am I? Scoun- Job Bean of Brierwood. 67 drel, your evil genius, your Nemesis, whose fell pursuit of you shall only cease when it lands you on the scaffold, in a life-prisoner's cell, or in the electric death chair at Sing Sing prison! That is who and what I am." The helpless master crook had paled visibly, but he only glared impotently, and made no answer. "You'll get out of this trap pretty soon," jeeringly called out the detective, again turning to go. "When you do, just take a critical look at that thousand we gave you— counterfeits every bill of 'em, for which we have your six thousand in good money. Ta, ta!" "Holy mackerel! but we did that slick," chuckled the real Mr. Sam'l Wilkins as soon as they had reached the street. "Come on acrost the river right away. Young feller, I'm going to make you a real nice present out of thet money." "How much?" asked Freshy Oliver, curiously. "Waal, let's see; thar's nothin' mean'r stingy 'bout me -never was. Thar's a cool six thousand in the sack. ain't there ?" "Yes." "All in twenties, eh?" "Yes." "H'm! no tens'r even small bills?" "None." "You're sure?" "Yes, yes; you also saw it counted." "So I did. Waal, then, by Jingo, I'll go you one of 'em!"-in a sudden burst of generosity-"by hooky, I will!" 68 Job Bean of Brierwood. "What do you mean?" "Why, you shall have a hull twenty all to yourself! Yes, yes; don't look dazzled an' out of breath. I really mean it; so come on. I sha'n't feel safe till I'm on ther keers ag'in, an' well on my way back to ol' Georgy. Come on !" "Not quite yet"-quietly. "It won't do to turn you loose at once-you might give away all you're worth, or die You'll come with me first." of enlargement of the heart. And Freshy Oliver forthwith led him to the hotel where Rodney Bronson was staying and kept his man there till the secret service officer came in. Then the story was told and the money deposited, after which Mr. Sam'l Wilkins, in spite of his protestations, which were of a somewhat hysterical character, was sent back to Gooseville with nothing but his empty yellow valise and the little pocket money which he had brought northward with him. "This money will be retained by the secret service bu- reau as a general conscience fund, sir," were Rodney's parting words. "A last advice to you, my friend: Don't attempt any more deals, even with green-goods crooks, with counterfeit money as your stock in trade. It may put you in fresh danger of the State prison, as you are even now." The Georgian uttered a final subdued howl, tore a last handful of hair out of his chevlure, and rushed away as if shot out of a gun. CHAPTER V. THE RAID. "You say you also went through the crooks after tying them up?" demanded Rodney Bronson, when the hayseed rascal had thus been disposed of. "Yes, sir," was the Gawk Detective's response. "Anything fresh upon the abduction case?" "Only this-perhaps," producing a cabinet-size photo- graph of a very handsome woman. "On which one did you find this?"-examining the pic- ture. "On Balder. There was nothing else." "Do you think it can help you?" "Possibly-through the Dechassez woman.” "True! You are doing good work, Oliver, and I won't interfere unless you are in a tight place. You had better run out to Tarrytown. Take some disguises with you." "Very good, sir." Freshy Oliver ventured to refer to the money that had been taken from the Georgian. "The money will be safe till I can transfer it to Wash- ington," said Rodney. "By the way, I have been doing some thinking since I saw you last; and I have almost made up my mind to return to the capitol city and leave you to fix up things here." Oliver stared at the secret service man. 70 a The Raid, 1 j "You mean I am to go ahead and capture the green- goods men without your help?" he said. "That's what I mean. You have done splendid work and I have confidence in you. That's why I think I am only wasting my time here when you are on the scene. The only question is, whether you want to tackle the matter alone." "I can only say I will do my best," said Oliver. "With that I am satisfied," responded the secret service man heartily. "Now come with me and I will introduce you to the New York chief of police. You can report to him from time to time and gain his assistance when needed. He will be glad to hear that you have a clew to the abduc- tion mystery; and if you can find the missing child and at the same time bring the green-goods men to earth you will be worth a place in any detective force in this country." The introduction was soon made. The chief gladly wel- comed Oliver on Rodney Bronson's recommendation and promised to lend his aid whenever it was wanted. “Do you think we ought to make a capture of this man Balder?" asked the chief, when he had heard the whole story. "By all means," said Rodney. "That would have been my first business had I remained in New York. Make a raid on Bad Man Balder and his men. Grab their goods; hold Balder for a day or two and then act as circumstances may dictate." "Very good," said the chief. "I will arrange for the arrest right away. Meantime I will give your friend here a detective badge." The Raid. -71 Oliver was gratified to receive the badge, for it meant that he was a full-fledged detective. Soon afterward Rodney Bronson left for Washington after giving Oliver the fullest directions how to act. On returning to his lodgings the young detective found a letter awaiting him. It was from Madame Dechassez, gratefully referring to his kindness of the preceding evening, and begging him to call as soon after the reception of the missive as he could make it convenient. The message was a hurried, scarcely legible scrawl, mostly in French. "Come at once, monsieur, I beseech!" it concluded. "Never mind him. Ah, the scelerat, the bandit, the robber! But you, mon ami, you will comfort, you will protect me. I feel that you are a gentleman, that you are honorable, that you have a heart," etc., etc., etc. It was signed "Florine Dechassez." "This may be good," said Freshy Oliver to himself, and in a few minutes he set out to respond to the call in person. He was "made up" as on the previous visit, and in ad- dition, carried a smaller valise containing a few select dis- guises, which he thought might ultimately be of use be- fore he should return to his lodgings. He could not resist the temptation, however, of taking in the Park Place neighborhood on his way uptown. The interview with the chief was just bearing fruit. Bad Man Balder and his subordinate crooks were al- ready in charge of two police detectives and a patrolman, who were in the act of carrying them off to prison. 72 The Raid. The arrest was causing a sensation. One of the detectives carried under his arm a package and a tin cashbox. He and his associates wore a highly satisfied air. The green-goods men did not, though essay- ing to bear up. The crowd of onlookers was by turns jubi- lant and sarcastic. "What is it?" inquired Freshy Oliver of one of the latter. "Green-goods dealers scooped on a headquarters' war- rant," was the reply. "It'll go hard with 'em, too. This time they've been collared with counterfeit money in their possession." The Gawk Detective smiled contentedly as he resumed his way to the near-at-hand elevated station. "The chief knows how to take things on the fly," he thought. "La Sauterelle need fear no further interruption from him yet awhile, at all events.” Arriving at the One Hundred and Fourth Street house, a discreet-looking French maid, in an immaculate white apron and Norman headdress, opened the door in re- sponse to his summons." "Madame Dechassez, is she at home?" he inquired, in French. "Name of monsieur, if monsieur will be so kind?" "De Montague." "Monsieur is to step right in." The detective was ushered into the pretty little front drawing room of the previous evening. The daylight was more than half excluded, but the por- tière was looped back, affording a view into the charming The Raid. 73 boudoir adjoining, and even into the bedchamber behind that. Madame was reclining in a rich fauteuil in the middle or boudoir apartment. She dismissed the maid with a petulant gesture, and then stretched out a welcoming hand without rising. "Monsieur is kind to come so promptly," she said, with something pitiful in her voice. "And monsieur will excuse his finding me something of an invalid.” As the detective advanced to touch her hand he per- ceived that her eyes were blackened and her features otherwise bruised and discolored. "What! that villain-that brute!" he exclaimed, indig- nantly. "He has dared? By Jupiter! I ought to have left him dead-broken necked instead of only broken headed -in that cellar pit!" La Sauterelle's bruised little face fairly beamed. "What! it was you, then?" "Yes; but- "" "Never mind! There is something that I would say, monsieur; and as he might interrupt us, it should be said quickly. "How I could hate and loathe that man, if”- sadly-"I did not love him." "What! and after Mr. Dechassez has abused you so shockingly? But then I've heard that certain ladies- maybe it's only French ladies-rather admire being beaten now and then by the men they love." "" "Not I, monsieur"-impatiently. "But now, tell me, and Madame Dechassez seemed to compose herself for an interview, "you are a detective, are you not?" * The Raid. 74 } "I? What put such a thing into your head?" Nothing; or rather, my woman's intuition, which never fails me. I am in trouble, and if you will help me, I may be able to help you. And neither do I forget mon- sieur's ridiculous suspicion last night-how absurd!—of his having seen me before, and jumping out of a window, too. There, now! So tell me the truth, Monsieur de Montague." "I a detective ?" "Yes. Tell me, please." "But," he still hesitated, "if your husband, Monsieur Dechassez-" She burst into her impatient laugh. There are "How stupid! There is no husband, no Monsieur Dechassez; though he may call himself so. conveniences to be observed, you understand?" "Oh!" "Now, answer my first question ?" "Yes, then." The ex-ballerine clapped her hands. "Ah, I knew it! And now, monsieur, you can and will help me, I know." "That depends upon what you wish." "True enough. Well, then, my friend here"-she hesi- tated. "You mean your present-husband, Lavelle, otherwise Dechassez ?" "What! you know his real name?" "It looks like it." The Raid. 75 "Ah, well, he would treat me better, that is, I hope he would, if-if-" "If there were not some other women, of whom, per- haps, he gives you cause to be jealous?" "Ah, monsieur, you also are intuitive, I see.' "You know where the woman lives?" “Mon Dieu! that is what I want to find out-the hussy! the witch!" "Do you know her by sight?" “Yes!”—with a clinching of the little hands. ޔ "Is this the person ?"-producing and showing the pho- tograph. "Yes, yes! the sorceress! the she-devil!" She pounced upon the picture, and would have torn it to pieces had he not been on his guard. "That is right, monsieur, put it away," she said, strug- gling to regain her composure as he slipped the photo out of sight. "Monsieur, you see I am calm now"-still beating, however, a moderate tattoo on the carpet with her prettily slippered foot. "Well, you are getting along"-with an encouraging smile. "Where, when and how did you get that picture from him ?" "I must decline to answer that. material." Besides, it is not "Perhaps not. Will you tell me where she lives- where I can lay hands on her-find out the nature of her relation with him, I mean?” "That is better." 76 The Raid. 1 "Will you, then ?" "Yes-sooner or later." "But why not at once?" "Well, I must think it well over first," replied the de- tective with a profound look. "But suppose you answer me a few questions first." "To the best of my ability, monsieur." "Doesn't Lavelle make frequent and somewhat mys- terious visits up the river?" "I should say so-to Tarrytown. Yes, yes, that is where he quits the train. But, alas! I know nothing more." "Doubtless, because you have made inquiries there with- out success?" "True, true”-weeping. "And how murderously he thrashed me when he came to know!" But madame's tears were as readily dried as they were produced. Her tempests were of the showery, or April, rather than of the equinoctial order. "You will pardon my weakness, I hope, dear sir?" she murmured, almost sunnily, while vigorously mopping her damaged eyes with the rosewater and eau-de-cologne that was at hand. "I am sure you will, you are so kind, so good, so gallant!" "Don't mention it, madame," dryly. "Another ques- tion, if you please." "Certainly." "Do you know the name of any person or place in the vicinity of Tarrytown that might be abbreviated into 'Whip'?" The Raid. 77 7 "No, monsieur." Freshy Oliver concealed his disappointment, and even buttoned up his coat with a smiling and satisfied air. "Ah, so much the better!" he said, "so much the better!" "What is, monsieur? What do you mean?" "Dear madame, you shall know all in good time. Let me see; this is a Tuesday, is it not?" "All day long, monsieur." "Well, by next Monday, at the latest, you shall know all." "Oh, monsieur! so long to wait?" "Bless me! that is not long." "Eh, bien!" resignedly; "I have your promise, then ?" "Yes." "A thousand thanks, then, and adieu, dear sir!" holding out her hand. But her visitor kissed it, while merely settling himself down more permanently in his seat. "Madame evidently forgets," he said, with his gentle smile. "What is it ?” "The return confidence which madame has promised me." "Ah, it is true! I had forgotten. What would mon- sieur know?” The disguised detective's demeanor underwent a change. "Your connection, in full," he said, peremptorily, "with the disappearance of the little girl, Daisy Maylands !” The ex-danseuse started up. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, in swift terror; "I had ५ * 78 The Raid. indeed forgotten. This is monsieur the detective's case, then ?" "Yes." "I had nothing to do with stealing the child!" clasping her hands. "Indeed, I had not, monsieur-I swear it!" "Nothing directly, I am fully convinced of that by this time. Let madame compose herself, I beseech! She is in no danger, if she will merely tell what she knows." "No, no; I know nothing-nothing!" "Madame's little window escapade of last evening?"- dryly. "Ah, but Lavelle forced me to But what am I saying? I cannot imagine what monsieur means." "A truce to this!" exclaimed Freshy Oliver, sternly. "Look here, maʼam; you wouldn't like to join your brutal lover in prison, I suppose?" Madame's terror was now pitiable, but she continued to wail out that she had not been concerned in the kid- naping. "With the actual child-stealing, no, I don't believe you had," he went on, remorselessly. "Your terror is less the terror of conscious guilt than for yourself-the fear of Lavelle's vengeance.” "Ah! that is true. Have pity, monsieur, have pity!" "Pity?" reassuringly."I have all of that for you, and something better-a sincere desire to extricate you from this criminal entanglement." "But, monsieur," earnestly, "I swear to you that I was not the woman who" checking herself suddenly. "Not the woman who was directly instrumental in The Raid. 79 spiriting away the child. Certainly not, but you know who she was?" "Indeed, no, sir, on my life!" "Ah, well, then, I do!" "You know?" with real and devouring curiosity. "Yes." "Who was it, then?" "The handsome woman whose photograph I have shown you." "Ha!" looking up, eagerly. "Yes, yes, it must be so. Why have I not thought of it before?" "I am your friend, dear madame," urbanely once more, "and. ask nothing better than to think and even act for you. Yes, that is the woman, that handsome lady whom you and I must together run to earth." "Handsome? That faded, passée thing!" in a fresh burst of jealous fury. "Ah, the sorceress-the cocotte! Let me see the ridiculous picture again." "No! Come, come, madame!" brusquely, "are you go- ing to assist me in tracking down this wicked woman, or not?" "Yes, yes! She will be punished-perhaps guillotined?" "Hardly that, unless she shall have murdered the child,” with a start at the thought, even on his own part. "Be- sides, we do not guillotine folks here in New York. We do not even hang 'em." "Ah!" despairingly, "no death penalty, even in case of murder? which, Heaven grant in this case!" "Not so forgiving as that, ma'am. We have now the 80 The Art of Female Loveliness. C electric chair. We roast 'em to death with tame light- ning." "Ah, I have heard-I have read! A horrible death, is it not, monsieur-especially for a woman?" "I should say so!" "And should this vile, this hideous creature really have murdered the poor little innocent ?" "Come," abruptly, and not a little disgusted, “will you confide in me, or will you not?" Madam Dechassez dashed a last spongeful of the cologne over her disfigured prettiness, and seemed to take a sud- den resolution. "Yes, I will!" she replied, energetically. "Touch the bell cord there for my maid, if you please, Monsieur de Montague; yes, I will!" And she did. CHAPTER VI. THE ART OF FEMALE LOVELINESS. The ex-danseuse had been the companion of Bad Man Balder for more than two years, and for the greater part of that time the shadowy existence of a rival, of the other woman in the case, had more or less embittered her life. Still, Lavelle-Balder had thus far preserved his mystery intact, in spite of numberless quarrels on the subject, and to the little madame's continued and haunting distress. She knew of her pseudo husband being a crook, and The Art of Female Loveliness. 81 was not ignorant of the social fascination of the distingue Gentleman George and the ingratiating Soapy Sam, hav- ing aided them all from time to time in dodging the police, but knew nothing, or professed to know nothing, of green goods, or any other particular line of crookedness to which they might be devoting their exceptional, if some- what unpraiseworthy, talents. She herself kept a very select boarding house and gave private instructions in the terpsichorean art. She naïvely admitted that her boarders-apart from La- velle-Balder-Deschassez's home requirements on his indi- vidual account, his two confederates roosting elsewhere- were exclusively young lady aspirants for the ballet-in other words, the more select and promising of her pupils in a strictly monetary sense. She even confessed that she could also be a "doctor," or a seeress into the mysteries of the future, on occasion. In fact, the little madame's professional accomplish- ments, or pretensions, were both varied and picturesque. The art of female loveliness, or of usefulness, or of psychology, was alike her field. She could be a preceptress of choregraphic grace, a min- istering angel to beauty in distress, or a starry seventh daughter of a seventh daughter for the relief of roseate- dreaming servant girldom in the abstract, with equal fa- cility and charm. But, the mistress of so many arts, the Lavelle-Balder- Dechassez was none the less her master in his turn. She admitted it, with tears of humiliation it might be, but without reservation. • 82 The Art of Female Loveliness. Sometimes he petted her, occasionally he permitted her to retain no inconsiderable part of her hard-earned savings for her own use, more frequently he beat her, but first, last and always, he ruled her with a rod of iron. Madame's stage experiences in the past had naturally made her familiar with the exploiting of personal make- ups and disguises. She had accompanied the two blackmailers to Col. Shel- don's house, in masculine attire, as has been seen, under orders. She did not know, or professed not to know, who those men were had never even seen them until the master had brought them to her house and briefly made known his instructions. She had first learned of the kidnaping through the news- papers, but had never before suspected her Monsieur Dechassez of being concerned in it. She was a poor, lone, misused and unhappy woman. Moreover, the world was cold-wouldn't or couldn't, understand her, cheated her out of her dues. Often she wished she were dead. Then, again, she would think over her past stage triumphs, perceive in her dressing-case mirror that she was still passably fair to look upon-when undecorated by the facial frescoing á la Lavelle-dream of one day scratching the mysterious other woman's eyes out, and brace up. Still, she was about sick of it all, and would cheerfully strike hands with her new and considerate friend, Mr. de Montague, if he would only place this hideous creature A The Art of Female Loveliness. 83 under her heels, and thus render her really and de- servedly happy. Such, in brief, was the ex-ballerine's story, as con- fided to the detective. The latter accepted it, in his own mind, with the cus- tomary grains of allowance, and then held out his hand, with a trustful and sympathetic smile. "It is a compact, then, madame?" "Oh, certainly, monsieur." "I know I can trust you, just as you must trust me." He said this in a peculiar way that was quite new to his companion. "How are you so very sure of me, monsieur?" she asked, curiously. "Because I have madame's secret of the past, as ma- dame has mine of the present." "Parbleu! my secret? But I have none, monsieur!” "Not with regard to a former husband of madame's, who was found floating in the Mississippi, at St. Louis, murdered some years ago?" A single glance-which was duly expected-and then the little woman was on her feet, bolt-upright, in a whirl- wind of astounded indignation, as one might say, save that she didn't whirl so much as pant and glare." "This to me?" she cried. "Certainly, dear madame." "The unrivaled beauty of the corps du ballet?" "Once upon a time-and still not wholly passée." “Ah, monsieur!" striking her colors on the spot; "how strong, how clever you are! Of course, just as you ob- 84 The Art of Female Loveliness. served, it is a compact between us." And, sinking back in her seat, she graciously extended her hand. Magnanimous in his victory, he raised it respectfully to his lips. "Now, just one or two innocent questions, dear madame." "Certainly, dear monsieur; but my five o'clock dancing class is near at hand." "Madame shall not be unnecessarily detained. Madame has hinted of assisting monsieur and his friends in evading the police at times ?" "Oh, yes." "How was this effected ?" "This house is a peculiar one, monsieur, especially the cellar!" "Ah!" "At any other time at monsieur's own conve- nience- "" "You will kindly explain to me the secrets of this won- derful little house?" "With pleasure, monsieur." "Ah, how kind, how considerate of madame!" And, once more ringing for her maid at madame's re- quest, with a parting kiss for the cordial little hand, the detective finally took his leave. The maid-a rather remarkable-looking young woman -gazed at him curiously as he passed her in the hall passage; and on the stoop he met a lady visitor who was just about entering, and who also honored him with an inquisitive look. The Art of Female Loveliness. 85 1 It was a robust, fashionably dressed young lady, with a certain springiness of step and deliberateness of move- ment. "Ah!" thought the detective; "doubtless one of ma- 'dame's out-door pupils, and something of a professional to boot." And, politely lifting his hat, he hurried away. An hour later he was in Tarrytown, making his in- quiries anent that mysterious abbreviation-"Whip." He was unsuccessful. A county map was consulted in vain. So were the rail- road officials. The people at the hotel, where he went for his supper and a room, were no better informed. No one seemed to have ever heard of a person or place in the vicinity whose name began or in any way suggested that elusive and snapping syllable, Whip. There was one subject, however, with which the entire community was more or less agog, that might have been. of more interest to the inquiring detective under other cir- cumstances. It was the numerous railroad and highway robberies which had been taking place for months past. They had occurred fluctuatingly, and yet with a same- ness of details, so far as could be known or conjectured, that would seem to point to one group or band of clever miscreants as responsible for all. Valuable frieight had disappeared from moving cars at different points between Tarrytown and Croton Landing, the third station to the northward, and then been spirited off somewhere back into the country side, without a clew. 86 The Art of Female Loveliness. Farmers, summer visitors and others had been "held up" and robbed at the revolver's muzzle while driving on the country roads. All doubtless by the same criminals. For when the cars were being thus mysteriously de- spoiled, the highway robberies were given a rest. When the latter were in vogue the freight trains were not mo- lested. The highwaymen were invariably four in number, masked, splendidly mounted, polite, agreeably voiced, but remorseless. So were the railroad pilferers, so far as could be judged or guessed. They had been met and observed while driving off with the tossed-off plunder, in the dead of night, over the lonely roads, always somewhere to the eastward of the river and railroad line, two mounted, two others in a light wagon, presumably containing the "swag." Were the scoundrels able and felonious young scape- graces from the vicinity, or metropolitan professionals? Nothing was known. Detectives had been on the case for weeks, but in vain. uneasiness had increased. Meanwhile, the excitement and Old hayseeds, who had never dreamed of such a thing before, began to carry shotguns when on the road by day or night. Women and girls grew timorous. Men talked and looked profound, but the mystery remained intact, and the depredations continued. It was even feared that the reputation of the village might suffer. The } 87 Art of Female Loveliness. And, Tarrytown being the most exclusive and fashion- able of New York's upriver suburbs, this was one of the gravest apprehensions in connection with the mystery. "What do you think of it, sir?" asked a boarder at the hotel of our Gawk Detective in the course of the evening. The latter had heard nothing else discussed around him. until he was weary of the subject; and he was, moreover, sufficiently disgusted with the ill success of his own es- pecial inquiries. "I don't think of it at all, and I don't care," he replied. And he finally took his ill-humor off to bed with him. Broadway is the drive and promenade of Tarrytown. par excellence. It is a nobly broad, smoothly asphalted and macadamized concourse running parallel with, but considerably back from the river, and extending for miles from Dobbs Ferry, on the south, to Sing Sing, on the north. The finest grounds and most palatial residences front upon it. During the season-which is any and all warm, pleasant weather-this thoroughfare offers a fine display of turn- outs, mostly the property of wealthy New York families. The sidewalks offer no fewer attractions; there are beautiful women and blooming young girls galore, in car- riage, on horseback and on foot. There are ravishing toilets and figures displaying them, robust, undulating, which are yet more ravishing, and faces equally fascinating. 