Beadle's New York Dime Library (no. 79) (1879 10 22)
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V7 tt i Tr "=" iii ii Published Every Two Weeks, Vol. VII. 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., October 22d, 1879. cn mal Yen Cents a Copy. $2.50 a Year, JOE PHENIX, & THE POLICE SPY. ~ BY ALBERT W. AIKEN, Wy ry ree i, / 037) ly 3 i WiLL / ) Lj ould fray Nt at) itt isl ald { | } Hi} NN AN ii ra 14 1 i} \ ii ih ‘ee a) ee ea 1A Ht H i ‘ wo LEV Nee i :
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08 hes] Joe Phenix, . THE POLICE SPY. BY ALBERT W, AIKEN, 4UTHOR OF ‘GENTLEMAN GEORGE,” “THE PHANTOM HAND,” “THE FRESH OF FRISCO,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. DEAD AT LAST. “Tell me the truth, gentle sir; I can bear it, no matter how fearful the tale!”—OLp Pray. “DeaTu oF A CurrIous CRIMINAL) "Tn Sing Sing prison, on April 10th, a noted char- acter departed this life, one Gilbert Barlee, serving out a life-sentence for manslaughter. over eighteen Pb ale Barlee had been an inmate of the prison, and during that period he had succeeded in escaping no less than twenty times, but invariab had been recaptured within a few hours afterward. Some of his escapes bordered on the miraculous, and it was really wonderful how, with such slender means, the man contrived to set at naught the prison locks and the prison walls, as well as the watchful guard of the keepers. To the day of his death Barlee asserted his innocence of the crime of which he had been convicted, and declared that he had been the victim of as terrible a conspiracy as the mind of man ever i ed. The convict was @ monomaniac on this subject, as the evidence on which he had been convic that he was the guilty party. memory of the oldest keeper at Sing Sing pas there been a tenant within the ‘‘ cold gray walls ’’ who has been so troublesome, but the man of iron nerve and astonishing strength and wonderful mechanica! skill rests quiet at last, called into the a of that Great Judge who will listen patiently to the plaint that this world turned a deaf ear upon.” In nearly every afternoon f gee io published in New York on April 15th this brief notice ap . The death of such a man was deemed worthy of especial mention. Before nine o’ the night that evening a hundred thousand — had perused the item, most of them barely giving it a second thought for, what was the death of the poor outcast, Prisonéd within Sing Sing’s stern walls, to the world at large? but, of the vast multitude, there were a few who read the account a second time and commented upon it, and three parties gave it particular attention. Tue First: A man in the ye of life, sumptuously attired in broadcloth and fine linen, wearing upon his person diamonds enough to pay a king’s ransom, seated in a luxurious easy-chair in a Madison avenue parlor, ha just arisen from a dinner fit to tempt the appetite of one of the old Roman emperors—a man at ease with himself and all the world. Twice he read the notice—the second time aloud and then brought his plump, white, bejeweled hand down smartly upon his knee. “Dead at last!” he cried, and his tone was one of ie . “By Jove! I thought that fellow would never e! His illness must have been a very sudden one, for when I heard from there only a few weeks ago the report said that his mind was still aff but that in all other ts he was strong as a bull. “Dead at Jast!’? he repeated, after quite a long use, and this time he rubbed his soft palms ether, gleefully; ‘‘ well—well, that is better luck than I ho for—or expected. He’s gone, and that’s a weight off my mind! For ten years now I’ve been ex ing to see him rise like a ghost before me and demand a reckoning, but now he’s in his grave and there he'll rest. Rest?’’ and this keen-eyed, cool-faced, resolute-looking man repeated the word, pre “Yes, of course! ta fool Iam give way to these visionary fancies. The dead do ges, no matter how much they may have been wron in the flesh. Gil Barlee will never rise from his ashes, unless he turns into a phenix, and that’s a fabulous bird.” Right pleasant was the mellow laugh that came from between the firm-set, resolute lips, as he sunk back luxuriously in the cushioned chair and looked around him with an air of satisfaction, a great care eo ah ed lifted from his mind. He SEco: ND: High up ina little hall bedroom, on the fifth floor of a dingy tenement-house on Avenue A, just below Fourteenth street, sat a young girl, busily engaged in constructing artificial flowers, and, as she work she glanced once in awhile at a newspaper sp’ out on the table before her, the penny sheet, the cheap | of the poor. And the brief paragraph relative to the death of was perfectly clear Not within the the r wretch, shut up in Sing Sing’s stone walls for the period of his natural life, met her eyes. The petals of the “red, red rose” dropped from her trembling hands. In breathless haste she de- voured with her eyes the brief account. ** Dead—dead at last!’’ she murmured, in broken accents. ‘‘Oh! why did he not live to see me ac- — a ree task to which I have vowed to devote my life? I would have torn away the vail of shame which so long has enshrouded him—I would have proved to all the world that he was as innocent of the crime for which he was convicted as the child unborn; but now that heis dead I will not falter in my task. His innocence shall be made manifest to all, and the hidden foe who in the dark has woven such a web around him shall be into the light and his crimes exposed, for the man who sent Gilbert Barlee to the care of the cruel stone walis is surely the villain who committed the crime we ype the ay nt has suffered.” ~ P noble resolve for one so young—a ten re) a girl, just budding into womanhood, ag HE RD: Two boys—ragged fittle fellows—crying their iewspapers in front of the Astor House, One, a lad of about ten years of , & chunky- built little rascal, with a sharp, bright face and a shrewd air; the other, younger by «year or @ro much more slender in figure and more delicate- For a little | | Joe Phenix. ly framed; his face little and pinched, quite a con- to the first. , Chippy the older boy was called, and he was a chippy ”* sort of chap, always full of life and spirit and abundantly able to take care of himself, young as he was, The Kittle one wa3 commonly called ‘‘Dunno” by all the lads of his acquaintance, probably from the peculiar habit he had of getting “scart upon the slightest provocation and responding ** Dunno” to every question. The street Arabs of New York are greatly given to nicknames, and the appellations they bestow up- on eack other generally stick, being, as a rule, very. appropriate, hippy and Dunno the two ty de had been named - the chief joker of the street brigade on the occa- sion of their first appearance, and the boys had qui- etly accepted the names and were known by no other. Many a hard battle Chippy had had, too, on.ac- count of his weaker brother, and being a muscular little fellow, full of bull-dog courage, ready at any time to fly at a boy twice his size, it was not long be- fore he inspired the City Hall Park “rats,” as the newsboys and bootblacks proudly term themselves, with a proper degree of ct for his abilities, With the frank and free children of Nature there is nothing like hard knocks to inspire oo both the boys had pretty nearly sold out their stock of papers. Chippy had only two left; Dunno, five. As the elder boy always rtinently remarked: “Dunno, you don’t holler half loud ‘nuff; blow yer bugle louder’n thunder, Gabriel! that’s the way to git up and git!”’ A sudden rush of customers reduced the seven papers to three, “Let’s git our supper now,” Chippy remarked; “we can easily run these three off at the ferry.” And, as they had prospered that afternoon, they treated ees eg to ‘coffee and cakes,’’ and, as they discussed the luxuriant viands, Chippy read the death of the convict, “That’s a heap of money out of our pocket, ole man,” he said to Dunno, gravely. connecting lines from the grave of Gilbert Barlee to thice living hearts, and ter influence was Barlee, dead, to exercise than he had ever done while living. CHAPTER IL. A MYSTERIOUS WARNING, Tue junction of Avenue A and Fourteenth street e », shows a busy, bustling sight between the ours of five and six, as the wor pers ies to their homes in the great east-side hives, after their day’s toil is done. early all working people, or their relatives, is this grand array of promenaders, who hasten along, eager to reach their homes, during the late hours o: the afternoon; few persons of elegant leisure are there in the throng, and therefore the fact that on a certain afternoon, an el it private carriage, drawn by a pair of maguitioent horses, stan ng close in to the curbstone right at the corner o Loner street, attracted a great deal of atten- on. Such elegant turnouts were not common sights on the avenue; hence it was no wonder that the hard- handed sons and daughters of toil cast an admiring, and many of them an envious, glance, at the display of wealth. The coachman was a negro, as black as the ace of spades, and as fat as a prize ox, displaying, too, a pair of ‘mutton - chop ” side - w ers that an En- lish earl might have envied; the horses, a —_~ of et-blacks, easily worth a thousand dollars; the car- riage, Brewster’s best, and the harness an imported French one with gold moun which cost a sum sufficient to pay a poor man’s keep for a year. The passers-by, after feasting their eyes — this lavish display of wealth, generally peeped into the carriage with a natural curiosity to inspect the own- er. But one person occupied the vehicle—a woman, stately, beautiful and superbly dressed, and from the — of the mage ~ a ta come enna upon the passers-by, eviden eren! e ai tention she excited. Plainly she waited for some one. The coachman, too, was on the alert and carefully scanned the _— ng throng. Suddenly there was a twinkle in his big eyes as he caught sight of a tall, slender feraale form coming slowly along up the street. She was dressed plainly, evidently a member of the working class; no orna- ments—no aids to enhance her - nce, and yet with that wondrous charm about her which had in his mind’s eye when he wrote of beauty unadorned. Full of c¢ power were the glances of her violet and re was a singular sweetness in the — smile which often played about her rich, red ps. @ coac the moment he caught sight of the girl, rap) on the front window of the carriage to attract his mistress’s attention, but the warning was useless, for the ick Sy of the lady within the vehicle had caught sight of the girl almost as soon as the are “Oh, she is beautiful!’ the woman cried, ‘ but she shall not triumph over me were she as fair as an angel fresh from heaven!” F F The girl came on, unconscious of the interest which she was exciting, and as she was close to the = of the curb it was plain that she would pass within arm-length of the carriage. With her eyes bent upon the ground, evidently deep in fought, it was ciear that the girl would pass by the age without noticing it, but when she came within a yard of the window, the woman within dropped the sash and called to her. “Miss Cummerton, can I speak a word with you, please?” the lady said. : The sonpee short in astonishment at being thus Ae perfect stranger, and looked in amazement at superb woman and her elegant surro’ g : ** Come closer,” commanded the lady. imperiously, “so that I can converse with you without being overheard by these gaping idiots.” By this gentle expression the st r referred to the passing throng who were improving the oppor- tunity to feast their eyes upon the magnificent dfs; monds that ornamented her ears and throat. Obedierit to the request the girl came close to the window. “You are Adalia Cummerton?” “Yes, that is my name.” “T am a total stranger to you, and yet I am to do you a great service,” the woman continued. The girl looked the amazement she felt, but made no 72 y: **You are in great danger and I have come to warn you, so that you can escape the peril.” “T am very much obliged to you, indeed,” the girl answered, and as she spoke she fixed her clear, eyes searchingly upon the face of the other, as though she would read her very t¥pughts. ‘I was not aware that any danger threatened me.”’ “The blow that falls without warning falls not the less severely!” the lady said, quickly. ‘‘ You are young and pretty; a pretty face is sometimes a curse to a girl in your station of life.” A faint flush crept up into the cheeks of the girl; she did not like either the words or the manner the speaker; there was offense in both. “You are walking heedlessly on in a path which will lead to a hidden pitfall, and once at the bottom of the gulf, into which you must surely fall unless poe take warning from me, nothing waits for you but misery and black despair.”’ “You are talking in riddles,’ Adalia replied, speaking very quietly and yet evidently offended. “T do not understand you at all. The danger which i speak of must indeed be a hidden one, forI ave never aparen it.” “None so blind as those who will not see!” cried the lady, with a bitter laugh. ‘You have spoken exactly as I expected you would speak. Your eyes are dazzled; you are pretty—and that prettiness will be your ruin, for you think that this man can: not withstand your beauty, and will gladly ruisé you — his station, forgetting your poverty and obscure origin.”’ e flush in the cheeks of the girl deepened, and es her slight figure up indignantly tc its full- est hight, “T am utterly in the dark as to your meaning!” she exclaimed, “and your words are extremely offensive. You may be a friend and acting solely for my good, but I doubt it. 1 know of no such per- son as the man to whom you have just referred. “Girl, girl, why will you attempt to deceive me?” the lady cried, quickly. ‘I know everything, and I oe you solemnly that this man means you no good.” “What man? **Oh, you know well enough.” “Indeed I do not; his name?” “His name!’’ and the lady laughed, bitterly. ‘How can I tell which one he has given you when he has a, dozen and no one of them his true one?” The girl looked her earnestly in the. face; she began to doubt the sanity of the speaker. “Come, come; we will not p. y at cross-pur- s,’’ the lady continued, never heeding the {ook of the other. ‘“‘There is a man who boasts of his wealth and power paying court te you; never mind by what name he calls himself. He has turned ou} head with the picture of the luxury and the life o: ease which his hand can give you; he is not old nor yet young, but wonderfully fascinating in his man- ner; but he is a cheat in everything! Dazzled by the power which he knows so we]l how to use you will yield to him all your young life: there will be a few weeks of luxurious joy, and then, like magic. ail will melt away and you will wake to find yourself betrayed and abandoned.” With torrent-like rapidity the words had flowed from the lips of the woman, and the girl] had listen- ed in utter amazement. ae: “I know of no such man as you describe!” she ex- claimed in reply; ‘‘ you have been deceived,” The woman shook her head impatiently, “It is you who are deceived; but I have warned you; heed my words well or soon you will wale to Mand then suddenly’ fiftging up th nd then suddenly flinging up the window signaled to the coachman and drove off, leaving pe girla prey to utter amazement. Over the aristocratic Fifth avenue quarter the carriage rolled, and halted at last in front of a — brown-stone front mansion. e dusk of the evening had come, and the lady reine | to the steps did not notice that a tall and stalwart re was leaning upon one of the stone illars which ag the entrance, until she almost ouched him, the carriage, in the meantime, havin departed. A slight scream came from the lady's lips as she recognized the man. = —- a Is it ssible ‘ake Pane * Yes, alive,” he re ; “the ve h up the dead, or, a better illustrations perhaps: fire? second phenix I have arisen from my ashes, A morbid impulse drew me here to look once again upon the house within whose walls, Joes years ago, Ispent so many 2508 hours, d not expect to see you for I believed that the grave long since had buried your shame and sin, Like an unquiet ghost I have risen from my dark tomb and I stalk abroad for vengeance upon the man who wronged e. “ He is dead!” the woman almost shricked. “Oh, no, he is not; he lives, but under some other name; but I’ll hunt bim out from behind his screer: of lies, and cores . a even -. in the old dead ;, he struck me; you are benea' a pity and despise!” : es 2 And then the man walked proudly away, CHAPTER II, | THE POLICE spy, Cuerry street at twelve o’ the night, a spot, only a few blocks from New Chanter wees and about as bad a locality as can be found in all of “hors York. i nder the lamp-post at the corner stood two men ithe fight was quiet; the déhnbis e night was quiet, the d -shops were closing, and even the sailor dance hotses — ——_-<_=- .
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LL a Stagle lamp, projected over a doorway, and upon it was written: THE TRAVELER'S REST. LODGINGS 10 CENTS. To the sign of the lodging-house one of the men at the corner called the attention of the other. ““That’s the place,” he said. The speaker was a well-built man, with a hearty, determined-looking face, dressed quite plainly, but bearing a certain nirof authority about him like one used to com- manJ; little wonder that this should be, for the in- dividual in question was no other than the working head of the Police Department of New York, Super- intendent Walling. “The Traveler's Rest,’’ observed his companion, reading the inscription upon the transparency. A great contrast to the plainly-attired police cap- tain was the speaker. In person he was aman of muscular build, broad- shouldered, and massive-faced, smoothly shaven, and witha sad, careworn look upon his features when in repose, but he had one of those mobile faces so necessary to the successful stage-artist, capable of assuming a dozen different expressions almost in amoment, Hewas attired inthe hight of fashion and looked more like a man who had dressed himself to pay a ceremonious visit than like one about to plunge nto the dangerous mazes of Cherry street. “*The Traveler’s Rest,’”? quoth the superintend- ent. ‘Aha! I pity the traveler with a five-dollar note on his person who should attempt to rest there Se rem “es night. I'm afraid that he would never live to tell about it.” ‘*T have heard of the place.” : ss: iP the river,” said the police superintendent, signi cantly. ‘ Yes. ” “ And what did they say of it?’ ** One of the worst dens in all New York.” “ That’s ahr rete f word, and, old fellow, I think that you would incur less danger in going into a den of hungry lions than in attempting to discover the secrets of that shebang.”’ “Thave made a compact and must abide by it,” the other returned, slowly, “Yes, so I have been informed, but when I was in- structed to give you all the aid and informaticn in my power, you were the last man that I expected to see,” “You thought me buried for life, eh?” 4 woe Inever expected tosee you again in the siesh.”” Reg offered me a chance for freedom and I ac- cepted. ‘You'll meet your death!’ Walling exclaimed, in warning. ‘When these fellows discover what you are after, they'll kill you with as little mercy as they woukl give to a rat.”’ **T can but die. Iaccepted all the risks when I took ae with the offer.” “But you don’t believe that this idea that the Gov- | but seldom y | sailor, too full of the ernor has got into his head really has any founda- | tion in fact, do you?” “T do. ‘shat there is a of the kind in existence?” “T firmly believe that there is; I have heard quite enough up the river to convince me that it is no vis- ionary dream, and if I live I will prove to you and all the world that I am right.” * Well, [have been connected with the police force ion good many years and I never got upon its rack.” ~ Because a master mind is at the head; the com- mon fellows are but tools used by a skillful hand; they cannot betray their master, for they have noth- ing definite to go upon. They know if they do cer- tain things which are orde they are well paid if successful, if they fail and are captured, a pow- | conspicuous among whic be: erful arm interposes to protect them. Count upon | your fingers the names of the men upon the ‘ cross’ who within the last ten years have committed crimes and yet have succeeded in some mysterious way, in as oe! all punishment.” “Count upon my fingers!” cried the chief; “I rather think that my fingers would all be used up be- i had got half-way through.” e this puadeeded but many-armed monster, whom it is my mission to destroy. If I succeed, then I will enter upon my own task of —— vengeance,” and she eyes of the speaker flashed with unnatural fire as he spoke. **Old fellow, you have suffered aeotios” the chief exclaime |, touched by the manner of the other more than by his words. “Oh, have I not? and will not my foe sutfer when it comes his turn?” . “If you escape this venture?”’ Walling added, sig- nificantly. “T shall escape—although I may meet death face to face a hundred times, and even feel the ne ye influence of his icy breath, yet like the fabled bir whose name I have taken, I shall rise from my ashes like Anteeus of old from the earth, invigorated and refreshed.” , “Well, Pll get out; if I remain longer it may at- tract attention. Good-by, old fellow, and good luck be you, for you are going right down into the jaws of death!” oe may threaten, but they shall not ingulf me!’ The superintendent with a hearty pressure of the hand hurried away, while the meet oe walked slow- ly up the street toward the lodging-house. But the brief conversation between the two had not escaped notice. Across the street, some ten or twelve houses from the corner, two men were seated upon the stone step of arecessed doorway; they were in the shade and 580 completely hidden trom’ observation that from across the street the keenest eye could not have de- tected them. These two men were roughs, every inch of thém; one tall and thin, but muscular, and when he spoke, the “brogue”’ told plainly that the land of St. Pat- rick claimed him for a son—a most unworthy one, ‘tis true. Well known was he tothe police under the title of Red Dan. His Fight name was Daniel Mac- Ghee, but from his red hair and whiskers, he was far better known by his nickname, His companion was a short, thickset fellow, with & neck likea bull—a foreigner, also—a Lo who had left his couutry for his country’s } J oe Phenix, ood. Taylor Bud he was called; “ Buddy ” his nm companions termed him. - Red Dan and an were constant companions; they always ‘‘ worked ” in concert, and their special line was bank-robbing. From their post of observation the pair had watched the interview between the police-chief and the handsomely-dressed stranger who, with his in his hand, had come into the thieves’ quarters upon a dangerous mission. “That's his companion had watched the two conversing by the lamp-post for a few minutes, ‘‘Bad scran to him!’ the Irishman exclaimed; “phat does the likes of him want here?”’ ‘Some of the boys ‘ wanted,’ maybe,” remarked the other, significantly. “The murtherin’ blaggard! I'd like to be afther ivin’ him a nate crack wid a shtick, foreninst the orefront of his nose! he’s afther, do you think?” “‘T guess that we ain’t wanted for anything just | now; but who’s the other one?” Bad cess to me if I know!” **A cop (policeman) in plain clothes?” ‘* Maybe it is,” “We'll keep our eyes upon him,” **Faix! we'll do that same!” And so the two watched until the police superin- tendent hurried away and the other walked up the street and entered the thieves’ den. “Do you mind that?” Red Dan cried, as the tall figure of the stranger disappeared in the opening under the transparency. “If he’s after one of the boys and e to take him out of there single-handed, he’s either crazy or else tired of living,” Bud observed; ‘‘ but let’s go over and see the fun. I ain’t had a crack at a cop for some time.’’ And without more words the two hurried across the street. CHAPTER Iv. THE THIEVES’ DEN. Tue house of the Traveler’s Rest was a 9 rc old- fashioned, two-storied-and-attic brick building, dat- alling!” exclaimed Bud, after he and | Is it aither wan of us that’s | | | ee 3 “I have been directed to you by a good friend of bs oe the man continued. “Iam on the ‘cross,’ and the police are after me. I want to get out or these showy pemneas and get into some disguise by means Of which I shall be able to arene rom the city. Iam willing to pay liberally for aid.” “T know notting ‘bout you, and I vill do notting life | to Ret me into drouble mit the police,” the woman replied, who spoke with a strong German accent, despite the fact that she called herself Marte Herri- son and claimed to be of France; but, like Frenek Louis, she was eS ae one of the frontier provinces, and as much German as French, ‘* T will pay liberally for assistance.” “T know notting—I keeps mit me an honest house —beds for the night ten cents, but not for great gentlemans like you.” “Don't I tell you that I’m on the ‘cross '?" the stranger repea impatiently. “T know not vat you mean,” “Do you want meto give you the sign?” “Hey! vat you mean by de sign?” the lan cried, raising her voice so as to attract the attention of the two men at the table. “See!” and the man made a rapid, peculiar mo- tion with his left hand, twisting the fingers together in an odd way, and then, turning suddenly, he faced, the two players who were s the scene, evidently ill at ease. “I say, boys, she wants to go back on an old pal in trouble; is that the thing?’’ and then to them he repeated the sign. Their faces cleared instantly; they recognized eT Oh, it's. all right Madame, I ’ sd it’s 8, ess,” nch Louis said; “the entleman is one oom: there’s ne dpee in putting him through.” iy “‘Oh, no, no danger!’ the second man exclaimed. “Yes, boys, I’ve just come from ‘up the river,’ and I reckon that the cops will make New Yor! pretty hot for me for the next week or two, and I’ve got to keep shady. ese togs have carried me retty well so far, but I feel pretty sure that a po- ce spy spotted me on Broadway about half an hour ago. Iwas foolish enough to walk into Cun- ninghame’s place on Broadway. I had a fifty-spot ing back probably to the time when the worthy and | that was burning a hole right through my pocket, solid Dutch burghers ruled in New Amsterdam, when Bowling Green was the center of the city, the Bowery a country lane, and Cherry street the abode of substantial middle-class citizens. By the side of the entrance two benches exten where in the old time the solid Dutchmen were won to smoke their pipes when the toils of the day were over, but in the degenerate times whereof we write, whenever the benches had an occupant, which was it generally consisted of some drunken trated torelilight proc whisky—to navigate with safety. The stranger, opening the door and walking boldly in, found himself at once in the low saloon, for en- " there was none. twas a good-sized apartment, about thirty by forty feet; a bar stood in one corner, behind whic was the usual cheerful ee of bottles and ap a a large g the terse reminder, *‘ No trust.” There were three or four rough tables scattered about the room, near which were benches; no chairs, and for a very excellent reason: the guests of the house were in the habit once in a while of ind in the tallest kind of a fight, and when these little affairs occurred, chairs were so as handy as weapons that they were usually the first things re- sorted to, much to their material damage, and so it was that the chairs were done away with and the heavy benches substituted. — one of the tables two men were seated, busy at cards. One was a little, undersized fellow, with a round bullet head and evil eyes. Neddy Tie, or Neddy the Peddler, as he was better known to the his habit of occasionally donning a dler’s pack and taking excursions through the country, thereby | gaining an entrance to the houses of the rural gentry true; do not doubt then in the existence of | | was generall through the medium of the servants and so ascer- | taining the amount of plunder that could be got at. The other man was a tall, middle- ble-looking foreigner. One used to judging of na- tionalities would have guessed him to be a man, and the guess would not have been far from the truth, for the fellow was a native of a Franco-German; Louis Gironde, he called hia : “French Louis,” the detectives termed him, as as his acquaintances rene the — a a dangerous man; one of those expert rogues who from the vigilant — system of the Old Work and in this new land thrive amazingly. ; ses as ~ a a Mtoe —_ seated, — ‘due aged ng; a strong, coarse-loo Sonat with a stony face, the projecting cheek- bones h, the yellow skin over them resembling parchment. Few frequenters of the dens “ along shore ” but were well ns with the ‘‘Madame,” as she rmed; and few of the d radoes common to the locality cared to trouble the mistress of the Traveler’s Rest, no matter how wild their blood or how ttheir disposition for a row, for she possessed the strength of a lion and the temper of a fiend; carried a long, sharp knife within the folds of her dress, and was reported to ry ben read use it to carve a fellow-mortal as to cut bread an cheese. 4 And as the stranger entered within the walls of the Traveler’s Rest, she sat stolid asa statue, the click of the needles alone betraying sounds of life, ust as her com on furies, the —_ of the French volution, to sit by the side of the guillotine, with their knittng in their hands, ana watch the shedding of the innocent blood of the victims of that “reign of terror.” The stranger walked directly up to the bar. Great was the surprise excited by his appearance; the two men “_—, d their and areth and the stolid face of the Madame even a oe ed into a look of astonishment as she beheld this butterfly stranger, arrayed as for a Fifth avenue evening call. The new-comer leaned his arms upon the counter, e woman who and bending over it, said, softly, to had risen to receive him: ** Madame, I want shelter, protection and aid.” * Eh" exclaimed the keener of the thieves’ den. , Trespecta- | | | lice, from | | | ch- | | and I thought that I might as well lose it, or make it into a couple of hundred. But no sooner had I got into the room than I saw that I was spotted, so got out in as soon as poets, but my gentle- man wouldn’t have it, and he followed me # omme ly as a terrier after a rat. I saw that he was deter- mined to hunt me down, and as I wasn’t anxious tu ‘0 back to Sing Sing, I made a bold strike for this ocality. Iwas never here. before, but some of the boys up the river put me up to the trick, and ~ uid lightning—the concen- found it easily enough. So now, Madame, if you'll on known as Cherry street do phe ht thing | and stan for me, I'll Rog up handsomesy, a bottle of wine for the party, besides.” “Aha! Isee mit one eye dat you are true blue,” the woman said. ‘‘Come mit me, my tear, and } vill take good care mit hae Neddy, mind de blace b>: Ben ed mit me back; den you can carry down e vine,” The Madame lighted a candle and led the way aown & narrow staircase to the lower regions. The stran- er followed closely behind her, while French rought up the rear. The cellar was damp and with nolsome vapors, the woodwork dissolved and rotten. its center the woman paused. ‘* Vait here a moment till I fix de door.” Then she hurried to the wall, bled about ita — moment, and then— The very earth seemed to open under the feet of the stranger—diown—down he went through a circu- lar space at least six feet in diameter, and then from the awful came up a sullen moan, Freuch Louis, standing upon the very verge of the frightful spot, started back in affright. “A spy—a police spy!” cried the woman, in hor- rid glee, flashing her candle down into the cavity; “but he is safe now at de bottom of de well in ten feet of w: ; he drouble no one no more; see!”’ wo thrust a rude scrawl] into Louis’s hand, and by the light of the candle he perused it, — ** A police will come ht—he will the nx must die—tall, Nwellireheet otras inet ng. Aly SHARK.” CHAPTER V. THE BOHEMIANS, ¢ DARKNESS was f: rapidly upon the busy streets of the great metro 4 C The sons and daughters of toil were hurrying home from their daily avocations, and all the central ave- nues on the east side of town were filled with people. Fy 0 were beginning to gleam in the dows, and the long lines of tenement-houses to wear their usual nightly appearance, Up the narrow stairs of adark and dingy tene- ment-house on avenue A a man was climbing. No common man was this; no hard-han son of toil a hundred like him to be encountered on every block in the crowded avenue, but a fellow so unlike the common run of men, that even in acrowd he would have excited imm: e attention. T. well-formed; short-cut yellow hair; a long, eke sed mustache and poe chin-piece; a handsome face, wherein shone keen, gray-blue eyes, odd and | peculiar in their light; the face, massive and full of resolution; plainly—carelessly, in a well-worn suit of dark stuff, with a high-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hat tilted back on his head; a close observer of city life and of city men would have no difficulty at all in guessing at what manner of man he was, although he lacked the long flowing locks common to the species~-‘* Bohemian,” -Ason of Bohemia—not the Bohe far acros: the stormy seas in the German land, but the Bohe mia of the crowded metropolis—the mystic land from whence the sons and daughters of genius Spr ing. ey + ' The Bohemia of the actor, the artist, the writer, the musician; in fine, of nearly all that vast class Wn the olden dage the rorag bande of lps n the olden days the ro oO were termed Bohemians, and as they were fortune-tellers, conjurers, dancers or players, who gained a ate by amusing the idle hours of the gg A honest, , ing world, when in time the stage, the opera, the press supplanted these wanderers, the new-comers, ehildren of genius, who gained their bread by the
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nn a PR 4 aid of their wits instead of by manual labor, succeed- ed to the name, and thus it is that Bohemia flourishes to-day in the midst of all our large cities. So, when we He of a man as being “ta Bohemi- an,” we mean that he is a talented, clever fellow—a genius whose business it is to astonish the sober world at large, and who—ten chances to one—will some day die a miserable death and fill a pauper’s grave. Reginald Percy this good-looking fellow terms him- self, and he occupies a small room on the fifth floor of the old tenement-house, There were some twelve families in the house, two on each floor, and though each set of rooms only comprised four apartments, yet two or three of the families managed to get along with a couple of rooms, = so either to let furuished apartments, or to take rders. The poor huddle together like sheep in this great, overgrown city of New York. Just one month had Percy been an inmate of the house, and he had briefly said upon taking posses- sion of his quarters, alittle bedroom in the rear on the fifth floor, that his name was Reginald Percy, and that he was a writer by profession. The landlady, a hard-faced, sour-looking woman, known as Mrs. Charlotte Durpoint, dressmaker, who contrived to get along with two rooms and rent- ed the others with board, was not much given to gossip and, although some of the tenants of the ouse had noticed the man so striking in his appear- ance, and commented upon it, yet who he was was not generally known. There is very little possip among the toiling deni- zens of the hives of the t city, strange to say. Possibly the constant st e with the gaunt monster, cruel Want, checks the exchange of confi dences, for it isa fact that a fa may live for ears in a tenement-house, occupied by fifteen or hints families, and yet not know a single soul with- in 3 building besides the janitor who takes charge of it. onan unlocked the door of his apartment and en- Striking a match he lit a small coal-oil lamp which was upon the table. Hardly had he performed this operation when there was a low tap upon the door, In some surprise, for hé was never troubled with visitors, Perc 4 oi the door, revealing the person of his lan y, Mrs. Durpoint. “T want to speak a few words with you,” the lady said, briefly. As we have informed the reader, in person she was stern and forbidding, a woman above the medium hight, coarse featured, angularly built, with a very masculine re Lapeer It was quite evident that her battle with the world ped oe a hard one and that she had suffered in t. boty withdrew a = or two, so that the landlady could enter, which she immediately did, cloeing the door carefully behind her. “You had better sit down, as what I want tosay may occupy some time,”’ Mrs. Durpoint said, in her harsh, vinegar-toned voice, at the same time helping herself to a chair. . Percy looked astonished, but he only nodded his nead and sat down upon the side of the bed; the apartment only boasted a single chair. “I’m a woman of the world,” Mrs. Durpoint be- “T’ve seen a good deal of life, and I generally minds my own business.” Percy nodded, as much as to say that he aceepted this statement without question. “T don’t interfere with my neighbors much, I don’t,” she continued, “but I’m no fool, and I guess I can see what’s afore my eyes as well as most folks. Mr. Percy, you’re jest a-wasting your time, and you a aati Sst, wt ‘as me?” he observed, slowly, a pecu- liar look in his heeds eyes, out of the corners of which he was intently Dg ie the woman. **Of course you don’t know what I mean—am ut- terly and all that sort of thing!’’ she ex- claimed, with an indignant snort. ‘I see I’ve got to speak right rpm for I, for one, don’t believe in ut the bush. When you came here and wanted to take this room and board with me you said your name was Percy, and that you wrote for the newspapers, and I never cont cted _ al- though I knew jest as well who you were—for T’ve seen you afore—as if you were my own brother.” The man did not manifest any astonishment at this declaration; there was no change perceptible in his features except that a few es appeared on his forehead. “You said your name was Percy and you paid in advance; that was all right; that satisfied me; I knew that you war up to something, but it war none of my business I thought; but now that I find out what your game is, I see that I might as well take a hand, too, for without me you'll never be able to do ” % any ven said the man, in the most non-committal manner possible. 7 True as true can be!” exclaimed the woman, de- cidedly, ‘You want this girl, Adalia Cummerton, pee you be Ps ve any more chance of getting her n you do e moon. we Tndeed!” and Percy’s haughty lip curled just a “Why aman like you should want to waste your time on a shallow-faced chit, or take such trouble about a. girl not much better than a street beggar, is @ wonder; but you know your own business, of course, and that matter is nothing to me; but you won't succeed; there’s another man in the way. aay | ave close attention now. flock; the got acquainted with him when she used to pet my meat, as she does sometimes now. Imet them out walking last Sunday night. Until he’s out of the way, you won't get the girl and even if you succeed in a that matter, doubt if you will ever get her. But if pa say the word, and agree to pay me my price, I'll give her to ul. ” Percy laughed—a light hollow laugh with very lit- tle merriment in it. “Are you ne ee me more than you can rform?’’ he ed. “Of course I don’t mean by fair means,” she an- swered, tartly. “ Openly x honestly she'll never er boy—keeps in the market on the next Joo Ph -niz. be'yours. Ihad a talk with her eeey; and I jest sounded her about the matter. I told her that I guessed that you and she would make a match, but she turned as white as death and shuddered at the very thought. Mind you, the bare idea frightened the girl. ‘Oh, no!’ she cried, ‘I shall never marry any —there is a grave between me and the love of any honest man!” and she meant it, too; but I iess the butcher boy would be able to make her nk differently. But there’s some mystery about her past life; she’s as dumb as an oyster about it. You jest think over what I’ve said; a few hundred dollars is nothing to you,” and the woman rose to go. “Ill fix the job for you, for there’s somethi about the girl that makes me hate her, although can’t tell what it is.”’ And then Mrs. Durpoint departed, leaving the man to meditate on the offer. \ CHAPTER VI. BENEATH THE EARTH. Never was there a man more thoroughly taken by surprise than the handsomely - dressed stranger when the concealed trap opened beneath his feet and he was precipitated into the awful below. And the moment he passed through the trap, the parted sides again sprung back into their places. It was a cunningly-devi piece of machinery, and when the surface of the trap was covered with a few inches of earth, as. it had been upon the entrance of the stranger into the cellar, no instinct of mortal man could have detected the dangerous contrivance. Twelve feet at least he fell, but the shock of the fall was broken by the soft nature of the ground be- neath, and, although well shaken up by the fall, the man received no material damage. Sudden-as had been the descent, yet, almost in- voluntarily, the victim had braced himself to meet the shock, Thoughts come quickly in such moments of peril and during the time of the descent the man ha a as to the nature of the fate that awaited m, ‘An old well undoubtedly,’ his thoughts ran, “and with water enough to drown me like a help- less rat; no chance of escape, no hope of rescue, even if I can succeed in clinging to the stones of the sides and so for a time evade a watery death. The police will come--they will search the old rookery when Iam missed, but the odds are a hundred to one that they will not discover the trap in the cellar; and if they do, the chances are that, long before that time, I shall be past all mortal help, for even if I can succeed in to the stones of the wall, strength must fail at last, and it will be hours, per- — ays, before I may expect a these speculations with lightning-like rapidity through the brain of the entrapped man; but the water idea was proven to be but a guess the moment terra firma was reached. The bottom consisted of soft, sticky mud. The violence of the shock brought the man to his knees, and being severely shaken up by the concussion, he remained for a few moments motionless, and then to his ears came the sounds of the assassins above, replacing the earth over the trap, thus again con- cealing the frightful contrivance, Man of iron nerve as was the police spy, he shiv- ered when to his ears came the sounds of the clods of earth falling upon the surface of the trap. So might a man buried alive and struggling within the close confines of his narrow coffin, suddenly re- vived to consciousness, hear the shovelfuls of earth syn Mee dull thud upon his wooden teat ame To buried alive! A fearful con op t—more ter- rible perhaps to this man, alive, well, in full posses- sion of all his facul‘ies, every limb unfettere , than to the helpless tenant of the undertaker’s’coffin. He, so well prepared to st. le for life, muscular, cun- ning in all the tricks of the wrestler’s and boxer’s art,a match for a half-score of ordinary men, to perish in this her pee way, conquered by a foe who enews denied him the chance to exert the strength and skill he possessed to such a wondrous degree. The sounds above soon ceased, the silence of the tomb ensued, and the police spy realized that his a foes had abandoned him to his misera- e fate. What earthly chance had he to escape? Herose to his feet. He did not despair, this man of iron nerve, for hard fortune and he had shaken hands daily for many a long year. Amply provided was he for all emergencies; fully armed, a small self-cocking revolver in each side- pocket, a third thrust into the inside pocket of his vest, and a six-inch bowie-knife, keen as a razor, snug in a leathern sheath at his side, handy to his right hand, an open attack would have been boldly met; and, in addition to his weapons, he carried in - coat-pocket asmall but powerful ull’s-eye lan- rm. —t a match, he lit the lantern and proceeded to e a survey of the prison-house into which he had been so unceremoniously introduced. As he had surmised, it was an old well, about five feet in diameter, the walls com of rough stones, but they were carefully laid and the entire ace was so smooth that the prisoner perceived at a glance that it would be a hopeless task to at- tempt to scale them, even if there was any chance of forcing open the Dear: trap-door above, The disappearance of the water from the well was easily accounted for. Right opposite to each other were two openings in the walls, each one about four feet high by three feet broad. The police spy at once guessed the riddle. “Some subterranean stream has forced in the one wall of the well and then forced out the other in its passage to the river,” he muttered, ‘Fate does not always aid these vile wretches,” he continued. “It is evident that they do not know of the existence of this underground een an ee op has cut directly through the well. ey believed, when they sprung the and hurled me into this pit, that t ey con- demned me toa lingering but certain death; but as the water has evidently found its wae, to the river, there is no reason why I should not be able to do likewise. They have played the first trump, but one trick is not the game. There was menace in the tone of the speaker, and if the cunning, but desperate, outlaws in the dingy saloon above had overheard the words, perhaps their te a ee ee ests in regard to the easy manner in which they ad disposed of a dangerous intruder, would not have appeared so funny. ““Now, which way shall I turn? murmured the spy, flashing the light of the lantern alternately at the two openings in the wall of the well. ‘Which way leads tothe river? If the stream was still flow- ings could — determine.”’ e stooped down to see if there was any water trickling through the mud in which he stood, and as he flashed the light of the lantern downward the brignt rays fell upon something white and ghastly; Wwisets caused even the stern-nerved police spy te start. te The bones of a murdered man were before him, within arm’s length—murdered he was certain, for the handle of a knife protruded from the mud in which the remains were partially imbedded. The clothes of the victim had long since rotted away and ae ge the rats and other vermin of the underground passzge had feasted full upon tho flesh, and naught but the white and polished bones remained, It was plain that the man—the discoverer assumed that it was a man—had been stabbed in the den above and then hurled into the old well, the mur- derers never even taking the trouble to remove the knife with which the deed had been done, but had left it sticking in the body. “Heaven pre me strength and ability to bring these wretches to justice!’ he cried, in stern ac- cents, “I was buried within this old well that I might be forever silenced, for it is plain that in some mysterious way my errand was suspected and my death decreed; but fate wills that I shall not on- ly escape but bear with me the story of this hidden crime, which else might never have seen the light, If I could discover who the victim was, perhaps I might be able to bring the deed home to the perpe- trators.” Then, acting on this thought, he bent over, and by the aid of the brilliant light of the lantern closely examined the ghastly remains. The ways of fate are sometimes marvelously strange, and often the merest chance leads to the detection of the most skillfully concealed crime. Murder will out, they say, and, in truth, the old adses sometimes is wonderfully correct. A little heap of earth resting against one of the rib bones attracted the keen eyes of the Spy; It looked to him as if something was hidden un- derneath, Z In a second he proved that his suspicion was cor- rect, Inside of the heap was a small package about eight inches long by four wide, and about an inch thick. Carefully removing the thick ——s of mud which besmeared the package, the spy discovered to his intense satisfaction that the article was a large Russia-leather pocket-book, securely wrapped in a long piece of cloth. ‘““A clew! a clew!” he cried, in glee, ‘Heaven for the moment allowcd these villains seemingly to triumph, only that, in the end, their crimes should be discovered, and they, the guilty ones, brought to justice!” CHAPTER VII. THE LEGACY OF DEATH. Wirn a nervous hand the bloodhound of the law unrolled the wrapper which had protected the book from the ravages of the water so well, and opened it. It contained only a single article; just a common sheet of note-paper, folded lengthwise. The spy opened it; the sheet was filled with close- ly-written characters traced in pencil, but, thanks to the care with which the et-book had been prepared, the writing was still quite legible notwith- standing the exposure it had undergone, It was indorsed at the head as follows: “Tae STATEMENT OF Mivron BuLucastor.” “Oho!” cried the spy, as he read the bold and firmly written line; ‘‘I remember him, or, at least, the name is familiar tome. Let me think—who was he?” For a moment he puzzled over the question, and then all of a sudden the remembrance flashed upon him. “T have it now!” he exclaimed. ‘ Milton Bullcas- tor, lawyer, of the firm of Bullcastor and Bullcastor, their office on lower Broadway; father and son; Milton was the father; he disappeared about a year ago, and when his affairs came to be examined, it was discovered that he had sppropesean to his own use about eighty or ninety thousand do trust funds committed to his care by his clients. He had speculated in stocks, lost larg’ y and Sones ae he was on the verge of discovery, he helped himself to all the funds he could lay hold of and disappeared, supposed to have escaped to Brazil. These are his bones, I presume. He found a grave in this hole, while all “he world euppoued that he was enjoying his ill-gotten gains in far-off Brazil. And his money —the money Of which he robbed his trusting clients —who got that? The villains who murdered him? Yes, no doubt of it!” The police spy again resumed the perusal of the er; Per As I am apprehensive that I shall never quit this house alive,” the writing ran, ‘I am desirous to leave behind me some clew to my fate, in the hopes that ‘t may fall into the hands of some one who will convey it to the r authorities in or- der that the vile sccundrels, into whose clutches I have been betrayed, and who I am sure intend to make way with me in order to possess themselves of the valuables which by some means, I am cer- tain, they know I possess, shall be brought to jus-\ tice. I have been a weak and guilty_man, and now, with death staring me in the face, I earnestly ask pardon of the por souls whom I have wronged and Veggared, and IJ fully realize that the way of the transgressor is hard. My affairs have been in- volved for some time, and finding that it would be impossible to stave off the exposure of my guilt in using my clients’ money as if it had been my own I resolved to take what I could and fly, hoping tha in a foreign land fortune might favor me so that I would be able to pay back the money I had taken, A single man kmew my secret, Reginald Percy, a Wall street broker, with whom T had dealings. In some mysterious way he either knew, or suspect- ry
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— P ce Phenix. ed, \ was using my clients’ money, and openly told me so. From him I received the first intimation thes suspicion had been excited in ard to my- self, and that I had better get toge her what I couid and fly. He gave me directions how to find this place, where I now am, a password, ‘In a friend of Captain Shark, and need assist- ance,’ and told me that the people here would pro- cure me a disguise and in time sm gle me out of the country; but I am convinced that this man, Percy, has betrayed me, and that I am in aden of murderers who only await a favorable moment to pus the knife to my throat. Ihave, concealed in a money-belt around my waist, the sum of about ten thousand dollars in Bank of England notes—forty fifty-pound notes. Intending to go to California ant Ghent to China I papi the English notes, thinking that they would not draw suspicion to me as would the free use of our own money, as I in- tended to pees myself off as an Englishman, The numbers of the notes are ’’—and_ here followed the numbers of the entire forty. ‘I was cordially re- ceived here; told that I must conceal myself for a time, and was then conducted to a small room, the window of which was barred by aheavy shutter; the door has been kept constantly locked, a measure of precaution only to keep out the police, they say, but much I fear it is more to keep mein, Iam sorely afraid to taste a morsel of food for fear of poison. ‘The names of two of the fellowsI have learned, Louis Gironde and Anatole Lucca, and if Iam mur- dered these two men will probably be the doers of the deed, I will place this paper in my pocket-book, wrap the book up well in strips of cloth, so as to reserve it, and secrete it in the ine of my coat, amin that time will bring it to light and that it may fall into the hands of some one willing and able to bring these wretches to justice. ** (Signed) Miron Buiicastor.”’ Carefully the police spy perused the paper, and a gleam of joy illuminated his stern face. “ Aha, {iave them safe enough if I can only suc- ceed in escaping from this hole!” he exclaimed. “This Percy—he is évidently the chief of the gang. This guilty fugitive predicted his fate only too cor- rectly. The fifty-pound notes should be easily traced. Tt would be a rare stroke of luck if at the first at- tempt I should succeed in bringing these daring and bloody-handed villains to justice. But, what course had I better pursue? Let me think!” For a moment the spy meditated over the matter. ‘*T will replace the pocket-book, leave every thing ay as they were when I discovered them, then have he police make a descent upon the place and ex- amine this pit. The knife, too, with which the deed was evidentiy done may lead to the discovery of the murderers.” Carefully then he replaced the paper in the pocket- book, wound the cloth around it, returned it to its original position and covered it with the sticky soil. “And now to escape from this den of horrors,” he muttered, casting a searching glance into the open, tuonel-like space at his right hand. f Hardly had he done so when a cry of amazement broke from his lips. : Afar off up the narrow tunnel was a gleam of light —a yellow star cutting the Egyptian-like darkness. Not a stationary light but one in motion, evidently eoming from a lantern borne by human hands, “it fs steadily adyancing,”’ the apy muttered. “TI must be cautious; more likely oes than friends. The chances are great that my presence here is not suspected, for the light of my lantern is directed against the wall,’’ but even as he spoke he shut off the light of the bull’s-eye and utter darkness again reigned. Sronching close to the wall, with his hand on one of his revolvers, he waited for the approach of the strangers. Nearer and nearer came the light; soon he could distinguish that the bearer of the lantern was not alone, but accompasie* by a single companion. The first thought of the police-spy was that the twain were a pair of thieves coming to complete their work, but when the new-comers came so hear that their words could be distinguished, he saw at once that he was in error, “Mon Dieu! Iam afraid that we shall never find our way out!” the man with the lantern exclaimed, * my Eee. on father; this passage must lead somewhere,’’ the other replied. The two then entered into the well and a cry of as- tonishment came from them as they beheld the tall Sere of the police-spy, now standing erect by the wi The new-comers were father and son, as their words indicated, Frenchmen evidently, dressed poorly, their clothes now covered with mud, but with honest faces. *. “Do not be alarmed,” the PY said: “‘I presume that you, like myself, have lost your way in the sewer, and are now trying to find your way out, With the appearance of the two men the true solution of the riddle as to the drainage of the old well had flashed instantly upon the mind of the spy. : a sewer had been run through it, and the thieves, ignorant of it, supposed when they threw their vic- teas down the well that there was no escape for them. “Yes, sir,” responded the old man, “my son and myself are very poor, and we eapposed that by de- scending into the sewer we might be able to pick up some valuable articles, but the sewers here are not like those of Paris. We lost our way, and for the last two hours we have been wandering vainly about endeavoring to find a way out.” “This way, 1 think, leads to the river,” the spy said, pointing to the other side of the well. “ By following it then we can get out?” “Tt is likely.’ And then to the ears of the speakers there came a strange, hollow sound. They gazed at each other in wonder, but the mys- tery was soon solved by the sudden rush of a large body of water into the well. 'f he tide was rising! GHAPTER VIII. MOMENTS OF PERIL, “Tam tide is rising!" A simple statement of a common thing, but to the plaak between wMaviuer, With houdug but @ single himself and eternity, navigating his frail craft on an uncertain, unknown sea, where sandy shoal and ragged rock lurked, hid beneath the wave, and the “blue pigeon,” the sailor's sounding-lead, was his only guide, the announcemen: of the sine: of the tide was a signal that he might hope for a fair pas- sage to the trackless, unfathomed ocean where his gallant sea-bird could spread her white wings in safety and fly with the speed of the wind over the bounding billows. But to the unfortunate adventurer on the mighty deep, whose craft lay with “broken bones,” her stanch timbers pierced by the cruel rock, the soul- less, senseless pirate of the waters, the stolid vam- pire crouching beneath old ocean’s smiling surface, the rising of the tide was like the reading of a death- sentence to adespairing criminal. And so to these three men, so st ely met in the hollow v.ult beneath the surface of the earth, _ sr. that the tide was rising was anything but easant, arn But is it possible?” asked the Frenchman. “Do you not feel the water about your feet?” the police spy questioned, in aie **Oh, mon Dieu!” exclaimed the old man, “ there is no doubt about it at all. I can plainly feel the water,” and then as he spoke he directed the light of the lantern toward the bottom of the vault and there, sure enough, the dark, snake-like current could plainly be seen, cold, remorseless, like some fabled monster, indifferent alike to human prayers, to human tears, or human threats. * But it may be a sudden discharge of water from the upper sewer!’ the son cried, vainly striving to hope against hope. “That riddle is easily solved,”’ the police spy ob- served, and, stooping, he dipped his finger in the black sullen stream, then applied the tip of his tongue to the drops which clung to his hand. ‘* Well, well!” cried the old man, in breathless eagerness. “Tt is salt!” “ At least we can return dhe same way we came,” suggested the yo man; “by retreating from the , e and gaining her ground we can escape the anger.” ‘* We are very near the end of the sewer,” the sp remarked. “It cannot be over a thousand pri this spot to the dock where it empties into the river,” “Let us push on at once!” cried the French- man, eagerly, ‘‘push on before the tide rises high enough to obstruct our passage, We must not re- turn; we have been wandering, lost in these fright- ful underground ron for nearly ae our hours. If we go back we may not be ableto find our way again to this spot, from which, ap ntly, there is a chance of finding an outlet, an we lose our way again we may all die of starvation.” ““We surely would be able to find a culvert,”’ the spy suggested; “‘there is ene at every corner, and, by crying out for assistance, our voices would reach some one in the street above, then by means of the man-holes and the aid of a rope we could reach the outer air again.” “Oh, no, no!” the old man cried, decidedly, “that omg is hopeless. We have already tried it, not once ut a dozen times. The culvert is so far above our heads and the tunnel-like vault so drowns our voices that itis impossible to make ourselves heard by the passers-by.” “The streets are almost deserted, too, now,” the spy mused, half to himself, “and will be for the next twelve hours.” “Our lantern will be out i before that time,” the old man_ observed; “already it is nning vo burn dim. We had no idea that we should be com- poled to remain below the surface so long. We en- ered the sewer in Avenue B, near where we live, early this morning when hardly a soul was stirring. We arranged with a friend of ours to let us down by means of a knotted rope through the man-hole at the corner, and he was to help us up at the same ime twenty-four hours later, and we promised him a share of what valuables we succeeded in 4 We went at once through the cross-street sewer Fifth avenue and then down adway, that we would be able to find rich pickings. “And did BS yh the sp, astonished that any one should devise such a way of keeping the wolf from the door, being ignorant that in the great city of Paris it is a common thing to “ work” the sewers, the vast subterranean streets which honey- comb the gay Parisian capital being the favori fe nace unds of the rat-catchers, as well as the place of business of the seekers after valuables, the ‘chiffoniers” of the drains, and a right lucrative trade it is, too, But, as the old man had observed, the sewers of the great city of the Western world, the home of jobbery and corruption, debt-corroded New York spe the worst governed city that the world ever seen, were not at all like the cent underground ways of the superb-built French capi- The twain glanced at each other at the abruptly- put question; it was plain that, with the natural eaution of their race, they hesitated to intrust to a eee the bev Ne pal ee e spy noticed the glances and a faint smile il- luminated his stern face. “Pardon the blunt question, gentlemen,” he said, quietly, and with the melancholy air that was so common to him. “I did not intend to pry into your business, although the curiosity was but ural to ascertain if men who periled their lives as you have by this enterprise, would profit enough by it to pay hem for the risk,” “But you entered the sewer on the same errand, did _ not, sir?” asked the old man, inquisitively, “although, sir, from your dress, one de: | i e that you were far removed from the state of a lute want which drove us to the attempt; but, sir, we had no idea of the horrible condition of these sewers, and never dreamed that we should lose our way in them.” “My presence here is an accident; I did not come of my own free will, but was assaulted and pitched down what my murderers im ed to be an old well, and which evidently they had no idea had been drained by the sewer penis. through it. But, sirs, we are losing time, and time and the tide wait for no man; the water is rising steadily. Can you both swim?” 5 “Oh, yes!” both father and son answered in chorus. “Let us push forward then; in this harbor the water rises about six feet; one foot in an hour; within thirty minutes we ought to be able to reach the water-side. The tide has only just be to rise, and there will not be more than a foot of water in the sewer, if it empties into the dock at just low water-mark, which is probate. Tt will be an easy swim to the nearest pier, and peer we can suc- s ceed in climbing up the dock right at the mouth of the sewer.”’ The two Frenchmen had no mind to try any fur- ther expostulations within the subterranean pas- sage; they had groped cme long enough within the vaulted way, and so they bay suai assented to the plan of their new-found frien Frere | ao Ee Spee pas a oe one eee whence the pair come, W: e ce § ) advance, the three roceeded. wt ay It was a narrow, low, dark and dismal way; the bull’s-eye lantern in the hand of the spy flashed its glare ahead like the head-light of a locomotive. Great, huge-whiskered rats, astonished at the un- usual apparitions, and scampering away from the rising water, darted by with wonderful celerity. Steadily on pressed the group, the water growing deeper and deeper, until at it filled the entire bottom of the sewer. Constantly it rose until it was above the knees af the men. The Frenchmen began to grow fe oder sare cht no sign ahead was there of the expected spot where the sewer emptied into the dock, and it was plain that in the pone Bineiy Bh or three hundred yards, if the water continued to deepen as ey as it had done in the last hundred, that it woul the entire vol- ume of the sewer and further progress would be im- possible. “Sir, sir!’ the old man cried, “had we not better go back? I fear that we shall be suffocated.” “T think I can see distant lights ahead,”’ the police spy replied. CHAPTER IX. A LEAF FROM THE PAST, SIXTEEN y' ears! For that length of time, about, we retrace our ste New York city in the summer of 1861. Night has fallen, and never had the 1 of dark- ness, floating on his sable wings over the greatest city of the United States, seen the denizens of the great metropolis so excited. The streets were full of people; business seemed to be entirely suspended, and bade Sr was out in the apes air conversing with everybody else. And what was the cause of this universal excite- ment—why these e faces, trembling lips and anxious en tte soldiers in uniforms itt through the streets? iitan elty wat Sup of individual of every etiae po city, e€ up 0: i of every clime as great do am Pe never been stirred Detore: but then the streets were filled with a shouting multi- tude, ringing out cheers for the Union and the old fing, and loudly demanding arms that they might to revenge the insult that the “stars and stripes ’’ had received. : But on this sultry evening men looked at each other with wondering eyes and talked with bated breath, although some were fierce in oath. The nation was like a man reeling under the influ- ence of a heavy blow. Swift on the wings of the lightning had come the tidings that the thty Union army which had been massed at Washington, and which all fondly be- lieved had but to advance to crush the re’ ous foe, had met the enemy at Bull Run and had sus- tained a terrible defeat. At first the public refused to credit the news; im possiiie’ it oa not = ae not old ar ed of Lundy’s Lane, the veteran gene te) e Mexican war, where a mere handful of North Amer- ican soldiers, com to the yellow hosts which confronted them, had fought their way from the sea- coast to the walls of Mexico—was he not command- er-in-chief, and had he not planned the advance? Was not the very flower of New York troops in the van, the gallant 69th—the kilted highlanders of the 78th—the stout and stolid German troopers—the me mines fier alin! ‘That anny by able McDowell ela army by able we! led could not be beaten!” But it was so, nevertheless, And when the sun went down upon that blunder- ing, badly-contested battle-field, where both sides came very near running away from each other, each one belie that the other had the best of the fight, the Union army, as an army, existed no morc, but a rabble rout of uniform itives, half of them without weapons, for in their headlong terror they had discarded everything that might impede thi ‘ht, choked the roads leading to the capital. For the first time the North realized that the South “meant business,” and that a long and bloody war was before it, instead of a holiday promenade in uniform. The money-market is the pulse of a nation, and Bull Run had no less influence upon the market than it had upon individuals at large, although the news ae at noon, hardly produced its effect that And upon the rise or fall of stocks, fortunes, lives, sometimes depend. At ten o’clock of the night of Bull Run’s day, in a small office in a basement of Wall street, within a stone’s-throw of the mag where fortunes are won and lost in a minute, behind a huge desk, which ce ores him from ce gaze of any one e stree oO man whose appearance was decidedly of the Gorman type. ¥ Upon the tin sign outside was the inscription, “VANDERWOLF BROS., BROKERS. ‘LEOPOLD VANDERWOLF. “Victor VANDERWOLF.” Twin brothers were these two Vanderwolfs, and so much alike that it would often have puzzled even an intimate acquaintance to tell one brother from the other, but for the fact that they always took care to dress differently and wore their bh in different fashions. Leopold, the elder, wore his hair short; Victor,
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S the yotinger brother, rejoiced in long locks, which his neck, after the dre my Se ffashion, peculiar to the gay, wild student s. And so it was, owing to this peculiarity, that the brothers, although almost the exact image of each other, could be easily distinguished by those familiar with their appearance. The man seated at the desk, poring over a sheet of foolscap filled with figures, wore his hair long, and any of the Wall street brokers, acquainted with the firm, at a single glance would have said: “Phat is Victor Vanderwolf, the younger of the brothers.” The multitudinous array of figures apparently did not please the young brother, for his brows were contracted and he drummed nervously upon the desk with his thin, bloodless right hand, The gas-jet burning over the desk was half-turned down, but. it afforded sufficient light, and any one pearing into the office from the street would have elieved that it was unoccupied and in its customary state as left for the night. Along sigh came from the lips of the man as he slowly raised his eyes from the paper, which he had been tp Bes 3 with so much care. “Tt is of no use,’”’ he murmured; “I’m done for, and it is of no use to struggle against it. This infer- nal defeat has already sent gold up, and to-morrow it will climb still higher, andI have contracted to deliver fifty thousand dollars’ worth. I calculated that the Union army would surely win and that gold would fall, so that 1 could make a handsome profit. I’m only in for a trifle, but Lam utterly without re- sources. I shall go by the board to-morrow, and then comes an examination of my affairs; the forged paper I have put afloat wil) discovered and that means Sing Sing—the State Prison. t mus‘ make a bolt of it. It’s hard, too, just.as Ihave ‘ot ever yt all right—my enemy in Sing Sing for fite, and au divorced wife beginning to look with a favorable eye upon my suit. Why, I might as well kill myself at once?” And as he spoke he drew out a polished six-shoove.. cocked it and laid it upon the desk before him, “It’s but a single ': ovement of the finger upon the trigger, and all my »lottings will be ended.” And as, with a dari ‘rown upon his handsome face, he gazed at the dvuadly weapon, he heard a slight noise at the street door as though some one was inserting a key in the lock. “Hallo! what does that mean?’’ he murmured, the revolver up in his hand, ready for action. The door opened, slowly and cautiously, closed, and then again a key grated in the lock, Footsteps stole cautiously across the office, and a tall, power- ful man, plainly dressed in dark clothes, came round the corner of the high desk to find himself covered to his utter amazement, by the revolver in the han of the broker. Never was there. a mortal man more astonished than the burglar, for such he evidently was, at the unexpected encounter. “ An oath esca from his lips, upon hearing which ae long-hai broker laughed. “You are surprised, my friend,’’ he said. “Well, yes, answered the outlaw, somewhat at a loss to know what to make of this greeting. “You are in search of portable valuables, I pre- sume,’’ Vanderwolf continued. “Well—yes, I suppose I am,” replied the man, myst R USir, you are not more surprised at finding me here, pre to receive you, than I will be if you succeed in finding anything in this office worth pe wd dm off,” and then the speaker laughed, a low, mocking laugh, so utterly cruel and fiendlike that it made the intruder feel uncomfortable. “You're a cool hand!” the cracksman exclaimed, in admiration. ‘‘I heard that you had about fifty thousand dollars in Ee in your safe—”’ “ and you concluded to relieve me of the amount, eh?” said Vanderwolf, finishing the sentence. “* Well, if you can find five dollars in the safe, you’re welcome to it. There’s the key,” and the broker nodded where his keys were laid upon the desk. “T reckon, stranger, that you’ve got me,” the burglar remarked. “I don’t care to play any game where a six-shooter is the first card ag’in’ me.” The broker contemplated the man for a moment; a bold, brilliant idea had flashed into his brain, Before was naught but ruin and despair; had not the fiend he served sent this man as a tool to aid him? “Hark ye, friend; I’m a ruined and desperate man,” he said, hoarsely, “I know where we can put our fingers on a hundred thousand dollars, if you will do the work, this very night, and more rhaps in the future,” “Tt’s a bargain, Cap!” cried the burglar. ‘“ I need just such a pene as you are, and together we'll make things hum!’’ And this is the way that the band was begun. CHAPTER X. THE TRAMP, Just one week from the night that the police spy had so boldly ventured into the thieves’ den and had suffered thereby, again we'll visit the vile quarters. Nine o’clock had just sounded, and very few of the gang who made the Traveler’s Rest their head- quarters had come in from their nightly wander- i trange are the ways of the men who live by mat upon their fellows; like the owls of the wood Pre majority of them are abroad only by night, and keep themselves closely concealed babe the rr f Good reason for this precaution since the most of them are “wanted” by the police, and during the hours of darkness they can better succeed in evad- ing the officers of the law, the keen-eyed detectives, than in the broad glare of the sunlight. The Madame sat behind the bar as usual, busil engaged in knitting; a couple of customers, half- en sailors, were engaged at a game of cards at one of the tables, and the Frenchman, Gironde, smok- ing a long clay pipe, was at another, ver and anon the hostess cast uneasy glances at the two sailors. It was plain that she rather desired their absence than their company. The sign of the house, and price of the beds affixed to it, was but a device to blind the eyes of the police to the real character of the place, it being nothing more than 4 * Louse of gall" Lor rogues of all grades, Page et J oe Pheni : No honest lodgers were ever received; they were not wanted; whenever they applied for beds they were told that the house was full, and if some obstinate | fellow insisted upon staying, he was generally taken mn hand in short order and kicked out of the front oor. Strangers were welcome to come in and drink all they liked, but after their money was gone, the quicker they departed the better. Gironde noticed the uneasy glances of the woman and he sauntered over to the bar. “You are ill at ease to-night, my duck,” he said, addressing her in French. “Yes, mon Dieu! I can not help it,” she replied, bos Ae A ps language. “*T can not tell.” “Those rats yonder are nothing.” “No, nothing.”’ “Drunken seamen, that is all.” ** Yes, all,” ‘* No police spies.” The woman started and cast a rapid glance up into the face of the speaker. That is your thought, eh?” he continued. The Madame shook her head. “No, I do not think that they are spies, but since that man came here the other night, I dread the ap- Pretance, of every stranger.” “Thave bad dreams now,” and a troubled expres- sion came upon the woman’s face as she spoke, “Bad dreams? Bah! my pigeon, you must not ve heed to such things. at are dreams? noth- ! You eat too much, my dove!” e Madame shook her head. “That man was different from any spy that I ever | 00 saw,” she said, slowly. ‘‘ When he ed at me his eyes seemed to read my very soul. oh no, my love, | Tam not weak-minded—I am not a child to cry out at a bit of blood; I have supped on it; but this man —mon Dieu! there was something about him more than mortal. I dreamed last night that he was alive down in the well, and that he sat there as proud as | aking upon his throne, and he said to me: ‘ You placed me here, and when the time comes, I shall call upon you and you must come; you shall side me here in the well until the rats gnaw the flesh away and nothing remains but our polished bones!’ ”’ Despite the iron-like nerves of the Frenchman, he felt a chill creep over him as he listened to the reci- tal. The Le 9 was not avery leasant one. “And then I dreamed more,”’ the woman continu- ed. “I dreamed that Iwas askeleton and sat be- side that man in the well, and he called out to me and told me to fetch the captain, and I went for him —went to where he was in his grand hotel with all the beautiful ladies around him; I dragged hm out of their soft arms and folded him in my fleshless ones, and he begged and prayed and shrieked, but I said to him: ‘My brave boy, you must come, for he wants you!”’ There were a few moments’ silence and then the Frenchman turned the conversation: ‘* My dove, you love the captain, do you not?” “*T would face the fiend for his sake,’’ she replied, coldly, but with a glint of fire in her dark eyes. “And yet, knowing that you have only a share of his heart—that there are five or six of those soft dames in silks and laces, grand ladies, every one of them, who have as good a claim to him as you, I am surprised sometimes that you are not jealous,” “Why should I be?” the woman demanded, blunt- ly. “1 am nofool! What am I, compared to him? yin he ever fancy me? I am a creature to frig ten not attract.” ** But he does favor you.” ** Yes, and I would pour my life’s blood out drop by drop to serve him. If I knew of a girl whom he fancied for a wife, and she hesitated, with my own hands would I place her in his arms. He is my master and I would die for him!” The conversation was interrupted at this point by the noisy departure of the two sailors, who reeled out of the room, swearing at the top of their lungs. Hardly had they departed when a middle-aged, slightly-built man, in dark clothes, whose swarthy face and strongly-marked features ace betrayed his Italian origin, came hastily into the saloon. “Prom the captain,” he said, giving a sealed letter to the Madame as he spoke. She opened it quickly, her manner plainly betray- ing eagerness. Aha! listen!” she cried, as she glanced her eyes over the contents. ‘Be on guard a to-morrow night; there | is danger in the air. For ‘once my means of in- focmuatian have failed me. There is some secret in- fluence at work more powerful than anything that we have ever yet faced. There is a blow impend- ing, but from whom it will come—the direction—the time—its exact nature—I cannos‘tell. But, be on the look-out, and warn the boys. Let all undertak- ings that are on foot be abandoned at once, and no new steps taken until you hear from me again.” ** (Signed) CAPTAIN SHARK,” ““ Aha! Mon Dieu / you see my dreams come true!” the Madame exclaimed, excitedly. “It is not for nothing that I do dream!” The two men looked at each other puzzled. Never before had such a warning been received; the dan- ger must indeed be great. But before they could discuss the mysterious document the entrance of a stranger attracted their attention. : He was a rough-looking, powerfully-built fellow, his clothes almost in rags and stained with mud. battered-up old hat crowned his shock head and from under it the long hair escaped in tangled masses. His chin was covered with a stubby beard, his face dirty and discolored; altogether he was as unsavory a tramp as one would meet in a lon night’s search among the statlon-house lodgers o New York. He seemed to be unter the influence of liquor, too, for he reeled slightly as he came across the floor. } “This is the Traveler’s Rest, ain’t it?’’ he said, in a thick, husky voice. The Madame looked upon the fellow in disgust. She had seen many a case, but this present specimen was by far the worst that had ever come under her observation, sit be- | | | “Well, what of it?” asked the Madame, with a stony glare. “Want a bed—a five-cent bed and e¢lean sheets!” the fellow said, and then he looked around him as if anxious to discover where the lodging-room was situated. | ‘* We're all full,” answered the hostess, shortly. “Oh, I’m all right—I’m fly!” cried the man, with | @ knowing wink. ‘‘I’m an old pard of two of your ty i guess you don’t know Gironde and Lucca, e , Both the men named took a look at the man. **T don’t know you!”’ Gironde exclaimed, roughly, “Nor I!” Lucca added. “Hullo! you ain’t the coves, are you?” “My name is Gironde.” * And mine Lucca.” “Then you are both my prisoners!” cried the man, with a sudden change of tone, whipping out a air of revolvers and ‘‘ covering” both of the as- nished rascals. CHAPTER XI. STRIKING THE TRAIL, CONSTERNATION sat upon the faces of the two men at this sudden and unexpected development, for not the slightest suspicion of danger had either of them. | “Don’t move hand or foot or Tl put a bullet | through you!” the man commanded, sternly; and | then, before the Madame, who was always on the alertin the case of danger threatening any one of her chickens, could produce the revolver which lay on a small shelf underneath the bar, and which she _ had grasped at once upon the true character of the tramp being made manifest, he slightly raised the | muzzle of one of his pistols and fired a single shot evidently as a s'gnal, for almost instantly a squad of | blue-coated policemen came pouring into the saloon. | Prepared or action, too, were the ‘ metropoli- | tans,”’ for each and every man brandished a cocked revolver in his hand. At this irruption of the vigilant and well-armed | guardians of the law, the Madame frowned grimly and relinquished her grasp of the concealed revolver; resistance to such an overwhelming force was mere madness, As for the two men, the Italian scowled and thrust his hand into his bosom as if with intent to grasp a | knife, while the Frenchman, an older and far more | wily bird, looked with well-affected astonishment | upon the policemen, and recognizing the sergeant in | charge bowed graciously to him. | The officers had rushed in, expecting a fight, for the policemen of the district had never yet succeed- _ed in taking a man out of the Traveler’s Rest with- out encountering a desperate resistance. But on this occasion they saw that the work waa done. The two men, helpless, covered by the muz | gles of the spy’s revolvers, had neither chance to | draw a weapon nor to cry to their comrades for rescue, “ Mon Dieu ! what is this for?’ cried the French. man, as the officers commenced to handcuff him, while the Italian submitted in sullen silence. “Ask no questions and we'll tell you no lies,” replied the sergeant, briskly, and then he approached the bar upon which the Madame was leaning, look. ing with a stony face upon the scene. ‘You will pardon me, Madame,” he said, with a bow—this sergeant was a very polite and gallant man—“ but Iam compelled to ask you to consider yourself under arrest.” “You arrest me?” exclaimed the woman, stolid and strong, and yet with a glare in her eyes that boded no good. “Yes, Madame; I regret that stern duty compels me to make known to you the unpleasant fact. “Why am I arrested? what charge do you make against me?”’ “ “The captain will give you all the information, the officer replied, evasively. | “Very well—I have done nothing—I will not re- | sist,” the Madame responded, slowly, and taking a | hood and shawl from under the counter, she co’ out into the middle of the apartment; but the m- | ment she did so, with lightning-like speed two burly policemen seized her, pinned her arms, and a third with wonderful alacrity sprung a pair of handcuffs upon her wrists. So quickly was this particularly neat little oper- ation performed that the Madame was helpless | before she had a chance to exert the vast strength which she possessed. For a moment she was furious; she ground her teeth together and the muscles of her powerful frame swelled until it seemed almost probable that she would burst the steel bracelets with which her wrists were ornamented. 4 Not at all sorry were the stalwart guardians of the law that she was powerless for mischief. | And now that the prisoners were effectually se- cured, the police spy, who had remained a quiet spectator to the scene, came again to the front, All three of the prisoners surveyed him with a curious glance; the person of every detective in the city was well known to them, and they were anxious to learn which one of the four it was who had suc- ceeded in entrapping them so successfully, but their scrutiny was in vain; they did not recognize the man, and soon came to the eonclusion that he was a stranger. | “Is there a force posted at the door?” asked the | spy, and at the sound of his cold, quiet voice, so | machine-like in its articulation, the criminals started in surprise and glanced uneasily at each other. They had heard the voice before ! But when or where, they could not tell. A| “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, in answer to tlt question. “ Bring them along,” the spy commanded. | Naturally the three prisoners supposed that they were going to be escorted at once to the nearest | station-house, but to their intense surprise, the pots spy proceeded, not to the entrance door, but the narrow portal leading to the cellar. | Rapid glances of apprehension were exchanged between the three confederates. | They guessed at once the purpose of the officers; the spy, whom they had entrapped to death, hac been missed, and the blue-coats were about to search the house for him; but why the search was to begin | with the cellar was a mystery, unless by some miraculous means the secret of the terrible trais leading to the oki _well was suspected or kuuwn,
