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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:05:38 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:05:38 -0700 |
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diff --git a/36366-h/36366-h.htm b/36366-h/36366-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64aa423 --- /dev/null +++ b/36366-h/36366-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17863 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dangerous Ground, by Lawrence L. Lynch. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; background: #999966; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: .8em;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .caption {text-align: center; margin: auto; width: 300px; font-size: .9em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: top; font-size: .7em; text-decoration: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.8em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.c05 {width: 5%;} + hr.c25 {width: 25%;} + .ind10 {margin-left: 10%;} + .ind20 {margin-left: 20%;} + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + p.advert:first-letter {font-size: 2em; text-align: left; font-weight: bold; float: left; padding: 0 .1em 0 0; + vertical-align: bottom;} + p.advert:first-line {text-transform: uppercase;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; color: gray;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .signature1 {margin-left: 60%; text-align: center;} + .signature2 {margin-left: 70%; text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dangerous Ground, by Lawrence L. Lynch + +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: Dangerous Ground + or, The Rival Detectives + +Author: Lawrence L. Lynch + +Release Date: June 10, 2011 [EBook #36366] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGEROUS GROUND *** + + + + +Produced by Harry Lamé, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bbox" style="margin-bottom: 2em;"> + +<p class="center">Please see <a href="#TN">Transcriber's Notes</a> at the end of this document.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illocover.jpg" alt="Cover of original book" width="353" height="500" /></div> + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo01.png" alt="Resisting arrest" width="300" height="458" /> +<p class="caption">“Not just yet; I ain’t quite ready!”—<a href="#Page_410">page 410</a>.</p></div> + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<h3>THE GREAT DETECTIVE SERIES.</h3> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<h1>DANGEROUS GROUND;</h1> + +<p class="center">OR,</p> + +<h2>THE RIVAL DETECTIVES.</h2> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<h3>LAWRENCE L. LYNCH,</h3> + +<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: 2em;">(OF THE SECRET SERVICE.)</p> + +<p class="center">Author of “Madeline Payne, the Detective’s Daughter;” “Out<br /> +of a Labyrinth;” “Shadowed by Three;” “The<br /> +Diamond Coterie,” etc., etc.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<h4>CHICAGO:<br /> +ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>.<br /> +1886.</h4> + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1885,<br /> +By Alex. T. Loyd & Co., Chicago.<br /> +All Rights Reserved.</span></p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p class="center">Dangerous Ground.</p> + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo02.png" alt="Mamma wants to see if the Prodigal is asleep" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, waving it to +and fro, rapidly.”—<a href="#Page_309">page 309</a>.</p></div> + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></p> +<h1>DANGEROUS GROUND.</h1> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>PROLOGUE.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Time</span>: The month of May. The year, 1859; when the +West was new, and the life of the Pioneer difficult and dangerous.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: A tiny belt of timber, not far from the spot where +not long before, the Marais des Cygnes massacre awoke the +people of south-eastern Kansas, and kindled among them +the flames of civil war.</p> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>It is a night of storm and darkness. Huge trees are +bending their might, and branches, strong or slender, are +swaying and snapping under a fierce blast from the northward.</p> + +<p>Night has closed in, but the ghostly light of a reluctant +camp fire reveals a small group of men gathered about its +blaze; and back of them, more in the shelter of the timber, a +few wagons,—prairie schooners of the staunchest type—from +which, now and then, the anxious countenance of a +woman, or the eager, curious face of a child, peers out.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>There has been rain, and fierce lightning, and loud-rolling +thunder; but the clouds are breaking away, the rain +has ceased: only the strong gusts of wind remain to make +more restless the wakeful travellers, and rob the weary, +nervous ones of their much needed sleep.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Pearson?” queries a tall, strong man, who +speaks as one having authority. “I have not seen him +since the storm began.”</p> + +<p>“Pearson?” says another, who is crouching over the +flickering fire in the effort to light a stubby pipe. “By +ginger! I haven’t thought of the fellow; why, he took his +blanket and went up yonder,” indicating the direction by +a jerk of the short pipe over a brawny shoulder—“before +the storm, you know; said he was going to take a doze up +there; he took a fancy to the place when we crossed here +before.”</p> + +<p>“But he has been down since?”</p> + +<p>“Hain’t seen him. Good Lord, you don’t suppose the +fellow’s been sleepin’ through all this?”</p> + +<p>Parks, the captain of the party, stirs uneasily, and turns +his face towards the wagons.</p> + +<p>“There’s been some fearful lightnin’, sir,” breaks in another +of the group. “‘Tain’t likely a man would sleep +through all this, but—”</p> + +<p>He stops to stare after Parks, who, with a swift impulsive +movement of the right hand, has turned upon his heel, +and is moving toward the wagons.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Krutzer,” he calls, halting beside the one most +remote from the camp fire.</p> + +<p>“What is wanted?” answers a shrill, feminine voice.</p> + +<p>“Is the little one with you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>“Yes.” This +time there is a ring of impatience in the voice.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Pearson since the storm?”</p> + +<p>“My gracious! No.”</p> + +<p>“How is Krutzer?”</p> + +<p>“No better; the storm has doubled him up like a snake. +Do you want him?”</p> + +<p>“Not if he can’t walk.”</p> + +<p>“Well he can’t; not a step.”</p> + +<p>“Then good-night, Mrs. Krutzer.” And Parks returns +to the men at the fire.</p> + +<p>“There’s something wrong,” he says, with quiet gravity.</p> + +<p>“Pearson has not been near the child since the storm. +Get your lanterns, boys; we will go up the hill.”</p> + +<p>It is only a slight elevation, with a pyramid of rocks, +one or two wide-spreading trees; and a fringe of lesser +growth at the summit.</p> + +<p>A moment the lanterns flash about, while the men converse +in low tones. Then one of them exclaims:</p> + +<p>“Here he is! Pearson; Heavens, man, wake up!”</p> + +<p>But the still form outstretched upon the water-soaked +blanket, and doubly sheltered by the great rocks and bending +branches, moves not in response to his call.</p> + +<p>They crowd about him, and Walter Parks bends closer +and lets the full light of the lantern he carries, fall upon +the still face.</p> + +<p>“Good God!”</p> + +<p>He sinks upon one knee beside the prostrate form; he +touches the face, the hands; looks closer yet, and says in a +husky voice, as he puts the lantern down:</p> + +<p>“He’s <i>dead</i>, boys!”</p> + +<p>They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +one they touch it; curiously, reverently, tenderly or timidly, +according as their various natures are.</p> + +<p>Then a chorus of exclamations, low, fierce, excited.</p> + +<p>“How was it?”</p> + +<p>“Was he killed?”</p> + +<p>“The storm—”</p> + +<p>“More likely, Injuns.”</p> + +<p>“No, Bob, it wasn’t Indians,” says Parks mournfully, +“for here’s his scalp.”</p> + +<p>And he tenderly lays a brown hand upon the abundant +locks of his dead comrade, sweeping them back from the +forehead with a caressing movement.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, with a sharp exclamation that is almost +a shriek, the hand drops to his side; he recoils, he bounds +to his feet; then, turning his face to the rocks, he lets the +darkness hide the look of unutterable horror that for a moment +overspread it, changing at length to an expression of +sternness and fixed resolve.</p> + +<p>Meantime the others press closer about the dead man, +and one of them, taking the place Parks has just vacated, +bends down to peer into the still, set face.</p> + +<p>“Boys, look!” he cries eagerly; “look here!” and he points +to a tiny seared spot just above the left temple. “That’s +a burn, and here, just above it, the hair is singed away. It’s +lightning, boys.”</p> + +<p>Again they peer into the dead face, and utter fresh exclamations +of horror. Then Walter Parks, whose emotion +they have scarcely noticed, turns toward them and looks +closely at the seared spot upon the temple.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” he asks, in slow, set tones, “did you, any of +you, ever <i>see</i> a man killed by lightning?”</p> + +<p>They all stare up at him, and no one answers.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo03.png" alt="Finding the victim of lightning" width="300" height="443" /> +<p class="caption">“They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by one they +touch it; curiously, reverently.”—<a href="#Page_12">page 12</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>“Because,” +he proceeds, after a moment’s silence, “I +never saw the effects of a lightning stroke, and don’t feel +qualified to judge.”</p> + +<p>“It’s lightnin’,” says the man called Bob, in a positive +voice; “I’ve never seen a case, but I’ve read of ’em. +It’s lightnin’, sure.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it is,” breaks in another. “What else can +it be? There ain’t an Injun about and besides—”</p> + +<p>A sharp flash of lightning, instantly followed by a loud +peal of thunder, interrupts this speech, and, when they +can hear his voice, Parks says, quietly:</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are right, Menard. Now, let’s take +him down to the wagons; quick, the rain is coming +again.”</p> + +<p>Slowly they move down the hill with their burden, +Walter Parks supporting the head and shoulders of the +dead. And as they go, one of them says:</p> + +<p>“Shall I run ahead and tell the Krutzers?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replies Parks, sternly; “we will take him to +my wagon. I will inform Mrs. Krutzer.”</p> + +<p>So they lay him in the wagon belonging to their leader, +and before they leave him there Parks does a strange +thing. He takes off the oil-skin cap from his own head +and pulls it tight upon the head of the dead man. Then +he strides over to the wagon occupied by the Krutzers.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>A flickering, sputtering candle, lights up the interior +of a large canvas-covered wagon. On a narrow pallet +across one side of the vehicle, a man tosses and groans,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +now and then turning his haggard face, and staring, blood-shot +eyes, upon a woman who crouches near him, holding +upon her knees a child of two summers, who slumbers +peacefully through the storm, with its fair baby face upturned +to the flickering candle. In the corner, opposite +the woman, lies a boy of perhaps ten years, ragged, unkempt, +and fast asleep.</p> + +<p>A blaze of lightning and a rush of wind cause the +man to cry out nervously, and then to exclaim, peevishly:</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish the morning would come; this is horrible!”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Krutzer,” says the woman, in a low, hissing whisper; +“you act like a fool.”</p> + +<p>She bends forward and lays the sleeping child beside +the dirty boy in the corner. Then she lifts her head and +listens.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she whispers again; “they are astir outside; I +hear them talking. Ah! some one is coming.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Krutzer.”</p> + +<p>It is the voice of Walter Parks, and this time the woman +parts the tent flap and looks out.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Mr. Parks? I thought I heard voices +out there. Is the storm doing any damage?”</p> + +<p>“Not at present. Is Krutzer awake?”</p> + +<p>She glances toward the form upon the pallet; it is shivering +as with an ague. Then she says, unhesitatingly:</p> + +<p>“Krutzer has been in such misery since this storm came +up, that I’ve just given him morphine. He ain’t exactly +asleep, but he’s stupid and flighty; get into the wagon, +Mr. Parks, and see how he is for yourself. Poor man; +this is the fifth day of his rheumatism, and he has not +stood on his feet once in that time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>The visitor hesitates for a moment, then drawing nearer +and lowering his tone somewhat, he says:</p> + +<p>“If Krutzer is in a bad state now, he had better not +know what I have come to tell. Can he hear me as I speak?”</p> + +<p>“No; not if you don’t raise your voice.”</p> + +<p>“Pearson is dead, Mrs. Krutzer.”</p> + +<p>She starts, gasps, and then, with her head protruding from +the canvas, asks, huskily:</p> + +<p>“How? when? who?—”</p> + +<p>“We found him up by the rocks, lying on his blanket—”</p> + +<p>“Killed?”</p> + +<p>“Killed; yes.”</p> + +<p>“How—how?” she almost gasps.</p> + +<p>“There is a burn upon his head. Menard says it was +a stroke of lightning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she sighs, and sinks back in the wagon, turning her +head to look at the form upon the pallet.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Krutzer.”</p> + +<p>She leans toward him again and listens mutely.</p> + +<p>“We—Menard, Joe Blakesly, and myself—will watch +to-night with the body. We know very little about Pearson, +and the little one; what can you tell us?”</p> + +<p>“Not much;” clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. +“It was like this: Pearson joined our train +just before we crossed Bear Creek—beyond the reserve, +you know. That was three weeks before we left the +others, to join your train. The child was ailing at the +time, and so Pearson put it in my charge, most of the other +women having more children than I to take care of. I +liked the little thing, and it did not seem a trouble to +me; so after a while Pearson offered to pay me, if I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +would look after it until we struck God’s country. But +I would not let him pay me, for the baby seems like my +own.”</p> + +<p>“And <i>now</i>, Mrs. Krutzer?”</p> + +<p>“I am coming to that. Pearson told us, at the first, +that the little girl was not his; that its father was a miner +back among the mountains. Its mother was dead, and +the father, who was an old friend of Pearson’s, had put +it in his care, to be taken to New York, where its +relatives live. Pearson was obliged to quit mining, you +know, on account of his health.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; do you know the address of the child’s friends?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it’s an aunt, her father’s sister. About two +weeks ago—I think Pearson must have had a presentiment +or something of the kind—he came to me, and +gave me a letter and a package, saying that if anything +happened to him during the trip, he wanted me to see +the little girl safely in the hands of her relatives. The +letter was from the baby’s father, and the packet contained +the address of the New York people, and enough money +to pay my expenses after I leave the wagon train. I promised +Pearson that I would take care of the child and put +her safe in her aunt’s hands, and so I will—but, Oh, dear! +I never expected to be obliged to do it.”</p> + +<p>A hollow groan breaks upon her speech; the man upon +the pallet is writhing as if in intensest agony. The woman +makes a signal of dismissal, and drops the canvas curtain.</p> + +<p>Walter Parks hesitates a moment, and then, as a +second groan greets his ear, turns and strides away.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></p> +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>The clouds hang overhead like a murky canopy. The +wind is sighing itself to sleep. The rain has ceased, but +large drops drip dismally from the great branches that +lately sheltered Arthur Pearson’s death-bed.</p> + +<p>Beside the rocks, three men are standing. It is three +o’clock in the morning. Two of the three men bend down +to examine something which the third, lighted by a lantern, +has just taken from the wet ground at his feet.</p> + +<p>It is a small thing to excite so much earnest scrutiny; +only the half burned fragment of a lucifer match.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” says Walter Parks, solemnly, swinging the +lantern upon his arm and carefully wrapping the bit of +match in a paper as he speaks, “poor Pearson was never +killed by lightning. That sear upon his forehead was made +by the simple application of a burning match. <i>I’ve</i> seen +men killed by lightning.”</p> + +<p>“But you said—”</p> + +<p>“No matter what I said <i>then</i>, Joe; what I <i>now</i> say to +you and Menard is <i>the truth</i>. You have promised to keep +what I am about to tell you a secret, and to act according +to my advice. Menard, Blakesly, <i>Arthur Pearson has +been foully murdered!</i>”</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>“Parks, you are mad!”</p> + +<p>“You will believe the evidence of your own senses, +boys. I am going to prove what I assert.”</p> + +<p>“But who? how?—”</p> + +<p>“Who?—ah, that’s the question! There are ten men +of us; if the guilty party belongs to our train, we will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +ferret him out if possible. If we were to gather all our +party here, and show them how poor Pearson met his +death, the assassin, if he is among us, would be warned, +and perhaps escape.”</p> + +<p>“True.”</p> + +<p>“Boys, I believe that the assassin <i>is</i> among us; but I +have not the faintest suspicion as to his identity. We +are ten men brought together by circumstances. We +three have known each other back there in the mining +camps. The others are acquaintances of the road; good +fellows so far as we know them: but nine of us ten are +innocent men; <i>one is a murderer!</i> Come, now, and let +me prove what I am saying.”</p> + +<p>As men who feel themselves dreaming; silently, +slowly, with anxious faces, they follow their leader to +the wagon where the dead man lies alone.</p> + +<p>“Get into the wagon, boys; here, at this end, and +move softly.”</p> + +<p>It is done and the three men crouch close together about +the body of the dead.</p> + +<p>“Hold the lantern, Joe. There, Menard lift his head.”</p> + +<p>Silently, wonderingly, they obey him.</p> + +<p>Then Walter Parks removes the cap from the lifeless +head, and shudderingly parts away the thick hair from +about the crown.</p> + +<p>“Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look, both of you; do +you see <i>that?</i>”</p> + +<p>They bend closer; the lantern’s ray strikes upon something +tiny and bright.</p> + +<p>“My God!” cries Joe Blakesly, letting the lantern fall +and turning away his face.</p> + +<p>“Parks, what—<i>what</i> is it?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>“A <i>nail!</i> Touch it, boys; see the hellish cleverness +of the crime; think what the criminal must be, to drive +that nail home with one blow while poor Pearson lay +sleeping, and then to rearrange the thick hair so skillfully. +That was before the storm, I feel sure. If we +had found him sooner, there might have been no mark +upon his forehead. Then we, in our ignorance, would +have called it heart disease, and poor Pearson would have +had no avenger. After the storm, the cunning villain +crept back, struck a match, and applied it to his victim’s +temple. And but for an accident, we would all have +agreed that he was killed by a lightning-stroke.”</p> + +<p>Menard lays the head gently back upon the damp hay +and asks, shudderingly:</p> + +<p>“How did you discover it, Parks?”</p> + +<p>“In examining the sear, you may remember, I brushed +the hair away from the temple. As I ran my fingers +through it, I touched—that.”</p> + +<p>They look from one to the other silently for a moment, +and then Joe Blakesly says:</p> + +<p>“Has he been robbed?”</p> + +<p>“Let us see;” Menard says, “he wore a money-belt, I +know. Look for it, Parks.”</p> + +<p>Parks examines the body, and shakes his head.</p> + +<p>“It’s gone; has been cut away. The belt was worn +next the flesh; the print of it is here plainly visible. +The belt has been taken, and the clothing replaced!”</p> + +<p>“What coolness! what cunning! Shall we ever run +the fellow down, Parks?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo04.png" alt="Examining the body" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look both of you; do you see +<i>that?</i>”—<a href="#Page_19">page 19</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“<i>Yes!</i> Boys, you know why I am leaving the mountains. +I am going home to England, to be near my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +father who must die soon. I am not a poor man; I shall +some day be richer still. If <i>we</i> fail to find this murderer, +I shall put the matter in the hands of the detectives, +<i>and I will never give it up</i>. Arthur Pearson met his +death while traveling for safety with a party which calls +me its leader, and <i>I will be his avenger!</i> It may be in +one year, or two, or twenty; it may take a fortune, and +a lifetime; <i>but Arthur Pearson shall be avenged!</i>”</p> + + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>“STARS OF THE FORCE.”</h3> + + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Policeman No. 46, with an air of +condescending courtesy, “this <i>is</i> the office.”</p> + +<p>It is characteristic of the metropolitan policeman; he is +not a man to occupy middle ground. If he is not +gruffly discourteous, he is pretty certain to be found patronizingly +polite.</p> + +<p>Number 46 had just breakfasted heartily, and had swallowed +a large schooner of beer at the expense of the bar +keeper, so he beamed benignly upon the tall, brown-faced, +grey-bearded stranger who had just asked, “Is +this the office of the City Detective Agency?”</p> + +<p>“This <i>is</i> the office, sir; up two flights and turn to +your left.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo05.png" alt="Asking directions of policeman" width="300" height="431" /> +<p class="caption">“Is this the office of the City Detective Agency?”—<a href="#Page_22">page 22</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>The stranger shifted his position slightly, glanced up +and down the street, drew a step nearer the policeman, +and asked:</p> + +<p>“Is it a large force?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should say!”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know some of them pretty well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>sir</i>; I know some of the best men of the lot.”</p> + +<p>The stranger jingled some loose coin in his pocket, and +seemed to have forgotten his interest in the detective force.</p> + +<p>“Officer, where does a man go to get a good brandy +cocktail?”</p> + +<p>Policemen are not over bashful, and No. 46 smiled +anew as he replied.</p> + +<p>“Just wait a few minutes, and I’ll show you. I must +stop that con—”</p> + +<p>The last syllable was lost to the stranger as 46 dashed +off to wave his club before the eyes of an express-man, +who was occupying too much space on the wrong side of the +street. In a moment he was back again, and, as he approached, +the stranger said:</p> + +<p>“I’m a new-comer in the city, and want to see things. +I take a sort of interest in the doings of the police, and +in detectives especially. I’d like to have you point me +out some of these chaps, officer. Oh, about that brandy +cock-tail; you’ll join me, I hope?”</p> + +<p>No. 46 consulted his watch.</p> + +<p>“I’ll join you, sir. Yes sir; in ten minutes, if you’ll +wait. There’s a capital place right here handy. And +if you want to see <i>detectives</i>, just you stand here with me +a while. Vernet and Stanhope went down to breakfast +half an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>“Vernet and Stanhope?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>”“The Stars of the force, sir; a perfect matched +team. Splendid fellows, too. They always spend their +mornings at the office, when not ‘on the lay.’ They’ve +been back in the city four or five days; hard workers, +those boys.”</p> + +<p>“Young men, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes, they’re young, but you can’t fool them +much. A little under thirty, I should call Vernet; +Stanhope is the younger of the two.”</p> + +<p>“Americans?”</p> + +<p>“Stanhope is, an out-and-outer. Vernet’s got some +French in him.”</p> + +<p>“Um, yes; well, I’d like to take a look at them, after +we refresh ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“They won’t be back for a good half hour; there’s no +fear of missing them.”</p> + +<p>Half an hour, and a brandy cock-tail, makes some men +firm friends. When that period of time had elapsed, +No. 46, more affable than ever, and the tall stranger, +looking quite at his ease, stood again near the entrance +to the office of the City Detective Agency.</p> + +<p>Two men were coming down the street, walking and +talking with the air of men on good terms with themselves +and each other.</p> + +<p>Both were young, well dressed, well-looking; but a +more marked contrast never was seen.</p> + +<p>One, the taller of the two, was dark and decidedly +handsome, with black waving hair, dusky eyes, that were +by turns solemn, tender, severe, and pathetic; “faultily faultless” +features, that wore an habitual look of gravity and +meditation; an erect, graceful carriage, and a demeanor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +dignified and somewhat reserved. Slow of speech and +punctillious in the use of words, he was a man of tact and +discretion; a man fitted to lead, and capable of ruling +in stormy times. At first sight, people pronounced him +“a handsome fellow;” after long acquaintance, they +named him “a perfect gentleman.”</p> + +<p>His companion was not quite so tall, of medium height, +in fact, but muscular and well built. He walked with a +springy, careless stride, carrying his head erect, and +keeping his observant, twinkling, laughing brown eyes +constantly employed noting everything around and about +him, but noting all with an expression of careless unconcern +that seemed to say, “all this is nothing to me, +why should it be?” His hair, brown, soft, and silky, +was cropped close to his head, displaying thus a well developed +crown, and brow broad, high and full. The nose +was too prominent for beauty, but the mouth and chin +were magnificent features, of which a physiognomist +would say: Here are courage and tenderness, firmness +and loyalty. He was easy of manner—“off-hand,” +would better express it; careless, and sometimes brusque +in speech. At first sight one would call him decidedly +plain; after a time spent in his society you voted him “a +good looking fellow,” and “a queer fish.” And those +who had thoroughly tested the quality of his friendship, +vowed him a man to trust and to “tie to.”</p> + +<p>“Here they come,” whispered No. 46; “those two +fellows in grey.”</p> + +<p>“Which is which?”</p> + +<p>“To be sure. The taller is Van Vernet; the other +Dick Stanhope.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo06.png" alt="Vernet and Stanhope approaching" width="300" height="428" /> +<p class="caption">“Here they come,” whispered No. 46; “those two fellows in grey.”—<a href="#Page_26">page +26</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>As they approached, Van Vernet touched his hat with +a glance of courteous recognition. But Richard Stanhope +merely nodded, with a careless, “how are you, Charlie?” +And neither noted the eager, scrutinizing glance bent upon +them, as they passed the grey-bearded stranger and ran +lightly up the stairs. “You’re wanted in the Chief’s office, +Mr. Vernet,” said the office boy as they entered; “And +you too, I think, Mr. Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>“Not both at once, stupid?”</p> + +<p>“Um, ah; of course not. Now look here, Mr. Dick—”</p> + +<p>And Stanhope and the office boy promptly fell into +pugilistic attitudes, the former saying, with a gay laugh:</p> + +<p>“You first, Van, if the old man won’t let us ‘hunt +in couples.’”</p> + +<p>With the shadow of a smile upon his face, Van Vernet +turned his back upon the two belligerents and entered the +inner office.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Vernet, good morning,” said his affable chieftain. +“Are you ready for a bit of business?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it will be anything very deep, but the +young fellow insisted upon having one of my best men; +one who could be courteous, discreet, and a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet, who had remained standing, hat in hand, +before his chief, bowed deferentially, and continued silent.</p> + +<p>“There are no instructions,” continued the Chief. “You +are to go to this address—it’s a very aristocratic locality—and +act under the gentleman’s orders. He wants to deal +with you direct; the case is more delicate than difficult, I +fancy. I am only interested in the success or failure of +your work.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>Taking the card from his outstretched hand, Vernet +read the address.</p> + +<p class="ind20">“<span class="smcap">A. Warburton.</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">No. 31 B—— Place.”</span></p> + +<p>“When shall I wait upon Mr. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>“At once. Your entire time is at his disposal until +the case is finished; then report to me.”</p> + +<p>Vernet bowed again, turned to go, hesitated, turned +back, and said:</p> + +<p>“And the Raid?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that—I shall give Stanhope charge of that affair. +Of course he would like your assistance, but he knows +the ground, and I think will make the haul. However, +if you are not occupied to-morrow night, you might join +them here.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I will do so if possible,” turning again +to go.</p> + +<p>“Send Stanhope in, Vernet. I must settle this business +about the Raid.”</p> + +<p>Opening the door softly, and closing it gently after him, +Vernet approached his comrade, and laid a light hand upon +his arm.</p> + +<p>“Richard, you are wanted.”</p> + +<p>“All right; are you off, Van?”</p> + +<p>“Yes;” putting his hat upon his head.</p> + +<p>“On a lay?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Wish you good luck, old man; tra la.”</p> + +<p>And Dick Stanhope bounced into the presence of his +Chief with considerable noise and scant ceremony.</p> + +<p>Number 46, who, with the stranger beside him, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +slowly pacing his beat, lifted his eyes as Vernet emerged +from the stairway.</p> + +<p>“There comes Vernet, and alone. I’ll bet something +he’s off on a case,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Looks like it.”</p> + +<p>“He looks more serious than usual; wonder if he’s got +to work it without Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>“Do they always pull together?”</p> + +<p>“Not always; but they’ve done their biggest work together. +When there’s a very knotty case, it’s given to +Vernet <i>and</i> Stanhope; and they seldom fail.”</p> + +<p>“Which acts as leader and is the best man of the two?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, that’s a conundrum that no man can guess, +not even the Chief. And I don’t believe any body ever +will know, unless they fall out, and set up an opposition +to each other. As for who leads, they both pull together; +there’s no leader. I tell you what I don’t want to see +two such splendid fellows fall out; they’ve worked in double +harness a good while. But if the Chief up there wants +to see what detectives <i>can</i> do, let him put those two fellows +on opposite sides of a case; then he’d see a war of +wits that would beat horse-racing.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” said the stranger, consulting an English repeater, +“it’s time for me to move on. Is this your regular beat, +my friend? Ah! then we may meet again. Good morning, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a queer jockey,” muttered No. 46. “When he +first came up, I made sure he was looking for the Agency—looking +just for curiosity, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>And the stranger, as he strolled down the street, communed +thus with himself:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>“So these two star detectives have never been rivals yet. +The Chief has never been anxious to see what detectives +<i>can</i> do, I suppose. This looks like <i>my</i> opportunity. Messrs. +Vernet and Stanhope, <i>you shall have a chance to try your +skill against each other</i>, and upon a desperate case: and +the wit that wins need never work another.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>ODDLY EMPLOYED.</h3> + + +<p>While the stranger was thus communing with himself, +and while Van Vernet was striding toward that fashionable +quarter of the city which contained the splendid Warburton +mansion, Richard Stanhope, perched upon one corner +of a baize covered table, his hands clasped about one knee, +his hat pushed far back upon his head, his whole air that +of a man in the presence of a familiar spirit, and perfectly +at his ease, was saying to his Chief:</p> + +<p>“So you want me to put this business through <i>alone?</i> +I don’t half like it.”</p> + +<p>“You are equal to it, Dick.”</p> + +<p>“I know that,” with a proud curve of the firm lips, “but +I’m sure Van expected to be in this thing, and—”</p> + +<p>“Vernet has another case in hand. I have given him all +his time until it is finished, with the privilege of joining you +here and assisting in the Raid to-morrow night, if he can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +do so without interfering with his other duties. You seem +to fear to offend Vernet, Dick?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>fear</i> no one, sir. But Van and I have pulled well together, +and divided the honors equally. This Raid, if it succeeds, +will be a big thing for the man, or men, engineering +it. I know that Van has counted upon at least a share of the +glory. I hate to see him lose the chance for it.”</p> + +<p>“You are a generous friend, Dick, and Van may rejoice +that you <i>are</i> his friend instead of his rival. Now, leaving +friendship to take care of itself, do you feel that the <i>success</i> +of the Raid depends upon Vernet’s assistance?”</p> + +<p>“Perdition! <i>No.</i>”</p> + +<p>“You know the ground?”</p> + +<p>“Every inch of it!”</p> + +<p>“And Van does not.”</p> + +<p>“One pilot is enough.”</p> + +<p>“You know the people?”</p> + +<p>“Well, rather!”</p> + +<p>“Do you doubt the success of the undertaking?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I see only one chance for failure.”</p> + +<p>“And that?”</p> + +<p>“I have made this Raid a study. If anything occurs +to prevent my leading the expedition, and you put another +man at the head, it will fail.”</p> + +<p>“Even if it be Vernet?”</p> + +<p>“Even Vernet. Satan himself would fail in those +alleys, unless he knew the ground.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you would share your honors with Vernet +for friendship’s sake? Dick, you are a queer fish! But +why do you suggest a possibility of your absence?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” sliding off the table and pulling his hat low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +over his eyes, “The Raid is thirty-six hours distant, and +one never knows what may happen in thirty-six hours. +Is there any thing else, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I’ve a dainty bit of mystery for you. No +blind alleys and thieves dens in <i>this</i>; it’s for to-morrow +evening, too.”</p> + +<p>Stanhope resumed his former position upon the corner +of the table, pushed back his hat, and turned an attentive +face to his Chief.</p> + +<p>“Your Raid will not move until a little after midnight; +this other business is for ten o’clock. You can be +at liberty by eleven. You know Follingsbee, the lawyer?”</p> + +<p>“By reputation; yes. Is <i>he</i> in the mystery?”</p> + +<p>“He’s negotiating for a client; a lady.”</p> + +<p>“A lady!” with a stare of dismay. “Why didn’t you +turn her over to Van; you know he is just the man to +deal with women, and I—”</p> + +<p>“You are afraid of a petticoat! I know; and I might +have chosen Vernet, if the choice had been given me. +But the lawyer asked for <i>you</i>.”</p> + +<p>Stanhope groaned dismally.</p> + +<p>“Besides, it’s best for you; you are better than Vernet +at a feminine make up.”</p> + +<p>“A feminine make up!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Here is the business: Mr. Follingsbee desires +your services for a lady client; he took care to impress +upon me that she <i>was</i> a lady in every sense of the word. +This lady had desired the services of a detective, and +he had recommended you.”</p> + +<p>“Why I?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind why; you are sufficiently vain at present,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +You have nothing on hand after the Raid, so I promised +you to Follingsbee; he is an old friend of mine. To-morrow +evening, at ten o’clock, you are to drive to Mr. +Follingsbee’s residence in masquerade costume.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!”</p> + +<p>“In a feminine disguise of some sort. Mr. Follingsbee, +also in costume, will join you, and together you will attend +an up-town masquerade, you personating Mrs. Follingsbee, +who will remain at home.”</p> + +<p>“Phew! I’m getting interested.”</p> + +<p>“At the masquerade you will meet your client, who will +be introduced by Follingsbee. Now about your disguise: +he wants to know your costume beforehand, in order to +avoid any mistakes.”</p> + +<p>“Let me think,” said Stanhope, musingly. “What’s +Mrs. Follingsbee’s style?”</p> + +<p>“A little above the medium. Follingsbee thinks, that, +with considerable drapery, you can make up to look sufficiently +like her.”</p> + +<p>“Considerable drapery; then I have it. Last season, +when Van and I were abroad, we attended a masquerade +in Vienna, and I wore the costume of the Goddess of Liberty, +in order to furnish a partner for Van. In hiring +the costume, I, of course, deposited the price of it, and the +next day we left the city so hurriedly that I had no opportunity +to return it, so I brought it home with me. +It’s a bang-up dress, and no one has seen it on this side +of the water, except Van. How will it do?”</p> + +<p>“Capitally; then I will tell Follingsbee to look for +the Goddess of Liberty.”</p> + +<p>“All right, sir. You are sure I won’t be detained +later than eleven?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo07.png" alt="Stanhope receiving his orders" width="300" height="433" /> +<p class="caption">“Yes; I’ve a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind alleys and thieves’ +dens in <i>this</i>”—<a href="#Page_33">page 33</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span>“You have only to meet the lady, receive her instructions, +and come away.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall live through the ordeal,” rising once +more and shaking himself like a water-spaniel, “but I’d +rather face all the hosts of Rag Alley.”</p> + +<p>And Richard Stanhope left the Agency to “overhaul” +the innocent masquerade costume that held, in its white and +crimson folds, the fate of its owner.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Leaving him thus employed, let us follow the footsteps +of Van Vernet, and enter with him the stately portals +of the home of the Warburtons.</p> + +<p>Crossing a hall that is a marvel of antique richness, +with its walls of russet, old gold, and Venetian red tints; +its big claw-footed tables; its massive, open-faced clock, +with huge weights a-swing below; its statuettes and its +bass-reliefs, we pass under a rich <i>portierie</i>, and hear the +liveried footman say, evidently having been instructed:</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Warburton’s study, sir; I will take up +your name.”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet gazes about him, marking the gorgeous +richness of the room. A study! There are massive +book-cases filled with choicest lore; cabinets containing all +that is curious, antique, rare, beautiful, and costly; there +are plaques and bronzes; there is a mantle laden with +costly bric-a-brac; a grand old-fashioned fire-place and +fender; there are divans and easy chairs; rich draperies +on wall and at windows, and all in the rarest tints of +olive, crimson, and bronze.</p> + +<p>Van Vernet looks about him and says to himself:</p> + +<p>“This is a room after my own heart. Mr. Warburton,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +of Warburton Place, must be a sybarite, and should be +a happy man. Ah, he is coming.”</p> + +<p>But it is not Mr. Warburton who enters. It is a colored +valet, sleek, smiling, obsequious, who bears in his hand +a gilded salver, with a letter upon it, and upon his arm a +parcel wrapped in black silk.</p> + +<p>“You are Mr. Vernet?” queries this personage, as +if in doubt.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then this letter is for you.”</p> + +<p>And the valet bows low, and extends the salver, adding +softly:</p> + +<p>“I am Mr. Warburton’s body servant.”</p> + +<p>Looking somewhat surprised, as well as annoyed, Van +Vernet takes up the letter, breaks the seal and reads:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>:<br /></p> + +<p>My business with you is of so delicate a nature that it is best, +for all concerned, to keep our identity a secret, for a time at least. +Your investigation involves the fair fame of a lady and the honor of +a stainless name.</p> + +<p>Come to this house to-morrow night, in the costume which I shall +send for your use. The enclosed card will admit you. My valet +will show you the domino by which you will recognize me. This +will enable me to instruct you fully, and to point out to you the +persons in whom you are to take an interest. This letter you will +please destroy in the presence of my valet.</p> + +<p class="right">A. W.<br /></p> +</div> + +<p>After reading this strange note, Van Vernet stands so +long, silently pondering, that the servant makes a restless +movement. Then the detective says, with a touch of +imperiousness.</p> + +<p>“Give me a match.”</p> + +<p>It is proffered him in silence, and in silence he turns to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +the grate, applies the match to the letter, and lets it fall +from his fingers to the fire-place, where it lies a charred +fragment that crumbles to ashes at a touch.</p> + +<p>The dark servant watches the proceeding in grave silence +until Vernet turns to him, saying:</p> + +<p>“Now, the domino.”</p> + +<p>Then he rapidly takes from the sable wrapper a domino +of black and scarlet, and exhibits it to the detective, who +examines it critically for a moment and then says brusquely:</p> + +<p>“That will do; tell your master that I will follow his instructions—<i>to +the letter</i>.”</p> + +<p>As the stately door swings shut after his exit, Van Vernet +turns and glances up at the name upon the door-plate, +and, as he sets his foot upon the pavement, he mutters:</p> + +<p>“A. Warburton is my employer; A. Warburton is the +name upon the door: I see! My services are wanted by the +master of this mansion: he asks to deal with a <i>gentleman</i>, +and—leaves him to negotiate with a colored servant! +There’s a lady in the case, and ‘an honorable name at +stake;’ Ah! Mr. A. Warburton, the day may come when +you will wear no domino in my presence; when you will +send no servant to negotiate with Van Vernet!”</p> + + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>THE EFFECT OF AN ADVERTISEMENT.</h3> + +<p>A rickety two-story frame building, in one of the worst +quarters of the city.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo08.png" alt="Vernet burns the letter" width="300" height="434" /> +<p class="caption">“He applies the match to the letter, and lets it fall from his fingers to +the fire-place.”—<a href="#Page_38">page 38</a>.</p></div> + +<p>It is black with age, and guiltless of paint, but a careful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +observer would note that the door is newer than the +dwelling, and that it is remarkably solid, considering the +tumble-down aspect of the structure it guards. The +windows of the lower story are also new and substantial, +such of them as serve for windows; but one would note that +the two immediately facing the street are boarded up, and so +tightly that not one ray of light can penetrate from without, +nor shine from within.</p> + +<p>The upper portion of the dwelling, however, has nothing +of newness about it. The windows are almost without glass, +but they bristle with rags and straw, while the dilapidated +appearance of the roof indicates that this floor is given over +to the rats and the rain.</p> + +<p>Entering at the stout front door, we find a large room, bare +and comfortless. There is a small stove, the most battered +and rusty of its kind; two rickety chairs, and a high wooden +stool; a shelf that supports a tin cup, a black bottle, and a +tallow candle; a sturdy legged deal table, and a scrap of rag +carpet, carefully outspread in the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>An open door, in one corner, discloses the way to the rat-haunted +second floor. There are some dirty bundles and a +pile of rags just behind the door; some pieces of rusty old +iron are lying near a rear entrance, and a dismal-looking old +man is seated on a pallet in one corner.</p> + +<p>This is what would be noted by the casual observer, and +this is all. But the old man and his dwelling are worthy of +closer inspection.</p> + +<p>He is small and lean, with narrow, stooping shoulders; a +sallow, pinched face, upon which rests, by turns, a fawning +leer, which is intended, doubtless, for the blandest of smiles, +a look of craftiness and greed, a scowl, or a sneer. His hair,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +which has been in past years of a decided carrot color, is now +plentifully streaked with gray, and evidently there is little +affinity between the stubby locks and a comb. He is dirty, +ragged, unshaven; and his age may be any where between +fifty and seventy.</p> + +<p>At the sound of a knock upon the outer door, he sits erect +upon his pallet, a look of wild terror in his face: then, recovering +himself, he rises slowly and creeps softly toward the +door. Wearing now his look of cunning, he removes from +a side panel a small pin, that is nicely fitted and comes out +noiselessly, and peeps through the aperture thus made.</p> + +<p>Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, he replaces the +pin and hurriedly opens the door.</p> + +<p>The woman who enters is a fitting mate for him, save that in +height and breadth, she is his superior; old and ugly, unkempt +and dirty, with a face expressive of quite as much of +cunning and greed, and more of boldness and resolution, +than his possesses.</p> + +<p>“It’s you, is it?” says the man, testily. “What has +brought you back? and empty-handed I’ll be bound.”</p> + +<p>The old woman crossed the floor, seated herself in the most +reliable chair, and turning her face toward her companion +said, sharply:</p> + +<p>“You’re an old fool!”</p> + +<p>Not at all discomposed by this familiar announcement, the +man closed and barred the door, and then approached the +woman, who was taking from her pocket a crumpled newspaper.</p> + +<p>“What have you got there?”</p> + +<p>“You wait,” significantly, “and don’t tell <i>me</i> that I come +empty-handed.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you don’t mean—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>Again the look of terror crossed his face, and he left the +sentence unfinished.</p> + +<p>“Old man, you <i>are</i> a fool! Now, listen: Nance and I +had got our bags nearly filled, when I found this,” striking the +paper with her forefinger. “It blew right under my feet, +around a corner. It’s the morning paper.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’ll hear it soon enough. It’s the morning paper, +and you know <i>I</i> always read the papers, when I can find ’em, +although, since you lost the few brains you was born with, +you never look at one.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I looked at this paper, and see what I found!”</p> + +<p>She held the paper toward him, and pointed to a paragraph +among the advertisements.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="advert">Wanted. information of any sort concerning +one Arthur Pearson, who left the mining country +with a child in his charge, twenty years ago. Information +concerning said child, Lea Ainsworth, or any of her relatives. +Compensation for any trouble or time. Address,</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">O. E. Mears</span>, Atty,</p> + +<p class="signature2">Melbourne, Australia.</p> +</div> + +<p>The paper fluttered from the man’s nerveless fingers, but the +woman caught it as it fell.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord!” he gasped, the drops of perspiration standing +out upon his brow, “oh, Lord! it has come at last.”</p> + +<p>“What has come, you old fool!”</p> + +<p>“Everything; ruin! ruin!”</p> + +<p>“We’re a pretty looking pair to talk of <i>ruin</i>,” giving a contemptuous +glance at her surroundings. “Stop looking so like +a scared idiot, and listen to me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m listening!” sinking down upon the pallet in a +dismal huddle; “go on.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo09.png" alt="Reaction to reading the advertisement" width="300" height="435" /> +<p class="caption">“Oh, Lord!” he gasped; “oh, Lord, it has come at last!”—<a +href="#Page_42">page 42</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>The woman crossed over and sat down beside him.</p> + +<p>“Now, look here; suppose the worst comes, how far away +is it? How long will it take to get a letter to Australia, and +an answer or a journey back?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’ll take all the time <i>we</i> want. But who is there +to answer that advertisement?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!”</p> + +<p>“You miserable coward! <i>She</i> wouldn’t know what it +meant if she saw it.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Arthur Pearson—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>don’t!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Arthur Pearson has not been heard of in twenty years.”</p> + +<p>The old man shuddered, and drew a long sighing breath.</p> + +<p>“Walter Parks, after all his big talk, never came back +from England,” she hurried on. “Menard is dead; and +Joe Blakesley is in California. The rest are dead, or +scattered south and west. There are none of the train to +be found here, except—except the Krutzers; and who can +identify <i>them</i> after twenty years?”</p> + +<p>“I shall never feel safe again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you will. You always feel safe when the dollars +jingle in your pockets, although it’s precious little good they +bring you.”</p> + +<p>“But <i>her</i> money is already gone.”</p> + +<p>“Her husband has a full purse.”</p> + +<p>“But how—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see the way clear enough. It’s only half the +work of the other job, and double the money.”</p> + +<p>“The money! Ah! how do you think to get it?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>“Honestly, this time; honestly, old man. It shall come +to us <i>as a reward!</i>”</p> + +<p>Drawing nearer still to her hesitating partner, the woman +began to whisper rapidly, gesticulating fiercely now and then, +while the old man listened in amazement, admiration, doubt, +and fear; asking eager questions, and feeling his way cautiously +toward conviction.</p> + +<p>When the argument was ended, he said, slowly:</p> + +<p>“I shall never feel safe until it’s over, and we are away +from this place. When can you do—the job?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow night.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow night!”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it’s the very time of times. To-morrow night it +shall be.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a big risk! We will have to bluff the detectives, old +woman.”</p> + +<p>“A fig for the detectives! They will have a cold scent; +besides—we have dodged detectives before.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>ENLISTED AGAINST EACH OTHER.</h3> + + +<p>It is early in the evening of the day that has witnessed +the events recorded in the preceding chapters, and the Chief +of the detectives is sitting in his easiest office chair, listening +attentively to the words that fall from the lips of a tall, +bronzed, gray-bearded man who sits opposite him, talking +fast and earnestly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>He has been thus talking, and the Chief thus listening, +for more than an hour, and the story is just reaching its +conclusion when the stranger says:</p> + +<p>“There, sir, you have the entire case, so far as I know +it. What I ask is something unusual, but what I offer, in +compensation, is something unusual too.”</p> + +<p>“A queer case, I should say,” returns the Chief, half to +himself; “and a difficult one. Twenty years ago a man was +murdered—killed by a nail driven into his skull. Detectives +have hunted for the murderer, singly, in twos and threes. +English experts have crossed the ocean to unravel the +mystery and it remains a mystery still. And now, when +the secret is twenty years old, and the assassin dead and +buried, perhaps, you come and ask me for my two best men,—men +who have worked together as brothers—and ask me to +set their skill <i>against each other</i>, in a struggle, which, if it +ends as you desire, will mean victory and fortune for the +one, defeat and loss of prestige for the other.”</p> + +<p>“There is no such thing as loss of prestige. A man may +bow to a superior and yet retain his own skill. Plainly, +I have come to you as an honorable man should. I wish +to deal with these men through you, if possible. But they are +free agents. What you refuse to do for me, I must do +for myself; and I tell you plainly, that if money can purchase +their services, I will have Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope +to work this case.”</p> + +<p>“You are frank, sir! But I have observed that, in relating +your story, you have been careful to avoid giving +either your own name or the name of the murdered man.”</p> + +<p>“As I shall continue to do until I state the case to the +two detectives, <i>after</i> they have enlisted in my service.”</p> + +<p>The Chief ponders for a time and then says:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>“Now, hear my proposition: you are justified in believing +that, if there <i>is</i> a bottom to this ancient mystery, Vernet +and Stanhope, singly or together, are the men to find +it. That is my belief also. As for your idea of putting +them on their mettle, by offering so magnificent a reward to +the man who succeeds, <i>that</i> is not bad—for you and the +man who wins. Vernet and Stanhope have, this very day, +taken in hand two cases,—working separately, understand. +If you will wait in patience until these cases are finished, +you shall have the men from this office,—if they will accept +the case.”</p> + +<p>“Put my proposition before the two men at once. When +I know that I shall have their services, I can wait in patience +until their duty of the present is done.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said the Chief rising, “the question can soon be +settled; Vernet is in the outer office; Stanhope will soon be +here. You will find the evening papers upon that desk; +try and entertain yourself while I put your case before +Vernet.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, Van Vernet was standing before his +Chief, listening with bent head, compressed lip, and glowing +cheek, to the story of the man who was murdered twenty +years before, and to the splendid proposal of the tall +stranger. When it was all told, and the Chief paused for +a reply, the young detective moved a pace nearer and said +with decision:</p> + +<p>“Tell him that I accept the proposition. A man can’t +afford to lose so splendid a chance for friendship’s sake. +Besides,” his eyes darkening and his mouth twitching convulsively, +“it’s time for Dick and I to find out <i>who is the +better man!</i>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>Returning to the inner office, the Chief of the force found +his strange patron walking fiercely up and down the room, +with a newspaper grasped firmly in his hand, and on his +countenance traces of agitation.</p> + +<p>“Look!” he cried, approaching and forcing the paper +upon the astonished Chief; “see what a moment of waiting +has brought me!”</p> + +<p>And he pointed to a paragraph beginning:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>WANTED. INFORMATION OF ANY SORT CONCERNING +one Arthur Pearson, etc. etc.</p></div> + +<p>“An advertisement, I see;” said the Chief. “But I fail +to understand why it should thus excite you.”</p> + +<p>“A moment ago it was my intention to keep the identity +of the murdered man a secret. This,” indicating the paper +by a quick gesture, “changes the face of affairs. After +twenty years, some one inquires after Arthur Pearson—”</p> + +<p>“Then Arthur Pearson is—”</p> + +<p>“The man who was murdered near the Marais des +Cygnes!”</p> + +<p>“And the child?”</p> + +<p>“I never knew her name until now. No doubt it is the +little girl that was in Pearson’s care.”</p> + +<p>“What became of the child?”</p> + +<p>“I never knew.”</p> + +<p>“And how does this discovery affect your movements?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you; but, first, you saw Vernet?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and he accepts.”</p> + +<p>“Good! That notice was inserted either by some friend +of Pearson’s, or by the child’s father, John Ainsworth.”</p> + +<p>“What do you know of him?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; I never met him. But, as soon as you have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +seen Stanhope, and I am sure that these two sharp fellows +are prepared to hunt down poor Pearson’s assassins, I <i>will</i> +meet him, if the notice is his, for I am going to Australia.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I can do no good here. To-morrow morning, +business will take me out of the city. When I return, in +two days, let me have Stanhope’s answer.”</p> + +<p>When Richard Stanhope appeared at the office that night +a little later than usual, the story of Arthur Pearson and +his mysterious death was related for the third time that +day, and the strange and munificent offer of the stranger, +for the second time rehearsed by the Chief.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it, my boy? Are you anxious +to try for a fortune?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you.”</p> + +<p>It was said as coolly as if he were declining a bad cigar.</p> + +<p>“Consider, Dick.”</p> + +<p>“There is no need. Van and I have pulled together +too long to let a mere matter of money come between us. +<i>He</i> would never accept such a proposition.”</p> + +<p>The Chief bit his lip and remained silent.</p> + +<p>“Or if he did,” went on Stanhope, “he would not work +against me. Tell your patron that <i>with</i> Van Vernet I will +undertake the case. He may make Van his chief, and I +will gladly assist. <i>Without</i> Van as my rival, I will work +it alone; but <i>against</i> him, as his rival for honors and lucre, +<i>never!</i>”</p> + +<p>The Chief slowly arose, and resting his hands upon the +shoulders of the younger man, looked in his face with fatherly +pride.</p> + +<p>“Dick, you’re a splendid fellow, and a shrewd detective,<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>” +he said, “but you have a weakness. You study +strangers, but you trust your friends with absolute blindness. +Van is ambitious.”</p> + +<p>“So am I.”</p> + +<p>“He loves money.”</p> + +<p>“A little too well, I admit.”</p> + +<p>“If he should accept this offer?”</p> + +<p>“But he won’t.”</p> + +<p>“If he <i>should</i>;” persisted the Chief.</p> + +<p>“If such a thing were possible,—if, without a friendly +consultation, and a fair and square send off, he should take +up the cudgel against me, then—”</p> + +<p>“Then, Dick?”</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope’s eyes flashed, and his mouth set itself +in firm lines.</p> + +<p>“<i>Then</i>,” he said, “I would measure my strength against +his as a detective; but always as a friend, and never to his +injury!”</p> + +<p>“And, Dick, if, in the thick of the strife, Van forgets his +friendship for you and becomes your enemy?”</p> + +<p>“Then, as I am only human, I should be his enemy too. +But that will not happen.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not; I hope not, my boy. But—Van Vernet +has already accepted the stranger’s proposition.”</p> + +<p>Stanhope leaped to his feet.</p> + +<p>“What!” he cried, “has Van <i>agreed</i> to work against me—without +a word to me—and so soon!”</p> + +<p>His lips trembled now, and his eyes searched those of +his Chief with the eager, inquiring look of a grieved child.</p> + +<p>“It is as I say, Stanhope.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo10.png" alt="Stanhope hears that Vernet will work against him" width="300" height="441" /> +<p class="caption">“What, has Van <i>agreed</i> to work against me—without a word to me—and +so soon!”—<a href="#Page_50">page 50</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“Then,” and he threw back his head and instantly resumed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +his usual look of careless indifference, “tell your +patron, whoever he may be, that <i>I am his man</i>, for one +year, or for twenty!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>“STANHOPE’S FIRST TRICK.”</h3> + + +<p>Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope had been brother +detectives during the entire term of their professional career.</p> + +<p>Entering the Agency when mere striplings, they had at +once formed a friendship that had been strong and lasting. +Their very differences of disposition and habits made them +the better fellow-workmen, and the <i>role</i> most difficult for +one was sure to be found the easier part for the other to +play.</p> + +<p>They had been a strong combination, and the Chief of +the detectives wasted some time in pondering the question: +what would be the result, when their skill and courage +stood arrayed against each other?</p> + +<p>Meantime, Richard Stanhope, wasting no thought upon +the matter, hastened from the presence of his Chief to his +own quarters.</p> + +<p>“It’s my last night,” he muttered, as he inserted his key +in the lock, “and I’ll just take one more look at the +slums. I don’t want to lose one bird from that flock.”</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, there sallied forth from the door +where Stanhope had entered, a roughly-dressed, swaggering,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +villainous-looking fellow, who bore about with him +the strongly defined odors of tobacco and bad whiskey.</p> + +<p>This individual, armed with a black liquor flask, two revolvers, +a blood-thirsty-looking dirk, a pair of brass knuckles, +and a quantity of plug tobacco, took his way through the +streets, avoiding the more popular and respectable thoroughfares, +and gradually approaching that portion of the city almost +entirely given over to the worst of the bad,—a network of +short streets and narrow alleys, as intricate as the maze, and +as dangerous to the unwary as an African jungle.</p> + +<p>But the man who now entered these dismal streets walked +with the manner of one familiar with their sights and sounds. +Moving along with an air of stolid indifference to what was +before and about him, he arrived at a rickety building, somewhat +larger than those surrounding it, the entrance to which +was reached by going down, instead of up, a flight of stone +steps. This entrance was feebly illuminated by a lantern hung +against the doorway, and by a few stray gleams of light that +shone out from the rents in the ragged curtains.</p> + +<p>Pushing open the door, our visitor found himself in a large +room with sanded floor, a counter or bar, and five or six tables, +about which a number of men were lounging,—some at cards, +some drinking, and some conversing in the queer jargon called +thieves’ slang, and which is as Greek to the unenlightened.</p> + +<p>The buzz of conversation almost ceased as the door opened, +but was immediately resumed when the new comer came forward +toward the light.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Cull?” called the man behind the bar. +“You’ve been keepin’ scarce of late.”</p> + +<p>The man addressed as “Cull” laughed discordantly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been visitin’ in the country,” he returned, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +knowing wink. “It’s good for my health this time o’ year. +How’s business? You’ve got the hull deck on hand, I should +say.”</p> + +<p>“You better say! Things is boomin’; nearly all of the old +uns are in.”</p> + +<p>“Well, spread out the drinks, Pap, I’m tolerably flush. +Boys, come up, and if I don’t know any of ye we’ll be interduced.”</p> + +<p>Almost instantly a dozen men were flocking about the bar, +some eager to grasp the hand of the liberal last arrival, and +others paying their undivided attention to the bar keeper’s +cheerful command:</p> + +<p>“Nominate yer dose, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>While the party, glasses in hand, were putting themselves +<i>en rapport</i>, the door again opened, and now the hush that fell +upon the assembled “gentlemen” was deeper and more lasting.</p> + +<p>Evidently, the person who entered was a stranger to all in +the Thieves’ Tavern, for such the building was.</p> + +<p>He was a young man, with a countenance half fierce, half +desperate, wholly depraved. He was haggard, dirty, and +ragged, having the look and the gait of a man who has +travelled far and is footsore and weary. As he approached the +group about the bar it was also evident that he was half intoxicated.</p> + +<p>“Good evenin’, sirs,” he said with surly indifference. +Then to the man behind the bar: “Mix us a cocktail, old +Top, and strong.”</p> + +<p>While the bar keeper was deftly shaking up the desired +drink, the men before the counter drew further away from +the stranger, and some of them began a whispered conversation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>The last arrival eyed them with a sneer of contempt, and said +to the bar keeper, as he gulped down his drink: “Your coves +act like scared kites. Probably they ain’t used to good society.”</p> + +<p>“See here, my friend,” spoke a blustering fellow, advancing +toward him, “you made a little mistake. This ’ere ain’t +a tramps’ lodgin’ house.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t it?” queried the stranger; “then what the Moses are +<i>you</i> doin’ here?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll swallow <i>that</i>, my hearty!”</p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>The stranger threw himself into an attitude of defence and +glared defiance at his opponent.</p> + +<p>“Wax him, Charley!”</p> + +<p>“Let’s fire him out!”</p> + +<p>“Hold on gentlemen; fair play!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you one more chance,” said the blusterer. “Ask +my pardon and then mizzle instantly, or I’ll have ye cut up in +sections as sure as my name’s Rummey Joe.”</p> + +<p>The half intoxicated man was no coward. Evidently he +was ripe for a quarrel.</p> + +<p>“I intend to stop here!” he cried, bringing his fist down +upon the counter with a force that made it creak. “I’m goin’ +to stay right here till the old Nick comes to fetch me. And +I’m goin’ ter send your teeth down your big throat in three +minutes.”</p> + +<p>There was a chorus of exclamations, a drawing of weapons, +and a forward rush. Then sudden silence.</p> + +<p>The man who had lately ordered drinks for the crowd, +was standing between the combatants, one hand upon the +breast of the last comer, the other grasping a pistol levelled +just under the nose of Rummey Joe.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>“Drop +yer fist, boy! Put up that knife, Joe! Let’s understand +each other.”</p> + +<p>Then addressing the stranger, but keeping an eye upon +Rummey Joe, he said:</p> + +<p>“See here, my hearty, you don’t quite take in the siteration. +This is a sort of club house, not open to the general public. +If you want to hang out here, you must show your credentials.”</p> + +<p>The stranger hesitated a moment, and then, without so +much as a glance at his antagonist, said:</p> + +<p>“<i>Your</i> racket is fair enough. I know where I am, and +ye’ve all got a right to see my colors. I’ll show ye my +hand, and then”—with a baleful glare at Rummey Joe—“I’ll +settle with <i>that</i> blackguard.”</p> + +<p>Advancing to one of the tables, he deliberately lifted his +foot and, resting it upon the table top, rolled up the leg of his +trousers, and pulled down a dirty stocking over his low shoe.</p> + +<p>“There’s my passport, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>They crowded about him and gazed upon the naked ankle, +that bore the imprint of a broad band, sure indication that the +limb had recently been decorated with a ball and chain.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said the ex-convict, turning fiercely, “I’ll +teach you the kind of a tramp I am, Mr. Rummey Joe!”</p> + +<p>Before a hand or voice could be raised to prevent it, the two +men had grappled, and were struggling fiercely for the mastery.</p> + +<p>“Give them a show, boys!” some one said.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo11.png" alt="Showing the mark of the ball and chain" width="300" height="432" /> +<p class="caption">“There’s my passport, gentlemen.”—<a href="#Page_56">page 56</a>.</p></div> + +<p>The crowd drew back and watched the combat; watched +with unconcern until they saw their comrade, Rummey Joe, +weakening in the grasp of his antagonist; until knives flashed +in the hand of each, and fierce blows were struck on both sides.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +Then, when Rummey Joe, uttering a shriek of pain, went down +underneath the knife of the victor, there was a roar and a +rush, and the man who had conquered their favorite was +borne down by half a dozen strong arms, menaced by as many +sharp, glittering knives.</p> + +<p>But again the scene shifted.</p> + +<p>An agile form was bounding about among them; blows fell +swift as rain; there was a lull in the combat, and when the +wildly struggling figures, some scattered upon the floor, some +thrown back upon each other, recovered from their consternation, +they saw that the convict had struggled up upon one +elbow, while, directly astride of his prostrate body, stood the +man who had asked for his credentials, fierce contempt in his +face, and, in either hand, a heavy six shooter.</p> + +<p>“Don’t pull, boys, I’ve got the drop on ye! Cowards, to +tackle a single man, six of ye!”</p> + +<p>“By Heavens, he’s killed Rummey!”</p> + +<p>“No matter; it was a fair fight, and Rummey at the bottom +of the blame.”</p> + +<p>“All the same he’ll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell +it! Stand off, Cully Devens!”</p> + +<p>“<i>No, sir!</i> I am going to take this wounded man out of +this without another scratch, if I have to send every mother’s +son of you to perdition.”</p> + +<p>His voice rang out clear and commanding. In the might +of his wrath, he had forgotten the language of Cully Devens +and spoken as a man to cowards.</p> + +<p>The effect was electrical.</p> + +<p>From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, +crying:</p> + +<p>“Boys, here’s a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, +that has played yerself fer Cully Devens?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo12.png" alt="Cully a.k.a. Stanhope wins the fight" width="300" height="434" /> +<p class="caption">“Don’t pull, boys, I’ve got the drop +on ye!”—<a href="#Page_58">page 58</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>The lithe body bent slightly forward, a low laugh crossed the +lips of the bogus Cully, the brown eyes lighted up, and flashed +in the eyes of the men arrayed against him. Then came the +answer, coolly, as if the announcement were scarcely worth +making:</p> + +<p>“Richard Stanhope is my name, and I’ve got a trump here +for every trick you can show me. Step up, boys, don’t be +bashful!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>STANHOPE’S HUMANITY.</h3> + + +<p>“Richard Stanhope is my name, and I’ve got a trump here +for every trick you can show me. Step up, boys, don’t be bashful!”</p> + +<p>Momentous silence followed this announcement, while the +<i>habitues</i> of the Thieves’ Tavern glanced into each others’ +faces in consternation.</p> + +<p>An ordinary meddler, however much his courage and skill, +would have met with summary chastisement; but <i>Dick Stanhope!</i></p> + +<p>Not a man among them but knew the result of an attack +upon him. Bullets swift and sure, in the brains or hearts of +some; certain vengeance, sooner or later, upon all.</p> + +<p>To avoid, on all possible occasions, an open encounter with +an officer of the law, is the natural instinct of the crook. +Besides, Stanhope was never off his guard; his presence, alone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +among them, was sure indication that <i>they</i> were in more danger +than he.</p> + +<p>So reasoned the astonished scoundrels, instantly, instinctively.</p> + +<p>“Look here, boys,” Stanhope’s cool voice broke in upon their +silence; “I’m here on a little private business which need not +concern you, unless you make me trouble. This man,” nodding +down at the prostrate ex-convict, “is my game. I’m going +to take him out of this, and if you raise a hand to prevent +it, or take a step to follow me, you’ll find yourselves detained +for a long stretch.”</p> + +<p>He threw back his head and gave a long, low whistle.</p> + +<p>“Hear that, my good sirs. That’s a note of preparation. +One more such will bring you into close quarters. If you are +not back at those tables, every man of you, inside of two minutes, +I’ll give the second call.”</p> + +<p>Some moved with agility, some reluctantly, some sullenly; +but they all obeyed him.</p> + +<p>“Now, Pap, come out and help me lift this fellow. Are +you badly hurt, my man?”</p> + +<p>The wounded man groaned and permitted them to lift him +to his feet.</p> + +<p>“He can walk, I think,” went on Stanhope, in a brisk, +business-like way. “Lean on me, my lad.” Then, turning +to the bar keeper and thrusting some money into his hand: +“Give these fellows another round of drinks, Pap. Boys, enjoy +yourselves; ta-ta.”</p> + +<p>And without once glancing back at them he half led, half +supported, the wounded man out from the bar-room, up the +dirty stone steps, and into the dirtier street.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” said the bar keeper as he distributed the drinks at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +Stanhope’s expense, “you done a sensible thing when you let +up on Dick Stanhope. He’s got the alley lined with peelers and +don’t you forget it.”</p> + +<p>For a little way Stanhope led his man in silence. Then +the rescued ex-convict made a sudden convulsive movement, +gathered himself for a mighty effort, broke from the supporting +grasp of the detective, and fled away down the dark street.</p> + +<p>Down one block and half across the next he ran manfully. +Then he reeled, staggered wildly from side to side, threw up +his arms, and fell heavily upon his face.</p> + +<p>“I knew you’d bring yourself down,” said Stanhope, coming +up behind him. “You should not treat a man as an +enemy, sir, until he’s proven himself such.”</p> + +<p>He lifted the prostrate man, turning him easily, and rested +the fallen head upon his knee.</p> + +<p>“Can you swallow a little?” pressing a flask of brandy to +the lips of the ex-convict.</p> + +<p>The man gasped and feebly swallowed a little of the liquor.</p> + +<p>“There,” laying down the flask, “are your wounds bleeding?”</p> + +<p>The wounded man groaned, and then whispered feebly:</p> + +<p>“I’m done for—I think—are you—an officer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Af—after me?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Do—do you—know—”</p> + +<p>“Do I know who you are? Not exactly, but I take you +to be one of the convicts who broke jail last week.”</p> + +<p>The man made a convulsive movement, and then, battling for +breath as he spoke, wailed out:</p> + +<p>“Listen—you want to take me back to prison—there is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +reward—of course. If you only knew—when I was a boy—on +the western prairies—free, free. Then here in the city—driven +to beg—to steal to—. Oh! <i>don’t</i> take me back to die in +prison! You don’t know the horror of it!”</p> + +<p>A look of pitying tenderness lighted the face bent above the +dying man.</p> + +<p>“Poor fellow!” said Stanhope softly. “I am an officer of +the law, but I am also human. If you recover, I must do my +duty: if you must die, you shall not die in prison.”</p> + +<p>“I shall die,” said the man, in a hoarse whisper; “I know +I shall die—die.”</p> + +<p>His head pressed more heavily against Stanhope’s knee; he +seemed a heavier weight upon his arm. Bending still lower, +the detective listened for his breathing, passed his hand over +the limp fingers and clammy face. Then he gathered the +form, that was more than his own weight, in his muscular +arms, and bore it away through the darkness, muttering, as he +went:</p> + +<p>“That <i>was</i> a splendid stand-off! What would those fellows +say, if they knew that Dick Stanhope, single-handed and alone, +had walked their alleys in safety, and bluffed their entire gang!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW A MASQUERADE BEGAN.</h3> + + +<p>A crush of carriages about a stately doorway; a flitting of +gorgeous, mysterious, grotesque and dainty figures through the +broad, open portal; a glow of lights; a gleaming of vivid +color; a glory of rich blossoms; a crash of music; a bubble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +of joyous voices; beauty, hilarity, luxury everywhere.</p> + +<p>It is the night of the great Warburton masquerade, the +event of events in the social world. Archibald Warburton, +the invalid millionaire, has opened his splendid doors, for the +pleasure of his young and lovely wife, to receive the friendly +five hundred who adore her, and have crowned her queen of +society.</p> + +<p>He will neither receive, nor mingle with his wife’s guests; +he is too much an invalid, too confirmed a recluse for that. +But his brother, Alan Warburton, younger by ten years, handsomer +by all that constitutes manly beauty, will play the host +in his stead—and do it royally, too, for Alan is a man of the +world, a man of society, a refined, talented, aristocratic young +man of leisure. Quite a Lion as well, for he has but recently +returned from an extended European tour and is the “newest +man” in town. And society dearly loves that which is new, +especially when, with the newness, there is combined manly +beauty—and wealth.</p> + +<p>With such a host as handsome Alan Warburton, such a +hostess as his brother’s beautiful wife, and such an assistant as +her sparkling, piquant little companion, Winnifred French, +who could predict for this masquerade anything but the most +joyous ending, the most pronounced success? Ah! our social +riddles are hard to read.</p> + +<p>Into this scene of revelry, while it is yet early, before the +music has reached its wildest strains, and the dancing its giddiest +whirl, comes a smart servant girl, leading by the hand +a child of four or five summers, a dainty fair-haired creature. +In her fairy costume of white satin with its silvery frost work +and gleaming pearls; with her gossamer wings and glittering +aureole of spun gold; her dainty wand and childish grace,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +she is the loveliest sight in the midst of all that loveliness, for +no disfiguring mask hides the beautiful, eager face that gazes +down the long vista of decorated drawing rooms, library, +music room, boudoir, in wondering, half frightened expectation.</p> + +<p>“They’re beginning to dance down there,” says the maid, +drawing the child toward a lofty archway, through which +they can watch the swiftly whirling figures of the dancers. +“Why, <i>do</i> come along, Miss Daisy; one would think your Pa’s +house was full of bears and wild-cats, to see your actions.”</p> + +<p>But the child draws back and grasps fearfully at the skirts +of her attendant.</p> + +<p>“What makes ’em look so queer, Millie? Isn’t you afraid?”</p> + +<p>“Why no, Miss Daisy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. +See; all these funny-looking people are your papa’s friends, +and your new mamma’s, and your uncle Alan’s. Look, +now,”—drawing the reluctant child forward,—“just look at +them! There goes a—a <i>Turk</i>, I guess, and—”</p> + +<p>“What makes they all have black things on their faces, +Millie?”</p> + +<p>“Why, child, that’s the fun of it all. If it wasn’t for them +masks everybody would know everybody else, and there +wouldn’t be no masquerade.”</p> + +<p>“No what?”</p> + +<p>“No <i>masquerade</i>, child. Now look at that; there goes a +pope, or a cardinal; and there, oh my! that must be a Gipsy—or +an Injun.”</p> + +<p>“A Gipsy or an Indian; well done, Millie, ha ha ha!”</p> + +<p>At the sound of these words they turn swiftly. A tall +masker, in a black and scarlet domino, is standing just behind +them, and little Daisy utters one frightened cry and +buries her face in Millie’s drapery.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>“Why, +Daisy;” laughs the masker; “little Daisy, are you +frightened? Come, this will never do.”</p> + +<p>With a quick gesture he flings off the domino and removes +the mask from his face, thus revealing a picturesque sailor’s +costume, and a handsome face that bears, upon one cheek, the +representation of a tattooed anchor.</p> + +<p>While he is thus transforming himself, the outer door opens +and admits a figure clad in soft flowing robes of scarlet and +blue and white, with a mantle of stars about the stately shoulders, +and the cap of Liberty upon the well-poised head. The +entrance of the Goddess of Liberty is unnoticed by the group +about the archway, and, after a swift glance at them, that august +lady glides behind a screen which stands invitingly near the +door, and, sinking upon a divan in the corner, seems intent +upon the classic arrangement of her white and crimson +draperies.</p> + +<p>“Now look,” says Alan Warburton, flinging the discarded +domino upon a chair; “look, Daisy, darling. Why, pet, you +were afraid of your own uncle Alan.”</p> + +<p>The little one peers at him from behind Millie’s skirts and +then comes slowly forward.</p> + +<p>“Why, uncle Alan, how funny you look, and—your face +is dirty!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Daisy,” taking her up in his arms and smiling into her +eyes; “you are a sadly uncultivated young person. My face +is tattooed, for ‘I’m a sailor bold.’”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo13.png" alt="Group at the masquerade" width="450" height="259" /> +<p class="caption">“See all those funny-looking people are your papa’s friends.”—<a +href="#Page_65">page 65</a></p></div> + +<p>While uncle and niece are thus engaged in playful talk, and +Millie is intently watching the dancers, they are again approached; +this time by two ladies,—one in the flowing, glittering, +gorgeous robes of Sunlight, the other in a dainty Carmen +costume of scarlet and black and gold. Both ladies are masked,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +and, as they enter from an alcove in the rear of the room, they, +too, approach unperceived. Seeing the group about the archway, +one of them makes a signal of silence. They stop, and +standing close together, wait.</p> + +<p>“It just occurs to me, Millie,” says Alan Warburton, turning +suddenly to the maid; “it just occurs to me to inquire how +you came in charge of Miss Daisy here. Where is Miss Daisy’s +maid?”</p> + +<p>The girl throws back her head, with a gesture that causes +every ribbon upon her cap to flutter, as she replies, with a +look of defiance and an indignant sniff:</p> + +<p>“<i>Mrs</i>. Warburton put Miss Daisy in my care, sir, and I +don’t know <i>where</i> Miss Daisy’s maid may be.”</p> + +<p>“Umph! well it seems to me that—” He stops and looks at +the child.</p> + +<p>“That I ain’t the properest person to look after Miss Daisy, +I ’spose you mean—”</p> + +<p>“Millie, you are growing impertinent.”</p> + +<p>“Because I’m a poor girl that the <i>mistress</i> of this house +took in out of kindness—”</p> + +<p>“Millie; <i>will</i> you stop!” and he puts little Daisy down +with a gesture of impatience.</p> + +<p>“I’m trying to do my duty,” goes on the irate damsel; +“and Mrs. Warburton, <i>my</i> mistress, has given me my orders, +sir, <i>consequently</i>—”</p> + +<p>“Oh! if Mrs. Warburton has issued such judicious orders,” +and he takes up his mask and domino, “I retire +from the field.”</p> + +<p>“It’s time to stop them, Winnie,” says the lady in the +garments of Sunlight, taking off her mask hastily. “Alan +never could get on with a raw servant. I see war in Millie’s +eyes.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>Then she comes forward, mask in hand, and followed by +the laughing Carmen.</p> + +<p>“Alan, you are in difficulty, I see,” laughing, in spite of +her attempt at gravity. “Millie, I fear, is not quite up to your +standard of silent perfection.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask, Mrs. Warburton, if she is your ideal of a +companion for this child?”</p> + +<p>The tone is faintly tinged with scorn and sternness, and +Leslie Warburton’s eyes cease to smile as she replies, with +dignity:</p> + +<p>“She is my servant, Mr. Warburton. We will not discuss +her merits in her presence. I will relieve you of any further +trouble on her account.”</p> + +<p>“Where, may I ask, is Daisy’s own maid?”</p> + +<p>“In her room, with a headache that unfits her for duty. +Come here, Daisy.”</p> + +<p>Up to this moment Alan Warburton has kept the hand of +the child clasped in his own. He now releases it with evident +reluctance, and the little fairy bounds toward her stepmother.</p> + +<p>“Mamma, how lovely you look!” reaching up her arms to +caress the head that bends toward her. “Mamma, take me +with you where the music is.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been to Papa’s room, Daisy? You know we +must not let him feel lonely to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Exceeding thoughtfulness,” mutters Alan Warburton to +himself, as he turns to resume his domino. Then aloud, to his +sister-in-law, he says:</p> + +<p>“I have just visited my brother’s room, Mrs. Warburton; +he wished to see you for a moment, I believe. Daisy, will you +come with me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>He extends his hand to the child, who gives a willful toss +of the head as she replies, clinging closer to her stepmother +the while:</p> + +<p>“No; I going to stay with my new mamma.”</p> + +<p>As Alan Warburton turns away, with a shade of annoyance +upon his face, he meets the mirthful eyes of Carmen, and is +greeted by a saucy sally.</p> + +<p>“What a bear you can be, Alan, when you try your hand +at domestic discipline. Put on your domino and your dignity +once more. You look like a school boy who has just been +whipped.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Winnie,” he says seriously, coming close to her side +and seeking to look into the blue, mocking eyes, “no need for +me to see <i>your</i> face, your sweet voice and your saucy words +both betray you.”</p> + +<p>“Just as your bad temper has betrayed you! It’s a pity +you can’t appreciate Millie, sir; but then your sense of the +ridiculous is shockingly deficient. There goes a waltz,” starting +forward hastily.</p> + +<p>“It’s my waltz; wait, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>But the laughing girl is half way down the long drawing-room, +and he hurries after, replacing his mask and pulling on +his domino as he goes.</p> + +<p>Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws +the child again toward her and says:</p> + +<p>“You may wait here, Millie; I will take care of Daisy for +a short time. And, Millie, remember in future when Mr. +Warburton addresses you, that you are to answer him respectfully. +Come, darling.”</p> + +<p>She turns toward the entrance, the child’s hand clasped +tightly in her own, and there, directly before her, stands a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +figure which she has longed, yet dreaded, to meet—the Goddess +of Liberty.</p> + +<p>With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, +Leslie Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns +to Millie.</p> + +<p>“Millie, on second thought, you may take Daisy to her +papa’s room, and tell him I will be there soon. Daisy, darling, +go with Millie.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mamma,—”</p> + +<p>“There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come.”</p> + +<p>With many a reluctant, backward glance, Daisy suffers herself +to be led away, and then the Goddess of Liberty advances +and bows before the lady of the mansion.</p> + +<p>“I am not mistaken,” whispers that lady, glancing about +her as if fearing an eavesdropper; “you are—”</p> + +<p>“First,” interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry +mask, “are <i>you</i> Mrs. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am Richard Stanhope.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>VERNET “CALLS A TURN.”</h3> + + +<p>Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she +concealed was engraven upon the memory of her <i>vis-a-vis</i>.</p> + +<p>A pure pale face, with a firm chin; a rare red mouth, proud +yet sensitive; a pair of brown tender eyes, with a touch of +sadness in their depths; and a broad low brow, over which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +clustered thick waves of sunny auburn. She is slender and +graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with inherent self-poise +in gait and manner.</p> + +<p>She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing +still nearer the disguised detective:</p> + +<p>“I have been looking for you, Mr. Stanhope, and we have +met at a fortunate moment. Nearly all the guests have arrived, +and everybody is dancing; we may hope for a few undisturbed +moments now. You—you have no reason for thinking +yourself watched, or your identity suspected, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“None whatever, madam. Have <i>you</i> any fears of that +sort?”</p> + +<p>“No; none that are well grounded; I dislike secrecy, and +the necessity for it; I suppose I am nervous. Mr. Stanhope,” +with sudden appeal in her voice, “how much do you know +concerning me, and my present business with you?”</p> + +<p>“Very little. During my drive hither with Mr. Follingsbee, +he told me something like this: He esteemed you very +highly; he had known you for years; you desired the services +of a detective; he had named me as available, and been authorized +by you to secure my services. He said that he knew +very little concerning the nature of your business with me, +but believed that all that you did would be done wisely, discreetly, +and from the best of motives. He pointed you out to +me when we entered the house. That is all, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Mr. Follingsbee is, or was, the tried friend, +as well as legal adviser, of my adopted father, Thomas Uliman, +and I know him to be trustworthy. When he spoke of you, +Mr. Stanhope, he knew that I desired, not only a skillful +detective, but a true-hearted man; one who would hold a +promise sacred, who would go no further than is required in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +the matter in hand, and who would respect an unhappy woman’s +secret—should it become known to him.”</p> + +<p>Her voice died in her throat, and Stanhope rustled his garments +uneasily. Then she rallied and went on bravely:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee assured me that you were all I could desire.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee does me an honor which I appreciate.”</p> + +<p>“And so, Mr. Stanhope, I am about to trust you. Let us +sit here, where we shall be unobserved, and tolerably secure from +interruption.”</p> + +<p>She turns toward the divan behind the screen and seats herself +thereon, brushing aside her glittering drapery to afford the +disguised detective a place beside her.</p> + +<p>He hesitates a moment, then takes the proffered seat and +says, almost brusquely:</p> + +<p>“Madam, give me my instructions as rapidly as possible; +the very walls have eyes sometimes, and—I must be away +from here before midnight.”</p> + +<p>“My instructions will be brief. I will state my case, and +then answer any questions you find it necessary to ask.”</p> + +<p>“I shall ask no needless questions, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Then listen.” She nerves herself for a brave effort, and +hurries on, her voice somewhat agitated in spite of herself. +“For three months past I have been conscious that I am +watched, followed, spied upon. I have been much annoyed +by this <i>espionage</i>. I never drive or walk alone, without feeling +that my shadow is not far away. I begin to fear to trust +my servants, and to realize that I have an enemy. Mr. Stanhope, +I want you to find out who my enemy is.”</p> + +<p>Behind his starry mask, her listener smiled at this woman-like +statement of the case. Then he said, tersely:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>“You say that you are being spied upon. How do you +know this?”</p> + +<p>“At first by intuition, I think; a certain vague, uneasy consciousness +of a strange, inharmonious presence near me. Being +thus put on my guard and roused to watchfulness, I have contrived +to see, on various occasions, the same figure dogging my +steps.”</p> + +<p>“Um! Did you know this figure?”</p> + +<p>“No; it was strange to me, but always the same.”</p> + +<p>“Then your spy is a blunderer. Let us try and sift this +matter: A lady may be shadowed for numerous reasons; do +you know why you are watched?”</p> + +<p>“N—no,” hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“So,” thought the detective, “she is not quite frank, with +me.” Then aloud: “Do you suspect any one?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Madam, I must ask some personal questions. Please answer +them frankly and truly, or not at all, and be sure that +every question is necessary, every answer important.”</p> + +<p>The lady bows her head, and he proceeds:</p> + +<p>“First, then, have you a secret?”</p> + +<p>She starts, turns her head away, and is silent.</p> + +<p>The detective notes the movement, smiles again, and goes +on:</p> + +<p>“Let us advance a step; you <i>have</i> a secret.”</p> + +<p>“Why—do you—say that?”</p> + +<p>“Because you have yourself told me as much. We never +feel that uneasy sense of <i>espionage</i>, so well described by you, +madam, until we have something to conceal—the man who +carries no purse, fears no robber. You have a secret. This +has made you watchful, and, being watchful, you discover<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +that you have—what? An enemy, or only a tormentor?”</p> + +<p>“Both, perhaps,” she says sadly.</p> + +<p>“My task, then, is to find this enemy. Mrs. Warburton, +I shall not touch your secret; at the same time I warn you in +this search it is likely to discover itself to me without my seeking. +Rest assured that I shall respect it. First, then, you have +a secret. Second, you have an enemy. Mrs. Warburton, I +should ask fewer questions if I could see your face.”</p> + +<p>Springing up suddenly, she tears off her mask, and standing +before him says with proud fierceness:</p> + +<p>“And why may you not see my face! There is no shame +for my mask to conceal! I <i>have</i> a secret, true; but it is not +of <i>my</i> making. It has been forced upon me. I am not an +<i>intriguante</i>: I am a persecuted woman. I am not seeking +it to conceal wrong doing, but to protect myself from those +that wrong me.”</p> + +<p>The words that begin so proudly, end in a sob, and, covering +her face with her white, jeweled hands, Leslie Warburton +turns and rests her head against the screen beside her.</p> + +<p>Then impulsive, unconventional Dick Stanhope springs up, +and, as if he were administering comfort to a sorrowing child, +takes the two hands away from the tear-wet face, and holding +them fast in his own, looks straight down into the brown +eyes as he says:</p> + +<p>“Dear lady, trust me! Even as I believe you, believe <i>me</i>, when +I say that your confidence shall not be violated. Your secret +shall be safe; shall remain yours. Your enemy shall become +mine. If you cannot trust me, I cannot help you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I do trust you, Mr. Stanhope; I <i>must</i>. Ask of me +nothing, for I can tell you no more. To send for you was +unwise, perhaps, but I have been so tormented by this spy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +upon my movements ... and I cannot fight in the dark. It +was imprudent to bring you here to-night, but I dared not +meet you elsewhere.”</p> + +<p>There is a lull in the music and a hum of approaching +voices. She hastily resumes her mask, and Stanhope says:</p> + +<p>“We had better separate now, madam. Trust your case +to me. I cannot remain here much longer, otherwise I might +find a clue to-night,—important business calls me. After to-night +my time is all yours, and be sure I shall find out your +enemy.”</p> + +<p>People are flocking in from the dancing-room. With a +gesture of farewell, “Sunlight” flits out through the door just +beside the screen, and a moment later, the Goddess of Liberty +is sailing through the long drawing-rooms on the arm of a +personage in the guise of Uncle Sam.</p> + +<p>“What success, my friend?”</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” replies the Goddess of Liberty; “I have +seen the lady.”</p> + +<p>A moment more and her satin skirts trail across the toes of +a tall fellow in the dress of a British officer, who is leaning +against a vine-wreathed pillar, intently watching the crowd +through his yellow mask. At sight of the Goddess of Liberty, +he starts forward and a sharp exclamation crosses his lips.</p> + +<p>“Shades of Moses,” he mutters to himself, “I can’t be mistaken; +that <i>is</i> Dick Stanhope’s Vienna costume! Is that +Dick inside it? It is! it must be! What is he doing? On +a lay, or on a lark? Dick Stanhope is not given to this sort +of frolic; I must find out what it means!”</p> + +<p>And Van Vernet leaves his post of observation and follows +slowly, keeping the unconscious Goddess of Liberty always in +sight.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo14.png" alt="Stanhope as the Goddess of Liberty +talks with Mrs. Warburton" width="300" height="442" /> +<p class="caption">“Dear lady, trust me! Your secret shall be safe; your enemy shall +become mine!”—<a href="#Page_75">page 75</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>Passing through a net-work of vines, the British officer +comes upon two people in earnest conversation. The one +wears a scarlet and black domino, the other a coquettish +Carmen costume.</p> + +<p>“That black and red domino is my patron,” mutters the +officer as he glides by unnoticed. “He does not see me and I +do not wish to see <i>him</i> just at present.” A few steps farther +and the British officer comes to a sudden halt.</p> + +<p>“By Heavens!” he ejaculates, half aloud; “what a chance I +see before me! It would be worth something to know what +brought Dick Stanhope here to-night; it would be worth yet +more to <i>keep</i> him here <i>until after midnight</i>. If I had an accomplice +to detain <i>him</i> while I, myself, appear at the Agency in +time, then the C—— street Raid would move without him, the +lead would be given to <i>me</i>. It’s worth trying for. It <i>shall</i> +be done, and my patron in black and red shall help me.”</p> + +<p>He turns, and only looks back to mutter:</p> + +<p>“Go on, Dick Stanhope; this night shall begin the trial +that, when ended, shall decide which of the two is the better +man!”</p> + +<p>And the British officer hurries straight on until he stands +beside the black and scarlet domino.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>“A FALSE MOVE IN THE GAME.”</h3> + + +<p>Pretty, piquant Winnifred French was the staunch friend +of Leslie Warburton.</p> + +<p>When Winnie was the petted only daughter of “French, +the rich merchant,” she and Leslie Uliman had been firm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +friends. When Leslie Uliman, the adopted daughter of the +aristocratic Uliman’s, gave her hand in marriage to Archibald +Warburton, a wealthy invalid and a widower with one child, +Winnie was her first bridesmaid.</p> + +<p>Time had swept away the fortune of French, the merchant, +and death had robbed Leslie of her adopted parents, and then +Winnifred French gladly accepted the position of salaried companion +to her dearest friend.</p> + +<p>Not long after, Alan Warburton had returned from abroad, +and then had begun a queer complication.</p> + +<p>For some reason known only to himself, Alan Warburton +had chosen to dislike his beautiful sister-in-law, and he had conceived +a violent admiration for Winnie,—an admiration which +might have been returned, perhaps, had Winnie been less +loyal in her friendship for Leslie. But, perceiving Alan’s +dislike for her dearest friend, Winnie lost no opportunity +for annoying him, and lavishing upon him her stinging +sarcasms.</p> + +<p>On her part, Leslie Warburton loved her companion with +a strong sisterly affection. As for her feelings toward Alan +Warburton, it would have been impossible to guess, from her +manner, whether he was to her an object of love, hatred, or +simple indifference.</p> + +<p>When Winnie and Alan turned their backs upon the scene +in the anteroom, and entered the dancing hall, the girl was in +a particularly perverse mood.</p> + +<p>“I shall not dance,” she said petulantly. “It’s too early +and too warm,” and she entered a flowery alcove, and seated +herself upon a couch overhung with vines.</p> + +<p>“May I sit down, Winnie?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>“Just +for a moment’s chat.” And he seated himself as +calmly as if he had received a gracious permission.</p> + +<p>“You are angry with me again, Winnie. Is my sister-in-law +always to come between us?”</p> + +<p>She turned and her blue eyes flashed upon him.</p> + +<p>“Once and for all,” she said sharply, “tell me why you hate +Leslie so?”</p> + +<p>“Tell <i>me</i> why she has poisoned your mind against me?” +he retorted.</p> + +<p>“<i>She!</i> Leslie Warburton! This goes beyond a joke, sir. +Leslie Warburton <i>is</i> what Leslie Uliman was, a <i>lady</i>, in +thought, word, and deed. Oh, I can read you, sir! Her +crime, in your eyes, is that she has married your brother. Is +she not a good and faithful wife; a tender, loving mother to +little Daisy? You have hinted that she does not love her +husband—by what right do you make the assertion? You +believe that she has married for money,—at least these are +<i>fashionable</i> sins! Humph! In all probability I shall marry +for money myself.”</p> + +<p>“Winnifred!”</p> + +<p>“I <i>shall</i>; I am sure of it. It’s an admirable feature of our +best society. If we are heiresses, we are surrounded with +lovers who are fascinated by our bank account. If we are +poor, we are all in search of a bank account; and many of us +have to do some sharp angling.”</p> + +<p>“My sister-in-law angled very successfully.”</p> + +<p>“So she did, if you <i>will</i> put it so. And she did not land +her last chance; she might have married as wealthy a man as +Mr. Warburton, or as handsome a man as his <i>brother</i>. But +then,” with a provoking little gesture of disdain, “Leslie and +I never did admire handsome men.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>There was just a shade of annoyance in the voice that answered +her:</p> + +<p>“Pray go on, Miss French; doubtless yourself and Mrs. +Warburton have other tastes in common.”</p> + +<p>“So we have,” retorted the girl, rising and standing +directly before him, “but I won’t favor you with a list of +them. You don’t like Leslie, and I do; but let me tell you, +Mr. Alan Warburton, if the day ever comes when you +know Leslie Warburton <i>as I know her</i>, you will go down into +the dust, ashamed that you have so misjudged, so wronged, +so slandered one who is as high as the stars above you. And +now I am going to join the dancers; you can come—or +stay.”</p> + +<p>The last words were flung at him over her shoulder, and +before he could rise to follow, she had vanished in the throng +that was surging to and fro without the alcove.</p> + +<p>He starts forward as if about to pursue her, and then sinks +back upon the couch.</p> + +<p>“I won’t be a greater fool than nature made me,” he mutters +in scornful self-contempt. “If I go, she’ll flirt outrageously +under my very nose; if I stay—she’ll flirt all the same, of +course. Ah! if a man would have a foretaste of purgatory +let him live under the same roof with the woman he loves and +the woman he hates!”</p> + +<p>A shadow comes between his vision and the gleam of light +from without, and, lifting his eyes, he encounters two steady +orbs gazing out from behind a yellow mask.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” He half rises again, then sinks back and motions +the mask to the seat beside him.</p> + +<p>“I recognize your costume,” he says, as the British officer +seats himself. “How long since you came?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>“Only a few moments. I have been waiting for your interview +with the lady to end.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” with an air of abstraction; then, recalling himself: +“Do you know the nature of the work required of you?”</p> + +<p>Under his mask, Van Vernet’s face flamed and he bit his +lip with vexation. This man in black and scarlet, this aristocrat, +addressed him, not as one man to another, but loftily as +a king to a subject. But there was no sign of annoyance in +his voice as he replied:</p> + +<p>“Um—I suppose so. Delicate bit of a shadowing, I was +told; no particulars given.”</p> + +<p>“There need be no particulars. I will point you out the +person to be shadowed. I want you to see her, and be yourself +unseen. You are simply to discover,—find out where she +goes, who she sees, what she does. Don’t disturb yourself +about motives; I only want the <i>facts</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” thought Van Vernet; “it’s a <i>she</i>, then.” Aloud, he +said: “You have not given the lady’s name?”</p> + +<p>“You would find it out, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Of course; necessarily.”</p> + +<p>“The lady is my—is Mrs. Warburton, the mistress of the +house.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” thought the detective; “the old Turk wants me to +shadow his wife!”</p> + +<p>By a very natural blunder he had fancied himself in communication +with Archibald, instead of Alan, Warburton.</p> + +<p>“Have you any suspicions? Can you give me any hint +upon which to act?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I might say this much,” ventured Alan, after a moment’s +hesitation: “The lady has made, I believe, a mercenary marriage +and she is hiding something from her husband and +friends.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>“I see,” said Vernet. And then, laughing inwardly, he +thought: “A case of jealousy!”</p> + +<p>In a few words Alan Warburton described to Vernet the +“Sunlight,” costume worn by Leslie, and then they separated, +Vernet going, not in search of “Sunlight,” but of the Goddess +of Liberty.</p> + +<p>What he found was this:</p> + +<p>In the almost deserted music room stood the Goddess of +Liberty, gazing down into the face of a woman in the robes of +Sunlight, and both of them engaged in earnest conversation.</p> + +<p>He watched them until he saw the Goddess lift the hand of +Sunlight with a gesture of graceful reverence, bow over it, and +turn away. Then he went back to the place where he had left +his patron. He found the object of his quest still seated in +the alcove, alone and absorbed in thought.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon for intruding upon your solitude,” +began the detective hastily, at the same time seating himself +close beside Alan; “but there is a <i>lady</i> here whose conduct is, +to say the least, mysterious. As a detective, it becomes my +duty to look after her a little, to see that she does not leave +this house <i>until I can follow her</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” with marked indifference in his tone.</p> + +<p>“If she could be detained,” went on Vernet, “by—say, by +keeping some one constantly beside her, so that she cannot +leave the house without being observed—”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton threw back his head.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” he said, “but I object to thus persecuting a +lady, and a guest.”</p> + +<p>“But if I tell you that this <i>lady</i> is a man in silken petticoats?”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>“And that he seems on very free and friendly terms with +<i>your wife</i>.”</p> + +<p>“With my wi—”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton stopped short and looked sharply at the +eyes gazing out from behind the yellow mask.</p> + +<p>Did this detective think himself conversing with Archibald? +If so—well, what then? He shrank from anything +like familiarity with this man before him. Why not leave +the mistake as it stood? There could be no harm in it, and he, +Alan, would thus be free from future annoyance.</p> + +<p>“I will not remove my mask,” thought Alan. “He is not +likely to see Archibald, and no harm can come of it. In fact +it will be better so. It would seem more natural for him to +be investigating his wife’s secrets than for <i>me</i>.”</p> + +<p>So the mistake was not corrected—the mistake that was almost +providential for Alan Warburton, but that proved a +very false move in the game that Van Vernet was about to +play.</p> + +<p>There was but one flaw in the plan of the proposed incognito.</p> + +<p>Alan’s voice was a peculiarly mellow tenor, and Van Vernet +never forgot a voice once heard.</p> + +<p>“Did you say that this disguised person knows—Mrs. +Warburton?”</p> + +<p>“I did.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the fellow, and what disguise does he wear?”</p> + +<p>“I am unable to give his name. He is costumed as the +Goddess of Liberty.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet had his own reasons for withholding Richard +Stanhope’s name.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>“So!” +he thought, while he waited for Alan’s next words. +“I’ll spoil your plans for this night, Dick Stanhope! I +wonder how our Chief will like to hear that ‘Stanhope the reliable,’ +neglects his duty to go masquerading in petticoats, the +better to make love to another man’s wife.”</p> + +<p>For Van Vernet, judging Stanhope as a man of the world +judges men, had leaped to the hasty, but natural, conclusion, +that his masquerade in the garb of the mother of his country, +was in the character of a lover.</p> + +<p>“Vernet,” said Alan at last, “you are a clever fellow! Let +me see; there are half a dozen young men here who are ripe +for novelty—set the whisper afloat that behind that blue and +white mask is concealed a beautiful and mysterious intruder, +and they will hang like leeches about her, hoping to discover +her identity, or see her unmask.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a capital plan!” cried Vernet, “and it can’t be put +into execution too soon.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>“I AM YOUR SHADOW.”</h3> + + +<p>It is not a pleasing task to Alan Warburton, but, spurred +on by Vernet, and acting according to his suggestions, it is +undertaken and accomplished. Within twenty minutes, two +gay, fun-loving young fellows, one habited in the garb of a +Celestial, the other dressed as a Troubador, are hastening from +room to room in search of the mysterious Goddess of Liberty.</p> + +<p>“Who was the Mask that posted us about this mysterious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +lady?” queries the Celestial, as he lifts a <i>portierie</i> for his comrade +to pass.</p> + +<p>“If I am not mistaken, it was Warburton.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that a queer move for His Dignity?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know. Presuming the fair Mystery to be +an intruder, he may think it the easiest way of putting her to +rout. At any rate there’s a little spice in it.”</p> + +<p>And there is spice in it. Before the evening closes, the +festive Celestial is willing to vote this meeting with a veiled +mystery an occasion full of flavor, and worthy to be remembered.</p> + +<p>Leaving the pair in full chase after the luckless, petticoat-encumbered +Stanhope, we follow Van Vernet, who, having +set this trap for the feet of his unconscious comrade, is about +to play his next card.</p> + +<p>Gliding among the maskers, he makes his way to a side entrance, +and passing the liveried servant on guard at the door +with a careless jest, he leaves the house, and hastens where, a +few rods distant, a solitary figure is standing.</p> + +<p>“How long have you been here, Harvey?” he asks hurriedly, +but with noticeable affability.</p> + +<p>“About half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“Good; now listen, for you are to begin your business. +Throw on that domino and follow me; the servants have +seen me in conversation with the master of the house and they +will not require your credentials. Keep near me, and follow me +to the dressing-rooms; by-and-by we will exchange costumes +there, after which, you will personate me.”</p> + +<p>“But,—”</p> + +<p>“There will be no trouble; just mingle with the throng, +saying nothing to anyone. No one will address you who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +could doubt your identity; I will arrange all that. You +comprehend?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. You are wanted, or you want to be, in two +places at once. This being the least important, you place me +here as figure-head, while you fill the bill at the other place.”</p> + +<p>“You have grasped the situation, Harvey. Let us go +in, and be sure you do justice, in my stead, to the banquet—and +the Warburton champagne.”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet had planned well. Knowing the importance +of the Raid in hand for that night, he had determined to be +present and share with Stanhope the honors of the occasion, +while he seemed to be devoting all his energies to the solution +of the mystery that was evidently troubling his wealthy patron, +the master of Warburton Place.</p> + +<p>Vernet was a man of many resources, and trying, indeed, +must be the situation which his fertile brain could not master.</p> + +<p>Having successfully introduced his double into the house, +he made his way, once more, to the side of his patron, and, +drawing him away from the vicinity of possible listeners, said:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warburton, if you have anything further to say to +me, please make use of the present moment. After this it will +be best for us to hold no further conversation to-night.”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton turned his eyes toward the detective with +a cold, scrutinizing stare.</p> + +<p>“Why such caution?”</p> + +<p>“Because it seems to me necessary; and, if I may be permitted +to suggest, you may make some slight discoveries by +keeping an eye, more or less, upon Mrs. Warburton.”</p> + +<p>With these words Van Vernet turns upon his heel, and +strides away with the air of a man who can do all that he +essays.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>“He is cool to the verge of impudence!” mutters Alan, as +he gazes after the receding figure in the British uniform. “But +I will act upon his advice; I <i>will</i> watch Mrs. Warburton.”</p> + +<p>It is some moments before he catches sight of her glimmering +robes, and then he sees them receding, gliding swiftly, and, +as he thinks, with a nervous, hurried movement unusual to +his stately sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>She is going through the drawing-room, away from the +dancers, and he hastens after, wondering a little as to her +destination.</p> + +<p>From a flower-adorned recess, a fairy form springs out, +interrupting the lady in the glimmering robes.</p> + +<p>“Mamma!” cries little Daisy, “oh Mamma, I have found +Mother Goose—<i>real, live</i> Mother Goose!”</p> + +<p>And she points with childish delight to a quaintly dressed +personation of that old woman of nursery fame, who sits within +the alcove, leaning upon her oaken staff, and peering out from +beneath the broad frill of her cap, her gaze eagerly following +the movements of the animated child.</p> + +<p>“Oh Mamma!” continues the little one, “can’t I stay with +Mother Goose? Millie says I must go to bed.”</p> + +<p>At another time Leslie Warburton would have listened +more attentively, have answered more thoughtfully, and have +noted more closely the manner of guest that was thus absorbing +the attention of the little one. Now she only says +hurriedly:</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Daisy; you may stay a little longer,—only,” +with a hasty glance toward the alcove, “you must not trouble +the lady too much.”</p> + +<p>“The lady wants me, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“Then go, dear.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>And Leslie gathers up her glimmering train and hastens on +without once glancing backward.</p> + +<p>Pausing a few paces behind her, Alan Warburton has noted +each word that has passed between the lady and the child. +And now, as the little one bounds back to Mother Goose, who +receives her with evident pleasure, he moves on, still following +Leslie.</p> + +<p>She glides past the dancers, through the drawing rooms, +across the music room, and then, giving a hasty glance at the +few who linger there, she pulls aside a silken curtain, and +looks into the library. The lights are toned to the softness +of moonlight; there is silence there, and solitude.</p> + +<p>With a long, weary sigh, Leslie enters the library and lets +the curtain fall behind her.</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton pauses, hesitates for a moment, and then, +seeing that the little group of maskers near him seem wholly +absorbed in their own merriment, he moves boldly forward, +parts the curtain a little way, and peers within.</p> + +<p>He sees a woman wearing the garments of Sunlight and +the face of despair. She has torn off her mask, and it lies on +the floor at her feet. In her hand is a crumpled scrap of paper, +and, as she holds it nearer the light and reads what is +written thereon, a low moan escapes her lips.</p> + +<p>“Again!” she murmurs; “how can I obey them?—and +yet I <i>must</i> go.” Then, suddenly, a light of fierce resolve +flames in her eyes. “I <i>will</i> go,” she says, speaking aloud in her +self-forgetfulness; “I will go,—but it shall be <i>for the last time!</i>”</p> + +<p>She thrusts the crumpled bit of paper into her bosom, goes +to the window and looks out. Then she crosses to a door opposite +the curtained entrance, opens it softly, and glides away.</p> + +<p>In another moment, Alan Warburton is in the library.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +Tearing off the black and scarlet domino he flings it into a +corner, and, glancing down at his nautical costume mutters:</p> + +<p>“Sailors of this description are not uncommon. Wherever +she goes, I can follow her—in this.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, while Leslie Warburton’s guests are +dancing and making merry, Leslie Warburton, with sombre +garments replacing the robes of Sunlight, glides stealthily +out from her stately home, and creeps like a hunted creature +through the darkness and away!</p> + +<p>But not alone. Silently, with the tread of an Indian, a man +follows after; a man in the garments of a sailor, who pulls +a glazed cap low down across his eyes, and mutters as he +goes:</p> + +<p>“So, Madam Intrigue, Van Vernet advised me well. +Glide on, plotter; from this moment until I shall have unmasked +you, <i>I am your shadow!</i>”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>“DEAR MRS FOLLINGSBEE.”</h3> + + +<p>While the previously related scenes of this fateful night +are transpiring Richard Stanhope finds his silken-trained +disguise a snare in which his own feet become entangled, both +literally and figuratively.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo15.png" alt="Mts. Warburton followed in the +street by a man in sailor garments" width="300" height="432" /> +<p class="caption">“Silently, with the tread of an Indian, a man follows after; a man in +the garments of a sailor.”—<a href="#Page_90">page 90</a>.</p></div> + +<p>Moving with slow and stately steps through the vista of +splendid rooms, taking note of all that he sees from behind +his white and blue mask, he suddenly becomes the object of too +much attention. A dashing Troubador presents himself, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +will not be denied the pleasure of a waltz with “the stately +and graceful Miss Columbia.”</p> + +<p>The detective’s feet are encased in satin shoes that, if not +small, are at least shapely. He has yet nearly an hour to +spare to the masquerade, and his actual business is done. +Why not yield to the temptation? He dances with the grace +and abandon of the true music worshipper; he loves brightness +and gayety, laughter and all sweet sounds; above all, he +takes such delight in a jest as only healthy natures can.</p> + +<p>“It would be a pity to disappoint such a pretty Troubador,” +muses Richard while he seems to hesitate; “he may never +have another opportunity to dance with a lady like me.”</p> + +<p>And then, bowing a stately consent, he moves away on the +arm of the Troubador, who, chuckling at his success, mentally +resolves to make a good impression on this mysterious uninvited +lady.</p> + +<p>Van Vernet’s plot works famously. The Troubador is enchanted +with the dancing of the mysterious Goddess, who looks +at him with the handsomest, most languid and melting of +brown, brown eyes, letting these orbs speak volumes, but saying +never a word. And when his fellow-plotter claims the +next dance, he yields his place reluctantly, and sees the waist +of the Goddess encircled by the arm of the Celestial, with a +sigh of regret.</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope, now fully given over to the spirit of +mischief, leans confidingly upon the arm of this second admirer, +looking unutterable things with his big brown eyes.</p> + +<p>They hover about him after this second dance, and he dances +again with each. If the Troubador is overflowing with flattery, +the Celestial is more obsequious still. Stanhope finds the +moments flying, and the attention of the two gallants cease to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +amuse, and begin to annoy. In vain he tries to shake them +off. If one goes, the other remains.</p> + +<p>After many futile efforts to free himself from his tormentors, +he sees Mr. Follingsbee approach, and beckons him +forward with a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>The two maskers, recognizing Uncle Sam as a fitting companion +for Miss Columbia, reluctantly yield their ground and +withdraw.</p> + +<p>“Have those fellows been pestering you?” queries the +lawyer, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Only as they bade fair to prove a hindrance,” with an answering +chuckle. “They’re such nice little lady killers: but +I must get away from this in a very few minutes. My disguise +has been very successful.”</p> + +<p>“I should think so! Why, my boy, half the people here, +at least those who have recognized me through my costume, +think you are—ha! ha!—my wife!”</p> + +<p>“So much the better.”</p> + +<p>“Why, little Winnie French—she found me out at once—has +been looking all through the card rooms for “Dear Mrs. +Follingsbee.”” And the jolly lawyer laughs anew.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee,”—Stanhope has ceased to jest, and speaks +with his usual business brusqueness—“Mrs. Warburton, I +don’t know for what reason, wished to be informed when I +left the house. Will you tell her I am about to go, and that +I will let her hear from me further through you? I will go +up to the dressing room floor, and wait in the boudoir until +you have seen her.”</p> + +<p>The boudoir opening upon the ladies’ dressing rooms, is untenanted. +But from the inner room, Stanhope catches the hum +of feminine voices, and in a moment a quartette of ladies come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +forth, adjusting their masks as they move toward the stairway.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there is a little exclamation of delight, and our +detective, standing near the open window, with his face +turned from the group, feels himself clasped by a pair of pretty +dimpled arms, while a gay voice says in his ear:</p> + +<p>“Oh! you dear old thing! Have I found you at last? +Follingsbee, you look stunning in that costume. Oh!—” as +Stanhope draws back with a deprecating gesture—“you needn’t +deny your identity: isn’t Mr. Follingsbee here as Uncle Sam? +I found him out at once, and didn’t Leslie and I see you enter +together?”</p> + +<p>Stanhope quakes inwardly, and the perspiration starts out +under his mask. It is very delightful, under most circumstances, +to be embraced by a pair of soft feminine arms, but +just now it is very embarrassing and—very ridiculous.</p> + +<p>Divided between his desire to laugh and his wish to run +away, the detective stands hesitating, while Winnie French, +for she it is, begins a critical examination of his costume.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think the dress muffles your figure a little too +much, Follingsbee? If it were snugger here,”—giving him +a little poke underneath his elbows,—“and not so straight +from the shoulders. Why didn’t you shorten it in front, and +wear pointed shoes?”</p> + +<p>And she seizes the flowing drapery, and draws it back to +illustrate her suggestion.</p> + +<p>Again Stanhope recoils with a gesture which the gay girl +misinterprets, and, quite ignoring the persistent silence of the +supposed Mrs. Follingsbee, she chatters on:</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo16.png" alt="Winnie French thinks Stanhope is Mrs. Follingsbee" width="300" height="436" /> +<p class="caption">“Don’t you think your dress muffles your figure a little too much, +Follingsbee?”—<a href="#Page_94">page 94</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“I hope you don’t resent <i>my</i> criticisms, Follingsbee; you’ve +picked <i>me</i> to pieces often enough. Or are you still vexed because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +I <i>won’t</i> fall in love with your favorite Alan? There, now,”—as +Stanhope, grown desperate, seems about to speak,—“I know +just what you want to say, and you need not say it. Follingsbee,” +lowering her voice to a more confidential tone, “if +I ever <i>had</i> a scrap of a notion of that sort, I have been cured +of it since I came into this house to live. Oh! I know he’s +your prime favorite, but you can’t tell <i>me</i> anything about Alan; +I’ve got him all catalogued on my ten fingers. Here he is +pro and con; pro’s <i>your</i> idea of him, you know. You say he is +rich. Well, that’s something in these days! He’s handsome. +Bah! a man has no business with beauty; it’s woman’s special +prerogative. He came of a splendid blue-blooded family. +Fudge! American aristocracy is American <i>rubbish</i>. He’s +talented. Well, that’s only an accident for which <i>he</i> deserves +no credit. He’s thoroughly upright and honorable. Well, +he’s <i>too</i> bolt upright for me.”</p> + +<p>“So,” murmurs Stanhope to his inner consciousness, “I +am making a point in personal history, but—it’s a tight place +for me!” And as Winnie’s arms give him a little hug, while +she pauses to take breath, he feels tempted to retort in kind.</p> + +<p>“Now, then,” resumes Winnie, absorbed in her topic; and +releasing her victim to check off her “cons” on the pretty +right hand; “here’s <i>my</i> opinion of Mr. Warburton. He’s +<i>proud</i>, ridiculously proud. He worships his <i>name</i>, if not +himself. He is suspicious, uncharitable, unforgiving. He’s +<i>hard-hearted</i>. If Leslie were not an angel she would hate him +utterly. He treats her with a lofty politeness, a polished indifference, +impossible to resent and horrible to endure,—and +all because he chooses to believe that she has tarnished the great +Warburton name, by taking it for love of the Warburton +fortune instead of the race.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>Up from the ball-room floats the first strains of a delicious +waltz. Winnie stops, starts, and turns toward the door.</p> + +<p>“That’s my favorite waltz, and I’m engaged to Charlie +Furbish—he dances like an angel. Follingsbee, bye, bye!”</p> + +<p>She flits to the mirror, gives two or three dainty touches to +her coquettish costume, tosses a kiss from her finger tips, and +is gone.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven,” mutters Stanhope. “I consider <i>that</i> the +narrowest escape of my life! What a little witch it is, and +pretty, I’ll wager.”</p> + +<p>He draws from beneath his flowing robe a tiny watch such +as ladies carry, and consults its jewelled face.</p> + +<p>“My time is up!” he ejaculates. “Twenty minutes delay, +now, will ruin my Raid. Ah! here’s Follingsbee.” And he +moves forward at the sound of an approaching step.</p> + +<p>But it is not Follingsbee who appears upon the threshold. +It is, instead, Stanhope’s too-obsequious, too-attentive admirer, +the Celestial, who has voted the prospect of a flirtation with a +mysterious mask, a thing of spice.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>A “’MELLICAN LADY’S” LITTLE TRICK.</h3> + + +<p>In such an emergency, when every moment has its value, +to think is to act with Richard Stanhope. And time just now +is very precious to him.</p> + +<p>This importunate fellow is determined to solve the mystery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +of his identity, to see him unmask. Ten minutes spent in an +attempt to evade him will be moments of fate for the ambitious +detective.</p> + +<p>And, for the sake of his patroness, he cannot leave the house +at the risk of being followed. This difficulty must be overcome +and at once.</p> + +<p>These thoughts flash through his mind as if by electricity; +and then, as the Celestial approaches, he turns languidly toward +the open window and rests his head against the casement, +as if in utter weariness.</p> + +<p>“‘Mellican lady slick?” queries the masker solicitously; +“‘Mellican lady walm? Ching Ling flannee, flannee.”</p> + +<p>And raising his Japanese fan, he begins to ply it vigorously.</p> + +<p>Mentally confiding “Ching Ling,” to a region where fans +are needed and are not, Stanhope sways, as if about to faint, +and motions toward a reclining chair.</p> + +<p>The mask propels it close to the window, and the detective +sinks into it, with a long drawn sigh.</p> + +<p>Then, plying his fan with renewed vigor, the Celestial murmurs +tenderly:</p> + +<p>“‘Mellican lady slick?”</p> + +<p>“Confound you,” thinks Stanhope; “I will try and be too +<i>slick</i> for you.” Then, for the first time, he utters a word for +the Celestial’s hearing. Moving his head restlessly he articulates, +feebly:</p> + +<p>“The heat—I feel—faint!” Then, half rising from the +chair, seeming to make a last effort, he reels and murmuring: +“Water—water,” sinks back presenting the appearance of utter +lifelessness.</p> + +<p>“Water!” The Celestial, utterly deceived, drops the fan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +and his dialect at the same moment, and muttering: “She has +fainted!” springs to the door.</p> + +<p>It is just what Stanhope had hoped for. When the Celestial +returns with the water, the fainting lady will have disappeared.</p> + +<p>But Fate seems to have set her face against Stanhope. The +Celestial does not go. At the very door he encounters a servant, +none other than the girl, Millie, who, having for some +time lost sight of little Daisy, is now wandering from room +to room in quest of the child.</p> + +<p>“Girl,” calls the masker authoritatively, “get some water +quick; a lady has fainted.”</p> + +<p>Uttering a startled: “Oh, my!” Millie skurries away, and +the Celestial returns to the side of the detective, who seems +just now to be playing a losing game.</p> + +<p>But it is only seeming. The case, grown desperate, requires +a desperate remedy, and the Goddess of Liberty resolves to do +what, probably, no “‘Mellican Lady” ever did before.</p> + +<p>Through his drooping eyelids he notes the approach of the +Celestial, sees him fling aside his fan to bend above him, and +realizes the fact that he is about to be unmasked.</p> + +<p>The Celestial bends nearer still. His hands touch the +draped head, searching for the secret that releases the tightly +secured mask. It is a sentimental picture, but suddenly the +scene changes. Sentiment is put to rout, and absurdity reigns.</p> + +<p>With indescribable swiftness, the body of the Goddess darts +forward, and the head comes in sudden contact with the +stomach of the too-devoted Celestial, who goes down upon the +floor in a state of collapse, while Stanhope, bounding to his +feet and gathering up his trailing draperies, springs through +the open window!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>When Millie returns with water and other restoratives, she +finds only a disarranged masker sitting dolefully upon the +floor, with one hand pressed against his stomach and the other +supporting his head; still too much dazed and bewildered to +know just how he came there.</p> + +<p>When he has finally recovered sufficiently to be able to give +a shrewd guess as to the nature of the calamity that so suddenly +overcame him, he is wise enough to see that the victory +sits perched on the banner of the vanished Goddess, and to retire +from the field permanently silent upon the subject of “spicy +flirtations” and mysterious ladies.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Stanhope having alighted, with no particular +damage to himself or his drapery, upon a balcony which runs +half the length of the house, is creeping silently along that +convenient causeway toward the gentlemen’s dressing-room, +situated at its extreme end.</p> + +<p>Foreseeing some possible difficulty in leaving the house unnoticed +while attired in so conspicuous a costume, the Goddess +had come prepared with a long black domino, which had been +confided to Mr. Follingsbee, who, at the proper moment, was +to fetch it from the gentlemen’s dressing-room, array Stanhope +in its sombre folds, and then see him from the house, and +safely established in the carriage which the detective had arranged +to have in waiting to convey him to the scene of the +Raid.</p> + +<p>Owing to his little encounter with the Celestial, Stanhope +knows himself cut off from communication with Mr. Follingsbee, +and he now creeps toward the dressing-room wholly intent +upon securing the domino and quitting the house in the quickest +manner possible.</p> + +<p>As he approaches the window, however, he realizes that +there is another lion in his path.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo17.png" alt="The Goddess of Liberty +escapes from the friendly Chinese" width="300" height="450" /> +<p class="caption">“Stanhope, bounding to his feet, springs through the open window”—<a href="#Page_99">page +99</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>The room is already occupied; he hears two voices speaking +in guarded tones.</p> + +<p>“Be quick, Harvey; some one may come in a moment.”</p> + +<p>“I have locked the door.”</p> + +<p>“But it must be opened at the first knock. There must +be no appearance of mystery, no room for suspicion, Harvey.”</p> + +<p>At the sound of a most familiar voice, Richard Stanhope +starts, and flushes with excitement underneath his mask. +Then he presses close against the window and peers in.</p> + +<p>Two men are rapidly exchanging garments there; the one +doffing a uniform such as is worn by an officer of Her Majesty’s +troops, the other passing over, in exchange for said uniform, +the suit of a common policeman.</p> + +<p>With astonished eyes and bated breath, Stanhope recognizes +the two. Van Vernet, his friend, and Harvey, a member +of the police force, who is Vernet’s staunch admirer and chosen +assistant when such assistance can be of use.</p> + +<p>How came Vernet at this masquerade, of all others? And +what are they about to do?</p> + +<p>He is soon enlightened, for Van Vernet, flushed with his +success, present and prospective, utters a low triumphant laugh +as he dons the policeman’s coat, and turns to readjust his mask.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Harvey,” he says gayly; “if you ever live to execute +as fine a bit of strategy as I did to-night, you may yet be +Captain of police. Ha! ha! this most recent battle between +America and England has turned out badly for America—all +because she <i>will</i> wear petticoats!”</p> + +<p>America! England! petticoats! Stanhope can scarcely suppress +an exclamation as suddenly light flashes upon his mental +horizon.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done a good thing to-night, Harvey,” continues Vernet<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +with unusual animation, “and I’ve got the lead on a sharp +man. If I can hold my own to-night, you’ll never again hear +of Van Vernet as only ‘<i>one</i> of our best detectives.’ Is your +mask adjusted? All right, then. Now, Harvey, time presses; +there’s a big night’s work before me. You are sure you understand +everything?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, perfectly; <i>my</i> work’s easy enough.”</p> + +<p>“And mine begins to be difficult. Unlock the door, Harvey, +I must be off.” Then turning sharply he adds, as if it +were an after-thought: “By the way, if you happen to set +your eye on a Goddess of Liberty, just note her movements; +I would give something to know when she contrives to leave +the house and,” with a dry laugh, “and <i>how</i>.”</p> + +<p>In another moment the dressing-room is deserted.</p> + +<p>And then Richard Stanhope steps lightly through the window. +With rapid movements he singles out his own dark +domino, gathers his colored draperies close about him, and flings +it over them, drawing the hood down about his head, and the +long folds around his person. Then he goes out from the +dressing-rooms, hurries down the great stairway, and passing +boldly out by the main entrance, glances up and down the +street.</p> + +<p>Only a few paces away, a dark form is hurrying toward a +group of carriages standing opposite the mansion, and Stanhope, +in an instant, is gliding in the same direction. As the +man places a foot upon the step of a carriage that has evidently +awaited his coming, Stanhope glides so near that he +distinctly hears the order, given in Vernet’s low voice:</p> + +<p>“To the X—street police station. Drive fast.”</p> + +<p>A trifle farther away another carriage, its driver very alert +and expectant, stands waiting.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Having +heard Vernet’s order, Stanhope hurries to this carriage, +springs within, and whispers to the driver:</p> + +<p>“The old place, Jim; and your quickest time!”</p> + +<p>Then, as the wheels rattle over the pavement, the horses +speeding away from this fashionable quarter of the city, a +strange transformation scene goes on within the carriage, which, +evidently, has been prepared for this purpose. The Goddess +of Liberty is casting her robes, and long before the carriage +has reached its destination, she has disappeared, there remaining, +in her stead, a personage of fantastic appearance. He is +literally clothed in rags, and plentifully smeared with dirt; +his tattered garments are decorated with bits of tinsel, and +scraps of bright color flutter from his ragged hat, and flaunt +upon his breast; there is a monstrous patch over his left eye +and a mass of disfiguring blotches covers his left cheek; a +shock of unkempt tow-colored hair bristles upon his head, and +his forehead and eyes are half hidden by thick dangling elf-locks.</p> + +<p>If this absurd apparition bears not the slightest resemblance +to the Goddess of Liberty, it resembles still less our friend, +Richard Stanhope.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, and in an obscure street, the carriage comes to a +halt, and as its fantastically-attired occupant descends to the +ground, the first stroke of midnight sounds out upon the air.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>A CRY IN THE DARK.</h3> + +<p>One more scene in this night’s fateful masquerade remains +to be described, and then the seemingly separate threads of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +plot unite, and twine about our central figures a chain of Fate.</p> + +<p>While Van Vernet is setting snares for the feet of his +rival, and while that young man of many resources is actively +engaged in disentangling himself therefrom,—while Leslie +Warburton, tortured by a secret which she cannot reveal, and +dominated by a power she dare not disobey, steals away from +her stately home—and while Alan Warburton, soured by suspicion, +made unjust by his own false pride, follows like a +shadow behind her—a cloud is descending upon the house of +Warburton.</p> + +<p>Sitting apart from the mirthful crowd, quite unobserved +and seemingly wholly engrossed in themselves, are little Daisy +Warburton and the quaintly-attired Mother Goose, before +mentioned.</p> + +<p>It is long past the child’s latest bedtime, but her step-mamma +has been so entirely preoccupied, and Millie so carelessly absorbed +in watching the gayeties of the evening, that the little +one has been overlooked, and feels now quite like her own +mistress.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha!” she laughs merrily, leaning, much at her ease, +upon the knee of Mother Goose; “ha! ha! what nice funny +stories you tell; almost as nice as my new mamma’s stories. +Only,” looking up with exquisite frankness, “your voice is +not half so nice as my new mamma’s.”</p> + +<p>“Because I’m an old woman, dearie,” replies Mother Goose, +a shade of something like disapproval in her tone. “Do you +really want to see Mother Hubbard’s dog, little girl?”</p> + +<p>“Old Mother Hubbard—she went to the cupboard,” sings +Daisy gleefully. “Of course I do, Mrs. Goose. Does Mother +Hubbard look like you?”</p> + +<p>“A little.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>“And—you +said Cinderella’s coach was down near my papa’s +gate?”</p> + +<p>“So it is, dearie.” Then looking cautiously about her, and +lowering her voice to a whisper: “How would you like to ride +to see Mother Hubbard in Cinderella’s coach, and come right +back, you know, before it turns into a pumpkin again?”</p> + +<p>The fair child clasps two tiny hands, and utters a cry of +delight.</p> + +<p>“Oh! <i>could</i> we?” she asks, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Of course we can, if you are very quiet and do as I bid +you, and if you don’t get afraid.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t get afraid—not often,” replies the child, drawing +still closer to Mother Goose, and speaking with hushed gravity. +“When I used to be afraid at night, my mamma, my new +mamma, you know, taught me to say like this.”</p> + +<p>Clasping her hands, she sinks upon her knees and lifts her +face to that which, behind its grotesque mask, is distorted by +some unpleasant emotion. And then the childish voice lisps +reverently:</p> + +<p>“Dear God, please take care of a little girl whose mamma +has gone to Heaven. Keep her from sin, and sickness, and +danger. Make the dark as safe as the day, and don’t let her +be afraid, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.”</p> + +<p>Something like a smothered imprecation dies away in the +throat of the listener, and then she says, in honeyed accents:</p> + +<p>“That’s a very nice little prayer, and your new mamma is +a very fine lady. When you come back from your ride +in Cinderella’s carriage, you can tell your new mamma all +about it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! how nice!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>“It will be charming. Come into the conservatory, dearie. +I think we can see Cinderella’s lamps from there.”</p> + +<p>With the confidence born of childish innocence, the little +one places her hand in that of Mother Goose, and is led +away.</p> + +<p>The conservatory is all aglow with light and color and rich +perfume, and it is almost tenantless. The broad low windows +are open, and a narrow balcony, adorned with tall vases and +hung with drooping vines, projects from them scarce three +feet from the ground.</p> + +<p>Out upon this balcony, and close to the railing, the child +follows the old woman confidently. Then, as she peers out +into the night, she draws back.</p> + +<p>“It’s—very—dark,” she whispers.</p> + +<p>“It’s the light inside that makes it seem so dark, dearie. +Ah! I see a glimmer of Cinderella’s lamp now; look, child!”</p> + +<p>Stooping quickly, she lifts the little one and seats her upon +the railing of the balcony. Then, as the child, shading her +eyes with a tiny hand, attempts to peer out into the darkness, +something damp and sickening is pressed to her face; there is +an odor in the air not born of the flowers within, and Daisy +Warburton, limp and unconscious, lies back in the arms of her +enemy.</p> + +<p>In another moment, the woman in the garb of Mother +Goose has dropped from the balcony to the ground beneath, +and, bearing her still burden in her arms, disappeared in the +darkness.</p> + +<p>And as her form vanishes from the balcony, a city clock, +far away, tolls out the hour: <i>midnight</i>.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>At this same hour, with the same strokes sounding in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +ears, a party of men sally forth from the X—street Police station, +and take their way toward the river.</p> + +<p>They are policemen, mostly dressed in plain clothes, and +heavily armed, every man. They move away silently like +men obeying the will of one master, and presently they +separate, dropping off by twos and threes into different by-ways +and obscure streets, to meet again at a certain rendezvous.</p> + +<p>It is the Raiding Party on its way to the slums, and, contrary +to the hopes of the Chief of the detectives and the Captain +of the police, it is led, not by Dick Stanhope, but +by Van Vernet.</p> + +<p>Contrary to all precedent, and greatly to the surprise of all +save Vernet, Richard Stanhope has failed to appear at the +time appointed; and so, after many doubts, much hesitation, +and some delay, Van Vernet is made leader of the expedition.</p> + +<p>“I shall send Stanhope as soon as he reports here,” the +Chief had said as a last word to Vernet. “His absence to-night +is most reprehensible, but his assistance is too valuable +to be dispensed with.”</p> + +<p>Mentally hoping that Stanhope’s coming may be delayed +indefinitely, Van Vernet bites his lip and goes on his way, +while the Chief sits down to speculate as to Stanhope’s absence, +and to await his coming.</p> + +<p>But he waits in vain. The long night passes, and day +dawns, and Richard Stanhope does not appear.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Van Vernet and the two men who accompany +him, arrive first of the party at their rendezvous.</p> + +<p>It is at the mouth or entrance to a dark, narrow street, the +beginning of that labyrinth of crooked by-ways, and blind +alleys, from the maze of which Richard Stanhope had rescued<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +himself and the wounded convict, on the night previous.</p> + +<p>Halting here Van Vernet waits the arrival of his men, and +meditates. He is tolerably familiar with this labyrinth; +knows it as well, perhaps, as most men on such a mission +would deem necessary, but he has not given the locality and +its denizens the close study and keen investigation that Stanhope +has considered essential to success. And now, as he peers +down the dark street, thinking of the maze beyond, and the +desperate character of the people who inhabit it, he involuntarily +wishes for that closer knowledge that only Stanhope +possesses.</p> + +<p>He knows that Stanhope, in various disguises, has passed +days and nights among these haunts of iniquity; that he can +thread these intricate alleys in the darkest night, and identify +every rogue by name and profession.</p> + +<p>He thinks of these things, and then shrugs his shoulder +with characteristic inconsequence. He has, and with good +reason, unbounded confidence in himself. He has tact, skill, +courage; what man may do, <i>he</i> can do.</p> + +<p>What are these miserable outlaws that they should baffle +Van Vernet the skillful, the successful, the daring?</p> + +<p>Some one is coming toward them from out the dark alley. +They hear the fragment of an idiotic street song, trolled out in +a maudlin voice, and then feet running, skipping, seeming +now and then to prance and pirouette absurdly.</p> + +<p>“What the—”</p> + +<p>The exclamation of the policeman is cut short by the sudden +collision of his stationary figure with a rapidly moving body. +Then he grapples with his unintentional assailant only to +release him suddenly, as Van Vernet throws up the slide of +his dark lantern and turns its rays upon the new-comer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>Involuntarily all three utter sharp exclamations as they +gather around the apparition.</p> + +<p>What a figure! Ragged, unkempt, fantastic; the same +which a short time ago we saw descending from a carriage +only a few rods distant from this very spot.</p> + +<p>It is the same figure; the same rags and tinsel and dirt; +the same disfigured face, with its black patch and its fringe +of frowzy hair; the same, yet worse to look upon; for now the +under jaw is dropped, the mouth drivels, the eye not concealed +by the patch leers stupidly.</p> + +<p>Unmistakably, it is the face of an idiot.</p> + +<p>“How!” ejaculates this being, peering curiously at the +three. “How do? Where ye goin’?”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet gazes curiously for a moment, then utters a +sound expressive of satisfaction. He has heard of a fool that +inhabits these alleys; Stanhope has mentioned him on one +or two occasions. “A modernized Barnaby Rudge,” Stanhope +had called him. Surely this must be him.</p> + +<p>Turning to one of his men he says, in an undertone:</p> + +<p>“If I’m not mistaken this fellow is a fool who grew up in +these slums, and knows them by heart. ‘Silly Charlie,’ I +think, they call him. I believe we can make him useful.”</p> + +<p>Then turning to the intruder he says suavely:</p> + +<p>“How are you, my man? How are you?”</p> + +<p>But a change has come over the mood of the seeming idiot. +Striking his breast majestically, and pointing to a huge tin +star which decorates it, he waves his hand toward them, and +says with absurd dignity:</p> + +<p>“G’way—<i>g’way!</i> Charlie big p’liceman. Gittin’ late; +<i>g’way</i>.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo18.png" alt="Charlie accosted by Vernet and two policemen" width="300" height="433" /> +<p class="caption">“G’way—<i>g’way!</i> Charlie big p’liceman. Gittin’ +late; <i>g’way!</i>”—<a href="#Page_110">page 110</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“We must humor him, boys,” says Vernet aside. Then to<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> +Charlie—“So you’re a policeman? Well, so am I; look.”</p> + +<p>And turning back the lapel of his coat he displays, on the +inner side, the badge of an officer.</p> + +<p>Silly Charlie comes close, peers eagerly at the badge, fingers +it curiously, then, grasping it firmly, gives a tug at the lapel, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Gimme it. Gimme it.”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet laughs good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t pull so hard, Charlie, or you’ll have off my entire +uniform. Do you want to do a little police duty to-night?”</p> + +<p>Silly Charlie nods violently.</p> + +<p>“And you want my star, or one like it?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Um hum!</i>” with sudden emphasis.</p> + +<p>Van Vernet lays a hand on the shoulder of the idiot, and +then says:</p> + +<p>“Listen, Charlie. I want you to help me to-night. Wait,” +for Charlie has doubled himself up in a convulsion of laughter. +“Now, if you’ll stand right by me, and tell me what I +want to know, you and I will do some splendid work, and +both get promoted. You will get a new star, big and bright, +and a uniform all covered with bright buttons. Hold on,” for +Charlie is dancing in an ecstasy of delight. “What do you +say? Will you come with me, and work for your star and +uniform?”</p> + +<p>Charlie’s enthusiastic gestures testify to his delight at this +proposition.</p> + +<p>“Um hum,” he cries gleefully; “Charlie go; Charlie be +big p’liceman.”</p> + +<p>And as if suddenly realizing the dignity of his new employment, +he ceases his antics and struts sedately up and down +before Vernet and his assistants. Then turning to the detective,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +with a doleful whine, he extends his hand, saying;</p> + +<p>“Gimme star <i>now</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Not now, Charlie; you must earn it first. I had to earn +mine. Do you know the way to Devil’s alley?”</p> + +<p>“Um hum!”</p> + +<p>“Good: do you know where Black Nathan lives!”</p> + +<p>“Um hum!”</p> + +<p>“Can you take me to Nancy Kaiser’s lushing ken?”</p> + +<p>“Um hum; Charlie knows.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Charlie, you shall have that star soon.”</p> + +<p>And Vernet turns to his men. “I will take this fellow for +guide, and look up these places: they are most important,” +he says rapidly. “I shall be less noticed in company with +this fellow than if alone. Riley, I leave you in command +until I return. Remain here, and keep the fellows all together; +some of them are coming now.”</p> + +<p>Riley’s quick ear detects the approach of stealthy feet, and +as Vernet shuts his lantern, and utters a low “Come, Charlie,” +the first installment of the Raiders appears, a few paces +away.</p> + +<p>Seizing Vernet by the arm, Silly Charlie lowers his head +and glides down the alley, as stealthily as an Indian.</p> + +<p>“Charlie,” whispers Vernet, imperatively, “you must be +very cautious. I want you to take me first to where Black +Nathan lives.”</p> + +<p>“Hoop la!” replies Charlie in subdued staccato; “I’m +takin’ ye; commalong.”</p> + +<p>Cautiously they wend their way down the dark, narrow +street, into a filthy alley, and through it to an open space laid +bare by some recent fire.</p> + +<p>Here they halt for a moment, Charlie peering curiously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +around him, and stooping to search for something among the +loose stones.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a shriek pierces the silence about them—a woman’s +shriek, thrice repeated, its tones fraught with agony and terror!</p> + +<p>Silly Charlie lifts himself suddenly erect, and turns his face +toward a dark building just across the open space. Then, as +the third cry sounds upon the air, both men, as by one humane +instinct, bound across the waste regardless of stones and +bruises, Silly Charlie flying on before, as if acquainted with +every inch of the ground, straight toward the dark and isolated +building.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>A PRETTY PLOT.</h3> + + +<p>In order to comprehend the cause of the alarm which +stimulated to sudden action both the wise man and the fool, +Van Vernet and Silly Charlie, let us turn back a little and +enter the dark house at the foot of the alley.</p> + +<p>It is an hour before midnight. The place is dark and +silent; no light gleams through the tightly boarded windows, +there is no sign of life about the dwelling. But within, as on +a previous occasion, there is light, life, and a measure of +activity. The light is furnished by a solitary tallow candle, +and the life supplied by the same little old man who, on a +former occasion, was thrown into a state of unreasonable terror +at sight of a certain newspaper advertisement.</p> + +<p>It is the same room, its appointments unchanged; the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +squalor and dirt, the same bottle upon the same shelf, the +same heap of rags in the corner, the same fragments of iron +and copper on the floor. The same deal table and scrap of +carpet are there, but not arranged as on a former occasion, for +now the table is pushed back against the wall, the piece of carpet +is flung in a wrinkled heap away from the place which it covered, +exposing to view a dark gap in the floor, with a dangling +trap-door opening downward. Beside this opening squats +the little old man, his eyes as ferret-like and restless as usual, +but his features more complacent and less apprehensive than +when last we saw him.</p> + +<p>By his side is the sputtering tallow candle, and in his hand +a long hooked stick, with which he is lowering sundry bags +and bundles down the trap, lifting the candle from time to +time to peer into the opening, then resuming his work and +muttering meanwhile.</p> + +<p>“What’s <i>this?</i>” he soliloquizes, lifting a huge bundle and +scrutinizing it carefully. “Ah-h! a gentleman’s fine overcoat; +<i>that</i> must have a nice, safe corner. Ah-h! there you go,” +lowering the bundle down the aperture and poking it into +position with his stick. “It’s amazin’ what valuables my +people finds about the streets,” he chuckles facetiously. +“‘Ere’s a—a little silver tea-pot; some rich woman must a-throwed +that out. I will put it on the shelf.”</p> + +<p>Evidently the shelf mentioned is in the cellar below, for +this parcel, like the first, is lowered and carefully placed by +means of the stick. Other bundles of various sizes follow, +and then the old man rests from his labor.</p> + +<p>“What a nice little hole that is,” he mutters. “Full of +rags—nothin’ else. Suppose a cop comes in here and looks +down, what ’ud he see? Just rags. S’pose he went down,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +ha! ha! he’d go waist-deep in a bed of old rags, and he +wouldn’t like the smell overmuch; such a <i>nice</i> smell—for cops. +He couldn’t <i>see</i> anything, couldn’t <i>feel</i> anything but rags, just +rags.”</p> + +<p>A low tap at the street-door causes the old man to drop his +stick and his soliloquy at once. He starts nervously, listens +intently for a moment, and then rises cautiously. A long, low +whistle evidently reassures him, for with suddenly acquired +self-possession he begins to move about.</p> + +<p>Swiftly and noiselessly he closes the trap, spreads down the +bit of carpet, and replaces the table. Then he shuffles toward +the entrance, pulls out the pin from the hole in the door, and +peeps out. Nothing is visible but the darkness, and this, +somehow; seems to reassure him, for with a snort of impatience +he calls out:</p> + +<p>“Who knocks?”</p> + +<p>“It’s Siebel,” replies a voice from without. “Open up, +old Top.”</p> + +<p>Instantly the door is unbarred and swung open, admitting +a burly ruffian, who fairly staggers under the weight of a +monstrous sack which he carries upon his shoulders.</p> + +<p>At sight of this bulky burden the old man smiles and rubs +his palms together.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Josef,” he says, reaching out to relieve the new-comer, +“a nice load that; a very nice load!”</p> + +<p>But the man addressed as Josef retains his hold upon his +burden, and, resting himself against it, looks distrustfully at +his host.</p> + +<p>“It’s been a fine evening, Josef,” insinuates the old man, +his eyes still fixed upon the bag.</p> + +<p>“Fair enough,” replies Josef gruffly, as he unties the bag<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +and pushes it toward the old man. “Take a look at the stuff, +Papa Francoise, and make a bid. I’m dead thirsty.”</p> + +<p>Eagerly seizing the bag, Papa Francoise drags it toward the +table, closely followed by Josef, and begins a hasty examination +of its contents, saying:</p> + +<p>“Rags is rags, you know, Josef Siebel. It’s not much use +to look into ’em; there’s nothing here but rags, of course.”</p> + +<p>“No, course not,” with a satirical laugh.</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Josef; I won’t buy nothing but rags,—<i>never</i>. +I don’t want no ill-gotten gains brought to me.”</p> + +<p>Josef Siebel utters another short, derisive laugh, and discreetly +turns his gaze toward the smoky ceiling while Papa begins +his investigations. From out the capacious bag he draws +a rich shawl, hurriedly examines it, and thrusts it back again.</p> + +<p>“The rag-picker can be an honest man as well as another, +Josef,” continues this virtuous old gentleman, drawing forth +a silver soup-ladle and thrusting it back. “These are very +good rags, Josef,” and he draws out a switch of blonde hair, +and gazes upon it admiringly. Then he brings out a handful +of rags, examines them ostentatiously by the light of the +candle, smells them, and ties up the bag, seeing which Josef +withdraws his eyes from the cobwebs overhead and fixes them +on the black bottle upon the shelf.</p> + +<p>Noting the direction of his gaze, Papa Francoise rests the +bag against the table-leg, trots to the shelf, pours a scanty +measure from the black bottle into a tin cup, and presents it +to Josef with what is meant for an air of gracious hospitality.</p> + +<p>“You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend.”</p> + +<p>“Umph,” mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a +draught. Then setting the cup hastily down; “Now, old +Top, wot’s your bid?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Well,” replies Papa Francoise, trying to look as if he +had not already settled that question with his own mind; +“well, Josef I’ll give you—I’ll give you a dollar and a +half.”</p> + +<p>“The dickens you will!”</p> + +<p>Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Josef!” cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the +treasure. “What do you want? That’s a good price for +rags.”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, +“wot d’ye take me for, ye blasted old fence?”</p> + +<p>But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Josef!” he cries eagerly; “let me see,” pulling it +down from his shoulder and lifting it carefully. “Why, it’s +<i>heavier</i> than I thought. Josef, I’ll give you two dollars and +a half,—<i>no more</i>.”</p> + +<p>The “no more” is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends +the meaning behind the words, for he reseats himself +sullenly, muttering:</p> + +<p>“It ain’t enough, ye cursed cantin’ old skinflint, but fork it +out; I’ve got to have money.”</p> + +<p>At this instant there comes a short, sharp, single knock upon +the street-door, and Papa hastens to open it, admitting a squalid, +blear-eyed girl, or woman, who enters with reluctant step, and +sullen demeanor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s <i>you</i>, Nance,” says Papa, going back to the table +and beginning to count out some money, eyeing the girl keenly +meanwhile. “One dollar,—sit down, Nance,—two dollars, +fifty; there! Now, Nance,” turning sharply toward the girl, +“what have you got, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo19.png" alt="Josef and Papa Francoise +examine the contents of the bag" width="300" height="430" /> +<p class="caption">“The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another, Josef.”—<a href="#Page_117">page +117</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>“Nothin’,” +replies Nance sullenly; “nothin’ that will suit +you. I ain’t had no luck.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody left nothin’ lyin’ round loose, I s’pose,” says +Siebel with a coarse laugh, as he pockets the price of his day’s +labor. “Wal, ye’ve come ter a poor place for sympathy, gal.” +And he rises slowly and shuffles toward the door.</p> + +<p>But Papa makes a gesture to stay him.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Josef!” he cries; “wait Nance!”</p> + +<p>He seizes the bag, hurries it away into an inner room, and +returns panting for breath. Drawing a stool toward the table, +he perches himself thereon and leers across at the two sneak +thieves.</p> + +<p>“So ye ain’t had any luck, girl?” he says, in a wheedling +tone, “and Josef, here, wants money. Do ye want more than +ye’ve got Josef?”</p> + +<p>“Ha ha! <i>Do</i> I?” And Josef slaps his pockets suggestively.</p> + +<p>“Now listen, both of you. Suppose, I could help you two +to earn some money easy and honest, what then?”</p> + +<p>“Easy and <i>honest!</i>” repeats Siebel, with a snort of derision; +“Oh, Lord!”</p> + +<p>But the girl leans forward with hungry eyes, saying eagerly: +“How? tell us how.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you. Suppose, just suppose, a certain rich lady—<i>very</i> +rich, mind—being a little in my debt, should come here +to-night to see me. And suppose she is very anxious not to +be seen by any body—on account of her high position, you +know—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, lip it livelier!” cries Siebel impatiently. “Stow yer +swash.”</p> + +<p>“Well; suppose you and Nance, here, was to come in sudden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +and see the lady face to face, why, for fear she might be +called on by—say by Nance, she might pay a little, don’t you +see—”</p> + +<p>But Siebel breaks in impatiently:</p> + +<p>“Oh, skip the rubbish! Is there any body to bleed?”</p> + +<p>“Is it a safe lay?” queries Nance.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; it’s safe, of course,” cries Papa, thus compelled +to come down to plain facts.</p> + +<p>“Then let’s get down to business. Do you expect an angel’s +visit here to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what’s yer plan? Out with it: Nance and I are +with ye, if ye divvy fair.”</p> + +<p>Beckoning them to come closer, Papa Francoise leans across +the table, and sinking his voice to a harsh whisper, unfolds +the plan by which, without danger to themselves, they are to +become richer.</p> + +<p>It is a pretty plan but—“<i>Man sows; a whirlwind reaps.</i>”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>A COUNTERPLOT.</h3> + + +<p>It is a half hour later. The light in the room is increased +by a sputtering additional candle, and Papa Francoise, sitting +by the deal table, is gazing toward the door, an eager expectant +look upon his face.</p> + +<p>“If that old woman were here!” he mutters, and then +starts forward at the sound of a low hesitating tap.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>Hurrying to the door he unbars it with eager haste, and a +smile of blandest delight overspreads his yellow face as the +new-comer enters.</p> + +<p>It is a woman, slender and graceful; a <i>lady</i>, who holds up +her trailing black garments daintily as she steps across +the threshold, repulsing the proffered hand-clasp with a +haughty gesture, and gliding away from him while she says +in a tone of distressful remonstrance:</p> + +<p>“Man, <i>why</i> have you sent for me? Don’t you know that +there is such a thing as a last straw?”</p> + +<p>“A last straw!” His voice is a doleful whine, his manner +obsequious to servility. “Ah, my child, I wanted to see +you so much; your poor mother wanted to see you so much!”</p> + +<p>The woman throws back her veil with a gesture of fierce +defiance, disclosing the face of Leslie Warburton pale and woe-stricken, +but quite as lovely as when it shone upon Stanhope, +surrounded by the halo of “Sunlight.”</p> + +<p>“You hypocrite!” she exclaims scornfully. “Parents do +not persecute their children as you and the woman you call +my mother have persecuted me. You gave me to the Ulimans +when I was but an infant,—that I know,—but the papers +signed by you do not speak of me as <i>your child</i>. Besides, +does human instinct go for nothing? If you were my +father would I loathe these meetings? Would I shudder at +your touch? Would my whole soul rise in rebellion against +your persecutions?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes flash upon him and the red blood mounts to her +cheeks. In the excitement of the moment she has forgotten +her fear. Her voice rises clear and ringing; and Papa Francoise, +thinking of two possible listeners concealed not far +away, utters a low “sh-h-h-h!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>“Not +so loud, my child,” he says in an undertone; “not +so loud. Ah! you ungrateful girl, we wanted to see you rich +and happy, and this is how you thank us,” affecting profound +grief. “These rich people have taught you to loathe your +poor old father!”</p> + +<p>He sinks upon the stool as if in utter dejection, wipes away +an imaginary tear, and then resumes, in the same guarded +tone:</p> + +<p>“My dear child, when we gave you to the Ulimans we were +very poor, and they were very rich,—a great deal richer than +when they died, leaving you only a few thousands.”</p> + +<p>“Which <i>you</i> have already extorted from me! I have given +you every dollar I possess and yet you live like beggars.”</p> + +<p>“And we <i>are</i> beggars, my child. Some unfortunate speculations +have swept away all our little gains, and now—”</p> + +<p>“And now you want more money,—the old story. Listen: +you have called me to-night from my husband’s home, forced +me to steal away from my guests like the veriest criminal, +threatening to appear among them if I failed to come. At +this moment you, who call yourself my father, stand there +gloating and triumphant because of the power you hold over +me. I knew you were capable of keeping your word, and +rather than have my husband’s home desecrated by such presence +as yours, I am here. But I have come for the last time—”</p> + +<p>“No, my child, oh!—”</p> + +<p>But she pays no heed to his expostulations.</p> + +<p>“I have come <i>for the last time!</i>” she says with fierce +decision. “I have come to tell you that from this moment I +defy you!”</p> + +<p>“Softly, my dear; sh-h-h!”</p> + +<p>His face, in spite of his efforts to retain its benign expression,<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +is growing vindictive and cruel. He comes toward her +with slow cat-like movements.</p> + +<p>But she glides backward as he advances, and, putting the +table between herself and him, she hurries on, never heeding +that she has, by this movement, increased the distance from +the outer door—and safety.</p> + +<p>“You have carried your game too far!” she says. “When +you first appeared before me, so soon after the loss of my +adopted parents that it would seem you were waiting for that +event—”</p> + +<p>“So we were, my child,” he interrupts, “for we had promised +not to come near you during their lifetime.”</p> + +<p>“You had promised <i>never</i> to approach me, <i>never</i> to claim +me, as the documents I found among my mother’s—among +Mrs. Uliman’s papers prove. Oh,” she cries, wringing her +hands and lifting her fair face heavenward; “oh, my mother! +my dear, sweet, gentle mother! Oh, my father! the truest, +the tenderest a wretched orphan ever had on earth! that Death +should take <i>you</i>, and Life bring me such creatures to fill your +places! But they cannot, they never shall!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good Lord!” mutters Papa under his breath, “those +fools upstairs will hear too much!”</p> + +<p>But Leslie’s indignation has swallowed up all thought of +caution, and her words pour out torrent-like.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if I had but denounced you at the first!” she cries; +“or forced you to prove your claim! Oh, if you had shown +yourselves <i>then</i> in all your greed and heartlessness! But while +I was Leslie Uliman, with only a moderate fortune, you +were content to take what I could give, and not press what +you are pleased to term your <i>claim</i> upon my affections. Affections! +The word is mockery from your lips! In consideration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +of the large sums I paid you, you promised never to +approach me in the future, and I, fool that I was, believing +myself free from you, married David Warburton, only to find +myself again your victim, to know you at last in all your +baseness.”</p> + +<p>Papa Francoise, unable to stem the tide of her eloquence, +shows signs of anger, but she never heeds him.</p> + +<p>“Since I became the wife of a rich man, you have been +my constant torment and terror. Threatening and wheedling +by turns, black-mailing constantly, you have drained my purse, +you have made my life a burden. And I came here to-night +to say, I will have no more of your persecution! All of <i>my</i> +money has been paid into your hands, but not one dollar of +my <i>husband’s</i> wealth shall ever come to you from me. I swear +it!”</p> + +<p>The old man again moves nearer.</p> + +<p>“Ah, ungrateful girl!” he cries, feigning the utmost grief; +“ah, unkind girl!”</p> + +<p>And his affectation of sorrow causes two unseen observers +to grin with delight, and brings to Leslie’s countenance an expression +of intense disgust.</p> + +<p>Moving back as he approaches, she throws up her head +with an impatient gesture, and the veil which has covered it +falls to her shoulders, revealing even by that dim light, +the glisten of jewels in her ears—great, gleaming diamonds, +which she, in her haste and agitation, has forgotten to remove +before setting out upon this unsafe errand.</p> + +<p>It is a most unfortunate movement, for two pair of eyes +are peering down from directly above her, and two pair of +avaricious hands itch to clutch the shining treasures.</p> + +<p>Obeying Papa’s instructions, Josef Siebel and the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +Nance, had mounted the rickety stairway which they reached +through a closet-like ante-room opening from the large one occupied +by Papa and Leslie. And having stationed themselves +near the top of the stairs they awaited there the coming of the +lady who, surprised by their presence, was to proffer them +hush-money with a liberal hand; but—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The best-laid plans of men and mice gang aft agleg.”</p></div> + +<p>And Papa Francoise has not anticipated the spirited outbreak +with which Leslie has astonished him. Startled by +this, and fearful that; by a false move, he should entirely lose +his power over her, he has made feeble efforts to stay the flow +of her speech and neglected to give the signal for which +the concealed sneak thieves have waited, until it was too late.</p> + +<p>Crouched on the floor near the stairway, the two thieves +have heard the entrance of Leslie, heard the hum of conversation, +low and indistinct at first, until the voice of Leslie, rising +high and clear, startled Siebel into a listening attitude. Touching +Nance on the arm, he begins slowly to drag himself along +the floor to where a faint ray of light tells him there is a place +of observation.</p> + +<p>The floor is exceedingly dilapidated, and the ceiling below +warped and sieve-like; and, having reached the chink in the +floor, Siebel finds himself able to look directly down upon +Leslie as she stands near the table.</p> + +<p>In another moment Nance is beside him, and then the two +faces are glued to the floor, their eyes taking in the scene below, +their ears listening greedily.</p> + +<p>At first they listen with simple curiosity; then with astonished +interest; then with intense satisfaction at Papa’s +evident discomfiture, for they hate him as the slave ever hates +his tyrant.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>When +the veil falls from Leslie’s head, Siebel’s quick eye +is the first to catch the shine of the diamonds in her ears. He +stifles an exclamation, looks again, and then grasps the arm of +his confederate:</p> + +<p>“Nance,” he whispers eagerly, “Nance, look—in her ears.”</p> + +<p>The girl peers down, and fairly gasps.</p> + +<p>“Shiners!” she whispers; “ah, they make my eyes water!”</p> + +<p>“They make my fingers itch,” he returns; “d’ye twig, gal?”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>Drawing her away from the aperture, he says, in a hoarse +whisper:</p> + +<p>“Gal, I’ve got a plan that’ll lay over old Beelzebub’s down +there, if we kin only git the chance ter play it. See here, +Nance, are ye willin’ to make a bold stroke fer them shiners?”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“By surprisin’ ’em. If I’ll floor the old man, can’t you +tackle the gal?”</p> + +<p>Nance takes a moment for consideration; they exchange a +few more whispered words and then begin to creep stealthily +toward the stairway.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>A DETECTIVE TRAPPED.</h3> + + +<p>While the thieves are gazing upon her from above, Leslie +Warburton, unconscious of this new danger that threatens her, +replaces her veil and continues to address the old man.</p> + +<p>“Once more, and for the last time,” she pleads, “I ask you +to tell me the truth. Give up this claim of kinship. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +you were my father, something in my heart would tell me so; +God has not created me lower than the brutes. What do you +know of my parentage? You must possess some knowledge. +Man, I would go upon my knees to you to learn the truth!”</p> + +<p>Papa is silent a moment, then he begins to cough violently. +It is the signal for the two thieves to enter, but they do not +respond as promptly as Papa could wish.</p> + +<p>“My child,” he begins feebly, but leaves the sentence unfinished +at the sound of a double knock upon the door.</p> + +<p>“Ah-h-h!” he cries with evident relief, “here comes your +mother; she can tell you how wrong you are.”</p> + +<p>And he hastens to admit an old woman, literally lost in an +ample old-fashioned cloak, and bearing in her arms a long +and apparently heavy bundle.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” says the old hypocrite, “here you are at last, after +being at the toil of the poor. Come in, old woman, here is +our proud girl come to see us.” Then as his eyes rest upon +the bundle, he grasps her wrist and hisses in her ear: “You +old fool! to bring <i>that</i> here.”</p> + +<p>“I had to do it,” she retorts in a whisper; “there are cops +in the alleys.”</p> + +<p>With a fierce gesture toward the rear door, Papa seizes the +bundle, saying:</p> + +<p>“Why, it is very heavy; old iron, I suppose; and how +horrid those old rags smell. We must take them away, old +woman.”</p> + +<p>And with a jerk of the head which, evidently, she understands, +he turns toward the aforementioned door, and they +bear the big bundle out between them.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it is the flickering light, perhaps it is her disordered +fancy, but as they bear their burden through the doorway,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +Leslie Warburton half believes that she sees it move. A +moment later she starts forward, her face blanched, her eyes +distended.</p> + +<p>“Oh, am I losing my senses?” she cries, “or <i>did</i> I hear a +child’s voice, a voice like my little Daisy’s, calling ‘mamma?’”</p> + +<p>A moment she listens, but no child’s voice breaks the stillness; +even Papa and Mamma Francoise are silent in the room +without.</p> + +<p>A sudden feeling of terror possesses Leslie.</p> + +<p>“Oh, these wicked people are driving me mad!” she murmurs +brokenly. “<i>Anything</i> is better than this. I will go +home and confess all to my husband. I will brave the worst, +rather than be so tortured!”