88 The Art of Female Loveliness. The glittering equipages flash past with their liveried flunkies and spirited, sleek-skinned, high-steppers. So do young fellows on their bicycles. All is smiling animation and sunny charm. While passing along this promenade and observing its beauties on the following morning, Freshy Oliver, still more or less disconsolate over his ill success, was not a little surprised at coming suddenly face to face with Mr. Samuel Hooley, otherwise Soapy Sam. Of course, the detective felt secure enough in his dis- guise, but he was not the less curious and interested for all that. "Hello!" he thought, "if one's out on bail so soon, so ought the others to be. But this should give me a pointer, too." It is rather difficult to "shadow" a man closely in the broad, laughing, summer sunlight of a country town. But Freshy Oliver managed to do it in a sauntering, perfunctory fashion on the present occasion. Soapy Sam carried a small traveling sachel, and was like enough newly arrived from New York. He strolled leisurely up the gay drive with the air of a man somewhat familiar with it, nodding a recognition here and there, stopped for a few minutes' conversation with an elderly Jewish-looking man, who pulled up for the purpose in a dashing turnout, and then went into the same hotel that the detective was staying at the best in the place for a wash-up and his breakfast. "Who is that gentleman, if you please?" asked Freshy Oliver of a native, at the same time indicating the man The Art of Female Loveliness. 89 whom Soapy Sam had chatted with, and who, having turned about lower down the road, was driving swiftly past. "The gentleman holding the lines over those splen- did bays, I mean." "That-Jew-sport?" was the irreverent response. “Oh, that's the rich Mr. Solomons, who has the Whitby place out on the Sing Sing road." "Ah, thank you; but he doesn't look altogether like a sport." "But he is, though, and ready to back up anything shady in New York, from a bogus pawnbroker's shop to a sawdust swindle. At least, that's his reputation here, and they do say he may have 'done time' somewhere or other if his full record were only known." The gentleman under discussion had by this time flashed out of sight around a turn of the road. The detective was continuing his stroll reflectively, when, in passing a private stable, where a countryman was unloading a quantity of hay from his wagon, he overheard some words which acted upon him like an electric shock of the decidedly pleasing variety, if such there is. "Not so good hay ez the last load, eh?" called out the countryman to the stableman, who was assisting him in his task. "Waal, it's jest the same, anyway, Mike, an' 'f you kin find any better timothy comin' out of old Whip- poorwill, I'll stand treat on my next trip in.” Freshy Oliver fairly hugged himself. The mysterious "Whip" was not longer a mystery. At this juncture a couple of bicycles swerved sharply to one side to avoid a possible collision with a spirited < go The Art of Female Loveliness, span of sorrels that were being tooted past at a dashing gait by a superbly handsome, though fully middle-aged lady, with a gayly liveried little negro groom, or tiger, perched grinningly at her side, like a trick monkey in a circus parade. Another electric shock-this time of the positively ecstatic order. The woman was the original of the photograph-the cordially detested cause of poor little Madame Dechassez's jealous torments! "It never rains but it pours!" thought Freshy. "Surely, I'm in luck to-day!" "She always drives in that way, just as if no other folks had any right to the road!" grumbled one of the bicycle riders, both of whom had come to a resting dismount by the roadside. "Maybe they haven't," replied his companion, with a laugh. "But don't let us forget, Charley, that Mrs. Le- strange has a trio of daughters who are fully as good- looking as she. And where else can she get a chance to let out those sorrel steppers of hers at their best, save down this way? Surely, not away back in stony and God-forsaken Whippoorwill, where she so oddly buries herself and her girls out of sight in the big, old house on the ridge?" "That is true," assented the other. The detective, who had overheard all, fairly caught his breath, and yet he did not wish to risk any open in- quiries. But another idea came to his aid, and he at once ap- The Art of Female Loveliness. 91 proached the bicyclists, who were rather amiable-looking young men, in his most agreeable manner. "I am something of an enthusiast for that sort of loco- motion myself," said he, placing his hand admiringly upon the largest and finest of the bicycles. "What do you say?" addressing its owner with an engaging laugh. “I'd will- ingly give five dollars for half an hour's spin on this splendid wheel of yours." The owner of the wheel was prepossessed by his ap- pearance, no less than by his frank words and manner. "Try a spin on it for nothing, and be welcome, sir,” he replied, politely. "I shall be only too glad to rest here in the shade with my friend till your return." Freshy thanked him profusely, and was almost in- stantly up and away on the machine, for he was really a capital bicyclist. And, as a matter of course, he was also up and away after the comely handler of the sorrel steppers, who had quickly whisked out of sight down the road. He met her returning, however, saluted profoundly, as if to a queen in exile, and then followed along back and up the drive. She led him a pretty pace, especially in covering the rises of ground, but he managed to keep up pretty creditably, and was, moreover, encouraged by having received a slight, though barely perceptible, nod of the queenly head in recognition of his obeisance. She turned into the Sing Sing road, still at a spanking pace. Here they had the road comparatively to themselves, 92 The Art of Female Loveliness. there being but little driving out beyond the outskirts of the town so early in the day, though the highway con- tinues superb, leading at intervals through secluded stretches of fields and woodlands. At one of these intervals the lady, who had looked back more than once, not only slowed up, but stopped, allow- ing him to come up, which he did with more or less em- barrassment. She signed him very curtly to stop, and, as he obeyed, he could not help saying to himself: "By Jupiter! I can't find fault with La Sauterelle's jealousy in this quarter. A finer-looking woman I never saw-for her age!" For the lady proved to be more along in years than he had supposed. "Sir," said the latter, with no little asperity, "I perceive that you are following me, though I hope I may be mis- taken." Freshy had dismounted from his cycle-in fact, a fellow can't very well remain seated on one when not in motion --and was respectfully standing in a dress-parade attitude, while leaning gracefully on the wheel. "No mistake at all, ma'am," he murmuringly admitted, with an assumed confusion-almost of being dazzled, as it were-which might be construed as complimentary in the abstract, if not in particular. The lady slightly frowned, while tightening her firm, gloved grip on whip and reins. "Why do you follow me, sir?" she demanded, yet more brusquely. "I-I simply couldn't help it. You see, ma'am-er- ' } The Art of Female Loveliness. 93 those sorrels of yours are-er-such splendid steppers that" And he paused, blurtingly, as if wholly unable to go on. The lady smiled very coldly. "Was it altogether the action of my sorrels, then, which prompted you to venturing upon this liberty, sir ?" "No, ma'am," with sudden boldness, though still with the dazzled respectfulness intact; "candor compels me to admit that it was not." "Ah! and what then?" "Yourself, ma'am. I never saw you before to-day, and —and Oh, Heaven!" desperately, "how could I help wanting to see more of you in that case-after the first glimpse of madam's face and figure?" She smiled again, and much less coldly now-for the compliment was cleverly conveyed-but still with due reserve. "Thank you!" she said, with a grand air. "But I hope you will find it enough when I say that I do not like being followed." And then, with a flick of the whip, she was off again up the road without turning her head. "I rather wish she hadn't stopped," said Freshy Oliver to himself. "It sort of interrupted things." And he continued his pursuit, though at a much more. respectful distance than before. However, he presently saw the lady turn off into a by- road to the right, where she paused to exchange some words with a gentleman standing at the gate of a hand- 94 The Art of Female Loveliness. some, well-kept country house at one of the corners, after which she disappeared. The gentleman also stepped out of sight as the detective rode up, but not before the latter had recognized him as the recent driver of the sleek bays, probably himself newly returned from his morning's jaunt, who had been char- acterized to him as the shadily sporting Mr. Solomons, of the Whitby place. The by-road, by which the lady had driven out of sight, was so steep and stony that further pursuit was altogether out of the question, but, perhaps, this was just as well, at least for the time being. There was a little rustic tavern near at hand, however, where the detective took the opportunity to stop for a glass of beer, and whatever might be offering for an in- quiring mind. "Where does that by-road lead off to over there?" he inquired of the man who was serving him. "Briar Cliff," was the reply. "But further on, I mean?" "Oh, to lots of place further on, sir-East View, Hall's Corners, Pleasantville-but then you'd never get over Briar Cliff with that wheel of yours." "Haven't any notion of trying. But that road, would it also lead on to the town of Whippoorwill?" "Ain't no such town, sir." "Village, then?” "No." "Little place, or locality, or something or other bearing that name?" The Art of Female Loveliness. 95 "Oh, yes; so there is-away off back and up Armonk- ways! A wild and rousing big hill or mountain, where like enough some folks live. An' they do say that there still be deer an' wildcats up that way." "Which direction, and how far from here?" "Matter of nine miles, mebbe, to the northeast, or say due east from Sing Sing-way up back of Pleasantville an' Chappaqua.” The detective thanked him and rode back to the village, where he returned the bicycle to its owner, with many thanks. Soapy Sam was still at the hotel, hanging about the bar and piazzas in a lazy, listless and aristocratic sort of way, and yet as if he might be waiting for somebody by ap- pointment. Freshy Oliver thought it worth his while to be certain on this point. He accordingly went to his room, relinquished his dis- guise, and managing to slip out of the hotel unperceived, re-entered it, valise in hand, in his own proper or "gawk" personality, as if just coming from a train, registered him- self afresh under another name. "What is your dinner time, sir?" he inquired of the clerk. "Twelve, sharp-half an hour hence," was the reply. "Well, I'll stay for that, and perhaps this evening I'll want you to assign me to a room. Meantime, take care of my valise, please." Then, in strolling out upon the piazzas, he purposely threw himself in Mr. Soapy Sam's way. 96 The Art of Female Loveliness. 1 The green-goods young man's gentle face lighted up at the recognition. "Hello! it's Fleischmann!" said he, quite beamingly. "No, you mistake-it's Gawker," corrected the detective, genially. "So it is; I had forgotten. Aw, how d'ye do, Gaw- ker?" extending his hand. "What sort of luck up this way?" inquired the re- formed bunco-steerer, when some preliminaries had been exchanged, including the preliminary drink. "Confound the luck!" was the rather gloomy response. "And you?" "Well,” with a smile, "I may be able to answer better later on." "On to anything?" inquired the green goodser, with languid professional curiosity. "Hoping to be." "Good thing, eh? But, then, excuse me," with the soapiest of good-breeding, as one might say, "perhaps it bores you to talk shop?" "Not at all, it's a hayseed, with his money in the village bank here. That is, I think it is, and am hoping to make it so. Understand?" "'Course! Say no more, and good luck to you. Aw!" and Mr. Soapy Sam sighed pensively. "You're down on yours, you say?" said Mr. "Gawker," sympathetically. "" "Should say so! Just out of quod on a caution, and the devil only knowing how it will end !" The Art of Female Loveliness. 97 す ​"Quod? You surprise me! Didn't you fellows catch onto the other gudgeon from down Georgia ways, then?" "H'm! after a fashion." And then Mr. Hooley expatiated with some fullness, and not a little genteel profanity, on the fiasco of the previous day, with which the reader is already so familiar." "A bad box!" commented the other. "But you are lucky, in part." "It's only Dixon and me, though," said Soapy Sam. "Bad Man is still in the hooks." "Balder still in the cooler, eh?" "Our backer-silent man, you know-could only get 'em to take the persuaders for George and me. The fly- cops and the beaks would not look at any of the same good stuff offered for Balder-at least, not at once." "Oho! rather tough on Balder, that!" "Yes; but he'll come, though we may all find it tough at the trial—if it ever comes on, or if we don't leg it be- times." “Oh, your silent man ought to arrange that, too. Who is he?" “A swell here in this place for the present. That's what I'm here for one of the things. Name's Solo- mons." "Solomons, eh? And where is our friend, Gentleman George, now?" "Better ask him," with a short laugh. And then Freshy Oliver, well enough contented with what he had got, dropped the subject, though the pair sat 98 "No Man's Fool." } down to the dinner table together when that event was announced. In the middle of the afternoon the former slipped away for the purpose of obtaining some sort of conveyance to Whippoorwill. Fortune still befriended him. He was entering a livery stable, to inquire about a team, when he perceived an old farmer turning off uphill on an empty hay wagon. CHAPTER VII. "NO MAN'S FOOL." It was the same rustic whose chance vaunting of the hay product of "old Whippoorwill" had given our detective friend his first clew in the morning. "Do you happen to be going over Whippoorwill-ways, sir?" he asked, very respectfully, while signing the man to stop. The latter pulled up, eying his questioner somewhat suspiciously, while scratching his head and taking a chew of tobacco. Freshy Oliver, though now in his own fresh and naïvely innocent character, was still fashionably dressed and of a generally natty appearance. "You mightn't be one of 'em, I hope, mister?" said the countryman, with a wary look. "One of whom?" pleasantly. "No Man's Fool." 99 "Hu! one er them city smarties ez purtended ter wanter buy my farm last month, an' then funked and wanted ter fight 'cause I wouldn't fust place go up ter the bank yonder an' cash 'em a thousand-dollar check." "Great Scott, no!" time, “catching on." bad men." "Should say so. chances." said the detective, but, at the same "Bless me, sir! they must have been 'Tleast, I ain't taking no more "Still," with sudden interest, "have you a farm to sell?" "Bang up un, mister!" eagerly. "Ther best farm on Whippoorwill Ridge-allers 'ceptin' ther ol' grange, per- haps. Mought ye be lookin' fer a farm, mister?" "Well-er," with business-like caution, "that would de- pend on the sort of farm offering." "Mine's ther sort, mister. Was ye thinkin' er takin' a look round about ol' Whippoorwill-ways? Jump aboard!” "But I'd require a good deal of time to decide." "All ye want a week er a month, ef ye wish," cheerily. "An' I'll board ye at my house fer nothin' in the meantime. Hand up your duds"-Freshy had brought his valise with him from the hotel-"an' climb in. It'll save ye two dol- lars fer buggy hire inter ther bargain. Hyar we be. G'lang!" And Freshy was cozily installed by the old fellow's side, with his face at last set for the erstwhile mysterious "Whip," and everything apparently serene. "It's good, perhaps first rate," said he, to himself. "Tout va comme sur des roulettes—or all's going as if on little wheels-as Madame Dechassez might say." ག ་ 100 "No Man's Fool." He offered his granger friend a cigar, which the latter found occasion to go in ecstasies over. The old fellow was, moreover, communicative and jovial by nature, the ice had been fairly well broken before this, and, in short order, there was the plainest and happiest kind of smooth-water sailing between the two. Then, before getting out of the village, they were espied from a street corner by Mr. Soapy Sam, who grinned most significantly, and in a manner to increase Freshy's self-complacency. "He thinks I've cinched the old fellow for a bunco racket, sure," he thought. "So much the better." "Ye hevn't gin me your name an' address yet, sir,” hinted the countryman, after a little. "H. de Montague Gawker, No. 6000 Wall Street, New York," was the glib response. "Sorry I haven't one of my cards with me.” "Never mind the keerd," genially. "Suthin' ther in- surance'r bankin' way, perhaps." "Real estate." "Oho! thet's ther tork. So, so!" “And your own name and address, my friend?” "S. Jeehosophat Glebeman, agricultroral speck'lator, No. 10,000 feet high, Whippoorwill Mounting, old Westches- ter," solemnly. "You're no man's fool, anyway," said Freshy, with a pleasant laugh. "Reely think it, now?" also with a laugh. "Thankee. Then I'm jest plain, ol' Si Glebeman, at your service, an¹ f 7 مجرة "No Man's Fool." ΙΟΙ me an' my ol' woman, 'Lizer Ann, 'll make ye as comf'table ez we know how." The cordial understanding was, by this time, complete. "You spoke of another place in your neighborhood as the Grange Farm," suggested the passenger. "Not fer sale," replied the countryman, quickly. "'Sides, even if it were, I doubt if your pile could tech it." "Still," smiling, "how do you know what figure I might be willing to go for a place that took my fancy?" "Thet's so, thet's so," apologetically. "Still, what could a young city chap like you want 'ith a great, ramblin' ol' place sech ez the Grange Farm-'stending way out over all creation, an' well wored out at thet?" "Probably nothing. But a man may be curious and in- quiring, you know." "Oh, yes, yes. Sill, 'Lizer Ann an' me'll take bang-up good care of ye, Mr. Gawker." "Thank you. And it's more than likely your farm will suit me in the end better than any other. But, then, I've heard of this Grange Farm before. Isn't it somewhat historical, for instance ?" "Should say so-fit an' died way back inter ther Revo- lution!" with sparkling eyes, as local pride briefly replaced individual greed in loosening Mr. Glebeman's tongue. “We was all inter it, mister! Ol' Whip's jest lousy 'ith in- terestin' relics. Thar's a well on my farm thet Major André tuk a drink at on'y a few days afore they nabbed him by the neck; an' British soldiers' buttons used to be thicker'n pebbles all round, etc., etc. However, ther 102 "No Man's Fool." grange do take ther belt in ther way of relics. Thar ain't no denyin' thet." "What family is at the grange?" "The Lestranges-mother and three darters, ter say nothin' 'er ther hired help. Ha!" "What's the matter ?" "Sech a mother an' sech darters!" smacking his lips. "Purty 'nough ter eat, an' then swaller 'ith slow chawin'!" "Oho!" "Mighty uppish, though!" quickly, as if to dampen any similarly gustatory aspiration on the part of his young companion. "Some might call it stinkin' pride, though I don't adzactly. 'Lizer Ann does, though, an' she allows ez she orter know." "Proud folks, the Lestranges, eh?" "Sorter exclusive-like. But I don't see why 'tain't a free country fer rich folks 's well 's poor, 'f they wanter whack on shines, 's long 's they're willin' ter pay fer ther shoe polish." "Plenty of money, too?" "Humph, mebbe so! However, they put on all the frills the law allows. Saw the ol' lady this mornin', tootin' them sorrels of hern through Tarrytown. Sech an ol' lady, too! Handsome 'nough ter eat right up. So's the gals!" "Any Mr. Lestrange?" "Ye-e-s, but he don't often show up. Folks hardly know him by sight. B'lieve he's in York most of time. Some think, though, it's maybe because he's timid-skeery- like." "No Man's Fool." 103 - } "Of what, pray?” "Why, of these hyar freight robbers an' highwaymen, of course! Ain't ye hearn tell of them?" "Ah, yes! In fact, I haven't heard tell of much of any- thing else. Should think you would be somewhat afraid of those fellows yourself." "I don't give 'em no chance-am never on the road at night." "Quite daring and mysterious fellows, these robbers, eh?" "Hu! Dick Turpins an' Claude Duvals wasn't no- whars in comparison. Neither was the Jameses, the Youngers, nor the rest er them blood-drinkers. It's scan- dalous, sir—a disgrace onto al' Westchester County!" "Do they always operate at night?" "Allers." "There are four of them, I am told." "Jes, four; masked 'ith black crape, at thet; an' 'ith horns on their heads. 