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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36366-8.txt b/36366-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8cf871 --- /dev/null +++ b/36366-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16007 @@ +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.) + + + + + + + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------+ + | | + | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES | + | | + | * The original work contains some text in italics and in bold- | + | face. These are represented here as _text_ and =text=, respec- | + | tively. Small capitals in the original work have been changed | + | to capitals for this e-text. | + | * The oe-ligature from the original work has been transcribed as | + | [oe], as in man[oe]uvre. | + | * Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have only been | + | corrected where one variant was clearly used more often than | + | the other (aint was changed to ain't, etc.). 'Warburton place' | + | has been changed to 'Warburton Place.' Note that both 'Joe | + | Blakesly' and 'Joe Blakesley' occur in the text. | + | * Minor typographical errors have been corrected silently. More | + | important changes made to the text: | + | - page 90: 'Mrs. Follinsbee' changed to 'Mrs. Follingsbee'; | + | - page 173: 'Lerchen' changed to 'Leschen'; | + | - page 194: 'And won't do' changed to 'And it won't do'; | + | - page 220: CHAPTER XX changed to CHAPTER XXX; CHAPTER LXVI | + | and CHAPTER LXVIII changed to CHAPTER XLVI and XLVIII, | + | respectively; | + | - page 449: Beal changed to Beale. | + | * 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). | + | | + +------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +[Illustration: "Not just yet; I ain't quite ready!"--page 410.] + + + + + THE GREAT DETECTIVE SERIES. + + DANGEROUS GROUND; + + OR, + + THE RIVAL DETECTIVES. + + BY + + LAWRENCE L. LYNCH, + + (OF THE SECRET SERVICE.) + + Author of "Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter;" "Out + of a Labyrinth;" "Shadowed by Three;" "The + Diamond Coterie," etc., etc. + + CHICAGO: + ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., PUBLISHERS. + 1886. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1885, + BY ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., CHICAGO. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. + + Dangerous Ground. + + +[Illustration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, +waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.] + + + + +DANGEROUS GROUND. + + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +TIME: The month of May. The year, 1859; when the West was new, and the +life of the Pioneer difficult and dangerous. + +SCENE: 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. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where's Pearson?" queries a tall, strong man, who speaks as one having +authority. "I have not seen him since the storm began." + +"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." + +"But he has been down since?" + +"Hain't seen him. Good Lord, you don't suppose the fellow's been +sleepin' through all this?" + +Parks, the captain of the party, stirs uneasily, and turns his face +towards the wagons. + +"There's been some fearful lightnin', sir," breaks in another of the +group. "'Tain't likely a man would sleep through all this, but--" + +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. + +"Mrs. Krutzer," he calls, halting beside the one most remote from the +camp fire. + +"What is wanted?" answers a shrill, feminine voice. + +"Is the little one with you?" + +"Yes." This time there is a ring of impatience in the voice. + +"Have you seen Pearson since the storm?" + +"My gracious! No." + +"How is Krutzer?" + +"No better; the storm has doubled him up like a snake. Do you want him?" + +"Not if he can't walk." + +"Well he can't; not a step." + +"Then good-night, Mrs. Krutzer." And Parks returns to the men at the +fire. + +"There's something wrong," he says, with quiet gravity. + +"Pearson has not been near the child since the storm. Get your lanterns, +boys; we will go up the hill." + +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. + +A moment the lanterns flash about, while the men converse in low tones. +Then one of them exclaims: + +"Here he is! Pearson; Heavens, man, wake up!" + +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. + +They crowd about him, and Walter Parks bends closer and lets the full +light of the lantern he carries, fall upon the still face. + +"Good God!" + +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: + +"He's _dead_, boys!" + +They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by one they touch +it; curiously, reverently, tenderly or timidly, according as their +various natures are. + +Then a chorus of exclamations, low, fierce, excited. + +"How was it?" + +"Was he killed?" + +"The storm--" + +"More likely, Injuns." + +"No, Bob, it wasn't Indians," says Parks mournfully, "for here's his +scalp." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Boys," he asks, in slow, set tones, "did you, any of you, ever _see_ a +man killed by lightning?" + +They all stare up at him, and no one answers. + +[Illustration: "They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by +one they touch it; curiously, reverently."--page 12.] + +"Because," he proceeds, after a moment's silence, "I never saw the +effects of a lightning stroke, and don't feel qualified to judge." + +"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." + +"Of course it is," breaks in another. "What else can it be? There ain't +an Injun about and besides--" + +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: + +"I suppose you are right, Menard. Now, let's take him down to the +wagons; quick, the rain is coming again." + +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: + +"Shall I run ahead and tell the Krutzers?" + +"No," replies Parks, sternly; "we will take him to my wagon. I will +inform Mrs. Krutzer." + +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. + + +II. + +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, 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. + +A blaze of lightning and a rush of wind cause the man to cry out +nervously, and then to exclaim, peevishly: + +"Oh, I wish the morning would come; this is horrible!" + +"Hush, Krutzer," says the woman, in a low, hissing whisper; "you act +like a fool." + +She bends forward and lays the sleeping child beside the dirty boy in +the corner. Then she lifts her head and listens. + +"Hush!" she whispers again; "they are astir outside; I hear them +talking. Ah! some one is coming." + +"Mrs. Krutzer." + +It is the voice of Walter Parks, and this time the woman parts the tent +flap and looks out. + +"Is that you, Mr. Parks? I thought I heard voices out there. Is the +storm doing any damage?" + +"Not at present. Is Krutzer awake?" + +She glances toward the form upon the pallet; it is shivering as with an +ague. Then she says, unhesitatingly: + +"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." + +The visitor hesitates for a moment, then drawing nearer and lowering his +tone somewhat, he says: + +"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?" + +"No; not if you don't raise your voice." + +"Pearson is dead, Mrs. Krutzer." + +She starts, gasps, and then, with her head protruding from the canvas, +asks, huskily: + +"How? when? who?--" + +"We found him up by the rocks, lying on his blanket--" + +"Killed?" + +"Killed; yes." + +"How--how?" she almost gasps. + +"There is a burn upon his head. Menard says it was a stroke of +lightning." + +"Oh," she sighs, and sinks back in the wagon, turning her head to look +at the form upon the pallet. + +"Mrs. Krutzer." + +She leans toward him again and listens mutely. + +"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?" + +"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 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." + +"And _now_, Mrs. Krutzer?" + +"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." + +"Yes; do you know the address of the child's friends?" + +"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." + +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. + +Walter Parks hesitates a moment, and then, as a second groan greets his +ear, turns and strides away. + + +III. + +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. + +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. + +It is a small thing to excite so much earnest scrutiny; only the half +burned fragment of a lucifer match. + +"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've_ seen men +killed by lightning." + +"But you said--" + +"No matter what I said _then_, Joe; what I _now_ say to you and Menard +is _the truth_. You have promised to keep what I am about to tell you a +secret, and to act according to my advice. Menard, Blakesly, _Arthur +Pearson has been foully murdered_!" + +"No!" + +"Parks, you are mad!" + +"You will believe the evidence of your own senses, boys. I am going to +prove what I assert." + +"But who? how?--" + +"Who?--ah, that's the question! There are ten men of us; if the guilty +party belongs to our train, we will 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." + +"True." + +"Boys, I believe that the assassin _is_ 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; _one is a +murderer_! Come, now, and let me prove what I am saying." + +As men who feel themselves dreaming; silently, slowly, with anxious +faces, they follow their leader to the wagon where the dead man lies +alone. + +"Get into the wagon, boys; here, at this end, and move softly." + +It is done and the three men crouch close together about the body of the +dead. + +"Hold the lantern, Joe. There, Menard lift his head." + +Silently, wonderingly, they obey him. + +Then Walter Parks removes the cap from the lifeless head, and +shudderingly parts away the thick hair from about the crown. + +"Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look, both of you; do you see _that_?" + +They bend closer; the lantern's ray strikes upon something tiny and +bright. + +"My God!" cries Joe Blakesly, letting the lantern fall and turning away +his face. + +"Parks, what--_what_ is it?" + +"A _nail_! 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." + +Menard lays the head gently back upon the damp hay and asks, +shudderingly: + +"How did you discover it, Parks?" + +"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." + +They look from one to the other silently for a moment, and then Joe +Blakesly says: + +"Has he been robbed?" + +"Let us see;" Menard says, "he wore a money-belt, I know. Look for it, +Parks." + +Parks examines the body, and shakes his head. + +"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!" + +"What coolness! what cunning! Shall we ever run the fellow down, Parks?" + +"_Yes!_ Boys, you know why I am leaving the mountains. I am going home +to England, to be near my father who must die soon. I am not a poor +man; I shall some day be richer still. If _we_ fail to find this +murderer, I shall put the matter in the hands of the detectives, _and I +will never give it up_. Arthur Pearson met his death while traveling for +safety with a party which calls me its leader, and _I will be his +avenger_! It may be in one year, or two, or twenty; it may take a +fortune, and a lifetime; _but Arthur Pearson shall be avenged_!" + +[Illustration: "Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look both of you; do you +see _that_?"--page 19.] + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +"STARS OF THE FORCE." + + +"Yes, sir," said Policeman No. 46, with an air of condescending +courtesy, "this _is_ the office." + +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. + +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?" + +"This _is_ the office, sir; up two flights and turn to your left." + +[Illustration: "Is this the office of the City Detective Agency?"--page +22.] + +The stranger shifted his position slightly, glanced up and down the +street, drew a step nearer the policeman, and asked: + +"Is it a large force?" + +"Well, I should say!" + +"I suppose you know some of them pretty well?" + +"Yes, _sir_; I know some of the best men of the lot." + +The stranger jingled some loose coin in his pocket, and seemed to have +forgotten his interest in the detective force. + +"Officer, where does a man go to get a good brandy cocktail?" + +Policemen are not over bashful, and No. 46 smiled anew as he replied. + +"Just wait a few minutes, and I'll show you. I must stop that con--" + +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: + +"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?" + +No. 46 consulted his watch. + +"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 _detectives_, +just you stand here with me a while. Vernet and Stanhope went down to +breakfast half an hour ago." + +"Vernet and Stanhope?" + +"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." + +"Young men, I suppose?" + +"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." + +"Americans?" + +"Stanhope is, an out-and-outer. Vernet's got some French in him." + +"Um, yes; well, I'd like to take a look at them, after we refresh +ourselves." + +"They won't be back for a good half hour; there's no fear of missing +them." + +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. + +Two men were coming down the street, walking and talking with the air of +men on good terms with themselves and each other. + +Both were young, well dressed, well-looking; but a more marked contrast +never was seen. + +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 +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." + +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." + +"Here they come," whispered No. 46; "those two fellows in grey." + +"Which is which?" + +"To be sure. The taller is Van Vernet; the other Dick Stanhope." + +[Illustration: "Here they come," whispered No. 46; "those two fellows in +grey."--page 26.] + +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." + +"Not both at once, stupid?" + +"Um, ah; of course not. Now look here, Mr. Dick--" + +And Stanhope and the office boy promptly fell into pugilistic attitudes, +the former saying, with a gay laugh: + +"You first, Van, if the old man won't let us 'hunt in couples.'" + +With the shadow of a smile upon his face, Van Vernet turned his back +upon the two belligerents and entered the inner office. + +"Ah, Vernet, good morning," said his affable chieftain. "Are you ready +for a bit of business?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"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." + +Van Vernet, who had remained standing, hat in hand, before his chief, +bowed deferentially, and continued silent. + +"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." + +Taking the card from his outstretched hand, Vernet read the address. + + "A. WARBURTON. + No. 31 B---- Place." + +"When shall I wait upon Mr. Warburton?" + +"At once. Your entire time is at his disposal until the case is +finished; then report to me." + +Vernet bowed again, turned to go, hesitated, turned back, and said: + +"And the Raid?" + +"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." + +"Thank you. I will do so if possible," turning again to go. + +"Send Stanhope in, Vernet. I must settle this business about the Raid." + +Opening the door softly, and closing it gently after him, Vernet +approached his comrade, and laid a light hand upon his arm. + +"Richard, you are wanted." + +"All right; are you off, Van?" + +"Yes;" putting his hat upon his head. + +"On a lay?" + +"Yes." + +"Wish you good luck, old man; tra la." + +And Dick Stanhope bounced into the presence of his Chief with +considerable noise and scant ceremony. + +Number 46, who, with the stranger beside him, was slowly pacing his +beat, lifted his eyes as Vernet emerged from the stairway. + +"There comes Vernet, and alone. I'll bet something he's off on a case," +he said. + +"Looks like it." + +"He looks more serious than usual; wonder if he's got to work it without +Stanhope." + +"Do they always pull together?" + +"Not always; but they've done their biggest work together. When there's +a very knotty case, it's given to Vernet _and_ Stanhope; and they seldom +fail." + +"Which acts as leader and is the best man of the two?" + +"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 _can_ +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +And the stranger, as he strolled down the street, communed thus with +himself: + +"So these two star detectives have never been rivals yet. The Chief has +never been anxious to see what detectives _can_ do, I suppose. This +looks like _my_ opportunity. Messrs. Vernet and Stanhope, _you shall +have a chance to try your skill against each other_, and upon a +desperate case: and the wit that wins need never work another." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ODDLY EMPLOYED. + + +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: + +"So you want me to put this business through _alone_? I don't half like +it." + +"You are equal to it, Dick." + +"I know that," with a proud curve of the firm lips, "but I'm sure Van +expected to be in this thing, and--" + +"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 do so without interfering with his +other duties. You seem to fear to offend Vernet, Dick?" + +"I _fear_ 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." + +"You are a generous friend, Dick, and Van may rejoice that you _are_ his +friend instead of his rival. Now, leaving friendship to take care of +itself, do you feel that the _success_ of the Raid depends upon Vernet's +assistance?" + +"Perdition! _No._" + +"You know the ground?" + +"Every inch of it!" + +"And Van does not." + +"One pilot is enough." + +"You know the people?" + +"Well, rather!" + +"Do you doubt the success of the undertaking?" + +"No, sir. I see only one chance for failure." + +"And that?" + +"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." + +"Even if it be Vernet?" + +"Even Vernet. Satan himself would fail in those alleys, unless he knew +the ground." + +"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?" + +"Because," sliding off the table and pulling his hat low 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?" + +"Yes; I've a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind alleys and thieves +dens in _this_; it's for to-morrow evening, too." + +Stanhope resumed his former position upon the corner of the table, +pushed back his hat, and turned an attentive face to his Chief. + +"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?" + +"By reputation; yes. Is _he_ in the mystery?" + +"He's negotiating for a client; a lady." + +"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--" + +"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 _you_." + +Stanhope groaned dismally. + +"Besides, it's best for you; you are better than Vernet at a feminine +make up." + +"A feminine make up!" + +"Yes. Here is the business: Mr. Follingsbee desires your services for a +lady client; he took care to impress upon me that she _was_ a lady in +every sense of the word. This lady had desired the services of a +detective, and he had recommended you." + +"Why I?" + +"Never mind why; you are sufficiently vain at present, 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." + +"Good Lord!" + +"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." + +"Phew! I'm getting interested." + +"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." + +"Let me think," said Stanhope, musingly. "What's Mrs. Follingsbee's +style?" + +"A little above the medium. Follingsbee thinks, that, with considerable +drapery, you can make up to look sufficiently like her." + +"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?" + +"Capitally; then I will tell Follingsbee to look for the Goddess of +Liberty." + +"All right, sir. You are sure I won't be detained later than eleven?" + +"You have only to meet the lady, receive her instructions, and come +away." + +"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." + +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. + +[Illustration: "Yes; I've a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind +alleys and thieves' dens in _this_"--page 33.] + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _portierie_, and +hear the liveried footman say, evidently having been instructed: + +"This is Mr. Warburton's study, sir; I will take up your name." + +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. + +Van Vernet looks about him and says to himself: + +"This is a room after my own heart. Mr. Warburton, of Warburton Place, +must be a sybarite, and should be a happy man. Ah, he is coming." + +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. + +"You are Mr. Vernet?" queries this personage, as if in doubt. + +"Yes." + +"Then this letter is for you." + +And the valet bows low, and extends the salver, adding softly: + +"I am Mr. Warburton's body servant." + +Looking somewhat surprised, as well as annoyed, Van Vernet takes up the +letter, breaks the seal and reads: + + SIR: + + 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. + + 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. A. W. + +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. + +"Give me a match." + +It is proffered him in silence, and in silence he turns to 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. + +The dark servant watches the proceeding in grave silence until Vernet +turns to him, saying: + +"Now, the domino." + +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: + +"That will do; tell your master that I will follow his instructions--_to +the letter_." + +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: + +"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 _gentleman_, 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE EFFECT OF AN ADVERTISEMENT. + + +A rickety two-story frame building, in one of the worst quarters of the +city. + +[Illustration: "He applies the match to the letter, and lets it fall +from his fingers to the fire-place."--page 38.] + +It is black with age, and guiltless of paint, but a careful 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, he replaces the pin and +hurriedly opens the door. + +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. + +"It's you, is it?" says the man, testily. "What has brought you back? +and empty-handed I'll be bound." + +The old woman crossed the floor, seated herself in the most reliable +chair, and turning her face toward her companion said, sharply: + +"You're an old fool!" + +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. + +"What have you got there?" + +"You wait," significantly, "and don't tell _me_ that I come +empty-handed." + +"Ah! you don't mean--" + +Again the look of terror crossed his face, and he left the sentence +unfinished. + +"Old man, you _are_ 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." + +"Well, well!" + +"Oh, you'll hear it soon enough. It's the morning paper, and you know +_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." + +"Umph!" + +"Well, I looked at this paper, and see what I found!" + +She held the paper toward him, and pointed to a paragraph among the +advertisements. + + 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, + + O. E. MEARS, Atty, + + Melbourne, Australia. + +The paper fluttered from the man's nerveless fingers, but the woman +caught it as it fell. + +"Oh, Lord!" he gasped, the drops of perspiration standing out upon his +brow, "oh, Lord! it has come at last." + +"What has come, you old fool!" + +"Everything; ruin! ruin!" + +"We're a pretty looking pair to talk of _ruin_," giving a contemptuous +glance at her surroundings. "Stop looking so like a scared idiot, and +listen to me." + +"Oh, I'm listening!" sinking down upon the pallet in a dismal huddle; +"go on." + +[Illustration: "Oh, Lord!" he gasped; "oh, Lord, it has come at +last!"--page 42.] + +The woman crossed over and sat down beside him. + +"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?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, it'll take all the time _we_ want. But who is there to answer +that advertisement?" + +"Oh, dear!" + +"You miserable coward! _She_ wouldn't know what it meant if she saw it." + +"No." + +"Arthur Pearson--" + +"Oh, _don't_!" + +"Arthur Pearson has not been heard of in twenty years." + +The old man shuddered, and drew a long sighing breath. + +"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 +_them_ after twenty years?" + +"I shall never feel safe again." + +"Yes, you will. You always feel safe when the dollars jingle in your +pockets, although it's precious little good they bring you." + +"But _her_ money is already gone." + +"Her husband has a full purse." + +"But how--" + +"Oh, I see the way clear enough. It's only half the work of the other +job, and double the money." + +"The money! Ah! how do you think to get it?" + +"Honestly, this time; honestly, old man. It shall come to us _as a +reward_!" + +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. + +When the argument was ended, he said, slowly: + +"I shall never feel safe until it's over, and we are away from this +place. When can you do--the job?" + +"To-morrow night." + +"To-morrow night!" + +"Yes; it's the very time of times. To-morrow night it shall be." + +"It's a big risk! We will have to bluff the detectives, old woman." + +"A fig for the detectives! They will have a cold scent; besides--we have +dodged detectives before." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +ENLISTED AGAINST EACH OTHER. + + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +"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 _against each other_, 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"As I shall continue to do until I state the case to the two detectives, +_after_ they have enlisted in my service." + +The Chief ponders for a time and then says: + +"Now, hear my proposition: you are justified in believing that, if there +_is_ 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, _that_ 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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: + +"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 _who is the better man_!" + +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. + +"Look!" he cried, approaching and forcing the paper upon the astonished +Chief; "see what a moment of waiting has brought me!" + +And he pointed to a paragraph beginning: + + WANTED. INFORMATION OF ANY SORT CONCERNING one Arthur Pearson, + etc. etc. + +"An advertisement, I see;" said the Chief. "But I fail to understand why +it should thus excite you." + +"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--" + +"Then Arthur Pearson is--" + +"The man who was murdered near the Marais des Cygnes!" + +"And the child?" + +"I never knew her name until now. No doubt it is the little girl that +was in Pearson's care." + +"What became of the child?" + +"I never knew." + +"And how does this discovery affect your movements?" + +"I will tell you; but, first, you saw Vernet?" + +"Yes; and he accepts." + +"Good! That notice was inserted either by some friend of Pearson's, or +by the child's father, John Ainsworth." + +"What do you know of him?" + +"Nothing; I never met him. But, as soon as you have seen Stanhope, and +I am sure that these two sharp fellows are prepared to hunt down poor +Pearson's assassins, I _will_ meet him, if the notice is his, for I am +going to Australia." + +"Ah!" + +"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." + +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. + +"What do you think of it, my boy? Are you anxious to try for a fortune?" + +"No, thank you." + +It was said as coolly as if he were declining a bad cigar. + +"Consider, Dick." + +"There is no need. Van and I have pulled together too long to let a mere +matter of money come between us. _He_ would never accept such a +proposition." + +The Chief bit his lip and remained silent. + +"Or if he did," went on Stanhope, "he would not work against me. Tell +your patron that _with_ Van Vernet I will undertake the case. He may +make Van his chief, and I will gladly assist. _Without_ Van as my rival, +I will work it alone; but _against_ him, as his rival for honors and +lucre, _never_!" + +The Chief slowly arose, and resting his hands upon the shoulders of the +younger man, looked in his face with fatherly pride. + +"Dick, you're a splendid fellow, and a shrewd detective," he said, "but +you have a weakness. You study strangers, but you trust your friends +with absolute blindness. Van is ambitious." + +"So am I." + +"He loves money." + +"A little too well, I admit." + +"If he should accept this offer?" + +"But he won't." + +"If he _should_;" persisted the Chief. + +"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--" + +"Then, Dick?" + +Richard Stanhope's eyes flashed, and his mouth set itself in firm lines. + +"_Then_," he said, "I would measure my strength against his as a +detective; but always as a friend, and never to his injury!" + +"And, Dick, if, in the thick of the strife, Van forgets his friendship +for you and becomes your enemy?" + +"Then, as I am only human, I should be his enemy too. But that will not +happen." + +"I hope not; I hope not, my boy. But--Van Vernet has already accepted +the stranger's proposition." + +Stanhope leaped to his feet. + +"What!" he cried, "has Van _agreed_ to work against me--without a word +to me--and so soon!" + +His lips trembled now, and his eyes searched those of his Chief with the +eager, inquiring look of a grieved child. + +"It is as I say, Stanhope." + +[Illustration: "What, has Van _agreed_ to work against me--without a +word to me--and so soon!"--page 50.] + +"Then," and he threw back his head and instantly resumed his usual +look of careless indifference, "tell your patron, whoever he may be, +that _I am his man_, for one year, or for twenty!" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"STANHOPE'S FIRST TRICK." + + +Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope had been brother detectives during the +entire term of their professional career. + +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 +_role_ most difficult for one was sure to be found the easier part for +the other to play. + +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? + +Meantime, Richard Stanhope, wasting no thought upon the matter, hastened +from the presence of his Chief to his own quarters. + +"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." + +Half an hour later, there sallied forth from the door where Stanhope had +entered, a roughly-dressed, swaggering, villainous-looking fellow, who +bore about with him the strongly defined odors of tobacco and bad +whiskey. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The buzz of conversation almost ceased as the door opened, but was +immediately resumed when the new comer came forward toward the light. + +"Is that you, Cull?" called the man behind the bar. "You've been keepin' +scarce of late." + +The man addressed as "Cull" laughed discordantly. + +"I've been visitin' in the country," he returned, with a 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." + +"You better say! Things is boomin'; nearly all of the old uns are in." + +"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." + +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: + +"Nominate yer dose, gentlemen." + +While the party, glasses in hand, were putting themselves _en rapport_, +the door again opened, and now the hush that fell upon the assembled +"gentlemen" was deeper and more lasting. + +Evidently, the person who entered was a stranger to all in the Thieves' +Tavern, for such the building was. + +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. + +"Good evenin', sirs," he said with surly indifference. Then to the man +behind the bar: "Mix us a cocktail, old Top, and strong." + +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. + +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." + +"See here, my friend," spoke a blustering fellow, advancing toward him, +"you made a little mistake. This 'ere ain't a tramps' lodgin' house." + +"Ain't it?" queried the stranger; "then what the Moses are _you_ doin' +here?" + +"You'll swallow _that_, my hearty!" + +"When?" + +The stranger threw himself into an attitude of defence and glared +defiance at his opponent. + +"Wax him, Charley!" + +"Let's fire him out!" + +"Hold on gentlemen; fair play!" + +"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." + +The half intoxicated man was no coward. Evidently he was ripe for a +quarrel. + +"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." + +There was a chorus of exclamations, a drawing of weapons, and a forward +rush. Then sudden silence. + +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. + +"Drop yer fist, boy! Put up that knife, Joe! Let's understand each +other." + +Then addressing the stranger, but keeping an eye upon Rummey Joe, he +said: + +"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." + +The stranger hesitated a moment, and then, without so much as a glance +at his antagonist, said: + +"_Your_ 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 _that_ blackguard." + +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. + +"There's my passport, gentlemen." + +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. + +"And now," said the ex-convict, turning fiercely, "I'll teach you the +kind of a tramp I am, Mr. Rummey Joe!" + +Before a hand or voice could be raised to prevent it, the two men had +grappled, and were struggling fiercely for the mastery. + +"Give them a show, boys!" some one said. + +[Illustration: "There's my passport, gentlemen."--page 56.] + +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. 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. + +But again the scene shifted. + +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. + +"Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye! Cowards, to tackle a single +man, six of ye!" + +"By Heavens, he's killed Rummey!" + +"No matter; it was a fair fight, and Rummey at the bottom of the blame." + +"All the same he'll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell it! Stand +off, Cully Devens!" + +"_No, sir!_ 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." + +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. + +The effect was electrical. + +From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, crying: + +"Boys, here's a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, that has +played yerself fer Cully Devens?" + +[Illustration: "Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye!"--page 58.] + +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: + +"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!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +STANHOPE'S HUMANITY. + + +"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!" + +Momentous silence followed this announcement, while the _habitues_ of +the Thieves' Tavern glanced into each others' faces in consternation. + +An ordinary meddler, however much his courage and skill, would have met +with summary chastisement; but _Dick Stanhope_! + +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. + +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 among them, was sure +indication that _they_ were in more danger than he. + +So reasoned the astonished scoundrels, instantly, instinctively. + +"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." + +He threw back his head and gave a long, low whistle. + +"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." + +Some moved with agility, some reluctantly, some sullenly; but they all +obeyed him. + +"Now, Pap, come out and help me lift this fellow. Are you badly hurt, my +man?" + +The wounded man groaned and permitted them to lift him to his feet. + +"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." + +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. + +"Boys," said the bar keeper as he distributed the drinks at 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He lifted the prostrate man, turning him easily, and rested the fallen +head upon his knee. + +"Can you swallow a little?" pressing a flask of brandy to the lips of +the ex-convict. + +The man gasped and feebly swallowed a little of the liquor. + +"There," laying down the flask, "are your wounds bleeding?" + +The wounded man groaned, and then whispered feebly: + +"I'm done for--I think--are you--an officer?" + +"Yes." + +"Af--after me?" + +"No." + +"Do--do you--know--" + +"Do I know who you are? Not exactly, but I take you to be one of the +convicts who broke jail last week." + +The man made a convulsive movement, and then, battling for breath as he +spoke, wailed out: + +"Listen--you want to take me back to prison--there is a 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! _don't_ take me back to die in prison! You don't know the +horror of it!" + +A look of pitying tenderness lighted the face bent above the dying man. + +"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." + +"I shall die," said the man, in a hoarse whisper; "I know I shall +die--die." + +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: + +"That _was_ 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +HOW A MASQUERADE BEGAN. + + +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 of joyous voices; beauty, hilarity, luxury +everywhere. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, +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. + +"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, _do_ come along, Miss Daisy; one +would think your Pa's house was full of bears and wild-cats, to see your +actions." + +But the child draws back and grasps fearfully at the skirts of her +attendant. + +"What makes 'em look so queer, Millie? Isn't you afraid?" + +"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 _Turk_, I guess, and--" + +"What makes they all have black things on their faces, Millie?" + +"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." + +"No what?" + +"No _masquerade_, child. Now look at that; there goes a pope, or a +cardinal; and there, oh my! that must be a Gipsy--or an Injun." + +"A Gipsy or an Indian; well done, Millie, ha ha ha!" + +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. + +"Why, Daisy;" laughs the masker; "little Daisy, are you frightened? +Come, this will never do." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The little one peers at him from behind Millie's skirts and then comes +slowly forward. + +"Why, uncle Alan, how funny you look, and--your face is dirty!" + +"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.'" + +[Illustration: "See all those funny-looking people are your papa's +friends."--page 65] + +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, 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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"_Mrs._ Warburton put Miss Daisy in my care, sir, and I don't know +_where_ Miss Daisy's maid may be." + +"Umph! well it seems to me that--" He stops and looks at the child. + +"That I ain't the properest person to look after Miss Daisy, I 'spose +you mean--" + +"Millie, you are growing impertinent." + +"Because I'm a poor girl that the _mistress_ of this house took in out +of kindness--" + +"Millie; _will_ you stop!" and he puts little Daisy down with a gesture +of impatience. + +"I'm trying to do my duty," goes on the irate damsel; "and Mrs. +Warburton, _my_ mistress, has given me my orders, sir, _consequently_--" + +"Oh! if Mrs. Warburton has issued such judicious orders," and he takes +up his mask and domino, "I retire from the field." + +"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." + +Then she comes forward, mask in hand, and followed by the laughing +Carmen. + +"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." + +"May I ask, Mrs. Warburton, if she is your ideal of a companion for this +child?" + +The tone is faintly tinged with scorn and sternness, and Leslie +Warburton's eyes cease to smile as she replies, with dignity: + +"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." + +"Where, may I ask, is Daisy's own maid?" + +"In her room, with a headache that unfits her for duty. Come here, +Daisy." + +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. + +"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." + +"Have you been to Papa's room, Daisy? You know we must not let him feel +lonely to-night." + +"Exceeding thoughtfulness," mutters Alan Warburton to himself, as he +turns to resume his domino. Then aloud, to his sister-in-law, he says: + +"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?" + +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: + +"No; I going to stay with my new mamma." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _your_ face, +your sweet voice and your saucy words both betray you." + +"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. + +"It's my waltz; wait, Winnie." + +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. + +Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws the child again +toward her and says: + +"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." + +She turns toward the entrance, the child's hand clasped tightly in her +own, and there, directly before her, stands a figure which she has +longed, yet dreaded, to meet--the Goddess of Liberty. + +With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, Leslie +Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns to Millie. + +"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." + +"But, Mamma,--" + +"There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come." + +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. + +"I am not mistaken," whispers that lady, glancing about her as if +fearing an eavesdropper; "you are--" + +"First," interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry mask, "are +_you_ Mrs. Warburton?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I am Richard Stanhope." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +VERNET "CALLS A TURN." + + +Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she concealed was +engraven upon the memory of her _vis-a-vis_. + +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 clustered thick waves of sunny +auburn. She is slender and graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with +inherent self-poise in gait and manner. + +She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing still nearer the +disguised detective: + +"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?" + +"None whatever, madam. Have _you_ any fears of that sort?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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 the +matter in hand, and who would respect an unhappy woman's secret--should +it become known to him." + +Her voice died in her throat, and Stanhope rustled his garments +uneasily. Then she rallied and went on bravely: + +"Mr. Follingsbee assured me that you were all I could desire." + +"Mr. Follingsbee does me an honor which I appreciate." + +"And so, Mr. Stanhope, I am about to trust you. Let us sit here, where +we shall be unobserved, and tolerably secure from interruption." + +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. + +He hesitates a moment, then takes the proffered seat and says, almost +brusquely: + +"Madam, give me my instructions as rapidly as possible; the very walls +have eyes sometimes, and--I must be away from here before midnight." + +"My instructions will be brief. I will state my case, and then answer +any questions you find it necessary to ask." + +"I shall ask no needless questions, madam." + +"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 _espionage_. 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." + +Behind his starry mask, her listener smiled at this woman-like statement +of the case. Then he said, tersely: + +"You say that you are being spied upon. How do you know this?" + +"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." + +"Um! Did you know this figure?" + +"No; it was strange to me, but always the same." + +"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?" + +"N--no," hesitatingly. + +"So," thought the detective, "she is not quite frank, with me." Then +aloud: "Do you suspect any one?" + +"No." + +"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." + +The lady bows her head, and he proceeds: + +"First, then, have you a secret?" + +She starts, turns her head away, and is silent. + +The detective notes the movement, smiles again, and goes on: + +"Let us advance a step; you _have_ a secret." + +"Why--do you--say that?" + +"Because you have yourself told me as much. We never feel that uneasy +sense of _espionage_, 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 that you have--what? An enemy, or only a tormentor?" + +"Both, perhaps," she says sadly. + +"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." + +Springing up suddenly, she tears off her mask, and standing before him +says with proud fierceness: + +"And why may you not see my face! There is no shame for my mask to +conceal! I _have_ a secret, true; but it is not of _my_ making. It has +been forced upon me. I am not an _intriguante_: I am a persecuted woman. +I am not seeking it to conceal wrong doing, but to protect myself from +those that wrong me." + +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. + +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: + +"Dear lady, trust me! Even as I believe you, believe _me_, 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." + +"Oh! I do trust you, Mr. Stanhope; I _must_. 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 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." + +There is a lull in the music and a hum of approaching voices. She +hastily resumes her mask, and Stanhope says: + +"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." + +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. + +"What success, my friend?" + +"It's all right," replies the Goddess of Liberty; "I have seen the +lady." + +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. + +"Shades of Moses," he mutters to himself, "I can't be mistaken; that +_is_ 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!" + +And Van Vernet leaves his post of observation and follows slowly, +keeping the unconscious Goddess of Liberty always in sight. + +[Illustration: "Dear lady, trust me! Your secret shall be safe; your +enemy shall become mine!"--page 75.] + +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. + +"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 _him_ +just at present." A few steps farther and the British officer comes to a +sudden halt. + +"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 _keep_ him here _until after +midnight_. If I had an accomplice to detain _him_ while I, myself, +appear at the Agency in time, then the C---- street Raid would move +without him, the lead would be given to _me_. It's worth trying for. It +_shall_ be done, and my patron in black and red shall help me." + +He turns, and only looks back to mutter: + +"Go on, Dick Stanhope; this night shall begin the trial that, when +ended, shall decide which of the two is the better man!" + +And the British officer hurries straight on until he stands beside the +black and scarlet domino. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"A FALSE MOVE IN THE GAME." + + +Pretty, piquant Winnifred French was the staunch friend of Leslie +Warburton. + +When Winnie was the petted only daughter of "French, the rich merchant," +she and Leslie Uliman had been firm 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. + +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. + +Not long after, Alan Warburton had returned from abroad, and then had +begun a queer complication. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"May I sit down, Winnie?" + +"No." + +"Just for a moment's chat." And he seated himself as calmly as if he had +received a gracious permission. + +"You are angry with me again, Winnie. Is my sister-in-law always to come +between us?" + +She turned and her blue eyes flashed upon him. + +"Once and for all," she said sharply, "tell me why you hate Leslie so?" + +"Tell _me_ why she has poisoned your mind against me?" he retorted. + +"_She!_ Leslie Warburton! This goes beyond a joke, sir. Leslie Warburton +_is_ what Leslie Uliman was, a _lady_, 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 _fashionable_ sins! Humph! In all +probability I shall marry for money myself." + +"Winnifred!" + +"I _shall_; 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." + +"My sister-in-law angled very successfully." + +"So she did, if you _will_ 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 _brother_. But then," with a provoking little +gesture of disdain, "Leslie and I never did admire handsome men." + +There was just a shade of annoyance in the voice that answered her: + +"Pray go on, Miss French; doubtless yourself and Mrs. Warburton have +other tastes in common." + +"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 _as I know her_, 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." + +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. + +He starts forward as if about to pursue her, and then sinks back upon +the couch. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Ah!" He half rises again, then sinks back and motions the mask to the +seat beside him. + +"I recognize your costume," he says, as the British officer seats +himself. "How long since you came?" + +"Only a few moments. I have been waiting for your interview with the +lady to end." + +"Ah!" with an air of abstraction; then, recalling himself: "Do you know +the nature of the work required of you?" + +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: + +"Um--I suppose so. Delicate bit of a shadowing, I was told; no +particulars given." + +"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 _facts_." + +"Ah!" thought Van Vernet; "it's a _she_, then." Aloud, he said: "You +have not given the lady's name?" + +"You would find it out, of course?" + +"Of course; necessarily." + +"The lady is my--is Mrs. Warburton, the mistress of the house." + +"Ah!" thought the detective; "the old Turk wants me to shadow his wife!" + +By a very natural blunder he had fancied himself in communication with +Archibald, instead of Alan, Warburton. + +"Have you any suspicions? Can you give me any hint upon which to act?" +he asked. + +"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." + +"I see," said Vernet. And then, laughing inwardly, he thought: "A case +of jealousy!" + +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. + +What he found was this: + +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. + +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. + +"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 _lady_ 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 _until I can follow +her_." + +"Well?" with marked indifference in his tone. + +"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--" + +Alan Warburton threw back his head. + +"Pardon me," he said, "but I object to thus persecuting a lady, and a +guest." + +"But if I tell you that this _lady_ is a man in silken petticoats?" + +"What!" + +"And that he seems on very free and friendly terms with _your wife_." + +"With my wi--" + +Alan Warburton stopped short and looked sharply at the eyes gazing out +from behind the yellow mask. + +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. + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +There was but one flaw in the plan of the proposed incognito. + +Alan's voice was a peculiarly mellow tenor, and Van Vernet never forgot +a voice once heard. + +"Did you say that this disguised person knows--Mrs. Warburton?" + +"I did." + +"Who is the fellow, and what disguise does he wear?" + +"I am unable to give his name. He is costumed as the Goddess of +Liberty." + +"Oh!" + +Van Vernet had his own reasons for withholding Richard Stanhope's name. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"It's a capital plan!" cried Vernet, "and it can't be put into execution +too soon." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"I AM YOUR SHADOW." + + +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. + +"Who was the Mask that posted us about this mysterious lady?" queries +the Celestial, as he lifts a _portierie_ for his comrade to pass. + +"If I am not mistaken, it was Warburton." + +"Isn't that a queer move for His Dignity?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"How long have you been here, Harvey?" he asks hurriedly, but with +noticeable affability. + +"About half an hour." + +"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." + +"But,--" + +"There will be no trouble; just mingle with the throng, saying nothing +to anyone. No one will address you who could doubt your identity; I +will arrange all that. You comprehend?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +Vernet was a man of many resources, and trying, indeed, must be the +situation which his fertile brain could not master. + +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: + +"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." + +Alan Warburton turned his eyes toward the detective with a cold, +scrutinizing stare. + +"Why such caution?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _will_ watch Mrs. Warburton." + +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. + +She is going through the drawing-room, away from the dancers, and he +hastens after, wondering a little as to her destination. + +From a flower-adorned recess, a fairy form springs out, interrupting the +lady in the glimmering robes. + +"Mamma!" cries little Daisy, "oh Mamma, I have found Mother +Goose--_real, live_ Mother Goose!" + +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. + +"Oh Mamma!" continues the little one, "can't I stay with Mother Goose? +Millie says I must go to bed." + +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: + +"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." + +"The lady wants me, mamma." + +"Then go, dear." + +And Leslie gathers up her glimmering train and hastens on without once +glancing backward. + +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. + +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. + +With a long, weary sigh, Leslie enters the library and lets the curtain +fall behind her. + +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. + +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. + +"Again!" she murmurs; "how can I obey them?--and yet I _must_ go." Then, +suddenly, a light of fierce resolve flames in her eyes. "I _will_ go," +she says, speaking aloud in her self-forgetfulness; "I will go,--but it +shall be _for the last time_!" + +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. + +In another moment, Alan Warburton is in the library. Tearing off the +black and scarlet domino he flings it into a corner, and, glancing down +at his nautical costume mutters: + +"Sailors of this description are not uncommon. Wherever she goes, I can +follow her--in this." + +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! + +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: + +"So, Madam Intrigue, Van Vernet advised me well. Glide on, plotter; from +this moment until I shall have unmasked you, _I am your shadow_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +"DEAR MRS FOLLINGSBEE." + + +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. + +[Illustration: "Silently, with the tread of an Indian, a man follows +after; a man in the garments of a sailor."--page 90.] + +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 will not be denied the pleasure of a waltz with +"the stately and graceful Miss Columbia." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 amuse, and begin to annoy. In +vain he tries to shake them off. If one goes, the other remains. + +After many futile efforts to free himself from his tormentors, he sees +Mr. Follingsbee approach, and beckons him forward with a sigh of relief. + +The two maskers, recognizing Uncle Sam as a fitting companion for Miss +Columbia, reluctantly yield their ground and withdraw. + +"Have those fellows been pestering you?" queries the lawyer, with a +laugh. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"So much the better." + +"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. + +"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." + +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 forth, adjusting their masks as +they move toward the stairway. + +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: + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +And she seizes the flowing drapery, and draws it back to illustrate her +suggestion. + +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: + +[Illustration: "Don't you think your dress muffles your figure a little +too much, Follingsbee?"--page 94.] + +"I hope you don't resent _my_ criticisms, Follingsbee; you've picked +_me_ to pieces often enough. Or are you still vexed because I _won't_ +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 _had_ 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 _me_ anything about Alan; +I've got him all catalogued on my ten fingers. Here he is pro and con; +pro's _your_ 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 _rubbish_. +He's talented. Well, that's only an accident for which _he_ deserves no +credit. He's thoroughly upright and honorable. Well, he's _too_ bolt +upright for me." + +"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. + +"Now, then," resumes Winnie, absorbed in her topic; and releasing her +victim to check off her "cons" on the pretty right hand; "here's _my_ +opinion of Mr. Warburton. He's _proud_, ridiculously proud. He worships +his _name_, if not himself. He is suspicious, uncharitable, unforgiving. +He's _hard-hearted_. 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." + +Up from the ball-room floats the first strains of a delicious waltz. +Winnie stops, starts, and turns toward the door. + +"That's my favorite waltz, and I'm engaged to Charlie Furbish--he dances +like an angel. Follingsbee, bye, bye!" + +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. + +"Thank Heaven," mutters Stanhope. "I consider _that_ the narrowest +escape of my life! What a little witch it is, and pretty, I'll wager." + +He draws from beneath his flowing robe a tiny watch such as ladies +carry, and consults its jewelled face. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A "'MELLICAN LADY'S" LITTLE TRICK. + + +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. + +This importunate fellow is determined to solve the mystery 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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Mellican lady slick?" queries the masker solicitously; "'Mellican lady +walm? Ching Ling flannee, flannee." + +And raising his Japanese fan, he begins to ply it vigorously. + +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. + +The mask propels it close to the window, and the detective sinks into +it, with a long drawn sigh. + +Then, plying his fan with renewed vigor, the Celestial murmurs tenderly: + +"'Mellican lady slick?" + +"Confound you," thinks Stanhope; "I will try and be too _slick_ for +you." Then, for the first time, he utters a word for the Celestial's +hearing. Moving his head restlessly he articulates, feebly: + +"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. + +"Water!" The Celestial, utterly deceived, drops the fan and his dialect +at the same moment, and muttering: "She has fainted!" springs to the +door. + +It is just what Stanhope had hoped for. When the Celestial returns with +the water, the fainting lady will have disappeared. + +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. + +"Girl," calls the masker authoritatively, "get some water quick; a lady +has fainted." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As he approaches the window, however, he realizes that there is another +lion in his path. + +[Illustration: "Stanhope, bounding to his feet, springs through the open +window"--page 99.] + +The room is already occupied; he hears two voices speaking in guarded +tones. + +"Be quick, Harvey; some one may come in a moment." + +"I have locked the door." + +"But it must be opened at the first knock. There must be no appearance +of mystery, no room for suspicion, Harvey." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +How came Vernet at this masquerade, of all others? And what are they +about to do? + +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. + +"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 _will_ wear petticoats!" + +America! England! petticoats! Stanhope can scarcely suppress an +exclamation as suddenly light flashes upon his mental horizon. + +"I've done a good thing to-night, Harvey," continues Vernet 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 '_one_ 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?" + +"Oh, perfectly; _my_ work's easy enough." + +"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 _how_." + +In another moment the dressing-room is deserted. + +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. + +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: + +"To the X--street police station. Drive fast." + +A trifle farther away another carriage, its driver very alert and +expectant, stands waiting. + +Having heard Vernet's order, Stanhope hurries to this carriage, springs +within, and whispers to the driver: + +"The old place, Jim; and your quickest time!" + +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. + +If this absurd apparition bears not the slightest resemblance to the +Goddess of Liberty, it resembles still less our friend, Richard +Stanhope. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A CRY IN THE DARK. + + +One more scene in this night's fateful masquerade remains to be +described, and then the seemingly separate threads of our plot unite, +and twine about our central figures a chain of Fate. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Old Mother Hubbard--she went to the cupboard," sings Daisy gleefully. +"Of course I do, Mrs. Goose. Does Mother Hubbard look like you?" + +"A little." + +"And--you said Cinderella's coach was down near my papa's gate?" + +"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?" + +The fair child clasps two tiny hands, and utters a cry of delight. + +"Oh! _could_ we?" she asks, breathlessly. + +"Of course we can, if you are very quiet and do as I bid you, and if you +don't get afraid." + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +Something like a smothered imprecation dies away in the throat of the +listener, and then she says, in honeyed accents: + +"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." + +"Oh! how nice!" + +"It will be charming. Come into the conservatory, dearie. I think we can +see Cinderella's lamps from there." + +With the confidence born of childish innocence, the little one places +her hand in that of Mother Goose, and is led away. + +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. + +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. + +"It's--very--dark," she whispers. + +"It's the light inside that makes it seem so dark, dearie. Ah! I see a +glimmer of Cinderella's lamp now; look, child!" + +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. + +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. + +And as her form vanishes from the balcony, a city clock, far away, tolls +out the hour: _midnight_. + + * * * * * + +At this same hour, with the same strokes sounding in their ears, a +party of men sally forth from the X--street Police station, and take +their way toward the river. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +But he waits in vain. The long night passes, and day dawns, and Richard +Stanhope does not appear. + +Meanwhile, Van Vernet and the two men who accompany him, arrive first of +the party at their rendezvous. + +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 himself and the wounded convict, on +the night previous. + +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. + +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. + +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, +_he_ can do. + +What are these miserable outlaws that they should baffle Van Vernet the +skillful, the successful, the daring? + +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. + +"What the--" + +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. + +Involuntarily all three utter sharp exclamations as they gather around +the apparition. + +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. + +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. + +Unmistakably, it is the face of an idiot. + +"How!" ejaculates this being, peering curiously at the three. "How do? +Where ye goin'?" + +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. + +Turning to one of his men he says, in an undertone: + +"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." + +Then turning to the intruder he says suavely: + +"How are you, my man? How are you?" + +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: + +"G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; _g'way_." + +[Illustration: "G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; +_g'way_!"--page 110.] + +"We must humor him, boys," says Vernet aside. Then to Charlie--"So +you're a policeman? Well, so am I; look." + +And turning back the lapel of his coat he displays, on the inner side, +the badge of an officer. + +Silly Charlie comes close, peers eagerly at the badge, fingers it +curiously, then, grasping it firmly, gives a tug at the lapel, saying: + +"Gimme it. Gimme it." + +Van Vernet laughs good-naturedly. + +"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?" + +Silly Charlie nods violently. + +"And you want my star, or one like it?" + +"_Um hum!_" with sudden emphasis. + +Van Vernet lays a hand on the shoulder of the idiot, and then says: + +"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?" + +Charlie's enthusiastic gestures testify to his delight at this +proposition. + +"Um hum," he cries gleefully; "Charlie go; Charlie be big p'liceman." + +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, with a doleful whine, he +extends his hand, saying; + +"Gimme star _now_." + +"Not now, Charlie; you must earn it first. I had to earn mine. Do you +know the way to Devil's alley?" + +"Um hum!" + +"Good: do you know where Black Nathan lives!" + +"Um hum!" + +"Can you take me to Nancy Kaiser's lushing ken?" + +"Um hum; Charlie knows." + +"Then, Charlie, you shall have that star soon." + +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." + +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. + +Seizing Vernet by the arm, Silly Charlie lowers his head and glides down +the alley, as stealthily as an Indian. + +"Charlie," whispers Vernet, imperatively, "you must be very cautious. I +want you to take me first to where Black Nathan lives." + +"Hoop la!" replies Charlie in subdued staccato; "I'm takin' ye; +commalong." + +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. + +Here they halt for a moment, Charlie peering curiously around him, and +stooping to search for something among the loose stones. + +Suddenly a shriek pierces the silence about them--a woman's shriek, +thrice repeated, its tones fraught with agony and terror! + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A PRETTY PLOT. + + +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. + +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. + +It is the same room, its appointments unchanged; the same 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. + +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. + +"What's _this_?" he soliloquizes, lifting a huge bundle and scrutinizing +it carefully. "Ah-h! a gentleman's fine overcoat; _that_ 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." + +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. + +"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, ha! ha! he'd go waist-deep in a bed of old +rags, and he wouldn't like the smell overmuch; such a _nice_ smell--for +cops. He couldn't _see_ anything, couldn't _feel_ anything but rags, +just rags." + +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. + +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: + +"Who knocks?" + +"It's Siebel," replies a voice from without. "Open up, old Top." + +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. + +At sight of this bulky burden the old man smiles and rubs his palms +together. + +"Ah! Josef," he says, reaching out to relieve the new-comer, "a nice +load that; a very nice load!" + +But the man addressed as Josef retains his hold upon his burden, and, +resting himself against it, looks distrustfully at his host. + +"It's been a fine evening, Josef," insinuates the old man, his eyes +still fixed upon the bag. + +"Fair enough," replies Josef gruffly, as he unties the bag and pushes +it toward the old man. "Take a look at the stuff, Papa Francoise, and +make a bid. I'm dead thirsty." + +Eagerly seizing the bag, Papa Francoise drags it toward the table, +closely followed by Josef, and begins a hasty examination of its +contents, saying: + +"Rags is rags, you know, Josef Siebel. It's not much use to look into +'em; there's nothing here but rags, of course." + +"No, course not," with a satirical laugh. + +"That's right, Josef; I won't buy nothing but rags,--_never_. I don't +want no ill-gotten gains brought to me." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend." + +"Umph," mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a draught. Then +setting the cup hastily down; "Now, old Top, wot's your bid?" + +"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." + +"The dickens you will!" + +Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his shoulder. + +"Stop, Josef!" cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the treasure. "What +do you want? That's a good price for rags." + +"Bah!" snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, "wot d'ye take +me for, ye blasted old fence?" + +But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag. + +"Stop, Josef!" he cries eagerly; "let me see," pulling it down from his +shoulder and lifting it carefully. "Why, it's _heavier_ than I thought. +Josef, I'll give you two dollars and a half,--_no more_." + +The "no more" is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends the +meaning behind the words, for he reseats himself sullenly, muttering: + +"It ain't enough, ye cursed cantin' old skinflint, but fork it out; I've +got to have money." + +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. + +"Oh, it's _you_, 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?" + +[Illustration: "The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another, +Josef."--page 117.] + +"Nothin'," replies Nance sullenly; "nothin' that will suit you. I ain't +had no luck." + +"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. + +But Papa makes a gesture to stay him. + +"Hold on, Josef!" he cries; "wait Nance!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"Ha ha! _Do_ I?" And Josef slaps his pockets suggestively. + +"Now listen, both of you. Suppose, I could help you two to earn some +money easy and honest, what then?" + +"Easy and _honest_!" repeats Siebel, with a snort of derision; "Oh, +Lord!" + +But the girl leans forward with hungry eyes, saying eagerly: "How? tell +us how." + +"I'll tell you. Suppose, just suppose, a certain rich lady--_very_ 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--" + +"Oh, lip it livelier!" cries Siebel impatiently. "Stow yer swash." + +"Well; suppose you and Nance, here, was to come in sudden 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--" + +But Siebel breaks in impatiently: + +"Oh, skip the rubbish! Is there any body to bleed?" + +"Is it a safe lay?" queries Nance. + +"Yes, yes; it's safe, of course," cries Papa, thus compelled to come +down to plain facts. + +"Then let's get down to business. Do you expect an angel's visit here +to-night?