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Joe Phenix. But if this was the case, how wasit that the spy had ZasuPn into it so blindly? Tue secret of the cellar was known only to two persons until the time came for disposing of the dis- ised agent of police, and then the Madame, one of the two to whom we have referred, was obliged by the necessities of the case to reveal the existence of the trap to the Frenchman and to the Italian. The police spy threw open the cellar door, the policemen produced their bull’s-eye lanterns, and niged their prisoners to move on. “What is the meaning of this?’ demanded the woman; ‘‘ where do you want us to go? why do you ao. take us to the station-house and let us know the | crime for which we have been arrested?” “We want evidence and we expect to find it in the cellar,” replied the sergeant; ‘‘and, by the way, it is my duty to warn you in regard to what you say, for it may be used against pr. “Oh, mon Dieu!” cried the Madame, with a bitter the table, and she resumed her place in it and looked questioningly into the face of her visitor. And a handsome face it was, too! Few men in all New York could match this wild, devil-may-care fellow, who, although no boy, bore his years as lightly as if his feet were treading on the threshold of manhood, “Making rose-buds, I see,” he said, referring to the flower materials scattered upon the little table. “Well, that’s exactly what I want.” **Rose-buds!”’ she exclaimed, in astonishment, “Yes, a single one only, but something different from these; I want a blue rose.” nh A blue rose! Why, I never heard of such a thing!’ “No more did anybody else, I guess!’’ he replied, laughing. ** but I can explain the matter to youina | moment. You know thatI am connected with the laugh; ‘1am not afraid! I have seet: gentlemen of | the law before. take care of myself; but in searching my cellar I warn you beforehand that you will only have your labor for Bien pains!” “That our busine: shortly. ‘‘Oblige me by descending the stairs. I am not a child—I know how to | ” returned the sergeant, * Aha, sang-dieu, sergeant!’’ exclaimed the French- man, jocosely: “‘you have such a persuasive way ba you that we shall find it quite impossible to re- se The party descended into the cellar, and the glare * the lanterns illuminated the reeking, vault-like t. Pre Halt!” commanded the spy, as soon as the party had advanced three steps from the stairs, wind then he addressed the woman: “Now, Madame, step forward and work the spring of the trap-door.”’ Despite the almost perfect control that the two had over their features, they could not re- press, and my particular duties bring me much ~ contact with the artistic ladies and gentlemen wh» | get a living by amusing the public. eil, this after- noon, on Broadway, I met with a bright and shining light in the artistic world, a pretty little lady who has made a fortune in the last year or two on the stage, and hat § ma Bo to beg that I would not for- get to mention in the journals with which I am con- nected that she would soon appear in the city again, she asked my advice upon an important matter, She wanted a blue rose; she had taken a fancy to have a rose of that color, because she had never seen one, and she wanted to be odd—to have Hire py, Semel ent from any one else; she had searched all the stores, but no blue rose could she find, and | had just been told in the last store which she had strain an expression of surprise from passing across | their faces, but the woman, although am knowledge of the speaker, never betrayed it even by the quiver of an eyelid. “Trap-door?” she cried, in well-assumed wonder, **T know of no trap-door.” The Spy replied not, but taking a lantern from the hand o and commenced to examine it carefully, much to the astonishment and dismay of the three criminals. Who was this disguised man, and how in the name of wonder did he gain his knowledge? Carefully testing each moseoting stone to see if it was the one which conc the spring. Suddenly a stone yielded beneath his touch, and then a huge cavity appeared right in the center of the cellar. The officers started, the woman glared, and the men an unlucky discovery. The police were provided with ropes, and the ser- eant, the police spy and two more men descended stato the gloomy pit. With careful eyes they noted the appearance of the remains of the murdered broker, secured the x0cket-book from its hiding-place in the mud, the Enite with whieh the murder evidently had been done, and then, returning to the cellar again, hurried their prisoners off to the station-ho lea two men, with a strong guard above, to collect the nones of the victim. CHAPTER XII. THE BLUE ROSE. Tur Bohemian sat silent and thoughtful for quite along time after the woman had left the room, and the thouzhts that were ibsing th were not particularly pleasant ones. “The old cat!’ he muttered; “how the deuce did she discover who I was? The chances were a thou- sand to one against it, but it makes very little differ- ence as long as she is content to hold her tongue, but if she should blab in regard to the matter to the girl, she would be sure to scare my bird, for a coyer dam- gel chan this lily-like beauty it would be hard to find. Iam a fool, after all, to take this trouble about a simple girl, but there is a strange fascination about her thatI can not account for. I have seen and fancied many a woman in my time, but this dainty creature is worth them all. So farI have tried to win her by pure, simple and honest means, but if this course fails then I will try another.” The man started up suddenly and paced the room restlessly for a few moments, his long yellow hair drooping down upon his shoulders like a fion’s tawny mane. truth in the old wo- “Twonder if there is an man’s story that there is a love affair between the irl and this young fellow?” he muttered. ae! Pn find out the truth at once. She is probably at home and hard at work. I'll make bold to call upon her. Let me think of an excuse!” He pondered for a few moments with his hand upon the door-knob, and then his ready mother-wit came to his aid. “T have it!” he muttered, “it will do.” Then from his well-filled pocket-book he selected a five-dollar bill and thrust it carelessly into his vest- cket. P Orveiiug the entry, he proceeded to the door of the girl’s apartment and knocked. A second later the door opened, and the pale, veantiful face of Adalia appeared. “iixcuse my disturbing you,” he said, bowing as allantly and addressing the flower-maker as po- itely as if she had been the greatest lady in the aati “but I have a little commission which I think you can execute if you care to take the trouble.” “Certainly, if I can; will you walk in, please?” slie answered. Tha Bohemian entered into the charmed bower of the woman he loved, with a firm step and a quiet face, although the iron-like heart within his bosom was beating with unwonted rapidity, for there is a nameless spell ever pervading the hiding-place of youth and beauty which intoxicates the lover whose pulses are throbbi with love’s delirious thrill. “Please be seated,” she said, placing a chair by the side of the little table at the window, whereon her lamp sat, a gag was covered over with arti- ficial flower materials, Lad sof tovou, sual was on the ether side of at the | one of the officers, proceeded to the wall | the spy sounded the wall with his fingers, | risoners swore under their breath. This was | visited that it would be necessary to have one made to order,and so she begged me to undertake the | commission and gave me a five-dollar bill to pay for | the work. Now will you undertake it?” “ Oertainly; it is easy enough, but the sum is far too much for such a simple thing.”’ “Don’t bositate to take it; the actress has money enough. Why, I have known her to make two or three thousand dollars in a single week.” The girl opened her eyes in astonishment. “Ts it possible?” “Oh, yes, quite true; sometimes these stage peo- ple are paid extremely’ well.” “Three thousand dollars?’ pi paren the girl, al- most mechanically, her eyes fixed upon the floor in a dreamy sort of way, her thoughts evidently wander- ing. “Three thousand dollars? Why, it is a for- tune! Oh, if I could only make such a sum!” The eyes of the man sparkled and a slight smile played around the corners of his mouth. is was a revelation which he had not expected; the beautiful girl, toiling in poverty’s grinding chain, “eo vi thes rful charm by which th one, 6 powe ¢ y which the average bugean tiext is touched! “She is mine!’’ he murmured in his heart of hearts, his eyes drin in eagerly the matchless beauty of her face, and dwel n rapture upon the superb contour of her perfect form. Three thousand dollars is not such a great sum,” he said, carelessly. ‘‘ Why, there’s many a rich man in this big city who would gladly give three times three thousand dollars to win the love of such a charming girl as you are."’ She lifted up her dreamy-looking eyes and smiled faintly at the compliment. “You are jesting,’’ she replied; “‘ there are plent, of girls such as 1 am in New York, and the ric lovers who marry poor girls exist only in the pages of the novelist; such unions do not happen very often in real life.”’ “But suppose that you had such a chance?” he asked, laughing the while as if it was alla pleasant rough his mind | , jest suppose that there was a gentleman in New ork who fancied you and should come and say, ‘I am rich; I love you; marry me and I will take you forever from this life of lowly toil and place on in a circle where your worth and beauty will shine re- splendent? But perhaps zor are not heart-free, and therefore could not accept the offer?” The girl shook her head. “You are not in love with any one, then?” There was nl a faint flush upon the cheeks of the girl, and the questioner, noting it with a jealous eye -frowned, but he had control eno’ over his features to dismiss the ugly look sinatt upon the instant. “Oh, no; it would not be right for me to fancy any one,”’ she replied, slowly. 6 answer puzzled him for a moment, but he did not vy ae question her about it, so eager was he to press his former inquiry. “Well, if a man should come, as I have described, and, acknowledging that he had been conquered by our attractions, lay himself and fortune at your eet, would you accept him?’’ AS erly as a serpent watching a bird which he wished to charm, the Bohemian watched the beauti- ful face of the girl, while with downcast eyes she, apparently, ndered over the question. “Oh, no, I could not!”’ she qarisines, after a few oments, reflection. “I could not! It would not e ”? Clever as was the Bohemian he misunderstood the l’s meaning. “Ah, but you might learn to love him in time!” he exclaimed, “even if the feeling did not exist in your heart in the beginning.” “Love,” said the girl, with a sigh; “I never thought of love; that was not in my mind at all. It would be simply a bargain and sale. For the sake of the money I would sell myself to the man, and he would buy me as if I were a horse or a dog that he fancied, but he would not believe that; he would be- lieve that I cared something for him, and therefore I say it would not be right to deceive him. It would be a terrible temptation, for with money in my pos- sess on I could see that justice was done to the un- ee ag eine er, pe in ane Sing, =~ could prove his innocence e Srimfoal to light,” yer ere The face of Percy became as white as though it was erent out of marble as he listened to the girl’s avow: CHAPTER XIIl. TAKING UP THE LINKS, No finer house in all Madison avenue, from Madi- son square to 42d street, than the stately brown, aie | 7 For a man who had succeeded in amassing a colos- sal fortune, variously reputed to be worth from five to ten millions, Vanderwolf was quite a young man, not over thirty-five or forty at the outside. This Vanderwolf was the elder partner of the house of Vanderwolf Brothers, Wall street brokers, a slight account of whom we already have given. D the stormy financial times of the war the brothers had speculated largely made much money, and finally went into the king business, whick event took place just after the fall of Richmond and the destruction of the Southern Confederacy. We my the brothers, but herein we are wrong, for when the banking house was opened, the sign read Vanderwolf and Co., instead of the old firm name, and within a year Victor, the younger brother, dis- suposed and the sign was chan to simply Leo- pold Vanderwolf, banker, * sid The busy folks of New York rarely concern them- selves much about their are affairs, and to the few who took the trouble to inquire about the absent Victor, Leopold made answer that he had re- Loe from the business and was traveling for his n, As it avas well known in commercial circles that the firm had made large gains, for in times of great monetary stringency very ee, they had in- vested largely, and so realized ely, while every- body wonde: what millionaire it was furnished the capital to enable this young firm to do so large a business, it was supposed that the younger brother, tired of business and thinking that he was rich enough, had gone off to Europe to enjoy himself. True or f. this belief, one thing was certain: after the ch e in the firm name, no soul in New York ever saw Victor Vanderwolf again. Vanderwolf still kept a small office in Wall street, although practically retired from active business, but as he was popularly supposed to be heavily in- terested in real estate, it was not strange that he Ge | up an office. e retired banker had just finished his dinner— he dined at six, after the fashion of the up-town folks—and was seated in his elegantly-fitted-up library, snugly ensconced in a huge cushioned easy- chair, pe be es fragrant Havana, the price of which 3 nost support the family of a work- or a day. A handsome, well-preserved man was Vanderwolf, with his keen blue eyes, well-fattened face, and gen- eral air of contentment. No lean and hungry Cassius was he, to lay awake 0’ nights with a mind filled with fearful imagin 5 And most certainly, if the good genius, asin the Eastern tale, had come to New York and unroofed houses in search of a “ cc Maen he would have rested content the moment august gaze had fal- len upon the placid features of Vanderwolf. The banker was not married—had never been, and dwelt alone in his sumptuous palace without kith or kin, although surrounded by half a dozen servan headed by a housekeeper, a woman of magnificen a nce, fitted to adorn any station. e banker, with dreamy, half-closed eyes, was = listlessly into the cheerful grate which upon the hearth, for although spring had fairly come, the nights were still a little chilly. One of the evening newspapers lay upon the floor at the banker’s feet, and mechanically, he hap- pened to glance down at it, the glaring head-lines of t day’s sensation met his eyes. “ CRIME. “IMPORTANT ARREST. “4 DEN OF HORRORS “DEATH IN AN OLD WELL.” And then followed a full account of the descent of the eg on the Traveler’s Rest and the arrest hree c of the the discovery of the remains of the murdered man, together with the pockct- hers Mey his renee te manner in e had n entra an sation against his murderers, ppet, reaerrere The recital had produced a strong impression up- on the banker, and he was now meditating solely <p on it. “A most mysterious affair,” he observed, lazil flicking the ashes from the tip of the cigar, and ad- his conversation to the dancing flames play- ing among the black diamonds of the grate; “yes, indeed, a most mysterious affair! I can’t make head nor tail of it. How the deuce did the police discover there was a trap-door in the cellar, and when that fact was known, what led them to snp- ad that any evidence of a hidden crime couki be "Then Vanderwolf pick en Vanderwolf picked up the rand glanced over the account again: ‘i = ¥ ‘From secret information which had reached the — authorities, and the source of which cannct made public at aipeey for fear of defeating the ends et ustice,” he read slowly, half to himselt, oud, “Yes, that’s the way they always put it; there it gad fellows a travel out of the beaten paths. : mit is tab he it po oo rigmarole of 1 nry-a-liner, w upon his imagination to em- Belli the plain recital cf the arrestey” “The proof is — against them that they wera concerned in the murder of the unfortunate tugitive from justice, who robbed his creditors and then fled with the proceeds of his swindling schemes only ‘o fall the prey of a set of es more desperate then — a yea bs bo s pcre of the convic- on of the tw ou, e evidence is not su conclusive against the woman,” The banker tapped the pa restlessly with his oe fora moment while he copatierea tke matter. ay The evidence is conclusive, eh?” he murrrure:’; ‘let me examine it and see if it is. First, there i: the document left by the victim in which he distinct- ly declares that he expects to be murdered, and t! at, in case he is foully dealt with, the Frenchman and the Italian will undoubtedly be his assailants. Strong evidence to lay before a jury, but yet not entirel; conclusive, for a man can not foretell the future. He believed that the two meant to kill him, but h - surmise might be only the visionary fancy of 9 ¢ ordered brain, An able lawyer might be able tu ome
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itt i} Joe Phenix. lain that away, or at all events toso weaken the orce of it that it would not, alone and unsuppoited, convict the accused. The bank of England ac-tes, large denomination, easy to trace, for they arc not common on this side of the water, and the nuuiters known. Now can they go back and bring wituesses to prove that either one of these two men chaied such notes as they are alleged to have robbed their victim of? Aha!” cried the banker, suddenly, and he brought his hand down sharply upon his knee as he spoke, ‘that’s a weak spotin the line of tie de- fense, for the chances are a hundred to one vhat they can prove that, for how could any one sup;,ore that there was any danger in changing the notes? how could any one guess that this fellow, rotting at the bottom of the old well spperenity. buried from sight until the last trump should sound on the Judg- ment Day, had left a dying declaration behind him and that fate would decree that it should be preserv. ed in this wonderful manner for so long a time ami then finally brought to sight? If the passing of the notes is proved the case is almost hopeless. And the Ttalian knife of Lucca—or a knife exactly similar to the one commonly carried by him, and the very counterpart of the knife found upon his person when arrested—ih's veculiarly-shaped knife found stick- ing in the mud in the midst of the bones of the dead man. : “What madness is it that always asesses a crim- inal to retain the weapon with which a foul deed has been done, so that upon his arrest it will rise up in evidence against him, or else leaves itin the body of his victim, so as to bring the crime home to him, aod of carrying it away and securely aisvosing of it?’ The riddle that the banker asked has never yet been solved, altaough a thousand time. : propounded excepting by the supposition that an outrage eaven “yn some manner confuses the senses of the ering ope so that weak human ‘ustice shall no: be altogether baffled. “The knife wil. make ‘t go hard for Lucca, ‘ sar. afraid, Yandervrat mused. ‘“ Whatlawyer can cx: plain thet away? ~The police are in search of the broker, Percy, and there are some other strange developments in this mysterious case which will be received with as- tonishment by the public when the time comes for publication, which at present, for certain prudential reasons, cannot be,” he continued, reading the ac- count slowly and distinctly. “Now, what does that mean?” he asked, placin; the paper upon his knee and gazing with knit brows into the fire. “Percy will take care of himself, having been thus warned, no doubt,” he muttered, “but the other statement—is it truth or the mere romancing of a newspaper reporter?” A discreet tap at the door interrupted the solitary meditations of the banker, who, seemingly, took a wonderful interest in this criminal case, A servant entered in obedience to the banker's zommand and presented a large card upon a silver ,Salver. n seeing you, sir,” he said. of Texas,” was inscribed upon ** A man insists u ** James Jones, la the card in sprawling letters, and, turning it over, upon the other side was a jack of clubs. CHAPTER XIV, THE GENTLEMAN FROM TEXAS. Tue card brought by the servant was simply a white-backed playing-card, upon the back of which the stranger had inscribed his name. Vanderwolf looked at the servant in astonish- ment. ‘* What does this mean?” he asked. “A very rough-looking man at the door, sir; he insists upon seeing you, and when Julius told him that he was not sure whether you were home or not, and asked him to leave his card, thinking to get rid of him in that way, he pulled out a pack of playing- cards and wrote his name on the back of one of them, saying that he ‘reckoned’ vhat would answer; he further said that if you were in you would be sure to see him, for you and he were old friends.”’ “Old friends!” exclaimed the banker, evidentl ym and again aa, the name on the ca is time aloud: ‘‘ James Jones! I don’t remember to have ever met any one by that name. What sort of a fellow is he?” ‘** A tall, big man, roughly with long dark hair hangin *way down upon his shoulders, and a big, broad-brimmed hat; a wild-looking fellow; looks like the pictures of the scouts that they have in the newspapers,” ‘Well, 1 don’t understand it, Thomas,” Vander- wolf mused. ‘I don’t know any such man, Did he wish to see me in person?” “ Oh. ac sir; he said that he had important busi- ness wi ou, and that, being an old oe ou would be delighted to see him. You see, sir, ulius, finding that the man was determined to come in, called to me, as I happened to be gz through the entry just at time, and I ed to awe als i trick to get with him, I pre- a tric’ euspes"ibe banker Bhs “and this rather novel visiting card was designed to excite my curiosity. Some begging errand, of course, but you can send the ——- be, ae be the caer hi A os sig A ef him; an the way, you an keep within call; there's no telling what tricks these sepemne rascals are up to, nowadays. The servant nodded and withdrew. This ares the emi by peme, gonad enact -e uiet, silent man with a shrewd, cuD pba confidential servant; he had formerly been a clerk in the down-town office. Vanderwolf wheeled his chair around, away from the fire, so as to be prepared to receive his bjs 3 although he imagined that a very few words woul dismiss the aeranger. Tn common with every man supposed to be pos- sessed of wealth, he was subject to regular attacks from genteel beggars, who merely wished a little temporary aid, and modest children of genius, who had Pondaetal schemes by means of which untold wealth could be geined, and who only needed a few hundred or a few thousand dollars, as the case might be, to set the thing in motion; and, as a gen- rule, the more visionary and impracticable the ————— scheme, the more sanguine and certain the inventor, and the larger the amount of capital demanded, The butler admitted the stranger—a tall, broad- shouldered man, dressed roughly, as he had been described—iong hair, chin covered with a cy I » and a eneral frye strongly sugges ing the cattle-drovers of the far South-west. ‘Mr. Vanderwolf, sir,’’ said the servant, as he ushered the man into the room, and then withdrew, aa care, however, not to close the door after The stra removed his broad-brimmed hat, displaying a , lion-like head, and nodded famili- arly to the banker. ‘* How are you?” he said, in a rough, hoarse voice. “Tt’sa long time since we met, and I reckon from the looks of things about this hyer shanty, that you must have made a heap of money.” Vanderwolf had surveyed the stranger closely upon his entrance, but there were no signs of recog- ni! ton w his face. If he knew the man he did not heey i Yes, sir, f think it is along time since we met,” the banker replied, quietly, ‘‘ for, to the best of my ea ypenee and belief, I never saw you before in my e. “You never saw me before?” cried the man, ap- parently very much astonished, sir , Sir, **'Why, what a bad memory you must have!” ‘No, sir! you are quite mistaken there; I have a most excellent memory!’ exclaimed Vanderwolf, decidedly. * And rig! don’t remember me?” ** No, sir, I do not /” ** Well, mebbe J’va changed a [ittle. You see, I’ve been down in Texas ever since we parted, and have roughed it pretty wall, and life on the frontier ain’t apt to improve 4 man’s personal appearance. 1 reckon that I have changed a good deal, and then, wearing my hair long alters me some; but you ain’t changed a bit; you're the same old sixpence! Why, I would have kuow’dyouanywhere. Iknow’d you to-day the minute I saw you down town, and I said to a man who was passing—one of your kid- ana chaps, ‘Do you know Vanderwolf, the roker? ain't that him?’ And he did happen to know you and he said, ‘ Yes, that’s his name;’ and then & looked in a Divectory and found out where you lived, so I concluded that I ore to call up and see you to-night, so tliat we could have a talk over old times.” “ Sir, you are labo under @& preet mistake,” the banker sai just a little impatiently. “I as- sure you that I am morally certain we have never met before. I have an excellent memory for fac and I should be sure to remember you if we There was a uliar movement of Vanderwolf’s eyes, as he fixed them intently upon the face of the man, but beyond that there was no change in the expression of his face, Sixteen years?” about; you didn't live here then; you had a little office down in Wall street.” “That is very true, sir. “ And that is where I made your acquaintance,” - Impossible, sir! Yor are in error again, I assure uu , ! “ Oh, no, I ain’t!” the manexclaimed. ‘‘I’m just as certain of you as I can be; why, Victor, old part ner, I’d know’d you anywhere!”’ A look of profound astonishment swept over the banker’s f: and he surveyed the rough fellow nearly a minute in silence before he spoke, i r, Victor!” he exclaimed. “Yes, that’s your name, ain't it? Victor Vander- wolf?” “Oh, no: I ive now the mistake under which ouare laboring. My name is Leopold—Leopold anderwolf; Victor is my younger brother.” “Show!” cried the stranger in ent, “Yes, sir, my zones brother; there was a wonderful resemblance between us; and when we carried on business together we always made it a int to dress differently and wore our hair in a Mifferent fashion, so that we could be told apart.” . “Yes, I recollect; he always wore his hair long, like I do now.” “ey, sir.”’ “Well, I'm very sorry, sir, yt? took the ee toi 6 upon yo e man commenc: 0 back toward t the. qoor, “and I frost that you'll ex- cuse me, I never thought about my old side-partner ha a brother; I'd clean forgotten that, and when I spi you to-day, I said to myself, there's my mut- ton, sure! Make no apologies, sir; the mistake was natu- “But whi is Victor, dw?” asked the stran * sing with his hand on the door-knob. bag He is Jead, sir.” “Dead? You don't say so!” “Yes, sir; he died in Europe about ten years , *“§ show! Well, would have given a deal to have seen him alive. We used to have some high old times to: ther,” es “Oh, I bet you! Victor was one of the boys, he “*T believe my brother was a little wild some few ears before his yg Mie really I knew but little of is pee pursuits, although we were partners in business. “Well, sir, I'm right sorry to know that he’s ‘passed his checks in.’ T always reckoned that I'd ‘cash up’ first; good-night, sir.’’ The man bowed and quitted the room, and in the entry he found the negro, Julius, awaiting him, and he was escorted to the front door. The moment the stranger Jeft the apartment, the panier. sprung to his feet, evidently deeply agi- tated. “What does this mean?” he murmured. ‘“ This fellow lies when he says that sixteen years ago he was acquainted with Victor. There is some deep- laid scheme afoot and I scent danger in the air. I pps put a bloodhound on the trail to run this fox earth i" Te ed ——— a a a eT = ST onkow CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE DECLARATION. Tue Bohemian looked at the girl with a strange glance; his face was quite pale, and he seemed as a man would seem who had been dazed by a sudden, unexpected and heavy blow. “Gilbert Barlee,”’ he said, in a strange, mechani- cal sort of way, his voice sounding harsh and un- natural even to his own ears. “Yes, Gilbert Barlee, who died, a convict sen- tenced for life, in the State Prison only a few days ago.” “T think that I remember the name; the death was reported in the newspapers, was it not?” For answer the girl drew forth her little shabby pocket-book, opened it, and from one of the inner pockets took a newspaper scrap, which she handed to the Bohemian, baie? eon ae to read it attentively, but in reality the letters danced before his eyes like a legion of little black imps. and not a single word could he dis- ti sh, but what of that? Blindfolded and in the darkest night he could have repeated the statement, word for word, for every line was graven on the tab- lets of his memory as phen as though imprinted there with the engraver’s too “I think that I read this account when it first ap- ared,” he said, at length. “It was two or thresa LYS Ago, Was it not?” : Yes,’ ‘And what was this man to you that you take such an interest in establishing his innocence, now that he is dead and gone?” Percy naturally asked, “T cannot answer that question.” mm Jannot answer it? You mean that you will no ”? Kid girl inclined her head silently in token of as. sent. _.**You must hold him in very dear remembrance if P ty are willing to sell yourself to any man wha will furnish you with a sum large enough to make successful this strange attempt upon which you ve seemed to set your heart.’ mS ere es Ido; = yet I never my him.” astonishment came over face. “You never saw him?” , iad ** Never!”’ “What strange mystery is this?” he exclaimed, sa: ste dt “ a mystery, and T cannot lain it.’ “And you would sell yourself: bedily to the man who would place twenty thousand dollars, say, in per mg so that you could attempt this Impossi- e ” “Impossible?”’ the girl cried, quickly; ‘why do you say it is impossible?” ¥ ne <j ‘““Why, I was merely guessing at the facts of the case, from what I know of it from this little news- pane item, that is all. Of course J know no urther; how could I? This newspaper statement assume to be correct; the man was legally convicted, no doubt of his guilt, and like a great many other criminals, his assertions that he was an innocent man and had been sainas condemned were persist- ed in Kat: i nt ~ aod he came a Rapes aM they were te) e mere coinage of ts) Anyraive pea is = “You think that he spoke falsely?” Adalia ex. claimed, her large clear eyes full ing Oa BoP a atin tna no ae e affected to laugh, but it was plain that he was not as easy in his mind as he wished to appear to be. “What other decision can I arrive at with this statement in my mind?” he replied. “ I have visited during my professional travels, quite a number of prisons, and in my conversations with the inmates I cannot recall a single instance in which each and every felon did not protest that he was an innocent man, the victim of a terrible conspiracy, and most La ame “ Se ee liberty. 2 t rclyesnp se an old ry e offic charge of suc r gi 3g iawn oat all.” . nie aid r very likely,” the girl observed, thoughtfully ; “and when the V tagtieaks wretch condemned by a cruel fate to an unjust imprisonment tells his sad and truthful story, all deride it as a fable.” The brows of the Bohemian knitted for amoment, Ampuinent seemingly was wasted upon this obstinate irl, “But, my dear Miss Adalia, why do you believe the story of the unfortunate man to be truth, when all the evidence is to the contrary ?”’ he asked. * I know that it is true!” “ You know it?” and the face of the man fully be: trayed the astonishment he felt. “Yes, although it all took place years ago when I was but a child. I know that Gilbert Barlee was the victim of a terrible conspiracy—that he was hunted down to his living grave within the cold walls of the State Prison by a rich and unscrupulous foe, and it is my life task to right the wrong—to lift the cloud of shame from the name of the innocent and to bring home to the doer of the deed the punishment the crime demands.” rl os y= as, Like an inspired prophetess the in her axciteunent, the Fords came fiercely from her cheerful ps, The Bohemian laughed, not a me laugh, but an affected and enforced one had lit- tle of glee in it, “Why, what a very Joan of Arc expedition you have taken upon your slender shoulders!”’ he ex- ed. a aa! so they — ons at the aaa of meee, ut she succeeded when strong and wise men, = lant warriors and subtile priests alike failed to rid her country of the foreign foe!” , “And so, there can never be any love in your heart except for the man rich eno to place a for- tune in your hand, and weak enough to let you wear — = oF in pursuit of a vague and unsubstantial phantom?’ “Tf with the giving pe my young life—and the world is so bright and utiful, too—I could grasp success, gladly—freely, would I yield it!” cried Ada- Be, quick ly, her pale face glowing with enthusiasm. erey surveyed her for a moment in silence, a uliar look in his shifting gray eyes. Strange houghts were in his mind—thoughts that if framed into words would have made the girl fly in horror from his side. “You are an odd gir’ he declared, at Jast, after avery long pause. “It is very strange that such an idea as this which you Lave just revealed should
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_ Joe Phiéaix. ew arn have taken such a hold Bees you. At your age young ladies are generally dreaming of some dash- ing Romeo of a lover, and hope is wh spering soft flatteries in their ears.’’ “Tt is not so with me; I think—I dream only of one thing.” “Ttisa speet, Dhpeless task: you will only wear out your lifein the attempt just as the imprisoned wild bird beats out his existence fluttering against the bars of his prison-house.”’ “T thank you for — kind advice,’ the girl re- plied, ‘‘ but it is useless; my mind is made up and nothing can change it.” * But if in time you learn that the attempt is hope- is?” “While I live I shall never come to that conclu- sion, I am sure!” she said, confidently. “Well, that remains to be seen; time alone can de cide that,” he returned, lightly, apparently regain- ing his former light spirits, which had been strange- ly affected by the girl’s declaration. “How soon will you require the rose?” she asked, turning the conversation. “Oh, two or three days; there isn’t any hurry about it.” “*T can have it for you to-morrow.” “To-morrow will do,’’ he replied, rising. ‘* Good- ht!’ and then he passed from the apartment. e proceeded to his own room, his brow dark and an annoyed look upon his face, took his hat and went down-stairs into the street. “‘ This is about the strangest thing that I ever heard of!” he muttered, as he walked up the avenue, ‘*Who could have put the crazy idea into the girl's head, and what relationship does she bear to Gilbert Barlee? That fellow dead is likely to make more trouble than he ever did when he was living. The girl cannot be his daughter, altho: ih she is not too old, for he was never married. No, of course not; he could not have been married or else he would never have dared to woo Avala’s daughter in the old, old time. Whothenisshe? There is something famil- iar about her features; she does resemble Barlee itrongly; but she recalls to me recollections of an- other face —but whose? Ah! there my memory is at fault; time perhaps will reveal that mystery. Twenty thousand dollars!’ he murmured, reflective- re “A large sum; is she worth that to me? Shall give her the twenty thousand and then let her pro- ceed upon her task, I myself controlling the affair? Ah! that would not be a bad idea, but is it worth the money? that’s the question and a mighty difficult one to answer. I must reflect over the matter. I am sailing on an uncertain and dangerous sea and I must be careful how I shape my course or else some hidden reef will wreck my bark and give me to the mercy of an avenging fate.” His meditations were suddenly interrupted by a heavy hand laid upon his shoulder and a hoarse voice ed: ““Why, Victor Vanderwolf, you’re the very man I want!” CHAPTER XVI. A DELICATE OPERATION. “Yrs, yes,”’ the banker continued, “this fellow must be tracked at once; there is mischief afloat or {greatly mistake _ man,” ‘ite touched the silver call-bell upon the table and the confidential servant, who was close at hand, re- sponded immediately. “That fellow, Brocet, he must be watched!” Van- derwolf exclaimed. ‘You take charge of the affair; do not trust to any one else; itis very ponent. Follow him at once; do not lose sight of him until you find out. where he is stopping, then cautiously make inquiries in regard to who he is, wherehec me from, his business in the of in short, discover all you can in regard to him an let me know as soon as Dosen: Hurry away at once before he gets out of t ’ ale All right, sir; I'll find out all about him, never fear!’’ Brocet answered at once, and then he hur- ried into the hall, seized his hat, but, instead of go- ing out by the main door ho ran down-stairs and proceeded to the street by the basement entrance. And when he was fairly in the street he looked up and down in search of the stranger's form. Half-way down the street he perceived the man, sauntering slowly along, evidently in not the least hurry. Tt did not take the astute Mr. Brocet long to decide upon his plan of operations. He crossed the street immediately and upon the opposite sidewalk pro- ceeded to dog the man’s footsteps. An easy task this and with no danger of discovery attending it. for the man went lage, on, never turning either to the right or left. idently, he had not the slightest suspicion that he was likely to be spied upon. At the first cross-street the man turned to the left and went down toward Third avenue, and Brocet, still keeping upon the opposite side of the way, fol- lowed carefully behind. : The spy’s idea was that at Third avenue the man would tals acar for down-town, but when the avenue was reached, the stranger crossed it, without even glancing up or down, and kept straight on. * He has his den close at hand,” Brocet murmur- ed, ‘or else he has discovered that he is being fol- lowed and is going to twist and turn about so as to throw me off the track,” But that idea seemed incredible, for the man had never even glanced behind since leaving the house, and it appeared to be clearly impossible that he could have discovered that his footsteps were being watched. » ‘The street by the river’s side was reached at last; the man halted for a moment beneath the street lamp on the corner and consulted his watch; then he looked up and down, but never behind him. ‘*Aha,”? muttered Brocet, who had improved the opportunity to glide into a convenient door-stoop, “ne expects some one; he has made an appoint- ment, evidently.” The spot was alonely one, hardly a soul passing and as the night was quite dark, it seemed well fitted for a meeting-place for evil-minded men. few minutes the stranger remained motionless upon the corner, then he looked at his watch again, repeated his earnest, prying look up and down ay petting impatient, and then, as if tired o ait ng he crossed the street and marched out upon the dock that projootud ito the raver, For a moment Brocet was nonplused by this unex- pected movement. “He is going to meet some one on the dock, and I must be a witness to that mectin !’’ he cried. The tall form of the man had disappeared in the gloom, which, like an inky pall hung thick and heavy over the pier. Brocet had determined to follow, but it was a risky undertaking to cross the street exposed to the glare of the gaslight, and most certainly discovery was certain if the man chanced to look behind him. But, the spy was equal to the occasion. Proceed- ing down the cross-street to the corner, he hurried up the sidewalk of the river avenue for about half a block, then skulked across the street and came back on the other side until he reached the entrance to the dock up which the stranger had proceeded. Sharp were the eyes of the SPY) but so dense was the Lag over the surface of the river that he was unable to see haJf-way up the pier, and the stranger was nowhere in sight. “It will not do to remain here,” he murmured, “because I will surely be discovered by the man who is coming to meet this fellow. I'll steal up the pier a little ways and see if I can find a hiding-place, At any rate Ican ~ down alongside of the string- piece, and if I am noticed the chances are a hundred to one that they will take me for some drunken fellow sleeping off the effects of a carouse.”’ The spy at once proceeded to put this plan into operation. Stealing cautiously along, almost bent double so as to avoid discovery, he got about half- way up the pier when he came to a lot of old lumber piled up on one side of the dock. ** This will do capitally for the present,” he thought; “Tl just_ sneak down by the side of this and lay low until I discover what has become of my bird.”’ Brocet stole cautiously around the obstruction, intent upon finding a snug corner, when all of a sud- den a dark form sprung violently upon him, yee brawny, sinewy hands griped him by the roat. The spy was a strong man, but he was as helpless as an infant in the powerful grasp of the unknown ae who had taken him at such a fearful disadvan- e. rocet struggled with all his power; he attempted to ery out, but the iron gripe which comp: his windpipe choked all utterance. With a skillful twist the unknown threw the spy to the floor of the dock, not for an instant relaxing the terrible compression upon the throat. The ens suffocating man fought d rately but ‘twas all in vain; the unknown assailant seem to be possessed of a giant’s strength. More and more feeble grew Brocet’s struggles; he began to turn black in the face, and then the un- known who had pinioned him so securely to the earth, suddenly released him, whipped out a thick cloth from his pocket, bound it over the mouth of the spy, and then deftly snapped a pair of hand- cuffs on his wrists, Too feeble to offer successful resistance, and yet not so thoroughly choked as to be jncevebie of know- ing what was going on, the spy was helpless in the power of the enemy. With a strength that was really wonderful the man tossed Brocet upon his shoulder as though he are but a school-boy, and hurried down to the end of the pier. By the side of the dock a pair of steps led down to the water, and a boat was tossing up and down upon the throbbing waves. e assailant deposited the astonished and in- censed spy in the stern of the boat, cast off the rope which attached it to the pier, took up the oars, and with a few vigorous dips shot the light craft far out upon the inky surface of the tide, As we have said, the night was dark, and the few lights along the docks seemed merely like glimmer- ing stars in the distance, The river was deserted; not a single craft was cut- ting its way through the darkness of the night, but as the effects of the terrible choking which the spy had received passed slowly away, and his eyes came accustomed to the kness, so that he could examine the person of the man who had s0 success- i A assaulted him, he found, as he had ted to find from the moment when he had first felt the iron gripe of the unknown upon his throat, that it was the stranger whom he had followed. Too late he realized that he had been led into a trap; but now his wonder was—why had the man ie the aroubie fe, mocure hint so effectually. ever & WO e€ stranger speak until the: were about in the center of the stccam and then 4 sadpenly, ceased rowing, and addressing the spy, said: “Now I want a little information out of you.” CHAPTER XVIL CLOSE QUESTIONING, Drawine in the oars, the man bent forward and removed the heavy cloth from the mouth of Brocet. Despite. the knowledge that he was no match for the SADE, even if he had the free use of his arms instead of being so securely hampered by the hand- cuffs, Brocet attempted to rise, but with a single oe of his powerful hand the man forced him own. “Keep quiet!”’ he cried, sternly, ‘‘ unless you want me to make you food for the fishes! If should ad Ping fg of oe boat, pamonttes as you are, it wouldn’ ) ore you would fin the bottom ng : y d your way to espi s cool nerves, Brocet shivered; suc death would indeed be a horrible one,and he had = sense enough to know that he was helpless in the wer of the man who had captured so skill- ully. “What do you mean by this ou ?” Brocet cried, indignantly, putting on a bold face, although he felt far from sing easy in his mind. “You walked right into the trap didn’t you?” said the stranger, quietly. “I had an idea that I was oing to be followed, although I never took the ox to look around to see whether it was so or no “You shall answer to the law for this ou ” Brocet blustered, wa **Oh, don’t you bother about the law; mebbe you'll get all the law you want before you die.” * What do you mean by this assault" S] “Why, I want to have a nice, quiet talk with you,” the Texan replied. ‘‘And a better spot than this couldn’t be found in, or around, this big city. And then, too, if 1 find you ugly and not disposed to an- swer my questions, all I’ve got to do is to drop you overboard, and you'll go to the bottom pretty soon, with those handcuffs on, unless you're a better swimmer than the majority of men are.” “You wouldn’t murder me!” Brocet cried. “No, not if you answer my questions, but if you're inclined to be ugly, you will find that I can be ugly. too; and I’ve got en in a fix here so that I can knock you on the head if I take a mind to doit, and toss you overboard without anybody being the wiser.” Again Brocet felt the cold shivers creeping over him; this man seemed as implacable as fate. ‘Well, what is it that you wish to know?” “Oh, quite a number of things! In the first placa who set you on to tracking me to-night?” “No one,” replied Brocet, promptly. “ That’s a lie!’ the Texan cried. “No it ain’t!” replied Brocet, earnestly. ‘I over- heard your conversation to-night with my master, and I followed you, ee to overtake you an see if I couldn’t sell you a little information.” “Well, you did overtake me, but not exactly in the way you expected, “the man remarked, dryly. “What information can you give me?”’ ** About Victor Vanderwolf.”’ “ Ah! that is exactly what I was going to ask you; 5 alive, isn’t he?” . 0. ” “No?” and the Texan was evidently disappointed. “No, he is dead.” “Yes, so the other one said, but I don’t believe it; but if he is really dead—that is, if you believe he is, what information in regard to him was you going to give me?” “T wasn't going to give it,’* responded Brocet, sulkily. ‘I was going to offer to sell it to you.” “Well, I reckon that we won’t quarrel about that now; spit out your story; if it is worth anything to me you shall be paid, and liberally, too.” ‘* Oh, it’s only about Victor's death—the hoy? and where he died; but if you don’t believe t he is dead, of course you won't care to hear it.” “ No, if he is really dead—which story I don't be- lieve at all—it doesn’t matter to me where he died or when.” “What else do you want to know?” “Is Leopold Vanderwolf married?” “ No, sir.” “ Has he ever been married?’ “No, sir, not that I ever knew.” K i dalena Avala reside in your master’s ouse ?”” Brocet answered in the affirmative, but looked as- tonished at the question, “Ts she not jeceols Vanderwolf’s wife?” ‘Oh, no, she’s housekeeper.’’ Brocet was de- cidedly amazed at this question. rm * megnelans Fer is pain Na pbc de house- eeper, € e stranger mui evidently puz- zled by the statement. VP “Yes, sir.” “How long is it since you saw Victor Vander- wolf?” asked the Texan, abruptly, returning again to the former subject. “IT never saw him,” “ No?” ‘No, sir; he had gone away before I entered Mr. Leopold ‘s service.” ‘i 4 of you know anything of this Victor by reputa. on “Not much.” “ He was pretty wild, wasn’t he?”’ “Yes, I believe so,’ answered Brocet, who was somewhat surprised at such qoastican from a man who had professed to be an intimate friend of the person about whom he was so curious, for, be it re- membered, Brocet, waiting outside in the h in obedience to Vanderwolf’s orders, had overh all the conversation between his master and the 8 . “ Well, nee Mr.—what's your name?” “ Ah, Brocet; well, Mr. Brocet, I want to make a little arrangement with you. I want a confidential nt in the house of Mr. Leopold Vanderwolf and I ou willanswer. I expected that, after my con- versation with Vanderwolf, I would be followed: for I had a shrewd suspicion that inquiries after Victor Vanderwolf would excite a deal of interest, and so in advance I prepared this little trap into which you have fallen. Now, you’re a odie cun fellow andI any you to serve me, and you shall well paid, too,’ “You want to hire me to betray my master?” asked the outwitted spy, in a sullen tone, and yet at the v same time he was closely calculating in his own d the advantages that might come to him if he accepted the offer, and the chances of his treach- ery being discovered b Vanderwolf. ‘Oh, no, that ain’t the way to put it!” the Texan exclaimed. “I have nothing to do with Leopold Vanderwolf; my business is with Victor. I have the be os x reasons for thinking that he is not dead, but ve ” “Alive!” cried Brocet, astonished at the positive tone in which the other spoke. “Yes, not only alive in New York and in close with him, with this woman ena Avala.” 4 en jit may be so,"’ Brocet admitted, ‘but I ou ’ “T don’t,” the Texan replied, firmly, ‘but don’t you think that you are ul enough to find out wie mipe or pe 8 a “ Per! am, but it’s hard to go against the inan who has always paid me well.” “iy “Tt has nothing to do with him, unless he is shield- ing his brother; and then, too, how long would this Vanderwolf keep you if you were not useful to him? Why, he'd kick you out to-morrow!” ee gy he Nabe ““You know he would! I’m offerin ua d tine, very little trouble and plenty of Bote for it” “How much?” asked Brocet, tersely. Now you're coming down to usiness,’’ the stranger remarked. “Give me certain proof that Victor Vanderwolf is alive and I'll pay a hundred dollars; find out for me where he is—under wh: ¢ hands upoy name he is hiding—so that I can put him and I'll give you another b v