'Least, so they say." "You've never counted them yourself, then ?” "Me? Oh, no! an' what's more, I never want to. "The whole countryside must be terrorized?" "So 'tis." "Even away over on Whippoorwill?" "An' why not? Why, I never ventur' f'm house ter barn, 'r to dror water at ther well arter dark 'thout carryin' a shotgun! Thar ain't even no more sparkin' by moon- light ter speak of. The whole poppylation's got ther shivers, young and old, gals an' young men." "And the Lestrange ladies ?" - 104 "No Man's Fool." "Waal," reflectively, "thet's ther strangest part of it." "What is ?" "The mother an' darters at Grange Farm. They don't seem to mind it a bit-on'y laugh an' smile, contemptuous- like. An' they're about the on'y folks that do." "So! As fearless as handsome, eh?” "Looks that way, Mr. Gawker; looks a good deal thet way." They continued whiling away the tedium of the long drive by chatting upon various subjects, and occasional stoppages for beer at wayside and secluded little taverns, where the generosity of Mr. Gawker in the way of unre- ciprocated treats still further enhanced the old hayseed's good opinion of him. It was a long drive and a rough one, but at last, toward sunset, they climbed the immensely long hill that brought them to the top of the lofty wooded ridge which rejoices. in the local name of Whippoorwill. It is a wildly picturesque spot to be within less than thirty miles of the Grand Central Depot, as the crow flies." "Waal, hyar we air, mister!" cheerfully observed Mr. Glebeman, pulling up in the barnyard of a rather par- ticularly barren-looking farm, which seemed to be mainly composed of straggling orchards and stony fields. "Ther ol' Glebeman Farm at last. What d'ye think of her?” And then, as an eager old woman, with a shawl over her head, came trotting out of the dwelling, whose tottery and time-worn appearance was in admirable harmony with the surrounding grounds, he joyfully introduced his guest, saying: "No Man's Fool." 105 'Lizer Ann, this hyar's Mr. H. Montague Gawker, who'll stop 'ith us a spell, an' like enough buy our farm.” The old lady, if good-humored before, was fairly ecstatic at this. "Glad ter see, Mr. Gawker!" she beamingly exclaimed, while pump-handling the new-arrival's hand most im- pressively. "Si, hyar comes the hired man, Peter. Gin the team ter him, fetch along ther gentleman's carpetbag, and then come into the house. We're goin' ter have short- cake an' preserves fer supper." She even snatched the valise herself, and trotted with it back to the house, while Peter, the hired man, a starved- out-looking son of toil of the slab-sided, horny-handed va- riety, looked after the horses and stared hard at the guest. "Waal," continued the farmer, with another proudly comprehensive sweep of the hand, while following the old lady with his smiling guest in tow, "what d'ye think of her?" "Fine, sir, fine and buxom!" was the ingratiating re- sponse. "Doesn't appear half her real age, either. Prob- ably a good deal younger than yourself, I should say." "Thunder! you mean 'Lizer Ann?" "Yes, to be sure; splendid woman, good action, splen- did——___” "But I meant the farm." "Oh, ah!" pausing for a general survey. "Lies well, to be sure-almost sky-high, in fact. But isn't the-er -crop of stones a-er-somewhat superabundant?" "Yes, she's a lettel bony," cheerfully; "but, then, you ought to see how things grow-'specially oats an' timothy, [ тоб "No Man's Fool." ter say nothin' of the apples. And then, jes' look at thet view." In fact, this, the view, was the best thing about the place. It seemed to be all but on one of the roofs of the world, whence the outlook extended the eight or nine miles away beyond the Hudson to the west, and still further off into Connecticut on the east. "Mr. Gawker," threw but one glance over the amazing prospect, and then grasped his host's hand with a sort of inspired gasp. "Say no more!" he exclaimed. "It can't be beat! Why don't you build a hotel, calling it the Skyscraper? Or, perhaps, I will. But what is that stately, colonial-look- ing old ranch, so charmingly situated, down the road yonder ?" "That? Oh, that's the grange. wouldn't know what to do with it. But, my boy, you The bedbugs'd chaw you up at night, the rats by day! Thar's a reg'lar skunk nest back er ther cowshed- * "I see, I see! one of those tottery, tumblety old cribs not to be thought of. Here's my spot, right here-if I buy at all. Let that content you." And then Mr. Glebeman took his guest in to the pre- serves and shortcake in a highly satisfied state of mind. Fortunately, there were no children in the farmer's household, but then Peter, the hired man, was one of the family, and he was a whole infantile team in himself, as one might say. "I do hope," said the matronly 'Lizer Ann, in the course. "No Man's Fool." 107 of the meal, "thet this hyar Mr. Gawker isn't like them other dead beats ez purtended ter want ter buy our place, simply to skin ye outer you're bank account, Silas." And then she smilingly wiped her spectacles, which al- ways seemed to need wiping, and which stuck out most erratically from her dear old eyes a foot or more on one side, and an inch or two on the other. "Shet up, 'Lizer Ann, an' pass some more of them short- cake to Mr. Gawker!" reproved her good man, with be- coming sternness. And then, turning to the guest, he òb- served, apologetically: "Ye mustn't mind 'Lizer Ann. She's still dead sore on them bunco galoots; an', besides thet, mebbe her rheumatiz is beginning ter twang an' twitch a leetle extry." "My rheumatiz is all right!" snapped out the good dame, making a grab at the unruly spectacles again. "Guess I kin tork up ef I want to, can't I?” "Haw, haw, haw!" guffawed Peter, the hired man, with his mouth full. "Haw, haw, haw! Ho, ho, ho!" "You seem to be amused, my friend!" calmly observed Freshy Oliver, at whom the guffawing was exclusively di- rected. "What may you seem to think you are laughing about?" "Haw, haw, haw! Har! har" "That is right-take time-deliberate!" approvingly. "Don't overtax your powerful brainpan with a hasty and, perhaps, regrettable response. Now, then?" "Waal, then, mister," gasped and sputtered Peter, the hired man-who was always thus alluded to in full, never as either "Peter" or "the hired man" separately—“it's at 108 "No Man's Fool." the idee of your wantin' ter skin or bunco anybody, when -when you're so all-fired gawky an' fresh-lookin' your- self. Har, har, har! Haw-" But here the still smiling guest urbanely slipped the chair from under him, and the hayseed scoffer went down with a howl and a bump, his heels in the air, his head in a wooden bowlful of soft soap. "I'm rather proud of my freshness, ma'am," blandly ob- served the Gawk Detective to 'Lizer Ann, while the old farmer was collaring the capsized farmhand and kicking him out of doors. "It's a sign of innocence and true good- ness, see?" "Oh, la, sir," laughed the farm wife, righting her one- sided glasses afresh, "you mustn't mind Peter, the hired man!" "I don't." Here Mr. Glebeman returned to the family board, wrig- gling his boot toes and smoothing down his ruffled top- knot. "Peter, the hired man, ain't got no manners, sir," said he, apologetically. "It all comes of our makin' one of the fambly of him-liftin' him up outen his spere, ez ye mought say." "Pray, don't mention it, my dear sir," replied the hon- ored guest, composedly. "Perhaps he's like cider and applejack, and will improve with age." And the shortcake and preserves were resumed without another break. After supper the family cat was fed on a bowlful of skim milk, Peter, the hired man, looking decidedly rueful, î "No Man's Fool." 109 was permitted to reappear briefly in order to take out a lot of bones for the family dog, and the head of the house conducted family prayers and read a chapter out of the family Bible in a sing-song, stuffy voice, after which the guest was handed a lighted tallow-dip as an intimation that it was bed time. The sunset was still lingering in the rosy west, and there was the cluttering sound of retiring fowls in an adjoin- ing hennery. "I hope you're used to roostin' airly, sir," said Mr. Glebeman, already beginning to shed his boots and upper garments on the spot. "We uns be." "Yes, indeed," yawned 'Lizer Ann, with a last swipe at the unruly spectacles with one hand, while letting down what was left of her back hair with the other. "Thank Providence we ain't city folks! Airly ter bed an' airly ter 'rise! Thet's our gait!" "Good thing!" cheerfully assented the detective, and he permitted himself to be piloted off to a rather pleasant little bedchamber overlooking the barnyard and "all creation" beyond accordingly. He sat for some time at the open window, smoking and ruminating, with both his eyes and his thoughts fixed rather wistfully upon the handsome old grange homestead down the road. "How contemptuously the little Sauterelle would laugh at my thoughts," he said to himself at last. "For, instead of pondering as to effecting an introduction, she would doubtless claw right in among the handsome mother and daughters like a wildcat into a flock of fowl." IIO "No Man's Fool." Then, being weary and sore from his long bump on his host's hay wagon, he finally turned in and went to sleep. The considerate bedbugs, however, awoke him bright and early, and he was speedily abroad for a general out- look over his surroundings by the rising sun. Finding himself near the barn, after a brief but sufficient survey of the stonily, unattractive Glebeman acres, a rasp- ing, self-conceited voice called out to him: "Waal, mister, hev ye 'bout decided ter buy the ol' farm right off, 'r ter wait till arter breakfast? Haw, haw, haw !" Freshy Oliver came to a smiling pause before the speaker, Peter, the hired man, who was engaged in feed- ing the stock, or had been, until getting himself in trim for the evolution of this amazing pleasantry. The fellow, as seen by broad daylight, was an excep- tionally uncouth young rustic of the ultra slab-sided, hob- bledehoy pattern, but with blinking, treacherous-looking, little eyes, and a general air of combined self-conceit, secretiveness and effrontery that was more agreeable from an artistic than a psychological point of view. "Still at it, still facetious, eh?" queried the detective, amiably. "Still what?" guffawed the other, boisterously. But here he was unexpectedly doubled up by a playfully pugilistic dig in the ribs, and stood on his head in the swill-trough, after which the city visitor unconcernedly sauntered on down the road, humming an air. A few paces, and then the latter paused to admire the "No Man's Fool." III J fine old house and well-kept grounds of the adjoining Grange Farm, and which was yet more interesting. Two very handsome young women were standing at a pasture fence, laughingly regarding the unsuccessful at- tempts of a good-looking, citified young man to put the halter on a frisky bay filly, while another and equally hand- some young woman was smilingly contemplating the group from the house. "Hello, Gawker!" called out the young man, on perceiv- ing the Gawk Detective; "can you capture a mare as well as you can a hayseed with a farm to sell and money in the bank? Then come over here and lend me a hand." Then the detective perceived that the young fellow was his green-goods acquaintance, George Dixon, otherwise Gentleman George. The young woman had also looked around, laughing. "I'm in the swim," said Freshy Oliver to himself, as he smilingly entered the gate and approached the pasture bars with a discreetly admiring bow for the piazza young lady in passing. "How do you do, Mr. Dixon?" said he, entering the lot with another admiring bow for the immediate on- lookers. "Whatever my success in the other direction you hint at, I may be able to assist you with the little mare yonder. Let me have the halter, if you please." He took it, pretending to pick up something particularly appetizing, such as a lump of salt, or sugar, with his dis- engaged hand, and then, extending that before him in a softly inviting manner, walked directly-toward the re- fractory animal. 112 Pretty Bessie. 7 } The latter sniffed the air curiously, snorted, whinnied, and then, licking the extended hand a little disappointedly, submitted to the halter as agreeably as could be. "Bravo!" cried the three young ladies at the fence, the one on the piazza having joined the others. "Gawker, you're a trump!" said Gentleman George. "Where did you get that trick from?" "From the gypsies," was the reply. "It is a very old one with them." * And then he was introduced to the young ladies, who were the Misses Dollie, Mattie and Bessie Lestrange, re- spectively. Their handsome mother likewise came out of the house, to take part in the introduction, a few minutes later; of course, without suspecting the visitor's identity with the bicyclist who had followed and exchanged compliments with her on the previous day. CHAPTER VIII. PRETTY BESSIE. "We saw your arrival last evening, Gawker," said Gen-" tleman George. "Don't be ashamed of it," with a laugh, in which the ladies indulgently joined. "The old chap has got the real stuff, even if two or three others before you have failed to crook him out of it." Pretty Bessie. 113 1 This was said with a knowing grin and a motion of the thumb that were sufficiently significant. "I really can't follow you, Mr. Dixon,” replied the de- tective, with an extra innocent and unsophisticated look which elicited another amused laugh all around. "Ha, ha, ha! But don't think we're overcritical here. And it's at your own old specialty, too." "Which is, perhaps, as good as green goods, at a pinch, Mr. George," quietly. "Hur!" said Gentleman George, a little taken aback. "However, everything ought to be safe with you?" "Of course," reassuringly. "Perhaps all this is naughty business, that we women should not listen to," here interposed Mrs. Lestrange. "But there is our breakfast bell, which, in that case, is a fortunate interruption." So Freshy Oliver took this as a hint for his departure, which he took accordingly. He, however, took away with him what he deemed an amiably lingering, parting glance from the beautiful, black eyes of Miss Bessie, the youngest, and, perhaps, prettiest of the girls. "For scrupulously honest ladies," he thought to him- self, "they were charmingly indulgent of that rascal's ex- ploiting me as a professional crook.” At breakfast he was so gently enthusiastic over the beauties and possibilities of the Glebeman Farm, that both his host and hostess were in high good humor. "Still," the old farmer ventured to say, in a genially remonstrative way, "thet Lestrange Big Four ain't all 114 Pretty Bessie. what they mought be cracked up ez bein', an' ye mought hev been in a leetle airlier, Mr. Gawker, fer our before- breakfast prayers." "Really sorry to have missed 'em," said the guest, with contrite mendacity. "Haw, haw, haw!" burst out the irrepressible Peter, the hired man, who seemed to be ineradicably en famille, in spite of his numerous delinquencies. "Har, har, har!" "Hello! you again?" said the detective, giving him a look. "And what now?” "Wall-er-" mumbled Peter, momentarily abashed, "the-er-mere idee of the Big Four a-bein' any ac- count!" Shortly afterward, the detective suddenly asked his -host: "Why do you call your lady neighbors the Big Four?" "Waal," was the chuckling reply, "thar's four of 'em, an' they're all big gals, ain't they? "Tleast, hearty an' well growed?" "Yes." "What more would ye hev, then?" "Never have any business relations with 'em, you?" was the next question. "Bless an' save us, no!" exclaimed the farmer, but not without some confusion. "Sech a question!" "Look here, my friend! You must know that I could only think of buying your place here-ultimately, if at all -for my mere amusement ?" "Waal, yes; shed say so," scratching his head. "And you can't take me for such a fool as to imagine Pretty Bessie. 115 that these stony, God-forsaken hilltop acres here can afford you a decent subsistence, I hope?" "Waal, thar's apples." "Precious few. Half your orchard is dead, and the rest long past its prime." "Oats'll grow bang-up." "Enough for your own stock to consume, and no more." "Thar's hay." "Your only sure crop, and that a drug in the market at most times." The old fellow began to feel nettled. "Waal, thar's other things thet a man kin engage in on ther sly, I reckon," he blurted out, seeming to regret the words as soon as spoken. "Ah!" "I say, mister," said the old fellow, sturdily, "if you do buy my farm you don't buy me along with it, nor my ol' "woman 'Lizer Ann, nuther. Now, I'm goin' ter town 'ith some more hay." "And I'll ask you for the loan of your shotgun in the meantime," observed the guest, with his best-natured laugh. "I might sight a few squirrels in the woods over yonder." Mr. Glebeman nodded and climbed on top of his load of hay with his good humor apparently fully restored. "'Lizer Ann'll give ye the gun, sir," he called out, taking up the lines. He drove off, the hired man disappeared in the barn -without any guffaw or comment, for a wonder, and even 116- Pretty Bessie. with a suspicious hurriedness, it struck the observant de tective-and the latter strolled back to the house. Freshy's suspicions were fully upon the alert, and all around, as will have been perceived. He got the gun of the old woman, but only made a pre- tense of going out with it. Slipping upstairs into his room, unobserved, he seated himself at the window on watch. What could Peter, the hired man, be doing? There was no sound or other indication of his being at work, and yet he had hurried into the barn, as if duty pressed, carefully closing the great door behind him. "Ha!" With the aid of an excellent fieldglass, which the de- ´tective took out of his valise, he presently located his man. He was in a sort of overgrown orchard angle that jutted into a cow pasture just back of the barn, and which seemed to be masked away by wild grape and other vines. From as much as could be glimpsed of him, the fellow was not at work, but occasionally gesticulating as if in earnest conversation with some one. "Ha!" again. That some one was a woman! A moment later the woman passed out from the farther side of the inclosure, and hurried away across lots in the direction of the Grange. A powerful, yet graceful figure, but with the head dis- figured by a hideous sunbonnet, and with an empty basket carried swingingly, in the hand. Pretty Bessie. * 117 Only her back could be covered by the eagerly leveled glass, but that was enough, in a general sense. It was one of the Lestrange young women. Then there was a half glimpse of the face, as the figure was disappearing, and the detective caught his breath, per- haps with angry surprise, for the instant, It was Bessie, whose pretty black eyes had given him that pleasantly remembered parting glance of a few hours previously. "Anything worth shooting over in the woods yonder?" he asked of Peter, the hired man, while sauntering leisurely down the road a few minutes later. The fellow had just reappeared out of the barn, a stable pail in one hand, a broom in the other, and a cut-and- dried air of interrupted employment all over him. "Not at this season, sir," was the newly respectful re- sponse. "The game laws is ag'in it-'cept fer squirrels." "Ah, well; squirrels will do at a pinch," and the guest passed on. No one was on view as he went by the Grange, but he was not surprised to perceive Gentleman George calling and running after him. "There's nothing to shoot round here, Gawker," said that young man, on overtaking him. "Ah, indeed! Well, carrying the shooting iron will be healthful exercise in itself." The green-goods exquisite laughed good-naturedly. "Do you always make such an elaborate set for it crooking your arm?" he said, suggestively. 118 Pretty Bessie. "I always go about my business in just my own way, Mr. Dixon.” "Pshaw! don't be fashed, old fellow." "I'm not." And they sat down by the roadside to- gether. "But you'll really find it a beastly bore to be hanging around old Glebeman's for any length of time," said Dixon. "Naturally; in fact, I'm finding it so already." "Why didn't you stop at Mrs. Lestrange's in passing, then ?" "I've not been invited to." "Humph! a mere oversight on the part of the ladies, I am sure. By the way, what do you think of them?" "Noticeably attractive, all of 'em, I should say." "But haven't you thought it odd, their knowing us- my crowd, I mean-and they being such respectable and refined folks, you know?” "Haven't thought anything about it. Bad men may have good connections-often do have, in fact. Besides, they may not know." "Yes, these do; but they can't help themselves." "Oho!" "Balder, you must understand, is the husband and father." Freshy Oliver didn't altogether believe this, or it is more likely that he didn't want to. As the husband-confederate of Mrs. Lestrange, the thought was probable and even tolerable enough, but as Pretty Bessie. 119 ** > the father of the young ladies, and of black-eyed Bessie in particular, it was irritating, to say the least. "Ah, indeed?" said he. "But they're bang-up, gentle and good, for all their knowing us. You must understand that, too," continued Gentleman George, somewhat painstakingly. "That goes without saying," observed Freshy Oliver, politely. “And discreet, too, no doubt.” "I wouldn't have introduced you this morning if that hadn't been the case"-with a laugh. "Of course." "The Glebemans don't seem to like their neighbors over- much," said the detective. "I should say not-talk of swine admiring or appre- ciating pearls!" "Of course," he added, "the yokels have spoken to you of the ladies as the Big Four, eh?" "Yes." "Ah, I thought so. Well" with a laugh-"of course they are such, but in a high-toned sense, altogether be- yond the conception of those lunkheads." "Doubtless." "Ever croquet or tennis any?" asked Mr. Dixon. "Oh, yes, on occasion." "Suppose you take a hand on the Grange lawn this afternoon ?" "Did the ladies suggest your inviting me?" "'Course." "Thank you, then; I'll come." Freshy Oliver merely made a pretense of looking for 120 Pretty Bessie, game, and towards the middle of the afternoon put in an appearance at the Grange accordingly. No game was in progress as yet, and Miss Bessie was not with the group who were smilingly awaiting him on the shady lawn. Her absence was explained by one of the sisters saying that she had ridden to the village of Mount Kisco di- rectly after dinner, but would soon return. In fact, and even before the detective could enter the gate, the anticipated return was brought about, but in an unexpected way. There was a hurrying clatter of approaching hoofs, flurry of alarm among the ladies, and then Miss Bessie came flying along the road, still clinging to the run- away bay filly's back, but with the saddle turned under, and in imminent danger of being unseated, to her serious injury. There are several ways of essaying to stop a runaway horse on the part of a pedestrian. The best-which Freshy Oliver, being already in the road, adopted forthwith-is to run along with the ani- mal, almost at parallel, before closing in diagonally and scizing him by the bits, with a gradually but power- fully exerted pull or drag. Our detective friend was fortunately able to put this in practice in the present emergency. "Dear me, sir, how much you do know!" exclaimed Mrs. Lestrange. "How fortunate, too!" cried Miss Dollie. Pretty Bessie. 121 "It's romantic, I think," said Miss Mattie. "And how unexpected, too!" "In what way?" laughed Dixon. "Or why don't you tell Gawker outright that he's too much of an innocent for such a thing to be expected of him?" "George Dixon, you're a brute!" and Miss Dollie col- ored up. "I meant nothing of the sort." They were all out in the road now, where Freshy, hav- ing pulled up the runaway, was holding Miss Bessie for one embarrassingly delicious moment in his arms, while assisting her to the ground. The young lady, while disengaging herself, was blush- ing furiously, and with no little anger, too, for, now that the danger was past, the others were laughing, guyingly. Then there was another laugh, and Bessie hurried into the house, accompanied by Mrs. Lestrange. "Easy enough to thwart a runaway when one only knows how," observed Freshy, patting the still nervous filly, as a hostler came up to take charge of her. "A splendid little animal, too; and I hope she is not ruined." "Why, she hasn't a scratch!" said Dixon. would ruin her?" "What "Running away. A horse seldom forgets the pleasur- able delirium of it, and it is apt to become a habit." Bessie quickly reappeared with Mrs. Lestrange, her composure thoroughly restored, and a little later on all hands enjoyably engaged at lawn tennis and croquet. Here, also, the superficially gawk visitor proved him- self as unexpectedly graceful and proficient as in man- aging runaways. 122 Pretty Bessie. "You must stay and take tea with us, Mr. Gawker," was the cordial invitation of Mrs. Lestrange and her two elder daughters at the close of the game. Dixon was more lukewarm in his accompanying smile, while Bessie studiously abstained from looking or say- ing anything. However, the invitation was politely declined, for old Glebeman had just scowled darkly upon the group while driving past with his empty hay wagon. "I really can't think of it, at least for the present,' said Freshy. "The old fellow would think me booked for the purchase of your fine old place here instead of his stone heaps. And then"-with a comical look of real concern-"what would 'Lizer Ann say, not to men- tion Peter, the hired man?" He took his departure amid the laugh that followed. There was a tree-bordered rise in the road midway back to the Glebeman house, and here Freshy Oliver came to pause while looking after Gentleman George, who had accompanied him thus far. "The conceited, self-satisfied rogue," he muttered, be- tween his teeth. "I wonder if he has been telling me the truth, or only his jealous boasting, with regard to Miss Bessie. Couldn't one of the elder sisters Curse him! Curse him! have served his turn? However" He was turning away moodily when something ar- rested both his attention and suspicions afresh. It was Miss Bessie herself proceeding alone back across fields from the Grange house grounds towards a wild and heavy stretch of timber to the northward. Pretty Bessie. 123 ( He recognized her at once, though he could only see her back. She wore the disfiguring sunbonnet, and was again carrying a basket, as on the previous occasion, only the latter was now carried carefully and seemed to be packed full, with a napkin tucked over its contents. Suddenly a happy thought flashed over his mind like a revelation. "She was probably returning from a similar errand this morning when she made the detour to communicate with Peter, the hired man!" he exclaimed to himself. "And whom can she be carrying provisions to now but to Daisy Maylands, the stolen child-doubtless snugly hid- den away somewhere over in that gloomy forest belt. Humph!" He felt so chipper and gay, in fact, that both the farmer and his wife smiled up out of the moroseness with which they at first regarded him on his joining them at the supper table. "Hey, then?" cried Glebeman joyfully. "But mebbe ther Big Four wasn't tryin' ter sell thet played-out old Grange place to ye to-day?" "Oh, to the deuce with their Grange!" said the guest lightly. "Fine women, all of 'em-no denying that. But, then, what could I do with such an expensive and spread- out old place as that? Yes, ma'am, just a few more of those fried potatoes, if you please. And somebody knows how to cook 'em to perfection, too." 'Lizer Ann was so nervously pleased that she took both hands for the everlasting readjustment of her spectacles, 124 Pretty Bessie. while Clodhopper Peter idiotically haw-hawed and har- harred to his heart's content and without reproof. But the detective was, nevertheless, of a growing con- viction that the seemingly simple and innocent house- hold would justify no little watching either on its own account or in connection with its more pretentious neighbor. "Any more mysterious robberies?" he carelessly asked of the farmer, on yawningly accepting his tallow-dip for retirement. "Not ez reported 'round about Tarrytown," was the response. "Mebbe the ornery cusses hez got tired 'r skeert, an' lit out fer fresher fields an' pastur's new." The guest did not long linger with his cigar at the open window of his little room that evening. He turned in early, trusting to the bugs to arouse · him betimes. They did not do so at first, however, though doubtless with the best of intentions, and Freshy had no occasion to complain of their substitute as a warning-giver. The latter was none other than Peter, the hired man, who stealthily entered the room to ascertain if the oc- cupant were sound asleep or not. Duly deceived on this point, thanks to the cleverly counterfeited slumber on Freshy's part, the intruder stole away as stealthily as he had entered. There were cautious movements in the living room be- low as he silently arose and dressed himself in the dark. He struck a match, however, in order to consult his watch, which marked two o'clock. Pretty Bessie. 