</p> + +<p>Drawing her cloak about her, she makes a step toward the +door.</p> + +<p>Only a single step, for strong hands seize her from behind, +and, uttering a shriek of terror, she sees a ferocious face close +to her own, feels a clutch upon her throat, and is struggling +between two fierce assailants.</p> + +<p>“Get on to the shiners, gal,” commands Siebel, as he pinions +her arms with his powerful hands.</p> + +<p>Again Leslie utters a cry for help, and what follows is the +work of a moment.</p> + +<p>The outer door, left unbarred after the entrance of Mamma +Francoise, is dashed open and a man attired as a sailor bounds +into the room. At the same moment Papa and Mamma +Francoise rush upon the scene.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Josef, you demon, stop!” cries Papa wildly, and +scarce noticing the stranger in their midst; while the sailor, +without uttering a word, hurls himself upon Leslie’s assailants.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>Then follows a moment of confusion, a wild struggle for +the mastery, which ends soon in a horrible tableau.</p> + +<p>Near the door stands Papa Francoise, his face livid, his +teeth chattering, his foot poised for instant flight. In the +corner, borne down by the force and fury of Mamma Francoise, +the girl, Nance, lies prostrate, her throat still in the +clutch of the virago, whose face bears bloody evidence that +Nance has not succumbed without a struggle. In the center +of the room stands Alan Warburton, one arm supporting the +half fainting form of Leslie, the other hanging limp by his +side; and at his feet, ghastly and horrible, lies the form of +Josef Siebel, his skull crushed out of all semblance to humanity, +and a bar of rusty iron lying close beside him.</p> + +<p>There is a moment of awful stillness in the room.</p> + +<p>Then Leslie Warburton’s strong nature asserts itself. Withdrawing +from Alan’s supporting arm, she fixes her eyes upon +his face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Alan,” she says, “you followed—”</p> + +<p>“I followed you? Yes,” he answers sternly. “Hush!” +as she is about to speak, “this is no time for words.”</p> + +<p>There is a shout from the street, and the sound of approaching +footsteps. Papa Francoise seems galvanized into new +life.</p> + +<p>“The police!” he cries, springing through the door by +which he has lately entered. Mamma Francoise, releasing her +hold upon the girl, Nance, bounds up in affright, and hurries +after her partner in iniquity; while Nance, who evidently +fears her less than she dreads the police, loses no time in following +the pair, leaving Alan and Leslie alone, with the dead +man at their feet.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo20.png" alt="Alan and Leslie, Mamma +Francoise and Nance, and Papa Francoise" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“There is a moment of awful stillness in the room.”—<a href="#Page_130">page 130</a>.</p></div> + +<p>The approaching footsteps come nearer, and Alan, seizing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +Leslie by the arm, drags her toward the door by which the +others have escaped.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he says fiercely, “the police are coming; go, for the +sake of the name you bear, for your husband’s sake, go! +<i>go!</i> <span class="smcap">go!</span>”</p> + +<p>As he forces her resisting form across the threshold she turns +upon him a face of piteous appeal.</p> + +<p>“Alan! And you—”</p> + +<p>His lip curls scornfully.</p> + +<p>“I am not a <i>woman</i>,” he says impatiently; “<i>go, or</i>—”</p> + +<p>Some one is entering at the outer doorway. He pushes her +fiercely out into the rear room, from which he knows there is +a means of exit, closes the door, and turns swiftly to face the +intruders.</p> + +<p>Silly Charlie has crossed the threshold just in time to see +Leslie as she disappears through the opposite door. He has +one swift glimpse of the fair vanishing face, and then turns +suddenly, and with a sound indicative of extreme terror, +brings himself into violent contact with Van Vernet who is +close behind.</p> + +<p>Before he has so much as obtained a glimpse of the scene, +Vernet finds his legs flying from under him, and in another +moment is rolling upon the floor, closely locked in the embrace +of Silly Charlie, who, in his terror, seems to mistake him for +an enemy.</p> + +<p>When he has finally released himself from the grasp of the +seeming idiot, and is able to look about him, Van Vernet sees +only a dead man upon the floor, and a living one standing at +bay, with his back against a closed door, a deal table before +him serving as barricade, and, in his hand, a bar of rusty iron. +There is no trace of the Francoises, and nothing to indicate +the recent presence of Leslie Warburton.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>Struggling away from the embrace of Silly Charlie, and +bringing himself slowly to his feet, Vernet says angrily:</p> + +<p>“You confounded idiot, what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>But the “idiot” only sits upon the floor and stares stupidly, +and Vernet turns from him to glance about the room. At +sight of the dead man he starts eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he queries sharply, glancing down at the +body and drawing a pistol with a quick movement. “A +murder!” And he levels the weapon at Alan, dropping upon +one knee, at the same instant, and with the unoccupied hand +touching the face of the dead man. “A murder! yes; and +just committed. Don’t you stir, my man,” as Alan makes a +slight movement, “I’m a dead shot. This is your work, and +it seems that we heard this poor fellow’s death-cry. Skull +crushed in. Done by that bar of iron in your hand, of course. +Well, you won’t crack any more skulls with <i>that</i>.”</p> + +<p>While Vernet delivers himself thus, Alan Warburton is +thinking vigorously, his eyes, meanwhile, roving about the +room in search of some avenue of escape other than the door +over which he stands guard, and through which, he is resolved, +the detective shall not pass, at least until Leslie has made +good her escape from the vicinity. He is unarmed, save for +the bar of iron, but he is no coward, and he resolves to make +a fight for Leslie’s honor and his own liberty.</p> + +<p>Gazing thus about him he sees the seeming idiot rise from +his crouching posture and creep behind Vernet, beginning, +over that officer’s shoulder, a series of strange gestures.</p> + +<p>Shaking his fist defiantly behind Vernet’s left ear, in token, +Alan conjectures, of his opposition to that gentleman, he makes +a conciliatory gesture towards Alan. And then, placing his +fingers upon his lips, he shakes his head, and points again to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +Vernet, who now rises from his examination of the body, +and calls over his shoulder:</p> + +<p>“Charlie, come here.”</p> + +<p>Leering and laughing, Charlie comes promptly forward.</p> + +<p>“Ugh!” he says, making a detour around the body of +Siebel, “Charlie was scared. Charlie don’t like dead folks.” +And he plants himself squarely before Vernet, grinning and +staring at Alan the while.</p> + +<p>“Out of my range, fool!” cries Vernet angrily. And +then, as Charlie springs aside with absurd alacrity, he says to +Alan: “Fellow, throw down that iron.”</p> + +<p>But Alan Warburton gives no sign that he hears the command. +He has not recognized the voice of Vernet, and is not +aware of the man’s identity, but he has an instinctive notion +that his address will not be in keeping with his nautical costume, +and he is not an adept at dissimulation.</p> + +<p>“You won’t eh?” pursues Vernet mockingly. “You are +very mum? and no wonder.”</p> + +<p>“Mum, mum,” chants Silly Charlie, approaching Alan +with gingerly steps, and peering curiously into his face.</p> + +<p>Then bending suddenly forward he whispers quickly: “<i>Keep +mum!</i>” and bursting into an idiotic laugh, <i>pirouettes</i> back to +the side of Vernet.</p> + +<p>“Charlie,” says Vernet suddenly, and without once removing +his eyes from Alan’s face, “put your hand in my side +pocket—no, no! the other one,” as Charlie makes a sudden +dive into the pocket nearest him. “That’s right; now +pull out the handcuffs, and take out the rope.”</p> + +<p>Charlie obeys eagerly, and examines the handcuffs with +evident delight.</p> + +<p>“Charlie” says Vernet, “you and I have got to make this<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +man a prisoner. If we do, you will get your star and uniform.”</p> + +<p>“Hooray!” cries Charlie, fairly dancing with delight. +“Gimme, gum—gimme knife!”</p> + +<p>“Why, the blood-thirsty fool!” exclaims Vernet. “No, +no, Charlie; we must put on these handcuffs, and rope his +feet.”</p> + +<p>“Hoop la!” cries Charlie; “gimme rope.”</p> + +<p>Seizing the rope from Vernet’s hand, he advances toward +Alan, gesticulating savagely. Suddenly Alan raises the iron +bar and menaces him. Charlie stops a moment, then flinging +aside the rope he makes a swift spring, hurling himself +upon Alan with such sudden force that the latter loses his +guard for a moment, and then Van Vernet is upon him. He +makes such resistance as a brave man may, when he has a +single hand for defence and two against him, but he is borne +down, handcuffed, and bound.</p> + +<p>As he lies fettered and helpless, in close proximity to the +murdered sneak thief, Alan Warburton’s eyes rest wonderingly +upon Silly Charlie, for during the struggle that strange +genius has contrived to whisper in his ear these words:</p> + +<p>“<i>Don’t resist—keep silence—we are gaining time for her!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Charlie,” says Vernet, “that’s a good bit of work, and +I’m proud of you. Now, let’s make our prisoner more comfortable.”</p> + +<p>Together they lift Alan, and place him in a chair near the +centre of the room. Then, finding it impossible to make him +open his lips, Van Vernet begins a survey of the premises.</p> + +<p>“We must get one or two of my men here,” he says, after +a few moments of silent investigation. “Charlie, can I trust +you to go back to the place where we left them?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>Charlie nods confidently, and makes a prompt movement +toward the door. Then suddenly he stops and points upward +with a half terrified air.</p> + +<p>“Some one’s up there,” he whispers.</p> + +<p>“What’s that, Charlie?”</p> + +<p>“Somebody’s there. Charlie heard ’em.”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet hesitates a moment, looks first at the prisoner, +then at Charlie, and slowly draws forth his dark lantern.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go up and see,” he says half reluctantly, and making +his pistol ready for use. “Watch the prisoner, Charlie.”</p> + +<p>But Silly Charlie follows Vernet’s movements with his +eyes until he has passed through the low door leading to the +stairway. Then, gliding stealthily to the door, he assures +himself that Vernet is already half-way up the stairs. The +next moment he is standing beside the prisoner.</p> + +<p>“Hist, Mr. Warburton!”</p> + +<p>“Ah! who—,” Alan Warburton checks himself suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” says this strangest of all simpletons, in a low +whisper, at the same moment beginning to work rapidly at +the rope which binds Alan’s feet. “Be silent and act as I +bid you; I intend to help you out of this. There,” rising +and searching about his person, “the ropes are loosened, you +can shake them off in a moment. Now, the darbies.”</p> + +<p>He produces a key which unlocks the handcuffs.</p> + +<p>“Now, you are free, but remain as you are till I give you +the signal,—ah!”</p> + +<p>The tiny key has slipped through his fingers and fallen to +the floor. It is just upon the edge of the scrap of dirty carpet; +as he stoops to take it up, it catches in a fringe, and in +extricating it the carpet becomes a trifle displaced.</p> + +<p>Something underneath it strikes the eye of the seeming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +idiot. He bends closer, and then drags the carpet quite away, +seizes the candle, and springs the trap which he has just discovered. +Holding the candle above the opening, he looks +down, and then, with a low chuckle, spreads the carpet smoothly +over it, rises to his feet, and listens.</p> + +<p>He hears footsteps crossing the rickety floor above. Van +Vernet, having failed to find what he sought for aloft, is about +to descend.</p> + +<p>Stepping quickly to Alan’s side, Silly Charlie whispers:</p> + +<p>“Fortune favors us. We have got Vernet trapped.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Vernet!</i>” Alan Warburton starts and the perspiration +comes out on his forehead.</p> + +<p>Is this man who is his captor, Van Vernet? Heavens! +what a complication, what a misfortune! And this other,—this +wisest of all idiots, who calls him by name; who knows +the reason for his presence, then, perhaps, knows Leslie herself; +who, without any motive apparent, is acting so strange +a part, who is <i>he?</i></p> + +<p>Mentally thanking the inspiration which led him to retain +his incognito while negotiating with Van Vernet, Alan’s eyes +still follow the movements of Silly Charlie.</p> + +<p>As he gazes, Vernet enters the room, a look of disappointment +and disgust upon his face.</p> + +<p>“Charlie, you were scared at the rats,” he says; “there’s +nothing else there.”</p> + +<p>The trap is directly between him and the prisoner, and as +he walks toward it, Silly Charlie fairly laughs with delight.</p> + +<p>“What are you—”</p> + +<p>The sentence is never finished. Vernet’s foot has pressed +the yielding carpet; he clutches the air wildly, and disappears +like a clown in a pantomine.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>“Now,” +whispers Silly Charlie, “off with your fetters, Warburton, +and I will guide you out of this place. You are not +entirely safe yet.”</p> + +<p>Up from the trap comes a yell loud enough to waken the +seven sleepers, and suddenly, from without, comes an answering +cry.</p> + +<p>“It’s Vernet’s men,” says Silly Charlie. “Now, Warburton, +your safety depends upon your wind and speed. Come!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>A PROMISE TO THE DEAD.</h3> + + +<p>Guided by Silly Charlie, Alan Warburton finds himself +hurrying through crooked streets and dismal alleys, for what +seems to him an interminable distance. Now they run forward +swiftly; now halt suddenly, while Charlie creeps ahead +to reconnoiter the ground over which they must go. At last +they have passed the Rubicon, and halting at the corner of a +wider street than any they have as yet traversed, Alan’s strange +guide says,</p> + +<p>“You are tolerably safe now, Mr. Warburton; at least you +are not likely to be overtaken by Vernet or his men. You +are still a long distance from home, however, and possibly the +way is unfamiliar. I would pilot you further, but must hurry +back to see how Vernet is coming out.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo21.png" alt="Vernet drops through the floor" width="300" height="444" /> +<p class="caption">“Vernet’s foot has pressed the yielding carpet; he clutches the air +wildly, and disappears.”—<a href="#Page_137">page 137</a>.</p></div> + +<p>For the first time Alan Warburton, the self-possessed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +polished man of society, is at a loss for words. Society has +given him no training, taught him no lessons applicable to +such emergencies as this.</p> + +<p>“Of one thing you must be warned,” continues the guide. +“Van Vernet is a sleuth-hound on a criminal secret, and he +considers you a criminal. He has seen you standing above +that dead man with a bar of iron in your hand—did you know +that bar of iron was smeared with blood, and that wisps of +human hair clung to its surface? Never mind; <i>I</i> do not accuse +you. I do not ask you to explain your presence there. +You have escaped from Van Vernet, and he will never forgive +you for it. He will hunt you down, if possible. You +know the man?”</p> + +<p>“I never saw his face until to-night.”</p> + +<p>“What! and yet, two hours ago, he was at your brother’s +house, a guest!”</p> + +<p>“True. My dear sir, I am deeply indebted to you, but just +now my gratitude is swallowed up in amazement. In Heaven’s +name, who are you, that you know so much?”</p> + +<p>“‘Silly Charlie’ is what they call me in these alleys, and +I pass for an idiot.”</p> + +<p>“But you are anything but what you ‘pass for.’ You +have puzzled me, and outwitted Van Vernet. Tell me who +you are. Tell me how I can reward your services.”</p> + +<p>“In serving you to-night, Mr. Warburton, I have also +served myself. As to who I am, it cannot matter to you.”</p> + +<p>“That must be as you will,”—Alan is beginning to recover +his conventional courtesy—“but at least tell me how I +may discharge my obligations to you. <i>That</i> does concern +me.”</p> + +<p>Alan’s companion ponders a moment, and then says:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>“Perhaps we had better be frank, Mr. Warburton. You +are a gentleman, and, I trust, so am I. If you owe me anything, +you can discharge your debt by answering a single +question.”</p> + +<p>“Ask it.”</p> + +<p>“Van Vernet was a guest at your masquerade—why was +he there?”</p> + +<p>The question startles Alan Warburton, but he answers after +a moment’s reflection:</p> + +<p>“He came at my invitation, and on a matter of business.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you say that you never saw his face before?”</p> + +<p>“True; our business was arranged through third parties, +and by correspondence. He came into my presence, for the +first time, masked. Until I saw his face in that hovel yonder, +I had never seen it.”</p> + +<p>“And you?”</p> + +<p>“A kind fortune has favored me. This dress I wore as a +masquerade costume; over it I threw a black and scarlet +domino. Van Vernet saw me in that domino, and with a +mask before my face.”</p> + +<p>“You may thank your stars for that, and for your silence +at the hovel. If you had opened your lips then, your voice +might have betrayed you.”</p> + +<p>“It would have betrayed the fact that I was no seaman, at +the least, and that is why I had resolved upon silence as the +safest course.”</p> + +<p>“You have come out of this night’s business most fortunately. +But you still have reason to fear Vernet. Your +very silence may cause him to suspect you of playing a part. +Your features are photographed upon his memory; alter the +cut of your whiskers or, better still, give your face a clean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +shave; crop your hair, and above all leave the city until this +affair blows over.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” Alan replies; “I feel that your advice is +good.” Then, after a struggle with his pride, he adds:</p> + +<p>“I could easily clear myself of so monstrous a charge as +that which Vernet would prefer against me, but, for certain +reasons, I would prefer not to make a statement of the case.”</p> + +<p>“I comprehend.”</p> + +<p>Again Alan is startled out of his dignity. “You were the +first to arrive in response to that cry for help to-night?” he +begins.</p> + +<p>“The first, after you.”</p> + +<p>“You saw those who fled?”</p> + +<p>“I saw only one fugitive. Mr. Warburton, I know what +you would ask. I saw and recognized your brother’s wife. +I understood your actions; you were guarding her retreat at +the risk of your own life or honor. You are a brave man!”</p> + +<p>Alan’s tone is a trifle haughty as he answers:</p> + +<p>“In knowing Mrs. Warburton and myself, you have us at +a disadvantage. In having seen us as you saw us to-night, +we are absolutely in your power, should you choose to be unscrupulous. +Under these circumstances, I have a right to demand +the name of a man who knows <i>me</i> so intimately. I +have a right to know why you followed us, or me, to that +house to-night?”</p> + +<p>His companion laughs good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>“In spite of your airs, Mr. Warburton,” he says candidly, +“you would be a fine fellow if you were not—such a prig. So +you demand an explanation. Well, here it is, at least as much +as you will need to enlighten you. Who am I? I am a +friend to all honest men. Why did I follow you? Neither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +Vernet nor myself followed you or the lady. Vernet was +there as the leader of an organized Raid. I was there—ahem! +as a pilot for Vernet. <i>You</i> were there as a spy upon the lady. +Mrs. Warburton’s presence remains to be accounted for. And +now, Mr. Warburton, adieu. You are out of present danger; +if I find that Mrs. Warburton has not fared so well, you will +hear from me again. If otherwise, you look your last upon +Silly Charlie.”</p> + +<p>With a mocking laugh he turns, and pausing at the corner +to wave his hand in farewell, he darts away in the direction +whence he came.</p> + +<p>Puzzled, chagrined, his brain teeming with strange thoughts, +Alan Warburton turns homeward.</p> + +<p>What is it that has come upon him this night? Less than +two hours ago, an aristocrat, proud to a fault, with an unblemished +name, and with nothing to fear or to conceal. Now, +stealing through the dark streets like an outcast, his pride +humbled to the dust, his breast burdened with a double secret, +accused of murder, creeping from the police, a hunted man! +To-morrow the town will be flooded with descriptions of this +escaped sailor. To-morrow he must change his appearance, +must flee the city.</p> + +<p>And all because of his zeal for the family honor; all because +of his brother’s wife, and her horrible secret! To-night +charity hath no place in Alan Warburton’s heart.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Meanwhile, Van Vernet, covered with rags and dust, +sickened by the foul smell of the vault into which he has +been precipitated, and boiling over with wrath, is being rescued +from his absurd and uncomfortable position by three policemen, +who, being sent forward to ascertain if possible the cause<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +of their leader’s prolonged absence, have stumbled upon him +in the very nick of time.</p> + +<p>As he emerges from the trap, by the aid of the same rope +with which not long before he had secured Alan Warburton’s +feet, he presents a most ludicrous appearance. His hat has +been lost in the darkness of the cellar, and his head is plentifully +decorated with rags and feathers, which have adhered +tenaciously to his disarranged locks. He is smeared with +dirt, pallid from the stench, nauseated, chagrined, wrathful.</p> + +<p>Instinctively he comprehends the situation. The simpleton +has played him false, the prisoner has escaped.</p> + +<p>On the floor lie the handcuffs which Alan Warburton has +shaken off as he fled. He picks them up and examines them +eagerly. Then an imprecation breaks from his lips. They +have been <i>unlocked!</i> And by whom? Not by the man who +wore them; that was impossible.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, flinging down the handcuffs, he turns to the +policemen.</p> + +<p>“Two men have escaped from this house, after throwing +me into that cellar,” he says rapidly. “They must be overtaken—a +sailor and a pretended simpleton tricked out in rags +and tinsel. After them, boys; out by that door. They can’t +be far away. Capture them <i>alive or dead!</i>”</p> + +<p>The door by which Alan and his rescuer made their exit +stands invitingly open, and the three officers, promptly obeying +their leader, set off in pursuit of the sailor and the simpleton.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Van Vernet plucks the extempore adornments +from his head and person, and meditates ruefully, almost forgetting +the original Raid in the chagrin of his present failure.</p> + +<p>He goes to the side of the murdered man, who still lies as +he had fallen, and looks down upon him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>“Ah, +my fine fellow,” he mutters, “you give me a chance +to redeem myself. If I have been outwitted to-night by a +sailor and a fool, you and I will have fine revenge. A sailor! +Ah, it was no common sailor, if I may trust my eyes and +my senses. The hands were too white and soft; the feet too +small and daintily clad; the face, in spite of the low-drawn +cap and the tattooing, was too aristocratic and too <i>clean</i>. And +the fool! Ah, it is no common fool who carries keys that +unlock our new patent handcuffs, and who managed this rescue +so cleverly. For once, Van Vernet has found his match! +But the scales shall turn. The man who killed <i>you</i>, my lad, +and the man who outwitted <i>me</i>, shall be found and punished, +or Van Vernet will have lost his skill!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>VERNET DISCOMFITED.</h3> + +<p>While the discomfited Vernet kept watch alone with the +dead, his men were running up and down the alleys, listening, +peering, searching in by-places, in the hope of finding the +hiding-place, or to overtake the flight, of the fugitive sailor +and his idiot guide.</p> + +<p>More than an hour they consumed in this search, and then +they returned to their superior officer to report their utter +failure.</p> + +<p>“It is what I expected,” said Vernet, with severe philosophy. +“Those fellows are no common rascals. They have spoiled +our Raid; before this, every rogue in the vicinity has been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +warned. I would not give a copper for all we can capture +now.”</p> + +<p>And Vernet was right, the Raid was a failure. Mustering +his men, he made the tour of the streets and alleys, but everywhere +an unnatural silence reigned. The Thieves’ Tavern +was fast shut and quite silent; the drinking dens, the streets +and cellars, where riot and infamy reigned, were under the +influence of a silent spell.</p> + +<p>It was only the yelp of a dog, heard here and there as Silly +Charlie and Alan Warburton sped through the streets and +lanes, but its effect was magical. It told the rioters, the crooks +and outlaws in hiding, that there was danger abroad,—that +the police were among them. And their orgies were hushed, +their haunts became silent and tenantless; while every man +who had anything to fear from the hands of justice—and what +man among them had not?—slunk away to his secret hiding-place, +and laid a fierce clutch upon revolver or knife.</p> + +<p>The Raid was an utter failure; and Van Vernet, as he led +his men ruefully homeward, little dreamed of the cause of the +failure.</p> + +<p>This night’s work, which had been pre-supposed a sure +success, had been spoiled by a fool. A most unusual fool,—of +that Vernet was fully aware; only a fool as he played his +part. But he had played it successfully.</p> + +<p>Vernet had been duped by this seeming idiot, and foiled by +the sailor-assassin. Of this he savagely assured himself, in +the depths of his chagrin.</p> + +<p>But, shrewd man as he was, he never once imagined that +under the rags and tinsel, the dirt and disfigurement of the +fool, the strong will and active brain of <i>Richard Stanhope</i> +were arrayed against him; nor dreamed that “Warburton, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +aristocrat,” the man who had wounded his pride and looked +down upon him as an inferior, had escaped from his clutches +in the garb of a common sailor.</p> + +<p>Arrived at head-quarters, Vernet laid before his Chief a +full report of the night’s misadventures, and concluded his +narrative thus:</p> + +<p>“It has never before been my misfortune to report so complete +a failure. But the affair shall not end here. I have +my theory; I intend to run down these two men, and I believe +they will be worth the trouble I shall take on their account. +They were both shams, I am sure. The sailor never +saw a masthead; he could not even act his part. The other—well, +he played the fool to perfection, and—he outwitted <i>me</i>.”</p> + +<p>One thing troubled Vernet not a little. Richard Stanhope +did not make a late appearance at the Agency. He did not +come at all that night, or rather that morning. And Vernet +speculated much as to the possible cause of this long delay.</p> + +<p>It was late in the day when Stanhope finally presented himself, +and then he entered the outer office alert, careless, <i>debonnaire</i> +as usual; looking like a man with an untroubled +conscience, who has passed the long night in peaceful repose.</p> + +<p>Vernet, who had arrived at the office but a moment before, +lifted his face from the newspaper he held and cast upon his +<i>confrere</i> an inquiring glance.</p> + +<p>But Dick Stanhope was blind to its meaning. With his +usual easy morning salutation to all in the room, he passed +them, and applied for admittance at the door of his Chief’s +private office. It was promptly opened to him, and he walked +into the presence of his superior as jauntily as if he had not, +by his unaccountable absence, spoiled the most important +Raid of the season.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>It was a long interview, and as toward its close the sounds +of uproarious laughter penetrated to the ears of the loungers +in the outer room, Van Vernet bit his lip with vexation. +Evidently the Chief was not visiting his displeasure too +severely upon his dilatory favorite.</p> + +<p>Vernet’s cheeks burned as he realized how utterly he had +failed. Not only had he heaped confusion upon himself, but +he had not succeeded in lessening Stanhope’s claim to favoritism +by bringing upon him the displeasure of the Agency.</p> + +<p>While he sat, still tormented by this bitter thought, Stanhope +re-entered the room, and walking straight up to Vernet +brought his hand down upon the shoulder of that gentleman +with emphatic heartiness, while he said, his eyes fairly dancing +with mischief, and every other feature preternaturally +solemn:</p> + +<p>“I say, Van, old fellow, how do you like conducting a +Raid?”</p> + +<p>It was a moment of humiliation for Van Vernet. But he, +like Stanhope, was a skilled actor, and he lifted his eyes to the +face of his inquisitor and answered with a careless jest, while +he realized that in this game against Richard Stanhope he +had played his first hand, and had lost.</p> + +<p>“It shall not remain thus,” he assured himself fiercely; +“I’ll play as many trumps as Dick Stanhope, before our little +game ends!”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>When Walter Parks returned from his two days’ absence, +and called at the office to receive the decisions of the two +detectives, the Chief said:</p> + +<p>“You may consider yourself sure of both men, after a little. +Dick Stanhope, whose case promised to be a very short one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +has asked for more time. And Van Vernet is in hot chase +after two sly fellows, and won’t give up until they are trapped. +You may be sure of them both, however. And in order that +they may start fair, after their present work is done, I have +arranged that you meet them here to-night, and let them listen +together to your statement.”</p> + +<p>“I like the idea,” said Walter Parks earnestly, “and I will +be here at the appointed time.”</p> + +<p>That evening, Vernet and Stanhope,—the former grave, +courteous, and attentive; the latter cool, careless, and inconsequent +as usual,—sat listening to the story of Arthur Pearson’s +mysterious death, told with all its details.</p> + +<p>As the tale progressed, Van Vernet became more attentive, +more eager, his eyes, flashing with excitement, following every +gesture, noting every look that crossed the face of the narrator. +But Dick Stanhope sat in the most careless of lounging attitudes; +his eyes half closed or wandering idly about the +room; his whole manner that of an individual rather more +bored than interested.</p> + +<p>“It’s a difficult case,” said Van Vernet, when the story +was done. “It will be long and tedious. But as soon as I +have found the man or men I am looking for, I will undertake +it. And if the murderer is above ground, I do not anticipate +failure.”</p> + +<p>But Stanhope only said:</p> + +<p>“I don’t know when I shall be at your disposal. The affair +I have in hand is not progressing. Your case looks to me +like a dubious one,—the chances are ninety to one against you. +But when I am at liberty, if Van here has not already solved +the mystery, I’ll do my level best for you.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>CALLED TO ACCOUNT.</h3> + +<p>It was a long road for a woman to travel at that unconventional +hour, but Leslie Warburton was fleet-footed, and fear +and excitement lent her strength.</p> + +<p>Necessity had taught her how to enter and escape from the +dangerous maze where the people who claimed a right in her +existence dwelt. And on being forced to flee by her haughty +brother-in-law, she bowed her head and wrapping herself in +her dark cloak sped away through the night.</p> + +<p>She had little fear of being missed by her guests,—a masquerade +affords latitude impossible to any other gathering, +and contrary to the usual custom, the maskers were to continue +their <i>incognito</i> until the cotillion began. If her guests missed +her, she would be supposed to be in some other apartment. +If she were missed by Winnie, that little lady would say: +“She is with Archibald, of course.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was an unsafe journey. But she accomplished +it, and arrived, panting, weary, and filled with a terrible +dread at the thought of the exposure that must follow her +encounter with Alan.</p> + +<p>They were dancing still, her light-hearted guests, and +Leslie resumed her Sunlight robes, and going back to her place +among them forced herself to smile and seem to be gay, while +her heart grew every moment heavier with its burden of fear +and dire foreboding.</p> + +<p>Anxiously she watched the throng, hoping, yet dreading, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +see the sailor costume of Alan, fearing lest, in spite of his +high courage, disaster had overtaken him.</p> + +<p>It was in the grey of morning, and her guests were dispersing, +when Alan Warburton reappeared. He was muffled as +at first, in the black and scarlet domino, and he moved with +the slow languor of one utterly exhausted or worn with pain.</p> + +<p>At length it was over; the last guest had departed, the house +was silent, and Leslie and Alan stood face to face under the +soft light of the library chandelier.</p> + +<p>During the ceremonies of departure, he had remained constantly +near her. And when they were left, at last, with only +Winnie French beside them, Leslie, seeing that the interview +was inevitable, had asked Winnie to look in upon little Daisy, +adding, as the girl, with a gay jest, turned to go:</p> + +<p>“I will join you there soon, Winnie, dear; just now Alan +and I have a little to say about some things that have occurred +to-night.”</p> + +<p>Tossing a kiss to Leslie, and bestowing a grimace upon Alan +as he held open the door for her exit, Winnie had <i>pirouetted</i> +out of the room, and sped up the broad stairway as fleetly as +if her little feet were not weary with five hours’ dancing.</p> + +<p>Then Leslie, with a stately gesture, had led the way to the +library.</p> + +<p>Silently, and as if by one accord, they paused under the +chandelier, and each gazed into the face of the other.</p> + +<p>His eyes met hers, stern, accusing, and darkened with pain; +while she—her bearing was proud as his, her face mournful, +her eyes resolute, her lips set in firm lines. She looked neither +criminal nor penitent; she was a woman driven to bay, and +she would fight rather than flee.</p> + +<p>Looking him full in the face, she made no effort to break<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +the silence. Seeing which, Alan Warburton said:</p> + +<p>“Madam, you play your part well. You are not now the +nocturnal wanderer menaced by a danger—”</p> + +<p>“From which you rescued me,” she interrupts, her face +softening. “Alan, it was a brave deed, and I thank you a +thousand times!”</p> + +<p>“I do not desire your gratitude, Madam. I could have +done no less, and would do yet more to save from disgrace +the name we bear in common. Was your absence noted? Did +you return safely and secretly?”</p> + +<p>“I have not been missed, and I returned as safely and as +secretly as I went.”</p> + +<p>Her voice was calm, her countenance had hardened as at +first.</p> + +<p>“Madam, let us understand each other. One year ago the +name of Warburton had never known a stain; now—”</p> + +<p>He let the wrath in his eyes, the scorn in his face, finish +what his lips left unsaid.</p> + +<p>But the eyes of his beautiful opponent flashed him back +scorn for scorn.</p> + +<p>“Now,” she said, with calm contempt in her voice, “now, +the proudest man of the Warburton race has stepped down +from his pedestal to play the spy, and upon a woman! I +thank you for rescuing me, Alan Warburton, but I have no +thanks to offer for <i>that!</i>”</p> + +<p>“A spy!” He winced as his lips framed the word. “We +are calling hard names, Mrs. Warburton. If I was a spy in +that house, <i>what</i> were you! I <i>have</i> been a spy upon your +actions, and I have seen that which has caused me to blush +for my brother’s wife, and tremble for my brother’s honor. +More than once I have seen you leave this house, and return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +to it, clandestinely. It was one of these secret expeditions, +which I discovered by the merest chance, that aroused my +watchfulness. More than once have letters passed to and fro +through some disreputable-looking messenger. To-night, for +the first time, I discovered <i>where</i> you paid your visits, but not +to <i>whom</i>. To-night I traced you to the vilest den in all the +city. Madam, this mystery must be cleared up. What +wretched secret have you brought into my brother’s house? +What sin or shame are you hiding under his name? What +is this disgrace that is likely to burst upon us at any moment?”</p> + +<p>Slowly she moved toward him, looking straight into his +angry, scornful face. Slowly she answered:</p> + +<p>“Alan Warburton, you have appointed yourself my accuser; +you shall not be my judge. I am answerable to you for nothing. +From this moment I owe you neither courtesy nor +gratitude. I <i>have</i> a secret, but it shall be told to my husband, +not to you. If I have done wrong, I have wronged him, not +you. You have insulted me under my own roof to-night, +for the last time. I will tell my story to Archibald now; he +shall judge between us.”</p> + +<p>She turned away, but he laid a detaining hand upon her +arm.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” he said, “you must not go to Archibald with this; +you shall not!”</p> + +<p>“Shall not!” she exclaimed scornfully; “and who will prevent +it?”</p> + +<p>“I will prevent it. Woman, have you neither heart nor +conscience? Would you add murder to your list of transgressions?”</p> + +<p>“Let me go, Alan Warburton,” she answered impatiently; +“I have done with you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>“But I have not done with you! Oh, you know my +brother well; he is trusting, confiding, blind where you are +concerned. He believes in your truth, and he must continue +so to believe. He must not hear of this night’s work.”</p> + +<p>“But he shall; every word of it.”</p> + +<p>“Every word! Take care, Mrs. Warburton. Will you +tell him of the lover who was here to-night, disguised as a +woman, the better to hover about you?”</p> + +<p>“You wretch!” She threw off his restraining hand and +turned upon him, her eyes blazing. Then, after a moment, +the fierce look of indignation gave place to a smile of contempt.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, turning again toward the door, “I shall +tell him of that too.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will give him his death-blow; understand that! +Yesterday, when his physician visited him, he told us the +truth. Archibald’s life is short at best; any shock, any strong +emotion or undue excitement, will cause his death. Quiet +and rest are indispensable. To-morrow—to-day, you were to +be told these things. By Archibald’s wish they were withheld +from you until now, lest they should spoil your pleasure in +the masquerade.”</p> + +<p>The last words were mockingly uttered, but Leslie paid no +heed to the tone.</p> + +<p>“Are you telling me the truth?” she demanded. “Must I +play my part still?”</p> + +<p>“I am telling you the truth. You must continue to play +your part, so far as he is concerned. For his sake I ask you +to trust me. You bear our name, our honor is in your keeping. +Whatever your faults, your misdeeds, have been, they +must be kept secrets still. I ask you to trust me,—not that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +I may denounce you, but to enable me to protect us all from +the consequences of your follies.”</p> + +<p>If the words were conciliatory, the tone was hard and +stern. Alan Warburton could ill play the role he had undertaken.</p> + +<p>The look she now turned upon him was one of mingled +wonder and scorn.</p> + +<p>“You are incomprehensible,” she said. “I am gratified to +know that it was not my life nor my honor, but your own +name, that you saved to-night,—it lessens my obligation. +Being a woman, I am nothing; being a Warburton, disgrace +must not touch me! So be it. If I may not confide in my +husband, I will keep my own counsel still. And if I cannot +master my trouble alone, then, perhaps, as a last resort, +and for the sake of the Warburton honor, I will call upon you +for aid.”</p> + +<p>There was no time for a reply. While the last words were +yet on her lips, the heavy curtains were thrust hastily aside and +Winnie French, pallid and trembling, stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Leslie! Alan!” she cried, coming toward them with a sob +in her throat, “we have lost little Daisy!”</p> + +<p>“Lost her!”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton uttered the two words as one who does +not comprehend their meaning. But Leslie stood transfixed, +like one stunned, yet not startled, by an anticipated blow.</p> + +<p>“We have hunted everywhere,” Winnie continued wildly. +“She is not in the house, she is not—”</p> + +<p>She catches her breath at the cry that breaks from Leslie’s +lips, and for a moment those three, their festive garments in +startling contrast with their woe-stricken faces, regard each +other silently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>Then Leslie, overcome at last by the accumulating horrors +of this terrible night, sways, gasps, and falls forward, pallid +and senseless, at Alan Warburton’s feet.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>BETRAYED BY A PICTURE.</h3> + + +<p>Little Daisy Warburton was missing. The blow that had +prostrated Leslie at its first announcement, struck Archibald +Warburton with still heavier force. It was impossible to +keep the truth from him, and when it became known, his +feeble frame would not support the shock. At day-dawn, he +lay in a death-like lethargy. At night, he was raving with +delirium. And on the second day, the physicians said:</p> + +<p>“There is no hope. His life is only a thing of days.”</p> + +<p>Leslie and Alan were faithful at his bedside,—she, the +tenderest of nurses; he, the most sleepless of watchers. But +they avoided an interchange of word or glance. To all +appearance, they had lost sight of themselves in the presence +of these new calamities—Archibald’s hopeless condition, and +the loss of little Daisy.</p> + +<p>No time had been wasted in prosecuting the search for the +missing child. When all had been done that could be done,—when +monstrous rewards had been offered, when the police +were scouring the city, and private detectives were making +careful investigations,—Leslie and Alan took their places at +the bedside of the stricken father, and waited, the heart of +each heavy with a burden of unspoken fear and a new, terrible +suspicion.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo22.png" alt="Alan and Winnie +receive the news that Daisy is missing" width="300" height="446" /> +<p class="caption">“Leslie! Alan!” she cried, coming toward them with a sob in her +throat, “we have lost little Daisy!”—<a href="#Page_155">page 155</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>So two long, dreary days passed away, with no tidings +from the lost and no hope for the dying.</p> + +<p>During these two days, Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope +were not idle.</p> + +<p>The struggle between them had commenced on the night +of the masquerade, and now there would be no turning back +until the one became victor, the other vanquished.</p> + +<p>Having fully convinced himself that Vernet had deliberately +ignored all their past friendship, and taken up the cudgel +against him, for reward and honor, Stanhope resolved at least +to vindicate himself; while Vernet, dominated by his ambition, +had for his watchword, “success! success!”</p> + +<p>Fully convinced that behind that which was visible at the +Francoise hovel, lay a mystery, Vernet resolved upon fathoming +that mystery, and he set to work with rare vigor.</p> + +<p>Having first aroused the interest of the authorities in the +case, Vernet caused three rewards to be offered. One for the +apprehension of the murderer of the man who had been identified +as one Josef Siebel, professional rag-picker, and of +Jewish extraction, having a sister who ran a thieving “old +clo’” business, and a brother who kept a disreputable pawn +shop.</p> + +<p>The second and third rewards were for the arrest of, or information +concerning, the fellow calling himself “Silly +Charlie,” and the parties who had occupied the hovel up to +the night of the murder.</p> + +<p>These last “rewards” were accompanied by such descriptions +of Papa and Mamma Francoise as Vernet could obtain +at second-hand, and by more accurate descriptions of the Sailor, +and Silly Charlie.</p> + +<p>Rightly judging that sooner or later Papa Francoise, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +some of his confederates, would attempt to remove the concealed +booty from the deserted hovel,—which, upon being +searched, furnished conclusive proof that buying rags at a +bargain was not Papa’s sole occupation,—Van Vernet set a +constant watch upon the house, hoping thus to discover the +new hiding-place of the two Francoise’s. Having accomplished +thus much, he next turned his attention to his affairs +with the aristocrat of Warburton Place.</p> + +<p>This matter he now looked upon as of secondary importance, +and on the second day of Archibald Warburton’s illness he +turned his steps toward the mansion, intent upon bringing his +“simple bit of shadowing” to a summary termination.</p> + +<p>He had gathered no new information concerning Mrs. +Warburton and her mysterious movements, nevertheless he +knew how to utilize scant items, and the time had come when +he proposed to make Richard Stanhope’s presence at the +masquerade play a more conspicuous part in the investigation +which he was supposed to be vigorously conducting.</p> + +<p>The silence and gloom that hung over the mansion was too +marked to pass unnoticed by so keen an observer.</p> + +<p>Wondering as to the cause, Vernet pulled the bell, and +boldly handed his professional card to the serious-faced footman +who opened the door.</p> + +<p>In obedience to instructions, the servant glanced at the card, +and reading thereon the name and profession of the applicant, +promptly admitted him, naturally supposing him to be connected +with the search for little Daisy.</p> + +<p>“Tell your master,” said Vernet, as he was ushered into the +library, “tell your master that I must see him at once. My +business is urgent, and my time limited.”</p> + +<p>The servant turned upon him a look of surprise.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>“Do you mean Mr. Archibald Warburton, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then it will be impossible. Mr. Warburton has been +dangerously sick since yesterday. The shock—Mr. Alan receives +all who have business.”</p> + +<p>Mentally wondering what the servant could mean, for in +the intensity of his interest in his new search, he had not informed +himself as to the late happenings that usually attract +the attention of all connected with the police, and was not +aware of the disappearance of Archibald Warburton’s little +daughter, Vernet said briefly, and as if he perfectly understood +it all:</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless, you may deliver my message.”</p> + +<p>Somewhat overawed by the presence of this representative +of justice, the servant went as bidden, and in another moment +stood before Alan Warburton, presenting the card of the detective +and delivering his message.</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton started at sight of the name upon the card, +and involuntarily turned his gaze toward the mirror. The +face reflected there was not the face we saw unmasked, for a +moment, at the masquerade. The brown moustache and glossy +beard, the abundant waving hair, were gone. To the wonder +and disapproval of all in the house, Alan had appeared among +them, on the morning following the masquerade, with smooth-shaven +face and close-cropped hair, looking like a boy-graduate +rather than the distinguished man of the world he had +appeared on the previous day.</p> + +<p>Van Vernet had seen his bearded face but once, and there +was little cause to fear a recognition; nevertheless, recalling +Stanhope’s warning, Alan chose the better part of valor, and +said calmly:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>“Tell the person that Mr. Warburton is so ill that his life +is despaired of, and that he is quite incapable of transacting +business. He cannot see him at present.”</p> + +<p>Wondering somewhat at this cavalier message, the servant +retraced his steps, and Alan returned to the sick-room, murmuring +as he went:</p> + +<p>“It seems the only way. I dare not trust my voice in +conversation with that man. For our honor’s sake, my dying +brother must be my representative still.”</p> + +<p>And then, as his eye rested upon Leslie, sitting by the bedside +pale and weary, a thrill of aversion swept over him as he +thought:</p> + +<p>“But for her, and her wretched intrigue, I should have no +cause to deceive, and no man’s scrutiny to fear.”</p> + +<p>Alas for us who have secrets to keep; we should be “as +wise as serpents,” and as farseeing as veritable seers.</p> + +<p>While Alan Warburton, above stairs, was congratulating +himself, believing that he had neglected nothing of prudence +or precaution, Van Vernet, below stairs, was grasping a clue +by which Alan Warburton might yet be undone.</p> + +<p>Reentering the library, the servant found Vernet, his cheeks +flushed, his eyes ablaze with excitement, standing before an +easel which upheld a life-sized portrait—a new portrait, recently +finished and just sent home, and as like the original, as +he had appeared on yesterday, as a picture could be like life.</p> + +<p>When the servant had delivered his message, and without +paying the slightest heed to its purport, Vernet demanded, +almost fiercely:</p> + +<p>“Who is the original of that portrait?”</p> + +<p>“That, sir,” said the servant, “is Mr. Alan Warburton.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>A PROMISE TO THE DYING.</h3> + +<p>Paying no further heed to the servant, and much to the +surprise of that functionary, Van Vernet turned his gaze back +upon the picture, and looked long and intently, shifting his +position once or twice to obtain a different view. Then taking +up his hat, he silently left the house, a look of mingled elation +and perplexity upon his face.</p> + +<p>“It’s the same!” he thought, as he hurried away; “it’s the +same face, or a most wonderful resemblance. Allow for the +difference made by the glazed cap, the tattoo marks and the +rough dress, and it’s the very same face! It seems incredible, +but I know that such impossibilities often exist. What is +there in common between Mr. Alan Warburton, aristocrat, +and a nameless sailor, with scars upon his face and blood upon +his hands? The same face, certainly, and—perhaps the same +delicate hands and dainty feet. It may be only a resemblance, +but I’ll see this Alan Warburton, and I’ll solve the mystery +of that Francoise hovel yet.”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>While Van Vernet thus soliloquizes over his startling discovery, +we will follow the footsteps of Richard Stanhope.</p> + +<p>He is walking away from the more bustling portion of the +city, and turning into a quiet, home-like street, pauses before +a long, trim-looking building, turns a moment to gaze about +him in quest of possible observers, and then enters.</p> + +<p>It is a hospital, watched over by an order of noble women,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +and affording every relief and comfort to the suffering ones +within its walls.</p> + +<p>Passing the offices and long wards, he goes on until he has +reached a private room in the rear of the building. Here +coolness and quiet reign, and a calm-faced woman is sitting +beside a cot, upon which a sick man tosses and mutters +feverishly. It is the ex-convict who was rescued from the +Thieves’ Tavern by Stanhope, only a few nights ago.</p> + +<p>“How is your patient?” queries the detective, approaching +the bed and gazing down upon the man whom he has befriended.</p> + +<p>“He has not long to live,” replies the nurse. “I am glad +you are here, sir. In his lucid moments he asks for you constantly. +His delirium will pass soon, I think, and he will +have a quiet interval. I hope you will remain.”</p> + +<p>“I will stay as long as possible,” Stanhope says, seating +himself by the bed. “But I have not much time to spare to-night.”</p> + +<p>The dying man is living his childhood over again. He +mutters of rolling prairies, waving trees, sweeping storms, +and pealing thunder. He laughs at the review of some pleasing +scene, and then cries out in terror as some vision of horror +comes before his memory.</p> + +<p>And while he mutters, Richard Stanhope listens—at first +idly, then curiously, and at last with eager intensity, bending +forward to catch every word.</p> + +<p>Finally he rises, and crossing the room deposits his hat +upon a table, and removes his light outer coat.</p> + +<p>“I shall stay,” he says briefly. “How long will he live?”</p> + +<p>“He cannot last until morning, the surgeon says.”</p> + +<p>“I will stay until the end.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>He resumes his seat and his listening attitude. It is sunset +when his watch begins; the evening passes away, and still the +patient mutters and moans.</p> + +<p>It is almost midnight when his mutterings cease, and he +falls into a slumber that looks like death.</p> + +<p>At last there comes an end to the solemn stillness of the +room. The dying man murmurs brokenly, opens his eyes +with the light of reason in them once more, and recognizes his +benefactor.</p> + +<p>“You see—I was—right,” he whispers, a wan smile upon +his face; “I am going to die.”</p> + +<p>He labors a moment for breath, and then says:</p> + +<p>“You have been so good—will—will you do one thing—more?”</p> + +<p>“If I can.”</p> + +<p>“I want my—mother to know—I am dead. She was not +always good—but she was—my mother.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me her name, and where to find her?”</p> + +<p>The voice of the dying man sinks lower. Stanhope bends +to catch the whispered reply, and then asks:</p> + +<p>“Can you answer a few questions that I am anxious to +put to you?”</p> + +<p>“Y—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Now that you know yourself dying, are you willing to +tell me anything I may wish to know?”</p> + +<p>“You are the—only man—who was ever—merciful to me,” +said the dying man. “I will tell you—anything.”</p> + +<p>Turning to the nurse, Stanhope makes a sign which she understands, +and, nodding a reply, she goes softly from the room.</p> + +<p>When Richard Stanhope and the dying man are left alone, +the detective bends his head close to the pillows, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +questions asked, and the answers given, are few and brief.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the form upon the bed becomes convulsed, the +eyes roll wildly and then fix themselves upon Stanhope’s face.</p> + +<p>“You promise,” gasps the death-stricken man, “you will +tell them—”</p> + +<p>The writhing form becomes limp and lifeless, the eyes take +on a glassy stare, and there is a last fluttering breath.</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope closes the staring eyes, and speaks his +answer in the ears of the dead.</p> + +<p>“I will tell them, poor fellow, at the right time, but—before +my duty to the dead, comes a duty to the living!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>A BUSINESS CALL.</h3> + +<p>It was grey dawn when Stanhope left the hospital and +turned his face homeward, and then it was not to sleep, but +to pass the two hours that preceded his breakfast-time in profound +meditation.</p> + +<p>Seated in a lounging-chair, with a fragrant cigar between +his lips, he looked the most care-free fellow in the world. +But his active brain was absorbed in the study of a profound +problem, and he was quite oblivious to all save that problem’s +solution.</p> + +<p>Whatever the result of his meditation, he ate his breakfast +with a keen relish, and a countenance of serene content, and +then set off for a morning call upon Mr. Follingsbee.</p> + +<p>He found that legal gentleman preparing to walk down to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +his office; and after an interchange of salutations, the two +turned their faces townward together.</p> + +<p>“Well, Stanhope,” said the lawyer, linking his arm in that +of the detective with friendly familiarity, “how do you +prosper?”</p> + +<p>“Very well; but I must have an interview with Mrs. +Warburton this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Phew! and you want me to manage it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer considered a moment.</p> + +<p>“You know that the Warburtons are overwhelmed with +calamity?” he said.</p> + +<p>Stanhope glanced sharply from under his lashes, and then +asked carelessly:</p> + +<p>“Of what nature?”</p> + +<p>“Archibald Warburton lies dying; his little daughter has +been stolen.”</p> + +<p>“What!” The detective started, then mastering his surprise, +said quietly: “Tell me about it.”</p> + +<p>Briefly the lawyer related the story as he knew it, and then +utter silence fell between them, while Richard Stanhope lost +himself in meditation. At last he said:</p> + +<p>“It’s a strange state of affairs, but it makes an immediate +interview with the lady doubly necessary. Will you arrange +it at once?”</p> + +<p>“You are clever at a disguise: can you make yourself look +like a gentleman of my cloth?”</p> + +<p>“Easily,” replied Stanhope, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll send Leslie—Mrs. Warburton, a note at once, +and announce the coming of myself and a friend, on a matter +of business.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>An hour later, a carriage stopped before the Warburton +doorway, and two gentlemen alighted.</p> + +<p>The first was Mr. Follingsbee, who carried in his hand a +packet of legal-looking papers. The other was a trim, prim, +middle-aged gentleman, tightly buttoned-up in a spotless +frock coat, and looking preternaturally grave and severe.</p> + +<p>They entered the house together, and the servant took up +to Leslie the cards of Mr. Follingsbee and “S. Richards, attorney.”</p> + +<p>With pale, anxious face, heavy eyes, and slow, dragging +steps, Leslie appeared before them, and extended her hand to +Mr. Follingsbee, while she cast a glance of anxious inquiry +toward the seeming stranger.</p> + +<p>“How is Archibald?” asked the lawyer, briskly.</p> + +<p>“Sinking; failing every moment,” replied Leslie, sadly.</p> + +<p>“And there is no news of the little one?”</p> + +<p>“Not a word.”</p> + +<p>There was a sob in her throat, and Mr. Follingsbee, who +hated a scene, turned abruptly toward his companion, saying:</p> + +<p>“Ours is a business call, Leslie, and as the business is Mr. +Stanhope’s not mine, I will retire to the library while it is being +transacted.”</p> + +<p>And without regarding her stare of surprise, he walked +coolly from the room, leaving Leslie and the disguised detective +face to face.</p> + +<p>“Is it possible!” she said, after a moment’s silence; “is this +Mr. Stanhope!”</p> + +<p>The middle-aged gentleman smiled and came toward her.</p> + +<p>“It is I, Mrs. Warburton. An interview with you seemed +to me quite necessary, and I considered this the safest disguise, +and Mr. Follingsbee’s company the surest protection.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>She bowed her head and looked inquiringly into his +face.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton, are you still desirous to discover the +identity of the person who has been a spy upon you?” he +asked gravely.</p> + +<p>“I know—” she checked herself and turned a shade paler. +“I mean I—” again she paused. What should she say to +this man whose eyes seemed looking into her very soul? +What did he know?</p> + +<p>“Let me speak for you, madam,” he said, coming close to +her side, his look and manner full of respect, his voice low +and gentle. “You do not need my information; you have, +yourself, discovered the man.”</p> + +<p>Then, seeing the look of distress and indecision upon her +face, he continued:</p> + +<p>“On the night of our first interview, I pledged my word to +respect any secret of yours which I might discover. At the +same time I warned you that such discovery was more than +possible. If, in saying what it becomes my duty to say, I +touch upon a subject offensive to you, or upon which you are +sensitive, pardon me. Under other circumstances I might +have said: Mrs. Warburton, it is your brother-in-law who has +constituted himself your shadow. But the events that followed +that masquerade have made what would have been a +simple discovery, a most complicated affair. Can we be sure +of no interruption while you listen?”</p> + +<p>She sank into a chair, with a weary sigh.</p> + +<p>“There will be no interruption. Miss French and my +brother-in-law are watching in the sick-room; the servants +are all at their posts. Be seated, Mr. Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>He drew a chair near that which she occupied, and plunged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +at once into his unpleasant narrative, talking fast, and in low, +guarded tones.</p> + +<p>Beginning with a description of the Raid as it was planned, +he told how he had been detained at the masquerade—how he +had discovered the presence of Vernet, and suspected his +agency in the matter—how, without any thought other than +to be present at the Raid, to note Vernet’s generalship, and +satisfy himself, if possible, as to the exact meaning of his unfriendly +conduct, he, Stanhope, had assumed the disguise of +“Silly Charlie”, had encountered Vernet and been seized +upon by that gentleman as a suitable guide,—and how, while +convoying his false friend through the dark alleys, they were +startled by a cry for help.</p> + +<p>As she listened, Leslie’s face took on a look of terror, and +she buried it in her hands.</p> + +<p>“I need not dwell upon what followed,” concluded Stanhope. +“Not knowing what was occurring, I managed to enter +first at the door. I heard Alan Warburton bid you fly for +your husband’s sake. I saw your face as he forced you through +the door, and then I contrived to throw Vernet off his feet +before he, too, should catch a glimpse of you.”</p> + +<p>Leslie shuddered, and as he paused, she asked, from behind +her hands:</p> + +<p>“And then—oh, tell me what happened after that!”</p> + +<p>“Your brother-in-law closed and barred the door, and +turned upon us like a lion at bay, risking his own safety to +insure your retreat. What! has he not told you?”</p> + +<p>“He has told me nothing.”</p> + +<p>“There is little more to tell. I knew him for your brother-in-law, +because, here at the masquerade, I was a witness to a +little scene in which he threw off his mask and domino. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +was when he met and frightened the little girl, and then reproved +the servant.”</p> + +<p>“I remember.”</p> + +<p>“I recognized him at once, and fearing lest, by arresting +him, we might do harm to you, or bring to light the secret I +had promised to help you keep, I connived at his escape.”</p> + +<p>She lifted her head suddenly.</p> + +<p>“<i>Arrest!</i>” she exclaimed; “why should you arrest <i>him?</i>”</p> + +<p>Stanhope fixed his eyes upon her face; then sinking his voice +still lower, he said:</p> + +<p>“Something had occurred before we came upon the scene; +what that something was, you probably know. What we +found in that room, after your flitting, was Alan Warburton, +standing against the door with a table before him as a breast-work, +in his hand a blood-stained bar of iron, and almost at +his feet, a dead body.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“It was the body of a dead rag-picker. Before you left +that room, a fatal blow was struck.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I—I don’t know—I can’t tell—it was all confused.”</p> + +<p>She sank back in her chair, her face fairly livid, her eyes +looking unutterable horror.</p> + +<p>“Some one had committed a murder,” went on Stanhope, +keeping his eyes fixed upon her pallid face; “and the instrument +that dealt the blow was in your brother-in-law’s +hand. To arrest him would have been to compromise you, +and I had promised you safety and protection.”</p> + +<p>She bent forward, looking eagerly into his face.</p> + +<p>“And you rescued him?” she said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“You could scarcely call it that. He resisted grandly, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +was brave enough to effect his own rescue. I guided him +away from that unsafe locality, and warned him of the danger +which menaced him.”</p> + +<p>“And is that danger now past?”</p> + +<p>“Is it past!” He took from his pocket a folded placard, +opened it, and put it into her hands.</p> + +<p>It was the handbill containing the description of the escaped +Sailor, and offering a reward for his capture.</p> + +<p>With a cry of remorse and terror, Leslie Warburton flung +it from her, and rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>“My God!” she cried, wringing her hands wildly, “my +cowardice, my folly, has brought this upon him, upon us all!”</p> + +<p>Then turning toward the detective, a sudden resolve replacing +the terror in her eye, a resolute ring in her voice, she +said:</p> + +<p>“Listen; you have proved yourself worthy of all confidence; +you shall hear all I have to tell; you shall judge +between my enemies and me.”</p> + +<p>“But, madam—”</p> + +<p>“Wait; I want your advice, too, your aid, perhaps. Mr. +Follingsbee also shall hear me.”</p> + +<p>She started toward the library, but the detective put out a +detaining hand.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” he said, firmly. “If what you are about to say +includes anything concerning Alan Warburton, or the story +of that night, we must have no confidants while his liberty +and life are menaced. His identity with that missing Sailor +must never be known, even by Mr. Follingsbee.”</p> + +<p>She breathed a shuddering sigh, and returned to her seat.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” she said hurriedly; “and until you shall +advise me otherwise, I will tell my story to none but you.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>LESLIE’S STORY.</h3> + +<p>“I shall not weary you with a long story,” began Leslie +Warburton; “this is not the time for it, and I am not in the +mood. My husband lies above us, hopelessly ill. My little +step-daughter is lost, and in Heaven only knows what danger. +My brother-in-law is a hunted man, accused of the most +atrocious of crimes. And I feel that I am the unhappy cause +of all these calamities. If I have erred, I am doubly punished. +Let me give you the bare facts, Mr. Stanhope; such +details as you may wish can be supplied hereafter.</p> + +<p>“I am, as you have been told, the adopted child of Thomas +Uliman, of the late firm of Uliman & French. Until his +death, I had supposed myself to be his own child. During +the last year of my adopted father’s life, it was his dearest +wish that I should marry his friend, Archibald Warburton, +and we became affianced. After the death of my adopted +father, Mr. Warburton urged a speedy marriage, and we fixed +a day for the ceremony.</p> + +<p>“Less than a week later, it became necessary to overlook +my father’s papers, in the search for some missing document. +After looking through his secretary, and examining a great +many papers without finding the one for which I searched, I +remembered that my mother’s desk contained many papers. +As the missing document referred to some property held by +them jointly, I made a search there. She had been dead for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +more than a year, and all her keys were in my possession, but +until that day I had never had the courage to approach her +desk.</p> + +<p>“Searching among her papers, I found one which had never +been intended for my eyes. It was folded tightly, and crowded +into a tiny space behind a little drawer. My mother’s death +was quite sudden; had she died of a lingering sickness, the +paper would doubtless have been destroyed, for it furnished +proof that I was not the child of Thomas Uliman and his +wife, Mathilde, but an adopted daughter, while I was represented +in the will as their only child. The paper I found was +in my father’s writing, and by it, Franz Francoise and his +wife, Martha—”</p> + +<p>“What!” The exclamation fell involuntarily from Stanhope’s +lips. Then checking himself, he said quietly: “I beg +your pardon; proceed.”</p> + +<p>“Franz Francoise and his wife, Martha, by this paper resigned +all claim to the child, Leschen, for a pecuniary consideration. +The child was to be rechristened Leslie Uliman, +and legally adopted by the Ulimans, the two Francoises +agreeing never to approach or claim her.</p> + +<p>“Imagine my consternation and grief! With this paper in +my hand, I went straight to Mr. Follingsbee. He had known +the truth from the first, but assured me that the Ulimans +had never intended that I should learn it. I had been legally +adopted, and the little fortune they had left me was lawfully +mine.</p> + +<p>“Then I told the story to my intended husband, and, +knowing his pride, offered him a release. He only laughed +at my Quixotism, and hastened the marriage preparations, +bidding me never, under any circumstances, allude to the subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +again. Soon after that, I was approached by the Francoises—you +have seen them?” lifting her eyes to his face.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then I need not tell you the miseries of my various interviews +with them. They had learned that I was alone in the +world, and they came to claim me; I was their child. Holding, +as I did, the proofs of adoption, many women would have +accepted their claim; I could not. My soul arose in revolt; +every throb of my heart beat against them. If nature’s voice +ever speaks, it spoke in me against their claim. Not against +their age, their poverty, or their ignorance; but against the +greed, the selfishness, the vileness that was too much a part +of them to remain hidden. Sooner than acknowledge their +claim, I would have died by my own hand. They wanted +money, and with that I purchased a respite. Then my great +temptation came.</p> + +<p>“Archibald Warburton had bidden me never to speak again +on the subject of my parentage—why not take him at his +word? If I broke off my marriage with him, I must give a +reason; and the true reason I would never give. Not even +to Mr. Follingsbee would I tell the truth. I kept my secret; +and after much hesitation, the Francoises accepted the larger +share of my little fortune, and swore never to approach me +again,—to leave the city forever. I believed myself safe then, +and married Mr. Warburton.</p> + +<p>“The rest you can guess. Finding that I had married a +wealthy man, disregarding their oaths, the Francoises came +back, and renewed their persecutions. And I was more than +ever in their power. They forced me to visit them when +they would. Their demands for money increased. I grew +desperate at last, and on the night of the masquerade, I went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +in obedience to an imperative summons, resolved that it should +be the last time.”</p> + +<p>She paused here and looked, for the first time since the beginning +of her recital, straight into the face of the detective, +who, sitting with his body bent forward and his eyes fixed +upon her, seemed yet to be listening after her words had +ceased, so intent was his gaze, so absorbed his manner.</p> + +<p>Thus a moment of silence passed. Then Stanhope, withdrawing +his eyes, and leaning back in his seat, asked suddenly:</p> + +<p>“Is that all?”</p> + +<p>“It is not all, Mr. Stanhope. On the night of the masquerade, +while I was absent from the house no doubt, my +little step-daughter disappeared.”</p> + +<p>“I know.”</p> + +<p>“You have heard it, of course. I believe that I know +why, and by whom, she was abducted.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“I suspect the Francoises.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“I love the child, and they know it. She will be another +weapon in their hands. Besides, if I cannot, or will not reclaim +her, there is the reward.”</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope leaned forward, and slightly lifted his +right hand.</p> + +<p>“Is there any one else who would be benefited by the death +or disappearance of the child?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Leslie started, and the hot blood rushed to her face.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t understand,” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Do you know the purport of your husband’s will.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“How does he dispose of his large property?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>“One third to me; the rest to little Daisy.”</p> + +<p>“And his brother?”</p> + +<p>“Alan possesses an independent fortune.”</p> + +<p>“Are there no contingencies?”</p> + +<p>“In case of my death, all comes to Daisy, Alan becoming +her guardian. In case of Daisy’s death, Alan and I share +equally.”</p> + +<p>“Then by the loss of this child, both you and the young man +become richer.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she gasped, “I had never thought of <i>that!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton, beginning at the moment when you left +this house to visit the Francoises, will you tell me all that +transpired, up to the time of your escape from their house?”</p> + +<p>With cheeks flushing and paling, and voice tremulous with +the excitement of some new, strange thought, she described to +him the scene in the Francoises’ house.</p> + +<p>“So,” thought Stanhope, when all was told, “Mr. Alan +Warburton’s presence at that special moment was strangely +opportune. Why was he there? What does he know of the +Francoises? The plot thickens, and I would not be in Alan +Warburton’s shoes for all the Warburton wealth.”</p> + +<p>But, aloud, he only said:</p> + +<p>“Thanks, Mrs. Warburton. If you are correct in your +suspicions, and the Francoises have stolen the child, they will +approach you sooner or later. Should they do so, make no +terms with them, but communicate with me at once.”</p> + +<p>“By letter?”</p> + +<p>“No; through the morning papers. Use this form.”</p> + +<p>Taking from his pocket a note-book, he wrote upon a leaf +a few words, tore it from the book, and put it into her hand.</p> + +<p>“That is safer than a letter,” he said, rising. “One +word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +more, madam. Tell Alan Warburton to be doubly guarded +against Van Vernet. His danger increases at every step. +Now we will call Mr. Follingsbee.”</p> + +<p>“One moment, Mr. Stanhope. Alan has employed detectives +to search for Daisy, but none of them know what +you know. Will <i>you</i> find her for me?” She held out her +hands appealingly.</p> + +<p>The detective looked at her in silence for a moment, then, +striding forward, he took the outstretched hands in both his +own, and gazing down into her face said, gently:</p> + +<p>“I will serve you to the extent of my power, dear lady. +I will find the little one, if I can.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee had passed his hour of waiting in the most +comfortable manner possible, fast asleep in a big lounging-chair. +Being aroused, he departed with Stanhope, manifesting +no curiosity concerning the outcome of the detective’s +visit.</p> + +<p>While their footsteps yet lingered on the outer threshold, +Winnie French came flying down the stairway.</p> + +<p>“Come quick!” she cried to Leslie. “Archibald is worse; +he is dying!”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>“I will serve you to the extent of my power,” Richard +Stanhope had said, holding Leslie Warburton’s hands in his, +and looking straight into her appealing eyes. “I will find +the little one, if I can.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he went straight to the Agency, and, standing +before his Chief, said:</p> + +<p>“I am ready to begin work for Mr. Parks, sir. I shall +quit the Agency to-day. Give Vernet my compliments, and +tell him I wish him success. It may be a matter of days,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +weeks, or months, but you will not see me here again until I +can tell you <i>who killed Arthur Pearson</i>.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>VERNET ON THE TRAIL.</h3> + +<p>The discovery made by Van Vernet, on the day of his visit +to the Warburton mansion, aroused him to wonderful activity, +and made him more than ever eager to ferret out the +hiding-place of Papa Francoise, who, he felt assured, could +throw much light upon the mystery surrounding the midnight +murder.</p> + +<p>He set a constant watch upon the deserted Francoise house, +and kept the dwelling of the Warburtons under surveillance, +while he, in person, gravitated between these two points of interest, +during the time when he was not employed in collecting +items of information concerning the Warburton family. +Little by little he gathered his bits of family history, and was +now familiar with many facts concerning the invalid master +of the house and his second marriage, and the travelled and +aristocratic brother, who, so rumor said, was proud as a crown-prince, +and blameless as Sir Galahad.</p> + +<p>“These immaculate fellows are not to my taste,” muttered +Van Vernet, on the morning following the day when Stanhope +held his last interview with Leslie, as he took his station +at a convenient point of observation, prepared to pass the forenoon +in watching the Warburton mansion.</p> + +<p>His first glance toward the massive street-door caused him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +to start and mutter an imprecation. The bell was muffled, +and the door-plate hidden beneath heavy folds of crape.</p> + +<p>Archibald Warburton was dead. The hand that stole his +little one had struck his death-blow, as surely as if by a dagger +thrust. His feeble frame, unable to endure those long +days of suspense, had given his soul back to its origin, his +body back to nature.</p> + +<p>Within was a household doubly stricken; without, a two-fold +danger menaced.</p> + +<p>“So,” muttered Van Vernet, as he gazed upon this insignia +of death; “so my patron is dead; that stately, haughty +aristocrat has lost all interest in his wife’s secrets. Well, so +have I—but I have transferred my interest to his brother, +Alan Warburton. Death caused by shock following loss of +his little daughter, no doubt. That tall, straight seigneur +looked like a man able to outlive a shock, too.”</p> + +<p>He was not at all ruffled by the sudden taking-off of the +man he supposed to be his patron. He had not made a single +step toward the clearing-up of the mystery surrounding the +goings and comings of Mrs. Archibald Warburton. His discovery +of Stanhope at the masked ball, and his machinations +consequent upon that discovery, together with the fiasco of the +Raid and all its after-results, had made it impossible that he +could interest himself in what he considered “merely a bit of +domestic intrigue.”</p> + +<p>He was not sorry that Archibald Warburton was dead, and +he resolved to profit by that death.</p> + +<p>Since the discovery of Alan Warburton’s picture, Van +Vernet’s mind had been drifting toward dangerous conclusions.</p> + +<p>Suppose this wealthy aristocrat and the Sailor assassin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +should prove the same, what would follow? Might he not +naturally conclude that a secret existed between Alan Warburton +and the Francoises, and, if so, what was the nature +of that secret? Why was Alan Warburton, if it were he, +absent from his house on a night of festivity, a night when +he should have been making merry with his brother’s guests?</p> + +<p>If he were in league with those outlaws of the slums, it was +not for plunder; surely the Warburtons were rich enough. +What, then, was the secret which that stately mansion concealed?</p> + +<p>“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” quoted +Vernet, grimly. “That Sailor assassin first—the Warburton +skeleton first. They are almost under my hand, and once I +grasp them, my clutch is upon the Warburton millions, too.”</p> + +<p>The morning was yet early, there was quiet in the street +and Van Vernet, wearing for convenience sake the uniform +of a policeman, paced slowly down toward the house of mourning. +As he neared the street-corner, two women, beggars +evidently, came hurrying around the corner straight toward +him.</p> + +<p>At sight of his uniform the larger and elder of the two, a +stout woman with a vicious face, a sharp eye, and head closely +muffled in a ragged shawl, started slightly. Then with a +furtive glance and a fawning obeisance, she hurried her companion +past him, and down the street.</p> + +<p>This companion, a younger woman, her face covered with +bruises and red with dissipation, walked with a painful limp, +and the hesitating air of the blind, her eyes tightly shut and +the lids quivering.</p> + +<p>“Playing blind,” muttered Vernet, as they hastened past +him. “If I were the regular officer here, I’d have them out +of this; as it is—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>He gave a shrug of indifference and glanced back over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>The two women had halted before the Warburton mansion, +and the elder one was looking up at the crape-adorned door.</p> + +<p>Then she glanced backward toward the officer, who seemed +busy contemplating the antics of a pair of restive horses that +were coming down the street. Seeing him thus employed, +she darted down the basement-stairs, dragging her stumbling +companion after her.</p> + +<p>Suddenly losing his interest in the prancing horses, Van +Vernet turned and hastily approached the mansion, screened +from the view of the two women by the massive stone steps.</p> + +<p>Even a beggar, of the ordinary type, respects the house of +mourning. And as he drew near them, Vernet mentally assured +himself that these were no ordinary mendicants.</p> + +<p>They were standing close to the basement-entrance. And +as he stealthily approached, he saw that the elder woman put +into the hand of the servant, who had opened the door, a folded +paper which she took reluctantly, glanced down at, and with +a sullen nod put into the pocket of her apron. Then, without +a word to the two beggars, she closed and locked the door, +while they, seeming not in the least disconcerted, turned and +moved leisurely up the basement-stairs.</p> + +<p>They would have passed Vernet hurriedly, but he put out +his hand and said:</p> + +<p>“Look here, my good souls, don’t you know that this is no +place for beggars? You can’t be very old in the business or +you’d never trouble a house where you see <i>that</i> on the door.” +And pointing to the badge of mourning, he concluded his +oration: “Be off, now, and thank fortune that I’m a good-natured +fellow.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>The woman muttered something after the usual mendicant +fashion, and hastened away down the street.</p> + +<p>At the same moment the prancing horses, held to a walk +by the firm hand of their stout driver, came opposite the +mansion, and a face muffled in folds of crape looked out from +the carriage.</p> + +<p>But Van Vernet had now no eyes for the horses, the carriage, +or its occupant.</p> + +<p>Noting, with a hasty glance, the direction taken by the two +women, he sprang down the basement-steps and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>The servant who had opened to the women, again appeared +at the door.</p> + +<p>“What do <i>you</i> want?” she asked, crossly; for being an +honest servant she had no fear of the blue coat and brass buttons +of the law.</p> + +<p>The bogus policeman touched his hat and greeted her with +an affable smile.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I thought you might be +annoyed by those beggars. I can remove them if you enter +a complaint. I saw that they gave you some kind of a paper; +a begging letter, probably. Just give it to me, and I will see +that they don’t intrude again upon people who are in trouble +enough.”</p> + +<p>He extended his hand for the letter; but the servant drew +back, and answered hastily:</p> + +<p>“Don’t bother yourself. I’ve had my orders, and I guess +when I don’t want beggars around, I know how to send them +to the right-about.”</p> + +<p>And without waiting to note the effect of her speech, she +shut the door in his face, leaving him to retreat as the two +beggars had done.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo23.png" alt="Vernet sends the two beggars on their way" width="300" height="442" /> +<p class="caption">“Be off, now, and thank fortune that I am a good-natured fellow.”—<a href="#Page_181">page +181</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>Hastening up the steps he looked after the women, who +were already nearly two blocks away. Then, with one backward +glance, he started off in the same direction, keeping at +a safe distance, but always in sight of them.</p> + +<p>“So,” he mused, as he walked along, “the Warburton servant +has had her orders. That was precisely the information +I wanted. These women were not beggars, but messengers, +and they brought no message of the ordinary kind.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly he uttered a sharp ejaculation, and quickened his +pace.</p> + +<p>“That old woman—why, she answers perfectly the description +given of Mother Francoise! And if it <i>is</i> Mother Francoise, +she has undoubtedly brought a message to Alan Warburton. +If it is that old woman, I will soon know it, for I +shall not take my two eyes off her until I have tracked her +home.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>WHO KILLED JOSEF SIEBEL.</h3> + +<p>While Van Vernet was following after the two women, +the carriage with the restless horses moved slowly past the +Warburton dwelling.</p> + +<p>An observer might have noted that the face of the crape-draped +occupant was pressed close against the oval window, +in the rear of the vehicle, watching the direction taken by +Van Vernet. Then, suddenly, this individual leaned forward +and said to the driver:</p> + +<p>“Around the corner, Jim, and turn.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>The order was promptly obeyed.</p> + +<p>“Now back, Jim,” said this fickle-minded person. Then +as the carriage again rounded the corner: “You see that fellow +in policeman’s uniform, Jim?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Follow him.”</p> + +<p>Slowly the carriage moved along, picking its way across +crowded thoroughfares, for many blocks, the occupant keeping +a close watch upon the movements of Van Vernet, this +time through the window in front.</p> + +<p>Finally, leaning back in the carriage with a muttered, +“That settles it; he’s going to track them home,” he again +addressed the driver:</p> + +<p>“Turn back, Jim.”</p> + +<p>“All right, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Drive to Warburton Place, side entrance.”</p> + +<p>Leslie Warburton, her vigil being over, was alone in her +room, pacing restlessly up and down, a look of dire foreboding +on her face, and in her hand a crumpled note.</p> + +<p>At the sound of an opening door she turned to confront her +maid, who proffered her a card.</p> + +<p>Leslie took it mechanically and then started as she read +thereon:</p> + +<p class="ind20"><span class="smcap">Madam Stanhope</span>,<br /> +<span class="ind10">Modeste.</span></p> + +<p>And written in the corner of the card, the underlined word, +<i>Imperative</i>.</p> + +<p>There was a look of relief upon the face she turned to the +servant.</p> + +<p>“Where is the—lady?”</p> + +<p>“In the little drawing-room, madam.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>Holding the card in her hand, Leslie hastened to the little +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>A tall, veiled woman advanced to meet her; it was the occupant +of the carriage.</p> + +<p>Leslie came close to this sombre-robed figure and said, almost +in a whisper: “Mr. Stanhope?”</p> + +<p>“It is I, Mrs. Warburton. Need I say that only the most +urgent necessity could have brought me here at such a time?”</p> + +<p>“It is the right time, sir.”</p> + +<p>She held up before him the crumpled note.</p> + +<p>“It is from <i>them?</i>” he asked.</p> + +<p>Leslie nodded.</p> + +<p>“It contains the secret of their present whereabouts, and +bids you come to them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You will not go?”</p> + +<p>“How can I, now?”—her voice almost a wail—“and yet—”</p> + +<p>“You are safe to refuse, Mrs. Warburton. You need not +comply with any instructions they may give you henceforth. +Let me have that note.”</p> + +<p>“But—”</p> + +<p>“I must have it, in order to save you. I must know where +to find these people.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him inquiringly, and put the note into his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said. “Has Van Vernet visited this +house, to your knowledge?”</p> + +<p>“He has.”</p> + +<p>“And he saw—”</p> + +<p>“No one. I obtained my information from a servant. He +sent up his card to Alan, who refused to meet him.