Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 343) (1890 08 06)
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Copyright : No 243 #2.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Price, Vol. XXVII = Year, No. 98 WiLttAM St., New Yorx. Five Centa. FAST FLOWING TIDE,
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2 Mike, the Bowery Detective. Mike, the Bowery Detective; Peleg’ Prancer of Vermont. BY ED. L, WHEELER, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, ‘‘ ROSE- BUD ROB” NOVELS, ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF A PECCLIAR CASE. “I'm Detective Mike, of the Bowery—oh! Whatever I do, I always make go, I'm a werry fly lad, But you bet I’m no cad— I'm Detective Mike, o’ the Bowery—oh!”’ Tue sing-song tone in which the above verse was uttered, together with the reckless abandon of the singer, proclaimed that he was a little, if not considerably, the worse, from the effects of Bowery stimulant. Yet, in every sense, the young man understood what he was about. He was one of that species of humanity, the rather “loud” and “fast” young man of the Metropolis, with the shrewdness, ready wit and common sense of an experienced man of the world, Somewhere between the ages of eighteen aud twenty-one years, and not hardly of the average stature, he was, withal, possessed of a wiry and graceful figure, which, ‘‘ dressed to kill” as it was, showed plainly that the owner was nota stranger to physical exercise. In face, he was not to say handsome, although a keen observer would have found features very pleasing to the eye. It was rather a hawkish face—that is to say, the features were sharp of cast—a fact that no- wise detracted from their expression of sagacity or intelligence. The face was as smoothasa beardless face could be; the mouth wore an ex- pression of waggishness, and his eyes were of the deepest black and most penetrating power. is hair, on the contrary, was of a light- aula color, and as curly as it possibly could evidently His attire was in the height of prevailing fashion, and by no means inexpensive, compris- ing all the novélties required to make a first- class blood—gold-headed cane, eye-glasses, the daintiest of gloves, polished ‘‘ dicer,” and no end of jewelry, all of which was superior in quality to the generality of that worn by the modern **dude”—which, evidently, it was Mike, the Bowery Detective’s intention to parsonate. He had serenely invaded one of the numerous saloons that flank either side of the Bowery, and after casting a furtive glance at the few rough-looking customers the place afforded, he fronted up to the bar, and uttered the single word: * Whisk!” Tho bartender, a Pal gies hard-faced man, who had plainly passed through some of life’s a experiences, gave the young blood a sharp ice, pI RR a a ee ee a ee ; athe Is if you, er de demana hat i ¢ at's come over you, boy? Not on anot! racket, I hope?” fe: burly, “You hope?” Mikeechoed. ‘* You must he aD struck the wrong vocation, Terry, to hopt ear he feller hed shet down on booz. What’s the ; «to the though, Terry, that makes yer so ’specially bes ive | terested?” 4 ap . ‘“A good reasoa, Mike. There’s better ad Tes more profitable employment for you than soak jerk yerself with badrum. Ye’r’ as cutaa detecti’ Pat I ike, as ther’ is in New York, and there’saq ;. vill bi open ter sling yerself in!” ee athe Mike’s eyes kindled with enthusiasm. Eee Ne “Is there a job to be done, Terry, that Ti jyodu git away from the regulars?” a owre ““You bet there is! and I judge it is a fat o7 our | too! You know that me brother Pat is port y Pat up at the Hotel Devonshire, Forty-second stre “Pp an’ has a sree eye for all that’s going ¢« wy Well, here’s what he bas telegraphed me!” | er 8 He handed Mike an American Rapid telegral om matt which was worded as follows: } ane ‘“TerRY:—Send up the fellow ye call Mike, ry a Bowery Detective. Tart job for him. cloe “Pay REILLY.” ora The Bowery Blood scratched his curly heac owl perused the message a second time, and the “ glanced at his handsome gold watch, Mil “Tt’s not late yet, and I'll trot up and se of what's wanted, There ain’t much show for m ‘ unless the job’s private, for the regular fore fre contrive to ring in ahead of me at every oppor gh tunity, Bob Driscoll is mainly the cause of it too. Ye know he and I ain’t on lip-smackin a terms, an’ bein’ in with the regulars an’ the yp police, bis main aim seems ter be ter crush me and ane whatever plans I try to push for n ward, “ Why don’t yez black his eye for him?” Terry ‘ demanded, indignantly. ‘Sure, Pll be afthe’ doin’ it if he runs afoul me,” ; **Pve got it in for him!” Mike declared with « nod, ‘‘ but prefer to eatch him in some crooked ° ness an’ get him bounced, rather than have s— scrappin’-match with him, Well, ’m off afters the job, and will wait till I’m done before you set out the decanter!” And with a peculiar smile upon his hawkish he left the saloon, at a rather unsteady ° gait. “4 Walking down the Bowery to Grand street, . he took the up-town Elevated cars, and was soon — landed at Forty-second street near the Grand — Central depot. —— From here he made his way direct to the ra a Devonshire, but a few yards distant, Entering the office he made an examinatio’ of the register, purchased a cigar, aud seated htm- self to wait for the appearance of Pat, who was not present. : s hile puffing at “the weed,” he made a close _ optical inventory of the several persons who were lounging about, and came to the immedi- ate conclusion that none of them were in ni of a detective’s assistance, ‘ a * He was unacquainted with the hostelry’s frigid clerk, and concluded that about ths most sensi- ble thing he could do was to make his inquiries of porter Reilly. ei
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wahied ee ho demang a Ot on anot! burly, good-natured-looking fellow, with the You must , map of Ireland indelibly engraved upon his "8 better » u than Foe tea detectiy there’sag. . ea sm, a Y, that Tj ae & fat o7 at ispors your ear.” cond stre, Pat looked tp with a speculative squint. s going ¢ ‘«Phat is it?’ he demanded. ‘Be yees Mike?” me!) > 5 “T happen to be that same mgjestic being, at yer service,” was the reply **T got wind of the job up here, and I am before tine glory.’ ‘Sh! Kape a still tongue on yez. Whin the clock yonder strikes ten, give yer card to the d telegra| * ll Mike, ¢! Remy,” clerk an’ tell him that yez want to see Mr. Peleg ily heac Prancer, Whin yesee him ye must make yer and the own bizness,” “ Bet Dll do that, if there’s any to be done,” ) and se Mike assured, witha wink. ‘‘ What’sthe nature Ww for m of the beast?” : ‘ lar fore “Och! bedad, an’ it’s a quare one he is; frish ry O from the counthry, tov, an’ as green asa bit o’ use He - shamrock.” _ smackin “He’s my mutton! then!” Mike declared. an’ the “Tm particular fond o’ tacklin’ cases where the rush me plaintiff don’t know more’n the counsel.” ush for After his leathers were polished up like a mirror, Mike proceeded to the office counter and ” Terry threw down his card. afthe! ““M, Maverick, Me . “ Private Detective,” ' ave ae was what was inscribed upon it, afte aee “Be kind enough to send that up to Mr. © you Prancer—Room 28,” Mike said, referring to the { register, wkish The clerk gave him a searching stare, and teady « touched the bell for a calJl-boy, whom he dis- “ Pee with ee card, ‘is Sk treet. “Do you know anything about the party in sont 28” the clerk asked, still regarding Mike with rand — freezing keenness, , 4 : “T have not that honor, I believe,” the Bow- the. ety boy replied, “T was sent for, and hence, I i am here,” i : “Mr, Prancer sent for you, eb?” “T presume so, What of it?” “Ob, nothing in particular, only that I re- Z eee bim as an pape s a eccentric person. ecame rushing into the hotel to-day, like a Texan steer on the rampage, and it was some time before we could get him quieted down suffi- ciently to send him toa room, Unless you work - the collattus before you do the case, I'd advise you to have little to do with bim,” _Mike eres the clerk sharply, only concealing his surprise by an effort. =e That a hotel clerk, especially oue belonging to such an establishment as the Devonshire, Mike, the Bowery Detective. 3 ® ~ should contribute such a remarkable bit of ad- vice, was beyond Mike’s understanding. He was just deliberating on what answer to make, when he was saved the trouble by the call-boy’s return. ‘Mr, Prancer will see the gentleman in his room, This way, sir,” and the boy led off, Mike followed, and was directly ushered into the presence of Mr. Peleg Prancer, of Porcupine Corners, Vermont, Mr. Prancer was lying upon a sofa, and mo- tioned Mike to a seat without arising. He was. a long, lank, rawboned Yankee, of uncertain age, probably past thirty years, yet not over fifty. His angular features, with bigh cheek-bones, sunken eyes, a capacious mouth, and a stubble of yellowish beard of three weeks growth, made it pretty hard to guess whether he was a young or a middle-aged man.. His hair was of the samo color as his beard, and had evi- dently not known the use of a comb or brush for along time. He was dressed in a suit of coarse homespun stuff—wore stogy boots of large size, a flaring red necktie, a buge steel watch-chain; and a battered, ancient-style plug hat, and time- worn umbrella lay upon the floor, beside the couch, All in all, he had a decidedly backwoods country appearance, and was a curiosity upon which Mike feasted his eyes with avidity, His homespun suit was well dusted with flour, a fact that tended to indicate that Peleg Prancer was the miller of that far-away burg, Porcupine Corners, ‘“Waal, young man, what d’ye want?” Mr, Peleg Prancer demanded, turning his head sufficiently to get a fair view of the Bowery de- tective. “T believe my card expressed the nature of my errand,” Mike responded, the while taking in the ‘‘ points” of the Yankee, ‘TI believe you are in need of the services of a detective.” “ Darned ef ye hain’t hit the nail plum on the head, young feller! That’s jest: the thing Ido want, Reckon you count yerself competent to fill the bill, eh?” ‘*T have chosen that line of business as a pro- fession,” Mike assured, with a smile, “and am open for engagement whenever or wherever my ~ services are needed.” “Waal, I'll swow! Ye don’t look big an’ ae enuff ter milk twenty cows, darned ef ye oO, “IT hope I may never be called upon to pass through so trying an ordeal,” Mike declared, ‘What! didn’t ye never milk cows?” Vl give ye a friendly tip on Bin through pier May pei Black- ‘An’ so yeou hev turned out a detective, hey?” x Tam proud tosay [have. Young in years, though I am, I am proud to say that I am fore- most in the first-class ranks of the detective ele- ment, It will be but the matter of a fewdays
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7 tpi EP ARCADIA Sheena . sees r 4 Mike, the Bow ery Detective. ! * until I become chief of the whole detective force of this vast city.” *‘ Waal, by gol! ye don’t say so! You're the very chap I’m arter then. Iwant a feller that is smart as chain-lightnin’, ye see, an’ I suppose you calculate ye kin fill the bill?” “Tf T can’t, Honorable Mr, Prancer, there isn’t a chap in New York that can!” Mr. Prancer seemed deeply impressed at hay- ing bonorable prefixed fo his title. “ By the way, sir, how is your milling busi- ness getting on at Porcupine Corners?’ Mike pursued. ‘I have frequently seen your name mentioned in New York papers as a producer of the finest flour in Vermont.” ** Indeed!” Mr. Prancer looked a little doubt- ful about this, ‘‘ Thet’s the furst I ever knewd 1 was so fur known from home. I suppose tho’, et aire so, Yosee, I don’t take no back seat at grist-grindin’ nowhar over the State o’ Ver- mont.” “Oh! that isa well-known fact. "You see, it doesn’t take a man of your well-known business standing long to get free advertising in mer- cantile circles, I presume if half of our reputed rich men of New York had as good a standing to-day as you, Mr. Prancer, Bradstreet’s would not have to chronicle so many failures, But, now, let us get down to business, Business is business, ye know in the Metropolis, and we of the perfesh don’t bave much time to do chores, except for money. You, I believe, are in want of a detective?” 4 ‘Lord a’mighty, yes!” ‘© When did ye arrive here, Mr. Prancer?” “This mornin’, from Hartford, I cum there from Porkypine Corners.” ‘J suppose, accordingly, your mission is a very important one?” Til be gol-darned ef it ain’t. I never was so mad afore in all my born days. Is’pose I acted kinder mad down:stairs, but I was mad, an’ when Peleg Prancer gits mad, he’s wuss’na Mexican lion!” Woether Mr. Prancer’s education in natural history had been sadly neglected, or whether he intended the reference to the Mexican lion as a bit of Yankee facetiousness, Mike was hardly prepared to judge. Prancer’s face betrayed nothing. “T hear you was rather violent below,” Mike said, “and would like if you desire to employ me, to havea brief explanation of the case I have to undertake.” Prancer took a chew of tobacco from a tin box and then began: “¢ Waal, I cackilate what I tell to ye won’t go no further?” ; “Certainly not, except that necessity requires it to advance the ease.’ ‘ Kerrect. Ye see, I want the thing did up in brown shape, an’ tain’t no use ter hey every- body stickin’ their snoof inter the bizness, Ye | know my name—Peleg Prancer, Eskwire, 0° | Porkypine Corners, Vermont. Guess most nigh ~ everybody knows where Porkypine Corners is, ‘ea’se there’s more porkypines killed tharabouts | every year thun in any other part of the State, ‘Waal, I own the grist-mill thar, an’ ef Ido sum fera it, [hey laid away quite a snu : eat in the y day, an’ we allers has plenty bargain. On course we don’t dress ter kill but allers hes enuff on so we never freeze our shins in cold weather.” **T take if you are a Benedict?” “Gol-darn yer picter, no! DP’m a Prancer every day in a week and twice on Sunday, Old Jake Benedict, the infernal mean skunk, lives a mile below me, an’ he’s meaner than thunder, he is. Why, would ye b’lieve it, he goes un’ lets down the rail fence arter dark, au’ lets his cows inter the neighbors’ grain,” “But, sir, you misunderstand me. ““No sech a darned thing. I know jest all about it, Ther’ ain’t only one Benedict in the neighborhood; an’ that’s old Jake. Everybody knows him. He’s the dirtiest scalawag in Vermont.” “But, let me explain: here, in New York, wo have a fashion of calling married men Benedicts, I meant to propound the idea, sir, thet ye werea married man,”” **Mo married? Gosh all-fish-hooks, I should say so! Why, young feller, ’ve got a gal as big as you, an’ it’s allon account o’ her thet I am heer!” “ Ab! yes. Now you’re gettin’ down to busi- ness. Go ahead,” : “ An’ so ye call married men Benedicts, d’ye. hyer in New York?” . “ Of course.” f ‘“ Waal, let me tell ye one thing, young feller —don’t yer never come up ter ore ne Cor- ners an’ call none o’ the married folke Benedicts, ef ye don’t want ter git yer carcass filled full 0’ buckshot. Why, ef ye'd eall a feller a Benedict, thar, ye'd get tar-an’-featbered quicker’n the jerk of a lamb’s tail—an’ a fine-wool ewe lamb, at that!” (ape Mike did not smile. He was the one person of a hundred who could compose his fea- tures, even when he was ready to burst with laughter. @ saw that the Vermonter was liable to prattle on all night, without coming to the point, if he was not checked. “Well, what about this girl of yours?” “Oh! yas. Waal, she skipped.” * Ab! eloped, eh?” “That's what yecallit, I suppose. ‘ Skinned is good enough fer me, Jest ter think—I fetched thet gal up ’cordin’ ter Seripter, till she was seventeen, an’ then she up an’ l+ft her hum’ an’ parents, Heer, read this letter—et will tell yea darned sight more than I kin, in an hour’s talk.” z He took a couple of sheets of paper from his pocket, which were covered with writing, and handed them-to Mike. < : That individual took time to light a cigar, and then began the perusal, The letter was written in a fine, clear style of chirography, and ran thus: ” “Drar Farier:—By tre time you receive this, you will doubtless have learned that I have Tet my home forever. I6 will be useless to search for « me, for I have gove in quest of him whom I love better than I do the happy home I have always had —uniil recently. You know to what I réfer, by this, and it is useless for me to ig? more On the subject. When, in all my young life, was I ever mo shocked than when your hand turned against poor “ Avaust 10, 1988,
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. ! Hal? It nearly drove me frantic, but I had courage enough to aid him to escape the harsh penalties of a terrible accusation—an accusation as unjust as the world is unmerciful. = “Then, too, other troubles have been weighing me down. I have left behind me letters that | have received during the last two months—lctters and newspaper clippings, which, though a mystery to me, are of course intended but for one purpose-—-to forever ruin iny life and happiness. I dare not re- main to face it all; my heart is broke—my existence is a hideous terror to me. : “So, forgiving all, and praying for all to forgive me, whom I may have disgraced by this step, lam going away. id shall find Ned, and—bs happy. Duplicates of the letters, and clippings, have fallen in o other hands, 6nd through them only you may be able to find. out who is my unknown persecutor or persecutors, be they one or more. © Your daughter, “ GrRaAcig.” CHAPTER II. SIFTING! ; & read the letter but once, then looked suddenly up from the missive and gave the Ver- monter a keen glance, “Who is this Gracie?” he demanded, sharply. The Yankee’s face did not change an iota from its original and usual expression of stolidity. “Who isshe? Darnit all, didn’t I tell ye in the fu’st start she was my darter? What more d’ye want?” ‘“«Wxcuse my abruptness,” and the Bowery Detective gazed hard at the floor. ‘Gracie is your daughter, She had a lover, and his name was Ned?” “Yes, Ned Shields.” ‘‘ Hdward Shields?” ** Yas—Ned, fer short.” _ “Judging by the tone of your daughter’s let- ter, Edward was accused of doing something nauzhty ?” * Gol-darn his picter, yes! ont-an’-out thief!” _ Rr were the circumstances of the He war a thief—a e “Waal, ye see, this feller Shields was a nephew of old Simon Sanger, at the Corners, an’ used to post his books, Sanger war a specil- later, and one thing another, and, next to me, was the richest chap there. Ned was a poor relation, ye see, and was sorter took in ter his uncle’s employ for charity’s sake.” “LT see, Go on.” _ * Waal, old Sanger an’ [ warn’t much friends, ye know, an’ the old cuss objected ter Ned’s comin’ to see Gracie, an’ 1 perfectly agreed with him, on (hat, an’ Ned an’ | had sum words, ‘an’ darn his picter, he sweared he’d have my gal, in spite of me! Then I booted him off ’m the place. Next thing we knowed, thar was a big rumpus. Old Sanger and Ned hed bad a spht up, an’ Ned were bounced, an’ ther report _ were thet Sanger’s discarded son were ter come ‘back, But he didn’t, tho’, for some reason or to Ned Shields, A warrant was sweared out, an’ I bein’ constable, I was sent after him. But, darn bis picter, he was nowhere to be found. The post-offis clerk sed be bad heerd him speak o’ comin’ ter New York. Next day, my gal she cut sticks and run, an’ that’s the hull of it, cept thet I ani heer arter ’em, an’ ef I find that darned thief, Pl set him up in the. boot business, ye kin bet, purty lively.” ‘“You think he came to New York?” as Yes,” *¢ And the girl, too?” “On course she did. him,” ‘‘ What about the letters and newspaper clip- pings she alludes to?” 4 Didn’t find none, ’cept one, and heer that is!" He extended to Mike a soiled sheet of letter- paper on the top of which was printed: “WARREN & CO., Stock BROKERS 144 Hester st., N. Y.” The letter ran as follows: ‘€ MADEMOISELLE GRACIE* — * Once more | warn you that if you do not come to me. and fulfill your promise of marriage, I shall send an officer after you, and there will be quite a scene in your home. Your complicity in executing the forged draft on the bank on Wall street. is sus- pected, and detectives are on their way to your esi If they gobble onto you, it will be your own ault, for not coming here. Hurry up and execute that check on the First National of Belfast, Maine, and then light out, and come here, It is a hundred- fold safer here, for those of our craft. Mind! If they latch you don’t you give me away, and I'l! get you out of the scrape. Money, position, and politi- cal influence, is a power, nowadays, you know. Should you come, first write, addressing ‘ B. Y. Z., 12.N. ¥. al town) Herald office,’ stating hour ef arrival. our Own, forever, “* SQUEEZIX.” This letter was penned in a dashing style of chirography — unquestionably a man’s hand- writing. A faint smile was on Mike’s face as he read on. “This was the only letter you found?’ he asked, finally, putting the missive in his pocket, ‘ as.’ She was spooney after “ Was your daughter always at home?” “On course she was.” “Did she have any regular company?” “Not by a darned sight. We allers fetched her up ’cordin’ to Seripter, an’ she never had a feller ’cept Ned Shields.” “This letter is dated New York, July 7th. Was Shields in Porcupine Corners then?” a Yas.” - . ‘*Then you don’t suspect him of being in Ber: way connected with the writing of this letter “Guess not, onless he had some cuss heer, a-doin’ the job.” ‘What could be bis object in doing such a. thing? Linfer, from your mention of him, that he Joved your daughter.” “Cuss his picter, that’s what he sed. He lnved her enuff, anyhow, to steal my horse and | skedaddle,” Are you positive be was the culprit?” “On course, Who else did it?” “A thousand persons might have done it,
