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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34597-0.txt b/34597-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4114e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/34597-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8601 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of McAllister and His Double, by Arthur Train + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: McAllister and His Double + +Author: Arthur Train + +Release Date: December 8, 2010 [EBook #34597] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: McALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE ARTHUR TRAIN] + + + + +[Illustration: McAllister whispered sharply in his ear. (Page 68.)] + + + + +McALLISTER +AND HIS DOUBLE + +BY ARTHUR TRAIN + +ILLUSTRATED + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::1905 + +COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +Published, September, 1905 + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +MCALLISTER'S CHRISTMAS 1 +THE BARON DE VILLE 53 +THE ESCAPE OF WILKINS 77 +THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S TRUNK 113 +THE GOLDEN TOUCH 141 +MCALLISTER'S DATA OF ETHICS 177 +MCALLISTER'S MARRIAGE 205 +THE JAILBIRD 233 +IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE 255 +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND 283 +EXTRADITION 311 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +McAllister whispered sharply in his ear _Frontispiece_ + + FACING PAGE +"What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!" 6 + +"Throw up your hands!" 10 + +"Do you know who you've caught?" 16 + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" 24 + +"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill." 64 + +"You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_." 88 + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern 102 + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" 110 + +Deftly tied the two ends of string around it 130 + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, +wild-eyed individual sprung from within 136 + +He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration +it deserved 324 + + + + +McAllister's Christmas + + +I + +McAllister was out of sorts. All the afternoon he had sat in the club +window and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by with their +bundles. He thanked God he had no brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows +for. The very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that had given them +families irritated him. McAllister was a clubman, pure and simple; that +is to say though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman and nothing +more. He had occupied the same seat by the same window during the +greater part of his earthly existence, and they were the same seat and +window that his father had filled before him. His select and exclusive +circle called him "Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terrapin and +cocktails had given him a graceful rotundity of person that did not +belie the name. They had also endowed him with a cheerful though +somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent sense of well-being. + +As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians became fewer, McAllister +sank deeper and deeper into gloom. The club was deserted. Everybody had +gone out of town to spend Christmas with someone else, and the +Winthrops, on whom he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some +reason to invite him. He had waited confidently until the last minute, +and now he was stranded, alone. + +It began to snow softly, gently. McAllister threw himself disconsolately +into a leathern armchair by the smouldering logs on the six-foot hearth. +A servant in livery entered, pulled down the shades, and after touching +a button that threw a subdued radiance over the room, withdrew +noiselessly. + +"Come back here, Peter!" growled McAllister. "Anybody in the club?" + +"Only Mr. Tomlinson, sir." + +McAllister swore under his breath. + +"Yes, sir," replied Peter. + +McAllister shot a quick glance at him. + +"I didn't say anything. You may go." + +This time Peter got almost to the door. + +"Er--Peter; ask Mr. Tomlinson if he will dine with me." + +Peter presently returned with the intelligence that Mr. Tomlinson would +be delighted. + +"Of course," grumbled McAllister to himself. "No one ever knew Tomlinson +to refuse anything." + +He ordered dinner, and then took up an evening paper in which an effort +had been made to conceal the absence of news by summarizing the +achievements of the past year. Staring head-lines invited his notice to + + =A YEAR OF PROGRESS.= + + =What the Tenement-House Commission Has Accomplished.= + + =FURTHER NEED OF PRISON REFORM.= + +He threw down the paper in disgust. This reform made him sick. Tenements +and prisons! Why were the papers always talking about tenements and +prisons? They were a great deal better than the people who lived in them +deserved. He recalled Wilkins, his valet, who had stolen his black pearl +scarf-pin. It increased his ill-humor. Hang Wilkins! The thief was +probably out by this time and wearing the pin. It had been a matter of +jest among his friends that the servant had looked not unlike his +master. McAllister winced at the thought. + +"Dinner is served," said Peter. + +An hour and a half later, Tomlinson and McAllister, having finished a +sumptuous repast, stared stupidly at each other across their liqueurs. +They were stuffed and bored. Tomlinson was a thin man who knew +everything positively. McAllister hated him. He always felt when in his +company like the woman who invariably answered her husband's remarks by +"'Tain't so! It's just the opposite!" Tomlinson was trying to make +conversation by repeating assertively what he had read in the evening +press. + +"Now, our prisons," he announced authoritatively. "Why, it is +outrageous! The people are crowded in like cattle; the food is +loathsome. It's a disgrace to a civilized city!" + +This was the last straw to McAllister. + +"Look here," he snapped back at Tomlinson, who shrank behind his cigar +at the vehemence of the attack, "what do you know about it? I tell you +it's all rot! It's all politics! Our tenements are all right, and so are +our prisons. The law of supply and demand regulates the tenements; and +who pays for the prisons, I'd like to know? We pay for 'em, and the +scamps that rob us live in 'em for nothing. The Tombs is a great deal +better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. I _know_! I had a +valet once that-- Oh, what's the use! I'd be glad to spend Christmas in +no worse place. Reform! Stuff! Don't tell me!" He sank back purple in +the face. + +[Illustration: "What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!"] + +"Oh, of course--if you know!" Tomlinson hesitated politely, remembering +that McAllister had signed for the dinner. + +"Well, I _do_ know," affirmed McAllister. + + +II + +"No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" rang out the bells, as McAllister left the +club at twelve o'clock and started down the avenue. + +"No-el! No-el!" hummed McAllister. "Pretty old air!" he thought. He had +almost forgotten that it was Christmas morning. As he felt his way +gingerly over the stone sidewalks, the bells were ringing all around +him. First one chime, then another. "No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" They +ceased, leaving the melody floating on the moist night air. + +The snow began to fall irregularly in patchy flakes, then gradually +turned to rain. First a soft, wet mist, that dimmed the electric lights +and shrouded the hotel windows; then a fine sprinkle; at last the chill +rain of a winter's night. McAllister turned up his coat-collar and +looked about for a cab. It was too late. He hurried hastily down the +avenue. Soon a welcome sight met his eye--a coupé, a night-hawk, +crawling slowly down the block, on the lookout, no doubt, for belated +Christmas revellers. Without superfluous introduction McAllister made a +dive for the door, shouted his address, and jumped inside. The driver, +but half-roused from his lethargy, muttered something unintelligible and +pulled in his horse. At the same moment the dark figure of a man swiftly +emerged from a side street, ran up to the cab, opened the door, threw in +a heavy object upon McAllister's feet, and followed it with himself. + +"Let her go!" he cried, slamming the door. The driver, without +hesitation, lashed his horse and started at a furious gallop down the +slippery avenue. + +Then for the first time the stranger perceived McAllister. There was a +muttered curse, a gleam of steel as they flashed by a street-lamp, and +the clubman felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against his cheek. + +"Speak, and I'll blow yer head off!" + +The cab swayed and swerved in all directions, and the driver retained +his seat with difficulty. McAllister, clinging to the sides of the +rocking vehicle, expected every moment to be either shot or thrown out +and killed. + +"Don't move!" hissed his companion. + +McAllister tried with difficulty not to move. + +Suddenly there came a shrill whistle, followed by the clatter of hoofs. +A figure on horseback dashed by. The driver, endeavoring to rein in his +now maddened beast, lost his balance and pitched overboard. There was a +confusion of shouts, a blue flash, a loud report. The horse sprang into +the air and fell, kicking, upon the pavement; the cab crashed upon its +side; amid a shower of glass the door parted company with its hinges, +and the stranger, placing his heel on McAllister's stomach, leaped +quickly into the darkness. A moment later, having recovered a part of +his scattered senses, our hero, thrusting himself through the shattered +framework of the cab, staggered to his feet. He remembered dimly +afterward having expected to create a mild sensation among the +spectators by announcing, in response to their polite inquiries as to +his safety, that he was "quite uninjured." Instead, however, the glare +of a policeman's lantern was turned upon his dishevelled countenance, +and a hoarse voice shouted: + +"Throw up your hands!" + +[Illustration: "Throw up your hands!"] + +He threw them up. Like the PhÅ“nix rising from its ashes, McAllister +emerged from the débris which surrounded him. On either side of the cab +he beheld a policeman with a levelled revolver. A mounted officer stood +sentinel beside the smoking body of the horse. + +"No tricks, now!" continued the voice. "Pull your feet out of that mess, +and keep your hands up! Slip on the nippers, Tom. Better go through him +here. They always manage to lose somethin' goin' over." + +McAllister wondered where "Over" was. Before he could protest, he was +unceremoniously seated upon the body of the dead horse and the officers +were going rapidly through his clothes. + +"Thought so!" muttered Tom, as he drew out of McAllister's coat-pocket a +revolver and a jimmy. "Just as well to unballast 'em at the start." A +black calico mask and a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid +followed. + +Tom drew a quick breath. + +"So you're one of those, are ye?" he added with an oath. + +The victim of this astounding adventure had not yet spoken. Now he +stammered: + +"Look here! Who do you think I am? This is all a mistake." + +Tom did not deign to reply. + +The officer on horseback had dismounted and was poking among the pieces +of cab. + +"What's this here?" he inquired, as he dragged a large bundle covered +with black cloth into the circle of light, and, untying a bit of cord, +poured its contents upon the pavement. A glittering silver service +rolled out upon the asphalt and reflected the glow of the lanterns. + +"Gee! look at all the swag!" cried Tom. "I wonder where he melts it up." + +Faintly at first, then nearer and nearer, came the harsh clanging of the +"hurry up" wagon. + +"Get up!" directed Tom, punctuating his order with mild kicks. Then, as +the driver reined up the panting horses alongside, the officer grabbed +his prisoner by the coat-collar and yanked him to his feet. + +"Jump in," he said roughly. + +"My God!" exclaimed our friend half-aloud, "where are they going to take +me?" + +"To the Tombs--for Christmas!" answered Tom. + + +III + +McAllister, hatless, stumbled into the wagon and was thrust forcibly +into a corner. Above the steady drum of the rain upon the waterproof +cover he could hear the officers outside packing up the silverware and +discussing their capture. + +The hot japanned tin of the wagon-lamps smelled abominably. The heavy +breathing of the horses, together with the sickening odor of rubber and +damp straw, told him that this was no dream, but a frightful reality. + +"He's a bad un!" came Tom's voice in tones of caution. "You can see his +lay is the gentleman racket. Wait till he gets to the precinct and hear +the steer he'll give the sergeant. He's a wise un, and don't you forget +it!" + +As the wagon started, the officers swung on to the steps behind. +McAllister, crouching in the straw by the driver's seat, tried to +understand what had happened. Apart from a few bruises and a cut on his +forehead he had escaped injury, and, while considerably shaken up, was +physically little the worse for his adventure. His head, however, ached +badly. What he suffered from most was a new and strange sensation of +helplessness. It was as if he had stepped into another world, in which +he--McAllister, of the Colophon Club--did not belong and the language of +which he did not speak. The ignominy of his position crushed him. Never +again, should this disgrace become known, could he bring himself to +enter the portals of the club. To be the hero of an exciting adventure +with a burglar in a runaway cab was one matter, but to be arrested, +haled to prison and locked up, was quite another. Once before the proper +authorities, it would be simple enough to explain who and what he was, +but the question that troubled him was how to avoid publicity. He +remembered the bills in his pocket. Fortunately they were still there. +In spite of the handcuffs, he wormed them out and surreptitiously held +up the roll. The guard started visibly, and, turning away his head, +allowed McAllister to thrust the wad into his hand. + +"Can't I square this, somehow?" whispered our hero, hesitatingly. + +The guard broke into a loud guffaw. "Get on to him!" he laughed. "He's +at it already, Tom. Look at the dough he took out of his pants! You're +right about his lay." He turned fiercely upon McAllister, who, dazed by +this sudden turn of affairs, once more retreated into his corner. + +The three officers counted the money ostentatiously by the light of a +lantern. + +"Eighty plunks! Thought we was cheap, didn't he?" remarked the guard +scornfully. "No; eighty plunks won't square this job for you! It'll take +nearer eight years. No more monkey business, now! You've struck the +wrong combine!" + +McAllister saw that he had been guilty of a terrible _faux pas_. Any +explanation to these officers was clearly impossible. With an official +it would be different. He had once met a police commissioner at dinner, +and remembered that he had seemed really almost like a gentleman. + +The wagon drew up at a police station, and presently McAllister found +himself in a small room, at one end of which iron bars ran from floor to +ceiling. A kerosene lamp cast a dim light over a weather-beaten desk, +behind which, half-asleep, reclined an officer on night duty. A single +other chair and four large octagonal stone receptacles were the only +remaining furniture. + +The man behind the desk opened his eyes, yawned, and stared stupidly at +the officers. A clock directly overhead struck "one" with harsh, vibrant +clang. + +"Wot yer got?" inquired the sergeant. + +"A second-story man," answered the guard. + +"He took to a cab," explained Tom, "and him and his partner give us a +fierce chase down the avenoo. O'Halloran shot the horse, and the cab was +all knocked to hell. The other fellow clawed out before we could nab +him. But we got this one all right." + +"Hi, there, McCarthy!" shouted the sergeant to someone in the dim vast +beyond. "Come and open up." He examined McAllister with a degree of +interest. "Quite a swell guy!" he commented. "Them dress clothes must +have been real pretty onc't." + +McAllister stood with soaked and rumpled hair, hatless and collarless, +his coat torn and splashed, and his shirt-bosom bloody and covered with +mud. He wanted to cry, for the first time in thirty-five years. + +"Wot's yer name?" asked the sergeant. + +The prisoner remained stiffly mute. He would have suffered anything +rather than disclose himself. + +"Where do yer live?" + +Still no answer. The sergeant gave vent to a grim laugh. + +"Mum, eh?" He scribbled something in the blotter upon the desk before +him. Then he raised his eyes and scrutinized McAllister's face. Suddenly +he jumped to his feet. + +[Illustration: "Do you know who you've caught?"] + +"Well, of all the luck!" he exclaimed. "Do you know who you've caught? +It's Fatty Welch!" + + +IV + +How he had managed to live through the night that followed McAllister +could never afterward understand. Locked in a cell, alone, to be sure, +but with no light, he took off his dripping coat and threw himself on +the wooden seat that served for a bed. It was about six inches too +short. He lay there for a few moments, then got wearily to his feet and +began to pace up and down the narrow cell. His legs and abdomen, which +had been the recipients of so much attention, pained him severely. The +occupant of the next apartment, awakened by our friend's arrival, began +to show irritation. He ordered McAllister in no gentle language to +abstain from exercise and go to sleep. A woman farther down the corridor +commenced to moan drearily to herself. Evidently sleep had made her +forget her sorrow, but now in the middle of the night it came back to +her with redoubled force. Her groans racked McAllister's heart. A stir +ran all along the cells--sounds of people tossing restlessly, curses, +all the nameless noises of the jail. McAllister, fearful of bringing +some new calamity upon his head, sat down. He had been shivering when he +came in; now he reeked with perspiration. The air was fetid. The only +ventilation came through the gratings of the door, and a huge stove just +beyond his cell rendered the temperature almost unbearable. He began to +throw off his garments one by one. Again he drew his knees to his chest +and tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Never had McAllister in +all his life known such wretchedness of body, such abject physical +suffering. But his agony of mind was even more unbearable. Vague +apprehensions of infectious disease floating in the nauseous air, or of +possible pneumonia, unnerved and tortured him. Stretched on the floor he +fell at length into a coma of exhaustion, in which he fancied that he +was lying in a warm bath in the porcelain tub at home. In the room +beyond he could see Frazier, his valet, laying out his pajamas and +dressing-gown. There was a delicious odor of that violet perfume he +always used. In a minute he would jump into bed. Then the valet suddenly +came into the bath-room and began to pound his master on the back of the +neck. For some reason he did not resent this. It seemed quite natural +and proper. He merely put up his hand to ward off the blows, and found +the keeper standing over him. + +"Here's some breakfast," remarked that official. "Tom sent out and got +it for ye. The city don't supply no _aller carty_." McAllister vaguely +rubbed his eyes. The keeper shut and locked the door, leaving behind him +on the seat a tin mug of scalding hot coffee and a half loaf of sour +bread. + +McAllister arose and felt his clothes. They were entirely dry, but had +shrunk perceptibly. He was surprised to find that, save for the +dizziness in his head, he felt not unlike himself. Moreover, he was most +abominably hungry. He knelt down and smelt of the contents of the tin +cup. It did not smell like coffee at all. It tasted like a combination +of hot water, tea, and molasses. He waited until it had cooled, and +drank it. The bread was not so bad. McAllister ate it all. + +There was a good deal of noise in the cells now, and outside he could +hear many feet coming and going. Occasionally a draught of cold air +would flow in, and an officer would tramp down the corridor and remove +one of the occupants of the row. His watch showed that it was already +eight o'clock. He fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and found a very +warped and wrinkled cigar. His match-box supplied the necessary light, +and "Chubby" McAllister began to smoke his after-breakfast Havana with +appreciation. + +"No smoking in the cells!" came the rough voice of the keeper. "Give us +that cigar, Welch!" + +McAllister started to his feet. + +"Hand it over, now! Quick!" + +The clubman passed his cherished comforter through the bars, and the +keeper, thrusting it, still lighted, into his own mouth, grinned at him, +winked, and walked away. + +[Illustration: "Merry Christmas, Fatty!"] + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" he remarked genially over his shoulder. + + +V + +Half an hour later Tom and his "side partner" came to the cell-door. +They were flushed with victory. Already the morning papers contained +accounts of the pursuit and startling arrest of "Fatty Welch," the +well-known crook, who was wanted in Pennsylvania and elsewhere on +various charges. Altogether the officers were in a very genial frame of +mind. + +"Come along, Fatty," said Tom, helping the clubman into his bedraggled +overcoat. "We're almost late for roll-call, as it is." + +They left the cells and entered the station-house proper, where several +officers with their prisoners were waiting. + +"We'll take you down to Headquarters and make sure we've got you +_right_," he continued. "I guess Sheridan'll know you fast enough when +he sees you. Come on, boys!" He opened the door and led the way across +the sidewalk to the patrol wagon, which stood backed against the curb. + +It was a glorious winter's day. The sharp, frosty air stimulated the +clubman's jaded senses and gave him new hope; he felt sure that at +headquarters he would find some person to whom he could safely confide +the secret of his identity. In about ten minutes the wagon stopped in a +narrow street, before an inhospitable-looking building. + +"Here's the old place," remarked one of the load cheerfully. "Looks just +the same as ever. Mott Street's not a mite different. And to think I +ain't been here in fifteen years!" + +All clambered out, and each officer, selecting his prisoners, convoyed +them down a flight of steps, through a door, several feet below the +level of the sidewalk, and into a small, stuffy chamber full of men +smoking and lounging. Most of these seemed to take a friendly interest +in the clubman, a few accosting him by his now familiar alias. + +Tom hurried McAllister along a dark corridor, out into a cold +court-yard, across the cobblestones into another door, through a hall +lighted only by a dim gas-jet, and then up a flight of winding stairs. +McAllister's head whirled. Then quickly they were at the top, and in a +huge, high-ceiled room crowded with men in civilian dress. On one side, +upon a platform, stood a nondescript row of prisoners, at whom the +throng upon the floor gazed in silence. Above the heads of this file of +motley individuals could be read the gold lettering upon the cabinet +behind them--Rogues' Gallery. On the other side of the room, likewise +upon a platform and behind a long desk, stood two officers in uniform, +one of them an inspector, engaged in studying with the keenest attention +the human exhibition opposite. + +"Get up there, Fatty!" + +Before he realized what had happened, McAllister was pushed upon the +platform at the end of the line. His appearance created a little wave +of excitement, which increased when his comrades of the wagon joined +him. It was a peculiar scene. Twenty men standing up for inspection, +some gazing unconcernedly before them, some glaring defiantly at their +observers, and others grinning recognition at familiar faces. McAllister +grew cold with fright. Several of the detectives pointed at him and +nodded. Out of the silence the Inspector's voice came with the shock of +thunder: + +"Hey, there, you, Sanders, hold up your hand!" + +A short man near the head of the line lifted his arm. + +"Take off your hat." + +The prisoner removed his head-gear with his other hand. The Inspector +raised his voice and addressed the crowd of detectives, who turned with +one accord to examine the subject of his discourse. + +"That's Biff Sanders, con man and all-round thief. Served two terms up +the river for grand larceny--last time an eight-year bit; that was nine +years ago. Take a good look at him. I want you to remember his face. Put +your hat on." + +Sanders resumed his original position, his face expressing the most +complete indifference. + +A slight, good-looking young man now joined the Inspector and directed +his attention to the prisoner next the clubman, the same being he who +had remarked upon the familiar appearance of Mott Street. + +"Hold up your hand!" ordered the Inspector. "You're Muggins, aren't you? +Haven't been here in fifteen years, have you?" + +The man smiled. + +"You're right, Inspector," he said. "The last time was in '89." + +"That's Muggins, burglar and sneak; served four terms here, and then got +settled for life in Louisville for murder. Pardoned after he'd served +four years. Look at him." + +Thus the curious proceeding continued, each man in the line being +inspected, recognized, and his record and character described by the +Inspector to the assembled bureau of detectives. No other voice was +heard save the harsh tones of some prisoner in reply. + +Then the Inspector looked at McAllister. + +"Welch, hold up your hand." + +McAllister shuddered. If he refused, he knew not what might happen to +him. He had heard of the horrors of the "Third Degree," and associated +it with starvation, the rack, and all kinds of brutality. They might set +upon him in a body. He might be mobbed, beaten, strangled. And yet, if +he obeyed, would it not be a public admission that he was the mysterious +and elusive Welch? Would it not bind the chains more firmly about him +and render explanation all the more difficult? + +"Do you hear? Hold up your hand, and be quick about it!" + +His hand went up of its own accord. + +The Inspector cleared his throat and rapped upon the railing. + +"Take a good look at this man. He's Fatty Welch, one of the cleverest +thieves in the country. Does a little of everything. Began as a valet to +a clubman in this city. He got settled for stealing a valuable pin about +three years ago, and served a short term up the river. Since then he's +been all over. His game is to secure employment in fashionable houses as +butler or servant and then get away with the jewelry. He's wanted for a +big job down in Pennsylvania. Take a good look at him. When he gets out +we don't want him around these parts. I'd like you precinct-men to +remember him." + +The detectives crowded near to get a close view of the interesting +criminal. One or two of them made notes in memorandum books. The slender +man had a hasty conference with the Inspector. + +"The officer who has Welch, take him up to the gallery and then bring +him down to the record room," directed the Inspector. + +"Get down, Fatty!" commanded Tom. McAllister, stupefied with horror, +embarrassment, and apprehension of the possibilities in store for him, +stepped down and followed like a somnambulist. As they made their way to +the elevator he could hear the strident voice of the Inspector beginning +again: + +"This is Pat Hogan, otherwise known as 'Paddy the Sneak,' and his side +partner, Jim Hawkins, who goes under the name of James Hawkinson. His +pals call him 'Supple Jim.' Two of the cleverest sneaks in the country. +They branch out into strong arm work occasionally." + +The elevator began to ascend. + +"You seem kinder down," commented Tom. "I suppose you expect to get +settled for quite a bit down to Philadelphia, eh? Well, don't talk +unless you feel like it. Here we are!" + +They got out upon an upper floor and crossed the hall. On their left a +matron was arranging rows of tiny chairs in a small school-room or +nursery. At any other time the Lost Children's Room might have aroused a +flicker of interest in McAllister, but he felt none whatever in it now. +Tom opened a door and pushed the clubman gently into a small, low-ceiled +chamber. Charts and diagrams of the human cranium hung on one wall, +while a score of painted eyes, each of a different color, and each +bearing a technical appellation and a number, stared from the other. +Upon a small square platform, about eight inches in height, stood a +half-clad Italian congealed with terror and expecting momentarily to +receive a shock of electricity. The slender young man was rapidly +measuring his hands and feet and calling out the various dimensions to +an assistant, who recorded them upon a card. This accomplished, he +ordered his victim down from the block, seated him unceremoniously in a +chair, and with a pair of shining instruments gauged the depth of his +skull from front to rear, its width between the cheekbones, and the +length of the ears, describing all the while the other features in brief +terms to his associate. + +"Now off with you!" he ejaculated. "Here, lug this Greaser in and mug +him." + +The officer in the case haled the Italian, shrieking, into another room. + +"Ah, Fatty!" remarked the slender man. "I trust you won't object to +these little formalities? Take off that left shoe, if you please." + +McAllister's soul had shrivelled within him. His powers of thought had +been annihilated. Mechanically he removed the shoe in question and +placed his foot upon the block. The young man quickly measured it. + +"Now get up there and rest your hand on the board." + +McAllister observed that the table bore the painted outline of a human +hand. He did as he was told unquestioningly. The other measured his +forefinger and the length of his forearm. + +"All right. Now sit down and let me tickle your head for a moment." + +The operator took the silver calipers which had just been used upon the +Italian and ran them thoughtfully forward and back above the clubman's +organs of hearing. + +"By George, you've got a big head!" remarked the measurer. "Prominent, +Roman nose. No. 4 eyes. Thank you. Just step into the next room, will +you, and be mugged?" + +McAllister drew on his shoe and followed Tom into the adjoining chamber +of horrors. + +"No tricks, now!" commented the officer in charge of the instrument. + +Snap! went the camera. + +"Turn sideways." + +Snap! + +"That's all." + +The clubman staggered to his feet. He entirely failed to appreciate the +extent of the indignity which had been practised upon him. It was hours +before he realized that he had actually been measured and photographed +as a criminal, and that, to his dying hour and beyond, these insignia of +his shame would remain locked in the custody of the police. + +"Where now?" he asked. + +"Time to go over to court," answered Tom. "The wagon'll be waitin' for +us. But first we'll drop in on Sheridan--record-room man, you know." + +"Isn't there some way I can see the Commissioner?" inquired McAllister. + +Tom burst into a roar of laughter. + +"You _have_ got a gall!" he commented, thumping his prisoner +good-naturedly in the middle of the back. "The Commissioner! Ho-ho! +That's a good one! I guess we'll have to make it the Warden. Come on, +now, and quit yer joshin'." + +Once more they entered the main room, where the detectives were +congregated. The Inspector was still at it. There had been a big haul +the night before. He intended running all the crooks out of town by New +Year's Day. Tom shoved McAllister through the crush, across an adjoining +room and finally into a tiny office. A young man with a genial +countenance was sitting at a desk by the single window. He looked up as +they crossed the threshold. + +"Hello, Welch! How goes it? Let's see, how long is it since you were +here?" + +Somehow this quiet, gentlemanly fellow with his confident method of +address, telling you just who you were, irritated McAllister to the +explosive point. + +"I'm not Welch!" he cried indignantly. + +"Ha-ha!" laughed Mr. Sheridan. "Pray who are you?" + +"You'll find out soon enough!" answered McAllister sullenly. + +"Look here," remarked the other, "don't imagine you can bluff us. If you +think you are not Welch, perhaps I can persuade you to change your +mind." + +He turned to an officer who stood in the doorway of a large vault. + +"Bring 2,208, if you please." + +The officer pulled out a drawer, removed a long linen envelope, and +spread out its contents upon the desk. These were fifteen or twenty +newspaper clippings, at least one of which was embellished with an +evil-looking wood-cut. + +"Let's see," continued Mr. Sheridan. "You began with a year up the +river. Took a pearl pin from a man named McAllister. Then you turned +several tricks in Chicago, St. Louis, Buffalo and Philadelphia, and got +away with it every time. Have we got you right?" + +McAllister ground his teeth. + +"You have not!" said he. + +"Look at yourself," continued the other. "There's your face. You can't +deny it. I wonder the Inspector didn't have you measured and +photographed the first time you were settled. Still, the picture's +enough." + +He handed the clubman a newspaper clipping containing a visage which +undeniably resembled the features which the latter saw daily in his +mirror. McAllister wearily shook his head. + +"Well," said the expert, "of course you don't have to tell us anything +unless you want to. We've got you right--that's enough." + +He pushed the clippings back into the envelope, handed it to the +officer, and turned away. + +"Come on!" ordered Tom. + +Once more McAllister and his mentor availed themselves of the only free +transportation offered by the city government, that of the patrol wagon, +and were soon deposited at the side entrance of the Jefferson Market +police court. A group of curious idlers watched their descent and +disappearance into what must have at all times seemed to them a concrete +and ever-present temporal Avernus. The why and wherefore of these +erratic trips were, of course, unknown to McAllister. Presumably he must +be some _rara avis_ of crime whose feet had been caught inadvertently in +the limed twig set by the official fowler for more homely poultry. +Fatty Welch, whoever he might be, apparently enjoyed the respect +incident to success in any line of human endeavor. It seemed likewise +that his presence was much desired in the sister city of Philadelphia, +in which direction the clubman had a vague fear of being unwillingly +transported. He did not, of course, realize that he was held primarily +as a violator of the law of his own State, and hence must answer to the +charge in the magistrate's court nearest the locus of his supposed +offence. + +Inside the station house Tom held a few moments' converse with one of +its grizzled guardians, and then led our hero along a passage and opened +a door. But here McAllister shrank back. It was his first sight of that +great cosmopolitan institution, the police court. Before him lay the +scene of which he had so often read in the newspapers. The big room with +its Gothic windows was filled to overflowing with every variety of the +human species, who not only taxed the seating capacity of the benches to +the utmost, but near the doors were packed into a solid, impenetrable +mass. Upon a platform behind a desk a square-jawed man with +chin-whiskers disposed rapidly of the file of defendants brought before +him. + +A long line of officers, each with one or more prisoners, stood upon the +judge's left, and as fast as the business of one was concluded the next +pushed forward. McAllister perceived that at best only a few moments +could elapse before he was brought to face the charge against him, and +that he must make up his mind quickly what course of action to pursue. +As he stepped down from the doorway there was a perceptible flutter +among the spectators. Several hungry-looking men with note-books opened +them and poised their pencils expectantly. + +Tom, having handed over McAllister to the temporary care of a brother +officer, lost no time in locating his complainant, that is to say, the +gentleman whose house our hero was charged with having burglariously +entered. The two then sought out the clerk, who seemed to be holding a +sort of little preliminary court of his own, and who, under the +officer's instruction, drew up some formal document to which the +complainant signed his name. McAllister was now brought before this +official and briefly informed that anything he might say would be used +against him at his trial. He was then interrogated, as before, in regard +to his name, age, residence, and occupation, but with the same result. +Indeed, no answers seemed to be expected under the circumstances, and +the clerk, having written something upon the paper, waved them aside. +Nothing, however, of these proceedings had been lost to the reporters, +who escorted Tom and McAllister to the end of the line of officers, +worrying the former for information as to his prisoner's origin and past +performances. But Tom motioned them off with the papers which he held in +his hand, bidding them await the final action of the magistrate. Nobody +seemed particularly unfriendly; in fact, an air of general +good-fellowship pervaded the entire routine going on around them. What +impressed the clubman most was the persistence and omnipresence of the +reporters. + +"I must get time!" thought McAllister. "I must get time!" + +One after another the victims of the varied delights of too much +Christmas jubilation were disposed of. Fatty Welch was the only real +"gun" that had been taken. He had the arena practically to himself. Now +only one case intervened. He braced himself and tried to steady his +nerves. + +"Next! What's this?" + +McAllister was thrust down below the bridge facing the bench, and Tom +began hastily to describe the circumstances of the arrest. + +"Fatty Welch?" interrupted the magistrate. "Oh, yes! I read about it in +the morning papers. Chased off in a cab, didn't he? You shot the horse, +and his partner got away? Wanted in Pennsylvania and Illinois, you say? +That's enough." Then looking down at McAllister, who stood before him +in bespattered dress suit and fragmentary linen, he inquired: + +"Have you counsel?" + +McAllister made no answer. If he proclaimed who he was and demanded an +immediate hearing, the harpies of the press would fill the papers with +full accounts of his episode. His incognito must be preserved at any +cost. Whatever action he might decide to take, this was not the time and +place; a better opportunity would undoubtedly present itself later in +the day. + +"You are charged with the crime of burglary," continued the Judge, "and +it is further alleged that you are a fugitive from justice in two other +States. What have you to say for yourself?" + +McAllister sought the Judge's eye in vain. + +"I have nothing to say," he replied faintly. There was a renewed +scratching of pens. + +The Judge conferred with the clerk for a moment. + +"Any question of the prisoner's identity?" he asked. + +"Oh, no," replied Tom conclusively. "The fact is, yer onner, we took him +by accident, as you may say. We laid a plant for a feller doin' +second-story work on the avenoo, and when we nabbed him, who should it +be but Welch! Ye see, they wired on his description from Philadelphia a +couple of weeks ago, but we couldn't find hide or hair of him in the +city, and had about give up lookin'. Then, quite unexpected, we scoops +him in. Here's his indentity," handing the Judge a soiled telegraph +blank. "It's him, all right," he added with a grin. + +The magistrate glanced at the form and at McAllister. + +"Seems to fit," he commented. "Have you looked for the scar?" + +Tom laughed. + +"Sure! I seen it when he was gettin' his measurements took, down to +headquarters." + +"Turn around, Welch, and let's see your back," directed the magistrate. + +The clubman turned around and displayed his collarless neck. + +"There it is!" exclaimed Tom. + +McAllister mechanically put his hand to his neck and turned faint. He +had had in his childhood an almost forgotten fall, and the scar was +still there. He experienced a genuine thrill of horror. + +"Well," continued the magistrate, "the prisoner is entitled to counsel, +and, besides, I am sure that the complainant, Mr. Brown, has no desire +to be delayed here on Christmas Day. I will set the hearing for ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, at the Tombs police court. I shall be +sitting there for Judge Mason the rest of the week, beginning to-morrow, +and will take the case along with me. You might suggest to the Warden +that it would be more convenient to send the prisoner down to the Tombs, +so that there need be no delay." + +The complainant bowed, and the officer at the bridge slapped McAllister +not unkindly upon the back. + +"You'll need a pretty good lawyer," he remarked with a wink. + +"Next!" ordered the Judge. + +In the patrol wagon McAllister had ample time for reflection. A motley +collection of tramps, "disorderlies," and petty law-breakers filled the +seats and crowded the aisle. They all talked and joked, swinging from +side to side and clutching at one another for support with harsh +outbursts of profanity, as they rattled down the deserted streets toward +New York's Bastile. Staggering for a foot-hold, between four women of +the town, McAllister was forced to breathe the fumes of alcohol, the +odor of musk, and the aroma of foul linen. He no longer felt innocent. +The sense of guilt was upon him. He seemed part and parcel of this load +of miserable humanity. + +The wagon clattered over the cobblestones of Elm Street, and whirling +round, backed up to the door of the Tombs. The low, massive Egyptian +structure, surrounded by a high stone wall, seemed like a gigantic +mortuary vault waiting to receive the "civilly dead." Warden and keepers +were ready for the prisoners, who were now unceremoniously bundled out +and hustled inside. McAllister stood with the others in a small anteroom +leading directly into the lowest tier. He could hear the ceaseless +shuffling of feet and the subdued murmur of voices, rising and falling, +but continuous, like the twittering of a multitude of birds, while +through the bars came the fetid prison smell, with a new and +disagreeable element--the odor of prison food. + +"Keepin' your mouth shut?" remarked the deputy to McAllister, as he +entered the words "Prisoner refuses to answer," and blotted them. + +"We're rather crowded just now," he added apologetically. "I guess I'll +send you to Murderer's Row. Holloa, there!" he called to someone above, +"one for the first tier!" + +A keeper seized the clubman by the arm, opened a door in the steel +grating, and pushed him through. "Go 'long up!" he ordered. + +McAllister started wearily up the stairs. At the top of the flight he +came to another door, behind which stood another keeper. In the +background marched in ceaseless procession an irregular file of men. In +the gloom they looked like ghosts. Aimlessly they walked on, one behind +the other, most of them with eyes downcast, wordless, taking that +exercise of the body which the law prescribed. + +McAllister entered The Den of Beasts. + +"All right, Jimmy!" yelled the keeper to the deputy warden below. Then, +turning to McAllister. "I'm goin' to put you in with Davidson. He's +quiet, and won't bother you if you let him alone. Better give him +whichever berth he feels like. Them double-decker cots is just as good +on top as they is below." + +McAllister followed the keeper down the narrow gangway that ran around +the prison. In the stone corridor below a great iron stove glowed +red-hot, and its fumes rose and mingled with the tainted air that +floated out from every cell. Above him rose tier on tier, illuminated +only by the gray light which filtered through a grimy window at one end +of the prison. The arrangement of cells, the "bridges" that joined the +tiers, and the murky atmosphere, heightened the resemblance to the +"'tween decks" of an enormous slaver, bearing them all away to some +distant port of servitude. + +"Get up there, Jake! Here's a bunkie for you." + +McAllister bent his head and entered. He was standing beside a +two-story cot bed, in a compartment about six by eight feet square. A +faint light came from a narrow, horizontal slit in the rear wall. A +faucet with tin basin completed the contents of the room. On the top +bunk lay a man's soiled coat and waistcoat, the feet of the owner being +discernible below. + +The keeper locked the door and departed, while the occupant of the +berth, rolling lazily over, peered up at the new-comer; then he sprang +from the cot. + +"Mr. McAllister!" he whispered hoarsely. + +It was Wilkins--the old Wilkins, in spite of a new light-brown beard. + +For a few moments neither spoke. + +"Sorry to see you 'ere, sir," said Wilkins at length, in his old +respectful tones. "Won't you sit down, sir?" + +McAllister seated himself upon the bed automatically. + +"You here, Wilkins?" he managed to say. + +Wilkins laughed rather bitterly. + +"I've been in stir a good part of the time since I left you, sir; an' +two weeks ago I pleaded guilty to larceny and was sentenced to one year +more. But I'm glad to see you lookin' so well, if you'll pardon me, +sir." + +"I'm sorry for you, Wilkins," the master managed to reply. "I hope my +severity in that matter of the pin did not bring you to this!" + +Wilkins hesitated for a moment. + +"It ain't your fault, sir. I was born crooked, I fancy, sir. It's all +right. You've got troubles of your own. Only--you'll excuse me, sir--I +never suspected anything when I was in your service." + +McAllister did not grasp the meaning of this remark; he only felt relief +that Wilkins apparently bore him no ill-will. Very few of his friends +would have followed up a theft of that sort. They expected their men to +steal their pins. + +"Mebbe I might 'elp you. Wot's the charge, sir?" + +With his former valet as a sympathetic listener, McAllister poured out +his whole story, omitting nothing, and, as he finished, leaned forward, +searching eagerly the other's face. + +"Now, what shall I do? What shall I do, Wilkins?" + +The latter coughed deprecatingly. + +"You'll pardon me, but that'll never go, sir! You'll have to get +somethin' better than that, sir. The jury will never believe it." + +McAllister sprang to his feet, in so doing knocking his head against the +iron support of the upper cot. + +"How dare you, Wilkins! What do you mean?" + +"There, there, sir!" exclaimed the other. "Don't take on so. Of course I +didn't mean you wouldn't tell the truth, sir. But don't you see, sir, +hit isn't I as am goin' to listen to it? Shall I fetch you some water to +wash your face, sir?" He turned on the faucet. + +The clubman, yielding to the force of ancient habit, allowed Wilkins to +let it run for him, and having washed his face and combed his hair, felt +somewhat refreshed. + +"That feels good," he remarked, rubbing his hands together. + +It was obvious that so long as he remained in prison he would be either +"Fatty Welch" or someone else equally depraved; and since he could not +make anyone understand, it seemed his best plan to accept for the time, +with equanimity, the personality that fate had thrust upon him. + +"Well, Wilkins, we're in a tight place. But we'll do what we can to +assist each other. If I get out first I'll help you, and _vice versa_. +Now, what's the first thing to be done? You see, I've never been here +before." + +"That's the talk, sir," answered Wilkins. "Now, first, who's your +lawyer?" + +"Haven't any, yet." + +"All depends on the lawyer," returned the valet judicially. "Now, +there's Carter, and Herlihy, and Kemp, all sharp fellows, but they're +always after you for money, and then they're so clever that the jury is +apt to distrust 'em. The best thing, I find, is to get the most +respectable old solicitor you can--kind of genteel, 'family' variety, +with the goodness just stickin' hout all hover 'im. 'E creates a +hatmosphere of hinnocence, and that's wot you need. One as 'as white +'air and can talk about 'this boy 'ere' and can lay 'is 'and on yer +shoulder and weep. That's the go, sir." + +"I understand," said McAllister. + +Under the guidance of his valet our hero secured writing materials and +indicted a pitiful appeal to his family lawyer. + +A gong rang; the squad of prisoners who had been exercising went back to +their cells, and the keeper came and unlocked the door. + +McAllister stepped out and fell into line. His tight clothes proved very +uncomfortable as he strode round the tiers, and the absence of a +collar--yes, that was really the most unpleasant feature. His neck was +not much to boast of, therefore he always wore his shirts low and his +collars high. Now, as he stumbled along, he was the object of +considerable attention from his fellows. + +At the end of an hour another gong sounded. In a moment the tiers were +empty; fifty doors clanged to. + +"Well, Wilkins?" + +"Being as this is Sunday, sir, we 'ave a few hours' service. Church of +England first, then City Mission. We're not hallowed to talk, but if you +don't mind the 'owlin' you can snatch a wink o' sleep. Christmas dinner +at twelve. Old Burridge, the trusty, was a-tellin' me as 'ow it's +hexcellent, sir!" + +McAllister looked at his watch in despair. It was only a quarter past +ten. He had not been to church for fifteen years, but evidently he was +in for it now. Following his former valet's example, he took off his +shoes and stretched himself upon the cot. + +On and on in never-varying tones dragged the service. The preacher held +the key to the situation. His congregation could not escape; he had a +full house, and he was bent on making the most of it. + +The hands of McAllister's watch crept slowly round to five minutes +before eleven. + +When at last the preacher stopped, carefully folded his manuscript, and +pronounced the benediction, a prolonged sigh of relief eddied through +the Tombs. Men were waking on all sides; cots creaked; there was a +general and contagious yawn. + +Again the gong rang, and with it the smell of food floated up along the +tiers. McAllister realized that he was hungry--not mildly, as he was at +the club, but ravenous, as he had never been before. Presently the +longed-for food came, borne by a "trusty" in new white uniform. Wilkins, +who had been making a meagre toilet at the faucet, took in the dinner +through the door--two tin plates piled high with turkey and chicken, +flanked by heaps of potato and carrots, and one whole apple pie! + +"Ha!" thought McAllister, "I was not so far wrong about this part of +it!" The chicken was perhaps not of the variety known as "spring"; but +neither master nor man noticed it as they feasted, sitting side by side +upon the cot. + +"Carrots!" philosophized McAllister, looking regretfully at his empty +tin plate. "Now, I thought only horses ate carrots; and really, they're +not bad at all. I should like some more. Er--Wilkins! Can we get some +more carrots?" + +Wilkins shook his head mournfully. + +"Message for 34! Message for 34!" + +A letter was thrust through the bars. + +McAllister tore it open with feverish haste, and recognized the crabbed +hand of old Mr. Potter. + + 2 East Seventy-First Street. + F. Welch, Esq. + + Sir: The remarkable letter just delivered to me, + signed by a name which you request me not to use in my + reply, has received careful consideration. I + telephoned to Mr. Mc----'s rooms, and was informed by + his valet that that gentleman had gone to the country + to visit friends over Christmas. I have therefore + directed the messenger to collect from yourself his + fee for delivering this answer. Yours, etc., + + EBENEZER POTTER. + +"That fool Frazier!" groaned McAllister. "How the devil could he have +thought I had gone away?" Then he remembered that he had directed the +valet to pack his bags and send them to the station, in anticipation of +the Winthrops' invitation. + +He was at his wits' end. + +"How do you get bail, Wilkins?" + +"You 'ave to find someone as owns real estate in the city, sir, to go on +your bond. 'Ow much is it?" + +"Five thousand dollars," replied McAllister. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. He regarded his former master with +renewed interest. + +But the dinner had wrought a change in that hitherto subdued individual. +With a valet and running water he was beginning to feel his oats a +little. He checked off mentally the names of his acquaintances. There +was not one left in town. + +He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. One o'clock. Just then the +gong rang again. + +"What in thunder is this, now?" + +"Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from one to two-thirty." + +"Ye gods!" ejaculated McAllister. + +A band of young girls came and stood with their hymn-books along the +opposite tier, while a Presbyterian clergyman took the place on the +bridge recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Prayers alternated +with hymns until the sermon, which lasted sixty-five minutes. + +McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed until half past two, +when the choir and missionary finally departed. + +"Only a 'arf 'our, sir, an' we can get some more hexercise," said +Wilkins encouragingly. + +But McAllister did not want exercise. He swung to his feet, and peering +disconsolately through the bars was suddenly confronted by an anæmic +young woman holding an armful of flowers. Before he could efface himself +she smiled sweetly at him. + +"My poor man," she began confidently, "how sorry I am for you this +beautiful Christmas _Day_! Please take some of these; they will brighten +up your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." She pushed a dozen +carnations and asters through the bars. + +McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them. + +"What is your name?" continued the maiden. + +"Welch!" blurted out our bewildered friend. + +There was a stifled snort from the bunk behind. + +"Good-by, Welch. I know you are not _really_ bad. Won't you shake hands +with me?" + +She thrust her hand through the bars, and McAllister gave it a +perfunctory shake. + +"Good-by," she murmured, and passed on. + +"Lawd!" exploded Wilkins, rolling from side to side upon his cot. "O +Lawd! O Lawd! O--" and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the +carnations into the wash-basin. + +The gong again, and once more that endless tramp along the hot tiers. +The prison grew darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and the +air became more and more oppressive. With five o'clock came supper; then +the long, weary night. + +Next morning the valet seemed nervous and excited, eating little +breakfast, and smiling from time to time vaguely to himself. Having +fumbled in his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, which +he held toward his master. + +"'Ere, sir," he said with averted head. "It's for the pin. I'm sorry I +took it." + +McAllister's eyes were a little blurred as he mechanically received the +card-board. + +"Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said. + +A keeper came walking along the tier rattling the doors and telling +those who were wanted in court to get ready. + +"Good-by," said McAllister. "I'm sorry you felt obliged to plead guilty. +I might have helped you if I'd only known. Why didn't you stand your +trial?" + +"I 'ad my reasons," replied the valet. "I wanted to get my case disposed +of as quick as possible. You see, I'd been livin' in Philadelphia, and +'ad just come to New York when I was harrested. I didn't want 'em to +find out who I was or where I come from, so I just gives the name of +Davidson, and takes my dose." + +"Well," said McAllister, "you're taking your own dose; I'm taking +somebody else's. That hardly seems a fair deal--now does it, Wilkins? +But, of course, you don't know but that I _am_ Welch." + +"Oh, yes, I do, sir!" returned the valet. "You won't never be punished +for what he done." + +"How do you know?" exclaimed McAllister, visions of a speedy release +crowding into his mind. "And if you knew, why didn't you say so before? +Why, you might have got me out. How do you know?" he repeated. + +Wilkins looked around cautiously. The keeper was at the other end of the +tier. Then he came close to McAllister and whispered: + +"_Because I'm Fatty Welch myself!_" + + +VI + +Downstairs, across the sunlit prison yard, past the spot where the +hangings had taken place in the old days, up an enclosed staircase, a +half turn, and the clubman was marched across the Bridge of Sighs. Most +of the prisoners with him seemed in good spirits, but McAllister, who +was oppressed with the foreboding of imminent peril, felt that he could +no longer take any chances. His fatal resemblance to Fatty Welch, alias +Wilkins, his former valet, the circumstances of his arrest, the scar on +his neck, would seem to make conviction certain unless he followed one +of two alternatives--either that of disclosing Welch's identity or his +own. He dismissed the former instantly. Now that he knew something of +the real sufferings of men, his own life seemed contemptible. What +mattered the laughter of his friends, or sarcastic paragraphs in the +society columns of the papers? What did the fellows at the club know of +the game of life and death going on around them? of the misery and vice +to which they contributed? of the hopelessness of those wretched souls +who had been crushed down by fate into the gutters of life? Determined +to declare himself, he entered the court-room and tramped with the +others to the rail. + +There, to his amazement, sat old Mr. Potter beside the Judge. Tom and +his partner stood at one side. + +"Welch, step up here." + +Mr. Potter nodded very slightly, and McAllister, taking the hint, +stepped forward. + +"Is this your prisoner, officer?" + +"Shure, that's him, right enough," answered Tom. + +"Discharged," said the magistrate. + +Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who smiled good-humoredly and +winked at McAllister. + +"Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I'll let you off this time, but if +it happens again I won't answer for the consequences. Go home." + +Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled officers, who grinned +sheepishly, and then, seizing McAllister's arm, led our astonished +friend out of the court-room. + +As they whirled uptown in the closed automobile which had been waiting +for them around the corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the +letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had bethought him of calling +up Mrs. Winthrop on the telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer's +inquiries had fully convinced him of his error, and after evading her +questions with his usual caution, he had taken immediate steps for his +client's release--steps which, by reason of the lateness of the hour, he +could not communicate to the unhappy McAllister. + +"What has become of the fugitive Welch," he ended, "remains a mystery. +The police cannot imagine where he has hidden himself." + +"I wonder," said McAllister dreamily. + + * * * * * + +It was just seven o'clock when McAllister, arrayed, as usual, in +immaculate evening dress, sauntered into the club. Most of the men were +back from their Christmas outing; half a dozen of them were engaged in +ordering dinner. + +"Hello, Chubby!" shouted someone. "Come and have a drink. Had a pleasant +Christmas? You were at the Winthrops', weren't you?" + +"No," answered McAllister; "had to stay right in New York. Couldn't get +away. Yes, I'll take a dry Martini--er, waiter, make that two Martinis. +I want you all to have dinner with me. How would terrapin and +canvas-back do? Fill it out to suit yourselves, while I just take a +look at the _Post_." + +He picked up a paper, glanced at the head-lines, threw it down with a +sigh of relief, and lighted a cigarette. At the same moment two +policemen in civilian dress were leaving McAllister's apartments, each +having received at the hands of the impassive Frazier a bundle +containing a silver-mounted revolver and a large bottle full of an +unknown brown fluid. + +McAllister's dinner was a great success. The boys all said afterward +that they had never seen Chubby in such good form. Only one incident +marred the serenity of the occasion, and that was a mere trifle. Charlie +Bush had been staying over Christmas with an ex-Chairman of the Prison +Reform Association, and being in a communicative mood insisted on +talking about it. + +"Only fancy," he remarked, as he took a gulp of champagne, "he says the +prisons of the city are in an abominable condition--that they're a +disgrace to a civilized community." + +Tomlinson paused in lifting his glass. He remembered his host's opinion, +expressed two nights before and desired to show his appreciation of an +excellent meal. + +"That's all rot!" he interrupted a little thickly. "'S all politics. The +Tombs is a lot better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. +Our prisons are all right, I tell you!" His eyes swept the circle +militantly. + +"Look here, Tomlinson," remarked McAllister sternly, "don't be so sure. +What do you know about it?" + + + + + + +The Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville + + +I + +"I want you," said Barney Conville, tapping Mr. McAllister lightly upon +the shoulder. + +The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting fall his monocle. He +certainly had never seen the man before in his life--was sure of it, +even during that unfortunate experience the year before, which he had so +far successfully concealed from his friends. No, it was simply a case of +mistaken identity; and yet the fellow--confound him!--didn't look like a +chap that often _was_ mistaken. + +"Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin'. Come along quiet," continued Barney, +with his most persuasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with a +black mustache and an unswerving eye, about two-thirds the size of +McAllister, whom he had addressed so familiarly. + +"Fatty!" McAllister, _bon vivant_, clubman, prince of good fellows, +started at the word and stared tensely. What infernal luck! That same +regrettable resemblance that had landed him in the Tombs over Christmas +was again bobbing up to render him miserable. He wished, as he had +wished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been sentenced to twenty years +instead of one. He had evidently been discharged from prison and was at +his old tricks again, with the result that once more his employer was +playing the part of Dromio. McAllister had succeeded by judicious +bribery and the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history of his +incarceration. Had this not been the case one word now to the determined +individual with the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but he +could not bear to divulge the secret of those horrible thirty-six hours +which he, under the name of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in a +cell. Maybe he could show the detective he was mistaken without going +into that lamentable history. But of course McAllister proceeded by +exactly the wrong method. + +"Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, "there it is again! You've got me +confused with Fatty Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put up his +monocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his simple statement would +entirely settle the matter. + +But Barney only winked sarcastically. + +"You show yourself quite familiar with the name of the gentleman I'm +lookin' for." + +McAllister saw that he had made a mistake. + +"No more foolin', now," continued Barney. "Will you come as you are, or +with the nippers?" + +The clubman bit his lip with annoyance. + +"Look here, hang you!" he exclaimed angrily, dropping his valise, "I'm +Mr. McAllister of the Colophon Club. I'm on my way to dine with friends +in the country. I've got to take this train. Listen! they're shouting +'All aboard' now. I know who you're after. You've got us mixed. Your +man's a professional crook. I can prove my identity to you inside of +five minutes, only I haven't time here. Just jump on the train with me, +and if you're not convinced by the time we reach 125th Street I'll get +off and come back with you." + +"My, but you're gamer than ever, Fatty," retorted Barney with +admiration. Thoughts of picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flitted +through his mind. He had his man "pinched," why not play him awhile? It +seemed not a half bad idea to the Central Office man. + +"Well, I'll humor you this once. Step aboard. No funny business, now. +I've got my smoke wagon right here. Remember, you're under arrest." + +They swung aboard just as the train started. As McAllister sank into his +seat in the parlor car with Barney beside him he recognized Joe +Wainwright directly opposite. Here was an easy chance to prove his +identity, and he was just about to lean over and pour forth his sorrows +to his friend when he realized with fresh humiliation that should he +seize this opportunity to explain the present situation, the whole +wretched story of his Christmas in the Tombs would probably be divulged. +He would be the laughing-stock of the club, and the fellows would never +let him hear the last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took the +initiative. + +"How d'y', Chubby?" said he, getting up and coming over. "On your way to +Blair's?" + +"Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," replied McAllister, +struggling for small talk. + +"Who's your friend?" continued the irrepressible Wainwright. "Kind o' +think I know him. Foreigner, ain't he? Think he was at Newport last +summer." + +"Er--ye--es. Baron de Ville. Picked him up at the club--friend of +Pierrepont's. Takin' him out to Blair's--so hospitable, don'cher know." +He stammered horribly, for he found himself sinking deeper and deeper. + +"Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. "Like all these foreign +fellers." + +McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for it now. The 125th Street +idea would have to be abandoned. + +"Er--_Baron_"--he strangled over the name--"_Baron_, I want to present +Mr. Joseph Wainwright. He thinks he's met you in Paris." Our friend +accompanied this with a pronounced wink. + +"Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, grasping the detective's +hand with effusion. "Newport, I think it was." + +The "Baron" bowed. This was a new complication, but it was all in the +day's work. Of course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty Welch was +"working" some swell guys who thought he was a real high-roller. Maybe +he was going to pull off some kind of a job that very evening. Perhaps +this big chap in the swagger flannels was one of the gang. Barney was +thinking hard. Well, he'd take the tip and play the hand out. + +"It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron. + +The train plunged into the tunnel. + +"Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney's ear. "You've got to stick +this thing out, now, or I'll be the butt of the town. Remember, we're +going to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You're the particular friend of a man +named Pierrepont--fellow with a glass eye who owns a castle somewhere in +France. . . . Are you satisfied yet?" he added indignantly. + +"I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney replied. "I ain't on to your +game, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you +any." + +The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that there +were other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the same +destination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded story +about the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did he +would go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was his +chief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, conceals +the absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world work +off the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain the +situation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in that +way. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously with +Wainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thank +Heaven, he remembered--Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefully +at college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under the +circumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince his +captor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strength +of this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baron +and accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on his +own account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having to +present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and--by +George, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over +_that_. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger--a "copper"--and palm him +off as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without any +evening clothes--impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever a +chap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris! +_Paris!_ He'd make some awful break, and then-- Oh, curse the luck, +anyway! + +Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate. + + +II + +"I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bring +Pierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband. +Gordon--Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We're +just a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress--dinner in just +nineteen minutes." + +"Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, and +twirling his mustache in the most approved fashion. + +"Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon the +back good-naturedly. "You can give Mrs. Blair all the _risque_ Paris +gossip at dinner." They followed the second man upstairs. Although an +old friend of both Mrs. Blair and her husband, McAllister had never been +at the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and massively built. They +were debating whether or not to call it Castle Blair. The second man +showed them to a room at the extreme end of a wing, and as the servant +laid out the clothes McAllister thought the man eyed him rather +curiously. Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Barney lit a +cigarette and measured the distance from the window to the ground with a +discriminating eye. + +"Well," said the clubman, after the second man had finally retired, "are +you satisfied? And what the deuce is going to happen now?" + +Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his feet comfortably on to +the fender. + +"Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny rings toward the blaze, +"you're a wizard! Never seen such nerve in my life--and you only out two +months! You've got the clothes, and, what's more, you've got the real +chappie lingo. It's great! I'm sorry to have to pull in such an artist. +I am, honest. An' now you've got to go behind prison bars! It's +sad--positively sad!" + +"Look here!" demanded McAllister. "Do you mean to tell me you're such a +bloomin' ass as to think that I'm a crook, a professional burglar, who's +got an introduction into society--a what-do-you-call-him? Oh, +yes--Raffles?" + +Barney grinned at his victim, who was just getting into his dress-coat. + +"Don't throw such a chest, Fatty!" he said genially. "I think you've got +Raffles whipped to a standstill. But you can't fool me, and you can't +lose me. By the way, what am I goin' to do for evenin' clothes?" + +"Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You can't come to dinner in those +togs. It would queer everything." + +"I'm goin', just the same. Not once do I lose sight of you, old chappie, +until you're safely in the cooler at headquarters. Then your swell +friends can bail you out!" + +It was time for dinner. The little Dresden china clock on the mantel +struck the hour softly, politely. McAllister glanced toward the door. +The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall intervened between +them and the main corridor. His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris. + +"Come on, then," he muttered over his shoulder to Barney, and led the +way to the door leading into the bath-room, which was next the door into +the hall and identical with it in appearance. He held it politely ajar +for the detective, with a smile of resignation. + +"Apres vous, mon cher Baron!" he murmured. + +The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passed +in front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received a +violent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked the +heavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. He +hoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. There +was a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in the +enamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on the +washstand. + +McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and inner +means of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright. + +"What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter. +"Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other." + +McAllister lighted another cigarette. + +"Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '_savate_,' that kind of +boxing with their feet, don'cher know!" + +Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused his +ordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner. +He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly taken with a +sharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, and +would soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently--as +soon as he felt able to do so. + +[Illustration: "I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."] + +There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lost +no time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner's +presence at the house. + +"Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh, +yes, Miss Benson!" + +"Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward," +responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. +McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in by +you!" + +"Er--ye--es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he was +calculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famous +Trenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly bad +about de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantage +of our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardly +ever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise." + +The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed in +their various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of his +hostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing the same office +for a lady opposite. _Could_ it be? He adjusted his monocle. There was +no doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked in +the bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass him +the soup. + +"What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, +sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a _caviare +hors-d'Å“uvre_. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole +significance of the situation. + +"I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs. +Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply +when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of the +table and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all her +color, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement. + +"It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had it +on the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst into +hysterical sobs. + +Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs. + +"My tiara!" exclaimed one. + +"And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on the +dressing-table!" cried another. + +There was a general move from the table. + +"O Gordon! Do you think there are burglars in the house?" called Mrs. +Blair to her husband. + +"Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited. +Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid the +necklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?" + +"Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the first +thing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go right +upstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all better +sit down and finish our soup." + +"Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them." + +The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with the +exception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more. + +Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen! +Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. +You couldn't buy them _now_ for love or money. Well, she had better sit +down and eat something, anyway--a glass of wine, just to revive her +spirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sit +down and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward to +have such a thing happen at one's first house party. + +The searchers presently returned with the word that apparently nothing +else had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the general +appetite. + +Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had been +watching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seen +each other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard was +gone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying the +agitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered. +People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a great +chatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was making +pitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinner +went on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, through +the swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from the +pantry. + +Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passed +the dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear: + +"You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a Central +Office man outside. _I_ brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your only +chance!" + +"Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle. + +The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss. +McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the same +cell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He could +never bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow--that +ubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the +_entrée_. As he passed the _vol au vent_ he unostentatiously slipped +something in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap. + +"May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly. + +"Have you taken anything else?" inquired his master. + +"Nothing." + +"On your honor as a gentleman----'s gentleman?" + +Wilkins smiled tremulously. + +"Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister." + +"Then, go!--You seem to have a _penchant_ for pearls," McAllister added +half to himself, as he clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Common +humanity to Miss Benson demanded his instant declaration of its +possession, but the thought of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusively +through the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap have all the time he +could get. He'd probably be caught, anyway. Just a question of a few +days at most. And what a chance to get even on the Baron! + +But meanwhile the service had halted. The butler, a sedate person with +white mutton-chops, after waiting nervously a few minutes, started to +pass the roast himself. + +Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish her meal, and after dinner +they were all going to have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if the +necklace was not discovered, they would send for a detective from New +York. + +Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside the window. Men's voices +were raised in angry shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehicle +galloped down the road. The guests started to their feet. A violent +struggle was taking place outside the dining-room door. McAllister +sprang up just in time to see the Baron break away from Blair's coachman +and cover him with his pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He was a +sorry spectacle, collarless, and without his coat. Damp earth clung to +his lower limbs and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, while a +bloody, swollen nose protruded between them. + +"Here! What's all this?" shouted Blair. "Put up that pistol! Who are +you, sir?" Then the host rubbed his eyes and looked again. + +"By George! It's the Baron!" yelled Wainwright. + +"The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the others. + +"Baron--nothin'!" gasped Barney, still covering the coachman, while with +the other hand he tried to rearrange his neckwear. "I'm Conville of the +Central Office, and this man has aided in an escape. I'm arrestin' him +for felony!" + +The detective's own features had evidently made a close acquaintance +with mother earth, and one sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. His +eye presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to an exclamation +of bewilderment. + +"You! _You_! How did you get out of that wagon so quick? I've got you +now, anyway!" And he shifted his gun in McAllister's direction. The +women shrieked and crowded back into the dining-room. + +The coachman, who had not dared to remove his eyes from the detective, +now began to jabber hysterically. + +"Hi think 'e's mad, I do, Mr. Blair! Hi think we all are! First hout +comes Mr. McAllister, whom I brought from the station only an 'our ago +an' says as 'ow 'e must go back at once to New York. So I 'arnesses up +Lady Bird in the spyder an' sends Jeames to put hon 'is livery. Just as +Jeames comes back an' Mr. McAllister jumps in, hout comes _this_ party +_'ere_ an' yells somethin' about Welch an' tries to climb in arter Mr. +McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an' haway they go. Then this +'ere party begins to run arter 'em and commences shootin'. _Hi_ tackles +'im! _'E_ knocks me down! _Hi_ grabs 'im by the leg, an' 'ere we are, +sir, axin' yer pardon--Hello, why _'ere's_ Mr. McAllister _now_! May I +ask as 'ow you _got_ 'ere, sir?" + +But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol. + +"Quick!" he shouted wildly. "Harness another horse! We've still got +time. I can't lose my man this way!" + +"Well, who _is_ he? Who _was_ it you shot at?" + +"Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. "There's two of 'em! But the +one I want has started for the station. I must catch him!" + +"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, who alone had preserved +his equanimity, addressing Mr. Blair. "My impression is, sir, that it +must have been Manice, sir--the new third man, sir. I saw him step out. +He must have taken Mr. McAllister's coat and hat!" + +There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of course that was it. The man +had disguised himself in McAllister's clothes. + +"He's got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. "Oh, I _know_ he has!" + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"Of course he's got it!" + +"After him! After him!" + +"Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Barney, more bewildered than ever. + +"My mother's pearl necklace! She bought it in Rome. And now it's gone. +He's got it." + +Barney made a move for the door. + +"Run and harness up, William!" directed Blair. "Put in the Morgan +ponies. Hustle now. The train isn't due for fifteen minutes and you can +reach the station in ten. Don't spare the horses!" + +William, with a defiant look at the detective, hastened to obey the +order. + +Barney was running his hands through his hair. He certainly had stumbled +on to somethin', by Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it would +mean certain promotion! He had to admit that he had been mistaken about +McAllister, but this was better. + +"You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usual +suave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too long +upstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching our +man at the station. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast as +you can!" + +He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulped +it down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room +window had shaken him up badly. + +"Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barney +turned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and +McAllister was free. + +"Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner, +anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who the +thief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notify +the White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll have +the necklace for you yet!" + +But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with the +tears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and tried +to encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way would +return. + +"No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it's +dreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklace +back!" + +"_Anything_, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose from +his place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhaps +if I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim _duress_. +Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!" + +"Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped with +astonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels. + +"By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host. + +"Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? _Where_ did you get 'em?" + +"Who was the Baron?" + +"How on earth did you know?" + +They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, and +exclaiming with astonishment. + +McAllister saw that some explanation was in order. + +"Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "I +don't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one's +trade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine made +rather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!" +And he bowed to Miss Benson. + +Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract a +syllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, and +his absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentiments +of the entire company when he announced somewhat huskily that +McAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents. + +"But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as they +sauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did you +notice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister? +'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!" + +"You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion. + + + + + + +The Escape of Wilkins + + +I + +"Party to see you, sir, in the visitors' room. Didn't have a card. Said +you would know him, sir." + +Although Peter spoke in his customary deferential tones, there was a +queer look upon his face that did not escape McAllister as the latter +glanced up from the afternoon paper which he had been perusing in the +window. + +"Hm!" remarked the clubman, gazing out at the rain falling in torrents. +Who in thunder could be calling upon him a day like this, when there +wasn't even a cab in sight and the policemen had sought sanctuary in +convenient vestibules. It was evident that this "party" must want to see +him very badly indeed. + +"What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter gently. + +McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course it was absurd to suppose +that Peter, or anyone else, had heard of the extraordinary events at the +Blairs' the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that this +stranger must in some mysterious way be connected with them. In any case +there was no use trying to duck the consequences of the adventure, +whatever they might prove to be. + +"I'll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it was another detective after +additional information, or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation he +crossed the marble hall and parted the portières of the visitors' room. +Before him stood the rain-soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet. + +"Wilkins!" he gasped. + +The burglar raised his head and disclosed a countenance haggard from +lack of sleep and the strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rain +streamed from his cuffs, his (McAllister's) coat-tails, and from the +brim of his master's hat, which he held deprecatingly before him. There +was a look of fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which pauses +uncertain in which direction to escape. + +"Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! They're right hafter me! Just +houtside, sir! It was my honly chance!" + +McAllister gazed at him horrified and speechless. + +"You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of breathless terror, "I +caught the train last night and reached the city a'ead of the detective. +I knew 'e'd 'ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I 'id in a harea all +night. This mornin' I thought I'd given 'im the slip, but I walked +square into 'im on Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup Sixth +Havenue, doubled 'round a truck, an' thought I'd lost 'im, but 'e saw me +on Fifty-third Street an' started dead after me. I think 'e saw me stop +in 'ere, sir. Wot shall I do, sir? You won't give me hup, will you, +sir?" + +Before McAllister could reply there was a commotion at the door of the +club, and he recognized the clear tones of Barney Conville. + +"Who am I? I'm a sergeant of police--Detective Bureau. You've just +passed in a burglar. He must be right inside. Let me in, I say!" + +Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains. + +There was a slight scuffle, but the servant outside placed his foot +behind the door in such a position that the detective could not enter. +Then Peter came to the rescue. + +"What do you mean by trying to force your way into a private club, like +this? I'll telephone the Inspector. Get out of here, now! Get away from +that door!" + +"Inspector nothin'! Let me in!" + +"Have you got a warrant?" + +The question seemed to stagger the detective for a moment, and his +adversary seized the opportunity to close the door. Then Peter knocked +politely upon the other side of the curtains. + +"I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can't keep the officer out much longer. +It's only a question of time. You'll pardon me, sir?" + +"Of course, Peter," answered McAllister. + +He stepped to the window. Outside he could see Conville stationing two +plain-clothes men so as to guard both exits from the club. McAllister's +breath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by the centre-table. Then a +momentary inspiration came to the clubman. + +"Er--Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd-Jones. Take his coat and hat, +give me a check for them, and then show him upstairs to a room. He'll be +here for an hour or so." + +"Very good, sir," replied Peter without emotion, as he removed Wilkins's +dripping coat and hat. "This way, sir." + +Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former master, the valet +followed Peter toward the elevator. + +"Here's a nice mess!" thought McAllister, as he returned to the big +room. "How am I ever going to get rid of him? And ain't I liable somehow +as an accomplice?" + +He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank again into his +accustomed place by the window. + +"That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the doorman, suddenly +appearing at his elbow. "Says he knows you, and it's somethin' very +important." + +The clubman smothered a curse. His first impulse was to tell the +impudent fellow to go to the devil, but then he thought better of it. He +had beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. When it came to a +show-down, he reckoned his brains were about as good as a policeman's. + +"All right," he replied. "Tell him to sit down--that I've just come in, +and will be with him in a few moments." + +"Very good, sir," answered the servant. + +McAllister perceived that he must think rapidly. There was no escape +from the conclusion that he was certainly assisting in the escape of a +felon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as it were. The idea did +not increase his happiness at all. His one experience in the Tombs, +however adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Nevertheless, he could +not go back on Wilkins, particularly now that he had promised to assist +him. McAllister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity. + +"The officer says he's in a great hurry, sir, and wants to know can you +see him at once, sir," said the doorman, coming back. + +"Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. "Yes, I'll _see_ him." + +He got up and walked slowly to the visitors' room again, while Peter, +with a studiously unconscious expression, held the portières open. He +entered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Conville sprang to his +feet, leaving a pool of water in front of the sofa and tossing little +drops of rain from the ends of his mustache. + +"Look here, Mr. McAllister, there's been enough of this. Where's Welch, +the crook, who ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he's here fast enough! +I've got your club covered, front and behind. Don't try to con _me_!" + +McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled affably, and sank +comfortably into an armchair. + +"Why, it's you, Baron, isn't it! How are you? Won't you have a little +nip of something warm? No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring the +gentleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this honor?" + +Conville glared at him enraged. However, he restrained his wrath. A wise +detective never puts himself at a disadvantage by giving way to useless +emotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, Barney took it mechanically +and struck a match, meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the club. + +"I suppose," he presently remarked, "you think you're smart. Well, +you're mistaken. I had you wrong last night, I admit--that is, so far +as your identity was concerned. You're a real high-roller, all right, +but that ain't the whole thing, by a long shot. How would you like to +wander down to Headquarters as an accomplice?" + +A few chills played hide-and-seek around the base of the clubman's +spine. + +"Don't be an ass!" he finally managed to ejaculate. + +"Oh, I can't connect you with the necklace! You're safe enough there," +Barney continued. "But how about this little game right here in this +club? You're aiding in the escape of a felon. That's _felony_. You know +that yourself. Besides, when you locked me in the bath-room last night +you assaulted an officer in the performance of his duty. I've got you +dead to rights, _see_?" + +McAllister laughed lightly. + +"By jiminy!" he exclaimed, "I _thought_ you were crazy all the time, and +now I _know_ it. What in thunder are you driving at?" + +Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar impatiently. + +"Drivin' at? Drivin' at? Where's Welch--Fatty Welch, that ran in here +five minutes ago?" + +McAllister assumed a puzzled expression. + +"Welch? No one ran in here except myself. _I_ came in about that time. +Got off the L at Fiftieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue, +and then through Fifty-third Street to the club. I got mighty well wet, +too, I tell you!" + +"Don't think you can throw that game into _me_!" shouted Conville. "You +can't catch me twice _that_ way. It was _Welch_ I saw, not you." + +"You don't believe me?" + +McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered. + +"Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons have come into the club +within the hour." + +"Why, only _you_, sir," replied Peter, without hesitation. "Your clothes +was wringin' wet, sir. No one else has entered the club since twelve +o'clock." + +"Bah!" exclaimed Conville. "If it was _you_ that came in," he added +cunningly, "suppose you show me your check, and let me have a look at +your coat!" + +"Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning to regain his equanimity, +as he drew Wilkins's check from his pocket. "Here it is. You can step +over and get the coat for yourself." + +Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed to the coat-room, and +returned with the dripping garment, which he held up to the light at the +window. + +"You ought to find Poole's name under the collar, and my own inside the +breast-pocket," remarked Chubby encouragingly. "It's there, isn't it?" + +Conville threw the soaked object over a chair-back and made a rapid +inspection, then turned to McAllister with an expression of +bewilderment. + +"I--you--how--" he stammered. + +"Don't you remember," laughed his tormentor, "that there was a big truck +on the corner of Sixth Avenue?" + +Barney set his teeth. + +"I see you _do_," continued McAllister. "Well, what more can I do for +you? Are you sure you won't have that drink?" + +But Conville was in no mood for drinking. Stepping up to the clubman, he +looked searchingly down into his face. + +"Mr. McAllister," he hissed, "you think you've got me criss-crossed. You +think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know your _face_. And +this time I don't lose you, _see_? You're in cahoots with Welch. You're +his side-partner. You'll see me again. Remember, you're a _common +felon_." + +The detective made for the door. + +"Don't say 'common,'" murmured McAllister, as Conville disappeared. Then +his nonchalant look gave place to one of extreme dejection. "Peter," he +gasped, "tell Mr. Lloyd-Jones I must see him at once." + +Peter soon returned with the unexpected information that "Mr. +Lloyd-Jones" had gone to bed and wouldn't get up. + +"Says he's sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to retain his gravity. + +McAllister made one jump for the elevator. Peter followed. Of course, +_he_ had known Wilkins when the latter was in McAllister's employ. + +"I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the majordomo. + +Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes were nowhere visible, and +the quilt was pulled well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly to +have lost his nerve. + +"Oh, sir!" he cried apologetically, "I was hafraid to come down, sir. +_Without my clothes_ they never could hidentify me, sir!" + +"What on earth have you done with 'em?" cried his master. + +"Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, "I couldn't think o' nothin' else, +so I just threw 'em hout the window, into the hairshaft." + +At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by the door, choked +violently and retired down the hall. + +"Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, "I never took you for a fool before! +Pray, what do you propose to do now?" + +[Illustration: "You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_."] + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Can't you see what an awkward position you've placed me in?" went on +McAllister. "I'm liable to arrest for aidin' in your escape. In fact, +that detective has just threatened to take me to Headquarters." + +"'Oly Moses!" moaned Wilkins. "Oh, wot shall I do? If you honly get me +haway, sir, I promise you I'll never return." + +McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, and puffed hard at his +cigar. + +"I'll try it!" he muttered at length. "Wilkins, you remember you always +wore my clothes." + +"Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins. + +"Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my dress-suit, tall hat, and +Inverness--understand? You'll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Go +to the Grand Central and board the twelve o'clock train for Boston. +Here's a ticket, and the check for the drawing-room. You'll be Mr. +McAllister of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. You're going +on to Mr. Cabot's wedding to-morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soon +as you go on board, and don't let anyone disturb you. I'll be on the +train myself, and after it starts I'll knock three times on the door." + +"Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins. + +"I'll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. Do you think you can do +it?" + +"Oh, certainly, sir! Thank you, sir! I'll be there, sir, never fail." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. The longer he thought of +his plan the better he liked it. He was going to the Winthrops' Twelfth +Night party that evening as Henry VIII. He would dress at the club and +leave it in costume about nine o'clock. Conville would never recognize +him in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins departed at eleven-forty, +would in all likelihood take the latter for McAllister. If he could thus +get rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would be cheap at twice the +trouble. So far as spiriting away Wilkins was concerned the whole thing +seemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in his usual state of +genial placidity, ordered as good a dinner as the _chef_ could provide. + + +II + +The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII realized with a start that +it was already half after eleven. First there had been a professional +presentation of the scene between Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby +Belch that had made McAllister shake with merriment. He thought Sir +Andrew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many a day. Maria and +the clown were both good, too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that he +had essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been excellent and the +characters most amusing, and, altogether, McAllister did not blame +himself for having overstayed his time--in fact, he didn't care much +whether he had or not. He had intended going back to his rooms for the +purpose of changing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on the +train, and there really seemed no need of it at all. He bade his hostess +good-night in a most optimistic frame of mind and hailed a cab. The long +ulster which he wore entirely concealed his costume save for his shoes, +strange creations of undressed leather, red on the uppers and white +between the toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite too happy to +mind them for an instant. The assembled crowd of lackeys and footmen +cheered him mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smoking a large +cigar, noticed them not. Neither did he observe a slim young man who +darted out from behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keeping +about half a block in the rear. The rain had stopped. The clouds had +drawn aside their curtains, and a big friendly moon beamed down on +McAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as day. + +The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the slope from the Cathedral +down Fifth Avenue, and the runner was distanced by several blocks. +McAllister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully unconscious of being an +actor in a drama of vast import to the New York police, but as they +reached Forty-third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon the +Grand Central Station that it was two minutes to twelve. At the same +moment a trace broke. The driver sprang from his seat, but before he +could reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. Tossing a bill to the +perturbed cabby, our hero threw off his ulster and sped with an agility +marvellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward the station. As he +dashed across Madison Avenue, directly in front of an electric car, the +hand on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that instant the slim man +turned the corner from Fifth Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirty +seconds later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and feathered cap, +burst into the waiting-room, carrying an ulster, clearing half its +length in six strides, threw himself through the revolving door to the +platform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man just as he was +sliding-to the gate. + +"Hi, there, give us yer ticket!" yelled the man after the retreating +form of Henry VIII, but royalty made no response. + +The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gave +half a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the train +began to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain in +his side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled upon +the platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young man +rushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. The +gate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language. + +"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on that +train. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!" + +"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?" + +"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedly +exhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through." + +Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train; +its red lights were just passing out of the station. + +"Oh, go to--!" said he through the bars. + + * * * * * + +"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the same +moment, as he staggered inside. + +"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he received +the ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah? +Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ah +enquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, +sah!" + +"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister. + +"Udder end, sah!" + +Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his way the length of that +swaying car. He perceived that the smoking compartment of the car behind +would naturally be much more convenient. + +"I'm going into the next car to smoke for a while," he informed the +darky. + +No one was in the smoking compartment of the Benvolio, which was bright +and warm, and McAllister, throwing down his ulster, stretched +luxuriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched with interest +the myriad lights of the Greater City marching past, those near at hand +flashing by with the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swinging +slowly forward along the outer rim of the circle. And the idea of this +huge circle, its circumference ever changing with the forward movement +of its pivot, beside which the train was rushing, never passing that +mysterious edge which fled before them into infinity, took hold on +McAllister's imagination, and he fancied, as he sped onward, that in +some mysterious way, if he could only square that circle or calculate +its radius, he could solve the problem of existence. What was it he had +learned when a boy at St. Andrew's about the circle? Pi R--one--two--two +Pi R! That was it! "2Ï€r." The smoke from his cigar swirled thickly +around the Pintsch light in the ceiling, and Henry VIII, oblivious of +the anachronism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa beside +him, gazed solemnly into space. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track. + +"Two Pi R!" murmured McAllister. "Two Pi R!" + + +III + +Under the big moon's yellow disk, beside and past the roaring train, +along the silent reaches of the Sound, leaping on its copper thread from +pole to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from town to town, +sped a message concerning Henry VIII. The night operator at New Haven, +dozing over a paper in the corner, heard his call four times before he +came to his senses. Then he sent the answer rattling back with a +simulation of indignation: + +"Yes, yes! What's your rush?" + + Special--Police--Headquarters--New Haven. Escaped + ex-convict Welch on No. 13 from New York. Notify + McGinnis. In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. + Particulars long-distance 'phone in morning. + EBSTEIN. + +The operator crossed the room and unhooked the telephone. + +"Headquarters, please." + +"Yes. Headquarters! Is McGinnis of the New York Detective Bureau there? +Tell him he's wanted, to make an important arrest on board No. 13 when +she comes through at two-twenty. Sorry. Say, tell him to bring along +some cigars. I'll give him the complete message down here." + +Then the operator went back to his paper. In a few moments he suddenly +sat up. + +"By gum!" he ejaculated. + + BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY HOUSE + + It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been + successful recently in securing a position as a + servant at Mr. Gordon Blair's at Scarsdale. Last + evening one of the guests missed her valuable pearl + necklace. In the excitement which followed the burglar + made his escape, leaving the necklace behind him. The + perpetrator of this bold attempt is the notorious + Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a + fugitive from justice. + +"By gum!" repeated the operator, throwing down the paper. Then he went +to the drawer and took out a small bull-dog revolver, which he +carefully loaded. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track, as the train swung round the +curve outside New Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked from +troubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two old women put out their +arms and peered through the window-shades, and the train thundered past +the depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, the engine panted and +steamed. Two gnomes ran, Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behind +the station and by the light of flaring torches began to hammer and tap +the flanges. The conductor, swinging off the rear car, ran into the +embrace of a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of policemen +separated and scattered to the different platforms. + +"Here! Let me go!" gasped the conductor. "What's all this?" + +"Say, Cap., I'm McGinnis--Central Office, New York. You've got a burglar +on board. They're after wirin' me to make the arrest." + +"Burglar be damned!" yelled the conductor. "Do you think you can hold me +up and search my train? Why, I'd be two hours late!" + +"I won't take more'n fifteen minutes," continued McGinnis, making for +the rear car. + +"Come back there, you!" shouted the conductor, grasping him firmly by +the coat-tails. "You can't wake up all the passengers." + +"Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, "don't ye see I've got to +make this arrest? It won't take a minute. The porters'll know who +they've got, and you're runnin' awful light. Have a good cigar?" + +The conductor took the weed so designated and swore loudly. It was the +biggest piece of gall on record. Well, hang it! he didn't want to take +McGinnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, there would be the +same confounded mix-up at the other end. He admitted finally that it was +a fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He had a bottle in the porter's +closet. Yes, call out those niggers and make 'em tell what they knew. + +The conductor was now just as insistent that the burglar should be +arrested then and there as he had been before that the train should not +be held up. He rushed through the cars telling the various porters to go +outside. Eight or ten presently assembled upon the platform. They filled +McGinnis with unspeakable repulsion. + +The conductor began with car No. 2204. + +"Now, Deacon, who have you got?" + +The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled his eyes and replied that he +had "two ole women an' er gen'elman gwine ortermobublin with his +cheffonier." + +The conductor opined that these would prove unfertile candidates for +McGinnis. He therefore turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, however, +had only half a load. There was a fat man, a Mr. Huber, who travelled +regularly; two ladies on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, her +sister, a maid, two nurses, and three children. + +"Nothin' doin'!" remarked the captain. "Now, Colonel, what have _you_ +got?" + +But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of aristocratic appearance, +had an easy answer. His entire car was full, as he expressed it, "er +frogs." + +"Frenchmen!" grunted McGinnis. + +The conductor remembered. Yes, they were Sanko's Orchestra going on to +give a matinée concert in Providence. + +The next car had only five drummers, every one of whom was known to the +conductor, as taking the trip twice a week. They were therefore counted +out. That left only one car, No. 2205. + +"Well, William, what have you got?" + +William grinned. Though sleepy, he realized the importance of the +disclosure he was about to make and was correspondingly dignified and +ponderous. There was two trabblin' gen'elmen, Mr. Smith and Mr. Higgins. +He'd handled dose gen'elmen fo' several years. There was a very old +lady, her daughter and maid. Then there was Mr. Uberheimer, who got off +at Middletown. And then--William smiled significantly--there was an +awful strange pair in the drawin'-room. They could look for themselves. +He didn't know nuff'n 'bout burglars in disguise, but dere was "one of +'em in er mighty curious set er fixtures." + +"Huh! _Two_ of 'em!" commented McGinnis. + +"That's easy!" remarked the mollified conductor. + +The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean Libbey, now approached with +his revolver. + +McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor moved toward the car. +William preferred the safety of the platform and the temporary +distinction of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No light was +visible in the drawing-room, and the sounds of heavy slumber were +plainly audible. The conductor rapped loudly; there was no response. He +rattled the door and turned the handle vigorously, but elicited no sign +of recognition. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on the glass of the +door. He happened to hit three times. Immediately there were sounds +within. Something very much like "All right, sir," and the door was +opened. The conductor and McGinnis saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas, +his face flushed and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them in +dazed bewilderment. + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern. + +"Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis briskly, "but is there any wan +else, beside ye, to kape ye company?" + +Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and made as if to close the door, +but the detective thrust his foot across the threshold. + +"Aisy there!" he remarked. "Conductor, just turn on that light, will +ye?" + +Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and the conductor struck a +match and turned on the Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, and +that by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa was an elegant +alligator-skin bag disclosing a row of massive silver-topped bottles. A +tall silk hat and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit of evening +clothes, as well as a business suit of fustian, were neatly folded and +lying on the upper berth. + +At this vision of respectability both McGinnis and the conductor +recoiled, glancing doubtfully at one another. Wilkins saw his advantage. + +"May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, "wot you mean by these +hactions? W'y am I thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It is +houtrageous!" + +"Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. "The fact is, we thought _two_ +people, suspicious characters, had taken this room together, and this +officer here"--pointing to McGinnis--"had orders to arrest one of them." + +Wilkins swelled with indignation. + +"Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 'ere, conductor, I'll 'ave you +to hunderstand that I will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr. +McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and I am hon my way to +hattend the wedding of Mr. Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am to +be 'is best man. Can I give you any further hinformation?" + +The conductor, who had noticed the initials "McA" on the silver bottle +heads, and the same stamped upon the bag, stammered something in the +nature of an apology. + +"Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, "we've got him wrong, I guess. This +feller ain't no burglar. Anywan can see he's a swell, all right. Leave +him alone." + +"Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized the conductor humbly, +putting out the light and closing the door. + +"That nigger must be nutty," he added to the detective. "By Joshua! +Perhaps he's got away with some of my stuff!" + +[Illustration: "Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the +lantern.] + +"Look here, William, what's the matter with you? Have you been swipin' +my whisky. There ain't two men in that drawin'-room at all--just one--a +swell," hollered the conductor as they reached the platform. + +"Fo' de Lawd, Cap'n, I ain't teched yo' whisky," cried William in +terror. "I swear dey was two of 'em, 'n' de udder was in _dis_guise. It +was de fines' _dis_guise I eber saw!" he added reminiscently. + +"Aw, what yer givin' us!" exclaimed McGinnis, entirely out of patience. +"What kind av a disguise was he in?" + +"Dat's what I axed him," explained William, edging toward the rim of the +circle. "I done ax him right away what character he done represent. He +had on silk stockin's, an' a colored deglishay shirt, an' a belt an' +moccasons, an' a sword an'----" + +"A sword!" yelled McGinnis, making a jump in William's direction. "I'll +break yer black head for ye!" + +"Hold on!" cried the conductor, who had disappeared into the car and had +emerged again with a bottle in his hand. "The stuff's here." + +"I tell ye the coon is drunk!" shouted the detective in angry tones. +"He can't make small av _me_!" + +"I done tole you the trufe," continued William from a safe distance, his +teeth and eyeballs shining in the moonlight. + +"Well, where did he go?" asked the conductor. "Did you put him in the +drawin'-room?" + +"I seen his ticket," replied William, "an' he said he wanted to smoke, +so he went into the Benvolio, the car behin'." + +"Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There ain't no car behind. This here is +the last car." + +"Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; "we dropped the Benvolio at +Selma Junction for repairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that drink!" + + +IV + +McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. The compartment was dark, +save for the pale light of the moon hanging low over what seemed to be +water and the masts of ships, which stole in and picked out sharply the +silver buckles on his shoes and the buttons of his doublet. There was no +motion, no sound. The train was apparently waiting somewhere, but +McAllister could not hear the engine. He put on his ulster and stepped +to the door of the car. All the lights had been extinguished and he +could hear neither the sound of heavy breathing nor the other customary +evidences of the innocent rest of the human animal. He looked across the +platform for his own car and found that the train had totally +disappeared. The Benvolio was stationary--side-tracked, evidently, on +the outskirts of a town, not far from some wharves. + +"Jiminy!" thought McAllister, looking at his uncheerful surroundings and +his picturesque, if somewhat cool, costume. + +For a moment his mental processes refused to answer the heavy draught +upon them. Then he turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon the +platform, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match he looked at his +watch and saw that it was four o'clock. Overhead the sky glowed with +thousands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touching the sea, made +a limpid path of light across the water. At the docks silent ships lay +fast asleep. A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying the +stillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and McAllister shivered +as he thought of Wilkins, and Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelve +o'clock. So far as he knew he might be just outside of Boston--Quincy, +or somewhere--yet, somehow, the moon didn't look as if it were at +Quincy. + +He jumped down and started along the track. His feet stung as they +struck the cinder. His whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to walk +in the direction in which the clock had sounded, and this he did. The +rails followed the shore for about a hundred yards and then joined the +main line. Presently he came in sight of a depot. Every now and then his +sword would get between his legs, and this caused him so much annoyance +that he took it off and carried it. It was queer how uncomfortable the +old style of shoe was when used for walking on a railroad track. His +ruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost preventing a +satisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. Finally he untied it and put it +in the pocket of his ulster. The cap was not so bad. + +The depot had inspired the clubman with distinct hope, but as he +approached, it appeared as dark and tenantless as the car behind him. It +was impossible to read the name of the station owing to the fact that +the sign was too high up for the light of a match to reach it. It was +clear that there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, and he +settled himself in a corner near the express office and tried to forget +his discomfort. + +He had less time to wait than he had expected. Soon a great clattering +of hoofs caused him to climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers' +wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, backed in against the +platform, and their drivers, throwing down the reins, leaped to the +ground. All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another loudly. Then +they began to unload huge cans of milk. This looked encouraging. If they +were bringing milk at this hour there must be a train--going somewhere. +It didn't matter where to McAllister, if only he could get warm. +Presently a faint humming came along the rails, which steadily increased +in volume until the approaching train could be distinctly heard. + +"Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest farmer. + +McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. The farmer involuntarily drew +back. + +"Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his pipe. + +"Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, "what place this is and +where this train goes to?" + +"I reckon not," replied the other. "This is Selma Junction, and this +here train is due in New York at five. Who be you?" + +"Well," answered McAllister, "I'm just an humble citizen of New York, +forced by circumstances to return to the city as soon as possible." + +"Reckon you're one o' them play-actors, bean't ye?" + +"You've got it," returned McAllister. "Fact is, I've just been playing +Henry VIII--on the road." + +"I've heard tell on't," commented the rustic. "But I ain't never seen +it. Shakespeare, ain't it?" + +"Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman. + +At this moment the milk-train roared in and the teamsters began passing +up their cans. There were no passenger coaches--nothing but freight-cars +and a caboose. Toward this our friend made his way. There did not seem +to be any conductor, and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbed +upon the platform and pushed open the door. If warmth was what he +desired he soon found it. The end of the car was roughly fitted with +half a dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, and some +spittoons. A small cast-iron stove glowed red-hot, but while the place +was odoriferous, its temperature was grateful to the shivering +McAllister. The car was empty save for a gigantic Irishman sitting fast +asleep in the farther corner. + +Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his ulster, and hung his cap +upon an adjacent hook. In a moment or two the train started again. Still +no one came into the caboose. Now daylight began to filter in through +the grimy windows. The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and shot +a beam into the face of the sleeper at the other end of the car. Slowly +he awoke, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and, catching the glint of silver +buttons, gazed stupidly in McAllister's direction. The random glance +gradually gave place to a stare of intense amazement. He wrinkled his +brows, and leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail of +McAllister's make-up. The train stopped for an instant and a burly +brakeman banged open the door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, as +it were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke into a loud laugh. + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" + +Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a comprehensive smile, made +answer: + +"Shure, 'tis only a prisoner I'm after takin' back to the city!" + + * * * * * + +"Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two hours later, as the three of +them sat in the visitors' room at the club, "I hope you won't say +anything about this. You see, I had no business to put a kid like +Ebstein on the job, but I was clean knocked out and had to snatch some +sleep. I suppose he thought he was doin' a big thing when he nailed you +for a burglar. But, after all, the only thing that saved Welch was your +fallin' asleep in the Benvolio." + +"My dear Baron," sympathetically replied McAllister, who had once more +resumed his ordinary attire, "why attribute to chance what is in fact +due to intellect? No, I won't mention our adventure, and if our friend +McGinnis--" + +"Oh, McGinnis'll keep his head shut, all right, you bet!" interrupted +Barney. "But say, Mr. McAllister, on the level, you're too good for us. +Why don't you chuck this game and come in out of the rain? You'll be up +against it in the end. Help us to land this feller!" + +McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half-closed his eyes. There +was a quizzical look around his mouth that Conville had never seen there +before. + +"Perhaps I will," said he softly. "Perhaps I will." + +"Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! Now, if you _get_ anything, +tip us off. You can always catch me at 3100 Spring." + +"Well," replied the clubman, "don't forget to drop in here, if you +happen to be going by. Some time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might want +a nip of something warm." + +But to this the Baron did not respond. + +[Illustration: "Who in thunder are _you_?"] + +A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke almost restored +McAllister's customary equanimity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Then +he called for a telegraph blank and sent the following: + + _Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If + necessary, use Wilkins._ _McA._ + +To which, about noon-time, he received the following reply: + + _Don't understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and + departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding + to-morrow._ _F. C._ + + + + + + +The Governor-General's Trunk + + +I + +McAllister was in the tank. His puffing and blowing as he dove and +tumbled like a contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly among +the marble pillars of the bath at the club. It was all part of a +carefully adjusted and as rigorously followed regimen, for McAllister +was a thorough believer in exercise (provided it was moderate), and took +it regularly, averring that a fellow couldn't expect to eat and drink as +much as he naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of condition, +and if he didn't he would simply get off his peck, that was all. Hence +"Chubby" arose regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in a +padded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended to the tank, where he dove +six times and swam around twice, after which he weighed himself and had +Tim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree of solicitude for all this +procedure, since he was a personal discovery of McAllister's, and owed +his present exalted position entirely to the clubman's interest, for +the latter had found him at Coney Island earning his daily bread by +diving, in the presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot glass +tank, where he seated himself upon the bottom and nonchalantly consumed +a banana. McAllister's delight and enthusiasm at this elevating +spectacle had been boundless. + +"Wish I could do any one thing as well as that feller dives down and +eats that banana!" he had confided to his friend Wainwright. "Sometimes +I feel as if my life had been wasted!" The upshot of the whole matter +was that Tim had been forthwith engaged as rubber and swimming teacher +at the club. + +McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and was floating lazily +toward the steps, when Tim appeared at the door leading into the +dressing-rooms and announced that a party wanted to speak to him on the +'phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a very cantankerous old person, who +was in the devil of a hurry, and wouldn't stand no waitin'. + +The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched bottom, and arose dripping +to his feet. The "old person" on the wire was clearly his aunt, Lady +Lyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to irritate her when she +was in one of her tantrums. Still, he couldn't imagine what she wanted +with him at that hour of the morning. She'd been placid enough the +evening before when he'd left her after the opera. But ever since she +had married Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten years before she'd +been getting more and more dictatorial. + +"Tell her I'm in this beastly tank; awful sorry I can't speak with her +myself, don'cher know, and find out what she wants. And _Tim_--handle +her gently--it's my aunt." + +Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. As McAllister hurried into +his bath-robe and slippers he wondered more and more why she had rung +him up so early. He had intended calling on her after breakfast, any +way, but "after breakfast" to McAllister meant in the neighborhood of +twelve o'clock, for the meal was always carefully ordered the evening +before for half-past ten the next morning, after which came the paper +and a long, light Casadora, crop of '97, which McAllister had bought up +entire. Something must be up--that was certain. He could imagine her in +her wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with Tim over the wire. The +language of his _protégé_ might well assist in the process for which the +curl-papers were required. There was nobody in the world, in +McAllister's opinion, so queer as his aunt, except his aunt's husband. +The latter was a stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with a +walrus-like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection of British +institutions, and about enough intelligence to drive a watering-cart. He +had been rewarded for his unswerving fidelity to party with the post of +Governor-General at a small group of islands somewhere near the equator, +and had assumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, establishing the +Bertillon system of measurements for the seven criminals which his +islands supported, and producing quarterly monographs on the flora, +fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now they were _en route_ for +England (via Quebec, of course), and were stopping at the Waldorf. + +Tim presently reappeared. + +"She says you've got to hike right down to the hotel as fast as you can. +She's terrible upset. My, ain't she a tiger?" + +"But what's the bloomin' row?" exclaimed McAllister. + +Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his voice. + +"The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole!" said he. + + +II + +The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish, +for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family, +cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had always +said the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoes +and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appear +in style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure in +astonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry, +however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and +everybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scares +occurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact, +however, on their arrival in New York. + +The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at the +breakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite. + +The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre of +vivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His +aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as they +responded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter was +serious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone. +In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking over +their shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of some +assassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentally +suggesting that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt at +breakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground. + +"That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!" +exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "To +say the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knows +perfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, and +never allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and took +a sip of coffee. + +"Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have him +unpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made such +a row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they were +both more than half mad. + +"Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of the +luggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this +time! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by a +miserable brass check with a number on it--and the railroad liable by +express contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" Before +Uncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to the +bar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in those +regions to which later works have not penetrated. "You see we're +leaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless +_for a purpose_?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air of +one who had divined something. + +Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently, +had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a +little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion when +the jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket, +but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip. + +"If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to send +your man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send the +fellow who packed the trunk--this Morton--whoever he is." + +"No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg. +"There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don't +wish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I--I need him." Lord +Lyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the egg +in an embarrassed fashion. + +McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said he +cheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and the +jewels back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?" + +"My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking over +his shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston on +the way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all. +You know it's very hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but +Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven't +had the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!" + +"Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guess +I'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you the +check?" + +Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass. + +"I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously. + +"Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister. + +The Governor-General nodded ambiguously. + +Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almost +hysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation. +Suddenly she broke forth: + +"I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there was +nothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him what +you've done?" + +"What in thunder _have_ you done?" asked McAllister, now convinced +beyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearest +insane asylum. + +Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over his +shoulder. + +"Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in the +clothes-closet. I locked him!" + +"He's in _there_!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! And +now the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, and +I'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out, +and----" + +She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within the +closet. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly, +vaguely familiar about it. + +"It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you to +hunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's a +great hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout, +sir?" The voice ceased momentarily. + +"Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for over +an hour!" + +"Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." But +McAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had he +heard that voice before? + +"'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'm +stiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!" + +McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Could +he ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same way +as the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old man +wasn't such a fool _after_ all! And the jewels! He smote his fist upon +the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. There +was no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now. +The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of the +jewels. + +"Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored to +assert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrested +for hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you _are_ a guv'nor! Let me _hout_, +I say!" + + +III + +McAllister lost no time in getting to the Grand Central Station. He was +looking for a big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. For +this purpose he enlisted the services of a burly young porter, who, for +the consideration of a half-dollar, piloted the clubman through the +crowded alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they came upon the +familiar collection of Lord Lyndhurst's paraphernalia of travel. Eagerly +he recognized the luggage of his uncle's official household. There were +his boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, his portable desk, his dumb-bells, his +bath-tub, his medicine chest, the secretary's trunk, the typewriter in +its case; there were his aunt's basket trunks, and--yes--there was the +big Vuitton. McAllister heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was to +get it back to the hotel as fast as possible. + +"That's it," said he to the porter. "Heave it out!" They were standing +in a little open space some distance from the entrance. The big Vuitton +lay at one side, and about it a row of other trunks roughly in a +semicircle. The porter made but one step in the desired direction, then +jumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket trunk, standing alone +upon its end apart, suddenly shook violently, its lock clicked, the +cover swung open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured young man +with a black mustache. It was Barney Conville, although at first +McAllister failed to recognize him. + +"Look here you! Don't touch that trunk!" he exclaimed. Then he perceived +McAllister, and a look of intense disgust overspread his face. + +"It's the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. "Now what the devil do you +suppose he's been doin' in that trunk? Howd'y', Baron," he added +pleasantly, holding out his hand. "Hardly expected to see you here. Do +you take your rest that way?" pointing to the trunk from which Conville +had emerged. + +The detective eyed him with disapproval. + +"Say," he remarked, disdainfully, "you give me a pain--always buttin' in +an' spoilin' everythin'! This here is a _plant_. I'm waitin' fer a +thief--Jerry, the Oyster. They're goin' to try an' lift that big striped +trunk over there. It belongs to an old party up to the Waldorf. He's a +diplomatico." + +"He's my uncle!" cried McAllister. + +"Your _aunt_!" snorted Barney. + +"But I want to take that trunk back with me." + +"On the level?" + +"Sure!" + +"Can't help it! This is an important job. The Oyster's the cleverest +thief in the business. Works in with all the butlers and valets. Why +he's got away with more'n three thousand pieces of baggage. He's +the----" + +Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he ducked, and grabbing +McAllister by the shoulder, pulled him down with him. + +"There he is now! Into the trunk! There's no other way! Plenty of room!" +He shoved his fat companion inside and stepped after him. McAllister, +utterly bewildered, tried to convince himself that he was not dreaming. +He was quite sure he had taken only one Scotch that morning, but he +pinched himself, and was relieved to get the proper reaction. When he +became used to the dim light he discovered that he was ensconced in a +dress-box of immense proportions, made of basket work, and covered with +waterproofing. Placed on end, with a seat across the middle, it afforded +a very comfortable place of concealment. Conville turned the key and +locked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in the ribs. + +"Great joint, ain't it? Idee of the cap's. Makes a fine plant," he +whispered, affixing his eye to a narrow slit near the top. + +"Sh-h!" he added; "he's here. There's another peeper over on your side." + +McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye to the improvised +window, and discovered that they commanded the approach to the big +Vuitton. And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed the glory of +his uncle's family, the heirlooms of four centuries! He made an +involuntary movement. + +"Keep still!" hissed Conville, and McAllister sank back obediently. + +A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and gaiters, carrying a dainty +silver-headed umbrella in one hand and a copy of _The Churchman_ in the +other, had approached the counter. He seemed somewhat at a loss, gazed +vaguely about him for a moment, and then stepping up to the head +baggage-man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed him anxiously. + +"I say, my man, I'm really in an awful mess, don't you know! I don't see +my box anywhere. I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, and +I'm leavin' for Montreal at three. The luggage-man says it was left here +by ten o'clock. Do you keep all the boxes in this room?" + +The head baggage-man nodded. + +"Sorry you've lost your trunk," said he. "If it ain't here we haven't +got it, but like as not it's mixed up in one of them piles. If you'll +wait for about ten minutes I'll see if I can find it for your +Reverence." + +The Anglican looked shocked. + +"Thanks, I'm sure," he murmured stiffly. He was a slight young man with +a monocle and mutton-chops. + +"It's very good of you," he added after a pause, with more +condescension. "Awfully awkward to be without one's luggage, for I have +a service in Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in my box. I +fear I shall miss my train." + +"Oh, I guess not!" replied the baggage-man encouragingly. "I'll be with +you presently. You come in and look around yourself, and if you don't +see it I'll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted a section of the +counter and allowed the clergyman to pass in. + +"My! Ain't he _clever_!" whispered Barney delightedly. + +The clergyman now began a rather dilatory investigation of the contents +of the baggage-room, bending over and examining every trunk in sight, +and even tapping the one in which they were ensconced with the silver +head of his umbrella, but after a few moments, in apparent despair, he +took his stand beside the big trunk marked "B. C. L.," and gazed +despondently about him. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest +that he was other than he seemed, but Barney directed McAllister's +attention to the copy of _The Churchman_, from the leaves of which +protruded two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it might +appear, for a book-mark. And now as the Anglican shifted from one foot +to the other, ostensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his hands +behind him and took a step or two backward toward the big trunk. Chubby +was by this time all agog. What would the fellow do? He certainly +couldn't be goin' to shoulder the trunk and try to walk off with it! + +Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved hands slip a penknife from +among the leaves of the magazine and quickly sever the check from the +handle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his position and waited until +the baggage-man was once more engaged at the other end of the counter. +Again this amiable representative of the cloth shuffled backward until +the handle was within easy reach, and with a dexterity which must have +been born of long practice deftly tied the two ends of string around it. +With a quick motion he stepped away in the direction of the counter, and +out from the leaves of _The Churchman_ fell and dangled a new check +stamped "Waistcoat's Express, No. 1467." + +"My good fellow," impatiently drawled the clergyman, approaching the +baggage-man, "I really can't wait, don'cher know. I've looked +everywhere, and my box isn't here. I don't know whether to blame that +beastly luggage-man, or whether it's the fault of this disgustin' +American railroad. It's evident someone's at fault, and as I assume that +you are in charge I shall report you immediately." + +[Illustration: Deftly tied the two ends of string around it.] + +The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust champion of religion before +him with scorn. + +"Well, son, you can report all you like. I've worked in this +baggage-room eighteen years, and you're not the first English crank who +thought he owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned on his heel, +while the clergyman, with an expression of horror, ambled quickly out of +the side door. + +McAllister had watched this remarkable proceeding with enthusiastic +interest, his round face shining with the excitement of a child. + +"Jiminy, but this is great!" he exclaimed, slapping Barney upon the +back. "And to think of your doin' it for a livin'! Why I'd sit here all +day for nothin'! What happens next? And what becomes of the feller +that's just gone out?" + +"Oh, you ain't seen half the show yet!" responded Conville, pleased. "It +is pretty good fun at times. But, o' course, this is a star performance, +and we're sure of our man. Oh, it beats the theayter, all right, all +right! Truth's stranger than fiction every time, you bet. Now take this +Oyster--why he's a regular cracker-jack! Got sense enough to be an +alderman, or president, or anythin', but he keeps right at his own +little job of liftin' trunks, an' he ain't never been caught yet. His +pal'll be along now any minute." + +"How's that?" inquired Chubby with eagerness. + +"Why, don'cher see? Jerry's cut off the reg'lar tag, and now the other +feller'll present a duplicate of the one Jerry's just hitched on. Great +game, 'Foxy Quiller,' eh?" + +McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a great game. By George, it +beat playin' the horses! At the same time he shivered as he realized how +nearly the famous jewels had actually been lost. Wilkins must be an +awful bad egg to go and tie up to a gang of that sort! + +The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all that had been taking place +behind his back, and apparently not soured by his little set-to with the +Englishman, was genially assisting the great American public to find its +effects, and beaming on all about him. People streamed in and out, +engines coughed and wheezed; from outside came the roar and rattle of +the city. + +Presently there bounced in a stout person in a yellow and black suit, +with white waistcoat and green tie, who mopped his red face with a large +silk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who seemed to be unoccupied, +he threw down a pasteboard check, together with a shining half-dollar, +and shouted, "Here, my good feller, that trunk, will you? Quick! The big +one with the red letters on it--'B. C. L.' They sent it here from the +Astoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my ship sails at twelve. +Now, get a move on!" + +The porter grabbed the check and the half-dollar, and falling upon the +big Vuitton, rolled it end over end out into the street, followed by its +perspiring claimant. + +"That's right, that's right," shouted the bounder. "Chuck it on behind. +Mus'n't miss the boat!" and throwing the porter another half-dollar, the +sportive traveller jumped into the hack, yelling, "Now drive like the +devil!" The door closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disappeared +among the tracks and wagons of Forty-second Street. + +McAllister for the first time felt distinctly uneasy. + +"Look here," he whispered feverishly, "is it right to let him walk off +like that? Hurry! Open the trunk, or he'll get away!" + +"Sit still, and don't get excited!" commanded Barney. "It's all right," +he added condescendingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamiliar +with such mysteries. "We've got him covered. He couldn't get away to +save his neck. An' as for follerin' him, why he'll carry that trunk half +over New York before he lands it where it's goin'!" + +"All right!" sighed the clubman; "you're the doctor. But it seems to me +you're takin' a lot of risk. Your brother officer might lose track of +him, or he might drop the trunk somehow, and _then_ where would the +jewels be?" + +"Right exactly where they are _now_," replied Barney with a grin. "In +the office safe at the Waldorf. They ain't never left the hotel. There +wasn't any need of it, and if I hadn't taken 'em out I'd 've had to +watch 'em here all night. Now everythin's all right. + +"And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of it, "I forgot to tell you. +Who do you suppose is workin' with Jerry? Fatty Welch! 'Wilkins,' you'd +call him. He's turned up again an' hooked on, somehow, to the Gov'nor. +Me and my side-partner's been trailin' 'em both ever since your uncle +hit New York. I had the room opposite him at the Waldorf. Yesterday +mornin' I saw Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as a bell-boy, +and was cleanin' the winders. The Gov'nor's kind of figgity you know, +and I thought we'd better not mention anythin' to _him_. Of course I +didn't have any idea _you'd_ come waltzin' along this way." + +McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the detective. He was as +demonstrative as his narrow quarters rendered possible. + +"Baron," said he, "you're a corker! I've learned a heap this morning." + +"There's lots of things you never dream of, Horace," replied Barney +politely. + +"Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met asking me to help you nab +Wilkins?" continued McAllister. "Well, I'm goin' to make good. I've got +him safely locked in a closet at the hotel. He promised not to come +back, and now I'm done with him. What do you say to that?" + +"Good work!" ejaculated Barney. "Keep it up! In time you might make a +pretty good detective." + +From Barney such a concession was high praise, and showed intense +appreciation. On their way back to the Waldorf he explained that the +"Oyster" was one of a very few "guns" able effectively to make use of a +disguise, this being in part due to the fact that he was the son of a +clergyman, and educated for the stage. + +They were met at the door of the apartment by Lady Lyndhurst. + +"Basil has disappeared!" she gasped. "And that awful man in the closet +has become so blasphemous that I can't remain with decency in the room." + +McAllister partially pacified her by stating that the jewelry was +entirely safe. He wondered what on earth had become of the Governor. +Once inside the suite conversation became practically impossible, owing +to the sounds of inarticulate rage which proceeded from the closet. + +Barney decided to place the valet immediately under arrest and take him +to Police Headquarters. The sooner they did so the more likely he would +be to "squeal." He requested McAllister to arm himself with a +walking-stick, and to stand ready to come to his assistance if, on +opening the door, he should find himself unable to cope with the +prisoner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her bedroom, the door +leading to the corridor was closed and locked, and the two prepared for +the conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, which he cocked +and held ready. + +"Don't fire 'till you see the whites of his eyes!" murmured McAllister. + +"Fire--nothin'!" muttered Barney, throwing open the closet door. + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed +individual sprung from within and burst upon their astonished gaze. The +Governor-General stood before them. + +[Illustration: "Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a +fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within.] + +Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to the other--then in +response to their surprised inquiries broke into incoherent explanation. +He had waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllister's departure, +and Sophia had gone to her bedroom to finish dressing, when suddenly the +expostulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. Finally they had +died entirely away, and in their place had come terrible gasps and +gurgles. He had remembered that there was no means of renewing the air +supply in the closet, and had become alarmed. Presently all sounds had +ceased. He was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. Opening the +door, he had found the valet apparently lying there unconscious, and had +dragged him forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned to life, and +before he knew it had jammed him into the closet and locked the door. + +"He was most impertinent, too, when he got on the outside, I can assure +you," concluded Lord Lyndhurst indignantly. "Gave me a lot of gratuitous +advice!" + +McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm his troubled spirit, and +soothe his ruffled dignity, informing him that the jewels had been in +the hotel safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused to take any +stock whatever in their explanation. Nothing of the sort could possibly +have happened in England. It took them an hour to persuade him that they +were not lying. The only things that appeared to convince him at all +were the disappearance of Morton, a large bump on his own forehead, and +the actual presence of the jewelry in the safe downstairs. Even then he +sent to Tiffany's for a man to examine it. + +Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, subjecting him to an +exhaustive cross-examination upon his antecedents and occupation. The +Governor declared he was astounded at his impudence. The idea of opening +his private luggage! He would address a communication to the +authorities! It was little better than grand larceny. It _was_ grand +larceny, by Jupiter! Hadn't Conville abstracted the jewels _vi et +armis_? Of _course_ he had! Damme, he would see if the sacred rights of +an English official should be trampled on! It was _trespass_ +anyway--_Trespass ab initio_! Did Conville know that? It was grand +larceny _and_ trespass. He would lock him up. + +Barney grinned, and the Governor again became almost apoplectic. + +He snorted scornfully at the detective's explanation about this Jerry +"What-do-you-call-him--the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to believe +_that_? Conville was a confounded, hair-brained busybody--He dwindled +off, exhausted. + +At that moment there came a sharp rap upon the door, and an officer in +roundsman's uniform entered. + +"Gentleman called at the precinct house and reported a jewelry theft in +this suite. Said the thief had been caught and locked up in a closet, so +I thought I'd drop over and see how things stood." + +He looked inquiringly at McAllister, significantly at the +Governor-General, and then caught sight of Barney. + +"Hello, Conville!" he exclaimed. "You on the case? Well, then I'll drop +out. Got your man, I see!" He glanced again at the dishevelled scion of +nobility before him. + +"Everythin's all right," answered the detective with a chuckle. "I guess +they was fakin' you round at the house. By the way, I want you to meet a +friend of mine--Roundsman McCarthy, let me present you to his Nibs--the +Governor-General." + +The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes shifting from the now red +and stammering roundsman to Conville's beaming countenance, and back +again. + +"Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, "do you prefer Scotch or rye? You will +find cigars on the sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are upon +_me_!" + +"By the way," he added to McCarthy, as McAllister filled the glasses, +"would you be so obliging as to describe the individual who so +thoughtfully notified you in regard to the loss of the jewelry?" + +"Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray eyes," answered +McCarthy, lighting a cigar. "Looked somethin' like this gentleman here," +indicating the clubman. "Spoke with a kind of English accent. Nice +appearin' feller, all right." + +"By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAllister. + +"Damn!" exploded Uncle Basil. + +"The nerve of him!" muttered Barney. + + + + + + +The Golden Touch + + +I + +McAllister, with his friend Wainwright, was lounging before the fire in +the big room, having a little private Story Teller's Night of their own. +It was in the early autumn, and neither of the clubmen were really +settled in town as yet, the former having run down from the Berkshires +only for a few days, and the latter having just landed from the Cedric. +The sight of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the distance and +then, receiving no encouragement, stalked slowly away, reminded +Wainwright of something he had heard in Paris. + +"I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, McAllister, upon the +impregnable rock of universally accepted fact that Tomlinson is a +highfalutin ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then; I proceed. In +the first place, you must know that our anemic friend decided last +spring that the state of his health required a trip to Paris. He +therefore went--alone. The reason is obvious. Who should he fall in +with at the Hotel Continental but a gentleman named Buncomb--Colonel C. +T. P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the middle of his +forehead, who claimed to belong to a most exclusive Southern family in +Savannah. Incidentally he'd been in command of a Georgia regiment in the +Civil War and had been knocked in the head at Gettysburg--one of those +big, flabby fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says about his +capacity to chew Black Strap and absorb rum is accurate, I reckon the +Colonel was right up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He knew +everybody and everything in Paris; passed up our friend right along the +Faubourg Saint Germain; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses and +countesses--that is, Tomlinson _says_ they were. Can't you see 'em, +swaggerin' down the Champs-Élysées arm in arm? In addition, he took our +mournful acquaintance to all the _cafés chantants_ and students' balls, +and gave him sure things on the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been a +regular doodle-bug! + +"In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new friend was a mining +expert taking a short vacation and just blowing in an extra half million +or so. He believed it. You see, he had never met any of them at the +Waldorf at home. He was also introduced to a young man in the same line +of business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed to have plenty of money, +and was likewise _au fait_ with the aristocracy. + +"Well, one night, after they had been to the Bal Boullier and had had a +little supper at the Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle more +confidential than usual, and let drop that their friend Summerdale had a +brother employed as private secretary by a copper king who owned a +wonderful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. The stock in this +concern had originally been sold at five dollars a share, but recently a +rich vein had been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. No one +knew of this except the officers of the company, who, of course, were +anxious to buy up all they could find. They had located most of it +easily enough, but there were two or three lots that had thus far eluded +them. Among these was the largest single block of stock in existence, +owned by the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. He had two +thousand shares, and was blissfully ignorant of the fact that they were +worth forty thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no one seemed to +know, but his name was Edwin H. Blake, and he was supposed to be in +Paris. It appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watching out for +Blake with the charitable idea of relieving him of his stock at five, +and selling it for twenty in the States. + +"Next day, if you'll believe it, the Colonel didn't remember a thing; +became quite angry at Tomlinson's supposing he'd take advantage of any +person in the way suggested; explained that he must have been drinking, +and begged him to forget everything that might have been said. Of +course, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after that the Colonel and he +rather drifted apart. Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later, +our friend stumbled on Blake himself--met him right on the race-track, +through a Frenchman named Depau. + +"Now our innocent friend had been sort of lonely ever since he'd lost +sight of Buncomb, and this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort. +Tomlinson naturally inquired if he'd ever met the Colonel or Larry +Summerdale, but he never had, and finally they took an apartment +together." + +"He must have been pleased when Tomlinson told him about the value of +his stock," remarked McAllister, lighting another cigar. + +"I'm comin' to that," replied Wainwright. "It seems that Tomlinson so +far forgot his early New England traditions as to covet that stock +himself. Shockin', wasn't it? + +"One day, when they were lunching at the Trois Freres, our friend +hinted that he was interested in mining stock. Blake laughed, and +replied that if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff he +wouldn't want to see another share as long as he lived, and added that +he was loaded up with a lot of worthless stock--two thousand shares--in +an old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from his father, and +wasn't worth the paper the certificate was printed on. The leery +Tomlinson admitted having heard of the mine, but gave it as his +impression that it had possibilities. + +"Then he had a sudden headache, and went out and cabled to The Silver +Bow offices at the _World_ building here in New York to find out what +the company would pay for the stock. In an hour or two he got an answer +stating that they were prepared to give twenty dollars a share for not +less than two thousand shares. Good, eh? + +"Well, next day he led the conversation round again to mining stocks, +and finally offered to buy Blake's holdings for five dollars a share. +When the latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he'd lose the stock +that he almost raised his bid to fifteen; but Blake only laughed, and +said that he had no intention of robbing one of his friends, and that +the old stuff really wasn't worth a cent. Tomlinson became quite +indignant, suggested that perhaps he knew more about that particular +mine than even Blake did, and finally overcame the latter's scruples +and persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson disposed of some bonds by +cable, and that evening gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs in +exchange for his two thousand share certificate in The Silver Bow of +Arizona. He told me it had a picture of a miner with a pick-ax and a +mule standing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegorical, don't +you think? + +"Blake continued to protest that our friend was being cheated, and +offered to buy it back at any time; but Tomlinson's one idea was to get +to New York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the stock was on the +way, and that very night he slid out of Paris and caught the +Norddeutscher Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occupied the bridal +chamber on the way back all by himself. + +"The instant they landed he jumped in a cab and started for the _World_ +building; but when he got there he couldn't find any Silver Bow Mining +Company. It had evaporated. It had been there right enough--for ten +days--the ten days Tomlinson calculated that it had taken Blake to sell +him the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or what had become of +it. + +"Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, "he nearly went crazy; cabled the +police in Paris and had 'em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb; +and took the next steamer back. He says they had the trial in a little +police court in the Palais de Justice. Buncomb had hired Maître Labori +to defend him. Everybody kept their hats on, and apparently they all +shouted at once. The Judge was the only one that kept his mouth shut at +all. Tomlinson told his story through an interpreter, and charged +Buncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with conspiracy to defraud. + +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into the +middle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped his +coat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell you +he must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the Confederate +Army, he was--the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserable +French scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador. +He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge could +interfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in a +while he'd yell '_Conspuez_' or '_À bas_' and sort of froth at the +mouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maître Labori got in _his_ +licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing--a rascal--a +'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is. + +"Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant smile, if Buncomb had ever +asked him to buy any stock? + +"Tomlinson had to say 'No.' + +"Did Larry Summerdale? + +"'No' + +"Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless? + +"'Yes.' + +"How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it? + +"'Well, he didn't absolutely.' + +"The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake, +and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarked +that one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson +would show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then the +first thing our friend knew the court had adjourned--they had all been +turned out--discharged--acquitted. But the thing that most disgusted +Tomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, the +Colonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. They +passed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paid +for that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last he +heard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera." + +"And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister. + +"There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-day +boat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, +Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electric +car for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. But +the simple life has done him good." + + +II + +One evening, several months later, McAllister and a party of friends +dropped into Rector's after the theatre for a caviare sandwich before +turning in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light and crowded, +but after waiting for a few moments they were given a table just vacated +by a party of four. McAllister, having given their order, noticed a +couple seated directly in his line of vision who instantly challenged +his attention. The girl was ordinary--slender, dark-haired, +sharp-featured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed with +ermine--obviously an actress or vaudeville "artist." It was her +companion, however, that caused McAllister to readjust his monocle. +Curious! Where had he seen that face? It was that of a heavy man of +approximately sixty, benign, smooth-shaven, full-featured, and with an +expanse of broad white forehead, the centre of which was marked in a +curious fashion by a deep dent like a hole made by dropping a marble +into soft putty. It gave him the appearance of having had a third eye, +now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He was sure he had met the old +fellow somewhere--he couldn't just place where. But that hole in the +forehead--yes, he was certain! Listening abstractedly to his friends' +conversation, the clubman studied his neighbor, becoming each moment +more convinced that at some time in the past they had been thrown +together. Presently the pair arose, and the man helped the woman into +her ermine coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in and out of +shadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened upon it like some bird charmed +by a reptile, watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously out. + +"Fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, "look at those people just going out; +do you know who they are?" + +"Why, that's Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," said Rogers. "She's at +Hammerstein's. I don't know her escort. By George! that's a queer thing +on his forehead." + +McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him. + +"Alphonse, who's the gentleman with Mademoiselle Vibbert?" + +Alphonse smiled. + +"Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced it Erbaire. + +"Well, who's Monsieur Erbaire?" + +Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, protruded his +lips, and extended the palms of his hands. + +"Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turning to the group around the +table, "Alphonse says that you can search _him_." + + +III + +McAllister had speculated for a day or two upon the probable identity of +the man with the hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it up +as a bad job. One didn't like to dig up the past too carefully, anyhow. +You never could tell exactly what you might exhume. + +The next Sunday afternoon, while running his eyes carelessly over the +"personals," his notice was attracted to the following: + + BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES.--Advertiser wants party with + four thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve + thousand dollars in five weeks; no scheme, strictly + legitimate business transaction; will bear thorough + investigation; must act immediately; no brokers; + principals only. + HERBERT, 319 Herald. + +The name sounded familiar. But he didn't know any Herbert. Then there +hovered in the penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the ghost of a +scarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes! Herbert was the man with the hole +in his forehead that night at Rector's, that Alphonse didn't know. But +where had he known that man? He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of +Tomlinson, the saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of course! +Buncomb--Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb--Tomlinson's high-rolling friend of +the Champs-Élysées--turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert--a man who'd +triple your money in five weeks! The chain was complete. If he kept his +wits about him he might increase the reputation achieved at Blair's. It +would require _finesse_, to be sure, but his experience with Conville +had given him confidence. Here was a chance to do a little more +detective work on his own account. He replied to the advertisement, +inviting an interview. The "Colonel" would probably call, try some old +swindling game, McAllister would lure him on, and at the proper moment +call in the police. It looked easy sailing. + +Accordingly the appointed hour next day found the clubman waiting +impatiently at his rooms, and at two o'clock promptly Mr. Herbert was +announced. But McAllister was doomed to disappointment. The visitor was +not the Colonel at all, and didn't even have a bullet-hole in his +forehead. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully in a dark blue +overcoat, bowed himself in. In his hand he carried a glistening silk +hat, and his own countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thick +bristly black hair parted mathematically in the middle drooped on either +side of his forehead above a pair of snappy black eyes and rather +bulbous nose. + +McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest to be seated. + +Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered him. + +"Mr. McAllister?" he inquired affably. + +"Ye-es," replied the clubman. "I noticed your advertisement in the +_Herald_, and it occurred to me that I might like to look into it." + +Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating manner. + +"I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatanism," he remarked, "but +the situation was unusual and time was of the essence. Are we quite +alone?" + +"Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?" + +Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining McAllister in a cigar. + +"The gist of the matter is this," he explained, holding the weed in the +corner of his mouth as he spoke--a trick McAllister had never acquired. +"I have a brother who is employed in a confidential capacity by the +president of a large mining company--The Golden Touch. The stock has +always sold at around four or five. Recently they struck a very rich +lode. It was kept very quiet, and only the officers of the company +actually on the field know of it. Needless to say, they are buying in +the stock as fast as they can." + +"Of course," answered McAllister sympathetically. He felt as if he had +run across an old friend again. Things were looking up a bit. + +"Well, I have located a block of which they know absolutely nothing. It +was issued to an engineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. He +suddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go to Baden-Baden. At +present he is laid up at one of the hotels in this city. Of course he is +ignorant of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the fact that +his stock, once worth only five dollars a share, is now selling at +twenty." + +"Well, he's a richer man than he supposes," commented McAllister +naively. + +Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension. + +"Exactly. That is the point. If I had five thousand dollars I could buy +his thousand shares to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteen +thousand dollars' profit. You furnish the funds, I the opportunity, and +we divide even. I've a sure thing! What do you think of it?" + +"By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slapping his knee delightedly, "I've +a mind to go you! . . . But," he added shrewdly, "I should want to see +the prospective buyer of my stock before I purchased it." + +"Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllister," instantly returned Mr. +Herbert. "Now, I'm dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning you can go +down and see the president of The Golden Touch yourself. The offices are +in the New York Life Building." + +"All right," answered McAllister. "To-morrow? Wait a minute; I've an +engagement. Why can't we go now?" + +Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, _that_ was business! They would go +at once. + +McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him into his coat and summoned +a cab. On their way down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. He +believed, if they could land this block of stock, they might perhaps dig +up a few more hundred shares. Conscientious effort counted just as much +in an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllister displayed the +deepest interest. + +Arrived at the New York Life Building, the two took the elevator to the +fifth floor, where Herbert led the way to a large suite on the Leonard +Street side. McAllister rarely had to go down-town--his lawyer usually +called on him at his rooms--and was much impressed by the marble +corridors and gilt lettering upon the massive doors. Upon a door at the +end of the hall the clubman could see in large capitals the words, + + THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO. + + _Office of the President._ + +They turned to the left and paused outside another door marked +"Entrance." Herbert thought he'd better remain in the corridor--the +President might smell a rat; so McAllister decided to enter alone. In an +adjoining suite he could see some men testing a fire-escape consisting +of a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from the window in the +direction of the street below. Someone was preparing to make a descent. +McAllister wished he could stop and see the fellow slide through; but +business was business, and he opened the door. + +Inside he found himself in a large, handsome office. Three gum-chewing +boys idled at desks in front of a brass railing, behind which several +typewriters rattled continuously. On learning that McAllister desired to +see the President, one of the boys penetrated an inner office, and +presently beckoned our friend into another room hung with large maps and +photographs and furnished with a mahogany table, around which were +ranged a dozen vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond, +evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly man at a roll-top +desk smoking a large cigar. + +McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; everything seemed so +methodical and everybody so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzers +whirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside smoked on serenely, +unperturbed, a wonderful example of the superiority of mind over matter. +Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he was going to make an ass of +himself. Then the magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became no +longer possible. With a start, McAllister found himself face to face +with the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead. The latter bowed +slightly. + +"I am President Van Vorst," he announced in a dignified manner. + +McAllister hastily tried to assume the expression and manner of a yokel. + +"Er--er--" he stammered; "you see, the fact is, I want to sell some +stock." + +The Colonel eyed him sternly. + +"Stock? What stock?" + +"In the Golden Touch." + +The President slightly elevated his eyebrows. + +"Stock in The Golden Touch? How much have you got?" + +"About a thousand shares." + +"Nonsense!" remarked the Colonel. + +"No, it isn't," replied McAllister. "I have, really. What'll you pay for +it?" + +"Five dollars a share." + +"No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously toward the door. "I think +it's worth more than that." + +"Come back here," muttered the other, getting up from his chair and +scowling. "What do you know about the value of The Golden Touch, I +should like to know?" + +"Perhaps I know more than you think," answered McAllister, with an inane +imitation of airy nonchalance. + +"See here," said the Colonel excitedly, "is this on the level? Can you +deliver a thousand?" + +"Certainly." + +The President sank back in his chair. + +"Then you have located Murphy's stock!" he exclaimed. "You've beaten us! +That cursed certificate was issued just before--" He paused, and looked +sharply toward McAllister. + +"Just before you made that strike," finished the clubman significantly. + +"Hang you!" cried the Colonel angrily. "What do you ask?" + +"Eighteen." + +"Too much. Give you ten." + +McAllister started for the door. + +At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and handed the President a +flimsy yellow paper. + +"Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting his eye rapidly over the +telegram. + +"Can't do business on that basis." + +"Well, you've got us cornered. I'll break the record. I'll give you +fifteen." + +McAllister hesitated. + +"All right," said he rather reluctantly. "Cash down?" + +"Of course," replied the Colonel. "I'll wait here for you. You might as +well look at this now." And he showed the clubman the paper. + + STAFFORD, ARIZONA. + + _Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays + show eight per cent. copper, carrying five dollars in + gold to the ton. Try and locate Murphy's stock._ + +"You see," added the Colonel, "I've got to get it, if it busts me!" + +"Well, you shall have it in half an hour," replied McAllister. + +Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know exactly what had happened, +and laughed heartily when McAllister described the interview. Oh, that +old Van Vorst was a sly dog! He'd steal the gold out of your teeth if +you gave him the chance. Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton! That +was even better than his brother had advised him. Well, the next thing +was to capture Murphy's stock. + +On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllister +stopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring the +money to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters. +Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between them +that the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him at +once to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return of +McAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company. + +McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to the +hotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad, +very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trained +nurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs and +inquire for themselves. + +Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor, +in which the pungent odor of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even +at the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knock +brought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was at +last persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the express +condition that their call should be limited to a few moments' duration +only. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllister +could discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the far +corner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a +table covered with liniment and bottles. + +"Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace? +Wot is it, I s'y?" + +For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beating +at the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should it +come from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the waters +beneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinary +individual--Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instant +McAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation. + +"You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see if +you wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock." + +"'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turning his head to the wall. +"Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almost +dead? Go aw'y, I s'y!" + +McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock, +and on returning to the company's offices to have Conville arrest +Herbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. He +was pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist +him, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both. + +"Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort of +thing." + +So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to part +with his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent over +the glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected at +Baden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and mining +stock in particular. + +Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon his pallet and cursed the +inconsiderate strangers who forced their selfish interests upon him at +such a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed impatiently. At last, +after an unusually persistent harangue on the part of Herbert, the +invalid, inveighing against the sciatica that had placed him thus at +their mercy, and more to get rid of them than anything else, +reluctantly yielded. Fumbling among the bed-clothes, he produced a +soiled certificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly. + +"'Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! Gimme yer money, an' go aw'y!" + +As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who had remained partially +concealed behind his companion. + +"Now's your chance!" whispered the latter. "Take it while you can get +it. Where's the money?" + +McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled deliciously in his hands, +and stepped square in front of the sick engineer, between him and +Herbert. + +"Mr. Murphy"--he spoke the words slowly and distinctly--"I'm the person +who's buying your stock. This gentleman has merely interested me in the +proposition." Then, fixing his eyes directly on those of Wilkins, he +held out the bills. A look of terror came over the face of the valet, +and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he stared horrified at his +former master. Then he sank back, and turned away his head. + +"Now answer me a few questions," continued McAllister. "Are you the bona +fide owner of this stock?" + +Wilkins choked. + +"S' 'elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped. + +"And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?" + +Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle of +iodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side. + +"Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within a +few inches of McAllister's face. "_It's rotten_," he whispered under his +breath. "_Don't touch it!_ . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . _Just pretend to +pass me the money_. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . _I +wouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't!