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>“Ah!” +Stanhope turned toward the door, putting the note +in his pocket as he did so. Suddenly he paused, his eyes resting +upon the portrait of Alan Warburton.</p> + +<p>“That is very imprudent,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“That picture. It must be removed.” Then turning +sharply toward her: “Are there other pictures of Mr. Alan +Warburton in this house?”</p> + +<p>“No; this is the only recent portrait.”</p> + +<p>He sat down and looked at the picture intently.</p> + +<p>“Van Vernet has been here, you tell me. Can he have +seen <i>that?</i>”</p> + +<p>Fully alive now to the delicacy and danger of the situation, +Leslie lifted her hand and turned toward the door. “Wait,” +she said, and went swiftly out.</p> + +<p>“So,” muttered Stanhope, as he again contemplated the +picture, “a square foot of canvas can spoil all my plans. If +Van has seen <i>this</i>, my work becomes doubly hard, and Warburton’s +case a desperate one.”</p> + +<p>While he pondered, Leslie came softly back, and stood before +him.</p> + +<p>“It is as bad as you feared,” she said, tremulously. “Van +Vernet was received in this very room, the servant tells me. +He saw the picture, examined it closely, and asked the name +of the original.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Stanhope, rising, “the picture need not be +removed. It has done all the mischief it can. To remove it +now would only make a suspicion a certainty. Listen, madam, +and as soon as possible report what I tell you to Alan Warburton. +A short time ago, Mamma Francoise and one of her +tools left the note I hold, at your basement-door. Van<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +Vernet, who was watching near here, saw them and followed +them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>“He has seen that picture. Tell your brother-in-law that +Van Vernet has seen it and, doubtless, has traced the resemblance +between it and the fugitive Sailor; tell him that Vernet +is now on the track of the Francoises, who, if found, will be +used to convict him of murder.”</p> + +<p>“But—Alan is not guilty.”</p> + +<p>“Are you <i>sure</i> of that?”</p> + +<p>“I—I—” She faltered and was silent.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton,” he asked, slowly, “do you know <i>who</i> +struck that blow?”</p> + +<p>She trembled violently, and her face turned ashen white.</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell! I don’t know!” she cried wildly. “It was +a moment of confusion, but—it was not—oh, no, no, it was +<i>not</i> Alan!”</p> + +<p>Not a little surprised at this incoherent outburst, Stanhope +looked her keenly in the face, a new thought taking possession +of his mind.</p> + +<p>Could it be that she, in the desperation of the moment, in +her struggle for safety, had stricken that cruel blow? Such +things had been. Women as frail, in the strength born of +desperation, had wielded still more savage weapons with fatal +effect.</p> + +<p>The question, who killed Josef Siebel? was becoming a +riddle.</p> + +<p>“Let that subject drop,” said Stanhope, withdrawing his +eyes from her face. “Tell your brother-in-law of his danger, +but do not make use of my name. He knows nothing about me. +For yourself, obey no summons like this you have just received.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +You need not make use of my newspaper-telegraph +now. What I saw this morning, showed me the necessity for +instant action. There is one thing more: tell Alan Warburton +that now, with Vernet’s eye upon him, there will be no +safety in flight. Let him remain here, but tell him, above +all, to shun interviews with strangers, be their errand what it +will. Let no one approach him whom he does not know to +be a friend. After your husband’s funeral, you too had better +observe this same caution. Admit <i>no strangers</i> to your +presence.”</p> + +<p>“But you—”</p> + +<p>“I shall not apply for admittance; I am going away. Before +you see me again, I trust your troubles will have ended.”</p> + +<p>“And little Daisy?”</p> + +<p>“We shall find her, I hope. Mrs. Warburton, time presses; +remember my instructions and my warning. Good-morning.”</p> + +<p>He moved toward the door, turned again, and said:</p> + +<p>“One thing more; see that you and your household avoid +any movement that might seem, to a watcher, suspicious. +Vernet keeps this house under surveillance, night and day. +He is a foe to fear. Once more, good-by.”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>It was long past noon when Van Vernet, weary but triumphant, +reappeared upon the fashionable street where stood the +Warburton mansion.</p> + +<p>He had been successful beyond his utmost expectations. +Not only had he succeeded in tracking the two women to their +hiding-place, for it could scarcely be called their home, but he +had also satisfied himself that the elder woman was indeed and +in truth Mamma Francoise; and that Papa Francoise was +also sheltered by the tumble-down roof under which the old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +woman and her companion had passed from his sight.</p> + +<p>Vernet was tired with his long promenade at the heels of +the two sham beggars, and he resolved to give the mansion a +brief reconnoitring glance and then to turn the watch over to +a subordinate.</p> + +<p>Accordingly he sauntered down the street, noting as he +walked the unchanged aspect of the shut-up house. He was +still a few paces away, when a vehicle came swiftly down the +street, rolling on noiseless wheels.</p> + +<p>It was an undertaker’s van, and it came to a halt before the +door of the Warburton mansion. Two men were seated upon +the van, and as one of them dismounted and ascended the +stately steps, the other, getting down in more leisurely +fashion, opened the door in the end of the vehicle, disclosing +to the view of Vernet, who by this time was near enough to +see, a magnificent casket.</p> + +<p>In another moment, the man who had gone to announce +their arrival came down the steps, accompanied by a servant, +and together the three carefully drew the casket from the van.</p> + +<p>Vernet’s quick eye detected the fact that it was heavy, and +his quicker brain caught at an opportunity. Stepping to the +side of the man who seemed to hold the heaviest weight, he +proffered his assistance. It was promptly accepted, and, together, +the four lifted the splendid casket, and carried it into +the wide hall.</p> + +<p>What is it that causes Van Vernet’s eyes to gleam, and his +lips to twitch with some new, strange excitement, as they put +the casket down? His gaze rests upon it as if fascinated.</p> + +<p>Archibald Warburton, the man in the black and scarlet +domino, the man who had employed him to watch the movements +of Leslie Warburton, was six-foot tall. And this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +casket—it was made for a much shorter, a much smaller man!</p> + +<p>If <i>this</i> were intended for Archibald Warburton, who, then, +was the six-foot masker?</p> + +<p>With eyes aglow, and firmly-compressed lips, Van Vernet +cast a last glance at the casket and the name, Archibald Warburton, +on the plate. Then turning away, he followed the two +undertakers from the house.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the steps he paused, and looked up at the +closed windows with the face of a man who saw long-looked-for +daylight through a cloud of mist.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Alan Warburton,” he muttered, “<i>I have you now!</i>”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL.</h3> + +<p>In every city where splendor abounds and wealth rolls in +carriages, can be found, also, squalor and wretchedness. If +the rich have their avenues, and the good and virtuous their +sanctuaries, so have the poor their by-ways and alleys, and +the vicious their haunts. In a great city there is room for +all, and a place for everything.</p> + +<p>Papa and Mamma Francoise had left their abiding-place in +the slums for a refuge even more secure.</p> + +<p>Van Vernet had followed the two women to a narrow +street, long since left behind by the march of progress; a street +where the huts and tumble-down frame buildings had once +been reputable dwellings and stores, scattered promiscuously +along on either side of a thoroughfare that had once been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +clean, and inhabited by modest industry. But that was many +years ago: it had long been given over to dirt and disorder +without, and to rags, poverty, rats and filth within. Here +dwelt many foreigners, and the sound of numerous tongues +speaking in many languages, might always be heard.</p> + +<p>On this street, in the upper rooms of a rickety two-story +house, Papa and Mamma Francoise had set up their household +gods after their flight from the scene of Josef Siebel’s murder; +the lower floor being inhabited by a family of Italians, +who possessed an unlimited number of children and a limited +knowledge of English.</p> + +<p>It is evening, the evening of the day that has witnessed +Van Vernet’s most recent discovery, and Papa and Mamma +are at home.</p> + +<p>The room is even more squalid than that recently occupied +by them, for, besides a three-legged table, two rickety chairs, +a horribly-dilapidated stove and two dirty, ragged pallets at +opposite sides of the room, furniture there is none.</p> + +<p>Perched upon one of the two rickety chairs, his thin legs +extended underneath the table and his elbows resting upon it, +sits Papa Francoise, lost in the contemplation of a broken +glass containing a small quantity of the worst whiskey; and +near him, Mamma squats upon the floor before the rusty stove, +in which a brisk fire is burning, stirring vigorously at a strong-smelling +decoction which is simmering over the coals.</p> + +<p>“Come, old woman,” growls Papa, with a self-assertion +probably borrowed from the broken glass under his eye, “get +that stuff brewed before the gal comes in. And then try and +answer my question: what’s to be done with her?”</p> + +<p>Mamma Francoise stirs the liquid more vigorously, and +takes a careful sip from the iron spoon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>“Ah,” +she murmurs, “that’s the stuff. It’s a pity to +spoil it.”</p> + +<p>She rises slowly, and drawing a bottle from her pocket, +pours into the basin a few drops of brown liquid, stirs it again, +and then removing the decoction from the fire, pours it into a +battered cup, which she sets upon the floor at a distance from +the stove.</p> + +<p>If one may judge from Mamma’s abstinence, the liquor <i>has</i> +been spoiled, for she does not taste it again.</p> + +<p>Having thus completed her task, she turns toward one of +the pallets, and seating herself thereon lifts her eyes toward +Papa.</p> + +<p>“What’s to be done with the girl?” she repeats. “That’s +the question I’ve asked <i>you</i> often enough, and I never got an +answer yet.”</p> + +<p>Papa withdraws his gaze from her face, and fixes it once +more upon the broken tumbler.</p> + +<p>“She ain’t no good to us,” resumes Mamma, “and we can’t +have her tied to us always.”</p> + +<p>“Nor we can’t turn her adrift,” says Papa, significantly.</p> + +<p>“No; we can’t turn her adrift,” replies Mamma. “We +can’t afford to keep her, and we can’t afford to let her go.”</p> + +<p>“Consequently—” says Papa.</p> + +<p>And then they look at one another in silence.</p> + +<p>“We may have to get out of this place at a minute’s warning,” +resumes Mamma, after a time, “and how can we expect +to dodge the cops with that gal tied to us? You and I can +alter our looks, but we can’t alter hers.”</p> + +<p>“No,” says Papa, shaking his head, “we can’t alter hers—not +now.”</p> + +<p>“And if we could, we can’t alter her actions.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>“No; +we can’t alter her actions,” agrees Papa, with a cunning +leer, “except to make ’em worse.”</p> + +<p>And he casts a suggestive glance toward the tin cup on the +floor.</p> + +<p>“It won’t do,” said Mamma, noting the direction of his +glance; “it won’t do to increase the drams. If she got worse, +we couldn’t manage her at all. It won’t do to give her any +more.”</p> + +<p>“And it won’t do to give her any less. Old woman, we’ve +just got back to the place we started from.”</p> + +<p>Mamma Francoise rests her chin in her ample palm and +ponders.</p> + +<p>“I think I can see a way,” she begins. Then, at the sound +of an uncertain footstep on the rickety stairs, she stops to +listen. “That’s her,” she says, a frown darkening her face. +“She’s got to be kept off the street.”</p> + +<p>She goes to the door, opens it with an angry movement, and +peers out into the dark hall.</p> + +<p>“Nance, you torment!”</p> + +<p>But the head that appears above the stair-railing is not +the head of a female, and it is a masculine voice that says, in +an undertone:</p> + +<p>“Sh-h! Old woman, let me in, and don’t make a fuss.”</p> + +<p>The woman starts back and is about to close the door, when +something in the appearance of the man arrests her attention.</p> + +<p>As he halts at the top of the stairway, the light from the +door reveals to her a shock of close-curling, carroty-red hair.</p> + +<p>In another moment he stands with a hand on either door-post.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo24.png" alt="Franzy enters and greets Papa and Mamma Francoise" width="300" height="452" /> +<p class="caption">“How are ye, old uns? Governor, how are ye?”—<a href="#Page_194">page 194</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“How are ye’ old uns?” he says, with a grin. “Governor, +how are ye?” And then, with a leer, and a lurch which betrays<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +the fact that he is half intoxicated, he adds, in a voice +indicative of stupid astonishment: “Why, I’m blowed, the +blessed old fakers don’t know their own young un!”</p> + +<p>“Franzy!” Mamma Francoise starts forward, a look of +mingled doubt and anxiety upon her face. “Franzy! No, it +can’t be Franzy!”</p> + +<p>“Why can’t it be? Ain’t ten years in limbo enough? Or +ain’t I growed as handsome as ye expected to see me?” Then +coming into the room, and peering closely into the faces of +the two: “I’m blessed if I don’t resemble the rest of the +family, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>The two Francoises drew close together, and scrutinized the +new-comer keenly, doubtfully, with suspicion.</p> + +<p>Ten years ago, their son, Franzy, then a beardless boy of +seventeen, and a worthy child of his parents, had reluctantly +turned his back upon the outer world and assumed a prison +garb, to serve out a twenty years’ sentence for the crime of +manslaughter.</p> + +<p>Ten years had elapsed and this man, just such a man as +their boy must have become, stands before them and claims +them for his parents.</p> + +<p>There is little trace of the old Franz, save the carroty hair, +the color of the eyes, the devil-may-care manner, and the +reckless speech. And after a prolonged gaze, Papa says, still +hesitatingly:</p> + +<p>“Franzy! is it really Franzy?”</p> + +<p>The new claimant to parental affection flings out his hand +with a fierce gesture, and a horrible oath breaks from his +lips.</p> + +<p>“Is it <i>really</i> Franzy?” he cries, derisively. “Who else do +ye think would be likely to claim <i>yer</i> kinship? I’ve put in<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +ten years in the stripes, an’ I’m about as proud of ye as I was +of my ball and chain. I’ve taken the trouble ter hunt ye up, +with the police hot on my trail; maybe ye don’t want ter +own the son as might a-been a decent man but for yer +teachin’. Well, I ain’t partikeler; I’ll take myself out of yer +quarters.”</p> + +<p>He turns about with a firm, resentful movement, and +Mamma Francoise springs forward with a look of conviction +on her hard face.</p> + +<p>“Anybody’d know ye after <i>that</i> blow out,” she says with a +grin. “Ye’re the same old sixpence, Franzy; let’s have a +look at ye.”</p> + +<p>She lays a hand upon his arm, and he turns back half reluctantly.</p> + +<p>“Wot’s struck ye?” he asks, resentfully. “Maybe it’s occurred +to ye that I may have got a bit o’ money about me. +If that’s yer lay, ye’re left. An’ I may as well tell ye that if +ye can’t help a fellow to a little of the necessary, there’s no +good o’ my stoppin’ here.”</p> + +<p>And shaking her hand from his arm, this affectionate Prodigal +strides past her, and peers eagerly into the broken glass +upon the table.</p> + +<p>“Empty, of course,” he mutters; “I might a-known it.”</p> + +<p>Then his eyes fix upon the tin cup containing Mamma’s +choice brew. Striding forward, he seizes it, smells its contents, +and with a grunt of satisfaction raises it to his lips.</p> + +<p>In an instant Mamma Francoise springs forward, and seizing +the cup with both hands, holds it away from his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Franz! you mustn’t drink that.”</p> + +<p>A string of oaths rolls from his lips, and he wrests the cup +from her hand, spilling half its contents in the act.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>“Stop, +Franzy!” calls Papa, excitedly; “that stuff won’t +be good for you.”</p> + +<p>And hurrying to one of the pallets he draws from under it +a bottle, which, together with the broken tumbler, he presents +to the angry young man.</p> + +<p>“Here, Franzy, drink this.”</p> + +<p>But the Prodigal shakes off his father’s persuasive touch, +and again seizes upon the cup of warm liquor.</p> + +<p>“Franzy!” cries Papa, in a tremor of fear, “drop that; <i>it’s +doctored</i>.”</p> + +<p>The Prodigal moves a step backward, and slowly lowers +the cup.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” he ejaculates, musingly, “it’s doctored! Wot are +ye up to, old uns? If it’s a doctored dose, I don’t want it—not +yet. Come, sit down and let’s talk matters over.”</p> + +<p>Taking the bottle from the old man’s hand, he goes back to +the table, seats himself on the chair recently occupied by the +elder Francoise, motioning that worthy to occupy the only +remaining chair. And courtesy being an unknown quality +among the Francoises, the three are soon grouped about the +table, Mamma accommodating herself as best she can.</p> + +<p>“Franzy,” says Mamma, after refreshing herself from the +bottle, which goes from hand to hand; “before you worry any +more about that medicine, an’ who it’s for, tell us how came +yer out?”</p> + +<p>“How came I out? Easy enough. There was three +of us; we worked for it five months ahead, and one of us +had a pal outside. Pass up the bottle, old top, while I +explain.”</p> + +<p>Having refreshed himself from the bottle, he begins his +story, interluding it with innumerable oaths, and allotting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +himself a full share of the daring and dangerous feats accompanying +the escape.</p> + +<p>“It’s plain that ye ain’t read the papers,” he concludes. +“Ye’d know all about it, if ye had.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>FRANZY FRANCOISE’S GALLANTRY.</h3> + + +<p>While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the +contents of the aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, +the evening wore on.</p> + +<p>Franz had related the story of his escape and his subsequent +adventures, and finished by telling them how, by the +merest accident, he had espied Mamma and Nance upon their +return from the Warburton mansion; and how, at the risk of +being detained by a too-zealous “cop,” he had followed them, +and so discovered their present abode.</p> + +<p>In exchange for this interesting story, Papa had briefly +sketched the outline of the career run by himself and Mamma +during the ten years of their son’s absence, up to the time of +their retreat from the scene of the Siebel tragedy.</p> + +<p>“We were doing a good business,” sighed Papa, dolefully, +“a very good business, in that house. But one night +there were two or three there with—goods, and while the old +woman and I were attending to business, the others got into +a fuss—ah. We had no hand in it, the old woman and me, +but there was a man killed, and it wasn’t safe to stay there, +Franzy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>“Umph!” +muttered the hopeful son; “who did the killin’?”</p> + +<p>Papa glanced uneasily at the old woman, and then replied:</p> + +<p>“We don’t know, Franzy. The fight began when we were +out of the room, and—we don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a pity; wasn’t there any reward?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, boy,” said Mamma, eagerly; “a big reward. An’ +if we could tell who did the thing, we would be rich.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody got arrested, of course?”</p> + +<p>“N—no, Franzy; nobody’s been arrested—not yet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, they’re a-lookin’ fer somebody on suspicion? I say, +old top, if nobody knows who struck the blow, seems to me +ye’re runnin’ a little risk yerself. S’pose they should run yer +to earth, eh?”</p> + +<p>“We’ve been careful, Franzy.”</p> + +<p>“S’pose ye have—look here, old un, don’t ye see yer +chance?”</p> + +<p>“How, Franzy?”</p> + +<p>“How! If I was you, I’d clear my own skirts, and git +that reward.”</p> + +<p>“How? how?”</p> + +<p>“<i>I’d know who did the killin’.</i>”</p> + +<p>And he leaned forward, took the bottle from Mamma’s reluctant +hand, and drained it to the last drop, while Papa and +Mamma looked into each other’s eyes, some new thought sending +a flush of excitement to the face of each.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Franzy,” murmured Mamma, casting upon him a +look of pride, such as a tiger might bestow upon her cub, +“ye’ll be a blessin’ to yer old mother yet!”</p> + +<p>Then she turns her head and listens, while Franz, casting +a wistful look at the now empty bottle, rises to his feet the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +movement betraying the fact that he is physically intoxicated, +although his head as yet seems so clear.</p> + +<p>Again footsteps approach, and Mamma hastens to the door, +listens a moment, opens it cautiously, and peers out.</p> + +<p>“It’s that gal,” she mutters, setting the door wide open. +“Come in, you Nance! Where have you been, making yourself +a nuisance?”</p> + +<p>Then she falls back a pace, staring stupidly at the strangely-assorted +couple who stand in the doorway.</p> + +<p>A girl, a woman, young or old you can hardly tell which; with +a face scarcely human, so bleared are the eyes, so sodden, besotted +and maudlin the entire countenance; clad in foul rags and +smeared with dirt, she reels as she advances, and clings to the +supporting arm of a black-robed Sister of Mercy, who towers +above her tall and slender, and who looks upon them all with +sweet, brave eyes, and speaks with sorrowful dignity:</p> + +<p>“My duty called me into your street, madam, and I found +this poor creature surrounded by boisterous children, and +striving to free herself from them. They tell me that this is +her home; is she your daughter?”</p> + +<p>A look of anger gleams in Mamma’s eyes, but she suppresses +her wrath and answers:</p> + +<p>“No; she’s not our daughter, but she’s a fine trouble to us, +just the same. Nance, let go the lady, and git out of the +way.”</p> + +<p>With a whine of fear, the girl drops the arm of the +Sister, and turns away. But her new-found friend restrains +her, and with a hand resting upon her arm, again addresses +Mamma:</p> + +<p>“They tell me that this girl’s mind has been destroyed by +liquor, and that still you permit her to drink. This cannot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +be overlooked. She is not your child, you say; may I not +take her to our hospital?”</p> + +<p>These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise +suddenly to his feet, and cause Mamma’s true nature to assert +itself.</p> + +<p>Springing forward with a cry of rage, she seizes the arm +of the girl, Nance, drags her from the Sister’s side, and pushes +her toward the nearest pallet with such violence that the reeling +girl falls to the floor, where she lies trembling with fear +and whimpering piteously.</p> + +<p>“This comes of letting you wander around, eh?” hisses +Mamma, with a fierce glance at the prostrate girl. Then turning +to the Sister of Mercy, she cries: “That gal is <i>my</i> charge, +and I’m able to take care of her. Your hospital prayers +wouldn’t do her any good.”</p> + +<p>As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches +her elbow.</p> + +<p>“Hold your tongue, you old fool,” he whispers sharply.</p> + +<p>Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness:</p> + +<p>“You see, lady, the poor girl is my wife’s niece, and she +was born with a drunkard’s appetite. We have to give her +drink, but we couldn’t hear of sending the poor child to a +hospital; oh, no!”</p> + +<p>Since the entrance of the Sister and Nance, Franz has apparently +been engaged in steadying both his legs and his intellect. +He now comes forward with a lurch, and inquires with +tipsy gravity:</p> + +<p>“Wot’s the row? Anythin’ as I kin help out?”</p> + +<p>“Only a little word about our Nance, my boy,” replies +Mamma, who has mastered, outwardly, her fit of rage. “The +charitable lady wants our Nance.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>“The +lady is very kind,” chimes in Papa; “but we can’t +spare Nance, poor girl.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t we?” queries Franz, aggressively, turning to look +at the prostrate girl. “Now, why can’t we spare her? I kin +spare her; who’s she, anyhow? Here you, Nance, git up.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Franzy,”—begins Mamma.</p> + +<p>“S’h-h, my boy,”—whispers Papa, appealingly.</p> + +<p>But he roughly repulses Mamma’s extended hand.</p> + +<p>“Let up, old woman,” he says, coarsely; and then, pushing +her aside, he addresses the Sister:</p> + +<p>“I say, what—er—ye want—er—her for, any’ow?”</p> + +<p>The Sister turns away, and addresses herself once more to +Mamma.</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand why that girl may not have proper +care,” she says, sternly. “If her intellect has been shattered +by the use of liquor, this is not the place for her,” pointing +her remark by a glance at Franz and the empty bottle. “Body +and soul will both be sacrificed here. I shall not let this matter +rest, and if I find that you have no legal authority—”</p> + +<p>But again fury overmasters prudence. Mamma springs +toward her with a yell of rage.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you cat-o’-the-world,” she cries, “go home with yer +pious cant! The gal’s—”</p> + +<p>The words die away in a gurgle; the hand of Franz, +roughly pressed against her mouth, has stopped her utterance.</p> + +<p>“Oh, get out, old woman!” he exclaims, pushing her away +and steadying himself after the effort. “Ye’re gittin’ too +familiar, ye air.”</p> + +<p>Then seeing that the Sister, convinced of her inability to +reason with the unreasonable, had turned to go, he cried +out:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>“Hold on, mum; if ye want that gal, ye kin have her. +<i>I’m</i> runnin’ this.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not forget that poor creature,” says the Sister, still +addressing Mamma and ignoring Franz; “and if I find that +she is not—”</p> + +<p>She leaves the sentence unfinished, for Mamma darts toward +her with extended clutches, and is only restrained by +Papa’s stoutest efforts, aided by the hand of Franz, which once +more comes forcibly in contact with the virago’s mouth, just +as it opens to pour forth fresh imprecations.</p> + +<p>To linger is worse than folly, and the Sister, casting a pitying +glance toward the girl, who is now slowly struggling up, +turns away and goes sadly out from the horrible place.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>FRANZ FRANCOISE BELLIGERENT.</h3> + +<p>After the departure of the Sister of Mercy, an unnatural +silence brooded over the room; a silence, not a stillness, for +Mamma Francoise, uttering no word, dragged the unfortunate +Nance to one of the pallets, forced the remainder of the warm +liquor down her throat, and then pushed her back upon the +pallet, where she lay a dirty, moveless, stupid heap of wretched +humanity.</p> + +<p>Then Mamma seated herself upon the one unoccupied stool, +and glared alternately at the two men.</p> + +<p>Papa Francoise was evidently both disturbed and alarmed +at this visit from the Sister of Mercy, and he seemed intent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +upon solving some new problem propounded to him by the +scene just ended.</p> + +<p>Franz leered and lounged, with seeming indifference to all +his surroundings. His recent potations were evidently taking +effect, for after a few moments, during which he made very +visible efforts to look alert, and interested in the discussion +which, as he seemed vaguely to realize, was impending, he +brought himself unsteadily to his feet, staggered across the +room, and flinging himself upon the unoccupied pallet, muttered +some incoherent words and subsided into stillness and +slumber.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the old woman followed his movements with +anxious interest, and when he seemed at last lost to all ordinary +sound, she arose and carried her stool across to where Papa, +leaning against the table, still meditated.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” she said, in low, peremptory tones, and pushing +the stool lately vacated by Franz toward her spouse; “sit +down. We’re in a pretty mess, ain’t we?”</p> + +<p>Papa seated himself and favored her with a vacant stare.</p> + +<p>“Eh!” he said, absently; “what’s to be done?”</p> + +<p>Mamma cast a quick look toward her recumbent Prodigal, +and leaned forward until her lips touched the old man’s +ear.</p> + +<p>“Mind this,” she hissed; “<i>he</i> ain’t to know too much. He’s +got the devil in him; it won’t do to put ourselves under his +thumb.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry,” retorted Papa, in the same sharp +whisper, “I ain’t anxious to be rode by the two of ye; +Franzy’s too much like his ma. It won’t do to let him know +everything.”</p> + +<p>Mamma gave a derisive sniff, a sort of acknowledgment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +of the compliment—one of the only kind ever paid her by +her worser half,—and then said:</p> + +<p>“Franzy’ll be a big help to us, if we can keep him away +from the cops. But you an’ me has planned too long to let +him step in now an’ take things out of our hands. He’s too +reckless; we wouldn’t move fast enough to suit him, an’—he’d +make us trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” assented the old man, “he’d have things his own +way, or he’d make us trouble; he always did.”</p> + +<p>Mamma arose, stirred the smouldering fire, and resuming +her seat, began afresh:</p> + +<p>“Now, then, we’ve got to decide about that gal. She can’t +go to no hospital?”</p> + +<p>“No; she can’t.”</p> + +<p>“And she can’t stay with us. It was a big risk before; +now that Franzy is back, it’s a bigger risk.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so.” Papa wrinkled his brows for a moment and +then said: “See here, old woman, Franz’ll be bound ter know +something about that gal when he gits his head clear.”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose so.”</p> + +<p>“Well, s’pose we tell him about her.”</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p>“Ter satisfy him, an’ ter git his help.”</p> + +<p>“His help?” muttered Mamma. “That might do.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly Papa lifted a warning finger. “Hush,” he +whispered; “there’s somebody outside o’ that door.”</p> + +<p>A low, firm knock put a period to his sentence. Mamma +made a sign which meant caution, and then creeping noiselessly +to the door, listened. No sound could be heard from without, +and after another moment of waiting she called sharply:</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>“Open +de do’; I’s got a message fo’ yo’.”</p> + +<p>The voice, and the unmistakable African dialect, reassured +the pair, whose only dread was the police; and to barricade +their doors against chance visitors was no part of the Francoise +policy.</p> + +<p>Mamma glided toward the pallet where lay her returned +Prodigal, and bent above him.</p> + +<p>His face was turned outward toward the door, and putting +two strong hands beneath his shoulders, she applied her strength +to the task of rolling him over, drew a ragged blanket well +up about him, and left him lying thus, his face to the wall +and completely hidden from whoever might enter.</p> + +<p>Then she went boldly to the door, and opening it wide, +stood face to face with a tall African, black as ebony, and +wearing a fine suit of broadcloth, poorly concealed underneath +a shabby outer garment. He bowed to Mamma as obsequiously +as if she were a duchess, and this garret her drawing-room, +and stepping inside, closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>“You will excuse me,” he said, politely, “but my business +is private, and some one might come up the stairs.”</p> + +<p>“What do you want?”</p> + +<p>The incautious words were uttered by Papa Francoise, who, +noting the entire absence of his negro accent, arose hastily, his +face full of alarm.</p> + +<p>The African smiled blandly.</p> + +<p>“I assumed my accent in order to reassure you, sir,” he +said, coolly. “You might not have admitted me if you had +thought me a white man, and I am sent by your patron.”</p> + +<p>“By our patron!” Mamma echoed his words in skeptical +surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I am his servant.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>Papa and Mamma gazed at each other blankly and drew +nearer together.</p> + +<p>“He has sent you this note,” pursued the nonchalant fellow, +keeping his eyes fixed upon Mamma’s face while he drew +from his pocket a folded paper. “And I am to take your +answer.”</p> + +<p>Papa took the proffered note reluctantly, glanced at the +superscription, and suddenly changed his manner.</p> + +<p>“That is not directed to me,” he cried, sharply. “You +have made a mistake.”</p> + +<p>“It is directed to Papa Francoise.”</p> + +<p>Papa peered closer at the superscription. “Yes; I think +that’s it. It’s not my name; it’s not for me.”</p> + +<p>“My dear sir, I know you too well. You need not fear +me; I am Mr. Warburton’s body servant.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Mamma uttered the syllable sharply, then suddenly +restrained herself, and coming toward the messenger with cat-like +tread, she said, coaxingly: “And who may this Mr. +War—war, this master of yours be?”</p> + +<p>The man looked from one to the other, and then turned his +gaze upon the occupants of the two pallets. “Who are +these?” he asked, briefly.</p> + +<p>Mamma’s answer came very promptly.</p> + +<p>“Only two poor people we knew in another part of the +city. They have been turned out by their landlord, poor +things, and last night they slept in the street.”</p> + +<p>A smile crossed the face of the wily African, and he turned +toward Papa.</p> + +<p>“Read my master’s note, if you please,” he said. “It was +written to <i>you</i>.”</p> + +<p>Slowly Papa unfolded the note, and his eyes seemed bursting +from their sockets as he read.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Name your price, but keep your whereabouts from the police. If +you are called upon to identify me, <i>you do not know me</i>.</p></div> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>While Papa reads, the slumbering Franz begins to move +and to mutter.</p> + +<p>“Give me the file, Jim,” he says, in a low, cautious tone. +“Curse the darbies—I—”</p> + +<p>The sudden overturning of a stool, caused by a quick backward +movement on the part of Mamma, drowns the rest of +this muttered speech.</p> + +<p>But the words have caught the ear of the colored gentleman, +who moves a pace nearer the sleeper, and seems anxious to +hear more.</p> + +<p>While Papa still stares at the note in his hand, Mamma +stoops and restores the stool to its upright position, making +even more noise than in the overturning. And Franz turns, +yawns, stretches, and slowly brings himself to a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>Something like a frown crosses the dark face of Papa Francoise’s +visitor. To bring himself face to face with Papa, and +to satisfy himself on certain doubtful points, he has paused +for neither food nor rest, but has followed up his discovery +of the morning, by an evening’s visit to the new lurking-place +of the Francoises,—for the sable gentleman, who would fain +win the confidence of Papa in the character of body servant +to Alan Warburton, is none other than Van Vernet.</p> + +<p>Fertile in construction, daring in execution, he has hoped +by a bold stroke to make a most important discovery. Viewing +the events of the morning from a perfectly natural standpoint, +he has rapidly reached the following conclusion:</p> + +<p>If the fugitive Sailor and Alan Warburton are one and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +same, then, undoubtedly, the message left by Mamma at the +door of the Warburtons was intended for Alan. What was +the purport of that message, he may find it difficult to discover,—but +may he not be able to surprise from Papa an acknowledgment +of his connection with the aristocrat of Warburton +place?</p> + +<p>To arrest the Francoises was, at present, no part of his plan. +This would be to alarm Alan Warburton, and to lessen his +own chances for making discoveries. He had found Papa +Francoise, and it would be strange if he again escaped from +his surveillance.</p> + +<p>He had not counted upon the presence of a third, and even +a fourth party, in paying his visit to the Francoises. And +now, as the recumbent Franz began to move and to mutter, +Van Vernet turned toward the pallet a keen and suspicious +glance.</p> + +<p>But never was there a more manifest combination of drowsiness +and drunken stupidity than that displayed upon the face of +Franz, as he raised himself upon the pallet and stared stupidly +at the ebonied stranger.</p> + +<p>Then a look of abject terror crept into his face, and he +seemed making a powerful effort to rouse his drunken faculties. +Slowly he rose from the pallet, and staggered to his +feet, muttering some unintelligible words. Then, after a +stealthy glance about the room, he turned and reeled toward +the door.</p> + +<p>As he approached, Van Vernet, still gazing steadfastly into +his face, stepped aside, and at the instant Franz made a lurch +in the same direction.</p> + +<p>In another moment,—neither Papa nor Mamma could have +told how it came about,—the two were upon the floor, Franz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +Francoise uppermost, his knees upon the breast of his antagonist!</p> + +<p>As Van Vernet, who had fallen with one arm underneath +him, made his first movement in self-defence, his ears were +greeted by a warning hiss, and he felt the pressure of a keen-edged +knife against his throat!</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>IN DURANCE VILE.</h3> + +<p>This onslaught, so swift and unexpected, took Papa and +Mamma completely by surprise, and, for the moment, threw +even Vernet off his guard.</p> + +<p>“Scoundrel!” he exclaimed, while the menacing knife +pressed against his throat; “what does this mean?”</p> + +<p>For answer, Franz shot a glance toward the two elder Francoises, +and said in a hoarse, unnatural whisper:</p> + +<p>“Deek the cove;<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a +href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> he’s no dark lantern!”</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a +href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Look at him.</p></div> + +<p>“Eh!” from Papa, in a frightened gasp.</p> + +<p>“Done!” from Mamma, in an angry hiss.</p> + +<p>And then, as the two started forward, Vernet, realizing +that this shrewd ruffian had somehow penetrated his disguise, +gathered all his strength and began a fierce struggle for +liberty.</p> + +<p>As they writhed together upon the floor, Franz shot out +another sentence, this time without turning his head.</p> + +<p>“A dead act,” he hissed; “we’re copped to rights!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>Which, being rendered into English, meant: “Combine the +attack; we are in danger of arrest.”</p> + +<p>And then the struggle became a question of three to one.</p> + +<p>Vernet fought valiantly, but he lay at last captive under +the combined clutch of Papa and Franz, and menaced by the +knife which Mamma, having snatched it from the hand of her +hopeful son, held above his head.</p> + +<p>Instinctively the two elder outlaws obeyed the few words +of command that fell from the lips of their returned Prodigal; +and in spite of his splendid resistance, Van Vernet was bound +hand and foot, a prisoner in the power of the Francoises.</p> + +<p>His clothing was torn and disarranged; his wig was all +awry; and large patches of his sable complexion had transferred +themselves from his countenance to the hands and garments +of his captors.</p> + +<p>“No dark lantern,” indeed. The natural white shone in +spots through its ebony coating, and three people less fiercely +in earnest than the Francoises would have gone wild with +merriment, so ludicrous was the plight of the hapless detective.</p> + +<p>“Now then,” began Franz, in a low gutteral that caused +Mamma to start, and Papa to favor him with a stare of surprise; +“now then, no tricks, my cornered cop. You may talk, +but—” and he glanced significantly from the knife in Mamma’s +hand to the pistol now in his own,—“be careful about raising +yer voice; you’ve got pals in the street, maybe. You <i>may</i> +pipe to them, but,—” with a click of the pistol,—“<i>ye’re</i> a +dead man before they can lift a hoof!”</p> + +<p>Vernet’s eyes blazed with wrath, but he maintained a scornful +silence.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo25.png" alt="Van Vernet and Franz fight, +Papa and Mamma Francoise look on" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“In another moment, the two were upon the floor, Franz Francoise +uppermost!”—<a href="#Page_210">page 210</a>.</p></div> + +<p>The three Francoises, without withdrawing their gaze from +their prisoner, consulted in harsh whispers. It was a brief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +consultation, but it was long enough for Van Vernet to decide +upon his course of action.</p> + +<p>“Now then, my bogus dark lantern,” began Franz, who +had evidently been chosen spokesman for the trio, “what’s yer +business here?”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you begin at the beginning?” retorted Vernet, +scornfully. “You have not asked who I am.”</p> + +<p>“Umph; we’ll find out who ye air—when we want to. +We know <i>what</i> ye air, and that’s enough for us just at present.”</p> + +<p>“Might I be allowed to ask what you take me for?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; a cop,” retorted Franz, decidedly. “Enough said +on that score; now, what’s yer lay?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” began Vernet, mockingly, “that you didn’t +hear the little conversation between that nice old gent there +and myself?”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said Franz, with an angry gesture, “don’t fool +with <i>me</i>. Ef you’ve got any business with me, say so.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t bully,” retorted Vernet, contemptuously. “You +were not asleep when I entered this room.”</p> + +<p>Franz seemed to hesitate and then said: “S’posin’ I +wasn’t, wot’s that got to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“If you were awake, you know my errand.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Mister Cop,—” Franz handled his pistol +as if strongly tempted to use it,—“we’d better come to an +understandin’ pretty quick. I am kinder lookin’ for visits +from chaps of your cloth. I come in here tired, and a little +muddled maybe, and flop down to get a snooze. Somethin’ +wakes me and I get up, to see—you. I’m on the lay for a +’spot,’ an’ I’ve seen too many nigs to be fooled by yer git-up. +So I floor ye, an’—here ye air. Now, what d’ye want +with me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>“My good fellow,” said Vernet, with an inconsequent +laugh, “since you have defined your position, I may, perhaps, +enable you to comprehend mine. Frankness for candor: +First, then, I am not exactly a cop, as the word goes, but I +am a—a sort of private enquirer.”</p> + +<p>“A <i>detective!</i>” hissed Mamma; while Papa turned livid at the +thought the word “detective” always suggested to his mind.</p> + +<p>“A detective, if you like,” responded Vernet, coolly. “A +<i>private</i> detective, be it understood. My belligerent friend, +you may be badly wanted for something, and I hope you’ll be +found by the right parties, but you’re not in my line. Just +now you would be an elephant on my hands. You might be +an ornament to Sing Sing or Auburn, if I had time to properly +introduce you there, but I’ve no use for you. My business is +with Papa Francoise here.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the address itself, or may be the incongruity +of the haughty tone and the grotesque face of the speaker, +that caused Franz Francoise to give rein to a sudden burst of +merriment, the signs of which he seemed unable to suppress +although no audible laughter escaped his lips. He turned, at +last, toward Papa and gasped, as if fairly strangled with his +own mirth:</p> + +<p>“This kind and accommodatin’ gent, wot I’ve so misunderstood, +has got business with ye, old top.”</p> + +<p>Papa came slowly forward, his face expressive of fear rather +than curiosity, followed by Mamma, fierce and watchful.</p> + +<p>“You—you wanted <i>me?</i>” began Papa, hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“I have business with you, Papa Francoise. I want to +talk with you privately, for your interest and mine, ahem.” +He looked toward Franz, and seeing the stolidity of this individual, +inquired: “Who is that gentleman?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>His enunciation of the last word probably excited the wrath +of Franz, for he came a step nearer, with an aggressive sneer.</p> + +<p>“My name’s Jimson, Mr. Cop, an’ I’m a friend of the +family. Anything else ye want ter know?”</p> + +<p>With a shrug of the shoulder, Vernet turned toward Papa +once more.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to speak with you alone, Papa Francoise,” he said +significantly.</p> + +<p>The mood of mocking insolence seemed deserting Franz, +and a wrathful surliness manifested itself in the tone with +which he addressed Papa.</p> + +<p>“He’d like ter see ye alone, old Beelzebub, d’ye hear?”</p> + +<p>Papa glanced hesitatingly from one to the other. He seemed +to fear both the bound detective at his feet and the surly son +who stood near him, with the menacing weapon in his hand, +and growing rage and suspicion in his countenance.</p> + +<p>Mamma’s quick eye noted the look of suspicion and she interposed.</p> + +<p>“Ye can speak afore this gentleman, Mr. Cop; he’s a <i>very</i> +intimate friend.”</p> + +<p>A look of annoyance flashed in the eyes of Van Vernet. +He hesitated a moment, and then said slowly:</p> + +<p>“Does your intimate friend know anything about the affair +that happened at your late residence near Rag alley, Papa +Francoise?”</p> + +<p>It was probably owing to the fact that the fumes of his recent +potations were working still, with a secondary effect, and +that from sleepy inertness he was passing to a state of unreasoning +disputatiousness, that Franz, evidently by no means +relieved at the transfer of Vernet’s attention from himself to +Papa, seemed lashed into fury by the manner of the former.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>“May +be I know about that affair, and may be I don’t,” +he retorted angrily. “Look here, coppy, you want to fly kind +of light round me; I don’t like yer style.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t come here especially to fascinate you, so I am +not inconsolable. I might mention, however, by way of continuing +our charming frankness, that <i>your</i> style has not commended +itself to me.” And Vernet emphasized his statement +by a jerk of his fetters. “Now listen, my friends; I did not +come here alone—half a dozen stout fellows are near at hand. +If I do not return to them in five minutes more, you will see +them here. If I call, you will see them sooner.”</p> + +<p>Franz raised the revolver to his eye and squinted along the +barrel.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you call, then?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to make a fuss. My errand is a peaceable +one. Unbind me; give me ten minutes alone with Papa +here, and I leave you,—you have nothing to fear from me.”</p> + +<p>Franz shifted his position and seemed to hesitate.</p> + +<p>“You can’t keep me, and you dare not kill me,” continued +Vernet, noting the impression he had made. “All of you are +in hiding from the police, and to kill an officer is conspicuous +business—not like cracking the skull of a rag-picker, Papa +Francoise. As for you, my lad, you’ve got a sort of State’s-prison +air about you. I could almost fancy you a chap I saw +behind the bars not long ago, serving out a long sentence.”</p> + +<p>He paused to note the effect of his words, and was somewhat +surprised to see Franz rest the revolver upon his knee, +while he continued to gaze at him curiously.</p> + +<p>Vernet had made, or intended to make, a sharp home thrust. +In searching out the history of the Francoises, he had stumbled +upon the fact that they had a son in prison; and the mutterings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +of Franz, while he lay upon the pallet, coupled with +the fact that Franz and Papa wore upon their heads locks +of the same fiery hue, had awakened in his mind a strong +suspicion.</p> + +<p>“Maybe ye might take a fancy ter think I’m that same +feller,” suggested Franz, after a moment’s silence. “What +then?”</p> + +<p>“Then,” replied Vernet, “every moment that you detain +me here increases your own danger.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” grunted Franz, as he rose and crossing to +Mamma’s side, began with her a whispered conversation.</p> + +<p>Vernet watched them curiously for a moment, and then +turned his face toward Papa.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Francoise,” he began, somewhat sternly, considering +his position; “I’ve been looking for you ever since +you left the old place, and I’m disposed to be friendly. Now, +I may as well tell you that there is a rumor afloat, to the +effect that your son, who was ‘sent up’ years ago, has lately +broke jail, and that you harbor him. That does not concern +me, however. This insolent fellow, if he is or is not your +son, may go, so far as I am concerned, and no harm shall +come to him or you through me. What I want of you, is a +bit of information.”</p> + +<p>From the moment of his capture, Vernet had believed himself +equal to the situation. Even now he scarcely felt that +these people would dare to do him bodily injury. As may +readily be surmised, his talk of confederates near at hand was +all fiction. He had sought out Papa Francoise hoping to win +from him something that would criminate Alan Warburton, +and to use him as a tool. To arrest Papa might frustrate his +own schemes, and, in the double game he was playing, Van<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +Vernet was too wise to call upon the police for assistance or +protection.</p> + +<p>“You want—information?” queried Papa; “what about?”</p> + +<p>Vernet hesitated, and then said slowly:</p> + +<p>“I want to know all that you can tell me about the Sailor +who killed Josef Siebel.”</p> + +<p>Papa gasped, stammered, and turned his face toward Franz, +who now came forward, saying fiercely:</p> + +<p>“Look here, my fly cop, afore ye ask any more important +questions, just answer a few.”</p> + +<p>“Take care, jail bird!” cried Vernet, enraged at his persistent +interference, “or I may give the police a chance to ask +you a question too many!”</p> + +<p>“Ye’ve got to git out of my clutches first,” hissed Franz +Francoise, “and yer chances fer that are slim!”</p> + +<p>As the young ruffian bent close to him, Vernet, for the first +time, fully realized his danger. But his cry for help was +smothered by the hands of his captor, and in another moment +he was gagged by the expeditious fingers of the old woman, +and his head and face closely muffled in a dirty cloth from the +nearest pallet.</p> + +<p>“There,” said Mamma, rising from her knees with a grin +of triumph, “we’ve got him fast. Open the door, old man, +he’s going into the closet for—”</p> + +<p>“For a little while,” put in Franz, significantly.</p> + +<p>Into a rear room, across this, and into the dark hole, which +Mamma had dignified by the name of closet, they carried their +luckless prisoner, bound beyond hope of self-deliverance, +gagged almost to suffocation, his eyes blinded to any ray of +light, his ears muffled to any sound that might penetrate his +dungeon.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>FRANZ FRANCOISE’S GENERALSHIP.</h3> + +<p>When the three had returned to the outer room, Papa turned +anxiously toward his hopeful son.</p> + +<p>“Franz, my boy,” he began, in a quavering voice, “if +there should be cops outside—”</p> + +<p>“Ye’re the same whinin’ old coward, ain’t ye?” commented +Franz, as he favored his father with a contemptuous glance. +“I’ve seen a good many bad eggs, but blow me if I ever seed +one like ye! Why, in the name o’ blazes, air ye more afraid +of a cop than you’d be o’ the hangman?”</p> + +<p>The mention of this last-named public benefactor, caused +Papa to shiver violently, and Mamma bent upon him a look +of scorn.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be an idiot, Francoise,” she said, sharply. “We’ve +got somethin’ to do besides shakin’ an’ shiverin’?”</p> + +<p>“Time enough ter shiver when the hangman gits ye,” +added Franz, reassuringly. “But ye needn’t fret about cops—I +ain’t no baby; there ain’t no backers outside.”</p> + +<p>“But, Franzy,—” began Papa.</p> + +<p>“Shet up; I’m runnin’ this. If there’d a-been any help +outside, we wouldn’t a-had it so easy, you old fool! That +cove in there ain’t no coward; he’d a taken the chances with +us, and blowed his horn when we first tackled him, if there’d +been help handy.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, what a brain the boy has got!” murmured Mamma, +with rapturous pride.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>“Look +a-here,” said Franz, after a moment’s consideration, +“I’m satisfied that there <i>ain’t</i> no cops about; but to set yer +mind at rest, old un, so that you kin use it ter help git to the +bottom of this business, I’ll go and take a look around, and +I’ll be back in jest five minutes.” And he made a quick stride +toward the door.</p> + +<p>“Now, Franzy,—” began Mamma, coaxingly.</p> + +<p>But he waved her back, saying: “Shut up, old woman; +I’m runnin’ this,” and went swiftly out.</p> + +<p>When the sound of his retreating footsteps was lost to their +ears, Papa and Mamma drew close together, and looked into +each others’ faces—he anxiously, she with a leer of shrewd +significance.</p> + +<p>“Old man,” she said, impressively, “that boy’ll be the +makin’ of us—if we don’t let him git us down.”</p> + +<p>“Eh! what?”</p> + +<p>“He’s got your cunnin’ an’ mine together, and he’s got all +the grit you lack.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” impatiently.</p> + +<p>“But he’ll want to run us. An’ when he knows all <i>we</i> +know, he’d put his foot on us if we git in his way.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” assented the old man, with a cunning wink, “he’s +like his ma—considerable.”</p> + +<p>“On account o’ this here cop business,” went on Mamma, +ignoring the thrust, “he’ll have to be told a little about that +Siebel affair. But about the rest—not a word. We kin +run the other business without his assistance. Franzy’s a fine +boy, an’ I’m proud of him, but ’twon’t do, as I told you afore, +to give him too much power. I know the lad.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” insinuated Papa, with a dry cough, “I reckon +you do.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>“Ye kin see by the way he took the lead to-night, that he +won’t play no second part. We’ll have to tell him about +Siebel—”</p> + +<p>“An’ about Nance.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the same thing; an’ ye’ll see what he does when we +give him an idea about it.”</p> + +<p>“I know what he’ll do;” with a crafty wink. “I’ll tell +him <i>all</i> about Nance.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” muttered the old woman, “ye’re good at lyin’, and +all the sneakin’ dodges.”</p> + +<p>And she turned upon her heel, and went over to the pallet +where Nance, undisturbed by the events transpiring around +her, still lay as she had fallen in her drunken stupor.</p> + +<p>“There’s another thing,” said Mamma, apparently satisfied +with her survey of the unconscious girl, and returning to Papa +as she spoke. “We’ve got to git out of here, of course, as +soon as we’ve settled that spy in there.”</p> + +<p>“We’d a-had to git out anyhow,” muttered Papa, “on account +of that charity minx. Yes, we will; an’ we hain’t +heard from <i>her</i>. You’ll have to visit her agin.”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose so. An’ when I do—that cop’s comin’ has given +me an idea—I’ll bring her to time.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>Mamma leaned toward him, and touched his shoulder with +her bony forefinger.</p> + +<p>“Just as that cop ’ud have brought <i>you</i> to time, if it hadn’t +been for Franzy’s comin’.”</p> + +<p>Over Papa’s wizened face a look of startled intelligence +slowly spread itself.</p> + +<p>“Old woman,” he ejaculated, “Satan himself wouldn’t a-thought +of <i>that!</i> The devil will be proud of ye, someday. +But Franzy mustn’t see the gal.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>“I’ll +manage that,” said Mamma. “It’s risky, but it’s the +only way; I’ll manage it.”</p> + +<p>They had heard no sound, although as they talked they +also listened, but while the last words yet lingered on the old +woman’s lips, the door suddenly opened and Franz entered.</p> + +<p>“There’s no danger,” he said, closing the door and securing +it carefully. “Ye kin breathe easy, old top; we’re a good +deal safer jest now than our ‘dark lantern’ in there,” and he +nodded toward the inner room.</p> + +<p>“Then,” put in Mamma, “while we’re safe, we’d better make +<i>him</i> safe.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t git in a hurry, old un; we want a better understandin’ +afore we tackle his case. Come, old rook, git up here, +an’ let’s take our bearings.”</p> + +<p>He perched himself upon the rickety table, and Papa and +Mamma drew the stools up close and seated themselves +thereon.</p> + +<p>“Now then,” began Franz, “who did yon nipped cove come +here to see, you or me, old un? He ’pears to know a little +about us both.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” assented Papa, “so he does.”</p> + +<p>“What he knows about me, I reckon he told,” resumed +Franz. “Now, what’s the killin’ affair mentioned?”</p> + +<p>Papa seemed to ponder a moment, and then lifted his eyes +to his son’s face with a look of bland ingenuousness.</p> + +<p>“It’s a kind of delicate affair, my boy,” he began, in a tone +of confidential frankness, “but ’twon’t do for <i>us</i> to have secrets +from each other—will it, old woman?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mamma; “Franzy’s our right hand now. You +ort to tell him all about it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, git along,” burst in Franz. “Give us the racket, +an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>’ +cut it mighty short—time enough for pertikelers later.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, my boy,” said Papa, briskly. “Well, here +it is: I—I’m wanted, for a witness, in a—a murder case.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” groaned Franz, in tones of exaggerated grief, “my +heart is broke!”</p> + +<p>“You needn’t laugh, Franzy,” remonstrated Papa, aggrieved. +“It’s the business I was tellin’ you about—at the +other place, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, see here, old un, my head’s been considerable mixed +to-night; seems to me ye did tell me a yarn, but tell it +agin.”</p> + +<p>“Why, there’s not much of it. We was doing well; I +bought rags an’—an’ things.”</p> + +<p>“Rags an’ things—oh, yes!”</p> + +<p>“An’ we was very comfortable. But one night—” and +Papa turned his eyes toward Mamma, as if expecting her to +confirm all that he said—“one night, when there was a number +there, a fight broke out. We was in another room, the +old woman an’ me,—”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” interjected Mamma, “we was.”</p> + +<p>“An’ we ran in, an’ tried to stop the fight.”</p> + +<p>Mamma nodded approvingly.</p> + +<p>“But we wasn’t strong enough. Before we could see who +did it, a man was killed. And in a minute we heard the +police coming. Before they got there, we had all left, and +they found no one but the dead man to arrest. Ever since, +they’ve been tryin’ to find out who did the killin’.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” grunted Franz, “and did you tell me they had arrested +somebody?”</p> + +<p>“No, my boy. They caught one fellow, a sailor, but he +got away.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>“Oh, he got away. How many was there, at the time of +the killin’?”</p> + +<p>“There were three in the room, besides the man that was +killed, and there was the old woman and me in the next +room.”</p> + +<p>“You forgit,” interrupts Mamma, “there was Nance.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” rejoined Papa, as if grateful for the correction, +“there was Nance.”</p> + +<p>Franz glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping girl, and +then asked sharply: “And what was Nance doin’.”</p> + +<p>“Nance was layin’ on a pile o’ rags in a corner,” broke in +Mamma, “an’ I had to drag her out.”</p> + +<p>Franz gave utterance to something between a grunt and a +chuckle.</p> + +<p>“So you dragged her out, did ye? ’Tain’t exactly in your +line neither, doin’ that sort o’ thing. Ye must a-thought that +gal worth savin’.”</p> + +<p>“She ain’t worth savin’ now,” broke in Papa, hastily. +“She’s a stone around our necks.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a fact,” said Mamma. “An’ it’s all in consequence +of that white-faced charity tramp’s meddlin’ we’ve got to get +out of here, an’ we’ll be tracked wherever we go by that +drunken gal’s bein’ along.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ye ain’t obliged ter take her, are ye?” queried +Franz, as if this part of the subject rather bored him. “Your +keepin’ <i>her</i> looks all rot to me. She ain’t good for nothin’ +that I kin see, only to spoil good whiskey.”</p> + +<p>Papa and Mamma exchanged glances, and then Papa said:</p> + +<p>“Jest so, my boy; she spoils good whiskey, but she’s safer +so than without it. We kin afford to keep her better than we +kin afford to turn her loose.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>“D’ye +mean ter say,” queried Franz, “that if that gal knew +anything, she’d know too much?”</p> + +<p>“That’s about it, my boy.”</p> + +<p>Franz gave vent to a low whistle. “So,” he said; “an’ +<i>that’s</i> why ye keep her full o’ drugged liquor, eh? I’ll lay +a pipe that’s the old woman’s scheme. Have I hit the mark, +say?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Franzy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my boy.”</p> + +<p>“Then what the dickens are ye mincin’ about? Why don’t +ye settle the gal afore we pad?”</p> + +<p>“Easy, my boy, easy,” remonstrates Papa.</p> + +<p>“Just wot <i>I</i> say, Franz,” puts in Mamma. “When we leave +here, it won’t be safe for us to take her—nor for you, either.”</p> + +<p>“Safe!” cried Franz, springing from the table with excited +manner; “safe! It ’ud be ruination! Afore to-morrow we +must be out o’ this. I ain’t goin’ to run no chances. If ’twas +safe to turn her loose, I’d say do it. I don’t believe in extinguishin’ +anybody when ’tain’t necessary; but when <i>’tis</i>, +why—” He finishes the sentence with a significant gesture.</p> + +<p>“But, Franz—” begins Mamma, making a feint at remonstrance.</p> + +<p>“You shet up!” he exclaims; “I’m runnin’ this. The +gal’s been tried an’ condemned—jest leave her to me, an’ pass +on to the next pint. Have ye got a hen-roost handy?”</p> + +<p>“D’ye think we’re in our dotage, Franzy,” said Papa plaintively, +“that ye ask us such a question? Did ye ever know +us to be without two perches?”</p> + +<p>“Well, is it <i>safe</i>, then?”</p> + +<p>“If we kin git there without bein’ tracked, it’s safe +enough.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>“Well,” +said Franz, “we kin do that ef we git an early +start, afore our prisoner is missed. As soon as it’s still enough, +an’ late enough, we’ll mizzle.”</p> + +<p>“Wot’s yer plan, Franzy?”</p> + +<p>“Easy as a, b, c. You an’ the old woman lead the way, ter +make sure that there won’t be nobody ter bother me, when I +come after with the gal.”</p> + +<p>“With the gal?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; ye don’t want ter leave a dead gal here, do ye? Ye +might be wanted agin, <i>fer a witness</i>.”</p> + +<p>Papa winced and was silent.</p> + +<p>“But, Franz,—” expostulated Mamma.</p> + +<p>“You shet up! I’m no chicken.” And Franz drew his +dirk and ran his finger along the keen edge. “Here’s my +plan: You two give me the bearings of the new hen-roost, an’ +then start out, keepin’ a little ahead, an’ goin’ toward the +drink. I’ll rouse up the gal an’ boost her along, keepin’ close +enough to ye to have ye on hand, to prove that I’m takin’ +home my drunken sister if any one asks questions. When we +get near the drink, you’ll be likely to miss me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>“An’ after a while I may overtake ye, somewhere about +hen-roost, <i>alone!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Mamma, “you’ll finish the job in the drink?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll finish <i>with</i> the drink but I’ll <i>begin</i> with this.” And +he poised the naked dagger above Mamma’s head with a gesture +full of significance.</p> + +<p>“But the other,” said Papa, with nervous eagerness; “what +shall we do with him?”</p> + +<p>“The other,” replied Franz, slowly putting away his knife, +“we will leave here.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>“What!” screamed Mamma.</p> + +<p>“But—” objected Papa.</p> + +<p>“Are ye a pack o’ fools after all?” snarled Franz. “A +dead cop’ll make us more trouble than a livin’ one. Ye kin +kill ten ordinary mortals an’ be safer than if ye kill one cop. +Kill ten men, they detail a squad to hunt ye up mebby. Kill +one peeler, an’ you’ve got the whole police force agin ye. No, +sir; we bring him out o’ that closet, and leave him ter take +his chances. Before morning, we’ll be where he can’t track +us; and somebody’ll let him loose by to-morrow. He’ll have +plenty o’ time to meditate, and mebby it’ll do him good.”</p> + +<p>There was a look of dissatisfaction in Mamma’s eyes; and +Papa’s assent was feeble. But already this strong-willed +ruffian had gained an ascendency over them, and his promptitude +in taking Nance so completely off their hands, assured +them that it would not be well to cross him.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, as they made their preparations for a midnight +flitting, Papa and Mamma, unseen by Franz, exchanged +more than one significant glance.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>FLAMES.</h3> + +<p>It was past midnight when the muffled figures of Papa and +Mamma Francoise emerged stealthily from the tenement house, +and took their way toward the river. Now and then they +looked anxiously back, and constantly kept watch to the right +and left.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo26.png" alt="Franz follows his parents and drags Nance to the river" width="300" height="448" /> +<p class="caption">“Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going—whither?”—<a href="#Page_230">page 230</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>A little way behind them, two other figures followed; the +man half supporting, half dragging, a reeling, stupefied girl, +and urging her along by alternate coaxing and threats.</p> + +<p>Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going—whither?</p> + +<p>Keeping the same path, and always the same brief space +between them, the four moved onward until they were almost +at the river. Then, in obedience to a low whistle, Papa and +Mamma turned, passed the other two, and retraced their steps +swiftly and silently.</p> + +<p>When they had gone by, Franz Francoise turned and +looked after them until their figures had vanished in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Then he seized the arm of his companion, and hurried her +around the nearest corner and on through the gloom; on till +the river was full in sight.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Meanwhile Van Vernet, having been brought out from his +closet-prison, lay upon the floor of the inner room at the lately-deserted +Francoise abode, still bound, and gagged almost to +suffocation, while, to make his isolation yet more impressive, +Mamma had tied a dirty rag tightly about his eyes.</p> + +<p>Left in doubt as to the fate that awaited him—unable to +move, to see, or to use his voice,—Van Vernet lay as helplessly +ensnared as if he were the veriest dullard and bungler, +instead of the shrewdest and most daring member of the force.</p> + +<p>They had transferred him from the closet to his present +position in profound silence. He knew that they were moving +about stealthily—he could guess, from the fact that but +one door had been opened, and from the short distance they +had borne him, that he was in the inner instead of the outer +room—he had heard them moving about in the next room,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +and had caught the murmur of their voices as they engaged +in what seemed a sharp dispute, carried on in guarded tones—then +slower movements, sharp whispers, and finally retreating +footsteps, and the careful opening and closing of a door.</p> + +<p>After this, only silence.</p> + +<p>Surrounded by the silence and darkness, Van Vernet could +only think. What were their intentions? Where had they +gone? Would they come back?</p> + +<p>Bound and helpless as he was, and menaced by what form +of danger he knew not, his heart still beat regularly, his head +was cool, his brain clear.</p> + +<p>“They dare not kill me,” he thought, “for they can’t bury +me handily, and are too far from the river. They’d have to +leave my body here and decamp, and they’re too shrewd thus +to fasten the crime upon themselves. I wish I knew their +plans.”</p> + +<p>By and by, as the silence continued, he began to struggle; +not with his bonds, for he knew that to be useless, but in an +effort to propel himself about the room.</p> + +<p>Slowly, with cautious feeling of his way, by bringing his +head or feet first into contact with the new space to be explored, +he made the circuit of the room; rolling from side to +side across the dusty floor, bringing himself up sharply against +the walls on either side, in the hope of finding anything—a +hook, a nail, a projecting bit of wood—against which he might +rub his head, hoping thus to remove the bandage from his +eyes, perhaps the gag from his mouth.</p> + +<p>But his efforts were without reward. The room was bare. +Not a box, not a bit of wood, not a projecting hook or nail; +only a few scattering rags which, as he rolled among them, +baptized him with a cloud of dust and reminded him, by their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +offensive odor, of the foul cellar in Papa Francoise’s deserted +K—street abode.</p> + +<p>There was nothing in the room to help him. It was useless +to try to liberate himself. And he lay supine once more, +cursing the Fate that had led him into such a trap; and cursing +more than all the officious, presumptuous meddler, the jail-bird +and ruffian, who had thus entrapped <i>him</i>, Van Vernet.</p> + +<p>“If I escape,” he assured himself, “and I <i>will</i> escape, I’ll +hunt that man down! I’ll put him behind the bars again if, to +do it, I have to renounce the prospect of a double fortune! +But I won’t renounce it,” thought this hopeful prisoner. +“When I find them again, and I will find them, I’ll first capture +this convict son, and then use him to extort the truth +from those old pirates—the truth concerning their connection +with Alan Warburton, aristocrat. And when I +have that truth, the high and mighty Warburton will learn +what it costs him to send a black servant to dictate to Van +Vernet!”</p> + +<p>Easily conceived, this pretty scheme for the future, but its +execution depends upon the liberation of Van Vernet and, +just now, that seems an improbable thing.</p> + +<p>Moments pass away. They seem like hours to the helpless +prisoner; they have fitted themselves into one long hour before +the silence is broken.</p> + +<p>Then he hears, for all his shut-up faculties seemed to have +merged themselves into hearing, a slight, a very slight sound +in the outer room. The door has opened, some one is entering. +More muffled sounds, and Vernet knows that some one +is creeping toward the inner room. Slowly, with the least +possible noise, that door also opens. He hears low whispering, +and then realizes that two persons approach him. Are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +they foes or friends? Oh, for the use of his eyes—for the +power to speak!</p> + +<p>Presently hands touch him. Ah, they are about to liberate +him; but why so silent?</p> + +<p>They are dexterous, swift-moving hands; but his fetters remain, +while the swift hands work on.</p> + +<p>They are robbing him. First his watch; his pocket-book +next; then shirt studs, sleeve buttons, even his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>And still no word is spoken.</p> + +<p>He writhes in impotent anger. His brain seems seized +with a sudden madness. These swift, despoiling hands, the +darkness, the horrible silence, appall him—fill him with a sort +of supernatural terror.</p> + +<p>The hands have ceased their search, and he knows that the +two robbers have risen. He feels the near presence of one; +the footsteps of the other go from him, toward the street.</p> + +<p>A scraping sound; a soft rustle. They are gathering up +the rags from the floor. The closet again: this time it is +opened, entered. A moment’s stillness; then a sharp sound, +which he knows to be the striking of a match. Another long +silent moment. <i>What</i> are they doing?</p> + +<p>Ah! the footsteps retreat. They go toward the outer room; +creeping, creeping stealthily.</p> + +<p>Now they have crossed the outer room. They go out, and +the door is softly closed.</p> + +<p>What does this mystery mean? Have they returned to rob +him, and then to leave him? Will they come back yet again?</p> + +<p>A moment passes; another, and another. Then a sickening +odor penetrates to his nostrils, like the burning of some +foul-smelling thing.</p> + +<p>Crackle, crackle, crackle!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>Ah! he comprehends now! The fiends have fired the +closet! They have left him there to perish in the flames—the +hungry flames that will wipe out all traces of their guilt!</p> + +<p>Oh, the unutterable horror that sweeps over him! To die +thus: fettered, blinded, powerless to cry for aid! A frenzied +madness courses through his veins.</p> + +<p>Crackle, hiss, roar!</p> + +<p>The flames rise and spread. The door of the closet has +fallen in, and now he feels their hot breath. They are closing +around him; he is suffocating. He tugs at his fetters with +the strength of despair. All is in vain.</p> + +<p>Hiss! hiss! hiss!</p> + +<p>His brain reels. He is falling, falling, falling. There is +a horrible sound in his ears; his eyes see hideous visions; his +breath is strangled; he shudders convulsively, and resigns his +hold upon life!</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>“A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.”</h3> + +<p>There is a cry of alarm in the street below. The fire has +broken through the roof, and so revealed itself to some late +passer-by.</p> + +<p>“Fire! fire! fire!”</p> + +<p>Soon the space before the doomed building is swarming +with people running, vociferating, cursing, jesting. Drunken +men are there, haggard women, dirty, ragged children, who +clap their hands and shout excitedly at this splendid spectacle.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo27.png" alt="Vernet tied and gagged +on the floor as the building around him burns" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“The flames rise and spread; the door of the closet has fallen in, and +now he feels their hot breath.”—<a href="#Page_234">page 234</a>.</p></div> + +<p>It is useless to attempt to save the old tenement; they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +realize that. But its occupants—They have heard the +alarm, and they come out hurriedly, <i>en deshabille</i>, pushing +and dragging the children, screaming, and cursing each other +and the world.</p> + +<p>All on the lower floor are then safe. But the upper floor, +and its occupants?</p> + +<p>“Fire! fire! fire!”</p> + +<p>No signs of life above stairs. No terrified faces at the +windows. No flying forms down the rickety stairway. No +cries for help from among the fast-spreading flames.</p> + +<p>“Fire! fire! fire!”</p> + +<p>They hear the tinkle of bells, the gallop of speeding hoofs +upon the pavement.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cries an on-looker, “the fire boys are coming!”</p> + +<p>“Too late, they are,” growls another; “too late, as usual.”</p> + +<p>The engine approaches; and from the opposite direction +comes a man, running swiftly, panting heavily, almost breathless.</p> + +<p>The roof is all ablaze now; in a moment the rafters will +have fallen in.</p> + +<p>The panting new-comer stops suddenly before the door of +the burning tenement, and glances sharply about. Near him +is a half-dazed woman who has rushed to the rescue, as frightened +women will, with a pail of water in her unsteady hand. +The man leaps toward her, seizes the pail, dashes its contents +over his head and shoulders, and plunging through the doorway, +disappears up the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Stop! Come back!”</p> + +<p>“What a fool!”</p> + +<p>“That’s the end of <i>him!</i>”</p> + +<p>The on-lookers shout and scream. Exclamations, remonstrance,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +pity, ridicule—all find voice, and are all lost upon the +daring adventurer among the flames.</p> + +<p>The engine rushes up; the firemen spring to their work: +useless effort. Nobody thinks of them, or what they do; all +eyes are on the blazing upper story, all thoughts for the man +who is braving the flames.</p> + +<p>A crash from aloft; a cry from the multitude. The roof is +falling in, and the gallant rescuer—ah! he is doomed.</p> + +<p>But no; a form comes reeling out from among the smoke +and fire tongues, comes staggering and swaying beneath a +burden which is almost too much for his strength.</p> + +<p>Then a triumphant yell rises from the multitude. They +seize upon rescued and rescuer, and bear them away from the +heat and danger. How they scream and crowd; how they +elbow and curse; how they exclaim, as they bend over these +two refugees from a fiery death!</p> + +<p>The rescuer has sunk upon the ground, half suffocated and +almost insensible; but all eyes are fixed upon the rescued, for +he is bound, gagged and blindfolded!</p> + +<p>What is he? Who is he? Why is he thus? They are +filled with curiosity; here is a mystery to solve. For the +moment the gallant rescuer is forgotten, or only remembered +as they seek to avoid trampling upon him in their eagerness +to obtain a view of the greater curiosity.</p> + +<p>They tear off the fetters of the late prisoner. They wrest +the bandage from his eyes. They remove the gag from his +mouth. Then curiosity receives a fresh stimulus; exclamations +break out anew.</p> + +<p>“It’s a nigger!”</p> + +<p>“No; look here!”</p> + +<p>“Hello, he’s been playin’ moke!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>“He’s been blacked!”</p> + +<p>“Look at his clothes, boys.”</p> + +<p>“Jerusalem! he’s been robbed.”</p> + +<p>Then they begin their efforts to bring him to his senses; +partly for humanity’s sake, quite as much that they may +gratify their curiosity.</p> + +<p>“He’s dead, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“No; only smothered.”</p> + +<p>“Stand back there; give us air.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s have some water.”</p> + +<p>“No, brandy.”</p> + +<p>“Look; he’s coming to.”</p> + +<p>He is “coming to”. He shudders convulsively, gropes +about with his hands and feebly raises his head. Then respiration +becomes freer; he draws in a deep breath, sits up and +looks about him. He is bewildered at first; then memory +reasserts herself. He sees the now almost-demolished tenement, +the crowd of eager faces, and notes the fact that he is +free, unfettered. He rises to his feet, and unmindful of the +questions eagerly poured upon him, gazes slowly about him.</p> + +<p>At last two or three policemen have appeared upon the +scene. He shakes himself loose from the people about him, +and strides toward one of these functionaries; Van Vernet is +himself again.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo28.png" alt="The unknown +rescuer carries Vernet from the blazing tenement" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“A form comes reeling out from among the smoke and fire-tongues, +staggering beneath a burden.”—<a href="#Page_237">page 237</a>.</p></div> + +<p>The eyes of the crowd follow his movements in amazement. +They see him speak a few words in the ear of one of the +officers; see that worthy beckon to a second, and whisper to +him in turn. And then, leaning upon the arm of officer +number one, and following in the wake of officer number two, +who clears the way with authoritative waves of his magic club, +he passes them by without a word or glance, and soon, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +his double escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng +baffled, dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded.</p> + +<p>“And he never stops to ask who saved him!” cries a woman’s +shrill voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the wretch!”</p> + +<p>“What shameful ingratitude!”</p> + +<p>And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant +fellow who has risked his life to save an ingrate.</p> + +<p>But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and +their thoughts were following Vernet, he has disappeared.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>IN THE CONSERVATORY.</h3> + +<p>Several days have passed since the visit of Mamma Francoise +to the Warburton mansion, with all its attendant circumstances; +since the flight from the Francoise tenement, and Van +Vernet’s rescue from a fiery death.</p> + +<p>The Warburton Mansion is closed and gloomy. The +splendid drawing-rooms are darkened and tenantless. The +music-room is silent and shut from any ray of light. The +library, where a dull fire glows in the grate, looks stately and +somber. Only in the conservatory—where the flowers bloom +and send out breaths of fragrance, and where the birds chirp +and carol as if there were no sorrow nor death in the world—is +there any light and look of cheer.</p> + +<p>Yesterday, the stately doors opened for the last exit of the +master of all that splendor. He went out in state, and was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +followed by an imposing cortege. There was all the solemn +pomp, all the grandeur of an aristocratic funeral. But when +it was over, what was Archibald Warburton more than the +poorest pauper who dies in a hospital and is buried by the +coroner?</p> + +<p>To-day the doors are closed, the house is silent. The servants +go about with solemn faces and hushed voices. Alan +Warburton has kept his own room since early morning, and +Leslie has been visible only to her maid and to Winnie +French.</p> + +<p>She is alone in her dressing-room, at this moment, standing +erect before the daintily-tiled fire-place, a look of hopeless +despair upon her countenance.</p> + +<p>A moment since, she was sitting before the fire, so sad, so +weary, that it seemed to her that death had left the taint of +his presence over everything. Now, that which she held in +her hand had brought her back to life, and face to face with +her future, with fearful suddenness.</p> + +<p>It was a note coarsely written and odorous of tobacco, and +it contained these words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>We have waited for you five days. If you do not come to us before +two more, they shall know at police headquarters that you can tell them +who killed Josef Siebel. You see we have changed our residence.</p></div> + +<p>Then followed the street and number of the Francoises’ new +abode. There was no date, no address, no signature. But +Leslie knew too well all that it did not say; comprehended to +the full its hidden meaning.</p> + +<p>She had not anticipated this blow; had never dreamed that +they would dare so much. Standing there, with her lips compressed +and her fingers clutching the dirty bit of paper, she +looked the future full in the face.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>Stanhope had bidden her ignore their commands and fear +nothing. But then he never could have anticipated <i>this</i>. If +she could see him; could consult him once again. But that +was impossible; he had told her so.</p> + +<p>For many moments she stood moveless and silent, her brow +contracted, the desperate look in her eyes growing deeper, her +lips compressing themselves into fixed firm lines.</p> + +<p>Then she thrust the note into her pocket, and turned from +the grate.</p> + +<p>“It is the last straw!” she muttered, in a low monotone. +“But there shall be no more hesitation; we have had enough +of that. They may do their worst now, and—” she shut her +teeth with a sharp sound—“and I will frustrate them, at the +cost of my honor or my life!”</p> + +<p>There was no timidity, no tremor of hesitation in her movements, +as she crossed the room and opened the door. Her +hand was firm, her step steady, her face as fixed as marble; +but it looked, in its white immobility, like a face that was dead.</p> + +<p>She crossed the hall and entered the chamber occupied by +her friend. A maid was there, engaged in sewing.</p> + +<p>Miss French had just left the room, she said. Miss French +felt oppressed by the loneliness and gloom. She had gone below, +probably to the conservatory.</p> + +<p>Winnie was in the conservatory, holding a book in one listless +hand, idly fingering a trailing vine with the other. Her +eyes, usually so merry and sparkling, were tear-dimmed and +fixed on vacancy. Her pretty face was unnaturally woeful; +her piquant mouth, sad and drooping.</p> + +<p>She sprang up, however, with a quick exclamation, when +Leslie’s hand parted the clustering vines, and Leslie’s self +glided in among the exotics.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>“Sit +where you are, Winnie,” said Leslie, in a voice which +struck her listener as strangely chill and monotonous. “Let +me sit beside you. It’s not quite so dreary here, and I’ve +something to say to you.”</p> + +<p>Casting a look of startled inquiry upon her, Winnie resumed +her seat among the flowery vines, and Leslie sank down +beside her, resuming, as she did so, and in the same even, icy +tone:</p> + +<p>“Dear, I want you to promise me, first of all, to keep what +I am about to say a secret.”</p> + +<p>Winnie lifted two inquiring eyes to the face of her friend, +but said no word.</p> + +<p>“I know, Winnie, that you have ever been my truest, dearest +friend,” pursued Leslie. “But now—ah! I must put your +friendship to a new, strange test. I feel as if my secret would +be less a burden if shared by a true friend, and you are that +friend. Winnie, I have a sad, sad secret.”</p> + +<p>The young girl turned her face slowly away from Leslie’s +gaze, and when it was completely hidden among the leaves +and blossoms, she breathed, in a scarcely audible whisper:</p> + +<p>“I know it, Leslie; I guessed.”</p> + +<p>“What!” queried Leslie, a look of sad surprise crossing +her face, “you, too, have guessed it? And I thought it so +closely hidden! Oh,” with a sudden burst of passion, “did +my husband suspect it, too, then?”</p> + +<p>“No, dear,” replied Winnie, turning her face toward Leslie +but keeping her eyes averted; “no, I do not believe that +Archibald guessed. He was too true and frank himself to +suspect any form of falsity in another.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Falsity!</i>” Leslie rose slowly to her feet, her face fairly +livid.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>Winnie +also arose, and seizing one of Leslie’s hands began, in +a broken voice:</p> + +<p>“Leslie, forgive the word! Oh, from the very first, I have +known your secret, and pitied you. I knew it because—because +I, too, am a woman, and can read a woman’s heart. +But Archibald never guessed it, and Alan—”</p> + +<p>She broke off abruptly, wringing her hands as if tortured +by her own words.</p> + +<p>But Leslie coldly completed the sentence. “Alan! He +knows it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. It began by his doubting your love for his +brother, and then—the knowledge—that you cared—for +him—”</p> + +<p>Across Leslie’s pallid face the red blood came surging, and +a bitter cry broke from her lips; a cry that bore with it all +her constrained calmness.</p> + +<p>“<i>That I cared!</i>” she repeated wildly. “Winnifred French, +what are you saying! God of Heaven! is <i>that</i> madness +known, too?”</p> + +<p>She flung herself upon the divan, her form shaken by a +passion of voiceless sobs.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Leslie, don’t!” cried Winnie, flinging herself down beside +her friend. “We cannot always control our hearts; and +indeed, dear, <i>I</i> do not blame you for loving him. Leslie,” +lowering her voice softly, “it is no sin for you to love him, +now.”</p> + +<p>“No sin!” Leslie’s voice was regaining its calmness, but +not its icy tone. “Winnie, <i>you</i> can say that? Ah! a woman +<i>can</i> read a woman’s heart, and I have read yours: you love +Alan Warburton.”