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gerccpe on ize whomsoever his gaze rested upon, 6 Mike, the Bowery Detective. Wever condemn a man until sure you have good cause to do so, by the possession of proofs. In my opinion, this Shields is not the man he is pictured.” Mr. Peleg Prancer evidently did not regard this view with any too much favor. “Tspact et ain’t none o’ yer bizness, ef he is or not!” he growled. ‘ Yer hired ter find him —that’s all, D’ye see?” “Certainly! “You pay me to find Mr, Edward Shields and turn him over to you.” “ You've hit if now!” “ And you, likewise, want me to find your daughter?” “On course I do!” “ Well, is that all?” “No, by thunder, no! When she seooted, she tuk alittle tin trunk or safe, containin’ papers of tbe utmost’ value to me. Them must be een we hev ter raise every stone in New ork? Prancer had arisen, and spoke with unusual vebhemence—excitedly, nervously. His hitherto inscrutable countenance, now wore a hard, grayish expression, that forcibly indieated his nature to be not of the meekest— nor did Mike like the glitter of his eyes. “ What are these papers?” Mike asked quietly. “None of yer bizness, They bayen’t nuthin’ ter do with the case. I want the feller an’ gal —that?s all!” At which it became apparent to Mike that Prancer was playing a part. ; : “J suppose yer’ aware that in a city like New York, it wil) not be an easy job to find ’em?” “That ain’t none o’ my affairs, You get paid to find ‘em, an’ that’s your lookout.” “ You can give an accurate description of the parties?” “Yas, Shields is medium figure, an’ light- complected, with brown hair an’ mustache. He is twenty-four years old, comin’ January, an? aire soré of spruced up, like yourself, The gal is seventeen, an’ dark complected. She's the purtiest gal at the Corners—has black eyes and air, and is smart as chain-lightnin’.” “7 prosume a detective needn’t look an hour without findin’ em, ef he went by that descrip- tion,” Mike observed, dryly. ‘“* Have you pho- tos of this precious pair?” “Yes. Here they aire!” He handed Mike two cards which evidently had been recently taken. Tho one was of a remarkably pretty young lady, of pleasant face—a decided brunette, and one whom it would not be hard to remember, ‘whon once seen. The other portrait was of a man answering somewhat to Prancer’s description of Ned Shielis—the picture of a good-lool:ing young fellow, who appeared anything butof a villain- ous type of character. Although he resembled a hundred and one men to met daily upon the streets of the Metropolis, he had one distinguishing peculiari- ty. Sesrshined with an aristocratic, cultured ex- pression of countenance was & piercing look of the eye, so intense that it would seem it was the intent of the owner of the photo-face to magnet- Mike’s experience in the business he had chosen as a profession had not been extensive, but he was naturally a keen student of human character, and his attention was centered for several moments upon the two pictures, Peleg Prancer at length interrupted him; “Well, what d’ye make out?” — “Ob! nothin’ much. I was memorizing the faces, so L would know them should I-by acei- _dent lose the photos.” * Ye’r’ cute, you aire) D’ye think ye can find the pair?” “I presume very likely I can, In fact, I think I have seen this gentleman, Mr. Shields.” “ Mister Shields! Waal, P!iswow! Yedon’t mean tv call that scalawag Mister !” “Certainly, Mr. is a mark of respect that every one ought to use, no matter what be the circumstances.” “You're a quare one. But say, where'd ye see him?” “That is part of my own professional busi- ness. Iam not supposed to disclose my secrets gratuitously.” ‘Oh! ye bain’t, eh? Ye want a feller ter give ye a dinner on greenbacks afore ye cum ter time?” ‘No, sir. I estimate my expenses on a case, make my charge accordingly, and, if I have anything to part with, Ilet her go. My motto, however, is: ‘Find out much an’ give away lit- tle till the pie is done.’ In other words, the quiet hog drinks the better share of the swill, and puts better and more profitable pork on the market than the squealer does,” “Dunno but yer’ right. Now ter bizness. What will ye produce the feller, the gal, an’ the box an’ papers for, within forty-eight hours from now, without fail?” Mike took a good look at the Vermonter, then glanced at his watch. “To-night is August 29th, and the time is ex- actly half-past ten, Within forty-eight hours from date, for the sum of three hundred dollars [ will produce before you Edward Shields anc Grace Prancer. Terms: Half cash in advance; balance on delivery!” Mr; Prancer rapped upon the table before which he now stood, A closet door opened, and aman stepped out into the room, : “ Bob Driscoll!” Mike uttered, springing to his feet. “You bet!” that worthy uttered, “and I un- derbid you, just an even hundred,” “That would be nothing new for you to do,” Mike cried, his eyes flashing with incignation. ** (f you want the job, Sneaker Driscoll, you are. perfectly welcome to it, Mr. Peleg Prancer’s bit of Yankee strategy has satisfied me that I should not desire to wark up his case for him at any price. So the field is entirely open to you.” “Tookee here!” Driscoll eried, belligerently. “ What d’ye mean by callin’ me ‘ Sneaker?” “T believe that is a title you are very well known by!” Mike retorted, coolly, ‘‘and I have a special penchant for the term—it fits ye as closely as though ground in by an emery-wheel.” “Cuss your eae le thrash the life out of you for that, Mike verick!”.and Drisco! looked savage, , com
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the Bowery boy, intent upon Mike, the Bowery Detective. _ z He was a heavy-set young fellow, possibly three years the Bowery Detective’s senior, witha beardiess, bull-dog sort of countenance, devoid of refined outlines, and a pair of snaky eyes that were by no means of honest expression, : His attire was neither neat nor attractive, and he looked what he was—a typical rowdying, bullying city rougb. A person would have been led to suppose that he was an overmatch for Mike in a fight, but the Bowery boy was evidently not of that opinion. “You use pretty strong words, Mr, Driscoll!” he said provokingly.. “‘It bas never been your privilege to thrash Mike Maverick yet that I am aware of.” ““Mebbe ye think I can’t do it?” Driscoll snarled. “Tf I were to express my Dee candidly, it would likely surprise you!” Mike smiled, tanta- lizingly. ‘‘ Let me tell you, Bob Driscoll, that I don’t fear you at all, and though you have used every means to spoil the success of my adven- tures heretofore, I accredit it to the fact that you are a rough, ignorant lout, jealous of every one’s superior accomplishments, and malignant toward those who are better than you, because you are too mean a sueak and loafer to help yourself out of the unenviable sphere you oc- cupy!” With a vengeful fervor did Mike utter these words; he meant every word to count, and it did. Driscoll’s brow grew, literally, as black as a thundercloud and he doubled up his fists threat- are te \ 3 Yarn ye to bla’guard me, ye low-lived Bowery bum!” he cried, ‘* VU sp'ilesome o’ your fine feathers, now that I’ve a chance.” *“That’s right. Pitch in, boys! The feller that licks is the feller I want!” Peleg Prancer de- clared, getting near the door, either with a view of shutting off the chance for either of the men to escape, or else taking the position with a view i escaping, should an assault be made upon im, Driscoll, uttering no reply, rushed fiercely at knocking him‘out, in short order; but Mike was not knocked out by any means. His black eyes were fixed upon the rival. detective, and as he rushed forward the young blocd leaped lightly to one side, and adroitly tripped the bully. Down, with a crash that jarred the floor, went Driscoll, striking fairly upon his face, nt causing a jet of claret to spurt from his nos- tri Ss. _ A low laugh escaped the Bowery boy. Quickly regaining his feet, with an infuriated ery, Driscoll once more sprung toward his ad- versary. Then there followed an exchange of rapid _ blows, and violent curses on the part of Bob. One terrific blow caught him on the right eye, another on the left, a third upon his bleed- ingnose, at which he fell, and did not rise; he Was undisputably ‘‘ knocked out.” Mike did not show the result of a blow ora serateh, “When the bums begin to drap, And good b*hoys begin to scrap—” ‘Bf ye don’t b’lieve it, jest drop down in the Bowery some night, and I'll show ye how we train fleas down there, Haye the kindness to step one side, Mr. Prancer. I will bid you good- eve.” “What! ain't ye goin’ ter undertake the job?” Prancer demanded, ‘Not muchly, old gristmill! Ye deceived me by havin’ an eayesdropper, and I don’t have no | split ticket when J vote. Mebbe I'l look up the case, but if I do Pll look deeper. into it, You hire Driscoll fer two hundred. Vl work fer nothin’.” “ What d’ye mean?” “TI mean thet I don’t take five cents’ worth o” watered stock in you, sir, and I ain’t hitchin’ on. In my private opinion, publicly expressed, you're a first-class fraud |’? And brushing past the Vermonter Mike left the room. CHAPTER III, NORA AND HER MISSION, Mike went direct from the Hotel Devonshire to bis lodgings, in a Hester street tenement, near the Bowery. He had one apartment here,-on the third flight, which, though by no means first-class, was comfortably furnished with a bed, chairs, table, and warmed by a grate fire. The walls were covered with lithographs of various celebrities; and here and there were odd little articles, peculiar to the tastes of the city Bohemian, Producing his pipe the young detective turned on the gas, and seated himself at the table. A thoughtful expression was upon his face as he sent up columns of smoke, “Pye lost the job!” he soliloquized, ‘but I ain’t certain that I’m sorry aboutit. I didn’t quite catch as lively an interest in it as 1 might, ef any one but that Peleg Prancer had been connected with it, It is evident that he wants the girl bad. He wants Ned Shields not quite so bad, and he wants that box of papers a good deal more than either girl or man,” His reverie was interrupted by a rap on the door, to which he called out: “* Who's there?” . In the particular neighborhood where his lodgings were located, society was not exactly established on a Christian footing, and it was but prudence to be careful. The denizens.of the vicinity were not noted for good character or respect for the law. “*Tt’s only me, Mike. Can I come in?” a girl- ish voice cried. “Certainly. Come in, Nora. ‘Your rap sounded unfamiliar!” Mike responded, heartily. The door had opened, and a girl entered the room—one, too, whose appearance was some- what a contrast with that of the well-dressed Bowery Blood, She was about sixteen years of age, of grace- ful figure, yet evidently she had always been accustomed to hard work. . She was rather shabbily clad, showing that poverty was no stranger to her, Yet, beneath her well-worn hat was a pretty, piquant face, with a perfect mouth, attractive
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* showed t blue eyes, and a fair forehead, fringed with charming shingled ‘‘ bangs” of brown color, | A gleam of pleasure shot athwart Mike's fea- tures at sight of her. “Well, Nora, how did peanuts and candy and fruits sell to-day?’ he asked, pushing her for- ward a chair. ‘Not very well, Mike!” and a serious expres- sion crossed her face, ‘There’s an Italian woman set up shop on the opposite corner, and she’s stolen away a good deal of my _ trade, She’s got a bigger stock than me, too. But Pll suap my fingers at her to-morrow, Mike. [ve shet up shop!” “Shet up shop? Why, what are you talking about, Nora?” Mike knew that she was a waif and an or- phan, alone in the world, with no one to love or care for her—except it was himself—and with no means of support, except what little she could make out of a corner fruit and candy stand, on the Bowery—barely enough it was to get her the most frugal necessaries of life, “Yes, Mike, I’ve sold out, an’ shet up shop!” “But [ don’t understand you. What in the world are you going to do without your busi- ness?” “Why, would you believe it, ’ve gota splen- did situation, Mike, as clerk up at Macy’s on Sixth avenue. Jest think of it! I get five dol- lars a week, and can wear good clothes!” Mike smiled. The idea of wearing good clothes and living on five dollars a week was something beyond his comprehension, ‘Vd like to know how you got a situation there,” he said, incredulously. ‘Well, a nice-dressed gentleman came along, and the crowd jostled a bundle he carried into the gutter. I picked it up and wrapped it in another paper, and he thanked me awful nice, Pretty soon he came and bought some nuts, and asked me if I wouldn’t like a better job, He told me he could get me one, no doubt—so f said yes. He went away again, and came back about dark, and said he was interested in me, and had obtained mo a situation at Macy’s. He said that I was to mapare to-morrow morning, with better clothes, So I just sold out the stand to Mom Maguire, and I’m going to Macy’s,” The Rae on the young detective’s face at he did not eee of the change. “What was this fellow’s name?’ he asked, “and what for looking man is he?” ‘Oh! he’s just scramptious—and he said his name was Tracy Travis. Ain’t that a nico name? Oh! he’s a daisy, Mike—nice-tormed, well- dressed, and good-looking in face, with a black mustache, black eyes, and black bair, Oh! I tell you he’s a real nabob!” . “ Undoubtedly!” Mike assented, dryly—‘‘ one of the sort of nabobs who have naught to do * but fasten their evil gazo upon every pretty * rlish face they see. You take my advice, ora—look out for Mr, Tracy Travis, and don’t let him insnare you! Go to Macy’s, if you like, but have nothing further to do with the fellow. Til wager a new dicer he don’t mean you any ood. Nora’s face flushed, and a grateful expression passed over it. “You bet Ill take care of myself, Mike, I’ve 5 = Mike, the Bowery Detective. not been on the streets all these years without — I am much obliged for © learnin’ how to do that, your kind advice, Mike, to me.” “LT always took an interest in your welfare, Nora, because you had no one else to do so.” You were éver good you. lve had another adventure, **So? Well, let’s hear it!” “Oh! its funny. A man stopped at my stand just as I was about leaving it, and asked me if Lknew of a smart, keen-witted youth of honesty and integrity, who was well posted about the city?” ‘* Indeed?” ‘Yes, and I axed him what he wanted of sech a boy, and he said that he was hunting for a person, aud wanted to hire a shrewd, wide- awake young man in preference to employing a detective,” Mike had become deeply interested, ‘ Well, what did you tell him, Nora?” “Why, what d’ye poppoee I told him?—that — ¢ I didn’t know of any? ou betel didn’t. IT just told bim about you, and told him you'd fill the bill, and he said he thought you would, and fer you to meet him at the Astor House in the morning at nine.” * What’s his name,” David Dore.” * Bront door, or back door?” **T don’t know about that, but I should ’spect back-door, as he’s from the backwoods—’way up in Vermont!” ** Hal you don’t tell me?” “That's what he said.” ‘*Did he mention what kind of a person he was in search of?” ‘No, not’s I know of, ’copt it was a girl.” Mike dashed the ashes out of his pipe so vehemently that he broke the clay stem in to a dozen pieces, ‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Nora asked ex- are i ‘‘ Nothing! nothing!’ he replied excitedly, ‘only Pve fy a case which is worthy of my steel. Oh! I'll work it up!” Mike was one of the gay birds of the Bowery whom sleep seldom troubled. If ever he did indulge in that luxury, it was generally in the daytime; for every night saw him roaming about the city, in the sections where the most excitement prevailed, It was his custom to make a midnight tour of _ the down-town police stations, and examine the registers, in which way he was able to keep himself pretty well posted as to doings in crimi- nal circles, ss He also frequently posted himself as to the arrivals at the various first and second-class hotels, and picked ale news everywhere as might prove of interest to him in his pro- fessional calling. After Nora’s departure, although it was near midnight, he sallied forth from his lodgings and” made his way upon the Bowery, where the crowd was but little less dense than earlier in the evening. Great volumes of humanity pulsed along in — either direction without seeming to have any particular aim, except to move ou—on—on, __, ‘And, Mike, I’ve got something else to tell — ee eS aA et
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F) . were b _ Vermont?” -—— Mike, the Bowery Detective. 9 Mike was familiar with the location of nearly every den of sin and vice in that section of the city, but it was not because he was a frequenter of these dens except in pursuance of the interests of his profession, or, in other words, to find some one whom justice ‘ wanted.” a Although of a rather wild and reckless dis- position, he was not the young man to be led away by any one of the various phases of vice with which he came in contact, from which fact he commanded a certain degree of respect from the rough class with whom he occasionally mingled, OF all the resorts that he was familiar with he knew of but one where he could get what he would probably need. This was an up-stairs poker-room, run by a native Vermonter, named Jim Luce. : Luce was a wideawake man of the world, a thorough-bred sharp, and za a perfect gentle- man, with many good qualities pot to be found in the average gambler. He liked hooks and purchased them. He ran a quiet poker game, aud sometimes dealt ina brace at faro; but every one voted him as square as a cube, _Through saving him from falling into the river, atea Jersey City ferry-slip, Mike had come to know him, and the two had since been on very friendly terms, Remenibering that Luce had a Vermont Di- rectory, Mike made his way to the resort, which .'was located over a clothing store, on the east side of the Bowery, below Prince street. Understanding the signal, he gaye several pe- culiar raps upon the door, and was admitted, The room was not very large, but contained a bar and a number of tables and chairs, and the windows were closely curtained, lamps dif- fusing all the light permitted. The tables were surrounded by players, most of whom were well-dressed men, who looked as ees they might possess some means to gam- e on. Mike save them but an idle glance, for they a of a thousand and one similar is aad @ had seen, in different places of the ind. Jim Luce was lounging bebind the bar, enjoy- ing a cigar, and nodded as Mike approached im, “Howdy, Mike! What's the word?” the gam- bler saluted—a large, powerfully wrought fel- low, he was, with sandy beard and keen gray eyes, “Oh! things still move,” Mike replied good naturedly, ‘t My business isa little dull, ow- ever, and I thought I’d come up and ‘ pull’ your place and make a spee, you see.” : Luce looked serious, *“Ye know Dye had a notion you would be doing pain like that, one of these times!” he said, earnestly. Mike laughed. “Tf I was in that line of business there’s plent; Td single out before l’d tackle you,” he said, “* By the way, lve another mission to-night, at ce, “* What is it?” § “You haye a State Business Directory of Pe _ ‘No. I have, however, one of each county, in Thee volumes.” “That, perhaps, will do as well. I want to find a town, village, or hamlet, known as Por- cupine Corners,” uct looked at the Bowery Detective rather quiz zically, ‘““Porcupine Corners?” he echoed, ‘ Why, what in the world is the matter with you? There isn’t such a place in all Vermont, Pll take an oath.” ‘** Are you sure?” “Tam, Here is a setof volumes, giving every postal address, town and hamlet, in the old ‘ fine wool’ State, and if you will find Porcupine Corners there, I'll treat.” Mike examined the books. Each volume represented a county of the State, with the population of each village, town or precinct. eran over these directions with a critical ame while Luce watched him, witha strange- y inquisitive expression. ence List after list of names the Bowery Detective scanned, but no expression of his hawkish fea- tures told that he had found the place he sought for. He finally closed the books, and stacked them up on the bar. ‘*No Porcupine Corners there, I am sure!” he said. ‘‘That settles one point in my mind. That son-of-a-gun of a Yankee is a fraud. Are you sure, Luce, that there isn’t some little coun- try gathering of houses by that nsme?” “If there is, boy, it has recently sprung into existence. I have trayeled over nearly every foot of ground in Vermont, before I came here, two years ago, but [ll take an oath I never heard of Poreupine Corners before.” ‘Did ye ever know of such a man as Peleg Prancer?” he demanded. : ‘No, That’s a make-up name, sure, What are you trying to follow, Mike—a false trail, or are you overloaded?” ‘* Nothing of the latter!” the Bowery boy re- lied, positively. ‘*I hada pretty good jag on rd, the early part of the evening, but I struck a scent, and I’m smelling it up, with clear nostrils,” ‘* What's the racket?” “Td tell you, Jim, as quick as anyone, but this is a case I’ve got to work up, on its merits, and be rewarded, accordingly. It isn’t a snap, by any means, and for a time I’ve got to go it blind, and sift every sped carefully.” ‘All right, Mike, 1 approve of your spunk, There’s nothing like chasing the game close, whether you win or lose.” “Right you be. But, Jim—” “Hold up a bit. Dye seo that fellow yonder, © at the back of the table? He’s had devilish poor luck, and the ‘timers’ are working him for all there’s in him!” “Never mind him /” Mike said, calmly, with- out taking his eyes off from the Yankee gam- bler’s face. ‘‘ Iam notinterested in the fortunes and misfortunes of cards just at the present mo- ment, I have come to the conclusion that you can give me a little information on a matter of importance,” Mt Luce eyed him sharply. m ‘What d’ye mean?” he demanded, 3*’