_ . . . W'ere's yer money?" + +A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said there +was no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing as +gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that it +was the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. His +simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part. +With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to where +Herbert was standing. + +"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man's +name is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine? +I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money." + +"Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brother +gave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then he +has the certificate. What more do you want?" + +"I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head and +shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't do +it." + +Herbert seemed annoyed. + +"Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sick +you can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"--adding +_sotto voce_ to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buy +the stock himself, and we'll lose our chance." + +The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer. +Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified. + +"We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, nodding +vigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister. + +"Oh, I'll go!" responded the engineer with sudden alacrity. "Anything to +hoblige." + +He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse had by this time returned, +and was demanding in forcible language that his patient should instantly +get back. Seeing that his expostulations had no effect, he assisted +Wilkins very ungraciously to get into his clothes. With the aid of a +stout cane the latter tottered to the elevator and was finally ensconced +safely in the cab. All this had occupied nearly an hour; twenty minutes +more brought them to the New York Life Building. + +As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into the +building, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and +athletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of the +portico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly that +the sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again. +As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office, +McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Things +were going well enough, so far. Now for the _coup d'état_! + +The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before, +President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a +corner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe. + +"Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I've +brought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?" + +"Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with great +cordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my old +engineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year, +isn't it, since you were at Stafford?" + +"Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've got +the skyathicer somethin' hawful." + +McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket. + +"Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman. + +"Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousand +shares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show of +irritation. + +"Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply. + +The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he could +not determine just how matters stood. + +"Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, but +I'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you back +quite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow--you, or Murphy?" + +"At present it belongs to me," said the clubman. + +As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the door leading into the +directors' room. From below came faintly the rattle of the street and +the clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could be heard the +merry tattoo of the typewriters. Could it be possible that in this +opulently furnished office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, its +Persian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy curtains, he was +confronting a crew of swindlers of whom his own valet was an accomplice? +It was almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wainwright's vivid +description of the fall of Tomlinson, the scene at Rector's, the +advertisement in the _Herald_, and the strange occurrences of the +morning, he perceived that there could be no question in the matter. He +was facing three common--or rather most uncommon--thieves, all of whom +probably had served more than one term in State prison--desperate +characters, who would not hesitate to use force, or worse, should it +appear necessary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He might be +murdered, and no one be the wiser. Then a vague shadow flickered against +the opaque glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new courage. +Conville was just outside, with Tomlinson--although the latter could not +be regarded as a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-hand +struggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? What if the ex-convict +should go back on him? How did the valet know but that, by assisting +his master, he was sending himself to State prison? McAllister had a +fleeting desire to turn and dart from the room. What business had a +middle-aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then he braced himself, +took a good grip of his stout walking-stick, and turned to the Colonel +with an assumption of calmness which he was very far from feeling. The +noonday sun streamed into the windows and threw into strong relief the +muscular figures of the group about him. + +"I'm afraid you've been deceived in Murphy," he remarked coolly. "He +isn't an engineer at all; he's just an ex-convict." + +The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched a Colt from an open drawer +of the desk. Herbert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins dropped +his crutch. + +"What are you giving us!" cried the Colonel. + +"I'll leave it to _him_," added McAllister. "By the way, his name isn't +Murphy at all--it's Wilkins--or Welch, if you prefer." + +"What's this--a plant?" yelled Herbert. "By God, if----" + +"Don't be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the clubman. "You might lay down +that pistol, Colonel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine--in fact +he used to work for me." + +The two thieves glared at him, speechless. Wilkins picked up his crutch +by the small end, remarking: + +"Better go easy there, Buncomb." + +"I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of meeting another friend of +mine last summer, a Mr. Tomlinson," continued McAllister. "He's told me +a good deal about you. I am under the impression that he paid for an +automobile and a little trip you took on the Riviera. How would you like +to turn back the money?" + +Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale and motionless, while the +clubman opened the door into the hall and called Tomlinson's name. + +"Yaas, I'm here, McAllister. What do you want?" replied the club bore as +his lank figure entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Summerdale, +and Wilkins he stopped short. + +"By Jove!" he drawled, "I'm dashed if it ain't the Colonel--and Larry!" + +"Look here, you--you--chappie!" snarled Buncomb, "clear out of here! And +you, too, Tomlinson. Understand?" He waved the revolver threateningly. + +"Colonel," remarked McAllister, "I'm here for just one purpose, and +that's to collect the debt you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson. +Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever _you_ call him, is ready to +turn state's evidence against you. I promise him immunity. There's an +officer just outside. Shall I call him?" + +"Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, his face livid with fright +and anger. "Are you going to squeal on us?" + +"Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I'm through with you, you miserable +shell-gamers! The best thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hover +there and count hout what's left of that ten thousand." + +"Curse you!" hissed Summerdale. "How do we know you won't have us +pinched whether we pay up or not?" + +"I reckon we'd better take a chance," muttered the Colonel, laying down +his revolver and dropping on his knees before the safe. The little knob +spun around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, but at the +same moment there was a terrific crash of glass behind them. + +"Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting his face through the +broken pane and covering Buncomb with a long black weapon. "Kindly keep +your arms up, Colonel--and you too, Larry. How stout you've grown! Thank +you! I was peekin' through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would be +a good time to freeze on to what was in the safe without callin' in an +expert." + +The next instant he had unlocked the door with his other hand and +snapped the handcuffs on Summerdale's uplifted wrist. While the +detective was doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught sight of +Wilkins's frightened glance, and gave a slight nod toward the door +leading into the next room. Like a flash the valet had jumped through +and closed and locked the door behind him. Another door banged. Conville +sprang into the hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, with +McAllister at his heels. They were just in time to see Wilkins leap into +the room where the men were testing the fire-escape. + +"Let me try it," said he, and swung himself calmly into the tube. For an +instant he delayed his flight, with only his head remaining visible. + +"Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his shoulder, "and thank you +kindly. I won't forget, sir." + +At the same instant Conville bounded through the door and rushed to the +window. As he reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged downwards. +His descent was rapid, his position being discernible from the sagging +of the canvas. + +Barney started for the elevator in the hope of cutting off the valet's +escape below, but he had miscalculated the force of gravitation. As +McAllister reached the window he saw the little bulge that represented +Wilkins slide gently to the bottom. There was a cheer from the +bystanders as the convict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turned +for an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, waved his hand and +disappeared among the crowd. + + + + + + +McAllister's Data of Ethics + + +I + +"Certainly, sir. Your clothes shall be delivered at the Metropole at +nine-forty-five to morrow evenin', sir." + +Pondel's dapper little clerk tossed a half-dozen bolts of "trouserings" +upon the polished table, and smiled graciously at the firm's best paying +customer. + +"Here, Bulstead! take Mr. McAllister's waist measure--just a matter of +precaution," he added deferentially. "These are somethin' fine, +sir--very fine! When they came in, I says to Mr. Pondel: 'If only Mr. +McAllister could see that woollen! It's a shame,' I says, 'not to save +it for 'im!' An' Mr. Pondel agreed with me at once. 'Very good, +Wessons,' says he. 'Lay aside enough of that Lancaster to make Mr. +McAllister a single-breasted sack suit, and if he don't fancy it I'll +have it made up into somethin' for myself,' he says. Ain't that so, Mr. +Pondel?" + +The gentleman addressed had graciously sauntered over to congratulate +Mr. McAllister upon his selections. + +"Ah, very good! Very good indeed! How's that, Wessons? Yes, I told him +to keep that piece for you, sir. Lord Bentwood begged for it almost with +the tears in his eyes, as I may say, but I assured him that it was +already spoken for." He patted the cloth with a fat, ring-covered hand. +An atmosphere of exclusive opulence emanated from every inch of his +sleek, pudgy person--from the broad white forehead over the glinting +steel-gray eyes, from the pointed Van Dyke trimmed to resemble that of a +certain exalted personage, from his drab waistcoated abdomen begirdled +with its heavy chain and dangling seals, down to the gray-gaitered +patent leathers. McAllister distrusted, feared, relied upon him. + +The clubman wiped his monocle and glanced out through the plate-glass +window. Marlborough Square was flooded with the soft sunshine of the +autumn afternoon. Hardly a pedestrian violated the eminently +aristocratic silence of St. Timothy's. + +"Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure," he replied, not grudging Pondel the +extra two guineas which he very well knew the other invariably charged +for these little favors. It were cheap at twice the money to feel so +much a gentleman. + +"But this is Saturday, and it's five o'clock now. I don't see how you +can possibly finish all those suits by to-morrow evening. You know I +really didn't intend to order anything but the frock-coat. Perhaps you'd +just better let the rest go. I can get them some other time." + +"Not at all, Mr. McAllister; not at all. We are always delighted to +serve you by any means in our power. Did Wessons say they would be +finished to-morrow? Then to-morrow they shall be, sir. I'll set my men +at work immediately. Pedler! Where's Pedler? Send him here at once!" + +A hollow-eyed, lank, round-shouldered journeyman parted the curtains +that concealed the rear of the room, and nervously approached his +employer. He blinked at the unaccustomed sunlight, suppressing a cough. + +"Did you call me, sir?" + +"Yes," replied Pondel with the severity of one granting an undeserved +favor. "This is Mr. McAllister, of whom you have heard us speak so +often. I believe you have cut several of the gentleman's suits. He is to +take the Majestic, which sails early Monday morning, and I have promised +that his clothes shall be ready to-morrow evening. Can you arrange to +stay here to-night and whatever portion of to-morrow is necessary to +finish them?" + +A worried look passed over the man's face, and his hand flew to his +mouth to strangle another cough. + +"Certainly, sir; that is--of course-- Yes, sir. May I ask how many, +sir?" + +"Only three, I believe. I was sure it could be arranged. Please ask +Aggam to assist you. That is all." + +"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Pedler hesitated a moment as if about to +speak, then turned listlessly and plodded back behind the curtains. + +"Very obliging man--Pedler. You see, there will be no difficulty, Mr. +McAllister." + +"Well, I don't see how on earth you're going to do it!" protested +McAllister feebly. He wanted the clothes badly, now that he had seen the +material. "It's mighty good of you to take all this trouble." + +Mr. Pondel made a deprecating gesture. + +"We are always glad to serve you, sir!" he repeated, as Wessons escorted +the distinguished customer to the door. + +"It's a great privilege to be employed by such a man as Mr. Pondel," +whispered the salesman. "He thinks an enormous lot of you, sir. Very +fine man--Mr. Pondel." + +As the hansom jogged rapidly toward the hotel, McAllister reflected +painfully upon the enormous sums of money that he annually transferred +from his own pockets to those of the lordly tailor. Not that the money +made any particular difference. The clubman was well enough fixed, only +sometimes the bills were unexpectedly large. The three suits just +ordered would average fourteen guineas each. Roughly they would come to +two hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus the duty, which he always paid +conscientiously. And he was getting off easy at that. He remembered +heaps of bills for over two hundred pounds, and that was only the +beginning, for he bought most of his clothes right in New York. + +Climbing the steps of his hotel, he wondered vaguely how long Pedler and +the other fellow would have to work to finish the suits. Of course, they +would be paid extra--were probably glad to do it. The chap had a nasty +cough, though. Oh, well, that was their business--not his! So long as he +put up the money, Pondel could look out for the rest. + +However, he felt a distinct sense of relief that his own obligations +consisted merely in dressing, dining at the Savoy with Aversly, and then +leisurely taking in the Alhambra afterward. Once in his room, he found +that the once criminally inclined, but now reformed Wilkins, who had +returned to his master's service under a solemn promise of good +behavior, had already laid out his clothes. McAllister rather dreaded +dressing, for the place was one of those heavily oppressive apartments +characteristic of English hotels. Green marble, yellow plush, and black +walnut filled the foreground, background, and middle distance, while a +marble-topped table, placed squarely in the centre of the room, offered +the only oasis in the desert of upholstery, in the form of a single +massive book, bound in brown morocco, and bearing the inscription +stamped upon its cover in heavy gilt: + + HOTEL METROPOLE + HOLY BIBLE + NOT TO BE REMOVED + +It fascinated him, recalling the chained hairbrush and comb of the +Pacific Coast. There you were offered cleanliness, here godliness, by +the proprietors; only the means thereto were not to be taken away. The +next comer must have his chance. + +As the clubman idly lifted the volume, he suddenly realized that this +was the first Bible he had actually touched in over thirty years. The +last time he had owned one himself had been at school when he was +fifteen years old. Something moved him to carry it to the window. The +sun was just dropping over the scarlet chimney-pots of London. Its +burnished glare played upon the red gilt edges of the leaves, as +McAllister mechanically allowed the book to fall open in his hands. He +read these words: + + So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that + are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such + as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on + the side of their oppressors there was power; but they + had no comforter. + +The sun sank; the chimneys deadened against the sky-line. When Wilkins, +ten minutes later, stole in to see if his master needed his assistance, +he found McAllister staring into the darkening west. + + +II + +The bell on St. Timothy's tolled twelve o'clock as McAllister's hansom, +straight from the Alhambra, clacked into the moonlit silence of +Marlborough Square. A soft breath of distant gardens hung on the cool +air. The chimneys rose from the house-tops sharp against a pale blue sky +glittering with stars. Here and there a yellow window gleamed for a +moment under the eaves, then vanished mysteriously. It was a night for +lovers,--calm, still, ecstatic,--for hayfields under the harvest +moon,--for white, ghostly reaches of the Thames,--for poetry,--for the +exquisite enjoyment of earth's nearest approach to heaven. + +The trap above McAllister's head opened. + +"Beg pardon, sir. W'ere did you s'y, sir?" + +"I said _Pondel's_," replied McAllister, rather sharply. He knew the +cabby must think him a lunatic, but he didn't care. He intended to do +the decent thing. Hang it! The fellow could mind his own business. + +The hansom crossed the street and reined up in the shadow. All was dark, +silent, deserted. Only the brass plate beside the door reflected +strangely the moonlight across the way. + +"'Ere's Pondel's, sir." The cabby got down and crossed the sidewalk to +the door. + +"All shut hup!" he commented. "Close at six." + +A dark figure emerged quickly from, a neighboring shadow. + +"'Ere! Wot is it you want?" demanded the bobby, accosting the cabman +with tentative and potential roughness. + +"Gent wants Pondel's. I dunno w'y. Ax 'im yerself!" responded cabby in +an injured tone. + +The bobby turned to the hansom. + +"This shop's closed at six o'clock," he announced. "Wot do you want?" + +McAllister felt ten thousand times a fool. The beauty of the night, the +odoriferous quiet, the peace of the deserted square, all made his errand +seem monstrously idiotic. The universe was wheeling silently across the +housetops; respectable men and women were in their beds; only +night-hawks, lovers, policemen were abroad. It was as if a worm were +raising objection to some cardinal law. Why should he try to upset the +order and regularity of the London night, clattering into this +slumbering section, startling a respectable somnolent policeman, making +an ass of himself before his cabby--because somewhere a fellow was +working overtime on his trousers. He imagined that as soon as he had +made his explanation the bobby and the driver would collapse with +merriment, and hale him to a mad-house. But McAllister set his teeth. He +was fighting for a principle. He wouldn't "welch" now. He clambered out +of the hansom. + +"I want to find Pondel, because he's got some fellows working on my +clothes, and I don't propose to have anybody working for me on Sunday. +Understand? It's _Sunday_. I don't intend to have folks working on my +clothes when they ought to be in bed." + +He spoke brokenly, defiantly, catching his breath between words, almost +ready to cry; then waited for his auditors to fall upon each other's +necks in derisive mirth. He forgot, however, that he was in London. The +situation was one apposite to American humor, but evoked no sense of +amusement in the policeman. He treated McAllister's explanation with +vast respect. Our hero gained confidence. The bobby regretted that the +place seemed closed; ventured to express his approval of the clubman's +altruistic effort; dilated upon it to the cabby, who was correspondingly +impressed. McAllister, immensely cheered, held forth on the wrongs of +labor at some length, and, finding a sympathetic audience, produced +cigars. The three proved, as it were, a little group of humanitarians +united in a common purpose. Then, suddenly, inconsequently, inexcusably, +a man coughed. The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. It came from a +point directly beneath their feet. The bobby rapped sharply on the +pavement several times. + +"Hi there, you!" he called. "Hi there, you in Pondel's. Come an' open +hup!" + +They could hear a dull murmur of conversation, the cough was repeated, a +bench dragged across a floor, some fastening was slowly loosed, and a +yellow gleam of light shot up through the shadow as a scuttle opened in +the sidewalk. A lean, scrawny figure thrust itself upward, sleepily +rubbing its eyes, collarless, its shirt open at the breast, its hair +tousled, coughing. McAllister, now confident that he had the support of +his companions, addressed the ghost, in whom he recognized Pedler, the +journeyman from behind the curtains. The clubman's face, however, was +concealed in shadow from the other. + +"You're working for Pondel, aren't you?" + +The ghost coughed again, and shivered, although the air was warm. + +"Yes," it answered huskily. + +"Are you working on some clothes for a gentleman who's sailing on +Monday?" + +"Yes," it repeated. + +"Then don't, any more," chirped McAllister encouragingly. "Those clothes +are for me, and I don't want you to work any longer. You ought to be in +bed." + +"Wotcher givin' us?" grumbled Pedler. "G'wan! Leave us alone!" He +started to descend. But the bobby stepped forward. + +"Look 'ere," he said roughly. "Don't you understand? It's just as the +gentleman s'ys. You don't _'ave_ to work any more to-night. You can go +'ome." + +"I s'y, wotcher givin' us?" repeated the other. "I cawn't go 'ome. Mr. +Pondel's horders is to st'y 'ere until the clothes is finished. M'ybe +it's as you s'y, but I cawn't go 'ome." + +At this juncture a child began to cry drowsily below, and a woman's +voice could be heard striving to comfort it. + +"You don't mean you've got a baby down there!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Only little Annie," replied Pedler. "An' the old woman." + +"Anyone else?" + +"Aggam." + +"Let's go down," suggested the bobby. "_I_ can make 'em understand." The +ghost descended, dazed, and McAllister, the bobby, and last of all, the +cabman, followed down a creaking ladder into a sort of vault under the +cellar. A small oil wick gave out a feeble fluctuating light. On one +side, cross-legged, sat a shrivelled-up, little old man, his brown beard +streaked with gray, stitching. He did not look up, but only worked the +faster. A thin woman crouched on a broken chair, holding a little girl +in her lap. + +"There, there, Annie, don't cry. The bobby's not arter _you_. It's all +right, darlin'!" + +Strewn about the cement floor lay the bolts of Lancaster which +McAllister had selected, together with patterns, scissors, and +unfinished garments. + +"Excuse the child, sir," apologized the woman. "She's just a bit +sleepy." + +"Well," said McAllister, his indignation rising at the scene, and shame +burning in his cheeks, "go right home. I won't have you working on these +clothes any more." How he wished Pondel was there to get a piece of his +mind! + +Jim looked wearily at Aggam. + +"Wot d'ye s'y, Aggam?" + +The other kept on stitching. + +"I gets my horders from Pondel," he replied, shortly, "an' I don't tyke +no horders from no one helse!" + +"But look here," cried McAllister, "the clothes are _mine_, ain't they? +Pondel hasn't anything to do with it! And _I_ tell you to _go home_." + +"Yes," grunted Aggam. "An' then you loses your job, does yer? I don't +want no toff mixin' into _my_ affairs. I minds my business, they can +mind theirs!" + +"I s'y, that's no w'y to speak to the gentleman!" exclaimed the bobby in +disgust. "'E's only tryin' to do yer a fyvor! 'Aven't yer got no +manners?" + +"_I_ minds _my_ business, let _'im_ mind _'is'n_!" repeated Aggam +stolidly. + +"Well, _I_ must _s'y_," ejaculated the cabby, "they're a bloomin' +grateful lot!" + +The tall man seemed to resent this last from one of his own station. + +"I appreciates wot the gent wants," he said weakly, "but it's just like +Aggam s'ys. Wot can _we_ do? The gent cawn't tell us to go 'ome!" + +The child began to cry again. McAllister was exasperated almost to the +point of profanity. + +"Don't you _want_ to go home?" he exclaimed. + +The woman laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. + +"Annie an' me 'ave st'y'd 'ere all the evenin' just to be with Jim. 'E's +awful sick. An' 'e'll 'ave to st'y 'ere all d'y to-morrer. Do we _want_ +to go 'ome!" + +Her husband dashed his shirt-sleeve across his eyes. + +"Don't Nell," he muttered. "I ain't sick. I can work. You go 'ome with +the kid." + +McAllister thrust a handful of bank-notes toward her. + +"Where does old Pondel live?" he inquired of the bobby. + +"Out in Kew somewheres," replied the officer. + +The woman was staring blankly at the money. Suddenly she dropped the +little girl and began to sob. Jim broke into a fit of harsh coughing. +The cabman climbed up the ladder. The temperature of the vault seemed +insufferable to McAllister. + +"I suppose you'll go home if Pondel says so?" he suggested. + +"Just watch us!" growled Aggam. + +"Take that child home, anyhow, and put it to bed," ordered the clubman. +"I'll be back in an hour or so." + +As he climbed up through the scuttle into the sweet, soft moonlight, and +started to enter the hansom, the bobby held out his hand. + +"Excuse me, sir. I 'ope you'll pardon the liberty, but, would you mind, +I've got a brother in America--Smith's the naime--'e lives in a plaice +called Manitoba. Do you 'appen to know 'im?" + +"I'm sorry," replied our friend, grasping the other's hand. "I never ran +across him." + +"Where to now?" asked the cabby. + +"To Kew," replied McAllister. + +They swung out of the square, leaving the bobby standing in the shadow +of Pondel's. + +"I'll look out for 'em while you're gone," called the latter +encouragingly. + +They crossed Bond Street, followed Grosvenor Street into Park Lane, and +plunging round Hyde Park corner, past the statue to England's greatest +soldier, they entered Kingsbridge. McAllister, all awake from his recent +experience, saw things that he had never observed before--bedraggled +flower-girls in gaudy hats, with heart-rending faces; drunken laborers +staggering along upon the arms of sad-featured women; young girls, +slender, painted, strolling with an affectation of light-heartedness +along the glittering sidewalks. On they jogged, past narrow streets +where, amid the flare of torches, the entire population of the +neighborhood swarmed, bargained, swore, and quarrelled; where little +children rolled under the costers' carts, fighting for scraps and +decaying vegetables; and where their passage was obstructed by the +throngs of miserable humanity for whom this was their only park, their +only club. It being Saturday night, the butchers were selling off their +remnants of meat, and their shrill cries could be heard for blocks. +Several times the horse shied to avoid trampling upon some old hag who, +clutching her wretched purchase to her breast, hurried homeward before a +drunken lout should snatch it from her. McAllister had never imagined +the like. It was with a sigh of relief that they left the Hammersmith +Road behind and at last reached the residential districts. In about an +hour they found themselves in Kew. A cool breeze from the country fanned +his cheek. On either hand trim little villas, with smooth lawns, lined +the road, and the moonlit air was fragrant with the smell of damp grass, +violets, and heliotrope. Here and there could be heard the tinkle of a +cottage piano, and the laughter of belated merry-makers on the verandas. + +They located Mr. Pondel's villa without difficulty. Standing back some +thirty yards from the street, its well-kept garden full of flowering +shrubs and carefully tended beds of geraniums, it was a residence +typical of the London suburb, with fretwork along the piazza roof, a +stone dog guarding each side of the steps, and salmon-pink curtains at +the parlor windows. The door stood open, a Japanese lamp burned in the +hallway, and the murmur of voices floated out from the door leading into +the parlor. McAllister once again felt the overwhelming absurdity of his +position. Over his shoulder, as he stood by the hyacinths at the door, +floated the same big moon in the same soft heaven. Damp and fragrant, +the wind blew in from the lawn and swayed the portières in the narrow +hall, behind which, doubtless, sat the lordly Pondel, friend of +noblemen, adviser of royalty, entrenched in his castle, a unit in an +impregnable system. The whinny of the cab-horse beyond the hedge +recalled to McAllister the necessity for action. He realized that he was +losing moral ground every instant. + +The bell jangled harshly somewhere in the back of the house. A man's +voice--Pondel's--muttered indistinctly; there was a feminine whisper in +response; someone placed a glass on a table and pushed back a chair. A +clock in the neighborhood struck two, and Pondel emerged through the +portières--Pondel in a wadded claret-colored dressing-gown embroidered +with birds of Paradise, in carpet slippers, with a meerschaum pipe, +watery eyes, and slightly disarranged hair. It was rather dim in the +hallway, and he did not recognize his visitor. + +"What is it? What do you want?" The inquiry was abrupt and a little +thick. + +"Good evening, Mr. Pondel," stammered McAllister. "I hope you'll excuse +me for disturbing you at this hour. It's about the clothes." + +"W'o is it?" Pondel peered into his guest's flushed face. "W'y Mr. +McAllister, what are you doin' way out 'ere? Excuse my appearance--a +little pardonable neglishay of a Saturday evenin'. Come right in, won't +you? Great honor, I'm sure. Though, if you'll believe it, I once 'ad the +honor of a call from his Grace the Duke of Bashton right in this very +'all. Excuse me w'ile I announce your presence to Mrs. Pondel." + +McAllister said something about having to go at once, but Pondel +shuffled through the curtains, almost immediately sweeping them back +with a lordly gesture of welcome. + +"This way, Mr. McAllister." Our miserable friend entered the parlor. +"Elizabeth, hallow me to present Mr. McAllister--one of my oldest +customers." + +Elizabeth--a fat vision of fifty-five, with peroxide hair, and a soft +pink of unchanging hue mantling her elsewhere mottled cheeks--arose +graciously from the table where she and her husband had been playing +double-dummy bridge, and courtesied. + +"Chawmed, I'm sure. What a beautiful evenin'! Won't you si' down?" +murmured the enchantress. + +McAllister took a chair, and Pondel pressed whiskey and water upon him. +Oh, Mr. McAllister, needn't be afraid of it; it was the real old thing; +Lord Langollen had sent him a dozen. Lizzie would take a nip with +'em--eh, Lizzie? A gen'elman didn't take that long trip every evenin', +and a little refreshment would not only do him good, but, as the Yankees +said, would show there was no 'ard feelin', eh? He must really take just +a drop. Say when! + +Lizzie poured out a glass for the much-embarrassed guest. She was in a +flowered kimona, even more "neglishay" than her husband, but the bower +in which the goddess reclined was a perfect pearl of the decorator's +art. Cupids, also "neglishay," toyed with one another around a cluster +of electric burners in the ceiling, gay streamers of painted blossoms +dangling from their hands and floating down the walls. Gilt chairs, a +white and gilt sofa, and a brown etching in a Florentine frame on each +wall, were the most conspicuous articles of furniture. At the windows +the brilliant salmon-pink curtains bellied softly in the breeze that +stole into the chamber and diluted the gentle odor of Parma violets +which exuded from the dame in the kimona. To Pondel, McAllister's +presence was an evidence of his power; and his pride, tickled mightily, +put him in an exquisite good humor. Certainly the occasion required from +him, the host, a proper felicitation. + +"'Ere's to our better acquaintance," said the tailor, raising his glass +sententiously. "Lizzie, drink to Mr. McAllister!" + +The three drank solemnly. Then the voluble tailor addressed himself to +the task of entertaining his distinguished guest. McAllister could catch +at no opening to explain his visit. Pondel chatted gayly of Paris, the +Continent, and familiarly of the races and the _beau monde_. Apparently +he knew (by their first names) half the nobility of England, and he +endeavored to place his customer equally at his ease with them. He +ventured that he knew how most young Americans spent their time in +London and Paris; dropped with a wink, that in spite of his present +uxoriousness he had been a bit of a dog himself, and ended by suggesting +another toast to "A short life and a merry one." The lady of the kimona, +grammatically not so strong as her husband, contented herself with +expansive smiles and frequent recurrence to the tumbler. + +"I must explain my visit," finally broke in McAllister. "It's about the +clothes." + +Pondel smiled condescendingly. + +"My dear Mr. McAllister, you don't need to worry in the slightest. +They'll be done promptly to-morrow evenin', take my word for it." + +McAllister flushed. How in Heaven's name could he ever make the tailor +understand? + +"I've decided I don't want 'em!" he stammered. + +Pondel's glass went to the table with a bang, and he gazed blankly at +his customer. The clubman, not realizing the implication, did not +proceed. + +"That's all right," finally responded Pondel a trifle coldly. "There's +no hurry about settlement. You can take a year, if necessary." + +Mrs. Pondel slipped unobtrusively out of the room, leaving a trail of +perfume behind her. + +"Oh!" exclaimed our friend, catching his breath: "It isn't that. But you +see I can't have those men working over night and to-morrow on my +account. It's--it's against my principles." + +Pondel brightened. A load had been taken from his heart. So long as +McAllister's bank account was good, any idiosyncrasy the American might +exhibit did not matter. He had always regarded McAllister, however, as a +man of the world, and had esteemed him accordingly. He perceived that he +had been mistaken. His customer was merely a religious crank. He had had +experience with them before. + +"Pooh! That's all right," said he resuming his former cordiality. "Why, +they like to earn the extra money. They're all devoted to my interests, +you know." + +"Well, I don't want them to work any longer on my clothes," repeated +McAllister helplessly. + +"I understand," replied Mr. Pondel, rather loftily. "I'm afraid, +however, it's too late to stop them now. The cloth 'as been cut, and +they would not stop contrary to my direction." + +"That's the point," returned McAllister, "I want you to change your +orders." + +"But, my dear sir," expostulated the tailor, "you can't expect me to go +to London this time of night! Besides, they're nearly done by this time. +It's impossible!" + +"I'll manage that," exclaimed McAllister. "I've been down to the shop +already, and they're waiting for me now to come back with your +permission to go home; they wouldn't go without it." + +"Dear, dear!" replied the tailor, changing his tactics. "How much +interest you have taken in their welfare! How kind and thoughtful of +you! No, they're faithful men; they wouldn't think of disobeying orders. +But what a shame I didn't know of it before! Why, they might 'ave been +at 'ome and in their beds. However, I sha'n't forget 'em at the end of +the month. Mr. McAllister, I respect you. I have never known of a more +unselfish act. Permit me to say it, sir, you are a Christian--a true +Christian. I wish there were more like you, sir!" + +McAllister arose to his feet. His one thought now was to escape as +quickly as possible. The sight of Pondel's smiling countenance filled +him with unutterable disgust. Suppose the fellows at the club could see +him sitting in this pursy tailor's parlor, with his scented wife, and +gilded chairs-- + +The tailor, however, was anxious to restore the cordiality of their +relations, and slopped over in his eagerness to show how kind he was to +his men, and how considerate of their well-being. He took McAllister's +arm familiarly as he showed him to the door. + +"Yes," he added confidentially, "this is a very good locality. Only the +best people live in this neighborhood. Rather a neat little property." +He proffered McAllister a cigar. The clubman wanted to kick him for a +miserable, dirty cad. + +"Right back!" he said to the cabby, hardly replying to the tailor's +good-night. + +London was asleep. Even the streets through which he had driven to Kew +were hushed in preparation for the sodden Sunday to come. The moon had +lowered over the housetops, and St. Timothy's was in the shadow as once +again he drew up in front of Pondel's. + +"Back already, sir?" The bobby stepped out to meet him. + +"Yes," replied McAllister wearily. "And those fellows down there are +going home." + +The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more Pedler's head protruded above +the sidewalk. + +"Mr. Pondel says you're to go home," said McAllister. + +"The gent's been all the way to Kew for you," interjected the bobby. + +"Hi, Aggam!" exclaimed Jim, huskily. "Th' gentleman says we are to go +'ome, Mr. Pondel says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard muttering +below. Presently the light was extinguished, and both emerged from the +scuttle and put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily exultant. +Pedler pushed the scuttle into place. + +"Well," said McAllister after an awkward pause, "can I give you a lift? +Which way do you go? I tell you what: you come back with me to the +hotel, and then the hansom can take you both home." + +Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one another. + +"Oh, come on, you fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, all his natural good +spirits returning with a rush. "Get in there, now!" + +Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister directed the driver to go to +the Metropole, after stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, +the policeman. The stars were still marching across the sky, and the +breeze had freshened. Every window was dark; no one was astir. They +heard only the echoes of their horse's hoof-beats. Yet the restless +silence that precedes the dawn was in the air. + +"I lives miles aw'y from 'ere," said Pedler after a meditated period. + +"So do I," supplemented Aggam. + +"I don't care," replied McAllister. "I've had this cab all night, +anyhow, and I want to celebrate. You see, this is the first time I ever +got ahead of my tailor." + +Another long pause ensued. They were not a talkative lot, surely. +McAllister's flow of language absolutely deserted him. He could think of +no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler finally came to his +assistance. + +"I'm thirty-seven year old, an' this is the fust time I've ever ridden +in a 'ansom." + +"Jiminy!" exclaimed McAllister. "You don't say so! What luck!" + +"Fust time for me, too," added Aggam. + +After this burst of confidence the three rode in utter silence. At the +Metropole the clubman jumped out and bade his companions good-night. + +As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start, Aggam +leaned forward rather apologetically. + +"You must hexcuse me," he remarked, "but I don't want to sail hunder +false colors, and I feel as if I hort to s'y that while I'm a Socialist, +I 'ave no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism." + +"Well, neither have I," replied McAllister encouragingly, an answer +which probably puzzled Mr. Aggam for a fortnight. + + + + +McAllister's Marriage + + +I + +The Bar Harbor train slowly came to a stop beside a little wooden +station. From over the marshes crept a breath of salty freshness that +tried vainly to steal in through the open windows of the Pullman, only +intensifying the stifling heat inside. + +McAllister arose and made his way to the platform in search of air. A +spare, wrinkled octogenarian was in the difficult act of lifting a small +girl in a calico dress to the platform of the day coach, the child +clinging obstinately to the old gentleman's neck and refusing to +disentangle herself. + +"Mercy, Abby! Do leggo!" he remonstrated. "Thar, ef ye don't, I'll ask +that man thar to hoist ye!" + +The little girl reluctantly let go her hold and allowed herself to be +placed on the lowest step. + +"That's a good girl," continued her guardian; then addressing +McAllister, he inquired conversationally: + +"Be ye goin' to Bangor?" + +"How's that? Ye-es, I believe I am. At least the train passes through," +responded McAllister doubtfully, apprehensive of undesirable +complications. + +The old fellow produced from his waistcoat-pocket a ticket which he +placed in the child's hand. Then he turned her around and gave her a +little push up the steps. + +"Wall, jest keep an eye on Abby, will ye?" + +"Good-by, Uncle!" cried the little girl, climbing laboriously up to +where the clubman stood and making a little bow, which he gravely +returned. + +"I don't know . . ." he began. + +"That's all right," explained the farmer. "Her aunt'll meet her. Jest +see she don't bother no one. Lemme pass ye her duds." + +The octogenarian forthwith handed up to McAllister a cloth valise, a +pasteboard box, and a large paper bag. + +"Her lunch is in the bag," said he. "Don't let her drink none o' that +ice-water. My wife says it hez germs into it." + +"But I don't . . ." gasped our friend. + +"Be keerful o' that box," interrupted her uncle. "There's two dozen +hen's eggs in it. If she's good, you might buy her a cent's worth o' +peppermints to Portland." He fumbled uncertainly in his breeches' +pocket. + +"Do you expect me . . ." ejaculated McAllister. + +"Give my love to yer aunt," added the other as the train started. +"Good-by!" And pulling a large red pocket-handkerchief from his +coat-tails he fanned the air vaguely as they moved slowly away from him. + +"Oh, isn't it nice!" cried the little girl, who appeared quite at ease +with her new acquaintance. + +"Ye-es--certainly--of course," he replied, wondering what he should do +with his charge. "I suppose we had better go in and sit down, don't you +think?" + +He stood aside waiting for her to precede him into the parlor car. + +"What a lovely place!" she exclaimed as her eyes rested upon the +rosewood and the velvet chairs. "Am I really to ride in this?" + +"Why, where should you ride, to be sure?" he inquired, beginning to +regain his self-possession. + +"The car had iron seats before," she informed him. + +"How extraordinary!" + +"This is an ever so much prettier train," she added. "I'm afraid I'll +hurt the plush." She took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it +out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused expression swung round +another chair and sat down opposite. + +"My name's Abigail Martha Higgins," she said, taking off her little +straw hat. "I live in Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle Moses +Higgins. Aunt doesn't love his wife." + +"Dear me!" sympathized McAllister. + +"My father and mother are in heaven," she continued in matter-of-fact +tones. "Up there. Wouldn't you hate to live up in the sky and do +nothin'?" + +"I certainly should," he answered with gravity. + +"We all came down from there, you know. Do you think we were born all in +one piece, or put together afterward?" + +McAllister pondered. + +"What's your name?" + +"McAllister," he replied. + +"That's a funny name!" she commented. "It sounds like McCafferty--that's +Deacon Brewer's hired man's name." + +"Do you think so?" asked the clubman apologetically, feeling that his +parents had done him an irreparable injury. + +"I'll call you Mister Mac," added the child, "and you may call me Abby, +'cause I'm only eight. Do you live to Boston?" + +"No; New York. An awful way off." + +"Have they got a Free-Will Meetin'-house there?" she inquired knowingly. + +"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, feeling wofully ignorant of all +matters of real importance. + +"Then it must be a very small place," she decided. "All big places have +a Free-Will Meetin'-house, Uncle Moses says." + +At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire if his master wanted +anything. + +"Is there a Free-Will Meetin'-house in New York?" inquired the clubman. + +"Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a Baptist place of +worship, sir," he answered solemnly. + +"Is that your brother?" inquired Abby. + +"No--" hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to what the valet's equivalent +would be in his little friend's world. + +"What's your name?" inquired Abby. + +"Wilkins, miss," answered the valet. + +"What a lovely name!" cried Abby. "It's much nicer than his'n." + +Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast. + +"That box is chuck full of eggs," announced Abby. "I wonder where the +hens get them." + +"I give it up," said the clubman. + +"We have a black horse on our farm," she continued. "It used to be a +girl, but now it's a boy." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have short hair, you know--that's +how you tell." + +At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the background. + +"Uncle Moses' wife don't love children," the child continued. "She has +the rheumatiz in her thigh." + +"But she must like _you_, Abby," urged her new friend. + +"No, she don't. She don't love me 'cause I love Aunt Abby, an' Aunt Abby +don't love her." + +"I see," said McAllister. + +The clubman soon became acquainted with Abby's entire family history, +and rapidly realized that the mind of a child was a thing undreamed of +in his philosophy. As she pattered on he conversed gravely with her, +trying to answer her multitudinous questions. All her world was good +save Uncle Moses' wife, and her confidence in the clubman was entire. +She admired his clothes, his watch-chain, and his scarf-pin, and ended +by directing him to read to her, which McAllister obediently did. None +of the magazines seemed to contain suitable articles, so with some +misgivings he purchased various colored weeklies, remembering vaguely +his own delight in the misadventures of certain chubby ladies and stout +gentlemen upon rear pages, perused furtively when waiting at the +barber's to get his hair cut as a child. For half an hour her interest +remained tense, but then she wearied of using her eyes, and, patting +McAllister's fat chin, ordered him to tell her a story. Here was a new +difficulty. He had never told a story in his life, but there was no help +for it, no escape, as she climbed into his lap. + +"Begin with once onup-a-time," she ordered. + +"Well," he obeyed "Once 'onup' a time there was a man who lived in a +club----" + +"A what?" sharply interrupted Abby. + +"A big white house with heaps of rooms," he corrected. "And as he had +nobody dependent on him, all he had to do was to eat and sleep and look +at the sky." + +"Didn't he have any children?" + +"Nobody in the world," answered McAllister. + +"Poor man!" sighed Abby. "Didn't he keep any hens?" + +"Not even a hen!" + +"I know a big house just like that," said Abby. "Old Captain Barnard +used to live in it. Wasn't he lonely?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Did anyone live with him?" + +"His hired man," answered the clubman with a smile, looking down the car +to where Wilkins sat in solitary grandeur. "And by and by he got so old +and so fat that nobody would marry him, while the wives of other men he +knew forgot to ask him to dinner." + +"Poor dear man!" murmured Abby, "I should think he'd have wished he +hadn't been born." + +"Sometimes he did," answered the story-teller. "And he longed for some +people to really care for him, and for some little children to keep him +company." + +"Did he have a cow?" + +"No, not even a cow." + +Abby laughed sleepily. + +"But didn't he ever have any fun?" + +"He thought he did, but he didn't, really." + +"I'm awful sorry for him!" said Abby. "If I met him I would give him my +white hen." + +"He used to pay for dinners for people, and send them flowers and candy +and go to see them----" + +"Sunday afternoons?" + +"Yes; Sunday afternoons." + +"He was really very nice," said Abby. + +"Do you think so?" asked McAllister eagerly. + +"Why, of course. Don't you think so?" + +"So-so," said the clubman. + +"But he never hurt anyone?" + +"No, never." + +"And gave the hired man plenty of victuals?" + +"Much more than was good for him," said McAllister with conviction. + +"I like that man," said Abby. "He was a good man." + +"But some people said he was an idle fellow," insisted McAllister. + +"But that didn't do anybody any harm," said Abby. + +"No, certainly not." + +"And he wasn't cross?" + +"No, almost never." + +"Then," said Abby, "he was a good man, and I will marry him if he asks +me." + +And with that she dropped her head on his arm and fell fast asleep. + +"Can't I hold the young--person, for you, sir?" inquired the valet in a +whisper. + +"Certainly _not_," responded McAllister. + +Over the flitting pines circled the crows, black dots against the deep +blue; lazy cows stood knee-deep in fields frosted with daisies and +watched seemingly without interest the passing train; little puffs of +white in serried ranks moved slowly out of the north, never approaching +nearer, dissolving at the meridian; on the near horizon a line of indigo +mountains tumbled southward; white farm-houses swept slowly by; at +dusty crossings gray-whiskered farmers sat loosely holding the reins in +amiable conformity with the injunction painted upon weather-worn signs +to "Look out for the engine"; at times the train passed over rocky +bedded streams dammed for milling, and once or twice across rivers half +choked with logs upon which men ran like water-bugs; then through red +brick towns, and towns with square granite stores and offices, and towns +of white and green, marking the three disconnected periods of the +architectural development of Maine; and everywhere the pines. + +In the midst of a stretch of thick woods the engine began to whistle +frantically. A brakeman, followed closely by a conductor, hurried +through the car. The wheels ground harshly and the train gradually +ceased to move. Ahead could be heard the loud pounding of the engine and +the roar of escaping steam. Volumes of smoke, white and black, rolled +over the pines and cast rapidly changing shadows upon the ground. +Wilkins, who had gone forth to seek information, now returned. + +"There's a freight wreck just a'ead, sir. The conductor says as how we +shall be delayed 'ere at least nine hours." + +McAllister glanced down at the little form in his arms. It had not +moved. Gently he carried her along the aisle, out upon the platform, +and down the steps to the ground. Still she did not awake. Up the track +he could see groups of excited passengers gesticulating around grotesque +piles of wreckage upon which a locomotive lay with its wheels in the +air. Beside the track stretched a pine grove, its soft carpet of needles +flecked with sunlight. At the foot of one giant tree, on a bed of gray +moss, the clubman laid his little charge and threw himself at her feet. +An irritable family of nervous crows flapped noisily away to the other +side of the track, assembled in angry consultation in a hemlock, deputed +a spy, who cautiously reconnoitred, and, on the latter's report, +returned. At a safe distance Wilkins sat upon a windfall, and with one +eye upon his sleeping master smoked rapidly one of McAllister's cigars. + + +II + +"Yes, Miss Higgins got yer telegram," answered Deacon Brewer, as they +drove slowly along the river in the dusty heat of the early July +morning. "Ef she hadn't I reckon she'd 'a' gone nigh crazy." + +They were in an open two-seated buck-board. McAllister, holding Abby in +his lap, occupied the front seat with the Deacon, while Wilkins sat +behind with the valise and the pasteboard box. + +"It was a tiresome delay and really a very fortunate escape," responded +McAllister. "Abby behaved beautifully." + +"She's a good child," said the Deacon. "Her mother was a fine woman, and +she's goin' to be just like her." + +"Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, rubbing her eyes. + +"'Most," answered the Deacon. "Are ye hungry?" + +"I got her some bread and milk at a farm-house," explained McAllister, +"but none of us have had any breakfast yet." + +"Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins'll be prepared for ye," said the Deacon. +"She's a liberal woman an' a smart woman, but all the same, the farm's +going to be sold for taxes next week." + +Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started and looked anxiously at +her at this piece of intelligence. + +"She don't know nuthin' about it," said the farmer. "Miss Higgins can't +run a hard-scrabble farm, nor no one can and make a livin' out'n it. It +ain't worth five dollars an acre." + +"What will she do?" asked the clubman. + +"Darn ef I know," responded the other. "She kin help around some, I +guess. Deacon Giddings has a powerful lot of company. 'N any woman kin +sew. She kin make out, I reckon." + +"But the child?" whispered McAllister. + +"Her Uncle Moses'll hev to take her," answered the Deacon. + +"Jiminy!" ejaculated the clubman, recalling the little girl's +description of her uncle's wife. "She won't like that." + +"Beggars can't be choosers," said the Deacon dryly. + +A turn in the road brought them within view of a small, low farm-house, +with good-sized barn, lying in a field between the woods and the river, +here about a quarter of a mile in width. The pines grew close to the +road upon the left, but upon the other side the land had been well +cleared to the Penobscot's bank. Huge piles of stones, ten or twelve +feet long, five or so broad, and four or five feet high, were monuments +to the energy and industry of some former owner. + +"Gosh, how Henery worked to clear this farm!" remarked the Deacon. "He +hove stone for twenty years, an' then died. Look at them trees!" + +He pointed dramatically to a large orchard containing row upon row of +young apple-trees. + +At the sound of the wheels a woman came slowly out of the side door and +watched their approach. She had the pale, sickly countenance of the wife +of the inland Maine farmer, and her limp dress ill concealed the +angularity of her form. Her eyes showed that she had passed a sleepless +night. McAllister leaped out and lifted Abby down. The woman neither +spoke to nor kissed the child, but clutched her tightly in her arms. +Then she nodded to the new-comers. + +"I'm obliged to ye, Deacon Brewer," she said. "Is this the man who sent +the telegram? Won't ye come in and set down?" + +"Oh, yes," cried Abby ecstatically. "Get out, Mr. Wilkins! I want to +show you the black horse, and all the hens." + +"I must be gettin' back," muttered the Deacon. + +"Could you let us have a bite of breakfast?" inquired McAllister. "My +train doesn't go until twelve o'clock." To return to Bangor at this +particular time did not suit him. + +"Such as it is," replied Miss Higgins. + +"Could you arrange to call out for me in an hour or so?" asked +McAllister. + +"I reckon I kin," said the Deacon with some reluctance. "I'll hev ter +charge ye fifty cents." + +"Of course," said McAllister. + +Wilkins took down the parcels, and the Deacon drove slowly away. + +"I'll scrape somethin' together in a few minutes," said Miss Higgins. +"How much was that telegram?" + +"Oh, that's all right!" said the abashed clubman. + +"No, it ain't. Money's money. Was it ez much ez a quarter?" + +McAllister acknowledged the amount. + +"I thought so," commented Miss Higgins. "It was wuth it." She had the +money all ready and handed it to McAllister. + +Etiquette seemed to demand its acceptance. + +"Did you say your name was McAllister? Who's this man?" + +"His name is Wilkins." + +"Well," said Aunt Abby, "one of ye might split up that log, if ye don't +mind, while I get the breakfast." + +She turned into the house. + +McAllister looked doubtfully at the wood-pile. + +"Let Mr. Wilkins chop the wood!" shouted Abby; "I want to show you the +ba-an." + +"Wilkins," said McAllister, "wood-chopping is an art sanctified in this +country by tradition." + +"Very good, sir," answered Wilkins. + +Abby grasped McAllister's hand and tugged him joyfully over the +poverty-stricken farm. They visited the orchard, the pig-sty, the +hen-house, admired the horse that had been a girl, and ended at the +water's edge. + +"We ketch salmon here in the spring," explained Abby; "and smelts." + +Across the eddying river quiet farms slept in the hot sunshine. Two men +in a dory swung slowly up-stream. At their feet the clear water rippled +against the stones. In his mind the clubman pictured the stifling city +and the squalor of relative existence there. + +"It's beautiful, Abby," he said. + +"It's the loveliest place in the whole world," she answered, holding his +hand tightly. "And I shall never, never go away." + +Behind them came the shrill tones of Aunt Abby's voice bidding them to +breakfast. Wilkins, coatless, was bearing some mangled fragments of log +toward the kitchen. His beaded face spoke unutterable dejection. + +"Well, set daown; it's all there is," said Miss Higgins. + +McAllister sat, and Abby climbed into a high chair. Wilkins remained +standing. + +"Ain't ye goin' to set?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +Wilkins reddened. + +"Well, ye be the most bashful man I ever met," remarked the lady. "Set +daown and eat yer victuals." + +"Sit down," said McAllister, and for the second time master and man +shared a meal. + +The little room was bare of decoration except for some colored +lithographs and wood-cuts, which for the most part represented the +funeral corteges of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital scenes +and the sinking of a steamship. A rug soiled to a dull drab made a sort +of mud spot before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of the +antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at one end stood the stove, +and hard by two fixed tubs. Everything except the carpet was +scrupulously clean. + +Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of steaming boiled eggs, half a +loaf of white bread, and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter. + +"I'll have some coffee for ye in a minute," she remarked as she placed +the dishes before them. + +McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tumbler and cut the bread. + +"What might be your business?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +"Er--well--" hesitated McAllister. "I've travelled quite a bit." + +"I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked the hostess +reminiscently. "He travelled everywheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur +as St. Louis?" + +"No," said McAllister. "My line never took me so far." + +"Andrew died there--of the water. What's your business?" continued Miss +Higgins to Wilkins. + +"I'm with Mr. McAllister, ma'am." + +"Oh! same firm?" + +Wilkins coughed violently and evaded the interrogation. + +"Mr. Wilkins handles gents' clothing, underwear, haberdashery, and +notions," interposed McAllister gravely. + +Wilkins swayed in his seat and grew purple around the gills. + +"Oh, Mr. Wilkins!" cried Abby, "what's the matter? You will burst! Take +a drink of water." + +The valet obediently tried to do as she bade him. + +"How much is land worth around here?" asked the clubman. "And what do +you raise?" + +Miss Higgins looked at him suspiciously. + +"We raise pertaters, some corn and oats, and get a purty fair apple crop +in the autumn." + +"Must have been hard work clearing the farm," added McAllister, "if one +can judge by the piles of stones." + +"Work? I guess 'twas work!" sniffed Miss Higgins. "You travellin' men +hain't got no idee of what real work is. There ain't a stone in the +nineteen acres of farm land. Henery picked 'em all up by hand." + +"Are you Abby's guardian?" asked McAllister. + +"Yes," said Miss Higgins. "I'm all the folks she's got, except Moses, +down to Portsmouth, and a lot of good he is with that wife he's got!" + +Wilkins now asked awkwardly to be excused. + +"That friend of yourn seems to be a dummy!" remarked Miss Higgins after +the valet had disappeared. + +"He isn't much in the social line," admitted his master. "But he knows +his business." + +"I'm goin' out to show Mr. Wilkins the beehive," cried Abby, slipping +down from her chair. "Come right along, won't you?" + +"I'll be there in just a minute," said McAllister. + +Abby grabbed up her sunbonnet and ran skipping out of the kitchen. + +"She's a dear little girl," said McAllister. "I hope she'll have a +chance to get a good education." + +"Education behind a counter in Bangor is all she'll get," answered her +aunt. + +They sat in silence for a moment, and then McAllister, feeling the +craving induced by habit, drew an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked: + +"Do you object to smoking?" + +Miss Abby bristled. + +"I don't want none o' them se-gars in this house, so long's I'm in it!" +she exclaimed. "Ain't out-doors good enough for you, without stinkin' up +the kitchen?" + +"I didn't mean any offence," apologized McAllister. "I'll wait till I go +out, of course." + +"One of the devil's tricks!" sniffed Miss Abby. + +McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and stepped to the window. The +coffee had been execrable, but a benign influence animated him. Down the +slope toward the gently flowing Penobscot little Abby was leading +Wilkins by the hand. The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked +pasture beyond the barn. + +"What did you say the farm was worth?" asked the clubman. + +"There's a hundred and eighty-one acres o' woodland, and the cleared +land just makes two hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred +dollars." + +"I know a man who wants a farm. He says some day all this river front +will be valuable for a summer resort. I'm authorized to buy for him. +I'll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a bargain?" + +Miss Abby turned pale. + +"Oh, I don't know! It seems dreadful to sell it, after all the years +Henery put into cleanin' of it up. I was hopin' somehow that maybe I +could get work on the farm from them as bought it and keep Abby here +for a while longer." + +"That's all right," said McAllister. "My principal is buying it on a +speculation. You can stay indefinitely." + +"How about rent?" asked Miss Abby. + +"You can take care of the farm, and he won't charge you any rent." + +The terms having been finally arranged to Miss Abby's satisfaction, +McAllister drew a small check-book from his pocket and filled out a +voucher for the amount. + +"We can sign the papers later," said he with a smile. + +Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully. + +"How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should +turn out to be no good?" + +"Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister. + +He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his +stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following: + +"I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased +by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of +value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my +name and affix a seal." + +He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back +and made use of it as a fragmentary seal. + +While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency of this instrument, +McAllister felt that its intendment was unmistakable. Having replaced +his pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust it into his pocket. +Just at this moment Miss Higgins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, +who was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the orchard McAllister +could see, as he stepped to the door, little Abby still tugging along +Wilkins, whose massive and emotionless face was glistening with the +heat. + +"Hit's very 'ot, sir!" he remarked tentatively to his master. "I've been +to see the 'ives." + +"How funny Mr. Wilkins talks!" said Abby. "He told me he knew a boy once +who got stung, and said the bee _bit 'im in 'is 'ead_! Do all drummers +talk like that?" + +"Drummers!" exclaimed Wilkins. + +"Aunt said you were both drummers; I s'pose you left your drums +somewhere. I don't like 'em; they make too much music. They have them in +the circus parade in Bangor every year." + +"Be you folks ready to start?" inquired Deacon Brewer. "Purty nice view +of the water from here, ain't they? There's a good well on the place, +too, and a few boat-loads of manure would give you crops to beat--all. +Don't know enybody thet wants to speckalate a little in farmin' land, do +ye? This here is a good, likely place. Reckon you kin buy it cheap." + +"Sh-h!" said McAllister, laying his finger on his lips. + +"No one sha'n't ever buy this farm," said Abby; "I'm goin' to live here +always." + +"Wall," said the Deacon, "better be movin'. I don't like to keep the +mare standin' in the sun." + +"Are you goin' away?" cried Abby in agonized tones. "You'll come back +soon, won't you?" + +"I hope so, very soon," said McAllister. "Don't you want to show me the +boy-horse before I start?" + +"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, seizing his hand. + +The stout clubman and the little girl walked slowly across the +grass-grown drive to the daisy field beside the barn, talking busily. + +"Your friend's bought this farm," announced Miss Abby to Wilkins. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. + +"By gum!" exclaimed the Deacon. "What did he give?" + +"Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars." + +"Gee!" said the Deacon. + +"An' we're to stay on rent-free 's long 's we want!" + +"I swan!" commented the pillar of the local Baptist Church. "Some folks +doos hev luck!" + +He went over to adjust a bit of harness. + +"It'll keep 'em out o' the poor farm," he muttered. "But, by gosh, thet +feller must be a fool!" + +Over in the daisy field, McAllister, to the wonder of the boy-horse, +pulled the despised cigar from his pocket, cut off the end, and began to +smoke with infinite satisfaction. + +"What a beautiful, beautiful, lovely ring!" exclaimed Abby joyfully, +examining with delight the embossed paper of red and gold. + +"Do you remember about the lonely man who lived in the big white house I +told you of?" asked McAllister. + +"Of course I do," sighed Abby. "Poor man! he was so good, and nobody +loved him." + +"Do you love him?" asked McAllister. + +"Dear man! I love him, all my heart!" cried the child. + +"Then the man is very, very happy," said McAllister softly. + +Overhead a single black crow, wheeling out of a stumpy pine, circled to +investigate this strange love-scene. Satisfied of its propriety, he +cawed loudly and resettled himself upon the shaking topmost bough. + +McAllister drew the golden band from his cigar and took the folded paper +from his pocket. + +"Here's a love-letter," said he. "Your aunt will read it for you when +I've gone." + +Abby took it sadly. + +"Now hold up your left hand," said McAllister, smiling. As he slipped +the paper circle over her fourth finger he said gravely: + +"'With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee +endow.' Give me a kiss." + +She did so, in wonder. + +"Now we are married," said he. + + + + + + +The Jailbird + + +I + +Now it had come, he was not quite sure that he wanted it. For a moment +he longed to go back and join the men marching away to the shoe-shop. +Inside those walls he had never had to think of what he should eat or +drink, or wherewithal he should be clothed. + +Over against the gray parapet echoed the buzzing of the electric cars, a +strange sound to ears accustomed only to the tramp of marching feet, the +harsh voices of wardens, and the clang of iron doors. Below him the +harbor waves danced and sparkled, ferry-boats rushed from shore to +shore, big ships moved slowly toward the distant islands and the still +more distant sea, while near at hand the busy street flowed like a +river, which he was compelled to swim but in which he already felt the +millstone of his past dragging him down. + +His heart sank as he asked himself what life could hold for him. How +often, sitting on his prison bed with his head in his hands, he had +pictured joyously the present moment! Now he felt like a child who has +lost its parent's hand in the passing throng. + +There had been a day, the year before, when his old mother's letter had +not come, and, instead, only a line of stereotyped consolation from the +country pastor to the village ne'er-do-well. No one had seen him choke +over his bowl of soup and bread, or noticed the tears that trickled down +upon the shoe-leather in his hand. She had been the only one who had +ever written to him. There was nothing now to take him back to the +little cluster of white cottages among the hills where he was born. + +As he stood there alone facing the world, he yearned to throw himself +once more upon his cot and weep against its iron bars--for three years +the only arms outstretched to comfort him. + + +II + +The Judge concluded his charge with the usual, "I leave the case with +you, gentlemen," and the jury, collecting their miscellaneous garments, +slowly retired. Leary, the County Detective assigned to "Part One," +pushed an indictment across the desk, whispering: + +"Try _him_; he's a _short_ one," for it was getting late, and the +afternoon sun was already gilding the dingy cornices of the big +court-room, now almost deserted save by a lounger or two half asleep on +the benches. + +"People against Graham," called Dockbridge, the youthful deputy +assistant district attorney. + +"Fill the box!" shouted the clerk. "James Graham to the bar!" and +another dozen "good men and true" answered to their names and settled +themselves comfortably in their places. + +At the rear the door from the pen opened and the prisoner entered, +escorted by an officer. He walked stolidly around the room, passed +through the gate held open for him, and took his seat at the table +reserved for the defendant and his attorney. There appeared, however, to +be no lawyer to represent him. + +"Have you counsel?" casually inquired the clerk. + +"No," answered the prisoner. + +"Mr. Crookshanks, please look after the rights of this defendant," +directed the Judge. + +The prisoner, a thick-set man of medium height, half rose from his seat, +and, turning toward the weazened little lawyer, shook his head rather +impatiently. It was obvious that they were not strangers. After a +whispered conversation Crookshanks stepped forward and addressed the +Court. + +"The defendant declines counsel, and stands upon his constitutional +right to defend himself," he said apologetically. + +There was a slight lifting of heads among the jury, and a few sharp +glances in the direction of the prisoner, which seemed in no wise to +disconcert him. + +"Very well, then; proceed," ordered the Court. + +The prosecutor rapidly outlined his case--one of simple "larceny from +the person." The People would show that the defendant had taken a wallet +from the pocket of the complaining witness. He had been caught _in +flagrante delicto_. There were several eye-witnesses. The case would +occupy but a few moments, unless, to be sure, the prisoner had some +witnesses. The young assistant, who seemed slightly nervous at the +unusual prospect of conducting a trial against a lawyerless defendant +(savoring as it did of a hand-to-hand combat in the days of trial by +battle), started to comment upon the novelty of the situation, gave it +up, and to cover his retreat called his first witness. + +Dockbridge was very young indeed. He was undergoing the process of being +"whipped into shape" by the Judge, a kind but unrelenting observer of +all the technicalities of the criminal branch, and this was one of his +first cases. He could work up a pretty fair argument in his office, but +he now felt his inexperience and began to wish it was time to adjourn, +or that his senior, "Colonel Bob," the stout Nestor of Part One, whose +long practice made him ready for any emergency, would return. But +"Colonel Bob" could have proved an excellent alibi at that moment, and +the battle had to be fought out alone. + +The prisoner, meanwhile, was sitting calm but vigilant, pen in hand. His +face, square and strong, with firmly marked mouth and chin, showed no +sign of emotion, but under their heavy brows his black eyes played +uneasily between the Court and jury. Evidently not more than thirty +years of age, his attitude and expression showed intelligence and alert +capacity. + +"Go on, Mr. District Attorney," again admonished the Judge; and +Dockbridge, pulling himself together, commenced to examine the +complainant. + +The prisoner was now straining eye and ear to catch every look and word +from the witness-stand. Hardly had the complainant opened his mouth +before the defendant had objected to the answer, the objection had been +sustained, and the reply stricken out. He continued to object from time +to time, and his points were so well taken that he dominated not only +the examination but the witness as well, and the jury presently found +themselves listening to a cross-examination as skilfully conducted as +if by a trained practitioner. + +But, although the defendant showed himself a better lawyer than his +adversary, it was apparent that his battle was a losing one. Point after +point he contested stubbornly, yet the case loomed clear against him. + +The People having "rested," the defendant announced that he had no +witnesses, and would go to the jury on the evidence, or, rather "failure +of evidence," as he put it, of the prosecution. It was done with great +adroitness, and none of the jury perceived that, by refusing to accept +counsel, he had made it impossible to take the stand in his own behalf, +and had thus escaped the necessity of subjecting himself to +cross-examination as to his past career. + +If the spectators had expected a piteous appeal for mercy or a burst of +prison rhetoric, they were disappointed. The prisoner summed his case up +carefully, arguing that there was a reasonable doubt upon the evidence +to which he was entitled; begged the jury not to condemn him merely +because he appeared before them as one charged with a crime; appealed to +them for justice; and at the close, for the first time forgetting the +proprieties of the situation, exclaimed, "I did not do it, gentlemen! I +did not do it! There is an absolute failure of proof! You cannot find +that I took the purse from the old gentleman on such evidence! It is all +a lie!" + +It was his one false touch. To raise the issue of veracity is usually a +mistake on the part of a defendant, and the defiant look in Graham's +eyes might well have suggested conscious guilt. + +As he paused for a moment after this concluding sentence, an Italian +band came marching down Centre Street playing the dead march. Some +patriot was being borne to his last sleep in an alien land. Outside the +court-house it paused for a moment with one melancholy crash of funeral +chords. It seemed a vibrant echo of the discord of his own fruitless +life. At the same moment a ray from the red sun setting over the Tombs +fell upon the prisoner's face. + +Dockbridge summed the case up in the stock fashion, and then for half an +hour the Judge addressed the jury in a calm and dispassionate analysis +of the evidence, not hesitating to compare the abilities of the +prosecutor and prisoner to the disadvantage of the former, saying in +this respect: "Neither must you be influenced by any feeling of +admiration at the capacity shown by this defendant to conduct his own +case. If he has appeared more than a match for the prosecution, it must +not affect the weight which you give to the evidence against him." + +"More than a match for the prosecution!" That had been rather rough, to +be sure, and the fifth juror had looked at Dockbridge and grinned. + +The jury filed out, the prisoner was led back to the pen, the Judge +vanished into his chambers, and the prosecutor, his feet on the counsel +table, lit a cigar and indulged in retrospection. The benches were +deserted. There was no one but himself left in the court-room. Usually, +when a jury retired, there was some mother or wife or daughter, with her +handkerchief to her eyes, waiting for them to come back, but this fellow +had none such. He had fought alone. Well, damn him, he deserved to! But +who the deuce was he? It had been clever on his part not to take the +stand. Strange to be trying a man you had never seen before--of whom you +knew nothing, who had merely side-stepped into your life and would soon +back out of it. "Poor devil!" thought the deputy as he lit another +Perfecto. + +Now the jury, as juries sometimes do, wanted to talk and had a consuming +desire to smoke, so they both smoked and talked; and when O'Reilly came +to turn on the lights in the court-room, they were still out, and +Dockbridge had fallen fast asleep. + + +III + +At half past ten o'clock the big court-room still remained almost empty. +Inside the rail the clerk and the stenographer, having returned from a +short visit to Tom Foley's saloon across the way, were languidly +discussing the condition of the stock-market. A nebulous illumination in +the vastness above only served to increase the shadowy dimness of the +room. The talk of the pair made a scarcely audible whisper in the great +silence. Outside, an electric car could be heard at intervals; within, +only the slam of iron doors, subdued by distance, echoed through the +corridors. + +Dockbridge had awakened, and, lounging before his table, was trying to +get up a case for the morrow. The Judge had gone home for dinner. One by +one the court attendants had strayed away, coming back to push open the +heavy door, and, after a furtive glance at the empty bench, as silently +to depart. + +Below in the stifling pen, alone behind the bars, James Graham sat +staring vacantly at the stained cement floor. A savage rage surged +through him. Curse them! That infernal Judge had not given him half a +chance. Once more he recalled that day when he had stepped out into the +sunlight a free man. Again he saw his iron bed, his cobbling bench, his +coarse food, his hated stripes. He choked at the thought of them. Only +two months before he had been at liberty. Think of it! Good clothes, +good food, pleasure! God, what a fool! A dull pain worked through his +body; he remembered that he had not eaten since seven that morning. + +Outside in the corridor the keeper was smoking a cigar. The fumes of it +drifted in and mingled with the stench of the pen. It almost nauseated +him. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The act +brought rushing back the memories of his childhood, and of how, every +night, he would lay his head upon his mother's knee and say, "Have I +been a good boy to-day?" A sob shook him, and he pressed closer against +the wall. + +A sound of moving feet roused him suddenly. A door swung open, shut +again, and voices came with a draught of air from the corridor. + +The keeper waiting outside stirred and stood up, looking regretfully at +his cigar. + +"Get up there, you!" + +The prisoner obeyed perfunctorily, and followed the officer heavily up +the stairs and down the dirty passage to the court-room. Outside, he +shrank from entering. Those eyes--those eyes! That hard, pitiless Judge! +But he was pushed roughly forward. Then his old pugnacity returned; he +set his teeth, and entered. + +He trudged around the room and stopped at the bar before the clerk. On +his right sat the twelve silent men. On the bench the white-haired Judge +was gazing at him with sad but penetrating eyes. + +It was different from the mellow glow of the afternoon. They were all so +still--like ghosts--and all around, all about him! He wanted to shout +out at them, "Speak! for God's sake, speak!" But something stifled him. +The overwhelming power of the law held him speechless. + +The clerk rose without looking at the prisoner. + +"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" + +"We have," answered the foreman, rising and standing with his eyes upon +the floor. + +"How say you, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Guilty of grand larceny in the first degree." + +The prisoner involuntarily pressed his hand to his heart. He had +weathered that blast before and could do so again. Dockbridge gave him a +look full of pity. Graham hated him for it. That child! That snivelling +little fool! He wanted none of his sympathy! His breath came faster. +Must they all look at him? Was that a part of his trial--to be stared +down? He glared back at them. The room swam, and he saw only the stern +face on the bench above. + +"Name?" broke in the harsh voice of the clerk. + +"James Graham." + +"Age?" + +"Twenty-eight." + +"Married, or unmarried?" "Temperate?" came the pitiless questions, all +answered in a monotone. + +"Ever convicted before?" + +"No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the word sounded to him like +a roaring torrent. Then came once more that awful silence. The dread eye +of the Judge seared his soul. + +"Graham, is that the truth?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you quite sure?" + +That merciless question! What had that to do with it? Why should he have +to tell them? That was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for what he +had done, but not for the past; that was not fair--he had paid for that. +He must defend himself. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Swear him," said the Judge. + +The officer took up the soiled Bible and started to place it in Graham's +hand. But the hand dropped from it. + +"No, no, I can't!" he faltered; "I can't--I--I--it is no use," he added +huskily. + +"When were you convicted?" + +"I served six months for petty larceny in the penitentiary six years +ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Quite sure? Think again!" + +"Yes, sir," almost inaudibly. + +"Swear him." + +Again the book was forced toward the unwilling hand, and again it was +refused. + +"Have you no pity--no mercy?" his dark eyes seemed to say. Then they +gave way to a look of utter hopelessness. + +"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two +months ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"O, God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner. "No, no; it +isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, +Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown--yes, six times. Twelve years. . . . +I'm a _jailbird_." He laughed harshly and rested wearily against the +wooden bar. + +"Have you anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against +you?" + +"Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham choked back a dry sob. + +The Judge slightly inclined his head. + +"Yes. I'm a jailbird," uttered the prisoner rapidly. "I'm only out two +months." There was no defiance in his voice now, and his eyes searched +the face of the Judge, seeking for mercy. "I had a good home--no matter +where--and a good father and mother. My father died and didn't leave +anything, and I had to work while my mother kept house. I worked on the +farm, winter and summer, summer and winter, early and late. I got sick +of it. I quit the farm and went to the city. I worked hard and did well. +I learned shorthand, and finally got a job as a court stenographer. +That's how I know about the rules of evidence. Then I got started wrong, +and by and by I took a fifty-dollar note and another fellow was sent up +for it. After that I didn't care. I had a good time--of its kind. It was +better than a dog's life on the farm, anyway. By and by I got caught, +and then it was no use. Each time I got out I swore I'd lead an honest +life. But I couldn't. A convict might as well try to eat stones as to +find a job. But when I got free this time I made up my mind to starve +rather than get back again. I meant it, too. I tried hard. It was no use +in Boston--they're too respectable. All a convict can do there is to get +a two weeks' job sawing wood. At the end of that time he's supposed to +be able to take care of himself. I had to give it up and come to New +York. + +"It was August, and I went the rounds of the offices for three weeks, +looking for work. No one wanted a stenographer, and there was nothing +else to do that I could find. Once I thought I had something on the +water-front, but the man changed his mind. A woman told me to go to Dr. +Westminster, so I went. He was kind enough, said he was very busy, but +would do all he could for me; that there was a special society for just +such cases, and he would give me a card. I thanked him, and took the +card and went to the society. The young woman there gave me two soup +tickets, and said she would do all she could for me. Next day she +reported that there was nothing doing just then, but if I could come +back in about a month they could probably do better. Then she gave me +another soup ticket. I drank the soup and then I went back to Dr. +Westminster. He was rather annoyed at seeing me again, and said that he +had done all that he could, but would bear me in mind; meantime, unless +I heard from him, it would be no use to call again. I'd lived on soup +for two days. + +"I got a meal by begging on the avenue. Then another woman told me to go +to Dr. Emberdays, and I went to _him_. By this time I must have been +looking pretty tough. He said that he would do what he could, and that +there was a society to which he would give me a line. They asked me a +devil of a lot of questions, and gave me a flannel undershirt. It made +me sick! An undershirt in August, when I wanted bread and human +sympathy! + +"It was no use. I gave up parsons and tried the river-front again. I +didn't get over one meal a day, and my head ached all the time. I heard +of a job at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, carrying lumber. I got a +nickel for holding a horse, and went up. It was a gang of niggers. They +got a dollar a day. The boss was a nigger, too, and didn't want cheap +white trash. I almost went down on my knees to him, and finally he said +I might come the next day. I slept in a field under a tree without +anything to eat that night, and started in at seven the next morning. +The thermometer went up to ninety-six, and we worked without stopping. I +had to lug one end of a big stick, with a nigger under the other end, +one hundred yards, then go back and get another. I got so I didn't know +what I was doing. At eleven o'clock I fainted, and then I was sick, +dreadfully sick. At three the boss nigger kicked me and said I had to +stop faking or I wouldn't get paid, and so I got up and lugged until +six. But I was so ill I knew it was no use. I couldn't do that kind of +work. + +"It was an awfully hot night. I got off the 'L' at Thirty-fourth Street +and walked through to the avenue. When I got to the Waldorf I stopped +and looked in the windows. There were men and women in there, and +flowers and everything to eat--just what I could eat if I chose. And I +had been working with niggers, Judge, all day long until I fainted, +heaving timber. I just stood and waited, and when a chance came to +snatch a roll of bills I took it. They couldn't catch me. I was good for +ten of 'em, Judge. + +"After that it was easy. I met some of the fellows that had served time +with me and got back into the old life. Judge, it's no use. I don't +blame you for what you are going to do, nor I don't blame the jury. +Anyone could see through the bluff I put up. I'm guilty. I'm a jailbird, +I say. I'm done. Only I've had no chance, Judge. Give me another; let me +go back to the farm. I'll go, I swear I will! It'll kill me to go to +prison. I'm a human being. God meant me to live out of doors, and I've +spent half of my life inside stone walls. Let me go back to the country. +I'll go, Judge. I'm a human being. Give me one more chance." + +There was no sound when the prisoner stopped speaking. The judge did not +reply for a full minute. His face wore its habitual look of sadness. +Then he spoke in a very low tone, but one which was distinctly audible +in the silence of the court-room. + +"Graham, you have read your own sentence. You have confessed that you +cannot lead an honest life. Your fault is that you will not work. There +are a thousand farms within a hundred miles, where you could earn a +livelihood for the asking. Your intelligence is of a high order. By +ordinary application you could have risen far above your fellows. You +are a dangerous criminal--all the more dangerous for your ability. You +almost outwitted the jury, and conducted your own case more ably than +nine out of ten lawyers would have done. You have ruined your own life, +and cast away a pearl of price. You have my pity, but I cannot allow it +to affect my duty. Graham, I sentence you to State Prison for ten +years." + +The prisoner shivered, and covered his face with his hands. Then the +officer clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. + +"Gentlemen, you are excused." The Judge bowed to the jury. + +"Hear ye! Hear ye!" bawled the attendant: "all persons having business +with Part One of the General Sessions of the Peace, held in and for the +County of New York, may now depart. This Court stands adjourned until +to-morrow morning at half past ten o'clock." + + + + + + +In the Course of Justice + +"The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smiles +in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the +glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the +professors than the justice of it." + + +I + +A trim, neatly dressed young man, holding in one of his carefully gloved +hands a bamboo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one brilliant +October morning some ten years ago. All about him swarms of excited +sparrows chattered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last night's +carnation languished in his button-hole, and his smoothly shaven +lantern-jaw and high cheekbones suggested the type of upper Broadway and +the Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect was not unpleasing, +especially as his sparse curly hair, just turning gray at the temples, +disclosed a forehead suggestive of more than usual intelligence in a +face otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, inscrutable smile from time to time +played upon his features, at one moment making them seem good-naturedly +sympathetic, at another, sinister. The casual observer would have +classed him as a student or actor. He was both, and more. + +From a large jewelry store across the way presently emerged a diminutive +messenger-boy carrying a small, square bundle, and turned into Broadway. +The man on the bench, known to his friends as "Supple Jim," rose +unobtrusively to his feet. The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent's +worth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on the corner, and then, +whistling loudly, dawdled upon his way. The man followed, manÅ“uvring for +position, while the boy, now in the chewing stage and struggling +violently, lingered to inspect a mechanical toy. The supple one +accomplished a flank movement, approached, touched him on the shoulder, +and displayed a silver badge beneath his coat. + +"Young man, I'm from the Central Office, and need your help. About a +block from here a feller will come runnin' after you and say they've +given you the wrong bundle--see? He'll hand you another, and tell you to +give him the one you've got. He's a crook--'Paddy the Sneak'--old game! +see?" + +The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless. + +"Yep!" he replied, his eyes glistening delightedly. + +"Well, I'll be right behind you; and when he throws the game into you, +just pretend you fall to it an' hand him your box. Then I'll make the +collar. Are you on?" + +"Say, that's easy!" grinned the boy. + +"Show us what you're good for, then, and I'll have the Inspector send +you some passes for the theayter." + +The boy started on in business-like fashion. As his interlocutor had +predicted, a hatless "feller" overtook him, breathless, and entered into +voluble explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, and then, eyes +front, continued up the street until the detective should pounce upon +his victim. For some strange reason no such event took place. At the end +of the block he cast a furtive glance behind him. Both Paddy and the +Central Office man had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of the +fruits of their short hour of toil, dividing between them one hundred +and sixty dollars as the equivalent of the diamond stud which the box +had contained. + +Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination which he found irresistible, +the hero of this legal memoir took a car to the Criminal Courts +Building, and made his way to the General Sessions. + +"Forgot my subpÅ“na, Cap'n. I'm a witness. Just let me in, please!" he +said, with a smile of easy good-nature. + +Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, known as The Eagle, eyed +the young man suspiciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, allowed +him to enter the court-room. The thief who had so easily secured +admittance, fought his way persistently through the throng, elbowed by +the gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best seat on the +front bench, compelled its earlier occupants to make room for him with a +calm assurance and matter-of-course superiority which they had not the +courage to oppose. + +Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of the calendar. A few +lawyers, with their witnesses, whose cases had gone over until the +morrow, struggled out through the crush at the door, with no perceptible +diminution in the throng within. The clerk prepared to call the roll of +the jury. + +"Trial jurors in the case of 'The People against Richard Monohan,' +please answer to your names." + +The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the trial was "on" again, +having been interrupted, evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoon +before. A venerable complainant now resumed the story of how two young +men, whose acquaintance he had made in a saloon the previous Sunday +evening, had followed him into the street, assaulted him on his way home +and robbed him of his ring. He positively identified the prisoner as +the one who had wrenched it from his finger. + +Next, an officer testified to having arrested the defendant upon the old +gentleman's description, and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticket +calling for the ring in question. + +The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was "dead open and shut." + +The People "rested," and the defendant, a miserable specimen of those +wretched beings that constitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand. +His defence was absurd. He denied ever before having seen his accuser, +had not been in the saloon, had not taken the ring, had not pawned it, +had bought the ticket from a man on the corner who, he remembered, had +told him he was getting a bargain at three dollars. He could not +describe this "man," or account for his own whereabouts on the evening +in question. He had been drunk at the time. It was a story as old as +theft itself. + +The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the Judge once more summoned the +apostolic-looking complainant to the chair. + +"You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to this young man should +you be mistaken? Are you quite sure that he is one of the persons who +robbed you?" he inquired with becoming gravity. + +The witness raised himself by his cane, and stepping down to where the +prisoner sat, gazed searchingly into his stolid face. + +"God knows," said he, "I wouldn't harm a hair of his head. But by all +that's holy, I swear he's the man who took my ring." + +A wave of interest passed over the assembled attorneys. That was +business for you! No use to cross-examine an old fellow like _him_. +There was a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet. + +"Do you think you could identify your other assailant if you should see +him?" continued the judge. + +"I'm sure of it," calmly replied the witness. + +"Very well, sir," continued his Honor; "see if you can do so." + +Half of the audience moved uneasily, and glanced longingly toward the +closed means of exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness slowly +descended, and, escorted by a policeman, began his inspection, +scrutinizing each face with care. Quietly he moved along the first +bench, and then, gently shaking his head, along the second. The interest +became breathless. A sigh of relief rippled along the settees after him. +The only spectator unmoved by what was taking place was Supple Jim, who +smiled genially at the old gentleman as the latter glanced at him and +passed on. Four rows--five rows--six rows--seven rows. At last there +was but one bench left, and the excitement reached the point of +ebullition. Would he find him? Were they going to be disappointed after +all? Only half a bench left! Only two men left! Ah! what was that? +People shoved one another in the back, craning their heads to see what +was doing in the distant corner where the complainant stood. Suddenly +the searcher faced the Judge, and, pointing to the last occupant of the +rear settee, announced with conviction: + +"Your Honor, _this_ is the other man!" + +A murmur travelled rapidly around the court-room. Honors were even +between a Judge who could thus unerringly divine the presence of a +malefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a multitude, was able +unhesitatingly to pick out a midnight assailant. + +The "criminal" attorneys whispered among themselves: "Well, say! what do +you think of that! All right, eh? Well, I guess! Well, say!" + +This picturesque digression concluded, interest again centred in the +defendant, of whose ultimate conviction there could no longer be any +doubt. + +Not that the identification of the accomplice had any real significance, +since the man so ostentatiously picked out by the patriarch in court had +been caught red-handed at the time of the robbery within a block of the +saloon, was already under indictment as a co-defendant, and being out +on bail had merely been brought in under a bench warrant and placed +among the spectators. But the performance had a distinct dramatic value, +and the jury could not be blamed for making the natural deduction that +if the complainant was right as regards the one, _ipso facto_ he must be +as to the other. That the complainant had already identified him at the +police-station and at the Tombs seemed a matter of small importance. The +point was, apparently, that the old fellow had a good memory, and one +upon which the jury could safely rely. + +The Judge charged the law, and the jury retired, returning almost +immediately with a verdict of "Guilty of robbery in the first degree." + +The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, steadied himself, and +stood clinging to the rail, while his counsel made the usual motions for +a new trial and in arrest of judgment. + +"Clear the box! Clear the box!" shouted the clerk, and the jury, their +duty comfortably discharged, filed slowly out. + +The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the corridors. Supple Jim +waited on the steps of the building until a young woman, carrying a +baby, came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll of bills into +her hand. + +"Your feller's been _done dirt_!" he growled. "Take that, and put it +out of sight. Don't give it to any _lawyer_, now! You'll need it +yourself." Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of a surface +car as it whizzed by, and vanished from her astonished gaze. + +Thus was an innocent man convicted, while crime triumphant played the +part of benefactor. + + +II + +The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the warm sunshine in the +bay-window of his favorite restaurant, lazily finished a hearty +breakfast of ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the morning +paper which lay open before him. At a respectful distance his attendant +awaited the moment when this important guest should snap his fingers, +demand his damage, and call for a Carolina Perfecto. These would be +forthcoming with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more of an autocrat +on Fourteenth Street than a Pittsburg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Just +now the Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment how, the day +before, a quick-witted old gentleman had brought a malefactor to +justice. At one of the paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusing +it again and again, apparently with intense enjoyment. + +Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course of justice! He tossed +away the paper and swore softly. Of course, the only thing that had +rendered such a situation possible at all was the fact that the aged +Farlan was a superlative old ass. To hear him tell his yarn on the +stand, you would have thought that it gave him positive pain to testify +against a fellow being. Did you ever see such white hair and such a big +white beard? Why, he looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of those +fellows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped off the ring, the old +chap had already swallowed half a dozen "County Antrims," and wasn't in +a condition to remember anything or anybody. The idea of his going so +piously into court and swearing the thing on to Monohan; it gave you the +creeps! A fellow might go to "the chair" as easy as not, in just the +same way. Of course, Jim had not intended to get the young greenhorn +into any trouble when he had sold him the pawn-ticket. He had been just +an easy mark. And when the police had arrested him and found the ticket +in his pocket, there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. That +was just Monohan's luck, curse him! Let him look out for himself. + +But to see the patriarch carefully forging the shackles upon the wrong +man, had filled Jim with a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. The +stars in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf. + +Think of it! That fellow Monohan could get twenty years! It made him +mad, this infernal conspiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges and +prosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, whether they got the right +man or not, so long as they got someone! What business had they to go +and convict a fellow who was innocent, and put him, "Jim," the cleverest +"gun" in the profession, in such a position? He wondered if folks in +other lines of business had so many problems to face. The stupidity of +witnesses and the trickery of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was a +perennial contest, not only of wit against wit, strategy against +strategy, but, worst of all, of wit against impenetrable dulness. Why, +if people were going to be so careless about swearing a man's liberty +away, it was time to "get on the level." You might be nailed any time by +mistake, and then your record would make any defence impossible. You had +the right to demand common honesty, or, at least, _intelligence_, on the +part of the prosecution. + +But the main question was, What was going to become of Monohan? Well, +the boy was convicted, and that was the end of it. It was quite clear to +Jim that, had he been victimized in the same way, no one would have +bothered about it at all. It was simply the fortune of war. + +But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate of six, with vacations in +between, as it were, looked infinitesimal beside that awful burial +alive. He'd be fifty when he came out--if he ever came out! Sometimes +they died like flies in a hot summer. And then there was always +Dannemora--worst of all, Dannemora! It would kill _him_ to go back. He +couldn't live away from the main stem _now_. Why, he hadn't been in +_stir_ for five years. All his prison traits, the gait, the hunch, were +effaced--gone completely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown. + +"What's the use?" he muttered as he rose to go. "He ain't worth it! I +can stake his wife and kids till his time's up! But, God! _I_ could +never go back!" + +Yet the same irresistible force which had directed him to the court-room +the day before, now led him to the Grand Central Station. Like one +walking in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the noon train alone to +Ossining. + +Following a path that led him quickly to a hill above the town not far +from the prison walls, he threw himself at full length beside a bowlder, +and gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the broad, shining river lay +the dreamy blue hills he had so often watched while working at his +brushes. Here and there a small boat skimmed down the stream before the +same fresh breeze that sent the red and brown leaves fluttering along +the grass. The sunlight touched everything with enchantment, the cool +autumn air was an intoxicant--it was the Golden Age again. No, not the +Golden Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he noticed for the first +time a group of men in stripes breaking stones. Some were kneeling, some +crouching upon their haunches. They worked in silence, cracking one +stone after another and making little piles of the fragments. At the +distance of only a few feet two guards leaned upon their loaded rifles. +Jim shut his eyes. + + +III + +The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stifling +court. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waited +listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grim +patience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as the +latter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity. + +"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peers +of robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitle +you to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear and +positive, and the complainant's identification of you so perfect, that +it would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict. +Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but I +shall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is--" here the Judge +adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book--"that you be +confined in State Prison for a period of _not less than ten nor more +than fifteen years_." + +Monohan staggered and turned white. + +The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud. + +"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenly +there was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprang +to his feet. + +"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted the +wrong man! _I_ stole that ring!" + +"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as the +spectators rose impulsively to their feet. + +Those who had been present at the trial two days before were all +positive _now_ that they had never taken any stock in the old +gentleman's identification. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorously +with a paper-weight. + +"What's all this?" sternly demanded the Judge. "Do you claim that _you_ +robbed the complainant in this case? Impossible!" + +"Not a bit, yer 'Onor!" replied Jim in clarion tones. "You've nailed the +wrong man, that's all. I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, and +sold the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can't stand for his gettin' +any fifteen years," he concluded, glancing expectantly at the +spectators. + +A ripple of applause followed this declaration. + +"Hm!" commented his Honor. "How about the co-defendant in the case, +identified here in the court-room? Do you exonerate _him_ as well?" + +"I've nothin' to do with _him_," answered Jim calmly. "I've got enough +troubles of my own without shouldering any more. Only Monohan didn't +have any hand in the job. You've got the boot on the wrong foot!" + +Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant District Attorney, now +asserted himself. + +"This is all very well," said he with interest, "but we must have it in +the proper form. If your Honor will warn this person of his rights, and +administer the oath, the stenographer may take his confession and make +it a part of the record." + +Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that whatever he was about to +say must be "without fear or hope of reward," and might be used as +evidence against him thereafter. + +In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation which followed, the Judge, +a noted cross-examiner, only succeeded in establishing beyond +peradventure that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and that +Monohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He therefore consented, +somewhat ungraciously, to having the latter's conviction set aside and +to his immediate discharge. + +"As for _this_ man," said he, "commit him to the Tombs pending his +indictment by the Grand Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," he +added with significance, "that he be brought before _me_ for sentence." + +Out into the balconies of the court-house swarmed the mob. Monohan had +disappeared with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank his +benefactor. It was enough for him that he had escaped from the meshes of +the terrible net in which he had been entangled. + +From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful story. It was shouted from one +corridor to another, and from elevator to elevator. Like a wireless it +flew to the District Attorney's office, the reporters' room, the +Coroner's Court, over the bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street into +Tom Foley's, to Pontin's, to the Elm Castle, up Broadway, across to the +Bowery, over to the Rialto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thieves +in the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to "second-story men" +plotting in saloons, and held them speechless; the "moll-buzzers" heard +it; the "con" men caught it; the "britch men" passed it on. In an hour +the whole under-world knew that Supple Jim had squealed on himself, had +taken his dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had "chucked the +game." + + +IV + +Three long months had passed, during which Jim had lain in the Tombs. +For a day or two the newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. A +few sentimental women had sent him flowers of greater or less fragrance, +with more or less grammatical expressions of admiration; then the dull +drag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the daily visit of Paddy, +and the more infrequent consultations with old Crookshanks. + +The Grand Jury had promptly found an indictment, but when the District +Attorney placed the case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero to +plead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim's counsel, announced that his client +had no intention of so doing, and demanded an immediate trial. + +Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a situation of singular +embarrassment, which made action upon his part for the present +impossible. He was at his wits' end, for the law expressly required that +no prisoner should be confined longer than two months without trial. And +each week he was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crookshanks, who +with much bluster demanded that the case should be disposed of. + +Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on prison fare. Soon a +reporter--an acquaintance of Paddy's--commented upon the fact to his +city editor. The policy of the paper happening to be against the +administration, an item appeared among the "Criminal Notes" calling +attention to the period of time during which Jim had been incarcerated. +Other papers copied, and scathing editorials followed. In twenty-four +hours Jim's detention beyond the time regulated by statute for the trial +of a prisoner without bail had become an issue. The great American +public, through its representative, the press, clamored to know why the +wheels of justice had clogged, and the campaign committee of the reform +party called in a body upon the District Attorney, warning him that an +election was approaching and inquiring the cause of the "illegal +proceeding which had been brought to their attention." The editor of the +_Midnight American_, with his usual impetuosity, threatened a _habeas +corpus_. + +Then the District Attorney sent for the Assistant, and the two had a +hurried consultation. Finally the chief shook his head, saying: "There's +no way out of it. You'll have to go to trial at once. Perhaps you can +secure a plea. We can't afford any more delay. Put it on for to-morrow." + +The next day "Part One of the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, in +and for the County of New York," was crowded to suffocation, for the +dramatic nature of Jim's act of self-sacrifice had not been forgotten, +and a keen interest remained in its _denouement_. It was a brilliant +January noon, and the sun poured through the great windows, casting +irregular patches of light upon the throng within. High above the crowd +of lawyers, witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge; below him, the clerk +and Assistant District Attorney conferred together as to the order in +which the cases should be tried; to the left reclined a row of +non-combatants, "district leaders," ex-police magistrates, and a few +privileged spectators; outside the rail crowded the members of the +"criminal bar"; while in the main body of the room the benches were +tightly packed with loafers, "runners" for the attorneys, curious women, +indignant complainants, and sympathizing friends of the various +defendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but nearer the door the +pressure became too great, and once more an overplus, new-comers, +lawyers who could not force their way to the front, tardy policemen, +persons who could not make up their minds to come in and sit down, and +stragglers generally, formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking the +entrance, and preventing those outside from getting in or anyone inside +from getting out. + +Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators clicked diligently; full +steam was on, not a window open. + +Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with several +innuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who would +confess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense and +trouble of a trial, briefly opened the case. + +The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness. +He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of +finality in the direction of the jury. + +"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired. + +The lawyer shook his head. + +Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent. + +The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant, +paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel. + +"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go through +all this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.' +He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance." + +But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanks +flickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the features +of his client. + +"Not on your _tin-type_!" he ejaculated. + +Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced a +trifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in +the direction of the prisoner. + +"Well, I'll let him plead to grand larceny instead of robbery," he said, +with an air of acting against his better judgment. + +Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again shook his head. + +"Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, "your client will have +to take the consequences. Call the complainant." + +"Daniel Farlan, take the witness' chair." + +The crowd in the court-room waited expectantly. The complainant, +however, did not respond. + +"Daniel Farlan! Daniel Farlan!" bawled the officer. + +But the venerable Farlan came not. Perchance he was a-sleeping or +a-hunting. + +"If your Honor pleases," announced Dockbridge, "the complainant does not +answer. I must ask for an adjournment." + +But in an instant the old war-horse, Crookshanks, was upon his feet +snorting for the battle. + +"I protest against any such proceeding!" he shouted, his voice trembling +with well-simulated indignation. "My client is in jeopardy. I insist +that this trial go on here and now!" + +Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury and spectators showed +plainly that they were of Mr. Crookshanks's opinion. The Judge hesitated +for a moment, but his duty was clear. There was no question but that Jim +_had_ been put in jeopardy. + +"You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dockbridge," he announced +reluctantly. "The jury has been sworn, and a witness has testified. It +is too late to stop now." + +The Assistant was forced to admit that he had no further evidence at +hand. + +"What!" cried the Judge. "No further evidence! Well, proceed with the +defence!" + +Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead, while the jury +glanced inquiringly in the direction of the defendant. But now +Crookshanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the hope and trust +of all defenceless criminals, slowly arose and buttoned his threadbare +frock-coat. He looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor he +ignored. + +"If your Honor please," began the old lawyer gently, "I move that the +Court direct the jury to acquit, on the ground that the People have +failed to make out a case." + +The Assistant jumped to his feet. The spectators stared in amazement at +the audacity of the request. The Judge's face became a study. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks?" he exclaimed. "This man is a +self-confessed criminal. Do you hear, sir, a _self-confessed criminal_." + +But the anger of the Court had no terrors for little Crookshanks. He +waited calmly until the Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, and +resumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its usual state of +placidity. + +"I must beg most respectfully to point out to your Honor that the +Criminal Code provides that the confession of a defendant is not of +itself enough to warrant his conviction _without additional proof that +the crime charged has been committed_. May I be pardoned for indicating +to your Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding against my +client is his own confession, made, I believe, some time ago, under +circumstances which were, to say the least, unusual. While I do not +pretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on that occasion, or to +contest at this juncture the question of his moral guilt, the fact +remains _that there has been no additional proof_ adduced upon any of +the material points in the case, to wit, that the complainant ever +existed, ever possessed a ring, or that it was ever taken from him." + +He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing from his green bag a folded +paper, continued: "In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court that a +person named Farlan left the jurisdiction of this tribunal upon the day +after Monohan's conviction of the offence for which my client is now on +trial. + +"After such an unfortunate mistake," said Crookshanks with an almost +imperceptible twinkle in his "jury eye," "he can hardly be expected to +assist voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold in my hand his +affidavit that he has left the State never to return." + +The Judge had left his chair and was striding up and down the dais. He +now turned wrathfully upon poor Dockbridge. + +"What do you mean by trying a case before me prepared in such a fashion? +This is a disgraceful miscarriage of justice! I shall lay the matter +before the District Attorney in person! Mr. Crookshanks has correctly +stated the law. I am absolutely compelled to discharge this defendant, +who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcerated in State Prison! +I--I--the Court has been hoodwinked! The District Attorney made +ridiculous! As for you," casting a withering glance upon the prisoner, +"if I ever have the opportunity, I shall punish you as you deserve!" + +Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The clerk arose and cleared his +throat. + +"Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a verdict? What say you? Do you find +the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat doubtfully. + +There was a smothered demonstration in the rear of the court-room. A few +spectators had the temerity to clap their hands. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain. + +The clerk faced the prisoner. + +"James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, alias Supple Jim, you are +discharged." + +As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy was the first to grasp +his hand. + +"You're the cleverest boy in New York!" he muttered enthusiastically; +"and say, Jim," he lowered his voice--could it be with a shade of +embarrassment?--"you're a hero all right, into the bargain." + +"Oh, cut that out!" answered Jim. "Wasn't I playing a sure thing? And +wasn't it worth three months,--and ten dollars _per_ to the old guy for +staying over in Jersey,--to put 'em in a hole like that?" + +And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of an impending and +depressing cloud of moral superiority, went out, with others, to get a +drink. + + + + + + +The Maximilian Diamond + + +Dockbridge yawned, threw down his fountain-pen, whirled his chair away +from the window, through which the afternoon sun was pouring a dazzling +flood of light, crossed his feet upon the rickety old table whose faded +green baize was littered with newspapers, law books, copies of +indictments, and empty cigarette boxes, and idly contemplated the +graphophone, his latest acquisition. To a stranger, this little office, +tucked away behind an elevator shaft under the eaves of the Criminal +Courts Building, might have proved of some interest, filled as it was on +every side with mementoes of hard-fought cases in the courts below, +framed copies of forged checks and notes, photographs of streets and +houses known to fame only by virtue of the tragedies they had witnessed, +and an uncouth collection of weapons of all varieties from a stiletto +and long tapering bread knife to the most modern Colt automatic. On the +bookcase stood an innocent-looking bottle which had once contained +poison, while above it hung a faded indictment accusing someone long +since departed of administering its contents to another who did "for a +long time languish, and languishing did die." An enormous black leather +lounge, a safe, several chairs, and some pictures of English and +American jurists completed the contents of the room. Here Dockbridge had +for five years interviewed his witnesses, prepared his cases, and +dreamed of establishing a forensic reputation which should later by a +shower of gold repay him in part for the many tedious hours passed +within its walls. From the grimy windows he could look down upon the +court-yard of the Tombs and see the prisoners taking their daily +exercise, while from the distance came faintly the din and rattle of +Broadway. An air-shaft which passed through the room communicated in +some devious manner with the prison pens on the mezzanine floor far +beneath, and at times strange odors would come floating up bringing +suggestions of prison fare. On such occasions Dockbridge would throw +wide both windows, open the transom, and seek refuge in the library. + +Taken as a whole, his five years there had been invaluable both from a +personal and professional point of view. He had found himself from the +very first day in a sort of huge legal clinic, where hourly he could run +through the whole gamut of human emotions. It was to him, the embryonic +advocate, what hospital service is to the surgeon. He was, as it were, +an intern practising the surgery of the law. And what a multitude of +cases came there for treatment--every disease of the mind and heart and +soul! For a year or two he had been racked nervously and emotionally, +forced from laughter in one moment, to tears the next. Then the mere +fascination of his trade as prosecutor, the marshalling of evidence, the +tactics of trials, the thwarting of conspiracies, the analysis of +motives, the exposure of cunning tricks to liberate the guilty, had so +possessed his mind that the suffering and sin about him, though keenly +realized, no longer cost him sleep and peace of mind. And the stories +that he heard! The mysteries which were unravelled before his very eyes, +and those deeper mysteries the secrets of which were never revealed, but +remained sealed in the hearts of those who, rather than disclose them, +sought sanctuary within prison walls! + +How he wished sometimes that he could write--if only a little! Through +what strange labyrinths of human passion and ingenuity could he conduct +his readers! Sometimes he tried to scribble the stories down, but the +words would not come. How could you describe your feelings while trying +a man for his life, when he sat there at the bar pallid and tense, his +hands clutching each other until the nails quivered in the flesh; the +groan of the convicted felon; the wail of the heart-broken mother as +her son was led away by the officer? He had seen one poor fellow faint +dead away on hearing his sentence to the living tomb; and had heard a +murderer laugh when convicted and the day set for his execution. +Sometimes, in sheer desperation at the thought of losing what he had +seen and experienced, he would turn on the graphophone and talk into it, +disconnectedly, by the hour. It usually came out in better shape than +what he turned off with his pen. If he could only write! + +"Dockbridge! Hi, there, Dockbridge!" + +The door was kicked open, and the lank figure of one of his associates +stood before him. His visitor grinned, and removed his pipe. + +"Bob'll be up in a minute. Come along to 'Coney.'" + +"Don't feel kittenish enough," answered Dockbridge. + +"Oh, come on! It'll do you good." + +The sound of rapid steps flew up the stairs, and Bob burst into the +room, almost upsetting the first arrival. + +"What are you doing up here in this smelly place?" he inquired. "Got a +cigarette?" + +Dockbridge threw him a package without altering his position. + +At this moment the heavily built figure of the chief of staff entered. + +"Holding a reception?" he asked good-naturedly. + +Bob had slipped behind the owner of the graphophone and was rapidly +surveying his desk. Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, and, +snatching it up, ran across the room. + +"I thought so! He's been writing." + +"Here you, Bob, give that back!" cried Dockbridge, springing up. He was +blocked by the chief of staff. + +"Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The censor demands the right of +inspection." + +"Oh, I don't mind if _you_ see it!" said Dockbridge, "only I don't +intend that cub to snicker over it. It's nothing, anyway." + +"'The Maximilian Diamond!'" shouted the thief. "By George, what a +rippin' title! Full of gore, I bet!" + +"You give that back!" growled its owner. + +"Gentlemen, allow me to present the well-known author and brilliant +young literary man, Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four colors is +soon to appear on the cover of the 'Maiden's Gaslog Companion,'" +continued Bob. "I read, 'The villain stood with his dagger elevated for +an instant above the bare breast of his palpitating victim.' My, but +it's great!" + +"You see you'd better read it to us in self-defence," remarked the +chief of staff. "Go ahead!" + +"Promise, and I'll give it back," said Bob, from the door. "Refuse, and +I send it to the 'American.'" + +"It wasn't for publication, anyway," explained Dockbridge. + +"Of course not," answered Bob. "We'll pass on it. Perhaps we'll send it +in for that Five-Thousand-Dollar competition." + +"Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" Dockbridge recovered the +manuscript and returned to his armchair. The others disposed themselves +upon the lounge. + +"Oyez! Oyez!" cried Bob. "All persons desiring to hear the great +American novel, draw near, give your attention and ye shall be heard." + +"Keep still!" ordered the chief of staff. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll make him +shut up." + +"Mind you do," said Dockbridge. "It's about that big diamond, you know. +The story begins in this room." + +"Well, begin it," laughed Bob. + +His companions pulled his head down on the chief's lap and smothered him +with a handkerchief. + +"Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, "here goes." + + +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND + +A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish hair, sandy complexion, and +watery blue eyes, stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by +means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a keeper. My two visitors +conducted themselves with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single +motion sank into the chairs I offered. + +"Well, what's the trouble?" I inquired genially. + +The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of the other, who grinned +apologetically and hitched in my direction. Bending toward me, he +whispered: "I am the victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies +in history. My story involves personages of the highest rank, and is +stranger than one of Dumas' romances. I am a bill-poster." + +Not knowing whether he intended to include himself among the illustrious +persons alluded to, I nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars. + +"My name is Riggs," continued the prisoner, as he bit off the end of his +cigar and expelled it through the window. "Got a match?" + +The keeper drew a handful from his pocket. I lit a cigar for myself and +assumed an attitude of attention. + +"My wife is little Flossie Riggs. Don't know her? Why, she dances at +Proctor's, and all over. I was doing well at my trade, and would have +been doing better, if it hadn't been for that confounded diamond. It was +this way. There was a fellow named Tenney, who posted bills with me +about five years back, and he finally got a job down in the City of +Mexico with a railroad, and I used to correspond with him. + +"Among other things, he told me about a great big diamond that the +Emperor Maximilian used to wear in the middle of his crown. According to +Tenney, it was one of the biggest on record. He said that Maximilian was +so stuck on it that he had it taken out and made into a pendant for the +Empress Carlotta, and that she used to wear it around at all the court +functions, and so on. About the same time he took two other diamonds out +of the crown and made them into finger-rings for himself. + +"After a while the Mexicans got tired of having an empire and put +Maximilian out of business. They stood him and two of his generals up in +the parade ground at Queretaro and shot 'em. Now when he was stood up to +get shot he had those two rings on his fingers, and the funny part of it +was that when the people rushed up to see whether he was dead or not, +both the rings were gone. Just about that time, while Carlotta was in +prison, the diamond with the big pendant disappeared too. It weighed +thirty-three carats. I got all this from Tenney. I don't know where he +found out about it. But it all happened way back in '67. + +"Somehow or other I used to think quite a lot about that diamond--partly +because I was sorry for Max, who looked to have come out at the small +end; and there didn't seem to be any occasion for shooting him anyhow, +that I could see. + +"Well, I went on bill-posting, and got a good job with the Hair Restorer +folks and was doing well, as I said, until one day I happened to take up +a paper and read that there were two Mexicans out in St. Louis trying to +sell an enormous diamond, but that the dealers there were all afraid to +buy it. Finally the police got suspicious, and the Mexicans disappeared. +Then all of a sudden it came over me that this must be the diamond that +Tenney had wrote about, for all that it had been lost for nearly forty +years, and I made up my mind that the Mexicans, having failed in St. +Louis, would probably come to New York. I knew they had no right to the +diamond anyway, first because it belonged to Maximilian's heirs, and +second because it hadn't paid no duty; and I said to myself, 'Next time +I write to Tenney he will hear something that will make him sit up.' So +every morning, when I started out with my paste-pot and roll of +posters, I would keep my eye peeled for the two Mexicans. + +"But I didn't hear any more about the diamond for a long time, and I had +'most forgot all about it, until one day I was plastering up one of +those yellow-headed Hair Restorer girls in Madison Square, when I saw +two chaps cross over Twenty-third Street toward the Park. They were the +very gazeebos I'd been looking for. Both were dark and thin and short, +and, queerer still, one of them carried a big red case in his hand. + +"With my heart rattling against my teeth, I jumped down from the ladder +and started after them. They hurried along the street until they came to +a jeweller's on Broadway, about a block from the Square. They went in, +and I peeked through the window. Presently out they came in a great +hurry. They still had the red case, and I made a dash for the door and +rushed in. There was the store-keeper with eyes bulgin' half-way out of +his head. + +"'Say,' says I, 'did those dagoes try to sell you a diamond?' + +"'Yes,' says he, 'the biggest I ever saw. They wanted forty thousand +dollars for it, and I offered them fifteen thousand, but they wouldn't +take it.' + +"I didn't give him time for another word, but turned around and made +another jump for the door. The Mexicans were almost out of sight, but I +could still see them walking toward the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and I +hustled after them tight as I could, picked up two cops on the way down, +and, just as they were turning in at the entrance, we pounced on 'em. + +"'You're under arrest!' I yelled, so excited I didn't really know what I +was doing. The fellow with the red case dodged back and handed it over +to a big chap who had joined them. This one didn't appear to want to +take it, and seemed quite peevish at what was happening. He turned out +afterward to have been a General Dosbosco of the Haytien Junta. Well, +the cops grabbed all three of them and collared the leather case. Sure +enough, so help me--! There inside was the big diamond, and not only +that, but a necklace with eighteen stones, and two enormous solitaire +rings. The big stone was yellowish, but the others were pure white, +sparklin' like one of those electric Pickle signs with fifty-seven +varieties. By that time the hurry-up wagon had come, and pretty soon the +whole crew of us, diamonds, Mexicans, cops, paste-pot, and me, were +clattering to the police-station for fair. There I told 'em all about +the diamond, and they telephoned over to Colonel Dudley, at the +Custom-house, and the upshot of the whole matter was that the two +Mexicans were held on a charge of smuggling diamonds into the United +States. + +"If you don't believe what I tell you," said Riggs, noticing, perhaps, a +suggestion of incredulity in my face, "just look at these"; and fumbling +in his pocket, he produced some very soiled and crumpled clippings, +containing pictures of Maximilian, the Empress Carlotta, and of a very +large diamond which appeared to be about the size of the "Regent." It +was then that I dimly remembered reading something of a diamond seizure +a short time before, and it was with a renewed interest that I listened +to the continuation of my client's story. + +"Well," said Riggs, "that was strange, now, wasn't it? + +"You can imagine how I felt when I went home and told little Flossie +about the diamond; that I was entitled to a fifty per cent. informer's +reward; how I was going to give up bill-posting and just be her manager, +and how we could take a bigger flat, and all that; and I thought so much +about it, and talked so much about it, that I began to feel like I was +Rockefeller already, which may account in part for what happened +afterward." + +At this point the keeper moved uneasily, and I pushed him another cigar. + +"Well," continued Riggs, "I just walked on air that afternoon after +leaving the Custom-house, and went around blabbing like a poor fool +about my good luck. On the way home I stopped in to take a drink. There +were a lot of my acquaintances there, and I had something with most of +them, and then the first thing I knew everything swam before my eyes. I +groped my way into the street and started toward home, but I had only +taken a few steps when a gang of strong-arm men attacked me, knocked me +down, and robbed me. I struggled to my feet and followed them. They +turned and attacked me again. I drew my knife, and then everything got +dark, and the next thing I knew I was in the police-station. + +"I'll admit that this part of it does seem a little queer." Riggs +dropped his voice mysteriously and leaned toward me. "But I have no +doubt that I was drugged and beaten for the purpose of getting me locked +up in the Tombs as part of a well-planned scheme. You will see for +yourself later on. + +"Next morning, while I was waiting examination in the prison pen, a man +came along who said he was a lawyer and would take my case. I said, All +right, but that he would have to wait for his pay. He laughed, and said +he guessed there would be no trouble about that; and the next thing I +knew I was up before the Judge. My lawyer went up and whispered +something to him, and the magistrate said: + +"'Five hundred dollars bail for trial.' + +"'Look here,' I spoke up, 'ain't I going to have a chance to tell my +story?' + +"'Keep quiet,' said the lawyer from behind his hand; 'this is just a +form. You won't never have to be tried. It's just to get you out.' + +"So I said nothing, and went back to the pen and waited; and the next +thing I knew the hurry-up wagon had taken me to the Tombs. I tell you it +was pretty tough bein' chucked in with a lot of thieves and burglars. +The bill of fare ain't above par, you know, and the company's worse. I +sat in my cell and waited and waited for my lawyer to show up, for he +had said he'd be right over. But he didn't come, and I had to spend the +night there. Next morning the keeper told me that my lawyer was in the +counsel-room. So down I went with two niggers, who also had an +appointment with their lawyers. It's a nasty, unventilated hole, and +they lock you and the attorneys all in together. Ever been there?" + +I shook my head. + +"'Well,' says he, 'now have you got a bondsman?' + +"'A what?' says I. + +"'A bondsman--someone to go bail for you.' + +"'No,' I answered, for I knew nothing about such things. + +"'What! I thought you told me you had a lot of friends who had money! +You haven't been trifling with me, have you?' + +"I knew I hadn't told him anything of the sort, but I thought that maybe +he had forgotten; so I said I hadn't any friends who had any money, and +knew no one to go bail for me. + +"'Bad! very bad!' said he. 'You've got to have money to get out. Isn't +there anyone who owes you money, or haven't you got some _claim_ or +something?' + +"Then all of a sudden it flashed over me about the diamond and my fifty +per cent. of the reward, and then something in his eye made me think +again. It seemed to me that I had seen him before somewhere. I couldn't +remember just where, but the more I hesitated the surer I was. Then it +came over me that a few days in jail, more or less, made mighty little +difference when I was going to be a rich man so soon, and I decided I +had better hang on to what I'd got. + +"'No,' said I, 'I ain't got nothin'.' + +"'You lie!' says he, growing very red. 'You lie! You've got a claim +against the United States Government.' + +"Then he saw he'd made a break. + +"'Why, they all told me you caught a smuggler, or something, and had a +claim against the Government for a hundred dollars.' + +"'A hundred!' I yelled. 'Twenty thousand!' + +"'Oh!' said he, 'as much as that? Why, I'll get you out this afternoon.' + +"'How?' said I. + +"'Well, you will have to assign your claim so I can raise the money on +it. It's a mere form.' + +"But the thought came into my mind, Better stay there ten years than let +him have the claim; so I said that I didn't understand such things, and +I'd just wait until I could be tried. + +"'Tried?' said he. 'Why, you won't be tried for months.' + +"My heart sank right down into my boots. + +"'Don't be a fool!' he went on. 'Here you are, sick and in prison, and +if you don't raise money to get a bondsman you'll stay here a long time. +You might die. And if you assign that claim to me, I have a pull with +the Judge and I'll have you out by supper-time.' + +"'I guess I'll wait awhile,' said I. + +"'Think it over, anyway. Now I tell you what I'll do. To-morrow you go +up for pleading. You have to say whether you are guilty or not guilty. +I'll act as your lawyer and see you through that part of it for nothing, +and then if you still don't want to assign the claim, why, you can do +as you choose.' + +"That seemed fair enough, so I agreed. I spent another night in the +cells, and next day about thirty of us were taken across the bridge into +the court-room. One by one we were led up to the bar, and the clerk +asked us were we guilty or not guilty. The ones that said they were +guilty went off to Sing Sing or Blackwell's Island. It scared the life +out of me. I was afraid that I might not be able to say 'not,' and so +get sent off too, but pretty soon I saw my lawyer. + +"'P. Llewellyn Riggs!' + +"Up jumped Mr. Lawyer and says, 'Not guilty.' + +"'What day?' asked the clerk. + +"'The 21st,' says Mr. Lawyer. + +"I was dumb for a minute. + +"'Look here,' I whispered. 'To-day's only the first--that's three +weeks.' + +"'Keep quiet,' shouted an officer, and gave me a punch in the back. + +"'It's all right,' whispered Mr. Lawyer. 'It's only a form.' And they +hustled me out back to the Tombs. + +"I didn't hear anything all that day or the next. It seemed as if I +should go mad. But at last I was notified that my lawyer was there +again, and down I went glad enough for the change. By that time I was +feeling pretty seedy. + +"'Well, young man,' said he, 'can we do business?' + +"'That depends,' I answered. + +"'Come, no fooling, now; if you want to get out, give me an assignment +of your claim.' + +"'Never,' I replied. + +"'Then to h---- with you!' he shouted; 'you can rot here alone and try +your case by yourself, and I hope you'll get twenty years.' + +"I almost sank through the floor. Twenty years!" + +Riggs had become quite dramatic, and was again leaning forward looking +me straight in the eyes. + +"Well, I stood fast, and he cursed me out and left me, and I began to +feel that after all maybe I was a fool. I hadn't let my wife know where +I was, but now I wrote to her, and she came right down and comforted me. +A brave little woman she is, too. And what was more, she said that a +nice young lawyer had just moved into our house and had the flat below, +and she would go and get him. + +"So next morning--I had been in there a week--the young lawyer came. I +liked him from the start. When I told him my first lawyer's name he just +leaned back and laughed. + +"'Old Todd?' he says; 'why, he's the worst robber in the outfit. If he +had gotten that assignment he'd have let you lie here forever and been +in Paris by this time. You're a lucky man,' says he. + +"Well, I thought so too, and laughed with him. + +"'But,' he continued, 'you're in an embarrassing position. You can't get +out without money, and you can't collect your claim. You'll have to +assign it to someone. You can't assign it to your wife. That wouldn't be +valid. Haven't you got some friend?' + +"'I'm afraid not,' said I. + +"'That's unfortunate,' he remarked, looking out where the window ought +to be. 'Very unfortunate. I might lend you a couple of hundred myself,' +he added. 'I will, too!' + +"The blood jumped right up in my throat.' + +"'God bless you!' said I, 'you're a true friend!' + +"He laid his hand on my shoulder. + +"'You're in hard luck, old man, but you're going to win out. I'll stand +by you. Here's a five. I'll go out and get the rest right off.' + +"Then all of a sudden I began to feel like a king. I could see myself in +a new suit, having a bottle up at the Haymarket. I realized that I was a +twenty-thousand-dollar millionaire. And just to show my chest, I said: + +"'Why, you're an honest man and a true friend. You take my claim and go +and collect it this afternoon,' says I. + +"'No,' he hesitated, 'it's too much responsibility. I'll trust you for +the money and you can pay me afterward.' + +"But with that, ass that I was, I fell to begging him to take the claim, +and saying he must take it, just to show he believed I trusted him; and +so after a while he reluctantly yielded and filled out a paper, and I +signed it and got in the warden as a witness, and he rose to go. + +"'Well, till this afternoon,' says he. + +"'_Au revoir_,' I laughed, 'get yourself a bottle of wine for me,' says +I. And off he goes. + +"As I passed back to the cells, who should I see beside the door but my +old lawyer. + +"I shook my fist in his face. + +"'You old robber,' I says, 'we'll see if I can't get along without you!' + +"He sneered in my face. + +"'Oh, you ---- fool!' says he, 'you poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"Then he was gone. So I went back to the cell, and sang and whistled and +figured on where I should take my little Flossie for dinner. I waited +and waited. Six o'clock, and no word. Then I began to get nervous. + +"'You poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"The words rang around in my cell. Then something sort of gave inside. I +knew I'd been robbed, and I yelled and shook the bars of the door and +tried to get out. I cried for Flossie. The keepers came and told me to +keep still; but I was plump crazy, and kept on yelling until everything +got black and I fainted." + +"And your lawyer never came back?" + +"He never came back!" Riggs exclaimed. "He never came back! I've been +robbed! I'm a poor ---- fool, just as Todd said I was." Riggs burst into +maudlin tears. + +I gave him what consolation I could, and promised thoroughly to +investigate his story. + +The keeper and Riggs arose in unison, the same urbane smile that had +previously illuminated the countenance of the latter restored. + +"You couldn't manage to let me have a handful of cigars, could you?" he +whispered. I gave him all I had. His cheek was irresistible. I would +have given him my watch had he intimated a desire for it. + +Then I called up the Custom-house. + +"Paid?" came back the voice of the United States District Attorney. "Of +course not. The claim is worthless until the diamond is sold; and, +anyway, such an assignment as you describe is invalid under our +statutes. You had better execute a revocation, however, and place it on +file here. Yes, I'll look out for the matter." + +One day, about a week later, I was informed that Riggs had been +convicted of assault, and sentenced to a year's imprisonment on +Blackwell's Island. A jury of his peers had apparently proved less +credulous than myself. + +Many strange epistles from his place of confinement now reached me, +hinting of terrible abuses, starvation, oppression, extortion. He was +still the victim of a conspiracy--this time of prison guards and fellow +convicts. He prayed for an opportunity to lay the facts before the +authorities. I threw the letters aside. It was clear he possessed a +powerful imagination, and yet his tale of the discovery of the diamond +had been absolutely true. Well, let the law take its course. + + * * * * * + +A year later a jovial-looking person called at my office, and I +recognized my old friend Riggs in a new brown derby hat and checked +suit. + +After shaking hands warmly, he presented me with a card reading: + + P. LLEWELLYN RIGGS, + Private Detective, + -- Broadway. + +"Yes," he explained in answer to my surprised expression, "I've gone +into the detective business. My unfortunate conviction is only a sort of +advertisement, you know, and then I was the victim of an outrageous +conspiracy!" + +"But," said I, "I thought you were going to retire on the proceeds of +the diamond." + +"Why, haven't you heard?" he replied. "I gave my wife an assignment of +the claim with a power of attorney, and when the diamond was sold she +ran away." + +"Ran away?" + +"Yes; she took a friend of mine with her. But I shall find her--just as +I did the diamond!" He struck a Sherlock Holmes attitude. "By the way, +if you should ever want any detective work done you'll remember----" + +"I am not likely to forget," I answered, "the victim of one of the most +remarkable conspiracies in history." + + * * * * * + +Meantime the Mexicans were tried, convicted, and sent to prison. The +jewels themselves were duly made the subject of condemnation +proceedings, and whoso peruseth The Federal Reporter for the year 1901 +may read thereof under the title "The United States _vs._ One Diamond +Pendant and Two Ear-rings." They were, so to speak, tried, properly +convicted, and sold to the highest bidder. The Mexicans are still +serving out their time. One turned state's evidence, stating that he was +a musician and had won the love of a beautiful señorita in the city of +Mexico who had given him the gems to sell in order that they might have +money upon which to marry. He also protested that his sweetheart had +inherited them from her mother. + +Inside the cover of the old red case is printed in gold letters: + + LA ESMERALDA. + + F. CAUSER ZIHY & CO., Mexico and Paris. + +And a faintly scented piece of violet note-paper lies beneath the double +lining, containing, in a woman's hand, this: + + The diamond necklace is from Maximilian's crown, the + Emperor of Mexico. The centre stone has thirty-three + and seven-tenths carats, and the eighteen surrounding + it no less than one each. The diamond ring, the stone + thereof, was in Maximilian's ring at the time he was + shot. + +But that is all; there is nothing to tell what hand snatched the jewels +from the lifeless fingers of the dead Emperor, or who purloined the +necklace from the royal household. + +In a dusty compartment on my desk there lies a brown manila envelope, +and sometimes, when the day's work is over and I have glanced for the +last time across the court-yard of the Tombs at the clock tower on the +New York Life Building, I take it out and idly read the press story of +the famous diamond. And there rises dimly before me the pathetic scene +at Queretaro where a brave and good man met his death, and I wonder if +perchance there is any truth in the superstition that some stones carry +ill-luck with them. But it is a far cry from the Emperor of Mexico to a +New York bill-poster. + + * * * * * + +Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk and lit a cigarette. + +"Is that all?" asked the lank deputy, stretching himself. "I thought it +was going to have some sort of a plot." + +"It's a pretty good story," said the chief of staff. "Have you really +got any clippings?" + +"I think it's rotten!" remarked Bob. + +"Well, it's every word of it true, anyway," muttered Dockbridge. + + + + + + +Extradition + + +I + +"Dockbridge," said the District Attorney, coming hurriedly out of his +office, "I've got to send you to Seattle. We've just located Andrews +there--Sam Andrews of the Boodle Bank. One of Barney Conville's cases, +you remember. Here's the Governor's requisition. Barney's down in +Ecuador, so McGinnis of the Central Office will go out to make the +arrest; but I must have someone to look after the legal end of it--to +fight any writ of _habeas corpus_--and handle the extradition +proceedings. They might get around a mere policeman, so I'm going to ask +you to attend to it. The trip won't be unpleasant, and the auditor will +give you a check for your expenses. Remember, now--your job is to _bring +Andrews back_!" + +He handed his assistant a bulky document bedecked with seals and +ribbons, and closed the door. Dockbridge gazed blankly after his +energetic chief. + +"Oh, certainly, certainly! Don't mention it! _Delighted_, I'm sure! +Thank you so much!" he exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned +ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the railing. "Sudden, eh? +Don't even ask me if it's convenient! Exiles me for two months! Just +drop over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigarettes! Or run across +to Morocco and pick up Perdicaris, like a good fellow! Don't you regard +him as a trifle _inconsequent_?" + +Conville's side partner McGinnis, a gigantic Irishman with +extraordinarily long arms and huge hands, climbed disjointedly to his +feet. + +"_In_-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?" The words came in a gentle +roar from the altitudes of his towering form. "Sure, the +_in_-consequence of it is that we're to have the pleasure of travellin' +togither." He looked big enough to swing the little Assistant lightly +upon one shoulder and stride nimbly across the continent with him. + +"An iligant thrip it will be! I'm only regretful I can't take me wife +along wid me." + +Pat's matrimonial troubles were the common property of the entire force. +The only person totally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis +himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detective-Sergeant O'Halloran, +made one think inevitably of the small bird that travels through life +roosting on the shoulder of the African buffalo. His domestic life would +have been one of wild excitement for the average citizen, but McGinnis +had a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of his spouse. +Conceive, however, his surprise when the Assistant District Attorney +suddenly smote him sharply in the abdomen, and shouted: + +"I'll do it!" + +"Phwat?" ejaculated Pat. + +"Take _my_ wife!" + +"Yez have none, ye spalpeen!" + +"I'll have one by to-morrow!" + +"An' is it Miss Peggy ye mane?" + +"No other. The county pays part of the bills. I'll make this my wedding +trip!" + +"God save us, Mr. Dockbridge!" gasped McGinnis. "Ain't he the little +divel!" he added to himself delightedly. + +Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack's proposition. The idea of +going on one's honeymoon with a policeman! Yes, it was all right to +combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one did not usually +associate business with marriage--at least she hoped she did not--for +Jack Dockbridge knew he hadn't a cent, and neither had she. He explained +guardedly that that was the principal reason in favor of the plan. They +would have part of their expenses paid. + +Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged the force of the argument but +pointed out that there was still the policeman. + +Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing colors. Why, there were so +many bad men out there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she never +heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard of the Nagle case, and she +going to marry a lawyer! A newly married pair could not travel alone, +unprotected. + +Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated fraud--an unabashed liar! +Still, she had those furs that had belonged to her mother. She admitted, +also, wondering what the Rockies were like. If she did not marry him +now, how long would he be gone? Six months? + +Jack explained that he might be killed by Indians or desperadoes. In +that case the wisdom of her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She +could then marry someone else. But that was the reason a policeman would +be desirable. And then he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. +One more would make little difference. In the end they were married. + + +II + +It was a gay little party of three that left Montreal for Vancouver the +following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved +himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in +securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult +process of extradition. He had brought safely back "Red" McIntosh from +New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had +captured "Strong Arm" Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure +in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as +"Judge," and introducing him to all strangers as "me distinguished +frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York." + +There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily +became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the +various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy +sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the +frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the +snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and +mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching +the diminishing track, or held their breath in the swaying cab as the +engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward +Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies. + +In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the +mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the +pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track +for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty +back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an +hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the +whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was +undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit +like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they +reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could +himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the +fireman. + +Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused +diligently her husband's copy of "Moore on Extradition." She didn't +intend to be the man of the family--she was too sensible for that--but +she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her +husband's profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as +Jack's. + +Four days brought them within sight of the mountains, and the next +morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian +Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the +winter sun. + +"Glad you came, Peg?" shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight +snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder +at the scene. + +She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air. + +"Shure, ain't we all av us?" inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. "Say, +this beats th' Bowery. Th' Tenderloin ain't in it wid this. I'd loike to +camp right here for the rest of me days!" + +There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the +mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank, +that they all laughed. + +Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at +last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, +now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole +magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous +cañon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close. + +The blue shadows of morning melted into the breathless splendor of high +noon upon the summit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple, +azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning +crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like +myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the +giant peaks. + +"Shure, 'tis a sad thing we can't ride in a train, drawin' th' county's +money foriver!" sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming +rapids. + +"Ah, but we've work to do, Pat!" answered Peggy. "You mustn't forget Sam +Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There's fame and fortune waiting for us." + +On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to +continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy +hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor's recognition of their +credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the +representatives of the State of New York. + +The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly +tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to +lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack's college. Oh, yes, +he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under +pressure of circumstances had technically violated the law, but a +perfect gentleman. Of course he had to honor their requisition, but he +was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under +arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit +and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people! +Everybody committed crime--inadvertently. There were so many statutes +that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly +sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist +them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined +with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a +pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a +blasted hearing--a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants. + +They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis, +together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The +Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard +and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear +that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer. +It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was +entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart +their purpose in any way. Of course, the whole thing was unfortunate in +many respects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the +complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be +easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to +return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming +and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming +if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to +them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy +access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little. + +Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr. +Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends, +and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr. +Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she +and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live +together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under +arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis. +Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him +with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any +reason to regret so doing. + +Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied themselves with sight-seeing, +while Andrews busied himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable +impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased, +and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of +a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way. + +"And now for New York!" exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat +around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their +arrival in Seattle. "How shall we go--Northern Pacific, Union, or The +Short Line and across on The Rock Island?" + +"Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfortably from behind an +enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. "Th' +longer th' better, suits _me_. 'Tis the county pays me, an' I loike +ridin' in the cars down to th' ground." + +"What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?" inquired Peggy, "You know the +country. Where would we see the most mountains?" + +Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have +noticed the flash of Andrews' gray eyes which so quickly died away. He +hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it +deserved. + +"There's practically no choice," he replied at length, knocking the ash +from his cigar. "They're all lovely at this time of year. The Rock +Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting." He +paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar. + +But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had +observed his manner. + +"You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?" + +Andrews smiled. "Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn't such +a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect +with the Soo. It's a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty +cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though." + +"Let's go!" exclaimed Peggy. "That's what we are after--scenery! I don't +care if it _is_ cold. I've got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo? +That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?" + +"Oh, I don't mind!" answered her husband. "Andrews knows best. He's been +that way. Sure, if you say so." + +Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar. + +[Illustration: He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the +consideration it deserved.] + + +III + +All day long the snow had been falling steadily in big, fluffy flakes. +The heavy train ploughed through dense pine-clad ravines, beside +torrents buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose inky +blackness the engine plunged as into the bowels of the earth, across +vibrating trestles, and up grades that seemed never-ending, where the +driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, then clutched the +sanded rails and slowly forged onward. For two days it had been thus, +and from the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling snow met the +eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the shoulders of the mountains, and the +gorges between them were choked with mist. And onward, upward, always +upward groaned the train. + +Inside Jack's compartment in the first Pullman sat the four members of +our party playing cards, now on the best of terms. They had long since +given up condoling upon the weather, and had settled down to making the +best of it with cards, chess-board, and books. Between McGinnis and the +prisoner flowed an unending stream of anecdotes and adventures. It could +not be denied that the erstwhile bank president was a man of much +culture and wide reading. He had studied for the bar, and from time to +time astounded Dockbridge by the acuteness of his mental processes. This +was the afternoon of the second day, and they were just completing their +thirteenth rubber of whist. + +The snow fell thicker as the light waned; soon the lamps were lighted +and the shades were drawn. The through passengers on the train were few, +and the good-natured conductor had adopted the party for the trip. + +"We're 'most at the top o' the pass," he remarked, as he paused to +inspect Jack's hand over his shoulder. "Should ha' made it an hour ago +but for this blank snow. I never saw it so thick. Too bad you've missed +the whole range, and to-morrow morning we'll be at Souris, and then +nothin' but prairie all across Dakota. When you wake up, the +mountains'll be two hundred miles west of you. Hard luck!" + +"My trick," said Andrews. "What's that, conductor? Souris to-morrow +morning? Any stops to-night?" + +"Nope; clear down-hill track all the way. There's a flag station an hour +beyond the divide--Ferguson's Gulch, and sometimes we stop for water at +Red River. There's no regular station there, and Jim wants to make up +time, so I reckon we'll make the run without stoppin'. Are you folks +ready for dinner?" + +The strain on the wheels suddenly relaxed, and it seemed as though the +whole train sighed with relief. Ahead, the engine gave a succession of +quick snorts, as if rejoicing at once more reaching a level. The train +gathered head-way. + +"She's over the divide," announced the conductor, taking a bite from the +plug of tobacco carefully wrapped in his red silk handkerchief. "Now Jim +can let her run." + +"What do you call the divide?" asked Peggy. + +"The Lower Kootenay," he answered. "Oh, it's great here in summer! +Finest thing in Canada, in my opinion." + +"In Canada!" exclaimed Dockbridge, with a start. "What do you mean? Are +we in Canada?" + +"You've been in Canada since three o'clock," was the reply. "We cross +the lower left-hand corner of Alberta--look on the map there in the +folder. After makin' the divide we drop right back into Montana. They +couldn't cross the Rockies at this point without leavin' the States for +a few miles." + +The conductor arose and unfolded the map. + +"Ye see, here's where we leave Clarke Fork, then we skirt this range, +turn north, followin' that river there, the north branch of the +Flathead, and so over the line; then we turn and jam right through the +range. Two hours from now you'll be back in the old U.S." + +Dockbridge had started to his feet and was staring intently at the map. +It was only too true. They were in Canada. _In Canada!_ And they were +holding their prisoner without due process of law! The warrant of the +Governors of New York and Washington were valueless in his Majesty's +Dominion. Did Andrews know? Jack pretended to study the map before him +and glanced furtively across the table. Pat was scowling ferociously at +the cards before him, and Andrews was lighting a cigarette. Apparently +he had heard nothing--or had paid no attention to what the conductor was +saying. With his brain in a whirl Dockbridge folded up the time-table +and handed it back. + +"Well, I'm getting ravenous," he remarked. + +Just then the porter appeared from the direction of the buffet carrying +their evening meal. + +"Same here," echoed Andrews. + +For an hour or more they lingered over the table, Andrews seeming in +unusually good spirits. Dockbridge ceased to feel any uneasiness. He +realized how easily he might have been trapped, but no harm was done in +the present instance, for the minute section of Alberta which they +traversed offered no opportunities for the securing of any legal process +by which their prisoner could be released. Again, Andrews had not urged +the route upon them; that had been Peggy's doing. And, moreover, was he +not returning with them of his own free-will? No, it was absurd to have +been so upset at such a trifling matter. + +"What do you say to some more whist? You and I'll be partners this time, +Andrews." + +The things were cleared from the table and they began again. The speed +of the train seemed to have increased, and the cars swayed from side to +side as they sped down the grade. Peggy raised the shade and looked out. +The pane was plastered with an ever-changing, kaleidoscopic crust of +flakes that spat against it, dropped, clogged against the others, and +sagged downward in a dense mass toward the sash. At the top of the glass +the storm could be seen whirling down its myriads outside. + +"What a night!" she ejaculated, as she pulled down the shade. + +At that moment came a prolonged wail from the engine, followed by the +quick clutch of the brakes. The wheels groaned and creaked, and the +passengers tossed forward in their seats. Again the whistle shrieked. +The train, carried onward by its momentum, ground its wheels against the +brakes which strove to hold them back. Gradually they came to a +stand-still. + +The conductor rushed toward the door, and a brakeman hurried through +with a lantern. + +"Ferguson's Gulch!" he shouted as he ran by. "Must ha' signalled us!" + +Dockbridge's heart dropped a beat, and he glanced apprehensively toward +Andrews. The latter was smiling, but the hand that held his cigar +trembled a very little. + +"You're young yet, Dockbridge," he remarked, with slightly tremulous +sarcasm. "There are one or two things still for you to learn. One of +them is that a United States warrant is useless in Canada. You hadn't +thought of that, eh?" + +"_Warrant_ is it? Shure this is all the warrant _I_ want," replied Pat, +snapping a shining Colt from his pocket. "Plaze don't git excited, me +frind. P'r'aps ye don't know it all, yerself. Wan move, an' I'll put six +holes in yer carcus!" + +Dockbridge grasped Peggy by the arm and drew her breathless to her feet. +"What is it? What is it?" she gasped, clinging to him in the aisle. Jack +reached over and released the shade. Outside in the darkness red lights +swung to and fro. A blast of icy air poured into the car from the open +door. He hurried out into the vestibule. The storm was sweeping by +swiftly and silently, and absurdly the motto of his old bicycle club +flashed into his mind, "Volociter et silenter." The lamp above his head +threw a yellow circle against the vast night. He stumbled down the steps +and clung to the rail, putting his head into the sleet. It stung his +face like the tentacles of a sea-monster. In the foreground stood the +conductor, already white with the snow, his lantern swinging to leeward +in the wind, shouting to a man on horseback. Four other mounted figures, +their steeds facing the blast, marked the point where the light ended +and the night began again. Three train hands, each with a lantern, paced +to and fro beside the car. Ahead could be heard the coughing of the +engine. The man on horseback waved his hand in the direction of the +train, flung himself heavily to the ground, tossed the reins to one of +the others, and strode toward the car. + +"Jones and Wilkes, hold the horses; Frazer and White, come along with +me," he directed over his shoulder. He pushed by Dockbridge and climbed +into the car. The conductor followed. + +"Where is the officer and his prisoner?" he demanded in a harsh voice. + +"Inside, your Honor," answered the conductor, shaking the snow from his +coat. "This is Mr. Dockbridge, the District Attorney from New York." + +"Umph!" grunted the stranger. He was an immense man with a heavy +jet-black beard and hair in thick curls all over his head. A +broad-brimmed sombrero cast a deep shadow over his features, heightening +their natural unpleasantness. Two of the others now jumped upon the +platform and entered the car, and Dockbridge saw that they wore some +kind of uniform and that the lining of their overcoats was red. Peggy +cowered to one side as the three strangers forced their way by her and +paused at the door of the compartment. + +"Is Mr. Andrews here?" inquired the one whom the others addressed as +Judge. + +"I am Mr. Andrews. This is the officer who holds me in custody." + +The Judge turned to one of his followers. + +"Serve him!" he growled. + +The one addressed took from beneath his coat a bundle of papers, and +selecting one, handed it to McGinnis, who let it fall to the floor +without a word. + +"Put up that pistol!" continued the Judge. + +At this moment Dockbridge, who had listened as if dazed to the colloquy, +now mastered sufficient courage to assert himself. + +"Here! what's all this?" he exclaimed in as determined a manner as he +could manage to assume. "What are you doing in my compartment with your +wet feet? Who the devil are you, anyway?" He squeezed by his huge +antagonist and took his stand by McGinnis. + +The conductor and the majority of the train hands had crowded into the +passageway and filled the door with their dripping and astonished faces. +The officer handed another paper to Dockbridge. + +"This is Judge Peters, sir; and this paper is a writ of _habeas corpus_ +returnable forthwith, sir," said the man. + +Dockbridge glanced at the paper and saw that the officer's statement was +correct. The paper was a writ ordering him to produce the body of Samuel +Andrews before the Honorable Elijah Peters, Judge of the Supreme Court +of Alberta, _forthwith_, and show cause why said Andrews should not be +set at liberty. He was trapped. It could not be denied. + +"Is this Judge Peters?" he inquired politely of the man with the black +beard, who had taken off his hat and seated himself upon the sofa. + +"I am," returned the other curtly. "And I now pronounce this car a +court, and direct you to release your prisoner as detained by you +without lawful authority." + +He leaned forward and shook his finger threateningly at McGinnis. "Put +up that pistol!" + +McGinnis looked at Dockbridge. + +"Put it up, Pat," directed the latter. "There's no occasion for +pistols." He winked at Peggy. "Pardon my lack of courtesy in addressing +you, Judge Peters, when you first entered. I was unaware, of course, to +whom it was that I spoke." + +The Judge shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. + +"I'm naturally taken somewhat by surprise, and hardly feel that I can do +justice to my own position in the matter at such short notice. However, +as the court is now in session, I can only ask the privilege of arguing +the matter before your Honor. If I might be permitted to do so, I would +suggest that the hearing take place in some larger space than this +compartment, in which my wife desires speedily to retire." He looked +inquiringly toward the Court. + +"That's right, Jedge," spoke up the conductor. "Don't keep the lady out +of her room. You can hold court in the baggage-car." + +The black-bearded man grumblingly arose to his feet, leaving a large +pool of water in the middle of the floor. + +"As you choose. Bring along the prisoner, and be quick about it. I've +got to ride fifteen miles to-night." + +The crowd streamed down the aisle and into the baggage-car in front. +McGinnis followed with Andrews. + +"Shall I come along, Jack?" whispered his wife. + +"No, stay here. I'm afraid we're beaten. I shall only spar for time, and +try to invent some way out of it." + +Peggy sadly watched his disappearing form. What a disgusting anticlimax! +She reviled herself for being the one who had forced the selection of +the Montana route. It was all her fault. When a man's married his +troubles begin! Jack would lose his job, and then where would they be? +She had gotten him into the fix, and now she would do her best to get +him out of it. She threw on his fur coat and cap and followed into the +baggage-car. The Judge had seated himself on a trunk. Jack stood at his +right with the warrant in his hand. A single lantern cast a fitful glare +over the two, around whom crowded the passengers and train hands. Peggy +heard her husband's somewhat immature voice stating the circumstances of +the wreck of the Boodle Bank. The Judge seemed not uninterested. The +crowd was getting larger every moment. Passengers kept coming in in +every kind of dishabille, and last of all the engineer and fireman +entered by the forward door. Outside, the huge engine hissed and +throbbed as if impatient of the delay. Peggy slipped unseen behind a +pile of trunks, snapped the big padlock through the staples of the +door, then, hurrying back to the compartment, rummaged until she found +Jack's box of cigars. Arming herself with these and with her copy of +"Moore on Extradition," she made her way back to the baggage-car. + +"Yes, yes, I know all that!" the Judge was saying. "But that's all +immaterial. It ain't what he did. It's what right you've got to hold him +in the Dominion of Canada on a warrant from a governor of one of the +United States. Show me that, or I'll discharge the prisoner here and +now." + +"Excuse me, please," exclaimed Peggy, forcing her way through the throng +into the open space under the lamp, "I thought you might like to smoke. +Lawyers all like to smoke." + +There was an immediate response from the Court. + +"Well, I don't care if I do," remarked the Judge more genially. +"Confounded cold out there in the snow waiting for the train. Thank y'." + +He handed back the box, and Peggy passed it to the engineer and told him +to "send it along." Then she whispered in her husband's ear: + +"Read him that chapter on 'International Relations.' Keep it going for +ten minutes, and we'll win out, yet. I've got a scheme." + +Dockbridge took the book, opened it deliberately, and lighted a cigar +for himself. Peggy pushed back through the spectators to the +sleeping-car. Only a solitary brakeman remained outside in the snow, +stamping and swinging his arms. + +"Halloo, Mr. Sanders," said Peggy, "you ought to go in and hear the +argument. They're having a regular smoke talk. It's so thick I can't +breathe. They're giving away cigars. I should think you would freeze." + +"Well, I'm froze already," answered Sanders. "I reckon I'll go in and +hear the fun. Is that straight about the cigars?" + +"Of course it is," laughed Peggy, while Sanders climbed on board. The +snow swept by in clouds as Peggy gave one glance at the retreating form +of the brakeman, and jumped down into the night. + + +IV + +The Judge threw back his burly form against the side of the car and +exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. + +"Now, young feller, if you have any legal right to detain your prisoner, +let's hear it. This court's goin' to adjourn in just ten minutes by the +watch, and I reckon when it adjourns it'll take the prisoner with it." + +The spectators, who had seated themselves as best they could, looked +expectantly toward the New Yorker. + +Jack arose, holding the book impressively before him. The gusts from the +storm outside penetrated the cracks of the loosely hung sliding +baggage-door and made the feeble lantern swing and flicker. The smoke +from twenty cigars swirled round the ceiling. The conductor placed his +own lantern on a trunk by Jack's side. + +"If the Court please," began Dockbridge, "while it's entirely true that +no warrant issued out of a court of the United States or by a governor +of one of the United States gives any jurisdiction over the person of a +fugitive who is held in custody in the Dominion of Canada, it is +nevertheless a fact that under the principle of comity between friendly +nations the government of one will not interfere with an officer of +another who is performing an official act under color of authority." +["Sounds well," said Jack to himself, "but don't mean a blame thing."] +"This principle is as old as the law itself, and is sustained by a long +series of decisions in our international tribunals. The doctrine is +clearly set forth by Grotius" ["that ought to nail him!"] "when he says: +'No nation will voluntarily interfere with a duly authorized officer of +another nation in the performance of his duty, whose act does not +interfere with the functions of government of the other.'" He +pronounced this balderdash with much solemnity and with great effect +upon the assembled train hands. "Now, your Honor, I am a duly authorized +officer of the State of New York, the same being at peace with the +Dominion of Canada." + +"Bosh!" interrupted the Judge. "You're talkin' nonsense. I won't be made +a fool of any longer. Prisoner discharged. This court stands adjourned, +and, as I said, it is goin' to take the prisoner with----" + +A jerk of the train prevented the conclusion of his sentence. There came +another pull from the engine, followed by a succession of violent puffs. +The train started. + +"My God! The engine!" shouted the fireman, making a spring for the door. + +"Locked! Locked!" he yelled, and threw himself upon it. The conductor +dived for the platform. The Judge started to his feet. + +"This is an infernal trick!" he cried. "Stop this train! D'ye hear? Stop +this train at once!" + +But the train was gathering head-way every moment, and was fast dropping +down the grade. A triumphant whistle shrilled through the night with a +succession of short toots. + +"For God's sake, open the door!" gasped the engineer. "Get a crow-bar, +somebody! We'll be going a hundred miles an hour inside of a minute!" +But no crow-bar was to be found, and the door resisted all their +efforts. On rushed the train, thundering down the pass, swaying around +curves until the frightened occupants of the baggage-car clung to one +another to retain their foothold, and every moment adding to its speed. +The baggage-man threw open the side door. The night dashed by in a solid +wall of white. + +"Damme! This is a crime!" roared the Judge. "I'm being kidnapped. Your +Government shall be notified--if we're not all killed. Can't somebody +stop this train? Do you hear? Stop it, I say!" + +For an instant Dockbridge had been as startled as the others. Then it +came to him in one inspired moment. Peggy was on the engine! A series of +whistles came across the tender. + +"Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot!"--the +old Harvard cheer that Peggy had heard echoing across the foot-ball +field a hundred times. + +Of course! She was going to fetch them out of Canada, and then to +thunder with all the judges of the Dominion! He began to laugh +hysterically. On and on, faster and faster, rushed the train. The pallid +faces of the passengers and crew stared strangely out of the blue haze. +Breathless, each man struggled to keep his footing, momentarily +expecting to be dashed into eternity. The minutes dragged as hours, +until at last, from somewhere in the rear of the train, the fireman +returned with a wrench, and throwing his whole weight upon the padlock, +quickly snapped its staples. The door burst open, sending him flying +headlong. Through the car poured a furious gust of wind and snow, +blinding, suffocating, and into the midst of this jumped the engineer, +and, clambering desperately upon the tender, disappeared. + +Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, but Andrews had suddenly begun +to look white and old. + +At the same moment a red light flashed by alongside the track and the +train roared across a suspension bridge without slackening speed. + +"Red River!" gasped the fireman, clambering to his feet. + +The blood leaped in Jack's veins. Red River! Then they were across the +line. Peggy had won! God bless her! With a triumphant glance at the +cowering Andrews, he turned upon the frightened crowd. + +"You can't beat the Yankee girl!" he shouted. "Judge, you're right. +We've adjourned court, and are taking the prisoner with us--INTO THE +UNITED STATES!" + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: In the original edition, the title of each story +appeared twice, first on a page by itself in all capitals, followed by a +blank page, and then on the first page of the story in title case. These +duplicate titles have been deleted. The first title for "The +Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville" appeared in a shortened +form as "THE BARON DE VILLE". In the HTML version of this text, page +numbers have been included only on those pages which originally +contained them, not on blank pages or title pages. + +In "McAllister's Christmas", a quotation mark in front of "One as 'as +white 'air" was deleted, and a second chapter V was renumbered as VI. + +In "The Governor-General's Trunk", "The head bagage-man nodded" was +changed to "The head baggage-man nodded". + +In "The Golden Touch", missing quotation marks were added in front of +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about" and "Oh, my leg!" and +after "And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?", "Where had +he seen that fact?" was changed to "Where had he seen that face?", "that +old VanVorst" was changed to "that old Van Vorst", and "VanVorst sat +there" was changed to "Van Vorst sat there". + +In "McAllister's Data of Ethics", a quotation mark was removed after +"his scented wife, and gilded chairs--". + +In "McAllister's Marriage", "Don' you want to show me the boy-horse" was +changed to "Don't you want to show me the boy-horse". + +In "The Course of Justice", "slowyl arose" was changed to "slowly +arose". + +In "The Maximilian Diamond", _"What day?" asked the clerk._ was changed +to _"'What day?' asked the clerk._ + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's McAllister and His Double, by Arthur Train + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + +***** This file should be named 34597-0.txt or 34597-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/9/34597/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: McAllister and His Double + +Author: Arthur Train + +Release Date: December 8, 2010 [EBook #34597] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: McALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE ARTHUR TRAIN] + + + + +[Illustration: McAllister whispered sharply in his ear. (Page 68.)] + + + + +McALLISTER +AND HIS DOUBLE + +BY ARTHUR TRAIN + +ILLUSTRATED + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::1905 + +COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +Published, September, 1905 + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +MCALLISTER'S CHRISTMAS 1 +THE BARON DE VILLE 53 +THE ESCAPE OF WILKINS 77 +THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S TRUNK 113 +THE GOLDEN TOUCH 141 +MCALLISTER'S DATA OF ETHICS 177 +MCALLISTER'S MARRIAGE 205 +THE JAILBIRD 233 +IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE 255 +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND 283 +EXTRADITION 311 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +McAllister whispered sharply in his ear _Frontispiece_ + + FACING PAGE +"What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!" 6 + +"Throw up your hands!" 10 + +"Do you know who you've caught?" 16 + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" 24 + +"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill." 64 + +"You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_." 88 + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern 102 + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" 110 + +Deftly tied the two ends of string around it 130 + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, +wild-eyed individual sprung from within 136 + +He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration +it deserved 324 + + + + +McAllister's Christmas + + +I + +McAllister was out of sorts. All the afternoon he had sat in the club +window and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by with their +bundles. He thanked God he had no brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows +for. The very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that had given them +families irritated him. McAllister was a clubman, pure and simple; that +is to say though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman and nothing +more. He had occupied the same seat by the same window during the +greater part of his earthly existence, and they were the same seat and +window that his father had filled before him. His select and exclusive +circle called him "Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terrapin and +cocktails had given him a graceful rotundity of person that did not +belie the name. They had also endowed him with a cheerful though +somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent sense of well-being. + +As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians became fewer, McAllister +sank deeper and deeper into gloom. The club was deserted. Everybody had +gone out of town to spend Christmas with someone else, and the +Winthrops, on whom he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some +reason to invite him. He had waited confidently until the last minute, +and now he was stranded, alone. + +It began to snow softly, gently. McAllister threw himself disconsolately +into a leathern armchair by the smouldering logs on the six-foot hearth. +A servant in livery entered, pulled down the shades, and after touching +a button that threw a subdued radiance over the room, withdrew +noiselessly. + +"Come back here, Peter!" growled McAllister. "Anybody in the club?" + +"Only Mr. Tomlinson, sir." + +McAllister swore under his breath. + +"Yes, sir," replied Peter. + +McAllister shot a quick glance at him. + +"I didn't say anything. You may go." + +This time Peter got almost to the door. + +"Er--Peter; ask Mr. Tomlinson if he will dine with me." + +Peter presently returned with the intelligence that Mr. Tomlinson would +be delighted. + +"Of course," grumbled McAllister to himself. "No one ever knew Tomlinson +to refuse anything." + +He ordered dinner, and then took up an evening paper in which an effort +had been made to conceal the absence of news by summarizing the +achievements of the past year. Staring head-lines invited his notice to + + =A YEAR OF PROGRESS.= + + =What the Tenement-House Commission Has Accomplished.= + + =FURTHER NEED OF PRISON REFORM.