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, what's yer plan? Out with it: Nance and I are with ye, if ye +divvy fair." + +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. + +It is a pretty plan but--"_Man sows; a whirlwind reaps._" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A COUNTERPLOT. + + +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. + +"If that old woman were here!" he mutters, and then starts forward at +the sound of a low hesitating tap. + +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. + +It is a woman, slender and graceful; a _lady_, 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: + +"Man, _why_ have you sent for me? Don't you know that there is such a +thing as a last straw?" + +"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!" + +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." + +"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 _your child_. +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?" + +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!" + +"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!" + +He sinks upon the stool as if in utter dejection, wipes away an +imaginary tear, and then resumes, in the same guarded tone: + +"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." + +"Which _you_ have already extorted from me! I have given you every +dollar I possess and yet you live like beggars." + +"And we _are_ beggars, my child. Some unfortunate speculations have +swept away all our little gains, and now--" + +"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--" + +"No, my child, oh!--" + +But she pays no heed to his expostulations. + +"I have come _for the last time_!" she says with fierce decision. "I +have come to tell you that from this moment I defy you!" + +"Softly, my dear; sh-h-h!" + +His face, in spite of his efforts to retain its benign expression, is +growing vindictive and cruel. He comes toward her with slow cat-like +movements. + +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. + +"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--" + +"So we were, my child," he interrupts, "for we had promised not to come +near you during their lifetime." + +"You had promised _never_ to approach me, _never_ 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 _you_, and Life bring me such creatures to fill your places! +But they cannot, they never shall!" + +"Oh, good Lord!" mutters Papa under his breath, "those fools upstairs +will hear too much!" + +But Leslie's indignation has swallowed up all thought of caution, and +her words pour out torrent-like. + +"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 _then_ 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 _claim_ upon my affections. +Affections! The word is mockery from your lips! In consideration 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." + +Papa Francoise, unable to stem the tide of her eloquence, shows signs of +anger, but she never heeds him. + +"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 _my_ money has been paid into your hands, but not +one dollar of my _husband's_ wealth shall ever come to you from me. I +swear it!" + +The old man again moves nearer. + +"Ah, ungrateful girl!" he cries, feigning the utmost grief; "ah, unkind +girl!" + +And his affectation of sorrow causes two unseen observers to grin with +delight, and brings to Leslie's countenance an expression of intense +disgust. + +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. + +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. + +Obeying Papa's instructions, Josef Siebel and the girl 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-- + + "The best-laid plans of men and mice gang aft agleg." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Nance," he whispers eagerly, "Nance, look--in her ears." + +The girl peers down, and fairly gasps. + +"Shiners!" she whispers; "ah, they make my eyes water!" + +"They make my fingers itch," he returns; "d'ye twig, gal?" + +"Eh?" + +Drawing her away from the aperture, he says, in a hoarse whisper: + +"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?" + +"How?" + +"By surprisin' 'em. If I'll floor the old man, can't you tackle the +gal?" + +Nance takes a moment for consideration; they exchange a few more +whispered words and then begin to creep stealthily toward the stairway. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +A DETECTIVE TRAPPED. + + +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. + +"Once more, and for the last time," she pleads, "I ask you to tell me +the truth. Give up this claim of kinship. If 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!" + +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. + +"My child," he begins feebly, but leaves the sentence unfinished at the +sound of a double knock upon the door. + +"Ah-h-h!" he cries with evident relief, "here comes your mother; she can +tell you how wrong you are." + +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. + +"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 _that_ here." + +"I had to do it," she retorts in a whisper; "there are cops in the +alleys." + +With a fierce gesture toward the rear door, Papa seizes the bundle, +saying: + +"Why, it is very heavy; old iron, I suppose; and how horrid those old +rags smell. We must take them away, old woman." + +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. + +Perhaps it is the flickering light, perhaps it is her disordered fancy, +but as they bear their burden through the doorway, Leslie Warburton +half believes that she sees it move. A moment later she starts forward, +her face blanched, her eyes distended. + +"Oh, am I losing my senses?" she cries, "or _did_ I hear a child's +voice, a voice like my little Daisy's, calling 'mamma?'" + +A moment she listens, but no child's voice breaks the stillness; even +Papa and Mamma Francoise are silent in the room without. + +A sudden feeling of terror possesses Leslie. + +"Oh, these wicked people are driving me mad!" she murmurs brokenly. +"_Anything_ is better than this. I will go home and confess all to my +husband. I will brave the worst, rather than be so tortured!" + +Drawing her cloak about her, she makes a step toward the door. + +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. + +"Get on to the shiners, gal," commands Siebel, as he pinions her arms +with his powerful hands. + +Again Leslie utters a cry for help, and what follows is the work of a +moment. + +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. + +"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. + +Then follows a moment of confusion, a wild struggle for the mastery, +which ends soon in a horrible tableau. + +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. + +There is a moment of awful stillness in the room. + +Then Leslie Warburton's strong nature asserts itself. Withdrawing from +Alan's supporting arm, she fixes her eyes upon his face. + +"Oh, Alan," she says, "you followed--" + +"I followed you? Yes," he answers sternly. "Hush!" as she is about to +speak, "this is no time for words." + +There is a shout from the street, and the sound of approaching +footsteps. Papa Francoise seems galvanized into new life. + +"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. + +[Illustration: "There is a moment of awful stillness in the room."--page +130.] + +The approaching footsteps come nearer, and Alan, seizing Leslie by the +arm, drags her toward the door by which the others have escaped. + +"Go!" he says fiercely, "the police are coming; go, for the sake of the +name you bear, for your husband's sake, go! _go!_ GO!" + +As he forces her resisting form across the threshold she turns upon him +a face of piteous appeal. + +"Alan! And you--" + +His lip curls scornfully. + +"I am not a _woman_," he says impatiently; "_go, or_--" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Struggling away from the embrace of Silly Charlie, and bringing himself +slowly to his feet, Vernet says angrily: + +"You confounded idiot, what do you mean?" + +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. + +"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 _that_." + +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. + +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. + +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 Vernet, who now rises +from his examination of the body, and calls over his shoulder: + +"Charlie, come here." + +Leering and laughing, Charlie comes promptly forward. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You won't eh?" pursues Vernet mockingly. "You are very mum? and no +wonder." + +"Mum, mum," chants Silly Charlie, approaching Alan with gingerly steps, +and peering curiously into his face. + +Then bending suddenly forward he whispers quickly: "_Keep mum!_" and +bursting into an idiotic laugh, _pirouettes_ back to the side of Vernet. + +"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." + +Charlie obeys eagerly, and examines the handcuffs with evident delight. + +"Charlie" says Vernet, "you and I have got to make this man a prisoner. +If we do, you will get your star and uniform." + +"Hooray!" cries Charlie, fairly dancing with delight. "Gimme, gum--gimme +knife!" + +"Why, the blood-thirsty fool!" exclaims Vernet. "No, no, Charlie; we +must put on these handcuffs, and rope his feet." + +"Hoop la!" cries Charlie; "gimme rope." + +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. + +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: + +"_Don't resist--keep silence--we are gaining time for her!_" + +"Charlie," says Vernet, "that's a good bit of work, and I'm proud of +you. Now, let's make our prisoner more comfortable." + +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. + +"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?" + +Charlie nods confidently, and makes a prompt movement toward the door. +Then suddenly he stops and points upward with a half terrified air. + +"Some one's up there," he whispers. + +"What's that, Charlie?" + +"Somebody's there. Charlie heard 'em." + +Van Vernet hesitates a moment, looks first at the prisoner, then at +Charlie, and slowly draws forth his dark lantern. + +"I'll go up and see," he says half reluctantly, and making his pistol +ready for use. "Watch the prisoner, Charlie." + +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. + +"Hist, Mr. Warburton!" + +"Ah! who--," Alan Warburton checks himself suddenly. + +"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." + +He produces a key which unlocks the handcuffs. + +"Now, you are free, but remain as you are till I give you the +signal,--ah!" + +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. + +Something underneath it strikes the eye of the seeming 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. + +He hears footsteps crossing the rickety floor above. Van Vernet, having +failed to find what he sought for aloft, is about to descend. + +Stepping quickly to Alan's side, Silly Charlie whispers: + +"Fortune favors us. We have got Vernet trapped." + +"_Vernet!_" Alan Warburton starts and the perspiration comes out on his +forehead. + +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 _he_? + +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. + +As he gazes, Vernet enters the room, a look of disappointment and +disgust upon his face. + +"Charlie, you were scared at the rats," he says; "there's nothing else +there." + +The trap is directly between him and the prisoner, and as he walks +toward it, Silly Charlie fairly laughs with delight. + +"What are you--" + +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. + +"Now," whispers Silly Charlie, "off with your fetters, Warburton, and I +will guide you out of this place. You are not entirely safe yet." + +Up from the trap comes a yell loud enough to waken the seven sleepers, +and suddenly, from without, comes an answering cry. + +"It's Vernet's men," says Silly Charlie. "Now, Warburton, your safety +depends upon your wind and speed. Come!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A PROMISE TO THE DEAD. + + +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, + +"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." + +[Illustration: "Vernet's foot has pressed the yielding carpet; he +clutches the air wildly, and disappears."--page 137.] + +For the first time Alan Warburton, the self-possessed, 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. + +"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_ 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?" + +"I never saw his face until to-night." + +"What! and yet, two hours ago, he was at your brother's house, a guest!" + +"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?" + +"'Silly Charlie' is what they call me in these alleys, and I pass for an +idiot." + +"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." + +"In serving you to-night, Mr. Warburton, I have also served myself. As +to who I am, it cannot matter to you." + +"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. _That_ does concern me." + +Alan's companion ponders a moment, and then says: + +"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." + +"Ask it." + +"Van Vernet was a guest at your masquerade--why was he there?" + +The question startles Alan Warburton, but he answers after a moment's +reflection: + +"He came at my invitation, and on a matter of business." + +"And yet you say that you never saw his face before?" + +"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." + +"And you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 shave; crop your hair, and above all leave the city until this +affair blows over." + +"Thank you," Alan replies; "I feel that your advice is good." Then, +after a struggle with his pride, he adds: + +"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." + +"I comprehend." + +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. + +"The first, after you." + +"You saw those who fled?" + +"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!" + +Alan's tone is a trifle haughty as he answers: + +"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 _me_ so intimately. I have +a right to know why you followed us, or me, to that house to-night?" + +His companion laughs good-naturedly. + +"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 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. _You_ 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." + +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. + +Puzzled, chagrined, his brain teeming with strange thoughts, Alan +Warburton turns homeward. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 of their leader's prolonged absence, have stumbled upon him in +the very nick of time. + +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. + +Instinctively he comprehends the situation. The simpleton has played him +false, the prisoner has escaped. + +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 _unlocked_! And by whom? Not by the +man who wore them; that was impossible. + +Suddenly, flinging down the handcuffs, he turns to the policemen. + +"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 _alive or dead_!" + +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. + +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. + +He goes to the side of the murdered man, who still lies as he had +fallen, and looks down upon him. + +"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 _clean_. +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 _you_, my lad, and the man who outwitted _me_, shall be found and +punished, or Van Vernet will have lost his skill!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +VERNET DISCOMFITED. + + +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. + +More than an hour they consumed in this search, and then they returned +to their superior officer to report their utter failure. + +"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 warned. I would not give a copper +for all we can capture now." + +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. + +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. + +The Raid was an utter failure; and Van Vernet, as he led his men +ruefully homeward, little dreamed of the cause of the failure. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Richard Stanhope_ were arrayed against him; nor dreamed +that "Warburton, the 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. + +Arrived at head-quarters, Vernet laid before his Chief a full report of +the night's misadventures, and concluded his narrative thus: + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +It was late in the day when Stanhope finally presented himself, and then +he entered the outer office alert, careless, _debonnaire_ as usual; +looking like a man with an untroubled conscience, who has passed the +long night in peaceful repose. + +Vernet, who had arrived at the office but a moment before, lifted his +face from the newspaper he held and cast upon his _confrere_ an +inquiring glance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"I say, Van, old fellow, how do you like conducting a Raid?" + +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. + +"It shall not remain thus," he assured himself fiercely; "I'll play as +many trumps as Dick Stanhope, before our little game ends!" + + * * * * * + +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: + +"You may consider yourself sure of both men, after a little. Dick +Stanhope, whose case promised to be a very short one, 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." + +"I like the idea," said Walter Parks earnestly, "and I will be here at +the appointed time." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +But Stanhope only said: + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CALLED TO ACCOUNT. + + +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. + +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. + +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 _incognito_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +Anxiously she watched the throng, hoping, yet dreading, to see the +sailor costume of Alan, fearing lest, in spite of his high courage, +disaster had overtaken him. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Tossing a kiss to Leslie, and bestowing a grimace upon Alan as he held +open the door for her exit, Winnie had _pirouetted_ out of the room, and +sped up the broad stairway as fleetly as if her little feet were not +weary with five hours' dancing. + +Then Leslie, with a stately gesture, had led the way to the library. + +Silently, and as if by one accord, they paused under the chandelier, and +each gazed into the face of the other. + +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. + +Looking him full in the face, she made no effort to break the silence. +Seeing which, Alan Warburton said: + +"Madam, you play your part well. You are not now the nocturnal wanderer +menaced by a danger--" + +"From which you rescued me," she interrupts, her face softening. "Alan, +it was a brave deed, and I thank you a thousand times!" + +"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?" + +"I have not been missed, and I returned as safely and as secretly as I +went." + +Her voice was calm, her countenance had hardened as at first. + +"Madam, let us understand each other. One year ago the name of Warburton +had never known a stain; now--" + +He let the wrath in his eyes, the scorn in his face, finish what his +lips left unsaid. + +But the eyes of his beautiful opponent flashed him back scorn for scorn. + +"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 _that_!" + +"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, _what_ were you! I +_have_ 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 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 _where_ you paid +your visits, but not to _whom_. 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?" + +Slowly she moved toward him, looking straight into his angry, scornful +face. Slowly she answered: + +"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 _have_ 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." + +She turned away, but he laid a detaining hand upon her arm. + +"Stop!" he said, "you must not go to Archibald with this; you shall +not!" + +"Shall not!" she exclaimed scornfully; "and who will prevent it?" + +"I will prevent it. Woman, have you neither heart nor conscience? Would +you add murder to your list of transgressions?" + +"Let me go, Alan Warburton," she answered impatiently; "I have done with +you." + +"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." + +"But he shall; every word of it." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Yes," she said, turning again toward the door, "I shall tell him of +that too." + +"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." + +The last words were mockingly uttered, but Leslie paid no heed to the +tone. + +"Are you telling me the truth?" she demanded. "Must I play my part +still?" + +"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 I may denounce you, but to enable me to protect us all from the +consequences of your follies." + +If the words were conciliatory, the tone was hard and stern. Alan +Warburton could ill play the role he had undertaken. + +The look she now turned upon him was one of mingled wonder and scorn. + +"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." + +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. + +"Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sob in her throat, +"we have lost little Daisy!" + +"Lost her!" + +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. + +"We have hunted everywhere," Winnie continued wildly. "She is not in the +house, she is not--" + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +BETRAYED BY A PICTURE. + + +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: + +"There is no hope. His life is only a thing of days." + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sob +in her throat, "we have lost little Daisy!"--page 155.] + +So two long, dreary days passed away, with no tidings from the lost and +no hope for the dying. + +During these two days, Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope were not idle. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Rightly judging that sooner or later Papa Francoise, or 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. + +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. + +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. + +The silence and gloom that hung over the mansion was too marked to pass +unnoticed by so keen an observer. + +Wondering as to the cause, Vernet pulled the bell, and boldly handed his +professional card to the serious-faced footman who opened the door. + +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. + +"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." + +The servant turned upon him a look of surprise. + +"Do you mean Mr. Archibald Warburton, sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it will be impossible. Mr. Warburton has been dangerously sick +since yesterday. The shock--Mr. Alan receives all who have business." + +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: + +"Nevertheless, you may deliver my message." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Wondering somewhat at this cavalier message, the servant retraced his +steps, and Alan returned to the sick-room, murmuring as he went: + +"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." + +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: + +"But for her, and her wretched intrigue, I should have no cause to +deceive, and no man's scrutiny to fear." + +Alas for us who have secrets to keep; we should be "as wise as +serpents," and as farseeing as veritable seers. + +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. + +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. + +When the servant had delivered his message, and without paying the +slightest heed to its purport, Vernet demanded, almost fiercely: + +"Who is the original of that portrait?" + +"That, sir," said the servant, "is Mr. Alan Warburton." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A PROMISE TO THE DYING. + + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +While Van Vernet thus soliloquizes over his startling discovery, we will +follow the footsteps of Richard Stanhope. + +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. + +It is a hospital, watched over by an order of noble women, and +affording every relief and comfort to the suffering ones within its +walls. + +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. + +"How is your patient?" queries the detective, approaching the bed and +gazing down upon the man whom he has befriended. + +"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." + +"I will stay as long as possible," Stanhope says, seating himself by the +bed. "But I have not much time to spare to-night." + +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. + +And while he mutters, Richard Stanhope listens--at first idly, then +curiously, and at last with eager intensity, bending forward to catch +every word. + +Finally he rises, and crossing the room deposits his hat upon a table, +and removes his light outer coat. + +"I shall stay," he says briefly. "How long will he live?" + +"He cannot last until morning, the surgeon says." + +"I will stay until the end." + +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. + +It is almost midnight when his mutterings cease, and he falls into a +slumber that looks like death. + +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. + +"You see--I was--right," he whispers, a wan smile upon his face; "I am +going to die." + +He labors a moment for breath, and then says: + +"You have been so good--will--will you do one thing--more?" + +"If I can." + +"I want my--mother to know--I am dead. She was not always good--but she +was--my mother." + +"Tell me her name, and where to find her?" + +The voice of the dying man sinks lower. Stanhope bends to catch the +whispered reply, and then asks: + +"Can you answer a few questions that I am anxious to put to you?" + +"Y--yes." + +"Now that you know yourself dying, are you willing to tell me anything I +may wish to know?" + +"You are the--only man--who was ever--merciful to me," said the dying +man. "I will tell you--anything." + +Turning to the nurse, Stanhope makes a sign which she understands, and, +nodding a reply, she goes softly from the room. + +When Richard Stanhope and the dying man are left alone, the detective +bends his head close to the pillows, and the questions asked, and the +answers given, are few and brief. + +Suddenly the form upon the bed becomes convulsed, the eyes roll wildly +and then fix themselves upon Stanhope's face. + +"You promise," gasps the death-stricken man, "you will tell them--" + +The writhing form becomes limp and lifeless, the eyes take on a glassy +stare, and there is a last fluttering breath. + +Richard Stanhope closes the staring eyes, and speaks his answer in the +ears of the dead. + +"I will tell them, poor fellow, at the right time, but--before my duty +to the dead, comes a duty to the living!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +A BUSINESS CALL. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He found that legal gentleman preparing to walk down to his office; and +after an interchange of salutations, the two turned their faces townward +together. + +"Well, Stanhope," said the lawyer, linking his arm in that of the +detective with friendly familiarity, "how do you prosper?" + +"Very well; but I must have an interview with Mrs. Warburton this +morning." + +"Phew! and you want me to manage it?" + +"Yes." + +The lawyer considered a moment. + +"You know that the Warburtons are overwhelmed with calamity?" he said. + +Stanhope glanced sharply from under his lashes, and then asked +carelessly: + +"Of what nature?" + +"Archibald Warburton lies dying; his little daughter has been stolen." + +"What!" The detective started, then mastering his surprise, said +quietly: "Tell me about it." + +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: + +"It's a strange state of affairs, but it makes an immediate interview +with the lady doubly necessary. Will you arrange it at once?" + +"You are clever at a disguise: can you make yourself look like a +gentleman of my cloth?" + +"Easily," replied Stanhope, with a laugh. + +"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." + +An hour later, a carriage stopped before the Warburton doorway, and two +gentlemen alighted. + +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. + +They entered the house together, and the servant took up to Leslie the +cards of Mr. Follingsbee and "S. Richards, attorney." + +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. + +"How is Archibald?" asked the lawyer, briskly. + +"Sinking; failing every moment," replied Leslie, sadly. + +"And there is no news of the little one?" + +"Not a word." + +There was a sob in her throat, and Mr. Follingsbee, who hated a scene, +turned abruptly toward his companion, saying: + +"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." + +And without regarding her stare of surprise, he walked coolly from the +room, leaving Leslie and the disguised detective face to face. + +"Is it possible!" she said, after a moment's silence; "is this Mr. +Stanhope!" + +The middle-aged gentleman smiled and came toward her. + +"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." + +She bowed her head and looked inquiringly into his face. + +"Mrs. Warburton, are you still desirous to discover the identity of the +person who has been a spy upon you?" he asked gravely. + +"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? + +"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." + +Then, seeing the look of distress and indecision upon her face, he +continued: + +"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?" + +She sank into a chair, with a weary sigh. + +"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." + +He drew a chair near that which she occupied, and plunged at once into +his unpleasant narrative, talking fast, and in low, guarded tones. + +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. + +As she listened, Leslie's face took on a look of terror, and she buried +it in her hands. + +"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." + +Leslie shuddered, and as he paused, she asked, from behind her hands: + +"And then--oh, tell me what happened after that!" + +"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?" + +"He has told me nothing." + +"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 was when he met and +frightened the little girl, and then reproved the servant." + +"I remember." + +"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." + +She lifted her head suddenly. + +"_Arrest!_" she exclaimed; "why should you arrest _him_?" + +Stanhope fixed his eyes upon her face; then sinking his voice still +lower, he said: + +"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." + +"What!" + +"It was the body of a dead rag-picker. Before you left that room, a +fatal blow was struck." + +"Yes--I--I don't know--I can't tell--it was all confused." + +She sank back in her chair, her face fairly livid, her eyes looking +unutterable horror. + +"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." + +She bent forward, looking eagerly into his face. + +"And you rescued him?" she said, eagerly. + +"You could scarcely call it that. He resisted grandly, and 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." + +"And is that danger now past?" + +"Is it past!" He took from his pocket a folded placard, opened it, and +put it into her hands. + +It was the handbill containing the description of the escaped Sailor, +and offering a reward for his capture. + +With a cry of remorse and terror, Leslie Warburton flung it from her, +and rose to her feet. + +"My God!" she cried, wringing her hands wildly, "my cowardice, my folly, +has brought this upon him, upon us all!" + +Then turning toward the detective, a sudden resolve replacing the terror +in her eye, a resolute ring in her voice, she said: + +"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." + +"But, madam--" + +"Wait; I want your advice, too, your aid, perhaps. Mr. Follingsbee also +shall hear me." + +She started toward the library, but the detective put out a detaining +hand. + +"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." + +She breathed a shuddering sigh, and returned to her seat. + +"You are right," she said hurriedly; "and until you shall advise me +otherwise, I will tell my story to none but you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +LESLIE'S STORY. + + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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. + +"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--" + +"What!" The exclamation fell involuntarily from Stanhope's lips. Then +checking himself, he said quietly: "I beg your pardon; proceed." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 again. Soon after that, I was approached by the +Francoises--you have seen them?" lifting her eyes to his face. + +"Yes." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 in +obedience to an imperative summons, resolved that it should be the last +time." + +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. + +Thus a moment of silence passed. Then Stanhope, withdrawing his eyes, +and leaning back in his seat, asked suddenly: + +"Is that all?" + +"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." + +"I know." + +"You have heard it, of course. I believe that I know why, and by whom, +she was abducted." + +"Ah!" + +"I suspect the Francoises." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +Richard Stanhope leaned forward, and slightly lifted his right hand. + +"Is there any one else who would be benefited by the death or +disappearance of the child?" he asked. + +Leslie started, and the hot blood rushed to her face. + +"I--I don't understand," she faltered. + +"Do you know the purport of your husband's will." + +"Yes." + +"How does he dispose of his large property?" + +"One third to me; the rest to little Daisy." + +"And his brother?" + +"Alan possesses an independent fortune." + +"Are there no contingencies?" + +"In case of my death, all comes to Daisy, Alan becoming her guardian. In +case of Daisy's death, Alan and I share equally." + +"Then by the loss of this child, both you and the young man become +richer." + +"Ah!" she gasped, "I had never thought of _that_!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +But, aloud, he only said: + +"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." + +"By letter?" + +"No; through the morning papers. Use this form." + +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. + +"That is safer than a letter," he said, rising. "One word more, madam. +Tell Alan Warburton to be doubly guarded against Van Vernet. His danger +increases at every step. Now we will call Mr. Follingsbee." + +"One moment, Mr. Stanhope. Alan has employed detectives to search for +Daisy, but none of them know what you know. Will _you_ find her for me?" +She held out her hands appealingly. + +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: + +"I will serve you to the extent of my power, dear lady. I will find the +little one, if I can." + +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. + +While their footsteps yet lingered on the outer threshold, Winnie French +came flying down the stairway. + +"Come quick!" she cried to Leslie. "Archibald is worse; he is dying!" + + * * * * * + +"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." + +Nevertheless he went straight to the Agency, and, standing before his +Chief, said: + +"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, weeks, or months, but you will not see me here +again until I can tell you _who killed Arthur Pearson_." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +VERNET ON THE TRAIL. + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +His first glance toward the massive street-door caused him to start and +mutter an imprecation. The bell was muffled, and the door-plate hidden +beneath heavy folds of crape. + +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. + +Within was a household doubly stricken; without, a two-fold danger +menaced. + +"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." + +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." + +He was not sorry that Archibald Warburton was dead, and he resolved to +profit by that death. + +Since the discovery of Alan Warburton's picture, Van Vernet's mind had +been drifting toward dangerous conclusions. + +Suppose this wealthy aristocrat and the Sailor assassin 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? + +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? + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +He gave a shrug of indifference and glanced back over his shoulder. + +The two women had halted before the Warburton mansion, and the elder one +was looking up at the crape-adorned door. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They would have passed Vernet hurriedly, but he put out his hand and +said: + +"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 _that_ 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." + +The woman muttered something after the usual mendicant fashion, and +hastened away down the street. + +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. + +But Van Vernet had now no eyes for the horses, the carriage, or its +occupant. + +Noting, with a hasty glance, the direction taken by the two women, he +sprang down the basement-steps and rang the bell. + +The servant who had opened to the women, again appeared at the door. + +"What do _you_ want?" she asked, crossly; for being an honest servant +she had no fear of the blue coat and brass buttons of the law. + +The bogus policeman touched his hat and greeted her with an affable +smile. + +"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." + +He extended his hand for the letter; but the servant drew back, and +answered hastily: + +"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." + +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. + +[Illustration: "Be off, now, and thank fortune that I am a good-natured +fellow."--page 181.] + +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. + +"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." + +Suddenly he uttered a sharp ejaculation, and quickened his pace. + +"That old woman--why, she answers perfectly the description given of +Mother Francoise! And if it _is_ 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +WHO KILLED JOSEF SIEBEL. + + +While Van Vernet was following after the two women, the carriage with +the restless horses moved slowly past the Warburton dwelling. + +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: + +"Around the corner, Jim, and turn." + +The order was promptly obeyed. + +"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?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Follow him." + +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. + +Finally, leaning back in the carriage with a muttered, "That settles it; +he's going to track them home," he again addressed the driver: + +"Turn back, Jim." + +"All right, sir." + +"Drive to Warburton Place, side entrance." + +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. + +At the sound of an opening door she turned to confront her maid, who +proffered her a card. + +Leslie took it mechanically and then started as she read thereon: + + MADAM STANHOPE, + Modeste. + +And written in the corner of the card, the underlined word, +_Imperative_. + +There was a look of relief upon the face she turned to the servant. + +"Where is the--lady?" + +"In the little drawing-room, madam." + +Holding the card in her hand, Leslie hastened to the little +drawing-room. + +A tall, veiled woman advanced to meet her; it was the occupant of the +carriage. + +Leslie came close to this sombre-robed figure and said, almost in a +whisper: "Mr. Stanhope?" + +"It is I, Mrs. Warburton. Need I say that only the most urgent necessity +could have brought me here at such a time?" + +"It is the right time, sir." + +She held up before him the crumpled note. + +"It is from _them_?" he asked. + +Leslie nodded. + +"It contains the secret of their present whereabouts, and bids you come +to them?" + +"Yes." + +"You will not go?" + +"How can I, now?"--her voice almost a wail--"and yet--" + +"You are safe to refuse, Mrs. Warburton. You need not comply with any +instructions they may give you henceforth. Let me have that note." + +"But--" + +"I must have it, in order to save you. I must know where to find these +people." + +She looked at him inquiringly, and put the note into his hand. + +"Thank you," he said. "Has Van Vernet visited this house, to your +knowledge?" + +"He has." + +"And he saw--" + +"No one. I obtained my information from a servant. He sent up his card +to Alan, who refused to meet him." + +"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. + +"That is very imprudent," he said. + +"I--I don't understand." + +"That picture. It must be removed." Then turning sharply toward her: +"Are there other pictures of Mr. Alan Warburton in this house?" + +"No; this is the only recent portrait." + +He sat down and looked at the picture intently. + +"Van Vernet has been here, you tell me. Can he have seen _that_?" + +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. + +"So," muttered Stanhope, as he again contemplated the picture, "a square +foot of canvas can spoil all my plans. If Van has seen _this_, my work +becomes doubly hard, and Warburton's case a desperate one." + +While he pondered, Leslie came softly back, and stood before him. + +"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." + +"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 +Vernet, who was watching near here, saw them and followed them." + +"Oh!" + +"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." + +"But--Alan is not guilty." + +"Are you _sure_ of that?" + +"I--I--" She faltered and was silent. + +"Mrs. Warburton," he asked, slowly, "do you know _who_ struck that +blow?" + +She trembled violently, and her face turned ashen white. + +"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 _not_ Alan!" + +Not a little surprised at this incoherent outburst, Stanhope looked her +keenly in the face, a new thought taking possession of his mind. + +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. + +The question, who killed Josef Siebel? was becoming a riddle. + +"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. 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 _no strangers_ to your presence." + +"But you--" + +"I shall not apply for admittance; I am going away. Before you see me +again, I trust your troubles will have ended." + +"And little Daisy?" + +"We shall find her, I hope. Mrs. Warburton, time presses; remember my +instructions and my warning. Good-morning." + +He moved toward the door, turned again, and said: + +"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." + + * * * * * + +It was long past noon when Van Vernet, weary but triumphant, reappeared +upon the fashionable street where stood the Warburton mansion. + +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 woman and her companion had passed from his sight. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 casket--it was made for a much shorter, a much +smaller man! + +If _this_ were intended for Archibald Warburton, who, then, was the +six-foot masker? + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, Alan Warburton," he muttered, "_I have you now_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL. + + +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. + +Papa and Mamma Francoise had left their abiding-place in the slums for a +refuge even more secure. + +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 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. + +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. + +It is evening, the evening of the day that has witnessed Van Vernet's +most recent discovery, and Papa and Mamma are at home. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Mamma Francoise stirs the liquid more vigorously, and takes a careful +sip from the iron spoon. + +"Ah," she murmurs, "that's the stuff. It's a pity to spoil it." + +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. + +If one may judge from Mamma's abstinence, the liquor _has_ been spoiled, +for she does not taste it again. + +Having thus completed her task, she turns toward one of the pallets, and +seating herself thereon lifts her eyes toward Papa. + +"What's to be done with the girl?" she repeats. "That's the question +I've asked _you_ often enough, and I never got an answer yet." + +Papa withdraws his gaze from her face, and fixes it once more upon the +broken tumbler. + +"She ain't no good to us," resumes Mamma, "and we can't have her tied to +us always." + +"Nor we can't turn her adrift," says Papa, significantly. + +"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." + +"Consequently--" says Papa. + +And then they look at one another in silence. + +"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." + +"No," says Papa, shaking his head, "we can't alter hers--not now." + +"And if we could, we can't alter her actions." + +"No; we can't alter her actions," agrees Papa, with a cunning leer, +"except to make 'em worse." + +And he casts a suggestive glance toward the tin cup on the floor. + +"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." + +"And it won't do to give her any less. Old woman, we've just got back to +the place we started from." + +Mamma Francoise rests her chin in her ample palm and ponders. + +"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." + +She goes to the door, opens it with an angry movement, and peers out +into the dark hall. + +"Nance, you torment!" + +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: + +"Sh-h! Old woman, let me in, and don't make a fuss." + +The woman starts back and is about to close the door, when something in +the appearance of the man arrests her attention. + +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. + +In another moment he stands with a hand on either door-post. + +[Illustration: "How are ye, old uns? Governor, how are ye?"--page 194.] + +"How are ye' old uns?" he says, with a grin. "Governor, how are ye?" And +then, with a leer, and a lurch which betrays 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!" + +"Franzy!" Mamma Francoise starts forward, a look of mingled doubt and +anxiety upon her face. "Franzy! No, it can't be Franzy!" + +"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." + +The two Francoises drew close together, and scrutinized the new-comer +keenly, doubtfully, with suspicion. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Franzy! is it really Franzy?" + +The new claimant to parental affection flings out his hand with a fierce +gesture, and a horrible oath breaks from his lips. + +"Is it _really_ Franzy?" he cries, derisively. "Who else do ye think +would be likely to claim _yer_ kinship? I've put in 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." + +He turns about with a firm, resentful movement, and Mamma Francoise +springs forward with a look of conviction on her hard face. + +"Anybody'd know ye after _that_ blow out," she says with a grin. "Ye're +the same old sixpence, Franzy; let's have a look at ye." + +She lays a hand upon his arm, and he turns back half reluctantly. + +"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." + +And shaking her hand from his arm, this affectionate Prodigal strides +past her, and peers eagerly into the broken glass upon the table. + +"Empty, of course," he mutters; "I might a-known it." + +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. + +In an instant Mamma Francoise springs forward, and seizing the cup with +both hands, holds it away from his mouth. + +"Stop, Franz! you mustn't drink that." + +A string of oaths rolls from his lips, and he wrests the cup from her +hand, spilling half its contents in the act. + +"Stop, Franzy!" calls Papa, excitedly; "that stuff won't be good for +you." + +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. + +"Here, Franzy, drink this." + +But the Prodigal shakes off his father's persuasive touch, and again +seizes upon the cup of warm liquor. + +"Franzy!" cries Papa, in a tremor of fear, "drop that; _it's doctored_." + +The Prodigal moves a step backward, and slowly lowers the cup. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Having refreshed himself from the bottle, he begins his story, +interluding it with innumerable oaths, and allotting to himself a full +share of the daring and dangerous feats accompanying the escape. + +"It's plain that ye ain't read the papers," he concludes. "Ye'd know all +about it, if ye had." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +FRANZY FRANCOISE'S GALLANTRY. + + +While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the contents of the +aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, the evening wore on. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Umph!" muttered the hopeful son; "who did the killin'?" + +Papa glanced uneasily at the old woman, and then replied: + +"We don't know, Franzy. The fight began when we were out of the room, +and--we don't know." + +"That's a pity; wasn't there any reward?" + +"Yes, boy," said Mamma, eagerly; "a big reward. An' if we could tell who +did the thing, we would be rich." + +"Somebody got arrested, of course?" + +"N--no, Franzy; nobody's been arrested--not yet." + +"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?" + +"We've been careful, Franzy." + +"S'pose ye have--look here, old un, don't ye see yer chance?" + +"How, Franzy?" + +"How! If I was you, I'd clear my own skirts, and git that reward." + +"How? how?" + +"_I'd know who did the killin'._" + +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. + +"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!" + +Then she turns her head and listens, while Franz, casting a wistful look +at the now empty bottle, rises to his feet the movement betraying the +fact that he is physically intoxicated, although his head as yet seems +so clear. + +Again footsteps approach, and Mamma hastens to the door, listens a +moment, opens it cautiously, and peers out. + +"It's that gal," she mutters, setting the door wide open. "Come in, you +Nance! Where have you been, making yourself a nuisance?" + +Then she falls back a pace, staring stupidly at the strangely-assorted +couple who stand in the doorway. + +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: + +"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?" + +A look of anger gleams in Mamma's eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and +answers: + +"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." + +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: + +"They tell me that this girl's mind has been destroyed by liquor, and +that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is +not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?" + +These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to +his feet, and cause Mamma's true nature to assert itself. + +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. + +"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 _my_ charge, and I'm able to take care of +her. Your hospital prayers wouldn't do her any good." + +As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow. + +"Hold your tongue, you old fool," he whispers sharply. + +Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness: + +"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!" + +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: + +"Wot's the row? Anythin' as I kin help out?" + +"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." + +"The lady is very kind," chimes in Papa; "but we can't spare Nance, poor +girl." + +"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." + +"Now, Franzy,"--begins Mamma. + +"S'h-h, my boy,"--whispers Papa, appealingly. + +But he roughly repulses Mamma's extended hand. + +"Let up, old woman," he says, coarsely; and then, pushing her aside, he +addresses the Sister: + +"I say, what--er--ye want--er--her for, any'ow?" + +The Sister turns away, and addresses herself once more to Mamma. + +"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--" + +But again fury overmasters prudence. Mamma springs toward her with a +yell of rage. + +"Ah, you cat-o'-the-world," she cries, "go home with yer pious cant! The +gal's--" + +The words die away in a gurgle; the hand of Franz, roughly pressed +against her mouth, has stopped her utterance. + +"Oh, get out, old woman!" he exclaims, pushing her away and steadying +himself after the effort. "Ye're gittin' too familiar, ye air." + +Then seeing that the Sister, convinced of her inability to reason with +the unreasonable, had turned to go, he cried out: + +"Hold on, mum; if ye want that gal, ye kin have her. _I'm_ runnin' +this." + +"I shall not forget that poor creature," says the Sister, still +addressing Mamma and ignoring Franz; "and if I find that she is not--" + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +FRANZ FRANCOISE BELLIGERENT. + + +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. + +Then Mamma seated herself upon the one unoccupied stool, and glared +alternately at the two men. + +Papa Francoise was evidently both disturbed and alarmed at this visit +from the Sister of Mercy, and he seemed intent upon solving some new +problem propounded to him by the scene just ended. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Papa seated himself and favored her with a vacant stare. + +"Eh!" he said, absently; "what's to be done?" + +Mamma cast a quick look toward her recumbent Prodigal, and leaned +forward until her lips touched the old man's ear. + +"Mind this," she hissed; "_he_ ain't to know too much. He's got the +devil in him; it won't do to put ourselves under his thumb." + +"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." + +Mamma gave a derisive sniff, a sort of acknowledgment of the +compliment--one of the only kind ever paid her by her worser half,--and +then said: + +"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." + +"Yes," assented the old man, "he'd have things his own way, or he'd make +us trouble; he always did." + +Mamma arose, stirred the smouldering fire, and resuming her seat, began +afresh: + +"Now, then, we've got to decide about that gal. She can't go to no +hospital?" + +"No; she can't." + +"And she can't stay with us. It was a big risk before; now that Franzy +is back, it's a bigger risk." + +"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." + +"I s'pose so." + +"Well, s'pose we tell him about her." + +"What for?" + +"Ter satisfy him, an' ter git his help." + +"His help?" muttered Mamma. "That might do." + +Suddenly Papa lifted a warning finger. "Hush," he whispered; "there's +somebody outside o' that door." + +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: + +"Who's there?" + +"Open de do'; I's got a message fo' yo'." + +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. + +Mamma glided toward the pallet where lay her returned Prodigal, and bent +above him. + +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. + +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. + +"You will excuse me," he said, politely, "but my business is private, +and some one might come up the stairs." + +"What do you want?" + +The incautious words were uttered by Papa Francoise, who, noting the +entire absence of his negro accent, arose hastily, his face full of +alarm. + +The African smiled blandly. + +"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." + +"By our patron!" Mamma echoed his words in skeptical surprise. + +"Yes; I am his servant." + +Papa and Mamma gazed at each other blankly and drew nearer together. + +"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." + +Papa took the proffered note reluctantly, glanced at the superscription, +and suddenly changed his manner. + +"That is not directed to me," he cried, sharply. "You have made a +mistake." + +"It is directed to Papa Francoise." + +Papa peered closer at the superscription. "Yes; I think that's it. It's +not my name; it's not for me." + +"My dear sir, I know you too well. You need not fear me; I am Mr. +Warburton's body servant." + +"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?" + +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. + +Mamma's answer came very promptly. + +"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." + +A smile crossed the face of the wily African, and he turned toward Papa. + +"Read my master's note, if you please," he said. "It was written to +_you_." + +Slowly Papa unfolded the note, and his eyes seemed bursting from their +sockets as he read. + + Name your price, but keep your whereabouts from the police. If + you are called upon to identify me, _you do not know me_. + + * * * * * + +While Papa reads, the slumbering Franz begins to move and to mutter. + +"Give me the file, Jim," he says, in a low, cautious tone. "Curse the +darbies--I--" + +The sudden overturning of a stool, caused by a quick backward movement +on the part of Mamma, drowns the rest of this muttered speech. + +But the words have caught the ear of the colored gentleman, who moves a +pace nearer the sleeper, and seems anxious to hear more. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +If the fugitive Sailor and Alan Warburton are one and the 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In another moment,--neither Papa nor Mamma could have told how it came +about,--the two were upon the floor, Franz Francoise uppermost, his +knees upon the breast of his antagonist! + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +IN DURANCE VILE. + + +This onslaught, so swift and unexpected, took Papa and Mamma completely +by surprise, and, for the moment, threw even Vernet off his guard. + +"Scoundrel!" he exclaimed, while the menacing knife pressed against his +throat; "what does this mean?" + +For answer, Franz shot a glance toward the two elder Francoises, and +said in a hoarse, unnatural whisper: + +"Deek the cove;[1] he's no dark lantern!" + +[1] Look at him. + +"Eh!" from Papa, in a frightened gasp. + +"Done!" from Mamma, in an angry hiss. + +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. + +As they writhed together upon the floor, Franz shot out another +sentence, this time without turning his head. + +"A dead act," he hissed; "we're copped to rights!" + +Which, being rendered into English, meant: "Combine the attack; we are +in danger of arrest." + +And then the struggle became a question of three to one. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _may_ pipe +to them, but,--" with a click of the pistol,--"_ye're_ a dead man before +they can lift a hoof!" + +Vernet's eyes blazed with wrath, but he maintained a scornful silence. + +[Illustration: "In another moment, the two were upon the floor, Franz +Francoise uppermost!"--page 210.] + +The three Francoises, without withdrawing their gaze from their +prisoner, consulted in harsh whispers. It was a brief consultation, +but it was long enough for Van Vernet to decide upon his course of +action. + +"Now then, my bogus dark lantern," began Franz, who had evidently been +chosen spokesman for the trio, "what's yer business here?" + +"Why don't you begin at the beginning?" retorted Vernet, scornfully. +"You have not asked who I am." + +"Umph; we'll find out who ye air--when we want to. We know _what_ ye +air, and that's enough for us just at present." + +"Might I be allowed to ask what you take me for?" + +"Yes; a cop," retorted Franz, decidedly. "Enough said on that score; +now, what's yer lay?" + +"I suppose," began Vernet, mockingly, "that you didn't hear the little +conversation between that nice old gent there and myself?" + +"Look here," said Franz, with an angry gesture, "don't fool with _me_. +Ef you've got any business with me, say so." + +"Don't bully," retorted Vernet, contemptuously. "You were not asleep +when I entered this room." + +Franz seemed to hesitate and then said: "S'posin' I wasn't, wot's that +got to do with it?" + +"If you were awake, you know my errand." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"A _detective_!" hissed Mamma; while Papa turned livid at the thought +the word "detective" always suggested to his mind. + +"A detective, if you like," responded Vernet, coolly. "A _private_ +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." + +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: + +"This kind and accommodatin' gent, wot I've so misunderstood, has got +business with ye, old top." + +Papa came slowly forward, his face expressive of fear rather than +curiosity, followed by Mamma, fierce and watchful. + +"You--you wanted _me_?" began Papa, hesitatingly. + +"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?" + +His enunciation of the last word probably excited the wrath of Franz, +for he came a step nearer, with an aggressive sneer. + +"My name's Jimson, Mr. Cop, an' I'm a friend of the family. Anything +else ye want ter know?" + +With a shrug of the shoulder, Vernet turned toward Papa once more. + +"I'd like to speak with you alone, Papa Francoise," he said +significantly. + +The mood of mocking insolence seemed deserting Franz, and a wrathful +surliness manifested itself in the tone with which he addressed Papa. + +"He'd like ter see ye alone, old Beelzebub, d'ye hear?" + +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. + +Mamma's quick eye noted the look of suspicion and she interposed. + +"Ye can speak afore this gentleman, Mr. Cop; he's a _very_ intimate +friend." + +A look of annoyance flashed in the eyes of Van Vernet. He hesitated a +moment, and then said slowly: + +"Does your intimate friend know anything about the affair that happened +at your late residence near Rag alley, Papa Francoise?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _your_ 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." + +Franz raised the revolver to his eye and squinted along the barrel. + +"Why don't you call, then?" he inquired. + +"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." + +Franz shifted his position and seemed to hesitate. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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. + +"Maybe ye might take a fancy ter think I'm that same feller," suggested +Franz, after a moment's silence. "What then?" + +"Then," replied Vernet, "every moment that you detain me here increases +your own danger." + +"Humph!" grunted Franz, as he rose and crossing to Mamma's side, began +with her a whispered conversation. + +Vernet watched them curiously for a moment, and then turned his face +toward Papa. + +"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." + +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 Vernet was too wise to call upon +the police for assistance or protection. + +"You want--information?" queried Papa; "what about?" + +Vernet hesitated, and then said slowly: + +"I want to know all that you can tell me about the Sailor who killed +Josef Siebel." + +Papa gasped, stammered, and turned his face toward Franz, who now came +forward, saying fiercely: + +"Look here, my fly cop, afore ye ask any more important questions, just +answer a few." + +"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!" + +"Ye've got to git out of my clutches first," hissed Franz Francoise, +"and yer chances fer that are slim!" + +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. + +"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--" + +"For a little while," put in Franz, significantly. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +FRANZ FRANCOISE'S GENERALSHIP. + + +When the three had returned to the outer room, Papa turned anxiously +toward his hopeful son. + +"Franz, my boy," he began, in a quavering voice, "if there should be +cops outside--" + +"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?" + +The mention of this last-named public benefactor, caused Papa to shiver +violently, and Mamma bent upon him a look of scorn. + +"Don't be an idiot, Francoise," she said, sharply. "We've got somethin' +to do besides shakin' an' shiverin'?" + +"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." + +"But, Franzy,--" began Papa. + +"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." + +"Ah, what a brain the boy has got!" murmured Mamma, with rapturous +pride. + +"Look a-here," said Franz, after a moment's consideration, "I'm +satisfied that there _ain't_ 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. + +"Now, Franzy,--" began Mamma, coaxingly. + +But he waved her back, saying: "Shut up, old woman; I'm runnin' this," +and went swiftly out. + +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. + +"Old man," she said, impressively, "that boy'll be the makin' of us--if +we don't let him git us down." + +"Eh! what?" + +"He's got your cunnin' an' mine together, and he's got all the grit you +lack." + +"Well," impatiently. + +"But he'll want to run us. An' when he knows all _we_ know, he'd put his +foot on us if we git in his way." + +"Yes," assented the old man, with a cunning wink, "he's like his +ma--considerable." + +"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." + +"Yes," insinuated Papa, with a dry cough, "I reckon you do." + +"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--" + +"An' about Nance." + +"It's the same thing; an' ye'll see what he does when we give him an +idea about it." + +"I know what he'll do;" with a crafty wink. "I'll tell him _all_ about +Nance." + +"Yes," muttered the old woman, "ye're good at lyin', and all the +sneakin' dodges." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _her_. You'll have +to visit her agin." + +"I s'pose so. An' when I do--that cop's comin' has given me an +idea--I'll bring her to time." + +"How?" + +Mamma leaned toward him, and touched his shoulder with her bony +forefinger. + +"Just as that cop 'ud have brought _you_ to time, if it hadn't been for +Franzy's comin'." + +Over Papa's wizened face a look of startled intelligence slowly spread +itself. + +"Old woman," he ejaculated, "Satan himself wouldn't a-thought of _that_! +The devil will be proud of ye, someday. But Franzy mustn't see the +gal." + +"I'll manage that," said Mamma. "It's risky, but it's the only way; I'll +manage it." + +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. + +"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. + +"Then," put in Mamma, "while we're safe, we'd better make _him_ safe." + +"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." + +He perched himself upon the rickety table, and Papa and Mamma drew the +stools up close and seated themselves thereon. + +"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." + +"Yes," assented Papa, "so he does." + +"What he knows about me, I reckon he told," resumed Franz. "Now, what's +the killin' affair mentioned?" + +Papa seemed to ponder a moment, and then lifted his eyes to his son's +face with a look of bland ingenuousness. + +"It's a kind of delicate affair, my boy," he began, in a tone of +confidential frankness, "but 'twon't do for _us_ to have secrets from +each other--will it, old woman?" + +"No," said Mamma; "Franzy's our right hand now. You ort to tell him all +about it." + +"Oh, git along," burst in Franz. "Give us the racket, an' cut it mighty +short--time enough for pertikelers later." + +"Quite right, my boy," said Papa, briskly. "Well, here it is: I--I'm +wanted, for a witness, in a--a murder case." + +"Oh," groaned Franz, in tones of exaggerated grief, "my heart is broke!" + +"You needn't laugh, Franzy," remonstrated Papa, aggrieved. "It's the +business I was tellin' you about--at the other place, you know." + +"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." + +"Why, there's not much of it. We was doing well; I bought rags an'--an' +things." + +"Rags an' things--oh, yes!" + +"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,--" + +"Yes," interjected Mamma, "we was." + +"An' we ran in, an' tried to stop the fight." + +Mamma nodded approvingly. + +"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'." + +"Um!" grunted Franz, "and did you tell me they had arrested somebody?" + +"No, my boy. They caught one fellow, a sailor, but he got away." + +"Oh, he got away. How many was there, at the time of the killin'?" + +"There were three in the room, besides the man that was killed, and +there was the old woman and me in the next room." + +"You forgit," interrupts Mamma, "there was Nance." + +"Oh, yes," rejoined Papa, as if grateful for the correction, "there was +Nance." + +Franz glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping girl, and then asked +sharply: "And what was Nance doin'." + +"Nance was layin' on a pile o' rags in a corner," broke in Mamma, "an' I +had to drag her out." + +Franz gave utterance to something between a grunt and a chuckle. + +"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'." + +"She ain't worth savin' now," broke in Papa, hastily. "She's a stone +around our necks." + +"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." + +"Well, ye ain't obliged ter take her, are ye?" queried Franz, as if this +part of the subject rather bored him. "Your keepin' _her_ looks all rot +to me. She ain't good for nothin' that I kin see, only to spoil good +whiskey." + +Papa and Mamma exchanged glances, and then Papa said: + +"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." + +"D'ye mean ter say," queried Franz, "that if that gal knew anything, +she'd know too much?" + +"That's about it, my boy." + +Franz gave vent to a low whistle. "So," he said; "an' _that's_ 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?" + +"Yes, Franzy." + +"Yes, my boy." + +"Then what the dickens are ye mincin' about? Why don't ye settle the gal +afore we pad?" + +"Easy, my boy, easy," remonstrates Papa. + +"Just wot _I_ say, Franz," puts in Mamma. "When we leave here, it won't +be safe for us to take her--nor for you, either." + +"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 _'tis_, why--" He finishes the sentence with a significant +gesture. + +"But, Franz--" begins Mamma, making a feint at remonstrance. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Well, is it _safe_, then?" + +"If we kin git there without bein' tracked, it's safe enough." + +"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." + +"Wot's yer plan, Franzy?" + +"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." + +"With the gal?" + +"Yes; ye don't want ter leave a dead gal here, do ye? Ye might be wanted +agin, _fer a witness_." + +Papa winced and was silent. + +"But, Franz,--" expostulated Mamma. + +"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." + +"Oh!" + +"An' after a while I may overtake ye, somewhere about hen-roost, +_alone_!" + +"Oh," said Mamma, "you'll finish the job in the drink?" + +"I'll finish _with_ the drink but I'll _begin_ with this." And he poised +the naked dagger above Mamma's head with a gesture full of significance. + +"But the other," said Papa, with nervous eagerness; "what shall we do +with him?" + +"The other," replied Franz, slowly putting away his knife, "we will +leave here." + +"What!" screamed Mamma. + +"But--" objected Papa. + +"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." + +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. + +Nevertheless, as they made their preparations for a midnight flitting, +Papa and Mamma, unseen by Franz, exchanged more than one significant +glance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +FLAMES. + + +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. + +[Illustration: "Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither?"--page +230.] + +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. + +Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither? + +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. + +When they had gone by, Franz Francoise turned and looked after them +until their figures had vanished in the darkness. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +After this, only silence. + +Surrounded by the silence and darkness, Van Vernet could only think. +What were their intentions? Where had they gone? Would they come back? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 offensive odor, of the foul cellar in Papa +Francoise's deserted K--street abode. + +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 +_him_, Van Vernet. + +"If I escape," he assured himself, "and I _will_ 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!" + +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. + +Moments pass away. They seem like hours to the helpless prisoner; they +have fitted themselves into one long hour before the silence is broken. + +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 +they foes or friends? Oh, for the use of his eyes--for the power to +speak! + +Presently hands touch him. Ah, they are about to liberate him; but why +so silent? + +They are dexterous, swift-moving hands; but his fetters remain, while +the swift hands work on. + +They are robbing him. First his watch; his pocket-book next; then shirt +studs, sleeve buttons, even his handkerchief. + +And still no word is spoken. + +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. + +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. + +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. _What_ are they doing? + +Ah! the footsteps retreat. They go toward the outer room; creeping, +creeping stealthily. + +Now they have crossed the outer room. They go out, and the door is +softly closed. + +What does this mystery mean? Have they returned to rob him, and then to +leave him? Will they come back yet again? + +A moment passes; another, and another. Then a sickening odor penetrates +to his nostrils, like the burning of some foul-smelling thing. + +Crackle, crackle, crackle! + +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! + +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. + +Crackle, hiss, roar! + +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. + +Hiss! hiss! hiss! + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +"A BRAND FROM THE BURNING." + + +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. + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +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. + +[Illustration: "The flames rise and spread; the door of the closet has +fallen in, and now he feels their hot breath."