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10 Mike, the Bowery Detective. ‘Nothing much. I merely want to ask you— do you, or did you ever, know a man by the name of David Dore?” The rapid, uninterpretable expression that shot athwart the poker-man’s countenance proved that the name was familiar to him, And, with his lynx-like eyes, Mike took note of the fact, CHAPTER IV. ON THE SCENT, * You knew David Dore—you do know him! he exclaimed in an undertone. ‘Let me know where he lives.” “What d’ye want to know?” Luce growled, all of the habitual pleasant composure gone out of bis face, leaving a hard, cold expression there. “ What d’ye want to know about David Dore?” “Simply his address, Jim. I see that in con- nection with the name you bave some secret you would not willingly disclose. Give mo the man’s address, and I will ask you no more, at present!” A grim, threatening glitter entered the eyes of the gambler, “ Are ye working against me?” he demanded, fiercely, bending over the bar, “No, Luce, I am not, Only for an intuition, caused, perhaps, by knowing that you were a Vermonter, I should not have suspected that you were ever acquainted with the name of Dore )? The gambler did not appear entirely satisfied. He knew that Mike was literally as keen as steel, and he eyed him, doubtfully, for several seconds, “Give me an insight into why you want to know anything about David Dore?” he said, shrewdly. “Nary an in!” Mike decided. ‘‘The case is mine, not yours, and if I can make anything out of it, why shouldn’t I? So far as I know, now, you will not be interested in it, whatever your past may have been!” : “But why do you seek information of David Dore?” “That I cannot tell you, until I work up the case,” “You're a shrewd one. You must have some urgent reason for wanting to know about him. Last I knew of him, he lived up near Grafton, in Vermont.” “ Are you well acquainted with the people of that immediate section?” ‘T was, a fow years ago,” “You're sure, then, that you never heard of such a man, there, as Peleg Prancer?’ ** Positive of it.” “T am much obliged to you for your infor- mation. How largo a family did Dore have?” “One child—a daughter.” “Correct. ‘Did you ever know that he had agson?” © “Pye an idea he did, once, but believe he died, some peo ago.” Se Well, guess that is all I need to know Now, then, what about the fellow, you spoke about getting fleeced?” “Ah! yes—the one at the back of’ the table. yonder, Hé’s as reckless as blazes, *or he'd) plainly see he’s getting swamped. Some fellers don’t seem to care, whether they lose money, 0! not,” > Mike took a careless glance at the person in- dicated by the gambler—then, he gave a per ceptible start. What strange fatality was this? The reckless young man was a decided coun terpart, in face and general appearance, to th photograph the young detective had received from Peleg Prancer! There could be no mistake, in this respect; { the features, the eyes, and their expression, | were the same as in the photograph. The young man had plainly been upon a protracted spree, for both his face and eyes were red from the effects of drink, and his whole appearance spoke of a reckless regard for himself, such as is peculiar to the average hard drinker, If this was Ned Shields, he was certainly in bad luck, and did not appear to care whether he lost or won. i Mike eyed him, attentively, and ‘finally saw + him draw @ purse from his pocket, and extract a single new crisp note. | ‘“Tt’s all I have left,” he said, ‘and if I lose | it, I'm broke. Vil go it, however, that my hand goes out!” 3 The gamblers about the table exchanged |, ae glances; then, one of their number said: ; “Til just bave to take you on that, my | triend; pat up!” {) The money was staked, and the gambler laid down his hand in triumph, ; , He held everything, nearly, worth holding in | the game, Shields threw down his cards with a curse, and arose from the table. = “Cleaned out!” be cried, grimly. ‘Served me right for being fool enough to play with a pack of sharpers!” : “See here!” the winner of the last stake cried, springing to his feet; ‘‘ we don’t want no insinuations, my friend, Any one as dares in- timate we don’t do the square thing, generally goes off with a cracked skull.” “Tndeed?” Shields retorted, evidently in no- wise alarmed at the other’s frightening aspect, “T presumo likely the skulls of your previous cracking were somewhat softer than you'd find | mine, As for your square playing, allow me to inform you that I am perfectly well aware that the whole gang of you played as much as possi- ble into each other’s hands,” ) ‘You are a liar!” the gambler declared, fiercely. : : “You're another!” Shields retorted, coolly, his penetrating eyes flashing brilliantly. The gambler, whose name was Burke Bren- (nan, uttered a fearful oath, and bounded | forward. His onslaught appeared savage just at once. Give me a cigar and I'll take a | enough to carry a larger man than yo skip. Join me?” uD, Shields from his feet. But the young man did And he threw down some change, and selected | not stir out of his tracks, one of the-cigars handed him, He waited until the proper opportunity ar i
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. 11 rived, then his fist shot out with sudden ve- locity and caught the gambler between the eyes, laying him back senseless upon the floor, With revengeful cries, the other card sharps rushed toward the young stranger, but they paused when Jim Luce stepped from behind the i. and confronted them with a pair of six- shooters, one in either hand. ** Back!” be ordered, sternly. ‘None of this sort of thing in my place. If you want to fight, go charter a tug and go down the river.” “We'll punch the head off’m the dirty bla’- guard!” one of the sharps declared, savagely. “No, you won’t—not here!” Luce assured, positively. ‘‘ You've got his money, and that’s enough, Young man, you git out now, and I'll see that these fellows don’t harm you.” “Tm not afraid of the whole gang!” Shields declared pluckily. “Maybe not. You go, however; I don’t want any further fuss,” ‘Very well; to accommodate you, I will go. But recollect, it’s not because I wouldn’t like to lay ’em all out, like I did that one sucker!” And shaking his fist at them, he left the room. z They would bave followed, but Luce’s warn- ing shake of the head admonished them that it would not be a healthy undertaking. Mike also quitted the poker-room, and descend - ed to the street. He meant, if possible, to keep track of the young Vermonter, if it were indeed he. . Nof that it was bis present iutention to arrest him, for he had little faith in what he had learned from Pelez Prancer. Young Shields might be a culprit, but Mike was not quite sat- isfied that it was any of Prancer’s business whether he was or not. Shields was already a considerable distance away when Mike reached the street, and was _ burrying along rapidly down the Bowery. Striking into a brisk gait, Mike took the opposite side of the street and followed. He hoped, by keeping Shields in sight, to learn where he lodged, and thus, perhaps, the where- ~ abouts of the missing Gracie Prancer would be cleared up. Unaware that he was followed, the object of the young detective’s search kept on steadily, without once looking back; and Mike pursued as perseveringly, without once losing sight of his man, Through the Bowery continued the chase, into Park Row; thence to Broadway, to Cortlandt Street, and through the latter street to the ferry- house, “He's going to Jersey City,” Mike concluded, “and like enough 1s going to take the Pennsyl- vania Railroad, to some other point. T’ll find _ out, anyhow,” Sh lields entered the ferry-house, Mike remained in the rear. He saw Shields purchase only a ferry-ticket. He did not ap- proach the railway ticket window, but passed on into the inner ferry-room, Mike then entered, purchased a ticket, and waited in the first apartment until the clang of the bell announced the arrival of the boat, He then entered the waiting-room and min- gled with the crowd, taking good care to keep out of the sight of the young Vermonter, — When the gate opened, there was a general rush on board the boat, and the detective suc- ceeded in getting aboard without being spied by Shields. As usual, when the boat steamed out from her slip, what passengers were not in the cabins were on the front end of the boat—with one ex- ception, Ned Shields remained at the rear end, looking off into the water as if it had a@ peculiar attrac- tion to him. The night was so densely foggy thatonly a few feet from the boat could the human eye reach, and a constant succession of whistles were heard from the various crafts plying upon the river— precautionary signals, whereby collisions could better be avoided. Mike stood in the shadows of the carriage- way, watching his man like a hawk, His mind was already made up in regard to what was Shields’s purpose—-that his objective destination was not Jersey City, but a watery grave. When about in mid-stream, Mike saw him raise his eyes heavenward, as if he were uttering a prayer. With a swift and stealthy stride, the detective reached him, and firmly seized his arm just as he was about to make the fatal leap. **T wouldn’t, my friend, if I were you!” Mike said, quietly. ‘‘The fish get plenty of better bait than you, and the Morgue supplies more floaters than the hospital dissecting-rooms can use up, you can bet. So there’s no room for rou td Shields wheeled about, with an angry excla- mation, and evidently recognized the Bowery Detective “Let go my arm!” hecried, savagely. ‘* What dye mean by interfering in what don’t concern you, you in—” “Tot, tut! no back talk!” Mike interrupted. “If you don’t want me to arrest you for at- tempted suicide, you behave yourself likea Ply- mouth church deacon. Here comes one of the boat-hands,.” The admonition appeared to have a wonder- fully soothing effect on the young man, so Mike released his grasp, The boat-hand, in passing, eyed them sharply, but speedily returned to the front, “Why did you interfere?” Shields demanded again, when they were alone, “Because [ don’t like to seo a nice fellow make a confounded idiot out of himself without cause, “ You little know what cause I’ve had.” ““Mebbe not; again, mebbe I know consider- ably more about it than you think I do, Mr, Shields!” No perceptible sign did the young man evince ~ that he had ever heard the name before, “T presuine you've mistaken me for some other person,” be said, witb unruffled com- posure. ‘*My name is Gresham—George Gres- ham, “Oh! is it? Now, Neddy, my chum, I don’t look like a greenhorn, do 1?—don’t look like as if I'd eat cream biscuit, and think they were plum-puddin’, do IT?” “T don’t understand you,”
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12 ‘*You do! Yecan’t fool me. You take me for a regular Weehawken flat, vou do,” Nothing of the kind, sir, but I must admit that your actions are somewhat eccentric.” “Oh! youre a good ’un, you are! But, Neddy, it won’t wash. Youre Edward Shields, of Grafton, Vermont, or thereabouts, an’ there’s no sort of use of your trying to deny it!” The would be suicide uttered a metallic sort of laugh, but that strengthened Mike’s convic- tions. “T am sorry I cannot agree with you, my friend, You are either laboring under an at- tack of dementia, or else are outrageously mis- taken. George Gresham is my name, and don’t you forget that.” “Oh! well, if that’s the case, ’m on the wrong track,” Mike said, apologetically. “Nothing more positive,” Gresham assured, ** Ah! here we are at the ferry slip. And I am still alive, I hardly know whether to thank you or not?” “Oh! suit yourself about that. If you con- template attempting suicide again, I hope you will first recollect that Gracie is bere in the city, looking for you!” “ The devil, you say—” Ho suddenly checked himself, and looked confused. Mike laughed triumphantly. “Now, there! I thought I'd trip you, Neddy dear, though you were ever so careful, you know!” *Confound you! What do you know about her?” the young man demanded, frowning fiercely, ‘‘Out with it, or ’'ll throw you over- board!” “Oh, don’t be so awesome! You don’t make even a two-cent shiver run Gown my spine, and don’t forget that. If you want to know any- thing about your darling Gracie, all you’ve got to dois to go back to New York with me, un- bosom yourself, and we'll compare notes, Come! let’s get off! No, stay here. We will go back on this boat!” “What! without. paying fare?” “Cert. Live in New York as long as I have, and you'll catch onto the ropes, I'll guar- antee.” ‘* Who are you?” “Mike, the Bowery Detective, and as gallus a b’hoy as you often pick up. In other words, more to the point, I’m a detective.” An assurance which did not seem to favorably impress the Vermonter. “ What d’you think you’re going to make by dogging me?” he growled, his former fierceness returning. “That isn’t decided yet, I believe!” Mike re- plied, composedly, ‘It altogether depends on how you pan out, my friend, If you balance the scales, at good honest weight, all may be right, If there’s too much alloy and a lacking of good coin, things may be different.” Gresham, or Shields which ever he was, ut- tered another of his metallic laughs, “There's one thing you'll find ’m not Jacking in!” he hissed, as with lightning like agility the * wanted” man sprung upon the Bowery boy. + and lifting him bodily in the air, as though he had been an infant, flung -him overboard, in Mike, the Bowery Detective. » the path of the boat, which was beginning to move out from her pier, into the stream, There was no ery; simply a splash; then Gresham darted back into the carriage-way, in the nick of time to escape being seen by several passengers, who came out from the cabin, to the fore part of the boat. Gresham joined them directly. but otherwise strangely composed, The boat was already passing over the spot where Mike had struck the water, A bundred chances to one, he had been drawn in under the wheels, and crushed to death, ‘Oh! they'll hound me, will they?” the Ver- monter muttered under his breath. ‘* More than one, then, shall pay a bard penalty for his folly. New York is a big place to find a man in!” He was pale, CHAPTER V. MIKE’S NEW TRAIL. MiKE, through the experiences of an eventful career, bad learned one valuable lesson, and practically perfected himself in it—that was, in a time of emergency, to think and act with rapidity. Therefore, when he found himself going down into the river, he knew his danger wasimminent —not particularly because he could not swim, for there were few better men-fish than he in the city; but he was aware that unless he got out of the slip in an incredibly short space of time, he would be run down by the New Bruns- wick, which was the name of the huge craft from which he bad been hurled. The distance to where he could round the piles and get out of the path of the boat was not great to the eye; yet to swim it would require some lively work, as the great wheels of the bont were already beginning to churn the water into a foaming vortex, “ Sink or swim!” came to Mike’s mind, and he strnek out manfully. Never before did he put forth as much exer- tion as now, On—on! his head making but a tiny speck in the dark water, and the great monster sweeping after him, as if eager to ride him down, He could see the passengers at the front of the boat, but they saw him not. Tobe sure, a cry for help might have attracted attention, but it is doubtful if it would have done any good, as the boat could not have been instantly stopped. On—on! He felt a terrible suction of water tugging at him, asif to pull bim backward, in under the wheels, The broad prow of the boat was hovering close over him. “My God! Dm lost!” he thought. No! he would make a superhuman effort! He did! He reached the end of the piling on the right hand of the crib, and whirled partly around it. He could go no further, for the other boat loomed up, speeding into the next slip. Mu he could do was to throw his arms about the outer pile, and cling to it, and this he did with desperate strength, It was bis salvation, When the New Brunswick was out of the slip he swam across and still further on down: i Sa pe