= + +He threw down the paper in disgust. This reform made him sick. Tenements +and prisons! Why were the papers always talking about tenements and +prisons? They were a great deal better than the people who lived in them +deserved. He recalled Wilkins, his valet, who had stolen his black pearl +scarf-pin. It increased his ill-humor. Hang Wilkins! The thief was +probably out by this time and wearing the pin. It had been a matter of +jest among his friends that the servant had looked not unlike his +master. McAllister winced at the thought. + +"Dinner is served," said Peter. + +An hour and a half later, Tomlinson and McAllister, having finished a +sumptuous repast, stared stupidly at each other across their liqueurs. +They were stuffed and bored. Tomlinson was a thin man who knew +everything positively. McAllister hated him. He always felt when in his +company like the woman who invariably answered her husband's remarks by +"'Tain't so! It's just the opposite!" Tomlinson was trying to make +conversation by repeating assertively what he had read in the evening +press. + +"Now, our prisons," he announced authoritatively. "Why, it is +outrageous! The people are crowded in like cattle; the food is +loathsome. It's a disgrace to a civilized city!" + +This was the last straw to McAllister. + +"Look here," he snapped back at Tomlinson, who shrank behind his cigar +at the vehemence of the attack, "what do you know about it? I tell you +it's all rot! It's all politics! Our tenements are all right, and so are +our prisons. The law of supply and demand regulates the tenements; and +who pays for the prisons, I'd like to know? We pay for 'em, and the +scamps that rob us live in 'em for nothing. The Tombs is a great deal +better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. I _know_! I had a +valet once that-- Oh, what's the use! I'd be glad to spend Christmas in +no worse place. Reform! Stuff! Don't tell me!" He sank back purple in +the face. + +[Illustration: "What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!"] + +"Oh, of course--if you know!" Tomlinson hesitated politely, remembering +that McAllister had signed for the dinner. + +"Well, I _do_ know," affirmed McAllister. + + +II + +"No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" rang out the bells, as McAllister left the +club at twelve o'clock and started down the avenue. + +"No-el! No-el!" hummed McAllister. "Pretty old air!" he thought. He had +almost forgotten that it was Christmas morning. As he felt his way +gingerly over the stone sidewalks, the bells were ringing all around +him. First one chime, then another. "No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" They +ceased, leaving the melody floating on the moist night air. + +The snow began to fall irregularly in patchy flakes, then gradually +turned to rain. First a soft, wet mist, that dimmed the electric lights +and shrouded the hotel windows; then a fine sprinkle; at last the chill +rain of a winter's night. McAllister turned up his coat-collar and +looked about for a cab. It was too late. He hurried hastily down the +avenue. Soon a welcome sight met his eye--a coupé, a night-hawk, +crawling slowly down the block, on the lookout, no doubt, for belated +Christmas revellers. Without superfluous introduction McAllister made a +dive for the door, shouted his address, and jumped inside. The driver, +but half-roused from his lethargy, muttered something unintelligible and +pulled in his horse. At the same moment the dark figure of a man swiftly +emerged from a side street, ran up to the cab, opened the door, threw in +a heavy object upon McAllister's feet, and followed it with himself. + +"Let her go!" he cried, slamming the door. The driver, without +hesitation, lashed his horse and started at a furious gallop down the +slippery avenue. + +Then for the first time the stranger perceived McAllister. There was a +muttered curse, a gleam of steel as they flashed by a street-lamp, and +the clubman felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against his cheek. + +"Speak, and I'll blow yer head off!" + +The cab swayed and swerved in all directions, and the driver retained +his seat with difficulty. McAllister, clinging to the sides of the +rocking vehicle, expected every moment to be either shot or thrown out +and killed. + +"Don't move!" hissed his companion. + +McAllister tried with difficulty not to move. + +Suddenly there came a shrill whistle, followed by the clatter of hoofs. +A figure on horseback dashed by. The driver, endeavoring to rein in his +now maddened beast, lost his balance and pitched overboard. There was a +confusion of shouts, a blue flash, a loud report. The horse sprang into +the air and fell, kicking, upon the pavement; the cab crashed upon its +side; amid a shower of glass the door parted company with its hinges, +and the stranger, placing his heel on McAllister's stomach, leaped +quickly into the darkness. A moment later, having recovered a part of +his scattered senses, our hero, thrusting himself through the shattered +framework of the cab, staggered to his feet. He remembered dimly +afterward having expected to create a mild sensation among the +spectators by announcing, in response to their polite inquiries as to +his safety, that he was "quite uninjured." Instead, however, the glare +of a policeman's lantern was turned upon his dishevelled countenance, +and a hoarse voice shouted: + +"Throw up your hands!" + +[Illustration: "Throw up your hands!"] + +He threw them up. Like the Phoenix rising from its ashes, McAllister +emerged from the débris which surrounded him. On either side of the cab +he beheld a policeman with a levelled revolver. A mounted officer stood +sentinel beside the smoking body of the horse. + +"No tricks, now!" continued the voice. "Pull your feet out of that mess, +and keep your hands up! Slip on the nippers, Tom. Better go through him +here. They always manage to lose somethin' goin' over." + +McAllister wondered where "Over" was. Before he could protest, he was +unceremoniously seated upon the body of the dead horse and the officers +were going rapidly through his clothes. + +"Thought so!" muttered Tom, as he drew out of McAllister's coat-pocket a +revolver and a jimmy. "Just as well to unballast 'em at the start." A +black calico mask and a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid +followed. + +Tom drew a quick breath. + +"So you're one of those, are ye?" he added with an oath. + +The victim of this astounding adventure had not yet spoken. Now he +stammered: + +"Look here! Who do you think I am? This is all a mistake." + +Tom did not deign to reply. + +The officer on horseback had dismounted and was poking among the pieces +of cab. + +"What's this here?" he inquired, as he dragged a large bundle covered +with black cloth into the circle of light, and, untying a bit of cord, +poured its contents upon the pavement. A glittering silver service +rolled out upon the asphalt and reflected the glow of the lanterns. + +"Gee! look at all the swag!" cried Tom. "I wonder where he melts it up." + +Faintly at first, then nearer and nearer, came the harsh clanging of the +"hurry up" wagon. + +"Get up!" directed Tom, punctuating his order with mild kicks. Then, as +the driver reined up the panting horses alongside, the officer grabbed +his prisoner by the coat-collar and yanked him to his feet. + +"Jump in," he said roughly. + +"My God!" exclaimed our friend half-aloud, "where are they going to take +me?" + +"To the Tombs--for Christmas!" answered Tom. + + +III + +McAllister, hatless, stumbled into the wagon and was thrust forcibly +into a corner. Above the steady drum of the rain upon the waterproof +cover he could hear the officers outside packing up the silverware and +discussing their capture. + +The hot japanned tin of the wagon-lamps smelled abominably. The heavy +breathing of the horses, together with the sickening odor of rubber and +damp straw, told him that this was no dream, but a frightful reality. + +"He's a bad un!" came Tom's voice in tones of caution. "You can see his +lay is the gentleman racket. Wait till he gets to the precinct and hear +the steer he'll give the sergeant. He's a wise un, and don't you forget +it!" + +As the wagon started, the officers swung on to the steps behind. +McAllister, crouching in the straw by the driver's seat, tried to +understand what had happened. Apart from a few bruises and a cut on his +forehead he had escaped injury, and, while considerably shaken up, was +physically little the worse for his adventure. His head, however, ached +badly. What he suffered from most was a new and strange sensation of +helplessness. It was as if he had stepped into another world, in which +he--McAllister, of the Colophon Club--did not belong and the language of +which he did not speak. The ignominy of his position crushed him. Never +again, should this disgrace become known, could he bring himself to +enter the portals of the club. To be the hero of an exciting adventure +with a burglar in a runaway cab was one matter, but to be arrested, +haled to prison and locked up, was quite another. Once before the proper +authorities, it would be simple enough to explain who and what he was, +but the question that troubled him was how to avoid publicity. He +remembered the bills in his pocket. Fortunately they were still there. +In spite of the handcuffs, he wormed them out and surreptitiously held +up the roll. The guard started visibly, and, turning away his head, +allowed McAllister to thrust the wad into his hand. + +"Can't I square this, somehow?" whispered our hero, hesitatingly. + +The guard broke into a loud guffaw. "Get on to him!" he laughed. "He's +at it already, Tom. Look at the dough he took out of his pants! You're +right about his lay." He turned fiercely upon McAllister, who, dazed by +this sudden turn of affairs, once more retreated into his corner. + +The three officers counted the money ostentatiously by the light of a +lantern. + +"Eighty plunks! Thought we was cheap, didn't he?" remarked the guard +scornfully. "No; eighty plunks won't square this job for you! It'll take +nearer eight years. No more monkey business, now! You've struck the +wrong combine!" + +McAllister saw that he had been guilty of a terrible _faux pas_. Any +explanation to these officers was clearly impossible. With an official +it would be different. He had once met a police commissioner at dinner, +and remembered that he had seemed really almost like a gentleman. + +The wagon drew up at a police station, and presently McAllister found +himself in a small room, at one end of which iron bars ran from floor to +ceiling. A kerosene lamp cast a dim light over a weather-beaten desk, +behind which, half-asleep, reclined an officer on night duty. A single +other chair and four large octagonal stone receptacles were the only +remaining furniture. + +The man behind the desk opened his eyes, yawned, and stared stupidly at +the officers. A clock directly overhead struck "one" with harsh, vibrant +clang. + +"Wot yer got?" inquired the sergeant. + +"A second-story man," answered the guard. + +"He took to a cab," explained Tom, "and him and his partner give us a +fierce chase down the avenoo. O'Halloran shot the horse, and the cab was +all knocked to hell. The other fellow clawed out before we could nab +him. But we got this one all right." + +"Hi, there, McCarthy!" shouted the sergeant to someone in the dim vast +beyond. "Come and open up." He examined McAllister with a degree of +interest. "Quite a swell guy!" he commented. "Them dress clothes must +have been real pretty onc't." + +McAllister stood with soaked and rumpled hair, hatless and collarless, +his coat torn and splashed, and his shirt-bosom bloody and covered with +mud. He wanted to cry, for the first time in thirty-five years. + +"Wot's yer name?" asked the sergeant. + +The prisoner remained stiffly mute. He would have suffered anything +rather than disclose himself. + +"Where do yer live?" + +Still no answer. The sergeant gave vent to a grim laugh. + +"Mum, eh?" He scribbled something in the blotter upon the desk before +him. Then he raised his eyes and scrutinized McAllister's face. Suddenly +he jumped to his feet. + +[Illustration: "Do you know who you've caught?"] + +"Well, of all the luck!" he exclaimed. "Do you know who you've caught? +It's Fatty Welch!" + + +IV + +How he had managed to live through the night that followed McAllister +could never afterward understand. Locked in a cell, alone, to be sure, +but with no light, he took off his dripping coat and threw himself on +the wooden seat that served for a bed. It was about six inches too +short. He lay there for a few moments, then got wearily to his feet and +began to pace up and down the narrow cell. His legs and abdomen, which +had been the recipients of so much attention, pained him severely. The +occupant of the next apartment, awakened by our friend's arrival, began +to show irritation. He ordered McAllister in no gentle language to +abstain from exercise and go to sleep. A woman farther down the corridor +commenced to moan drearily to herself. Evidently sleep had made her +forget her sorrow, but now in the middle of the night it came back to +her with redoubled force. Her groans racked McAllister's heart. A stir +ran all along the cells--sounds of people tossing restlessly, curses, +all the nameless noises of the jail. McAllister, fearful of bringing +some new calamity upon his head, sat down. He had been shivering when he +came in; now he reeked with perspiration. The air was fetid. The only +ventilation came through the gratings of the door, and a huge stove just +beyond his cell rendered the temperature almost unbearable. He began to +throw off his garments one by one. Again he drew his knees to his chest +and tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Never had McAllister in +all his life known such wretchedness of body, such abject physical +suffering. But his agony of mind was even more unbearable. Vague +apprehensions of infectious disease floating in the nauseous air, or of +possible pneumonia, unnerved and tortured him. Stretched on the floor he +fell at length into a coma of exhaustion, in which he fancied that he +was lying in a warm bath in the porcelain tub at home. In the room +beyond he could see Frazier, his valet, laying out his pajamas and +dressing-gown. There was a delicious odor of that violet perfume he +always used. In a minute he would jump into bed. Then the valet suddenly +came into the bath-room and began to pound his master on the back of the +neck. For some reason he did not resent this. It seemed quite natural +and proper. He merely put up his hand to ward off the blows, and found +the keeper standing over him. + +"Here's some breakfast," remarked that official. "Tom sent out and got +it for ye. The city don't supply no _aller carty_." McAllister vaguely +rubbed his eyes. The keeper shut and locked the door, leaving behind him +on the seat a tin mug of scalding hot coffee and a half loaf of sour +bread. + +McAllister arose and felt his clothes. They were entirely dry, but had +shrunk perceptibly. He was surprised to find that, save for the +dizziness in his head, he felt not unlike himself. Moreover, he was most +abominably hungry. He knelt down and smelt of the contents of the tin +cup. It did not smell like coffee at all. It tasted like a combination +of hot water, tea, and molasses. He waited until it had cooled, and +drank it. The bread was not so bad. McAllister ate it all. + +There was a good deal of noise in the cells now, and outside he could +hear many feet coming and going. Occasionally a draught of cold air +would flow in, and an officer would tramp down the corridor and remove +one of the occupants of the row. His watch showed that it was already +eight o'clock. He fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and found a very +warped and wrinkled cigar. His match-box supplied the necessary light, +and "Chubby" McAllister began to smoke his after-breakfast Havana with +appreciation. + +"No smoking in the cells!" came the rough voice of the keeper. "Give us +that cigar, Welch!" + +McAllister started to his feet. + +"Hand it over, now! Quick!" + +The clubman passed his cherished comforter through the bars, and the +keeper, thrusting it, still lighted, into his own mouth, grinned at him, +winked, and walked away. + +[Illustration: "Merry Christmas, Fatty!"] + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" he remarked genially over his shoulder. + + +V + +Half an hour later Tom and his "side partner" came to the cell-door. +They were flushed with victory. Already the morning papers contained +accounts of the pursuit and startling arrest of "Fatty Welch," the +well-known crook, who was wanted in Pennsylvania and elsewhere on +various charges. Altogether the officers were in a very genial frame of +mind. + +"Come along, Fatty," said Tom, helping the clubman into his bedraggled +overcoat. "We're almost late for roll-call, as it is." + +They left the cells and entered the station-house proper, where several +officers with their prisoners were waiting. + +"We'll take you down to Headquarters and make sure we've got you +_right_," he continued. "I guess Sheridan'll know you fast enough when +he sees you. Come on, boys!" He opened the door and led the way across +the sidewalk to the patrol wagon, which stood backed against the curb. + +It was a glorious winter's day. The sharp, frosty air stimulated the +clubman's jaded senses and gave him new hope; he felt sure that at +headquarters he would find some person to whom he could safely confide +the secret of his identity. In about ten minutes the wagon stopped in a +narrow street, before an inhospitable-looking building. + +"Here's the old place," remarked one of the load cheerfully. "Looks just +the same as ever. Mott Street's not a mite different. And to think I +ain't been here in fifteen years!" + +All clambered out, and each officer, selecting his prisoners, convoyed +them down a flight of steps, through a door, several feet below the +level of the sidewalk, and into a small, stuffy chamber full of men +smoking and lounging. Most of these seemed to take a friendly interest +in the clubman, a few accosting him by his now familiar alias. + +Tom hurried McAllister along a dark corridor, out into a cold +court-yard, across the cobblestones into another door, through a hall +lighted only by a dim gas-jet, and then up a flight of winding stairs. +McAllister's head whirled. Then quickly they were at the top, and in a +huge, high-ceiled room crowded with men in civilian dress. On one side, +upon a platform, stood a nondescript row of prisoners, at whom the +throng upon the floor gazed in silence. Above the heads of this file of +motley individuals could be read the gold lettering upon the cabinet +behind them--Rogues' Gallery. On the other side of the room, likewise +upon a platform and behind a long desk, stood two officers in uniform, +one of them an inspector, engaged in studying with the keenest attention +the human exhibition opposite. + +"Get up there, Fatty!" + +Before he realized what had happened, McAllister was pushed upon the +platform at the end of the line. His appearance created a little wave +of excitement, which increased when his comrades of the wagon joined +him. It was a peculiar scene. Twenty men standing up for inspection, +some gazing unconcernedly before them, some glaring defiantly at their +observers, and others grinning recognition at familiar faces. McAllister +grew cold with fright. Several of the detectives pointed at him and +nodded. Out of the silence the Inspector's voice came with the shock of +thunder: + +"Hey, there, you, Sanders, hold up your hand!" + +A short man near the head of the line lifted his arm. + +"Take off your hat." + +The prisoner removed his head-gear with his other hand. The Inspector +raised his voice and addressed the crowd of detectives, who turned with +one accord to examine the subject of his discourse. + +"That's Biff Sanders, con man and all-round thief. Served two terms up +the river for grand larceny--last time an eight-year bit; that was nine +years ago. Take a good look at him. I want you to remember his face. Put +your hat on." + +Sanders resumed his original position, his face expressing the most +complete indifference. + +A slight, good-looking young man now joined the Inspector and directed +his attention to the prisoner next the clubman, the same being he who +had remarked upon the familiar appearance of Mott Street. + +"Hold up your hand!" ordered the Inspector. "You're Muggins, aren't you? +Haven't been here in fifteen years, have you?" + +The man smiled. + +"You're right, Inspector," he said. "The last time was in '89." + +"That's Muggins, burglar and sneak; served four terms here, and then got +settled for life in Louisville for murder. Pardoned after he'd served +four years. Look at him." + +Thus the curious proceeding continued, each man in the line being +inspected, recognized, and his record and character described by the +Inspector to the assembled bureau of detectives. No other voice was +heard save the harsh tones of some prisoner in reply. + +Then the Inspector looked at McAllister. + +"Welch, hold up your hand." + +McAllister shuddered. If he refused, he knew not what might happen to +him. He had heard of the horrors of the "Third Degree," and associated +it with starvation, the rack, and all kinds of brutality. They might set +upon him in a body. He might be mobbed, beaten, strangled. And yet, if +he obeyed, would it not be a public admission that he was the mysterious +and elusive Welch? Would it not bind the chains more firmly about him +and render explanation all the more difficult? + +"Do you hear? Hold up your hand, and be quick about it!" + +His hand went up of its own accord. + +The Inspector cleared his throat and rapped upon the railing. + +"Take a good look at this man. He's Fatty Welch, one of the cleverest +thieves in the country. Does a little of everything. Began as a valet to +a clubman in this city. He got settled for stealing a valuable pin about +three years ago, and served a short term up the river. Since then he's +been all over. His game is to secure employment in fashionable houses as +butler or servant and then get away with the jewelry. He's wanted for a +big job down in Pennsylvania. Take a good look at him. When he gets out +we don't want him around these parts. I'd like you precinct-men to +remember him." + +The detectives crowded near to get a close view of the interesting +criminal. One or two of them made notes in memorandum books. The slender +man had a hasty conference with the Inspector. + +"The officer who has Welch, take him up to the gallery and then bring +him down to the record room," directed the Inspector. + +"Get down, Fatty!" commanded Tom. McAllister, stupefied with horror, +embarrassment, and apprehension of the possibilities in store for him, +stepped down and followed like a somnambulist. As they made their way to +the elevator he could hear the strident voice of the Inspector beginning +again: + +"This is Pat Hogan, otherwise known as 'Paddy the Sneak,' and his side +partner, Jim Hawkins, who goes under the name of James Hawkinson. His +pals call him 'Supple Jim.' Two of the cleverest sneaks in the country. +They branch out into strong arm work occasionally." + +The elevator began to ascend. + +"You seem kinder down," commented Tom. "I suppose you expect to get +settled for quite a bit down to Philadelphia, eh? Well, don't talk +unless you feel like it. Here we are!" + +They got out upon an upper floor and crossed the hall. On their left a +matron was arranging rows of tiny chairs in a small school-room or +nursery. At any other time the Lost Children's Room might have aroused a +flicker of interest in McAllister, but he felt none whatever in it now. +Tom opened a door and pushed the clubman gently into a small, low-ceiled +chamber. Charts and diagrams of the human cranium hung on one wall, +while a score of painted eyes, each of a different color, and each +bearing a technical appellation and a number, stared from the other. +Upon a small square platform, about eight inches in height, stood a +half-clad Italian congealed with terror and expecting momentarily to +receive a shock of electricity. The slender young man was rapidly +measuring his hands and feet and calling out the various dimensions to +an assistant, who recorded them upon a card. This accomplished, he +ordered his victim down from the block, seated him unceremoniously in a +chair, and with a pair of shining instruments gauged the depth of his +skull from front to rear, its width between the cheekbones, and the +length of the ears, describing all the while the other features in brief +terms to his associate. + +"Now off with you!" he ejaculated. "Here, lug this Greaser in and mug +him." + +The officer in the case haled the Italian, shrieking, into another room. + +"Ah, Fatty!" remarked the slender man. "I trust you won't object to +these little formalities? Take off that left shoe, if you please." + +McAllister's soul had shrivelled within him. His powers of thought had +been annihilated. Mechanically he removed the shoe in question and +placed his foot upon the block. The young man quickly measured it. + +"Now get up there and rest your hand on the board." + +McAllister observed that the table bore the painted outline of a human +hand. He did as he was told unquestioningly. The other measured his +forefinger and the length of his forearm. + +"All right. Now sit down and let me tickle your head for a moment." + +The operator took the silver calipers which had just been used upon the +Italian and ran them thoughtfully forward and back above the clubman's +organs of hearing. + +"By George, you've got a big head!" remarked the measurer. "Prominent, +Roman nose. No. 4 eyes. Thank you. Just step into the next room, will +you, and be mugged?" + +McAllister drew on his shoe and followed Tom into the adjoining chamber +of horrors. + +"No tricks, now!" commented the officer in charge of the instrument. + +Snap! went the camera. + +"Turn sideways." + +Snap! + +"That's all." + +The clubman staggered to his feet. He entirely failed to appreciate the +extent of the indignity which had been practised upon him. It was hours +before he realized that he had actually been measured and photographed +as a criminal, and that, to his dying hour and beyond, these insignia of +his shame would remain locked in the custody of the police. + +"Where now?" he asked. + +"Time to go over to court," answered Tom. "The wagon'll be waitin' for +us. But first we'll drop in on Sheridan--record-room man, you know." + +"Isn't there some way I can see the Commissioner?" inquired McAllister. + +Tom burst into a roar of laughter. + +"You _have_ got a gall!" he commented, thumping his prisoner +good-naturedly in the middle of the back. "The Commissioner! Ho-ho! +That's a good one! I guess we'll have to make it the Warden. Come on, +now, and quit yer joshin'." + +Once more they entered the main room, where the detectives were +congregated. The Inspector was still at it. There had been a big haul +the night before. He intended running all the crooks out of town by New +Year's Day. Tom shoved McAllister through the crush, across an adjoining +room and finally into a tiny office. A young man with a genial +countenance was sitting at a desk by the single window. He looked up as +they crossed the threshold. + +"Hello, Welch! How goes it? Let's see, how long is it since you were +here?" + +Somehow this quiet, gentlemanly fellow with his confident method of +address, telling you just who you were, irritated McAllister to the +explosive point. + +"I'm not Welch!" he cried indignantly. + +"Ha-ha!" laughed Mr. Sheridan. "Pray who are you?" + +"You'll find out soon enough!" answered McAllister sullenly. + +"Look here," remarked the other, "don't imagine you can bluff us. If you +think you are not Welch, perhaps I can persuade you to change your +mind." + +He turned to an officer who stood in the doorway of a large vault. + +"Bring 2,208, if you please." + +The officer pulled out a drawer, removed a long linen envelope, and +spread out its contents upon the desk. These were fifteen or twenty +newspaper clippings, at least one of which was embellished with an +evil-looking wood-cut. + +"Let's see," continued Mr. Sheridan. "You began with a year up the +river. Took a pearl pin from a man named McAllister. Then you turned +several tricks in Chicago, St. Louis, Buffalo and Philadelphia, and got +away with it every time. Have we got you right?" + +McAllister ground his teeth. + +"You have not!" said he. + +"Look at yourself," continued the other. "There's your face. You can't +deny it. I wonder the Inspector didn't have you measured and +photographed the first time you were settled. Still, the picture's +enough." + +He handed the clubman a newspaper clipping containing a visage which +undeniably resembled the features which the latter saw daily in his +mirror. McAllister wearily shook his head. + +"Well," said the expert, "of course you don't have to tell us anything +unless you want to. We've got you right--that's enough." + +He pushed the clippings back into the envelope, handed it to the +officer, and turned away. + +"Come on!" ordered Tom. + +Once more McAllister and his mentor availed themselves of the only free +transportation offered by the city government, that of the patrol wagon, +and were soon deposited at the side entrance of the Jefferson Market +police court. A group of curious idlers watched their descent and +disappearance into what must have at all times seemed to them a concrete +and ever-present temporal Avernus. The why and wherefore of these +erratic trips were, of course, unknown to McAllister. Presumably he must +be some _rara avis_ of crime whose feet had been caught inadvertently in +the limed twig set by the official fowler for more homely poultry. +Fatty Welch, whoever he might be, apparently enjoyed the respect +incident to success in any line of human endeavor. It seemed likewise +that his presence was much desired in the sister city of Philadelphia, +in which direction the clubman had a vague fear of being unwillingly +transported. He did not, of course, realize that he was held primarily +as a violator of the law of his own State, and hence must answer to the +charge in the magistrate's court nearest the locus of his supposed +offence. + +Inside the station house Tom held a few moments' converse with one of +its grizzled guardians, and then led our hero along a passage and opened +a door. But here McAllister shrank back. It was his first sight of that +great cosmopolitan institution, the police court. Before him lay the +scene of which he had so often read in the newspapers. The big room with +its Gothic windows was filled to overflowing with every variety of the +human species, who not only taxed the seating capacity of the benches to +the utmost, but near the doors were packed into a solid, impenetrable +mass. Upon a platform behind a desk a square-jawed man with +chin-whiskers disposed rapidly of the file of defendants brought before +him. + +A long line of officers, each with one or more prisoners, stood upon the +judge's left, and as fast as the business of one was concluded the next +pushed forward. McAllister perceived that at best only a few moments +could elapse before he was brought to face the charge against him, and +that he must make up his mind quickly what course of action to pursue. +As he stepped down from the doorway there was a perceptible flutter +among the spectators. Several hungry-looking men with note-books opened +them and poised their pencils expectantly. + +Tom, having handed over McAllister to the temporary care of a brother +officer, lost no time in locating his complainant, that is to say, the +gentleman whose house our hero was charged with having burglariously +entered. The two then sought out the clerk, who seemed to be holding a +sort of little preliminary court of his own, and who, under the +officer's instruction, drew up some formal document to which the +complainant signed his name. McAllister was now brought before this +official and briefly informed that anything he might say would be used +against him at his trial. He was then interrogated, as before, in regard +to his name, age, residence, and occupation, but with the same result. +Indeed, no answers seemed to be expected under the circumstances, and +the clerk, having written something upon the paper, waved them aside. +Nothing, however, of these proceedings had been lost to the reporters, +who escorted Tom and McAllister to the end of the line of officers, +worrying the former for information as to his prisoner's origin and past +performances. But Tom motioned them off with the papers which he held in +his hand, bidding them await the final action of the magistrate. Nobody +seemed particularly unfriendly; in fact, an air of general +good-fellowship pervaded the entire routine going on around them. What +impressed the clubman most was the persistence and omnipresence of the +reporters. + +"I must get time!" thought McAllister. "I must get time!" + +One after another the victims of the varied delights of too much +Christmas jubilation were disposed of. Fatty Welch was the only real +"gun" that had been taken. He had the arena practically to himself. Now +only one case intervened. He braced himself and tried to steady his +nerves. + +"Next! What's this?" + +McAllister was thrust down below the bridge facing the bench, and Tom +began hastily to describe the circumstances of the arrest. + +"Fatty Welch?" interrupted the magistrate. "Oh, yes! I read about it in +the morning papers. Chased off in a cab, didn't he? You shot the horse, +and his partner got away? Wanted in Pennsylvania and Illinois, you say? +That's enough." Then looking down at McAllister, who stood before him +in bespattered dress suit and fragmentary linen, he inquired: + +"Have you counsel?" + +McAllister made no answer. If he proclaimed who he was and demanded an +immediate hearing, the harpies of the press would fill the papers with +full accounts of his episode. His incognito must be preserved at any +cost. Whatever action he might decide to take, this was not the time and +place; a better opportunity would undoubtedly present itself later in +the day. + +"You are charged with the crime of burglary," continued the Judge, "and +it is further alleged that you are a fugitive from justice in two other +States. What have you to say for yourself?" + +McAllister sought the Judge's eye in vain. + +"I have nothing to say," he replied faintly. There was a renewed +scratching of pens. + +The Judge conferred with the clerk for a moment. + +"Any question of the prisoner's identity?" he asked. + +"Oh, no," replied Tom conclusively. "The fact is, yer onner, we took him +by accident, as you may say. We laid a plant for a feller doin' +second-story work on the avenoo, and when we nabbed him, who should it +be but Welch! Ye see, they wired on his description from Philadelphia a +couple of weeks ago, but we couldn't find hide or hair of him in the +city, and had about give up lookin'. Then, quite unexpected, we scoops +him in. Here's his indentity," handing the Judge a soiled telegraph +blank. "It's him, all right," he added with a grin. + +The magistrate glanced at the form and at McAllister. + +"Seems to fit," he commented. "Have you looked for the scar?" + +Tom laughed. + +"Sure! I seen it when he was gettin' his measurements took, down to +headquarters." + +"Turn around, Welch, and let's see your back," directed the magistrate. + +The clubman turned around and displayed his collarless neck. + +"There it is!" exclaimed Tom. + +McAllister mechanically put his hand to his neck and turned faint. He +had had in his childhood an almost forgotten fall, and the scar was +still there. He experienced a genuine thrill of horror. + +"Well," continued the magistrate, "the prisoner is entitled to counsel, +and, besides, I am sure that the complainant, Mr. Brown, has no desire +to be delayed here on Christmas Day. I will set the hearing for ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, at the Tombs police court. I shall be +sitting there for Judge Mason the rest of the week, beginning to-morrow, +and will take the case along with me. You might suggest to the Warden +that it would be more convenient to send the prisoner down to the Tombs, +so that there need be no delay." + +The complainant bowed, and the officer at the bridge slapped McAllister +not unkindly upon the back. + +"You'll need a pretty good lawyer," he remarked with a wink. + +"Next!" ordered the Judge. + +In the patrol wagon McAllister had ample time for reflection. A motley +collection of tramps, "disorderlies," and petty law-breakers filled the +seats and crowded the aisle. They all talked and joked, swinging from +side to side and clutching at one another for support with harsh +outbursts of profanity, as they rattled down the deserted streets toward +New York's Bastile. Staggering for a foot-hold, between four women of +the town, McAllister was forced to breathe the fumes of alcohol, the +odor of musk, and the aroma of foul linen. He no longer felt innocent. +The sense of guilt was upon him. He seemed part and parcel of this load +of miserable humanity. + +The wagon clattered over the cobblestones of Elm Street, and whirling +round, backed up to the door of the Tombs. The low, massive Egyptian +structure, surrounded by a high stone wall, seemed like a gigantic +mortuary vault waiting to receive the "civilly dead." Warden and keepers +were ready for the prisoners, who were now unceremoniously bundled out +and hustled inside. McAllister stood with the others in a small anteroom +leading directly into the lowest tier. He could hear the ceaseless +shuffling of feet and the subdued murmur of voices, rising and falling, +but continuous, like the twittering of a multitude of birds, while +through the bars came the fetid prison smell, with a new and +disagreeable element--the odor of prison food. + +"Keepin' your mouth shut?" remarked the deputy to McAllister, as he +entered the words "Prisoner refuses to answer," and blotted them. + +"We're rather crowded just now," he added apologetically. "I guess I'll +send you to Murderer's Row. Holloa, there!" he called to someone above, +"one for the first tier!" + +A keeper seized the clubman by the arm, opened a door in the steel +grating, and pushed him through. "Go 'long up!" he ordered. + +McAllister started wearily up the stairs. At the top of the flight he +came to another door, behind which stood another keeper. In the +background marched in ceaseless procession an irregular file of men. In +the gloom they looked like ghosts. Aimlessly they walked on, one behind +the other, most of them with eyes downcast, wordless, taking that +exercise of the body which the law prescribed. + +McAllister entered The Den of Beasts. + +"All right, Jimmy!" yelled the keeper to the deputy warden below. Then, +turning to McAllister. "I'm goin' to put you in with Davidson. He's +quiet, and won't bother you if you let him alone. Better give him +whichever berth he feels like. Them double-decker cots is just as good +on top as they is below." + +McAllister followed the keeper down the narrow gangway that ran around +the prison. In the stone corridor below a great iron stove glowed +red-hot, and its fumes rose and mingled with the tainted air that +floated out from every cell. Above him rose tier on tier, illuminated +only by the gray light which filtered through a grimy window at one end +of the prison. The arrangement of cells, the "bridges" that joined the +tiers, and the murky atmosphere, heightened the resemblance to the +"'tween decks" of an enormous slaver, bearing them all away to some +distant port of servitude. + +"Get up there, Jake! Here's a bunkie for you." + +McAllister bent his head and entered. He was standing beside a +two-story cot bed, in a compartment about six by eight feet square. A +faint light came from a narrow, horizontal slit in the rear wall. A +faucet with tin basin completed the contents of the room. On the top +bunk lay a man's soiled coat and waistcoat, the feet of the owner being +discernible below. + +The keeper locked the door and departed, while the occupant of the +berth, rolling lazily over, peered up at the new-comer; then he sprang +from the cot. + +"Mr. McAllister!" he whispered hoarsely. + +It was Wilkins--the old Wilkins, in spite of a new light-brown beard. + +For a few moments neither spoke. + +"Sorry to see you 'ere, sir," said Wilkins at length, in his old +respectful tones. "Won't you sit down, sir?" + +McAllister seated himself upon the bed automatically. + +"You here, Wilkins?" he managed to say. + +Wilkins laughed rather bitterly. + +"I've been in stir a good part of the time since I left you, sir; an' +two weeks ago I pleaded guilty to larceny and was sentenced to one year +more. But I'm glad to see you lookin' so well, if you'll pardon me, +sir." + +"I'm sorry for you, Wilkins," the master managed to reply. "I hope my +severity in that matter of the pin did not bring you to this!" + +Wilkins hesitated for a moment. + +"It ain't your fault, sir. I was born crooked, I fancy, sir. It's all +right. You've got troubles of your own. Only--you'll excuse me, sir--I +never suspected anything when I was in your service." + +McAllister did not grasp the meaning of this remark; he only felt relief +that Wilkins apparently bore him no ill-will. Very few of his friends +would have followed up a theft of that sort. They expected their men to +steal their pins. + +"Mebbe I might 'elp you. Wot's the charge, sir?" + +With his former valet as a sympathetic listener, McAllister poured out +his whole story, omitting nothing, and, as he finished, leaned forward, +searching eagerly the other's face. + +"Now, what shall I do? What shall I do, Wilkins?" + +The latter coughed deprecatingly. + +"You'll pardon me, but that'll never go, sir! You'll have to get +somethin' better than that, sir. The jury will never believe it." + +McAllister sprang to his feet, in so doing knocking his head against the +iron support of the upper cot. + +"How dare you, Wilkins! What do you mean?" + +"There, there, sir!" exclaimed the other. "Don't take on so. Of course I +didn't mean you wouldn't tell the truth, sir. But don't you see, sir, +hit isn't I as am goin' to listen to it? Shall I fetch you some water to +wash your face, sir?" He turned on the faucet. + +The clubman, yielding to the force of ancient habit, allowed Wilkins to +let it run for him, and having washed his face and combed his hair, felt +somewhat refreshed. + +"That feels good," he remarked, rubbing his hands together. + +It was obvious that so long as he remained in prison he would be either +"Fatty Welch" or someone else equally depraved; and since he could not +make anyone understand, it seemed his best plan to accept for the time, +with equanimity, the personality that fate had thrust upon him. + +"Well, Wilkins, we're in a tight place. But we'll do what we can to +assist each other. If I get out first I'll help you, and _vice versa_. +Now, what's the first thing to be done? You see, I've never been here +before." + +"That's the talk, sir," answered Wilkins. "Now, first, who's your +lawyer?" + +"Haven't any, yet." + +"All depends on the lawyer," returned the valet judicially. "Now, +there's Carter, and Herlihy, and Kemp, all sharp fellows, but they're +always after you for money, and then they're so clever that the jury is +apt to distrust 'em. The best thing, I find, is to get the most +respectable old solicitor you can--kind of genteel, 'family' variety, +with the goodness just stickin' hout all hover 'im. 'E creates a +hatmosphere of hinnocence, and that's wot you need. One as 'as white +'air and can talk about 'this boy 'ere' and can lay 'is 'and on yer +shoulder and weep. That's the go, sir." + +"I understand," said McAllister. + +Under the guidance of his valet our hero secured writing materials and +indicted a pitiful appeal to his family lawyer. + +A gong rang; the squad of prisoners who had been exercising went back to +their cells, and the keeper came and unlocked the door. + +McAllister stepped out and fell into line. His tight clothes proved very +uncomfortable as he strode round the tiers, and the absence of a +collar--yes, that was really the most unpleasant feature. His neck was +not much to boast of, therefore he always wore his shirts low and his +collars high. Now, as he stumbled along, he was the object of +considerable attention from his fellows. + +At the end of an hour another gong sounded. In a moment the tiers were +empty; fifty doors clanged to. + +"Well, Wilkins?" + +"Being as this is Sunday, sir, we 'ave a few hours' service. Church of +England first, then City Mission. We're not hallowed to talk, but if you +don't mind the 'owlin' you can snatch a wink o' sleep. Christmas dinner +at twelve. Old Burridge, the trusty, was a-tellin' me as 'ow it's +hexcellent, sir!" + +McAllister looked at his watch in despair. It was only a quarter past +ten. He had not been to church for fifteen years, but evidently he was +in for it now. Following his former valet's example, he took off his +shoes and stretched himself upon the cot. + +On and on in never-varying tones dragged the service. The preacher held +the key to the situation. His congregation could not escape; he had a +full house, and he was bent on making the most of it. + +The hands of McAllister's watch crept slowly round to five minutes +before eleven. + +When at last the preacher stopped, carefully folded his manuscript, and +pronounced the benediction, a prolonged sigh of relief eddied through +the Tombs. Men were waking on all sides; cots creaked; there was a +general and contagious yawn. + +Again the gong rang, and with it the smell of food floated up along the +tiers. McAllister realized that he was hungry--not mildly, as he was at +the club, but ravenous, as he had never been before. Presently the +longed-for food came, borne by a "trusty" in new white uniform. Wilkins, +who had been making a meagre toilet at the faucet, took in the dinner +through the door--two tin plates piled high with turkey and chicken, +flanked by heaps of potato and carrots, and one whole apple pie! + +"Ha!" thought McAllister, "I was not so far wrong about this part of +it!" The chicken was perhaps not of the variety known as "spring"; but +neither master nor man noticed it as they feasted, sitting side by side +upon the cot. + +"Carrots!" philosophized McAllister, looking regretfully at his empty +tin plate. "Now, I thought only horses ate carrots; and really, they're +not bad at all. I should like some more. Er--Wilkins! Can we get some +more carrots?" + +Wilkins shook his head mournfully. + +"Message for 34! Message for 34!" + +A letter was thrust through the bars. + +McAllister tore it open with feverish haste, and recognized the crabbed +hand of old Mr. Potter. + + 2 East Seventy-First Street. + F. Welch, Esq. + + Sir: The remarkable letter just delivered to me, + signed by a name which you request me not to use in my + reply, has received careful consideration. I + telephoned to Mr. Mc----'s rooms, and was informed by + his valet that that gentleman had gone to the country + to visit friends over Christmas. I have therefore + directed the messenger to collect from yourself his + fee for delivering this answer. Yours, etc., + + EBENEZER POTTER. + +"That fool Frazier!" groaned McAllister. "How the devil could he have +thought I had gone away?" Then he remembered that he had directed the +valet to pack his bags and send them to the station, in anticipation of +the Winthrops' invitation. + +He was at his wits' end. + +"How do you get bail, Wilkins?" + +"You 'ave to find someone as owns real estate in the city, sir, to go on +your bond. 'Ow much is it?" + +"Five thousand dollars," replied McAllister. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. He regarded his former master with +renewed interest. + +But the dinner had wrought a change in that hitherto subdued individual. +With a valet and running water he was beginning to feel his oats a +little. He checked off mentally the names of his acquaintances. There +was not one left in town. + +He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. One o'clock. Just then the +gong rang again. + +"What in thunder is this, now?" + +"Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from one to two-thirty." + +"Ye gods!" ejaculated McAllister. + +A band of young girls came and stood with their hymn-books along the +opposite tier, while a Presbyterian clergyman took the place on the +bridge recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Prayers alternated +with hymns until the sermon, which lasted sixty-five minutes. + +McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed until half past two, +when the choir and missionary finally departed. + +"Only a 'arf 'our, sir, an' we can get some more hexercise," said +Wilkins encouragingly. + +But McAllister did not want exercise. He swung to his feet, and peering +disconsolately through the bars was suddenly confronted by an anæmic +young woman holding an armful of flowers. Before he could efface himself +she smiled sweetly at him. + +"My poor man," she began confidently, "how sorry I am for you this +beautiful Christmas _Day_! Please take some of these; they will brighten +up your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." She pushed a dozen +carnations and asters through the bars. + +McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them. + +"What is your name?" continued the maiden. + +"Welch!" blurted out our bewildered friend. + +There was a stifled snort from the bunk behind. + +"Good-by, Welch. I know you are not _really_ bad. Won't you shake hands +with me?" + +She thrust her hand through the bars, and McAllister gave it a +perfunctory shake. + +"Good-by," she murmured, and passed on. + +"Lawd!" exploded Wilkins, rolling from side to side upon his cot. "O +Lawd! O Lawd! O--" and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the +carnations into the wash-basin. + +The gong again, and once more that endless tramp along the hot tiers. +The prison grew darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and the +air became more and more oppressive. With five o'clock came supper; then +the long, weary night. + +Next morning the valet seemed nervous and excited, eating little +breakfast, and smiling from time to time vaguely to himself. Having +fumbled in his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, which +he held toward his master. + +"'Ere, sir," he said with averted head. "It's for the pin. I'm sorry I +took it." + +McAllister's eyes were a little blurred as he mechanically received the +card-board. + +"Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said. + +A keeper came walking along the tier rattling the doors and telling +those who were wanted in court to get ready. + +"Good-by," said McAllister. "I'm sorry you felt obliged to plead guilty. +I might have helped you if I'd only known. Why didn't you stand your +trial?" + +"I 'ad my reasons," replied the valet. "I wanted to get my case disposed +of as quick as possible. You see, I'd been livin' in Philadelphia, and +'ad just come to New York when I was harrested. I didn't want 'em to +find out who I was or where I come from, so I just gives the name of +Davidson, and takes my dose." + +"Well," said McAllister, "you're taking your own dose; I'm taking +somebody else's. That hardly seems a fair deal--now does it, Wilkins? +But, of course, you don't know but that I _am_ Welch." + +"Oh, yes, I do, sir!" returned the valet. "You won't never be punished +for what he done." + +"How do you know?" exclaimed McAllister, visions of a speedy release +crowding into his mind. "And if you knew, why didn't you say so before? +Why, you might have got me out. How do you know?" he repeated. + +Wilkins looked around cautiously. The keeper was at the other end of the +tier. Then he came close to McAllister and whispered: + +"_Because I'm Fatty Welch myself!_" + + +VI + +Downstairs, across the sunlit prison yard, past the spot where the +hangings had taken place in the old days, up an enclosed staircase, a +half turn, and the clubman was marched across the Bridge of Sighs. Most +of the prisoners with him seemed in good spirits, but McAllister, who +was oppressed with the foreboding of imminent peril, felt that he could +no longer take any chances. His fatal resemblance to Fatty Welch, alias +Wilkins, his former valet, the circumstances of his arrest, the scar on +his neck, would seem to make conviction certain unless he followed one +of two alternatives--either that of disclosing Welch's identity or his +own. He dismissed the former instantly. Now that he knew something of +the real sufferings of men, his own life seemed contemptible. What +mattered the laughter of his friends, or sarcastic paragraphs in the +society columns of the papers? What did the fellows at the club know of +the game of life and death going on around them? of the misery and vice +to which they contributed? of the hopelessness of those wretched souls +who had been crushed down by fate into the gutters of life? Determined +to declare himself, he entered the court-room and tramped with the +others to the rail. + +There, to his amazement, sat old Mr. Potter beside the Judge. Tom and +his partner stood at one side. + +"Welch, step up here." + +Mr. Potter nodded very slightly, and McAllister, taking the hint, +stepped forward. + +"Is this your prisoner, officer?" + +"Shure, that's him, right enough," answered Tom. + +"Discharged," said the magistrate. + +Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who smiled good-humoredly and +winked at McAllister. + +"Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I'll let you off this time, but if +it happens again I won't answer for the consequences. Go home." + +Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled officers, who grinned +sheepishly, and then, seizing McAllister's arm, led our astonished +friend out of the court-room. + +As they whirled uptown in the closed automobile which had been waiting +for them around the corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the +letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had bethought him of calling +up Mrs. Winthrop on the telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer's +inquiries had fully convinced him of his error, and after evading her +questions with his usual caution, he had taken immediate steps for his +client's release--steps which, by reason of the lateness of the hour, he +could not communicate to the unhappy McAllister. + +"What has become of the fugitive Welch," he ended, "remains a mystery. +The police cannot imagine where he has hidden himself." + +"I wonder," said McAllister dreamily. + + * * * * * + +It was just seven o'clock when McAllister, arrayed, as usual, in +immaculate evening dress, sauntered into the club. Most of the men were +back from their Christmas outing; half a dozen of them were engaged in +ordering dinner. + +"Hello, Chubby!" shouted someone. "Come and have a drink. Had a pleasant +Christmas? You were at the Winthrops', weren't you?" + +"No," answered McAllister; "had to stay right in New York. Couldn't get +away. Yes, I'll take a dry Martini--er, waiter, make that two Martinis. +I want you all to have dinner with me. How would terrapin and +canvas-back do? Fill it out to suit yourselves, while I just take a +look at the _Post_." + +He picked up a paper, glanced at the head-lines, threw it down with a +sigh of relief, and lighted a cigarette. At the same moment two +policemen in civilian dress were leaving McAllister's apartments, each +having received at the hands of the impassive Frazier a bundle +containing a silver-mounted revolver and a large bottle full of an +unknown brown fluid. + +McAllister's dinner was a great success. The boys all said afterward +that they had never seen Chubby in such good form. Only one incident +marred the serenity of the occasion, and that was a mere trifle. Charlie +Bush had been staying over Christmas with an ex-Chairman of the Prison +Reform Association, and being in a communicative mood insisted on +talking about it. + +"Only fancy," he remarked, as he took a gulp of champagne, "he says the +prisons of the city are in an abominable condition--that they're a +disgrace to a civilized community." + +Tomlinson paused in lifting his glass. He remembered his host's opinion, +expressed two nights before and desired to show his appreciation of an +excellent meal. + +"That's all rot!" he interrupted a little thickly. "'S all politics. The +Tombs is a lot better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. +Our prisons are all right, I tell you!" His eyes swept the circle +militantly. + +"Look here, Tomlinson," remarked McAllister sternly, "don't be so sure. +What do you know about it?" + + + + + + +The Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville + + +I + +"I want you," said Barney Conville, tapping Mr. McAllister lightly upon +the shoulder. + +The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting fall his monocle. He +certainly had never seen the man before in his life--was sure of it, +even during that unfortunate experience the year before, which he had so +far successfully concealed from his friends. No, it was simply a case of +mistaken identity; and yet the fellow--confound him!--didn't look like a +chap that often _was_ mistaken. + +"Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin'. Come along quiet," continued Barney, +with his most persuasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with a +black mustache and an unswerving eye, about two-thirds the size of +McAllister, whom he had addressed so familiarly. + +"Fatty!" McAllister, _bon vivant_, clubman, prince of good fellows, +started at the word and stared tensely. What infernal luck! That same +regrettable resemblance that had landed him in the Tombs over Christmas +was again bobbing up to render him miserable. He wished, as he had +wished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been sentenced to twenty years +instead of one. He had evidently been discharged from prison and was at +his old tricks again, with the result that once more his employer was +playing the part of Dromio. McAllister had succeeded by judicious +bribery and the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history of his +incarceration. Had this not been the case one word now to the determined +individual with the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but he +could not bear to divulge the secret of those horrible thirty-six hours +which he, under the name of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in a +cell. Maybe he could show the detective he was mistaken without going +into that lamentable history. But of course McAllister proceeded by +exactly the wrong method. + +"Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, "there it is again! You've got me +confused with Fatty Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put up his +monocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his simple statement would +entirely settle the matter. + +But Barney only winked sarcastically. + +"You show yourself quite familiar with the name of the gentleman I'm +lookin' for." + +McAllister saw that he had made a mistake. + +"No more foolin', now," continued Barney. "Will you come as you are, or +with the nippers?" + +The clubman bit his lip with annoyance. + +"Look here, hang you!" he exclaimed angrily, dropping his valise, "I'm +Mr. McAllister of the Colophon Club. I'm on my way to dine with friends +in the country. I've got to take this train. Listen! they're shouting +'All aboard' now. I know who you're after. You've got us mixed. Your +man's a professional crook. I can prove my identity to you inside of +five minutes, only I haven't time here. Just jump on the train with me, +and if you're not convinced by the time we reach 125th Street I'll get +off and come back with you." + +"My, but you're gamer than ever, Fatty," retorted Barney with +admiration. Thoughts of picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flitted +through his mind. He had his man "pinched," why not play him awhile? It +seemed not a half bad idea to the Central Office man. + +"Well, I'll humor you this once. Step aboard. No funny business, now. +I've got my smoke wagon right here. Remember, you're under arrest." + +They swung aboard just as the train started. As McAllister sank into his +seat in the parlor car with Barney beside him he recognized Joe +Wainwright directly opposite. Here was an easy chance to prove his +identity, and he was just about to lean over and pour forth his sorrows +to his friend when he realized with fresh humiliation that should he +seize this opportunity to explain the present situation, the whole +wretched story of his Christmas in the Tombs would probably be divulged. +He would be the laughing-stock of the club, and the fellows would never +let him hear the last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took the +initiative. + +"How d'y', Chubby?" said he, getting up and coming over. "On your way to +Blair's?" + +"Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," replied McAllister, +struggling for small talk. + +"Who's your friend?" continued the irrepressible Wainwright. "Kind o' +think I know him. Foreigner, ain't he? Think he was at Newport last +summer." + +"Er--ye--es. Baron de Ville. Picked him up at the club--friend of +Pierrepont's. Takin' him out to Blair's--so hospitable, don'cher know." +He stammered horribly, for he found himself sinking deeper and deeper. + +"Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. "Like all these foreign +fellers." + +McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for it now. The 125th Street +idea would have to be abandoned. + +"Er--_Baron_"--he strangled over the name--"_Baron_, I want to present +Mr. Joseph Wainwright. He thinks he's met you in Paris." Our friend +accompanied this with a pronounced wink. + +"Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, grasping the detective's +hand with effusion. "Newport, I think it was." + +The "Baron" bowed. This was a new complication, but it was all in the +day's work. Of course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty Welch was +"working" some swell guys who thought he was a real high-roller. Maybe +he was going to pull off some kind of a job that very evening. Perhaps +this big chap in the swagger flannels was one of the gang. Barney was +thinking hard. Well, he'd take the tip and play the hand out. + +"It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron. + +The train plunged into the tunnel. + +"Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney's ear. "You've got to stick +this thing out, now, or I'll be the butt of the town. Remember, we're +going to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You're the particular friend of a man +named Pierrepont--fellow with a glass eye who owns a castle somewhere in +France. . . . Are you satisfied yet?" he added indignantly. + +"I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney replied. "I ain't on to your +game, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you +any." + +The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that there +were other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the same +destination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded story +about the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did he +would go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was his +chief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, conceals +the absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world work +off the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain the +situation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in that +way. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously with +Wainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thank +Heaven, he remembered--Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefully +at college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under the +circumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince his +captor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strength +of this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baron +and accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on his +own account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having to +present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and--by +George, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over +_that_. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger--a "copper"--and palm him +off as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without any +evening clothes--impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever a +chap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris! +_Paris!_ He'd make some awful break, and then-- Oh, curse the luck, +anyway! + +Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate. + + +II + +"I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bring +Pierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband. +Gordon--Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We're +just a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress--dinner in just +nineteen minutes." + +"Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, and +twirling his mustache in the most approved fashion. + +"Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon the +back good-naturedly. "You can give Mrs. Blair all the _risque_ Paris +gossip at dinner." They followed the second man upstairs. Although an +old friend of both Mrs. Blair and her husband, McAllister had never been +at the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and massively built. They +were debating whether or not to call it Castle Blair. The second man +showed them to a room at the extreme end of a wing, and as the servant +laid out the clothes McAllister thought the man eyed him rather +curiously. Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Barney lit a +cigarette and measured the distance from the window to the ground with a +discriminating eye. + +"Well," said the clubman, after the second man had finally retired, "are +you satisfied? And what the deuce is going to happen now?" + +Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his feet comfortably on to +the fender. + +"Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny rings toward the blaze, +"you're a wizard! Never seen such nerve in my life--and you only out two +months! You've got the clothes, and, what's more, you've got the real +chappie lingo. It's great! I'm sorry to have to pull in such an artist. +I am, honest. An' now you've got to go behind prison bars! It's +sad--positively sad!" + +"Look here!" demanded McAllister. "Do you mean to tell me you're such a +bloomin' ass as to think that I'm a crook, a professional burglar, who's +got an introduction into society--a what-do-you-call-him? Oh, +yes--Raffles?" + +Barney grinned at his victim, who was just getting into his dress-coat. + +"Don't throw such a chest, Fatty!" he said genially. "I think you've got +Raffles whipped to a standstill. But you can't fool me, and you can't +lose me. By the way, what am I goin' to do for evenin' clothes?" + +"Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You can't come to dinner in those +togs. It would queer everything." + +"I'm goin', just the same. Not once do I lose sight of you, old chappie, +until you're safely in the cooler at headquarters. Then your swell +friends can bail you out!" + +It was time for dinner. The little Dresden china clock on the mantel +struck the hour softly, politely. McAllister glanced toward the door. +The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall intervened between +them and the main corridor. His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris. + +"Come on, then," he muttered over his shoulder to Barney, and led the +way to the door leading into the bath-room, which was next the door into +the hall and identical with it in appearance. He held it politely ajar +for the detective, with a smile of resignation. + +"Apres vous, mon cher Baron!" he murmured. + +The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passed +in front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received a +violent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked the +heavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. He +hoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. There +was a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in the +enamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on the +washstand. + +McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and inner +means of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright. + +"What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter. +"Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other." + +McAllister lighted another cigarette. + +"Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '_savate_,' that kind of +boxing with their feet, don'cher know!" + +Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused his +ordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner. +He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly taken with a +sharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, and +would soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently--as +soon as he felt able to do so. + +[Illustration: "I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."] + +There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lost +no time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner's +presence at the house. + +"Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh, +yes, Miss Benson!" + +"Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward," +responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. +McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in by +you!" + +"Er--ye--es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he was +calculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famous +Trenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly bad +about de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantage +of our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardly +ever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise." + +The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed in +their various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of his +hostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing the same office +for a lady opposite. _Could_ it be? He adjusted his monocle. There was +no doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked in +the bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass him +the soup. + +"What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, +sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a _caviare +hors-d'oeuvre_. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole +significance of the situation. + +"I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs. +Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply +when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of the +table and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all her +color, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement. + +"It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had it +on the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst into +hysterical sobs. + +Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs. + +"My tiara!" exclaimed one. + +"And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on the +dressing-table!" cried another. + +There was a general move from the table. + +"O Gordon! Do you think there are burglars in the house?" called Mrs. +Blair to her husband. + +"Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited. +Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid the +necklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?" + +"Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the first +thing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go right +upstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all better +sit down and finish our soup." + +"Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them." + +The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with the +exception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more. + +Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen! +Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. +You couldn't buy them _now_ for love or money. Well, she had better sit +down and eat something, anyway--a glass of wine, just to revive her +spirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sit +down and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward to +have such a thing happen at one's first house party. + +The searchers presently returned with the word that apparently nothing +else had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the general +appetite. + +Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had been +watching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seen +each other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard was +gone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying the +agitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered. +People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a great +chatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was making +pitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinner +went on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, through +the swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from the +pantry. + +Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passed +the dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear: + +"You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a Central +Office man outside. _I_ brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your only +chance!" + +"Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle. + +The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss. +McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the same +cell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He could +never bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow--that +ubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the +_entrée_. As he passed the _vol au vent_ he unostentatiously slipped +something in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap. + +"May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly. + +"Have you taken anything else?" inquired his master. + +"Nothing." + +"On your honor as a gentleman----'s gentleman?" + +Wilkins smiled tremulously. + +"Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister." + +"Then, go!--You seem to have a _penchant_ for pearls," McAllister added +half to himself, as he clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Common +humanity to Miss Benson demanded his instant declaration of its +possession, but the thought of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusively +through the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap have all the time he +could get. He'd probably be caught, anyway. Just a question of a few +days at most. And what a chance to get even on the Baron! + +But meanwhile the service had halted. The butler, a sedate person with +white mutton-chops, after waiting nervously a few minutes, started to +pass the roast himself. + +Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish her meal, and after dinner +they were all going to have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if the +necklace was not discovered, they would send for a detective from New +York. + +Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside the window. Men's voices +were raised in angry shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehicle +galloped down the road. The guests started to their feet. A violent +struggle was taking place outside the dining-room door. McAllister +sprang up just in time to see the Baron break away from Blair's coachman +and cover him with his pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He was a +sorry spectacle, collarless, and without his coat. Damp earth clung to +his lower limbs and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, while a +bloody, swollen nose protruded between them. + +"Here! What's all this?" shouted Blair. "Put up that pistol! Who are +you, sir?" Then the host rubbed his eyes and looked again. + +"By George! It's the Baron!" yelled Wainwright. + +"The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the others. + +"Baron--nothin'!" gasped Barney, still covering the coachman, while with +the other hand he tried to rearrange his neckwear. "I'm Conville of the +Central Office, and this man has aided in an escape. I'm arrestin' him +for felony!" + +The detective's own features had evidently made a close acquaintance +with mother earth, and one sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. His +eye presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to an exclamation +of bewilderment. + +"You! _You_! How did you get out of that wagon so quick? I've got you +now, anyway!" And he shifted his gun in McAllister's direction. The +women shrieked and crowded back into the dining-room. + +The coachman, who had not dared to remove his eyes from the detective, +now began to jabber hysterically. + +"Hi think 'e's mad, I do, Mr. Blair! Hi think we all are! First hout +comes Mr. McAllister, whom I brought from the station only an 'our ago +an' says as 'ow 'e must go back at once to New York. So I 'arnesses up +Lady Bird in the spyder an' sends Jeames to put hon 'is livery. Just as +Jeames comes back an' Mr. McAllister jumps in, hout comes _this_ party +_'ere_ an' yells somethin' about Welch an' tries to climb in arter Mr. +McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an' haway they go. Then this +'ere party begins to run arter 'em and commences shootin'. _Hi_ tackles +'im! _'E_ knocks me down! _Hi_ grabs 'im by the leg, an' 'ere we are, +sir, axin' yer pardon--Hello, why _'ere's_ Mr. McAllister _now_! May I +ask as 'ow you _got_ 'ere, sir?" + +But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol. + +"Quick!" he shouted wildly. "Harness another horse! We've still got +time. I can't lose my man this way!" + +"Well, who _is_ he? Who _was_ it you shot at?" + +"Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. "There's two of 'em! But the +one I want has started for the station. I must catch him!" + +"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, who alone had preserved +his equanimity, addressing Mr. Blair. "My impression is, sir, that it +must have been Manice, sir--the new third man, sir. I saw him step out. +He must have taken Mr. McAllister's coat and hat!" + +There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of course that was it. The man +had disguised himself in McAllister's clothes. + +"He's got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. "Oh, I _know_ he has!" + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"Of course he's got it!" + +"After him! After him!" + +"Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Barney, more bewildered than ever. + +"My mother's pearl necklace! She bought it in Rome. And now it's gone. +He's got it." + +Barney made a move for the door. + +"Run and harness up, William!" directed Blair. "Put in the Morgan +ponies. Hustle now. The train isn't due for fifteen minutes and you can +reach the station in ten. Don't spare the horses!" + +William, with a defiant look at the detective, hastened to obey the +order. + +Barney was running his hands through his hair. He certainly had stumbled +on to somethin', by Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it would +mean certain promotion! He had to admit that he had been mistaken about +McAllister, but this was better. + +"You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usual +suave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too long +upstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching our +man at the station. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast as +you can!" + +He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulped +it down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room +window had shaken him up badly. + +"Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barney +turned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and +McAllister was free. + +"Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner, +anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who the +thief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notify +the White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll have +the necklace for you yet!" + +But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with the +tears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and tried +to encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way would +return. + +"No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it's +dreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklace +back!" + +"_Anything_, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose from +his place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhaps +if I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim _duress_. +Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!" + +"Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped with +astonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels. + +"By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host. + +"Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? _Where_ did you get 'em?" + +"Who was the Baron?" + +"How on earth did you know?" + +They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, and +exclaiming with astonishment. + +McAllister saw that some explanation was in order. + +"Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "I +don't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one's +trade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine made +rather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!" +And he bowed to Miss Benson. + +Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract a +syllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, and +his absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentiments +of the entire company when he announced somewhat huskily that +McAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents. + +"But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as they +sauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did you +notice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister? +'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!" + +"You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion. + + + + + + +The Escape of Wilkins + + +I + +"Party to see you, sir, in the visitors' room. Didn't have a card. Said +you would know him, sir." + +Although Peter spoke in his customary deferential tones, there was a +queer look upon his face that did not escape McAllister as the latter +glanced up from the afternoon paper which he had been perusing in the +window. + +"Hm!" remarked the clubman, gazing out at the rain falling in torrents. +Who in thunder could be calling upon him a day like this, when there +wasn't even a cab in sight and the policemen had sought sanctuary in +convenient vestibules. It was evident that this "party" must want to see +him very badly indeed. + +"What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter gently. + +McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course it was absurd to suppose +that Peter, or anyone else, had heard of the extraordinary events at the +Blairs' the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that this +stranger must in some mysterious way be connected with them. In any case +there was no use trying to duck the consequences of the adventure, +whatever they might prove to be. + +"I'll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it was another detective after +additional information, or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation he +crossed the marble hall and parted the portières of the visitors' room. +Before him stood the rain-soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet. + +"Wilkins!" he gasped. + +The burglar raised his head and disclosed a countenance haggard from +lack of sleep and the strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rain +streamed from his cuffs, his (McAllister's) coat-tails, and from the +brim of his master's hat, which he held deprecatingly before him. There +was a look of fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which pauses +uncertain in which direction to escape. + +"Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! They're right hafter me! Just +houtside, sir! It was my honly chance!" + +McAllister gazed at him horrified and speechless. + +"You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of breathless terror, "I +caught the train last night and reached the city a'ead of the detective. +I knew 'e'd 'ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I 'id in a harea all +night. This mornin' I thought I'd given 'im the slip, but I walked +square into 'im on Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup Sixth +Havenue, doubled 'round a truck, an' thought I'd lost 'im, but 'e saw me +on Fifty-third Street an' started dead after me. I think 'e saw me stop +in 'ere, sir. Wot shall I do, sir? You won't give me hup, will you, +sir?" + +Before McAllister could reply there was a commotion at the door of the +club, and he recognized the clear tones of Barney Conville. + +"Who am I? I'm a sergeant of police--Detective Bureau. You've just +passed in a burglar. He must be right inside. Let me in, I say!" + +Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains. + +There was a slight scuffle, but the servant outside placed his foot +behind the door in such a position that the detective could not enter. +Then Peter came to the rescue. + +"What do you mean by trying to force your way into a private club, like +this? I'll telephone the Inspector. Get out of here, now! Get away from +that door!" + +"Inspector nothin'! Let me in!" + +"Have you got a warrant?" + +The question seemed to stagger the detective for a moment, and his +adversary seized the opportunity to close the door. Then Peter knocked +politely upon the other side of the curtains. + +"I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can't keep the officer out much longer. +It's only a question of time. You'll pardon me, sir?" + +"Of course, Peter," answered McAllister. + +He stepped to the window. Outside he could see Conville stationing two +plain-clothes men so as to guard both exits from the club. McAllister's +breath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by the centre-table. Then a +momentary inspiration came to the clubman. + +"Er--Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd-Jones. Take his coat and hat, +give me a check for them, and then show him upstairs to a room. He'll be +here for an hour or so." + +"Very good, sir," replied Peter without emotion, as he removed Wilkins's +dripping coat and hat. "This way, sir." + +Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former master, the valet +followed Peter toward the elevator. + +"Here's a nice mess!" thought McAllister, as he returned to the big +room. "How am I ever going to get rid of him? And ain't I liable somehow +as an accomplice?" + +He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank again into his +accustomed place by the window. + +"That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the doorman, suddenly +appearing at his elbow. "Says he knows you, and it's somethin' very +important." + +The clubman smothered a curse. His first impulse was to tell the +impudent fellow to go to the devil, but then he thought better of it. He +had beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. When it came to a +show-down, he reckoned his brains were about as good as a policeman's. + +"All right," he replied. "Tell him to sit down--that I've just come in, +and will be with him in a few moments." + +"Very good, sir," answered the servant. + +McAllister perceived that he must think rapidly. There was no escape +from the conclusion that he was certainly assisting in the escape of a +felon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as it were. The idea did +not increase his happiness at all. His one experience in the Tombs, +however adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Nevertheless, he could +not go back on Wilkins, particularly now that he had promised to assist +him. McAllister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity. + +"The officer says he's in a great hurry, sir, and wants to know can you +see him at once, sir," said the doorman, coming back. + +"Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. "Yes, I'll _see_ him." + +He got up and walked slowly to the visitors' room again, while Peter, +with a studiously unconscious expression, held the portières open. He +entered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Conville sprang to his +feet, leaving a pool of water in front of the sofa and tossing little +drops of rain from the ends of his mustache. + +"Look here, Mr. McAllister, there's been enough of this. Where's Welch, +the crook, who ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he's here fast enough! +I've got your club covered, front and behind. Don't try to con _me_!" + +McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled affably, and sank +comfortably into an armchair. + +"Why, it's you, Baron, isn't it! How are you? Won't you have a little +nip of something warm? No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring the +gentleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this honor?" + +Conville glared at him enraged. However, he restrained his wrath. A wise +detective never puts himself at a disadvantage by giving way to useless +emotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, Barney took it mechanically +and struck a match, meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the club. + +"I suppose," he presently remarked, "you think you're smart. Well, +you're mistaken. I had you wrong last night, I admit--that is, so far +as your identity was concerned. You're a real high-roller, all right, +but that ain't the whole thing, by a long shot. How would you like to +wander down to Headquarters as an accomplice?" + +A few chills played hide-and-seek around the base of the clubman's +spine. + +"Don't be an ass!" he finally managed to ejaculate. + +"Oh, I can't connect you with the necklace! You're safe enough there," +Barney continued. "But how about this little game right here in this +club? You're aiding in the escape of a felon. That's _felony_. You know +that yourself. Besides, when you locked me in the bath-room last night +you assaulted an officer in the performance of his duty. I've got you +dead to rights, _see_?" + +McAllister laughed lightly. + +"By jiminy!" he exclaimed, "I _thought_ you were crazy all the time, and +now I _know_ it. What in thunder are you driving at?" + +Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar impatiently. + +"Drivin' at? Drivin' at? Where's Welch--Fatty Welch, that ran in here +five minutes ago?" + +McAllister assumed a puzzled expression. + +"Welch? No one ran in here except myself. _I_ came in about that time. +Got off the L at Fiftieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue, +and then through Fifty-third Street to the club. I got mighty well wet, +too, I tell you!" + +"Don't think you can throw that game into _me_!" shouted Conville. "You +can't catch me twice _that_ way. It was _Welch_ I saw, not you." + +"You don't believe me?" + +McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered. + +"Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons have come into the club +within the hour." + +"Why, only _you_, sir," replied Peter, without hesitation. "Your clothes +was wringin' wet, sir. No one else has entered the club since twelve +o'clock." + +"Bah!" exclaimed Conville. "If it was _you_ that came in," he added +cunningly, "suppose you show me your check, and let me have a look at +your coat!" + +"Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning to regain his equanimity, +as he drew Wilkins's check from his pocket. "Here it is. You can step +over and get the coat for yourself." + +Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed to the coat-room, and +returned with the dripping garment, which he held up to the light at the +window. + +"You ought to find Poole's name under the collar, and my own inside the +breast-pocket," remarked Chubby encouragingly. "It's there, isn't it?" + +Conville threw the soaked object over a chair-back and made a rapid +inspection, then turned to McAllister with an expression of +bewilderment. + +"I--you--how--" he stammered. + +"Don't you remember," laughed his tormentor, "that there was a big truck +on the corner of Sixth Avenue?" + +Barney set his teeth. + +"I see you _do_," continued McAllister. "Well, what more can I do for +you? Are you sure you won't have that drink?" + +But Conville was in no mood for drinking. Stepping up to the clubman, he +looked searchingly down into his face. + +"Mr. McAllister," he hissed, "you think you've got me criss-crossed. You +think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know your _face_. And +this time I don't lose you, _see_? You're in cahoots with Welch. You're +his side-partner. You'll see me again. Remember, you're a _common +felon_." + +The detective made for the door. + +"Don't say 'common,'" murmured McAllister, as Conville disappeared. Then +his nonchalant look gave place to one of extreme dejection. "Peter," he +gasped, "tell Mr. Lloyd-Jones I must see him at once." + +Peter soon returned with the unexpected information that "Mr. +Lloyd-Jones" had gone to bed and wouldn't get up. + +"Says he's sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to retain his gravity. + +McAllister made one jump for the elevator. Peter followed. Of course, +_he_ had known Wilkins when the latter was in McAllister's employ. + +"I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the majordomo. + +Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes were nowhere visible, and +the quilt was pulled well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly to +have lost his nerve. + +"Oh, sir!" he cried apologetically, "I was hafraid to come down, sir. +_Without my clothes_ they never could hidentify me, sir!" + +"What on earth have you done with 'em?" cried his master. + +"Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, "I couldn't think o' nothin' else, +so I just threw 'em hout the window, into the hairshaft." + +At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by the door, choked +violently and retired down the hall. + +"Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, "I never took you for a fool before! +Pray, what do you propose to do now?" + +[Illustration: "You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_."] + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Can't you see what an awkward position you've placed me in?" went on +McAllister. "I'm liable to arrest for aidin' in your escape. In fact, +that detective has just threatened to take me to Headquarters." + +"'Oly Moses!" moaned Wilkins. "Oh, wot shall I do? If you honly get me +haway, sir, I promise you I'll never return." + +McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, and puffed hard at his +cigar. + +"I'll try it!" he muttered at length. "Wilkins, you remember you always +wore my clothes." + +"Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins. + +"Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my dress-suit, tall hat, and +Inverness--understand? You'll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Go +to the Grand Central and board the twelve o'clock train for Boston. +Here's a ticket, and the check for the drawing-room. You'll be Mr. +McAllister of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. You're going +on to Mr. Cabot's wedding to-morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soon +as you go on board, and don't let anyone disturb you. I'll be on the +train myself, and after it starts I'll knock three times on the door." + +"Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins. + +"I'll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. Do you think you can do +it?" + +"Oh, certainly, sir! Thank you, sir! I'll be there, sir, never fail." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. The longer he thought of +his plan the better he liked it. He was going to the Winthrops' Twelfth +Night party that evening as Henry VIII. He would dress at the club and +leave it in costume about nine o'clock. Conville would never recognize +him in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins departed at eleven-forty, +would in all likelihood take the latter for McAllister. If he could thus +get rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would be cheap at twice the +trouble. So far as spiriting away Wilkins was concerned the whole thing +seemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in his usual state of +genial placidity, ordered as good a dinner as the _chef_ could provide. + + +II + +The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII realized with a start that +it was already half after eleven. First there had been a professional +presentation of the scene between Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby +Belch that had made McAllister shake with merriment. He thought Sir +Andrew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many a day. Maria and +the clown were both good, too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that he +had essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been excellent and the +characters most amusing, and, altogether, McAllister did not blame +himself for having overstayed his time--in fact, he didn't care much +whether he had or not. He had intended going back to his rooms for the +purpose of changing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on the +train, and there really seemed no need of it at all. He bade his hostess +good-night in a most optimistic frame of mind and hailed a cab. The long +ulster which he wore entirely concealed his costume save for his shoes, +strange creations of undressed leather, red on the uppers and white +between the toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite too happy to +mind them for an instant. The assembled crowd of lackeys and footmen +cheered him mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smoking a large +cigar, noticed them not. Neither did he observe a slim young man who +darted out from behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keeping +about half a block in the rear. The rain had stopped. The clouds had +drawn aside their curtains, and a big friendly moon beamed down on +McAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as day. + +The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the slope from the Cathedral +down Fifth Avenue, and the runner was distanced by several blocks. +McAllister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully unconscious of being an +actor in a drama of vast import to the New York police, but as they +reached Forty-third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon the +Grand Central Station that it was two minutes to twelve. At the same +moment a trace broke. The driver sprang from his seat, but before he +could reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. Tossing a bill to the +perturbed cabby, our hero threw off his ulster and sped with an agility +marvellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward the station. As he +dashed across Madison Avenue, directly in front of an electric car, the +hand on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that instant the slim man +turned the corner from Fifth Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirty +seconds later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and feathered cap, +burst into the waiting-room, carrying an ulster, clearing half its +length in six strides, threw himself through the revolving door to the +platform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man just as he was +sliding-to the gate. + +"Hi, there, give us yer ticket!" yelled the man after the retreating +form of Henry VIII, but royalty made no response. + +The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gave +half a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the train +began to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain in +his side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled upon +the platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young man +rushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. The +gate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language. + +"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on that +train. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!" + +"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?" + +"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedly +exhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through." + +Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train; +its red lights were just passing out of the station. + +"Oh, go to--!" said he through the bars. + + * * * * * + +"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the same +moment, as he staggered inside. + +"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he received +the ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah? +Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ah +enquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, +sah!" + +"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister. + +"Udder end, sah!" + +Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his way the length of that +swaying car. He perceived that the smoking compartment of the car behind +would naturally be much more convenient. + +"I'm going into the next car to smoke for a while," he informed the +darky. + +No one was in the smoking compartment of the Benvolio, which was bright +and warm, and McAllister, throwing down his ulster, stretched +luxuriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched with interest +the myriad lights of the Greater City marching past, those near at hand +flashing by with the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swinging +slowly forward along the outer rim of the circle. And the idea of this +huge circle, its circumference ever changing with the forward movement +of its pivot, beside which the train was rushing, never passing that +mysterious edge which fled before them into infinity, took hold on +McAllister's imagination, and he fancied, as he sped onward, that in +some mysterious way, if he could only square that circle or calculate +its radius, he could solve the problem of existence. What was it he had +learned when a boy at St. Andrew's about the circle? Pi R--one--two--two +Pi R! That was it! "2 pi r." The smoke from his cigar swirled thickly +around the Pintsch light in the ceiling, and Henry VIII, oblivious of +the anachronism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa beside +him, gazed solemnly into space. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track. + +"Two Pi R!" murmured McAllister. "Two Pi R!" + + +III + +Under the big moon's yellow disk, beside and past the roaring train, +along the silent reaches of the Sound, leaping on its copper thread from +pole to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from town to town, +sped a message concerning Henry VIII. The night operator at New Haven, +dozing over a paper in the corner, heard his call four times before he +came to his senses. Then he sent the answer rattling back with a +simulation of indignation: + +"Yes, yes! What's your rush?" + + Special--Police--Headquarters--New Haven. Escaped + ex-convict Welch on No. 13 from New York. Notify + McGinnis. In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. + Particulars long-distance 'phone in morning. + EBSTEIN. + +The operator crossed the room and unhooked the telephone. + +"Headquarters, please." + +"Yes. Headquarters! Is McGinnis of the New York Detective Bureau there? +Tell him he's wanted, to make an important arrest on board No. 13 when +she comes through at two-twenty. Sorry. Say, tell him to bring along +some cigars. I'll give him the complete message down here." + +Then the operator went back to his paper. In a few moments he suddenly +sat up. + +"By gum!" he ejaculated. + + BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY HOUSE + + It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been + successful recently in securing a position as a + servant at Mr. Gordon Blair's at Scarsdale. Last + evening one of the guests missed her valuable pearl + necklace. In the excitement which followed the burglar + made his escape, leaving the necklace behind him. The + perpetrator of this bold attempt is the notorious + Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a + fugitive from justice. + +"By gum!" repeated the operator, throwing down the paper. Then he went +to the drawer and took out a small bull-dog revolver, which he +carefully loaded. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track, as the train swung round the +curve outside New Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked from +troubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two old women put out their +arms and peered through the window-shades, and the train thundered past +the depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, the engine panted and +steamed. Two gnomes ran, Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behind +the station and by the light of flaring torches began to hammer and tap +the flanges. The conductor, swinging off the rear car, ran into the +embrace of a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of policemen +separated and scattered to the different platforms. + +"Here! Let me go!" gasped the conductor. "What's all this?" + +"Say, Cap., I'm McGinnis--Central Office, New York. You've got a burglar +on board. They're after wirin' me to make the arrest." + +"Burglar be damned!" yelled the conductor. "Do you think you can hold me +up and search my train? Why, I'd be two hours late!" + +"I won't take more'n fifteen minutes," continued McGinnis, making for +the rear car. + +"Come back there, you!" shouted the conductor, grasping him firmly by +the coat-tails. "You can't wake up all the passengers." + +"Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, "don't ye see I've got to +make this arrest? It won't take a minute. The porters'll know who +they've got, and you're runnin' awful light. Have a good cigar?" + +The conductor took the weed so designated and swore loudly. It was the +biggest piece of gall on record. Well, hang it! he didn't want to take +McGinnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, there would be the +same confounded mix-up at the other end. He admitted finally that it was +a fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He had a bottle in the porter's +closet. Yes, call out those niggers and make 'em tell what they knew. + +The conductor was now just as insistent that the burglar should be +arrested then and there as he had been before that the train should not +be held up. He rushed through the cars telling the various porters to go +outside. Eight or ten presently assembled upon the platform. They filled +McGinnis with unspeakable repulsion. + +The conductor began with car No. 2204. + +"Now, Deacon, who have you got?" + +The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled his eyes and replied that he +had "two ole women an' er gen'elman gwine ortermobublin with his +cheffonier." + +The conductor opined that these would prove unfertile candidates for +McGinnis. He therefore turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, however, +had only half a load. There was a fat man, a Mr. Huber, who travelled +regularly; two ladies on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, her +sister, a maid, two nurses, and three children. + +"Nothin' doin'!" remarked the captain. "Now, Colonel, what have _you_ +got?" + +But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of aristocratic appearance, +had an easy answer. His entire car was full, as he expressed it, "er +frogs." + +"Frenchmen!" grunted McGinnis. + +The conductor remembered. Yes, they were Sanko's Orchestra going on to +give a matinée concert in Providence. + +The next car had only five drummers, every one of whom was known to the +conductor, as taking the trip twice a week. They were therefore counted +out. That left only one car, No. 2205. + +"Well, William, what have you got?" + +William grinned. Though sleepy, he realized the importance of the +disclosure he was about to make and was correspondingly dignified and +ponderous. There was two trabblin' gen'elmen, Mr. Smith and Mr. Higgins. +He'd handled dose gen'elmen fo' several years. There was a very old +lady, her daughter and maid. Then there was Mr. Uberheimer, who got off +at Middletown. And then--William smiled significantly--there was an +awful strange pair in the drawin'-room. They could look for themselves. +He didn't know nuff'n 'bout burglars in disguise, but dere was "one of +'em in er mighty curious set er fixtures." + +"Huh! _Two_ of 'em!" commented McGinnis. + +"That's easy!" remarked the mollified conductor. + +The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean Libbey, now approached with +his revolver. + +McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor moved toward the car. +William preferred the safety of the platform and the temporary +distinction of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No light was +visible in the drawing-room, and the sounds of heavy slumber were +plainly audible. The conductor rapped loudly; there was no response. He +rattled the door and turned the handle vigorously, but elicited no sign +of recognition. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on the glass of the +door. He happened to hit three times. Immediately there were sounds +within. Something very much like "All right, sir," and the door was +opened. The conductor and McGinnis saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas, +his face flushed and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them in +dazed bewilderment. + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern. + +"Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis briskly, "but is there any wan +else, beside ye, to kape ye company?" + +Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and made as if to close the door, +but the detective thrust his foot across the threshold. + +"Aisy there!" he remarked. "Conductor, just turn on that light, will +ye?" + +Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and the conductor struck a +match and turned on the Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, and +that by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa was an elegant +alligator-skin bag disclosing a row of massive silver-topped bottles. A +tall silk hat and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit of evening +clothes, as well as a business suit of fustian, were neatly folded and +lying on the upper berth. + +At this vision of respectability both McGinnis and the conductor +recoiled, glancing doubtfully at one another. Wilkins saw his advantage. + +"May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, "wot you mean by these +hactions? W'y am I thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It is +houtrageous!" + +"Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. "The fact is, we thought _two_ +people, suspicious characters, had taken this room together, and this +officer here"--pointing to McGinnis--"had orders to arrest one of them." + +Wilkins swelled with indignation. + +"Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 'ere, conductor, I'll 'ave you +to hunderstand that I will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr. +McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and I am hon my way to +hattend the wedding of Mr. Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am to +be 'is best man. Can I give you any further hinformation?" + +The conductor, who had noticed the initials "McA" on the silver bottle +heads, and the same stamped upon the bag, stammered something in the +nature of an apology. + +"Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, "we've got him wrong, I guess. This +feller ain't no burglar. Anywan can see he's a swell, all right. Leave +him alone." + +"Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized the conductor humbly, +putting out the light and closing the door. + +"That nigger must be nutty," he added to the detective. "By Joshua! +Perhaps he's got away with some of my stuff!" + +[Illustration: "Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the +lantern.] + +"Look here, William, what's the matter with you? Have you been swipin' +my whisky. There ain't two men in that drawin'-room at all--just one--a +swell," hollered the conductor as they reached the platform. + +"Fo' de Lawd, Cap'n, I ain't teched yo' whisky," cried William in +terror. "I swear dey was two of 'em, 'n' de udder was in _dis_guise. It +was de fines' _dis_guise I eber saw!" he added reminiscently. + +"Aw, what yer givin' us!" exclaimed McGinnis, entirely out of patience. +"What kind av a disguise was he in?" + +"Dat's what I axed him," explained William, edging toward the rim of the +circle. "I done ax him right away what character he done represent. He +had on silk stockin's, an' a colored deglishay shirt, an' a belt an' +moccasons, an' a sword an'----" + +"A sword!" yelled McGinnis, making a jump in William's direction. "I'll +break yer black head for ye!" + +"Hold on!" cried the conductor, who had disappeared into the car and had +emerged again with a bottle in his hand. "The stuff's here." + +"I tell ye the coon is drunk!" shouted the detective in angry tones. +"He can't make small av _me_!" + +"I done tole you the trufe," continued William from a safe distance, his +teeth and eyeballs shining in the moonlight. + +"Well, where did he go?" asked the conductor. "Did you put him in the +drawin'-room?" + +"I seen his ticket," replied William, "an' he said he wanted to smoke, +so he went into the Benvolio, the car behin'." + +"Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There ain't no car behind. This here is +the last car." + +"Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; "we dropped the Benvolio at +Selma Junction for repairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that drink!" + + +IV + +McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. The compartment was dark, +save for the pale light of the moon hanging low over what seemed to be +water and the masts of ships, which stole in and picked out sharply the +silver buckles on his shoes and the buttons of his doublet. There was no +motion, no sound. The train was apparently waiting somewhere, but +McAllister could not hear the engine. He put on his ulster and stepped +to the door of the car. All the lights had been extinguished and he +could hear neither the sound of heavy breathing nor the other customary +evidences of the innocent rest of the human animal. He looked across the +platform for his own car and found that the train had totally +disappeared. The Benvolio was stationary--side-tracked, evidently, on +the outskirts of a town, not far from some wharves. + +"Jiminy!" thought McAllister, looking at his uncheerful surroundings and +his picturesque, if somewhat cool, costume. + +For a moment his mental processes refused to answer the heavy draught +upon them. Then he turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon the +platform, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match he looked at his +watch and saw that it was four o'clock. Overhead the sky glowed with +thousands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touching the sea, made +a limpid path of light across the water. At the docks silent ships lay +fast asleep. A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying the +stillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and McAllister shivered +as he thought of Wilkins, and Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelve +o'clock. So far as he knew he might be just outside of Boston--Quincy, +or somewhere--yet, somehow, the moon didn't look as if it were at +Quincy. + +He jumped down and started along the track. His feet stung as they +struck the cinder. His whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to walk +in the direction in which the clock had sounded, and this he did. The +rails followed the shore for about a hundred yards and then joined the +main line. Presently he came in sight of a depot. Every now and then his +sword would get between his legs, and this caused him so much annoyance +that he took it off and carried it. It was queer how uncomfortable the +old style of shoe was when used for walking on a railroad track. His +ruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost preventing a +satisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. Finally he untied it and put it +in the pocket of his ulster. The cap was not so bad. + +The depot had inspired the clubman with distinct hope, but as he +approached, it appeared as dark and tenantless as the car behind him. It +was impossible to read the name of the station owing to the fact that +the sign was too high up for the light of a match to reach it. It was +clear that there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, and he +settled himself in a corner near the express office and tried to forget +his discomfort. + +He had less time to wait than he had expected. Soon a great clattering +of hoofs caused him to climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers' +wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, backed in against the +platform, and their drivers, throwing down the reins, leaped to the +ground. All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another loudly. Then +they began to unload huge cans of milk. This looked encouraging. If they +were bringing milk at this hour there must be a train--going somewhere. +It didn't matter where to McAllister, if only he could get warm. +Presently a faint humming came along the rails, which steadily increased +in volume until the approaching train could be distinctly heard. + +"Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest farmer. + +McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. The farmer involuntarily drew +back. + +"Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his pipe. + +"Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, "what place this is and +where this train goes to?" + +"I reckon not," replied the other. "This is Selma Junction, and this +here train is due in New York at five. Who be you?" + +"Well," answered McAllister, "I'm just an humble citizen of New York, +forced by circumstances to return to the city as soon as possible." + +"Reckon you're one o' them play-actors, bean't ye?" + +"You've got it," returned McAllister. "Fact is, I've just been playing +Henry VIII--on the road." + +"I've heard tell on't," commented the rustic. "But I ain't never seen +it. Shakespeare, ain't it?" + +"Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman. + +At this moment the milk-train roared in and the teamsters began passing +up their cans. There were no passenger coaches--nothing but freight-cars +and a caboose. Toward this our friend made his way. There did not seem +to be any conductor, and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbed +upon the platform and pushed open the door. If warmth was what he +desired he soon found it. The end of the car was roughly fitted with +half a dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, and some +spittoons. A small cast-iron stove glowed red-hot, but while the place +was odoriferous, its temperature was grateful to the shivering +McAllister. The car was empty save for a gigantic Irishman sitting fast +asleep in the farther corner. + +Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his ulster, and hung his cap +upon an adjacent hook. In a moment or two the train started again. Still +no one came into the caboose. Now daylight began to filter in through +the grimy windows. The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and shot +a beam into the face of the sleeper at the other end of the car. Slowly +he awoke, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and, catching the glint of silver +buttons, gazed stupidly in McAllister's direction. The random glance +gradually gave place to a stare of intense amazement. He wrinkled his +brows, and leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail of +McAllister's make-up. The train stopped for an instant and a burly +brakeman banged open the door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, as +it were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke into a loud laugh. + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" + +Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a comprehensive smile, made +answer: + +"Shure, 'tis only a prisoner I'm after takin' back to the city!" + + * * * * * + +"Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two hours later, as the three of +them sat in the visitors' room at the club, "I hope you won't say +anything about this. You see, I had no business to put a kid like +Ebstein on the job, but I was clean knocked out and had to snatch some +sleep. I suppose he thought he was doin' a big thing when he nailed you +for a burglar. But, after all, the only thing that saved Welch was your +fallin' asleep in the Benvolio." + +"My dear Baron," sympathetically replied McAllister, who had once more +resumed his ordinary attire, "why attribute to chance what is in fact +due to intellect? No, I won't mention our adventure, and if our friend +McGinnis--" + +"Oh, McGinnis'll keep his head shut, all right, you bet!" interrupted +Barney. "But say, Mr. McAllister, on the level, you're too good for us. +Why don't you chuck this game and come in out of the rain? You'll be up +against it in the end. Help us to land this feller!" + +McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half-closed his eyes. There +was a quizzical look around his mouth that Conville had never seen there +before. + +"Perhaps I will," said he softly. "Perhaps I will." + +"Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! Now, if you _get_ anything, +tip us off. You can always catch me at 3100 Spring." + +"Well," replied the clubman, "don't forget to drop in here, if you +happen to be going by. Some time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might want +a nip of something warm." + +But to this the Baron did not respond. + +[Illustration: "Who in thunder are _you_?"] + +A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke almost restored +McAllister's customary equanimity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Then +he called for a telegraph blank and sent the following: + + _Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If + necessary, use Wilkins._ _McA._ + +To which, about noon-time, he received the following reply: + + _Don't understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and + departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding + to-morrow._ _F. C._ + + + + + + +The Governor-General's Trunk + + +I + +McAllister was in the tank. His puffing and blowing as he dove and +tumbled like a contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly among +the marble pillars of the bath at the club. It was all part of a +carefully adjusted and as rigorously followed regimen, for McAllister +was a thorough believer in exercise (provided it was moderate), and took +it regularly, averring that a fellow couldn't expect to eat and drink as +much as he naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of condition, +and if he didn't he would simply get off his peck, that was all. Hence +"Chubby" arose regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in a +padded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended to the tank, where he dove +six times and swam around twice, after which he weighed himself and had +Tim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree of solicitude for all this +procedure, since he was a personal discovery of McAllister's, and owed +his present exalted position entirely to the clubman's interest, for +the latter had found him at Coney Island earning his daily bread by +diving, in the presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot glass +tank, where he seated himself upon the bottom and nonchalantly consumed +a banana. McAllister's delight and enthusiasm at this elevating +spectacle had been boundless. + +"Wish I could do any one thing as well as that feller dives down and +eats that banana!" he had confided to his friend Wainwright. "Sometimes +I feel as if my life had been wasted!" The upshot of the whole matter +was that Tim had been forthwith engaged as rubber and swimming teacher +at the club. + +McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and was floating lazily +toward the steps, when Tim appeared at the door leading into the +dressing-rooms and announced that a party wanted to speak to him on the +'phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a very cantankerous old person, who +was in the devil of a hurry, and wouldn't stand no waitin'. + +The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched bottom, and arose dripping +to his feet. The "old person" on the wire was clearly his aunt, Lady +Lyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to irritate her when she +was in one of her tantrums. Still, he couldn't imagine what she wanted +with him at that hour of the morning. She'd been placid enough the +evening before when he'd left her after the opera. But ever since she +had married Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten years before she'd +been getting more and more dictatorial. + +"Tell her I'm in this beastly tank; awful sorry I can't speak with her +myself, don'cher know, and find out what she wants. And _Tim_--handle +her gently--it's my aunt." + +Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. As McAllister hurried into +his bath-robe and slippers he wondered more and more why she had rung +him up so early. He had intended calling on her after breakfast, any +way, but "after breakfast" to McAllister meant in the neighborhood of +twelve o'clock, for the meal was always carefully ordered the evening +before for half-past ten the next morning, after which came the paper +and a long, light Casadora, crop of '97, which McAllister had bought up +entire. Something must be up--that was certain. He could imagine her in +her wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with Tim over the wire. The +language of his _protégé_ might well assist in the process for which the +curl-papers were required. There was nobody in the world, in +McAllister's opinion, so queer as his aunt, except his aunt's husband. +The latter was a stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with a +walrus-like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection of British +institutions, and about enough intelligence to drive a watering-cart. He +had been rewarded for his unswerving fidelity to party with the post of +Governor-General at a small group of islands somewhere near the equator, +and had assumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, establishing the +Bertillon system of measurements for the seven criminals which his +islands supported, and producing quarterly monographs on the flora, +fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now they were _en route_ for +England (via Quebec, of course), and were stopping at the Waldorf. + +Tim presently reappeared. + +"She says you've got to hike right down to the hotel as fast as you can. +She's terrible upset. My, ain't she a tiger?" + +"But what's the bloomin' row?" exclaimed McAllister. + +Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his voice. + +"The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole!" said he. + + +II + +The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish, +for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family, +cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had always +said the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoes +and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appear +in style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure in +astonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry, +however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and +everybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scares +occurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact, +however, on their arrival in New York. + +The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at the +breakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite. + +The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre of +vivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His +aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as they +responded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter was +serious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone. +In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking over +their shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of some +assassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentally +suggesting that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt at +breakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground. + +"That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!" +exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "To +say the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knows +perfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, and +never allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and took +a sip of coffee. + +"Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have him +unpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made such +a row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they were +both more than half mad. + +"Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of the +luggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this +time! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by a +miserable brass check with a number on it--and the railroad liable by +express contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" Before +Uncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to the +bar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in those +regions to which later works have not penetrated. "You see we're +leaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless +_for a purpose_?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air of +one who had divined something. + +Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently, +had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a +little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion when +the jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket, +but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip. + +"If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to send +your man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send the +fellow who packed the trunk--this Morton--whoever he is." + +"No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg. +"There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don't +wish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I--I need him." Lord +Lyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the egg +in an embarrassed fashion. + +McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said he +cheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and the +jewels back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?" + +"My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking over +his shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston on +the way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all. +You know it's very hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but +Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven't +had the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!" + +"Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guess +I'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you the +check?" + +Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass. + +"I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously. + +"Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister. + +The Governor-General nodded ambiguously. + +Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almost +hysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation. +Suddenly she broke forth: + +"I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there was +nothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him what +you've done?" + +"What in thunder _have_ you done?" asked McAllister, now convinced +beyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearest +insane asylum. + +Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over his +shoulder. + +"Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in the +clothes-closet. I locked him!" + +"He's in _there_!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! And +now the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, and +I'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out, +and----" + +She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within the +closet. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly, +vaguely familiar about it. + +"It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you to +hunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's a +great hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout, +sir?" The voice ceased momentarily. + +"Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for over +an hour!" + +"Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." But +McAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had he +heard that voice before? + +"'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'm +stiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!" + +McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Could +he ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same way +as the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old man +wasn't such a fool _after_ all! And the jewels! He smote his fist upon +the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. There +was no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now. +The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of the +jewels. + +"Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored to +assert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrested +for hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you _are_ a guv'nor! Let me _hout_, +I say!" + + +III + +McAllister lost no time in getting to the Grand Central Station. He was +looking for a big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. For +this purpose he enlisted the services of a burly young porter, who, for +the consideration of a half-dollar, piloted the clubman through the +crowded alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they came upon the +familiar collection of Lord Lyndhurst's paraphernalia of travel. Eagerly +he recognized the luggage of his uncle's official household. There were +his boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, his portable desk, his dumb-bells, his +bath-tub, his medicine chest, the secretary's trunk, the typewriter in +its case; there were his aunt's basket trunks, and--yes--there was the +big Vuitton. McAllister heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was to +get it back to the hotel as fast as possible. + +"That's it," said he to the porter. "Heave it out!" They were standing +in a little open space some distance from the entrance. The big Vuitton +lay at one side, and about it a row of other trunks roughly in a +semicircle. The porter made but one step in the desired direction, then +jumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket trunk, standing alone +upon its end apart, suddenly shook violently, its lock clicked, the +cover swung open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured young man +with a black mustache. It was Barney Conville, although at first +McAllister failed to recognize him. + +"Look here you! Don't touch that trunk!" he exclaimed. Then he perceived +McAllister, and a look of intense disgust overspread his face. + +"It's the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. "Now what the devil do you +suppose he's been doin' in that trunk? Howd'y', Baron," he added +pleasantly, holding out his hand. "Hardly expected to see you here. Do +you take your rest that way?" pointing to the trunk from which Conville +had emerged. + +The detective eyed him with disapproval. + +"Say," he remarked, disdainfully, "you give me a pain--always buttin' in +an' spoilin' everythin'! This here is a _plant_. I'm waitin' fer a +thief--Jerry, the Oyster. They're goin' to try an' lift that big striped +trunk over there. It belongs to an old party up to the Waldorf. He's a +diplomatico." + +"He's my uncle!" cried McAllister. + +"Your _aunt_!" snorted Barney. + +"But I want to take that trunk back with me." + +"On the level?" + +"Sure!" + +"Can't help it! This is an important job. The Oyster's the cleverest +thief in the business. Works in with all the butlers and valets. Why +he's got away with more'n three thousand pieces of baggage. He's +the----" + +Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he ducked, and grabbing +McAllister by the shoulder, pulled him down with him. + +"There he is now! Into the trunk! There's no other way! Plenty of room!" +He shoved his fat companion inside and stepped after him. McAllister, +utterly bewildered, tried to convince himself that he was not dreaming. +He was quite sure he had taken only one Scotch that morning, but he +pinched himself, and was relieved to get the proper reaction. When he +became used to the dim light he discovered that he was ensconced in a +dress-box of immense proportions, made of basket work, and covered with +waterproofing. Placed on end, with a seat across the middle, it afforded +a very comfortable place of concealment. Conville turned the key and +locked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in the ribs. + +"Great joint, ain't it? Idee of the cap's. Makes a fine plant," he +whispered, affixing his eye to a narrow slit near the top. + +"Sh-h!" he added; "he's here. There's another peeper over on your side." + +McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye to the improvised +window, and discovered that they commanded the approach to the big +Vuitton. And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed the glory of +his uncle's family, the heirlooms of four centuries! He made an +involuntary movement. + +"Keep still!" hissed Conville, and McAllister sank back obediently. + +A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and gaiters, carrying a dainty +silver-headed umbrella in one hand and a copy of _The Churchman_ in the +other, had approached the counter. He seemed somewhat at a loss, gazed +vaguely about him for a moment, and then stepping up to the head +baggage-man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed him anxiously. + +"I say, my man, I'm really in an awful mess, don't you know! I don't see +my box anywhere. I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, and +I'm leavin' for Montreal at three. The luggage-man says it was left here +by ten o'clock. Do you keep all the boxes in this room?" + +The head baggage-man nodded. + +"Sorry you've lost your trunk," said he. "If it ain't here we haven't +got it, but like as not it's mixed up in one of them piles. If you'll +wait for about ten minutes I'll see if I can find it for your +Reverence." + +The Anglican looked shocked. + +"Thanks, I'm sure," he murmured stiffly. He was a slight young man with +a monocle and mutton-chops. + +"It's very good of you," he added after a pause, with more +condescension. "Awfully awkward to be without one's luggage, for I have +a service in Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in my box. I +fear I shall miss my train." + +"Oh, I guess not!" replied the baggage-man encouragingly. "I'll be with +you presently. You come in and look around yourself, and if you don't +see it I'll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted a section of the +counter and allowed the clergyman to pass in. + +"My! Ain't he _clever_!" whispered Barney delightedly. + +The clergyman now began a rather dilatory investigation of the contents +of the baggage-room, bending over and examining every trunk in sight, +and even tapping the one in which they were ensconced with the silver +head of his umbrella, but after a few moments, in apparent despair, he +took his stand beside the big trunk marked "B. C. L.," and gazed +despondently about him. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest +that he was other than he seemed, but Barney directed McAllister's +attention to the copy of _The Churchman_, from the leaves of which +protruded two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it might +appear, for a book-mark. And now as the Anglican shifted from one foot +to the other, ostensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his hands +behind him and took a step or two backward toward the big trunk. Chubby +was by this time all agog. What would the fellow do? He certainly +couldn't be goin' to shoulder the trunk and try to walk off with it! + +Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved hands slip a penknife from +among the leaves of the magazine and quickly sever the check from the +handle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his position and waited until +the baggage-man was once more engaged at the other end of the counter. +Again this amiable representative of the cloth shuffled backward until +the handle was within easy reach, and with a dexterity which must have +been born of long practice deftly tied the two ends of string around it. +With a quick motion he stepped away in the direction of the counter, and +out from the leaves of _The Churchman_ fell and dangled a new check +stamped "Waistcoat's Express, No. 1467." + +"My good fellow," impatiently drawled the clergyman, approaching the +baggage-man, "I really can't wait, don'cher know. I've looked +everywhere, and my box isn't here. I don't know whether to blame that +beastly luggage-man, or whether it's the fault of this disgustin' +American railroad. It's evident someone's at fault, and as I assume that +you are in charge I shall report you immediately." + +[Illustration: Deftly tied the two ends of string around it.] + +The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust champion of religion before +him with scorn. + +"Well, son, you can report all you like. I've worked in this +baggage-room eighteen years, and you're not the first English crank who +thought he owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned on his heel, +while the clergyman, with an expression of horror, ambled quickly out of +the side door. + +McAllister had watched this remarkable proceeding with enthusiastic +interest, his round face shining with the excitement of a child. + +"Jiminy, but this is great!" he exclaimed, slapping Barney upon the +back. "And to think of your doin' it for a livin'! Why I'd sit here all +day for nothin'! What happens next? And what becomes of the feller +that's just gone out?" + +"Oh, you ain't seen half the show yet!" responded Conville, pleased. "It +is pretty good fun at times. But, o' course, this is a star performance, +and we're sure of our man. Oh, it beats the theayter, all right, all +right! Truth's stranger than fiction every time, you bet. Now take this +Oyster--why he's a regular cracker-jack! Got sense enough to be an +alderman, or president, or anythin', but he keeps right at his own +little job of liftin' trunks, an' he ain't never been caught yet. His +pal'll be along now any minute." + +"How's that?" inquired Chubby with eagerness. + +"Why, don'cher see? Jerry's cut off the reg'lar tag, and now the other +feller'll present a duplicate of the one Jerry's just hitched on. Great +game, 'Foxy Quiller,' eh?" + +McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a great game. By George, it +beat playin' the horses! At the same time he shivered as he realized how +nearly the famous jewels had actually been lost. Wilkins must be an +awful bad egg to go and tie up to a gang of that sort! + +The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all that had been taking place +behind his back, and apparently not soured by his little set-to with the +Englishman, was genially assisting the great American public to find its +effects, and beaming on all about him. People streamed in and out, +engines coughed and wheezed; from outside came the roar and rattle of +the city. + +Presently there bounced in a stout person in a yellow and black suit, +with white waistcoat and green tie, who mopped his red face with a large +silk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who seemed to be unoccupied, +he threw down a pasteboard check, together with a shining half-dollar, +and shouted, "Here, my good feller, that trunk, will you? Quick! The big +one with the red letters on it--'B. C. L.' They sent it here from the +Astoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my ship sails at twelve. +Now, get a move on!" + +The porter grabbed the check and the half-dollar, and falling upon the +big Vuitton, rolled it end over end out into the street, followed by its +perspiring claimant. + +"That's right, that's right," shouted the bounder. "Chuck it on behind. +Mus'n't miss the boat!" and throwing the porter another half-dollar, the +sportive traveller jumped into the hack, yelling, "Now drive like the +devil!" The door closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disappeared +among the tracks and wagons of Forty-second Street. + +McAllister for the first time felt distinctly uneasy. + +"Look here," he whispered feverishly, "is it right to let him walk off +like that? Hurry! Open the trunk, or he'll get away!" + +"Sit still, and don't get excited!" commanded Barney. "It's all right," +he added condescendingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamiliar +with such mysteries. "We've got him covered. He couldn't get away to +save his neck. An' as for follerin' him, why he'll carry that trunk half +over New York before he lands it where it's goin'!" + +"All right!" sighed the clubman; "you're the doctor. But it seems to me +you're takin' a lot of risk. Your brother officer might lose track of +him, or he might drop the trunk somehow, and _then_ where would the +jewels be?" + +"Right exactly where they are _now_," replied Barney with a grin. "In +the office safe at the Waldorf. They ain't never left the hotel. There +wasn't any need of it, and if I hadn't taken 'em out I'd 've had to +watch 'em here all night. Now everythin's all right. + +"And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of it, "I forgot to tell you. +Who do you suppose is workin' with Jerry? Fatty Welch! 'Wilkins,' you'd +call him. He's turned up again an' hooked on, somehow, to the Gov'nor. +Me and my side-partner's been trailin' 'em both ever since your uncle +hit New York. I had the room opposite him at the Waldorf. Yesterday +mornin' I saw Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as a bell-boy, +and was cleanin' the winders. The Gov'nor's kind of figgity you know, +and I thought we'd better not mention anythin' to _him_. Of course I +didn't have any idea _you'd_ come waltzin' along this way." + +McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the detective. He was as +demonstrative as his narrow quarters rendered possible. + +"Baron," said he, "you're a corker! I've learned a heap this morning." + +"There's lots of things you never dream of, Horace," replied Barney +politely. + +"Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met asking me to help you nab +Wilkins?" continued McAllister. "Well, I'm goin' to make good. I've got +him safely locked in a closet at the hotel. He promised not to come +back, and now I'm done with him. What do you say to that?" + +"Good work!" ejaculated Barney. "Keep it up! In time you might make a +pretty good detective." + +From Barney such a concession was high praise, and showed intense +appreciation. On their way back to the Waldorf he explained that the +"Oyster" was one of a very few "guns" able effectively to make use of a +disguise, this being in part due to the fact that he was the son of a +clergyman, and educated for the stage. + +They were met at the door of the apartment by Lady Lyndhurst. + +"Basil has disappeared!" she gasped. "And that awful man in the closet +has become so blasphemous that I can't remain with decency in the room." + +McAllister partially pacified her by stating that the jewelry was +entirely safe. He wondered what on earth had become of the Governor. +Once inside the suite conversation became practically impossible, owing +to the sounds of inarticulate rage which proceeded from the closet. + +Barney decided to place the valet immediately under arrest and take him +to Police Headquarters. The sooner they did so the more likely he would +be to "squeal." He requested McAllister to arm himself with a +walking-stick, and to stand ready to come to his assistance if, on +opening the door, he should find himself unable to cope with the +prisoner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her bedroom, the door +leading to the corridor was closed and locked, and the two prepared for +the conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, which he cocked +and held ready. + +"Don't fire 'till you see the whites of his eyes!" murmured McAllister. + +"Fire--nothin'!" muttered Barney, throwing open the closet door. + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed +individual sprung from within and burst upon their astonished gaze. The +Governor-General stood before them. + +[Illustration: "Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a +fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within.] + +Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to the other--then in +response to their surprised inquiries broke into incoherent explanation. +He had waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllister's departure, +and Sophia had gone to her bedroom to finish dressing, when suddenly the +expostulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. Finally they had +died entirely away, and in their place had come terrible gasps and +gurgles. He had remembered that there was no means of renewing the air +supply in the closet, and had become alarmed. Presently all sounds had +ceased. He was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. Opening the +door, he had found the valet apparently lying there unconscious, and had +dragged him forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned to life, and +before he knew it had jammed him into the closet and locked the door. + +"He was most impertinent, too, when he got on the outside, I can assure +you," concluded Lord Lyndhurst indignantly. "Gave me a lot of gratuitous +advice!" + +McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm his troubled spirit, and +soothe his ruffled dignity, informing him that the jewels had been in +the hotel safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused to take any +stock whatever in their explanation. Nothing of the sort could possibly +have happened in England. It took them an hour to persuade him that they +were not lying. The only things that appeared to convince him at all +were the disappearance of Morton, a large bump on his own forehead, and +the actual presence of the jewelry in the safe downstairs. Even then he +sent to Tiffany's for a man to examine it. + +Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, subjecting him to an +exhaustive cross-examination upon his antecedents and occupation. The +Governor declared he was astounded at his impudence. The idea of opening +his private luggage! He would address a communication to the +authorities! It was little better than grand larceny. It _was_ grand +larceny, by Jupiter! Hadn't Conville abstracted the jewels _vi et +armis_? Of _course_ he had! Damme, he would see if the sacred rights of +an English official should be trampled on! It was _trespass_ +anyway--_Trespass ab initio_! Did Conville know that? It was grand +larceny _and_ trespass. He would lock him up. + +Barney grinned, and the Governor again became almost apoplectic. + +He snorted scornfully at the detective's explanation about this Jerry +"What-do-you-call-him--the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to believe +_that_? Conville was a confounded, hair-brained busybody--He dwindled +off, exhausted. + +At that moment there came a sharp rap upon the door, and an officer in +roundsman's uniform entered. + +"Gentleman called at the precinct house and reported a jewelry theft in +this suite. Said the thief had been caught and locked up in a closet, so +I thought I'd drop over and see how things stood." + +He looked inquiringly at McAllister, significantly at the +Governor-General, and then caught sight of Barney. + +"Hello, Conville!" he exclaimed. "You on the case? Well, then I'll drop +out. Got your man, I see!" He glanced again at the dishevelled scion of +nobility before him. + +"Everythin's all right," answered the detective with a chuckle. "I guess +they was fakin' you round at the house. By the way, I want you to meet a +friend of mine--Roundsman McCarthy, let me present you to his Nibs--the +Governor-General." + +The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes shifting from the now red +and stammering roundsman to Conville's beaming countenance, and back +again. + +"Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, "do you prefer Scotch or rye? You will +find cigars on the sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are upon +_me_!" + +"By the way," he added to McCarthy, as McAllister filled the glasses, +"would you be so obliging as to describe the individual who so +thoughtfully notified you in regard to the loss of the jewelry?" + +"Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray eyes," answered +McCarthy, lighting a cigar. "Looked somethin' like this gentleman here," +indicating the clubman. "Spoke with a kind of English accent. Nice +appearin' feller, all right." + +"By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAllister. + +"Damn!" exploded Uncle Basil. + +"The nerve of him!" muttered Barney. + + + + + + +The Golden Touch + + +I + +McAllister, with his friend Wainwright, was lounging before the fire in +the big room, having a little private Story Teller's Night of their own. +It was in the early autumn, and neither of the clubmen were really +settled in town as yet, the former having run down from the Berkshires +only for a few days, and the latter having just landed from the Cedric. +The sight of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the distance and +then, receiving no encouragement, stalked slowly away, reminded +Wainwright of something he had heard in Paris. + +"I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, McAllister, upon the +impregnable rock of universally accepted fact that Tomlinson is a +highfalutin ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then; I proceed. In +the first place, you must know that our anemic friend decided last +spring that the state of his health required a trip to Paris. He +therefore went--alone. The reason is obvious. Who should he fall in +with at the Hotel Continental but a gentleman named Buncomb--Colonel C. +T. P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the middle of his +forehead, who claimed to belong to a most exclusive Southern family in +Savannah. Incidentally he'd been in command of a Georgia regiment in the +Civil War and had been knocked in the head at Gettysburg--one of those +big, flabby fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says about his +capacity to chew Black Strap and absorb rum is accurate, I reckon the +Colonel was right up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He knew +everybody and everything in Paris; passed up our friend right along the +Faubourg Saint Germain; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses and +countesses--that is, Tomlinson _says_ they were. Can't you see 'em, +swaggerin' down the Champs-Élysées arm in arm? In addition, he took our +mournful acquaintance to all the _cafés chantants_ and students' balls, +and gave him sure things on the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been a +regular doodle-bug! + +"In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new friend was a mining +expert taking a short vacation and just blowing in an extra half million +or so. He believed it. You see, he had never met any of them at the +Waldorf at home. He was also introduced to a young man in the same line +of business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed to have plenty of money, +and was likewise _au fait_ with the aristocracy. + +"Well, one night, after they had been to the Bal Boullier and had had a +little supper at the Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle more +confidential than usual, and let drop that their friend Summerdale had a +brother employed as private secretary by a copper king who owned a +wonderful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. The stock in this +concern had originally been sold at five dollars a share, but recently a +rich vein had been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. No one +knew of this except the officers of the company, who, of course, were +anxious to buy up all they could find. They had located most of it +easily enough, but there were two or three lots that had thus far eluded +them. Among these was the largest single block of stock in existence, +owned by the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. He had two +thousand shares, and was blissfully ignorant of the fact that they were +worth forty thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no one seemed to +know, but his name was Edwin H. Blake, and he was supposed to be in +Paris. It appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watching out for +Blake with the charitable idea of relieving him of his stock at five, +and selling it for twenty in the States. + +"Next day, if you'll believe it, the Colonel didn't remember a thing; +became quite angry at Tomlinson's supposing he'd take advantage of any +person in the way suggested; explained that he must have been drinking, +and begged him to forget everything that might have been said. Of +course, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after that the Colonel and he +rather drifted apart. Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later, +our friend stumbled on Blake himself--met him right on the race-track, +through a Frenchman named Depau. + +"Now our innocent friend had been sort of lonely ever since he'd lost +sight of Buncomb, and this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort. +Tomlinson naturally inquired if he'd ever met the Colonel or Larry +Summerdale, but he never had, and finally they took an apartment +together." + +"He must have been pleased when Tomlinson told him about the value of +his stock," remarked McAllister, lighting another cigar. + +"I'm comin' to that," replied Wainwright. "It seems that Tomlinson so +far forgot his early New England traditions as to covet that stock +himself. Shockin', wasn't it? + +"One day, when they were lunching at the Trois Freres, our friend +hinted that he was interested in mining stock. Blake laughed, and +replied that if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff he +wouldn't want to see another share as long as he lived, and added that +he was loaded up with a lot of worthless stock--two thousand shares--in +an old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from his father, and +wasn't worth the paper the certificate was printed on. The leery +Tomlinson admitted having heard of the mine, but gave it as his +impression that it had possibilities. + +"Then he had a sudden headache, and went out and cabled to The Silver +Bow offices at the _World_ building here in New York to find out what +the company would pay for the stock. In an hour or two he got an answer +stating that they were prepared to give twenty dollars a share for not +less than two thousand shares. Good, eh? + +"Well, next day he led the conversation round again to mining stocks, +and finally offered to buy Blake's holdings for five dollars a share. +When the latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he'd lose the stock +that he almost raised his bid to fifteen; but Blake only laughed, and +said that he had no intention of robbing one of his friends, and that +the old stuff really wasn't worth a cent. Tomlinson became quite +indignant, suggested that perhaps he knew more about that particular +mine than even Blake did, and finally overcame the latter's scruples +and persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson disposed of some bonds by +cable, and that evening gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs in +exchange for his two thousand share certificate in The Silver Bow of +Arizona. He told me it had a picture of a miner with a pick-ax and a +mule standing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegorical, don't +you think? + +"Blake continued to protest that our friend was being cheated, and +offered to buy it back at any time; but Tomlinson's one idea was to get +to New York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the stock was on the +way, and that very night he slid out of Paris and caught the +Norddeutscher Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occupied the bridal +chamber on the way back all by himself. + +"The instant they landed he jumped in a cab and started for the _World_ +building; but when he got there he couldn't find any Silver Bow Mining +Company. It had evaporated. It had been there right enough--for ten +days--the ten days Tomlinson calculated that it had taken Blake to sell +him the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or what had become of +it. + +"Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, "he nearly went crazy; cabled the +police in Paris and had 'em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb; +and took the next steamer back. He says they had the trial in a little +police court in the Palais de Justice. Buncomb had hired Maître Labori +to defend him. Everybody kept their hats on, and apparently they all +shouted at once. The Judge was the only one that kept his mouth shut at +all. Tomlinson told his story through an interpreter, and charged +Buncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with conspiracy to defraud. + +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into the +middle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped his +coat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell you +he must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the Confederate +Army, he was--the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserable +French scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador. +He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge could +interfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in a +while he'd yell '_Conspuez_' or '_À bas_' and sort of froth at the +mouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maître Labori got in _his_ +licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing--a rascal--a +'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is. + +"Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant smile, if Buncomb had ever +asked him to buy any stock? + +"Tomlinson had to say 'No.' + +"Did Larry Summerdale? + +"'No' + +"Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless? + +"'Yes.' + +"How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it? + +"'Well, he didn't absolutely.' + +"The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake, +and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarked +that one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson +would show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then the +first thing our friend knew the court had adjourned--they had all been +turned out--discharged--acquitted. But the thing that most disgusted +Tomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, the +Colonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. They +passed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paid +for that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last he +heard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera." + +"And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister. + +"There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-day +boat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, +Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electric +car for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. But +the simple life has done him good." + + +II + +One evening, several months later, McAllister and a party of friends +dropped into Rector's after the theatre for a caviare sandwich before +turning in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light and crowded, +but after waiting for a few moments they were given a table just vacated +by a party of four. McAllister, having given their order, noticed a +couple seated directly in his line of vision who instantly challenged +his attention. The girl was ordinary--slender, dark-haired, +sharp-featured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed with +ermine--obviously an actress or vaudeville "artist." It was her +companion, however, that caused McAllister to readjust his monocle. +Curious! Where had he seen that face? It was that of a heavy man of +approximately sixty, benign, smooth-shaven, full-featured, and with an +expanse of broad white forehead, the centre of which was marked in a +curious fashion by a deep dent like a hole made by dropping a marble +into soft putty. It gave him the appearance of having had a third eye, +now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He was sure he had met the old +fellow somewhere--he couldn't just place where. But that hole in the +forehead--yes, he was certain! Listening abstractedly to his friends' +conversation, the clubman studied his neighbor, becoming each moment +more convinced that at some time in the past they had been thrown +together. Presently the pair arose, and the man helped the woman into +her ermine coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in and out of +shadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened upon it like some bird charmed +by a reptile, watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously out. + +"Fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, "look at those people just going out; +do you know who they are?" + +"Why, that's Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," said Rogers. "She's at +Hammerstein's. I don't know her escort. By George! that's a queer thing +on his forehead." + +McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him. + +"Alphonse, who's the gentleman with Mademoiselle Vibbert?" + +Alphonse smiled. + +"Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced it Erbaire. + +"Well, who's Monsieur Erbaire?" + +Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, protruded his +lips, and extended the palms of his hands. + +"Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turning to the group around the +table, "Alphonse says that you can search _him_." + + +III + +McAllister had speculated for a day or two upon the probable identity of +the man with the hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it up +as a bad job. One didn't like to dig up the past too carefully, anyhow. +You never could tell exactly what you might exhume. + +The next Sunday afternoon, while running his eyes carelessly over the +"personals," his notice was attracted to the following: + + BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES.--Advertiser wants party with + four thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve + thousand dollars in five weeks; no scheme, strictly + legitimate business transaction; will bear thorough + investigation; must act immediately; no brokers; + principals only. + HERBERT, 319 Herald. + +The name sounded familiar. But he didn't know any Herbert. Then there +hovered in the penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the ghost of a +scarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes! Herbert was the man with the hole +in his forehead that night at Rector's, that Alphonse didn't know. But +where had he known that man? He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of +Tomlinson, the saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of course! +Buncomb--Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb--Tomlinson's high-rolling friend of +the Champs-Élysées--turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert--a man who'd +triple your money in five weeks! The chain was complete. If he kept his +wits about him he might increase the reputation achieved at Blair's. It +would require _finesse_, to be sure, but his experience with Conville +had given him confidence. Here was a chance to do a little more +detective work on his own account. He replied to the advertisement, +inviting an interview. The "Colonel" would probably call, try some old +swindling game, McAllister would lure him on, and at the proper moment +call in the police. It looked easy sailing. + +Accordingly the appointed hour next day found the clubman waiting +impatiently at his rooms, and at two o'clock promptly Mr. Herbert was +announced. But McAllister was doomed to disappointment. The visitor was +not the Colonel at all, and didn't even have a bullet-hole in his +forehead. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully in a dark blue +overcoat, bowed himself in. In his hand he carried a glistening silk +hat, and his own countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thick +bristly black hair parted mathematically in the middle drooped on either +side of his forehead above a pair of snappy black eyes and rather +bulbous nose. + +McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest to be seated. + +Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered him. + +"Mr. McAllister?" he inquired affably. + +"Ye-es," replied the clubman. "I noticed your advertisement in the +_Herald_, and it occurred to me that I might like to look into it." + +Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating manner. + +"I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatanism," he remarked, "but +the situation was unusual and time was of the essence. Are we quite +alone?" + +"Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?" + +Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining McAllister in a cigar. + +"The gist of the matter is this," he explained, holding the weed in the +corner of his mouth as he spoke--a trick McAllister had never acquired. +"I have a brother who is employed in a confidential capacity by the +president of a large mining company--The Golden Touch. The stock has +always sold at around four or five. Recently they struck a very rich +lode. It was kept very quiet, and only the officers of the company +actually on the field know of it. Needless to say, they are buying in +the stock as fast as they can." + +"Of course," answered McAllister sympathetically. He felt as if he had +run across an old friend again. Things were looking up a bit. + +"Well, I have located a block of which they know absolutely nothing. It +was issued to an engineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. He +suddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go to Baden-Baden. At +present he is laid up at one of the hotels in this city. Of course he is +ignorant of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the fact that +his stock, once worth only five dollars a share, is now selling at +twenty." + +"Well, he's a richer man than he supposes," commented McAllister +naively. + +Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension. + +"Exactly. That is the point. If I had five thousand dollars I could buy +his thousand shares to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteen +thousand dollars' profit. You furnish the funds, I the opportunity, and +we divide even. I've a sure thing! What do you think of it?" + +"By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slapping his knee delightedly, "I've +a mind to go you! . . . But," he added shrewdly, "I should want to see +the prospective buyer of my stock before I purchased it." + +"Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllister," instantly returned Mr. +Herbert. "Now, I'm dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning you can go +down and see the president of The Golden Touch yourself. The offices are +in the New York Life Building." + +"All right," answered McAllister. "To-morrow? Wait a minute; I've an +engagement. Why can't we go now?" + +Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, _that_ was business! They would go +at once. + +McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him into his coat and summoned +a cab. On their way down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. He +believed, if they could land this block of stock, they might perhaps dig +up a few more hundred shares. Conscientious effort counted just as much +in an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllister displayed the +deepest interest. + +Arrived at the New York Life Building, the two took the elevator to the +fifth floor, where Herbert led the way to a large suite on the Leonard +Street side. McAllister rarely had to go down-town--his lawyer usually +called on him at his rooms--and was much impressed by the marble +corridors and gilt lettering upon the massive doors. Upon a door at the +end of the hall the clubman could see in large capitals the words, + + THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO. + + _Office of the President._ + +They turned to the left and paused outside another door marked +"Entrance." Herbert thought he'd better remain in the corridor--the +President might smell a rat; so McAllister decided to enter alone. In an +adjoining suite he could see some men testing a fire-escape consisting +of a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from the window in the +direction of the street below. Someone was preparing to make a descent. +McAllister wished he could stop and see the fellow slide through; but +business was business, and he opened the door. + +Inside he found himself in a large, handsome office. Three gum-chewing +boys idled at desks in front of a brass railing, behind which several +typewriters rattled continuously. On learning that McAllister desired to +see the President, one of the boys penetrated an inner office, and +presently beckoned our friend into another room hung with large maps and +photographs and furnished with a mahogany table, around which were +ranged a dozen vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond, +evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly man at a roll-top +desk smoking a large cigar. + +McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; everything seemed so +methodical and everybody so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzers +whirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside smoked on serenely, +unperturbed, a wonderful example of the superiority of mind over matter. +Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he was going to make an ass of +himself. Then the magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became no +longer possible. With a start, McAllister found himself face to face +with the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead. The latter bowed +slightly. + +"I am President Van Vorst," he announced in a dignified manner. + +McAllister hastily tried to assume the expression and manner of a yokel. + +"Er--er--" he stammered; "you see, the fact is, I want to sell some +stock." + +The Colonel eyed him sternly. + +"Stock? What stock?" + +"In the Golden Touch." + +The President slightly elevated his eyebrows. + +"Stock in The Golden Touch? How much have you got?" + +"About a thousand shares." + +"Nonsense!" remarked the Colonel. + +"No, it isn't," replied McAllister. "I have, really. What'll you pay for +it?" + +"Five dollars a share." + +"No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously toward the door. "I think +it's worth more than that." + +"Come back here," muttered the other, getting up from his chair and +scowling. "What do you know about the value of The Golden Touch, I +should like to know?" + +"Perhaps I know more than you think," answered McAllister, with an inane +imitation of airy nonchalance. + +"See here," said the Colonel excitedly, "is this on the level? Can you +deliver a thousand?" + +"Certainly." + +The President sank back in his chair. + +"Then you have located Murphy's stock!" he exclaimed. "You've beaten us! +That cursed certificate was issued just before--" He paused, and looked +sharply toward McAllister. + +"Just before you made that strike," finished the clubman significantly. + +"Hang you!" cried the Colonel angrily. "What do you ask?" + +"Eighteen." + +"Too much. Give you ten." + +McAllister started for the door. + +At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and handed the President a +flimsy yellow paper. + +"Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting his eye rapidly over the +telegram. + +"Can't do business on that basis." + +"Well, you've got us cornered. I'll break the record. I'll give you +fifteen." + +McAllister hesitated. + +"All right," said he rather reluctantly. "Cash down?" + +"Of course," replied the Colonel. "I'll wait here for you. You might as +well look at this now." And he showed the clubman the paper. + + STAFFORD, ARIZONA. + + _Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays + show eight per cent. copper, carrying five dollars in + gold to the ton. Try and locate Murphy's stock._ + +"You see," added the Colonel, "I've got to get it, if it busts me!" + +"Well, you shall have it in half an hour," replied McAllister. + +Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know exactly what had happened, +and laughed heartily when McAllister described the interview. Oh, that +old Van Vorst was a sly dog! He'd steal the gold out of your teeth if +you gave him the chance. Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton! That +was even better than his brother had advised him. Well, the next thing +was to capture Murphy's stock. + +On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllister +stopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring the +money to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters. +Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between them +that the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him at +once to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return of +McAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company. + +McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to the +hotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad, +very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trained +nurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs and +inquire for themselves. + +Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor, +in which the pungent odor of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even +at the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knock +brought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was at +last persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the express +condition that their call should be limited to a few moments' duration +only. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllister +could discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the far +corner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a +table covered with liniment and bottles. + +"Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace? +Wot is it, I s'y?" + +For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beating +at the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should it +come from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the waters +beneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinary +individual--Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instant +McAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation. + +"You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see if +you wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock." + +"'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turning his head to the wall. +"Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almost +dead? Go aw'y, I s'y!" + +McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock, +and on returning to the company's offices to have Conville arrest +Herbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. He +was pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist +him, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both. + +"Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort of +thing." + +So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to part +with his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent over +the glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected at +Baden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and mining +stock in particular. + +Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon his pallet and cursed the +inconsiderate strangers who forced their selfish interests upon him at +such a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed impatiently. At last, +after an unusually persistent harangue on the part of Herbert, the +invalid, inveighing against the sciatica that had placed him thus at +their mercy, and more to get rid of them than anything else, +reluctantly yielded. Fumbling among the bed-clothes, he produced a +soiled certificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly. + +"'Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! Gimme yer money, an' go aw'y!" + +As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who had remained partially +concealed behind his companion. + +"Now's your chance!" whispered the latter. "Take it while you can get +it. Where's the money?" + +McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled deliciously in his hands, +and stepped square in front of the sick engineer, between him and +Herbert. + +"Mr. Murphy"--he spoke the words slowly and distinctly--"I'm the person +who's buying your stock. This gentleman has merely interested me in the +proposition." Then, fixing his eyes directly on those of Wilkins, he +held out the bills. A look of terror came over the face of the valet, +and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he stared horrified at his +former master. Then he sank back, and turned away his head. + +"Now answer me a few questions," continued McAllister. "Are you the bona +fide owner of this stock?" + +Wilkins choked. + +"S' 'elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped. + +"And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?" + +Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle of +iodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side. + +"Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within a +few inches of McAllister's face. "_It's rotten_," he whispered under his +breath. "_Don't touch it!_ . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . _Just pretend to +pass me the money_. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . _I +wouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't!_ . . . W'ere's yer money?" + +A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said there +was no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing as +gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that it +was the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. His +simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part. +With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to where +Herbert was standing. + +"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man's +name is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine? +I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money." + +"Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brother +gave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then he +has the certificate. What more do you want?" + +"I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head and +shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't do +it." + +Herbert seemed annoyed. + +"Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sick +you can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"--adding +_sotto voce_ to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buy +the stock himself, and we'll lose our chance." + +The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer. +Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified. + +"We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, nodding +vigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister. + +"Oh, I'll go!" responded the engineer with sudden alacrity. "Anything to +hoblige." + +He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse had by this time returned, +and was demanding in forcible language that his patient should instantly +get back. Seeing that his expostulations had no effect, he assisted +Wilkins very ungraciously to get into his clothes. With the aid of a +stout cane the latter tottered to the elevator and was finally ensconced +safely in the cab. All this had occupied nearly an hour; twenty minutes +more brought them to the New York Life Building. + +As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into the +building, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and +athletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of the +portico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly that +the sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again. +As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office, +McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Things +were going well enough, so far. Now for the _coup d'état_! + +The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before, +President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a +corner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe. + +"Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I've +brought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?" + +"Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with great +cordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my old +engineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year, +isn't it, since you were at Stafford?" + +"Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've got +the skyathicer somethin' hawful." + +McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket. + +"Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman. + +"Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousand +shares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show of +irritation. + +"Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply. + +The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he could +not determine just how matters stood. + +"Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, but +I'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you back +quite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow--you, or Murphy?" + +"At present it belongs to me," said the clubman. + +As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the door leading into the +directors' room. From below came faintly the rattle of the street and +the clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could be heard the +merry tattoo of the typewriters. Could it be possible that in this +opulently furnished office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, its +Persian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy curtains, he was +confronting a crew of swindlers of whom his own valet was an accomplice? +It was almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wainwright's vivid +description of the fall of Tomlinson, the scene at Rector's, the +advertisement in the _Herald_, and the strange occurrences of the +morning, he perceived that there could be no question in the matter. He +was facing three common--or rather most uncommon--thieves, all of whom +probably had served more than one term in State prison--desperate +characters, who would not hesitate to use force, or worse, should it +appear necessary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He might be +murdered, and no one be the wiser. Then a vague shadow flickered against +the opaque glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new courage. +Conville was just outside, with Tomlinson--although the latter could not +be regarded as a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-hand +struggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? What if the ex-convict +should go back on him? How did the valet know but that, by assisting +his master, he was sending himself to State prison? McAllister had a +fleeting desire to turn and dart from the room. What business had a +middle-aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then he braced himself, +took a good grip of his stout walking-stick, and turned to the Colonel +with an assumption of calmness which he was very far from feeling. The +noonday sun streamed into the windows and threw into strong relief the +muscular figures of the group about him. + +"I'm afraid you've been deceived in Murphy," he remarked coolly. "He +isn't an engineer at all; he's just an ex-convict." + +The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched a Colt from an open drawer +of the desk. Herbert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins dropped +his crutch. + +"What are you giving us!" cried the Colonel. + +"I'll leave it to _him_," added McAllister. "By the way, his name isn't +Murphy at all--it's Wilkins--or Welch, if you prefer." + +"What's this--a plant?" yelled Herbert. "By God, if----" + +"Don't be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the clubman. "You might lay down +that pistol, Colonel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine--in fact +he used to work for me." + +The two thieves glared at him, speechless. Wilkins picked up his crutch +by the small end, remarking: + +"Better go easy there, Buncomb." + +"I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of meeting another friend of +mine last summer, a Mr. Tomlinson," continued McAllister. "He's told me +a good deal about you. I am under the impression that he paid for an +automobile and a little trip you took on the Riviera. How would you like +to turn back the money?" + +Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale and motionless, while the +clubman opened the door into the hall and called Tomlinson's name. + +"Yaas, I'm here, McAllister. What do you want?" replied the club bore as +his lank figure entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Summerdale, +and Wilkins he stopped short. + +"By Jove!" he drawled, "I'm dashed if it ain't the Colonel--and Larry!" + +"Look here, you--you--chappie!" snarled Buncomb, "clear out of here! And +you, too, Tomlinson. Understand?" He waved the revolver threateningly. + +"Colonel," remarked McAllister, "I'm here for just one purpose, and +that's to collect the debt you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson. +Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever _you_ call him, is ready to +turn state's evidence against you. I promise him immunity. There's an +officer just outside. Shall I call him?" + +"Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, his face livid with fright +and anger. "Are you going to squeal on us?" + +"Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I'm through with you, you miserable +shell-gamers! The best thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hover +there and count hout what's left of that ten thousand." + +"Curse you!" hissed Summerdale. "How do we know you won't have us +pinched whether we pay up or not?" + +"I reckon we'd better take a chance," muttered the Colonel, laying down +his revolver and dropping on his knees before the safe. The little knob +spun around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, but at the +same moment there was a terrific crash of glass behind them. + +"Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting his face through the +broken pane and covering Buncomb with a long black weapon. "Kindly keep +your arms up, Colonel--and you too, Larry. How stout you've grown! Thank +you! I was peekin' through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would be +a good time to freeze on to what was in the safe without callin' in an +expert." + +The next instant he had unlocked the door with his other hand and +snapped the handcuffs on Summerdale's uplifted wrist. While the +detective was doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught sight of +Wilkins's frightened glance, and gave a slight nod toward the door +leading into the next room. Like a flash the valet had jumped through +and closed and locked the door behind him. Another door banged. Conville +sprang into the hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, with +McAllister at his heels. They were just in time to see Wilkins leap into +the room where the men were testing the fire-escape. + +"Let me try it," said he, and swung himself calmly into the tube. For an +instant he delayed his flight, with only his head remaining visible. + +"Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his shoulder, "and thank you +kindly. I won't forget, sir." + +At the same instant Conville bounded through the door and rushed to the +window. As he reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged downwards. +His descent was rapid, his position being discernible from the sagging +of the canvas. + +Barney started for the elevator in the hope of cutting off the valet's +escape below, but he had miscalculated the force of gravitation. As +McAllister reached the window he saw the little bulge that represented +Wilkins slide gently to the bottom. There was a cheer from the +bystanders as the convict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turned +for an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, waved his hand and +disappeared among the crowd. + + + + + + +McAllister's Data of Ethics + + +I + +"Certainly, sir. Your clothes shall be delivered at the Metropole at +nine-forty-five to morrow evenin', sir." + +Pondel's dapper little clerk tossed a half-dozen bolts of "trouserings" +upon the polished table, and smiled graciously at the firm's best paying +customer. + +"Here, Bulstead! take Mr. McAllister's waist measure--just a matter of +precaution," he added deferentially. "These are somethin' fine, +sir--very fine! When they came in, I says to Mr. Pondel: 'If only Mr. +McAllister could see that woollen! It's a shame,' I says, 'not to save +it for 'im!' An' Mr. Pondel agreed with me at once. 'Very good, +Wessons,' says he. 