--page 234.] + +It is useless to attempt to save the old tenement; they realize that. +But its occupants--They have heard the alarm, and they come out +hurriedly, _en deshabille_, pushing and dragging the children, +screaming, and cursing each other and the world. + +All on the lower floor are then safe. But the upper floor, and its +occupants? + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +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. + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +They hear the tinkle of bells, the gallop of speeding hoofs upon the +pavement. + +"Ah!" cries an on-looker, "the fire boys are coming!" + +"Too late, they are," growls another; "too late, as usual." + +The engine approaches; and from the opposite direction comes a man, +running swiftly, panting heavily, almost breathless. + +The roof is all ablaze now; in a moment the rafters will have fallen in. + +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. + +"Stop! Come back!" + +"What a fool!" + +"That's the end of _him_!" + +The on-lookers shout and scream. Exclamations, remonstrance, pity, +ridicule--all find voice, and are all lost upon the daring adventurer +among the flames. + +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. + +A crash from aloft; a cry from the multitude. The roof is falling in, +and the gallant rescuer--ah! he is doomed. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"It's a nigger!" + +"No; look here!" + +"Hello, he's been playin' moke!" + +"He's been blacked!" + +"Look at his clothes, boys." + +"Jerusalem! he's been robbed." + +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. + +"He's dead, I reckon." + +"No; only smothered." + +"Stand back there; give us air." + +"Let's have some water." + +"No, brandy." + +"Look; he's coming to." + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "A form comes reeling out from among the smoke and +fire-tongues, staggering beneath a burden."--page 237.] + +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 his +double escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng baffled, +dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded. + +"And he never stops to ask who saved him!" cries a woman's shrill voice. + +"Oh, the wretch!" + +"What shameful ingratitude!" + +And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant fellow who has +risked his life to save an ingrate. + +But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and their thoughts +were following Vernet, he has disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN THE CONSERVATORY. + + +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. + +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. + +Yesterday, the stately doors opened for the last exit of the master of +all that splendor. He went out in state, and was 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was a note coarsely written and odorous of tobacco, and it contained +these words: + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +Stanhope had bidden her ignore their commands and fear nothing. But then +he never could have anticipated _this_. If she could see him; could +consult him once again. But that was impossible; he had told her so. + +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. + +Then she thrust the note into her pocket, and turned from the grate. + +"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!" + +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. + +She crossed the hall and entered the chamber occupied by her friend. A +maid was there, engaged in sewing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Dear, I want you to promise me, first of all, to keep what I am about +to say a secret." + +Winnie lifted two inquiring eyes to the face of her friend, but said no +word. + +"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." + +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: + +"I know it, Leslie; I guessed." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"_Falsity!_" Leslie rose slowly to her feet, her face fairly livid. + +Winnie also arose, and seizing one of Leslie's hands began, in a broken +voice: + +"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--" + +She broke off abruptly, wringing her hands as if tortured by her own +words. + +But Leslie coldly completed the sentence. "Alan! He knows it?" + +"Oh, yes. It began by his doubting your love for his brother, and +then--the knowledge--that you cared--for him--" + +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. + +"_That I cared!_" she repeated wildly. "Winnifred French, what are you +saying! God of Heaven! is _that_ madness known, too?" + +She flung herself upon the divan, her form shaken by a passion of +voiceless sobs. + +"Oh, Leslie, don't!" cried Winnie, flinging herself down beside her +friend. "We cannot always control our hearts; and indeed, dear, _I_ do +not blame you for loving him. Leslie," lowering her voice softly, "it is +no sin for you to love him, now." + +"No sin!" Leslie's voice was regaining its calmness, but not its icy +tone. "Winnie, _you_ can say that? Ah! a woman _can_ read a woman's +heart, and I have read yours: you love Alan Warburton." + +"I? no, no!" + +"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." + +"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 _him_!" + +There is a movement of the heavy curtains that separate this bower from +the library. Some one is approaching, but Leslie, unaware of this near +presence, answers sadly: + +"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--" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +FLINT TO STEEL. + + +There was a long moment of silence, and then Alan Warburton spoke. + +"Much as I desire to hear that sentence completed, Mrs. Warburton, I +could do no less than interrupt." + +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. + +But Alan, making no effort to conceal his hostile feelings, still stood +before the entrance, and again addressed Leslie. + +"May I detain you for a moment, Mrs. Warburton?" + +Leslie paused before him with a face as haughty as his own, 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. + +"Will you remain, Miss French?" asked Alan, but moving aside with a +courtly bow. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I think," she said, with a movement toward the _portierie_, "that our +conversation had better be continued there." + +He bowed a stately assent, and held back the curtains while she passed +into the library. + +She crossed the room with slow, graceful movements, and pausing before +the hearth, turned her face toward him. + +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 +head haughtily poised, her face once more frozen into pallid +tranquility. + +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. + +Ah, if she had known that her bitterest draught was yet to be quaffed; +that the deadliest wound was yet to be inflicted! + +She made no effort to break the silence that fell between them; she +would not aid him by a word. + +Comprehending this, after a moment of waiting, he said: + +"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?" + +"That, knowing his duty so well, Mr. Alan Warburton will do it, +undoubtedly." And she bowed with ironical courtesy. + +"And you still persist in your refusal to explain?" + +"On the contrary, I am quite at your service." + +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: + +"What is it that my brother-in-law desires to know?" + +"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?" + +"Your questions come too fast," she retorted calmly. "I will reverse +the order of my answers. The Francoises _are_ my clandestine +correspondents. My visits by stealth, have all been paid to them. It was +a threat that took me there that eventful night." + +"A threat?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you are in their power?" + +"I was." + +"And their sway has ceased?" + +"It has ceased." + +"Since when?" + +"Since the receipt of this." + +She took from her pocket the crumpled note, and held it out to him. + +He read it with his face blanching. + +"Then it was _you_!" he gasped, with a recoil of horror. + +"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." + +His eyes flashed, but she looked at him steadily. "Do you _know_ who +struck that blow?" he asked. + +"To tell you would not add to your store of knowledge," she retorted. +"Have you more to say, Mr. Warburton?" + +"More? yes. Who are these Francoises? What are they to you?" + +Her answer came with slow deliberation. "They call themselves my father +and mother." + +"My God!" + +"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." + +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: + +"Your story is excellent, but too improbable. Will you answer a few more +questions?" + +"Ask them." + +"On the night of the masquerade you received here, in your husband's +house, by appointment, a man disguised in woman's apparel." + +"Well?" + +"You admit it? Do you know how I effected my escape that night?" + +"I do. A brave man came to your rescue." + +"Precisely; and this 'brave man', is the same who was present at the +masquerade; is it not so?" + +"It is." + +"Who is this man?" + +"I decline to answer." + +"What is he to you, then?" + +"What he is to all who know him: a brave, true man; a gentleman." + +"Hem! You have an exalted opinion of this--this _gentleman_." + +"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." + +"Your _friend_ is very thoughtful," he sneered. + +She turned toward the door with an air of weariness. + +"This is our last interview," she said coldly; "have you more to say?" + +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. + +"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 _lover_, who is the abettor, possibly the instigator, of your +crimes, I shall find him out--" + +"Stop," she cried wildly, "I command you, _stop_!" + +"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." + +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. + +"As _I_ have concealed Daisy? Oh, my God; my God! I see! I understand! +My weakness, my folly, has done its work. I _have_ killed my husband! I +_have_ brought a curse upon little Daisy! I _have_ endangered your life +and honor! _I_ conceal our Daisy? Hear me, Heaven; henceforth I am +nameless, homeless, friendless, until I have found Daisy Warburton and +restored her to you!" + +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. + +One moment Alan Warburton stands looking down upon her, a cynical half +smile upon his lips. Then he turns and pulls the bell. + +"Mrs. Warburton is in a swoon," he says to the servant who appears. +"Call some one to her assistance." + +And without once glancing backward, he strides from the library. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +ALAN "EVOLVES" A PLAN OF ACTION. + + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "I cannot give life to the victim whose death lies at +your door."--page 251.] + +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--_could_ Archibald Warburton have made a _mesalliance_? And +such a _mesalliance_! The daughter of a pair of street mendicants, +social outlaws; an adventuress with no name, no lineage, no heritage +save that of shame. + + "Of all the notable things of earth + The queerest one is pride of birth." + +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, _intrigue_, base blood, and in his own household. Could he ever +forgive Leslie Warburton? Would he, if he could? + +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. + +Thus meditating, he paced up and down, up and down. And before he +finally ceased his restless journeyings to and fro, he had evolved a +theory and a plan of action. A very natural theory it was, and a very +magnanimous plan. + +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. + +"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." + +Thus reasoned Alan. And then he formed his plans. He would spare Leslie +all public disgrace, but she must cease to 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 _must_ go. + +"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 _shall_ tell me the truth concerning Daisy." + +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. + +"I will write to the Chief of Police again," he mused. "I must have +additional help. But first, before writing, I will see _her_ once more." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Leslie stopped the flow of her eloquence by a nervous appealing +gesture. + +"Let us not discuss these things now, dear; I think I have been +overtasked. I cannot talk; I must have quiet; I must rest." + +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. + +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. + +After a time she moved languidly, and then lifted herself slowly from +among the pillows. + +"Not to-night," she murmured, lifting her hand to her head with a sigh +of weariness. "I must have rest first." + +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. + +The first was addressed to Mr. Follingsbee; the second to Mrs. French, +the mother of Winnie; and the third to Winnie herself. + +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. + +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. + +Leslie took the note, and bidding the servant wait, she returned to the +inner room. + + MADAM: + + 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. + + ALAN WARBURTON. + +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. + +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. + +"Return this to your master," she said, "and tell him that the paper he +asks for has been destroyed." + +As the valet turned away, she closed the door and went back to the +grate. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +ALAN BEGINS HIS GAME. + + +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. + +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. + +She came promptly, courtesying demurely, and seemingly keeping in her +mind Leslie's instructions, "to listen, to obey, and to keep silence." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There were highly polished, elegantly finished modern rifles, rare +pieces of home and foreign workmanship; there were 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. + +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. + +Gazing upon these _souvenirs_, 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. + +Taking the missive from the salver, Alan dismissed the man and then +turned to the girl. + +"Well, Millie?" + +"Mrs. Warburton says, sir, that she can not leave her room this morning, +but hopes to be able to do so this afternoon." + +"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." + +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, almost illegible. Slowly he opened +it, and slowly removed the sheet it enclosed. + +"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." + +Slowly and laboriously, he deciphered the letter. + + A. WARBURTON. etc. + + 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. + + Very respectfully, etc. + +This much Alan slowly deciphered, and this gave the key to the +unreadable signature. It was from the Chief of Police, evidently. + +Alan reperused the letter, and slowly returned it to its envelope. + +"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." + +And once more he summoned a servant, and gave these instructions: + +"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." + +In the arrival of such a message, at that precise moment, there was, to +Alan Warburton, no occasion for surprise. From the first he had +communicated with the officers of the law by letter, or by quiet +interviews held in his own apartments. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +A VERY PATHETIC MUTE. + + +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. + +"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 _your_ walking papers. Well, who cares; I don't like +him, anyhow." And she made a vigorous dash at the fireless grate. + +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. + +Up and down the study flitted Millie, dusting, arranging, and pausing +very often to admire some costly fabric, or bit of vivid color. + +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. + +"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 _some folks_ out!" And +then, as a tuneful sound smote her ears, she turned swiftly from the +open cabinet to the window. + +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. + +"My," she said, half aloud, "but that sounds cheerful!" + +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! + +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! + +"What a mournful-looking chap it is!" murmured Millie, drawing back a +little when the tune came to an end. + +As the organ struck up a more cheerful strain, a new thought seized her, +and she leaned out again over the sill. + +"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. + +"_No! no! no!_" cried Millie; "not _that_; 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. + +"My! you shouldn't climb onto the railings like that," remonstrated +Millie, as she put out her hand to receive the bit of ribbon. + +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: + +"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?" + +Only renewed pantomines from the minstrel. + +"Are you hungry?" Then, in a tone of discouragement: "What is he at, +anyhow?" + +But as the man's hand went from his lips to his ear, even Millie's dull +comprehension was awakened. + +"Gracious goodness!" she exclaimed, "he's deaf and dumb." + +Faster still flew the fingers of the minstrel, sadder and more pitiful +grew his face, and Millie watched his movements with renewed interest. + +"He's talking with his fingers," muttered Millie. "I wonder--" + +She stopped suddenly; he was doing something new in the way of +pantomine, and Millie guessed its meaning. + +"A baby!" she gasped; "it's something about a baby. One, two, three, ah! +five fingers; five babies, five years--oh, say, say, man; _say_ +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--" + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +"Why, Millie," she said, looking back over her shoulder, "there's no one +here." + +"Perhaps--" began Millie; then, catching her breath sharply, she too +leaned over the sill. + +"Where is your pathetic mute, Millie?" + +"Well, I never!" declared the girl, still gazing incredulously up and +down the street. "He _was_ here." + +Winnie smiled as she turned from the window. + +"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." + +And a certain listener near by added to this exordium a mental amen. + +"He might have entered--" continued Winnie. + +"Oh, my!" + +"And robbed the house." + +"Bless me; I never thought of that!" + +"Try and be more thoughtful in future, Millie. Close the window and let +us go; ah!" + +This last exclamation, uttered in a tone of unmistakable annoyance, +caused Millie to turn swiftly. + +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. + +At sight of him, Millie shrank back, but Winnie came forward haughtily. + +"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. + +"Winnie," said Alan gently, "you entered to please yourself, and you are +very welcome here. Will you remain just five minutes, to please me?" + +Winnie frowned visibly, but after a moment's hesitation, said: + +"I think I may spare you five minutes. You may go, Millie." + +And Millie, only too thankful to escape thus, went with absurd alacrity. + +When the door had closed behind her,--for, retreating under Alan's eye, +the fluttered damsel _had_ remembered to close the door properly--Winnie +stood very erect and silent before her host, and waited. + +"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." + +"I am not anxious to remain," observed Winnie, glancing carelessly from +the timepiece in Alan's hand to a _placque_ on the wall above his head. + +"But I am most anxious that you should." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Warburton, but you have such a peculiar way of making +yourself agreeable." + +"Winnie!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +She drew herself very erect, and turned to face him fully, thus shutting +from her view the door behind Alan. + +"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--" + +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: + +"Pardon me; the servant showed me in somewhat unceremoniously, +supposing the room unoccupied. I was instructed to wait here for Mr. +Warburton." + +Winnie was first to recover herself. Turning to Alan, she murmured +politely: + +"I think my time has expired; good evening, Mr. Warburton." + +As she swept from the room, the stranger approached Alan, saying: + +"This, then, is Mr. Warburton. My name is Grip, sir; Augustus Grip." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +MR. GRIP FINDS A "SKELETON". + + +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: + +"Mr. Grip is prompt, to say the least. I believe that the hour--" + +"Hour appointed, between three and four--precisely, sir; _pre_cisely. +But my time's valuable, Mr. Warburton; _valuable_, 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." + +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. + +Plebeian, Mr. Grip evidently was, from the crown of his 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. + +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: + +"Will you be seated, Mr. Grip?" + +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. + +"I've got your business down fine, sir; _fine_," 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." + +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. + +"Sit down, Warburton." + +A look of displeasure flits across Alan's face. He remains standing, +seeming to grow more haughtily erect. + +"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." + +If Alan had ventured a comment just then, it would have been, "_you_ are +not what _I_ like." But he did not speak; and Mr. Grip, having paused +for a remark and hearing none, now glanced up. + +"Is that your pleasure, Mr. Warburton?" + +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. + +"That is what I--" + +"Precisely," breaks in Mr. Grip. "Now, then," referring to papers, +"first--sit down, won't you? it's more sociable." + +And Alan puts his aristocracy in his pocket and sits down opposite the +dazzling necktie. + +"Now then," recommences Mr. Grip, "I've got the _facts_ in the case." + +"You have?" + +"Facts in case; yes." And he takes up the memoranda, reading therefrom: + +"Lost child; daughter of Archibald Warburton; only daughter." Then, +turning his eyes upon Alan: "Father killed by shock, I'm told; +sad--very." + +And he resumes his reading. "Relatives: Alan Warburton, uncle; fond of +niece, eh--ahem; step-mother--um--a little mysterious; _little_ under +suspicion." + +"Stop!" interrupts Alan sternly. "On what authority dare you make such +assertions?" + +Mr. Grip permits the hand which holds the papers to rest upon one knee, +and lifts his eyes to the face of his interrogator. + +"I've reconnoitred," he says tersely. "It's a detective's business to +reconnoitre. I'm familiar with the facts in the case." + +Alan feels the perspiration start upon his brow, while he utters a +mental, "Heaven forbid!" + +"Now then," resumes Mr. Grip, throwing himself back in his chair and +stretching his legs underneath the table; "now then, _here_ we go. Daisy +Warburton is her father's heiress. Remove her, the bulk of property +probably goes to second wife--_step mother_, d'ye see? Remove _her_, +property comes down to _you_." + +"Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!" And Alan Warburton pushes back +his chair and rises, an angry flush upon his face. + +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: + +"Ta ta; I'm _reasoning_. They have _not_ both disappeared, have they? +The lady in question is in the house at this present moment, is she +not?" + +"She is," replied Alan, beginning to feel most uncomfortable. + +"She is. Well, now, if _she_ should disappear, _then_ 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." + +[Illustration: "Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!"--page 274.] + +Mr. Grip reseats himself, folds away his memoranda, and, reclining once +more at his ease, looks up at Alan coolly. + +"First, Mr. Warburton, I must see your sister-in-law." + +Alan cannot restrain his start of surprise, nor the look of anxiety that +crosses his face. + +"Not at present," he says, after a moment's hesitation. "She is ill; it +would--" + +"So much the better," interrupts the detective. "Worn out, no doubt; +nervous. May surprise something. _I must see her_, and every other +member of this household, myself unseen." + +"Ah!" thinks Alan, his hands clenching themselves involuntarily, "if I +dared throw you out of the window!" + +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: + +"Mr. Grip, is this so very necessary?" + +Slowly the detective leans forward; slowly he raises a warning +forefinger. + +"My _dear_ sir," he says impressively, "if you want to catch a thief +will you say, 'come here, my dear, and be arrested?' _No, sir_; you +catch her _unawares_. 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--" + +Again he rises, and this time he begins a slow survey of the room. + +Alan, thoroughly alarmed for Leslie's safety as well as for 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. + +"Mr. Grip," he says, "my sister-in-law is already ill from excitement. +If we could spare her this interview--" + +"Sir!" Augustus Grip wheels suddenly, and looks straight into his face +while he continues sharply: "My _good_ sir; for your _own_ sake, don't! +_You_ should have no reason for keeping a witness in the background." + +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. + +"Where do you purpose to conceal yourself?" he asks coldly, as he lays +his hand upon the bell-rope. + +Again Grip looks about him, and then steps toward the cabinet near the +window. + +"What's this," he asks, with his hand upon the closed door. "Will it +hold me?" + +"Yes," replies Alan; "that will hold you." And he pulls the bell. + +"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." + +And then there tingled in his veins a new sensation--a 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. + +"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. + +That individual, still tugging unsuccessfully at the door of the +cabinet, has grown impatient. + +"It's locked!" he says, with an angry snap. + +"No,"--Alan strides toward him--"it is not locked." And he adds his +strength to that of Mr. Grip. + +A moment the door hesitates; then it yields with a suddenness which +causes Alan to reel, and flies open. + +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. + +"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." + +"More like a sneak thief, I should say," remarks Alan, with aggravating +coolness. "And a very cowardly one at that." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +"WE TWO WILL MEET AGAIN." + + +[Illustration: ""That's a pretty thing to keep hid away!" snarls the now +thoroughly angry detective."--page 278.] + +There may have been times in Alan Warburton's life--such times come to +most fastidious city-bred people--when he 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. + +This strange intruder has brought him at least a respite; and he +breathes a sigh of relief even as he asks sternly: + +"Fellow, how long have you been hiding in that cabinet?" + +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. + +"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?" + +There is no sign that the fellow hears or understands; he continues to +gesticulate wildly. + +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. + +"That won't go down, either," snarls Mr. Grip. "Put that thing on the +floor, _presto_!" + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Alan turns his face toward the closet. "Can't we lock him up again?" he +suggests. + +"My dear sir," says Grip coolly, "this fellow is probably a _spy_." + +"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." + +"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." + +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 organ, and begins anew his +pleading, terrified pantomine. + +"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." + +"No; I presume not. Try the other windows." + +"The other windows, Mr. Grip, look out upon the grounds." + +"Perdition! Keep quiet, you fellow. Then shut that window, sir, and come +and guard this door; the lady may present herself at any moment." + +Alan turns again, and looks down into the street. + +"I think," he says, quietly, "that we will just drop him back into the +street whence he came." + +"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!" + +At this moment the door of the study flies suddenly open, and Millie, +breathless and with eyes distended, precipitates herself into the room. + +"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!" + +"What!" Alan strides toward her in unfeigned astonishment. + +"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. + +"Impossible, Millie," says Alan sharply; "go to Miss French--" + +"I did, sir, and she is--" + +She pauses abruptly, for there in the doorway is Winnie French, pale and +tearful, an open letter in her hand. + +"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!" + +"Gone!" + +This time Grip and Alan both utter the word, both start forward. + +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 +man[oe]uvre, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Hands off!" cries Grip, now hoarse with rage. "That man's a _spy_!" + +"No matter; we will have no more shooting." + +"_We_!" struggling to release his arm from Alan's firm grasp; "who are +you that--" + +"I am master here, sir." + +With an angry hiss, the detective from Scotland Yards 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +[Illustration: "Drawing a small revolver, he fires after the +fugitive--once--twice!" page 283.] + +And without unseemly haste, he places his hand upon the window-sill, +swings himself over the ledge, resting his feet upon the iron +railings, and drops down upon the pavement. + +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. + +The coolness of the false Mr. Grip takes him safely past the group of +inquiring ones. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _Van Vernet_!" + +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 _Richard Stanhope_! + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +AN ARMISTICE. + + +If Van Vernet had been thwarted, in a measure, Richard Stanhope had been +no less baffled. + +Each had succeeded partially, and each had beaten a too hasty and +altogether unsatisfactory retreat. + +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". + +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. + +Well, he had surprised several things, so he assured himself, but he had +not seen Leslie. And the _denouement_ of his visit had rendered it +impossible for him ever to reenter that house, in the character of Mr. +Augustus Grip. + +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 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." + +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. + +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. + +The whole affair was to Vernet, vague, unsatisfactory, mysterious. But +the more unsatisfactory, the more mysterious it became, the more +doggedly determined became he. + +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. + +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. They are called, by those initiated, +"private enquirers," "trackers," "bloodhounds." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Meanwhile, quiet had been restored in Alan Warburton's study, and Alan +himself now sat with a crumpled bit of paper in his hand. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When this unexpected escape had been joyfully reported to Winnie French, +that stony-hearted damsel elevated her nose and said: + +"Umph! so the man has a grain of something besides pride in him +somewhere. Well, I'm glad to hear it." + +To which Millie had replied, warmly: + +"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. _That_ was +splendid in him, anyhow." + +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. + + DEAREST WINNIE. + + 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. + + 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. + + LESLIE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Be seated, Miss French." + +Winnie sank into the proffered chair, and he draws back a few paces, and +standing thus before her, began: + +"Not long since I asked you to listen to me, and then to 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." + +"Yes," sighed Winnie. + +"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." + +"Yes," sighed Winnie once more. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Do you wish me to read it?" + +She nodded, and lifted her hand to brush two big tears from her cheeks +with a petulant motion. + +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. + +Having read the missive slowly through for the second time, Alan +refolded it and gravely returned it to Winnie. + +"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." + +While he perused the letter, Winnie had somewhat recovered herself, and +she now looked up quickly. + +"In every respect? Mr. Warburton, that note says--'trust me; do not +desert me.'" + +"And I say the same. To-day Leslie Warburton needs a true friend as +much--as much as ever woman did." + +He was about to say, "as much as I do," but pride stepped in and stopped +the words ere they could pass his lips. + +There was silence for a moment, and then he said: + +"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?" + +There was something masterful in his stern self-command his ability to +think and act with such promptitude and forethought, and it had its +effect upon Winnie. + +"I will go," she said, rising and turning toward the door. + +"Thank you," he said, then hastened to open it. + +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: + + 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. + +No name, no date, no signature, but it explains why Millie escaped +without a reprimand. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +LESLIE GOES "HOME." + + +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. + +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. + +Papa, although in the face of actual, present danger he 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This cottage, then, was shabby enough, but not so shabby as 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. + +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. + +Papa and Mamma were regaling themselves with a late supper, consisting +principally of beer and "Dutch bread," and as usual, when _tęte-ŕ-tęte_, +they were engaged in a lively discussion. + +"I don't like the way that boy goes on," remarks Mamma, as she cuts for +herself a slice of the bread. + +Papa sets down his empty beer glass, and tilts back his chair. + +"Don't ye?" he queries carelessly. + +"No, I don't," retorts Mamma with increasing energy. "He's getting too +reckless, and he swigs too much." + +"_That's_ a fact," murmurs Papa, glancing affectionately at the beer +pitcher. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 he prizes his +liberty? If he can't keep clear o' cops and beaks after _his_ +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." + +"Well," rejoins Mamma viciously, "he ain't much like _you_; if he was, +there wouldn't be so much to be proud of." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"Yes," sighed Mamma, and then suddenly suspended her speech as a lively, +and not unmusical, whistle sounded near at hand. + +"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: + +"Our dear boy's drunk agin." + +Unmindful of Mamma's anxious questions concerning his whereabouts, +Franzy took the chair she had just vacated, and began a survey of the +table. + +"Beer!" he said contemptuously. "I wouldn't drink beer, not--" + +"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." + +Franz utters a half maudlin laugh, and turns to the old woman. + +"Is this all yer eatables?" he asks thickly. "Bring us somethin' else." + +"Yes," chimes in Papa, "Franzy's used ter first-class fare, old un; +bring him something good." + +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. + +But by-and-by Mamma's quick ear catches a sound outside. + +"Some one's coming," she says in a sharp whisper. "I wonder--" + +She stops short and goes to a window, followed by Franz, who peers +curiously over her shoulder. + +"It's a woman," he says, a moment later. + +"Hush, Franzy," says Mamma sharply. And then she goes quickly to the +door. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah!" cries Mamma, starting with extended hands to seize upon the +new-comer; "ah! it's our own dear girl!" + +But Leslie repulses the proffered embrace, and moves aside. + +"Wait," she says coldly; "wait." And she looks inquiringly at Franz. +"You do not know how and why I come." + +"No matter why you come, dear child,"--it is Papa, speaking in his +oiliest accents--"we are glad to see you; very glad." + +Again Leslie's eyes rest upon Franz, and Mamma says: + +"Oh, speak out, my dear. This is our boy, Franz; your brother, my +child." + +"Yes," Papa chimes in blithely, "how beautiful this is; how delightful!" + +Leslie favors Franz with a steady look, and turns to Mamma. + +"Then I am not your only child," she says, with a proud curl of the lip. + +And Mamma, seeing the look on her face, regrets, for the once, the +presence of her beloved Prodigal. + +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!" + +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: + +"Ah-h, you were too young to remember each other; at least _you_ were +too young to remember Franzy. But _he_ don't forget you; do you, Franzy, +my boy? You don't forget Leschen--little Leschen?" + +"Don't I though?" mutters Franz under his breath, and then he moves +forward with an unsteady lurch, saying aloud: "Eh? oh, Leschen: little +Leschen. Why in course I--I remember." + +"Ah!" cries Mamma with enthusiasm, "many's the time you've rocked her, +when she wasn't two years old." + +"Franzy was allers good 'bout sech things," chimes in Papa. + +"Umph!" grunts Franz, turning to Papa, "where's she been?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +A full moment Leslie scans him from head to foot, with a look of proud +disdain. Then turning towards Mamma, she says bitterly: + +"I am more fortunate than I hoped to be." + +"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." + +She sinks wearily upon the proffered seat, and again turns her face +toward Mamma. + +"Yes," she says coldly, "let me tell my news, since this is a _family_ +gathering. You have deplored my loss so often that I have returned. I +have come to live with you." + +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. + +"Ah," groans Papa, "she's jokin' at the poor old folks." + +"Ah," sighs Mamma, "there's no such luck for poor people." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"You mistake," says Leslie coldly, "the law will do nothing for me." + +"But it must," argues Papa. "They can't keep you out o' your rights. The +law--" + +Leslie rises and turns to face him, cutting short his speech by a +gesture. + +"There is a higher law than that made by man," she says sternly; "the +law that God has implanted in heart and conscience. 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." + +"And what is that?" asks Papa, in a wheedling tone, while Mamma catches +her breath to listen. + +"That," says Leslie slowly, "is the restoration of little Daisy +Warburton." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +AN AFFECTIONATE FAMILY. + + +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. + +"Oh, yes," he sighs, "we heard about that." + +And then Mamma comes nearer, saying in a cat-like, purring tone: "The +poor little dear! And you can't find her?" + +As she speaks, Franz Francoise shifts his position carelessly, placing +himself where he can note the expressions of the two old faces. + +But Leslie's enforced calmness is fast deserting her. + +"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, 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!" + +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: + +"But, my child; but, Leschen, how can _we_ find the little girl?" + +Leslie turns upon him a look of contempt, and then a swift spasm of fear +crosses her face. + +"Oh," she cries, clasping her hands wildly, "surely, _surely_ you have +not killed her!" + +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 _we_ do?" + +Back to Leslie's face comes that look of set calm, and she sinks upon +the chair she had lately occupied. + +"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!" + +Again, for a moment, the faces that regard her present a study. And this +time it is Franz who is the first to speak, Coming forward somewhat +unsteadily, he doffs his ragged old cap, and extends to her a hand not +overclean. + +"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." + +Again he extends his hand, and Leslie looks at it, and then up into his +face. + +"Oh, if I could trust you!" she murmurs. "If you would help me!" + +"I _kin_;" says Franz promptly, "an' I _will_!" + +Again she hesitates, looking upon the uncouth figure and the unwashed +hand. Then she lifts her eyes to his face. + +Two eyes are looking into her own, eagerly, intently, full of pitying +anxiety. + +She rises slowly, looks again into the eager eyes, and extends her hand. + +"Gracious!" he exclaims, as he releases it, "how nervous yer are: must +be awful tired." + +"Tired, yes. I have walked all the way." + +"An' say, no jokin' now, _have_ ye come ter live with us?" + +[Illustration: "Partner, shake. Ye're clean grit!"--page 304.] + +"I have," she replies firmly; "unless," turning a contemptuous glance +toward Mamma and Papa, "my _parents_ refuse me a shelter." + +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. + +"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." + +"No," interrupts Franz, with a maudlin chuckle; "don't mind _me_." + +"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." + +Leslie's head droops lower and lower; she pays no heed to the old +woman's words. + +"Poor child, she is tired out." + +Saying this, Mamma takes the candle from the table, and goes from the +room quickly, thus leaving the three in darkness. + +In another moment, the voice of Franz breaks out: + +"Ain't there another glim somewhere?" + +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 their late repast. But she refuses +all, and wearily follows Mamma from the room. + +"Git yer rest now," says Franz as she goes; "to-morrow we'll talk over +this young-un business." + +But when the morrow comes, and for many days after, Leslie Warburton is +oblivious to all things earthly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +THE PRODIGAL BECOMES OBSTINATE. + + +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. + +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. + +As she passed him, Franz laid a detaining hand upon her arm, and leering +up into her face, whispered thickly: + +"I say, old un, ye seem ter be troubled with gals. Don't ye want me to +git rid o' _this_ one fer ye?" + +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: + +"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." + +"Honor bright?" drawls Franz, looking up at her sleepily, and +suppressing a yawn. + +"Honor bright, my boy." + +"Then," and he rises and stretches out his arms, "we'd better keep her." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I wonder ef he is asleep," she whispers. "Somehow, that boy bothers +me." + +"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 _all_ 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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +And all this in scarce ten seconds! + +"Wot's up?" queries Franz shortly, "wot the dickens--" + +Papa comes forward, chuckling softly, but keeping cautiously out of +range of the two weapons. And Mamma begins to scramble to her feet. + +"Hullo!" says Franz, as he seems to notice Mamma's position for the +first time; "wot ails _you_?" + +Papa is so amused that he giggles audibly; he was never heard to laugh +an honest laugh. + +"Git up, old lady," commands Franz, withdrawing his eyes from Mamma; and +he stands as at first, until she has risen. + +Then he glances sharply about the room, and asks impatiently: "Come, +now, what have ye been up to?" + +"Ye see, Franzy," begins Mamma in a conciliating tone, "I went ter take +a look at ye--" + +"Oh, ye did!" + +"With the candle in my hand." + +"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?" + +Though his tone was one of quiet mockery, there was an angry gleam in +his eyes, and neither Papa nor Mamma ventured a reply. + +[Illustration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, +waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.] + +"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 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"No," replies Mamma, "she can't--not unless we talk louder than we're +likely to." + +"Then haul up yer stool. We're goin' ter settle about her." + +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. + +"Now, then," begins Franz, "Who's that 'ere gal?" + +No answer from the two on the witness-stand. They exchange glances, and +remain mute. + +"Next," goes on Franz, as if quite content with their silence, "wot's +all this talk about child-stealin'?" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"It seems ter me, youngster," she sneers, "that gal's took a strong hold +on yer sympathies. Ain't ye gettin' terrible curious?" + +"May_be_," retorts Franz, returning her gaze with interest; "an' +may_be_, now, 'tain't so much _sympathy_ 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'm_ 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_ move." + +"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." + +And then, as if she has just received her cue, Mamma breaks in: + +"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!" + +"I thought ye said ye'd got ter hang onto that gal, an' she'd make all +our fortin's," comments Franz. + +"An' so I did." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Never mind the young un, boy," replies Mamma, her face hardening again; +"how do ye like the _gal_?" + +"Like the gal? Wot's that got ter do with it?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Hear the boy!" chuckles Mamma in delight. "But we don't want none o' +_that_," nodding toward the revolver. "It's a live gal ye want." Then +leaning forward, she whispers sharply: "_You have got ter marry the +gal_!" + +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. + +"Marry the gal!" he articulates between these spasms. "Oh, gimmini! +won't she be delighted!" + +"Delighted or not," snarls Mamma, considerably annoyed by this levity on +the part of her Prodigal, "she'll be brought to consent." + +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: + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, you listen," he says sharply. "The quicker yer 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 +_me_; not afore." + +"Jest trust us fer that, Franzy," says Papa softly. + +"Not any! Then here's another thing: how are ye goin' ter git that gal's +consent?" + +"Trust us fer that, too," says Mamma, in a tone betokening rising anger. +"We know how ter manage her." + +"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." + +And now it is Mamma's turn. She bounds up, confronting her Prodigal, +with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes. + +Papa turns away and groans dismally: "Oh, Lord, they're goin' to +quarrel!" + +"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 _yer_ 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'--" + +[Illustration: "Look here, Franz Francoise, ye don't want to go too +far!"--page 316.] + +"Whack up with ye afterwards?" drawls Franz, all trace of anger having +disappeared from his face and manner. "Old woman, I'll put it in my +pipe an' smoke it. Ye kin consider this confab ended." + +Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops down upon it with +a yawn, and composes himself to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +MR. FOLLINGSBEE'S VICTORY. + + +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. + +Rising quickly, Mr. Follingsbee came forward to meet his guest, saying +briskly: + +"Ah, Warburton, good evening. I've been expecting you; sit down, sit +down." + +As Alan placed his hat upon the table beside him, and took the seat +indicated, he said, with a well-bred stare of surprise: + +"You expected me, Mr. Follingsbee? Then possibly you know my errand?" + +"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." + +Alan glanced up at him quickly, and then turned his attention to the +perusal of the note. It ran thus: + + ALAN WARBURTON: + + 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 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. + + A FRIEND. + +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: + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"Like an organ-grinder minus his organ?" finished Alan. + +"Just so." + +"I trust that _this_ 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." + +"From Leslie!" Mr. Follingsbee said, elevating his eyebrows. "This is an +unexpected part of the programme." + +"Indeed? And yet this,--" and Alan tapped the note he had just received, +with one long, white forefinger,--"this foretells it." + +"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. + +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 working together +nervously and his brow wrinkled in thought. At last he lifted his eyes +toward Alan. + +"Do you know what this letter contains?" he asked slowly. + +"I know that my sister-in-law has left her home," Alan replied gravely; +"nothing more." + +"Nothing more?" + +"Nothing; really. She left three letters: one for Mrs. French, another +for Miss French, and the third for yourself." + +"And you.... She left you some message?" + +"Not a word, verbal or written." + +"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?" + +"Does not the letter itself explain?" + +"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." + +Alan sat silent for a moment. Then he turned his face toward the lawyer, +as if acting upon some resolve. + +"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." + +"Since the masquerade?" + +"During that interview," continued Alan, "Mrs. Warburton gave me the +brief outline of what seemed to me a very improbable story." + +"Ah!" There was a new shade in the lawyer's voice. + +"And I am wondering," Alan goes on, "if your letter contains that same +story." + +"Possibly," said Mr. Follingsbee dryly. + +"This note which you have given me, and which bears no signature, seems +to indicate as much. Are you acquainted with its contents, sir?" + +"I am not." There is a growing crispness in the lawyer's tone, which +Alan is not slow to note. + +"Then oblige me by reading it." + +Mr. Follingsbee took the note and read it slowly. + +"Don't you think," he said, looking up from its perusal, "that we had +better begin by understanding each other?" + +"I do." + +"Very good: this note was left with me by--by such a man as I described +to you." + +"By a man in disguise?" + +"Just so. This--this man in disguise, came to me in your behalf." + +"In my behalf!" exclaimed Alan, in amazement. + +"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." + +Alan Warburton stirred uneasily in his chair, and the old haughty look +came slowly into his face. + +"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 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.'" + +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. + +"Mr. Follingsbee," he began gravely, "do you understand this allusion to +the events of the afternoon?" + +"I do not." + +"And yet you have confidence in this disguised stranger?" + +"Have I alluded to him as a _stranger_, sir?" + +Alan passed his hand across his brow, and said slowly: + +"He is not a stranger to you and, evidently, he knows me remarkably +well; I might say too well." + +"Ahem! You would be likely to recall your words, if you did." + +"Mr. Follingsbee, _who_ is this man?" + +"I am not at liberty to speak his name." + +"_What_ is he, then?" + +"First of all, a gentleman; a man whose championship does you honor, +for it proves that he believes in you, in spite of this Van Vernet." + +"Was it not a strange freak for this _gentleman_, disguised just as he +afterward came to you, to enter my study window, and conceal himself in +my cabinet?" + +Mr. Follingsbee looked up with lively interest. "Did he do that?" he +asked quickly. + +"He did that." + +"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." + +"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 _detective_!" + +"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?" + +"No," with a quiet smile; "we are two lawyers. Let us remain such." + +"With all my heart," cries Mr. Follingsbee, extending his hand; "let us +remain such." + +Alan takes the proffered hand, and begins again. + +"This champion of mine, then, is a detective; you admit that?" + +"Well--yes." + +"In espousing my cause, he is making active war upon Van Vernet?" + +"So it appears." + +"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." + +"Possibly." + +"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." + +"True." + +"Mr. Follingsbee, have you faith in the ability of this +champion-detective to cope with such a man as Vernet?" + +"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." + +"Then I think it would not be a difficult matter to identify him." + +"Don't waste your time," interrupts Mr. Follingsbee quickly; "I have +told you all that I am at liberty to tell." + +"As you please; but before I begin my story, I must be sure that it is +_the_ story. Yesterday, as I told you, I had an interview with my +sister-in-law." + +"Yes." + +"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. + +"It does; many statements." + +"Do you know anything of her early history?" + +"Yes." + +"Is she the daughter of Thomas Uliman?" + +"His adopted daughter; yes." + +"And are her parents living?" + +"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 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." + +He paused a moment, and seeing that Alan was regarding him with +steadfast earnestness, resumed: + +"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 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 _that_, sir," casting an +ironical glance at his _vis-a-vis_; "feeing those common clods with the +Warburton gold." + +But Alan never noted this home-thrust. He sat quite still, with a +troubled look upon his face; seeing which, Mr. Follingsbee continued: + +"This she firmly resolved that she would never do; and then came that +masquerade." + +"Ah!" Alan starts as he involuntarily utters the ejaculation, but +controls himself instantly, and says: "Go on, please." + +"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." + +"Entrapped?" + +"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." + +He takes up the letter, searches out the lines referred to, and reads: + + 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. + +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 _for or +against_." + +"And her motive for now quitting her home so suddenly?" + +"Of that she says very little; merely that she is leaving, and that she +hopes I will continue my confidence in her." + +"Which you do?" + +"Which I do." + +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. + +"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!" + +"You!" ejaculated the old gentleman testily; "you a scoundrel! Good +heavens, has everybody gone into high dramatics? What have you done?" + +"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!" + +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: + +"You had better tell the whole story, young man, having begun it." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +"He! then it was a man?" + +"It was; and Van Vernet, as I have since learned, knew him and laid a +trap for him. Their feud dates from that night." + +"Ah, then our detective and the 'Goddess of Liberty'--" + +"Are the same. Now resume, please." + +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; ending with the scene with Vernet and the +organ-grinder. + +"That fellow is the mischief!" said Mr. Follingsbee, rubbing his palms +softly together. "He's the very mischief!" + +"By which I infer that my 'Organ-grinder,' my 'Idiot,' and the 'Goddess +of Liberty,' are one and the same?" + +"_Pre_cisely; I haven't a doubt of it." + +"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." + +"Just so." + +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 +_vis-a-vis_, 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. + +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: + +"Well, are you going to sit there all night? What shall you do next?" + +Alan Warburton rises from his chair and faces his questioner. "First," +he says slowly, "I am going to find Leslie, and bring her back." + +"Oh!" + +"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." + +"Have you forgotten Vernet?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Nevertheless--" + +"Nevertheless, you will persist in being a fool! Sit down there, young +man, and tell me, haven't you been playing that _role_ long enough?" + +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. + +"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." + +"He has, then, mapped out my course for me?" queries Alan haughtily. + +"He has, if it suits you to put it so. Good heavens! man, it needed +somebody to plan for you. _You_ 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 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 _you_! 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!" + +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: + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Umph! Then you had better begin now, by taking good advice when it is +offered." + +"What do you advise, then?" + +"I? nothing, except at second hand. It is this champion of yours who +advises." + +"Then what is his advice?" + +"He says that you must quit the country at once." + +"Impossible!" + +"Nothing of the sort. The _Clytie_ sails for Liverpool to-morrow. You +and Leslie have taken passage--" + +"Taken passage! Leslie!" + +"Just so; everything has been arranged by--" He pauses, then says: "The +'Organ-grinder.'" + +"I repeat, it is impossible. Do you think I will leave the country while +little Daisy's fate remains--" + +"Oh, stop! _stop!_ STOP! Man, are you determined to be an idiot? Will +you hold your tongue and listen?" + +"I will listen, yes; but--" + +"But--bosh! Listen, then, and don't interrupt." + +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: + +"Well, what do you think of it?" + +Then Alan Warburton rises and extends his hand impulsively. + +"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." + +"Umph!" grunts the lawyer, as he grasps the proffered hand, "I thought +your senses would come back." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +A TRIP TO EUROPE. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Brief and fragmentary as it was, it furnished to Winnie and her mother +food for much wonderment, long discussion, and sincere sorrow. + +"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie, choking back a sob, "some terrible trouble +has come upon Leslie; and Alan Warburton is at the bottom of it!" + +"My child!" + +"I tell you he _is_!" vehemently. "And only yesterday Leslie would have +told me all, but for him." + +"Winnie, compose yourself; try and be calm," said Mrs. French +soothingly. + +"I _can't_ compose myself! I _won't_ be calm! I _want_ to be so angry +when Alan Warburton returns for me, that I can fairly scorch him with my +contempt! I want to _annihilate_ him!" And Winnie flung herself upon her +mother's breast, and burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _misunderstanding_ at the bottom of all this +mystery. Somewhere, there is a monstrous _wrong_!" + +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. + +"It's Alan!" exclaimed Winnie, starting nervously. "Mamma, we can't, we +won't, go with him." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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?" + +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. + +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, 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 _Clytie_, 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. + +Mr. Follingsbee said much more than this, and ended his discourse thus: + +"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. + +"In the meantime, sir," said that lady, with quiet decision, "you desire +our passive coöperation. You have it." + +"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie exultantly, "I was sure you would say that. I +was sure you would not desert poor Leslie!" + +"It will be an equal favor to Mr. Warburton," interposed the lawyer, +with the shadow of a twinkle in his grey eye. + +To which Winnie responded only by her heightened color, and a half +perceptible shrug. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +Meantime, Van Vernet, in a state of exceeding self-content, was +perfecting his latest plan. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Alan Warburton, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Archibald Warburton had +taken passage for Liverpool, on board the _Clytie_. And the _Clytie_ was +to sail that morning! + +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. + +Too late! The _Clytie_ had cleared the harbor, and was already a mere +speck in the distance. + +"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!" + +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. + +"So here we are," he said, with a chuckle. "The _Clytie_ 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, _time_." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + +DR. BAYLESS + + +All the long night that followed Leslie's appearance among the +Francoises, Mamma was alert and watchful. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's all up with us now," moaned Papa. "Luck's turned aginst us." + +"It's up, sure enough, with your fine plans," sneered Franz. "_I'm_ +goin' ter take myself out of yer muddle, while my way's clear." + +"If I wasn't dealin' with a pair of fools," snapped Mamma, "I'd come +out all right. The gal ain't dead yet, is she?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +This plan was opposed stoutly by Franz, feebly by Papa; but the old +woman carried the point at last. + +"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." + +At the mention of Doctor Bayless, Papa's countenance took on an +expression of relief, which was noted by Franz, who turned away, saying: + +"Wal, git your doctor, then, an' the quicker the better. But mind this: +_I_ don't appear till I'm sure it's safe. Ye kin git yer doctor, but +when he's here, I'll happen ter be out." + +It was Mamma who summoned Doctor Bayless, and he came once, twice, and +again. + +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: + +"I think she will get on, now. Keep her quiet, avoid excitement, and if +she does not improve steadily, let me know." + +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. + +At the corner of the dingy street, a voice close behind him arrested his +footsteps: "Doctor Bayless." + +The man of medicine turned quickly to face the speaker. + +"This is Doctor Bayless?" the owner of the intrusive voice queried. + +Doctor Bayless bowed stiffly. + +"Bayless, formerly of the R---- street Insane Asylum?" persisted the +questioner. + +The doctor reddened and a startled look crossed his face, but he said, +after a moment's silence: "The same." + +"I want a few words with you, sir." + +"Excuse me;"--the doctor was growing haughty;--"my time is not my own." + +"Neither is mine, sir. I am a public benefactor, same as yourself." + +"Ah, a physician?" + +"Oh, not at all; a detective." + +"A detective!" Doctor Bayless did not look reassured. He glanced at the +detective, and then up and down the street, his uneasiness evident. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS. + + +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. + +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, since her first full +awakening to consciousness, she had imposed upon herself. + +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. + +"How many days have I been ill?" asked Leslie slowly, and languidly +resting her head upon her hand. + +Mamma turned toward her and seemed to meditate. + +"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." + +Leslie was silent for a moment. Then she asked: + +"And you have nursed me through my illness; you alone?" + +"Surely; who else would there be?" replied Mamma in an injured tone. + +"Who, indeed!" repeated Leslie bitterly. "Sit down, Madam; I want to +talk with you." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, my child--" + +"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 told you this; I repeat it. So _what_ do you +expect of me? Why was I not permitted to die in my delirium?" + +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. + +"Ah, Leschen, you break my heart. We wanted you to live; we thought you +had something to live for." + +The acting was excellent, but the words were ill-chosen. + +"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, _how_ can I ransom Daisy Warburton?" + +Mamma's time has come. Slowly she wipes away an imaginary tear, softly +she draws her chair yet nearer Leslie, gently she begins. + +"Leschen, my poor girl, don't think _us_ 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." + +She paused to note the effect of her words, but Leslie sat quite still, +with her hands tightly locked together. + +"Something has happened?" she echoed coldly. "I felt sure it would; go +on." + +"It isn't what you think, my girl. We haven't found your little dear; +but there is a person--" + +"Go on," commanded Leslie: "straight to the point. _Go on!_" + +"A person who _might_ find the child, if--" + +"If he or she were sufficiently rewarded," supplied Leslie. "Quick; tell +me, what must Daisy's ransom be?" + +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. + +"_Yourself._" + +"Myself!" Leslie gasps and her brain reels. "_Myself!_" she controls her +agitation, and asks fiercely: "Woman, what do you dare to say?" + +"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?" + +In spite of her weakness, Leslie springs up and stands above Mamma, a +fierce light blazing in her eyes. + +"Woman, _answer me_!" she cries fiercely; "do you know where that child +is?" + +"I? Oh, no, my dear." + +"Is there another, a man, who knows?" + +Slowly Mamma rises, and the two face each other with set features. + +"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." + +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. + +"So," she says, low and slowly, "I have found you out at last." And then +the weak body refuses to support the dauntless spirit. + +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. + +"Don't touch me," she almost hisses, "or, weak as I am, I might murder +you! wait." + +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. + +"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." + +"You must not think--" begins Mamma. But Leslie checks her. + +"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." + +And Mamma, too wise to err in this particular, abandons her _role_ 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. + +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. + +"This person," she says slowly; "this man who can find Daisy if he +will--may I not see him?" + +"When you have given your promise; not before." + +"He will accept no other terms?" + +"Never." + +"And this transaction, this infamy--he leaves all details to you?" + +"Just so." + +"Then there is no more to be said. I might hope for mercy from the +beasts of the field, but not from you." + +"You consent?" + +"If I refuse, what will be the consequences to Daisy?" + +"You had better not refuse!" retorts Mamma, with a glare of rage. + +Before Leslie's mind comes the picture of little Daisy, and following it +a panorama of horrors. Again she feels her strength deserting her. + +"Wait," she whispers with her last fragment of self-command. "Leave me +to myself. Before sunset you shall have my answer." + +Further words are useless. Mamma, seeing this, turns slowly away, saying +only, as she pauses at the door: + +"Don't waste your time; _delays are dangerous_." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + +A PROMISE RETRACTED. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Born of her weakness, her misery, her growing delirium, 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? + +Then followed other thoughts--better thoughts, humbler thoughts, but all +morbid, all tinged by her half delirious fancy, all reckless of self. + +And now every moment adds to her torture, increases the fever in her +blood, the frenzy of her brain. + +"I _must_ end it!" she cries wildly. "I _must_ save Daisy! And after +that what matter how my day goes out?" + +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. + +"You--" + +"I have decided," breaks in Leslie. "I shall make the sacrifice." + +"You will marry this worthy man?" + +"I will save Daisy from your clutches, and his." + +"In his own way?" + +"In his own way, and yours. Let it be over as soon as possible. Where is +this man?" + +"Gently, gently; he is not far away." + +"So much the better. I cannot rest now till all is done. I must take +Daisy back to her home; the rest is nothing." + +Mamma looks at her craftily. + +"You agree to _all_ the terms?" she asks. "Will you swear to keep your +word?" + +"I will do anything, when I am assured that I shall have Daisy safely +back." + +"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." + +"_Franz!_" + +"Yes; it is Franz that you will marry." + +"Franz!" the word comes in a breathless whisper. "_Your son--the +convict?