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+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
+
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