'Lay aside enough of that Lancaster to make Mr. +McAllister a single-breasted sack suit, and if he don't fancy it I'll +have it made up into somethin' for myself,' he says. Ain't that so, Mr. +Pondel?" + +The gentleman addressed had graciously sauntered over to congratulate +Mr. McAllister upon his selections. + +"Ah, very good! Very good indeed! How's that, Wessons? Yes, I told him +to keep that piece for you, sir. Lord Bentwood begged for it almost with +the tears in his eyes, as I may say, but I assured him that it was +already spoken for." He patted the cloth with a fat, ring-covered hand. +An atmosphere of exclusive opulence emanated from every inch of his +sleek, pudgy person--from the broad white forehead over the glinting +steel-gray eyes, from the pointed Van Dyke trimmed to resemble that of a +certain exalted personage, from his drab waistcoated abdomen begirdled +with its heavy chain and dangling seals, down to the gray-gaitered +patent leathers. McAllister distrusted, feared, relied upon him. + +The clubman wiped his monocle and glanced out through the plate-glass +window. Marlborough Square was flooded with the soft sunshine of the +autumn afternoon. Hardly a pedestrian violated the eminently +aristocratic silence of St. Timothy's. + +"Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure," he replied, not grudging Pondel the +extra two guineas which he very well knew the other invariably charged +for these little favors. It were cheap at twice the money to feel so +much a gentleman. + +"But this is Saturday, and it's five o'clock now. I don't see how you +can possibly finish all those suits by to-morrow evening. You know I +really didn't intend to order anything but the frock-coat. Perhaps you'd +just better let the rest go. I can get them some other time." + +"Not at all, Mr. McAllister; not at all. We are always delighted to +serve you by any means in our power. Did Wessons say they would be +finished to-morrow? Then to-morrow they shall be, sir. I'll set my men +at work immediately. Pedler! Where's Pedler? Send him here at once!" + +A hollow-eyed, lank, round-shouldered journeyman parted the curtains +that concealed the rear of the room, and nervously approached his +employer. He blinked at the unaccustomed sunlight, suppressing a cough. + +"Did you call me, sir?" + +"Yes," replied Pondel with the severity of one granting an undeserved +favor. "This is Mr. McAllister, of whom you have heard us speak so +often. I believe you have cut several of the gentleman's suits. He is to +take the Majestic, which sails early Monday morning, and I have promised +that his clothes shall be ready to-morrow evening. Can you arrange to +stay here to-night and whatever portion of to-morrow is necessary to +finish them?" + +A worried look passed over the man's face, and his hand flew to his +mouth to strangle another cough. + +"Certainly, sir; that is--of course-- Yes, sir. May I ask how many, +sir?" + +"Only three, I believe. I was sure it could be arranged. Please ask +Aggam to assist you. That is all." + +"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Pedler hesitated a moment as if about to +speak, then turned listlessly and plodded back behind the curtains. + +"Very obliging man--Pedler. You see, there will be no difficulty, Mr. +McAllister." + +"Well, I don't see how on earth you're going to do it!" protested +McAllister feebly. He wanted the clothes badly, now that he had seen the +material. "It's mighty good of you to take all this trouble." + +Mr. Pondel made a deprecating gesture. + +"We are always glad to serve you, sir!" he repeated, as Wessons escorted +the distinguished customer to the door. + +"It's a great privilege to be employed by such a man as Mr. Pondel," +whispered the salesman. "He thinks an enormous lot of you, sir. Very +fine man--Mr. Pondel." + +As the hansom jogged rapidly toward the hotel, McAllister reflected +painfully upon the enormous sums of money that he annually transferred +from his own pockets to those of the lordly tailor. Not that the money +made any particular difference. The clubman was well enough fixed, only +sometimes the bills were unexpectedly large. The three suits just +ordered would average fourteen guineas each. Roughly they would come to +two hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus the duty, which he always paid +conscientiously. And he was getting off easy at that. He remembered +heaps of bills for over two hundred pounds, and that was only the +beginning, for he bought most of his clothes right in New York. + +Climbing the steps of his hotel, he wondered vaguely how long Pedler and +the other fellow would have to work to finish the suits. Of course, they +would be paid extra--were probably glad to do it. The chap had a nasty +cough, though. Oh, well, that was their business--not his! So long as he +put up the money, Pondel could look out for the rest. + +However, he felt a distinct sense of relief that his own obligations +consisted merely in dressing, dining at the Savoy with Aversly, and then +leisurely taking in the Alhambra afterward. Once in his room, he found +that the once criminally inclined, but now reformed Wilkins, who had +returned to his master's service under a solemn promise of good +behavior, had already laid out his clothes. McAllister rather dreaded +dressing, for the place was one of those heavily oppressive apartments +characteristic of English hotels. Green marble, yellow plush, and black +walnut filled the foreground, background, and middle distance, while a +marble-topped table, placed squarely in the centre of the room, offered +the only oasis in the desert of upholstery, in the form of a single +massive book, bound in brown morocco, and bearing the inscription +stamped upon its cover in heavy gilt: + + HOTEL METROPOLE + HOLY BIBLE + NOT TO BE REMOVED + +It fascinated him, recalling the chained hairbrush and comb of the +Pacific Coast. There you were offered cleanliness, here godliness, by +the proprietors; only the means thereto were not to be taken away. The +next comer must have his chance. + +As the clubman idly lifted the volume, he suddenly realized that this +was the first Bible he had actually touched in over thirty years. The +last time he had owned one himself had been at school when he was +fifteen years old. Something moved him to carry it to the window. The +sun was just dropping over the scarlet chimney-pots of London. Its +burnished glare played upon the red gilt edges of the leaves, as +McAllister mechanically allowed the book to fall open in his hands. He +read these words: + + So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that + are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such + as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on + the side of their oppressors there was power; but they + had no comforter. + +The sun sank; the chimneys deadened against the sky-line. When Wilkins, +ten minutes later, stole in to see if his master needed his assistance, +he found McAllister staring into the darkening west. + + +II + +The bell on St. Timothy's tolled twelve o'clock as McAllister's hansom, +straight from the Alhambra, clacked into the moonlit silence of +Marlborough Square. A soft breath of distant gardens hung on the cool +air. The chimneys rose from the house-tops sharp against a pale blue sky +glittering with stars. Here and there a yellow window gleamed for a +moment under the eaves, then vanished mysteriously. It was a night for +lovers,--calm, still, ecstatic,--for hayfields under the harvest +moon,--for white, ghostly reaches of the Thames,--for poetry,--for the +exquisite enjoyment of earth's nearest approach to heaven. + +The trap above McAllister's head opened. + +"Beg pardon, sir. W'ere did you s'y, sir?" + +"I said _Pondel's_," replied McAllister, rather sharply. He knew the +cabby must think him a lunatic, but he didn't care. He intended to do +the decent thing. Hang it! The fellow could mind his own business. + +The hansom crossed the street and reined up in the shadow. All was dark, +silent, deserted. Only the brass plate beside the door reflected +strangely the moonlight across the way. + +"'Ere's Pondel's, sir." The cabby got down and crossed the sidewalk to +the door. + +"All shut hup!" he commented. "Close at six." + +A dark figure emerged quickly from, a neighboring shadow. + +"'Ere! Wot is it you want?" demanded the bobby, accosting the cabman +with tentative and potential roughness. + +"Gent wants Pondel's. I dunno w'y. Ax 'im yerself!" responded cabby in +an injured tone. + +The bobby turned to the hansom. + +"This shop's closed at six o'clock," he announced. "Wot do you want?" + +McAllister felt ten thousand times a fool. The beauty of the night, the +odoriferous quiet, the peace of the deserted square, all made his errand +seem monstrously idiotic. The universe was wheeling silently across the +housetops; respectable men and women were in their beds; only +night-hawks, lovers, policemen were abroad. It was as if a worm were +raising objection to some cardinal law. Why should he try to upset the +order and regularity of the London night, clattering into this +slumbering section, startling a respectable somnolent policeman, making +an ass of himself before his cabby--because somewhere a fellow was +working overtime on his trousers. He imagined that as soon as he had +made his explanation the bobby and the driver would collapse with +merriment, and hale him to a mad-house. But McAllister set his teeth. He +was fighting for a principle. He wouldn't "welch" now. He clambered out +of the hansom. + +"I want to find Pondel, because he's got some fellows working on my +clothes, and I don't propose to have anybody working for me on Sunday. +Understand? It's _Sunday_. I don't intend to have folks working on my +clothes when they ought to be in bed." + +He spoke brokenly, defiantly, catching his breath between words, almost +ready to cry; then waited for his auditors to fall upon each other's +necks in derisive mirth. He forgot, however, that he was in London. The +situation was one apposite to American humor, but evoked no sense of +amusement in the policeman. He treated McAllister's explanation with +vast respect. Our hero gained confidence. The bobby regretted that the +place seemed closed; ventured to express his approval of the clubman's +altruistic effort; dilated upon it to the cabby, who was correspondingly +impressed. McAllister, immensely cheered, held forth on the wrongs of +labor at some length, and, finding a sympathetic audience, produced +cigars. The three proved, as it were, a little group of humanitarians +united in a common purpose. Then, suddenly, inconsequently, inexcusably, +a man coughed. The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. It came from a +point directly beneath their feet. The bobby rapped sharply on the +pavement several times. + +"Hi there, you!" he called. "Hi there, you in Pondel's. Come an' open +hup!" + +They could hear a dull murmur of conversation, the cough was repeated, a +bench dragged across a floor, some fastening was slowly loosed, and a +yellow gleam of light shot up through the shadow as a scuttle opened in +the sidewalk. A lean, scrawny figure thrust itself upward, sleepily +rubbing its eyes, collarless, its shirt open at the breast, its hair +tousled, coughing. McAllister, now confident that he had the support of +his companions, addressed the ghost, in whom he recognized Pedler, the +journeyman from behind the curtains. The clubman's face, however, was +concealed in shadow from the other. + +"You're working for Pondel, aren't you?" + +The ghost coughed again, and shivered, although the air was warm. + +"Yes," it answered huskily. + +"Are you working on some clothes for a gentleman who's sailing on +Monday?" + +"Yes," it repeated. + +"Then don't, any more," chirped McAllister encouragingly. "Those clothes +are for me, and I don't want you to work any longer. You ought to be in +bed." + +"Wotcher givin' us?" grumbled Pedler. "G'wan! Leave us alone!" He +started to descend. But the bobby stepped forward. + +"Look 'ere," he said roughly. "Don't you understand? It's just as the +gentleman s'ys. You don't _'ave_ to work any more to-night. You can go +'ome." + +"I s'y, wotcher givin' us?" repeated the other. "I cawn't go 'ome. Mr. +Pondel's horders is to st'y 'ere until the clothes is finished. M'ybe +it's as you s'y, but I cawn't go 'ome." + +At this juncture a child began to cry drowsily below, and a woman's +voice could be heard striving to comfort it. + +"You don't mean you've got a baby down there!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Only little Annie," replied Pedler. "An' the old woman." + +"Anyone else?" + +"Aggam." + +"Let's go down," suggested the bobby. "_I_ can make 'em understand." The +ghost descended, dazed, and McAllister, the bobby, and last of all, the +cabman, followed down a creaking ladder into a sort of vault under the +cellar. A small oil wick gave out a feeble fluctuating light. On one +side, cross-legged, sat a shrivelled-up, little old man, his brown beard +streaked with gray, stitching. He did not look up, but only worked the +faster. A thin woman crouched on a broken chair, holding a little girl +in her lap. + +"There, there, Annie, don't cry. The bobby's not arter _you_. It's all +right, darlin'!" + +Strewn about the cement floor lay the bolts of Lancaster which +McAllister had selected, together with patterns, scissors, and +unfinished garments. + +"Excuse the child, sir," apologized the woman. "She's just a bit +sleepy." + +"Well," said McAllister, his indignation rising at the scene, and shame +burning in his cheeks, "go right home. I won't have you working on these +clothes any more." How he wished Pondel was there to get a piece of his +mind! + +Jim looked wearily at Aggam. + +"Wot d'ye s'y, Aggam?" + +The other kept on stitching. + +"I gets my horders from Pondel," he replied, shortly, "an' I don't tyke +no horders from no one helse!" + +"But look here," cried McAllister, "the clothes are _mine_, ain't they? +Pondel hasn't anything to do with it! And _I_ tell you to _go home_." + +"Yes," grunted Aggam. "An' then you loses your job, does yer? I don't +want no toff mixin' into _my_ affairs. I minds my business, they can +mind theirs!" + +"I s'y, that's no w'y to speak to the gentleman!" exclaimed the bobby in +disgust. "'E's only tryin' to do yer a fyvor! 'Aven't yer got no +manners?" + +"_I_ minds _my_ business, let _'im_ mind _'is'n_!" repeated Aggam +stolidly. + +"Well, _I_ must _s'y_," ejaculated the cabby, "they're a bloomin' +grateful lot!" + +The tall man seemed to resent this last from one of his own station. + +"I appreciates wot the gent wants," he said weakly, "but it's just like +Aggam s'ys. Wot can _we_ do? The gent cawn't tell us to go 'ome!" + +The child began to cry again. McAllister was exasperated almost to the +point of profanity. + +"Don't you _want_ to go home?" he exclaimed. + +The woman laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. + +"Annie an' me 'ave st'y'd 'ere all the evenin' just to be with Jim. 'E's +awful sick. An' 'e'll 'ave to st'y 'ere all d'y to-morrer. Do we _want_ +to go 'ome!" + +Her husband dashed his shirt-sleeve across his eyes. + +"Don't Nell," he muttered. "I ain't sick. I can work. You go 'ome with +the kid." + +McAllister thrust a handful of bank-notes toward her. + +"Where does old Pondel live?" he inquired of the bobby. + +"Out in Kew somewheres," replied the officer. + +The woman was staring blankly at the money. Suddenly she dropped the +little girl and began to sob. Jim broke into a fit of harsh coughing. +The cabman climbed up the ladder. The temperature of the vault seemed +insufferable to McAllister. + +"I suppose you'll go home if Pondel says so?" he suggested. + +"Just watch us!" growled Aggam. + +"Take that child home, anyhow, and put it to bed," ordered the clubman. +"I'll be back in an hour or so." + +As he climbed up through the scuttle into the sweet, soft moonlight, and +started to enter the hansom, the bobby held out his hand. + +"Excuse me, sir. I 'ope you'll pardon the liberty, but, would you mind, +I've got a brother in America--Smith's the naime--'e lives in a plaice +called Manitoba. Do you 'appen to know 'im?" + +"I'm sorry," replied our friend, grasping the other's hand. "I never ran +across him." + +"Where to now?" asked the cabby. + +"To Kew," replied McAllister. + +They swung out of the square, leaving the bobby standing in the shadow +of Pondel's. + +"I'll look out for 'em while you're gone," called the latter +encouragingly. + +They crossed Bond Street, followed Grosvenor Street into Park Lane, and +plunging round Hyde Park corner, past the statue to England's greatest +soldier, they entered Kingsbridge. McAllister, all awake from his recent +experience, saw things that he had never observed before--bedraggled +flower-girls in gaudy hats, with heart-rending faces; drunken laborers +staggering along upon the arms of sad-featured women; young girls, +slender, painted, strolling with an affectation of light-heartedness +along the glittering sidewalks. On they jogged, past narrow streets +where, amid the flare of torches, the entire population of the +neighborhood swarmed, bargained, swore, and quarrelled; where little +children rolled under the costers' carts, fighting for scraps and +decaying vegetables; and where their passage was obstructed by the +throngs of miserable humanity for whom this was their only park, their +only club. It being Saturday night, the butchers were selling off their +remnants of meat, and their shrill cries could be heard for blocks. +Several times the horse shied to avoid trampling upon some old hag who, +clutching her wretched purchase to her breast, hurried homeward before a +drunken lout should snatch it from her. McAllister had never imagined +the like. It was with a sigh of relief that they left the Hammersmith +Road behind and at last reached the residential districts. In about an +hour they found themselves in Kew. A cool breeze from the country fanned +his cheek. On either hand trim little villas, with smooth lawns, lined +the road, and the moonlit air was fragrant with the smell of damp grass, +violets, and heliotrope. Here and there could be heard the tinkle of a +cottage piano, and the laughter of belated merry-makers on the verandas. + +They located Mr. Pondel's villa without difficulty. Standing back some +thirty yards from the street, its well-kept garden full of flowering +shrubs and carefully tended beds of geraniums, it was a residence +typical of the London suburb, with fretwork along the piazza roof, a +stone dog guarding each side of the steps, and salmon-pink curtains at +the parlor windows. The door stood open, a Japanese lamp burned in the +hallway, and the murmur of voices floated out from the door leading into +the parlor. McAllister once again felt the overwhelming absurdity of his +position. Over his shoulder, as he stood by the hyacinths at the door, +floated the same big moon in the same soft heaven. Damp and fragrant, +the wind blew in from the lawn and swayed the portières in the narrow +hall, behind which, doubtless, sat the lordly Pondel, friend of +noblemen, adviser of royalty, entrenched in his castle, a unit in an +impregnable system. The whinny of the cab-horse beyond the hedge +recalled to McAllister the necessity for action. He realized that he was +losing moral ground every instant. + +The bell jangled harshly somewhere in the back of the house. A man's +voice--Pondel's--muttered indistinctly; there was a feminine whisper in +response; someone placed a glass on a table and pushed back a chair. A +clock in the neighborhood struck two, and Pondel emerged through the +portières--Pondel in a wadded claret-colored dressing-gown embroidered +with birds of Paradise, in carpet slippers, with a meerschaum pipe, +watery eyes, and slightly disarranged hair. It was rather dim in the +hallway, and he did not recognize his visitor. + +"What is it? What do you want?" The inquiry was abrupt and a little +thick. + +"Good evening, Mr. Pondel," stammered McAllister. "I hope you'll excuse +me for disturbing you at this hour. It's about the clothes." + +"W'o is it?" Pondel peered into his guest's flushed face. "W'y Mr. +McAllister, what are you doin' way out 'ere? Excuse my appearance--a +little pardonable neglishay of a Saturday evenin'. Come right in, won't +you? Great honor, I'm sure. Though, if you'll believe it, I once 'ad the +honor of a call from his Grace the Duke of Bashton right in this very +'all. Excuse me w'ile I announce your presence to Mrs. Pondel." + +McAllister said something about having to go at once, but Pondel +shuffled through the curtains, almost immediately sweeping them back +with a lordly gesture of welcome. + +"This way, Mr. McAllister." Our miserable friend entered the parlor. +"Elizabeth, hallow me to present Mr. McAllister--one of my oldest +customers." + +Elizabeth--a fat vision of fifty-five, with peroxide hair, and a soft +pink of unchanging hue mantling her elsewhere mottled cheeks--arose +graciously from the table where she and her husband had been playing +double-dummy bridge, and courtesied. + +"Chawmed, I'm sure. What a beautiful evenin'! Won't you si' down?" +murmured the enchantress. + +McAllister took a chair, and Pondel pressed whiskey and water upon him. +Oh, Mr. McAllister, needn't be afraid of it; it was the real old thing; +Lord Langollen had sent him a dozen. Lizzie would take a nip with +'em--eh, Lizzie? A gen'elman didn't take that long trip every evenin', +and a little refreshment would not only do him good, but, as the Yankees +said, would show there was no 'ard feelin', eh? He must really take just +a drop. Say when! + +Lizzie poured out a glass for the much-embarrassed guest. She was in a +flowered kimona, even more "neglishay" than her husband, but the bower +in which the goddess reclined was a perfect pearl of the decorator's +art. Cupids, also "neglishay," toyed with one another around a cluster +of electric burners in the ceiling, gay streamers of painted blossoms +dangling from their hands and floating down the walls. Gilt chairs, a +white and gilt sofa, and a brown etching in a Florentine frame on each +wall, were the most conspicuous articles of furniture. At the windows +the brilliant salmon-pink curtains bellied softly in the breeze that +stole into the chamber and diluted the gentle odor of Parma violets +which exuded from the dame in the kimona. To Pondel, McAllister's +presence was an evidence of his power; and his pride, tickled mightily, +put him in an exquisite good humor. Certainly the occasion required from +him, the host, a proper felicitation. + +"'Ere's to our better acquaintance," said the tailor, raising his glass +sententiously. "Lizzie, drink to Mr. McAllister!" + +The three drank solemnly. Then the voluble tailor addressed himself to +the task of entertaining his distinguished guest. McAllister could catch +at no opening to explain his visit. Pondel chatted gayly of Paris, the +Continent, and familiarly of the races and the _beau monde_. Apparently +he knew (by their first names) half the nobility of England, and he +endeavored to place his customer equally at his ease with them. He +ventured that he knew how most young Americans spent their time in +London and Paris; dropped with a wink, that in spite of his present +uxoriousness he had been a bit of a dog himself, and ended by suggesting +another toast to "A short life and a merry one." The lady of the kimona, +grammatically not so strong as her husband, contented herself with +expansive smiles and frequent recurrence to the tumbler. + +"I must explain my visit," finally broke in McAllister. "It's about the +clothes." + +Pondel smiled condescendingly. + +"My dear Mr. McAllister, you don't need to worry in the slightest. +They'll be done promptly to-morrow evenin', take my word for it." + +McAllister flushed. How in Heaven's name could he ever make the tailor +understand? + +"I've decided I don't want 'em!" he stammered. + +Pondel's glass went to the table with a bang, and he gazed blankly at +his customer. The clubman, not realizing the implication, did not +proceed. + +"That's all right," finally responded Pondel a trifle coldly. "There's +no hurry about settlement. You can take a year, if necessary." + +Mrs. Pondel slipped unobtrusively out of the room, leaving a trail of +perfume behind her. + +"Oh!" exclaimed our friend, catching his breath: "It isn't that. But you +see I can't have those men working over night and to-morrow on my +account. It's--it's against my principles." + +Pondel brightened. A load had been taken from his heart. So long as +McAllister's bank account was good, any idiosyncrasy the American might +exhibit did not matter. He had always regarded McAllister, however, as a +man of the world, and had esteemed him accordingly. He perceived that he +had been mistaken. His customer was merely a religious crank. He had had +experience with them before. + +"Pooh! That's all right," said he resuming his former cordiality. "Why, +they like to earn the extra money. They're all devoted to my interests, +you know." + +"Well, I don't want them to work any longer on my clothes," repeated +McAllister helplessly. + +"I understand," replied Mr. Pondel, rather loftily. "I'm afraid, +however, it's too late to stop them now. The cloth 'as been cut, and +they would not stop contrary to my direction." + +"That's the point," returned McAllister, "I want you to change your +orders." + +"But, my dear sir," expostulated the tailor, "you can't expect me to go +to London this time of night! Besides, they're nearly done by this time. +It's impossible!" + +"I'll manage that," exclaimed McAllister. "I've been down to the shop +already, and they're waiting for me now to come back with your +permission to go home; they wouldn't go without it." + +"Dear, dear!" replied the tailor, changing his tactics. "How much +interest you have taken in their welfare! How kind and thoughtful of +you! No, they're faithful men; they wouldn't think of disobeying orders. +But what a shame I didn't know of it before! Why, they might 'ave been +at 'ome and in their beds. However, I sha'n't forget 'em at the end of +the month. Mr. McAllister, I respect you. I have never known of a more +unselfish act. Permit me to say it, sir, you are a Christian--a true +Christian. I wish there were more like you, sir!" + +McAllister arose to his feet. His one thought now was to escape as +quickly as possible. The sight of Pondel's smiling countenance filled +him with unutterable disgust. Suppose the fellows at the club could see +him sitting in this pursy tailor's parlor, with his scented wife, and +gilded chairs-- + +The tailor, however, was anxious to restore the cordiality of their +relations, and slopped over in his eagerness to show how kind he was to +his men, and how considerate of their well-being. He took McAllister's +arm familiarly as he showed him to the door. + +"Yes," he added confidentially, "this is a very good locality. Only the +best people live in this neighborhood. Rather a neat little property." +He proffered McAllister a cigar. The clubman wanted to kick him for a +miserable, dirty cad. + +"Right back!" he said to the cabby, hardly replying to the tailor's +good-night. + +London was asleep. Even the streets through which he had driven to Kew +were hushed in preparation for the sodden Sunday to come. The moon had +lowered over the housetops, and St. Timothy's was in the shadow as once +again he drew up in front of Pondel's. + +"Back already, sir?" The bobby stepped out to meet him. + +"Yes," replied McAllister wearily. "And those fellows down there are +going home." + +The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more Pedler's head protruded above +the sidewalk. + +"Mr. Pondel says you're to go home," said McAllister. + +"The gent's been all the way to Kew for you," interjected the bobby. + +"Hi, Aggam!" exclaimed Jim, huskily. "Th' gentleman says we are to go +'ome, Mr. Pondel says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard muttering +below. Presently the light was extinguished, and both emerged from the +scuttle and put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily exultant. +Pedler pushed the scuttle into place. + +"Well," said McAllister after an awkward pause, "can I give you a lift? +Which way do you go? I tell you what: you come back with me to the +hotel, and then the hansom can take you both home." + +Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one another. + +"Oh, come on, you fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, all his natural good +spirits returning with a rush. "Get in there, now!" + +Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister directed the driver to go to +the Metropole, after stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, +the policeman. The stars were still marching across the sky, and the +breeze had freshened. Every window was dark; no one was astir. They +heard only the echoes of their horse's hoof-beats. Yet the restless +silence that precedes the dawn was in the air. + +"I lives miles aw'y from 'ere," said Pedler after a meditated period. + +"So do I," supplemented Aggam. + +"I don't care," replied McAllister. "I've had this cab all night, +anyhow, and I want to celebrate. You see, this is the first time I ever +got ahead of my tailor." + +Another long pause ensued. They were not a talkative lot, surely. +McAllister's flow of language absolutely deserted him. He could think of +no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler finally came to his +assistance. + +"I'm thirty-seven year old, an' this is the fust time I've ever ridden +in a 'ansom." + +"Jiminy!" exclaimed McAllister. "You don't say so! What luck!" + +"Fust time for me, too," added Aggam. + +After this burst of confidence the three rode in utter silence. At the +Metropole the clubman jumped out and bade his companions good-night. + +As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start, Aggam +leaned forward rather apologetically. + +"You must hexcuse me," he remarked, "but I don't want to sail hunder +false colors, and I feel as if I hort to s'y that while I'm a Socialist, +I 'ave no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism." + +"Well, neither have I," replied McAllister encouragingly, an answer +which probably puzzled Mr. Aggam for a fortnight. + + + + +McAllister's Marriage + + +I + +The Bar Harbor train slowly came to a stop beside a little wooden +station. From over the marshes crept a breath of salty freshness that +tried vainly to steal in through the open windows of the Pullman, only +intensifying the stifling heat inside. + +McAllister arose and made his way to the platform in search of air. A +spare, wrinkled octogenarian was in the difficult act of lifting a small +girl in a calico dress to the platform of the day coach, the child +clinging obstinately to the old gentleman's neck and refusing to +disentangle herself. + +"Mercy, Abby! Do leggo!" he remonstrated. "Thar, ef ye don't, I'll ask +that man thar to hoist ye!" + +The little girl reluctantly let go her hold and allowed herself to be +placed on the lowest step. + +"That's a good girl," continued her guardian; then addressing +McAllister, he inquired conversationally: + +"Be ye goin' to Bangor?" + +"How's that? Ye-es, I believe I am. At least the train passes through," +responded McAllister doubtfully, apprehensive of undesirable +complications. + +The old fellow produced from his waistcoat-pocket a ticket which he +placed in the child's hand. Then he turned her around and gave her a +little push up the steps. + +"Wall, jest keep an eye on Abby, will ye?" + +"Good-by, Uncle!" cried the little girl, climbing laboriously up to +where the clubman stood and making a little bow, which he gravely +returned. + +"I don't know . . ." he began. + +"That's all right," explained the farmer. "Her aunt'll meet her. Jest +see she don't bother no one. Lemme pass ye her duds." + +The octogenarian forthwith handed up to McAllister a cloth valise, a +pasteboard box, and a large paper bag. + +"Her lunch is in the bag," said he. "Don't let her drink none o' that +ice-water. My wife says it hez germs into it." + +"But I don't . . ." gasped our friend. + +"Be keerful o' that box," interrupted her uncle. "There's two dozen +hen's eggs in it. If she's good, you might buy her a cent's worth o' +peppermints to Portland." He fumbled uncertainly in his breeches' +pocket. + +"Do you expect me . . ." ejaculated McAllister. + +"Give my love to yer aunt," added the other as the train started. +"Good-by!" And pulling a large red pocket-handkerchief from his +coat-tails he fanned the air vaguely as they moved slowly away from him. + +"Oh, isn't it nice!" cried the little girl, who appeared quite at ease +with her new acquaintance. + +"Ye-es--certainly--of course," he replied, wondering what he should do +with his charge. "I suppose we had better go in and sit down, don't you +think?" + +He stood aside waiting for her to precede him into the parlor car. + +"What a lovely place!" she exclaimed as her eyes rested upon the +rosewood and the velvet chairs. "Am I really to ride in this?" + +"Why, where should you ride, to be sure?" he inquired, beginning to +regain his self-possession. + +"The car had iron seats before," she informed him. + +"How extraordinary!" + +"This is an ever so much prettier train," she added. "I'm afraid I'll +hurt the plush." She took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it +out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused expression swung round +another chair and sat down opposite. + +"My name's Abigail Martha Higgins," she said, taking off her little +straw hat. "I live in Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle Moses +Higgins. Aunt doesn't love his wife." + +"Dear me!" sympathized McAllister. + +"My father and mother are in heaven," she continued in matter-of-fact +tones. "Up there. Wouldn't you hate to live up in the sky and do +nothin'?" + +"I certainly should," he answered with gravity. + +"We all came down from there, you know. Do you think we were born all in +one piece, or put together afterward?" + +McAllister pondered. + +"What's your name?" + +"McAllister," he replied. + +"That's a funny name!" she commented. "It sounds like McCafferty--that's +Deacon Brewer's hired man's name." + +"Do you think so?" asked the clubman apologetically, feeling that his +parents had done him an irreparable injury. + +"I'll call you Mister Mac," added the child, "and you may call me Abby, +'cause I'm only eight. Do you live to Boston?" + +"No; New York. An awful way off." + +"Have they got a Free-Will Meetin'-house there?" she inquired knowingly. + +"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, feeling wofully ignorant of all +matters of real importance. + +"Then it must be a very small place," she decided. "All big places have +a Free-Will Meetin'-house, Uncle Moses says." + +At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire if his master wanted +anything. + +"Is there a Free-Will Meetin'-house in New York?" inquired the clubman. + +"Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a Baptist place of +worship, sir," he answered solemnly. + +"Is that your brother?" inquired Abby. + +"No--" hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to what the valet's equivalent +would be in his little friend's world. + +"What's your name?" inquired Abby. + +"Wilkins, miss," answered the valet. + +"What a lovely name!" cried Abby. "It's much nicer than his'n." + +Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast. + +"That box is chuck full of eggs," announced Abby. "I wonder where the +hens get them." + +"I give it up," said the clubman. + +"We have a black horse on our farm," she continued. "It used to be a +girl, but now it's a boy." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have short hair, you know--that's +how you tell." + +At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the background. + +"Uncle Moses' wife don't love children," the child continued. "She has +the rheumatiz in her thigh." + +"But she must like _you_, Abby," urged her new friend. + +"No, she don't. She don't love me 'cause I love Aunt Abby, an' Aunt Abby +don't love her." + +"I see," said McAllister. + +The clubman soon became acquainted with Abby's entire family history, +and rapidly realized that the mind of a child was a thing undreamed of +in his philosophy. As she pattered on he conversed gravely with her, +trying to answer her multitudinous questions. All her world was good +save Uncle Moses' wife, and her confidence in the clubman was entire. +She admired his clothes, his watch-chain, and his scarf-pin, and ended +by directing him to read to her, which McAllister obediently did. None +of the magazines seemed to contain suitable articles, so with some +misgivings he purchased various colored weeklies, remembering vaguely +his own delight in the misadventures of certain chubby ladies and stout +gentlemen upon rear pages, perused furtively when waiting at the +barber's to get his hair cut as a child. For half an hour her interest +remained tense, but then she wearied of using her eyes, and, patting +McAllister's fat chin, ordered him to tell her a story. Here was a new +difficulty. He had never told a story in his life, but there was no help +for it, no escape, as she climbed into his lap. + +"Begin with once onup-a-time," she ordered. + +"Well," he obeyed "Once 'onup' a time there was a man who lived in a +club----" + +"A what?" sharply interrupted Abby. + +"A big white house with heaps of rooms," he corrected. "And as he had +nobody dependent on him, all he had to do was to eat and sleep and look +at the sky." + +"Didn't he have any children?" + +"Nobody in the world," answered McAllister. + +"Poor man!" sighed Abby. "Didn't he keep any hens?" + +"Not even a hen!" + +"I know a big house just like that," said Abby. "Old Captain Barnard +used to live in it. Wasn't he lonely?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Did anyone live with him?" + +"His hired man," answered the clubman with a smile, looking down the car +to where Wilkins sat in solitary grandeur. "And by and by he got so old +and so fat that nobody would marry him, while the wives of other men he +knew forgot to ask him to dinner." + +"Poor dear man!" murmured Abby, "I should think he'd have wished he +hadn't been born." + +"Sometimes he did," answered the story-teller. "And he longed for some +people to really care for him, and for some little children to keep him +company." + +"Did he have a cow?" + +"No, not even a cow." + +Abby laughed sleepily. + +"But didn't he ever have any fun?" + +"He thought he did, but he didn't, really." + +"I'm awful sorry for him!" said Abby. "If I met him I would give him my +white hen." + +"He used to pay for dinners for people, and send them flowers and candy +and go to see them----" + +"Sunday afternoons?" + +"Yes; Sunday afternoons." + +"He was really very nice," said Abby. + +"Do you think so?" asked McAllister eagerly. + +"Why, of course. Don't you think so?" + +"So-so," said the clubman. + +"But he never hurt anyone?" + +"No, never." + +"And gave the hired man plenty of victuals?" + +"Much more than was good for him," said McAllister with conviction. + +"I like that man," said Abby. "He was a good man." + +"But some people said he was an idle fellow," insisted McAllister. + +"But that didn't do anybody any harm," said Abby. + +"No, certainly not." + +"And he wasn't cross?" + +"No, almost never." + +"Then," said Abby, "he was a good man, and I will marry him if he asks +me." + +And with that she dropped her head on his arm and fell fast asleep. + +"Can't I hold the young--person, for you, sir?" inquired the valet in a +whisper. + +"Certainly _not_," responded McAllister. + +Over the flitting pines circled the crows, black dots against the deep +blue; lazy cows stood knee-deep in fields frosted with daisies and +watched seemingly without interest the passing train; little puffs of +white in serried ranks moved slowly out of the north, never approaching +nearer, dissolving at the meridian; on the near horizon a line of indigo +mountains tumbled southward; white farm-houses swept slowly by; at +dusty crossings gray-whiskered farmers sat loosely holding the reins in +amiable conformity with the injunction painted upon weather-worn signs +to "Look out for the engine"; at times the train passed over rocky +bedded streams dammed for milling, and once or twice across rivers half +choked with logs upon which men ran like water-bugs; then through red +brick towns, and towns with square granite stores and offices, and towns +of white and green, marking the three disconnected periods of the +architectural development of Maine; and everywhere the pines. + +In the midst of a stretch of thick woods the engine began to whistle +frantically. A brakeman, followed closely by a conductor, hurried +through the car. The wheels ground harshly and the train gradually +ceased to move. Ahead could be heard the loud pounding of the engine and +the roar of escaping steam. Volumes of smoke, white and black, rolled +over the pines and cast rapidly changing shadows upon the ground. +Wilkins, who had gone forth to seek information, now returned. + +"There's a freight wreck just a'ead, sir. The conductor says as how we +shall be delayed 'ere at least nine hours." + +McAllister glanced down at the little form in his arms. It had not +moved. Gently he carried her along the aisle, out upon the platform, +and down the steps to the ground. Still she did not awake. Up the track +he could see groups of excited passengers gesticulating around grotesque +piles of wreckage upon which a locomotive lay with its wheels in the +air. Beside the track stretched a pine grove, its soft carpet of needles +flecked with sunlight. At the foot of one giant tree, on a bed of gray +moss, the clubman laid his little charge and threw himself at her feet. +An irritable family of nervous crows flapped noisily away to the other +side of the track, assembled in angry consultation in a hemlock, deputed +a spy, who cautiously reconnoitred, and, on the latter's report, +returned. At a safe distance Wilkins sat upon a windfall, and with one +eye upon his sleeping master smoked rapidly one of McAllister's cigars. + + +II + +"Yes, Miss Higgins got yer telegram," answered Deacon Brewer, as they +drove slowly along the river in the dusty heat of the early July +morning. "Ef she hadn't I reckon she'd 'a' gone nigh crazy." + +They were in an open two-seated buck-board. McAllister, holding Abby in +his lap, occupied the front seat with the Deacon, while Wilkins sat +behind with the valise and the pasteboard box. + +"It was a tiresome delay and really a very fortunate escape," responded +McAllister. "Abby behaved beautifully." + +"She's a good child," said the Deacon. "Her mother was a fine woman, and +she's goin' to be just like her." + +"Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, rubbing her eyes. + +"'Most," answered the Deacon. "Are ye hungry?" + +"I got her some bread and milk at a farm-house," explained McAllister, +"but none of us have had any breakfast yet." + +"Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins'll be prepared for ye," said the Deacon. +"She's a liberal woman an' a smart woman, but all the same, the farm's +going to be sold for taxes next week." + +Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started and looked anxiously at +her at this piece of intelligence. + +"She don't know nuthin' about it," said the farmer. "Miss Higgins can't +run a hard-scrabble farm, nor no one can and make a livin' out'n it. It +ain't worth five dollars an acre." + +"What will she do?" asked the clubman. + +"Darn ef I know," responded the other. "She kin help around some, I +guess. Deacon Giddings has a powerful lot of company. 'N any woman kin +sew. She kin make out, I reckon." + +"But the child?" whispered McAllister. + +"Her Uncle Moses'll hev to take her," answered the Deacon. + +"Jiminy!" ejaculated the clubman, recalling the little girl's +description of her uncle's wife. "She won't like that." + +"Beggars can't be choosers," said the Deacon dryly. + +A turn in the road brought them within view of a small, low farm-house, +with good-sized barn, lying in a field between the woods and the river, +here about a quarter of a mile in width. The pines grew close to the +road upon the left, but upon the other side the land had been well +cleared to the Penobscot's bank. Huge piles of stones, ten or twelve +feet long, five or so broad, and four or five feet high, were monuments +to the energy and industry of some former owner. + +"Gosh, how Henery worked to clear this farm!" remarked the Deacon. "He +hove stone for twenty years, an' then died. Look at them trees!" + +He pointed dramatically to a large orchard containing row upon row of +young apple-trees. + +At the sound of the wheels a woman came slowly out of the side door and +watched their approach. She had the pale, sickly countenance of the wife +of the inland Maine farmer, and her limp dress ill concealed the +angularity of her form. Her eyes showed that she had passed a sleepless +night. McAllister leaped out and lifted Abby down. The woman neither +spoke to nor kissed the child, but clutched her tightly in her arms. +Then she nodded to the new-comers. + +"I'm obliged to ye, Deacon Brewer," she said. "Is this the man who sent +the telegram? Won't ye come in and set down?" + +"Oh, yes," cried Abby ecstatically. "Get out, Mr. Wilkins! I want to +show you the black horse, and all the hens." + +"I must be gettin' back," muttered the Deacon. + +"Could you let us have a bite of breakfast?" inquired McAllister. "My +train doesn't go until twelve o'clock." To return to Bangor at this +particular time did not suit him. + +"Such as it is," replied Miss Higgins. + +"Could you arrange to call out for me in an hour or so?" asked +McAllister. + +"I reckon I kin," said the Deacon with some reluctance. "I'll hev ter +charge ye fifty cents." + +"Of course," said McAllister. + +Wilkins took down the parcels, and the Deacon drove slowly away. + +"I'll scrape somethin' together in a few minutes," said Miss Higgins. +"How much was that telegram?" + +"Oh, that's all right!" said the abashed clubman. + +"No, it ain't. Money's money. Was it ez much ez a quarter?" + +McAllister acknowledged the amount. + +"I thought so," commented Miss Higgins. "It was wuth it." She had the +money all ready and handed it to McAllister. + +Etiquette seemed to demand its acceptance. + +"Did you say your name was McAllister? Who's this man?" + +"His name is Wilkins." + +"Well," said Aunt Abby, "one of ye might split up that log, if ye don't +mind, while I get the breakfast." + +She turned into the house. + +McAllister looked doubtfully at the wood-pile. + +"Let Mr. Wilkins chop the wood!" shouted Abby; "I want to show you the +ba-an." + +"Wilkins," said McAllister, "wood-chopping is an art sanctified in this +country by tradition." + +"Very good, sir," answered Wilkins. + +Abby grasped McAllister's hand and tugged him joyfully over the +poverty-stricken farm. They visited the orchard, the pig-sty, the +hen-house, admired the horse that had been a girl, and ended at the +water's edge. + +"We ketch salmon here in the spring," explained Abby; "and smelts." + +Across the eddying river quiet farms slept in the hot sunshine. Two men +in a dory swung slowly up-stream. At their feet the clear water rippled +against the stones. In his mind the clubman pictured the stifling city +and the squalor of relative existence there. + +"It's beautiful, Abby," he said. + +"It's the loveliest place in the whole world," she answered, holding his +hand tightly. "And I shall never, never go away." + +Behind them came the shrill tones of Aunt Abby's voice bidding them to +breakfast. Wilkins, coatless, was bearing some mangled fragments of log +toward the kitchen. His beaded face spoke unutterable dejection. + +"Well, set daown; it's all there is," said Miss Higgins. + +McAllister sat, and Abby climbed into a high chair. Wilkins remained +standing. + +"Ain't ye goin' to set?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +Wilkins reddened. + +"Well, ye be the most bashful man I ever met," remarked the lady. "Set +daown and eat yer victuals." + +"Sit down," said McAllister, and for the second time master and man +shared a meal. + +The little room was bare of decoration except for some colored +lithographs and wood-cuts, which for the most part represented the +funeral corteges of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital scenes +and the sinking of a steamship. A rug soiled to a dull drab made a sort +of mud spot before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of the +antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at one end stood the stove, +and hard by two fixed tubs. Everything except the carpet was +scrupulously clean. + +Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of steaming boiled eggs, half a +loaf of white bread, and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter. + +"I'll have some coffee for ye in a minute," she remarked as she placed +the dishes before them. + +McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tumbler and cut the bread. + +"What might be your business?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +"Er--well--" hesitated McAllister. "I've travelled quite a bit." + +"I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked the hostess +reminiscently. "He travelled everywheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur +as St. Louis?" + +"No," said McAllister. "My line never took me so far." + +"Andrew died there--of the water. What's your business?" continued Miss +Higgins to Wilkins. + +"I'm with Mr. McAllister, ma'am." + +"Oh! same firm?" + +Wilkins coughed violently and evaded the interrogation. + +"Mr. Wilkins handles gents' clothing, underwear, haberdashery, and +notions," interposed McAllister gravely. + +Wilkins swayed in his seat and grew purple around the gills. + +"Oh, Mr. Wilkins!" cried Abby, "what's the matter? You will burst! Take +a drink of water." + +The valet obediently tried to do as she bade him. + +"How much is land worth around here?" asked the clubman. "And what do +you raise?" + +Miss Higgins looked at him suspiciously. + +"We raise pertaters, some corn and oats, and get a purty fair apple crop +in the autumn." + +"Must have been hard work clearing the farm," added McAllister, "if one +can judge by the piles of stones." + +"Work? I guess 'twas work!" sniffed Miss Higgins. "You travellin' men +hain't got no idee of what real work is. There ain't a stone in the +nineteen acres of farm land. Henery picked 'em all up by hand." + +"Are you Abby's guardian?" asked McAllister. + +"Yes," said Miss Higgins. "I'm all the folks she's got, except Moses, +down to Portsmouth, and a lot of good he is with that wife he's got!" + +Wilkins now asked awkwardly to be excused. + +"That friend of yourn seems to be a dummy!" remarked Miss Higgins after +the valet had disappeared. + +"He isn't much in the social line," admitted his master. "But he knows +his business." + +"I'm goin' out to show Mr. Wilkins the beehive," cried Abby, slipping +down from her chair. "Come right along, won't you?" + +"I'll be there in just a minute," said McAllister. + +Abby grabbed up her sunbonnet and ran skipping out of the kitchen. + +"She's a dear little girl," said McAllister. "I hope she'll have a +chance to get a good education." + +"Education behind a counter in Bangor is all she'll get," answered her +aunt. + +They sat in silence for a moment, and then McAllister, feeling the +craving induced by habit, drew an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked: + +"Do you object to smoking?" + +Miss Abby bristled. + +"I don't want none o' them se-gars in this house, so long's I'm in it!" +she exclaimed. "Ain't out-doors good enough for you, without stinkin' up +the kitchen?" + +"I didn't mean any offence," apologized McAllister. "I'll wait till I go +out, of course." + +"One of the devil's tricks!" sniffed Miss Abby. + +McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and stepped to the window. The +coffee had been execrable, but a benign influence animated him. Down the +slope toward the gently flowing Penobscot little Abby was leading +Wilkins by the hand. The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked +pasture beyond the barn. + +"What did you say the farm was worth?" asked the clubman. + +"There's a hundred and eighty-one acres o' woodland, and the cleared +land just makes two hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred +dollars." + +"I know a man who wants a farm. He says some day all this river front +will be valuable for a summer resort. I'm authorized to buy for him. +I'll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a bargain?" + +Miss Abby turned pale. + +"Oh, I don't know! It seems dreadful to sell it, after all the years +Henery put into cleanin' of it up. I was hopin' somehow that maybe I +could get work on the farm from them as bought it and keep Abby here +for a while longer." + +"That's all right," said McAllister. "My principal is buying it on a +speculation. You can stay indefinitely." + +"How about rent?" asked Miss Abby. + +"You can take care of the farm, and he won't charge you any rent." + +The terms having been finally arranged to Miss Abby's satisfaction, +McAllister drew a small check-book from his pocket and filled out a +voucher for the amount. + +"We can sign the papers later," said he with a smile. + +Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully. + +"How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should +turn out to be no good?" + +"Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister. + +He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his +stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following: + +"I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased +by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of +value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my +name and affix a seal." + +He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back +and made use of it as a fragmentary seal. + +While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency of this instrument, +McAllister felt that its intendment was unmistakable. Having replaced +his pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust it into his pocket. +Just at this moment Miss Higgins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, +who was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the orchard McAllister +could see, as he stepped to the door, little Abby still tugging along +Wilkins, whose massive and emotionless face was glistening with the +heat. + +"Hit's very 'ot, sir!" he remarked tentatively to his master. "I've been +to see the 'ives." + +"How funny Mr. Wilkins talks!" said Abby. "He told me he knew a boy once +who got stung, and said the bee _bit 'im in 'is 'ead_! Do all drummers +talk like that?" + +"Drummers!" exclaimed Wilkins. + +"Aunt said you were both drummers; I s'pose you left your drums +somewhere. I don't like 'em; they make too much music. They have them in +the circus parade in Bangor every year." + +"Be you folks ready to start?" inquired Deacon Brewer. "Purty nice view +of the water from here, ain't they? There's a good well on the place, +too, and a few boat-loads of manure would give you crops to beat--all. +Don't know enybody thet wants to speckalate a little in farmin' land, do +ye? This here is a good, likely place. Reckon you kin buy it cheap." + +"Sh-h!" said McAllister, laying his finger on his lips. + +"No one sha'n't ever buy this farm," said Abby; "I'm goin' to live here +always." + +"Wall," said the Deacon, "better be movin'. I don't like to keep the +mare standin' in the sun." + +"Are you goin' away?" cried Abby in agonized tones. "You'll come back +soon, won't you?" + +"I hope so, very soon," said McAllister. "Don't you want to show me the +boy-horse before I start?" + +"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, seizing his hand. + +The stout clubman and the little girl walked slowly across the +grass-grown drive to the daisy field beside the barn, talking busily. + +"Your friend's bought this farm," announced Miss Abby to Wilkins. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. + +"By gum!" exclaimed the Deacon. "What did he give?" + +"Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars." + +"Gee!" said the Deacon. + +"An' we're to stay on rent-free 's long 's we want!" + +"I swan!" commented the pillar of the local Baptist Church. "Some folks +doos hev luck!" + +He went over to adjust a bit of harness. + +"It'll keep 'em out o' the poor farm," he muttered. "But, by gosh, thet +feller must be a fool!" + +Over in the daisy field, McAllister, to the wonder of the boy-horse, +pulled the despised cigar from his pocket, cut off the end, and began to +smoke with infinite satisfaction. + +"What a beautiful, beautiful, lovely ring!" exclaimed Abby joyfully, +examining with delight the embossed paper of red and gold. + +"Do you remember about the lonely man who lived in the big white house I +told you of?" asked McAllister. + +"Of course I do," sighed Abby. "Poor man! he was so good, and nobody +loved him." + +"Do you love him?" asked McAllister. + +"Dear man! I love him, all my heart!" cried the child. + +"Then the man is very, very happy," said McAllister softly. + +Overhead a single black crow, wheeling out of a stumpy pine, circled to +investigate this strange love-scene. Satisfied of its propriety, he +cawed loudly and resettled himself upon the shaking topmost bough. + +McAllister drew the golden band from his cigar and took the folded paper +from his pocket. + +"Here's a love-letter," said he. "Your aunt will read it for you when +I've gone." + +Abby took it sadly. + +"Now hold up your left hand," said McAllister, smiling. As he slipped +the paper circle over her fourth finger he said gravely: + +"'With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee +endow.' Give me a kiss." + +She did so, in wonder. + +"Now we are married," said he. + + + + + + +The Jailbird + + +I + +Now it had come, he was not quite sure that he wanted it. For a moment +he longed to go back and join the men marching away to the shoe-shop. +Inside those walls he had never had to think of what he should eat or +drink, or wherewithal he should be clothed. + +Over against the gray parapet echoed the buzzing of the electric cars, a +strange sound to ears accustomed only to the tramp of marching feet, the +harsh voices of wardens, and the clang of iron doors. Below him the +harbor waves danced and sparkled, ferry-boats rushed from shore to +shore, big ships moved slowly toward the distant islands and the still +more distant sea, while near at hand the busy street flowed like a +river, which he was compelled to swim but in which he already felt the +millstone of his past dragging him down. + +His heart sank as he asked himself what life could hold for him. How +often, sitting on his prison bed with his head in his hands, he had +pictured joyously the present moment! Now he felt like a child who has +lost its parent's hand in the passing throng. + +There had been a day, the year before, when his old mother's letter had +not come, and, instead, only a line of stereotyped consolation from the +country pastor to the village ne'er-do-well. No one had seen him choke +over his bowl of soup and bread, or noticed the tears that trickled down +upon the shoe-leather in his hand. She had been the only one who had +ever written to him. There was nothing now to take him back to the +little cluster of white cottages among the hills where he was born. + +As he stood there alone facing the world, he yearned to throw himself +once more upon his cot and weep against its iron bars--for three years +the only arms outstretched to comfort him. + + +II + +The Judge concluded his charge with the usual, "I leave the case with +you, gentlemen," and the jury, collecting their miscellaneous garments, +slowly retired. Leary, the County Detective assigned to "Part One," +pushed an indictment across the desk, whispering: + +"Try _him_; he's a _short_ one," for it was getting late, and the +afternoon sun was already gilding the dingy cornices of the big +court-room, now almost deserted save by a lounger or two half asleep on +the benches. + +"People against Graham," called Dockbridge, the youthful deputy +assistant district attorney. + +"Fill the box!" shouted the clerk. "James Graham to the bar!" and +another dozen "good men and true" answered to their names and settled +themselves comfortably in their places. + +At the rear the door from the pen opened and the prisoner entered, +escorted by an officer. He walked stolidly around the room, passed +through the gate held open for him, and took his seat at the table +reserved for the defendant and his attorney. There appeared, however, to +be no lawyer to represent him. + +"Have you counsel?" casually inquired the clerk. + +"No," answered the prisoner. + +"Mr. Crookshanks, please look after the rights of this defendant," +directed the Judge. + +The prisoner, a thick-set man of medium height, half rose from his seat, +and, turning toward the weazened little lawyer, shook his head rather +impatiently. It was obvious that they were not strangers. After a +whispered conversation Crookshanks stepped forward and addressed the +Court. + +"The defendant declines counsel, and stands upon his constitutional +right to defend himself," he said apologetically. + +There was a slight lifting of heads among the jury, and a few sharp +glances in the direction of the prisoner, which seemed in no wise to +disconcert him. + +"Very well, then; proceed," ordered the Court. + +The prosecutor rapidly outlined his case--one of simple "larceny from +the person." The People would show that the defendant had taken a wallet +from the pocket of the complaining witness. He had been caught _in +flagrante delicto_. There were several eye-witnesses. The case would +occupy but a few moments, unless, to be sure, the prisoner had some +witnesses. The young assistant, who seemed slightly nervous at the +unusual prospect of conducting a trial against a lawyerless defendant +(savoring as it did of a hand-to-hand combat in the days of trial by +battle), started to comment upon the novelty of the situation, gave it +up, and to cover his retreat called his first witness. + +Dockbridge was very young indeed. He was undergoing the process of being +"whipped into shape" by the Judge, a kind but unrelenting observer of +all the technicalities of the criminal branch, and this was one of his +first cases. He could work up a pretty fair argument in his office, but +he now felt his inexperience and began to wish it was time to adjourn, +or that his senior, "Colonel Bob," the stout Nestor of Part One, whose +long practice made him ready for any emergency, would return. But +"Colonel Bob" could have proved an excellent alibi at that moment, and +the battle had to be fought out alone. + +The prisoner, meanwhile, was sitting calm but vigilant, pen in hand. His +face, square and strong, with firmly marked mouth and chin, showed no +sign of emotion, but under their heavy brows his black eyes played +uneasily between the Court and jury. Evidently not more than thirty +years of age, his attitude and expression showed intelligence and alert +capacity. + +"Go on, Mr. District Attorney," again admonished the Judge; and +Dockbridge, pulling himself together, commenced to examine the +complainant. + +The prisoner was now straining eye and ear to catch every look and word +from the witness-stand. Hardly had the complainant opened his mouth +before the defendant had objected to the answer, the objection had been +sustained, and the reply stricken out. He continued to object from time +to time, and his points were so well taken that he dominated not only +the examination but the witness as well, and the jury presently found +themselves listening to a cross-examination as skilfully conducted as +if by a trained practitioner. + +But, although the defendant showed himself a better lawyer than his +adversary, it was apparent that his battle was a losing one. Point after +point he contested stubbornly, yet the case loomed clear against him. + +The People having "rested," the defendant announced that he had no +witnesses, and would go to the jury on the evidence, or, rather "failure +of evidence," as he put it, of the prosecution. It was done with great +adroitness, and none of the jury perceived that, by refusing to accept +counsel, he had made it impossible to take the stand in his own behalf, +and had thus escaped the necessity of subjecting himself to +cross-examination as to his past career. + +If the spectators had expected a piteous appeal for mercy or a burst of +prison rhetoric, they were disappointed. The prisoner summed his case up +carefully, arguing that there was a reasonable doubt upon the evidence +to which he was entitled; begged the jury not to condemn him merely +because he appeared before them as one charged with a crime; appealed to +them for justice; and at the close, for the first time forgetting the +proprieties of the situation, exclaimed, "I did not do it, gentlemen! I +did not do it! There is an absolute failure of proof! You cannot find +that I took the purse from the old gentleman on such evidence! It is all +a lie!" + +It was his one false touch. To raise the issue of veracity is usually a +mistake on the part of a defendant, and the defiant look in Graham's +eyes might well have suggested conscious guilt. + +As he paused for a moment after this concluding sentence, an Italian +band came marching down Centre Street playing the dead march. Some +patriot was being borne to his last sleep in an alien land. Outside the +court-house it paused for a moment with one melancholy crash of funeral +chords. It seemed a vibrant echo of the discord of his own fruitless +life. At the same moment a ray from the red sun setting over the Tombs +fell upon the prisoner's face. + +Dockbridge summed the case up in the stock fashion, and then for half an +hour the Judge addressed the jury in a calm and dispassionate analysis +of the evidence, not hesitating to compare the abilities of the +prosecutor and prisoner to the disadvantage of the former, saying in +this respect: "Neither must you be influenced by any feeling of +admiration at the capacity shown by this defendant to conduct his own +case. If he has appeared more than a match for the prosecution, it must +not affect the weight which you give to the evidence against him." + +"More than a match for the prosecution!" That had been rather rough, to +be sure, and the fifth juror had looked at Dockbridge and grinned. + +The jury filed out, the prisoner was led back to the pen, the Judge +vanished into his chambers, and the prosecutor, his feet on the counsel +table, lit a cigar and indulged in retrospection. The benches were +deserted. There was no one but himself left in the court-room. Usually, +when a jury retired, there was some mother or wife or daughter, with her +handkerchief to her eyes, waiting for them to come back, but this fellow +had none such. He had fought alone. Well, damn him, he deserved to! But +who the deuce was he? It had been clever on his part not to take the +stand. Strange to be trying a man you had never seen before--of whom you +knew nothing, who had merely side-stepped into your life and would soon +back out of it. "Poor devil!" thought the deputy as he lit another +Perfecto. + +Now the jury, as juries sometimes do, wanted to talk and had a consuming +desire to smoke, so they both smoked and talked; and when O'Reilly came +to turn on the lights in the court-room, they were still out, and +Dockbridge had fallen fast asleep. + + +III + +At half past ten o'clock the big court-room still remained almost empty. +Inside the rail the clerk and the stenographer, having returned from a +short visit to Tom Foley's saloon across the way, were languidly +discussing the condition of the stock-market. A nebulous illumination in +the vastness above only served to increase the shadowy dimness of the +room. The talk of the pair made a scarcely audible whisper in the great +silence. Outside, an electric car could be heard at intervals; within, +only the slam of iron doors, subdued by distance, echoed through the +corridors. + +Dockbridge had awakened, and, lounging before his table, was trying to +get up a case for the morrow. The Judge had gone home for dinner. One by +one the court attendants had strayed away, coming back to push open the +heavy door, and, after a furtive glance at the empty bench, as silently +to depart. + +Below in the stifling pen, alone behind the bars, James Graham sat +staring vacantly at the stained cement floor. A savage rage surged +through him. Curse them! That infernal Judge had not given him half a +chance. Once more he recalled that day when he had stepped out into the +sunlight a free man. Again he saw his iron bed, his cobbling bench, his +coarse food, his hated stripes. He choked at the thought of them. Only +two months before he had been at liberty. Think of it! Good clothes, +good food, pleasure! God, what a fool! A dull pain worked through his +body; he remembered that he had not eaten since seven that morning. + +Outside in the corridor the keeper was smoking a cigar. The fumes of it +drifted in and mingled with the stench of the pen. It almost nauseated +him. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The act +brought rushing back the memories of his childhood, and of how, every +night, he would lay his head upon his mother's knee and say, "Have I +been a good boy to-day?" A sob shook him, and he pressed closer against +the wall. + +A sound of moving feet roused him suddenly. A door swung open, shut +again, and voices came with a draught of air from the corridor. + +The keeper waiting outside stirred and stood up, looking regretfully at +his cigar. + +"Get up there, you!" + +The prisoner obeyed perfunctorily, and followed the officer heavily up +the stairs and down the dirty passage to the court-room. Outside, he +shrank from entering. Those eyes--those eyes! That hard, pitiless Judge! +But he was pushed roughly forward. Then his old pugnacity returned; he +set his teeth, and entered. + +He trudged around the room and stopped at the bar before the clerk. On +his right sat the twelve silent men. On the bench the white-haired Judge +was gazing at him with sad but penetrating eyes. + +It was different from the mellow glow of the afternoon. They were all so +still--like ghosts--and all around, all about him! He wanted to shout +out at them, "Speak! for God's sake, speak!" But something stifled him. +The overwhelming power of the law held him speechless. + +The clerk rose without looking at the prisoner. + +"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" + +"We have," answered the foreman, rising and standing with his eyes upon +the floor. + +"How say you, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Guilty of grand larceny in the first degree." + +The prisoner involuntarily pressed his hand to his heart. He had +weathered that blast before and could do so again. Dockbridge gave him a +look full of pity. Graham hated him for it. That child! That snivelling +little fool! He wanted none of his sympathy! His breath came faster. +Must they all look at him? Was that a part of his trial--to be stared +down? He glared back at them. The room swam, and he saw only the stern +face on the bench above. + +"Name?" broke in the harsh voice of the clerk. + +"James Graham." + +"Age?" + +"Twenty-eight." + +"Married, or unmarried?" "Temperate?" came the pitiless questions, all +answered in a monotone. + +"Ever convicted before?" + +"No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the word sounded to him like +a roaring torrent. Then came once more that awful silence. The dread eye +of the Judge seared his soul. + +"Graham, is that the truth?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you quite sure?" + +That merciless question! What had that to do with it? Why should he have +to tell them? That was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for what he +had done, but not for the past; that was not fair--he had paid for that. +He must defend himself. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Swear him," said the Judge. + +The officer took up the soiled Bible and started to place it in Graham's +hand. But the hand dropped from it. + +"No, no, I can't!" he faltered; "I can't--I--I--it is no use," he added +huskily. + +"When were you convicted?" + +"I served six months for petty larceny in the penitentiary six years +ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Quite sure? Think again!" + +"Yes, sir," almost inaudibly. + +"Swear him." + +Again the book was forced toward the unwilling hand, and again it was +refused. + +"Have you no pity--no mercy?" his dark eyes seemed to say. Then they +gave way to a look of utter hopelessness. + +"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two +months ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"O, God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner. "No, no; it +isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, +Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown--yes, six times. Twelve years. . . . +I'm a _jailbird_." He laughed harshly and rested wearily against the +wooden bar. + +"Have you anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against +you?" + +"Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham choked back a dry sob. + +The Judge slightly inclined his head. + +"Yes. I'm a jailbird," uttered the prisoner rapidly. "I'm only out two +months." There was no defiance in his voice now, and his eyes searched +the face of the Judge, seeking for mercy. "I had a good home--no matter +where--and a good father and mother. My father died and didn't leave +anything, and I had to work while my mother kept house. I worked on the +farm, winter and summer, summer and winter, early and late. I got sick +of it. I quit the farm and went to the city. I worked hard and did well. +I learned shorthand, and finally got a job as a court stenographer. +That's how I know about the rules of evidence. Then I got started wrong, +and by and by I took a fifty-dollar note and another fellow was sent up +for it. After that I didn't care. I had a good time--of its kind. It was +better than a dog's life on the farm, anyway. By and by I got caught, +and then it was no use. Each time I got out I swore I'd lead an honest +life. But I couldn't. A convict might as well try to eat stones as to +find a job. But when I got free this time I made up my mind to starve +rather than get back again. I meant it, too. I tried hard. It was no use +in Boston--they're too respectable. All a convict can do there is to get +a two weeks' job sawing wood. At the end of that time he's supposed to +be able to take care of himself. I had to give it up and come to New +York. + +"It was August, and I went the rounds of the offices for three weeks, +looking for work. No one wanted a stenographer, and there was nothing +else to do that I could find. Once I thought I had something on the +water-front, but the man changed his mind. A woman told me to go to Dr. +Westminster, so I went. He was kind enough, said he was very busy, but +would do all he could for me; that there was a special society for just +such cases, and he would give me a card. I thanked him, and took the +card and went to the society. The young woman there gave me two soup +tickets, and said she would do all she could for me. Next day she +reported that there was nothing doing just then, but if I could come +back in about a month they could probably do better. Then she gave me +another soup ticket. I drank the soup and then I went back to Dr. +Westminster. He was rather annoyed at seeing me again, and said that he +had done all that he could, but would bear me in mind; meantime, unless +I heard from him, it would be no use to call again. I'd lived on soup +for two days. + +"I got a meal by begging on the avenue. Then another woman told me to go +to Dr. Emberdays, and I went to _him_. By this time I must have been +looking pretty tough. He said that he would do what he could, and that +there was a society to which he would give me a line. They asked me a +devil of a lot of questions, and gave me a flannel undershirt. It made +me sick! An undershirt in August, when I wanted bread and human +sympathy! + +"It was no use. I gave up parsons and tried the river-front again. I +didn't get over one meal a day, and my head ached all the time. I heard +of a job at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, carrying lumber. I got a +nickel for holding a horse, and went up. It was a gang of niggers. They +got a dollar a day. The boss was a nigger, too, and didn't want cheap +white trash. I almost went down on my knees to him, and finally he said +I might come the next day. I slept in a field under a tree without +anything to eat that night, and started in at seven the next morning. +The thermometer went up to ninety-six, and we worked without stopping. I +had to lug one end of a big stick, with a nigger under the other end, +one hundred yards, then go back and get another. I got so I didn't know +what I was doing. At eleven o'clock I fainted, and then I was sick, +dreadfully sick. At three the boss nigger kicked me and said I had to +stop faking or I wouldn't get paid, and so I got up and lugged until +six. But I was so ill I knew it was no use. I couldn't do that kind of +work. + +"It was an awfully hot night. I got off the 'L' at Thirty-fourth Street +and walked through to the avenue. When I got to the Waldorf I stopped +and looked in the windows. There were men and women in there, and +flowers and everything to eat--just what I could eat if I chose. And I +had been working with niggers, Judge, all day long until I fainted, +heaving timber. I just stood and waited, and when a chance came to +snatch a roll of bills I took it. They couldn't catch me. I was good for +ten of 'em, Judge. + +"After that it was easy. I met some of the fellows that had served time +with me and got back into the old life. Judge, it's no use. I don't +blame you for what you are going to do, nor I don't blame the jury. +Anyone could see through the bluff I put up. I'm guilty. I'm a jailbird, +I say. I'm done. Only I've had no chance, Judge. Give me another; let me +go back to the farm. I'll go, I swear I will! It'll kill me to go to +prison. I'm a human being. God meant me to live out of doors, and I've +spent half of my life inside stone walls. Let me go back to the country. +I'll go, Judge. I'm a human being. Give me one more chance." + +There was no sound when the prisoner stopped speaking. The judge did not +reply for a full minute. His face wore its habitual look of sadness. +Then he spoke in a very low tone, but one which was distinctly audible +in the silence of the court-room. + +"Graham, you have read your own sentence. You have confessed that you +cannot lead an honest life. Your fault is that you will not work. There +are a thousand farms within a hundred miles, where you could earn a +livelihood for the asking. Your intelligence is of a high order. By +ordinary application you could have risen far above your fellows. You +are a dangerous criminal--all the more dangerous for your ability. You +almost outwitted the jury, and conducted your own case more ably than +nine out of ten lawyers would have done. You have ruined your own life, +and cast away a pearl of price. You have my pity, but I cannot allow it +to affect my duty. Graham, I sentence you to State Prison for ten +years." + +The prisoner shivered, and covered his face with his hands. Then the +officer clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. + +"Gentlemen, you are excused." The Judge bowed to the jury. + +"Hear ye! Hear ye!" bawled the attendant: "all persons having business +with Part One of the General Sessions of the Peace, held in and for the +County of New York, may now depart. This Court stands adjourned until +to-morrow morning at half past ten o'clock." + + + + + + +In the Course of Justice + +"The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smiles +in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the +glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the +professors than the justice of it." + + +I + +A trim, neatly dressed young man, holding in one of his carefully gloved +hands a bamboo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one brilliant +October morning some ten years ago. All about him swarms of excited +sparrows chattered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last night's +carnation languished in his button-hole, and his smoothly shaven +lantern-jaw and high cheekbones suggested the type of upper Broadway and +the Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect was not unpleasing, +especially as his sparse curly hair, just turning gray at the temples, +disclosed a forehead suggestive of more than usual intelligence in a +face otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, inscrutable smile from time to time +played upon his features, at one moment making them seem good-naturedly +sympathetic, at another, sinister. The casual observer would have +classed him as a student or actor. He was both, and more. + +From a large jewelry store across the way presently emerged a diminutive +messenger-boy carrying a small, square bundle, and turned into Broadway. +The man on the bench, known to his friends as "Supple Jim," rose +unobtrusively to his feet. The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent's +worth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on the corner, and then, +whistling loudly, dawdled upon his way. The man followed, manoeuvring for +position, while the boy, now in the chewing stage and struggling +violently, lingered to inspect a mechanical toy. The supple one +accomplished a flank movement, approached, touched him on the shoulder, +and displayed a silver badge beneath his coat. + +"Young man, I'm from the Central Office, and need your help. About a +block from here a feller will come runnin' after you and say they've +given you the wrong bundle--see? He'll hand you another, and tell you to +give him the one you've got. He's a crook--'Paddy the Sneak'--old game! +see?" + +The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless. + +"Yep!" he replied, his eyes glistening delightedly. + +"Well, I'll be right behind you; and when he throws the game into you, +just pretend you fall to it an' hand him your box. Then I'll make the +collar. Are you on?" + +"Say, that's easy!" grinned the boy. + +"Show us what you're good for, then, and I'll have the Inspector send +you some passes for the theayter." + +The boy started on in business-like fashion. As his interlocutor had +predicted, a hatless "feller" overtook him, breathless, and entered into +voluble explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, and then, eyes +front, continued up the street until the detective should pounce upon +his victim. For some strange reason no such event took place. At the end +of the block he cast a furtive glance behind him. Both Paddy and the +Central Office man had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of the +fruits of their short hour of toil, dividing between them one hundred +and sixty dollars as the equivalent of the diamond stud which the box +had contained. + +Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination which he found irresistible, +the hero of this legal memoir took a car to the Criminal Courts +Building, and made his way to the General Sessions. + +"Forgot my subpoena, Cap'n. I'm a witness. Just let me in, please!" he +said, with a smile of easy good-nature. + +Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, known as The Eagle, eyed +the young man suspiciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, allowed +him to enter the court-room. The thief who had so easily secured +admittance, fought his way persistently through the throng, elbowed by +the gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best seat on the +front bench, compelled its earlier occupants to make room for him with a +calm assurance and matter-of-course superiority which they had not the +courage to oppose. + +Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of the calendar. A few +lawyers, with their witnesses, whose cases had gone over until the +morrow, struggled out through the crush at the door, with no perceptible +diminution in the throng within. The clerk prepared to call the roll of +the jury. + +"Trial jurors in the case of 'The People against Richard Monohan,' +please answer to your names." + +The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the trial was "on" again, +having been interrupted, evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoon +before. A venerable complainant now resumed the story of how two young +men, whose acquaintance he had made in a saloon the previous Sunday +evening, had followed him into the street, assaulted him on his way home +and robbed him of his ring. He positively identified the prisoner as +the one who had wrenched it from his finger. + +Next, an officer testified to having arrested the defendant upon the old +gentleman's description, and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticket +calling for the ring in question. + +The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was "dead open and shut." + +The People "rested," and the defendant, a miserable specimen of those +wretched beings that constitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand. +His defence was absurd. He denied ever before having seen his accuser, +had not been in the saloon, had not taken the ring, had not pawned it, +had bought the ticket from a man on the corner who, he remembered, had +told him he was getting a bargain at three dollars. He could not +describe this "man," or account for his own whereabouts on the evening +in question. He had been drunk at the time. It was a story as old as +theft itself. + +The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the Judge once more summoned the +apostolic-looking complainant to the chair. + +"You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to this young man should +you be mistaken? Are you quite sure that he is one of the persons who +robbed you?" he inquired with becoming gravity. + +The witness raised himself by his cane, and stepping down to where the +prisoner sat, gazed searchingly into his stolid face. + +"God knows," said he, "I wouldn't harm a hair of his head. But by all +that's holy, I swear he's the man who took my ring." + +A wave of interest passed over the assembled attorneys. That was +business for you! No use to cross-examine an old fellow like _him_. +There was a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet. + +"Do you think you could identify your other assailant if you should see +him?" continued the judge. + +"I'm sure of it," calmly replied the witness. + +"Very well, sir," continued his Honor; "see if you can do so." + +Half of the audience moved uneasily, and glanced longingly toward the +closed means of exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness slowly +descended, and, escorted by a policeman, began his inspection, +scrutinizing each face with care. Quietly he moved along the first +bench, and then, gently shaking his head, along the second. The interest +became breathless. A sigh of relief rippled along the settees after him. +The only spectator unmoved by what was taking place was Supple Jim, who +smiled genially at the old gentleman as the latter glanced at him and +passed on. Four rows--five rows--six rows--seven rows. At last there +was but one bench left, and the excitement reached the point of +ebullition. Would he find him? Were they going to be disappointed after +all? Only half a bench left! Only two men left! Ah! what was that? +People shoved one another in the back, craning their heads to see what +was doing in the distant corner where the complainant stood. Suddenly +the searcher faced the Judge, and, pointing to the last occupant of the +rear settee, announced with conviction: + +"Your Honor, _this_ is the other man!" + +A murmur travelled rapidly around the court-room. Honors were even +between a Judge who could thus unerringly divine the presence of a +malefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a multitude, was able +unhesitatingly to pick out a midnight assailant. + +The "criminal" attorneys whispered among themselves: "Well, say! what do +you think of that! All right, eh? Well, I guess! Well, say!" + +This picturesque digression concluded, interest again centred in the +defendant, of whose ultimate conviction there could no longer be any +doubt. + +Not that the identification of the accomplice had any real significance, +since the man so ostentatiously picked out by the patriarch in court had +been caught red-handed at the time of the robbery within a block of the +saloon, was already under indictment as a co-defendant, and being out +on bail had merely been brought in under a bench warrant and placed +among the spectators. But the performance had a distinct dramatic value, +and the jury could not be blamed for making the natural deduction that +if the complainant was right as regards the one, _ipso facto_ he must be +as to the other. That the complainant had already identified him at the +police-station and at the Tombs seemed a matter of small importance. The +point was, apparently, that the old fellow had a good memory, and one +upon which the jury could safely rely. + +The Judge charged the law, and the jury retired, returning almost +immediately with a verdict of "Guilty of robbery in the first degree." + +The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, steadied himself, and +stood clinging to the rail, while his counsel made the usual motions for +a new trial and in arrest of judgment. + +"Clear the box! Clear the box!" shouted the clerk, and the jury, their +duty comfortably discharged, filed slowly out. + +The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the corridors. Supple Jim +waited on the steps of the building until a young woman, carrying a +baby, came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll of bills into +her hand. + +"Your feller's been _done dirt_!" he growled. "Take that, and put it +out of sight. Don't give it to any _lawyer_, now! You'll need it +yourself." Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of a surface +car as it whizzed by, and vanished from her astonished gaze. + +Thus was an innocent man convicted, while crime triumphant played the +part of benefactor. + + +II + +The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the warm sunshine in the +bay-window of his favorite restaurant, lazily finished a hearty +breakfast of ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the morning +paper which lay open before him. At a respectful distance his attendant +awaited the moment when this important guest should snap his fingers, +demand his damage, and call for a Carolina Perfecto. These would be +forthcoming with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more of an autocrat +on Fourteenth Street than a Pittsburg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Just +now the Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment how, the day +before, a quick-witted old gentleman had brought a malefactor to +justice. At one of the paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusing +it again and again, apparently with intense enjoyment. + +Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course of justice! He tossed +away the paper and swore softly. Of course, the only thing that had +rendered such a situation possible at all was the fact that the aged +Farlan was a superlative old ass. To hear him tell his yarn on the +stand, you would have thought that it gave him positive pain to testify +against a fellow being. Did you ever see such white hair and such a big +white beard? Why, he looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of those +fellows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped off the ring, the old +chap had already swallowed half a dozen "County Antrims," and wasn't in +a condition to remember anything or anybody. The idea of his going so +piously into court and swearing the thing on to Monohan; it gave you the +creeps! A fellow might go to "the chair" as easy as not, in just the +same way. Of course, Jim had not intended to get the young greenhorn +into any trouble when he had sold him the pawn-ticket. He had been just +an easy mark. And when the police had arrested him and found the ticket +in his pocket, there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. That +was just Monohan's luck, curse him! Let him look out for himself. + +But to see the patriarch carefully forging the shackles upon the wrong +man, had filled Jim with a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. The +stars in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf. + +Think of it! That fellow Monohan could get twenty years! It made him +mad, this infernal conspiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges and +prosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, whether they got the right +man or not, so long as they got someone! What business had they to go +and convict a fellow who was innocent, and put him, "Jim," the cleverest +"gun" in the profession, in such a position? He wondered if folks in +other lines of business had so many problems to face. The stupidity of +witnesses and the trickery of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was a +perennial contest, not only of wit against wit, strategy against +strategy, but, worst of all, of wit against impenetrable dulness. Why, +if people were going to be so careless about swearing a man's liberty +away, it was time to "get on the level." You might be nailed any time by +mistake, and then your record would make any defence impossible. You had +the right to demand common honesty, or, at least, _intelligence_, on the +part of the prosecution. + +But the main question was, What was going to become of Monohan? Well, +the boy was convicted, and that was the end of it. It was quite clear to +Jim that, had he been victimized in the same way, no one would have +bothered about it at all. It was simply the fortune of war. + +But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate of six, with vacations in +between, as it were, looked infinitesimal beside that awful burial +alive. He'd be fifty when he came out--if he ever came out! Sometimes +they died like flies in a hot summer. And then there was always +Dannemora--worst of all, Dannemora! It would kill _him_ to go back. He +couldn't live away from the main stem _now_. Why, he hadn't been in +_stir_ for five years. All his prison traits, the gait, the hunch, were +effaced--gone completely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown. + +"What's the use?" he muttered as he rose to go. "He ain't worth it! I +can stake his wife and kids till his time's up! But, God! _I_ could +never go back!" + +Yet the same irresistible force which had directed him to the court-room +the day before, now led him to the Grand Central Station. Like one +walking in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the noon train alone to +Ossining. + +Following a path that led him quickly to a hill above the town not far +from the prison walls, he threw himself at full length beside a bowlder, +and gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the broad, shining river lay +the dreamy blue hills he had so often watched while working at his +brushes. Here and there a small boat skimmed down the stream before the +same fresh breeze that sent the red and brown leaves fluttering along +the grass. The sunlight touched everything with enchantment, the cool +autumn air was an intoxicant--it was the Golden Age again. No, not the +Golden Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he noticed for the first +time a group of men in stripes breaking stones. Some were kneeling, some +crouching upon their haunches. They worked in silence, cracking one +stone after another and making little piles of the fragments. At the +distance of only a few feet two guards leaned upon their loaded rifles. +Jim shut his eyes. + + +III + +The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stifling +court. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waited +listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grim +patience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as the +latter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity. + +"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peers +of robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitle +you to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear and +positive, and the complainant's identification of you so perfect, that +it would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict. +Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but I +shall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is--" here the Judge +adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book--"that you be +confined in State Prison for a period of _not less than ten nor more +than fifteen years_." + +Monohan staggered and turned white. + +The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud. + +"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenly +there was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprang +to his feet. + +"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted the +wrong man! _I_ stole that ring!" + +"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as the +spectators rose impulsively to their feet. + +Those who had been present at the trial two days before were all +positive _now_ that they had never taken any stock in the old +gentleman's identification. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorously +with a paper-weight. + +"What's all this?" sternly demanded the Judge. "Do you claim that _you_ +robbed the complainant in this case? Impossible!" + +"Not a bit, yer 'Onor!" replied Jim in clarion tones. "You've nailed the +wrong man, that's all. I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, and +sold the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can't stand for his gettin' +any fifteen years," he concluded, glancing expectantly at the +spectators. + +A ripple of applause followed this declaration. + +"Hm!" commented his Honor. "How about the co-defendant in the case, +identified here in the court-room? Do you exonerate _him_ as well?" + +"I've nothin' to do with _him_," answered Jim calmly. "I've got enough +troubles of my own without shouldering any more. Only Monohan didn't +have any hand in the job. You've got the boot on the wrong foot!" + +Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant District Attorney, now +asserted himself. + +"This is all very well," said he with interest, "but we must have it in +the proper form. If your Honor will warn this person of his rights, and +administer the oath, the stenographer may take his confession and make +it a part of the record." + +Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that whatever he was about to +say must be "without fear or hope of reward," and might be used as +evidence against him thereafter. + +In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation which followed, the Judge, +a noted cross-examiner, only succeeded in establishing beyond +peradventure that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and that +Monohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He therefore consented, +somewhat ungraciously, to having the latter's conviction set aside and +to his immediate discharge. + +"As for _this_ man," said he, "commit him to the Tombs pending his +indictment by the Grand Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," he +added with significance, "that he be brought before _me_ for sentence." + +Out into the balconies of the court-house swarmed the mob. Monohan had +disappeared with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank his +benefactor. It was enough for him that he had escaped from the meshes of +the terrible net in which he had been entangled. + +From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful story. It was shouted from one +corridor to another, and from elevator to elevator. Like a wireless it +flew to the District Attorney's office, the reporters' room, the +Coroner's Court, over the bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street into +Tom Foley's, to Pontin's, to the Elm Castle, up Broadway, across to the +Bowery, over to the Rialto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thieves +in the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to "second-story men" +plotting in saloons, and held them speechless; the "moll-buzzers" heard +it; the "con" men caught it; the "britch men" passed it on. In an hour +the whole under-world knew that Supple Jim had squealed on himself, had +taken his dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had "chucked the +game." + + +IV + +Three long months had passed, during which Jim had lain in the Tombs. +For a day or two the newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. A +few sentimental women had sent him flowers of greater or less fragrance, +with more or less grammatical expressions of admiration; then the dull +drag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the daily visit of Paddy, +and the more infrequent consultations with old Crookshanks. + +The Grand Jury had promptly found an indictment, but when the District +Attorney placed the case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero to +plead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim's counsel, announced that his client +had no intention of so doing, and demanded an immediate trial. + +Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a situation of singular +embarrassment, which made action upon his part for the present +impossible. He was at his wits' end, for the law expressly required that +no prisoner should be confined longer than two months without trial. And +each week he was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crookshanks, who +with much bluster demanded that the case should be disposed of. + +Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on prison fare. Soon a +reporter--an acquaintance of Paddy's--commented upon the fact to his +city editor. The policy of the paper happening to be against the +administration, an item appeared among the "Criminal Notes" calling +attention to the period of time during which Jim had been incarcerated. +Other papers copied, and scathing editorials followed. In twenty-four +hours Jim's detention beyond the time regulated by statute for the trial +of a prisoner without bail had become an issue. The great American +public, through its representative, the press, clamored to know why the +wheels of justice had clogged, and the campaign committee of the reform +party called in a body upon the District Attorney, warning him that an +election was approaching and inquiring the cause of the "illegal +proceeding which had been brought to their attention." The editor of the +_Midnight American_, with his usual impetuosity, threatened a _habeas +corpus_. + +Then the District Attorney sent for the Assistant, and the two had a +hurried consultation. Finally the chief shook his head, saying: "There's +no way out of it. You'll have to go to trial at once. Perhaps you can +secure a plea. We can't afford any more delay. Put it on for to-morrow." + +The next day "Part One of the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, in +and for the County of New York," was crowded to suffocation, for the +dramatic nature of Jim's act of self-sacrifice had not been forgotten, +and a keen interest remained in its _denouement_. It was a brilliant +January noon, and the sun poured through the great windows, casting +irregular patches of light upon the throng within. High above the crowd +of lawyers, witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge; below him, the clerk +and Assistant District Attorney conferred together as to the order in +which the cases should be tried; to the left reclined a row of +non-combatants, "district leaders," ex-police magistrates, and a few +privileged spectators; outside the rail crowded the members of the +"criminal bar"; while in the main body of the room the benches were +tightly packed with loafers, "runners" for the attorneys, curious women, +indignant complainants, and sympathizing friends of the various +defendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but nearer the door the +pressure became too great, and once more an overplus, new-comers, +lawyers who could not force their way to the front, tardy policemen, +persons who could not make up their minds to come in and sit down, and +stragglers generally, formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking the +entrance, and preventing those outside from getting in or anyone inside +from getting out. + +Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators clicked diligently; full +steam was on, not a window open. + +Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with several +innuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who would +confess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense and +trouble of a trial, briefly opened the case. + +The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness. +He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of +finality in the direction of the jury. + +"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired. + +The lawyer shook his head. + +Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent. + +The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant, +paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel. + +"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go through +all this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.' +He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance." + +But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanks +flickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the features +of his client. + +"Not on your _tin-type_!" he ejaculated. + +Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced a +trifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in +the direction of the prisoner. + +"Well, I'll let him plead to grand larceny instead of robbery," he said, +with an air of acting against his better judgment. + +Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again shook his head. + +"Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, "your client will have +to take the consequences. Call the complainant." + +"Daniel Farlan, take the witness' chair." + +The crowd in the court-room waited expectantly. The complainant, +however, did not respond. + +"Daniel Farlan! Daniel Farlan!" bawled the officer. + +But the venerable Farlan came not. Perchance he was a-sleeping or +a-hunting. + +"If your Honor pleases," announced Dockbridge, "the complainant does not +answer. I must ask for an adjournment." + +But in an instant the old war-horse, Crookshanks, was upon his feet +snorting for the battle. + +"I protest against any such proceeding!" he shouted, his voice trembling +with well-simulated indignation. "My client is in jeopardy. I insist +that this trial go on here and now!" + +Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury and spectators showed +plainly that they were of Mr. Crookshanks's opinion. The Judge hesitated +for a moment, but his duty was clear. There was no question but that Jim +_had_ been put in jeopardy. + +"You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dockbridge," he announced +reluctantly. "The jury has been sworn, and a witness has testified. It +is too late to stop now." + +The Assistant was forced to admit that he had no further evidence at +hand. + +"What!" cried the Judge. "No further evidence! Well, proceed with the +defence!" + +Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead, while the jury +glanced inquiringly in the direction of the defendant. But now +Crookshanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the hope and trust +of all defenceless criminals, slowly arose and buttoned his threadbare +frock-coat. He looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor he +ignored. + +"If your Honor please," began the old lawyer gently, "I move that the +Court direct the jury to acquit, on the ground that the People have +failed to make out a case." + +The Assistant jumped to his feet. The spectators stared in amazement at +the audacity of the request. The Judge's face became a study. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks?" he exclaimed. "This man is a +self-confessed criminal. Do you hear, sir, a _self-confessed criminal_." + +But the anger of the Court had no terrors for little Crookshanks. He +waited calmly until the Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, and +resumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its usual state of +placidity. + +"I must beg most respectfully to point out to your Honor that the +Criminal Code provides that the confession of a defendant is not of +itself enough to warrant his conviction _without additional proof that +the crime charged has been committed_. May I be pardoned for indicating +to your Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding against my +client is his own confession, made, I believe, some time ago, under +circumstances which were, to say the least, unusual. While I do not +pretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on that occasion, or to +contest at this juncture the question of his moral guilt, the fact +remains _that there has been no additional proof_ adduced upon any of +the material points in the case, to wit, that the complainant ever +existed, ever possessed a ring, or that it was ever taken from him." + +He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing from his green bag a folded +paper, continued: "In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court that a +person named Farlan left the jurisdiction of this tribunal upon the day +after Monohan's conviction of the offence for which my client is now on +trial. + +"After such an unfortunate mistake," said Crookshanks with an almost +imperceptible twinkle in his "jury eye," "he can hardly be expected to +assist voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold in my hand his +affidavit that he has left the State never to return." + +The Judge had left his chair and was striding up and down the dais. He +now turned wrathfully upon poor Dockbridge. + +"What do you mean by trying a case before me prepared in such a fashion? +This is a disgraceful miscarriage of justice! I shall lay the matter +before the District Attorney in person! Mr. Crookshanks has correctly +stated the law. I am absolutely compelled to discharge this defendant, +who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcerated in State Prison! +I--I--the Court has been hoodwinked! The District Attorney made +ridiculous! As for you," casting a withering glance upon the prisoner, +"if I ever have the opportunity, I shall punish you as you deserve!" + +Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The clerk arose and cleared his +throat. + +"Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a verdict? What say you? Do you find +the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat doubtfully. + +There was a smothered demonstration in the rear of the court-room. A few +spectators had the temerity to clap their hands. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain. + +The clerk faced the prisoner. + +"James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, alias Supple Jim, you are +discharged." + +As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy was the first to grasp +his hand. + +"You're the cleverest boy in New York!" he muttered enthusiastically; +"and say, Jim," he lowered his voice--could it be with a shade of +embarrassment?--"you're a hero all right, into the bargain." + +"Oh, cut that out!" answered Jim. "Wasn't I playing a sure thing? And +wasn't it worth three months,--and ten dollars _per_ to the old guy for +staying over in Jersey,--to put 'em in a hole like that?" + +And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of an impending and +depressing cloud of moral superiority, went out, with others, to get a +drink. + + + + + + +The Maximilian Diamond + + +Dockbridge yawned, threw down his fountain-pen, whirled his chair away +from the window, through which the afternoon sun was pouring a dazzling +flood of light, crossed his feet upon the rickety old table whose faded +green baize was littered with newspapers, law books, copies of +indictments, and empty cigarette boxes, and idly contemplated the +graphophone, his latest acquisition. To a stranger, this little office, +tucked away behind an elevator shaft under the eaves of the Criminal +Courts Building, might have proved of some interest, filled as it was on +every side with mementoes of hard-fought cases in the courts below, +framed copies of forged checks and notes, photographs of streets and +houses known to fame only by virtue of the tragedies they had witnessed, +and an uncouth collection of weapons of all varieties from a stiletto +and long tapering bread knife to the most modern Colt automatic. On the +bookcase stood an innocent-looking bottle which had once contained +poison, while above it hung a faded indictment accusing someone long +since departed of administering its contents to another who did "for a +long time languish, and languishing did die." An enormous black leather +lounge, a safe, several chairs, and some pictures of English and +American jurists completed the contents of the room. Here Dockbridge had +for five years interviewed his witnesses, prepared his cases, and +dreamed of establishing a forensic reputation which should later by a +shower of gold repay him in part for the many tedious hours passed +within its walls. From the grimy windows he could look down upon the +court-yard of the Tombs and see the prisoners taking their daily +exercise, while from the distance came faintly the din and rattle of +Broadway. An air-shaft which passed through the room communicated in +some devious manner with the prison pens on the mezzanine floor far +beneath, and at times strange odors would come floating up bringing +suggestions of prison fare. On such occasions Dockbridge would throw +wide both windows, open the transom, and seek refuge in the library. + +Taken as a whole, his five years there had been invaluable both from a +personal and professional point of view. He had found himself from the +very first day in a sort of huge legal clinic, where hourly he could run +through the whole gamut of human emotions. It was to him, the embryonic +advocate, what hospital service is to the surgeon. He was, as it were, +an intern practising the surgery of the law. And what a multitude of +cases came there for treatment--every disease of the mind and heart and +soul! For a year or two he had been racked nervously and emotionally, +forced from laughter in one moment, to tears the next. Then the mere +fascination of his trade as prosecutor, the marshalling of evidence, the +tactics of trials, the thwarting of conspiracies, the analysis of +motives, the exposure of cunning tricks to liberate the guilty, had so +possessed his mind that the suffering and sin about him, though keenly +realized, no longer cost him sleep and peace of mind. And the stories +that he heard! The mysteries which were unravelled before his very eyes, +and those deeper mysteries the secrets of which were never revealed, but +remained sealed in the hearts of those who, rather than disclose them, +sought sanctuary within prison walls! + +How he wished sometimes that he could write--if only a little! Through +what strange labyrinths of human passion and ingenuity could he conduct +his readers! Sometimes he tried to scribble the stories down, but the +words would not come. How could you describe your feelings while trying +a man for his life, when he sat there at the bar pallid and tense, his +hands clutching each other until the nails quivered in the flesh; the +groan of the convicted felon; the wail of the heart-broken mother as +her son was led away by the officer? He had seen one poor fellow faint +dead away on hearing his sentence to the living tomb; and had heard a +murderer laugh when convicted and the day set for his execution. +Sometimes, in sheer desperation at the thought of losing what he had +seen and experienced, he would turn on the graphophone and talk into it, +disconnectedly, by the hour. It usually came out in better shape than +what he turned off with his pen. If he could only write! + +"Dockbridge! Hi, there, Dockbridge!" + +The door was kicked open, and the lank figure of one of his associates +stood before him. His visitor grinned, and removed his pipe. + +"Bob'll be up in a minute. Come along to 'Coney.'" + +"Don't feel kittenish enough," answered Dockbridge. + +"Oh, come on! It'll do you good." + +The sound of rapid steps flew up the stairs, and Bob burst into the +room, almost upsetting the first arrival. + +"What are you doing up here in this smelly place?" he inquired. "Got a +cigarette?" + +Dockbridge threw him a package without altering his position. + +At this moment the heavily built figure of the chief of staff entered. + +"Holding a reception?" he asked good-naturedly. + +Bob had slipped behind the owner of the graphophone and was rapidly +surveying his desk. Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, and, +snatching it up, ran across the room. + +"I thought so! He's been writing." + +"Here you, Bob, give that back!" cried Dockbridge, springing up. He was +blocked by the chief of staff. + +"Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The censor demands the right of +inspection." + +"Oh, I don't mind if _you_ see it!" said Dockbridge, "only I don't +intend that cub to snicker over it. It's nothing, anyway." + +"'The Maximilian Diamond!'" shouted the thief. "By George, what a +rippin' title! Full of gore, I bet!" + +"You give that back!" growled its owner. + +"Gentlemen, allow me to present the well-known author and brilliant +young literary man, Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four colors is +soon to appear on the cover of the 'Maiden's Gaslog Companion,'" +continued Bob. "I read, 'The villain stood with his dagger elevated for +an instant above the bare breast of his palpitating victim.' My, but +it's great!" + +"You see you'd better read it to us in self-defence," remarked the +chief of staff. "Go ahead!" + +"Promise, and I'll give it back," said Bob, from the door. "Refuse, and +I send it to the 'American.'" + +"It wasn't for publication, anyway," explained Dockbridge. + +"Of course not," answered Bob. "We'll pass on it. Perhaps we'll send it +in for that Five-Thousand-Dollar competition." + +"Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" Dockbridge recovered the +manuscript and returned to his armchair. The others disposed themselves +upon the lounge. + +"Oyez! Oyez!" cried Bob. "All persons desiring to hear the great +American novel, draw near, give your attention and ye shall be heard." + +"Keep still!" ordered the chief of staff. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll make him +shut up." + +"Mind you do," said Dockbridge. "It's about that big diamond, you know. +The story begins in this room." + +"Well, begin it," laughed Bob. + +His companions pulled his head down on the chief's lap and smothered him +with a handkerchief. + +"Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, "here goes." + + +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND + +A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish hair, sandy complexion, and +watery blue eyes, stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by +means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a keeper. My two visitors +conducted themselves with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single +motion sank into the chairs I offered. + +"Well, what's the trouble?" I inquired genially. + +The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of the other, who grinned +apologetically and hitched in my direction. Bending toward me, he +whispered: "I am the victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies +in history. My story involves personages of the highest rank, and is +stranger than one of Dumas' romances. I am a bill-poster." + +Not knowing whether he intended to include himself among the illustrious +persons alluded to, I nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars. + +"My name is Riggs," continued the prisoner, as he bit off the end of his +cigar and expelled it through the window. "Got a match?" + +The keeper drew a handful from his pocket. I lit a cigar for myself and +assumed an attitude of attention. + +"My wife is little Flossie Riggs. Don't know her? Why, she dances at +Proctor's, and all over. I was doing well at my trade, and would have +been doing better, if it hadn't been for that confounded diamond. It was +this way. There was a fellow named Tenney, who posted bills with me +about five years back, and he finally got a job down in the City of +Mexico with a railroad, and I used to correspond with him. + +"Among other things, he told me about a great big diamond that the +Emperor Maximilian used to wear in the middle of his crown. According to +Tenney, it was one of the biggest on record. He said that Maximilian was +so stuck on it that he had it taken out and made into a pendant for the +Empress Carlotta, and that she used to wear it around at all the court +functions, and so on. About the same time he took two other diamonds out +of the crown and made them into finger-rings for himself. + +"After a while the Mexicans got tired of having an empire and put +Maximilian out of business. They stood him and two of his generals up in +the parade ground at Queretaro and shot 'em. Now when he was stood up to +get shot he had those two rings on his fingers, and the funny part of it +was that when the people rushed up to see whether he was dead or not, +both the rings were gone. Just about that time, while Carlotta was in +prison, the diamond with the big pendant disappeared too. It weighed +thirty-three carats. I got all this from Tenney. I don't know where he +found out about it. But it all happened way back in '67. + +"Somehow or other I used to think quite a lot about that diamond--partly +because I was sorry for Max, who looked to have come out at the small +end; and there didn't seem to be any occasion for shooting him anyhow, +that I could see. + +"Well, I went on bill-posting, and got a good job with the Hair Restorer +folks and was doing well, as I said, until one day I happened to take up +a paper and read that there were two Mexicans out in St. Louis trying to +sell an enormous diamond, but that the dealers there were all afraid to +buy it. Finally the police got suspicious, and the Mexicans disappeared. +Then all of a sudden it came over me that this must be the diamond that +Tenney had wrote about, for all that it had been lost for nearly forty +years, and I made up my mind that the Mexicans, having failed in St. +Louis, would probably come to New York. I knew they had no right to the +diamond anyway, first because it belonged to Maximilian's heirs, and +second because it hadn't paid no duty; and I said to myself, 'Next time +I write to Tenney he will hear something that will make him sit up.' So +every morning, when I started out with my paste-pot and roll of +posters, I would keep my eye peeled for the two Mexicans. + +"But I didn't hear any more about the diamond for a long time, and I had +'most forgot all about it, until one day I was plastering up one of +those yellow-headed Hair Restorer girls in Madison Square, when I saw +two chaps cross over Twenty-third Street toward the Park. They were the +very gazeebos I'd been looking for. Both were dark and thin and short, +and, queerer still, one of them carried a big red case in his hand. + +"With my heart rattling against my teeth, I jumped down from the ladder +and started after them. They hurried along the street until they came to +a jeweller's on Broadway, about a block from the Square. They went in, +and I peeked through the window. Presently out they came in a great +hurry. They still had the red case, and I made a dash for the door and +rushed in. There was the store-keeper with eyes bulgin' half-way out of +his head. + +"'Say,' says I, 'did those dagoes try to sell you a diamond?' + +"'Yes,' says he, 'the biggest I ever saw. They wanted forty thousand +dollars for it, and I offered them fifteen thousand, but they wouldn't +take it.' + +"I didn't give him time for another word, but turned around and made +another jump for the door. The Mexicans were almost out of sight, but I +could still see them walking toward the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and I +hustled after them tight as I could, picked up two cops on the way down, +and, just as they were turning in at the entrance, we pounced on 'em. + +"'You're under arrest!' I yelled, so excited I didn't really know what I +was doing. The fellow with the red case dodged back and handed it over +to a big chap who had joined them. This one didn't appear to want to +take it, and seemed quite peevish at what was happening. He turned out +afterward to have been a General Dosbosco of the Haytien Junta. Well, +the cops grabbed all three of them and collared the leather case. Sure +enough, so help me--! There inside was the big diamond, and not only +that, but a necklace with eighteen stones, and two enormous solitaire +rings. The big stone was yellowish, but the others were pure white, +sparklin' like one of those electric Pickle signs with fifty-seven +varieties. By that time the hurry-up wagon had come, and pretty soon the +whole crew of us, diamonds, Mexicans, cops, paste-pot, and me, were +clattering to the police-station for fair. There I told 'em all about +the diamond, and they telephoned over to Colonel Dudley, at the +Custom-house, and the upshot of the whole matter was that the two +Mexicans were held on a charge of smuggling diamonds into the United +States. + +"If you don't believe what I tell you," said Riggs, noticing, perhaps, a +suggestion of incredulity in my face, "just look at these"; and fumbling +in his pocket, he produced some very soiled and crumpled clippings, +containing pictures of Maximilian, the Empress Carlotta, and of a very +large diamond which appeared to be about the size of the "Regent." It +was then that I dimly remembered reading something of a diamond seizure +a short time before, and it was with a renewed interest that I listened +to the continuation of my client's story. + +"Well," said Riggs, "that was strange, now, wasn't it? + +"You can imagine how I felt when I went home and told little Flossie +about the diamond; that I was entitled to a fifty per cent. informer's +reward; how I was going to give up bill-posting and just be her manager, +and how we could take a bigger flat, and all that; and I thought so much +about it, and talked so much about it, that I began to feel like I was +Rockefeller already, which may account in part for what happened +afterward." + +At this point the keeper moved uneasily, and I pushed him another cigar. + +"Well," continued Riggs, "I just walked on air that afternoon after +leaving the Custom-house, and went around blabbing like a poor fool +about my good luck. On the way home I stopped in to take a drink. There +were a lot of my acquaintances there, and I had something with most of +them, and then the first thing I knew everything swam before my eyes. I +groped my way into the street and started toward home, but I had only +taken a few steps when a gang of strong-arm men attacked me, knocked me +down, and robbed me. I struggled to my feet and followed them. They +turned and attacked me again. I drew my knife, and then everything got +dark, and the next thing I knew I was in the police-station. + +"I'll admit that this part of it does seem a little queer." Riggs +dropped his voice mysteriously and leaned toward me. "But I have no +doubt that I was drugged and beaten for the purpose of getting me locked +up in the Tombs as part of a well-planned scheme. You will see for +yourself later on. + +"Next morning, while I was waiting examination in the prison pen, a man +came along who said he was a lawyer and would take my case. I said, All +right, but that he would have to wait for his pay. He laughed, and said +he guessed there would be no trouble about that; and the next thing I +knew I was up before the Judge. My lawyer went up and whispered +something to him, and the magistrate said: + +"'Five hundred dollars bail for trial.' + +"'Look here,' I spoke up, 'ain't I going to have a chance to tell my +story?' + +"'Keep quiet,' said the lawyer from behind his hand; 'this is just a +form. You won't never have to be tried. It's just to get you out.' + +"So I said nothing, and went back to the pen and waited; and the next +thing I knew the hurry-up wagon had taken me to the Tombs. I tell you it +was pretty tough bein' chucked in with a lot of thieves and burglars. +The bill of fare ain't above par, you know, and the company's worse. I +sat in my cell and waited and waited for my lawyer to show up, for he +had said he'd be right over. But he didn't come, and I had to spend the +night there. Next morning the keeper told me that my lawyer was in the +counsel-room. So down I went with two niggers, who also had an +appointment with their lawyers. It's a nasty, unventilated hole, and +they lock you and the attorneys all in together. Ever been there?" + +I shook my head. + +"'Well,' says he, 'now have you got a bondsman?' + +"'A what?' says I. + +"'A bondsman--someone to go bail for you.' + +"'No,' I answered, for I knew nothing about such things. + +"'What! I thought you told me you had a lot of friends who had money! +You haven't been trifling with me, have you?' + +"I knew I hadn't told him anything of the sort, but I thought that maybe +he had forgotten; so I said I hadn't any friends who had any money, and +knew no one to go bail for me. + +"'Bad! very bad!' said he. 'You've got to have money to get out. Isn't +there anyone who owes you money, or haven't you got some _claim_ or +something?' + +"Then all of a sudden it flashed over me about the diamond and my fifty +per cent. of the reward, and then something in his eye made me think +again. It seemed to me that I had seen him before somewhere. I couldn't +remember just where, but the more I hesitated the surer I was. Then it +came over me that a few days in jail, more or less, made mighty little +difference when I was going to be a rich man so soon, and I decided I +had better hang on to what I'd got. + +"'No,' said I, 'I ain't got nothin'.' + +"'You lie!' says he, growing very red. 'You lie! You've got a claim +against the United States Government.' + +"Then he saw he'd made a break. + +"'Why, they all told me you caught a smuggler, or something, and had a +claim against the Government for a hundred dollars.' + +"'A hundred!' I yelled. 'Twenty thousand!' + +"'Oh!' said he, 'as much as that? Why, I'll get you out this afternoon.' + +"'How?' said I. + +"'Well, you will have to assign your claim so I can raise the money on +it. It's a mere form.' + +"But the thought came into my mind, Better stay there ten years than let +him have the claim; so I said that I didn't understand such things, and +I'd just wait until I could be tried. + +"'Tried?' said he. 'Why, you won't be tried for months.' + +"My heart sank right down into my boots. + +"'Don't be a fool!' he went on. 'Here you are, sick and in prison, and +if you don't raise money to get a bondsman you'll stay here a long time. +You might die. And if you assign that claim to me, I have a pull with +the Judge and I'll have you out by supper-time.' + +"'I guess I'll wait awhile,' said I. + +"'Think it over, anyway. Now I tell you what I'll do. To-morrow you go +up for pleading. You have to say whether you are guilty or not guilty. +I'll act as your lawyer and see you through that part of it for nothing, +and then if you still don't want to assign the claim, why, you can do +as you choose.' + +"That seemed fair enough, so I agreed. I spent another night in the +cells, and next day about thirty of us were taken across the bridge into +the court-room. One by one we were led up to the bar, and the clerk +asked us were we guilty or not guilty. The ones that said they were +guilty went off to Sing Sing or Blackwell's Island. It scared the life +out of me. I was afraid that I might not be able to say 'not,' and so +get sent off too, but pretty soon I saw my lawyer. + +"'P. Llewellyn Riggs!' + +"Up jumped Mr. Lawyer and says, 'Not guilty.' + +"'What day?' asked the clerk. + +"'The 21st,' says Mr. Lawyer. + +"I was dumb for a minute. + +"'Look here,' I whispered. 'To-day's only the first--that's three +weeks.' + +"'Keep quiet,' shouted an officer, and gave me a punch in the back. + +"'It's all right,' whispered Mr. Lawyer. 'It's only a form.' And they +hustled me out back to the Tombs. + +"I didn't hear anything all that day or the next. It seemed as if I +should go mad. But at last I was notified that my lawyer was there +again, and down I went glad enough for the change. By that time I was +feeling pretty seedy. + +"'Well, young man,' said he, 'can we do business?' + +"'That depends,' I answered. + +"'Come, no fooling, now; if you want to get out, give me an assignment +of your claim.' + +"'Never,' I replied. + +"'Then to h---- with you!' he shouted; 'you can rot here alone and try +your case by yourself, and I hope you'll get twenty years.' + +"I almost sank through the floor. Twenty years!" + +Riggs had become quite dramatic, and was again leaning forward looking +me straight in the eyes. + +"Well, I stood fast, and he cursed me out and left me, and I began to +feel that after all maybe I was a fool. I hadn't let my wife know where +I was, but now I wrote to her, and she came right down and comforted me. +A brave little woman she is, too. And what was more, she said that a +nice young lawyer had just moved into our house and had the flat below, +and she would go and get him. + +"So next morning--I had been in there a week--the young lawyer came. I +liked him from the start. When I told him my first lawyer's name he just +leaned back and laughed. + +"'Old Todd?' he says; 'why, he's the worst robber in the outfit. If he +had gotten that assignment he'd have let you lie here forever and been +in Paris by this time. You're a lucky man,' says he. + +"Well, I thought so too, and laughed with him. + +"'But,' he continued, 'you're in an embarrassing position. You can't get +out without money, and you can't collect your claim. You'll have to +assign it to someone. You can't assign it to your wife. That wouldn't be +valid. Haven't you got some friend?' + +"'I'm afraid not,' said I. + +"'That's unfortunate,' he remarked, looking out where the window ought +to be. 'Very unfortunate. I might lend you a couple of hundred myself,' +he added. 'I will, too!' + +"The blood jumped right up in my throat.' + +"'God bless you!' said I, 'you're a true friend!' + +"He laid his hand on my shoulder. + +"'You're in hard luck, old man, but you're going to win out. I'll stand +by you. Here's a five. I'll go out and get the rest right off.' + +"Then all of a sudden I began to feel like a king. I could see myself in +a new suit, having a bottle up at the Haymarket. I realized that I was a +twenty-thousand-dollar millionaire. And just to show my chest, I said: + +"'Why, you're an honest man and a true friend. You take my claim and go +and collect it this afternoon,' says I. + +"'No,' he hesitated, 'it's too much responsibility. I'll trust you for +the money and you can pay me afterward.' + +"But with that, ass that I was, I fell to begging him to take the claim, +and saying he must take it, just to show he believed I trusted him; and +so after a while he reluctantly yielded and filled out a paper, and I +signed it and got in the warden as a witness, and he rose to go. + +"'Well, till this afternoon,' says he. + +"'_Au revoir_,' I laughed, 'get yourself a bottle of wine for me,' says +I. And off he goes. + +"As I passed back to the cells, who should I see beside the door but my +old lawyer. + +"I shook my fist in his face. + +"'You old robber,' I says, 'we'll see if I can't get along without you!' + +"He sneered in my face. + +"'Oh, you ---- fool!' says he, 'you poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"Then he was gone. So I went back to the cell, and sang and whistled and +figured on where I should take my little Flossie for dinner. I waited +and waited. Six o'clock, and no word. Then I began to get nervous. + +"'You poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"The words rang around in my cell. Then something sort of gave inside. I +knew I'd been robbed, and I yelled and shook the bars of the door and +tried to get out. I cried for Flossie. The keepers came and told me to +keep still; but I was plump crazy, and kept on yelling until everything +got black and I fainted." + +"And your lawyer never came back?" + +"He never came back!" Riggs exclaimed. "He never came back! I've been +robbed! I'm a poor ---- fool, just as Todd said I was." Riggs burst into +maudlin tears. + +I gave him what consolation I could, and promised thoroughly to +investigate his story. + +The keeper and Riggs arose in unison, the same urbane smile that had +previously illuminated the countenance of the latter restored. + +"You couldn't manage to let me have a handful of cigars, could you?" he +whispered. I gave him all I had. His cheek was irresistible. I would +have given him my watch had he intimated a desire for it. + +Then I called up the Custom-house. + +"Paid?" came back the voice of the United States District Attorney. "Of +course not. The claim is worthless until the diamond is sold; and, +anyway, such an assignment as you describe is invalid under our +statutes. You had better execute a revocation, however, and place it on +file here. Yes, I'll look out for the matter." + +One day, about a week later, I was informed that Riggs had been +convicted of assault, and sentenced to a year's imprisonment on +Blackwell's Island. A jury of his peers had apparently proved less +credulous than myself. + +Many strange epistles from his place of confinement now reached me, +hinting of terrible abuses, starvation, oppression, extortion. He was +still the victim of a conspiracy--this time of prison guards and fellow +convicts. He prayed for an opportunity to lay the facts before the +authorities. I threw the letters aside. It was clear he possessed a +powerful imagination, and yet his tale of the discovery of the diamond +had been absolutely true. Well, let the law take its course. + + * * * * * + +A year later a jovial-looking person called at my office, and I +recognized my old friend Riggs in a new brown derby hat and checked +suit. + +After shaking hands warmly, he presented me with a card reading: + + P. LLEWELLYN RIGGS, + Private Detective, + -- Broadway. + +"Yes," he explained in answer to my surprised expression, "I've gone +into the detective business. My unfortunate conviction is only a sort of +advertisement, you know, and then I was the victim of an outrageous +conspiracy!" + +"But," said I, "I thought you were going to retire on the proceeds of +the diamond." + +"Why, haven't you heard?" he replied. "I gave my wife an assignment of +the claim with a power of attorney, and when the diamond was sold she +ran away." + +"Ran away?" + +"Yes; she took a friend of mine with her. But I shall find her--just as +I did the diamond!" He struck a Sherlock Holmes attitude. "By the way, +if you should ever want any detective work done you'll remember----" + +"I am not likely to forget," I answered, "the victim of one of the most +remarkable conspiracies in history." + + * * * * * + +Meantime the Mexicans were tried, convicted, and sent to prison. The +jewels themselves were duly made the subject of condemnation +proceedings, and whoso peruseth The Federal Reporter for the year 1901 +may read thereof under the title "The United States _vs._ One Diamond +Pendant and Two Ear-rings." They were, so to speak, tried, properly +convicted, and sold to the highest bidder. The Mexicans are still +serving out their time. One turned state's evidence, stating that he was +a musician and had won the love of a beautiful señorita in the city of +Mexico who had given him the gems to sell in order that they might have +money upon which to marry. He also protested that his sweetheart had +inherited them from her mother. + +Inside the cover of the old red case is printed in gold letters: + + LA ESMERALDA. + + F. CAUSER ZIHY & CO., Mexico and Paris. + +And a faintly scented piece of violet note-paper lies beneath the double +lining, containing, in a woman's hand, this: + + The diamond necklace is from Maximilian's crown, the + Emperor of Mexico. The centre stone has thirty-three + and seven-tenths carats, and the eighteen surrounding + it no less than one each. The diamond ring, the stone + thereof, was in Maximilian's ring at the time he was + shot. + +But that is all; there is nothing to tell what hand snatched the jewels +from the lifeless fingers of the dead Emperor, or who purloined the +necklace from the royal household. + +In a dusty compartment on my desk there lies a brown manila envelope, +and sometimes, when the day's work is over and I have glanced for the +last time across the court-yard of the Tombs at the clock tower on the +New York Life Building, I take it out and idly read the press story of +the famous diamond. And there rises dimly before me the pathetic scene +at Queretaro where a brave and good man met his death, and I wonder if +perchance there is any truth in the superstition that some stones carry +ill-luck with them. But it is a far cry from the Emperor of Mexico to a +New York bill-poster. + + * * * * * + +Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk and lit a cigarette. + +"Is that all?" asked the lank deputy, stretching himself. "I thought it +was going to have some sort of a plot." + +"It's a pretty good story," said the chief of staff. "Have you really +got any clippings?" + +"I think it's rotten!" remarked Bob. + +"Well, it's every word of it true, anyway," muttered Dockbridge. + + + + + + +Extradition + + +I + +"Dockbridge," said the District Attorney, coming hurriedly out of his +office, "I've got to send you to Seattle. We've just located Andrews +there--Sam Andrews of the Boodle Bank. One of Barney Conville's cases, +you remember. Here's the Governor's requisition. Barney's down in +Ecuador, so McGinnis of the Central Office will go out to make the +arrest; but I must have someone to look after the legal end of it--to +fight any writ of _habeas corpus_--and handle the extradition +proceedings. They might get around a mere policeman, so I'm going to ask +you to attend to it. The trip won't be unpleasant, and the auditor will +give you a check for your expenses. Remember, now--your job is to _bring +Andrews back_!" + +He handed his assistant a bulky document bedecked with seals and +ribbons, and closed the door. Dockbridge gazed blankly after his +energetic chief. + +"Oh, certainly, certainly! Don't mention it! _Delighted_, I'm sure! +Thank you so much!" he exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned +ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the railing. "Sudden, eh? +Don't even ask me if it's convenient! Exiles me for two months! Just +drop over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigarettes! Or run across +to Morocco and pick up Perdicaris, like a good fellow! Don't you regard +him as a trifle _inconsequent_?" + +Conville's side partner McGinnis, a gigantic Irishman with +extraordinarily long arms and huge hands, climbed disjointedly to his +feet. + +"_In_-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?" The words came in a gentle +roar from the altitudes of his towering form. "Sure, the +_in_-consequence of it is that we're to have the pleasure of travellin' +togither." He looked big enough to swing the little Assistant lightly +upon one shoulder and stride nimbly across the continent with him. + +"An iligant thrip it will be! I'm only regretful I can't take me wife +along wid me." + +Pat's matrimonial troubles were the common property of the entire force. +The only person totally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis +himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detective-Sergeant O'Halloran, +made one think inevitably of the small bird that travels through life +roosting on the shoulder of the African buffalo. His domestic life would +have been one of wild excitement for the average citizen, but McGinnis +had a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of his spouse. +Conceive, however, his surprise when the Assistant District Attorney +suddenly smote him sharply in the abdomen, and shouted: + +"I'll do it!" + +"Phwat?" ejaculated Pat. + +"Take _my_ wife!" + +"Yez have none, ye spalpeen!" + +"I'll have one by to-morrow!" + +"An' is it Miss Peggy ye mane?" + +"No other. The county pays part of the bills. I'll make this my wedding +trip!" + +"God save us, Mr. Dockbridge!" gasped McGinnis. "Ain't he the little +divel!" he added to himself delightedly. + +Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack's proposition. The idea of +going on one's honeymoon with a policeman! Yes, it was all right to +combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one did not usually +associate business with marriage--at least she hoped she did not--for +Jack Dockbridge knew he hadn't a cent, and neither had she. He explained +guardedly that that was the principal reason in favor of the plan. They +would have part of their expenses paid. + +Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged the force of the argument but +pointed out that there was still the policeman. + +Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing colors. Why, there were so +many bad men out there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she never +heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard of the Nagle case, and she +going to marry a lawyer! A newly married pair could not travel alone, +unprotected. + +Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated fraud--an unabashed liar! +Still, she had those furs that had belonged to her mother. She admitted, +also, wondering what the Rockies were like. If she did not marry him +now, how long would he be gone? Six months? + +Jack explained that he might be killed by Indians or desperadoes. In +that case the wisdom of her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She +could then marry someone else. But that was the reason a policeman would +be desirable. And then he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. +One more would make little difference. In the end they were married. + + +II + +It was a gay little party of three that left Montreal for Vancouver the +following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved +himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in +securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult +process of extradition. He had brought safely back "Red" McIntosh from +New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had +captured "Strong Arm" Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure +in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as +"Judge," and introducing him to all strangers as "me distinguished +frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York." + +There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily +became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the +various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy +sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the +frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the +snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and +mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching +the diminishing track, or held their breath in the swaying cab as the +engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward +Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies. + +In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the +mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the +pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track +for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty +back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an +hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the +whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was +undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit +like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they +reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could +himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the +fireman. + +Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused +diligently her husband's copy of "Moore on Extradition." She didn't +intend to be the man of the family--she was too sensible for that--but +she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her +husband's profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as +Jack's. + +Four days brought them within sight of the mountains, and the next +morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian +Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the +winter sun. + +"Glad you came, Peg?" shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight +snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder +at the scene. + +She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air. + +"Shure, ain't we all av us?" inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. "Say, +this beats th' Bowery. Th' Tenderloin ain't in it wid this. I'd loike to +camp right here for the rest of me days!" + +There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the +mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank, +that they all laughed. + +Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at +last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, +now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole +magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous +cañon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close. + +The blue shadows of morning melted into the breathless splendor of high +noon upon the summit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple, +azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning +crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like +myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the +giant peaks. + +"Shure, 'tis a sad thing we can't ride in a train, drawin' th' county's +money foriver!" sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming +rapids. + +"Ah, but we've work to do, Pat!" answered Peggy. "You mustn't forget Sam +Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There's fame and fortune waiting for us." + +On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to +continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy +hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor's recognition of their +credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the +representatives of the State of New York. + +The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly +tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to +lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack's college. Oh, yes, +he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under +pressure of circumstances had technically violated the law, but a +perfect gentleman. Of course he had to honor their requisition, but he +was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under +arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit +and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people! +Everybody committed crime--inadvertently. There were so many statutes +that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly +sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist +them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined +with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a +pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a +blasted hearing--a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants. + +They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis, +together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The +Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard +and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear +that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer. +It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was +entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart +their purpose in any way. Of course, the whole thing was unfortunate in +many respects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the +complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be +easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to +return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming +and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming +if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to +them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy +access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little. + +Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr. +Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends, +and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr. +Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she +and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live +together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under +arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis. +Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him +with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any +reason to regret so doing. + +Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied themselves with sight-seeing, +while Andrews busied himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable +impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased, +and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of +a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way. + +"And now for New York!" exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat +around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their +arrival in Seattle. "How shall we go--Northern Pacific, Union, or The +Short Line and across on The Rock Island?" + +"Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfortably from behind an +enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. "Th' +longer th' better, suits _me_. 'Tis the county pays me, an' I loike +ridin' in the cars down to th' ground." + +"What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?" inquired Peggy, "You know the +country. Where would we see the most mountains?" + +Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have +noticed the flash of Andrews' gray eyes which so quickly died away. He +hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it +deserved. + +"There's practically no choice," he replied at length, knocking the ash +from his cigar. "They're all lovely at this time of year. The Rock +Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting." He +paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar. + +But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had +observed his manner. + +"You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?" + +Andrews smiled. "Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn't such +a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect +with the Soo. It's a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty +cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though." + +"Let's go!" exclaimed Peggy. "That's what we are after--scenery! I don't +care if it _is_ cold. I've got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo? +That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?" + +"Oh, I don't mind!" answered her husband. "Andrews knows best. He's been +that way. Sure, if you say so." + +Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar. + +[Illustration: He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the +consideration it deserved.] + + +III + +All day long the snow had been falling steadily in big, fluffy flakes. +The heavy train ploughed through dense pine-clad ravines, beside +torrents buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose inky +blackness the engine plunged as into the bowels of the earth, across +vibrating trestles, and up grades that seemed never-ending, where the +driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, then clutched the +sanded rails and slowly forged onward. For two days it had been thus, +and from the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling snow met the +eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the shoulders of the mountains, and the +gorges between them were choked with mist. And onward, upward, always +upward groaned the train. + +Inside Jack's compartment in the first Pullman sat the four members of +our party playing cards, now on the best of terms. They had long since +given up condoling upon the weather, and had settled down to making the +best of it with cards, chess-board, and books. Between McGinnis and the +prisoner flowed an unending stream of anecdotes and adventures. It could +not be denied that the erstwhile bank president was a man of much +culture and wide reading. He had studied for the bar, and from time to +time astounded Dockbridge by the acuteness of his mental processes. This +was the afternoon of the second day, and they were just completing their +thirteenth rubber of whist. + +The snow fell thicker as the light waned; soon the lamps were lighted +and the shades were drawn. The through passengers on the train were few, +and the good-natured conductor had adopted the party for the trip. + +"We're 'most at the top o' the pass," he remarked, as he paused to +inspect Jack's hand over his shoulder. "Should ha' made it an hour ago +but for this blank snow. I never saw it so thick. Too bad you've missed +the whole range, and to-morrow morning we'll be at Souris, and then +nothin' but prairie all across Dakota. When you wake up, the +mountains'll be two hundred miles west of you. Hard luck!" + +"My trick," said Andrews. "What's that, conductor? Souris to-morrow +morning? Any stops to-night?" + +"Nope; clear down-hill track all the way. There's a flag station an hour +beyond the divide--Ferguson's Gulch, and sometimes we stop for water at +Red River. There's no regular station there, and Jim wants to make up +time, so I reckon we'll make the run without stoppin'. Are you folks +ready for dinner?" + +The strain on the wheels suddenly relaxed, and it seemed as though the +whole train sighed with relief. Ahead, the engine gave a succession of +quick snorts, as if rejoicing at once more reaching a level. The train +gathered head-way. + +"She's over the divide," announced the conductor, taking a bite from the +plug of tobacco carefully wrapped in his red silk handkerchief. "Now Jim +can let her run." + +"What do you call the divide?" asked Peggy. + +"The Lower Kootenay," he answered. "Oh, it's great here in summer! +Finest thing in Canada, in my opinion." + +"In Canada!" exclaimed Dockbridge, with a start. "What do you mean? Are +we in Canada?" + +"You've been in Canada since three o'clock," was the reply. "We cross +the lower left-hand corner of Alberta--look on the map there in the +folder. After makin' the divide we drop right back into Montana. They +couldn't cross the Rockies at this point without leavin' the States for +a few miles." + +The conductor arose and unfolded the map. + +"Ye see, here's where we leave Clarke Fork, then we skirt this range, +turn north, followin' that river there, the north branch of the +Flathead, and so over the line; then we turn and jam right through the +range. Two hours from now you'll be back in the old U.S." + +Dockbridge had started to his feet and was staring intently at the map. +It was only too true. They were in Canada. _In Canada!_ And they were +holding their prisoner without due process of law! The warrant of the +Governors of New York and Washington were valueless in his Majesty's +Dominion. Did Andrews know? Jack pretended to study the map before him +and glanced furtively across the table. Pat was scowling ferociously at +the cards before him, and Andrews was lighting a cigarette. Apparently +he had heard nothing--or had paid no attention to what the conductor was +saying. With his brain in a whirl Dockbridge folded up the time-table +and handed it back. + +"Well, I'm getting ravenous," he remarked. + +Just then the porter appeared from the direction of the buffet carrying +their evening meal. + +"Same here," echoed Andrews. + +For an hour or more they lingered over the table, Andrews seeming in +unusually good spirits. Dockbridge ceased to feel any uneasiness. He +realized how easily he might have been trapped, but no harm was done in +the present instance, for the minute section of Alberta which they +traversed offered no opportunities for the securing of any legal process +by which their prisoner could be released. Again, Andrews had not urged +the route upon them; that had been Peggy's doing. And, moreover, was he +not returning with them of his own free-will? No, it was absurd to have +been so upset at such a trifling matter. + +"What do you say to some more whist? You and I'll be partners this time, +Andrews." + +The things were cleared from the table and they began again. The speed +of the train seemed to have increased, and the cars swayed from side to +side as they sped down the grade. Peggy raised the shade and looked out. +The pane was plastered with an ever-changing, kaleidoscopic crust of +flakes that spat against it, dropped, clogged against the others, and +sagged downward in a dense mass toward the sash. At the top of the glass +the storm could be seen whirling down its myriads outside. + +"What a night!" she ejaculated, as she pulled down the shade. + +At that moment came a prolonged wail from the engine, followed by the +quick clutch of the brakes. The wheels groaned and creaked, and the +passengers tossed forward in their seats. Again the whistle shrieked. +The train, carried onward by its momentum, ground its wheels against the +brakes which strove to hold them back. Gradually they came to a +stand-still. + +The conductor rushed toward the door, and a brakeman hurried through +with a lantern. + +"Ferguson's Gulch!" he shouted as he ran by. "Must ha' signalled us!" + +Dockbridge's heart dropped a beat, and he glanced apprehensively toward +Andrews. The latter was smiling, but the hand that held his cigar +trembled a very little. + +"You're young yet, Dockbridge," he remarked, with slightly tremulous +sarcasm. "There are one or two things still for you to learn. One of +them is that a United States warrant is useless in Canada. You hadn't +thought of that, eh?" + +"_Warrant_ is it? Shure this is all the warrant _I_ want," replied Pat, +snapping a shining Colt from his pocket. "Plaze don't git excited, me +frind. P'r'aps ye don't know it all, yerself. Wan move, an' I'll put six +holes in yer carcus!" + +Dockbridge grasped Peggy by the arm and drew her breathless to her feet. +"What is it? What is it?" she gasped, clinging to him in the aisle. Jack +reached over and released the shade. Outside in the darkness red lights +swung to and fro. A blast of icy air poured into the car from the open +door. He hurried out into the vestibule. The storm was sweeping by +swiftly and silently, and absurdly the motto of his old bicycle club +flashed into his mind, "Volociter et silenter." The lamp above his head +threw a yellow circle against the vast night. He stumbled down the steps +and clung to the rail, putting his head into the sleet. It stung his +face like the tentacles of a sea-monster. In the foreground stood the +conductor, already white with the snow, his lantern swinging to leeward +in the wind, shouting to a man on horseback. Four other mounted figures, +their steeds facing the blast, marked the point where the light ended +and the night began again. Three train hands, each with a lantern, paced +to and fro beside the car. Ahead could be heard the coughing of the +engine. The man on horseback waved his hand in the direction of the +train, flung himself heavily to the ground, tossed the reins to one of +the others, and strode toward the car. + +"Jones and Wilkes, hold the horses; Frazer and White, come along with +me," he directed over his shoulder. He pushed by Dockbridge and climbed +into the car. The conductor followed. + +"Where is the officer and his prisoner?" he demanded in a harsh voice. + +"Inside, your Honor," answered the conductor, shaking the snow from his +coat. "This is Mr. Dockbridge, the District Attorney from New York." + +"Umph!" grunted the stranger. He was an immense man with a heavy +jet-black beard and hair in thick curls all over his head. A +broad-brimmed sombrero cast a deep shadow over his features, heightening +their natural unpleasantness. Two of the others now jumped upon the +platform and entered the car, and Dockbridge saw that they wore some +kind of uniform and that the lining of their overcoats was red. Peggy +cowered to one side as the three strangers forced their way by her and +paused at the door of the compartment. + +"Is Mr. Andrews here?" inquired the one whom the others addressed as +Judge. + +"I am Mr. Andrews. This is the officer who holds me in custody." + +The Judge turned to one of his followers. + +"Serve him!" he growled. + +The one addressed took from beneath his coat a bundle of papers, and +selecting one, handed it to McGinnis, who let it fall to the floor +without a word. + +"Put up that pistol!" continued the Judge. + +At this moment Dockbridge, who had listened as if dazed to the colloquy, +now mastered sufficient courage to assert himself. + +"Here! what's all this?" he exclaimed in as determined a manner as he +could manage to assume. "What are you doing in my compartment with your +wet feet? Who the devil are you, anyway?" He squeezed by his huge +antagonist and took his stand by McGinnis. + +The conductor and the majority of the train hands had crowded into the +passageway and filled the door with their dripping and astonished faces. +The officer handed another paper to Dockbridge. + +"This is Judge Peters, sir; and this paper is a writ of _habeas corpus_ +returnable forthwith, sir," said the man. + +Dockbridge glanced at the paper and saw that the officer's statement was +correct. The paper was a writ ordering him to produce the body of Samuel +Andrews before the Honorable Elijah Peters, Judge of the Supreme Court +of Alberta, _forthwith_, and show cause why said Andrews should not be +set at liberty. He was trapped. It could not be denied. + +"Is this Judge Peters?" he inquired politely of the man with the black +beard, who had taken off his hat and seated himself upon the sofa. + +"I am," returned the other curtly. "And I now pronounce this car a +court, and direct you to release your prisoner as detained by you +without lawful authority." + +He leaned forward and shook his finger threateningly at McGinnis. "Put +up that pistol!" + +McGinnis looked at Dockbridge. + +"Put it up, Pat," directed the latter. "There's no occasion for +pistols." He winked at Peggy. "Pardon my lack of courtesy in addressing +you, Judge Peters, when you first entered. I was unaware, of course, to +whom it was that I spoke." + +The Judge shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. + +"I'm naturally taken somewhat by surprise, and hardly feel that I can do +justice to my own position in the matter at such short notice. However, +as the court is now in session, I can only ask the privilege of arguing +the matter before your Honor. If I might be permitted to do so, I would +suggest that the hearing take place in some larger space than this +compartment, in which my wife desires speedily to retire." He looked +inquiringly toward the Court. + +"That's right, Jedge," spoke up the conductor. "Don't keep the lady out +of her room. You can hold court in the baggage-car." + +The black-bearded man grumblingly arose to his feet, leaving a large +pool of water in the middle of the floor. + +"As you choose. Bring along the prisoner, and be quick about it. I've +got to ride fifteen miles to-night." + +The crowd streamed down the aisle and into the baggage-car in front. +McGinnis followed with Andrews. + +"Shall I come along, Jack?" whispered his wife. + +"No, stay here. I'm afraid we're beaten. I shall only spar for time, and +try to invent some way out of it." + +Peggy sadly watched his disappearing form. What a disgusting anticlimax! +She reviled herself for being the one who had forced the selection of +the Montana route. It was all her fault. When a man's married his +troubles begin! Jack would lose his job, and then where would they be? +She had gotten him into the fix, and now she would do her best to get +him out of it. She threw on his fur coat and cap and followed into the +baggage-car. The Judge had seated himself on a trunk. Jack stood at his +right with the warrant in his hand. A single lantern cast a fitful glare +over the two, around whom crowded the passengers and train hands. Peggy +heard her husband's somewhat immature voice stating the circumstances of +the wreck of the Boodle Bank. The Judge seemed not uninterested. The +crowd was getting larger every moment. Passengers kept coming in in +every kind of dishabille, and last of all the engineer and fireman +entered by the forward door. Outside, the huge engine hissed and +throbbed as if impatient of the delay. Peggy slipped unseen behind a +pile of trunks, snapped the big padlock through the staples of the +door, then, hurrying back to the compartment, rummaged until she found +Jack's box of cigars. Arming herself with these and with her copy of +"Moore on Extradition," she made her way back to the baggage-car. + +"Yes, yes, I know all that!" the Judge was saying. "But that's all +immaterial. It ain't what he did. It's what right you've got to hold him +in the Dominion of Canada on a warrant from a governor of one of the +United States. Show me that, or I'll discharge the prisoner here and +now." + +"Excuse me, please," exclaimed Peggy, forcing her way through the throng +into the open space under the lamp, "I thought you might like to smoke. +Lawyers all like to smoke." + +There was an immediate response from the Court. + +"Well, I don't care if I do," remarked the Judge more genially. +"Confounded cold out there in the snow waiting for the train. Thank y'." + +He handed back the box, and Peggy passed it to the engineer and told him +to "send it along." Then she whispered in her husband's ear: + +"Read him that chapter on 'International Relations.' Keep it going for +ten minutes, and we'll win out, yet. I've got a scheme." + +Dockbridge took the book, opened it deliberately, and lighted a cigar +for himself. Peggy pushed back through the spectators to the +sleeping-car. Only a solitary brakeman remained outside in the snow, +stamping and swinging his arms. + +"Halloo, Mr. Sanders," said Peggy, "you ought to go in and hear the +argument. They're having a regular smoke talk. It's so thick I can't +breathe. They're giving away cigars. I should think you would freeze." + +"Well, I'm froze already," answered Sanders. "I reckon I'll go in and +hear the fun. Is that straight about the cigars?" + +"Of course it is," laughed Peggy, while Sanders climbed on board. The +snow swept by in clouds as Peggy gave one glance at the retreating form +of the brakeman, and jumped down into the night. + + +IV + +The Judge threw back his burly form against the side of the car and +exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. + +"Now, young feller, if you have any legal right to detain your prisoner, +let's hear it. This court's goin' to adjourn in just ten minutes by the +watch, and I reckon when it adjourns it'll take the prisoner with it." + +The spectators, who had seated themselves as best they could, looked +expectantly toward the New Yorker. + +Jack arose, holding the book impressively before him. The gusts from the +storm outside penetrated the cracks of the loosely hung sliding +baggage-door and made the feeble lantern swing and flicker. The smoke +from twenty cigars swirled round the ceiling. The conductor placed his +own lantern on a trunk by Jack's side. + +"If the Court please," began Dockbridge, "while it's entirely true that +no warrant issued out of a court of the United States or by a governor +of one of the United States gives any jurisdiction over the person of a +fugitive who is held in custody in the Dominion of Canada, it is +nevertheless a fact that under the principle of comity between friendly +nations the government of one will not interfere with an officer of +another who is performing an official act under color of authority." +["Sounds well," said Jack to himself, "but don't mean a blame thing."] +"This principle is as old as the law itself, and is sustained by a long +series of decisions in our international tribunals. The doctrine is +clearly set forth by Grotius" ["that ought to nail him!"] "when he says: +'No nation will voluntarily interfere with a duly authorized officer of +another nation in the performance of his duty, whose act does not +interfere with the functions of government of the other.'" He +pronounced this balderdash with much solemnity and with great effect +upon the assembled train hands. "Now, your Honor, I am a duly authorized +officer of the State of New York, the same being at peace with the +Dominion of Canada." + +"Bosh!" interrupted the Judge. "You're talkin' nonsense. I won't be made +a fool of any longer. Prisoner discharged. This court stands adjourned, +and, as I said, it is goin' to take the prisoner with----" + +A jerk of the train prevented the conclusion of his sentence. There came +another pull from the engine, followed by a succession of violent puffs. +The train started. + +"My God! The engine!" shouted the fireman, making a spring for the door. + +"Locked! Locked!" he yelled, and threw himself upon it. The conductor +dived for the platform. The Judge started to his feet. + +"This is an infernal trick!" he cried. "Stop this train! D'ye hear? Stop +this train at once!" + +But the train was gathering head-way every moment, and was fast dropping +down the grade. A triumphant whistle shrilled through the night with a +succession of short toots. + +"For God's sake, open the door!" gasped the engineer. "Get a crow-bar, +somebody! We'll be going a hundred miles an hour inside of a minute!" +But no crow-bar was to be found, and the door resisted all their +efforts. On rushed the train, thundering down the pass, swaying around +curves until the frightened occupants of the baggage-car clung to one +another to retain their foothold, and every moment adding to its speed. +The baggage-man threw open the side door. The night dashed by in a solid +wall of white. + +"Damme! This is a crime!" roared the Judge. "I'm being kidnapped. Your +Government shall be notified--if we're not all killed. Can't somebody +stop this train? Do you hear? Stop it, I say!" + +For an instant Dockbridge had been as startled as the others. Then it +came to him in one inspired moment. Peggy was on the engine! A series of +whistles came across the tender. + +"Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot!"--the +old Harvard cheer that Peggy had heard echoing across the foot-ball +field a hundred times. + +Of course! She was going to fetch them out of Canada, and then to +thunder with all the judges of the Dominion! He began to laugh +hysterically. On and on, faster and faster, rushed the train. The pallid +faces of the passengers and crew stared strangely out of the blue haze. +Breathless, each man struggled to keep his footing, momentarily +expecting to be dashed into eternity. The minutes dragged as hours, +until at last, from somewhere in the rear of the train, the fireman +returned with a wrench, and throwing his whole weight upon the padlock, +quickly snapped its staples. The door burst open, sending him flying +headlong. Through the car poured a furious gust of wind and snow, +blinding, suffocating, and into the midst of this jumped the engineer, +and, clambering desperately upon the tender, disappeared. + +Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, but Andrews had suddenly begun +to look white and old. + +At the same moment a red light flashed by alongside the track and the +train roared across a suspension bridge without slackening speed. + +"Red River!" gasped the fireman, clambering to his feet. + +The blood leaped in Jack's veins. Red River! Then they were across the +line. Peggy had won! God bless her! With a triumphant glance at the +cowering Andrews, he turned upon the frightened crowd. + +"You can't beat the Yankee girl!" he shouted. "Judge, you're right. +We've adjourned court, and are taking the prisoner with us--INTO THE +UNITED STATES!" + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: In the original edition, the title of each story +appeared twice, first on a page by itself in all capitals, followed by a +blank page, and then on the first page of the story in title case. These +duplicate titles have been deleted. The first title for "The +Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville" appeared in a shortened +form as "THE BARON DE VILLE". In the HTML version of this text, page +numbers have been included only on those pages which originally +contained them, not on blank pages or title pages. + +In "McAllister's Christmas", a quotation mark in front of "One as 'as +white 'air" was deleted, and a second chapter V was renumbered as VI. + +In "The Governor-General's Trunk", "The head bagage-man nodded" was +changed to "The head baggage-man nodded". + +In "The Golden Touch", missing quotation marks were added in front of +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about" and "Oh, my leg!" and +after "And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?", "Where had +he seen that fact?" was changed to "Where had he seen that face?", "that +old VanVorst" was changed to "that old Van Vorst", and "VanVorst sat +there" was changed to "Van Vorst sat there". + +In "McAllister's Data of Ethics", a quotation mark was removed after +"his scented wife, and gilded chairs--". + +In "McAllister's Marriage", "Don' you want to show me the boy-horse" was +changed to "Don't you want to show me the boy-horse". + +In "The Course of Justice", "slowyl arose" was changed to "slowly +arose". + +In "The Maximilian Diamond", _"What day?" asked the clerk._ was changed +to _"'What day?' asked the clerk._ + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's McAllister and His Double, by Arthur Train + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + +***** This file should be named 34597-8.txt or 34597-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/9/34597/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: McAllister and His Double + +Author: Arthur Train + +Release Date: December 8, 2010 [EBook #34597] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 337px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="337" height="500" alt="cover" title="McALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE ARTHUR TRAIN" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 329px;"> +<a name="img2" id="img2"></a><img src="images/image-2.jpg" width="329" height="500" alt="McAllister whispered sharply in his ear." title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">McAllister whispered sharply in his ear. (<a href="#whisper">Page 68</a>.)</p> + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<h1>McALLISTER<br /> +AND HIS DOUBLE</h1> + +<h2><span class="smalltext">BY</span><br /> +ARTHUR TRAIN</h2> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED</p> + +<p class="center">CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br /> +NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::1905</p> + +<p class="center smalltext"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1905, by</span><br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p> + +<p class="center smalltext">Published, September, 1905</p> + +<p class="center smalltext">TROW DIRECTORY<br /> +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY<br /> +NEW YORK</p> + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table class="figcenter" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr> +<td class="chapname smalltext"> </td> +<td class="chappage smalltext">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">McAllister's Christmas</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#McAllisters_Christmas">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Baron de Ville</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Extraordinary_Adventure_of_the_Baron_de_Ville">53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Escape of Wilkins</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Escape_of_Wilkins">77</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Governor-General's Trunk</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Governor-Generals_Trunk">113</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Golden Touch</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Golden_Touch">141</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">McAllister's Data of Ethics</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#McAllisters_Data_of_Ethics">177</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">McAllister's Marriage</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#McAllisters_Marriage">205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Jailbird</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Jailbird">233</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">In the Course of Justice</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#In_the_Course_of_Justice">255</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">The Maximilian Diamond</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#The_Maximilian_Diamond">283</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapname">Extradition</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#Extradition">311</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="wide" /> +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table class="figcenter" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="List of Illustrations"> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">McAllister whispered sharply in his ear</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img2"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname"> </td> +<td class="imgpage smalltext">FACING PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!"</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img3">6</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Throw up your hands!"</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img4">10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Do you know who you've caught?"</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img5">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Merry Christmas, Fatty!"</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img6">24</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img7">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"You think you're a sure winner. But I <i>know</i> you. I know your <i>face</i>."</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img8">88</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img9">102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Who in thunder are <i>you</i>?"</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img10">110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">Deftly tied the two ends of string around it</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img11">130</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img12">136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="imgname">He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration it deserved</td> +<td class="imgpage"><a href="#img13">324</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="McAllisters_Christmas" id="McAllisters_Christmas"></a>McAllister's Christmas</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>McAllister was out of sorts. All the afternoon he had sat in the club +window and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by with their +bundles. He thanked God he had no brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows +for. The very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that had given them +families irritated him. McAllister was a clubman, pure and simple; that +is to say though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman and nothing +more. He had occupied the same seat by the same window during the +greater part of his earthly existence, and they were the same seat and +window that his father had filled before him. His select and exclusive +circle called him "Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terrapin and +cocktails had given him a graceful rotundity of person that did not +belie the name. They had also endowed him with a cheerful though +somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent sense of well-being.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians became fewer, McAllister +sank deeper and deeper into gloom. The club was deserted. Everybody had +gone out of town to spend Christmas with someone else, and the +Winthrops, on whom he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some +reason to invite him. He had waited confidently until the last minute, +and now he was stranded, alone.</p> + +<p>It began to snow softly, gently. McAllister threw himself disconsolately +into a leathern armchair by the smouldering logs on the six-foot hearth. +A servant in livery entered, pulled down the shades, and after touching +a button that threw a subdued radiance over the room, withdrew +noiselessly.</p> + +<p>"Come back here, Peter!" growled McAllister. "Anybody in the club?"</p> + +<p>"Only Mr. Tomlinson, sir."</p> + +<p>McAllister swore under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>McAllister shot a quick glance at him.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anything. You may go."</p> + +<p>This time Peter got almost to the door.</p> + +<p>"Er—Peter; ask Mr. Tomlinson if he will dine with me."</p> + +<p>Peter presently returned with the intelligence that Mr. Tomlinson would +be delighted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>"Of course," grumbled McAllister to himself. "No one ever knew Tomlinson +to refuse anything."</p> + +<p>He ordered dinner, and then took up an evening paper in which an effort +had been made to conceal the absence of news by summarizing the +achievements of the past year. Staring head-lines invited his notice to</p> + +<div class="centerbold"> +<p class="bigtext">A YEAR OF PROGRESS.</p> + +<hr class="thinner" /> + +<p>What the Tenement-House Commission Has Accomplished.</p> + +<hr class="thinner" /> + +<p>FURTHER NEED OF PRISON REFORM.</p></div> + +<p>He threw down the paper in disgust. This reform made him sick. Tenements +and prisons! Why were the papers always talking about tenements and +prisons? They were a great deal better than the people who lived in them +deserved. He recalled Wilkins, his valet, who had stolen his black pearl +scarf-pin. It increased his ill-humor. Hang Wilkins! The thief was +probably out by this time and wearing the pin. It had been a matter of +jest among his friends that the servant had looked not unlike his +master. McAllister winced at the thought.</p> + +<p>"Dinner is served," said Peter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>An hour and a half later, Tomlinson and McAllister, having finished a +sumptuous repast, stared stupidly at each other across their liqueurs. +They were stuffed and bored. Tomlinson was a thin man who knew +everything positively. McAllister hated him. He always felt when in his +company like the woman who invariably answered her husband's remarks by +"'Tain't so! It's just the opposite!" Tomlinson was trying to make +conversation by repeating assertively what he had read in the evening +press.</p> + +<p>"Now, our prisons," he announced authoritatively. "Why, it is +outrageous! The people are crowded in like cattle; the food is +loathsome. It's a disgrace to a civilized city!"</p> + +<p>This was the last straw to McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he snapped back at Tomlinson, who shrank behind his cigar +at the vehemence of the attack, "what do you know about it? I tell you +it's all rot! It's all politics! Our tenements are all right, and so are +our prisons. The law of supply and demand regulates the tenements; and +who pays for the prisons, I'd like to know? We pay for 'em, and the +scamps that rob us live in 'em for nothing. The Tombs is a great deal +better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. I <i>know</i>! I had a +valet once that— Oh, what's the use! I'd be glad to spend Christmas in +no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> worse place. Reform! Stuff! Don't tell me!" He sank back purple in +the face.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a name="img3" id="img3"></a><img src="images/image-3.jpg" width="500" height="381" alt="What do you know about it?" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course—if you know!" Tomlinson hesitated politely, remembering +that McAllister had signed for the dinner.</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>do</i> know," affirmed McAllister.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>"No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" rang out the bells, as McAllister left the +club at twelve o'clock and started down the avenue.</p> + +<p>"No-el! No-el!" hummed McAllister. "Pretty old air!" he thought. He had +almost forgotten that it was Christmas morning. As he felt his way +gingerly over the stone sidewalks, the bells were ringing all around +him. First one chime, then another. "No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" They +ceased, leaving the melody floating on the moist night air.</p> + +<p>The snow began to fall irregularly in patchy flakes, then gradually +turned to rain. First a soft, wet mist, that dimmed the electric lights +and shrouded the hotel windows; then a fine sprinkle; at last the chill +rain of a winter's night. McAllister turned up his coat-collar and +looked about for a cab. It was too late. He hurried hastily down the +avenue. Soon a welcome sight met his eye—a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> coupé, a night-hawk, +crawling slowly down the block, on the lookout, no doubt, for belated +Christmas revellers. Without superfluous introduction McAllister made a +dive for the door, shouted his address, and jumped inside. The driver, +but half-roused from his lethargy, muttered something unintelligible and +pulled in his horse. At the same moment the dark figure of a man swiftly +emerged from a side street, ran up to the cab, opened the door, threw in +a heavy object upon McAllister's feet, and followed it with himself.</p> + +<p>"Let her go!" he cried, slamming the door. The driver, without +hesitation, lashed his horse and started at a furious gallop down the +slippery avenue.</p> + +<p>Then for the first time the stranger perceived McAllister. There was a +muttered curse, a gleam of steel as they flashed by a street-lamp, and +the clubman felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Speak, and I'll blow yer head off!"</p> + +<p>The cab swayed and swerved in all directions, and the driver retained +his seat with difficulty. McAllister, clinging to the sides of the +rocking vehicle, expected every moment to be either shot or thrown out +and killed.</p> + +<p>"Don't move!" hissed his companion.</p> + +<p>McAllister tried with difficulty not to move.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>Suddenly there came a shrill whistle, followed by the clatter of hoofs. +A figure on horseback dashed by. The driver, endeavoring to rein in his +now maddened beast, lost his balance and pitched overboard. There was a +confusion of shouts, a blue flash, a loud report. The horse sprang into +the air and fell, kicking, upon the pavement; the cab crashed upon its +side; amid a shower of glass the door parted company with its hinges, +and the stranger, placing his heel on McAllister's stomach, leaped +quickly into the darkness. A moment later, having recovered a part of +his scattered senses, our hero, thrusting himself through the shattered +framework of the cab, staggered to his feet. He remembered dimly +afterward having expected to create a mild sensation among the +spectators by announcing, in response to their polite inquiries as to +his safety, that he was "quite uninjured." Instead, however, the glare +of a policeman's lantern was turned upon his dishevelled countenance, +and a hoarse voice shouted:</p> + +<p>"Throw up your hands!"</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 328px;"> +<a name="img4" id="img4"></a><img src="images/image-4.jpg" width="328" height="500" alt="Throw up your hands!" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"Throw up your hands!"</p> + +<p>He threw them up. Like the Phœnix rising from its ashes, McAllister +emerged from the débris which surrounded him. On either side of the cab +he beheld a policeman with a levelled revolver. A mounted officer stood +sentinel beside the smoking body of the horse.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>"No tricks, now!" continued the voice. "Pull your feet out of that mess, +and keep your hands up! Slip on the nippers, Tom. Better go through him +here. They always manage to lose somethin' goin' over."</p> + +<p>McAllister wondered where "Over" was. Before he could protest, he was +unceremoniously seated upon the body of the dead horse and the officers +were going rapidly through his clothes.</p> + +<p>"Thought so!" muttered Tom, as he drew out of McAllister's coat-pocket a +revolver and a jimmy. "Just as well to unballast 'em at the start." A +black calico mask and a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid +followed.</p> + +<p>Tom drew a quick breath.</p> + +<p>"So you're one of those, are ye?" he added with an oath.</p> + +<p>The victim of this astounding adventure had not yet spoken. Now he +stammered:</p> + +<p>"Look here! Who do you think I am? This is all a mistake."</p> + +<p>Tom did not deign to reply.</p> + +<p>The officer on horseback had dismounted and was poking among the pieces +of cab.</p> + +<p>"What's this here?" he inquired, as he dragged a large bundle covered +with black cloth into the circle of light, and, untying a bit of cord, +poured its contents upon the pavement. A glittering sil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>ver service +rolled out upon the asphalt and reflected the glow of the lanterns.</p> + +<p>"Gee! look at all the swag!" cried Tom. "I wonder where he melts it up."</p> + +<p>Faintly at first, then nearer and nearer, came the harsh clanging of the +"hurry up" wagon.</p> + +<p>"Get up!" directed Tom, punctuating his order with mild kicks. Then, as +the driver reined up the panting horses alongside, the officer grabbed +his prisoner by the coat-collar and yanked him to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Jump in," he said roughly.</p> + +<p>"My God!" exclaimed our friend half-aloud, "where are they going to take +me?"</p> + +<p>"To the Tombs—for Christmas!" answered Tom.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>McAllister, hatless, stumbled into the wagon and was thrust forcibly +into a corner. Above the steady drum of the rain upon the waterproof +cover he could hear the officers outside packing up the silverware and +discussing their capture.</p> + +<p>The hot japanned tin of the wagon-lamps smelled abominably. The heavy +breathing of the horses, together with the sickening odor of rubber and +damp straw, told him that this was no dream, but a frightful reality.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>"He's a bad un!" came Tom's voice in tones of caution. "You can see his +lay is the gentleman racket. Wait till he gets to the precinct and hear +the steer he'll give the sergeant. He's a wise un, and don't you forget +it!"</p> + +<p>As the wagon started, the officers swung on to the steps behind. +McAllister, crouching in the straw by the driver's seat, tried to +understand what had happened. Apart from a few bruises and a cut on his +forehead he had escaped injury, and, while considerably shaken up, was +physically little the worse for his adventure. His head, however, ached +badly. What he suffered from most was a new and strange sensation of +helplessness. It was as if he had stepped into another world, in which +he—McAllister, of the Colophon Club—did not belong and the language of +which he did not speak. The ignominy of his position crushed him. Never +again, should this disgrace become known, could he bring himself to +enter the portals of the club. To be the hero of an exciting adventure +with a burglar in a runaway cab was one matter, but to be arrested, +haled to prison and locked up, was quite another. Once before the proper +authorities, it would be simple enough to explain who and what he was, +but the question that troubled him was how to avoid publicity. He +remembered the bills in his pocket. Fortunately they were still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> there. +In spite of the handcuffs, he wormed them out and surreptitiously held +up the roll. The guard started visibly, and, turning away his head, +allowed McAllister to thrust the wad into his hand.