_" + +"You needn't put so much force upon that. Yes; Franzy's the man." + +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. + +"You told--" she articulates, as if struggling for self-mastery. "Woman, +you told me that Franz Francoise was _your_ son." + +"So he is. _I_ ain't ashamed of him," Mamma answers sullenly. + +"Then,"--Leslie clutches at the nearest support and fairly gasps the +words--"then--_who am I_?" + +"Well, it can't be kept back any longer, it seems. You are--" + +"Not your child?" cries Leslie. "Not yours?" + +"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." + +But Leslie pays no heed to this latter statement. She has fallen upon +her knees with hands uplifted, and streaming eyes. + +"Not her child; not hers! Oh, God, I thank thee! Oh, God, forgive me for +what I was about to do!" + +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. + +A sound behind her breaks the uncomfortable stillness, and Mamma turns +quickly, to see Franz standing in the open doorway. + +"Franz,--" begins the old woman. + +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. + +"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." + +"I don't see what it matters," mutters Mamma sullenly. "You will be +our'n fast enough when you're married to Franz." + +"Eh!" Franz utters only this syllable, and advances step by step into +the room. + +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. + +"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--" + +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, but before words can follow, a +heavy hand grasps her arm. + +"Go on," says Franz coolly; "now?" + +"Do you know the proposition that woman has just made me?" asks Leslie +abruptly. + +"'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." + +"She has told me that you can, if you will, restore Daisy Warburton to +her home." + +"No? has she?" + +"That you, and you only, know where to look for the child." + +"Umph!" + +"And that you will restore the child only on one condition." + +"And wot's that?" + +"That I consent to marry you." + +"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?" + +Leslie turns from him and fixes her gaze upon the old woman. + +"And this," she says, "is the man you would mate me with! Woman, you +have overreached yourself. Believing, or fearing, myself to be _your_ +child, I might have been driven to any act of desperation. You have +lifted that burden of horror from off my heart. I am _not_ 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!" + +"Do ye mean," queries Franz quite coolly, "that you won't take up with +the old woman's bargain?" + +"She _has_ done it!" cries Mamma fiercely. "She's given her promise!" + +"And I now retract it!" + +"What!" Mamma suddenly wrenches herself free and springs toward Leslie. +"You won't marry Franz?" + +"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--" + +"You will find her!" Mamma's voice is horrible in its hoarse rage. "Now +mark my words: You will _never_ find her. She will never see daylight +again. As for _you_, 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He carries Leslie to the bed, and places her upon it so gently that +Mamma sneers and glares upon him scornfully. + +"Ye're a fool, Franz Francoise." + +[Illustration: "Now mark my words: You will never find her. She will +never see daylight again."--page 354.] + +"Shet up, you! Ye've got somethin' to do besides talk. D'ye mean to have +her die on our hands?" + +"'Twon't matter much, it seems." + +"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." + +She turns upon him a look in which anger and admiration are curiously +mingled. + +"'Tain't no use, Franzy; that gal won't give in now." + +"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." + +"Franz," chuckles Mamma, beginning her work of restoration with bustling +activity, "ye ought to be a general. I'm proud of ye." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +A WELCOME PRESCRIPTION. + + +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. + +After much thinking, Mamma had decided that Franz had offered sound +advice, and having exhausted her own resources, she set out to consult +Doctor Bayless. + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +"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." + +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. + +Half an hour later, Doctor Bayless appeared upon the Francoise +threshold, a small vial in his hand, a look of anxiety upon his +countenance. + +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 with Papa and Franz, partaking of luncheon +in the opposite corner of the room. + +He addressed Mamma almost breathlessly. + +Had the drops been administered? + +Mamma replied in the affirmative. + +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 _might_ prove fatal. + +It was no time for parley or hesitation. Mamma promptly led the way to +the inner room. + +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. + +"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. + +Presently he turned toward Mamma. + +"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." + +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. + +"Old un," began Franz, "ye're gittin' careless--" + +"Sh!" whispered Mamma; "no noise." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Holding this card so that Leslie could easily scan its contents, he sat +mutely watching her face. + +The card contained these words, closely written in a fine, firm hand: + + 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. + + STANHOPE. + +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. + +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. That message had brought with it a +comforting sense of protection, and of help near at hand. + +The last instructions of Doctor Bayless, too, fell upon her ear with +hopeful meaning, although they were spoken, apparently, for Mamma's sole +benefit. + +"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." + +Once more he turned toward Leslie, and took her hand in his. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +MR. FOLLINGSBEE'S SOCIAL CALL. + + +[Illustration: "Holding this card so Leslie could easily scan its +contents, he sat mutely watching her face."--page 359.] + +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 since that last named and eccentric +individual set sail for far-off Australia. + +Matters are moving slowly at the Agency. Van Vernet is seldom seen there +now, and Stanhope is not seen at all. + +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. + +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. + +It was brief and business-like; it explained nothing; and it puzzled the +astute Chief not a little. + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They would hope much, expect much, from Vernet and Stanhope. And what +had been done? + +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. + +"You will not see me again," he had said, "until I can tell who killed +Arthur Pearson." And he was keeping his word. + +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? + +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." + +What had he done, or discovered, or guessed at, during those intervening +days? + +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 _had_ been sadly cut up by Vernet's falling off. + +The Chief gave up the riddle, and turned to his desk. + +"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." + +As he reached out to touch the bell, some one tapped upon the door. + +"Come in," he called, somewhat impatiently. + +It was the office-boy who entered and presented a card to the Chief. + +"The gentleman is waiting?" queried the Chief, glancing at the name upon +the bit of pasteboard. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Admit him." + +Then he rose and stood to receive his visitor. + +"Ah, Follingsbee, I'm glad it's you," extending his hand cordially. "Sit +down, sit down." + +And he pushed his guest toward a big easy chair just opposite his own. + +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. + +"You seem pretty comfortable here," he said, as his eye roved about the +well-equipped private office. "Are you particularly busy just now?" + +"I can be quite idle," smiling slightly, "if you want a little of my +leisure." + +The attorney gave a short, dry laugh. + +"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." + +The Chief leaned back in his chair and smiled across at his visitor. + +"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?" + +"I should be glad to hear anything upon that subject, but that is not my +errand." + +"Ah!" The Chief rested his head upon his hand, and looked inquiringly at +his _vis-a-vis_. + +"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." + +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. + +"Did you write that letter?" queried Mr. Follingsbee. + +"N-no." He said it hesitatingly, and with the surprise fast turning to +perplexity. + +"Did you cause it to be written?" + +The Chief spread the letter out before him on the desk, and slowly +deciphered it. + +"It's my paper, and my envelope," he said at last; "but it was never +sent from this office." + +"Then you disown it?" + +"Entirely. I hope you intend to tell me how it came into your +possession." + +"It is written, as you see, to Mr. Warburton--" + +"To Mr. Alan Warburton; yes." + +"Introducing one Mr. Grip, late of Scotland Yards." + +"I see." + +"Well, sir, Mr. Warburton received this note the day on which it was +dated." + +The Chief glanced sharply at the date. + +"And on that same day, Mr. Augustus Grip presented himself, stating that +he was sent from this Agency, with full authority to take such measures +as he saw fit in prosecuting the search for the lost child." + +"Well?" + +"The fellow began by being impertinent, ended by being insulting--and +made his exit through the study window, his case closed." + +The Chief smiled slightly, then relapsed into meditation. After a brief +silence, he said: + +"Mr. Follingsbee, can't you give me a fuller account of that interview +between Mr. Warburton and this--this Mr. Grip?" + +"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." + +The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature and said: + +"I see; sharp rascal." + +"I thought," pursued the lawyer, "that it might interest you to hear of +this affair. The fellow may try the trick again, and--" + +"It does interest me, sir," interrupts the other. "It interests me very +much. May I keep this letter?" + +"For the present, yes." + +"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." + +"For further information," said Mr. Follingsbee, rising and taking up +his hat, "I must refer you to Mr. Grip, or Mr. Warburton." + +[Illustration: "The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature, and +said: "I see; sharp rascal.""--page 366.] + +And having finished his errand, Mr. Follingsbee made his adieu and +withdrew. + +When he was gone, the Chief sat gazing at the chair just vacated, and a +curious smile crossed his lips. + +"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 _really was such a person as Augustus +Grip_!" + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +VERNET AT HEADQUARTERS. + + +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. + +Ringing the bell he summoned the bright-eyed boy who waited without, and +said, as soon as the lad appeared in the doorway: + +"You know where to look for Vernet, George?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"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." + +When George had bowed and departed on his mission, the Chief opened his +door and entered the outer office. + +"Has Carnegie been in to-day?" he asked of a man seated at a desk +between two tall windows. + +"Not yet, sir." + +"Ah, then he will probably come soon. Send him in to me, Sanford." + +"Very well, sir." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +One or two of the loungers made some slight comment upon this quiet +entrance and exit of their Chief. + +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. + +Once within this apartment, the look of rueful reluctance vanished. He +slipped the troublesome document into his breast-pocket, and smiled as +he seated himself in the chair indicated by his superior. + +"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?" + +"They do some of it; yes sir." + +"There is always stationery at the desk for their use?" + +"Certainly, sir." Sanford's none too expressive face began to lengthen a +trifle. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"No, sir," said Sanford, a trifle coldly; "your orders were otherwise." + +"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?" + +"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 _that_ +office." + +"Well," responded his Chief, "it's also the only way of getting it from +mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has possessed himself of a sheet +or two, and used it for fraudulent purposes." + +Sanford stared, but said nothing. + +"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?" + +"I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports--" + +"Samples of any sort will do, Sanford. Let me have them as soon as +possible." + +Sanford arose, hesitated, and then said: + +"If you would trust me, sir, I might--but you have sent for Carnegie?" + +"Yes; it's about this business. What were you going to say, Sanford?" + +"I know all their hands so well, sir, I was about to offer my services, +but--" + +"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." + +In half an hour, Carnegie presented himself. He was a small, old man, +with a shrewd face and keen, intelligent eye. + +"I've got some work for you, Carnegie," began the Chief, waiving all +ceremony. "It's of the kind you like, too." + +"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." + +"It's a forgery on this office," went on the Chief, as quietly 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." + +"Ah!" said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could not have said more +in a folio. + +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. + +And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously dressed, +upright, handsome, and courteous as usual. + +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. + +"I hope I have not interfered with any man[oe]uvre of yours, Van," said +the Chief, smiling as he proffered his hand. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes?" The change that crossed Vernet's face was scarcely perceptible. + +"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." + +Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then: + +"You have heard something," he said, withdrawing his gaze slowly. + +The Chief laughed. This answer, put not as a question, but as a +statement of a fact, pleased him. + +"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." + +"John Ainsworth?" + +"Supposed to be the father of the child mentioned in the advertisement +from Australia," + +"Yes; I see." + +"Well, I _don't_ see anything clearly, except this: These two men will +come down upon us presently; they will want to hear something new--" + +"Their affair is twenty years old; do they expect us to get to the +bottom of it in five weeks?" + +"Well, not that exactly, but I think they will expect us to have +organized--to have hit upon some theory and plan of action." + +"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--" + +"Something? a step?" + +"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." + +"Good! I call that more than a step." + +"I may as well tell you that I have worked through a 'tracker.' You know +how much I am interested in that other affair." + +"The Sailor business? yes." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"Ah!" + +"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." + +"Well?" + +"When the two arrived on the other side, they turned out to be--an old +man aged sixty-five, and a child, aged ten." + +"Oh!" said the Chief, as though he enjoyed the situation; "a clever +rascal!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Ah, what is Stanhope about?" + +"I don't know. He took his time; has not been seen or heard of here for +four weeks." + +Vernet tapped the desk beside him, and looked thoughtfully at his +_vis-a-vis_. + +"Stanhope's a queer fish," he said abstractedly; "a queer fish." Then, +rising, he added: "I will send my report to-morrow." + +"Very good." + +"And I shall not follow Stanhope's example. Once I am fairly entered +into the case, I shall send my reports regularly." + +"I'm glad of that," said his Chief, rising and following him to the +door. "Under the circumstances, I'm glad of that." + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +THE VERDICT OF AN EXPERT. + + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" queried the Chief, glancing down at the packet, "have you done?" + +"Yes;" beginning to open the packet with quick, nervous fingers. + +"And you found--" He paused and looked up at the Expert. + +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. + +"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." + +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--_Vernet_. + +Slowly he withdrew his eyes from the signature, and turned them upon the +face of the Expert. + +"Carnegie," he asked, "do you ever make a mistake?" + +"_I?_" Carnegie's look said the rest. + +"Because," went on the Chief, scarcely noticing Carnegie's indignant +exclamation, "if you _ever_ made a mistake, I should say, I should wish +to believe, that this was one." + +"It's no mistake," replied the Expert grimly. "I never saw a clearer +case." + +[Illustration: "Carnegie, do you ever make a mistake?"--page 376.] + +The Chief passed his hand across his brow, and seemed to meditate, +while the Expert gathered up the heap of letters and arranged them once +more into a neat packet. + +"If you are still in doubt," he said tartly, "you might try--somebody +else." + +"No, no, Carnegie," replied the Chief, rousing himself, "you are right, +no doubt. You must be right." + +Carnegie snapped a rubber band about the newly-arranged packet, and +tossed it down beside the two letters. + +"Then," he said, taking up his hat, "I suppose you have no further use +for me?" + +"Not at present, Carnegie." + +The Expert turned sharply, and without further ceremony whisked out of +the room. + +For some moments the Chief sat wrinkling his brow and gazing upon the +two letters outspread before him. + +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. + +The latter came promptly, and stood mutely before his Chief. + +"Sanford," said that gentleman, pointing to the packet upon the table, +"you may try your hand as an Expert." + +"How, sir?" + +"Take those letters, and this," pushing forward the outspread scrawl, +"and see if you can figure out who wrote it." + +Sanford took up the packet, looked earnestly at his superior, and +hesitated. + +"Carnegie has given his opinion," said the Chief, in answer to this +look. "I want to see how you agree." + +Sanford took up the scrawl, scanned it slowly, folded it and slipped it +underneath the rubber of the packet. + +"Is that all, sir?" he asked quietly. + +"That is all. Take your time, Sanford; take your time." + +Sanford bowed and went slowly from the room. + +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. + +"I must review this business," he muttered. "There's something about it +that I don't--quite--understand." + +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. + +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. + +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 had +never once mentioned Vernet's presence, nor the part the latter had +played to gain the precedence with his Chief. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, Sanford, is it done?" + +"I wish," said Sanford, as he placed the packet upon the table, "I wish +it had never been begun--at least by me." + +"Why?" + +"Because I don't want to believe the evidence of my senses." + +"There's a sentiment for a detective! Out with it man; what have you +found?" + +Sanford took two papers from his pocket and held them in his hand +irresolutely. + +"I hope I am wrong," he said; "if I am--" + +"If you are, it will rest between us two. Out with it, now." + +"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. + +The latter dropped his eyes to the vexatious paper and said, +mechanically: "Vernet!" + +"I'm sorry," began Sanford, regretfully. "I tried--" + +"You need not be," interrupted the Chief. "It's Carnegie's verdict too." + +Sanford sat down in the nearest seat, and looked earnestly at his Chief, +saying nothing. + +After a moment of silence, the latter said: + +"Sanford, I want Vernet shadowed." + +Sanford started and looked as if he doubted his own ears. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +JOHN AINSWORTH'S STORY. + + +The Chief of the detectives was now furnished with ample food for +thought, but the opportunity for meditation seemed remote. + +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. + +An accident of travel had thrown these two together, almost at the +moment when one was landing from, and the other 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"I did," interrupted the Englishman. + +"Which I never received," finished the Chief. "I supposed you voyaging +toward Australia, if not already there." + +"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." + +"Those two letters I never saw." + +"I shall be sorry for that," broke in John Ainsworth, "if their loss +will cause us delay, or you inconvenience." + +"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." + +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. + +"It was a tedious illness to me;" said the Australian. "Short as it was, +it seemed never-ending." + +And then, at the request of the Chief, John Ainsworth told his story: +briefly, but with sufficient clearness. + +"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." + +He paused a moment and sighed heavily. + +"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 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." + +Again the narrator paused, and the eyes of the two listeners +instinctively sought each other. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Did you preserve the letter?" interrupted the Chief. + +"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. + +"Until you met Mr. Parks?" supplemented the Chief. + +"Yes." + +"I should like to see that letter," said the Chief. + +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. + +"It is more than twenty years old," he said. + +The writing was in a delicate, scholarly hand, much faded, yet legible. + + DEAR AINSWORTH + + I suppose Mrs. Marsh has made you acquainted with her reasons for + changing her plans. It remains for me to inform you of mine. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + May your Australian venture prosper! I will write you there; and + may the good God have us all in his keeping! + + Yours as ever, + + A. PEARSON. + +This was the letter that the Chief perused with a face of unusual +gravity; and then he asked, as he laid it down: + +"And your child: you have never heard of her since?" + +"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, 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." + +Again the Chief and Walter Parks exchanged glances, and John Ainsworth +rose slowly to his feet. + +"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." + +The Chief shook his head. + +"That search," he said, "like the other, must cover twenty years." + +"To begin," said the Australian, "we must find the Ulimans." + +"Who?" + +"The Ulimans; my sister was the wife of Thomas Uliman." + +"Oh!" said the Chief, and then he leaned forward and touched the bell. + +"Send Sanford in," he said to the boy who appeared in the doorway. + +In another moment Sanford stood before them. + +"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?" + +"Merchant," said John Ainsworth. + +Sanford started suddenly, and lifted one hand to his mouth. + +"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. + +"Yes; it was R., I believe; Thomas R. Uliman," replied the Australian. + +Sanford bowed again and went out quietly. Then Mr. Ainsworth turned +toward the Chief. + +"You have a system?" he queried. + +"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." + +There was a moment's silence, then Walter Parks leaned forward: + +"Have you anything to tell me concerning my two detectives?" he asked. + +"Stanhope and Vernet? Well, not much; but I expect a report from Vernet +at any moment. We will have that also to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +A CHIEF'S PERPLEXITIES. + + +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. + +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. + +He glanced up as the lawyer entered, but did not rise. + +"Well," began his visitor, "at last I have something to wake you up +with: orders to march." + +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: + + DEAR SIR: + + 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. 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. + + STANHOPE. + +The reader paused and looked triumphantly at his audience of one. + +"So," commented this audience, "his name is Stanhope." + +Mr. Follingsbee started and then laughed. + +"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?" + +"Stanhope, the detective? Yes; and I am somewhat puzzled. I have always +heard of Stanhope in connection with Van Vernet." + +"Umph! so has everybody. They're on opposite sides of _this_ case, +however. Well, shall you follow Mr. Stanhope's advice?" + +"I shall, although his advice reads much like a command. I shall take +him at his word, and go at once." + +"Now?" + +"This very hour, if your carriage is at my disposal." + +"That, of course." + +"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." + +"Well," said the lawyer dryly, "you seem in a desperate hurry. Be sure +you don't overdo it." + +"I won't; I'll go home and wait for what is to happen in the afternoon." + +Half an hour thereafter, a carriage drew up at the side entrance 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 best men. Always, until Van Vernet and Richard +Stanhope had arrayed themselves as antagonists, in seeking a solution of +the same problem. + +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. + +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 man[oe]uvres and some of +Stanhope's inconsistencies. + +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. + +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? + +"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, _for a masquerade_. +If I could question Stanhope," he muttered. "Oh! I need not wait for +that; I'll interview Follingsbee." + +He dashed off a note, asking the lawyer to wait upon him 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. + +"Beale has come in," he said in a low tone. "He has been the rounds, and +gives a full report of Vernet's movements." + +"Has Beale been out alone?" + +"Not since the first two hours; he has three men out now." + +"Phew! Well, read your minutes, Sanford; I see you have taken them down +from word of mouth." + +"Yes, it was the shortest way. Vernet is watching three localities." + +"Oh!" + +"Beale shadowed him, first, to the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, the +lawyer." + +"Umph!" The Chief started, then checked himself, and sank back in his +chair. + +"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." + +The Chief bit his lips and stirred uneasily. + +"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, seemingly +in high spirits, and the bricklayer departed in the opposite direction." + +"Away from the city?" + +"Yes; toward the furthermost houses." + +The Chief bent his head and meditated. + +"This happened, when?" he asked. + +"Yesterday." + +"And Beale; what did he do?" + +"Set three men to watch three men. One at Follingsbee's, one at +Warburton Place, and one at the foot of K. street." + +"Good; and these shadowers of Vernet's--could Beale identify either of +them?" + +"No; he is sure they do not belong to us, and were never among our men." + +"Very well. Beale has done famously. Let him keep a strict watch until +further orders." + +Once more the Chief knits his brow and ponders. The mystery grows +deeper, and he finds in it ample food for meditation. + +But he is doomed to interruption. This time it is Vernet's report. + +He eyes it askance, and lays it upon the desk beside him. Just now it is +less interesting, less important, than his own thoughts. + +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. + +The latter takes it slowly, looks languidly at the superscription, then +breaks the seal. + +One glance, and the expression of annoyance and languor is gone; the +eyes brighten, and the whole man is alive with interest. + +And yet the note contains only these two lines: + + Send three good men, in plain clothes, to the last saloon at the + foot of K. street, 2 P. M. sharp. + + DICK S. + +"Oh!" ejaculates the Chief, "Dick at last! Something is going to +happen." + +And then he calls the office boy back. + +"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." + +When the boy had departed, he turned to the desk and took up Vernet's +report. As he opened it, he frowned and muttered: + +"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 man[oe]uvres mean. I'll have no more interviews +until I have seen Follingsbee, and studied this matter out." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +THE LAST MOMENT. + + +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. + +In the outer room, Papa Francoise is alone, and, if one may judge from +his restlessness, not much relishing his solitude. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 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. + +"Seem to submit," he said. She had submitted. "Let them play their game +to the very last." She had made no resistance. + +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. + +It was the last day, the last hour; and Leslie's strength and courage +are sorely tried. + +"Trust all to me," he had said. "When the right time comes, I will be at +hand." + +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!" + +And her heart leaps suddenly; its tumultuous throbbings nearly suffocate +her. She sits down again and her breath comes hard and fast. + +"If he should fail me," she says again, "then--that would be the end." + +For she has made a fearful resolve. She would play her part, as it was +the only way. _She_ would not fail in the task he had assigned her, and +if, at the last, _he_ failed, then--before she became the wife of Franz +Francoise, she would die! + +And Daisy--what, then, would become of her? + +Leslie puts back the thought with a passionate moan. She must not think +now. + +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. + +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." + +And the last moments are passing. + +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-- + +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. + +And Stanhope--O, God, _where_ is Stanhope? + +Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low moan. + +"Oh, if he should fail me! If he _should_ fail me!" + +In the outer room, Papa's restlessness increases. He vibrates constantly +now between the window and the door. + +The curtain is drawn up to the low ceiling; the entire window is bare +and stares out upon the street like a watchful eye. + +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. + +It is a signal, prearranged by Mamma, and it tells that approaching +personage that the way is clear, that Franz is absent. + +[Illustration: "Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low +moan."--page 398.] + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Not half an hour." + +"How's _she_ been behaving?" + +"Quiet; very quiet." + +Mamma seats herself, removes her hideous bonnet, and draws a heavy +breath. + +"Well, I've done my part," she says grimly. "Now, let Franzy do his'n." + +She goes to a shelf, takes therefrom a bottle of ink and a rusty pen. + +"I wish,"--she begins, then pauses and slowly draws a folded paper from +her pocket; "I wish we could git this signed _first_." + +Papa coughs slightly, and turns an anxious look toward the door. + +"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. + +Mamma turns upon him angrily. + +"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 _her_. All we +want is to git this business over, and that little paper signed." + +"I'm dreadful uneasy," sighs Papa. "I wish I was sure how this thing +would come out." + +"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 _that_ 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 _her_. And she +won't go to a lawyer with it; be sure of that." + +"Hark!" ejaculates Papa. + +And in another instant, there is a stumbling step outside, and a heavy +thump upon the door. + +"It's Franz," whispers Mamma. And she hastens to admit her Prodigal. + +As he enters, Mamma's sharp eye notes his flushed face and exaggerated +swagger, and she greets him with an indignant sniff. + +"Couldn't ye keep sober jist once?" she grumbles, as he pauses before +her. "Where's the Preach?" + +"Oh, I'm sober enough," grins Franz. "And the Preach is coming. He's +bringin' a witness." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"The boy's right enough," mutters Papa. "Open the door, old woman." + +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. + +"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." + +Mamma is at his elbow, glancing sharply at him, while she places upon +the table pen, ink, and a folded paper. + +"We've kept our word, gal," she says harshly, "and we know that after +to-day ye may take some queer fancies. Now, this paper is ter signify +that we have acted fairly by ye, and ter bind ye not ter make us any +trouble hereafter." + +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. + +As she gazes, Franz Francoise makes a sudden movement as if to snatch up +the paper, then as suddenly withdraws his hand. + +"Wot's in that paper?" he asks, turning to Mamma. + +"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." + +And she pushes the pen and ink toward Leslie. But the latter does not +heed the motion. + +"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?" + +"Yes, yes." Mamma grows impatient, "Sign this and then--" + +Franz leans forward and puts one finger upon the folded paper. + +"Once agin," says he sharply, "what's that?" + +"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." + +"Umph," grunts Franz, eyeing the pair suspiciously, "that's it, is it." +Then, turning to Leslie: "Read that paper, gal." + +But Papa puts out his hand. + +"It's only a little form, my dear boy." + +"Wal," with growing aggressiveness, "let her read the little form." + +"It's only a waste o' time," breaks in Mamma impatiently, "an' the +sooner it's signed, the sooner she'll--" + +"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. + +"Let me read the paper," she says. + +By a quick movement, Papa extracts the paper from beneath the finger of +his Prodigal, and holding it tightly, steps back from the table. + +"It's wasting time," he says, "an' it's only a little form." + +Then Leslie draws herself up to her fullest height, and stepping back +from the table says: + +"I will sign no paper that I have not read." + +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. + +"If ye could read, Franz Francoise," shrieks Mamma, in a burst of +incautious rage, "ye'd never a-done that thing!" + +"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." + +Again Papa comes forward and lays a hand upon the arm of his son. + +"Franzy," he says deprecatingly, "ye don't know what ye are doin'." + +"Don't I?" sneers Franz. "Wal I'm goin' ter find out shortly." + +A sudden exclamation from Leslie causes him to turn quickly. She is +gazing at the paper with a bewildered face. + +"What is it?" he asked peremptorily. + +"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--" + +"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' _me_?" + +"Now Franz--" remonstrates Mamma. + +"You shut up! Say, gal, does that document leave _me_ out?" + +Leslie's eyes scan the page. "It does not name you," she falters. + +"Oh, it don't! Wal," stepping to her side and taking the paper from her, +"wal, then, we won't sign it." + +As he crumples it in his hand, Leslie moves toward Mamma Francoise, +seeming in one moment to have mastered all her fears. + +"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 _this_,"--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." + +She moves toward the table, but Franz is before her. + +"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." + +Leslie turns from him and again addresses Mamma. + +"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 _never_ marry your son!" + +With a sudden motion, Mamma turns upon Franz, and attempts to snatch the +paper from his hand. + +"Give me that paper, boy!" she fairly hisses. + +But he repulses her savagely, and thrusts the paper into his breast. + +"Take care, old woman!" he exclaims hotly. "I ain't your son for +nothing; what do ye take me for?" + +His words are interrupted by a loud knock on the door. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Franz Francoise!" shrieks Mamma, the tiger now fairly awake in her +eyes. + +[Illustration: "Give me that paper, boy!" she fairly hisses.--page +406.] + +But he pays no heed to her rage. He releases his hold upon Leslie, and +flings open the door. + +"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." + +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. + +Even as they enter, Mamma, stealing close to Leslie, whispers in her +ear: + +"If ye ever want to see yer gal agin, _marry him_." + +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. + +"Quick!" whispers Mamma, "it's yer last chance!" + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +AT THE RIGHT TIME. + + +"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. + +In the moment of silence that follows, Leslie can hear her heart beat, +then-- + +What is it that breaks that strange stillness, that startles so +differently every occupant of that dingy room? + +Only a voice, sweet, clear, pitiful; a child's voice, uplifted in +prayer: + +"_Dear God, please take care of a little girl whose Mamma has gone to +Heaven--_" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, Daisy! _Daisy!_ DAISY!" + +Sobbing wildly, she is down upon her knees, the little one tightly +clasped to her bosom. + +"Oh, Daisy, my darling!" + +"Git out!" commands Franz, as Mamma, scrambling up, approaches with +glaring eyes. "Stand back, old un. This is a new deal." + +And he places himself as a barricade before Leslie and the child, waving +back the infuriated old woman with a gesture of menace. + +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: + +"Franz Francoise, I arrest you in the name of the law!" + +The priest and his two witnesses start perceptibly, and turn their +faces toward Franz. Papa and Mamma slink back toward the inner room. +Leslie lifts her head and looks wonderingly at the new-comers. + +Only Franz remains undisturbed. With a swift movement, he whisks out a +pair of revolvers and presents them, muzzle foremost, to the speaker. + +"Not just yet!" he says coolly; "I ain't quite ready. Ye've interrupted +me, and ye'll have to wait." + +One of his hands is slightly uplifted and, for just an instant, his head +turns toward the inner room. + +The two witnesses, making way for the police, lounge nearer to Papa and +Mamma. + +"You had better not resist, Franz Francoise," says the leader once more. +"You can't escape us now." + +"No; I s'pose not," assents Franz. "Oh, I know I'm cornered, but wait." + +He moves aside and looks down upon Leslie. + +"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--" + +The Priest comes forward, and glances at him inquiringly. + +"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." + +Without a word of comment, the Priest moves toward Leslie. + +At the same instant, and with a howl of rage, Mamma rushes forward. + +"Stop her!" says Franz; and one of the two witnesses lays a strong hand +upon Mamma's shoulder. + +[Illustration: "Not just yet; I ain't quite ready!"--page 410.] + +Then the Prodigal turns to Leslie, who, with the child in her arms, has +risen to her feet. + +"Go," he says gently; "you are free and safe. Go at once. That old woman +will harm you if she can." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Give me the child, Mrs. Warburton," he says respectfully, "and lean on +my arm. We have a carriage near." + +When Leslie had disappeared beyond the doorway, Franz Francoise throws +down his pistols. + +"Now then, boys," he says quietly, "you can come and take me." + +With a yell of rage, Mamma hurls herself upon her captor. + +"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!" + +The leader of the officers, handcuffs in hand, has approached Franz, and +the others are closing about him. + +As Mamma utters her fierce anathema, he turns upon her suddenly, making +at the same time a swift gesture of impatience. + +"Gray," he says sternly, "bring out that old man." + +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. + +Struggling and whimpering, Papa is dragged from the inner room, and when +he stands before the group, the Prodigal says: + +"Now, Harvey, make the proper use of your handcuffs. Put them on this +precious pair." + +"What!" + +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! + +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. + +"_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward, and then drawing +back. + +And the two aids instinctively echo the word: + +"Stanhope!" + +"Stanhope!" + +Then the man who has so long masqueraded as Franz Francoise flings aside +the carroty wig and fixes a stern eye upon Mamma Francoise. + +"Woman," he says slowly; "let me set your mind at rest. You need never +again call me your son. Franz Francoise is 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." + +The two humble citizens glance up, and confirm by a look their leader's +assurance. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Then turning: + +"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?" + +A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says: + +"I don't know where he is, but he has gone to make another arrest." + +"Another! who?" + +"A sailor; the fellow who killed the Jew, Siebel." + +Richard Stanhope swings himself around and points to Papa Francoise, as +with the finger of fate. + +[Illustration: "_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward.--page +413.] + +"The man who killed the Jew, Siebel, is _there_!" he says sternly. + +Then snatching up the wig, he readjusts it upon his head, saying, as he +does it: + +"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." + +The carroty moustache has once more resumed its place. "Holt, you +understand?" + +"Perfectly, sir." + +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: + +"Let me go; what have I done? for what am I arrested? Let me go, you +impostor!" + +"You will learn in good time, woman," retorts Stanhope. "You may have to +answer to several small charges: blackmail, abduction, theft, murder." + +He goes to the door; then turns and looks back at the handcuffed pair: + +"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." + +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. + +Papa is abject enough. He has been shivering, quaking, cowardly, from +the first; but Stanhope's last words have crushed him utterly. His +knees refuse to support him, his eyes stare glassily, his jaw drops +weakly. + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE. + + +There is unusual stir and life in the Warburton Mansion, for Alan +Warburton has returned, as suddenly and strangely as he went away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't see what it's all about," Winnie French says petulantly. "One +would think Alan were giving himself an ovation." + +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. + +When she had gone, Mrs. French came straight to the point. She was a +serious, practical woman, and she wasted no words. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And what could Alan say? While his heart rebelled against this decision, +his reason endorsed it, and his pride held all protestation in check. + +He offered a few courteous commonplaces in a constrained and embarrassed +manner. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That she was wilfully feigning unconsciousness of his presence, he felt +assured. That she should finally recognize that presence, he was +obstinately determined. + +But Winnie is not as composed as she seems, and his steady march up and +down becomes very irritating. Lowering her book suddenly, she turns +sharply in her chair. + +"Mr. Warburton, allow me to mention that your boots creak," she says +tartly. + +"I beg your pardon, Winnie." + +"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." + +Alan stops and stands directly before her. + +"I came, Winnie, because you were here," he says gently. + +"Well," taking up her book and turning her shoulder towards him, "if you +can't make yourself less disagreeable, I shall leave, presently, because +_you_ are here." + +Paying no heed to her petulant words, he draws forward a chair and seats +himself before her. + +"Winnie," he says gravely, "what is this that I hear from your mother: +you wish to leave Warburton Place?" + +"I intend to leave Warburton Place." + +"Why, Winnie?" + +"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 _her_ home, and at _her_ 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--" + +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 turned toward the +door; they light up strangely, and as he springs forward, Winnie hastily +turns. + +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! + +As Alan springs forward, she holds out the child. + +"Alan, I have kept my word," she says gently, wearily; "I have brought +back little Daisy." + +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. + +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. + +As he kneels, he notes the presence of a man in sombre attire, and +behind him, the peering face of a servant. + +"Call Mrs. French," he says, chafing the lifeless hands. "Bring +restoratives--quick!" + +And he lifts her tenderly, and carries her to a divan. + +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. + +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. + +Leslie revives slowly and looks about her, making a weak effort to rise. + +"Be quiet," says the stranger in the priestly garments, who has "kept +his head" while all the others seem dazed; "be quiet, madam. Let me +explain to your friends." + +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. + +"Obey him, Leslie," he says softly. "We will tell you how glad we are by +and by." + +She looks wonderingly into his face, then closes her eyes wearily. + +"He can tell you," she whispers; "I--I cannot." + +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. + +"Let her stay," whispers Winnie. And of course Millie stays. + +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. + +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. + +It is Van Vernet, his eyes flashing, his face triumphant; Van Vernet in +_propia personne_, and wearing the dress of a gentleman. + +He pauses before Alan, and delivers a mocking salute. + +"Alan Warburton, you are my prisoner!" + +With a cry of alarm, Leslie lifts herself from the couch. _She_ knows +what these words mean. + +Alan starts as he hears this cry, and moving a pace nearer Vernet, says, +in a low tone: + +"I will go with you, sir; but withdraw yourself and men from this room; +I--" + +[Illustration: "Alan, I have kept my word; I have brought back little +Daisy."--page 421.] + +Something touches his arm. + +He turns to see Winnie close beside him, her face flushing and paling, +her breath coming in quick gasps. + +"Alan," she whispers, "what does he mean?" + +Alan takes her quivering hand in his, and tenderly seeks to draw her +back. + +"He means what he says, Winnie. He is an officer of the law." + +"A prisoner! _you!_ Oh, Alan, why, why?" + +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. + +"Mr. Warburton," he says sternly, "I must do my duty. Bob, bring the +handcuffs." + +As the officer thus addressed moves forward, Winnie French utters a cry +of anguish, and flings herself before Alan. + +"You shall not!" she cries wildly. "You dare not! What has he done?" + +Vernet looks straight at his prisoner, and smiles triumphantly. + +"Mr. Warburton is accused of murder," he says impressively. + +"Murder!" Winnie turns and looks up into Alan's face. "Alan, oh, Alan, +it is not true?" + +"I am accused of murder, Winnie, but it is _not_ true." + +"Oh, Alan! Alan! Alan!" She flings her arms about him clinging with +passionate despair, sobbing and moaning pitifully. + +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. + +Still folding her in his arms, he half leads, half carries her to the +divan where Leslie sits trembling and wringing her hands. + +"Winnie, darling," he whispers, "do you really care?" + +Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his clasp and turns +once more toward Vernet. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face with Franz +Francoise! + +"You!" he exclaims hoarsely. "How came you here? Boys--" + +The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, who has stood in +the back ground a silent spectator, now steps before them. + +"Hold on!" he says; "don't burn your fingers, boys." + +"Answer me," vociferates Vernet; "who brought you here, fellow? What--" + +"Oh, it ain't the first time I've slipped through your fingers, Van +Vernet," the new-comer says mockingly. + +Then seeing the terror in Leslie's eyes, he snatches the wig and +moustache from his head and face, and turns toward Alan. + +"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." + +But Van Vernet says never a word. He only gazes at the transformed +ex-convict as if fascinated. + +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. + +"Mr. Stanhope, is it--was it _you_?" + +"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." + +"Stanhope!" At the name, Alan Warburton starts forward. "Are you Richard +Stanhope?" + +[Illustration: "Vernet utters an imprecation, and turning swiftly, is +face to face with Franz Francoise!"--page 425.] + +"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. 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +At least he has the merit of knowing when he is defeated, and he accepts +the inevitable in sullen silence. + +Then Richard Stanhope turns again to Leslie. + +"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 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." + +With a hasty movement, as if in defiance of that which sought to hold +her back, Leslie rises and extends both her hands. + +"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!" + +Something in her voice vibrated pitifully, then choked her utterance. +She trembled violently, and all the life went out of her face. + +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: + +"She has been terribly tried; do not let her talk until she is stronger. +She needs a physician's care." + +"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." + +He extended his hand and clasped that of Stanhope with a hearty +pressure. + +And then, with a sign to the sham Priest who had been his silent +abettor, Stanhope hurried from the room and from the house. + +Vernet was standing alone on the pavement. His two assistants, having +been dismissed, were already some distance away. + +"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?" + +For a moment Stanhope's eyes seemed piercing him through and through. +Then he smiled. + +"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." + +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. + +Then Stanhope and Vernet, Victor and Vanquished, turned their steps in +the opposite direction. + +For some moments Vernet paced on in silence, savagely gnawing at his +under lip. Then professional curiosity broke through his chagrin. + +"I should like to know how you did it," he said, his face flushing. + +Stanhope shrugged his shoulders and favored his interlocutor with an +uncouth grimace. + +"Easy 'nuff," he said; "Hoop la!" + +Vernet started and stared. "Silly Charlie!" he ejaculated. + +"That's the ticket; how did I do the _role_?" + +Vernet ground his teeth, and pondered over this startling bit of +intelligence. At last: + +"I understand why the Raid failed," he said, "but I don't comprehend--" + +"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." + +His eyes twinkled merrily at the recollection of Vernet in the cellar +trap, and he suppressed a laugh with difficulty. + +Again Vernet reddened and bit his under lip. + +"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." + +"I won't try, for it was Warburton. I shall not explain his presence +there, however; it was a mistake on his part, but he meant well. It was +not he who did the killing." + +"You are bent on clearing Warburton, but how will you prove his +innocence?" + +"By a witness who saw Papa Francoise strike the blow." + +"Who?" + +"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." + +Vernet turned and eyed him sharply. + +"Was it you," he asked, "who brought me out?" + +Stanhope blushed, and then laughed carelessly to conceal his +embarrassment. + +"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." + +Vernet wore the look of a man who sees what he cannot comprehend. + +"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." + +"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 Providence, is a weakness in a man +of my cloth. Don't give me away, Van; _I'll_ never tell of it." + +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. + +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. + +For some moments they walked on in silence. Then Vernet said: + +"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." + +"What case?" + +"Papa Francoise, for the murder of the Jew." + +"Say, the killing of the Jew; it was only manslaughter. We shall not +press that case." + +"What!" + +"There is an older charge against Papa Francoise, and a weightier one." + +"What is that?" + +"It's the end of your search and mine, Van. When I arrested Papa +Francoise to-day, I arrested _the murderer of Arthur Pearson_!" + +"What!" + +Van Vernet stopped short and faced his companion, his face growing ashen +white. + +[Illustration: "When I arrested Papa Francoise to-day, I arrested _the +murderer of Arthur Pearson_!"--page 434.] + +"It's true, Van. In trying to relieve the sufferings of a dying man, I +stumbled upon the clue I might have sought after, and failed to find, +for an hundred years." + +They had halted at a street corner, and Van Vernet wheeled sharply about +and made a step forward. + +"Vernet, where are you going?" + +"Nowhere; never mind me; we part here." + +"Not yet, Van, I want to say--" + +"Not now," broke in Vernet huskily. "You--have said enough--for once." + +And he strode hurriedly down the side street. + +"Poor Van," soliloquized Stanhope, as he gazed after the retreating +figure. "Poor fellow; defeat and loss of fortune are too much for him." + +And he turned and went thoughtfully on toward his own abode. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +HOW STANHOPE CAME BACK. + + +Again we are in the office of the Chief of the detectives; in his +private office, where he sits alone, looking bored and uncomfortable. + +"Everybody late," he mutters, "and I hoped Follingsbee would come +first." + +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. + +Ten minutes more of waiting. Then the boy enters to announce Messrs. +Parks and Ainsworth. + +The Chief rises to receive them, and accepts their excuses in silence. + +"We drove about the city," says Walter Parks, "to pass away a portion of +the time. An accident to our vehicle detained us." + +Then the two men sit down and look expectantly at the Chief. + +"Mr. Ainsworth," he says gravely, "I have news for you of Thomas Uliman +and his wife; bad news, I regret to say." + +"Bad news!" The Australian's face pales as he speaks. "Tell it at once, +sir." + +"Thomas Uliman and his wife are both dead." + +The Australian bows his head upon his hand and remains silent. + +"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." + +"Ah," sighs the Australian, "he may tell me where to find my little +daughter." + +"I have also," resumes the Chief, "a brief report from Mr. Vernet." + +At these words Walter Parks leans forward. + +"May we hear it?" he asks anxiously. + +"Mr. Follingsbee, sir," says the office-boy at the door, in obedience to +orders. And then Mr. Follingsbee enters. + +"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." + +"By all means," acquiesced Walter Parks, suppressing his own feelings +and withdrawing his chair a little into the background. + +Then John Ainsworth turns to the lawyer an anxious face. + +"I am told that you knew Thomas Uliman and his wife," he begins +abruptly. + +"The late Thomas Uliman," corrects the lawyer; "yes, sir." + +"How long have they been dead?" + +"More than three years. They died in the same year." + +"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." + +"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." + +"And my daughter, my little girl--did _she_ think that, too?" + +"Your daughter?" Mr. Follingsbee turns an inquiring look upon the Chief. +"Pardon me, I--I don't understand." + +"My child--I sent my child to her aunt--twenty years ago." + +Again Mr. Follingsbee looks from one face to the other inquiringly, and +an expression of apprehension crosses the face of the Chief. + +"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. + +Mr. Follingsbee coughs nervously. + +"They left such a daughter," he says, hesitatingly, "but--she _was_ an +adopted daughter--the child of unknown parents." + +Slowly John Ainsworth rises to his feet, his eyes turning appealingly +from one to the other. + +"My God!" he exclaims hoarsely, "where then is my child?" + +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. + +Instantly the Chief starts forward, but the door flies open in his face, +and Richard Stanhope stands upon the threshold. + +"Stanhope!" exclaims the Chief; "why, Dick!" + +"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." + +As he grasps the hand of the lawyer he notes, with a start of surprise +the presence of Walter Parks. + +"Mr. Parks!" he exclaims, "this is better than I hoped for." + +And then his eyes rest upon John Ainsworth's disturbed countenance. + +"Mr. Stanhope," the Chief says gravely, "this is Mr. Ainsworth, late of +Australia. He is interested in your search almost equally with Mr. +Parks." + +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: + +"Not--not Mr. John Ainsworth, once the friend of Arthur Pearson?" + +"The same," replies Walter Parks, for John Ainsworth seems unable to +speak. + +"Then," and he extends his hand to Mr. Ainsworth, "this is indeed a +most opportune meeting. My lack of knowledge concerning you, sir, was my +one anxiety this morning." + +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: + +"Don't ring, sir; I'm quite at home here." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Is here at my request," interposed the Chief. + +"Is he?" queries Stanhope. "I thought he was here at mine." + +"I believe," says the lawyer, smiling slightly, "that your invitation +did come first, Mr. Stanhope." + +"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." + +"Oh!" + +[Illustration: "Mr. Parks, I believe I have found Arthur Pearson's +murderer!"--page 440.] + +Walter Parks springs up with a hoarse cry. John Ainsworth leans back in +his chair, pale and panting. The Chief clutches at Stanhope's knee in +excited eagerness, and waits breathlessly for his next words. + +Only Mr. Follingsbee, who has never heard of Arthur Pearson, remains +unmoved. + +"Are you sure?" articulates the excited Englishman. "Where is he? Who is +he?" + +"He is in a good, strong cell by this time, in the city jail." + +"Oh!" gasps John Ainsworth. + +"And his name is Franz Krutzer, although for many years he has been +known as Papa Francoise." + +"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!" + +"Precisely," confirms Stanhope. + +John Ainsworth leans forward and extends two trembling hands. + +"You know," he whispers, "what do you know of my child?" + +And then as Stanhope hesitates, he cries piteously: "Oh, tell me, is she +alive?" + +"I have not a doubt of it," says Stanhope, smiling. "She was alive half +an hour ago." + +"And safe and well?" + +"And safe and well." + +"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" + +A moment he bows his head upon his hands, then lifts it and exclaims +eagerly: + +"Half an hour, you said; then--she must be near?" + +"Yes; she is very near." + +"Take me to her--tell me where to find her--at once." + +"Mr. Ainsworth--" Stanhope drops from the desk and extends 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." + +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. + +"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." + +The Chief nodded; and the lawyer stared as if wondering why that +business need be recalled. + +"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, 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 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!' + +"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. + +"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 +of them, not knowing of his death, were very anxious to have him +recaptured--to enable me to personate him as I did. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Again he paused, and the Australian lifted his head, speaking quickly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I see," said the Australian gravely. "Yes, it is quite probable." + +"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 that the child was in the house, when her pitiful +prayer betrayed her presence. + +"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." + +"They shall be generously rewarded," breaks in Walter Parks; "every man +of them who has in any way assisted you." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +AND LAST. + + +"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?" + +"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, 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." + +"If it is Pearson's belt," interposed Walter Parks, "I can identify it, +and so could some others of the party if--" + +"Was a certain Joe Blakesley a member of your band?" asked the Chief +quickly. + +"Yes." + +"And could he identify this belt?" + +"He could." + +"Then Vernet has done something; he has found this Blakesley." + +"Where?" asked the Englishman, eagerly. + +"In California." + +"Good!" cried Stanhope; "Van shall have the full benefit of his +discovery." + +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." + +In regard to Papa Francoise, as we will still call him, Stanhope had +judged aright. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, and her imprecations, shrieked +out between frothing lips, were horrible to hear. + +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. + +But she was non-committal, baffling, from first to last. She would admit +nothing, explain nothing, confess nothing. She defied them all. + + * * * * * + +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. + +How it was told, let the reader, who knows all, and knows Mr. +Follingsbee, imagine. + +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. + +In her childish way, the little one had told all that she could of her +captivity. + +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. + +The little that she could tell threw no light upon the mystery of her +hiding-place, but it was all that they ever knew. + +"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 _make_ 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +In the present confidence, the happiness and peace, that surrounded +her, Winnie French could not continue her perverse _role_, 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. + +"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--" + +"Need an occupation," retorted Winnie, maliciously. "Don't doom yourself +to gray hairs, sir; repent." + +"It's too late," he declared; and they ceased to argue the question. + + * * * * * + +They would have _feted_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Parks talks of returning to England," said her father one day at +luncheon, "and he wants Stanhope to go with him." + +"Will he go?" asked Alan, in a tone of interest. + +"I hope not; at least not until I have time to bring him to his senses." + +"Why, Papa!" ejaculates Leslie. + +"Has our Mr. Stanhope lost his senses, uncle?" queries little Daisy +anxiously. + +"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." + +"And," added Alan, "he has refused my overtures with equal +stubbornness." + +"But he has accepted the splendid reward promise by Mr. Parks, has he +not?" queries Mrs. French. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Nonsense, Leslie," cries Winnie. "He's afraid of a woman; he blushes +when you speak to him." + +"Did he blush," queried Leslie maliciously, "when you embraced him that +night of the masquerade?" + +In the midst of their laughter, Winnie was mute. + + * * * * * + +One day, some weeks after the _denouement_, Stanhope, sauntering down a +quiet street, met Van Vernet. + +"Stop, Van," he said, as the other was about to pass; "don't go by me +in this unfriendly fashion, if only for appearance's sake. How do you +get on?" + +"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." + +"I don't hold all the winning-cards, Van. Indeed, I'm inclined to think +that I've lost more than I've won." + +Vernet continued to regard him steadily and after a moment of silence, +he said quietly: + +"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." + +"A blunder, Van?" + +"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." + +"Take care, Van." + +"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." + +"Van, you are mad!" + +"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." + +He turned with these words, passed his amazed listener, and walked on. +And Stanhope resumed his saunter, looking like a man in a dream. + +That evening he made his first voluntary call at Warburton place. + + * * * * * + +Alan and Winnie, two months later, were married, and Stanhope was among +the wedding-guests. + +"Warburton Place will have a new mistress, Mr. Stanhope," Leslie said to +him. "I am going to abdicate in Winnie's favor." + +"Entirely, Mrs. Warburton?" + +"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." + +Later in the evening, Mrs. Follingsbee captured him and inquired: + +"Have you heard Leslie's last bit of Quixotism?" + +"No, madam." + +"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." + +"I'm glad of it," blurted out Stanhope; and then he colored hotly and +bit his lips. + +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. + +"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." + +"Are you going to leave me behind, with the rest of your past?" he +asked. + +"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." + +And indeed Daisy had given him a prominent place in her affections. + +"Some of my friends," he said after a pause, "are advising me to abandon +the Agency, and embark in some quieter enterprise." + +"Do you mean that they wish you to give up your profession? to cease to +be a detective?" + +"Yes." + +"And what did you answer?" + +"I am seeking advice; give it me." + +"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." + +"I never will," he said, taking her hand in his. + + * * * * * + +Months passed on; winter went and summer came. Walter 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. + +[Illustration: "A man of your calling should have guessed that long +ago!"--page 461.] + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Daisy, Daisy!" cried Leslie, holding up a warning finger. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Stanhope slowly, and fixing his eyes upon Leslie's face, "I +love her very much." + +Leslie's cheeks were suffused with blushes, and she sat quite silent, +with downcast eyes. + +"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." + +And as the child flew from the room, he rose and stood before Leslie. + +"If your father yields to my demand," he said softly, "what will be your +verdict?" + +A moment of stillness. Then she lifts her brown eyes to his, a smile +breaking through her blushes. + +"A man of your calling," she said, "should have guessed that long ago!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Nance, the one-time drunkard, became the object of Leslie's pitying +care, and did not relapse into her former poverty and evil habits. + +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. + +And little Daisy passed the years of her childhood in the firm belief +that, + +"God will do anything you want him to, if you only pray loud enough." + + +THE END. + + + + +POPULAR BOOKS. + + +_Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter._ + + By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH, author of "Shadowed by Three," "Out of a + Labyrinth," etc. Illustrated with 44 original engravings. Price, + $1.50. + + "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." + + +_The Gold Hunters' Adventures in Australia._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Illustrated with 41 engravings. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_Running the Blockade._ + + By _Wm. H. Thomes_. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_The Bushrangers; or, Wild Life in Australia._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_A Slaver's Adventures on Sea and Land._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_The Gold Hunters in Europe, or, The Dead Alive._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_A Whaleman's Adventures on Sea and Land._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +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. + + +ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., + +CHICAGO. + + + + +Madeline Payne + +THE EXPERT'S DAUGHTER. + +By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH + +Author of "Shadowed by Three," "Out of a Labyrinth," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with 45 Original Engravings. + +PRICE, $1.50. + + =CONTENTS.=--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. "_You + are her Murderer!_" The Railway Station at Night. A Disappointed + Schemer Rejoiced. Madeline's Flight. The Night Journey to New + York. A Friendly Warning Unheeded. "Take it; _in the Name of your + Mother I ask it_!" 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 _she_ 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, _what_ 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. + + "God's greatness shines around our incompleteness, + Round our restlessness His rest!" + + + + +A SLAVER'S ADVENTURES + +ON SEA AND LAND. + +[Illustration: "We saw many species of wild animals." Page 89.] + + +By WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +ILLUSTRATED WITH FORTY ELEGANT ENGRAVINGS. + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You ain't hit, is you?" whispered Hackett and Hopeful in anxious tones. + +"No," I answered. + +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. + +"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." + +As he spoke he held the fair form in such a manner that + + + + +THE BUSHRANGERS. + +_A Yankee's Adventures During His Second Visit to Australia._ + + +BY WM. H. THOMES, + + _Author of_ "_The Gold Hunters in Australia_," "_The + Bushrangers_," "_Running the Blockade_," _etc., etc._ + +[Illustration: Moloch appeared, bearing the almost lifeless form. +"Look," yelled the fiend, in a triumphant tone.] + + + + +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. + +"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. + +"Unbar the door as quickly as possible," whispered the inspector, after +getting through with his threatening speech. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 + + + + +THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES; + +OR, WILD LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. + + + =By WM. H. THOMES=, 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. + +[Illustration: "Now for a rush.--Cut them to pieces!"] + +A FASCINATING STORY OF ADVENTURE. + + + + +A Whaleman's Adventures + +_AT SEA, IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS AND CALIFORNIA._ + +[Illustration] + +BY WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with Thirty-Six Fine Engravings. + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + +RUNNING THE BLOCKADE; + +OR, U. S. SECRET SERVICE ADVENTURES. + + + _By WM. H. THOMES, Author of_ "_The Gold Hunters' Adventures in + Australia_," "_The Bushrangers_," "_Running the Blockade_," + _etc., etc._ + +ELEGANTLY AND PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. + +[Illustration: "For de Lord's sake, don't do dat. Dis nig is almost cut +to pieces now. Him legs is one mass of rings."] + + + + +The Gold Hunters in Europe + +--OR-- + +THE DEAD ALIVE. + +[Illustration: "Do you give yourselves in custody?"] + + +By WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with FORTY Fine Engravings + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dangerous Ground, by Lawrence L. 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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. Lynch + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGEROUS GROUND *** + +***** This file should be named 36366-h.htm or 36366-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/6/36366/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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0000000..8878956 --- /dev/null +++ b/36366.