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David Dore and Peleg . Mike, the Bowery Detective. 13 stream, and soon struck the docking a few rods below the ferry-house. Knowing well he would attract attention if he attempted to cross on the ferry again,.he was at a loss what to do, after clambering out of the water, but finally, seeing no other plan to pursue, he boited into the ferry-house, pur- chased bis ticket, and got aboard the next boat. Several curious ones asked him how he got wet, but in each case he answered them evasive- ly, so that they got no satisfaction. On reaching the New York side he made his way, by unfrequented streets, to his lodgings in Hester street. - The next morning he was abroad bright and early, and looked none the worse for his ducking the previous night. He had been baffled, seem- ingly, at the beginning of the ease; but the fact only nerved him to a greater resolution, to as- siduously stick to the trail until he had unraveled the m eae And yet he could see no clear way ahead, and he was pretty well satisfied that he had tackled a harder job than any other he had ever under- taken. He knew, however, that many a detec- tive bad worked himself up to fame and fortune by following the merest shadow of a clew; why could he not do the same? To be sure, he had no present surety of get- ting paid, or even of being thanked, for his efforts, but he knew he had sufficient money to carry him through for awhile, and by the time it was exhausted, something, ‘‘ Micawber ”-like, might turn up. If not, it would not be the first time in his experience that he had been reduced in his finances to a single cent. This cent—an ancient-dated, old-fashioned copper—be had worn, suspended to a small- linked gold chain, about his neck, ever since he could remember. He would not part with it for love or money ;—it was his talisman! That there was any special significance in its posses- sion he was unable to say, as he had never known his parents—his earliest recollection dating back to a period when he was a tiny street waif, supporting himself by selling news- papers, In the case now before him, he was fully de- termined to leave no stone unturned, until he had sifted out all that was possible to learn of old Peleg’s game, of Miss Gracie’s history, and Ned Shields’s roguery. Bright and early, therefore, he sought the nearest telegraph office, and sent the following message: . “To Postmaster, Grafton, Vermon’ :— ‘Does man live there named David Dore, or Peleg » Prancer? Is man wanted named Edward Shields or George Gresham? MIKE MAVERICK, ** Detective.” He then lounged about the office, until he thought an answer ought to reach him, and sure enough, he got one, It. was worded as follows: “M. Mavenrcx, Detective ;— - ties named, mores ee is ( ata know the er “Just as I thought, Mike muttered. ‘ There’s a dee ted game here, now L know it, Mr. r are both yery mysterious gentlemen, game.” 2 Remembering that he was to see David Dora at nine, he at once set out for the Astor House, If he found the gentleman, it was barely possi- ble that he might leara something applying to the case, even if it were but little. He found Dore’s name upon the register, and opposite it, “‘ Grafton, Vermont.” is room was 56, Mike hesitated a few minutes; then, sent up his card. He was not positive whether he should profit by forming Mr. Dore’s acqaintance or not, The hotel boy soon returned, and Mr. Dore accompanied him, He was a good-looking, well-preserved man of five-and-forty, robust of figure, and on the whole, rather prepossessing of appearance. He was nicely dressed, and. seemed at least to be a person who was well-to-do, He eyed the Bowery Detective sharply, as he approached, as if “sizing” him up. “You wished to see me?” he interrogated, in a pleasant tone, 2 ‘Yes, sir—that is, if you are Mr. David They are both playing a Dore?” “That is my name, sir. What can I do for you, may I ask?” **T called to see you in reference to your want of a young man—” “Ah, yes! yes! Isee. The fruit girl recom- mended you. Come into the reading-room.” They were soon seated opposite each other, with a table between them, and Dore produced: some fragrant cigars. “Twas expecting you,” he said, by way of breaking a momentary silence, during which he had regarded Mike intently. “1 suppose you think you are competent to fill the bill?” ** Judging from what Nora told me, I presume very likely [can suit you. I don’t often go to bgp. ores a job.” “That's what I like to hear, When I Soi a person I expect him to be wide-awake. Have you ever done detective work?” ‘On a small scale. What is the nature of your .case?” and with a professional air, Mike took a note-book and pencil from his pocket, and made ready to jot down any notes he thought worth while. ‘* My case can be summed up in a few words —a girl missing.” ‘*Yes?. The name, please—” ~ “Dora G. Dore.” “Your daughter?’ ““Yes—that is, my adopted daughter.” ‘For how long has she been your adopted daughter?” “Since infancy. I took her from a foundling asylum, in Boston, sixteen years ago.” ‘Her age consequently is—” ‘A little over seventeen,” ‘* How long has she been missing?” * Two weeks, to-day.” ‘* What are the circumstances of her flight— as I infer that she fled from your home!” ‘She did, and very suddenly at that. She stole away in the dead of night and when we discovered her flight no trace whatever could be found of her,” ;
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. $$ ee “Did she leave nothing behind relating to the cause of her flight? Was she content with her home and surroundings?” “Perfectly so. The only clew she left behind was this note.” He handed Mike a half-sheet of note-paper, upon which was written the following, in a good hand: . “Dear PAPA:—By the time this is found I shall be far away. Why I am going, I_ cannot explain to you, and you will never know, Do not seek to know or to find me, for it will be useless. Dora.” ae oer preteens be k f- ~~ The chirography was alike to that in the letter Mike had received from Peleg Prancer! There could be little doubt but what one person hai written both letters, Mike was puzzled, and knew his face betrayed the fact, but Mr, Dore evidently did not take notice of it. “Let me see. You live at Grafton, Vermont, I believe?”. Mike prozeeded. “T do, sir.” “And your adopted daughter fled from there?” “ She did.” ‘What business are you engaged in, Mr. Dore?” “Tama farmer, but on rather a retired seale, however.” id “That is to say, you have a plenty of this world’s goods?” “ Certainly. case.” . ree “Perhaps not. We detectives have a great habit of asking questions, you know. Did your i ee ee Lp ee mes eT ae ns ~ TALE But this does not touch upon the ist daughter move in society, or have any particu- lar gentlemen friends?” ae “None, She was always at home.” . “ What were your relations to her—fatherly, bast or loverly?” “ Well, of late years, I, have grown to look forward to a day when I could make her my wife.” ; “ Did she know his?” “Yes. I think sho favored my suit—or aaa would have done so had I made a formal decla- eat ration.” ; ane you know who were the parents of” the 7 e re nt *“T donot. She had been taken in by the In- eet stitution as a nameless waif.” ‘* Have you any idea where she went to” res ‘In my opinion she came here. She was tea yery ambitious to work, although I always kept Biss her well supplied with money, and I once heard her say that she would like to work in one of the great stores in this city.” The Bowery Detective took a note of this. “ Have you a picture of her?” he asked, ‘* Yes, here it is. She is a very pretty girl.” Mike nodded, as he gazed at the photograph, * In his pocket he carried a duplicate of it. ‘CA face that, once seen, could not_easily be forgotten!” he said. ‘* Are you awarg, Mr. Dore, of tiaving any enemies who could have any ob- ts. ject in abducting her?” F _ + “No, indeed! I don’t know that I have a foe }' | _ on the face of the earth.” : a fe Mike was silent a few moments, glancing over his notes and thinking, 4 ‘Well, Mr. Dore, I suppose you want to find this girl?” : * “T do, indeed. If I sueceed in doing so, it will be the realization of one of my fondest hopes.” ““T suppose you must have some ulterior ob- ject—something more than your actual iaterest in the girl. That alone could bardly tempt you to follow her up, especially when her flight proved that she cared nothing for you?” ‘You misconstrue my motives. 1 want to save the poor child from a life of drudgery, per- haps of temptaion and sin. Besides she took with here some papers that are of great value to me. ** Ah! what were they?” “Merely papers of personal importance to re, but in no way touching upon the matter of the girl, Why she should have taken them I cannot understand.” “Well, Mr. Dore, do you want me to take hold of the case?” “Tdo, yes. If you find Dora for me you shall be well rewarded.” Mike uttered a peculiar laugh. “T dare say you won’t find any New York detectives who will do your job and depend on their success for their pay. At least I shall want a liberal sum down before I can undertake it. “ How much?” ‘Not less than a couple of hundred dollsrs, which I need for incidental expenses.” “Very well; you shall have it. When will you set to work at the case?” ‘That depends upon circumstances, I shall first require toknow who you are, sir, and wherd you reside.” Dore started violently. ““ What do you mean?” he demanded, angrily, his face flushing. “T mean that, did I know where to find the ~ girl this minute, Ishould not turn her over to you until I had some proof of who and» what you are, as a guarantee of good faith,” ‘You are insulting, young man! Have I not already told you about myself?” “You have told me a falsehood!” Mike re- turned promptly and fearlessly. ; “ Sir!” “Oh, don’t look as if you could bite my head off, for I ain’t ono of the skeery kind! You will perhaps be surprised to know that another party is wanting this same girl, under a different name. Believing him a schemer, I refused to have anything to do with him. When [ heard about you, it rather struck me Bie might be another of the same breed; so I sent a tele- gram to Grafton to inquire about you and Prancer.” **Prancer?” “Yes, Prancer. That’s t’other fellow. is the reply I received.” David Dore took the es eae and glanced over it. His face was flush ‘You are really too cute to live!” he uttered, grimly, when he had perused it. ** It don’t mat- ter, however. I'll give you five thousand dollars cash to Bet me that’ girl, no matter who Iam or where I live!” Here Mike eyed the man curiously, It was evident
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| Mike, the Bowery Detective, ° he missing girl was more to Dore than to Pran- er, and that the former was in dead earnest, He meant to have her if money could ascer- din her whereabouts. “T shall have to consider it,” Mike returned; *I will let you know my decision some time to- norrow,.” He then arose, and bowed himself out of the ogus Vermonter’s presence. CHAPTER VI. THE ‘' RIND,” Mixn had long wished to get on favorable erms with the chief of thé detective-police of the city, but had hitherto been unable to gain anything like a friendly footing either with him or Superintendent Walling, owing to the fact that Detective Bob Driscoll was immensely popular with the police captains of the different precincts, and influenced them against the young Bowery Detective and they, in turn, gave Mike no favor- able airing to the higher officers. Despite this, however, Mike was well known to all, and made it a point to so keep himself before the officers of the several precincts that there should-be no possibility of his being for- gotten, - Imagine his surprise then, when, later_that day, he was accosted by Superintendent Wal- ling, as he was passing through City Hall square. : ““Good-afternoon, young man. A word with you!” the dignified official said. , Mike paused, with a bow, and awaited in re- spectful silence, ‘1 hear you have been giving Driscoll a ‘black eye!” the superintendent continued, rather severely, ‘Is that so? I-hayen’t seen him since he pitched onto me and got laidout. He was fresh enough to suppose I'd let him bully me, and got Jeft—that’s all.” “Tam sorry for the trouble, and hope noth- ing of the sort will occur again. . Driscoll is one of our shrewdest men, and we shall miss him, as he will not come out-of-doors again for several days, The blow has all upset him,” *Can’t help it, Maybe he will know better than to pick me tip for a fool, again. By the way, sir, I’ve done several little deserving jobs for the city—ony or two of which, Driscoll has received the credit of doing. Don’t you think I Ought to have a badge, backed by a little power to act?” | There! It was out, and Mike was. glad of it no matter what answer might follow. He hac Jong had it in mind to ask for an authorized position, and ke knew if any man could get it for him, Walling could, ‘ “It was in reference to having you_work up a little matter that I accosted you. Where do you live?” Mike gave him a card, with his address scribbled on the back of it. I'm usually to be found there, when I’m hot roamin’ about town!” “Well, this is what I have to say: It has | been brought to my notice that, despite all ar- ')rests recently made, and the absence of a, cer- ‘tain man from the city, there is still a large | Dore : ore 16 traffic being done in the sale of lottery-tickets. The mayor has, consequently, ordered that strenuous measures be taken to break up this nefarious business, and rid the city of it as quickly as possible, ‘Yes, sit, How do you propose to do it, may Task?” “There is but one way to accomplish much— that is, to once more hunt up and arrest those dealing in the fraud. Several detectives have been detailed to look up the matter, but have thus far failed to find a case.” Mike laughed quietly. “Tr isn’t often «a detective gives away all he knows, when a millionaire corporation keeps plenty of greenback ‘soothing-syrup’ afloat!” he said, dryly. “{T bardly like your insinuation, young man. So far as we are able to judge, 1 believe we have a special force admirable for honesty and integrity. Thén, too, I find, by inquiry, that you are quite likely to be better posted in re- yard to lottery and policy-dealers than every ohemian one meets.” ‘* Perhaps I could name a few!” Mike replied. ‘Why have you not reported them at head- quarters, then?” 4 “ Because, being naught bat a private detec- tive, I did not feel called upon to wage a per- sonal war on a class of men, who, at best, are unsavory characters. But with the commis- sion of a detective, and the pay thereof, to- ether with the backing of the city authorities, could put your detectives on the track of eight or nine ticket-dealers, almost within’the shadow of your City Hall.” j The superintendent Icoked incredulous, “Tf you can do that, lose no time about it, oung man.” “Till tell you what I'll do: you secure me @ commission as a regular, and V’ll tell you the name of ten dealers and where they can found. I will not, however, partici ate in their arfest, as they’ve pals who’d make New York too hot for me, and I can’t be spared just now. “Give me the names, Proper men shall be set to work the matter up, and if they are suc- cessful you will receive your badge and papers to-night.” Without furthey Berttanoy Mike wrote out the names and “‘ dens” of such lottery-agents as he knew, on a leaf of his note-book, and gave it to the superintendent, who received it with a bow, and the two parted. Tho Blood realized that he was doing a per- fectly proper thing, because he bad long felt it to be his duty to give up the several sharpers who were swindling greenhorns out of money in more than one way than through means of the * Louisiana lottery.” Then, too, the advantage of being promoted toa “regular,” with the power and pay belong- ing to the position, was an advantage not to be despised. “The balance of the day he al eg in idling about town in a questioning mood. How to gain further clews in working up the case of the miss- ing girl was a puzzler to him. That nothin could be elicited by bothering with either David or Peleg Prancer seemed certain—yeq —-— - ae
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e _ Mike, the Bowery Detective. ee Ennnnnnmmmemmmmmnmmemeenetemseemememense ens where could he expect to find anything to help him in any other source? New York wasa big city wherein to search for one girl, and she, too, evidently trying to lose herself from being found, He did not desire to make an attempt at find- ing her in any of the stores until he was possessed of his badge, which would secure him moré privileges than though he had none. About five o’clock in the afternoon he visited his lodgings, and there found a large official- looking envelope, which contained bis commis- sion-blank and badge—the former to be executed and returned, whereupon he would be duly m- stalled as a ‘‘ regular.’ As he bad yet some time to spare, he placed this badge under the lapel of bis vest and sallied forth, Among the places he visited: were the ae dry goods and trimming establishments, and simply through possessing his badge he was able to gain access to the books containing the names of all the employees. But he failed to find either the namie of Dora Dore or Gracie Prancer, As closing time prevented a further search, he concluded that nothing more could be done until the morrow, when he must visit the es- tablishments further down town. Fatigued with what he had done in the way of travel during the day, he started back for his lodgings early, resolved to get a good night's rest, Then, too, be rathsr expected he would re- ceive a call from Nora, She often dropped in, for a little chat, as they had known each other since childhood, He was passing along the ether which was densely thronged, when his foot kicked some- thing, and he perceived it was a pocket-book— one of the long, side-pocket sort. Happening to have his handkerchief in his hand, he dextrously dropped it so. it covered the wallet, and stooping, picked both up, jammed them into his pocket, and hurried on, without any one paying particlar attention to him, Within the security of his own apartment, he was soonseated, with the prizo laid out before him, “ No poor man lost this!” he muttered, as he took off the rubber strap which held it shut, ‘«There’s money in here, and loads of it, too, I reckon.” The wallet contained two hundred and fifty dollars in bank-notes, of ten-dollar denomina- tions each, and a few dollars in change. There were also a number of slips of paper, unenvel- oped notes, and postal cards—also a sealed, stamped letter, directed to ‘‘ Stephen Dore, No. 8— 120th street, city.” “By Jebosaphat Johnson! Here's another clew at last, and if I don’t work something out of this, ’m a royal rhinoceros from Rantoul! Stephen Dore, hey? That sounds respectable, alongside of David, though I b’lieve David was a Bible hero—got into a lion’s cage, or something of the sort, Stephen! Let me see: Stephen is rich, and married—and is goin’ to die—or lost a child, years ago—or—or—hang it, I’m as deep inthe mud as eyer, I must examine,” He went over the other papers and postal eards carefully and considerately. There were three postals, One was post-marked Chicago, and addressed to ‘* Leonard Lentonville, Post-Office, New York.” It read as follows: “Len:—Things loom up no better. The change to there is imperative. The M has offered big. ** Low. * The second card was to the same address, and bore the following: “Lxn:—It is useless to delay longer. Expect and look. Raaarp.” The third was to ‘Mr, Tracy Travis, No. — 120th street, City.” Post-mark, New York. It simply said: ‘*Meet me at Grand Central Hotel at once, “ CG AMII. um,’ Mike was as acute of understanding as the ordinary young man, but he bad to scratch, his head reflectively over the contents of the cards, and turn to the papers for relief. They were of no importance, with one excep- tion, being receipts from different parties to Tracy Travis. The exception was a document couched in the following language: “Travis:—I think allissafe. I have sounded the depths, and got a general idea of what to expect. As to her, there is nothing more to report. “DAVE.” This was all there was of importance, except that upon’ the lapel of the wallet-book, were the initials, ‘‘T, T.” “That means Tracy Travis,” Mike com- mented, deliberately, ‘* Tracy, the lad, dropped this boodle, and is no doubt even now mourning over its loss. Let mesee. Tracy Travis! That is the name of the snoozer who got Nora into Macy’s.” “You bet it was, Mike,” a voice cried, and the door opened and Nora herself entered the room. ‘‘Ha, ha! Icaught you talking to your- self again. Oh, my! where did you get that pocket-book?” ; ‘Among the ancient Egyptian ruins,” Mike replied, quickly putting itin his pocket. ‘ Ax me no questions, me darlint, and Pll tell yez no — lies.” ** Avast! you phates you've ‘been wrecking some ship!” cried Nora, tragically striking an attitude, ‘Oh! you can bet on that!” Mike responded. ‘* How’s caliker sellin’ ter-day, Nora?” * Bully, Mike! The foreman sed I did just elegant. I got away with thirty dollars’ worth of paper-cambric all in one lump. You can cal- culate I’m solid at Macy’s, too,” “Ton’t be too sure, Nora,” . “But Iam! I sba’n’t stay there long, mebbe. Mr. Traviz hinted that if I wanted to we might get married pretty soon, and I could live in a brown-stone house, and have servants. Oh! you bet he’s a daisy!” : “ And you're a fool!” Miko declared, bluntly. **Why, you crazy girl, can’t wou plainly seo that he is an unscrupulous villain, whose sole aim in knowing you is to entrap you?” “Oh, no, no! He is too nice a gentleman to have any wrong intentions, Mike. He is per- fectly lovely,”