125 There was faint starlight, and as he passed to the window, the farmer, his wife and Peter were quitting the house for the barn by the aid of lanterns carried by the woman and the hired man. The detective was silently out of the window, down on the ground, and upon their track, thoroughly "heeled" for anything that might happen, in as little time as it takes to describe it. Back of the barn, whither his sleuthing pursuit of the trio led him forthwith, even a greater revelation than he could have looked for was awaiting him. A well-covered wagonload of freshly stolen property, driven by two masked robbers, and escorted by two others on horseback, was awaiting its no less criminal receivers at the little vine-grown orchard cover, a side of which was already open, revealing a cunningly con- cealed subterranean storehouse within. No words were exchanged, save in occasionally mut- tered monosyllables, while the work of transferring the plunder was being expeditiously effected by old Glebe- man and his hired man, 'Lizer Ann meanwhile lighting them to their task with the lanterns. But in the course of the work the robber leader, who one of the two on horseback, momentarily un- masked, either through inadvertence or for comfort's sake for the night was sultry, without a breath of air -and a ray of light fell upon her face. The face was that of Mrs. Lestrange! Much as he might have vaguely suspected something of the sort, the spying detective was astounded. 126 The Passion of a Man for a Maid. The mysterious Big Four of the countryside pillagings and highwayman exploits and the fair Big Four of the Grange Farm were identical, and the seemingly unso- phisticated trio of the stony farm adjoining were their criminal confederates. ASSIO CHAPTER IX. THE PASSION OF A MAN FOR A MAID. His previous checkered and criminal life had not been without its flitting and feverish tendernesses. But until he had first set eyes on Bessie Lestrange, only the previous day, he had never felt the stirrings of the tender passion in its best and purest form. And now? It had been bad enough to suppose her as possibly the daughter he couldn't really believe it even yet-of Bad Man Balder, his mortal and hereditary foe. And now to think of her as a masked robber, of a robber family, and as a common criminal. However, if Freshy had gone to sleep as the thought- tortured lover, it was once again and solely as the shrewd and cold-blooded detective that he rose for the business of the day. "Have you any fishing tackle?" he asked of his host, directly after the early morning meal. "If I found nothing to shoot in the woods down below there, I at The Passion of a Man for a Maid. 127 least saw some trout in the brook that wanders through it, and would like to try for a few of 'em.” The tackle was smilingly furnished him. The detective presently arrived in the wilder forest tract to the north of the two farms, into which he had perceived Miss Bessie disappear, with the loaded basket, on the previous evening. Here there was a path and a pool. "If one can combine pleasure with business, so much the better," said the Gawk Detective to himself. He chose his position on the craggy bank, hooked a fine trout almost at the first cast, and thence on divided his time between the sport and a conscientious watch out over the adjoining fields, with his partiality, if any, in favor of the latter. Then he drew a long breath of relief, but with a fresh gesture both of impatience and surprise. Bessie was coming at last, but with a companion, a man, and that man-Bad Man Balder! The detective was secure from observation in his nook at the poolside-he could see without being seen. Freshy followed them. Prudence and the crooked nature of the path com- pelled him to keep well back, so that the pair could not be kept continuously in view. At last, after momentarily losing sight of them, he came to a puzzled pause in his pursuit. Bessie was standing alone, and without the basket which she had been carrying, under the massing foliage of 128 The Passion of a Man for a Maid. several huge hemlock and chestnut trees, which mingled their wide-branching tops high overhead. Her companion had disappeared as unexpectedly as if the ground had swallowed him up. However, she was looking up expectantly, while pick- ing to pieces a handful of wild flowers, and with an oc- casional down-filtered sunbeam on her sweet, youthful face. The detective's mystification was but for a moment's space. "Remember," she called out, "I mustn't be long." Then the empty basket, accompanied by a few words in Balder's deep voice, fell at her feet from somewhere up in the leafy tops. "Bessie," called out a sweet, childish voice, also from on high. "Yes, dear," replied the young woman, picking up the basket. "Sha'n't you come up?". "Not this morning, dear." "Oh, do come up, Bessie !"-pleadingly. "Not now-another time, Daisy. You have uncle and Cousin Sam with you, dearest. And hasn't uncle given you the beautiful bonbons he brought you from the city ?" "Yes; but I don't care for uncle, and I don't care for Cousin Sam. I want you, Bessie." "Not now, but before long, darling." "Why don't you go, then?" called out Balder's voice, The Passion of a Man for a Maid. 129 impatiently. "Can't you see that you only fret her by lingering and dawdling?” The detective waited for no more, but hurriedly re- traced his steps. The fortune of accident was once again strangely in his favor. He had just time to change his angling position at the poolside to one in full view of the footpath as she came tripping lightly along. He looked up in admirably counterfeited surprise. Her own surprise, or rather alarm, however, was lit- erally staggering. She uttered a startled exclamation, turning pale as death, and then, her foot catching upon a hoisted root, she pitched forward and would have gone headlong into the pool had he not caught her in his arms. "You here? Oh, sir!"-her alarm continued as she swiftly disengaged and recovered herself. "But, really" -blushing-"this is this is" "Getting a trifle monotonous, perhaps, like the mule that kept stepping through the roof of Mark Twain's dugout, eh?" cried Freshy, with his bright laugh. "But never mind, miss. If my-contact is so very distasteful I can give up rescuing you henceforth." "I didn't mean that, sir"-still blushing, but reassured at last. "How long have you been here, pray?" "But a few minutes, right at this spot; but, then, I've been whipping around for some little time. Look here!" -displaying his captures. "They're just lovely! What a fisherman you are, Mr. 130 The Passion of a Man for a Maid, Gawker! George never succeeds in catching any. But these are splendid trout!" He forthwith tumbled them into her basket, saying: "You'll have a mess for dinner. Do take them! 'Lizer Ann" with a laugh-"would only spoil them in the cooking, I am sure." "Well, yes, then"-acceptingly. "But you must prom- ise to dine with us, then?" "Your mother and sisters- "" "Oh, you'll be welcome"-with her charming frank- ness. "I wouldn't ask you, if I didn't know it." "Thank you; I'll come gladly, Miss Bessie. But I'll be the only guest, I suppose?" "Yes-as a guest. But my father'll be there, and I be- lieve you already know him." "What! Mr. Balder?" "Well"-biting her lip-"he's Mr. Lestrange when here, which isn't often." After this their chat grew more familiar, so that the young man felt emboldened to ask: "Miss Bessie, is Mr. Balder-Mr. Lestrange, I mean- really your father ?" "Why shouldn't he be?"-with a laugh. "No family resemblance." "That's complimentary, though, since no one could be tempted to kill poor old popper for his good looks." "As anyone could you, however, and eat you, into the bargain.' Then he regretted his boldness until she accepted it good-humoredly. The Passion of a Man for a Maid. 131 "You haven't answered my question, Miss Bessie?" he continued. "Oh, about popper? Well, he's mamma's husband, any- way." "Ah! only your stepfather?"-eagerly. "That's all. enough?" But, bless me, young man, isn't that "I should say so." Freshy felt immensely relieved. "The deuce take that fellow, George Dixon, anyway." "Why?" asked Bessie, surprised. "He assured me to the contrary." "He did?" "Distinctly, even impressively." Bessie frowned, and then laughed, understandingly. "Ah, well, never mind"-with a nod. "George is a good deal of a fool." They were both sitting on the bank together by this time. "I want to bring another charge against him, though,” said Freshy. "But I wish, Miss Bessie, you would let me take your hand first?" "Must you before telling me anything more?"-merrily. "I would rather.” "All right, then." And her hand was carelessly confided to him accord- ingly. "He also assured me," continued the detective, with a pained and suspenseful look which he did not try to dis- guise, "that you were engaged to him." 132 The Passion of a Man for a Maid. She snatched back her hand, but in angry astonishment. only. "What! he-George Dixon-told you that?" Her eyes were stern, her soft cheeks paling with anger. "He did, and most seriously." "He speaks what is not true! He might have made up to Dolly, perhaps, and with a welcome, but, however". with an impatient gesture-"he'll answer for this." "Then you don't even care for him?” "That conceited little dandy? Never!" "Thank Heaven"-fervently. She gave one look into her companion's flushed face. "I must be going-really I must!" And she rose abruptly. But he rose with her, snatching back her hand, in spite of her dissent. "I love you!" he exclaimed. "I never knew what love was, didn't even believe in it, till I first set eyes on you! Bessie, listen to me. Crook and rogue and gawk as I am, or as you believe me to be” "Gawk!" she murmured, even while turning away and still struggling. "Who could think that of you? But really, sir, I must go-this isn't right! I-I__” "Not till you have given me a word, a look! Bessie, I love you, love you"-wildly, and with much more of the same sort. Then for a brief instant, and without knowing how it came about, he held her in his arms, unresisting, his kisses raining upon her face, his pulses bounding beneath the contact of her rounded and yielding form. The Trout Dinner. 133 Then she had snatched up her basket, with averted face, and darted away across the adjoining fields like a frightened deer. CHAPTER X. THE TROUT DINNER. The trout dinner at the Grange was not only a success, but also something of a surprise, for the invited guest. Not only was Balder there, as the head of the house, but so was Mr. Soapy Sam, whose presence, however, might have been expected. The latter's footing in the household seemed to be like that of Gentleman George-on an easy familiarity. Then, as one of the young women, Miss Mattie, was absent, the detective inferred that she might be keeping the little captive company in her treetop tower. Everybody was exceedingly agreeable, too, with the single exception of Dixon, who was lowering and frigid by turns, from which Freshy likewise inferred that Bes- sie had most likely given him the piece of her mind, as she had threatened. "Indeed, he was not long in catching a twinkle in her eye, which left him in no doubt as to this. "It's quite a surprise for me to find you here in the vicinity, Gawker, as you may well imagine," said Mr. Balder, with much bonhomie, in the course of the repast. "Though, of course, I had received a hint of it from 134 The Trout Dinner. Hooley here. Do you think you'll do anything with our neighbor ?”. "Can't say, sir," replied Freshy, with his champion in- nocent air, which renewed the laugh already started by the question. "Still the trial isn't costing me anything, even if we shouldn't be able to come to terms as to the price of his-er-stone yards. These real-estate deals are mighty uncertain, as you know. But, dear me! what are you all laughing at." "Oh, nothing at all, Mr. Gawker !" cried Bessie, for one, with her plump sides shaking, though she seemed to be really proud of him. "We shall welcome you as a neighbor, Mr. Gawker," graciously observed Mrs. Lestrange. "Your unsophisti- cation will be positively refreshing." "Bessie," said Dolly, reprovingly, though keeping her own countenance with difficulty, "if you don't stop gig- gling so idiotically, Mr. Gawker will-will be ashamed of you; and then what would you do?" "But maybe he won't," murmured Bessie, blushingly, mastering her merriment at last. Soapy Sam beamed benignly, Mr. Balder nodded, and the repast went on finely. Dinner over, there was an adjournment to the broad, vine-shaded piazza in front of the house, where the gen- tlemen lighted their cigars. "It's too hot for anything on the lawn yet," said Mrs. Lestrange, sinking into one of the great armchairs, and fanning herself; "so let every one do as one pleases. Bes- ( 1 The Trout Dinner. 135 sie, my dear, you may take a stroll with Mr. Gawker, if you wish." She held out her firm, shapely hand to the young man, significantly, as she spoke, while "Lestrange" himself looked on approvingly. "They've got me," thought Freshy to himself, with a variety of emotions. "I'm into it, up to the neck." He went off with Bessie up into an old orchard, and were no sooner well alone together than she turned brightly towards him, saying: "Do you know what I think of you, Mr.-by the way, what is you first name?" "Fletcher, or Fletch." "The first is the best. Well, do you know what I think of you, Fletcher ?" "Nothing bad, I hope?" "I think you are just splendid!" He made his grateful acknowledgements with kisses, and after this they might have known and loved one an- other for a long, long time, so gently and blissfully and youthfully happy were both. But Bessie was no less discreet than modest, and would not have the delicious stroll continue as long as he could have wished. An interview with Balder followed. To the detective's surprise and satisfaction, Balder began by saying, very seriously. "How did you manage to get on track of old Glebeman, as a possible 'subject,' Gawker ?" 136 The Trout Dinner. "I got a tip,” replied the other, with diplomatic prompt- ness. “What !”—suspiciously-"from Long Mike and Easy Hawkins, who had slipped up with him before?" Freshy Oliver had already mastered the details of the previous attempt to bunco the farmer. "Hardly," he replied, with a smile, "since they were nipped so shortly afterward for tapping that old Jersey- man." And then, in a cold way: "I really don't see how my tip in the case can particularly concern you, sir.' "" "Oh, of course not, since you got it anyway, and doubt- less from one of their pals," said Balder, no longer sus- picious, and perhaps even with some respect for the other's reticence. "But look here"-confidentially-"I blocked those fel- lows' game with Glebeman myself." "Ah!" "Or, rather, my wife did, under my instructions." "Humph!" "Don't jump to a conclusion, my boy," with a laugh. "We're going to help you out with the same game." "Ah, I see"-smiling. "Then you are no longer so neighborly disposed? However, I shall be much obliged to you just the same." "That's all right"-easily-"and neighborly be blowed! It is so, too, in a certain sense”—reflectively—“that is, in our determination to get rid of a neighbor who-who isn't longer to be trusted," with a keen look. "Do you begin to understand?” "Hardly." The Trout Dinner. 137 "I am going to tell you why," continued Balder, affably. "You must be told then, in the first place, that I have other irons in the fire-er-another racket-and right here- abouts, too-altogether apart from my-er-regular green-goodsing, as I might say. But perhaps you have suspected something of this sort already?"—with yet an- other suspicious look. "I have simply thought nothing about it," said the detective, with his most charming air of frankness. "Or I have merely supposed this pleasant and secluded house- hold here as representing your home life, with which I had and could have no concern whatever." "Or until you came to know Bessie, perhaps, eh?”—with a good-natured laugh. "Oh, that made a difference, of course. "" "Ah! but there is a side racket, and right here, as I have hinted. Quite sure you haven't tumbled to it, even by inference or suspicion?" "I don't know what you mean." "Good, then. And it isn't necessary to enlighten you, save in a general way, and as to the Glebemans." "I am all attention, sir." "They're into it-this racket-along with us. Or at least”—angrily—"they have been, so far, and we've about made up our minds to get rid of 'em.” "Ah! all of them ?" "Yes; including Peter. He's a hard nut, and one who has done time, though you'd hardly believe it. A good deal in your own old-time 'Freshy' line, though some- what overdone." 138 The Trout Dinner. + "I should say so! And the Glebemans themselves ?" "Hayseed money hogs, that's all." "And no longer considered safe for the 'racket,' eh?" "That's just it." "What has he in bank?" "Three thousand." "And will they be safer for you after I shall have scooped that?" "We shall simply kick 'em off the hilltop then"- smilingly. "Still, if they are in with you in your racket now?" "My boy, we shall have them just here"-with the sig- nificant thumb-screwing movement. "My wife holds a mortgage on their ramshackle farm, which shall be fore- closed on the instant that the old rats shall find themselves penniless. And, altogether apart from that, we shall simply have 'em dead, so that they dare not squeal!” "Aha!" "Your game, Gawker, your game”—with a hard laugh. "Besides, it'll be so much to your housekeeping account when you and Bessie make up your minds to consoli- date. We may retain that fellow Peter, who is not with- out his use, though I don't know about that. But our first care is to smash the old couple; and, as a first step, you must hurry up with your part of the programme." "All right. But why didn't it occur to you to make this same proposition to those other fellows, Murphy, Long Mike, and Hawkins?" Bad Man Balder winked and drew down a corner of his mouth, suggestively. The Trout Dinner. 139 "Those chaps? Well, if they could have trusted us, we weren't so sure of them. Understand? Besides, we hadn't quite made up our minds to this neighborly busi- ness just then.” "Good, then! Have you any points to suggest to me?" "Of course. But what had you determined up to this point yourself?” "Nothing definite. Haven't ventured even to mention the bank account as yet." "That is well. Let me see. What do they want for their farms?" "Four thousand dollars." "Have you agreed to take it yet?" "No." "Do so at once-this evening." "All right. Go on." "Agree to pay five hundred in cash, the rest, including an extra thousand, in a series of notes for five hundred each, at six month intervals, which my wife will indorse." "And the extra thousand?" "Is to enable you to borrow the old folks' three thou- sand in bank-to help you out with a bang-up railroad deal, for instance, or anything else that sounds and looks plausible." "Ah, capital!" "Isn't it? Then as soon as you are up and away with their cash, we can get the notes back, destroy them, and then light down on the couple like a thousand of bricks for the five hundred you shall have shelled out—just the amount of our mortgage-besides grabbing the farm, the 140 The Trout Dinner. 'deeds for which you will have deposited with us for safe keeping, and kicking 'em clean out of Whippoorwill." "Good! good! I shall temporarily disappear to-night or to-morrow morning accordingly, after agreeing to the -er-purchase." "Eh-what?" "To get the five hundred, you know." "Ah, yes, to be sure. I wish I could lend it to you, but that beastly affair of mine in New York, of which you must have heard something, has completely strapped me for the time being." + Here Balder cursed and swore terribly on his individual account, after which he continued: "But are you sure you can make the required raise in New York?" "I'll manage it," replied the ex-bunco operative, with a very confident air. "I was going to suggest," resumed Balder, thoughtfully, "that if you couldn't manage it we have an influential friend here or rather in Tarrytown-who might be in- duced to oblige you.' "A thousand thanks for the kind intention, neverthe- less, though there will probably be no need"-beamingly. "However, nothing like having two strings to one's bow. Who is it, if I may be so bold?" "You don't know him"-evasively. "Name's Solo- mons.' Matters being thus determined, Freshy, before taking his leave, hinted his sympathy as to the misfortune in the green-goods business, out of common politeness. > The Trout Dinner. 14ť At first it was like the flaunting of the proverbial red flag in the face of an enraged bull. Balder stormed and swore like a madman for a few minutes, after which he settled down into a more cynical form of savagery. "A put-up job!" he snarled, between his teeth. "But I'll be even yet"-working his hands-"with the detect- ive who put it up on us." "Detective! but are you sure?" "Dead sure-now!" "Then the Georgians who are reported to have done you up- "" "Georgians, nothin'!"-grinding his teeth. "The chief of 'em was a fly cop in granger make-up." "But how do you know this?" "No matter; but I do know." "Who was he?" "Doubtless a new hand; but of that I'm not certain yet. Curse him!"-a fresh outbrust of profanity. "Oh, but I'll spot the smarty yet!" " "Perhaps not till he has finished your business for you,' said the detective to himself; but he said aloud, with much earnestness: "I wish I could help you to a clew." "I have one already." "Good!" "It's it's a woman, who ought to have had a queer escape from the same fellow in Harlem, on the previous evening. At all events"-moodily-"she shall get me the clew, or I'll fix her.” Here the entrance of Mrs. Lestrange into the room * 142 The Trout Dinner. 1 where they were conferring put an end to the interview, and the guest took his leave. "Bessie," said he, while lingering for a few parting words with the young woman at the gate, "I shall not be able to see you again, perhaps for several days." And he explained the emergency to her in a few words. She rebelled at the separation for the moment, her face paling and the tears springing into her sweet, dark eyes, but quickly accepted it in a very sensible way. "Business is business, but if you must go, you must, Fletcher," said she, with a sigh. "Do not forget, though, that I love you, and that you carry my heart away with you." And she held out her hand in a simple, earnest way. They were in sight of others on the piazza, which pre- vented a good-by kiss. "Forget that?" he murmured, fondly pressing her hand. "Trust me for never, never forgetting it, my darling girl!"-which was nothing but his true feeling; and he went on up the road. At the wooded knoll already alluded to he met Mrs. Lestrange's coachman on his way to the house with a mended bridle on his arm, and who gave him a hard stare while nodding and murmuring a few respectful words in passing. Freshy didn't altogether like the stare, however, and turned to look after the fellow. He had noticed him several times before about the Grange, but never face-to-face, or very particularly, as in the present instance. The Trout Dinner. 143 "Where and when have I first seen that man?" mut- tered the detective, continuing his way. Suddenly the enlightenment flashed upon him, and it was the reverse of reassuring. "By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, slapping his thighs, "it's blackmailer No. 2, who followed La Sauterelle in her jump through Col. Mayland's library window. Can he have recognized me in turn? No, no, impossible! my ap- pearance was so absolutely disguised on that occasion." But the fellow's searching look lingered unpleasantly, for all that, and it was with more or less secret disquiet that he joined the Glebeman family circle at supper a little later on. He then made the business agreement with the old couple on the lines that had been suggested by Balder. They agreed to everything proposed, with scarcely dis- guised eagerness; it was arranged that he should have a horse and wagon for the trip to the Tarrytown Station directly after breakfast on the following morning, two days later he was to reappear for the purpose of perfect- ing the purchase of the farm-the deeds for which were to be in readiness-and obtaining the bank money on loan; and all would be serene. Then the detective went to bed. He arose at midnight, donned a disguise, stoie out of the house by way of his chamber window, valise in hand, and stealthily headed away for the wood in which the stolen child's novel prison house had been located. He had no sooner slipped into the skirting trees, how- { 144 The Captive Child. ever, when a glance back over the open fields caused him to pause. Four horsemen were approaching from the direction of the Grange. The masked marauders were once more abroad, but this time, doubtless, upon a simple highwayman enterprise. CHAPTER XI. THE CAPTIVE CHILD. They silently entered the woodland path in single file, passing within a few feet of the concealed detective, and were quickly lost amid the mazes of the wood. He followed on up the path until he came to the clump of trees he was in search of, the horsemen having passed on beyond it. While he was examining the clustering tree trunks, to discover the mode of ascent into the massing foliage over- head, he thought he heard a stealthy step behind him. Wheeling in a flash, with his hand on his revolver, he was only in time to see, or to fancy he saw, a figure vanishing swiftly among the dense shadows to the north of the clump. Fancy or reality? There was doubt enough to cause him considerable un- easiness, but he continued his examination with additional precaution. The Captive Child. 