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au “What do you want him for?” asked Brocet, ab- rupt. , astonished at these liberat offers. That’s my business,” replied the other, “* and it has nothing to do with you.” 9 ‘““And suppose I refuse?” questioned Brocet, in a dogged sort of way. ou en, young man, I shall make it my business to gt you into a fix, so that you'll stand a chance of ing railroaded into the State prison unless you do m2 agen the stranger replied, coolly. ‘Why who are you?” asked the other, amazed. “A police spy,” answered the man, throwing open wis coat, an showing a small silver star pinned ereon. “Well, T'll do my best for you,’ Brocet cried, : making up his mind to try for the two hun- red. “And even if you don’t succeed you shall have something for your trouble. A line addressed to J. Phenix, Police Headquarters, Mulberry street, will reach me at any time.” The police spy had scored a hit this time and no mistake, CHAPTER XVIII. A CUNNING TRICK. Tue Bohemian turned and confronted the man, who had so strangely accosted him, in haughty sur- prise. ‘* Did you speak to me, sir?”’ he exclaimed. * Of course,” the police spy replied, for it was Joe Phenix, still assuming the character of the Texan cattle-drover. ‘‘How are you, Victor? Don’t you remember me?”’ “You are laboring under a mistake, sir, my name is not Victor.” “ No ” “ No, sir.” “ Ain’t you Victor Vanderwolf?” **No, sir, I am not,” “ Oh, you’re joking!”’ mian a Widattly teginttag eviden plainly betraying it. “Do you mean to tell me that your name ain’t ea anderwolf, and that you ain't an old pard of mine?’ “Yes, sir, I do mean to tell you so; that is not my name, and I never saw you before in my life, to the best of my recollection.’ “Well, what is bags name, anyhow?”’ “T think, sir, that is my business, and not yours, and asI’m in something of a hurry, you'll have to excuse me,” and, acting on the word, the Bohemian turned upon his heel and strode away. Phenix watched him for a few minutes in silence, a peculiar ight shining in his keen eyes. ‘It is my bird, sure enough!” he muttered at last, losing sig t of the Bohemian’s tall figure in the crowd. “ Noneed to track him, for now that I know who he is I can put 4 finger on him at any time. At last I hold in my hands the key to the whole mystery; this accidental meeting has revealed everything to me, and blind idiot that I am! I never { ispected it before. A cunning trick, and yet so siraple; but what is he doing in this quarter? What game is he up to now? Well, time will reveal that. or the present I must let my. rivate wrongs rest until I have completed this public business.” ing over to Fourth avenue, the spy took a car for down-town, and alighted at that gloomy pile in Center street, known popularly as the Tombs. Presenting a card, he was at once admitted into the building and condueted to the cell where the Frenchman, Louis Gironde, meditated upon the ups and downs of this uncertain world. The light from the corridor illuminated the cell !” exclaimed the Bohe- lose his temper, and quite bi tly, but keen-eyed as was the cute son of modern Gaul, he did not recognize the —_ spy in se although he scanned him closely. A itor, Louis,’”’ said the keeper, ushering the man into the cell and then withdrawing and locking the door carefully behind him. The spy waited until the keeper was fairly out of sight and hearing, and then he made sundry mysterious signs; but French Louis only stared at him in astonishment—astonishment a little too strong to be real. The signs finished, the spy looked inquiringly at ne Wn ae t?” cried the wily rascal, Oo you wan c roughly; “I dotnet know you!” “T come from the cap 5 “What captain?” * Captain kk.” “Captain Shark! and who is he?” “Why do you not answer the signs? I am a brother.” ‘ ‘*4 brother—brother what?” “What's the matter with you?—are you crazy?” “No, mon Dieu! but I think you must be, with your rubbish about the bea and those signs, whatever they mean!” the Frenchman retorted. “See,” and again the spy made the signs. “Bah, bah,” cried the prisoner, ‘I know not what you mean!”’ ‘ ous Ree g captain wants to know if you want any pe) “ Tools?” ws om, and the spy lifted up one foot and in a very dextrous manner unscrewed the heavy boot- heel and took it off; it was hollow and contained some tiny little saws, a jointed file, a little bottle of oil andasmall piece of black putty. The saws and file were to cut the irons, the oil to lubricate, and the black putty to fill up the cracks so as to prevent discovery in case of an examination, not too closely made. “Oh, no, my friend, I need none of these things!” the Frenchman ed; ‘Ilam.an innocent man ex and on my trial the truth not sell me any of these toys.” But, even as he ke, the little, sharp eyes of the ‘“cracksman” gloated over the delicate ments, the finest kit bath we had - panes: i x ‘ There is no © pay; the captain sent them.” The Treg chonnathiad halt a mind to accept, but he feared a re the messenger was a stranger and he elie thing of tain, and lay as ow no our ca) , and you are lay- ing a trap for me, but! it wonkt work, my friend. I am too old a bird to be caught by chaff.’ “Allright; you can do as you please,” and the spy screwed on the boot-heel again, will come out. You can- | Soe Phenix. | Hardly had he performed the task when the keep- er * prea along the corridor and looked into the ce “Come, hurry up! You mustn’t stay long!’’ he said, ‘it’s time you were out of this; it’s against all the rules, anyway, to have you here, at this hour.” “*T came to see this gentleman upon important business, anal so an exception was made in my favor, but Iam ready to go now unless Mr. Gironde has something more to say,” and the spy turned to the Frenchman. The prisoner understood that this was his last chance, but he was too wily a rogue to be caught in the skillfully-laid trap and he only shook his head, so the spy departed. r Then he was conducted to the cell occupied by the Italian, Lucca, Care had been taken to place the | confederates in different tiers. We will not weary the reader with the details of the interview, for the second attempt was but a re- petition of the first and equally as unsuccessful. Firmly the Italian refused to answer the signs and denied all knowledge of the ‘‘ captain.”’ The clever device of the ce authorities had failed; the prisoners were not to be tricked into be- traying the leader who stood in the background and planned the evil schemes. The experiment was not tried upon the woman, forin the beginning it was decided that it would be useless. During the brief intervals which elapsed between the arrest of the prisoners and their trial, which was hurried forward with all possible speed, the entire machinery of the police department was put into operation to secure the arrest of the broker, Percy, who was mentioned in the dying declaration of the murdered Bulleastor, but the search was in vain. All that could be discovered was that some years ago there had been a fellow, not exactly a broker, but what is commonly termed a curb-stone opera- tor, a man who carried his office in his hat, as the saying is, by the name of Percy, known in Wall street. But the man had utterly disappeared and left no trace behind him. And the mei in spite of their most persistent inquiry, could not even obtain a description of the ‘‘ operator.” One account said that he was short and fat, with light hair; another declared that he was tall and thin and with black hair; a third said that he was neither short nor tall, but betwixt and between the two: some believed that he was old, and others that he was a mere boy, and finally the officers giving the matter up in disgust came to a conclusion similar to that regarding the wonderful Mrs. Harris in Dick- ens’s world-famous novel, that there wasn’t ‘no sich pusson,”’ In due time the prisoners were placed on trial. Judge Jefferson orge Was n Jobkins ap- for the defense. The judge was a character. In the days when the 2 ring > ruled New York and made things lively for | the “boys,” he had first been SP apes lawyer, a | strong ward leader of the unterrified—voters, whose | motto was “ vote early and vote often;”’ then he had been elected judge and had presided over the Tombs police-court for quite a long time. He was the “terror of the evil-doer,” so the ever- reliable daily ea said, and a stranger hap- pening to stroll in court would have been as- tonished at the rapidity with which he disposed of the petty cases brought before him. He knew them | all, or at least pretended he did—it was about the | same; the culprit’s denial amo “ted to nothing, and | the way he imposed the fines and started the poor, ignorant, werless—politically speaking—wretches to the “island” wasa caution. But let one of the "gang ” be hauled up and the case was different, t despite the legal efforts of the judge and his associate counsel, the two men were convicted, al- a h the Madame escaped, and were sentenced to ng-Sing. The — spy had struck his first blow, and the secret band were staggered by its force, CHAPTER XIX, A MODERN SLAVE SALE, Just about one month after the blue-rose episode, as related in a previous chapter, the Bohemian knocked at the door of the young girl’s room and asked the favor of a few minutes’ conversation with her, inving. her visitor to enter, she placed a chair for i waited in curiosity to learn the purport of ‘*My dear Miss Adalia, Icome on important busi- ness to-night,” he said, “‘and I trust that you will give me your earnest attention.” “Certainly, sir,” she responded, somewhat sur- prised at the vity of his tone and manner. The Bohemian hesitated for a few minutes before he began, and as he surveyed the girl, thinking over in his mind the best way deliver the proposition which he had. come ee to rake, he could not help remarking how beautiful she was. Never be- fore to his eyes had she oe so lovely. “Miss Adalia, I hardly know how to said at last, ‘for what I have to say will, I fear, be totally un cted by you and probably will take you entirely hy varpries, You are a most charmin; young lady, and since I have enjoyed the pleasure o your acquaintanceship, I have gradually learned to € you more and more.” He paused in his speech for a moment, and a slight, beautiful blush began to creep up into the face of the girl. She began to have an idea of the nature of the communication which was about to be made to her, and gladly would she have avoided it if she could have discovered any possible way of re- treat, but she could not, and she felt that, perforce, she must listen. “Fortune has favored me 3 ves me courage to spon otherwise my lips would eve been closed. M: Adalia, Ihave come to ask of you the greatest favor that a woman can give to a man—yourself, I love you and I wish to make you n,” he greatly of late, and that he my wife.” | e girl cast down her eyes and her bosom heaved tumultuously. Tt was a painful task to refuse even a man for whom she cared absolutely nothing, and for a few moments she hesitated. No hope, though, did the suing lover take, for he was a keen reader of faces, and the look which” ap- | peared upon the flushed and coufused face of the irl told him only too well what the answer would e: but he did not seem to be at all discouraged. After quite a long pause Adalia lifted up her heat and made reply. “I trust that you will excuse me, Mr. Percy, if m words give you pain,” she said, slowly; “but, as explained to you some time ago, all my thoughts-- all my energies are devoted to one purpose only.” “Yes, I remember,” he replied, taking advantage of her pause to speak. ‘And that idea is stil strong within rot mind—you have not given it up?’ "No, I shall never give it up while I live!’ she exclaimed. ‘The purpose is as firmly rooted in nr} heart as is the life which there exists, although t fear the time is far distant when I shall set about the task. Without money the attempt is hopeless} and how can I, a single, helpless girl, hope to eari\ the large sum needed? I know enough of the werl\ to understand that to successfully pursue my pw se money must be spent like water, and now. eaven help me! it is as much asI can do to pro- cure the means to sustain life. Oh! I think some- times that I am mad to dream of measuring wrt fea with the powerful, cruel men that so foully wronget the unfortunate victim who in the State priso! grieved his life away.” ““ Why, then, not give up all ideas of such a diffi cult and dangerous scheme? for if the facts of th! case are as you believe them to be, the men whr hunt: ' the wretched criminal to his doom will b? fully . csperate and determined enough to removt you from their R poert if they discover that there i} any likelihood of succeeding in the attempt to brin;} them to justice.” “Oh, I think nothing of my own life!” the girl as: serted. ‘Not fora single instant would } hesitata to sacrifice myself, provided that I could succeed in\ my task, and I should feel a holy, righteous joy ir: dying in such a good cause!” in a glow was the face of the maid, and he? beautiful 9) sparkled with light until they out shone the sheen of diamonds. “You are an enthusiast!’ Percy remarked, quiet. ly, but with his keen eyes fully alive to the rare beauty of the sweet, ego face, and every sense captivated by the subtle charm of her manner, But I am only dreaming, I fear,” she said, witha sudden change of manner, her nervous excitement giving way to bigs sae eer fh **Tt will never be; with- out a fortune at my back I am helpless, and fortunes are not to be had for the asking.” “Why not then accept the love I proffer?”’ the Bo- hemian questioned. “‘Give up this visionary ‘task, cease from pursuing this life of toil, and find a refuge from all cares with me. I do not ask you to say that ou love me; that will come in time; I am content wait; your heart is free, so you assured me the other day, and I am sure that if you give me the chance I can win it.’’ “Oh, no, no, I cannot!’ Adalia replied, with down- cast eyes. “Tam not repulsive to you?” “Oh, no!” the young woman answered, honestly, “And perhaps in time you might learn to love me —you know of no reason why you should not?” ‘ None.” “Why not accept then?” “No, it is impossible,” she answered, firmly, rais ing her beautiful eyes to his face as she spoke “You have been kind to me, and Ihave too few friends not to highly prize those which Heaven has been kind enough to give, but I feel that it would be wrong to encourage hopes that can never be realiz: ed. It is impossible, and I hope that you will not oe unkind ly of me for speaking thus honestly and plainly.’ Tt was a painful task, and the voice of the girl fal. tered as she concluded. “Ah, Isee the a, man that can win you is the lover who can lay a fortune at your feet!” he banter- bo suggested. ‘You would not refuse then, eh?" “Tt would be a terrible temptation,” she replied, her whole manner troubled. * ** And you would not be able to resist it?” *T fear that I should not.” “ Fear?” “Yes, for is it not a terrible thing for a woman te sell herself?’ she asked; “‘ and it would be a sale just as much as though I was bid off as the slaves used to be at open auction.” “No matter who the man is, so long ashe had— let me see, what was the sum? twenty thousand dol- lars, wasn’t it?” “Oh, why speak of it? It was a foolish specch; such a thing can never be!” - ‘““Aha! who knows?” he replied, nae The most unlikely things happen sometimes in this world, Come, let us understand the matter fully; for twenty thousand dollars you would be willing to agree to marry any man, no matter whether he was old ov ugly or misshapen in face or form?” *T fear that I should not be able to resist the temp- tation,” she confessed, her beautiful lips tigltiy compressed. “Well, then, behold in me the man, and see, hers is the money.’ The Bohemian drew a bank-book from one pocket, a check-book from another and laid them on tho table side by side. Adalia lode at him with astonished eyes; she did not comprehend his meaning. ° “See, here is an account opened for you with te National Union Bank to the extent of twenty thov- sand dollars,” he said. Mechanically her eyes followed his finger as he sointed to the book and read the inscription wri.ten ereon: “National Union Bank, ‘ “Tn account with Adalia Cummerton.” “But I do not understand,” she said, opening her large violet eyes wide in wonder. “The story is soon told,” he replied, with a gaycty that was plainly affected, although the girl in the in- nocence of her heart never suspected ‘it. L tol you at the commencement of this interview that for une had been kind to me lately. By chance a moi.th ago I came in possession of a lottery-ticket; bougi» it in fact of a poor wretch who said he was starv in and had nothing else tosell. I gave the mana dolls: for it, not that I wanted it, or expected to profit by it, but merely to get rid of the fellow. That tick: 5 drew a prize of forty thousend dollars, and the tt use] make of the money is to buy the wollen Tics."
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CHAPTER XX. THE DECISION. as Tre girl was terribly agitated. Never before in | an her life had she been subjected to such a tempta- , tion. She had spoken idly—foolishly when she had first referred to the subject, and never, even in her wild- est dreams, had she imagined that such a miracle could happen as the proffer of twenty thousand dol- lars for so poor a thing as her white hand, There- fore she was totally unprepared for the offer. She knew not what to say, but, blushing to the very roots of her hair, she cast down her eyes in confu- gion, The Bohemian watched her with the glance of a lynx, a peculiar, hard expression upon his features; he looked like anything but an anxious, suing lover. “You do not answer,’*he said, at last, finding that Adalia hesitated to speak. ‘You repent of your spect will not accept the money coupled with myself.” % Ah, but you are jesting with me!” she exclaim- ed, suddenly, raising her beautiful eyes, which were now moistened with tears, to the face of the man. “This is but a mockery!” and she pointed to the bank books. “‘ You remembered my foolish, heed- less speech, and you wish to amuse yourself at my expense.’ Oh, no, I do not!” he protested, ‘All that I have said is sober, earnest truth, The money isin the bank, subject to your crder, To-morrow you can easily prove whether I am speaking falsely or not by simply filling up one of the checks and pre- on it at the bank, first giving me your signa- ture, though, so that I can give it to the bank offi- cials. », ou will find that the draft will be cashed on sight, a Itis so sudden—I know not what to do,” she mn irresolutely, evidently wavering in her mind, ‘* Mind, I think that the purpose upon which you have set "your heart isa very foolish one, and that you will never succeed in accomplishing it, but that 18 your affair, andi ieave you free to act as you lease,’ “T yowed long ago to devote my life to it!’ she declared, evidently debating the matter over in her mind, The old adage says that the woman who hesitates is lost, and most surely this young and charming girl was hesitating. ‘‘Well, that is your business and not mine, and T will not attempt to interfere, except to say that I think the quest is a hopeless one, and that you will’ not suce I merely accept the offer that you yourself made. You said that you would never marry unless your suitor would be able, and willing, to give you twenty thousand dollars to devote this task. I love you, devotedly and sincerely, and since I can never hope to win your love as a girl’s love should be won, then as fortune has given the means into my hands, I have determined to buy you, as I cannot gain you by any other means.” Adalia was silent for a few moments, her eyes bent upon the floor, one of her little feetimpatiently | tapping the carpet, and her face pale and thought- | ful, The Bohemian watched her closely; he be- lieved that she was yielding. An | then, suddenly, she raised her head, a change | visible upon her features; there was a cold, hard look upon the fresh, young face which Percy had never seen there before. “J will cecept your offer on one condition,” she said, even her voice constrained and altered and far less musical than it was wont to be. ‘* What is it?” ‘Give me six months’ time to devote to this task, upon which I have set my heart, before you claim me; allow me to use the money to aid me in my en- deavors, and then, at the end of six months, whether I succeed or fail, I will come to bee freely—not a loving bride, for that is too much to promise, and I will not deceive you—but an honest, truthful one, who in the future will do her best to repay oe kindness, and who will prove to you b; her eeds how much she appreciates your generosity. “Tt is a tarde !’ he answered, without a mo- ment’s hesitation; ‘I fully agree to the conditions, and not only shall you have the money, but I my- self will assist you to the utmost extent of my power. “You are very kind!” she exclaimed, | gape ies ‘“When I say that I will assist you, I do not mean in person, although I would gladly do so, were I not compelled to go to Europe upon important, business, but I will provide a gentleman who in all respects will act for your interests as faithfully as I possibly could,. I had hoped that I might have induced you to accompany me on my European trip, but the con- dition you have enforced bap me prevents that; do not’ complain, though. I shall be absent four or | five months, six perhaps, and I shall count the days until the six months have expired.” ** How soon do you go?” “T sail to-morrow.” ‘ ; a “Yes, and that is the reason I made all the ar- rangements about the money; I confess I was not | surprised at the condition which you have exacted, | for had an idea that you might require something of that kind, a delay at least, and so I thought the | p matter over and resolved to provide you with a pro- | tector in my absence, Luckily the one man ou of | ten thousand whom I would have selected is in New | York, my half-brother, Hector Langueville, the son | of my mother by her first husband. He was a | Frenchman, and my half-brother was born and edu- | cated in France, and although he has resided in this | country quite a number of years, still he is_not able | to converse very fluently in our tongue, You will | have no difficulty, though, in comprehending what | he says, although he often makes sad blunders.” > Yon are very kind and we thoughtful!” Adalia | confessed, looking at the Bohemian with grateful eyes, and beginning to feel that a very strong senti- ment of respect, if not love, was springing up in her breast for him. “He will, I think, in such a matter as this, be more useful than I could prove, for from his European experience he has quite a knowledge of these difficult criminal cases, as he was connected for quite a num- | ber of years with the secret service department of France, I will see him to-night and have him call , apon you in the morning.” | spur m | forded to the evil-doer, had determined no lon I | conceal the crime—and then the proper officials will | "tis done the tears of Joe Phenix. “You are very kind indeed!’’ The grateful pil began to think that an especial providence had guided this generous man to her, ‘“Oh, I will do all I can for you, although I frankly confess that I think you are wasting your time.” “ Ah! if you only knew how deeply the feeling is implanted in my heart!’ she averred, earnestly. “Sleeping or waking, I think of nothing else; the pale face of the unfortunate victim of as cruel a con- spiracy as the world has ever known is ever before my eyes.’ “What was this Gilbert Barlee like?” asked the Bohemian, carelessly. ‘You will laugh when I tell you that I do not know,” Adalia admitted, candidly. ‘‘I never saw him—never saw evena picture of him, and yet a face haunts me—a pale, sorrowful face, with great, re- proachful eyes. I cannot describe the face to you— cannot tell you what it is like; but it is his face; I know it! Iam sure of it! and the face haunts me to faltering purpose on to accomplish the vow I so solemnly took to tear away the heavy vail that shades the old-time crime and make his innocence manifest to all the world.” With his calm, cold eyes the Bohemian watched the face of the girl, now rendered doubly beautiful by the excitement under which she labored, and if the thoughts which were passing within his mind could have been deciphered by Adalia, she would have been not only amazed but horvified. “If you will be guided by my advice in this matter —and I will also inform my brother of my ideas— you will apply at once to the police headquarters, tell your object and request the superintendent to rocure the services of the most expert detective hat he can a a to understand, of course, that money is no object. Justice is repre- sented as being blind, you know, but it is quite evi- dent that she is not deaf, for the chink of gold sel- dom fails to reach her ears. To this detective fully confide all the pede ge) of the case, and be sure to leave not the slightest thing untold. In these intri- cate criminal matters a cobweb will sometimes hang aman, Be guided by the detective’s advice; he know best how to proceed.” “Oh, sir, how can I ever thank you for the kind interest you have taken in me!’’ exclaimed Adalia, her face beaming with gratitude. “ After six months you will find a way to pay me,” he remarked, with a smile, and a look from eyés which sent the warm blood dancing up into the pale cheeks and forehead of the girl. “T will , she murmured, casting down her more enchanting than ever in her nfusi “And now give me your signature, and I will bid you not only pod-night, but good-by.” She wrote her name am a sheet of paper and gave it into his hands, e rose to receive it. 2 ““My brother will come in the mo , and you must trust him as you would me. Good-by!” He extended his eed then, as she timidly and shyly touched it, he drew her to his bosom, and impressed a warm, passionate kiss upon her soft lips; a kiss of love, and yet it made her tremble, she knew not why. “Good-by!"” again he said, and then hastened away; and she?—she wept, and yet why the tears should come she could not CHAPTER XXI. A NIGHT PROWLER. Ture streets along the water-side are not very live- after htfall, and South street above Pike, on the east side of the city, is particularly desolate dur- ing the hours of darkness. ‘ew persons are there passing along the walks. and they all hurry along as though in haste, and even the weg! mf policeman quickens his steps as he enw over that part of his beat that lies near the ver. , And yet, the ve vement, apparen' d his foot- steps, and some £ oomy, perf ‘the ows would assault and rob the heedless stranger; and if the overcome with man was not so thoroug! dared to offer liquor as to be utterly helpless, an resistance to these prowlers of the night, they would not hesitate to add murder to robbery, for the swift and ever-moving tide of the East river is right at hand to receive the body of the victim and so con- ceal all evidences of the crime, In due time the tide will cast up the body—as if the pure and innocent water, tired of its share in the guilt, and repentant of the aid which it had af- r to examine the swollen and disfigured body, decide pravely that the wounds and bruises had been caused y contact with the piles of the pier, and the news- papers the next morning chronicle the “ Dis- covery of the body of another unknown drowned | man,’ The records of the river-side, and the history of the human ghouls who haunt it, and prey re their fellow-kind, have yet to be written, and when 1 the angels will not make ure the blackened pages. The clocks had just struck nine when a tall figure came slouching along South street. No danger was there in store for this man, for he was dressed almost in rags, and he had that unde- finable baie gi about him that ee! told to the experienced eye that he was “‘ on the tramp.” ‘urious, wolf-like eyes had peered out at him behind dark corners as he passed, but these night- birds of prey had recognized at a glance that the stranger was ore of their tribe, and with these fel- lows it is not dog-eat-dog, for they hunger only for better food. By day or by night such a wretched tramp as this was entirely safe, even ‘along shore. In a certain block in South street, not far from the locality we have mentioned, is a dingy, two-storied wooden house, a regular old rat-trap of a buil A dating back to the ge when the worthy Dutc burghers ruled over New Amsterdam and the all- conquering Anglo-Saxon had not advanced his ban- ners west of the Connecticut. So old was the building that it seemed almost a miracle that it held together. It had been deserted for years, for the estate to which it belonged was in litigation, and no one of the conirodiag arties cared to trouble themselves about the old shanty. Hardly a e of glass remained in any of its windows—that is, in the front, where they were ex- posed to the attacks of the street urchins, who, the world over, are noted for their fondness of display- ing their skill in stone-throwing, and a window in an uninhabited house is an irresistible temptation. Next door to the old shanty was a brick building which had once been occupied as a foundry and boiler-shop, but like a great many others of its class in New York, it had succumbed to the evil fortunes produced by the labor quarrels between the master: § and the men, which resulted in ruin to one class and starvation, or enforced emigration to the other, The boiler-shop, contents and all, had been in the hands of the lawyers for five years or more, and, as a as result, everything had gone to rack and ruin. Just outside the shop were some old boilers, now rusty and dingy from long exposure to the elements, and right close up to the wall of the old rookery was a very large boiler with a fire-box at one end ost large enough for a man to stand upright in. e fire-box end of the bciler was close to the door of the shanty, the men who had placed it in position having encroached across the line, but as no one oc- eupied the old house, of course it made no differ- ence. The tramp was ae along with head toward the ground, apparently half stupefied, yet with keen eyes he was diligently surveying all the surround- ings: e saw the dark, heads, with wolfish which had glared anon bin froth shadowy porteee: noticed keenly the ap ces of these human vultures, and rightly calculated who and what they were, and why they kept themselves secluded from Apparently nothing, yet he saw everything! Sbwly he his Wout, shambling feet t the old ho pace slower than ever, and he at the zy, battered door of the old tene- ment as tho’ h he yen gee with his eyes to pene- ho a the solid wood and a what was The old boiler attracted his attention. “Aha!” he murmured, “the very thing! Luek favors me! gor ant Fa be an A ing na for purpose; but first, me see ere an, sples beyond; there’s not a soul this side on the He shambled slowly on his way, his careful eyes on the to discover the presence of a ied watcher. But his search was fruitless; not a soul besides himself was in the street. There was a gas-lamp on the corner, and under it the tramp paused, leaned up against the iron pillar and cast a —— around. the light of the p the person of the man was revealed. He was a man of powerful build, clad most wretch- edly and having Scengs Begee much hardship, From under his old hat rt masses of reddish- brown. hair stuck out, and his chin was covered with , a ‘h, stubby The man had wt oa a barber for some time; this was ident. “Tt’s all right,” he muttered; ‘‘ there’s not a soul in sight, sneak back without danger of be- ied mn. hardy’ three steps had he taken from the lamp-post when the measured tread of a heavy foot- fall came to his ears. “It’s the officer on the post; I must look out for him,” the tramp said; then he turned short around and went u e street to the next corner, turned abruptly into the side street, walked up it to the dis- tance of ten or a dozen houses, and then turned and so well had he encountered the offi- around and retraced his ste timed his movements, that cer right on the corner. The policeman, a stout, -looki a who was marching along, club in hand—a n —— in — ng Spivey ami Ae ogg offi- who had, by oO enn duty, made themselves obnoxious to the denizens of that locality, had been suddenly assaulted and half-beat- en to death with their own clubs—took a look at the tramp, but the man shambled past the “‘me- tropolitan ** with eyes bent on the gro and had so doubled w his ficute that he « peared like an old man rather t a young Ts ich he was. “Be me sowl! that’s a hard case!” muttered the policeman, as the man went by. “Look at the shoulders on him! Be the ghost of me mother’s grandfather! it’s not meself that would like to have a tussle wid the likes of him and no wan by.” But the man never took the least notice in the world of the officer, and that pene, after a good look at the fellow, started again on his roun Little did the + pm eenens dream that the shabbily- dressed, broad-shouldered tramp was the man whose name for a week had been in everybody’s mouth in the great city of New York who took the least inter- est in the criminal news of the day. Slower and slower w the of the tramp as he listened to the footfalls of the officer dying away in the distance. At last the sound ceased altogether. By this time the man was right in front of the huge boiler, which lay upon the sidewalk like a dis- mantled hulk abandoned upon the shore. Rapidly he glanced up and down the street and then ae a he a = oO _ — from whence = sound 0 e waters chafing against the spiles could be distinctly heard, oo keen eyes of the = are Maes a Re catlike power 0 netrating the Egyptia: darkness Of the n Mt. into the great boiler i fhe fire-box at the end. All within was utter darkness! CHAPTER XXiTl. A NOVEL HABITATION. As the tramp crawled through the boiler he fancied that the sound of his own breath was echoed a cireurstance which puzzled him much, but he believed it but a freak of his eS ant although for a moment he thought it possible some vagrant
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12 log had taken refuge in the boiler, and, curled up Yast asleep, was, in peaceful dreams, forgetting the vials of a wandering, vagabond life. “*T must be careful if some brute is here that I do aot step on him and provoke a bite,” the man mut- vered, as he stepped from the rounded boiler into the quare fire-box. o his utter astonishment he discovered that the tre-box was filled with straw, which rustled loudly as he stepped upon it. ** Hallo!” cried a shrill, boyish voice. “Oh, w’at’s that?’ piped a second voice, shriller and more childish than the first, and from the tone t was evident that the possessor of the voice was much alarmed, **Don’t you be scart!”’ cried the first speaker. “Tf it should be the ghostesses?’’ whimpered the zecond, beginning to cry. “Git out! w’at would they want wid us? We ain’t Jone nothing to nobody, you bet!” replied the first or evidently something of a hero. he man had remained as motionless as a statue, and even attempted to suppress the sound of his oreathing, lest it should betray him, The mystery of the two voices was quite plaintohim. Two home- .28s street boys had sought refuge within the boiler, snd this circumstance seemed likely to Lae gees uterfere with the carrying out of the schemes whic « had devised. “Oh, I bet it’s the ghostesses!"’ squealed the young- Per, who was evidently much the more timid of 6 two. ty UY 4 Ul YZ Uf y y yy Hip MN) ‘ HH) ’ CROUCHING CLOSE TO THE WALL, WITH HIS HAND ON HIS REVOLVER, HE WAITED FOR THE APPROACH OF THE TWO STRANGERS.—Page 5. “Go ‘way wid your nonsense!”’ replied the other. ‘harply. ‘Didn't we say our ‘Now I lay me,’ jes sfore we turned in, jest as we always do? “Tain’t any ghosts, I'll bet a shillin’!”’ e@ man saw that he would have to speak, but just is he was about to do so his ears caught the quick sharp “click” of a pistol’s hammer working, an the boy immediately spoke. “Look out now, stranger, whoever you be, ghost or no ghost!’ the youngster cried; ‘I’ve got my pop-gun out and I'll let ’er drive, dead sure! ‘less you ging out and say who you are, and w’at you want, and w’at you are a-doin’ about yer, a-disturbing a couple of gen’lemen in their private ‘partment at sech an hour as this, when all good folks ought to be in bed and asleep! Spit it out, now, or I'll drill a ole clean through you!” There was no mistaking the determination so ney written in the lad’s voice, and the intruder id not doubt in the least that the boy would be as good as his word. ‘*Hold on! don’t shoot!” he said, quietly, taking a oe upon the rounded part of the boiler as he spoke. “Oh, jiminetti! it’s a man!” the little one whined. ‘Of course it is, and ain't we men, too? or we will ge when we grows up!”’ the elder boy exclaimed. “Do not be alarmed; I do not mean to harm you,” she man said, and there was something calm and veassuring in the tones of his voice. “T bet you won't!” averred the oldest boy, confi- ‘We never <a teal to nobody, and, oO ” Se. “Yes; but w'at do you want here, anyway?’ the boy questioned; ‘“‘mebbe you don’t know that we own this here hotel, me and my brother; my name’ Chippy and his is Dunno.” ‘“How comes it that you sleep here? have you no better home?” ‘No, sir, and this here does bully, too, and it don’t cost noth ng the boy answered. ‘‘In course we could go to the Newsboys’ Home if we liked—we are both on us newsboys, we are—but that costs money and we're jest a-putting away all our stamps and when we get a stake big enough we're both on us a-goin’ out West for to be farmers and grow up with the country—go to Californy, mebbe.” “ And you brought this straw in here and made a house for yourself, eh?”’ “Yes, sir, you bet we did! and it’s just as warm as kin be. ask no odds of nobody, we don’t!” “* And the police—do they ever trouble you?” “Oh, they don’t know nothin’ "bout it; we never slides in here when any of the cops are ‘round; we allers looks out for them and waits till they git out of the way; but, I say, w’at do you want here? This hotel ain't big enough for three; when there’s two here, there’s a crowd.”’ 8 ‘*T have no idea of intruding upon you,” the man | said. ** Yes, but chee are here, you know,” the boy inter- rupted, ‘‘and then mebbe another one will come if you stay, and then another one, until we'll be full- er’n a tick here, and the police will get wind of it and ve down onto us and bu’st up the hull con- cern!” It was very evident that tha boy was very much in earnest and felt decidedly aggrieved. The intruder perceived. that he would be obliged to make the boys acquainted with his scheme or else he would not be able to pursue it. “Oh, yes, course we kin!” answered Chippy, can’t we, Dunno?” i guess so,” replied the other, ever the echo of his older and stouter brother. a ha will not betray me, but keep my secret honestly, you shall be well rewarded.” “Oh, we'll do it; but it ain’t a-goin’ to git us into any trouble, is it, cos we’re right on the square, we | are, both on us, ain’t we, Dunno?” “ Oh, yes, we wouldn't do nuffin wrong for all the world, ’cos we war brought up good and we says our * Now I lay me’s’ every night and morning, reg’lar,”’ piped the little one, in his shrill voice. ‘Are you all alone in the world, boys?—have you neither father nor mother?” There was a momentary silence; evidently the ed hesitated to reply; but at last the elder one spoke. “Please, sir, we take care of ourselves, and we ain’t got anybody to look our for us.” ‘“* And how long have you lived here?” “Bout six months, sir.” “Well, if I live—if J am not killed within the next six months, I’ll find a way to make your life an easier one, my little friends,” “Thank you, sir, we would be very much obliged te you,” Chippy replied, a little mystified by ————————LSK — — _ = e snuggles in down here and we don’t | | straight on, as a chance passer-b $$$ ae | strangeness of the speech, and he would have been still more astonished if he could have seen what manner of man the stranger was who promised to do so much. | “Oh, sir, it would be too jolly!” Dunno ex- claimed, evidently delighted at the prospect, “for we have a hard time on it, and it’s awful cold here in winter.” “But we stick it through, sir,” Chippy added, with pride. ‘‘Oh, we're tough little rats! Dunno ain’t quite so tough as I am, but he ain’t so old, sir, and he’s been sick a good deal; but as for me, sir, I’m tougher’n thunder!”’ door?” the man asked. “ The old rookery?” “Ts that what it is called?" ‘Yes, sir.?’ |} Does anybody live there?’* **No, sir.’ ‘*Ghostesses!’? put in Dunno, suddenly, in a “scart ’’ tone. ‘* Ghosts, eh?”’ | “Well, it’s something, sir,” admitted Chippy, | slowly and reflectively. “What do you mean? Explain.” ‘*Well, sir, it's awful queer,” the boy replied. “Dunno and me generally turn in "bout nine o’clock. and it don’t take us long to fall into the arms 0: Murphy, as the feller at the thea-ter said the other | night, and we both sleeps pretty sound, too; but | sometimes we are waked up by awful noises; we | don’t say a word, you bet, for fear the ghosts, or whatever it is, should find us out. “ ‘i he are the noises like?’ aps—"’ “Yes, like what they say the ghostesses make," putin Dunno. “Tread "bout ’em in the paper, The conversation now sunk into barely audible whispers, such as befitted the subject. “Yes there’s two or three raps, jest short and quick like, and hd we kin always hear footsteps a-movin’ around.” | “How long does the noise generally last?” “Oh, only a minute or two. 3 * And how often in a night do 7 hear it? “Two or three times, sometimes, when we're awake, and thes ag’in we sleep so sound that we | never hear anything.” | ‘Oh?’ criec Panne, in a whisper, the little fellow | had wonderfully sharp ears, “ re coming now!" | “fush! not a word for your lives!” the tramp commanded. The scheme was working. CHAPTER XXII. IMPORTANT INFORMATION. Tue sound of the footsteps grew more and more distinct, and the listening three within the old boiler kept just as still as mice. he man who was approaching was not coming would have been apt to do, but was slowlv sauntering along as though he were walking for pleasure alone, but surely it was a strange fancy to select such a locality and such an hour for an idle promenade, The footsteps glackened perceptibly as the map “Do you know anything about this old house next .