</p> + +<p>"Can't I square this, somehow?" whispered our hero, hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>The guard broke into a loud guffaw. "Get on to him!" he laughed. "He's +at it already, Tom. Look at the dough he took out of his pants! You're +right about his lay." He turned fiercely upon McAllister, who, dazed by +this sudden turn of affairs, once more retreated into his corner.</p> + +<p>The three officers counted the money ostentatiously by the light of a +lantern.</p> + +<p>"Eighty plunks! Thought we was cheap, didn't he?" remarked the guard +scornfully. "No; eighty plunks won't square this job for you! It'll take +nearer eight years. No more monkey business, now! You've struck the +wrong combine!"</p> + +<p>McAllister saw that he had been guilty of a terrible <i>faux pas</i>. Any +explanation to these officers was clearly impossible. With an official +it would be different. He had once met a police commissioner at dinner, +and remembered that he had seemed really almost like a gentleman.</p> + +<p>The wagon drew up at a police station, and pres<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>ently McAllister found +himself in a small room, at one end of which iron bars ran from floor to +ceiling. A kerosene lamp cast a dim light over a weather-beaten desk, +behind which, half-asleep, reclined an officer on night duty. A single +other chair and four large octagonal stone receptacles were the only +remaining furniture.</p> + +<p>The man behind the desk opened his eyes, yawned, and stared stupidly at +the officers. A clock directly overhead struck "one" with harsh, vibrant +clang.</p> + +<p>"Wot yer got?" inquired the sergeant.</p> + +<p>"A second-story man," answered the guard.</p> + +<p>"He took to a cab," explained Tom, "and him and his partner give us a +fierce chase down the avenoo. O'Halloran shot the horse, and the cab was +all knocked to hell. The other fellow clawed out before we could nab +him. But we got this one all right."</p> + +<p>"Hi, there, McCarthy!" shouted the sergeant to someone in the dim vast +beyond. "Come and open up." He examined McAllister with a degree of +interest. "Quite a swell guy!" he commented. "Them dress clothes must +have been real pretty onc't."</p> + +<p>McAllister stood with soaked and rumpled hair, hatless and collarless, +his coat torn and splashed, and his shirt-bosom bloody and covered with +mud.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> He wanted to cry, for the first time in thirty-five years.</p> + +<p>"Wot's yer name?" asked the sergeant.</p> + +<p>The prisoner remained stiffly mute. He would have suffered anything +rather than disclose himself.</p> + +<p>"Where do yer live?"</p> + +<p>Still no answer. The sergeant gave vent to a grim laugh.</p> + +<p>"Mum, eh?" He scribbled something in the blotter upon the desk before +him. Then he raised his eyes and scrutinized McAllister's face. Suddenly +he jumped to his feet.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a name="img5" id="img5"></a><img src="images/image-5.jpg" width="500" height="367" alt="Do you know who you've caught?" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"Do you know who you've caught?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the luck!" he exclaimed. "Do you know who you've caught? +It's Fatty Welch!"</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">IV</h3> + +<p>How he had managed to live through the night that followed McAllister +could never afterward understand. Locked in a cell, alone, to be sure, +but with no light, he took off his dripping coat and threw himself on +the wooden seat that served for a bed. It was about six inches too +short. He lay there for a few moments, then got wearily to his feet and +began to pace up and down the narrow cell. His legs and abdomen, which +had been the recipients of so much attention,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> pained him severely. The +occupant of the next apartment, awakened by our friend's arrival, began +to show irritation. He ordered McAllister in no gentle language to +abstain from exercise and go to sleep. A woman farther down the corridor +commenced to moan drearily to herself. Evidently sleep had made her +forget her sorrow, but now in the middle of the night it came back to +her with redoubled force. Her groans racked McAllister's heart. A stir +ran all along the cells—sounds of people tossing restlessly, curses, +all the nameless noises of the jail. McAllister, fearful of bringing +some new calamity upon his head, sat down. He had been shivering when he +came in; now he reeked with perspiration. The air was fetid. The only +ventilation came through the gratings of the door, and a huge stove just +beyond his cell rendered the temperature almost unbearable. He began to +throw off his garments one by one. Again he drew his knees to his chest +and tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Never had McAllister in +all his life known such wretchedness of body, such abject physical +suffering. But his agony of mind was even more unbearable. Vague +apprehensions of infectious disease floating in the nauseous air, or of +possible pneumonia, unnerved and tortured him. Stretched on the floor he +fell at length into a coma of exhaustion, in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> he fancied that he +was lying in a warm bath in the porcelain tub at home. In the room +beyond he could see Frazier, his valet, laying out his pajamas and +dressing-gown. There was a delicious odor of that violet perfume he +always used. In a minute he would jump into bed. Then the valet suddenly +came into the bath-room and began to pound his master on the back of the +neck. For some reason he did not resent this. It seemed quite natural +and proper. He merely put up his hand to ward off the blows, and found +the keeper standing over him.</p> + +<p>"Here's some breakfast," remarked that official. "Tom sent out and got +it for ye. The city don't supply no <i>aller carty</i>." McAllister vaguely +rubbed his eyes. The keeper shut and locked the door, leaving behind him +on the seat a tin mug of scalding hot coffee and a half loaf of sour +bread.</p> + +<p>McAllister arose and felt his clothes. They were entirely dry, but had +shrunk perceptibly. He was surprised to find that, save for the +dizziness in his head, he felt not unlike himself. Moreover, he was most +abominably hungry. He knelt down and smelt of the contents of the tin +cup. It did not smell like coffee at all. It tasted like a combination +of hot water, tea, and molasses. He waited until it had cooled, and +drank it. The bread was not so bad. McAllister ate it all.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>There was a good deal of noise in the cells now, and outside he could +hear many feet coming and going. Occasionally a draught of cold air +would flow in, and an officer would tramp down the corridor and remove +one of the occupants of the row. His watch showed that it was already +eight o'clock. He fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and found a very +warped and wrinkled cigar. His match-box supplied the necessary light, +and "Chubby" McAllister began to smoke his after-breakfast Havana with +appreciation.</p> + +<p>"No smoking in the cells!" came the rough voice of the keeper. "Give us +that cigar, Welch!"</p> + +<p>McAllister started to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Hand it over, now! Quick!"</p> + +<p>The clubman passed his cherished comforter through the bars, and the +keeper, thrusting it, still lighted, into his own mouth, grinned at him, +winked, and walked away.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 413px;"> +<a name="img6" id="img6"></a><img src="images/image-6.jpg" width="413" height="500" alt="Merry Christmas, Fatty!" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">"Merry Christmas, Fatty!"</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" he remarked genially over his shoulder.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">V</h3> + +<p>Half an hour later Tom and his "side partner" came to the cell-door. +They were flushed with victory. Already the morning papers contained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +accounts of the pursuit and startling arrest of "Fatty Welch," the +well-known crook, who was wanted in Pennsylvania and elsewhere on +various charges. Altogether the officers were in a very genial frame of +mind.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Fatty," said Tom, helping the clubman into his bedraggled +overcoat. "We're almost late for roll-call, as it is."</p> + +<p>They left the cells and entered the station-house proper, where several +officers with their prisoners were waiting.</p> + +<p>"We'll take you down to Headquarters and make sure we've got you +<i>right</i>," he continued. "I guess Sheridan'll know you fast enough when +he sees you. Come on, boys!" He opened the door and led the way across +the sidewalk to the patrol wagon, which stood backed against the curb.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious winter's day. The sharp, frosty air stimulated the +clubman's jaded senses and gave him new hope; he felt sure that at +headquarters he would find some person to whom he could safely confide +the secret of his identity. In about ten minutes the wagon stopped in a +narrow street, before an inhospitable-looking building.</p> + +<p>"Here's the old place," remarked one of the load cheerfully. "Looks just +the same as ever. Mott Street's not a mite different. And to think I +ain't been here in fifteen years!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>All clambered out, and each officer, selecting his prisoners, convoyed +them down a flight of steps, through a door, several feet below the +level of the sidewalk, and into a small, stuffy chamber full of men +smoking and lounging. Most of these seemed to take a friendly interest +in the clubman, a few accosting him by his now familiar alias.</p> + +<p>Tom hurried McAllister along a dark corridor, out into a cold +court-yard, across the cobblestones into another door, through a hall +lighted only by a dim gas-jet, and then up a flight of winding stairs. +McAllister's head whirled. Then quickly they were at the top, and in a +huge, high-ceiled room crowded with men in civilian dress. On one side, +upon a platform, stood a nondescript row of prisoners, at whom the +throng upon the floor gazed in silence. Above the heads of this file of +motley individuals could be read the gold lettering upon the cabinet +behind them—Rogues' Gallery. On the other side of the room, likewise +upon a platform and behind a long desk, stood two officers in uniform, +one of them an inspector, engaged in studying with the keenest attention +the human exhibition opposite.</p> + +<p>"Get up there, Fatty!"</p> + +<p>Before he realized what had happened, McAllister was pushed upon the +platform at the end of the line. His appearance created a little wave +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> excitement, which increased when his comrades of the wagon joined +him. It was a peculiar scene. Twenty men standing up for inspection, +some gazing unconcernedly before them, some glaring defiantly at their +observers, and others grinning recognition at familiar faces. McAllister +grew cold with fright. Several of the detectives pointed at him and +nodded. Out of the silence the Inspector's voice came with the shock of +thunder:</p> + +<p>"Hey, there, you, Sanders, hold up your hand!"</p> + +<p>A short man near the head of the line lifted his arm.</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat."</p> + +<p>The prisoner removed his head-gear with his other hand. The Inspector +raised his voice and addressed the crowd of detectives, who turned with +one accord to examine the subject of his discourse.</p> + +<p>"That's Biff Sanders, con man and all-round thief. Served two terms up +the river for grand larceny—last time an eight-year bit; that was nine +years ago. Take a good look at him. I want you to remember his face. Put +your hat on."</p> + +<p>Sanders resumed his original position, his face expressing the most +complete indifference.</p> + +<p>A slight, good-looking young man now joined the Inspector and directed +his attention to the prisoner next the clubman, the same being he who +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> remarked upon the familiar appearance of Mott Street.</p> + +<p>"Hold up your hand!" ordered the Inspector. "You're Muggins, aren't you? +Haven't been here in fifteen years, have you?"</p> + +<p>The man smiled.</p> + +<p>"You're right, Inspector," he said. "The last time was in '89."</p> + +<p>"That's Muggins, burglar and sneak; served four terms here, and then got +settled for life in Louisville for murder. Pardoned after he'd served +four years. Look at him."</p> + +<p>Thus the curious proceeding continued, each man in the line being +inspected, recognized, and his record and character described by the +Inspector to the assembled bureau of detectives. No other voice was +heard save the harsh tones of some prisoner in reply.</p> + +<p>Then the Inspector looked at McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Welch, hold up your hand."</p> + +<p>McAllister shuddered. If he refused, he knew not what might happen to +him. He had heard of the horrors of the "Third Degree," and associated +it with starvation, the rack, and all kinds of brutality. They might set +upon him in a body. He might be mobbed, beaten, strangled. And yet, if +he obeyed, would it not be a public admission that he was the mysterious +and elusive Welch?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> Would it not bind the chains more firmly about him +and render explanation all the more difficult?</p> + +<p>"Do you hear? Hold up your hand, and be quick about it!"</p> + +<p>His hand went up of its own accord.</p> + +<p>The Inspector cleared his throat and rapped upon the railing.</p> + +<p>"Take a good look at this man. He's Fatty Welch, one of the cleverest +thieves in the country. Does a little of everything. Began as a valet to +a clubman in this city. He got settled for stealing a valuable pin about +three years ago, and served a short term up the river. Since then he's +been all over. His game is to secure employment in fashionable houses as +butler or servant and then get away with the jewelry. He's wanted for a +big job down in Pennsylvania. Take a good look at him. When he gets out +we don't want him around these parts. I'd like you precinct-men to +remember him."</p> + +<p>The detectives crowded near to get a close view of the interesting +criminal. One or two of them made notes in memorandum books. The slender +man had a hasty conference with the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"The officer who has Welch, take him up to the gallery and then bring +him down to the record room," directed the Inspector.</p> + +<p>"Get down, Fatty!" commanded Tom. Mc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Allister, stupefied with horror, +embarrassment, and apprehension of the possibilities in store for him, +stepped down and followed like a somnambulist. As they made their way to +the elevator he could hear the strident voice of the Inspector beginning +again:</p> + +<p>"This is Pat Hogan, otherwise known as 'Paddy the Sneak,' and his side +partner, Jim Hawkins, who goes under the name of James Hawkinson. His +pals call him 'Supple Jim.' Two of the cleverest sneaks in the country. +They branch out into strong arm work occasionally."</p> + +<p>The elevator began to ascend.</p> + +<p>"You seem kinder down," commented Tom. "I suppose you expect to get +settled for quite a bit down to Philadelphia, eh? Well, don't talk +unless you feel like it. Here we are!"</p> + +<p>They got out upon an upper floor and crossed the hall. On their left a +matron was arranging rows of tiny chairs in a small school-room or +nursery. At any other time the Lost Children's Room might have aroused a +flicker of interest in McAllister, but he felt none whatever in it now. +Tom opened a door and pushed the clubman gently into a small, low-ceiled +chamber. Charts and diagrams of the human cranium hung on one wall, +while a score of painted eyes, each of a different color, and each +bearing a technical appellation and a number,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> stared from the other. +Upon a small square platform, about eight inches in height, stood a +half-clad Italian congealed with terror and expecting momentarily to +receive a shock of electricity. The slender young man was rapidly +measuring his hands and feet and calling out the various dimensions to +an assistant, who recorded them upon a card. This accomplished, he +ordered his victim down from the block, seated him unceremoniously in a +chair, and with a pair of shining instruments gauged the depth of his +skull from front to rear, its width between the cheekbones, and the +length of the ears, describing all the while the other features in brief +terms to his associate.</p> + +<p>"Now off with you!" he ejaculated. "Here, lug this Greaser in and mug +him."</p> + +<p>The officer in the case haled the Italian, shrieking, into another room.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Fatty!" remarked the slender man. "I trust you won't object to +these little formalities? Take off that left shoe, if you please."</p> + +<p>McAllister's soul had shrivelled within him. His powers of thought had +been annihilated. Mechanically he removed the shoe in question and +placed his foot upon the block. The young man quickly measured it.</p> + +<p>"Now get up there and rest your hand on the board."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>McAllister observed that the table bore the painted outline of a human +hand. He did as he was told unquestioningly. The other measured his +forefinger and the length of his forearm.</p> + +<p>"All right. Now sit down and let me tickle your head for a moment."</p> + +<p>The operator took the silver calipers which had just been used upon the +Italian and ran them thoughtfully forward and back above the clubman's +organs of hearing.</p> + +<p>"By George, you've got a big head!" remarked the measurer. "Prominent, +Roman nose. No. 4 eyes. Thank you. Just step into the next room, will +you, and be mugged?"</p> + +<p>McAllister drew on his shoe and followed Tom into the adjoining chamber +of horrors.</p> + +<p>"No tricks, now!" commented the officer in charge of the instrument.</p> + +<p>Snap! went the camera.</p> + +<p>"Turn sideways."</p> + +<p>Snap!</p> + +<p>"That's all."</p> + +<p>The clubman staggered to his feet. He entirely failed to appreciate the +extent of the indignity which had been practised upon him. It was hours +before he realized that he had actually been measured and photographed +as a criminal, and that, to his dying hour and beyond, these insignia of +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> shame would remain locked in the custody of the police.</p> + +<p>"Where now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Time to go over to court," answered Tom. "The wagon'll be waitin' for +us. But first we'll drop in on Sheridan—record-room man, you know."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there some way I can see the Commissioner?" inquired McAllister.</p> + +<p>Tom burst into a roar of laughter.</p> + +<p>"You <i>have</i> got a gall!" he commented, thumping his prisoner +good-naturedly in the middle of the back. "The Commissioner! Ho-ho! +That's a good one! I guess we'll have to make it the Warden. Come on, +now, and quit yer joshin'."</p> + +<p>Once more they entered the main room, where the detectives were +congregated. The Inspector was still at it. There had been a big haul +the night before. He intended running all the crooks out of town by New +Year's Day. Tom shoved McAllister through the crush, across an adjoining +room and finally into a tiny office. A young man with a genial +countenance was sitting at a desk by the single window. He looked up as +they crossed the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Welch! How goes it? Let's see, how long is it since you were +here?"</p> + +<p>Somehow this quiet, gentlemanly fellow with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> confident method of +address, telling you just who you were, irritated McAllister to the +explosive point.</p> + +<p>"I'm not Welch!" he cried indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Ha-ha!" laughed Mr. Sheridan. "Pray who are you?"</p> + +<p>"You'll find out soon enough!" answered McAllister sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Look here," remarked the other, "don't imagine you can bluff us. If you +think you are not Welch, perhaps I can persuade you to change your +mind."</p> + +<p>He turned to an officer who stood in the doorway of a large vault.</p> + +<p>"Bring 2,208, if you please."</p> + +<p>The officer pulled out a drawer, removed a long linen envelope, and +spread out its contents upon the desk. These were fifteen or twenty +newspaper clippings, at least one of which was embellished with an +evil-looking wood-cut.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," continued Mr. Sheridan. "You began with a year up the +river. Took a pearl pin from a man named McAllister. Then you turned +several tricks in Chicago, St. Louis, Buffalo and Philadelphia, and got +away with it every time. Have we got you right?"</p> + +<p>McAllister ground his teeth.</p> + +<p>"You have not!" said he.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>"Look at yourself," continued the other. "There's your face. You can't +deny it. I wonder the Inspector didn't have you measured and +photographed the first time you were settled. Still, the picture's +enough."</p> + +<p>He handed the clubman a newspaper clipping containing a visage which +undeniably resembled the features which the latter saw daily in his +mirror. McAllister wearily shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the expert, "of course you don't have to tell us anything +unless you want to. We've got you right—that's enough."</p> + +<p>He pushed the clippings back into the envelope, handed it to the +officer, and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Come on!" ordered Tom.</p> + +<p>Once more McAllister and his mentor availed themselves of the only free +transportation offered by the city government, that of the patrol wagon, +and were soon deposited at the side entrance of the Jefferson Market +police court. A group of curious idlers watched their descent and +disappearance into what must have at all times seemed to them a concrete +and ever-present temporal Avernus. The why and wherefore of these +erratic trips were, of course, unknown to McAllister. Presumably he must +be some <i>rara avis</i> of crime whose feet had been caught inadvertently in +the limed twig set by the official fowler for more homely poultry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +Fatty Welch, whoever he might be, apparently enjoyed the respect +incident to success in any line of human endeavor. It seemed likewise +that his presence was much desired in the sister city of Philadelphia, +in which direction the clubman had a vague fear of being unwillingly +transported. He did not, of course, realize that he was held primarily +as a violator of the law of his own State, and hence must answer to the +charge in the magistrate's court nearest the locus of his supposed +offence.</p> + +<p>Inside the station house Tom held a few moments' converse with one of +its grizzled guardians, and then led our hero along a passage and opened +a door. But here McAllister shrank back. It was his first sight of that +great cosmopolitan institution, the police court. Before him lay the +scene of which he had so often read in the newspapers. The big room with +its Gothic windows was filled to overflowing with every variety of the +human species, who not only taxed the seating capacity of the benches to +the utmost, but near the doors were packed into a solid, impenetrable +mass. Upon a platform behind a desk a square-jawed man with +chin-whiskers disposed rapidly of the file of defendants brought before +him.</p> + +<p>A long line of officers, each with one or more prisoners, stood upon the +judge's left, and as fast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> as the business of one was concluded the next +pushed forward. McAllister perceived that at best only a few moments +could elapse before he was brought to face the charge against him, and +that he must make up his mind quickly what course of action to pursue. +As he stepped down from the doorway there was a perceptible flutter +among the spectators. Several hungry-looking men with note-books opened +them and poised their pencils expectantly.</p> + +<p>Tom, having handed over McAllister to the temporary care of a brother +officer, lost no time in locating his complainant, that is to say, the +gentleman whose house our hero was charged with having burglariously +entered. The two then sought out the clerk, who seemed to be holding a +sort of little preliminary court of his own, and who, under the +officer's instruction, drew up some formal document to which the +complainant signed his name. McAllister was now brought before this +official and briefly informed that anything he might say would be used +against him at his trial. He was then interrogated, as before, in regard +to his name, age, residence, and occupation, but with the same result. +Indeed, no answers seemed to be expected under the circumstances, and +the clerk, having written something upon the paper, waved them aside. +Nothing, however, of these proceedings had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> lost to the reporters, +who escorted Tom and McAllister to the end of the line of officers, +worrying the former for information as to his prisoner's origin and past +performances. But Tom motioned them off with the papers which he held in +his hand, bidding them await the final action of the magistrate. Nobody +seemed particularly unfriendly; in fact, an air of general +good-fellowship pervaded the entire routine going on around them. What +impressed the clubman most was the persistence and omnipresence of the +reporters.</p> + +<p>"I must get time!" thought McAllister. "I must get time!"</p> + +<p>One after another the victims of the varied delights of too much +Christmas jubilation were disposed of. Fatty Welch was the only real +"gun" that had been taken. He had the arena practically to himself. Now +only one case intervened. He braced himself and tried to steady his +nerves.</p> + +<p>"Next! What's this?"</p> + +<p>McAllister was thrust down below the bridge facing the bench, and Tom +began hastily to describe the circumstances of the arrest.</p> + +<p>"Fatty Welch?" interrupted the magistrate. "Oh, yes! I read about it in +the morning papers. Chased off in a cab, didn't he? You shot the horse, +and his partner got away? Wanted in Pennsylvania and Illinois, you say? +That's enough."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> Then looking down at McAllister, who stood before him +in bespattered dress suit and fragmentary linen, he inquired:</p> + +<p>"Have you counsel?"</p> + +<p>McAllister made no answer. If he proclaimed who he was and demanded an +immediate hearing, the harpies of the press would fill the papers with +full accounts of his episode. His incognito must be preserved at any +cost. Whatever action he might decide to take, this was not the time and +place; a better opportunity would undoubtedly present itself later in +the day.</p> + +<p>"You are charged with the crime of burglary," continued the Judge, "and +it is further alleged that you are a fugitive from justice in two other +States. What have you to say for yourself?"</p> + +<p>McAllister sought the Judge's eye in vain.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say," he replied faintly. There was a renewed +scratching of pens.</p> + +<p>The Judge conferred with the clerk for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Any question of the prisoner's identity?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," replied Tom conclusively. "The fact is, yer onner, we took him +by accident, as you may say. We laid a plant for a feller doin' +second-story work on the avenoo, and when we nabbed him, who should it +be but Welch! Ye see,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> they wired on his description from Philadelphia a +couple of weeks ago, but we couldn't find hide or hair of him in the +city, and had about give up lookin'. Then, quite unexpected, we scoops +him in. Here's his indentity," handing the Judge a soiled telegraph +blank. "It's him, all right," he added with a grin.</p> + +<p>The magistrate glanced at the form and at McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Seems to fit," he commented. "Have you looked for the scar?"</p> + +<p>Tom laughed.</p> + +<p>"Sure! I seen it when he was gettin' his measurements took, down to +headquarters."</p> + +<p>"Turn around, Welch, and let's see your back," directed the magistrate.</p> + +<p>The clubman turned around and displayed his collarless neck.</p> + +<p>"There it is!" exclaimed Tom.</p> + +<p>McAllister mechanically put his hand to his neck and turned faint. He +had had in his childhood an almost forgotten fall, and the scar was +still there. He experienced a genuine thrill of horror.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the magistrate, "the prisoner is entitled to counsel, +and, besides, I am sure that the complainant, Mr. Brown, has no desire +to be delayed here on Christmas Day. I will set the hearing for ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> the Tombs police court. I shall be +sitting there for Judge Mason the rest of the week, beginning to-morrow, +and will take the case along with me. You might suggest to the Warden +that it would be more convenient to send the prisoner down to the Tombs, +so that there need be no delay."</p> + +<p>The complainant bowed, and the officer at the bridge slapped McAllister +not unkindly upon the back.</p> + +<p>"You'll need a pretty good lawyer," he remarked with a wink.</p> + +<p>"Next!" ordered the Judge.</p> + +<p>In the patrol wagon McAllister had ample time for reflection. A motley +collection of tramps, "disorderlies," and petty law-breakers filled the +seats and crowded the aisle. They all talked and joked, swinging from +side to side and clutching at one another for support with harsh +outbursts of profanity, as they rattled down the deserted streets toward +New York's Bastile. Staggering for a foot-hold, between four women of +the town, McAllister was forced to breathe the fumes of alcohol, the +odor of musk, and the aroma of foul linen. He no longer felt innocent. +The sense of guilt was upon him. He seemed part and parcel of this load +of miserable humanity.</p> + +<p>The wagon clattered over the cobblestones of Elm Street, and whirling +round, backed up to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> door of the Tombs. The low, massive Egyptian +structure, surrounded by a high stone wall, seemed like a gigantic +mortuary vault waiting to receive the "civilly dead." Warden and keepers +were ready for the prisoners, who were now unceremoniously bundled out +and hustled inside. McAllister stood with the others in a small anteroom +leading directly into the lowest tier. He could hear the ceaseless +shuffling of feet and the subdued murmur of voices, rising and falling, +but continuous, like the twittering of a multitude of birds, while +through the bars came the fetid prison smell, with a new and +disagreeable element—the odor of prison food.</p> + +<p>"Keepin' your mouth shut?" remarked the deputy to McAllister, as he +entered the words "Prisoner refuses to answer," and blotted them.</p> + +<p>"We're rather crowded just now," he added apologetically. "I guess I'll +send you to Murderer's Row. Holloa, there!" he called to someone above, +"one for the first tier!"</p> + +<p>A keeper seized the clubman by the arm, opened a door in the steel +grating, and pushed him through. "Go 'long up!" he ordered.</p> + +<p>McAllister started wearily up the stairs. At the top of the flight he +came to another door, behind which stood another keeper. In the +background marched in ceaseless procession an irregular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> file of men. In +the gloom they looked like ghosts. Aimlessly they walked on, one behind +the other, most of them with eyes downcast, wordless, taking that +exercise of the body which the law prescribed.</p> + +<p>McAllister entered The Den of Beasts.</p> + +<p>"All right, Jimmy!" yelled the keeper to the deputy warden below. Then, +turning to McAllister. "I'm goin' to put you in with Davidson. He's +quiet, and won't bother you if you let him alone. Better give him +whichever berth he feels like. Them double-decker cots is just as good +on top as they is below."</p> + +<p>McAllister followed the keeper down the narrow gangway that ran around +the prison. In the stone corridor below a great iron stove glowed +red-hot, and its fumes rose and mingled with the tainted air that +floated out from every cell. Above him rose tier on tier, illuminated +only by the gray light which filtered through a grimy window at one end +of the prison. The arrangement of cells, the "bridges" that joined the +tiers, and the murky atmosphere, heightened the resemblance to the +"'tween decks" of an enormous slaver, bearing them all away to some +distant port of servitude.</p> + +<p>"Get up there, Jake! Here's a bunkie for you."</p> + +<p>McAllister bent his head and entered. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> standing beside a +two-story cot bed, in a compartment about six by eight feet square. A +faint light came from a narrow, horizontal slit in the rear wall. A +faucet with tin basin completed the contents of the room. On the top +bunk lay a man's soiled coat and waistcoat, the feet of the owner being +discernible below.</p> + +<p>The keeper locked the door and departed, while the occupant of the +berth, rolling lazily over, peered up at the new-comer; then he sprang +from the cot.</p> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister!" he whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>It was Wilkins—the old Wilkins, in spite of a new light-brown beard.</p> + +<p>For a few moments neither spoke.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to see you 'ere, sir," said Wilkins at length, in his old +respectful tones. "Won't you sit down, sir?"</p> + +<p>McAllister seated himself upon the bed automatically.</p> + +<p>"You here, Wilkins?" he managed to say.</p> + +<p>Wilkins laughed rather bitterly.</p> + +<p>"I've been in stir a good part of the time since I left you, sir; an' +two weeks ago I pleaded guilty to larceny and was sentenced to one year +more. But I'm glad to see you lookin' so well, if you'll pardon me, +sir."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for you, Wilkins," the master man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>aged to reply. "I hope my +severity in that matter of the pin did not bring you to this!"</p> + +<p>Wilkins hesitated for a moment.</p> + +<p>"It ain't your fault, sir. I was born crooked, I fancy, sir. It's all +right. You've got troubles of your own. Only—you'll excuse me, sir—I +never suspected anything when I was in your service."</p> + +<p>McAllister did not grasp the meaning of this remark; he only felt relief +that Wilkins apparently bore him no ill-will. Very few of his friends +would have followed up a theft of that sort. They expected their men to +steal their pins.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe I might 'elp you. Wot's the charge, sir?"</p> + +<p>With his former valet as a sympathetic listener, McAllister poured out +his whole story, omitting nothing, and, as he finished, leaned forward, +searching eagerly the other's face.</p> + +<p>"Now, what shall I do? What shall I do, Wilkins?"</p> + +<p>The latter coughed deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"You'll pardon me, but that'll never go, sir! You'll have to get +somethin' better than that, sir. The jury will never believe it."</p> + +<p>McAllister sprang to his feet, in so doing knocking his head against the +iron support of the upper cot.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>"How dare you, Wilkins! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"There, there, sir!" exclaimed the other. "Don't take on so. Of course I +didn't mean you wouldn't tell the truth, sir. But don't you see, sir, +hit isn't I as am goin' to listen to it? Shall I fetch you some water to +wash your face, sir?" He turned on the faucet.</p> + +<p>The clubman, yielding to the force of ancient habit, allowed Wilkins to +let it run for him, and having washed his face and combed his hair, felt +somewhat refreshed.</p> + +<p>"That feels good," he remarked, rubbing his hands together.</p> + +<p>It was obvious that so long as he remained in prison he would be either +"Fatty Welch" or someone else equally depraved; and since he could not +make anyone understand, it seemed his best plan to accept for the time, +with equanimity, the personality that fate had thrust upon him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Wilkins, we're in a tight place. But we'll do what we can to +assist each other. If I get out first I'll help you, and <i>vice versa</i>. +Now, what's the first thing to be done? You see, I've never been here +before."</p> + +<p>"That's the talk, sir," answered Wilkins. "Now, first, who's your +lawyer?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't any, yet."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>"All depends on the lawyer," returned the valet judicially. "Now, +there's Carter, and Herlihy, and Kemp, all sharp fellows, but they're +always after you for money, and then they're so clever that the jury is +apt to distrust 'em. The best thing, I find, is to get the most +respectable old solicitor you can—kind of genteel, 'family' variety, +with the goodness just stickin' hout all hover 'im. 'E creates a +hatmosphere of hinnocence, and that's wot you need. One as 'as white +'air and can talk about 'this boy 'ere' and can lay 'is 'and on yer +shoulder and weep. That's the go, sir."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>Under the guidance of his valet our hero secured writing materials and +indicted a pitiful appeal to his family lawyer.</p> + +<p>A gong rang; the squad of prisoners who had been exercising went back to +their cells, and the keeper came and unlocked the door.</p> + +<p>McAllister stepped out and fell into line. His tight clothes proved very +uncomfortable as he strode round the tiers, and the absence of a +collar—yes, that was really the most unpleasant feature. His neck was +not much to boast of, therefore he always wore his shirts low and his +collars high. Now, as he stumbled along, he was the object of +considerable attention from his fellows.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>At the end of an hour another gong sounded. In a moment the tiers were +empty; fifty doors clanged to.</p> + +<p>"Well, Wilkins?"</p> + +<p>"Being as this is Sunday, sir, we 'ave a few hours' service. Church of +England first, then City Mission. We're not hallowed to talk, but if you +don't mind the 'owlin' you can snatch a wink o' sleep. Christmas dinner +at twelve. Old Burridge, the trusty, was a-tellin' me as 'ow it's +hexcellent, sir!"</p> + +<p>McAllister looked at his watch in despair. It was only a quarter past +ten. He had not been to church for fifteen years, but evidently he was +in for it now. Following his former valet's example, he took off his +shoes and stretched himself upon the cot.</p> + +<p>On and on in never-varying tones dragged the service. The preacher held +the key to the situation. His congregation could not escape; he had a +full house, and he was bent on making the most of it.</p> + +<p>The hands of McAllister's watch crept slowly round to five minutes +before eleven.</p> + +<p>When at last the preacher stopped, carefully folded his manuscript, and +pronounced the benediction, a prolonged sigh of relief eddied through +the Tombs. Men were waking on all sides;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> cots creaked; there was a +general and contagious yawn.</p> + +<p>Again the gong rang, and with it the smell of food floated up along the +tiers. McAllister realized that he was hungry—not mildly, as he was at +the club, but ravenous, as he had never been before. Presently the +longed-for food came, borne by a "trusty" in new white uniform. Wilkins, +who had been making a meagre toilet at the faucet, took in the dinner +through the door—two tin plates piled high with turkey and chicken, +flanked by heaps of potato and carrots, and one whole apple pie!</p> + +<p>"Ha!" thought McAllister, "I was not so far wrong about this part of +it!" The chicken was perhaps not of the variety known as "spring"; but +neither master nor man noticed it as they feasted, sitting side by side +upon the cot.</p> + +<p>"Carrots!" philosophized McAllister, looking regretfully at his empty +tin plate. "Now, I thought only horses ate carrots; and really, they're +not bad at all. I should like some more. Er—Wilkins! Can we get some +more carrots?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins shook his head mournfully.</p> + +<p>"Message for 34! Message for 34!"</p> + +<p>A letter was thrust through the bars.</p> + +<p>McAllister tore it open with feverish haste, and recognized the crabbed +hand of old Mr. Potter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="alignright"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>2 East Seventy-First Street.</p> + +<p>F. Welch, Esq.</p> + +<p>Sir: The remarkable letter just delivered to me, +signed by a name which you request me not to use in my +reply, has received careful consideration. I +telephoned to Mr. Mc——'s rooms, and was informed by +his valet that that gentleman had gone to the country +to visit friends over Christmas. I have therefore +directed the messenger to collect from yourself his +fee for delivering this answer. Yours, etc.,</p> + +<p class="alignright smcap">Ebenezer Potter.</p></div> + +<p>"That fool Frazier!" groaned McAllister. "How the devil could he have +thought I had gone away?" Then he remembered that he had directed the +valet to pack his bags and send them to the station, in anticipation of +the Winthrops' invitation.</p> + +<p>He was at his wits' end.</p> + +<p>"How do you get bail, Wilkins?"</p> + +<p>"You 'ave to find someone as owns real estate in the city, sir, to go on +your bond. 'Ow much is it?"</p> + +<p>"Five thousand dollars," replied McAllister.</p> + +<p>"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. He regarded his former master with +renewed interest.</p> + +<p>But the dinner had wrought a change in that hitherto subdued individual. +With a valet and running water he was beginning to feel his oats a +little. He checked off mentally the names of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> his acquaintances. There +was not one left in town.</p> + +<p>He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. One o'clock. Just then the +gong rang again.</p> + +<p>"What in thunder is this, now?"</p> + +<p>"Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from one to two-thirty."</p> + +<p>"Ye gods!" ejaculated McAllister.</p> + +<p>A band of young girls came and stood with their hymn-books along the +opposite tier, while a Presbyterian clergyman took the place on the +bridge recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Prayers alternated +with hymns until the sermon, which lasted sixty-five minutes.</p> + +<p>McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed until half past two, +when the choir and missionary finally departed.</p> + +<p>"Only a 'arf 'our, sir, an' we can get some more hexercise," said +Wilkins encouragingly.</p> + +<p>But McAllister did not want exercise. He swung to his feet, and peering +disconsolately through the bars was suddenly confronted by an anæmic +young woman holding an armful of flowers. Before he could efface himself +she smiled sweetly at him.</p> + +<p>"My poor man," she began confidently, "how sorry I am for you this +beautiful Christmas <i>Day</i>! Please take some of these; they will brighten +up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." She pushed a dozen +carnations and asters through the bars.</p> + +<p>McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" continued the maiden.</p> + +<p>"Welch!" blurted out our bewildered friend.</p> + +<p>There was a stifled snort from the bunk behind.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Welch. I know you are not <i>really</i> bad. Won't you shake hands +with me?"</p> + +<p>She thrust her hand through the bars, and McAllister gave it a +perfunctory shake.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," she murmured, and passed on.</p> + +<p>"Lawd!" exploded Wilkins, rolling from side to side upon his cot. "O +Lawd! O Lawd! O—" and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the +carnations into the wash-basin.</p> + +<p>The gong again, and once more that endless tramp along the hot tiers. +The prison grew darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and the +air became more and more oppressive. With five o'clock came supper; then +the long, weary night.</p> + +<p>Next morning the valet seemed nervous and excited, eating little +breakfast, and smiling from time to time vaguely to himself. Having +fumbled in his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, which +he held toward his master.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>"'Ere, sir," he said with averted head. "It's for the pin. I'm sorry I +took it."</p> + +<p>McAllister's eyes were a little blurred as he mechanically received the +card-board.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said.</p> + +<p>A keeper came walking along the tier rattling the doors and telling +those who were wanted in court to get ready.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said McAllister. "I'm sorry you felt obliged to plead guilty. +I might have helped you if I'd only known. Why didn't you stand your +trial?"</p> + +<p>"I 'ad my reasons," replied the valet. "I wanted to get my case disposed +of as quick as possible. You see, I'd been livin' in Philadelphia, and +'ad just come to New York when I was harrested. I didn't want 'em to +find out who I was or where I come from, so I just gives the name of +Davidson, and takes my dose."</p> + +<p>"Well," said McAllister, "you're taking your own dose; I'm taking +somebody else's. That hardly seems a fair deal—now does it, Wilkins? +But, of course, you don't know but that I <i>am</i> Welch."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do, sir!" returned the valet. "You won't never be punished +for what he done."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" exclaimed McAllister, visions of a speedy release +crowding into his mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> "And if you knew, why didn't you say so before? +Why, you might have got me out. How do you know?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>Wilkins looked around cautiously. The keeper was at the other end of the +tier. Then he came close to McAllister and whispered:</p> + +<p>"<i>Because I'm Fatty Welch myself!</i>"</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">VI</h3> + +<p>Downstairs, across the sunlit prison yard, past the spot where the +hangings had taken place in the old days, up an enclosed staircase, a +half turn, and the clubman was marched across the Bridge of Sighs. Most +of the prisoners with him seemed in good spirits, but McAllister, who +was oppressed with the foreboding of imminent peril, felt that he could +no longer take any chances. His fatal resemblance to Fatty Welch, alias +Wilkins, his former valet, the circumstances of his arrest, the scar on +his neck, would seem to make conviction certain unless he followed one +of two alternatives—either that of disclosing Welch's identity or his +own. He dismissed the former instantly. Now that he knew something of +the real sufferings of men, his own life seemed contemptible. What +mattered the laughter of his friends, or sarcastic paragraphs in the +society columns of the papers?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> What did the fellows at the club know of +the game of life and death going on around them? of the misery and vice +to which they contributed? of the hopelessness of those wretched souls +who had been crushed down by fate into the gutters of life? Determined +to declare himself, he entered the court-room and tramped with the +others to the rail.</p> + +<p>There, to his amazement, sat old Mr. Potter beside the Judge. Tom and +his partner stood at one side.</p> + +<p>"Welch, step up here."</p> + +<p>Mr. Potter nodded very slightly, and McAllister, taking the hint, +stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"Is this your prisoner, officer?"</p> + +<p>"Shure, that's him, right enough," answered Tom.</p> + +<p>"Discharged," said the magistrate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who smiled good-humoredly and +winked at McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I'll let you off this time, but if +it happens again I won't answer for the consequences. Go home."</p> + +<p>Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled officers, who grinned +sheepishly, and then, seizing McAllister's arm, led our astonished +friend out of the court-room.</p> + +<p>As they whirled uptown in the closed automobile which had been waiting +for them around the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the +letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had bethought him of calling +up Mrs. Winthrop on the telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer's +inquiries had fully convinced him of his error, and after evading her +questions with his usual caution, he had taken immediate steps for his +client's release—steps which, by reason of the lateness of the hour, he +could not communicate to the unhappy McAllister.</p> + +<p>"What has become of the fugitive Welch," he ended, "remains a mystery. +The police cannot imagine where he has hidden himself."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said McAllister dreamily.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>It was just seven o'clock when McAllister, arrayed, as usual, in +immaculate evening dress, sauntered into the club. Most of the men were +back from their Christmas outing; half a dozen of them were engaged in +ordering dinner.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Chubby!" shouted someone. "Come and have a drink. Had a pleasant +Christmas? You were at the Winthrops', weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered McAllister; "had to stay right in New York. Couldn't get +away. Yes, I'll take a dry Martini—er, waiter, make that two Martinis. +I want you all to have dinner with me. How would terrapin and +canvas-back do? Fill it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> out to suit yourselves, while I just take a +look at the <i>Post</i>."</p> + +<p>He picked up a paper, glanced at the head-lines, threw it down with a +sigh of relief, and lighted a cigarette. At the same moment two +policemen in civilian dress were leaving McAllister's apartments, each +having received at the hands of the impassive Frazier a bundle +containing a silver-mounted revolver and a large bottle full of an +unknown brown fluid.</p> + +<p>McAllister's dinner was a great success. The boys all said afterward +that they had never seen Chubby in such good form. Only one incident +marred the serenity of the occasion, and that was a mere trifle. Charlie +Bush had been staying over Christmas with an ex-Chairman of the Prison +Reform Association, and being in a communicative mood insisted on +talking about it.</p> + +<p>"Only fancy," he remarked, as he took a gulp of champagne, "he says the +prisons of the city are in an abominable condition—that they're a +disgrace to a civilized community."</p> + +<p>Tomlinson paused in lifting his glass. He remembered his host's opinion, +expressed two nights before and desired to show his appreciation of an +excellent meal.</p> + +<p>"That's all rot!" he interrupted a little thickly. "'S all politics. The +Tombs is a lot better than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> most second-class hotels on the Continent. +Our prisons are all right, I tell you!" His eyes swept the circle +militantly.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Tomlinson," remarked McAllister sternly, "don't be so sure. +What do you know about it?"</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Extraordinary_Adventure_of_the_Baron_de_Ville" id="The_Extraordinary_Adventure_of_the_Baron_de_Ville"></a>The Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>"I want you," said Barney Conville, tapping Mr. McAllister lightly upon +the shoulder.</p> + +<p>The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting fall his monocle. He +certainly had never seen the man before in his life—was sure of it, +even during that unfortunate experience the year before, which he had so +far successfully concealed from his friends. No, it was simply a case of +mistaken identity; and yet the fellow—confound him!—didn't look like a +chap that often <i>was</i> mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin'. Come along quiet," continued Barney, +with his most persuasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with a +black mustache and an unswerving eye, about two-thirds the size of +McAllister, whom he had addressed so familiarly.</p> + +<p>"Fatty!" McAllister, <i>bon vivant</i>, clubman, prince of good fellows, +started at the word and stared tensely. What infernal luck! That same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +regrettable resemblance that had landed him in the Tombs over Christmas +was again bobbing up to render him miserable. He wished, as he had +wished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been sentenced to twenty years +instead of one. He had evidently been discharged from prison and was at +his old tricks again, with the result that once more his employer was +playing the part of Dromio. McAllister had succeeded by judicious +bribery and the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history of his +incarceration. Had this not been the case one word now to the determined +individual with the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but he +could not bear to divulge the secret of those horrible thirty-six hours +which he, under the name of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in a +cell. Maybe he could show the detective he was mistaken without going +into that lamentable history. But of course McAllister proceeded by +exactly the wrong method.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, "there it is again! You've got me +confused with Fatty Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put up his +monocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his simple statement would +entirely settle the matter.</p> + +<p>But Barney only winked sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"You show yourself quite familiar with the name of the gentleman I'm +lookin' for."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>McAllister saw that he had made a mistake.</p> + +<p>"No more foolin', now," continued Barney. "Will you come as you are, or +with the nippers?"</p> + +<p>The clubman bit his lip with annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Look here, hang you!" he exclaimed angrily, dropping his valise, "I'm +Mr. McAllister of the Colophon Club. I'm on my way to dine with friends +in the country. I've got to take this train. Listen! they're shouting +'All aboard' now. I know who you're after. You've got us mixed. Your +man's a professional crook. I can prove my identity to you inside of +five minutes, only I haven't time here. Just jump on the train with me, +and if you're not convinced by the time we reach 125th Street I'll get +off and come back with you."</p> + +<p>"My, but you're gamer than ever, Fatty," retorted Barney with +admiration. Thoughts of picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flitted +through his mind. He had his man "pinched," why not play him awhile? It +seemed not a half bad idea to the Central Office man.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll humor you this once. Step aboard. No funny business, now. +I've got my smoke wagon right here. Remember, you're under arrest."</p> + +<p>They swung aboard just as the train started. As McAllister sank into his +seat in the parlor car with Barney beside him he recognized Joe +Wainwright directly opposite. Here was an easy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> chance to prove his +identity, and he was just about to lean over and pour forth his sorrows +to his friend when he realized with fresh humiliation that should he +seize this opportunity to explain the present situation, the whole +wretched story of his Christmas in the Tombs would probably be divulged. +He would be the laughing-stock of the club, and the fellows would never +let him hear the last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took the +initiative.</p> + +<p>"How d'y', Chubby?" said he, getting up and coming over. "On your way to +Blair's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," replied McAllister, +struggling for small talk.</p> + +<p>"Who's your friend?" continued the irrepressible Wainwright. "Kind o' +think I know him. Foreigner, ain't he? Think he was at Newport last +summer."</p> + +<p>"Er—ye—es. Baron de Ville. Picked him up at the club—friend of +Pierrepont's. Takin' him out to Blair's—so hospitable, don'cher know." +He stammered horribly, for he found himself sinking deeper and deeper.</p> + +<p>"Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. "Like all these foreign +fellers."</p> + +<p>McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for it now. The 125th Street +idea would have to be abandoned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>"Er—<i>Baron</i>"—he strangled over the name—"<i>Baron</i>, I want to present +Mr. Joseph Wainwright. He thinks he's met you in Paris." Our friend +accompanied this with a pronounced wink.</p> + +<p>"Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, grasping the detective's +hand with effusion. "Newport, I think it was."</p> + +<p>The "Baron" bowed. This was a new complication, but it was all in the +day's work. Of course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty Welch was +"working" some swell guys who thought he was a real high-roller. Maybe +he was going to pull off some kind of a job that very evening. Perhaps +this big chap in the swagger flannels was one of the gang. Barney was +thinking hard. Well, he'd take the tip and play the hand out.</p> + +<p>"It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron.</p> + +<p>The train plunged into the tunnel.</p> + +<p>"Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney's ear. "You've got to stick +this thing out, now, or I'll be the butt of the town. Remember, we're +going to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You're the particular friend of a man +named Pierrepont—fellow with a glass eye who owns a castle somewhere in +France. . . . Are you satisfied yet?" he added indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>plied. "I ain't on to your +game, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you +any."</p> + +<p>The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that there +were other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the same +destination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded story +about the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did he +would go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was his +chief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, conceals +the absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world work +off the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain the +situation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in that +way. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously with +Wainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thank +Heaven, he remembered—Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefully +at college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under the +circumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince his +captor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strength +of this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baron +and accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on his +own account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and—by +George, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over +<i>that</i>. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger—a "copper"—and palm him +off as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without any +evening clothes—impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever a +chap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris! +<i>Paris!</i> He'd make some awful break, and then— Oh, curse the luck, +anyway!</p> + +<p>Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>"I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bring +Pierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband. +Gordon—Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We're +just a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress—dinner in just +nineteen minutes."</p> + +<p>"Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, and +twirling his mustache in the most approved fashion.</p> + +<p>"Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon the +back good-naturedly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> "You can give Mrs. Blair all the <i>risque</i> Paris +gossip at dinner." They followed the second man upstairs. Although an +old friend of both Mrs. Blair and her husband, McAllister had never been +at the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and massively built. They +were debating whether or not to call it Castle Blair. The second man +showed them to a room at the extreme end of a wing, and as the servant +laid out the clothes McAllister thought the man eyed him rather +curiously. Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Barney lit a +cigarette and measured the distance from the window to the ground with a +discriminating eye.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the clubman, after the second man had finally retired, "are +you satisfied? And what the deuce is going to happen now?"</p> + +<p>Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his feet comfortably on to +the fender.</p> + +<p>"Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny rings toward the blaze, +"you're a wizard! Never seen such nerve in my life—and you only out two +months! You've got the clothes, and, what's more, you've got the real +chappie lingo. It's great! I'm sorry to have to pull in such an artist. +I am, honest. An' now you've got to go behind prison bars! It's +sad—positively sad!"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" demanded McAllister. "Do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> you mean to tell me you're such a +bloomin' ass as to think that I'm a crook, a professional burglar, who's +got an introduction into society—a what-do-you-call-him? Oh, +yes—Raffles?"</p> + +<p>Barney grinned at his victim, who was just getting into his dress-coat.</p> + +<p>"Don't throw such a chest, Fatty!" he said genially. "I think you've got +Raffles whipped to a standstill. But you can't fool me, and you can't +lose me. By the way, what am I goin' to do for evenin' clothes?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You can't come to dinner in those +togs. It would queer everything."</p> + +<p>"I'm goin', just the same. Not once do I lose sight of you, old chappie, +until you're safely in the cooler at headquarters. Then your swell +friends can bail you out!"</p> + +<p>It was time for dinner. The little Dresden china clock on the mantel +struck the hour softly, politely. McAllister glanced toward the door. +The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall intervened between +them and the main corridor. His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris.</p> + +<p>"Come on, then," he muttered over his shoulder to Barney, and led the +way to the door leading into the bath-room, which was next the door into +the hall and identical with it in appearance. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> held it politely ajar +for the detective, with a smile of resignation.</p> + +<p>"Apres vous, mon cher Baron!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passed +in front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received a +violent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked the +heavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. He +hoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. There +was a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in the +enamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on the +washstand.</p> + +<p>McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and inner +means of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright.</p> + +<p>"What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter. +"Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other."</p> + +<p>McAllister lighted another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '<i>savate</i>,' that kind of +boxing with their feet, don'cher know!"</p> + +<p>Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused his +ordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner. +He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> taken with a +sharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, and +would soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently—as +soon as he felt able to do so.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a name="img7" id="img7"></a><img src="images/image-7.jpg" width="500" height="369" alt=""I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."</p> + +<p>There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lost +no time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner's +presence at the house.</p> + +<p>"Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh, +yes, Miss Benson!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward," +responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. +McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in by +you!"</p> + +<p>"Er—ye—es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he was +calculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famous +Trenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly bad +about de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantage +of our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardly +ever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise."</p> + +<p>The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed in +their various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of his +hostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> the same office +for a lady opposite. <i>Could</i> it be? He adjusted his monocle. There was +no doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked in +the bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass him +the soup.</p> + +<p>"What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, +sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a <i>caviare +hors-d'œuvre</i>. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole +significance of the situation.</p> + +<p>"I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs. +Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply +when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of the +table and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all her +color, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement.</p> + +<p>"It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had it +on the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst into +hysterical sobs.</p> + +<p>Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs.</p> + +<p>"My tiara!" exclaimed one.</p> + +<p>"And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on the +dressing-table!" cried another.</p> + +<p>There was a general move from the table.</p> + +<p>"O Gordon! Do you think there are burg<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>lars in the house?" called Mrs. +Blair to her husband.</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited. +Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid the +necklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?"</p> + +<p>"Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the first +thing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go right +upstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all better +sit down and finish our soup."</p> + +<p>"Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them."</p> + +<p>The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with the +exception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more.</p> + +<p>Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen! +Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. +You couldn't buy them <i>now</i> for love or money. Well, she had better sit +down and eat something, anyway—a glass of wine, just to revive her +spirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sit +down and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward to +have such a thing happen at one's first house party.</p> + +<p>The searchers presently returned with the word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> that apparently nothing +else had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the general +appetite.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had been +watching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seen +each other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard was +gone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying the +agitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered. +People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a great +chatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was making +pitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinner +went on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, through +the swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from the +pantry.</p> + +<p><a name="whisper" id="whisper"></a>Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passed +the dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear:</p> + +<p>"You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a Central +Office man outside. <i>I</i> brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your only +chance!"</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss. +McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the same +cell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He could +never bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow—that +ubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the +<i>entrée</i>. As he passed the <i>vol au vent</i> he unostentatiously slipped +something in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap.</p> + +<p>"May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Have you taken anything else?" inquired his master.</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"On your honor as a gentleman——'s gentleman?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins smiled tremulously.</p> + +<p>"Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister."</p> + +<p>"Then, go!—You seem to have a <i>penchant</i> for pearls," McAllister added +half to himself, as he clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Common +humanity to Miss Benson demanded his instant declaration of its +possession, but the thought of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusively +through the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap have all the time he +could get. He'd probably be caught, anyway. Just a question of a few +days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> at most. And what a chance to get even on the Baron!</p> + +<p>But meanwhile the service had halted. The butler, a sedate person with +white mutton-chops, after waiting nervously a few minutes, started to +pass the roast himself.</p> + +<p>Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish her meal, and after dinner +they were all going to have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if the +necklace was not discovered, they would send for a detective from New +York.</p> + +<p>Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside the window. Men's voices +were raised in angry shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehicle +galloped down the road. The guests started to their feet. A violent +struggle was taking place outside the dining-room door. McAllister +sprang up just in time to see the Baron break away from Blair's coachman +and cover him with his pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He was a +sorry spectacle, collarless, and without his coat. Damp earth clung to +his lower limbs and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, while a +bloody, swollen nose protruded between them.</p> + +<p>"Here! What's all this?" shouted Blair. "Put up that pistol! Who are +you, sir?" Then the host rubbed his eyes and looked again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>"By George! It's the Baron!" yelled Wainwright.</p> + +<p>"The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the others.</p> + +<p>"Baron—nothin'!" gasped Barney, still covering the coachman, while with +the other hand he tried to rearrange his neckwear. "I'm Conville of the +Central Office, and this man has aided in an escape. I'm arrestin' him +for felony!"</p> + +<p>The detective's own features had evidently made a close acquaintance +with mother earth, and one sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. His +eye presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to an exclamation +of bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"You! <i>You</i>! How did you get out of that wagon so quick? I've got you +now, anyway!" And he shifted his gun in McAllister's direction. The +women shrieked and crowded back into the dining-room.</p> + +<p>The coachman, who had not dared to remove his eyes from the detective, +now began to jabber hysterically.</p> + +<p>"Hi think 'e's mad, I do, Mr. Blair! Hi think we all are! First hout +comes Mr. McAllister, whom I brought from the station only an 'our ago +an' says as 'ow 'e must go back at once to New York. So I 'arnesses up +Lady Bird in the spyder an' sends Jeames to put hon 'is livery.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> Just as +Jeames comes back an' Mr. McAllister jumps in, hout comes <i>this</i> party +<i>'ere</i> an' yells somethin' about Welch an' tries to climb in arter Mr. +McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an' haway they go. Then this +'ere party begins to run arter 'em and commences shootin'. <i>Hi</i> tackles +'im! <i>'E</i> knocks me down! <i>Hi</i> grabs 'im by the leg, an' 'ere we are, +sir, axin' yer pardon—Hello, why <i>'ere's</i> Mr. McAllister <i>now</i>! May I +ask as 'ow you <i>got</i> 'ere, sir?"</p> + +<p>But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" he shouted wildly. "Harness another horse! We've still got +time. I can't lose my man this way!"</p> + +<p>"Well, who <i>is</i> he? Who <i>was</i> it you shot at?"</p> + +<p>"Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. "There's two of 'em! But the +one I want has started for the station. I must catch him!"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, who alone had preserved +his equanimity, addressing Mr. Blair. "My impression is, sir, that it +must have been Manice, sir—the new third man, sir. I saw him step out. +He must have taken Mr. McAllister's coat and hat!"</p> + +<p>There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of course that was it. The man +had disguised himself in McAllister's clothes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>"He's got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. "Oh, I <i>know</i> he has!"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Of course he's got it!"</p> + +<p>"After him! After him!"</p> + +<p>"Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Barney, more bewildered than ever.</p> + +<p>"My mother's pearl necklace! She bought it in Rome. And now it's gone. +He's got it."</p> + +<p>Barney made a move for the door.</p> + +<p>"Run and harness up, William!" directed Blair. "Put in the Morgan +ponies. Hustle now. The train isn't due for fifteen minutes and you can +reach the station in ten. Don't spare the horses!"</p> + +<p>William, with a defiant look at the detective, hastened to obey the +order.</p> + +<p>Barney was running his hands through his hair. He certainly had stumbled +on to somethin', by Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it would +mean certain promotion! He had to admit that he had been mistaken about +McAllister, but this was better.</p> + +<p>"You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usual +suave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too long +upstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching our +man at the sta<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>tion. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast as +you can!"</p> + +<p>He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulped +it down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room +window had shaken him up badly.</p> + +<p>"Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barney +turned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and +McAllister was free.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner, +anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who the +thief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notify +the White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll have +the necklace for you yet!"</p> + +<p>But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with the +tears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and tried +to encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way would +return.</p> + +<p>"No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it's +dreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklace +back!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Anything</i>, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose from +his place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +if I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim <i>duress</i>. +Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!"</p> + +<p>"Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped with +astonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels.</p> + +<p>"By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host.</p> + +<p>"Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? <i>Where</i> did you get 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Who was the Baron?"</p> + +<p>"How on earth did you know?"</p> + +<p>They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, and +exclaiming with astonishment.</p> + +<p>McAllister saw that some explanation was in order.</p> + +<p>"Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "I +don't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one's +trade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine made +rather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!" +And he bowed to Miss Benson.</p> + +<p>Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract a +syllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, and +his absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentiments +of the entire company when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> he announced somewhat huskily that +McAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents.</p> + +<p>"But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as they +sauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did you +notice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister? +'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!"</p> + +<p>"You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Escape_of_Wilkins" id="The_Escape_of_Wilkins"></a>The Escape of Wilkins</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>"Party to see you, sir, in the visitors' room. Didn't have a card. Said +you would know him, sir."</p> + +<p>Although Peter spoke in his customary deferential tones, there was a +queer look upon his face that did not escape McAllister as the latter +glanced up from the afternoon paper which he had been perusing in the +window.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" remarked the clubman, gazing out at the rain falling in torrents. +Who in thunder could be calling upon him a day like this, when there +wasn't even a cab in sight and the policemen had sought sanctuary in +convenient vestibules. It was evident that this "party" must want to see +him very badly indeed.</p> + +<p>"What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter gently.</p> + +<p>McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course it was absurd to suppose +that Peter, or anyone else, had heard of the extraordinary events at the +Blairs'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that this +stranger must in some mysterious way be connected with them. In any case +there was no use trying to duck the consequences of the adventure, +whatever they might prove to be.</p> + +<p>"I'll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it was another detective after +additional information, or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation he +crossed the marble hall and parted the portières of the visitors' room. +Before him stood the rain-soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet.</p> + +<p>"Wilkins!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>The burglar raised his head and disclosed a countenance haggard from +lack of sleep and the strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rain +streamed from his cuffs, his (McAllister's) coat-tails, and from the +brim of his master's hat, which he held deprecatingly before him. There +was a look of fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which pauses +uncertain in which direction to escape.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! They're right hafter me! Just +houtside, sir! It was my honly chance!"</p> + +<p>McAllister gazed at him horrified and speechless.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of breathless terror, "I +caught the train last night and reached the city a'ead of the detective. +I knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> 'e'd 'ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I 'id in a harea all +night. This mornin' I thought I'd given 'im the slip, but I walked +square into 'im on Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup Sixth +Havenue, doubled 'round a truck, an' thought I'd lost 'im, but 'e saw me +on Fifty-third Street an' started dead after me. I think 'e saw me stop +in 'ere, sir. Wot shall I do, sir? You won't give me hup, will you, +sir?"</p> + +<p>Before McAllister could reply there was a commotion at the door of the +club, and he recognized the clear tones of Barney Conville.</p> + +<p>"Who am I? I'm a sergeant of police—Detective Bureau. You've just +passed in a burglar. He must be right inside. Let me in, I say!"</p> + +<p>Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains.</p> + +<p>There was a slight scuffle, but the servant outside placed his foot +behind the door in such a position that the detective could not enter. +Then Peter came to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by trying to force your way into a private club, like +this? I'll telephone the Inspector. Get out of here, now! Get away from +that door!"</p> + +<p>"Inspector nothin'! Let me in!"</p> + +<p>"Have you got a warrant?"</p> + +<p>The question seemed to stagger the detective for a moment, and his +adversary seized the opportu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>nity to close the door. Then Peter knocked +politely upon the other side of the curtains.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can't keep the officer out much longer. +It's only a question of time. You'll pardon me, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, Peter," answered McAllister.</p> + +<p>He stepped to the window. Outside he could see Conville stationing two +plain-clothes men so as to guard both exits from the club. McAllister's +breath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by the centre-table. Then a +momentary inspiration came to the clubman.</p> + +<p>"Er—Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd-Jones. Take his coat and hat, +give me a check for them, and then show him upstairs to a room. He'll be +here for an hour or so."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir," replied Peter without emotion, as he removed Wilkins's +dripping coat and hat. "This way, sir."</p> + +<p>Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former master, the valet +followed Peter toward the elevator.</p> + +<p>"Here's a nice mess!" thought McAllister, as he returned to the big +room. "How am I ever going to get rid of him? And ain't I liable somehow +as an accomplice?"</p> + +<p>He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank again into his +accustomed place by the window.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>"That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the doorman, suddenly +appearing at his elbow. "Says he knows you, and it's somethin' very +important."</p> + +<p>The clubman smothered a curse. His first impulse was to tell the +impudent fellow to go to the devil, but then he thought better of it. He +had beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. When it came to a +show-down, he reckoned his brains were about as good as a policeman's.</p> + +<p>"All right," he replied. "Tell him to sit down—that I've just come in, +and will be with him in a few moments."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir," answered the servant.</p> + +<p>McAllister perceived that he must think rapidly. There was no escape +from the conclusion that he was certainly assisting in the escape of a +felon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as it were. The idea did +not increase his happiness at all. His one experience in the Tombs, +however adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Nevertheless, he could +not go back on Wilkins, particularly now that he had promised to assist +him. McAllister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity.</p> + +<p>"The officer says he's in a great hurry, sir, and wants to know can you +see him at once, sir," said the doorman, coming back.</p> + +<p>"Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. "Yes, I'll <i>see</i> him."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>He got up and walked slowly to the visitors' room again, while Peter, +with a studiously unconscious expression, held the portières open. He +entered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Conville sprang to his +feet, leaving a pool of water in front of the sofa and tossing little +drops of rain from the ends of his mustache.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Mr. McAllister, there's been enough of this. Where's Welch, +the crook, who ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he's here fast enough! +I've got your club covered, front and behind. Don't try to con <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled affably, and sank +comfortably into an armchair.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's you, Baron, isn't it! How are you? Won't you have a little +nip of something warm? No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring the +gentleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this honor?"</p> + +<p>Conville glared at him enraged. However, he restrained his wrath. A wise +detective never puts himself at a disadvantage by giving way to useless +emotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, Barney took it mechanically +and struck a match, meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the club.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he presently remarked, "you think you're smart. Well, +you're mistaken. I had you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> wrong last night, I admit—that is, so far +as your identity was concerned. You're a real high-roller, all right, +but that ain't the whole thing, by a long shot. How would you like to +wander down to Headquarters as an accomplice?"</p> + +<p>A few chills played hide-and-seek around the base of the clubman's +spine.</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass!" he finally managed to ejaculate.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't connect you with the necklace! You're safe enough there," +Barney continued. "But how about this little game right here in this +club? You're aiding in the escape of a felon. That's <i>felony</i>. You know +that yourself. Besides, when you locked me in the bath-room last night +you assaulted an officer in the performance of his duty. I've got you +dead to rights, <i>see</i>?"</p> + +<p>McAllister laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>"By jiminy!" he exclaimed, "I <i>thought</i> you were crazy all the time, and +now I <i>know</i> it. What in thunder are you driving at?"</p> + +<p>Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Drivin' at? Drivin' at? Where's Welch—Fatty Welch, that ran in here +five minutes ago?"</p> + +<p>McAllister assumed a puzzled expression.</p> + +<p>"Welch? No one ran in here except myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> <i>I</i> came in about that time. +Got off the L at Fiftieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue, +and then through Fifty-third Street to the club. I got mighty well wet, +too, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"Don't think you can throw that game into <i>me</i>!" shouted Conville. "You +can't catch me twice <i>that</i> way. It was <i>Welch</i> I saw, not you."</p> + +<p>"You don't believe me?"</p> + +<p>McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered.</p> + +<p>"Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons have come into the club +within the hour."</p> + +<p>"Why, only <i>you</i>, sir," replied Peter, without hesitation. "Your clothes +was wringin' wet, sir. No one else has entered the club since twelve +o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" exclaimed Conville. "If it was <i>you</i> that came in," he added +cunningly, "suppose you show me your check, and let me have a look at +your coat!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning to regain his equanimity, +as he drew Wilkins's check from his pocket. "Here it is. You can step +over and get the coat for yourself."</p> + +<p>Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed to the coat-room, and +returned with the dripping garment, which he held up to the light at the +window.</p> + +<p>"You ought to find Poole's name under the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> collar, and my own inside the +breast-pocket," remarked Chubby encouragingly. "It's there, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Conville threw the soaked object over a chair-back and made a rapid +inspection, then turned to McAllister with an expression of +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"I—you—how—" he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember," laughed his tormentor, "that there was a big truck +on the corner of Sixth Avenue?"</p> + +<p>Barney set his teeth.</p> + +<p>"I see you <i>do</i>," continued McAllister. "Well, what more can I do for +you? Are you sure you won't have that drink?"</p> + +<p>But Conville was in no mood for drinking. Stepping up to the clubman, he +looked searchingly down into his face.</p> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister," he hissed, "you think you've got me criss-crossed. You +think you're a sure winner. But I <i>know</i> you. I know your <i>face</i>. And +this time I don't lose you, <i>see</i>? You're in cahoots with Welch. You're +his side-partner. You'll see me again. Remember, you're a <i>common +felon</i>."</p> + +<p>The detective made for the door.</p> + +<p>"Don't say 'common,'" murmured McAllister, as Conville disappeared. Then +his nonchalant look gave place to one of extreme dejection.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> "Peter," he +gasped, "tell Mr. Lloyd-Jones I must see him at once."</p> + +<p>Peter soon returned with the unexpected information that "Mr. +Lloyd-Jones" had gone to bed and wouldn't get up.</p> + +<p>"Says he's sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to retain his gravity.</p> + +<p>McAllister made one jump for the elevator. Peter followed. Of course, +<i>he</i> had known Wilkins when the latter was in McAllister's employ.</p> + +<p>"I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the majordomo.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes were nowhere visible, and +the quilt was pulled well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly to +have lost his nerve.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir!" he cried apologetically, "I was hafraid to come down, sir. +<i>Without my clothes</i> they never could hidentify me, sir!"</p> + +<p>"What on earth have you done with 'em?" cried his master.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, "I couldn't think o' nothin' else, +so I just threw 'em hout the window, into the hairshaft."</p> + +<p>At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by the door, choked +violently and retired down the hall.</p> + +<p>"Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, "I never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> took you for a fool before! +Pray, what do you propose to do now?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a name="img8" id="img8"></a><img src="images/image-8.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="You think you're a sure winner." title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"You think you're a sure winner. But I know you. I know your +face."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> + +<p>"Can't you see what an awkward position you've placed me in?" went on +McAllister. "I'm liable to arrest for aidin' in your escape. In fact, +that detective has just threatened to take me to Headquarters."</p> + +<p>"'Oly Moses!" moaned Wilkins. "Oh, wot shall I do? If you honly get me +haway, sir, I promise you I'll never return."</p> + +<p>McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, and puffed hard at his +cigar.</p> + +<p>"I'll try it!" he muttered at length. "Wilkins, you remember you always +wore my clothes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins.</p> + +<p>"Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my dress-suit, tall hat, and +Inverness—understand? You'll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Go +to the Grand Central and board the twelve o'clock train for Boston. +Here's a ticket, and the check for the drawing-room. You'll be Mr. +McAllister of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. You're going +on to Mr. Cabot's wedding to-morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soon +as you go on board, and don't let anyone disturb you. I'll be on the +train myself, and after it starts I'll knock three times on the door."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>"Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins.</p> + +<p>"I'll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. Do you think you can do +it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly, sir! Thank you, sir! I'll be there, sir, never fail."</p> + +<p>"Well, good luck to you."</p> + +<p>McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. The longer he thought of +his plan the better he liked it. He was going to the Winthrops' Twelfth +Night party that evening as Henry VIII. He would dress at the club and +leave it in costume about nine o'clock. Conville would never recognize +him in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins departed at eleven-forty, +would in all likelihood take the latter for McAllister. If he could thus +get rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would be cheap at twice the +trouble. So far as spiriting away Wilkins was concerned the whole thing +seemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in his usual state of +genial placidity, ordered as good a dinner as the <i>chef</i> could provide.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII realized with a start that +it was already half after eleven. First there had been a professional +presentation of the scene between Sir Andrew Ague<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>cheek and Sir Toby +Belch that had made McAllister shake with merriment. He thought Sir +Andrew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many a day. Maria and +the clown were both good, too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that he +had essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been excellent and the +characters most amusing, and, altogether, McAllister did not blame +himself for having overstayed his time—in fact, he didn't care much +whether he had or not. He had intended going back to his rooms for the +purpose of changing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on the +train, and there really seemed no need of it at all. He bade his hostess +good-night in a most optimistic frame of mind and hailed a cab. The long +ulster which he wore entirely concealed his costume save for his shoes, +strange creations of undressed leather, red on the uppers and white +between the toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite too happy to +mind them for an instant. The assembled crowd of lackeys and footmen +cheered him mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smoking a large +cigar, noticed them not. Neither did he observe a slim young man who +darted out from behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keeping +about half a block in the rear. The rain had stopped. The clouds had +drawn aside their curtains, and a big friendly moon beamed down on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +McAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as day.</p> + +<p>The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the slope from the Cathedral +down Fifth Avenue, and the runner was distanced by several blocks. +McAllister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully unconscious of being an +actor in a drama of vast import to the New York police, but as they +reached Forty-third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon the +Grand Central Station that it was two minutes to twelve. At the same +moment a trace broke. The driver sprang from his seat, but before he +could reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. Tossing a bill to the +perturbed cabby, our hero threw off his ulster and sped with an agility +marvellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward the station. As he +dashed across Madison Avenue, directly in front of an electric car, the +hand on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that instant the slim man +turned the corner from Fifth Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirty +seconds later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and feathered cap, +burst into the waiting-room, carrying an ulster, clearing half its +length in six strides, threw himself through the revolving door to the +platform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man just as he was +sliding-to the gate.</p> + +<p>"Hi, there, give us yer ticket!" yelled the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> after the retreating +form of Henry VIII, but royalty made no response.</p> + +<p>The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gave +half a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the train +began to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain in +his side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled upon +the platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young man +rushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. The +gate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language.</p> + +<p>"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on that +train. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!"</p> + +<p>"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedly +exhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through."</p> + +<p>Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train; +its red lights were just passing out of the station.</p> + +<p>"Oh, go to—!" said he through the bars.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the same +moment, as he staggered inside.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he received +the ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah? +Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ah +enquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, +sah!"</p> + +<p>"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Udder end, sah!"</p> + +<p>Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his way the length of that +swaying car. He perceived that the smoking compartment of the car behind +would naturally be much more convenient.</p> + +<p>"I'm going into the next car to smoke for a while," he informed the +darky.</p> + +<p>No one was in the smoking compartment of the Benvolio, which was bright +and warm, and McAllister, throwing down his ulster, stretched +luxuriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched with interest +the myriad lights of the Greater City marching past, those near at hand +flashing by with the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swinging +slowly forward along the outer rim of the circle. And the idea of this +huge circle, its circumference ever changing with the forward movement +of its pivot, beside which the train was rushing, never passing that +mysterious edge which fled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> before them into infinity, took hold on +McAllister's imagination, and he fancied, as he sped onward, that in +some mysterious way, if he could only square that circle or calculate +its radius, he could solve the problem of existence. What was it he had +learned when a boy at St. Andrew's about the circle? Pi R—one—two—two +Pi R! That was it! "2πr." The smoke from his cigar swirled thickly +around the Pintsch light in the ceiling, and Henry VIII, oblivious of +the anachronism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa beside +him, gazed solemnly into space.</p> + +<p>"Br-r-clink!—br-r-clink!" went the track.</p> + +<p>"Two Pi R!" murmured McAllister. "Two Pi R!"</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>Under the big moon's yellow disk, beside and past the roaring train, +along the silent reaches of the Sound, leaping on its copper thread from +pole to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from town to town, +sped a message concerning Henry VIII. The night operator at New Haven, +dozing over a paper in the corner, heard his call four times before he +came to his senses. Then he sent the answer rattling back with a +simulation of indignation:</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes! What's your rush?"</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="zerobottom"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>Special—Police—Headquarters—New Haven. Escaped +ex-convict Welch on No. 13 from New York. Notify +McGinnis. In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. +Particulars long-distance 'phone in morning.</p> +<p class="zerotop alignright smcap">Ebstein.</p></div> + +<p>The operator crossed the room and unhooked the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Headquarters, please."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Headquarters! Is McGinnis of the New York Detective Bureau there? +Tell him he's wanted, to make an important arrest on board No. 13 when +she comes through at two-twenty. Sorry. Say, tell him to bring along +some cigars. I'll give him the complete message down here."</p> + +<p>Then the operator went back to his paper. In a few moments he suddenly +sat up.</p> + +<p>"By gum!" he ejaculated.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY HOUSE</p> + +<p>It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been +successful recently in securing a position as a +servant at Mr. Gordon Blair's at Scarsdale. Last +evening one of the guests missed her valuable pearl +necklace. In the excitement which followed the burglar +made his escape, leaving the necklace behind him. The +perpetrator of this bold attempt is the notorious +Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a +fugitive from justice.</p></div> + +<p>"By gum!" repeated the operator, throwing down the paper. Then he went +to the drawer and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> took out a small bull-dog revolver, which he +carefully loaded.</p> + +<p>"Br-r-clink!—br-r-clink!" went the track, as the train swung round the +curve outside New Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked from +troubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two old women put out their +arms and peered through the window-shades, and the train thundered past +the depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, the engine panted and +steamed. Two gnomes ran, Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behind +the station and by the light of flaring torches began to hammer and tap +the flanges. The conductor, swinging off the rear car, ran into the +embrace of a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of policemen +separated and scattered to the different platforms.</p> + +<p>"Here! Let me go!" gasped the conductor. "What's all this?"</p> + +<p>"Say, Cap., I'm McGinnis—Central Office, New York. You've got a burglar +on board. They're after wirin' me to make the arrest."</p> + +<p>"Burglar be damned!" yelled the conductor. "Do you think you can hold me +up and search my train? Why, I'd be two hours late!"</p> + +<p>"I won't take more'n fifteen minutes," continued McGinnis, making for +the rear car.</p> + +<p>"Come back there, you!" shouted the conduc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>tor, grasping him firmly by +the coat-tails. "You can't wake up all the passengers."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, "don't ye see I've got to +make this arrest? It won't take a minute. The porters'll know who +they've got, and you're runnin' awful light. Have a good cigar?"</p> + +<p>The conductor took the weed so designated and swore loudly. It was the +biggest piece of gall on record. Well, hang it! he didn't want to take +McGinnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, there would be the +same confounded mix-up at the other end. He admitted finally that it was +a fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He had a bottle in the porter's +closet. Yes, call out those niggers and make 'em tell what they knew.</p> + +<p>The conductor was now just as insistent that the burglar should be +arrested then and there as he had been before that the train should not +be held up. He rushed through the cars telling the various porters to go +outside. Eight or ten presently assembled upon the platform. They filled +McGinnis with unspeakable repulsion.</p> + +<p>The conductor began with car No. 2204.</p> + +<p>"Now, Deacon, who have you got?"</p> + +<p>The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled his eyes and replied that he +had "two ole women<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> an' er gen'elman gwine ortermobublin with his +cheffonier."</p> + +<p>The conductor opined that these would prove unfertile candidates for +McGinnis. He therefore turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, however, +had only half a load. There was a fat man, a Mr. Huber, who travelled +regularly; two ladies on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, her +sister, a maid, two nurses, and three children.</p> + +<p>"Nothin' doin'!" remarked the captain. "Now, Colonel, what have <i>you</i> +got?"</p> + +<p>But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of aristocratic appearance, +had an easy answer. His entire car was full, as he expressed it, "er +frogs."</p> + +<p>"Frenchmen!" grunted McGinnis.</p> + +<p>The conductor remembered. Yes, they were Sanko's Orchestra going on to +give a matinée concert in Providence.</p> + +<p>The next car had only five drummers, every one of whom was known to the +conductor, as taking the trip twice a week. They were therefore counted +out. That left only one car, No. 2205.</p> + +<p>"Well, William, what have you got?"</p> + +<p>William grinned. Though sleepy, he realized the importance of the +disclosure he was about to make and was correspondingly dignified and +ponderous. There was two trabblin' gen'elmen, Mr. Smith and Mr. Higgins. +He'd handled dose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> gen'elmen fo' several years. There was a very old +lady, her daughter and maid. Then there was Mr. Uberheimer, who got off +at Middletown. And then—William smiled significantly—there was an +awful strange pair in the drawin'-room. They could look for themselves. +He didn't know nuff'n 'bout burglars in disguise, but dere was "one of +'em in er mighty curious set er fixtures."</p> + +<p>"Huh! <i>Two</i> of 'em!" commented McGinnis.</p> + +<p>"That's easy!" remarked the mollified conductor.</p> + +<p>The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean Libbey, now approached with +his revolver.</p> + +<p>McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor moved toward the car. +William preferred the safety of the platform and the temporary +distinction of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No light was +visible in the drawing-room, and the sounds of heavy slumber were +plainly audible. The conductor rapped loudly; there was no response. He +rattled the door and turned the handle vigorously, but elicited no sign +of recognition. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on the glass of the +door. He happened to hit three times. Immediately there were sounds +within. Something very much like "All right, sir," and the door was +opened. The conductor and McGinnis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas, +his face flushed and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them in +dazed bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis briskly, "but is there any wan +else, beside ye, to kape ye company?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and made as if to close the door, +but the detective thrust his foot across the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Aisy there!" he remarked. "Conductor, just turn on that light, will +ye?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and the conductor struck a +match and turned on the Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, and +that by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa was an elegant +alligator-skin bag disclosing a row of massive silver-topped bottles. A +tall silk hat and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit of evening +clothes, as well as a business suit of fustian, were neatly folded and +lying on the upper berth.</p> + +<p>At this vision of respectability both McGinnis and the conductor +recoiled, glancing doubtfully at one another. Wilkins saw his advantage.</p> + +<p>"May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, "wot you mean by these +hactions? W'y am I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It is +houtrageous!"</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. "The fact is, we thought <i>two</i> +people, suspicious characters, had taken this room together, and this +officer here"—pointing to McGinnis—"had orders to arrest one of them."</p> + +<p>Wilkins swelled with indignation.</p> + +<p>"Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 'ere, conductor, I'll 'ave you +to hunderstand that I will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr. +McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and I am hon my way to +hattend the wedding of Mr. Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am to +be 'is best man. Can I give you any further hinformation?"</p> + +<p>The conductor, who had noticed the initials "McA" on the silver bottle +heads, and the same stamped upon the bag, stammered something in the +nature of an apology.</p> + +<p>"Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, "we've got him wrong, I guess. This +feller ain't no burglar. Anywan can see he's a swell, all right. Leave +him alone."</p> + +<p>"Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized the conductor humbly, +putting out the light and closing the door.</p> + +<p>"That nigger must be nutty," he added to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> detective. "By Joshua! +Perhaps he's got away with some of my stuff!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"> +<a name="img9" id="img9"></a><img src="images/image-9.jpg" width="344" height="500" alt="Wot do you want?" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the +lantern.</p> + +<p>"Look here, William, what's the matter with you? Have you been swipin' +my whisky. There ain't two men in that drawin'-room at all—just one—a +swell," hollered the conductor as they reached the platform.</p> + +<p>"Fo' de Lawd, Cap'n, I ain't teched yo' whisky," cried William in +terror. "I swear dey was two of 'em, 'n' de udder was in <i>dis</i>guise. It +was de fines' <i>dis</i>guise I eber saw!" he added reminiscently.</p> + +<p>"Aw, what yer givin' us!" exclaimed McGinnis, entirely out of patience. +"What kind av a disguise was he in?"</p> + +<p>"Dat's what I axed him," explained William, edging toward the rim of the +circle. "I done ax him right away what character he done represent. He +had on silk stockin's, an' a colored deglishay shirt, an' a belt an' +moccasons, an' a sword an'——"</p> + +<p>"A sword!" yelled McGinnis, making a jump in William's direction. "I'll +break yer black head for ye!"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" cried the conductor, who had disappeared into the car and had +emerged again with a bottle in his hand. "The stuff's here."</p> + +<p>"I tell ye the coon is drunk!" shouted the de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>tective in angry tones. +"He can't make small av <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I done tole you the trufe," continued William from a safe distance, his +teeth and eyeballs shining in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"Well, where did he go?" asked the conductor. "Did you put him in the +drawin'-room?"</p> + +<p>"I seen his ticket," replied William, "an' he said he wanted to smoke, +so he went into the Benvolio, the car behin'."</p> + +<p>"Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There ain't no car behind. This here is +the last car."</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; "we dropped the Benvolio at +Selma Junction for repairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that drink!"</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">IV</h3> + +<p>McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. The compartment was dark, +save for the pale light of the moon hanging low over what seemed to be +water and the masts of ships, which stole in and picked out sharply the +silver buckles on his shoes and the buttons of his doublet. There was no +motion, no sound. The train was apparently waiting somewhere, but +McAllister could not hear the engine. He put on his ulster and stepped +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> the door of the car. All the lights had been extinguished and he +could hear neither the sound of heavy breathing nor the other customary +evidences of the innocent rest of the human animal. He looked across the +platform for his own car and found that the train had totally +disappeared. The Benvolio was stationary—side-tracked, evidently, on +the outskirts of a town, not far from some wharves.</p> + +<p>"Jiminy!" thought McAllister, looking at his uncheerful surroundings and +his picturesque, if somewhat cool, costume.</p> + +<p>For a moment his mental processes refused to answer the heavy draught +upon them. Then he turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon the +platform, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match he looked at his +watch and saw that it was four o'clock. Overhead the sky glowed with +thousands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touching the sea, made +a limpid path of light across the water. At the docks silent ships lay +fast asleep. A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying the +stillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and McAllister shivered +as he thought of Wilkins, and Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelve +o'clock. So far as he knew he might be just outside of Boston—Quincy, +or somewhere—yet, somehow, the moon didn't look as if it were at +Quincy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>He jumped down and started along the track. His feet stung as they +struck the cinder. His whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to walk +in the direction in which the clock had sounded, and this he did. The +rails followed the shore for about a hundred yards and then joined the +main line. Presently he came in sight of a depot. Every now and then his +sword would get between his legs, and this caused him so much annoyance +that he took it off and carried it. It was queer how uncomfortable the +old style of shoe was when used for walking on a railroad track. His +ruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost preventing a +satisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. Finally he untied it and put it +in the pocket of his ulster. The cap was not so bad.</p> + +<p>The depot had inspired the clubman with distinct hope, but as he +approached, it appeared as dark and tenantless as the car behind him. It +was impossible to read the name of the station owing to the fact that +the sign was too high up for the light of a match to reach it. It was +clear that there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, and he +settled himself in a corner near the express office and tried to forget +his discomfort.</p> + +<p>He had less time to wait than he had expected. Soon a great clattering +of hoofs caused him to climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, backed in against the +platform, and their drivers, throwing down the reins, leaped to the +ground. All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another loudly. Then +they began to unload huge cans of milk. This looked encouraging. If they +were bringing milk at this hour there must be a train—going somewhere. +It didn't matter where to McAllister, if only he could get warm. +Presently a faint humming came along the rails, which steadily increased +in volume until the approaching train could be distinctly heard.</p> + +<p>"Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest farmer.</p> + +<p>McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. The farmer involuntarily drew +back.</p> + +<p>"Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, "what place this is and +where this train goes to?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon not," replied the other. "This is Selma Junction, and this +here train is due in New York at five. Who be you?"</p> + +<p>"Well," answered McAllister, "I'm just an humble citizen of New York, +forced by circumstances to return to the city as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"Reckon you're one o' them play-actors, bean't ye?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>"You've got it," returned McAllister. "Fact is, I've just been playing +Henry VIII—on the road."</p> + +<p>"I've heard tell on't," commented the rustic. "But I ain't never seen +it. Shakespeare, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman.</p> + +<p>At this moment the milk-train roared in and the teamsters began passing +up their cans. There were no passenger coaches—nothing but freight-cars +and a caboose. Toward this our friend made his way. There did not seem +to be any conductor, and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbed +upon the platform and pushed open the door. If warmth was what he +desired he soon found it. The end of the car was roughly fitted with +half a dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, and some +spittoons. A small cast-iron stove glowed red-hot, but while the place +was odoriferous, its temperature was grateful to the shivering +McAllister. The car was empty save for a gigantic Irishman sitting fast +asleep in the farther corner.</p> + +<p>Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his ulster, and hung his cap +upon an adjacent hook. In a moment or two the train started again. Still +no one came into the caboose. Now daylight began to filter in through +the grimy windows. The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> shot +a beam into the face of the sleeper at the other end of the car. Slowly +he awoke, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and, catching the glint of silver +buttons, gazed stupidly in McAllister's direction. The random glance +gradually gave place to a stare of intense amazement. He wrinkled his +brows, and leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail of +McAllister's make-up. The train stopped for an instant and a burly +brakeman banged open the door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, as +it were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke into a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>"Who in thunder are <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a comprehensive smile, made +answer:</p> + +<p>"Shure, 'tis only a prisoner I'm after takin' back to the city!"</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two hours later, as the three of +them sat in the visitors' room at the club, "I hope you won't say +anything about this. You see, I had no business to put a kid like +Ebstein on the job, but I was clean knocked out and had to snatch some +sleep. I suppose he thought he was doin' a big thing when he nailed you +for a burglar. But, after all, the only thing that saved Welch was your +fallin' asleep in the Benvolio."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>"My dear Baron," sympathetically replied McAllister, who had once more +resumed his ordinary attire, "why attribute to chance what is in fact +due to intellect? No, I won't mention our adventure, and if our friend +McGinnis—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, McGinnis'll keep his head shut, all right, you bet!" interrupted +Barney. "But say, Mr. McAllister, on the level, you're too good for us. +Why don't you chuck this game and come in out of the rain? You'll be up +against it in the end. Help us to land this feller!"</p> + +<p>McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half-closed his eyes. There +was a quizzical look around his mouth that Conville had never seen there +before.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I will," said he softly. "Perhaps I will."</p> + +<p>"Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! Now, if you <i>get</i> anything, +tip us off. You can always catch me at 3100 Spring."</p> + +<p>"Well," replied the clubman, "don't forget to drop in here, if you +happen to be going by. Some time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might want +a nip of something warm."</p> + +<p>But to this the Baron did not respond.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;"> +<a name="img10" id="img10"></a><img src="images/image-10.jpg" width="403" height="500" alt="Who in thunder are you?" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"Who in thunder are you?"</p> + +<p>A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke almost restored +McAllister's customary equanimity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Then +he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> called for a telegraph blank and sent the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="zerobottom"><i>Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If +necessary, use Wilkins.</i></p> +<p class="alignright zerotop"><i>McA.</i></p></div> + +<p>To which, about noon-time, he received the following reply:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="zerobottom"><i>Don't understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and +departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding +to-morrow.</i></p> +<p class="alignright zerotop"><i>F. C.</i></p></div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Governor-Generals_Trunk" id="The_Governor-Generals_Trunk"></a>The Governor-General's Trunk</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>McAllister was in the tank. His puffing and blowing as he dove and +tumbled like a contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly among +the marble pillars of the bath at the club. It was all part of a +carefully adjusted and as rigorously followed regimen, for McAllister +was a thorough believer in exercise (provided it was moderate), and took +it regularly, averring that a fellow couldn't expect to eat and drink as +much as he naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of condition, +and if he didn't he would simply get off his peck, that was all. Hence +"Chubby" arose regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in a +padded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended to the tank, where he dove +six times and swam around twice, after which he weighed himself and had +Tim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree of solicitude for all this +procedure, since he was a personal discovery of McAllister's, and owed +his present exalted position entirely to the clubman's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> interest, for +the latter had found him at Coney Island earning his daily bread by +diving, in the presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot glass +tank, where he seated himself upon the bottom and nonchalantly consumed +a banana. McAllister's delight and enthusiasm at this elevating +spectacle had been boundless.</p> + +<p>"Wish I could do any one thing as well as that feller dives down and +eats that banana!" he had confided to his friend Wainwright. "Sometimes +I feel as if my life had been wasted!" The upshot of the whole matter +was that Tim had been forthwith engaged as rubber and swimming teacher +at the club.</p> + +<p>McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and was floating lazily +toward the steps, when Tim appeared at the door leading into the +dressing-rooms and announced that a party wanted to speak to him on the +'phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a very cantankerous old person, who +was in the devil of a hurry, and wouldn't stand no waitin'.</p> + +<p>The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched bottom, and arose dripping +to his feet. The "old person" on the wire was clearly his aunt, Lady +Lyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to irritate her when she +was in one of her tantrums. Still, he couldn't imagine what she wanted +with him at that hour of the morning. She'd been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> placid enough the +evening before when he'd left her after the opera. But ever since she +had married Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten years before she'd +been getting more and more dictatorial.</p> + +<p>"Tell her I'm in this beastly tank; awful sorry I can't speak with her +myself, don'cher know, and find out what she wants. And <i>Tim</i>—handle +her gently—it's my aunt."</p> + +<p>Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. As McAllister hurried into +his bath-robe and slippers he wondered more and more why she had rung +him up so early. He had intended calling on her after breakfast, any +way, but "after breakfast" to McAllister meant in the neighborhood of +twelve o'clock, for the meal was always carefully ordered the evening +before for half-past ten the next morning, after which came the paper +and a long, light Casadora, crop of '97, which McAllister had bought up +entire. Something must be up—that was certain. He could imagine her in +her wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with Tim over the wire. The +language of his <i>protégé</i> might well assist in the process for which the +curl-papers were required. There was nobody in the world, in +McAllister's opinion, so queer as his aunt, except his aunt's husband. +The latter was a stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with a +walrus-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection of British +institutions, and about enough intelligence to drive a watering-cart. He +had been rewarded for his unswerving fidelity to party with the post of +Governor-General at a small group of islands somewhere near the equator, +and had assumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, establishing the +Bertillon system of measurements for the seven criminals which his +islands supported, and producing quarterly monographs on the flora, +fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now they were <i>en route</i> for +England (via Quebec, of course), and were stopping at the Waldorf.</p> + +<p>Tim presently reappeared.</p> + +<p>"She says you've got to hike right down to the hotel as fast as you can. +She's terrible upset. My, ain't she a tiger?"</p> + +<p>"But what's the bloomin' row?" exclaimed McAllister.</p> + +<p>Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his voice.</p> + +<p>"The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole!" said he.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish, +for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had always +said the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoes +and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appear +in style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure in +astonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry, +however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and +everybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scares +occurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact, +however, on their arrival in New York.</p> + +<p>The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at the +breakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre of +vivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His +aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as they +responded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter was +serious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone. +In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking over +their shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of some +assassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentally +suggesting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt at +breakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground.</p> + +<p>"That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!" +exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "To +say the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knows +perfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, and +never allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and took +a sip of coffee.</p> + +<p>"Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have him +unpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made such +a row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they were +both more than half mad.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of the +luggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this +time! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by a +miserable brass check with a number on it—and the railroad liable by +express contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" Before +Uncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to the +bar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in those +regions to which later works<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> have not penetrated. "You see we're +leaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless +<i>for a purpose</i>?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air of +one who had divined something.</p> + +<p>Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently, +had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a +little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion when +the jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket, +but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip.</p> + +<p>"If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to send +your man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send the +fellow who packed the trunk—this Morton—whoever he is."</p> + +<p>"No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg. +"There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don't +wish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I—I need him." Lord +Lyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the egg +in an embarrassed fashion.</p> + +<p>McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said he +cheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and the +jewels<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking over +his shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston on +the way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all. +You know it's very hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but +Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven't +had the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guess +I'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you the +check?"</p> + +<p>Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass.</p> + +<p>"I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously.</p> + +<p>"Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister.</p> + +<p>The Governor-General nodded ambiguously.</p> + +<p>Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almost +hysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation. +Suddenly she broke forth:</p> + +<p>"I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there was +nothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him what +you've done?"</p> + +<p>"What in thunder <i>have</i> you done?" asked Mc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>Allister, now convinced +beyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearest +insane asylum.</p> + +<p>Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in the +clothes-closet. I locked him!"</p> + +<p>"He's in <i>there</i>!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! And +now the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, and +I'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out, +and——"</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within the +closet. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly, +vaguely familiar about it.</p> + +<p>"It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you to +hunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's a +great hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout, +sir?" The voice ceased momentarily.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for over +an hour!"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." But +McAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had he +heard that voice before?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>"'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'm +stiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!"</p> + +<p>McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Could +he ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same way +as the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old man +wasn't such a fool <i>after</i> all! And the jewels! He smote his fist upon +the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. There +was no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now. +The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of the +jewels.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored to +assert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrested +for hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you <i>are</i> a guv'nor! Let me <i>hout</i>, +I say!"</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>McAllister lost no time in getting to the Grand Central Station. He was +looking for a big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. For +this purpose he enlisted the services of a burly young porter, who, for +the consideration of a half-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>dollar, piloted the clubman through the +crowded alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they came upon the +familiar collection of Lord Lyndhurst's paraphernalia of travel. Eagerly +he recognized the luggage of his uncle's official household. There were +his boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, his portable desk, his dumb-bells, his +bath-tub, his medicine chest, the secretary's trunk, the typewriter in +its case; there were his aunt's basket trunks, and—yes—there was the +big Vuitton. McAllister heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was to +get it back to the hotel as fast as possible.</p> + +<p>"That's it," said he to the porter. "Heave it out!" They were standing +in a little open space some distance from the entrance. The big Vuitton +lay at one side, and about it a row of other trunks roughly in a +semicircle. The porter made but one step in the desired direction, then +jumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket trunk, standing alone +upon its end apart, suddenly shook violently, its lock clicked, the +cover swung open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured young man +with a black mustache. It was Barney Conville, although at first +McAllister failed to recognize him.</p> + +<p>"Look here you! Don't touch that trunk!" he exclaimed. Then he perceived +McAllister, and a look of intense disgust overspread his face.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>"It's the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. "Now what the devil do you +suppose he's been doin' in that trunk? Howd'y', Baron," he added +pleasantly, holding out his hand. "Hardly expected to see you here. Do +you take your rest that way?" pointing to the trunk from which Conville +had emerged.</p> + +<p>The detective eyed him with disapproval.</p> + +<p>"Say," he remarked, disdainfully, "you give me a pain—always buttin' in +an' spoilin' everythin'! This here is a <i>plant</i>. I'm waitin' fer a +thief—Jerry, the Oyster. They're goin' to try an' lift that big striped +trunk over there. It belongs to an old party up to the Waldorf. He's a +diplomatico."</p> + +<p>"He's my uncle!" cried McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Your <i>aunt</i>!" snorted Barney.</p> + +<p>"But I want to take that trunk back with me."</p> + +<p>"On the level?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!"</p> + +<p>"Can't help it! This is an important job. The Oyster's the cleverest +thief in the business. Works in with all the butlers and valets. Why +he's got away with more'n three thousand pieces of baggage. He's +the——"</p> + +<p>Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he ducked, and grabbing +McAllister by the shoulder, pulled him down with him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>"There he is now! Into the trunk! There's no other way! Plenty of room!" +He shoved his fat companion inside and stepped after him. McAllister, +utterly bewildered, tried to convince himself that he was not dreaming. +He was quite sure he had taken only one Scotch that morning, but he +pinched himself, and was relieved to get the proper reaction. When he +became used to the dim light he discovered that he was ensconced in a +dress-box of immense proportions, made of basket work, and covered with +waterproofing. Placed on end, with a seat across the middle, it afforded +a very comfortable place of concealment. Conville turned the key and +locked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in the ribs.</p> + +<p>"Great joint, ain't it? Idee of the cap's. Makes a fine plant," he +whispered, affixing his eye to a narrow slit near the top.</p> + +<p>"Sh-h!" he added; "he's here. There's another peeper over on your side."</p> + +<p>McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye to the improvised +window, and discovered that they commanded the approach to the big +Vuitton. And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed the glory of +his uncle's family, the heirlooms of four centuries! He made an +involuntary movement.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>"Keep still!" hissed Conville, and McAllister sank back obediently.</p> + +<p>A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and gaiters, carrying a dainty +silver-headed umbrella in one hand and a copy of <i>The Churchman</i> in the +other, had approached the counter. He seemed somewhat at a loss, gazed +vaguely about him for a moment, and then stepping up to the head +baggage-man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I say, my man, I'm really in an awful mess, don't you know! I don't see +my box anywhere. I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, and +I'm leavin' for Montreal at three. The luggage-man says it was left here +by ten o'clock. Do you keep all the boxes in this room?"</p> + +<p>The head baggage-man nodded.</p> + +<p>"Sorry you've lost your trunk," said he. "If it ain't here we haven't +got it, but like as not it's mixed up in one of them piles. If you'll +wait for about ten minutes I'll see if I can find it for your +Reverence."</p> + +<p>The Anglican looked shocked.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I'm sure," he murmured stiffly. He was a slight young man with +a monocle and mutton-chops.</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you," he added after a pause, with more +condescension. "Awfully awkward to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> be without one's luggage, for I have +a service in Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in my box. I +fear I shall miss my train."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess not!" replied the baggage-man encouragingly. "I'll be with +you presently. You come in and look around yourself, and if you don't +see it I'll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted a section of the +counter and allowed the clergyman to pass in.</p> + +<p>"My! Ain't he <i>clever</i>!" whispered Barney delightedly.</p> + +<p>The clergyman now began a rather dilatory investigation of the contents +of the baggage-room, bending over and examining every trunk in sight, +and even tapping the one in which they were ensconced with the silver +head of his umbrella, but after a few moments, in apparent despair, he +took his stand beside the big trunk marked "B. C. L.," and gazed +despondently about him. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest +that he was other than he seemed, but Barney directed McAllister's +attention to the copy of <i>The Churchman</i>, from the leaves of which +protruded two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it might +appear, for a book-mark. And now as the Anglican shifted from one foot +to the other, ostensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his hands +behind him and took a step or two backward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> toward the big trunk. Chubby +was by this time all agog. What would the fellow do? He certainly +couldn't be goin' to shoulder the trunk and try to walk off with it!</p> + +<p>Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved hands slip a penknife from +among the leaves of the magazine and quickly sever the check from the +handle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his position and waited until +the baggage-man was once more engaged at the other end of the counter. +Again this amiable representative of the cloth shuffled backward until +the handle was within easy reach, and with a dexterity which must have +been born of long practice deftly tied the two ends of string around it. +With a quick motion he stepped away in the direction of the counter, and +out from the leaves of <i>The Churchman</i> fell and dangled a new check +stamped "Waistcoat's Express, No. 1467."</p> + +<p>"My good fellow," impatiently drawled the clergyman, approaching the +baggage-man, "I really can't wait, don'cher know. I've looked +everywhere, and my box isn't here. I don't know whether to blame that +beastly luggage-man, or whether it's the fault of this disgustin' +American railroad. It's evident someone's at fault, and as I assume that +you are in charge I shall report you immediately."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 385px;"> +<a name="img11" id="img11"></a><img src="images/image-11.jpg" width="385" height="500" alt="Deftly tied the two ends of string around it." title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">Deftly tied the two ends of string around it.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust champion of religion before +him with scorn.</p> + +<p>"Well, son, you can report all you like. I've worked in this +baggage-room eighteen years, and you're not the first English crank who +thought he owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned on his heel, +while the clergyman, with an expression of horror, ambled quickly out of +the side door.</p> + +<p>McAllister had watched this remarkable proceeding with enthusiastic +interest, his round face shining with the excitement of a child.</p> + +<p>"Jiminy, but this is great!" he exclaimed, slapping Barney upon the +back. "And to think of your doin' it for a livin'! Why I'd sit here all +day for nothin'! What happens next? And what becomes of the feller +that's just gone out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you ain't seen half the show yet!" responded Conville, pleased. "It +is pretty good fun at times. But, o' course, this is a star performance, +and we're sure of our man. Oh, it beats the theayter, all right, all +right! Truth's stranger than fiction every time, you bet. Now take this +Oyster—why he's a regular cracker-jack! Got sense enough to be an +alderman, or president, or anythin', but he keeps right at his own +little job of liftin' trunks, an' he ain't never been caught yet. His +pal'll be along now any minute."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>"How's that?" inquired Chubby with eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Why, don'cher see? Jerry's cut off the reg'lar tag, and now the other +feller'll present a duplicate of the one Jerry's just hitched on. Great +game, 'Foxy Quiller,' eh?"</p> + +<p>McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a great game. By George, it +beat playin' the horses! At the same time he shivered as he realized how +nearly the famous jewels had actually been lost. Wilkins must be an +awful bad egg to go and tie up to a gang of that sort!</p> + +<p>The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all that had been taking place +behind his back, and apparently not soured by his little set-to with the +Englishman, was genially assisting the great American public to find its +effects, and beaming on all about him. People streamed in and out, +engines coughed and wheezed; from outside came the roar and rattle of +the city.</p> + +<p>Presently there bounced in a stout person in a yellow and black suit, +with white waistcoat and green tie, who mopped his red face with a large +silk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who seemed to be unoccupied, +he threw down a pasteboard check, together with a shining half-dollar, +and shouted, "Here, my good feller, that trunk, will you? Quick! The big +one with the red let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>ters on it—'B. C. L.' They sent it here from the +Astoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my ship sails at twelve. +Now, get a move on!"</p> + +<p>The porter grabbed the check and the half-dollar, and falling upon the +big Vuitton, rolled it end over end out into the street, followed by its +perspiring claimant.</p> + +<p>"That's right, that's right," shouted the bounder. "Chuck it on behind. +Mus'n't miss the boat!" and throwing the porter another half-dollar, the +sportive traveller jumped into the hack, yelling, "Now drive like the +devil!" The door closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disappeared +among the tracks and wagons of Forty-second Street.</p> + +<p>McAllister for the first time felt distinctly uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he whispered feverishly, "is it right to let him walk off +like that? Hurry! Open the trunk, or he'll get away!"</p> + +<p>"Sit still, and don't get excited!" commanded Barney. "It's all right," +he added condescendingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamiliar +with such mysteries. "We've got him covered. He couldn't get away to +save his neck. An' as for follerin' him, why he'll carry that trunk half +over New York before he lands it where it's goin'!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>"All right!" sighed the clubman; "you're the doctor. But it seems to me +you're takin' a lot of risk. Your brother officer might lose track of +him, or he might drop the trunk somehow, and <i>then</i> where would the +jewels be?"</p> + +<p>"Right exactly where they are <i>now</i>," replied Barney with a grin. "In +the office safe at the Waldorf. They ain't never left the hotel. There +wasn't any need of it, and if I hadn't taken 'em out I'd 've had to +watch 'em here all night. Now everythin's all right.</p> + +<p>"And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of it, "I forgot to tell you. +Who do you suppose is workin' with Jerry? Fatty Welch! 'Wilkins,' you'd +call him. He's turned up again an' hooked on, somehow, to the Gov'nor. +Me and my side-partner's been trailin' 'em both ever since your uncle +hit New York. I had the room opposite him at the Waldorf. Yesterday +mornin' I saw Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as a bell-boy, +and was cleanin' the winders. The Gov'nor's kind of figgity you know, +and I thought we'd better not mention anythin' to <i>him</i>. Of course I +didn't have any idea <i>you'd</i> come waltzin' along this way."</p> + +<p>McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the detective. He was as +demonstrative as his narrow quarters rendered possible.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>"Baron," said he, "you're a corker! I've learned a heap this morning."</p> + +<p>"There's lots of things you never dream of, Horace," replied Barney +politely.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met asking me to help you nab +Wilkins?" continued McAllister. "Well, I'm goin' to make good. I've got +him safely locked in a closet at the hotel. He promised not to come +back, and now I'm done with him. What do you say to that?"</p> + +<p>"Good work!" ejaculated Barney. "Keep it up! In time you might make a +pretty good detective."</p> + +<p>From Barney such a concession was high praise, and showed intense +appreciation. On their way back to the Waldorf he explained that the +"Oyster" was one of a very few "guns" able effectively to make use of a +disguise, this being in part due to the fact that he was the son of a +clergyman, and educated for the stage.</p> + +<p>They were met at the door of the apartment by Lady Lyndhurst.</p> + +<p>"Basil has disappeared!" she gasped. "And that awful man in the closet +has become so blasphemous that I can't remain with decency in the room."</p> + +<p>McAllister partially pacified her by stating that the jewelry was +entirely safe. He wondered what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> on earth had become of the Governor. +Once inside the suite conversation became practically impossible, owing +to the sounds of inarticulate rage which proceeded from the closet.</p> + +<p>Barney decided to place the valet immediately under arrest and take him +to Police Headquarters. The sooner they did so the more likely he would +be to "squeal." He requested McAllister to arm himself with a +walking-stick, and to stand ready to come to his assistance if, on +opening the door, he should find himself unable to cope with the +prisoner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her bedroom, the door +leading to the corridor was closed and locked, and the two prepared for +the conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, which he cocked +and held ready.</p> + +<p>"Don't fire 'till you see the whites of his eyes!" murmured McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Fire—nothin'!" muttered Barney, throwing open the closet door.</p> + +<p>"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed +individual sprung from within and burst upon their astonished gaze. The +Governor-General stood before them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 430px;"> +<a name="img12" id="img12"></a><img src="images/image-12.jpg" width="430" height="500" alt=""Hands up, or I'll shoot!"" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, +wild-eyed individual sprung from within.</p> + +<p>Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to the other—then in +response to their surprised inquiries broke into incoherent explanation. +He had waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>ter's departure, +and Sophia had gone to her bedroom to finish dressing, when suddenly the +expostulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. Finally they had +died entirely away, and in their place had come terrible gasps and +gurgles. He had remembered that there was no means of renewing the air +supply in the closet, and had become alarmed. Presently all sounds had +ceased. He was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. Opening the +door, he had found the valet apparently lying there unconscious, and had +dragged him forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned to life, and +before he knew it had jammed him into the closet and locked the door.</p> + +<p>"He was most impertinent, too, when he got on the outside, I can assure +you," concluded Lord Lyndhurst indignantly. "Gave me a lot of gratuitous +advice!"</p> + +<p>McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm his troubled spirit, and +soothe his ruffled dignity, informing him that the jewels had been in +the hotel safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused to take any +stock whatever in their explanation. Nothing of the sort could possibly +have happened in England. It took them an hour to persuade him that they +were not lying. The only things that appeared to convince him at all +were the disappearance of Morton, a large bump on his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> forehead, and +the actual presence of the jewelry in the safe downstairs. Even then he +sent to Tiffany's for a man to examine it.</p> + +<p>Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, subjecting him to an +exhaustive cross-examination upon his antecedents and occupation. The +Governor declared he was astounded at his impudence. The idea of opening +his private luggage! He would address a communication to the +authorities! It was little better than grand larceny. It <i>was</i> grand +larceny, by Jupiter! Hadn't Conville abstracted the jewels <i>vi et +armis</i>? Of <i>course</i> he had! Damme, he would see if the sacred rights of +an English official should be trampled on! It was <i>trespass</i> +anyway—<i>Trespass ab initio</i>! Did Conville know that? It was grand +larceny <i>and</i> trespass. He would lock him up.</p> + +<p>Barney grinned, and the Governor again became almost apoplectic.</p> + +<p>He snorted scornfully at the detective's explanation about this Jerry +"What-do-you-call-him—the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to believe +<i>that</i>? Conville was a confounded, hair-brained busybody—He dwindled +off, exhausted.</p> + +<p>At that moment there came a sharp rap upon the door, and an officer in +roundsman's uniform entered.</p> + +<p>"Gentleman called at the precinct house and re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>ported a jewelry theft in +this suite. Said the thief had been caught and locked up in a closet, so +I thought I'd drop over and see how things stood."</p> + +<p>He looked inquiringly at McAllister, significantly at the +Governor-General, and then caught sight of Barney.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Conville!" he exclaimed. "You on the case? Well, then I'll drop +out. Got your man, I see!" He glanced again at the dishevelled scion of +nobility before him.</p> + +<p>"Everythin's all right," answered the detective with a chuckle. "I guess +they was fakin' you round at the house. By the way, I want you to meet a +friend of mine—Roundsman McCarthy, let me present you to his Nibs—the +Governor-General."</p> + +<p>The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes shifting from the now red +and stammering roundsman to Conville's beaming countenance, and back +again.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, "do you prefer Scotch or rye? You will +find cigars on the sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are upon +<i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"By the way," he added to McCarthy, as McAllister filled the glasses, +"would you be so obliging as to describe the individual who so +thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>fully notified you in regard to the loss of the jewelry?"</p> + +<p>"Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray eyes," answered +McCarthy, lighting a cigar. "Looked somethin' like this gentleman here," +indicating the clubman. "Spoke with a kind of English accent. Nice +appearin' feller, all right."</p> + +<p>"By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" exploded Uncle Basil.</p> + +<p>"The nerve of him!" muttered Barney.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Golden_Touch" id="The_Golden_Touch"></a>The Golden Touch</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>McAllister, with his friend Wainwright, was lounging before the fire in +the big room, having a little private Story Teller's Night of their own. +It was in the early autumn, and neither of the clubmen were really +settled in town as yet, the former having run down from the Berkshires +only for a few days, and the latter having just landed from the Cedric. +The sight of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the distance and +then, receiving no encouragement, stalked slowly away, reminded +Wainwright of something he had heard in Paris.</p> + +<p>"I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, McAllister, upon the +impregnable rock of universally accepted fact that Tomlinson is a +highfalutin ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then; I proceed. In +the first place, you must know that our anemic friend decided last +spring that the state of his health required a trip to Paris. He +there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>fore went—alone. The reason is obvious. Who should he fall in +with at the Hotel Continental but a gentleman named Buncomb—Colonel C. +T. P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the middle of his +forehead, who claimed to belong to a most exclusive Southern family in +Savannah. Incidentally he'd been in command of a Georgia regiment in the +Civil War and had been knocked in the head at Gettysburg—one of those +big, flabby fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says about his +capacity to chew Black Strap and absorb rum is accurate, I reckon the +Colonel was right up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He knew +everybody and everything in Paris; passed up our friend right along the +Faubourg Saint Germain; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses and +countesses—that is, Tomlinson <i>says</i> they were. Can't you see 'em, +swaggerin' down the Champs-Élysées arm in arm? In addition, he took our +mournful acquaintance to all the <i>cafés chantants</i> and students' balls, +and gave him sure things on the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been a +regular doodle-bug!</p> + +<p>"In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new friend was a mining +expert taking a short vacation and just blowing in an extra half million +or so. He believed it. You see, he had never met any of them at the +Waldorf at home. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> also introduced to a young man in the same line +of business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed to have plenty of money, +and was likewise <i>au fait</i> with the aristocracy.</p> + +<p>"Well, one night, after they had been to the Bal Boullier and had had a +little supper at the Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle more +confidential than usual, and let drop that their friend Summerdale had a +brother employed as private secretary by a copper king who owned a +wonderful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. The stock in this +concern had originally been sold at five dollars a share, but recently a +rich vein had been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. No one +knew of this except the officers of the company, who, of course, were +anxious to buy up all they could find. They had located most of it +easily enough, but there were two or three lots that had thus far eluded +them. Among these was the largest single block of stock in existence, +owned by the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. He had two +thousand shares, and was blissfully ignorant of the fact that they were +worth forty thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no one seemed to +know, but his name was Edwin H. Blake, and he was supposed to be in +Paris. It appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watching out for +Blake with the charitable idea of re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>lieving him of his stock at five, +and selling it for twenty in the States.</p> + +<p>"Next day, if you'll believe it, the Colonel didn't remember a thing; +became quite angry at Tomlinson's supposing he'd take advantage of any +person in the way suggested; explained that he must have been drinking, +and begged him to forget everything that might have been said. Of +course, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after that the Colonel and he +rather drifted apart. Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later, +our friend stumbled on Blake himself—met him right on the race-track, +through a Frenchman named Depau.</p> + +<p>"Now our innocent friend had been sort of lonely ever since he'd lost +sight of Buncomb, and this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort. +Tomlinson naturally inquired if he'd ever met the Colonel or Larry +Summerdale, but he never had, and finally they took an apartment +together."</p> + +<p>"He must have been pleased when Tomlinson told him about the value of +his stock," remarked McAllister, lighting another cigar.</p> + +<p>"I'm comin' to that," replied Wainwright. "It seems that Tomlinson so +far forgot his early New England traditions as to covet that stock +himself. Shockin', wasn't it?</p> + +<p>"One day, when they were lunching at the Trois<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> Freres, our friend +hinted that he was interested in mining stock. Blake laughed, and +replied that if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff he +wouldn't want to see another share as long as he lived, and added that +he was loaded up with a lot of worthless stock—two thousand shares—in +an old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from his father, and +wasn't worth the paper the certificate was printed on. The leery +Tomlinson admitted having heard of the mine, but gave it as his +impression that it had possibilities.</p> + +<p>"Then he had a sudden headache, and went out and cabled to The Silver +Bow offices at the <i>World</i> building here in New York to find out what +the company would pay for the stock. In an hour or two he got an answer +stating that they were prepared to give twenty dollars a share for not +less than two thousand shares. Good, eh?</p> + +<p>"Well, next day he led the conversation round again to mining stocks, +and finally offered to buy Blake's holdings for five dollars a share. +When the latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he'd lose the stock +that he almost raised his bid to fifteen; but Blake only laughed, and +said that he had no intention of robbing one of his friends, and that +the old stuff really wasn't worth a cent. Tomlinson became quite +indignant, suggested that perhaps he knew more about that particular +mine than even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> Blake did, and finally overcame the latter's scruples +and persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson disposed of some bonds by +cable, and that evening gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs in +exchange for his two thousand share certificate in The Silver Bow of +Arizona. He told me it had a picture of a miner with a pick-ax and a +mule standing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegorical, don't +you think?</p> + +<p>"Blake continued to protest that our friend was being cheated, and +offered to buy it back at any time; but Tomlinson's one idea was to get +to New York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the stock was on the +way, and that very night he slid out of Paris and caught the +Norddeutscher Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occupied the bridal +chamber on the way back all by himself.</p> + +<p>"The instant they landed he jumped in a cab and started for the <i>World</i> +building; but when he got there he couldn't find any Silver Bow Mining +Company. It had evaporated. It had been there right enough—for ten +days—the ten days Tomlinson calculated that it had taken Blake to sell +him the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or what had become of +it.</p> + +<p>"Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, "he nearly went crazy; cabled the +police in Paris and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> had 'em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb; +and took the next steamer back. He says they had the trial in a little +police court in the Palais de Justice. Buncomb had hired Maître Labori +to defend him. Everybody kept their hats on, and apparently they all +shouted at once. The Judge was the only one that kept his mouth shut at +all. Tomlinson told his story through an interpreter, and charged +Buncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with conspiracy to defraud.</p> + +<p>"When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into the +middle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped his +coat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell you +he must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the Confederate +Army, he was—the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserable +French scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador. +He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge could +interfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in a +while he'd yell '<i>Conspuez</i>' or '<i>À bas</i>' and sort of froth at the +mouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maître Labori got in <i>his</i> +licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing—a rascal—a +'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is.</p> + +<p>"Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> smile, if Buncomb had ever +asked him to buy any stock?</p> + +<p>"Tomlinson had to say 'No.'</p> + +<p>"Did Larry Summerdale?</p> + +<p>"'No'</p> + +<p>"Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless?</p> + +<p>"'Yes.'</p> + +<p>"How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it?</p> + +<p>"'Well, he didn't absolutely.'</p> + +<p>"The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake, +and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarked +that one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson +would show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then the +first thing our friend knew the court had adjourned—they had all been +turned out—discharged—acquitted. But the thing that most disgusted +Tomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, the +Colonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. They +passed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paid +for that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last he +heard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera."</p> + +<p>"And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>"There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-day +boat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, +Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electric +car for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. But +the simple life has done him good."</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>One evening, several months later, McAllister and a party of friends +dropped into Rector's after the theatre for a caviare sandwich before +turning in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light and crowded, +but after waiting for a few moments they were given a table just vacated +by a party of four. McAllister, having given their order, noticed a +couple seated directly in his line of vision who instantly challenged +his attention. The girl was ordinary—slender, dark-haired, +sharp-featured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed with +ermine—obviously an actress or vaudeville "artist." It was her +companion, however, that caused McAllister to readjust his monocle. +Curious! Where had he seen that face? It was that of a heavy man of +approximately sixty, benign, smooth-shaven, full-featured, and with an +expanse of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> broad white forehead, the centre of which was marked in a +curious fashion by a deep dent like a hole made by dropping a marble +into soft putty. It gave him the appearance of having had a third eye, +now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He was sure he had met the old +fellow somewhere—he couldn't just place where. But that hole in the +forehead—yes, he was certain! Listening abstractedly to his friends' +conversation, the clubman studied his neighbor, becoming each moment +more convinced that at some time in the past they had been thrown +together. Presently the pair arose, and the man helped the woman into +her ermine coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in and out of +shadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened upon it like some bird charmed +by a reptile, watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously out.</p> + +<p>"Fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, "look at those people just going out; +do you know who they are?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that's Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," said Rogers. "She's at +Hammerstein's. I don't know her escort. By George! that's a queer thing +on his forehead."</p> + +<p>McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him.</p> + +<p>"Alphonse, who's the gentleman with Mademoiselle Vibbert?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>Alphonse smiled.</p> + +<p>"Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced it Erbaire.</p> + +<p>"Well, who's Monsieur Erbaire?"</p> + +<p>Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, protruded his +lips, and extended the palms of his hands.</p> + +<p>"Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turning to the group around the +table, "Alphonse says that you can search <i>him</i>."</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>McAllister had speculated for a day or two upon the probable identity of +the man with the hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it up +as a bad job. One didn't like to dig up the past too carefully, anyhow. +You never could tell exactly what you might exhume.</p> + +<p>The next Sunday afternoon, while running his eyes carelessly over the +"personals," his notice was attracted to the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Business Opportunities.</span>—Advertiser wants party with +four thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve +thousand dollars in five weeks; no scheme, strictly +legitimate business transaction; will bear thorough +investigation; must act immediately; no brokers; +principals only.</p> + +<p class="alignright"><span class="smcap">Herbert</span>, 319 Herald.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>The name sounded familiar. But he didn't know any Herbert. Then there +hovered in the penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the ghost of a +scarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes! Herbert was the man with the hole +in his forehead that night at Rector's, that Alphonse didn't know. But +where had he known that man? He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of +Tomlinson, the saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of course! +Buncomb—Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb—Tomlinson's high-rolling friend of +the Champs-Élysées—turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert—a man who'd +triple your money in five weeks! The chain was complete. If he kept his +wits about him he might increase the reputation achieved at Blair's. It +would require <i>finesse</i>, to be sure, but his experience with Conville +had given him confidence. Here was a chance to do a little more +detective work on his own account. He replied to the advertisement, +inviting an interview. The "Colonel" would probably call, try some old +swindling game, McAllister would lure him on, and at the proper moment +call in the police. It looked easy sailing.</p> + +<p>Accordingly the appointed hour next day found the clubman waiting +impatiently at his rooms, and at two o'clock promptly Mr. Herbert was +announced. But McAllister was doomed to disap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>pointment. The visitor was +not the Colonel at all, and didn't even have a bullet-hole in his +forehead. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully in a dark blue +overcoat, bowed himself in. In his hand he carried a glistening silk +hat, and his own countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thick +bristly black hair parted mathematically in the middle drooped on either +side of his forehead above a pair of snappy black eyes and rather +bulbous nose.</p> + +<p>McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest to be seated.</p> + +<p>Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister?" he inquired affably.</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," replied the clubman. "I noticed your advertisement in the +<i>Herald</i>, and it occurred to me that I might like to look into it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating manner.</p> + +<p>"I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatanism," he remarked, "but +the situation was unusual and time was of the essence. Are we quite +alone?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining McAllister in a cigar.</p> + +<p>"The gist of the matter is this," he explained, holding the weed in the +corner of his mouth as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> spoke—a trick McAllister had never acquired. +"I have a brother who is employed in a confidential capacity by the +president of a large mining company—The Golden Touch. The stock has +always sold at around four or five. Recently they struck a very rich +lode. It was kept very quiet, and only the officers of the company +actually on the field know of it. Needless to say, they are buying in +the stock as fast as they can."</p> + +<p>"Of course," answered McAllister sympathetically. He felt as if he had +run across an old friend again. Things were looking up a bit.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have located a block of which they know absolutely nothing. It +was issued to an engineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. He +suddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go to Baden-Baden. At +present he is laid up at one of the hotels in this city. Of course he is +ignorant of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the fact that +his stock, once worth only five dollars a share, is now selling at +twenty."</p> + +<p>"Well, he's a richer man than he supposes," commented McAllister +naively.</p> + +<p>Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That is the point. If I had five thousand dollars I could buy +his thousand shares to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteen +thousand dollars' profit. You furnish the funds, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the opportunity, and +we divide even. I've a sure thing! What do you think of it?"</p> + +<p>"By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slapping his knee delightedly, "I've +a mind to go you! . . . But," he added shrewdly, "I should want to see +the prospective buyer of my stock before I purchased it."</p> + +<p>"Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllister," instantly returned Mr. +Herbert. "Now, I'm dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning you can go +down and see the president of The Golden Touch yourself. The offices are +in the New York Life Building."</p> + +<p>"All right," answered McAllister. "To-morrow? Wait a minute; I've an +engagement. Why can't we go now?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, <i>that</i> was business! They would go +at once.</p> + +<p>McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him into his coat and summoned +a cab. On their way down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. He +believed, if they could land this block of stock, they might perhaps dig +up a few more hundred shares. Conscientious effort counted just as much +in an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllister displayed the +deepest interest.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the New York Life Building, the two took the elevator to the +fifth floor, where Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>bert led the way to a large suite on the Leonard +Street side. McAllister rarely had to go down-town—his lawyer usually +called on him at his rooms—and was much impressed by the marble +corridors and gilt lettering upon the massive doors. Upon a door at the +end of the hall the clubman could see in large capitals the words,</p> + +<p class="center">THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 50%;"><i>Office of the President.</i></p> + +<p>They turned to the left and paused outside another door marked +"Entrance." Herbert thought he'd better remain in the corridor—the +President might smell a rat; so McAllister decided to enter alone. In an +adjoining suite he could see some men testing a fire-escape consisting +of a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from the window in the +direction of the street below. Someone was preparing to make a descent. +McAllister wished he could stop and see the fellow slide through; but +business was business, and he opened the door.</p> + +<p>Inside he found himself in a large, handsome office. Three gum-chewing +boys idled at desks in front of a brass railing, behind which several +typewriters rattled continuously. On learning that McAllister desired to +see the President, one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> boys penetrated an inner office, and +presently beckoned our friend into another room hung with large maps and +photographs and furnished with a mahogany table, around which were +ranged a dozen vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond, +evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly man at a roll-top +desk smoking a large cigar.</p> + +<p>McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; everything seemed so +methodical and everybody so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzers +whirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside smoked on serenely, +unperturbed, a wonderful example of the superiority of mind over matter. +Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he was going to make an ass of +himself. Then the magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became no +longer possible. With a start, McAllister found himself face to face +with the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead. The latter bowed +slightly.</p> + +<p>"I am President Van Vorst," he announced in a dignified manner.</p> + +<p>McAllister hastily tried to assume the expression and manner of a yokel.</p> + +<p>"Er—er—" he stammered; "you see, the fact is, I want to sell some +stock."</p> + +<p>The Colonel eyed him sternly.</p> + +<p>"Stock? What stock?"</p> + +<p>"In the Golden Touch."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>The President slightly elevated his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Stock in The Golden Touch? How much have you got?"</p> + +<p>"About a thousand shares."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" remarked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," replied McAllister. "I have, really. What'll you pay for +it?"</p> + +<p>"Five dollars a share."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously toward the door. "I think +it's worth more than that."</p> + +<p>"Come back here," muttered the other, getting up from his chair and +scowling. "What do you know about the value of The Golden Touch, I +should like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I know more than you think," answered McAllister, with an inane +imitation of airy nonchalance.</p> + +<p>"See here," said the Colonel excitedly, "is this on the level? Can you +deliver a thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>The President sank back in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Then you have located Murphy's stock!" he exclaimed. "You've beaten us! +That cursed certificate was issued just before—" He paused, and looked +sharply toward McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Just before you made that strike," finished the clubman significantly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>"Hang you!" cried the Colonel angrily. "What do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Eighteen."</p> + +<p>"Too much. Give you ten."</p> + +<p>McAllister started for the door.</p> + +<p>At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and handed the President a +flimsy yellow paper.</p> + +<p>"Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting his eye rapidly over the +telegram.</p> + +<p>"Can't do business on that basis."</p> + +<p>"Well, you've got us cornered. I'll break the record. I'll give you +fifteen."</p> + +<p>McAllister hesitated.</p> + +<p>"All right," said he rather reluctantly. "Cash down?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," replied the Colonel. "I'll wait here for you. You might as +well look at this now." And he showed the clubman the paper.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="alignright"><span class="smcap">Stafford, Arizona.</span></p> + +<p><i>Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays +show eight per cent. copper, carrying five dollars in +gold to the ton. Try and locate Murphy's stock.</i></p></div> + +<p>"You see," added the Colonel, "I've got to get it, if it busts me!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you shall have it in half an hour," replied McAllister.</p> + +<p>Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> exactly what had happened, +and laughed heartily when McAllister described the interview. Oh, that +old Van Vorst was a sly dog! He'd steal the gold out of your teeth if +you gave him the chance. Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton! That +was even better than his brother had advised him. Well, the next thing +was to capture Murphy's stock.</p> + +<p>On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllister +stopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring the +money to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters. +Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between them +that the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him at +once to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return of +McAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company.</p> + +<p>McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to the +hotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad, +very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trained +nurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs and +inquire for themselves.</p> + +<p>Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor, +in which the pungent odor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even +at the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knock +brought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was at +last persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the express +condition that their call should be limited to a few moments' duration +only. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllister +could discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the far +corner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a +table covered with liniment and bottles.</p> + +<p>"Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace? +Wot is it, I s'y?"</p> + +<p>For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beating +at the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should it +come from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the waters +beneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinary +individual—Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instant +McAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation.</p> + +<p>"You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see if +you wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock."</p> + +<p>"'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>ing his head to the wall. +"Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almost +dead? Go aw'y, I s'y!"</p> + +<p>McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock, +and on returning to the company's offices to have Conville arrest +Herbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. He +was pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist +him, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort of +thing."</p> + +<p>So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to part +with his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent over +the glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected at +Baden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and mining +stock in particular.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon his pallet and cursed the +inconsiderate strangers who forced their selfish interests upon him at +such a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed impatiently. At last, +after an unusually persistent harangue on the part of Herbert, the +invalid, inveighing against the sciatica that had placed him thus at +their mercy, and more to get rid of them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> than anything else, +reluctantly yielded. Fumbling among the bed-clothes, he produced a +soiled certificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! Gimme yer money, an' go aw'y!"</p> + +<p>As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who had remained partially +concealed behind his companion.</p> + +<p>"Now's your chance!" whispered the latter. "Take it while you can get +it. Where's the money?"</p> + +<p>McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled deliciously in his hands, +and stepped square in front of the sick engineer, between him and +Herbert.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Murphy"—he spoke the words slowly and distinctly—"I'm the person +who's buying your stock. This gentleman has merely interested me in the +proposition." Then, fixing his eyes directly on those of Wilkins, he +held out the bills. A look of terror came over the face of the valet, +and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he stared horrified at his +former master. Then he sank back, and turned away his head.</p> + +<p>"Now answer me a few questions," continued McAllister. "Are you the bona +fide owner of this stock?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins choked.</p> + +<p>"S' 'elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>"And it's worth what you ask—five thousand dollars?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle of +iodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within a +few inches of McAllister's face. "<i>It's rotten</i>," he whispered under his +breath. "<i>Don't touch it!</i> . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . <i>Just pretend to +pass me the money</i>. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . <i>I +wouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't!</i> . . . W'ere's yer money?"</p> + +<p>A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said there +was no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing as +gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that it +was the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. His +simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part. +With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to where +Herbert was standing.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man's +name is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine? +I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>"Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brother +gave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then he +has the certificate. What more do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head and +shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't do +it."</p> + +<p>Herbert seemed annoyed.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sick +you can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"—adding +<i>sotto voce</i> to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buy +the stock himself, and we'll lose our chance."</p> + +<p>The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer. +Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified.</p> + +<p>"We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, nodding +vigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll go!" responded the engineer with sudden alacrity. "Anything to +hoblige."</p> + +<p>He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse had by this time returned, +and was demanding in forcible language that his patient should instantly +get back. Seeing that his expostulations had no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> effect, he assisted +Wilkins very ungraciously to get into his clothes. With the aid of a +stout cane the latter tottered to the elevator and was finally ensconced +safely in the cab. All this had occupied nearly an hour; twenty minutes +more brought them to the New York Life Building.</p> + +<p>As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into the +building, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and +athletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of the +portico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly that +the sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again. +As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office, +McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Things +were going well enough, so far. Now for the <i>coup d'état</i>!</p> + +<p>The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before, +President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a +corner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe.</p> + +<p>"Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I've +brought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?"</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with great +cordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my old +en<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>gineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year, +isn't it, since you were at Stafford?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've got +the skyathicer somethin' hawful."