145 1 } Save for a fortunate chance, however, it would have been wholly without result. A noise from the interior of the largest chestnut trunk then attracted his attention, and he drew back. A cunningly contrived door opened out of the foot of it, and a man-Bad Man Balder himself-stepped into view in the dim light. He closed the opening behind him, and strode rapidly away in the direction of the Grange Farm. The door of the hollow tree had closed with a barely perceptible snap, indicating a spring lock. The detective discovered its secrets after a brief search by the aid of a pocket dark-lantern, whose little bull's- eye beam he turned on for the purpose. In obedience to a pressure, the door opened to him. Within was a rough, dark hollow space, with the lower end of an upright ladder revealed at one side. He entered, closing the door behind him, turned on more light, and after a swift examination of the rough interior, promptly and stealthily began the ascent. A climb of forty feet or more up through the hollow or half-hollow stem brought him out upon a rude but staunch-built artificial platform. It formed a considerable area, reaching out and se- curing itself among the adjoining treetops, which had been partly cleared away for the purpose. Thick masses of rustling foliage were everywhere be- low; above was the starry sky, seen through the arching leaves, fluttering and murmuring in the summer wind. At the further end of the staging there was a little 146 The Captive Child. ? house, or cabin, almost hidden away in greenery, but with a light twinkling from its single window. It looked like a mere toy house at first, built there by whimsical fondness for some spoiled children to play at housekeeping in. But, as the detective stealthily approached it, full of exultation, and not doubting for an instant that the stolen girl was already in his restoring possession, it proved to be larger and more substantial. "Aha! Balder is no fool!" he thought. "A capital pro- vision against the bloodhounds of the law in case of need!" He entered, and found himself in a comfortably fur- nished room, lighted by a small reading lamp. There was an adjoining room, from which there came the soft and regular sound of a sleeper's breathing. The captive child, without a doubt! The investigator crossed the intervening threshold on tiptoe. A feminine figure, fully dressed, was extended in slumber upon a couch, the face turned away, the form but dimly outlined in the subdued light from the main room. How to awaken and make himself and his mission known to this little captive, without causing her exces- sive alarm-that was the first consideration. Nevertheless, the detective was full of professional sat- isfaction, to the exclusion of aught else, as he approached the bed. A board creaked under his tread. The sleeper-not a child, but a woman-awoke on the The Captive Child. 147 instant, and, sitting up, confronted him fearlessly and resolutely after a preliminary start. It was the detective himself who was most thoroughly surprised. "Bessie! you?" he exclaimed, involuntarily. "Yes, Fletcher !"-with a smile. "What, you recognize me?" "Yes, even if you had not spoken. You have taught me to love, Fletcher, and the eyes of love are keen. But I alone have suspected you from the outset; I feel sure of that, so do not be alarmed for the safety of your se- cret, dearest." "You-you have suspected me of being" "Well, if not exactly of being a detective-which I now divine at least of being other than you pretended!"- she had risen, smoothing down her dress and hair. "Come into the next room." "Wait, Bessie"-detaining her with a wandering ges- ture, for he was still bewildered between disappointment and joy. "One minute! Where is the stolen child?" "Gone!" "But she was here when" "When you must have tracked me to the clump from the trout pool? Yes; but here no longer, as you per- ceive." "Balder- "Does not quite suspect you, but took the alarm from your having possibly whipped along up the brook to this - vicinity. He takes no chances. The child was moved ร 148 The Captive Child. elsewhere by his instructions-Mattie effecting the trans- fer-while you dined with us." "Where is the child?" "I shall not tell you." "No." "No. I love you, Fletcher"-gravely—“but I cannot, will not be a traitress to my friends." "Ah!" His deep dejection touched her. "But you have missed," she said, "an opportunity of finding out for yourself." "I?" "Yes." "But how?" "How have you found your way up here in this nook? Doubtless, by spying below and seeing Balder-Mr. Le- strange-issue from the hollow tree-no?" "Just that." "Ah! he was reading and writing in there when I fell asleep. If you had but followed him!" "What then?" "You would doubtless have been led direct to his new hiding place for the little girl." He made an impatient gesture, but not so regretful a one as she might have expected. "Still," he said, "Balder disappeared in the direction of the Grange." "That is no difference; though, of course, he would not be so foolish as to have the child in keeping there." "And you will not, cannot tell me?" 'The Captive Child. 149 "No, Fletcher." "Never mind, then, dearest." And, putting his arm around her, he led her into the lighted apartment, with such a great, unalloyed joy for the moment in his face that she was both puzzled and surprised. "We are not likely to be disturbed here," she said, kissing him, as they sat down by the table together. "Still I hardly understand you, Fletcher." "Why?-because I am not more disappointed, exas- perated even?" "Yes." "That in its place, and plenty of it, too! But I have no room for anything but joy now, Bessie." "Just because I love you and you love me?" with a happy blush. "Yes; but for something more." "What?" "Just for the happiness of finding you here." "But you don't even ask why I am here?" "I don't mind, I don't care! You are here, and not away with them-with those others—those bandits !" "How?" in real surprise. woman "No matter. You are not one of them. That is enough. Heaven be praised!" "But-woman-bandits?-away with them? I really don't understand.” Could it be that she was even happily ignorant of the the t 簍 ​150 The Captive Child. whole thing? Better and better! But he could hardly believe it as yet. 4 - Freshy Oliver drew the young woman yet closer to his side, and kissed her gently. "Tell me, first," said he. "Are you often sent to sleep here?" "Yes; sometimes as often as every other night; some- times two or three nights in succession, but that is rare; and occasionally but once or twice a week." "Good! good!” "Thank you"-laughing-"but I really don't object to it. I am rather solitary by preference-or have been un- til quite lately"-with a pretty blush-"and then, when the sweet little girl, Daisy, was here, I was fond of being much and so often with her." "Ah! you don't understand. But how long have they pursued this system of seclusion with you?" "Oh, well, let me see. However, by they, I suppose you mean my adoptive mother and sisters ?" "Good Heaven!" exclaimed the detective, with new joy and wonder. "Say it again, my darling, say it again!" "What do you mean, Fletcher ?” "She is not your mother, they are not your sisters then ?" "No; only by adoption. But I have long since almost forgotten it to be so, they have always been so good and so kind, but also at times"-hesitatingly-"so mysterious." The young man clasped her in his arms. "Your own parents?" he next demanded. "I have never known them. Almost my first infantile The Captive Child. 151 recollections are of my present mamma and sisters-in the West-in Kentucky. And they have always kindly, but firmly, refused to enlighten me as to my extraction." "Why, you yourself may have been a stolen child!" "I have sometimes thought so, but I have no reason to complain." "Ah, have you not? But look here. Have you no in- fant garments or papers, nothing that might furnish you with a clew ?" "Yes. I may tell you more some day. Do not speak further of this, dearest." "All right. But just a few more questions, categorically, I beg of you." "Well, then?" "How long have they been secluding you in this way?" "For six or seven months." The mysterious depredations of the countryside had been going on for just about that time. "And you have never suspected their reasons for doing so?" "Only in a vague way. Of course, I've known all along that popper-Mr. Lestrange, Dixon and Hooley were bad .men, professionally engaged in dishonest and dangerous practices-though without knowing any particulars. It has occurred to me that I might have been thus sent away in pursuance of some secret work of theirs, in which it was not deemed safe to make a confidante of me. At first they contented themselves with shutting me up for the night in my room at the Grange, together with exacting a promise from me that I would not leave it. They knew 152 The Captive Child. I would keep my word, but then, perhaps, they didn't feel safe enough. At all events, they adopted the plan of sending me here." "Humph! and you suspect nothing more definite as the reason?" "Nothing whatever." "When and by whom was this mid-air roost built?" demanded Freshy abruptly, after a brief pause. "Several years ago, I think. The coachman, Jasper, is handy with carpenters' tools. And there were others to assist him, under Balder's instructions." "Then you have lived here long?" "Ever since mamma-Mrs. Lestrange-bought the Grange, six years ago." "And before that?" "In Kentucky." And Bessie gave some particulars of the prior residence. "Strange!" exclaimed Freshy, half to himself. "Who can the fourth one be?" "What do you mean, Fletcher ?" demanded the young woman. "The fourth what?” "The fourth masked robber." And he told her what he knew and had observed. There was no doubting the sincerity of Bessie's ignor- ance, strange as it might appear. She was thunderstruck. "What! mamma-Mrs. Lestrange-and Dollie and Mattie identical with those bold and successful marauders of which everyone has been talking?" she cried, in in- dignation and bewilderment. "But I see it all now-their The Captive Child. 153 growing adventurousness and boldness in talk and man- ner. Ah! and others of our household-Jasper, the coach- man, Sliney, the groom, and black Bob, mamma's page and tiger-are doubtless no better. Oh, Fletcher, and you could have thought me one of those masked riders?" -in real distress. "Forgive me, dearest! But then, think-can you blame me for the supposition ?" "No, alas, no!" She buried her face in her hands, but almost imme- diately looked up, her face pale and determined. "I shall leave them at the first opportunity," she ex- claimed. "Fletcher, whatever you may have been, you are now a changed man-honest? You will take me away?" "Yes, yes, and ask for nothing better!" was the de- lighted response. "But let us first deal with the imme- diate present, Bessie." "Ah, to be sure!" "Who, then, could have been the fourth masker, think you ?" "Let me see"-thoughtfully-"you only saw mamma's -Mrs. Lestrange's face?" "That is all." "And all the others impressed you as being women in disguise?" "Yes." "Ah! then the fourth one may have been Sliney. He is slender and graceful enough." "It couldn't have been Dixon ?" * The Captive Child. 154 "He wouldn't have the requisite courage and dash. Be- sides, you forget that he and Hooley are only occasionally at the Grange, while the depredations have been going on for months, almost without interruption." "True, true! Now, Bessie!" He turned to her with a new energy. "What is it?" "You will make your escape at once. You will start for New York with me this very night, and we will stop to pick up Daisy, the stolen child, at wherever place she may have been freshly hidden away!" "No, no, no!" Bessie protested. "Not so soon, not so suddenly and clandestinely. Bad as they are, they have been mother and sisters to me-I can be neither ingrate nor traitor. Not to be thought of.” "You already love me, Bessie?" "You know it. But-no, Fletcher, no!" "You would not doubt my honor?" "Not for an instant. But-no!" "The reward for the child's restoration-even my small share of it, to say nothing of what the Maylands might do for me individually-would give us our start in life, you and me." "No, no! at least, not yet." She remained unalterable, but as her detective-lover rose to go, she threw herself in his arms. "I will be ready when you next come to Whippoorwill, my own!" she exclaimed passionately. "Tell me that you trust me, that you are content!" The Captive Child. 155 "Ah! but, in the meantime, the little girl, the kidnaped child ?" "I will be answerable for her to you then-I swear it!" "I must be content, then. Good-by, dearest !"-kiss- ing her. "Wait! Remember, you are all I have now, Fletcher. When shall you return?" "Day will break in an hour or two," said Freshy, look- ing at his watch. "Yes; this is a Saturday." Freshy reflected that he had promised La Sauterelle her revenge by Monday. He also considered many other things in connection with her, with Bessie, with his duty, altogether. "I shall be back on Monday, doubtless early in the day," he replied. "But wait, wait!" she clung to him more anxiously as they were about to part. "You will resume your own character-dropping this disguise-before quitting the Glebeman's ?" "Of course! What a question!" "Bear with me, dearest. Now that you are all in all, to me, you don't know how anxious, how apprehensive I feel for your security." “Ah, a truce to that!" lightly. "But Lestrange-Balder-he can be so terrible, so re- vengeful on occasion." "Humph! So, perhaps, can I." “You are quite sure he has no cause to suspect you?” } $ 156 The Captive Child. "Not yet-certainly not!" "But be sure, be sure!" said Bessie, feverishly. "You have not mislaid or lost anything-a paper, a writing, or anything of that sort-that might possibly find its way into his hands?" "No, no, I think not. But look here, that's worth making sure of." And Freshy fell to looking over the contents of his pockets. He finished with an air of alarm. "By Jupiter! something is missing!" he exclaimed, re- peating the search, but without success. "What can have become of that letter?" "What letter ?" "La Sauterelle's-Madame Dechassez's. The one she addressed to me at my Greenwich Street lodgings. How- ever, it is gone." . "Who is La Sauterelle?" cried Bessie, her jealousy in- stantly on fire. "Fletcher, who is this woman?” He quieted her with a few words of explanation, and then affected to make lighter than he really felt of the letter's disappearance. "You are sure it couldn't have fallen into Balder's hands?" continued Bessie. "Pshaw! impossible. How could it? I probably dropped it in a downtown street, or perhaps on the train." "But, in case it could, might it then compromise you with him?" "Well, hardly, I think. But, in that case, Heaven pity the little Frenchwoman!" replied Freshy, uncom The Captive Child. 157 3 fortably. "But now good-by, dearest! I shall look to the matter instantly on my return to the city.” Their leave-takings were at last disposed of, however lingeringly, and picking up the valise which he had brought with him, the detective started to go. It was darker overhead than when he approached the cabin-darker with the added darkness that precedes the dawn. He gave her his last kiss at the door, and started across the staging for the tree-incased ladder-top. At the same instant a burly figure-the figure of Jasper, the prize-fighter-appearing coachman, knife in hand- suddenly rose out of the shifting shadows, directly in his path. "Traitor! detective-spy!" hoarsely shouted the fellow, springing full at Freshy's throat. "I'm for you!" Bessie uttered a scream, but her lover had already evaded the ruffian's murderous rush, tossed his valise over- board, and then closed with him on his least-guarded side with lightning-like dexterity and address. He could not avoid a slight scratch on the cheek from the fellow's dagger in the brief, twisting struggle that ensued. But, almost simultaneously, he managed to give him a stunning blow, at the same time back-heeling him in the clinch, after which he hurled him headlong into the leafy depths. There was a rustling crash of parting boughs and foliage, then a fall far down below. 158 Good News. Freshy, all but unruffled, hastened to Bessie, and put his arm around her reassuringly. "I shall have to hunt around for my valise down there," said he, producing his little dark-lantern and flashing its beam across the platform. "Shall you accompany me to the foot of the hollow tree, or remain here." "We will go down together," replied Bessie; and they did. The valise was found without any trouble, and unin- jured. Close beside it on the ground lay the motionless-figure of the would-be murderer, stone dead, with a broken neck. CHAPTER XII. GOOD NEWS. The lovers then separated, Bessie returning up into the cabin, and Freshy taking the back track for the Glebe- man's cottage, which he reached without further adven- ture or interruption. Reaching New York, Freshy Oliver was strongly tempted to make his first visit to the Dechassez estab- lishment in West One Hundred and Fourth Street, he was so concerned for the little ex-ballet dancer's safety in con- nection with the missing letter. But then his first duty was to his chief, and he also reflected that, in any case, with Balder still most prob- Good News. 159 ably lingering under his cloud at Whippoorwill, La Sau- terelle could scarcely be in any immediate danger. In his report to Chief Slinkerton, he was absolutely frank, without making the slightest reservation. To his surprise and gratification, his report was re- ceived with moderate approval. "Of course," commented the chief in his cold way, "it would have been better if you could have brought the kidnaped youngster back with you at once. "But even to have tracked her abductors to their lair for a dead certainty, is a big thing in itself. "And then, if the delay shall enable you to make a clean sweep of the other affair at the same time, why, even your softness in falling in love with the-er-young lady may turn out to have been not such an inexcusable folly after all. "On the whole, you've done well, Oliver, and I'm be- ginning to trust you more and more." "Oh, thank you, Mr. Slinkerton, thank you!" exclaimed the young man, fervently. "By 'the other affair'"- eagerly "I suppose you mean the Masked Four?" "What else? Hasn't the whole upriver district yonder been on pins and needles about 'em for months past?" "Yes, yes; and you give this case into my charge, too?" "Of course. Aren't you the first to identify and locate 'em? Woman bandits, to boot! Gad! but it'll be a sen- sation for the press. Then the standing rewards are heavy, which our agency might as well scoop in as any other." "I'll nab them, sir, I'll nab them!" 160 Good News. "Understood, sir. And now what am I to do about this bunco deal I am supposed to have entered into?" "Humph! Do you think you may have to carry it through, or half through?" "I hope not; but would like to be prepared to do so, in case of another unforeseen delay with the kidnaped child." "I understand. You shall have the funds, and be other- wise prepared against the unexpected." The detective only visited his lodgings long enough to make himself somewhat more presentable-though still re- taining his H. de Montague Gawker personation, as a matter of course-and then lost no time in calling at Maylands' Harlem residence. The old Kentuckian and his young wife were looking even more bereaved and careworn than on the previous occasion, but, nevertheless, looked up eagerly, all but hopefully, as Freshy Oliver was promptly shown into their presence. "Good news or bad, sir.?" cried the colonel, holding out both his hands, notwithstanding a twinging reminder from his gouty foot, while Mrs. Maylands started up with a poor little flush in her despairing face. "Which is it?- or nothing at all-simply a dragging, murdering contin- uance of this 'hope deferred which maketh the heart grow sick ?'” But the visitor speedily enlivened them up amazingly. "Good news, and nothing but good!" he cried, joyfully, it was such a pleasure to perceive the effect of his inspir- ing words. "Courage and patience but for a little time A Good News. 161 longer, my friends. Your child is traced, is practically found! It is only by the merest accident that I am not able to restore her at this very moment to your arms." "God be praised! God be praised!" repeated the old gentleman in a broken voice. His wife, after a swift, overbrimming look at the de- tective, could only clasp her hands speechlessly; but her lips moved as if she might be praying or thanksgiving in- wardly. The detective promptly told the story of his adventures without any reservation, save as to his love affair, which he, nevertheless, alluded to where necessary. The change wrought in the couple was so revolutionary and absolute as to make him tremble, lest some miscar- riage might yet occur to dash their anticipated cup of joy. Freshy Oliver remained at luncheon, all but in spite of himself. Then, while waiting for it, Col. Maylands manifested another mood. He became dreamy and sad, but as if over far- distant scenes, and Mrs. Maylands, while keeping up the conversation with their detective-guest, signed to the lat- ter significantly. "It seems the special form of misfortune the fate marks out for me-child stealing-the ruthless filching from me of my own flesh and blood!" sighed the old gentleman at last. "Yes, yes, dear; but never mind that now," interposed Mrs. Maylands, gently. "But why not, my love? Since it is such an old, old 162 Good News. wound, though, unlike this later stroke, incurable," and then he turned to their guest, saying: "You'd scarcely think, my friend, that this is the second misfortune of this sort that has been struck at my fatherly heart, would you ?” "You surely cannot mean, sir?" replied the detective, "that you had another child kidnaped in the past?" "I do mean just that; and in the distant past, too- nearly twenty years ago. Heigh ho! Like Daisy, also, an only child-by my first wife, who slowly pined and withered under the blow-though my lost, my kidnaped lit- tle one, my darling little Elizabeth-named after her poor mother, sir-was a mere infant, not more than two years old, when she was snatched from the bosom of our far Kentucky home-irrevocably, irrevocably, never to be heard of more! But it is such an old, old wound now, though still bleeding softly, still unhealed, unhealable !”— with another sigh. "And she would be a young woman grown by this time, if still alive.” The guest abstained from questioning his host as to the particulars, inasmuch as he saw that the subject was a painful one for Mrs. Maylands. But, during several brief absences from the room on her part, he could still gather something more, unso- licited, from the colonel's reminiscential and disjointed remarks. A woman had been suspected of the first, or earlier kidnaping, too, it seemed. A beautiful and vindictive woman, to whom May- lands had been engaged several years previous. As in Good News. 163 } his case, however, she had married another, but somewhat unhappily. And, notwithstanding that she had children of her own, her first love had changed to brooding and re- vengeful hatred-the 'love to hatred turned'—and it was generally believed that she was chiefly instrumental in the kidnaping. But it could never be proved against her. Money re- wards and detective work had been exerted in vain. The woman herself had finally disappeared, together with her husband-an adventurer, if nothing worse, with sinister antecedents-and her children, beyond trace and knowl- edge. And that was the painful end. Freshy Oliver, however, only took a polite or passing interest in this ancient misfortune, whose meager details had been rather thrust upon him than otherwise, and soon ceased to think of it. "Sir,” said Col. Maylands, grasping his hand when he was about to take his leave, "you have given us new hope, new joy. Only restore our darling to us by Monday, as you promise, or as you are so confident of doing, and— and-we sha'n't be able to do enough for you. By the Eternal, sir, I'll set you up for life!" The detective took away with him from this simple and yet refined hospitality such a feeling of blended satis- faction, disquietude, and brooding exasperation as per- haps he had never known before. He went directly to Madame Dechassez' house, and with all the more dispatch for having been so long and unexpectedly detained. As he ascended the house stoop, he looked at his watch. 