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—_— wee ap) hed the boiler, and finally he came to a halt, evidently right at the door of the old house. The listeners almo.t held their breath, so afraid were they that their presence would be discovered. The man knocked at the door; a sharp, pick tap, evidently given with a piece of metal, and then, af- ter an interval of a so two more taps. A minute more and a gruff voice asked: “* What do you want?”’ The speaker was clearly inside the door, although there had been no sound to indicate that the door had been opened, but the acute watcher, cohcealed within the boiler, guessed at once that there wa3 either a sliding or a hinged panel in the door by means of which the sentinel within could hold con- verse with the applicant for admission without the necessity of opening the door. “T want the fishman.” ** What fishman?”’ “ Captain Shark.” Despite the firm control that the spy held over amself he could hardly repress a start when this wid name fell on his ears. “What do you want with him?” “To sell him some fish.” ** Are they fresh?” “* Oh, very fresh!” “What kind?” “ Tom-cod.” With this answer the conversation abruptly ceased; ‘here was a dead silence for a moment and then \ere was a sound indicating that the door was be- Ni i iW | l i mi i ( AQAS KK SYEQOMAY n ii | |! ) oe was mine about this old house; there is no doubt that it is the head-quarters of the gang. Iam on the right scent and the next blow that I deal them will be worse than the first.” The meditations of the watcher were interrupted at this point by the sound of footsteps approaching. And this time, as before, the footsteps indicated that the man was slowly sauntering along. * Another one of my birds?” the spy muttered. The reason for the leisurely approach of the mem- bers of the gang who intended to enter the old house was plain. They feared detection; it was all-import- ant that suspicion should not be directed to the rookery, and therefore as they approached it they — & wary eye about them to detect the presence of a spy. The new-comer halted at the door of the old shanty and tapped on it three times, in precisely the same manner as the first had done, and the same conversation followed. This man, too, wanted to see the fishman, Captain Shark, and'he had fresh fish to sell, and they were Tom-cods, but, after announcing the name of his fish, the man abruptly added: “Hold on a moment—has Neddy come?”’ ain HA iu **Ves,” “*Where’s your man?” ‘Blamed if I know.”’ “*Didn’t he come?”’ ** Not yet.” ‘What do you suppose is the matter?” “Weil, now, Cap, you’retoo much forme. I heard of the fellow last night, just as I told you, at Black Jake’s dance-house in erry street, and from the description they gave I reckoned he was the very chap we wanted to do the job. I’ve been there to- night ever since six o’clock, but he hain’t come in, and asI reckoned that you would be anxious to know why I didn’t come, if I waited any longer, I thought I’d come up and let you know how the jig was working.” “The fellow is a tramp?” o Yes.’ “Well, have 7 seen him?” ? “No, but Buddy has, and he says that he’s x big. powerful fellow, just the man to do the job if he’ only agree to take hold of it.” “The best thing then is for yo wait for him,” the ape ould “He'll probably come in before midnight; or perhaps you'll stumble upon somebody else that may answer our purpose. This man must be got rid of, at any price, and at any risk, or else we are all doomed.” “ Allright, Cap; I'll git at once!”’ “And I'll wait until midnight for you.” And with this the two men parted; one knocked at the door of the old house and was admitted, u to go back and | — ni wilt H | Tie wt ranges, | Ha a EAN NS i h " — ‘nal! ‘THEN YOU ARE BOTH MY PRISONERS!” HE CRIED, ‘“‘COVERING” THE ASTONISHED RASCALS WITH A PAIR OF REVOLYERS.—Page 6. ing opened; the applicant for admission glided in, the asor closed an neat the street was deserted. To the simple-minded boys this colloquy afforded no particular food for thought, although they rather wondered at a‘ fishman amie ag the old house, which they had always suppose Yo the oor it ave a dee wii followed up could rot fail to lead to great results. Captain Shark! : To come face to face with the individual who bore that strange name was the dearest d sire of tho heart of the man who was = his life by pene- trating into the mysterious haunts “ along shore.’ So far fortune had favored him; he had gained a knowl of the password required to secure a:l- mission into the den of the ontlaws, for such the ol! house evidently was, but how to turn that knowledge to account at present was not clear. The boys were beginning to drop off to sleep again; the expectation of the appearance of tle “ ghostesses "’ had kept them awake, but now that the supposed apparition had resolved itself into fish-vender in search of a customer, tired nature be- gan to assert its sway. Dunno was the first to yield to the influence of the deserted; but | shouldn’t a“ No. ” “How many are within?” “ One !’’ “ Who ha ‘*Dan McGhee.” “Well, Iwon’t go in yet. I want to havea talk with Neddy in private. Some one is coming now. I surprised if it was him. Shut pan!” The listener understood that this was a command to close the panel. Not a word of the conversation had escaped him; familiar indeed to his ears was | the voice of this last ay ae eg oe a fierce thrill of | joy shot through his heart as € reflected how cun- | ningly and completely he was entangling these ras- cals in the web of justice. “Tt is my man,’’ he muctered; “TI could recognize the voice from among a thousand! Captain Shark | has about got to the end of his rope, and at the end | he had reco; god of slumber, and he slowly curled himself up in his | straw nest and traveled off into the land of d-eams., “Say, you man,” said Chippy, preparing to fol- | tow his brother’s example, ‘ you won’t tell anybody ‘bout our bunking in here, will you?” wf no!” the stranger responded. us, but you’re welcome to bunk in here, if you ain't got no better place to snooze,” the boy remarked, geuerously. ~~, right, for there ain’t room here for more’n | is a hangman’s noose.’ The man who had held the conversation with the sentinel in charge of the door walked down the street afew steps, apparently to meet the new-comer to whom he had referred; he did not go far, and after ized and exchanged greetings with the man, both of them came right up to the boiler and one of them even leaned on it as the conversation proceeded, so that not a single word of the interview was lost to the spy. “Hallo, Neddy, is that you?” the man had asked, evidently a fellow of note among the gang. Yes, Cap,”’ the new-comer had answered. And at this answer the concealed spy had nodded | his head, significantly. Ash’ had expected, the first speaker was Captain Shark in person. Pe you are alone?” e — the other retraced his steps down ths street. And in the interim a bold, brilliant plan had flash- ed into the mind of the spy. CHAPTER XXIV. 4 BOLD OPERATION. THE spy waited until the sound of the footsteps of the man who had gone down the street had died away in the distance, then addressed the lads. sé you asleep, boys?’ he asked. There was no answer. Both of the little homeless waifs were soundly locked in slumber’s chains, and in their dreams there appeared to them scenes far different from those in which they daily participated. After all, sleep is the great enchanter and his miracles are truly wonderful. And then, noiselessly, the spy proceeded to de. part. At the mouth of the boiler he haltedf r a mo ment and glanced cautiously around him. Not a soul was in sight, and so the spy was en- abled to gain the street without being observed. “Now, if all goes well, I can trap these fellows to- os right in their den. I must get word to the chief at once, for there is no time to lose.” At the corner of the street, under the lamp-post, the spy halted, drew a pencil and a small memor- andum-book from his pocket, and after a careful lance up and down the deserted street, for caution 1 become a second nature to this man since he had taking up the bloodhound’s trade, he wrote hur- riedl a brief message in the book. t, who is to take it?” he muttered, for a mo- ment perplexed, ‘The officers cannot leave thei
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ats a = ee == Se ene area SS ———— ——— —— SSS ae 14 posts, and I dare not trust it to a stranger, lest by accident I should place it in the hands of one of the gang, and the result of that would be the forfeit of my own life. Oh! what a stupid fool I am!’’ he ered abruptly. ‘The older of the two boys! He is a shrewd, cunning lad and will be sure to be faith- ful. I'll get him out at once.” Hurriedly the spy returned to the boiler and suc- ceeded in waking Chippy without disturbing the other one. “ Follow me without making any noise.” “But Dunno will be scart if he wakes up and can’t find me,”’ Chippy declared. “He is not likely to wake up, and if you’ll do a ey for me—carry a message—I'll give you a dol- ar. ” “Oh, my!” the boy exclaimed, his eyes dilating at the idea of earning so large a sum so easily. ‘*Come on and don’t make any noise.” The two emerged from the boiler, and the spy led the way to the corner of the first cross street above. “Do you know where the police head-quarters are, in Mulberry street?” * Yes, sir.’ “Take this note there,’ and the spy tore the leaf upon which he had written out of the book and folded it up. ‘Ask to see Superintendent Walling— you remember the name?”’ ‘Oh, yes! I knows him—he’s the boss!” the boy replied, agg © ; ‘Exactly! Insist upon seeing him in person; don’t say a word to any one about this note or show it; put tin your pocket, so that no one will see it. Say that Mr. Phenix sent you and that you must see the superintendent.” “Mr, Phenix!” and the boy’s eyes Ww saucer- like in his amazement. ‘* Oh! panes are you Mr. pee the police spy? I all *bout you in the extras!” The metropolitan journals had not failed to do full justice to the police spy on the occasion of the trial of the lodging-house gang whom he had succeeded in trapping, and against whom he had been the prin- ess. ‘Yes, I'm the man; but remember, do not say anything to anybody about where you met me; merely say that you must see the superintendent, and that you came from Mr. Phenix.” The police spy had a shrewd idea that some of the Officials at the police head-quarters, if not really members of the desperate gang whom it was h life’s task to break up and destroy, gave them all the aid and information in their power, and he was determined that on this occasion his bold and skill- ful plan to entrap the leaders of the band should not fail through treachery. “Oh, I’m fly, Cap!’ cried the boy, earnéstly. Mant 2 shall git a word out of me ’cept the boss “That's a good boy!’’ the spy exclaimed, and then another idea occurred to him. “ After you see the superintendent and give him the note, say to him that if he wants a guide you know every foot of the ground all about here.” “You bet!” cried Chippy, promptly; and then all of a sudden the truth of the matter flashed upon him. ‘Oh, I say! you’re after the fishman in the old shanty?” “Perhaps. But mind; not a word of the matter to any one, Herieg to the superintendent.”’ All right; I'll be as dumb as an eel!” “And if everything goes well you shall one dollar but ten more. Now be off with you!” The liberality of the offer fairly took the boy’s breath away for a moment. ‘*Here’s your dollar, and a quarter besides, to pay your car-fare,” the spy continued. ‘Take a car, and when you return with the police look by the boiler for a little piece of paper crumpled up into a ball—just a piece like that note rolled up, If you find it, that fies go ahead. I will be within the house; but if it is not there tell the superintendent to draw off his men to a safe distance, and you crawl into the boiler and wait until you hear me en- ter the house; then and tell the captain. You be sure to —— r all be any ! every wo every time, pr ) cried, promptly. “Oh, I won't make no mistake It was rather a risky t to trust this message, upon which the spy knew very life depended, to a mere boy, and yet Phenix did so with perfect faith that the lad would be equal to the task, : cn off wih it an a no ther a a ppy w not for another function started. at the top of his s 3 It was not the thought of the reward that wu the lad on so much as the knowledge that he had been trusted with an important message by the great police spy, who, in the eyes of the boy, was about the most important ersonage in the world. “A smart little fellow,’’ Phenix murmured, as for a moment he stood motionless and watched the boy hurry up the street. And then, as the active figure disappeared in the gloom, the spy prepared for action. “Now for Black Jake’s dance-house; I hav’n’t any idea where it is, but it can’t be far off, and the first man I meet will probably be able to inform me.”’ Phenix proceeded up the street until he came to erry. ‘A policomad stood on the corner and the spy at once accosted him. The ap ey gave the information required. “Two blocks up the street wid a red light over the have not floor, an’ mind yer eye, for they through min ghere, though, begob!” I'm afther t "that they wouldn't make much out of Bae assumed character of The still keeping u the amp nodded with : knowing wink and sham- bled up the street. The dance-house was easily found; the red light— the signal of danger—and never more t so than in this instance—threw its lurid sare over the dark- geo of the street, cutting a flery hole in the night as were. There was the “merry sound of music and of éance,’’ and hoarse screams of laughter came from within and floated on the murky air without. Black Jake’s den was a favorite resort, evidently, for the dwellers alo ore. Without a moment’s hesitation the spy opened the door and entered. He found himself in a long, nazrow, low-ceiled J oe Phenix. : room, well-filled with a motley crowd of men and | women. Close to the door was a small bar where the pro- prietor of the place, Black Jake—not a negro, as one would imagine from the name, but a Spaniard, with a bushy black beard and a skin almost as black as the color of the tawny sons of Africa—presided. At the further end of the room a German pianist and violin-player furnished the music for the dan- cers. Phenix went at once to the bar. “Say, is Neddy here?’’ he asked. CHAPTER XXV. THE FRENCHMAN, A un night Adalia interview with her s nge suitor. Twenty times at least during the night the odd scene came back to her, and confused and mystified with those fanciful additions that in the land of dreams abound. And all through her slumbers a strange sense of oppression haunted her; she no longer seemed = a free agent, but to be weighted and bound own. Some subtile, mysterious influence was predomi- nating over her hie te life, and she felt as if invisi- ble chains were being fastened around her limbs— chains invisible to the eyes, to the sense of touch, but they fettered the om though, as thoroughly as if they had been’forged of triple steel. ssed after her | And in her dreams the old-time legend came again | and again to her of the rash and unfortunate mor- tal who, for certain temporal advantages, sold him- self body and soul to the author of all evil. Had she, too, made a bargain of that nature? Was this handsome-faced, velvet-voiced suitor, that | had wooed so cunningly, and so successfully, thanks to the money which he possessed, only the flend of darkness in disguise, and she red her — ge in order to carry out her heart’s dearest And when the first gray light of the early morn stole in through the window—the single window which lighted her humble room—and the spirits of darkness fled, like evil fiends from angels of light, with an uneasy start and a muffled c for he a help against what, she knew not—Adalia awoke, | bathed in perspiration., Never before in all her young life had she passed | such a night. She knew that it was very early, for the sun was not up A and the mo: was clear, and so she still reclined upon her couch and earnestly reflect- ed upon the momentens events of the previous even- ing. Fenty ts face rose vividly before her; his tones, so persuasive, still in her ears. But, as she reflec n what had passed be- tween herself and the Bohemian, a —- instinc- tive dislike for the man grew stronger and stronger bd her. y she should dislike him she could not tell—for i _— about the only friend that Heaven had sent er. prefer, as I have known other girls to do. ra should I not learn to love bim?’’ she repeated. ‘T strange, unreasonable dislike that has taken S- sion of me is utter folly. Iam weak and foolish to yield to it for a moment. Iwill take the money; I will try, and love him for his goodness, with all my heart!” It was a long and bitter struggle, but in the end the influence of the Bohemian had conquered. Talk not of gold as idle dross, but bow humbly be- fore it and acknowledge that it is the htiest en- chanter that has ever waved a scepter in this world! The girl rose when the sunbeams came fancies in at her window, made her toilet, had her b ast, and then sat down to the table and bee and ink roceeded to fill out the first check that had ever rawn in her life, “A hundred dollars will beenough for the pre- sent,” she said, as she signed her name at the bottom of the check; “ but suppose that this is alla jest— that this check is worthless, or that there isno such bank? It would be a cruel joke!” She determined to ascertain the truth at once, so she put on her hat and cloak and hurried out. Stop- ing the first policeman she saw, ane inquired of him n regard to the location of the bank, distrustfully adding, “I suppose there is such a bank?” The dian of the — weal at once eased her mind Fe the information that there certainly was such a bank, but he was ignorant in regard to its location, and recommended her to procure a directory in some of the stores which would give her the desired information. Adalia followed the official’s counsel and so easily ed what she wished to know. The bank was situated down town; so the girl took a car and proceeded there at once. The place was still cl and a gentleman informed her that it would not open for an hour yet. And there was another hour of suspense; so Ada- lia paced idly up and down Broadway—the bank was situated on that great thoroughfare—until the hour expired; in fact, to avoid being the first custo- mer, she waited until a quarter past the hour before she ascended the steps of the building. At one of the little windows within she presented the check. The clerk took a good look at her, another at the signature, politely requested her to write her name on the meg %, ae levee ys oe she Le poy so compared another signature pasted in a Jarge book, and then in the most Imatter-6?-thet way, took out a huge oe of bills—more money, apparently. than the girl had ever seen before in her life, an counted out a hundred dollars in ten-dollar bills. “Tens will do, miss, I presume,” he said, “orl can give you smaller or larger as you desire.’ The girl, dazed at the large sum placed within her hand, murmured that “tens would do,” and then hurried out into vhe open air with the little roll’ clutched tightly in her dainty white hand. It was no dream! the —— was in the ban subject to her order. Percy had kept his part of the compact and there was now no excuse for her; she must keep her promise. She hurried home at once, and entering her little, humble apartment threw the money upon the table and with a firm, white, rigid face gazed upon it. “T have sold myself!” she cried, ‘and now, hav- ing yee the earnest money, I belong to this man!” There was a gentle tap at the door just then; Adalia gathered up the money and thrust it into the drawer of the table, and then went to the door. _A stranger stood there—a man about the medium size, with black hair, black mustache and imperial, and a peculiar olive-tinged face. abovt pardons. I have»ze honor to see Miess Cummer. tong?” “Yes, sir,” replied the girl, astonished at the fa- miliar sound of the man’s voice. ‘*T have ze grand honor to introduce myself,” ha said. ‘I docomeon biesness. My name, mademoi selle—miess, is Hector Langueville.” And then, with the announcement of the name tha remembrance of who the man was flashed all at once upon the girl. This was Percy’s half-brother — the gentleman who be had said would call upon her, and who was to aid her in her difficult task of clearing away the stains that rested so darkly upon the name of Gil bert Barlee. No wonder that the face seemed familiar—no won- der that she recognized the tones of the voice! De- spite his dark complexion and his strong French ac- cent, he greatly resembled Percy both in face and wre Ves, abst ain: hlkd-ts “Yes, sir, Lam g see you; walk in, please; Mr. ag spdke to me about som % uF She ered the Frenchman into the room, pro- vided a seat for him, and tried to receive him cordi- ally as she ought to receive the brother of the man who was to be her future husband, and yet, all the time there was an instinctive feeling of aversion Seage3 up in her heart against the stranger. Why she should dislike the man she could not have told; it came from instinct, not from reason. **No, no, a t’ousand t'anks mademoiselle—miess; I vill not be a-seated,” he said, declining the chair with a low bow. ‘It is a-late, and if we are to see = chief de police, it is bettair zat we go presently at nce.” Adalia assumed her hat and cloak, secured her money, and then signified that she was ready. wanes we then, for justice!’ he exclaimed, CHAPTER XXVI. THE STORY OF THE CRIME. Tue twain proceeded at once to the white-fronte:! build in apery seer where the stern agent: of justice have their head-quarters, On the way thither Mr. eville explained to! the girl that he had had a great deal of experience with the French detectives, and illustrated—not very clearly, though, on account of his broken Eng- h—how far superior the police system of Paris was to that of any other city in the world. And as for the New York officials, when he spoke of them, the gentleman elevated his shoulders in that uliar manner common to the modern Gaul, and thus plainly expressed his contempt: __ “They are one set of bunglers; they do not un derstand ze finesse. Ah, mademoiselle—miess, I fear ma of vill be of no use to you.” the girl been less firm in resolution, she sure- ly would have been disco ed; no one seemed ta believe that she could accomplish an g; but she was determined in her purposé. Had she not sol¢ herself, and of what use was the meney_unles’ she persevered in her endeavor? She could sup rt herself by her daily toil; few peo le are there in this world willing to work who cannot find enough to do to support life. Inquiring for the superintendent, they were con- ducted at once to his presence, and Adalia made known her business. The chief listened patiently, but it was quite plain, to the quick eyes and keen vif mong ties 3 of the girl, from the expression upon his face, that he consider- ed her quest a hopeless one. “It’s along time ago, miss,’* he said; “after the lapse of fifteen or sixteen years it is pretty hard work to get at the facts in sucha case as this. Ire- member this man Barlee very well, and have quite a distinct recollection of the circumstances of his trial, and I admit, miss, I believe that he was an in- nocent man and unjustly convicted; but the evi- dence was very strong against him—not quite strong enough to hang him, but enough so to send him to State Prison for life.” “ And do you think, sir, that there is absolutely no hope of ever getting at the truth?’ Adalia asked, al- most beginning to despair. a ‘ “Oh, no; I do not say that,” the police superin- tendent replied, quickly. ‘* While there is life there is hope, you know. Just be seated and excuse me for a moment; I will see what I can do for you.” Adalia and her escort obeyed the injunction, and the superintendent left the room. “You perceive, mademoiselle, zat zere vill be one grand difficulty,’* the Frenchman observed, with a very discouraging shake of the head. “Oh, it cannot be possible that Heaven will for- ever permit this terrible pupeage against an inno- cent man to go unpunished !"’ Adalia exclaimed, fer- vently. “The Frenchman looked at her out of the corners of his eyes in a very peculiar manner; it was very evident that he was amazed at her persistence, In about ten minutes the superintendent re- turned. “Now if you will have the kindness to step this way,” he said, pausing in the doorway, They arose at once and. followed the chief, who ushered them into a small, plainly-furnished office onthe same floor as the main room, . } Ata deskin the room sat a pale-faced, well-buik man, busily engaged in writing, who lifted his head as the visitors entered.
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“This is Mr. Phenix, the police spy, miss, who has consented to take charge of your case.” The famous detective was 0 stranger by reputa- tion to the girl, for she had read all about the trial of the lodzing-house gang in the newspapers, and so she gazed with a natural curiosity upon the person who had in so short a time made such a peculiar reputation. ut as the name did not seem to affect the French- man in the least, it was plain that he was ignorant of the ability and daring of the sad-faced but iron- willed police spy. “Explain everything to this gentleman,”’ Walling continued, ‘and if any one can succeed in Se the tangled skein of circumstantial evidence whic sent Barle> to Sing Sing, and by so doing bring light | the | on the real criminal, most assuredly he will man, and you ean rely upon my giving him all the assistance in my power.” Then the superintendent bowed himself out of the room. **Be seated, please,” said Phenix, speaking quite low and very slowly, and by this simple device suc- St in disguising his natural tones most effect- ually. Thé pair complied with the request. “The superintendent informs me that you wish my services in the case of Gilbert Barlee, arrested for murder, in the year ( sentenced to State ‘Prison for life, and who died at Sing ing only a short time ago,” he continued. es, sir.”’ “Have you ever made an frard'to the ease?’ Phenix asked, slowly and reflect- ively. “*The report of the trial can be obtained from the daily press of the period.” “Yes, sir, in this little book you will find a com- plete history of the case,”’ the girl answered, takin a little mémorandum-book from her pocket an placing it upon the desk before the Spy. “Tt was prepared years ago when I was a child by one who was fully acquainted with all the particulars,” There was a peculiar gleam in the eyes of Phenix as he opened the book, and it was answered bya strange light which shone in the orbs of the F'rench- man. The surprise to him. The pages of the book were covered with fine, ee writing, evidently the work of a woman's na, The narrative was entitled: “Tae Story oF GILBERT BARLEE.”’ “J will read it aloud,” the spy said, after a mo- ment’s reflection, ‘‘ and if there are any gaps in the account perhaps you ean supply them.” “In the year 1860,’ Phenix began, reading from the book; ‘‘in the’ city of New York lived a wealthy tobacco-broker named Jose Diego Avala. He resid- ed on Madison avenue and he had a place of busi- ness in Wall street.. This Avala was a man of fifty, or thereabouts; a proud, self-willed, passionate per- son, domineering and arrogant in manner. ne child only had Avala—a daughter, y yighteen at the time of which I write: Avala’s busi- ness was not a very extensive one, and in his Wall street office a single clerk and an office-boy attended to.all the business. The clerk was named Gilbert Barliee. He was an orphan and without a relative inthe world. As was but natural under the circum- stances the clerk became acquainted with his employer's daughter, and the girl, vain, fickle and flighty, fell in love with the young man: The pas- sion was @ mutual one, a very soul of honor, wished to: go boldly to the old man and ask for the hand of his dawchter, but she would not hear of such a thing. Sie was sure that her father would never consent, and besides, with true Spanish coquetry, she bad set her heart wpon @ secret marriage. Barlee at. first was reluctant to take such a desperate step, but the girl persuaded him that that was the only way by which she might be won, and so at last he consented and they were married. ‘‘ This union was kept a profound secret from all tae world with one exception; the writer of these lines, the confidante of Magdalena Avala, and one “of the witnesges to the marriage, a servant in the min- ister’s house being the others “Just about two months after this secret mar- riage one might a policeman on duty in Wall street was hurriedly accosted by a st er who said that he feared that there was something wrong in an office down the street as he had heard cries for help coming from it accompanied by groans. ‘Tue officer hurried at once to the spot. The office indicated was the business place of the tobacco-broker, Jose Avala, A light was burning within and the groans, as described b heard. The po ] ‘ ! and so. with @ well-directed kick he beat in the frail lock, and rushed into the room, A horrible sight met his eyes, Upon the floor lay the old broker welte in his blood, and by his side trying to stanch the wounds was his clerk, Gilbert Barlee. “The officer at once gave rocured assistance, but the save the life of the old man, for examine him life was extinct. circumstances Barlee was —e to have com- mitted the murder, although he was, & arently, trying to assist the old man upon the officer’s en- trauce; but appearances were all ainst him. The officer testified that the door was locked and that he was compelled to force it open. An after exami- nation disclosed. the fact that the key was in the lock on the inside, thus ors beyond the shadow hof a doubt that either Barlee or the old man had fiocked the door, after onterian he office; but about ‘the strangest fact of all was that the unknown man iwho had called the officer’s attention to the scene of the tragedy never appeared again.’ the stranger could be distinctly aid came too late when they came to CHAPTER XXVIL. BARLEE’S DEFENSE. Ar this point the spy ceased reading, and raising Barlee, who was the | 1860, tried, condemned and | memorandums in re- | roduction of the book was evic_ntly a | a beautiful girl of | | door which gave admittance to the room and the | | motioned him to.a seat by the table icemar tried the door; it was locked, | } Of course under the | nis eyes'from the book, fixed them upon the anxious | face of the girl. “This circumstance—the strange and unaccount- able keeping in the background of the man who gave the alarm—appears to me to possess great sig- nificance, although, if I remember the story of the trial rightiy, no one attaehed anr importance to it wall But if therha rok bie Steele Joe Phenix. 15 bee pereing stranger, without one interest in the tragedy whate,cr, why did he not come forward on the trial and give his evidence in regard to the matter, as he was the first to hear the groans of the | wounded man and to call the attention of the police | tothe spot? If my memory is correct, it was pre- | sumed that the stranger was a traveler, who, after warning the police, proceeded on his journey _and | troubled his head no more about the matter. With | this explanation eres: one was satisfied, and no one, even in the remotest manner, connected this man with the real author of the crime, presuming Bar- lee’s strong assertions that he was innocent of all | knowledge of the deed not to be the truth.” “Tt was strange,’ the girl admitted, thoughtfully. “Yes, it was more than strange; it was a criminal blunder on the part of those who had charge of Bar-- lee’s case, but just such blunders are committed daily, The man should have been found, for if Bar- lee was innocent, the chances are a hundred to one that this man was the real criminal.” “Ah, mon Dieu!” the Frenchman exclaimed. ‘TI | do not a-comprehend how you do arrive at dat con- | clusion!” The police spy turned his eyes slowly upon the | face of the foreigner and surveyed him quietly for a | moment, not with a staring gaze, but with a reflec- | tive sort of look, as if he was debating over the mat- ter under discussion in his own mind and was con- sidering how to present the matter in its proper | | light. And yet the Frenchman did not seem to relish the inspection, although it would not have been an easy task to have discovered any particular thing in his manner to indicate that such was the fact. The girl hastened to introduce the Frenchman. ‘*This merge wey Mr, Longueville, has kindly promised to assist me in this matter.” “Mr. Longueville!’ observed Phenix, thoughtful- ly. ‘Iknew a family of thatmame once. Have you relatives at Toulon, in France, sir?” “No, sar,” the Frenchman responded, quite stiffly. **T am from Paris.” ‘Ah, yes; well, your voice seemed familiar to me, and I thought perhaps that you might be related to | the family I knew.” There was a peculiar glitter in the eyes of the Frenchman.as he listened to this apparently unim- | ortant speech which it was hard to account for, | urely the words of the police spy were enough, Phenix resumed his reading: “Barlee was accused of the murder, arrested and | thrown into prison. On his person was found a note in the handwriting of Avala, making an appointment for an interview in the oflice at nine o’clock that night, and in the note the writer referred to the se- cret marriage of his daughter, and requested Barlee to be sure and meet him at the appointed time, as he, the writer, wished to have a and free discus- sion in regard to the matter. / ‘When the case came to trial, Barlee told a most | wonderful story. On the night in question he had | gone to the office in Wall street, as el appointment, and had found the broker there. e old man was seated at his desk, which was situated between the door of a small closet where odds and ends were gen- erally tucked out of sight. “The broker upon Barlee’s entrance had and then had vehemently demanded to know why he had dared to secretly marry his daughter. ee had replied as most men in’such a situation would have replied. He described the love which existed be- tween himself and the lady; admitted the impru- dence of the disobedient act, and humbly asked par- don for his share in the transaction. “Avala had listened patiently to the recital, not saying a word until Barlee had coneluded, and then he proceeded to make known hts ideas in the mat- ter, daughter, he said, was a young, weak and rl, and already she repented tne rash step which she had been induced take, for thus the father laid all the blame pod the een, TE in reality, it had been the girl's idea, and lee had only yielded to the secret union when she had de- clared with all the perversity of her sex that she was to be won in that way and in no other, But the young husband did not undertake to undeceive the angry father: he was content to let all the guilt rest on his own broad shoulders. She had repented of her rash et and gladly would do anything to recall the error of the past, but as that was impossible, the next best thing would be to undo the knot which had been so rashly tied, and so the broker coolly | proposed to give Barlee five thousand dollars upon condition that he quitted the my! at once and bound himself by oath not to return for two y and in the meantime a divorce would be proc by the wife. * Barlee rejected the pro ; he could not bi itisieatt 00 believe’ thal Mardalens Ayala would ¢ the alerm, and soon | her own free will propose such a thing or consent to to | it “As proof that what he said was true, the old man gave Barlee a letter written by the girl, where- in she stated that all was at an end between them and Sir ba MA neyee see pint ain. “Dyen s not bring ee to consent. He believed that the a father had forced the girl to write the note, and that without compulsion she | would never have penned-such an epistle, but the lover-husband little knew how weak, fickle and utter- ly unworthy of the love of any true man was the woman he so fondly fancied, * Avala became enraged when he found that Bar- lee would not consent, and he freely threatened him with the direst consequences if he persisted in his re- | fusal. But Barlee did persist,and after a stormy scene, the old man rose, suddenly as if intending to being the interview to an end; Bariee also rose to his feet, but hardly had he gained a standing posi- tion, when the room was plunged in utter darkness. | Avala, he presumed, had turned off the gas, for he was standing within easy reach of the burner. * Astonished at this unlooked-for event and jump- ing at once to the conclusion that an attack was about to be made upon him, Barlee get behind the table, then there was the sound of a followed by groans, and—although Barlee was no tive in regard to this—he fancied that the door of the office which led into the hal! was opened and shut, and | and I ain’t particular to a hair as to wot I do, and | sort of thing,’’ Nedd: | fist, significant] Mebb | care a wag of a sheep's that. some one had cautiously quitted the apart ment. “The groans continuing and there being no other sound, Barlee, having matches in his pocket, struck a light and relit the gas. “A seene of horrer met his eyes. Extended upon the floor, bleeding and dying was the old broker, and a glittering knife, stained here and there with blood, was on the floor by his side. “Barlee knelt by the side of the wounded maa who had been stabbed in the back—just a single stroke, but the blowso skillfully delivered that it _ cut a way tolet out the life almost immediate- y. ‘* Dazed and horror-stricken by the fearful tragedy, he had been bending over the body when the police. man tried the door of the office, and thinking of course that he could enter, had not moved from his position, having no idea that the door was locked up- on the inside. “This was a terrible point against the prisoner when the trial came off, for he testified that neither himself nor the old broker had locked the door after bis sees Of course this statement was not be eved. “The theory of the defense was that old Avala by accident had turned out the gas, and that some foe | of his who had been concealed within the closet had taken advantoge of the peculiar circumstances of the situation to deal the ae blow, then escaped from the room, and concealed by the darkness, had | turned the key inside, from the outside with a pair | of ‘*nippers,” as the burglar’s tool is called, and shrewdly calculated that the suspicion of the crime would be cast upon Barlee. “Very ingenious reasoning indeed, the wondering world declared, but utterly improbable, and so the jury believed, for they chose rather to accept the theory of the prosecution, which was as follows,” CHAPTER XXVIII. WITHIN THE LION’S MOUTH, ‘‘Neppy Tie!" said the keeper of the dance-house, reflectively, and then he closed one eye and took a good wmrrey of the person of the old tramp; “and what might you want with Neddy Tie, my man?” “Well, I reckon that that is my business, ain’t it?” the rough customer replied, with a leer. ** You can’t strike him for no stake, you know.” “Who sed that I wanted to?’’ “Well, you look like it.” ; Ay a gen’leman, I am, if I am down on my uck,”’ “Oh, of course!” “But, honest; I’m real old business! Oh! you needn’t be afeard! I’m on the cross,” and the va- grant made sundry cabalistic signs with his hands, ** And you want to see Neddy on business?” “ Yes, sir-ee.”’ “ Allright. Stay here and I'll call him.” At the end of the counter was a small door—lead- ing oe a sort of small private room right back of e The aeloon-keeper opened the door, stuck his head in and excha a few words with some one with- in the room, then he turned and beckoned to the tramp. ne shuffled up to him. Pad ht, he expects you,” Jake said; “walk The tramp obeyed at once, and after he entereil the small apartment he closed the door carefully be + hind him. Neddy Tie, the dler, as he was commonly called, sat at a table smoking a short pipe anc amusing himself by looking at the pictures in one o% the illustrated flash ne pers. “How are ye, Mister Tie?” said the tramp, ad vancing and helping himself to a chair by the table. “Hallo!” exclaimed the other, the expression upon his face changing as he saw that the new- comer was a stranger, instead of the man he had ex ; “what do you want?” I want you, my pippin, and as talkin’ is dry work ain’t you going to stand something? I never take an stronger than whisky,” and the bee ned at his own wit. “What do you want with me? I don't kn-w you!” The panier was an old and wary bird and naturally suspicious, = Right you are, my tulip; but I reckon that we'll git acquainted afore long. My name is Long a" heered to-night from a mate of mine that you had a leetle job on hand that you might give to a good man,’ ‘Where is your mate? why don’t he come?” “ He’s on another lay that he thinks will pan out better.” It was quite plain that the astute “ Hump!”’ Ney was not quite satisfied. “Oh, it’s all right pardner!”’ the tramp asserted. “Tm jest as square as adie witha pal. I’m on the gon ‘and then he again indulged in the cabalis- c signs. ‘“Have you been up the river?”’ * Jest come from lp ‘*What were you ‘sent up’ for?’ “Fon dow See ce ie had the pluck ‘You don't look as if you e pluck for that remarked, eafleckiy “Well, I have, and the strength, too,” and then he stretched out his brawny arm and doubled up his be you'll do,” Neddy observed, at length. me, try me, pardner!”’ the tramp cried, eagerly. “I'm ‘jest sp'iling for a job, and I don’t what it is so long as the pay is good Have you the pluck to stick aman?” Nedd Perl" the ‘trast ad vod yer!” e responded, “ that is, provided that Pm well paid for e joband that there is a chance to git : ‘ ; you know, to risk gitaway. LIain’t anxio.g n isk my precious neck foolishly.” There won't be much donger, if you krow enough to keep a still tongue in your head, and the matter can be fixed so that you can slide out c? ” romptly ; town and put for the West just’as soon as the job is done.”’ “ T ” m your man!” the <——. answered, prompey. pret we'll wet our w’ and then w