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iY Mike, the Bowery Detective. i7 “ You'l} find your mistake when too late,” Mike gritted. ‘If 1 see the snoozer, you can bet I’ll sp’ile some of his loveliness,” “Tf you touch him, Mike, I’ll never speak to ou.” we Then you won’t, that’s all. By the way, do ou know a girl at Macy’s named either Dora ore or Gracie Prancer?” “No; I ain’t much acquainted. Only know one girl—a new-comer, like myself, The hands that have been there awhile, look down on late arrivals as if they were of no account,” ‘© What's this one girl’s name?” “Carrie Chase.” * Belong in the city?” “No; but she didn’t tell me where she came from.” “Ah! Does this picture look like her?’ and he showed her the picture he had received trom - Peleg Prancer, Nora uttered a surprised exclamation. “Why, that’s Carrie, as sure as the world. Where did you get her picture?” “Never mind where, I-am working up a case in which she is concerned, She is a wanted person, You keep mum and help me, To-mor- row night I want you to bring her here.” ‘*Mebbe she won’t come.” “But she will, though, if you tell her that you want her to accompany you to see a par- ticular friend.” “Well, Pll try. When shall we come?” “To-morrow evening at cight. Be sure to fetch her here, and I will make it worth your while.” Conversation drifted onto other topics, and a man, who had been crouching in a listening at- titude, in the hall, by the door, stole cautiously away, : It was Bob Driscoll, detective! CHAPTER VII. . A REVELATION, AFTER Nora’s departure the Bowery Detective retired for the night, in order to be rested pre- paratory toa hard day’s work on the morrow. Although be had no idea just how his case was going to end, he knew that he had struck a trail in the finding of the pocketbook, which was likely to be worth following. ‘ There were two persons whom he must inter- view, besides Dora Dore, or, as she was now known, Carrie Chase. They were Stephen Dore and Tracy Travis. ust what connection they might have with the case was not ciear, but that some connection they did have, the detective was perfectly well satisfied. After a bas. breakfast the next morning, Mike tooka ride up to the Hotel Devonshire and made an inquiry after Mr, Peleg Prancer. Mr, Prancer had taken his de ure, stated the clerk; it was not known whether he had left the city or not. : “TJ presume not!” was Mike’s decision, as he pa. ont of the hotel. ‘‘In fact, I hardly know what tomake of Mr. Prancer. H. of a puzzle than Davy Dore.” eis even more Being so far up-town, be concluded to kill two cp birds with one stone, and call upon Stephen Dore, I = On arrival at the correct address, he found there an elegant and imposing mansion, plainly the home of some man of Conmderable wealth, A servant answered the bell—a real tony- looking African, who assnred the caller, in the blandest of tones, that Mr, Stephen Dore did re- side there, but was not in. Mike knew it was yet early in the morning for a retired nabob to be out, but as the darky was positive about the matter, what could he do about it? “Ts Tracy Travis in? Mike asked. “What you want of him?’ the servant de- manded, bluntly. ‘*Look-ee here! I want to see Travis, you black skunk, and it’s none of your business what for, neither! Are you going to admit me, or shall I pitch you head-over-heels out of doors?’ “*Marse Travis am not in!” Pompey protested. * Haf to call, sah, some odder time.” ‘Julius, what’s the trouble?” called a voice from inside. ‘If it?s any one to see me, show the person in, of course,” Julius scowled, but opened the vestibule door wide enough to allow Mike to enter. “Step right into de parlor, sah!” he said, throwing open asidedoor, ‘ Find Marse Travis there, sah, . Mike obeyed. The parlor was a magnificently furnished room, but was so darkened as to shroud all its objects in half gloom. A young man was sitting in a luxurious easy- chair with a newspaper spread out before bim, while a young woman was reclining upon a sofa, and was covered up with a rich oriental shawl, in such a way that none of her features were visible to Mike’s keen gaze. Mr, Travis was a dapper individual of de- cidedly “ dudish ” appearance, and, although he was well dressed and rather good-looking, there was an air of snobbishness about him that one would hardly fancy in a respectable business man. He nodded, without arising, at Mike’s entrance. “Be seated, sir. Excuse our servant—I sel- dom am in forenoons, hence his mistake. . What can I do for you, Mr. Maverick ?” Mike was electrified. How came he to be known to this whom he could not remember of ever seen before? *T called on a little matter of business, sir— that is, if you are Mr. Travis, It seems, how- ever, that you have an advantage over me, in previously knowing my name.” “Oh! yes. You were once pointed out to me as being a promising young detective. I, too, have heard a young friend of mine mention you, ‘*You refer to Nora?” “T do.” “Tt is partly on her account, Mr. Travis, that I want to see you, She has been telliing me of you, and having fora long time kept a friendly eye on her, I want to know what you are up to?” Keen and to the point were the tones of tho Bowery Detective, showing that he was thor- oughly in earnest. rson, aving entered his eyes, a ae See Tracy Travis’s face flushed, and a hard glitter = ores = a no Eee Fe . 7 ¥ 4
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. “T don’t know what right you have to in- “T see plainly that yon’re considerably in the 3 ftrude here, sir, for the purpose of demanding to | dark,” he observed, ‘“ i you’ve undertaken to ae Jsnow concerning what is none of your business!” | stick your nose into a furnace, don’t blame any a he cried hotly. one but yourself if it gets singed off.” a “T have the business, sir, of looking well to “Oh, certainly not! I rather despaired of $ t it that no harm comes to that orphan girl,” | working out the biz, on the slender thread I { : cried Mike, sternly, ‘through the dishonorable | had first, but I feel considerably assured to-day. ; ey intentions of one who, but for an evil purpose, | After an interview with Mr. Stephen Dore, I Fe} would never stoop to notice her.” presume there will be less of a mystery for me | cag] “You speak altogether tog fast, young man. | to work up than now!” , f a You had first better prove that my intentions “You had better not fool around Mr, Stephen ice “a are not perfectly good and honorable, before you | Dore, or you'll get hurt!” Travis advised, savage- : Al exercise your mouth quite so freely!” ly. ‘* Furthermore, I presume you'll learn | “To you mean to say it is your intention to | that you’ve been rubbing against the wrong | { marry her, then?” porcupine, ere long.” Bet ** Tf [ choose to do so!” “Tf I do, I sha’n’t have to visit Porcupine ; “Tf you choose to do so, eh?” Corners!” Mike laughed, arising. ‘Tl bid you et “That's what I said, 1 believe, If I don’t | good-day, sir, Bear in mind my warning about choose, [ shall not. I don’t know it to be a ora!” S matter of ce ae either way.” “Your warning, as you call it, will not have a “You will find out differently, perbaps, Mr, | a passing consideration,” Travis replied. “So } Travis. Let me give you fair warning, now. | there will be no further possible reason why you i And you will do well to heed it! If ever it | should call here again!” f comes to my hearing that you have not acted Mike did not reply, but quitted the house, and F honorably toward tbat girl, I'll have your life, | returned down-town, feeling that he had de- eS if I hang for it the next instant!” rived little satisfaction from his morning’s per- | i “Very dramaticall delivered!” Travis | formances, ; ‘a sneered. ‘* You should study up in tragedy. I He had little idea that he was followed, until I 3 : suppose I may now consider our interview at an} he entered a concert garden, near Union ? iP: end,” Square, for the purpose of seeing who might bo { ie “Not yet, dear Travis; 1 rather revel in your oy we there, | ‘a society. I thought I’d call and ask if she has ar- After purchasing a cigar, and taking a look Net rived yet!” around, he was about leaving, when he felt a f es “Whom do you mean—what do you mean, | tap on the shoulder, and saw to bis astonish- { ES sir? You speak in riddles.” ment, that he was confronted by Julius, the i ae ; “Oh! I guess not. I mean your foreign | waiting servant of the Dore mansion. i ‘ie friend, called ‘ Lulu,’ * Ragged,’ ‘Camille’ and “Why, hello, stove-black—what are you i ie so forth!” doing here, I should like to ask?” Mike de- f = Travis uttered an oath. manded, . ' i : ‘By Heaven! you have found my pocket- “T was sent after youl” the darky replied. | Md book, haven’t you” he gasped, “De young missus wish to see you.” i “T don’t know. Is your name Leonard Len- “De young missus, eh? Who's that?” 5 tonville?” “Missy Ada, sah—de Missy Ada.” j i ‘No, itis not, ‘Thore wero articles to such an “You meaa David Dore’s daughter, or hia address in my pocketbook, however.” Stephen’s Julius?” -" “What were they doing there? That is em- ““Marse Stephen’s, sah, She wants to see , i pbatically what J want to know.” you.” me ard “Tt is emphatically none of your business.” * Where is she?” ; 1: bi “Then, if that’s the case, you'll get no pocket- “She waits in de hack, sah, outside. You git 5 book. You see, my dear Travis, the fact of the | in, sah, an’ she explain, while you ride toward 1H matter is, you are liable to get yourself into Central Park.” ‘ be a peculiarly unenviable box if you don’t go “T wonder if this is a trap?’ Mike mused, ' Lar smooth!” eying the negro suspiciously. ‘ ’Il look in the : i “Vo you think so? Iam surprised to hear it. | carriage, before I get in, I'll bet.” , be Could you enlighten me as to your meaning Aloud, he said: fe a once more?” “All right, Lead ahead, Josephus. I’m al- a alee “Tf it will oblige you, Ican possibly give you | lus willing to accommodate the ladies, you can ie : | an eye-opener!” bet.” s he rg “Do so. My curiosity is great!” They left the garden. ‘ : . } 3 Travis was provokingly cool. Mike could A hack was awaiting, outside, and the win- che have choked him with a good will. dows were closely curtajned. é £ ‘Well, I wished to know how the thing was| Attached to the vehicle was a span of i Pa working,” Mike returned, as if ho fully under- | spirited horses, which were in turn managed by 32 RN stood the subject he was talking on, ‘‘so I paid | a negro servant, in livery. f : avisit to Prancer after his arrival here, and | Julius opened the door of the hack, and Mike = one to David. They were both anxious to get | took a sharp look inside, ere he entered. the girl, but were not up to the requirements He saw a young and beautiful girl, of seven- with collat’?, Therefore, I couldn’t do anything | teen or eighteen, who was richiy attired, and ; % for’em!” F hore every indication of being a cultured and ike Travis ground out a dry cough, and eyed his | refined person. - yisitor sullenly—viciously, ; She smiled him a welcome, and he no longer .
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hesitated to take a seat beside her in the hack and they were whirled rapidly away. : “T wanted to speak with you, and I did not know of any way [ could do so better than to follow, and ask you to takea drive with me!” the young lady explained. “I am Ada Dore, the daugeter of Stephen Dore, whom you called to see, ‘7 am very much pleased to have the honor of your acquaintance!” Mike responded. ‘“I ~ judge you are the same young lady who was present, reclining upon the ‘sofa, during my in- terview with Mr. Tracy Travis?” “Tam. He supposed [ was sound asleep, as T had taken an opiate, a short time before, hav- ing been in need of quiet and rest, after a severe attack of neuralgia, As it was, I heard every word of your conversation, I then pretended to arouse, as you left the room. Tracy was de- ceived nicely. a { “What relation does he bear to you, Miss Dore?” : “ He is my betrothed husband, and is also my own cousin.” “Indeed! I presume, then, it is a sort of ' family match?” } * itis, Yousee, my father isa very rich map, ; and is so far along in years that he don’t expect to livea great while longer. Being very fond | of ‘Tracy, it is his desire that wo cousins marry, and keep tae money in the family.” 7 } “ Ah! yes; 1 see. I suppose you acquiesce, then, to his wishas?” f “1 have never refused, sir, believing Tracy to be a nice, honorable man, But, since your visit. to-day, I have been assailed by fears that all is not as 1 bave aright to hope and expect. Tt is on account of these feelifigs of uneasiness that I ordered my cab, and followed you.” ‘* Well, Lam sorry, Miss Dore, if my call this moroing has alarmed or worried you. ‘If in my power, | will try to set to rights anything I may, have unwittingiy said or done to offend ‘ou. sien Oh! it is not-that, sir. Your conduct did not offend nie—but it was some reference in your conversation, which caused ma much un- easiness. Tell me, has Tracy any interest in any other girl?” i “That 1 could not advise you about, for any- ‘ thing like a certainty!” Mike answered, “ But you made mention of the names of sey- * | eral women—Lulu, Camille, Nora, and so forth, ‘Who are these persons, sir ‘Who the first two are I know not, further than that I found articles in Travis’s pocket- book so signed. Nora, is a personal friend of mine whom Travis has lately procured a position for in a dry goods store. She tells me he has hinted of marrying her, and of their living in a brown-stone house with servants, and so forth. Believing he meant her no good, I tok advan- tage of an rghit. of giving him a timely warning, as you heard. seast What are you, sir#—what is your business?” “Miss Dore asked. | “T am a detective.” “T thought you were, because you alluded to Py scleariog up of a mystery. What is it, Mr. byarick?° i. : _ “That is more than I can tell you, It is con- - 3 (ot ‘e. — Mike, the Bowery Detective. a SE ee ee oe eee SS ee id cerning a case I am endeavoring.to unravel, and with which I have good reasons to believe your betrothed husband is closely connected, because of the letters I found. Do you know tbat your father ever had a brother, Miss Dore?” A strange start came over the young woman, “Oh! yes, sir. There wero three brothers of them—papa, Uncle David, and Uncle Thomas!” Mike began to feel elated. ** Are these uncles living now?” “ Only one of them—that is Uncle David. is a very bad, wicked man.” * Would you mind Giving ie the family his- tory, so far as you know it, Miss Dore?” “Not if it will be of any use to you, sir. I don’t know that Iam perfectly posted on it, but I will tell it to you as T understand it.” **Do so, and [ shall he ever so much obliged to you\” Mike declared. “ My father and his brothers were Virginians of poor parentage, and together with their fa- ther tilted a small plantation, “When the gold-fever of 49 was raging, grandfather Dore went to California, and did not return for several years, when he brought back with him a fortune of two million of dol- lars. A few months after his return he died, and when his will was opened, it was found that he had left all his money to his elder son, my Uncle Thomas, “As naturally was to have been expected, there was a bitter dissatisfaction on the part of my Uncle David and papa, and Uncle David, who was of a naturally rash nature, swore Thomas should never live to enjoy the undivid- ed fortune. “Thomas married and moved to the West, but was foliowed by David, and my father was afterward notified that Thomas had beén killed, together with his wife and child, by Dayid, and that the latter was a hunted outlaw in the far West for the crime. “Thomas had made a will, which, in event of the death of his wife and child, left the fortune to my father during his life and then to his heirs immediate, My father went West, settled. up the affairs, and returned here. “My Uncle David went from bad to worse, until when last heard of he was the chief of a band of counterfeiters, and was wanted in sev- eral different States for various crimes, He has written threatening letters to papa several times, which seemed to worry him very much, but I never saw any of them, and donot know their contents.” : “At last I think 1 see the beginning of the end!” Mike mused to himself. ‘It is by no means certain that there isn’t work to be done, however. David Dore may not be the only black sheep in the flock I shall have to en- counter.” He CHAPTER VIIL. THE BROTHERS’ COMPACT, Tue ride continued as far as Central Park and back but Mike learned little more of importance from Miss Dore, and but tittle further conversation ensued relative to matters concerning the case further than that Mike
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20 __ Mike, the Bowery Detective. - eatasaentaiell candidly expressed his deop distrust of Tracy Travis. Miss Dore seemed much shocked at Travis’s apparent faithlessness, and declared her inten- tion of communicating ber doubts to her father. But Mike advised her not to do this until he personally had a further opportunity to investi- gate the case, and she accordingly promised. When they reached Union Square on their return, Mike bade her good-day, and made his way toward Macy’s. Entering this emporium, he went at’once up-stairs, and was not iong in finding Nora’s stand, where he began pricing some goods, as a pretext by which to gain time to talk with her. - * Where is Carrie Chase?” he asked, after the first greeting. ‘t Have you spoken to her about to-night?” “‘Yes, She has no objections to coming. She has been removed to one of tae other rooms—I don’t really know which.” , > *T will look about and see if I can get a glimpse of her,” Mike announced, He went from department to department of the great store an scrutinized the faces of tho many pretty young safes-ladies. but failed to find one answering to Dora’s photograph. Leaving Fourteenth street, he once more set out for the Bowery, where ho entered the same up-stairs Zaming-saloon in which be had first met George Gresham, or Ned Shields, He was not there, howevor, nor had hc been there, said Luce the proprietor. Not knowiny what else to do, Miko turned his footsteps toward the Astor House, desiring to know if David Dore was yet stopping there, If he was, it was his intention to telegraph to Chicago for an order for his arrest, as undoubt- edly he was pretty well known there; but tho frigid clerk informed the inquirer that David Dore had been a guest at that hostelry but one ay. Mike felt disappointed, but ho basel great ex- en ee on what he might loarn from pretty ora at the forthcoming interview. In the mean time, an interview was taking lace which it becomes our duty to chronicle, as it has direct connection with tho thread of our narrative, - Two men were sented at a retired dining-ta ble in a down-town restaurant. Wino and glasses were beforo them, showing that they had al- ready dispatched their meal. Both were enough alike in face, figure and general appearance to be pronounced brothers, and such they really were. The younger of the two, was David Dore, The elder person, whose hair was mors silvery, and beard heavier, was Stephen Dore, the wealthy retired merchant of 120th street. , . He was a somewhat nobler-looking personage than David, but his face was now clouded and gloomy, while that of David bore unmistakable traces of triumph in its expression, ‘Yes, Stephen; your fancied security is but a fancy, for, as you perceive, your affectionate brothér bas returned to you.” “T would to Heaven you had never lived to reach here}” Stephen Dore replied passionately, ““ Why in God's name were you not content to remain where you were, and not to intrude your villainous presence where it is not want- dd? “Oh! Dve tired of heing a wanderer on tho face of the earth, Stephen, and want to settle down «nd enjoy myself. Your money-bags are sufficiently full, as I have several times written for you to open your folding-doors to me, and protect me as you would an aged father, To be sure, I haven't beeh really as good as a par- son, since last we me6 so long ago; but I pre- sume it won't matter particularly to you, since you are not the most perfect man in Christen- dom!” ‘““Wore T a king among scoundrels, you_are too bad to come within my notice or charity !* Stephen replied, bitterly. ‘You murdered my brother, and have inherited my everlasting curse!” David uttered a sardonic laugh. “What an idea!” he declared, without appear- ing to get the least ill-humored. ‘‘ Why, bless your dear heart, Steve, you were just as much interested in poor Tom’s taking off as I was. To be sure, I got the credit of doing the job proper, but, where did you ring in, except for the fortune, when cruel justice was doing a rood bit of advertisin’ for my scalp? Ob! I'ma bloody red-handed villain, Steve, but you're a cunning, scamp, and my even match!” “Tamno scamp. I am an honorable gentle- man,” the elder brother asserted, hi; scowl deepening. ‘ In what instance ean you find mo guilty of a disreputable act? Not a ono, sir. I have always lived an upright life!” “Oh, yes, without adoubt. How about the fortune you fetched away from that far Iowa town?” : “1 was informed that Thomas was missing, togethor with his child; that his wife was found murdered in their eabin home; that a paper purporting to como from you stated that you hat killed them all out of revenge; that my poor brother’s will had been found, leaving his wealta tome, Of course I went West. I found Tom’s wife dead and buried, and Tom and the child missing. Shreds of their clothing had been dis- covered, which confirmed their fate, even though no trace of their bodies was found, The money was handed over to me, and I came East. Now, ther, what was there wicked about all that, on my part?” “This much: you offered an extra reward for my arrest and conviction, knowing if you could get me out of the way, you would never have any trouble—your right to the money would never be disputed.” . “Well?” “Was it well? Iam not so sure, old boy, that it was well for you. You knew you had a scheming brother, but you little reckoned on all there wasin him, You fancied yourself safe, and to make yourself still safer, you did some- thing very, very funny.” “T don't know what you mean, sir.” > “Bah! You lie—that’s one polite fact. You speculated on the money for a time, until you enriched yourself off from it—then you convert-_ ed it into railroad bonds, in the name of your daughter, Very cute, wasn’t it?”, “e:
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_ crime, |.“ Well, I pride myself that it was a business- _ like move—yes.” 4 “Exactly, If an heir to Thomas Dore’s moncy . should turn up, he, she, or whoever if might be, would have a jolly good time trying to reclaim the heritage, eh?” Stephen Dore smiled complacently. “Well, David, I perceive that you are not » quite so dull of comprebension as I supposed you were,” he said, with a chuckle of satisfac- tlon. “I am glad you are satisfied how really absurd it would be for any person to try to wrest Tom’s fortune from my Ada, now.” “1 don’t see it in the samo lishtas you do!” ' David responded, coolly, “I may know con- siderably more about the matter than you im- agine. Wor instance—that will you found was an old one, and doos not held. There was a later one—leaving everything to Tom’s young _ daughter and his adopted son, provided’ they married when the girl became of age.” “ Bah! you are lying!” ‘Don’t you wish you could bring yourself to think so? But you can’t, You have always ' really believed that another will existed, else , you would not have had a private search made ’ when you wero i: Lowa,” “Pooh! you are talking to idle a."3. Sup- pose such a thing were possible as the existence of a later will—how would it affect me?” “In a way you little dream of. have, soonor or later, got to give up Tom’s money, principal and interest, and don’t you forget it.” “Who to, pray?’—you ?” “Oh, no! V’m out of the question. I'm a wandering rogue, with a reward on my head, and due publicity might give me an undesirable vacation behind prison bars. I can, however, put you up in points, and perhaps win a suffi- ciency of your favor, in this way, that you wouldn't hesitate to give me a lift to a few hun- dreds,” ‘““Your bright anticipations are doomed to eclipse, sir, I assure you. However, if you have anything further to communicate of interest, go ahead,” “ Well, I suppose I might as well do it!” and David Dore glanced on either side to see if any- one was within ear-shot, “ First, however, we had better begin somewhore near the beginning —for instance>, at the time of the murder,” he began, “Go ahead!” “Well, with revenge in my heart, I followed our brother West from Virginia. I found him located upon a new farm in Iowa, miles from any other habitation. This satisfied me that I could effect a successful consummation of my scheme, Before visiting the cabin, I got nerved up, by a plentiful supply of whisky, and then set forth. I found Tom’s wife alone, at the cabin, and when sho refused to give me up the money, 1 brained her. I had learned from her that Tom was at work, in a distant water-course, secur- ing fire-wood, The children wero visiting at a neighbor’s, I left a paper, proclaiming my Whisky made me glory in such an act of bravado, I then went in search of Tom, I found him, and a desperate struggle ensued, j T thought Thad killed him, finally, and hid tke Stephen, you~ ? _ Mike, the Bowery Detective. _ 21 ee! body in a lonely, swamp. I then bided my time, waylaid the children, and captured them, and bore them miles and miles from the scene of my crime. I had no inténtidn of kill- ing them, For years I kept them well-cared for, but really imprisoned, in a wild mountain retreat. [had no desire to slay them, for I had secured Tom’s latest will from the cabin, and meant to turn it to good use, when they grew up. “ As they grew older, they came to regard me asa hated ‘nomy, apd on five or six different cecasions escaped me, but by a liberal uso of money, I always succeeded in recapturing them, On the las! oceasion, however, when they escaped they visited my own quarters, to kill me, I pre- sume, but I was away; so they stolo the tin safe, containing T m/’s will, and some other papers, which will enable the girl, with her sharp wits, to pick out who and what she is, and where her fortune lies,” ** And you have not found her?” Stephen Doro uttered these words in a gasp- ing, spasmodic sort of way. His face was not as florid as usual, and it was plain that he began to apprehend unpleasant impending results. “WTo! sho has not been found, I, myself, have traced her here to New York, but there the trail ends, I have feared to employ regular de- tectiyes, as there was danger of getting the muiton into the fire. I tried to workin a shrewd young fellow, but he was too much for me, He first telegraphed and found out that I did not belong where I claimed to, and then denounced me as an impostor, and refused to work for me.” ‘That is strange. How came he to do this?” ‘Simply from the fact that another party had previously tried to engage him to work up the same case!” “The deuce! Who is this other party?” ‘““My bitterest foe, and cverlasting pursuer. He isa Chicago detective, and he searches for me with a pocketful of charges, and requisitions from different States for my arrest. He is known as Peleg Prancer!” “ Ah! then he is not after the girl?” “ Ain’t he? Well, I should smile, if he wasn’t! Stephen, ho wants the girl as bad as either of us —and for natural causes, too!” _ Stephen Dore glared at his brother inquir- ingly. : David nodded and smiled, ““You are not slow to comprehend, no more than I am,” he averred. ‘It is he, sure enough!” “Ten thousand furies! Where is he?” “Ho arrived in New York about tho time I did, having come from the East, where the game was caged.” “Do you net know his present whereabouts?” “Not to-day. I expect to soon, however. Hoe has employed a detective named Driscoll to work for him, Ihave hunted Driscoll up, and bribed him to my side. Hoe is » keen devil, and open to money, Loffered him five thou- sand dollars to make Mr. Prancer the subject for an inquest, and another five to deliver the girl to me, together with the safe.” _ “Good! It is plain you have not lost all your judgment, Hayo you an idea whore the girl is?? SRE NEES EST LOE ETTORE SYS a ea ga eee
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22 Mike, the Bowery Detective. _— Se uxcouwn-xXTrtrD ae “Not exactly. If Driscoll cannot find her, no one can.” Does he suspect her actual value?” “Not that I am aware of.’ “And whati do you propose to do, if she is delivered to you?” “Simply this: make myself solid for life, by forcing you to divvy up Tom’s boodle, and then hand the girl over to you, to do with as you wili!” “Sof so! Youare playing a cute game, ain’t you? What if I refuse?” “Phen, Pll produce ample proofs of who the girl is, and she shall turn you out of doors, and Pil kill you in the bargain!” “So you think you’ve got me, dead to rights, eh? What if I should raiso an alarm, and give you into the custody of the police?” David Dore laughed grimly, ** Tt would be the last act of your life, I warn you, Tama bad man to trifle with, as you'll find out, if you are squeamish, in the least, So you had better play safe with me, for half, than play for the whole, and lose all!” “Tam not so sure of that—yet I must have time to consider, Where is this step-son of our brother--or adopted son? I never heard of him, before.” “Didn't you? Well, he is knownas Edward Shields, and was with Dora, when they escaped. The girl came here, and I dare say Shields bas joined her.” Stephen Dore poured out a glass of wine, and lit a cigar. “Tt is plain that wo must work to save an unwelcome accident!” he said, his brows drawn intoa scowl, ‘Therefore, I will take you into partnership, and when we are mutually satis- fied that all obstacles have been positively re- moved, beyond peradventure, you and I will share the inheritance equally. I see no other way to prevent a disgraceful explosion,” ‘You have good judgment, worthy of a king!” David asserted, rubbing his hands with glee. ‘I will, then, in foreign climes, snap my fingers at the law that would crush me here.” * Well, let us adjourn then. When you learn more you can notify me by mail.” “Correct! But, Stephen, considering ull the expense and trouble I have been to, can’t you put up for Driscoll’s services?” “T have no such amount of money with me, We will meet here to-morrow, and fix the mat- ter up.” They then arose and quitted the restaurant, not suspecting that a person had been swallow- ing a square meal, a few feet in the rear of where they had sat, and had, likewise, been swallowing almost every word they had uttered, for they had not spoken cautiously and he listened with intense solicitude. This person was Mike, the Bowery Detective. He had at last ‘‘dropped” upon a windfall, having been seated there before the entrance of the Dores, as if directed by some invisible good genius, . CHAPTER IX, DORA, WAITING until the two Dores had fairly left the restaurant, Mike arogo and followed them, at a respectful distance, not desiring to be discover- ed by them, : They soon separated, however, Stephen Dore taking an up-town Elevated train, and David Dore proceeding further down town, on foot. It was him Mike desired to trace to his Jair, for knowledge of his whereabouts might prove invaluable at a later stage 1a the drama, First Dore went to Broadway, and visited several steamship. offices, along that busy thoroughfare, **1 smell a large-sized rat!” Mike mused as ho kept in the background. ‘‘ Davy the duck, pro- poses to get off of terra firma, as soon as he clinches onto the divy his brother has promise'l him. A cunning duffer, is Davy, and I shail have to watch out he don’t get ahead of me.” After his visit to the ticket office, Doro made his way toa cheap lodging-house, on tho Bowery, and disappeared therein, Knowing the manager of the tor Mike had little difficulty in finding the location of tho villain’s apartment, and also learned that he had paid for the room a week in advance, Satisfied that he needed no particular watch- ing for the present, Mike then made his way toward his own lodgings, where he put in the balance of the day in sleep, and in figuring out the singular case with which: he had been con- nected, Not until four o’clock in the afternoon did he again venture forth to make a tour of such resorts as he judged either Ned Shields or Peleg Prancer might frequent, but up to night- fall, he had found no trace of them. Then he returned to his room, to await the coming of Nora and Dora Dore. They made their appearance at the proper time, Nora ushering the pretty heiress into the oung detective’s presence with an air of riumph, Miss Dore grew pale at sight of Mike, and made a movement to escape from the room, but Nora prevented, by closing and locking the door and putting the kay in her pocket, “Don’t be skeart, Carrie. This is my best friend, Mr. Mike Maverick, better known as Mike the Bowery Detective. gentleman, and ye needn’t be afeard of him.” “ But you have deceived me, Nora. Isupposed T was to meet one of your lady acquaintances.” “Tt didn’t tell you so, did 1?” “No—but—” ng “Pray be seated, Miss Dore, and have no fear of me, for you will find in me your warmest friend!” Mike said, politely. : Dora started and grew still paler, as sho stared in alarm at the Bowery Detective. She was by all odds the prettiest girl he had ever encountered, thought Mike, even though her attire was not as fineas rightfully became her station, in life. ; “Sir? Why—how—!” she stammered; words refused to come to her aid, and tears sprung into her eyes. : “T pray you will be seated, dear lady,” Mike urged, placing her a chair. “ Instead of being — lured into the trap of your enemy, as you seein to believe, you have been brought fo one whose — special object it is toright your wrongs. Will % - HS § Ho's a perfect +6 you not accept this brief explanation, until T can further conyince you?” m
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.Mike, the Bowery Detective. -” She sunk reluctantly upon the seat, very lit- tle of the pallor leaving her otherwise rosy cheeks, x : “You will pardon me, sir, but to me it seems incredible that you, a perfect stranger, could be my friend.” : i : ** No doubt of it, in my mind, dear Miss Dore, Tam aware of many of the trials you have had to undergo, because of your uncle’s villainy, but, I assure you as a friend, and as a detec- tive, that there isanend to all things, and so there is an end to David Dore’s machinations!” * Are you a detective, sir?” “‘T have the honor of being one of that craft.” ** You bet, Mike’s just a daisy detective!” Nora assured, proudly. ‘* Mike and I are old chums, and I expect he will be making a detective out of me one of these days,” ‘Is David Dore dead, sir?’ Dora asked anx- iously, without noticing Nora’sremark. = ‘* No—he’s just as lively as a flea, but his live- liness is going to get him into trouble, before many moons, and don’t you forget it! Do you know anything with respect to your early life, Miss Dore?” “T know that I was abducted, together with my adopted brother, and was told that my father and mother had been killed. David Dore told us this. For years he held us us captives. The reason he assigned for this was that the man who had murdered our parents was searching the world over for us, with the desire to take our ~~“ lives, and it was necessary to keep us secreted in ' order to escape his vengeance. * As we grew older, we grew to disbelieve, and to regard our uncle as a wicked and designing =man. One night wo overheard him talking in his sleep, and learned enough to cause us to be- lieve that he was the murderer of our parents, and that we were heirs to a large fortune, left by our father, and that David Dore was with- holding from us our rights, in order to perfect a pecuniary scheme of his own. “Time and again we tried to escape our ca tor, but in every instance he succeeded in retak- ing us, and each time punished us more and more severely, until endurance ceased to be a virtue. It was useless, however, for us to seek to baffle or elude him, for he was a very demon on our trail. Our last incarceration was in a supposed private asylum run by a Doctor Santi 4 AD New Hampshire—an asylum only in name, how- ever, as no demented or diseased patient,ever entered there, it being merely a prison for vic- tims of evil and designing persons who were willing to pay the ‘ Doctor’ for his accommoda- tions and vile services.” “Yours has been a sad lot, Miss Dore. What yeu have told mo is not new to me, although it s been known only a few hours. I heard Da- vid Dore reciting the whole remarkable story to his brother, this very afternoon,” ** His brother?” _“Yes—Stephen Dore—your other uncle, who a possesses all your father’s wealth.” - “T was not aware I had another uncle, sir!” .. “Then Dayid Dore has no doubt kept you in ignorance of the fact. Your father had two brothers, The way matters have finally been arranged between them is for the two brothers to share the wealth equally, and that you and another are to be captured and forever put out of the way.” Dora’s lip quivered, : “Yon do not mean to tell nie, sir, that another terrible murder is contemplated?” ‘« Just that, Miss Dore. Were you to fall into their hands, your life would not be worth speak- ing for.” “Merciful Heaven! am L yet to be hunted down after my long years of suffering and sus- pense? I shall go mad, sir, if 1 have to stand the worriment much longer!” “Do not worry in the least, dear lady. In me you have an earnest friend, who is as true as steel. Trust to me and [ will bring everything to rights in due time. If you follow my direc- tions they’ll have a good time finding you. Do you possess the trunk—a small tin safe, I be- lieve—which contains among other documents, your father’s last will?” ‘“No, my adopted brother, Ned, took charge of that when we separated for the pitpose of throwing pursuers off the track, e was to meet me, per appointment in Herald personals, as soon as he arrived from Boston, but he did not, and I have not heard from him since we rted.” “JT rather opine he’s here, though!” Mike announced. ‘‘ Whatsort of asnoozer is he, any- how?” “Ned is a nice, kind young man—a little wild sometimes, but good-hearted and trusty. We have both been buffeted about since infancy, you know, and Ned has a violent temper, and a sort of mania—an abhorrent dread of my terrible uncle. Ido believe he fears my uncle more than any other being upon the face of this earth.” “He's a queer ’un, anyhow. I got on his trail Vother night. He was going to commit suicide in the river, but I stopped him, and he got mad and pitched me overboard in front of the boat.” “Oh! merey!? “Fact! I got out, though, a wetter but wiser man. Since then I haven’t seen his nibs.” “It is very strange he should have attempted to commit suicide,” Dora said, “‘ although he has several times become very melancholy over being a haunted man.” ‘*T suppose you have examined the contents of the safe—that is, you know it was your father’s | wish that pees should become your foster e brother’s wife?” “Yes. That is known to me, but it is a matter of very little importance, as Ned and I have both agreed that such a match is unde- sirable for either of us. Ned bas sworn to stick by me through thick and thin, but he loves a estern girl, and will marry her some day, no doubt.” : “Well, before we can do much for you, Mis Dore, /it will be necessary to find this fellow, Shields, and obtain the last will of your father. This will not be the hardest job, however. How we will force Stephen Dore to give up your rightful fortune, except by law, is not quite so plain to me, and you are aware that the law is a tough customer to fight, except you have all the rigbt on your side, and a power of money to back it up.” Saute “T reckon, young feller, ib won’s bo of any