1 I Good News. 164 "Past Saturday banking hours, anyway," he muttered -it was, in fact, between two and three o'clock. "Never mind. The chief will have arranged to have the money in readiness." There was the sound of a violin scraping out a lively waltz from somewhere within. "Ah, it is monsieur at last!" exclaimed the French maid, opening the door somewhat tardily to his ring. “Now it is unfortunate.” "What is?" inquired the detective, impatiently. "Is not madame, your mistress, at home?" "Yes, monsieur; and she is so anxious to see monsieur. But-" "Well ?" "It is a Saturday, and madame is head over ears with her principal dancing class. However, monsieur must not go. I will see, I will acquaint madame." She left him waiting in the hall passage, and darted down the basement stairs, up which the waltz music now ascended noisily in squeaky little gusts and snatches, in- terlarded with the shrill-called dancing figures and the rhythmic list of slippered feet, from below. There was a pause, then a resumption, and then the maid reappeared to say, somewhat archly: "Will monsieur mind stepping down below? Madame would not have monsieur impatient himself, and yet— Saturday afternoon-madame's advanced ballet class-all high-paying members" All right. Monsieur wasn't at all bashful; yet, monsieur would step below, and he accordingly did. A Lesson in Dancing. 165 The fair, if passée, La Sauterelle found time to nod her smiling welcome to him without interrupting herself in her erudite class exercises. She was her own musician, too. Fiddle going, feet and legs flying, she was leading the more or less expert antics of a dozen or more pupils-all young, some good-looking, others quite the reverse-all, including the preceptress herself, in a highly revelatory, half calisthenic, half ballet costume which was both ap- propriate and interesting. "Don't impatient yourself, I pray, dear monsieur," shrieked out madame between the slight pauses. "In a few minutes I can talk with you." Freshy courteously bowed his acquiescence, and looked about him observantly. CHAPTER XIII. A LESSON IN DANCING. The dancing hall was a long, large, low room composed of nearly the entire basement floor, except the narrow, com- municating side passage, the adjoining dining room and kitchen being by themselves in a rear addition. Gas furnished the illumination, the daylight being care- fully excluded by the close-shuttered front windows. The hard floor was brightly waxed and polished. Freshy was following their movements a little weari- edly, when he perceived one of the novices-none of whom ༣ 166 A Lesson in Dancing. he had yet noticed particularly-studying him with a strange look. Then he was astonished. The young woman thus watching him was none other than Mattie, the younger of the Lestrange sisters. "What does it mean?" he thought. "A spy upon the Dechassez, and sent by Balder, of course! Then she must have come down from Tarrytown but by a few trains later than mine. However, it isn't possible that she can have recognized me." "Dear monsieur, I will be rid of all these people in ten minutes," said Madame Dechassez at last. "You will have my little parlor all to yourself, if you will kindly await me there." "Certainly, ma'am," said the detective; and, nothing loath, he sought the seclusion of the little parlor ac- cordingly. Madame not only promptly made her appearance from the adjoining dressing room, but also duly freshened up, with her hair rearranged and in a very charming at-home toilet, which spoke eloquently for her or her maid's- dispatch in such ordinarily lingering and unpunctuated matters. "Monday was to be my day, you remember," said she, giving him her hand. "Therefore your coming to-day was something of a surprise, though an agreeable one.” “Yes, yes; but I'm glad to be here and to find you well -safe and well." "Safe? Why, of course I am! Ah, monsieur, mon ami, somethihas happened, you are disturbed?” 嘻 ​167 A Lesson in Dancing. } "It is nothing." "I know better. But what news do you bring me?” "Sit down and I will tell you." And as they seated themselves together, he continued, very seriously and even brusquely: "Listen, if you can without interrupting me, ma'am. My news for you, in a nutshell, is this: "I have seen and even made the acquaintance of the rival whom yoù so hate. "She is most probably his legitimate wife, and they have daughters, two young women grown. "It was doubtless she who was chiefly instrumental in kidnaping the missing child. "Be content, I will keep my word, and you shall have your revenge. "Probably within the time I promised, the woman and her daughters shall be in the clutches of the law as com- mon—or, rather, most uncommon and desperate crim- inals." La Sauterelle, considering her general good nature, was pitiless—a good deal of a tigress in her jealousy. She had listened with feverish exultation. "The woman's name?" she demanded. "I shall not tell you. There is no need." "But you promised me this as her doom?" "Absolutely—if nothing worse!" "Still- "" "Be content. You will know all in season; so will the whole world, for that matter." "Ah, well! ah, well! And he, Dechassez ?" The detective regarded her sternly and searchingly. 168 A Lesson in Dancing. "The Dechassez-Lavelle-Balder, arch-criminal!" he ex- claimed, contemptuously. "Yes, yes, I know." "You wouldn't dare plead or hope for leniency for him ?" "Ah, monsieur!" she hesitated, "when-when a poor little woman is alone in the world, as I am- "And can boss a dancing class, and tell fortunes, and clairvoyant, and quack doctor, and even star it again in the ballet, doubtless profitably, without being mixed up with professional crooks and thieves at all, should she so desire." "Still, monsieur" "But I see your face is only newly healed. You are possibly longing for a fresh beating, with a new pair of black eyes and the associate decorations." “Ah, monsieur, but he-he might treat me more kindly." "He will kill you just as soon as he is convinced of your compact with me in this matter, and he more than suspects you already." La Sauterelle turned pale. "Mon Dieu," she faltered, "if I thought that!" "I do not think, but know. His spy was in this house, participating in your exercises, under your very eyes, this afternoon !" "Impossible!" "Truth. That new pupil of yours?" "Yes." "She is the younger of your rival's daughters-here to spy upon you in Bad Man Balder's interest!" A Lesson in Dancing. 169 La Sauterelle wasn't one of the fainting sort—except in a strictly conventional way or she might have keeled over. As it was, she merely caught her breath and looked a little more frightened than before. To enforce his warning, Freshy narrated parts of his conversation with Balder at the Grange, besides stating other things of a confirmatory nature. "Heaven help me, I am lost," murmured the poor little woman, convinced at last. "Not if you make up your mind to be guided by me!" cried the detective, eagerly. "That is why I was so glad to be here and find you still safe and sound to-day." Madame burst into tears, and then all but threw her- self in his arms in her ultra-French or emotional way. "I am yours, monsieur, yours-I mean the automaton of your counsel and advice-from this moment!" she sobbed. "Ah, Monsieur de Montague, you must be one of those clever devils-I mean one of those protecting angels-that Heaven sends to poor, unfortunate and deso- lated little women like me in their bitter need. Speak! counsel! command!" "All right," said the detective, with his accustomed briskness. "That is right; turn off the stop-cock of your tears, for the time being, at least. Those secret cellar passages you were once good enough to hint about?" "Ah!" with sudden coldness. "Yes, of course," cheerfully. "You will at once reveal their secret to me. In fact, I am just in an investigating And after that I-" mood of that sort. 170 A Lesson in Dancing. "Ah, monsieur, you detectives! What enthusiasm for your profession! What a passion for research!" "And after that," he beamingly continued, "I shall at once take effective and permanent measures for your con- tinued safety here until-until they will be no longer ré- quired." "Monsieur!" said La Sauterelle, half kindly, and yet somewhat resolutely, too. "Yes, dear madame?" "I shall accept your protection-Mon Dieu, yes! and be grateful, extremely grateful for it." "Yes, yes; but don't mention it." "But I must decline to reveal to you those cellar secrets, at least for to-day." "Eh? how? what?" "Yes, monsieur." "Odd, though, for I've determined quite to the con- trary." "C'est impossible. Not now can I oblige monsieur with the exposition he requests. \ "When, then?" "What time is it?" "Five o'clock." "At this hour to-morrow, then." "But why not to-day?" "Monsieur, I must not tell you." "Good! I am done with you." He rose abruptly. "Madame you will consider our compact at an end." But she was already grasping his arm, and all but kneel- ing to him in her terror. A Lesson in Dancing. - 171 བ "Oh!" she cried, wildly; "but you will not, you would not abandon me to-to the peril you have warned me against ?" "Wouldn't I?" buttoning up his coat. "Ah, but monsieur-dear monsieur !" "Enough of all that, if you please!" But she continued to plead so abjectly that he made a pretext of half relenting. "Ah, well; will you be reasonable, then?" "Yes, yes-as reasonable as I dare!" "A truce to this folly! Why can you not show to me the cellar secrets now?" "I can trust you, monsieur, with-with yet another confession?". "Absolutely." "Monsieur, there-there is stolen property there, to vast amount-in the inmost crypt." "So much the better!" "No, no!" in fresh confusion; "but it is not his. At least, he is not the chief owner, who-who may be here to-day, to-night, in the morning-at almost any unex- pected hour-to demand of me his periodical view of his treasure." "Yet another one, eh?" "Ah, yes!" "And yet another bien aime-dearly beloved one-with- out a doubt?" sarcastically. "Ah, monsieur, spare me!" The blushes, which she turned her head away to hide, were a sufficient answer. 1 1 + 172 A Lesson in Dancing. "Enough of this, madame!" said the detective, sternly. "Who is this man?" "I cannot-must not-tell you." A suspicion of the truth, however, had already come to him. "I will answer for you, then. It is the ex-pawnbroker and thieves' fence, Solomons, the sporting Jew, of Tarry- town." "How did you know?" fearfully. "No matter. And you expect him at any moment, eh?" "Yes, yes; he never gives warning-always comes un- expectedly." 1 "I don't believe a word of this." "Monsieur, you wrong me," she said, with forced com- posure. "Wait! I will show you the way to the crypt, but not into it. There are many inner doors, many twists and turns; we might be surprised in there, in which case, Heaven itself could not help or save us." "How?" "There is dynamite-a touch of a hidden spring, from without and behind, could blow us-this entire house and its contents-to atoms." The detective reflected. "And if I content myself with what you propose," said he, "you will reveal all to me to-morrow evening at five?" "I swear it!" "Lead on, then.” She seemed now to be in feverish haste, as if prompted by a haunting fear. Disappearing a moment in her dressing room, she re- A Lesson in Dancing. 173 turned with a warm wrap about her shoulders, and led the way without a word down under the basement floor into the cellar, where she obtained a lantern and lighted it. The servants-there were two, cook and housemaid, be- sides Justine, the femme de chambre-could be heard mov- ing about in the kitchen and other offices as they de- scended. It was an ordinary-looking cellar-dry, airy, wine- racks at one side, coal heaps at the other, and even with a little daylight finding. its way in at either end. But La Sauterelle promptly, though still fearsomely, advanced to the center of the cemented floor, and stamped her foot. A large, heavy trapdoor opened silently, showing a flight of steps. With a last timid look back over her shoulder, she mo- tioned her companion to follow, and began the descent. They reached a broad and long sub-cellar passage, ap- parently cut out of the natural rock, which, though dry, glistened with apparent moisture at either side. "That is not water, but niter," muttered the woman, tightening the folds of her wrap with a little shiver. "Allons!" But there was little more to see. She merely led the way to a blank wall, also apparently of natural rock, at one end of the blind passage, and pointed toward it. "It is in there," she said. "What is ?" "The the everything." 174 The Kidnaper. "Is this all you can show me now?" disappointedly. "Yes, yes!" her trepidation was increasing. "Come back now!" turning. "Ah, Mon Dieu! if we should be tracked, discovered!" "Nonsense! Wait! have you the means? but is a key required ?" "Yes; there is a key. Oh, if” "Have you brought it with you?” "For you to insist on its use? No; I was too clever for that. Quick, quick!" "One moment! Is there any other of your household who knows of the key, and could use it on occasion ?” "Yes." "Who?" "Justine, my maid.” "You are not deceiving me?" "No, monsieur, on my life. I swear it!" "That will do, then." CHAPTER XIV. THE KIDNAPER. When they were back in the little parlor, Madame Dechassez drew a long breath of relief, though she still seemed far from being wholly at her ease. "Now, for your safety, my dear woman," said the de- tective, reassuringly. "Oh, just as you advise, monsieur. You are so kind, The Kidnaper. 175 so good, so noble, so sweet, so commanding, so ad- mirable " "Yes, yes!" a little impatiently; "and so honestly grate- ful, as you shall find. Let me see; you have only the three women servants with you here in the house?" "That is all." "Would they be any good in-er-an emergency?" "Justine, yes, possibly; the others are great cowards." "Any boarders ?" "Not now. "They're mostly-er-mere transients, at the best, I suppose?" "Dear monsieur, my boarders are my boarders, and not yours, when there are any." "Truly. Just a little patience, please. How about Justine ?" "What do you mean about her?" "Is she au fait with things?" La Sauterelle considered a moment, and then said, quickly: "To a certain extent, yes, monsieur. Justine is the bien aimee—is very fond of Monsieur Gentleman George." "Ah, thank you! Well, that is all. I'll send a police- man to look after you all in the course of an hour." "What!" in a tone of horror. "Peste! he'll not be in uniform. You can keep him out of sight-upstairs, downstairs, anywhere-and will only have to feed him. Besides, it will only be till I come again to-morrow evening. After that I shan't mind if I have to look after your safety a while myself." 176 The Kidnaper. "Not much-that is, with regard to the sergeant de ville -the policeman. Much obliged, but not any of that sort of medicine for la petite Sauterelle, if you please. Good- evening and au revoir, dear Monsieur de Montague!" She was not only very decided, but was even holding open the door for him. Freshy Oliver was not at a loss to understand the little madame's antipathy for the police. It doubtless came natural to her. Moreover, it didn't seem to him that she was so much in danger from Balder's possible fury as he had at first -thought. But, as a matter of conscientiousness, he made an at- tempt to urge his police protection idea, though without effect. "All right, madame, and good luck," said he. Then the detective went downtown, made a hasty restau- rant dinner, and went to headquarters. "I expected you back sooner," said the chief. "But, then, I've got everything in trim for your Monday's start, so that it hasn't greatly mattered." The detective made his report, which was considered sufficiently explanatory. "Now," said the chief, "you'll have to go up to Col. Mayland's again." “Again, sir?" "Yes; the blackmailers-or some blackmailers-are to pay him a visit. I received that," handing over a district agency message, "from the colonel only half an hour ago." It merely mentioned a somewhat mysterious notification The Kidnaper. ་ 177 * having been received, and asked for advice, or, as some-. thing still better, that Mr. Oliver might be sent up again. It was between eight and nine o'clock when Freshy Oliver again found himself alone with Col. and Mrs. Maylands in their favorite library sitting room. "I am glad you are come, very glad," said the old gen- tleman, pressing his hand. "For they've appointed to call at nine, and we would not have known what to do with- out you." "No, indeed!" echoed Mrs. Maylands, who had evi- dently been growing nervous and excited afresh. "You say 'they' are to call?" observed the detective, in- terrogatively. "Yes, the kidnaping villains, or a fresh delegation of their satellite devils," continued the colonel. "Here is their letter, delivered by a district messenger two or three hours ago. "" The missive was a huge-charactered but legible scrawl, some of the syllables being even pen printed. Here the footman entered with a visitor's card. "Why, it's a lady!" exclaimed the colonel. "Must be some mistake," and he read off the name slowly: "Miss Mattie Lestrange." The detective was on his feet as if electrified. "Is that the name?" he half gasped. "Certainly; read it for yourself. As I said, it must be some- “No, no; no mistake at all. Fool that I was not to have guessed it! She's the agent." "Yes, sir. Remember now, please, I'm to be your 178 The Kidnaper. mouthpiece-as your detective, your lawyer, your ama- teur adviser-whichever you please." "Is the lady alone, William?" Maylands inquired of the servant. "Yes, sir." "Say anything?" "Only that she is here by appointment." "Show her in." Mattie put in an appearance without even a veil. She was fashionably and seasonably dressed, and was looking at her best, which is to say, as a stately, collected, graceful and very beautiful young woman. Costly diamonds glittered at her throat and ears. Others were revealed on her strong, white, shapely hands as she drew off her gloves. The servant being dismissed, after she had taken no notice of a chair proffered by him, she remained standing, recognizing by a cold but well-bred nod the involuntary courtesy of Mrs. Maylands and the colonel. As for the detective, after a single flashing glance, she seemed to ignore his presence altogether. "I wish, first," said she, in a calm, melodious voice, "to be assured of the protection and safe conduct that have been promised me-by signal. Otherwise, I shall prefer to retire at once, without keeping the coach that brought me to this place waiting unnecessarily.” "The signal is equivalent to my pledge to that effect, madam," replied the old colonel, with an attempt at gruff- ness, which failed miserably. "Sit down, pray." The Kidnaper. 179 "Yes, do sit down, miss," urged Mrs. Maylands; and Mattie did so. Her face, however, was as composedly hard as it was beautiful. The anguish of the bereaved young mother, which was still pathetically apparent, did not seem to touch her in the least. "I am the agent," said the visitor, with businesslike abruptness. "I am here on the affair to be considered." "And I am here," observed the detective, politely, "to confer with you especially, ma'am, as the representative of Mrs. and Col. Maylands, on that subject." "Yes, miss," remarked the colonel, in response to her rather supercilious look of inquiry. "This is my friend, Mr. Oliver. He represents us." "Oh, indeed!" and then she addressed herself to the de- tective with an air of toleration. "Well, my proposition is a very simple one." "State it, then," said the detective, abruptly. "It is the same that was made once before. Thirty thousand dollars is the demand for the restoration of a certain missing child." "But this was also peremptorily rejected when made before." "The circumstances are changed." "In what way?" "The child is now ill-dangerously ill." Mrs. Maylands leaned forward, with a low cry, clasp- ing her hands, while her husband set his teeth hard, but Freshy Oliver motioned to them, reassuringly. 180 The Kidnaper. "A lie-cut, dried and calculated!" said he, easily. "Pray, don't give this person the satisfaction of being even momentarily affected by it, my friends." But Mattie was both clever and deep. The words were purposely insulting for her, both by voice and manner. But she treated them with silent indifference. "You ought to have some sort of credentials," said the detective, brusquely. No answer, save an amused smile. Freshy was uneasy for the Maylands, for this was con- tinuing to tell upon their parental sensibilities, just as was most likely intended by the visitor. "How are we to know that you are the kidnaper's rep- resentative?" he exclaimed. A mere shrug of the statuesque shoulders, as much as to say, "you take my word for it or you don't, just as you please." He essayed another tack. "Why didn't you come in your dancing pupil's cos- tume?" he asked, with a coarse laugh. "If somewhat more revelatory than your present one, it would doubtless have been more honest as representing your true self- your character and inclinations." This told, for Mattie lost her temper. "Take care, young man!" she exclaimed, coloring and frowning. "I am not here to be insulted." "But, don't you see," his manner changing, "that your mission here-if genuine-is an insult, and a most cruel and cowardly one in itself?" "No, I don't!" defiantly. "Business is business, and 1 } The Kidnaper. 181 mine you understand. As for my credentials," with a contemptuous laugh, "well, don't be a fool, young man." "I'll try to restrain myself in that line, miss." "Ah! Then my credentials need not be produced, I suppose?" "No; we'll accept you.' "My proposition?" "" "Do you know anything, of your own knoweldge, about the stolen child?" "I know everything." "How is that?" The boldness of the response was no less unexpected than startling. "Because I stole her." The detective didn't believe this, but he made no sign to that effect. "Well, this is frank, at all events," said he. "So you were the strange lady who spirited Daisy out of the coach when her mother's back was turned?" "Yes." "What was your object in committing this crime?" "What it now is-money." "And then, as now, you were an agent for others?" "Certainly; or, at least, in part." The next interrogation was nipped in its bud by a pain- ful scene. Mrs. Maylands, snatching up a lacquered metal paper knife, flew at the visitor's throat like a tigress. Had she not been restrained by her husband and the 24 182 The Kidnaper. detective, she might have done the young woman serious harm. The latter, however, had not so much as fluttered an eyelid. Mrs. Maylands was very contrite on being reconducted to her seat, and at once threw away her improvised weapon. "I-I am very sorry!" she half murmured and half sobbed, with an appealing look to her husband. "Trust me, nothing of the sort shall occur again." "It's human nature and mother nature, ma'am," said he, gently. "But it-it won't do. It will be really better for you to retire." "Yes, Gertrude," said the colonel. The lady bowed her head submissively; her maid was summoned, and she quitted the room. Mattie had by this time risen, with just the slightest. exhibition of impatience. "My proposition," she remarked, "is so simple that it seems to me it can be expedited.” "It shall be, miss," replied the detective, who had man- aged to exchange a few words with the colonel. "Only a minute or two more. Sit down again, please." As she did so, he continued: "It's thirty thousand dol- lars, or no restoration, as I understand it?" "Just that." "It's a great deal of money. Now, if you could say twenty thousand ?" "We abate not a dollar. Such are my instructions." "Then we must beg for a little more time to consider." The Kidnaper. 