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The liquor was called for, dispatched, and the two set out. é As the disguised police spy had e: ted, the des- tination was the old house by the dock, but the as- tute villain did not conduct his companion directly | to the spot, but w2nt up and down and around the place, so thatif the tramp had indeed been a stran- ger to the locality, as he had professed to be, he would have supposed the old house to have been a mile at the least from the dance-house. At the corner of the street Neddy halted, told his ‘companion to remain there for a moment until he saw that the coast was clear, and then went cau- tiously down the street. The tramp guessed the reason for this: Neddy did not wish a stranger tolearn the peculiar forms ne- cessary to the opening of the well-guarded door which afforded access to the thieves’ den. In a minute or two Neddy returned. ** Come on,”’ he said: ‘it’s all right.” “Go ahead; I’m fly!’ responded the tramp. He had taken advantage of the absence of his guide to prepare the crumpled — of paper which was to serve as a signal to the boy that everything was in readiness for the attack, and as the peddler opened the door of the house and in a whisper in- structed him to follow, he, — searching looks they bestowed upon the police spy would have been apt to have chilled the blood of any man less daring than he, and lacking the iron will of this bloodhound of the law. But Phenix was as confident of the completeness of his disguise as mortal man could well be, and not a single tremor of fear thrilled his muscular form as he stood, helpless and alone, a single man against a dozen desperate villains, in the den of the outlaws. “A new pal, boys,” said Neddy, introducing the disguised spy. “* What did you say your name was, mate?’ ‘Long Bill,” replied the spy, in the husky tone of voice which he had assumed in conjunction with his disguise. ** And a werry 5 one!"’ exclaimed one of the gang, whose peculiar tones suggested at once old London and the famous bells of Bow. * Are you true-blue, old man, and warranted not to cut in the eye, nor to go back on a pal in dan- ger?” cried another one of these birds 0 prey. “Oh, you kin depend upon me!” the tramp re- lied, earnestly. ‘I'm jest the man to tie to when tcomes to trouble. I’m on a c : ” and then again the disguised spy used the mystic sigus which had before been of such service to him, | of whisky, and most certainly One of the gang prod lass which stood in one corner of the cellar and placed them before the tramp. “Now drink success to our club, old man,” Neddy continued, “ and don’t spare the liquor.” **A club, eh?” exclaimed the SPY keeping up his assumed ¢. ter as he spoke b hing out a glass e obeyed the in- ape ee of the peddler, for he filled the glass to the rim and then tossed it off at a single draught, with- out even so much as winking; a feat which excited profound admiration among the lookers-on, who mentally admitted that the ragged and unsavory tramp had as fine a swallow as they had ever seen. “Yes, sir, our club, the United and Independent Order of Growlers, and this is our head-quarters.”’ “And a mighty comfortable place it is, too!” the disguised spy exclaimed, sagely, at the same time casting a scrutinizing glance around the cellar. He was anxious to learn if there was any other means of entrance into or exit from the underground den besides the stairway which he had descended. Ap- Leeder there was not, for the rude stone wall of he cellar was unbroken by door or window, ex- pare where the stairway from above descended into it. “Yes, my tulip!” Neddy exclaimed, with a know- ing shake of the head, “it is about as neat a hole as such rats as we could find anywhere.” “There's only one bad thing about it,” the tramp suggested, wisely. “Ended, and what is it?” The peddler was surprised by the observation, as indeed were all the rest of the gang, and they await- J | ed the tramp’s explanation with considerable curi- lynx of the law never quailed; he had counted the | osity. as Mepbe I’m wrong though,” the spy replied, with a sudden assumption of modesty. “Let’s hear what you are trying to get at, any- way!’ cried one of the gang. “Yes, spit it out, cos we think that this is about the finest meetin’-room for gen’lemen in our line | of business on top of this here earth!” cried an- other. “Go ahead, pal!"’ sung out the dler, encour- agingly. ‘I reckon that you’ve got chunks of wis- dom in that head of yourn.”’ “Well, furst and foremost, is there any other way to git out of here, s’posen a man wanted to in a hurry, ’sides the way I come in?”’ “Oh, no, of course not!” Neddy cried, instantly, but the keen-eyed spy noticed that the idler as he spoke winked knowingly at the rest of the and therefore on the instant he felt convin that there was some other outlet to the cellar besides the se Well, 1 I ing to ' “ Well, gen’lemen, as I was a-go' say, Ss mn the police got wind of this here place, and got in at the front door and kem down the s' there, why, vars all be caught in a trap, just like so many ra’ ” ‘Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the peddler, and the rest of the gang“joined in the mirth. “Oh, you’re up to snuff, you are!” Neddy ex- = facetiously, when the merriment sub- sided. “Yes, I reckon that Long Bill knows a or two!” the spy exclaimed, in exultation, pretending to accept the dier’s remark as a compliment. *Tain’t gone through life with my eyes shet like a blin puppy,” “Oh, you're a downy cove!’’ another one of the gang remarked. “You ought to have two or three ways to git out of here, somewheres,”’ the tramp persisted. “Well, old man, to be honest with you, you ain't the only fellow in the world that has got a head on his shoulders,” the dler said. “Oh, then there another way out?” The was sure of . and he felt extremely anxious to dis. cover where it was situated, for he plainly foresaw that even if the police succeeded in gai an ad- mittance at the nt door and capturing the man on guard therc, thanks to the instructions which he had given them; yet it would take some time for them’ to break in the heavy door which barred the entrance to the cellar at the foot of the stairs, and which was so romped iti A guarded, and it was certain that if there was another way out of the cellar, the outlaws would easily escape while the officers were breaking in the door. “Oh, yes, my Pippin!" Neddy exclaimed, ‘So don’t you be alarmed; your precious carcass ain’t in no danger whatsomever.” ** But, I don’t see any way to git out,” the sed spy persisted, again taking another careful look around at the apparently solid walls. the outlaws laughed. “Oho! you're too fresh, Mister Mali!” cried a burly ruffian; “ you mustn’t expect to know all the secrets of the club afore you've done anything to prove that Ne Be got the right kind of grit into yer!’ “ I ain't a-tryin’ to pry into your secrets,” the tramp replied. “No, if wouldn’t be healthy for you to do so, till we're willing you should,” the dler remarked significantly, ** but take another k, old and don’t bother Se win about how to get out. If the aa * come while you’re here, Ill go bail to get you out. “Fairer nor that couldn’t be said,” the spy ob- served, sententiously, and he excited the Py quence, or else he would not havc taken so much — to conceal his person. So completely was h's dentity disguised that even the keen-eyed spy wes forced to acknowledge to himself that he woul never be able to identify Captain Shark if he should ig to meet him in the street, stripped of his dir guise. The long black beard he felt sure was false, and ‘& was probable, too, that the curly black hair which escaped from under the felt hat was also false, The moment that Captain Shark was fairly within the room he cast a searching glance at the tramy), whom he recognized as a stranger upon the instani;, The dler, perceiving the scrutiny of the captain, made haste to introduce the tramp. “This is the man, captain, that will undertake the little job you want done,” he said, slapping the tramp on the back as he spoke. ” right,” the captain observed, ina vy syed voice, whose tones, despite the speaker’s efforts to d e them, were extremely familiar to tho earn of the spy, and the moment he recognized: them—fo recognize them he did at once—his heart gave a wild, fierce leap for {3% At last he held within his hand the thread which would lead him through all thc mazes of the lab- yrinth which this arch-plotter had so carefully con- structed around and about his secret. But, despite the quick throbbing of his pulses and the fierce desire which he felt to at once tear th¢ mask from the face of Captain Shark ancl denoun him, not a single trace of all this excitement co be discerned in his face; he was the sleepy, stolid half-drunken old tramp to the life. “Sit down and e yourself comfortablo, o man,” the leader of the d radoes continu “and b a little fire-water, boys, so that he cas wet his whistle.” The captain took a seat at the head of the table while one of the gang pushed a stool toward th | tramp, which he at once proceeded to take prepeentes of, and squatted down upon at the foot of the nos festive board, rendered so by the appearance of an other bottle of liquor and some The captain poured out a sm uantity of whisk; into his glass and then pushed the bottle over towan the tramp, with the remark: Ps. ‘elp yourself and don’t be afraid; don’t shirk th ““T won't,’’ the spy responded, briefly, and no mor did he, for he filles the tumbler to the very brir , and drank the potent contents at a le swallow , without even a wink, much to the surprise of the as- sembled rascals, who unanimously voted the tram: to be a first-class poison-h’ister, and they were a good judges about this sort of thing. The draught was potent and strong enough to uy + set the senses of most men, even though hardene i drinkers, but so strong was the nervous mental e2+ citement under which the spy was laboring that the fiery liquor produced no effect on him at all. “The deuce!” muttered the captain, under his breath, “‘ this fellow has got a head like iron!” “That’s pooty good stuff, cap’n!” exclaimed the tramp, carefully wiping his mouth with his ed coat-sleeve. ‘ shoulan’t mind owning a bar'l or two of that stinger.” “Well, now te business,” the chief said, abruptly; “I've got a little job I want done. Do you think that you’re the man to do it?” ‘*Why, cap’n, you kin bet your bottom dollar that I’m your catamount fer any kind o’ scratchin’.”’ ‘‘No matter what kind of scratchin’ it is?” “Tt don’t —_ - - Seager to me so long aq I get wel or it!’ & What's your nathe bid “Well, I’ve got a dozen; which one do you want?" the tramp asked with a grin. * Any one you like. = “Long Bill is my latest handle. “Long Bill? Well, that will do. You are on the , by I’ve served mytime up the river! I’m no slouch, you kin bet rocks on that, and what I don't ‘bout the cracksman’s lay, ain't worth know- y. You don’t seem to have profited much by your knowledge, to judge from the looks of your clothes,” Shark remarked. “ Down on my luck, cap’n—down on my luck; the best on us will git that way once in awhile, you know, an’ that’s why I’m up now to anything thas offers; so jest give me a chance—that’s all I want! int out the job and see how neat and workman- ke I'll doit. Oh! you kin trust me, you bet!” “ Are you willing to put your head in the hang man’s noose?’ and Captain Shark leaned over on the table and fixed his eyes earnestly on the face of the Ley a “Yes, Il am!’ the spy responded. romptly and defiantly keeping up his assumed ¢ aheeesr: ‘that is, provid ed T am well paid for it, and that there is a
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sight for me to get my head out . Of course, I’m no fool to risk the stone-jug for life, or maybe a dance upon nothing, without seeing that there is a fair show for my money.” “‘That’s understood, of course,’’ the captain re- = with a sagacious nod of the head as much as say that he appreciated the wisdom of the speech. “Pint out the job then and let me know jest ex- actly what you want done, and when itis to be done. and how much I’m to get for it, and I reckon that we'll fix the matter in a jiffy.” “Aha! I see that you're a man of business!” **Oh, you kin jest bet I am!” “Do you know a man called Walling?” The members of the g: stared at each other and at Captain Shark in surprise, but the tramp did not manifest any astonishment. : ‘*Walling—Walling?” he repeated, reflectively. “Well, now, I think that I’ve heard that name some- where, but where on earth was it?” “Never mind; he is the man I want settled!”’ CHAPTER XXXII. AN UNEXPECTED PROCEEDING. More and more amazed were the outlaws at this bold declaration. Walling, the head of the t lice force of New York! To coolly bargain to ke the life of such a man as though he were a mere nobody who could be knocked on the head and tossed into the East river with as little ceremony as if he was only some drunken count an, wander- ing by night, dazed and bewildered, in the dark and deserted streets along-shore: why, the very thought was astounding! ‘Oh, well, I reckon that I kin do it,” the tramp re lied, confidently, never betraying by the ht- est sign that he knew who Walling was. “How much am I going to git for the job and where will I be able to find the man?” **One hundred dollars.” “One hundred dollars!” cried the tramp, in as- tonishment, affecting, with rare ability, to be amazed at the extent of the sum. «One Ph do ite} Sage a ed, quick , Pu do course!" the spy cri ck- . “hk hundred dollars! Why, TH stick @ man any time for ten, proviced there was a show for me to pit off without the perlice tting hold on me,” “All right; it’s a bargain, then?’ “Oh, you bet!” “This W: is the superintendent of the police ap The bla . a oso a ti ai laying back e blazes he is!” gi e tramp, In his chair and at Captain Shark with blank dismay written on his face. spy act his part that And so well did the dis; the ruffians laughed until the tears came into their éyes at his comic dismay. “Yes, old pal; Superintendent Walling of the i York Pole Department is the man I want you tackle ” “Well, really, boss, I don’t know as I’m hanker- ng er sich a job as that,” the tramp observed, owly. “* But you accepted.” . “Yes, but I didn’t know who the man was.’ “Ts it possible that when I said Walling you didn’t ow I meant the police superintendent? Didn’t you know he was the chief of the police?” demand- ed the captain, eg gh “Ttold yer that I thought I'd heerd the nare afore, but I ain’t been in New York for years. time I war here Kennedy war the boss,” the tramp exclaimed. “Then you don’t want to take this job?” “Oh, give me something easier, Cap.” on that you’re only a chicken-hearted ras- cal after all,” the outlaw remarked, expressing his contempt by his looks. “No, I *t!” the tramp cried, sturdily. ‘I’m pluck to the backbone, but I want a show for my- self. Why, the cove that should stick the police boss wouldn’t have no place in this country nor in any other; he’d be hunted down jest like a dog!” And you don’t care to risk it?” “ Not any in mine,thank you!” returned the tramp, with a grin. “Well, we'll let that job . I've got another one i and the party is nothing but a police spy, t ie.” Pon, Tu arn tee Cap!’ was the ready reply, with a face b ten up. bs Leune Guneos tweet the chief of police and a Sason oe eh?” “ ; er.”’ “The man's name is Phenix—Joe enw ag you never heard of him, I suppose?’ and Captain Shark favored the spy with another glance as he put the question, and so curious was the look—so full of Suspicion—that for a moment the spy believed his disguise had been penetrated, but he soon repelled the id ny be was cel = = neither by word or on he been incautious. we Phenix? Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him—seen his Eo in the papers, too, though I never run across e@ man.” ‘* He’s the fellow I want settled.” : ** Tl do it, but how much? A hundred for him?’ “No, fifty!" 7 “Oh, Cap, you ought to make it a hundred! “ No; only fifty, and that’s more than the thing is worth. “But he’s a precious big feller; no small job to git away with him.” Me _ t’s so; he’s just about your size, eh?” and as he put the question the chief of the outlaws favored the disguised SP. with such a peculiar look that again the suspicion that his secret had been dis- feovered came to the daring man with redoubled force, and he n to think that he had incautious- ly thrust him into a trap from whence to escape would be difficult if not impossible. But, as the pe- culiar look vanished almos immediately, and it was too clearly im ble that his disguise could be de- tected except by a miracle almost, the spy breathed freely again. “No, old pal, fifty is quive cous the chief con- tinued, “and it . Tnot be a cult job to get at this Phenix, for he is a foolhardy fellow, and sooner or later he'll be apt to run his head into our very den here, and then you cats 200k his goose for hia® with- ‘ut any trouble.” * on T'll do it; you can jest bet om mer": was the rejoinder, Joo Phenii. **No doubt; and then I’ve got another bit of busi- ness to attend to,and you must set abov* ii te ht.’’ a I’m your man!” “Take another drink, for you've got along and dangerous journey before you,” and as he spoke Shark pushed the bottle over toward the tramp. And as the spy filled up his glass to the brim again, his watchful eyes, ever on the alert, although apparently taking no heed of what was going on around him, saw an hake of astonishment gather on the faces of the ruffiatis; first they looked inquiringly at each other and then at the leader. he quick-witted spy was not slow to guess that, in the apparently careless observation of Captain Shark, ‘‘a long and dangerous journey ”’ before him, some well understood signal had been given by the leader to his band, but that, for some reason, the gang were in doubt how to act upon it. The truth was plain now to the SPY 3 he was dis- covered, or at least suspected, and he at once pre- pared for action. “Drink hearty!” Shark exclaimed, after a slight pause; “the whisky will brace you up for the long and dangerous journey before you.” Again the signal was given, and this time the out- law chief slightly contracted his brows and nodded, although almost imperceptibly, toward the tramp. With every sense on the alert, and yet apparently as cool and unconcerned as possible, the spy tossed off the liquor, no more fee the fiery draught as it washed out his dry throat nif it had nm so much pure and limpid water. “A certain man has got to be decoyed to a certain = and a certain message, which he expects, will o it,” Captain Shark said. ‘“‘Can you write?” ** A little—not much.” recor cn aipe fy spy was Biving all his attention to the outlaw chief, but he had his eyes about him and noticed that three or four of the had quietly risen and passed to the back of his chair. Now he understood what the signal meant; he was to be surrounded and seized when Shark gave the = In some mysterious way he had been discoy- e “Well, a little will do; write as well as you can,” and Shark pushed a scrap of paper and a pencil over tothe tramp. ‘ Write: ‘ All right; I am inside!’ ”’ Captain Shark, instead of the police, had found it! CHAPTER XXXII. A DESPERATE ACT. NEVER was mortal man placed in a more terrible situation. The spy saw at once that he was sus- —. The P aed which he had cast down as a t to the police had been observed by the keen eyes of the outlaw; he had picked it up, mastered the con- tents and instantly suspected that the mysterious message referred to him and his gang. The spy was fairly in the trap ‘ tle = to be no way to escape; he was comple @ power of these desperate ruffians—a ding man agendas a dozen, and each and every one of them ad who would not hesitate at any act of violence to se- cure a safety. If the police would only come! Such was the first thought that flashed through the mind of the spy, but second told him that the first rap of the lice would be the signal for an assault upon him by the enraged ruffians, and, make as brave a fight as he possibly could, yet he was certain to be overpow- ered and long before the officers could break in that stout door. In such moments of peril the active, well-trained mind works quickly, and almost instantly the spy decided upon a course of action. “Write, hey!’ he exclaimed, keeping up his as- sumed character to the life; * well, I ain’t much of a scholard, but I reckon I kin do it well enough,” “Go ahead!” said Captain Sherk, his eyes full upon the face of the spy witha gaze, as if he would read the man’s very soul. The spy took the and great care and deliberation, a capital i tation of a man unused to pe ip and rather em how to go to work, scrawled the words that the outlaw captain had eenomeees upon the paper; and a fearful at- tempt at wri it was, too. Captain Shark took the paper and examined the writing cl , and from the expression upon his face it was evident that he was puzzled; the succeeded in completely al the char of his hand-writing, so that it did not bear the least re- semblance to the inscription upon the scrap of pa- per. “There is no resemblance between the two, but the fellow may be skillful enough to se his hand,” Shark thought, as he surveyed the paper with a careful eye. en a sudden thought occurred to him. The paper he had found evidently was a leaf torn from a memorandum-book. If the tramp was the man who had written and drop it outside the —— a 2 aoe to the police, he still must have the book in his possession, and a search would disclose it. The book would convict him, beyond a doubt. my man!” exclaimed the outlaw, “to “Hark ye, tell the honest truth, I have an idea that you are not exactly what you seem and that your visit here means mischief to us.” “Oh, captain, how kin you think so?’ and the a an injured air quite in keeping with his character. The attention of all within the room was now cen- tered upon him; every face wore a hateful seowl; to be suspected was to be condemned among these jail- birds. times the leader persisted joc Patt sell oe oe es,’’ the er and, you, if you are not acting on the square with us and mean mis- chief, it was the most unlucky moment of your life when you set your foot in this place, for we'll put you 1 perk the dogs can’t get at you.” A ferocious murmur went from ruffian to ruffian— a sort of chorus full of ful meaning. But not for a me instant did the spy ‘“‘show the white feather,” although he fully re: that he wes about as near to death asa man could come and yet live to tell of it. “ All right, cap’n; you’re quite welcome to s’arch eualeis Stamos. Sade "tall zkght, why, stick 17 me as soon as you like; but I’m true-blue,I tell yer!” the spy cried in bravado, and genuine bravado indeed it was, for in an inner pocket of his ragged coat he carried the very identical memora: - book from which he had torn the leaf upon which he had written the message, that, by an unlucky mis- chance, had fallen into the hands of Captain Shark; a search would reveal the book, which would, of course, prove that he was the writer of the mysteri- ous sentence. Then, too, an inspection of his per son would disclose that he was fully and completely armed; and few old tramps, no matter how desper- ate or how lucky, carried about sixty dollars’ worth of revolvers around with them. ‘We'll soon settle who and what you are,” the captain remarked, advancing toward him, e critical moment was at hand, and the spy was about to put into operation the daring and dificult plan which he had conceived, when the signal knock sounded on the door. ‘‘ Hello! see who that is!” Shark commanded. The sentry, whose business it was to attend to the door, at once unbarred the portal and admitted a stout, muscular fellow, who looked like a mechanic, accompanied by a rough and gn specimen of hu- manity, whose clothes, like his features, were very much the worse for wear. The first comer was very well known to the out- laws indeed, being one of the principal members of the gang; he was called Taylor Bud, or Buddy the 1, angen Be he was familiarly termed. His s cialty was bank-robbing, and he was reputed babe as skillful a workman as there was in the country. ** Who's this?” demanded Captain Shark, closely scrutinizing the tramp who accompanied Taylor and jumping at once to the natural conclusion that he was a confederate of the man already within their den. Mj y, he’s the man that Neddy was going to get to do that little job that you wanted attended to, captain, but when he got to Black Jake’s place to- night, they told him that Neddy was gone, but I maprened to drop in just then and run across him!”’ e cat was out of the bag now, with a vengeance! “Aha!’’ cried Shark, and he was just about to command the gang to seize the false tramp, when a pistol-shot echoed through the room, followed at once by the sudden bre and extinguishing of the lantern, which at once plunged the room in utter darkness. The spy had made a bold stroke for liberty. All was confusion, the more so that there was a desperate sti le going :08 in the darkness, the sounds of which could plainly heard; but this noise wes soon drowned in a vigorous attack made upon the outside of the stout cellar door by the batons of the police, who had entered the house at the very same moment that the spy had fired the — ot which had blown off the burner of the ntern and so extinguished the light. aes ee oer shot ene en be the cellar, and i eir passage barr y the heavy door, they had at once commenced a ferocious attack upon it. Anticipating that some such obstacle might bar Sele peograns, a couple of the officers had coma armed with axes, and a few well-directed blows splintered the door into pieces, and then, with cock- revolvers in one hand and bull’s-eye lanterns in the other, they rushed tumultuously into the thieves’ den. The cellar was deserted, with the exception of the scared and astonished old tramp, who crouched in one corner, frightened out of wits, and who begged piec y for his life when he beheld the shining of the revolvers. But two other men were there, clutched in a fierce and close em- brace, struggling violently under the table where they had ro The moment that the room was plunged in utter darkness by the well-directed slot, the spy had sprung to where the outlaw chief was standing, to seize ; but the captain had evident] pees 8 | asimilar idea, for the spy encounte a stalwart form sooner than he anticipated, and closing in with him had brought him to the pene where, poe | the man’s desperate struggles, he suc- ed in overpowering him. But a terrible disappointment was in store for the y, for when the ce flashed their lanterns u e scene, the light revealed that instead of Gen Shark he had captured the burly janitor of the door. Again fickle Fortune had smiled upon the unknown outlaw chief, and but by a hair's breadth he had es caped from the man whose life’s task it was to hunt own. CHAPTER XXXII. THE CHASE BY NIGHT. Tue escape of the ruffians was a mystery, for as the police looked around the cellar there was not a na. outlet visible. ““Handcuff those fellows!’ commanded Walling, referring to the he se and to the burly janitor. The police superintendent had taken upon himself the task of heading the expedition, for he believed tbat the capture would be a most important one, and when, guided by the boy, he had arrived at the whisk tha ae kel enchant eared acon whic e spy eave as a si o had concluded that it would be better to make a dash at once and capture the rascals already in th« den and then lay in wait for the rest. Lu was it for the spy that the astute police off: cer come to this conclusion and had at once pro. ceeded to it into effect, for most certainly ae Walling wai the life of the ¥ would have beey pre es es his rashness in ven uring alone into the en of the gang. “Hallo! where are the rest?’ cried W. “or are these two all there were?” alling, “Oh, no; there were ten or twelve besides!” tho spy answered; “bring your lanterns here; thers sree rr ama 7 > ~¥ ,”’ and Phenix rushed tv e oO e ce as he ke and commenced to examine the wall. _ But the search was a fruitless one for the wall wai all — sah, 'F “There musi an outlet somewhere!” the spy exclaimed, baffled but by no means discouraged mS then he flashed the lantern which he had taken fron: the hand of one of the officers up eqoinns the ceiling p-door, but again in search of a tra) ecru wes use cuneate, any Was
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18 ‘Where did they go? how did they get out?” de- manded Walling, sternly, presenting his revolver at the breast of the tramp, just asif he intended to shoot him on the spot if he did not answer. Down upon his knees went the cowardly wretch in an agony of terror. “Oh, don’t shoot! I don’t know a about it; upon my soul, I don’t, I never was here afore!” he whimpered. “Git up, you fool!” cried the big ruffian, giving him a hearty kick; “‘they’re only t you. They can’t shoot for nothin’ if they are cops. ’ This fellow assumed a bold and defiant tone. “He is a stranger, captain, and is not posted, but the other fellow must know,” said the spy, still act- ively employed in searching the wall for a concealed oor. “Well, reckon that whether I know it or not, you'll never be any the wiser for it!” cried the ruffian, defiantly. : “Tf you know, you had better spit it out,”’ the cap- tain said, sternly. ‘* Well, I won't!” “Tf you make a clean breast of it, maybe we'll let you off, or, at all events, make it easy for you,” the police officer remarked, meanin ing t ““4er | gly. “Oh, you can’t skeer me conn, the giant retort- | ed. “Tm an old hand, I am—no ereenhorn, you kin bet your life on that!” “Aha! I have it!” the spy cried in triumph. The ruffian turned in haste, and an oath escaped from his lips as he noticed the position of Phenix. The spy had passed round to the front of the cellar, and there, in the apparently solid wall, he had dis- covered a door skillfully painted to resemble the wall of which it formed a part. “Two of you march these fellows off to the sta- | tion,” Walling commanded, and then as the gap and the giant were marched off by two of the offi- cers, he, with the rest, proceeded to examine the secret door. It was a skillfully contrived affair; the heavy lanks of which it was composed were roughed and had s°ams cut in them so as to resemble the joints of the stone-work, and then had been painted so as to exactly match the rest of the wall. It required a very close inspection indeed to detect the cheat. The door was firmly fastened and resisted all at- tempts to open it. “Try the axes on it,” commanded Walling. The keen-edzged steels wielded by the muscular arms of the officers soon shattered the door which was fastened on the outside by two anh bolts. A narrow passage, dark as the fabl pt, renowned in story was revealed. evolvers in hand, guided by the light of their lanterns, the officers proceeded to explore the pas- set: Phenix in the advance and Walling right be- D In twenty yards the passage came to a sudden end as far as a footway was concerned, and then thres or four feet downward the dark waters of the East river met the eye. “Oho! I understand how they escaped now!” Walling exclaimed, as he peered down at the rest- less, tt tide. “The rascals had a boat here. See! there is the ring to which the painter was at- tached! they got in, pulled out under the dock and by this time they are out on the Kast river some- where.” “Can we not pursue them?” Phenix cried, ea- gerly. The blood of the police spy was up and he panted to overtake the men whom he had so nearly succeeded in capturing. “ By accident we might run across them if we can et a boat; they haven’t got much the start of us, Gut we must lose no time. Sergeant!’’ and he turn- ed tothe officer in command of the squaw, “Ill leave six men with you here to hold the place, Put a man at the door to challenge any of the gang who may happen to stumble in, not knowing that we have seized the fort; perhaps we may bag a few of them. I’llhave you relieved as soon as possible, The rest I'll take with me.” Phenix and Walling with their portion of the force at once hurried to the street, leaving the sergeant and his squad in possession of the ruffians’ lair. The pursuers at once hurried down to the dock and proceeded out to the end of the pier. The night was quite dark but the moon which had been hidden by dark storm-clouds was beginning to break forth in a measure to light up the darkness of the night. There was a small schooner lying at the end of the pier, and a middle-aged, thick-set sailor, smok- ing a short pipe, was pacing his watch up and down the deck. ** Remain here, boys, and you, Phenix, come with me,” the chief commanded, and then, followed by the spy, he commenced to clamber up the side of the vessel. “Tf they come straight out from under the dock they must have passed near this man, and, as he seems to be on the look-out, he may have noticed them,”’ Walling remarked to Phenix, as they slid over the bulwarks of the schooner. The man was indeed on the alert; he had noticed the two men invading his domain and had deliber- ately drawn a revolver from his pocket, cocked it and so put himself on the defensive. “Hallo! don’t fire; we are officers!” Walling ex- claimed, perceiving the intention of the skipper. And the moon happening to shine out quite bright just ag fully revealed the uniform of the police captain, “All right; glad of it; but I reckoned that you were a couple of river-thieves; they are thicker round here than musketers in a swamp,” ‘““We arein search of a party of that kind; have you seen . boat, pretty well loaded, pass by your vessel within the last ten minutes?” the super- intendent asked. “*T bet you I did!” cried the sailor, emphatically. “Ah, you did!” exclaimed Walling, eager as a bloodhound ov the chase. “Yes, sir, I was a-leaning over the counter a- watching the sky and kinder meditating whether it was going to clear up or take a fresh start for a ne when a boat, chock full of men, and pulling th muffled oars, too, came sp ed out from under my starn, but how in thunder they got there is too much for me, forI never noticed them until they slid right by me. Ithought that it was a police- boat furst and I was a-going to hail em and ask ’em shales of | | ney began. Joe Phenix. | what they were up to, whenI happened to think that the crowd didn’t look like officers, and so I had segse enough to hold my tongue, for { saw that they hadn’t twigged me and the ’spicion kinder flashed upon me that they warn’t up to no good.” “*They came from under the dock!” Walling ex- claimed, quickly, “‘and they are the very party we're after.” “Well, I kin fix you, then, for I heard ’em say | where they were going to land.” *“ Aha!’’ and both the police captain and the spy | pressed forward eagerly to listen. | ‘Yes, sir! one fellow says, ‘Which way, Cap? to | Fulton or to Grand street?’ ‘Foller the tide!”” said another. ‘Flood,’ says the first chap. ‘Grand street, then,’ says the second, and then out into the stream they went.” “Many thanks, my friend. Take care of yourself, | for we've got no time to lose!” And, hot after their prey, the police raced down the pier, CHAPTER XXXIV. THE THEORY OF THE PROSECUTION, ‘«¢ Trp prisoner, Barlee, had married in secret the daughter of the cotton-broker,’ so the district-attor- ‘He, a ea ee no means to support a wife, excepting the small salary which he received, had schemed and contrived until he won the affec- she was the only child of a rich man and naturally the heir to all his wealth and he was poor; there was—and is—no disgrace in honest poverty, but for | tellin, a man to willfully entrap the affections of a young and trusting girl, knowing that her natural guardian would never give consent to the union, and looking only at the marriage in a sordid spirit of gain—win- ning the girl’s consent to a secret marriage so that he might bind her securely to him and thus acquire some of the wealth of the father, was decidedly re- prehensible.’ “For a good half an hour at least the officer of the law continued in this strain, making an extremely speech and bearing hard upon the prisoner, | and then he began to sum up the points which, as he | should smite him to tell the truth. | or reptile, or beast, whose race had | stretched in eve | unsubstantial man, seen by no one, heard b frankly expressed it, left not the htest doubt in his mind as to the guilt of the acc r “* Avala had discovered the secret marriage and had called the prisoner to his office at an unusual hour in order to talk the matter over quietly and if possible to get him to consent to have the marriage annulled. e prisoner had given his account of what had taken place at that interview, but whether it was true or not would never be known until the poem day, unless—supposing the prisoner to ave falsified in regard to the matter—his conscience But as the scholar—the man of learning and of science, skilled in the lore of ages, could from the mud of a dead and forgotten time pluck the single bone of a fish, rished long ago, and from that single, solitary link construct anew the frame and substance of the creature. whose semblance his eyes had never seen, so could even an ordinary man, a ween of sound common sense, take the story of the prisoner, and from the facts given therein and about which there could be no dispute, tell all the particulars of the secret in- terview in the lonely Wall street office, and, unfortu- nately for the prisoner, the recital will differ materi- ally rom the version which he has given us. “* Pwo facts are plain: first, Avala met the pris- oner in the office; second, that interview was ended by the death of the old cotton-broker, the father of the young girl whom the prisoner had married; this must be borne in mind, for on it our whole story hinges. The prisoner says that Avala was annoyed at the marriage, reproached him for having per- suaded his daughter to the act, and tried to buy his consent to the dissolution of the union. All this is very probable, and there is no doubt that it is the truth; but when the prisoner relates that Avala rose, and then that the gas suddenly went out—that he anticipated an attack—he, a strong, muscular young man, imagined that the old and feeble cotton-broker was about to menace him with personal violence, and that he heard a groan, followed by a heavy fall, and then imagined that he heard some one leave the room, in defiance of the fact, sworn to by a credible witness, that the officer—the witness—found the door locked und the key inside, thus positively proving be- = even the shadow of a doubt that the door had en locked by some one within the room and not from the outside. Then the piece. testified that he relit the gas, discovered Avala bleeding and in the agonies of death upon the floor, and that while striving to assist him the officer broke in the door, Now look how reasonable the first part of the story is and how utterly unreasonable and incredible is the second! Why should Avala, an old and infirm man, attempt to measure strength with this young and powerful fellow? Did he hope to free his daugh- ter from the union which was so distasteful to him - murdering his son-in-law? Impossible! The very idea is absurd! Mr. Avala undoubtedly was a hot- headed, petulant old man, somewhat arrogant by nature and accustomed to having his own way, and there is not the slightest doubt that he was fearfully enraged at the secret marriage; and, accepting the prisoner's idea—that the cotton-broker meditated an attack upon him—that the attack was made, who could possibly have st: uck the fatal blow but this man who is now ontrial? The prisoner in his story strives to bring a third party into the affair—a mys- terious, shadowy, ghost-like personage whom he does not even pretend to have seen, but he thinks that he heard a sound—after the fatal blow was struck that robbed the aged Avala of his life—a sound like some one gliding across the apartment and quitting the room. No doubt in the terrible mo- ment that succeeded the giving of the awful blow that stole a human life away, the guilty man, whose angry passions urged him to the fearful deed, heard all so of sounds and saw shado arms out- direction to seize him! But we will dismiss this phantom of a diseased mind—this one human being only, the tag Sd at the bar yonder, to whom it is of life and death importance to prove— which of course he cannot, except by vague imagery —that there was a third man in that lonely office when Avala received his death-wound—we’ll have no more, 1 say, of this visicn-ike human who glides tions of his employer’s daugh er, and why? Because | ——yD like a ghost in the darkness, passes through doors and then Jocks them after him cn the énside / “*Come we now at once and without unnecessary detail to the story which should have been told had the truth been spoken: The prisoner and the old cotton-broker were alone together; they quarreled about this secret marriage; the father wished the poms man to give up the girl whom he had en- rapped, and he obstinately refused; from words they came to blows—the exact truth of the matter it is not probable that we shall ever know in this life—and then, in one rash moment, the younger, stronger man of the two used a knife—and the bloody deed was done!’ “The speech of the District Attorney Legian yy a profound impression, and it was quite p. that all within the court-room believed that the case would go against the prisoner, and so it did. The jury were barely absent an hour, and when my 4 return- ed to the court-room their verdict was: ‘Guilty of murder in the second degree,’ but coupled with a recommendation to mercy. It was quite evident that the jury believed that the blow had been struck in the heat of ion, and that the crime was en- tirely unpremeditated. “The sentence imposed, however, by the judge, was imprisonment for life.” At this point the police spy paused abruptly in the reading, although there were some ten or fifteen more pages to the book, The girl looked at him inquiringly, and the French- man, although pretending to be rather fatigued at the long account, watched the face of the spy nar- rowly out of the corners of his eyes. ‘* Have you read this book through, miss?” the spy asked. “ No sir.”’ “ Did you stop at this point!” And Phenix held up the book showing that the last few pages were securely fastened together by a thread passed oy their centers, and on the first page of the few thus strangely fastened, was the inser ption: “Not to be read except by some — of justice detailed to ferret out the full particulars of the death of Jose Diego Avala and by so doing to make — to all the world the innocence of Gilbert ee.” “ Yes, sir.” Despite the self-command of the Frenchman he could not prevent his face from betraying the inter- est which he felt. ** Shall I read it?” the spy asked. “ Certainly, sir, for we rely upon you to make known the truth.’ With his penknife the SPY removed the thread and opened the pages which had concealed their secret so well for so many years. “Pardon me, monsieur /” interrupted the French- man, py | that the police spy did not intend to read the rest of the book aloud, ‘‘ would there be any objection in allowing dis lady and myself to hear ze grand secret? Ze interest we take is heart felt, I assure you.”’ “No doubt, monsieur,” replied the RY: raising hit eyes from the book and fixing them with a peneirat- ing gaze upon the face of the Frenchman; “but from the single sentence that I have already read I am sure that it would be decidedly for the best that the secret statement of the book should be known to me alone,” “Oh, of course!’ cried the Frenchman, with an expressive shrug of the shoulders, which plainly re- vealed that he was not pleased with the decision, “you are ze best judge, but ze thought to me oc- curred that if dis ladie and ised were fully intro- duced to all ze facts, we might be able you to aid; ? “T do not think so,’’ Phenix replied, d 4 “Tam not at all curious!” Adalia hastoved to ex- claim. ‘Act your own pleasure, sir. that you know what is for the best.” acto bowed silently and resumed his perusal of e CHAPTER XXXV. LIGHT AT LAST! Ten minutes at least the police spy occupied in the perusal of the remaining pages of the memoran- dum-book, and during this time both the French- man and the girl watched him with anxious eyes, although the man affected an indifference which he was far from feeling. . But if either of the two imagined that in the face of the detective could be read the impression produced upon him by the book, they were decidedly mis- taken. The face of a marble statue could not have been more non-committal. The reading ended, the spy closed the book and placed it upon the desk before him. “The production of this book, and the story it tells after so many years have elapsed since the time of the tragedy to which it relates, is one of the wonderful thin tare continually hap in this world,” the spy remarked, reflectively. rhe old adage says, ‘Murder will out,’ and it sometimes comes quite true.”’ “There is hope, then, that the unfortunate man who died in Sing Sing will have his innocence made manifest at last?’ Adalia exclaimed, anxiously. “More than hope—to my mind it is a certainty!” * Aha! dis is gtand ood news!” the Frenchman exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in a very picetul sort of way, and yet there was an expression ca eyes that did not seem to correspond with his words. “There is very little doubt in my mind now in i ag to the matter; this book gives a clew to the whole Enh: Ae “* Morble zat possible?” and the eyes of the I am sure Frenchman gloated upon the book as though he —s ngme ven much to have been possessed of $ secre “The murder was not committed by Mr. Barlee?” the girl asked. “No, miss; he was as innocent of the crime as you are, or this gentleman here,’’ and Phenix bowed to the Frenchman, who looked at the police spy in a very strange way out of the corners of his eyes for . The wh le affair i f th whole s one 0 ose strange cases which the world at large thinks are only to Ee found ia the tales of the romancer or the stage fictions of See