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16007 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGEROUS GROUND *** + + + + +Produced by Harry Lame, 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.) + + + + + + + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------+ + | | + | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES | + | | + | * The original work contains some text in italics and in bold- | + | face. These are represented here as _text_ and =text=, respec- | + | tively. Small capitals in the original work have been changed | + | to capitals for this e-text. | + | * The oe-ligature from the original work has been transcribed as | + | [oe], as in man[oe]uvre. | + | * Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have only been | + | corrected where one variant was clearly used more often than | + | the other (aint was changed to ain't, etc.). 'Warburton place' | + | has been changed to 'Warburton Place.' Note that both 'Joe | + | Blakesly' and 'Joe Blakesley' occur in the text. | + | * Minor typographical errors have been corrected silently. More | + | important changes made to the text: | + | - page 90: 'Mrs. Follinsbee' changed to 'Mrs. Follingsbee'; | + | - page 173: 'Lerchen' changed to 'Leschen'; | + | - page 194: 'And won't do' changed to 'And it won't do'; | + | - page 220: CHAPTER XX changed to CHAPTER XXX; CHAPTER LXVI | + | and CHAPTER LXVIII changed to CHAPTER XLVI and XLVIII, | + | respectively; | + | - page 449: Beal changed to Beale. | + | * 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). | + | | + +------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +[Illustration: "Not just yet; I ain't quite ready!"--page 410.] + + + + + THE GREAT DETECTIVE SERIES. + + DANGEROUS GROUND; + + OR, + + THE RIVAL DETECTIVES. + + BY + + LAWRENCE L. LYNCH, + + (OF THE SECRET SERVICE.) + + Author of "Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter;" "Out + of a Labyrinth;" "Shadowed by Three;" "The + Diamond Coterie," etc., etc. + + CHICAGO: + ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., PUBLISHERS. + 1886. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1885, + BY ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., CHICAGO. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. + + Dangerous Ground. + + +[Illustration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, +waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.] + + + + +DANGEROUS GROUND. + + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +TIME: The month of May. The year, 1859; when the West was new, and the +life of the Pioneer difficult and dangerous. + +SCENE: 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. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where's Pearson?" queries a tall, strong man, who speaks as one having +authority. "I have not seen him since the storm began." + +"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." + +"But he has been down since?" + +"Hain't seen him. Good Lord, you don't suppose the fellow's been +sleepin' through all this?" + +Parks, the captain of the party, stirs uneasily, and turns his face +towards the wagons. + +"There's been some fearful lightnin', sir," breaks in another of the +group. "'Tain't likely a man would sleep through all this, but--" + +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. + +"Mrs. Krutzer," he calls, halting beside the one most remote from the +camp fire. + +"What is wanted?" answers a shrill, feminine voice. + +"Is the little one with you?" + +"Yes." This time there is a ring of impatience in the voice. + +"Have you seen Pearson since the storm?" + +"My gracious! No." + +"How is Krutzer?" + +"No better; the storm has doubled him up like a snake. Do you want him?" + +"Not if he can't walk." + +"Well he can't; not a step." + +"Then good-night, Mrs. Krutzer." And Parks returns to the men at the +fire. + +"There's something wrong," he says, with quiet gravity. + +"Pearson has not been near the child since the storm. Get your lanterns, +boys; we will go up the hill." + +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. + +A moment the lanterns flash about, while the men converse in low tones. +Then one of them exclaims: + +"Here he is! Pearson; Heavens, man, wake up!" + +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. + +They crowd about him, and Walter Parks bends closer and lets the full +light of the lantern he carries, fall upon the still face. + +"Good God!" + +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: + +"He's _dead_, boys!" + +They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by one they touch +it; curiously, reverently, tenderly or timidly, according as their +various natures are. + +Then a chorus of exclamations, low, fierce, excited. + +"How was it?" + +"Was he killed?" + +"The storm--" + +"More likely, Injuns." + +"No, Bob, it wasn't Indians," says Parks mournfully, "for here's his +scalp." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Boys," he asks, in slow, set tones, "did you, any of you, ever _see_ a +man killed by lightning?" + +They all stare up at him, and no one answers. + +[Illustration: "They cluster about that silent, central figure. One by +one they touch it; curiously, reverently."--page 12.] + +"Because," he proceeds, after a moment's silence, "I never saw the +effects of a lightning stroke, and don't feel qualified to judge." + +"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." + +"Of course it is," breaks in another. "What else can it be? There ain't +an Injun about and besides--" + +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: + +"I suppose you are right, Menard. Now, let's take him down to the +wagons; quick, the rain is coming again." + +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: + +"Shall I run ahead and tell the Krutzers?" + +"No," replies Parks, sternly; "we will take him to my wagon. I will +inform Mrs. Krutzer." + +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. + + +II. + +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, 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. + +A blaze of lightning and a rush of wind cause the man to cry out +nervously, and then to exclaim, peevishly: + +"Oh, I wish the morning would come; this is horrible!" + +"Hush, Krutzer," says the woman, in a low, hissing whisper; "you act +like a fool." + +She bends forward and lays the sleeping child beside the dirty boy in +the corner. Then she lifts her head and listens. + +"Hush!" she whispers again; "they are astir outside; I hear them +talking. Ah! some one is coming." + +"Mrs. Krutzer." + +It is the voice of Walter Parks, and this time the woman parts the tent +flap and looks out. + +"Is that you, Mr. Parks? I thought I heard voices out there. Is the +storm doing any damage?" + +"Not at present. Is Krutzer awake?" + +She glances toward the form upon the pallet; it is shivering as with an +ague. Then she says, unhesitatingly: + +"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." + +The visitor hesitates for a moment, then drawing nearer and lowering his +tone somewhat, he says: + +"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?" + +"No; not if you don't raise your voice." + +"Pearson is dead, Mrs. Krutzer." + +She starts, gasps, and then, with her head protruding from the canvas, +asks, huskily: + +"How? when? who?--" + +"We found him up by the rocks, lying on his blanket--" + +"Killed?" + +"Killed; yes." + +"How--how?" she almost gasps. + +"There is a burn upon his head. Menard says it was a stroke of +lightning." + +"Oh," she sighs, and sinks back in the wagon, turning her head to look +at the form upon the pallet. + +"Mrs. Krutzer." + +She leans toward him again and listens mutely. + +"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?" + +"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 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." + +"And _now_, Mrs. Krutzer?" + +"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." + +"Yes; do you know the address of the child's friends?" + +"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." + +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. + +Walter Parks hesitates a moment, and then, as a second groan greets his +ear, turns and strides away. + + +III. + +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. + +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. + +It is a small thing to excite so much earnest scrutiny; only the half +burned fragment of a lucifer match. + +"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've_ seen men +killed by lightning." + +"But you said--" + +"No matter what I said _then_, Joe; what I _now_ say to you and Menard +is _the truth_. You have promised to keep what I am about to tell you a +secret, and to act according to my advice. Menard, Blakesly, _Arthur +Pearson has been foully murdered_!" + +"No!" + +"Parks, you are mad!" + +"You will believe the evidence of your own senses, boys. I am going to +prove what I assert." + +"But who? how?--" + +"Who?--ah, that's the question! There are ten men of us; if the guilty +party belongs to our train, we will 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." + +"True." + +"Boys, I believe that the assassin _is_ 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; _one is a +murderer_! Come, now, and let me prove what I am saying." + +As men who feel themselves dreaming; silently, slowly, with anxious +faces, they follow their leader to the wagon where the dead man lies +alone. + +"Get into the wagon, boys; here, at this end, and move softly." + +It is done and the three men crouch close together about the body of the +dead. + +"Hold the lantern, Joe. There, Menard lift his head." + +Silently, wonderingly, they obey him. + +Then Walter Parks removes the cap from the lifeless head, and +shudderingly parts away the thick hair from about the crown. + +"Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look, both of you; do you see _that_?" + +They bend closer; the lantern's ray strikes upon something tiny and +bright. + +"My God!" cries Joe Blakesly, letting the lantern fall and turning away +his face. + +"Parks, what--_what_ is it?" + +"A _nail_! 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." + +Menard lays the head gently back upon the damp hay and asks, +shudderingly: + +"How did you discover it, Parks?" + +"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." + +They look from one to the other silently for a moment, and then Joe +Blakesly says: + +"Has he been robbed?" + +"Let us see;" Menard says, "he wore a money-belt, I know. Look for it, +Parks." + +Parks examines the body, and shakes his head. + +"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!" + +"What coolness! what cunning! Shall we ever run the fellow down, Parks?" + +"_Yes!_ Boys, you know why I am leaving the mountains. I am going home +to England, to be near my father who must die soon. I am not a poor +man; I shall some day be richer still. If _we_ fail to find this +murderer, I shall put the matter in the hands of the detectives, _and I +will never give it up_. Arthur Pearson met his death while traveling for +safety with a party which calls me its leader, and _I will be his +avenger_! It may be in one year, or two, or twenty; it may take a +fortune, and a lifetime; _but Arthur Pearson shall be avenged_!" + +[Illustration: "Hold the lantern closer, Joe. Look both of you; do you +see _that_?"--page 19.] + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +"STARS OF THE FORCE." + + +"Yes, sir," said Policeman No. 46, with an air of condescending +courtesy, "this _is_ the office." + +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. + +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?" + +"This _is_ the office, sir; up two flights and turn to your left." + +[Illustration: "Is this the office of the City Detective Agency?"--page +22.] + +The stranger shifted his position slightly, glanced up and down the +street, drew a step nearer the policeman, and asked: + +"Is it a large force?" + +"Well, I should say!" + +"I suppose you know some of them pretty well?" + +"Yes, _sir_; I know some of the best men of the lot." + +The stranger jingled some loose coin in his pocket, and seemed to have +forgotten his interest in the detective force. + +"Officer, where does a man go to get a good brandy cocktail?" + +Policemen are not over bashful, and No. 46 smiled anew as he replied. + +"Just wait a few minutes, and I'll show you. I must stop that con--" + +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: + +"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?" + +No. 46 consulted his watch. + +"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 _detectives_, +just you stand here with me a while. Vernet and Stanhope went down to +breakfast half an hour ago." + +"Vernet and Stanhope?" + +"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." + +"Young men, I suppose?" + +"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." + +"Americans?" + +"Stanhope is, an out-and-outer. Vernet's got some French in him." + +"Um, yes; well, I'd like to take a look at them, after we refresh +ourselves." + +"They won't be back for a good half hour; there's no fear of missing +them." + +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. + +Two men were coming down the street, walking and talking with the air of +men on good terms with themselves and each other. + +Both were young, well dressed, well-looking; but a more marked contrast +never was seen. + +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 +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." + +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." + +"Here they come," whispered No. 46; "those two fellows in grey." + +"Which is which?" + +"To be sure. The taller is Van Vernet; the other Dick Stanhope." + +[Illustration: "Here they come," whispered No. 46; "those two fellows in +grey."--page 26.] + +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." + +"Not both at once, stupid?" + +"Um, ah; of course not. Now look here, Mr. Dick--" + +And Stanhope and the office boy promptly fell into pugilistic attitudes, +the former saying, with a gay laugh: + +"You first, Van, if the old man won't let us 'hunt in couples.'" + +With the shadow of a smile upon his face, Van Vernet turned his back +upon the two belligerents and entered the inner office. + +"Ah, Vernet, good morning," said his affable chieftain. "Are you ready +for a bit of business?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"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." + +Van Vernet, who had remained standing, hat in hand, before his chief, +bowed deferentially, and continued silent. + +"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." + +Taking the card from his outstretched hand, Vernet read the address. + + "A. WARBURTON. + No. 31 B---- Place." + +"When shall I wait upon Mr. Warburton?" + +"At once. Your entire time is at his disposal until the case is +finished; then report to me." + +Vernet bowed again, turned to go, hesitated, turned back, and said: + +"And the Raid?" + +"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." + +"Thank you. I will do so if possible," turning again to go. + +"Send Stanhope in, Vernet. I must settle this business about the Raid." + +Opening the door softly, and closing it gently after him, Vernet +approached his comrade, and laid a light hand upon his arm. + +"Richard, you are wanted." + +"All right; are you off, Van?" + +"Yes;" putting his hat upon his head. + +"On a lay?" + +"Yes." + +"Wish you good luck, old man; tra la." + +And Dick Stanhope bounced into the presence of his Chief with +considerable noise and scant ceremony. + +Number 46, who, with the stranger beside him, was slowly pacing his +beat, lifted his eyes as Vernet emerged from the stairway. + +"There comes Vernet, and alone. I'll bet something he's off on a case," +he said. + +"Looks like it." + +"He looks more serious than usual; wonder if he's got to work it without +Stanhope." + +"Do they always pull together?" + +"Not always; but they've done their biggest work together. When there's +a very knotty case, it's given to Vernet _and_ Stanhope; and they seldom +fail." + +"Which acts as leader and is the best man of the two?" + +"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 _can_ +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +And the stranger, as he strolled down the street, communed thus with +himself: + +"So these two star detectives have never been rivals yet. The Chief has +never been anxious to see what detectives _can_ do, I suppose. This +looks like _my_ opportunity. Messrs. Vernet and Stanhope, _you shall +have a chance to try your skill against each other_, and upon a +desperate case: and the wit that wins need never work another." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ODDLY EMPLOYED. + + +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: + +"So you want me to put this business through _alone_? I don't half like +it." + +"You are equal to it, Dick." + +"I know that," with a proud curve of the firm lips, "but I'm sure Van +expected to be in this thing, and--" + +"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 do so without interfering with his +other duties. You seem to fear to offend Vernet, Dick?" + +"I _fear_ 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." + +"You are a generous friend, Dick, and Van may rejoice that you _are_ his +friend instead of his rival. Now, leaving friendship to take care of +itself, do you feel that the _success_ of the Raid depends upon Vernet's +assistance?" + +"Perdition! _No._" + +"You know the ground?" + +"Every inch of it!" + +"And Van does not." + +"One pilot is enough." + +"You know the people?" + +"Well, rather!" + +"Do you doubt the success of the undertaking?" + +"No, sir. I see only one chance for failure." + +"And that?" + +"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." + +"Even if it be Vernet?" + +"Even Vernet. Satan himself would fail in those alleys, unless he knew +the ground." + +"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?" + +"Because," sliding off the table and pulling his hat low 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?" + +"Yes; I've a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind alleys and thieves +dens in _this_; it's for to-morrow evening, too." + +Stanhope resumed his former position upon the corner of the table, +pushed back his hat, and turned an attentive face to his Chief. + +"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?" + +"By reputation; yes. Is _he_ in the mystery?" + +"He's negotiating for a client; a lady." + +"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--" + +"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 _you_." + +Stanhope groaned dismally. + +"Besides, it's best for you; you are better than Vernet at a feminine +make up." + +"A feminine make up!" + +"Yes. Here is the business: Mr. Follingsbee desires your services for a +lady client; he took care to impress upon me that she _was_ a lady in +every sense of the word. This lady had desired the services of a +detective, and he had recommended you." + +"Why I?" + +"Never mind why; you are sufficiently vain at present, 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." + +"Good Lord!" + +"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." + +"Phew! I'm getting interested." + +"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." + +"Let me think," said Stanhope, musingly. "What's Mrs. Follingsbee's +style?" + +"A little above the medium. Follingsbee thinks, that, with considerable +drapery, you can make up to look sufficiently like her." + +"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?" + +"Capitally; then I will tell Follingsbee to look for the Goddess of +Liberty." + +"All right, sir. You are sure I won't be detained later than eleven?" + +"You have only to meet the lady, receive her instructions, and come +away." + +"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." + +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. + +[Illustration: "Yes; I've a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind +alleys and thieves' dens in _this_"--page 33.] + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _portierie_, and +hear the liveried footman say, evidently having been instructed: + +"This is Mr. Warburton's study, sir; I will take up your name." + +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. + +Van Vernet looks about him and says to himself: + +"This is a room after my own heart. Mr. Warburton, of Warburton Place, +must be a sybarite, and should be a happy man. Ah, he is coming." + +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. + +"You are Mr. Vernet?" queries this personage, as if in doubt. + +"Yes." + +"Then this letter is for you." + +And the valet bows low, and extends the salver, adding softly: + +"I am Mr. Warburton's body servant." + +Looking somewhat surprised, as well as annoyed, Van Vernet takes up the +letter, breaks the seal and reads: + + SIR: + + 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. + + 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. A. W. + +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. + +"Give me a match." + +It is proffered him in silence, and in silence he turns to 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. + +The dark servant watches the proceeding in grave silence until Vernet +turns to him, saying: + +"Now, the domino." + +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: + +"That will do; tell your master that I will follow his instructions--_to +the letter_." + +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: + +"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 _gentleman_, 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE EFFECT OF AN ADVERTISEMENT. + + +A rickety two-story frame building, in one of the worst quarters of the +city. + +[Illustration: "He applies the match to the letter, and lets it fall +from his fingers to the fire-place."--page 38.] + +It is black with age, and guiltless of paint, but a careful 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, he replaces the pin and +hurriedly opens the door. + +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. + +"It's you, is it?" says the man, testily. "What has brought you back? +and empty-handed I'll be bound." + +The old woman crossed the floor, seated herself in the most reliable +chair, and turning her face toward her companion said, sharply: + +"You're an old fool!" + +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. + +"What have you got there?" + +"You wait," significantly, "and don't tell _me_ that I come +empty-handed." + +"Ah! you don't mean--" + +Again the look of terror crossed his face, and he left the sentence +unfinished. + +"Old man, you _are_ 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." + +"Well, well!" + +"Oh, you'll hear it soon enough. It's the morning paper, and you know +_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." + +"Umph!" + +"Well, I looked at this paper, and see what I found!" + +She held the paper toward him, and pointed to a paragraph among the +advertisements. + + 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, + + O. E. MEARS, Atty, + + Melbourne, Australia. + +The paper fluttered from the man's nerveless fingers, but the woman +caught it as it fell. + +"Oh, Lord!" he gasped, the drops of perspiration standing out upon his +brow, "oh, Lord! it has come at last." + +"What has come, you old fool!" + +"Everything; ruin! ruin!" + +"We're a pretty looking pair to talk of _ruin_," giving a contemptuous +glance at her surroundings. "Stop looking so like a scared idiot, and +listen to me." + +"Oh, I'm listening!" sinking down upon the pallet in a dismal huddle; +"go on." + +[Illustration: "Oh, Lord!" he gasped; "oh, Lord, it has come at +last!"--page 42.] + +The woman crossed over and sat down beside him. + +"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?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, it'll take all the time _we_ want. But who is there to answer +that advertisement?" + +"Oh, dear!" + +"You miserable coward! _She_ wouldn't know what it meant if she saw it." + +"No." + +"Arthur Pearson--" + +"Oh, _don't_!" + +"Arthur Pearson has not been heard of in twenty years." + +The old man shuddered, and drew a long sighing breath. + +"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 +_them_ after twenty years?" + +"I shall never feel safe again." + +"Yes, you will. You always feel safe when the dollars jingle in your +pockets, although it's precious little good they bring you." + +"But _her_ money is already gone." + +"Her husband has a full purse." + +"But how--" + +"Oh, I see the way clear enough. It's only half the work of the other +job, and double the money." + +"The money! Ah! how do you think to get it?" + +"Honestly, this time; honestly, old man. It shall come to us _as a +reward_!" + +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. + +When the argument was ended, he said, slowly: + +"I shall never feel safe until it's over, and we are away from this +place. When can you do--the job?" + +"To-morrow night." + +"To-morrow night!" + +"Yes; it's the very time of times. To-morrow night it shall be." + +"It's a big risk! We will have to bluff the detectives, old woman." + +"A fig for the detectives! They will have a cold scent; besides--we have +dodged detectives before." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +ENLISTED AGAINST EACH OTHER. + + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +"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 _against each other_, 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"As I shall continue to do until I state the case to the two detectives, +_after_ they have enlisted in my service." + +The Chief ponders for a time and then says: + +"Now, hear my proposition: you are justified in believing that, if there +_is_ 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, _that_ 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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: + +"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 _who is the better man_!" + +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. + +"Look!" he cried, approaching and forcing the paper upon the astonished +Chief; "see what a moment of waiting has brought me!" + +And he pointed to a paragraph beginning: + + WANTED. INFORMATION OF ANY SORT CONCERNING one Arthur Pearson, + etc. etc. + +"An advertisement, I see;" said the Chief. "But I fail to understand why +it should thus excite you." + +"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--" + +"Then Arthur Pearson is--" + +"The man who was murdered near the Marais des Cygnes!" + +"And the child?" + +"I never knew her name until now. No doubt it is the little girl that +was in Pearson's care." + +"What became of the child?" + +"I never knew." + +"And how does this discovery affect your movements?" + +"I will tell you; but, first, you saw Vernet?" + +"Yes; and he accepts." + +"Good! That notice was inserted either by some friend of Pearson's, or +by the child's father, John Ainsworth." + +"What do you know of him?" + +"Nothing; I never met him. But, as soon as you have seen Stanhope, and +I am sure that these two sharp fellows are prepared to hunt down poor +Pearson's assassins, I _will_ meet him, if the notice is his, for I am +going to Australia." + +"Ah!" + +"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." + +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. + +"What do you think of it, my boy? Are you anxious to try for a fortune?" + +"No, thank you." + +It was said as coolly as if he were declining a bad cigar. + +"Consider, Dick." + +"There is no need. Van and I have pulled together too long to let a mere +matter of money come between us. _He_ would never accept such a +proposition." + +The Chief bit his lip and remained silent. + +"Or if he did," went on Stanhope, "he would not work against me. Tell +your patron that _with_ Van Vernet I will undertake the case. He may +make Van his chief, and I will gladly assist. _Without_ Van as my rival, +I will work it alone; but _against_ him, as his rival for honors and +lucre, _never_!" + +The Chief slowly arose, and resting his hands upon the shoulders of the +younger man, looked in his face with fatherly pride. + +"Dick, you're a splendid fellow, and a shrewd detective," he said, "but +you have a weakness. You study strangers, but you trust your friends +with absolute blindness. Van is ambitious." + +"So am I." + +"He loves money." + +"A little too well, I admit." + +"If he should accept this offer?" + +"But he won't." + +"If he _should_;" persisted the Chief. + +"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--" + +"Then, Dick?" + +Richard Stanhope's eyes flashed, and his mouth set itself in firm lines. + +"_Then_," he said, "I would measure my strength against his as a +detective; but always as a friend, and never to his injury!" + +"And, Dick, if, in the thick of the strife, Van forgets his friendship +for you and becomes your enemy?" + +"Then, as I am only human, I should be his enemy too. But that will not +happen." + +"I hope not; I hope not, my boy. But--Van Vernet has already accepted +the stranger's proposition." + +Stanhope leaped to his feet. + +"What!" he cried, "has Van _agreed_ to work against me--without a word +to me--and so soon!" + +His lips trembled now, and his eyes searched those of his Chief with the +eager, inquiring look of a grieved child. + +"It is as I say, Stanhope." + +[Illustration: "What, has Van _agreed_ to work against me--without a +word to me--and so soon!"--page 50.] + +"Then," and he threw back his head and instantly resumed his usual +look of careless indifference, "tell your patron, whoever he may be, +that _I am his man_, for one year, or for twenty!" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"STANHOPE'S FIRST TRICK." + + +Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope had been brother detectives during the +entire term of their professional career. + +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 +_role_ most difficult for one was sure to be found the easier part for +the other to play. + +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? + +Meantime, Richard Stanhope, wasting no thought upon the matter, hastened +from the presence of his Chief to his own quarters. + +"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." + +Half an hour later, there sallied forth from the door where Stanhope had +entered, a roughly-dressed, swaggering, villainous-looking fellow, who +bore about with him the strongly defined odors of tobacco and bad +whiskey. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The buzz of conversation almost ceased as the door opened, but was +immediately resumed when the new comer came forward toward the light. + +"Is that you, Cull?" called the man behind the bar. "You've been keepin' +scarce of late." + +The man addressed as "Cull" laughed discordantly. + +"I've been visitin' in the country," he returned, with a 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." + +"You better say! Things is boomin'; nearly all of the old uns are in." + +"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." + +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: + +"Nominate yer dose, gentlemen." + +While the party, glasses in hand, were putting themselves _en rapport_, +the door again opened, and now the hush that fell upon the assembled +"gentlemen" was deeper and more lasting. + +Evidently, the person who entered was a stranger to all in the Thieves' +Tavern, for such the building was. + +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. + +"Good evenin', sirs," he said with surly indifference. Then to the man +behind the bar: "Mix us a cocktail, old Top, and strong." + +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. + +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." + +"See here, my friend," spoke a blustering fellow, advancing toward him, +"you made a little mistake. This 'ere ain't a tramps' lodgin' house." + +"Ain't it?" queried the stranger; "then what the Moses are _you_ doin' +here?" + +"You'll swallow _that_, my hearty!" + +"When?" + +The stranger threw himself into an attitude of defence and glared +defiance at his opponent. + +"Wax him, Charley!" + +"Let's fire him out!" + +"Hold on gentlemen; fair play!" + +"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." + +The half intoxicated man was no coward. Evidently he was ripe for a +quarrel. + +"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." + +There was a chorus of exclamations, a drawing of weapons, and a forward +rush. Then sudden silence. + +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. + +"Drop yer fist, boy! Put up that knife, Joe! Let's understand each +other." + +Then addressing the stranger, but keeping an eye upon Rummey Joe, he +said: + +"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." + +The stranger hesitated a moment, and then, without so much as a glance +at his antagonist, said: + +"_Your_ 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 _that_ blackguard." + +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. + +"There's my passport, gentlemen." + +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. + +"And now," said the ex-convict, turning fiercely, "I'll teach you the +kind of a tramp I am, Mr. Rummey Joe!" + +Before a hand or voice could be raised to prevent it, the two men had +grappled, and were struggling fiercely for the mastery. + +"Give them a show, boys!" some one said. + +[Illustration: "There's my passport, gentlemen."--page 56.] + +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. 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. + +But again the scene shifted. + +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. + +"Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye! Cowards, to tackle a single +man, six of ye!" + +"By Heavens, he's killed Rummey!" + +"No matter; it was a fair fight, and Rummey at the bottom of the blame." + +"All the same he'll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell it! Stand +off, Cully Devens!" + +"_No, sir!_ 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." + +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. + +The effect was electrical. + +From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, crying: + +"Boys, here's a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, that has +played yerself fer Cully Devens?" + +[Illustration: "Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye!"--page 58.] + +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: + +"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!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +STANHOPE'S HUMANITY. + + +"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!" + +Momentous silence followed this announcement, while the _habitues_ of +the Thieves' Tavern glanced into each others' faces in consternation. + +An ordinary meddler, however much his courage and skill, would have met +with summary chastisement; but _Dick Stanhope_! + +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. + +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 among them, was sure +indication that _they_ were in more danger than he. + +So reasoned the astonished scoundrels, instantly, instinctively. + +"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." + +He threw back his head and gave a long, low whistle. + +"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." + +Some moved with agility, some reluctantly, some sullenly; but they all +obeyed him. + +"Now, Pap, come out and help me lift this fellow. Are you badly hurt, my +man?" + +The wounded man groaned and permitted them to lift him to his feet. + +"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." + +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. + +"Boys," said the bar keeper as he distributed the drinks at 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He lifted the prostrate man, turning him easily, and rested the fallen +head upon his knee. + +"Can you swallow a little?" pressing a flask of brandy to the lips of +the ex-convict. + +The man gasped and feebly swallowed a little of the liquor. + +"There," laying down the flask, "are your wounds bleeding?" + +The wounded man groaned, and then whispered feebly: + +"I'm done for--I think--are you--an officer?" + +"Yes." + +"Af--after me?" + +"No." + +"Do--do you--know--" + +"Do I know who you are? Not exactly, but I take you to be one of the +convicts who broke jail last week." + +The man made a convulsive movement, and then, battling for breath as he +spoke, wailed out: + +"Listen--you want to take me back to prison--there is a 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! _don't_ take me back to die in prison! You don't know the +horror of it!" + +A look of pitying tenderness lighted the face bent above the dying man. + +"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." + +"I shall die," said the man, in a hoarse whisper; "I know I shall +die--die." + +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: + +"That _was_ 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +HOW A MASQUERADE BEGAN. + + +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 of joyous voices; beauty, hilarity, luxury +everywhere. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, +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. + +"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, _do_ come along, Miss Daisy; one +would think your Pa's house was full of bears and wild-cats, to see your +actions." + +But the child draws back and grasps fearfully at the skirts of her +attendant. + +"What makes 'em look so queer, Millie? Isn't you afraid?" + +"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 _Turk_, I guess, and--" + +"What makes they all have black things on their faces, Millie?" + +"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." + +"No what?" + +"No _masquerade_, child. Now look at that; there goes a pope, or a +cardinal; and there, oh my! that must be a Gipsy--or an Injun." + +"A Gipsy or an Indian; well done, Millie, ha ha ha!" + +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. + +"Why, Daisy;" laughs the masker; "little Daisy, are you frightened? +Come, this will never do." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The little one peers at him from behind Millie's skirts and then comes +slowly forward. + +"Why, uncle Alan, how funny you look, and--your face is dirty!" + +"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.'" + +[Illustration: "See all those funny-looking people are your papa's +friends."--page 65] + +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, 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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"_Mrs._ Warburton put Miss Daisy in my care, sir, and I don't know +_where_ Miss Daisy's maid may be." + +"Umph! well it seems to me that--" He stops and looks at the child. + +"That I ain't the properest person to look after Miss Daisy, I 'spose +you mean--" + +"Millie, you are growing impertinent." + +"Because I'm a poor girl that the _mistress_ of this house took in out +of kindness--" + +"Millie; _will_ you stop!" and he puts little Daisy down with a gesture +of impatience. + +"I'm trying to do my duty," goes on the irate damsel; "and Mrs. +Warburton, _my_ mistress, has given me my orders, sir, _consequently_--" + +"Oh! if Mrs. Warburton has issued such judicious orders," and he takes +up his mask and domino, "I retire from the field." + +"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." + +Then she comes forward, mask in hand, and followed by the laughing +Carmen. + +"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." + +"May I ask, Mrs. Warburton, if she is your ideal of a companion for this +child?" + +The tone is faintly tinged with scorn and sternness, and Leslie +Warburton's eyes cease to smile as she replies, with dignity: + +"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." + +"Where, may I ask, is Daisy's own maid?" + +"In her room, with a headache that unfits her for duty. Come here, +Daisy." + +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. + +"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." + +"Have you been to Papa's room, Daisy? You know we must not let him feel +lonely to-night." + +"Exceeding thoughtfulness," mutters Alan Warburton to himself, as he +turns to resume his domino. Then aloud, to his sister-in-law, he says: + +"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?" + +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: + +"No; I going to stay with my new mamma." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _your_ face, +your sweet voice and your saucy words both betray you." + +"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. + +"It's my waltz; wait, Winnie." + +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. + +Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws the child again +toward her and says: + +"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." + +She turns toward the entrance, the child's hand clasped tightly in her +own, and there, directly before her, stands a figure which she has +longed, yet dreaded, to meet--the Goddess of Liberty. + +With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, Leslie +Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns to Millie. + +"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." + +"But, Mamma,--" + +"There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come." + +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. + +"I am not mistaken," whispers that lady, glancing about her as if +fearing an eavesdropper; "you are--" + +"First," interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry mask, "are +_you_ Mrs. Warburton?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I am Richard Stanhope." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +VERNET "CALLS A TURN." + + +Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she concealed was +engraven upon the memory of her _vis-a-vis_. + +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 clustered thick waves of sunny +auburn. She is slender and graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with +inherent self-poise in gait and manner. + +She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing still nearer the +disguised detective: + +"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?" + +"None whatever, madam. Have _you_ any fears of that sort?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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 the +matter in hand, and who would respect an unhappy woman's secret--should +it become known to him." + +Her voice died in her throat, and Stanhope rustled his garments +uneasily. Then she rallied and went on bravely: + +"Mr. Follingsbee assured me that you were all I could desire." + +"Mr. Follingsbee does me an honor which I appreciate." + +"And so, Mr. Stanhope, I am about to trust you. Let us sit here, where +we shall be unobserved, and tolerably secure from interruption." + +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. + +He hesitates a moment, then takes the proffered seat and says, almost +brusquely: + +"Madam, give me my instructions as rapidly as possible; the very walls +have eyes sometimes, and--I must be away from here before midnight." + +"My instructions will be brief. I will state my case, and then answer +any questions you find it necessary to ask." + +"I shall ask no needless questions, madam." + +"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 _espionage_. 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." + +Behind his starry mask, her listener smiled at this woman-like statement +of the case. Then he said, tersely: + +"You say that you are being spied upon. How do you know this?" + +"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." + +"Um! Did you know this figure?" + +"No; it was strange to me, but always the same." + +"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?" + +"N--no," hesitatingly. + +"So," thought the detective, "she is not quite frank, with me." Then +aloud: "Do you suspect any one?" + +"No." + +"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." + +The lady bows her head, and he proceeds: + +"First, then, have you a secret?" + +She starts, turns her head away, and is silent. + +The detective notes the movement, smiles again, and goes on: + +"Let us advance a step; you _have_ a secret." + +"Why--do you--say that?" + +"Because you have yourself told me as much. We never feel that uneasy +sense of _espionage_, 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 that you have--what? An enemy, or only a tormentor?" + +"Both, perhaps," she says sadly. + +"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." + +Springing up suddenly, she tears off her mask, and standing before him +says with proud fierceness: + +"And why may you not see my face! There is no shame for my mask to +conceal! I _have_ a secret, true; but it is not of _my_ making. It has +been forced upon me. I am not an _intriguante_: I am a persecuted woman. +I am not seeking it to conceal wrong doing, but to protect myself from +those that wrong me." + +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. + +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: + +"Dear lady, trust me! Even as I believe you, believe _me_, 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." + +"Oh! I do trust you, Mr. Stanhope; I _must_. 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 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." + +There is a lull in the music and a hum of approaching voices. She +hastily resumes her mask, and Stanhope says: + +"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." + +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. + +"What success, my friend?" + +"It's all right," replies the Goddess of Liberty; "I have seen the +lady." + +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. + +"Shades of Moses," he mutters to himself, "I can't be mistaken; that +_is_ 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!" + +And Van Vernet leaves his post of observation and follows slowly, +keeping the unconscious Goddess of Liberty always in sight. + +[Illustration: "Dear lady, trust me! Your secret shall be safe; your +enemy shall become mine!"--page 75.] + +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. + +"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 _him_ +just at present." A few steps farther and the British officer comes to a +sudden halt. + +"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 _keep_ him here _until after +midnight_. If I had an accomplice to detain _him_ while I, myself, +appear at the Agency in time, then the C---- street Raid would move +without him, the lead would be given to _me_. It's worth trying for. It +_shall_ be done, and my patron in black and red shall help me." + +He turns, and only looks back to mutter: + +"Go on, Dick Stanhope; this night shall begin the trial that, when +ended, shall decide which of the two is the better man!" + +And the British officer hurries straight on until he stands beside the +black and scarlet domino. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"A FALSE MOVE IN THE GAME." + + +Pretty, piquant Winnifred French was the staunch friend of Leslie +Warburton. + +When Winnie was the petted only daughter of "French, the rich merchant," +she and Leslie Uliman had been firm 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. + +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. + +Not long after, Alan Warburton had returned from abroad, and then had +begun a queer complication. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"May I sit down, Winnie?" + +"No." + +"Just for a moment's chat." And he seated himself as calmly as if he had +received a gracious permission. + +"You are angry with me again, Winnie. Is my sister-in-law always to come +between us?" + +She turned and her blue eyes flashed upon him. + +"Once and for all," she said sharply, "tell me why you hate Leslie so?" + +"Tell _me_ why she has poisoned your mind against me?" he retorted. + +"_She!_ Leslie Warburton! This goes beyond a joke, sir. Leslie Warburton +_is_ what Leslie Uliman was, a _lady_, 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 _fashionable_ sins! Humph! In all +probability I shall marry for money myself." + +"Winnifred!" + +"I _shall_; 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." + +"My sister-in-law angled very successfully." + +"So she did, if you _will_ 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 _brother_. But then," with a provoking little +gesture of disdain, "Leslie and I never did admire handsome men." + +There was just a shade of annoyance in the voice that answered her: + +"Pray go on, Miss French; doubtless yourself and Mrs. Warburton have +other tastes in common." + +"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 _as I know her_, 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." + +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. + +He starts forward as if about to pursue her, and then sinks back upon +the couch. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Ah!" He half rises again, then sinks back and motions the mask to the +seat beside him. + +"I recognize your costume," he says, as the British officer seats +himself. "How long since you came?" + +"Only a few moments. I have been waiting for your interview with the +lady to end." + +"Ah!" with an air of abstraction; then, recalling himself: "Do you know +the nature of the work required of you?" + +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: + +"Um--I suppose so. Delicate bit of a shadowing, I was told; no +particulars given." + +"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 _facts_." + +"Ah!" thought Van Vernet; "it's a _she_, then." Aloud, he said: "You +have not given the lady's name?" + +"You would find it out, of course?" + +"Of course; necessarily." + +"The lady is my--is Mrs. Warburton, the mistress of the house." + +"Ah!" thought the detective; "the old Turk wants me to shadow his wife!" + +By a very natural blunder he had fancied himself in communication with +Archibald, instead of Alan, Warburton. + +"Have you any suspicions? Can you give me any hint upon which to act?" +he asked. + +"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." + +"I see," said Vernet. And then, laughing inwardly, he thought: "A case +of jealousy!" + +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. + +What he found was this: + +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. + +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. + +"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 _lady_ 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 _until I can follow +her_." + +"Well?" with marked indifference in his tone. + +"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--" + +Alan Warburton threw back his head. + +"Pardon me," he said, "but I object to thus persecuting a lady, and a +guest." + +"But if I tell you that this _lady_ is a man in silken petticoats?" + +"What!" + +"And that he seems on very free and friendly terms with _your wife_." + +"With my wi--" + +Alan Warburton stopped short and looked sharply at the eyes gazing out +from behind the yellow mask. + +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. + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +There was but one flaw in the plan of the proposed incognito. + +Alan's voice was a peculiarly mellow tenor, and Van Vernet never forgot +a voice once heard. + +"Did you say that this disguised person knows--Mrs. Warburton?" + +"I did." + +"Who is the fellow, and what disguise does he wear?" + +"I am unable to give his name. He is costumed as the Goddess of +Liberty." + +"Oh!" + +Van Vernet had his own reasons for withholding Richard Stanhope's name. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"It's a capital plan!" cried Vernet, "and it can't be put into execution +too soon." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"I AM YOUR SHADOW." + + +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. + +"Who was the Mask that posted us about this mysterious lady?" queries +the Celestial, as he lifts a _portierie_ for his comrade to pass. + +"If I am not mistaken, it was Warburton." + +"Isn't that a queer move for His Dignity?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"How long have you been here, Harvey?" he asks hurriedly, but with +noticeable affability. + +"About half an hour." + +"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." + +"But,--" + +"There will be no trouble; just mingle with the throng, saying nothing +to anyone. No one will address you who could doubt your identity; I +will arrange all that. You comprehend?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +Vernet was a man of many resources, and trying, indeed, must be the +situation which his fertile brain could not master. + +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: + +"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." + +Alan Warburton turned his eyes toward the detective with a cold, +scrutinizing stare. + +"Why such caution?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _will_ watch Mrs. Warburton." + +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. + +She is going through the drawing-room, away from the dancers, and he +hastens after, wondering a little as to her destination. + +From a flower-adorned recess, a fairy form springs out, interrupting the +lady in the glimmering robes. + +"Mamma!" cries little Daisy, "oh Mamma, I have found Mother +Goose--_real, live_ Mother Goose!" + +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. + +"Oh Mamma!" continues the little one, "can't I stay with Mother Goose? +Millie says I must go to bed." + +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: + +"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." + +"The lady wants me, mamma." + +"Then go, dear." + +And Leslie gathers up her glimmering train and hastens on without once +glancing backward. + +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. + +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. + +With a long, weary sigh, Leslie enters the library and lets the curtain +fall behind her. + +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. + +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. + +"Again!" she murmurs; "how can I obey them?--and yet I _must_ go." Then, +suddenly, a light of fierce resolve flames in her eyes. "I _will_ go," +she says, speaking aloud in her self-forgetfulness; "I will go,--but it +shall be _for the last time_!" + +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. + +In another moment, Alan Warburton is in the library. Tearing off the +black and scarlet domino he flings it into a corner, and, glancing down +at his nautical costume mutters: + +"Sailors of this description are not uncommon. Wherever she goes, I can +follow her--in this." + +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! + +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: + +"So, Madam Intrigue, Van Vernet advised me well. Glide on, plotter; from +this moment until I shall have unmasked you, _I am your shadow_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +"DEAR MRS FOLLINGSBEE." + + +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. + +[Illustration: "Silently, with the tread of an Indian, a man follows +after; a man in the garments of a sailor."--page 90.] + +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 will not be denied the pleasure of a waltz with +"the stately and graceful Miss Columbia." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 amuse, and begin to annoy. In +vain he tries to shake them off. If one goes, the other remains. + +After many futile efforts to free himself from his tormentors, he sees +Mr. Follingsbee approach, and beckons him forward with a sigh of relief. + +The two maskers, recognizing Uncle Sam as a fitting companion for Miss +Columbia, reluctantly yield their ground and withdraw. + +"Have those fellows been pestering you?" queries the lawyer, with a +laugh. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"So much the better." + +"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. + +"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." + +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 forth, adjusting their masks as +they move toward the stairway. + +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: + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +And she seizes the flowing drapery, and draws it back to illustrate her +suggestion. + +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: + +[Illustration: "Don't you think your dress muffles your figure a little +too much, Follingsbee?"--page 94.] + +"I hope you don't resent _my_ criticisms, Follingsbee; you've picked +_me_ to pieces often enough. Or are you still vexed because I _won't_ +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 _had_ 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 _me_ anything about Alan; +I've got him all catalogued on my ten fingers. Here he is pro and con; +pro's _your_ 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 _rubbish_. +He's talented. Well, that's only an accident for which _he_ deserves no +credit. He's thoroughly upright and honorable. Well, he's _too_ bolt +upright for me." + +"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. + +"Now, then," resumes Winnie, absorbed in her topic; and releasing her +victim to check off her "cons" on the pretty right hand; "here's _my_ +opinion of Mr. Warburton. He's _proud_, ridiculously proud. He worships +his _name_, if not himself. He is suspicious, uncharitable, unforgiving. +He's _hard-hearted_. 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." + +Up from the ball-room floats the first strains of a delicious waltz. +Winnie stops, starts, and turns toward the door. + +"That's my favorite waltz, and I'm engaged to Charlie Furbish--he dances +like an angel. Follingsbee, bye, bye!" + +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. + +"Thank Heaven," mutters Stanhope. "I consider _that_ the narrowest +escape of my life! What a little witch it is, and pretty, I'll wager." + +He draws from beneath his flowing robe a tiny watch such as ladies +carry, and consults its jewelled face. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A "'MELLICAN LADY'S" LITTLE TRICK. + + +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. + +This importunate fellow is determined to solve the mystery 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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Mellican lady slick?" queries the masker solicitously; "'Mellican lady +walm? Ching Ling flannee, flannee." + +And raising his Japanese fan, he begins to ply it vigorously. + +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. + +The mask propels it close to the window, and the detective sinks into +it, with a long drawn sigh. + +Then, plying his fan with renewed vigor, the Celestial murmurs tenderly: + +"'Mellican lady slick?" + +"Confound you," thinks Stanhope; "I will try and be too _slick_ for +you." Then, for the first time, he utters a word for the Celestial's +hearing. Moving his head restlessly he articulates, feebly: + +"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. + +"Water!" The Celestial, utterly deceived, drops the fan and his dialect +at the same moment, and muttering: "She has fainted!" springs to the +door. + +It is just what Stanhope had hoped for. When the Celestial returns with +the water, the fainting lady will have disappeared. + +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. + +"Girl," calls the masker authoritatively, "get some water quick; a lady +has fainted." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As he approaches the window, however, he realizes that there is another +lion in his path. + +[Illustration: "Stanhope, bounding to his feet, springs through the open +window"--page 99.] + +The room is already occupied; he hears two voices speaking in guarded +tones. + +"Be quick, Harvey; some one may come in a moment." + +"I have locked the door." + +"But it must be opened at the first knock. There must be no appearance +of mystery, no room for suspicion, Harvey." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +How came Vernet at this masquerade, of all others? And what are they +about to do? + +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. + +"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 _will_ wear petticoats!" + +America! England! petticoats! Stanhope can scarcely suppress an +exclamation as suddenly light flashes upon his mental horizon. + +"I've done a good thing to-night, Harvey," continues Vernet 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 '_one_ 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?" + +"Oh, perfectly; _my_ work's easy enough." + +"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 _how_." + +In another moment the dressing-room is deserted. + +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. + +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: + +"To the X--street police station. Drive fast." + +A trifle farther away another carriage, its driver very alert and +expectant, stands waiting. + +Having heard Vernet's order, Stanhope hurries to this carriage, springs +within, and whispers to the driver: + +"The old place, Jim; and your quickest time!" + +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. + +If this absurd apparition bears not the slightest resemblance to the +Goddess of Liberty, it resembles still less our friend, Richard +Stanhope. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A CRY IN THE DARK. + + +One more scene in this night's fateful masquerade remains to be +described, and then the seemingly separate threads of our plot unite, +and twine about our central figures a chain of Fate. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Old Mother Hubbard--she went to the cupboard," sings Daisy gleefully. +"Of course I do, Mrs. Goose. Does Mother Hubbard look like you?" + +"A little." + +"And--you said Cinderella's coach was down near my papa's gate?" + +"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?" + +The fair child clasps two tiny hands, and utters a cry of delight. + +"Oh! _could_ we?" she asks, breathlessly. + +"Of course we can, if you are very quiet and do as I bid you, and if you +don't get afraid." + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +Something like a smothered imprecation dies away in the throat of the +listener, and then she says, in honeyed accents: + +"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." + +"Oh! how nice!" + +"It will be charming. Come into the conservatory, dearie. I think we can +see Cinderella's lamps from there." + +With the confidence born of childish innocence, the little one places +her hand in that of Mother Goose, and is led away. + +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. + +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. + +"It's--very--dark," she whispers. + +"It's the light inside that makes it seem so dark, dearie. Ah! I see a +glimmer of Cinderella's lamp now; look, child!" + +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. + +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. + +And as her form vanishes from the balcony, a city clock, far away, tolls +out the hour: _midnight_. + + * * * * * + +At this same hour, with the same strokes sounding in their ears, a +party of men sally forth from the X--street Police station, and take +their way toward the river. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +But he waits in vain. The long night passes, and day dawns, and Richard +Stanhope does not appear. + +Meanwhile, Van Vernet and the two men who accompany him, arrive first of +the party at their rendezvous. + +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 himself and the wounded convict, on +the night previous. + +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. + +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. + +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, +_he_ can do. + +What are these miserable outlaws that they should baffle Van Vernet the +skillful, the successful, the daring? + +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. + +"What the--" + +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. + +Involuntarily all three utter sharp exclamations as they gather around +the apparition. + +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. + +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. + +Unmistakably, it is the face of an idiot. + +"How!" ejaculates this being, peering curiously at the three. "How do? +Where ye goin'?" + +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. + +Turning to one of his men he says, in an undertone: + +"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." + +Then turning to the intruder he says suavely: + +"How are you, my man? How are you?" + +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: + +"G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; _g'way_." + +[Illustration: "G'way--_g'way!_ Charlie big p'liceman. Gittin' late; +_g'way_!"--page 110.] + +"We must humor him, boys," says Vernet aside. Then to Charlie--"So +you're a policeman? Well, so am I; look." + +And turning back the lapel of his coat he displays, on the inner side, +the badge of an officer. + +Silly Charlie comes close, peers eagerly at the badge, fingers it +curiously, then, grasping it firmly, gives a tug at the lapel, saying: + +"Gimme it. Gimme it." + +Van Vernet laughs good-naturedly. + +"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?" + +Silly Charlie nods violently. + +"And you want my star, or one like it?" + +"_Um hum!_" with sudden emphasis. + +Van Vernet lays a hand on the shoulder of the idiot, and then says: + +"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?" + +Charlie's enthusiastic gestures testify to his delight at this +proposition. + +"Um hum," he cries gleefully; "Charlie go; Charlie be big p'liceman." + +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, with a doleful whine, he +extends his hand, saying; + +"Gimme star _now_." + +"Not now, Charlie; you must earn it first. I had to earn mine. Do you +know the way to Devil's alley?" + +"Um hum!" + +"Good: do you know where Black Nathan lives!" + +"Um hum!" + +"Can you take me to Nancy Kaiser's lushing ken?" + +"Um hum; Charlie knows." + +"Then, Charlie, you shall have that star soon." + +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." + +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. + +Seizing Vernet by the arm, Silly Charlie lowers his head and glides down +the alley, as stealthily as an Indian. + +"Charlie," whispers Vernet, imperatively, "you must be very cautious. I +want you to take me first to where Black Nathan lives." + +"Hoop la!" replies Charlie in subdued staccato; "I'm takin' ye; +commalong." + +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. + +Here they halt for a moment, Charlie peering curiously around him, and +stooping to search for something among the loose stones. + +Suddenly a shriek pierces the silence about them--a woman's shriek, +thrice repeated, its tones fraught with agony and terror! + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A PRETTY PLOT. + + +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. + +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. + +It is the same room, its appointments unchanged; the same 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. + +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. + +"What's _this_?" he soliloquizes, lifting a huge bundle and scrutinizing +it carefully. "Ah-h! a gentleman's fine overcoat; _that_ 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." + +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. + +"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, ha! ha! he'd go waist-deep in a bed of old +rags, and he wouldn't like the smell overmuch; such a _nice_ smell--for +cops. He couldn't _see_ anything, couldn't _feel_ anything but rags, +just rags." + +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. + +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: + +"Who knocks?" + +"It's Siebel," replies a voice from without. "Open up, old Top." + +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. + +At sight of this bulky burden the old man smiles and rubs his palms +together. + +"Ah! Josef," he says, reaching out to relieve the new-comer, "a nice +load that; a very nice load!" + +But the man addressed as Josef retains his hold upon his burden, and, +resting himself against it, looks distrustfully at his host. + +"It's been a fine evening, Josef," insinuates the old man, his eyes +still fixed upon the bag. + +"Fair enough," replies Josef gruffly, as he unties the bag and pushes +it toward the old man. "Take a look at the stuff, Papa Francoise, and +make a bid. I'm dead thirsty." + +Eagerly seizing the bag, Papa Francoise drags it toward the table, +closely followed by Josef, and begins a hasty examination of its +contents, saying: + +"Rags is rags, you know, Josef Siebel. It's not much use to look into +'em; there's nothing here but rags, of course." + +"No, course not," with a satirical laugh. + +"That's right, Josef; I won't buy nothing but rags,--_never_. I don't +want no ill-gotten gains brought to me." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You spoke of thirst, Josef; drink, my friend." + +"Umph," mutters the fellow, draining off the liquor at a draught. Then +setting the cup hastily down; "Now, old Top, wot's your bid?" + +"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." + +"The dickens you will!" + +Josef makes a stride toward the bag, and lifts it upon his shoulder. + +"Stop, Josef!" cries Papa, laying eager hands upon the treasure. "What +do you want? That's a good price for rags." + +"Bah!" snarls the burly ruffian, turning toward the door, "wot d'ye take +me for, ye blasted old fence?" + +But Papa has a firm clutch upon the bag. + +"Stop, Josef!" he cries eagerly; "let me see," pulling it down from his +shoulder and lifting it carefully. "Why, it's _heavier_ than I thought. +Josef, I'll give you two dollars and a half,--_no more_." + +The "no more" is sharply uttered, and evidently Siebel comprehends the +meaning behind the words, for he reseats himself sullenly, muttering: + +"It ain't enough, ye cursed cantin' old skinflint, but fork it out; I've +got to have money." + +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. + +"Oh, it's _you_, 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?" + +[Illustration: "The rag picker can be an honest man as well as another, +Josef."--page 117.] + +"Nothin'," replies Nance sullenly; "nothin' that will suit you. I ain't +had no luck." + +"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. + +But Papa makes a gesture to stay him. + +"Hold on, Josef!" he cries; "wait Nance!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"Ha ha! _Do_ I?" And Josef slaps his pockets suggestively. + +"Now listen, both of you. Suppose, I could help you two to earn some +money easy and honest, what then?" + +"Easy and _honest_!" repeats Siebel, with a snort of derision; "Oh, +Lord!" + +But the girl leans forward with hungry eyes, saying eagerly: "How? tell +us how." + +"I'll tell you. Suppose, just suppose, a certain rich lady--_very_ 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--" + +"Oh, lip it livelier!" cries Siebel impatiently. "Stow yer swash." + +"Well; suppose you and Nance, here, was to come in sudden 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--" + +But Siebel breaks in impatiently: + +"Oh, skip the rubbish! Is there any body to bleed?" + +"Is it a safe lay?" queries Nance. + +"Yes, yes; it's safe, of course," cries Papa, thus compelled to come +down to plain facts. + +"Then let's get down to business. Do you expect an angel's visit here +to-night?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, what's yer plan? Out with it: Nance and I are with ye, if ye +divvy fair." + +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. + +It is a pretty plan but--"_Man sows; a whirlwind reaps._" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A COUNTERPLOT. + + +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. + +"If that old woman were here!" he mutters, and then starts forward at +the sound of a low hesitating tap. + +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. + +It is a woman, slender and graceful; a _lady_, 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: + +"Man, _why_ have you sent for me? Don't you know that there is such a +thing as a last straw?" + +"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!" + +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." + +"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 _your child_. +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?" + +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!" + +"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!" + +He sinks upon the stool as if in utter dejection, wipes away an +imaginary tear, and then resumes, in the same guarded tone: + +"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." + +"Which _you_ have already extorted from me! I have given you every +dollar I possess and yet you live like beggars." + +"And we _are_ beggars, my child. Some unfortunate speculations have +swept away all our little gains, and now--" + +"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--" + +"No, my child, oh!