183 * "There has been so much delay already!" "But I mean a very little time-two or three days- or, say, till next Tuesday at noon.” "Oh, well, then!" with a relieved and all but suppressed eager look. "That is, if the child will not suffer in the meantime." "Oh, the little girl is all right. That is" Mattie realized the slip, but only when too late. "Ah," with a smile, "not so dangerously ill, then, as you thought at first?" Mattie did not take the trouble to be embarrassed. She rose again, abruptly and decisively.. "Tuesday will do, but not Tuesday at noon," said she. "I am empowered to speak and act. If you say so-if Col. Mayland gives his word to this effect-we shall bring the child here safe and sound on Tuesday, at nine in the morning. His word must also be given that the check for the sum demanded shall then be handed over in ex- change for the child. Also, that the cashing of the check shall not be interfered with; and, also, that the collector, or collectors, thereof shall enjoy absolute immunity from arrest, pursuit, shadowing, or any sort of molestation there- after. "I accept the delay till Tuesday on these terms. Such is the proposition as I am empowered to make it. Is it accepted or rejected ?” "Accepted," said the detective, promptly. Mattie mastered a look of exultation and quickly quitted the room. CHAPTER XV. A JUDAS KISS. "You'll not forget, Mr. Oliver," said the colonel, with a half laugh, when the detective was taking his leave, "that you're to keep your promise for Monday, or I shall be booked for mine on Tuesday." "Never fear, sir," was the reassuring response. "I shall forestall those wretches." And he took his departure. He made his report at the office, conversed briefly with his chief as to the dénouement which was now felt to be rapidly drawing near, and then went to bed. At Mr. Slinkerton's request, Freshy Oliver cheerfully assisted at some office accounts on the following morning. Once more at liberty, it occurred to him that it might be worth while to know whether Mattie would return home or remain in the city over Sunday. Consulting a railroad time-table, he found that he would. have time to watch the second of the upriver Sunday trains, at eleven o'clock, after resuming his natural or Gawker character. He entered the waiting room at the Grand Central but a few minutes before the gate announcement. To his satisfaction, Mattie was there. "But who would have expected to see you here, Miss Mattie?" cried the young man, gayly. "I came down on the ten o'clock train yesterday morn- ing," replied Mattie, with equal animation. R A Judas Kiss. 185 And so it went on between them till it occurred to Mattie to ask how it happened that Mr. Gawker was at the station. "Going up as far as Yonkers-business, too, in spite of it's being Sunday," he replied. "Charmed to have your society that far, Miss Mattie." Here the train was announced and the gate thrown open. Freshy bought a ticket accordingly, gave Mattie his arm, and took up her satchel-an extra large one. Mattie gave some further particulars as to her New York visit, pretty much all of which her companion knew to be more or less plausible fabrications; said that she had left her mother, father and the others awaiting her return to the Grange, which he set down as most likely true; and was altogether, at least outwardly, so frank and genial, that he could not help wondering at her recently proved address as a bold and successful hypocrite ad- venturess. However, he recalled her more than presumable Masked Four participation, and wondered no longer. One thing, nevertheless, puzzled him not a little. She had not now the slightest suspicion of the genuine- ness of his personality, or dissembled it to perfection; whereas, at the dancing class she had been undisguisedly distrustful of him in his other or fictitious character. What could she have suspicioned, then? However, he made up his mind that it had been only a vaguely general or intuitive distrust-probably directed more against the French madame than himself, which 3 A Judas Kiss. 186 would, of course, have been corroborated by her second meeting with him in the same character at the Maylands' interview-and was momentarily relieved. But solely for the moment. Good heavens! was she not even now carrying her re- port of these things to her deperado father at Whippoor- will, if she had not telegraphed it already, perhaps many hours before? And what might the consequences be to the unfortunate Sauterelle? This thought disturbed and haunted him painfully. "What a fool I was to get on this train with her!" he said to himself. "I could readily have guessed for myself all the information it has gained for me; and now-good Lord! I wonder how soon I shall manage to get back from Yonkers ?" Sunday, too! the one slow day of the seven-the day of rest with a vengeance-the day of few trains, interrupted traffic and general deadness. Strive as he would to be gay, and to talk joyously and familiarly of his love for Bessie, and all that, his preoc- cupations were so frequent as to attract his companion's attention. "What are you thinking of all to yourself?" she cried at last. "A penny for your thoughts." He laughed, and at the same time got his chance for the required dissimulation. "I really hope they're worth more than that, Mattie," he replied. "If not, I'm afraid I'm done for." "Done for? You're joking!" A Judas Kiss. 187 ? "Well, only half joking. You know of the farm pur- chase I've engaged to conclude with old Glebeman to- morrow?" with a professional-crook professional- twinkle of the eye. "Yes?" interestedly. "Well," laughing, confidentially, "I haven't raised the stipulated cash yet, though I'm hoping to, right here in Yonkers. And here we are!" for the train was slow- ing up. "You should have let mamma lend you the money!" earnestly. "I am sure she both could and would." "No, no! it will be all right. My respects to all, and my love for Bessie! Good-by!" She even held up her face for a brotherly kiss, but he affected not to see it, while laughingly shaking hands, and the next minute was gone. "Criminal as she may be, it would have been a little too much of a Judas kiss for me!" he muttered, while stepping off the train. The latter was moving again almost immediately, and he turned to reply to her parting hand wave. Then he stood, all eyes for something else, as if rooted to the station platform. A well-dressed, burly, and heavily bearded man, who had momentarily stepped off the last car, was hurriedly springing back again, after exchanging some words and a parting sign with a group of four or five exceedingly rough and even dangerous-looking men, of a hang-dog, foreign appearance, who might have been either tramps 188 A Judas Kiss. > or laborers on the new aqueduct works, which were being prosecuted a mile or two distant. He was gone almost as soon as seen, but Freshy Oli- ver's trained eye had penetrated the huge disguising beard even in that swift, passing glance. That man was Bad Man Balder! As soon as the detective could recover from his brief but overwhelming surprise, he turned to where the rough-looking fellows had stood, but they had already dis- appeared. He looked for them about the station and thereabouts, but without success. "Curses!" he muttered; "what an infernally prime liar and hypocrite that Mattie Lestrange is. But, of course- a chip of the old block, on both sides," bitterly. "Of course, she has long since told him all, and if" The concluding thought was too terrible to be other- wise than fearfully thrust out of sight. He went to the ticket office. "When is the next down train?" he demanded. "Not before five or six o'clock, I am afraid," was the official response. Freshy caught his breath and then stared. "Why, it isn't yet noon!" he exclaimed. "Smash-up on the line at Croton Point. Just got word of it." In fact, the telegraph instrument was clicking furiously, as if in confirmation of the staggering announce- ment. "Greatly to be regretted; an excursion train, too!" The detective stood back and reflected. His appointment with Madame Dechassez was for five The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 189 o'clock. Heaven grant that she might escape all danger in the interim, and that it had been escaped thus far. It was, therefore, indispensable that he should get back to the city with the least possible delay. At last he succeeded in hiring a horse for the drive back to the city. CHAPTER XVI. THE TRAGEDY IN THE SECRET ROOM. The interruption caused the detective to be behindhand with his appointment. It was past five o'clock when he gave his team in charge of the Harlem stable, as had been agreed, and nearly six when he announced his arrival at Madame Dechassez's house. "Where is your mistress?" he abruptly demanded of Justine, as soon as she opened the door. "Quick, an- nounce me at once! Nothing has happened to her, I hope? Why do you stare at me so stupidly?" "Who are you, sir?" retorted the young woman, an- grily, in spite of the generally alarmed look that she wore. "Are you crazy? Go away!" And then she burst out crying. He had forgotten that he was no longer in his Monsieur de Montague make-up, and that he was necessarily ap- pearing at that house as a stranger. "Ah, I had forgotten! You shall soon recognize me, Justine. Come in with me and close the door." 190 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. She did so, and he quickly convinced her of whom he was and restored her confidence. "Now, tell me wherefore this distress and alarm?" he hastened to inquire, for Justine was sobbing afresh. "Madame, my dear mistress-she is gone! We fear everything, but know nothing. Oh!" "Gone? Quick; tell me-where?" "Mon Dieu! that is just what we don't know! Don't you hear cook and the housemaid weeping down in the kitchen ?" "But how gone? Tell me everything!" He at last got the story from her. Madame's expected visitor had not appeared the previ- ous evening, but only on the following morning—that Sunday morning. He had been a clandestine visitor many times before. Justine only knew him by an assumed name. But Freshy knew, from her description, that it must have been Solo- mons, the ex-pawnbroker and sporting capitalist. He also inferred, with equal readiness, that the man was and had long been La Sauterelle's secret lover, though never more than vaguely suspected as such by Lavelle- Dechassez-Balder. The visitor had come at an early hour. Madame had then sent Justine to keep company with the servants be- low, and with orders not to venture above the basement floor without being summoned. An hour later-somewhere between nine and ten o'clock there was another visitor. It was Balder. He wore a disguising beard, but it was The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 191 not the first time, and the femme de chambre had recog- nized him at once. He was in an ugly, suspicious mood, and without a word started at once for madame's dressing room. Justine had rushed in before him, fearing an exposure, and, perhaps, a scene of violence. But the rooms were found to be unoccupied. The newcomer's suspicions, however, were not allayed. He had stormed at first, then dissimulated, and then gone away, after considerately recommending the girl to keep close below with the other servants, as her mistress had ordered, under penalty-of having her ears cut off. She had done so for several hours. Then a search had been made throughout the house for madame, without success. Since then panic had possessed the domestics. They feared that something dreadful might have hap- pened to their mistress, and yet they could not, or did not dare, to imagine what. "Ah!" moaned Justine, "the master, he was in a wicked mood. And it was you, monsieur-I am sure of it- whom he suspected of surprising with my poor, dear lady." "Me?" exclaimed the detective. "Yes, yes; though not as you appear now, of course." "Look here! Might not your mistress and her visitor have gone to the sub-cellar secret chambers together?" "Ah, I have thought of that, monsieur. But, then, would she not have returned ere this, if-if—” "If what? Go on!" 192 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. "No, no!" in terror. "But you also have the open sesame to that secret place? Madame told me so." "Yes, yes! The secret boudoir and treasure house." "Then why haven't you gone there to look for her?" "Mon Dieu! I have not dared, Monsieur le Detective." "Not dared? Ha! Balder also has a secret key?" “Naturally; or I fear so." "And yet, you say he quitted the house after making his inquiries ?" "Truly. But then he might have slipped in again with- out announcing himself. He is the master." Justine's alarm was, by this time, really pitiable. "I understand!" exclaimed Freshy Oliver, by this time all but dreading the worst. "Quick, Justine-your key! We go down there together." "Ah, but, monsieur !" clasping her hands. "Come, I tell you!" sternly. "But monsieur is armed? Monsieur will support me?" "As a matter of course. Come !" She got her key, and a moment later they were thread- ing the sub-cellar passage, lantern in hand. Arriving at the obstructing wall, the femme de chambre pressed her foot hard up in the corner angle to the right. What appeared to be a film or scale of the bare rock fell slowly away to one side from the center, revealing the battered keyhole of an iron door. "Look!" she cried, blanching. "Some one has smashed and pounded the hole. The key will not enter now." "Nevertheless, try it!" The Tragedy in the Secret Room, 193 She did so with trembling hands, but the key would not work. He snatched and examined it. "Did it work the lock by a twist or by a push?" "Simply by a hard push." "So!" He gave back the useless key, drew his revolver, clapped the muzzle against the battered orifice, and let fly. The barrier swung open. He motioned her to precede him with her lantern, but she shrank back. "I dare not; you first, monsieur! There is no other 'door at least, not between this one and the treasure vault." He led the way. They seemed to leave the neighboring chill and damp- ness behind them. The air of the interior was, for some reason, pleasurably warm and fresh. After treading a thick tapestried, floored and carpeted corridor, they came to a door without fastenings. This gave them entrance into the anticipated treasure chamber. But it gave evidence of having been recently and sys- tematically rifled. Chests and drawers, which had probably contained money, jewels and similar valuables, had been torn open and emptied. Costly bric-a-brac, plate, silks, satins, velvets, furs and plunder of a like nature, of which there was a great plenty, → * 194 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. } had not been much disturbed, doubtless because too bulky and cumbersome to carry away in haste. The detective, half forgetful, felt a momentary sensation of relief. "Aha!" he exclaimed, "madame and her ex-pawnbroker friend have probably forestalled their confederates by mak- ing off with the most portable of the swag accumulations." But a glance at his companion recalled him to the truer and more dreadful suspicion. She was staring, horror struck, at the farther side of the chamber, where there was a second iron door similar to the first, and, like that one, with its keyhole smashed and battered. "Where does that lead to?" he demanded. "To the inner secret room, the boudoir chamber." He brought his revolver again into requisition, and with equal success. They were on the threshold of a brightly lighted cham- ber, of luxurious appointments. Justine recoiled with a half-suppressed scream. La Sauterelle's premonitions of ill had not been in vain; her forebodings had been fulfilled. At the side of an oriental couch lay two human forms -Madam Dechassez and Solomons-shot to death, in each other's arms. "Come!" said the detective, and giving his companion his support, he led her away. “What to do now, monsieur ?" she murmured, helplessly, when he was separating from her at the street door. "You have confidence in me, Justine?" The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 195 "Yes, yes, Monsieur le Detective! In whom else, if not in you?" "And you will do just as I tell you?" "To the letter." "Good! Within an hour the affair below there and this house will be in charge of the police." "Oh, le bon Dieu!" "Have no fear-you will not be disturbed nor seriously inconvenienced, you women! But take heed: You are to say everything you choose of my visit, and the shock- ing discovery we have just made together, but not a word, not a hint of Lavelle-Dechassez's intermediate visit in dis- guise! He must not take the alarm. You understand?" "Yes, yes, monsieur; I will forget nothing, parole d'hon- neur!" "The cook and housemaid?” "They know nothing to tell." "Good!" And after further impressing her with the importance of his instructions, besides reassuring her personally, he precipitately took his departure. An hour later he had made his complete report to the chief of police, and soon the scene of the tragedy was in the hands of the authorities. Freshy Oliver had not taken the trouble to resume his official make-up, or impersonation, so to speak. There was, apparently, no more need. When the conference was about ended the chief looked at him curiously. 196 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. "You are suddenly a changed man in more ways than one, Oliver," said he. "You look positively exultant." "Have I not cause, sir?" exclaimed the detective on pro- bation, with a flashing look. "True, little as she may have merited it, I pity the poor, little Frenchwoman with all my heart." "Well ?" "But," with another triumphant flash, "haven't I got my hated foe-my evil genius-the destroyer of my pa- rents, where I want him at last, with murder at his door and the electric death chair just aching to have him in its clutch ?" "All right!" a little impatiently. "Be on hand for to- morrow's sweep, then. There will be enough of our force here posted around about the Whippoorwill crime nest awaiting your signal in case of need. So far, so well, at all events." He had resumed his cold, rather unsympathetic manner; but scarcely had the young man disappeared when he struck the desk before him with his clinched hand. "The Gawk Detective, indeed!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Why, what could those Westerners be about to let such a gem escape them, through discouragement and neglect? Gawk, indeed! rather Hawk, and with a mighty big H! The fellow is a marvel, and as true as steel! I'm mighty glad Rodney Bronson handed him over to me." When Freshy Oliver reached Tarrytown, by an early train, on the following morning, he was both surprised and gratified to find Farmer Glebeman awaiting him, with the swayback horse and buckboard. K The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 197 L 1 "Hyar ye be, Mr. Gawker!" cried the old man, grasp- ing his hand with much effusiveness. "Jump right aboard!" And no sooner were they started than he asked, in a sort of greedy, rasping whisper : "Hev ye got ther cash?" "Oh, of course!" with a bright look. "Business is busi- ness, you know ?" "Good 'nough! good 'nough!" chucklingly, "an' I'll sign, an' you'll sign, an' 'Lizer Ann'll sign, an' then all we'll hev ter do 'll be ter drive over ter White Plains ter transfer ther deeds, an' everything'll be ez slick ez a whistle an' ez straight ez a string! Eh, my son?" "Yes, yes!" somewhat absently. "And the rest of it— the loan you are to make me?” "Right hyar in ther bank. We'll stop for it on our way back f'm ther Plains, when you kin also make over ther securities ter me. Might even do it right off, only ther bank isn't open yet.” "Time enough, time enough!" Of course, the detective had no intention of pushing the farm-purchasing farce to a completion unless it should prove indispensable to his plan for making a clean and summary sweep of the entire robber roost, and was only provided with the means of doing so in order to keep up appearances should ther be any unforeseen hitch or delay. "All well up at old Whippoorwill, I hope?" he inquired, willing enough to lead away from the distasteful subject. "All hunky an' bang-up!" cheerfully. "Tubby sure, Peter, our hired man, smashed his thumb nail ’ith a wagon 1 -198 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. J spoke Saturday night, while ther sprinkle of rain yeste'day mornin' perwented 'Lizer Ann f'm wearin' her new sun bonnet ter meetin', an' she was ez mad ez a wasp nest in consekence. But then, takin' everything tergether" "And the folks at the Grange?" "H'm! so-so, I reckon. Miss Mattie went ter York soon arter you did on Sat'day, I b'lieve, an' came back yest'day. But then we—that is, me an' 'Lizer Ann, fer Peter doesn't count fer shucks in a big deal like our'n-an' ther Grange gang air sorter out.' "" "That isn't very neighborly. What is the trouble?" "Dunno! Mebbe it's because you're goin' ter buy me out, 'stead o' them. Stir your stumps, thar, Selim!" with a crack of the whip. "Dunno!" "Mr. Lestrange is also still at the Grange, I suppose?” "Reckon so. Howsomever, we didn't see him at the funeral yest'day, so he may hev been off visitin' 'r sick abed." "What funeral was that?" "Funeral er Jasper, ther coachman, who was found dead in the woods. Didn't ye hear tell on that?" "Ah, yes; just as I was driving away. Was there an inquest ?" "Not much! We sometimes manage ter skip sech things up in ol' Whippoorwill-'t least, them Lestranges do. Durn your pictur', Selim! why can't ye git a move onto you? Git up!" As they came up on top of the great ridge, Freshy looked about him a little anxiously for some signs of the The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 199 assisting force which Chief Slinkerton had promised him should be lurking thereabouts within call. Not an indication! But then he reflected that, if there had been, it would be little to the credit of successful hide-and-seeking on the lurker's part. Just before reaching the farmhouse, however, they passed by a small band of horse-dealing gypsies who were making their camp in a wood by the roadside. Old Glebeman's eyes snapped angrily. "Durn these vagabone cusses! When did they show up here?" he snorted, pulling up. "God help ther hen roosts an' turkey runs! Hyar, you uns! thet's my pas- tur' lot what you're makin' free with!" "Don't jump out of your skin, daddy," smilingly re- sponded a tall, dark fellow, who was rubbing up a set of harness between a sparkling little camp fire and the van wagon. "We axed permission of your old woman, and got it, too. Want to make a horse trade?" "No; I don't want ter make no hoss trade!" sputtered the farmer. "But I do want ter keep my hens an' pullets fer an honest market, an' I'm goin' ter do it 'f I hev ter git a shotgun ter help me!" "Mebbe you'd like to buy a shootin' iron, then, grand- pap?" suggested another gypsy. Yet a third urbanely solicited some tin and copperware for tinkering; while a pretty but very dirty gypsy young woman, with a red shawl over her head, and a fat, little brown baby in her arms, offered to tell the fortunes of both gentlemen at twenty-five cents a head. 200 The Tragedy in the Secret Room. "Drive on," advised Freshy. "Since the farm is so shortly to be mine, why should you trouble yourself about these wanderers ?" He had just caught a sign from two or three rough- looking fellows, which had agreeably satisfied him that some of the band, at least, were none other than detect- ives in disguise. When the house was reached, he left Glebeman to scold 'Lizer Ann anent the gypsies, and then walked on down to the Grange, on the plea of asking Mr. Lestrange to look over the securities he had brought with him. Nearly the entire household was waiting on or about the front piazza to give him greeting. And as soon as he entered the gate he experienced a feeling of relief. Balder himself was the first to step out with a welcom- ing air and an extended hand-the clasping of which Freshy managed to neglect, apparently without exciting suspicion; Bessie hurried to his side with a happy blush; Hooley, and even Dixon, seemed honestly glad over his return; and Mrs. Lestrange and her two girls seemed to be more gracious than ever. "Glad you're come !" said Balder. "How did you make out at Yonkers? Of course, you know, Mattie told us of her meeting with you?" "Oh, I've been doing fairly, sir," replied Freshy, with equal geniality. "By the way, suppose you look over these papers which I have had cooked up for our neighbor's benefit ?" "Certainly; come right in!" and Balder led the way into The Tragedy in the Secret Room. 201 the library, giving the detective just time to press Bessie's hand and exchange a few significant words with her. Balder, after a critical examination of the false securi- ties, complimented the young man on their execution. "They're bang-up, Gawker," said he, with much hearti- ness. "Your own work?” "With the help of a friend. But do you think they'll pass mustér at the Tarrytown bank?" "Without a doubt; and, like enough, at any New York City one-for the time being. The cash all right, too?" "Yes." "Good! Then you'd better drive over to White Plains with the old couple, and complete the farm deal at once. There'll be time enough afterward to go back to Tarry- town with Glebeman, deposit the securities, and scoop in his pile." "All right! I must have a little love talk with Bessie first." Balder laughed loudly and good-humoredly as the young fellow made his exit. "Great Scott!" muttered Freshy to himself; "and this is the man with those two murders red and fresh on his hands! However, it's lucky that he doesn't yet suspect me. And yet- "" His doubts returned as he remembered the Yonkers in- cident, and the murderous attack upon himself which had followed. CHAPTER XVII. A PARTIAL EXPLANATION. Lovers' excuses are always, if sometimes jocularly, in order, and in a few moments Freshy found himself alone with Bessie in the old and somewhat secluded orchard corner, to the north of the house. "Be sure we are not followed-be sure! be sure!" ex- claimed the young woman, with sudden nervousness and even trepidation of manner. "Ah!" looking about her, "this knoll will do, for we can see all around us." "Why, Bessie, what's the matter?" For the first time, as she looked at him, her lip quivered and the tears started out of her brave eyes. He now saw that her gayety had been but a mask, and that she was troubled greatly. "They've been treating you unkindly!" he exclaimed. "Yes, yes; mamma-Mrs. Lestrange, I mean-and both the girls; and for the first time that I can remember." "The cause?" "They have dropped the mask at last-confessing to the entire Masked Four business, and insisting that I shall be one of them in their future raids." "Ha!" "But that isn't all, Fletcher. I have been troubled for you-and now to see you venturing back again into this tiger den!" A Partial Explanation. 203 "Hello! Then this smiling greeting they have just be- stowed upon me?” "A trick-a trap-the deadliest hypocrisy!" "Oho!" "Yes; their object is to have you complete the deal with Glebeman, unsuspectingly, and then to dispose of you in short order." "In what way?" "By murdering you, and then taking the three thousand dollars you are to get of the old farmer." "You overheard them plotting this?" "Yes-all of them!" "And the Glebemans?" "They are not in the plot; though Peter, the hired man, may suspect and approve of it. I suppose they are to be disposed of in some way, if less bloodily, afterward. They could be ousted, you know, by a false power of attorney from you, after you should have disappeared." The Gawk Detective set his teeth hard. "This explains things—at least in a measure," said he. And he forthwith told Bessie of everything, with the single exception of his discovery of the murders in the Dechassez house; which he held in reserve, lest it might increase her terror, already excessive on his own account. "Now, to business!" said he. "I shall go over to the Plains with old Glebeman at once, and >> "What!" exclaimed Bessie, in a white fear. "Wait! But in the first place, tell me, dearest-they do not suspect you of knowing this conspiracy against me?" "Not the slightest." 