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Joe Phenix. 4 a 9 the playwright, but which, in truth, exist more often in real life than in the mimic world of the novelist and the dramatist. Truth is stranger than fiction, despite the popular belief to the contrary. A stran- ger and more carefully-planned murder than this case of Avala exists not in the criminal annals of the world, and it is no wonder, considering the precau- tions taken by the guilty man, that he succeeded in disguising his action in the matter and in—what was more difficult still—throwing the entire respon- sibility of the foul deed upon the shoulders of an innocent man. But, in spite of his careful and cunning plans—in spite of the fact that for twenty years he has succeeded in keeping his dark deed concealed from the light, the information that is contained in this book will enable me to drag him forth from his concealment of lies and hold him up = all the world as the criminal and murderer that 1¢ is!” “Aha! ze prospect is splendid—magnificent. Ah! Monsieur Phenix, ze authorities knew what they were about: when they made ze police spy of you!” the Frenchman exclaimed. ‘ Monsieur Barlee is one innocent man, then?’ ‘“* Yes, sir.” “And ze real murderer is known, eh?”’ “Ves, the real murderer?’ Adalia repeated. It was plain that their curiosity was tly ee by the positive announcement of the de- ective. “The real murderer was a man who was concealed in the room when Barlee entered—concealed prob- ably in the closet in the wall by the desk, and who took advantage of the gas being extinguished to strike the fatal blow which ended the existence of the old cotton-broker.” “Then the prisoner's belief that some one left the room in the darkness was correct?’ Adalia asked. — »**No doubt about the matter at all,” Phenix replied, gees - ‘Aha! but ze locked door—ze door locked and ze key upon ze inside!’ the Frenchman exclaimed. “You remember ze evidence of ze police officers who burst open ze door?” “Tf my theory in regard to the tragedy is correct that is easily explained,” Phenix answered. ‘‘ Lhap- = to be very well acquainted with all the details of his matter, and now, since I have become po: iven in this book, I am able to give a shrewd, and f believe accurate, guess at the true history of the mysterious crime. Avala having learned that his clerk was married to his daughter summoned Barlee to meet him af his office atan hour when the building in which the office was situated and the neigh located were certain to be deserted. If the old man wished to see Barlee merely for the purpose of talking the matter over and striving to induce him to consent to a dissolution of the secret union, why was such a place and such an hour chosen? Any time would have answered—any place where the of the information rhood in which it was | interview would be secure from interruption. But | if, on the contrary, Avala intended to use force if joersuasion failed—if he meditated violence, then the -donely office in the deserted neighborhood at such an fuour was the very place and time. Of course the theory of violence on the part of the broker at the time of the trial was scouted as ridiculous, for Avala was no match for Barlee, but the existence of an unknown man, armed of course, concealed in the closets, puts an entirely different face upon the matter. If Barlee had been able to prove that there was a man concealed in the closet, then the sudden extinguishing of the gas, no doubt anacngh design and not by accident, by the old man, would clearly lead one to the belief that it was to enable the man within the closet : to attack Barlee and take him at a disadvantage. “Ah, yes, but he did not attack him—he did attack ze old man, according to your theory!’’ the Freach- man cried, quickly, and it was quite evident, des ite the fact that he was not as familiar with the English language as he might have been, that he had m.s- tered all the details of the trialand tragedy, ‘Why should ze man attack ze master and not ze vietion, eh? how explain you that fact, monsieur—he makes ze mistake in ze dark, eh? discover ze mistake—in ze dark, too—run away and locked ze door behind him? Dat is, dis man on ze outside do lock ze door fron ze inside, eh?” and the Frenchman leaned forward at the end of his speech and peered with curious eyes at the face of the detective, as if anxious to sea how he would get over the knotty points which he had raised. < ‘No, there was no mistake about the matter, Phenix replied, in his cold, matter-of-fact way. “The tool struck the master who had hired him; ha did it knowingly, purposely, then quitted the room locked the door behind him by means of a pair of strong pincers with which he grasped the end of the key outside of the door. It is a common trick among hotel thieves to unlock the door of sleeping- chambers from the outside by the aid of pincers so as to get at the valuables within, and on this occa- sion the same trick was used although in a different way. Then, in the street, the man gave the alarm to the first offcer he met, knowing that Barlee would be discovered with the wounded man, and that, under the cireumstances, he would most surely be charged with the committal of the crime. “The man in the street then who gave the alarm but who was never seen again was the real murder- er?” Adalia exclaimed, excitedly. ¥ “Not the slightest doubt about the matter. t. “Ah, but ze reason, my good friend, ze reason! the Frenchman exclaimed; ‘men do not commit murders without reason.” hig statement: reveals the reason to me,” Phe- nix replied, holdi up the memorandum-book, “and so certain am I that I shail succeed in bring- ing home the crime to the real author of the deed that I’m willing to stake all that I have in the world that, within one little month, I'll have the real criminal in jail. That is all I can say now; leave me your address andI will notify you when there is occasion.” The girl Done her place of residence, and then, ac- companied by the Frenchman, withdrew. It would be hard to'say which of the two was most CHAPTER XXXVI. Me = peerage a Tas police hat huss) slog as fast as possi enxious iv cach ihe pis’ velyre the datlawe equid land, so as to be able to receive them ina proper manner. But the river rats pulled lusty oars, and, aided by the current, had made quick time, so that when the guardians of the night came with stealthy caution — dock they suddenly encountered the outlaws, who had landed, made fast their boat and were pro- ceeding shoreward in blissful ignorance that a foe was so close upon them. Dark was the night, ro it did not shield the police from discovery. One keen-eyed fellow caught sight of the uniformed line stedling along the dock and he at once gave the alarm. “The cops, by blazes!’’ he cried. And then came the stern command from the a a oo leader of the outlaws, desperate Captain ark. i # — through them, and each man for himself!” e cried. * Surrender, surrender!”’ shouted Walling, hardly able to believe that the fellows seriously contem- plated resistance. But the outlaws answered the summons by a des- perate attempt to break through the police lines, and for a few minutes there was a violent struggle. The officers outnumbered the thieves nearly two to one, but they had to deal with desperate men and soon the police discovered that they had no easy job upon their hands. Each and every one of the outlaws was armed and the fellows did not hesitate to use their weapons, As the thieves advanced each officer attempted to clutch the man nearest to him, and as it happened two burly fellows “ reached " for the outlaw eader, be nee hark. odging quickly, he evaded one only to find him- self in the grasp of the other. With the desperado it was not a time to stand on trifles, and in a twink- ling he thrust the muzzle of the cocked revolver he carried against the breast of the policeman and pulled the trigger. It was a bloody and violent deed! With a single moan of tom the officer released his hold and, staggering back, fell bleeding and senseless. Captain Shark had added another crime to the long list for which he was already responsible, Belie the outlaw chief to be secure in the hands of the man who had the other officer had turned his attention from him and es- sayed to seize another one of the thieves, and as the fellow dodged the officer and Le turned to pursue him, he saw the flash of a pistol, heard the moan of pain from the lips of the wounded pomeenan and saw him reel, stagger and fall; in hot haste then he rushed after the murderer. Another dark form, too, joined in the pursuit; the police spy had been on the look-out for the outlaw chief, and the instant he heard the report of the pis- tol, a ve een seized upon him that it was the re- port of Shark’s weapon which he heard, and so, at once, he fi the fellow whom he had ‘seized into the hands of the nearest officer and immediately joined the pursuit. Some three or four more of the fellows, in Neer | to the outlaw leader, had succeeded in | through the line, and were running for dear life, hotl ursued by Walling and the policemen who aan 4 ae as a with prisoners. is ‘Hold on, or we'll fire!” P pene Walling, at the top of his lungs, but not a bit o: did the warning do, for the eS 0 ran the faster. One and all of the rascals had selected the river street as an avenue of escape, as it was both dark and deserted. Fast ran the thieves and fast the officers followed. They did not try any pistol practice, for they knew well enough that the chances were ten to one that they would not succeed in a their men, and to fire would only retard the pursuit. The thieves were running in the center of the street, and when they came opposite to the entrance to the next dock to the one upon which the struggle had token pace the outliw leader suddenly turned and d down the pier, while the rest kept on, evidently preferring to trust to their heels for safety in the street. **One of you come with me!”’ the police spy cried; he was in the van of the pursuers. ‘Two of us can handle him well enough, although he is doubtless armed to the teeth and will fight to the death be- fore he allows us to capture him, for he has put his head in the noose by this night’s work!’ The nearest officer followed Phenix, while the rest xo on in chase of the fleeing gang. ‘ p the pier at the top of his speed ran the fugi- tive, while fast behind followed the two Fagot istolin hand. They had an idea that at end 0 he pier the desperado would turn and make a bold fight for his life, and so as they came on they slack- ened their speed slightly, cast a careful glance at their weapons, for they anticipated a bloody genes and were determined to be prepared or But, to their utter surprise, the desperado, upon reaching the string-piece of the pier at the end of the dock, never turned, but dropped off at the end of He into me water. ‘. ‘ a y ery of amazement came from the of both the pursuers as they beheld this un ted act. A few seconds later they, too, upon the string-piece, and with their cocked revolvers in their hands, glared down upon the surface of the inky tide. They looked to see the head of the fugitive emerge from the dark waters, but to their utter sur- prise not a trace of their man could be seen, ‘“He must be under the dock!” the policeman exclaimed. The dock was an open one at the end, and the spiles could plainly be seen. * Well, I can’t understand this move,” Phenix said. he has sought concealment under the dock, and he can’t have gone anywhere else, he must be two-thirds under water, and as he can’t get out without being captured while we are here, all we have to do is to remain, and he'll either have to surrender or drown.” “ ‘*That’s so!” cried the policeman. ‘“* But-hold on!” cried Phenix, suddenly; ‘‘ perhaps his idea is to swim from spile to spile under the dock and make his way to the land while we are wi for him here.” hookey! I never thought of that!” “There may be a ladder on the seawall, by means of which he can climb up. Suppose you and see while I keep watch here”? S * All right, Cap,’ and then the officer hurried off, while Phenix proceeded to examine the sides of the dock, thinking | ng that the fugitive might be clinging to a spile somewhere, but his examination was a fruitless one. And where was the desperate leader of these des- peradoes, bold Captain Shark, all this time? ‘As we have described, he had dropped from the end of the string-piece into the dark waters beneath, arrtedios his arms out fan-like to break the force of his fall, and then he had quietly, and almost noiselessly, paddled himself in under the dock until he reached the second row of spiles, to one of which he clung, and so near was he to the two men on the dock above that not a word of their conversation es- — his ears. ptain Shark und his teeth together in vexa- — as he listened to Phenix’s low, calm and clear nes. ‘““What demon was it that ae this man upon my track?’ he muttered; ‘‘and why does he follow me so persistently? He trails me like a bloodhound. Can he suspect my secret? Who and what is he? His voice and face both seem familiar to me, and yet I cannot remember to have ever met him before. A good genius, too, seems to watch over him; twice alreai ave I led his steps to death’s door, and both times, by a miracle almost, he has escaped me; the third time, though—" and ‘the brigand paused abruptly and set his teeth firmly together; already in anticipation he gloated over the death of the lice spy, for the moment forgetful of the fact that e@ was a hunted fugitive, whose life hung on a thread, as it were. ] And while the two officers of justice on the pier above were speculating regarding his whereabouts, the desperado was preparing for action. With the utmost caution, so as not to makea noise, he removed the boots he wore, took his hand- kerchief from his pocket, rolled it into a rope, tied one end to each boot, and then slung them over his shoulders. By the time this was pcorweiich the policeman had departed on his mission down the pier, and the spy. had commenced to examine the sides of the The outlaw waited until he heard Phenix walk to the lower side of the dock, and then he carefully swam out on the upper side and headed for the pier where the fight taken place. Soon he disap- peered in the darkness, safe from discovery, even Phenix’s sharpeyes. He reached the other pier - the police were busy with their prisoners at the shore end—unfastened the boat, and, clinging to it, allowed it to drift up the river with the tide. Once again Cap Shark had escaped capture, CHAPTER XXXVII. Avren leaving the police head-quarters Adalia lea — Frenchman proceeded pret aw to the oes e Very little conversation was there between the two on the road, for the girl was meditating over the history of the unfortunate Barlee; and the man, too, seemed very much preoccupied. At the door of the house where Adalia resided the pair halted. Monsieur Langueville excused himself, saying that he had some important business on hand which required his immediate attention, and that he would call the next day to learn how matters were progressing, although he had very little hope that he detectives would succeed in their task, for as he explained, it was a very common thing for these bloodhounds of the law to promise very much more than they were able to perform; then he departed. Adalia entered the house and the Frenchman sauntered on up the avenue, his face gloomy with anxious thoughts and his brows knitted together. “Tam working in_the dark,” he muttered, using now most excellent English and king without a trace of foreign accent. ‘“ What does it all mean? I am wande blindly on like a man under the in- fluence of a hideous nightmare, but in my soul I feel that my steps are tending toward a down which, despite myself, I must plunge to destruction. Who is this man—this police spy, who like a fearful specter, has stepped so many toh into ~ path? ve I taken into my hands the sword of justice only to divert the point against my own breast? I am walking on dangerous ground; at any moment the earth may open and swallow me up! 1at shall Ido? What steps shall I take to avert the danger?” He paused on the corner of Fourteenth street as he pe: the question, and in a moody, abstracted way looked around him; with no especial purpose, just by sheer accident, he happened to look down the reet, and the of a man, standing before the window of a jeweler’s shop and apparently intently the treasures so lavishly displayed within, “Tr a wan a meal -sized, plainly-dressed fel e was a medium p el- low, with nothing about his person to attract par. tic’ attention as far as any one could see at # casual glance, and yet the moment the Frenchman set eyes upon him the suspicion flashed at once intc ae gi the fellow was a detective in pleir othes, There was a certain something about the man—as air that he could not d , tor he was not con scious of it, which served to indicate his professios to the skilled ay Seay competent to decide upor these delicate matters, just as one used to the man ners of the artists can generally indicate them in private life from their A pen yen, and th: odd movement of the head, arising from Jong prac tice in attitudinizing before an audience. “Tam spotted,” he muttered, making his eyes off the man after 4 at him, so as not to excite the detective’s suspicions and reveal to him that his lit- tle game was discovered. ‘“‘Now, what does this mean? What is he after me for? Can it be possible that Iam ye ? It seems incredible; but I'll be certain first that it is a fact before I begin to specu: SS Re enchm e Brenchman strolled on leisurely up th street, taking advantage of ev posuinis Goas e to glance around once ina while without excitin,; The fan waa ater bine bu aini e man was it evidently remainin, e re ae - are behind, } yet near po Ae to kee,,
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Se a eget eee lp ow ee ee | . . | ' | 20 * T must determine whether he really is after me or not,” he muttered. “It wiil never do to allow myself to be frightened at a shadow. If I am watched, then I must be on my guard. The blows have been falling thick and heavy lately, and it begins to look as if the end was near at hand. Well, @ man can live comfortably almost anywhere if he has plenty of money, and all the world is open to me forachoice. First, to make sure that my suspicions are correct; and then, if they are,I will mwa | take measures so that Ican laugh at this bloodhound of a police spy and all his ganz.” At First avenue the Frenchman turned abruptly to the left and walked down the street, but in the middle of the block he turned suddenly, just as if he had abruptly made up his mind to take another course, and walked up the street again, encounter- ing the spy, face to face, as he had expec.ed, but assing him by without taking the slightest notice of im. It was no part of the Frenchman’s policy to allow the detective to perceive that his game was discovered, At the corner Monsieur Langueville crossed the street and again proceeded up Fourteenth street toward Second avenue. Half-way up the block he crossed over, thus being enabled to get a view of the street behind him with- out appearing to be anxious to do so. The detective was sauntering slowly along with his hands in his pockets just as the dogged man had expected, “Now, I think that we have played this comedy long enough and we'll bring it abruptly to an end,” he murmured. A huge block of tenement houses lined the street on the upper side, the basements of which were occupied by small stores, lager beer shops mostly, and into one of these places the Frenchman went; he nodded to the proprietor, just as if he was an old customer, and passed at once through the store into the yard behind, then up the back-stairs into a tenement house and up the stairways in the building until he gained the roof and then it was an easy matter to pass from one flat roof to another, as they were all about the same hight, until he got to the oa house, in which he again descended to the 8 t. And while he was passing from roof to roof he had taken a sly peep down into the street, and there, sure enough, just as he had expected, was the spy sitting down upon a door-stoop, nearly opposite to the lager beer saloow, pretending to be deeply ho te in the perusal of a wet me he Frenchman smiled scornfully as he emerged into the street again and saw the spy still occupied in his fruitless watch. e Stay there, my friend, until you grow into the stone!’ he murmured. “Neither you nor any of our bloodhound gang will ever trail me through he streets of New York again!” and turning into the avenue, he proceeded ere up-town. The spy, who by the way was Tom Irving, reputed ‘to be one of the best men on the force, waited for .about twenty minutes, and then perceiving no signs of the man he was after, determined to visit the sa- loon himself. Of course his entering and drinking a glass of lager would excite no suspicion, and if his man was there, he could easily feign an excuse to remain. And so the spy passed into the saloon, called for his lager, and upon discovering that his man was not in the place, proceeded to carefully “‘pump”’ the proprietor. Precious little information he received from the stolid German. The man had forgotten all about the stranger passing through the saloon. oe beeple dot in de housen live do dot,”’ he said. ~ And so the detective was forced to come to the conclusion that either the Frenchman occupied rooms in the house, in which case it would be an easy matter to lay hold of him at —o or else that he had discovered that he was being followed and had skillfully evaded the chase. Which of the two theories was the correct one the detective was unable to say, and so in the dilemma he thought the best thing to do was to proceed to head-yuarters at once and lay the whole matter be- fore Phenix. Promptly he acted upon this belief, and thus, in- side of half an hour, the police spy was in possession of all the facts in the premises. ‘ Phenix was not long in coming to a conclusion, “ He discovered you or else he suspected that he would be followed and took measures to throw any tracker off the scent. This man is no common rogue, and if we are not careful he will beat us, af- ter all, although at present we seem to have him pretty well in our net. I'll see the girl to-morrow and find out what she knows about him. I may be able to gain some important information from her. I would go at once, but I have too much to attend to And it was on the evening of this same day that the exciting scenes in the thieves’ den and along the orn as detailed in our previous chapters took ace. us The next morning about nine o’clock Phenix set out to visit Miss Adalia Cummerton, He found the girl at home, but had hardly pro- ceeded to explain his business when there came a rap on the door, and a civil-spoken gentleman, when the girl answered the knock, inquired if Miss Cum- merton lived there, and said that he brought a mes- sage from Monsieur Langueville. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE CAPTURE, “A message from Monsieur Langueville?” Adalia repeated. “Yes, miss,” said the man; “‘he has unexpectedly been called out of town on business, and it is prob- able that he may not return for two or three weeks; therefore he desired me to tell you to proceed in the business in which you are engaged just the same as if he were here.” “Yes, sir,’ tue girl replied, somewhat astonished at the unexpected news. “When he returns he will call on you at once.” And then the man bowed and took his departure. The police spy, whose presence in the room was entirely unsuspected by the messenger, as the open door did not reveal him to the gaze of the man, looked surprised when the so of the fellow’s voice fell upon his ears, and his face betrayed still more amazement when he listened to the message, Adalia closed the door and returned to her seat, but Phenix was on his feet at once. “You must excuse me for a short time, miss!’ he exclaimed, quickly; “for I fancy that I shall have some business with that gentleman who has just departed. Did you ever see him before?” ** Never.” ‘“* He is a stranger to you, then?”’ “Yes, sir; a total stranger.” “And this Frenchman, Langueville, how long have you known him, and how did you become ac- quainted with him?” “He is a stranger, too; I never saw him before = morning upon which we called at the police office.” “How did you become acquainted with him?” Phenix spoke hurriedly and moved toward the door as he conversed. ‘*He was sent to me by a Mr. Percy with whom I am acquainted, and whose half-brother he is,” Adalia replied, a slight tinge of color appearing in her pale cheeks as the mention of the man’s name brought back to her recollection the peculiar rela- tions existing between herself and the Bohemian. ‘*Percy, a broker?’ cried Phenix, tarry at once that he had unwittingly stumbled upon a clew tothe dark and terrible mystery which had so long puzzled him. “No, a writer, I believe; in fact, I do not know much about him, except that he used to live in this house and that he professed to be a great friend of e. “ And where is he now?” “Gone to Perego “Aha! and in his absence he said that this man— this Frenchman, Langueville, would represent him ?”’ cried the —e spy. his hand on the door-knob, all ready to —_ He had guessed at once the secret of the Bohemian’s absence, ‘“* Yes, sir.” “T must away at once now or my bird will escape me; but as soon as I have secured him I will return,” and Phenix was off. Reaching the pavement he did not hesitate fora moment, although the figure of the man could not be perceived, but started at once up the street. “This is the way he should go,” he muttered, as he hurried along, * and if he has any other business to take him down the street instead of up, why, it doesn’t matter much; I know where I can lay my hands upon him at a time. I thought that I could buy the fellow, but it is quite evident that the head of the gang has outbid me. Well, since money has failed we’ll try what force can do.’ Mars take, Be | the block Phenix encountered the detective, ing. “= “Hallo!” he cried; ‘‘you’re the very man I want! One of our birds is on ahead, somewhere, and I’m going to lock him up for a time.” ‘*‘ All right, ’'m with you,” the detective replied. “You had better get a coach, for I fancy that the fellow will resist, as I haven’t any warrant for his arrest and am merely ‘snatching ’ him on suspicion. “We can clap the bracelets on him, throw him _— the coach and be off before any one can inter- ere.” ‘““Keep your eyes on the street and hail the first coach you see. I’m playing a bold e this time; I'm going to seize this fellow and frighten him into . confession. It’s the only way to do the job; the ead of the gang has covered up his tracks so well that we’ll never be able to get a real good grip upon him without some one of the band turning informer.”’ “And do you think that this fellow whom you are after will do it?” “Yes, I think so; I know pretty well what kind of a man he is, and I know so much of the gang’s his- tory, and can guess at so much more, that when I open my batteries upon him, he will surely think I am in possession of all the facts, and in order to save himself from going up the river to Sing Sing, he will be cages certain to make a clean breast of it.’ * You'll let him off if he will turn State’s evidence?’ “ boned es him?” asked Irving, guessing by th “Do you see ”” as) gu yy the fook upon the spy’s face that he did Bo. “Yes; that rather sbort, thick-Set fellow in dark clothes, just ahead of that woman in the red shawl.” * All right; I’ve spotted him.” * Get your hack as soon as you can.” ‘* Here comes one now, and I know the party, too.” “Ts he all right?” “Oh, yes; I've had him on one or two jobs like this before.” Then the detective stepped out into the street and hailed the coach. Briefly he explain- Seo ate ote ently; pg jum up on the x, the driver turned the coach around, and then up the street ba Bb keeping in close to the curbstone and right in the rear of the police spy. The messenger kept straign* = never even tak- ing the trouble to turn his head So look behind him, so to unsuspicious of dangey was he, until he reached Twentieth street; then he turned the cor- ner and headed toward the west side of town. The side street was an admirable one for the urpose of the detective, being quiet and almost ese rted. When the man turned the corner, Phenix nodded to Irving, and the astute detective understood the am es at once and comprehended the duties desired of him. He gave his instructions to the driver, who whip- up his horses, drove round the corner into the side street, passed the m who was sauntering leisurely along with his hands in his pockets, his head bent down in meditation, never taking the slightest notice of his surroundi alf-way up the block the coach came in close to the curbstone and halted, when ee jumped from the box, opened the coach door and then walked across the sidewalk, and, leaning against the iron railing, looked up a eg at the door of the house, just as if he was waiting for some ona to come out, Phenix, advancing with noiseless steps, overtook the man just as he — the detective. The spy laid his hand abruptly upon the shoulder of his prey, much to the astonishment of the latter. **Halt, my friend |’’ he said; ‘I’ve got afew words to say to you.” The man stopped and stared in surprise. ‘Well, what is it?” he said. —— drew a legal-looking document from his e **T’ve a warrant here for your arrest.” . Sereets’ oe the man, utterly astonished. es, sir. “ And for what—upon what charge do you arrest me ” “* Murder.” The man’s under jaw dropped, and for a moment or two he stared in great Oonishment in the face of the police sp. y. ‘**Come along,’’ continued Phenix, producing a pair of handcuffs; “and I warn you to be see what you say, as it will be used in evidence against you.” ‘*Murder?”’ the man, evidently for the mo- ment unable to y realize that he was under ar- rest, and inclined to believe that there must be some mistake in the matter. ** Yes, sir, that’s the ch eM ‘“*You arrest me for murder—whose murder—who are as es ‘Joe Phenix, the police spy,” answered the offi- cer. The man’s face turned deadly pale, and for a mo- ment the corners of his mouth twitched enti but by a great effort he endeavored to put a bo face on the mattcr. ““You have made some mistake, sir, and you had better be careful how you ch a respectable citi- zen with such a crime!” he exclaimed; ‘this is an outrage, sir, and I shall hold you responsible for it!”’ “A right, sir; I know my duty, and shall perform it. Hold out your hands.” “JT will not submit to be handcuffed!” the man cried; ‘‘and Idemand to see your warrant. Who am I accused of murdering?” Again the face of the edd in the face of the man ite the effort he made to conceal his apprehension, “T never heard of such a man!’ he declared. * Again I tell you, sir, that you have made a mistake( Iam not the man you take me for!”’ “Did you ever hear of Captain Shark?’ Phenix asked, in his cool, off-hand way. For a moment the man almost s ered; the blood left his lips and he visibly trembled. ‘*Captain Shark,” he murmured. ‘I know no one by that name.”’ Phenix made an almost imperceptible to Irv- ing, and the detective, advancing, seized the man’s arms from behind his back, brought his wrists to- gether, and in a twinkling Phenix snapped the hand. cuffs upon them. “Do not attempt to resist, or we shall be com. pelled to be violent with a ’ the police spy warn. ed, and then the two detectives hurried the man, despite his struggles, into the coach, entered with him and closed the door; the driver whipped up his horses and away they went. The capture was effected, and at last the untiring police spy was hot on the trail of the brigand. CHAPTER XXXIX, NEARING THE END. evheng Piper —— once to = § ig tege arters, and during the e thither the pri. culver hand earnestly wobestou nis innocence of all knowledge of the crime with which he had been charged, and had denounced his arrest as an out: e. "The two detectives had listened with incredulous smiles, merely cautioning the man to take mattera quietly, and him that they much preferred to treat him like a ntleman, but that he at- tempted to give trouble they would not hesitate to use violent measures with him. Fin all expostulations fruitless the man at last subsided into silence. He had evidently come to the conclusion that it was useless waste of time to attempt to e with these human bloodhounds. At the police head-quarters the dismounted and the two detectives conducted the prisoner—not into the presence of the chief of the police force as he had expected—but to a cell where he was at once placed in solitary confinement. “What is the mean of this?’ he demanded, as the police spy removed the hand and he saw that he was to be left to hisown meditations. ‘‘Am T not to have an examination?” “Not at present,” Phenix replied, tersely. “But I demand it! You have no proof against me! This is all a trumped-up accusation!” “Well, if that is so, — will be able to prove it, of course,’’ and then Phenix started for the door. “But this is infamous treatment!” persisted the man. ‘I warn you that I shall call you to an ac- count for this through thecourts. I have influential friends, and they not see me abused.” “ An influential friend, you mean!’’ the police spy suggested, “‘but I reckon you will find he will have all he can attend to in looking out for himself, for a have him in the next cell to this one within five ours.” For a moment the man looked bewildered; the ——, — as well as the words of the detective 8 i as the game indeed up after so many successful ears? Had the bloodhounds of the law at last run e society wolf into a corner from whence there was no esca| t seemed impossible and yet it might be so. To the mind of the puzzled man came the old adage of the pitcher that goes often to the well; some day it would surely be broken. And if it was true—if the great captain of the ter rible gang, who had so many years thrived on evil deeds and laughed to scorn the efforts of the acuté officers of the law, was at last hunted down, his cun ning di torn away, and the law’s dread pen: alty s him in the face, why, what chance was there for to escape—he, the jackal to the lionf Would it not be better for him to make a clean — of an ~~ poe & eeediaieamioriny ina and purchase safety by betraying his master He was half inslined to do so, but he did not feel quite certain that the detective was pong the truth. He struggled against the belief. No, no, it was not ible! The master mind of the band wag too cunning a too rich, too influential, to be hunted down to his = the ordinary machinery of the law. The confid statement of the detec- tive was but a trick to entrap him into a confession; and yet, when he spoke of influential triends, why