</p> + +<p>McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket.</p> + +<p>"Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman.</p> + +<p>"Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousand +shares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show of +irritation.</p> + +<p>"Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply.</p> + +<p>The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he could +not determine just how matters stood.</p> + +<p>"Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, but +I'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you back +quite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow—you, or Murphy?"</p> + +<p>"At present it belongs to me," said the clubman.</p> + +<p>As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the door leading into the +directors' room. From<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> below came faintly the rattle of the street and +the clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could be heard the +merry tattoo of the typewriters. Could it be possible that in this +opulently furnished office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, its +Persian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy curtains, he was +confronting a crew of swindlers of whom his own valet was an accomplice? +It was almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wainwright's vivid +description of the fall of Tomlinson, the scene at Rector's, the +advertisement in the <i>Herald</i>, and the strange occurrences of the +morning, he perceived that there could be no question in the matter. He +was facing three common—or rather most uncommon—thieves, all of whom +probably had served more than one term in State prison—desperate +characters, who would not hesitate to use force, or worse, should it +appear necessary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He might be +murdered, and no one be the wiser. Then a vague shadow flickered against +the opaque glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new courage. +Conville was just outside, with Tomlinson—although the latter could not +be regarded as a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-hand +struggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? What if the ex-convict +should go back on him? How did the valet know but that, by assisting +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> master, he was sending himself to State prison? McAllister had a +fleeting desire to turn and dart from the room. What business had a +middle-aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then he braced himself, +took a good grip of his stout walking-stick, and turned to the Colonel +with an assumption of calmness which he was very far from feeling. The +noonday sun streamed into the windows and threw into strong relief the +muscular figures of the group about him.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you've been deceived in Murphy," he remarked coolly. "He +isn't an engineer at all; he's just an ex-convict."</p> + +<p>The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched a Colt from an open drawer +of the desk. Herbert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins dropped +his crutch.</p> + +<p>"What are you giving us!" cried the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave it to <i>him</i>," added McAllister. "By the way, his name isn't +Murphy at all—it's Wilkins—or Welch, if you prefer."</p> + +<p>"What's this—a plant?" yelled Herbert. "By God, if——"</p> + +<p>"Don't be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the clubman. "You might lay down +that pistol, Colonel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine—in fact +he used to work for me."</p> + +<p>The two thieves glared at him, speechless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> Wilkins picked up his crutch +by the small end, remarking:</p> + +<p>"Better go easy there, Buncomb."</p> + +<p>"I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of meeting another friend of +mine last summer, a Mr. Tomlinson," continued McAllister. "He's told me +a good deal about you. I am under the impression that he paid for an +automobile and a little trip you took on the Riviera. How would you like +to turn back the money?"</p> + +<p>Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale and motionless, while the +clubman opened the door into the hall and called Tomlinson's name.</p> + +<p>"Yaas, I'm here, McAllister. What do you want?" replied the club bore as +his lank figure entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Summerdale, +and Wilkins he stopped short.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he drawled, "I'm dashed if it ain't the Colonel—and Larry!"</p> + +<p>"Look here, you—you—chappie!" snarled Buncomb, "clear out of here! And +you, too, Tomlinson. Understand?" He waved the revolver threateningly.</p> + +<p>"Colonel," remarked McAllister, "I'm here for just one purpose, and +that's to collect the debt you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson. +Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever <i>you</i> call him, is ready to +turn state's evidence against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> you. I promise him immunity. There's an +officer just outside. Shall I call him?"</p> + +<p>"Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, his face livid with fright +and anger. "Are you going to squeal on us?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I'm through with you, you miserable +shell-gamers! The best thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hover +there and count hout what's left of that ten thousand."</p> + +<p>"Curse you!" hissed Summerdale. "How do we know you won't have us +pinched whether we pay up or not?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon we'd better take a chance," muttered the Colonel, laying down +his revolver and dropping on his knees before the safe. The little knob +spun around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, but at the +same moment there was a terrific crash of glass behind them.</p> + +<p>"Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting his face through the +broken pane and covering Buncomb with a long black weapon. "Kindly keep +your arms up, Colonel—and you too, Larry. How stout you've grown! Thank +you! I was peekin' through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would be +a good time to freeze on to what was in the safe without callin' in an +expert."</p> + +<p>The next instant he had unlocked the door with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> his other hand and +snapped the handcuffs on Summerdale's uplifted wrist. While the +detective was doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught sight of +Wilkins's frightened glance, and gave a slight nod toward the door +leading into the next room. Like a flash the valet had jumped through +and closed and locked the door behind him. Another door banged. Conville +sprang into the hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, with +McAllister at his heels. They were just in time to see Wilkins leap into +the room where the men were testing the fire-escape.</p> + +<p>"Let me try it," said he, and swung himself calmly into the tube. For an +instant he delayed his flight, with only his head remaining visible.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his shoulder, "and thank you +kindly. I won't forget, sir."</p> + +<p>At the same instant Conville bounded through the door and rushed to the +window. As he reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged downwards. +His descent was rapid, his position being discernible from the sagging +of the canvas.</p> + +<p>Barney started for the elevator in the hope of cutting off the valet's +escape below, but he had miscalculated the force of gravitation. As +McAllister reached the window he saw the little bulge that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> represented +Wilkins slide gently to the bottom. There was a cheer from the +bystanders as the convict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turned +for an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, waved his hand and +disappeared among the crowd.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="McAllisters_Data_of_Ethics" id="McAllisters_Data_of_Ethics"></a>McAllister's Data of Ethics</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>"Certainly, sir. Your clothes shall be delivered at the Metropole at +nine-forty-five to morrow evenin', sir."</p> + +<p>Pondel's dapper little clerk tossed a half-dozen bolts of "trouserings" +upon the polished table, and smiled graciously at the firm's best paying +customer.</p> + +<p>"Here, Bulstead! take Mr. McAllister's waist measure—just a matter of +precaution," he added deferentially. "These are somethin' fine, +sir—very fine! When they came in, I says to Mr. Pondel: 'If only Mr. +McAllister could see that woollen! It's a shame,' I says, 'not to save +it for 'im!' An' Mr. Pondel agreed with me at once. 'Very good, +Wessons,' says he. 'Lay aside enough of that Lancaster to make Mr. +McAllister a single-breasted sack suit, and if he don't fancy it I'll +have it made up into somethin' for myself,' he says. Ain't that so, Mr. +Pondel?"</p> + +<p>The gentleman addressed had graciously saun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>tered over to congratulate +Mr. McAllister upon his selections.</p> + +<p>"Ah, very good! Very good indeed! How's that, Wessons? Yes, I told him +to keep that piece for you, sir. Lord Bentwood begged for it almost with +the tears in his eyes, as I may say, but I assured him that it was +already spoken for." He patted the cloth with a fat, ring-covered hand. +An atmosphere of exclusive opulence emanated from every inch of his +sleek, pudgy person—from the broad white forehead over the glinting +steel-gray eyes, from the pointed Van Dyke trimmed to resemble that of a +certain exalted personage, from his drab waistcoated abdomen begirdled +with its heavy chain and dangling seals, down to the gray-gaitered +patent leathers. McAllister distrusted, feared, relied upon him.</p> + +<p>The clubman wiped his monocle and glanced out through the plate-glass +window. Marlborough Square was flooded with the soft sunshine of the +autumn afternoon. Hardly a pedestrian violated the eminently +aristocratic silence of St. Timothy's.</p> + +<p>"Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure," he replied, not grudging Pondel the +extra two guineas which he very well knew the other invariably charged +for these little favors. It were cheap at twice the money to feel so +much a gentleman.</p> + +<p>"But this is Saturday, and it's five o'clock now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> I don't see how you +can possibly finish all those suits by to-morrow evening. You know I +really didn't intend to order anything but the frock-coat. Perhaps you'd +just better let the rest go. I can get them some other time."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Mr. McAllister; not at all. We are always delighted to +serve you by any means in our power. Did Wessons say they would be +finished to-morrow? Then to-morrow they shall be, sir. I'll set my men +at work immediately. Pedler! Where's Pedler? Send him here at once!"</p> + +<p>A hollow-eyed, lank, round-shouldered journeyman parted the curtains +that concealed the rear of the room, and nervously approached his +employer. He blinked at the unaccustomed sunlight, suppressing a cough.</p> + +<p>"Did you call me, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Pondel with the severity of one granting an undeserved +favor. "This is Mr. McAllister, of whom you have heard us speak so +often. I believe you have cut several of the gentleman's suits. He is to +take the Majestic, which sails early Monday morning, and I have promised +that his clothes shall be ready to-morrow evening. Can you arrange to +stay here to-night and whatever portion of to-morrow is necessary to +finish them?"</p> + +<p>A worried look passed over the man's face, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> his hand flew to his +mouth to strangle another cough.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir; that is—of course— Yes, sir. May I ask how many, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"Only three, I believe. I was sure it could be arranged. Please ask +Aggam to assist you. That is all."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Pedler hesitated a moment as if about to +speak, then turned listlessly and plodded back behind the curtains.</p> + +<p>"Very obliging man—Pedler. You see, there will be no difficulty, Mr. +McAllister."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see how on earth you're going to do it!" protested +McAllister feebly. He wanted the clothes badly, now that he had seen the +material. "It's mighty good of you to take all this trouble."</p> + +<p>Mr. Pondel made a deprecating gesture.</p> + +<p>"We are always glad to serve you, sir!" he repeated, as Wessons escorted +the distinguished customer to the door.</p> + +<p>"It's a great privilege to be employed by such a man as Mr. Pondel," +whispered the salesman. "He thinks an enormous lot of you, sir. Very +fine man—Mr. Pondel."</p> + +<p>As the hansom jogged rapidly toward the hotel, McAllister reflected +painfully upon the enormous sums of money that he annually transferred +from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> his own pockets to those of the lordly tailor. Not that the money +made any particular difference. The clubman was well enough fixed, only +sometimes the bills were unexpectedly large. The three suits just +ordered would average fourteen guineas each. Roughly they would come to +two hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus the duty, which he always paid +conscientiously. And he was getting off easy at that. He remembered +heaps of bills for over two hundred pounds, and that was only the +beginning, for he bought most of his clothes right in New York.</p> + +<p>Climbing the steps of his hotel, he wondered vaguely how long Pedler and +the other fellow would have to work to finish the suits. Of course, they +would be paid extra—were probably glad to do it. The chap had a nasty +cough, though. Oh, well, that was their business—not his! So long as he +put up the money, Pondel could look out for the rest.</p> + +<p>However, he felt a distinct sense of relief that his own obligations +consisted merely in dressing, dining at the Savoy with Aversly, and then +leisurely taking in the Alhambra afterward. Once in his room, he found +that the once criminally inclined, but now reformed Wilkins, who had +returned to his master's service under a solemn promise of good +behavior, had already laid out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> his clothes. McAllister rather dreaded +dressing, for the place was one of those heavily oppressive apartments +characteristic of English hotels. Green marble, yellow plush, and black +walnut filled the foreground, background, and middle distance, while a +marble-topped table, placed squarely in the centre of the room, offered +the only oasis in the desert of upholstery, in the form of a single +massive book, bound in brown morocco, and bearing the inscription +stamped upon its cover in heavy gilt:</p> + +<p class="center">HOTEL METROPOLE<br /> +HOLY BIBLE<br /> +NOT TO BE REMOVED</p> + +<p>It fascinated him, recalling the chained hairbrush and comb of the +Pacific Coast. There you were offered cleanliness, here godliness, by +the proprietors; only the means thereto were not to be taken away. The +next comer must have his chance.</p> + +<p>As the clubman idly lifted the volume, he suddenly realized that this +was the first Bible he had actually touched in over thirty years. The +last time he had owned one himself had been at school when he was +fifteen years old. Something moved him to carry it to the window. The +sun was just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> dropping over the scarlet chimney-pots of London. Its +burnished glare played upon the red gilt edges of the leaves, as +McAllister mechanically allowed the book to fall open in his hands. He +read these words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that +are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such +as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on +the side of their oppressors there was power; but they +had no comforter.</p></div> + +<p>The sun sank; the chimneys deadened against the sky-line. When Wilkins, +ten minutes later, stole in to see if his master needed his assistance, +he found McAllister staring into the darkening west.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>The bell on St. Timothy's tolled twelve o'clock as McAllister's hansom, +straight from the Alhambra, clacked into the moonlit silence of +Marlborough Square. A soft breath of distant gardens hung on the cool +air. The chimneys rose from the house-tops sharp against a pale blue sky +glittering with stars. Here and there a yellow window gleamed for a +moment under the eaves, then vanished mysteriously. It was a night for +lovers,—calm, still, ecstatic,—for hayfields under the harvest +moon,—for white, ghostly reaches of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> the Thames,—for poetry,—for the +exquisite enjoyment of earth's nearest approach to heaven.</p> + +<p>The trap above McAllister's head opened.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir. W'ere did you s'y, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I said <i>Pondel's</i>," replied McAllister, rather sharply. He knew the +cabby must think him a lunatic, but he didn't care. He intended to do +the decent thing. Hang it! The fellow could mind his own business.</p> + +<p>The hansom crossed the street and reined up in the shadow. All was dark, +silent, deserted. Only the brass plate beside the door reflected +strangely the moonlight across the way.</p> + +<p>"'Ere's Pondel's, sir." The cabby got down and crossed the sidewalk to +the door.</p> + +<p>"All shut hup!" he commented. "Close at six."</p> + +<p>A dark figure emerged quickly from, a neighboring shadow.</p> + +<p>"'Ere! Wot is it you want?" demanded the bobby, accosting the cabman +with tentative and potential roughness.</p> + +<p>"Gent wants Pondel's. I dunno w'y. Ax 'im yerself!" responded cabby in +an injured tone.</p> + +<p>The bobby turned to the hansom.</p> + +<p>"This shop's closed at six o'clock," he announced. "Wot do you want?"</p> + +<p>McAllister felt ten thousand times a fool. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> beauty of the night, the +odoriferous quiet, the peace of the deserted square, all made his errand +seem monstrously idiotic. The universe was wheeling silently across the +housetops; respectable men and women were in their beds; only +night-hawks, lovers, policemen were abroad. It was as if a worm were +raising objection to some cardinal law. Why should he try to upset the +order and regularity of the London night, clattering into this +slumbering section, startling a respectable somnolent policeman, making +an ass of himself before his cabby—because somewhere a fellow was +working overtime on his trousers. He imagined that as soon as he had +made his explanation the bobby and the driver would collapse with +merriment, and hale him to a mad-house. But McAllister set his teeth. He +was fighting for a principle. He wouldn't "welch" now. He clambered out +of the hansom.</p> + +<p>"I want to find Pondel, because he's got some fellows working on my +clothes, and I don't propose to have anybody working for me on Sunday. +Understand? It's <i>Sunday</i>. I don't intend to have folks working on my +clothes when they ought to be in bed."</p> + +<p>He spoke brokenly, defiantly, catching his breath between words, almost +ready to cry; then waited for his auditors to fall upon each other's +necks in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> derisive mirth. He forgot, however, that he was in London. The +situation was one apposite to American humor, but evoked no sense of +amusement in the policeman. He treated McAllister's explanation with +vast respect. Our hero gained confidence. The bobby regretted that the +place seemed closed; ventured to express his approval of the clubman's +altruistic effort; dilated upon it to the cabby, who was correspondingly +impressed. McAllister, immensely cheered, held forth on the wrongs of +labor at some length, and, finding a sympathetic audience, produced +cigars. The three proved, as it were, a little group of humanitarians +united in a common purpose. Then, suddenly, inconsequently, inexcusably, +a man coughed. The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. It came from a +point directly beneath their feet. The bobby rapped sharply on the +pavement several times.</p> + +<p>"Hi there, you!" he called. "Hi there, you in Pondel's. Come an' open +hup!"</p> + +<p>They could hear a dull murmur of conversation, the cough was repeated, a +bench dragged across a floor, some fastening was slowly loosed, and a +yellow gleam of light shot up through the shadow as a scuttle opened in +the sidewalk. A lean, scrawny figure thrust itself upward, sleepily +rubbing its eyes, collarless, its shirt open at the breast,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> its hair +tousled, coughing. McAllister, now confident that he had the support of +his companions, addressed the ghost, in whom he recognized Pedler, the +journeyman from behind the curtains. The clubman's face, however, was +concealed in shadow from the other.</p> + +<p>"You're working for Pondel, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>The ghost coughed again, and shivered, although the air was warm.</p> + +<p>"Yes," it answered huskily.</p> + +<p>"Are you working on some clothes for a gentleman who's sailing on +Monday?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," it repeated.</p> + +<p>"Then don't, any more," chirped McAllister encouragingly. "Those clothes +are for me, and I don't want you to work any longer. You ought to be in +bed."</p> + +<p>"Wotcher givin' us?" grumbled Pedler. "G'wan! Leave us alone!" He +started to descend. But the bobby stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere," he said roughly. "Don't you understand? It's just as the +gentleman s'ys. You don't <i>'ave</i> to work any more to-night. You can go +'ome."</p> + +<p>"I s'y, wotcher givin' us?" repeated the other. "I cawn't go 'ome. Mr. +Pondel's horders is to st'y 'ere until the clothes is finished. M'ybe +it's as you s'y, but I cawn't go 'ome."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>At this juncture a child began to cry drowsily below, and a woman's +voice could be heard striving to comfort it.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean you've got a baby down there!" exclaimed McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Only little Annie," replied Pedler. "An' the old woman."</p> + +<p>"Anyone else?"</p> + +<p>"Aggam."</p> + +<p>"Let's go down," suggested the bobby. "<i>I</i> can make 'em understand." The +ghost descended, dazed, and McAllister, the bobby, and last of all, the +cabman, followed down a creaking ladder into a sort of vault under the +cellar. A small oil wick gave out a feeble fluctuating light. On one +side, cross-legged, sat a shrivelled-up, little old man, his brown beard +streaked with gray, stitching. He did not look up, but only worked the +faster. A thin woman crouched on a broken chair, holding a little girl +in her lap.</p> + +<p>"There, there, Annie, don't cry. The bobby's not arter <i>you</i>. It's all +right, darlin'!"</p> + +<p>Strewn about the cement floor lay the bolts of Lancaster which +McAllister had selected, together with patterns, scissors, and +unfinished garments.</p> + +<p>"Excuse the child, sir," apologized the woman. "She's just a bit +sleepy."</p> + +<p>"Well," said McAllister, his indignation rising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> at the scene, and shame +burning in his cheeks, "go right home. I won't have you working on these +clothes any more." How he wished Pondel was there to get a piece of his +mind!</p> + +<p>Jim looked wearily at Aggam.</p> + +<p>"Wot d'ye s'y, Aggam?"</p> + +<p>The other kept on stitching.</p> + +<p>"I gets my horders from Pondel," he replied, shortly, "an' I don't tyke +no horders from no one helse!"</p> + +<p>"But look here," cried McAllister, "the clothes are <i>mine</i>, ain't they? +Pondel hasn't anything to do with it! And <i>I</i> tell you to <i>go home</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes," grunted Aggam. "An' then you loses your job, does yer? I don't +want no toff mixin' into <i>my</i> affairs. I minds my business, they can +mind theirs!"</p> + +<p>"I s'y, that's no w'y to speak to the gentleman!" exclaimed the bobby in +disgust. "'E's only tryin' to do yer a fyvor! 'Aven't yer got no +manners?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> minds <i>my</i> business, let <i>'im</i> mind <i>'is'n</i>!" repeated Aggam +stolidly.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I</i> must <i>s'y</i>," ejaculated the cabby, "they're a bloomin' +grateful lot!"</p> + +<p>The tall man seemed to resent this last from one of his own station.</p> + +<p>"I appreciates wot the gent wants," he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> weakly, "but it's just like +Aggam s'ys. Wot can <i>we</i> do? The gent cawn't tell us to go 'ome!"</p> + +<p>The child began to cry again. McAllister was exasperated almost to the +point of profanity.</p> + +<p>"Don't you <i>want</i> to go home?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The woman laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh.</p> + +<p>"Annie an' me 'ave st'y'd 'ere all the evenin' just to be with Jim. 'E's +awful sick. An' 'e'll 'ave to st'y 'ere all d'y to-morrer. Do we <i>want</i> +to go 'ome!"</p> + +<p>Her husband dashed his shirt-sleeve across his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't Nell," he muttered. "I ain't sick. I can work. You go 'ome with +the kid."</p> + +<p>McAllister thrust a handful of bank-notes toward her.</p> + +<p>"Where does old Pondel live?" he inquired of the bobby.</p> + +<p>"Out in Kew somewheres," replied the officer.</p> + +<p>The woman was staring blankly at the money. Suddenly she dropped the +little girl and began to sob. Jim broke into a fit of harsh coughing. +The cabman climbed up the ladder. The temperature of the vault seemed +insufferable to McAllister.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll go home if Pondel says so?" he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Just watch us!" growled Aggam.</p> + +<p>"Take that child home, anyhow, and put it to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> bed," ordered the clubman. +"I'll be back in an hour or so."</p> + +<p>As he climbed up through the scuttle into the sweet, soft moonlight, and +started to enter the hansom, the bobby held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir. I 'ope you'll pardon the liberty, but, would you mind, +I've got a brother in America—Smith's the naime—'e lives in a plaice +called Manitoba. Do you 'appen to know 'im?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," replied our friend, grasping the other's hand. "I never ran +across him."</p> + +<p>"Where to now?" asked the cabby.</p> + +<p>"To Kew," replied McAllister.</p> + +<p>They swung out of the square, leaving the bobby standing in the shadow +of Pondel's.</p> + +<p>"I'll look out for 'em while you're gone," called the latter +encouragingly.</p> + +<p>They crossed Bond Street, followed Grosvenor Street into Park Lane, and +plunging round Hyde Park corner, past the statue to England's greatest +soldier, they entered Kingsbridge. McAllister, all awake from his recent +experience, saw things that he had never observed before—bedraggled +flower-girls in gaudy hats, with heart-rending faces; drunken laborers +staggering along upon the arms of sad-featured women; young girls, +slender, painted, strolling with an affectation of light-heartedness +along the glittering sidewalks. On<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> they jogged, past narrow streets +where, amid the flare of torches, the entire population of the +neighborhood swarmed, bargained, swore, and quarrelled; where little +children rolled under the costers' carts, fighting for scraps and +decaying vegetables; and where their passage was obstructed by the +throngs of miserable humanity for whom this was their only park, their +only club. It being Saturday night, the butchers were selling off their +remnants of meat, and their shrill cries could be heard for blocks. +Several times the horse shied to avoid trampling upon some old hag who, +clutching her wretched purchase to her breast, hurried homeward before a +drunken lout should snatch it from her. McAllister had never imagined +the like. It was with a sigh of relief that they left the Hammersmith +Road behind and at last reached the residential districts. In about an +hour they found themselves in Kew. A cool breeze from the country fanned +his cheek. On either hand trim little villas, with smooth lawns, lined +the road, and the moonlit air was fragrant with the smell of damp grass, +violets, and heliotrope. Here and there could be heard the tinkle of a +cottage piano, and the laughter of belated merry-makers on the verandas.</p> + +<p>They located Mr. Pondel's villa without difficulty. Standing back some +thirty yards from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> street, its well-kept garden full of flowering +shrubs and carefully tended beds of geraniums, it was a residence +typical of the London suburb, with fretwork along the piazza roof, a +stone dog guarding each side of the steps, and salmon-pink curtains at +the parlor windows. The door stood open, a Japanese lamp burned in the +hallway, and the murmur of voices floated out from the door leading into +the parlor. McAllister once again felt the overwhelming absurdity of his +position. Over his shoulder, as he stood by the hyacinths at the door, +floated the same big moon in the same soft heaven. Damp and fragrant, +the wind blew in from the lawn and swayed the portières in the narrow +hall, behind which, doubtless, sat the lordly Pondel, friend of +noblemen, adviser of royalty, entrenched in his castle, a unit in an +impregnable system. The whinny of the cab-horse beyond the hedge +recalled to McAllister the necessity for action. He realized that he was +losing moral ground every instant.</p> + +<p>The bell jangled harshly somewhere in the back of the house. A man's +voice—Pondel's—muttered indistinctly; there was a feminine whisper in +response; someone placed a glass on a table and pushed back a chair. A +clock in the neighborhood struck two, and Pondel emerged through the +portières—Pondel in a wadded claret-colored<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> dressing-gown embroidered +with birds of Paradise, in carpet slippers, with a meerschaum pipe, +watery eyes, and slightly disarranged hair. It was rather dim in the +hallway, and he did not recognize his visitor.</p> + +<p>"What is it? What do you want?" The inquiry was abrupt and a little +thick.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Mr. Pondel," stammered McAllister. "I hope you'll excuse +me for disturbing you at this hour. It's about the clothes."</p> + +<p>"W'o is it?" Pondel peered into his guest's flushed face. "W'y Mr. +McAllister, what are you doin' way out 'ere? Excuse my appearance—a +little pardonable neglishay of a Saturday evenin'. Come right in, won't +you? Great honor, I'm sure. Though, if you'll believe it, I once 'ad the +honor of a call from his Grace the Duke of Bashton right in this very +'all. Excuse me w'ile I announce your presence to Mrs. Pondel."</p> + +<p>McAllister said something about having to go at once, but Pondel +shuffled through the curtains, almost immediately sweeping them back +with a lordly gesture of welcome.</p> + +<p>"This way, Mr. McAllister." Our miserable friend entered the parlor. +"Elizabeth, hallow me to present Mr. McAllister—one of my oldest +customers."</p> + +<p>Elizabeth—a fat vision of fifty-five, with per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>oxide hair, and a soft +pink of unchanging hue mantling her elsewhere mottled cheeks—arose +graciously from the table where she and her husband had been playing +double-dummy bridge, and courtesied.</p> + +<p>"Chawmed, I'm sure. What a beautiful evenin'! Won't you si' down?" +murmured the enchantress.</p> + +<p>McAllister took a chair, and Pondel pressed whiskey and water upon him. +Oh, Mr. McAllister, needn't be afraid of it; it was the real old thing; +Lord Langollen had sent him a dozen. Lizzie would take a nip with +'em—eh, Lizzie? A gen'elman didn't take that long trip every evenin', +and a little refreshment would not only do him good, but, as the Yankees +said, would show there was no 'ard feelin', eh? He must really take just +a drop. Say when!</p> + +<p>Lizzie poured out a glass for the much-embarrassed guest. She was in a +flowered kimona, even more "neglishay" than her husband, but the bower +in which the goddess reclined was a perfect pearl of the decorator's +art. Cupids, also "neglishay," toyed with one another around a cluster +of electric burners in the ceiling, gay streamers of painted blossoms +dangling from their hands and floating down the walls. Gilt chairs, a +white and gilt sofa, and a brown etching in a Florentine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> frame on each +wall, were the most conspicuous articles of furniture. At the windows +the brilliant salmon-pink curtains bellied softly in the breeze that +stole into the chamber and diluted the gentle odor of Parma violets +which exuded from the dame in the kimona. To Pondel, McAllister's +presence was an evidence of his power; and his pride, tickled mightily, +put him in an exquisite good humor. Certainly the occasion required from +him, the host, a proper felicitation.</p> + +<p>"'Ere's to our better acquaintance," said the tailor, raising his glass +sententiously. "Lizzie, drink to Mr. McAllister!"</p> + +<p>The three drank solemnly. Then the voluble tailor addressed himself to +the task of entertaining his distinguished guest. McAllister could catch +at no opening to explain his visit. Pondel chatted gayly of Paris, the +Continent, and familiarly of the races and the <i>beau monde</i>. Apparently +he knew (by their first names) half the nobility of England, and he +endeavored to place his customer equally at his ease with them. He +ventured that he knew how most young Americans spent their time in +London and Paris; dropped with a wink, that in spite of his present +uxoriousness he had been a bit of a dog himself, and ended by suggesting +another toast to "A short life and a merry one." The lady of the kimona, +gram<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>matically not so strong as her husband, contented herself with +expansive smiles and frequent recurrence to the tumbler.</p> + +<p>"I must explain my visit," finally broke in McAllister. "It's about the +clothes."</p> + +<p>Pondel smiled condescendingly.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. McAllister, you don't need to worry in the slightest. +They'll be done promptly to-morrow evenin', take my word for it."</p> + +<p>McAllister flushed. How in Heaven's name could he ever make the tailor +understand?</p> + +<p>"I've decided I don't want 'em!" he stammered.</p> + +<p>Pondel's glass went to the table with a bang, and he gazed blankly at +his customer. The clubman, not realizing the implication, did not +proceed.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," finally responded Pondel a trifle coldly. "There's +no hurry about settlement. You can take a year, if necessary."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pondel slipped unobtrusively out of the room, leaving a trail of +perfume behind her.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed our friend, catching his breath: "It isn't that. But you +see I can't have those men working over night and to-morrow on my +account. It's—it's against my principles."</p> + +<p>Pondel brightened. A load had been taken from his heart. So long as +McAllister's bank account was good, any idiosyncrasy the American<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> might +exhibit did not matter. He had always regarded McAllister, however, as a +man of the world, and had esteemed him accordingly. He perceived that he +had been mistaken. His customer was merely a religious crank. He had had +experience with them before.</p> + +<p>"Pooh! That's all right," said he resuming his former cordiality. "Why, +they like to earn the extra money. They're all devoted to my interests, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't want them to work any longer on my clothes," repeated +McAllister helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Mr. Pondel, rather loftily. "I'm afraid, +however, it's too late to stop them now. The cloth 'as been cut, and +they would not stop contrary to my direction."</p> + +<p>"That's the point," returned McAllister, "I want you to change your +orders."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir," expostulated the tailor, "you can't expect me to go +to London this time of night! Besides, they're nearly done by this time. +It's impossible!"</p> + +<p>"I'll manage that," exclaimed McAllister. "I've been down to the shop +already, and they're waiting for me now to come back with your +permission to go home; they wouldn't go without it."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear!" replied the tailor, changing his tactics. "How much +interest you have taken in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> their welfare! How kind and thoughtful of +you! No, they're faithful men; they wouldn't think of disobeying orders. +But what a shame I didn't know of it before! Why, they might 'ave been +at 'ome and in their beds. However, I sha'n't forget 'em at the end of +the month. Mr. McAllister, I respect you. I have never known of a more +unselfish act. Permit me to say it, sir, you are a Christian—a true +Christian. I wish there were more like you, sir!"</p> + +<p>McAllister arose to his feet. His one thought now was to escape as +quickly as possible. The sight of Pondel's smiling countenance filled +him with unutterable disgust. Suppose the fellows at the club could see +him sitting in this pursy tailor's parlor, with his scented wife, and +gilded chairs—</p> + +<p>The tailor, however, was anxious to restore the cordiality of their +relations, and slopped over in his eagerness to show how kind he was to +his men, and how considerate of their well-being. He took McAllister's +arm familiarly as he showed him to the door.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he added confidentially, "this is a very good locality. Only the +best people live in this neighborhood. Rather a neat little property." +He proffered McAllister a cigar. The clubman wanted to kick him for a +miserable, dirty cad.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>"Right back!" he said to the cabby, hardly replying to the tailor's +good-night.</p> + +<p>London was asleep. Even the streets through which he had driven to Kew +were hushed in preparation for the sodden Sunday to come. The moon had +lowered over the housetops, and St. Timothy's was in the shadow as once +again he drew up in front of Pondel's.</p> + +<p>"Back already, sir?" The bobby stepped out to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied McAllister wearily. "And those fellows down there are +going home."</p> + +<p>The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more Pedler's head protruded above +the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Pondel says you're to go home," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>"The gent's been all the way to Kew for you," interjected the bobby.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Aggam!" exclaimed Jim, huskily. "Th' gentleman says we are to go +'ome, Mr. Pondel says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard muttering +below. Presently the light was extinguished, and both emerged from the +scuttle and put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily exultant. +Pedler pushed the scuttle into place.</p> + +<p>"Well," said McAllister after an awkward pause, "can I give you a lift? +Which way do you go? I tell you what: you come back with me to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> the +hotel, and then the hansom can take you both home."</p> + +<p>Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one another.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on, you fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, all his natural good +spirits returning with a rush. "Get in there, now!"</p> + +<p>Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister directed the driver to go to +the Metropole, after stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, +the policeman. The stars were still marching across the sky, and the +breeze had freshened. Every window was dark; no one was astir. They +heard only the echoes of their horse's hoof-beats. Yet the restless +silence that precedes the dawn was in the air.</p> + +<p>"I lives miles aw'y from 'ere," said Pedler after a meditated period.</p> + +<p>"So do I," supplemented Aggam.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," replied McAllister. "I've had this cab all night, +anyhow, and I want to celebrate. You see, this is the first time I ever +got ahead of my tailor."</p> + +<p>Another long pause ensued. They were not a talkative lot, surely. +McAllister's flow of language absolutely deserted him. He could think of +no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler finally came to his +assistance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>"I'm thirty-seven year old, an' this is the fust time I've ever ridden +in a 'ansom."</p> + +<p>"Jiminy!" exclaimed McAllister. "You don't say so! What luck!"</p> + +<p>"Fust time for me, too," added Aggam.</p> + +<p>After this burst of confidence the three rode in utter silence. At the +Metropole the clubman jumped out and bade his companions good-night.</p> + +<p>As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start, Aggam +leaned forward rather apologetically.</p> + +<p>"You must hexcuse me," he remarked, "but I don't want to sail hunder +false colors, and I feel as if I hort to s'y that while I'm a Socialist, +I 'ave no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism."</p> + +<p>"Well, neither have I," replied McAllister encouragingly, an answer +which probably puzzled Mr. Aggam for a fortnight.</p> + + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="McAllisters_Marriage" id="McAllisters_Marriage"></a>McAllister's Marriage</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>The Bar Harbor train slowly came to a stop beside a little wooden +station. From over the marshes crept a breath of salty freshness that +tried vainly to steal in through the open windows of the Pullman, only +intensifying the stifling heat inside.</p> + +<p>McAllister arose and made his way to the platform in search of air. A +spare, wrinkled octogenarian was in the difficult act of lifting a small +girl in a calico dress to the platform of the day coach, the child +clinging obstinately to the old gentleman's neck and refusing to +disentangle herself.</p> + +<p>"Mercy, Abby! Do leggo!" he remonstrated. "Thar, ef ye don't, I'll ask +that man thar to hoist ye!"</p> + +<p>The little girl reluctantly let go her hold and allowed herself to be +placed on the lowest step.</p> + +<p>"That's a good girl," continued her guardian; then addressing +McAllister, he inquired conversationally:</p> + +<p>"Be ye goin' to Bangor?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>"How's that? Ye-es, I believe I am. At least the train passes through," +responded McAllister doubtfully, apprehensive of undesirable +complications.</p> + +<p>The old fellow produced from his waistcoat-pocket a ticket which he +placed in the child's hand. Then he turned her around and gave her a +little push up the steps.</p> + +<p>"Wall, jest keep an eye on Abby, will ye?"</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Uncle!" cried the little girl, climbing laboriously up to +where the clubman stood and making a little bow, which he gravely +returned.</p> + +<p>"I don't know . . ." he began.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," explained the farmer. "Her aunt'll meet her. Jest +see she don't bother no one. Lemme pass ye her duds."</p> + +<p>The octogenarian forthwith handed up to McAllister a cloth valise, a +pasteboard box, and a large paper bag.</p> + +<p>"Her lunch is in the bag," said he. "Don't let her drink none o' that +ice-water. My wife says it hez germs into it."</p> + +<p>"But I don't . . ." gasped our friend.</p> + +<p>"Be keerful o' that box," interrupted her uncle. "There's two dozen +hen's eggs in it. If she's good, you might buy her a cent's worth o' +peppermints to Portland." He fumbled uncertainly in his breeches' +pocket.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>"Do you expect me . . ." ejaculated McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Give my love to yer aunt," added the other as the train started. +"Good-by!" And pulling a large red pocket-handkerchief from his +coat-tails he fanned the air vaguely as they moved slowly away from him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it nice!" cried the little girl, who appeared quite at ease +with her new acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"Ye-es—certainly—of course," he replied, wondering what he should do +with his charge. "I suppose we had better go in and sit down, don't you +think?"</p> + +<p>He stood aside waiting for her to precede him into the parlor car.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely place!" she exclaimed as her eyes rested upon the +rosewood and the velvet chairs. "Am I really to ride in this?"</p> + +<p>"Why, where should you ride, to be sure?" he inquired, beginning to +regain his self-possession.</p> + +<p>"The car had iron seats before," she informed him.</p> + +<p>"How extraordinary!"</p> + +<p>"This is an ever so much prettier train," she added. "I'm afraid I'll +hurt the plush." She took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it +out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> expression swung round +another chair and sat down opposite.</p> + +<p>"My name's Abigail Martha Higgins," she said, taking off her little +straw hat. "I live in Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle Moses +Higgins. Aunt doesn't love his wife."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" sympathized McAllister.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother are in heaven," she continued in matter-of-fact +tones. "Up there. Wouldn't you hate to live up in the sky and do +nothin'?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly should," he answered with gravity.</p> + +<p>"We all came down from there, you know. Do you think we were born all in +one piece, or put together afterward?"</p> + +<p>McAllister pondered.</p> + +<p>"What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"McAllister," he replied.</p> + +<p>"That's a funny name!" she commented. "It sounds like McCafferty—that's +Deacon Brewer's hired man's name."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" asked the clubman apologetically, feeling that his +parents had done him an irreparable injury.</p> + +<p>"I'll call you Mister Mac," added the child, "and you may call me Abby, +'cause I'm only eight. Do you live to Boston?"</p> + +<p>"No; New York. An awful way off."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>"Have they got a Free-Will Meetin'-house there?" she inquired knowingly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, feeling wofully ignorant of all +matters of real importance.</p> + +<p>"Then it must be a very small place," she decided. "All big places have +a Free-Will Meetin'-house, Uncle Moses says."</p> + +<p>At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire if his master wanted +anything.</p> + +<p>"Is there a Free-Will Meetin'-house in New York?" inquired the clubman.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a Baptist place of +worship, sir," he answered solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Is that your brother?" inquired Abby.</p> + +<p>"No—" hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to what the valet's equivalent +would be in his little friend's world.</p> + +<p>"What's your name?" inquired Abby.</p> + +<p>"Wilkins, miss," answered the valet.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely name!" cried Abby. "It's much nicer than his'n."</p> + +<p>Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast.</p> + +<p>"That box is chuck full of eggs," announced Abby. "I wonder where the +hens get them."</p> + +<p>"I give it up," said the clubman.</p> + +<p>"We have a black horse on our farm," she continued. "It used to be a +girl, but now it's a boy."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>"Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have short hair, you know—that's +how you tell."</p> + +<p>At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the background.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Moses' wife don't love children," the child continued. "She has +the rheumatiz in her thigh."</p> + +<p>"But she must like <i>you</i>, Abby," urged her new friend.</p> + +<p>"No, she don't. She don't love me 'cause I love Aunt Abby, an' Aunt Abby +don't love her."</p> + +<p>"I see," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>The clubman soon became acquainted with Abby's entire family history, +and rapidly realized that the mind of a child was a thing undreamed of +in his philosophy. As she pattered on he conversed gravely with her, +trying to answer her multitudinous questions. All her world was good +save Uncle Moses' wife, and her confidence in the clubman was entire. +She admired his clothes, his watch-chain, and his scarf-pin, and ended +by directing him to read to her, which McAllister obediently did. None +of the magazines seemed to contain suitable articles, so with some +misgivings he purchased various colored weeklies, remembering vaguely +his own delight in the misadventures of certain chubby ladies and stout +gentlemen upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> rear pages, perused furtively when waiting at the +barber's to get his hair cut as a child. For half an hour her interest +remained tense, but then she wearied of using her eyes, and, patting +McAllister's fat chin, ordered him to tell her a story. Here was a new +difficulty. He had never told a story in his life, but there was no help +for it, no escape, as she climbed into his lap.</p> + +<p>"Begin with once onup-a-time," she ordered.</p> + +<p>"Well," he obeyed "Once 'onup' a time there was a man who lived in a +club——"</p> + +<p>"A what?" sharply interrupted Abby.</p> + +<p>"A big white house with heaps of rooms," he corrected. "And as he had +nobody dependent on him, all he had to do was to eat and sleep and look +at the sky."</p> + +<p>"Didn't he have any children?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody in the world," answered McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Poor man!" sighed Abby. "Didn't he keep any hens?"</p> + +<p>"Not even a hen!"</p> + +<p>"I know a big house just like that," said Abby. "Old Captain Barnard +used to live in it. Wasn't he lonely?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Did anyone live with him?"</p> + +<p>"His hired man," answered the clubman with a smile, looking down the car +to where Wilkins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> sat in solitary grandeur. "And by and by he got so old +and so fat that nobody would marry him, while the wives of other men he +knew forgot to ask him to dinner."</p> + +<p>"Poor dear man!" murmured Abby, "I should think he'd have wished he +hadn't been born."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes he did," answered the story-teller. "And he longed for some +people to really care for him, and for some little children to keep him +company."</p> + +<p>"Did he have a cow?"</p> + +<p>"No, not even a cow."</p> + +<p>Abby laughed sleepily.</p> + +<p>"But didn't he ever have any fun?"</p> + +<p>"He thought he did, but he didn't, really."</p> + +<p>"I'm awful sorry for him!" said Abby. "If I met him I would give him my +white hen."</p> + +<p>"He used to pay for dinners for people, and send them flowers and candy +and go to see them——"</p> + +<p>"Sunday afternoons?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; Sunday afternoons."</p> + +<p>"He was really very nice," said Abby.</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" asked McAllister eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. Don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"So-so," said the clubman.</p> + +<p>"But he never hurt anyone?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>"No, never."</p> + +<p>"And gave the hired man plenty of victuals?"</p> + +<p>"Much more than was good for him," said McAllister with conviction.</p> + +<p>"I like that man," said Abby. "He was a good man."</p> + +<p>"But some people said he was an idle fellow," insisted McAllister.</p> + +<p>"But that didn't do anybody any harm," said Abby.</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>"And he wasn't cross?"</p> + +<p>"No, almost never."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Abby, "he was a good man, and I will marry him if he asks +me."</p> + +<p>And with that she dropped her head on his arm and fell fast asleep.</p> + +<p>"Can't I hold the young—person, for you, sir?" inquired the valet in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"Certainly <i>not</i>," responded McAllister.</p> + +<p>Over the flitting pines circled the crows, black dots against the deep +blue; lazy cows stood knee-deep in fields frosted with daisies and +watched seemingly without interest the passing train; little puffs of +white in serried ranks moved slowly out of the north, never approaching +nearer, dissolving at the meridian; on the near horizon a line of indigo +mountains tumbled southward; white farm-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>houses swept slowly by; at +dusty crossings gray-whiskered farmers sat loosely holding the reins in +amiable conformity with the injunction painted upon weather-worn signs +to "Look out for the engine"; at times the train passed over rocky +bedded streams dammed for milling, and once or twice across rivers half +choked with logs upon which men ran like water-bugs; then through red +brick towns, and towns with square granite stores and offices, and towns +of white and green, marking the three disconnected periods of the +architectural development of Maine; and everywhere the pines.</p> + +<p>In the midst of a stretch of thick woods the engine began to whistle +frantically. A brakeman, followed closely by a conductor, hurried +through the car. The wheels ground harshly and the train gradually +ceased to move. Ahead could be heard the loud pounding of the engine and +the roar of escaping steam. Volumes of smoke, white and black, rolled +over the pines and cast rapidly changing shadows upon the ground. +Wilkins, who had gone forth to seek information, now returned.</p> + +<p>"There's a freight wreck just a'ead, sir. The conductor says as how we +shall be delayed 'ere at least nine hours."</p> + +<p>McAllister glanced down at the little form in his arms. It had not +moved. Gently he carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> her along the aisle, out upon the platform, +and down the steps to the ground. Still she did not awake. Up the track +he could see groups of excited passengers gesticulating around grotesque +piles of wreckage upon which a locomotive lay with its wheels in the +air. Beside the track stretched a pine grove, its soft carpet of needles +flecked with sunlight. At the foot of one giant tree, on a bed of gray +moss, the clubman laid his little charge and threw himself at her feet. +An irritable family of nervous crows flapped noisily away to the other +side of the track, assembled in angry consultation in a hemlock, deputed +a spy, who cautiously reconnoitred, and, on the latter's report, +returned. At a safe distance Wilkins sat upon a windfall, and with one +eye upon his sleeping master smoked rapidly one of McAllister's cigars.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Higgins got yer telegram," answered Deacon Brewer, as they +drove slowly along the river in the dusty heat of the early July +morning. "Ef she hadn't I reckon she'd 'a' gone nigh crazy."</p> + +<p>They were in an open two-seated buck-board. McAllister, holding Abby in +his lap, occupied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> front seat with the Deacon, while Wilkins sat +behind with the valise and the pasteboard box.</p> + +<p>"It was a tiresome delay and really a very fortunate escape," responded +McAllister. "Abby behaved beautifully."</p> + +<p>"She's a good child," said the Deacon. "Her mother was a fine woman, and +she's goin' to be just like her."</p> + +<p>"Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, rubbing her eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Most," answered the Deacon. "Are ye hungry?"</p> + +<p>"I got her some bread and milk at a farm-house," explained McAllister, +"but none of us have had any breakfast yet."</p> + +<p>"Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins'll be prepared for ye," said the Deacon. +"She's a liberal woman an' a smart woman, but all the same, the farm's +going to be sold for taxes next week."</p> + +<p>Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started and looked anxiously at +her at this piece of intelligence.</p> + +<p>"She don't know nuthin' about it," said the farmer. "Miss Higgins can't +run a hard-scrabble farm, nor no one can and make a livin' out'n it. It +ain't worth five dollars an acre."</p> + +<p>"What will she do?" asked the clubman.</p> + +<p>"Darn ef I know," responded the other. "She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> kin help around some, I +guess. Deacon Giddings has a powerful lot of company. 'N any woman kin +sew. She kin make out, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"But the child?" whispered McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Her Uncle Moses'll hev to take her," answered the Deacon.</p> + +<p>"Jiminy!" ejaculated the clubman, recalling the little girl's +description of her uncle's wife. "She won't like that."</p> + +<p>"Beggars can't be choosers," said the Deacon dryly.</p> + +<p>A turn in the road brought them within view of a small, low farm-house, +with good-sized barn, lying in a field between the woods and the river, +here about a quarter of a mile in width. The pines grew close to the +road upon the left, but upon the other side the land had been well +cleared to the Penobscot's bank. Huge piles of stones, ten or twelve +feet long, five or so broad, and four or five feet high, were monuments +to the energy and industry of some former owner.</p> + +<p>"Gosh, how Henery worked to clear this farm!" remarked the Deacon. "He +hove stone for twenty years, an' then died. Look at them trees!"</p> + +<p>He pointed dramatically to a large orchard containing row upon row of +young apple-trees.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the wheels a woman came slowly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> out of the side door and +watched their approach. She had the pale, sickly countenance of the wife +of the inland Maine farmer, and her limp dress ill concealed the +angularity of her form. Her eyes showed that she had passed a sleepless +night. McAllister leaped out and lifted Abby down. The woman neither +spoke to nor kissed the child, but clutched her tightly in her arms. +Then she nodded to the new-comers.</p> + +<p>"I'm obliged to ye, Deacon Brewer," she said. "Is this the man who sent +the telegram? Won't ye come in and set down?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," cried Abby ecstatically. "Get out, Mr. Wilkins! I want to +show you the black horse, and all the hens."</p> + +<p>"I must be gettin' back," muttered the Deacon.</p> + +<p>"Could you let us have a bite of breakfast?" inquired McAllister. "My +train doesn't go until twelve o'clock." To return to Bangor at this +particular time did not suit him.</p> + +<p>"Such as it is," replied Miss Higgins.</p> + +<p>"Could you arrange to call out for me in an hour or so?" asked +McAllister.</p> + +<p>"I reckon I kin," said the Deacon with some reluctance. "I'll hev ter +charge ye fifty cents."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>Wilkins took down the parcels, and the Deacon drove slowly away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>"I'll scrape somethin' together in a few minutes," said Miss Higgins. +"How much was that telegram?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right!" said the abashed clubman.</p> + +<p>"No, it ain't. Money's money. Was it ez much ez a quarter?"</p> + +<p>McAllister acknowledged the amount.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," commented Miss Higgins. "It was wuth it." She had the +money all ready and handed it to McAllister.</p> + +<p>Etiquette seemed to demand its acceptance.</p> + +<p>"Did you say your name was McAllister? Who's this man?"</p> + +<p>"His name is Wilkins."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Aunt Abby, "one of ye might split up that log, if ye don't +mind, while I get the breakfast."</p> + +<p>She turned into the house.</p> + +<p>McAllister looked doubtfully at the wood-pile.</p> + +<p>"Let Mr. Wilkins chop the wood!" shouted Abby; "I want to show you the +ba-an."</p> + +<p>"Wilkins," said McAllister, "wood-chopping is an art sanctified in this +country by tradition."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir," answered Wilkins.</p> + +<p>Abby grasped McAllister's hand and tugged him joyfully over the +poverty-stricken farm. They visited the orchard, the pig-sty, the +hen-house, ad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>mired the horse that had been a girl, and ended at the +water's edge.</p> + +<p>"We ketch salmon here in the spring," explained Abby; "and smelts."</p> + +<p>Across the eddying river quiet farms slept in the hot sunshine. Two men +in a dory swung slowly up-stream. At their feet the clear water rippled +against the stones. In his mind the clubman pictured the stifling city +and the squalor of relative existence there.</p> + +<p>"It's beautiful, Abby," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's the loveliest place in the whole world," she answered, holding his +hand tightly. "And I shall never, never go away."</p> + +<p>Behind them came the shrill tones of Aunt Abby's voice bidding them to +breakfast. Wilkins, coatless, was bearing some mangled fragments of log +toward the kitchen. His beaded face spoke unutterable dejection.</p> + +<p>"Well, set daown; it's all there is," said Miss Higgins.</p> + +<p>McAllister sat, and Abby climbed into a high chair. Wilkins remained +standing.</p> + +<p>"Ain't ye goin' to set?" inquired Miss Higgins.</p> + +<p>Wilkins reddened.</p> + +<p>"Well, ye be the most bashful man I ever met," remarked the lady. "Set +daown and eat yer victuals."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>"Sit down," said McAllister, and for the second time master and man +shared a meal.</p> + +<p>The little room was bare of decoration except for some colored +lithographs and wood-cuts, which for the most part represented the +funeral corteges of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital scenes +and the sinking of a steamship. A rug soiled to a dull drab made a sort +of mud spot before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of the +antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at one end stood the stove, +and hard by two fixed tubs. Everything except the carpet was +scrupulously clean.</p> + +<p>Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of steaming boiled eggs, half a +loaf of white bread, and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter.</p> + +<p>"I'll have some coffee for ye in a minute," she remarked as she placed +the dishes before them.</p> + +<p>McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tumbler and cut the bread.</p> + +<p>"What might be your business?" inquired Miss Higgins.</p> + +<p>"Er—well—" hesitated McAllister. "I've travelled quite a bit."</p> + +<p>"I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked the hostess +reminiscently. "He travelled everywheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur +as St. Louis?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>"No," said McAllister. "My line never took me so far."</p> + +<p>"Andrew died there—of the water. What's your business?" continued Miss +Higgins to Wilkins.</p> + +<p>"I'm with Mr. McAllister, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Oh! same firm?"</p> + +<p>Wilkins coughed violently and evaded the interrogation.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wilkins handles gents' clothing, underwear, haberdashery, and +notions," interposed McAllister gravely.</p> + +<p>Wilkins swayed in his seat and grew purple around the gills.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Wilkins!" cried Abby, "what's the matter? You will burst! Take +a drink of water."</p> + +<p>The valet obediently tried to do as she bade him.</p> + +<p>"How much is land worth around here?" asked the clubman. "And what do +you raise?"</p> + +<p>Miss Higgins looked at him suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"We raise pertaters, some corn and oats, and get a purty fair apple crop +in the autumn."</p> + +<p>"Must have been hard work clearing the farm," added McAllister, "if one +can judge by the piles of stones."</p> + +<p>"Work? I guess 'twas work!" sniffed Miss Higgins. "You travellin' men +hain't got no idee of what real work is. There ain't a stone in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +nineteen acres of farm land. Henery picked 'em all up by hand."</p> + +<p>"Are you Abby's guardian?" asked McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Higgins. "I'm all the folks she's got, except Moses, +down to Portsmouth, and a lot of good he is with that wife he's got!"</p> + +<p>Wilkins now asked awkwardly to be excused.</p> + +<p>"That friend of yourn seems to be a dummy!" remarked Miss Higgins after +the valet had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"He isn't much in the social line," admitted his master. "But he knows +his business."</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' out to show Mr. Wilkins the beehive," cried Abby, slipping +down from her chair. "Come right along, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll be there in just a minute," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>Abby grabbed up her sunbonnet and ran skipping out of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"She's a dear little girl," said McAllister. "I hope she'll have a +chance to get a good education."</p> + +<p>"Education behind a counter in Bangor is all she'll get," answered her +aunt.</p> + +<p>They sat in silence for a moment, and then McAllister, feeling the +craving induced by habit, drew an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked:</p> + +<p>"Do you object to smoking?"</p> + +<p>Miss Abby bristled.</p> + +<p>"I don't want none o' them se-gars in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> house, so long's I'm in it!" +she exclaimed. "Ain't out-doors good enough for you, without stinkin' up +the kitchen?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean any offence," apologized McAllister. "I'll wait till I go +out, of course."</p> + +<p>"One of the devil's tricks!" sniffed Miss Abby.</p> + +<p>McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and stepped to the window. The +coffee had been execrable, but a benign influence animated him. Down the +slope toward the gently flowing Penobscot little Abby was leading +Wilkins by the hand. The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked +pasture beyond the barn.</p> + +<p>"What did you say the farm was worth?" asked the clubman.</p> + +<p>"There's a hundred and eighty-one acres o' woodland, and the cleared +land just makes two hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred +dollars."</p> + +<p>"I know a man who wants a farm. He says some day all this river front +will be valuable for a summer resort. I'm authorized to buy for him. +I'll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a bargain?"</p> + +<p>Miss Abby turned pale.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know! It seems dreadful to sell it, after all the years +Henery put into cleanin' of it up. I was hopin' somehow that maybe I +could get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> work on the farm from them as bought it and keep Abby here +for a while longer."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said McAllister. "My principal is buying it on a +speculation. You can stay indefinitely."</p> + +<p>"How about rent?" asked Miss Abby.</p> + +<p>"You can take care of the farm, and he won't charge you any rent."</p> + +<p>The terms having been finally arranged to Miss Abby's satisfaction, +McAllister drew a small check-book from his pocket and filled out a +voucher for the amount.</p> + +<p>"We can sign the papers later," said he with a smile.</p> + +<p>Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should +turn out to be no good?"</p> + +<p>"Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister.</p> + +<p>He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his +stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following:</p> + +<p>"I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased +by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of +value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my +name and affix a seal."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back +and made use of it as a fragmentary seal.</p> + +<p>While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency of this instrument, +McAllister felt that its intendment was unmistakable. Having replaced +his pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust it into his pocket. +Just at this moment Miss Higgins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, +who was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the orchard McAllister +could see, as he stepped to the door, little Abby still tugging along +Wilkins, whose massive and emotionless face was glistening with the +heat.</p> + +<p>"Hit's very 'ot, sir!" he remarked tentatively to his master. "I've been +to see the 'ives."</p> + +<p>"How funny Mr. Wilkins talks!" said Abby. "He told me he knew a boy once +who got stung, and said the bee <i>bit 'im in 'is 'ead</i>! Do all drummers +talk like that?"</p> + +<p>"Drummers!" exclaimed Wilkins.</p> + +<p>"Aunt said you were both drummers; I s'pose you left your drums +somewhere. I don't like 'em; they make too much music. They have them in +the circus parade in Bangor every year."</p> + +<p>"Be you folks ready to start?" inquired Deacon Brewer. "Purty nice view +of the water from here, ain't they? There's a good well on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> place, +too, and a few boat-loads of manure would give you crops to beat—all. +Don't know enybody thet wants to speckalate a little in farmin' land, do +ye? This here is a good, likely place. Reckon you kin buy it cheap."</p> + +<p>"Sh-h!" said McAllister, laying his finger on his lips.</p> + +<p>"No one sha'n't ever buy this farm," said Abby; "I'm goin' to live here +always."</p> + +<p>"Wall," said the Deacon, "better be movin'. I don't like to keep the +mare standin' in the sun."</p> + +<p>"Are you goin' away?" cried Abby in agonized tones. "You'll come back +soon, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so, very soon," said McAllister. "Don't you want to show me the +boy-horse before I start?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, seizing his hand.</p> + +<p>The stout clubman and the little girl walked slowly across the +grass-grown drive to the daisy field beside the barn, talking busily.</p> + +<p>"Your friend's bought this farm," announced Miss Abby to Wilkins.</p> + +<p>"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet.</p> + +<p>"By gum!" exclaimed the Deacon. "What did he give?"</p> + +<p>"Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars."</p> + +<p>"Gee!" said the Deacon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>"An' we're to stay on rent-free 's long 's we want!"</p> + +<p>"I swan!" commented the pillar of the local Baptist Church. "Some folks +doos hev luck!"</p> + +<p>He went over to adjust a bit of harness.</p> + +<p>"It'll keep 'em out o' the poor farm," he muttered. "But, by gosh, thet +feller must be a fool!"</p> + +<p>Over in the daisy field, McAllister, to the wonder of the boy-horse, +pulled the despised cigar from his pocket, cut off the end, and began to +smoke with infinite satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"What a beautiful, beautiful, lovely ring!" exclaimed Abby joyfully, +examining with delight the embossed paper of red and gold.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember about the lonely man who lived in the big white house I +told you of?" asked McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," sighed Abby. "Poor man! he was so good, and nobody +loved him."</p> + +<p>"Do you love him?" asked McAllister.</p> + +<p>"Dear man! I love him, all my heart!" cried the child.</p> + +<p>"Then the man is very, very happy," said McAllister softly.</p> + +<p>Overhead a single black crow, wheeling out of a stumpy pine, circled to +investigate this strange love-scene. Satisfied of its propriety, he +cawed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> loudly and resettled himself upon the shaking topmost bough.</p> + +<p>McAllister drew the golden band from his cigar and took the folded paper +from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Here's a love-letter," said he. "Your aunt will read it for you when +I've gone."</p> + +<p>Abby took it sadly.</p> + +<p>"Now hold up your left hand," said McAllister, smiling. As he slipped +the paper circle over her fourth finger he said gravely:</p> + +<p>"'With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee +endow.' Give me a kiss."</p> + +<p>She did so, in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Now we are married," said he.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Jailbird" id="The_Jailbird"></a>The Jailbird</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>Now it had come, he was not quite sure that he wanted it. For a moment +he longed to go back and join the men marching away to the shoe-shop. +Inside those walls he had never had to think of what he should eat or +drink, or wherewithal he should be clothed.</p> + +<p>Over against the gray parapet echoed the buzzing of the electric cars, a +strange sound to ears accustomed only to the tramp of marching feet, the +harsh voices of wardens, and the clang of iron doors. Below him the +harbor waves danced and sparkled, ferry-boats rushed from shore to +shore, big ships moved slowly toward the distant islands and the still +more distant sea, while near at hand the busy street flowed like a +river, which he was compelled to swim but in which he already felt the +millstone of his past dragging him down.</p> + +<p>His heart sank as he asked himself what life could hold for him. How +often, sitting on his prison bed with his head in his hands, he had +pict<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>ured joyously the present moment! Now he felt like a child who has +lost its parent's hand in the passing throng.</p> + +<p>There had been a day, the year before, when his old mother's letter had +not come, and, instead, only a line of stereotyped consolation from the +country pastor to the village ne'er-do-well. No one had seen him choke +over his bowl of soup and bread, or noticed the tears that trickled down +upon the shoe-leather in his hand. She had been the only one who had +ever written to him. There was nothing now to take him back to the +little cluster of white cottages among the hills where he was born.</p> + +<p>As he stood there alone facing the world, he yearned to throw himself +once more upon his cot and weep against its iron bars—for three years +the only arms outstretched to comfort him.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>The Judge concluded his charge with the usual, "I leave the case with +you, gentlemen," and the jury, collecting their miscellaneous garments, +slowly retired. Leary, the County Detective assigned to "Part One," +pushed an indictment across the desk, whispering:</p> + +<p>"Try <i>him</i>; he's a <i>short</i> one," for it was getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> late, and the +afternoon sun was already gilding the dingy cornices of the big +court-room, now almost deserted save by a lounger or two half asleep on +the benches.</p> + +<p>"People against Graham," called Dockbridge, the youthful deputy +assistant district attorney.</p> + +<p>"Fill the box!" shouted the clerk. "James Graham to the bar!" and +another dozen "good men and true" answered to their names and settled +themselves comfortably in their places.</p> + +<p>At the rear the door from the pen opened and the prisoner entered, +escorted by an officer. He walked stolidly around the room, passed +through the gate held open for him, and took his seat at the table +reserved for the defendant and his attorney. There appeared, however, to +be no lawyer to represent him.</p> + +<p>"Have you counsel?" casually inquired the clerk.</p> + +<p>"No," answered the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crookshanks, please look after the rights of this defendant," +directed the Judge.</p> + +<p>The prisoner, a thick-set man of medium height, half rose from his seat, +and, turning toward the weazened little lawyer, shook his head rather +impatiently. It was obvious that they were not strangers. After a +whispered conversation Crookshanks stepped forward and addressed the +Court.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>"The defendant declines counsel, and stands upon his constitutional +right to defend himself," he said apologetically.</p> + +<p>There was a slight lifting of heads among the jury, and a few sharp +glances in the direction of the prisoner, which seemed in no wise to +disconcert him.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then; proceed," ordered the Court.</p> + +<p>The prosecutor rapidly outlined his case—one of simple "larceny from +the person." The People would show that the defendant had taken a wallet +from the pocket of the complaining witness. He had been caught <i>in +flagrante delicto</i>. There were several eye-witnesses. The case would +occupy but a few moments, unless, to be sure, the prisoner had some +witnesses. The young assistant, who seemed slightly nervous at the +unusual prospect of conducting a trial against a lawyerless defendant +(savoring as it did of a hand-to-hand combat in the days of trial by +battle), started to comment upon the novelty of the situation, gave it +up, and to cover his retreat called his first witness.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge was very young indeed. He was undergoing the process of being +"whipped into shape" by the Judge, a kind but unrelenting observer of +all the technicalities of the criminal branch, and this was one of his +first cases. He could work up a pretty fair argument in his office,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> but +he now felt his inexperience and began to wish it was time to adjourn, +or that his senior, "Colonel Bob," the stout Nestor of Part One, whose +long practice made him ready for any emergency, would return. But +"Colonel Bob" could have proved an excellent alibi at that moment, and +the battle had to be fought out alone.</p> + +<p>The prisoner, meanwhile, was sitting calm but vigilant, pen in hand. His +face, square and strong, with firmly marked mouth and chin, showed no +sign of emotion, but under their heavy brows his black eyes played +uneasily between the Court and jury. Evidently not more than thirty +years of age, his attitude and expression showed intelligence and alert +capacity.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Mr. District Attorney," again admonished the Judge; and +Dockbridge, pulling himself together, commenced to examine the +complainant.</p> + +<p>The prisoner was now straining eye and ear to catch every look and word +from the witness-stand. Hardly had the complainant opened his mouth +before the defendant had objected to the answer, the objection had been +sustained, and the reply stricken out. He continued to object from time +to time, and his points were so well taken that he dominated not only +the examination but the witness as well, and the jury presently found +themselves lis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>tening to a cross-examination as skilfully conducted as +if by a trained practitioner.</p> + +<p>But, although the defendant showed himself a better lawyer than his +adversary, it was apparent that his battle was a losing one. Point after +point he contested stubbornly, yet the case loomed clear against him.</p> + +<p>The People having "rested," the defendant announced that he had no +witnesses, and would go to the jury on the evidence, or, rather "failure +of evidence," as he put it, of the prosecution. It was done with great +adroitness, and none of the jury perceived that, by refusing to accept +counsel, he had made it impossible to take the stand in his own behalf, +and had thus escaped the necessity of subjecting himself to +cross-examination as to his past career.</p> + +<p>If the spectators had expected a piteous appeal for mercy or a burst of +prison rhetoric, they were disappointed. The prisoner summed his case up +carefully, arguing that there was a reasonable doubt upon the evidence +to which he was entitled; begged the jury not to condemn him merely +because he appeared before them as one charged with a crime; appealed to +them for justice; and at the close, for the first time forgetting the +proprieties of the situation, exclaimed, "I did not do it, gentlemen! I +did not do it! There is an absolute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> failure of proof! You cannot find +that I took the purse from the old gentleman on such evidence! It is all +a lie!"</p> + +<p>It was his one false touch. To raise the issue of veracity is usually a +mistake on the part of a defendant, and the defiant look in Graham's +eyes might well have suggested conscious guilt.</p> + +<p>As he paused for a moment after this concluding sentence, an Italian +band came marching down Centre Street playing the dead march. Some +patriot was being borne to his last sleep in an alien land. Outside the +court-house it paused for a moment with one melancholy crash of funeral +chords. It seemed a vibrant echo of the discord of his own fruitless +life. At the same moment a ray from the red sun setting over the Tombs +fell upon the prisoner's face.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge summed the case up in the stock fashion, and then for half an +hour the Judge addressed the jury in a calm and dispassionate analysis +of the evidence, not hesitating to compare the abilities of the +prosecutor and prisoner to the disadvantage of the former, saying in +this respect: "Neither must you be influenced by any feeling of +admiration at the capacity shown by this defendant to conduct his own +case. If he has appeared more than a match for the prosecution, it must +not affect the weight which you give to the evidence against him."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>"More than a match for the prosecution!" That had been rather rough, to +be sure, and the fifth juror had looked at Dockbridge and grinned.</p> + +<p>The jury filed out, the prisoner was led back to the pen, the Judge +vanished into his chambers, and the prosecutor, his feet on the counsel +table, lit a cigar and indulged in retrospection. The benches were +deserted. There was no one but himself left in the court-room. Usually, +when a jury retired, there was some mother or wife or daughter, with her +handkerchief to her eyes, waiting for them to come back, but this fellow +had none such. He had fought alone. Well, damn him, he deserved to! But +who the deuce was he? It had been clever on his part not to take the +stand. Strange to be trying a man you had never seen before—of whom you +knew nothing, who had merely side-stepped into your life and would soon +back out of it. "Poor devil!" thought the deputy as he lit another +Perfecto.</p> + +<p>Now the jury, as juries sometimes do, wanted to talk and had a consuming +desire to smoke, so they both smoked and talked; and when O'Reilly came +to turn on the lights in the court-room, they were still out, and +Dockbridge had fallen fast asleep.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>At half past ten o'clock the big court-room still remained almost empty. +Inside the rail the clerk and the stenographer, having returned from a +short visit to Tom Foley's saloon across the way, were languidly +discussing the condition of the stock-market. A nebulous illumination in +the vastness above only served to increase the shadowy dimness of the +room. The talk of the pair made a scarcely audible whisper in the great +silence. Outside, an electric car could be heard at intervals; within, +only the slam of iron doors, subdued by distance, echoed through the +corridors.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge had awakened, and, lounging before his table, was trying to +get up a case for the morrow. The Judge had gone home for dinner. One by +one the court attendants had strayed away, coming back to push open the +heavy door, and, after a furtive glance at the empty bench, as silently +to depart.</p> + +<p>Below in the stifling pen, alone behind the bars, James Graham sat +staring vacantly at the stained cement floor. A savage rage surged +through him. Curse them! That infernal Judge had not given him half a +chance. Once more he recalled that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> day when he had stepped out into the +sunlight a free man. Again he saw his iron bed, his cobbling bench, his +coarse food, his hated stripes. He choked at the thought of them. Only +two months before he had been at liberty. Think of it! Good clothes, +good food, pleasure! God, what a fool! A dull pain worked through his +body; he remembered that he had not eaten since seven that morning.</p> + +<p>Outside in the corridor the keeper was smoking a cigar. The fumes of it +drifted in and mingled with the stench of the pen. It almost nauseated +him. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The act +brought rushing back the memories of his childhood, and of how, every +night, he would lay his head upon his mother's knee and say, "Have I +been a good boy to-day?" A sob shook him, and he pressed closer against +the wall.</p> + +<p>A sound of moving feet roused him suddenly. A door swung open, shut +again, and voices came with a draught of air from the corridor.</p> + +<p>The keeper waiting outside stirred and stood up, looking regretfully at +his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Get up there, you!"</p> + +<p>The prisoner obeyed perfunctorily, and followed the officer heavily up +the stairs and down the dirty passage to the court-room. Outside, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +shrank from entering. Those eyes—those eyes! That hard, pitiless Judge! +But he was pushed roughly forward. Then his old pugnacity returned; he +set his teeth, and entered.</p> + +<p>He trudged around the room and stopped at the bar before the clerk. On +his right sat the twelve silent men. On the bench the white-haired Judge +was gazing at him with sad but penetrating eyes.</p> + +<p>It was different from the mellow glow of the afternoon. They were all so +still—like ghosts—and all around, all about him! He wanted to shout +out at them, "Speak! for God's sake, speak!" But something stifled him. +The overwhelming power of the law held him speechless.</p> + +<p>The clerk rose without looking at the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?"</p> + +<p>"We have," answered the foreman, rising and standing with his eyes upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>"How say you, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Guilty of grand larceny in the first degree."</p> + +<p>The prisoner involuntarily pressed his hand to his heart. He had +weathered that blast before and could do so again. Dockbridge gave him a +look full of pity. Graham hated him for it. That child! That snivelling +little fool! He wanted none of his sympathy! His breath came faster.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +Must they all look at him? Was that a part of his trial—to be stared +down? He glared back at them. The room swam, and he saw only the stern +face on the bench above.</p> + +<p>"Name?" broke in the harsh voice of the clerk.</p> + +<p>"James Graham."</p> + +<p>"Age?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-eight."</p> + +<p>"Married, or unmarried?" "Temperate?" came the pitiless questions, all +answered in a monotone.</p> + +<p>"Ever convicted before?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the word sounded to him like +a roaring torrent. Then came once more that awful silence. The dread eye +of the Judge seared his soul.</p> + +<p>"Graham, is that the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure?"</p> + +<p>That merciless question! What had that to do with it? Why should he have +to tell them? That was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for what he +had done, but not for the past; that was not fair—he had paid for that. +He must defend himself.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Swear him," said the Judge.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>The officer took up the soiled Bible and started to place it in Graham's +hand. But the hand dropped from it.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I can't!" he faltered; "I can't—I—I—it is no use," he added +huskily.</p> + +<p>"When were you convicted?"</p> + +<p>"I served six months for petty larceny in the penitentiary six years +ago."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Quite sure? Think again!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," almost inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Swear him."</p> + +<p>Again the book was forced toward the unwilling hand, and again it was +refused.</p> + +<p>"Have you no pity—no mercy?" his dark eyes seemed to say. Then they +gave way to a look of utter hopelessness.</p> + +<p>"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two +months ago."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"O, God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner. "No, no; it +isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, +Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown—yes, six times. Twelve years. . . . +I'm a <i>jail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>bird</i>." He laughed harshly and rested wearily against the +wooden bar.</p> + +<p>"Have you anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against +you?"</p> + +<p>"Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham choked back a dry sob.</p> + +<p>The Judge slightly inclined his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm a jailbird," uttered the prisoner rapidly. "I'm only out two +months." There was no defiance in his voice now, and his eyes searched +the face of the Judge, seeking for mercy. "I had a good home—no matter +where—and a good father and mother. My father died and didn't leave +anything, and I had to work while my mother kept house. I worked on the +farm, winter and summer, summer and winter, early and late. I got sick +of it. I quit the farm and went to the city. I worked hard and did well. +I learned shorthand, and finally got a job as a court stenographer. +That's how I know about the rules of evidence. Then I got started wrong, +and by and by I took a fifty-dollar note and another fellow was sent up +for it. After that I didn't care. I had a good time—of its kind. It was +better than a dog's life on the farm, anyway. By and by I got caught, +and then it was no use. Each time I got out I swore I'd lead an honest +life. But I couldn't. A convict might as well try to eat stones as to +find a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> job. But when I got free this time I made up my mind to starve +rather than get back again. I meant it, too. I tried hard. It was no use +in Boston—they're too respectable. All a convict can do there is to get +a two weeks' job sawing wood. At the end of that time he's supposed to +be able to take care of himself. I had to give it up and come to New +York.</p> + +<p>"It was August, and I went the rounds of the offices for three weeks, +looking for work. No one wanted a stenographer, and there was nothing +else to do that I could find. Once I thought I had something on the +water-front, but the man changed his mind. A woman told me to go to Dr. +Westminster, so I went. He was kind enough, said he was very busy, but +would do all he could for me; that there was a special society for just +such cases, and he would give me a card. I thanked him, and took the +card and went to the society. The young woman there gave me two soup +tickets, and said she would do all she could for me. Next day she +reported that there was nothing doing just then, but if I could come +back in about a month they could probably do better. Then she gave me +another soup ticket. I drank the soup and then I went back to Dr. +Westminster. He was rather annoyed at seeing me again, and said that he +had done all that he could, but would bear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> me in mind; meantime, unless +I heard from him, it would be no use to call again. I'd lived on soup +for two days.</p> + +<p>"I got a meal by begging on the avenue. Then another woman told me to go +to Dr. Emberdays, and I went to <i>him</i>. By this time I must have been +looking pretty tough. He said that he would do what he could, and that +there was a society to which he would give me a line. They asked me a +devil of a lot of questions, and gave me a flannel undershirt. It made +me sick! An undershirt in August, when I wanted bread and human +sympathy!</p> + +<p>"It was no use. I gave up parsons and tried the river-front again. I +didn't get over one meal a day, and my head ached all the time. I heard +of a job at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, carrying lumber. I got a +nickel for holding a horse, and went up. It was a gang of niggers. They +got a dollar a day. The boss was a nigger, too, and didn't want cheap +white trash. I almost went down on my knees to him, and finally he said +I might come the next day. I slept in a field under a tree without +anything to eat that night, and started in at seven the next morning. +The thermometer went up to ninety-six, and we worked without stopping. I +had to lug one end of a big stick, with a nigger under the other end, +one hun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>dred yards, then go back and get another. I got so I didn't know +what I was doing. At eleven o'clock I fainted, and then I was sick, +dreadfully sick. At three the boss nigger kicked me and said I had to +stop faking or I wouldn't get paid, and so I got up and lugged until +six. But I was so ill I knew it was no use. I couldn't do that kind of +work.</p> + +<p>"It was an awfully hot night. I got off the 'L' at Thirty-fourth Street +and walked through to the avenue. When I got to the Waldorf I stopped +and looked in the windows. There were men and women in there, and +flowers and everything to eat—just what I could eat if I chose. And I +had been working with niggers, Judge, all day long until I fainted, +heaving timber. I just stood and waited, and when a chance came to +snatch a roll of bills I took it. They couldn't catch me. I was good for +ten of 'em, Judge.</p> + +<p>"After that it was easy. I met some of the fellows that had served time +with me and got back into the old life. Judge, it's no use. I don't +blame you for what you are going to do, nor I don't blame the jury. +Anyone could see through the bluff I put up. I'm guilty. I'm a jailbird, +I say. I'm done. Only I've had no chance, Judge. Give me another; let me +go back to the farm. I'll go, I swear I will! It'll kill me to go to +prison. I'm a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> human being. God meant me to live out of doors, and I've +spent half of my life inside stone walls. Let me go back to the country. +I'll go, Judge. I'm a human being. Give me one more chance."</p> + +<p>There was no sound when the prisoner stopped speaking. The judge did not +reply for a full minute. His face wore its habitual look of sadness. +Then he spoke in a very low tone, but one which was distinctly audible +in the silence of the court-room.</p> + +<p>"Graham, you have read your own sentence. You have confessed that you +cannot lead an honest life. Your fault is that you will not work. There +are a thousand farms within a hundred miles, where you could earn a +livelihood for the asking. Your intelligence is of a high order. By +ordinary application you could have risen far above your fellows. You +are a dangerous criminal—all the more dangerous for your ability. You +almost outwitted the jury, and conducted your own case more ably than +nine out of ten lawyers would have done. You have ruined your own life, +and cast away a pearl of price. You have my pity, but I cannot allow it +to affect my duty. Graham, I sentence you to State Prison for ten +years."</p> + +<p>The prisoner shivered, and covered his face with his hands. Then the +officer clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>"Gentlemen, you are excused." The Judge bowed to the jury.</p> + +<p>"Hear ye! Hear ye!" bawled the attendant: "all persons having business +with Part One of the General Sessions of the Peace, held in and for the +County of New York, may now depart. This Court stands adjourned until +to-morrow morning at half past ten o'clock."</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="In_the_Course_of_Justice" id="In_the_Course_of_Justice"></a>In the Course of Justice</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smiles +in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the +glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the +professors than the justice of it."</p></div> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>A trim, neatly dressed young man, holding in one of his carefully gloved +hands a bamboo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one brilliant +October morning some ten years ago. All about him swarms of excited +sparrows chattered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last night's +carnation languished in his button-hole, and his smoothly shaven +lantern-jaw and high cheekbones suggested the type of upper Broadway and +the Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect was not unpleasing, +especially as his sparse curly hair, just turning gray at the temples, +disclosed a forehead suggestive of more than usual intelligence in a +face otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, inscrutable smile from time to time +played upon his features, at one moment making them seem good-naturedly +sympathetic, at another, sinister.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> The casual observer would have +classed him as a student or actor. He was both, and more.</p> + +<p>From a large jewelry store across the way presently emerged a diminutive +messenger-boy carrying a small, square bundle, and turned into Broadway. +The man on the bench, known to his friends as "Supple Jim," rose +unobtrusively to his feet. The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent's +worth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on the corner, and then, +whistling loudly, dawdled upon his way. The man followed, manœuvring for +position, while the boy, now in the chewing stage and struggling +violently, lingered to inspect a mechanical toy. The supple one +accomplished a flank movement, approached, touched him on the shoulder, +and displayed a silver badge beneath his coat.</p> + +<p>"Young man, I'm from the Central Office, and need your help. About a +block from here a feller will come runnin' after you and say they've +given you the wrong bundle—see? He'll hand you another, and tell you to +give him the one you've got. He's a crook—'Paddy the Sneak'—old game! +see?"</p> + +<p>The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless.</p> + +<p>"Yep!" he replied, his eyes glistening delightedly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be right behind you; and when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> throws the game into you, +just pretend you fall to it an' hand him your box. Then I'll make the +collar. Are you on?"</p> + +<p>"Say, that's easy!" grinned the boy.</p> + +<p>"Show us what you're good for, then, and I'll have the Inspector send +you some passes for the theayter."</p> + +<p>The boy started on in business-like fashion. As his interlocutor had +predicted, a hatless "feller" overtook him, breathless, and entered into +voluble explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, and then, eyes +front, continued up the street until the detective should pounce upon +his victim. For some strange reason no such event took place. At the end +of the block he cast a furtive glance behind him. Both Paddy and the +Central Office man had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of the +fruits of their short hour of toil, dividing between them one hundred +and sixty dollars as the equivalent of the diamond stud which the box +had contained.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination which he found irresistible, +the hero of this legal memoir took a car to the Criminal Courts +Building, and made his way to the General Sessions.</p> + +<p>"Forgot my subpœna, Cap'n. I'm a witness. Just let me in, please!" he +said, with a smile of easy good-nature.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, known as The Eagle, eyed +the young man suspiciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, allowed +him to enter the court-room. The thief who had so easily secured +admittance, fought his way persistently through the throng, elbowed by +the gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best seat on the +front bench, compelled its earlier occupants to make room for him with a +calm assurance and matter-of-course superiority which they had not the +courage to oppose.</p> + +<p>Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of the calendar. A few +lawyers, with their witnesses, whose cases had gone over until the +morrow, struggled out through the crush at the door, with no perceptible +diminution in the throng within. The clerk prepared to call the roll of +the jury.</p> + +<p>"Trial jurors in the case of 'The People against Richard Monohan,' +please answer to your names."</p> + +<p>The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the trial was "on" again, +having been interrupted, evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoon +before. A venerable complainant now resumed the story of how two young +men, whose acquaintance he had made in a saloon the previous Sunday +evening, had followed him into the street, assaulted him on his way home +and robbed him of his ring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> He positively identified the prisoner as +the one who had wrenched it from his finger.</p> + +<p>Next, an officer testified to having arrested the defendant upon the old +gentleman's description, and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticket +calling for the ring in question.</p> + +<p>The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was "dead open and shut."</p> + +<p>The People "rested," and the defendant, a miserable specimen of those +wretched beings that constitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand. +His defence was absurd. He denied ever before having seen his accuser, +had not been in the saloon, had not taken the ring, had not pawned it, +had bought the ticket from a man on the corner who, he remembered, had +told him he was getting a bargain at three dollars. He could not +describe this "man," or account for his own whereabouts on the evening +in question. He had been drunk at the time. It was a story as old as +theft itself.</p> + +<p>The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the Judge once more summoned the +apostolic-looking complainant to the chair.</p> + +<p>"You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to this young man should +you be mistaken? Are you quite sure that he is one of the persons who +robbed you?" he inquired with becoming gravity.</p> + +<p>The witness raised himself by his cane, and step<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>ping down to where the +prisoner sat, gazed searchingly into his stolid face.</p> + +<p>"God knows," said he, "I wouldn't harm a hair of his head. But by all +that's holy, I swear he's the man who took my ring."</p> + +<p>A wave of interest passed over the assembled attorneys. That was +business for you! No use to cross-examine an old fellow like <i>him</i>. +There was a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could identify your other assailant if you should see +him?" continued the judge.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it," calmly replied the witness.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," continued his Honor; "see if you can do so."</p> + +<p>Half of the audience moved uneasily, and glanced longingly toward the +closed means of exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness slowly +descended, and, escorted by a policeman, began his inspection, +scrutinizing each face with care. Quietly he moved along the first +bench, and then, gently shaking his head, along the second. The interest +became breathless. A sigh of relief rippled along the settees after him. +The only spectator unmoved by what was taking place was Supple Jim, who +smiled genially at the old gentleman as the latter glanced at him and +passed on. Four rows—five rows—six rows—seven rows. At last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> there +was but one bench left, and the excitement reached the point of +ebullition. Would he find him? Were they going to be disappointed after +all? Only half a bench left! Only two men left! Ah! what was that? +People shoved one another in the back, craning their heads to see what +was doing in the distant corner where the complainant stood. Suddenly +the searcher faced the Judge, and, pointing to the last occupant of the +rear settee, announced with conviction:</p> + +<p>"Your Honor, <i>this</i> is the other man!"</p> + +<p>A murmur travelled rapidly around the court-room. Honors were even +between a Judge who could thus unerringly divine the presence of a +malefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a multitude, was able +unhesitatingly to pick out a midnight assailant.</p> + +<p>The "criminal" attorneys whispered among themselves: "Well, say! what do +you think of that! All right, eh? Well, I guess! Well, say!"</p> + +<p>This picturesque digression concluded, interest again centred in the +defendant, of whose ultimate conviction there could no longer be any +doubt.</p> + +<p>Not that the identification of the accomplice had any real significance, +since the man so ostentatiously picked out by the patriarch in court had +been caught red-handed at the time of the robbery within a block of the +saloon, was already under in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>dictment as a co-defendant, and being out +on bail had merely been brought in under a bench warrant and placed +among the spectators. But the performance had a distinct dramatic value, +and the jury could not be blamed for making the natural deduction that +if the complainant was right as regards the one, <i>ipso facto</i> he must be +as to the other. That the complainant had already identified him at the +police-station and at the Tombs seemed a matter of small importance. The +point was, apparently, that the old fellow had a good memory, and one +upon which the jury could safely rely.</p> + +<p>The Judge charged the law, and the jury retired, returning almost +immediately with a verdict of "Guilty of robbery in the first degree."</p> + +<p>The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, steadied himself, and +stood clinging to the rail, while his counsel made the usual motions for +a new trial and in arrest of judgment.</p> + +<p>"Clear the box! Clear the box!" shouted the clerk, and the jury, their +duty comfortably discharged, filed slowly out.</p> + +<p>The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the corridors. Supple Jim +waited on the steps of the building until a young woman, carrying a +baby, came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll of bills into +her hand.</p> + +<p>"Your feller's been <i>done dirt</i>!" he growled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> "Take that, and put it +out of sight. Don't give it to any <i>lawyer</i>, now! You'll need it +yourself." Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of a surface +car as it whizzed by, and vanished from her astonished gaze.</p> + +<p>Thus was an innocent man convicted, while crime triumphant played the +part of benefactor.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the warm sunshine in the +bay-window of his favorite restaurant, lazily finished a hearty +breakfast of ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the morning +paper which lay open before him. At a respectful distance his attendant +awaited the moment when this important guest should snap his fingers, +demand his damage, and call for a Carolina Perfecto. These would be +forthcoming with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more of an autocrat +on Fourteenth Street than a Pittsburg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Just +now the Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment how, the day +before, a quick-witted old gentleman had brought a malefactor to +justice. At one of the paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusing +it again and again, apparently with intense enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> of justice! He tossed +away the paper and swore softly. Of course, the only thing that had +rendered such a situation possible at all was the fact that the aged +Farlan was a superlative old ass. To hear him tell his yarn on the +stand, you would have thought that it gave him positive pain to testify +against a fellow being. Did you ever see such white hair and such a big +white beard? Why, he looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of those +fellows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped off the ring, the old +chap had already swallowed half a dozen "County Antrims," and wasn't in +a condition to remember anything or anybody. The idea of his going so +piously into court and swearing the thing on to Monohan; it gave you the +creeps! A fellow might go to "the chair" as easy as not, in just the +same way. Of course, Jim had not intended to get the young greenhorn +into any trouble when he had sold him the pawn-ticket. He had been just +an easy mark. And when the police had arrested him and found the ticket +in his pocket, there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. That +was just Monohan's luck, curse him! Let him look out for himself.</p> + +<p>But to see the patriarch carefully forging the shackles upon the wrong +man, had filled Jim with a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. The +stars in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>Think of it! That fellow Monohan could get twenty years! It made him +mad, this infernal conspiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges and +prosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, whether they got the right +man or not, so long as they got someone! What business had they to go +and convict a fellow who was innocent, and put him, "Jim," the cleverest +"gun" in the profession, in such a position? He wondered if folks in +other lines of business had so many problems to face. The stupidity of +witnesses and the trickery of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was a +perennial contest, not only of wit against wit, strategy against +strategy, but, worst of all, of wit against impenetrable dulness. Why, +if people were going to be so careless about swearing a man's liberty +away, it was time to "get on the level." You might be nailed any time by +mistake, and then your record would make any defence impossible. You had +the right to demand common honesty, or, at least, <i>intelligence</i>, on the +part of the prosecution.</p> + +<p>But the main question was, What was going to become of Monohan? Well, +the boy was convicted, and that was the end of it. It was quite clear to +Jim that, had he been victimized in the same way, no one would have +bothered about it at all. It was simply the fortune of war.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate of six, with vacations in +between, as it were, looked infinitesimal beside that awful burial +alive. He'd be fifty when he came out—if he ever came out! Sometimes +they died like flies in a hot summer. And then there was always +Dannemora—worst of all, Dannemora! It would kill <i>him</i> to go back. He +couldn't live away from the main stem <i>now</i>. Why, he hadn't been in +<i>stir</i> for five years. All his prison traits, the gait, the hunch, were +effaced—gone completely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown.</p> + +<p>"What's the use?" he muttered as he rose to go. "He ain't worth it! I +can stake his wife and kids till his time's up! But, God! <i>I</i> could +never go back!"</p> + +<p>Yet the same irresistible force which had directed him to the court-room +the day before, now led him to the Grand Central Station. Like one +walking in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the noon train alone to +Ossining.</p> + +<p>Following a path that led him quickly to a hill above the town not far +from the prison walls, he threw himself at full length beside a bowlder, +and gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the broad, shining river lay +the dreamy blue hills he had so often watched while working at his +brushes. Here and there a small boat skimmed down the stream before the +same fresh breeze that sent the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> red and brown leaves fluttering along +the grass. The sunlight touched everything with enchantment, the cool +autumn air was an intoxicant—it was the Golden Age again. No, not the +Golden Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he noticed for the first +time a group of men in stripes breaking stones. Some were kneeling, some +crouching upon their haunches. They worked in silence, cracking one +stone after another and making little piles of the fragments. At the +distance of only a few feet two guards leaned upon their loaded rifles. +Jim shut his eyes.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stifling +court. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waited +listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grim +patience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as the +latter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity.</p> + +<p>"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peers +of robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitle +you to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear and +positive, and the complain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>ant's identification of you so perfect, that +it would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict. +Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but I +shall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is—" here the Judge +adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book—"that you be +confined in State Prison for a period of <i>not less than ten nor more +than fifteen years</i>."</p> + +<p>Monohan staggered and turned white.</p> + +<p>The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud.</p> + +<p>"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenly +there was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprang +to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted the +wrong man! <i>I</i> stole that ring!"</p> + +<p>"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as the +spectators rose impulsively to their feet.</p> + +<p>Those who had been present at the trial two days before were all +positive <i>now</i> that they had never taken any stock in the old +gentleman's identification.</p> + +<p>"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorously +with a paper-weight.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?" sternly demanded the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> Judge. "Do you claim that <i>you</i> +robbed the complainant in this case? Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, yer 'Onor!" replied Jim in clarion tones. "You've nailed the +wrong man, that's all. I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, and +sold the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can't stand for his gettin' +any fifteen years," he concluded, glancing expectantly at the +spectators.</p> + +<p>A ripple of applause followed this declaration.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" commented his Honor. "How about the co-defendant in the case, +identified here in the court-room? Do you exonerate <i>him</i> as well?"</p> + +<p>"I've nothin' to do with <i>him</i>," answered Jim calmly. "I've got enough +troubles of my own without shouldering any more. Only Monohan didn't +have any hand in the job. You've got the boot on the wrong foot!"</p> + +<p>Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant District Attorney, now +asserted himself.</p> + +<p>"This is all very well," said he with interest, "but we must have it in +the proper form. If your Honor will warn this person of his rights, and +administer the oath, the stenographer may take his confession and make +it a part of the record."</p> + +<p>Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that whatever he was about to +say must be "without fear or hope of reward," and might be used as +evidence against him thereafter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation which followed, the Judge, +a noted cross-examiner, only succeeded in establishing beyond +peradventure that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and that +Monohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He therefore consented, +somewhat ungraciously, to having the latter's conviction set aside and +to his immediate discharge.</p> + +<p>"As for <i>this</i> man," said he, "commit him to the Tombs pending his +indictment by the Grand Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," he +added with significance, "that he be brought before <i>me</i> for sentence."</p> + +<p>Out into the balconies of the court-house swarmed the mob. Monohan had +disappeared with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank his +benefactor. It was enough for him that he had escaped from the meshes of +the terrible net in which he had been entangled.</p> + +<p>From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful story. It was shouted from one +corridor to another, and from elevator to elevator. Like a wireless it +flew to the District Attorney's office, the reporters' room, the +Coroner's Court, over the bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street into +Tom Foley's, to Pontin's, to the Elm Castle, up Broadway, across to the +Bowery, over to the Rialto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thieves +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to "second-story men" +plotting in saloons, and held them speechless; the "moll-buzzers" heard +it; the "con" men caught it; the "britch men" passed it on. In an hour +the whole under-world knew that Supple Jim had squealed on himself, had +taken his dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had "chucked the +game."</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">IV</h3> + +<p>Three long months had passed, during which Jim had lain in the Tombs. +For a day or two the newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. A +few sentimental women had sent him flowers of greater or less fragrance, +with more or less grammatical expressions of admiration; then the dull +drag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the daily visit of Paddy, +and the more infrequent consultations with old Crookshanks.</p> + +<p>The Grand Jury had promptly found an indictment, but when the District +Attorney placed the case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero to +plead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim's counsel, announced that his client +had no intention of so doing, and demanded an immediate trial.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a situation of singular +embarrassment, which made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> action upon his part for the present +impossible. He was at his wits' end, for the law expressly required that +no prisoner should be confined longer than two months without trial. And +each week he was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crookshanks, who +with much bluster demanded that the case should be disposed of.</p> + +<p>Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on prison fare. Soon a +reporter—an acquaintance of Paddy's—commented upon the fact to his +city editor. The policy of the paper happening to be against the +administration, an item appeared among the "Criminal Notes" calling +attention to the period of time during which Jim had been incarcerated. +Other papers copied, and scathing editorials followed. In twenty-four +hours Jim's detention beyond the time regulated by statute for the trial +of a prisoner without bail had become an issue. The great American +public, through its representative, the press, clamored to know why the +wheels of justice had clogged, and the campaign committee of the reform +party called in a body upon the District Attorney, warning him that an +election was approaching and inquiring the cause of the "illegal +proceeding which had been brought to their attention." The editor of the +<i>Midnight American</i>, with his usual impetuosity, threatened a <i>habeas +corpus</i>.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>Then the District Attorney sent for the Assistant, and the two had a +hurried consultation. Finally the chief shook his head, saying: "There's +no way out of it. You'll have to go to trial at once. Perhaps you can +secure a plea. We can't afford any more delay. Put it on for to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The next day "Part One of the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, in +and for the County of New York," was crowded to suffocation, for the +dramatic nature of Jim's act of self-sacrifice had not been forgotten, +and a keen interest remained in its <i>denouement</i>. It was a brilliant +January noon, and the sun poured through the great windows, casting +irregular patches of light upon the throng within. High above the crowd +of lawyers, witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge; below him, the clerk +and Assistant District Attorney conferred together as to the order in +which the cases should be tried; to the left reclined a row of +non-combatants, "district leaders," ex-police magistrates, and a few +privileged spectators; outside the rail crowded the members of the +"criminal bar"; while in the main body of the room the benches were +tightly packed with loafers, "runners" for the attorneys, curious women, +indignant complainants, and sympathizing friends of the various +defendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> nearer the door the +pressure became too great, and once more an overplus, new-comers, +lawyers who could not force their way to the front, tardy policemen, +persons who could not make up their minds to come in and sit down, and +stragglers generally, formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking the +entrance, and preventing those outside from getting in or anyone inside +from getting out.</p> + +<p>Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators clicked diligently; full +steam was on, not a window open.</p> + +<p>Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with several +innuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who would +confess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense and +trouble of a trial, briefly opened the case.</p> + +<p>The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness. +He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of +finality in the direction of the jury.</p> + +<p>"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>The lawyer shook his head.</p> + +<p>Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent.</p> + +<p>The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant, +paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go through +all this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.' +He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance."</p> + +<p>But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanks +flickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the features +of his client.</p> + +<p>"Not on your <i>tin-type</i>!" he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced a +trifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in +the direction of the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll let him plead to grand larceny instead of robbery," he said, +with an air of acting against his better judgment.</p> + +<p>Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, "your client will have +to take the consequences. Call the complainant."</p> + +<p>"Daniel Farlan, take the witness' chair."</p> + +<p>The crowd in the court-room waited expectantly. The complainant, +however, did not respond.</p> + +<p>"Daniel Farlan! Daniel Farlan!" bawled the officer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>But the venerable Farlan came not. Perchance he was a-sleeping or +a-hunting.</p> + +<p>"If your Honor pleases," announced Dockbridge, "the complainant does not +answer. I must ask for an adjournment."</p> + +<p>But in an instant the old war-horse, Crookshanks, was upon his feet +snorting for the battle.</p> + +<p>"I protest against any such proceeding!" he shouted, his voice trembling +with well-simulated indignation. "My client is in jeopardy. I insist +that this trial go on here and now!"</p> + +<p>Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury and spectators showed +plainly that they were of Mr. Crookshanks's opinion. The Judge hesitated +for a moment, but his duty was clear. There was no question but that Jim +<i>had</i> been put in jeopardy.</p> + +<p>"You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dockbridge," he announced +reluctantly. "The jury has been sworn, and a witness has testified. It +is too late to stop now."</p> + +<p>The Assistant was forced to admit that he had no further evidence at +hand.</p> + +<p>"What!" cried the Judge. "No further evidence! Well, proceed with the +defence!"</p> + +<p>Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead, while the jury +glanced inquiringly in the direction of the defendant. But now +Crookshanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> hope and trust +of all defenceless criminals, slowly arose and buttoned his threadbare +frock-coat. He looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor he +ignored.</p> + +<p>"If your Honor please," began the old lawyer gently, "I move that the +Court direct the jury to acquit, on the ground that the People have +failed to make out a case."</p> + +<p>The Assistant jumped to his feet. The spectators stared in amazement at +the audacity of the request. The Judge's face became a study.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks?" he exclaimed. "This man is a +self-confessed criminal. Do you hear, sir, a <i>self-confessed criminal</i>."</p> + +<p>But the anger of the Court had no terrors for little Crookshanks. He +waited calmly until the Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, and +resumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its usual state of +placidity.</p> + +<p>"I must beg most respectfully to point out to your Honor that the +Criminal Code provides that the confession of a defendant is not of +itself enough to warrant his conviction <i>without additional proof that +the crime charged has been committed</i>. May I be pardoned for indicating +to your Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding against my +client is his own confession, made, I believe, some time ago, under +circumstances which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> were, to say the least, unusual. While I do not +pretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on that occasion, or to +contest at this juncture the question of his moral guilt, the fact +remains <i>that there has been no additional proof</i> adduced upon any of +the material points in the case, to wit, that the complainant ever +existed, ever possessed a ring, or that it was ever taken from him."</p> + +<p>He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing from his green bag a folded +paper, continued: "In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court that a +person named Farlan left the jurisdiction of this tribunal upon the day +after Monohan's conviction of the offence for which my client is now on +trial.</p> + +<p>"After such an unfortunate mistake," said Crookshanks with an almost +imperceptible twinkle in his "jury eye," "he can hardly be expected to +assist voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold in my hand his +affidavit that he has left the State never to return."</p> + +<p>The Judge had left his chair and was striding up and down the dais. He +now turned wrathfully upon poor Dockbridge.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by trying a case before me prepared in such a fashion? +This is a disgraceful miscarriage of justice! I shall lay the matter +before the District Attorney in person! Mr. Crook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>shanks has correctly +stated the law. I am absolutely compelled to discharge this defendant, +who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcerated in State Prison! +I—I—the Court has been hoodwinked! The District Attorney made +ridiculous! As for you," casting a withering glance upon the prisoner, +"if I ever have the opportunity, I shall punish you as you deserve!"</p> + +<p>Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The clerk arose and cleared his +throat.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a verdict? What say you? Do you find +the defendant guilty, or not guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat doubtfully.</p> + +<p>There was a smothered demonstration in the rear of the court-room. A few +spectators had the temerity to clap their hands.</p> + +<p>"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain.</p> + +<p>The clerk faced the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, alias Supple Jim, you are +discharged."</p> + +<p>As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy was the first to grasp +his hand.</p> + +<p>"You're the cleverest boy in New York!" he muttered enthusiastically; +"and say, Jim," he lowered his voice—could it be with a shade of +em<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>barrassment?—"you're a hero all right, into the bargain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut that out!" answered Jim. "Wasn't I playing a sure thing? And +wasn't it worth three months,—and ten dollars <i>per</i> to the old guy for +staying over in Jersey,—to put 'em in a hole like that?"</p> + +<p>And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of an impending and +depressing cloud of moral superiority, went out, with others, to get a +drink.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="The_Maximilian_Diamond" id="The_Maximilian_Diamond"></a>The Maximilian Diamond</h2> + + +<p>Dockbridge yawned, threw down his fountain-pen, whirled his chair away +from the window, through which the afternoon sun was pouring a dazzling +flood of light, crossed his feet upon the rickety old table whose faded +green baize was littered with newspapers, law books, copies of +indictments, and empty cigarette boxes, and idly contemplated the +graphophone, his latest acquisition. To a stranger, this little office, +tucked away behind an elevator shaft under the eaves of the Criminal +Courts Building, might have proved of some interest, filled as it was on +every side with mementoes of hard-fought cases in the courts below, +framed copies of forged checks and notes, photographs of streets and +houses known to fame only by virtue of the tragedies they had witnessed, +and an uncouth collection of weapons of all varieties from a stiletto +and long tapering bread knife to the most modern Colt automatic. On the +bookcase stood an innocent-looking bottle which had once contained +poison, while above it hung a faded indictment accusing someone long +since departed of administering its contents to another who did "for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> a +long time languish, and languishing did die." An enormous black leather +lounge, a safe, several chairs, and some pictures of English and +American jurists completed the contents of the room. Here Dockbridge had +for five years interviewed his witnesses, prepared his cases, and +dreamed of establishing a forensic reputation which should later by a +shower of gold repay him in part for the many tedious hours passed +within its walls. From the grimy windows he could look down upon the +court-yard of the Tombs and see the prisoners taking their daily +exercise, while from the distance came faintly the din and rattle of +Broadway. An air-shaft which passed through the room communicated in +some devious manner with the prison pens on the mezzanine floor far +beneath, and at times strange odors would come floating up bringing +suggestions of prison fare. On such occasions Dockbridge would throw +wide both windows, open the transom, and seek refuge in the library.</p> + +<p>Taken as a whole, his five years there had been invaluable both from a +personal and professional point of view. He had found himself from the +very first day in a sort of huge legal clinic, where hourly he could run +through the whole gamut of human emotions. It was to him, the embryonic +advocate, what hospital service is to the surgeon. He was, as it were, +an intern practising the sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>gery of the law. And what a multitude of +cases came there for treatment—every disease of the mind and heart and +soul! For a year or two he had been racked nervously and emotionally, +forced from laughter in one moment, to tears the next. Then the mere +fascination of his trade as prosecutor, the marshalling of evidence, the +tactics of trials, the thwarting of conspiracies, the analysis of +motives, the exposure of cunning tricks to liberate the guilty, had so +possessed his mind that the suffering and sin about him, though keenly +realized, no longer cost him sleep and peace of mind. And the stories +that he heard! The mysteries which were unravelled before his very eyes, +and those deeper mysteries the secrets of which were never revealed, but +remained sealed in the hearts of those who, rather than disclose them, +sought sanctuary within prison walls!</p> + +<p>How he wished sometimes that he could write—if only a little! Through +what strange labyrinths of human passion and ingenuity could he conduct +his readers! Sometimes he tried to scribble the stories down, but the +words would not come. How could you describe your feelings while trying +a man for his life, when he sat there at the bar pallid and tense, his +hands clutching each other until the nails quivered in the flesh; the +groan of the convicted felon; the wail of the heart-broken mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> as +her son was led away by the officer? He had seen one poor fellow faint +dead away on hearing his sentence to the living tomb; and had heard a +murderer laugh when convicted and the day set for his execution. +Sometimes, in sheer desperation at the thought of losing what he had +seen and experienced, he would turn on the graphophone and talk into it, +disconnectedly, by the hour. It usually came out in better shape than +what he turned off with his pen. If he could only write!</p> + +<p>"Dockbridge! Hi, there, Dockbridge!"</p> + +<p>The door was kicked open, and the lank figure of one of his associates +stood before him. His visitor grinned, and removed his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Bob'll be up in a minute. Come along to 'Coney.'"</p> + +<p>"Don't feel kittenish enough," answered Dockbridge.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on! It'll do you good."</p> + +<p>The sound of rapid steps flew up the stairs, and Bob burst into the +room, almost upsetting the first arrival.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing up here in this smelly place?" he inquired. "Got a +cigarette?"</p> + +<p>Dockbridge threw him a package without altering his position.</p> + +<p>At this moment the heavily built figure of the chief of staff entered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>"Holding a reception?" he asked good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>Bob had slipped behind the owner of the graphophone and was rapidly +surveying his desk. Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, and, +snatching it up, ran across the room.</p> + +<p>"I thought so! He's been writing."</p> + +<p>"Here you, Bob, give that back!" cried Dockbridge, springing up. He was +blocked by the chief of staff.</p> + +<p>"Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The censor demands the right of +inspection."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mind if <i>you</i> see it!" said Dockbridge, "only I don't +intend that cub to snicker over it. It's nothing, anyway."</p> + +<p>"'The Maximilian Diamond!'" shouted the thief. "By George, what a +rippin' title! Full of gore, I bet!"</p> + +<p>"You give that back!" growled its owner.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, allow me to present the well-known author and brilliant +young literary man, Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four colors is +soon to appear on the cover of the 'Maiden's Gaslog Companion,'" +continued Bob. "I read, 'The villain stood with his dagger elevated for +an instant above the bare breast of his palpitating victim.' My, but +it's great!"</p> + +<p>"You see you'd better read it to us in self-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>defence," remarked the +chief of staff. "Go ahead!"</p> + +<p>"Promise, and I'll give it back," said Bob, from the door. "Refuse, and +I send it to the 'American.'"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't for publication, anyway," explained Dockbridge.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," answered Bob. "We'll pass on it. Perhaps we'll send it +in for that Five-Thousand-Dollar competition."</p> + +<p>"Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" Dockbridge recovered the +manuscript and returned to his armchair. The others disposed themselves +upon the lounge.</p> + +<p>"Oyez! Oyez!" cried Bob. "All persons desiring to hear the great +American novel, draw near, give your attention and ye shall be heard."</p> + +<p>"Keep still!" ordered the chief of staff. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll make him +shut up."</p> + +<p>"Mind you do," said Dockbridge. "It's about that big diamond, you know. +The story begins in this room."</p> + +<p>"Well, begin it," laughed Bob.</p> + +<p>His companions pulled his head down on the chief's lap and smothered him +with a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, "here goes."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="newsection">THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND</h3> + +<p>A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish hair, sandy complexion, and +watery blue eyes, stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by +means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a keeper. My two visitors +conducted themselves with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single +motion sank into the chairs I offered.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the trouble?" I inquired genially.</p> + +<p>The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of the other, who grinned +apologetically and hitched in my direction. Bending toward me, he +whispered: "I am the victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies +in history. My story involves personages of the highest rank, and is +stranger than one of Dumas' romances. I am a bill-poster."</p> + +<p>Not knowing whether he intended to include himself among the illustrious +persons alluded to, I nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars.</p> + +<p>"My name is Riggs," continued the prisoner, as he bit off the end of his +cigar and expelled it through the window. "Got a match?"</p> + +<p>The keeper drew a handful from his pocket. I lit a cigar for myself and +assumed an attitude of attention.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>"My wife is little Flossie Riggs. Don't know her? Why, she dances at +Proctor's, and all over. I was doing well at my trade, and would have +been doing better, if it hadn't been for that confounded diamond. It was +this way. There was a fellow named Tenney, who posted bills with me +about five years back, and he finally got a job down in the City of +Mexico with a railroad, and I used to correspond with him.</p> + +<p>"Among other things, he told me about a great big diamond that the +Emperor Maximilian used to wear in the middle of his crown. According to +Tenney, it was one of the biggest on record. He said that Maximilian was +so stuck on it that he had it taken out and made into a pendant for the +Empress Carlotta, and that she used to wear it around at all the court +functions, and so on. About the same time he took two other diamonds out +of the crown and made them into finger-rings for himself.</p> + +<p>"After a while the Mexicans got tired of having an empire and put +Maximilian out of business. They stood him and two of his generals up in +the parade ground at Queretaro and shot 'em. Now when he was stood up to +get shot he had those two rings on his fingers, and the funny part of it +was that when the people rushed up to see whether he was dead or not, +both the rings were gone. Just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> about that time, while Carlotta was in +prison, the diamond with the big pendant disappeared too. It weighed +thirty-three carats. I got all this from Tenney. I don't know where he +found out about it. But it all happened way back in '67.</p> + +<p>"Somehow or other I used to think quite a lot about that diamond—partly +because I was sorry for Max, who looked to have come out at the small +end; and there didn't seem to be any occasion for shooting him anyhow, +that I could see.</p> + +<p>"Well, I went on bill-posting, and got a good job with the Hair Restorer +folks and was doing well, as I said, until one day I happened to take up +a paper and read that there were two Mexicans out in St. Louis trying to +sell an enormous diamond, but that the dealers there were all afraid to +buy it. Finally the police got suspicious, and the Mexicans disappeared. +Then all of a sudden it came over me that this must be the diamond that +Tenney had wrote about, for all that it had been lost for nearly forty +years, and I made up my mind that the Mexicans, having failed in St. +Louis, would probably come to New York. I knew they had no right to the +diamond anyway, first because it belonged to Maximilian's heirs, and +second because it hadn't paid no duty; and I said to myself, 'Next time +I write to Tenney he will hear something that will make him sit up.' So +every morning, when I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> started out with my paste-pot and roll of +posters, I would keep my eye peeled for the two Mexicans.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't hear any more about the diamond for a long time, and I had +'most forgot all about it, until one day I was plastering up one of +those yellow-headed Hair Restorer girls in Madison Square, when I saw +two chaps cross over Twenty-third Street toward the Park. They were the +very gazeebos I'd been looking for. Both were dark and thin and short, +and, queerer still, one of them carried a big red case in his hand.</p> + +<p>"With my heart rattling against my teeth, I jumped down from the ladder +and started after them. They hurried along the street until they came to +a jeweller's on Broadway, about a block from the Square. They went in, +and I peeked through the window. Presently out they came in a great +hurry. They still had the red case, and I made a dash for the door and +rushed in. There was the store-keeper with eyes bulgin' half-way out of +his head.</p> + +<p>"'Say,' says I, 'did those dagoes try to sell you a diamond?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says he, 'the biggest I ever saw. They wanted forty thousand +dollars for it, and I offered them fifteen thousand, but they wouldn't +take it.'</p> + +<p>"I didn't give him time for another word, but turned around and made +another jump for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> door. The Mexicans were almost out of sight, but I +could still see them walking toward the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and I +hustled after them tight as I could, picked up two cops on the way down, +and, just as they were turning in at the entrance, we pounced on 'em.</p> + +<p>"'You're under arrest!' I yelled, so excited I didn't really know what I +was doing. The fellow with the red case dodged back and handed it over +to a big chap who had joined them. This one didn't appear to want to +take it, and seemed quite peevish at what was happening. He turned out +afterward to have been a General Dosbosco of the Haytien Junta. Well, +the cops grabbed all three of them and collared the leather case. Sure +enough, so help me—! There inside was the big diamond, and not only +that, but a necklace with eighteen stones, and two enormous solitaire +rings. The big stone was yellowish, but the others were pure white, +sparklin' like one of those electric Pickle signs with fifty-seven +varieties. By that time the hurry-up wagon had come, and pretty soon the +whole crew of us, diamonds, Mexicans, cops, paste-pot, and me, were +clattering to the police-station for fair. There I told 'em all about +the diamond, and they telephoned over to Colonel Dudley, at the +Custom-house, and the upshot of the whole matter was that the two +Mexicans were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> held on a charge of smuggling diamonds into the United +States.</p> + +<p>"If you don't believe what I tell you," said Riggs, noticing, perhaps, a +suggestion of incredulity in my face, "just look at these"; and fumbling +in his pocket, he produced some very soiled and crumpled clippings, +containing pictures of Maximilian, the Empress Carlotta, and of a very +large diamond which appeared to be about the size of the "Regent." It +was then that I dimly remembered reading something of a diamond seizure +a short time before, and it was with a renewed interest that I listened +to the continuation of my client's story.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Riggs, "that was strange, now, wasn't it?</p> + +<p>"You can imagine how I felt when I went home and told little Flossie +about the diamond; that I was entitled to a fifty per cent. informer's +reward; how I was going to give up bill-posting and just be her manager, +and how we could take a bigger flat, and all that; and I thought so much +about it, and talked so much about it, that I began to feel like I was +Rockefeller already, which may account in part for what happened +afterward."</p> + +<p>At this point the keeper moved uneasily, and I pushed him another cigar.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued Riggs, "I just walked on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> air that afternoon after +leaving the Custom-house, and went around blabbing like a poor fool +about my good luck. On the way home I stopped in to take a drink. There +were a lot of my acquaintances there, and I had something with most of +them, and then the first thing I knew everything swam before my eyes. I +groped my way into the street and started toward home, but I had only +taken a few steps when a gang of strong-arm men attacked me, knocked me +down, and robbed me. I struggled to my feet and followed them. They +turned and attacked me again. I drew my knife, and then everything got +dark, and the next thing I knew I was in the police-station.</p> + +<p>"I'll admit that this part of it does seem a little queer." Riggs +dropped his voice mysteriously and leaned toward me. "But I have no +doubt that I was drugged and beaten for the purpose of getting me locked +up in the Tombs as part of a well-planned scheme. You will see for +yourself later on.</p> + +<p>"Next morning, while I was waiting examination in the prison pen, a man +came along who said he was a lawyer and would take my case. I said, All +right, but that he would have to wait for his pay. He laughed, and said +he guessed there would be no trouble about that; and the next thing I +knew I was up before the Judge. My lawyer went up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> and whispered +something to him, and the magistrate said:</p> + +<p>"'Five hundred dollars bail for trial.'</p> + +<p>"'Look here,' I spoke up, 'ain't I going to have a chance to tell my +story?'</p> + +<p>"'Keep quiet,' said the lawyer from behind his hand; 'this is just a +form. You won't never have to be tried. It's just to get you out.'</p> + +<p>"So I said nothing, and went back to the pen and waited; and the next +thing I knew the hurry-up wagon had taken me to the Tombs. I tell you it +was pretty tough bein' chucked in with a lot of thieves and burglars. +The bill of fare ain't above par, you know, and the company's worse. I +sat in my cell and waited and waited for my lawyer to show up, for he +had said he'd be right over. But he didn't come, and I had to spend the +night there. Next morning the keeper told me that my lawyer was in the +counsel-room. So down I went with two niggers, who also had an +appointment with their lawyers. It's a nasty, unventilated hole, and +they lock you and the attorneys all in together. Ever been there?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>"'Well,' says he, 'now have you got a bondsman?'</p> + +<p>"'A what?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'A bondsman—someone to go bail for you.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>"'No,' I answered, for I knew nothing about such things.</p> + +<p>"'What! I thought you told me you had a lot of friends who had money! +You haven't been trifling with me, have you?'</p> + +<p>"I knew I hadn't told him anything of the sort, but I thought that maybe +he had forgotten; so I said I hadn't any friends who had any money, and +knew no one to go bail for me.</p> + +<p>"'Bad! very bad!' said he. 'You've got to have money to get out. Isn't +there anyone who owes you money, or haven't you got some <i>claim</i> or +something?'</p> + +<p>"Then all of a sudden it flashed over me about the diamond and my fifty +per cent. of the reward, and then something in his eye made me think +again. It seemed to me that I had seen him before somewhere. I couldn't +remember just where, but the more I hesitated the surer I was. Then it +came over me that a few days in jail, more or less, made mighty little +difference when I was going to be a rich man so soon, and I decided I +had better hang on to what I'd got.</p> + +<p>"'No,' said I, 'I ain't got nothin'.'</p> + +<p>"'You lie!' says he, growing very red. 'You lie! You've got a claim +against the United States Government.'</p> + +<p>"Then he saw he'd made a break.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>"'Why, they all told me you caught a smuggler, or something, and had a +claim against the Government for a hundred dollars.'</p> + +<p>"'A hundred!' I yelled. 'Twenty thousand!'</p> + +<p>"'Oh!' said he, 'as much as that? Why, I'll get you out this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>"'How?' said I.</p> + +<p>"'Well, you will have to assign your claim so I can raise the money on +it. It's a mere form.'</p> + +<p>"But the thought came into my mind, Better stay there ten years than let +him have the claim; so I said that I didn't understand such things, and +I'd just wait until I could be tried.</p> + +<p>"'Tried?' said he. 'Why, you won't be tried for months.'</p> + +<p>"My heart sank right down into my boots.</p> + +<p>"'Don't be a fool!' he went on. 'Here you are, sick and in prison, and +if you don't raise money to get a bondsman you'll stay here a long time. +You might die. And if you assign that claim to me, I have a pull with +the Judge and I'll have you out by supper-time.'</p> + +<p>"'I guess I'll wait awhile,' said I.</p> + +<p>"'Think it over, anyway. Now I tell you what I'll do. To-morrow you go +up for pleading. You have to say whether you are guilty or not guilty. +I'll act as your lawyer and see you through that part of it for nothing, +and then if you still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> don't want to assign the claim, why, you can do +as you choose.'</p> + +<p>"That seemed fair enough, so I agreed. I spent another night in the +cells, and next day about thirty of us were taken across the bridge into +the court-room. One by one we were led up to the bar, and the clerk +asked us were we guilty or not guilty. The ones that said they were +guilty went off to Sing Sing or Blackwell's Island. It scared the life +out of me. I was afraid that I might not be able to say 'not,' and so +get sent off too, but pretty soon I saw my lawyer.</p> + +<p>"'P. Llewellyn Riggs!'</p> + +<p>"Up jumped Mr. Lawyer and says, 'Not guilty.'</p> + +<p>"'What day?' asked the clerk.</p> + +<p>"'The 21st,' says Mr. Lawyer.</p> + +<p>"I was dumb for a minute.</p> + +<p>"'Look here,' I whispered. 'To-day's only the first—that's three +weeks.'</p> + +<p>"'Keep quiet,' shouted an officer, and gave me a punch in the back.</p> + +<p>"'It's all right,' whispered Mr. Lawyer. 'It's only a form.' And they +hustled me out back to the Tombs.</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear anything all that day or the next. It seemed as if I +should go mad. But at last I was notified that my lawyer was there +again, and down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> I went glad enough for the change. By that time I was +feeling pretty seedy.</p> + +<p>"'Well, young man,' said he, 'can we do business?'</p> + +<p>"'That depends,' I answered.</p> + +<p>"'Come, no fooling, now; if you want to get out, give me an assignment +of your claim.'</p> + +<p>"'Never,' I replied.</p> + +<p>"'Then to h—— with you!' he shouted; 'you can rot here alone and try +your case by yourself, and I hope you'll get twenty years.'</p> + +<p>"I almost sank through the floor. Twenty years!"</p> + +<p>Riggs had become quite dramatic, and was again leaning forward looking +me straight in the eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, I stood fast, and he cursed me out and left me, and I began to +feel that after all maybe I was a fool. I hadn't let my wife know where +I was, but now I wrote to her, and she came right down and comforted me. +A brave little woman she is, too. And what was more, she said that a +nice young lawyer had just moved into our house and had the flat below, +and she would go and get him.</p> + +<p>"So next morning—I had been in there a week—the young lawyer came. I +liked him from the start. When I told him my first lawyer's name he just +leaned back and laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>"'Old Todd?' he says; 'why, he's the worst robber in the outfit. If he +had gotten that assignment he'd have let you lie here forever and been +in Paris by this time. You're a lucky man,' says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought so too, and laughed with him.</p> + +<p>"'But,' he continued, 'you're in an embarrassing position. You can't get +out without money, and you can't collect your claim. You'll have to +assign it to someone. You can't assign it to your wife. That wouldn't be +valid. Haven't you got some friend?'</p> + +<p>"'I'm afraid not,' said I.</p> + +<p>"'That's unfortunate,' he remarked, looking out where the window ought +to be. 'Very unfortunate. I might lend you a couple of hundred myself,' +he added. 'I will, too!'</p> + +<p>"The blood jumped right up in my throat.'</p> + +<p>"'God bless you!' said I, 'you're a true friend!'</p> + +<p>"He laid his hand on my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"'You're in hard luck, old man, but you're going to win out. I'll stand +by you. Here's a five. I'll go out and get the rest right off.'</p> + +<p>"Then all of a sudden I began to feel like a king. I could see myself in +a new suit, having a bottle up at the Haymarket. I realized that I was a +twenty-thousand-dollar millionaire. And just to show my chest, I said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>"'Why, you're an honest man and a true friend. You take my claim and go +and collect it this afternoon,' says I.</p> + +<p>"'No,' he hesitated, 'it's too much responsibility. I'll trust you for +the money and you can pay me afterward.'</p> + +<p>"But with that, ass that I was, I fell to begging him to take the claim, +and saying he must take it, just to show he believed I trusted him; and +so after a while he reluctantly yielded and filled out a paper, and I +signed it and got in the warden as a witness, and he rose to go.</p> + +<p>"'Well, till this afternoon,' says he.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Au revoir</i>,' I laughed, 'get yourself a bottle of wine for me,' says +I. And off he goes.</p> + +<p>"As I passed back to the cells, who should I see beside the door but my +old lawyer.</p> + +<p>"I shook my fist in his face.</p> + +<p>"'You old robber,' I says, 'we'll see if I can't get along without you!'</p> + +<p>"He sneered in my face.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, you —— fool!' says he, 'you poor, poor, ——, —— fool!'</p> + +<p>"Then he was gone. So I went back to the cell, and sang and whistled and +figured on where I should take my little Flossie for dinner. I waited +and waited. Six o'clock, and no word. Then I began to get nervous.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>"'You poor, poor, ——, —— fool!'</p> + +<p>"The words rang around in my cell. Then something sort of gave inside. I +knew I'd been robbed, and I yelled and shook the bars of the door and +tried to get out. I cried for Flossie. The keepers came and told me to +keep still; but I was plump crazy, and kept on yelling until everything +got black and I fainted."</p> + +<p>"And your lawyer never came back?"</p> + +<p>"He never came back!" Riggs exclaimed. "He never came back! I've been +robbed! I'm a poor —— fool, just as Todd said I was." Riggs burst into +maudlin tears.</p> + +<p>I gave him what consolation I could, and promised thoroughly to +investigate his story.</p> + +<p>The keeper and Riggs arose in unison, the same urbane smile that had +previously illuminated the countenance of the latter restored.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't manage to let me have a handful of cigars, could you?" he +whispered. I gave him all I had. His cheek was irresistible. I would +have given him my watch had he intimated a desire for it.</p> + +<p>Then I called up the Custom-house.</p> + +<p>"Paid?" came back the voice of the United States District Attorney. "Of +course not. The claim is worthless until the diamond is sold; and, +anyway, such an assignment as you describe is in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>valid under our +statutes. You had better execute a revocation, however, and place it on +file here. Yes, I'll look out for the matter."</p> + +<p>One day, about a week later, I was informed that Riggs had been +convicted of assault, and sentenced to a year's imprisonment on +Blackwell's Island. A jury of his peers had apparently proved less +credulous than myself.</p> + +<p>Many strange epistles from his place of confinement now reached me, +hinting of terrible abuses, starvation, oppression, extortion. He was +still the victim of a conspiracy—this time of prison guards and fellow +convicts. He prayed for an opportunity to lay the facts before the +authorities. I threw the letters aside. It was clear he possessed a +powerful imagination, and yet his tale of the discovery of the diamond +had been absolutely true. Well, let the law take its course.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>A year later a jovial-looking person called at my office, and I +recognized my old friend Riggs in a new brown derby hat and checked +suit.</p> + +<p>After shaking hands warmly, he presented me with a card reading:</p> + +<p class="center zerobottom"><span class="smcap">P. Llewellyn Riggs,</span><br /> +Private Detective,</p> +<p class="zerotop" style="margin-left: 50%;">— Broadway.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>"Yes," he explained in answer to my surprised expression, "I've gone +into the detective business. My unfortunate conviction is only a sort of +advertisement, you know, and then I was the victim of an outrageous +conspiracy!"</p> + +<p>"But," said I, "I thought you were going to retire on the proceeds of +the diamond."</p> + +<p>"Why, haven't you heard?" he replied. "I gave my wife an assignment of +the claim with a power of attorney, and when the diamond was sold she +ran away."</p> + +<p>"Ran away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she took a friend of mine with her. But I shall find her—just as +I did the diamond!" He struck a Sherlock Holmes attitude. "By the way, +if you should ever want any detective work done you'll remember——"</p> + +<p>"I am not likely to forget," I answered, "the victim of one of the most +remarkable conspiracies in history."</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>Meantime the Mexicans were tried, convicted, and sent to prison. The +jewels themselves were duly made the subject of condemnation +proceedings, and whoso peruseth The Federal Reporter for the year 1901 +may read thereof under the title "The United States <i>vs.</i> One Diamond +Pendant and Two Ear-rings." They were, so to speak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> tried, properly +convicted, and sold to the highest bidder. The Mexicans are still +serving out their time. One turned state's evidence, stating that he was +a musician and had won the love of a beautiful señorita in the city of +Mexico who had given him the gems to sell in order that they might have +money upon which to marry. He also protested that his sweetheart had +inherited them from her mother.</p> + +<p>Inside the cover of the old red case is printed in gold letters:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">La Esmeralda.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">F. Causer Zihy & Co.</span>, Mexico and Paris.</p> + +<p>And a faintly scented piece of violet note-paper lies beneath the double +lining, containing, in a woman's hand, this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The diamond necklace is from Maximilian's crown, the +Emperor of Mexico. The centre stone has thirty-three +and seven-tenths carats, and the eighteen surrounding +it no less than one each. The diamond ring, the stone +thereof, was in Maximilian's ring at the time he was +shot.</p></div> + +<p>But that is all; there is nothing to tell what hand snatched the jewels +from the lifeless fingers of the dead Emperor, or who purloined the +necklace from the royal household.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>In a dusty compartment on my desk there lies a brown manila envelope, +and sometimes, when the day's work is over and I have glanced for the +last time across the court-yard of the Tombs at the clock tower on the +New York Life Building, I take it out and idly read the press story of +the famous diamond. And there rises dimly before me the pathetic scene +at Queretaro where a brave and good man met his death, and I wonder if +perchance there is any truth in the superstition that some stones carry +ill-luck with them. But it is a far cry from the Emperor of Mexico to a +New York bill-poster.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk and lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" asked the lank deputy, stretching himself. "I thought it +was going to have some sort of a plot."</p> + +<p>"It's a pretty good story," said the chief of staff. "Have you really +got any clippings?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's rotten!" remarked Bob.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's every word of it true, anyway," muttered Dockbridge.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="Extradition" id="Extradition"></a>Extradition</h2> + + +<h3 class="firstsection">I</h3> + +<p>"Dockbridge," said the District Attorney, coming hurriedly out of his +office, "I've got to send you to Seattle. We've just located Andrews +there—Sam Andrews of the Boodle Bank. One of Barney Conville's cases, +you remember. Here's the Governor's requisition. Barney's down in +Ecuador, so McGinnis of the Central Office will go out to make the +arrest; but I must have someone to look after the legal end of it—to +fight any writ of <i>habeas corpus</i>—and handle the extradition +proceedings. They might get around a mere policeman, so I'm going to ask +you to attend to it. The trip won't be unpleasant, and the auditor will +give you a check for your expenses. Remember, now—your job is to <i>bring +Andrews back</i>!"</p> + +<p>He handed his assistant a bulky document bedecked with seals and +ribbons, and closed the door. Dockbridge gazed blankly after his +energetic chief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>"Oh, certainly, certainly! Don't mention it! <i>Delighted</i>, I'm sure! +Thank you so much!" he exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned +ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the railing. "Sudden, eh? +Don't even ask me if it's convenient! Exiles me for two months! Just +drop over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigarettes! Or run across +to Morocco and pick up Perdicaris, like a good fellow! Don't you regard +him as a trifle <i>inconsequent</i>?"</p> + +<p>Conville's side partner McGinnis, a gigantic Irishman with +extraordinarily long arms and huge hands, climbed disjointedly to his +feet.</p> + +<p>"<i>In</i>-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?" The words came in a gentle +roar from the altitudes of his towering form. "Sure, the +<i>in</i>-consequence of it is that we're to have the pleasure of travellin' +togither." He looked big enough to swing the little Assistant lightly +upon one shoulder and stride nimbly across the continent with him.</p> + +<p>"An iligant thrip it will be! I'm only regretful I can't take me wife +along wid me."</p> + +<p>Pat's matrimonial troubles were the common property of the entire force. +The only person totally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis +himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detective-Sergeant O'Halloran, +made one think inevitably of the small bird that travels through life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +roosting on the shoulder of the African buffalo. His domestic life would +have been one of wild excitement for the average citizen, but McGinnis +had a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of his spouse. +Conceive, however, his surprise when the Assistant District Attorney +suddenly smote him sharply in the abdomen, and shouted:</p> + +<p>"I'll do it!"</p> + +<p>"Phwat?" ejaculated Pat.</p> + +<p>"Take <i>my</i> wife!"</p> + +<p>"Yez have none, ye spalpeen!"</p> + +<p>"I'll have one by to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"An' is it Miss Peggy ye mane?"</p> + +<p>"No other. The county pays part of the bills. I'll make this my wedding +trip!"</p> + +<p>"God save us, Mr. Dockbridge!" gasped McGinnis. "Ain't he the little +divel!" he added to himself delightedly.</p> + +<p>Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack's proposition. The idea of +going on one's honeymoon with a policeman! Yes, it was all right to +combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one did not usually +associate business with marriage—at least she hoped she did not—for +Jack Dockbridge knew he hadn't a cent, and neither had she. He explained +guardedly that that was the principal reason in favor of the plan. They +would have part of their expenses paid.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged the force of the argument but +pointed out that there was still the policeman.</p> + +<p>Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing colors. Why, there were so +many bad men out there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she never +heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard of the Nagle case, and she +going to marry a lawyer! A newly married pair could not travel alone, +unprotected.</p> + +<p>Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated fraud—an unabashed liar! +Still, she had those furs that had belonged to her mother. She admitted, +also, wondering what the Rockies were like. If she did not marry him +now, how long would he be gone? Six months?</p> + +<p>Jack explained that he might be killed by Indians or desperadoes. In +that case the wisdom of her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She +could then marry someone else. But that was the reason a policeman would +be desirable. And then he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. +One more would make little difference. In the end they were married.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">II</h3> + +<p>It was a gay little party of three that left Montreal for Vancouver the +following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved +himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in +securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult +process of extradition. He had brought safely back "Red" McIntosh from +New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had +captured "Strong Arm" Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure +in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as +"Judge," and introducing him to all strangers as "me distinguished +frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York."</p> + +<p>There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily +became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the +various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy +sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the +frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the +snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and +mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +the diminishing track, or held their breath in the swaying cab as the +engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward +Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies.</p> + +<p>In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the +mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the +pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track +for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty +back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an +hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the +whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was +undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit +like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they +reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could +himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the +fireman.</p> + +<p>Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused +diligently her husband's copy of "Moore on Extradition." She didn't +intend to be the man of the family—she was too sensible for that—but +she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her +husband's profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as +Jack's.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>Four days brought them within sight of the mountains, and the next +morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian +Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the +winter sun.</p> + +<p>"Glad you came, Peg?" shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight +snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder +at the scene.</p> + +<p>She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air.</p> + +<p>"Shure, ain't we all av us?" inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. "Say, +this beats th' Bowery. Th' Tenderloin ain't in it wid this. I'd loike to +camp right here for the rest of me days!"</p> + +<p>There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the +mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank, +that they all laughed.</p> + +<p>Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at +last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, +now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole +magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous +cañon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close.</p> + +<p>The blue shadows of morning melted into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> breathless splendor of high +noon upon the summit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple, +azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning +crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like +myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the +giant peaks.</p> + +<p>"Shure, 'tis a sad thing we can't ride in a train, drawin' th' county's +money foriver!" sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming +rapids.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but we've work to do, Pat!" answered Peggy. "You mustn't forget Sam +Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There's fame and fortune waiting for us."</p> + +<p>On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to +continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy +hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor's recognition of their +credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the +representatives of the State of New York.</p> + +<p>The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly +tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to +lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack's college. Oh, yes, +he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under +pressure of circumstances had technically violated the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> law, but a +perfect gentleman. Of course he had to honor their requisition, but he +was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under +arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit +and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people! +Everybody committed crime—inadvertently. There were so many statutes +that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly +sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist +them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined +with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a +pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a +blasted hearing—a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants.</p> + +<p>They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis, +together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The +Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard +and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear +that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer. +It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was +entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart +their purpose in any way. Of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> course, the whole thing was unfortunate in +many respects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the +complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be +easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to +return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming +and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming +if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to +them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy +access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little.</p> + +<p>Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr. +Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends, +and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr. +Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she +and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live +together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under +arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis. +Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him +with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any +reason to regret so doing.</p> + +<p>Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> themselves with sight-seeing, +while Andrews busied himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable +impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased, +and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of +a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way.</p> + +<p>"And now for New York!" exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat +around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their +arrival in Seattle. "How shall we go—Northern Pacific, Union, or The +Short Line and across on The Rock Island?"</p> + +<p>"Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfortably from behind an +enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. "Th' +longer th' better, suits <i>me</i>. 'Tis the county pays me, an' I loike +ridin' in the cars down to th' ground."</p> + +<p>"What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?" inquired Peggy, "You know the +country. Where would we see the most mountains?"</p> + +<p>Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have +noticed the flash of Andrews' gray eyes which so quickly died away. He +hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it +deserved.</p> + +<p>"There's practically no choice," he replied at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> length, knocking the ash +from his cigar. "They're all lovely at this time of year. The Rock +Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting." He +paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar.</p> + +<p>But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had +observed his manner.</p> + +<p>"You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?"</p> + +<p>Andrews smiled. "Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn't such +a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect +with the Soo. It's a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty +cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though."</p> + +<p>"Let's go!" exclaimed Peggy. "That's what we are after—scenery! I don't +care if it <i>is</i> cold. I've got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo? +That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mind!" answered her husband. "Andrews knows best. He's been +that way. Sure, if you say so."</p> + +<p>Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<a name="img13" id="img13"></a><img src="images/image-13.jpg" width="500" height="369" alt="He hesitated a moment" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration it deserved.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">III</h3> + +<p>All day long the snow had been falling steadily in big, fluffy flakes. +The heavy train ploughed through dense pine-clad ravines, beside +torrents buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose inky +blackness the engine plunged as into the bowels of the earth, across +vibrating trestles, and up grades that seemed never-ending, where the +driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, then clutched the +sanded rails and slowly forged onward. For two days it had been thus, +and from the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling snow met the +eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the shoulders of the mountains, and the +gorges between them were choked with mist. And onward, upward, always +upward groaned the train.</p> + +<p>Inside Jack's compartment in the first Pullman sat the four members of +our party playing cards, now on the best of terms. They had long since +given up condoling upon the weather, and had settled down to making the +best of it with cards, chess-board, and books. Between McGinnis and the +prisoner flowed an unending stream of anecdotes and adventures. It could +not be denied that the erstwhile bank president was a man of much +culture and wide reading. He had studied for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> bar, and from time to +time astounded Dockbridge by the acuteness of his mental processes. This +was the afternoon of the second day, and they were just completing their +thirteenth rubber of whist.</p> + +<p>The snow fell thicker as the light waned; soon the lamps were lighted +and the shades were drawn. The through passengers on the train were few, +and the good-natured conductor had adopted the party for the trip.</p> + +<p>"We're 'most at the top o' the pass," he remarked, as he paused to +inspect Jack's hand over his shoulder. "Should ha' made it an hour ago +but for this blank snow. I never saw it so thick. Too bad you've missed +the whole range, and to-morrow morning we'll be at Souris, and then +nothin' but prairie all across Dakota. When you wake up, the +mountains'll be two hundred miles west of you. Hard luck!"</p> + +<p>"My trick," said Andrews. "What's that, conductor? Souris to-morrow +morning? Any stops to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Nope; clear down-hill track all the way. There's a flag station an hour +beyond the divide—Ferguson's Gulch, and sometimes we stop for water at +Red River. There's no regular station there, and Jim wants to make up +time, so I reckon we'll make the run without stoppin'. Are you folks +ready for dinner?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>The strain on the wheels suddenly relaxed, and it seemed as though the +whole train sighed with relief. Ahead, the engine gave a succession of +quick snorts, as if rejoicing at once more reaching a level. The train +gathered head-way.</p> + +<p>"She's over the divide," announced the conductor, taking a bite from the +plug of tobacco carefully wrapped in his red silk handkerchief. "Now Jim +can let her run."</p> + +<p>"What do you call the divide?" asked Peggy.</p> + +<p>"The Lower Kootenay," he answered. "Oh, it's great here in summer! +Finest thing in Canada, in my opinion."</p> + +<p>"In Canada!" exclaimed Dockbridge, with a start. "What do you mean? Are +we in Canada?"</p> + +<p>"You've been in Canada since three o'clock," was the reply. "We cross +the lower left-hand corner of Alberta—look on the map there in the +folder. After makin' the divide we drop right back into Montana. They +couldn't cross the Rockies at this point without leavin' the States for +a few miles."</p> + +<p>The conductor arose and unfolded the map.</p> + +<p>"Ye see, here's where we leave Clarke Fork, then we skirt this range, +turn north, followin' that river there, the north branch of the +Flathead, and so over the line; then we turn and jam right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> through the +range. Two hours from now you'll be back in the old U.S."</p> + +<p>Dockbridge had started to his feet and was staring intently at the map. +It was only too true. They were in Canada. <i>In Canada!</i> And they were +holding their prisoner without due process of law! The warrant of the +Governors of New York and Washington were valueless in his Majesty's +Dominion. Did Andrews know? Jack pretended to study the map before him +and glanced furtively across the table. Pat was scowling ferociously at +the cards before him, and Andrews was lighting a cigarette. Apparently +he had heard nothing—or had paid no attention to what the conductor was +saying. With his brain in a whirl Dockbridge folded up the time-table +and handed it back.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm getting ravenous," he remarked.</p> + +<p>Just then the porter appeared from the direction of the buffet carrying +their evening meal.</p> + +<p>"Same here," echoed Andrews.</p> + +<p>For an hour or more they lingered over the table, Andrews seeming in +unusually good spirits. Dockbridge ceased to feel any uneasiness. He +realized how easily he might have been trapped, but no harm was done in +the present instance, for the minute section of Alberta which they +traversed offered no opportunities for the securing of any legal process +by which their prisoner could be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> released. Again, Andrews had not urged +the route upon them; that had been Peggy's doing. And, moreover, was he +not returning with them of his own free-will? No, it was absurd to have +been so upset at such a trifling matter.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to some more whist? You and I'll be partners this time, +Andrews."</p> + +<p>The things were cleared from the table and they began again. The speed +of the train seemed to have increased, and the cars swayed from side to +side as they sped down the grade. Peggy raised the shade and looked out. +The pane was plastered with an ever-changing, kaleidoscopic crust of +flakes that spat against it, dropped, clogged against the others, and +sagged downward in a dense mass toward the sash. At the top of the glass +the storm could be seen whirling down its myriads outside.</p> + +<p>"What a night!" she ejaculated, as she pulled down the shade.</p> + +<p>At that moment came a prolonged wail from the engine, followed by the +quick clutch of the brakes. The wheels groaned and creaked, and the +passengers tossed forward in their seats. Again the whistle shrieked. +The train, carried onward by its momentum, ground its wheels against the +brakes which strove to hold them back. Gradually they came to a +stand-still.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>The conductor rushed toward the door, and a brakeman hurried through +with a lantern.</p> + +<p>"Ferguson's Gulch!" he shouted as he ran by. "Must ha' signalled us!"</p> + +<p>Dockbridge's heart dropped a beat, and he glanced apprehensively toward +Andrews. The latter was smiling, but the hand that held his cigar +trembled a very little.</p> + +<p>"You're young yet, Dockbridge," he remarked, with slightly tremulous +sarcasm. "There are one or two things still for you to learn. One of +them is that a United States warrant is useless in Canada. You hadn't +thought of that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Warrant</i> is it? Shure this is all the warrant <i>I</i> want," replied Pat, +snapping a shining Colt from his pocket. "Plaze don't git excited, me +frind. P'r'aps ye don't know it all, yerself. Wan move, an' I'll put six +holes in yer carcus!"</p> + +<p>Dockbridge grasped Peggy by the arm and drew her breathless to her feet. +"What is it? What is it?" she gasped, clinging to him in the aisle. Jack +reached over and released the shade. Outside in the darkness red lights +swung to and fro. A blast of icy air poured into the car from the open +door. He hurried out into the vestibule. The storm was sweeping by +swiftly and silently, and absurdly the motto of his old bicycle club +flashed into his mind, "Volociter et silenter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> The lamp above his head +threw a yellow circle against the vast night. He stumbled down the steps +and clung to the rail, putting his head into the sleet. It stung his +face like the tentacles of a sea-monster. In the foreground stood the +conductor, already white with the snow, his lantern swinging to leeward +in the wind, shouting to a man on horseback. Four other mounted figures, +their steeds facing the blast, marked the point where the light ended +and the night began again. Three train hands, each with a lantern, paced +to and fro beside the car. Ahead could be heard the coughing of the +engine. The man on horseback waved his hand in the direction of the +train, flung himself heavily to the ground, tossed the reins to one of +the others, and strode toward the car.</p> + +<p>"Jones and Wilkes, hold the horses; Frazer and White, come along with +me," he directed over his shoulder. He pushed by Dockbridge and climbed +into the car. The conductor followed.</p> + +<p>"Where is the officer and his prisoner?" he demanded in a harsh voice.</p> + +<p>"Inside, your Honor," answered the conductor, shaking the snow from his +coat. "This is Mr. Dockbridge, the District Attorney from New York."</p> + +<p>"Umph!" grunted the stranger. He was an immense man with a heavy +jet-black beard and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> hair in thick curls all over his head. A +broad-brimmed sombrero cast a deep shadow over his features, heightening +their natural unpleasantness. Two of the others now jumped upon the +platform and entered the car, and Dockbridge saw that they wore some +kind of uniform and that the lining of their overcoats was red. Peggy +cowered to one side as the three strangers forced their way by her and +paused at the door of the compartment.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Andrews here?" inquired the one whom the others addressed as +Judge.</p> + +<p>"I am Mr. Andrews. This is the officer who holds me in custody."</p> + +<p>The Judge turned to one of his followers.</p> + +<p>"Serve him!" he growled.</p> + +<p>The one addressed took from beneath his coat a bundle of papers, and +selecting one, handed it to McGinnis, who let it fall to the floor +without a word.</p> + +<p>"Put up that pistol!" continued the Judge.</p> + +<p>At this moment Dockbridge, who had listened as if dazed to the colloquy, +now mastered sufficient courage to assert himself.</p> + +<p>"Here! what's all this?" he exclaimed in as determined a manner as he +could manage to assume. "What are you doing in my compartment with your +wet feet? Who the devil are you, anyway?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> He squeezed by his huge +antagonist and took his stand by McGinnis.</p> + +<p>The conductor and the majority of the train hands had crowded into the +passageway and filled the door with their dripping and astonished faces. +The officer handed another paper to Dockbridge.</p> + +<p>"This is Judge Peters, sir; and this paper is a writ of <i>habeas corpus</i> +returnable forthwith, sir," said the man.</p> + +<p>Dockbridge glanced at the paper and saw that the officer's statement was +correct. The paper was a writ ordering him to produce the body of Samuel +Andrews before the Honorable Elijah Peters, Judge of the Supreme Court +of Alberta, <i>forthwith</i>, and show cause why said Andrews should not be +set at liberty. He was trapped. It could not be denied.</p> + +<p>"Is this Judge Peters?" he inquired politely of the man with the black +beard, who had taken off his hat and seated himself upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>"I am," returned the other curtly. "And I now pronounce this car a +court, and direct you to release your prisoner as detained by you +without lawful authority."</p> + +<p>He leaned forward and shook his finger threateningly at McGinnis. "Put +up that pistol!"</p> + +<p>McGinnis looked at Dockbridge.</p> + +<p>"Put it up, Pat," directed the latter. "There's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> no occasion for +pistols." He winked at Peggy. "Pardon my lack of courtesy in addressing +you, Judge Peters, when you first entered. I was unaware, of course, to +whom it was that I spoke."</p> + +<p>The Judge shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"I'm naturally taken somewhat by surprise, and hardly feel that I can do +justice to my own position in the matter at such short notice. However, +as the court is now in session, I can only ask the privilege of arguing +the matter before your Honor. If I might be permitted to do so, I would +suggest that the hearing take place in some larger space than this +compartment, in which my wife desires speedily to retire." He looked +inquiringly toward the Court.</p> + +<p>"That's right, Jedge," spoke up the conductor. "Don't keep the lady out +of her room. You can hold court in the baggage-car."</p> + +<p>The black-bearded man grumblingly arose to his feet, leaving a large +pool of water in the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>"As you choose. Bring along the prisoner, and be quick about it. I've +got to ride fifteen miles to-night."