</p> + +<p>“I? no, no!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>“I say yes; and but for your Quixotic notions of loyalty +and friendship, you would be his promised wife to-day. +Winnie, listen; having begun another confession I will make +my confidence entire. I never dreamed that you or—or Alan, +guessed my horrible folly. I did not come to intrust to your +keeping that dead secret. You tell me that it is no sin to love +Alan now. Winnie, the greatest sin of my life has been that +I promised to marry Archibald Warburton without loving +him. But, at least, I was heart-free then; I cared for no +other. We were betrothed three months before Alan came +home, and I—. But let that pass; it is the crowning-point +of my humiliation. I did love Alan Warburton. If I loved +him still, I could not say this so calmly. Winnie, believe me; +that madness is over. To-day Alan Warburton is to me—my +husband’s brother, nothing more; just as I am nothing, in his +eyes, save a woman who wears with ill grace the proud name +of Warburton. This may seem strange to you. It will not +appear so strange when you hear what I am about to tell. +Alan Warburton’s egotism has cured me effectually. I am +free from that folly, thank Heaven, but I shall never cease to +hate myself for it. And my humiliation is now complete, +since you tell me that Alan knew of my madness. But, +Winnie, this is not what I came to tell you. I have another +secret, dear, but this one is not like the other, a sin of my own +making. It is a story of the craftiness of others, and of my +weakness—yes, wickedness.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Leslie,” said Winnie impetuously, “I won’t hear +you talk of wickedness. I am glad you no longer care for +Alan; and as for me, I just hate him; the detestable, stiff-necked—pshaw, +don’t talk as if you had wronged <i>him!</i>”</p> + +<p>There is a movement of the heavy curtains that separate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +this bower from the library. Some one is approaching, but +Leslie, unaware of this near presence, answers sadly:</p> + +<p>“Ah, Winnie, you don’t know all. I have dared to unite +myself to the haughty house of Warburton; to take upon myself +a name old, honored and unsullied, and to drag that +name—”</p> + +<p>A sound close at hand causes them both to start. They lift +their eyes to see, pale and erect among the roses and lilies and +trailing vines, wearing upon his handsome face a look of +mingled sadness and scorn—Alan Warburton.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>FLINT TO STEEL.</h3> + +<p>There was a long moment of silence, and then Alan Warburton +spoke.</p> + +<p>“Much as I desire to hear that sentence completed, Mrs. +Warburton, I could do no less than interrupt.”</p> + +<p>Leslie dropped Winnie’s hand and rose slowly, moving with +a stately grace toward the entrance before which Alan stood. +And Winnie, with a wrathful glance at the intruder, flung +aside a handful of loose leaves with an impatient motion, and +followed her friend.</p> + +<p>But Alan, making no effort to conceal his hostile feelings, +still stood before the entrance, and again addressed Leslie.</p> + +<p>“May I detain you for a moment, Mrs. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>Leslie paused before him with a face as haughty as his own,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +and bowed her assent. Then she drew back and looked at +Winnie, who, with a gesture meant to be imperious, commanded +Alan to stand aside.</p> + +<p>“Will you remain, Miss French?” asked Alan, but moving +aside with a courtly bow.</p> + +<p>“No; I won’t,” retorted the irate little lady. “I don’t +like the change of climate. I’m going up stairs for my furs +and a foot-warmer—ugh!”</p> + +<p>And casting upon him a final glance of scorn, she dashed +aside the curtains, and they heard the door of the library close +sharply behind her.</p> + +<p>For a moment they regarded each other silently. Since +the night of that fateful masquerade they had not exchanged +words, except such commonplaces as were made necessary by +the presence of a third person. Now they were both prepared +for a final reckoning: he with stern resolve stamped upon +every feature; she with desperate defiance in look and manner.</p> + +<p>“I think,” she said, with a movement toward the <i>portierie</i>, +“that our conversation had better be continued there.”</p> + +<p>He bowed a stately assent, and held back the curtains while +she passed into the library.</p> + +<p>She crossed the room with slow, graceful movements, and +pausing before the hearth, turned her face toward him.</p> + +<p>Feeling to her heart’s core the humiliation brought by the +knowledge that this man, her accuser, had fathomed the secret +of her past love for him; with the thought of the Francoises’ +threat ever before her—Leslie Warburton stood there hopeless, +desolate, desperate. She had ceased to struggle with her fate. +She had resolved to meet the worst, and to brave it. She was +the woman without hope, but she was every inch a queen, her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +head haughtily poised, her face once more frozen into pallid +tranquility.</p> + +<p>Standing thus, she was calm, believing that she had drained +her bitter cup to its very dregs; that Fate could have no more +poisoned arrows in store for her.</p> + +<p>Ah, if she had known that her bitterest draught was yet to +be quaffed; that the deadliest wound was yet to be inflicted!</p> + +<p>She made no effort to break the silence that fell between +them; she would not aid him by a word.</p> + +<p>Comprehending this, after a moment of waiting, he said:</p> + +<p>“Madam, believe me, I have no desire to do you an injustice. +I have purposely avoided this interview, wishing, +while my dead brother remained among us, to spare you for +his sake. Now, however, it is my duty to fathom the mystery +in which you have chosen to envelop yourself. What have +you to say?”</p> + +<p>“That, knowing his duty so well, Mr. Alan Warburton will +do it, undoubtedly.” And she bowed with ironical courtesy.</p> + +<p>“And you still persist in your refusal to explain?”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, I am quite at your service.”</p> + +<p>She smiled as she said these words. At least she could humble +the pride of this superior being, and she would have this +small morsel of revenge. Her answer astonished him. His +surprise was manifest. And she favored him with a frosty +smile as she asked:</p> + +<p>“What is it that my brother-in-law desires to know?”</p> + +<p>“The truth,” he replied sternly. “What took you to that +vile den on the night of your masquerade? Are those Francoises +the people you have so frequently visited by stealth? +Are they your clandestine correspondents?”</p> + +<p>“Your questions come too fast,” she retorted calmly. “I<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +will reverse the order of my answers. The Francoises <i>are</i> +my clandestine correspondents. My visits by stealth, have all +been paid to them. It was a threat that took me there that +eventful night.”</p> + +<p>“A threat?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are in their power?”</p> + +<p>“I was.”</p> + +<p>“And their sway has ceased?”</p> + +<p>“It has ceased.”</p> + +<p>“Since when?”</p> + +<p>“Since the receipt of this.”</p> + +<p>She took from her pocket the crumpled note, and held it +out to him.</p> + +<p>He read it with his face blanching.</p> + +<p>“Then it was <i>you!</i>” he gasped, with a recoil of horror.</p> + +<p>“It was a blow in my defence,” she said, with a glance full +of meaning. “It would not become me to save myself at the +expense of the one who dealt it.”</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed, but she looked at him steadily. “Do you +<i>know</i> who struck that blow?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“To tell you would not add to your store of knowledge,” +she retorted. “Have you more to say, Mr. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>“More? yes. Who are these Francoises? What are they +to you?”</p> + +<p>Her answer came with slow deliberation. “They call themselves +my father and mother.”</p> + +<p>“My God!”</p> + +<p>“It is true. I was adopted by the Ulimans. My husband +and Mr. Follingsbee were aware of this. It seems that I was +given to the Ulimans by these people.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>She had aimed this blow at his pride, but that pride was +swallowed up by his consternation. As she watched his +countenance, the surprise changed to incredulity, the incredulity +to contempt. Then he said, dryly:</p> + +<p>“Your story is excellent, but too improbable. Will you +answer a few more questions?”</p> + +<p>“Ask them.”</p> + +<p>“On the night of the masquerade you received here, in your +husband’s house, by appointment, a man disguised in woman’s +apparel.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“You admit it? Do you know how I effected my escape +that night?”</p> + +<p>“I do. A brave man came to your rescue.”</p> + +<p>“Precisely; and this ‘brave man’, is the same who was +present at the masquerade; is it not so?”</p> + +<p>“It is.”</p> + +<p>“Who is this man?”</p> + +<p>“I decline to answer.”</p> + +<p>“What is he to you, then?”</p> + +<p>“What he is to all who know him: a brave, true man; a +gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Hem! You have an exalted opinion of this—this <i>gentleman</i>.”</p> + +<p>“And so should you have, since he saved your life, and +what you value more, your reputation. And now listen: this +same man has bidden me tell you, has bidden me warn you, +that dangers surround you on every hand; that Van Vernet +has traced the resemblance between you and the Sailor of that +night; that he will hunt you down if possible. Your safety +depends upon your success in baffling his efforts to identify +you with that Sailor.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>“Your +<i>friend</i> is very thoughtful,” he sneered.</p> + +<p>She turned toward the door with an air of weariness.</p> + +<p>“This is our last interview,” she said coldly; “have you +more to say?”</p> + +<p>He made a quick stride toward the door, and placing himself +before it, let his enforced calmness fall from him like a +mantle of snow from a statue of fire, with all his hatred and +disgust concentrated in the low, metallic tones in which he addressed +her.</p> + +<p>“I have only this to say: Your plans, which as yet I only +half comprehend, will fail utterly. You fancy, perhaps, that +this snare, into which I have fallen, will fetter my hands and +prevent me from undoing your work. I cannot give life to +the victim whose death lies at your door, the husband who +was slain by your sin, but I can rescue your later victim, if +her life, too, has not been sacrificed. As for these two wretches, +whose parental claim is a figment of your own imagination, +and this <i>lover</i>, who is the abettor, possibly the instigator, of +your crimes, I shall find him out—”</p> + +<p>“Stop,” she cried wildly, “I command you, <i>stop!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that touches you! I repeat, I shall find him out. +To succeed, you should have concealed his existence as effectually +as you have concealed poor little Daisy.”</p> + +<p>A death-like pallor overspreads the face of the woman +before him. She stretches out her arms imploringly, her +form sways as if she were about to fall, and she utters a wailing +cry.</p> + +<p>“As <i>I</i> have concealed Daisy? Oh, my God; my God! I +see! I understand! My weakness, my folly, has done its +work. I <i>have</i> killed my husband! I <i>have</i> brought a curse +upon little Daisy! I <i>have</i> endangered your life and honor!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +<i>I</i> conceal our Daisy? Hear me, Heaven; henceforth I am +nameless, homeless, friendless, until I have found Daisy Warburton +and restored her to you!”</p> + +<p>Her voice died in a low wail. She makes a forward movement, +and then falls headlong at the feet of her stern accuser. +For the second time in all her life, Leslie Warburton has +fainted.</p> + +<p>One moment Alan Warburton stands looking down upon +her, a cynical half smile upon his lips. Then he turns and +pulls the bell.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton is in a swoon,” he says to the servant +who appears. “Call some one to her assistance.”</p> + +<p>And without once glancing backward, he strides from the +library.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>ALAN “EVOLVES” A PLAN OF ACTION.</h3> + +<p>Kind hands brought Leslie back to life, and to a new sense +of pain, for even the hands that love us must sometimes hurt, +when they hope to heal.</p> + +<p>Every servant of the household loved its fair mistress. +And while those who could, bustled to and fro, commanded +by Winnie, each eager to minister to so kind a mistress, and +those who were superfluous went about with anxious, sympathetic +faces, Alan Warburton, the one unpitying soul in all +that household, paced his room restlessly, troubled and +anxious—not because of Leslie’s illness, but because of the +revelation just received from her lips.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo29.png" alt="Alan and Leslie having an uncomfortable conversation" width="300" height="437" /> +<p class="caption">“I cannot give life to the victim whose death lies at your door.”—<a href="#Page_251">page +251</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>Could this thing be true? Had his brother Archibald, a +Warburton of the Warburton’s—that family so old, so proud, +so pure; that family whose men had always been gentlemen +whom the world had delighted to honor; whose women had +been queens of society, stately, high-bred, above reproach—<i>could</i> +Archibald Warburton have made a <i>mesalliance?</i> And +such a <i>mesalliance!</i> The daughter of a pair of street mendicants, +social outlaws; an adventuress with no name, no lineage, +no heritage save that of shame.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Of all the notable things of earth<br /> +The queerest one is pride of birth.”</p></div> + +<p>For the moment it outweighed his grief for Archibald, his +anxiety for Daisy, his very humanity. Later on, he might be +Warburton the friend, and the truest of friends; Warburton +the lover, and the tenderest, the most chivalrous of lovers; +Warburton the champion, as on the night when he rescued +Leslie; but now he is only Warburton the aristocrat; the +aristocrat, insulted, defied, betrayed; brought into contact +with mystery, <i>intrigue</i>, base blood, and in his own household. +Could he ever forgive Leslie Warburton? Would he, if he +could?</p> + +<p>He had accused her as the cause of his brother’s death, as +the source of the mystery which overhung the fate of little +Daisy; and in his heart of hearts he believed her guilty. And +now, her daring, her cool effrontery, had made some hitherto +mysterious movements plain. Her father and mother, those +wretches who lived in a hovel, and smelled of the gutter! +But she had betrayed herself. These people must be found at +whatever hazard.</p> + +<p>Thus meditating, he paced up and down, up and down. +And before he finally ceased his restless journeyings to and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +fro, he had evolved a theory and a plan of action. A very +natural theory it was, and a very magnanimous plan.</p> + +<p>Having first catalogued Leslie as an adventuress, he endowed +her, in his theory, with all the attributes of the adventuress +of the orthodox school—cunning, crafty, avaricious, +scheming for a fortune; unscrupulous, of course, and only +differing from the average adventuress in that she was the +cleverest and the most beautiful, as she had been the most +successful of her kind.</p> + +<p>“Granted that these two old wretches are her parents,” he +reasoned, “the rest explains itself. They incite her to plot for +their mutual welfare. She marries Archibald, and even I +discern that she does not love him; but he is wealthy, and an +invalid. Only one thing stands between her and an eventual +fortune, and that is poor little Daisy. Possibly she may have +still some tenderness of heart, and for a time Daisy is spared. +But after a while, the mysterious goings and comings begin; +the arrival of notes by strange messengers; and a new look +dawns upon my sister-in-law’s fair face. Then comes the +masquerade. A man is here, in this house, by appointment +with her. He follows her to the abode of the Francoises and +so do I. Who is this man? A gentleman, she tells me. Her +lover, doubtless, and all is explained. With Archibald removed, +what would stand between her lover and herself? +With Daisy removed, she would possess both lover and fortune. +And to remove Daisy was to remove Archibald. The shock +would suffice. She planned all this deliberately; and on the +night of the masquerade the Francoises aided her, and Daisy +was stolen.”</p> + +<p>Thus reasoned Alan. And then he formed his plans. He +would spare Leslie all public disgrace, but she must cease to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +call herself a Warburton of the Warburtons. She must give +up the family name, and go away from the city; far away, +where no gossiping tongue could guess at her history, or connect +her with the Warburtons. For Daisy’s sake, for his +brother’s sake, for the honor of the name, she must go. She +might take her fortune, left her by her deceived husband, but +she <i>must</i> go.</p> + +<p>“I will institute a search for the Francoises,” he muttered. +“Everything must be done privately; there must be no scandal. +If I require assistance, I can trust Follingsbee. I will see +Leslie again, in the morning. I will make terms with her, +haughty as she is, and—first of all she <i>shall</i> tell me the truth +concerning Daisy.”</p> + +<p>He was not unmindful of his own peril, not regardless for +his own safety, but he was determined to know the truth concerning +the disappearance of Daisy Warburton, and if need be, +to face the attendant risk.</p> + +<p>“I will write to the Chief of Police again,” he mused. “I +must have additional help. But first, before writing, I will +see <i>her</i> once more.”</p> + +<p>And then he ceased his promenade for a moment, to strike +his hands together and stare contemptuously at his image reflected +from the mirror directly before him.</p> + +<p>“Fool!” he muttered half aloud; “that letter, that scrawl +which I gave back to her so stupidly! It contained their address. +It would tell me where to find them, if I had it; and +I will have it.”</p> + +<p>In the anger and astonishment of the moment, he had returned +the threatening note to Leslie, mechanically and without +once glancing at the directions scrawled at the foot of the +sheet.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>While Alan paced and pondered, Leslie, having recovered +from her swoon, went weakly and wearily to her own room, +tenderly escorted by Winnie and the good-hearted, blundering +Millie.</p> + +<p>When she was comfortably established upon a couch, and +the too solicitous Millie had been dismissed, Winnie’s indignation +burst out in language exceedingly forcible, and by no +means complimentary to Alan Warburton.</p> + +<p>But Leslie stopped the flow of her eloquence by a nervous +appealing gesture.</p> + +<p>“Let us not discuss these things now, dear; I think I have +been overtasked. I cannot talk; I must have quiet; I must +rest.”</p> + +<p>And then Winnie—denouncing herself for a selfish, careless +creature with the same unsparing bitterness that, a moment +before, she had lavished upon Alan,—assured herself that the +curtains produced the proper degree of restful shadow, that +the pillows were comfortably adjusted, that all Leslie could +require was close at her hand, kissed her softly on either +cheek, and tripped from the room.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Leslie lay for many moments moveless and +silent, but not sleeping. The softly-shaded stillness of the +room acted upon her over-wrought nerves like a soothing +spell. She had passed the boundaries of uncertainty. She +had writhed, and wept, and shuddered under the torturing +hands of Doubt and Fear, Terror, and Surprise. She had +bowed down before Despair. But all that was past; and now +she was calm and tearless, a brave soul that, having abandoned +Hope, stands face to face with its Fate.</p> + +<p>After a time she moved languidly, and then lifted herself +slowly from among the pillows.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>“Not +to-night,” she murmured, lifting her hand to her head +with a sigh of weariness. “I must have rest first.”</p> + +<p>But she did not return to her pillows. Instead, she arose +slowly, crossed the room, and drawing back the curtains let +in, in a glowing flood, the last brightness of the afternoon sunshine. +Then seating herself at a dainty writing-desk, she +penned three notes, with a hand that moved slowly but with +no unsteadiness.</p> + +<p>The first was addressed to Mr. Follingsbee; the second to +Mrs. French, the mother of Winnie; and the third to Winnie +herself.</p> + +<p>When the notes were done, she still sat before the desk, +watching the fading-out of the golden sunlight with a far away +look in her eyes. She sat thus until the last ray had died in +the West, and the twilight came creeping on grey and shadowy.</p> + +<p>Some one was knocking at the drawing-room door. She +arose slowly to admit the visitor. It was Alan’s valet, with +a twisted note in his hand.</p> + +<p>Leslie took the note, and bidding the servant wait, she returned +to the inner room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Madam</span>:</p> + +<p>As you manifested no hesitation in exhibiting to me the note received +by you this morning, you will, I trust, not object to my giving it a +second perusal. Please send it me by bearer of this. I will return it +promptly.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap signature1">Alan Warburton.</span></p></div> + +<p>This is what Leslie read, and when she had finished, she +took from her pocket the crumpled note of the Francoises. +Over this she bent her head for a moment, murmured something +half aloud, as if to impress it on her memory, and went +back to the dressing-room with the two papers in her hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>Going slowly toward the grate, she stirred the smouldering +fire until it sent up a bright blaze, and with another glance at +the crumpled note, she dropped it upon the glowing coals, and +watched it crumble to ashes. Then she turned toward the +valet, folding and twisting his master’s note back into its +original shape as she advanced.</p> + +<p>“Return this to your master,” she said, “and tell him that +the paper he asks for has been destroyed.”</p> + +<p>As the valet turned away, she closed the door and went back +to the grate.</p> + +<p>“Alan Warburton has canceled my debt to him with an insult,” +she murmured, with a cold smile upon her lips. “From +this moment he has no part in my existence.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3>ALAN BEGINS HIS GAME.</h3> + +<p>Baffled in this first attempt to obtain the desired information, +Alan sets his lips firmly, and plans a new mode of attack. +And in the morning he made a second effort.</p> + +<p>Going down to his lately-deserted study, shuddering with +a little fastidious chill as he made his way across the darkened +room and noted the stale atmosphere; frowning, too, when he +drew back a heavy curtain and observed that there was dust +upon his cabinets, and that motes were swimming in the streak +of light that came through the parted curtains he rang his +bell and sent for Millie.</p> + +<p>She came promptly, courtesying demurely, and seemingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +keeping in her mind Leslie’s instructions, “to listen, to obey, +and to keep silence.”</p> + +<p>“Millie,” said Alan, with just a shade of patronage in his +tone, “go to Mrs. Warburton, and ask her if she will receive +me for a few moments this morning. Tell her that it is a +matter of business.”</p> + +<p>Millie dropped another courtesy, and silently departed with +her message, proudly conscious that she had, on this occasion +at least, deported herself like a proper servant. And Alan +returned to the window, where the light streamed in, and the +motes drifted lazily up and down in its rays.</p> + +<p>This study was situated at the end of a wing, the front +windows opening upon a well-kept lawn, but the side window, +at which Alan stood, directly overlooking a by-street, quite +narrow and lined with rows of shade trees.</p> + +<p>For a few moments Alan stood looking down into this +quiet street. Then with an impatient movement, he turned +his gaze inward. It fell first upon a tall cabinet which stood +near the window, and was partially lighted up by it.</p> + +<p>Again he noted the dust upon its panels with a frown of +discontent, and then he moved toward it, opening one of the +doors with a sort of aimless restlessness peculiar to people who +wait impatiently, yet delude themselves with the belief that +they are models of calm deliberation.</p> + +<p>It was a deep cabinet, richly lined with embossed velvet of +a glowing crimson hue, and studded with hooks and brazen +brackets, which supported a splendid collection of arms that +gleamed at you in cold, cruel, brilliant relief from their gorgeous +background.</p> + +<p>There were highly polished, elegantly finished modern rifles, +rare pieces of home and foreign workmanship; there were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +blood-thirsty duelling pistols; Damascus blades; light, jaunty +French foils; Italian stillettoes; German student-swords; and +a heavy, piratical-looking cutlass. In the midst of them all, +a group of splendid Toledo swords, beautiful in design and +workmanship, were suspended.</p> + +<p>As his eye rested upon this group, Alan’s face lost its frown +of annoyance and took on a look of profound sorrow, while a +heavy sigh escaped his lips. They had been gifts from Archibald, +years before, when the two had made a foreign tour—Alan’s +first and Archibald’s last—together.</p> + +<p>Gazing upon these <i>souvenirs</i>, his mind went back to the +old days of his student-life, and his brother’s companionship. +At the sound of approaching footsteps, he recalled himself +with a start, pushed the door of the cabinet from him with a +hasty movement which left it half unclosed, and turned toward +Millie, who entered as demurely as before, closely followed +by a footman, who presented to Alan an official-looking +letter.</p> + +<p>Taking the missive from the salver, Alan dismissed the man +and then turned to the girl.</p> + +<p>“Well, Millie?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton says, sir, that she can not leave her +room this morning, but hopes to be able to do so this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Millie;”—the frown returning to his face—“you +may go.” And he muttered: “I suppose that means +that she will condescend to receive me this afternoon. Well, +I must bide my time.”</p> + +<p>He returned to the window, and standing near it, looked +curiously at the envelope in his hand. It was addressed in +bold, scrawling characters that were, spite of their boldness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +almost illegible. Slowly he opened it, and slowly removed +the sheet it enclosed.</p> + +<p>“What a wretched scrawl!” he muttered. And then, with +a glance at the printed letter-head, “Office of the Chief of +Police:” “That’s legible, at all events. It’s from—from—hum, +strange that a man can’t write his own name—B—B—C— of +course, it’s from the Chief of Police.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and laboriously, he deciphered the letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">A. Warburton.</span> etc.</p> + +<p>Dear Sir:—We have just secured, for your case, a very valuable +man, Mr. Augustus Grip, late of Scotland Yards. He is an able and +most successful detective; we hope much from him. Have already instructed +him to extent of our ability, and he will wait upon you personally +this P. M., between, say, three and four o’clock. You will do +well to give Mr. G— full latitude in the case.</p> + +<p class="signature1">Very respectfully, etc.</p></div> + +<p>This much Alan slowly deciphered, and this gave the key +to the unreadable signature. It was from the Chief of Police, +evidently.</p> + +<p>Alan reperused the letter, and slowly returned it to its envelope.</p> + +<p>“This comes at the right moment,” he soliloquized. “If +this Grip is what he is said to be, he may save me in more +ways than one.”</p> + +<p>And once more he summoned a servant, and gave these instructions:</p> + +<p>“See that this room is thoroughly aired and set in order before +three o’clock;” adding, as the servant was turning away: +“Show a person who will call here after that hour, into this +room, and then bring me his name.”</p> + +<p>In the arrival of such a message, at that precise moment, +there was, to Alan Warburton, no occasion for surprise. From<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +the first he had communicated with the officers of the law by +letter, or by quiet interviews held in his own apartments.</p> + +<p>He was fully alive to the fact that, in dealing with the +police, he was himself in momentary danger. But having resolved, +from the beginning, to make his own safety and welfare +secondary to that of little Daisy, he had been strengthened +and confirmed in this resolve by his recent interview with +Leslie. And now, in his dogged determination to find the +Francoises, he vowed to sacrifice, if need be, his entire fortune, +and accept any attendant danger, in prosecuting a vigorous +search for these old wretches, and the missing child.</p> + +<p>His brother’s illness and death had furnished him with a +sufficient reason for living secluded, and for receiving such +business callers as he chose to admit, in his own apartments. +Only this morning he had dispatched a missive to police headquarters, +desiring the Chief to secure the services of the best +detectives at any cost, and to send to him for instructions or +consultation, representing himself as confined to the house by +slight indisposition.</p> + +<p>He hated a falsehood, but, as he penned this fabrication, he +had thrown the moral responsibility of the act upon the already +heavily burdened shoulders of his sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>And now, as he went slowly from the study, he looked forward +anxiously, but not apprehensively, to the two coming +interviews: the first, with Leslie; the second, with Mr. Grip, +of Scotland Yards.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3>A VERY PATHETIC MUTE.</h3> + +<p>In spite of the fact that the Warburton servants were a +thoroughly disciplined corps, and that domestic affairs, above +stairs and below, usually moved with mechanical regularity, +it was nearly two o’clock before Millie, armed with dusters +and brushes, entered Alan’s study to do battle with a small +quantity of slowly-accumulated dust.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she exclaimed as she flung open the windows, “how +gloomy the house is! I s’pose Mr. Alan will set himself up +as master now, and then, Millie, you’ll get <i>your</i> walking papers. +Well, who cares; I don’t like him, anyhow.” And she made +a vigorous dash at the fireless grate.</p> + +<p>Millie Davis was the joint protege of Leslie and Winnie, a +rustic with a pretty face, and scant knowledge of the world +and its ways.</p> + +<p>Up and down the study flitted Millie, dusting, arranging, +and pausing very often to admire some costly fabric, or bit of +vivid color.</p> + +<p>Almost the last article to come under her brush was Alan’s +cabinet-arsenal, and her feminine curiosity prompted her to +peep in at the door, which Alan had left ajar; and then Millie +gasped and stood aghast.</p> + +<p>“Guns and pistols, and all manner of cuttin’ and shootin’ +things,” she soliloquized, as she drew back and prepared to +close the door of the cabinet. “Well, it takes a good while to +find <i>some folks</i> out!” And then, as a tuneful sound smote<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +her ears, she turned swiftly from the open cabinet to the +window.</p> + +<p>A hand organ grinding out the “Sweet By-and-by”, is a +thing most of us fail to appreciate. But Millie both appreciated +and understood. It was music, familiar music, and +sweet; at least so thought Millie, and she hurried to the window +nearest the cabinet, and looked out.</p> + +<p>“My,” she said, half aloud, “but that sounds cheerful!”</p> + +<p>She leaned over the window-ledge and looked up and down +the quiet side street. Ah, there he was; quite near the window, +resting his organ against the iron railings, and playing, +with his eyes turned toward her. Such beseeching eyes; such +a good-looking, picturesque, sad-faced organ-grinder!</p> + +<p>Catching sight of Millie, he lifted his organ quickly, and +without a break in the “Sweet By-and-by”, came directly +under the window, gazing up at her with a look that was a +wondrous mixture of admiration and pathos. Poor fellow; +how sorrowful, how distressed, and how respectful, was his +look and attitude!</p> + +<p>“What a mournful-looking chap it is!” murmured Millie, +drawing back a little when the tune came to an end.</p> + +<p>As the organ struck up a more cheerful strain, a new +thought seized her, and she leaned out again over the sill.</p> + +<p>“Look here, my man,” she began, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, +“you shouldn’t play, come to think of it, quite so +near the house. It won’t do; stop, stop.” And, as the man +stared, hesitated, and then ground away more vigorously than +before, she indulged in a series of frantic gestures, seeing which +the organ-grinder paused and stared wonderingly. Then, with +a sudden gleam of comprehension, he smiled up at her, touched +a stop in his organ, and complacently began a different tune.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>“<i>No! +no! no!</i>” cried Millie; “not <i>that</i>; stop!” And +she shook her head so violently that the little blue bow atop +of her brown locks, flew off and fell at the feet of the minstrel, +who, in obedience to the movement of her head and hand, +stopped his instrument once more, stooped down, and picking +up the blue bow, began to clamber up the iron railings, with +his organ still strapped to his side, evidently intent upon restoring +the bow in the most gallant manner.</p> + +<p>“My! you shouldn’t climb onto the railings like that,” +remonstrated Millie, as she put out her hand to receive the bit +of ribbon.</p> + +<p>But the minstrel, bracing one knee against the brick and +mortar, thus steadying himself and giving his hands full play, +began a series of pantomines so strange that Millie involuntarily +exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Why, what in the world ails the man!” And then, struck +once more by the pitiful appeal in his eyes, she cried: “Look +here, are you sick?”</p> + +<p>Only renewed pantomines from the minstrel.</p> + +<p>“Are you hungry?” Then, in a tone of discouragement: +“What is he at, anyhow?”</p> + +<p>But as the man’s hand went from his lips to his ear, even +Millie’s dull comprehension was awakened.</p> + +<p>“Gracious goodness!” she exclaimed, “he’s deaf and dumb.”</p> + +<p>Faster still flew the fingers of the minstrel, sadder and more +pitiful grew his face, and Millie watched his movements with +renewed interest.</p> + +<p>“He’s talking with his fingers,” muttered Millie. “I +wonder—”</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly; he was doing something new in the +way of pantomine, and Millie guessed its meaning.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>“A +baby!” she gasped; “it’s something about a baby. One, +two, three, ah! five fingers; five babies, five years—oh, say, +say, man; <i>say</i> man!”—and Millie’s face was white with +agitation, and she barely saved herself from tumbling out of +the window, in the intensity and eagerness of her excitement—“you +don’t mean—you don’t know anything about our +Daisy—you don’t—”</p> + +<p>But Millie’s breath failed her, for even as she spoke, the +sad-eyed organ-grinder took from his pocket a dirty bit of +paper, unfolded it, and displayed to the eager girl a tiny tress +of yellow hair—just such a tress as might have grown on little +Daisy’s head.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she cried, “I’ll bet that’s it! I’ll bet, oh,—” And +with this last interjection, any such small stock of prudence as +Millie may naturally have possessed, was scattered to the four +winds.</p> + +<p>“Wait here,” she cried, utterly disregarding the fact that +she was addressing a deaf man, but by a natural instinct suiting +her gestures to her word. “Just you wait a minute. I +know who can talk finger talk.”</p> + +<p>In another moment she had rushed from the room, shutting +the door behind her with a sudden emphasis that must have +been a surprise to those stately panels, and the noiseless, slow-moving +hinges on which they swung.</p> + +<p>Scarcely has Millie turned away from the window when +the man outside, with two quick turns of the neck, has assured +himself that for a moment at least, the window is not under +the scrutiny of any passer-by. No sooner has the study door +closed, than the mute, without one shade of pathos in look or +action, grasps the window-sill, swings himself up, and drops +into the room, organ and all.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>“So +far, good,” mutters this pathetic mute, under his breath. +“This is Alan Warburton’s study; not a doubt of that. Now, +if I can continue to stay in it until he comes—”</p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly, with his eyes fixed upon the half-open +cabinet; moved briskly toward it, peeped in, and +then, with a satisfied chuckle, stepped inside, and depositing +his organ upon the floor of his hiding-place, drew the door +shut, softly and slowly.</p> + +<p>In another moment the study door opened quickly, and +there was a rustle, and the patter of light feet, as Winnie +French crossed the room rapidly, and leaned out of the window.</p> + +<p>“Why, Millie,” she said, looking back over her shoulder, +“there’s no one here.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps—” began Millie; then, catching her breath +sharply, she too leaned over the sill.</p> + +<p>“Where is your pathetic mute, Millie?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I never!” declared the girl, still gazing incredulously +up and down the street. “He <i>was</i> here.”</p> + +<p>Winnie smiled as she turned from the window.</p> + +<p>“Some one has imposed upon you, Millie,” she said; “and +you did a very careless thing when you left such a stranger at +an open window.”</p> + +<p>And a certain listener near by added to this exordium a +mental amen.</p> + +<p>“He might have entered—” continued Winnie.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my!”</p> + +<p>“And robbed the house.”</p> + +<p>“Bless me; I never thought of that!”</p> + +<p>“Try and be more thoughtful in future, Millie. Close the +window and let us go; ah!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>This +last exclamation, uttered in a tone of unmistakable annoyance, +caused Millie to turn swiftly.</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton, having entered noiselessly at the door left +ajar by Millie’s reckless hand, was standing in the centre of +the room, his well-bred face expressive of nothing in particular, +his eyes slightly smiling.</p> + +<p>At sight of him, Millie shrank back, but Winnie came forward +haughtily.</p> + +<p>“You are doubtless surprised at seeing me here, sir,” she +said, with freezing politeness, bent only upon screening Millie +and beating an orderly retreat. “I came—in search of Millie; +and, being here, had a desire to take a view of Elm street. +You will pardon the intrusion, I trust.” And she moved toward +the door.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” said Alan gently, “you entered to please yourself, +and you are very welcome here. Will you remain just +five minutes, to please me?”</p> + +<p>Winnie frowned visibly, but after a moment’s hesitation, +said:</p> + +<p>“I think I may spare you five minutes. You may go, +Millie.”</p> + +<p>And Millie, only too thankful to escape thus, went with +absurd alacrity.</p> + +<p>When the door had closed behind her,—for, retreating under +Alan’s eye, the fluttered damsel <i>had</i> remembered to close +the door properly—Winnie stood very erect and silent before +her host, and waited.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” began Alan, consulting his watch as he spoke, +“it is now almost three o’clock, and I expect a visitor soon; +that is why I asked for only a few moments.”</p> + +<p>“I am not anxious to remain,” observed Winnie, glancing<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +carelessly from the timepiece in Alan’s hand to a <i>placque</i> on +the wall above his head.</p> + +<p>“But I am most anxious that you should.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, Mr. Warburton, but you have such a peculiar +way of making yourself agreeable.”</p> + +<p>“Winnie!”</p> + +<p>“Your interviews with ladies are liable to such dramatic +endings: I seriously object to fainting, and I remained here, +as you must know, not because I cared to listen to you, but +because of Millie’s presence. I think it took you half an +hour to talk Leslie into a dead faint yesterday, and as nearly +as I can guess at time, one of your minutes must be +gone. You have just four minutes in which to reduce me to +silence.”</p> + +<p>“You are very bitter, Winnie,” he said sadly. “I am +bowed down with grief—that you know. I am also burdened +with such a weight of trouble as I pray Heaven you may never +suffer. Will you let me tell you all the truth; will you listen +and judge between Leslie Warburton and me?”</p> + +<p>She drew herself very erect, and turned to face him fully, +thus shutting from her view the door behind Alan.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered, “I will listen to nothing from you +concerning Leslie. Without knowing the cause, I know you +are her enemy. If I ever learn why you hate her so, I will +hear it from her, not from you. Leslie is not a child; and +you must have said bitterly cruel words before you left her in +a dead faint on that library floor last night—”</p> + +<p>A very distinct cough interrupted her speech, and they both +turned, to meet the respectful gaze of a jaunty-looking stranger, +who said, as he advanced into the room:</p> + +<p>“Pardon me; the servant showed me in somewhat unceremoniously,<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +supposing the room unoccupied. I was instructed +to wait here for Mr. Warburton.”</p> + +<p>Winnie was first to recover herself. Turning to Alan, she +murmured politely:</p> + +<p>“I think my time has expired; good evening, Mr. Warburton.”</p> + +<p>As she swept from the room, the stranger approached Alan, +saying:</p> + +<p>“This, then, is Mr. Warburton. My name is Grip, sir; +Augustus Grip.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>MR. GRIP FINDS A “SKELETON”.</h3> + + +<p>This sudden appearance of Mr. Grip was not precisely to +Alan Warburton’s taste, and he eyed his visitor with a somewhat +haughty air, while he said:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Grip is prompt, to say the least. I believe that the +hour—”</p> + +<p>“Hour appointed, between three and four—precisely, sir; +<i>pre</i>cisely. But my time’s valuable, Mr. Warburton; <i>valuable</i>, +sir! And it’s better too early than too late. Everything’s +cut and dried, and nothing else on hand for this hour; couldn’t +afford to waste it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Grip’s words fell from his lips like hailstones from +a November sky—rap, rap, rap; patter, patter; swift, sharp, +decisive. And Alan was not slow to realize that all the combined +dignity of all the combined Warburtons, would be utterly +lost upon this plebeian.</p> + +<p>Plebeian, Mr. Grip evidently was, from the crown of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +head to the tips of his too highly polished, creaking boots. +Vulgarity reveled in the plaid of his jaunty business suit, +flaunted in the links of his glittering watch guard, and gleamed +in the folds of his gorgeous neck gear. You smelled it in his +ambrosial locks; you saw it in his self-satisfied face, and heard +it in his inharmonious voice.</p> + +<p>And this was Augustus Grip, of Scotland Yards! Well, one +might be a good detective and yet not be a gentleman. So +mused Alan; and then, seeing that Mr. Grip, while waiting +for him to speak, was utilizing the seconds by making a survey +of the premises, he said:</p> + +<p>“Will you be seated, Mr. Grip?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Grip dropped comfortably into the nearest lounging-chair, +crossed one knee over the other, and resting a hand on +either arm of the chair, began to talk rapidly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got your business down fine, sir; <i>fine</i>,” emphasizing +with both hands upon the chair arms. “Saves time; always +do it when possible. Posted at Agency—less to learn here.” +And Mr. Grip begins to fumble in the breast-pocket of his +startling plaid coat. “Was informed by—um—um—” producing +a packet of folded papers and running them over +rapidly; “oh, here we are.”</p> + +<p>He restores the packet to his pocket, having selected the +proper memoranda, and then without rising, but with a jerking +movement of the knees and elbows, he propels his chair +toward the table near which Alan is still standing. Putting +the memoranda on the table before him, he unfolds them +rapidly, and looks up at his host.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Warburton.”</p> + +<p>A look of displeasure flits across Alan’s face. He remains +standing, seeming to grow more haughtily erect.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>“My +instructions,” continues Mr. Grip, who has not lifted +his eyes from the documents before him, “are, take entire +charge of case; investigate in own way. That’s what I like.”</p> + +<p>If Alan had ventured a comment just then, it would have +been, “<i>you</i> are not what <i>I</i> like.” But he did not speak; and +Mr. Grip, having paused for a remark and hearing none, now +glanced up.</p> + +<p>“Is that your pleasure, Mr. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>A certain touch of acidity in the tone, recalls Alan to a sense +of his position. This man before him is a man of business, a +detective highly recommended by the Chief of Police, and he +needs his services. He moves a step nearer the table and begins.</p> + +<p>“That is what I—”</p> + +<p>“Precisely,” breaks in Mr. Grip. “Now, then,” referring +to papers, “first—sit down, won’t you? it’s more sociable.”</p> + +<p>And Alan puts his aristocracy in his pocket and sits down +opposite the dazzling necktie.</p> + +<p>“Now then,” recommences Mr. Grip, “I’ve got the <i>facts</i> in +the case.”</p> + +<p>“You have?”</p> + +<p>“Facts in case; yes.” And he takes up the memoranda, +reading therefrom:</p> + +<p>“Lost child; daughter of Archibald Warburton; only +daughter.” Then, turning his eyes upon Alan: “Father killed +by shock, I’m told; sad—very.”</p> + +<p>And he resumes his reading. “Relatives: Alan Warburton, +uncle; fond of niece, eh—ahem; step-mother—um—a +little mysterious; <i>little</i> under suspicion.”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” interrupts Alan sternly. “On what authority +dare you make such assertions?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>”Mr. Grip permits the hand which holds the papers to rest +upon one knee, and lifts his eyes to the face of his interrogator.</p> + +<p>“I’ve reconnoitred,” he says tersely. “It’s a detective’s +business to reconnoitre. I’m familiar with the facts in the +case.”</p> + +<p>Alan feels the perspiration start upon his brow, while he +utters a mental, “Heaven forbid!”</p> + +<p>“Now then,” resumes Mr. Grip, throwing himself back in +his chair and stretching his legs underneath the table; “now +then, <i>here</i> we go. Daisy Warburton is her father’s heiress. +Remove her, the bulk of property probably goes to second +wife—<i>step mother</i>, d’ye see? Remove <i>her</i>, property comes +down to <i>you</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Stop, sir! How dare you—preposterous!” And Alan +Warburton pushes back his chair and rises, an angry flush +upon his face.</p> + +<p>Mr. Grip rises also. Stepping nimbly out from between +the big chair and the table before it, he inserts his two hands +underneath his two coat tails, bends his head forward, raising +himself from time to time on the tips of his toes as he talks, +and replies suavely:</p> + +<p>“Ta ta; I’m <i>reasoning</i>. They have <i>not</i> both disappeared, +have they? The lady in question is in the house at this present +moment, is she not?”</p> + +<p>“She is,” replied Alan, beginning to feel most uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“She is. Well, now, if <i>she</i> should disappear, <i>then</i> suspicion +might point to you. As it is—ahem—” Here Alan fancies +that Mr. Grip is watching him furtively. “As it is—we will +begin to investigate.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo30.png" alt="Alan has his first meeting with Mr. Grip" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“Stop, sir! How dare you—preposterous!”—<a href="#Page_274">page 274</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>Mr. Grip reseats himself, folds away his memoranda, and, +reclining once more at his ease, looks up at Alan coolly.</p> + +<p>“First, Mr. Warburton, I must see your sister-in-law.”</p> + +<p>Alan cannot restrain his start of surprise, nor the look of +anxiety that crosses his face.</p> + +<p>“Not at present,” he says, after a moment’s hesitation. +“She is ill; it would—”</p> + +<p>“So much the better,” interrupts the detective. “Worn +out, no doubt; nervous. May surprise something. <i>I must +see her</i>, and every other member of this household, myself unseen.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” thinks Alan, his hands clenching themselves involuntarily, +“if I dared throw you out of the window!”</p> + +<p>And then, with a shade more of haughtiness than he had as +yet used in addressing this man, who was fast becoming his +tormentor, he asks:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Grip, is this so very necessary?”</p> + +<p>Slowly the detective leans forward; slowly he raises a warning +forefinger.</p> + +<p>“My <i>dear</i> sir,” he says impressively, “if you want to catch +a thief will you say, ‘come here, my dear, and be arrested?’ +<i>No, sir</i>; you catch her <i>unawares</i>. Tell that fine lady that +she is to be interviewed by a detective, and, presto! she shuts +her secrets up behind a mantle of smiles or sneers. Call her +in, and lead her to talk; I’ll employ my eyes and ears. Use +the cues set down here—” he extends to Alan a folded slip +of paper. “Put her at her ease, and leave the rest to me. +Now then—”</p> + +<p>Again he rises, and this time he begins a slow survey of the +room.</p> + +<p>Alan, thoroughly alarmed for Leslie’s safety as well as for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +his own, begins to wonder how this strange interview is to +end. Even if he should summon Leslie, would she come at +his call? Yes; he feels sure that she would, remembering her +message of the morning. And what may she not say? If +he could give her a word, a sign of warning. But those eyes, +that are even now bestowing questioning glances upon him, +are too keen. He would only bungle. He will try again.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Grip,” he says, “my sister-in-law is already ill from +excitement. If we could spare her this interview—”</p> + +<p>“Sir!” Augustus Grip wheels suddenly, and looks +straight into his face while he continues sharply: “My <i>good</i> +sir; for your <i>own</i> sake, don’t! <i>You</i> should have no reason +for keeping a witness in the background.”</p> + +<p>The hot angry Warburton blood surges up to Alan’s brow. +Realizing his danger more than ever, and recognizing in the +man before him a force that might, perhaps, be bought or +baffled, but never evaded, he lets his eyes rest for a moment, in +haughty defiance, upon the detective’s face. And then he +turns and walks to the door.</p> + +<p>“Where do you purpose to conceal yourself?” he asks +coldly, as he lays his hand upon the bell-rope.</p> + +<p>Again Grip looks about him, and then steps toward the +cabinet near the window.</p> + +<p>“What’s this,” he asks, with his hand upon the closed door. +“Will it hold me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replies Alan; “that will hold you.” And he pulls +the bell.</p> + +<p>“There’s no resisting Fate,” he mutters to himself. “At +least that fellow shall not see me flinch again, let Leslie entangle +me as she may, and as she doubtless will.”</p> + +<p>And then there tingled in his veins a new sensation—a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +burning desire to seize that most impertinent, vulgar trail-hunter, +who was now tugging away at his cabinet door, and +send him crashing headlong through the window into the +street below.</p> + +<p>“Ask Mrs. Warburton if she will grant me a few moments +of her time,” he said to the servant who appeared at the door, +which Alan did not permit him to open more than half way. +And then he turned his attention to Mr. Grip.</p> + +<p>That individual, still tugging unsuccessfully at the door of +the cabinet, has grown impatient.</p> + +<p>“It’s locked!” he says, with an angry snap.</p> + +<p>“No,”—Alan strides toward him—“it is not locked.” +And he adds his strength to that of Mr. Grip.</p> + +<p>A moment the door hesitates; then it yields with a suddenness +which causes Alan to reel, and flies open.</p> + +<p>In another instant, Grip has pounced upon the luckless +organ-grinder, and dragged him into the centre of the room, +where he crouches at Alan’s feet, the very image of terrified +misery, limp and unresisting.</p> + +<p>“That’s a pretty thing to keep hid away!” snarled the now +thoroughly angry detective. “I’ve heard of skeletons in +closets, but this thing looks more like a monkey.”</p> + +<p>“More like a sneak thief, I should say,” remarks Alan, +with aggravating coolness. “And a very cowardly one at that.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>“WE TWO WILL MEET AGAIN.”</h3> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo31.png" alt="Grip and Alan find the organ-grinder in the closet" width="300" height="446" /> +<p class="caption">““That’s a pretty thing to keep hid away!” snarls the now thoroughly +angry detective.”—<a href="#Page_278">page 278</a>.</p></div> + +<p>There may have been times in Alan Warburton’s life—such +times come to most fastidious city-bred people—when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +doubted the wisdom of Providence in permitting the “street +musician” to inherit the earth, and, especially to transport so +much of his “heritage,” wheresoever he might go, upon his +person. But to-day, for the first time, he fancies that he sees +some reason for the existence of the species, and he finds himself +looking down almost complacently upon the crouching +minstrel who has lawlessly invaded the sanctity of his splendid +cabinet.</p> + +<p>This strange intruder has brought him at least a respite; +and he breathes a sigh of relief even as he asks sternly:</p> + +<p>“Fellow, how long have you been hiding in that cabinet?”</p> + +<p>But the culprit is once more a mute; again the pathetic +look is in his eyes, and with Grip’s hand still clutching his +shoulder, he begins a terrified pantomime.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” says Mr. Grip, pushing his prisoner away contemptuously, +“that won’t wash. You ain’t deaf—not much; +nor dumb, neither. Answer me,” giving him a rough shake, +“how came you here?”</p> + +<p>There is no sign that the fellow hears or understands; he +continues to gesticulate wildly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Grip releases his hold, and bends upon Alan a look of +impatience. In a moment, the organ-grinder bounds to the +cabinet and, dragging forth his organ, turns back, displaying +it and slinging it across his shoulder with grimaces of triumph.</p> + +<p>“That won’t go down, either,” snarls Mr. Grip. “Put +that thing on the floor, <i>presto!</i>”</p> + +<p>But the minstrel only grins with delight, and throwing +himself into an attitude, begins to grind out a doleful air. +With an angry growl, Mr. Grip makes a movement toward +him. But the organist retreats as he advances, and the doleful +tune goes on.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>It is a ludicrous picture, and Alan smiles in spite of himself, +even while he wishes that Leslie would come now,—now, +while he might warn her; now, while Mr. Augustus Grip, in +his pursuit of the intruding musician, has put the width of the +room between himself and his chosen place of concealment.</p> + +<p>But Leslie does not come. And Mr. Grip’s next remark +shows that he has not forgotten himself. With a sudden +movement, he wrests the organ from the hands of its manipulator, +and converting the strap of the instrument into a very +serviceable lasso, brings the fellow down upon his knees with +a quick, dexterous throw, and holding him firmly thus, says +over his shoulder, to Alan:</p> + +<p>“This is a fine thing to happen just now! The fellow must +be got out of the way, and kept safe until I have time to discover +his racket. He’s not such a fool as he looks. Can’t +you get in a policeman quietly? We don’t want any servants +to gossip over it, or to see me.”</p> + +<p>Alan turns his face toward the closet. “Can’t we lock him +up again?” he suggests.</p> + +<p>“My dear sir,” says Grip coolly, “this fellow is probably a +<i>spy</i>.”</p> + +<p>“What!” Alan starts, and turns a sharp glance upon the +organ-grinder. Then he seems to recover all his calmness and +says quietly, “nonsense; look at that stolid countenance.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” mutters Grip; “too much hair and dirt.” Then +turning toward the side window: “I intend to satisfy myself +about this fellow later. Get in a policeman somehow; try +the window.”</p> + +<p>As Alan goes toward the window, the organ-grinder seeming +in a state of utter collapse, and making no effort to free +himself from the grasp of Mr. Grip, still crouches beside his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +organ, and begins anew his pleading, terrified pantomine.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” says Alan, as the window yields to his touch, “this +window must have been the place where he entered.” Then, +after a prolonged look up and down the street: “I don’t see +an officer anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“No; I presume not. Try the other windows.”</p> + +<p>“The other windows, Mr. Grip, look out upon the +grounds.”</p> + +<p>“Perdition! Keep quiet, you fellow. Then shut that +window, sir, and come and guard this door; the lady may +present herself at any moment.”</p> + +<p>Alan turns again, and looks down into the street.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he says, quietly, “that we will just drop him +back into the street whence he came.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to want this fellow to escape,” snarls the detective, +casting upon Alan a glance of suspicion. “He shall +not escape; I’ll take care of him!”</p> + +<p>At this moment the door of the study flies suddenly open, +and Millie, breathless and with eyes distended, precipitates +herself into the room.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Alan,” she pants, without pausing to note the other +occupants of the room; “we can’t find Mrs. Warburton; she +is not in the house!”</p> + +<p>“What!” Alan strides toward her in unfeigned astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Ah-h-h!” Mr. Grip turns swiftly, and his single syllable +is as full of meaning as is his face of derision, and suspicion +confirmed.</p> + +<p>“Impossible, Millie,” says Alan sharply; “go to Miss +French—”</p> + +<p>“I did, sir, and she is—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>She pauses abruptly, for there in the doorway is Winnie +French, pale and tearful, an open letter in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Read that, sir,” she says, going straight up to Alan and +extending to him the letter. “See what your cruelty has done. +Leslie Warburton is gone!”</p> + +<p>“Gone!”</p> + +<p>This time Grip and Alan both utter the word, both start +forward.</p> + +<p>For just one moment the hand that clutches the collar of +the organ-grinder relaxes its hold, but that moment is enough. +With amazing agility, and seemingly by one movement, the +prisoner has freed himself and is on his feet. In another +second, by a clever wrestler’s manœuvre, he has thrown Mr. +Grip headlong upon the floor. And then, before the others +can realize his intentions, he has bounded to the open window, +and flung himself out, as easily and as carelessly as would a +cat.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Grip, discomfited for the moment, is not wanting +in alertness. He is on his feet before the man has cleared the +window. He bounds toward it, and drawing a small revolver, +fires after the fugitive—once—twice.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” It is Alan Warburton’s voice, stern and ringing. +He has seized the pistol arm, and holds it in a grasp that Mr. +Grip finds difficult to release.</p> + +<p>“Hands off!” cries Grip, now hoarse with rage. “That +man’s a <i>spy!</i>”</p> + +<p>“No matter; we will have no more shooting.”</p> + +<p>“<i>We!</i>” struggling to release his arm from Alan’s firm +grasp; “who are you that—”</p> + +<p>“I am master here, sir.”</p> + +<p>With an angry hiss, the detective from Scotland Yards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +throws himself upon Alan, and they engage in a fierce struggle. +But Alan Warburton is something more than a ball-room +hero; he is an adept in the manly sports, and fully a +match for Mr. Grip.</p> + +<p>Panting and terrified, Winnie and Millie stand together +near the door; and the eyes of the latter damsel wander from +the combatants near the window, to something that has fallen +close at her feet, and that lies half hidden by the folds of her +dress.</p> + +<p>But disaster has befallen Mr. Grip. While they wrestle, +Alan’s quick eye has detected something that looks like a displacement +of Mr. Grip’s cranium, and with a sudden, dexterous, +upward movement, he solves the mystery. There is an exclamation +of surprise, another of anger, and the two combatants +stand apart, both gazing down at the thing lying on the +floor between them.</p> + +<p>It is a wig of curling auburn hair, and it leaves the head +of Mr. Grip quite a different head in shape, in size, in height +of forehead, and in general expression!</p> + +<p>“So,” sneers Alan, “Mr. Grip, of Scotland Yards, saw fit +to visit me in disguise. Is your name as easily altered as +your face, sir?”</p> + +<p>The discomfited wrestler stoops down, and picking up his +wig adjusts it carefully on his head once more; bends again +to take up his fallen pistol; lifts his hat from a chair, and +returns to the window.</p> + +<p>“My name is not Augustus Grip,” he says coolly. “Neither +will you find me by inquiring at police headquarters. But +you and I will meet again, Mr. Warburton.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo32.png" alt="Grip fires at the organ-grinder, +but is stopped by Alan" width="300" height="437" /> +<p class="caption">“Drawing a small revolver, he fires after the fugitive—once—twice!” +<a href="#Page_283">page 283</a>.</p></div> + +<p>And without unseemly haste, he places his hand upon +the window-sill, swings himself over the ledge, resting his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +feet upon the iron railings, and drops down upon the pavement.</p> + +<p>By this time some people have collected outside, attracted +by the pistol-shots. Two laggard policemen are hastening +down the street. A group of servants are whispering and +consulting anxiously in the hall, and cautiously peeping in at +the study door.</p> + +<p>The coolness of the false Mr. Grip takes him safely past the +group of inquiring ones.</p> + +<p>“It was a sneak thief,” he explains, as he leaps down among +them. “Don’t detain me, friends; I must report this affair +at police headquarters.”</p> + +<p>A few quick strides take him across the street to where a +carriage stands in waiting. He enters it, and in a moment +more, Mr. Grip and carriage have whirled out of sight.</p> + +<p>“I’d give a hundred dollars to know what that fellow was +in hiding for,” he mused, as the carriage rolled swiftly along. +“Could he have been put there by Warburton? But no—Confound +that Warburton, I’ll humble his pride before we +cry quits, or my name is not <i>Van Vernet!</i>”</p> + +<p>But Vernet little dreamed that he had that day aimed a +bullet at the life of a brother detective; that his disguise had +been penetrated and his plans frustrated, by <i>Richard Stanhope!</i></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<h3>AN ARMISTICE.</h3> + +<p>If Van Vernet had been thwarted, in a measure, Richard +Stanhope had been no less baffled.</p> + +<p>Each had succeeded partially, and each had beaten a too +hasty and altogether unsatisfactory retreat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>Van Vernet had planned well. By keeping himself informed +as to the doings at police headquarters, he had been +aware of all the efforts there being made in the search for +the missing child. He found it quite easy to possess himself +of a sheet and envelope bearing the official stamp; and by +writing his spurious letter in a most unreadable scrawl, and +ending with a signature positively undecipherable, he had +guarded himself against dangerous consequences should a +charge of forgery, by any mischance, be preferred against him. +The disguise was a mere bit of child’s play to Van Vernet, +and the rest “went by itself”.</p> + +<p>His object in thus entering the Warburton house was, first, +to see Alan Warburton; study his face and hear his voice; +to satisfy himself, as far as possible, as to the feud, or seeming +feud, between Alan and his brother’s wife—for since the day +on which he had discovered, and he had taken pains since to +confirm this discovery, that the six-foot masker who had personated +Archibald Warburton was not Archibald Warburton, +but his brother Alan, Van Vernet had harbored many vague +suspicions concerning the family and its mysteries. He had +also hoped to see Leslie, and to surprise from one or both of +them some word, or look, or tone, that would furnish him +with a clue, if ever so slight.</p> + +<p>Well, he had surprised several things, so he assured himself, +but he had not seen Leslie. And the <i>denouement</i> of his +visit had rendered it impossible for him ever to reenter that +house, in the character of Mr. Augustus Grip.</p> + +<p>True, he had learned something. He had heard Winnie’s +words: “Leslie is not a child; and you must have said bitterly +cruel words before you left her in a dead faint on that +library floor last night.” And he had coupled these with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +those other words uttered by Winnie as she confronted Alan, +with that farewell note in her hand: “Read that; see what +your cruelty has done.”</p> + +<p>Was this girl a plotter, too? If he could have seen that +note! And then the organ-grinder—. On the whole, he was +not even half satisfied with the result of his expedition, especially +when he remembered that organ-grinder, and how he +had let his temper escape its leash and rage itself into that +cold white heat, his most intense expression of wrath, in which +he had openly defied Alan Warburton, and flung his own +colors boldly forth.</p> + +<p>Another thing puzzled Vernet exceedingly. He had discovered +Richard Stanhope at the Warburton masquerade, and +had bestowed upon him the character of lover. Was he there +in that character? Was he, in any way, mixed up with their +family secrets? Where had he spent the remainder of that +eventful night? Since the morning when Stanhope had reported +to his Chief, after his night of adventure beginning +with the masquerade, Vernet had heard no word from that +Chief concerning Stanhope’s unaccountable conduct, or the +abandoned Raid.</p> + +<p>The whole affair was to Vernet, vague, unsatisfactory, +mysterious. But the more unsatisfactory, the more mysterious +it became, the more doggedly determined became he.</p> + +<p>He had not forgotten, nor was he neglecting, the Arthur +Pearson murder. He was pursuing that investigation after a +manner quite satisfactory—to himself at least.</p> + +<p>There are in most cities, and connected with many detective +forces, and more individual members of forces, a class of men, +mongrels, we might say,—a cross between the lawyer and the +detective but actually neither, and sometimes fitted for both.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +They are called, by those initiated, “private enquirers,” +“trackers,” “bloodhounds.”</p> + +<p>These gentry are often employed by lawyers, as well as by +detectives and the police. They trace out titles, run down +witnesses, hunt up pedigrees, unearth long-forgotten family +secrets. They are searchers of records, burrowers into the +past. Their work is slow, laborious, pains-taking, tedious. +But it is not dangerous; the unsafe tracks are left to the detective +proper.</p> + +<p>Into the careful hands of some of these gentry, Van Vernet +had entrusted certain threads from the woof of the “Arthur +Pearson murder case,” as they styled it. And these tireless +searchers were burrowing away while Vernet was busying +himself with other matters, waiting for the time when the +“tracker” should find his occupation gone, and the detective’s +efforts be called in play.</p> + +<p>Vernet had not been aware of the close proximity of his +sometime friend and present rival. He had felt sure, from +the first, that the pretended mute was other than he seemed; +that he was a spy and marplot. But Richard Stanhope’s disguise +was perfect, and Vernet had not scrutinized him closely, +being in such haste to dispose of him, and expecting to investigate +his case later. Then, too, Richard Stanhope was +absent; he had not been seen, or heard of, at the Agency for +many days.</p> + +<p>As for Stanhope, he had not been slow to recognize Van +Vernet, and if he had not succeeded in all that he had hoped +to accomplish, he had at least discovered Vernet’s exact position. +And he had left a slip of paper where, he felt very sure, +it would fall into the right hands. For the rest, he came +and went like a comet, and was seen no more for many weeks.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>Meanwhile, quiet had been restored in Alan Warburton’s +study, and Alan himself now sat with a crumpled bit of paper +in his hand.</p> + +<p>This bit of paper had been given him by Millie, who, acting +upon Winnie’s advice, had made to Alan a very meek +confession of the part she had unwittingly played in the drama +just enacted.</p> + +<p>“Of course, sir, he came in when I went to call Miss Winnie,” +she had said contritely. “But oh, he did look so sorrowful, +and then that curl of hair! I was so sure it was something +about Miss Daisy.”</p> + +<p>Alan had listened gravely, had glanced at the bit of paper, +and then dismissed her with a kind word and a smile, and +without a reprimand.</p> + +<p>When this unexpected escape had been joyfully reported to +Winnie French, that stony-hearted damsel elevated her nose +and said:</p> + +<p>“Umph! so the man has a grain of something besides pride +in him somewhere. Well, I’m glad to hear it.”</p> + +<p>To which Millie had replied, warmly:</p> + +<p>“Why, Miss Winnie! Think how he fought to protect +that poor organ man, who had come to rob him, maybe, though +I can’t think it. <i>That</i> was splendid in him, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>And this had reminded Winnie that she was not indulging +in a soliloquy. So, having charged Millie to say nothing +about the events of the afternoon, she dismissed her, and sat +sadly down to peruse Leslie’s farewell note once more.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dearest Winnie.</span></p> + +<p>I am going away to-night; I must go. Yesterday I was about to +tell you my story; if you had heard it then, you would understand now +why I go. Since yesterday, I have decided to keep my burden still +strapped to my own shoulders.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum' style="font-size: 1em;"><a name="Page_291" +id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>In fact, to make you my confidante now would look to others, perhaps +to you, like an attempt to justify my acts. One favor I ask, Winnie; +when I return, if I do return, let me find you here. Continue to +call my house, for it is my house, your home. I have asked your +mother to share it with you, and to be in every sense of the word its +mistress, until Daisy is found, or I return. Mr. Follingsbee will regulate +all business matters. Trust me still, and don’t desert me. Winnie, for +time or for eternity, farewell.</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">Leslie</span></p></div> + +<p>Filled with wonder and sorrow, Winnie sat musing over +this strange note, when she received a message from Alan: +would she come to him in the library; it was a matter of importance.</p> + +<p>Rightly guessing that he wished to talk of Leslie, Winnie +arose and went slowly down to the library, a gleam of resentment +shining through the tears that would fill her eyes.</p> + +<p>Not long before she had refused to talk or to listen. But +now she must know why Leslie had gone. She was anxious +to face Alan Warburton.</p> + +<p>His manner, as he came forward to receive her, had undergone +a change, and his first words were so startlingly like +those last words of Leslie’s, that Winnie’s tongue failed to +furnish the prompt sarcasm usually ready to meet whatever +he might choose to utter.</p> + +<p>He was standing by a large chair as she entered the library, +and moving this a trifle forward, he said simply, and with +just such a gravely courteous tone as he might use in addressing +a stranger:</p> + +<p>“Be seated, Miss French.”</p> + +<p>Winnie sank into the proffered chair, and he draws back a +few paces, and standing thus before her, began:</p> + +<p>“Not long since I asked you to listen to me, and then to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +decide between another and myself. I do not repeat this request, +for I cannot stand before you and accuse a woman who +is not here to speak in her own defence. Although I did not +read that note you proffered me, I have satisfied myself that +Mrs. Warburton has gone.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed Winnie.</p> + +<p>“She planned her flight, if flight it can be called, very +skilfully. Everything in her apartments indicates deliberate +preparation. She took no baggage; no one knows how or +when she quitted the house. But she left two letters—two +besides that written to you. One is addressed to Mr. Follingsbee; +the other is for your mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed Winnie once more.</p> + +<p>“These letters,” continued Alan, “must be delivered at +once, and they should not be entrusted to the hands of servants. +And now, Miss French, that letter, your letter, which +you proffered me in a moment of excitement, I will not ask +to see. But tell me, does it give you any idea of her destination? +Does it contain anything that I may know?”</p> + +<p>A leaden weight seemed fastened upon Winnie’s facile tongue. +Something in her throat threatened to choke her. She +put her hand in her pocket, slowly drew out Leslie’s letter, +and silently proffered it to Alan.</p> + +<p>“Do you wish me to read it?”</p> + +<p>She nodded, and lifted her hand to brush two big tears from +her cheeks with a petulant motion.</p> + +<p>A moment he stood looking at her intently, an expression +of tenderness creeping into his face. Then he drew back a +pace, and his lips settled again into firm lines as he began the +perusal of Leslie’s letter.</p> + +<p>Having read the missive slowly through for the second time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +Alan refolded it and gravely returned it to Winnie.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said, in a subdued tone. “I am quite +well aware, Miss French, that no word of mine can influence +you in the slightest degree. Were this not so, I would beg +most earnestly that you would comply, in every respect, with +the wishes Mrs. Warburton has expressed.”</p> + +<p>While he perused the letter, Winnie had somewhat recovered +herself, and she now looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>“In every respect? Mr. Warburton, that note says—‘trust +me; do not desert me.’”</p> + +<p>“And I say the same. To-day Leslie Warburton needs a +true friend as much—as much as ever woman did.”</p> + +<p>He was about to say, “as much as I do,” but pride stepped +in and stopped the words ere they could pass his lips.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment, and then he said:</p> + +<p>“We must find Leslie if possible, of course, but not until +we have seen her lawyer and consulted him. It is growing +late, but time is precious. Will you let me take you to your +mother’s at once? You can give her Leslie’s letter, and consult +together. Meantime, I will drive to see Follingsbee, and +call for you on my return. Of course your mother will accompany +you; at least I trust so. And, Miss French, let me +assure you, here and now, that should you continue to honor +this house with your presence, you will not be further annoyed +by my importunities. To-night, for the first time, I fully +realize that I have no right to ask any woman to share a fate +that is, to say the least, under a cloud; or to take upon herself +a name that may be at any moment dishonored before +the world. Shall I order the carriage? Will you go, Miss +French?”</p> + +<p>There was something masterful in his stern self-command<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +his ability to think and act with such promptitude and forethought, +and it had its effect upon Winnie.</p> + +<p>“I will go,” she said, rising and turning toward the door.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said, then hastened to open it.</p> + +<p>When she had passed out, he returned to his old position, +and once more glanced down at the piece of paper which all +the while he had retained in his hand. It was the note flung +at Millie’s feet by the fleeing organ-grinder, and it contained +these words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>If Alan Warburton will call on Mr. Follingsbee as soon as possible, +he will find there a communication from a friend. It is important that +he should receive this at once.</p></div> + +<p>No name, no date, no signature, but it explains why Millie +escaped without a reprimand.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<h3>LESLIE GOES “HOME.”</h3> + +<p>While Alan and Winnie, protected by their temporary +armistice, were hurrying toward the modest abode of Mrs. +French, each intent upon solving as soon as possible the riddle +of Leslie’s flight, the Francoises were holding high council +in the kitchen of their most recent habitation.</p> + +<p>In all the lists of professional criminals, there were not two +who had been, from their very earliest adventure, more successful +in evading the police than Papa and Mamma Francoise.</p> + +<p>Papa, although in the face of actual, present danger he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +was the greater coward of the two, possessed a rare talent +for scheming, and laying cunning plans to baffle the too +curious. And Mamma’s executive ability was very strong, +of its kind. In the face of danger, Mamma’s furious temper +and animal courage stood them in good stead. When a new +scheme was on foot, Papa took the lead.</p> + +<p>As for Franz, he, as we have seen, had not been so successful +in evading the representatives of law and order. And he +had returned, having escaped from durance vile, bringing with +him a strangely developed stock of his Mother’s fierceness and +his Father’s cunning.</p> + +<p>It was a part of Papa’s policy to be, at all times, provided +with a “retreat.” Not content with an abiding-place for the +present, the pair had always, somewhere within an easy distance +from their present abode, a second haven, fitted with +the commonest necessaries of life, but seldom anything more, +and always ready to receive them. Hence, in fleeing from the +scene of the Siebel affray, they had gone to the attic which +stood ready to shelter them, where they had been traced by +Vernet, and followed by Franz. And on the night when +they had left Van Vernet to a fiery death, they had flown +straight to another ready refuge.</p> + +<p>This time it was a cottage, old and shabby, but in a respectable +quarter on the remotest outskirts of the city. This cottage, +like the B—street tenement, stood quite isolated from +its neighbors, for it was one of Papa’s fine points to choose ever +a solitary location, or else lose himself in a locality where +humanity swarmed thickest, and where each was too eager in +his own struggle for existence to be anxious or curious about +the affairs of his neighbors.</p> + +<p>This cottage, then, was shabby enough, but not so shabby as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +their former dwelling, either within or without. Neither did +Papa and Mamma present quite so uncanny an appearance as +before. They were somewhat cleaner, a trifle better clad, and +somewhat changed in their general aspect, for here they were +presuming themselves to be “poor but honest” working people, +like their neighbors.</p> + +<p>In this pretence they were ably supported by Franz, when +he was sober. And drunkenness not being strictly confined +to the wealthier classes, he cast no discredit upon the honesty +of his parents by being frequently drunk.</p> + +<p>Papa and Mamma were regaling themselves with a late +supper, consisting principally of beer and “Dutch bread,” and +as usual, when <i>tête-à-tête</i>, they were engaged in a lively discussion.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like the way that boy goes on,” remarks Mamma, +as she cuts for herself a slice of the bread.</p> + +<p>Papa sets down his empty beer glass, and tilts back his +chair.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ye?” he queries carelessly.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” retorts Mamma with increasing energy. +“He’s getting too reckless, and he swigs too much.”</p> + +<p>“<i>That’s</i> a fact,” murmurs Papa, glancing affectionately at +the beer pitcher.</p> + +<p>“He’d ought ter lay low for a good while yet,” goes on +Mamma, “instead of prowling off at all hours of the day and +night. Why, he’s gone more’n he’s here.”</p> + +<p>Papa Francoise brought his chair back into regular position +with a slow movement, and leaning his two elbows upon the +table, leered across at Mamma.</p> + +<p>“Look here, old un,” he said slowly, “that fellow’s just +knocked off eight or ten years in limbo, and don’t you s’pose<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +he prizes his liberty? If he can’t keep clear o’ cops and beaks +after <i>his</i> experience, he ain’t no son of mine. Don’t you worry +about our Franzy; he’s got more brains than you an’ me put +together. I’m blest if I know how he come by such a stock. +I’m beginning to take pride in the lad.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” rejoins Mamma viciously, “he ain’t much like <i>you</i>; +if he was, there wouldn’t be so much to be proud of.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a fact,” assented Papa cheerfully. “He ain’t like +me; he sort o’ generally resembles both of us. And I’m blest +if he ain’t better lookin’ than we two together.”</p> + +<p>“Franzy’s changed,” sighs Mamma; “he ain’t the same +boy he uste to be. If it wa’n’t fer his drinkin’ and swearin’, +I wouldn’t hardly know him.”</p> + +<p>“Course not; nor ye didn’t know him till he interduced +himself. No more did I. When a feller gets sent up fer +fifteen years, and spends ten out of the fifteen tryin’ to contrive +a way to get back to his old Pappy and Mammy, it’s apt to +change him some. Franzy’s improved, he is. He’s cut some +eye-teeth. Ah, what a help he’d be, if I could only git past +these snags and back to my old business!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” sighed Mamma, and then suddenly suspended her +speech as a lively, and not unmusical, whistle sounded near at +hand.</p> + +<p>“That’s him,” she said, pushing back her chair and rising. +“He seems to be comin’ good-natured.” And she hastened +to admit the Prodigal, who, if he had returned in good spirits, +had not brought them all on the outside, for as he entered the +room with a cheerful smirk and unsteady step, Papa murmured +aside:</p> + +<p>“Our dear boy’s drunk agin.”</p> + +<p>Unmindful of Mamma’s anxious questions concerning his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +whereabouts, Franzy took the chair she had just vacated, and +began a survey of the table.</p> + +<p>“Beer!” he said contemptuously. “I wouldn’t drink beer, +not—”</p> + +<p>“Not when you have drank too much fire-water already, +Franzy,” supplemented Papa, with a grin, at the same time +drawing the pitcher nearer to himself. “No, my boy, I +wouldn’t if—if I were you.”</p> + +<p>Franz utters a half maudlin laugh, and turns to the old +woman.</p> + +<p>“Is this all yer eatables?” he asks thickly. “Bring us +somethin’ else.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” chimes in Papa, “Franzy’s used ter first-class fare, +old un; bring him something good.”</p> + +<p>Mamma moves about, placing before her Prodigal the best +food at hand, and presently the three are gathered about the +table again, a very social family group.</p> + +<p>But by-and-by Mamma’s quick ear catches a sound outside.</p> + +<p>“Some one’s coming,” she says in a sharp whisper. “I +wonder—”</p> + +<p>She stops short and goes to a window, followed by Franz, +who peers curiously over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It’s a woman,” he says, a moment later.</p> + +<p>“Hush, Franzy,” says Mamma sharply. And then she +goes quickly to the door.</p> + +<p>It is a woman who enters; a woman draped in black. She +throws back her shrouding veil and the pure pale face of +Leslie Warburton is revealed.</p> + +<p>Franz Francoise utters a sharp ejaculation, and then as +Papa’s hand presses upon his arm, he relapses into silence and +draws back step by step.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>“Ah!” +cries Mamma, starting with extended hands to seize +upon the new-comer; “ah! it’s our own dear girl!”</p> + +<p>But Leslie repulses the proffered embrace, and moves aside.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” she says coldly; “wait.” And she looks inquiringly +at Franz. “You do not know how and why I come.”</p> + +<p>“No matter why you come, dear child,”—it is Papa, speaking +in his oiliest accents—“we are glad to see you; very +glad.”</p> + +<p>Again Leslie’s eyes rest upon Franz, and Mamma says:</p> + +<p>“Oh, speak out, my dear. This is our boy, Franz; your +brother, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Papa chimes in blithely, “how beautiful this is; +how delightful!”</p> + +<p>Leslie favors Franz with a steady look, and turns to +Mamma.</p> + +<p>“Then I am not your only child,” she says, with a proud +curl of the lip.</p> + +<p>And Mamma, seeing the look on her face, regrets, for the +once, the presence of her beloved Prodigal.</p> + +<p>But Franz has quite recovered himself, and moving a trifle +nearer the group by the door, he mutters, seemingly for his +own benefit, “well, this let’s me out!”</p> + +<p>Hearing which, Mamma glances from Franz to Leslie, and +spreading out her two bony palms in a sort of “bless-you-my-children” +gesture, says theatrically:</p> + +<p>“Ah-h, you were too young to remember each other; at +least <i>you</i> were too young to remember Franzy. But <i>he</i> don’t +forget you; do you, Franzy, my boy? You don’t forget +Leschen—little Leschen?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t I though?” mutters Franz under his breath, and +then he moves forward with an unsteady lurch, saying aloud:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +“Eh? oh, Leschen: little Leschen. Why in course I—I remember.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cries Mamma with enthusiasm, “many’s the time +you’ve rocked her, when she wasn’t two years old.”</p> + +<p>“Franzy was allers good ’bout sech things,” chimes in +Papa.</p> + +<p>“Umph!” grunts Franz, turning to Papa, “where’s she +been?”</p> + +<p>“My boy,” replies Papa impressively, “Leschen’s been living +like a lady ever since she was adopted away from us. Of +course you can’t remember each other much, but ye ort to be +civil to yer sister.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a fact,” assents Franz, coming quite close to Leslie. +“Say, Leschen, don’t ye be afraid o’ me; I kin see that ye +don’t like my looks much. Say, can’t ye remember me at all?”</p> + +<p>A full moment Leslie scans him from head to foot, with a +look of proud disdain. Then turning towards Mamma, she +says bitterly:</p> + +<p>“I am more fortunate than I hoped to be.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t ye, now?” chimes in Franz cheerfully. “Say, ye +look awful peaked.” And he hastens to fetch a chair, his feet +almost tripping in the act. “There,” he says, placing it beside +her, “sit down, do, an’ tell us the news.”</p> + +<p>She sinks wearily upon the proffered seat, and again turns +her face toward Mamma.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she says coldly, “let me tell my news, since this is +a <i>family</i> gathering. You have deplored my loss so often that +I have returned. I have come to live with you.”</p> + +<p>The consternation that sits upon two of three faces turned +toward her, is indeed ludicrous, and Franz Francoise utters +an audible chuckle. Then the elders find their tongues.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>“Ah,” +groans Papa, “she’s jokin’ at the poor old folks.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” sighs Mamma, “there’s no such luck for poor +people.”</p> + +<p>“Reassure yourselves,” says Leslie calmly. “I have given +you all my money; my husband is dead; my little step-daughter +has been stolen, or worse, and I have been accused +of the crime.”