--" + +But she pays no heed to his expostulations. + +"I have come _for the last time_!" she says with fierce decision. "I +have come to tell you that from this moment I defy you!" + +"Softly, my dear; sh-h-h!" + +His face, in spite of his efforts to retain its benign expression, is +growing vindictive and cruel. He comes toward her with slow cat-like +movements. + +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. + +"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--" + +"So we were, my child," he interrupts, "for we had promised not to come +near you during their lifetime." + +"You had promised _never_ to approach me, _never_ 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 _you_, and Life bring me such creatures to fill your places! +But they cannot, they never shall!" + +"Oh, good Lord!" mutters Papa under his breath, "those fools upstairs +will hear too much!" + +But Leslie's indignation has swallowed up all thought of caution, and +her words pour out torrent-like. + +"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 _then_ 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 _claim_ upon my affections. +Affections! The word is mockery from your lips! In consideration 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." + +Papa Francoise, unable to stem the tide of her eloquence, shows signs of +anger, but she never heeds him. + +"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 _my_ money has been paid into your hands, but not +one dollar of my _husband's_ wealth shall ever come to you from me. I +swear it!" + +The old man again moves nearer. + +"Ah, ungrateful girl!" he cries, feigning the utmost grief; "ah, unkind +girl!" + +And his affectation of sorrow causes two unseen observers to grin with +delight, and brings to Leslie's countenance an expression of intense +disgust. + +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. + +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. + +Obeying Papa's instructions, Josef Siebel and the girl 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-- + + "The best-laid plans of men and mice gang aft agleg." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Nance," he whispers eagerly, "Nance, look--in her ears." + +The girl peers down, and fairly gasps. + +"Shiners!" she whispers; "ah, they make my eyes water!" + +"They make my fingers itch," he returns; "d'ye twig, gal?" + +"Eh?" + +Drawing her away from the aperture, he says, in a hoarse whisper: + +"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?" + +"How?" + +"By surprisin' 'em. If I'll floor the old man, can't you tackle the +gal?" + +Nance takes a moment for consideration; they exchange a few more +whispered words and then begin to creep stealthily toward the stairway. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +A DETECTIVE TRAPPED. + + +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. + +"Once more, and for the last time," she pleads, "I ask you to tell me +the truth. Give up this claim of kinship. If 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!" + +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. + +"My child," he begins feebly, but leaves the sentence unfinished at the +sound of a double knock upon the door. + +"Ah-h-h!" he cries with evident relief, "here comes your mother; she can +tell you how wrong you are." + +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. + +"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 _that_ here." + +"I had to do it," she retorts in a whisper; "there are cops in the +alleys." + +With a fierce gesture toward the rear door, Papa seizes the bundle, +saying: + +"Why, it is very heavy; old iron, I suppose; and how horrid those old +rags smell. We must take them away, old woman." + +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. + +Perhaps it is the flickering light, perhaps it is her disordered fancy, +but as they bear their burden through the doorway, Leslie Warburton +half believes that she sees it move. A moment later she starts forward, +her face blanched, her eyes distended. + +"Oh, am I losing my senses?" she cries, "or _did_ I hear a child's +voice, a voice like my little Daisy's, calling 'mamma?'" + +A moment she listens, but no child's voice breaks the stillness; even +Papa and Mamma Francoise are silent in the room without. + +A sudden feeling of terror possesses Leslie. + +"Oh, these wicked people are driving me mad!" she murmurs brokenly. +"_Anything_ is better than this. I will go home and confess all to my +husband. I will brave the worst, rather than be so tortured!" + +Drawing her cloak about her, she makes a step toward the door. + +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. + +"Get on to the shiners, gal," commands Siebel, as he pinions her arms +with his powerful hands. + +Again Leslie utters a cry for help, and what follows is the work of a +moment. + +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. + +"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. + +Then follows a moment of confusion, a wild struggle for the mastery, +which ends soon in a horrible tableau. + +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. + +There is a moment of awful stillness in the room. + +Then Leslie Warburton's strong nature asserts itself. Withdrawing from +Alan's supporting arm, she fixes her eyes upon his face. + +"Oh, Alan," she says, "you followed--" + +"I followed you? Yes," he answers sternly. "Hush!" as she is about to +speak, "this is no time for words." + +There is a shout from the street, and the sound of approaching +footsteps. Papa Francoise seems galvanized into new life. + +"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. + +[Illustration: "There is a moment of awful stillness in the room."--page +130.] + +The approaching footsteps come nearer, and Alan, seizing Leslie by the +arm, drags her toward the door by which the others have escaped. + +"Go!" he says fiercely, "the police are coming; go, for the sake of the +name you bear, for your husband's sake, go! _go!_ GO!" + +As he forces her resisting form across the threshold she turns upon him +a face of piteous appeal. + +"Alan! And you--" + +His lip curls scornfully. + +"I am not a _woman_," he says impatiently; "_go, or_--" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Struggling away from the embrace of Silly Charlie, and bringing himself +slowly to his feet, Vernet says angrily: + +"You confounded idiot, what do you mean?" + +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. + +"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 _that_." + +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. + +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. + +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 Vernet, who now rises +from his examination of the body, and calls over his shoulder: + +"Charlie, come here." + +Leering and laughing, Charlie comes promptly forward. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You won't eh?" pursues Vernet mockingly. "You are very mum? and no +wonder." + +"Mum, mum," chants Silly Charlie, approaching Alan with gingerly steps, +and peering curiously into his face. + +Then bending suddenly forward he whispers quickly: "_Keep mum!_" and +bursting into an idiotic laugh, _pirouettes_ back to the side of Vernet. + +"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." + +Charlie obeys eagerly, and examines the handcuffs with evident delight. + +"Charlie" says Vernet, "you and I have got to make this man a prisoner. +If we do, you will get your star and uniform." + +"Hooray!" cries Charlie, fairly dancing with delight. "Gimme, gum--gimme +knife!" + +"Why, the blood-thirsty fool!" exclaims Vernet. "No, no, Charlie; we +must put on these handcuffs, and rope his feet." + +"Hoop la!" cries Charlie; "gimme rope." + +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. + +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: + +"_Don't resist--keep silence--we are gaining time for her!_" + +"Charlie," says Vernet, "that's a good bit of work, and I'm proud of +you. Now, let's make our prisoner more comfortable." + +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. + +"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?" + +Charlie nods confidently, and makes a prompt movement toward the door. +Then suddenly he stops and points upward with a half terrified air. + +"Some one's up there," he whispers. + +"What's that, Charlie?" + +"Somebody's there. Charlie heard 'em." + +Van Vernet hesitates a moment, looks first at the prisoner, then at +Charlie, and slowly draws forth his dark lantern. + +"I'll go up and see," he says half reluctantly, and making his pistol +ready for use. "Watch the prisoner, Charlie." + +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. + +"Hist, Mr. Warburton!" + +"Ah! who--," Alan Warburton checks himself suddenly. + +"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." + +He produces a key which unlocks the handcuffs. + +"Now, you are free, but remain as you are till I give you the +signal,--ah!" + +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. + +Something underneath it strikes the eye of the seeming 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. + +He hears footsteps crossing the rickety floor above. Van Vernet, having +failed to find what he sought for aloft, is about to descend. + +Stepping quickly to Alan's side, Silly Charlie whispers: + +"Fortune favors us. We have got Vernet trapped." + +"_Vernet!_" Alan Warburton starts and the perspiration comes out on his +forehead. + +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 _he_? + +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. + +As he gazes, Vernet enters the room, a look of disappointment and +disgust upon his face. + +"Charlie, you were scared at the rats," he says; "there's nothing else +there." + +The trap is directly between him and the prisoner, and as he walks +toward it, Silly Charlie fairly laughs with delight. + +"What are you--" + +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. + +"Now," whispers Silly Charlie, "off with your fetters, Warburton, and I +will guide you out of this place. You are not entirely safe yet." + +Up from the trap comes a yell loud enough to waken the seven sleepers, +and suddenly, from without, comes an answering cry. + +"It's Vernet's men," says Silly Charlie. "Now, Warburton, your safety +depends upon your wind and speed. Come!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A PROMISE TO THE DEAD. + + +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, + +"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." + +[Illustration: "Vernet's foot has pressed the yielding carpet; he +clutches the air wildly, and disappears."--page 137.] + +For the first time Alan Warburton, the self-possessed, 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. + +"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_ 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?" + +"I never saw his face until to-night." + +"What! and yet, two hours ago, he was at your brother's house, a guest!" + +"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?" + +"'Silly Charlie' is what they call me in these alleys, and I pass for an +idiot." + +"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." + +"In serving you to-night, Mr. Warburton, I have also served myself. As +to who I am, it cannot matter to you." + +"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. _That_ does concern me." + +Alan's companion ponders a moment, and then says: + +"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." + +"Ask it." + +"Van Vernet was a guest at your masquerade--why was he there?" + +The question startles Alan Warburton, but he answers after a moment's +reflection: + +"He came at my invitation, and on a matter of business." + +"And yet you say that you never saw his face before?" + +"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." + +"And you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 shave; crop your hair, and above all leave the city until this +affair blows over." + +"Thank you," Alan replies; "I feel that your advice is good." Then, +after a struggle with his pride, he adds: + +"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." + +"I comprehend." + +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. + +"The first, after you." + +"You saw those who fled?" + +"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!" + +Alan's tone is a trifle haughty as he answers: + +"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 _me_ so intimately. I have +a right to know why you followed us, or me, to that house to-night?" + +His companion laughs good-naturedly. + +"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 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. _You_ 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." + +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. + +Puzzled, chagrined, his brain teeming with strange thoughts, Alan +Warburton turns homeward. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 of their leader's prolonged absence, have stumbled upon him in +the very nick of time. + +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. + +Instinctively he comprehends the situation. The simpleton has played him +false, the prisoner has escaped. + +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 _unlocked_! And by whom? Not by the +man who wore them; that was impossible. + +Suddenly, flinging down the handcuffs, he turns to the policemen. + +"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 _alive or dead_!" + +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. + +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. + +He goes to the side of the murdered man, who still lies as he had +fallen, and looks down upon him. + +"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 _clean_. +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 _you_, my lad, and the man who outwitted _me_, shall be found and +punished, or Van Vernet will have lost his skill!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +VERNET DISCOMFITED. + + +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. + +More than an hour they consumed in this search, and then they returned +to their superior officer to report their utter failure. + +"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 warned. I would not give a copper +for all we can capture now." + +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. + +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. + +The Raid was an utter failure; and Van Vernet, as he led his men +ruefully homeward, little dreamed of the cause of the failure. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Richard Stanhope_ were arrayed against him; nor dreamed +that "Warburton, the 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. + +Arrived at head-quarters, Vernet laid before his Chief a full report of +the night's misadventures, and concluded his narrative thus: + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +It was late in the day when Stanhope finally presented himself, and then +he entered the outer office alert, careless, _debonnaire_ as usual; +looking like a man with an untroubled conscience, who has passed the +long night in peaceful repose. + +Vernet, who had arrived at the office but a moment before, lifted his +face from the newspaper he held and cast upon his _confrere_ an +inquiring glance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"I say, Van, old fellow, how do you like conducting a Raid?" + +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. + +"It shall not remain thus," he assured himself fiercely; "I'll play as +many trumps as Dick Stanhope, before our little game ends!" + + * * * * * + +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: + +"You may consider yourself sure of both men, after a little. Dick +Stanhope, whose case promised to be a very short one, 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." + +"I like the idea," said Walter Parks earnestly, "and I will be here at +the appointed time." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +But Stanhope only said: + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CALLED TO ACCOUNT. + + +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. + +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. + +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 _incognito_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +Anxiously she watched the throng, hoping, yet dreading, to see the +sailor costume of Alan, fearing lest, in spite of his high courage, +disaster had overtaken him. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Tossing a kiss to Leslie, and bestowing a grimace upon Alan as he held +open the door for her exit, Winnie had _pirouetted_ out of the room, and +sped up the broad stairway as fleetly as if her little feet were not +weary with five hours' dancing. + +Then Leslie, with a stately gesture, had led the way to the library. + +Silently, and as if by one accord, they paused under the chandelier, and +each gazed into the face of the other. + +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. + +Looking him full in the face, she made no effort to break the silence. +Seeing which, Alan Warburton said: + +"Madam, you play your part well. You are not now the nocturnal wanderer +menaced by a danger--" + +"From which you rescued me," she interrupts, her face softening. "Alan, +it was a brave deed, and I thank you a thousand times!" + +"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?" + +"I have not been missed, and I returned as safely and as secretly as I +went." + +Her voice was calm, her countenance had hardened as at first. + +"Madam, let us understand each other. One year ago the name of Warburton +had never known a stain; now--" + +He let the wrath in his eyes, the scorn in his face, finish what his +lips left unsaid. + +But the eyes of his beautiful opponent flashed him back scorn for scorn. + +"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 _that_!" + +"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, _what_ were you! I +_have_ 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 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 _where_ you paid +your visits, but not to _whom_. 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?" + +Slowly she moved toward him, looking straight into his angry, scornful +face. Slowly she answered: + +"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 _have_ 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." + +She turned away, but he laid a detaining hand upon her arm. + +"Stop!" he said, "you must not go to Archibald with this; you shall +not!" + +"Shall not!" she exclaimed scornfully; "and who will prevent it?" + +"I will prevent it. Woman, have you neither heart nor conscience? Would +you add murder to your list of transgressions?" + +"Let me go, Alan Warburton," she answered impatiently; "I have done with +you." + +"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." + +"But he shall; every word of it." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Yes," she said, turning again toward the door, "I shall tell him of +that too." + +"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." + +The last words were mockingly uttered, but Leslie paid no heed to the +tone. + +"Are you telling me the truth?" she demanded. "Must I play my part +still?" + +"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 I may denounce you, but to enable me to protect us all from the +consequences of your follies." + +If the words were conciliatory, the tone was hard and stern. Alan +Warburton could ill play the role he had undertaken. + +The look she now turned upon him was one of mingled wonder and scorn. + +"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." + +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. + +"Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sob in her throat, +"we have lost little Daisy!" + +"Lost her!" + +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. + +"We have hunted everywhere," Winnie continued wildly. "She is not in the +house, she is not--" + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +BETRAYED BY A PICTURE. + + +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: + +"There is no hope. His life is only a thing of days." + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sob +in her throat, "we have lost little Daisy!"--page 155.] + +So two long, dreary days passed away, with no tidings from the lost and +no hope for the dying. + +During these two days, Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope were not idle. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Rightly judging that sooner or later Papa Francoise, or 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. + +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. + +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. + +The silence and gloom that hung over the mansion was too marked to pass +unnoticed by so keen an observer. + +Wondering as to the cause, Vernet pulled the bell, and boldly handed his +professional card to the serious-faced footman who opened the door. + +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. + +"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." + +The servant turned upon him a look of surprise. + +"Do you mean Mr. Archibald Warburton, sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it will be impossible. Mr. Warburton has been dangerously sick +since yesterday. The shock--Mr. Alan receives all who have business." + +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: + +"Nevertheless, you may deliver my message." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Wondering somewhat at this cavalier message, the servant retraced his +steps, and Alan returned to the sick-room, murmuring as he went: + +"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." + +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: + +"But for her, and her wretched intrigue, I should have no cause to +deceive, and no man's scrutiny to fear." + +Alas for us who have secrets to keep; we should be "as wise as +serpents," and as farseeing as veritable seers. + +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. + +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. + +When the servant had delivered his message, and without paying the +slightest heed to its purport, Vernet demanded, almost fiercely: + +"Who is the original of that portrait?" + +"That, sir," said the servant, "is Mr. Alan Warburton." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A PROMISE TO THE DYING. + + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +While Van Vernet thus soliloquizes over his startling discovery, we will +follow the footsteps of Richard Stanhope. + +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. + +It is a hospital, watched over by an order of noble women, and +affording every relief and comfort to the suffering ones within its +walls. + +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. + +"How is your patient?" queries the detective, approaching the bed and +gazing down upon the man whom he has befriended. + +"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." + +"I will stay as long as possible," Stanhope says, seating himself by the +bed. "But I have not much time to spare to-night." + +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. + +And while he mutters, Richard Stanhope listens--at first idly, then +curiously, and at last with eager intensity, bending forward to catch +every word. + +Finally he rises, and crossing the room deposits his hat upon a table, +and removes his light outer coat. + +"I shall stay," he says briefly. "How long will he live?" + +"He cannot last until morning, the surgeon says." + +"I will stay until the end." + +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. + +It is almost midnight when his mutterings cease, and he falls into a +slumber that looks like death. + +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. + +"You see--I was--right," he whispers, a wan smile upon his face; "I am +going to die." + +He labors a moment for breath, and then says: + +"You have been so good--will--will you do one thing--more?" + +"If I can." + +"I want my--mother to know--I am dead. She was not always good--but she +was--my mother." + +"Tell me her name, and where to find her?" + +The voice of the dying man sinks lower. Stanhope bends to catch the +whispered reply, and then asks: + +"Can you answer a few questions that I am anxious to put to you?" + +"Y--yes." + +"Now that you know yourself dying, are you willing to tell me anything I +may wish to know?" + +"You are the--only man--who was ever--merciful to me," said the dying +man. "I will tell you--anything." + +Turning to the nurse, Stanhope makes a sign which she understands, and, +nodding a reply, she goes softly from the room. + +When Richard Stanhope and the dying man are left alone, the detective +bends his head close to the pillows, and the questions asked, and the +answers given, are few and brief. + +Suddenly the form upon the bed becomes convulsed, the eyes roll wildly +and then fix themselves upon Stanhope's face. + +"You promise," gasps the death-stricken man, "you will tell them--" + +The writhing form becomes limp and lifeless, the eyes take on a glassy +stare, and there is a last fluttering breath. + +Richard Stanhope closes the staring eyes, and speaks his answer in the +ears of the dead. + +"I will tell them, poor fellow, at the right time, but--before my duty +to the dead, comes a duty to the living!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +A BUSINESS CALL. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He found that legal gentleman preparing to walk down to his office; and +after an interchange of salutations, the two turned their faces townward +together. + +"Well, Stanhope," said the lawyer, linking his arm in that of the +detective with friendly familiarity, "how do you prosper?" + +"Very well; but I must have an interview with Mrs. Warburton this +morning." + +"Phew! and you want me to manage it?" + +"Yes." + +The lawyer considered a moment. + +"You know that the Warburtons are overwhelmed with calamity?" he said. + +Stanhope glanced sharply from under his lashes, and then asked +carelessly: + +"Of what nature?" + +"Archibald Warburton lies dying; his little daughter has been stolen." + +"What!" The detective started, then mastering his surprise, said +quietly: "Tell me about it." + +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: + +"It's a strange state of affairs, but it makes an immediate interview +with the lady doubly necessary. Will you arrange it at once?" + +"You are clever at a disguise: can you make yourself look like a +gentleman of my cloth?" + +"Easily," replied Stanhope, with a laugh. + +"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." + +An hour later, a carriage stopped before the Warburton doorway, and two +gentlemen alighted. + +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. + +They entered the house together, and the servant took up to Leslie the +cards of Mr. Follingsbee and "S. Richards, attorney." + +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. + +"How is Archibald?" asked the lawyer, briskly. + +"Sinking; failing every moment," replied Leslie, sadly. + +"And there is no news of the little one?" + +"Not a word." + +There was a sob in her throat, and Mr. Follingsbee, who hated a scene, +turned abruptly toward his companion, saying: + +"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." + +And without regarding her stare of surprise, he walked coolly from the +room, leaving Leslie and the disguised detective face to face. + +"Is it possible!" she said, after a moment's silence; "is this Mr. +Stanhope!" + +The middle-aged gentleman smiled and came toward her. + +"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." + +She bowed her head and looked inquiringly into his face. + +"Mrs. Warburton, are you still desirous to discover the identity of the +person who has been a spy upon you?" he asked gravely. + +"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? + +"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." + +Then, seeing the look of distress and indecision upon her face, he +continued: + +"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?" + +She sank into a chair, with a weary sigh. + +"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." + +He drew a chair near that which she occupied, and plunged at once into +his unpleasant narrative, talking fast, and in low, guarded tones. + +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. + +As she listened, Leslie's face took on a look of terror, and she buried +it in her hands. + +"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." + +Leslie shuddered, and as he paused, she asked, from behind her hands: + +"And then--oh, tell me what happened after that!" + +"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?" + +"He has told me nothing." + +"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 was when he met and +frightened the little girl, and then reproved the servant." + +"I remember." + +"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." + +She lifted her head suddenly. + +"_Arrest!_" she exclaimed; "why should you arrest _him_?" + +Stanhope fixed his eyes upon her face; then sinking his voice still +lower, he said: + +"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." + +"What!" + +"It was the body of a dead rag-picker. Before you left that room, a +fatal blow was struck." + +"Yes--I--I don't know--I can't tell--it was all confused." + +She sank back in her chair, her face fairly livid, her eyes looking +unutterable horror. + +"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." + +She bent forward, looking eagerly into his face. + +"And you rescued him?" she said, eagerly. + +"You could scarcely call it that. He resisted grandly, and 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." + +"And is that danger now past?" + +"Is it past!" He took from his pocket a folded placard, opened it, and +put it into her hands. + +It was the handbill containing the description of the escaped Sailor, +and offering a reward for his capture. + +With a cry of remorse and terror, Leslie Warburton flung it from her, +and rose to her feet. + +"My God!" she cried, wringing her hands wildly, "my cowardice, my folly, +has brought this upon him, upon us all!" + +Then turning toward the detective, a sudden resolve replacing the terror +in her eye, a resolute ring in her voice, she said: + +"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." + +"But, madam--" + +"Wait; I want your advice, too, your aid, perhaps. Mr. Follingsbee also +shall hear me." + +She started toward the library, but the detective put out a detaining +hand. + +"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." + +She breathed a shuddering sigh, and returned to her seat. + +"You are right," she said hurriedly; "and until you shall advise me +otherwise, I will tell my story to none but you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +LESLIE'S STORY. + + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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. + +"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--" + +"What!" The exclamation fell involuntarily from Stanhope's lips. Then +checking himself, he said quietly: "I beg your pardon; proceed." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 again. Soon after that, I was approached by the +Francoises--you have seen them?" lifting her eyes to his face. + +"Yes." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 in +obedience to an imperative summons, resolved that it should be the last +time." + +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. + +Thus a moment of silence passed. Then Stanhope, withdrawing his eyes, +and leaning back in his seat, asked suddenly: + +"Is that all?" + +"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." + +"I know." + +"You have heard it, of course. I believe that I know why, and by whom, +she was abducted." + +"Ah!" + +"I suspect the Francoises." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +Richard Stanhope leaned forward, and slightly lifted his right hand. + +"Is there any one else who would be benefited by the death or +disappearance of the child?" he asked. + +Leslie started, and the hot blood rushed to her face. + +"I--I don't understand," she faltered. + +"Do you know the purport of your husband's will." + +"Yes." + +"How does he dispose of his large property?" + +"One third to me; the rest to little Daisy." + +"And his brother?" + +"Alan possesses an independent fortune." + +"Are there no contingencies?" + +"In case of my death, all comes to Daisy, Alan becoming her guardian. In +case of Daisy's death, Alan and I share equally." + +"Then by the loss of this child, both you and the young man become +richer." + +"Ah!" she gasped, "I had never thought of _that_!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +But, aloud, he only said: + +"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." + +"By letter?" + +"No; through the morning papers. Use this form." + +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. + +"That is safer than a letter," he said, rising. "One word more, madam. +Tell Alan Warburton to be doubly guarded against Van Vernet. His danger +increases at every step. Now we will call Mr. Follingsbee." + +"One moment, Mr. Stanhope. Alan has employed detectives to search for +Daisy, but none of them know what you know. Will _you_ find her for me?" +She held out her hands appealingly. + +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: + +"I will serve you to the extent of my power, dear lady. I will find the +little one, if I can." + +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. + +While their footsteps yet lingered on the outer threshold, Winnie French +came flying down the stairway. + +"Come quick!" she cried to Leslie. "Archibald is worse; he is dying!" + + * * * * * + +"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." + +Nevertheless he went straight to the Agency, and, standing before his +Chief, said: + +"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, weeks, or months, but you will not see me here +again until I can tell you _who killed Arthur Pearson_." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +VERNET ON THE TRAIL. + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +His first glance toward the massive street-door caused him to start and +mutter an imprecation. The bell was muffled, and the door-plate hidden +beneath heavy folds of crape. + +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. + +Within was a household doubly stricken; without, a two-fold danger +menaced. + +"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." + +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." + +He was not sorry that Archibald Warburton was dead, and he resolved to +profit by that death. + +Since the discovery of Alan Warburton's picture, Van Vernet's mind had +been drifting toward dangerous conclusions. + +Suppose this wealthy aristocrat and the Sailor assassin 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? + +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? + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +He gave a shrug of indifference and glanced back over his shoulder. + +The two women had halted before the Warburton mansion, and the elder one +was looking up at the crape-adorned door. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They would have passed Vernet hurriedly, but he put out his hand and +said: + +"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 _that_ 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." + +The woman muttered something after the usual mendicant fashion, and +hastened away down the street. + +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. + +But Van Vernet had now no eyes for the horses, the carriage, or its +occupant. + +Noting, with a hasty glance, the direction taken by the two women, he +sprang down the basement-steps and rang the bell. + +The servant who had opened to the women, again appeared at the door. + +"What do _you_ want?" she asked, crossly; for being an honest servant +she had no fear of the blue coat and brass buttons of the law. + +The bogus policeman touched his hat and greeted her with an affable +smile. + +"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." + +He extended his hand for the letter; but the servant drew back, and +answered hastily: + +"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." + +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. + +[Illustration: "Be off, now, and thank fortune that I am a good-natured +fellow."--page 181.] + +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. + +"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." + +Suddenly he uttered a sharp ejaculation, and quickened his pace. + +"That old woman--why, she answers perfectly the description given of +Mother Francoise! And if it _is_ 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +WHO KILLED JOSEF SIEBEL. + + +While Van Vernet was following after the two women, the carriage with +the restless horses moved slowly past the Warburton dwelling. + +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: + +"Around the corner, Jim, and turn." + +The order was promptly obeyed. + +"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?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Follow him." + +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. + +Finally, leaning back in the carriage with a muttered, "That settles it; +he's going to track them home," he again addressed the driver: + +"Turn back, Jim." + +"All right, sir." + +"Drive to Warburton Place, side entrance." + +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. + +At the sound of an opening door she turned to confront her maid, who +proffered her a card. + +Leslie took it mechanically and then started as she read thereon: + + MADAM STANHOPE, + Modeste. + +And written in the corner of the card, the underlined word, +_Imperative_. + +There was a look of relief upon the face she turned to the servant. + +"Where is the--lady?" + +"In the little drawing-room, madam." + +Holding the card in her hand, Leslie hastened to the little +drawing-room. + +A tall, veiled woman advanced to meet her; it was the occupant of the +carriage. + +Leslie came close to this sombre-robed figure and said, almost in a +whisper: "Mr. Stanhope?" + +"It is I, Mrs. Warburton. Need I say that only the most urgent necessity +could have brought me here at such a time?" + +"It is the right time, sir." + +She held up before him the crumpled note. + +"It is from _them_?" he asked. + +Leslie nodded. + +"It contains the secret of their present whereabouts, and bids you come +to them?" + +"Yes." + +"You will not go?" + +"How can I, now?"--her voice almost a wail--"and yet--" + +"You are safe to refuse, Mrs. Warburton. You need not comply with any +instructions they may give you henceforth. Let me have that note." + +"But--" + +"I must have it, in order to save you. I must know where to find these +people." + +She looked at him inquiringly, and put the note into his hand. + +"Thank you," he said. "Has Van Vernet visited this house, to your +knowledge?" + +"He has." + +"And he saw--" + +"No one. I obtained my information from a servant. He sent up his card +to Alan, who refused to meet him." + +"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. + +"That is very imprudent," he said. + +"I--I don't understand." + +"That picture. It must be removed." Then turning sharply toward her: +"Are there other pictures of Mr. Alan Warburton in this house?" + +"No; this is the only recent portrait." + +He sat down and looked at the picture intently. + +"Van Vernet has been here, you tell me. Can he have seen _that_?" + +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. + +"So," muttered Stanhope, as he again contemplated the picture, "a square +foot of canvas can spoil all my plans. If Van has seen _this_, my work +becomes doubly hard, and Warburton's case a desperate one." + +While he pondered, Leslie came softly back, and stood before him. + +"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." + +"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 +Vernet, who was watching near here, saw them and followed them." + +"Oh!" + +"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." + +"But--Alan is not guilty." + +"Are you _sure_ of that?" + +"I--I--" She faltered and was silent. + +"Mrs. Warburton," he asked, slowly, "do you know _who_ struck that +blow?" + +She trembled violently, and her face turned ashen white. + +"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 _not_ Alan!" + +Not a little surprised at this incoherent outburst, Stanhope looked her +keenly in the face, a new thought taking possession of his mind. + +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. + +The question, who killed Josef Siebel? was becoming a riddle. + +"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. 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 _no strangers_ to your presence." + +"But you--" + +"I shall not apply for admittance; I am going away. Before you see me +again, I trust your troubles will have ended." + +"And little Daisy?" + +"We shall find her, I hope. Mrs. Warburton, time presses; remember my +instructions and my warning. Good-morning." + +He moved toward the door, turned again, and said: + +"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." + + * * * * * + +It was long past noon when Van Vernet, weary but triumphant, reappeared +upon the fashionable street where stood the Warburton mansion. + +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 woman and her companion had passed from his sight. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 casket--it was made for a much shorter, a much +smaller man! + +If _this_ were intended for Archibald Warburton, who, then, was the +six-foot masker? + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, Alan Warburton," he muttered, "_I have you now_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL. + + +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. + +Papa and Mamma Francoise had left their abiding-place in the slums for a +refuge even more secure. + +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 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. + +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. + +It is evening, the evening of the day that has witnessed Van Vernet's +most recent discovery, and Papa and Mamma are at home. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Mamma Francoise stirs the liquid more vigorously, and takes a careful +sip from the iron spoon. + +"Ah," she murmurs, "that's the stuff. It's a pity to spoil it." + +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. + +If one may judge from Mamma's abstinence, the liquor _has_ been spoiled, +for she does not taste it again. + +Having thus completed her task, she turns toward one of the pallets, and +seating herself thereon lifts her eyes toward Papa. + +"What's to be done with the girl?" she repeats. "That's the question +I've asked _you_ often enough, and I never got an answer yet." + +Papa withdraws his gaze from her face, and fixes it once more upon the +broken tumbler. + +"She ain't no good to us," resumes Mamma, "and we can't have her tied to +us always." + +"Nor we can't turn her adrift," says Papa, significantly. + +"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." + +"Consequently--" says Papa. + +And then they look at one another in silence. + +"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." + +"No," says Papa, shaking his head, "we can't alter hers--not now." + +"And if we could, we can't alter her actions." + +"No; we can't alter her actions," agrees Papa, with a cunning leer, +"except to make 'em worse." + +And he casts a suggestive glance toward the tin cup on the floor. + +"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." + +"And it won't do to give her any less. Old woman, we've just got back to +the place we started from." + +Mamma Francoise rests her chin in her ample palm and ponders. + +"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." + +She goes to the door, opens it with an angry movement, and peers out +into the dark hall. + +"Nance, you torment!" + +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: + +"Sh-h! Old woman, let me in, and don't make a fuss." + +The woman starts back and is about to close the door, when something in +the appearance of the man arrests her attention. + +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. + +In another moment he stands with a hand on either door-post. + +[Illustration: "How are ye, old uns? Governor, how are ye?"--page 194.] + +"How are ye' old uns?" he says, with a grin. "Governor, how are ye?" And +then, with a leer, and a lurch which betrays 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!" + +"Franzy!" Mamma Francoise starts forward, a look of mingled doubt and +anxiety upon her face. "Franzy! No, it can't be Franzy!" + +"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." + +The two Francoises drew close together, and scrutinized the new-comer +keenly, doubtfully, with suspicion. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Franzy! is it really Franzy?" + +The new claimant to parental affection flings out his hand with a fierce +gesture, and a horrible oath breaks from his lips. + +"Is it _really_ Franzy?" he cries, derisively. "Who else do ye think +would be likely to claim _yer_ kinship? I've put in 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." + +He turns about with a firm, resentful movement, and Mamma Francoise +springs forward with a look of conviction on her hard face. + +"Anybody'd know ye after _that_ blow out," she says with a grin. "Ye're +the same old sixpence, Franzy; let's have a look at ye." + +She lays a hand upon his arm, and he turns back half reluctantly. + +"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." + +And shaking her hand from his arm, this affectionate Prodigal strides +past her, and peers eagerly into the broken glass upon the table. + +"Empty, of course," he mutters; "I might a-known it." + +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. + +In an instant Mamma Francoise springs forward, and seizing the cup with +both hands, holds it away from his mouth. + +"Stop, Franz! you mustn't drink that." + +A string of oaths rolls from his lips, and he wrests the cup from her +hand, spilling half its contents in the act. + +"Stop, Franzy!" calls Papa, excitedly; "that stuff won't be good for +you." + +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. + +"Here, Franzy, drink this." + +But the Prodigal shakes off his father's persuasive touch, and again +seizes upon the cup of warm liquor. + +"Franzy!" cries Papa, in a tremor of fear, "drop that; _it's doctored_." + +The Prodigal moves a step backward, and slowly lowers the cup. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Having refreshed himself from the bottle, he begins his story, +interluding it with innumerable oaths, and allotting to himself a full +share of the daring and dangerous feats accompanying the escape. + +"It's plain that ye ain't read the papers," he concludes. "Ye'd know all +about it, if ye had." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +FRANZY FRANCOISE'S GALLANTRY. + + +While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the contents of the +aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, the evening wore on. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Umph!" muttered the hopeful son; "who did the killin'?" + +Papa glanced uneasily at the old woman, and then replied: + +"We don't know, Franzy. The fight began when we were out of the room, +and--we don't know." + +"That's a pity; wasn't there any reward?" + +"Yes, boy," said Mamma, eagerly; "a big reward. An' if we could tell who +did the thing, we would be rich." + +"Somebody got arrested, of course?" + +"N--no, Franzy; nobody's been arrested--not yet." + +"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?" + +"We've been careful, Franzy." + +"S'pose ye have--look here, old un, don't ye see yer chance?" + +"How, Franzy?" + +"How! If I was you, I'd clear my own skirts, and git that reward." + +"How? how?" + +"_I'd know who did the killin'._" + +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. + +"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!" + +Then she turns her head and listens, while Franz, casting a wistful look +at the now empty bottle, rises to his feet the movement betraying the +fact that he is physically intoxicated, although his head as yet seems +so clear. + +Again footsteps approach, and Mamma hastens to the door, listens a +moment, opens it cautiously, and peers out. + +"It's that gal," she mutters, setting the door wide open. "Come in, you +Nance! Where have you been, making yourself a nuisance?" + +Then she falls back a pace, staring stupidly at the strangely-assorted +couple who stand in the doorway. + +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: + +"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?" + +A look of anger gleams in Mamma's eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and +answers: + +"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." + +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: + +"They tell me that this girl's mind has been destroyed by liquor, and +that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is +not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?" + +These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to +his feet, and cause Mamma's true nature to assert itself. + +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. + +"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 _my_ charge, and I'm able to take care of +her. Your hospital prayers wouldn't do her any good." + +As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow. + +"Hold your tongue, you old fool," he whispers sharply. + +Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness: + +"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!" + +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: + +"Wot's the row? Anythin' as I kin help out?" + +"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." + +"The lady is very kind," chimes in Papa; "but we can't spare Nance, poor +girl." + +"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." + +"Now, Franzy,"--begins Mamma. + +"S'h-h, my boy,"--whispers Papa, appealingly. + +But he roughly repulses Mamma's extended hand. + +"Let up, old woman," he says, coarsely; and then, pushing her aside, he +addresses the Sister: + +"I say, what--er--ye want--er--her for, any'ow?" + +The Sister turns away, and addresses herself once more to Mamma. + +"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--" + +But again fury overmasters prudence. Mamma springs toward her with a +yell of rage. + +"Ah, you cat-o'-the-world," she cries, "go home with yer pious cant! The +gal's--" + +The words die away in a gurgle; the hand of Franz, roughly pressed +against her mouth, has stopped her utterance. + +"Oh, get out, old woman!" he exclaims, pushing her away and steadying +himself after the effort. "Ye're gittin' too familiar, ye air." + +Then seeing that the Sister, convinced of her inability to reason with +the unreasonable, had turned to go, he cried out: + +"Hold on, mum; if ye want that gal, ye kin have her. _I'm_ runnin' +this." + +"I shall not forget that poor creature," says the Sister, still +addressing Mamma and ignoring Franz; "and if I find that she is not--" + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +FRANZ FRANCOISE BELLIGERENT. + + +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. + +Then Mamma seated herself upon the one unoccupied stool, and glared +alternately at the two men. + +Papa Francoise was evidently both disturbed and alarmed at this visit +from the Sister of Mercy, and he seemed intent upon solving some new +problem propounded to him by the scene just ended. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Papa seated himself and favored her with a vacant stare. + +"Eh!" he said, absently; "what's to be done?" + +Mamma cast a quick look toward her recumbent Prodigal, and leaned +forward until her lips touched the old man's ear. + +"Mind this," she hissed; "_he_ ain't to know too much. He's got the +devil in him; it won't do to put ourselves under his thumb." + +"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." + +Mamma gave a derisive sniff, a sort of acknowledgment of the +compliment--one of the only kind ever paid her by her worser half,--and +then said: + +"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." + +"Yes," assented the old man, "he'd have things his own way, or he'd make +us trouble; he always did." + +Mamma arose, stirred the smouldering fire, and resuming her seat, began +afresh: + +"Now, then, we've got to decide about that gal. She can't go to no +hospital?" + +"No; she can't." + +"And she can't stay with us. It was a big risk before; now that Franzy +is back, it's a bigger risk." + +"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." + +"I s'pose so." + +"Well, s'pose we tell him about her." + +"What for?" + +"Ter satisfy him, an' ter git his help." + +"His help?" muttered Mamma. "That might do." + +Suddenly Papa lifted a warning finger. "Hush," he whispered; "there's +somebody outside o' that door." + +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: + +"Who's there?" + +"Open de do'; I's got a message fo' yo'." + +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. + +Mamma glided toward the pallet where lay her returned Prodigal, and bent +above him. + +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. + +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. + +"You will excuse me," he said, politely, "but my business is private, +and some one might come up the stairs." + +"What do you want?" + +The incautious words were uttered by Papa Francoise, who, noting the +entire absence of his negro accent, arose hastily, his face full of +alarm. + +The African smiled blandly. + +"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." + +"By our patron!" Mamma echoed his words in skeptical surprise. + +"Yes; I am his servant." + +Papa and Mamma gazed at each other blankly and drew nearer together. + +"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." + +Papa took the proffered note reluctantly, glanced at the superscription, +and suddenly changed his manner. + +"That is not directed to me," he cried, sharply. "You have made a +mistake." + +"It is directed to Papa Francoise." + +Papa peered closer at the superscription. "Yes; I think that's it. It's +not my name; it's not for me." + +"My dear sir, I know you too well. You need not fear me; I am Mr. +Warburton's body servant." + +"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?" + +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. + +Mamma's answer came very promptly. + +"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." + +A smile crossed the face of the wily African, and he turned toward Papa. + +"Read my master's note, if you please," he said. "It was written to +_you_." + +Slowly Papa unfolded the note, and his eyes seemed bursting from their +sockets as he read. + + Name your price, but keep your whereabouts from the police. If + you are called upon to identify me, _you do not know me_. + + * * * * * + +While Papa reads, the slumbering Franz begins to move and to mutter. + +"Give me the file, Jim," he says, in a low, cautious tone. "Curse the +darbies--I--" + +The sudden overturning of a stool, caused by a quick backward movement +on the part of Mamma, drowns the rest of this muttered speech. + +But the words have caught the ear of the colored gentleman, who moves a +pace nearer the sleeper, and seems anxious to hear more. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +If the fugitive Sailor and Alan Warburton are one and the 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In another moment,--neither Papa nor Mamma could have told how it came +about,--the two were upon the floor, Franz Francoise uppermost, his +knees upon the breast of his antagonist! + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +IN DURANCE VILE. + + +This onslaught, so swift and unexpected, took Papa and Mamma completely +by surprise, and, for the moment, threw even Vernet off his guard. + +"Scoundrel!" he exclaimed, while the menacing knife pressed against his +throat; "what does this mean?" + +For answer, Franz shot a glance toward the two elder Francoises, and +said in a hoarse, unnatural whisper: + +"Deek the cove;[1] he's no dark lantern!" + +[1] Look at him. + +"Eh!" from Papa, in a frightened gasp. + +"Done!" from Mamma, in an angry hiss. + +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. + +As they writhed together upon the floor, Franz shot out another +sentence, this time without turning his head. + +"A dead act," he hissed; "we're copped to rights!" + +Which, being rendered into English, meant: "Combine the attack; we are +in danger of arrest." + +And then the struggle became a question of three to one. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _may_ pipe +to them, but,--" with a click of the pistol,--"_ye're_ a dead man before +they can lift a hoof!" + +Vernet's eyes blazed with wrath, but he maintained a scornful silence. + +[Illustration: "In another moment, the two were upon the floor, Franz +Francoise uppermost!"--page 210.] + +The three Francoises, without withdrawing their gaze from their +prisoner, consulted in harsh whispers. It was a brief consultation, +but it was long enough for Van Vernet to decide upon his course of +action. + +"Now then, my bogus dark lantern," began Franz, who had evidently been +chosen spokesman for the trio, "what's yer business here?" + +"Why don't you begin at the beginning?" retorted Vernet, scornfully. +"You have not asked who I am." + +"Umph; we'll find out who ye air--when we want to. We know _what_ ye +air, and that's enough for us just at present." + +"Might I be allowed to ask what you take me for?" + +"Yes; a cop," retorted Franz, decidedly. "Enough said on that score; +now, what's yer lay?" + +"I suppose," began Vernet, mockingly, "that you didn't hear the little +conversation between that nice old gent there and myself?" + +"Look here," said Franz, with an angry gesture, "don't fool with _me_. +Ef you've got any business with me, say so." + +"Don't bully," retorted Vernet, contemptuously. "You were not asleep +when I entered this room." + +Franz seemed to hesitate and then said: "S'posin' I wasn't, wot's that +got to do with it?" + +"If you were awake, you know my errand." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"A _detective_!" hissed Mamma; while Papa turned livid at the thought +the word "detective" always suggested to his mind. + +"A detective, if you like," responded Vernet, coolly. "A _private_ +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." + +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: + +"This kind and accommodatin' gent, wot I've so misunderstood, has got +business with ye, old top." + +Papa came slowly forward, his face expressive of fear rather than +curiosity, followed by Mamma, fierce and watchful. + +"You--you wanted _me_?" began Papa, hesitatingly. + +"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?" + +His enunciation of the last word probably excited the wrath of Franz, +for he came a step nearer, with an aggressive sneer. + +"My name's Jimson, Mr. Cop, an' I'm a friend of the family. Anything +else ye want ter know?" + +With a shrug of the shoulder, Vernet turned toward Papa once more. + +"I'd like to speak with you alone, Papa Francoise," he said +significantly. + +The mood of mocking insolence seemed deserting Franz, and a wrathful +surliness manifested itself in the tone with which he addressed Papa. + +"He'd like ter see ye alone, old Beelzebub, d'ye hear?" + +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. + +Mamma's quick eye noted the look of suspicion and she interposed. + +"Ye can speak afore this gentleman, Mr. Cop; he's a _very_ intimate +friend." + +A look of annoyance flashed in the eyes of Van Vernet. He hesitated a +moment, and then said slowly: + +"Does your intimate friend know anything about the affair that happened +at your late residence near Rag alley, Papa Francoise?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _your_ 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." + +Franz raised the revolver to his eye and squinted along the barrel. + +"Why don't you call, then?" he inquired. + +"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." + +Franz shifted his position and seemed to hesitate. + +"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." + +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. + +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 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. + +"Maybe ye might take a fancy ter think I'm that same feller," suggested +Franz, after a moment's silence. "What then?" + +"Then," replied Vernet, "every moment that you detain me here increases +your own danger." + +"Humph!" grunted Franz, as he rose and crossing to Mamma's side, began +with her a whispered conversation. + +Vernet watched them curiously for a moment, and then turned his face +toward Papa. + +"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." + +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 Vernet was too wise to call upon +the police for assistance or protection. + +"You want--information?" queried Papa; "what about?" + +Vernet hesitated, and then said slowly: + +"I want to know all that you can tell me about the Sailor who killed +Josef Siebel." + +Papa gasped, stammered, and turned his face toward Franz, who now came +forward, saying fiercely: + +"Look here, my fly cop, afore ye ask any more important questions, just +answer a few." + +"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!" + +"Ye've got to git out of my clutches first," hissed Franz Francoise, +"and yer chances fer that are slim!" + +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. + +"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--" + +"For a little while," put in Franz, significantly. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +FRANZ FRANCOISE'S GENERALSHIP. + + +When the three had returned to the outer room, Papa turned anxiously +toward his hopeful son. + +"Franz, my boy," he began, in a quavering voice, "if there should be +cops outside--" + +"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?" + +The mention of this last-named public benefactor, caused Papa to shiver +violently, and Mamma bent upon him a look of scorn. + +"Don't be an idiot, Francoise," she said, sharply. "We've got somethin' +to do besides shakin' an' shiverin'?" + +"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." + +"But, Franzy,--" began Papa. + +"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." + +"Ah, what a brain the boy has got!" murmured Mamma, with rapturous +pride. + +"Look a-here," said Franz, after a moment's consideration, "I'm +satisfied that there _ain't_ 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. + +"Now, Franzy,--" began Mamma, coaxingly. + +But he waved her back, saying: "Shut up, old woman; I'm runnin' this," +and went swiftly out. + +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. + +"Old man," she said, impressively, "that boy'll be the makin' of us--if +we don't let him git us down." + +"Eh! what?" + +"He's got your cunnin' an' mine together, and he's got all the grit you +lack." + +"Well," impatiently. + +"But he'll want to run us. An' when he knows all _we_ know, he'd put his +foot on us if we git in his way." + +"Yes," assented the old man, with a cunning wink, "he's like his +ma--considerable." + +"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." + +"Yes," insinuated Papa, with a dry cough, "I reckon you do." + +"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--" + +"An' about Nance." + +"It's the same thing; an' ye'll see what he does when we give him an +idea about it." + +"I know what he'll do;" with a crafty wink. "I'll tell him _all_ about +Nance." + +"Yes," muttered the old woman, "ye're good at lyin', and all the +sneakin' dodges." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _her_. You'll have +to visit her agin." + +"I s'pose so. An' when I do--that cop's comin' has given me an +idea--I'll bring her to time." + +"How?" + +Mamma leaned toward him, and touched his shoulder with her bony +forefinger. + +"Just as that cop 'ud have brought _you_ to time, if it hadn't been for +Franzy's comin'." + +Over Papa's wizened face a look of startled intelligence slowly spread +itself. + +"Old woman," he ejaculated, "Satan himself wouldn't a-thought of _that_! +The devil will be proud of ye, someday. But Franzy mustn't see the +gal." + +"I'll manage that," said Mamma. "It's risky, but it's the only way; I'll +manage it." + +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. + +"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. + +"Then," put in Mamma, "while we're safe, we'd better make _him_ safe." + +"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." + +He perched himself upon the rickety table, and Papa and Mamma drew the +stools up close and seated themselves thereon. + +"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." + +"Yes," assented Papa, "so he does." + +"What he knows about me, I reckon he told," resumed Franz. "Now, what's +the killin' affair mentioned?" + +Papa seemed to ponder a moment, and then lifted his eyes to his son's +face with a look of bland ingenuousness. + +"It's a kind of delicate affair, my boy," he began, in a tone of +confidential frankness, "but 'twon't do for _us_ to have secrets from +each other--will it, old woman?" + +"No," said Mamma; "Franzy's our right hand now. You ort to tell him all +about it." + +"Oh, git along," burst in Franz. "Give us the racket, an' cut it mighty +short--time enough for pertikelers later." + +"Quite right, my boy," said Papa, briskly. "Well, here it is: I--I'm +wanted, for a witness, in a--a murder case." + +"Oh," groaned Franz, in tones of exaggerated grief, "my heart is broke!" + +"You needn't laugh, Franzy," remonstrated Papa, aggrieved. "It's the +business I was tellin' you about--at the other place, you know." + +"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." + +"Why, there's not much of it. We was doing well; I bought rags an'--an' +things." + +"Rags an' things--oh, yes!" + +"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,--" + +"Yes," interjected Mamma, "we was." + +"An' we ran in, an' tried to stop the fight." + +Mamma nodded approvingly. + +"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'." + +"Um!" grunted Franz, "and did you tell me they had arrested somebody?" + +"No, my boy. They caught one fellow, a sailor, but he got away." + +"Oh, he got away. How many was there, at the time of the killin'?" + +"There were three in the room, besides the man that was killed, and +there was the old woman and me in the next room." + +"You forgit," interrupts Mamma, "there was Nance." + +"Oh, yes," rejoined Papa, as if grateful for the correction, "there was +Nance." + +Franz glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping girl, and then asked +sharply: "And what was Nance doin'." + +"Nance was layin' on a pile o' rags in a corner," broke in Mamma, "an' I +had to drag her out." + +Franz gave utterance to something between a grunt and a chuckle. + +"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'." + +"She ain't worth savin' now," broke in Papa, hastily. "She's a stone +around our necks." + +"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." + +"Well, ye ain't obliged ter take her, are ye?" queried Franz, as if this +part of the subject rather bored him. "Your keepin' _her_ looks all rot +to me. She ain't good for nothin' that I kin see, only to spoil good +whiskey." + +Papa and Mamma exchanged glances, and then Papa said: + +"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." + +"D'ye mean ter say," queried Franz, "that if that gal knew anything, +she'd know too much?" + +"That's about it, my boy." + +Franz gave vent to a low whistle. "So," he said; "an' _that's_ 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?" + +"Yes, Franzy." + +"Yes, my boy." + +"Then what the dickens are ye mincin' about? Why don't ye settle the gal +afore we pad?" + +"Easy, my boy, easy," remonstrates Papa. + +"Just wot _I_ say, Franz," puts in Mamma. "When we leave here, it won't +be safe for us to take her--nor for you, either." + +"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 _'tis_, why--" He finishes the sentence with a significant +gesture. + +"But, Franz--" begins Mamma, making a feint at remonstrance. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Well, is it _safe_, then?" + +"If we kin git there without bein' tracked, it's safe enough." + +"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." + +"Wot's yer plan, Franzy?" + +"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." + +"With the gal?" + +"Yes; ye don't want ter leave a dead gal here, do ye? Ye might be wanted +agin, _fer a witness_." + +Papa winced and was silent. + +"But, Franz,--" expostulated Mamma. + +"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." + +"Oh!" + +"An' after a while I may overtake ye, somewhere about hen-roost, +_alone_!" + +"Oh," said Mamma, "you'll finish the job in the drink?" + +"I'll finish _with_ the drink but I'll _begin_ with this." And he poised +the naked dagger above Mamma's head with a gesture full of significance. + +"But the other," said Papa, with nervous eagerness; "what shall we do +with him?" + +"The other," replied Franz, slowly putting away his knife, "we will +leave here." + +"What!" screamed Mamma. + +"But--" objected Papa. + +"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." + +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. + +Nevertheless, as they made their preparations for a midnight flitting, +Papa and Mamma, unseen by Franz, exchanged more than one significant +glance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +FLAMES. + + +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. + +[Illustration: "Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither?"--page +230.] + +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. + +Franz and Nance, poor Nance, going--whither? + +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. + +When they had gone by, Franz Francoise turned and looked after them +until their figures had vanished in the darkness. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +After this, only silence. + +Surrounded by the silence and darkness, Van Vernet could only think. +What were their intentions? Where had they gone? Would they come back? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 offensive odor, of the foul cellar in Papa +Francoise's deserted K--street abode. + +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 +_him_, Van Vernet. + +"If I escape," he assured himself, "and I _will_ 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!" + +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. + +Moments pass away. They seem like hours to the helpless prisoner; they +have fitted themselves into one long hour before the silence is broken. + +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 +they foes or friends? Oh, for the use of his eyes--for the power to +speak! + +Presently hands touch him. Ah, they are about to liberate him; but why +so silent? + +They are dexterous, swift-moving hands; but his fetters remain, while +the swift hands work on. + +They are robbing him. First his watch; his pocket-book next; then shirt +studs, sleeve buttons, even his handkerchief. + +And still no word is spoken. + +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. + +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. + +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. _What_ are they doing? + +Ah! the footsteps retreat. They go toward the outer room; creeping, +creeping stealthily. + +Now they have crossed the outer room. They go out, and the door is +softly closed. + +What does this mystery mean? Have they returned to rob him, and then to +leave him? Will they come back yet again? + +A moment passes; another, and another. Then a sickening odor penetrates +to his nostrils, like the burning of some foul-smelling thing. + +Crackle, crackle, crackle! + +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! + +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. + +Crackle, hiss, roar! + +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. + +Hiss! hiss! hiss! + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +"A BRAND FROM THE BURNING." + + +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. + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +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. + +[Illustration: "The flames rise and spread; the door of the closet has +fallen in, and now he feels their hot breath."