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oet x Waa eS vt Mike, the Bowery Detective. need fer ye ter go ter law!” a disagreeable voice cried, and the door was burst open, and half a dozen rough-looking rowdies entered, headed by Bob Driscoll! Hach man grasped a dirk-knife except Dris- coll, who instantly covered Mike with a bull-dog revolver, “Not a peep, ye bla’guard!” the villainous de- tective growled. ‘Ye know none of the neigh- bors loves ye, an’ ef ye try any monkey bizness we'll leave two of ye for the coroner to look at to-morry !” Mike was taken so wholly by surprise that they bad an undeniable “drop” on him before he could make a move, His courage was not daunted, and he put on a bold front, “Hello! What the blazes d’ye call this sort of thing?” he cried sternly. ‘‘ What d’ye mean by breaking into my room in this fashion?” ‘‘ We mean that ther game belongs to We, Us and Company!” Driscoll. declared, grimly, ‘* an’ we mean business. If ye try to raise an alarm, ye kin bet you'll never raise another one. Boys, bind and gag the cuss. Ef he attempts resist- ance I'll put a bullet through him, No fear any one will inquire into the cause of a pistol-report in these quarters, [ assure you. If there is any trouble, there is more ways than one out of this building.” Mike at once saw that resistance was next to useless, Driscoll’s companions were of the roughest characters from the slums, and fit for any crime that would yield them gain, and Mike knew only too well that their leader was no better than were they. Should he attempt to fight them off, there seemed little doubt but that he would be disabled —perhaps killed, while it was possible that both Nora and Dora would be used even as badly; so, when the roughs advanced, he made no move to frustrate their intention, until— A sudden thought occurred to him. Directly behind him was a window which opened into a court, or area, which was a dis- tance of about twelve feet to the pave, During his knock-about life, Mike bad not failed to learn his little mite of athletics and gymnastics, and a sudden resolve eutered his mind; he would try a desperate undertaking. If he received injury, it was no more than he was likely to be subjected to at the hands of Bob Driscoll. As the roughs came toward him he suddenly turned a backward somerset, There was a crash, and a disappearance of window-sash, glass, Mike, and all. The astonished roughs, with Driscoll at their head, sprung to the opening, with cries of as- tonishment, and glared down into the laos below. At the bottom lay the fragments of the win- dow-sash, but the daring detective was not to be seen. ‘‘He has escaped!” Driscoll cried, with an oath, ‘ Quick! we must get out of this!” They turned, seized Dora, threw a shawl over her head, and carried her bodily from the room, A blow from Driscoll’s vicious fist laid Nora senseless upon the floor, Darker than the shades of Styx was Hester street that night, and the villains had no diffi- culty in getting their captive into the close cab that was waiting by the curb, Driscoll and another man also got in, and the vehicle drove off. At the corner of the next block, a sturdy and yet stylish figure darted out from the shadows, and began to give chase, - He found, however—for it was the Bowery Detective—that he was no match for the two horses in the race, and finally stopped, out of breath, and very much disappointed, “They've got her, sure enough!” he gritted, ‘and Heaven ouly knows-where they will take’ her, For the present_I am baffled, but Pll swear it shall not be long. Tl yet find her,” Seeing no possible chance of immediately learning whither Dora was to be taken, Mike set out on his return to his lodgings, to see how Nora had fared; buton arriving at bis room, he found Nora gone, and that none of the other occupants of the tenement a»peared to know anything of what had occurre fter a few moments of del: 2ration, he once more started forth, : = Ne ora Was undoubtedly safe; ¥ 't what of Dora ore? , She must be found, and that tod, very soon, or the chances were she would never be heard of again, of or ‘tite First he made his way to a telegraph office on” e Broadway, and sent the following message: “To THe Mayor or Crier or Pouce of Chicago, Ml. ? “Is David Dore, criminal, wanted? If so, what, and price?” the for. er 16 He then hurried back to the Bowery, and to * the lodging-house where Dore’s rooni was located, Inquiry of the manager reveale’,*he fact that Dore was still in his room, which Mc >‘ yarded as good news, as “Tt is now but a matter of time and circum~- stances!” he muttered. ‘‘I have got to watch the every movement of Davy, in order to find out the whereabouts of Dora. Driscoll, or some of his gang will surely communicate with David, and that, too, very likely, before any harm is done to Dora.” And, just one hour later, Mike had the satis- faction of seeing Dore leave the lodging-house, lt was now to be a game of shadowing! CHAPTER X. ON THE TRAIL, On leaving the lodging-house, David Dore looked sharply around him as if suspi- cious that watchful eyes were upon him; but Mike was quartered in a dark doorway across the way, and the keen gaze of the arch villain failed-to see his enemy. Walking along the Bowery to Prince Strect, and thence to Crosby street and thence into Marion street, David Dore entered one of the groggeries on this street, and remained within the ordinary space of time for a man to quaff a glass of beer. ; He then reappeared, and looked cautiously up — and down the street,
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. 25 In a doorway, where shadows were dense enough to conceal a human form, stood Mike, watching his prey with the eyes of a hawk, It was now plainly evident to him that Dore suspected that he was followed; and this was precisely what Mr. Dore did believe, although, as yet, only intuition excited the suspicion, He gazed anata. toward Mike’s place of concealment, aud took a couple of steps in that direction, as if impressed with the’ idea that he would find an enemy lurking there, He, however, immediately desisted from his teed and finally starting off up the street, @ went perhaps a hundred yards, then wheeled, abruptly, and looked back. ' Evidently he expected to catch his pursuer in the act of dogging his footsveps, but the street, apparently, was wholly deserted, ike had anticipated a move of this kind, and had very wisely kept to his covert. Dore remained oe enough to light a cigar, and then set out briskly. enti =p would look around every few minutes, Mixe took up the pursuit, slowly. ' The ‘wanted’ man went directly to Broad- way, and then? north through that thorough- fare to Thirty inth street, and then over to the vicinity of the «orth River. Here he disappeared so suddenly that Mike was puzzled. He did not see his prey enter an building, nor did he see him leave the sidewalk ~ .—yet it was an undeniable fact that the man - was gone, For half an hour the Bowery boy scouted about the neighborhood and ‘‘ took in” the visi- ble points, but without much satisfaction. Dore had disappeared, and that was all there was of it, aud Mike finally Game to the conclu- sion that there was little use for him to con- tinue the search any further in that direction. Accordi;, ..y he made his way back to Ninth avenut ‘aiid took the Elevated cars for down- town. J Although pretty well tired out, he was still game. There was no sleep in his eyes, as long as there was a possible chance to obtain a clew. ‘On his way down-town he indulged in a care- ful deliberation, and the result of it was he made his way to the Bowery lodging-house where David Dore held forth. It Happened that Jem June, the manager of the establishment, was alone in his dingy office, which, fragrant with the fumes of bad tobacco, was also liberally decorated with lithographs of stage favorites of more or less prominence. Through ‘‘ steering” June out of a bunco game, once upon a time, Mike had won the munager’s heafty friendship, and therefore he felt warranted in requesting a return of favors. To use the popular slang, “there was nothing slow about June,” and he set out a box of cigars the moment the young detective entered, “Evening to ye, Mike!” he saluted, ‘’Ow’s the bulls and bears?” _ “The bovine rather bas the bear on his horns, Jem, and it devolves upon you to liberate the latter genus by allowing a little strategy to be performed within the precincts of your dormi- _ tory!” Mike announced, with serio-comic gray- *T fail to catch on,” be said, elevating bis heels upon the office table, ‘‘ Will ye please be more explicit?” , “*Y will endeavor to explain!” Mike said, lighting up. ‘You have a lodger, I believe, by the name of David Dore?” Business-like, June referred to the register in front of him, and announced that Mr. David Dore did room there, in Room 41; although he had previously posted the young detective as to the fact, at that young gentleman’s solicita- tion, “Ts Mr, Dore in his room?” was Mike’s next query. fi Again Jane referred, but this time it was to his key-rack, “Dore is not in,- Michael!” he announced, with the air of a Metropolitan Hotel clerk, Then he condescended to add: ‘t What particu- lar interest have you in the aforesaid Dore?” “Well, to tell the truth, I propose to slam it!” Mike declared, grimly. ‘‘ That is tosey, I mean to go trapping for foxes, and collar a little fur, to line my pocketbook. Did you ever see this?” and he exhibited his badge, whereat the lodging- house manager whistled. Isee! I see!” he commented, ** And you likewise perceive the enormity of the importance of my present visit. This royal rascal, Dore, is a villain of the first water, and if 1s my business, as a representative of the re- quirements of legal jurisdiction, to investigate the way and means of Davy’s manner of sub- sistence, and so forth, Therefore, suspecting that David will soon return, laden down with the spoils of a nocturnal pilgrimage, I desire to be granted the privilege of concealing myself in his room, hoping to hear much that will in the future embellish the police records, and make news f or tho penny daily periodicals of the present time.” And after delivery of this bit of talk, Mike seized upon his jaw, as if in fear it would break, Jem June put up his hands, imploringly. “Don’t!” he said. ‘‘ Another infliction of that kind, will be my death.” “Well, Pll drop on the dictionary, then. In plain, solid Latin, I want you to let me into jore’s room, so that when he returns, I can hear and see all that transpires. I’m working up'a serious case, Jem, and my success all de- pends on getting into his room.” Can’t do it, young man—can’t do it, That would be an offense for which I might get a long term of imprisonment!” “Bah! Nonsense! What are the laws? Is not every citizen expected to lend justice a helping hand? I say, Jem June, ’m goin’ to occupy David's room, and if you don’t aid and abet me in my plans, [ll pull you up before police court for being Dore’s accomplicé in crime, Oh! but there’s nothing slow about me!” June was not a city-bred individual, nor were his intellectual accomplishments of the highest order, and he really knew very little about the laws; hence, was not certain but what Mike could heart, he had a great horror. After a littie parley, he consented to Mike’s make him trouble, of which, in his honest - proposition, and within a few minutes the de- — ere are ee eee >
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y, Jane at ee pis on fa ea s i ye ee ne: PSs TLD en ee - ee fb er ee rs i / ’ ' find out, ~ monished. 26 tective was under the bed, which Dore was to oceupy, should he come in. Tt was a cramped and uncomfortable position; but with true detective patience, Mike waited, satisfied he would leara enough to repay him for his trouble, It was three o’clock in the morning, ere a key turned in the lock, David Dore then entered ’ the room, closing and securing the door after him, Mike got a glimpse of his face, to see that it reflected satisfaction and triumph in a superla- tive degree. It told to Mike that the villain was cognizant of Dora’s capture, and had very likely seen her, Dore appeared fatigued, however, and threw off his coat with a growl. * Well, the bird is caged once more, and if she escapes this time it will be something like a miracle!” he audibly muttered. ‘* That fellow Driscoll is a faithful dog, and he’ll not be apt to let her escape, when by vigilance for a short time, he can lay his hand upon ten thousand dollars, Ob, no!” '“ So Driscoll is the jailer, eh?’ Mike mused, ‘and the girl is still alive and safe. So far, so good! The important thing is to find out where Driscoll has his bird caged. If Dore can’t vouch- safe me the information, there’s another way to Inspector Byrnes can easily furnish men to watch Driscoll’s movements.” Dore did not further express his thoughts in words, but took a drink of liquor from a pocket flask, and then threw himself upon the bed, without disrobing. If the sleep of the unrighteous is not sound, Dore’s case must bave been particularly an ex- ception, for his heavy snoring soon proclaimed him to be in a deep sleep. The first streaks of early dawn began to shoot in at the window, and warned Mike that what was to be done must be done quickly. Creeping cautiously from beneath the bed, he took a good look at the sleeper to make sure that he was wholly unconscious; then be looked about him for some means of binding Dore’s feet and aukles. Finding nothing more convenient, he bound them with the two towels on the rack, which he first wetted, then twisted for the purpose. The liquor Dore had imbibed, helped to dead- en his slumber, so that he did not awaken, and Mike went through bis work without arousing the sleeper. When David Dore awakened, he found the Bowery Detective sitting on the bed beside ; him, toying with a dangerous-looking knife, “Sh! Nota peep or lll stick ye!” Mike ad- ‘*T mean bizness, Davy, and if you don’t want to die before the law gives you a chance, you'll be discreet. Otherwise the coro- ner will be called here to make an inquest dur- ing the coming day. D’ye hear me?” “T fancy I am not deaf,” Dore growled, mak- ‘ ing an unavailing attempt to burst his linen bonds. ‘‘ You infernal young whelp of Satan, what do you mean by this sort of business? Re- lease me at once!” “When the swallows homeward fiy, Davy, perhaps I may—that dependin’ altogether on -—= Mike, the Bowery Detective. how you conduct yerself. Ye see, Davy, I’m dead on ter yer little racket, an’ I intend ter work ye the sameas [I would a gold mine. If ye pan out well, so good! If ye don’t, all hopes o’ yer bein’ a success aire a dead open-an’- shut failure. So you see there’s but one course for you to pursue, an’ it behooves you to travel along it faster than on a jog-trot, you bet.” ‘Bah! You are a barking cur. If I get free, I'll make you sorry for this indignity!” tho villain declared, savagely. ‘‘Vll cry for help, and have you arrested, curse you!” “Try it on, old rooster. If you try anything of that sort, Pll mighty quick shove ye inter the Tombs for the murcer of Thomas Dore’s wife!” Mike warned. ‘The fact is, Davy, your ball of yarn aire about run out to the end, and ye might as well make a clean out an’ out breast of matters, an’ thus stand a chance o’ getting legal leniency.” “Pll do nothing of the kind,” the villain de- clared. ‘‘D’ye think I fear an upstart like you? [ guess not! You'll find you've got old of the wrong sort of a bad man when you try to work me.” i ‘ “‘That’s where you mistake, Davy, A man of you’re bad character is just the sort of a hairpin I like to bend into shape, Ye see, there’s more .fun in working a real out-and- outer, than there is a tame, ninety-nine cent vil- lain—more real enthusiasm in a victory of this sort, And, as it bappens that I have you com- pletely at my mercy, you will see that I’ve every reason for enjoying the situation to a greater extent than you can.” ‘You are remarkably good of gab, for a green kid; but, pray tell us how you presume to have gained any power over me?” : “Basy enough, Believing you are wanted in Chicago, [ have telegraphed declaring my capa- bility, of laying hands on you at a minute’s notice, Iexpect an answer early in the morn- ing, announcing that an officer has been sent to take you to the scene of your former crimes!” Dore looked uneasy at this. ** You lie!” be gritted, ‘* Bet your life I don’t!” Mike calmly assured. ‘1 overheard your interesting conversation with your brother Stephen yesterday, and con- cluded it was about time for me to take a hand in the game. It’sa real dramatic scheme you’ve got up against Dora Doro, ain’t it? But youll find to your sorrow that it won’t work.” a: “ Won't it, though?” ‘* No, it won’t! TVll knock smithereens out of that schema before I’m off this trail, you can bet on that! Now, sir, what I desire to know is—where ’ve you got the girl shut up?” oh ‘ What girl?” ~ Oh! don’t be so innocent! Where is Dora Dore?” ‘* How aye suppose I know, confound youl: sts na é D’ye think a general directory?” . ; ‘You're a general idiot to suppose that you can shut my eyeup. Dora Dore was abducted last night—for it’s how ’most morning, from my room, and Driscoll abducted her for you. You afterward went to the place where’she isheld a captive, I dogged you for a ways, but finally lost track of you. When you re-entered this room awhile ago, I heard you say that she was:
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. caged, which proves that you were at the cage. Now, sir, you’ve got to tell me where Dora is secreted |” h ‘*May I never see another sunrise if I do!” the villain sneered. ‘If you think I'd give up the game, young feller, when it’s all in our own hands, you’re the most mistaken youthful jack- ass that ever brayed.” i ‘So you are inclined to be mulish, are you?” Mike growled, his face hardening. ‘It won’t work with me. Davy, I’m not a perfect saint, by any means, and I give you fair warning that ‘if 1 don’t get a straight and truthful answer from you, you will get seriously hurt.” “Til never tell you—Tll see you in purgatory first, you hear me, you whelp!” and the desper- ate schemer looked decidedly as if he meant it. Mike allowed no trace of disappointment to cross his face, “ve a mind to knife you for your obsti- nacy!” be declared, grimly. ‘I’ve a better plan than that, however. I'll go out, get an cfilicer, and escort you to less comfortable quarters at one of our police stations, When the proper authority arrives from Chicago, you will un- doubtedLly be treated to a picturesque trip across ‘the continent as far as Chic-ia-ago!” _ And rising from the bed, he made a move to leave the room, pera Dore flung a torrent of curses after im. “Go on with your apple-cart! ‘You'll see where you'll come ont. Put me in jail if you dare, and I'll outwit you then. Go ahead, I say, but look you. out for your life once I get my freedom! Tl cut your heart out as sure’s there is a sharp knife to be found in America!” CHAPTER XI. CAGING A “‘CORKER.” MIke paid no attention to the threat, but left the room and locked the door after him, Descending to the office, he fourd the light _ turned low and Jem June suoring away as he sat tipped back in his office chair. Awakening him by a rough shake, Mike gave him the keys and said: “Mind, now, if there’s any noise up there, you go and make the fellow dry up. Vil be back to arrest him directly.” : He had fully made up his mind on his course of action as being the most sensible thing he eonld do, "To allow David Dore his freedom once more Dora’s death-warrant, Straight to the nearest pollee-station he went, and after making @ complaint against Bob Dris- coll, returned to the Bowery, accompanied by a ~ couple of officers, Dore was taken in custody and conducted to the station-house, but not without his treating Mike and the policemen toa fearful torrent of abuse, Warning the sergeant not to allow, the pris- mer to be admitted to bail if it could be helped, would be licerally equivalent to signing poor until he (Mike) got advice from Chicago, the _ detective once more took himself back to the Bowery. ; ; ; It was now broad daylight, and Mike’s first was to get away with a good breakfast \ 27 at one of the respectable restaurants, His next move was to visit the telegraph-office from which he had dispatched to Chicago, A message had just been received, which said: Dave Dore wanted. Hold him until special offi- cer with requisitions arrives.” It was signed by the chief of police. “He don't mention any reward,” Mike mut- tered. ‘Tl bet, if there is one, Pl sock in my claim for it, This playin’ detective for nothing, and boarding one’s self in the bargain, ain’ hardly what it’s cracked up to be. Reckon, mebbe, ef Dora gits her rights, shell divy up sensible-like.” This, however, was something akin to count- ing chickens before they were hatched, From the telegraph office he made bis way to Sixth avenue and Fourteenth street, and spent e full bonr in watching the salesgirls as they came along and entered Macy’s to begin their day’s work, But, though he watched, he saw nothing of Nora, and at once formed the conclusion that some ill bad befallen her from the trouble of the previous night. Kaowing where she dwelt, he turned his steps toward the dismal street, and hurried along anxiously. In passing a police station he was just in time to see a trio of men carrying a man inside from an ambulance. Some intuition be could not account for caused him to follow into the station to get a glimpse of the unfortunate’s face. What, then, was his surprise to see lying upon the stretcher no less a personage than the redoubtable Peleg Prancer! He was insensible, and upon his brow was a ragged wound, where be had been struck by some rough instrument or object. ‘* Hello! I know this man!” Mike cried. ‘‘ His name is Prancer. ‘Where did ye find him?” ** Lyin’ down on one o’ the Hast River docks,” was the answer. ‘‘Guess some one tapped him an’ throwed him into the river, and he crawled out ag’in for his clothes. He's the second hos- pital case this morning.” “ He must not go there!” Mike said, exhibit- ing his badge. ‘There is important, business on foot for him, and I do not belieye his injury will disable him after he recovers consciousness. I will see that he is cared for.” Restoratives were promptly applied, and in due time Peleg Prancer opened his eyes, He looked grimly enough at the officers, but his face lighted up a little at sight of the Bowery Detective, _‘* By hokey! Is thet you, younker?” he cried, sitting up and grinning at the young blood as if pleased. ‘*Glad to see you. What's the matter of me?” ‘Nothing much, only some one has been rap- ping you on the head. Didn’t you know about it? : Prancer scratched his head. ‘Well, now that 1 come to think about it, I reckon I do. I had an appointment to meet some one down by East River last night, and was waitin’, when, furst I knowed, | didn’t know nothing. I was conscious of tumbling