</p> + +<p>She pauses to note the effect of her words, but strangely +enough, Franz Francoise is the only one who gives the least +sign of surprise.</p> + +<p>“I am disinherited,” continues Leslie, “cast out from my +home, friendless and penniless. You have claimed me as +your child, and I have come to you.”</p> + +<p>Still she is closely studying the faces of the elder Francoises, +and she does not note the intent eyes that are, in turn, +studying her own countenance: the eyes of Franz Francoise.</p> + +<p>The two old plotters look at each other, and then turn away. +Rage, chagrin, baffled expectation, speak in the looks they interchange. +Franz is the first to relapse into indifference and +stolidity.</p> + +<p>“But, my girl,” Papa begins, excitedly, “this can’t be! +You are a widow—ah, yes, poor child, we know that. But, +my dear, a widow has rights. The law, my child, the law—”</p> + +<p>“You mistake,” says Leslie coldly, “the law will do nothing +for me.”</p> + +<p>“But it must,” argues Papa. “They can’t keep you out o’ +your rights. The law—”</p> + +<p>Leslie rises and turns to face him, cutting short his speech +by a gesture.</p> + +<p>“There is a higher law than that made by man,” she says +sternly; “the law that God has implanted in heart and conscience.<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +That law bids me renounce all claims to my husband’s +wealth. Understand this: I am penniless. There is but one +thing that could induce me to claim and use what the law will +give me.”</p> + +<p>“And what is that?” asks Papa, in a wheedling tone, while +Mamma catches her breath to listen.</p> + +<p>“That,” says Leslie slowly, “is the restoration of little +Daisy Warburton.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<h3>AN AFFECTIONATE FAMILY.</h3> + +<p>A sudden silence has fallen upon the group, and as Leslie’s +clear, sad eyes rest upon first one face and then the other, +Papa begins to fidget nervously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” he sighs, “we heard about that.”</p> + +<p>And then Mamma comes nearer, saying in a cat-like, purring +tone: “The poor little dear! And you can’t find her?”</p> + +<p>As she speaks, Franz Francoise shifts his position carelessly, +placing himself where he can note the expressions of the two +old faces.</p> + +<p>But Leslie’s enforced calmness is fast deserting her.</p> + +<p>“Woman!” she cries passionately, “drop your mask of +hypocrisy! Let us understand each other. I believe that +you were in my house on the night of that wretched masquerade. +I have reasons for so believing. Ah, I recall many +words that have fallen from your lips, now that it is too late; +words that condemn you. You believed that with Daisy removed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +I would become my husband’s sole heiress; and you +knew that at best his life would be short. The more the +money in my possession, the more you could extort from me. +But I can thwart you here, and I will. You never reckoned +upon my throwing away my claim to wealth, for you were +never human; you never loved anything but money, or you +would have pity on that poor little child. Give me back +little Daisy, and every dollar I can claim shall become +yours!”</p> + +<p>Oh, the greed, the avarice, that shines from Mamma’s eyes! +But Papa makes her a sign, and she remains silent, while he +says, with his best imitation of gentleness:</p> + +<p>“But, my child; but, Leschen, how can <i>we</i> find the little +girl?”</p> + +<p>Leslie turns upon him a look of contempt, and then a swift +spasm of fear crosses her face.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she cries, clasping her hands wildly, “surely, <i>surely</i> +you have not killed her!”</p> + +<p>And now Mamma has resumed her mask. “My child,” +she says, coming close to Leslie, “you’re excited. We don’t +know where to find that child. What can <i>we</i> do?”</p> + +<p>Back to Leslie’s face comes that look of set calm, and she +sinks upon the chair she had lately occupied.</p> + +<p>“Do your worst!” she says between tightly clenched teeth. +“You know that I do not, that I never shall, believe you. +You say you are my mother,” flashing two blazing eyes upon +Mamma, “take care of your child, then. Make of me a +rag-picker, if you like. Henceforth I am nothing, nobody, +save the daughter of the Francoises!”</p> + +<p>Again, for a moment, the faces that regard her present a +study. And this time it is Franz who is the first to speak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +Coming forward somewhat unsteadily, he doffs his ragged old +cap, and extends to her a hand not overclean.</p> + +<p>“Partner, shake!” he says in tones of marked admiration. +“Ye’re clean grit! If ye’re my sister, I’m proud of ye. If ye +ain’t, and ye ’pear to think ye ain’t, then it’s my loss, an’,” with +a leer at the old pair, “yer gain. Anyhow, I’m yer second +in this young-un business. Ye kin stay right here, ef ye +want ter, and, by thunder, ef the old uns have got yer little +gal, ye shall have her back agin—ye hear me! Ain’t ye goin’ +ter shake? I wish yer would. I’m a rough feller, Missy; +I’ve allers been a hard case, and I’ve just got over a penitentiary +stretch—ye’ll hear o’ that soon enough, ef ye stay here. +The old un likes to remind me of it when she ain’t amiable. +Never mind that; maybe I ain’t all bad. Anyway, I’m goin’ +to stand by ye, and don’t ye feel oneasy.”</p> + +<p>Again he extends his hand, and Leslie looks at it, and then +up into his face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if I could trust you!” she murmurs. “If you would +help me!”</p> + +<p>“I <i>kin</i>;” says Franz promptly, “an’ I <i>will!</i>”</p> + +<p>Again she hesitates, looking upon the uncouth figure and +the unwashed hand. Then she lifts her eyes to his face.</p> + +<p>Two eyes are looking into her own, eagerly, intently, full +of pitying anxiety.</p> + +<p>She rises slowly, looks again into the eager eyes, and extends +her hand.</p> + +<p>“Gracious!” he exclaims, as he releases it, “how nervous +yer are: must be awful tired.”</p> + +<p>“Tired, yes. I have walked all the way.”</p> + +<p>“An’ say, no jokin’ now, <i>have</i> ye come ter live with +us?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo33.png" alt="Franz wants to shake hands with Leslie" width="300" height="448" /> +<p class="caption">“Partner, shake. Ye’re clean grit!”—<a href="#Page_304">page 304</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>“I +have,” she replies firmly; “unless,” turning a contemptuous +glance toward Mamma and Papa, “my <i>parents</i> refuse me +a shelter.”</p> + +<p>It is probable that these overtures from Franz would have +been promptly interrupted, had not Papa and Mamma, seeing +the necessity of exchanging a few words, improved this opportunity +to understand each other, and as they exchanged hasty +whispers, any vagueness or hiatus in their speech was fully +supplied by meaning glances. And now quite up in her role, +Mamma again advances.</p> + +<p>“My child,” she begins, in a dolorous voice, “when ye know +us better, ye’ll think better of yer poor old folks. As fer +Franz here, he’s been drinkin’ a little to-night, but he’s a +good-hearted boy; don’t mind him.”</p> + +<p>“No,” interrupts Franz, with a maudlin chuckle; “don’t +mind <i>me</i>.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a poor home yer come to, Leschen,” continues +Mamma, “and a poor bed I can give ye. But we want to be +good to ye, dear, an’ if ye’re really goin’ to stay with us, we’ll +try an’ make ye as comfortable as we can.”</p> + +<p>Leslie’s head droops lower and lower; she pays no heed to +the old woman’s words.</p> + +<p>“Poor child, she is tired out.”</p> + +<p>Saying this, Mamma takes the candle from the table, and +goes from the room quickly, thus leaving the three in darkness.</p> + +<p>In another moment, the voice of Franz breaks out:</p> + +<p>“Ain’t there another glim somewhere?”</p> + +<p>By the time Mamma returns, a feeble light is sputtering +upon the table, and Franz is awkwardly trying to force upon +Leslie some refreshments from the choice supply left from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +their late repast. But she refuses all, and wearily follows +Mamma from the room.</p> + +<p>“Git yer rest now,” says Franz as she goes; “to-morrow +we’ll talk over this young-un business.”</p> + +<p>But when the morrow comes, and for many days after, +Leslie Warburton is oblivious to all things earthly.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE PRODIGAL BECOMES OBSTINATE.</h3> + +<p>When the door had closed behind Leslie and the old woman, +Franz Francoise dropped his chin upon his breast, and leaning +his broad shoulders against the door-frame, stood thinking, +or half asleep, it would have been difficult to guess which; +while Papa began a slow, cat-like promenade up and down +the room, paying no heed to Franz or his occupation, and +thinking, beyond a doubt.</p> + +<p>After a little, Franz, arousing himself with a yawn, staggered +to the nearest chair, and dropped once more into a listless +attitude. In another moment, Mamma reëntered the +room.</p> + +<p>As she passed him, Franz laid a detaining hand upon her +arm, and leering up into her face, whispered thickly:</p> + +<p>“I say, old un, ye seem ter be troubled with gals. Don’t +ye want me to git rid o’ <i>this</i> one fer ye?”</p> + +<p>A moment the old woman pauses, and looks down at her +Prodigal in silence. Then she brings her hideous face close +to his and whispers:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My boy, that other un, ef we’d a-kept her, ud a-done us +hurt. This un, ef we kin keep her, will make all our fortunes.”</p> + +<p>“Honor bright?” drawls Franz, looking up at her sleepily, +and suppressing a yawn.</p> + +<p>“Honor bright, my boy.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” and he rises and stretches out his arms, “we’d better +keep her.”</p> + +<p>Mamma favors him with a nod and a grin of approval, and +then goes over to where Papa has halted and stands eyeing +the whisperers.</p> + +<p>The household belongings here are, as we have said, somewhat +more respectable and extensive than those of the former +nests occupied by these birds of passage. There were several +chairs; a quantity of crockery and cooking utensils; some +decent curtains at the windows; and a couch, somewhat the +worse for wear and not remarkable for cleanliness, in this room.</p> + +<p>Toward this couch Franz moves with a shuffling gait, and +flinging himself heavily down upon it, he settles himself to +enjoy a quiet nap, paying no heed to Papa and Mamma, who, +standing near together, are watching him furtively. It is +some time before Franz becomes lost in dreamland. He +fidgets and mumbles for so many minutes that Mamma becomes +impatient. But he is quiet at last.</p> + +<p>And then the two old plotters, withdrawing themselves to +the remotest corner of the room, enter into a conversation or +discussion, which, judging from their rapid gesticulations, their +facial expression, and the occasional sharp hiss, which is all +that could have been heard by the occupant of the couch were +he ever so broad awake, must be a question of considerable +importance, and one that admits of two opinions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>For more than an hour this warm discussion continues. +Then it seems to have reached an amicable adjustment, for +they both wear a look of relief, and conversation flags. Presently +Mamma turns her face toward the couch.</p> + +<p>“I wonder ef he is asleep,” she whispers. “Somehow, that +boy bothers me.”</p> + +<p>“There’s nothin’ ails him,” replies the old man, in the same +guarded whisper, “only what he come honestly by. He’s +lookin’ out fer number one, same as we are; an’ he won’t trust +<i>all</i> his secrets to nobody’s keepin’, no more’n we won’t. He’s +our own boy—only he’s a leetle too sharp fer my likin’. +Hows’ever, he’s a lad to be proud of, an’ it won’t do to fall +out with him.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody wants to fall out with him,” retorts Mamma. +“He’s going to be the makin’ of us, only—mind this—he ain’t +to know too much, unless we want him to be our master. +Look at the scamp, a-layin’ there! I’m goin’ to see ef he is +asleep.”</p> + +<p>She takes the candle from the table, snuffs the wick into a +brighter blaze, and moves softly toward the couch. The +Prodigal’s face is turned upward. Mamma scans it closely, +and then brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, waving +it to and fro rapidly.</p> + +<p>There is no slow awakening here. The two hands of the +sleeper, which have rested in seeming carelessness loosely at +his sides, move swiftly and simultaneously with his body. +And Mamma’s only consciousness is that of more meteors than +could by any possibility emanate from one candle, and a sudden +shock to her whole frame. She is sitting upon the floor, +clutching wildly at the candle, while Franz, a dangerous-looking +revolver in either hand, is glaring fiercely about him.</p> + +<p>And all this in scarce ten seconds!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>“Wot’s +up?” queries Franz shortly, “wot the dickens—”</p> + +<p>Papa comes forward, chuckling softly, but keeping cautiously +out of range of the two weapons. And Mamma begins to +scramble to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” says Franz, as he seems to notice Mamma’s position +for the first time; “wot ails <i>you?</i>”</p> + +<p>Papa is so amused that he giggles audibly; he was never +heard to laugh an honest laugh.</p> + +<p>“Git up, old lady,” commands Franz, withdrawing his eyes +from Mamma; and he stands as at first, until she has risen.</p> + +<p>Then he glances sharply about the room, and asks impatiently: +“Come, now, what have ye been up to?”</p> + +<p>“Ye see, Franzy,” begins Mamma in a conciliating tone, +“I went ter take a look at ye—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ye did!”</p> + +<p>“With the candle in my hand.”</p> + +<p>“Jest so; an’ to get a good look, ye stuck it pretty close to +my eyes. Wanted to see ef I was asleep, or playin’ possum, +eh? Wall,” replacing one revolver in a hip-pocket, and +trifling carelessly with the other, while he seats himself upon +the couch, “what did ye find out?”</p> + +<p>Though his tone was one of quiet mockery, there was an +angry gleam in his eyes, and neither Papa nor Mamma ventured +a reply.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo02.png" alt="Mamma wants to see if the Prodigal is asleep" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, waving it to +and fro, rapidly.”—<a href="#Page_309">page 309</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“I’ll tell ye what ye discovered, an’ it may be a good lesson +fer ye,” he goes on in a low tone that was full of fierce intensity. +“Ye have discovered that Franz Francoise asleep, +and the same feller awake, are pretty much alike. It’s jest as +onsafe to trifle with one as with the other. I’ve slept nearly +ten years o’ my life with every nerve in me waitin’ fer a sign +to wake quick and active. I’ve taught myself to go to sleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +always with the same idea runnin’ in my head. An’ since I +got out o’ that pen down there, I’m always armed, and I’m +always ready. The brush of a fly’ll wake me, and it’ll take +me just five seconds to shoot. So when ye experiment ’round +me agin, ye want to fly kinder light. And, old woman, ye +may thank yer stars that ye was so close ter me that ye didn’t +come in for nothin’ more’n a tumble.”</p> + +<p>He sits quite still for a few moments, and then rising slowly, +goes over and seats himself on the edge of the table near which +Papa stands.</p> + +<p>“When I stowed myself away over there,” resumes Franz, +“I was more or less muddled. But I’m straight enough now, +an’ my head’s clear. I’ve just reckelected about that gal’s +comin’, an’—I say, old woman, can she hear us if she happens +to be awake?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replies Mamma, “she can’t—not unless we talk +louder than we’re likely to.”</p> + +<p>“Then haul up yer stool. We’re goin’ ter settle about her.”</p> + +<p>The look which Mamma casts toward her worser half says, +as plainly as looks can speak: “It’s coming.” And then she +compresses her lips, and draws a chair near the table, while +Papa occupies another, and Franz looks down upon the pair +from his more elevated perch.</p> + +<p>“Now, then,” begins Franz, “Who’s that ’ere gal?”</p> + +<p>No answer from the two on the witness-stand. They exchange +glances, and remain mute.</p> + +<p>“Next,” goes on Franz, as if quite content with their silence, +“wot’s all this talk about child-stealin’?”</p> + +<p>Still no answer. Franz remains tranquil as before, and by +way of diversion probably, squints along the shining barrel +of his six shooter, and snaps the trigger playfully.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>“Have +ye got that gal’s young un?” he asks, still seeming to +find the revolver an object of interest, “or hain’t ye?” Down +comes the dangerous weapon upon the knee of its owner, and +quite by accident, of course, it has Papa’s head directly in range.</p> + +<p>Seeing which, that worthy moves quickly aside with an exclamation +of remonstrance. But Mamma is made of other +stuff. She leans forward and leers up into the face of her +Prodigal.</p> + +<p>“It seems ter me, youngster,” she sneers, “that gal’s took +a strong hold on yer sympathies. Ain’t ye gettin’ terrible +curious?”</p> + +<p>“May<i>be</i>,” retorts Franz, returning her gaze with interest; +“an’ may<i>be</i>, now, ’tain’t so much <i>sympathy</i> as ye may suppose. +I don’t think sympathy runs in this ’ere family. The pint’s +right here, and this is a good time to settle it. You two’s +hung onter me ter stay by yer, an’ strike together fer luck, but +I’m blessed ef I’m goin’ ter strike in ther dark. <i>I’m</i> goin’ +ter see ter the bottom o’ things, er let ’em alone. An’ afore +we drop this, I want these ’ere questions answered: Who is +that gal, an’ why does she talk about bein’ your gal? Who is +the young-un she talks of, an’ have you got it? I’m goin’ +ter know yer lay afore <i>I</i> move.”</p> + +<p>“Franz,” breaks in Papa deprecatingly, “jest give yer +mother a chance. Maybe ye won’t ride sich a high horse when +ye hear her plans fer yer good.”</p> + +<p>And then, as if she has just received her cue, Mamma +breaks in:</p> + +<p>“Ah-h, Franz,” she says contemptuously, “I’m disappinted +in ye! Wot were ye thinkin’ on, ter go an’ weaken afore a +slip of a gal like that, talkin’ such chicken talk, an’ goin’ back +on yer old mother!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>“I +thought ye said ye’d got ter hang onto that gal, an’ she’d +make all our fortin’s,” comments Franz.</p> + +<p>“An’ so I did.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” and he favors her with a knowing leer, “if that’s a +fact, somebody needs ter git inter her good books, an’ she don’t +’pear to take much stock in you two.”</p> + +<p>He points this sentence with a wink at Papa. And this +gentleman, seeming to see his son’s gallantry in a new light, +indulges in one of his giggles. Even Mamma grins visibly +as she leans forward and pats him on his knee.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you sly dog, ah-h! Look what luck’s throwed in our +way, my boy! Ye’re bound ter be rich, if ye jest listen to +yer mother.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll take a power o’ listenin’ unless yer git down ter business. +An’ now, once more, wot does the gal mean by talkin’ +about a child that’s stole?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind the young un, boy,” replies Mamma, her face +hardening again; “how do ye like the <i>gal?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Like the gal? Wot’s that got ter do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Listen, Franz,” and Mamma bends forward with uplifted +forefinger; “I’ll explain all that needs explainin’ by an by. +S’pose it should turn out as that gal, that’s come here and +throwed herself into our hands, should fall heir to—well, to +a pile o’ money. What would you be willin’ to do ter git the +heft of it?”</p> + +<p>“Most anything,” replies Franz coolly, and letting his eyes +drop to the weapon in his hand. “I shouldn’t ‘weaken,’ nor +play ‘chicken,’ old un. But I’d want ter see the fortin’ +ahead.”</p> + +<p>“Hear the boy!” chuckles Mamma in delight. “But we +don’t want none o’ <i>that</i>,” nodding toward the revolver. “It<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>’s +a live gal ye want.” Then leaning forward, she whispers +sharply: “<i>You have got ter marry the gal!</i>”</p> + +<p>Franz stares at his mother for full ten seconds. Then +slowly lowering first one leg and next the other, he stands +upon his feet, and embracing himself with both arms, he indulges +in what appears to be a violent fit of noiseless laughter.</p> + +<p>“Marry the gal!” he articulates between these spasms. +“Oh, gimmini! won’t she be delighted!”</p> + +<p>“Delighted or not,” snarls Mamma, considerably annoyed +by this levity on the part of her Prodigal, “she’ll be brought +to consent.”</p> + +<p>But the spasm has passed. Franz resumes his position on +the table, and looks at Mamma, this time with the utmost +gravity, while he says:</p> + +<p>“Look here, old woman, that’s a gal as can’t be drove. Ye +can’t force her ter marry yer han’some son. An’ ye can’t force +yer han’some son ter marry her—not unless he sees some strong +inducements. An’ then, ye don’t expect ter make a prisoner +o’ that gal, do yer? That racket’s played out, ’cept in the +theatres. I don’t know what sent her here, but I’m pretty +sure she’ll be satisfied with a short visit.”</p> + +<p>“Franz,” remonstrates Mamma, “listen to me. That gal, +the minit we step for’ard an’ prove her identity, is goin’ to come +into a fortin’ as big as a silver mine. And we shan’t prove +her identity—till she’s married ter you.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly the manner of the Prodigal, which has presented +thus far a mixture of incredulity and indifference, changes to +fierce anger. Again he comes down upon his feet, this time +with a quick spring that causes Papa to start and tremble once +more.</p> + +<p>“Now, you listen,” he says sharply. “The quicker yer<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +stop this fool business, the better it’ll be fer yer plans. Who’s +that gal, I say? How did she git inter yer clutches? +What’s this fortin’, and where’s it comin’ from? When +ye’ve answered these ’ere questions, ye kin talk ter <i>me</i>; not +afore.”</p> + +<p>“Jest trust us fer that, Franzy,” says Papa softly.</p> + +<p>“Not any! Then here’s another thing: how are ye goin’ +ter git that gal’s consent?”</p> + +<p>“Trust us fer that, too,” says Mamma, in a tone betokening +rising anger. “We know how ter manage her.”</p> + +<p>“An’ that means that ye’ve got her young un! Now look +here, both on ye. Do you take me fer a stool-pigeon, to go +into such a deal with my eyes blinded? Satisfy me about the +gal, an’ her right to a fortin’, an’ let me in to the young un +deal, an’ I’m with ye. I don’t go it blind.”</p> + +<p>And now it is Mamma’s turn. She bounds up, confronting +her Prodigal, with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes.</p> + +<p>Papa turns away and groans dismally: “Oh, Lord, they’re +goin’ to quarrel!”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Franz Francoise,” begins Mamma, in a shrill +half whisper, “ye don’t want ter go too fur! I ain’t a-goin’ +ter put all the power inter <i>yer</i> hands. If this business ain’t +worth somethin’ to me, it shan’t be to you. I kin soon satisfy +ye on one pint: the gal ain’t my gal, but she came honest into +my hands. I’m willin’ ter tell ye all about the gal, an’ her +fortune, but ye kin let out the young-un business. That’s +my affair, and I’ll attend to it in my own way. Now, then, +if I’ll tell ye about the gal, prove that there’s money in it, and +git her consent, will ye marry her an’—”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo34.png" alt="Mamma warns Franz" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Look here, Franz Francoise, ye don’t want to go too far!”—<a +href="#Page_316">page 316</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“Whack up with ye afterwards?” drawls Franz, all trace +of anger having disappeared from his face and manner. “Old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +woman, I’ll put it in my pipe an’ smoke it. Ye kin consider +this confab ended.”</p> + +<p>Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops +down upon it with a yawn, and composes himself to sleep.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<h3>MR. FOLLINGSBEE’S VICTORY.</h3> + + +<p>When Alan Warburton reached the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, +he found that legal gentleman sitting alone in his +cosy library, very much, so Alan thought, as if expecting him. +And the first words that the lawyer uttered confirmed this +opinion.</p> + +<p>Rising quickly, Mr. Follingsbee came forward to meet his +guest, saying briskly:</p> + +<p>“Ah, Warburton, good evening. I’ve been expecting you; +sit down, sit down.”</p> + +<p>As Alan placed his hat upon the table beside him, and took +the seat indicated, he said, with a well-bred stare of surprise:</p> + +<p>“You expected me, Mr. Follingsbee? Then possibly you +know my errand?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes; in part, at least.” The lawyer took up a folded +note, and passed it across the table to his visitor, saying: “It +was left in my care about two hours ago.”</p> + +<p>Alan glanced up at him quickly, and then turned his attention +to the perusal of the note. It ran thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Alan Warburton</span>:</p> + +<p>The time has come, or will soon come, when Mrs. W— will find it +necessary to confide her troubles to Mr. Follingsbee. The time is also<span +class='pagenum' style="font-size: 1em;"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +near when you will have to fight Van Vernet face to face. You will +do well to trust your case to Mr. Follingsbee, relying upon him in every +particular. You will have to meet strategy with strategy, if you would +outwit Vernet.</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">A Friend.</span></p></div> + +<p>Alan perused this slowly, noting that the handwriting was +identical with that of the scrap left by the “organ-grinder,” +and then he refolded it, saying:</p> + +<p>“I am the bearer of a missive for you, Mr. Follingsbee; +but first, let me ask if I may know who sent me this message?”</p> + +<p>“It was left in my hands,” replied the lawyer, smiling +slightly, “by—by a person with ragged garments, and a dirty +face. He appeared to be a deaf mute, and looked like—”</p> + +<p>“Like an organ-grinder minus his organ?” finished Alan.</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>“I trust that <i>this</i> will explain itself,” said Alan, drawing +forth from an inner pocket Leslie’s letter, and giving it into +the lawyer’s hand. “Read it, Mr. Follingsbee. This day +has been steeped in mystery; let us clear away such clouds as +we can.”</p> + +<p>“From Leslie!” Mr. Follingsbee said, elevating his eyebrows. +“This is an unexpected part of the programme.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? And yet this,—” and Alan tapped the note he +had just received, with one long, white forefinger,—“this foretells +it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” Only this monosyllable; then Mr. Follingsbee broke +the seal of Leslie’s letter and began its perusal, his face growing +graver and more troubled as he read.</p> + +<p>It was a long letter, and he read it slowly, turning back a +page sometimes to re-read a certain passage. Finally he laid +the letter upon his knee, and sat quite still, with his hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +working together nervously and his brow wrinkled in thought. +At last he lifted his eyes toward Alan.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what this letter contains?” he asked +slowly.</p> + +<p>“I know that my sister-in-law has left her home,” Alan +replied gravely; “nothing more.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; really. She left three letters: one for Mrs. +French, another for Miss French, and the third for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“And you.... She left you some message?”</p> + +<p>“Not a word, verbal or written.”</p> + +<p>“Strange,” mused the lawyer, taking up his letter and +again glancing through its pages. “I can’t understand it. +Mr. Warburton—pardon the question—was there any difference, +any misunderstanding, between you and Leslie?”</p> + +<p>“Does not the letter itself explain?”</p> + +<p>“That is what puzzles me. The letter tells her own story—a +story that I knew before, in part at least; a sad story, +proving to me that the girl has been made to suffer bitterly; +but it does not, from first to last, mention your name.”</p> + +<p>Alan sat silent for a moment. Then he turned his face toward +the lawyer, as if acting upon some resolve.</p> + +<p>“Yesterday,” he began quietly, “I held an interview with +my sister-in-law. It was not an amicable interview; we have +been on unfriendly terms since—since the night of the masquerade.”</p> + +<p>“Since the masquerade?”</p> + +<p>“During that interview,” continued Alan, “Mrs. Warburton +gave me the brief outline of what seemed to me a very improbable +story.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” There was a new shade in the lawyer’s voice.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>“And +I am wondering,” Alan goes on, “if your letter contains +that same story.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly,” said Mr. Follingsbee dryly.</p> + +<p>“This note which you have given me, and which bears no +signature, seems to indicate as much. Are you acquainted +with its contents, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I am not.” There is a growing crispness in the lawyer’s +tone, which Alan is not slow to note.</p> + +<p>“Then oblige me by reading it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee took the note and read it slowly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think,” he said, looking up from its perusal, +“that we had better begin by understanding each other?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“Very good: this note was left with me by—by such a +man as I described to you.”</p> + +<p>“By a man in disguise?”</p> + +<p>“Just so. This—this man in disguise, came to me in your +behalf.”</p> + +<p>“In my behalf!” exclaimed Alan, in amazement.</p> + +<p>“In your behalf. He told me you were in danger, and +that the man you had most cause to fear was a certain detective: +Van Vernet.”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton stirred uneasily in his chair, and the old +haughty look came slowly into his face.</p> + +<p>“He said,” went on the lawyer slowly, “that because of +your pride, and your obstinacy, you were involving not only +yourself but others, in a net that might, if your present course +continued, ruin you utterly, and bring upon your cherished +family honor a disagreeable blot, if not absolute disgrace. He +did not give me an idea of the nature of the difference between +yourself and this Vernet, but he laid out a very pretty plan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +by which to baffle him. And he said, as he went away: ‘If +Alan Warburton, under all his pride and obstinate clinging +to a wrong idea, possesses the sound judgment that I believe +him to have—and it’s a pity he has not made better use of it,—he +will confide in you, and act upon your advice, if not upon +mine. Let him do this and we will baffle Vernet, and his +precious secret will not be dragged to the light. Let him continue +in his present course, and Van Vernet will have his +hand upon him within a week; the affair of this afternoon +should convince him of this.’”</p> + +<p>During this remarkable speech, Alan’s face had taken on a +variety of expressions. At the closing sentence he gave a +quick start, and then sat perfectly still, with his profile toward +his companion. After a time he turned his face toward +the lawyer; and that personage, looking anxiously for a reply +or comment, could read upon the handsome countenance only +calm resolve and perfect self-control.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee,” he began gravely, “do you understand +this allusion to the events of the afternoon?”</p> + +<p>“I do not.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you have confidence in this disguised stranger?”</p> + +<p>“Have I alluded to him as a <i>stranger</i>, sir?”</p> + +<p>Alan passed his hand across his brow, and said slowly:</p> + +<p>“He is not a stranger to you and, evidently, he knows me +remarkably well; I might say too well.”</p> + +<p>“Ahem! You would be likely to recall your words, if you +did.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee, <i>who</i> is this man?”</p> + +<p>“I am not at liberty to speak his name.”</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> is he, then?”</p> + +<p>“First of all, a gentleman; a man whose championship does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +you honor, for it proves that he believes in you, in spite of +this Van Vernet.”</p> + +<p>“Was it not a strange freak for this <i>gentleman</i>, disguised +just as he afterward came to you, to enter my study window, +and conceal himself in my cabinet?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee looked up with lively interest. “Did he +do that?” he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“He did that.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Follingsbee slowly, “I should say that +it was quite like him. He did not talk of his own exploits +when he came to me; I fancy his time was limited.”</p> + +<p>“Probably; now, Mr. Follingsbee, I think I see things, +some things, in a clearer light. This organ-grinder of mine, +this gentleman of yours, this anonymous friend, is a <i>detective!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” mutters the lawyer, half to himself, “we are +beginning to use our wits.” Then in a louder tone: “Ah, so +we are no longer lawyer and witness?”</p> + +<p>“No,” with a quiet smile; “we are two lawyers. Let us +remain such.”</p> + +<p>“With all my heart,” cries Mr. Follingsbee, extending his +hand; “let us remain such.”</p> + +<p>Alan takes the proffered hand, and begins again.</p> + +<p>“This champion of mine, then, is a detective; you admit +that?”</p> + +<p>“Well—yes.”</p> + +<p>“In espousing my cause, he is making active war upon Van +Vernet?”</p> + +<p>“So it appears.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is safe to say that aside from the interest he has +seen fit to take in—in my family and family affairs, he has +some personal issue with Mr. Vernet.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>“Then,—how +fast we progress—our detective friend must +be a remarkably clever fellow, or our chances are very slender. +Mr. Vernet is called one of the ablest detectives on the city +force.”</p> + +<p>“True.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee, have you faith in the ability of this +champion-detective to cope with such a man as Vernet?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” says the elder gentleman slowly, “if you play your +part, I’ll vouch for my friend. He is at least a match for +Vernet.”</p> + +<p>“Then I think it would not be a difficult matter to identify +him.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t waste your time,” interrupts Mr. Follingsbee +quickly; “I have told you all that I am at liberty to tell.”</p> + +<p>“As you please; but before I begin my story, I must be +sure that it is <i>the</i> story. Yesterday, as I told you, I had an +interview with my sister-in-law.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I had observed some things that puzzled me, and—does +that letter of Leslie’s contain any statements concerning her +early life?” He breaks off abruptly.</p> + +<p>“It does; many statements.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything of her early history?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Is she the daughter of Thomas Uliman?”</p> + +<p>“His adopted daughter; yes.”</p> + +<p>“And are her parents living?”</p> + +<p>“Two people who claim to be her parents are in this city. +I may as well say to you now, Mr. Warburton, that Leslie +never knew herself to be an adopted child until shortly before +her marriage; that she discovered it by accident, and came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> +straight to me with the news, which I had known all along. +Then she told the truth to your brother, and knowing the +height, depth, and absurdity of the Warburton pride, offered +to release him from his engagement. He refused this release +and bade her never mention the subject again.”</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, and seeing that Alan was regarding +him with steadfast earnestness, resumed:</p> + +<p>“I supposed that the end of the affair, and from that day +to this have never heard a word on the subject from Leslie, or +from any one, until you brought me this letter. And now, +as I have gone thus far into the matter, let me tell you what +I have learned from this letter—not as Leslie has written it, +but briefly as possible. Shortly before her marriage, two people, +asserting themselves to be the two who gave Leslie to the +Ulimans, came and claimed her as their child. They were so +repulsive, clamorous, and so evidently greedy for money, that +Leslie could not, would not, credit their story. Here she +made her first mistake. She bribed these old wretches with a +good slice of her little fortune, instead of turning them and +their claim over to me. They promised to go away, of course, +and never trouble her again, and also of course, they did not +keep their word. As soon as she was married to your brother, +they became bolder; and she was more than ever in their +power. She dared not confide in her husband; first, because +of his pride, which was only a little less than yours, and next, +because she feared the effect of such a revelation upon a constitution +so frail, and a mind so sensitive. It was too late, +she thought, to come to me; and so it went on. They drained +her private purse to the last dollar; they compelled her to +come at their summons at any time, and she had to creep from +her home like a guilty thing to carry hush-money to these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +wretches. And so things continued until, in order to satisfy +their greed, she must begin to fee them with her husband’s +money. Think of <i>that</i>, sir,” casting an ironical glance at his +<i>vis-a-vis</i>; “feeing those common clods with the Warburton +gold.”</p> + +<p>But Alan never noted this home-thrust. He sat quite still, +with a troubled look upon his face; seeing which, Mr. Follingsbee +continued:</p> + +<p>“This she firmly resolved that she would never do; and +then came that masquerade.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” Alan starts as he involuntarily utters the ejaculation, +but controls himself instantly, and says: “Go on, +please.”</p> + +<p>“That night they sent her a note,” continues Mr. Follingsbee. +“It came when she was in the midst of her guests; and +it was so urgent in its demands that she grew desperate, threw +off her festive garments, and went, alone, in the night, to the +hovel where these old impostors lived. She went to defy +them, and she found herself entrapped.”</p> + +<p>“Entrapped?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; while she talked, she was seized by two persons who +crept upon her from behind. She does not understand their +actual object; they seemed trying to secure the jewels which +she had forgotten to remove from her ears. Just here she is +not very definite; I will read the passage to you.”</p> + +<p>He takes up the letter, searches out the lines referred to, +and reads:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I can scarcely describe the rest. It is sufficient that a brave man +rescued me—at what a fearful cost to himself, I only learned afterward. +I escaped from the hovel, and reached my home. You know the rest: +how Daisy vanished, and all the sorrow since. And now I tell you that +I believe these two have stolen Daisy.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>Here he breaks off abruptly. “The rest is a mixture of +business affairs and hurried directions how to dispose of her +property should she be long absent, or should she never return, +etc. At the close she says, that on the night of her adventure +at the hovel, and during the affray, a man was killed; and +that either herself or her brave rescuer, she is informed, is +likely to be arrested for that crime; and in case of the arrest +of either, the other will be compelled to testify <i>for or against</i>.”</p> + +<p>“And her motive for now quitting her home so suddenly?”</p> + +<p>“Of that she says very little; merely that she is leaving, +and that she hopes I will continue my confidence in her.”</p> + +<p>“Which you do?”</p> + +<p>“Which I do.”</p> + +<p>For many moments Alan Warburton sat with his head +bowed, and his face pale and troubled, saying nothing. Then +he roused himself, and turned towards his companion.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee,” he said, very gravely, “if this story—a +part of which you have told me, the rest being contained in +that letter—is true; if Leslie Warburton has been a martyr +throughout this affair, then I am a most contemptible scoundrel!”</p> + +<p>“You!” ejaculated the old gentleman testily; “you a +scoundrel! Good heavens, has everybody gone into high +dramatics? What have you done?”</p> + +<p>“I have accused Leslie of receiving a lover in her own +house; of going from her home to meet him; I have heaped +upon her insult after insult; I have driven her from her home +by my cruel accusations!”</p> + +<p>A moment Mr. Follingsbee sat looking as if about to pour +forth a volume of wrath, upon the head of his self-accusing +visitor; then he said, as if controlling himself by an effort:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>“You had better tell the whole story, young man, having +begun it.”</p> + +<p>And Alan did tell the whole story; honestly, frankly and +without sparing himself. He began at the beginning, telling +how, at the first, Leslie’s youth, beauty and vivacity, together +with a certain disparity of years between herself and husband, +had caused him to doubt her affection for his brother, and to +suspect a mercenary marriage; how he had discovered her +sending away notes by stealth; how his suspicions had grown +and strengthened until, on the night of the masquerade, he +had set Van Vernet to watch her movements; and how Vernet +had discovered, or claimed to discover, a lover in the person +of a certain Goddess of Liberty.</p> + +<p>At this point in his narrative, Alan was surprised to note +certain unmistakable signs of levity in the face and manner +of Mr. Follingsbee; and presently that gentleman broke in:</p> + +<p>“Wait; just wait. Let’s clear up that point, once and for +all. That ‘Goddess’ was introduced into your house by me, +and for a purpose which, to me, seemed good. Until that +night he had never seen Leslie Warburton.”</p> + +<p>“He! then it was a man?”</p> + +<p>“It was; and Van Vernet, as I have since learned, knew +him and laid a trap for him. Their feud dates from that +night.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then our detective and the ‘Goddess of Liberty’—”</p> + +<p>“Are the same. Now resume, please.”</p> + +<p>Going back to his story, Alan tells how he had followed +Leslie; how he had rushed in, in answer to her cry for aid; +how he had rescued her, and had himself been rescued in turn +by a pretended idiot. He told of his return home; his interview +with Leslie after the masquerade, and their last interview;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +ending with the scene with Vernet and the organ-grinder.</p> + +<p>“That fellow is the mischief!” said Mr. Follingsbee, rubbing +his palms softly together. “He’s the very mischief!”</p> + +<p>“By which I infer that my ‘Organ-grinder,’ my ‘Idiot,’ +and the ‘Goddess of Liberty,’ are one and the same?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Pre</i>cisely; I haven’t a doubt of it.”</p> + +<p>“And that the three are identical with this ‘gentleman detective,’ +who, in making war upon Van Vernet, has espoused +my cause, or rather that of my sister-in-law.”</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>Alan leans back in his chair, and clutches his two hands +upon its either arm, fixing his eyes on vacancy. Seeming to +forget the presence of his <i>vis-a-vis</i>, he loses himself in a maze +of thoughts. Evidently they are not pleasant thoughts, for +his face expresses much of perplexity, doubt and disgust, +finally settling into a look of stern resolve.</p> + +<p>He is silent so long that Mr. Follingsbee grows impatient, +and by and by this uneasiness manifests itself in a series of +restless movements. At last Alan turns his face toward the +lawyer, and then that gentleman bursts out:</p> + +<p>“Well, are you going to sit there all night? What shall +you do next?”</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton rises from his chair and faces his questioner. +“First,” he says slowly, “I am going to find Leslie, +and bring her back.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>“You look incredulous; very well. Still, I intend, from +this moment, to take an active part in this mysterious complication +which has woven itself about me.”</p> + +<p>“Have you forgotten Vernet?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>“Not at all; yet it is my duty to make active search for +Leslie. Be the consequences to myself what they may, I can +remain passive no longer.”</p> + +<p>“Alan, you are talking nonsense. Do you suppose Vernet +will let you slip now? Don’t you realize that if you are to be +found twenty-four hours from this moment, you will be under +arrest.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless—”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless, you will persist in being a fool! Sit down +there, young man, and tell me, haven’t you been playing that +<i>role</i> long enough?”</p> + +<p>A hot flush rises to Alan’s brow, and an angry light leaps +for a moment to his eyes; but he resumes his seat in silence, +and turns an expectant gaze upon Mr. Follingsbee.</p> + +<p>“Now, Warburton,” resumes the little lawyer in a more +kindly tone, “listen to reason. I had a long talk with our +unknown friend to-day; not so long as I could have wished, +but enough to convince me that he knows what he is about, +and that if you follow his advice, he will pull you through. +Twice he has saved you from the clutches of this Vernet; +leave all to him, and he will rescue you again, and +finally.”</p> + +<p>“He has, then, mapped out my course for me?” queries +Alan haughtily.</p> + +<p>“He has, if it suits you to put it so. Good heavens! man, +it needed somebody to plan for you. <i>You</i> have done nothing +but blunder, blunder, blunder. And your stupid mistakes +have recoiled upon others. I tell you, sir—” bringing his +fist down upon the table with noisy emphasis—“that unless +you accept the advice and assistance of this man, whom you +seem to dislike without cause, you are lost, ruined, at least in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +your own estimation. Confound your Warburton pride! It +has brought you into a pretty scrape; and all your Warburton +wit won’t extricate you from it. Confound <i>you!</i> I’m sick +of you, sir! If it were not for Leslie, and little Daisy, Van +Vernet might have you, and the Warburton honor might go +to the dogs, for all my interference!”</p> + +<p>The mention of little Daisy had its effect upon Alan. As +his companion waxed wrathful, his own mind became calmer; +for a moment he seemed to see himself through Mr. Follingsbee’s +spectacles. And then he said:</p> + +<p>“I accept your rebuke, for I may have deserved it; certainly +I have sufficient reason to feel humble. My unknown +champion took pains to inform me that he did not serve me +for my own sake; and now you proffer me the same assurance. +I have blundered fearfully, but I fail to see what influence my +conduct could have upon poor Daisy’s fate.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you do!” Mr. Follingsbee is not quite mollified. +“Then you don’t see that Leslie was sorely in need of a friend +in whom she could confide—just such a friend as she might +have found in you, had you been, or tried to be, a brother to +her, instead of a suspicious, egotistical enemy. She could not +take her troubles to Archibald, but she might have trusted +you—she would have trusted you, had your conduct been what +it should.”</p> + +<p>“I had not thought of that.” Alan becomes more humble +as his accuser continues to ply the lash. “What you say may +be true. Be sure, sir, if we ever find Daisy and Leslie, I +shall try to make amends.”</p> + +<p>“Umph! Then you had better begin now, by taking good +advice when it is offered.”</p> + +<p>“What do you advise, then?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>“I? nothing, except at second hand. It is this champion +of yours who advises.”</p> + +<p>“Then what is his advice?”</p> + +<p>“He says that you must quit the country at once.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of the sort. The <i>Clytie</i> sails for Liverpool to-morrow. +You and Leslie have taken passage—”</p> + +<p>“Taken passage! Leslie!”</p> + +<p>“Just so; everything has been arranged by—” He pauses, +then says: “The ‘Organ-grinder.’”</p> + +<p>“I repeat, it is impossible. Do you think I will leave the +country while little Daisy’s fate remains—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, stop! <i>stop!</i> <span class="smcap">stop!</span> Man, are you determined to be +an idiot? Will you hold your tongue and listen?”</p> + +<p>“I will listen, yes; but—”</p> + +<p>“But—bosh! Listen, then, and don’t interrupt.”</p> + +<p>He lowers his voice, not from fear of an eavesdropper but +because, having gained this point, his impatience begins to subside. +And Alan listens, while for more than an hour the little +lawyer talks and gesticulates, smiles and frowns. He listens +intently, with growing interest, until at last Mr. Follingsbee +leans back in his chair, seeming to relax every muscle in so +doing, and says:</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of it?”</p> + +<p>Then Alan Warburton rises and extends his hand impulsively.</p> + +<p>“I thank you with all my heart, sir, and I will be guided +by you, and by our unknown friend. From this moment, I +am at your disposal.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” grunts the lawyer, as he grasps the proffered +hand, “I thought your senses would come back.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<h3>A TRIP TO EUROPE.</h3> + +<p>While Alan Warburton, closeted with Mr. Follingsbee, was +slowly lowering the crest of the Warburton pride, and reluctantly +submitting himself to the mysterious guidance of an +unseen hand,—Winnie French, sitting beside her mother, was +perusing Leslie’s note.</p> + +<p>It was brief and pathetic, beseeching Mrs. French to go at +once to Warburton Place; to dwell there as its mistress; to +look upon it as her home, and Winnie’s, until such time as +Leslie should return, or Mr. Follingsbee should indicate to +her a change of plan. Would Mrs. French forgive this appearance +of mystery, and believe and trust in her still? +Would she keep her home open for Alan, and a welcome ever +ready for the lost Daisy, who must surely return some day? +Everything could be arranged with Mr. Follingsbee; and +Leslie’s love and gratitude would be always hers.</p> + +<p>This note was somewhat incoherent, for it was the last +written by Leslie, and her nerves had been taxed, perhaps, in +the writing of the longer epistle to Mr. Follingsbee.</p> + +<p>Brief and fragmentary as it was, it furnished to Winnie and +her mother food for much wonderment, long discussion, and +sincere sorrow.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mamma!” cried Winnie, choking back a sob, “some +terrible trouble has come upon Leslie; and Alan Warburton +is at the bottom of it!”</p> + +<p>“My child!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>“I +tell you he <i>is!</i>” vehemently. “And only yesterday +Leslie would have told me all, but for him.”</p> + +<p>“Winnie, compose yourself; try and be calm,” said Mrs. +French soothingly.</p> + +<p>“I <i>can’t</i> compose myself! I <i>won’t</i> be calm! I <i>want</i> to be so +angry when Alan Warburton returns for me, that I can fairly +scorch him with my contempt! I want to <i>annihilate</i> him!” +And Winnie flung herself upon her mother’s breast, and burst +into a fit of hysterical sobbing.</p> + +<p>Sorely puzzled, and very anxious, Mrs. French soothed her +daughter with gentle, motherly words, and gradually drew +from her an account of the events of the past two days, as they +were known to Winnie.</p> + +<p>“And so, between his interruption and your refusal to listen +to him afterward, you are quite in the dark as to this strange +misunderstanding between Leslie and Mr. Warburton?” said +Mrs. French musingly.</p> + +<p>“Misunderstanding! You give it a mild name, Mamma. +Would a mere misunderstanding with any one, bring such a +look to Leslie’s face as I saw there when I left her alone with +him? Would it leave her in a deathly faint at its close? +Would it drive her from her home, secretly, like a fugitive? +Would it cause Alan Warburton to address such words to me +as those he uttered in his study? Because of a simple misunderstanding, +would he implore me to judge between them? +Mamma, there is more than a <i>misunderstanding</i> at the bottom +of all this mystery. Somewhere, there is a monstrous <i>wrong!</i>”</p> + +<p>But discuss the mystery as they would, there seemed no +satisfactory, no rational explanation. The evening wore on, +and the ringing of the door-bell suddenly apprised them of +the lateness of the hour.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>“It’s Alan!” +exclaimed Winnie, starting nervously. +“Mamma, we can’t, we won’t, go with him.”</p> + +<p>But it was not Alan. It was a servant, bearing a message +from Mr. Follingsbee. A matter of importance had suddenly +called Mr. Warburton away. Mr. Follingsbee would wait +upon the ladies in the morning.</p> + +<p>It was very unsatisfactory, but it was all. And Winnie +and her mother, after exhausting for a second time their stock +of conjectures, were constrained to lay their puzzled heads +upon their pillows, and to await in restlessness and sleepless +anxiety the coming of morning and Mr. Follingsbee.</p> + +<p>It comes at last, the morning, as morning in this world or +another surely will come to all weary, restless watchers. And +just as it is approaching that point of time when we cease +to say “this morning,” and supply its place with “to-day,” +Mr. Follingsbee comes also.</p> + +<p>He comes looking demure, unhurried, without anxiety; just +as he always does look whenever he has occasion to withhold +more than he chooses to tell.</p> + +<p>“I hope you have not been anxious, ladies,” he says, +serenely, as he deposits his hat upon a table and extends a hand +to each in turn.</p> + +<p>But Winnie’s impatience can no longer be held in check. +“Oh, Mr. Follingsbee!” she cries, seizing his hand in both +her own, “where is Leslie?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee smiles reassuringly, places a chair for Mrs. +French with old-time gallantry, leads Winnie to a sofa, and +seating himself beside her, says his say.</p> + +<p>To begin with, the ladies must not expect a revelation; not +yet. It will come, of course; but Mrs. Warburton, for +reasons that seemed to her good, and that he therefore accepted,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> +desired to keep her movements, for a time, a secret. There +had been a slight misunderstanding between Mrs. Warburton +and her brother-in-law; but, fortunately, that was now, in a +measure at least, adjusted. It was, in part, this misunderstanding, +and in part, some facts which Mrs. Warburton +thought she had discovered concerning the unaccountable absence +of Daisy Warburton, that had caused her to adopt her +present seemingly strange course. It was owing to these same +causes that Mr. Warburton had suddenly determined to absent +himself from the city—in fact from the country. Mr. Warburton +had taken passage in the Steamer <i>Clytie</i>, for Europe. +This movement might seem abrupt, even out of place at this +particular time, but it was not an unwarrantable action; indeed, +it was a thing of necessity.</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee said much more than this, and ended his +discourse thus:</p> + +<p>“And now, ladies, I solicit, on behalf of my clients, your +friendship, your aid, and your confidence. While I am not +at liberty to explain matters fully, I promise you that you +will not regret having given your confidence blindly. I, who +know whereof I speak, assure you of this. Alan Warburton, +while at this moment he is an innocent man, is menaced by +serious danger. Leslie has gone on a Quixotic mission. The +trouble will soon end, I trust, and we shall all rejoice together. +In the meantime—” He paused abruptly and turned an enquiring +gaze upon Mrs. French.</p> + +<p>“In the meantime, sir,” said that lady, with quiet decision, +“you desire our passive coöperation. You have it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mamma!” cried Winnie exultantly, “I was sure you +would say that. I was sure you would not desert poor Leslie!”</p> + +<p>“It will be an equal favor to Mr. Warburton,” +interposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +the lawyer, with the shadow of a twinkle in his grey eye.</p> + +<p>To which Winnie responded only by her heightened color, +and a half perceptible shrug.</p> + +<p>And so Mrs. French and Winnie were escorted by Mr. +Follingsbee to the bereaved and deserted mansion: were fully +instructed in the small part they were to play; and were left +there in possession,—knowing only that Leslie and Alan were +both in danger, and menaced by enemies, that their absence +was necessary to their safety, and might also result in the restoration +of little Daisy.</p> + +<p>In the face of this mystery their faith remained unshaken. +They accepted Mr. Follingsbee’s assurances, and also the part +allotted to them, the part which so commonly falls to women, +of inactive waiting.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Meantime, Van Vernet, in a state of exceeding self-content, +was perfecting his latest plan.</p> + +<p>He had failed in overtaking and identifying the troublesome +Organ-grinder, who, he was more than ever convinced, +was a spy, though in what interest, or in whose behalf, he +could not even guess. But he had failed in nothing else. +His ruse had been most successful. He had been admitted to +the sanctum of Alan Warburton; had seen his face, heard his +voice, noted his movements. And his last doubt was removed; +rather, the last shade of uncertainty, for he could scarcely be +said to have been in doubt at any time.</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton, and not Archibald, had been his patron +on the night of the masquerade. It was Alan Warburton +who, in the guise of a Sailor, had killed Josef Siebel on that +selfsame night. There was much that was still a mystery, +but that could now be sifted out.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>Why had Alan Warburton secured his services to shadow +his sister-in-law? He could not answer this question; but it +was now plain to him that he had been summarily dismissed +from the case, on the following morning, because Alan Warburton, +having recognized him in the hovel, had feared to +meet him again.</p> + +<p>Why had he sought the Francoise abode on that especial +night? And why had he killed Josef Siebel? These were +problems to the solution of which he could now turn his attention—after +he had secured his prisoner.</p> + +<p>He had consumed some time in his hot chase after the +Organ-grinder, and then he had hastened to set a fresh guard +upon the Warburton house. And this guard had just reported.</p> + +<p>No one had left, no one had arrived, until this morning, +when two ladies, escorted by an elderly gentleman, had driven +to the door. The ladies had remained; the gentleman had +departed almost immediately.</p> + +<p>Vernet was more than satisfied. He sent a messenger to +summon to his aid his favorite assistants, made some other +necessary preparations, and sat down to scan the morning paper +while he waited.</p> + +<p>His quick eye noted everything of a personal nature, births, +deaths, marriages, arrivals, departures, social items. Suddenly +he flung the paper from him and bounded to his feet, +uttering a passionate imprecation.</p> + +<p>Then he snatched up the paper, and, as if for once he doubted +his own eyes, reperused the startling paragraph. Yes, it was +there; it was no optical illusion.</p> + +<p>Alan Warburton, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Archibald +Warburton had taken passage for Liverpool, on board the +<i>Clytie</i>. And the <i>Clytie</i> was to sail that morning!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>In one moment, Vernet was in the street. In five, he was +driving furiously through the city. In half an hour, he had +reached his destination.</p> + +<p>Too late! The <i>Clytie</i> had cleared the harbor, and was already +a mere speck in the distance.</p> + +<p>“So,” he muttered, turning sullenly away, “he thinks he +has outwitted me. God bless the Atlantic cable! When my +aristocratic friend arrives in Liverpool, he shall receive an +ovation—from Scotland Yards!”</p> + +<p>While Vernet thus comforted himself, Mr. Follingsbee, +seated in a cosy upper room of his own dwelling, addressed +himself to a gentleman very closely resembling Mr. Alan +Warburton.</p> + +<p>“So here we are,” he said, with a chuckle. “The <i>Clytie</i> +has sailed before now; you are on your way to Europe. Mr. +Vernet will head you off, of course. In the meantime, we +gain all that we wanted, <i>time</i>.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<h3>DR. BAYLESS</h3> + + +<p>All the long night that followed Leslie’s appearance among +the Francoises, Mamma was alert and watchful.</p> + +<p>Often she crept to the door of the inner room, where Leslie +slumbered heavily. Often she glanced, with a grin of satisfaction, +toward the couch where Franz lay breathing regularly, +and scarcely stirring the whole night through. Often she +turned her face, with varying expressions, toward the corner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +where Papa slumbered uneasily, muttering vaguely from time +to time. But never once did her eyes close. All the night +she watched and listened, pondered and planned.</p> + +<p>As morning dawned, the stillness of the inner room was +pierced by a burst of shrill laughter, followed by words swiftly +uttered but indistinct. Mamma hastened at once to the bedside +of her new charge.</p> + +<p>Leslie had broken her heavy slumber, but the fire of fever +burned in her cheeks, the light of insanity blazed from her +eyes; and for many days it mattered little to her that she +was a fugitive from home, a woman under suspicion, and +helpless in the hands of her enemies. Nature, indulging in a +kindly freak, had taken her back to her girlhood’s days, before +her first trouble came. She was Leslie Uliman again; +watched over by loving parents, care-free and happy.</p> + +<p>It was a crushing blow to Mamma’s hopes and ambitions, +and she faced a difficult problem, there by that couch in the +grey of morning. Leslie was very ill. This she saw at a +glance, and then came the thought: What if she were to die, +and just at a time when so much depended upon her? It +roused Mamma to instant action. Leslie must not die—not +yet.</p> + +<p>Papa and Franz were at once awakened, and the situation +made known to them. Whereupon Papa fell into a state of +helpless, hopeless dejection, and Franz flew into a fury.</p> + +<p>“It’s all up with us now,” moaned Papa. “Luck’s turned +aginst us.”</p> + +<p>“It’s up, sure enough, with your fine plans,” sneered Franz. +“<i>I’m</i> goin’ ter take myself out of yer muddle, while my way’s +clear.”</p> + +<p>“If I wasn’t dealin’ with a pair of fools,” +snapped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +Mamma, “I’d come out all right. The gal ain’t dead yet, is +she?”</p> + +<p>And then, while Leslie laughed and chattered, alone in the +inner room, the three resolved themselves into a council, +wrangled and disputed, and at last compromised and settled +upon a plan—Papa yielding sullenly, Franz protesting to the +last and making sundry reservations, and Mamma carrying +the day.</p> + +<p>Leslie must have a physician; it would never do to trust +her fever to unskilled hands; she must have a physician, and +a good one. So said Mamma.</p> + +<p>“It ain’t so risky as you might think,” she argued. “A +good doctor’s what we want—one whose time’s valuable. +Then he won’t be running here when he ain’t wanted. He’ll +come an’ see the gal, an’ then he’ll be satisfied to take my reports +and send her the medicine. Oh, I know these city +doctors. They come every day if you’ve got a marble door-step, +but they won’t be any too anxious about poor folks. +A doctor can’t make nothin’ out of the kind of talk she is at +now, and by the time she gits her senses, we’ll hit on somethin’ +new.”</p> + +<p>This plan was opposed stoutly by Franz, feebly by Papa; +but the old woman carried the point at last.</p> + +<p>“I know who we want,” said Mamma confidently. “It’s +Doctor Bayless. He’s a good doctor, an’ he don’t live any +too near.”</p> + +<p>At the mention of Doctor Bayless, Papa’s countenance took +on an expression of relief, which was noted by Franz, who +turned away, saying:</p> + +<p>“Wal, git your doctor, then, an’ the quicker the better. +But mind this: <i>I</i> don’t appear till I’m sure it’s safe. +Ye kin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +git yer doctor, but when he’s here, I’ll happen ter be out.”</p> + +<p>It was Mamma who summoned Doctor Bayless, and he +came once, twice, and again.</p> + +<p>His patient passed, under his care, from delirium to stupor, +from fever to coolness and calm, and then to returning consciousness. +As he turned from her bedside, at the termination +of his third visit, he said:</p> + +<p>“I think she will get on, now. Keep her quiet, avoid excitement, +and if she does not improve steadily, let me know.”</p> + +<p>He had verified Mamma’s good opinion of him by manifesting +not the slightest concern in the personality of his patient. +If he were, for the moment, interested in Leslie, it was as a +fever patient, not as a woman strangely superior to her surroundings. +And on this occasion he dropped his interest in +her case at the very door of the sick-room.</p> + +<p>At the corner of the dingy street, a voice close behind him +arrested his footsteps: “Doctor Bayless.”</p> + +<p>The man of medicine turned quickly to face the speaker.</p> + +<p>“This is Doctor Bayless?” the owner of the intrusive voice +queried.</p> + +<p>Doctor Bayless bowed stiffly.</p> + +<p>“Bayless, formerly of the R—— street Insane Asylum?” +persisted the questioner.</p> + +<p>The doctor reddened and a startled look crossed his face, +but he said, after a moment’s silence: “The same.”</p> + +<p>“I want a few words with you, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me;”—the doctor was growing haughty;—“my +time is not my own.”</p> + +<p>“Neither is mine, sir. I am a public benefactor, same as +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, a physician?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not at all; a detective.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>“A +detective!” Doctor Bayless did not look reassured. He +glanced at the detective, and then up and down the street, his +uneasiness evident.</p> + +<p>“I am a detective; yes, sir,” said the stranger cheerily, +“and you are in a position to do me a favor without in any +way discommoding yourself. Don’t be alarmed, sir; its nothing +that affects you or touches upon that asylum business. +You are safe with me, my word for it, and here’s my card. +Now, sir, just take my arm and come this way.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Bayless glanced down at the card, and then up at +the speaker; and a look of relief crossed his face as he accepted +the proffered arm, and walked slowly along at the side of his +new acquaintance.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<h3>DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS.</h3> + +<p>Doctor Bayless had predicted aright. Leslie continued to +gain slowly, and in the third week of her illness, she could sit +erect in her bed for an hour or two each day, listening to +Mamma’s congratulations, and recalling, one by one, her woes +of the past. Not recalling them poignantly, with the sharp +pain that would torture her when she should have gained fuller +strength, but vaguely, with a haunting pang, as one remembers +an unhappy dream.</p> + +<p>Day by day, as strength came back, her listlessness gave +place to painful thought. One day, sitting for the first time +in a lounging-chair, procured at second-hand for her comfort, +she felt that the time had come to break the silence which,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +since her first full awakening to consciousness, she had imposed +upon herself.</p> + +<p>Mamma was bustling about the room, inwardly longing to +begin the passage-at-arms which she knew must soon ensue, +and outwardly seeming solicitous for nothing save the comfort +of her “dear girl.” As Leslie’s eyes followed her about, +each seemed suddenly to have formed a like resolve.</p> + +<p>“How many days have I been ill?” asked Leslie slowly, +and languidly resting her head upon her hand.</p> + +<p>Mamma turned toward her and seemed to meditate.</p> + +<p>“How many days, my child? Ah, let us see. Why, it’s +weeks since you came to us—two, yes, three weeks; three +weeks and a day.”</p> + +<p>Leslie was silent for a moment. Then she asked:</p> + +<p>“And you have nursed me through my illness; you +alone?”</p> + +<p>“Surely; who else would there be?” replied Mamma in an +injured tone.</p> + +<p>“Who, indeed!” repeated Leslie bitterly. “Sit down, +Madam; I want to talk with you.”</p> + +<p>Mamma drew forward a chair, and sank upon it with a +gratified sigh. It had come at last, the opportunity for which +she had planned and waited. She could scarcely conceal her +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“You have nursed me,” began Leslie slowly, “through a +tedious illness, and I have learned that you do nothing gratuitously. +What do you expect of me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my child—”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” lifting her head, and fixing her eyes upon the old +woman; “no evasions; I want the plain truth. I have no +money. My husband’s fortune I will never claim. I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +told you this; I repeat it. So <i>what</i> do you expect of me? +Why was I not permitted to die in my delirium?”</p> + +<p>Among her other talents, Mamma Francoise numbered that +power, as useful off the stage as it is profitable behind the +footlights—the power to play a part. And now, bringing +this power into active use, she bowed her head upon her breast +and sighed heavily.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Leschen, you break my heart. We wanted you to +live; we thought you had something to live for.”</p> + +<p>The acting was excellent, but the words were ill-chosen.</p> + +<p>“Something to live for!” Leslie’s hands met in a passionate +clasp. “Something to live for! Right, woman; I have. +Tell me, since you have brought me back to myself, how, <i>how</i> +can I ransom Daisy Warburton?”</p> + +<p>Mamma’s time has come. Slowly she wipes away an imaginary +tear, softly she draws her chair yet nearer Leslie, +gently she begins.</p> + +<p>“Leschen, my poor girl, don’t think <i>us</i> guilty of stealing +your little one; don’t. When you came here that night, I +thought you were wild. But now,—since you have been sick—something +has happened.”</p> + +<p>She paused to note the effect of her words, but Leslie sat +quite still, with her hands tightly locked together.</p> + +<p>“Something has happened?” she echoed coldly. “I felt +sure it would; go on.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t what you think, my girl. We haven’t found your +little dear; but there is a person—”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” commanded Leslie: “straight to the point. +<i>Go on!</i>”</p> + +<p>“A person who <i>might</i> find the child, if—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>“If +he or she were sufficiently rewarded,” supplied Leslie. +“Quick; tell me, what must Daisy’s ransom be?”</p> + +<p>Mamma’s pulse beats high, her breath comes fast and loud. +It is not in her nature to trifle with words now. She leans +forward and breathes one word into Leslie’s ear.</p> + +<p>“<i>Yourself.</i>”</p> + +<p>“Myself!” Leslie gasps and her brain reels. “<i>Myself!</i>” +she controls her agitation, and asks fiercely: “Woman, what +do you dare to say?”</p> + +<p>“Only this,” Mamma continues, very firmly and with the +tiger look dawning in her eye. “You have no money, but +you have beauty, and that is much to a man. Will you marry +the man who will find your little girl?”</p> + +<p>In spite of her weakness, Leslie springs up and stands +above Mamma, a fierce light blazing in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Woman, <i>answer me!</i>” she cries fiercely; “do you know +where that child is?”</p> + +<p>“I? Oh, no, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Is there another, a man, who knows?”</p> + +<p>Slowly Mamma rises, and the two face each other with set +features.</p> + +<p>“There is a man,” says Mamma, swaying her body slightly +as she speaks, and almost intoning her words—“There is a +man who swears he can find the child, but he will not make +any other terms than these. He will not see you at all until +you have agreed to his demands. You will marry him, and +sign a paper giving him a right to a portion of your fortune, +in case you should make up your mind to claim it. You may +leave him after the ceremony, if you will; you need not see +him again; but you must swear never to betray him or us, +and never to tell how you found the child.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>Into +Leslie’s face creeps a look of intense loathing. All her +courageous soul seems aroused into fearless action. Her scornful +eyes fairly burn into the old woman’s face.</p> + +<p>“So,” she says, low and slowly, “I have found you out at +last.” And then the weak body refuses to support the dauntless +spirit.</p> + +<p>She sinks back upon her chair, her form shaking, her face +ghastly, her hands falling weakly as they will. But as +Mamma comes forward, the strong spirit for a moment masters +the weak body.</p> + +<p>“Don’t touch me,” she almost hisses, “or, weak as I am, I +might murder you! wait.”</p> + +<p>And Mamma stands aloof, waiting. Not while Leslie +thinks—there is no confusion of mind—only until the bodily +tremor ceases, until the nerves grow calmer, until she has herself +once more under control. She does not attempt to rise +again. She reclines in her easy chair, and looks at her adversary +unflinchingly.</p> + +<p>“At last,” she says, after favoring Mamma with a long look +of scorn; “at last you show yourself in your true character. +Your own hand pulls off your hypocrite’s mask. Woman, you +were never so acceptable to me as at this moment. It simplifies +everything.”</p> + +<p>“You must not think—” begins Mamma. But Leslie +checks her.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” she says imperiously. “Don’t waste words. We +have wasted too many, and too much time. I desire you to +repeat your proposition, to name your terms again. No more +whining, no more lies, if you want me to listen. You are my +enemy; speak as my enemy. Once more, your terms for +Daisy’s ransom.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>And Mamma, too wise to err in this particular, abandons her +<i>role</i> of injured affection. Dropping her mantle of hypocrisy, +not without a sense of relief, she repeats her former proposal, +clearly, curtly, brutally, leaving no room for doubt as to her +precise meaning.</p> + +<p>Leslie listens in cold silence and desperate calm. Then, as +Mamma ceases, she sits, still calm, cold and silent, looking +straight before her. At last she speaks.</p> + +<p>“This person,” she says slowly; “this man who can find +Daisy if he will—may I not see him?”</p> + +<p>“When you have given your promise; not before.”</p> + +<p>“He will accept no other terms?”</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“And this transaction, this infamy—he leaves all details +to you?”</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>“Then there is no more to be said. I might hope for +mercy from the beasts of the field, but not from you.”</p> + +<p>“You consent?”</p> + +<p>“If I refuse, what will be the consequences to Daisy?”</p> + +<p>“You had better not refuse!” retorts Mamma, with a glare +of rage.</p> + +<p>Before Leslie’s mind comes the picture of little Daisy, and +following it a panorama of horrors. Again she feels her +strength deserting her.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” she whispers with her last fragment of self-command. +“Leave me to myself. Before sunset you shall have +my answer.”</p> + +<p>Further words are useless. Mamma, seeing this, turns +slowly away, saying only, as she pauses at the door:</p> + +<p>“Don’t waste your time; <i>delays are dangerous</i>.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A PROMISE RETRACTED.</h3> + +<p>Left alone, Leslie Warburton faced her problem, and found +herself mastered by it. She had believed herself already overwhelmed +with misery—had fancied that in coming among +these people who claimed her, she had taken the last step down +into the valley of humiliation, of shame, of utter wretchedness. +But they had shown her a lower depth still, and bidden +her descend into it.</p> + +<p>Should she obey them? Her pulses were throbbing +violently, a fierce flame burned in either cheek, a shade of the +old delirium lurked in her eye. Should she crown her list +of miseries with this culminating horror? Why should she +not? What had she to lose? She, who had already lost +husband, home and happiness; she, who was already an outcast, +accused of treachery, of child-stealing, of murder; she, +who was only a waif at best, and who could claim no kindred +unless she accepted those whose roof then sheltered her? +What had she to lose? Only her life, and that must end +soon. Why not make this last sacrifice, then let it end.</p> + +<p>Her calmness, that before had been at best but the calmness +of despair, had forsaken her; had changed to the recklessness +of desperation. Faster and faster throbbed her pulses, hotter +surged the blood through her fevered veins, wilder gleamed +the light of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Born of her weakness, her misery, her growing delirium,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +came a fierce, unreasoning rebellion; a longing to thrust upon +the shoulders of Alan Warburton, who, more than any other, +had been the cause of her present woe, a portion of this weight +that dragged her down. Had she not suffered enough for the +“Warburton honor?” Why not force him to tread with her +this valley of humiliation?</p> + +<p>Then followed other thoughts—better thoughts, humbler +thoughts, but all morbid, all tinged by her half delirious fancy, +all reckless of self.</p> + +<p>And now every moment adds to her torture, increases the +fever in her blood, the frenzy of her brain.</p> + +<p>“I <i>must</i> end it!” she cries wildly. “I <i>must</i> save Daisy! +And after that what matter how my day goes out?”</p> + +<p>She walks swiftly to the door and attempts to open it. Useless; +it is fastened from the outer side. She seizes the handle +and shakes it fiercely. It seems an hour, it is really a moment, +when Mamma unlocks the door and appears before her.</p> + +<p>“You—”</p> + +<p>“I have decided,” breaks in Leslie. “I shall make the +sacrifice.”</p> + +<p>“You will marry this worthy man?”</p> + +<p>“I will save Daisy from your clutches, and his.”</p> + +<p>“In his own way?”</p> + +<p>“In his own way, and yours. Let it be over as soon as possible. +Where is this man?”</p> + +<p>“Gently, gently; he is not far away.”</p> + +<p>“So much the better. I cannot rest now till all is done. +I must take Daisy back to her home; the rest is nothing.”</p> + +<p>Mamma looks at her craftily.</p> + +<p>“You agree to <i>all</i> the terms?” she asks. “Will you swear +to keep your word?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>“I +will do anything, when I am assured that I shall have Daisy +safely back.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” ejaculates Mamma, indulging in a long sigh of relieved +anxiety, “I will go tell Franz. He is as anxious to +have the business settled as you are.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Franz!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it is Franz that you will marry.”</p> + +<p>“Franz!” the word comes in a breathless whisper. “<i>Your +son—the convict?</i>”</p> + +<p>“You needn’t put so much force upon that. Yes; Franzy’s +the man.”</p> + +<p>A new look dawns upon Leslie’s face. A new light gleams +from her eyes. She presses her palms to her forehead, then +slowly approaches Mamma, with the uncertain movements of +one groping in the dark.</p> + +<p>“You told—” she articulates, as if struggling for self-mastery. +“Woman, you told me that Franz Francoise was <i>your</i> son.”</p> + +<p>“So he is. <i>I</i> ain’t ashamed of him,” Mamma answers sullenly.</p> + +<p>“Then,”—Leslie clutches at the nearest support and fairly +gasps the words—“then—<i>who am I?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Well, it can’t be kept back any longer, it seems. You +are—”</p> + +<p>“Not your child?” cries Leslie. “Not yours?”</p> + +<p>“No; you ain’t ours by birth, but you’re ours by adoption. +We’ve reared ye, and we’ve made ye what ye are.”</p> + +<p>But Leslie pays no heed to this latter statement. She has +fallen upon her knees with hands uplifted, and streaming eyes.</p> + +<p>“Not her child; not hers! Oh, God, I thank thee! Oh, +God, forgive me for what I was about to do!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>Long, shivering sighs follow this outburst; then moments +of silence, during which Mamma stands irresolute, puzzled as +to Leslie’s manner, uncertain how to act.</p> + +<p>A sound behind her breaks the uncomfortable stillness, and +Mamma turns quickly, to see Franz standing in the open doorway.</p> + +<p>“Franz,—” begins the old woman.</p> + +<p>The word arouses Leslie, she rises to her feet so swiftly, +with such sudden strength of movement, and such a new light +upon her face, that Mamma breaks off abruptly and stands +staring from one to the other.</p> + +<p>“Woman,” says Leslie slowly and with strange calm, “those +are the first welcome words you ever uttered for my hearing. +Say them again. Say that I am not your child.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see what it matters,” mutters Mamma sullenly. +“You will be our’n fast enough when you’re married to +Franz.”</p> + +<p>“Eh!” Franz utters only this syllable, and advances step +by step into the room.</p> + +<p>A moment Leslie stands gazing from one to the other. +Then her form grows more erect, the new hope brighter in her +eyes, she seems growing stronger each moment.</p> + +<p>“Half an hour ago,” she says, “I had not one thing to +hope for, or to live for, save the restoration of Daisy Warburton, +for I believed myself accursed. Rebel as my soul would, +while your lips repeated your claim upon me I could not escape +you. While you persisted in your lies, I was helpless. +Now—”</p> + +<p>Mamma’s hands work convulsively; her eyes glitter dangerously; +she looks like a cat about to spring upon its prey. +As Leslie pauses thus abruptly, her lips emit a sharp hiss,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> +but before words can follow, a heavy hand grasps her arm.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” says Franz coolly; “now?”</p> + +<p>“Do you know the proposition that woman has just made +me?” asks Leslie abruptly.</p> + +<p>“‘Twon’t be good for her, if she has made ye a proposition +I don’t know on,” says Franz grimly, and tightening his +clutch upon Mamma’s arm. “An’ fer fear of any hocus-pocus, +suppose you jest go over it fer my benefit.”</p> + +<p>“She has told me that you can, if you will, restore Daisy +Warburton to her home.”</p> + +<p>“No? has she?”</p> + +<p>“That you, and you only, know where to look for the child.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!”</p> + +<p>“And that you will restore the child only on one condition.”</p> + +<p>“And wot’s that?”</p> + +<p>“That I consent to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“Wal,” says Franz, turning a facetious look upon Mamma, +and giving her arm a gentle shake; “the old un may have +trifled with the truth, here and there, but she’s right in the +main. How did the proposition strike ye?”</p> + +<p>Leslie turns from him and fixes her gaze upon the old +woman.</p> + +<p>“And this,” she says, “is the man you would mate me with! +Woman, you have overreached yourself. Believing, or fearing, +myself to be <i>your</i> child, I might have been driven to any +act of desperation. You have lifted that burden of horror +from off my heart. I am <i>not</i> your child! No blood of yours +poisons my veins! Do you think in the moment when I find +the taint removed, I would doubly defile myself by taking the +step you have proposed? Never! Your power over me is +gone!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>“Do +ye mean,” queries Franz quite coolly, “that you won’t +take up with the old woman’s bargain?”</p> + +<p>“She <i>has</i> done it!” cries Mamma fiercely. “She’s given +her promise!”</p> + +<p>“And I now retract it!”</p> + +<p>“What!” Mamma suddenly wrenches herself free and +springs toward Leslie. “You won’t marry Franz?”</p> + +<p>“Never! The fear which has made me a coward is gone. +I shall go back to my own. I will tell my story far and wide. +I feared nothing so much as the shame of being pointed out +as the child of such parents. You will not dare repeat that +imposture; I defy you. As for little Daisy, I will find her; +I will punish you—”</p> + +<p>“You will find her!” Mamma’s voice is horrible in its +hoarse rage. “Now mark my words: You will <i>never</i> find +her. She will never see daylight again. As for <i>you</i>, you +will marry Franz Francoise to-morrow, or you will go out of +this place between two officers, arrested as the murderess of +Josef Siebel!”</p> + +<p>It is more than she can bear. The strength born of her +strong excitement deserts her. Mamma’s eyes burn into her +own; she feels her hot, baleful breath upon her cheek; hears +the horrible words hissed so close to her ear; and with a low +moan falls forward, to be caught in the arms of Franz Francoise, +where she lies pallid and senseless.</p> + +<p>“Git out!” says Franz, as he lifts her and turns toward +Mamma. “You’ve done it now, you old cat. Let me lay +her down.”</p> + +<p>He carries Leslie to the bed, and places her upon it so +gently that Mamma sneers and glares upon him scornfully.</p> + +<p>“Ye’re a fool, Franz Francoise.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo35.png" alt="Mamma, Franz and Leslie arguing" width="300" height="446" /> +<p class="caption">“Now mark my words: You will never find her. She will never see +daylight again.”—<a href="#Page_354">page 354</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>“Shet +up, you! Ye’ve got somethin’ to do besides talk. +D’ye mean to have her die on our hands?”</p> + +<p>“‘Twon’t matter much, it seems.”</p> + +<p>“I tell ye ’twill matter. Do ye think this thing’s settled? +Not much. We’re goin’ ter bring her to terms yet, but she’s +got ter be alive first.”</p> + +<p>She turns upon him a look in which anger and admiration +are curiously mingled.</p> + +<p>“‘Tain’t no use, Franzy; that gal won’t give in now.”</p> + +<p>“I tell ye she will. You’ve tried your hand; now I’ll try +mine. Bring the girl out o’ this faint, an’ I’ll manage her. +Do what ye can, then git yer doctor. Ye’d better not have +him come here ef ye kin manage without him; but go see him, +git what she needs, an’,” with a significant wink, “ye might +say that she don’t rest well and git a few sleepin’ powders.”</p> + +<p>“Franz,” chuckles Mamma, beginning her work of restoration +with bustling activity, “ye ought to be a general. I’m +proud of ye.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<h3>A WELCOME PRESCRIPTION.</h3> + +<p>Savage Mamma Francoise was not an unskillful nurse, and +Leslie was soon restored to consciousness. But not to strength; +the little that she had gained was spent by that long interview, +with all its attendant conflicting emotions, and Leslie +lay, strengthless once more, at the mercy of her enemies.</p> + +<p>After much thinking, Mamma had decided that Franz had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +offered sound advice, and having exhausted her own resources, +she set out to consult Doctor Bayless.</p> + +<p>Her visit was in every way satisfactory. Doctor Bayless +manifested no undue curiosity; seemed to comprehend the +case as Mamma put it; prepared the necessary remedies, and +spoke encouragingly of the patient.</p> + +<p>“These relapses occur often after fevers,” he said; “the result +of too much ambition. You understand about the drops, +yes? These powders you will administer properly; not too +often, remember. Careful nursing will do the rest. Ah, +good-day.”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>“Ye needn’t be afraid to take yer medicine,” said Mamma +to her patient, coming to the bedside with a dose of the aforesaid +“drops.” “‘Tain’t no part of my plans to let ye die. I +intend to nurse ye through, but I tell ye plain that when ye’re +better ye’ll have to settle this business with Franzy. When +ye’re on yer feet agin, I’m goin’ to wash my hands of ye. But +ye may not find Franz so easily got rid of, mind that.”</p> + +<p>Realizing her helplessness, Leslie swallowed the drops and +then lay back, pale and panting, upon her pillow. As the +moments passed, she could feel the liquid coursing its way +through her veins; her nerves ceased to quiver, a strange calm +crept over her, her pulses throbbed quite steadily. She was +very weak, but found herself able to think clearly.