--page 234.] + +It is useless to attempt to save the old tenement; they realize that. +But its occupants--They have heard the alarm, and they come out +hurriedly, _en deshabille_, pushing and dragging the children, +screaming, and cursing each other and the world. + +All on the lower floor are then safe. But the upper floor, and its +occupants? + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +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. + +"Fire! fire! fire!" + +They hear the tinkle of bells, the gallop of speeding hoofs upon the +pavement. + +"Ah!" cries an on-looker, "the fire boys are coming!" + +"Too late, they are," growls another; "too late, as usual." + +The engine approaches; and from the opposite direction comes a man, +running swiftly, panting heavily, almost breathless. + +The roof is all ablaze now; in a moment the rafters will have fallen in. + +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. + +"Stop! Come back!" + +"What a fool!" + +"That's the end of _him_!" + +The on-lookers shout and scream. Exclamations, remonstrance, pity, +ridicule--all find voice, and are all lost upon the daring adventurer +among the flames. + +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. + +A crash from aloft; a cry from the multitude. The roof is falling in, +and the gallant rescuer--ah! he is doomed. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"It's a nigger!" + +"No; look here!" + +"Hello, he's been playin' moke!" + +"He's been blacked!" + +"Look at his clothes, boys." + +"Jerusalem! he's been robbed." + +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. + +"He's dead, I reckon." + +"No; only smothered." + +"Stand back there; give us air." + +"Let's have some water." + +"No, brandy." + +"Look; he's coming to." + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "A form comes reeling out from among the smoke and +fire-tongues, staggering beneath a burden."--page 237.] + +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 his +double escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng baffled, +dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded. + +"And he never stops to ask who saved him!" cries a woman's shrill voice. + +"Oh, the wretch!" + +"What shameful ingratitude!" + +And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant fellow who has +risked his life to save an ingrate. + +But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and their thoughts +were following Vernet, he has disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN THE CONSERVATORY. + + +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. + +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. + +Yesterday, the stately doors opened for the last exit of the master of +all that splendor. He went out in state, and was 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was a note coarsely written and odorous of tobacco, and it contained +these words: + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +Stanhope had bidden her ignore their commands and fear nothing. But then +he never could have anticipated _this_. If she could see him; could +consult him once again. But that was impossible; he had told her so. + +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. + +Then she thrust the note into her pocket, and turned from the grate. + +"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!" + +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. + +She crossed the hall and entered the chamber occupied by her friend. A +maid was there, engaged in sewing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Dear, I want you to promise me, first of all, to keep what I am about +to say a secret." + +Winnie lifted two inquiring eyes to the face of her friend, but said no +word. + +"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." + +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: + +"I know it, Leslie; I guessed." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"_Falsity!_" Leslie rose slowly to her feet, her face fairly livid. + +Winnie also arose, and seizing one of Leslie's hands began, in a broken +voice: + +"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--" + +She broke off abruptly, wringing her hands as if tortured by her own +words. + +But Leslie coldly completed the sentence. "Alan! He knows it?" + +"Oh, yes. It began by his doubting your love for his brother, and +then--the knowledge--that you cared--for him--" + +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. + +"_That I cared!_" she repeated wildly. "Winnifred French, what are you +saying! God of Heaven! is _that_ madness known, too?" + +She flung herself upon the divan, her form shaken by a passion of +voiceless sobs. + +"Oh, Leslie, don't!" cried Winnie, flinging herself down beside her +friend. "We cannot always control our hearts; and indeed, dear, _I_ do +not blame you for loving him. Leslie," lowering her voice softly, "it is +no sin for you to love him, now." + +"No sin!" Leslie's voice was regaining its calmness, but not its icy +tone. "Winnie, _you_ can say that? Ah! a woman _can_ read a woman's +heart, and I have read yours: you love Alan Warburton." + +"I? no, no!" + +"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." + +"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 _him_!" + +There is a movement of the heavy curtains that separate this bower from +the library. Some one is approaching, but Leslie, unaware of this near +presence, answers sadly: + +"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--" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +FLINT TO STEEL. + + +There was a long moment of silence, and then Alan Warburton spoke. + +"Much as I desire to hear that sentence completed, Mrs. Warburton, I +could do no less than interrupt." + +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. + +But Alan, making no effort to conceal his hostile feelings, still stood +before the entrance, and again addressed Leslie. + +"May I detain you for a moment, Mrs. Warburton?" + +Leslie paused before him with a face as haughty as his own, 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. + +"Will you remain, Miss French?" asked Alan, but moving aside with a +courtly bow. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I think," she said, with a movement toward the _portierie_, "that our +conversation had better be continued there." + +He bowed a stately assent, and held back the curtains while she passed +into the library. + +She crossed the room with slow, graceful movements, and pausing before +the hearth, turned her face toward him. + +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 +head haughtily poised, her face once more frozen into pallid +tranquility. + +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. + +Ah, if she had known that her bitterest draught was yet to be quaffed; +that the deadliest wound was yet to be inflicted! + +She made no effort to break the silence that fell between them; she +would not aid him by a word. + +Comprehending this, after a moment of waiting, he said: + +"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?" + +"That, knowing his duty so well, Mr. Alan Warburton will do it, +undoubtedly." And she bowed with ironical courtesy. + +"And you still persist in your refusal to explain?" + +"On the contrary, I am quite at your service." + +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: + +"What is it that my brother-in-law desires to know?" + +"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?" + +"Your questions come too fast," she retorted calmly. "I will reverse +the order of my answers. The Francoises _are_ my clandestine +correspondents. My visits by stealth, have all been paid to them. It was +a threat that took me there that eventful night." + +"A threat?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you are in their power?" + +"I was." + +"And their sway has ceased?" + +"It has ceased." + +"Since when?" + +"Since the receipt of this." + +She took from her pocket the crumpled note, and held it out to him. + +He read it with his face blanching. + +"Then it was _you_!" he gasped, with a recoil of horror. + +"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." + +His eyes flashed, but she looked at him steadily. "Do you _know_ who +struck that blow?" he asked. + +"To tell you would not add to your store of knowledge," she retorted. +"Have you more to say, Mr. Warburton?" + +"More? yes. Who are these Francoises? What are they to you?" + +Her answer came with slow deliberation. "They call themselves my father +and mother." + +"My God!" + +"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." + +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: + +"Your story is excellent, but too improbable. Will you answer a few more +questions?" + +"Ask them." + +"On the night of the masquerade you received here, in your husband's +house, by appointment, a man disguised in woman's apparel." + +"Well?" + +"You admit it? Do you know how I effected my escape that night?" + +"I do. A brave man came to your rescue." + +"Precisely; and this 'brave man', is the same who was present at the +masquerade; is it not so?" + +"It is." + +"Who is this man?" + +"I decline to answer." + +"What is he to you, then?" + +"What he is to all who know him: a brave, true man; a gentleman." + +"Hem! You have an exalted opinion of this--this _gentleman_." + +"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." + +"Your _friend_ is very thoughtful," he sneered. + +She turned toward the door with an air of weariness. + +"This is our last interview," she said coldly; "have you more to say?" + +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. + +"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 _lover_, who is the abettor, possibly the instigator, of your +crimes, I shall find him out--" + +"Stop," she cried wildly, "I command you, _stop_!" + +"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." + +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. + +"As _I_ have concealed Daisy? Oh, my God; my God! I see! I understand! +My weakness, my folly, has done its work. I _have_ killed my husband! I +_have_ brought a curse upon little Daisy! I _have_ endangered your life +and honor! _I_ conceal our Daisy? Hear me, Heaven; henceforth I am +nameless, homeless, friendless, until I have found Daisy Warburton and +restored her to you!" + +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. + +One moment Alan Warburton stands looking down upon her, a cynical half +smile upon his lips. Then he turns and pulls the bell. + +"Mrs. Warburton is in a swoon," he says to the servant who appears. +"Call some one to her assistance." + +And without once glancing backward, he strides from the library. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +ALAN "EVOLVES" A PLAN OF ACTION. + + +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. + +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. + +[Illustration: "I cannot give life to the victim whose death lies at +your door."--page 251.] + +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--_could_ Archibald Warburton have made a _mesalliance_? And +such a _mesalliance_! The daughter of a pair of street mendicants, +social outlaws; an adventuress with no name, no lineage, no heritage +save that of shame. + + "Of all the notable things of earth + The queerest one is pride of birth." + +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, _intrigue_, base blood, and in his own household. Could he ever +forgive Leslie Warburton? Would he, if he could? + +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. + +Thus meditating, he paced up and down, up and down. And before he +finally ceased his restless journeyings to and fro, he had evolved a +theory and a plan of action. A very natural theory it was, and a very +magnanimous plan. + +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. + +"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." + +Thus reasoned Alan. And then he formed his plans. He would spare Leslie +all public disgrace, but she must cease to 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 _must_ go. + +"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 _shall_ tell me the truth concerning Daisy." + +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. + +"I will write to the Chief of Police again," he mused. "I must have +additional help. But first, before writing, I will see _her_ once more." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Leslie stopped the flow of her eloquence by a nervous appealing +gesture. + +"Let us not discuss these things now, dear; I think I have been +overtasked. I cannot talk; I must have quiet; I must rest." + +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. + +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. + +After a time she moved languidly, and then lifted herself slowly from +among the pillows. + +"Not to-night," she murmured, lifting her hand to her head with a sigh +of weariness. "I must have rest first." + +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. + +The first was addressed to Mr. Follingsbee; the second to Mrs. French, +the mother of Winnie; and the third to Winnie herself. + +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. + +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. + +Leslie took the note, and bidding the servant wait, she returned to the +inner room. + + MADAM: + + 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. + + ALAN WARBURTON. + +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. + +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. + +"Return this to your master," she said, "and tell him that the paper he +asks for has been destroyed." + +As the valet turned away, she closed the door and went back to the +grate. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +ALAN BEGINS HIS GAME. + + +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. + +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. + +She came promptly, courtesying demurely, and seemingly keeping in her +mind Leslie's instructions, "to listen, to obey, and to keep silence." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There were highly polished, elegantly finished modern rifles, rare +pieces of home and foreign workmanship; there were 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. + +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. + +Gazing upon these _souvenirs_, 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. + +Taking the missive from the salver, Alan dismissed the man and then +turned to the girl. + +"Well, Millie?" + +"Mrs. Warburton says, sir, that she can not leave her room this morning, +but hopes to be able to do so this afternoon." + +"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." + +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, almost illegible. Slowly he opened +it, and slowly removed the sheet it enclosed. + +"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." + +Slowly and laboriously, he deciphered the letter. + + A. WARBURTON. etc. + + 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. + + Very respectfully, etc. + +This much Alan slowly deciphered, and this gave the key to the +unreadable signature. It was from the Chief of Police, evidently. + +Alan reperused the letter, and slowly returned it to its envelope. + +"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." + +And once more he summoned a servant, and gave these instructions: + +"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." + +In the arrival of such a message, at that precise moment, there was, to +Alan Warburton, no occasion for surprise. From the first he had +communicated with the officers of the law by letter, or by quiet +interviews held in his own apartments. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +A VERY PATHETIC MUTE. + + +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. + +"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 _your_ walking papers. Well, who cares; I don't like +him, anyhow." And she made a vigorous dash at the fireless grate. + +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. + +Up and down the study flitted Millie, dusting, arranging, and pausing +very often to admire some costly fabric, or bit of vivid color. + +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. + +"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 _some folks_ out!" And +then, as a tuneful sound smote her ears, she turned swiftly from the +open cabinet to the window. + +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. + +"My," she said, half aloud, "but that sounds cheerful!" + +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! + +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! + +"What a mournful-looking chap it is!" murmured Millie, drawing back a +little when the tune came to an end. + +As the organ struck up a more cheerful strain, a new thought seized her, +and she leaned out again over the sill. + +"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. + +"_No! no! no!_" cried Millie; "not _that_; 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. + +"My! you shouldn't climb onto the railings like that," remonstrated +Millie, as she put out her hand to receive the bit of ribbon. + +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: + +"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?" + +Only renewed pantomines from the minstrel. + +"Are you hungry?" Then, in a tone of discouragement: "What is he at, +anyhow?" + +But as the man's hand went from his lips to his ear, even Millie's dull +comprehension was awakened. + +"Gracious goodness!" she exclaimed, "he's deaf and dumb." + +Faster still flew the fingers of the minstrel, sadder and more pitiful +grew his face, and Millie watched his movements with renewed interest. + +"He's talking with his fingers," muttered Millie. "I wonder--" + +She stopped suddenly; he was doing something new in the way of +pantomine, and Millie guessed its meaning. + +"A baby!" she gasped; "it's something about a baby. One, two, three, ah! +five fingers; five babies, five years--oh, say, say, man; _say_ +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--" + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +"Why, Millie," she said, looking back over her shoulder, "there's no one +here." + +"Perhaps--" began Millie; then, catching her breath sharply, she too +leaned over the sill. + +"Where is your pathetic mute, Millie?" + +"Well, I never!" declared the girl, still gazing incredulously up and +down the street. "He _was_ here." + +Winnie smiled as she turned from the window. + +"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." + +And a certain listener near by added to this exordium a mental amen. + +"He might have entered--" continued Winnie. + +"Oh, my!" + +"And robbed the house." + +"Bless me; I never thought of that!" + +"Try and be more thoughtful in future, Millie. Close the window and let +us go; ah!" + +This last exclamation, uttered in a tone of unmistakable annoyance, +caused Millie to turn swiftly. + +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. + +At sight of him, Millie shrank back, but Winnie came forward haughtily. + +"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. + +"Winnie," said Alan gently, "you entered to please yourself, and you are +very welcome here. Will you remain just five minutes, to please me?" + +Winnie frowned visibly, but after a moment's hesitation, said: + +"I think I may spare you five minutes. You may go, Millie." + +And Millie, only too thankful to escape thus, went with absurd alacrity. + +When the door had closed behind her,--for, retreating under Alan's eye, +the fluttered damsel _had_ remembered to close the door properly--Winnie +stood very erect and silent before her host, and waited. + +"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." + +"I am not anxious to remain," observed Winnie, glancing carelessly from +the timepiece in Alan's hand to a _placque_ on the wall above his head. + +"But I am most anxious that you should." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Warburton, but you have such a peculiar way of making +yourself agreeable." + +"Winnie!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +She drew herself very erect, and turned to face him fully, thus shutting +from her view the door behind Alan. + +"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--" + +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: + +"Pardon me; the servant showed me in somewhat unceremoniously, +supposing the room unoccupied. I was instructed to wait here for Mr. +Warburton." + +Winnie was first to recover herself. Turning to Alan, she murmured +politely: + +"I think my time has expired; good evening, Mr. Warburton." + +As she swept from the room, the stranger approached Alan, saying: + +"This, then, is Mr. Warburton. My name is Grip, sir; Augustus Grip." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +MR. GRIP FINDS A "SKELETON". + + +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: + +"Mr. Grip is prompt, to say the least. I believe that the hour--" + +"Hour appointed, between three and four--precisely, sir; _pre_cisely. +But my time's valuable, Mr. Warburton; _valuable_, 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." + +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. + +Plebeian, Mr. Grip evidently was, from the crown of his 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. + +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: + +"Will you be seated, Mr. Grip?" + +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. + +"I've got your business down fine, sir; _fine_," 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." + +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. + +"Sit down, Warburton." + +A look of displeasure flits across Alan's face. He remains standing, +seeming to grow more haughtily erect. + +"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." + +If Alan had ventured a comment just then, it would have been, "_you_ are +not what _I_ like." But he did not speak; and Mr. Grip, having paused +for a remark and hearing none, now glanced up. + +"Is that your pleasure, Mr. Warburton?" + +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. + +"That is what I--" + +"Precisely," breaks in Mr. Grip. "Now, then," referring to papers, +"first--sit down, won't you? it's more sociable." + +And Alan puts his aristocracy in his pocket and sits down opposite the +dazzling necktie. + +"Now then," recommences Mr. Grip, "I've got the _facts_ in the case." + +"You have?" + +"Facts in case; yes." And he takes up the memoranda, reading therefrom: + +"Lost child; daughter of Archibald Warburton; only daughter." Then, +turning his eyes upon Alan: "Father killed by shock, I'm told; +sad--very." + +And he resumes his reading. "Relatives: Alan Warburton, uncle; fond of +niece, eh--ahem; step-mother--um--a little mysterious; _little_ under +suspicion." + +"Stop!" interrupts Alan sternly. "On what authority dare you make such +assertions?" + +Mr. Grip permits the hand which holds the papers to rest upon one knee, +and lifts his eyes to the face of his interrogator. + +"I've reconnoitred," he says tersely. "It's a detective's business to +reconnoitre. I'm familiar with the facts in the case." + +Alan feels the perspiration start upon his brow, while he utters a +mental, "Heaven forbid!" + +"Now then," resumes Mr. Grip, throwing himself back in his chair and +stretching his legs underneath the table; "now then, _here_ we go. Daisy +Warburton is her father's heiress. Remove her, the bulk of property +probably goes to second wife--_step mother_, d'ye see? Remove _her_, +property comes down to _you_." + +"Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!" And Alan Warburton pushes back +his chair and rises, an angry flush upon his face. + +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: + +"Ta ta; I'm _reasoning_. They have _not_ both disappeared, have they? +The lady in question is in the house at this present moment, is she +not?" + +"She is," replied Alan, beginning to feel most uncomfortable. + +"She is. Well, now, if _she_ should disappear, _then_ 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." + +[Illustration: "Stop, sir! How dare you--preposterous!"--page 274.] + +Mr. Grip reseats himself, folds away his memoranda, and, reclining once +more at his ease, looks up at Alan coolly. + +"First, Mr. Warburton, I must see your sister-in-law." + +Alan cannot restrain his start of surprise, nor the look of anxiety that +crosses his face. + +"Not at present," he says, after a moment's hesitation. "She is ill; it +would--" + +"So much the better," interrupts the detective. "Worn out, no doubt; +nervous. May surprise something. _I must see her_, and every other +member of this household, myself unseen." + +"Ah!" thinks Alan, his hands clenching themselves involuntarily, "if I +dared throw you out of the window!" + +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: + +"Mr. Grip, is this so very necessary?" + +Slowly the detective leans forward; slowly he raises a warning +forefinger. + +"My _dear_ sir," he says impressively, "if you want to catch a thief +will you say, 'come here, my dear, and be arrested?' _No, sir_; you +catch her _unawares_. 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--" + +Again he rises, and this time he begins a slow survey of the room. + +Alan, thoroughly alarmed for Leslie's safety as well as for 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. + +"Mr. Grip," he says, "my sister-in-law is already ill from excitement. +If we could spare her this interview--" + +"Sir!" Augustus Grip wheels suddenly, and looks straight into his face +while he continues sharply: "My _good_ sir; for your _own_ sake, don't! +_You_ should have no reason for keeping a witness in the background." + +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. + +"Where do you purpose to conceal yourself?" he asks coldly, as he lays +his hand upon the bell-rope. + +Again Grip looks about him, and then steps toward the cabinet near the +window. + +"What's this," he asks, with his hand upon the closed door. "Will it +hold me?" + +"Yes," replies Alan; "that will hold you." And he pulls the bell. + +"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." + +And then there tingled in his veins a new sensation--a 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. + +"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. + +That individual, still tugging unsuccessfully at the door of the +cabinet, has grown impatient. + +"It's locked!" he says, with an angry snap. + +"No,"--Alan strides toward him--"it is not locked." And he adds his +strength to that of Mr. Grip. + +A moment the door hesitates; then it yields with a suddenness which +causes Alan to reel, and flies open. + +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. + +"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." + +"More like a sneak thief, I should say," remarks Alan, with aggravating +coolness. "And a very cowardly one at that." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +"WE TWO WILL MEET AGAIN." + + +[Illustration: ""That's a pretty thing to keep hid away!" snarls the now +thoroughly angry detective."--page 278.] + +There may have been times in Alan Warburton's life--such times come to +most fastidious city-bred people--when he 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. + +This strange intruder has brought him at least a respite; and he +breathes a sigh of relief even as he asks sternly: + +"Fellow, how long have you been hiding in that cabinet?" + +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. + +"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?" + +There is no sign that the fellow hears or understands; he continues to +gesticulate wildly. + +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. + +"That won't go down, either," snarls Mr. Grip. "Put that thing on the +floor, _presto_!" + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +Alan turns his face toward the closet. "Can't we lock him up again?" he +suggests. + +"My dear sir," says Grip coolly, "this fellow is probably a _spy_." + +"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." + +"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." + +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 organ, and begins anew his +pleading, terrified pantomine. + +"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." + +"No; I presume not. Try the other windows." + +"The other windows, Mr. Grip, look out upon the grounds." + +"Perdition! Keep quiet, you fellow. Then shut that window, sir, and come +and guard this door; the lady may present herself at any moment." + +Alan turns again, and looks down into the street. + +"I think," he says, quietly, "that we will just drop him back into the +street whence he came." + +"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!" + +At this moment the door of the study flies suddenly open, and Millie, +breathless and with eyes distended, precipitates herself into the room. + +"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!" + +"What!" Alan strides toward her in unfeigned astonishment. + +"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. + +"Impossible, Millie," says Alan sharply; "go to Miss French--" + +"I did, sir, and she is--" + +She pauses abruptly, for there in the doorway is Winnie French, pale and +tearful, an open letter in her hand. + +"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!" + +"Gone!" + +This time Grip and Alan both utter the word, both start forward. + +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 +man[oe]uvre, 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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Hands off!" cries Grip, now hoarse with rage. "That man's a _spy_!" + +"No matter; we will have no more shooting." + +"_We_!" struggling to release his arm from Alan's firm grasp; "who are +you that--" + +"I am master here, sir." + +With an angry hiss, the detective from Scotland Yards 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +[Illustration: "Drawing a small revolver, he fires after the +fugitive--once--twice!" page 283.] + +And without unseemly haste, he places his hand upon the window-sill, +swings himself over the ledge, resting his feet upon the iron +railings, and drops down upon the pavement. + +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. + +The coolness of the false Mr. Grip takes him safely past the group of +inquiring ones. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _Van Vernet_!" + +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 _Richard Stanhope_! + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +AN ARMISTICE. + + +If Van Vernet had been thwarted, in a measure, Richard Stanhope had been +no less baffled. + +Each had succeeded partially, and each had beaten a too hasty and +altogether unsatisfactory retreat. + +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". + +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. + +Well, he had surprised several things, so he assured himself, but he had +not seen Leslie. And the _denouement_ of his visit had rendered it +impossible for him ever to reenter that house, in the character of Mr. +Augustus Grip. + +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 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." + +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. + +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. + +The whole affair was to Vernet, vague, unsatisfactory, mysterious. But +the more unsatisfactory, the more mysterious it became, the more +doggedly determined became he. + +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. + +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. They are called, by those initiated, +"private enquirers," "trackers," "bloodhounds." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Meanwhile, quiet had been restored in Alan Warburton's study, and Alan +himself now sat with a crumpled bit of paper in his hand. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When this unexpected escape had been joyfully reported to Winnie French, +that stony-hearted damsel elevated her nose and said: + +"Umph! so the man has a grain of something besides pride in him +somewhere. Well, I'm glad to hear it." + +To which Millie had replied, warmly: + +"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. _That_ was +splendid in him, anyhow." + +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. + + DEAREST WINNIE. + + 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. + + 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. + + LESLIE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Be seated, Miss French." + +Winnie sank into the proffered chair, and he draws back a few paces, and +standing thus before her, began: + +"Not long since I asked you to listen to me, and then to 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." + +"Yes," sighed Winnie. + +"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." + +"Yes," sighed Winnie once more. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Do you wish me to read it?" + +She nodded, and lifted her hand to brush two big tears from her cheeks +with a petulant motion. + +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. + +Having read the missive slowly through for the second time, Alan +refolded it and gravely returned it to Winnie. + +"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." + +While he perused the letter, Winnie had somewhat recovered herself, and +she now looked up quickly. + +"In every respect? Mr. Warburton, that note says--'trust me; do not +desert me.'" + +"And I say the same. To-day Leslie Warburton needs a true friend as +much--as much as ever woman did." + +He was about to say, "as much as I do," but pride stepped in and stopped +the words ere they could pass his lips. + +There was silence for a moment, and then he said: + +"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?" + +There was something masterful in his stern self-command his ability to +think and act with such promptitude and forethought, and it had its +effect upon Winnie. + +"I will go," she said, rising and turning toward the door. + +"Thank you," he said, then hastened to open it. + +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: + + 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. + +No name, no date, no signature, but it explains why Millie escaped +without a reprimand. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +LESLIE GOES "HOME." + + +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. + +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. + +Papa, although in the face of actual, present danger he 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This cottage, then, was shabby enough, but not so shabby as 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. + +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. + +Papa and Mamma were regaling themselves with a late supper, consisting +principally of beer and "Dutch bread," and as usual, when _tete-a-tete_, +they were engaged in a lively discussion. + +"I don't like the way that boy goes on," remarks Mamma, as she cuts for +herself a slice of the bread. + +Papa sets down his empty beer glass, and tilts back his chair. + +"Don't ye?" he queries carelessly. + +"No, I don't," retorts Mamma with increasing energy. "He's getting too +reckless, and he swigs too much." + +"_That's_ a fact," murmurs Papa, glancing affectionately at the beer +pitcher. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 he prizes his +liberty? If he can't keep clear o' cops and beaks after _his_ +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." + +"Well," rejoins Mamma viciously, "he ain't much like _you_; if he was, +there wouldn't be so much to be proud of." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"Yes," sighed Mamma, and then suddenly suspended her speech as a lively, +and not unmusical, whistle sounded near at hand. + +"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: + +"Our dear boy's drunk agin." + +Unmindful of Mamma's anxious questions concerning his whereabouts, +Franzy took the chair she had just vacated, and began a survey of the +table. + +"Beer!" he said contemptuously. "I wouldn't drink beer, not--" + +"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." + +Franz utters a half maudlin laugh, and turns to the old woman. + +"Is this all yer eatables?" he asks thickly. "Bring us somethin' else." + +"Yes," chimes in Papa, "Franzy's used ter first-class fare, old un; +bring him something good." + +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. + +But by-and-by Mamma's quick ear catches a sound outside. + +"Some one's coming," she says in a sharp whisper. "I wonder--" + +She stops short and goes to a window, followed by Franz, who peers +curiously over her shoulder. + +"It's a woman," he says, a moment later. + +"Hush, Franzy," says Mamma sharply. And then she goes quickly to the +door. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah!" cries Mamma, starting with extended hands to seize upon the +new-comer; "ah! it's our own dear girl!" + +But Leslie repulses the proffered embrace, and moves aside. + +"Wait," she says coldly; "wait." And she looks inquiringly at Franz. +"You do not know how and why I come." + +"No matter why you come, dear child,"--it is Papa, speaking in his +oiliest accents--"we are glad to see you; very glad." + +Again Leslie's eyes rest upon Franz, and Mamma says: + +"Oh, speak out, my dear. This is our boy, Franz; your brother, my +child." + +"Yes," Papa chimes in blithely, "how beautiful this is; how delightful!" + +Leslie favors Franz with a steady look, and turns to Mamma. + +"Then I am not your only child," she says, with a proud curl of the lip. + +And Mamma, seeing the look on her face, regrets, for the once, the +presence of her beloved Prodigal. + +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!" + +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: + +"Ah-h, you were too young to remember each other; at least _you_ were +too young to remember Franzy. But _he_ don't forget you; do you, Franzy, +my boy? You don't forget Leschen--little Leschen?" + +"Don't I though?" mutters Franz under his breath, and then he moves +forward with an unsteady lurch, saying aloud: "Eh? oh, Leschen: little +Leschen. Why in course I--I remember." + +"Ah!" cries Mamma with enthusiasm, "many's the time you've rocked her, +when she wasn't two years old." + +"Franzy was allers good 'bout sech things," chimes in Papa. + +"Umph!" grunts Franz, turning to Papa, "where's she been?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +A full moment Leslie scans him from head to foot, with a look of proud +disdain. Then turning towards Mamma, she says bitterly: + +"I am more fortunate than I hoped to be." + +"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." + +She sinks wearily upon the proffered seat, and again turns her face +toward Mamma. + +"Yes," she says coldly, "let me tell my news, since this is a _family_ +gathering. You have deplored my loss so often that I have returned. I +have come to live with you." + +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. + +"Ah," groans Papa, "she's jokin' at the poor old folks." + +"Ah," sighs Mamma, "there's no such luck for poor people." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"You mistake," says Leslie coldly, "the law will do nothing for me." + +"But it must," argues Papa. "They can't keep you out o' your rights. The +law--" + +Leslie rises and turns to face him, cutting short his speech by a +gesture. + +"There is a higher law than that made by man," she says sternly; "the +law that God has implanted in heart and conscience. 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." + +"And what is that?" asks Papa, in a wheedling tone, while Mamma catches +her breath to listen. + +"That," says Leslie slowly, "is the restoration of little Daisy +Warburton." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +AN AFFECTIONATE FAMILY. + + +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. + +"Oh, yes," he sighs, "we heard about that." + +And then Mamma comes nearer, saying in a cat-like, purring tone: "The +poor little dear! And you can't find her?" + +As she speaks, Franz Francoise shifts his position carelessly, placing +himself where he can note the expressions of the two old faces. + +But Leslie's enforced calmness is fast deserting her. + +"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, 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!" + +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: + +"But, my child; but, Leschen, how can _we_ find the little girl?" + +Leslie turns upon him a look of contempt, and then a swift spasm of fear +crosses her face. + +"Oh," she cries, clasping her hands wildly, "surely, _surely_ you have +not killed her!" + +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 _we_ do?" + +Back to Leslie's face comes that look of set calm, and she sinks upon +the chair she had lately occupied. + +"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!" + +Again, for a moment, the faces that regard her present a study. And this +time it is Franz who is the first to speak, Coming forward somewhat +unsteadily, he doffs his ragged old cap, and extends to her a hand not +overclean. + +"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." + +Again he extends his hand, and Leslie looks at it, and then up into his +face. + +"Oh, if I could trust you!" she murmurs. "If you would help me!" + +"I _kin_;" says Franz promptly, "an' I _will_!" + +Again she hesitates, looking upon the uncouth figure and the unwashed +hand. Then she lifts her eyes to his face. + +Two eyes are looking into her own, eagerly, intently, full of pitying +anxiety. + +She rises slowly, looks again into the eager eyes, and extends her hand. + +"Gracious!" he exclaims, as he releases it, "how nervous yer are: must +be awful tired." + +"Tired, yes. I have walked all the way." + +"An' say, no jokin' now, _have_ ye come ter live with us?" + +[Illustration: "Partner, shake. Ye're clean grit!"--page 304.] + +"I have," she replies firmly; "unless," turning a contemptuous glance +toward Mamma and Papa, "my _parents_ refuse me a shelter." + +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. + +"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." + +"No," interrupts Franz, with a maudlin chuckle; "don't mind _me_." + +"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." + +Leslie's head droops lower and lower; she pays no heed to the old +woman's words. + +"Poor child, she is tired out." + +Saying this, Mamma takes the candle from the table, and goes from the +room quickly, thus leaving the three in darkness. + +In another moment, the voice of Franz breaks out: + +"Ain't there another glim somewhere?" + +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 their late repast. But she refuses +all, and wearily follows Mamma from the room. + +"Git yer rest now," says Franz as she goes; "to-morrow we'll talk over +this young-un business." + +But when the morrow comes, and for many days after, Leslie Warburton is +oblivious to all things earthly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +THE PRODIGAL BECOMES OBSTINATE. + + +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. + +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 reentered the room. + +As she passed him, Franz laid a detaining hand upon her arm, and leering +up into her face, whispered thickly: + +"I say, old un, ye seem ter be troubled with gals. Don't ye want me to +git rid o' _this_ one fer ye?" + +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: + +"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." + +"Honor bright?" drawls Franz, looking up at her sleepily, and +suppressing a yawn. + +"Honor bright, my boy." + +"Then," and he rises and stretches out his arms, "we'd better keep her." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I wonder ef he is asleep," she whispers. "Somehow, that boy bothers +me." + +"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 _all_ 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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +And all this in scarce ten seconds! + +"Wot's up?" queries Franz shortly, "wot the dickens--" + +Papa comes forward, chuckling softly, but keeping cautiously out of +range of the two weapons. And Mamma begins to scramble to her feet. + +"Hullo!" says Franz, as he seems to notice Mamma's position for the +first time; "wot ails _you_?" + +Papa is so amused that he giggles audibly; he was never heard to laugh +an honest laugh. + +"Git up, old lady," commands Franz, withdrawing his eyes from Mamma; and +he stands as at first, until she has risen. + +Then he glances sharply about the room, and asks impatiently: "Come, +now, what have ye been up to?" + +"Ye see, Franzy," begins Mamma in a conciliating tone, "I went ter take +a look at ye--" + +"Oh, ye did!" + +"With the candle in my hand." + +"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?" + +Though his tone was one of quiet mockery, there was an angry gleam in +his eyes, and neither Papa nor Mamma ventured a reply. + +[Illustration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, +waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.] + +"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 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"No," replies Mamma, "she can't--not unless we talk louder than we're +likely to." + +"Then haul up yer stool. We're goin' ter settle about her." + +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. + +"Now, then," begins Franz, "Who's that 'ere gal?" + +No answer from the two on the witness-stand. They exchange glances, and +remain mute. + +"Next," goes on Franz, as if quite content with their silence, "wot's +all this talk about child-stealin'?" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"It seems ter me, youngster," she sneers, "that gal's took a strong hold +on yer sympathies. Ain't ye gettin' terrible curious?" + +"May_be_," retorts Franz, returning her gaze with interest; "an' +may_be_, now, 'tain't so much _sympathy_ 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'm_ 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_ move." + +"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." + +And then, as if she has just received her cue, Mamma breaks in: + +"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!" + +"I thought ye said ye'd got ter hang onto that gal, an' she'd make all +our fortin's," comments Franz. + +"An' so I did." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Never mind the young un, boy," replies Mamma, her face hardening again; +"how do ye like the _gal_?" + +"Like the gal? Wot's that got ter do with it?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Hear the boy!" chuckles Mamma in delight. "But we don't want none o' +_that_," nodding toward the revolver. "It's a live gal ye want." Then +leaning forward, she whispers sharply: "_You have got ter marry the +gal_!" + +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. + +"Marry the gal!" he articulates between these spasms. "Oh, gimmini! +won't she be delighted!" + +"Delighted or not," snarls Mamma, considerably annoyed by this levity on +the part of her Prodigal, "she'll be brought to consent." + +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: + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, you listen," he says sharply. "The quicker yer 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 +_me_; not afore." + +"Jest trust us fer that, Franzy," says Papa softly. + +"Not any! Then here's another thing: how are ye goin' ter git that gal's +consent?" + +"Trust us fer that, too," says Mamma, in a tone betokening rising anger. +"We know how ter manage her." + +"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." + +And now it is Mamma's turn. She bounds up, confronting her Prodigal, +with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes. + +Papa turns away and groans dismally: "Oh, Lord, they're goin' to +quarrel!" + +"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 _yer_ 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'--" + +[Illustration: "Look here, Franz Francoise, ye don't want to go too +far!"--page 316.] + +"Whack up with ye afterwards?" drawls Franz, all trace of anger having +disappeared from his face and manner. "Old woman, I'll put it in my +pipe an' smoke it. Ye kin consider this confab ended." + +Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops down upon it with +a yawn, and composes himself to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +MR. FOLLINGSBEE'S VICTORY. + + +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. + +Rising quickly, Mr. Follingsbee came forward to meet his guest, saying +briskly: + +"Ah, Warburton, good evening. I've been expecting you; sit down, sit +down." + +As Alan placed his hat upon the table beside him, and took the seat +indicated, he said, with a well-bred stare of surprise: + +"You expected me, Mr. Follingsbee? Then possibly you know my errand?" + +"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." + +Alan glanced up at him quickly, and then turned his attention to the +perusal of the note. It ran thus: + + ALAN WARBURTON: + + 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 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. + + A FRIEND. + +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: + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"Like an organ-grinder minus his organ?" finished Alan. + +"Just so." + +"I trust that _this_ 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." + +"From Leslie!" Mr. Follingsbee said, elevating his eyebrows. "This is an +unexpected part of the programme." + +"Indeed? And yet this,--" and Alan tapped the note he had just received, +with one long, white forefinger,--"this foretells it." + +"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. + +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 working together +nervously and his brow wrinkled in thought. At last he lifted his eyes +toward Alan. + +"Do you know what this letter contains?" he asked slowly. + +"I know that my sister-in-law has left her home," Alan replied gravely; +"nothing more." + +"Nothing more?" + +"Nothing; really. She left three letters: one for Mrs. French, another +for Miss French, and the third for yourself." + +"And you.... She left you some message?" + +"Not a word, verbal or written." + +"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?" + +"Does not the letter itself explain?" + +"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." + +Alan sat silent for a moment. Then he turned his face toward the lawyer, +as if acting upon some resolve. + +"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." + +"Since the masquerade?" + +"During that interview," continued Alan, "Mrs. Warburton gave me the +brief outline of what seemed to me a very improbable story." + +"Ah!" There was a new shade in the lawyer's voice. + +"And I am wondering," Alan goes on, "if your letter contains that same +story." + +"Possibly," said Mr. Follingsbee dryly. + +"This note which you have given me, and which bears no signature, seems +to indicate as much. Are you acquainted with its contents, sir?" + +"I am not." There is a growing crispness in the lawyer's tone, which +Alan is not slow to note. + +"Then oblige me by reading it." + +Mr. Follingsbee took the note and read it slowly. + +"Don't you think," he said, looking up from its perusal, "that we had +better begin by understanding each other?" + +"I do." + +"Very good: this note was left with me by--by such a man as I described +to you." + +"By a man in disguise?" + +"Just so. This--this man in disguise, came to me in your behalf." + +"In my behalf!" exclaimed Alan, in amazement. + +"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." + +Alan Warburton stirred uneasily in his chair, and the old haughty look +came slowly into his face. + +"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 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.'" + +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. + +"Mr. Follingsbee," he began gravely, "do you understand this allusion to +the events of the afternoon?" + +"I do not." + +"And yet you have confidence in this disguised stranger?" + +"Have I alluded to him as a _stranger_, sir?" + +Alan passed his hand across his brow, and said slowly: + +"He is not a stranger to you and, evidently, he knows me remarkably +well; I might say too well." + +"Ahem! You would be likely to recall your words, if you did." + +"Mr. Follingsbee, _who_ is this man?" + +"I am not at liberty to speak his name." + +"_What_ is he, then?" + +"First of all, a gentleman; a man whose championship does you honor, +for it proves that he believes in you, in spite of this Van Vernet." + +"Was it not a strange freak for this _gentleman_, disguised just as he +afterward came to you, to enter my study window, and conceal himself in +my cabinet?" + +Mr. Follingsbee looked up with lively interest. "Did he do that?" he +asked quickly. + +"He did that." + +"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." + +"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 _detective_!" + +"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?" + +"No," with a quiet smile; "we are two lawyers. Let us remain such." + +"With all my heart," cries Mr. Follingsbee, extending his hand; "let us +remain such." + +Alan takes the proffered hand, and begins again. + +"This champion of mine, then, is a detective; you admit that?" + +"Well--yes." + +"In espousing my cause, he is making active war upon Van Vernet?" + +"So it appears." + +"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." + +"Possibly." + +"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." + +"True." + +"Mr. Follingsbee, have you faith in the ability of this +champion-detective to cope with such a man as Vernet?" + +"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." + +"Then I think it would not be a difficult matter to identify him." + +"Don't waste your time," interrupts Mr. Follingsbee quickly; "I have +told you all that I am at liberty to tell." + +"As you please; but before I begin my story, I must be sure that it is +_the_ story. Yesterday, as I told you, I had an interview with my +sister-in-law." + +"Yes." + +"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. + +"It does; many statements." + +"Do you know anything of her early history?" + +"Yes." + +"Is she the daughter of Thomas Uliman?" + +"His adopted daughter; yes." + +"And are her parents living?" + +"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 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." + +He paused a moment, and seeing that Alan was regarding him with +steadfast earnestness, resumed: + +"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 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 _that_, sir," casting an +ironical glance at his _vis-a-vis_; "feeing those common clods with the +Warburton gold." + +But Alan never noted this home-thrust. He sat quite still, with a +troubled look upon his face; seeing which, Mr. Follingsbee continued: + +"This she firmly resolved that she would never do; and then came that +masquerade." + +"Ah!" Alan starts as he involuntarily utters the ejaculation, but +controls himself instantly, and says: "Go on, please." + +"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." + +"Entrapped?" + +"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." + +He takes up the letter, searches out the lines referred to, and reads: + + 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. + +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 _for or +against_." + +"And her motive for now quitting her home so suddenly?" + +"Of that she says very little; merely that she is leaving, and that she +hopes I will continue my confidence in her." + +"Which you do?" + +"Which I do." + +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. + +"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!" + +"You!" ejaculated the old gentleman testily; "you a scoundrel! Good +heavens, has everybody gone into high dramatics? What have you done?" + +"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!" + +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: + +"You had better tell the whole story, young man, having begun it." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +"He! then it was a man?" + +"It was; and Van Vernet, as I have since learned, knew him and laid a +trap for him. Their feud dates from that night." + +"Ah, then our detective and the 'Goddess of Liberty'--" + +"Are the same. Now resume, please." + +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; ending with the scene with Vernet and the +organ-grinder. + +"That fellow is the mischief!" said Mr. Follingsbee, rubbing his palms +softly together. "He's the very mischief!" + +"By which I infer that my 'Organ-grinder,' my 'Idiot,' and the 'Goddess +of Liberty,' are one and the same?" + +"_Pre_cisely; I haven't a doubt of it." + +"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." + +"Just so." + +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 +_vis-a-vis_, 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. + +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: + +"Well, are you going to sit there all night? What shall you do next?" + +Alan Warburton rises from his chair and faces his questioner. "First," +he says slowly, "I am going to find Leslie, and bring her back." + +"Oh!" + +"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." + +"Have you forgotten Vernet?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Nevertheless--" + +"Nevertheless, you will persist in being a fool! Sit down there, young +man, and tell me, haven't you been playing that _role_ long enough?" + +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. + +"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." + +"He has, then, mapped out my course for me?" queries Alan haughtily. + +"He has, if it suits you to put it so. Good heavens! man, it needed +somebody to plan for you. _You_ 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 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 _you_! 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!" + +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: + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Umph! Then you had better begin now, by taking good advice when it is +offered." + +"What do you advise, then?" + +"I? nothing, except at second hand. It is this champion of yours who +advises." + +"Then what is his advice?" + +"He says that you must quit the country at once." + +"Impossible!" + +"Nothing of the sort. The _Clytie_ sails for Liverpool to-morrow. You +and Leslie have taken passage--" + +"Taken passage! Leslie!" + +"Just so; everything has been arranged by--" He pauses, then says: "The +'Organ-grinder.'" + +"I repeat, it is impossible. Do you think I will leave the country while +little Daisy's fate remains--" + +"Oh, stop! _stop!_ STOP! Man, are you determined to be an idiot? Will +you hold your tongue and listen?" + +"I will listen, yes; but--" + +"But--bosh! Listen, then, and don't interrupt." + +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: + +"Well, what do you think of it?" + +Then Alan Warburton rises and extends his hand impulsively. + +"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." + +"Umph!" grunts the lawyer, as he grasps the proffered hand, "I thought +your senses would come back." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +A TRIP TO EUROPE. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Brief and fragmentary as it was, it furnished to Winnie and her mother +food for much wonderment, long discussion, and sincere sorrow. + +"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie, choking back a sob, "some terrible trouble +has come upon Leslie; and Alan Warburton is at the bottom of it!" + +"My child!" + +"I tell you he _is_!" vehemently. "And only yesterday Leslie would have +told me all, but for him." + +"Winnie, compose yourself; try and be calm," said Mrs. French +soothingly. + +"I _can't_ compose myself! I _won't_ be calm! I _want_ to be so angry +when Alan Warburton returns for me, that I can fairly scorch him with my +contempt! I want to _annihilate_ him!" And Winnie flung herself upon her +mother's breast, and burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _misunderstanding_ at the bottom of all this +mystery. Somewhere, there is a monstrous _wrong_!" + +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. + +"It's Alan!" exclaimed Winnie, starting nervously. "Mamma, we can't, we +won't, go with him." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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?" + +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. + +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, 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 _Clytie_, 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. + +Mr. Follingsbee said much more than this, and ended his discourse thus: + +"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. + +"In the meantime, sir," said that lady, with quiet decision, "you desire +our passive cooperation. You have it." + +"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie exultantly, "I was sure you would say that. I +was sure you would not desert poor Leslie!" + +"It will be an equal favor to Mr. Warburton," interposed the lawyer, +with the shadow of a twinkle in his grey eye. + +To which Winnie responded only by her heightened color, and a half +perceptible shrug. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +Meantime, Van Vernet, in a state of exceeding self-content, was +perfecting his latest plan. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Alan Warburton, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Archibald Warburton had +taken passage for Liverpool, on board the _Clytie_. And the _Clytie_ was +to sail that morning! + +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. + +Too late! The _Clytie_ had cleared the harbor, and was already a mere +speck in the distance. + +"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!" + +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. + +"So here we are," he said, with a chuckle. "The _Clytie_ 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, _time_." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + +DR. BAYLESS + + +All the long night that followed Leslie's appearance among the +Francoises, Mamma was alert and watchful. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's all up with us now," moaned Papa. "Luck's turned aginst us." + +"It's up, sure enough, with your fine plans," sneered Franz. "_I'm_ +goin' ter take myself out of yer muddle, while my way's clear." + +"If I wasn't dealin' with a pair of fools," snapped Mamma, "I'd come +out all right. The gal ain't dead yet, is she?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +This plan was opposed stoutly by Franz, feebly by Papa; but the old +woman carried the point at last. + +"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." + +At the mention of Doctor Bayless, Papa's countenance took on an +expression of relief, which was noted by Franz, who turned away, saying: + +"Wal, git your doctor, then, an' the quicker the better. But mind this: +_I_ don't appear till I'm sure it's safe. Ye kin git yer doctor, but +when he's here, I'll happen ter be out." + +It was Mamma who summoned Doctor Bayless, and he came once, twice, and +again. + +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: + +"I think she will get on, now. Keep her quiet, avoid excitement, and if +she does not improve steadily, let me know." + +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. + +At the corner of the dingy street, a voice close behind him arrested his +footsteps: "Doctor Bayless." + +The man of medicine turned quickly to face the speaker. + +"This is Doctor Bayless?" the owner of the intrusive voice queried. + +Doctor Bayless bowed stiffly. + +"Bayless, formerly of the R---- street Insane Asylum?" persisted the +questioner. + +The doctor reddened and a startled look crossed his face, but he said, +after a moment's silence: "The same." + +"I want a few words with you, sir." + +"Excuse me;"--the doctor was growing haughty;--"my time is not my own." + +"Neither is mine, sir. I am a public benefactor, same as yourself." + +"Ah, a physician?" + +"Oh, not at all; a detective." + +"A detective!" Doctor Bayless did not look reassured. He glanced at the +detective, and then up and down the street, his uneasiness evident. + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS. + + +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. + +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, since her first full +awakening to consciousness, she had imposed upon herself. + +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. + +"How many days have I been ill?" asked Leslie slowly, and languidly +resting her head upon her hand. + +Mamma turned toward her and seemed to meditate. + +"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." + +Leslie was silent for a moment. Then she asked: + +"And you have nursed me through my illness; you alone?" + +"Surely; who else would there be?" replied Mamma in an injured tone. + +"Who, indeed!" repeated Leslie bitterly. "Sit down, Madam; I want to +talk with you." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, my child--" + +"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 told you this; I repeat it. So _what_ do you +expect of me? Why was I not permitted to die in my delirium?" + +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. + +"Ah, Leschen, you break my heart. We wanted you to live; we thought you +had something to live for." + +The acting was excellent, but the words were ill-chosen. + +"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, _how_ can I ransom Daisy Warburton?" + +Mamma's time has come. Slowly she wipes away an imaginary tear, softly +she draws her chair yet nearer Leslie, gently she begins. + +"Leschen, my poor girl, don't think _us_ 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." + +She paused to note the effect of her words, but Leslie sat quite still, +with her hands tightly locked together. + +"Something has happened?" she echoed coldly. "I felt sure it would; go +on." + +"It isn't what you think, my girl. We haven't found your little dear; +but there is a person--" + +"Go on," commanded Leslie: "straight to the point. _Go on!_" + +"A person who _might_ find the child, if--" + +"If he or she were sufficiently rewarded," supplied Leslie. "Quick; tell +me, what must Daisy's ransom be?" + +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. + +"_Yourself._" + +"Myself!" Leslie gasps and her brain reels. "_Myself!_" she controls her +agitation, and asks fiercely: "Woman, what do you dare to say?" + +"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?" + +In spite of her weakness, Leslie springs up and stands above Mamma, a +fierce light blazing in her eyes. + +"Woman, _answer me_!" she cries fiercely; "do you know where that child +is?" + +"I? Oh, no, my dear." + +"Is there another, a man, who knows?" + +Slowly Mamma rises, and the two face each other with set features. + +"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." + +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. + +"So," she says, low and slowly, "I have found you out at last." And then +the weak body refuses to support the dauntless spirit. + +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. + +"Don't touch me," she almost hisses, "or, weak as I am, I might murder +you! wait." + +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. + +"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." + +"You must not think--" begins Mamma. But Leslie checks her. + +"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." + +And Mamma, too wise to err in this particular, abandons her _role_ 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. + +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. + +"This person," she says slowly; "this man who can find Daisy if he +will--may I not see him?" + +"When you have given your promise; not before." + +"He will accept no other terms?" + +"Never." + +"And this transaction, this infamy--he leaves all details to you?" + +"Just so." + +"Then there is no more to be said. I might hope for mercy from the +beasts of the field, but not from you." + +"You consent?" + +"If I refuse, what will be the consequences to Daisy?" + +"You had better not refuse!" retorts Mamma, with a glare of rage. + +Before Leslie's mind comes the picture of little Daisy, and following it +a panorama of horrors. Again she feels her strength deserting her. + +"Wait," she whispers with her last fragment of self-command. "Leave me +to myself. Before sunset you shall have my answer." + +Further words are useless. Mamma, seeing this, turns slowly away, saying +only, as she pauses at the door: + +"Don't waste your time; _delays are dangerous_." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + +A PROMISE RETRACTED. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Born of her weakness, her misery, her growing delirium, 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? + +Then followed other thoughts--better thoughts, humbler thoughts, but all +morbid, all tinged by her half delirious fancy, all reckless of self. + +And now every moment adds to her torture, increases the fever in her +blood, the frenzy of her brain. + +"I _must_ end it!" she cries wildly. "I _must_ save Daisy! And after +that what matter how my day goes out?" + +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. + +"You--" + +"I have decided," breaks in Leslie. "I shall make the sacrifice." + +"You will marry this worthy man?" + +"I will save Daisy from your clutches, and his." + +"In his own way?" + +"In his own way, and yours. Let it be over as soon as possible. Where is +this man?" + +"Gently, gently; he is not far away." + +"So much the better. I cannot rest now till all is done. I must take +Daisy back to her home; the rest is nothing." + +Mamma looks at her craftily. + +"You agree to _all_ the terms?" she asks. "Will you swear to keep your +word?" + +"I will do anything, when I am assured that I shall have Daisy safely +back." + +"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." + +"_Franz!_" + +"Yes; it is Franz that you will marry." + +"Franz!" the word comes in a breathless whisper. "_Your son--the +convict?