</p> + +<p>The crowd streamed down the aisle and into the baggage-car in front. +McGinnis followed with Andrews.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>"Shall I come along, Jack?" whispered his wife.</p> + +<p>"No, stay here. I'm afraid we're beaten. I shall only spar for time, and +try to invent some way out of it."</p> + +<p>Peggy sadly watched his disappearing form. What a disgusting anticlimax! +She reviled herself for being the one who had forced the selection of +the Montana route. It was all her fault. When a man's married his +troubles begin! Jack would lose his job, and then where would they be? +She had gotten him into the fix, and now she would do her best to get +him out of it. She threw on his fur coat and cap and followed into the +baggage-car. The Judge had seated himself on a trunk. Jack stood at his +right with the warrant in his hand. A single lantern cast a fitful glare +over the two, around whom crowded the passengers and train hands. Peggy +heard her husband's somewhat immature voice stating the circumstances of +the wreck of the Boodle Bank. The Judge seemed not uninterested. The +crowd was getting larger every moment. Passengers kept coming in in +every kind of dishabille, and last of all the engineer and fireman +entered by the forward door. Outside, the huge engine hissed and +throbbed as if impatient of the delay. Peggy slipped unseen behind a +pile of trunks, snapped the big padlock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> through the staples of the +door, then, hurrying back to the compartment, rummaged until she found +Jack's box of cigars. Arming herself with these and with her copy of +"Moore on Extradition," she made her way back to the baggage-car.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know all that!" the Judge was saying. "But that's all +immaterial. It ain't what he did. It's what right you've got to hold him +in the Dominion of Canada on a warrant from a governor of one of the +United States. Show me that, or I'll discharge the prisoner here and +now."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, please," exclaimed Peggy, forcing her way through the throng +into the open space under the lamp, "I thought you might like to smoke. +Lawyers all like to smoke."</p> + +<p>There was an immediate response from the Court.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care if I do," remarked the Judge more genially. +"Confounded cold out there in the snow waiting for the train. Thank y'."</p> + +<p>He handed back the box, and Peggy passed it to the engineer and told him +to "send it along." Then she whispered in her husband's ear:</p> + +<p>"Read him that chapter on 'International Relations.' Keep it going for +ten minutes, and we'll win out, yet. I've got a scheme."</p> + +<p>Dockbridge took the book, opened it deliberately, and lighted a cigar +for himself. Peggy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> pushed back through the spectators to the +sleeping-car. Only a solitary brakeman remained outside in the snow, +stamping and swinging his arms.</p> + +<p>"Halloo, Mr. Sanders," said Peggy, "you ought to go in and hear the +argument. They're having a regular smoke talk. It's so thick I can't +breathe. They're giving away cigars. I should think you would freeze."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm froze already," answered Sanders. "I reckon I'll go in and +hear the fun. Is that straight about the cigars?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," laughed Peggy, while Sanders climbed on board. The +snow swept by in clouds as Peggy gave one glance at the retreating form +of the brakeman, and jumped down into the night.</p> + + +<h3 class="newsection">IV</h3> + +<p>The Judge threw back his burly form against the side of the car and +exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.</p> + +<p>"Now, young feller, if you have any legal right to detain your prisoner, +let's hear it. This court's goin' to adjourn in just ten minutes by the +watch, and I reckon when it adjourns it'll take the prisoner with it."</p> + +<p>The spectators, who had seated themselves as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> best they could, looked +expectantly toward the New Yorker.</p> + +<p>Jack arose, holding the book impressively before him. The gusts from the +storm outside penetrated the cracks of the loosely hung sliding +baggage-door and made the feeble lantern swing and flicker. The smoke +from twenty cigars swirled round the ceiling. The conductor placed his +own lantern on a trunk by Jack's side.</p> + +<p>"If the Court please," began Dockbridge, "while it's entirely true that +no warrant issued out of a court of the United States or by a governor +of one of the United States gives any jurisdiction over the person of a +fugitive who is held in custody in the Dominion of Canada, it is +nevertheless a fact that under the principle of comity between friendly +nations the government of one will not interfere with an officer of +another who is performing an official act under color of authority." +["Sounds well," said Jack to himself, "but don't mean a blame thing."] +"This principle is as old as the law itself, and is sustained by a long +series of decisions in our international tribunals. The doctrine is +clearly set forth by Grotius" ["that ought to nail him!"] "when he says: +'No nation will voluntarily interfere with a duly authorized officer of +another nation in the performance of his duty, whose act does not +interfere with the functions of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> government of the other.'" He +pronounced this balderdash with much solemnity and with great effect +upon the assembled train hands. "Now, your Honor, I am a duly authorized +officer of the State of New York, the same being at peace with the +Dominion of Canada."</p> + +<p>"Bosh!" interrupted the Judge. "You're talkin' nonsense. I won't be made +a fool of any longer. Prisoner discharged. This court stands adjourned, +and, as I said, it is goin' to take the prisoner with——"</p> + +<p>A jerk of the train prevented the conclusion of his sentence. There came +another pull from the engine, followed by a succession of violent puffs. +The train started.</p> + +<p>"My God! The engine!" shouted the fireman, making a spring for the door.</p> + +<p>"Locked! Locked!" he yelled, and threw himself upon it. The conductor +dived for the platform. The Judge started to his feet.</p> + +<p>"This is an infernal trick!" he cried. "Stop this train! D'ye hear? Stop +this train at once!"</p> + +<p>But the train was gathering head-way every moment, and was fast dropping +down the grade. A triumphant whistle shrilled through the night with a +succession of short toots.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, open the door!" gasped the engineer. "Get a crow-bar, +somebody! We'll be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> going a hundred miles an hour inside of a minute!" +But no crow-bar was to be found, and the door resisted all their +efforts. On rushed the train, thundering down the pass, swaying around +curves until the frightened occupants of the baggage-car clung to one +another to retain their foothold, and every moment adding to its speed. +The baggage-man threw open the side door. The night dashed by in a solid +wall of white.</p> + +<p>"Damme! This is a crime!" roared the Judge. "I'm being kidnapped. Your +Government shall be notified—if we're not all killed. Can't somebody +stop this train? Do you hear? Stop it, I say!"</p> + +<p>For an instant Dockbridge had been as startled as the others. Then it +came to him in one inspired moment. Peggy was on the engine! A series of +whistles came across the tender.</p> + +<p>"Toot—toot—toot! Toot—toot—toot! Toot—toot—toot! Toot—toot!"—the +old Harvard cheer that Peggy had heard echoing across the foot-ball +field a hundred times.</p> + +<p>Of course! She was going to fetch them out of Canada, and then to +thunder with all the judges of the Dominion! He began to laugh +hysterically. On and on, faster and faster, rushed the train. The pallid +faces of the passengers and crew stared strangely out of the blue haze. +Breathless, each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> man struggled to keep his footing, momentarily +expecting to be dashed into eternity. The minutes dragged as hours, +until at last, from somewhere in the rear of the train, the fireman +returned with a wrench, and throwing his whole weight upon the padlock, +quickly snapped its staples. The door burst open, sending him flying +headlong. Through the car poured a furious gust of wind and snow, +blinding, suffocating, and into the midst of this jumped the engineer, +and, clambering desperately upon the tender, disappeared.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, but Andrews had suddenly begun +to look white and old.</p> + +<p>At the same moment a red light flashed by alongside the track and the +train roared across a suspension bridge without slackening speed.</p> + +<p>"Red River!" gasped the fireman, clambering to his feet.</p> + +<p>The blood leaped in Jack's veins. Red River! Then they were across the +line. Peggy had won! God bless her! With a triumphant glance at the +cowering Andrews, he turned upon the frightened crowd.</p> + +<p>"You can't beat the Yankee girl!" he shouted. "Judge, you're right. +We've adjourned court, and are taking the prisoner with us—<span class="smcap">into the +United States</span>!"</p> + + + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Transcriber's Note: In the original edition, the title of each story +appeared twice, first on a page by itself in all capitals, followed by a +blank page, and then on the first page of the story in title case. These +duplicate titles have been deleted. The first title for "The +Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville" appeared in a shortened +form as "THE BARON DE VILLE". In the HTML version of this text, page +numbers have been included only on those pages which originally +contained them, not on blank pages or title pages.</p> + +<p>In "McAllister's Christmas", a quotation mark in front of "One as 'as +white 'air" was deleted, and a second chapter V was renumbered as VI.</p> + +<p>In "The Governor-General's Trunk", "The head bagage-man nodded" was +changed to "The head baggage-man nodded".</p> + +<p>In "The Golden Touch", missing quotation marks were added in front of +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about" and "Oh, my leg!" and +after "And it's worth what you ask—five thousand dollars?", "Where had +he seen that fact?" was changed to "Where had he seen that face?", "that +old VanVorst" was changed to "that old Van Vorst", and "VanVorst sat +there" was changed to "Van Vorst sat there".</p> + +<p>In "McAllister's Data of Ethics", a quotation mark was removed after +"his scented wife, and gilded chairs—".</p> + +<p>In "McAllister's Marriage", "Don' you want to show me the boy-horse" was +changed to "Don't you want to show me the boy-horse".</p> + +<p>In "The Course of Justice", "slowyl arose" was changed to "slowly +arose".</p> + +<p>In "The Maximilian Diamond", <i>"What day?" asked the clerk.</i> was changed +to <i>"'What day?' asked the clerk.</i></p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's McAllister and His Double, by Arthur Train + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + +***** This file should be named 34597-h.htm or 34597-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/9/34597/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: McAllister and His Double + +Author: Arthur Train + +Release Date: December 8, 2010 [EBook #34597] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: McALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE ARTHUR TRAIN] + + + + +[Illustration: McAllister whispered sharply in his ear. (Page 68.)] + + + + +McALLISTER +AND HIS DOUBLE + +BY ARTHUR TRAIN + +ILLUSTRATED + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::1905 + +COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +Published, September, 1905 + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +MCALLISTER'S CHRISTMAS 1 +THE BARON DE VILLE 53 +THE ESCAPE OF WILKINS 77 +THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S TRUNK 113 +THE GOLDEN TOUCH 141 +MCALLISTER'S DATA OF ETHICS 177 +MCALLISTER'S MARRIAGE 205 +THE JAILBIRD 233 +IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE 255 +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND 283 +EXTRADITION 311 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +McAllister whispered sharply in his ear _Frontispiece_ + + FACING PAGE +"What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!" 6 + +"Throw up your hands!" 10 + +"Do you know who you've caught?" 16 + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" 24 + +"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill." 64 + +"You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_." 88 + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern 102 + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" 110 + +Deftly tied the two ends of string around it 130 + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, +wild-eyed individual sprung from within 136 + +He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration +it deserved 324 + + + + +McAllister's Christmas + + +I + +McAllister was out of sorts. All the afternoon he had sat in the club +window and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by with their +bundles. He thanked God he had no brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows +for. The very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that had given them +families irritated him. McAllister was a clubman, pure and simple; that +is to say though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman and nothing +more. He had occupied the same seat by the same window during the +greater part of his earthly existence, and they were the same seat and +window that his father had filled before him. His select and exclusive +circle called him "Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terrapin and +cocktails had given him a graceful rotundity of person that did not +belie the name. They had also endowed him with a cheerful though +somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent sense of well-being. + +As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians became fewer, McAllister +sank deeper and deeper into gloom. The club was deserted. Everybody had +gone out of town to spend Christmas with someone else, and the +Winthrops, on whom he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some +reason to invite him. He had waited confidently until the last minute, +and now he was stranded, alone. + +It began to snow softly, gently. McAllister threw himself disconsolately +into a leathern armchair by the smouldering logs on the six-foot hearth. +A servant in livery entered, pulled down the shades, and after touching +a button that threw a subdued radiance over the room, withdrew +noiselessly. + +"Come back here, Peter!" growled McAllister. "Anybody in the club?" + +"Only Mr. Tomlinson, sir." + +McAllister swore under his breath. + +"Yes, sir," replied Peter. + +McAllister shot a quick glance at him. + +"I didn't say anything. You may go." + +This time Peter got almost to the door. + +"Er--Peter; ask Mr. Tomlinson if he will dine with me." + +Peter presently returned with the intelligence that Mr. Tomlinson would +be delighted. + +"Of course," grumbled McAllister to himself. "No one ever knew Tomlinson +to refuse anything." + +He ordered dinner, and then took up an evening paper in which an effort +had been made to conceal the absence of news by summarizing the +achievements of the past year. Staring head-lines invited his notice to + + =A YEAR OF PROGRESS.= + + =What the Tenement-House Commission Has Accomplished.= + + =FURTHER NEED OF PRISON REFORM.= + +He threw down the paper in disgust. This reform made him sick. Tenements +and prisons! Why were the papers always talking about tenements and +prisons? They were a great deal better than the people who lived in them +deserved. He recalled Wilkins, his valet, who had stolen his black pearl +scarf-pin. It increased his ill-humor. Hang Wilkins! The thief was +probably out by this time and wearing the pin. It had been a matter of +jest among his friends that the servant had looked not unlike his +master. McAllister winced at the thought. + +"Dinner is served," said Peter. + +An hour and a half later, Tomlinson and McAllister, having finished a +sumptuous repast, stared stupidly at each other across their liqueurs. +They were stuffed and bored. Tomlinson was a thin man who knew +everything positively. McAllister hated him. He always felt when in his +company like the woman who invariably answered her husband's remarks by +"'Tain't so! It's just the opposite!" Tomlinson was trying to make +conversation by repeating assertively what he had read in the evening +press. + +"Now, our prisons," he announced authoritatively. "Why, it is +outrageous! The people are crowded in like cattle; the food is +loathsome. It's a disgrace to a civilized city!" + +This was the last straw to McAllister. + +"Look here," he snapped back at Tomlinson, who shrank behind his cigar +at the vehemence of the attack, "what do you know about it? I tell you +it's all rot! It's all politics! Our tenements are all right, and so are +our prisons. The law of supply and demand regulates the tenements; and +who pays for the prisons, I'd like to know? We pay for 'em, and the +scamps that rob us live in 'em for nothing. The Tombs is a great deal +better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. I _know_! I had a +valet once that-- Oh, what's the use! I'd be glad to spend Christmas in +no worse place. Reform! Stuff! Don't tell me!" He sank back purple in +the face. + +[Illustration: "What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!"] + +"Oh, of course--if you know!" Tomlinson hesitated politely, remembering +that McAllister had signed for the dinner. + +"Well, I _do_ know," affirmed McAllister. + + +II + +"No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" rang out the bells, as McAllister left the +club at twelve o'clock and started down the avenue. + +"No-el! No-el!" hummed McAllister. "Pretty old air!" he thought. He had +almost forgotten that it was Christmas morning. As he felt his way +gingerly over the stone sidewalks, the bells were ringing all around +him. First one chime, then another. "No-el! No-el! No-el! No-el!" They +ceased, leaving the melody floating on the moist night air. + +The snow began to fall irregularly in patchy flakes, then gradually +turned to rain. First a soft, wet mist, that dimmed the electric lights +and shrouded the hotel windows; then a fine sprinkle; at last the chill +rain of a winter's night. McAllister turned up his coat-collar and +looked about for a cab. It was too late. He hurried hastily down the +avenue. Soon a welcome sight met his eye--a coupe, a night-hawk, +crawling slowly down the block, on the lookout, no doubt, for belated +Christmas revellers. Without superfluous introduction McAllister made a +dive for the door, shouted his address, and jumped inside. The driver, +but half-roused from his lethargy, muttered something unintelligible and +pulled in his horse. At the same moment the dark figure of a man swiftly +emerged from a side street, ran up to the cab, opened the door, threw in +a heavy object upon McAllister's feet, and followed it with himself. + +"Let her go!" he cried, slamming the door. The driver, without +hesitation, lashed his horse and started at a furious gallop down the +slippery avenue. + +Then for the first time the stranger perceived McAllister. There was a +muttered curse, a gleam of steel as they flashed by a street-lamp, and +the clubman felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against his cheek. + +"Speak, and I'll blow yer head off!" + +The cab swayed and swerved in all directions, and the driver retained +his seat with difficulty. McAllister, clinging to the sides of the +rocking vehicle, expected every moment to be either shot or thrown out +and killed. + +"Don't move!" hissed his companion. + +McAllister tried with difficulty not to move. + +Suddenly there came a shrill whistle, followed by the clatter of hoofs. +A figure on horseback dashed by. The driver, endeavoring to rein in his +now maddened beast, lost his balance and pitched overboard. There was a +confusion of shouts, a blue flash, a loud report. The horse sprang into +the air and fell, kicking, upon the pavement; the cab crashed upon its +side; amid a shower of glass the door parted company with its hinges, +and the stranger, placing his heel on McAllister's stomach, leaped +quickly into the darkness. A moment later, having recovered a part of +his scattered senses, our hero, thrusting himself through the shattered +framework of the cab, staggered to his feet. He remembered dimly +afterward having expected to create a mild sensation among the +spectators by announcing, in response to their polite inquiries as to +his safety, that he was "quite uninjured." Instead, however, the glare +of a policeman's lantern was turned upon his dishevelled countenance, +and a hoarse voice shouted: + +"Throw up your hands!" + +[Illustration: "Throw up your hands!"] + +He threw them up. Like the Phoenix rising from its ashes, McAllister +emerged from the debris which surrounded him. On either side of the cab +he beheld a policeman with a levelled revolver. A mounted officer stood +sentinel beside the smoking body of the horse. + +"No tricks, now!" continued the voice. "Pull your feet out of that mess, +and keep your hands up! Slip on the nippers, Tom. Better go through him +here. They always manage to lose somethin' goin' over." + +McAllister wondered where "Over" was. Before he could protest, he was +unceremoniously seated upon the body of the dead horse and the officers +were going rapidly through his clothes. + +"Thought so!" muttered Tom, as he drew out of McAllister's coat-pocket a +revolver and a jimmy. "Just as well to unballast 'em at the start." A +black calico mask and a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid +followed. + +Tom drew a quick breath. + +"So you're one of those, are ye?" he added with an oath. + +The victim of this astounding adventure had not yet spoken. Now he +stammered: + +"Look here! Who do you think I am? This is all a mistake." + +Tom did not deign to reply. + +The officer on horseback had dismounted and was poking among the pieces +of cab. + +"What's this here?" he inquired, as he dragged a large bundle covered +with black cloth into the circle of light, and, untying a bit of cord, +poured its contents upon the pavement. A glittering silver service +rolled out upon the asphalt and reflected the glow of the lanterns. + +"Gee! look at all the swag!" cried Tom. "I wonder where he melts it up." + +Faintly at first, then nearer and nearer, came the harsh clanging of the +"hurry up" wagon. + +"Get up!" directed Tom, punctuating his order with mild kicks. Then, as +the driver reined up the panting horses alongside, the officer grabbed +his prisoner by the coat-collar and yanked him to his feet. + +"Jump in," he said roughly. + +"My God!" exclaimed our friend half-aloud, "where are they going to take +me?" + +"To the Tombs--for Christmas!" answered Tom. + + +III + +McAllister, hatless, stumbled into the wagon and was thrust forcibly +into a corner. Above the steady drum of the rain upon the waterproof +cover he could hear the officers outside packing up the silverware and +discussing their capture. + +The hot japanned tin of the wagon-lamps smelled abominably. The heavy +breathing of the horses, together with the sickening odor of rubber and +damp straw, told him that this was no dream, but a frightful reality. + +"He's a bad un!" came Tom's voice in tones of caution. "You can see his +lay is the gentleman racket. Wait till he gets to the precinct and hear +the steer he'll give the sergeant. He's a wise un, and don't you forget +it!" + +As the wagon started, the officers swung on to the steps behind. +McAllister, crouching in the straw by the driver's seat, tried to +understand what had happened. Apart from a few bruises and a cut on his +forehead he had escaped injury, and, while considerably shaken up, was +physically little the worse for his adventure. His head, however, ached +badly. What he suffered from most was a new and strange sensation of +helplessness. It was as if he had stepped into another world, in which +he--McAllister, of the Colophon Club--did not belong and the language of +which he did not speak. The ignominy of his position crushed him. Never +again, should this disgrace become known, could he bring himself to +enter the portals of the club. To be the hero of an exciting adventure +with a burglar in a runaway cab was one matter, but to be arrested, +haled to prison and locked up, was quite another. Once before the proper +authorities, it would be simple enough to explain who and what he was, +but the question that troubled him was how to avoid publicity. He +remembered the bills in his pocket. Fortunately they were still there. +In spite of the handcuffs, he wormed them out and surreptitiously held +up the roll. The guard started visibly, and, turning away his head, +allowed McAllister to thrust the wad into his hand. + +"Can't I square this, somehow?" whispered our hero, hesitatingly. + +The guard broke into a loud guffaw. "Get on to him!" he laughed. "He's +at it already, Tom. Look at the dough he took out of his pants! You're +right about his lay." He turned fiercely upon McAllister, who, dazed by +this sudden turn of affairs, once more retreated into his corner. + +The three officers counted the money ostentatiously by the light of a +lantern. + +"Eighty plunks! Thought we was cheap, didn't he?" remarked the guard +scornfully. "No; eighty plunks won't square this job for you! It'll take +nearer eight years. No more monkey business, now! You've struck the +wrong combine!" + +McAllister saw that he had been guilty of a terrible _faux pas_. Any +explanation to these officers was clearly impossible. With an official +it would be different. He had once met a police commissioner at dinner, +and remembered that he had seemed really almost like a gentleman. + +The wagon drew up at a police station, and presently McAllister found +himself in a small room, at one end of which iron bars ran from floor to +ceiling. A kerosene lamp cast a dim light over a weather-beaten desk, +behind which, half-asleep, reclined an officer on night duty. A single +other chair and four large octagonal stone receptacles were the only +remaining furniture. + +The man behind the desk opened his eyes, yawned, and stared stupidly at +the officers. A clock directly overhead struck "one" with harsh, vibrant +clang. + +"Wot yer got?" inquired the sergeant. + +"A second-story man," answered the guard. + +"He took to a cab," explained Tom, "and him and his partner give us a +fierce chase down the avenoo. O'Halloran shot the horse, and the cab was +all knocked to hell. The other fellow clawed out before we could nab +him. But we got this one all right." + +"Hi, there, McCarthy!" shouted the sergeant to someone in the dim vast +beyond. "Come and open up." He examined McAllister with a degree of +interest. "Quite a swell guy!" he commented. "Them dress clothes must +have been real pretty onc't." + +McAllister stood with soaked and rumpled hair, hatless and collarless, +his coat torn and splashed, and his shirt-bosom bloody and covered with +mud. He wanted to cry, for the first time in thirty-five years. + +"Wot's yer name?" asked the sergeant. + +The prisoner remained stiffly mute. He would have suffered anything +rather than disclose himself. + +"Where do yer live?" + +Still no answer. The sergeant gave vent to a grim laugh. + +"Mum, eh?" He scribbled something in the blotter upon the desk before +him. Then he raised his eyes and scrutinized McAllister's face. Suddenly +he jumped to his feet. + +[Illustration: "Do you know who you've caught?"] + +"Well, of all the luck!" he exclaimed. "Do you know who you've caught? +It's Fatty Welch!" + + +IV + +How he had managed to live through the night that followed McAllister +could never afterward understand. Locked in a cell, alone, to be sure, +but with no light, he took off his dripping coat and threw himself on +the wooden seat that served for a bed. It was about six inches too +short. He lay there for a few moments, then got wearily to his feet and +began to pace up and down the narrow cell. His legs and abdomen, which +had been the recipients of so much attention, pained him severely. The +occupant of the next apartment, awakened by our friend's arrival, began +to show irritation. He ordered McAllister in no gentle language to +abstain from exercise and go to sleep. A woman farther down the corridor +commenced to moan drearily to herself. Evidently sleep had made her +forget her sorrow, but now in the middle of the night it came back to +her with redoubled force. Her groans racked McAllister's heart. A stir +ran all along the cells--sounds of people tossing restlessly, curses, +all the nameless noises of the jail. McAllister, fearful of bringing +some new calamity upon his head, sat down. He had been shivering when he +came in; now he reeked with perspiration. The air was fetid. The only +ventilation came through the gratings of the door, and a huge stove just +beyond his cell rendered the temperature almost unbearable. He began to +throw off his garments one by one. Again he drew his knees to his chest +and tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Never had McAllister in +all his life known such wretchedness of body, such abject physical +suffering. But his agony of mind was even more unbearable. Vague +apprehensions of infectious disease floating in the nauseous air, or of +possible pneumonia, unnerved and tortured him. Stretched on the floor he +fell at length into a coma of exhaustion, in which he fancied that he +was lying in a warm bath in the porcelain tub at home. In the room +beyond he could see Frazier, his valet, laying out his pajamas and +dressing-gown. There was a delicious odor of that violet perfume he +always used. In a minute he would jump into bed. Then the valet suddenly +came into the bath-room and began to pound his master on the back of the +neck. For some reason he did not resent this. It seemed quite natural +and proper. He merely put up his hand to ward off the blows, and found +the keeper standing over him. + +"Here's some breakfast," remarked that official. "Tom sent out and got +it for ye. The city don't supply no _aller carty_." McAllister vaguely +rubbed his eyes. The keeper shut and locked the door, leaving behind him +on the seat a tin mug of scalding hot coffee and a half loaf of sour +bread. + +McAllister arose and felt his clothes. They were entirely dry, but had +shrunk perceptibly. He was surprised to find that, save for the +dizziness in his head, he felt not unlike himself. Moreover, he was most +abominably hungry. He knelt down and smelt of the contents of the tin +cup. It did not smell like coffee at all. It tasted like a combination +of hot water, tea, and molasses. He waited until it had cooled, and +drank it. The bread was not so bad. McAllister ate it all. + +There was a good deal of noise in the cells now, and outside he could +hear many feet coming and going. Occasionally a draught of cold air +would flow in, and an officer would tramp down the corridor and remove +one of the occupants of the row. His watch showed that it was already +eight o'clock. He fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and found a very +warped and wrinkled cigar. His match-box supplied the necessary light, +and "Chubby" McAllister began to smoke his after-breakfast Havana with +appreciation. + +"No smoking in the cells!" came the rough voice of the keeper. "Give us +that cigar, Welch!" + +McAllister started to his feet. + +"Hand it over, now! Quick!" + +The clubman passed his cherished comforter through the bars, and the +keeper, thrusting it, still lighted, into his own mouth, grinned at him, +winked, and walked away. + +[Illustration: "Merry Christmas, Fatty!"] + +"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" he remarked genially over his shoulder. + + +V + +Half an hour later Tom and his "side partner" came to the cell-door. +They were flushed with victory. Already the morning papers contained +accounts of the pursuit and startling arrest of "Fatty Welch," the +well-known crook, who was wanted in Pennsylvania and elsewhere on +various charges. Altogether the officers were in a very genial frame of +mind. + +"Come along, Fatty," said Tom, helping the clubman into his bedraggled +overcoat. "We're almost late for roll-call, as it is." + +They left the cells and entered the station-house proper, where several +officers with their prisoners were waiting. + +"We'll take you down to Headquarters and make sure we've got you +_right_," he continued. "I guess Sheridan'll know you fast enough when +he sees you. Come on, boys!" He opened the door and led the way across +the sidewalk to the patrol wagon, which stood backed against the curb. + +It was a glorious winter's day. The sharp, frosty air stimulated the +clubman's jaded senses and gave him new hope; he felt sure that at +headquarters he would find some person to whom he could safely confide +the secret of his identity. In about ten minutes the wagon stopped in a +narrow street, before an inhospitable-looking building. + +"Here's the old place," remarked one of the load cheerfully. "Looks just +the same as ever. Mott Street's not a mite different. And to think I +ain't been here in fifteen years!" + +All clambered out, and each officer, selecting his prisoners, convoyed +them down a flight of steps, through a door, several feet below the +level of the sidewalk, and into a small, stuffy chamber full of men +smoking and lounging. Most of these seemed to take a friendly interest +in the clubman, a few accosting him by his now familiar alias. + +Tom hurried McAllister along a dark corridor, out into a cold +court-yard, across the cobblestones into another door, through a hall +lighted only by a dim gas-jet, and then up a flight of winding stairs. +McAllister's head whirled. Then quickly they were at the top, and in a +huge, high-ceiled room crowded with men in civilian dress. On one side, +upon a platform, stood a nondescript row of prisoners, at whom the +throng upon the floor gazed in silence. Above the heads of this file of +motley individuals could be read the gold lettering upon the cabinet +behind them--Rogues' Gallery. On the other side of the room, likewise +upon a platform and behind a long desk, stood two officers in uniform, +one of them an inspector, engaged in studying with the keenest attention +the human exhibition opposite. + +"Get up there, Fatty!" + +Before he realized what had happened, McAllister was pushed upon the +platform at the end of the line. His appearance created a little wave +of excitement, which increased when his comrades of the wagon joined +him. It was a peculiar scene. Twenty men standing up for inspection, +some gazing unconcernedly before them, some glaring defiantly at their +observers, and others grinning recognition at familiar faces. McAllister +grew cold with fright. Several of the detectives pointed at him and +nodded. Out of the silence the Inspector's voice came with the shock of +thunder: + +"Hey, there, you, Sanders, hold up your hand!" + +A short man near the head of the line lifted his arm. + +"Take off your hat." + +The prisoner removed his head-gear with his other hand. The Inspector +raised his voice and addressed the crowd of detectives, who turned with +one accord to examine the subject of his discourse. + +"That's Biff Sanders, con man and all-round thief. Served two terms up +the river for grand larceny--last time an eight-year bit; that was nine +years ago. Take a good look at him. I want you to remember his face. Put +your hat on." + +Sanders resumed his original position, his face expressing the most +complete indifference. + +A slight, good-looking young man now joined the Inspector and directed +his attention to the prisoner next the clubman, the same being he who +had remarked upon the familiar appearance of Mott Street. + +"Hold up your hand!" ordered the Inspector. "You're Muggins, aren't you? +Haven't been here in fifteen years, have you?" + +The man smiled. + +"You're right, Inspector," he said. "The last time was in '89." + +"That's Muggins, burglar and sneak; served four terms here, and then got +settled for life in Louisville for murder. Pardoned after he'd served +four years. Look at him." + +Thus the curious proceeding continued, each man in the line being +inspected, recognized, and his record and character described by the +Inspector to the assembled bureau of detectives. No other voice was +heard save the harsh tones of some prisoner in reply. + +Then the Inspector looked at McAllister. + +"Welch, hold up your hand." + +McAllister shuddered. If he refused, he knew not what might happen to +him. He had heard of the horrors of the "Third Degree," and associated +it with starvation, the rack, and all kinds of brutality. They might set +upon him in a body. He might be mobbed, beaten, strangled. And yet, if +he obeyed, would it not be a public admission that he was the mysterious +and elusive Welch? Would it not bind the chains more firmly about him +and render explanation all the more difficult? + +"Do you hear? Hold up your hand, and be quick about it!" + +His hand went up of its own accord. + +The Inspector cleared his throat and rapped upon the railing. + +"Take a good look at this man. He's Fatty Welch, one of the cleverest +thieves in the country. Does a little of everything. Began as a valet to +a clubman in this city. He got settled for stealing a valuable pin about +three years ago, and served a short term up the river. Since then he's +been all over. His game is to secure employment in fashionable houses as +butler or servant and then get away with the jewelry. He's wanted for a +big job down in Pennsylvania. Take a good look at him. When he gets out +we don't want him around these parts. I'd like you precinct-men to +remember him." + +The detectives crowded near to get a close view of the interesting +criminal. One or two of them made notes in memorandum books. The slender +man had a hasty conference with the Inspector. + +"The officer who has Welch, take him up to the gallery and then bring +him down to the record room," directed the Inspector. + +"Get down, Fatty!" commanded Tom. McAllister, stupefied with horror, +embarrassment, and apprehension of the possibilities in store for him, +stepped down and followed like a somnambulist. As they made their way to +the elevator he could hear the strident voice of the Inspector beginning +again: + +"This is Pat Hogan, otherwise known as 'Paddy the Sneak,' and his side +partner, Jim Hawkins, who goes under the name of James Hawkinson. His +pals call him 'Supple Jim.' Two of the cleverest sneaks in the country. +They branch out into strong arm work occasionally." + +The elevator began to ascend. + +"You seem kinder down," commented Tom. "I suppose you expect to get +settled for quite a bit down to Philadelphia, eh? Well, don't talk +unless you feel like it. Here we are!" + +They got out upon an upper floor and crossed the hall. On their left a +matron was arranging rows of tiny chairs in a small school-room or +nursery. At any other time the Lost Children's Room might have aroused a +flicker of interest in McAllister, but he felt none whatever in it now. +Tom opened a door and pushed the clubman gently into a small, low-ceiled +chamber. Charts and diagrams of the human cranium hung on one wall, +while a score of painted eyes, each of a different color, and each +bearing a technical appellation and a number, stared from the other. +Upon a small square platform, about eight inches in height, stood a +half-clad Italian congealed with terror and expecting momentarily to +receive a shock of electricity. The slender young man was rapidly +measuring his hands and feet and calling out the various dimensions to +an assistant, who recorded them upon a card. This accomplished, he +ordered his victim down from the block, seated him unceremoniously in a +chair, and with a pair of shining instruments gauged the depth of his +skull from front to rear, its width between the cheekbones, and the +length of the ears, describing all the while the other features in brief +terms to his associate. + +"Now off with you!" he ejaculated. "Here, lug this Greaser in and mug +him." + +The officer in the case haled the Italian, shrieking, into another room. + +"Ah, Fatty!" remarked the slender man. "I trust you won't object to +these little formalities? Take off that left shoe, if you please." + +McAllister's soul had shrivelled within him. His powers of thought had +been annihilated. Mechanically he removed the shoe in question and +placed his foot upon the block. The young man quickly measured it. + +"Now get up there and rest your hand on the board." + +McAllister observed that the table bore the painted outline of a human +hand. He did as he was told unquestioningly. The other measured his +forefinger and the length of his forearm. + +"All right. Now sit down and let me tickle your head for a moment." + +The operator took the silver calipers which had just been used upon the +Italian and ran them thoughtfully forward and back above the clubman's +organs of hearing. + +"By George, you've got a big head!" remarked the measurer. "Prominent, +Roman nose. No. 4 eyes. Thank you. Just step into the next room, will +you, and be mugged?" + +McAllister drew on his shoe and followed Tom into the adjoining chamber +of horrors. + +"No tricks, now!" commented the officer in charge of the instrument. + +Snap! went the camera. + +"Turn sideways." + +Snap! + +"That's all." + +The clubman staggered to his feet. He entirely failed to appreciate the +extent of the indignity which had been practised upon him. It was hours +before he realized that he had actually been measured and photographed +as a criminal, and that, to his dying hour and beyond, these insignia of +his shame would remain locked in the custody of the police. + +"Where now?" he asked. + +"Time to go over to court," answered Tom. "The wagon'll be waitin' for +us. But first we'll drop in on Sheridan--record-room man, you know." + +"Isn't there some way I can see the Commissioner?" inquired McAllister. + +Tom burst into a roar of laughter. + +"You _have_ got a gall!" he commented, thumping his prisoner +good-naturedly in the middle of the back. "The Commissioner! Ho-ho! +That's a good one! I guess we'll have to make it the Warden. Come on, +now, and quit yer joshin'." + +Once more they entered the main room, where the detectives were +congregated. The Inspector was still at it. There had been a big haul +the night before. He intended running all the crooks out of town by New +Year's Day. Tom shoved McAllister through the crush, across an adjoining +room and finally into a tiny office. A young man with a genial +countenance was sitting at a desk by the single window. He looked up as +they crossed the threshold. + +"Hello, Welch! How goes it? Let's see, how long is it since you were +here?" + +Somehow this quiet, gentlemanly fellow with his confident method of +address, telling you just who you were, irritated McAllister to the +explosive point. + +"I'm not Welch!" he cried indignantly. + +"Ha-ha!" laughed Mr. Sheridan. "Pray who are you?" + +"You'll find out soon enough!" answered McAllister sullenly. + +"Look here," remarked the other, "don't imagine you can bluff us. If you +think you are not Welch, perhaps I can persuade you to change your +mind." + +He turned to an officer who stood in the doorway of a large vault. + +"Bring 2,208, if you please." + +The officer pulled out a drawer, removed a long linen envelope, and +spread out its contents upon the desk. These were fifteen or twenty +newspaper clippings, at least one of which was embellished with an +evil-looking wood-cut. + +"Let's see," continued Mr. Sheridan. "You began with a year up the +river. Took a pearl pin from a man named McAllister. Then you turned +several tricks in Chicago, St. Louis, Buffalo and Philadelphia, and got +away with it every time. Have we got you right?" + +McAllister ground his teeth. + +"You have not!" said he. + +"Look at yourself," continued the other. "There's your face. You can't +deny it. I wonder the Inspector didn't have you measured and +photographed the first time you were settled. Still, the picture's +enough." + +He handed the clubman a newspaper clipping containing a visage which +undeniably resembled the features which the latter saw daily in his +mirror. McAllister wearily shook his head. + +"Well," said the expert, "of course you don't have to tell us anything +unless you want to. We've got you right--that's enough." + +He pushed the clippings back into the envelope, handed it to the +officer, and turned away. + +"Come on!" ordered Tom. + +Once more McAllister and his mentor availed themselves of the only free +transportation offered by the city government, that of the patrol wagon, +and were soon deposited at the side entrance of the Jefferson Market +police court. A group of curious idlers watched their descent and +disappearance into what must have at all times seemed to them a concrete +and ever-present temporal Avernus. The why and wherefore of these +erratic trips were, of course, unknown to McAllister. Presumably he must +be some _rara avis_ of crime whose feet had been caught inadvertently in +the limed twig set by the official fowler for more homely poultry. +Fatty Welch, whoever he might be, apparently enjoyed the respect +incident to success in any line of human endeavor. It seemed likewise +that his presence was much desired in the sister city of Philadelphia, +in which direction the clubman had a vague fear of being unwillingly +transported. He did not, of course, realize that he was held primarily +as a violator of the law of his own State, and hence must answer to the +charge in the magistrate's court nearest the locus of his supposed +offence. + +Inside the station house Tom held a few moments' converse with one of +its grizzled guardians, and then led our hero along a passage and opened +a door. But here McAllister shrank back. It was his first sight of that +great cosmopolitan institution, the police court. Before him lay the +scene of which he had so often read in the newspapers. The big room with +its Gothic windows was filled to overflowing with every variety of the +human species, who not only taxed the seating capacity of the benches to +the utmost, but near the doors were packed into a solid, impenetrable +mass. Upon a platform behind a desk a square-jawed man with +chin-whiskers disposed rapidly of the file of defendants brought before +him. + +A long line of officers, each with one or more prisoners, stood upon the +judge's left, and as fast as the business of one was concluded the next +pushed forward. McAllister perceived that at best only a few moments +could elapse before he was brought to face the charge against him, and +that he must make up his mind quickly what course of action to pursue. +As he stepped down from the doorway there was a perceptible flutter +among the spectators. Several hungry-looking men with note-books opened +them and poised their pencils expectantly. + +Tom, having handed over McAllister to the temporary care of a brother +officer, lost no time in locating his complainant, that is to say, the +gentleman whose house our hero was charged with having burglariously +entered. The two then sought out the clerk, who seemed to be holding a +sort of little preliminary court of his own, and who, under the +officer's instruction, drew up some formal document to which the +complainant signed his name. McAllister was now brought before this +official and briefly informed that anything he might say would be used +against him at his trial. He was then interrogated, as before, in regard +to his name, age, residence, and occupation, but with the same result. +Indeed, no answers seemed to be expected under the circumstances, and +the clerk, having written something upon the paper, waved them aside. +Nothing, however, of these proceedings had been lost to the reporters, +who escorted Tom and McAllister to the end of the line of officers, +worrying the former for information as to his prisoner's origin and past +performances. But Tom motioned them off with the papers which he held in +his hand, bidding them await the final action of the magistrate. Nobody +seemed particularly unfriendly; in fact, an air of general +good-fellowship pervaded the entire routine going on around them. What +impressed the clubman most was the persistence and omnipresence of the +reporters. + +"I must get time!" thought McAllister. "I must get time!" + +One after another the victims of the varied delights of too much +Christmas jubilation were disposed of. Fatty Welch was the only real +"gun" that had been taken. He had the arena practically to himself. Now +only one case intervened. He braced himself and tried to steady his +nerves. + +"Next! What's this?" + +McAllister was thrust down below the bridge facing the bench, and Tom +began hastily to describe the circumstances of the arrest. + +"Fatty Welch?" interrupted the magistrate. "Oh, yes! I read about it in +the morning papers. Chased off in a cab, didn't he? You shot the horse, +and his partner got away? Wanted in Pennsylvania and Illinois, you say? +That's enough." Then looking down at McAllister, who stood before him +in bespattered dress suit and fragmentary linen, he inquired: + +"Have you counsel?" + +McAllister made no answer. If he proclaimed who he was and demanded an +immediate hearing, the harpies of the press would fill the papers with +full accounts of his episode. His incognito must be preserved at any +cost. Whatever action he might decide to take, this was not the time and +place; a better opportunity would undoubtedly present itself later in +the day. + +"You are charged with the crime of burglary," continued the Judge, "and +it is further alleged that you are a fugitive from justice in two other +States. What have you to say for yourself?" + +McAllister sought the Judge's eye in vain. + +"I have nothing to say," he replied faintly. There was a renewed +scratching of pens. + +The Judge conferred with the clerk for a moment. + +"Any question of the prisoner's identity?" he asked. + +"Oh, no," replied Tom conclusively. "The fact is, yer onner, we took him +by accident, as you may say. We laid a plant for a feller doin' +second-story work on the avenoo, and when we nabbed him, who should it +be but Welch! Ye see, they wired on his description from Philadelphia a +couple of weeks ago, but we couldn't find hide or hair of him in the +city, and had about give up lookin'. Then, quite unexpected, we scoops +him in. Here's his indentity," handing the Judge a soiled telegraph +blank. "It's him, all right," he added with a grin. + +The magistrate glanced at the form and at McAllister. + +"Seems to fit," he commented. "Have you looked for the scar?" + +Tom laughed. + +"Sure! I seen it when he was gettin' his measurements took, down to +headquarters." + +"Turn around, Welch, and let's see your back," directed the magistrate. + +The clubman turned around and displayed his collarless neck. + +"There it is!" exclaimed Tom. + +McAllister mechanically put his hand to his neck and turned faint. He +had had in his childhood an almost forgotten fall, and the scar was +still there. He experienced a genuine thrill of horror. + +"Well," continued the magistrate, "the prisoner is entitled to counsel, +and, besides, I am sure that the complainant, Mr. Brown, has no desire +to be delayed here on Christmas Day. I will set the hearing for ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, at the Tombs police court. I shall be +sitting there for Judge Mason the rest of the week, beginning to-morrow, +and will take the case along with me. You might suggest to the Warden +that it would be more convenient to send the prisoner down to the Tombs, +so that there need be no delay." + +The complainant bowed, and the officer at the bridge slapped McAllister +not unkindly upon the back. + +"You'll need a pretty good lawyer," he remarked with a wink. + +"Next!" ordered the Judge. + +In the patrol wagon McAllister had ample time for reflection. A motley +collection of tramps, "disorderlies," and petty law-breakers filled the +seats and crowded the aisle. They all talked and joked, swinging from +side to side and clutching at one another for support with harsh +outbursts of profanity, as they rattled down the deserted streets toward +New York's Bastile. Staggering for a foot-hold, between four women of +the town, McAllister was forced to breathe the fumes of alcohol, the +odor of musk, and the aroma of foul linen. He no longer felt innocent. +The sense of guilt was upon him. He seemed part and parcel of this load +of miserable humanity. + +The wagon clattered over the cobblestones of Elm Street, and whirling +round, backed up to the door of the Tombs. The low, massive Egyptian +structure, surrounded by a high stone wall, seemed like a gigantic +mortuary vault waiting to receive the "civilly dead." Warden and keepers +were ready for the prisoners, who were now unceremoniously bundled out +and hustled inside. McAllister stood with the others in a small anteroom +leading directly into the lowest tier. He could hear the ceaseless +shuffling of feet and the subdued murmur of voices, rising and falling, +but continuous, like the twittering of a multitude of birds, while +through the bars came the fetid prison smell, with a new and +disagreeable element--the odor of prison food. + +"Keepin' your mouth shut?" remarked the deputy to McAllister, as he +entered the words "Prisoner refuses to answer," and blotted them. + +"We're rather crowded just now," he added apologetically. "I guess I'll +send you to Murderer's Row. Holloa, there!" he called to someone above, +"one for the first tier!" + +A keeper seized the clubman by the arm, opened a door in the steel +grating, and pushed him through. "Go 'long up!" he ordered. + +McAllister started wearily up the stairs. At the top of the flight he +came to another door, behind which stood another keeper. In the +background marched in ceaseless procession an irregular file of men. In +the gloom they looked like ghosts. Aimlessly they walked on, one behind +the other, most of them with eyes downcast, wordless, taking that +exercise of the body which the law prescribed. + +McAllister entered The Den of Beasts. + +"All right, Jimmy!" yelled the keeper to the deputy warden below. Then, +turning to McAllister. "I'm goin' to put you in with Davidson. He's +quiet, and won't bother you if you let him alone. Better give him +whichever berth he feels like. Them double-decker cots is just as good +on top as they is below." + +McAllister followed the keeper down the narrow gangway that ran around +the prison. In the stone corridor below a great iron stove glowed +red-hot, and its fumes rose and mingled with the tainted air that +floated out from every cell. Above him rose tier on tier, illuminated +only by the gray light which filtered through a grimy window at one end +of the prison. The arrangement of cells, the "bridges" that joined the +tiers, and the murky atmosphere, heightened the resemblance to the +"'tween decks" of an enormous slaver, bearing them all away to some +distant port of servitude. + +"Get up there, Jake! Here's a bunkie for you." + +McAllister bent his head and entered. He was standing beside a +two-story cot bed, in a compartment about six by eight feet square. A +faint light came from a narrow, horizontal slit in the rear wall. A +faucet with tin basin completed the contents of the room. On the top +bunk lay a man's soiled coat and waistcoat, the feet of the owner being +discernible below. + +The keeper locked the door and departed, while the occupant of the +berth, rolling lazily over, peered up at the new-comer; then he sprang +from the cot. + +"Mr. McAllister!" he whispered hoarsely. + +It was Wilkins--the old Wilkins, in spite of a new light-brown beard. + +For a few moments neither spoke. + +"Sorry to see you 'ere, sir," said Wilkins at length, in his old +respectful tones. "Won't you sit down, sir?" + +McAllister seated himself upon the bed automatically. + +"You here, Wilkins?" he managed to say. + +Wilkins laughed rather bitterly. + +"I've been in stir a good part of the time since I left you, sir; an' +two weeks ago I pleaded guilty to larceny and was sentenced to one year +more. But I'm glad to see you lookin' so well, if you'll pardon me, +sir." + +"I'm sorry for you, Wilkins," the master managed to reply. "I hope my +severity in that matter of the pin did not bring you to this!" + +Wilkins hesitated for a moment. + +"It ain't your fault, sir. I was born crooked, I fancy, sir. It's all +right. You've got troubles of your own. Only--you'll excuse me, sir--I +never suspected anything when I was in your service." + +McAllister did not grasp the meaning of this remark; he only felt relief +that Wilkins apparently bore him no ill-will. Very few of his friends +would have followed up a theft of that sort. They expected their men to +steal their pins. + +"Mebbe I might 'elp you. Wot's the charge, sir?" + +With his former valet as a sympathetic listener, McAllister poured out +his whole story, omitting nothing, and, as he finished, leaned forward, +searching eagerly the other's face. + +"Now, what shall I do? What shall I do, Wilkins?" + +The latter coughed deprecatingly. + +"You'll pardon me, but that'll never go, sir! You'll have to get +somethin' better than that, sir. The jury will never believe it." + +McAllister sprang to his feet, in so doing knocking his head against the +iron support of the upper cot. + +"How dare you, Wilkins! What do you mean?" + +"There, there, sir!" exclaimed the other. "Don't take on so. Of course I +didn't mean you wouldn't tell the truth, sir. But don't you see, sir, +hit isn't I as am goin' to listen to it? Shall I fetch you some water to +wash your face, sir?" He turned on the faucet. + +The clubman, yielding to the force of ancient habit, allowed Wilkins to +let it run for him, and having washed his face and combed his hair, felt +somewhat refreshed. + +"That feels good," he remarked, rubbing his hands together. + +It was obvious that so long as he remained in prison he would be either +"Fatty Welch" or someone else equally depraved; and since he could not +make anyone understand, it seemed his best plan to accept for the time, +with equanimity, the personality that fate had thrust upon him. + +"Well, Wilkins, we're in a tight place. But we'll do what we can to +assist each other. If I get out first I'll help you, and _vice versa_. +Now, what's the first thing to be done? You see, I've never been here +before." + +"That's the talk, sir," answered Wilkins. "Now, first, who's your +lawyer?" + +"Haven't any, yet." + +"All depends on the lawyer," returned the valet judicially. "Now, +there's Carter, and Herlihy, and Kemp, all sharp fellows, but they're +always after you for money, and then they're so clever that the jury is +apt to distrust 'em. The best thing, I find, is to get the most +respectable old solicitor you can--kind of genteel, 'family' variety, +with the goodness just stickin' hout all hover 'im. 'E creates a +hatmosphere of hinnocence, and that's wot you need. One as 'as white +'air and can talk about 'this boy 'ere' and can lay 'is 'and on yer +shoulder and weep. That's the go, sir." + +"I understand," said McAllister. + +Under the guidance of his valet our hero secured writing materials and +indicted a pitiful appeal to his family lawyer. + +A gong rang; the squad of prisoners who had been exercising went back to +their cells, and the keeper came and unlocked the door. + +McAllister stepped out and fell into line. His tight clothes proved very +uncomfortable as he strode round the tiers, and the absence of a +collar--yes, that was really the most unpleasant feature. His neck was +not much to boast of, therefore he always wore his shirts low and his +collars high. Now, as he stumbled along, he was the object of +considerable attention from his fellows. + +At the end of an hour another gong sounded. In a moment the tiers were +empty; fifty doors clanged to. + +"Well, Wilkins?" + +"Being as this is Sunday, sir, we 'ave a few hours' service. Church of +England first, then City Mission. We're not hallowed to talk, but if you +don't mind the 'owlin' you can snatch a wink o' sleep. Christmas dinner +at twelve. Old Burridge, the trusty, was a-tellin' me as 'ow it's +hexcellent, sir!" + +McAllister looked at his watch in despair. It was only a quarter past +ten. He had not been to church for fifteen years, but evidently he was +in for it now. Following his former valet's example, he took off his +shoes and stretched himself upon the cot. + +On and on in never-varying tones dragged the service. The preacher held +the key to the situation. His congregation could not escape; he had a +full house, and he was bent on making the most of it. + +The hands of McAllister's watch crept slowly round to five minutes +before eleven. + +When at last the preacher stopped, carefully folded his manuscript, and +pronounced the benediction, a prolonged sigh of relief eddied through +the Tombs. Men were waking on all sides; cots creaked; there was a +general and contagious yawn. + +Again the gong rang, and with it the smell of food floated up along the +tiers. McAllister realized that he was hungry--not mildly, as he was at +the club, but ravenous, as he had never been before. Presently the +longed-for food came, borne by a "trusty" in new white uniform. Wilkins, +who had been making a meagre toilet at the faucet, took in the dinner +through the door--two tin plates piled high with turkey and chicken, +flanked by heaps of potato and carrots, and one whole apple pie! + +"Ha!" thought McAllister, "I was not so far wrong about this part of +it!" The chicken was perhaps not of the variety known as "spring"; but +neither master nor man noticed it as they feasted, sitting side by side +upon the cot. + +"Carrots!" philosophized McAllister, looking regretfully at his empty +tin plate. "Now, I thought only horses ate carrots; and really, they're +not bad at all. I should like some more. Er--Wilkins! Can we get some +more carrots?" + +Wilkins shook his head mournfully. + +"Message for 34! Message for 34!" + +A letter was thrust through the bars. + +McAllister tore it open with feverish haste, and recognized the crabbed +hand of old Mr. Potter. + + 2 East Seventy-First Street. + F. Welch, Esq. + + Sir: The remarkable letter just delivered to me, + signed by a name which you request me not to use in my + reply, has received careful consideration. I + telephoned to Mr. Mc----'s rooms, and was informed by + his valet that that gentleman had gone to the country + to visit friends over Christmas. I have therefore + directed the messenger to collect from yourself his + fee for delivering this answer. Yours, etc., + + EBENEZER POTTER. + +"That fool Frazier!" groaned McAllister. "How the devil could he have +thought I had gone away?" Then he remembered that he had directed the +valet to pack his bags and send them to the station, in anticipation of +the Winthrops' invitation. + +He was at his wits' end. + +"How do you get bail, Wilkins?" + +"You 'ave to find someone as owns real estate in the city, sir, to go on +your bond. 'Ow much is it?" + +"Five thousand dollars," replied McAllister. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. He regarded his former master with +renewed interest. + +But the dinner had wrought a change in that hitherto subdued individual. +With a valet and running water he was beginning to feel his oats a +little. He checked off mentally the names of his acquaintances. There +was not one left in town. + +He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. One o'clock. Just then the +gong rang again. + +"What in thunder is this, now?" + +"Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from one to two-thirty." + +"Ye gods!" ejaculated McAllister. + +A band of young girls came and stood with their hymn-books along the +opposite tier, while a Presbyterian clergyman took the place on the +bridge recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Prayers alternated +with hymns until the sermon, which lasted sixty-five minutes. + +McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed until half past two, +when the choir and missionary finally departed. + +"Only a 'arf 'our, sir, an' we can get some more hexercise," said +Wilkins encouragingly. + +But McAllister did not want exercise. He swung to his feet, and peering +disconsolately through the bars was suddenly confronted by an anaemic +young woman holding an armful of flowers. Before he could efface himself +she smiled sweetly at him. + +"My poor man," she began confidently, "how sorry I am for you this +beautiful Christmas _Day_! Please take some of these; they will brighten +up your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." She pushed a dozen +carnations and asters through the bars. + +McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them. + +"What is your name?" continued the maiden. + +"Welch!" blurted out our bewildered friend. + +There was a stifled snort from the bunk behind. + +"Good-by, Welch. I know you are not _really_ bad. Won't you shake hands +with me?" + +She thrust her hand through the bars, and McAllister gave it a +perfunctory shake. + +"Good-by," she murmured, and passed on. + +"Lawd!" exploded Wilkins, rolling from side to side upon his cot. "O +Lawd! O Lawd! O--" and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the +carnations into the wash-basin. + +The gong again, and once more that endless tramp along the hot tiers. +The prison grew darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and the +air became more and more oppressive. With five o'clock came supper; then +the long, weary night. + +Next morning the valet seemed nervous and excited, eating little +breakfast, and smiling from time to time vaguely to himself. Having +fumbled in his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, which +he held toward his master. + +"'Ere, sir," he said with averted head. "It's for the pin. I'm sorry I +took it." + +McAllister's eyes were a little blurred as he mechanically received the +card-board. + +"Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said. + +A keeper came walking along the tier rattling the doors and telling +those who were wanted in court to get ready. + +"Good-by," said McAllister. "I'm sorry you felt obliged to plead guilty. +I might have helped you if I'd only known. Why didn't you stand your +trial?" + +"I 'ad my reasons," replied the valet. "I wanted to get my case disposed +of as quick as possible. You see, I'd been livin' in Philadelphia, and +'ad just come to New York when I was harrested. I didn't want 'em to +find out who I was or where I come from, so I just gives the name of +Davidson, and takes my dose." + +"Well," said McAllister, "you're taking your own dose; I'm taking +somebody else's. That hardly seems a fair deal--now does it, Wilkins? +But, of course, you don't know but that I _am_ Welch." + +"Oh, yes, I do, sir!" returned the valet. "You won't never be punished +for what he done." + +"How do you know?" exclaimed McAllister, visions of a speedy release +crowding into his mind. "And if you knew, why didn't you say so before? +Why, you might have got me out. How do you know?" he repeated. + +Wilkins looked around cautiously. The keeper was at the other end of the +tier. Then he came close to McAllister and whispered: + +"_Because I'm Fatty Welch myself!_" + + +VI + +Downstairs, across the sunlit prison yard, past the spot where the +hangings had taken place in the old days, up an enclosed staircase, a +half turn, and the clubman was marched across the Bridge of Sighs. Most +of the prisoners with him seemed in good spirits, but McAllister, who +was oppressed with the foreboding of imminent peril, felt that he could +no longer take any chances. His fatal resemblance to Fatty Welch, alias +Wilkins, his former valet, the circumstances of his arrest, the scar on +his neck, would seem to make conviction certain unless he followed one +of two alternatives--either that of disclosing Welch's identity or his +own. He dismissed the former instantly. Now that he knew something of +the real sufferings of men, his own life seemed contemptible. What +mattered the laughter of his friends, or sarcastic paragraphs in the +society columns of the papers? What did the fellows at the club know of +the game of life and death going on around them? of the misery and vice +to which they contributed? of the hopelessness of those wretched souls +who had been crushed down by fate into the gutters of life? Determined +to declare himself, he entered the court-room and tramped with the +others to the rail. + +There, to his amazement, sat old Mr. Potter beside the Judge. Tom and +his partner stood at one side. + +"Welch, step up here." + +Mr. Potter nodded very slightly, and McAllister, taking the hint, +stepped forward. + +"Is this your prisoner, officer?" + +"Shure, that's him, right enough," answered Tom. + +"Discharged," said the magistrate. + +Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who smiled good-humoredly and +winked at McAllister. + +"Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I'll let you off this time, but if +it happens again I won't answer for the consequences. Go home." + +Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled officers, who grinned +sheepishly, and then, seizing McAllister's arm, led our astonished +friend out of the court-room. + +As they whirled uptown in the closed automobile which had been waiting +for them around the corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the +letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had bethought him of calling +up Mrs. Winthrop on the telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer's +inquiries had fully convinced him of his error, and after evading her +questions with his usual caution, he had taken immediate steps for his +client's release--steps which, by reason of the lateness of the hour, he +could not communicate to the unhappy McAllister. + +"What has become of the fugitive Welch," he ended, "remains a mystery. +The police cannot imagine where he has hidden himself." + +"I wonder," said McAllister dreamily. + + * * * * * + +It was just seven o'clock when McAllister, arrayed, as usual, in +immaculate evening dress, sauntered into the club. Most of the men were +back from their Christmas outing; half a dozen of them were engaged in +ordering dinner. + +"Hello, Chubby!" shouted someone. "Come and have a drink. Had a pleasant +Christmas? You were at the Winthrops', weren't you?" + +"No," answered McAllister; "had to stay right in New York. Couldn't get +away. Yes, I'll take a dry Martini--er, waiter, make that two Martinis. +I want you all to have dinner with me. How would terrapin and +canvas-back do? Fill it out to suit yourselves, while I just take a +look at the _Post_." + +He picked up a paper, glanced at the head-lines, threw it down with a +sigh of relief, and lighted a cigarette. At the same moment two +policemen in civilian dress were leaving McAllister's apartments, each +having received at the hands of the impassive Frazier a bundle +containing a silver-mounted revolver and a large bottle full of an +unknown brown fluid. + +McAllister's dinner was a great success. The boys all said afterward +that they had never seen Chubby in such good form. Only one incident +marred the serenity of the occasion, and that was a mere trifle. Charlie +Bush had been staying over Christmas with an ex-Chairman of the Prison +Reform Association, and being in a communicative mood insisted on +talking about it. + +"Only fancy," he remarked, as he took a gulp of champagne, "he says the +prisons of the city are in an abominable condition--that they're a +disgrace to a civilized community." + +Tomlinson paused in lifting his glass. He remembered his host's opinion, +expressed two nights before and desired to show his appreciation of an +excellent meal. + +"That's all rot!" he interrupted a little thickly. "'S all politics. The +Tombs is a lot better than most second-class hotels on the Continent. +Our prisons are all right, I tell you!" His eyes swept the circle +militantly. + +"Look here, Tomlinson," remarked McAllister sternly, "don't be so sure. +What do you know about it?" + + + + + + +The Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville + + +I + +"I want you," said Barney Conville, tapping Mr. McAllister lightly upon +the shoulder. + +The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting fall his monocle. He +certainly had never seen the man before in his life--was sure of it, +even during that unfortunate experience the year before, which he had so +far successfully concealed from his friends. No, it was simply a case of +mistaken identity; and yet the fellow--confound him!--didn't look like a +chap that often _was_ mistaken. + +"Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin'. Come along quiet," continued Barney, +with his most persuasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with a +black mustache and an unswerving eye, about two-thirds the size of +McAllister, whom he had addressed so familiarly. + +"Fatty!" McAllister, _bon vivant_, clubman, prince of good fellows, +started at the word and stared tensely. What infernal luck! That same +regrettable resemblance that had landed him in the Tombs over Christmas +was again bobbing up to render him miserable. He wished, as he had +wished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been sentenced to twenty years +instead of one. He had evidently been discharged from prison and was at +his old tricks again, with the result that once more his employer was +playing the part of Dromio. McAllister had succeeded by judicious +bribery and the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history of his +incarceration. Had this not been the case one word now to the determined +individual with the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but he +could not bear to divulge the secret of those horrible thirty-six hours +which he, under the name of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in a +cell. Maybe he could show the detective he was mistaken without going +into that lamentable history. But of course McAllister proceeded by +exactly the wrong method. + +"Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, "there it is again! You've got me +confused with Fatty Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put up his +monocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his simple statement would +entirely settle the matter. + +But Barney only winked sarcastically. + +"You show yourself quite familiar with the name of the gentleman I'm +lookin' for." + +McAllister saw that he had made a mistake. + +"No more foolin', now," continued Barney. "Will you come as you are, or +with the nippers?" + +The clubman bit his lip with annoyance. + +"Look here, hang you!" he exclaimed angrily, dropping his valise, "I'm +Mr. McAllister of the Colophon Club. I'm on my way to dine with friends +in the country. I've got to take this train. Listen! they're shouting +'All aboard' now. I know who you're after. You've got us mixed. Your +man's a professional crook. I can prove my identity to you inside of +five minutes, only I haven't time here. Just jump on the train with me, +and if you're not convinced by the time we reach 125th Street I'll get +off and come back with you." + +"My, but you're gamer than ever, Fatty," retorted Barney with +admiration. Thoughts of picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flitted +through his mind. He had his man "pinched," why not play him awhile? It +seemed not a half bad idea to the Central Office man. + +"Well, I'll humor you this once. Step aboard. No funny business, now. +I've got my smoke wagon right here. Remember, you're under arrest." + +They swung aboard just as the train started. As McAllister sank into his +seat in the parlor car with Barney beside him he recognized Joe +Wainwright directly opposite. Here was an easy chance to prove his +identity, and he was just about to lean over and pour forth his sorrows +to his friend when he realized with fresh humiliation that should he +seize this opportunity to explain the present situation, the whole +wretched story of his Christmas in the Tombs would probably be divulged. +He would be the laughing-stock of the club, and the fellows would never +let him hear the last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took the +initiative. + +"How d'y', Chubby?" said he, getting up and coming over. "On your way to +Blair's?" + +"Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," replied McAllister, +struggling for small talk. + +"Who's your friend?" continued the irrepressible Wainwright. "Kind o' +think I know him. Foreigner, ain't he? Think he was at Newport last +summer." + +"Er--ye--es. Baron de Ville. Picked him up at the club--friend of +Pierrepont's. Takin' him out to Blair's--so hospitable, don'cher know." +He stammered horribly, for he found himself sinking deeper and deeper. + +"Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. "Like all these foreign +fellers." + +McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for it now. The 125th Street +idea would have to be abandoned. + +"Er--_Baron_"--he strangled over the name--"_Baron_, I want to present +Mr. Joseph Wainwright. He thinks he's met you in Paris." Our friend +accompanied this with a pronounced wink. + +"Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, grasping the detective's +hand with effusion. "Newport, I think it was." + +The "Baron" bowed. This was a new complication, but it was all in the +day's work. Of course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty Welch was +"working" some swell guys who thought he was a real high-roller. Maybe +he was going to pull off some kind of a job that very evening. Perhaps +this big chap in the swagger flannels was one of the gang. Barney was +thinking hard. Well, he'd take the tip and play the hand out. + +"It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron. + +The train plunged into the tunnel. + +"Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney's ear. "You've got to stick +this thing out, now, or I'll be the butt of the town. Remember, we're +going to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You're the particular friend of a man +named Pierrepont--fellow with a glass eye who owns a castle somewhere in +France. . . . Are you satisfied yet?" he added indignantly. + +"I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney replied. "I ain't on to your +game, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you +any." + +The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that there +were other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the same +destination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded story +about the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did he +would go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was his +chief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, conceals +the absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world work +off the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain the +situation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in that +way. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously with +Wainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thank +Heaven, he remembered--Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefully +at college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under the +circumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince his +captor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strength +of this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baron +and accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on his +own account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having to +present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and--by +George, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over +_that_. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger--a "copper"--and palm him +off as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without any +evening clothes--impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever a +chap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris! +_Paris!_ He'd make some awful break, and then-- Oh, curse the luck, +anyway! + +Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate. + + +II + +"I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bring +Pierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband. +Gordon--Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We're +just a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress--dinner in just +nineteen minutes." + +"Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, and +twirling his mustache in the most approved fashion. + +"Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon the +back good-naturedly. "You can give Mrs. Blair all the _risque_ Paris +gossip at dinner." They followed the second man upstairs. Although an +old friend of both Mrs. Blair and her husband, McAllister had never been +at the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and massively built. They +were debating whether or not to call it Castle Blair. The second man +showed them to a room at the extreme end of a wing, and as the servant +laid out the clothes McAllister thought the man eyed him rather +curiously. Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Barney lit a +cigarette and measured the distance from the window to the ground with a +discriminating eye. + +"Well," said the clubman, after the second man had finally retired, "are +you satisfied? And what the deuce is going to happen now?" + +Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his feet comfortably on to +the fender. + +"Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny rings toward the blaze, +"you're a wizard! Never seen such nerve in my life--and you only out two +months! You've got the clothes, and, what's more, you've got the real +chappie lingo. It's great! I'm sorry to have to pull in such an artist. +I am, honest. An' now you've got to go behind prison bars! It's +sad--positively sad!" + +"Look here!" demanded McAllister. "Do you mean to tell me you're such a +bloomin' ass as to think that I'm a crook, a professional burglar, who's +got an introduction into society--a what-do-you-call-him? Oh, +yes--Raffles?" + +Barney grinned at his victim, who was just getting into his dress-coat. + +"Don't throw such a chest, Fatty!" he said genially. "I think you've got +Raffles whipped to a standstill. But you can't fool me, and you can't +lose me. By the way, what am I goin' to do for evenin' clothes?" + +"Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You can't come to dinner in those +togs. It would queer everything." + +"I'm goin', just the same. Not once do I lose sight of you, old chappie, +until you're safely in the cooler at headquarters. Then your swell +friends can bail you out!" + +It was time for dinner. The little Dresden china clock on the mantel +struck the hour softly, politely. McAllister glanced toward the door. +The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall intervened between +them and the main corridor. His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris. + +"Come on, then," he muttered over his shoulder to Barney, and led the +way to the door leading into the bath-room, which was next the door into +the hall and identical with it in appearance. He held it politely ajar +for the detective, with a smile of resignation. + +"Apres vous, mon cher Baron!" he murmured. + +The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passed +in front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received a +violent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked the +heavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. He +hoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. There +was a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in the +enamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on the +washstand. + +McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and inner +means of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright. + +"What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter. +"Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other." + +McAllister lighted another cigarette. + +"Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '_savate_,' that kind of +boxing with their feet, don'cher know!" + +Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused his +ordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner. +He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly taken with a +sharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, and +would soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently--as +soon as he felt able to do so. + +[Illustration: "I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."] + +There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lost +no time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner's +presence at the house. + +"Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh, +yes, Miss Benson!" + +"Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward," +responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. +McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in by +you!" + +"Er--ye--es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he was +calculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famous +Trenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly bad +about de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantage +of our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardly +ever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise." + +The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed in +their various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of his +hostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing the same office +for a lady opposite. _Could_ it be? He adjusted his monocle. There was +no doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked in +the bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass him +the soup. + +"What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, +sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a _caviare +hors-d'oeuvre_. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole +significance of the situation. + +"I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs. +Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply +when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of the +table and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all her +color, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement. + +"It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had it +on the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst into +hysterical sobs. + +Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs. + +"My tiara!" exclaimed one. + +"And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on the +dressing-table!" cried another. + +There was a general move from the table. + +"O Gordon! Do you think there are burglars in the house?" called Mrs. +Blair to her husband. + +"Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited. +Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid the +necklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?" + +"Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the first +thing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go right +upstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all better +sit down and finish our soup." + +"Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them." + +The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with the +exception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more. + +Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen! +Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. +You couldn't buy them _now_ for love or money. Well, she had better sit +down and eat something, anyway--a glass of wine, just to revive her +spirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sit +down and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward to +have such a thing happen at one's first house party. + +The searchers presently returned with the word that apparently nothing +else had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the general +appetite. + +Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had been +watching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seen +each other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard was +gone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying the +agitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered. +People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a great +chatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was making +pitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinner +went on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, through +the swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from the +pantry. + +Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passed +the dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear: + +"You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a Central +Office man outside. _I_ brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your only +chance!" + +"Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle. + +The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss. +McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the same +cell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He could +never bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow--that +ubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the +_entree_. As he passed the _vol au vent_ he unostentatiously slipped +something in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap. + +"May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly. + +"Have you taken anything else?" inquired his master. + +"Nothing." + +"On your honor as a gentleman----'s gentleman?" + +Wilkins smiled tremulously. + +"Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister." + +"Then, go!--You seem to have a _penchant_ for pearls," McAllister added +half to himself, as he clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Common +humanity to Miss Benson demanded his instant declaration of its +possession, but the thought of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusively +through the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap have all the time he +could get. He'd probably be caught, anyway. Just a question of a few +days at most. And what a chance to get even on the Baron! + +But meanwhile the service had halted. The butler, a sedate person with +white mutton-chops, after waiting nervously a few minutes, started to +pass the roast himself. + +Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish her meal, and after dinner +they were all going to have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if the +necklace was not discovered, they would send for a detective from New +York. + +Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside the window. Men's voices +were raised in angry shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehicle +galloped down the road. The guests started to their feet. A violent +struggle was taking place outside the dining-room door. McAllister +sprang up just in time to see the Baron break away from Blair's coachman +and cover him with his pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He was a +sorry spectacle, collarless, and without his coat. Damp earth clung to +his lower limbs and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, while a +bloody, swollen nose protruded between them. + +"Here! What's all this?" shouted Blair. "Put up that pistol! Who are +you, sir?" Then the host rubbed his eyes and looked again. + +"By George! It's the Baron!" yelled Wainwright. + +"The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the others. + +"Baron--nothin'!" gasped Barney, still covering the coachman, while with +the other hand he tried to rearrange his neckwear. "I'm Conville of the +Central Office, and this man has aided in an escape. I'm arrestin' him +for felony!" + +The detective's own features had evidently made a close acquaintance +with mother earth, and one sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. His +eye presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to an exclamation +of bewilderment. + +"You! _You_! How did you get out of that wagon so quick? I've got you +now, anyway!" And he shifted his gun in McAllister's direction. The +women shrieked and crowded back into the dining-room. + +The coachman, who had not dared to remove his eyes from the detective, +now began to jabber hysterically. + +"Hi think 'e's mad, I do, Mr. Blair! Hi think we all are! First hout +comes Mr. McAllister, whom I brought from the station only an 'our ago +an' says as 'ow 'e must go back at once to New York. So I 'arnesses up +Lady Bird in the spyder an' sends Jeames to put hon 'is livery. Just as +Jeames comes back an' Mr. McAllister jumps in, hout comes _this_ party +_'ere_ an' yells somethin' about Welch an' tries to climb in arter Mr. +McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an' haway they go. Then this +'ere party begins to run arter 'em and commences shootin'. _Hi_ tackles +'im! _'E_ knocks me down! _Hi_ grabs 'im by the leg, an' 'ere we are, +sir, axin' yer pardon--Hello, why _'ere's_ Mr. McAllister _now_! May I +ask as 'ow you _got_ 'ere, sir?" + +But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol. + +"Quick!" he shouted wildly. "Harness another horse! We've still got +time. I can't lose my man this way!" + +"Well, who _is_ he? Who _was_ it you shot at?" + +"Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. "There's two of 'em! But the +one I want has started for the station. I must catch him!" + +"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, who alone had preserved +his equanimity, addressing Mr. Blair. "My impression is, sir, that it +must have been Manice, sir--the new third man, sir. I saw him step out. +He must have taken Mr. McAllister's coat and hat!" + +There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of course that was it. The man +had disguised himself in McAllister's clothes. + +"He's got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. "Oh, I _know_ he has!" + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"Of course he's got it!" + +"After him! After him!" + +"Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Barney, more bewildered than ever. + +"My mother's pearl necklace! She bought it in Rome. And now it's gone. +He's got it." + +Barney made a move for the door. + +"Run and harness up, William!" directed Blair. "Put in the Morgan +ponies. Hustle now. The train isn't due for fifteen minutes and you can +reach the station in ten. Don't spare the horses!" + +William, with a defiant look at the detective, hastened to obey the +order. + +Barney was running his hands through his hair. He certainly had stumbled +on to somethin', by Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it would +mean certain promotion! He had to admit that he had been mistaken about +McAllister, but this was better. + +"You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usual +suave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too long +upstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching our +man at the station. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast as +you can!" + +He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulped +it down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room +window had shaken him up badly. + +"Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barney +turned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and +McAllister was free. + +"Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner, +anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who the +thief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notify +the White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll have +the necklace for you yet!" + +But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with the +tears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and tried +to encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way would +return. + +"No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it's +dreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklace +back!" + +"_Anything_, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose from +his place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhaps +if I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim _duress_. +Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!" + +"Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped with +astonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels. + +"By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host. + +"Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? _Where_ did you get 'em?" + +"Who was the Baron?" + +"How on earth did you know?" + +They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, and +exclaiming with astonishment. + +McAllister saw that some explanation was in order. + +"Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "I +don't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one's +trade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine made +rather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!" +And he bowed to Miss Benson. + +Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract a +syllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, and +his absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentiments +of the entire company when he announced somewhat huskily that +McAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents. + +"But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as they +sauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did you +notice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister? +'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!" + +"You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion. + + + + + + +The Escape of Wilkins + + +I + +"Party to see you, sir, in the visitors' room. Didn't have a card. Said +you would know him, sir." + +Although Peter spoke in his customary deferential tones, there was a +queer look upon his face that did not escape McAllister as the latter +glanced up from the afternoon paper which he had been perusing in the +window. + +"Hm!" remarked the clubman, gazing out at the rain falling in torrents. +Who in thunder could be calling upon him a day like this, when there +wasn't even a cab in sight and the policemen had sought sanctuary in +convenient vestibules. It was evident that this "party" must want to see +him very badly indeed. + +"What shall I say, sir?" continued Peter gently. + +McAllister glanced sharply at him. Of course it was absurd to suppose +that Peter, or anyone else, had heard of the extraordinary events at the +Blairs' the night before, yet vaguely McAllister felt that this +stranger must in some mysterious way be connected with them. In any case +there was no use trying to duck the consequences of the adventure, +whatever they might prove to be. + +"I'll see him," said the clubman. Maybe it was another detective after +additional information, or perhaps a reporter. Without hesitation he +crossed the marble hall and parted the portieres of the visitors' room. +Before him stood the rain-soaked, bedraggled figure of the valet. + +"Wilkins!" he gasped. + +The burglar raised his head and disclosed a countenance haggard from +lack of sleep and the strain of the pursuit. Little rivers of rain +streamed from his cuffs, his (McAllister's) coat-tails, and from the +brim of his master's hat, which he held deprecatingly before him. There +was a look of fear in his eyes, and he trembled like a hare which pauses +uncertain in which direction to escape. + +"Forgive me, sir! Oh, sir, forgive me! They're right hafter me! Just +houtside, sir! It was my honly chance!" + +McAllister gazed at him horrified and speechless. + +"You see, sir," continued Wilkins in accents of breathless terror, "I +caught the train last night and reached the city a'ead of the detective. +I knew 'e'd 'ave telegraphed a general halarm, so I 'id in a harea all +night. This mornin' I thought I'd given 'im the slip, but I walked +square into 'im on Fiftieth Street. I took it on a run hup Sixth +Havenue, doubled 'round a truck, an' thought I'd lost 'im, but 'e saw me +on Fifty-third Street an' started dead after me. I think 'e saw me stop +in 'ere, sir. Wot shall I do, sir? You won't give me hup, will you, +sir?" + +Before McAllister could reply there was a commotion at the door of the +club, and he recognized the clear tones of Barney Conville. + +"Who am I? I'm a sergeant of police--Detective Bureau. You've just +passed in a burglar. He must be right inside. Let me in, I say!" + +Wilkins shrank back toward the curtains. + +There was a slight scuffle, but the servant outside placed his foot +behind the door in such a position that the detective could not enter. +Then Peter came to the rescue. + +"What do you mean by trying to force your way into a private club, like +this? I'll telephone the Inspector. Get out of here, now! Get away from +that door!" + +"Inspector nothin'! Let me in!" + +"Have you got a warrant?" + +The question seemed to stagger the detective for a moment, and his +adversary seized the opportunity to close the door. Then Peter knocked +politely upon the other side of the curtains. + +"I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, I can't keep the officer out much longer. +It's only a question of time. You'll pardon me, sir?" + +"Of course, Peter," answered McAllister. + +He stepped to the window. Outside he could see Conville stationing two +plain-clothes men so as to guard both exits from the club. McAllister's +breath came fast. Wilkins crouched in terror by the centre-table. Then a +momentary inspiration came to the clubman. + +"Er--Peter, this is my friend, Mr. Lloyd-Jones. Take his coat and hat, +give me a check for them, and then show him upstairs to a room. He'll be +here for an hour or so." + +"Very good, sir," replied Peter without emotion, as he removed Wilkins's +dripping coat and hat. "This way, sir." + +Casting a look of dazed gratitude at his former master, the valet +followed Peter toward the elevator. + +"Here's a nice mess!" thought McAllister, as he returned to the big +room. "How am I ever going to get rid of him? And ain't I liable somehow +as an accomplice?" + +He wrinkled his brows, lit a Perfecto, and sank again into his +accustomed place by the window. + +"That policeman wants to see you, sir," said the doorman, suddenly +appearing at his elbow. "Says he knows you, and it's somethin' very +important." + +The clubman smothered a curse. His first impulse was to tell the +impudent fellow to go to the devil, but then he thought better of it. He +had beaten Conville once, and he would do so again. When it came to a +show-down, he reckoned his brains were about as good as a policeman's. + +"All right," he replied. "Tell him to sit down--that I've just come in, +and will be with him in a few moments." + +"Very good, sir," answered the servant. + +McAllister perceived that he must think rapidly. There was no escape +from the conclusion that he was certainly assisting in the escape of a +felon; that he was an accessory after the fact, as it were. The idea did +not increase his happiness at all. His one experience in the Tombs, +however adventitious, had been quite sufficient. Nevertheless, he could +not go back on Wilkins, particularly now that he had promised to assist +him. McAllister rubbed his broad forehead in perplexity. + +"The officer says he's in a great hurry, sir, and wants to know can you +see him at once, sir," said the doorman, coming back. + +"Hang it!" exclaimed our hero. "Yes, I'll _see_ him." + +He got up and walked slowly to the visitors' room again, while Peter, +with a studiously unconscious expression, held the portieres open. He +entered, prepared for the worst. As he did so, Conville sprang to his +feet, leaving a pool of water in front of the sofa and tossing little +drops of rain from the ends of his mustache. + +"Look here, Mr. McAllister, there's been enough of this. Where's Welch, +the crook, who ran in here a few moments ago? Oh, he's here fast enough! +I've got your club covered, front and behind. Don't try to con _me_!" + +McAllister slowly adjusted his monocle, smiled affably, and sank +comfortably into an armchair. + +"Why, it's you, Baron, isn't it! How are you? Won't you have a little +nip of something warm? No? A cigar, then. Here, Peter, bring the +gentleman an Obsequio. Well, to what do I owe this honor?" + +Conville glared at him enraged. However, he restrained his wrath. A wise +detective never puts himself at a disadvantage by giving way to useless +emotion. When Peter returned with the cigar, Barney took it mechanically +and struck a match, meanwhile keeping one eye upon the door of the club. + +"I suppose," he presently remarked, "you think you're smart. Well, +you're mistaken. I had you wrong last night, I admit--that is, so far +as your identity was concerned. You're a real high-roller, all right, +but that ain't the whole thing, by a long shot. How would you like to +wander down to Headquarters as an accomplice?" + +A few chills played hide-and-seek around the base of the clubman's +spine. + +"Don't be an ass!" he finally managed to ejaculate. + +"Oh, I can't connect you with the necklace! You're safe enough there," +Barney continued. "But how about this little game right here in this +club? You're aiding in the escape of a felon. That's _felony_. You know +that yourself. Besides, when you locked me in the bath-room last night +you assaulted an officer in the performance of his duty. I've got you +dead to rights, _see_?" + +McAllister laughed lightly. + +"By jiminy!" he exclaimed, "I _thought_ you were crazy all the time, and +now I _know_ it. What in thunder are you driving at?" + +Conville knocked the ashes off his cigar impatiently. + +"Drivin' at? Drivin' at? Where's Welch--Fatty Welch, that ran in here +five minutes ago?" + +McAllister assumed a puzzled expression. + +"Welch? No one ran in here except myself. _I_ came in about that time. +Got off the L at Fiftieth Street, footed it pretty fast up Sixth Avenue, +and then through Fifty-third Street to the club. I got mighty well wet, +too, I tell you!" + +"Don't think you can throw that game into _me_!" shouted Conville. "You +can't catch me twice _that_ way. It was _Welch_ I saw, not you." + +"You don't believe me?" + +McAllister pressed the bell and Peter entered. + +"Peter, tell this gentleman how many persons have come into the club +within the hour." + +"Why, only _you_, sir," replied Peter, without hesitation. "Your clothes +was wringin' wet, sir. No one else has entered the club since twelve +o'clock." + +"Bah!" exclaimed Conville. "If it was _you_ that came in," he added +cunningly, "suppose you show me your check, and let me have a look at +your coat!" + +"Certainly," responded McAllister, beginning to regain his equanimity, +as he drew Wilkins's check from his pocket. "Here it is. You can step +over and get the coat for yourself." + +Barney seized the small square of brass, crossed to the coat-room, and +returned with the dripping garment, which he held up to the light at the +window. + +"You ought to find Poole's name under the collar, and my own inside the +breast-pocket," remarked Chubby encouragingly. "It's there, isn't it?" + +Conville threw the soaked object over a chair-back and made a rapid +inspection, then turned to McAllister with an expression of +bewilderment. + +"I--you--how--" he stammered. + +"Don't you remember," laughed his tormentor, "that there was a big truck +on the corner of Sixth Avenue?" + +Barney set his teeth. + +"I see you _do_," continued McAllister. "Well, what more can I do for +you? Are you sure you won't have that drink?" + +But Conville was in no mood for drinking. Stepping up to the clubman, he +looked searchingly down into his face. + +"Mr. McAllister," he hissed, "you think you've got me criss-crossed. You +think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know your _face_. And +this time I don't lose you, _see_? You're in cahoots with Welch. You're +his side-partner. You'll see me again. Remember, you're a _common +felon_." + +The detective made for the door. + +"Don't say 'common,'" murmured McAllister, as Conville disappeared. Then +his nonchalant look gave place to one of extreme dejection. "Peter," he +gasped, "tell Mr. Lloyd-Jones I must see him at once." + +Peter soon returned with the unexpected information that "Mr. +Lloyd-Jones" had gone to bed and wouldn't get up. + +"Says he's sick, sir," said Peter, trying hard to retain his gravity. + +McAllister made one jump for the elevator. Peter followed. Of course, +_he_ had known Wilkins when the latter was in McAllister's employ. + +"I put him in No. 13, sir," remarked the majordomo. + +Sure enough, Wilkins was in bed. His clothes were nowhere visible, and +the quilt was pulled well up around his fat neck. He seemed utterly to +have lost his nerve. + +"Oh, sir!" he cried apologetically, "I was hafraid to come down, sir. +_Without my clothes_ they never could hidentify me, sir!" + +"What on earth have you done with 'em?" cried his master. + +"Oh, Mr. McAllister!" wailed Wilkins, "I couldn't think o' nothin' else, +so I just threw 'em hout the window, into the hairshaft." + +At this intelligence Peter, who had lingered by the door, choked +violently and retired down the hall. + +"Wilkins," exclaimed McAllister, "I never took you for a fool before! +Pray, what do you propose to do now?" + +[Illustration: "You think you're a sure winner. But I _know_ you. I know +your _face_."] + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Can't you see what an awkward position you've placed me in?" went on +McAllister. "I'm liable to arrest for aidin' in your escape. In fact, +that detective has just threatened to take me to Headquarters." + +"'Oly Moses!" moaned Wilkins. "Oh, wot shall I do? If you honly get me +haway, sir, I promise you I'll never return." + +McAllister closed the door, sat down by the bed, and puffed hard at his +cigar. + +"I'll try it!" he muttered at length. "Wilkins, you remember you always +wore my clothes." + +"Yes, sir," sighed Wilkins. + +"Well, to-night you shall leave the club in my dress-suit, tall hat, and +Inverness--understand? You'll take a cab from here at eleven-forty. Go +to the Grand Central and board the twelve o'clock train for Boston. +Here's a ticket, and the check for the drawing-room. You'll be Mr. +McAllister of the Colophon Club, if anyone speaks to you. You're going +on to Mr. Cabot's wedding to-morrow, to act as best man. Turn in as soon +as you go on board, and don't let anyone disturb you. I'll be on the +train myself, and after it starts I'll knock three times on the door." + +"Very good, sir," murmured Wilkins. + +"I'll send to my rooms for the clothes at once. Do you think you can do +it?" + +"Oh, certainly, sir! Thank you, sir! I'll be there, sir, never fail." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +McAllister returned to the big room downstairs. The longer he thought of +his plan the better he liked it. He was going to the Winthrops' Twelfth +Night party that evening as Henry VIII. He would dress at the club and +leave it in costume about nine o'clock. Conville would never recognize +him in doublet and hose, and, when Wilkins departed at eleven-forty, +would in all likelihood take the latter for McAllister. If he could thus +get rid of his ex-valet for good and all it would be cheap at twice the +trouble. So far as spiriting away Wilkins was concerned the whole thing +seemed easy enough, and McAllister, once more in his usual state of +genial placidity, ordered as good a dinner as the _chef_ could provide. + + +II + +The revelry was at its height when Henry VIII realized with a start that +it was already half after eleven. First there had been a professional +presentation of the scene between Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby +Belch that had made McAllister shake with merriment. He thought Sir +Andrew the drollest fellow that he had seen for many a day. Maria and +the clown were both good, too. McAllister had a fleeting wish that he +had essayed Sir Toby. The champagne had been excellent and the +characters most amusing, and, altogether, McAllister did not blame +himself for having overstayed his time--in fact, he didn't care much +whether he had or not. He had intended going back to his rooms for the +purpose of changing his costume, but he had plenty of clothes on the +train, and there really seemed no need of it at all. He bade his hostess +good-night in a most optimistic frame of mind and hailed a cab. The long +ulster which he wore entirely concealed his costume save for his shoes, +strange creations of undressed leather, red on the uppers and white +between the toes. As for his cap and feather, he was quite too happy to +mind them for an instant. The assembled crowd of lackeys and footmen +cheered him mildly as he drove away, but Henry VIII, smoking a large +cigar, noticed them not. Neither did he observe a slim young man who +darted out from behind a flight of steps and followed the cab, keeping +about half a block in the rear. The rain had stopped. The clouds had +drawn aside their curtains, and a big friendly moon beamed down on +McAllister from an azure sky, bright almost as day. + +The cabman hit up his pace as they reached the slope from the Cathedral +down Fifth Avenue, and the runner was distanced by several blocks. +McAllister, happy and sleepy, was blissfully unconscious of being an +actor in a drama of vast import to the New York police, but as they +reached Forty-third Street he saw by the illuminated clock upon the +Grand Central Station that it was two minutes to twelve. At the same +moment a trace broke. The driver sprang from his seat, but before he +could reach the ground McAllister had leaped out. Tossing a bill to the +perturbed cabby, our hero threw off his ulster and sped with an agility +marvellous to behold down Forty-third Street toward the station. As he +dashed across Madison Avenue, directly in front of an electric car, the +hand on the clock slipped a minute nearer. At that instant the slim man +turned the corner from Fifth Avenue and redoubled his speed. Thirty +seconds later, McAllister, in sword, doublet, hose, and feathered cap, +burst into the waiting-room, carrying an ulster, clearing half its +length in six strides, threw himself through the revolving door to the +platform, and sprang past the astonished gate-man just as he was +sliding-to the gate. + +"Hi, there, give us yer ticket!" yelled the man after the retreating +form of Henry VIII, but royalty made no response. + +The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gave +half a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the train +began to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain in +his side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled upon +the platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young man +rushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. The +gate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language. + +"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on that +train. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!" + +"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?" + +"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedly +exhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through." + +Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train; +its red lights were just passing out of the station. + +"Oh, go to--!" said he through the bars. + + * * * * * + +"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the same +moment, as he staggered inside. + +"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he received +the ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah? +Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ah +enquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, +sah!" + +"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister. + +"Udder end, sah!" + +Now McAllister had no inclination to feel his way the length of that +swaying car. He perceived that the smoking compartment of the car behind +would naturally be much more convenient. + +"I'm going into the next car to smoke for a while," he informed the +darky. + +No one was in the smoking compartment of the Benvolio, which was bright +and warm, and McAllister, throwing down his ulster, stretched +luxuriously across the cushions, lit a cigar, and watched with interest +the myriad lights of the Greater City marching past, those near at hand +flashing by with the velocity of meteors, and those beyond swinging +slowly forward along the outer rim of the circle. And the idea of this +huge circle, its circumference ever changing with the forward movement +of its pivot, beside which the train was rushing, never passing that +mysterious edge which fled before them into infinity, took hold on +McAllister's imagination, and he fancied, as he sped onward, that in +some mysterious way, if he could only square that circle or calculate +its radius, he could solve the problem of existence. What was it he had +learned when a boy at St. Andrew's about the circle? Pi R--one--two--two +Pi R! That was it! "2 pi r." The smoke from his cigar swirled thickly +around the Pintsch light in the ceiling, and Henry VIII, oblivious of +the anachronism, with his sword and feathered cap upon the sofa beside +him, gazed solemnly into space. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track. + +"Two Pi R!" murmured McAllister. "Two Pi R!" + + +III + +Under the big moon's yellow disk, beside and past the roaring train, +along the silent reaches of the Sound, leaping on its copper thread from +pole to pole, jumping from insulator to insulator, from town to town, +sped a message concerning Henry VIII. The night operator at New Haven, +dozing over a paper in the corner, heard his call four times before he +came to his senses. Then he sent the answer rattling back with a +simulation of indignation: + +"Yes, yes! What's your rush?" + + Special--Police--Headquarters--New Haven. Escaped + ex-convict Welch on No. 13 from New York. Notify + McGinnis. In complete disguise. Arrest and notify. + Particulars long-distance 'phone in morning. + EBSTEIN. + +The operator crossed the room and unhooked the telephone. + +"Headquarters, please." + +"Yes. Headquarters! Is McGinnis of the New York Detective Bureau there? +Tell him he's wanted, to make an important arrest on board No. 13 when +she comes through at two-twenty. Sorry. Say, tell him to bring along +some cigars. I'll give him the complete message down here." + +Then the operator went back to his paper. In a few moments he suddenly +sat up. + +"By gum!" he ejaculated. + + BOLD ATTEMPT AT BURGLARY IN COUNTRY HOUSE + + It was learned to-day that a well-known crook had been + successful recently in securing a position as a + servant at Mr. Gordon Blair's at Scarsdale. Last + evening one of the guests missed her valuable pearl + necklace. In the excitement which followed the burglar + made his escape, leaving the necklace behind him. The + perpetrator of this bold attempt is the notorious + Fatty Welch, now wanted in several States as a + fugitive from justice. + +"By gum!" repeated the operator, throwing down the paper. Then he went +to the drawer and took out a small bull-dog revolver, which he +carefully loaded. + +"Br-r-clink!--br-r-clink!" went the track, as the train swung round the +curve outside New Haven. The brakes groaned, the porters waked from +troubled slumbers in wicker chairs, one or two old women put out their +arms and peered through the window-shades, and the train thundered past +the depot and slowly came to a full stop. Ahead, the engine panted and +steamed. Two gnomes ran, Mimi-like, out of a cavernous darkness behind +the station and by the light of flaring torches began to hammer and tap +the flanges. The conductor, swinging off the rear car, ran into the +embrace of a huge Irishman. At the same moment a squad of policemen +separated and scattered to the different platforms. + +"Here! Let me go!" gasped the conductor. "What's all this?" + +"Say, Cap., I'm McGinnis--Central Office, New York. You've got a burglar +on board. They're after wirin' me to make the arrest." + +"Burglar be damned!" yelled the conductor. "Do you think you can hold me +up and search my train? Why, I'd be two hours late!" + +"I won't take more'n fifteen minutes," continued McGinnis, making for +the rear car. + +"Come back there, you!" shouted the conductor, grasping him firmly by +the coat-tails. "You can't wake up all the passengers." + +"Look here, Cap.," expostulated the detective, "don't ye see I've got to +make this arrest? It won't take a minute. The porters'll know who +they've got, and you're runnin' awful light. Have a good cigar?" + +The conductor took the weed so designated and swore loudly. It was the +biggest piece of gall on record. Well, hang it! he didn't want to take +McGinnis all the way to Boston, and even if he did, there would be the +same confounded mix-up at the other end. He admitted finally that it was +a fine night. Did McGinnis want a nip? He had a bottle in the porter's +closet. Yes, call out those niggers and make 'em tell what they knew. + +The conductor was now just as insistent that the burglar should be +arrested then and there as he had been before that the train should not +be held up. He rushed through the cars telling the various porters to go +outside. Eight or ten presently assembled upon the platform. They filled +McGinnis with unspeakable repulsion. + +The conductor began with car No. 2204. + +"Now, Deacon, who have you got?" + +The Deacon, an enormously fat darky, rolled his eyes and replied that he +had "two ole women an' er gen'elman gwine ortermobublin with his +cheffonier." + +The conductor opined that these would prove unfertile candidates for +McGinnis. He therefore turned to Moses, of car No. 2201. Moses, however, +had only half a load. There was a fat man, a Mr. Huber, who travelled +regularly; two ladies on passes; and a very thin man, with his wife, her +sister, a maid, two nurses, and three children. + +"Nothin' doin'!" remarked the captain. "Now, Colonel, what have _you_ +got?" + +But the Colonel, a middle-aged colored man of aristocratic appearance, +had an easy answer. His entire car was full, as he expressed it, "er +frogs." + +"Frenchmen!" grunted McGinnis. + +The conductor remembered. Yes, they were Sanko's Orchestra going on to +give a matinee concert in Providence. + +The next car had only five drummers, every one of whom was known to the +conductor, as taking the trip twice a week. They were therefore counted +out. That left only one car, No. 2205. + +"Well, William, what have you got?" + +William grinned. Though sleepy, he realized the importance of the +disclosure he was about to make and was correspondingly dignified and +ponderous. There was two trabblin' gen'elmen, Mr. Smith and Mr. Higgins. +He'd handled dose gen'elmen fo' several years. There was a very old +lady, her daughter and maid. Then there was Mr. Uberheimer, who got off +at Middletown. And then--William smiled significantly--there was an +awful strange pair in the drawin'-room. They could look for themselves. +He didn't know nuff'n 'bout burglars in disguise, but dere was "one of +'em in er mighty curious set er fixtures." + +"Huh! _Two_ of 'em!" commented McGinnis. + +"That's easy!" remarked the mollified conductor. + +The telegraph operator, who read Laura Jean Libbey, now approached with +his revolver. + +McGinnis, another detective, and the conductor moved toward the car. +William preferred the safety of the platform and the temporary +distinction of being the discoverer of the fugitive. No light was +visible in the drawing-room, and the sounds of heavy slumber were +plainly audible. The conductor rapped loudly; there was no response. He +rattled the door and turned the handle vigorously, but elicited no sign +of recognition. Then McGinnis rapped with his knife on the glass of the +door. He happened to hit three times. Immediately there were sounds +within. Something very much like "All right, sir," and the door was +opened. The conductor and McGinnis saw a fat man, in blue silk pajamas, +his face flushed and his eyes heavy with sleep, who looked at them in +dazed bewilderment. + +"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern. + +"Sorry to disturb you," broke in McGinnis briskly, "but is there any wan +else, beside ye, to kape ye company?" + +Wilkins shook his head with annoyance and made as if to close the door, +but the detective thrust his foot across the threshold. + +"Aisy there!" he remarked. "Conductor, just turn on that light, will +ye?" + +Wilkins scrambled heavily into his berth, and the conductor struck a +match and turned on the Pintsch light. Only one bed was occupied, and +that by the fat man in the pajamas. On the sofa was an elegant +alligator-skin bag disclosing a row of massive silver-topped bottles. A +tall silk hat and Inverness coat hung from a hook, and a suit of evening +clothes, as well as a business suit of fustian, were neatly folded and +lying on the upper berth. + +At this vision of respectability both McGinnis and the conductor +recoiled, glancing doubtfully at one another. Wilkins saw his advantage. + +"May I hinquire," remarked he, with dignity, "wot you mean by these +hactions? W'y am I thus disturbed in the middle of the night? It is +houtrageous!" + +"Very sorry, sir," replied the conductor. "The fact is, we thought _two_ +people, suspicious characters, had taken this room together, and this +officer here"--pointing to McGinnis--"had orders to arrest one of them." + +Wilkins swelled with indignation. + +"Suspicious characters! Two people! Look 'ere, conductor, I'll 'ave you +to hunderstand that I will not tolerate such a performance. I am Mr. +McAllister, of the Colophon Club, New York, and I am hon my way to +hattend the wedding of Mr. Frederick Cabot in Boston, to-morrow. I am to +be 'is best man. Can I give you any further hinformation?" + +The conductor, who had noticed the initials "McA" on the silver bottle +heads, and the same stamped upon the bag, stammered something in the +nature of an apology. + +"Say, Cap.," whispered McGinnis, "we've got him wrong, I guess. This +feller ain't no burglar. Anywan can see he's a swell, all right. Leave +him alone." + +"Very sorry to have disturbed you," apologized the conductor humbly, +putting out the light and closing the door. + +"That nigger must be nutty," he added to the detective. "By Joshua! +Perhaps he's got away with some of my stuff!" + +[Illustration: "Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the +lantern.] + +"Look here, William, what's the matter with you? Have you been swipin' +my whisky. There ain't two men in that drawin'-room at all--just one--a +swell," hollered the conductor as they reached the platform. + +"Fo' de Lawd, Cap'n, I ain't teched yo' whisky," cried William in +terror. "I swear dey was two of 'em, 'n' de udder was in _dis_guise. It +was de fines' _dis_guise I eber saw!" he added reminiscently. + +"Aw, what yer givin' us!" exclaimed McGinnis, entirely out of patience. +"What kind av a disguise was he in?" + +"Dat's what I axed him," explained William, edging toward the rim of the +circle. "I done ax him right away what character he done represent. He +had on silk stockin's, an' a colored deglishay shirt, an' a belt an' +moccasons, an' a sword an'----" + +"A sword!" yelled McGinnis, making a jump in William's direction. "I'll +break yer black head for ye!" + +"Hold on!" cried the conductor, who had disappeared into the car and had +emerged again with a bottle in his hand. "The stuff's here." + +"I tell ye the coon is drunk!" shouted the detective in angry tones. +"He can't make small av _me_!" + +"I done tole you the trufe," continued William from a safe distance, his +teeth and eyeballs shining in the moonlight. + +"Well, where did he go?" asked the conductor. "Did you put him in the +drawin'-room?" + +"I seen his ticket," replied William, "an' he said he wanted to smoke, +so he went into the Benvolio, the car behin'." + +"Car behind!" cried McGinnis. "There ain't no car behind. This here is +the last car." + +"Sure," said the conductor, with a laugh; "we dropped the Benvolio at +Selma Junction for repairs. Say, McGinnis, you better have that drink!" + + +IV + +McAllister was awakened by a sense of chill. The compartment was dark, +save for the pale light of the moon hanging low over what seemed to be +water and the masts of ships, which stole in and picked out sharply the +silver buckles on his shoes and the buttons of his doublet. There was no +motion, no sound. The train was apparently waiting somewhere, but +McAllister could not hear the engine. He put on his ulster and stepped +to the door of the car. All the lights had been extinguished and he +could hear neither the sound of heavy breathing nor the other customary +evidences of the innocent rest of the human animal. He looked across the +platform for his own car and found that the train had totally +disappeared. The Benvolio was stationary--side-tracked, evidently, on +the outskirts of a town, not far from some wharves. + +"Jiminy!" thought McAllister, looking at his uncheerful surroundings and +his picturesque, if somewhat cool, costume. + +For a moment his mental processes refused to answer the heavy draught +upon them. Then he turned up his coat-collar, stepped out upon the +platform, and lit a cigar. By the light of the match he looked at his +watch and saw that it was four o'clock. Overhead the sky glowed with +thousands of twinkling stars, and the moon, just touching the sea, made +a limpid path of light across the water. At the docks silent ships lay +fast asleep. A mile away a clock struck four, intensifying the +stillness. It was very beautiful, but very cold, and McAllister shivered +as he thought of Wilkins, and Freddy Cabot, and the wedding at twelve +o'clock. So far as he knew he might be just outside of Boston--Quincy, +or somewhere--yet, somehow, the moon didn't look as if it were at +Quincy. + +He jumped down and started along the track. His feet stung as they +struck the cinder. His whole body was asleep. It was easy enough to walk +in the direction in which the clock had sounded, and this he did. The +rails followed the shore for about a hundred yards and then joined the +main line. Presently he came in sight of a depot. Every now and then his +sword would get between his legs, and this caused him so much annoyance +that he took it off and carried it. It was queer how uncomfortable the +old style of shoe was when used for walking on a railroad track. His +ruffle, too, proved a confounded nuisance, almost preventing a +satisfactory adjustment of coat-collar. Finally he untied it and put it +in the pocket of his ulster. The cap was not so bad. + +The depot had inspired the clubman with distinct hope, but as he +approached, it appeared as dark and tenantless as the car behind him. It +was impossible to read the name of the station owing to the fact that +the sign was too high up for the light of a match to reach it. It was +clear that there was nothing to do but to wait for the dawn, and he +settled himself in a corner near the express office and tried to forget +his discomfort. + +He had less time to wait than he had expected. Soon a great clattering +of hoofs caused him to climb stiffly to his feet again. Three farmers' +wagons, each drawn by a pair of heavy horses, backed in against the +platform, and their drivers, throwing down the reins, leaped to the +ground. All were smoking pipes and chaffing one another loudly. Then +they began to unload huge cans of milk. This looked encouraging. If they +were bringing milk at this hour there must be a train--going somewhere. +It didn't matter where to McAllister, if only he could get warm. +Presently a faint humming came along the rails, which steadily increased +in volume until the approaching train could be distinctly heard. + +"Pretty nigh on time," commented the nearest farmer. + +McAllister stepped forward, sword in hand. The farmer involuntarily drew +back. + +"Wall, I swan!" he remarked, removing his pipe. + +"Do you mind telling me," inquired our friend, "what place this is and +where this train goes to?" + +"I reckon not," replied the other. "This is Selma Junction, and this +here train is due in New York at five. Who be you?" + +"Well," answered McAllister, "I'm just an humble citizen of New York, +forced by circumstances to return to the city as soon as possible." + +"Reckon you're one o' them play-actors, bean't ye?" + +"You've got it," returned McAllister. "Fact is, I've just been playing +Henry VIII--on the road." + +"I've heard tell on't," commented the rustic. "But I ain't never seen +it. Shakespeare, ain't it?" + +"Yes, Shakespeare," admitted the clubman. + +At this moment the milk-train roared in and the teamsters began passing +up their cans. There were no passenger coaches--nothing but freight-cars +and a caboose. Toward this our friend made his way. There did not seem +to be any conductor, and, without making inquiries, McAllister climbed +upon the platform and pushed open the door. If warmth was what he +desired he soon found it. The end of the car was roughly fitted with +half a dozen bunks, two boxes which served for chairs, and some +spittoons. A small cast-iron stove glowed red-hot, but while the place +was odoriferous, its temperature was grateful to the shivering +McAllister. The car was empty save for a gigantic Irishman sitting fast +asleep in the farther corner. + +Our hero laid down his sword, threw off his ulster, and hung his cap +upon an adjacent hook. In a moment or two the train started again. Still +no one came into the caboose. Now daylight began to filter in through +the grimy windows. The sun jumped suddenly from behind a ridge and shot +a beam into the face of the sleeper at the other end of the car. Slowly +he awoke, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and, catching the glint of silver +buttons, gazed stupidly in McAllister's direction. The random glance +gradually gave place to a stare of intense amazement. He wrinkled his +brows, and leaned forward, scrutinizing with care every detail of +McAllister's make-up. The train stopped for an instant and a burly +brakeman banged open the door and stepped inside. He, too, hung fire, as +it were, at the sight of Henry VIII. Then he broke into a loud laugh. + +"Who in thunder are _you_?" + +Before McAllister could reply McGinnis, with a comprehensive smile, made +answer: + +"Shure, 'tis only a prisoner I'm after takin' back to the city!" + + * * * * * + +"Mr. McAllister," remarked Conville, two hours later, as the three of +them sat in the visitors' room at the club, "I hope you won't say +anything about this. You see, I had no business to put a kid like +Ebstein on the job, but I was clean knocked out and had to snatch some +sleep. I suppose he thought he was doin' a big thing when he nailed you +for a burglar. But, after all, the only thing that saved Welch was your +fallin' asleep in the Benvolio." + +"My dear Baron," sympathetically replied McAllister, who had once more +resumed his ordinary attire, "why attribute to chance what is in fact +due to intellect? No, I won't mention our adventure, and if our friend +McGinnis--" + +"Oh, McGinnis'll keep his head shut, all right, you bet!" interrupted +Barney. "But say, Mr. McAllister, on the level, you're too good for us. +Why don't you chuck this game and come in out of the rain? You'll be up +against it in the end. Help us to land this feller!" + +McAllister took a long pull at his cigar and half-closed his eyes. There +was a quizzical look around his mouth that Conville had never seen there +before. + +"Perhaps I will," said he softly. "Perhaps I will." + +"Good!" shouted the Baron; "put it there! Now, if you _get_ anything, +tip us off. You can always catch me at 3100 Spring." + +"Well," replied the clubman, "don't forget to drop in here, if you +happen to be going by. Some time, on a rainy day perhaps, you might want +a nip of something warm." + +But to this the Baron did not respond. + +[Illustration: "Who in thunder are _you_?"] + +A plunge in the tank and a comfortable smoke almost restored +McAllister's customary equanimity. Weddings were a bore, anyway. Then +he called for a telegraph blank and sent the following: + + _Was unavoidably detained. Terribly disappointed. If + necessary, use Wilkins._ _McA._ + +To which, about noon-time, he received the following reply: + + _Don't understand. Wilkins arrived, left clothes and + departed. You must have mixed your dates. Wedding + to-morrow._ _F. C._ + + + + + + +The Governor-General's Trunk + + +I + +McAllister was in the tank. His puffing and blowing as he dove and +tumbled like a contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly among +the marble pillars of the bath at the club. It was all part of a +carefully adjusted and as rigorously followed regimen, for McAllister +was a thorough believer in exercise (provided it was moderate), and took +it regularly, averring that a fellow couldn't expect to eat and drink as +much as he naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of condition, +and if he didn't he would simply get off his peck, that was all. Hence +"Chubby" arose regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in a +padded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended to the tank, where he dove +six times and swam around twice, after which he weighed himself and had +Tim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree of solicitude for all this +procedure, since he was a personal discovery of McAllister's, and owed +his present exalted position entirely to the clubman's interest, for +the latter had found him at Coney Island earning his daily bread by +diving, in the presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot glass +tank, where he seated himself upon the bottom and nonchalantly consumed +a banana. McAllister's delight and enthusiasm at this elevating +spectacle had been boundless. + +"Wish I could do any one thing as well as that feller dives down and +eats that banana!" he had confided to his friend Wainwright. "Sometimes +I feel as if my life had been wasted!" The upshot of the whole matter +was that Tim had been forthwith engaged as rubber and swimming teacher +at the club. + +McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and was floating lazily +toward the steps, when Tim appeared at the door leading into the +dressing-rooms and announced that a party wanted to speak to him on the +'phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a very cantankerous old person, who +was in the devil of a hurry, and wouldn't stand no waitin'. + +The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched bottom, and arose dripping +to his feet. The "old person" on the wire was clearly his aunt, Lady +Lyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to irritate her when she +was in one of her tantrums. Still, he couldn't imagine what she wanted +with him at that hour of the morning. She'd been placid enough the +evening before when he'd left her after the opera. But ever since she +had married Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten years before she'd +been getting more and more dictatorial. + +"Tell her I'm in this beastly tank; awful sorry I can't speak with her +myself, don'cher know, and find out what she wants. And _Tim_--handle +her gently--it's my aunt." + +Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. As McAllister hurried into +his bath-robe and slippers he wondered more and more why she had rung +him up so early. He had intended calling on her after breakfast, any +way, but "after breakfast" to McAllister meant in the neighborhood of +twelve o'clock, for the meal was always carefully ordered the evening +before for half-past ten the next morning, after which came the paper +and a long, light Casadora, crop of '97, which McAllister had bought up +entire. Something must be up--that was certain. He could imagine her in +her wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with Tim over the wire. The +language of his _protege_ might well assist in the process for which the +curl-papers were required. There was nobody in the world, in +McAllister's opinion, so queer as his aunt, except his aunt's husband. +The latter was a stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with a +walrus-like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection of British +institutions, and about enough intelligence to drive a watering-cart. He +had been rewarded for his unswerving fidelity to party with the post of +Governor-General at a small group of islands somewhere near the equator, +and had assumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, establishing the +Bertillon system of measurements for the seven criminals which his +islands supported, and producing quarterly monographs on the flora, +fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now they were _en route_ for +England (via Quebec, of course), and were stopping at the Waldorf. + +Tim presently reappeared. + +"She says you've got to hike right down to the hotel as fast as you can. +She's terrible upset. My, ain't she a tiger?" + +"But what's the bloomin' row?" exclaimed McAllister. + +Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his voice. + +"The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole!" said he. + + +II + +The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish, +for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family, +cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had always +said the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoes +and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appear +in style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure in +astonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry, +however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and +everybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scares +occurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact, +however, on their arrival in New York. + +The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at the +breakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite. + +The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre of +vivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His +aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as they +responded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter was +serious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone. +In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking over +their shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of some +assassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentally +suggesting that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt at +breakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground. + +"That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!" +exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "To +say the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knows +perfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, and +never allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and took +a sip of coffee. + +"Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have him +unpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made such +a row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they were +both more than half mad. + +"Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of the +luggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this +time! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by a +miserable brass check with a number on it--and the railroad liable by +express contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" Before +Uncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to the +bar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in those +regions to which later works have not penetrated. "You see we're +leaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless +_for a purpose_?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air of +one who had divined something. + +Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently, +had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a +little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion when +the jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket, +but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip. + +"If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to send +your man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send the +fellow who packed the trunk--this Morton--whoever he is." + +"No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg. +"There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don't +wish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I--I need him." Lord +Lyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the egg +in an embarrassed fashion. + +McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said he +cheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and the +jewels back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?" + +"My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking over +his shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston on +the way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all. +You know it's very hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but +Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven't +had the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!" + +"Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guess +I'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you the +check?" + +Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass. + +"I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously. + +"Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister. + +The Governor-General nodded ambiguously. + +Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almost +hysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation. +Suddenly she broke forth: + +"I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there was +nothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him what +you've done?" + +"What in thunder _have_ you done?" asked McAllister, now convinced +beyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearest +insane asylum. + +Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over his +shoulder. + +"Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in the +clothes-closet. I locked him!" + +"He's in _there_!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! And +now the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, and +I'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out, +and----" + +She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within the +closet. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly, +vaguely familiar about it. + +"It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you to +hunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's a +great hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout, +sir?" The voice ceased momentarily. + +"Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for over +an hour!" + +"Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." But +McAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had he +heard that voice before? + +"'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'm +stiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!" + +McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Could +he ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same way +as the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old man +wasn't such a fool _after_ all! And the jewels! He smote his fist upon +the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. There +was no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now. +The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of the +jewels. + +"Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored to +assert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrested +for hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you _are_ a guv'nor! Let me _hout_, +I say!" + + +III + +McAllister lost no time in getting to the Grand Central Station. He was +looking for a big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. For +this purpose he enlisted the services of a burly young porter, who, for +the consideration of a half-dollar, piloted the clubman through the +crowded alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they came upon the +familiar collection of Lord Lyndhurst's paraphernalia of travel. Eagerly +he recognized the luggage of his uncle's official household. There were +his boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, his portable desk, his dumb-bells, his +bath-tub, his medicine chest, the secretary's trunk, the typewriter in +its case; there were his aunt's basket trunks, and--yes--there was the +big Vuitton. McAllister heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was to +get it back to the hotel as fast as possible. + +"That's it," said he to the porter. "Heave it out!" They were standing +in a little open space some distance from the entrance. The big Vuitton +lay at one side, and about it a row of other trunks roughly in a +semicircle. The porter made but one step in the desired direction, then +jumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket trunk, standing alone +upon its end apart, suddenly shook violently, its lock clicked, the +cover swung open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured young man +with a black mustache. It was Barney Conville, although at first +McAllister failed to recognize him. + +"Look here you! Don't touch that trunk!" he exclaimed. Then he perceived +McAllister, and a look of intense disgust overspread his face. + +"It's the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. "Now what the devil do you +suppose he's been doin' in that trunk? Howd'y', Baron," he added +pleasantly, holding out his hand. "Hardly expected to see you here. Do +you take your rest that way?" pointing to the trunk from which Conville +had emerged. + +The detective eyed him with disapproval. + +"Say," he remarked, disdainfully, "you give me a pain--always buttin' in +an' spoilin' everythin'! This here is a _plant_. I'm waitin' fer a +thief--Jerry, the Oyster. They're goin' to try an' lift that big striped +trunk over there. It belongs to an old party up to the Waldorf. He's a +diplomatico." + +"He's my uncle!" cried McAllister. + +"Your _aunt_!" snorted Barney. + +"But I want to take that trunk back with me." + +"On the level?" + +"Sure!" + +"Can't help it! This is an important job. The Oyster's the cleverest +thief in the business. Works in with all the butlers and valets. Why +he's got away with more'n three thousand pieces of baggage. He's +the----" + +Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he ducked, and grabbing +McAllister by the shoulder, pulled him down with him. + +"There he is now! Into the trunk! There's no other way! Plenty of room!" +He shoved his fat companion inside and stepped after him. McAllister, +utterly bewildered, tried to convince himself that he was not dreaming. +He was quite sure he had taken only one Scotch that morning, but he +pinched himself, and was relieved to get the proper reaction. When he +became used to the dim light he discovered that he was ensconced in a +dress-box of immense proportions, made of basket work, and covered with +waterproofing. Placed on end, with a seat across the middle, it afforded +a very comfortable place of concealment. Conville turned the key and +locked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in the ribs. + +"Great joint, ain't it? Idee of the cap's. Makes a fine plant," he +whispered, affixing his eye to a narrow slit near the top. + +"Sh-h!" he added; "he's here. There's another peeper over on your side." + +McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye to the improvised +window, and discovered that they commanded the approach to the big +Vuitton. And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed the glory of +his uncle's family, the heirlooms of four centuries! He made an +involuntary movement. + +"Keep still!" hissed Conville, and McAllister sank back obediently. + +A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and gaiters, carrying a dainty +silver-headed umbrella in one hand and a copy of _The Churchman_ in the +other, had approached the counter. He seemed somewhat at a loss, gazed +vaguely about him for a moment, and then stepping up to the head +baggage-man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed him anxiously. + +"I say, my man, I'm really in an awful mess, don't you know! I don't see +my box anywhere. I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, and +I'm leavin' for Montreal at three. The luggage-man says it was left here +by ten o'clock. Do you keep all the boxes in this room?" + +The head baggage-man nodded. + +"Sorry you've lost your trunk," said he. "If it ain't here we haven't +got it, but like as not it's mixed up in one of them piles. If you'll +wait for about ten minutes I'll see if I can find it for your +Reverence." + +The Anglican looked shocked. + +"Thanks, I'm sure," he murmured stiffly. He was a slight young man with +a monocle and mutton-chops. + +"It's very good of you," he added after a pause, with more +condescension. "Awfully awkward to be without one's luggage, for I have +a service in Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in my box. I +fear I shall miss my train." + +"Oh, I guess not!" replied the baggage-man encouragingly. "I'll be with +you presently. You come in and look around yourself, and if you don't +see it I'll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted a section of the +counter and allowed the clergyman to pass in. + +"My! Ain't he _clever_!" whispered Barney delightedly. + +The clergyman now began a rather dilatory investigation of the contents +of the baggage-room, bending over and examining every trunk in sight, +and even tapping the one in which they were ensconced with the silver +head of his umbrella, but after a few moments, in apparent despair, he +took his stand beside the big trunk marked "B. C. L.," and gazed +despondently about him. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest +that he was other than he seemed, but Barney directed McAllister's +attention to the copy of _The Churchman_, from the leaves of which +protruded two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it might +appear, for a book-mark. And now as the Anglican shifted from one foot +to the other, ostensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his hands +behind him and took a step or two backward toward the big trunk. Chubby +was by this time all agog. What would the fellow do? He certainly +couldn't be goin' to shoulder the trunk and try to walk off with it! + +Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved hands slip a penknife from +among the leaves of the magazine and quickly sever the check from the +handle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his position and waited until +the baggage-man was once more engaged at the other end of the counter. +Again this amiable representative of the cloth shuffled backward until +the handle was within easy reach, and with a dexterity which must have +been born of long practice deftly tied the two ends of string around it. +With a quick motion he stepped away in the direction of the counter, and +out from the leaves of _The Churchman_ fell and dangled a new check +stamped "Waistcoat's Express, No. 1467." + +"My good fellow," impatiently drawled the clergyman, approaching the +baggage-man, "I really can't wait, don'cher know. I've looked +everywhere, and my box isn't here. I don't know whether to blame that +beastly luggage-man, or whether it's the fault of this disgustin' +American railroad. It's evident someone's at fault, and as I assume that +you are in charge I shall report you immediately." + +[Illustration: Deftly tied the two ends of string around it.] + +The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust champion of religion before +him with scorn. + +"Well, son, you can report all you like. I've worked in this +baggage-room eighteen years, and you're not the first English crank who +thought he owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned on his heel, +while the clergyman, with an expression of horror, ambled quickly out of +the side door. + +McAllister had watched this remarkable proceeding with enthusiastic +interest, his round face shining with the excitement of a child. + +"Jiminy, but this is great!" he exclaimed, slapping Barney upon the +back. "And to think of your doin' it for a livin'! Why I'd sit here all +day for nothin'! What happens next? And what becomes of the feller +that's just gone out?" + +"Oh, you ain't seen half the show yet!" responded Conville, pleased. "It +is pretty good fun at times. But, o' course, this is a star performance, +and we're sure of our man. Oh, it beats the theayter, all right, all +right! Truth's stranger than fiction every time, you bet. Now take this +Oyster--why he's a regular cracker-jack! Got sense enough to be an +alderman, or president, or anythin', but he keeps right at his own +little job of liftin' trunks, an' he ain't never been caught yet. His +pal'll be along now any minute." + +"How's that?" inquired Chubby with eagerness. + +"Why, don'cher see? Jerry's cut off the reg'lar tag, and now the other +feller'll present a duplicate of the one Jerry's just hitched on. Great +game, 'Foxy Quiller,' eh?" + +McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a great game. By George, it +beat playin' the horses! At the same time he shivered as he realized how +nearly the famous jewels had actually been lost. Wilkins must be an +awful bad egg to go and tie up to a gang of that sort! + +The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all that had been taking place +behind his back, and apparently not soured by his little set-to with the +Englishman, was genially assisting the great American public to find its +effects, and beaming on all about him. People streamed in and out, +engines coughed and wheezed; from outside came the roar and rattle of +the city. + +Presently there bounced in a stout person in a yellow and black suit, +with white waistcoat and green tie, who mopped his red face with a large +silk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who seemed to be unoccupied, +he threw down a pasteboard check, together with a shining half-dollar, +and shouted, "Here, my good feller, that trunk, will you? Quick! The big +one with the red letters on it--'B. C. L.' They sent it here from the +Astoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my ship sails at twelve. +Now, get a move on!" + +The porter grabbed the check and the half-dollar, and falling upon the +big Vuitton, rolled it end over end out into the street, followed by its +perspiring claimant. + +"That's right, that's right," shouted the bounder. "Chuck it on behind. +Mus'n't miss the boat!" and throwing the porter another half-dollar, the +sportive traveller jumped into the hack, yelling, "Now drive like the +devil!" The door closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disappeared +among the tracks and wagons of Forty-second Street. + +McAllister for the first time felt distinctly uneasy. + +"Look here," he whispered feverishly, "is it right to let him walk off +like that? Hurry! Open the trunk, or he'll get away!" + +"Sit still, and don't get excited!" commanded Barney. "It's all right," +he added condescendingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamiliar +with such mysteries. "We've got him covered. He couldn't get away to +save his neck. An' as for follerin' him, why he'll carry that trunk half +over New York before he lands it where it's goin'!" + +"All right!" sighed the clubman; "you're the doctor. But it seems to me +you're takin' a lot of risk. Your brother officer might lose track of +him, or he might drop the trunk somehow, and _then_ where would the +jewels be?" + +"Right exactly where they are _now_," replied Barney with a grin. "In +the office safe at the Waldorf. They ain't never left the hotel. There +wasn't any need of it, and if I hadn't taken 'em out I'd 've had to +watch 'em here all night. Now everythin's all right. + +"And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of it, "I forgot to tell you. +Who do you suppose is workin' with Jerry? Fatty Welch! 'Wilkins,' you'd +call him. He's turned up again an' hooked on, somehow, to the Gov'nor. +Me and my side-partner's been trailin' 'em both ever since your uncle +hit New York. I had the room opposite him at the Waldorf. Yesterday +mornin' I saw Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as a bell-boy, +and was cleanin' the winders. The Gov'nor's kind of figgity you know, +and I thought we'd better not mention anythin' to _him_. Of course I +didn't have any idea _you'd_ come waltzin' along this way." + +McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the detective. He was as +demonstrative as his narrow quarters rendered possible. + +"Baron," said he, "you're a corker! I've learned a heap this morning." + +"There's lots of things you never dream of, Horace," replied Barney +politely. + +"Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met asking me to help you nab +Wilkins?" continued McAllister. "Well, I'm goin' to make good. I've got +him safely locked in a closet at the hotel. He promised not to come +back, and now I'm done with him. What do you say to that?" + +"Good work!" ejaculated Barney. "Keep it up! In time you might make a +pretty good detective." + +From Barney such a concession was high praise, and showed intense +appreciation. On their way back to the Waldorf he explained that the +"Oyster" was one of a very few "guns" able effectively to make use of a +disguise, this being in part due to the fact that he was the son of a +clergyman, and educated for the stage. + +They were met at the door of the apartment by Lady Lyndhurst. + +"Basil has disappeared!" she gasped. "And that awful man in the closet +has become so blasphemous that I can't remain with decency in the room." + +McAllister partially pacified her by stating that the jewelry was +entirely safe. He wondered what on earth had become of the Governor. +Once inside the suite conversation became practically impossible, owing +to the sounds of inarticulate rage which proceeded from the closet. + +Barney decided to place the valet immediately under arrest and take him +to Police Headquarters. The sooner they did so the more likely he would +be to "squeal." He requested McAllister to arm himself with a +walking-stick, and to stand ready to come to his assistance if, on +opening the door, he should find himself unable to cope with the +prisoner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her bedroom, the door +leading to the corridor was closed and locked, and the two prepared for +the conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, which he cocked +and held ready. + +"Don't fire 'till you see the whites of his eyes!" murmured McAllister. + +"Fire--nothin'!" muttered Barney, throwing open the closet door. + +"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed +individual sprung from within and burst upon their astonished gaze. The +Governor-General stood before them. + +[Illustration: "Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a +fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within.] + +Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to the other--then in +response to their surprised inquiries broke into incoherent explanation. +He had waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllister's departure, +and Sophia had gone to her bedroom to finish dressing, when suddenly the +expostulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. Finally they had +died entirely away, and in their place had come terrible gasps and +gurgles. He had remembered that there was no means of renewing the air +supply in the closet, and had become alarmed. Presently all sounds had +ceased. He was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. Opening the +door, he had found the valet apparently lying there unconscious, and had +dragged him forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned to life, and +before he knew it had jammed him into the closet and locked the door. + +"He was most impertinent, too, when he got on the outside, I can assure +you," concluded Lord Lyndhurst indignantly. "Gave me a lot of gratuitous +advice!" + +McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm his troubled spirit, and +soothe his ruffled dignity, informing him that the jewels had been in +the hotel safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused to take any +stock whatever in their explanation. Nothing of the sort could possibly +have happened in England. It took them an hour to persuade him that they +were not lying. The only things that appeared to convince him at all +were the disappearance of Morton, a large bump on his own forehead, and +the actual presence of the jewelry in the safe downstairs. Even then he +sent to Tiffany's for a man to examine it. + +Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, subjecting him to an +exhaustive cross-examination upon his antecedents and occupation. The +Governor declared he was astounded at his impudence. The idea of opening +his private luggage! He would address a communication to the +authorities! It was little better than grand larceny. It _was_ grand +larceny, by Jupiter! Hadn't Conville abstracted the jewels _vi et +armis_? Of _course_ he had! Damme, he would see if the sacred rights of +an English official should be trampled on! It was _trespass_ +anyway--_Trespass ab initio_! Did Conville know that? It was grand +larceny _and_ trespass. He would lock him up. + +Barney grinned, and the Governor again became almost apoplectic. + +He snorted scornfully at the detective's explanation about this Jerry +"What-do-you-call-him--the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to believe +_that_? Conville was a confounded, hair-brained busybody--He dwindled +off, exhausted. + +At that moment there came a sharp rap upon the door, and an officer in +roundsman's uniform entered. + +"Gentleman called at the precinct house and reported a jewelry theft in +this suite. Said the thief had been caught and locked up in a closet, so +I thought I'd drop over and see how things stood." + +He looked inquiringly at McAllister, significantly at the +Governor-General, and then caught sight of Barney. + +"Hello, Conville!" he exclaimed. "You on the case? Well, then I'll drop +out. Got your man, I see!" He glanced again at the dishevelled scion of +nobility before him. + +"Everythin's all right," answered the detective with a chuckle. "I guess +they was fakin' you round at the house. By the way, I want you to meet a +friend of mine--Roundsman McCarthy, let me present you to his Nibs--the +Governor-General." + +The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes shifting from the now red +and stammering roundsman to Conville's beaming countenance, and back +again. + +"Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, "do you prefer Scotch or rye? You will +find cigars on the sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are upon +_me_!" + +"By the way," he added to McCarthy, as McAllister filled the glasses, +"would you be so obliging as to describe the individual who so +thoughtfully notified you in regard to the loss of the jewelry?" + +"Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray eyes," answered +McCarthy, lighting a cigar. "Looked somethin' like this gentleman here," +indicating the clubman. "Spoke with a kind of English accent. Nice +appearin' feller, all right." + +"By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAllister. + +"Damn!" exploded Uncle Basil. + +"The nerve of him!" muttered Barney. + + + + + + +The Golden Touch + + +I + +McAllister, with his friend Wainwright, was lounging before the fire in +the big room, having a little private Story Teller's Night of their own. +It was in the early autumn, and neither of the clubmen were really +settled in town as yet, the former having run down from the Berkshires +only for a few days, and the latter having just landed from the Cedric. +The sight of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the distance and +then, receiving no encouragement, stalked slowly away, reminded +Wainwright of something he had heard in Paris. + +"I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, McAllister, upon the +impregnable rock of universally accepted fact that Tomlinson is a +highfalutin ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then; I proceed. In +the first place, you must know that our anemic friend decided last +spring that the state of his health required a trip to Paris. He +therefore went--alone. The reason is obvious. Who should he fall in +with at the Hotel Continental but a gentleman named Buncomb--Colonel C. +T. P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the middle of his +forehead, who claimed to belong to a most exclusive Southern family in +Savannah. Incidentally he'd been in command of a Georgia regiment in the +Civil War and had been knocked in the head at Gettysburg--one of those +big, flabby fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says about his +capacity to chew Black Strap and absorb rum is accurate, I reckon the +Colonel was right up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He knew +everybody and everything in Paris; passed up our friend right along the +Faubourg Saint Germain; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses and +countesses--that is, Tomlinson _says_ they were. Can't you see 'em, +swaggerin' down the Champs-Elysees arm in arm? In addition, he took our +mournful acquaintance to all the _cafes chantants_ and students' balls, +and gave him sure things on the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been a +regular doodle-bug! + +"In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new friend was a mining +expert taking a short vacation and just blowing in an extra half million +or so. He believed it. You see, he had never met any of them at the +Waldorf at home. He was also introduced to a young man in the same line +of business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed to have plenty of money, +and was likewise _au fait_ with the aristocracy. + +"Well, one night, after they had been to the Bal Boullier and had had a +little supper at the Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle more +confidential than usual, and let drop that their friend Summerdale had a +brother employed as private secretary by a copper king who owned a +wonderful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. The stock in this +concern had originally been sold at five dollars a share, but recently a +rich vein had been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. No one +knew of this except the officers of the company, who, of course, were +anxious to buy up all they could find. They had located most of it +easily enough, but there were two or three lots that had thus far eluded +them. Among these was the largest single block of stock in existence, +owned by the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. He had two +thousand shares, and was blissfully ignorant of the fact that they were +worth forty thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no one seemed to +know, but his name was Edwin H. Blake, and he was supposed to be in +Paris. It appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watching out for +Blake with the charitable idea of relieving him of his stock at five, +and selling it for twenty in the States. + +"Next day, if you'll believe it, the Colonel didn't remember a thing; +became quite angry at Tomlinson's supposing he'd take advantage of any +person in the way suggested; explained that he must have been drinking, +and begged him to forget everything that might have been said. Of +course, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after that the Colonel and he +rather drifted apart. Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later, +our friend stumbled on Blake himself--met him right on the race-track, +through a Frenchman named Depau. + +"Now our innocent friend had been sort of lonely ever since he'd lost +sight of Buncomb, and this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort. +Tomlinson naturally inquired if he'd ever met the Colonel or Larry +Summerdale, but he never had, and finally they took an apartment +together." + +"He must have been pleased when Tomlinson told him about the value of +his stock," remarked McAllister, lighting another cigar. + +"I'm comin' to that," replied Wainwright. "It seems that Tomlinson so +far forgot his early New England traditions as to covet that stock +himself. Shockin', wasn't it? + +"One day, when they were lunching at the Trois Freres, our friend +hinted that he was interested in mining stock. Blake laughed, and +replied that if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff he +wouldn't want to see another share as long as he lived, and added that +he was loaded up with a lot of worthless stock--two thousand shares--in +an old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from his father, and +wasn't worth the paper the certificate was printed on. The leery +Tomlinson admitted having heard of the mine, but gave it as his +impression that it had possibilities. + +"Then he had a sudden headache, and went out and cabled to The Silver +Bow offices at the _World_ building here in New York to find out what +the company would pay for the stock. In an hour or two he got an answer +stating that they were prepared to give twenty dollars a share for not +less than two thousand shares. Good, eh? + +"Well, next day he led the conversation round again to mining stocks, +and finally offered to buy Blake's holdings for five dollars a share. +When the latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he'd lose the stock +that he almost raised his bid to fifteen; but Blake only laughed, and +said that he had no intention of robbing one of his friends, and that +the old stuff really wasn't worth a cent. Tomlinson became quite +indignant, suggested that perhaps he knew more about that particular +mine than even Blake did, and finally overcame the latter's scruples +and persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson disposed of some bonds by +cable, and that evening gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs in +exchange for his two thousand share certificate in The Silver Bow of +Arizona. He told me it had a picture of a miner with a pick-ax and a +mule standing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegorical, don't +you think? + +"Blake continued to protest that our friend was being cheated, and +offered to buy it back at any time; but Tomlinson's one idea was to get +to New York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the stock was on the +way, and that very night he slid out of Paris and caught the +Norddeutscher Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occupied the bridal +chamber on the way back all by himself. + +"The instant they landed he jumped in a cab and started for the _World_ +building; but when he got there he couldn't find any Silver Bow Mining +Company. It had evaporated. It had been there right enough--for ten +days--the ten days Tomlinson calculated that it had taken Blake to sell +him the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or what had become of +it. + +"Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, "he nearly went crazy; cabled the +police in Paris and had 'em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb; +and took the next steamer back. He says they had the trial in a little +police court in the Palais de Justice. Buncomb had hired Maitre Labori +to defend him. Everybody kept their hats on, and apparently they all +shouted at once. The Judge was the only one that kept his mouth shut at +all. Tomlinson told his story through an interpreter, and charged +Buncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with conspiracy to defraud. + +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into the +middle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped his +coat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell you +he must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the Confederate +Army, he was--the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserable +French scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador. +He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge could +interfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in a +while he'd yell '_Conspuez_' or '_A bas_' and sort of froth at the +mouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maitre Labori got in _his_ +licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing--a rascal--a +'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is. + +"Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant smile, if Buncomb had ever +asked him to buy any stock? + +"Tomlinson had to say 'No.' + +"Did Larry Summerdale? + +"'No' + +"Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless? + +"'Yes.' + +"How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it? + +"'Well, he didn't absolutely.' + +"The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake, +and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarked +that one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson +would show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then the +first thing our friend knew the court had adjourned--they had all been +turned out--discharged--acquitted. But the thing that most disgusted +Tomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, the +Colonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. They +passed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paid +for that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last he +heard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera." + +"And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister. + +"There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-day +boat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, +Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electric +car for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. But +the simple life has done him good." + + +II + +One evening, several months later, McAllister and a party of friends +dropped into Rector's after the theatre for a caviare sandwich before +turning in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light and crowded, +but after waiting for a few moments they were given a table just vacated +by a party of four. McAllister, having given their order, noticed a +couple seated directly in his line of vision who instantly challenged +his attention. The girl was ordinary--slender, dark-haired, +sharp-featured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed with +ermine--obviously an actress or vaudeville "artist." It was her +companion, however, that caused McAllister to readjust his monocle. +Curious! Where had he seen that face? It was that of a heavy man of +approximately sixty, benign, smooth-shaven, full-featured, and with an +expanse of broad white forehead, the centre of which was marked in a +curious fashion by a deep dent like a hole made by dropping a marble +into soft putty. It gave him the appearance of having had a third eye, +now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He was sure he had met the old +fellow somewhere--he couldn't just place where. But that hole in the +forehead--yes, he was certain! Listening abstractedly to his friends' +conversation, the clubman studied his neighbor, becoming each moment +more convinced that at some time in the past they had been thrown +together. Presently the pair arose, and the man helped the woman into +her ermine coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in and out of +shadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened upon it like some bird charmed +by a reptile, watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously out. + +"Fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, "look at those people just going out; +do you know who they are?" + +"Why, that's Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," said Rogers. "She's at +Hammerstein's. I don't know her escort. By George! that's a queer thing +on his forehead." + +McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him. + +"Alphonse, who's the gentleman with Mademoiselle Vibbert?" + +Alphonse smiled. + +"Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced it Erbaire. + +"Well, who's Monsieur Erbaire?" + +Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, protruded his +lips, and extended the palms of his hands. + +"Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turning to the group around the +table, "Alphonse says that you can search _him_." + + +III + +McAllister had speculated for a day or two upon the probable identity of +the man with the hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it up +as a bad job. One didn't like to dig up the past too carefully, anyhow. +You never could tell exactly what you might exhume. + +The next Sunday afternoon, while running his eyes carelessly over the +"personals," his notice was attracted to the following: + + BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES.--Advertiser wants party with + four thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve + thousand dollars in five weeks; no scheme, strictly + legitimate business transaction; will bear thorough + investigation; must act immediately; no brokers; + principals only. + HERBERT, 319 Herald. + +The name sounded familiar. But he didn't know any Herbert. Then there +hovered in the penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the ghost of a +scarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes! Herbert was the man with the hole +in his forehead that night at Rector's, that Alphonse didn't know. But +where had he known that man? He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of +Tomlinson, the saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of course! +Buncomb--Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb--Tomlinson's high-rolling friend of +the Champs-Elysees--turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert--a man who'd +triple your money in five weeks! The chain was complete. If he kept his +wits about him he might increase the reputation achieved at Blair's. It +would require _finesse_, to be sure, but his experience with Conville +had given him confidence. Here was a chance to do a little more +detective work on his own account. He replied to the advertisement, +inviting an interview. The "Colonel" would probably call, try some old +swindling game, McAllister would lure him on, and at the proper moment +call in the police. It looked easy sailing. + +Accordingly the appointed hour next day found the clubman waiting +impatiently at his rooms, and at two o'clock promptly Mr. Herbert was +announced. But McAllister was doomed to disappointment. The visitor was +not the Colonel at all, and didn't even have a bullet-hole in his +forehead. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully in a dark blue +overcoat, bowed himself in. In his hand he carried a glistening silk +hat, and his own countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thick +bristly black hair parted mathematically in the middle drooped on either +side of his forehead above a pair of snappy black eyes and rather +bulbous nose. + +McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest to be seated. + +Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered him. + +"Mr. McAllister?" he inquired affably. + +"Ye-es," replied the clubman. "I noticed your advertisement in the +_Herald_, and it occurred to me that I might like to look into it." + +Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating manner. + +"I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatanism," he remarked, "but +the situation was unusual and time was of the essence. Are we quite +alone?" + +"Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?" + +Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining McAllister in a cigar. + +"The gist of the matter is this," he explained, holding the weed in the +corner of his mouth as he spoke--a trick McAllister had never acquired. +"I have a brother who is employed in a confidential capacity by the +president of a large mining company--The Golden Touch. The stock has +always sold at around four or five. Recently they struck a very rich +lode. It was kept very quiet, and only the officers of the company +actually on the field know of it. Needless to say, they are buying in +the stock as fast as they can." + +"Of course," answered McAllister sympathetically. He felt as if he had +run across an old friend again. Things were looking up a bit. + +"Well, I have located a block of which they know absolutely nothing. It +was issued to an engineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. He +suddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go to Baden-Baden. At +present he is laid up at one of the hotels in this city. Of course he is +ignorant of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the fact that +his stock, once worth only five dollars a share, is now selling at +twenty." + +"Well, he's a richer man than he supposes," commented McAllister +naively. + +Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension. + +"Exactly. That is the point. If I had five thousand dollars I could buy +his thousand shares to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteen +thousand dollars' profit. You furnish the funds, I the opportunity, and +we divide even. I've a sure thing! What do you think of it?" + +"By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slapping his knee delightedly, "I've +a mind to go you! . . . But," he added shrewdly, "I should want to see +the prospective buyer of my stock before I purchased it." + +"Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllister," instantly returned Mr. +Herbert. "Now, I'm dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning you can go +down and see the president of The Golden Touch yourself. The offices are +in the New York Life Building." + +"All right," answered McAllister. "To-morrow? Wait a minute; I've an +engagement. Why can't we go now?" + +Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, _that_ was business! They would go +at once. + +McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him into his coat and summoned +a cab. On their way down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. He +believed, if they could land this block of stock, they might perhaps dig +up a few more hundred shares. Conscientious effort counted just as much +in an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllister displayed the +deepest interest. + +Arrived at the New York Life Building, the two took the elevator to the +fifth floor, where Herbert led the way to a large suite on the Leonard +Street side. McAllister rarely had to go down-town--his lawyer usually +called on him at his rooms--and was much impressed by the marble +corridors and gilt lettering upon the massive doors. Upon a door at the +end of the hall the clubman could see in large capitals the words, + + THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO. + + _Office of the President._ + +They turned to the left and paused outside another door marked +"Entrance." Herbert thought he'd better remain in the corridor--the +President might smell a rat; so McAllister decided to enter alone. In an +adjoining suite he could see some men testing a fire-escape consisting +of a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from the window in the +direction of the street below. Someone was preparing to make a descent. +McAllister wished he could stop and see the fellow slide through; but +business was business, and he opened the door. + +Inside he found himself in a large, handsome office. Three gum-chewing +boys idled at desks in front of a brass railing, behind which several +typewriters rattled continuously. On learning that McAllister desired to +see the President, one of the boys penetrated an inner office, and +presently beckoned our friend into another room hung with large maps and +photographs and furnished with a mahogany table, around which were +ranged a dozen vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond, +evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly man at a roll-top +desk smoking a large cigar. + +McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; everything seemed so +methodical and everybody so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzers +whirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside smoked on serenely, +unperturbed, a wonderful example of the superiority of mind over matter. +Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he was going to make an ass of +himself. Then the magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became no +longer possible. With a start, McAllister found himself face to face +with the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead. The latter bowed +slightly. + +"I am President Van Vorst," he announced in a dignified manner. + +McAllister hastily tried to assume the expression and manner of a yokel. + +"Er--er--" he stammered; "you see, the fact is, I want to sell some +stock." + +The Colonel eyed him sternly. + +"Stock? What stock?" + +"In the Golden Touch." + +The President slightly elevated his eyebrows. + +"Stock in The Golden Touch? How much have you got?" + +"About a thousand shares." + +"Nonsense!" remarked the Colonel. + +"No, it isn't," replied McAllister. "I have, really. What'll you pay for +it?" + +"Five dollars a share." + +"No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously toward the door. "I think +it's worth more than that." + +"Come back here," muttered the other, getting up from his chair and +scowling. "What do you know about the value of The Golden Touch, I +should like to know?" + +"Perhaps I know more than you think," answered McAllister, with an inane +imitation of airy nonchalance. + +"See here," said the Colonel excitedly, "is this on the level? Can you +deliver a thousand?" + +"Certainly." + +The President sank back in his chair. + +"Then you have located Murphy's stock!" he exclaimed. "You've beaten us! +That cursed certificate was issued just before--" He paused, and looked +sharply toward McAllister. + +"Just before you made that strike," finished the clubman significantly. + +"Hang you!" cried the Colonel angrily. "What do you ask?" + +"Eighteen." + +"Too much. Give you ten." + +McAllister started for the door. + +At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and handed the President a +flimsy yellow paper. + +"Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting his eye rapidly over the +telegram. + +"Can't do business on that basis." + +"Well, you've got us cornered. I'll break the record. I'll give you +fifteen." + +McAllister hesitated. + +"All right," said he rather reluctantly. "Cash down?" + +"Of course," replied the Colonel. "I'll wait here for you. You might as +well look at this now." And he showed the clubman the paper. + + STAFFORD, ARIZONA. + + _Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays + show eight per cent. copper, carrying five dollars in + gold to the ton. Try and locate Murphy's stock._ + +"You see," added the Colonel, "I've got to get it, if it busts me!" + +"Well, you shall have it in half an hour," replied McAllister. + +Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know exactly what had happened, +and laughed heartily when McAllister described the interview. Oh, that +old Van Vorst was a sly dog! He'd steal the gold out of your teeth if +you gave him the chance. Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton! That +was even better than his brother had advised him. Well, the next thing +was to capture Murphy's stock. + +On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllister +stopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring the +money to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters. +Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between them +that the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him at +once to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return of +McAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company. + +McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to the +hotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad, +very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trained +nurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs and +inquire for themselves. + +Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor, +in which the pungent odor of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even +at the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knock +brought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was at +last persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the express +condition that their call should be limited to a few moments' duration +only. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllister +could discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the far +corner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a +table covered with liniment and bottles. + +"Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace? +Wot is it, I s'y?" + +For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beating +at the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should it +come from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the waters +beneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinary +individual--Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instant +McAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation. + +"You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see if +you wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock." + +"'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turning his head to the wall. +"Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almost +dead? Go aw'y, I s'y!" + +McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock, +and on returning to the company's offices to have Conville arrest +Herbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. He +was pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist +him, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both. + +"Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort of +thing." + +So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to part +with his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent over +the glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected at +Baden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and mining +stock in particular. + +Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon his pallet and cursed the +inconsiderate strangers who forced their selfish interests upon him at +such a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed impatiently. At last, +after an unusually persistent harangue on the part of Herbert, the +invalid, inveighing against the sciatica that had placed him thus at +their mercy, and more to get rid of them than anything else, +reluctantly yielded. Fumbling among the bed-clothes, he produced a +soiled certificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly. + +"'Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! Gimme yer money, an' go aw'y!" + +As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who had remained partially +concealed behind his companion. + +"Now's your chance!" whispered the latter. "Take it while you can get +it. Where's the money?" + +McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled deliciously in his hands, +and stepped square in front of the sick engineer, between him and +Herbert. + +"Mr. Murphy"--he spoke the words slowly and distinctly--"I'm the person +who's buying your stock. This gentleman has merely interested me in the +proposition." Then, fixing his eyes directly on those of Wilkins, he +held out the bills. A look of terror came over the face of the valet, +and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he stared horrified at his +former master. Then he sank back, and turned away his head. + +"Now answer me a few questions," continued McAllister. "Are you the bona +fide owner of this stock?" + +Wilkins choked. + +"S' 'elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped. + +"And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?" + +Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle of +iodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side. + +"Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within a +few inches of McAllister's face. "_It's rotten_," he whispered under his +breath. "_Don't touch it!_ . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . _Just pretend to +pass me the money_. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . _I +wouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't!_ . . . W'ere's yer money?" + +A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said there +was no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing as +gratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that it +was the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. His +simple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part. +With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to where +Herbert was standing. + +"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man's +name is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine? +I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money." + +"Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brother +gave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then he +has the certificate. What more do you want?" + +"I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head and +shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't do +it." + +Herbert seemed annoyed. + +"Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sick +you can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"--adding +_sotto voce_ to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buy +the stock himself, and we'll lose our chance." + +The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer. +Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified. + +"We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, nodding +vigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister. + +"Oh, I'll go!" responded the engineer with sudden alacrity. "Anything to +hoblige." + +He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse had by this time returned, +and was demanding in forcible language that his patient should instantly +get back. Seeing that his expostulations had no effect, he assisted +Wilkins very ungraciously to get into his clothes. With the aid of a +stout cane the latter tottered to the elevator and was finally ensconced +safely in the cab. All this had occupied nearly an hour; twenty minutes +more brought them to the New York Life Building. + +As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into the +building, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and +athletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of the +portico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly that +the sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again. +As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office, +McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Things +were going well enough, so far. Now for the _coup d'etat_! + +The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before, +President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a +corner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe. + +"Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I've +brought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?" + +"Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with great +cordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my old +engineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year, +isn't it, since you were at Stafford?" + +"Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've got +the skyathicer somethin' hawful." + +McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket. + +"Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman. + +"Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousand +shares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show of +irritation. + +"Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply. + +The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he could +not determine just how matters stood. + +"Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, but +I'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you back +quite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow--you, or Murphy?" + +"At present it belongs to me," said the clubman. + +As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the door leading into the +directors' room. From below came faintly the rattle of the street and +the clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could be heard the +merry tattoo of the typewriters. Could it be possible that in this +opulently furnished office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, its +Persian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy curtains, he was +confronting a crew of swindlers of whom his own valet was an accomplice? +It was almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wainwright's vivid +description of the fall of Tomlinson, the scene at Rector's, the +advertisement in the _Herald_, and the strange occurrences of the +morning, he perceived that there could be no question in the matter. He +was facing three common--or rather most uncommon--thieves, all of whom +probably had served more than one term in State prison--desperate +characters, who would not hesitate to use force, or worse, should it +appear necessary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He might be +murdered, and no one be the wiser. Then a vague shadow flickered against +the opaque glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new courage. +Conville was just outside, with Tomlinson--although the latter could not +be regarded as a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-hand +struggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? What if the ex-convict +should go back on him? How did the valet know but that, by assisting +his master, he was sending himself to State prison? McAllister had a +fleeting desire to turn and dart from the room. What business had a +middle-aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then he braced himself, +took a good grip of his stout walking-stick, and turned to the Colonel +with an assumption of calmness which he was very far from feeling. The +noonday sun streamed into the windows and threw into strong relief the +muscular figures of the group about him. + +"I'm afraid you've been deceived in Murphy," he remarked coolly. "He +isn't an engineer at all; he's just an ex-convict." + +The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched a Colt from an open drawer +of the desk. Herbert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins dropped +his crutch. + +"What are you giving us!" cried the Colonel. + +"I'll leave it to _him_," added McAllister. "By the way, his name isn't +Murphy at all--it's Wilkins--or Welch, if you prefer." + +"What's this--a plant?" yelled Herbert. "By God, if----" + +"Don't be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the clubman. "You might lay down +that pistol, Colonel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine--in fact +he used to work for me." + +The two thieves glared at him, speechless. Wilkins picked up his crutch +by the small end, remarking: + +"Better go easy there, Buncomb." + +"I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of meeting another friend of +mine last summer, a Mr. Tomlinson," continued McAllister. "He's told me +a good deal about you. I am under the impression that he paid for an +automobile and a little trip you took on the Riviera. How would you like +to turn back the money?" + +Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale and motionless, while the +clubman opened the door into the hall and called Tomlinson's name. + +"Yaas, I'm here, McAllister. What do you want?" replied the club bore as +his lank figure entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Summerdale, +and Wilkins he stopped short. + +"By Jove!" he drawled, "I'm dashed if it ain't the Colonel--and Larry!" + +"Look here, you--you--chappie!" snarled Buncomb, "clear out of here! And +you, too, Tomlinson. Understand?" He waved the revolver threateningly. + +"Colonel," remarked McAllister, "I'm here for just one purpose, and +that's to collect the debt you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson. +Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever _you_ call him, is ready to +turn state's evidence against you. I promise him immunity. There's an +officer just outside. Shall I call him?" + +"Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, his face livid with fright +and anger. "Are you going to squeal on us?" + +"Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I'm through with you, you miserable +shell-gamers! The best thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hover +there and count hout what's left of that ten thousand." + +"Curse you!" hissed Summerdale. "How do we know you won't have us +pinched whether we pay up or not?" + +"I reckon we'd better take a chance," muttered the Colonel, laying down +his revolver and dropping on his knees before the safe. The little knob +spun around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, but at the +same moment there was a terrific crash of glass behind them. + +"Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting his face through the +broken pane and covering Buncomb with a long black weapon. "Kindly keep +your arms up, Colonel--and you too, Larry. How stout you've grown! Thank +you! I was peekin' through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would be +a good time to freeze on to what was in the safe without callin' in an +expert." + +The next instant he had unlocked the door with his other hand and +snapped the handcuffs on Summerdale's uplifted wrist. While the +detective was doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught sight of +Wilkins's frightened glance, and gave a slight nod toward the door +leading into the next room. Like a flash the valet had jumped through +and closed and locked the door behind him. Another door banged. Conville +sprang into the hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, with +McAllister at his heels. They were just in time to see Wilkins leap into +the room where the men were testing the fire-escape. + +"Let me try it," said he, and swung himself calmly into the tube. For an +instant he delayed his flight, with only his head remaining visible. + +"Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his shoulder, "and thank you +kindly. I won't forget, sir." + +At the same instant Conville bounded through the door and rushed to the +window. As he reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged downwards. +His descent was rapid, his position being discernible from the sagging +of the canvas. + +Barney started for the elevator in the hope of cutting off the valet's +escape below, but he had miscalculated the force of gravitation. As +McAllister reached the window he saw the little bulge that represented +Wilkins slide gently to the bottom. There was a cheer from the +bystanders as the convict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turned +for an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, waved his hand and +disappeared among the crowd. + + + + + + +McAllister's Data of Ethics + + +I + +"Certainly, sir. Your clothes shall be delivered at the Metropole at +nine-forty-five to morrow evenin', sir." + +Pondel's dapper little clerk tossed a half-dozen bolts of "trouserings" +upon the polished table, and smiled graciously at the firm's best paying +customer. + +"Here, Bulstead! take Mr. McAllister's waist measure--just a matter of +precaution," he added deferentially. "These are somethin' fine, +sir--very fine! When they came in, I says to Mr. Pondel: 'If only Mr. +McAllister could see that woollen! It's a shame,' I says, 'not to save +it for 'im!' An' Mr. Pondel agreed with me at once. 'Very good, +Wessons,' says he. 'Lay aside enough of that Lancaster to make Mr. +McAllister a single-breasted sack suit, and if he don't fancy it I'll +have it made up into somethin' for myself,' he says. Ain't that so, Mr. +Pondel?" + +The gentleman addressed had graciously sauntered over to congratulate +Mr. McAllister upon his selections. + +"Ah, very good! Very good indeed! How's that, Wessons? Yes, I told him +to keep that piece for you, sir. Lord Bentwood begged for it almost with +the tears in his eyes, as I may say, but I assured him that it was +already spoken for." He patted the cloth with a fat, ring-covered hand. +An atmosphere of exclusive opulence emanated from every inch of his +sleek, pudgy person--from the broad white forehead over the glinting +steel-gray eyes, from the pointed Van Dyke trimmed to resemble that of a +certain exalted personage, from his drab waistcoated abdomen begirdled +with its heavy chain and dangling seals, down to the gray-gaitered +patent leathers. McAllister distrusted, feared, relied upon him. + +The clubman wiped his monocle and glanced out through the plate-glass +window. Marlborough Square was flooded with the soft sunshine of the +autumn afternoon. Hardly a pedestrian violated the eminently +aristocratic silence of St. Timothy's. + +"Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure," he replied, not grudging Pondel the +extra two guineas which he very well knew the other invariably charged +for these little favors. It were cheap at twice the money to feel so +much a gentleman. + +"But this is Saturday, and it's five o'clock now. I don't see how you +can possibly finish all those suits by to-morrow evening. You know I +really didn't intend to order anything but the frock-coat. Perhaps you'd +just better let the rest go. I can get them some other time." + +"Not at all, Mr. McAllister; not at all. We are always delighted to +serve you by any means in our power. Did Wessons say they would be +finished to-morrow? Then to-morrow they shall be, sir. I'll set my men +at work immediately. Pedler! Where's Pedler? Send him here at once!" + +A hollow-eyed, lank, round-shouldered journeyman parted the curtains +that concealed the rear of the room, and nervously approached his +employer. He blinked at the unaccustomed sunlight, suppressing a cough. + +"Did you call me, sir?" + +"Yes," replied Pondel with the severity of one granting an undeserved +favor. "This is Mr. McAllister, of whom you have heard us speak so +often. I believe you have cut several of the gentleman's suits. He is to +take the Majestic, which sails early Monday morning, and I have promised +that his clothes shall be ready to-morrow evening. Can you arrange to +stay here to-night and whatever portion of to-morrow is necessary to +finish them?" + +A worried look passed over the man's face, and his hand flew to his +mouth to strangle another cough. + +"Certainly, sir; that is--of course-- Yes, sir. May I ask how many, +sir?" + +"Only three, I believe. I was sure it could be arranged. Please ask +Aggam to assist you. That is all." + +"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." Pedler hesitated a moment as if about to +speak, then turned listlessly and plodded back behind the curtains. + +"Very obliging man--Pedler. You see, there will be no difficulty, Mr. +McAllister." + +"Well, I don't see how on earth you're going to do it!" protested +McAllister feebly. He wanted the clothes badly, now that he had seen the +material. "It's mighty good of you to take all this trouble." + +Mr. Pondel made a deprecating gesture. + +"We are always glad to serve you, sir!" he repeated, as Wessons escorted +the distinguished customer to the door. + +"It's a great privilege to be employed by such a man as Mr. Pondel," +whispered the salesman. "He thinks an enormous lot of you, sir. Very +fine man--Mr. Pondel." + +As the hansom jogged rapidly toward the hotel, McAllister reflected +painfully upon the enormous sums of money that he annually transferred +from his own pockets to those of the lordly tailor. Not that the money +made any particular difference. The clubman was well enough fixed, only +sometimes the bills were unexpectedly large. The three suits just +ordered would average fourteen guineas each. Roughly they would come to +two hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus the duty, which he always paid +conscientiously. And he was getting off easy at that. He remembered +heaps of bills for over two hundred pounds, and that was only the +beginning, for he bought most of his clothes right in New York. + +Climbing the steps of his hotel, he wondered vaguely how long Pedler and +the other fellow would have to work to finish the suits. Of course, they +would be paid extra--were probably glad to do it. The chap had a nasty +cough, though. Oh, well, that was their business--not his! So long as he +put up the money, Pondel could look out for the rest. + +However, he felt a distinct sense of relief that his own obligations +consisted merely in dressing, dining at the Savoy with Aversly, and then +leisurely taking in the Alhambra afterward. Once in his room, he found +that the once criminally inclined, but now reformed Wilkins, who had +returned to his master's service under a solemn promise of good +behavior, had already laid out his clothes. McAllister rather dreaded +dressing, for the place was one of those heavily oppressive apartments +characteristic of English hotels. Green marble, yellow plush, and black +walnut filled the foreground, background, and middle distance, while a +marble-topped table, placed squarely in the centre of the room, offered +the only oasis in the desert of upholstery, in the form of a single +massive book, bound in brown morocco, and bearing the inscription +stamped upon its cover in heavy gilt: + + HOTEL METROPOLE + HOLY BIBLE + NOT TO BE REMOVED + +It fascinated him, recalling the chained hairbrush and comb of the +Pacific Coast. There you were offered cleanliness, here godliness, by +the proprietors; only the means thereto were not to be taken away. The +next comer must have his chance. + +As the clubman idly lifted the volume, he suddenly realized that this +was the first Bible he had actually touched in over thirty years. The +last time he had owned one himself had been at school when he was +fifteen years old. Something moved him to carry it to the window. The +sun was just dropping over the scarlet chimney-pots of London. Its +burnished glare played upon the red gilt edges of the leaves, as +McAllister mechanically allowed the book to fall open in his hands. He +read these words: + + So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that + are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such + as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on + the side of their oppressors there was power; but they + had no comforter. + +The sun sank; the chimneys deadened against the sky-line. When Wilkins, +ten minutes later, stole in to see if his master needed his assistance, +he found McAllister staring into the darkening west. + + +II + +The bell on St. Timothy's tolled twelve o'clock as McAllister's hansom, +straight from the Alhambra, clacked into the moonlit silence of +Marlborough Square. A soft breath of distant gardens hung on the cool +air. The chimneys rose from the house-tops sharp against a pale blue sky +glittering with stars. Here and there a yellow window gleamed for a +moment under the eaves, then vanished mysteriously. It was a night for +lovers,--calm, still, ecstatic,--for hayfields under the harvest +moon,--for white, ghostly reaches of the Thames,--for poetry,--for the +exquisite enjoyment of earth's nearest approach to heaven. + +The trap above McAllister's head opened. + +"Beg pardon, sir. W'ere did you s'y, sir?" + +"I said _Pondel's_," replied McAllister, rather sharply. He knew the +cabby must think him a lunatic, but he didn't care. He intended to do +the decent thing. Hang it! The fellow could mind his own business. + +The hansom crossed the street and reined up in the shadow. All was dark, +silent, deserted. Only the brass plate beside the door reflected +strangely the moonlight across the way. + +"'Ere's Pondel's, sir." The cabby got down and crossed the sidewalk to +the door. + +"All shut hup!" he commented. "Close at six." + +A dark figure emerged quickly from, a neighboring shadow. + +"'Ere! Wot is it you want?" demanded the bobby, accosting the cabman +with tentative and potential roughness. + +"Gent wants Pondel's. I dunno w'y. Ax 'im yerself!" responded cabby in +an injured tone. + +The bobby turned to the hansom. + +"This shop's closed at six o'clock," he announced. "Wot do you want?" + +McAllister felt ten thousand times a fool. The beauty of the night, the +odoriferous quiet, the peace of the deserted square, all made his errand +seem monstrously idiotic. The universe was wheeling silently across the +housetops; respectable men and women were in their beds; only +night-hawks, lovers, policemen were abroad. It was as if a worm were +raising objection to some cardinal law. Why should he try to upset the +order and regularity of the London night, clattering into this +slumbering section, startling a respectable somnolent policeman, making +an ass of himself before his cabby--because somewhere a fellow was +working overtime on his trousers. He imagined that as soon as he had +made his explanation the bobby and the driver would collapse with +merriment, and hale him to a mad-house. But McAllister set his teeth. He +was fighting for a principle. He wouldn't "welch" now. He clambered out +of the hansom. + +"I want to find Pondel, because he's got some fellows working on my +clothes, and I don't propose to have anybody working for me on Sunday. +Understand? It's _Sunday_. I don't intend to have folks working on my +clothes when they ought to be in bed." + +He spoke brokenly, defiantly, catching his breath between words, almost +ready to cry; then waited for his auditors to fall upon each other's +necks in derisive mirth. He forgot, however, that he was in London. The +situation was one apposite to American humor, but evoked no sense of +amusement in the policeman. He treated McAllister's explanation with +vast respect. Our hero gained confidence. The bobby regretted that the +place seemed closed; ventured to express his approval of the clubman's +altruistic effort; dilated upon it to the cabby, who was correspondingly +impressed. McAllister, immensely cheered, held forth on the wrongs of +labor at some length, and, finding a sympathetic audience, produced +cigars. The three proved, as it were, a little group of humanitarians +united in a common purpose. Then, suddenly, inconsequently, inexcusably, +a man coughed. The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. It came from a +point directly beneath their feet. The bobby rapped sharply on the +pavement several times. + +"Hi there, you!" he called. "Hi there, you in Pondel's. Come an' open +hup!" + +They could hear a dull murmur of conversation, the cough was repeated, a +bench dragged across a floor, some fastening was slowly loosed, and a +yellow gleam of light shot up through the shadow as a scuttle opened in +the sidewalk. A lean, scrawny figure thrust itself upward, sleepily +rubbing its eyes, collarless, its shirt open at the breast, its hair +tousled, coughing. McAllister, now confident that he had the support of +his companions, addressed the ghost, in whom he recognized Pedler, the +journeyman from behind the curtains. The clubman's face, however, was +concealed in shadow from the other. + +"You're working for Pondel, aren't you?" + +The ghost coughed again, and shivered, although the air was warm. + +"Yes," it answered huskily. + +"Are you working on some clothes for a gentleman who's sailing on +Monday?" + +"Yes," it repeated. + +"Then don't, any more," chirped McAllister encouragingly. "Those clothes +are for me, and I don't want you to work any longer. You ought to be in +bed." + +"Wotcher givin' us?" grumbled Pedler. "G'wan! Leave us alone!" He +started to descend. But the bobby stepped forward. + +"Look 'ere," he said roughly. "Don't you understand? It's just as the +gentleman s'ys. You don't _'ave_ to work any more to-night. You can go +'ome." + +"I s'y, wotcher givin' us?" repeated the other. "I cawn't go 'ome. Mr. +Pondel's horders is to st'y 'ere until the clothes is finished. M'ybe +it's as you s'y, but I cawn't go 'ome." + +At this juncture a child began to cry drowsily below, and a woman's +voice could be heard striving to comfort it. + +"You don't mean you've got a baby down there!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Only little Annie," replied Pedler. "An' the old woman." + +"Anyone else?" + +"Aggam." + +"Let's go down," suggested the bobby. "_I_ can make 'em understand." The +ghost descended, dazed, and McAllister, the bobby, and last of all, the +cabman, followed down a creaking ladder into a sort of vault under the +cellar. A small oil wick gave out a feeble fluctuating light. On one +side, cross-legged, sat a shrivelled-up, little old man, his brown beard +streaked with gray, stitching. He did not look up, but only worked the +faster. A thin woman crouched on a broken chair, holding a little girl +in her lap. + +"There, there, Annie, don't cry. The bobby's not arter _you_. It's all +right, darlin'!" + +Strewn about the cement floor lay the bolts of Lancaster which +McAllister had selected, together with patterns, scissors, and +unfinished garments. + +"Excuse the child, sir," apologized the woman. "She's just a bit +sleepy." + +"Well," said McAllister, his indignation rising at the scene, and shame +burning in his cheeks, "go right home. I won't have you working on these +clothes any more." How he wished Pondel was there to get a piece of his +mind! + +Jim looked wearily at Aggam. + +"Wot d'ye s'y, Aggam?" + +The other kept on stitching. + +"I gets my horders from Pondel," he replied, shortly, "an' I don't tyke +no horders from no one helse!" + +"But look here," cried McAllister, "the clothes are _mine_, ain't they? +Pondel hasn't anything to do with it! And _I_ tell you to _go home_." + +"Yes," grunted Aggam. "An' then you loses your job, does yer? I don't +want no toff mixin' into _my_ affairs. I minds my business, they can +mind theirs!" + +"I s'y, that's no w'y to speak to the gentleman!" exclaimed the bobby in +disgust. "'E's only tryin' to do yer a fyvor! 'Aven't yer got no +manners?" + +"_I_ minds _my_ business, let _'im_ mind _'is'n_!" repeated Aggam +stolidly. + +"Well, _I_ must _s'y_," ejaculated the cabby, "they're a bloomin' +grateful lot!" + +The tall man seemed to resent this last from one of his own station. + +"I appreciates wot the gent wants," he said weakly, "but it's just like +Aggam s'ys. Wot can _we_ do? The gent cawn't tell us to go 'ome!" + +The child began to cry again. McAllister was exasperated almost to the +point of profanity. + +"Don't you _want_ to go home?" he exclaimed. + +The woman laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. + +"Annie an' me 'ave st'y'd 'ere all the evenin' just to be with Jim. 'E's +awful sick. An' 'e'll 'ave to st'y 'ere all d'y to-morrer. Do we _want_ +to go 'ome!" + +Her husband dashed his shirt-sleeve across his eyes. + +"Don't Nell," he muttered. "I ain't sick. I can work. You go 'ome with +the kid." + +McAllister thrust a handful of bank-notes toward her. + +"Where does old Pondel live?" he inquired of the bobby. + +"Out in Kew somewheres," replied the officer. + +The woman was staring blankly at the money. Suddenly she dropped the +little girl and began to sob. Jim broke into a fit of harsh coughing. +The cabman climbed up the ladder. The temperature of the vault seemed +insufferable to McAllister. + +"I suppose you'll go home if Pondel says so?" he suggested. + +"Just watch us!" growled Aggam. + +"Take that child home, anyhow, and put it to bed," ordered the clubman. +"I'll be back in an hour or so." + +As he climbed up through the scuttle into the sweet, soft moonlight, and +started to enter the hansom, the bobby held out his hand. + +"Excuse me, sir. I 'ope you'll pardon the liberty, but, would you mind, +I've got a brother in America--Smith's the naime--'e lives in a plaice +called Manitoba. Do you 'appen to know 'im?" + +"I'm sorry," replied our friend, grasping the other's hand. "I never ran +across him." + +"Where to now?" asked the cabby. + +"To Kew," replied McAllister. + +They swung out of the square, leaving the bobby standing in the shadow +of Pondel's. + +"I'll look out for 'em while you're gone," called the latter +encouragingly. + +They crossed Bond Street, followed Grosvenor Street into Park Lane, and +plunging round Hyde Park corner, past the statue to England's greatest +soldier, they entered Kingsbridge. McAllister, all awake from his recent +experience, saw things that he had never observed before--bedraggled +flower-girls in gaudy hats, with heart-rending faces; drunken laborers +staggering along upon the arms of sad-featured women; young girls, +slender, painted, strolling with an affectation of light-heartedness +along the glittering sidewalks. On they jogged, past narrow streets +where, amid the flare of torches, the entire population of the +neighborhood swarmed, bargained, swore, and quarrelled; where little +children rolled under the costers' carts, fighting for scraps and +decaying vegetables; and where their passage was obstructed by the +throngs of miserable humanity for whom this was their only park, their +only club. It being Saturday night, the butchers were selling off their +remnants of meat, and their shrill cries could be heard for blocks. +Several times the horse shied to avoid trampling upon some old hag who, +clutching her wretched purchase to her breast, hurried homeward before a +drunken lout should snatch it from her. McAllister had never imagined +the like. It was with a sigh of relief that they left the Hammersmith +Road behind and at last reached the residential districts. In about an +hour they found themselves in Kew. A cool breeze from the country fanned +his cheek. On either hand trim little villas, with smooth lawns, lined +the road, and the moonlit air was fragrant with the smell of damp grass, +violets, and heliotrope. Here and there could be heard the tinkle of a +cottage piano, and the laughter of belated merry-makers on the verandas. + +They located Mr. Pondel's villa without difficulty. Standing back some +thirty yards from the street, its well-kept garden full of flowering +shrubs and carefully tended beds of geraniums, it was a residence +typical of the London suburb, with fretwork along the piazza roof, a +stone dog guarding each side of the steps, and salmon-pink curtains at +the parlor windows. The door stood open, a Japanese lamp burned in the +hallway, and the murmur of voices floated out from the door leading into +the parlor. McAllister once again felt the overwhelming absurdity of his +position. Over his shoulder, as he stood by the hyacinths at the door, +floated the same big moon in the same soft heaven. Damp and fragrant, +the wind blew in from the lawn and swayed the portieres in the narrow +hall, behind which, doubtless, sat the lordly Pondel, friend of +noblemen, adviser of royalty, entrenched in his castle, a unit in an +impregnable system. The whinny of the cab-horse beyond the hedge +recalled to McAllister the necessity for action. He realized that he was +losing moral ground every instant. + +The bell jangled harshly somewhere in the back of the house. A man's +voice--Pondel's--muttered indistinctly; there was a feminine whisper in +response; someone placed a glass on a table and pushed back a chair. A +clock in the neighborhood struck two, and Pondel emerged through the +portieres--Pondel in a wadded claret-colored dressing-gown embroidered +with birds of Paradise, in carpet slippers, with a meerschaum pipe, +watery eyes, and slightly disarranged hair. It was rather dim in the +hallway, and he did not recognize his visitor. + +"What is it? What do you want?" The inquiry was abrupt and a little +thick. + +"Good evening, Mr. Pondel," stammered McAllister. "I hope you'll excuse +me for disturbing you at this hour. It's about the clothes." + +"W'o is it?" Pondel peered into his guest's flushed face. "W'y Mr. +McAllister, what are you doin' way out 'ere? Excuse my appearance--a +little pardonable neglishay of a Saturday evenin'. Come right in, won't +you? Great honor, I'm sure. Though, if you'll believe it, I once 'ad the +honor of a call from his Grace the Duke of Bashton right in this very +'all. Excuse me w'ile I announce your presence to Mrs. Pondel." + +McAllister said something about having to go at once, but Pondel +shuffled through the curtains, almost immediately sweeping them back +with a lordly gesture of welcome. + +"This way, Mr. McAllister." Our miserable friend entered the parlor. +"Elizabeth, hallow me to present Mr. McAllister--one of my oldest +customers." + +Elizabeth--a fat vision of fifty-five, with peroxide hair, and a soft +pink of unchanging hue mantling her elsewhere mottled cheeks--arose +graciously from the table where she and her husband had been playing +double-dummy bridge, and courtesied. + +"Chawmed, I'm sure. What a beautiful evenin'! Won't you si' down?" +murmured the enchantress. + +McAllister took a chair, and Pondel pressed whiskey and water upon him. +Oh, Mr. McAllister, needn't be afraid of it; it was the real old thing; +Lord Langollen had sent him a dozen. Lizzie would take a nip with +'em--eh, Lizzie? A gen'elman didn't take that long trip every evenin', +and a little refreshment would not only do him good, but, as the Yankees +said, would show there was no 'ard feelin', eh? He must really take just +a drop. Say when! + +Lizzie poured out a glass for the much-embarrassed guest. She was in a +flowered kimona, even more "neglishay" than her husband, but the bower +in which the goddess reclined was a perfect pearl of the decorator's +art. Cupids, also "neglishay," toyed with one another around a cluster +of electric burners in the ceiling, gay streamers of painted blossoms +dangling from their hands and floating down the walls. Gilt chairs, a +white and gilt sofa, and a brown etching in a Florentine frame on each +wall, were the most conspicuous articles of furniture. At the windows +the brilliant salmon-pink curtains bellied softly in the breeze that +stole into the chamber and diluted the gentle odor of Parma violets +which exuded from the dame in the kimona. To Pondel, McAllister's +presence was an evidence of his power; and his pride, tickled mightily, +put him in an exquisite good humor. Certainly the occasion required from +him, the host, a proper felicitation. + +"'Ere's to our better acquaintance," said the tailor, raising his glass +sententiously. "Lizzie, drink to Mr. McAllister!" + +The three drank solemnly. Then the voluble tailor addressed himself to +the task of entertaining his distinguished guest. McAllister could catch +at no opening to explain his visit. Pondel chatted gayly of Paris, the +Continent, and familiarly of the races and the _beau monde_. Apparently +he knew (by their first names) half the nobility of England, and he +endeavored to place his customer equally at his ease with them. He +ventured that he knew how most young Americans spent their time in +London and Paris; dropped with a wink, that in spite of his present +uxoriousness he had been a bit of a dog himself, and ended by suggesting +another toast to "A short life and a merry one." The lady of the kimona, +grammatically not so strong as her husband, contented herself with +expansive smiles and frequent recurrence to the tumbler. + +"I must explain my visit," finally broke in McAllister. "It's about the +clothes." + +Pondel smiled condescendingly. + +"My dear Mr. McAllister, you don't need to worry in the slightest. +They'll be done promptly to-morrow evenin', take my word for it." + +McAllister flushed. How in Heaven's name could he ever make the tailor +understand? + +"I've decided I don't want 'em!" he stammered. + +Pondel's glass went to the table with a bang, and he gazed blankly at +his customer. The clubman, not realizing the implication, did not +proceed. + +"That's all right," finally responded Pondel a trifle coldly. "There's +no hurry about settlement. You can take a year, if necessary." + +Mrs. Pondel slipped unobtrusively out of the room, leaving a trail of +perfume behind her. + +"Oh!" exclaimed our friend, catching his breath: "It isn't that. But you +see I can't have those men working over night and to-morrow on my +account. It's--it's against my principles." + +Pondel brightened. A load had been taken from his heart. So long as +McAllister's bank account was good, any idiosyncrasy the American might +exhibit did not matter. He had always regarded McAllister, however, as a +man of the world, and had esteemed him accordingly. He perceived that he +had been mistaken. His customer was merely a religious crank. He had had +experience with them before. + +"Pooh! That's all right," said he resuming his former cordiality. "Why, +they like to earn the extra money. They're all devoted to my interests, +you know." + +"Well, I don't want them to work any longer on my clothes," repeated +McAllister helplessly. + +"I understand," replied Mr. Pondel, rather loftily. "I'm afraid, +however, it's too late to stop them now. The cloth 'as been cut, and +they would not stop contrary to my direction." + +"That's the point," returned McAllister, "I want you to change your +orders." + +"But, my dear sir," expostulated the tailor, "you can't expect me to go +to London this time of night! Besides, they're nearly done by this time. +It's impossible!" + +"I'll manage that," exclaimed McAllister. "I've been down to the shop +already, and they're waiting for me now to come back with your +permission to go home; they wouldn't go without it." + +"Dear, dear!" replied the tailor, changing his tactics. "How much +interest you have taken in their welfare! How kind and thoughtful of +you! No, they're faithful men; they wouldn't think of disobeying orders. +But what a shame I didn't know of it before! Why, they might 'ave been +at 'ome and in their beds. However, I sha'n't forget 'em at the end of +the month. Mr. McAllister, I respect you. I have never known of a more +unselfish act. Permit me to say it, sir, you are a Christian--a true +Christian. I wish there were more like you, sir!" + +McAllister arose to his feet. His one thought now was to escape as +quickly as possible. The sight of Pondel's smiling countenance filled +him with unutterable disgust. Suppose the fellows at the club could see +him sitting in this pursy tailor's parlor, with his scented wife, and +gilded chairs-- + +The tailor, however, was anxious to restore the cordiality of their +relations, and slopped over in his eagerness to show how kind he was to +his men, and how considerate of their well-being. He took McAllister's +arm familiarly as he showed him to the door. + +"Yes," he added confidentially, "this is a very good locality. Only the +best people live in this neighborhood. Rather a neat little property." +He proffered McAllister a cigar. The clubman wanted to kick him for a +miserable, dirty cad. + +"Right back!" he said to the cabby, hardly replying to the tailor's +good-night. + +London was asleep. Even the streets through which he had driven to Kew +were hushed in preparation for the sodden Sunday to come. The moon had +lowered over the housetops, and St. Timothy's was in the shadow as once +again he drew up in front of Pondel's. + +"Back already, sir?" The bobby stepped out to meet him. + +"Yes," replied McAllister wearily. "And those fellows down there are +going home." + +The bobby rapped on the scuttle. Once more Pedler's head protruded above +the sidewalk. + +"Mr. Pondel says you're to go home," said McAllister. + +"The gent's been all the way to Kew for you," interjected the bobby. + +"Hi, Aggam!" exclaimed Jim, huskily. "Th' gentleman says we are to go +'ome, Mr. Pondel says." He disappeared. Aggam could be heard muttering +below. Presently the light was extinguished, and both emerged from the +scuttle and put on their coats. McAllister felt sleepily exultant. +Pedler pushed the scuttle into place. + +"Well," said McAllister after an awkward pause, "can I give you a lift? +Which way do you go? I tell you what: you come back with me to the +hotel, and then the hansom can take you both home." + +Pedler and Aggam looked doubtfully at one another. + +"Oh, come on, you fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, all his natural good +spirits returning with a rush. "Get in there, now!" + +Pedler and Aggam climbed in, and McAllister directed the driver to go to +the Metropole, after stuffing a sovereign into the hand of his friend, +the policeman. The stars were still marching across the sky, and the +breeze had freshened. Every window was dark; no one was astir. They +heard only the echoes of their horse's hoof-beats. Yet the restless +silence that precedes the dawn was in the air. + +"I lives miles aw'y from 'ere," said Pedler after a meditated period. + +"So do I," supplemented Aggam. + +"I don't care," replied McAllister. "I've had this cab all night, +anyhow, and I want to celebrate. You see, this is the first time I ever +got ahead of my tailor." + +Another long pause ensued. They were not a talkative lot, surely. +McAllister's flow of language absolutely deserted him. He could think of +no subject of conversation whatever. Pedler finally came to his +assistance. + +"I'm thirty-seven year old, an' this is the fust time I've ever ridden +in a 'ansom." + +"Jiminy!" exclaimed McAllister. "You don't say so! What luck!" + +"Fust time for me, too," added Aggam. + +After this burst of confidence the three rode in utter silence. At the +Metropole the clubman jumped out and bade his companions good-night. + +As the cabby gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start, Aggam +leaned forward rather apologetically. + +"You must hexcuse me," he remarked, "but I don't want to sail hunder +false colors, and I feel as if I hort to s'y that while I'm a Socialist, +I 'ave no particular sympathy with Sabbatarianism." + +"Well, neither have I," replied McAllister encouragingly, an answer +which probably puzzled Mr. Aggam for a fortnight. + + + + +McAllister's Marriage + + +I + +The Bar Harbor train slowly came to a stop beside a little wooden +station. From over the marshes crept a breath of salty freshness that +tried vainly to steal in through the open windows of the Pullman, only +intensifying the stifling heat inside. + +McAllister arose and made his way to the platform in search of air. A +spare, wrinkled octogenarian was in the difficult act of lifting a small +girl in a calico dress to the platform of the day coach, the child +clinging obstinately to the old gentleman's neck and refusing to +disentangle herself. + +"Mercy, Abby! Do leggo!" he remonstrated. "Thar, ef ye don't, I'll ask +that man thar to hoist ye!" + +The little girl reluctantly let go her hold and allowed herself to be +placed on the lowest step. + +"That's a good girl," continued her guardian; then addressing +McAllister, he inquired conversationally: + +"Be ye goin' to Bangor?" + +"How's that? Ye-es, I believe I am. At least the train passes through," +responded McAllister doubtfully, apprehensive of undesirable +complications. + +The old fellow produced from his waistcoat-pocket a ticket which he +placed in the child's hand. Then he turned her around and gave her a +little push up the steps. + +"Wall, jest keep an eye on Abby, will ye?" + +"Good-by, Uncle!" cried the little girl, climbing laboriously up to +where the clubman stood and making a little bow, which he gravely +returned. + +"I don't know . . ." he began. + +"That's all right," explained the farmer. "Her aunt'll meet her. Jest +see she don't bother no one. Lemme pass ye her duds." + +The octogenarian forthwith handed up to McAllister a cloth valise, a +pasteboard box, and a large paper bag. + +"Her lunch is in the bag," said he. "Don't let her drink none o' that +ice-water. My wife says it hez germs into it." + +"But I don't . . ." gasped our friend. + +"Be keerful o' that box," interrupted her uncle. "There's two dozen +hen's eggs in it. If she's good, you might buy her a cent's worth o' +peppermints to Portland." He fumbled uncertainly in his breeches' +pocket. + +"Do you expect me . . ." ejaculated McAllister. + +"Give my love to yer aunt," added the other as the train started. +"Good-by!" And pulling a large red pocket-handkerchief from his +coat-tails he fanned the air vaguely as they moved slowly away from him. + +"Oh, isn't it nice!" cried the little girl, who appeared quite at ease +with her new acquaintance. + +"Ye-es--certainly--of course," he replied, wondering what he should do +with his charge. "I suppose we had better go in and sit down, don't you +think?" + +He stood aside waiting for her to precede him into the parlor car. + +"What a lovely place!" she exclaimed as her eyes rested upon the +rosewood and the velvet chairs. "Am I really to ride in this?" + +"Why, where should you ride, to be sure?" he inquired, beginning to +regain his self-possession. + +"The car had iron seats before," she informed him. + +"How extraordinary!" + +"This is an ever so much prettier train," she added. "I'm afraid I'll +hurt the plush." She took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it +out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused expression swung round +another chair and sat down opposite. + +"My name's Abigail Martha Higgins," she said, taking off her little +straw hat. "I live in Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle Moses +Higgins. Aunt doesn't love his wife." + +"Dear me!" sympathized McAllister. + +"My father and mother are in heaven," she continued in matter-of-fact +tones. "Up there. Wouldn't you hate to live up in the sky and do +nothin'?" + +"I certainly should," he answered with gravity. + +"We all came down from there, you know. Do you think we were born all in +one piece, or put together afterward?" + +McAllister pondered. + +"What's your name?" + +"McAllister," he replied. + +"That's a funny name!" she commented. "It sounds like McCafferty--that's +Deacon Brewer's hired man's name." + +"Do you think so?" asked the clubman apologetically, feeling that his +parents had done him an irreparable injury. + +"I'll call you Mister Mac," added the child, "and you may call me Abby, +'cause I'm only eight. Do you live to Boston?" + +"No; New York. An awful way off." + +"Have they got a Free-Will Meetin'-house there?" she inquired knowingly. + +"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, feeling wofully ignorant of all +matters of real importance. + +"Then it must be a very small place," she decided. "All big places have +a Free-Will Meetin'-house, Uncle Moses says." + +At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire if his master wanted +anything. + +"Is there a Free-Will Meetin'-house in New York?" inquired the clubman. + +"Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a Baptist place of +worship, sir," he answered solemnly. + +"Is that your brother?" inquired Abby. + +"No--" hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to what the valet's equivalent +would be in his little friend's world. + +"What's your name?" inquired Abby. + +"Wilkins, miss," answered the valet. + +"What a lovely name!" cried Abby. "It's much nicer than his'n." + +Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast. + +"That box is chuck full of eggs," announced Abby. "I wonder where the +hens get them." + +"I give it up," said the clubman. + +"We have a black horse on our farm," she continued. "It used to be a +girl, but now it's a boy." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister. + +"Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have short hair, you know--that's +how you tell." + +At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the background. + +"Uncle Moses' wife don't love children," the child continued. "She has +the rheumatiz in her thigh." + +"But she must like _you_, Abby," urged her new friend. + +"No, she don't. She don't love me 'cause I love Aunt Abby, an' Aunt Abby +don't love her." + +"I see," said McAllister. + +The clubman soon became acquainted with Abby's entire family history, +and rapidly realized that the mind of a child was a thing undreamed of +in his philosophy. As she pattered on he conversed gravely with her, +trying to answer her multitudinous questions. All her world was good +save Uncle Moses' wife, and her confidence in the clubman was entire. +She admired his clothes, his watch-chain, and his scarf-pin, and ended +by directing him to read to her, which McAllister obediently did. None +of the magazines seemed to contain suitable articles, so with some +misgivings he purchased various colored weeklies, remembering vaguely +his own delight in the misadventures of certain chubby ladies and stout +gentlemen upon rear pages, perused furtively when waiting at the +barber's to get his hair cut as a child. For half an hour her interest +remained tense, but then she wearied of using her eyes, and, patting +McAllister's fat chin, ordered him to tell her a story. Here was a new +difficulty. He had never told a story in his life, but there was no help +for it, no escape, as she climbed into his lap. + +"Begin with once onup-a-time," she ordered. + +"Well," he obeyed "Once 'onup' a time there was a man who lived in a +club----" + +"A what?" sharply interrupted Abby. + +"A big white house with heaps of rooms," he corrected. "And as he had +nobody dependent on him, all he had to do was to eat and sleep and look +at the sky." + +"Didn't he have any children?" + +"Nobody in the world," answered McAllister. + +"Poor man!" sighed Abby. "Didn't he keep any hens?" + +"Not even a hen!" + +"I know a big house just like that," said Abby. "Old Captain Barnard +used to live in it. Wasn't he lonely?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Did anyone live with him?" + +"His hired man," answered the clubman with a smile, looking down the car +to where Wilkins sat in solitary grandeur. "And by and by he got so old +and so fat that nobody would marry him, while the wives of other men he +knew forgot to ask him to dinner." + +"Poor dear man!" murmured Abby, "I should think he'd have wished he +hadn't been born." + +"Sometimes he did," answered the story-teller. "And he longed for some +people to really care for him, and for some little children to keep him +company." + +"Did he have a cow?" + +"No, not even a cow." + +Abby laughed sleepily. + +"But didn't he ever have any fun?" + +"He thought he did, but he didn't, really." + +"I'm awful sorry for him!" said Abby. "If I met him I would give him my +white hen." + +"He used to pay for dinners for people, and send them flowers and candy +and go to see them----" + +"Sunday afternoons?" + +"Yes; Sunday afternoons." + +"He was really very nice," said Abby. + +"Do you think so?" asked McAllister eagerly. + +"Why, of course. Don't you think so?" + +"So-so," said the clubman. + +"But he never hurt anyone?" + +"No, never." + +"And gave the hired man plenty of victuals?" + +"Much more than was good for him," said McAllister with conviction. + +"I like that man," said Abby. "He was a good man." + +"But some people said he was an idle fellow," insisted McAllister. + +"But that didn't do anybody any harm," said Abby. + +"No, certainly not." + +"And he wasn't cross?" + +"No, almost never." + +"Then," said Abby, "he was a good man, and I will marry him if he asks +me." + +And with that she dropped her head on his arm and fell fast asleep. + +"Can't I hold the young--person, for you, sir?" inquired the valet in a +whisper. + +"Certainly _not_," responded McAllister. + +Over the flitting pines circled the crows, black dots against the deep +blue; lazy cows stood knee-deep in fields frosted with daisies and +watched seemingly without interest the passing train; little puffs of +white in serried ranks moved slowly out of the north, never approaching +nearer, dissolving at the meridian; on the near horizon a line of indigo +mountains tumbled southward; white farm-houses swept slowly by; at +dusty crossings gray-whiskered farmers sat loosely holding the reins in +amiable conformity with the injunction painted upon weather-worn signs +to "Look out for the engine"; at times the train passed over rocky +bedded streams dammed for milling, and once or twice across rivers half +choked with logs upon which men ran like water-bugs; then through red +brick towns, and towns with square granite stores and offices, and towns +of white and green, marking the three disconnected periods of the +architectural development of Maine; and everywhere the pines. + +In the midst of a stretch of thick woods the engine began to whistle +frantically. A brakeman, followed closely by a conductor, hurried +through the car. The wheels ground harshly and the train gradually +ceased to move. Ahead could be heard the loud pounding of the engine and +the roar of escaping steam. Volumes of smoke, white and black, rolled +over the pines and cast rapidly changing shadows upon the ground. +Wilkins, who had gone forth to seek information, now returned. + +"There's a freight wreck just a'ead, sir. The conductor says as how we +shall be delayed 'ere at least nine hours." + +McAllister glanced down at the little form in his arms. It had not +moved. Gently he carried her along the aisle, out upon the platform, +and down the steps to the ground. Still she did not awake. Up the track +he could see groups of excited passengers gesticulating around grotesque +piles of wreckage upon which a locomotive lay with its wheels in the +air. Beside the track stretched a pine grove, its soft carpet of needles +flecked with sunlight. At the foot of one giant tree, on a bed of gray +moss, the clubman laid his little charge and threw himself at her feet. +An irritable family of nervous crows flapped noisily away to the other +side of the track, assembled in angry consultation in a hemlock, deputed +a spy, who cautiously reconnoitred, and, on the latter's report, +returned. At a safe distance Wilkins sat upon a windfall, and with one +eye upon his sleeping master smoked rapidly one of McAllister's cigars. + + +II + +"Yes, Miss Higgins got yer telegram," answered Deacon Brewer, as they +drove slowly along the river in the dusty heat of the early July +morning. "Ef she hadn't I reckon she'd 'a' gone nigh crazy." + +They were in an open two-seated buck-board. McAllister, holding Abby in +his lap, occupied the front seat with the Deacon, while Wilkins sat +behind with the valise and the pasteboard box. + +"It was a tiresome delay and really a very fortunate escape," responded +McAllister. "Abby behaved beautifully." + +"She's a good child," said the Deacon. "Her mother was a fine woman, and +she's goin' to be just like her." + +"Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, rubbing her eyes. + +"'Most," answered the Deacon. "Are ye hungry?" + +"I got her some bread and milk at a farm-house," explained McAllister, +"but none of us have had any breakfast yet." + +"Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins'll be prepared for ye," said the Deacon. +"She's a liberal woman an' a smart woman, but all the same, the farm's +going to be sold for taxes next week." + +Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started and looked anxiously at +her at this piece of intelligence. + +"She don't know nuthin' about it," said the farmer. "Miss Higgins can't +run a hard-scrabble farm, nor no one can and make a livin' out'n it. It +ain't worth five dollars an acre." + +"What will she do?" asked the clubman. + +"Darn ef I know," responded the other. "She kin help around some, I +guess. Deacon Giddings has a powerful lot of company. 'N any woman kin +sew. She kin make out, I reckon." + +"But the child?" whispered McAllister. + +"Her Uncle Moses'll hev to take her," answered the Deacon. + +"Jiminy!" ejaculated the clubman, recalling the little girl's +description of her uncle's wife. "She won't like that." + +"Beggars can't be choosers," said the Deacon dryly. + +A turn in the road brought them within view of a small, low farm-house, +with good-sized barn, lying in a field between the woods and the river, +here about a quarter of a mile in width. The pines grew close to the +road upon the left, but upon the other side the land had been well +cleared to the Penobscot's bank. Huge piles of stones, ten or twelve +feet long, five or so broad, and four or five feet high, were monuments +to the energy and industry of some former owner. + +"Gosh, how Henery worked to clear this farm!" remarked the Deacon. "He +hove stone for twenty years, an' then died. Look at them trees!" + +He pointed dramatically to a large orchard containing row upon row of +young apple-trees. + +At the sound of the wheels a woman came slowly out of the side door and +watched their approach. She had the pale, sickly countenance of the wife +of the inland Maine farmer, and her limp dress ill concealed the +angularity of her form. Her eyes showed that she had passed a sleepless +night. McAllister leaped out and lifted Abby down. The woman neither +spoke to nor kissed the child, but clutched her tightly in her arms. +Then she nodded to the new-comers. + +"I'm obliged to ye, Deacon Brewer," she said. "Is this the man who sent +the telegram? Won't ye come in and set down?" + +"Oh, yes," cried Abby ecstatically. "Get out, Mr. Wilkins! I want to +show you the black horse, and all the hens." + +"I must be gettin' back," muttered the Deacon. + +"Could you let us have a bite of breakfast?" inquired McAllister. "My +train doesn't go until twelve o'clock." To return to Bangor at this +particular time did not suit him. + +"Such as it is," replied Miss Higgins. + +"Could you arrange to call out for me in an hour or so?" asked +McAllister. + +"I reckon I kin," said the Deacon with some reluctance. "I'll hev ter +charge ye fifty cents." + +"Of course," said McAllister. + +Wilkins took down the parcels, and the Deacon drove slowly away. + +"I'll scrape somethin' together in a few minutes," said Miss Higgins. +"How much was that telegram?" + +"Oh, that's all right!" said the abashed clubman. + +"No, it ain't. Money's money. Was it ez much ez a quarter?" + +McAllister acknowledged the amount. + +"I thought so," commented Miss Higgins. "It was wuth it." She had the +money all ready and handed it to McAllister. + +Etiquette seemed to demand its acceptance. + +"Did you say your name was McAllister? Who's this man?" + +"His name is Wilkins." + +"Well," said Aunt Abby, "one of ye might split up that log, if ye don't +mind, while I get the breakfast." + +She turned into the house. + +McAllister looked doubtfully at the wood-pile. + +"Let Mr. Wilkins chop the wood!" shouted Abby; "I want to show you the +ba-an." + +"Wilkins," said McAllister, "wood-chopping is an art sanctified in this +country by tradition." + +"Very good, sir," answered Wilkins. + +Abby grasped McAllister's hand and tugged him joyfully over the +poverty-stricken farm. They visited the orchard, the pig-sty, the +hen-house, admired the horse that had been a girl, and ended at the +water's edge. + +"We ketch salmon here in the spring," explained Abby; "and smelts." + +Across the eddying river quiet farms slept in the hot sunshine. Two men +in a dory swung slowly up-stream. At their feet the clear water rippled +against the stones. In his mind the clubman pictured the stifling city +and the squalor of relative existence there. + +"It's beautiful, Abby," he said. + +"It's the loveliest place in the whole world," she answered, holding his +hand tightly. "And I shall never, never go away." + +Behind them came the shrill tones of Aunt Abby's voice bidding them to +breakfast. Wilkins, coatless, was bearing some mangled fragments of log +toward the kitchen. His beaded face spoke unutterable dejection. + +"Well, set daown; it's all there is," said Miss Higgins. + +McAllister sat, and Abby climbed into a high chair. Wilkins remained +standing. + +"Ain't ye goin' to set?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +Wilkins reddened. + +"Well, ye be the most bashful man I ever met," remarked the lady. "Set +daown and eat yer victuals." + +"Sit down," said McAllister, and for the second time master and man +shared a meal. + +The little room was bare of decoration except for some colored +lithographs and wood-cuts, which for the most part represented the +funeral corteges of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital scenes +and the sinking of a steamship. A rug soiled to a dull drab made a sort +of mud spot before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of the +antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at one end stood the stove, +and hard by two fixed tubs. Everything except the carpet was +scrupulously clean. + +Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of steaming boiled eggs, half a +loaf of white bread, and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter. + +"I'll have some coffee for ye in a minute," she remarked as she placed +the dishes before them. + +McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tumbler and cut the bread. + +"What might be your business?" inquired Miss Higgins. + +"Er--well--" hesitated McAllister. "I've travelled quite a bit." + +"I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked the hostess +reminiscently. "He travelled everywheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur +as St. Louis?" + +"No," said McAllister. "My line never took me so far." + +"Andrew died there--of the water. What's your business?" continued Miss +Higgins to Wilkins. + +"I'm with Mr. McAllister, ma'am." + +"Oh! same firm?" + +Wilkins coughed violently and evaded the interrogation. + +"Mr. Wilkins handles gents' clothing, underwear, haberdashery, and +notions," interposed McAllister gravely. + +Wilkins swayed in his seat and grew purple around the gills. + +"Oh, Mr. Wilkins!" cried Abby, "what's the matter? You will burst! Take +a drink of water." + +The valet obediently tried to do as she bade him. + +"How much is land worth around here?" asked the clubman. "And what do +you raise?" + +Miss Higgins looked at him suspiciously. + +"We raise pertaters, some corn and oats, and get a purty fair apple crop +in the autumn." + +"Must have been hard work clearing the farm," added McAllister, "if one +can judge by the piles of stones." + +"Work? I guess 'twas work!" sniffed Miss Higgins. "You travellin' men +hain't got no idee of what real work is. There ain't a stone in the +nineteen acres of farm land. Henery picked 'em all up by hand." + +"Are you Abby's guardian?" asked McAllister. + +"Yes," said Miss Higgins. "I'm all the folks she's got, except Moses, +down to Portsmouth, and a lot of good he is with that wife he's got!" + +Wilkins now asked awkwardly to be excused. + +"That friend of yourn seems to be a dummy!" remarked Miss Higgins after +the valet had disappeared. + +"He isn't much in the social line," admitted his master. "But he knows +his business." + +"I'm goin' out to show Mr. Wilkins the beehive," cried Abby, slipping +down from her chair. "Come right along, won't you?" + +"I'll be there in just a minute," said McAllister. + +Abby grabbed up her sunbonnet and ran skipping out of the kitchen. + +"She's a dear little girl," said McAllister. "I hope she'll have a +chance to get a good education." + +"Education behind a counter in Bangor is all she'll get," answered her +aunt. + +They sat in silence for a moment, and then McAllister, feeling the +craving induced by habit, drew an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked: + +"Do you object to smoking?" + +Miss Abby bristled. + +"I don't want none o' them se-gars in this house, so long's I'm in it!" +she exclaimed. "Ain't out-doors good enough for you, without stinkin' up +the kitchen?" + +"I didn't mean any offence," apologized McAllister. "I'll wait till I go +out, of course." + +"One of the devil's tricks!" sniffed Miss Abby. + +McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and stepped to the window. The +coffee had been execrable, but a benign influence animated him. Down the +slope toward the gently flowing Penobscot little Abby was leading +Wilkins by the hand. The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked +pasture beyond the barn. + +"What did you say the farm was worth?" asked the clubman. + +"There's a hundred and eighty-one acres o' woodland, and the cleared +land just makes two hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred +dollars." + +"I know a man who wants a farm. He says some day all this river front +will be valuable for a summer resort. I'm authorized to buy for him. +I'll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a bargain?" + +Miss Abby turned pale. + +"Oh, I don't know! It seems dreadful to sell it, after all the years +Henery put into cleanin' of it up. I was hopin' somehow that maybe I +could get work on the farm from them as bought it and keep Abby here +for a while longer." + +"That's all right," said McAllister. "My principal is buying it on a +speculation. You can stay indefinitely." + +"How about rent?" asked Miss Abby. + +"You can take care of the farm, and he won't charge you any rent." + +The terms having been finally arranged to Miss Abby's satisfaction, +McAllister drew a small check-book from his pocket and filled out a +voucher for the amount. + +"We can sign the papers later," said he with a smile. + +Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully. + +"How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should +turn out to be no good?" + +"Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister. + +He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his +stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following: + +"I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased +by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of +value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my +name and affix a seal." + +He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back +and made use of it as a fragmentary seal. + +While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency of this instrument, +McAllister felt that its intendment was unmistakable. Having replaced +his pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust it into his pocket. +Just at this moment Miss Higgins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, +who was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the orchard McAllister +could see, as he stepped to the door, little Abby still tugging along +Wilkins, whose massive and emotionless face was glistening with the +heat. + +"Hit's very 'ot, sir!" he remarked tentatively to his master. "I've been +to see the 'ives." + +"How funny Mr. Wilkins talks!" said Abby. "He told me he knew a boy once +who got stung, and said the bee _bit 'im in 'is 'ead_! Do all drummers +talk like that?" + +"Drummers!" exclaimed Wilkins. + +"Aunt said you were both drummers; I s'pose you left your drums +somewhere. I don't like 'em; they make too much music. They have them in +the circus parade in Bangor every year." + +"Be you folks ready to start?" inquired Deacon Brewer. "Purty nice view +of the water from here, ain't they? There's a good well on the place, +too, and a few boat-loads of manure would give you crops to beat--all. +Don't know enybody thet wants to speckalate a little in farmin' land, do +ye? This here is a good, likely place. Reckon you kin buy it cheap." + +"Sh-h!" said McAllister, laying his finger on his lips. + +"No one sha'n't ever buy this farm," said Abby; "I'm goin' to live here +always." + +"Wall," said the Deacon, "better be movin'. I don't like to keep the +mare standin' in the sun." + +"Are you goin' away?" cried Abby in agonized tones. "You'll come back +soon, won't you?" + +"I hope so, very soon," said McAllister. "Don't you want to show me the +boy-horse before I start?" + +"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, seizing his hand. + +The stout clubman and the little girl walked slowly across the +grass-grown drive to the daisy field beside the barn, talking busily. + +"Your friend's bought this farm," announced Miss Abby to Wilkins. + +"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. + +"By gum!" exclaimed the Deacon. "What did he give?" + +"Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars." + +"Gee!" said the Deacon. + +"An' we're to stay on rent-free 's long 's we want!" + +"I swan!" commented the pillar of the local Baptist Church. "Some folks +doos hev luck!" + +He went over to adjust a bit of harness. + +"It'll keep 'em out o' the poor farm," he muttered. "But, by gosh, thet +feller must be a fool!" + +Over in the daisy field, McAllister, to the wonder of the boy-horse, +pulled the despised cigar from his pocket, cut off the end, and began to +smoke with infinite satisfaction. + +"What a beautiful, beautiful, lovely ring!" exclaimed Abby joyfully, +examining with delight the embossed paper of red and gold. + +"Do you remember about the lonely man who lived in the big white house I +told you of?" asked McAllister. + +"Of course I do," sighed Abby. "Poor man! he was so good, and nobody +loved him." + +"Do you love him?" asked McAllister. + +"Dear man! I love him, all my heart!" cried the child. + +"Then the man is very, very happy," said McAllister softly. + +Overhead a single black crow, wheeling out of a stumpy pine, circled to +investigate this strange love-scene. Satisfied of its propriety, he +cawed loudly and resettled himself upon the shaking topmost bough. + +McAllister drew the golden band from his cigar and took the folded paper +from his pocket. + +"Here's a love-letter," said he. "Your aunt will read it for you when +I've gone." + +Abby took it sadly. + +"Now hold up your left hand," said McAllister, smiling. As he slipped +the paper circle over her fourth finger he said gravely: + +"'With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee +endow.' Give me a kiss." + +She did so, in wonder. + +"Now we are married," said he. + + + + + + +The Jailbird + + +I + +Now it had come, he was not quite sure that he wanted it. For a moment +he longed to go back and join the men marching away to the shoe-shop. +Inside those walls he had never had to think of what he should eat or +drink, or wherewithal he should be clothed. + +Over against the gray parapet echoed the buzzing of the electric cars, a +strange sound to ears accustomed only to the tramp of marching feet, the +harsh voices of wardens, and the clang of iron doors. Below him the +harbor waves danced and sparkled, ferry-boats rushed from shore to +shore, big ships moved slowly toward the distant islands and the still +more distant sea, while near at hand the busy street flowed like a +river, which he was compelled to swim but in which he already felt the +millstone of his past dragging him down. + +His heart sank as he asked himself what life could hold for him. How +often, sitting on his prison bed with his head in his hands, he had +pictured joyously the present moment! Now he felt like a child who has +lost its parent's hand in the passing throng. + +There had been a day, the year before, when his old mother's letter had +not come, and, instead, only a line of stereotyped consolation from the +country pastor to the village ne'er-do-well. No one had seen him choke +over his bowl of soup and bread, or noticed the tears that trickled down +upon the shoe-leather in his hand. She had been the only one who had +ever written to him. There was nothing now to take him back to the +little cluster of white cottages among the hills where he was born. + +As he stood there alone facing the world, he yearned to throw himself +once more upon his cot and weep against its iron bars--for three years +the only arms outstretched to comfort him. + + +II + +The Judge concluded his charge with the usual, "I leave the case with +you, gentlemen," and the jury, collecting their miscellaneous garments, +slowly retired. Leary, the County Detective assigned to "Part One," +pushed an indictment across the desk, whispering: + +"Try _him_; he's a _short_ one," for it was getting late, and the +afternoon sun was already gilding the dingy cornices of the big +court-room, now almost deserted save by a lounger or two half asleep on +the benches. + +"People against Graham," called Dockbridge, the youthful deputy +assistant district attorney. + +"Fill the box!" shouted the clerk. "James Graham to the bar!" and +another dozen "good men and true" answered to their names and settled +themselves comfortably in their places. + +At the rear the door from the pen opened and the prisoner entered, +escorted by an officer. He walked stolidly around the room, passed +through the gate held open for him, and took his seat at the table +reserved for the defendant and his attorney. There appeared, however, to +be no lawyer to represent him. + +"Have you counsel?" casually inquired the clerk. + +"No," answered the prisoner. + +"Mr. Crookshanks, please look after the rights of this defendant," +directed the Judge. + +The prisoner, a thick-set man of medium height, half rose from his seat, +and, turning toward the weazened little lawyer, shook his head rather +impatiently. It was obvious that they were not strangers. After a +whispered conversation Crookshanks stepped forward and addressed the +Court. + +"The defendant declines counsel, and stands upon his constitutional +right to defend himself," he said apologetically. + +There was a slight lifting of heads among the jury, and a few sharp +glances in the direction of the prisoner, which seemed in no wise to +disconcert him. + +"Very well, then; proceed," ordered the Court. + +The prosecutor rapidly outlined his case--one of simple "larceny from +the person." The People would show that the defendant had taken a wallet +from the pocket of the complaining witness. He had been caught _in +flagrante delicto_. There were several eye-witnesses. The case would +occupy but a few moments, unless, to be sure, the prisoner had some +witnesses. The young assistant, who seemed slightly nervous at the +unusual prospect of conducting a trial against a lawyerless defendant +(savoring as it did of a hand-to-hand combat in the days of trial by +battle), started to comment upon the novelty of the situation, gave it +up, and to cover his retreat called his first witness. + +Dockbridge was very young indeed. He was undergoing the process of being +"whipped into shape" by the Judge, a kind but unrelenting observer of +all the technicalities of the criminal branch, and this was one of his +first cases. He could work up a pretty fair argument in his office, but +he now felt his inexperience and began to wish it was time to adjourn, +or that his senior, "Colonel Bob," the stout Nestor of Part One, whose +long practice made him ready for any emergency, would return. But +"Colonel Bob" could have proved an excellent alibi at that moment, and +the battle had to be fought out alone. + +The prisoner, meanwhile, was sitting calm but vigilant, pen in hand. His +face, square and strong, with firmly marked mouth and chin, showed no +sign of emotion, but under their heavy brows his black eyes played +uneasily between the Court and jury. Evidently not more than thirty +years of age, his attitude and expression showed intelligence and alert +capacity. + +"Go on, Mr. District Attorney," again admonished the Judge; and +Dockbridge, pulling himself together, commenced to examine the +complainant. + +The prisoner was now straining eye and ear to catch every look and word +from the witness-stand. Hardly had the complainant opened his mouth +before the defendant had objected to the answer, the objection had been +sustained, and the reply stricken out. He continued to object from time +to time, and his points were so well taken that he dominated not only +the examination but the witness as well, and the jury presently found +themselves listening to a cross-examination as skilfully conducted as +if by a trained practitioner. + +But, although the defendant showed himself a better lawyer than his +adversary, it was apparent that his battle was a losing one. Point after +point he contested stubbornly, yet the case loomed clear against him. + +The People having "rested," the defendant announced that he had no +witnesses, and would go to the jury on the evidence, or, rather "failure +of evidence," as he put it, of the prosecution. It was done with great +adroitness, and none of the jury perceived that, by refusing to accept +counsel, he had made it impossible to take the stand in his own behalf, +and had thus escaped the necessity of subjecting himself to +cross-examination as to his past career. + +If the spectators had expected a piteous appeal for mercy or a burst of +prison rhetoric, they were disappointed. The prisoner summed his case up +carefully, arguing that there was a reasonable doubt upon the evidence +to which he was entitled; begged the jury not to condemn him merely +because he appeared before them as one charged with a crime; appealed to +them for justice; and at the close, for the first time forgetting the +proprieties of the situation, exclaimed, "I did not do it, gentlemen! I +did not do it! There is an absolute failure of proof! You cannot find +that I took the purse from the old gentleman on such evidence! It is all +a lie!" + +It was his one false touch. To raise the issue of veracity is usually a +mistake on the part of a defendant, and the defiant look in Graham's +eyes might well have suggested conscious guilt. + +As he paused for a moment after this concluding sentence, an Italian +band came marching down Centre Street playing the dead march. Some +patriot was being borne to his last sleep in an alien land. Outside the +court-house it paused for a moment with one melancholy crash of funeral +chords. It seemed a vibrant echo of the discord of his own fruitless +life. At the same moment a ray from the red sun setting over the Tombs +fell upon the prisoner's face. + +Dockbridge summed the case up in the stock fashion, and then for half an +hour the Judge addressed the jury in a calm and dispassionate analysis +of the evidence, not hesitating to compare the abilities of the +prosecutor and prisoner to the disadvantage of the former, saying in +this respect: "Neither must you be influenced by any feeling of +admiration at the capacity shown by this defendant to conduct his own +case. If he has appeared more than a match for the prosecution, it must +not affect the weight which you give to the evidence against him." + +"More than a match for the prosecution!" That had been rather rough, to +be sure, and the fifth juror had looked at Dockbridge and grinned. + +The jury filed out, the prisoner was led back to the pen, the Judge +vanished into his chambers, and the prosecutor, his feet on the counsel +table, lit a cigar and indulged in retrospection. The benches were +deserted. There was no one but himself left in the court-room. Usually, +when a jury retired, there was some mother or wife or daughter, with her +handkerchief to her eyes, waiting for them to come back, but this fellow +had none such. He had fought alone. Well, damn him, he deserved to! But +who the deuce was he? It had been clever on his part not to take the +stand. Strange to be trying a man you had never seen before--of whom you +knew nothing, who had merely side-stepped into your life and would soon +back out of it. "Poor devil!" thought the deputy as he lit another +Perfecto. + +Now the jury, as juries sometimes do, wanted to talk and had a consuming +desire to smoke, so they both smoked and talked; and when O'Reilly came +to turn on the lights in the court-room, they were still out, and +Dockbridge had fallen fast asleep. + + +III + +At half past ten o'clock the big court-room still remained almost empty. +Inside the rail the clerk and the stenographer, having returned from a +short visit to Tom Foley's saloon across the way, were languidly +discussing the condition of the stock-market. A nebulous illumination in +the vastness above only served to increase the shadowy dimness of the +room. The talk of the pair made a scarcely audible whisper in the great +silence. Outside, an electric car could be heard at intervals; within, +only the slam of iron doors, subdued by distance, echoed through the +corridors. + +Dockbridge had awakened, and, lounging before his table, was trying to +get up a case for the morrow. The Judge had gone home for dinner. One by +one the court attendants had strayed away, coming back to push open the +heavy door, and, after a furtive glance at the empty bench, as silently +to depart. + +Below in the stifling pen, alone behind the bars, James Graham sat +staring vacantly at the stained cement floor. A savage rage surged +through him. Curse them! That infernal Judge had not given him half a +chance. Once more he recalled that day when he had stepped out into the +sunlight a free man. Again he saw his iron bed, his cobbling bench, his +coarse food, his hated stripes. He choked at the thought of them. Only +two months before he had been at liberty. Think of it! Good clothes, +good food, pleasure! God, what a fool! A dull pain worked through his +body; he remembered that he had not eaten since seven that morning. + +Outside in the corridor the keeper was smoking a cigar. The fumes of it +drifted in and mingled with the stench of the pen. It almost nauseated +him. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The act +brought rushing back the memories of his childhood, and of how, every +night, he would lay his head upon his mother's knee and say, "Have I +been a good boy to-day?" A sob shook him, and he pressed closer against +the wall. + +A sound of moving feet roused him suddenly. A door swung open, shut +again, and voices came with a draught of air from the corridor. + +The keeper waiting outside stirred and stood up, looking regretfully at +his cigar. + +"Get up there, you!" + +The prisoner obeyed perfunctorily, and followed the officer heavily up +the stairs and down the dirty passage to the court-room. Outside, he +shrank from entering. Those eyes--those eyes! That hard, pitiless Judge! +But he was pushed roughly forward. Then his old pugnacity returned; he +set his teeth, and entered. + +He trudged around the room and stopped at the bar before the clerk. On +his right sat the twelve silent men. On the bench the white-haired Judge +was gazing at him with sad but penetrating eyes. + +It was different from the mellow glow of the afternoon. They were all so +still--like ghosts--and all around, all about him! He wanted to shout +out at them, "Speak! for God's sake, speak!" But something stifled him. +The overwhelming power of the law held him speechless. + +The clerk rose without looking at the prisoner. + +"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" + +"We have," answered the foreman, rising and standing with his eyes upon +the floor. + +"How say you, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Guilty of grand larceny in the first degree." + +The prisoner involuntarily pressed his hand to his heart. He had +weathered that blast before and could do so again. Dockbridge gave him a +look full of pity. Graham hated him for it. That child! That snivelling +little fool! He wanted none of his sympathy! His breath came faster. +Must they all look at him? Was that a part of his trial--to be stared +down? He glared back at them. The room swam, and he saw only the stern +face on the bench above. + +"Name?" broke in the harsh voice of the clerk. + +"James Graham." + +"Age?" + +"Twenty-eight." + +"Married, or unmarried?" "Temperate?" came the pitiless questions, all +answered in a monotone. + +"Ever convicted before?" + +"No," said the prisoner in a low voice, but the word sounded to him like +a roaring torrent. Then came once more that awful silence. The dread eye +of the Judge seared his soul. + +"Graham, is that the truth?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you quite sure?" + +That merciless question! What had that to do with it? Why should he have +to tell them? That was not his crime. He was ready to suffer for what he +had done, but not for the past; that was not fair--he had paid for that. +He must defend himself. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Swear him," said the Judge. + +The officer took up the soiled Bible and started to place it in Graham's +hand. But the hand dropped from it. + +"No, no, I can't!" he faltered; "I can't--I--I--it is no use," he added +huskily. + +"When were you convicted?" + +"I served six months for petty larceny in the penitentiary six years +ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Quite sure? Think again!" + +"Yes, sir," almost inaudibly. + +"Swear him." + +Again the book was forced toward the unwilling hand, and again it was +refused. + +"Have you no pity--no mercy?" his dark eyes seemed to say. Then they +gave way to a look of utter hopelessness. + +"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two +months ago." + +"Is that all?" + +"O, God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner. "No, no; it +isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, +Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown--yes, six times. Twelve years. . . . +I'm a _jailbird_." He laughed harshly and rested wearily against the +wooden bar. + +"Have you anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against +you?" + +"Your Honor, will you hear me?" Graham choked back a dry sob. + +The Judge slightly inclined his head. + +"Yes. I'm a jailbird," uttered the prisoner rapidly. "I'm only out two +months." There was no defiance in his voice now, and his eyes searched +the face of the Judge, seeking for mercy. "I had a good home--no matter +where--and a good father and mother. My father died and didn't leave +anything, and I had to work while my mother kept house. I worked on the +farm, winter and summer, summer and winter, early and late. I got sick +of it. I quit the farm and went to the city. I worked hard and did well. +I learned shorthand, and finally got a job as a court stenographer. +That's how I know about the rules of evidence. Then I got started wrong, +and by and by I took a fifty-dollar note and another fellow was sent up +for it. After that I didn't care. I had a good time--of its kind. It was +better than a dog's life on the farm, anyway. By and by I got caught, +and then it was no use. Each time I got out I swore I'd lead an honest +life. But I couldn't. A convict might as well try to eat stones as to +find a job. But when I got free this time I made up my mind to starve +rather than get back again. I meant it, too. I tried hard. It was no use +in Boston--they're too respectable. All a convict can do there is to get +a two weeks' job sawing wood. At the end of that time he's supposed to +be able to take care of himself. I had to give it up and come to New +York. + +"It was August, and I went the rounds of the offices for three weeks, +looking for work. No one wanted a stenographer, and there was nothing +else to do that I could find. Once I thought I had something on the +water-front, but the man changed his mind. A woman told me to go to Dr. +Westminster, so I went. He was kind enough, said he was very busy, but +would do all he could for me; that there was a special society for just +such cases, and he would give me a card. I thanked him, and took the +card and went to the society. The young woman there gave me two soup +tickets, and said she would do all she could for me. Next day she +reported that there was nothing doing just then, but if I could come +back in about a month they could probably do better. Then she gave me +another soup ticket. I drank the soup and then I went back to Dr. +Westminster. He was rather annoyed at seeing me again, and said that he +had done all that he could, but would bear me in mind; meantime, unless +I heard from him, it would be no use to call again. I'd lived on soup +for two days. + +"I got a meal by begging on the avenue. Then another woman told me to go +to Dr. Emberdays, and I went to _him_. By this time I must have been +looking pretty tough. He said that he would do what he could, and that +there was a society to which he would give me a line. They asked me a +devil of a lot of questions, and gave me a flannel undershirt. It made +me sick! An undershirt in August, when I wanted bread and human +sympathy! + +"It was no use. I gave up parsons and tried the river-front again. I +didn't get over one meal a day, and my head ached all the time. I heard +of a job at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, carrying lumber. I got a +nickel for holding a horse, and went up. It was a gang of niggers. They +got a dollar a day. The boss was a nigger, too, and didn't want cheap +white trash. I almost went down on my knees to him, and finally he said +I might come the next day. I slept in a field under a tree without +anything to eat that night, and started in at seven the next morning. +The thermometer went up to ninety-six, and we worked without stopping. I +had to lug one end of a big stick, with a nigger under the other end, +one hundred yards, then go back and get another. I got so I didn't know +what I was doing. At eleven o'clock I fainted, and then I was sick, +dreadfully sick. At three the boss nigger kicked me and said I had to +stop faking or I wouldn't get paid, and so I got up and lugged until +six. But I was so ill I knew it was no use. I couldn't do that kind of +work. + +"It was an awfully hot night. I got off the 'L' at Thirty-fourth Street +and walked through to the avenue. When I got to the Waldorf I stopped +and looked in the windows. There were men and women in there, and +flowers and everything to eat--just what I could eat if I chose. And I +had been working with niggers, Judge, all day long until I fainted, +heaving timber. I just stood and waited, and when a chance came to +snatch a roll of bills I took it. They couldn't catch me. I was good for +ten of 'em, Judge. + +"After that it was easy. I met some of the fellows that had served time +with me and got back into the old life. Judge, it's no use. I don't +blame you for what you are going to do, nor I don't blame the jury. +Anyone could see through the bluff I put up. I'm guilty. I'm a jailbird, +I say. I'm done. Only I've had no chance, Judge. Give me another; let me +go back to the farm. I'll go, I swear I will! It'll kill me to go to +prison. I'm a human being. God meant me to live out of doors, and I've +spent half of my life inside stone walls. Let me go back to the country. +I'll go, Judge. I'm a human being. Give me one more chance." + +There was no sound when the prisoner stopped speaking. The judge did not +reply for a full minute. His face wore its habitual look of sadness. +Then he spoke in a very low tone, but one which was distinctly audible +in the silence of the court-room. + +"Graham, you have read your own sentence. You have confessed that you +cannot lead an honest life. Your fault is that you will not work. There +are a thousand farms within a hundred miles, where you could earn a +livelihood for the asking. Your intelligence is of a high order. By +ordinary application you could have risen far above your fellows. You +are a dangerous criminal--all the more dangerous for your ability. You +almost outwitted the jury, and conducted your own case more ably than +nine out of ten lawyers would have done. You have ruined your own life, +and cast away a pearl of price. You have my pity, but I cannot allow it +to affect my duty. Graham, I sentence you to State Prison for ten +years." + +The prisoner shivered, and covered his face with his hands. Then the +officer clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. + +"Gentlemen, you are excused." The Judge bowed to the jury. + +"Hear ye! Hear ye!" bawled the attendant: "all persons having business +with Part One of the General Sessions of the Peace, held in and for the +County of New York, may now depart. This Court stands adjourned until +to-morrow morning at half past ten o'clock." + + + + + + +In the Course of Justice + +"The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smiles +in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the +glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the +professors than the justice of it." + + +I + +A trim, neatly dressed young man, holding in one of his carefully gloved +hands a bamboo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one brilliant +October morning some ten years ago. All about him swarms of excited +sparrows chattered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last night's +carnation languished in his button-hole, and his smoothly shaven +lantern-jaw and high cheekbones suggested the type of upper Broadway and +the Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect was not unpleasing, +especially as his sparse curly hair, just turning gray at the temples, +disclosed a forehead suggestive of more than usual intelligence in a +face otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, inscrutable smile from time to time +played upon his features, at one moment making them seem good-naturedly +sympathetic, at another, sinister. The casual observer would have +classed him as a student or actor. He was both, and more. + +From a large jewelry store across the way presently emerged a diminutive +messenger-boy carrying a small, square bundle, and turned into Broadway. +The man on the bench, known to his friends as "Supple Jim," rose +unobtrusively to his feet. The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent's +worth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on the corner, and then, +whistling loudly, dawdled upon his way. The man followed, manoeuvring for +position, while the boy, now in the chewing stage and struggling +violently, lingered to inspect a mechanical toy. The supple one +accomplished a flank movement, approached, touched him on the shoulder, +and displayed a silver badge beneath his coat. + +"Young man, I'm from the Central Office, and need your help. About a +block from here a feller will come runnin' after you and say they've +given you the wrong bundle--see? He'll hand you another, and tell you to +give him the one you've got. He's a crook--'Paddy the Sneak'--old game! +see?" + +The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless. + +"Yep!" he replied, his eyes glistening delightedly. + +"Well, I'll be right behind you; and when he throws the game into you, +just pretend you fall to it an' hand him your box. Then I'll make the +collar. Are you on?" + +"Say, that's easy!" grinned the boy. + +"Show us what you're good for, then, and I'll have the Inspector send +you some passes for the theayter." + +The boy started on in business-like fashion. As his interlocutor had +predicted, a hatless "feller" overtook him, breathless, and entered into +voluble explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, and then, eyes +front, continued up the street until the detective should pounce upon +his victim. For some strange reason no such event took place. At the end +of the block he cast a furtive glance behind him. Both Paddy and the +Central Office man had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of the +fruits of their short hour of toil, dividing between them one hundred +and sixty dollars as the equivalent of the diamond stud which the box +had contained. + +Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination which he found irresistible, +the hero of this legal memoir took a car to the Criminal Courts +Building, and made his way to the General Sessions. + +"Forgot my subpoena, Cap'n. I'm a witness. Just let me in, please!" he +said, with a smile of easy good-nature. + +Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, known as The Eagle, eyed +the young man suspiciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, allowed +him to enter the court-room. The thief who had so easily secured +admittance, fought his way persistently through the throng, elbowed by +the gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best seat on the +front bench, compelled its earlier occupants to make room for him with a +calm assurance and matter-of-course superiority which they had not the +courage to oppose. + +Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of the calendar. A few +lawyers, with their witnesses, whose cases had gone over until the +morrow, struggled out through the crush at the door, with no perceptible +diminution in the throng within. The clerk prepared to call the roll of +the jury. + +"Trial jurors in the case of 'The People against Richard Monohan,' +please answer to your names." + +The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the trial was "on" again, +having been interrupted, evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoon +before. A venerable complainant now resumed the story of how two young +men, whose acquaintance he had made in a saloon the previous Sunday +evening, had followed him into the street, assaulted him on his way home +and robbed him of his ring. He positively identified the prisoner as +the one who had wrenched it from his finger. + +Next, an officer testified to having arrested the defendant upon the old +gentleman's description, and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticket +calling for the ring in question. + +The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was "dead open and shut." + +The People "rested," and the defendant, a miserable specimen of those +wretched beings that constitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand. +His defence was absurd. He denied ever before having seen his accuser, +had not been in the saloon, had not taken the ring, had not pawned it, +had bought the ticket from a man on the corner who, he remembered, had +told him he was getting a bargain at three dollars. He could not +describe this "man," or account for his own whereabouts on the evening +in question. He had been drunk at the time. It was a story as old as +theft itself. + +The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the Judge once more summoned the +apostolic-looking complainant to the chair. + +"You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to this young man should +you be mistaken? Are you quite sure that he is one of the persons who +robbed you?" he inquired with becoming gravity. + +The witness raised himself by his cane, and stepping down to where the +prisoner sat, gazed searchingly into his stolid face. + +"God knows," said he, "I wouldn't harm a hair of his head. But by all +that's holy, I swear he's the man who took my ring." + +A wave of interest passed over the assembled attorneys. That was +business for you! No use to cross-examine an old fellow like _him_. +There was a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet. + +"Do you think you could identify your other assailant if you should see +him?" continued the judge. + +"I'm sure of it," calmly replied the witness. + +"Very well, sir," continued his Honor; "see if you can do so." + +Half of the audience moved uneasily, and glanced longingly toward the +closed means of exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness slowly +descended, and, escorted by a policeman, began his inspection, +scrutinizing each face with care. Quietly he moved along the first +bench, and then, gently shaking his head, along the second. The interest +became breathless. A sigh of relief rippled along the settees after him. +The only spectator unmoved by what was taking place was Supple Jim, who +smiled genially at the old gentleman as the latter glanced at him and +passed on. Four rows--five rows--six rows--seven rows. At last there +was but one bench left, and the excitement reached the point of +ebullition. Would he find him? Were they going to be disappointed after +all? Only half a bench left! Only two men left! Ah! what was that? +People shoved one another in the back, craning their heads to see what +was doing in the distant corner where the complainant stood. Suddenly +the searcher faced the Judge, and, pointing to the last occupant of the +rear settee, announced with conviction: + +"Your Honor, _this_ is the other man!" + +A murmur travelled rapidly around the court-room. Honors were even +between a Judge who could thus unerringly divine the presence of a +malefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a multitude, was able +unhesitatingly to pick out a midnight assailant. + +The "criminal" attorneys whispered among themselves: "Well, say! what do +you think of that! All right, eh? Well, I guess! Well, say!" + +This picturesque digression concluded, interest again centred in the +defendant, of whose ultimate conviction there could no longer be any +doubt. + +Not that the identification of the accomplice had any real significance, +since the man so ostentatiously picked out by the patriarch in court had +been caught red-handed at the time of the robbery within a block of the +saloon, was already under indictment as a co-defendant, and being out +on bail had merely been brought in under a bench warrant and placed +among the spectators. But the performance had a distinct dramatic value, +and the jury could not be blamed for making the natural deduction that +if the complainant was right as regards the one, _ipso facto_ he must be +as to the other. That the complainant had already identified him at the +police-station and at the Tombs seemed a matter of small importance. The +point was, apparently, that the old fellow had a good memory, and one +upon which the jury could safely rely. + +The Judge charged the law, and the jury retired, returning almost +immediately with a verdict of "Guilty of robbery in the first degree." + +The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, steadied himself, and +stood clinging to the rail, while his counsel made the usual motions for +a new trial and in arrest of judgment. + +"Clear the box! Clear the box!" shouted the clerk, and the jury, their +duty comfortably discharged, filed slowly out. + +The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the corridors. Supple Jim +waited on the steps of the building until a young woman, carrying a +baby, came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll of bills into +her hand. + +"Your feller's been _done dirt_!" he growled. "Take that, and put it +out of sight. Don't give it to any _lawyer_, now! You'll need it +yourself." Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of a surface +car as it whizzed by, and vanished from her astonished gaze. + +Thus was an innocent man convicted, while crime triumphant played the +part of benefactor. + + +II + +The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the warm sunshine in the +bay-window of his favorite restaurant, lazily finished a hearty +breakfast of ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the morning +paper which lay open before him. At a respectful distance his attendant +awaited the moment when this important guest should snap his fingers, +demand his damage, and call for a Carolina Perfecto. These would be +forthcoming with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more of an autocrat +on Fourteenth Street than a Pittsburg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Just +now the Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment how, the day +before, a quick-witted old gentleman had brought a malefactor to +justice. At one of the paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusing +it again and again, apparently with intense enjoyment. + +Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course of justice! He tossed +away the paper and swore softly. Of course, the only thing that had +rendered such a situation possible at all was the fact that the aged +Farlan was a superlative old ass. To hear him tell his yarn on the +stand, you would have thought that it gave him positive pain to testify +against a fellow being. Did you ever see such white hair and such a big +white beard? Why, he looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of those +fellows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped off the ring, the old +chap had already swallowed half a dozen "County Antrims," and wasn't in +a condition to remember anything or anybody. The idea of his going so +piously into court and swearing the thing on to Monohan; it gave you the +creeps! A fellow might go to "the chair" as easy as not, in just the +same way. Of course, Jim had not intended to get the young greenhorn +into any trouble when he had sold him the pawn-ticket. He had been just +an easy mark. And when the police had arrested him and found the ticket +in his pocket, there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. That +was just Monohan's luck, curse him! Let him look out for himself. + +But to see the patriarch carefully forging the shackles upon the wrong +man, had filled Jim with a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. The +stars in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf. + +Think of it! That fellow Monohan could get twenty years! It made him +mad, this infernal conspiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges and +prosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, whether they got the right +man or not, so long as they got someone! What business had they to go +and convict a fellow who was innocent, and put him, "Jim," the cleverest +"gun" in the profession, in such a position? He wondered if folks in +other lines of business had so many problems to face. The stupidity of +witnesses and the trickery of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was a +perennial contest, not only of wit against wit, strategy against +strategy, but, worst of all, of wit against impenetrable dulness. Why, +if people were going to be so careless about swearing a man's liberty +away, it was time to "get on the level." You might be nailed any time by +mistake, and then your record would make any defence impossible. You had +the right to demand common honesty, or, at least, _intelligence_, on the +part of the prosecution. + +But the main question was, What was going to become of Monohan? Well, +the boy was convicted, and that was the end of it. It was quite clear to +Jim that, had he been victimized in the same way, no one would have +bothered about it at all. It was simply the fortune of war. + +But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate of six, with vacations in +between, as it were, looked infinitesimal beside that awful burial +alive. He'd be fifty when he came out--if he ever came out! Sometimes +they died like flies in a hot summer. And then there was always +Dannemora--worst of all, Dannemora! It would kill _him_ to go back. He +couldn't live away from the main stem _now_. Why, he hadn't been in +_stir_ for five years. All his prison traits, the gait, the hunch, were +effaced--gone completely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown. + +"What's the use?" he muttered as he rose to go. "He ain't worth it! I +can stake his wife and kids till his time's up! But, God! _I_ could +never go back!" + +Yet the same irresistible force which had directed him to the court-room +the day before, now led him to the Grand Central Station. Like one +walking in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the noon train alone to +Ossining. + +Following a path that led him quickly to a hill above the town not far +from the prison walls, he threw himself at full length beside a bowlder, +and gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the broad, shining river lay +the dreamy blue hills he had so often watched while working at his +brushes. Here and there a small boat skimmed down the stream before the +same fresh breeze that sent the red and brown leaves fluttering along +the grass. The sunlight touched everything with enchantment, the cool +autumn air was an intoxicant--it was the Golden Age again. No, not the +Golden Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he noticed for the first +time a group of men in stripes breaking stones. Some were kneeling, some +crouching upon their haunches. They worked in silence, cracking one +stone after another and making little piles of the fragments. At the +distance of only a few feet two guards leaned upon their loaded rifles. +Jim shut his eyes. + + +III + +The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stifling +court. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waited +listlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grim +patience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as the +latter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity. + +"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peers +of robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitle +you to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear and +positive, and the complainant's identification of you so perfect, that +it would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict. +Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but I +shall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is--" here the Judge +adjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book--"that you be +confined in State Prison for a period of _not less than ten nor more +than fifteen years_." + +Monohan staggered and turned white. + +The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud. + +"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenly +there was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprang +to his feet. + +"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted the +wrong man! _I_ stole that ring!" + +"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as the +spectators rose impulsively to their feet. + +Those who had been present at the trial two days before were all +positive _now_ that they had never taken any stock in the old +gentleman's identification. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorously +with a paper-weight. + +"What's all this?" sternly demanded the Judge. "Do you claim that _you_ +robbed the complainant in this case? Impossible!" + +"Not a bit, yer 'Onor!" replied Jim in clarion tones. "You've nailed the +wrong man, that's all. I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, and +sold the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can't stand for his gettin' +any fifteen years," he concluded, glancing expectantly at the +spectators. + +A ripple of applause followed this declaration. + +"Hm!" commented his Honor. "How about the co-defendant in the case, +identified here in the court-room? Do you exonerate _him_ as well?" + +"I've nothin' to do with _him_," answered Jim calmly. "I've got enough +troubles of my own without shouldering any more. Only Monohan didn't +have any hand in the job. You've got the boot on the wrong foot!" + +Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant District Attorney, now +asserted himself. + +"This is all very well," said he with interest, "but we must have it in +the proper form. If your Honor will warn this person of his rights, and +administer the oath, the stenographer may take his confession and make +it a part of the record." + +Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that whatever he was about to +say must be "without fear or hope of reward," and might be used as +evidence against him thereafter. + +In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation which followed, the Judge, +a noted cross-examiner, only succeeded in establishing beyond +peradventure that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and that +Monohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He therefore consented, +somewhat ungraciously, to having the latter's conviction set aside and +to his immediate discharge. + +"As for _this_ man," said he, "commit him to the Tombs pending his +indictment by the Grand Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," he +added with significance, "that he be brought before _me_ for sentence." + +Out into the balconies of the court-house swarmed the mob. Monohan had +disappeared with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank his +benefactor. It was enough for him that he had escaped from the meshes of +the terrible net in which he had been entangled. + +From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful story. It was shouted from one +corridor to another, and from elevator to elevator. Like a wireless it +flew to the District Attorney's office, the reporters' room, the +Coroner's Court, over the bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street into +Tom Foley's, to Pontin's, to the Elm Castle, up Broadway, across to the +Bowery, over to the Rialto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thieves +in the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to "second-story men" +plotting in saloons, and held them speechless; the "moll-buzzers" heard +it; the "con" men caught it; the "britch men" passed it on. In an hour +the whole under-world knew that Supple Jim had squealed on himself, had +taken his dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had "chucked the +game." + + +IV + +Three long months had passed, during which Jim had lain in the Tombs. +For a day or two the newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. A +few sentimental women had sent him flowers of greater or less fragrance, +with more or less grammatical expressions of admiration; then the dull +drag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the daily visit of Paddy, +and the more infrequent consultations with old Crookshanks. + +The Grand Jury had promptly found an indictment, but when the District +Attorney placed the case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero to +plead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim's counsel, announced that his client +had no intention of so doing, and demanded an immediate trial. + +Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a situation of singular +embarrassment, which made action upon his part for the present +impossible. He was at his wits' end, for the law expressly required that +no prisoner should be confined longer than two months without trial. And +each week he was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crookshanks, who +with much bluster demanded that the case should be disposed of. + +Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on prison fare. Soon a +reporter--an acquaintance of Paddy's--commented upon the fact to his +city editor. The policy of the paper happening to be against the +administration, an item appeared among the "Criminal Notes" calling +attention to the period of time during which Jim had been incarcerated. +Other papers copied, and scathing editorials followed. In twenty-four +hours Jim's detention beyond the time regulated by statute for the trial +of a prisoner without bail had become an issue. The great American +public, through its representative, the press, clamored to know why the +wheels of justice had clogged, and the campaign committee of the reform +party called in a body upon the District Attorney, warning him that an +election was approaching and inquiring the cause of the "illegal +proceeding which had been brought to their attention." The editor of the +_Midnight American_, with his usual impetuosity, threatened a _habeas +corpus_. + +Then the District Attorney sent for the Assistant, and the two had a +hurried consultation. Finally the chief shook his head, saying: "There's +no way out of it. You'll have to go to trial at once. Perhaps you can +secure a plea. We can't afford any more delay. Put it on for to-morrow." + +The next day "Part One of the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, in +and for the County of New York," was crowded to suffocation, for the +dramatic nature of Jim's act of self-sacrifice had not been forgotten, +and a keen interest remained in its _denouement_. It was a brilliant +January noon, and the sun poured through the great windows, casting +irregular patches of light upon the throng within. High above the crowd +of lawyers, witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge; below him, the clerk +and Assistant District Attorney conferred together as to the order in +which the cases should be tried; to the left reclined a row of +non-combatants, "district leaders," ex-police magistrates, and a few +privileged spectators; outside the rail crowded the members of the +"criminal bar"; while in the main body of the room the benches were +tightly packed with loafers, "runners" for the attorneys, curious women, +indignant complainants, and sympathizing friends of the various +defendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but nearer the door the +pressure became too great, and once more an overplus, new-comers, +lawyers who could not force their way to the front, tardy policemen, +persons who could not make up their minds to come in and sit down, and +stragglers generally, formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking the +entrance, and preventing those outside from getting in or anyone inside +from getting out. + +Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators clicked diligently; full +steam was on, not a window open. + +Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with several +innuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who would +confess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense and +trouble of a trial, briefly opened the case. + +The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness. +He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of +finality in the direction of the jury. + +"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired. + +The lawyer shook his head. + +Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent. + +The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant, +paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel. + +"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go through +all this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.' +He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance." + +But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanks +flickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the features +of his client. + +"Not on your _tin-type_!" he ejaculated. + +Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced a +trifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in +the direction of the prisoner. + +"Well, I'll let him plead to grand larceny instead of robbery," he said, +with an air of acting against his better judgment. + +Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again shook his head. + +"Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, "your client will have +to take the consequences. Call the complainant." + +"Daniel Farlan, take the witness' chair." + +The crowd in the court-room waited expectantly. The complainant, +however, did not respond. + +"Daniel Farlan! Daniel Farlan!" bawled the officer. + +But the venerable Farlan came not. Perchance he was a-sleeping or +a-hunting. + +"If your Honor pleases," announced Dockbridge, "the complainant does not +answer. I must ask for an adjournment." + +But in an instant the old war-horse, Crookshanks, was upon his feet +snorting for the battle. + +"I protest against any such proceeding!" he shouted, his voice trembling +with well-simulated indignation. "My client is in jeopardy. I insist +that this trial go on here and now!" + +Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury and spectators showed +plainly that they were of Mr. Crookshanks's opinion. The Judge hesitated +for a moment, but his duty was clear. There was no question but that Jim +_had_ been put in jeopardy. + +"You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dockbridge," he announced +reluctantly. "The jury has been sworn, and a witness has testified. It +is too late to stop now." + +The Assistant was forced to admit that he had no further evidence at +hand. + +"What!" cried the Judge. "No further evidence! Well, proceed with the +defence!" + +Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead, while the jury +glanced inquiringly in the direction of the defendant. But now +Crookshanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the hope and trust +of all defenceless criminals, slowly arose and buttoned his threadbare +frock-coat. He looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor he +ignored. + +"If your Honor please," began the old lawyer gently, "I move that the +Court direct the jury to acquit, on the ground that the People have +failed to make out a case." + +The Assistant jumped to his feet. The spectators stared in amazement at +the audacity of the request. The Judge's face became a study. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks?" he exclaimed. "This man is a +self-confessed criminal. Do you hear, sir, a _self-confessed criminal_." + +But the anger of the Court had no terrors for little Crookshanks. He +waited calmly until the Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, and +resumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its usual state of +placidity. + +"I must beg most respectfully to point out to your Honor that the +Criminal Code provides that the confession of a defendant is not of +itself enough to warrant his conviction _without additional proof that +the crime charged has been committed_. May I be pardoned for indicating +to your Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding against my +client is his own confession, made, I believe, some time ago, under +circumstances which were, to say the least, unusual. While I do not +pretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on that occasion, or to +contest at this juncture the question of his moral guilt, the fact +remains _that there has been no additional proof_ adduced upon any of +the material points in the case, to wit, that the complainant ever +existed, ever possessed a ring, or that it was ever taken from him." + +He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing from his green bag a folded +paper, continued: "In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court that a +person named Farlan left the jurisdiction of this tribunal upon the day +after Monohan's conviction of the offence for which my client is now on +trial. + +"After such an unfortunate mistake," said Crookshanks with an almost +imperceptible twinkle in his "jury eye," "he can hardly be expected to +assist voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold in my hand his +affidavit that he has left the State never to return." + +The Judge had left his chair and was striding up and down the dais. He +now turned wrathfully upon poor Dockbridge. + +"What do you mean by trying a case before me prepared in such a fashion? +This is a disgraceful miscarriage of justice! I shall lay the matter +before the District Attorney in person! Mr. Crookshanks has correctly +stated the law. I am absolutely compelled to discharge this defendant, +who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcerated in State Prison! +I--I--the Court has been hoodwinked! The District Attorney made +ridiculous! As for you," casting a withering glance upon the prisoner, +"if I ever have the opportunity, I shall punish you as you deserve!" + +Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The clerk arose and cleared his +throat. + +"Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a verdict? What say you? Do you find +the defendant guilty, or not guilty?" + +"Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat doubtfully. + +There was a smothered demonstration in the rear of the court-room. A few +spectators had the temerity to clap their hands. + +"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain. + +The clerk faced the prisoner. + +"James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, alias Supple Jim, you are +discharged." + +As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy was the first to grasp +his hand. + +"You're the cleverest boy in New York!" he muttered enthusiastically; +"and say, Jim," he lowered his voice--could it be with a shade of +embarrassment?--"you're a hero all right, into the bargain." + +"Oh, cut that out!" answered Jim. "Wasn't I playing a sure thing? And +wasn't it worth three months,--and ten dollars _per_ to the old guy for +staying over in Jersey,--to put 'em in a hole like that?" + +And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of an impending and +depressing cloud of moral superiority, went out, with others, to get a +drink. + + + + + + +The Maximilian Diamond + + +Dockbridge yawned, threw down his fountain-pen, whirled his chair away +from the window, through which the afternoon sun was pouring a dazzling +flood of light, crossed his feet upon the rickety old table whose faded +green baize was littered with newspapers, law books, copies of +indictments, and empty cigarette boxes, and idly contemplated the +graphophone, his latest acquisition. To a stranger, this little office, +tucked away behind an elevator shaft under the eaves of the Criminal +Courts Building, might have proved of some interest, filled as it was on +every side with mementoes of hard-fought cases in the courts below, +framed copies of forged checks and notes, photographs of streets and +houses known to fame only by virtue of the tragedies they had witnessed, +and an uncouth collection of weapons of all varieties from a stiletto +and long tapering bread knife to the most modern Colt automatic. On the +bookcase stood an innocent-looking bottle which had once contained +poison, while above it hung a faded indictment accusing someone long +since departed of administering its contents to another who did "for a +long time languish, and languishing did die." An enormous black leather +lounge, a safe, several chairs, and some pictures of English and +American jurists completed the contents of the room. Here Dockbridge had +for five years interviewed his witnesses, prepared his cases, and +dreamed of establishing a forensic reputation which should later by a +shower of gold repay him in part for the many tedious hours passed +within its walls. From the grimy windows he could look down upon the +court-yard of the Tombs and see the prisoners taking their daily +exercise, while from the distance came faintly the din and rattle of +Broadway. An air-shaft which passed through the room communicated in +some devious manner with the prison pens on the mezzanine floor far +beneath, and at times strange odors would come floating up bringing +suggestions of prison fare. On such occasions Dockbridge would throw +wide both windows, open the transom, and seek refuge in the library. + +Taken as a whole, his five years there had been invaluable both from a +personal and professional point of view. He had found himself from the +very first day in a sort of huge legal clinic, where hourly he could run +through the whole gamut of human emotions. It was to him, the embryonic +advocate, what hospital service is to the surgeon. He was, as it were, +an intern practising the surgery of the law. And what a multitude of +cases came there for treatment--every disease of the mind and heart and +soul! For a year or two he had been racked nervously and emotionally, +forced from laughter in one moment, to tears the next. Then the mere +fascination of his trade as prosecutor, the marshalling of evidence, the +tactics of trials, the thwarting of conspiracies, the analysis of +motives, the exposure of cunning tricks to liberate the guilty, had so +possessed his mind that the suffering and sin about him, though keenly +realized, no longer cost him sleep and peace of mind. And the stories +that he heard! The mysteries which were unravelled before his very eyes, +and those deeper mysteries the secrets of which were never revealed, but +remained sealed in the hearts of those who, rather than disclose them, +sought sanctuary within prison walls! + +How he wished sometimes that he could write--if only a little! Through +what strange labyrinths of human passion and ingenuity could he conduct +his readers! Sometimes he tried to scribble the stories down, but the +words would not come. How could you describe your feelings while trying +a man for his life, when he sat there at the bar pallid and tense, his +hands clutching each other until the nails quivered in the flesh; the +groan of the convicted felon; the wail of the heart-broken mother as +her son was led away by the officer? He had seen one poor fellow faint +dead away on hearing his sentence to the living tomb; and had heard a +murderer laugh when convicted and the day set for his execution. +Sometimes, in sheer desperation at the thought of losing what he had +seen and experienced, he would turn on the graphophone and talk into it, +disconnectedly, by the hour. It usually came out in better shape than +what he turned off with his pen. If he could only write! + +"Dockbridge! Hi, there, Dockbridge!" + +The door was kicked open, and the lank figure of one of his associates +stood before him. His visitor grinned, and removed his pipe. + +"Bob'll be up in a minute. Come along to 'Coney.'" + +"Don't feel kittenish enough," answered Dockbridge. + +"Oh, come on! It'll do you good." + +The sound of rapid steps flew up the stairs, and Bob burst into the +room, almost upsetting the first arrival. + +"What are you doing up here in this smelly place?" he inquired. "Got a +cigarette?" + +Dockbridge threw him a package without altering his position. + +At this moment the heavily built figure of the chief of staff entered. + +"Holding a reception?" he asked good-naturedly. + +Bob had slipped behind the owner of the graphophone and was rapidly +surveying his desk. Suddenly he pounced on a pile of yellow paper, and, +snatching it up, ran across the room. + +"I thought so! He's been writing." + +"Here you, Bob, give that back!" cried Dockbridge, springing up. He was +blocked by the chief of staff. + +"Fair play, now. It may be libellous. The censor demands the right of +inspection." + +"Oh, I don't mind if _you_ see it!" said Dockbridge, "only I don't +intend that cub to snicker over it. It's nothing, anyway." + +"'The Maximilian Diamond!'" shouted the thief. "By George, what a +rippin' title! Full of gore, I bet!" + +"You give that back!" growled its owner. + +"Gentlemen, allow me to present the well-known author and brilliant +young literary man, Mr. John Dockbridge, whose picture in four colors is +soon to appear on the cover of the 'Maiden's Gaslog Companion,'" +continued Bob. "I read, 'The villain stood with his dagger elevated for +an instant above the bare breast of his palpitating victim.' My, but +it's great!" + +"You see you'd better read it to us in self-defence," remarked the +chief of staff. "Go ahead!" + +"Promise, and I'll give it back," said Bob, from the door. "Refuse, and +I send it to the 'American.'" + +"It wasn't for publication, anyway," explained Dockbridge. + +"Of course not," answered Bob. "We'll pass on it. Perhaps we'll send it +in for that Five-Thousand-Dollar competition." + +"Well, shut up, and I will. Give it here!" Dockbridge recovered the +manuscript and returned to his armchair. The others disposed themselves +upon the lounge. + +"Oyez! Oyez!" cried Bob. "All persons desiring to hear the great +American novel, draw near, give your attention and ye shall be heard." + +"Keep still!" ordered the chief of staff. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll make him +shut up." + +"Mind you do," said Dockbridge. "It's about that big diamond, you know. +The story begins in this room." + +"Well, begin it," laughed Bob. + +His companions pulled his head down on the chief's lap and smothered him +with a handkerchief. + +"Well," said Dockbridge rather sheepishly, "here goes." + + +THE MAXIMILIAN DIAMOND + +A stout, jovial-looking person, with reddish hair, sandy complexion, and +watery blue eyes, stood waiting in my office, his wrist attached by +means of a nickel-plated handcuff to that of a keeper. My two visitors +conducted themselves with remarkable unanimity, and with but a single +motion sank into the chairs I offered. + +"Well, what's the trouble?" I inquired genially. + +The keeper jerked his thumb in the direction of the other, who grinned +apologetically and hitched in my direction. Bending toward me, he +whispered: "I am the victim of one of the most remarkable conspiracies +in history. My story involves personages of the highest rank, and is +stranger than one of Dumas' romances. I am a bill-poster." + +Not knowing whether he intended to include himself among the illustrious +persons alluded to, I nodded encouragingly and produced some cigars. + +"My name is Riggs," continued the prisoner, as he bit off the end of his +cigar and expelled it through the window. "Got a match?" + +The keeper drew a handful from his pocket. I lit a cigar for myself and +assumed an attitude of attention. + +"My wife is little Flossie Riggs. Don't know her? Why, she dances at +Proctor's, and all over. I was doing well at my trade, and would have +been doing better, if it hadn't been for that confounded diamond. It was +this way. There was a fellow named Tenney, who posted bills with me +about five years back, and he finally got a job down in the City of +Mexico with a railroad, and I used to correspond with him. + +"Among other things, he told me about a great big diamond that the +Emperor Maximilian used to wear in the middle of his crown. According to +Tenney, it was one of the biggest on record. He said that Maximilian was +so stuck on it that he had it taken out and made into a pendant for the +Empress Carlotta, and that she used to wear it around at all the court +functions, and so on. About the same time he took two other diamonds out +of the crown and made them into finger-rings for himself. + +"After a while the Mexicans got tired of having an empire and put +Maximilian out of business. They stood him and two of his generals up in +the parade ground at Queretaro and shot 'em. Now when he was stood up to +get shot he had those two rings on his fingers, and the funny part of it +was that when the people rushed up to see whether he was dead or not, +both the rings were gone. Just about that time, while Carlotta was in +prison, the diamond with the big pendant disappeared too. It weighed +thirty-three carats. I got all this from Tenney. I don't know where he +found out about it. But it all happened way back in '67. + +"Somehow or other I used to think quite a lot about that diamond--partly +because I was sorry for Max, who looked to have come out at the small +end; and there didn't seem to be any occasion for shooting him anyhow, +that I could see. + +"Well, I went on bill-posting, and got a good job with the Hair Restorer +folks and was doing well, as I said, until one day I happened to take up +a paper and read that there were two Mexicans out in St. Louis trying to +sell an enormous diamond, but that the dealers there were all afraid to +buy it. Finally the police got suspicious, and the Mexicans disappeared. +Then all of a sudden it came over me that this must be the diamond that +Tenney had wrote about, for all that it had been lost for nearly forty +years, and I made up my mind that the Mexicans, having failed in St. +Louis, would probably come to New York. I knew they had no right to the +diamond anyway, first because it belonged to Maximilian's heirs, and +second because it hadn't paid no duty; and I said to myself, 'Next time +I write to Tenney he will hear something that will make him sit up.' So +every morning, when I started out with my paste-pot and roll of +posters, I would keep my eye peeled for the two Mexicans. + +"But I didn't hear any more about the diamond for a long time, and I had +'most forgot all about it, until one day I was plastering up one of +those yellow-headed Hair Restorer girls in Madison Square, when I saw +two chaps cross over Twenty-third Street toward the Park. They were the +very gazeebos I'd been looking for. Both were dark and thin and short, +and, queerer still, one of them carried a big red case in his hand. + +"With my heart rattling against my teeth, I jumped down from the ladder +and started after them. They hurried along the street until they came to +a jeweller's on Broadway, about a block from the Square. They went in, +and I peeked through the window. Presently out they came in a great +hurry. They still had the red case, and I made a dash for the door and +rushed in. There was the store-keeper with eyes bulgin' half-way out of +his head. + +"'Say,' says I, 'did those dagoes try to sell you a diamond?' + +"'Yes,' says he, 'the biggest I ever saw. They wanted forty thousand +dollars for it, and I offered them fifteen thousand, but they wouldn't +take it.' + +"I didn't give him time for another word, but turned around and made +another jump for the door. The Mexicans were almost out of sight, but I +could still see them walking toward the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and I +hustled after them tight as I could, picked up two cops on the way down, +and, just as they were turning in at the entrance, we pounced on 'em. + +"'You're under arrest!' I yelled, so excited I didn't really know what I +was doing. The fellow with the red case dodged back and handed it over +to a big chap who had joined them. This one didn't appear to want to +take it, and seemed quite peevish at what was happening. He turned out +afterward to have been a General Dosbosco of the Haytien Junta. Well, +the cops grabbed all three of them and collared the leather case. Sure +enough, so help me--! There inside was the big diamond, and not only +that, but a necklace with eighteen stones, and two enormous solitaire +rings. The big stone was yellowish, but the others were pure white, +sparklin' like one of those electric Pickle signs with fifty-seven +varieties. By that time the hurry-up wagon had come, and pretty soon the +whole crew of us, diamonds, Mexicans, cops, paste-pot, and me, were +clattering to the police-station for fair. There I told 'em all about +the diamond, and they telephoned over to Colonel Dudley, at the +Custom-house, and the upshot of the whole matter was that the two +Mexicans were held on a charge of smuggling diamonds into the United +States. + +"If you don't believe what I tell you," said Riggs, noticing, perhaps, a +suggestion of incredulity in my face, "just look at these"; and fumbling +in his pocket, he produced some very soiled and crumpled clippings, +containing pictures of Maximilian, the Empress Carlotta, and of a very +large diamond which appeared to be about the size of the "Regent." It +was then that I dimly remembered reading something of a diamond seizure +a short time before, and it was with a renewed interest that I listened +to the continuation of my client's story. + +"Well," said Riggs, "that was strange, now, wasn't it? + +"You can imagine how I felt when I went home and told little Flossie +about the diamond; that I was entitled to a fifty per cent. informer's +reward; how I was going to give up bill-posting and just be her manager, +and how we could take a bigger flat, and all that; and I thought so much +about it, and talked so much about it, that I began to feel like I was +Rockefeller already, which may account in part for what happened +afterward." + +At this point the keeper moved uneasily, and I pushed him another cigar. + +"Well," continued Riggs, "I just walked on air that afternoon after +leaving the Custom-house, and went around blabbing like a poor fool +about my good luck. On the way home I stopped in to take a drink. There +were a lot of my acquaintances there, and I had something with most of +them, and then the first thing I knew everything swam before my eyes. I +groped my way into the street and started toward home, but I had only +taken a few steps when a gang of strong-arm men attacked me, knocked me +down, and robbed me. I struggled to my feet and followed them. They +turned and attacked me again. I drew my knife, and then everything got +dark, and the next thing I knew I was in the police-station. + +"I'll admit that this part of it does seem a little queer." Riggs +dropped his voice mysteriously and leaned toward me. "But I have no +doubt that I was drugged and beaten for the purpose of getting me locked +up in the Tombs as part of a well-planned scheme. You will see for +yourself later on. + +"Next morning, while I was waiting examination in the prison pen, a man +came along who said he was a lawyer and would take my case. I said, All +right, but that he would have to wait for his pay. He laughed, and said +he guessed there would be no trouble about that; and the next thing I +knew I was up before the Judge. My lawyer went up and whispered +something to him, and the magistrate said: + +"'Five hundred dollars bail for trial.' + +"'Look here,' I spoke up, 'ain't I going to have a chance to tell my +story?' + +"'Keep quiet,' said the lawyer from behind his hand; 'this is just a +form. You won't never have to be tried. It's just to get you out.' + +"So I said nothing, and went back to the pen and waited; and the next +thing I knew the hurry-up wagon had taken me to the Tombs. I tell you it +was pretty tough bein' chucked in with a lot of thieves and burglars. +The bill of fare ain't above par, you know, and the company's worse. I +sat in my cell and waited and waited for my lawyer to show up, for he +had said he'd be right over. But he didn't come, and I had to spend the +night there. Next morning the keeper told me that my lawyer was in the +counsel-room. So down I went with two niggers, who also had an +appointment with their lawyers. It's a nasty, unventilated hole, and +they lock you and the attorneys all in together. Ever been there?" + +I shook my head. + +"'Well,' says he, 'now have you got a bondsman?' + +"'A what?' says I. + +"'A bondsman--someone to go bail for you.' + +"'No,' I answered, for I knew nothing about such things. + +"'What! I thought you told me you had a lot of friends who had money! +You haven't been trifling with me, have you?' + +"I knew I hadn't told him anything of the sort, but I thought that maybe +he had forgotten; so I said I hadn't any friends who had any money, and +knew no one to go bail for me. + +"'Bad! very bad!' said he. 'You've got to have money to get out. Isn't +there anyone who owes you money, or haven't you got some _claim_ or +something?' + +"Then all of a sudden it flashed over me about the diamond and my fifty +per cent. of the reward, and then something in his eye made me think +again. It seemed to me that I had seen him before somewhere. I couldn't +remember just where, but the more I hesitated the surer I was. Then it +came over me that a few days in jail, more or less, made mighty little +difference when I was going to be a rich man so soon, and I decided I +had better hang on to what I'd got. + +"'No,' said I, 'I ain't got nothin'.' + +"'You lie!' says he, growing very red. 'You lie! You've got a claim +against the United States Government.' + +"Then he saw he'd made a break. + +"'Why, they all told me you caught a smuggler, or something, and had a +claim against the Government for a hundred dollars.' + +"'A hundred!' I yelled. 'Twenty thousand!' + +"'Oh!' said he, 'as much as that? Why, I'll get you out this afternoon.' + +"'How?' said I. + +"'Well, you will have to assign your claim so I can raise the money on +it. It's a mere form.' + +"But the thought came into my mind, Better stay there ten years than let +him have the claim; so I said that I didn't understand such things, and +I'd just wait until I could be tried. + +"'Tried?' said he. 'Why, you won't be tried for months.' + +"My heart sank right down into my boots. + +"'Don't be a fool!' he went on. 'Here you are, sick and in prison, and +if you don't raise money to get a bondsman you'll stay here a long time. +You might die. And if you assign that claim to me, I have a pull with +the Judge and I'll have you out by supper-time.' + +"'I guess I'll wait awhile,' said I. + +"'Think it over, anyway. Now I tell you what I'll do. To-morrow you go +up for pleading. You have to say whether you are guilty or not guilty. +I'll act as your lawyer and see you through that part of it for nothing, +and then if you still don't want to assign the claim, why, you can do +as you choose.' + +"That seemed fair enough, so I agreed. I spent another night in the +cells, and next day about thirty of us were taken across the bridge into +the court-room. One by one we were led up to the bar, and the clerk +asked us were we guilty or not guilty. The ones that said they were +guilty went off to Sing Sing or Blackwell's Island. It scared the life +out of me. I was afraid that I might not be able to say 'not,' and so +get sent off too, but pretty soon I saw my lawyer. + +"'P. Llewellyn Riggs!' + +"Up jumped Mr. Lawyer and says, 'Not guilty.' + +"'What day?' asked the clerk. + +"'The 21st,' says Mr. Lawyer. + +"I was dumb for a minute. + +"'Look here,' I whispered. 'To-day's only the first--that's three +weeks.' + +"'Keep quiet,' shouted an officer, and gave me a punch in the back. + +"'It's all right,' whispered Mr. Lawyer. 'It's only a form.' And they +hustled me out back to the Tombs. + +"I didn't hear anything all that day or the next. It seemed as if I +should go mad. But at last I was notified that my lawyer was there +again, and down I went glad enough for the change. By that time I was +feeling pretty seedy. + +"'Well, young man,' said he, 'can we do business?' + +"'That depends,' I answered. + +"'Come, no fooling, now; if you want to get out, give me an assignment +of your claim.' + +"'Never,' I replied. + +"'Then to h---- with you!' he shouted; 'you can rot here alone and try +your case by yourself, and I hope you'll get twenty years.' + +"I almost sank through the floor. Twenty years!" + +Riggs had become quite dramatic, and was again leaning forward looking +me straight in the eyes. + +"Well, I stood fast, and he cursed me out and left me, and I began to +feel that after all maybe I was a fool. I hadn't let my wife know where +I was, but now I wrote to her, and she came right down and comforted me. +A brave little woman she is, too. And what was more, she said that a +nice young lawyer had just moved into our house and had the flat below, +and she would go and get him. + +"So next morning--I had been in there a week--the young lawyer came. I +liked him from the start. When I told him my first lawyer's name he just +leaned back and laughed. + +"'Old Todd?' he says; 'why, he's the worst robber in the outfit. If he +had gotten that assignment he'd have let you lie here forever and been +in Paris by this time. You're a lucky man,' says he. + +"Well, I thought so too, and laughed with him. + +"'But,' he continued, 'you're in an embarrassing position. You can't get +out without money, and you can't collect your claim. You'll have to +assign it to someone. You can't assign it to your wife. That wouldn't be +valid. Haven't you got some friend?' + +"'I'm afraid not,' said I. + +"'That's unfortunate,' he remarked, looking out where the window ought +to be. 'Very unfortunate. I might lend you a couple of hundred myself,' +he added. 'I will, too!' + +"The blood jumped right up in my throat.' + +"'God bless you!' said I, 'you're a true friend!' + +"He laid his hand on my shoulder. + +"'You're in hard luck, old man, but you're going to win out. I'll stand +by you. Here's a five. I'll go out and get the rest right off.' + +"Then all of a sudden I began to feel like a king. I could see myself in +a new suit, having a bottle up at the Haymarket. I realized that I was a +twenty-thousand-dollar millionaire. And just to show my chest, I said: + +"'Why, you're an honest man and a true friend. You take my claim and go +and collect it this afternoon,' says I. + +"'No,' he hesitated, 'it's too much responsibility. I'll trust you for +the money and you can pay me afterward.' + +"But with that, ass that I was, I fell to begging him to take the claim, +and saying he must take it, just to show he believed I trusted him; and +so after a while he reluctantly yielded and filled out a paper, and I +signed it and got in the warden as a witness, and he rose to go. + +"'Well, till this afternoon,' says he. + +"'_Au revoir_,' I laughed, 'get yourself a bottle of wine for me,' says +I. And off he goes. + +"As I passed back to the cells, who should I see beside the door but my +old lawyer. + +"I shook my fist in his face. + +"'You old robber,' I says, 'we'll see if I can't get along without you!' + +"He sneered in my face. + +"'Oh, you ---- fool!' says he, 'you poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"Then he was gone. So I went back to the cell, and sang and whistled and +figured on where I should take my little Flossie for dinner. I waited +and waited. Six o'clock, and no word. Then I began to get nervous. + +"'You poor, poor, ----, ---- fool!' + +"The words rang around in my cell. Then something sort of gave inside. I +knew I'd been robbed, and I yelled and shook the bars of the door and +tried to get out. I cried for Flossie. The keepers came and told me to +keep still; but I was plump crazy, and kept on yelling until everything +got black and I fainted." + +"And your lawyer never came back?" + +"He never came back!" Riggs exclaimed. "He never came back! I've been +robbed! I'm a poor ---- fool, just as Todd said I was." Riggs burst into +maudlin tears. + +I gave him what consolation I could, and promised thoroughly to +investigate his story. + +The keeper and Riggs arose in unison, the same urbane smile that had +previously illuminated the countenance of the latter restored. + +"You couldn't manage to let me have a handful of cigars, could you?" he +whispered. I gave him all I had. His cheek was irresistible. I would +have given him my watch had he intimated a desire for it. + +Then I called up the Custom-house. + +"Paid?" came back the voice of the United States District Attorney. "Of +course not. The claim is worthless until the diamond is sold; and, +anyway, such an assignment as you describe is invalid under our +statutes. You had better execute a revocation, however, and place it on +file here. Yes, I'll look out for the matter." + +One day, about a week later, I was informed that Riggs had been +convicted of assault, and sentenced to a year's imprisonment on +Blackwell's Island. A jury of his peers had apparently proved less +credulous than myself. + +Many strange epistles from his place of confinement now reached me, +hinting of terrible abuses, starvation, oppression, extortion. He was +still the victim of a conspiracy--this time of prison guards and fellow +convicts. He prayed for an opportunity to lay the facts before the +authorities. I threw the letters aside. It was clear he possessed a +powerful imagination, and yet his tale of the discovery of the diamond +had been absolutely true. Well, let the law take its course. + + * * * * * + +A year later a jovial-looking person called at my office, and I +recognized my old friend Riggs in a new brown derby hat and checked +suit. + +After shaking hands warmly, he presented me with a card reading: + + P. LLEWELLYN RIGGS, + Private Detective, + -- Broadway. + +"Yes," he explained in answer to my surprised expression, "I've gone +into the detective business. My unfortunate conviction is only a sort of +advertisement, you know, and then I was the victim of an outrageous +conspiracy!" + +"But," said I, "I thought you were going to retire on the proceeds of +the diamond." + +"Why, haven't you heard?" he replied. "I gave my wife an assignment of +the claim with a power of attorney, and when the diamond was sold she +ran away." + +"Ran away?" + +"Yes; she took a friend of mine with her. But I shall find her--just as +I did the diamond!" He struck a Sherlock Holmes attitude. "By the way, +if you should ever want any detective work done you'll remember----" + +"I am not likely to forget," I answered, "the victim of one of the most +remarkable conspiracies in history." + + * * * * * + +Meantime the Mexicans were tried, convicted, and sent to prison. The +jewels themselves were duly made the subject of condemnation +proceedings, and whoso peruseth The Federal Reporter for the year 1901 +may read thereof under the title "The United States _vs._ One Diamond +Pendant and Two Ear-rings." They were, so to speak, tried, properly +convicted, and sold to the highest bidder. The Mexicans are still +serving out their time. One turned state's evidence, stating that he was +a musician and had won the love of a beautiful senorita in the city of +Mexico who had given him the gems to sell in order that they might have +money upon which to marry. He also protested that his sweetheart had +inherited them from her mother. + +Inside the cover of the old red case is printed in gold letters: + + LA ESMERALDA. + + F. CAUSER ZIHY & CO., Mexico and Paris. + +And a faintly scented piece of violet note-paper lies beneath the double +lining, containing, in a woman's hand, this: + + The diamond necklace is from Maximilian's crown, the + Emperor of Mexico. The centre stone has thirty-three + and seven-tenths carats, and the eighteen surrounding + it no less than one each. The diamond ring, the stone + thereof, was in Maximilian's ring at the time he was + shot. + +But that is all; there is nothing to tell what hand snatched the jewels +from the lifeless fingers of the dead Emperor, or who purloined the +necklace from the royal household. + +In a dusty compartment on my desk there lies a brown manila envelope, +and sometimes, when the day's work is over and I have glanced for the +last time across the court-yard of the Tombs at the clock tower on the +New York Life Building, I take it out and idly read the press story of +the famous diamond. And there rises dimly before me the pathetic scene +at Queretaro where a brave and good man met his death, and I wonder if +perchance there is any truth in the superstition that some stones carry +ill-luck with them. But it is a far cry from the Emperor of Mexico to a +New York bill-poster. + + * * * * * + +Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk and lit a cigarette. + +"Is that all?" asked the lank deputy, stretching himself. "I thought it +was going to have some sort of a plot." + +"It's a pretty good story," said the chief of staff. "Have you really +got any clippings?" + +"I think it's rotten!" remarked Bob. + +"Well, it's every word of it true, anyway," muttered Dockbridge. + + + + + + +Extradition + + +I + +"Dockbridge," said the District Attorney, coming hurriedly out of his +office, "I've got to send you to Seattle. We've just located Andrews +there--Sam Andrews of the Boodle Bank. One of Barney Conville's cases, +you remember. Here's the Governor's requisition. Barney's down in +Ecuador, so McGinnis of the Central Office will go out to make the +arrest; but I must have someone to look after the legal end of it--to +fight any writ of _habeas corpus_--and handle the extradition +proceedings. They might get around a mere policeman, so I'm going to ask +you to attend to it. The trip won't be unpleasant, and the auditor will +give you a check for your expenses. Remember, now--your job is to _bring +Andrews back_!" + +He handed his assistant a bulky document bedecked with seals and +ribbons, and closed the door. Dockbridge gazed blankly after his +energetic chief. + +"Oh, certainly, certainly! Don't mention it! _Delighted_, I'm sure! +Thank you so much!" he exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned +ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the railing. "Sudden, eh? +Don't even ask me if it's convenient! Exiles me for two months! Just +drop over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigarettes! Or run across +to Morocco and pick up Perdicaris, like a good fellow! Don't you regard +him as a trifle _inconsequent_?" + +Conville's side partner McGinnis, a gigantic Irishman with +extraordinarily long arms and huge hands, climbed disjointedly to his +feet. + +"_In_-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?" The words came in a gentle +roar from the altitudes of his towering form. "Sure, the +_in_-consequence of it is that we're to have the pleasure of travellin' +togither." He looked big enough to swing the little Assistant lightly +upon one shoulder and stride nimbly across the continent with him. + +"An iligant thrip it will be! I'm only regretful I can't take me wife +along wid me." + +Pat's matrimonial troubles were the common property of the entire force. +The only person totally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis +himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detective-Sergeant O'Halloran, +made one think inevitably of the small bird that travels through life +roosting on the shoulder of the African buffalo. His domestic life would +have been one of wild excitement for the average citizen, but McGinnis +had a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of his spouse. +Conceive, however, his surprise when the Assistant District Attorney +suddenly smote him sharply in the abdomen, and shouted: + +"I'll do it!" + +"Phwat?" ejaculated Pat. + +"Take _my_ wife!" + +"Yez have none, ye spalpeen!" + +"I'll have one by to-morrow!" + +"An' is it Miss Peggy ye mane?" + +"No other. The county pays part of the bills. I'll make this my wedding +trip!" + +"God save us, Mr. Dockbridge!" gasped McGinnis. "Ain't he the little +divel!" he added to himself delightedly. + +Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack's proposition. The idea of +going on one's honeymoon with a policeman! Yes, it was all right to +combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one did not usually +associate business with marriage--at least she hoped she did not--for +Jack Dockbridge knew he hadn't a cent, and neither had she. He explained +guardedly that that was the principal reason in favor of the plan. They +would have part of their expenses paid. + +Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged the force of the argument but +pointed out that there was still the policeman. + +Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing colors. Why, there were so +many bad men out there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she never +heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard of the Nagle case, and she +going to marry a lawyer! A newly married pair could not travel alone, +unprotected. + +Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated fraud--an unabashed liar! +Still, she had those furs that had belonged to her mother. She admitted, +also, wondering what the Rockies were like. If she did not marry him +now, how long would he be gone? Six months? + +Jack explained that he might be killed by Indians or desperadoes. In +that case the wisdom of her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She +could then marry someone else. But that was the reason a policeman would +be desirable. And then he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. +One more would make little difference. In the end they were married. + + +II + +It was a gay little party of three that left Montreal for Vancouver the +following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved +himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in +securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult +process of extradition. He had brought safely back "Red" McIntosh from +New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had +captured "Strong Arm" Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure +in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as +"Judge," and introducing him to all strangers as "me distinguished +frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York." + +There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily +became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the +various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy +sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the +frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the +snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and +mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching +the diminishing track, or held their breath in the swaying cab as the +engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward +Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies. + +In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the +mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the +pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track +for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty +back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an +hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the +whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was +undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit +like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they +reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could +himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the +fireman. + +Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused +diligently her husband's copy of "Moore on Extradition." She didn't +intend to be the man of the family--she was too sensible for that--but +she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her +husband's profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as +Jack's. + +Four days brought them within sight of the mountains, and the next +morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian +Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the +winter sun. + +"Glad you came, Peg?" shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight +snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder +at the scene. + +She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air. + +"Shure, ain't we all av us?" inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. "Say, +this beats th' Bowery. Th' Tenderloin ain't in it wid this. I'd loike to +camp right here for the rest of me days!" + +There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the +mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank, +that they all laughed. + +Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at +last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, +now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole +magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous +canyon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close. + +The blue shadows of morning melted into the breathless splendor of high +noon upon the summit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple, +azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning +crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like +myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the +giant peaks. + +"Shure, 'tis a sad thing we can't ride in a train, drawin' th' county's +money foriver!" sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming +rapids. + +"Ah, but we've work to do, Pat!" answered Peggy. "You mustn't forget Sam +Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There's fame and fortune waiting for us." + +On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to +continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy +hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor's recognition of their +credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the +representatives of the State of New York. + +The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly +tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to +lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack's college. Oh, yes, +he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under +pressure of circumstances had technically violated the law, but a +perfect gentleman. Of course he had to honor their requisition, but he +was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under +arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit +and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people! +Everybody committed crime--inadvertently. There were so many statutes +that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly +sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist +them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined +with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a +pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a +blasted hearing--a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants. + +They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis, +together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The +Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard +and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear +that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer. +It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was +entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart +their purpose in any way. Of course, the whole thing was unfortunate in +many respects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the +complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be +easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to +return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming +and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming +if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to +them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy +access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little. + +Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr. +Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends, +and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr. +Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she +and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live +together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under +arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis. +Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him +with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any +reason to regret so doing. + +Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied themselves with sight-seeing, +while Andrews busied himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable +impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased, +and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of +a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way. + +"And now for New York!" exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat +around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their +arrival in Seattle. "How shall we go--Northern Pacific, Union, or The +Short Line and across on The Rock Island?" + +"Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfortably from behind an +enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. "Th' +longer th' better, suits _me_. 'Tis the county pays me, an' I loike +ridin' in the cars down to th' ground." + +"What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?" inquired Peggy, "You know the +country. Where would we see the most mountains?" + +Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have +noticed the flash of Andrews' gray eyes which so quickly died away. He +hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it +deserved. + +"There's practically no choice," he replied at length, knocking the ash +from his cigar. "They're all lovely at this time of year. The Rock +Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting." He +paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar. + +But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had +observed his manner. + +"You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?" + +Andrews smiled. "Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn't such +a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect +with the Soo. It's a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty +cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though." + +"Let's go!" exclaimed Peggy. "That's what we are after--scenery! I don't +care if it _is_ cold. I've got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo? +That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?" + +"Oh, I don't mind!" answered her husband. "Andrews knows best. He's been +that way. Sure, if you say so." + +Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar. + +[Illustration: He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the +consideration it deserved.] + + +III + +All day long the snow had been falling steadily in big, fluffy flakes. +The heavy train ploughed through dense pine-clad ravines, beside +torrents buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose inky +blackness the engine plunged as into the bowels of the earth, across +vibrating trestles, and up grades that seemed never-ending, where the +driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, then clutched the +sanded rails and slowly forged onward. For two days it had been thus, +and from the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling snow met the +eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the shoulders of the mountains, and the +gorges between them were choked with mist. And onward, upward, always +upward groaned the train. + +Inside Jack's compartment in the first Pullman sat the four members of +our party playing cards, now on the best of terms. They had long since +given up condoling upon the weather, and had settled down to making the +best of it with cards, chess-board, and books. Between McGinnis and the +prisoner flowed an unending stream of anecdotes and adventures. It could +not be denied that the erstwhile bank president was a man of much +culture and wide reading. He had studied for the bar, and from time to +time astounded Dockbridge by the acuteness of his mental processes. This +was the afternoon of the second day, and they were just completing their +thirteenth rubber of whist. + +The snow fell thicker as the light waned; soon the lamps were lighted +and the shades were drawn. The through passengers on the train were few, +and the good-natured conductor had adopted the party for the trip. + +"We're 'most at the top o' the pass," he remarked, as he paused to +inspect Jack's hand over his shoulder. "Should ha' made it an hour ago +but for this blank snow. I never saw it so thick. Too bad you've missed +the whole range, and to-morrow morning we'll be at Souris, and then +nothin' but prairie all across Dakota. When you wake up, the +mountains'll be two hundred miles west of you. Hard luck!" + +"My trick," said Andrews. "What's that, conductor? Souris to-morrow +morning? Any stops to-night?" + +"Nope; clear down-hill track all the way. There's a flag station an hour +beyond the divide--Ferguson's Gulch, and sometimes we stop for water at +Red River. There's no regular station there, and Jim wants to make up +time, so I reckon we'll make the run without stoppin'. Are you folks +ready for dinner?" + +The strain on the wheels suddenly relaxed, and it seemed as though the +whole train sighed with relief. Ahead, the engine gave a succession of +quick snorts, as if rejoicing at once more reaching a level. The train +gathered head-way. + +"She's over the divide," announced the conductor, taking a bite from the +plug of tobacco carefully wrapped in his red silk handkerchief. "Now Jim +can let her run." + +"What do you call the divide?" asked Peggy. + +"The Lower Kootenay," he answered. "Oh, it's great here in summer! +Finest thing in Canada, in my opinion." + +"In Canada!" exclaimed Dockbridge, with a start. "What do you mean? Are +we in Canada?" + +"You've been in Canada since three o'clock," was the reply. "We cross +the lower left-hand corner of Alberta--look on the map there in the +folder. After makin' the divide we drop right back into Montana. They +couldn't cross the Rockies at this point without leavin' the States for +a few miles." + +The conductor arose and unfolded the map. + +"Ye see, here's where we leave Clarke Fork, then we skirt this range, +turn north, followin' that river there, the north branch of the +Flathead, and so over the line; then we turn and jam right through the +range. Two hours from now you'll be back in the old U.S." + +Dockbridge had started to his feet and was staring intently at the map. +It was only too true. They were in Canada. _In Canada!_ And they were +holding their prisoner without due process of law! The warrant of the +Governors of New York and Washington were valueless in his Majesty's +Dominion. Did Andrews know? Jack pretended to study the map before him +and glanced furtively across the table. Pat was scowling ferociously at +the cards before him, and Andrews was lighting a cigarette. Apparently +he had heard nothing--or had paid no attention to what the conductor was +saying. With his brain in a whirl Dockbridge folded up the time-table +and handed it back. + +"Well, I'm getting ravenous," he remarked. + +Just then the porter appeared from the direction of the buffet carrying +their evening meal. + +"Same here," echoed Andrews. + +For an hour or more they lingered over the table, Andrews seeming in +unusually good spirits. Dockbridge ceased to feel any uneasiness. He +realized how easily he might have been trapped, but no harm was done in +the present instance, for the minute section of Alberta which they +traversed offered no opportunities for the securing of any legal process +by which their prisoner could be released. Again, Andrews had not urged +the route upon them; that had been Peggy's doing. And, moreover, was he +not returning with them of his own free-will? No, it was absurd to have +been so upset at such a trifling matter. + +"What do you say to some more whist? You and I'll be partners this time, +Andrews." + +The things were cleared from the table and they began again. The speed +of the train seemed to have increased, and the cars swayed from side to +side as they sped down the grade. Peggy raised the shade and looked out. +The pane was plastered with an ever-changing, kaleidoscopic crust of +flakes that spat against it, dropped, clogged against the others, and +sagged downward in a dense mass toward the sash. At the top of the glass +the storm could be seen whirling down its myriads outside. + +"What a night!" she ejaculated, as she pulled down the shade. + +At that moment came a prolonged wail from the engine, followed by the +quick clutch of the brakes. The wheels groaned and creaked, and the +passengers tossed forward in their seats. Again the whistle shrieked. +The train, carried onward by its momentum, ground its wheels against the +brakes which strove to hold them back. Gradually they came to a +stand-still. + +The conductor rushed toward the door, and a brakeman hurried through +with a lantern. + +"Ferguson's Gulch!" he shouted as he ran by. "Must ha' signalled us!" + +Dockbridge's heart dropped a beat, and he glanced apprehensively toward +Andrews. The latter was smiling, but the hand that held his cigar +trembled a very little. + +"You're young yet, Dockbridge," he remarked, with slightly tremulous +sarcasm. "There are one or two things still for you to learn. One of +them is that a United States warrant is useless in Canada. You hadn't +thought of that, eh?" + +"_Warrant_ is it? Shure this is all the warrant _I_ want," replied Pat, +snapping a shining Colt from his pocket. "Plaze don't git excited, me +frind. P'r'aps ye don't know it all, yerself. Wan move, an' I'll put six +holes in yer carcus!" + +Dockbridge grasped Peggy by the arm and drew her breathless to her feet. +"What is it? What is it?" she gasped, clinging to him in the aisle. Jack +reached over and released the shade. Outside in the darkness red lights +swung to and fro. A blast of icy air poured into the car from the open +door. He hurried out into the vestibule. The storm was sweeping by +swiftly and silently, and absurdly the motto of his old bicycle club +flashed into his mind, "Volociter et silenter." The lamp above his head +threw a yellow circle against the vast night. He stumbled down the steps +and clung to the rail, putting his head into the sleet. It stung his +face like the tentacles of a sea-monster. In the foreground stood the +conductor, already white with the snow, his lantern swinging to leeward +in the wind, shouting to a man on horseback. Four other mounted figures, +their steeds facing the blast, marked the point where the light ended +and the night began again. Three train hands, each with a lantern, paced +to and fro beside the car. Ahead could be heard the coughing of the +engine. The man on horseback waved his hand in the direction of the +train, flung himself heavily to the ground, tossed the reins to one of +the others, and strode toward the car. + +"Jones and Wilkes, hold the horses; Frazer and White, come along with +me," he directed over his shoulder. He pushed by Dockbridge and climbed +into the car. The conductor followed. + +"Where is the officer and his prisoner?" he demanded in a harsh voice. + +"Inside, your Honor," answered the conductor, shaking the snow from his +coat. "This is Mr. Dockbridge, the District Attorney from New York." + +"Umph!" grunted the stranger. He was an immense man with a heavy +jet-black beard and hair in thick curls all over his head. A +broad-brimmed sombrero cast a deep shadow over his features, heightening +their natural unpleasantness. Two of the others now jumped upon the +platform and entered the car, and Dockbridge saw that they wore some +kind of uniform and that the lining of their overcoats was red. Peggy +cowered to one side as the three strangers forced their way by her and +paused at the door of the compartment. + +"Is Mr. Andrews here?" inquired the one whom the others addressed as +Judge. + +"I am Mr. Andrews. This is the officer who holds me in custody." + +The Judge turned to one of his followers. + +"Serve him!" he growled. + +The one addressed took from beneath his coat a bundle of papers, and +selecting one, handed it to McGinnis, who let it fall to the floor +without a word. + +"Put up that pistol!" continued the Judge. + +At this moment Dockbridge, who had listened as if dazed to the colloquy, +now mastered sufficient courage to assert himself. + +"Here! what's all this?" he exclaimed in as determined a manner as he +could manage to assume. "What are you doing in my compartment with your +wet feet? Who the devil are you, anyway?" He squeezed by his huge +antagonist and took his stand by McGinnis. + +The conductor and the majority of the train hands had crowded into the +passageway and filled the door with their dripping and astonished faces. +The officer handed another paper to Dockbridge. + +"This is Judge Peters, sir; and this paper is a writ of _habeas corpus_ +returnable forthwith, sir," said the man. + +Dockbridge glanced at the paper and saw that the officer's statement was +correct. The paper was a writ ordering him to produce the body of Samuel +Andrews before the Honorable Elijah Peters, Judge of the Supreme Court +of Alberta, _forthwith_, and show cause why said Andrews should not be +set at liberty. He was trapped. It could not be denied. + +"Is this Judge Peters?" he inquired politely of the man with the black +beard, who had taken off his hat and seated himself upon the sofa. + +"I am," returned the other curtly. "And I now pronounce this car a +court, and direct you to release your prisoner as detained by you +without lawful authority." + +He leaned forward and shook his finger threateningly at McGinnis. "Put +up that pistol!" + +McGinnis looked at Dockbridge. + +"Put it up, Pat," directed the latter. "There's no occasion for +pistols." He winked at Peggy. "Pardon my lack of courtesy in addressing +you, Judge Peters, when you first entered. I was unaware, of course, to +whom it was that I spoke." + +The Judge shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. + +"I'm naturally taken somewhat by surprise, and hardly feel that I can do +justice to my own position in the matter at such short notice. However, +as the court is now in session, I can only ask the privilege of arguing +the matter before your Honor. If I might be permitted to do so, I would +suggest that the hearing take place in some larger space than this +compartment, in which my wife desires speedily to retire." He looked +inquiringly toward the Court. + +"That's right, Jedge," spoke up the conductor. "Don't keep the lady out +of her room. You can hold court in the baggage-car." + +The black-bearded man grumblingly arose to his feet, leaving a large +pool of water in the middle of the floor. + +"As you choose. Bring along the prisoner, and be quick about it. I've +got to ride fifteen miles to-night." + +The crowd streamed down the aisle and into the baggage-car in front. +McGinnis followed with Andrews. + +"Shall I come along, Jack?" whispered his wife. + +"No, stay here. I'm afraid we're beaten. I shall only spar for time, and +try to invent some way out of it." + +Peggy sadly watched his disappearing form. What a disgusting anticlimax! +She reviled herself for being the one who had forced the selection of +the Montana route. It was all her fault. When a man's married his +troubles begin! Jack would lose his job, and then where would they be? +She had gotten him into the fix, and now she would do her best to get +him out of it. She threw on his fur coat and cap and followed into the +baggage-car. The Judge had seated himself on a trunk. Jack stood at his +right with the warrant in his hand. A single lantern cast a fitful glare +over the two, around whom crowded the passengers and train hands. Peggy +heard her husband's somewhat immature voice stating the circumstances of +the wreck of the Boodle Bank. The Judge seemed not uninterested. The +crowd was getting larger every moment. Passengers kept coming in in +every kind of dishabille, and last of all the engineer and fireman +entered by the forward door. Outside, the huge engine hissed and +throbbed as if impatient of the delay. Peggy slipped unseen behind a +pile of trunks, snapped the big padlock through the staples of the +door, then, hurrying back to the compartment, rummaged until she found +Jack's box of cigars. Arming herself with these and with her copy of +"Moore on Extradition," she made her way back to the baggage-car. + +"Yes, yes, I know all that!" the Judge was saying. "But that's all +immaterial. It ain't what he did. It's what right you've got to hold him +in the Dominion of Canada on a warrant from a governor of one of the +United States. Show me that, or I'll discharge the prisoner here and +now." + +"Excuse me, please," exclaimed Peggy, forcing her way through the throng +into the open space under the lamp, "I thought you might like to smoke. +Lawyers all like to smoke." + +There was an immediate response from the Court. + +"Well, I don't care if I do," remarked the Judge more genially. +"Confounded cold out there in the snow waiting for the train. Thank y'." + +He handed back the box, and Peggy passed it to the engineer and told him +to "send it along." Then she whispered in her husband's ear: + +"Read him that chapter on 'International Relations.' Keep it going for +ten minutes, and we'll win out, yet. I've got a scheme." + +Dockbridge took the book, opened it deliberately, and lighted a cigar +for himself. Peggy pushed back through the spectators to the +sleeping-car. Only a solitary brakeman remained outside in the snow, +stamping and swinging his arms. + +"Halloo, Mr. Sanders," said Peggy, "you ought to go in and hear the +argument. They're having a regular smoke talk. It's so thick I can't +breathe. They're giving away cigars. I should think you would freeze." + +"Well, I'm froze already," answered Sanders. "I reckon I'll go in and +hear the fun. Is that straight about the cigars?" + +"Of course it is," laughed Peggy, while Sanders climbed on board. The +snow swept by in clouds as Peggy gave one glance at the retreating form +of the brakeman, and jumped down into the night. + + +IV + +The Judge threw back his burly form against the side of the car and +exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. + +"Now, young feller, if you have any legal right to detain your prisoner, +let's hear it. This court's goin' to adjourn in just ten minutes by the +watch, and I reckon when it adjourns it'll take the prisoner with it." + +The spectators, who had seated themselves as best they could, looked +expectantly toward the New Yorker. + +Jack arose, holding the book impressively before him. The gusts from the +storm outside penetrated the cracks of the loosely hung sliding +baggage-door and made the feeble lantern swing and flicker. The smoke +from twenty cigars swirled round the ceiling. The conductor placed his +own lantern on a trunk by Jack's side. + +"If the Court please," began Dockbridge, "while it's entirely true that +no warrant issued out of a court of the United States or by a governor +of one of the United States gives any jurisdiction over the person of a +fugitive who is held in custody in the Dominion of Canada, it is +nevertheless a fact that under the principle of comity between friendly +nations the government of one will not interfere with an officer of +another who is performing an official act under color of authority." +["Sounds well," said Jack to himself, "but don't mean a blame thing."] +"This principle is as old as the law itself, and is sustained by a long +series of decisions in our international tribunals. The doctrine is +clearly set forth by Grotius" ["that ought to nail him!"] "when he says: +'No nation will voluntarily interfere with a duly authorized officer of +another nation in the performance of his duty, whose act does not +interfere with the functions of government of the other.'" He +pronounced this balderdash with much solemnity and with great effect +upon the assembled train hands. "Now, your Honor, I am a duly authorized +officer of the State of New York, the same being at peace with the +Dominion of Canada." + +"Bosh!" interrupted the Judge. "You're talkin' nonsense. I won't be made +a fool of any longer. Prisoner discharged. This court stands adjourned, +and, as I said, it is goin' to take the prisoner with----" + +A jerk of the train prevented the conclusion of his sentence. There came +another pull from the engine, followed by a succession of violent puffs. +The train started. + +"My God! The engine!" shouted the fireman, making a spring for the door. + +"Locked! Locked!" he yelled, and threw himself upon it. The conductor +dived for the platform. The Judge started to his feet. + +"This is an infernal trick!" he cried. "Stop this train! D'ye hear? Stop +this train at once!" + +But the train was gathering head-way every moment, and was fast dropping +down the grade. A triumphant whistle shrilled through the night with a +succession of short toots. + +"For God's sake, open the door!" gasped the engineer. "Get a crow-bar, +somebody! We'll be going a hundred miles an hour inside of a minute!" +But no crow-bar was to be found, and the door resisted all their +efforts. On rushed the train, thundering down the pass, swaying around +curves until the frightened occupants of the baggage-car clung to one +another to retain their foothold, and every moment adding to its speed. +The baggage-man threw open the side door. The night dashed by in a solid +wall of white. + +"Damme! This is a crime!" roared the Judge. "I'm being kidnapped. Your +Government shall be notified--if we're not all killed. Can't somebody +stop this train? Do you hear? Stop it, I say!" + +For an instant Dockbridge had been as startled as the others. Then it +came to him in one inspired moment. Peggy was on the engine! A series of +whistles came across the tender. + +"Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot--toot! Toot--toot!"--the +old Harvard cheer that Peggy had heard echoing across the foot-ball +field a hundred times. + +Of course! She was going to fetch them out of Canada, and then to +thunder with all the judges of the Dominion! He began to laugh +hysterically. On and on, faster and faster, rushed the train. The pallid +faces of the passengers and crew stared strangely out of the blue haze. +Breathless, each man struggled to keep his footing, momentarily +expecting to be dashed into eternity. The minutes dragged as hours, +until at last, from somewhere in the rear of the train, the fireman +returned with a wrench, and throwing his whole weight upon the padlock, +quickly snapped its staples. The door burst open, sending him flying +headlong. Through the car poured a furious gust of wind and snow, +blinding, suffocating, and into the midst of this jumped the engineer, +and, clambering desperately upon the tender, disappeared. + +Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, but Andrews had suddenly begun +to look white and old. + +At the same moment a red light flashed by alongside the track and the +train roared across a suspension bridge without slackening speed. + +"Red River!" gasped the fireman, clambering to his feet. + +The blood leaped in Jack's veins. Red River! Then they were across the +line. Peggy had won! God bless her! With a triumphant glance at the +cowering Andrews, he turned upon the frightened crowd. + +"You can't beat the Yankee girl!" he shouted. "Judge, you're right. +We've adjourned court, and are taking the prisoner with us--INTO THE +UNITED STATES!" + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: In the original edition, the title of each story +appeared twice, first on a page by itself in all capitals, followed by a +blank page, and then on the first page of the story in title case. These +duplicate titles have been deleted. The first title for "The +Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville" appeared in a shortened +form as "THE BARON DE VILLE". In the HTML version of this text, page +numbers have been included only on those pages which originally +contained them, not on blank pages or title pages. + +In "McAllister's Christmas", a quotation mark in front of "One as 'as +white 'air" was deleted, and a second chapter V was renumbered as VI. + +In "The Governor-General's Trunk", "The head bagage-man nodded" was +changed to "The head baggage-man nodded". + +In "The Golden Touch", missing quotation marks were added in front of +"When the Colonel realized what it was all about" and "Oh, my leg!" and +after "And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?", "Where had +he seen that fact?" was changed to "Where had he seen that face?", "that +old VanVorst" was changed to "that old Van Vorst", and "VanVorst sat +there" was changed to "Van Vorst sat there". + +In "McAllister's Data of Ethics", a quotation mark was removed after +"his scented wife, and gilded chairs--". + +In "McAllister's Marriage", "Don' you want to show me the boy-horse" was +changed to "Don't you want to show me the boy-horse". + +In "The Course of Justice", "slowyl arose" was changed to "slowly +arose". + +In "The Maximilian Diamond", _"What day?" asked the clerk._ was changed +to _"'What day?' asked the clerk._ + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's McAllister and His Double, by Arthur Train + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MCALLISTER AND HIS DOUBLE *** + +***** This file should be named 34597.txt or 34597.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/9/34597/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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