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Doctor Bayless appeared upon the Francoise +threshold, a small vial in his hand, a look of anxiety +upon his countenance.</p> + +<p>He pushed his way into the room, in spite of the less than +half opened door, and Mamma’s lukewarm welcome. He +seemed to notice neither. Still less did he concern himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +with Papa and Franz, partaking of luncheon in the opposite +corner of the room.</p> + +<p>He addressed Mamma almost breathlessly.</p> + +<p>Had the drops been administered?</p> + +<p>Mamma replied in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>Then he must see the patient at once. There had been a +dangerous mistake. By some inadvertence he had exchanged +two similar vials; he had given Mamma the wrong medicine. +The result <i>might</i> prove fatal.</p> + +<p>It was no time for parley or hesitation. Mamma promptly +led the way to the inner room.</p> + +<p>As Leslie greeted her visitor with a look of inquiry, Doctor +Bayless, standing by the bedside, with his back to Mamma, +put a warning forefinger upon his lips, his eyes meeting Leslie’s +with a glance full of meaning.</p> + +<p>“Keep perfectly quiet, young woman,” he said in his best +professional tone. And as Mamma presented a chair, he seated +himself close beside the bed and bent over his patient, seemingly +intent upon her symptoms.</p> + +<p>Presently he turned toward Mamma.</p> + +<p>“I must have warm water; prepare it at once.” Then +rising, he followed Mamma to the door, saying in a low tone: +“Your patient must have perfect quiet; let there be no loud +noise about the house. Now the water, if you please, and +make haste.”</p> + +<p>He turned and went back to the bedside, seated himself as +before, and taking one of the patient’s hands, seemed intently +marking every pulse-beat. A look of deep concern rested +upon his face; and Mamma closed the door softly and went +about her task.</p> + +<p>“Old un,” began Franz, “ye’re gittin’ careless—”</p> + +<p>“Sh!” whispered Mamma; “no noise.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>But Franz, with a crafty leer, left his place at the table and +tiptoed to the door, where he crouched, applying alternately +his eye and his ear to the keyhole, while Mamma busied herself +at the fire.</p> + +<p>But Franz caught no word from the inner room, for Doctor +Bayless never once opened his lips. The watcher could see +his large form bending over the bed, with one hand slightly +upraised as if holding a watch, the other resting upon the +wrist of the patient.</p> + +<p>But Leslie saw more than this. Locked in that strange +calm, she saw the doctor’s hand go to his side, and take from +a pocket a card which quite filled his palm.</p> + +<p>Holding this card so that Leslie could easily scan its contents, +he sat mutely watching her face.</p> + +<p>The card contained these words, closely written in a fine, +firm hand:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Seem to submit to their plans. We can conquer in no other way. +At the right time I shall be at hand, and no harm shall befall you. Let +them play their game to the very last; it shall not go too far. Feign a +continual stupor; they will believe it the result of drugs. Trust all to +me, and believe your troubles almost over.</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">Stanhope.</span></p></div> + +<p>Three times did Leslie’s eyes peruse these words, and in +spite of that powerful soothing draught, her composure almost +forsook her. But she controlled herself bravely, and only by +a long look of hopeful intelligence, and a very slight gesture, +did she respond to this written message so sorely needed, so +welcome, so fraught with hope.</p> + +<p>When Mamma returned with the water, Leslie lay quiet +among the pillows, her eyes half closed, and no trace of emotion +in her face. But her heart was beating with a new impulse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> +That message had brought with it a comforting sense +of protection, and of help near at hand.</p> + +<p>The last instructions of Doctor Bayless, too, fell upon her +ear with hopeful meaning, although they were spoken, apparently, +for Mamma’s sole benefit.</p> + +<p>“She is a trifle dull,” he said, turning from the bed and +confronting Mamma. “It’s the result of that mistaken dose, +in part. In part, it’s the natural outcome of her fever. It’s +better for her; she will gain strength faster so. These powders”—depositing +a packet of paper folds in Mamma’s hand,—“are +to strengthen and to soothe. She must take them +regularly. She will be a little dull under their influence, very +docile and easy to manage, but she will gain strength quite +rapidly. In a week, if she is not unnerved or excited, she +should be able to be up, to be out.”</p> + +<p>Once more he turned toward Leslie, and took her hand in +his.</p> + +<p>What Mamma saw, was a careful physician going through +with a last professional formula. What Leslie felt, was a +warm, reassuring hand-clasp, friendly rather than professional.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, Leslie lay quiet, repeating over and +over in her mind the words of Stanhope’s note, and feeling +throughout her entire being a strong, new desire to live.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<h3>MR. FOLLINGSBEE’S SOCIAL CALL.</h3> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo36.png" alt="Dr. Bayless shows Leslie Stanhope's card" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Holding this card so Leslie could easily scan its contents, he sat +mutely watching her face.”—<a href="#Page_359">page 359</a>.</p></div> + +<p>Five weeks have passed since the fateful masquerade. Five +weeks since Vernet and Stanhope entered, in rivalry, the service +of Walter Parks, the bearded Englishman. Five weeks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +since that last named and eccentric individual set sail for far-off +Australia.</p> + +<p>Matters are moving slowly at the Agency. Van Vernet is +seldom seen there now, and Stanhope is not seen at all.</p> + +<p>In his private office the Chief of the detectives sits musing; +not placidly, as is usual with him, but with a growing restlessness, +and a dark frown upon his broad, high brow.</p> + +<p>The thing which has caused the disquiet and the frown, lies +upon the desk beside him, just under his uneasy right hand. +A letter; a letter from California, from Walter Parks.</p> + +<p>It was brief and business-like; it explained nothing; and +it puzzled the astute Chief not a little.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>John Ainsworth is better; so much better that we shall start in two +days for your city. His interests are identical with mine, and he may +be able, in some way, to throw a little light upon the Arthur Pearson +mystery.</p></div> + +<p>Walter Parks had set out for Australia, drawn thither by +an advertisement mentioning the name of Arthur Pearson. +It had also contained the name of John Ainsworth; but this +had seemed of secondary interest to the queer Englishman. +He had distinctly stated that he knew nothing of John Ainsworth; +had never seen him.</p> + +<p>And yet here he was, if this letter were not a hoax, journeying +eastward at that very moment, in company with this then +unknown man.</p> + +<p>Evidently, he had not visited Australia; that he could have +done so was scarcely possible. And he was coming back with +this John Ainsworth to urge on the search for the murderer +of Arthur Pearson.</p> + +<p>They would hope much, expect much, from Vernet and +Stanhope. And what had been done?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>Since the day when Stanhope had suddenly appeared in his +presence, to announce his readiness to begin work upon the +Arthur Pearson case, nothing had been heard from him.</p> + +<p>“You will not see me again,” he had said, “until I can tell +who killed Arthur Pearson.” And he was keeping his word.</p> + +<p>Four weeks had passed since Stanhope had made his farewell +announcement, and nothing was known of his whereabouts. +Where was he? What was he doing? What had +he done?</p> + +<p>It was not like Stanhope to make sweeping statements. In +proffering his services to Walter Parks, he had said: “I’ll do +my level best for you.” But he had not promised to succeed. +Why, then, had he said, scarce five days later: “I shall not +return until I have found the criminal.”</p> + +<p>What had he done, or discovered, or guessed at, during those +intervening days?</p> + +<p>Something, it must have been, or else—perhaps, after all, it +was a mere defiance to Van Vernet; his way of announcing +a reckless resolve to succeed or never return to own his failure. +Dick Stanhope was a queer fellow, and he <i>had</i> been sadly cut +up by Vernet’s falling off.</p> + +<p>The Chief gave up the riddle, and turned to his desk.</p> + +<p>“I may as well leave Dick to his own devices,” he muttered, +“but I’ll send for Vernet. He has kept shy enough +of the office of late, but I know where to put my hand on +him.”</p> + +<p>As he reached out to touch the bell, some one tapped upon +the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” he called, somewhat impatiently.</p> + +<p>It was the office-boy who entered and presented a card to +the Chief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>“The +gentleman is waiting?” queried the Chief, glancing at +the name upon the bit of pasteboard.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Admit him.”</p> + +<p>Then he rose and stood to receive his visitor.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Follingsbee, I’m glad it’s you,” extending his hand +cordially. “Sit down, sit down.”</p> + +<p>And he pushed his guest toward a big easy chair just opposite +his own.</p> + +<p>The little lawyer responded warmly to his friendly greeting, +established himself comfortably in the chair indicated, and +resting a hand upon either knee, smiled as he glanced about +him.</p> + +<p>“You seem pretty comfortable here,” he said, as his eye +roved about the well-equipped private office. “Are you particularly +busy just now?”</p> + +<p>“I can be quite idle,” smiling slightly, “if you want a little +of my leisure.”</p> + +<p>The attorney gave a short, dry laugh.</p> + +<p>“Do you talk at everybody over the top rail of a fence?” +he asked. “I thought that belonged to us lawyers. The fact +is that although this is not strictly a social call, it’s a call of +minor importance. If you have business on hand, I can wait +your leisure.”</p> + +<p>The Chief leaned back in his chair and smiled across at his +visitor.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you or I can ever be said to be free from +business,” he responded. “I was just growing weary of my +bit of mental labor; your interruption is quite welcome, even +if it is not ‘strictly social.’ You are anxious to make an informal +inquiry about the search for the lost child, I presume?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>“I should be glad to hear anything upon that subject, but +that is not my errand.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” The Chief rested his head upon his hand, and looked +inquiringly at his <i>vis-a-vis</i>.</p> + +<p>“I wanted,” said Mr. Follingsbee, taking out a huge pocket-book +and deftly abstracting from it a folded envelope, “to +show you a document, and ask you a question. This,” unfolding +the envelope, “is the document.”</p> + +<p>He smoothed it carefully and handed it to the other, who +glanced over it blankly at first, then looked closer and with +an expression of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Did you write that letter?” queried Mr. Follingsbee.</p> + +<p>“N-no.” He said it hesitatingly, and with the surprise +fast turning to perplexity.</p> + +<p>“Did you cause it to be written?”</p> + +<p>The Chief spread the letter out before him on the desk, and +slowly deciphered it.</p> + +<p>“It’s my paper, and my envelope,” he said at last; “but +it was never sent from this office.”</p> + +<p>“Then you disown it?”</p> + +<p>“Entirely. I hope you intend to tell me how it came into +your possession.”</p> + +<p>“It is written, as you see, to Mr. Warburton—”</p> + +<p>“To Mr. Alan Warburton; yes.”</p> + +<p>“Introducing one Mr. Grip, late of Scotland Yards.”</p> + +<p>“I see.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, Mr. Warburton received this note the day on +which it was dated.”</p> + +<p>The Chief glanced sharply at the date.</p> + +<p>“And on that same day, Mr. Augustus Grip presented himself, +stating that he was sent from this Agency, with full authority<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +to take such measures as he saw fit in prosecuting the +search for the lost child.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“The fellow began by being impertinent, ended by being +insulting—and made his exit through the study window, his +case closed.”</p> + +<p>The Chief smiled slightly, then relapsed into meditation. +After a brief silence, he said:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee, can’t you give me a fuller account of +that interview between Mr. Warburton and this—this Mr. +Grip?”</p> + +<p>“No,” returns the lawyer, “no; I can’t—at present. +There were some things said that made the visit a purely personal +affair. The fellow gained access to the house through +making use of your name, rather by seeming to. You see +by that scrawl he was too clever to actually commit +forgery.”</p> + +<p>The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature and said:</p> + +<p>“I see; sharp rascal.”</p> + +<p>“I thought,” pursued the lawyer, “that it might interest +you to hear of this affair. The fellow may try the trick again, +and—”</p> + +<p>“It does interest me, sir,” interrupts the other. “It interests +me very much. May I keep this letter?”</p> + +<p>“For the present, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. I’ll undertake to find out who wrote it—very +soon. And, having identified this impostor, I shall hope to +hear more of his doings at Warburton Place.”</p> + +<p>“For further information,” said Mr. Follingsbee, rising +and taking up his hat, “I must refer you to Mr. Grip, or Mr. +Warburton.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo37.png" alt="Follingsbee shows the Chief Alan's letter" width="300" height="448" /> +<p class="caption">“The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature, and said: “I see; +sharp rascal.””—<a href="#Page_366">page 366</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>And having finished his errand, Mr. Follingsbee made his +adieu and withdrew.</p> + +<p>When he was gone, the Chief sat gazing at the chair just +vacated, and a curious smile crossed his lips.</p> + +<p>“Follingsbee’s a clever lawyer,” he muttered; “maybe +that’s why he is so poor a witness. There’s a stronger motive +behind his friendly desire to warn me of poachers abroad. He +was in a greater hurry to finish his errand than to begin it, +and he was relieved when it was done. I wonder, now, why +he didn’t ask me if there <i>really was such a person as Augustus +Grip!</i>”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + +<h3>VERNET AT HEADQUARTERS.</h3> + +<p>After Mr. Follingsbee’s departure, the Chief of the detectives +took up his work just where he had laid it down to receive +his visitor.</p> + +<p>Ringing the bell he summoned the bright-eyed boy who +waited without, and said, as soon as the lad appeared in the +doorway:</p> + +<p>“You know where to look for Vernet, George?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Go to him as soon as possible; tell him I wish to see him +at his earliest leisure; and you may wait a reasonable time, +if he is out.”</p> + +<p>When George had bowed and departed on his mission, the +Chief opened his door and entered the outer office.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>“Has +Carnegie been in to-day?” he asked of a man seated +at a desk between two tall windows.</p> + +<p>“Not yet, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then he will probably come soon. Send him in to +me, Sanford.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir.”</p> + +<p>Others were seated about the room. He nodded silently +to these, and went over to one of the windows near the desk +occupied by the man he had addressed as Sanford.</p> + +<p>For a few moments he seemed engaged with something going +on in the street below, then he moved a step nearer, and +leaned over Sanford’s desk.</p> + +<p>“Find a pretext for coming to my room presently,” he said +in a low tone. Then he took a careless survey of the letters +and papers upon the desk, glanced out of the window once +more, and went back to his den.</p> + +<p>One or two of the loungers made some slight comment upon +this quiet entrance and exit of their Chief.</p> + +<p>But Sanford wrote on diligently for many minutes, folding +and unfolding his letters and deeply absorbed in his task. +Then something seemed to disturb him. He uttered an impatient +syllable midway between a word and a grunt; read +and re-read the contents of a sheet spread out before him; referred +once and again to his book; and then, seemingly, gave +it up, for he laid down his pen—at a less serious interruption, +he would have stuck it behind his ear. He slid reluctantly +off his stool, glanced once more over the troublesome sheet, and +then, folding it carefully, carried it with a rueful face to the +inner office.</p> + +<p>Once within this apartment, the look of rueful reluctance +vanished. He slipped the troublesome document into his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +breast-pocket, and smiled as he seated himself in the chair indicated +by his superior.</p> + +<p>“Sanford,” began the latter, “I want to ask about your +office regulations, rather your habits. Our boys do much of +their letter writing there, eh?”</p> + +<p>“They do some of it; yes sir.”</p> + +<p>“There is always stationery at the desk for their use?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir.” Sanford’s none too expressive face began +to lengthen a trifle.</p> + +<p>“Does any one not connected with the office, but who happens +in upon some errand or some matter of business, ever +find it convenient to write at the table or the desks?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think any one ever did so, except in cases where +the writing was done at our requests, or in some way in the +interests of business.”</p> + +<p>“That is what I thought. Now, Sanford, our paper, that +which is intended solely for business purposes and which has +our letter head—is that accessible to any one in the office?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said Sanford, a trifle coldly; “your orders were +otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Sanford. I am not about to find fault with +you, my boy, but tell me if any one—any one connected with +the office, I mean, who is there habitually, and is not supposed +to need watching—could not one of our own people get possession +of a sheet or two of our business tablets, if he tried?”</p> + +<p>“If you mean our own fellows,” said Sanford slowly, “I +suppose there are half a dozen of our boys who could steal +that paper from under my very nose, if they liked, even if I +stood on guard. But no stranger has access to my desk, and +there’s no other way of getting it from <i>that</i> office.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” responded his Chief, “it’s also the only way +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +getting it from mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has +possessed himself of a sheet or two, and used it for fraudulent +purposes.”</p> + +<p>Sanford stared, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Now,”—the chief grew involuntarily more brisk and +business-like—“we must clear this matter up. You can give +me samples of the handwriting of every one of our men, can’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports—”</p> + +<p>“Samples of any sort will do, Sanford. Let me have them +as soon as possible.”</p> + +<p>Sanford arose, hesitated, and then said:</p> + +<p>“If you would trust me, sir, I might—but you have sent +for Carnegie?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it’s about this business. What were you going to +say, Sanford?”</p> + +<p>“I know all their hands so well, sir, I was about to offer +my services, but—”</p> + +<p>“It’s a good idea; thank you, thank you. I think I’ll +give you both a chance at it. Now, bring me the specimens, +Sanford. We will talk this over again.”</p> + +<p>In half an hour, Carnegie presented himself. He was a +small, old man, with a shrewd face and keen, intelligent eye.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got some work for you, Carnegie,” began the Chief, +waiving all ceremony. “It’s of the kind you like, too.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” Carnegie dropped his hat upon a chair, rubbed his +hands softly together and smiled upon his patron, looking as +if at that instant ready and anxious to pounce upon any piece +of work that was “of the kind he liked.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a forgery on this office,” went on the Chief, as +quietly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> +as if he had said, it’s an invitation to tea. “And you’ll have +a variety of handwritings to gloat over; Sanford is looking +them up.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could +not have said more in a folio.</p> + +<p>As Carnegie passed out of the Chief’s office, the boy, George, +entered it. He had found Mr. Vernet, and that gentleman +would present himself right away.</p> + +<p>And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously +dressed, upright, handsome, and courteous as usual.</p> + +<p>Perfectly aware as he was that his Chief had not summoned +him there without a motive, and tolerably sure that this motive +was out of the regular business routine, his countenance was +as serene as if he were entering a ball-room, his manner just +as calm and courtly.</p> + +<p>“I hope I have not interfered with any manœuvre of +yours, Van,” said the Chief, smiling as he proffered his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Not at all, sir. I was just in and preparing for an hour +or two of rest.” And Vernet pressed the outstretched hand. +“I am glad of this opportunity, sir.”</p> + +<p>“The fact is—” began the Chief, after Vernet had ensconced +himself in the chair opposite his own—“the fact is, +I want to talk over this Englishman’s business a little, in a +confidential way.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” The change that crossed Vernet’s face was scarcely +perceptible.</p> + +<p>“You see, just between us, I have no report from Stanhope, +and none from you. And I want, very much, to get some +new idea on the subject, soon.”</p> + +<p>Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>“You have heard something,” he said, withdrawing his +gaze slowly.</p> + +<p>The Chief laughed. This answer, put not as a question, but +as a statement of a fact, pleased him.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I have heard something. The Englishman +is coming back. I have a letter from him. It is somewhat +mysterious, but it says that he is on his way here, accompanied +by one John Ainsworth.”</p> + +<p>“John Ainsworth?”</p> + +<p>“Supposed to be the father of the child mentioned in the +advertisement from Australia,”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I see.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I <i>don’t</i> see anything clearly, except this: These two +men will come down upon us presently; they will want to +hear something new—”</p> + +<p>“Their affair is twenty years old; do they expect us to get +to the bottom of it in five weeks?”</p> + +<p>“Well, not that exactly, but I think they will expect us to +have organized—to have hit upon some theory and plan of +action.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Vernet, “as to that, I have my theory—but it +is for my private benefit as yet. As to what I have done, it +is not much, but it is—”</p> + +<p>“Something? a step?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it is a step. I have found, or I know where to +find, one of the ten men who composed that Marais des +Cygnes party.”</p> + +<p>“Good! I call that more than a step.”</p> + +<p>“I may as well tell you that I have worked through a +’tracker.’ You know how much I am interested in that other +affair.”</p> + +<p>“The Sailor business? yes.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>“It +seemed to me,” continued Vernet, “that I might succeed +there by doing the hard work myself, and that this other +matter, in its present stage, might be worked out by an intelligent +’inquirer.’ So I adopted this plan. I think my murder +case is almost closed. I hope to have my hand upon the +fellow soon. Then I can give all my time to this other case.”</p> + +<p>“So!” gazing admiringly at the handsome face opposite +him. “I’m glad of your success, Van. I suppose, at the +right time, you will let me into the ‘true inwardness’ of the +Sailor business?”</p> + +<p>“I should have been under obligation to do that long ago, +if you had not been so good as to leave it all to my discretion.”</p> + +<p>“True. Well, I find that it’s not unsafe to leave these +things to you and Stanhope. You both work best untrammelled. +Has this fellow given you much trouble?”</p> + +<p>Vernet smiled. “Plenty of it,” he said. “But in playing +his last trick, he bungled. He had dodged me beautifully, +and had left me under the impression that he had sailed for +Europe.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“Of course I wired to the other side. He had sailed in +company with a lady, handsome and young. He was also +good-looking and a young man.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“When the two arrived on the other side, they turned out +to be—an old man aged sixty-five, and a child, aged ten.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the Chief, as though he enjoyed the situation; +“a clever rascal!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I know where to look for him now—when I need +him. I want to run down an important witness; then I shall +make the arrest.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>“Good! We will have the particulars at that time. And +now about this Englishman’s case; put what your ‘tracker’ +has done into a report—or do you intend to work in the dark, +like Stanhope?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, what is Stanhope about?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. He took his time; has not been seen or +heard of here for four weeks.”</p> + +<p>Vernet tapped the desk beside him, and looked thoughtfully +at his <i>vis-a-vis</i>.</p> + +<p>“Stanhope’s a queer fish,” he said abstractedly; “a queer +fish.” Then, rising, he added: “I will send my report to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Very good.”</p> + +<p>“And I shall not follow Stanhope’s example. Once I am +fairly entered into the case, I shall send my reports regularly.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of that,” said his Chief, rising and following him +to the door. “Under the circumstances, I’m glad of that.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<h3>THE VERDICT OF AN EXPERT.</h3> + +<p>Late in the afternoon of the day following that on which +Carnegie the Expert had received his commission from the +Chief of the detectives, he appeared again in the presence of +that personage.</p> + +<p>He carried his “documents” in a small packet, which he +laid upon the desk, and he turned upon the Chief a face as +cheerful and as full of suppressed activity as usual.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>“Well?” +queried the Chief, glancing down at the packet, +“have you done?”</p> + +<p>“Yes;” beginning to open the packet with quick, nervous +fingers.</p> + +<p>“And you found—” He paused and looked up at the Expert.</p> + +<p>Carnegie took from the packet the letter addressed to Alan +Warburton, and written in the scrawling, unreadable hand. +This he spread open upon the desk. Then he took another +letter, written in an elegant hand, and with various vigorous +ornamental flourishes. This he laid beside the first, pushing +the remaining letters carelessly aside as if they were of no importance.</p> + +<p>“I find—” he said, looking hard at the Chief, and putting +one forefinger upon the elegant bit of penmanship, the other +upon the unreadable scrawl;—“I find that these two were +written by the same hand.”</p> + +<p>The Chief leaned forward; he had not been able to see the +writing from the place in which he sat. He leaned closer and +fixed his eyes upon the two signatures. The one he had seen +before; the other was signed—<i>Vernet</i>.</p> + +<p>Slowly he withdrew his eyes from the signature, and turned +them upon the face of the Expert.</p> + +<p>“Carnegie,” he asked, “do you ever make a mistake?”</p> + +<p>“<i>I?</i>” Carnegie’s look said the rest.</p> + +<p>“Because,” went on the Chief, scarcely noticing Carnegie’s +indignant exclamation, “if you <i>ever</i> made a mistake, I should +say, I should wish to believe, that this was one.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no mistake,” replied the Expert grimly. “I never +saw a clearer case.”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo38.png" alt="Carnegie has examined the letter +and discusses it with the Chief" width="300" height="446" /> +<p class="caption">“Carnegie, do you ever make a mistake?”—<a href="#Page_376">page 376</a>.</p></div> + +<p>The Chief passed his hand across his brow, and seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> +meditate, while the Expert gathered up the heap of letters and +arranged them once more into a neat packet.</p> + +<p>“If you are still in doubt,” he said tartly, “you might try—somebody +else.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Carnegie,” replied the Chief, rousing himself, +“you are right, no doubt. You must be right.”</p> + +<p>Carnegie snapped a rubber band about the newly-arranged +packet, and tossed it down beside the two letters.</p> + +<p>“Then,” he said, taking up his hat, “I suppose you have +no further use for me?”</p> + +<p>“Not at present, Carnegie.”</p> + +<p>The Expert turned sharply, and without further ceremony +whisked out of the room.</p> + +<p>For some moments the Chief sat wrinkling his brow and +gazing upon the two letters outspread before him.</p> + +<p>Then he took up the elegantly-written epistle, folded +it carefully, and thrust it in among those in the rubber-bound +packet. This done he rang his bell, and called for +Sanford.</p> + +<p>The latter came promptly, and stood mutely before his +Chief.</p> + +<p>“Sanford,” said that gentleman, pointing to the packet +upon the table, “you may try your hand as an Expert.”</p> + +<p>“How, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Take those letters, and this,” pushing forward the outspread +scrawl, “and see if you can figure out who wrote +it.”</p> + +<p>Sanford took up the packet, looked earnestly at his superior, +and hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Carnegie has given his opinion,” said the Chief, in answer +to this look. “I want to see how you agree.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>Sanford took up the scrawl, scanned it slowly, folded it and +slipped it underneath the rubber of the packet.</p> + +<p>“Is that all, sir?” he asked quietly.</p> + +<p>“That is all. Take your time, Sanford; take your time.”</p> + +<p>Sanford bowed and went slowly from the room.</p> + +<p>A few moments longer the Chief sat thinking, a look of annoyance +upon his face. Then he slowly arose, unlocked a +drawer, and taking from it a small, thick diary, reseated himself.</p> + +<p>“I must review this business,” he muttered. “There’s +something about it that I don’t—quite—understand.”</p> + +<p>He turned the leaves of the diary quickly, running the pages +backward, until he reached those containing an account of the +events of one or two days five weeks old upon the calendar. +Here he singled out the notes concerning the Raid and its +results, following which were the outlines of the accounts of +that night as given him by Vernet and Stanhope.</p> + +<p>Now, in giving his account of that night, Van Vernet had +said little of his experience with Alan Warburton, and at the +masquerade. And in giving his account of the Raid and its +failure, he had omitted the fact that he had accepted and used +“Silly Charlie” as a guide, speaking of him only as a spy and +rescuer. Hence the Chief had gained anything but a correct +idea of the part actually played by this bogus idiot.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, Stanhope had described at length the +events of the masquerade, as they related to himself, but had +said little concerning Leslie and the nature of the service she +required of him, referring to her only as Mr. Follingsbee’s +client. He had related his misadventures with the Troubadour +and the Chinaman, leaving upon their shoulders the entire +blame of his failure and non-appearance at the Raid. And he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> +had never once mentioned Vernet’s presence, nor the part the +latter had played to gain the precedence with his Chief.</p> + +<p>In thus omitting important facts, each had his motive; +and the omissions had not, at the time, been noted by the +Chief. Now, however, as he read and re-read his memoranda—recalling +to mind how he had shared with Vernet his chagrin +at the failure of the Raid, and laughed with Stanhope over +his comical mishaps—he seemed to read something between +the lines, and his face grew more and more perplexed as he +closed the diary, and sat intently thinking.</p> + +<p>“There’s a mystery here that courts investigation,” he muttered, +as he arose at last and put away the diary. “I’d give +something, now, for twenty minutes’ talk with Dick Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>Early on the following morning, Sanford presented himself +before his Chief, the bundle of letters in his hand, and a +troubled look upon his face.</p> + +<p>“Well, Sanford, is it done?”</p> + +<p>“I wish,” said Sanford, as he placed the packet upon the +table, “I wish it had never been begun—at least by me.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because I don’t want to believe the evidence of my senses.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a sentiment for a detective! Out with it man; +what have you found?”</p> + +<p>Sanford took two papers from his pocket and held them in +his hand irresolutely.</p> + +<p>“I hope I am wrong,” he said; “if I am—”</p> + +<p>“If you are, it will rest between us two. Out with it, +now.”</p> + +<p>“There’s only one man among us that I can trace this letter +to,” beginning to unfold the troublesome scrawl, “and he—” +He opened the second paper and laid it before his Chief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>The latter dropped his eyes to the vexatious paper and said, +mechanically: “Vernet!”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” began Sanford, regretfully. “I tried—”</p> + +<p>“You need not be,” interrupted the Chief. “It’s Carnegie’s +verdict too.”</p> + +<p>Sanford sat down in the nearest seat, and looked earnestly +at his Chief, saying nothing.</p> + +<p>After a moment of silence, the latter said:</p> + +<p>“Sanford, I want Vernet shadowed.”</p> + +<p>Sanford started and looked as if he doubted his own ears.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want him interfered with,” went on the Chief +slowly, “and watching him will be a delicate job; but I wish +it done. I want to be informed of every move he makes. +You must manage this business. I shall depend upon you.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> + +<h3>JOHN AINSWORTH’S STORY.</h3> + +<p>The Chief of the detectives was now furnished with ample +food for thought, but the opportunity for meditation seemed +remote.</p> + +<p>While he sat pondering over the discovery of Carnegie and +Sanford, two visitors were announced: Walter Parks, the +English patron of Stanhope and Vernet, and John Ainsworth, +the returned Australian.</p> + +<p>An accident of travel had thrown these two together, almost +at the moment when one was landing from, and the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> +about to embark for, Australia. And the name of John Ainsworth, +boldly displayed upon some baggage just set on shore, +had put Walter Parks on the scent of its owner. The two +men were not slow in understanding each other.</p> + +<p>As they now sat in the presence of the Chief, these two men +with faces full of earnestness and strength, he mentally pronounced +them fine specimens of bronzed and bearded middle +age.</p> + +<p>Walter Parks was tall and athletic, without one ounce of +flesh to spare: with dark features, habitually stern in their +expression; a firm chin, and well-developed upper cranium, +that made it easy for one to comprehend how naturally and +obstinately the man might cling to an idea, or continue a search, +for more than twice twenty years; and how impossible it +would be for him to abandon the one or lose his enthusiasm +for the other.</p> + +<p>John Ainsworth was cast in a different mould. Less tall +than the Englishman, and of fuller proportions, his face was +not wanting in strength, but it lacked the rugged outlines that +distinguished the face of the other; his once fair hair was almost +white, and his regular features wore a look of habitual +melancholy. It was the face of a man who, having lost some +great good out of his life, can never forget what that life might +have been, had this good gift remained.</p> + +<p>“I received your letter,” the Chief said, after a brief exchange +of formalities, “but I failed to understand it, Mr. +Parks, and was finally forced to conclude that you may have +written a previous one—”</p> + +<p>“I did,” interrupted the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Which I never received,” finished the Chief. “I supposed +you voyaging toward Australia, if not already there.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>“I +wrote first,” said Walter Parks, “to notify you of our +accidental meeting, and that we would set out immediately for +this city. And I wrote again to tell you of Mr. Ainsworth’s +sudden illness, and our necessary delay.”</p> + +<p>“Those two letters I never saw.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be sorry for that,” broke in John Ainsworth, “if +their loss will cause us delay, or you inconvenience.”</p> + +<p>“The non-arrival of those two letters has made the third +something of a riddle to me,” said the Chief. “But that being +now solved, I think no further mischief has been or will +be done.”</p> + +<p>Then followed further explanations concerning the meeting +of the two, and John Ainsworth’s fever, which, following his +ocean voyage, made a delay in San Francisco necessary.</p> + +<p>“It was a tedious illness to me;” said the Australian. +“Short as it was, it seemed never-ending.”</p> + +<p>And then, at the request of the Chief, John Ainsworth told +his story: briefly, but with sufficient clearness.</p> + +<p>“I was a young man,” he said, “and filled with the spirit +of adventure, when I went West, taking my youthful wife with +me. It was a hard life for a woman; but it was her wish to +go and, indeed, I would have left her behind me very unwillingly. +We prospered in the mining country. My wife enjoyed +the novelty of our new life, and we began to gather +about us the comforts of a home. Then little Lea was born.”</p> + +<p>He paused a moment and sighed heavily.</p> + +<p>“My wife was never well again. She drooped and faded. +When Lea was six months old, she died, and I buried her at +the foot of her favorite mountain. I put my baby into the +care of one of the women of the settlement—it was the best I +could do,—and I lived on as I might. But the place grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> +hateful to me. There was one man among the rest whose +friendship I prized, and after the loss of my wife I clung to +him as if he were of my own blood. His name was Arthur +Pearson.”</p> + +<p>Again the narrator paused, and the eyes of the two listeners +instinctively sought each other.</p> + +<p>“Pearson was younger than I, and was never rugged like +most of the men who lived that wild life. And after a time I +saw that he, too, was failing. He grew thin and began to +cough dismally. Pearson was very fond of my baby girl; and +sometimes we would sit and talk of her future, and wish her +away from that place, where she must grow up without the +knowledge and graces of refined civilization.</p> + +<p>“As Pearson became worse, he began to talk of going back +to the States, and much as I would miss him, I strongly advised +him to go. At last when he had fully decided to do so, +he made me a proposition: If I would trust my baby to him, +he would take her back and put her in the care of my sister, who +had no children of her own, and who was just the one to make +of little Lea all that a woman should be. I knew how gladly +she would watch over my daughter, and after I had thought +upon the matter, I decided to send Lea to her, under the +guardianship of Pearson. As I look back, I can see my +selfishness. I should have gone with Arthur and the child. +But my grief was too fresh; I could not bear to turn my face +homeward alone. I wanted change and absorbing occupation, +and I had already decided to dispose of my mining interest, +and go to Australia.</p> + +<p>“I found a nurse for my baby girl; a woman in our little +community, who had lost her husband in a mine explosion a +few months before. She was glad of an opportunity to return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> +to her friends, and I felt sure that I could trust her with Lea. +So they set out for the East, and I made preparations for my +journey, while waiting to hear that Pearson and the train +were safely beyond the mountains and most dangerous +passes.</p> + +<p>“They had been gone some two weeks when a train came +in from the East, and among them was Mrs. Marsh, the nurse. +The two trains had met just beyond the range, and Mrs. Marsh +had found among the emigrants some of her friends and towns-people. +The attraction was strong enough to cause her to +turn about, and I may as well dispose of her at once by +saying that she shortly after married one of her new-found +friends.</p> + +<p>“She told me that Pearson had joined a train which crossed +their trail the morning after the meeting of the first two parties, +and before they had broken camp. This train was going +through by the shortest route, as fast as possible; and Pearson +had found among the women one who would take charge of +little Lea. She brought me a letter from him.”</p> + +<p>“Did you preserve the letter?” interrupted the Chief.</p> + +<p>“I did; it has never been out of my possession, for it was +the last I ever heard of Pearson or my little Lea, until—” He +paused and glanced toward the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Until you met Mr. Parks?” supplemented the Chief.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to see that letter,” said the Chief.</p> + +<p>The Australian took from his breast an ample packet, and +from its contents extracted a worn and faded paper. As he +handed it to the Chief there was a touch of pathos in his +voice.</p> + +<p>“It is more than twenty years old,” he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>The writing was in a delicate, scholarly hand, much faded, +yet legible.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Ainsworth</span></p> + +<p>I suppose Mrs. Marsh has made you acquainted with her reasons +for changing her plans. It remains for me to inform you of mine.</p> + +<p>Our train, as you know, is not precisely select, and as we advance +towards “God’s Country” the roystering ones become a little too reckless +for my quiet taste. The train from the North is led by one Walter +Parks, an Englishman, of whom I know a little, and that little all in +his favor. The others are quiet, sturdy fellows, of the sort I like. The +woman who will care for little Lea is a Mrs. Krutzer; a very good +woman she seems. She is going East with her husband, who has the +rheumatism and, so they tell me, a decided objection to hard labor. She +has a little boy, some six years older than Lea, and she seems glad to +earn something by watching over our pet.</p> + +<p>We are almost out of the “Danger Country.” There is little to dread +between this and the Marais des Cygnes, and once we have crossed that, +there will be nothing to fear from the Indians. Still, to make little +Lea’s safety doubly sure, I shall at once tell Mrs. Krutzer her history, +and give her instructions how to find Lea’s relatives should some calamity +overtake me before the journey ends.</p> + +<p>I will at once put into Mrs. Krutzer’s hands your letter to your sister, +together with the packet, and money enough to carry her to her destination. +Having done this, I can only watch over the little one as you +would, were you here, and trust the rest to a merciful Providence.</p> + +<p>May your Australian venture prosper! I will write you there; and +may the good God have us all in his keeping!</p> + +<p class="signature1">Yours as ever,</p> + +<p class="signature2"><span class="smcap">A. Pearson.</span></p></div> + +<p>This was the letter that the Chief perused with a face of unusual +gravity; and then he asked, as he laid it down:</p> + +<p>“And your child: you have never heard of her since?”</p> + +<p>“Never. I was always a poor correspondent, but I wrote +many letters to my sister, to her husband, and to Pearson. +They were not answered. The Ulimans were rising people,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> +and they had left their old residence, no doubt. So I reasoned, +and I worked on. After a time I was sick—a long tedious +illness. When I recovered, and asked for letters, they told +me that during my illness some had arrived, and had been +lost or mislaid. Then I assured myself that these were from +Pearson and my sister; that my little one was safe; and I +settled down to my new life. Every year I planned a return, +and every year I waited until the next, in order to take with +me a larger fortune for little Lea. I became selfishly absorbed +in money-getting. Then, as years went by, and I knew my +girl was budding into womanhood, I longed anew for tidings +of her. I wrote again, and again; and then I set my lawyer +at the task. He wrote, and he advertised; and at last I settled +my affairs out there and started for the United States. +An advertisement, asking news of Pearson or Lea Ainsworth, +was sent to a city paper only a week before I sailed, and it +was this that caught the eye of Mr. Parks here.”</p> + +<p>Again the Chief and Walter Parks exchanged glances, and +John Ainsworth rose slowly to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” he said in a husky voice, “Mr. Parks has offered a +fortune to the man who discovers the slayer of Arthur Pearson. +I offer no less for the recovery of my child.”</p> + +<p>The Chief shook his head.</p> + +<p>“That search,” he said, “like the other, must cover twenty +years.”</p> + +<p>“To begin,” said the Australian, “we must find the +Ulimans.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“The Ulimans; my sister was the wife of Thomas Uliman.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the Chief, and then he leaned forward and +touched the bell.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>“Send +Sanford in,” he said to the boy who appeared in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>In another moment Sanford stood before them.</p> + +<p>“Sanford,” said his Chief, “Thomas Uliman and wife, +residents here twenty years ago, are to be found. Have the +records searched, and if necessary take other steps. Stop: +what was the calling of this Thomas Uliman?”</p> + +<p>“Merchant,” said John Ainsworth.</p> + +<p>Sanford started suddenly, and lifted one hand to his mouth.</p> + +<p>“I wonder—” he began, and then checked himself, bowed, +and turned toward the door. “Had this gentleman a middle +name?” he asked, with his hand upon the latch.</p> + +<p>“Yes; it was R., I believe; Thomas R. Uliman,” replied +the Australian.</p> + +<p>Sanford bowed again and went out quietly. Then Mr. +Ainsworth turned toward the Chief.</p> + +<p>“You have a system?” he queried.</p> + +<p>“Yes; a very simple and effectual one. We keep the census +reports, the directories, and a death record. When these fail, +we have other resources; but we usually get at least a clue +from these books. This part of the work is simple enough. +By to-morrow I think we can give you some information about +Thomas Uliman.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then Walter Parks leaned +forward:</p> + +<p>“Have you anything to tell me concerning my two detectives?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Stanhope and Vernet? Well, not much; but I expect a +report from Vernet at any moment. We will have that also +to-morrow.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> + +<h3>A CHIEF’S PERPLEXITIES.</h3> + + +<p>On Wednesday, the day following that which witnessed the +arrival of Walter Parks and John Ainsworth, Mr. Follingsbee, +seated at a late breakfast, perused a letter, which, judging +from the manner of its reception, must have contained something +unusual and interesting.</p> + +<p>He read it, re-read it, and read it again. Then pushing +back his chair, and leaving his repast half finished, he hurried +from the breakfast-room, and up stairs, straight to that cosey +room which, for many days, had been occupied by a guest +never visible below. This guest had also recently turned +away from a dainty breakfast, the fragments of which yet remained +upon the small table at his elbow, and he was now +perusing the morning paper with the bored look of a man +who reads only to kill time.</p> + +<p>He glanced up as the lawyer entered, but did not rise.</p> + +<p>“Well,” began his visitor, “at last I have something to +wake you up with: orders to march.”</p> + +<p>He held in his hand the open letter, and standing directly +in front of the other, read out its contents with the tone and +manner of a man pronouncing his own vindication after a long-suffering +silence:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir:</span></p> + +<p>At last you may release your voluntary prisoner. It is best that he +return at once to W—— place. Let him go quietly and without fear. +<span class='pagenum' style="font-size: 1em;"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> +By afternoon there may be other arrivals, whom he will be glad to welcome. +For yourself, be at the Chief’s office this day at 4. P.M.</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">STANHOPE.</span></p></div> + +<p>The reader paused and looked triumphantly at his audience +of one.</p> + +<p>“So,” commented this audience, “his name is Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee started and then laughed.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he cared to keep his identity from you +longer,” he said, “otherwise he would not have signed his +name. I think this means that the play is about to end”—tapping +the letter lightly with his two fingers. “You have +heard of Dick Stanhope, I take it?”</p> + +<p>“Stanhope, the detective? Yes; and I am somewhat puzzled. +I have always heard of Stanhope in connection with +Van Vernet.”</p> + +<p>“Umph! so has everybody. They’re on opposite sides of +<i>this</i> case, however. Well, shall you follow Mr. Stanhope’s +advice?”</p> + +<p>“I shall, although his advice reads much like a command. +I shall take him at his word, and go at once.”</p> + +<p>“Now?”</p> + +<p>“This very hour, if your carriage is at my disposal.”</p> + +<p>“That, of course.”</p> + +<p>“I feel like a puppet in invisible hands”—rising and moving +nervously about—“but, having pledged myself to accept +the guidance of this eccentric detective, I will do my part.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the lawyer dryly, “you seem in a desperate +hurry. Be sure you don’t overdo it.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t; I’ll go home and wait for what is to happen in +the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Half an hour thereafter, a carriage drew up at the side entrance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> +of the Warburton mansion, and a gentleman leaped out, +ran lightly up the steps, opened the door with a latch-key held +ready in his hand, and disappeared within. The carriage +rolled away the moment its occupant had alighted.</p> + +<p>In another moment, a man, who had been lounging on the +opposite side of the street, faced about slowly, and sauntered +along until he reached the street corner. Turning here he +quickened his pace, increasing his speed as he went, until his +rapid walk became a swift run just as he turned the second +corner.</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock of this same morning, the Chief of the detectives +is sitting again in his sanctum, his brow knit and +frowning, his hands tapping nervously upon the arms of his +easy chair, his whole mind absorbed in intensest thought. +Usually he meets the problems that come to him with imperturbable +calm, and looks them down and through; but to-day +the thought that he faces is so disagreeable, so perplexing, +so baffling,—and it will not be looked down, nor thought +down.</p> + +<p>Up to the date of this present perplexity, he has found +himself equal to all the emergencies of his profession. Living +in a domain of Mysteries, he has been himself King of them +all; has held in his hand the clue to each. His men may +have worked in the dark, or with only a fragment of light, a +glimmer of the truth, to guide them. But he, their Chief, has +overlooked their work, seeing beyond their range of vision, +and through it, to the end.</p> + +<p>Always this had been the case until—yes, he would acknowledge +the truth—until this all-demanding Englishman +had swooped down upon him with his old, old mystery, and +taken from the Agency, for his own eccentric uses, its two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> +best men. Always, until Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope +had arrayed themselves as antagonists, in seeking a solution of +the same problem.</p> + +<p>Following up the train of thought suggested by the re-reading +of his diary, the Chief has been suddenly confronted with +some unpleasant suspicions and possibilities.</p> + +<p>He has pondered everything pertaining to the mystery surrounding +Vernet’s improper use of his business letter-heads, +and his visit to the Warburton mansion in the guise of Augustus +Grip. And he has vainly tried to trace the connection between +these manœuvres and some of Stanhope’s inconsistencies.</p> + +<p>In the search, he has made a discovery: Alan Warburton, the +uncle of the lost child for whom his men have been vainly searching, +and Leslie Warburton, the widow of the late Archibald +Warburton, have both sailed for Europe. Business connected +with the search has been transacted through Mr. Follingsbee; +and this voyage across the sea, at so inopportune a time, has +been treated by the lawyer with singular reticence, not to say +secrecy.</p> + +<p>What could have caused these two to make such a journey +at such a time? Why did Van Vernet enter their house in +disguise? Who were the two that had sailed to Europe by +proxy? What was this mystery which, he instinctively felt, +had taken root on the night of the fruitless Raid?</p> + +<p>“It was young Warburton who had secured Vernet’s services, +and afterwards dismissed him in such summary fashion. +It was Mr. Follingsbee who had engaged Stanhope, for that +self-same night, <i>for a masquerade</i>. If I could question Stanhope,” +he muttered. “Oh! I need not wait for that; I’ll interview +Follingsbee.”</p> + +<p>He dashed off a note, asking the lawyer to wait upon him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> +that afternoon, and having dispatched it, was about to resume +the study of his new problem, when Sanford entered with a +memorandum in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Beale has come in,” he said in a low tone. “He has +been the rounds, and gives a full report of Vernet’s movements.”</p> + +<p>“Has Beale been out alone?”</p> + +<p>“Not since the first two hours; he has three men out +now.”</p> + +<p>“Phew! Well, read your minutes, Sanford; I see you have +taken them down from word of mouth.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it was the shortest way. Vernet is watching three +localities.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>“Beale shadowed him, first, to the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, +the lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” The Chief started, then checked himself, and +sank back in his chair.</p> + +<p>“Here,” continued Sanford, “he had a man on guard. They +exchanged a few words, and Vernet went away, the shadower +staying near the lawyer’s house. From there Vernet went +direct to Warburton Place.”</p> + +<p>The Chief bit his lips and stirred uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Here he had another shadower. They also conferred together. +Then Vernet took a carriage and went East to the +suburbs; out to the very edge of the city, where the houses +are scattering and inhabited by poor laborers. At the end of +K. street, he left his carriage, and went on foot to a little +saloon, the farthest out of any in that vicinity. There he had +a long talk with a fellow who seemed to be personating a +bricklayer. He left the saloon and went back to his carriage,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> +seemingly in high spirits, and the bricklayer departed in the +opposite direction.”</p> + +<p>“Away from the city?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; toward the furthermost houses.”</p> + +<p>The Chief bent his head and meditated.</p> + +<p>“This happened, when?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“And Beale; what did he do?”</p> + +<p>“Set three men to watch three men. One at Follingsbee’s, +one at Warburton Place, and one at the foot of K. street.”</p> + +<p>“Good; and these shadowers of Vernet’s—could Beale identify +either of them?”</p> + +<p>“No; he is sure they do not belong to us, and were never +among our men.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Beale has done famously. Let him keep a +strict watch until further orders.”</p> + +<p>Once more the Chief knits his brow and ponders. The +mystery grows deeper, and he finds in it ample food for meditation.</p> + +<p>But he is doomed to interruption. This time it is Vernet’s +report.</p> + +<p>He eyes it askance, and lays it upon the desk beside him. +Just now it is less interesting, less important, than his own +thoughts.</p> + +<p>But again his door opens. He lifts his head with a trace +of annoyance. It is George, the office boy. He comes forward +and proffers a note to his Chief.</p> + +<p>The latter takes it slowly, looks languidly at the superscription, +then breaks the seal.</p> + +<p>One glance, and the expression of annoyance and languor is +gone; the eyes brighten, and the whole man is alive with interest.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span>And yet the note contains only these two lines:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Send three good men, in plain clothes, to the last saloon at the foot +of K. street, 2 P. M. sharp.</p> + +<p class="signature1"><span class="smcap">Dick S.</span></p></div> + +<p>“Oh!” ejaculates the Chief, “Dick at last! Something is +going to happen.”</p> + +<p>And then he calls the office boy back.</p> + +<p>“Go to this address,” he says, hastily writing upon a card; +“ask for Mr. Parks, and say to him that I am obliged to beg +himself and friend to put off their interview with me until this +afternoon, say three o’clock.”</p> + +<p>When the boy had departed, he turned to the desk and took +up Vernet’s report. As he opened it, he frowned and muttered:</p> + +<p>“Vernet’s doing some queer work. If it were any one else, +I should say he was in a muddle. As it is, I shall not feel +sure that all is right until I know what his manœuvres mean. +I’ll have no more interviews until I have seen Follingsbee, +and studied this matter out.”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LV.</h2> + +<h3>THE LAST MOMENT.</h3> + +<p>At two P. M. of the same day, the day that witnessed Alan +Warburton’s return to his own, and the Chief’s perplexity, +there is an ominous stillness brooding about the Francoise +dwelling.</p> + +<p>In the outer room, Papa Francoise is alone, and, if one may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> +judge from his restlessness, not much relishing his solitude.</p> + +<p>The room is cleaner than usual. All about it an awkward +attempt at tidiness is visible. Papa, too, is less unkempt than +common, seeming to have made a stout effort at old-time respectability. +But he cannot assume a virtuous and respectable +calm, a comfortable repose.</p> + +<p>He goes to the window and peers anxiously into the street. +Sometimes he opens the outer door, and thrusts his head half +out to gaze along the thoroughfare cityward. And then he +goes across the room, and opens the door of a big dingy closet: +looks within, closes the door quietly, and tiptoes back to the +window.</p> + +<p>There is nothing remarkable in that closet. It is dark and +dirty. A few shabby garments are hanging on the wall, and +a pallet occupies the floor, looking as if it had been carelessly +flung there and not yet prepared for its occupant.</p> + +<p>Papa seems to note this. Stooping down, he smoothens out +the ragged blanket and straightens the dirty mattress, cocking +his head on one side to note the improvement thus made. +Then he goes back to the window, and again looks out. With +every passing moment he grows more and more disquieted.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>In the inner room, Leslie Warburton sits alone. Her arms +are crossed upon the rough table beside her; her head is bowed +upon her arms; her attitude betokens weariness and dejection. +By and by she lifts her face, and it is very pale, very sad, very +weary. But above all, it is very calm.</p> + +<p>Since the day when Stanhope’s message brought her new +hope, she has played her part bravely. Weak in body, harassed +in mind, filled with constantly-increasing loathing for the +people who are her only companions, utterly unable to guess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> +at the meaning of Stanhope’s message—she has battled with +illness, and fought off despair, fully realizing that in him was +her last hope, her only chance for succor; and fully resolved +to cling to this last hope, and to aid her helper in the only +way she could—by doing his bidding.</p> + +<p>“Seem to submit,” he said. She had submitted. “Let +them play their game to the very last.” She had made no resistance.</p> + +<p>And now the end had come. She had obeyed in all things. +And to-day the Francoises were jubilant. To-day Leslie Warburton, +by her own consent, was to marry Franz Francoise.</p> + +<p>It was the last day, the last hour; and Leslie’s strength and +courage are sorely tried.</p> + +<p>“Trust all to me,” he had said. “When the right time +comes, I will be at hand.”</p> + +<p>Leslie arose, and paced slowly up and down her narrow +room, feeling her heart almost stop its beating. Had she not +trusted to him? trusted blindly; and now—had not the right +time come? Was it not the only time? And where was +Stanhope? “If he should fail me!” she moaned, “if he should +fail me after all!”</p> + +<p>And her heart leaps suddenly; its tumultuous throbbings +nearly suffocate her. She sits down again and her breath +comes hard and fast.</p> + +<p>“If he should fail me,” she says again, “then—that would +be the end.”</p> + +<p>For she has made a fearful resolve. She would play her +part, as it was the only way. <i>She</i> would not fail in the task +he had assigned her, and if, at the last, <i>he</i> failed, then—before +she became the wife of Franz Francoise, she would die!</p> + +<p>And Daisy—what, then, would become of her?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span>Leslie puts back the thought with a passionate moan. She +must not think now.</p> + +<p>Mamma has sworn to produce the child within the hour +that sees Leslie the wife of Franz. And Leslie has vowed, +when the child’s hand is in hers, to sign a paper which Mamma +shall place before her—anything; she cares not what.</p> + +<p>She has agreed to all this, suffered her martyrdom, sustained +by the promise: “At the right time I shall be at hand. I +will not fail you.”</p> + +<p>And the last moments are passing.</p> + +<p>She can hear Papa shuffling about the outer room, and she +knows that Franz has gone to bring the Priest. The right +time is very near; but Stanhope—</p> + +<p>She has not seen Mamma since morning. She has not heard +her rasping voice, nor her heavy step in the outer room. But +the minutes are going fast; Franz will be back soon.</p> + +<p>And Stanhope—O, God, <i>where</i> is Stanhope?</p> + +<p>Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low +moan.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if he should fail me! If he <i>should</i> fail me!”</p> + +<p>In the outer room, Papa’s restlessness increases. He vibrates +constantly now between the window and the door.</p> + +<p>The curtain is drawn up to the low ceiling; the entire window +is bare and stares out upon the street like a watchful eye.</p> + +<p>And now Papa turns suddenly from the door, closes it, and +hastens to the window; looks out once again to reassure himself, +and then, rising on tiptoe, draws down the dark curtain. +He measures the window with a glance, lowering the curtain +slowly and stopping it half way down.</p> + +<p>It is a signal, prearranged by Mamma, and it tells that approaching +personage that the way is clear, that Franz is absent.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo39.png" alt="Leslie is desperate for Stanhope to come to the rescue" width="300" height="451" /> +<p class="caption">“Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low moan.”—<a href="#Page_398">page +398</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span>Another moment of waiting and he hears shuffling footsteps, +and the sound of receding wheels. Then he opens the +door, opens it wide this time, and admits Mamma.</p> + +<p>Mamma, and something else. This something she carries +in her arms. It is carefully wrapped in a huge shawl, and is +quite silent and moveless.</p> + +<p>“You are sure it’s all right?” whispers Papa nervously, as +in obedience to a movement of Mamma’s head he opens the +closet-door.</p> + +<p>Mamma lays down her still burden, covers it carefully with +the ragged blanket, closes the door of the closet, and then +turns to face Papa.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she says, in a hoarse whisper; “my part of the +business is right enough. Ye needn’t be uneasy about that. I +told ye I wouldn’t bring her into the house while Franz was +here; and as for my being followed, I ain’t afraid; I’ve +doubled on my track too often. If any one started to follow +me, they’re watching the wrong door this minute. How long +has Franz been away?”</p> + +<p>“Not half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“How’s <i>she</i> been behaving?”</p> + +<p>“Quiet; very quiet.”</p> + +<p>Mamma seats herself, removes her hideous bonnet, and draws +a heavy breath.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve done my part,” she says grimly. “Now, let +Franzy do his’n.”</p> + +<p>She goes to a shelf, takes therefrom a bottle of ink and a +rusty pen.</p> + +<p>“I wish,”—she begins, then pauses and slowly draws a +folded paper from her pocket; “I wish we could git this signed +<i>first</i>.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span>Papa coughs slightly, and turns an anxious look toward the +door.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be safe,” he says. Then he starts +and turns toward the closet. “You’re sure she won’t wake +up?” he whispers.</p> + +<p>Mamma turns upon him angrily.</p> + +<p>“D’ye s’pose I’d run any risk now?” she hisses. “She’s got +a powerful dose of Nance’s quietin’ stuff. Don’t you be +afeared about <i>her</i>. All we want is to git this business over, +and that little paper signed.”</p> + +<p>“I’m dreadful uneasy,” sighs Papa. “I wish I was sure +how this thing would come out.”</p> + +<p>“Wall, I kin tell ye. When the gal gits hold of her little +one, she’ll turn her back on us all. Married or not, she’ll +never own Franzy. And I don’t s’pose the boy’ll care much; +it’s the money he’s after. She’ll give him <i>that</i> fast enough, +and he’ll always know where to look for more. As for us, +this marrying makes us safe. She’d die before she’d have it +known, and she can’t make us any trouble without its coming +out. She’ll be glad to take her young un, and let us alone. +Don’t you see that even after she’s got the young un, we shall +have her in a tighter grip than ever, once she’s married to +Franzy? As fer the paper she’s to sign, it won’t hold good in +law, but it will hold with <i>her</i>. And she won’t go to a lawyer +with it; be sure of that.”</p> + +<p>“Hark!” ejaculates Papa.</p> + +<p>And in another instant, there is a stumbling step outside, +and a heavy thump upon the door.</p> + +<p>“It’s Franz,” whispers Mamma. And she hastens to admit +her Prodigal.</p> + +<p>As he enters, Mamma’s sharp eye notes his flushed face and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span> +exaggerated swagger, and she greets him with an indignant +sniff.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t ye keep sober jist once?” she grumbles, as he +pauses before her. “Where’s the Preach?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m sober enough,” grins Franz. “And the Preach +is coming. He’s bringin’ a witness.”</p> + +<p>Papa and Mamma exchange swift glances. Franz, sober, +is not the most agreeable and dutiful of sons; Franz, in liquor, +is liable to sudden violent outbreaks, if not delicately +handled.</p> + +<p>Papa makes a signal which Mamma interprets: “Don’t irritate +him.” And the two continue to eye him anxiously as +he crosses the room and attempts to open the door of the inner +apartment.</p> + +<p>“Locked!” he mutters, and turns toward Mamma. “Out +with your key, old un,” he says quite amiably; “the Preach ’ull +be here in five minutes, and what ye’ve got to say, all round, +had better be said afore he comes. Open this.”</p> + +<p>“The boy’s right enough,” mutters Papa. “Open the door, +old woman.”</p> + +<p>Silently Mamma obeys, and Franz is the first to enter the +room. He goes straight over to the table where Leslie sits, +scarcely stirring at their entrance, and he looks down at her +intently.</p> + +<p>“See here, Leschen,” he says, “don’t think that this lockin’ +ye in is my doin’s, or that it’s goin’ to be continued. It’s the +old woman as is takin’ such precious care of ye.”</p> + +<p>Mamma is at his elbow, glancing sharply at him, while she +places upon the table pen, ink, and a folded paper.</p> + +<p>“We’ve kept our word, gal,” she says harshly, “and we +know that after to-day ye may take some queer fancies. Now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span> +this paper is ter signify that we have acted fairly by ye, and +ter bind ye not ter make us any trouble hereafter.”</p> + +<p>Leslie’s eyes rove slowly from one to the other. She feels +that the end has come, and with the last remnant of her courage +she keeps back the despairing cry that rises to her lips.</p> + +<p>As she gazes, Franz Francoise makes a sudden movement +as if to snatch up the paper, then as suddenly withdraws his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Wot’s in that paper?” he asks, turning to Mamma.</p> + +<p>“Ye know well enough,” retorts the old woman tartly. +“We’ve promised her the gal, and she’s promised not to inform +agin us. We’re goin’ to stick to our bargain, and we want +her to stick to hers.”</p> + +<p>And she pushes the pen and ink toward Leslie. But the +latter does not heed the motion.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she cries, half rising and clasping her hands in intense +appeal, “is it true? Is she indeed so near me? Shall +I have her back?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes.” Mamma grows impatient, “Sign this and +then—”</p> + +<p>Franz leans forward and puts one finger upon the folded +paper.</p> + +<p>“Once agin,” says he sharply, “what’s that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a simple little paper, Franzy,” breaks in Papa reassuringly, +“jest to ’stablish our innocence, in case your new +wife should happen to forgit her promise. It’s nothing +that’ll affect you.”</p> + +<p>“Umph,” grunts Franz, eyeing the pair suspiciously, “that’s +it, is it.” Then, turning to Leslie: “Read that paper, gal.”</p> + +<p>But Papa puts out his hand.</p> + +<p>“It’s only a little form, my dear boy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span>“Wal,” +with growing aggressiveness, “let her read the little +form.”</p> + +<p>“It’s only a waste o’ time,” breaks in Mamma impatiently, +“an’ the sooner it’s signed, the sooner she’ll—”</p> + +<p>“Only a waste of time.” The words awaken Leslie’s almost +benumbed senses. Time; that is just what this discussion is +gaining for her, for Stanhope! Since their entrance, she has +not opened her lips; now she interrupts Mamma’s discourse.</p> + +<p>“Let me read the paper,” she says.</p> + +<p>By a quick movement, Papa extracts the paper from beneath +the finger of his Prodigal, and holding it tightly, steps +back from the table.</p> + +<p>“It’s wasting time,” he says, “an’ it’s only a little form.”</p> + +<p>Then Leslie draws herself up to her fullest height, and stepping +back from the table says:</p> + +<p>“I will sign no paper that I have not read.”</p> + +<p>With a sudden movement Franz springs upon Papa, wrests +the paper from his grasp, and passes it over Mamma’s shoulder +to Leslie. Then he turns fiercely upon the pair.</p> + +<p>“If ye could read, Franz Francoise,” shrieks Mamma, in a +burst of incautious rage, “ye’d never a-done that thing!”</p> + +<p>“Kerrect!” retorts Franz, with a malicious grin, “I’d a-read +it myself. Not bein’ able to do that, I’d sooner take +her word fer it than your’n.”</p> + +<p>Again Papa comes forward and lays a hand upon the arm +of his son.</p> + +<p>“Franzy,” he says deprecatingly, “ye don’t know what ye +are doin’.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t I?” sneers Franz. “Wal I’m goin’ ter find out +shortly.”</p> + +<p>A sudden exclamation from Leslie causes him to turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> +quickly. She is gazing at the paper with a bewildered face.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he asked peremptorily.</p> + +<p>“This paper,” exclaims Leslie, “would bind me to make +over one third of any property I am or may become possessed +of to those two and—”</p> + +<p>“What!” Again Franz makes a movement as if about to +seize the paper, then, dropping his hand, he repeats: “To those +two?” pointing to Papa and Mamma; “and don’t it make no +mention o’ <i>me?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Now Franz—” remonstrates Mamma.</p> + +<p>“You shut up! Say, gal, does that document leave <i>me</i> +out?”</p> + +<p>Leslie’s eyes scan the page. “It does not name you,” she +falters.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it don’t! Wal,” stepping to her side and taking the +paper from her, “wal, then, we won’t sign it.”</p> + +<p>As he crumples it in his hand, Leslie moves toward Mamma +Francoise, seeming in one moment to have mastered all her +fears.</p> + +<p>“This paper,” she says, turning her clear eyes upon Mamma, +“confirms what I have suspected, ever since you proposed this +marriage with your son, as the price of little Daisy’s deliverance. +You know the secret of my birth and believe me to be +an heiress. You stole little Daisy to compel me to <i>this</i>,”—pointing +at the paper in the hand of Franz—“and since your +son has returned, you would strengthen your own position +while you enrich him. It was a clever plot, but overdone. +Give me the pen, give me the paper. Rather than leave little +Daisy longer at your mercy, I would resign to you an hundred +fortunes were they mine.”</p> + +<p>She moves toward the table, but Franz is before her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span>“Oh, +no!” he says, quietly; “I guess not! I don’t seem +to cut much of a figure in that little transaction on paper, but +I’m blessed if I don’t hold my own in this business. Ye can’t +sign that paper; not yet.”</p> + +<p>Leslie turns from him and again addresses Mamma.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me,” she says. “I know your scheme now, and +I know how to deal with you. I never meant to marry this +man. I never will. You want money; give me back little +Daisy, and I will sign this paper, or any other you may frame. +And I will swear never to complain against you, never to +molest you, never to reveal the secret of these awful weeks. +There let it end: I will <i>never</i> marry your son!”</p> + +<p>With a sudden motion, Mamma turns upon Franz, and attempts +to snatch the paper from his hand.</p> + +<p>“Give me that paper, boy!” she fairly hisses.</p> + +<p>But he repulses her savagely, and thrusts the paper into his +breast.</p> + +<p>“Take care, old woman!” he exclaims hotly. “I ain’t +your son for nothing; what do ye take me for?”</p> + +<p>His words are interrupted by a loud knock on the door.</p> + +<p>“Do ye hear that?” he hisses. “Now, that parson’s coming +in to finish this marryin’ business, or I’m goin’ right out of +here, and the gal along with me, if I have to cut my way +straight through ye! The gal can sign the paper if she likes, +but she’ll sign it Leschen Francoise, or she’ll never sign it at all!”</p> + +<p>And before they can guess his intentions, he has caught +Leslie up and fairly carried her to the outer room. In a +flutter of fear and rage, Mamma follows, and Papa hovers in +the open doorway.</p> + +<p>“Franz Francoise!” shrieks Mamma, the tiger now fairly +awake in her eyes.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo40.png" alt="Mamma and Franz fight for the document" width="300" height="444" /> +<p class="caption">“Give me that paper, boy!” she fairly hisses.—<a href="#Page_406">page 406</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span>But he pays no heed to her rage. He releases his hold upon +Leslie, and flings open the door.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know as we will have any funeral, after all,” he +says cheerfully, to the two who enter. “There’s a kind of a +hitch in the arrangements.”</p> + +<p>The new-comers, the foremost in the garb of a Priest, and +the other evidently a very humble citizen, stop near the open +door and glance curiously around. And then a third citizen +appears, and fairly fills up the doorway.</p> + +<p>Even as they enter, Mamma, stealing close to Leslie, whispers +in her ear:</p> + +<p>“If ye ever want to see yer gal agin, <i>marry him</i>.”</p> + +<p>Leslie Warburton looks into the wolfish face beside her; +looks across at Franz, and then at the three new-comers. +What stolid faces! She sees no hope there. And then, as +Mamma’s words repeat themselves in her ear, she leans against +the rickety closet-door and utters a despairing moan.</p> + +<p>“Quick!” whispers Mamma, “it’s yer last chance!”</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> + +<h3>AT THE RIGHT TIME.</h3> + +<p>“Ye see,” explains Franz, glancing toward Leslie, “the +lady’s kind o’ hesitatin’. We’ll give her a minute or two ter +make up her mind.” And he goes over and takes his stand +beside her.</p> + +<p>In the moment of silence that follows, Leslie can hear her +heart beat, then—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span>What is it that breaks that strange stillness, that startles so +differently every occupant of that dingy room?</p> + +<p>Only a voice, sweet, clear, pitiful; a child’s voice, uplifted +in prayer:</p> + +<p>“<i>Dear God, please take care of a little girl whose Mamma +has gone to Heaven—</i>”</p> + +<p>The rest is drowned in the shriek which bursts from Leslie’s +lips; in the sudden bound made by Mamma; and the quick +counter movement of Franz.</p> + +<p>Then Leslie’s hands are beating wildly against the closet-door. +Mamma, forcibly hurled back by Franz, is sprawling +upon the floor, and the escaped convict is pressing against the +rickety timbers.</p> + +<p>As they yield to his onslaught, he stoops down, catches up +the little crouching figure within, and turns to Leslie, who receives +it with outstretched arms.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Daisy! <i>Daisy!</i> <span class="smcap">Daisy!</span>”</p> + +<p>Sobbing wildly, she is down upon her knees, the little one +tightly clasped to her bosom.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Daisy, my darling!”</p> + +<p>“Git out!” commands Franz, as Mamma, scrambling up, +approaches with glaring eyes. “Stand back, old un. This is +a new deal.”</p> + +<p>And he places himself as a barricade before Leslie and the +child, waving back the infuriated old woman with a gesture +of menace.</p> + +<p>And then heavy feet come trampling across the threshold. +Men in police uniform fill up the doorway, and the foremost +of them says, as he approaches the Prodigal:</p> + +<p>“Franz Francoise, I arrest you in the name of the law!”</p> + +<p>The priest and his two witnesses start perceptibly, and turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> +their faces toward Franz. Papa and Mamma slink back toward +the inner room. Leslie lifts her head and looks wonderingly +at the new-comers.</p> + +<p>Only Franz remains undisturbed. With a swift movement, +he whisks out a pair of revolvers and presents them, muzzle +foremost, to the speaker.</p> + +<p>“Not just yet!” he says coolly; “I ain’t quite ready. Ye’ve +interrupted me, and ye’ll have to wait.”</p> + +<p>One of his hands is slightly uplifted and, for just an instant, +his head turns toward the inner room.</p> + +<p>The two witnesses, making way for the police, lounge nearer +to Papa and Mamma.</p> + +<p>“You had better not resist, Franz Francoise,” says the leader +once more. “You can’t escape us now.”</p> + +<p>“No; I s’pose not,” assents Franz. “Oh, I know I’m +cornered, but wait.”</p> + +<p>He moves aside and looks down upon Leslie.</p> + +<p>“This lady,” he says quietly, “and her little gal, are here +by accident, and they ain’t to be mixed up in this business o’ +mine. Look here, Mr. Preach—”</p> + +<p>The Priest comes forward, and glances at him inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Ye can’t afford to lose yer time altogether, I s’pose, and +I’ll give ye a new contract. Ye see this lady and the little +gal are being scared by these cops. I want you to take ’em +away. The lady’ll tell ye where to go, and don’t ye leave ’em +till ye’ve seen ’em safe home.”</p> + +<p>Without a word of comment, the Priest moves toward Leslie.</p> + +<p>At the same instant, and with a howl of rage, Mamma +rushes forward.</p> + +<p>“Stop her!” says Franz; and one of the two witnesses lays +a strong hand upon Mamma’s shoulder.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo01.png" alt="Resisting arrest" width="300" height="458" /> +<p class="caption">“Not just yet; I ain’t quite ready!”—<a href="#Page_410">page 410</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span>Then the Prodigal turns to Leslie, who, with the child in +her arms, has risen to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Go,” he says gently; “you are free and safe. Go at once. +That old woman will harm you if she can.”</p> + +<p>With a start and a sudden bounding of her pulses, Leslie +looks into the face of the Prodigal, only an instant, for he +turns it away. And all bewildered, pallid and trembling, she +yields to the gentle force by which the Priest compels her to +move, mechanically, almost blindly, from the room.</p> + +<p>The officers step back to let her pass. And as she reaches +the outer air, she has a shadowy vision of Franz Francoise, +with pistols in hand, standing at bay; of Mamma struggling +in the grasp of the humble citizen, and uttering yells of impotent +rage.</p> + +<p>She feels the cool air upon her brow, and clasps the child +closer in her arms, believing herself to be moving in a dream. +Then the voice of the Priest assures her.</p> + +<p>“Give me the child, Mrs. Warburton,” he says respectfully, +“and lean on my arm. We have a carriage near.”</p> + +<p>When Leslie had disappeared beyond the doorway, Franz +Francoise throws down his pistols.</p> + +<p>“Now then, boys,” he says quietly, “you can come and +take me.”</p> + +<p>With a yell of rage, Mamma hurls herself upon her captor.</p> + +<p>“Let me go!” she shrieks. “Ah, ye brute, let me get at +him! Let me kill the sneakin’ coward! Ah,” kicking viciously, +and gnashing her teeth as she struggles to reach the Prodigal, +“that I should have to own such a chicken-hearted son!”</p> + +<p>The leader of the officers, handcuffs in hand, has approached +Franz, and the others are closing about him.</p> + +<p>As Mamma utters her fierce anathema, he turns upon her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> +suddenly, making at the same time a swift gesture of impatience.</p> + +<p>“Gray,” he says sternly, “bring out that old man.”</p> + +<p>It is not the voice of Franz Francoise; it is not his manner. +And as the man addressed as Gray lays a hand upon Papa +Francoise, the old woman catches her breath with a hissing +sound, and stares blankly.</p> + +<p>Struggling and whimpering, Papa is dragged from the +inner room, and when he stands before the group, the Prodigal +says:</p> + +<p>“Now, Harvey, make the proper use of your handcuffs. +Put them on this precious pair.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>The leader of the arresting party starts forward, and stares +at the speaker, who makes a sudden movement and then faces +the officers, holding in his hand a carroty wig and moustache!</p> + +<p>Papa’s face is ashen. Mamma writhes and gurgles, staring +wildly at this sudden transformation. The officers instinctively +group themselves together, and the handcuffs fall from +the leader’s grasp, clanking dolefully as they strike the bare +floor.</p> + +<p>“<i>Stanhope!</i>” gasps the officer, starting forward, and then +drawing back.</p> + +<p>And the two aids instinctively echo the word:</p> + +<p>“Stanhope!”</p> + +<p>“Stanhope!”</p> + +<p>Then the man who has so long masqueraded as Franz Francoise +flings aside the carroty wig and fixes a stern eye upon +Mamma Francoise.</p> + +<p>“Woman,” he says slowly; “let me set your mind at rest. +You need never again call me your son. Franz Francoise is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> +dead, and before he died he told me his story, and yours, as +he knew it. If for weeks I have lived among you in his +likeness, you know now why it was necessary. Oh, you are +a clever pair! Almost too clever, but you are outwitted. +Harvey,” turning once more to the officer, “you shall not go +back without a prisoner; you shall have two. Put your +bracelets on this rascally pair; and see them safely in separate +cells. Holt and Drake will go with you.”</p> + +<p>The two humble citizens glance up, and confirm by a look +their leader’s assurance.</p> + +<p>“Drake! Holt!” The man addressed as Harvey utters the +names mechanically. Drake and Holt are two efficient detectives, +and Harvey knows them as such. “Mr. Stanhope, I—I +cannot understand.”</p> + +<p>“And I cannot explain now.” He is actively assisting +Drake to put the manacles on Mamma’s wrists. “Old woman, +it will be policy for you to keep quiet; or do you want me to +gag you?”</p> + +<p>Then turning:</p> + +<p>“One thing, Harvey; you were sent here by Van Vernet. +I know that much. Now, tell me why did not Van make +this attempt himself? Don’t hesitate. Van has well-nigh +led you and these fellows into a scrape; he has certainly +made trouble for himself. Where is he now?”</p> + +<p>A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says:</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where he is, but he has gone to make another +arrest.”</p> + +<p>“Another! who?”</p> + +<p>“A sailor; the fellow who killed the Jew, Siebel.”</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope swings himself around and points to +Papa Francoise, as with the finger of fate.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo41.png" alt="One of the officers recognizes Stanhope" width="300" height="444" /> +<p class="caption">“<i>Stanhope!</i>” gasps the officer, starting forward.—<a href="#Page_413">page 413</a>.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span>“The +man who killed the Jew, Siebel, is <i>there!</i>” he says +sternly.</p> + +<p>Then snatching up the wig, he readjusts it upon his head, +saying, as he does it:</p> + +<p>“Drake, Holt, look after these people; and Harvey, you +may do well to ignore Vernet’s instructions for the present. +He has done mischief enough already. I must prevent this +last blunder.”</p> + +<p>The carroty moustache has once more resumed its place. +“Holt, you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, sir.”</p> + +<p>As the detective is once more transformed into Franz Francoise, +Mamma becomes fairly livid. She makes a final frantic +effort to free herself and howls out:</p> + +<p>“Let me go; what have I done? for what am I arrested? +Let me go, you impostor!”</p> + +<p>“You will learn in good time, woman,” retorts Stanhope. +“You may have to answer to several small charges: blackmail, +abduction, theft, murder.”</p> + +<p>He goes to the door; then turns and looks back at the +handcuffed pair:</p> + +<p>“Holt,” he says impressively, “watch that woman closely, +and search them both at the Jail. You will find upon +the woman a belt, which you will take charge of until I +come.”</p> + +<p>Mamma Francoise yells with rage. She writhes, she curses; +her fear and fury are horrible to behold. As Richard Stanhope +crosses the threshold, her curses are shrieked after him, +and her captors shudder as they listen.</p> + +<p>Papa is abject enough. He has been shivering, quaking, +cowardly, from the first; but Stanhope’s last words have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> +crushed him utterly. His knees refuse to support him, his +eyes stare glassily, his jaw drops weakly.</p> + +<p>And as they bear them away, the one helpless from fear, +the other resisting with tiger-like fierceness, a distant clock +strikes one, two, three!</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> + +<h3>WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE.</h3> + +<p>There is unusual stir and life in the Warburton Mansion, +for Alan Warburton has returned, as suddenly and strangely +as he went away.