_" + +"You needn't put so much force upon that. Yes; Franzy's the man." + +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. + +"You told--" she articulates, as if struggling for self-mastery. "Woman, +you told me that Franz Francoise was _your_ son." + +"So he is. _I_ ain't ashamed of him," Mamma answers sullenly. + +"Then,"--Leslie clutches at the nearest support and fairly gasps the +words--"then--_who am I_?" + +"Well, it can't be kept back any longer, it seems. You are--" + +"Not your child?" cries Leslie. "Not yours?" + +"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." + +But Leslie pays no heed to this latter statement. She has fallen upon +her knees with hands uplifted, and streaming eyes. + +"Not her child; not hers! Oh, God, I thank thee! Oh, God, forgive me for +what I was about to do!" + +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. + +A sound behind her breaks the uncomfortable stillness, and Mamma turns +quickly, to see Franz standing in the open doorway. + +"Franz,--" begins the old woman. + +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. + +"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." + +"I don't see what it matters," mutters Mamma sullenly. "You will be +our'n fast enough when you're married to Franz." + +"Eh!" Franz utters only this syllable, and advances step by step into +the room. + +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. + +"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--" + +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, but before words can follow, a +heavy hand grasps her arm. + +"Go on," says Franz coolly; "now?" + +"Do you know the proposition that woman has just made me?" asks Leslie +abruptly. + +"'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." + +"She has told me that you can, if you will, restore Daisy Warburton to +her home." + +"No? has she?" + +"That you, and you only, know where to look for the child." + +"Umph!" + +"And that you will restore the child only on one condition." + +"And wot's that?" + +"That I consent to marry you." + +"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?" + +Leslie turns from him and fixes her gaze upon the old woman. + +"And this," she says, "is the man you would mate me with! Woman, you +have overreached yourself. Believing, or fearing, myself to be _your_ +child, I might have been driven to any act of desperation. You have +lifted that burden of horror from off my heart. I am _not_ 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!" + +"Do ye mean," queries Franz quite coolly, "that you won't take up with +the old woman's bargain?" + +"She _has_ done it!" cries Mamma fiercely. "She's given her promise!" + +"And I now retract it!" + +"What!" Mamma suddenly wrenches herself free and springs toward Leslie. +"You won't marry Franz?" + +"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--" + +"You will find her!" Mamma's voice is horrible in its hoarse rage. "Now +mark my words: You will _never_ find her. She will never see daylight +again. As for _you_, 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He carries Leslie to the bed, and places her upon it so gently that +Mamma sneers and glares upon him scornfully. + +"Ye're a fool, Franz Francoise." + +[Illustration: "Now mark my words: You will never find her. She will +never see daylight again."--page 354.] + +"Shet up, you! Ye've got somethin' to do besides talk. D'ye mean to have +her die on our hands?" + +"'Twon't matter much, it seems." + +"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." + +She turns upon him a look in which anger and admiration are curiously +mingled. + +"'Tain't no use, Franzy; that gal won't give in now." + +"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." + +"Franz," chuckles Mamma, beginning her work of restoration with bustling +activity, "ye ought to be a general. I'm proud of ye." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +A WELCOME PRESCRIPTION. + + +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. + +After much thinking, Mamma had decided that Franz had offered sound +advice, and having exhausted her own resources, she set out to consult +Doctor Bayless. + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +"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." + +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. + +Half an hour later, Doctor Bayless appeared upon the Francoise +threshold, a small vial in his hand, a look of anxiety upon his +countenance. + +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 with Papa and Franz, partaking of luncheon +in the opposite corner of the room. + +He addressed Mamma almost breathlessly. + +Had the drops been administered? + +Mamma replied in the affirmative. + +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 _might_ prove fatal. + +It was no time for parley or hesitation. Mamma promptly led the way to +the inner room. + +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. + +"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. + +Presently he turned toward Mamma. + +"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." + +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. + +"Old un," began Franz, "ye're gittin' careless--" + +"Sh!" whispered Mamma; "no noise." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Holding this card so that Leslie could easily scan its contents, he sat +mutely watching her face. + +The card contained these words, closely written in a fine, firm hand: + + 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. + + STANHOPE. + +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. + +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. That message had brought with it a +comforting sense of protection, and of help near at hand. + +The last instructions of Doctor Bayless, too, fell upon her ear with +hopeful meaning, although they were spoken, apparently, for Mamma's sole +benefit. + +"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." + +Once more he turned toward Leslie, and took her hand in his. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +MR. FOLLINGSBEE'S SOCIAL CALL. + + +[Illustration: "Holding this card so Leslie could easily scan its +contents, he sat mutely watching her face."--page 359.] + +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 since that last named and eccentric +individual set sail for far-off Australia. + +Matters are moving slowly at the Agency. Van Vernet is seldom seen there +now, and Stanhope is not seen at all. + +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. + +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. + +It was brief and business-like; it explained nothing; and it puzzled the +astute Chief not a little. + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They would hope much, expect much, from Vernet and Stanhope. And what +had been done? + +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. + +"You will not see me again," he had said, "until I can tell who killed +Arthur Pearson." And he was keeping his word. + +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? + +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." + +What had he done, or discovered, or guessed at, during those intervening +days? + +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 _had_ been sadly cut up by Vernet's falling off. + +The Chief gave up the riddle, and turned to his desk. + +"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." + +As he reached out to touch the bell, some one tapped upon the door. + +"Come in," he called, somewhat impatiently. + +It was the office-boy who entered and presented a card to the Chief. + +"The gentleman is waiting?" queried the Chief, glancing at the name upon +the bit of pasteboard. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Admit him." + +Then he rose and stood to receive his visitor. + +"Ah, Follingsbee, I'm glad it's you," extending his hand cordially. "Sit +down, sit down." + +And he pushed his guest toward a big easy chair just opposite his own. + +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. + +"You seem pretty comfortable here," he said, as his eye roved about the +well-equipped private office. "Are you particularly busy just now?" + +"I can be quite idle," smiling slightly, "if you want a little of my +leisure." + +The attorney gave a short, dry laugh. + +"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." + +The Chief leaned back in his chair and smiled across at his visitor. + +"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?" + +"I should be glad to hear anything upon that subject, but that is not my +errand." + +"Ah!" The Chief rested his head upon his hand, and looked inquiringly at +his _vis-a-vis_. + +"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." + +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. + +"Did you write that letter?" queried Mr. Follingsbee. + +"N-no." He said it hesitatingly, and with the surprise fast turning to +perplexity. + +"Did you cause it to be written?" + +The Chief spread the letter out before him on the desk, and slowly +deciphered it. + +"It's my paper, and my envelope," he said at last; "but it was never +sent from this office." + +"Then you disown it?" + +"Entirely. I hope you intend to tell me how it came into your +possession." + +"It is written, as you see, to Mr. Warburton--" + +"To Mr. Alan Warburton; yes." + +"Introducing one Mr. Grip, late of Scotland Yards." + +"I see." + +"Well, sir, Mr. Warburton received this note the day on which it was +dated." + +The Chief glanced sharply at the date. + +"And on that same day, Mr. Augustus Grip presented himself, stating that +he was sent from this Agency, with full authority to take such measures +as he saw fit in prosecuting the search for the lost child." + +"Well?" + +"The fellow began by being impertinent, ended by being insulting--and +made his exit through the study window, his case closed." + +The Chief smiled slightly, then relapsed into meditation. After a brief +silence, he said: + +"Mr. Follingsbee, can't you give me a fuller account of that interview +between Mr. Warburton and this--this Mr. Grip?" + +"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." + +The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature and said: + +"I see; sharp rascal." + +"I thought," pursued the lawyer, "that it might interest you to hear of +this affair. The fellow may try the trick again, and--" + +"It does interest me, sir," interrupts the other. "It interests me very +much. May I keep this letter?" + +"For the present, yes." + +"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." + +"For further information," said Mr. Follingsbee, rising and taking up +his hat, "I must refer you to Mr. Grip, or Mr. Warburton." + +[Illustration: "The Chief looked closely at the illegible signature, and +said: "I see; sharp rascal.""--page 366.] + +And having finished his errand, Mr. Follingsbee made his adieu and +withdrew. + +When he was gone, the Chief sat gazing at the chair just vacated, and a +curious smile crossed his lips. + +"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 _really was such a person as Augustus +Grip_!" + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +VERNET AT HEADQUARTERS. + + +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. + +Ringing the bell he summoned the bright-eyed boy who waited without, and +said, as soon as the lad appeared in the doorway: + +"You know where to look for Vernet, George?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"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." + +When George had bowed and departed on his mission, the Chief opened his +door and entered the outer office. + +"Has Carnegie been in to-day?" he asked of a man seated at a desk +between two tall windows. + +"Not yet, sir." + +"Ah, then he will probably come soon. Send him in to me, Sanford." + +"Very well, sir." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +One or two of the loungers made some slight comment upon this quiet +entrance and exit of their Chief. + +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. + +Once within this apartment, the look of rueful reluctance vanished. He +slipped the troublesome document into his breast-pocket, and smiled as +he seated himself in the chair indicated by his superior. + +"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?" + +"They do some of it; yes sir." + +"There is always stationery at the desk for their use?" + +"Certainly, sir." Sanford's none too expressive face began to lengthen a +trifle. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"No, sir," said Sanford, a trifle coldly; "your orders were otherwise." + +"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?" + +"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 _that_ +office." + +"Well," responded his Chief, "it's also the only way of getting it from +mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has possessed himself of a sheet +or two, and used it for fraudulent purposes." + +Sanford stared, but said nothing. + +"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?" + +"I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports--" + +"Samples of any sort will do, Sanford. Let me have them as soon as +possible." + +Sanford arose, hesitated, and then said: + +"If you would trust me, sir, I might--but you have sent for Carnegie?" + +"Yes; it's about this business. What were you going to say, Sanford?" + +"I know all their hands so well, sir, I was about to offer my services, +but--" + +"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." + +In half an hour, Carnegie presented himself. He was a small, old man, +with a shrewd face and keen, intelligent eye. + +"I've got some work for you, Carnegie," began the Chief, waiving all +ceremony. "It's of the kind you like, too." + +"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." + +"It's a forgery on this office," went on the Chief, as quietly 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." + +"Ah!" said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could not have said more +in a folio. + +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. + +And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously dressed, +upright, handsome, and courteous as usual. + +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. + +"I hope I have not interfered with any man[oe]uvre of yours, Van," said +the Chief, smiling as he proffered his hand. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes?" The change that crossed Vernet's face was scarcely perceptible. + +"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." + +Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then: + +"You have heard something," he said, withdrawing his gaze slowly. + +The Chief laughed. This answer, put not as a question, but as a +statement of a fact, pleased him. + +"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." + +"John Ainsworth?" + +"Supposed to be the father of the child mentioned in the advertisement +from Australia," + +"Yes; I see." + +"Well, I _don't_ see anything clearly, except this: These two men will +come down upon us presently; they will want to hear something new--" + +"Their affair is twenty years old; do they expect us to get to the +bottom of it in five weeks?" + +"Well, not that exactly, but I think they will expect us to have +organized--to have hit upon some theory and plan of action." + +"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--" + +"Something? a step?" + +"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." + +"Good! I call that more than a step." + +"I may as well tell you that I have worked through a 'tracker.' You know +how much I am interested in that other affair." + +"The Sailor business? yes." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"Ah!" + +"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." + +"Well?" + +"When the two arrived on the other side, they turned out to be--an old +man aged sixty-five, and a child, aged ten." + +"Oh!" said the Chief, as though he enjoyed the situation; "a clever +rascal!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Ah, what is Stanhope about?" + +"I don't know. He took his time; has not been seen or heard of here for +four weeks." + +Vernet tapped the desk beside him, and looked thoughtfully at his +_vis-a-vis_. + +"Stanhope's a queer fish," he said abstractedly; "a queer fish." Then, +rising, he added: "I will send my report to-morrow." + +"Very good." + +"And I shall not follow Stanhope's example. Once I am fairly entered +into the case, I shall send my reports regularly." + +"I'm glad of that," said his Chief, rising and following him to the +door. "Under the circumstances, I'm glad of that." + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +THE VERDICT OF AN EXPERT. + + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" queried the Chief, glancing down at the packet, "have you done?" + +"Yes;" beginning to open the packet with quick, nervous fingers. + +"And you found--" He paused and looked up at the Expert. + +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. + +"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." + +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--_Vernet_. + +Slowly he withdrew his eyes from the signature, and turned them upon the +face of the Expert. + +"Carnegie," he asked, "do you ever make a mistake?" + +"_I?_" Carnegie's look said the rest. + +"Because," went on the Chief, scarcely noticing Carnegie's indignant +exclamation, "if you _ever_ made a mistake, I should say, I should wish +to believe, that this was one." + +"It's no mistake," replied the Expert grimly. "I never saw a clearer +case." + +[Illustration: "Carnegie, do you ever make a mistake?"--page 376.] + +The Chief passed his hand across his brow, and seemed to meditate, +while the Expert gathered up the heap of letters and arranged them once +more into a neat packet. + +"If you are still in doubt," he said tartly, "you might try--somebody +else." + +"No, no, Carnegie," replied the Chief, rousing himself, "you are right, +no doubt. You must be right." + +Carnegie snapped a rubber band about the newly-arranged packet, and +tossed it down beside the two letters. + +"Then," he said, taking up his hat, "I suppose you have no further use +for me?" + +"Not at present, Carnegie." + +The Expert turned sharply, and without further ceremony whisked out of +the room. + +For some moments the Chief sat wrinkling his brow and gazing upon the +two letters outspread before him. + +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. + +The latter came promptly, and stood mutely before his Chief. + +"Sanford," said that gentleman, pointing to the packet upon the table, +"you may try your hand as an Expert." + +"How, sir?" + +"Take those letters, and this," pushing forward the outspread scrawl, +"and see if you can figure out who wrote it." + +Sanford took up the packet, looked earnestly at his superior, and +hesitated. + +"Carnegie has given his opinion," said the Chief, in answer to this +look. "I want to see how you agree." + +Sanford took up the scrawl, scanned it slowly, folded it and slipped it +underneath the rubber of the packet. + +"Is that all, sir?" he asked quietly. + +"That is all. Take your time, Sanford; take your time." + +Sanford bowed and went slowly from the room. + +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. + +"I must review this business," he muttered. "There's something about it +that I don't--quite--understand." + +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. + +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. + +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 had +never once mentioned Vernet's presence, nor the part the latter had +played to gain the precedence with his Chief. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, Sanford, is it done?" + +"I wish," said Sanford, as he placed the packet upon the table, "I wish +it had never been begun--at least by me." + +"Why?" + +"Because I don't want to believe the evidence of my senses." + +"There's a sentiment for a detective! Out with it man; what have you +found?" + +Sanford took two papers from his pocket and held them in his hand +irresolutely. + +"I hope I am wrong," he said; "if I am--" + +"If you are, it will rest between us two. Out with it, now." + +"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. + +The latter dropped his eyes to the vexatious paper and said, +mechanically: "Vernet!" + +"I'm sorry," began Sanford, regretfully. "I tried--" + +"You need not be," interrupted the Chief. "It's Carnegie's verdict too." + +Sanford sat down in the nearest seat, and looked earnestly at his Chief, +saying nothing. + +After a moment of silence, the latter said: + +"Sanford, I want Vernet shadowed." + +Sanford started and looked as if he doubted his own ears. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +JOHN AINSWORTH'S STORY. + + +The Chief of the detectives was now furnished with ample food for +thought, but the opportunity for meditation seemed remote. + +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. + +An accident of travel had thrown these two together, almost at the +moment when one was landing from, and the other 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"I did," interrupted the Englishman. + +"Which I never received," finished the Chief. "I supposed you voyaging +toward Australia, if not already there." + +"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." + +"Those two letters I never saw." + +"I shall be sorry for that," broke in John Ainsworth, "if their loss +will cause us delay, or you inconvenience." + +"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." + +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. + +"It was a tedious illness to me;" said the Australian. "Short as it was, +it seemed never-ending." + +And then, at the request of the Chief, John Ainsworth told his story: +briefly, but with sufficient clearness. + +"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." + +He paused a moment and sighed heavily. + +"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 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." + +Again the narrator paused, and the eyes of the two listeners +instinctively sought each other. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Did you preserve the letter?" interrupted the Chief. + +"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. + +"Until you met Mr. Parks?" supplemented the Chief. + +"Yes." + +"I should like to see that letter," said the Chief. + +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. + +"It is more than twenty years old," he said. + +The writing was in a delicate, scholarly hand, much faded, yet legible. + + DEAR AINSWORTH + + I suppose Mrs. Marsh has made you acquainted with her reasons for + changing her plans. It remains for me to inform you of mine. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + May your Australian venture prosper! I will write you there; and + may the good God have us all in his keeping! + + Yours as ever, + + A. PEARSON. + +This was the letter that the Chief perused with a face of unusual +gravity; and then he asked, as he laid it down: + +"And your child: you have never heard of her since?" + +"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, 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." + +Again the Chief and Walter Parks exchanged glances, and John Ainsworth +rose slowly to his feet. + +"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." + +The Chief shook his head. + +"That search," he said, "like the other, must cover twenty years." + +"To begin," said the Australian, "we must find the Ulimans." + +"Who?" + +"The Ulimans; my sister was the wife of Thomas Uliman." + +"Oh!" said the Chief, and then he leaned forward and touched the bell. + +"Send Sanford in," he said to the boy who appeared in the doorway. + +In another moment Sanford stood before them. + +"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?" + +"Merchant," said John Ainsworth. + +Sanford started suddenly, and lifted one hand to his mouth. + +"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. + +"Yes; it was R., I believe; Thomas R. Uliman," replied the Australian. + +Sanford bowed again and went out quietly. Then Mr. Ainsworth turned +toward the Chief. + +"You have a system?" he queried. + +"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." + +There was a moment's silence, then Walter Parks leaned forward: + +"Have you anything to tell me concerning my two detectives?" he asked. + +"Stanhope and Vernet? Well, not much; but I expect a report from Vernet +at any moment. We will have that also to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +A CHIEF'S PERPLEXITIES. + + +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. + +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. + +He glanced up as the lawyer entered, but did not rise. + +"Well," began his visitor, "at last I have something to wake you up +with: orders to march." + +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: + + DEAR SIR: + + 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. 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. + + STANHOPE. + +The reader paused and looked triumphantly at his audience of one. + +"So," commented this audience, "his name is Stanhope." + +Mr. Follingsbee started and then laughed. + +"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?" + +"Stanhope, the detective? Yes; and I am somewhat puzzled. I have always +heard of Stanhope in connection with Van Vernet." + +"Umph! so has everybody. They're on opposite sides of _this_ case, +however. Well, shall you follow Mr. Stanhope's advice?" + +"I shall, although his advice reads much like a command. I shall take +him at his word, and go at once." + +"Now?" + +"This very hour, if your carriage is at my disposal." + +"That, of course." + +"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." + +"Well," said the lawyer dryly, "you seem in a desperate hurry. Be sure +you don't overdo it." + +"I won't; I'll go home and wait for what is to happen in the afternoon." + +Half an hour thereafter, a carriage drew up at the side entrance 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 best men. Always, until Van Vernet and Richard +Stanhope had arrayed themselves as antagonists, in seeking a solution of +the same problem. + +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. + +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 man[oe]uvres and some of +Stanhope's inconsistencies. + +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. + +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? + +"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, _for a masquerade_. +If I could question Stanhope," he muttered. "Oh! I need not wait for +that; I'll interview Follingsbee." + +He dashed off a note, asking the lawyer to wait upon him 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. + +"Beale has come in," he said in a low tone. "He has been the rounds, and +gives a full report of Vernet's movements." + +"Has Beale been out alone?" + +"Not since the first two hours; he has three men out now." + +"Phew! Well, read your minutes, Sanford; I see you have taken them down +from word of mouth." + +"Yes, it was the shortest way. Vernet is watching three localities." + +"Oh!" + +"Beale shadowed him, first, to the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, the +lawyer." + +"Umph!" The Chief started, then checked himself, and sank back in his +chair. + +"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." + +The Chief bit his lips and stirred uneasily. + +"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, seemingly +in high spirits, and the bricklayer departed in the opposite direction." + +"Away from the city?" + +"Yes; toward the furthermost houses." + +The Chief bent his head and meditated. + +"This happened, when?" he asked. + +"Yesterday." + +"And Beale; what did he do?" + +"Set three men to watch three men. One at Follingsbee's, one at +Warburton Place, and one at the foot of K. street." + +"Good; and these shadowers of Vernet's--could Beale identify either of +them?" + +"No; he is sure they do not belong to us, and were never among our men." + +"Very well. Beale has done famously. Let him keep a strict watch until +further orders." + +Once more the Chief knits his brow and ponders. The mystery grows +deeper, and he finds in it ample food for meditation. + +But he is doomed to interruption. This time it is Vernet's report. + +He eyes it askance, and lays it upon the desk beside him. Just now it is +less interesting, less important, than his own thoughts. + +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. + +The latter takes it slowly, looks languidly at the superscription, then +breaks the seal. + +One glance, and the expression of annoyance and languor is gone; the +eyes brighten, and the whole man is alive with interest. + +And yet the note contains only these two lines: + + Send three good men, in plain clothes, to the last saloon at the + foot of K. street, 2 P. M. sharp. + + DICK S. + +"Oh!" ejaculates the Chief, "Dick at last! Something is going to +happen." + +And then he calls the office boy back. + +"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." + +When the boy had departed, he turned to the desk and took up Vernet's +report. As he opened it, he frowned and muttered: + +"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 man[oe]uvres mean. I'll have no more interviews +until I have seen Follingsbee, and studied this matter out." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +THE LAST MOMENT. + + +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. + +In the outer room, Papa Francoise is alone, and, if one may judge from +his restlessness, not much relishing his solitude. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 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. + +"Seem to submit," he said. She had submitted. "Let them play their game +to the very last." She had made no resistance. + +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. + +It was the last day, the last hour; and Leslie's strength and courage +are sorely tried. + +"Trust all to me," he had said. "When the right time comes, I will be at +hand." + +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!" + +And her heart leaps suddenly; its tumultuous throbbings nearly suffocate +her. She sits down again and her breath comes hard and fast. + +"If he should fail me," she says again, "then--that would be the end." + +For she has made a fearful resolve. She would play her part, as it was +the only way. _She_ would not fail in the task he had assigned her, and +if, at the last, _he_ failed, then--before she became the wife of Franz +Francoise, she would die! + +And Daisy--what, then, would become of her? + +Leslie puts back the thought with a passionate moan. She must not think +now. + +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. + +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." + +And the last moments are passing. + +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-- + +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. + +And Stanhope--O, God, _where_ is Stanhope? + +Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low moan. + +"Oh, if he should fail me! If he _should_ fail me!" + +In the outer room, Papa's restlessness increases. He vibrates constantly +now between the window and the door. + +The curtain is drawn up to the low ceiling; the entire window is bare +and stares out upon the street like a watchful eye. + +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. + +It is a signal, prearranged by Mamma, and it tells that approaching +personage that the way is clear, that Franz is absent. + +[Illustration: "Again she bows her head upon her arms and utters a low +moan."--page 398.] + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Not half an hour." + +"How's _she_ been behaving?" + +"Quiet; very quiet." + +Mamma seats herself, removes her hideous bonnet, and draws a heavy +breath. + +"Well, I've done my part," she says grimly. "Now, let Franzy do his'n." + +She goes to a shelf, takes therefrom a bottle of ink and a rusty pen. + +"I wish,"--she begins, then pauses and slowly draws a folded paper from +her pocket; "I wish we could git this signed _first_." + +Papa coughs slightly, and turns an anxious look toward the door. + +"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. + +Mamma turns upon him angrily. + +"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 _her_. All we +want is to git this business over, and that little paper signed." + +"I'm dreadful uneasy," sighs Papa. "I wish I was sure how this thing +would come out." + +"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 _that_ 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 _her_. And she +won't go to a lawyer with it; be sure of that." + +"Hark!" ejaculates Papa. + +And in another instant, there is a stumbling step outside, and a heavy +thump upon the door. + +"It's Franz," whispers Mamma. And she hastens to admit her Prodigal. + +As he enters, Mamma's sharp eye notes his flushed face and exaggerated +swagger, and she greets him with an indignant sniff. + +"Couldn't ye keep sober jist once?" she grumbles, as he pauses before +her. "Where's the Preach?" + +"Oh, I'm sober enough," grins Franz. "And the Preach is coming. He's +bringin' a witness." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"The boy's right enough," mutters Papa. "Open the door, old woman." + +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. + +"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." + +Mamma is at his elbow, glancing sharply at him, while she places upon +the table pen, ink, and a folded paper. + +"We've kept our word, gal," she says harshly, "and we know that after +to-day ye may take some queer fancies. Now, this paper is ter signify +that we have acted fairly by ye, and ter bind ye not ter make us any +trouble hereafter." + +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. + +As she gazes, Franz Francoise makes a sudden movement as if to snatch up +the paper, then as suddenly withdraws his hand. + +"Wot's in that paper?" he asks, turning to Mamma. + +"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." + +And she pushes the pen and ink toward Leslie. But the latter does not +heed the motion. + +"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?" + +"Yes, yes." Mamma grows impatient, "Sign this and then--" + +Franz leans forward and puts one finger upon the folded paper. + +"Once agin," says he sharply, "what's that?" + +"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." + +"Umph," grunts Franz, eyeing the pair suspiciously, "that's it, is it." +Then, turning to Leslie: "Read that paper, gal." + +But Papa puts out his hand. + +"It's only a little form, my dear boy." + +"Wal," with growing aggressiveness, "let her read the little form." + +"It's only a waste o' time," breaks in Mamma impatiently, "an' the +sooner it's signed, the sooner she'll--" + +"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. + +"Let me read the paper," she says. + +By a quick movement, Papa extracts the paper from beneath the finger of +his Prodigal, and holding it tightly, steps back from the table. + +"It's wasting time," he says, "an' it's only a little form." + +Then Leslie draws herself up to her fullest height, and stepping back +from the table says: + +"I will sign no paper that I have not read." + +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. + +"If ye could read, Franz Francoise," shrieks Mamma, in a burst of +incautious rage, "ye'd never a-done that thing!" + +"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." + +Again Papa comes forward and lays a hand upon the arm of his son. + +"Franzy," he says deprecatingly, "ye don't know what ye are doin'." + +"Don't I?" sneers Franz. "Wal I'm goin' ter find out shortly." + +A sudden exclamation from Leslie causes him to turn quickly. She is +gazing at the paper with a bewildered face. + +"What is it?" he asked peremptorily. + +"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--" + +"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' _me_?" + +"Now Franz--" remonstrates Mamma. + +"You shut up! Say, gal, does that document leave _me_ out?" + +Leslie's eyes scan the page. "It does not name you," she falters. + +"Oh, it don't! Wal," stepping to her side and taking the paper from her, +"wal, then, we won't sign it." + +As he crumples it in his hand, Leslie moves toward Mamma Francoise, +seeming in one moment to have mastered all her fears. + +"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 _this_,"--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." + +She moves toward the table, but Franz is before her. + +"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." + +Leslie turns from him and again addresses Mamma. + +"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 _never_ marry your son!" + +With a sudden motion, Mamma turns upon Franz, and attempts to snatch the +paper from his hand. + +"Give me that paper, boy!" she fairly hisses. + +But he repulses her savagely, and thrusts the paper into his breast. + +"Take care, old woman!" he exclaims hotly. "I ain't your son for +nothing; what do ye take me for?" + +His words are interrupted by a loud knock on the door. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Franz Francoise!" shrieks Mamma, the tiger now fairly awake in her +eyes. + +[Illustration: "Give me that paper, boy!" she fairly hisses.--page +406.] + +But he pays no heed to her rage. He releases his hold upon Leslie, and +flings open the door. + +"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." + +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. + +Even as they enter, Mamma, stealing close to Leslie, whispers in her +ear: + +"If ye ever want to see yer gal agin, _marry him_." + +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. + +"Quick!" whispers Mamma, "it's yer last chance!" + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +AT THE RIGHT TIME. + + +"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. + +In the moment of silence that follows, Leslie can hear her heart beat, +then-- + +What is it that breaks that strange stillness, that startles so +differently every occupant of that dingy room? + +Only a voice, sweet, clear, pitiful; a child's voice, uplifted in +prayer: + +"_Dear God, please take care of a little girl whose Mamma has gone to +Heaven--_" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, Daisy! _Daisy!_ DAISY!" + +Sobbing wildly, she is down upon her knees, the little one tightly +clasped to her bosom. + +"Oh, Daisy, my darling!" + +"Git out!" commands Franz, as Mamma, scrambling up, approaches with +glaring eyes. "Stand back, old un. This is a new deal." + +And he places himself as a barricade before Leslie and the child, waving +back the infuriated old woman with a gesture of menace. + +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: + +"Franz Francoise, I arrest you in the name of the law!" + +The priest and his two witnesses start perceptibly, and turn their +faces toward Franz. Papa and Mamma slink back toward the inner room. +Leslie lifts her head and looks wonderingly at the new-comers. + +Only Franz remains undisturbed. With a swift movement, he whisks out a +pair of revolvers and presents them, muzzle foremost, to the speaker. + +"Not just yet!" he says coolly; "I ain't quite ready. Ye've interrupted +me, and ye'll have to wait." + +One of his hands is slightly uplifted and, for just an instant, his head +turns toward the inner room. + +The two witnesses, making way for the police, lounge nearer to Papa and +Mamma. + +"You had better not resist, Franz Francoise," says the leader once more. +"You can't escape us now." + +"No; I s'pose not," assents Franz. "Oh, I know I'm cornered, but wait." + +He moves aside and looks down upon Leslie. + +"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--" + +The Priest comes forward, and glances at him inquiringly. + +"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." + +Without a word of comment, the Priest moves toward Leslie. + +At the same instant, and with a howl of rage, Mamma rushes forward. + +"Stop her!" says Franz; and one of the two witnesses lays a strong hand +upon Mamma's shoulder. + +[Illustration: "Not just yet; I ain't quite ready!"--page 410.] + +Then the Prodigal turns to Leslie, who, with the child in her arms, has +risen to her feet. + +"Go," he says gently; "you are free and safe. Go at once. That old woman +will harm you if she can." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Give me the child, Mrs. Warburton," he says respectfully, "and lean on +my arm. We have a carriage near." + +When Leslie had disappeared beyond the doorway, Franz Francoise throws +down his pistols. + +"Now then, boys," he says quietly, "you can come and take me." + +With a yell of rage, Mamma hurls herself upon her captor. + +"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!" + +The leader of the officers, handcuffs in hand, has approached Franz, and +the others are closing about him. + +As Mamma utters her fierce anathema, he turns upon her suddenly, making +at the same time a swift gesture of impatience. + +"Gray," he says sternly, "bring out that old man." + +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. + +Struggling and whimpering, Papa is dragged from the inner room, and when +he stands before the group, the Prodigal says: + +"Now, Harvey, make the proper use of your handcuffs. Put them on this +precious pair." + +"What!" + +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! + +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. + +"_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward, and then drawing +back. + +And the two aids instinctively echo the word: + +"Stanhope!" + +"Stanhope!" + +Then the man who has so long masqueraded as Franz Francoise flings aside +the carroty wig and fixes a stern eye upon Mamma Francoise. + +"Woman," he says slowly; "let me set your mind at rest. You need never +again call me your son. Franz Francoise is 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." + +The two humble citizens glance up, and confirm by a look their leader's +assurance. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Then turning: + +"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?" + +A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says: + +"I don't know where he is, but he has gone to make another arrest." + +"Another! who?" + +"A sailor; the fellow who killed the Jew, Siebel." + +Richard Stanhope swings himself around and points to Papa Francoise, as +with the finger of fate. + +[Illustration: "_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward.--page +413.] + +"The man who killed the Jew, Siebel, is _there_!" he says sternly. + +Then snatching up the wig, he readjusts it upon his head, saying, as he +does it: + +"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." + +The carroty moustache has once more resumed its place. "Holt, you +understand?" + +"Perfectly, sir." + +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: + +"Let me go; what have I done? for what am I arrested? Let me go, you +impostor!" + +"You will learn in good time, woman," retorts Stanhope. "You may have to +answer to several small charges: blackmail, abduction, theft, murder." + +He goes to the door; then turns and looks back at the handcuffed pair: + +"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." + +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. + +Papa is abject enough. He has been shivering, quaking, cowardly, from +the first; but Stanhope's last words have crushed him utterly. His +knees refuse to support him, his eyes stare glassily, his jaw drops +weakly. + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE. + + +There is unusual stir and life in the Warburton Mansion, for Alan +Warburton has returned, as suddenly and strangely as he went away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't see what it's all about," Winnie French says petulantly. "One +would think Alan were giving himself an ovation." + +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. + +When she had gone, Mrs. French came straight to the point. She was a +serious, practical woman, and she wasted no words. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And what could Alan say? While his heart rebelled against this decision, +his reason endorsed it, and his pride held all protestation in check. + +He offered a few courteous commonplaces in a constrained and embarrassed +manner. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That she was wilfully feigning unconsciousness of his presence, he felt +assured. That she should finally recognize that presence, he was +obstinately determined. + +But Winnie is not as composed as she seems, and his steady march up and +down becomes very irritating. Lowering her book suddenly, she turns +sharply in her chair. + +"Mr. Warburton, allow me to mention that your boots creak," she says +tartly. + +"I beg your pardon, Winnie." + +"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." + +Alan stops and stands directly before her. + +"I came, Winnie, because you were here," he says gently. + +"Well," taking up her book and turning her shoulder towards him, "if you +can't make yourself less disagreeable, I shall leave, presently, because +_you_ are here." + +Paying no heed to her petulant words, he draws forward a chair and seats +himself before her. + +"Winnie," he says gravely, "what is this that I hear from your mother: +you wish to leave Warburton Place?" + +"I intend to leave Warburton Place." + +"Why, Winnie?" + +"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 _her_ home, and at _her_ 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--" + +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 turned toward the +door; they light up strangely, and as he springs forward, Winnie hastily +turns. + +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! + +As Alan springs forward, she holds out the child. + +"Alan, I have kept my word," she says gently, wearily; "I have brought +back little Daisy." + +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. + +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. + +As he kneels, he notes the presence of a man in sombre attire, and +behind him, the peering face of a servant. + +"Call Mrs. French," he says, chafing the lifeless hands. "Bring +restoratives--quick!" + +And he lifts her tenderly, and carries her to a divan. + +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. + +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. + +Leslie revives slowly and looks about her, making a weak effort to rise. + +"Be quiet," says the stranger in the priestly garments, who has "kept +his head" while all the others seem dazed; "be quiet, madam. Let me +explain to your friends." + +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. + +"Obey him, Leslie," he says softly. "We will tell you how glad we are by +and by." + +She looks wonderingly into his face, then closes her eyes wearily. + +"He can tell you," she whispers; "I--I cannot." + +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. + +"Let her stay," whispers Winnie. And of course Millie stays. + +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. + +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. + +It is Van Vernet, his eyes flashing, his face triumphant; Van Vernet in +_propia personne_, and wearing the dress of a gentleman. + +He pauses before Alan, and delivers a mocking salute. + +"Alan Warburton, you are my prisoner!" + +With a cry of alarm, Leslie lifts herself from the couch. _She_ knows +what these words mean. + +Alan starts as he hears this cry, and moving a pace nearer Vernet, says, +in a low tone: + +"I will go with you, sir; but withdraw yourself and men from this room; +I--" + +[Illustration: "Alan, I have kept my word; I have brought back little +Daisy."--page 421.] + +Something touches his arm. + +He turns to see Winnie close beside him, her face flushing and paling, +her breath coming in quick gasps. + +"Alan," she whispers, "what does he mean?" + +Alan takes her quivering hand in his, and tenderly seeks to draw her +back. + +"He means what he says, Winnie. He is an officer of the law." + +"A prisoner! _you!_ Oh, Alan, why, why?" + +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. + +"Mr. Warburton," he says sternly, "I must do my duty. Bob, bring the +handcuffs." + +As the officer thus addressed moves forward, Winnie French utters a cry +of anguish, and flings herself before Alan. + +"You shall not!" she cries wildly. "You dare not! What has he done?" + +Vernet looks straight at his prisoner, and smiles triumphantly. + +"Mr. Warburton is accused of murder," he says impressively. + +"Murder!" Winnie turns and looks up into Alan's face. "Alan, oh, Alan, +it is not true?" + +"I am accused of murder, Winnie, but it is _not_ true." + +"Oh, Alan! Alan! Alan!" She flings her arms about him clinging with +passionate despair, sobbing and moaning pitifully. + +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. + +Still folding her in his arms, he half leads, half carries her to the +divan where Leslie sits trembling and wringing her hands. + +"Winnie, darling," he whispers, "do you really care?" + +Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his clasp and turns +once more toward Vernet. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face with Franz +Francoise! + +"You!" he exclaims hoarsely. "How came you here? Boys--" + +The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, who has stood in +the back ground a silent spectator, now steps before them. + +"Hold on!" he says; "don't burn your fingers, boys." + +"Answer me," vociferates Vernet; "who brought you here, fellow? What--" + +"Oh, it ain't the first time I've slipped through your fingers, Van +Vernet," the new-comer says mockingly. + +Then seeing the terror in Leslie's eyes, he snatches the wig and +moustache from his head and face, and turns toward Alan. + +"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." + +But Van Vernet says never a word. He only gazes at the transformed +ex-convict as if fascinated. + +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. + +"Mr. Stanhope, is it--was it _you_?" + +"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." + +"Stanhope!" At the name, Alan Warburton starts forward. "Are you Richard +Stanhope?" + +[Illustration: "Vernet utters an imprecation, and turning swiftly, is +face to face with Franz Francoise!"--page 425.] + +"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. 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 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." + +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. + +At least he has the merit of knowing when he is defeated, and he accepts +the inevitable in sullen silence. + +Then Richard Stanhope turns again to Leslie. + +"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 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." + +With a hasty movement, as if in defiance of that which sought to hold +her back, Leslie rises and extends both her hands. + +"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!" + +Something in her voice vibrated pitifully, then choked her utterance. +She trembled violently, and all the life went out of her face. + +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: + +"She has been terribly tried; do not let her talk until she is stronger. +She needs a physician's care." + +"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." + +He extended his hand and clasped that of Stanhope with a hearty +pressure. + +And then, with a sign to the sham Priest who had been his silent +abettor, Stanhope hurried from the room and from the house. + +Vernet was standing alone on the pavement. His two assistants, having +been dismissed, were already some distance away. + +"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?" + +For a moment Stanhope's eyes seemed piercing him through and through. +Then he smiled. + +"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." + +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. + +Then Stanhope and Vernet, Victor and Vanquished, turned their steps in +the opposite direction. + +For some moments Vernet paced on in silence, savagely gnawing at his +under lip. Then professional curiosity broke through his chagrin. + +"I should like to know how you did it," he said, his face flushing. + +Stanhope shrugged his shoulders and favored his interlocutor with an +uncouth grimace. + +"Easy 'nuff," he said; "Hoop la!" + +Vernet started and stared. "Silly Charlie!" he ejaculated. + +"That's the ticket; how did I do the _role_?" + +Vernet ground his teeth, and pondered over this startling bit of +intelligence. At last: + +"I understand why the Raid failed," he said, "but I don't comprehend--" + +"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." + +His eyes twinkled merrily at the recollection of Vernet in the cellar +trap, and he suppressed a laugh with difficulty. + +Again Vernet reddened and bit his under lip. + +"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." + +"I won't try, for it was Warburton. I shall not explain his presence +there, however; it was a mistake on his part, but he meant well. It was +not he who did the killing." + +"You are bent on clearing Warburton, but how will you prove his +innocence?" + +"By a witness who saw Papa Francoise strike the blow." + +"Who?" + +"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." + +Vernet turned and eyed him sharply. + +"Was it you," he asked, "who brought me out?" + +Stanhope blushed, and then laughed carelessly to conceal his +embarrassment. + +"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." + +Vernet wore the look of a man who sees what he cannot comprehend. + +"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." + +"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 Providence, is a weakness in a man +of my cloth. Don't give me away, Van; _I'll_ never tell of it." + +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. + +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. + +For some moments they walked on in silence. Then Vernet said: + +"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." + +"What case?" + +"Papa Francoise, for the murder of the Jew." + +"Say, the killing of the Jew; it was only manslaughter. We shall not +press that case." + +"What!" + +"There is an older charge against Papa Francoise, and a weightier one." + +"What is that?" + +"It's the end of your search and mine, Van. When I arrested Papa +Francoise to-day, I arrested _the murderer of Arthur Pearson_!" + +"What!" + +Van Vernet stopped short and faced his companion, his face growing ashen +white. + +[Illustration: "When I arrested Papa Francoise to-day, I arrested _the +murderer of Arthur Pearson_!"--page 434.] + +"It's true, Van. In trying to relieve the sufferings of a dying man, I +stumbled upon the clue I might have sought after, and failed to find, +for an hundred years." + +They had halted at a street corner, and Van Vernet wheeled sharply about +and made a step forward. + +"Vernet, where are you going?" + +"Nowhere; never mind me; we part here." + +"Not yet, Van, I want to say--" + +"Not now," broke in Vernet huskily. "You--have said enough--for once." + +And he strode hurriedly down the side street. + +"Poor Van," soliloquized Stanhope, as he gazed after the retreating +figure. "Poor fellow; defeat and loss of fortune are too much for him." + +And he turned and went thoughtfully on toward his own abode. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +HOW STANHOPE CAME BACK. + + +Again we are in the office of the Chief of the detectives; in his +private office, where he sits alone, looking bored and uncomfortable. + +"Everybody late," he mutters, "and I hoped Follingsbee would come +first." + +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. + +Ten minutes more of waiting. Then the boy enters to announce Messrs. +Parks and Ainsworth. + +The Chief rises to receive them, and accepts their excuses in silence. + +"We drove about the city," says Walter Parks, "to pass away a portion of +the time. An accident to our vehicle detained us." + +Then the two men sit down and look expectantly at the Chief. + +"Mr. Ainsworth," he says gravely, "I have news for you of Thomas Uliman +and his wife; bad news, I regret to say." + +"Bad news!" The Australian's face pales as he speaks. "Tell it at once, +sir." + +"Thomas Uliman and his wife are both dead." + +The Australian bows his head upon his hand and remains silent. + +"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." + +"Ah," sighs the Australian, "he may tell me where to find my little +daughter." + +"I have also," resumes the Chief, "a brief report from Mr. Vernet." + +At these words Walter Parks leans forward. + +"May we hear it?" he asks anxiously. + +"Mr. Follingsbee, sir," says the office-boy at the door, in obedience to +orders. And then Mr. Follingsbee enters. + +"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." + +"By all means," acquiesced Walter Parks, suppressing his own feelings +and withdrawing his chair a little into the background. + +Then John Ainsworth turns to the lawyer an anxious face. + +"I am told that you knew Thomas Uliman and his wife," he begins +abruptly. + +"The late Thomas Uliman," corrects the lawyer; "yes, sir." + +"How long have they been dead?" + +"More than three years. They died in the same year." + +"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." + +"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." + +"And my daughter, my little girl--did _she_ think that, too?" + +"Your daughter?" Mr. Follingsbee turns an inquiring look upon the Chief. +"Pardon me, I--I don't understand." + +"My child--I sent my child to her aunt--twenty years ago." + +Again Mr. Follingsbee looks from one face to the other inquiringly, and +an expression of apprehension crosses the face of the Chief. + +"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. + +Mr. Follingsbee coughs nervously. + +"They left such a daughter," he says, hesitatingly, "but--she _was_ an +adopted daughter--the child of unknown parents." + +Slowly John Ainsworth rises to his feet, his eyes turning appealingly +from one to the other. + +"My God!" he exclaims hoarsely, "where then is my child?" + +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. + +Instantly the Chief starts forward, but the door flies open in his face, +and Richard Stanhope stands upon the threshold. + +"Stanhope!" exclaims the Chief; "why, Dick!" + +"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." + +As he grasps the hand of the lawyer he notes, with a start of surprise +the presence of Walter Parks. + +"Mr. Parks!" he exclaims, "this is better than I hoped for." + +And then his eyes rest upon John Ainsworth's disturbed countenance. + +"Mr. Stanhope," the Chief says gravely, "this is Mr. Ainsworth, late of +Australia. He is interested in your search almost equally with Mr. +Parks." + +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: + +"Not--not Mr. John Ainsworth, once the friend of Arthur Pearson?" + +"The same," replies Walter Parks, for John Ainsworth seems unable to +speak. + +"Then," and he extends his hand to Mr. Ainsworth, "this is indeed a +most opportune meeting. My lack of knowledge concerning you, sir, was my +one anxiety this morning." + +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: + +"Don't ring, sir; I'm quite at home here." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Is here at my request," interposed the Chief. + +"Is he?" queries Stanhope. "I thought he was here at mine." + +"I believe," says the lawyer, smiling slightly, "that your invitation +did come first, Mr. Stanhope." + +"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." + +"Oh!" + +[Illustration: "Mr. Parks, I believe I have found Arthur Pearson's +murderer!"--page 440.] + +Walter Parks springs up with a hoarse cry. John Ainsworth leans back in +his chair, pale and panting. The Chief clutches at Stanhope's knee in +excited eagerness, and waits breathlessly for his next words. + +Only Mr. Follingsbee, who has never heard of Arthur Pearson, remains +unmoved. + +"Are you sure?" articulates the excited Englishman. "Where is he? Who is +he?" + +"He is in a good, strong cell by this time, in the city jail." + +"Oh!" gasps John Ainsworth. + +"And his name is Franz Krutzer, although for many years he has been +known as Papa Francoise." + +"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!" + +"Precisely," confirms Stanhope. + +John Ainsworth leans forward and extends two trembling hands. + +"You know," he whispers, "what do you know of my child?" + +And then as Stanhope hesitates, he cries piteously: "Oh, tell me, is she +alive?" + +"I have not a doubt of it," says Stanhope, smiling. "She was alive half +an hour ago." + +"And safe and well?" + +"And safe and well." + +"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" + +A moment he bows his head upon his hands, then lifts it and exclaims +eagerly: + +"Half an hour, you said; then--she must be near?" + +"Yes; she is very near." + +"Take me to her--tell me where to find her--at once." + +"Mr. Ainsworth--" Stanhope drops from the desk and extends 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." + +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. + +"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." + +The Chief nodded; and the lawyer stared as if wondering why that +business need be recalled. + +"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, 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 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!' + +"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. + +"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 +of them, not knowing of his death, were very anxious to have him +recaptured--to enable me to personate him as I did. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Again he paused, and the Australian lifted his head, speaking quickly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I see," said the Australian gravely. "Yes, it is quite probable." + +"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 that the child was in the house, when her pitiful +prayer betrayed her presence. + +"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." + +"They shall be generously rewarded," breaks in Walter Parks; "every man +of them who has in any way assisted you." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +AND LAST. + + +"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?" + +"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, 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." + +"If it is Pearson's belt," interposed Walter Parks, "I can identify it, +and so could some others of the party if--" + +"Was a certain Joe Blakesley a member of your band?" asked the Chief +quickly. + +"Yes." + +"And could he identify this belt?" + +"He could." + +"Then Vernet has done something; he has found this Blakesley." + +"Where?" asked the Englishman, eagerly. + +"In California." + +"Good!" cried Stanhope; "Van shall have the full benefit of his +discovery." + +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." + +In regard to Papa Francoise, as we will still call him, Stanhope had +judged aright. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, and her imprecations, shrieked +out between frothing lips, were horrible to hear. + +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. + +But she was non-committal, baffling, from first to last. She would admit +nothing, explain nothing, confess nothing. She defied them all. + + * * * * * + +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. + +How it was told, let the reader, who knows all, and knows Mr. +Follingsbee, imagine. + +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. + +In her childish way, the little one had told all that she could of her +captivity. + +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. + +The little that she could tell threw no light upon the mystery of her +hiding-place, but it was all that they ever knew. + +"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 _make_ 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +In the present confidence, the happiness and peace, that surrounded +her, Winnie French could not continue her perverse _role_, 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. + +"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--" + +"Need an occupation," retorted Winnie, maliciously. "Don't doom yourself +to gray hairs, sir; repent." + +"It's too late," he declared; and they ceased to argue the question. + + * * * * * + +They would have _feted_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Parks talks of returning to England," said her father one day at +luncheon, "and he wants Stanhope to go with him." + +"Will he go?" asked Alan, in a tone of interest. + +"I hope not; at least not until I have time to bring him to his senses." + +"Why, Papa!" ejaculates Leslie. + +"Has our Mr. Stanhope lost his senses, uncle?" queries little Daisy +anxiously. + +"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." + +"And," added Alan, "he has refused my overtures with equal +stubbornness." + +"But he has accepted the splendid reward promise by Mr. Parks, has he +not?" queries Mrs. French. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Nonsense, Leslie," cries Winnie. "He's afraid of a woman; he blushes +when you speak to him." + +"Did he blush," queried Leslie maliciously, "when you embraced him that +night of the masquerade?" + +In the midst of their laughter, Winnie was mute. + + * * * * * + +One day, some weeks after the _denouement_, Stanhope, sauntering down a +quiet street, met Van Vernet. + +"Stop, Van," he said, as the other was about to pass; "don't go by me +in this unfriendly fashion, if only for appearance's sake. How do you +get on?" + +"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." + +"I don't hold all the winning-cards, Van. Indeed, I'm inclined to think +that I've lost more than I've won." + +Vernet continued to regard him steadily and after a moment of silence, +he said quietly: + +"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." + +"A blunder, Van?" + +"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." + +"Take care, Van." + +"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." + +"Van, you are mad!" + +"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." + +He turned with these words, passed his amazed listener, and walked on. +And Stanhope resumed his saunter, looking like a man in a dream. + +That evening he made his first voluntary call at Warburton place. + + * * * * * + +Alan and Winnie, two months later, were married, and Stanhope was among +the wedding-guests. + +"Warburton Place will have a new mistress, Mr. Stanhope," Leslie said to +him. "I am going to abdicate in Winnie's favor." + +"Entirely, Mrs. Warburton?" + +"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." + +Later in the evening, Mrs. Follingsbee captured him and inquired: + +"Have you heard Leslie's last bit of Quixotism?" + +"No, madam." + +"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." + +"I'm glad of it," blurted out Stanhope; and then he colored hotly and +bit his lips. + +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. + +"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." + +"Are you going to leave me behind, with the rest of your past?" he +asked. + +"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." + +And indeed Daisy had given him a prominent place in her affections. + +"Some of my friends," he said after a pause, "are advising me to abandon +the Agency, and embark in some quieter enterprise." + +"Do you mean that they wish you to give up your profession? to cease to +be a detective?" + +"Yes." + +"And what did you answer?" + +"I am seeking advice; give it me." + +"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." + +"I never will," he said, taking her hand in his. + + * * * * * + +Months passed on; winter went and summer came. Walter 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. + +[Illustration: "A man of your calling should have guessed that long +ago!"--page 461.] + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Daisy, Daisy!" cried Leslie, holding up a warning finger. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Stanhope slowly, and fixing his eyes upon Leslie's face, "I +love her very much." + +Leslie's cheeks were suffused with blushes, and she sat quite silent, +with downcast eyes. + +"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." + +And as the child flew from the room, he rose and stood before Leslie. + +"If your father yields to my demand," he said softly, "what will be your +verdict?" + +A moment of stillness. Then she lifts her brown eyes to his, a smile +breaking through her blushes. + +"A man of your calling," she said, "should have guessed that long ago!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Nance, the one-time drunkard, became the object of Leslie's pitying +care, and did not relapse into her former poverty and evil habits. + +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. + +And little Daisy passed the years of her childhood in the firm belief +that, + +"God will do anything you want him to, if you only pray loud enough." + + +THE END. + + + + +POPULAR BOOKS. + + +_Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter._ + + By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH, author of "Shadowed by Three," "Out of a + Labyrinth," etc. Illustrated with 44 original engravings. Price, + $1.50. + + "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." + + +_The Gold Hunters' Adventures in Australia._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Illustrated with 41 engravings. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_Running the Blockade._ + + By _Wm. H. Thomes_. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_The Bushrangers; or, Wild Life in Australia._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_A Slaver's Adventures on Sea and Land._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_The Gold Hunters in Europe, or, The Dead Alive._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +_A Whaleman's Adventures on Sea and Land._ + + By WM. H. THOMES. Profusely illustrated. Price, $1.50. + + 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. + + +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. + + +ALEX. T. LOYD & CO., + +CHICAGO. + + + + +Madeline Payne + +THE EXPERT'S DAUGHTER. + +By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH + +Author of "Shadowed by Three," "Out of a Labyrinth," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with 45 Original Engravings. + +PRICE, $1.50. + + =CONTENTS.=--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. "_You + are her Murderer!_" The Railway Station at Night. A Disappointed + Schemer Rejoiced. Madeline's Flight. The Night Journey to New + York. A Friendly Warning Unheeded. "Take it; _in the Name of your + Mother I ask it_!" 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 _she_ 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, _what_ 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. + + "God's greatness shines around our incompleteness, + Round our restlessness His rest!" + + + + +A SLAVER'S ADVENTURES + +ON SEA AND LAND. + +[Illustration: "We saw many species of wild animals." Page 89.] + + +By WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +ILLUSTRATED WITH FORTY ELEGANT ENGRAVINGS. + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You ain't hit, is you?" whispered Hackett and Hopeful in anxious tones. + +"No," I answered. + +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. + +"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." + +As he spoke he held the fair form in such a manner that + + + + +THE BUSHRANGERS. + +_A Yankee's Adventures During His Second Visit to Australia._ + + +BY WM. H. THOMES, + + _Author of_ "_The Gold Hunters in Australia_," "_The + Bushrangers_," "_Running the Blockade_," _etc., etc._ + +[Illustration: Moloch appeared, bearing the almost lifeless form. +"Look," yelled the fiend, in a triumphant tone.] + + + + +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. + +"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. + +"Unbar the door as quickly as possible," whispered the inspector, after +getting through with his threatening speech. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 + + + + +THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES; + +OR, WILD LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. + + + =By WM. H. THOMES=, 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. + +[Illustration: "Now for a rush.--Cut them to pieces!"] + +A FASCINATING STORY OF ADVENTURE. + + + + +A Whaleman's Adventures + +_AT SEA, IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS AND CALIFORNIA._ + +[Illustration] + +BY WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with Thirty-Six Fine Engravings. + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + +RUNNING THE BLOCKADE; + +OR, U. S. SECRET SERVICE ADVENTURES. + + + _By WM. H. THOMES, Author of_ "_The Gold Hunters' Adventures in + Australia_," "_The Bushrangers_," "_Running the Blockade_," + _etc., etc._ + +ELEGANTLY AND PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. + +[Illustration: "For de Lord's sake, don't do dat. Dis nig is almost cut +to pieces now. Him legs is one mass of rings."] + + + + +The Gold Hunters in Europe + +--OR-- + +THE DEAD ALIVE. + +[Illustration: "Do you give yourselves in custody?"] + + +By WM. H. THOMES, + + Author of "THE GOLD HUNTERS' ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA," "THE + BUSHRANGERS," "RUNNING THE BLOCKADE," etc., etc. + +Illustrated with FORTY Fine Engravings + +SOLD ON ALL RAILWAY TRAINS AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dangerous Ground, by Lawrence L. Lynch + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGEROUS GROUND *** + +***** This file should be named 36366.txt or 36366.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/6/36366/ + +Produced by Harry Lame, 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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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