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into the river, and had sense enough to get out. That's all I remember occurring until now.” ‘“T presume yon have an idea who assaulted you?” Mike said. ‘I have.” “Tt does not matter!” Prancer hastily replied. “Come along with me, boy, till I get my wound tinkered, and we can get matters fixed up later on. The officers were not inclined to let Prancer go, but at Mike’s demand Prancer was permit- ted to accompany him from the station-house, They went to the nearest doctor, where the wound was dresssd, after which they set out en route down-town, Mike having abandoned the idea of hunting up Nora for the present. On the way the subject of the assault upon Prancer was more fully discussed. “You were to meet Bob Driscoll, weren't you?” Mike asked, ** Yes, L was. What of it?” “Tots! I thought you’d soon get your fill of that snoozer!” ** You think he struck me, do ye?” “‘T should snicker! He’s as bad at heart as any cut-throat in the city. ‘ D’ye miss any col- lat? “No, I didn’t have much with me, and there’s none of if gone.” ‘What were you to meet Driscoll in such an out-of-the-way place for?’ Mike queried, eying the Yankee keenly. i ‘* He claimed be had found where my daugh- ter was, and if I met him there he would take me to ber.” ; ‘Hatha! hal And you were fool enough to believe bim?” *T considered his word good, although my confidence in him has not been growing since last I met you.” “T was afraid you'd git bit, It’s lucky, how- ever, that you’reno worse for wear. I know this Driscoll and all about him, and I trust that we'll find him behind the bars before sunset!” “Ye don’t say? What will that be for?” “ For deviltry in general, but most important just now for abduction.” What?” “ For abduction,” *‘ Not—not of my Gracie?” * No—not of your Gracie, but of your daugh- ter, Dora, Mf. Thomas Dore!” and Mike laughed. The Yankee started violently, and gave Mike a sharp, searching glance. ‘What d’ye mean?” he growled, evidently in bad humor. “T mean that the Prancer racket won't work worth a cent. Its b’iler is c’ar bu’sted, and *taiu’t fit for use no longer. Ye see, ve inves- tigated the hull affair, Thomas, and all thet I haye found ouf wouldn’t go inside of a diction- ary. Prancer are very good to stuff turkeys with, but no good fer stuffin? Bowery shang- He you can bet! So you see, you and I might as well understand each other, first as last, You're Thomas Dore, an’ ye seeketh fer your es brother, David, and your daughter, ora. The scowl! did not leave the man’s face, “ Well, what if all you say.is true?” he de- manded curtly, ‘ Mike, the Bowery Detective. . **A good deal to you mebbe. If you expect to win a respectable show in the game, you orter to hitch onter the right feller as can help ye to pull through. The fact is, Thomas, all your talk when I first met you was bosh, Why were you searching for Gracie?” ‘Gracie is Dora Grace Dore.” ** Ah, 1 see!” “Well, you’ve cheek enough, that’s one fact,” Dore retorted, still in ill-humor., ‘I am rather averse to young men who cut their wisdom- teeth a week after birth. They generally haye a superfluous sort of idea that they know more than their elders.” ‘* And in many instances such is the fact of the case!” Mike unblushingly declared. ‘TI don’t pretend to be the seventh of a seventh, nor nothin’ like that, but I generally know how to relish a square meal when I see it, or kick a square package lying on the sidewalk when I want to let my toes know they are growing too progressive.” ‘Well, go ahead and let me know how well you are informéd about my business, since you” claim it to be so much to my interest.” “Tl do it. I know that David Dore killed you, or thought he did—killed your wife, an’ abducted your gal an’ your foster-son. On comes your tother brother, finds a will leavin’? him all yer collat, which he appropriates like a little man, and makes himself comfortably safe from bein’ troubled by David, by offerin’ a big standin’ reward fer him. David don’tkeer. He hangs on ter yer progeny wi’ an eye ter the future, The aforesaid prod escapeth David, anil _ the upshor of it is he turns up in New York, business and blood in his eye.” eae Thomas Dore’s face grew inexpressibly stern — just then, “You are sure he is here?’ he gritted, say- agely. “ Just as sure as I am that Christmas comes but once a year. I had the pleasure of seeing him locked up in a police-station not over a couple of hours ago.” “Hal Then take me there at once! For many a year I haye longed to confront him, the accursed viper!” “Whoa up, now! Don'tgetexcited! You've got to let me run this machine, or I kick at one’t.” “Go ahead, then, boy! Out with all you have tosay. Where is my child?” “That's jest sum’tbin’ I can’t perzactly tell — you, because I don’t kuow.” ‘ Ho then went on to relate about how he had heard the compact between David and Stephen Dore; about his encounter with Ned Shields; and about the abduction of Dora, the night be- fore, which later had resulted in the arrest of David Dore, $ When the young detective had Thomas Dore seized his hand warmly. ‘Young man, you are well worthy o f your after my liking. Uninyited you have taken hold of a case of bub little interest to the ordinary detective, and pes a much out of it, heartily thank you. fenceforth, we will work together, hand in hand, but you shall hay guide, for I believe your knowledge of city small amount of ‘self-conceit, and you’re one
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gives you a great advantage over me, But no | time must be lost.” : | “Right you be. A minute lost now is very apt to bea mile. Before anything can be done, we must await the arrival of the Chicago officer with the requisition papers—that is, before any- thing can be done with David Dore,” Not so. Iam possessed of the power to ar- rest him and take him back to lowa, What charge did you have him arrested on?” “ Wife-murder.” Thomas Dore smiled. “Did you mention whose wife he murdered?” “By Jove! I did not. “That's sufficient to cleur him, if nothing else is preferred against him,’ “Perhaps, yes. The best thing we can do is to hasten to the hearing!” Mike glanced at his watch. “You are right. We haven’t a minute to spare, After we get that arranged, we must _ turn our attention to your other brother, Ste- phen Dore, Itmay not be amiss to keep a light shining on his movements, I reckon,” They burried on at a brisk pace. Directly, Mike once more gianced at his wate! o et ita few moments ago, had any idea of.” At the first opportunity they ascertained the - time, and found it was nearly after the time when magisterial hearings usually commenced. - When they arrived at the room where the police court hearmgs took place, they learned that, as a0 one was present to appear against Dore, when his case was called, bis hearing had been postponed one day and the Honorable Aioben. Dore had gone his bail in the sum of two thousand dollars. Sadly disappointed, the two searchers left the court-room, and adjourned to a neighboring saloon to compare notes, : ‘Something must be done, instantly!” Mike declared, ‘Sor it will be too late. No doubt an - immediate attempt will be made to spirit away our daugbter, or kill her, as you must see that avid will seek to escape “ith great haste, re- mardless of two thousand dollars’ bail, which is comparatively an insignificant sum, under such circumstances.” _ “You are right. But, what shall we do— what can we do?” “The'only thing I see to be done, is for you to go and swear out a warrant for his re-arrest, showing your authority and stating your rea- sons for doing so. A general alarm will then be given!” This was at once done; then, at Miko’s sug- gestion, they made their way to the residence of Stepben Dore. Pompey, the negro servant, answered the nmmons, and bowed poral *Is Mr. Stephen Dore at home?” Mike asked. ‘He am not, sab.” _ “Could you inform me where I will be apt to nd him?” "Deed, I cannot, sab, Marse Dore in town, h, omething tells me we shall be too late!” he * My watch was stopped when I looked at It is really later than I Mike, the Bowery Detective. 29 “No, sah.” * Does he ever hang around Wall street?” “Duano!” **Ts Miss Dore in, then?’ ‘* No, sab—nobody in, sah!” And bang! went the door, in the faces of the callers. ** Confound the imp of blackness. Fetch him to the door again while J choke the gizzard ont of him!” Thomas Dore fumed. “He's non est now!” Mike said. ‘‘ We will do Wall street, and maybe find Stephen there.” They did go to Wall street, and spent a couple of hours there, looking into the ‘ pens” and “dens” of the “bulls” and ‘ bears,” but no- where did they find Stephen Dore. “T fear we're on the wrong track,” Thomas Dore said, in a tone plainly telling that he was discouraged, ‘My poor daughter may be mur- dered before we can get to her rescue.’ “We must not despair. We may run upon the much-wanted clew before we have the least expectation of so doing.” And he was right. They had not gone two blocks, when they suddenly Bob saw Driscoll and Ned Shields coming down the opposite side of the street. ‘“In here,” Mike gritted, pulling Dore into an office area. ‘ The game is at last ours.” CHAPTER XIL THE TRAIL NARROWS DOWN, DrRiscott and his companion passed down the street. ‘Where are they bound for?” Thomas Dore demanded, glaring after them. ‘*That’s something I’m not just prepared to tell—it’s what we must find out,” Mike replied. “Do you know that man who accompanies Driscoll?” ** Not that [am aware of. Whois he?” “Your adopted son, of yore—Ejward Shields!” “What? And he with Driscoll? Then Dris- coll is not false to me,” “Don’t you fool yourself; Ned Shields is wanted out of the way nearly as much as you are yourself, or your daughter, and Pll bet a new hat against a Bowery bat that he’s now be- ing led to the slaughter, There's work before us, ; ‘You bave told me that Ned possesses the will, Although I still live, it may be necessary for me to possess that.” “Right again. We must follow them, and not lose track of them. We shall have to be very careful they don’t scent pursuit, and throw us off the trail.” ‘ They took up the preg keeping far enough behind Driscoll and his companion to prevent the chase being discovered. It was a long pursuit. It really seemed that the renegade detective —for he was really that—was trying to throw pursuers off the trail, for be changed the course from one thoroughfare to another, until it really would have puzzled the wits of a sur- veyor to decide their ultimate destination. » They frequently dropped into saloons fora | drink, and ere long, by his unsteady gait, it be- —
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: Mike, the Bowery Detective. came evident that Ned Shields was feeling the effects of his potations—a fact which caused Mike to remark: ‘You see how reasonable is my opinion of Driscoll, don’t you? He is getting Shields para- lyzed, and no doubt will treat bim to the same dose that he did you.” But little doubt now that Driscoll had some evil intention in view, Slowly but surely they were proceeding in a northeasterly course, and nearing the Hast River. It now became noticeable that nearly every saloon was visited, and that Shields was really getting beastly drunk—so much so that Driscoll had to take bim by the arm. * The paca is gittin’ pretty near ripe enough to dip!” Mike observed. “You are right. If that scoundrel pushes the boy overboard, I'll sheot him,” “No, you won't!” ‘‘ Why not, pray?” * Because in losing him we are losing the best possible opportunity of findin’ Dora.” “True enough.” “You bet! You jest let the Bowery Detec- tive manage the helm. If Driscoll pushes the pigeon in, we'll be there, and you'll rush for- ward to the rescue, Ill keep glim. Driscoll will take leg bail for security. I'lltake the same kind of bail, after him, and if I drop bis trail Pl never tackle anotherone. After you get out of the rescue biz, you come to Thirty-Ninth street and North River, and wait about the vieinity until [ join you.” It was so settled. The chase seemed nearing its end, as the pur- sued app’ oached the water-front. Driscoll evidently had ‘‘ timed” his arrange- ments perfectly. They soon went out upon a pier, where there were no visible signs of business in the imme- diate vicinity. Far below was to be seen the skeleton struc- ture of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was noontide, and a man could have dropped into the river and drowned at that particular point with but little possibility of any one noticing the mishap or crime, Driscoll was talking to his more than half- Eno companion as they advanced upon the wharf, What he was saying was apparent to his pursuers—he was telling Shields that they would row across the river. As they neared the water’s edge, Driscoll gave a searching glance around; then suddenly throwing his leg in front of Shields, he tripped him, and sent him spinning headlong into the fast-flowing tide, and instantly turning, skur- ried from the vicinity, like a frightened deer, looking neither right nor left until he considered himself out of danger. He ther slackened his pace and gazed search- ingly around him. | e was no longer in sight of the dock, and he saw no one in pursuit of him. So he resumed his journey at a reasonable pace, looking back only now and then, and at such times seeing no sign whatever of pursuit. Yet like an avenging Nemesis, the Bowery Detective was on his trail; surely and cautiously he was dogging Driscoll to his den. The latter, as Mike had surmised, was making his way toward Thirty-ninth street and the North River. Here, then, or somewhere adjacent to the vicinity, was Dora Dore concealed. If he failed to find her, Mike was ready to de- — clare that he would give up the profession. The fair face and winning manners of the young heiress had deeply impressed him, and although he had no aspirations so high-minded as giving her more than a passing thought, he was eager to be instrumental in restoring her to her rights, _ The pursuit was kept up without discovery or incident worthy of mention, until they were near the North River. Then greater caution became more impera-— tive; it was too risky for the young detective to get near enough to the object of his pursuit to be recognized, and therefore he had to keep at a considerable distance behind, v2 Finally, when Driscoll was pretty close in the vicinity of the river, he suddenly wheeled ab- rupcly and looked steadily back. Nothing loth, Mike came steadily on, and finally knew that his advance had lulled any suspicions Driscoll may have entertained; for he turned and entered a house near where he had halted. 2 Keen as those of a lynx, were the eyes o Mike, and their gaze never left the doorway where Driscoll bad disappeared, until they had marked out, beyond mistake, the exact location, leading to the renegade’s rendezvous, It was adingy row of bricks, evidently ten- ements, and occupied by a number of families, alshonga the house that Driscoll entered had more the appearance of being tenantuble for but one family, as a defaced bill of “ To Let,” was pasted on the door, 5 “Tnat’s the place!” Mike muttered, ‘and it — now is but a matter of time ereI win, It’ wait, be watchful and patient!” He did not approach nearer to the dwelling,via Thirty-fourth street, but retraced his footsteps, a ways, and took up his position where he could keep a distant eye upon the building, with little ~ danger of being particularly noticed, For over an hour he kept up then, to his surprise, he saw no less a person than Nora, the ex-peanut-vender approaching. Oh! I'm so glad to find you,” she said, “I know where Dora is concealed!” ' “Humph!” and he chucked her under the — chin, “SodolI, But how did you find out?” “T tracked Driscoll this morning.” “i tracked him awhile ago. 1 shadowing here, since. Have you any idea ~ whether David Dore is down there or not?” “Don’t think he is. ve been spying aradiidy too, but I’ve seen no one come in or Cubnemeae Driscoll, and a nabob-looking man awhile age,’ : an _ Did he have gray bair and beard?” © Yes? - — “That was Stephen Dore!” Mike mused ui der his breath, Then aloud to Nora: “Has he come out, yet?” “No? ; z “Then we want to shadow that building with est i 5 . Its his vigil, and a
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Mike, the Bowery Detective. unceasing vigilance, Ah! here come Thomas and Ned.” ft was even so. Thomas Dore and Edward Shields now came up, both wet; but as the weather was warm, it mattered not. Ned’s unceremonious ducking had thoroughly dissipated the effects of all of the liquor he had imbibed at Driscoll’s expense, and he was “ right side up with care,” once more. After a short chat, and mutual explanations, it was agreed that all hands should keep a close watch upon the den, where Dora was impris- oned, and that no one should be permitted to escape, without being arrested. The first man to leave the house was Stephen Dore, and as he came up the street, Mike inter- cepted him. ‘One moment, Mr. Dore,” he said, in firm but respectful tones, ‘I shail haye to request you not to proceed further, just yet, without my permission.” ‘Indeed! Who are you?’ was the haughty demand, : ‘“«T, sir, am generally dubbed Detective Mike —Michael Maverick, at your service. Lama detective, sir, and place you under arrest.” The rich man’s face paled somewhat, “What d’ye mean?” he growled, frowning. “This is nonsense.” “Nothing of the sort, sir, WhenI tell you that I overheard your conversation with your brother, David, yesterday, and that 1 know that Dora Dore is imprisoned yonder, and that it is designed to take her life to-night, you will see how well I am posted. Mr. Dore, do you want the world of New York to know of your complicity in a murder?” The proud man shuddered. “By Heaven! no!” he uttered, hoarsely. ‘Of course you don’t. Perhaps there is a - possible loop-hole for you to escape, Out of pity for your daughter, I may be able to spare you. Is David Dore down yonder?” “oe No.” ity Sure?” “T give you my word,” ba Beyee Luo where he is?” “Tdo not. Lexpect he is laying low.” “ He'd better, Is the girl there?” “She is.” “Safe” “ As far a» I know, for the present.” “ Driscoll is there?” “No, He slid out the back way, and kas gone in search of David.” **Ts the girl alone?” “Yes, She is bound, and chloroformed, or drugged.” ‘*Stepben Dore, tell the honest truth—don’t _ you feel ashamed of yourself for having any _ hand in this most infamous scheme?” Dore looked guilt -§ “You are right, | do. I cannot account for my strange weakness.” : _ “Well, be that as it may, there are possibly two chances for you. You see that man over yonder?” “ Yes,” 2 “That is Thomas Dore!” “Well? ‘He wants his money and his daughter, Will you give hin up every cent that is his, if he will allow you to leave New York, and avoid the disgrace you deserve?” For the moment the man hesitated, and then answered: ‘*By Heaven, I will.” ‘‘ Then await me here, until I find if Thomas Dore. agrees to the terms,” Mike crossed the street, and had a long and earnest conversation with Thomas Dore. When he again returned he said: ‘Tt is thus settled for your part. Thomas is to get his rights, and you are to remain or go, as you please, but there is never to be any tie of relationship recognized between you hence- forth and for all time.” Why write more in detail? Dora Dore was promptly rescued from her captivity, and a joyous reunion took place be- tween her and her father and foster-brother, Then, after setting the police to watch for Driscoll and David Dore, Mike escorted Dora to the St. Nicholas, while Thomas Dore and Stephen set out to effect a proper restoration of rights; and it was, as far as was ever known, satisfac- torily settled. At any rate, Thomas Dore got his money back, with interest, and when a short time alter, Stephen Dore left New York, accom- panied by his daughter, it was not as a poor man, Tracy Travis turned out about as badly as the average young man of his unscrupulous class; gambled, drank, married twice in a month, and had to suddenly disappear. Two days after the settlement, among persons who viewed two corpses that lay in the Morgue, were Stephen and Thomas Dore, The unfortunates had been found drowned in North River, and were David Dore and Bob Driscoll. Probably the two Dores were the only ones who ever really knew their identity, and they locked the secret in their own breasts, To saz that Mike, the Bowery Detective, re- ceived a substantial reward would be ‘ draw- ing it mild,” for he could afford to retire from the “ perfish ” and marry; and marry he did— Dora! : And Nora so captivated Ned Shields that he got over his unsteady habits, and becamea shin- ing light in business circles. It was afterward found out that David Dore and Tracy Travis were both connected in the heiress scheme as well as in a coucterfeiting business, to which the letters in Travis’s pocket- book undoubtedly had reference. THE END,
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