</p> + +<p>He has made Mrs. French and Winnie such explanations as +he could, and has promised them one more full and complete +when he shall be able, himself, to understand, in all its details, +the mystery which surrounds him.</p> + +<p>After listening to the little that Alan has to tell—of course +that part of his story which concerns Leslie is entirely ignored, +as being another’s secret rather than his—Mrs. French and +Winnie are more than ever mystified, and they hold a long +consultation in their private sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Acting upon Alan’s suggestion—he refuses to issue an +order—Mrs. French has bidden the servants throw open the +closed drawing-rooms, and give to the house a more cheerful +aspect.</p> + +<p>Wonderingly, the servants go about their task, and at noon +all is done. Warburton Place stands open to the sunlight, a +cheerful, tasteful, luxurious home once more.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span>“I +don’t see what it’s all about,” Winnie French says petulantly. +“One would think Alan were giving himself an +ovation.”</p> + +<p>They lunched together, Alan, Mrs. French and Winnie. It +was a silent meal, and very unsatisfactory to Alan. When +they rose from the table, Mrs. French desired a few words +with him, and Winnie favored him with a chilling salute and +withdrew.</p> + +<p>When she had gone, Mrs. French came straight to the +point. She was a serious, practical woman, and she wasted +no words.</p> + +<p>They had discussed the situation, her daughter and herself, +and they had decided. Winnie was feeling more and more +the embarrassment of their present position. They had complied +with the wishes expressed in Leslie’s farewell note, as +well as by himself and Mr. Follingsbee. But this strangeness +and air of mystery by which they were surrounded was wearing +upon Winnie. She went out so seldom, and she grieved +and pined for Leslie and the little one so constantly, that Mrs. +French had decided to send her away.</p> + +<p>She had talked of this before, but Winnie had been reluctant +to go. To-day, however, she had admitted that she wished to +go; that she needed and must have the change.</p> + +<p>It was not their intention to withdraw their confidence from +Leslie, or from him, or to desert their friends. Mrs. French +would stay at her post, but Winnie, for a time at least, should +go away. Her relatives in the country were anxious to receive +her, and Winnie was ready and impatient to set out.</p> + +<p>And what could Alan say? While his heart rebelled against +this decision, his reason endorsed it, and his pride held all protestation +in check.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span>He offered a few courteous commonplaces in a constrained +and embarrassed manner.</p> + +<p>He was aware that their unhappy complications must place +himself and his sister-in-law in an unfavorable light. He +realized that they had already overtaxed the friendship and +endurance of Mrs. French and her daughter. In his present +situation, he dared not remonstrate against this decision; he +was already too deeply their debtor. He should regret the departure +of Miss French, and he should be deeply grateful to +Mrs. French for the sacrifice she must make in remaining.</p> + +<p>All the same, he felt an inward pang as he left Mrs. French, +and went slowly down to the drawing-room. Winnie had +gone in that direction, and he was now in search of her, for, +in spite of her scorn and his own pride, he felt that he must +speak with her once more before she went away. She had +decided to go this day, the day of his home-coming. That +meant simply that she was leaving because of him.</p> + +<p>Winnie was seated in a cavernous chair, looking extremely +comfortable, and, apparently, occupied with a late magazine. +She glanced up as Alan entered, then hastily resumed her +reading.</p> + +<p>Seeing her so deeply absorbed, he crossed the room, and +looked out upon the street for a moment, then slowly turned +his back upon the window and began a steady march up and +down the drawing-room, keeping to the end farthest from +that occupied by Winnie, and casting upon her, when his +march brought her within view, long, earnest glances.</p> + +<p>That she was wilfully feigning unconsciousness of his +presence, he felt assured. That she should finally recognize +that presence, he was obstinately determined.</p> + +<p>But Winnie is not as composed as she seems, and his steady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> +march up and down becomes very irritating. Lowering her +book suddenly, she turns sharply in her chair.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warburton, allow me to mention that your boots +creak,” she says tartly.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>“No, you do not! I can’t see why you must needs choose +this room for your tramping, when all the house is quite at +your disposal.”</p> + +<p>Alan stops and stands directly before her.</p> + +<p>“I came, Winnie, because you were here,” he says gently.</p> + +<p>“Well,” taking up her book and turning her shoulder towards +him, “if you can’t make yourself less disagreeable, I +shall leave, presently, because <i>you</i> are here.”</p> + +<p>Paying no heed to her petulant words, he draws forward a +chair and seats himself before her.</p> + +<p>“Winnie,” he says gravely, “what is this that I hear from +your mother: you wish to leave Warburton Place?”</p> + +<p>“I intend to leave Warburton Place.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Winnie?”</p> + +<p>“Pray don’t make my name the introduction or climax to +all your sentences, Mr. Warburton; I quite comprehend that +you are addressing me. Why do I leave Warburton Place? +Because I have staid long enough. I have staid on, for Leslie’s +sake, until I’m discouraged with waiting.” There is a +flush upon her cheeks and a hysterical quiver in her voice. +“I have remained because it was <i>her</i> home, and at <i>her</i> request. +Now that her absence makes you master here, I will stay no +longer. It was you who drove her away with your base, false +suspicions. I will never forgive you; I will never—”</p> + +<p>There is a sound behind her. She has risen to her feet, and +she sees that Alan is not heeding her words; his eyes are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> +turned toward the door; they light up strangely, and as he +springs forward, Winnie hastily turns.</p> + +<p>Standing in the doorway, pale and careworn but slightly +smiling, is Leslie Warburton, and she holds little Daisy tightly +clasped in her arms; Daisy Warburton surely, though so +pallid, and clad in rags!</p> + +<p>As Alan springs forward, she holds out the child.</p> + +<p>“Alan, I have kept my word,” she says gently, wearily; +“I have brought back little Daisy.”</p> + +<p>It is the end of her wonderful endurance. As Alan snatches +the child to his breast, she sinks forward and again, as on +that last day of her presence here, she lies senseless at +his feet.</p> + +<p>But now his looks are not cold; he does not call a servant; +but turning swiftly he puts the child in Winnie’s arms, and +kneels beside Leslie.</p> + +<p>As he kneels, he notes the presence of a man in sombre attire, +and behind him, the peering face of a servant.</p> + +<p>“Call Mrs. French,” he says, chafing the lifeless hands. +“Bring restoratives—quick!”</p> + +<p>And he lifts her tenderly, and carries her to a divan.</p> + +<p>Then for a time all is confusion. There is talking, laughing, +crying; Mrs. French is here, and Millie, and presently +every other servant of the household.</p> + +<p>For a moment, Winnie seems about to drop her clinging +burden. Then suddenly her face lights up; she clasps Daisy +closer, and drawing near, she watches those who minister to +the unconscious one.</p> + +<p>Leslie revives slowly and looks about her, making a weak +effort to rise.</p> + +<p>“Be quiet,” says the stranger in the priestly garments, who<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> +has “kept his head” while all the others seem dazed; “be +quiet, madam. Let me explain to your friends.”</p> + +<p>As he speaks, Alan stoops over Winnie, and kisses the little +one tenderly, but he does not offer to take her from Winnie’s +clasp. He turns instead and bends over Leslie.</p> + +<p>“Obey him, Leslie,” he says softly. “We will tell you +how glad we are by and by.”</p> + +<p>She looks wonderingly into his face, then closes her eyes +wearily.</p> + +<p>“He can tell you,” she whispers; “I—I cannot.”</p> + +<p>And then there is silence, while Alan, in compliance with +a hint from the seeming Priest, motions the servants out of the +room, all but Millie. Daisy has seized her hand and clings to +it obstinately.</p> + +<p>“Let her stay,” whispers Winnie. And of course Millie stays.</p> + +<p>When they have filed out, Alan moves forward, his hand +extended to close the door, and then he stops short, his attitude +unchanged, and listens.</p> + +<p>There are voices outside, and approaching feet. He hears +the remonstrance of a servant, and an impatient tone of command. +And then a man strides into their presence, closely +followed by two officers.</p> + +<p>It is Van Vernet, his eyes flashing, his face triumphant; +Van Vernet in <i>propia personne</i>, and wearing the dress of a +gentleman.</p> + +<p>He pauses before Alan, and delivers a mocking salute.</p> + +<p>“Alan Warburton, you are my prisoner!”</p> + +<p>With a cry of alarm, Leslie lifts herself from the couch. +<i>She</i> knows what these words mean.</p> + +<p>Alan starts as he hears this cry, and moving a pace nearer +Vernet, says, in a low tone:</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo42.png" alt="Leslie introduces Daisy to Alan" width="300" height="445" /> +<p class="caption">“Alan, I have kept my word; I have brought back little Daisy.”—<a href="#Page_421">page +421</a>.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span>“I will go with you, sir; but withdraw yourself and men +from this room; I—”</p> + +<p>Something touches his arm.</p> + +<p>He turns to see Winnie close beside him, her face flushing +and paling, her breath coming in quick gasps.</p> + +<p>“Alan,” she whispers, “what does he mean?”</p> + +<p>Alan takes her quivering hand in his, and tenderly seeks to +draw her back.</p> + +<p>“He means what he says, Winnie. He is an officer of the +law.”</p> + +<p>“A prisoner! <i>you!</i> Oh, Alan, why, why?”</p> + +<p>The tone of anguish, and the look in Alan’s eyes, reveal to +Vernet the situation. This is the woman beloved by Alan +Warburton; now his triumph over the haughty aristocrat will +be sweet indeed. Now he can strike through her. Stepping +forward, he lays a hand upon Alan’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warburton,” he says sternly, “I must do my duty. +Bob, bring the handcuffs.”</p> + +<p>As the officer thus addressed moves forward, Winnie French +utters a cry of anguish, and flings herself before Alan.</p> + +<p>“You shall not!” she cries wildly. “You dare not! What +has he done?”</p> + +<p>Vernet looks straight at his prisoner, and smiles triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warburton is accused of murder,” he says impressively.</p> + +<p>“Murder!” Winnie turns and looks up into Alan’s face. +“Alan, oh, Alan, it is not true?”</p> + +<p>“I am accused of murder, Winnie, but it is <i>not</i> true.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Alan! Alan! Alan!” She flings her arms about him +clinging with passionate despair, sobbing and moaning pitifully.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span>And Alan clasps her close and a glad light leaps into his +eyes. For one moment he remembers nothing, save that, after +all her assumed coldness, Winnie French loves him.</p> + +<p>Still folding her in his arms, he half leads, half carries her +to the divan where Leslie sits trembling and wringing her +hands.</p> + +<p>“Winnie, darling,” he whispers, “do you really care?”</p> + +<p>Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his +clasp and turns once more toward Vernet.</p> + +<p>“End this scene at once,” he says haughtily. “I ask nothing +at your hands, Van Vernet. Secure me at once; I am +dangerous to you.”</p> + +<p>He extends his hands, and casts upon Vernet a look full +of contempt. It causes the latter to feel that, somehow, his +triumph is not quite complete after all. But he will not lose +one single privilege, not abate one jot of his power. He takes +the manacles from the hands of his assistant, and steps forward. +No one else shall adjust them upon these white, slender +wrists.</p> + +<p>At that instant, as Leslie rises to her feet, uttering a cry +of terror, there is a sudden commotion at the door; one of the +officers is flung out of the way, and a strong hand strikes the +handcuffs from Vernet’s grasp.</p> + +<p>He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face +with Franz Francoise!</p> + +<p>“You!” he exclaims hoarsely. “How came you here? +Boys—”</p> + +<p>The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, +who has stood in the back ground a silent spectator, now steps +before them.</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” he says; “don’t burn your fingers, boys.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span>”“Answer +me,” vociferates Vernet; “who brought you here, +fellow? What—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it ain’t the first time I’ve slipped through your fingers, +Van Vernet,” the new-comer says mockingly.</p> + +<p>Then seeing the terror in Leslie’s eyes, he snatches the wig +and moustache from his head and face, and turns toward Alan.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warburton,” he says courteously, “I see that I am +here in time. I trust that you have suffered nothing at the +hands of my colleague, save his impertinence. Van, your +game is ended. You’ve played it like a man, but you were in +the wrong and you have failed. Thank your stars that your +final blunder has been nipped in the bud. Alan Warburton +is an innocent man. The murderer, if you choose to call him +such, is safely lodged in jail by now.”</p> + +<p>But Van Vernet says never a word. He only gazes at the +transformed ex-convict as if fascinated.</p> + +<p>Another gaze is riveted upon him also. Leslie Warburton +leans forward, her lips parted, her face eager; she seems listening +rather than seeing. Slowly a look of relieved intelligence +creeps into her face, and swiftly the red blood suffuses cheek +and brow. Then she comes forward, her hands extended.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stanhope, is it—was it <i>you?</i>”</p> + +<p>“It is and was myself, Mrs. Warburton. There is no other +Franz Francoise in existence. The part I assumed was a +hideous one, but it was necessary.”</p> + +<p>“Stanhope!” At the name, Alan Warburton starts forward. +“Are you Richard Stanhope?”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo43.png" alt="Francois prevents Alan's arrest" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“Vernet utters an imprecation, and turning swiftly, is face to face with +Franz Francoise!”—<a href="#Page_425">page 425</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“I am.” And then, as he catches the reflection of his half +disguised self in a mirror, he gives vent to a short laugh. +“We form quite a contrast, my friend Vernet and I,” he says +with a downward glance at his uncouth garments. “Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> +Warburton, we—for your brother’s wife has done more than +I—have brought back your little one. And I have managed +to keep you out of the clutches of this mistaken Expert, or at +least to prevent his ‘grip’ from doing you any serious damage. +Of course you are anxious to hear all about it, but I am waited +for at head-quarters; my story, to make it comprehensible, +must needs be a long one, and I have asked Mr. Follingsbee +to meet me there. He can soon put you in possession of the +facts. Now a word of suggestion: This lady,” glancing towards +Leslie, “has been very ill; she is still weak. She has +fought a brave fight, and but for her your little girl might +still be missing. She needs rest. Do not press her to tell +her story now. When you have heard my report from Mr. +Follingsbee, you will comprehend everything.”</p> + +<p>Leslie sinks back upon the divan, for she is indeed weak. +Her face flushes and pales, her hands tremble, and her eyes +follow the movements of the detective with strange fixedness. +Then she catches little Daisy in her arms, and holding her +thus, looks again at their rescuer.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Van Vernet has seemed like a man dazed; has +stood gazing from one to the other, listening, wondering, gnawing +his thin under lip. But now he turns slowly and makes +a signal to his two assistants, who, like himself, have been +stunned into automatons by the sudden change of events.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Vernet!” says Stanhope, noting the sign. “Just +one word with you: Our difference, not to call it by a harsher +name, our active difference began in this house, when, on +the night of a certain masquerade, you contrived to delay me +here while you stepped into my shoes. I discovered your +scheme that night, and since then I have not scrupled to thwart +you in every way; how, and by what means, it will give me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> +pleasure to explain later. For the present, here, where our +feud began, let it end. I shall give a full history of our exploits, +yours and mine, to our Chief, to Mr. Follingsbee, and +of course to these now present. This much is in justice to +myself, and to you. I think that I have influence enough at +head-quarters to keep the story from going further, and—don’t +fancy me too magnanimous—I shall do this for the sake of +Mrs. Warburton, and of Mr. Alan Warburton, whom you +have persecuted so persistently and mistakenly. As you have +not succeeded in dragging their names into a public scandal, +I shall withhold yours from public derision; and believe me +when I say that our feud ends here. In the beginning, you +took up the cudgel against me, to decide which is the better +man. Put on the defensive, I have done my level best, and +stand ready to be judged by my works. For the rest; I am +saying too much here. I do not wish nor intend to humiliate +you unnecessarily. If you will wait for me outside, I can +suggest something which you may profit by, if you choose.”</p> + +<p>There is nothing that Van Vernet can say in reply. He +is conquered, and he knows it well. No scornful retort +rises to his tongue, and there is little of his accustomed +haughty grace in his step, as he turns silently and leaves the +room, followed by his overawed, astounded and silent assistants.</p> + +<p>At least he has the merit of knowing when he is defeated, +and he accepts the inevitable in sullen silence.</p> + +<p>Then Richard Stanhope turns again to Leslie.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he says, with hesitating deference, “I have kept +my word as best I could, and I leave you in the hands of your +friends. Forgive me for any rudeness of mine, for any unpleasant +moments I may have caused you, while I was playing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> +the part of Franz Francoise. We could have won our battle +in no other way. To-morrow, I will place in your hands, +through Mr. Follingsbee, some papers which will, I believe, +prove most valuable. I trust that you will never again have +need of the aid of a detective. Still, should you ever require a +service which I can render, I am always at your command.”</p> + +<p>With a hasty movement, as if in defiance of that which +sought to hold her back, Leslie rises and extends both her +hands.</p> + +<p>“I cannot thank you,” she says earnestly; “words are too +weak. But no man will ever stand above you in my esteem. +In time of trouble or danger, I could turn to you with fullest +trust, not as a detective only, but as a friend, as a man; the +truest of men, the bravest of the brave!”</p> + +<p>Something in her voice vibrated pitifully, then choked her +utterance. She trembled violently, and all the life went out +of her face.</p> + +<p>As she sank back, Stanhope gently released her hands, and +stepping aside to make way for Mrs. French and Winnie, said +in a low tone to Alan:</p> + +<p>“She has been terribly tried; do not let her talk until she +is stronger. She needs a physician’s care.”</p> + +<p>“She shall have it,” returned Alan, moving with Stanhope +toward the door. “Mr. Stanhope, I—I know, through Mr. +Follingsbee, of the interest you have taken in my welfare, but +I realize to-day, as I could not before, how much your protection +has been worth. I see what would have been the result +of my remaining here. Vernet would have dragged me +before the public, as a felon. But you are eager to go. I +will not attempt to express my gratitude now; I expect and +intend to see you again, here and elsewhere.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span>He extended his hand and clasped that of Stanhope with a +hearty pressure.</p> + +<p>And then, with a sign to the sham Priest who had been his +silent abettor, Stanhope hurried from the room and from the +house.</p> + +<p>Vernet was standing alone on the pavement. His two assistants, +having been dismissed, were already some distance away.</p> + +<p>“I have waited,” he said, turning his face at Stanhope’s approach, +but without changing his position of body, “because +I would not gratify you by running away. Have you anything +further to add to your triumph?”</p> + +<p>For a moment Stanhope’s eyes seemed piercing him through +and through. Then he smiled.</p> + +<p>“When our Chief told me, Van,” he said slowly, “that you +had determined to try your strength against mine, I felt hurt, +but not angry. That was a disappointment; it was the game +you played at the masquerade which has cost you this present +humiliation. But for that night, I swear to you, I should +never have interfered, never laid a straw in your way. Let +us move on, Van, and talk as we go.”</p> + +<p>He made a signal to the disguised officer standing near him, +and that individual, accepting his dismissal by a quick nod, +moved down the street with an alacrity quite unbecoming to +his clerical garb.</p> + +<p>Then Stanhope and Vernet, Victor and Vanquished, turned +their steps in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>For some moments Vernet paced on in silence, savagely +gnawing at his under lip. Then professional curiosity broke +through his chagrin.</p> + +<p>“I should like to know how you did it,” he said, his face +flushing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span>Stanhope shrugged his shoulders and favored his interlocutor +with an uncouth grimace.</p> + +<p>“Easy ’nuff,” he said; “Hoop la!”</p> + +<p>Vernet started and stared. “Silly Charlie!” he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>“That’s the ticket; how did I do the <i>role?</i>”</p> + +<p>Vernet ground his teeth, and pondered over this startling +bit of intelligence. At last:</p> + +<p>“I understand why the Raid failed,” he said, “but I don’t +comprehend—”</p> + +<p>“Let me clear it up,” broke in Stanhope. “You see, I +had often explored those alleys, disguised as Silly Charlie; +the character was one that admitted me everywhere. Before +going to the masquerade, I had prepared for the night’s work +by putting my toilet articles in a carriage, and stationing it +near the festive mansion. This I did to insure myself against +possible delay, my programme being to drive to the agency, +start my men, and then go on ahead of them, assuming my +disguise as I went, for the purpose of reconnoitring the +grounds for the last time, before leading the men into the alleys. +You delayed me a little, and I had to deal with your ‘Chinaman’ +in such a way as to leave in his mind a very unfavorable +opinion of ‘Hail Columbia.’ But I was there ahead of you +after all; for particulars—ahem! consult your memory.”</p> + +<p>His eyes twinkled merrily at the recollection of Vernet in +the cellar trap, and he suppressed a laugh with difficulty.</p> + +<p>Again Vernet reddened and bit his under lip.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you have outwitted me,” he said bitterly, “but you +will never be able to prove it was not Warburton who personated +the Sailor that night.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t try, for it was Warburton. I shall not explain +his presence there, however; it was a mistake on his part,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> +but he meant well. It was not he who did the killing.”</p> + +<p>“You are bent on clearing Warburton, but how will you +prove his innocence?”</p> + +<p>“By a witness who saw Papa Francoise strike the blow.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“A girl known as Rag-picker Nance. She was in the custody +of the Francoises when I made my appearance among them, +in the character of Franz. They were afraid of her and kept +her drugged and drunk constantly. They wanted to be rid +of her, and I took her off their hands one dark night—the +same night, by the by, that came so near being your last, in +that burning tenement. Heavens! but that old woman is a +tigress! In spite of me, she managed to fire the building. It +came near being the end of you.”</p> + +<p>Vernet turned and eyed him sharply.</p> + +<p>“Was it you,” he asked, “who brought me out?”</p> + +<p>Stanhope blushed, and then laughed carelessly to conceal +his embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“Well, yes,” he admitted; “I’m sorry to say that it was. It +was a great piece of impertinence on my part; but, you see, I +had the advantage over the others of knowing that you were +up there.”</p> + +<p>Vernet wore the look of a man who sees what he cannot +comprehend.</p> + +<p>“You’re a riddle to me,” he said. “You upset a man’s plans +and boast of it openly. You do him a monstrous favor, you +save his life, and admit it with the sheepishness of a chicken-thief.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, I feel sheepish,” confessed Stanhope flippantly. +“I blush for so such Sunday-school sentiment. This +habit of putting in my oar to interfere with the designs of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span> +Providence, is a weakness in a man of my cloth. Don’t give +me away, Van; <i>I’ll</i> never tell of it.”</p> + +<p>Light as were the words, Vernet well understood their +meaning. The episode of the blazing tenement—his burnt-cork +essay, with its ludicrous beginning and its almost tragical +end—was to be kept a secret between them. When he could, +in justice to others, Stanhope would spare his defeated rival.</p> + +<p>Vernet’s is not the only mind that would find it difficult +to comprehend this generous nature, turning, for the sake of a +less fortunate companion, his own brave deeds into a jest.</p> + +<p>For some moments they walked on in silence. Then Vernet +said:</p> + +<p>“Of course, I see that there is a mystery between Alan Warburton +and these Francoises, and that you intend to keep the +mystery from publicity. But I don’t see how you can prosecute +this case without bringing Warburton into court.”</p> + +<p>“What case?”</p> + +<p>“Papa Francoise, for the murder of the Jew.”</p> + +<p>“Say, the killing of the Jew; it was only manslaughter. +We shall not press that case.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“There is an older charge against Papa Francoise, and a +weightier one.”</p> + +<p>“What is that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the end of your search and mine, Van. When I arrested +Papa Francoise to-day, I arrested <i>the murderer of Arthur +Pearson!</i>”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>Van Vernet stopped short and faced his companion, his face +growing ashen white.</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo44.png" alt="Vernet and Stanhope walking +down the street, discussing the situation" width="300" height="441" /> +<p class="caption">“When I arrested Papa Francoise to-day, I arrested <i>the murderer of +Arthur Pearson!</i>”—<a href="#Page_434">page 434</a>.</p></div> + +<p>“It’s true, Van. In trying to relieve the sufferings of +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span> +dying man, I stumbled upon the clue I might have sought +after, and failed to find, for an hundred years.”</p> + +<p>They had halted at a street corner, and Van Vernet wheeled +sharply about and made a step forward.</p> + +<p>“Vernet, where are you going?”</p> + +<p>“Nowhere; never mind me; we part here.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet, Van, I want to say—”</p> + +<p>“Not now,” broke in Vernet huskily. “You—have said +enough—for once.”</p> + +<p>And he strode hurriedly down the side street.</p> + +<p>“Poor Van,” soliloquized Stanhope, as he gazed after the +retreating figure. “Poor fellow; defeat and loss of fortune +are too much for him.”</p> + +<p>And he turned and went thoughtfully on toward his own +abode.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW STANHOPE CAME BACK.</h3> + +<p>Again we are in the office of the Chief of the detectives; in +his private office, where he sits alone, looking bored and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“Everybody late,” he mutters, “and I hoped Follingsbee +would come first.”</p> + +<p>He consults his watch, and finds that it is four o’clock. +Four o’clock, and his interviews with the lawyer, the Australian, +and the Englishman, yet to come.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes more of waiting. Then the boy enters to announce +Messrs. Parks and Ainsworth.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span>The Chief rises to receive them, and accepts their excuses in +silence.</p> + +<p>“We drove about the city,” says Walter Parks, “to pass +away a portion of the time. An accident to our vehicle detained +us.”</p> + +<p>Then the two men sit down and look expectantly at the +Chief.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ainsworth,” he says gravely, “I have news for you +of Thomas Uliman and his wife; bad news, I regret to say.”</p> + +<p>“Bad news!” The Australian’s face pales as he speaks. +“Tell it at once, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Thomas Uliman and his wife are both dead.”</p> + +<p>The Australian bows his head upon his hand and remains +silent.</p> + +<p>“I can furnish you with dates and addresses that will enable +you to make personal investigation. In fact, I am every +moment expecting a visit from the gentleman who was Mr. +Uliman’s legal adviser.”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” sighs the Australian, “he may tell me where to find +my little daughter.”</p> + +<p>“I have also,” resumes the Chief, “a brief report from Mr. +Vernet.”</p> + +<p>At these words Walter Parks leans forward.</p> + +<p>“May we hear it?” he asks anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Follingsbee, sir,” says the office-boy at the door, in +obedience to orders. And then Mr. Follingsbee enters.</p> + +<p>“I think,” says the Chief, after performing the ceremony +of introduction, “I think that we may waive all other business +until Mr. Ainsworth’s anxiety has been, in a measure, +relieved.”</p> + +<p>“By all means,” acquiesced Walter Parks, suppressing +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span> +own feelings and withdrawing his chair a little into the background.</p> + +<p>Then John Ainsworth turns to the lawyer an anxious face.</p> + +<p>“I am told that you knew Thomas Uliman and his wife,” +he begins abruptly.</p> + +<p>“The late Thomas Uliman,” corrects the lawyer; “yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“How long have they been dead?”</p> + +<p>“More than three years. They died in the same year.”</p> + +<p>“Allow me”—the Chief interrupts. “This gentleman, Mr. +Follingsbee, is the only brother of the late Mrs. Uliman. +He has just been informed of her death.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” Mr. Follingsbee rises and extends his hand. +“I have heard her speak of her brother John,” he says. +“She grew to believe that you were dead.”</p> + +<p>“And my daughter, my little girl—did <i>she</i> think that, +too?”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter?” Mr. Follingsbee turns an inquiring +look upon the Chief. “Pardon me, I—I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“My child—I sent my child to her aunt—twenty years +ago.”</p> + +<p>Again Mr. Follingsbee looks from one face to the other inquiringly, +and an expression of apprehension crosses the face +of the Chief.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ainsworth’s daughter was less than three years old +when she was sent to Mr. Uliman’s care. In searching out +the history of this family, I learn that they left an adopted +daughter,” the Chief explained.</p> + +<p>Mr. Follingsbee coughs nervously.</p> + +<p>“They left such a daughter,” he says, hesitatingly, “but—she +<i>was</i> an adopted daughter—the child of unknown +parents.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span>Slowly John Ainsworth rises to his feet, his eyes turning +appealingly from one to the other.</p> + +<p>“My God!” he exclaims hoarsely, “where then is my +child?”</p> + +<p>In silence the three who sympathize with this father, look +at one another helplessly. And as they sit thus silent, from +the outer office comes the sound of a clear, ringing, buoyant +laugh.</p> + +<p>Instantly the Chief starts forward, but the door flies open +in his face, and Richard Stanhope stands upon the threshold.</p> + +<p>“Stanhope!” exclaims the Chief; “why, Dick!”</p> + +<p>“It’s me,” says Stanhope, seizing the proffered hand and +giving it a hearty pressure. “Oh, and here’s Mr. Follingsbee. +Glad you are here, sir.”</p> + +<p>As he grasps the hand of the lawyer he notes, with a start +of surprise the presence of Walter Parks.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Parks!” he exclaims, “this is better than I hoped +for.”</p> + +<p>And then his eyes rest upon John Ainsworth’s disturbed +countenance.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stanhope,” the Chief says gravely, “this is Mr. Ainsworth, +late of Australia. He is interested in your search almost +equally with Mr. Parks.”</p> + +<p>The detective starts, and scans the face of the Australian +with strange eagerness. Evidently his impressions are satisfactory +for his face lights up as he asks:</p> + +<p>“Not—not Mr. John Ainsworth, once the friend of Arthur +Pearson?”</p> + +<p>“The same,” replies Walter Parks, for John Ainsworth +seems unable to speak.</p> + +<p>“Then,” and he extends his hand to Mr. Ainsworth, +“this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span> +is indeed a most opportune meeting. My lack of knowledge +concerning you, sir, was my one anxiety this morning.”</p> + +<p>The four office-chairs being occupied, Stanhope perches himself +upon the corner of the desk, saying, as the Chief makes a +movement toward the bell:</p> + +<p>“Don’t ring, sir; I’m quite at home here.”</p> + +<p>And he looks “quite at home;” as cool, careless, and inconsequent +as on the day when, in that same room, he had accepted +with reluctance his commission for the masquerade.</p> + +<p>He had, on leaving Vernet, taken time to wash the stains +and pencilings from his face, and to don an easy-fitting business-suit. +Stanhope is himself again: a frank, cheery, confidence-inspiring +presence.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” he says, gazing from one to the other, +“that there must be a special Providence in this meeting together, +at the right time, of the very men I most wish to see. +Of course, your presence is not mysterious,” nodding toward +his Chief, “and Mr. Follingsbee—”</p> + +<p>“Is here at my request,” interposed the Chief.</p> + +<p>“Is he?” queries Stanhope. “I thought he was here at +mine.”</p> + +<p>“I believe,” says the lawyer, smiling slightly, “that your +invitation did come first, Mr. Stanhope.”</p> + +<p>“I had a reason for desiring Mr. Follingsbee to be present +at this interview,” explains Stanhope. “And as I don’t want +to be unnecessarily dramatic, nor to prolong painful anxiety, +let me leave my explanations to the last. Mr. Parks, I believe +I have found Arthur Pearson’s murderer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo45.png" alt="The Chief, Stanhope, Follingsbee, +Ainsworht and Parks discuss the case" width="300" height="446" /> +<p class="caption">“Mr. Parks, I believe I have found Arthur Pearson’s murderer!”—<a href="#Page_440">page +440</a>.</p></div> + +<p>Walter Parks springs up with a hoarse cry. John Ainsworth +leans back in his chair, pale and panting. The Chief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span> +clutches at Stanhope’s knee in excited eagerness, and waits +breathlessly for his next words.</p> + +<p>Only Mr. Follingsbee, who has never heard of Arthur +Pearson, remains unmoved.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?” articulates the excited Englishman. +“Where is he? Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“He is in a good, strong cell by this time, in the city jail.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” gasps John Ainsworth.</p> + +<p>“And his name is Franz Krutzer, although for many years +he has been known as Papa Francoise.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!” cries Walter Parks. “Franz Krutzer! +why, Stanhope—why, Ainsworth, it was that man’s wife who +had the care of your little girl!”</p> + +<p>“Precisely,” confirms Stanhope.</p> + +<p>John Ainsworth leans forward and extends two trembling +hands.</p> + +<p>“You know,” he whispers, “what do you know of my +child?”</p> + +<p>And then as Stanhope hesitates, he cries piteously: “Oh, tell +me, is she alive?”</p> + +<p>“I have not a doubt of it,” says Stanhope, smiling. “She +was alive half an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>“And safe and well?”</p> + +<p>“And safe and well.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God! Oh, thank God!”</p> + +<p>A moment he bows his head upon his hands, then lifts it +and exclaims eagerly:</p> + +<p>“Half an hour, you said; then—she must be near?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; she is very near.”</p> + +<p>“Take me to her—tell me where to find her—at once.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ainsworth—” Stanhope drops from the desk and +extends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span> +his hand to the anxious father—“your daughter is near +and safe, but she has lately passed through a terrible ordeal. +She is exhausted in body and mind. More excitement just +now might do her serious harm. I beg you to be patient. +When you have heard what I am about to tell these gentlemen +and yourself, you will feel assured that you have a daughter +to be proud of.”</p> + +<p>With a sign of assent, the Australian sinks back upon his +chair, making a visible effort to control his impatience. And +Stanhope resumes his perch upon the desk.</p> + +<p>“I must begin,” he said, “with Mr. Follingsbee; and I +must recall some things that may seem out of place or unnecessary. +It was nearly six weeks ago,” addressing himself +to his Chief, “that you gave me a commission from Mr. Follingsbee.”</p> + +<p>The Chief nodded; and the lawyer stared as if wondering +why that business need be recalled.</p> + +<p>“I was to attend a masquerade,” resumes Stanhope, “and +to meet there the lady who desired my services. I was to be +escorted by Mr. Follingsbee, and I decided to wear, for the +sake of convenience, a dress I bought in Europe, and which I +had there worn at a masquerade that I attended in company +with Van Vernet. After accepting this commission, and receiving +my instructions, I put on a rough disguise, and went +to a certain locality which we had selected as the place for a +Raid that would move the following night. I was to leave +the ball at a very early hour, in order to conduct this Raid. +And to make sure that none of my birds should slip through +my fingers, I went, as I have said, on the night before, to reconnoitre +the grounds. In a sort of Thieves’ Tavern, where +the worst of criminals assembled, I found a young fellow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> +evidently an escaped convict, in a hot fight with some of the +roughs. I brought him out of the place, and as he seemed +dying, I took him to a hospital, and left him in the care of +the Sisters. The next day I prepared for the Raid, and the +Masquerade.”</p> + +<p>He pauses for a moment, and then resumes his history, +telling first, how in company with Mr. Follingsbee, he had +entered the Warburton Mansion; had been presented to Leslie +and learned from her lips that she had a secret to keep; how +Van Vernet had discovered his presence there, and the means +the latter had taken to detain him, and to secure the leadership +of the Raid.</p> + +<p>Through the scenes of that night he led his amazed listeners; +telling of Leslie’s advent among the Francoise gang; of +Alan’s pursuit; the killing of Siebel; and the manner in which +he had outwitted Vernet. Then on through the days that followed; +relating how, disguised as Franz Francoise, he had +appeared before the two old plotters; been accepted by them +as the real Franz, and so dwelt among them.</p> + +<p>“It was an odd part to play, and oddly suggested,” he said. +“It was just after Vernet’s discovery of Alan Warburton’s +picture, when I was at a loss how to make my next move, +that I went to visit my wounded ex-convict—the one, you will +remember, whom I rescued from the Thieves’ Tavern. I +found him very low; indeed dying. He was in a stupor when +I came, but soon passed into delirium, and his ravings attracted +my attention, for he repeated over and over again the name +of Krutzer, Franz Krutzer. Now, I had obtained from Mr. +Parks here, a list of the names of all who composed that +wagon-train, and I remembered the name of Franz Krutzer. +And as he raved on, I gathered material enough to arouse my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span> +suspicions. He talked of a child whom they wished to keep; +of money hoarded and strangely gotten; of beatings because +of his eavesdropping. One moment he defied them in wild, +boyish bravado, and babbled gleefully of what he had overheard. +The next, he writhed in imaginary torture under the +lash, vowing that he did not listen; that he would never tell. +Then he was frightened by an approaching thunder-storm; he +was crouching beneath his blankets, and crying out: ‘Oh, +don’t make me go out—don’t; I’m afraid. I won’t! I won’t!’ +Then he seemed to have returned from somewhere. ‘Let me +in!’ he cried. ‘I’m wet and cold; let me in, quick! Yes, +he’s there; up by the big rock. He’s fast asleep and I didn’t +wake him.’ Then, ‘where is dad going?’ he said. ‘Oh, I +don’t, I don’t; I didn’t have the hammer.’ Then, after more +random talk: ‘I won’t tell; don’t beat me. I’ll never tell +that I saw him there asleep. Oh, maybe he was dead then!’</p> + +<p>“I had not intended to remain, but I did. I never left +him until his ravings ceased; until the end came. In his last +moments, consciousness returned. For a time he was strong, +as the dying sometimes are. He was very grateful to me because +I had not taken him back to the prison to die, and he +willingly answered a few questions concerning himself and +his parents. I had entered him at the hospital under a false +name, and under that name he was buried.</p> + +<p>“Immediately after his death, I came and announced my +readiness to devote myself exclusively to the Arthur Pearson +case. And as soon as he was buried, I notified the prison-officials +of his death, and asked them to keep my information +a secret for a time. I then made minute inquiries into the +character and history of Franz Francoise, and learned enough +from the penitentiary-officials, and from his imprisoned comrades—some<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span> +of them, not knowing of his death, were very +anxious to have him recaptured—to enable me to personate him +as I did.</p> + +<p>“When I presented myself to the Francoises, it was with +the double purpose of solving the Pearson mystery and finding +Daisy Warburton, for I agreed with Mrs. Warburton in +thinking that they had stolen the child. I could not then +foresee the complications which would arise, nor did I dream +of the formidable and fox-like enemy I was to encounter in +Mamma Francoise. It had been my intentions to draw them +into my net by letting them see that I knew, or remembered, +too much about that Marais des Cygnes affair. But a few +days of the old woman’s society convinced me that this would +be a false move, and so I never once alluded to the days so far +gone by. But the girl, Nance, was there, and although they +would have concealed it if they could, they were obliged to +tell me what I guessed before, that she was dangerous to them. +Then I grew blood-thirsty, and professed a dislike for the +girl. She was an encumbrance, and I offered to remove her. +I took her away one night, and they imagined her at the bottom +of the river, when in reality she was in the hands of +merciful women, who brought back her senses, and who still +have charge of her, until such time as I may want her to +testify against Papa. My investigation was progressing slowly, +when Mrs. Warburton appeared among us one night, and announced +her purpose to remain until they gave back little +Daisy. I had not planned for this; and during the night I +thought the matter out and resolved in some way to make myself +known to her, and to persuade her to return home and +leave the rest to me. But in the morning she was in a raving +delirium.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span>He paused for a moment and then resumed, drawing a +graphic picture of Leslie’s life among the Francoises; telling +how Mamma had suddenly conceived her famous scheme of +marrying Leslie to her son; of Leslie’s illness, and how he +had contrived to make Dr. Bayless—who was really a good +physician, albeit he had been implicated in some very crooked +business—useful, and his abettor; giving a full account of all +that had transpired.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Warburton’s condition,” he concluded, “was such +that I dared not confide in her, as I had intended. She was +too ill and weak to exercise self-control, and we had too much +at stake to run any risk. Indeed, I had begun to realize what +an enemy we had to deal with, and to fear that we could only +succeed by playing our desperate game to the end. In fact, +there seemed no alternative. From the moment of Mrs. Warburton’s +coming among us, Mamma’s watch was lynx-like. I +could not have removed the lady or interposed to save her one +moment’s uneasiness, without being myself betrayed. And +then our situation would have been worse than ever; Mamma +would have revenged herself upon us through the little girl. +At every point, that vile old woman was a match for me. +When she proposed the marriage, I pretended to withhold my +consent until she should tell everything concerning the lady’s +prospective fortune. For two long weeks I enacted the part +of a blustering, drunken ruffian; cursing, quarrelling, threatening; +before I extorted the truth from her. Some papers, +that had accidentally fallen into her hands, had informed her +that Mrs. Warburton—or the child, Leschen, she called her—was +the daughter of one John Ainsworth. These same papers—they +were those confided to her by Arthur Pearson—gave a +specific account of the fortune John Ainsworth possessed at the +time he left the mines.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span>Again he paused, and the Australian lifted his head, speaking +quickly.</p> + +<p>“I comprehend,” he said; “I sent such memoranda in a +letter to my sister, and also told her of investments I proposed +to make in Australia. I wanted her to understand my business +affairs for little Lea’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“And through these documents,” resumed Stanhope, “the +shrewd old woman traced your Australian career, and knew +that your fortune, in the twenty years of your exile, had swollen +immensely. When she saw the advertisement of your +lawyer, she took alarm. She must act promptly or, perhaps, +lose her game. So she stole the little girl, hoping to use her +as a means by which to compel Mrs. Warburton to yield up +a large slice of her prospective wealth. And had her first plan +been carried out, she would not have hesitated to find means +to remove from her path the greatest obstacle to her ambition—yourself, +Mr. Ainsworth.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said the Australian gravely. “Yes, it is quite +probable.”</p> + +<p>“The unexpected coming of myself, as Franz Francoise, +and of Mrs. Warburton so soon after, caused them, or rather +Mamma, to reconstruct her plan, as I have told you. And +she reached the height and depth of her cunning by effectually +concealing, from first to last, the hiding-place of the little girl. +Nothing could wring this secret from her; on that subject she +was absolutely dangerous. She never visited the child, so +nothing was learned by shadowing her. Indeed, when she +brought the child to the house to-day, she eluded the two men +whom I had set to watch her, and did it so cleverly that they +could not even guess, after her first feint, which way she +went. And I was playing my last card without knowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> +that the child was in the house, when her pitiful prayer betrayed +her presence.</p> + +<p>“Until then I had not intended to reveal myself; the men +were to arrest Papa Francoise, and to try and make terms +through him for the ransom of the child. One of my men +was disguised as a Priest, and of course we had arranged to +make Papa’s arrest cut short the wedding ceremony. Holt, +Beale and the others have aided me wonderfully, though they +do not yet know what it was all about.”</p> + +<p>“They shall be generously rewarded,” breaks in Walter +Parks; “every man of them who has in any way assisted you.”</p> + +<p>Let the reader imagine all that followed: the praises +showered upon Stanhope; the congratulations of each to all; +the eager questions of Walter Parks; the desire of John Ainsworth +to hear of his daughter’s courage and devotion over and +again; the general jubilation of the Chief.</p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> + +<h3>AND LAST.</h3> + +<p>“But,” queried Walter Parks, when question and comment +had been exhausted, “are you sure that we have, even now, +evidence enough to convict Krutzer, or Francoise, as you call +him?”</p> + +<p>“He has called himself Francoise from the day he and his +worthy wife left the wagon-train,” rejoined Stanhope. “He +has never been Krutzer since. As for proof, we shall not lack +that; but I think the old villain, if he lives to come to trial,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span> +will plead guilty. His wife possesses all the courage; he is +cunning enough, but cowardly. He will not be allowed to +see or consult with her; and free from her influence, he can +be made to confess. Besides, the old woman has been wearing +about her person a belt, which, if I am not mistaken, is +the one stolen from the body of Arthur Pearson. It is of +peculiar workmanship, and evidently very old. It contains +papers and money.”</p> + +<p>“If it is Pearson’s belt,” interposed Walter Parks, “I can +identify it, and so could some others of the party if—”</p> + +<p>“Was a certain Joe Blakesley a member of your band?” +asked the Chief quickly.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And could he identify this belt?”</p> + +<p>“He could.”</p> + +<p>“Then Vernet has done something; he has found this +Blakesley.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” asked the Englishman, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“In California.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” cried Stanhope; “Van shall have the full benefit +of his discovery.”</p> + +<p>And in the final summing-up, he did have the benefit, not +only of this, his one useful exploit, but of all Stanhope’s magnanimity. +Through his intercession, Vernet was retained in +the service he had abused; but he was never again admitted +to the full confidence of his Chief, nor trusted with unlimited +power, as of old. The question of supremacy was decided, +and to all who knew the true inwardness of their drawn battle +Richard Stanhope was “the Star of the force.”</p> + +<p>In regard to Papa Francoise, as we will still call him, Stanhope +had judged aright.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span>He was possessed of wondrous cunning, and all his instincts +were evil, but he lacked the one element that, sometimes, makes +a successful villain: he was an utter coward. Deprived of +the stimulus of the old woman’s fierce temper and piercing +tongue, he cowered in his cell, and fell an easy victim to his +inquisitors. He was wild with terror when confronted by the +girl Nance, risen, as it seemed to him, from the grave to denounce +him. And when, after Nance had withdrawn, he +faced Stanhope and his Chief, Walter Parks and John Ainsworth, +he was as wax in their hands.</p> + +<p>Up to that moment the name of Arthur Pearson, and that +long-ago tragedy of the prairies, had not been mentioned, and +Papa believed that the killing of Siebel, with, perhaps, the +stealing of little Daisy, were, in the eyes of the law, his only +crimes. But when Walter Parks stood forth and pierced him +through and through with his searching eyes, Papa recognized +him at once, and fairly shrieked with fear.</p> + +<p>And when he learned from Richard Stanhope, how Franz +Francoise met his death, and that it was his son’s dying words +which condemned him, he threw himself before his accusers in +a paroxysm of abject terror, and confessed himself the murderer +they already knew him to be.</p> + +<p>But Mamma was made of other timber. When consigned +to her cell, she was silent and sullen until, in compliance with +Stanhope’s instructions, they attempted to take from her the +belt she wore. Then her rage was terrible, and her resistance +damaging to the countenances and garments of those who +sought to control her.</p> + +<p>She received Richard Stanhope with such a burst of fury, +that restraint became necessary; and even when she sat bound +and helpless before her accusers, her struggles were furious,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span> +and her imprecations, shrieked out between frothing lips, were +horrible to hear.</p> + +<p>When she saw Walter Parks, she seemed to guess why he +was there. And when she knew all: that Franz Francoise +was surely dead, and how he died; that Papa had confessed +everything; that John Ainsworth had come back to claim his +daughter, and lavish upon her his love and fortune—her +ravings broke out afresh. She was frightful to see, and dangerous +to all who ventured to approach. So they treated her +as a mad woman, and for many days Mamma hurled unheard +imprecations at her cowardly spouse, and cursed Richard Stanhope, +arrayed in a strait-jacket.</p> + +<p>But she was non-committal, baffling, from first to last. She +would admit nothing, explain nothing, confess nothing. She +defied them all.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>On the following morning, at the Warburton Mansion, a +happy group assembled to hear, from Mr. Follingsbee, all +that was not already known to them of Stanhope’s story.</p> + +<p>How it was told, let the reader, who knows all, and knows +Mr. Follingsbee, imagine.</p> + +<p>Leslie was there, fair and pale, robed once more in the soft, +rich garments that so well became her. Alan was there, handsome +and humble. He had made, so far as he could in words, +manly amends to Leslie, and she had forgiven him freely at +last. Winnie too, was there, obstinately avoiding Alan’s +glance, and keeping close to Leslie. Mrs. French was there, +smiling and motherly. And little Daisy was there, the centre +of their loving glances.</p> + +<p>In her childish way, the little one had told all that she +could of her captivity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span>She had gone to sleep upon the balcony of her Papa’s house +and in the arms of “Mother Goose.” She had awakened in a +big, dark room, whose windows were tightly shuttered, and +where she could see nothing but a tiny bit of sky. A negress, +who frightened her very much, had brought her food, and +sat in the room sometimes. She had been lonely, terrified, +desolate.</p> + +<p>The little that she could tell threw no light upon the mystery +of her hiding-place, but it was all that they ever knew.</p> + +<p>“I used to pray and pray,” said Daisy, “but God didn’t +seem to hear me at all. And when I woke in that little room +that smelled so bad—it was worse than the other—I just felt +I must <i>make</i> God hear, so I prayed, oh, so loud, and then the +door broke in, and that nice, funny man picked me up, and +there was Mamma; and only think! God might have let me +out long before if I had only prayed loud enough.”</p> + +<p>When Leslie learned her own story, and was brought face +to face with her father, her cup of joy was full indeed. She +was at anchor at last, with some one to love her beyond all +others; with some one to love and to render happy.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she said, “to know that my dear adopted parents +were after all my own kindred; my uncle and my aunt! +What caprice of their evil natures prompted those wretches to +do me this one kindness?”</p> + +<p>“They knew where to find the Ulimans,” said her father, +“and knew that they were wealthy. It was the easiest way +to dispose of you.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” she assented, sighing as she thought of those +dear ones dead; smiling again as she looked in the face of her +new-found father.</p> + +<p>In the present confidence, the happiness and peace, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> +surrounded her, Winnie French could not continue her perverse +<i>role</i>, nor, indeed, was Alan the man to permit it. She +had let him see into her heart, in that moment when he had +seemed in such deadly peril, and he smiled down her pretty +after-defiance.</p> + +<p>“You shall not recant,” he said laughingly; “for your own +sake, I dare not allow it. A young woman who so rashly espouses +the cause of a swain, simply because he has the prospect +of a pair of handcuffs staring him in the face, is unreliable, +sadly out of balance. She needs a guardian and I—”</p> + +<p>“Need an occupation,” retorted Winnie, maliciously. +“Don’t doom yourself to gray hairs, sir; repent.”</p> + +<p>“It’s too late,” he declared; and they ceased to argue the +question.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>They would have <i>feted</i> Stanhope and made much of him at +Warburton Place, for Alan did not hesitate to pronounce such +a man the peer of any. But the young detective was perversely +shy.</p> + +<p>He came one day, and received Leslie’s thanks and praises, +blushing furiously the while, and conducting himself in anything +but a courageous manner. Once he accepted Alan’s invitation +to a dinner, in which the Follingsbees, Mr. Parks and +Mr. Ainsworth participated. But he took no further advantages +of their cordially-extended hospitality, and he went +about his duties, not quite the same Dick Stanhope as of yore.</p> + +<p>On her part, Leslie was very reticent when Stanhope and +his exploits were the subject of discussion, although, when she +spoke of him, it was always as the best and bravest of +men.</p> + +<p>“Parks talks of returning to England,” said her father +one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span> +day at luncheon, “and he wants Stanhope to go with +him.”</p> + +<p>“Will he go?” asked Alan, in a tone of interest.</p> + +<p>“I hope not; at least not until I have time to bring him to +his senses.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Papa!” ejaculates Leslie.</p> + +<p>“Has our Mr. Stanhope lost his senses, uncle?” queries +little Daisy anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You shall judge, my dear. He has refused, with unyielding +firmness, to accept from me anything in token of my gratitude +for the magnificent service he has rendered us.”</p> + +<p>“And,” added Alan, “he has refused my overtures with +equal stubbornness.”</p> + +<p>“But he has accepted the splendid reward promise by Mr. +Parks, has he not?” queries Mrs. French.</p> + +<p>“That, of course; he was bound to do that,” said Mr. Ainsworth, +discontentedly. “And in some way I must make him +accept something from me. Leslie, my dear, can’t you manage +him?”</p> + +<p>“I fear not, Papa.” And Leslie blushed as she caught +Winnie’s laughing eye fixed upon her. “I don’t think Mr. +Stanhope is a man to be managed.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Leslie,” cries Winnie. “He’s afraid of a +woman; he blushes when you speak to him.”</p> + +<p>“Did he blush,” queried Leslie maliciously, “when you +embraced him that night of the masquerade?”</p> + +<p>In the midst of their laughter, Winnie was mute.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>One day, some weeks after the <i>denouement</i>, Stanhope, +sauntering down a quiet street, met Van Vernet.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Van,” he said, as the other was about to pass; “don’t<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span> +go by me in this unfriendly fashion, if only for appearance’s +sake. How do you get on?”</p> + +<p>“As usual,” replied Vernet indifferently, and looking Stanhope +steadily in the face. “And you? somehow you look too +sober for a man who holds all the winning-cards.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t hold all the winning-cards, Van. Indeed, I’m +inclined to think that I’ve lost more than I’ve won.”</p> + +<p>Vernet continued to regard him steadily and after a moment +of silence, he said quietly:</p> + +<p>“Look here, Dick, I’m not prepared to say that I quite +forgive you for outwitting me—I don’t forgive myself for being +beaten—but one good turn deserves another, and you did +me a very good turn at the end. You’ve won a great game, +but I’m afraid you are going to close it with a blunder.”</p> + +<p>“A blunder, Van?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a blunder. You have devoted yourself, heart and +soul, to a pretty woman, and you are just the man to fall in +love with her.”</p> + +<p>“Take care, Van.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know what I am saying. On the day of our meeting +at Warburton Place—the last meeting, I mean, when you +figured as Franz Francoise—I saw what you missed. You +may think that I was hardly in a state of mind for taking observations, +but, in truth, my senses were never more intensely +alert than while I stood there dumbly realizing the overthrow +of all my plans. And I saw love, unmistakable love, shining +upon you from a woman’s eyes.”</p> + +<p>“Van, you are mad!”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. It’s a natural termination to such an affair. +Why, man, you are deservedly a hero in her eyes. Don’t be +overmodest, Dick. If you care for this woman, you can win her.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span>He turned with these words, passed his amazed listener, and +walked on. And Stanhope resumed his saunter, looking like +a man in a dream.</p> + +<p>That evening he made his first voluntary call at Warburton +place.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Alan and Winnie, two months later, were married, and +Stanhope was among the wedding-guests.</p> + +<p>“Warburton Place will have a new mistress, Mr. Stanhope,” +Leslie said to him. “I am going to abdicate in Winnie’s +favor.”</p> + +<p>“Entirely, Mrs. Warburton?”</p> + +<p>“Entirely; I have fought it out, and I have conquered, +after a hard struggle. Alan and Winnie, when they return, +will reign here. Papa and I are already preparing our new +home. We shall not be far away, and we will divide Daisy +between us.”</p> + +<p>Later in the evening, Mrs. Follingsbee captured him and +inquired:</p> + +<p>“Have you heard Leslie’s last bit of Quixotism?”</p> + +<p>“No, madam.”</p> + +<p>“She has made this house over to Winnie as a bridal gift. +And every dollar of her husband’s legacy she has set aside for +Daisy Warburton.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of it,” blurted out Stanhope; and then he colored +hotly and bit his lips.</p> + +<p>When Alan and his fair little bride were installed as master +and mistress of Warburton Place, Leslie and her father received +their friends in a new home. It was not so large as the +mansion Leslie had “abdicated;” not so grand and stately; but +it was elegant, dainty, homelike.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span>“It +suits me better,” said Leslie to Stanhope. “The other +was too grand. Winnie can throw upon her mother the +burden of its stateliness, and Mrs. French will make a charming +dowager. I am going to leave my past behind in the old +home; and begin a new life in this.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to leave me behind, with the rest of your +past?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said smilingly, “you have not lost your value; +and if I should turn you out, fresh troubles would arise. I +should have to contend with Daisy, and Papa too.”</p> + +<p>And indeed Daisy had given him a prominent place in her +affections.</p> + +<p>“Some of my friends,” he said after a pause, “are advising +me to abandon the Agency, and embark in some quieter enterprise.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that they wish you to give up your profession? +to cease to be a detective?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you answer?”</p> + +<p>“I am seeking advice; give it me.”</p> + +<p>“Any man may be a tradesman,” she said slowly. “Nine +tenths of mankind can be or are doctors, lawyers, clergymen. +The men who possess the skill, the sagacity, and the courage +to do what you have done, what you can do again, are very +few. To restore lost little ones; to reunite families; to bring +criminals to justice, and to defeat injustice,—what occupation +can be nobler! If I were such a detective as you, I would +never cease to exercise my best gifts.”</p> + +<p>“I never will,” he said, taking her hand in his.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illo46.png" alt="Stanhope and Leslie discuss their common future" width="300" height="447" /> +<p class="caption">“A man of your calling should have guessed that long ago!”—<a href="#Page_461">page +461</a>.</p></div> + +<p>Months passed on; winter went and summer came. Walter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span> +Parks lingered in America, his society dearly valued by John +Ainsworth and Mr. Follingsbee, his presence always a welcome +one in Leslie’s dainty parlors, and at Warburton Place. +Winnie, who had been a saucy sweetheart and piquant bride, +had become a sweetly winsome wife. John Ainsworth was +renewing his youth; and Leslie, having passed the period of her +widowhood, once more opened her doors to society.</p> + +<p>Richard Stanhope had become a frequent and welcome guest +at Leslie’s home, and all his visits little Daisy appropriated at +once to herself. Indeed she and Stanhope stood upon a wondrously +confidential footing.</p> + +<p>“Next month comes Mamma’s birthday,” said Daisy to him +one day, when she sat upon his knee in Leslie’s pretty flower-decked +room. “We’re going to have a festival, and give her +lots of presents. Are you going to give her a present, Mr. +Stanhope?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he said, looking over at Leslie; “your +Mamma is such a very particular lady, Daisy, that she might +be too proud to accept my offering.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” cried the child, “that’s just what Uncle Ainsworth +says about you: that you are too proud to take a gift from +him, and it vexes him, too.”</p> + +<p>“Daisy, Daisy!” cried Leslie, holding up a warning finger.</p> + +<p>“Your uncle is a very unreasonable man, Daisy,” laughed +Stanhope. “Now tell me, do you think I had better offer +your Mamma a birthday present?”</p> + +<p>“Why”—and Daisy opened wide her blue eyes—“Uncle +Alan says that everybody who loves Mamma will remember +her birthday. Don’t you love my Mamma?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Stanhope slowly, and fixing his eyes upon Leslie’s +face, “I love her very much.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span>Leslie’s +cheeks were suffused with blushes, and she sat quite +silent, with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>“Daisy,” said Stanhope, putting the child down quickly, +“go to your uncle Ainsworth, and tell him that I have changed +my mind; that I want the best part of his fortune. Run, +dear.”</p> + +<p>And as the child flew from the room, he rose and stood before +Leslie.</p> + +<p>“If your father yields to my demand,” he said softly, “what +will be your verdict?”</p> + +<p>A moment of stillness. Then she lifts her brown eyes to +his, a smile breaking through her blushes.</p> + +<p>“A man of your calling,” she said, “should have guessed +that long ago!”</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p>Papa Francoise never came to trial. His terror overcame +his reason, and in his insanity he did what he never would +have found the courage to do had he retained his senses. He +hanged himself in his prison cell.</p> + +<p>But Mamma lived on. Through her trial she raved and +cursed; and she went to a life-long imprisonment raving and +cursing still. Her viciousness increased with her length of +days. She was the black sheep of the prison. Nothing could +break her temper or curb her tongue. She was feared and +hated even there. Hard labor, solitary confinement, severe +punishment, all failed, and she was at last confined in a solitary +cell, to rave out her life there and fret the walls with her impotent +rage.</p> + +<p>Millie, the faithful incompetent, remained in Leslie’s service +until she went to a home of her own, bestowed upon her by a +good-looking and industrious young mechanic.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span>Nance, the one-time drunkard, became the object of Leslie’s +pitying care, and did not relapse into her former poverty and +evil habits.</p> + +<p>The Follingsbees, the Warburtons—all these who had been +drawn together by trials and afflictions—remained an unbroken +coterie of friends, who never ceased to chant Stanhope’s +praises.</p> + +<p>And little Daisy passed the years of her childhood in the +firm belief that,</p> + +<p>“God will do anything you want him to, if you only pray +loud enough.”</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463"></a></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464"></a></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>POPULAR BOOKS.</h2> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p><b><i>Madeline Payne, the Detective’s Daughter.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Lawrence L. Lynch</span>, author of “Shadowed by Three,” “Out +of a Labyrinth,” etc. Illustrated with 44 original engravings. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>“One of the most fascinating of modern novels. It combines the excitement that +ever attends the intricate and hazardous schemes of a detective, together with the development +of as carefully constructed and cunningly elaborated a plot as the best of Wilkie +Collins’ or Charles Reade’s.”</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>The Gold Hunters’ Adventures in Australia.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. Thomes</span>. Illustrated with 41 engravings. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>An exciting story of adventures in Australia, in the early days, when the discovery +of gold drew thither a motley crowd of reckless, daring men.</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>Running the Blockade.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <i>Wm. H. Thomes</i>. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>A tale of adventures on a Blockade Runner during the rebellion, by a Union officer +acting in the Secret Service of the United States. The nature of this hazardous mission +necessarily involves the narrator in constant peril.</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>The Bushrangers; or, Wild Life in Australia.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. Thomes</span>. Illustrated. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>The record of a second voyage to that land of mystery and adventure—Australia—by +the “Gold Hunters,” and replete with exciting exploits among the most lawless +class of men.</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>A Slaver’s Adventures on Sea and Land.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. Thomes</span>. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>A thrilling story of an exciting life on board a slaver, chased by British gunboats, and +equally interesting adventures in the wilds of Africa and on the Island of Cuba.</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>The Gold Hunters in Europe, or, The Dead Alive.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. Thomes</span>. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>The heroes of “The Gold Hunters’ Adventures” and “The Bushrangers” seek +excitement in a trip through Europe, and meet, in England, France and Ireland (among +the Fenians), with a constant succession of perilous adventures.</p></div> + + +<p><b><i>A Whaleman’s Adventures on Sea and Land.</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. Thomes</span>. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50.</p> + +<p>A vivid story of life on a whaler, in the Pacific Ocean, and of adventures in the +Sandwich Islands, and in California in the early days, when the discovery of gold electrified +the whole world and attracted bold men to wrest the mines of wealth from the +possession of Mexicans and Indians.</p></div> + + +<p>These most fascinating Tales of Adventure on Sea and Land are for +sale on all Railroad Trains, by all Booksellers, or will be sent postpaid +on receipt of price by The Publishers.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ALEX. T. LOYD & CO.,</b></p> + +<p class="signature1"><b>CHICAGO.</b><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>Madeline Payne</h2> + +<h4>THE EXPERT’S DAUGHTER.</h4> + +<h3>By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH</h3> + +<p class="center">Author of “Shadowed by Three,” “Out of a Labyrinth,” etc., etc.<br /> +Illustrated with 45 Original Engravings.</p> + +<h4>PRICE, $1.50.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>CONTENTS.</b>—The Lovers’ Meeting. The Serpent In Eden. A Sudden +Departure. What the Old Tree Revealed. Two Heartless Plotters. The +Story of a Mother’s Wrongs and a Husband’s Crimes. Turns her Back on +the Old Home, and Trusts the Future and Lucian Davlin. Nurse Hagar is +“Out of Sorts.” Madeline Defies her Enemies. “<i>You are her Murderer!</i>” +The Railway Station at Night. A Disappointed Schemer Rejoiced. Madeline’s +Flight. The Night Journey to New York. A Friendly Warning +Unheeded. “Take it; <i>in the Name of your Mother I ask it!</i>” Alone in the +Great City. A Shrewd Scheme. An Ever-Present Face. Olive Gerard’s +Warning. The Cruel Awakening. The Bird in a Golden Cage. The Luxurious +Apartments of Lucian Davlin, the Man of Luck. A Dissatisfied Servant. +The Man of Luck Defied. A Well-Aimed Pistol Shot. “Little Demon, +I will kill you before I will lose you now!” Doctor Vaughn Summoned. +A Charming Widow at Bellair. “The Danger is Past!” Gone! “When +Next we Meet I Shall Have Other Weapons!” Bonnie, Bewitching Claire. +A Tell-tale Photograph. “Cruel, Crafty, Treacherous.” Madeline and +Olive in Conference. “Kitty, the Dancer, will Die!” The Story of an Old +Crime Retold. “Percy! Percy! Percy!” A Message from the Dead. “May +God’s Curse fall on all who Drove her to her Doom!” Miss Arthur’s French +Maid. Cora Growing Weary of Dissembling. Celine Leroque Overhears +an Important Conversation. Mr. Percy startled. Cora Shares this Feeling. +Percy Turns the Tables. “And yet you are on the Earth!” Celine Manages +to Play the Spy to some Purpose. Cora and Celine Measure Swords. Cora’s +Cunning Plot. “Celine looked Cautiously about her.” An Intercepted Telegram. +Face to Face. A Midnight Appointment. “I am Afraid for you; +but give It up now? never!” An Irate Spinster. Celine’s Highly Probable +Story. Gathering Clues. A Hurried Visit. The Hand of Friendship +Wields the Surgeon’s Knife. Claire Keith Placed Face to Face with +Trouble. A Dual Renunciation. An Astonishing Disclosure. “I am not +Worthy of him, and <i>she</i> is!” Struggling Against Fate. “Ah, how Dared I +think to Become one of you?” A Fiery Fair Champion. Hagar and Cora +have a Meeting. Cora gets a Glimmer of a False Light. “To be, to do, to +Suffer.” A Troubled Spinster. An Aggravating French Maid. “Won’t +there be a Row in the Castle!” Setting some Snares. Cora and Celine form +an Alliance. A Veritable Ghost Awakens Consternation in the Household. +“If ever you want to make him feel what it is to Suffer, Hagar will help +you!” Doctor Vaughn Visits Bellair. Not a Bad Day’s Work. Henry Reveals +his Master’s Secrets. Claire Turns Circe. A Mysterious Tenant. +Celine Hurries Matters a Trifle. The Curtain Rises on the Mimic Stage. +Celine Discharged by the Spinster, takes Service with Cora. The Sudden +Illness. The Learned “Doctor from Europe.” “I am Sorry, very Sorry.” +The Plot Thickens. A Midnight Conflagration. The Mysterious House in +Flames, and its Mysterious Tenant takes Refuge with Claire. The Story of +a Wrecked Life. “Well, it is a Strange Business, and a Difficult.” Letters +from the Seat of War. Mr. Percy Shakes Himself. A Fair Invalid. “Two +Handsomer Scoundrels Never Stood at Bay!” A Silken Belt Worth a King’s +Ransom. A Successful Burglary. Cross Purposes. A Slight Complication. +A new Detective on the Scene. Clarence Vaughn seeks to Cultivate him. +Bidding High for First-Class Detective Service. “Thou shalt not Serve +two Masters” set at naught. Mr. Lord’s Letter. Premonitions of a Storm. +“The—fellow is Dead!” A Thunderbolt. “I have come back to my own!” +A Fair, but Strong. Hand. Cora Restive under Orders. “You—you +are——?” “Celine Leroque, Madam.” A Madman. A Bogus Doctor Uncomfortable. +“Don’t you try that, sir!” Lucian Davlin’s “Points” are +False Beacons. Cora’s Humiliation. An Arrival of Sharp-Eyed Well-Borers. +Rather Strange Maid Servants. The Cords are Tightening and the +Victims Writhe. A Veritable Sphynx. Sleeping with Eyes Open. A Savage +Toothache. A Judicious Use of Chloroform. A Bold Break for Freedom. +An Omnipresent Well-Borer. “No Nonsense, Mind; I’m not a Flat.” +“For God’s sake, <i>what</i> are you?” “A Witch!” The Doctor’s Wooing. +Mrs. Ralston Overhears Something. A Fresh Complication. “He is very +Handsome; so are Tigers!” An Astounding Revelation. Mrs. Ralston’s +Story. “No,” gasped Olive, “I—I—.” A Movement In Force. Cora stirs +up the Animals. A Wedding Indefinitely Postponed for Cause. Nipped in +the Bud. Ready for Action. “Be at the Cottage to-night.” A Plea for Forgiveness. +Sharpening the Sword of Fate. The Weight of a Woman’s +Hand. “Officers, take him; he has been my Prisoner long enough!” “Man, +you have been a Dupe, a Fool!” Cora’s Confession. “The Pistol is Aimed +at Madeline’s Heart!” “It Is a Death Wound!” “The Goddess you Worship +has Deserted you!” The Death-bed of a Hypocrite. “And then comes +Rest!” The World is Clothed in a New White Garment.</p> + +<p class="ind10">“God’s greatness shines around our incompleteness,<br /> +Round our restlessness His rest!”</p> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>A SLAVER’S ADVENTURES</h2> + +<h3>ON SEA AND LAND.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo01.png" alt="Lion and rhinoceros at night" width="300" height="282" /> +<p class="caption">“We saw many species of wild animals.” Page 89.</p></div> + + +<h2>By WM. H. THOMES,</h2> + +<p class="center">Author of “<span class="smcap">The Gold Hunters’ Adventures in Australia</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">The Bushrangers</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">Running the Blockade</span>,” etc., etc.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED WITH FORTY ELEGANT ENGRAVINGS.</p> + +<hr class="c05" /> + +<p class="center">SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<p class="center smcap">the bushrangers</p> + +<p>as I turned, I managed to keep my eyes on the shelf overhead, +so that I could note all the movements that took place. +I was repaid for my trouble, for as I fell back and pressed +my hand on my side, as though fatally wounded, I had the +satisfaction of hearing a triumphant laugh issue from the +thicket overhead; and the next instant the repulsive features +of Moloch were thrust through the branches of the trees, +and he seemed to enjoy the appearance which I presented.</p> + +<p>“Bah! you fools!” cried the rascal, in a mocking tone, +“do yer think that yer can take me? I vos too quick for +yer. Had yer come an hour sooner, yer might have caught +me nappin’. But now I jist spits at yer. Ah, fools, I has +the voman, and I means to keep her.”</p> + +<p>I seldom miss with a revolver, especially when the object +at which I aim is within reasonable distance; but I must +confess that I was nervous and full of revengeful feelings, or +perhaps I was too hasty; for I suddenly raised my pistol and +fired at the fiend who was grinning at me from amid the +branches of the balsam trees. I missed the scoundrel, and +yet I would have given a thousand dollars to have sent a +bullet crushing through his brain, and killed him on the spot.</p> + +<p>“Ho, ho! yer didn’t come it,” laughed the fiend. “Vait +a minute and I’ll make yer see somethin’ that’ll open yer eyes.”</p> + +<p>He disappeared, and while he was gone I changed position, +so that he could not single me out for another shot, in +case he desired to test his old horse-pistols.</p> + +<p>“You ain’t hit, is you?” whispered Hackett and Hopeful +in anxious tones.</p> + +<p>“No,” I answered.</p> + +<p>Before they could congratulate me, Moloch, the devil, appeared, +bearing in his arms the almost lifeless form of poor, +dear Amelia Copey, whose dress was torn and soiled, and +whose hair was hanging down in tangled masses, neglected +and uncared for.</p> + +<p>“Look!” yelled the fiend, in a triumphant tone; “‘ere’s +the girl vot I loves, and she vill love me afore long, or I’ll +know the reason vy.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke he held the fair form in such a manner that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469"></a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>THE BUSHRANGERS.</h2> + +<h4><i>A Yankee’s Adventures During His Second Visit to Australia.</i></h4> + + +<h5>BY WM. H. THOMES,</h5> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of</i> “<i>The Gold Hunters in Australia</i>,” “<i>The Bushrangers</i>,” +“<i>Running the +Blockade</i>,” <i>etc., etc.</i></p></div> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo02.png" alt="Damsel in distress in the Australian jungle" width="290" height="440" /> +<p class="caption">Moloch appeared, bearing the almost lifeless form. “Look,” yelled the fiend, in a +triumphant tone.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470"></a></span></p> + +<hr class="c25" /> + +<p class="center smcap">life in australia, or</p> + +<p>sides would be equally well guarded, then glanced over the excited +crowd, in hopes that Dan would array himself on our side—but that +enterprising gentleman had suddenly disappeared, and left us to our +fate.</p> + +<p>“Stand back,” shouted the inspector; “it will be the worse for you. +There’s many of you present who know me, and know that I have a +large force of policemen on hand. If you strike a blow, not one of you +shall escape justice.</p> + +<p>“Unbar the door as quickly as possible,” whispered the inspector, +after getting through with his threatening speech.</p> + +<p>I lifted the heavy gum wood bar from its place, and then raised the +latch, expecting that it would yield, but to my surprise it did not—it +was locked, and the key in the pocket of the doorkeeper, who had made +his escape from the room in company with Dan.</p> + +<p>I almost uttered a groan of agony when I made the discovery, and to +add to the perplexity of our situation, the ruffians must have understood +our case, and known that the key was never left in the lock, for they +uttered a discordant and ironical hoot, and then a shout of sardonic +laughter.</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, don’t be all night in getting that door open,” +cried Fred, nervously, and I will confess that I also partook of the same +complaint.</p> + +<p>“Now for a rush—cut them to pieces,” exclaimed many voices; but +I observed that the cries came from those who were farthest from us, +and out of the reach of our pistols, which we were forced to display, in +hope of keeping the robbers at a respectful distance.</p> + +<p>“Is the door unbarred?” asked Mr. Brown, turning half round, and +exposing his side to the knives of the crowd, and quick as thought, a +man sprang forward to begin the work of bloodshed; but sudden as +were his movements, they were anticipated, for I raised the heavy bar, +which I had not relinquished, and let it fall upon his head with crushing +force.</p> + +<p>The poor devil fell at our feet without uttering a groan, although +many spasmodic twitchings of his nerves showed that he was not killed +outright. His long knife narrowly missed the side of the inspector, and +for the first attempt at our annihilation, it was not to be despised.</p> + +<p>The wretches uttered yells of rage when they saw their comrade fall, +but none seemed inclined to assume the leadership and begin the attack +in earnest.</p> + +<p>Not one of their motions escaped us, and as long as they were disposed +to brandish their knives at a distance, we did not choose to carry +matters to extremities; but change of tactics was suddenly resorted to +on the part of our opponents, that placed us in no little peril.</p> + +<p>All the tumblers, bottles, and decanters of the bar were taken possession +of by the savage scoundrels, and the first intimation that we had +of the fact was the crushing of a bottle (empty, of course—they were +not the sort of men to throw away liquor of any kind) against the door +just above our heads.</p> + +<p>The fragments were showered upon our faces and shoulders, +before we had time to consider on the matter another bottle flew past +my head, and hit our prisoner upon one of his shoulders, injuring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471"></a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>THE GOLD HUNTERS’ ADVENTURES;</h2> + +<h3>OR, WILD LIFE IN AUSTRALIA.</h3> + +<p class="center"><b>By WM. H. THOMES</b>, author of “The Bushrangers,” “The Gold Hunters in Europe,” +“A Whaleman’s Adventures,” “Life in the East Indies,” “Adventures on a +Slaver,” “Running the Blockade,” etc., etc.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo03.png" alt="A big fight" width="289" height="440" /> +<p class="caption">“Now for a rush.—Cut them to pieces!”</p></div> + +<h3>A FASCINATING STORY OF ADVENTURE.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472"></a></span></h3> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>A Whaleman’s Adventures</h2> + +<h3><i>AT SEA, IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS AND CALIFORNIA.</i></h3> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo04.png" alt="Indians and whalers in battle" width="330" height="440" /></div> + +<h2>BY WM. H. THOMES,</h2> + +<p class="center">Author of “<span class="smcap">The Gold Hunters’ Adventures in +Australia</span>,” “<span class="smcap">The Bushrangers</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">Running the Blockade</span>,” etc., etc.</p> + +<h4>Illustrated with Thirty-Six Fine Engravings.</h4> + +<p class="center">SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>RUNNING THE BLOCKADE;</h2> + +<h3>OR, U. S. SECRET SERVICE ADVENTURES.</h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>By WM. H. THOMES, Author of</i> “<i>The Gold Hunters’ Adventures in Australia</i>,” +“<i>The Bushrangers</i>,” “<i>Running the Blockade</i>,” <i>etc., etc.</i></p> + +<h4>ELEGANTLY AND PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED.</h4> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo05.png" alt="Scene on deck of a slave ship" width="307" height="440" /> +<p class="caption">“For de Lord’s sake, don’t do dat. Dis nig is almost cut to pieces now. Him legs +is one mass of rings.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474"></a></span></p></div> + + +<hr class="c25" /> +<h2>The Gold Hunters in Europe</h2> + +<p class="center">—OR—</p> + +<h3>THE DEAD ALIVE.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/adillo06.png" alt="Man being arrested" width="300" height="344" /> +<p class="caption">“Do you give yourselves in custody?”</p></div> + +<h3>By WM. H. THOMES,</h3> + +<p class="center">Author of “<span class="smcap">The Gold Hunters’ Adventures in Australia</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">The Bushrangers</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">Running the Blockade</span>,” etc., etc.</p> + +<p class="center">Illustrated with FORTY Fine Engravings</p> + +<p class="center">SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475"></a></span></p> + +<div class="bbox"> + +<p class="center"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b></p> + +<p style="padding-right: 2em; padding-left: 2em;">Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have only been corrected where one variant +was clearly used more often than the other (<i>aint</i> was changed to <i>ain’t</i>, +etc.). <i>Warburton place</i> has been changed to <i>Warburton Place</i>. Note that both <i>Joe Blakesly</i> and +<i>Joe Blakesley</i> occur in the text.</p> + +<p style="padding-right: 2em; padding-left: 2em;">Minor typographical errors have been corrected silently. More important +changes made to the text:<br /> +page 90: <i>Mrs. Follinsbee</i> changed to <i>Mrs. Follingsbee</i>;<br /> +page 173: <i>Lerchen</i> changed to <i>Leschen</i>;<br /> +page 194: <i>And won't do</i> changed to <i>And it won't do</i>;<br /> +page 220: <i>CHAPTER XX</i> changed to <i>CHAPTER XXX</i>; <i>CHAPTER LXVI</i> and <i>CHAPTER LXVIII</i> +changed to <i>CHAPTER XLVI</i> and <i>XLVIII</i>, respectively;<br /> +page 449: <i>Beal</i> changed to <i>Beale</i>.</p> + +<p style="padding-right: 2em; padding-left: 2em;">Some pages had poorly printed parts; here a ‘best guess’ +has been used to complete the text (page 159, some parts of the advertisements at the end of the book).</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dangerous Ground, by Lawrence L. 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