204 A Partial Explanation. "Or that you will tell me of that proposition that was made to you?" - "No. I manifested such repugnance that they are pretty certain I will keep you in the dark as to that." "Good! Know now, to quiet your fears on my account, that a strong detective force is near at hand, within my signal call." "Ah!" her face brightening. "Yes. Now, as to the stolen child?" "Never fear! by the time you are ready I shall produce her at the proper moment." By this time they had moved on and up into the old orchard, and were near a spot where a precipitous point of it overhung a deep and shaded pool from the brook that meandered through the adjoining forest. "Excellent! You, then, know of the new hiding place, and it is not far away?" "I know-a small disused cabin farther into the woods than the treetop house. But fear not; I have my plan, and shall carry it out." "All's arranged, then, and—” He stopped abruptly, having perceived a crouching fig- ure stealing off through some thick underbrush at the edge of the overhang. "A spy ! an eavesdropper!" he exclaimed, springing for- ward, while Bessie's face blanched. At the same instant, Sliney, the sinister groom, rose in view, a knife in his grasp, a look of diabolical exultance in his evil face. A Partial Explanation. 205 "Traitors! I have overheard all," he snarled. "You'll not live to carry your treachery into practice !" And he precipitated himself upon the detective with a savage spring. The latter had just time to avoid the thrust intended for him; but so narrowly that he could only grasp his assailant with a swift, wrenching side hold. This brought them down together, the detective on top, the other face downward, where he suddenly lay perfectly motionless. Bessie had hurried forward with a suppressed scream, but there was no need for further alarm. Her lover was already upon his feet uninjured, and all but unruffled. His would-be murderer was quite dead-by his own hand, though unintentionally-the knife having twisted under him in the fall and entered his heart. "A mighty narrow escape for us," commented the de- tective, coolly. "But look here, this rascal's body must not be discovered so readily as Jasper's was." He stripped off the dead scoundrel's jacket, loaded it with heavy stones, fastened the weight securely to the body, and then threw it into the shadowy pool, where it disappeared with a dull plunge. "One thing more, my dearest," said Freshy, as the young woman huddled close to his side on their way back to the house." "Yes, my own." "If these fiends don't exactly suspect me of being a de- tective on the track of the stolen child-which seems 1 है 206 A Partial Explanation. hardly probable as yet-who and what can they suspect me of being?" "That is what I do not know," replied Bessie. "But I have an impression that they have come to suspect you on general principles-to deem you as unsafe, you under- stand?—and have, therefore, determined to get rid of you, after using you to the extent of buncoing the old farmer folks out of their farm and their savings-for their benefit. At least, I can think of nothing else." "You are probably right." They were smiling and foolish in the most lovely man- ner conceivable when they reappeared before the con- spirators, who were equally hypocritical in their jocular good humor at the young couple's expense. "The old folks are ready, Gawker," said Balder. "They've already sent for you several times." "All right!" replied Freshy, starting away, after a last pressure of the hand for Bessie, who blushed and hung her head. "If they're ready for me, I am ready for them." "By the way," suggested Balder, coming out to the gate with him, “on your way back from the Plains, why can't you come through Tarrytown?" "Ah! I see; and scoop in the bank money at once?" "Of course!" "Good idea! I'll do it—that is, if the old folks make no objection." "No fear of them. In fact, I've already suggested the thing to Glebeman, and he seemed to like it." "Good, then! You can expect me back, money-lined, A Partial Explanation. 207 and we'll have a jolly day all together before I light out with the stuff." "But the farm ?” "Well," thoughtfully, "how would it do for me to make it over to madam, or yourself, for that matter, by power of attorney, you know?—that is, for a consideration, of course." The arch-villain's eyes sparkled. "Just the thing!" he exclaimed. "In fact, I was intend- ing to propose that very thing." very thing." And he retraced his steps in high good humor. Glebeman and his wife were awaiting Freshy's reappear- ance in a two-seated wagon, with a team of pretty good horses before it. "We thort ye mought hev skipped," said the farmer, im- patiently. "Come, jump in, Mr. Gawker! Thar's a long jog afore us, if we're ter take in Tarrytown on our way back." "I'm with you!" cried Freshy, springing on board. “As for my skipping, did you forget that Bessie and I might have something to whisper together all to ourselves?" 'Lizer Ann laughed, and made her customary jab at her spectacles. "Haw, haw, haw!" roared Peter, the hired man, who was loungingly rubbing his back against the hitching post. "Har, har, har! Ho, ho, ho!" "Shet up, ye puff-headed idjiot!" snapped out the farmer, cracking his whip. "An', mind ye, 'f thet hay wagon ain't loaded up ag'in our return, I'll dock ye six months' wages an' discharge ye on ther spot!" 208 A Partial Explanation. 2 They again passed the little gypsy encampment, where Freshy once more had the satisfaction of exchanging signs with his disguised friends. About five or six hours later the trio were well on their way back to Whippoorwill, having transacted the entire business both at White Plains and Tarrytown, apparently to the satisfaction of all concerned. "The farm is now your'n, Mr. Gawker," said Glebe- man, when the old place was again in sight. "Be Jukes! notwithstandin' thet I've got your money an' notes fer it, ter say nothin' 'bout them bang-up securities in ther bank. I'll feel mighty sorry ter leave ther ol' place." He spoke with real feeling, while 'Lizer Ann was snivel- ing and wiping the tears away from behind her glasses. "You needn't be in any hurry about clearing out, you two," observed the detective, consolingly. "In fact, you can stay right on-unless wanted elsewhere." As they approached the house, Freshy, to his surprise and delight, saw Bessie appear for a fleeting instant at one of the highest of the little gable or garret windows, and make a swift, secret sign to him before vanishing. No wonder he was gratified. That sign said to him as plainly as any words could have done: · "I am here with the child, unsuspected by anyone. But you must make haste." "Come right down there to the Grange with me, you two!" said the detective, as they alighted. "Even Peter, here, can come, too, if he will. We're thinking of a jolli- A Clean Sweep. 209 fication. And, at all events, I've arranged for a sort of surprise for them." He spoke with much heartiness, and they smilingly ac- companied him. He had already perceived signs of detectives being in hiding almost everywhere about the Grange, and all but in the house itself. The Grange folks were pretty much all out in the open air to greet his return. CHAPTER XVIII. A CLEAN SWEEP. "Hello!" cried Balder, advancing from the croquet game that was in progress, but 'frowning on perceiving the Glebemans. "Back again, and all right?" "Nothing could be more satisfactory-for me, at least," replied the detective, a sudden hardness in his voice and manner. "What do you mean by that?" suspiciously; and then, in a growling undertone, "what was the good of fetching along these plucked pigeons with you?" "Oh, they're only to help out a certain surprise I have in readiness for all of you-and you, especially, Thomas Lavelle, villain; villain, scoundrel, murderer that you are!" And, simultaneously with thundering forth these words, the detective launched himself with such furious violence 210 A Clean Sweep. upon his powerful opponent as to hurl him flat on his back. "Quick!" yelled Balder, to his friends. "Shoot him down, cut him in pieces, now, without waiting! We are betrayed!" He stretched up his arms to ingulf the slender detective in his mighty grasp, but the latter slipped away like an eel. Then, snap! snap! The handcuffs were on both wrists with a lightning-like movement, and as Balder sought to regain his feet, with a hoarse roar, a blow between the eyes from Freshy's revolver laid him out again. Hooley and Dixon had both drawn weapons, and rushed forward in response to their chief's appeal, but only to find themselves unexpectedly confronted by two detect- ives, who suddenly slipped into view from behind a clump of shrubbery, and who had the nippers upon them in less than no time. "Take in those, too!" cried Freshy, pointing to the Glebeman trio. "They're accomplices in the masked high- wayman business." This was done, but Mrs. Lestrange and the two daugh- ters had already taken the alarm on their own account. Pale, but more with fury than with fear, they were running toward the house, doubtless with the intention of barricading themselves therein, when three more gypsy- looking fellows issued out of it, having quietly made their entrance by the back porch. Mrs. Lestrange recoiled before them, with the grand desperation of an entrapped bandit queen. A Clean Sweep. 211 "Traitor hound!" she cried, producing a small revolver from her bosom and leveling it at the Gawk Detective's head. "You shall not live to enjoy your triumph." But he only smiled, as one of the others disarmed her from behind, and the next instant the three amazons were in the steely toils no less than their confederates. "It is a clean sweep," said Freshy Oliver, calmly, for the edification of both detectives and prisoners. "There was a fourth masked robber-a pretended groom-but he tried to assassinate me this morning, and I had to kill him. "His body can be found at the bottom of a deep pool up yonder at the back of the orchard, later on-that is, if it shall be thought worth while. "And there was yet another confederate, the woman's coachman, but he died several days ago. "Some of you men begin to search the house. These women's masks and masculine disguises ought to be forth- coming. "The darky, and those two women servants in the doorway, yonder, ought to know something, and be forced to tell it. "I myself will then guide you to the subterranean treas- ure den, where much of their plunder accumulations for the past eight or ten months ought to be found con- cealed." There were nine detectives on hand. They were more than were needed to guard the pris- oners and make the required search. While the latter was being prosecuted, Freshy Oliver 212 A Clean Sweep. stepped out among the groups, and discharged his re- volver three times in the air in rapid succession. It was a signal for Bessie, who soon after came upon the scene, leading the little kidnaped girl by the hand. Bad Man Balder and the Lestrange women glared at her. "Where have you been stowing the young one?" de- manded the former, in his harsh voice. "In the Glebeman's garret, sir," replied Bessie, very sweetly. "I had no trouble in slipping up there with Daisy hours ago, when the house was unoccupied, and have been there ever since you all began to make such a search for me." Balder ground his teeth and was silent. Not so, however, with the mother and daughters, who at once opened out upon Bessie with their reproaches, ac- cusing her of treachery, ingratitude and everything else which their bitterness and desperation could conjure up. "Now, look here, you!" responded Bessie, very coolly, when she got the chance. "You may have cared for me and brought me up, but I'm not sure that you didn't steal me from my own mother in the first place, just as you have robbed the parents of this poor little thing, who now, thanks to my lover, Freshy Oliver's, shrewdness and bravery in outwitting you all, is about to be restored to them, and without the payment of a cent of your demanded ransom into the bargain. "And you would also have made me one of you, a thief and a highwayman like yourselves, if you could. So I am quite sure that we are quits, and that there should o + 213 A Clean Sweep. } never have been any gratitude due from me to you, after all. "Still, I might have clung to you, out of pity and old associations, if I had not heard you planning to murder my lover this very day. "That was more than I could stand. So I washed my hands of you accordingly." "Don't deign to bandy words with such criminal wretches as these, Bessie," interposed Freshy Oliver, im- patiently. "They are not worth it. Now run into the house with Daisy here, and make both of you ready to return to the city with me in short order." "Oh, sir!" cried the little girl, "and are you really going to take me back to my dear mamma and papa again, as Bessie says you are?" “Indeed, I am, my deary!" said the detective, snatch- ing her up in his arms and kissing her. "And even you can't guess how happy they will be to have you back again." At the end of an hour or so everything was in readiness for the removal of the prisoners to Tarrytown. Several teams roundabout Whippoorwill were put into requisition for the purpose. Just before the start was being made, however, old Glebeman, who had remained in a sort of dazed condition, suddenly burst out in a series of complaints. "Don't be alarmed about your farm and your money, you miserable old thieves' fence!" said Freshy Oliver, consolingly. "All will be restored to you, and if your lawyers leave any of it to your name after conducting your 214 A Clean Sweep. defense, I suppose no one will object to your enjoying: the remainder after you get out of prison." "We shan't make no defense!" squawked out 'Lizer Ann, who was bearing up more commendably under the stroke than her better half. "Let me ketch you allowin' the law men ter git hold of any of our hard-airned savin's, Silas Glebeman! We're guilty, an' thet's ther long an' short of it. Oh, that she devil, Mrs. Lestrange! 'F't hadn't been fer her temptations, we mought now hev been pious and respectable folks in our own little home, an' no- body the wiser.". This brought on a recriminating wrangle between her and her good man, in which Mrs. Lestrange so far forgot herself as to participate, for a brief space, to the no small edification of the general public of Whippoorwill, which had by this time gathered in considerable force. Freshy Oliver had already had his personal say to Bad Man Balder, in which the latter learned who the detective - was, the nature of the revengeful pursuit which had at last run him and his crimes to earth, and the terrible chief charge-that of the double murder-which was to be brought against him. "I know nothing of this murder," said the arch-villain, calmly. "In fact, I have my doubts as to its having taken place at all, young man, save in your own imagination." This, however, did not prevent him from making a des- perate effort to escape at the last moment. He sprang from the wagon, and, handcuffed as he was, made a break for liberty down a stony hillside, when a 14 The Denouement. 215 shot from one of his guards brought him down with a bullet in his ankle joint.' After that there was no further trouble. Freshy Oliver proceeded to New York with all haste, accompanied by Bessie and the little girl. The latter was restored to her parents on time, in ac- cordance with the detective's promise. And here was brought about a fresh surprise and reve- lation, which was most extraordinary and unexpected. CHAPTER XIX. THE DENOUEMENT. Bessie did not accompany her lover when he took the child with him to the Maylands' house, but the happy pa- rents insisted on being permitted to thank her personally for the kindness she had shown to their darling. So Freshy Oliver brought his sweetheart with him on the following day, and introduced her. As soon as Bessie appeared-looking very pretty and fresh in a becoming costume-Daisy rushed joyously to- ward her, while Mrs. Maylands was straightway pre- possessed by the young woman's beauty and modest bearing. But the effect upon Col. Maylands was different and altogether inexplicable at the moment. "Why, what is it, dear?" exclaimed his wife, in sudden 216 The Denouement. alarm. "This is the kind young lady we have been so wishing to know and thank, and not a ghost. Dear me! what can be the matter ?" The old gentleman had risen, pale and trembling, his eyes fixed upon the fair visitor with a startled and yet de- vouring gaze. "Good heavens! can the dead come back to us?" he murmured. "Hello! I begin to see what is coming," thought Freshy Oliver. But Bessie, on her part, stood there, with the restored child's hand in hers, quite as troubled and bewildered as Mrs. Maylands herself. "Speak, young woman!" continued the old colonel, ad- dressing her with solemn eagerness. "Tell me your name!" "Bessie, sir." "Ha! Elizabeth in full ?" "I have thought that it might be so, sir; but it has only been just Bessie as far back as I can remember." "How far back is that?" "Nearly twenty years, sir. I am twenty-two now, and- "Might you have been a stolen child? Don't let my manner frighten you, my dear!" In fact, the colonel's manner was painfully excited. "Only answer my question. Might you have been a stolen child?' "I have often thought it possible, sir. At all events, while mostly kind to me, my adoptive mother and sis- ters" The Denouement. 217 7 "Don't call them that!" with a movement of disgust. "They are not worthy-not fit-good heavens, criminals and banded with criminals! Ha! bear with me!" "Yes, sir." "You can, then, remember no farther back than being with them?" "No, sir. My first and earliest recollections of our pretty Kentucky home" "What! Kentucky, too?" "Yes, sir." "The town-the locality?" "Paducah !" "Ha! the same, the same!" Col. Maylands sank into a chair. "Speak, child! have you preserved any relics- wearing apparel, infant garments, anything of the sort- which might identify your personality further back than you can remember?” "Alas! sir, only a few, and they doubtless of no worth!" murmured Bessie, shaking her head. "Only a few baby things, bearing some faded initials, which Mrs. Lestrange either never could or never would explain to me.” "That witch, that vindictive devil!" he had again started to his feet with painful eagerness. "Yes, yes; for I can now recall, without a doubt, that the adventurer whom she had married called himself Lestrange." J Bessie's excitement was now almost as great as his. "Ah! what can it all mean? Perhaps that I am really not a nameless waif, after all!" she faltered, clasping her hands. "Mrs. Lestrange's first name is Eleanor, sir!" "The same, the same-Eleanor Whitbeck, the robber of 218 The Denouement. • my first fireside, the murderer of my first wife!" cried the colonel. "The initials on the infant garments?" "E. M." "Elizabeth Maylands, my stolen first born! Child, child! And what a resemblance to your dead mother, too! At first I could not believe my eyes. But God is good, and after the long darkness comes the light. Bessie, I am your father!" And then the young woman was clasped in his trembling arms. Subsequent proofs-not least of which was Mrs. Le- strange's brazen confession to the ancient, no less than the recent, kidnaping-were forthcoming, and Bessie's re- habilitation in the world and in her father's heart was thus happily secured. Then arose a fresh complication. Her lover made no secret of his past career, and Col. Maylands in consequence could not consent that his new- found daughter should bestow her hand where she had given her heart. He could be, and was lavishly generous with his money and his gratitude. Freshy's shares of the different rewards were also to a large amount, and he had attained to the top round of his new and honorable profession almost. at a bound, with a splendid and lucrative future before him. But upon this one point-and perhaps naturally and pardonably enough-the proud old gentleman was in- exorable. Indeed, the sundered lovers might have been perma- The Denouement. 219 nently unhappy as a result, but that fate again befriended them. In less than three months Col. Maylands unexpectedly succumbed to an apoplectic stroke. His widow, strange to say, proved to be less punctilious. on her stepdaughter's account than the old Kentuckian had been, and, after the conventional season of mourning, the young couple were quietly made one. Bessie had been left a splendid fortune in her own right, and the pair, even without this, would have been com- fortably circumstanced. Bad Man Balder, the arch-villain of so many aliases, was promptly found guilty of the double murder with which he was charged, and condemned to death. But on being transferred from the Tombs prison to Sing Sing, he made a desperate effort to escape by plun- ging headlong from the train, and was dead and fright- fully mangled when picked up. It was then found that he had left a written confes- sion, in detail, of the capital crime, and of the numberless minor ones which had stained his whole previous career. Gentleman George and Soapy Sam, being charged with comparatively milder offenses, and not having been di- rectly concerned in the kidnaping, got off with ten-year sentences to State's prison, which they are presumably still serving. The six thousand dollars, out of which the green-goods rascals were so cleverly tricked at their own game, was divided among worthy charitable institutions. That pious and speculative granger, Mr. Sam'l Wilkins, 220 The Denouement. of Gooseville, Ga., had the cheek to make a legal fight for the money, but without gaining anything thereby but the public ridicule and contempt which he so richly merited. The Lestrange women, mother and daughters, were tried together. Their comeliness pleaded strongly for them, in spite of the gravity of the accusations. So did the Quixotism of their exploits. And then-the affair of the long previous kidnaping not being brought to light-they further propitiated the susceptible jurymen by unreservedly ad- mitting their guilt. Nevertheless the terms of imprisonment accorded them were so ludicrously inadequate as to cause a public scandal. Even the old Glebeman couple, who were less guilty, received somewhat heavier sentences. They served them. out, too, being tough, if old, and went to pass the re- mainder of their days on the miserable Whippoorwill Farm, which had been restored to them, in deserved pov- erty and shame. Their bank savings, also restored to them, had all been eaten up by their lawyers, as Freshy Oliver had predicted it would be. On being released from prison, Mrs. Lestrange and her two daughters considerately and somewhat mysteriously disappeared. It was hinted, and perhaps with some reason, that money, secretly furnished them by Bessie, had not a little to do with their evanishment. Rodney Bronson lost no time in congratulating Freshy Oliver on his splendid work. He offered to introduce him to the chief of the secret service bureau and secure him a The Denouement. 221 position on the staff. But Oliver was a married man now and he had to consult another's wishes. Pretty Bessie in- sisted that the life of a detective was too risky, and as she did not wish to lose the husband she so dearly loved, she made him promise to give up all thoughts of being a detective. He gave way to her wishes, but though he is settled down now in a little business of his own he often looks back to the day when Rodney Bronson set him on his feet and gave him promise of being a great secret service detective. な ​THE END. The NEWBAMM Likheng AMERICA'S MOST COMPREHENSIVE CONASCENDS! ON TRE MAGIC AS *** Only One Best is possible so far as paper-covered novels are concerned. It is only natural that the novels for which there is the greatest demand should be considered BEST. This fits the S. & S. NOVELS to perfection. Thousands are sold to hundreds of all others combined. There are reasons and you don't have to search very far for them after you be- come familiar with the S. & S. kind. Better stories, better authors, better value, place our books in a class by themselves. A catalogue, arranged alphabetically by authors, sent free upon request. Street @ Smith, Publishers New York 1 MAGNET LIBRARY A weekly publication devoted to Detective literature. July 13, 1904. No. 349 S. & S. Novels "THE RIGHT BOOKS AT THE RIGHT PRICE” ¶ Have you ever stopped to consider what a wealth of good reading is contained in our S. & S. lines? We were pioneers of the paper book industry. Being first in the field and having unlimited capital, we were en- abled to secure the works of the very best authors and offer them to the reading pub- lic in the most attractive form. ¶We have the exclusive right to publish all of the late copyrighted works of Charles Garvice, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, Bertha M. Clay and Horatio Alger, Jr. We control exclusively the works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Nicholas Carter, Burt L. Standish, Effie Adelaide Rowlands, Ger- trude Warden and dozens of other authors of established reputations. ¶ When you purchase an S. & S. 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