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should the spy so quickly reply in the singular when he had spoken in the plural? "Oh, no, my friend,” ‘the police spy continued “don’t lay the flattering unction to your soul that the captain will be able to aid.you in the least. He has come to the end of his ee and will now be brought up with a round turn; he has no reason to complain, either, for he has had long innings of it, and the amount of plunder that he has got away with is really wonderful. He has played a bold and desperate game, but you can’t keno every time, you know; the ‘bank’ must win some time.’ F ‘Can I communicate with my friends?’ the pris- oner asked, nbersirigy fi " ‘Not at present,” the detective replied, promptly, “but just as soon as we get the captain safe in our clutches you can write as many letters as you lease. Don’t fool yourself with the idea that we on’t mean business this time, for we do, ndif you are wise, you won’t be as foolish as the Frenchman, Gironde, the Italian, Lucca, and the Madame were. They wouldn’t h on the captain, although I gave them the chance before they were tried; they ondly believe that the head of the gang would be able to save them as he has saved his followers a hundred times at least, but things have changed in New York during the last ten years; you can’t buy judges now quite as easily, or as cheap, asin the old time, and it’s a great deal harder, too, to pack juries. They wouldn’t peach, and the consequence was that they all went to Sing Sing, and they are there, too, now, Even things up the river have changed. It isn’t so easy to buy tise or four keep- ers and get a prisoner out as it used tobe. I tell he my friend, with the grip that we have got now, t's’ pote io be hard lines for Captain Shark and his g right straight along! If you take my advice, you'll try to come to some arrangement with the chief; if your information is worth anything, maybe you'll be able to get out of the scrape.” “T suppose I will be allowed to send for a lawyer?” the man remarked erenttally evidently much impressed by what the police sp had said, “Webster won’t be able to help you in the least,” Phenix responded, instantly; “and when he fin that the captain is down on his luck and we've got our grip on him, I rather think he will begin to lieve that he had better keep in the background, It was the captain who fired that shot which killed the policeman the other night on the dock, and that’s ing to be a NS Just you w the thing overin your d and see if it isn’t better for you to creep out rather than to face the music.” And with t injunction the police spy departed; ja = had given the prisoner plenty of food for re- ection. Phenix went straight to the house where the girl Adalia resided, and where a lucky chance had led him that morning just in time to recognize the Frenchman’s messenger. : “TI thought that I recognized the fellow in spite of his disguise,” he muttered, as he walked along; “‘and in the person of Captain Shark I recognized him, too, but this lucky capture makes assurance doubly sure. The fellow confess, I am certain; he'll make a clean breast of it before long, but will {t be in time? Why does the Frenchman depart? Does he fear that the bloodhounds are coming near to him and that in time he will be discovered? It looks like it. He has evidently resolved to keep shady for a while until the storm blows over, or else he has, Proteus-like, assumed a new uise. I must be on my for if he has not fied, he will be inclined to deal me a blow, if he can get the chance, that may hurt me some.” When Phenix arrived at the house wherein the girl resided, he at once ascended to her room, knock- ed and was admitted by her to the apartment. ‘And now, miss,” he said, after he'was ge! “T want you to give me a-full account of all tha you know about man, Perey.” It was not a pleasant task, and the girl hesitated. “T know very little indeed of him,” she confessed, “and yet we are most nowigwns 4 , or will be in time,” and a conscious blush tinged her pale cheeks. : “Please explain,” Phenix replied, a stra: look upon his face. “ Believe me, I do not ask for the mere gratification of idle curiosity, but it is essen- tial for the success of the task w’ ch you intrusted to me. I must know all about him; how you be- uainted with him— his occupation—what came he has said at any time about himself; a chance ob- servatio falling at random from’ his lips and apparently of slight importance, might to me be of nee ib i value. Speak, then, thout reserve, and tell me all you know in regard to him. As we have said, it was not a pleasant task for the 1 to relate how she had sold herself to this man— fis Bohemian of whom she really knew so littie, ust for the money to enable her to carry out the dea to which she was wedded ; but the earnest words of the detective officer had geome’ a great impres- sion oN her, and she resolved to speak fully and frankly. . And therefore she related all that had transpired between herself ne ve = man Perey, not even omil- the slightest detail. e Seite he had waited upon her and atherap ed by every possible means to gain her friendship; how, in an unguarded moment, she had revealed the deep-set purpose of her heart—the removal of the stain that enshrouded the name of Gilbert Barlee— and her announcement, foolish and girl-like, that ‘he would sell herself for the means to accomplish er purpose; then how he had told the story 0 his endden rise to fortune, his offer to share it with her, and the compact between them; his relation of his intention to take a journey abroad, and the an- nouncement that the Frenchman, his half-brother, ; eel Langueville, would aid her in her en- jeavor, “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Phenix observed, with an air of meditation, after she had finished. “He e that at the police head-quarters he would see me and he did not care to face me. He saw, too, that you were resolutely determined in your purpose to solve the mystery of the old and al- most forgotten crime, and since the inquiry was likely to be put on its feet come day, he determined to set the matter going at once, and to take it en- tirely under his own direction, so as to be able to di- rect and control it, I think 1 hold now, at last, in my hands, the clews that will unravel the whole Joe Phenix. 21 ~ for it is most important. The girl was surprised at the uest, but she com- plied at once, and when she had finished, the police spy, who had listened with a strange expression up- on. his face, took his departure, promising to return on the morrow. “The ways of Heaven are indeed wonderful!” he murmured; ‘‘and now for Magdalena Avala, to weg pee heart as in the old dead past she tortured mine! my vies. and now, if you please, tell me the story of your life, a CHAPTER XL. A STORY OF THE PAST. Tue police spy wended his way at once to the elegant mansion of the retired banker, Leopold Van- derwolf. s Bitter were his reflections and moody his brow as he walked swiftly on; the old dead past was rising fresh in his memory, and many a dull pain wrun his heart as the remembrance of his wrongs returne to him. ‘* But the end is near at hand,”’ he muttered, as he strode onward; ‘only a little time longer can he escape the consequences due to all his crimes. The reckoning will be short and the vengeance a speedy one. ith my own hands might I avenge my peewee, but to ye him forth from his screen of lies into the open light of the day—to hold him up before all the world in his true colors, to expose him to the shame of a public trial and conviction, would be so much more bitter to him, so much more satisfactory to myself, that not for the world would I by any rash act of mine deprive myself of the opportunity to make him suffer, and suffer justly, what I, an innocent man, have endured.” en the poliee spy reached the house of the banker the darkness was coming on. All the adjoin- ing houses showed traces of light; lights were be- i to glimmer from the windows; busy servants n_ the basement dining-rooms were preparing the tables for supper; but not a light could be dis- tinguished in the Vanderwolf mansion; no servants could be seen; all was as still and dark as the grave. ** Hallo, hallo!’ exclaimed Phenix, as he mounted the steps, after taking a careful survey of the house, “this looks ominous. Is it possible that he has flitted already? I can hardly believe it, for my bird whom I frightened into a confession, said that Saturday was the day fixed upon. Perhaps, though, he may have taken alarm at the absence of his con- fidential servant and guessed that he had fallen into my clutches? It is hardly possible, though, for the arrest was so recent that there has not really been time for him to take fright. Besides, unless he is a professor of the dark art, and has a knowledge of what is going on around him far superior to the esses of common men, he cannot possibly sv ct ow completely I have drawn the net around im, and that a y there is hardly an avenue of esca left open tohim, Every ferry, every steamer dock, every railway depot is watched, and unless he can rival Proteus in his di he is sure to be nabbed by my spies if he attempts to escape. No, the nces are a hundred to one that he is safe in the house, and that within the next hour I shall have the eee satisfaction of snapping the bracelets upon The Spy pulled the bell, and after quite a long interval a servant ap at the door. It was a colored man, with a sullen, morose face— not an agreeable-looking fellow at all; in fact just the sort of a man to attend to the door and get rid of troublesome customers, “Miss Magdalena Avala?” Phenix said. “Not in,” responded the servant, laconically, and then he attempted to shut the door right in the face of the questioner; but Phenix was prepared for this, and was quite equal to the situation, for he dex- trously shoved his foot in between the doors, so that it was impossible to close it. The servant, As Sr perceiving the obstacle, imme- et, proceeded to put his shoulder ainst the door to shove it to, etermined to give the foot of the obtrusive white man a pretty pinch, at_all events; but at this e Jack was quite as good as his master, for Phenix brought to bear all h at strength, and exerting it against the door witha sudden effort, knocked the n over backward with an irresistible force, and the stalwart fellow went sprawling upon the floor, just as if he had been a child ins’ of a powerful man. In a twinkling, however, the fellow was on his feet, and with an oath, he rushed upon the intruder, who was now fairly fixed upon the threshold. Phenix was prepared for him, though, and skill- fully avoiding the attack, he dealt the man a power- ful how in the neck which felled him as if he had been shot, Then he uttered a low, yet shrill whistle, and at the signal two men, who had been lounging up the street, came darting up the steps and at once bandeuffed the astonishe darkey. “Hullo, w’at’s de matter?—w’at ye ’bout?’’ he ex- claimed. “Keep a still tongue in your head, or it will be the worse for you!’’ Phenix cautioned. “W’at’s de matter?” was all the astonished negro could ejaculate. “No harm will come to you if you behave your- self!’ Phenix replied. ‘You are only wanted as a witness.” ‘““Say, be you a policemen?” asked the man, be- wildered at his sudden arrest, and looking in vain for the bright buttons and blue coats of the metro- politan officers. “Yes; detectives.” *“* An’ w’at does yer want?” “Miss Avala; you lied when you said that she wasn’t in the house.” “Dat’s so, marsa,” the negro admitted; “but dat was marsa’s orders, He said dat I was for to tell everybody dat dere wasn’t anybody at home. I was to say dat de hull house gone out.” : “Your master is at home, then?” “Yes, sah; but don’t let on dat I done give it away, for de old man will be right mad "bout it!” * And where will I find Miss Avala?”’ “In de back room up-stairs, de furst door dat you comes to,"’ ¢ “ All right; just wait for me with your prisoner in the parlor, and if you hear me whistle, come up,” Phenix said, addressing the officers, They nodded and proceeded with their handcuffed man into the room indicated, while the police spy slowly ascended the stairs. A painful task was before him, which he would have avoided if it had pear a but fate was stronger than mere human , and he felt that he must go on in the path mapped out for him. He tapped at the door which the negro had re- ferred to; a low, sweet voice bade him enter, and in ee to the command he strode into the apart- ment. The gaslight within the room was burning bright- ly, and the woman known as Magdalena Avala—but whom our readers will perhaps remember better when we say that she was the mysterious lady who had lain in wait for the flower-girl, Adalia Cummer- ton, and had warned her against the pursuit of a wealthy and influential man—was reclining in ap easy-chair with an open book upon her lap. She started to her feet in astonishment whey Phenix entered the room. ” hg heavens, you here!’ she exclaimed. Ld es,”’ . “And what do you seek here?” “Vengeance!” replied Phenix, as somber as au executioner, “Vengeance upon me?” cried the woman, sinking back into the chair, evidently overcome with terror “No, not against you, for I think that you have already been sufficiently punished.’’ “Heaven knows that I have,” she moaned, wring: ing her hands together in agony. You have suffered?” “Yes, terribly—terribly !” “And yet you do not know how much more you might have suffered had not Heaven in its wisdom chosen to conceal some of the truth from you.” “‘T do not understand you!” the woman exclaimed; with a wondering glance. “Let us retrace our steps and go back to the old, old time when we first came to ad! The woman buried her face in her hands and sob« bed aloud. ““You were then a young, petted and spoiled child,” he continued, in slow and measured tones; he had a disagreeable task to perform, but he did not shrink from it, for he felt that poor, weak human as he was, he was carrying out the will of that eternal Judge who never sleepeth. ‘‘I was a few years your senior; chance brought us together. In all your life you had hardly ever fancied anything that you did not obtain it. You fancied me; the obstacles. be- tween us did not daunt you; you determined to over- come allof them and you succeeded. But it was like the child with the new toy. No sooner had you accomplished. your object than you repented; you were quickly tired; perhaps some ency was at work to make a breach between us. Phin so now, although then I did not suspect it inthe least. Acci- dent or design, favored you; accident I had always believed, but within the last few days my eyes have been opened to many ore facts, and I have be- come convinced that what I took to be the accident- al work of a far-seeing and inscrutable Providence, was in reality the ee scheme of a man who had determine use me as a ladder whereby he might mount to the hights of his desires. We were married, but your father’s murder tore me ~ from my home and consigned me to the cold walls of a prison; you procured a divorce so that you might be able to marry the man who had fascinated you; you sent forth your baby-girl to heartless fosterage, careless whether she lived or died, so long as you could compass the selfish desires which had sprung up within your heart, The child did die?” “Yes, yes, and if you could have known how I have mourned for her! Long, long Rs a I repented of my heartless crime and gladly would do anything in my power to atone for it.” rr your repentance comes too late; but, is the repentance sincere?” Phenix cried, with bitter ae cent. “‘Do you not repent merely because this man tricked you? because the golden prize for which you strove turned to ashes in your grasp? You procured a divorce from me that you might be able to marry this man; and yet, this night I find you, Magdalena Av: a housekeeper in the mansion of Leopold Van: derwolf. How is this?” “Because he deceived me as I deceived my father. We were married, as I supposed. I gave into his hands all my father’s property. He wished the mar- Bote kept secret in order to avoid scandal, 1 will: ingly complied, for his stronger nature dominated mine, but after he had fairly got possession of every- thing, and Iwas just beginning to see that I was but a toolin his hands, he announced to me that our marriage was a fraudulent one; he could not legally marry me as he was not a free man but already had a wife in Europe and one from whom he could not Ee a divorce, as the laws there in regard to t subject were much more stringent than they are here. I was thunderstruck at my position; helpless in the power of this man. I had no choice but to = the terms he offered; honestly his wife, as I had believed, ig I was forced to appear to all the world simply as hi t.”? CHAPTER. XLI. THE MYSTERY REVEALED. “A sust retribution!’’ Phenix exclaimed, “T must admit it is,” she he pes “And now listen to me ant rs how, in another way, you have been punished,” the police con- tinned, “You confided the care of ies eater to your maid, a woman who had waited upon you almost from childhood, although but a few yéars our senior. The birth of the child was kept secret y you because you feared that this man whom you hed determinate win would not have you if he knew that you were incumbered with a child. You pe ye everything to this woman, and she, thor’ oughly devoted to me, whom in her humble way she loved, eagerly took the child and promised to care for it, but in her secret heart she had deter- mined never to return that baby-girl to you but to rear her with one single idea planted firmly in her brain,and that was to hunt down and bring to justice Gdwna till soconnt Of te Dink ae ee nt o é trial an that a tained to it, for she had an excellent Danoasion. and was very shrewd in wit, and as years went on from time to time she added to her memorandums. She came to you with the intelligence that the child had Gia, but that was a part of her scheme to keep the child away from you, and to devote her to a task of 8S servant,
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\ if i ( 22 —_——=;, “Joo Phéiix. v nce; and then, too, she had got the idea into her head that this man who had taken you under his protection was the real assassin of her father.” “Oh, no, impossible!” the woman cried, starting to her feet in horror. **Not at all impossible. I myself believe that it is the truth!” Phenix replied, firmly. ‘‘ And the wo- man acting on this idea resolved to conceal the ex- istence of the child, so that the guilty man might rest secure in the belief that there was no one in the world, excepting the unfortunate wretch confined for life at Sing Sing, who had any interest in the murder of the cotton-broker. Even from the “ather she kept the truth, for she did not dare to betray the secret to a single soul. Years pi , and once again accident favored the assassin. The house in the little country village where this woman resided took fire in the middle of the night and she perished In the flames; the girl was absent on a visit and es- caped, and the precious memorandum-book escaped also, for, in obedience to her supposed mother’s in- junctions, the girl, now some eighteen years old, had sewed the book up carefully in a bag and wore it like an amulet next to her heart. The death of the woman apparently destroyed all evidence in regard to who or what the girl was, for asI have said, the secret had never been intrusted to a living soul, but in the back of the memorandum-book the woman, in fear of some such accident happening to her, had written a full account of her suspicions in regard to the murder of your father, and had also told the gay of the girl’s birth. The girl came here to New ork in search of a sister of her supposed mother, who, with her two little boys, had come to this city, but she was unable to find any trace of her, and so she settled down quietly to earn her living, still keep- ing in view, however, her puspore to right the wrong that had been done to Gil Barlee. By a miracle almost the girl and her memorandum-book fell into my hands, and so the whole truth became known to me. Fed's had I followed up some clews which had revealed to me that there was a villain in a high place in this city who would not hesitate at any crime, and as I hunted this fellow from disguise to disguise—from one hiding-place unto another, I be- gan to entertain a shrewd suspicion that in discover- g the villain who had offended against the laws, I should also bring to light the man who, in the old time, had done me such a fearful wrong. Two trails I followed, and then all at once the two became one!” * Great heavens, it is not possible!” she exclaimed in wild amazement. ‘‘ You do not mean to say that hp —— Ly crime for which you suffered home to ouse ?”” “i Yes, it is the truth,” he replied, with solemn ac- cent. ™ Already the officers are in on. of the house, and ina very few minutes more we'll have the handcuffs upon this man who has for so long a time committed crime after crime with impunity. I captured his confidential servant this afternoon, and the fellow, frightened by the knowledge, has partly confessed. **Oh, has he?” cried a cool, calm and deliberate voice; “‘thenI suppose I may as well give myself up,” and into the room from the door which led = oo adjoining apartment stepped Leopold Van- erwolf, He saluted the police spy with a bow, and there was a scornful, sarcastic smile upon his face. “You are very clever in your busin Mr. Police Spy, Joe Phenix, or Gilbert Barlee, 9 ve you the hame to which you are entitled. It was a very clever trick of yours—the pretended death at Sing Sing, so that you could come forth and hunt me down, without my suspecting that you were on m track, Phenix! Oh, you are well named! I own frankly to you that I experienced a great de- gree of relief indeed when I read the news of your eath in the newspapers—that lying report, got up exp to throw me off my guard: and it suc- ceeded admirably, too, for I confess I had no sus- cion that you were on my track, or else I should ve taken more certain measures to have silenced ou.” wa Do you surrender?” asked Phenix, with a certain degree of curiosity upon the man whom he had hunted down so well and patiently. “Oh, ; what other course have I?’”’ the man re- plied, with perfect composure, treating the matter with the utmost indifference. “As I have gathered from your inte discourse, you have the house surrounded by your spies, all means of escape cut off, and therefore, like the celebrated ’coon, famed in story, Lam going to come down without trouble; but, first, before you proceed to ornament my wrists with the delicate bracelets which I presume you are dingling in your pocket, let me explain to you cer- n matters in regard to the dar mga of the past which I only can explain, and which you, with all Phew cunning acuteness, would never be able to find out. In the first * cay « I will reveal to you the secret of Avala’s death. At that time I was in busi- ness in Wall street with my brother, my twin- brother, Leopold.” **Leopold!” exclaimed both of the listeners, in astonishment. “Yes, Leopold, for my name is Victor,” replied n, with a sardonic smile. ‘“ My bro- ther and myself were so much alike that we could not be told apart. He visited — and died there. I had peas reason for wishing the world to believe that it was Victor who died, and not Leo- aes for there were two or three ugly little affairs which Victor Vanderwolf was implicated and of course his death canceled the account. Just after this somewhat sudden ch in my name, I be- came by oon oa with the broker, Avala,in the course of business, and as soon as I learned the - ticulars in regard to his family affairs, I perceived that there was a chance for me to make a bold stroke for afortune. Lintended to marry his daugh- ter; a secret marriage to her defeated that plan. and then I determined at one bold stroke to kill Avala, remove you and divorce her, and I think that you will be obliged to own that my plan worked to acharm. Avala in his rage in ard to the marriage sought my advice, and I, perceiving the opportunity, determined ore. by it. I counseled that you should be invited to visit him in his office at an hour when I knew the neighborhood would be deserted. As I explained to him, my plan was, first—to reason with and endeavor to buy you off; but, as I told him, I feli sure that you would néver consent. I was to conceal myself in the closet in the room, and when persuasion failed, Avala was to signal me by turning off the gas; then, in the darkness, I was to fall upon you. The plan was to gag and bind fete! and keep you a prisoner in the office without ood or water until you yielded. Of course the scheme was really an absurd one, but Avala, with all the hot-headed impetuosity natural to all men of his race, believed that it was feasible. My real scheme was at a single blow to remove the old broker and at the same time fix the guilt upon your shoulders. It succeeded most mag- nificently. The gas was turned off, I came from the closet, and with a single well-directed blow let out the life of the old cotton-broker; then I hur- ried noiselessly from the room, turned the key in the lock by means of a pair of pincers from the outside, made my way to the street and gave the alarm to the tne a As you will perceive, you guessed only well when you asserted that the unknown man who was never traced was likely to be the real mur- derer. From that time all prospered with me until ou rose like aspecter upon the scene. I formed e band of Captain Shark, became a very brigand of society, married this woman, for I did really marry her aie I deceived her into a belief that I did ‘not, for I wished to be independent of all bind- ing ties. Leopold Vanderwolf, the banker, prospered ; but it was Percy, the Bohemian, and Captain Shark who made the money. In one unlucky moment when in the disguise of Percy, I came across the gir Adalia, and like a fool I was fascinated by her pretty f having no suspicion at all that she was the child of the secret marriage between this woman and yourself. I took considerable trouble to win the confidence and love of the girl, little thinking that I was digging a pitfall into which my own footsteps would wander; and when, to my astonishment, I discovered that she was resolute to unravel the mys- tery of Avala’s death, I determined to advance the, money and control the investigation; and this is the end at which I have arrived:—this girl’s pretty face has ruined me. I am your prisoner, sir.’ The guilty man bowed his head humbly, but at the same moment, and as quick almost as thought, he drew a small pistol from his pocket and discharg- ed it full at the breast of the police spy; but the quick-witted woman had expected some such design and threw herself forward. At the sacrifice of her own life she tried to atone, in some little measure, for the past. She fell, killed upon the instant. Ina Phenix had the handcuffs upon the desperado, and the detectives came hastening up the stairs, but the guilty man never left the house alive. He was prepared for all emergencies; he had a small vial of poison in his ket and contrived to swallow it unawares, and so he cheated the scaffold, Our story now is told. In the famous police spy Adalia found a loving father; the two little boys also, the nephews of the woman who had been so faithful to her trust, were well provided for by the man whom they had aided. Gilbert Barlee never appeared again, for the stain was still on the name, but the police spy richly earned the freedom he had won Mf his be neg mn to destroy the terrible secret gang of Cap Shark. THE END. 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Never po Tro Gisir up So and 60 other ngs. 29 Biuz Bonnets Over THe Borpger and &4 other ngs. 30 Toe Merry Lavanine Man and 56 other Songs. 81 Sweet Foreet-mr-Nor and 55 other Songs. 82 LeeTLE Basy Mine and 53 other Songs. 33 Dr a AM DE INSTRUMENT FoR ME and 53 other ngs. 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. 85 Just To PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GuTTER and 52 other ngs. 87 KoLorep KranKs and 59 other Songs. 88 Ni. DesPERANDUM and 53 other So 39 Tar Grru I Lerr Beginp Me and 50 other So 5 40 "Tis put A Litre Fapep Fviower and 50 other Songs. 41 Pagese W mitikticces and 60 other Songs, 42 DANCING IN THE Barn and 63 other Songs, 43 H. M.S. Prvarore, compete, and 17 other Songs. Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent t-paid, to any address, o' ceipt o Stee cents per number, F ria BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 Wit1dm Srraeer, New York, BEADLE & ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. Speakers. BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fol lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared pe mee for schools, families, etc. Each volume contains 100 large es, printed from clear, open type, pean ae pe ir eé best collection of Din- logues, Dramas and itations, (burlesque, comic and otherwise. ) The Dime Speakers for the season of 1879—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-ono volumes; viz. : 1, American Speaker. 12, Exhibition Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 13. School Speaker. 8. Patriotic Speaker. 14, Tudicrous Speaker. 4, Comic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker, 5. Elocutionist. 16. Youth’s Speaker. 6. Humorous Speaker. 17. Eloquent Speaker. 7. Standard Speaker. 18. il Columbia Speak 8. Stump Speaker. er. 9, Juvenile Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker, 10. Spread-Eagle Speaker | 20.. Select Speaker. 11. Dime Debater. 21. Funny Speaker, 22. Jolly § er. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, etc. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama- tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 em: brace twenty-three books, viz.: aor Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Three, Dialogues No, Four. Dialogues No. Five, Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No. Seven, Dialogues No. Hight. Dialogues No. Nine, Dialogues No. Ten. alogues No. Thirteen. Dialogues No. Fourteen, Dialogues No. Fifteen. Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No. Seventeen. Dialogues No, Kighteen Dialogues No. Nineteen. Dialogues No. Twenty. Dialogues No. Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Twenty-two. Dialogues No. Eleven. | Dialogues No. Twenty-threo Dialogues No. Twelve. | Dialogues No. Twenty-four. 15 to 2% Dialogues and Dramas in each book. These volumes have been Phy aie with especial reference to their availability all school-rooms. They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac- ters suited to scholars of every Grade, th male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any price, contain go many available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious and comic. Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages. 2 Cents. For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am: ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and new and standard, of the greatest celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M, Russell, DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. eg ra Pm Sine FoR Youna PEopie cover a e range of subjects, and are especial! adapted to their end. They constitute at once the cheapest and most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation. Ladies’ Letter-Writer, Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller, moos < a a Lovers’ Casket. of Verses, Ball-room Companion. Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty, Hand-Books of Games. Bravie’s Diwe Hanp-Booxrs or Games AND Porur HAnv-Books cover a variety of subjects, and are ‘ ag adapted to their end ook of Croquet, Yachting and Rowing. Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving. Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism. Guide to Swimming. Base-Ball Player for 1879. Manuals for Housewives. BeapLe’s Dime Famity Serres aims to supply a class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per- son’s use—the old and the young, the learned and the unlearned. They are of conceded value, 1. Cook Book. 4. Family Physician. 2. Recipe Book. 5. Dresimnaking and Mil- 8. Housekeeper’s Guide. linery. Lives of Great Americans. Are presented complete and authentic biographies of many of the va who have edged: Yaater ee —_ c by their lives and deeds. The series em- races: I,—George Washington. | VII.—David Crockett. Il.—John Paul Jones. .—Israel Putnam. Iil.—Mad AnthonyWayne| IX.—Kit Carson. IV.—Ethan Allen. V.—Marquis de Lafay- ette. VI.—Daniel Boone. X.—Tecumseh. XI.—Pontiac. SONG EBOOKS, Brapie’s Dre Sone Books, Nos. 1 to 88, containing the onl ular collection of ¢ found fa ths market. opyright songs to be MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS. Robinson Crusoe. | Jim Crow Joke Book. Pocket Joke Book. Paddy Whack Joke Pout. The above publications for sal 4 ; ait te one r sale by all newsdealers aid, on receipt of BEADLE & AL S, 08 WrutaM Sr NY. aw XI.—Abraham Lincola,
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1 Deadwoed Dick, Te Princk OF THE Roap. By Edward «©. Wheeler, & Yellowstone Jack; or, THE TRAPPER or THe EncrantTyu: Giwonp. J. E. Badger, Jr. Kansas King; «+, Tue Rep RicatT Hann. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagaboné Joe; Tar Younc WanpER- ine Jew. By Ol Coomes. 8 Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Lirz w Tax Nortuwest. By Edward 8. Ellis. "a The Flying Yankee; or, THz Ockan Outcast. By Ool. Prentiss Ingraham. Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVES OF THE Frontizr. By Edward §, Elis. 9 The Adventures of Bazon Mun- chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, THe Fare or THE Sroux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis. 1 The Two Detectives; or, TH Fortunes or 4 Bowery Grau, A.W. Aiken. 12 Gulliver's Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag. 13 The b Spy. By Oll author of “* Vagabond Joe,” ete. 1 4 Aladdin; or, Tse WonprerRFuL , Lamp. 1 5 The Sea-Cat; or, THe Witch or Darien. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) 1 qT Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- meer, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 & Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, Tum Por or THE Prarrix. By Buffalo Bill. The Double D 3 or, DEAD- at an Diox's Durum By E. L. Wheeler, Frontier Angel. A Romance of y+) 7h Sea Serpent; or, Taz Boy c oomes, Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By E. 8. Ellis, BINSON CrusoK, By Col. Ri uan Lewis. 23 Nick o’ the Nig! t; or, Tne Bory Spy or °76, By T. C, Harbaugh. 24. Diamond Dirk; or, Taz Mystery oF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Ingraham. 4 5 The Boy Captain; or, THE Pinatr’s Daventer. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. By Edward L. Wheeler. & Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes. 2s Buffalo Ben; or, Deapwoop Dick rm Disauisz, By Edward L, Wheeler, 29 The Dumb age; or, THE Doar’s Daveater. B t, F. Whittaker. a 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE Reckeiess Ranour. By Harry St, George. 3 Keen-Knife, THz PrRiInck oF THE Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian; or, Tae Girt Deap-Suot. E, L, Wheeler. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THz Rep Prratses or THE Caripsees, 8. W. Pierce, 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Wutrr.zs’ Wild Ivan, Tue Boy CLaupg Duvat; By Edward L, Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN oF 3 The Hidden e; or, THE Litri# Hunrer or THE AprronDAcKS. Harbaugh. 38 Ned Wylde, Taz Bor Scour. By Death-Face, the Detective. Edward L. Wheeler. Roving Ben. A story of a Young Al Lasso Jack, THE Youne MusTanc- xr. By Oll Coomes, 42 The Phantom Miner; or, Drap- woop Dick’s Bonanza, By Ed. L. Wheeler. 43 Dick Dar , the Pony Express Rider. By Rube; or, THe Nicut- HAWKS OF CKY. ay St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, the Great An- 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot of the West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 47 Nightingale Nat; ox, THE Forsst | 48 Black John, the Road-Agent. | 3 Prarrizs, By Oll Coomes, 35 Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, THE ARENA. By Frank 8. Finn. Texas Jack. 39 By American. By John J. Marshall. pt. F. Whittaker. Ratt nihilator. By Edward L. Wheeler. ApTAIns. By T. C. poy’ By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha — 2 ae IN | 9 & 50 Burt Bunker, Tux Trapper. A " BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. Every one of them ‘ Live” Stories by *‘ Live®? Authors, a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME, Tale of the Northwest. By C. E. Lasalle. | 51 The my Rifles; or, THE UNDER- GRouND Camp, By Archie O, Iron. 52 The White Buffalo. A Tale of Strange Adventure. Charles E. Lasalle. 53 Jim Bludsoe, Jdr., THE Boy PHENIX; or.THROUGH TO THE Dears. E. L. Wheeler. 54 Ned Hazel, THz Boy TRAPPER; ocr, THE PHantom Provcess. By J. F.C. Adams. 55 Deadly-Eye, Tux Unknown Scour; By Buffalo Bill. 56 Nick Whiffles’ Pet; or, In THE Vauury or Deats. Capt. J. F.C. Adams, 5 q Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Tae Parps or FLoop Bar. E. L. Wheeler. 5 fas) The Border King; or, THE SEORET For. By Oll Coomes. 5 Old Hickory, or, Panpy EL.is’s Scatr. By Harry St. George. 60 The White Indian; or, Tur Scout or THe YeLLowstonge. By J. F.C. Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, Tot Rep RIrLe Tam. By Edward L. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship; or, THe RivaL ‘LrguTenants. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 63 The Red Brotherhood; or, THE Twrtve AvENGERS. By W. J. Hamilton, 64 Dandy Jack; or, Tok OuTLAw oF THE OREGON TRAIL, By T. C. Harbaugh. 6 5 Hurricane Bill; or, Mustane Sam AND HIS ‘Parp.”’ By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 66 Single Hand; or, A Lirz ror Lira. By W. J. Hamilton, 67 Patent-Leather Joe; or, OLD Rat- TLESNAKE, THE CHARMER. By P.S.Warne. 6 The Border Robin Hood; or, THE Prarrige Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle; or, Taz Boy Drtrrctrvs or THE Buack Rance. By E. L. Wheeler. 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THe Green- HORN IN THE Woops. By J. F.O. Adams. 7 1 Delaware Dick; THz Youne Ran- arr Spy. By Oll Coomes, 7 ) Mad Tom Western, Tax Trxan Rancer. By W. J. Hamilton. vs Deadwood Dick on Deck. By Edward L. Wheeler. THz Youna cf me iy emg OP Coomes, The Bor Duelist; or, Tor Croisz or THe Sza Wour. By Col. P. Ingraham. 76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By Albert W. Aiken. 7 ¥ Corduroy Charlie; or, Tom Last Act or Deapwoop Dick. By E. L. Wheeler. 7 ts, Blue Dick; or, THe YELLOW CurEr’s Venaeancre. By Captain Mayne Reid. 7 9 Sol Ginger, THe Giant TRAPPER. By Albert W, Aiken. RO Rosebud Rob; or, Nuaaeer Nezp, tnx Knienut or THe Guicnw. By E. L. Wheeler. §] ligne Jo, THe TERROR OF THE rir. By Captain J. F. C. Adams. fe Kit Harefoot, THE Woop-Hawx; or, Outp Powper-Face. By T. O. geo 83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger; or, Tar HEIREss OF THE GOLDEN Horn. bu Ooomes. be, 4 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosrsup B ON Hanp. By Edward : Wheeler. &5 Buck Buckram ; or, Bess, THE IE- MALE TRAPPER. Wy Capt. J. F. C. Adama, R6 Dandy Rock, THe-\iAN-FROM-'l Ex- as. By G. Waldo Browne. & ws The Land Pirates; 0k, Tut LEAGUE oF Drvit’s IsLanp. By Capt. Mayne Reid. §8& Photograph Phil; or, Kosesup Ros’s REAPPEARANCE. By Ed. L. Wheeler. &%§Q) Island Jim; or. THE PET OF THE Famity. By author of “Jack Harkaway.” 90 The Dread Hider; or, Tue Tuxan Durust. By George W. Browne, Oi The Captain of the Club. By Bracebridge Hemyng, (Jack Harkaway.) 92 Canada Chet; or, OLD ANACONDA in Srrrine Bow’s Camp. By E. L. Wheeler. 93 The Boy Miners; or, Tot ENCHANTED Isuanp. By Edward §. Ellis. +9) 4 Midnight Jack, Tnx Roap-AcEnt. By T. C. Harbaugh, 9 5 The Rival Rovers. By Lieutenant Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch - Eye, THz Derecrive. By Edward L. Wheeler. O7 The Outlaw Brothers; or, Tar CapTivE o¥ THE Harpss, By J. J. Marshall. Robin Hood, Tux OvuTLAwED EarL. y Prof, Stewart Gildersleeve, arr cS Each number The Tiger of Taos. By George Waldo Browne. Deadwood Dick in Leadville. By Edward L. Wheeler. Jack Harkaway in New York. By Bracebridge Hemyng. Dick Dead-Eye, Tne Boy Suue 99 10 10 10 GLER, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 10 The Lion of the Sea. By Col Delle Sara. Deadwood Dick’s Device. Edward L, Wheeler. 10 ed Old Kube, Tee Hunters; or, THe 10 Crow Captive. By Capt. Hd. Holmea, 166 Old Frosty, the Guide. By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim; or, THz ABAN- pONED Forest Home. By J. L. Bowen, 1068 Daring Davy, THE Youne Brar Kitter. By Harry St. George. 109 Desiwenh Dick as Detect:ve, By Edward L. Wheeler, 1 1 The Black Steed of the Prai- ries. By James L. Bowen, 1 1 The Sea-Devil; or, Taz Mmsnrr MAN'S LeGacy. By Col. P. Ingraham. 1 t The Mad Hunter; or, THE Cav? or DgeatH. By Burton Saxe. i 13 Jack Hoyle, Tue Youne Specv- Lator. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 1 The Black Schooner. By Recs - STARBUCK. ‘ 1 1 5 The Mad Miner. By Grorar Wavo Browne. 1 16 The Hussar Captain. By Con PRENTISS INGRAHAM. 1 1 we Gilt-Lé ged Dick, Tur Sport-Dp TECTIVE. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 1 Will Somezxs, Tue Boy Derrzo. tive. By Charles Morris. if 1 +e) Mustang Sam; or, Tur Kine os THE PLatins. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 120 The Branded Hand; or,THE Man or Mystery. By Frank Dumont. 12 1 Cinnamon Chip, Tux Grau Sport, By Edward L. Wheeler. 123% Phil Hardy, The Boss Boy. By Charles Morris. 1 23 Kiowa Charley, THe WHITE Mvs- TANGER. By T. C. Harbaugh. 1 24. Tippy: the Texan; or, THE Young \HAMPION. By Geo. Gleason, 125 Bonanza Bill, Miner; or, Tau FemaLte Forcrr. By Ed. L. Wheeler, 126 Ficayame Pete; or, Nicoprmus, THE Doc Detective. By Chas. Morris 127 Wild-Fire, Tur Boss or THR Roap. By Frank Dumont. 128 The Young Privateer ; or, Tua PrratTEs' STRONGHOLD. H. Cavendish. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double. A Story of Wild-Cat City. E. L. Wheeler, 13 Detective Dick; cr, Tnx Hero in Raa@s. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Hand; or, Danpy Kock ‘ro THE Rescur, G. W. Browne 132 The Hunted Hunter; or, THs Srranere Horseman. By Ed, 8. Ellis. 133 Boss Bob, THE KING OF TH¥ Boorsiacks, By Edward L. Wheeler. 13 4 Sure Shot Seth, Tez Boy Ririx- MAN. By Oll Coomes. 1 3 5 Captain Paul, Tot MoonsHiven OF KENTUCEY. By C. D. Clark. 1 36 Night-Hawk Kit ; or,’ nx Daves- TER OF THE Rancee. J. E. Badger, Jr, 137 The Helpless Hand; or, Bacx- woops RerrisvtTion. Capt. Mayne Reid, 1 38 Blonde Bill; or, DEaADwoop Dicr’s Home Base. By Edward L. Wheeier. 1 39 Judge Lynch, dr.; on, THE Boy VIGILANTE. By T. C. Harbaugh. 1 40 Blue Blazes; or, THE BREAK 0’ Day Boys. By Frank Dumont. 1 4i Solid Sam; or, THE Boy OuTLaw. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 42 Handsome Harry, THE Boor- BLACK DgeTEcTIVE. By Chas. Morris. A new issue every week, The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per “ae oe sent by mail on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE & ADAMA&, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. For Satz By
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82 Large Three-Column Pages. 1.4 Hard Crowd; or, GENTLEMAN Sam’s Sister. By Philip S. Warne. 2. The Dare-Devil; or, THz WinGED Witch or tHe Sea. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 3. Kit Carson, Jr., Tue Crack SHor or THE West. By Buckskin Sam. 4, The Kidnapper; or, THe GREAT SHANGHAI oF THE NortHwest. By Philip S. Warne. 5. The Fire-Fiends; or, HERCULES, THE WuncuBpacs. By A. P. Morris. 6. Wildcat Bob, Tue Boss BruisEr ; or, Tae BorpER BLoopHounps. By Edward L. Whee- ler, author of ‘‘ Deaawood Dick,” “ Double Daggers.” 7%. Death-Notch, Tre Destroyer; or, Tue Sprrir Lake AveNGers. By Oll Coomes. 8. The Headless Horseman. A strange story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 9. Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover. 10. Vidocq, THe FrEencH PoLice Spy. ‘Written by himself, 11. Midshipman Easy. By Capt. Mar- at. 12, The Death-Shot; or, TRACKED TO Orato. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 13. Pathaway; or, Nick WHIFFLES, THE Oi_p TRAPPER OF THE NorTHWEST. By Dr. J, H. Rob- fson, 14. Thayerdancgea, THE ScouRGE ; or, THe WAR-HAGLE OF THE Monawks. By Ned Bunt- ine, author of ‘The White Wizard.” 15. The Tiger-Slayer; or, Eac.r- Ggeap To THE Rescur. By Gustave Aimard. 16. The White Wizard; or, THe Great QeoPpHET oF THE SEMINOLES. By Ned Buntline. 17. Nightshade, Tue Rosser Prince +“ Hounstow Heats. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 18. The Sea Bandit; or, THE Quezn tw THE Iste. By Ned Buntline. 19. Red Cedar, Tar Prairm Ouriaw. By Gustave Aimard. 20. The Bandit at Bay; or, Tux Pr- RafES OF THE PrRarRIES. By Gustave Aimard, 21. The Trapper’s Daughter; on, Tx OvurLAw’s Fare. By Gustave Aimard, 22. Whitelaw; or, Nattim or THz LAKE 6xorr. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 23. The Red Warrior; or, STELLA Davorme’s Comancue Lover. By Ned Buntline, 24. Prairie Flower, By Gustave Ai- mard, author of “ Tiger-Slayer,”’ etc. 25. The Gold-Guide; or, Stren Arm, tre Reautator. By Francis Johnson. 26. The Death-Track; or, Tue Ovr- Laws of THE MounTarn. By Francis Johnson, 27. The Spotter-Detective ; or, THE Grits or New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 28. Three-Fingered Jack, Tur Roap- AGENT OF THE ROcKIES; or, THe Boy Miner or Harp Luck. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 29. Tiger Dick, Tum Faro Kine; or, Tue CasHreR’s Crime. By Philip 8S. Warne, » 30. Gospel Geo 3 or, Frery FRep, sHE OvuTLAw. By Joseph E., Badger, Jr. 31. The New York ‘S. 3?’ oR, THE Fass or Licgutninc, By Albert W. en. 32. B’hoys of Yale; or, Tut Scrapers ov A Harp Ser or Cotieemns, By John D, Vose. 33. Overland Kit. By Albert W. Aiken. 34. Rocky M tain le bert W. Aiken. 5 ne wa 35. Kentuck, the Sport. By Albert W. Aiken. GutcH; or, THE Five OvrLaw Brotuers. By Jose pb E. Badger, Jr. 89. The Pirate Prince; or, Pretry NELLY, THE QUEEN OF THE IsLE. By Col. Prentis, Ingraham. 90. Wild Will, Taz Map Rancuero, or, Tot TERRIBLE Texan, By Buckskin Sam, 91. The W: Oar; or, THE INN. KEEPER’s Daventer. By Albert W. Aiken. . Ready April 7h. 92. Buffalo Bill, Tue Buckskin Kina; or, THe AMAZON OF THE WeEsT. By Major Danger: field Burr. Ready April 2ist. 93. Captain Dick Talbot, Kine ov THE Roap; or, THE BLACK-HOopS oF SHasTa. By Albert W. Aiken. Ready May 5th. A new issue every two weeks. Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale ali Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.